Rules of Parlay? They Are More Guidelines Really.

Lilith pushed herself out of the armchair with a weary, dramatic sigh, a gesture that implied the whole tedious affair was beneath her. "Alright, that's it. I'm done," she announced, her voice flat. "This breeding was conducted under false pretences and is, according to the Concordat, magically illegal. And I am a witness." She shot a venomous look at Genevieve and a smirking Stewart. "So, enjoy your tea and cakes, or whatever other lame things you Life Coven types get off on. Because the **** Mages will be here soon, and they'll be peeling the skin from your faces."

She turned and strode towards the door, a confident, dismissive swagger in her step. She reached for the ornate handle, but when she tried to turn it, the door wouldn't budge. Frowning, she tried again, putting her shoulder into it. "What the...?" she muttered, then tried to summon a simple unlocking spell. Nothing happened. A flicker of genuine panic crossed her face as she rattled the door, which was now as immovable as a wall of solid stone.

"It's locked," she said, her voice suddenly lacking its earlier bravado.

"You're not going anywhere, my dear," Genevieve the lead witch said, her serene smile unwavering as she took another delicate sip of her tea. "We're having such a lovely afternoon, and it would be a shame for it to end so abruptly."

Another witch, a younger one with a cascade of auburn hair and a belly that looked ready to burst, let out a soft, musical snigger. "Not unless it's in a maternity-suitable clothing," she quipped, earning a few appreciative chuckles from the others.

Lilith's face, which had been a mask of bored defiance, tightened with a fresh wave of panic. "I'm under parlay," she insisted, her voice sharper now. "You can't detain me. The Concordat is very clear on the rights of a diplomatic emissary."

"Yes my dear it is. Unfortunately for you," Genevieve countered, her tone becoming as cold and sharp as shattered glass. "The very same treaty you quoted so confidently has a rather specific clause about making unsanctioned threats of violent retribution during a declared period of parlay. By threatening to 'peel our faces off,' you, in fact, nullified your own diplomatic immunity. And you gave no notice of your intent to lodge a formal grievance. You simply made a menace of yourself." She set her cup down with a decisive click.

"And seeing as you are a witness," the lead witch continued, her smile widening into something like a maternal shark scenting blood in the water, "to a completely legal and binding ritual transference but one which is both private and may cause a diplomatic misunderstanding... you, unfortunately, need to be bred." She gestured with a graceful sweep of her hand towards the room. "We can't have loose ends, after all. It's simply not tidy. However, as a gesture of reciprocal hospitality," the lead witch purred, her eyes glinting with a mischievous, calculating light as she turned her gaze to Brandon, "it is only fitting that the honoured emissary of the Tricksters perform this sacred duty."

She gestured towards a now-panicked Lilith, who was backing away from the door, her hipster cool finally cracking to reveal raw fear. "It would, after all, seal a new peace between our covens. A gesture of good faith."

Brandon, who had been watching the proceedings with the quiet fascination of a man at a very strange zoo, put on a masterful display of theatrical ****. He scratched the back of his head, a picture of awkward uncertainty. "Well, geez, I don't know..." he mumbled, shuffling his feet. "I mean, if it's in the name of peace... and all that... I guess I can do my part." The corner of his mouth twitched, betraying the immense, barely concealed glee he felt at being given this new, official task.

Lilith's face went from panic to pure, unadulterated horror. "No! No fucking way! You can't be serious! Him?! I'd rather be skinned alive!" Her threats, once so confident, now sounded like the ****, squeaking protests of a cornered rat.

Lilith’s **** attempt to summon a **** Magic shield was a pathetic, fizzling spark that died before it could even form. A single, reproachful look from the Genevieve was enough to completely neutralize her power. One **** Mage, however stylishly dressed, was no match for a whole, coordinated Coven.

Emi watched, a thoughtful frown on her face. "I'm not sure about this, I think Verdant had it right," she murmured to Verdant Green, her voice low. "Taking care of a kid is a big responsibility."

Genevieve overheard her, her serene expression softening into one of understanding. "Oh, we wouldn't dream of burdening you with that, dear," she said kindly. "We'll bind Lilith to a neutral, communal harem. We have a wonderful creche and daycare system. She'll be fine. And in nine months, when her maternal duties are done for the day... well, I'm sure Brandon could even do her again. As a sign of ongoing goodwill, of course."

"I'm no one's broodmare!" Lilith shrieked, her voice a high, **** shriek.

The lead witch simply gave a serene, pitying smile, a look one might give a child throwing a tantrum over bedtime. "Technically correct, my dear," she said, “For about the next ten minutes, I'd say. After that, you'll find your priorities will be... realigning quite significantly." She gestured towards Brandon, who was now advancing with a look of dutiful, almost boyish determination. "Now, let's not be difficult. Stewart, would you be a dear and assist our honoured guest? She seems to be having a little trouble accepting our hospitality."

Stewart, didn't grab her or **** her. He simply placed a firm, but not unkind, hand on her shoulder. The touch was enough. The sheer, overwhelming Life Magic radiating from him was a physical ****, a wave of heat that made Lilith's legs go weak.

The combination of Stewart's overwhelming presence and the inexorable magical compulsion was too much for her. With a choked sob of pure despair, her resistance crumbled. Stewart calmly, efficiently began to strip her, tearing her stylishly ripped shorts and band t-shirt away as if they were tissue paper. Her faded red and black tartan shirt was tossed aside, followed by her simple black bra. In moments, she was as naked as the day she was born, her pale, tattooed skin a stark canvas against the plush tea room decor.

Genevieve waved her hand and the corner of the room seemed to fold out revealing a simple bed with white linen sheets. “Something a little more civilised for our guests.

With a firm, guiding pressure from Stewart, she was **** to her hands and knees on the bed, her body a trembling, unwilling altar. Brandon moved to stand behind her, his expression a strange mix of apology and raw, undeniable lust as he unzipped his jeans.

Within seconds he’d entered her, a guttural groan escaping his lips as her tight, surprisingly wet heat enveloped him. Lilith let out a raw, choked cry, a sound of pure violation that was quickly strangled into a series of rhythmic, unwilling grunts as Brandon began to fuck her with a steady, powerful rhythm. He was less skilled than Stewart, a blunt, determined instrument rather than a masterful lover, but the sheer, uncomplicated **** of it, the absolute certainty of her defeat, was a violation in itself.

Brandon was a relentless, surging **** behind her, a man driven by a simple, powerful magical imperative and the sheer, unadulterated thrill of it. He wasn't trying to be gentle; he was trying to finish a job. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her again and again, the wet, slapping sounds of their joining a lewd counterpoint to her choked, miserable sobs. Her resistance, what little was left of it, was a pathetic, fading thing. Her body, now a traitorous vessel of sensation, began to respond, a deep, unwilling heat coiling in her core. She tried to fight it, to cling to the last vestiges of her goth-hipster defiance, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with her bare hands. A shuddering, violent orgasm tore through her, a wave of intense, humiliating pleasure that made her entire body convulse, her cunt clamping down on Brandon's cock in a series of greedy, helpless spasms.

The sensation of her frantic, unwilling climax was the final straw for Brandon. With a final, triumphant roar that was more beast than man, he slammed into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt.

The lead witch stood over the shuddering, defeated form of Lilith, her expression a serene picture of maternal accomplishment. With a single, gentle touch to the small of the **** Mage's back, she completed the spell. Lilith's body convulsed, a silent, gasping breath escaping her lips as her stomach began to swell with the same impossible speed as Mara's had before. In moments, she was heavily pregnant, a round, full belly pushing against the floor, her small, perky breasts now heavy and swollen with the promise of new life. She was no longer a cool, threatening emissary, but just another conquered vessel, her future now bound to the Coven's crèche.

As the magical energy settled, two members of the harem, both serene and heavily pregnant themselves, stepped forward. They helped the stunned, newly pregnant Lilith to her feet, their grip firm but not unkind. She was too weak, too magically and emotionally drained to resist. She was led away without a backward glance, her future a cycle of pregnancy, childbirth, and communal childcare. The room returned to its placid, tea-sipping tranquility, as if the entire, confrontation had been nothing more than a brief, entertaining interlude.

Emi watched the whole scene, a slow, calculating smile spreading across her face. She had come into this meeting as a wild card, a potential threat to be eliminated. She was leaving as a business partner, a recognized power in her own right, with a territorial claim and a new, unexpected bonus: a magical debt from the Life Coven.