Chapter 209 Turning Royal Queen And Consort Into Lowly Sluts

The Violet Flame Hawk, a creature of immense size with plumage that shimmered with hues of deep violet and fiery orange, let out a piercing screech that echoed through the forest canopy. Its eyes, like molten gold, fixed on Alaric and the two women he held, and with a powerful beat of its massive wings, it launched itself towards them.

“Aaaaaah!” Queen Margaret screamed, her grip tightening on Alaric’s arm, her face buried against his chest.

“We’re going to die!” Josephine shrieked, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror as the monstrous bird hurtled towards them.

Alaric, though outwardly calm, felt a surge of adrenaline. ‘Perfect! Just the reaction I was hoping for,’ he thought. Holding both women tightly, he channeled his wind elemental magic, creating powerful gusts of air that allowed him to maneuver with surprising agility despite his encumbrance.

The Violet Flame Hawk was incredibly fast, its movements a blur of violet and orange. It swooped down, its razor-sharp talons extended, aiming directly for Alaric. With a swift application of wind magic, Alaric propelled himself upwards, narrowly avoiding the deadly talons. The hawk’s wings beat furiously, creating a powerful downdraft that buffeted Alaric and the two women.

“Hold on tight!” Alaric yelled over the roar of the wind and the hawk’s screeching. He tightened his grip on their waists, feeling their bodies trembling against him.

The hawk, missing its initial attack, circled back with incredible speed. This time, it unleashed a blast of violet flames from its beak, the heat searing as it passed close by. Alaric reacted instantly, conjuring a sphere of water elemental magic, a shimmering shield that absorbed the brunt of the fiery assault, though a wave of heat still washed over them.

‘Impressive power,’ Alaric thought, controlling his own magic carefully. ‘Time for a little acrobatic display.’

He spun in the air, using the momentum to swing Queen Margaret outwards, just as the hawk’s wing brushed past where she had been moments before. She gasped, her eyes squeezed shut, completely reliant on Alaric’s movements. He then pulled her back in, catching her securely before swinging Josephine out in the opposite direction to evade another fiery blast.

“Are you alright?” Alaric called out, his voice calm despite the chaotic situation.

Both women could only manage whimpers of fear in response.

The Violet Flame Hawk was relentless, its attacks coming in quick succession. It dove, it swooped, it unleashed blasts of fire, its every move designed to tear them from the sky. Alaric, with the added challenge of protecting two terrified women, was forced to rely on his agility and precise control of his magic.

He conjured jets of water to momentarily blind the hawk, giving him precious seconds to reposition. He used gusts of wind to perform dizzying aerial maneuvers, twisting and turning in ways that seemed impossible while holding two people. At one point, as the hawk’s talons came dangerously close to Josephine’s face, Alaric threw her upwards, her body momentarily suspended in the air. The hawk screeched in frustration as its attack missed, and Alaric swooped in, catching her in his arms in a dramatic mid-air rescue.

“Aaaaaah!” Josephine screamed, her arms flailing as she was thrown into the air, but she clung to Alaric desperately as he caught her, her heart pounding in her chest.

‘That was a close one,’ Alaric thought, enjoying the feeling of her body pressed against him. ‘A little more fear should do the trick.’

He continued this dangerous dance in the sky, dodging and weaving, using water shields to deflect the fiery attacks and bursts of wind to propel himself and the women through the air. He made sure to keep the battle looking perilous, narrowly avoiding the hawk’s attacks, even though he could have ended it with a single, well-aimed spell.

The Violet Flame Hawk, frustrated by its inability to land a hit, grew even more aggressive. It began to unleash a barrage of fiery feathers, each one burning with intense heat. Alaric conjured multiple water spheres, creating a swirling vortex of water around them, deflecting the fiery projectiles. The air crackled with the clash of fire and water.

He spun rapidly, using the water vortex as a shield while simultaneously using the centrifugal force to swing Queen Margaret and Josephine around him, creating a chaotic and unpredictable movement pattern that the hawk found difficult to track.

“Just a little longer,” Alaric muttered under his breath, ensuring his voice was loud enough for the women to hear his apparent struggle. “This beast is powerful, but I won’t let it harm you.”

His words, though meant to reassure, only served to amplify their fear. They could feel the raw power of the beast, the heat of its flames, the force of its attacks. Alaric’s struggle seemed genuine, and they had no doubt that their lives were in imminent danger.

The hawk let out another furious screech and dove towards them, its talons aimed at Queen Margaret. Alaric reacted instantly, creating a blast of wind that pushed her out of the way at the last possible second. She gasped as she felt herself momentarily suspended in the air, the hawk’s shadow passing just inches above her. Alaric then twisted his body, catching her as she fell, their bodies colliding in a breathless moment.

‘Almost there,’ Alaric thought, his plan nearing its climax.

He decided it was time for a more direct, yet still controlled, attack. He focused his water elemental magic, conjuring a massive spear of solidified water, its tip shimmering with an icy sharpness. With a powerful thrust, he hurled the water spear towards the Violet Flame Hawk.

The spear struck the beast in its wing, not with enough force to kill it, but enough to cause it significant pain and momentarily stun it. The hawk shrieked in agony, its powerful wings faltering.

Taking advantage of the hawk’s momentary disorientation, Alaric used a powerful gust of wind to propel himself and the two women away from the enraged beast. They soared through the air, putting a considerable distance between themselves and the Violet Flame Hawk, which was now circling angrily, its injured wing trailing slightly.

“We… we got away,” Josephine stammered, her voice still trembling, but a hint of relief creeping in.

Queen Margaret clung tightly to Alaric, her breathing still ragged. “You… you fought so bravely, Master Steele,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe.

Alaric offered them a tired but reassuring smile. “It was a close call, but I would never let any harm come to you, my ladies.” He subtly tightened his grip on their waists, feeling their bodies relax slightly against him. The near-death experience had clearly shaken them, but it had also forged a stronger bond of reliance on him, just as he had intended.

“That beast… it took more out of me than I anticipated,” Alaric said, feigning exhaustion as they flew away from the Violet Flame Hawk’s territory. He even let out a dramatic sigh. “I fear I’ve depleted quite a bit of my magical reserves. I think the wisest course of action would be to find the nearest inn and get some much-needed rest.”

Queen Margaret and Josephine, still reeling from the adrenaline of the encounter, readily agreed. “That sounds like a very good idea, Master Steele,” Queen Margaret said, her voice still a little shaky.

“Yes, please,” Josephine added, clutching her arms as if still feeling the phantom sensation of the hawk’s talons.

Alaric nodded in understanding. “Before we land, though…” He focused his wind elemental magic once more, this time directing gentle gusts towards the two women. The warm air quickly dried their clothes and hair, which had become damp with sweat and the spray from Alaric’s water shields.

“Oh, thank you, Master Steele,” Queen Margaret said, a grateful smile gracing her lips.

“That’s much better,” Josephine agreed, running a hand through her now dry hair.

Soon, they spotted a small inn nestled beside a winding road. Alaric descended gracefully, landing just outside the entrance. Without releasing his hold on either woman, he guided them towards the inn door. The innkeeper, a portly man with a surprised expression, greeted them.

“Welcome, travelers!” he boomed.

“We require a room for the night,” Alaric said, his arm still wrapped around the waists of both Queen Margaret and Josephine. Neither woman protested his touch or the possessive way he spoke.

The innkeeper, after a moment of surprised observation at the sight of the handsome mage and the two beautiful, if slightly disheveled, women clinging to him, nodded quickly. “Of course, sir! Right this way.” He led them inside.

Alaric, still holding them close, followed the innkeeper. “We’ll take a large room,” he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The innkeeper, sensing the dynamic between the trio, simply nodded again and led them up a flight of stairs to a spacious room with a large, comfortable-looking bed.

Once inside, Alaric released his hold on the two women, though he kept them close. “Well, my ladies,” he said, turning to them with a charming smile. “We survived a rather harrowing encounter. I think that calls for a small celebration, don’t you agree? Perhaps some good food and a bit of wine?”

Queen Margaret and Josephine readily agreed, the idea of relaxing and having a warm meal after their terrifying experience sounding incredibly appealing.

“That would be lovely, Master Steele,” Queen Margaret said, a genuine smile finally returning to her face.

“Yes, please,” Josephine echoed, her earlier fear beginning to recede.

Alaric quickly arranged for a hearty dinner and a few bottles of the local wine to be brought to their room. As they ate and drank, Alaric subtly began to weave his charm. His Charm Aura filled the room, creating an atmosphere of comfort and attraction. He made eye contact with both women, his Seductive Gaze lingering just a moment too long, planting seeds of desire in their minds.

As the wine flowed freely, the two royal women began to relax, the tension from their ordeal slowly melting away. Their laughter became more frequent, their inhibitions lowering with each sip. Alaric, though he drank along with them, kept his own consumption carefully in check, ensuring his mind remained sharp and focused.

It wasn’t long before the alcohol began to take effect. Queen Margaret’s speech became slightly slurred, and her movements a little less precise. Josephine giggled more easily, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue.

And then, it happened. In the midst of a slightly tipsy conversation about the Violet Flame Hawk, Queen Margaret gestured grandly, nearly knocking over her wine glass. “Well, hic… well, This Queen has certainly never had such an… hic… exciting day!”

Josephine, equally inebriated, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! This Consort… hic… was so scared! But Master Steele… hic… he was so brave!”

Alaric’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. ‘Did I just hear that correctly?’ he thought, a triumphant smirk forming in his mind. Their drunken slip had confirmed his suspicions.

He played along, his expression one of mild amusement. “Indeed, it was quite an adventure. You both showed remarkable courage.”

The two women beamed at his praise, their earlier regal bearing now softened by the effects of the alcohol.

“Master Steele…” Queen Margaret began, her voice now a soft, slurred whisper, leaning closer to him. “It would be… hic… our honor… hic… to… to serve you.”

Josephine echoed her sentiments, her eyes half-closed, a dreamy expression on her face. “Yes… hic… our honor… to treat you… as the King…”

Alaric’s heart pounded with excitement. His plan was working perfectly. He subtly used his Allure of the King ability, amplifying their drunken desires and their newfound sense of submission.

Queen Margaret, with a giggle, began to fumble with the buttons of her tight-fitting dress. “It’s… hic… so warm in here…” she murmured, her fingers clumsy as she tried to undo the fastenings.

Josephine followed suit, her movements equally uncoordinated. “Yes… hic… so very warm…” She reached for the neckline of her dress, her eyes fixed on Alaric with a mixture of drunken adoration and burgeoning desire.

Alaric watched, a predatory glint in his ruby eyes, as the last vestiges of clothing fell away from Queen Margaret and Royal Consort Josephine. The soft lantern light caressed their naked forms, illuminating curves and shadows, highlighting the flush that spread across their skin – a mixture of wine, heat, and burgeoning lust.

‘Perfect,’ Alaric thought, the triumphant smirk he’d kept internal finally gracing his lips. ‘Even better than planned. Drunk, willing, and already calling me King in their minds, if not yet consistently with their lips.’ The Charm Aura pulsed gently, reinforcing the intoxicating atmosphere, while his Seductive Gaze held them captive. Their earlier fear was now completely overshadowed by a potent cocktail of alcohol-fueled desire and the magnetic pull of his presence.

Queen Margaret, her regal bearing dissolved into hazy desire, swayed slightly. Her large, heavy breasts, tipped with dusky rose nipples, jiggled with the movement. Josephine, younger but equally voluptuous, stood with her head tilted, her gaze locked on Alaric, her own full bosom rising and falling rapidly. Their bodies, pampered and untouched by hardship, were ripe for the taking.

“For you, Master Steele…” Margaret whispered again, her voice a husky, slurred invitation.

“Our… our savior…” Josephine echoed, taking a hesitant step closer.

Alaric let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating with power and promise. “Master Steele?” he questioned softly, stepping towards them. He reached out, his large hands landing gently but possessively on their bare waists, pulling them flush against his own clothed body. He could feel the heat radiating from their skin, the slight tremor running through them. “I believe you were about to address me differently, weren’t you?”

His Allure of the King ability intensified subtly, washing over their muddled senses, reinforcing the feelings of awe and submission that the near-death experience and his subsequent ‘heroism’ had instilled, now amplified by wine and magic.

Margaret blinked, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion before clearing. “Y-yes… hic… My King…” she breathed, the title sounding foreign yet strangely right on her tongue.

Josephine nodded eagerly, pressing herself closer against Alaric’s side. “Our King… hic…”

“Much better,” Alaric purred, his hands sliding upwards, cupping the heavy weight of their breasts. He squeezed gently, eliciting gasps from both women. Their nipples hardened instantly under his touch. “You offer yourselves to your King?”

“Yes… please, my King…” Margaret moaned, arching her back.

“Anything… hic… for our King…” Josephine added, her eyes fluttering closed.

‘Good girls,’ Alaric thought with dark satisfaction. He wasn’t going to hold back. Not tonight. Not with the Queen and the Royal Consort of Eloriath Kingdom spread before him like a feast. King Thaleon would become a distant, inadequate memory.

He leaned down, his lips brushing Margaret’s ear. “Then let your King take what is rightfully his.” His tongue darted out, tasting the shell of her ear before he nipped the lobe gently.

Margaret shivered violently, a whimper escaping her lips. “Ah… King…”

Simultaneously, his other hand tightened its grip on Josephine’s breast, thumb flicking harshly across the sensitive peak.

“Ngh! King Alaric!” Josephine cried out, her legs trembling.

Alaric steered them towards the large bed, his touch firm, guiding. They stumbled slightly, their coordination hampered by the wine, but their willingness was undeniable. He pushed them gently onto the plush mattress, their naked bodies sinking into the soft covers.

He stood over them for a moment, a conquering general surveying his spoils. Their eyes, wide and glazed with lust, tracked his every move as he began to unfasten his own clothes. He shed his outer layers deliberately, slowly revealing the hard, sculpted physique beneath. When he finally stood before them, clad only in his tightly fitting trousers, their gazes inevitably fell upon the prominent bulge straining against the fabric.

Margaret gasped audibly, her eyes widening further. Josephine licked her lips unconsciously. Even in their drunken state, the sheer size hinted at by the thick ridge was intimidating, promising something far beyond their previous experiences.

“Impressed, my Queen? My Consort?” Alaric asked, his voice dropping to a low growl. He unfastened his trousers, letting them drop to the floor. His erection sprang free, thick, long, and wickedly veined, standing proudly in the dim light. It seemed almost impossibly large, a weapon of pleasure and dominance.

A stunned silence fell over the room, broken only by the women’s shallow, rapid breaths. They had been with King Thaleon, their husband, but his endowment, while adequate perhaps by normal standards, was utterly dwarfed by the magnificent pillar of flesh now commanding their attention. It looked powerful, almost brutal, yet undeniably enticing.

“It’s… so big…” Josephine whispered, awe and a flicker of fear in her voice.

Margaret swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes away. “King… you are… truly blessed…”

Alaric chuckled again, the sound dark and possessive. “And you are about to be blessed by it.” He moved onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He positioned himself between them, the heat of his body radiating outwards.

“Now,” he commanded softly but firmly, his ruby eyes boring into Margaret’s. “Open for your King, Margaret.”

Hesitantly, yet compelled by his aura and her own soaring desire, Queen Margaret parted her thighs. Alaric guided the thick, blunt head of his cock to her entrance. She was wet, slick with anticipation and the effects of the wine, but the sheer girth of him was daunting.

“Easy now,” Alaric murmured, though his tone held little true gentleness. He pushed forward slowly, deliberately stretching her.

Margaret cried out, a sound halfway between pain and pleasure, her fingers digging into the sheets. “Ah! Oh gods… King… it’s… ngh… too big!”

“Nonsense,” Alaric growled, pushing deeper. “A Queen should be able to take her King.” He thrust further, embedding himself within her warmth. She felt impossibly tight around him, stretched to her absolute limit. He paused, letting her adjust, feeling her inner muscles clench desperately around him.

While Margaret gasped, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, Alaric turned his attention to Josephine. He leaned over, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plundering her depths. Simultaneously, his free hand found her core, fingers expertly stroking and teasing her clit.

Josephine moaned into the kiss, her body writhing under his touch. “King… ah… please…” she begged, her hips bucking instinctively.

Alaric broke the kiss, leaving her lips swollen and kiss-bruised. “Beg properly, Consort.” His fingers continued their relentless assault on her senses.

“Please, King Alaric… please fuck me too… I need it… hic… I need you!” she cried, tears of frustrated arousal gathering in her eyes.

“Patience,” Alaric smirked, before turning his attention back to the woman currently impaled upon his shaft. He began to move within Margaret, slow, deliberate thrusts that stretched and filled her completely. Each movement sent shockwaves of intense sensation through her body.

“Ohhh… King… deeper…” Margaret gasped, the initial discomfort already melting into overwhelming pleasure. He was hitting spots Thaleon had never even brushed against. This was different. This was… primal.

“You like that, my Queen?” Alaric grunted, increasing his pace slightly. “Feeling your King deep inside you?”

“Yes! Yes, King!” she sobbed, her head thrashing on the pillow.

He leaned down, his mouth finding her breast. He latched onto a nipple, sucking hard, pulling the sensitive flesh deep into his mouth before scraping his teeth lightly over the peak.

Margaret screamed, a high-pitched sound of pure sensation, her back arching off the bed. “Aaaah! King Alaric!”

Seeing the Queen’s reaction, Josephine writhed beside them, her own need becoming desperate. “King… me next… please, me…”

Alaric ignored her pleas for a moment longer, focusing on driving Margaret towards her first peak. His thrusts became harder, faster, pounding into her relentlessly. He held her hips firmly, controlling the angle, ensuring maximum friction, maximum depth.

“Gods… I’m… I’m close… King!” Margaret cried out, her body tensing.

“Come for your King, Margaret. Show me how much you enjoy being claimed,” Alaric commanded, delivering one final, deep thrust that seemed to touch her very soul.

With a choked scream, Queen Margaret convulsed around him, her climax ripping through her, violent and overwhelming. Her inner muscles spasmed, milking his thick shaft.

Alaric grunted in satisfaction, letting her ride out the waves before ruthlessly pulling out of her slick heat. He turned immediately to Josephine, who was watching with wide, hungry eyes, her own body slick and ready.

“Your turn, Consort,” he said, pushing her onto her back and spreading her legs wide. He didn’t bother with preamble, positioning himself and thrusting into her waiting core in one smooth, powerful motion.

Josephine screamed as he filled her completely, the sheer size stretching her even more than it had Margaret. Tears sprang to her eyes, but they were quickly followed by a wave of intoxicating pleasure. “Oh! Oh, King! Yes! Fuck me, King! Harder!”

‘So eager,’ Alaric mused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He obliged her request, slamming into her with a ferocity that made the bed frame shake. He grabbed her hips, lifting her slightly to change the angle, driving into her deeper, faster.

He leaned down, biting her neck sharply, drawing a faint bead of blood. “Mine,” he growled against her skin, licking the spot.

Instead of fear, a jolt of raw excitement shot through Josephine. “Yes! Yours! I’m yours, King Alaric! Aaaah!” She climaxed quickly, overwhelmed by the savage intensity of his assault and the sheer pleasure of being filled so completely. Her cries mingled with breathless moans as her body shook.

Alaric didn’t stop. He continued pounding into her even as her orgasm subsided, eliciting aftershocks of pleasure. He felt his own climax building, a roaring tide within him. With a final, guttural roar, he surged deep inside Josephine, emptying himself into her depths.

He collapsed momentarily between them, his chest heaving, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. The room was filled with the sounds of their panting, the slick slap of skin on skin still echoing in the air, and the heavy scent of sex.

But the night was far, far from over.

Alaric had no intention of letting them rest. He rolled, pulling Margaret on top of him, guiding his already hardening cock back towards her entrance. “Ride your King, Queen Margaret,” he commanded.

Hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence fueled by lingering pleasure and his commanding presence, she began to move, impaling herself on his massive length. He reached up, grabbing handfuls of her hair, tilting her head back as he guided her hips, setting a demanding rhythm. His other hand found her breast, pinching and twisting the nipple until she cried out.

He fucked them relentlessly through the night. He took them in every conceivable position – on their backs, on their stomachs, bent over the edge of the bed, pressed against the wall. He switched between them fluidly, sometimes fucking one while his hands and mouth tormented the other, ensuring neither had a moment’s respite.

His sadistic urges found ample outlet. He smacked their plump buttocks until they were rosy red, leaving handprints that wouldn’t fade quickly. He bit their shoulders, their necks, the soft flesh of their inner thighs, marking them as his property. He lavished attention on their breasts, sucking, biting, pinching until they were exquisitely tender and swollen, the peaks raw and hypersensitive.

“Whose cunts are these?” he’d demand, slapping Josephine’s ass as he took her from behind.

“Yours! Yours, King Alaric!” she’d sob, slamming back against him.

“Who owns this body?” he’d growl, sinking his teeth lightly into the flesh above Margaret’s hip as she rode him.

“You do, my King! Only you!” she’d pant, tears of pleasure streaming down her face.

They called him King constantly, the title becoming natural, ingrained with every thrust, every command, every wave of pleasure he forced upon them. Their moans filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy conducted by their new master. They climaxed again and again, their bodies pushed beyond limits they never knew existed. Each orgasm was more intense than the last, leaving them gasping, trembling, and utterly addicted.

Alaric came inside them repeatedly, marking his territory deep within their wombs, not caring for consequences, only for the assertion of his dominance. He felt their bodies accepting him, welcoming his seed.

As the first hints of dawn painted the sky, the effects of the wine had long worn off. Sobriety returned, but it brought no sense of shame or regret. Instead, it brought clarity – a stark awareness of the incredible, earth-shattering pleasure Alaric provided. Their bodies, thoroughly marked, sore, and exquisitely sensitive, craved his touch, his possession. King Thaleon and their lives before this night seemed like a pale, distant dream. This felt real. This felt vital.

Margaret looked at Josephine across Alaric’s sweat-slicked chest. Their eyes met, no longer Queen and Consort, but partners in shared submission, bonded by the overwhelming pleasure their new King bestowed upon them. There was no judgment, only acceptance and a shared hunger for more.

“More… King…” Margaret whispered, her voice hoarse but steady, reaching out to stroke his thick cock, already stirring again despite the night’s exertions.

Josephine nodded, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “Don’t stop… please, King…”

Alaric smirked, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. His plan hadn’t just worked; it had exceeded all expectations. They weren’t just physically conquered; their minds and wills were bending to him, enslaved by the pleasure he wielded so expertly.

“Stop?” he chuckled, his voice a low rumble. He flipped Margaret onto her stomach, positioning himself behind her once more. “My dear Queen, my lovely Consort… we haven’t even reached midday.” He gripped her hips, preparing to plunge into her again. “Your King demands much more from his royal sluts.”

He drove into her, eliciting a fresh scream of pleasure that echoed through the room as the sun climbed higher, signaling not an end, but merely a continuation of their debauchery. The Queen and the Royal Consort belonged to him now, body and soul, and he intended to enjoy his new possessions thoroughly. The memories of their feeble husband King Thaleon were completely erased, replaced by the reality of their true King, Alaric, whose very presence, whose very touch, defined pleasure itself. Their bodies knew only his rule now.