Chapter 172: Cassandra Gets Fucked In Training Field

Cassandra tried to follow his instructions, to consciously relax, to release the tension that had coiled in her muscles. It was difficult, especially with Alaric so close, his presence a constant source of distraction and… something more.

“Now, try again,” Alaric said, stepping back slightly, giving her a sliver of space, a momentary reprieve. “Same kata. But this time, focus on the flow. Don’t force it. Guide it.”

Cassandra took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind, to push aside the swirling emotions, the shame, the fear, the unwanted thrill that Alaric’s proximity evoked. She focused on his words, on the image of flowing water, on the idea of channeling, not forcing.

She began the kata again, her movements looser this time, more fluid, less rigid. She still reached for her Battle Aura, but this time, she focused on guiding it, on allowing it to flow naturally through her limbs, through her strikes.

And this time… it was different. The shimmer around her fists was stronger, more sustained. It wasn’t just a fleeting flicker; it was a visible aura, a faint but definite augmentation of her strikes. As she moved through the kata, the Battle Aura seemed to grow, to solidify, to become more… present.

Fiora gasped softly. “Mother! I can really see it now! It’s… it’s glowing!” Her eyes were wide with admiration.

Lyra nodded, her smile widening. “Much better, sister. See? You’re getting it.”

Cassandra herself could feel the difference. The energy felt more substantial, more… connected to her movements. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it was progress. Real, tangible progress. And despite herself, despite the unsettling undercurrent of Alaric’s presence, a flicker of… gratitude, perhaps, sparked within her.

Alaric watched her complete the kata this time, his expression still neutral, but with a subtle shift, a hint of… satisfaction? It was hard to read him, to decipher the complex emotions that flickered beneath the surface of his ruby eyes.

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“Better,” he conceded, his tone still measured, but with a slight softening. “Still inefficient, still weak, but… better. You are starting to understand the principle.”

He stepped closer again, and Cassandra braced herself, expecting another intimate “correction,” another subtle torment. But this time, he surprised her. He simply stepped back, creating a small but noticeable distance.

“For a Master Martialist who only recently reached the rank, it’s… acceptable progress,” he said, his tone almost… complimentary? It was so unexpected, so out of character, that Cassandra almost didn’t know how to react.

“However,” he added, the caveat hanging in the air, “acceptable is not enough. We need to make it efficient. We need to make it powerful. And for that…” He paused, his ruby eyes flickering towards Lyra and Fiora, then back to Cassandra, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “For that, we need more… focused training. One-on-one.”

Lyra and Fiora exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of understanding and slight disappointment. Fiora, ever eager, piped up, “Can I have one-on-one training with you too, Alaric?”

Alaric smiled gently at Fiora, a genuinely warm, almost brotherly smile. “Of course, Fiora. But your Aunt Lyra is already an excellent instructor for you. You are both progressing wonderfully together. Aunt Cassandra, however…” He turned his full attention back to Cassandra, his ruby gaze intense, almost possessive. “Aunt Cassandra needs… specialized attention.”

Lyra chuckled softly, a knowing glint in her emerald eyes. “Indeed, sister. Alaric is right. You and he should… focus on your individual training for a while. Fiora and I will continue our sparring.” She subtly nudged Fiora towards the other side of the training field, effectively separating Cassandra from their protective presence.

Cassandra felt a cold dread wash over her. She knew what “specialized attention” meant in Alaric’s vocabulary. She knew what “one-on-one training” truly entailed. But she couldn’t protest. Not in front of Lyra and Fiora. Not after Lyra had so readily agreed. She was trapped. Again.

“Very well,” Cassandra murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze fixed on the ground, avoiding Alaric’s knowing smirk.

Alaric nodded, a predatory gleam in his ruby eyes. “Come, Aunt Cassandra,” he said, his voice smooth and seductive, the sandalwood scent around him seeming to intensify, drawing her in, trapping her in his intoxicating web. “Let’s find a… quieter training field. One where we can… truly focus.”

He gestured towards another training field, further away from the main mansion, more secluded, more… private. Cassandra hesitated for a moment, her feet rooted to the spot, her mind screaming at her to resist, to refuse, to run. But her body, traitorously, seemed to move on its own accord, drawn towards him, compelled by his irresistible pull.

With a final, lingering glance at Lyra and Fiora, who were already engrossed in their sparring, Cassandra followed Alaric, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, each step taking her further into his… specialized training.

As they walked, Alaric maintained a light, casual conversation, as if they were simply heading to another training area for a perfectly normal session. He spoke of Battle Aura theory, of channeling energy, of mental focus, his words seemingly innocuous, yet each syllable seemed to vibrate with a hidden, suggestive undertone that resonated deep within Cassandra’s bones.

They reached the other training field, a smaller, more enclosed space, surrounded by high walls and lush greenery, offering complete privacy. Alaric stopped, turning to face Cassandra, his ruby eyes locking onto hers, the pretense of casual instruction instantly dissolving, replaced by the raw, predatory intensity she had come to both fear and… crave.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, husky murmur, the sandalwood scent intensifying, filling her senses, “let’s talk about your Battle Aura. Properly.”

He stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between them, his body brushing against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her. Cassandra’s breath hitched, her carefully constructed façade of composure crumbling, replaced by the familiar wave of fear, shame, and… a dangerous, forbidden thrill.

“All this nonsense about stance and flow,” Alaric continued, his hand reaching out, not to correct her posture this time, but to cup her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “It’s… unnecessary. For you.”

Cassandra’s purple eyes widened, confusion and a flicker of desperate hope warring within her. “Unnecessary?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But… you said…”

Alaric chuckled softly, a low, seductive sound that sent shivers down her spine. “I said it was… acceptable progress. For a beginner. But you are not a beginner, Aunt Cassandra. You are a Master Martialist. You are capable of so much more.”

His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his touch sending sparks of heat through her skin. “You want to become stronger, don’t you?” he murmured, his gaze intent, probing, seeing into her very soul. “You want to be able to protect Fiora, to protect yourself, to… perhaps even surpass your sister?”

The words resonated with a painful truth. Cassandra did want to be stronger. She had always been overshadowed by Lyra, always felt… less capable, less powerful. And now, with the demonic threat looming, with the world growing increasingly dangerous, the desire for strength was more urgent than ever.

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice barely audible, her gaze locked on his, drawn in by the hypnotic intensity of his ruby eyes. “I do.”

Alaric smirked, a predatory, knowing smirk that sent a shiver of anticipation mixed with dread through her. “Then listen carefully, Aunt Cassandra,” he whispered, his voice like velvet, his sandalwood scent intoxicating, overwhelming her senses. “Because I am going to teach you the real secret to power. The secret that those foolish Martial Arts manuals and stuffy Grand Masters will never tell you.”

Before she could ask, before she could even fully process his words, Alaric leaned in, his lips claiming hers in a sudden, forceful kiss. It was not gentle, not tender, not even remotely instructional. It was a kiss of pure dominance, a kiss that demanded submission, a kiss that tasted of sandalwood and something else, something wilder, more primal, more… dangerous.

Cassandra gasped, her body tensing, her mind reeling from the sudden shift, the abrupt abandonment of the pretense of training. But her resistance was weak, futile. Alaric’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, crushing her against his hard body, his kiss deepening, becoming more insistent, more demanding.

He pushed her backwards, his momentum carrying her towards the soft grass of the training field. Cassandra stumbled, her balance lost, her legs giving way. She gasped again, this time a sound of surprise and a dawning, terrifying realization.

Alaric didn’t let her fall. He caught her, his arms strong and unyielding, but instead of steadying her, he deliberately lowered her, guiding her down, down, down, until her back pressed against the soft, yielding grass.

He broke the kiss, his ruby eyes blazing down at her, his face inches from hers, his sandalwood scent filling her lungs, stealing her breath. “Forget Battle Aura training, Aunt Cassandra,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, his gaze burning into hers. “You don’t need it. Not from me.”

Cassandra stared up at him, her mind racing, her heart pounding, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and… something else, something she dared not name. “What… what do you mean?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alaric smirked again, that predatory, knowing smirk that sent shivers down her spine. “I mean,” he said, his voice low, seductive, dangerous, “that I will make you strong, Aunt Cassandra. Stronger than you ever dreamed of being. As long as you continue to… cooperate.”

His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there for a moment, before returning to her eyes, locking onto hers, holding her captive in his ruby gaze. “As long as you continue to… have sex with me.”

Cassandra’s heart hammers against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing in her ears. ’He’s… he’s really going to do it again,’ she thinks, a dizzying mix of dread and a forbidden thrill swirling within her. Her breath hitches, coming in shallow, rapid gasps.

“Here? In the training field?” she manages to whisper, her voice trembling, betraying the turmoil raging inside her. ’This is insane. Utterly insane.’

Alaric just smirks, that infuriatingly sexy smirk that makes her insides melt even as her mind screams in protest. “Why not?” he murmurs back, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. “Feels… right, doesn’t it?”

’Right?’ she thinks, a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside her. ’Nothing about this is right! This is my nephew! This is… wrong!’ But the word feels hollow, meaningless, against the rising tide of… something else. Something hot and insistent and undeniably tempting.

She remembers that night, the night he revealed himself as Edwin, the night everything shattered and… changed. ’It was… good,’ a traitorous voice whispers in the back of her mind. ’Disgustingly good.’ Shame and heat flood her cheeks at the memory.

“Alaric,” she tries again, a little firmer this time, though her voice still wavers. “Please… can’t we at least go to a bedroom?” She glances around the secluded training field, the trees looming like silent witnesses, the soft grass beneath her back suddenly feeling… exposed. “It’s… anyone could come.” A pathetic excuse, she knows, even as she says it.

Alaric just chuckles again, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates against her body. “And what if they do?” he asks, his ruby eyes glinting with amusement, with challenge. “Let them watch. Let them see what belongs to me.”

’Belongs to him?’ The possessiveness in his voice, the casual arrogance… it should repulse her, disgust her. And a part of her, a small, rational part, is disgusted. But another part, a darker, more primal part,… it stirs. It responds. It likes it.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she tries to say, but it comes out weak, breathless, lacking conviction. She knows, deep down, that arguing is pointless. She made a deal. She agreed. And Alaric… Alaric always gets what he wants.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “Raw. Untamed. Like you.” His hand slides up her arm, sending goosebumps erupting across her skin. “Your body… it craves this, Cassandra. Don’t deny it.”

’My body?’ she thinks, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. ’My body is betraying me. It’s remembering… it’s wanting…’ And it’s true. Despite the shame, despite the fear, a treacherous warmth is spreading through her, a tingling anticipation that she can’t quite suppress.

His fingers reach the neckline of her dress, tracing the delicate skin of her collarbone. “Such a beautiful body,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something she recognizes, something that mirrors the heat rising within her. “Too beautiful to hide.”

And then, his hand is inside her dress, his fingers brushing against the lace of her chemise, sending a jolt of pure sensation through her. Her nipples, already sensitive, instantly harden, aching for his touch.

’No,’ a tiny voice whispers in her head. ’Stop him. Push him away. You can’t do this. Not again. Not here.’ But her body is already betraying her, softening, melting, surrendering.

His fingers find her nipple through the thin fabric, teasing, circling, sending waves of pleasure radiating outwards. She gasps, a soft, involuntary moan escaping her lips. ’Oh god,’ she thinks, her mind clouding with a haze of sensation. ’It feels… so good.’

He chuckles again, a low, satisfied sound. “See?” he murmurs, his voice like warm honey. “Your body knows what it wants. Why fight it, Cassandra?”

His fingers pinch her nipple gently, sending a sharp, exquisite thrill through her. She arches slightly, her back pressing further into the grass, her breath catching in her throat. ’I shouldn’t,’ she thinks weakly. ’I really shouldn’t.’

But his other hand is now inside her dress too, mirroring the first, his fingers finding her other nipple, teasing, tormenting, driving her closer and closer to the edge. She moans again, louder this time, unable to suppress the sound, the pleasure too intense, too overwhelming.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “Let go, Cassandra. Just… let go.”

And then, his hands are no longer teasing. They are cupping her breasts, firm and possessive, his thumbs circling her nipples, drawing out every last nerve ending, igniting a firestorm of sensation in her chest.

He pushes her dress down, the fabric sliding off her shoulders, pooling around her waist, exposing her breasts to the cool air, and to his hungry gaze. Cassandra shivers, not from cold, but from anticipation, from a raw, primal excitement that is both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Perfect,” Alaric breathes, his voice thick with lust. “Just… perfect.” His eyes are dark, dilated, fixed on her exposed breasts, devouring her with their gaze.

And then, he lowers his head, his mouth closing over one nipple, sucking, tugging, sending a shockwave of pure pleasure through her. Cassandra cries out, a strangled gasp that is half pain, half ecstasy. Her fingers clench in the grass, digging into the soft earth, her body arching off the ground, seeking more, craving more.

His teeth graze her nipple, a sharp, exquisite bite that makes her gasp again, her head lolling back against the grass, her vision blurring with sensation. ’I’m losing it,’ she thinks, her mind dissolving, her control slipping away. ’I’m really losing it.’

He moves to her other breast, his mouth hot and wet against her skin, his tongue laving, teasing, driving her further and further into the depths of pleasure. She moans again, a long, drawn-out sound of surrender, of helpless delight.

His hands are everywhere now, roaming over her body, tracing the curves of her waist, the flare of her hips, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, igniting fires wherever they touch. She’s lost count of his touches, lost track of time, lost all sense of… anything, except for the overwhelming sensations that are consuming her.

“Raw, isn’t it?” he murmurs against her skin, his breath hot and ragged. “This is what I want from you, Cassandra. This… raw hunger. This… desperate need.”

He bites her nipple again, harder this time, drawing a sharp gasp from her, a sound that is almost a sob. But it’s not pain, not really. It’s pleasure, so intense it borders on pain, pleasure that is shattering her, breaking her down, remaking her in his image.

’I can’t think,’ she realizes, her mind a blank canvas, filled only with sensation, with the feel of his mouth on her breast, his hands on her skin, his scent filling her lungs. ’I can’t resist. I don’t want to resist.’

And then, with a swift, decisive movement, he pulls her dress down further, exposing her completely to the waist. He rips open his own tunic, tearing the fabric, buttons scattering across the grass, his chest bare, his muscles flexing as he leans over her, his body radiating heat, radiating power.

His eyes are burning with lust, fixed on her exposed breasts, her bare skin, her yielding form. He is completely, utterly aroused, his desire a palpable force in the air, a force that is drawing her in, consuming her, making her his.

And then, he’s moving again, shifting his weight, his hands reaching for his own belt, his fingers fumbling with the buckle, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Cassandra watches him, her gaze fixed on his movements, her own breath held captive in her lungs, anticipation building, a wild, reckless excitement surging through her veins.

He throws his belt aside, the leather snapping against the grass, and then his trousers are being unfastened, his hands moving with frantic haste, his desire a palpable thing, a living entity in the air between them.

And then, he’s naked, his cock springing free, thick and hard and pulsing with need, pointing directly at her, a blatant, undeniable symbol of his dominance, of his intent.

Cassandra’s eyes widen, fixed on his erection, a flicker of… something – fear, awe, desire – crossing her face. She remembers the feel of it inside her, the raw power, the overwhelming sensation, the way it had filled her, possessed her, broken her down and built her back up again.

And then, he’s lowering himself onto her, his weight pressing her into the grass, his body hot and hard against hers, his cock nudging against her entrance, a thrilling, terrifying promise of what’s to come.

“You’re mine, Cassandra,” he murmurs, his voice rough, possessive, his ruby eyes burning into hers. “Completely mine.”

And as he thrusts into her, hard and deep and without preamble, Cassandra knows, with a chilling certainty, that he’s right. She is his. Body and soul. And in this moment, in this raw, untamed act of possession, she doesn’t resist. She surrenders. Completely. Utterly. And, in a dark, twisted corner of her heart, she… enjoys it.