Chapter 74: Ruthlessly Punishing Edgar’s Wives

Ignoring her pleas, Alaric tilted the candle, allowing scalding wax to drip onto her exposed skin. Evanthe cried out, her back arching as she vainly tried to twist away from the searing pain. The hot wax dripped onto her collarbone, tracing a path of fire down to the swell of her breasts. Her breath came in ragged pants, her body writhing as she tried to escape the relentless torment. “Please, Alaric, I swear—I’ll do anything,” she gasped, her voice hoarse with agony.

Alaric’s eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction as he watched her struggle. He continued to tilt the candle, the wax falling like molten rain onto her delicate skin. Each drop elicited a cry from deep within her, her body contorting in a futile attempt to evade the scorching pain. He moved the candle lower, the wax now dripping onto her trembling stomach, her hips bucking as she desperately sought to escape. Her pleas filled the room, a symphony of despair that only seemed to fuel his sadistic pleasure.

He set the candle down, his hands now roaming over her marked body, tracing the angry red welts left by the wax. Evanthe flinched at his touch, her skin sensitive and raw. He grasped her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand, while the other explored her curves with a brutal intensity. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, leaving bruises in their wake, a testament to his relentless cruelty.

Evanthe’s breath hitched, her eyes filling with tears as she begged, “Alaric, please, no more. I can’t—I can’t take it.” Her voice broke, her spirit crumbling under his merciless onslaught. He ignored her pleas, his hand moving lower, his fingers probing her most intimate places with a cold, clinical detachment. She tried to clamp her thighs shut, a futile attempt to deny him access, but he forced them apart, his strength overpowering her resistance.

He stepped back, his eyes lingering on her trembling form. Her body was an image of his cruelty, marked by wax and bruises, a testament to her futile struggle. He picked up a nearby knife, the blade glinting menacingly in the candlelight. Evanthe’s eyes widened in terror, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Alaric, please, don’t—” she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

He approached her, the knife held steady in his hand. He pressed the blade against her skin, the cold metal a stark contrast to the burning wax. He traced a path down her body, the knife leaving a thin red line in its wake, not deep enough to cause lasting harm, but enough to elicit a cry of pain from deep within her. Evanthe’s body trembled, her breath coming in ragged sobs as she begged for mercy.

Alaric, unmoved by her pleas, continued his cruel exploration, the knife circling her navel, the blade cold and unyielding against her sensitive skin. He moved lower, the knife tracing a path down to her thighs, her body shaking with a mix of fear and pain. He stepped back, his eyes lingering on her broken form, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “That was just the beginning, Evanthe,” he said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

Turning his attention to Zoey, Alaric’s gaze lingered on her curvaceous form. Her sapphire eyes flashed with a mix of fear and anger, her body trembling as she glared at him defiantly. He selected a leather whip from the table, the crack of it echoing ominously as he unfurled it. Zoey’s voice quivered despite her brave words, “You’re a monster, Alaric. You’ll never break me.”

Alaric remained unmoved, the whip lashing out with a vicious crack. It left a crimson welt across her skin, the force of the blow causing her to stumble back. Zoey threw her head back, screaming, her body contorting in agony. She tried to stand her ground, her fists clenched, her eyes burning with defiance. But Alaric was relentless, the whip lashing out again and again, each blow leaving a burning mark on her delicate skin.

Zoey fought back, her hands trying to grab the whip, to stop its cruel dance. But Alaric was too quick, too strong. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them behind her back with one hand, while the other continued to wield the whip with merciless precision. Her screams filled the room, her body writhing in agony as she tried to escape the relentless torment.

“Please, no more!” she begged, her defiance crumbling as tears streamed down her face. Her body was a map of her suffering, crisscrossed with angry red welts, a testament to her futile struggle. Alaric ignored her pleas, the whip continuing its cruel dance, each lash echoing through the room like a gunshot.

Zoey’s body convulsed with each blow, her breath coming in ragged sobs. She tried to twist away, to escape the relentless pain, but Alaric held her firmly, his grip unyielding. He forced her to the ground, his boot pressing into her back, pinning her in place as he continued to whip her. Her cries of pain turned to desperate sobs, her body shaking with a mix of fear and agony.

Alaric stepped back, his breath coming in ragged pants, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. Zoey lay broken at his feet, her body showcasing his cruelity, marked by the whip and her futile struggle. He tossed the whip aside, his hands now exploring her curves with a brutal intensity. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, leaving bruises in their wake, a testament to his relentless cruelty.

He grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Her sapphire eyes were filled with tears, her lips trembling as she begged, “Please, Alaric, no more. I—I can’t take it.” Her voice was barely a whisper, her spirit broken, her resistance shattered. He smiled cruelly, his thumb tracing the path of her tears. “That was just a taste of what’s to come, Zoey,” he said, his voice cold and unyielding.

The next was Sigrid.

Sigrid, her body a landscape of generous curves, trembled as Alaric loomed over her. Her hazel eyes blazed with defiance and hatred, her full lips pulled back in a snarl. “You’ll pay for this, Alaric,” she growled, her voice laced with venom. “I swear it.”

Alaric, unperturbed by her threats, selected a wooden paddle from the table. The smooth, varnished surface gleamed menacingly under the dim light. He met her gaze, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he swung the paddle, the resounding crack echoing through the room like a gunshot. Sigrid howled, her body convulsing as the force of the blow sent shockwaves of pain radiating through her.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she spat, her voice quivering despite her brave words. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body already glistening with a sheen of sweat. Alaric’s smile widened, a cold and merciless gleam in his eyes. He swung the paddle again, this time targeting the backs of her thighs. The crack was deafening, Sigrid’s scream echoing through the chamber as she crumpled to her knees.

Alaric stood over her, his shadow engulfing her quaking form. “You’re a fighter, Sigrid,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “I like that. It makes breaking you all the more satisfying.” He grasped her by the hair, forcing her head back, exposing the vulnerable column of her throat. His other hand wielded the paddle, bringing it down on her buttocks with a series of swift, brutal blows.

Sigrid cried out with each strike, her body jerking as she tried to absorb the impact. Her skin turned a angry red, the outline of the paddle visible on her tender flesh. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back, her jaw clenched in determination. “You…won’t…break…me,” she panted, her voice hoarse with pain.

Alaric laughed, a harsh and mirthless sound. “We’ll see about that,” he said, releasing her hair only to grasp her wrists. He pinned them behind her back with one hand, the other continuing to wield the paddle with merciless precision. Sigrid struggled, her body writhing as she tried to escape the relentless torment. Her breath came in ragged sobs, her defiance crumbling with each punishing blow.

“Stop, please!” she cried out, her voice breaking. Her body showed her suffering, marked by the paddle and her futile struggle. Alaric ignored her pleas, the paddle continuing its cruel dance, each blow echoing through the room like a thunderclap.

Sigrid’s body convulsed with each strike, her breath coming in ragged sobs. She tried to twist away, to escape the relentless pain, but Alaric held her firmly, his grip unyielding. He forced her onto her stomach, his knee pressing into her back, pinning her in place as he continued to paddle her. Her cries of pain turned to desperate sobs, her body shaking with a mix of fear and agony.

Alaric stepped back, his breath coming in ragged pants, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. Sigrid lay broken at his feet, her body a map of her suffering, marked by the paddle and her futile struggle. He tossed the paddle aside, his hands now roaming over her curves with a brutal intensity. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, leaving bruises in their wake, a testament to his relentless cruelty.

He grasped her hips, forcing her onto her hands and knees. Sigrid tried to crawl away, a futile attempt to escape his grasp. Alaric laughed, a cold and cruel sound, as he grabbed her ankles, dragging her back to him. His hand came down on her buttocks, the crack of flesh meeting flesh filling the air. Sigrid cried out, her body arching as she tried to escape the stinging pain.

Alaric’s hand came down again and again, each blow leaving a red handprint on her already tender flesh. Sigrid’s body trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she begged for mercy. “Please, Alaric, no more,” she sobbed, her voice barely a whisper, her spirit broken, her resistance shattered.

But Alaric was far from finished. He reached for a nearby candle, the flickering flame casting menacing shadows on his harsh features. Sigrid’s eyes widened in terror, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she realized his intent. “No, Alaric, please—” she begged, her voice barely a whisper. He ignored her pleas, tilting the candle, allowing scalding wax to drip onto her exposed skin.

Sigrid cried out, her back arching as she vainly tried to twist away from the searing pain. The hot wax dripped onto her shoulder blades, tracing a path of fire down to her back. Her breath came in ragged pants, her body writhing as she tried to escape the relentless torment. Alaric’s eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction as he watched her struggle. He continued to tilt the candle, the wax falling like molten rain onto her delicate skin. Each drop elicited a cry from deep within her, her body contorting in a futile attempt to evade the scorching pain.

He moved the candle lower, the wax now dripping onto her trembling thighs, her body shaking with a mix of fear and pain. He set the candle down, his hands now moving to her breasts, his fingers pinching and twisting her sensitive nipples. Sigrid cried out, her body arching involuntarily, her breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands moved lower, his fingers probing her most intimate places with a brutal intensity. She tried to twist away, to escape his cruel exploration, but he held her firmly, his grip unyielding.

His fingers invaded her, his touch cold and clinical, a stark contrast to the burning pain of the wax. Sigrid’s body trembled, her breath coming in ragged sobs as she begged for mercy. Alaric ignored her pleas, his fingers continuing their cruel exploration, each touch designed to elicit a mix of pain and humiliation.

He stepped back, his eyes lingering on her broken form, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Sigrid lay before him with her spirit was broken, her resistance shattered, her body trembling with a mix of fear and pain.

Lastly, Alaric stood before Elin, his eyes roaming over her voluptuous figure. Her amber eyes filled with tears, her lips trembling as she beseeched him, “Alaric, I beg you, show mercy.” He grasped a leather flogger, its many strands promising a symphony of pain. Elin shrieked as the first brutal lash struck her skin, her body jerking as if electrified, her pleas dissolving into incoherent sobs.

“Please, no more, I submit!” she wailed, her spirit broken, her resistance shattered. Alaric ignored her pleas, the flogger continuing its cruel dance, each lash leaving a burning mark on her delicate skin. Elin’s body convulsed with each strike, her breath coming in ragged sobs as she tried to escape the relentless pain.

But there was no escape. Alaric was merciless, the flogger striking again and again, each blow echoing through the room like a thunderclap. Elin’s cries filled the air, her body writhing in agony as she begged for mercy. Her body was a landscape of her suffering, marked by the flogger and her futile struggle.

Alaric stepped back, his breath coming in ragged pants, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. Elin lay broken before him. He tossed the flogger aside, his hands now roaming over her curves with a brutal intensity. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, leaving bruises in their wake, a testament to his relentless cruelty.

He grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Her amber eyes were filled with tears, her lips trembling as she begged, “Please, Alaric, no more. I—I can’t take it.” Her voice was barely a whisper, her spirit broken, her resistance shattered. He smiled cruelly, his thumb tracing the path of her tears. “You’ll take what I give you, Elin,” he said, his voice cold and unyielding.

He forced her onto her back, his body covering hers, his weight pinning her in place. His hands roamed over her curves, his fingers exploring her most intimate places with a cold, clinical detachment. She tried to clamp her thighs shut, a futile attempt to deny him access, but he forced them apart, his strength overpowering her resistance.

His eyes gleamed with a cruel hunger as he gazed down at her. His fingers entered her pussy and started to finger her crazily. Just one finger was not enough as the second one soon entered and even the third one did as well.

As the night wore on, Alaric’s fury and lust fueled his relentless punishment. The room resonated with the women’s cries, their pleas for mercy ignored, their bodies marked by his cruel ministrations.

Each one fought back in their own way, Evanthe with her desperate reasoning, Zoey with her defiant anger, Sigrid with her fiery hatred, and Elin with her tearful pleas. But one by one, he broke them, their resistance crumbling under his merciless onslaught.

“Alaric, we were wrong,” Evanthe admitted, her voice hoarse from crying, her body shaking with a mix of pain and desperation. She tried to reason with him, her emerald eyes pleading for mercy. “We should never have defied you. We’re sorry,” she whispered, her spirit crushed.

Zoey, her sapphire eyes filled with tears, conceded, “We’ll do whatever you ask, just please, make it stop.” Her body was a map of her suffering, crisscrossed with angry red welts, a testament to her futile struggle.

Sigrid, her hazel eyes downcast, begged, “Forgive us, Alaric. We’ve learned our lesson.” Her body trembled with a mix of fear and pain, her spirit broken, her resistance shattered.

Elin, her amber eyes brimming with unshed tears, pleaded, “Please, Alaric, no more. I—I can’t take it.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Alaric surveyed the broken women before him, his eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and lingering anger. He knew he had shattered their defiance, had made them regret their actions. But he was far from finished. He had more lessons to teach, more ways to make them understand the true cost of defying him.

Throughout the night, Alaric indulged in his dark desires, using the women’s voluptuous bodies for his twisted pleasure. He made them serve him, their broken spirits unable to resist his cruel demands. He forced them to dance for him, their curves swaying to a silent, sinister rhythm, their eyes downcast, their cheeks stained with tears.

He made them bathe him, their delicate hands trembling as they washed his body, their touch gentle and submissive. He made them feed him, their fingers offering him morsels of food, their eyes pleading for a crumb of mercy.

He made them pleasure him, their mouths and hands working in unison, their bodies pressed against his, their breath coming in ragged gasps as they tried to satisfy him and his dark desires of vengeance.

As the first light of dawn broke through the windows, Alaric looked down at the broken women, their bodies marked by his cruelty, their spirits shattered by his relentless punishment.

He smiled, a cruel and satisfied smile, knowing that he had taught them a lesson they would never forget. He had shown them the true cost of defying him, and he knew that they would never dare to challenge him again.

Their bodies, their minds, their souls—they were all his, to do with as he pleased. And he intended to enjoy every moment of his absolute power.