Chapter 345: Little Game With Mother-Daughter Duo

A few hours later. The atmosphere in Elaine’s small, private tent was thick.

It was heavy with unspoken dread, with the musky, lingering scent of Alaric’s conquest, and with the vibrating, nervous energy of two terrified women.

Eleanor and Elaine were huddled together on a small, uncomfortable sofa, both wrapped in simple silk robes. They were a picture of opposites.

Eleanor was vibrating like a plucked string. She was terrified, yes, but underneath that fear was a feverish, itching horniness. Alaric’s rejection had been a physical blow, and she was desperate to do anything to get back in his good graces, to feel his touch again. She was jealous of her mother, horrified by her mother, and yet, here they were, bound together in this nightmare.

Elaine was just… empty. A beautiful, hollow shell. Her eyes, wide and vacant, just stared at the canvas wall. Her mind was gone, retreated to a place where daughters didn’t call their mothers whores, and where monsters didn’t wear the faces of lovers.

Alaric sat opposite them, lounging on a heavy, throne-like chair he’d conjured from pure shadow-magic. It was an obvious, arrogant display of power. He swirled a glass of deep, red wine in his hand, a smug, bored look on his perfect face.

He’d had a nap. He’d bathed. He felt refreshed. And now, he was bored again.

“Alright, ladies,” he announced, his voice booming in the quiet, tense room. “Now that we’re all… family… it’s time for some real fun.”

Elaine flinches at the word “family,” as if he’d slapped her.

“I’m bored with just… fucking,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “It’s… repetitive. We’re going to play a game.”

“A game, my lord?” Eleanor asked, her voice pathetically eager. She leaned forward, her robe parting slightly, her eyes shining with a desperate need to please. “What kind of game?”

“A roleplay,” he said, enjoying the confused, blank looks on their faces. “It’s… a little play. A story. From my… homeland. We’ll have a story. And you’ll have parts. And… costumes.”

His ruby eyes gleamed. “And if you play your parts well… you’ll get a reward.”

Eleanor’s face lit up at the word “reward.”

“What… what kind of play?” Elaine whispered, her voice a ghost’s rasp. She was just bracing for the next violation.

“Oh, a fun one,” Alaric grinned. “A little… family drama. Something you’re both perfect for.”

He clapped his hands, a sharp, final sound. “First, costumes.”

He reached into his small spatial storage pouch and pulled out two small, folded piles of fabric. He tossed one at Eleanor, hitting her in the chest.

“You,” he said, as she fumbled with it, “are the naughty magical academy girl. My slutty little girlfriend.”

Eleanor blushed as she unfolded the outfit. It was a tiny plaid skirt, a tiny white shirt, designed to be tied up, exposing her entire midriff. A pair of innocent white knee-high socks. She looked… excited. She liked that role.

Then, Alaric tossed the other pile into Elaine’s lap.

It was… an identical outfit. The exact same micro-mini plaid skirt. The exact same tiny, tie-up shirt. The exact same innocent socks.

Elaine stared at it, her hands trembling. “But… but this… this seems identical to Eleanor’s clothing…” she stammered, holding up the child-sized clothing.

“It is identical,” Alaric said, his grin widening. “Here’s the plot.”

He leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial purr. “Eleanor, you’re the rebellious girl from the Magical Academy. You’re dating me. ’Brad.’ The bad boy from the wrong side of the ley-lines. Your mother hates me.”

“And you, Elaine…” he said, his gaze turning hard. “You’re the hot, uptight mother.”

“But… but the clothes…” Elaine whispered, her mind failing to grasp the logic.

“Ah, the clothes!” Alaric said, as if just remembering. “Here’s the twist. Eleanor, you begged your mother to wear a matching uniform with you today. Didn’t you?”

Eleanor, desperate to please, immediately latched on. “Oh, yes! I… I did! I begged her! ’Please, Mommy, just this once! It’ll be fun! Like we’re sisters!’”

“And you, Elaine, you agreed,” Alaric continued, his voice like steel. “Because you’re a good mommy, and you want to bond with your daughter. You had no idea,” he said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy, “that your daughter only asked you because I told her to.”

“What?” Elaine looked at Eleanor.

“You only asked her,” Alaric said, his gaze pinning Eleanor, “because I was planning on visiting today. And I… well… I have a thing for ’twins’. Especially a mother-daughter set.”

The new, twisted logic of the scenario slammed into them. It made Eleanor a willing conspirator in her own mother’s humiliation. It made Elaine an innocent victim of her daughter’s treachery. It was perfect.

“My lord… I… I can’t…” Elaine pleaded, tears welling in her eyes as she clutched the tiny skirt. “It… it’s indecent. It won’t fit me… I’m… I’m not a… a girl…”

“Make it fit,” Alaric commanded, his voice hard.

“But I’ll… I’ll rip it… It’ll…”

“Or,” Alaric said, his voice a silk-wrapped razor, “we can go back to our other game. The one where I punish Eleanor… very, very aggressively… every time her mother… bores me. Your choice.”

Elaine’s face crumpled. She looked at Eleanor.

Eleanor, terrified of being “boring,” terrified of his punishment (which she also craved), just glares at her mother. “Mother, just… just do it! Put it on! Please!”

Elaine looked at her daughter’s desperate, pleading face. She looked at Alaric’s cold, expectant one.

She just nodded, a single, broken movement. Her soul died a little bit more.

“Good,” Alaric said. “Go. Get changed. Both of you. Behind that screen.”

As the two women scurried away, like frightened mice, Alaric whispered a spell.

“Scenarium Obscurum.”

A Veil of Illusory Reality.

The simple, canvas walls of Elaine’s tent shimmered. They flickered… and changed. The canvas melted away, replaced by the rich, paneled walls of an opulent mansion’s sitting room. The simple cot was gone, replaced by a plush, deep-blue velvet sofa. The small writing desk became a gleaming, polished mahogany coffee table.

It was an illusory set.

“Now… let’s make it real,” Alaric mused. He cast a second spell, a complex, tactile matrix.

“Tactus Verus.”

A Truth of Touch ward. “What’s the point of an illusion if you can’t feel it?”

The illusory sofa was now solid beneath him. The illusory air smelled faintly of lemon oil and old money.

He was no longer in a tent. He was in the play.

The two women stepped out from behind the screen.

Alaric whistled, a low, crass, appreciative sound.

“Holy. Shit.”

Eleanor was rocking it. She was born for this. The tiny skirt was just a rumor of fabric, barely covering her juicy ass. Her bubbly buttocks were peeking out from under the hem. Her white shirt was tied up tight, just under her tits, pushing them up into two perfect, defiant mounds. Her entire midriff and navel were bare. With the white knee-high socks, she looked horny, eager, and ready.

But Elaine…

Elaine was a picture of pure, breathtaking humiliation.

The exact same outfit on her mature, motherly body was… obscene.

Her massive breasts, fuller and heavier than Eleanor’s, were spilling out of the tiny, straining shirt. The fabric was pulled tight as a drumhead, barely containing her dark, erect nipples. Her soft, motherly belly and navel were exposed, pale and vulnerable.

And the skirt… the micro-mini skirt was hopelessly lost on her womanly, curvaceous hips. It sat high, doing nothing to hide her plump, mature ass, which was even larger and rounder than her daughter’s.

She was red from neck to toe, her hands clamped in front of her, trying to pull the tiny skirt down, a futile, pathetic gesture.

“Perfect,” Alaric breathed. “Fuck. You two… stand next to each other.”

They did. Mother and daughter. The youthful, eager slut. The humiliated, ripe milf. Identical, save for the power of their bodies.

“You,” Alaric said to Elaine, his voice rough. “You definitely wear it better.”

Elaine flinches. Eleanor pouts with jealousy.

Alaric sank into the illusory sofa. He was no longer Alaric. He was ’Brad’. He lounged, legs spread, oozing fake, low-class arrogance.

“Alright, Eleanor,” he (“Brad”) grunted. “My slutty little girlfriend. You snuck me in. Your mom’s… at the Arcanist’s Library for her boring study group. We got the whole house to ourselves.”

“Elaine,” he snapped, “you’re out. You’re not home yet. Go stand in the real corner of the tent. Behind me. And watch. Silently. Wait for your cue.”

Elaine, her face ashen with shame, her bare ass exposed to the room, shuffled to the dark corner.

“Now… action!” Alaric grinned.

Eleanor, desperate to please, immediately got into it. She squealed and ran across the room, jumping onto his lap, straddling him.

“Oh, Brad!” she squealed, playing her part with desperate enthusiasm, her voice high and fake. “I’m so scared! What if my mom comes home early? She’ll kill me! She’ll flay me alive and send me to the Sisters of Silence!”

“Shut up, baby,” Alaric (as “Brad”) growled, his voice a low, rough approximation of a “gangster.” He grabbed her, his hands mauling her, squeezing her ass, pinching her waist. “You know you want this. You know you like it rough.”

“I do, Brad, I do!”

“That’s why you came to me,” he snarled, “and not one of those pretty-boy Academy mages with their clean robes and useless poetry.”

He kissed her hard, his tongue plunging into her mouth. He groped her tits, his hands all over her tiny uniform, his fingers pinching her nipples through the thin fabric.

“Mmm… Brad…” she moaned, grinding her barely-covered pussy against his clothed cock. “You’re so strong… so rough… so bad…”

From the corner, Elaine was forced to watch.

Her daughter. Her baby. Writhing on this monster’s lap. Calling him “Brad.” Acting like a common whore.

Her face was burning with a shame so deep it felt like acid in her stomach. She felt sick.

Alaric shoved Eleanor off him. “Get on the table, baby. Show me what my good little girl can do.”

“The table, Brad?”

“Yeah, the table. Show me… that new dance you learned at the Academy. The… ’private study’ one. The one with the… wand formations.”

“Ooh, you’re so bad, Brad!” Eleanor giggled. She climbed onto the illusory mahogany coffee table. She started to dance, just for him.

It was a filthy, slutty dance. She grinded her hips. She shook her ass.

Her bouncy tits (which were huge for her age, just like her mother’s) jiggled wildly, the tiny tied-up shirt threatening to give way completely.

Her bubbly ass, peeking out from the micro-skirt, wiggled right in his face.

“Not bad,” he grunted, enjoying the show. “You’re a natural slut. Now… bend over. Touch your toes. Time for your real lesson, you slutty girl.”

“Yes, Brad!” she purred, eagerly.

She bent over at the waist, presenting her ass perfectly to him, her skirt riding up to expose her completely.

“Hold that pose,” he commanded.

He got up. Slowly. He walked over to her. He slapped her ass. WHAP.

“Aaaah! Brad!” she squealed, a mix of pain and pleasure.

“Good girl,” he grunted.

He unfastened his pants.

And he fucked her right there on the table. Doggy-style. Hard and fast. No prep. No mercy.

Right in front of her mother.

“Ah! Ah! Yes, Brad! Fuck me! Fuck my stupid brains out!” Eleanor screamed, playing her part to the hilt, her voice raw with real pleasure.

WHAP! WHAP! He spanked her buttocks strongly as he pounded into her.

Elaine in the corner choked back a sob, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her own palms.

As Alaric was pounding into Eleanor, hammering her, making the illusory table shake, he looked over at Elaine in the corner.

He gave her a cruel, panting grin.

“Cue… Mom,” he panted, his voice a low, rough growl.

Elaine, her face white as a sheet, her body trembling, knew she had to play her part.

She stumbled forward from the corner, her voice shaking but loud with real rage and shame. “Eleanor! What is the meaning of this?!”

“Get off that table, you… you hussy! Right now!”

“Mom!” Eleanor shrieked, still getting fucked. “You’re… ah!… you’re home early! You’re ruining everything!”

Elaine steeled herself. She turned to Alaric. “And you! You… you gutter trash! You… thug! Get off my daughter! Get out of my house!”

Alaric chuckled. He pulled out of Eleanor with a wet pop.

Eleanor collapsed onto the table, panting and drenched, a sated, happy smile on her face.

Alaric slowly turned to Elaine. He slowly fastened his pants, a dangerous, predatory smirk on his face.

“Or what, Mom?”

He started walking towards Elaine, stalking her. She instinctively backed away, her hands flying up to her chest.

“You gonna… call the City Guard?” he (“Brad”) taunts, using the local equivalent. “You gonna tell the Magister on me? You gonna ground me?”

“I… I…”

“You think your useless, pathetic husband is going to stop me?” he hissed, his voice dropping the “Brad” persona for a second.

“Stay away from me!” Elaine said, her voice shaking. She was backed into the real wall of the tent. “And stay away from my daughter!”

“Mom! I LOVE him!” Eleanor wailed from the table, still in character. “He’s just misunderstood!”

“Yeah, Mom,” Alaric (“Brad”) purred, his eyes raking over Elaine’s body. He devoured her in the identical, straining, tight-fitting schoolgirl uniform.

He was right in her face now, his body pinning her against the tent wall.

“Y’know…” he said, his voice dropping low. “I see where she gets her looks from. You’re… stacked, lady.”

“I… I…”

“But… you… you look so much better in this outfit,” he whispered, his eyes burning into hers. “That mature body… bursting out of it… so much hotter than her. She’s just a kid. You’re a woman.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Elaine stammered, her face on fire, her heart hammering.

“You’re trying to break us up,” he whispered, his face inches from hers, his breath hot. “Why? ’Cuz you’re just a… a jealous old bitch who’s not getting any?”

“A… a what?!”

“A jealous, dried-up… cunt,” he hisses, the crass word exploding in the air like a slap.

“How DARE you!” Elaine gasped, her rage, her shame, her violation… it all overwhelmed her fear for just one, single second.

Her hand instinctively flew up.

WHAP.

She slapped him.

Hard.

Right across the face.

The sound echoed in the silent, illusory room.

Eleanor gasped from the table. “Mother! You hit him!”

Alaric didn’t even flinch.

He just… smiled.

The red, five-fingered print of her hand was stark on his cheek.

He slowly turned his head back to look at her. His eyes were not amused anymore. They were cold, black pits.

“You… you shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered.

He grabbed her wrist. His grip was like a steel trap.

She cried out in pain.

“Bad move, Mom,” he hisses, his voice no longer ’Brad’, but his own cold, terrifying self.

“A very bad move.”

He started dragging her towards the sofa.

“Now… the game really begins.”