NTR: Stealing wives in Another World-Chapter 22: Aftermath

The house was quiet again. Too quiet.

Harven groaned, sitting up with a grimace as the pounding in his head reminded him just how many ales he’d slammed down the night before. He blinked against the light creeping in through the cracks in the shutters.

"Mirielle?" he croaked.

No answer.

He rubbed his face and stood slowly, wobbling on unsteady legs. His clothes were a mess, the table still bore the faint imprint of a wild night—though he remembered nothing but drinking, shouting, and... passing out. Classic.

He shuffled into the hallway, the air thick with a scent he couldn’t quite place—sweaty, sweet, musky. It clung to the walls like a secret.

Then he heard it: the soft tap tap of bare feet on the wooden floor.

Mirielle rounded the corner.

Her hair was freshly tied but messy at the edges, her dress was hastily thrown on, hanging a bit too loose around her shoulders. Her eyes widened when she saw him awake—only for the briefest flicker—then settled into something like polite concern.

"You’re up," she said, voice quiet. "How’s your head?"

Harven blinked. "Feels like I swallowed a bell."

She gave a faint laugh. "I made tea. It’s still warm."

He tried to focus, but his eyes kept drifting to how she was walking. Or rather—not walking right. Her thighs stayed slightly apart, her stride short and cautious, like every step rubbed raw skin in all the wrong ways.

"You alright?" he asked, squinting. "You’re limping."

Mirielle paused for a second too long.

"Ah. I tripped this morning," she said casually. "Fetching water. Banged my hip." novelbuddy.cσ๓

He furrowed his brow. "Looks like more than a bang."

She smiled, too sweet. "It’ll pass."

Harven glanced around. "Where’s Allen?"

"Gone. Left early," she replied smoothly, heading to the kitchen. "Said he had to get back to his village. Didn’t want to wake you."

He followed her, slower, his brain trying to connect dots through a haze of hangover and suspicion.

Something didn’t sit right. The scent still lingered in the air—like heat and sweat and sex. The furniture felt... shifted. The kitchen table had new scuffs. And Mirielle... looked like someone who hadn’t just been awake early.

She looked like someone who’d been busy.

He sat at the table. She poured tea and set the cup down in front of him, careful not to wince as she bent over.

Harven stared into the cup, jaw clenching.

Mirielle looked down at him with that same placid smile, but her eyes glittered—like she knew a secret.

Because she did.

She was dripping under that dress.

Still stretched.

Still used.

And he would never know.

——

Both Allen and Fina, they were a good mile out of town when Fina finally spoke, still barefoot, still glowing with smug satisfaction as the morning sun warmed her skin.

"Well," she drawled, tail swishing behind her like a metronome of mischief, "that was fun."

Allen adjusted his belt, casually brushing a leaf off his shoulder. "Fun is one way to put it. Morally compromising is another. Possibly illegal in three provinces."

Fina blinked, ears twitching. "What the hell is a province?"

Allen snorted. "Never mind. Just saying—we might need to avoid that town for a while."

Fina let out a satisfied hum, stretching her arms behind her head. The motion tugged her already-sparse feather skirt even higher, and the breeze—playful bastard that it was—caught it just right.

A gust blew through the trail.

Fwip.

Half the feathers took flight like tiny traitors.

Allen’s eyes shot down, and then he blinked. "Uh. Fina? Your skirt just entered a new dimension of ’not a skirt.’"

Fina looked down, unbothered. "Huh. I was wondering why it felt breezy back there." She tugged what remained of the skirt to the front, only managing to cover one thigh. "Still counts if it hides some stuff, right?"

"Sure," Allen said dryly. "If ’some’ equals zero."

She grinned, unbothered. "I mean, after last night, you think I’ve got modesty left?"

Allen chuckled under his breath. "Fair point. Mirielle was practically sobbing worship songs to my dick."

Fina laughed, hopping over a root. "She was. You hear her? ’I’m your slut, I’m your slave, I’ll never look at another limp human dick again—’"

Allen grinned. "She sounded like a fan club president. First meeting: sobbing while clenching my cock."

"Ugh, I loved that part," Fina purred. "You stuffing her while I waved the Itching Leaf like a divine punishment? Priceless. You should’ve seen her face. She looked like her soul was itchy."

Allen wheezed. "She’s gonna wake up with no idea how to live a normal life. Like, she’ll try to fold laundry and just collapse into a horny puddle."

"Ha! She’ll get wet if a towel brushes her thigh."

They laughed together, the kind of laughter that only came from two absolute degenerates in sync.

Then Allen tilted his head, thoughtful. "You know, back home this would be front-page scandal stuff. Like, people would make YouTube essays about us."

Fina’s brow furrowed. "You... chew what?"

He grinned. "Forget it. Earth thing."

She rolled her eyes. "You say the weirdest shit sometimes. Like when you called her breakdown a ’mid-dick crisis.’ What the hell even is that?"

Allen smirked. "A spiritual event that occurs when you get rearranged by a man who shouldn’t exist."

Fina purred again, skipping ahead, then spinning around to walk backward—completely flashing him as her feather skirt surrendered its final bits to the wind.

Allen blinked. "You’re not wearing anything under that as usual?."

"I haven’t worn anything under this since last moon," she said proudly. "Why start now?"

"Because there are still laws, Fina."

She grinned, unrepentant. "You said yourself—laws are for people who don’t fuck their way through married humans. Also did you forget that beastkin like us are forbidden from wearing anything other than this feather skirt when entering human town?

He groaned. "Okay, yeah. You win. Let’s just get back to the village before you flash a caravan and start another interspecies incident."

Fina winked. "Or we could find another housewife to ruin."

Allen stared at her.

Then smiled slowly.

"...Tempting."

——

The path stretched ahead of them in a lazy curve, sun filtering through the canopy above like nature itself was hungover. Allen walked with his hands behind his head, a little bounce in his step, still basking in the afterglow of corrupting someone’s entire marriage.

Then his curiosity kicked in like it always did.

"Hey, Fina?"

"Mmh?" she replied, mouth full of the smoked jerky she’d ’liberated’ from a windowsill two villages back.

"You ever met an elf?"

She blinked, chewed for a second, then gave him a sideways glare. "Why’re you askin’ about elves?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Heard they’re real elegant, long ears, super pretty. Like, mysterious forest babes with silky voices and legs for days."

Fina narrowed her eyes, tail flicking once behind her. "You wanna fuck one, don’t you?"

Allen grinned. "I mean... can you blame me?"

She scoffed. "You’re unbelievable."

"You’re being kinda racist right now," he teased. "Judging an entire species just ’cause they might have dumptruck asses hiding under those robes."

"I’m not racist," she shot back, smirking. "I’m territorial."

"Oh, so now I’m your property?" Allen asked, stepping closer.

"You bent a housewife over a table while I waved itchy leaves at her nipples. I earned that claim."

Allen laughed. "Can’t argue with that logic."

Then, just as Fina took a smug step ahead of him, he reached out and grabbed a handful of her ass—firm and round under the pitiful remains of her wind-shredded feather skirt—and gave it a gentle slap.

Smack.

A perfect ripple shivered across her brown, toned cheek.

Fina let out a surprised squeak, then gave him a sly look over her shoulder. "You tryna distract me with ass play?"

Allen winked. "I succeed?"

"Almost."

"Anyway," he went on, sliding up beside her again, "if elves are really that graceful and mysterious, then you just know they’ve got dark, kinky little secrets. All that ancient wisdom? Probably includes seventeen ways to tie someone up with moss."

Fina groaned. "You’re a menace."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t watch."

She looked him dead in the face. "Only if I get to hold her ears while you break her in."

Allen blinked, then grinned wide. "You’re the best wingwoman-slut-wife anyone could ask for."

Fina proudly flipped her hair. "Damn right."

They continued down the trail, Allen still daydreaming about pointy ears and moonlight moaning, Fina still half-naked and completely unbothered by the breeze lifting what little of her skirt remained.

Somewhere far off in the forest, an elf probably felt a shiver run down her spine.

Trouble was coming.

And it had a cock like a war hammer.

——

They were walking along a dusty forest path again, leaves crunching underfoot and the smell of wet bark thick in the air. Allen, as usual, was busy spinning a stick between his fingers like he was bored and horny at the same time—a deadly combo.

Fina, just ahead, twitched her ears and suddenly veered toward a roadside sign nailed to a crooked tree.

"Huh," she mumbled, reading the faded text. "’Warning: avoid southern ridge trail—recent sightings of Lapinite activity.’"

Allen perked up. "Lapinite? That’s the rabbit girls, right?"

Fina gave a noncommittal shrug. "Mmhm. Floppy ears, big hips, insane stamina."

Allen’s eyes lit up. "Go on..."

Fina gave him a look. "Don’t make that face."

"What face?"

"That ’I’m already imagining a bunnygirl reverse-cowgirl marathon’ face."

"...Okay, maybe a little."

Fina rolled her eyes and kept walking. "Figures. Everyone gets like that when it comes to Lapinites. They’re the pretty beastkin. Soft voices, fluffy tails, and they don’t grow claws. So humans don’t see them as a threat."

Allen jogged to catch up. "So, what? Humans simp for them instead of enslaving them?"

Fina snorted. "Basically. They get fancy jobs in noble houses or courtesan work. They’re still treated like property, but it’s... wrapped in silk and compliments. Unlike the rest of us."

Allen frowned. "And by the rest, you mean—"

"People like me," she cut in, flicking what was left of her feather skirt. "Beastkin with fangs, claws, or muscles? We get labeled wild. Dangerous. Dirty."

Allen gave her a side glance. "You are a little dirty, though."

Fina smirked. "Yeah, but that’s by choice."

There was a pause. Wind blew a few strands of her hair across her face. She didn’t brush them away.

"Y’know," she said softly, "I don’t hate the Lapinites. Not really. I just hate how humans look at them like pets and the rest of us like animals."

Allen was quiet for a beat.

Then: "Want me to fuck a rabbit girl out of spite?"

Fina burst out laughing.

"You are unhinged."

"Unhinged and deeply committed to beastkin equality," he declared with a hand over his heart. "I believe all beast girls deserve toe-curling orgasms and freedom from oppression."

Fina snorted again, leaning against his side. "You’re such a perv."

Allen slapped her ass again with a soft smack.

"You love it."

She wiggled her hips in reply.

"I do love it."

They kept walking, dust rising around their feet, heading south toward the trail the sign warned them about.

Because of course they were.

There were rumors of bunny girls.

And Allen had a moral obligation.

To investigate thoroughly.