The throne room is eerily quiet except for the rustle of pages. Queen Marika sprawls across the massive stone throne, her 9-foot frame draped lazily over the armrests, one thick thigh hooked over the side. Her dress—strips of silk crossing over her nipples, connecting at her belly button to wrap around her waist before covering between her legs front and back—does almost nothing to conceal her. Her legs, impossibly long and thick, are completely bare. Blue eyes scan the pages of her book with intense focus. The cover reads Monster's Claim in gaudy lettering.

She doesn't notice you at first. Or maybe she does and just doesn't care.

You approach carefully, heart pounding, emboldened by how exposed she is—legs spread, massive breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her blonde hair, braided and messily pinned under her crown, spills over the throne's back. She's right there.

You move between her thighs. She doesn't react. Her eyes stay glued to the page, lips parted slightly as she reads. You press forward, and your face sinks into the soft, overwhelming weight of her breasts—they're as big as your head, warm and impossibly heavy as they engulf you. She shifts her hips slightly to accommodate you without looking up, like you're furniture. You start moving, desperate, clumsy, lost in the heat of her body.

"Ugh, finally—the good part," Marika mutters, turning the page.

She's talking about the book.

"Mother, are you serious right now?"

You freeze. Princess Mariki stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her 3-foot frame somehow radiating maximum judgment. She's dressed like a miniature version of her mother—silk strips crossing her nipples, wrapping around her waist, leaving her thick thighs and curves completely exposed—but her blonde hair is styled with more care, bangs curled around her cherubic face. Her blue eyes narrow as she stares at you, then flick to her mother with pure disbelief.

"You didn't even notice him?" Mariki's voice is sharp, dripping with condescension. She gestures at you with one hand, the other still crossed over her chest. "He's literally motorboating you right now and you're just—what, ignoring him? That's pathetic, even for you."

Marika's eyes don't leave the page. She turns it slowly, deliberately.

Mariki's jaw drops. "Seriously?" She stomps forward a few steps, her voice climbing. "You're still reading? Oh my god, this is so embarrassing. Do you even care that there's a man inside you right now, or are you too busy fantasizing about your stupid monster boyfriend—"

Marika snaps the book shut.

The sound echoes through the throne room like a thunderclap. Her blue eyes—cold, sharp—lock onto Mariki. Then, slowly, she looks down at you. Her expression shifts from annoyed to something predatory, lips curling into a sneer.

Her hand—massive, strong—wraps around your side. Her fingers curl around a third of your torso effortlessly, and she pulls you out of her breasts like you're a toy she's done playing with. She sits up slightly, her body looming over you, and her other hand moves to your shoulder, pinning you in place.

"If you're going to interrupt," Marika says, her voice low and sharp, directed entirely at Mariki, "you're going to watch."

Mariki rolls her eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't fall out of her head. "Oh, great. Another lesson. Because that's exactly what I wanted to do today—watch you break another one." She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed again, but her gaze flicks between you and her mother with something between disgust and curiosity. "You know, if you weren't so oblivious all the time, maybe you wouldn't have to do this every five minutes."

Marika ignores her. Her grip on you tightens, and she shifts her weight—suddenly you're pinned between her thighs, her body overwhelming, inescapable. Her breasts press against your chest, her breath warm against your face as she leans down.

"Pay attention, Mariki," Marika says, her voice cold and instructional. "This is what happens when they think they can take without permission."

Mariki groans. "He literally did take without permission and you didn't even notice—"

Marika's hand moves to your throat—not squeezing, just there, a reminder of how small you are compared to her. Her other hand slides down your body, deliberate, possessive.

"Watch," Marika says again.

Mariki huffs but doesn't leave. She shifts her weight, one hand on her hip, eyes narrowed as she watches her mother work.

The throne room is quiet when you step through the doors. The stone is cold beneath your boots, the air heavy with the scent of incense and something else—sweat, maybe. Sex.

Queen Marika sits on her throne, one leg hooked over the armrest, her 9-foot frame sprawled lazily across the seat. Her dress—silk strips crossing her nipples, wrapping around her waist—does nothing to cover her. Her blonde hair is braided messily under her crown, and her blue eyes flick up to you as you enter. She doesn't move. Her breasts, bigger than your head, rise and fall with each breath, the silk strips straining against them.

Princess Mariki stands beside the throne, arms crossed over her chest, her 3-foot frame somehow radiating maximum judgment. She's dressed like her mother—silk strips, bare legs, thick curves on a tiny body—but her hair is styled more carefully, bangs curled around her face. Her blue eyes narrow as she looks you over. Her breasts, as big as her head, press against her arms, shifting as she uncrosses them briefly.

"Well," Marika says, her voice flat and cold. "Look who finally decided to come home."

You stop a few feet from the throne, your hands at your sides. You've been fighting for months—years, maybe. Your armor is battered, your body aching, but you're here. Your eyes shift between them, lingering on the way Marika's breasts heave as she sits up slightly, then on Mariki's as she shifts her weight, the silk strips slipping a fraction.

"Mother," you say, your voice rough from disuse. "Mariki."

Mariki's jaw tightens. She doesn't say anything, just stares at you with something between curiosity and annoyance. Her arms cross tighter, making her breasts press together, the curves spilling over the silk.

Marika sits up slightly, her eyes locked on yours. She doesn't smile. "You've been gone a long time."

"I was fighting," you say. "For the kingdom."

"For the kingdom." Marika's lips curl into a sneer. Her breasts shift as she leans forward, the silk taut. "How noble. And now you're back. Why?"

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to Marika's chest again, watching the movement. "I heard about Mariki. About her lessons."

Mariki's eyes widen slightly, then narrow. Her cheeks flush, and her arms tighten over her chest, her breasts squeezing against the silk as she huffs. "You came back because your sister is learning to dominate men?" Her voice climbs, sharp and mocking. "Oh my god, you're such a pervert."

"I didn't—" You cut yourself off, your jaw tightening, but your eyes stay on her breasts as she gestures, the way they bounce with the motion.

"No, seriously," Mariki says, stepping forward. "You heard I was, what, tying men up and sitting on their faces, and you just had to come home? That's so gross. You're literally my brother."

Marika's lips curl into a cold smile. She leans back in her throne, her breasts settling heavily as she does. "She has a point."

"I'm not—" You try again, but Mariki's already moving, stomping toward you with her arms still crossed, her breasts jiggling with each step.

"You are," Mariki says, stopping just in front of you. She's so small—her head barely reaches your chest. She has to tilt her head back to glare up at you, her chest thrusting out as she does, the silk strips riding up slightly. "You're a pervert. Admit it."

You don't answer, your gaze fixed on the way her breasts rise with her quick breaths.

Her eyes narrow. "Kneel."

You drop to your knees immediately. Now you're at her height—your eyes level with her chest, watching how her breasts move as she reaches out to touch your cheek. She's standing over you, her small hands resting on her hips, her expression somewhere between smug and disbelieving.

"Oh my god," Mariki says, her voice climbing. "You just—you just did it. I didn't even have to make you." She looks over her shoulder at her mother, her jaw dropping, her breasts shifting as she turns. "Mother, did you see that? He just—"

"I saw." Marika's voice is flat, amused. She's still leaning back in her throne, her own breasts rising slowly with her breath, watching with cold blue eyes.

Mariki looks back at you, her lips curling into a wide, delighted smirk. "You're such a pervert. Oh my god. This is amazing." Her hand slides down to your jaw, tilting your head up, but your eyes stay on her chest as it presses closer. "You're actually into this, aren't you? Your little sister bossing you around?"

You don't answer, but your face flushes, your gaze locked on how her breasts sway as she leans in.

Her smirk widens. "You are. That's so pathetic. I love it."

Her hand slides down to your chest, and she pushes you lightly. You fall backward, landing on your back on the cold stone floor. She climbs onto you immediately, straddling your chest, her weight barely registering. Her hands press against your shoulders, pinning you down, her breasts dangling above your face as she leans forward, the silk strips barely containing them.

"Stay there," Mariki says, her voice sharp but playful. "Don't move. Don't even think about moving."

You don't move, your eyes fixed on the way her breasts sway with her words.

Her smirk widens. "Good boy."

She shifts her weight, her thighs pressing against your sides, and she leans forward slightly, her breasts brushing your chin before she pulls back. "You know, I thought I'd have to fight you. I thought you'd at least try to resist. But you just—you just gave up. That's so embarrassing for you."

Her hand slides down your chest, her touch light and teasing. "But it's perfect for me. Because now I get to do whatever I want."

She shifts her hips, and her breath catches slightly. Her eyes widen for half a second before she covers it with a smirk. "And you're going to let me. Because you're a pervert. Right?"

You nod, your hands twitching at your sides, eyes still on her chest.

"Louder."

"I'm a pervert."

Mariki giggles again, her whole body shaking with laughter, her breasts bouncing with the motion. "Oh my god, this is the best day ever." She looks over her shoulder at her mother. "Mother, did you hear that? He actually said it."

Marika's lips curl into a cold smile. "I heard."

Mariki looks back at you, her eyes bright with delight. "You're mine now. Understand?"

You nod.

"Good," Mariki says, her voice softer now, almost affectionate. "Because I'm going to have so much fun with you."

The dungeon is cold, the stone walls damp and rough. You're naked, chained to the far wall, your wrists locked in iron cuffs above your head, ankles shackled to the floor. The metal digs into your skin, and the chill seeps into your bones.

Footsteps echo down the corridor. Two sets—one heavy, deliberate, the other lighter, quicker.

"I still don't understand why you dragged him all the way down here," Princess Mariki's voice echoes before she comes into view. She sounds annoyed, bored. "He's just another man. What's the point?"

"The point," Queen Marika says, her voice cold and sharp, "is that you've been staring at him for three days."

Mariki stops dead in her tracks. Her 3-foot frame freezes just outside the torchlight, and even from here you can see her cheeks flush red.

"I have not—"

"From the balcony." Marika steps into view, her 9-foot frame towering over her daughter. Her dress—silk strips crossing her nipples, wrapping around her waist—does nothing to soften her presence. Her blonde hair is braided messily under her crown, blue eyes cold and amused as she looks down at Mariki. "Every morning. Watching him try to figure out how to climb up to us."

Mariki crosses her arms over her chest, glaring up at her mother. "I was not staring. I was—observing. For security reasons."

"Observing." Marika's lips curl into a sneer. She steps closer, and her eyes flick down to you. She doesn't acknowledge you beyond that—just looks at you like you're a piece of furniture. Then she looks back at Mariki. "Is that what you call it?"

Mariki huffs, stomping forward until she's standing in front of you. She glances at you, then quickly looks away, her arms still crossed.

"He's not even that interesting," Mariki mutters.

"Then this lesson will be easy." Marika steps beside her daughter, crouching slightly so she's closer to Mariki's height—though she still towers over her. Her hand gestures toward you lazily. "Look at him. Chained. Helpless. Pathetic."

Mariki glances at you again, her blue eyes flicking over your body quickly before looking away.

"He's a man," Mariki says, her voice uncertain. "They're all like this."

"Exactly." Marika's voice is cold, instructional. "And you need to learn how to use them. I can teach you how to tie them in different positions—spread-eagle on the floor, bent over, kneeling with their arms behind their backs. What do you want to learn first?"

Mariki shifts her weight, her arms tightening over her chest. She glances at you again, then at the chains binding your wrists above your head. Her eyes linger there for a moment.

"I want—" She cuts herself off, biting her lip. Then she looks at her mother, her voice sharper. "I want him sitting. Against the wall. So I can—so I can see what I'm doing."

Marika's lips curl into a cold smile. "So you can look him in the eyes."

Mariki's cheeks flush deeper. "That's not—I just—"

"Fine." Marika stands, stepping toward you. Her massive hand wraps around the chain binding your wrists, and she unlocks it with a flick of her fingers. Your arms drop, numb and aching. "Sit."

You slide down the wall, your legs stretching out in front of you. Marika crouches beside you, her hand wrapping around your ankle, and she unlocks the shackles there too. Then she steps back, arms crossed, watching.

"Now," Marika says, her voice flat. "Mariki. Restrain him."

Mariki hesitates, then steps forward. She's holding a pair of fuzzy cuffs—soft pink, almost absurdly gentle compared to the iron chains. She kneels in front of you, and even kneeling, her head barely reaches your chest. She's so small—her whole body could fit in the space between your shoulders.

"Put your hands in front of you," Mariki says, her voice sharp but unsteady.

You do. She reaches for your wrists, and her hands—tiny, soft—wrap around them. Both of her hands together can barely circle one of your wrists. She loops the cuffs around them, her fingers fumbling slightly with the buckles. She has to stretch up on her knees to reach properly, her breasts pressing against your chest as she leans forward. She pulls the cuffs tight—not as tight as the chains, but secure enough. Then she grabs a short chain from the floor and clips it to the cuffs, securing the other end to a ring bolted into the stone.

"Good," Marika says, her voice cold. "Now his mouth."

Mariki's eyes widen. "His—what?"

"His mouth." Marika steps forward, holding a ball gag. She dangles it in front of Mariki, her expression unreadable. "So he can't talk back. So all you hear are muffled sounds."

Mariki takes the gag, her hands shaking slightly. She looks at you, then at the gag, then back at you. She bites her lip.

"Open your mouth," Mariki says, her voice quieter now.

You hesitate, and her eyes flash with frustration.

"I said—" She reaches forward, her small hand pressing against your jaw, trying to force your mouth open. Her hand is so small it barely covers half your jaw. She has to push up on her knees again, leaning her whole body weight into it, and you let her. She pushes the gag between your lips, her fingers brushing against your mouth as she reaches around your head to buckle it. She has to stretch—her arms barely reach around your head, and she huffs in frustration as she fumbles with the buckle.

"Ugh, your head is huge," Mariki mutters, finally getting the buckle fastened. She sits back on her heels, staring at you. "Like, seriously, how do you even—whatever. You look ridiculous."

She shifts closer, her eyes locked on yours now. "You're actually kind of pathetic, you know that? Sitting here, all tied up, letting someone my size boss you around." Her voice is sharp, mocking, but there's something underneath it—nervousness, maybe. "I mean, you're what, twice my height? And you can't even do anything. That's honestly embarrassing for you."

Her hands reach out, hesitant, and touch your chest. Her fingers are small, soft, and they trace over your skin slowly. She shifts closer, her thighs pressing against yours.

"You're so big," she says, her voice quieter now, almost to herself. "But you're still useless. That's kind of funny, actually." Her hands slide up to your shoulders, and she leans forward slightly, her face inches from yours. "You're like a big, dumb pet. Cute, I guess. In a sad way."

"Mother," Mariki says, her voice quieter now, not looking away from you. "What do I—what do I do now?"

"Whatever you want." Marika's voice is flat, dismissive. She steps back, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. She's in your line of sight, but Mariki doesn't seem to notice—her focus is entirely on you. "He's yours. Use him."

Mariki's jaw tightens. She shifts her weight, climbing onto your lap, straddling your thighs. Her weight barely registers—she's so small, so light. Her hands press against your chest, and she stares down at you, her blue eyes wide and uncertain.

"You're mine now," she says, her voice sharp but shaking. "You're going to do exactly what I say. And you're going to like it. Because you don't have a choice."

Her hands slide down your chest, hesitant, exploring. She shifts her hips, and her breath catches. She freezes, her eyes widening.

"Oh," she says, her voice small. "Oh, I—I didn't realize—"

She looks over her shoulder at her mother, panic flashing across her face. "Mother, I don't think I—"

"You'll be fine." Marika's voice is cold, unbothered. She doesn't move from the corner. "Keep going."

The balcony outside the throne room is bathed in golden sunlight, the stone warm beneath your feet. Princess Mariki sprawls across a massive cushion near the edge, her 3-foot frame stretched out lazily, eyes closed. She's completely naked—her dress discarded in a heap nearby—thick thighs spread slightly, breasts rising and falling with slow, even breaths. Her blonde hair fans out around her head like a halo, bangs sticking to her forehead from the heat.

She looks peaceful. Vulnerable.

You approach carefully, emboldened by how exposed she is. She doesn't move. Doesn't open her eyes. Maybe she's asleep.

You kneel beside her, reaching out—your hand brushes her thigh.

Her eyes snap open, wide with shock. She jerks upright, scrambling backward on the cushion, nearly falling off the edge.

"What—you—" Her voice cracks, high-pitched and panicked. She stares at you, chest heaving, cheeks flushing red. "I didn't—you weren't supposed to—"

She cuts herself off, jaw tightening. She takes a breath, trying to compose herself, but her hands are shaking slightly as she pushes herself up to sitting. Her eyes narrow, trying to reclaim the confidence she just lost.

"I—I was waiting for you," Mariki says, her voice sharp but unsteady. She crosses her arms over her chest, glaring up at you. "Obviously. I knew you were coming."

She didn't.

You reach for her again, and she flinches—just for a second—before forcing herself to stay still. Her hands shoot out, wrapping around your wrist with both hands, trying to pull you down.

"Get down here," she snaps, tugging hard. You don't budge. Her grip is too small, her strength nothing compared to yours. She pulls again, harder, her face flushing deeper.

"I said—" She yanks with everything she has, and you shift slightly—more out of pity than her effort. She loses her balance, stumbling forward into you, her small hands pressing against your chest to catch herself.

"This is—ugh—" She shoves at you, trying to push you onto your back, but you're too heavy. She climbs onto you instead, straddling your chest, her weight barely registering. Her hands press against your shoulders, trying to pin you down.

"Stay down," she hisses, but her voice wavers. She's breathing hard, her thighs trembling slightly where they press against your sides.

You shift beneath her, testing her grip. She loses her balance immediately, nearly toppling off. She catches herself, hands scrambling for purchase, and her eyes flash with frustration.

"Stop moving!" Her voice climbs, sharp and desperate. She tries to pin your wrists, but her hands are too small—she can barely wrap them halfway around. You twist slightly, and she loses her grip entirely.

"Mother!" Mariki's voice cracks, high and panicked, as she looks over her shoulder toward the doorway.

Queen Marika leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching with an expression somewhere between amusement and annoyance. Her 9-foot frame fills the doorway, her dress barely covering anything, blonde hair falling messily around her face.

"I thought you could handle this," Marika says, her voice flat and cold.

"I can—" Mariki's voice is sharp, defensive. She turns back to you, trying to shove you down again, but you don't move. "He's just—he's not cooperating—"

"Because you're not making him."

Mariki's jaw tightens. She glares at her mother, then back at you, her hands pressing harder against your chest.

"I'm trying—"

You shift again, and she loses her balance, falling forward slightly. Her face is inches from yours now, her breath coming fast, her eyes wide with something between frustration and confusion.

Marika sighs. She steps forward, moving with lazy confidence, and stops just behind you. Her hand—massive, strong—lands on your shoulder. You freeze.

"You're thinking like prey," Marika says, her tone cold and instructional. "Stop trying to overpower him. You can't."

Mariki's eyes blaze. "Then what am I supposed to—"

Marika's foot moves fast—too fast. She flicks her toes up sharply, catching you square in the balls.

The pain is instant, blinding. You double over, gasping, and Mariki's eyes go wide.

"Oh—" Mariki's voice is half-shocked, half-delighted. She shifts her weight on your chest, pressing down harder now that you're curled up beneath her. "Oh, that's—okay, I get it now."

Marika steps back, arms crossed again. "Finish it."

Mariki's hands move fast. She grabs something from the cushion beside her—silk cords, thin and strong—and loops one around your wrist before you can recover. She pulls it tight, then grabs your other wrist, tying them together with quick, practiced movements.

"Mother taught me this," Mariki says, her voice smug now. She moves to your ankles next, looping another cord around them, pulling it tight. "You're not going anywhere."

She tugs the restraints, testing them, then ties them off with a flourish. Your hands are bound above your head, your ankles tied together. You're completely at her mercy.

Mariki sits back on your chest, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. She looks down at you, her smirk widening.

"You wanted me?" Mariki's voice is sharp, mocking, but there's something else beneath it—nervousness, maybe. Excitement. She shifts her weight, her thighs pressing against your sides. "Fine. But you're going to do exactly what I say."

She glances over her shoulder at her mother. Marika nods once, then turns and walks back into the throne room, leaving you alone with Mariki.

Mariki looks back down at you. Her smirk falters slightly, and she bites her lip, her hands resting on your chest.

"I've never—" She cuts herself off, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. You're mine now."

She shifts her hips, positioning herself over you, her breath coming faster. Her hands tremble slightly as she reaches down, guiding you.

"Don't move," she says, her voice sharp but unsteady. "I'm—I'm in control."

She lowers herself slowly, and her breath catches. Her eyes squeeze shut for a second, her whole body tensing.

"Oh—" Her voice is small, almost a whimper, before she catches herself. She opens her eyes, glaring down at you like it's your fault. "Shut up. I'm fine."

She moves again, slower this time, and her hands grip your chest tighter. Her thighs tremble against your sides, her breathing ragged.

"I'm—I'm doing this," she mutters, more to herself than you. "I'm—fuck—"

She moves again, and her head tilts back, her mouth falling open slightly. Her hands slide up to your shoulders, gripping hard, her whole body shaking.

"Shut up," she says again, even though you haven't said anything. "I'm—I'm in control."

The throne room is still, the only sound the rustle of pages. Queen Marika sprawls across her massive stone throne, one thick thigh hooked over the armrest, her 9-foot frame draped lazily over the seat. Her dress—silk strips crossing over her nipples, connecting at her belly button to wrap around her waist before covering between her legs front and back—leaves her legs completely bare. Her blonde hair, braided and messily pinned under her crown, spills over the throne's back. Blue eyes scan the pages of her book with intense focus. The cover reads Monster's Obsession in faded gold lettering.

You slip through the side door, your boots silent on the stone floor. Your body moves on instinct, healed like nothing happened, drawn back to her like always. The fall from the balcony was supposed to end it, but here you are, stepping closer, eyes fixed on her. The way her breasts rise and fall with each breath. The way her lips part slightly as she reads. She's all that matters. You approach the throne, hands at your sides, ready to reach for her.

Princess Mariki steps out from behind a pillar, her 3-foot frame moving with purpose. Her dress matches her mother's—silk strips barely covering her nipples, wrapping around her waist, leaving her thick thighs and curves exposed—but her blonde hair is styled with more care, bangs curled around her cherub face. She stops dead when she sees you, her blue eyes widening.

"You," Mariki says, her voice sharp with recognition. She takes a step forward, hands on her hips, her chest pushing out slightly as she tilts her chin up. Her breasts, as big as her head on her tiny frame, strain against the silk strips, heaving with the quick movement.

Your eyes shift to her, lingering on the way the silk clings to the heavy curves of her breasts, how they sway as she shifts her weight. You don't look away, your gaze tracing the exposed skin above and below the strips.

Mariki's cheeks flush, but her smirk widens. "Oh, you're doing it again. Staring like a pervert. Gross."

You step closer to her, your hand reaching out to brush her arm. "Couldn't help it. You're… just like her."

She doesn't pull away. Instead, she grabs your wrist, her small hands wrapping around it with surprising firmness. "Kneel," she snaps, pulling down hard.

You drop to your knees without hesitation, your eyes still locked on her breasts, watching how they press forward as she leans closer. Your free hand rests on her hip. Now you're at her height—your face level with her chest. You lean in slightly, inhaling the scent of her skin.

Mariki's eyes narrow, but she doesn't step back. "See? Easy. You're just like the others. No fight at all. Pathetic pervert."

Marika's book snaps shut.

The sound echoes through the throne room like a thunderclap. Her blue eyes—cold, sharp—lock onto you. Her expression shifts, lips curling into a sneer as she sits up slowly, her massive frame unfolding, the throne groaning under her weight.

"You," Marika says, her voice low and sharp. She swings her legs down from the throne, standing to her full 9 feet. Her shadow falls over you, and even on your knees, you have to tilt your head back to meet her gaze. Your eye level is at her underboobs, her breasts massive and heavy above you, shifting as she straightens. "I threw you off the balcony. You should be dead."

You don't answer. You just look up at her, then glance at Mariki again, your hand still on her hip, fingers tightening slightly.

Marika's eyes narrow. She steps closer, her bare feet silent on the stone. "You're persistent. Annoying. And now you're pawing at her like a dog in heat."

Mariki glances between you and her mother, her smirk faltering slightly. "Wait, you know him?"

Marika doesn't look at her daughter. Her eyes stay locked on you. "This is your father."

Mariki freezes. Her hands fall from your wrist, and she takes a step back, her blue eyes wide. She looks at you, then at Marika, then back at you, her gaze dropping to where your hand still rests on her hip.

"My—what?" Her voice cracks, high and disbelieving. "No. No way. He's just some—"

"Your father," Marika repeats, her voice flat. She crosses her arms, her sneer deepening. "The conqueror who wouldn't stay down. The one who kept coming back for more. Obsessed. And now look at him—leering at his own daughter like the pervert he is."

Mariki's jaw drops. She looks at you again, her expression shifting. She steps closer, her small hand reaching out to grab your chin, tilting your head up to force your eyes to meet hers. "You're—oh. You're the one. The man who'll protect me."

You nod, your hand sliding up her side, thumb brushing the edge of her silk strip, your gaze drifting back to her breasts as they move with her breath. "Yeah. And more."

Marika's lips curl into a cold smile. "Don't be naive, Mariki. He's just another man. Obsessed. Useless. Watch—he'll prove it right now, groping you like he owns you."

Mariki shakes her head, her eyes still on you. "No. He's different. I can tell." Her voice is sharp, defiant. She pushes your hand away gently, then climbs onto your lap as you sit back on your heels, straddling your thighs. Her weight barely registers. Her hands press against your shoulders, pinning you down, but you don't resist—your hands go to her waist immediately, pulling her closer, your gaze locked on how her breasts bounce slightly with the movement.

"You're mine now," she says, her voice sharp but unsteady. "You're going to do exactly what I say. And you're going to like it. Because you're my father. Because you're here to protect me." She shifts her hips against you, her thighs squeezing your sides, and you groan softly, your grip tightening.

Her eyes widen at the sound, but she leans down, her face inches from yours, her bangs brushing your forehead. "And stop staring like that, pervert. Or do I have to make you?"

Marika watches from the throne, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She doesn't move, but her presence fills the room—cold, heavy, inescapable.