Witch Monastery

Sulpharlo was stunned. Then a wild, indescribable joy surged up and almost blew away her earlier emptiness and frustration.

He’d finally let his guard down.

So her strategy these past days had worked. Not resisting, submitting to humiliation—she’d traded all that for this man’s smug complacency, enough that he was actually going to take her out of this cell.

Go ahead and gloat. Be arrogant. Look down on me. As long as I leave this place, I can slowly regain my power. Once I’ve saved up enough, I’ll escape. I’ll be gone.

She laughed inwardly, elated. The feeling was so strong it even tamped down the hunger burning through her body.

On her face, though, her expression smoothed into obedience. She lowered her head to Charles, eyes downcast and docile. "If you’re willing to take me out, of course I’ll go."

Charles gave a small, amused smile, but didn’t move right away. "Even if it was my idea, we still have to get you properly dressed up before I take you out."

"Down," he ordered.

Sulpharlo obediently dropped to her knees, all resistance gone. She knew this pose well; Charles had made her do it more than once—lying forward with her ass in the air, taking whatever "punishment" and teasing he chose to deliver.

She’d gone from initial defiance and fury to today’s resigned acceptance. Since she couldn’t truly change her situation, it was better to act submissive, lull him into carelessness, and wait for her chance.

And tonight, with the promise of being taken outside, she had even less reason to fight him. Whatever he wanted to do, she would endure; all she wanted was to get away from this magic‑dead cell, into the outside air, and breathe deep of the ambient mana so she could rapidly replenish her power.

Once she was down on all fours, Charles stretched out his hand. From the far side of the cell, two little toys flew into his grasp: one, a chain of translucent beads, each about the size of a baby’s fist, with a big, fluffy, furry dog tail attached at the end.

The other was a spiked collar, bearing conical studs and a leash clipped on at the back—exactly like the heavy collars shepherds sometimes put on their dogs, both to protect them from wolves and to let their master lead them around at will.

Charles picked up the dog‑like collar first, spread it open, and buckled it around her neck. Sulpharlo glanced down, baffled, studying the thing now hanging at her throat. When she realized what this man intended, blazing fury roared up in her chest.

He was going to humiliate her as a dog.

She reflexively started to resist—but Charles only raised a brow. "Oh? So you don’t want to go out?"

Half of that towering rage had to gutter out on the spot.

Sulpharlo, stay calm. Keep your head.

Don’t waste it all on him. For now, swallow it. Let him gloat, grow complacent, let his guard down.

Once you’re out of here, whatever he does to you today, you’ll pay it back with interest.

She lectured herself in silence, then stopped struggling, biting down on her teeth and bowing her head to present a properly obedient posture.

Seeing she’d resigned herself, Charles chuckled quietly, bent down, and patted her ass, sending a ripple through that firm flesh.

Sulpharlo let out a small hum, her hips swaying unconsciously. Desire stirred again in her body, making even her own waist dip lower and her ass tilt higher, as if inviting anything that might come next.

Instead, she felt something round press against her backdoor, turning slowly as it pushed in, forcing that tight ring to stretch.

She craned her neck, straining to look back, and saw Charles slicking up the string of baby‑fist‑sized beads and steadily pressing them toward her rear.

"Mmm..."

With a little push, the first bead slipped in. The strange sensation hit her mind at once, and she couldn’t suppress a moan.

It felt horribly uncomfortable, though still bearable—but seeing that whole long string, five or six beads yet to go, made her stomach twist with dread.

All of them... inside?

Charles had used plugs on her before; every time had left her dying and coming back to life. Sweat beaded on her brow as she watched him bear down again and ease the second bead in—

"Ugh..."

She groaned low. Sensing her mounting distress, Charles paused for the moment, his hand instead kneading her rounded hips. "Relax, Sulpharlo. If you fight it, it’ll only hurt more."

"If you can’t take them all, we’ll have to cancel tonight’s little outing."

Sulpharlo gritted her teeth, then drew a deep breath and forced herself to relax. "I know, I..."

Her thighs shifted, opening to either side. Her waist dropped, settling into an even more submissive posture to accept the intrusion.

Seeing how compliant she was, Charles nodded in satisfaction, lifted the beads, and continued feeding them in.

The third bead, the fourth, the fifth...

Sulpharlo’s breathing grew rough. She had no idea what material the beads were made of; they seemed to have almost no weight at all. Even with five or six of those large spheres inside her, she barely felt any heaviness.

They weren’t rigid, either, but delightfully springy. With each breath, her muscles clenched and relaxed around them, turning them into a kind of massage along the length of her rectum. At first, the intrusion was nothing but discomfort, but as her body adapted, a strange sort of pleasure began to bloom there against her will.

Finally, once the last bead was swallowed by her backdoor, only the thick dog tail stuck out. Taken as a whole, she now looked exactly like a beautifully trained bitch on all fours.

Given her true nature, you could say her proper title was "the angel hound."

Charles straightened up, looking her over from above. Something still felt missing. After a careful once‑over, he suddenly realized what.

With her on all fours and her waist dropped low, the loose hem of her prison shirt naturally slipped back toward her waist, leaving both cheeks of that pale, plump ass completely exposed.

Those full, high curves were already plenty sexy and tempting—but seeing that flawless, unmarked whiteness, Charles couldn’t help feeling it looked a bit plain.

It needed a little... ornamentation.

Thinking that, he lifted his hand. A marker pen flew to him. He knelt and, on the left cheek of her ass, carefully wrote English bold characters: "bitch"."

Then, on the right cheek, he wrote another: "filthy swine."

Now, the text matched her current appearance perfectly.

On a whim, he added one more note along the front of her thigh: "Self‑abuse: 1," as a little tally of the offense of defiling her own body.

Only after finishing his graffiti did he toss the pen aside, clap his hands in satisfaction, and pick up her leash. "Alright, Sulpharlo. Let’s go."

The cell gates opened again. Sulpharlo reflexively started to stand and walk, but Charles frowned and snapped, "Who told you to stand? Down. Crawl."

Her body went rigid, eyes blazing with a hatred that could have torn him limb from limb.

But thinking of the bigger plan, she bit down hard and stayed on her knees, slowly crawling forward.

Only then did Charles nod, pleased, and walk ahead of her.

Sulpharlo crept along, keeping low. Her hands and knees quickly picked up dust.

As an angel, she’d been created in her adult form, born able to walk, run—and even fly. Crawling had never been part of her life.

And on top of that, the beads jammed inside her were now moving more and more with every muscle contraction, those spheres squeezing and loosening again and again as her body crept forward, like an expert masseur’s hands working her rectum harder and harder. It sent shivery numbness racing up her spine, her front garden dripping in response, her thighs going weak.

So her crawling was clumsy and slow. She kept falling behind Charles, to the point that he tugged the leash impatiently from time to time, urging her to keep up.

Humiliation burned in her chest, but she didn’t dare talk back. She could only quicken her pace, following him down the dark dungeon corridor. The faster she crawled, the more intense the sensation became, until she felt close to fainting.

Together, they climbed the long stone steps up to his bathing chamber, then headed toward the outer door.

A sudden wave of panic crashed over Sulpharlo. After so long in that pocket world and then this dungeon, she had no concept of day or night anymore.

She had no idea whether it was noon or midnight. If it was daytime, would she have to crawl out like this, bare ass and all, right in the middle of a busy street?

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