Orgasm system: These beastwomen must moan!

Third person’s POV

Stefan waited a few seconds, listening for any sound of footsteps returning, before slipping in after Kara.

The moment he stepped inside and his eyes adjusted to the lower light, his jaw went slack in surprise.

Whatever he had expected to find, maybe some quiet meeting room, a handful of noblewomen trading secrets over an ancient ledger or two, it wasn’t this he was seeing.

The interior of the building opened into a wide, high-ceilinged hall that smelled strongly of crushed flowers and warm oil.

Garlands hung in thick loops from the rafters. Petals littered the polished floor in fine patterns. And everywhere Stefan looked there were women - dozens of them, then those dozens became scores, then what felt like hundreds.

They were seated around low tables that stretched in neat rows toward the far end of the space. Jars and small bowls covered every surface of these tables. The women themselves were clearly elite: their fabrics rich and well-cut, jewelry made from shiny gold catching the light, their postures relaxed but unmistakably privileged.

If this had been Earth Stefan might have mistaken the place for a private gambling house, the kind where fortunes changed hands under soft lighting and careful smiles. The heavy, rhythmic boom of drums rolled through the air without pause, loud enough that conversation had to rise above it.

Actually, there was no conversation yet. It was just the boom of drums disturbing the air.

Kara was nowhere in sight. She had vanished into the crowd the moment she stepped inside.

"Okay, sweetheart, where are you?" Stefan furrowed his brows as he mumbled to himself, simply being his usual self. He had no idea what misfortune would happen to him inside this place.

He took one careful step forward, his eyes scanning for the familiar shape of her, but before he could take another one, hard hands closed around his arms from behind.

He twisted on instinct and he gulped when he saw them - Three women stood there, taller than most of the nobles in the room, broader through the shoulders, muscle layered thick under skin that looked used to work far heavier than pouring drinks or counting coins.

They wore short, revealing gowns that clung to their frames in a way that might have been seductive on softer bodies; on them the clothing looked almost absurd, like decoration forced onto weapons. Their faces carried none of the polished composure of the women at the tables. These three existed for a different purpose. That much, Stefan could tell.

One of them lifted him off his feet as easily as if he weighed nothing.

Stefan’s stomach dropped. "Wait, give me a moment to introduce myself at least."

They did not wait. It was as if they didn’t even hear a word that had come out of his mouth.

They carried him through a side archway and down a short corridor that opened onto the rear of the building. A wide river moved there, dark and steady, its surface broken only by the occasional drift of petals that had escaped the hall. The air was cooler, the drumbeats muffled by stone.

They dropped him onto the packed earth.

One of the women, broad-faced with flat eyes snapped, "What is a Bound doing inside the sacred home?"

Stefan pushed himself up onto one elbow, already reaching for the smooth, practiced charm that had saved him more times than he could count. He never got the chance to use it.

Her fist connected with his nose.

Cartilage gave with a wet, sickening crunch. White pain exploded across his face and blood poured instantly, hot and running over his mouth and chin. He groaned and clutched at the broken nose with both hands, his eyes watering, his vision blurring.

A second woman clicked her tongue.

"Why even ask? Get rid of him immediately."

"I wanted to know who would dress a worthless Bound in silk like this," the first one answered, gesturing at the fine fabric he still wore. Her voice carried genuine puzzlement, as if the clothing offended her more than his presence. Actually, it did.

The third woman said nothing at all. She simply stepped forward and set to work.

And before Stefan could think of what she was about to do to him, blows landed in methodical sequence - hitting his ribs, stomach, the side of his head. Stefan tried to curl inward, tried to protect what he could, but the woman was stronger and far more practiced. Each impact drove the air from his lungs. Pain layered on pain until thinking became difficult. The last solid strike caught him at the temple. The world tilted, narrowed, and went black.

"Fuck!!!" Stefan grunted and he did not hear the third woman straighten and brush her hands together.

"Problem taken care of," she said flatly.

"No need to sweat over worthless things. Erase his footsteps before the Silent Matriarch learns a Bound crossed the border of the sacred home. She will take our heads for the slack." she added sharply.

The other two answered with short, practical agreement.

They found a heavy stone near the water’s edge. Working together, they wrapped Stefan’s limp body in the long silk he had been wearing, binding the stone tightly against his chest and hips so the fabric would hold. Then they carried him the short distance to the river and heaved him in.

The water closed over him at once.

While he was still unconscious, silk and stone around him pulled him downward. Bubbles escaped the cloth in thin streams. The current took him, rolling the bundle once before it settled into a steady, inevitable descent toward the darker water below.

Above, the three women stood for a moment, their expressions set in hard stone as they watched only long enough to be certain he had sunk. Then they turned and walked back toward the drumbeats and the flower-scented hall, already dismissing the matter from their minds.

That was taken care and there was no need revisiting the matter.

The river kept moving.

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