The Great Forge-Hall of Khazad-Deep had never witnessed such blasphemy.
A thousand dwarven thanes packed the tiered galleries carved from living obsidian. Ruby torches hissed along walls veined with molten gold. At the center rose the Ancestral Table: a single slab of star-iron older than the mountains, etched with every royal coupling since the First Hammer.
Tonight it would bear a new etching.
Cassian Vale sat the Adamant Throne as though born to it, naked save for a mantle of black wolf-fur. His cock stood proud and unsheathed, already glistening at the tip.
At his feet knelt Queen Brynnja and Princess Thrud: mother and daughter linked by a single chain of star-iron that ran from Brynnja's pierced left nipple to Thrud's right, then down to a final ring piercing Thrud's swollen clit. Both crawled forward on hands and knees, heavy breasts swaying like pendulums, milk dripping in twin trails that hissed where they touched the molten floor.
Behind them walked Sylvara and Amara, each holding a golden leash clipped to the queens' collars. Their own bodies gleamed with oil and spilled seed, cunts visibly clenching with every step.
The Stone-Prince of Grimhar Hold stood before the Ancestral Table: tall even for a dwarf, beard braided with diamonds, face carved from granite rage.
His betrothal torc (meant for Thrud's throat) hung broken in his fist.
Brynnja reached the dais first. She rose to her knees, milk-heavy tits brushing Cassian's thighs, and spoke in the old tongue, voice ringing off the vaulted ceiling.
"By right of conquest, by heat of forge, by seed spilled and womb claimed,
I, Brynnja Ironveins, Queen-Regent of Khazad-Deep,
cast the Stone-Prince's claim into the fire."
She turned, presenting her ass to the hall. Thrud mirrored her, both royals bending until their cheeks touched the Ancestral Table, legs spread wide. Between Thrud's thighs, Cassian's spend from the night still leaked in thick, glowing rivulets.
The Stone-Prince roared. "This is abomination!"
Cassian's smile was slow and terrible.
"Abomination?" He rose, cock bobbing with each step. "Watch closely, prince. This is coronation."
He moved behind Brynnja first. Gripped her copper braids like reins.
One brutal thrust and he buried himself to the hilt in her scalding cunt. Brynnja's scream echoed like hammer on anvil, milk spraying from both nipples as the chain yanked Thrud forward.
Thrud whimpered, face pressed to the table inches from her mother's. Cassian pulled out of Brynnja (shaft slick and shining) and slid straight into Thrud without pause. The princess's back arched, clit-ring tugging as her mother's weight pulled the chain taut.
Mother and daughter moaned in perfect unison, cunts stretched around the same cock within heartbeats of each other.
Cassian set a punishing rhythm: five strokes in Brynnja, five in Thrud, alternating until both dwarven royals sobbed with overstimulation. Milk poured from their tits in steady streams, pooling beneath them on the sacred table. Every thrust dragged the chain, sending jolts of pain-pleasure through pierced nipples and clit.
Sylvara and Amara knelt on either side, latching onto the queens' free breasts. They suckled hard, gulping spiced dwarven milk while their fingers worked swollen clits in merciless circles.
The hall watched in stunned silence as their queen and princess were bred like common tavern wenches.
When Cassian felt his peak rising, he pulled free and fisted his cock.
"Open," he commanded.
Mother and daughter turned as one, mouths wide, tongues out. The chain between their nipples stretched taut, milk still dripping.
He erupted.
Thick ropes painted both faces: across Brynnja's copper beard, into Thrud's open mouth, down their linked tits until the star-iron chain gleamed white with his seed. What missed their faces splattered the Ancestral Table, sizzling where it touched ancient runes.
Brynnja swallowed what landed on her tongue, then turned to lick the rest from her daughter's cheek (slow, deliberate, mother tasting daughter mixed with conqueror). Thrud moaned and chased her mother's tongue, sharing the spend in a deep, filthy kiss while the thanes watched their royal bloodline debase itself.
Cassian stepped back. His voice carried to every corner of the hall.
"Thus is the betrothal broken.
Thus is Khazad-Deep bound to House Vale.
Any thane who disputes this may challenge me: here, now, on this table soaked with your queen's milk and your princess's virgin blood."
Silence.
Then, one by one, every dwarf in the hall dropped to their knees. Axes clattered to stone.
The Stone-Prince was last. His broken torc slipped from numb fingers.
He knelt.
Brynnja rose first, cum and milk streaking her body like war-paint. She took the Adamant Crown from its pedestal (heavy, ancient, glowing with forge-runes) and placed it on Cassian's brow.
Thrud crawled forward, pressing her face to his feet.
"My king," she whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. "My mother's womb and mine are yours. Our milk, our cunts, our crowns."
Cassian lifted her chin, thumb smearing the mess across her lips.
"Rise, my queens. The Vault has claimed a mountain."
Later, when the hall emptied and only torchlight remained, Cassian bent both dwarven royals over the Ancestral Table side by side. He took them slowly now (lazy, possessive strokes) while they kissed each other over the sacred stone, tongues tangled, milk dripping into each other's mouths.
Between thrusts, Brynnja murmured against Thrud's lips:
"Ye taste like home, my flame."
Thrud whimpered back: "And ye taste like surrender, mother."
Cassian smiled into Brynnja's spine, spilling inside her one final time so it leaked down to mix with what already filled her daughter.
"Six," he whispered. "The empire carves its name in stone and seed."
Far above, through vents that opened to the sky, the mountain itself seemed to groan in pleasure.
The Great Forge-Hall stood empty now, save for the low hiss of ruby torches and the wet, rhythmic sounds of royal flesh meeting royal flesh.
Cassian had not left the Ancestral Table.
He sat upon it like a dark god, legs spread, the Adamant Crown tilted rakishly over one eye.
Brynnja and Thrud knelt between his thighs (mother and daughter, queen and princess), their faces streaked with drying seed and each other's milk.
The star-iron chain still linked them: nipple to nipple to clit, every breath tugging fresh beads of milk from swollen teats.
Sylvara lounged against a pillar of obsidian, silver hair pooled like moonlight, lazily licking dwarven cream from her fingers.
Amara knelt behind the dwarven royals, spreading Brynnja's ass cheeks with reverent hands and lapping the slow trickle of Cassian's spend that leaked from both stretched cunts in equal measure.
The air was thick with smoke, cinnamon, and the copper tang of utter surrender.
Brynnja spoke first, voice raw from screaming for an entire hall of thanes.
"My king…"
She crawled forward, heavy tits dragging across Cassian's thighs, and nuzzled the half-hard length of his cock like a favored pet.
"The mountain is quiet now. They kneel. They accept."
She flicked her tongue along the underside of his shaft, collecting a bead of fresh pre-cum.
"But I would hear it from yer own lips: what becomes of us?"
Cassian threaded fingers through her copper braids and pulled until she looked up (eyes black and shining with centuries of pride now melted into liquid devotion).
"You become my forge-queens.
Your wombs will swell again (side by side) until every thane sees the proof of who owns Khazad-Deep.
Your milk will flow into golden chalices at every feast, so no dwarf forgets whose seed runs in royal veins."
Thrud whimpered at the words, clit-ring jerking the chain and sending a fresh gush of milk from both their breasts.
She pressed her face to Cassian's thigh, beard of soft copper curls tickling his skin.
"And me, my king? Will ye breed me before the year is out?"
Cassian cupped her chin, thumb tracing the cum still drying on her lower lip.
"Before the next moon," he promised. "I'll keep you barefoot and pregnant beside your mother until the halls echo with the sound of dwarven princesses nursing my heirs at their mother's tits."
Brynnja's breath hitched. She turned to Thrud (slow, deliberate) and sealed their mouths together in a kiss that tasted of Cassian, milk, and shared ruin.
When they parted, a thin strand of spit and seed connected their tongues.
"Then let the forging begin tonight," Brynnja rasped.
She rose, turned, and bent over the Ancestral Table again (cheek pressed to the cooling puddle of their combined fluids).
Thrud mirrored her without being told, mother and daughter side by side, asses raised, cunts glistening and open like twin offerings.
Cassian stood behind them.
He slid into Brynnja first (slow, possessive, letting her feel every vein).
Five strokes.
Pulled out.
Slid into Thrud (deeper this time, until her toes curled against the stone).
Five strokes.
Back and forth, back and forth, until both dwarven royals sobbed and pushed back in desperate rhythm, begging in broken dwarvish for more.
Sylvara drifted forward, elven grace silent on stone.
She knelt beneath them, latching onto Thrud's free breast and drinking deep while her fingers found Brynnja's clit.
Amara took Brynnja's other nipple, suckling in time with Sylvara until milk flowed in steady streams down both chins.
The chain between the queens sang with every thrust (metal chiming against pierced flesh, milk spraying in rhythmic arcs).
Cassian's pace quickened.
He gripped their hips hard enough to bruise, alternating holes until he lost count of whose cunt clenched around him.
When he came, it was with a guttural roar that shook dust from the rafters (pulling out at the last second to paint both royal backs in thick, glowing ropes that ran down the clefts of their asses and dripped into waiting, open mouths below).
Brynnja and Thrud collapsed together, trembling, kissing lazily through the mess on their faces.
The chain between them finally snapped under the strain (one link giving way with a soft *ping*), leaving only the piercings as permanent reminders.
Cassian sank back onto the throne, pulling all four women into his lap (two dwarven queens curled against his chest, elf and human noblewomen draped over his thighs).
Milk still leaked in slow pulses, painting his skin in spiced and glowing patterns.
Brynnja traced a finger through the mess on his chest, then brought it to Thrud's lips.
The princess sucked it clean with a contented hum.
"Seven," Cassian murmured, voice rough with satisfaction.
"Seven souls in the Velvet Vault. Seven crowns bent to my cock."
Thrud nuzzled closer, milk-heavy breast pressed to his ribs.
"And tomorrow?" she asked sleepily.
Cassian's smile was slow, savage, and utterly sated.
"Tomorrow we sail for the Sapphire Abyss.
The Siren Queen waits with eight tits full of salt-milk and a voice that can make a mother drown her own daughter in cum."
He pinched Brynnja's pierced nipple until she gasped.
"You and your daughter will teach her what dwarven royalty does to sea-bitches who think they rule the waves."
Brynnja laughed, low and smoky, grinding lazily against Thrud's thigh.
"Aye, my king. We'll milk her dry while ye breed her royal cunt.
And when her daughters come to avenge her…"
She licked a stripe up Cassian's throat.
"We'll chain them beside us. Mother teaching daughter, daughter teaching grand-daughter, until the entire ocean drips for House Vale."
Cassian sealed the vow with a kiss that tasted of milk, cum, and mountain stone.
Far above, through the vents, the wind carried the scent of salt and storm.
The Vault's hunger grew.