Chapter 215 Orgy With Mother, Aunt, and Cousin (2)

Alaric hoisted Fiora’s sore, pliant body against his own still-powerful frame. Her gasp was a mixture of pain and involuntary anticipation. He kissed her again, hard, a claim renewed in the pale morning light.

He carried her towards the center of the ravaged chamber. Towards Lyra, who was blinking dazedly, leaning heavily against the window frame, the absurd teacher outfit clinging damply to her heaving bosom. Towards Cassandra, who groaned softly on the rug, beginning to push herself up, the student uniform twisted and torn, revealing flashes of creamy thigh and the curve of her backside.

The air was thick, cloying. Sweat, sex, spilled seed, and the ghost of aphrodisiacs. Dawn painted the chaos in soft pinks and golds, a bizarrely beautiful backdrop to the scene of utter degradation.

“Round seven, little cousin,” Alaric murmured against Fiora’s ear, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. He lowered her onto the thick rug, not far from where Cassandra was struggling to sit up.

Fiora landed with a soft thump, instinctively trying to curl inwards, but Alaric was already positioning her, spreading her legs, kneeling between them.

His erection, thick and relentless, nudged insistently against her entrance. Still slick from Lyra.

‘He hasn’t stopped… all night…’ Fiora thought, her mind reeling. ‘He just finished with Aunt Lyra… and now…’

He entered her with a smooth, possessive thrust that stole her breath. Deeper than before, it felt like. Or maybe she was just more aware, more attuned to him after her brief respite.

“Ah!” A sharp cry escaped her lips.

Alaric moved slowly at first, letting her adjust, his ruby eyes fixed on her face, gauging her reaction. He held her gaze, a silent command to endure, to accept, to want.

Across the small space, Lyra watched, her breathing still ragged. Her blue eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were now hazy, unfocused, yet fixed on Alaric. A deep, primal hunger simmered there.

Cassandra pushed herself fully upright, her curly blonde hair a wild mess. She tugged futilely at the ridiculously short pleated skirt. Her purple eyes darted from Alaric fucking her daughter to Lyra, then back to Alaric. Her lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

‘They’re exhausted,’ Fiora registered dimly, even as her own body responded to Alaric’s slow, deep strokes. ‘But… they don’t look finished. They look…’

Hungry. Desperate.

Alaric quickened his pace in Fiora, his thrusts becoming firmer, more demanding. He leaned down, whispering, “Did you miss me, little cousin?”

Fiora couldn’t speak, only nod mutely, gripping his shoulders as he moved within her.

“Master…” a voice choked out.

It was Cassandra.

Alaric paused mid-thrust, looking over his shoulder at her. Fiora craned her neck slightly, watching her mother.

Cassandra flushed under his gaze, but didn’t look away. Her eyes were wide, pleading. “Master… please… she’s had so much… Let her rest…”

Alaric smirked. “Worried about her, Aunt? Or just impatient for your own turn?”

Cassandra bit her lip. The torn student blouse gaped, revealing the swell of her magnificent breasts. “I… I need you, Master,” she whispered, her voice trembling but undeniably needy. “My body… it aches for you.”

She shifted, leaning forward slightly, pushing her breasts out, a deliberate display. “She is young, nephew… still learning. But I… I am ripe. Ready. I know how to take all of you.”

Fiora’s eyes widened. ‘Mother! Saying that!’

Lyra made a soft sound, drawing Alaric’s gaze. She had pushed away from the window, standing unsteadily but purposefully. The tight white blouse was strained to its limit, buttons undone halfway down, revealing the deep valley between her breasts. Her blue eyes fixed on Alaric with unnerving intensity.

“Don’t listen to her theatrics, dear son,” Lyra purred, her voice husky, seductive. She took a step closer, swaying slightly. “She is merely a student. An instructor understands true power. Let your mother show you devotion… discipline…” She licked her lips slowly. “Let me take control… or let you take complete control of me.”

Alaric chuckled, a low, dark sound. He resumed his thrusts into Fiora, harder now, almost punishing. “Competing for me now, are we? My devoted mother? My eager aunt?”

Fiora gasped as he hit her cervix. He was deliberately making her watch them, hear them.

“Tell me, Aunt,” Alaric drawled, not looking away from Lyra, “why should I choose your mature, used cunt over my cousin’s tight, youthful one?”

Fiora flinched at the crude words, yet a dark thrill shot through her.

Cassandra didn’t hesitate. Shame was a forgotten luxury. “Because maturity brings skill, nephew! Experience! My cunt,” she said the word boldly now, meeting his unseen gaze, “it knows how to grip you, milk you. My curves… my breasts…” She cupped them shamelessly. “They were made to pleasure a man like you. A real man. Fiora is… a bud. I am a flower in full bloom, begging to be plucked… roughly.”

“Oh?” Alaric grunted, pounding into Fiora faster. “And you, Mother? What does the esteemed instructor offer?”

Lyra smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. “I offer absolute surrender, Master. Complete obedience. Use me. Degrade me. Treat me like the whore I am for my son. My body is yours to command. My mouth, my breasts, my ass… everything. I exist only to serve your pleasure. Command me, and I will lick your boots… or worse.” Her eyes gleamed with fervent promise.

Fiora watched, utterly stunned. The aphrodisiacs. They had to have worn off by now. The dawn was fully broken, hours had passed. This wasn’t the drug speaking. This was… them. Alaric had broken them. In one night, he had shattered their pride, their propriety, and remade them into… this. His willing sluts.

‘He did it,’ a part of her thought with awe. ‘He actually tamed them. Mother… Aunt Lyra… grovelling for him.’ A wave of perverse pride washed over her. Her cousin. Her Alaric. He was magnificent. Powerful. And he had praised her for bringing them to him.

This degradation, this shocking display… it somehow validated her own submission, her own choices.

“Such tempting offers,” Alaric mused, his voice dripping with amusement and arrogance. He suddenly pulled out of Fiora, leaving her gasping and bereft on the rug.

He stood, magnificent and predatory, his erection still impossibly hard, pointing towards the ceiling. Sweat gleamed on his sculpted muscles.

He stalked towards Cassandra.

“You first, Aunt,” he decided, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Show me this ‘skill’ you boast of.”

Cassandra scrambled backwards slightly, a flicker of real fear mixing with her desperate eagerness. “Yes, Master! Thank you, Master!”

He didn’t give her time to prepare. He grabbed her arm, yanking her roughly towards the chaise lounge where he’d taken her earlier. He pushed her face down onto the velvet cushions, ripping the pathetic remnants of the student blouse clean off her back.

Her huge, perfect breasts spilled out, pressed against the fabric. Her incredibly curvy hips and plump buttocks, barely covered by the micro-mini skirt, were presented invitingly.

“You wanted ripe fruit?” Alaric snarled, positioning himself behind her. “Let’s see how ripe.”

He slammed into her dry.

Cassandra screamed, a raw sound torn between pain and sudden, overwhelming pleasure.

“Too rough, Aunt?” Alaric mocked, gripping her hips mercilessly, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm.

“No! No, Master!” she sobbed, her voice muffled by the cushions. “Harder! Please! Punish me! Treat me like the slut I am!”

He obliged, pounding into her with savage force, lifting her hips clear off the chaise with each powerful thrust. He grabbed handfuls of her curly hair, yanking her head back.

“Look at me, slut!” he commanded.

She twisted, tears streaming down her face, her purple eyes glazed with ecstasy and pain. “Yes, Master!”

Fiora watched, her heart pounding. Her own mother… taken like that… begging for it. It was horrifying. It was mesmerizing.

Lyra watched too, her expression unreadable, though her hand drifted down between her own legs, hidden by the tight teacher’s skirt.

Alaric fucked Cassandra relentlessly, his grunts mixing with her choked sobs and pleas. He didn’t speak much, letting the sheer violence of the act convey his dominance. He brought her to a screaming, thrashing climax, her body convulsing under his assault.

He didn’t stop. He kept pounding into her, pushing her past the peak, driving her deeper into sensation. Finally, with a guttural roar, he came deep inside her, filling her completely.

He withdrew slowly, deliberately, letting her feel him leave her body.

Cassandra collapsed onto the chaise, trembling uncontrollably, sobbing raggedly. Utterly spent. Utterly broken. Utterly his.

Alaric turned, wiping himself casually on a discarded piece of Cassandra’s torn blouse. His cock was still ramrod straight, barely diminished.

He surveyed the scene. Fiora staring, wide-eyed. Cassandra a quivering wreck. Lyra watching him, her breath coming in shallow pants, anticipation burning in her eyes.

He walked towards Lyra.

She didn’t wait for him to grab her. She dropped to her knees before him, her eyes fixed on his cock.

“Master,” she breathed, reaching out a tentative hand.

“On your feet, Mother,” Alaric commanded, his voice flat.

Lyra scrambled up instantly, swaying slightly. The high-necked white blouse was sweat-stained and clung revealingly. The short black skirt barely contained her lush backside.

“You offered discipline,” Alaric said softly, circling her. “Let’s see how well you take it.”

He stopped behind her. His hand lashed out, slapping her hard across the stocking-clad buttock.

SMACK!

Lyra cried out, stumbling forward. “Ah!”

“Did that hurt, Instructor?” His voice was dangerously smooth.

“Yes… Master…” she gasped, clutching the edge of the nearby writing desk for support.

SMACK! Harder this time. On the other cheek.

“Good.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

He spanked her relentlessly, methodically, leaving angry red prints on the pale flesh visible through the sheer stockings. Lyra’s cries turned quickly into whimpers, then into low, guttural moans. Her hips began to twitch, pushing back slightly with each impact.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She obeyed, tears tracing paths through the grime and sweat on her face, but her eyes held only dark, fervent desire.

He pushed her backwards, pinning her against the ornate writing desk. He ripped the strained white blouse open the rest of the way, buttons scattering. Her magnificent breasts, heavy and full, spilled free.

“Such beauty,” he murmured, almost conversationally, before grabbing one breast roughly, kneading it.

Lyra gasped, arching into his touch.

He lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, biting lightly.

“Ah! Son… Master!” Lyra cried out, her fingers digging into the polished wood of the desk.

He moved to the other breast, giving it equal attention, while his hand slid down, bunching the tight black skirt up around her waist. He exposed her completely from the front. Blonde curls, slick folds.

He didn’t enter her immediately. He tormented her, tracing patterns on her belly with his fingers, dipping into her navel, before finally sliding one finger, then two, then three into her wet heat.

“So wet for me, Mother?” he mocked gently. “So eager to disobey propriety?”

“Yes! Yes, Master! Always for you!” she panted, writhing against his hand, against the desk. “Please… put it in me… please!”

“Beg properly.”

“Please, Master Alaric, my son, my god… fuck your mother! Please fuck my cunt! Fill me up! Degrade me!”

He chuckled darkly. “As you wish.”

He positioned himself and thrust into her, lifting her slightly off her feet, slamming her back against the desk. He fucked her standing up, his rhythm fast and brutal, mirroring the earlier assault on Cassandra but with a different edge – the added taboo of their relationship fueling the fire.

He held her head steady, forcing her to watch his cock slide in and out of her body. He talked to her constantly, a stream of filth, praising her slutty obedience, reminding her of her position – his mother, his whore.

Lyra screamed her climax, her voice hoarse, her body shuddering violently against the desk.

Alaric kept fucking her through it, driving her on, his own climax building. He came inside her with a deep groan, holding her tightly against him.

He pulled out, letting her slump against the desk, legs trembling too much to support her.

He surveyed his work. Lyra gasping, barely coherent. Cassandra still whimpering softly on the chaise. Fiora watching him with wide, slightly dazed eyes from the rug.

‘Two down,’ Alaric thought clinically. His stamina was legendary, fueled by his potent bloodline and sheer force of will. He felt no fatigue, only a growing sense of absolute power.

He walked back towards Fiora. She flinched slightly as he approached.

“Still awake, little cousin?” he asked softly.

She nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from his body, from the evidence of his recent coupling with her aunt.

He knelt beside her again. “Tired?”

“Sore,” she whispered.

He smirked. “We’re just getting started.” He leaned in, kissing her deeply, tasting Lyra on his lips. Fiora didn’t recoil; she kissed him back, a strange mix of fear, awe, and burgeoning need swirling within her.

He entered her again. Round eight. Gentler this time, almost possessive. He moved slowly, deliberately, watching her face.

“You see how they are now?” he murmured, thrusting deeper. “Completely mine. Because of you.”

That praise again. It sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, momentarily overriding the physical discomfort. ‘Mine… he called them mine… because of me…’

He fucked her for several minutes, rebuilding her arousal, bringing her close to the edge.

Then, he paused. He looked towards the doorway leading off the main chamber. The large, en-suite bathroom.

“A change of scenery, perhaps,” Alaric mused aloud. He pulled out of Fiora.

He stood and looked down at Lyra and Cassandra. Lyra had slid partly to the floor, leaning against the desk leg. Cassandra had managed to turn over on the chaise, watching him with exhausted, wary eyes.

“On your hands and knees,” Alaric commanded them both. His voice was quiet, but absolute.

Neither woman hesitated. Lyra pushed herself away from the desk, crawling awkwardly in the tight skirt and heels. Cassandra slid off the chaise, landing heavily but immediately assuming the position. Their torn, ridiculous outfits only emphasized their utter submission. Two of the most powerful women in their social circle, reduced to crawling like animals at his command.

“Crawl,” he ordered, gesturing towards the bathroom door. “To the bathroom. Now.”

They began to crawl, slow and deliberate, across the fine rug, past discarded clothing, towards the open doorway. Lyra’s movements were hampered by the heels and skirt; Cassandra moved with a painful stiffness.

Alaric turned back to Fiora. He scooped her up effortlessly into his arms. She yelped softly, wrapping her arms around his neck instinctively.

He carried her, following his crawling mother and aunt.

Fiora buried her face in his shoulder for a moment, overwhelmed. The sight of her mother and aunt crawling… the sounds they made… his hard body against hers…

He carried her through the doorway into the opulent bathroom. It was huge, clad in white and grey marble, with gold fixtures. A massive sunken tub dominated one end, large enough for several people. A separate glass-enclosed shower stall stood nearby. Long mirrors lined one wall, reflecting the scene in stark detail.

Alaric stopped just inside. Lyra and Cassandra were waiting, still on their hands and knees, heads bowed, on the cool marble floor.

“Good girls,” Alaric purred. He set Fiora down on her feet, keeping one arm around her waist to support her. She leaned against him, legs trembling.

He surveyed the space. Endless possibilities.

He walked Fiora towards the large, empty tub. He sat her on the wide marble edge.

“Watch,” he commanded softly.

He turned back to Lyra and Cassandra. “Aunt. Come here.”

Cassandra crawled forward obediently, stopping at his feet, looking up like a supplicant. Her face was flushed, her eyes holding a mixture of dread and desperate anticipation.

Alaric gestured towards his still-hard cock. “Serve me.”

Tears welled in Cassandra’s eyes again, but she didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, taking him into her mouth, her movements initially hesitant, then growing more confident, more desperate.

Alaric gripped her hair, tilting her head back, fucking her throat with rough, demanding thrusts. Fiora watched, mesmerized, horrified. Reflected in the mirrors, she saw herself perched on the tub edge, Alaric standing dominant before her, her mother servicing him like the lowest whore.

He pulled abruptly out of Cassandra’s mouth before climaxing, leaving her gasping and choking on the marble floor.

“Mother,” he called.

Lyra crawled forward, taking Cassandra’s place without needing to be told. She took him into her mouth eagerly, her eyes fluttering shut, lost in the act of submission. Alaric was gentler with her mouth, yet no less demanding, holding her head, controlling the pace, drawing deep groans from her throat.

He switched between them several times, using their mouths, making them compete silently for his favour, for the chance to pleasure him.

Fiora felt a strange detachment, watching the scene unfold. It was too much, too extreme. Yet, beneath the shock, a dark current of excitement flowed. Alaric’s power was absolute. His control, complete. And she was part of it. She was his.

Alaric finally pulled Lyra away. He turned back to Fiora, who was still sitting on the edge of the tub.

He stepped into the large, dry tub, then reached down and pulled Fiora in with him. The cool marble was a shock against her bare skin.

He pushed her back against the sloping side of the tub, entering her again, his thrusts echoing slightly in the enclosed space. Round nine.

“Your turn to watch,” he murmured to Lyra and Cassandra, who remained kneeling on the floor outside the tub.

He fucked Fiora with a steady, relentless rhythm, his body covering hers, pinning her against the hard marble. It was uncomfortable, awkward, yet undeniably erotic. He made her wrap her legs around his waist, pulling her deeper onto him.

He brought her to a shuddering climax against the cold wall of the tub, her cries bouncing off the marble surfaces.

He didn’t pull out immediately. He stayed inside her, breathing heavily, looking down at her flushed face. Then, he looked over his shoulder at the kneeling women.

“Get in,” he commanded.

Lyra and Cassandra scrambled clumsily over the edge of the tub, joining them in the confined space. It was crowded, intimate. Their naked or near-naked bodies pressed together.

Alaric withdrew from Fiora and immediately pushed Cassandra onto her hands and knees in the tub bottom. He mounted her from behind, his thrusts slamming her body against the marble.

“Beg for it, Aunt!”

“Please, Master! Fuck me harder! Use me like the worthless slut I am!” Cassandra screamed, her voice echoing eerily.

While fucking Cassandra, Alaric reached out, grabbing Lyra’s wrist. He pulled her closer, forcing her face down towards Cassandra’s. “Kiss your sister,” he ordered.

Lyra hesitated only a fraction of a second before obeying, pressing her lips to Cassandra’s sweat-slick back.

Alaric switched targets abruptly, pulling out of Cassandra and shoving her aside. He grabbed Lyra, spinning her around, pushing her against the opposite side of the tub, and entered her from behind.

“My turn, Mother!” he grunted, fucking her with renewed vigour.

He used the confined space to his advantage, pressing them against the walls, using the leverage for deeper, more punishing thrusts. He switched between Lyra and Cassandra repeatedly, sometimes pausing to use Fiora’s mouth or hands while he took one of the others.

The sun climbed higher in the sky outside. Morning bled into midday. The orgy continued unabated in the marble confines of the bathroom. Steam began to fill the room, not from water, but from the heat of their exertions, their sweat, their panting breaths.

He made Lyra sit on the edge of the tub while Cassandra knelt before her, servicing him. Then he reversed their positions. He had Fiora sit between them, forcing her to touch them, to participate in their degradation while he used their bodies.

He turned on the shower, not for washing, but for sensation. He dragged Lyra into the glass stall, pinning her against the cold, wet tiles, fucking her under the spray, the water plastering her hair to her face, mixing with her tears and sweat.

He pulled her out and pushed Cassandra in, subjecting her to the same treatment, his thrusts echoing in the small, wet space.

He took Fiora under the water too, her tenth round, holding her slight frame easily against the wall, fucking her until her legs gave out, supporting her weight entirely with his body and his cock.

They were all screaming, crying, begging by now. Not for him to stop, but for more. More roughness, more degradation, more of him. The initial shock and feigned resistance were ancient history. The aphrodisiacs were a laughable excuse. This was raw, primal need, expertly cultivated and unleashed by Alaric’s relentless, masterful hand.

He herded them back out of the shower, dripping and trembling, onto the main bathroom floor. He pushed Lyra face down, Cassandra knelt behind her, and he took Lyra from behind while forcing Cassandra to lick her sister clean.

He reversed it, fucking Cassandra while Lyra was forced to perform the same humiliating task.

Fiora watched it all, sometimes participating under his command, sometimes merely observing, trapped in a cycle of her own climaxes, exhaustion, and reignited arousal whenever he turned his attention back to her. ‘How can he keep going?’ she marvelled numbly. He was like a machine. A god of depravity.

Sometime around noon, he dragged them all back into the main chamber. The room was cooler now, the initial heat having dissipated slightly, but the scene was no less chaotic.

He pushed Cassandra onto the bed where Fiora had woken up earlier. He positioned Lyra kneeling at the bedside. He pulled Fiora onto his lap as he sat on the chaise lounge, facing the bed.

He entered Fiora again, slowly this time, holding her gaze. Round eleven.

“Watch them, little cousin,” he murmured, his hand gesturing towards the bed.

He made Lyra service Cassandra orally while Fiora watched, impaled on his cock. He described what they were doing in crude detail, ensuring Fiora missed nothing.

He made them switch. Cassandra servicing Lyra.

The two older women obeyed without question, their eyes glazed, lost in a haze of submission and endless sensation. Their magnificent bodies, marked by his hands, his teeth, his seed, were testament to his absolute ownership.

He fucked Fiora on the chaise, bringing her to yet another shattering climax. As she collapsed against him, boneless and whimpering, he looked towards the bed.

He slid Fiora off his lap onto the cushions. He stood up, his erection, impossibly, still thick and ready.

He walked towards the bed. Lyra and Cassandra watched him approach, their expressions identical – a mixture of utter exhaustion and desperate, Pavlovian need.

“Who wants it more?” Alaric asked softly, standing between them.

“Me, Master! Please, me!” Cassandra cried, reaching for him.

“No, Master! Son! Me! I need it!” Lyra pleaded, pushing herself forward.

Alaric smirked. He looked down at his mother, then his aunt. Then back at Fiora, who was watching with bleary eyes from the chaise.

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, illuminating the scene of epic debauchery.

And Alaric Steele, the architect of it all, showed no signs of stopping. The day was still young. And his toys were perfectly broken in.