Chapter 214 Orgy With Mother, Aunt, and Cousin

The air in Fiora’s chamber was thick, heavy with the scent of sex, sweat, and the lingering sweetness of the aphrodisiacs.

Alaric stood dominant, his handsome face flushed with exertion but his ruby eyes burning with undiminished energy. His blonde hair clung slightly to his temples.

Lyra was pressed against the wall, gasping, her long straight blonde hair fanned out, blue eyes wide with a mixture of feigned panic and burgeoning, undeniable lust.

Cassandra scrambled back onto the chaise lounge, pulling torn robes around her magnificent curves, her long curly blonde hair in disarray, purple eyes darting between Alaric and her sister.

Fiora lay momentarily forgotten on the bed, catching her breath, her own youthful, perfect body trembling from the force of his recent claiming.

Alaric turned his attention back to Lyra.

“Not finished yet, Mother,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

He stalked towards her.

“No… Alaric… please…” Lyra protested, but her voice lacked conviction. Her body, however, pressed towards the wall as if seeking his touch, not escaping it.

He crowded her again, his hard length pressing against her belly through the thin, torn fabric. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

“Please what, Mother?” he mocked gently, leaning in to kiss her neck, biting lightly. “Please stop? Or please continue?”

She shuddered, unable to form a coherent reply. The drug sang in her veins, demanding more, while her mind screamed about the act she was supposed to maintain.

He hiked her robes up again, exposing her completely. He didn’t enter her immediately. Instead, his hand snaked between her legs, fingers finding her slick folds, rubbing her clit with rough, demanding pressure.

Lyra gasped, her legs trembling violently. “Ah! Alaric!”

“Quiet,” he commanded, though his eyes glittered. He intensified the friction.

Across the room, Cassandra watched, biting her lip hard, her own hand instinctively drifting between her thighs. Fiora pushed herself up on her elbows, her gaze wide, captivated by the raw display of power.

Lyra bucked against his hand, close to the edge already.

He stopped abruptly.

She whimpered in protest.

“Patience,” he chided. He turned, leaving her trembling and unsatisfied against the wall, and strode towards Cassandra.

“Aunt,” he purred.

Cassandra flinched theatrically. “Stay back!”

He chuckled, easily batting aside her defensive hands. He tumbled her back onto the chaise lounge, pinning her beneath him. Her voluptuous breasts spilled from her torn robes.

“Such beauty,” he murmured, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

Cassandra cried out, arching her back. “No! Stop!”

But her hips lifted, seeking friction against his thigh.

He moved to her other breast, lavishing it with equal attention, his hand sliding down, ripping the robes further, exposing her quivering belly and the blonde curls between her legs.

He probed her entrance with his fingers, stretching her, making her gasp and squirm.

“Ready for me again?”

“Never!” she choked out, though her slickness told a different story.

He positioned himself, sinking into her with a long, smooth stroke that tore a genuine moan from her throat.

He moved slowly at first, watching her face, the conflict warring there – the feigned resistance battling the overwhelming pleasure the drug and his skill elicited.

Then, he began to pound into her, hard and deep, lifting her hips off the chaise with each brutal thrust.

“Alaric!” she gasped, her voice losing its edge of protest, becoming thick with need.

He ignored her cry, focusing on his own pleasure, on dominating her utterly.

He came inside her with a low groan, filling her completely.

He withdrew, leaving her trembling and breathless on the chaise.

He was still hard. Always hard.

He turned his attention back to the bed. To Fiora.

Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated. Arousal warred with a flicker of fear.

“Round two, little cousin?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Fiora swallowed, nodding mutely. She wanted him. Despite the roughness, despite the shocking display with her mother and aunt, she craved his touch, his possession.

He crawled onto the bed, straddling her hips. He leaned down, kissing her deeply, possessively.

“You did well,” he murmured against her lips. “Bringing them to me.”

He entered her again, his thrusts powerful, demanding. Fiora gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist, trying to match his rhythm.

This time felt different. Having witnessed his raw dominance over the other two, her own submission felt deeper, more complete.

He fucked her with a focused intensity, bringing her to a shuddering climax quickly. He grunted as he found his own release within her again.

He pulled out, leaving her panting. That was two.

He gave her no time to recover.

He grabbed Lyra from the wall, pulling her towards the bed. He pushed Fiora onto her stomach, positioning Lyra behind her.

“Kiss her,” Alaric commanded Lyra.

Lyra hesitated, glancing at Alaric, then at Fiora’s flushed back. The drug and Alaric’s command overrode her resistance. She leaned down, pressing her lips to Fiora’s shoulder, then trailing kisses down her spine.

Alaric entered Lyra from behind, holding her steady as she instinctively bucked against him. He fucked his mother while she was forced to caress her own niece.

The scene was pure degradation. Pure power.

Cassandra watched from the chaise, her breathing ragged.

Alaric pulled out of Lyra, spun her around, and pushed her face down into the mattress beside Fiora. He entered her again, his thrusts slamming her body against the bed.

Then he pulled Cassandra from the chaise, positioning her kneeling at the edge of the bed.

“Serve me, Aunt,” he commanded, gesturing with his chin towards his still-throbbing erection.

Cassandra’s eyes widened in feigned horror. “Alaric! I couldn’t!”

His gaze hardened. “Serve me. Or I will make Fiora do it.”

That threat, illogical as it was given the circumstances, seemed to break through her staged resistance. Tears (perhaps real, perhaps not) welled in her purple eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

Alaric groaned, burying one hand in her curly blonde hair, the other resting possessively on Lyra’s back as he continued his relentless rhythm.

He brought Lyra to a screaming climax, her body convulsing beneath him.

He pulled out of her, turning his attention fully to Cassandra’s mouth. He fucked her throat with demanding thrusts, holding her head steady.

He came with a roar, spilling his seed down her throat.

Cassandra choked, gagging, tears streaming down her face, but she swallowed obediently.

Alaric withdrew, surveying the scene. Lyra sobbing into the mattress. Cassandra kneeling, catching her breath. Fiora watching with wide, slightly dazed eyes.

“Fiora,” he called softly.

She looked at him, trembling slightly.

“Round three.”

He pulled her towards him. She came willingly, desperately wanting his touch, his validation, even amidst this madness.

He took her again, this time positioning her sitting astride his lap, facing him. He held her hips, guiding the rhythm, forcing her to take his full length.

Her smaller breasts bounced with each movement, her curly blonde hair falling around her shoulders. Her youthful beauty was a stark contrast to the mature voluptuousness of the other two.

He brought her to climax again, her cries mingling with Lyra’s ragged breaths and Cassandra’s soft whimpers.

He came again, deep inside her. Three for her.

He eased her off him. She collapsed back onto the mattress, exhausted but strangely exhilarated.

He turned his attention back to Lyra and Cassandra. He gave Fiora a brief respite.

He dragged Lyra off the bed and onto the floor, forcing her onto her hands and knees. He took her like an animal, his thrusts brutal, degrading.

He pulled Cassandra down too, positioning her facing Lyra, forcing them into intimate proximity while he switched between them, using their bodies without mercy.

It was during this relentless assault, somewhere around Fiora’s fourth round (taken quickly, almost dismissively against the bedpost), that the facade truly began to crack.

Alaric was pounding into Lyra from behind, his hand tangled in her hair, forcing her face close to Cassandra’s.

“Please… Master… harder…” Lyra gasped out, the words torn from her throat, raw and needy.

Silence fell for a split second, broken only by the sound of slapping flesh.

Lyra’s eyes widened. She froze. ‘What did I just say?’

Cassandra stared at her sister, equally shocked by the slip.

Alaric paused, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He leaned down, whispering in Lyra’s ear, “What was that, Mother? Did you call me… Master?”

Lyra squeezed her eyes shut. “The drug…” she stammered, trying desperately to recover. “It’s making me… delirious… I don’t know what I’m saying…”

“Ah, the drug,” Alaric murmured, his tone laced with mockery. He pulled out of her and turned to Cassandra, who was trying to shrink away. “And you, Aunt? Is the drug making you delirious too? Is that why you’re so wet for me?” He ran a finger through her slick folds, showing her the evidence.

Cassandra flushed crimson. “Stop it, Alaric! This is wrong!” But her voice trembled, lacking all conviction. Her body arched subtly towards his touch.

Alaric laughed. He knew. He had always known. But he let them keep their flimsy excuse, for now. For Fiora.

He pulled Fiora back into the fray. Round five. He took her bent over a velvet armchair, fucking her relentlessly while Lyra and Cassandra were forced to watch, to touch themselves at his command.

Fiora lasted through the fifth round, collapsing afterwards, barely conscious.

Alaric surveyed her. So close to her limit.

He gave her a longer break, turning his full, savage attention onto Lyra and Cassandra. He pushed them further, using their mouths, their breasts, their bodies in every conceivable way, the feigned resistance becoming weaker and weaker, punctuated by increasingly frequent slips – pleas for more, for roughness, quickly followed by panicked denials and blaming the aphrodisiacs.

Finally, he pulled Fiora back for her sixth round. She was barely aware, moving almost automatically under his guidance. He took her quickly, almost clinically, on the rug. As he climaxed, her eyes rolled back, and she finally succumbed to total exhaustion, slumping into unconsciousness.

Six rounds. She had surpassed her previous limits. ‘Impressive resilience,’ Alaric noted clinically.

He lifted Fiora’s limp form and gently deposited her onto the bed, pulling a sheet over her. She was out for the count.

He turned back to Lyra and Cassandra.

They were huddled together near the chaise lounge, robes torn beyond repair, bodies gleaming with sweat, hair wild, eyes glazed with a mixture of exhaustion, lingering drug effects, and raw, terrified desire.

They watched him approach, true fear mixing with anticipation in their eyes now that their flimsy shield – Fiora’s presence – was gone.

Alaric stopped before them. His erection was still painfully hard, showing no signs of abating.

“She’s unconscious,” he stated calmly, his ruby eyes sweeping over their magnificent, dishevelled forms.

Lyra and Cassandra exchanged a quick, nervous glance.

“You can drop the act now,” Alaric continued, his voice soft but leaving no room for argument. “There’s no need to pretend anymore.”

A collective sigh seemed to escape both women. The tension of maintaining the facade vanished, replaced by something else. Raw, unveiled submission.

Lyra looked up at him, her blue eyes clearing slightly, losing the feigned panic, replaced by a dark, hungry fire. “Master…” she breathed, the word now genuine, husky with need.

Cassandra nodded, her purple eyes locking with his. “Thank the gods… pretending was… exhausting,” she admitted, a shaky smile touching her lips. “Please, Alaric… Master… don’t stop.”

“We need it,” Lyra added, crawling forward on her hands and knees, pressing her cheek against his thigh like a supplicant. “We need you to be rough. Ruthless. Forget we are your mother, your aunt. Treat us like the sluts we are for you.”

“Punish us for our weakness,” Cassandra pleaded, joining Lyra at his feet, looking up at him with adoring, desperate eyes. “Make us scream.”

Alaric looked down at the two most powerful women in his family, other than perhaps the absent matriarchs of allied houses, grovelling at his feet, begging for degradation. His plan, meticulously laid, had come to fruition beautifully.

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. “Your wish,” he purred, “is my command.”

The rest of the night descended into a carefully orchestrated symphony of depravity, designed to fulfill his darkest fantasies and push Lyra and Cassandra far beyond any limits they thought they possessed.

He started by commanding them to strip completely, discarding the ruined remnants of their robes. They obeyed instantly, standing before him naked, proud yet utterly submissive, their stunningly voluptuous bodies displayed for his pleasure. Very large breasts, slender waists, impossibly curvy hips – the epitome of mature female sexuality.

“On your knees,” he commanded.

They knelt side-by-side. He used both their mouths simultaneously, fucking their throats until tears streamed down their faces, alternating between them, praising their obedience, degrading them with crude language that only seemed to heighten their arousal.

Then came the clothes. Alaric retrieved a bag he’d had prepared and delivered discreetly earlier. Inside were two outfits.

One was designed to mimic the severe, yet undeniably sexy attire of a high-ranking magic instructor – a tight, high-necked white blouse strained across large breasts, a ridiculously short black skirt barely covering lush buttocks, sheer stockings, and high heels. The other was a provocative magic academy student uniform – a pleated micro-mini skirt, a cropped blouse tied under the breasts, knee-high socks, and heeled loafers.

“Put these on,” he ordered, tossing the outfits to them.

They scrambled to obey, their fingers fumbling with buttons and straps under his watchful gaze. The clothes were deliberately too tight, enhancing every curve, pushing breasts up, cinching waists, leaving little to the imagination.

Lyra, forced into the teacher outfit, looked stern yet utterly debauched, her large breasts threatening to spill from the tight blouse. Cassandra, in the student uniform, looked impossibly alluring, a mature woman forced into the guise of youthful innocence, her curvy hips straining the seams of the tiny skirt.

“Good girls,” Alaric purred, circling them like a predator. “Now, who needs discipline first?”

He grabbed Lyra, bending her over Fiora’s ornate writing desk. “I believe Instructor Lyra made a mistake earlier,” he declared, his voice dangerously smooth. “She forgot her place.”

He delivered a stinging slap to her stocking-clad buttock. Lyra cried out, a sharp intake of breath.

“Did that hurt, Instructor?”

“Yes… Master…” she gasped.

“Good.” He slapped her again, harder. And again. He spanked her relentlessly, leaving red handprints on her pale flesh, until her cries turned into ragged moans of pleasure-pain.

Then he hiked up the ridiculously short skirt and took her from behind, slamming her against the desk, fucking her while she was still dressed as the stern instructor. He whispered crude instructions in her ear, making her repeat degrading phrases.

He pulled out, leaving her trembling against the desk, and turned to Cassandra. “And Student Cassandra… caught daydreaming in class, weren’t you?”

He pushed her onto her hands and knees on the floor, her pleated skirt flipping up to reveal everything. He spanked her too, his hand landing hard on her plump cheeks, eliciting sharp gasps that quickly morphed into needy whimpers.

He fucked her doggy style on the floor, his thrusts deep and punishing, pulling her hair, calling her his dirty little student slut.

He made them perform for him. Tit-fucking. He positioned Lyra sitting on the edge of the desk, legs spread, while Cassandra knelt before her, servicing him orally. Then he switched their positions.

He pushed them against the window, their naked asses pressed against the cool glass, taking them one after the other as the first hints of dawn began to streak the sky outside. The world outside remained oblivious to the depravity within.

He fucked them on the floor, on the chaise lounge, against the walls, leaving his seed inside them, on their bodies, their faces, marking them as his property. He remained brutally hard, his stamina showing no signs of flagging. He climaxed again and again, yet his erection returned almost instantly, ready for more.

He talked to them constantly, a stream of crude praise, degradation, and commands. They responded eagerly, their initial inhibitions long gone, replaced by a desperate need to please him, to push themselves further into the abyss of submission. They begged him to be rougher, to use them harder, to treat them like objects.

‘This is power,’ Alaric thought, feeling the godlike strength coursing through him as he dominated these two magnificent women. ‘Absolute control. They are mine. Body and soul.’

He knew this night, this relentless breaking down of their pride, would bind them to him irrevocably, weaving their secret desires into an undeniable addiction only he could satisfy.

Dawn broke fully, painting the room in hues of pink and gold. The chamber was a disaster zone – torn fabric, overturned cushions, slick patches on the floor and furniture.

Alaric was still fucking Lyra, pinning her against the window frame, her body trembling with exhaustion and repeated orgasms, her eyes glazed over. Cassandra lay sprawled on the nearby rug, seemingly unconscious or simply utterly spent.

On the bed, Fiora stirred.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Pain lanced through her body – a deep soreness, an ache in every muscle.

Her vision swam, then focused.

She saw Alaric. Naked, magnificent, his body gleaming with sweat.

She saw her Aunt Lyra, pinned against the window, dressed in that absurdly tight teacher outfit, her face contorted in a mask of pleasure-pain as Alaric moved relentlessly within her.

She saw her mother, Cassandra, lying face down on the rug, clad in the equally ridiculous student uniform, seemingly unconscious.

The scene was so shocking, so far beyond anything she could have imagined, that her mind struggled to process it.

He was still going. All night.

Alaric felt Fiora’s gaze. He climaxed deep inside Lyra one last time with a possessive groan, then slowly withdrew. Lyra slumped against the window frame, barely able to stand.

He turned towards the bed, his erection still prominent, slick with Lyra’s fluids.

“Awake, little cousin?” he asked, his voice rough but carrying a hint of amusement.

Fiora stared, speechless. Her mother… her aunt… looking like… like that. And Alaric… tireless, dominant.

He walked towards the bed. Fiora instinctively tried to shrink back, pulling the sheet tighter.

He sat on the edge, looking down at her. “Sore?”

She nodded mutely, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear, awe, and burgeoning, confusing arousal rekindled by his sheer presence.

He reached out, stroking her cheek. “You did very well last night, Fiora. Exceeded my expectations.”

His praise sent a thrill through her, cutting through the shock.

He gestured towards Lyra and Cassandra. Lyra was slowly sliding down the window frame, while Cassandra hadn’t moved. “As you can see,” Alaric said conversationally, “your mother and aunt have proven… quite accommodating.”

He leaned closer, his ruby eyes intense. “They understand their place now. They are mine. My sluts. To use as I please.”

Fiora’s breath hitched. Sluts? His mother? Her mother?

“You,” Alaric continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “did an excellent job procuring them for me. A truly inspired solution to your task.” He smiled, a flash of genuine approval that made Fiora’s heart leap.

“You… you liked them?” she whispered, still trying to reconcile the image of her proud mother and aunt with the debauched figures across the room.

“Liked them?” Alaric chuckled darkly. “They are exquisite. And now, they are perfectly trained.” He caressed her shoulder. “Thanks to you.”

He stood up, pulling her with him despite her soreness. He tugged the sheet away, exposing her nakedness.

“And now that you’re awake,” he said, his erection nudging against her thigh, “you can join us again.”

Fiora looked from Alaric’s demanding gaze to the scene of devastation, her mother and aunt utterly broken and subservient. Shock warred with the thrill of his praise, his acceptance. He wasn’t ignoring her anymore. He needed her.

“From now on, Fiora,” Alaric stated, his tone leaving no room for refusal, “you will service me alongside these two slutty milfs. Whenever I call, the three of you will attend me. Understand?”

Fiora looked into his ruby eyes, saw the absolute power there, felt the familiar pull of her devotion, now amplified by his praise and the sheer intensity of the situation.

Any lingering doubts, any sense of wrongness, evaporated. He wanted her. He praised her. This was her place, beside him, serving him.

“Yes, Alaric,” she breathed, her voice trembling slightly but firm. “Yes, I understand. I’ll… I’ll serve you. With them.”

A wide, satisfied smile spread across Alaric’s handsome face. “Excellent.”