Discipline Duchess(1)

Early Morning, Somewhere in a Dungeon…

A metal cell door creaks open.

Inside, a disheveled, naked beauty is bound to a red-hot pillar. Between her legs, a metal protrusion parallel to the ground lifts her crotch roughly ten centimeters from her thighs. Her ability to endure such torment marks her as inhuman.

It's a miracle she's asleep, yet soft moans escape her: "Ugh… ugh… ugh…"

An elderly mage enters, observing the groaning Sophia in her sleep. He raises a finger in an upward gesture.

The protrusion between her legs surges five centimeters higher, elevating her lower body to just below her abdomen.

"Ugh… ughhh!!!" Sophia jolts awake, tears streaming as she grimaces in despair and agony.

"Ugh… ughhh… ohhh!!!" The shift delivers a brutal shock to her lower body, triggering another involuntary release.

"Want this torture to stop? Just cooperate," Clement says.

"Ugh… ughhh…" Sophia, tears flowing from pain, glares defiantly at Clement despite her torment.

"I can ease your suffering, give you time to consider cooperation." Suddenly, the manacles on her feet sprout chains, shrinking to ten centimeters. Clement, using some magic, claims ownership of the manacles. Unlike Isaac's voice commands, these seem controlled by thought.

With another gesture, Clement separates the protrusion, fused with the plugs, from them. The straps binding her to the pillar loosen, and Sophia collapses to the floor.

Her foot chains vanish, leaving only silver-blue rings on her ankles.

"Someone remove her gag and ropes," Clement orders.

Sophia knows she's no match for Clement with human strength, no weapons, and bound hands, relying only on her legs. She bides her time.

A soldier approaches, unlocking her gag with a key. Using the pliers to nullify the ropes' energy, he removes them.

"Lady Dominatrix, I've shown my sincerity," Clement says to the slumped Sophia.

"You… really… have… sincerity…" Sophia replies weakly from the floor.

"Shouldn't you show some in return?"

"Got… the… guts… to… kill… me…" This is her final plan. If escape fails and she's trapped, she'll provoke her captor into killing her. Her magic sword, a phylactery crafted from her flesh and stored elsewhere, will revive her in a spare body. Free from bonds, she'll abandon Isaac's foolish binding scheme, teleport back, use her unmatched mental and magical powers to extract all desired information, and slaughter these wretched humans.

This was her last resort, but the days of torture have worn her down. Though revival after death is unpleasant, it seems easier than enduring dungeon torment while waiting for an opportunity.

She realizes escaping this dungeon is harder than expected. She shouldn't have been so confident in agreeing to be sent here. She could have stormed in and interrogated Clement. It's all because of Isaac, leading her to this foolish act. She wanted to prove her omnipotence to this lowly human, showing she could escape capture effortlessly, only to fall into this trap. Her vanity and pride clouded her judgment.

If she could choose again, she'd never pick this idiotic "adventure."

"Got… the… guts… to… kill… me…"

"If I kill you, how do I get the elixir of immortality?" Clement retorts.

"Even… alive… you… won't… get… it…" Sophia's pride prevents groveling, though she searches for a flaw in their exchange, finding it elusive.

"You'll agree," Clement repeats.

"Refuse, and we'll resume your punishment."

"Then… bring… it… on… Am… I… scared… of… you… livestock?" Sophia sneers coldly.

"Very well. Guards." Clement claps, then leaves. "Next time I return, I hope you'll comply."

"You… have… forty… fifty… years… left… So… afraid… of… death?"

Clement ignores her, departing.

Two soldiers lift the prone Sophia, dragging her from the cell. They forget she's unbound.

After some distance, with Clement likely gone, they drag her into a new cell containing a wooden horse.

As the soldiers support her half-kneeling form, Sophia springs up, grappling one's shoulder. Despite her weakened strength—less than a human woman's—her combat skills are near top-tier, ranking her among the top fifty humans in technique alone.

The second soldier reacts, but too late. Sophia kicks his throat, killing him instantly.

Adrenaline surges, numbing her lower body's pain.

She knocks out the grappled soldier with a joint lock and bolts for the door.

Guards outside hear the commotion and charge in.

Sophia leaps, landing on one's head, locking his neck with a scissor hold. With a death roll, she snaps his neck.

Landing, she punches another's heart and kicks him away.

But enemies multiply, and without vampiric strength, her human-level prowess falters.

Even the best fighter struggles unarmed against more than seven or eight trained foes. Against rabble, one punch per foe handles ten, but skilled opponents resist single strikes, making multi-foe combat daunting.

Sophia fells another, but a two-meter-tall, shirtless brute with black leather X-shaped straps across his chest confronts her.

Her attacks fail to faze him. Sensing danger, she flees.

A Zhendan man from the East, short and ugly, blocks her path. His face, more goblin-like than most Zhendan beauties Sophia's seen, sports a rat-like mustache. At 155 cm, he's diminutive for a man.

"Miss Dominatrix's skills are impressive. Care to spar?" His Goulensian is stiff, laced with a thick northern Zhendan accent.

With soldiers behind, Sophia has no time. She kicks—

The short man catches her foot firmly.

"Miss Dominatrix doesn't know Zhendan martial arts?" He grips her ankle, slamming her to the ground, disrupting her balance.

He leaps onto the fallen Sophia, twisting her arms behind and binding them with hemp rope.

"I am Ding Yangchun, Zhendan's Rope Demon, invited by Master Clement to oversee Miss Dominatrix."

"Why help him?" Sophia's top-tier human combat skills pale against this man's superior martial arts, enhanced by Zhendan's legendary qi.

"Master Clement spoke of a regal, queenly beauty from Silandria. How could I, Ding Yangchun, miss this? No beauty worldwide escapes my ropes."

"Ding Yangchun, she's yours," Clement says, materializing from thin air.

"You didn't leave!" Sophia gasps.

"Lady Dominatrix, I thought you'd be wiser. In centuries, haven't you faced such traps? Do you always kill foes in one strike, never encountering deceit?" Clement had used invisibility, and Sophia's mercury-filled ears missed his presence.

"Then kill me," Sophia says, her last hope pinned on death as Ding Yangchun binds her.

"I said, cooperate, and you'll be freed," Clement replies coldly.

"Until then, Rope Demon Ding Yangchun will train you until you comply."

"A pleasure, Miss Dominatrix. Your beauty and figure are unmatched among all I've bound worldwide."

"Since she can't overpower you in melee with manacles, holy ropes aren't needed. Use your magic ropes for convenience."

"My intent exactly," Ding Yangchun says, binding Sophia. Her arms are forced together, elbows touching, upper arms bound tightly.

Instead of tying her arms to her torso, he loops ropes around her breasts, pulling them to her crotch and linking to her wrists. Her bound arms can move, but each motion tugs the ropes on her breasts and crotch.

"You bastard, I'll kill you!" Sophia's eyes glow red, fangs bared.

Slap! Still astride the prone, naked Sophia, Ding Yangchun, using qi, smacks her pale rear.

"Argh—I'll rip out your soul!" The qi-enhanced slap stings, but he's unfazed by her menacing glare.

"Miss Dominatrix, such threats don't scare me. I've trained countless female vampires for high vampires and royals. Even Zhao Yuanque's slaves. But a royal like you is a first."

"You know Zhao Yuanque, then you should—mmph!" Ding Yangchun stuffs his unwashed underwear into her mouth.

"I know many vampires who enjoy this, but a vampire who breathes, feels pain, and has a warm body like you is a first. I'll blend human and vampire training techniques. I never wash or change underwear before gagging the next beauty. This pair's a month old." He slaps her rear again with qi.

"Mmph… mmphhh!" Sophia screams in pain. Knowing she won't break, Ding Yangchun uses full force. Qi-enhanced strikes, capable of shattering stone, inflict excruciating pain beyond human capacity.

He secures her feet with a ten-centimeter chain, linking her manacles. Unable to use command words, he relies on his array of restraints.

Another chain locks onto her collar. Tugging her neck, he yanks the bound, ten-centimeter-step-restricted Sophia to her feet.

"Mmphhh!" Moments ago prone, she's now forced upright by qi, her neck nearly strangled.

"I've seen many stubborn women. I love breaking them. Toyo and Eta's Arabian mares obey quickly, but Zhendan, Goryeo, and your Rosenlan white mares are defiant. I relish training you.

"In Zhendan, our mares hold 'starving is minor, losing virtue is major.' Their resistance is fierce. Your Rosenlan mares, with racial disdain for my Eastern yellow skin, self-pride, and heights often over 165 cm, are a thrill to tame at my 155 cm."

"Mmph!" Tamed? I'm Silandria's princess, a royal vampire, not a toy or beast!

Across cultures, some like Isaac respect women, while others like Ding Yangchun treat them as "mares" or playthings. Sophia's met the latter.

"Come, my lady," Ding Yangchun, at 155 cm, barely reaches Sophia's 180 cm chin. He pulls her collar, forcing her to bend low, lifting her bound arms, tugging the crotch and breast ropes, triggering another climax.

"Mmph… mmphhh!!!" Sophia collapses, her neck suspended by the chain and collar, body on the ground.

"Lady, climaxing so soon? Is this plug magical?" Ding Yangchun pours mercury from a soldier's flask onto the floor.

"Mmph… mmphhh…" The mercury stings her skin.

He adds holy water, mixing it with the mercury.

"Mmph… mmphhh!" Smoke rises where her grounded body touches the mixture.

Sophia struggles to stand, maintaining her humiliating bent posture, arms raised, ropes tormenting her crotch.

"That's a good girl, Domi," Ding Yangchun says, nicknaming her like a pet, unaware of her first name.

"Mmph… mmph…" Sophia, torso parallel to the ground, lifts her neck, glaring with red eyes.

"Just the start, Domi." He yanks her, nearly toppling her, then scatters thumbtacks on the floor, dousing them with mercury and holy water.

"Walk, Domi. Watch the tacks, or falling won't be fun." Leading her by the collar, Sophia cautiously avoids the tacks in her humiliating pose, enduring the crotch rope's torment, forced to walk long under this vile human's control…

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Count Masoch's Estate, Morning

"Dole, what were you thinking!" In the dungeon, Count Masoch berates Dole, the warrior who kidnapped Anna and Countess Chanel. Outside, Isaac and Charles D'Artagnan demand entry, as Dole revealed last night he acted on the Countess's orders.

"Why didn't you kill him! Are you an idiot?" Masoch shouts.

"Killing him would've alerted the inn. We told them it was a family dispute with the Countess, so they let us take her," Dole explains.

"You fools! Now Baron D'Artagnan's here! What do I do?" Masoch fumes.

"Dole didn't say it was your idea. Tell D'Artagnan you don't know where Belmont is," the bound Countess, in her sleeveless pencil skirt dress, suggests.

The defiant Chanel, in her white qipao, and Anna, in her light blue gown, stand back-to-back, bound together. From afar, their skirted forms resemble hourglass vases—narrow waists, flared hips and thighs as the base, and busts as the rim.

Their exhausted gazes reveal a sleepless night of molestation by dungeon servants. Darker patches between their thighs suggest they were stimulated to release.

Their buttocks, hidden, bear numerous handprints.

Their cheeks sport fresh red marks from Masoch's recent slaps.

"It's our only option. Say my wife sold them," Masoch mutters, adjusting his clothes and exiting the dungeon.

"Dole, get a whip. Punish these wenches without ruining their clothes!" the bound Countess orders.

"Yes, madam!" Dole grabs a whip, lashing Anna and Chanel fiercely.

"Mmphhh!"

"Mmph… mmphhh!" They moan in pain.

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Outside the Estate

"Baron D'Artagnan, what's the matter?" Masoch feigns innocence.

"Release the red-haired woman you kidnapped!" D'Artagnan, aware of Masoch's reputation, learned from Isaac at 4 a.m. that Anna was taken by the Countess, suspecting Masoch's involvement.

"You mean my wife's doing? You know my tastes. I was just disciplining her in the dungeon. She sold that woman to slavers. If you need, I'll help investigate," Masoch lies.

"It's your scheme!" D'Artagnan glares, authoritative yet furious.

"Don't slander me, Baron. That's a crime," Masoch says calmly.

"Free her, or you'll regret it." D'Artagnan shoots Masoch a look, then leads Isaac away.

Phew, close call. Belmont, you'll pay, Masoch thinks, storming back inside.

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"Why didn't we press him?" Isaac asks, puzzled. D'Artagnan told him Masoch is Paris's most notorious woman-binder with a slaver history, certain he's behind this.

"No evidence. We can't barge in," D'Artagnan says angrily.

"Is this about Count Masoch kidnapping a lady?" A cloaked figure emerges before them.

D'Artagnan tenses, ready to draw his sword, sensing the figure watched them from afar.

"No worries, Charles." The 186 cm figure removes his gray cloak, revealing chainmail. Carrying ten kilograms of mail and padded gambeson casually, he's a formidable warrior. His disheveled brown hair falls over his face, his beard untrimmed for a month. A two-handed longsword with a crossguard hangs at his waist.

"Stone?" D'Artagnan embraces the grimy warrior like an old friend.

"You know him?" Isaac asks, confused.

"No time to explain. I'm Stone. You're Isaac, right?" the warrior says.

"Y-Yes."

"Here's the story. Yesterday, while guarding my lady from the shadows, I learned they planned to target her," Stone explains.

"They're bold, targeting your lady…" D'Artagnan remarks.

"They'd fail. My lady wasn't at the ball. But to be safe, since my messenger was there, I followed them in case they targeted either," Stone continues.

"And?"

"They kidnapped Countess Chanel and three other ball attendees, entering the estate through a secret passage," Stone reveals.

"Do you know where it is?" D'Artagnan asks, seizing the key detail.

"Yes." Stone pulls up his hood. "Sorry, I can't show my face in Goulens."

"Understood. Lead on," D'Artagnan says.

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Magic Academy Dungeon, a Cell

Sophia's hands are encased in a single glove, her waist cinched by a black corset crushing her ribs.

She straddles a wooden horse, its triangular frame silver. Her splayed legs, calves folded against thighs, are strapped tightly. Above her knees, holy silver rings matching her manacles lock on, tethered by chains to heavy iron balls, pulling her body downward, pressing the horse against her three plugs.

The corset lacks chest padding, leaving her breasts exposed. The silver clamps, capable of snapping human fingers, grip her chest again, with iron balls dangling, stretching them painfully.

Her single glove's end has an iron ring tied to a ceiling rope, lifting her arms unnaturally at a 60-degree angle. She bends forward to ease shoulder pain but can't bend far. Ropes from the horse's front and rear connect to her collar's front and back, preventing forward or backward movement, even of her neck.

Her mouth holds an ordinary ball gag, not holy, with holes allowing drool to leak. Styled like a bridle, straps extend from her cheeks to her jaw, pressing it shut, forcing her to bite the gag. Additional straps bypass her nose to her forehead, meeting an iron ring there, linked to a strap over her head to the rear straps' junction. The bridle-like gag humiliates her, fixing her face like a horse's. Drool seeps from the gag's holes, and a floor ring hints at how Ding Yangchun used her mouth without being bitten.

Inside the gag is Ding Yangchun's month-old underwear, reeking of urine, genitalia, and faint intestinal contents, mixed with his earlier emissions. She could use her sonic scream, but the chance is slim, requiring perfect timing.

Her rear bears red welts from Ding Yangchun's two-hour whipping. Each glare earned harsher lashes; stopping earned ten-minute breaks before resuming. After two hours, Sophia, never seriously whipped (Isaac's spankings were brief and less oppressive), fears glaring, dreading more lashes.

Save her eyes, she's immobile, enduring the horse's pressure on her plugged lower body and the clamps' and balls' pull on her chest. In three hours on the horse, she's climaxed over ten times.

"Domi, you've stopped glaring. When will you obey Master Clement?" Ding Yangchun approaches, stroking her bridled hair like a horse.

"Mmph… mmph…" Sophia feels fear—a sensation she's only known since traveling with Isaac. This human terrifies her more than anything in her life. She closes her eyes, avoiding his gaze.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Whips lash her rear. "Domi, you've learned lesson one: don't glare. Now, lesson two: answer questions."

"Mmph… mmphhh!" Tears flow from pain. She's terrified of this short, vile human, losing control over herself and her fate. Her treatment hinges on his whims. Should she obey? He's the only one who can ease her suffering, make her comfortable… Should she crave comfort?

Slap!

"Mmph, mmphhh!"

Another lash. No, I know psychology. This will enslave me… Think positively…

Slap!

"Mmph… mmphhh!"

There's still hope…

A figure appears in her mind, offering hope in despair.

Why… not a mighty him or her… but you…

Slap!

"Mmphhh! Mmph!"

Slap!

"Mmph… mmphhh… ohhh!!!"

Did I… climax again?

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A Goulens Tunnel

"This must be the entrance above?" D'Artagnan, Isaac, and Stone navigate the tunnel, torches aloft, beneath a trapdoor.

"How do we get up? It's over three meters high," Isaac notes. Though a count's estate, its scale surpasses the "castle" of high vampire Fidel Estruch in Bourg's outskirts—a mere ten-meter-high, thousand-square-meter Gothic fort, destroyed by three meteor blasts without Fidel's magic.

Count Masoch, a Parisian noble, owns a mansion that, outside giant cities like Paris or Orléans, would be a castle.

Swish! Moonshine morphs into a whip, slicing the wooden trapdoor in half.

"Mister Isaac, your whipwork is masterful… yet you lack footwork, stance, or hip power. Who taught this divine technique?" D'Artagnan, though unfamiliar with whips, recognizes martial fundamentals.

"Uh… Vandein and… a vampire?" Isaac recalls the whip's skills from those two.

"Worthy of a hero. I had doubts. But Vandein's been dead a century, hasn't he?" D'Artagnan muses.

"Intruders, huh?" A voice interrupts. Behind them, Masoch's chief warrior, Dole, leads twenty-plus swordsmen, spearmen, musketeers, and crossbowmen.

"He's the one who took Anna!" Isaac shouts to D'Artagnan.

"This complicates things. They might move Anna and frame us as invaders," D'Artagnan says, anxious.

"This complicates things. They might move Anna and frame us as invaders," D'Artagnan says, anxious."Leave it to me. I'll find Anna." Isaac swings his whip, using Vandein's skill to hook the trapdoor's floor, pulling himself up.

"Good luck, Vandein's heir!" D'Artagnan calls from below. Isaac nods.

D'Artagnan and Stone draw their rapier and longsword. D'Artagnan grins, "You lost last time."

"Twenty-five, an odd number. No tie this time," Stone counts, discarding his torch. His radiant, holy longsword lights the way as he assumes a roof stance, sword vertical by his right shoulder, charging the enemy.

"I'll win, but I'll go easy," D'Artagnan laughs, ditching his torch, using the enemy's torchlight to charge into the dark.

"Troublesome," Stone mutters, closing his eyes for a brief prayer. Holding his sword vertically in a lady's stance, he rushes forward.