Chapter 227 Fucking Brita Kuusk And Taking Her Virginity

Just a few days later.

The air still hummed with the power of the defensive arrays Alaric had erected. Within the secure bubble of the Steele territory, life had resumed a semblance of normality.

For some, at least.

Queen Margaret and her retinue were settling into the Sunken Pearl Estate. Uneasily, perhaps, but safely.

Archmage Priscilla continued her cautious assessment of her new surroundings. Impressed, wary, constantly analyzing.

Meanwhile, outside the Steele domain, chaos reigned. The demonic surge intensified.

And news of the Phantom Assembly’s audacious moves began to filter through. Whispers carried on the winds of trade and terror.

Cities falling. Not just to demons, but falling under a new, shadowy control. Desperate lords making pacts with the devil.

The Phantom Assembly, emerging from the shadows, was claiming territory. Leveraging the fear, the desperation.

They offered protection. At a steep price. Submission.

This news, disturbing reports of a kingdom fracturing and falling under the sway of the infamous dark guild, eventually reached the Steele Family manor.

Alaric Steele heard it first, not through official channels, but in the most intimate of settings.

In the morning light, in his private chambers.

He was engaged in a familiar activity. Asserting his dominance. Indulging his desires.

Rosalind, head of the Steele Family’s businesses, was currently bent over the heavy oak table in his study.

Her usually sharp mind was hazy with pleasure. Her body, sleek and toned, was flushed, glistening with sweat.

Alaric stood behind her, holding her hips firmly. His massive cock plunged deep inside her with powerful, rhythmic thrusts.

“Nngh! Alaric!” Rosalind gasped, clinging to the table edge. The wood felt rough beneath her slick hands.

He ignored her gasp of pleasure, his focus on the physical act. The wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the room.

He was deep inside her, owning her completely. Her body accepted him, clenched around him.

It was rough. Fast. Primal. Just how he liked it with her.

And how she, despite herself, had come to crave it.

‘Mine,’ Alaric thought, the sense of possession absolute as he drove into her again and again.

Her ass lifted with each thrust. Her moans grew louder.

“Yes, Alaric! Harder!” she begged, her voice thick with lust.

He chuckled, a low growl in his chest. “Beg for it, Rosalind.”

He grabbed a handful of her fiery red hair, pulling her head back. “Tell me how much you need it.”

“So much! Ah! Need you! Need Master!” she panted, arching her back.

He slammed into her, biting her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

She cried out, not in pain, but in surprised pleasure.

He reached between her legs, finding her clit, rubbing it roughly with his thumb while continuing his relentless pace inside her.

Her body convulsed. “Oh gods! Alaric! Yes! Ahhh!”

She climaxed, a violent shuddering orgasm. He didn’t slow down.

He kept pounding into her, feeling her internal tremors.

“Take it all,” he grunted, surging deeper.

Even as the aftershocks subsided, he was already building her back up.

His mind, however, wasn’t entirely consumed by the act. It rarely was.

He needed information. Rosalind was his primary source for kingdom-wide news, especially concerning trade and political undercurrents. Her network was extensive.

“Rosalind,” he said, his voice level despite his exertion. “Updates.”

He thrust deep again.

“N-nngh! Updates, Master?” she panted, breathless.

“Kingdom news,” he clarified, pulling her hair again. “Beyond the demons. What else is happening?”

“Ah… yes, Master,” she gasped, trying to focus her pleasure-addled brain. “Reports… coming in. From coastal cities… from border towns…”

He bit her neck gently this time, a possessive nip. “Go on.”

“They… they say the Phantom Assembly… is making moves,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, partly from exhaustion, partly from the grim news.

He paused his thrusting for a fraction of a second. ‘Phantom Assembly?’

“Making moves?” he prompted, resuming his rhythm, harder now. He needed details.

“Ah! Yes! Reports… they’re offering protection… to cities, lords… in exchange for… control.” She choked out the words between gasps.

“Control?” he asked, his tone cold. This was significant.

“Yes! Nngh! Control over defenses… resources… granting them… Ah! Legitimacy!” she cried out, her body arching.

He grabbed her ass, squeezing the cheeks he’d abused so often. “Legitimacy? The Phantom Assembly?”

“Yes, Master! They’re leveraging the chaos… the fear… offering safety where the crown cannot!” She climaxed again, a long, drawn-out moan.

He didn’t stop. He quickened his pace. This news was… interesting. Dangerous.

He needed to know their scope. Their goals. Did they view the Steele Family as just another territory to absorb?

He hammered into her, dozens of times. His thrusts grew more intense. He was nearing his own release.

Rosalind’s moans were constant now, a high-pitched plea for more, for release, for his seed.

He grabbed her face, forcing her to look back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were glazed, dilated with pleasure.

“Tell me everything,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “Every detail. While I fill you.”

He pulled back slightly, then drove home with incredible force.

“AHHH! Yes, Master! Everything! Nnngh!” she shrieked, her body slamming into the table.

He poured his cum deep inside her, wave after wave.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice thick with satisfaction. “All mine.”

He finished, breathing heavily, still holding her. He didn’t pull out immediately.

He rested there for a moment, letting the aftershocks subside.

Rosalind was panting beneath him, her body trembling violently.

“More reports, Master?” she whispered, already anticipating his continued demands for information and pleasure.

He nodded, finally withdrawing from her slick heat.

He didn’t let her rest. He moved her from the table to the nearby bench.

Then to the wall.

Then to the floor, where he took her from every angle, relentlessly.

After that, it was the bed. He used her there for hours.

Humiliating positions, painful pleasure. He sprayed his cum on her body, made her lick it clean.

Deep-throated her until she gagged, then forced her to swallow.

He spanked her raw until she couldn’t help but cry out at the slightest touch.

He kept taking her, again and again. Dozens more times.

She loved the roughness. Loved the pain mixed with pleasure. Loved being completely dominated by him.

By the time the evening shadows stretched long, Rosalind was a mess of sweat, cum, bite marks, and handprints.

Her body was utterly spent. Her mind blissfully blank, focused only on her Master.

She lay unconscious on the bed, her breathing deep and even, a faint smile on her lips.

Alaric stood over her for a moment, adjusting the blankets. He didn’t wake her. Didn’t need to.

‘Good girl,’ he thought, a flicker of possessive warmth. She had provided the information he needed.

And, as always, she had taken his pleasure perfectly.

Without a word, he left the room. He didn’t inform anyone where he was going.

His destination was another chamber in the manor.

The one assigned to his current ‘guest’.

Brita Kuusk. The Master Mage from the Phantom Assembly.

He walked down the quiet corridor. His steps were silent.

He reached her door. He didn’t knock.

He simply opened it and stepped inside.

Brita was sitting by the window, seemingly lost in thought, looking out at the darkening sky.

She turned sharply, startled, as the door opened. Her carefully neutral expression faltered for a split second.

“Young Master Alaric,” she said, regaining her composure quickly. She rose from the chair.

‘He just… entered,’ she thought. No formality. No warning. Just walked in like he owned the place. Which, of course, he did. And her, in a way.

Alaric closed the door behind him. He didn’t approach immediately.

He just looked at her. His ruby eyes were calm, assessing. But there was a coldness in them she hadn’t seen directed at her before.

“Brita,” he said, his voice low, devoid of its usual casual charm. “I’ve received reports.”

He paused, letting his gaze bore into hers. “Reports about your organization. The Phantom Assembly.”

She remained still, outwardly calm. ‘He knows.’

“Taking advantage of the chaos,” he continued, his voice dangerously smooth. “Claiming territory. Offering ‘protection’.”

He stepped closer now, slowly. “You must know about this, Brita. Their current actions.”

Brita nodded, acknowledging his statement. “Yes, Young Master. I am aware.”

Her voice was steady, but she could feel a faint tremor beneath her skin. His aura felt different tonight. Harder. More focused.

“Good,” Alaric said, stopping a few paces away. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Then you must also know,” he said, his voice dropping to a cold, hard edge, “if your Master. Lord Vortan. Or the Assembly itself. Has any… plans. Regarding my Steele Family?”

Brita’s composure finally broke. Her eyes flickered downwards.

She didn’t answer immediately.

She hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough.

Alaric saw it. The lowered gaze. The pregnant silence. He understood instantly.

They did have plans. Contingency plans. Plans that involved him.

His eyes turned frigid. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

He stopped right in front of her. He leaned in, speaking softly, chillingly, directly into her ear.

“Brita,” he whispered, his warm breath a stark contrast to the ice in his tone. “That hesitation.”

His hand reached out, settling lightly on her slender waist.

Brita stiffened. ‘His hand!’ Her body tensed instinctively.

She hated being touched. Especially by men. Any man other than her Master, Lord Vortan.

She had saved herself. Her virginity. For him. For Lord Vortan.

Every touch from another man felt like a violation. A betrayal of her devotion.

She wanted to pull away. To slap his hand off. To scream that she belonged only to her Master.

But she couldn’t.

The power radiating from Alaric was immense. Overwhelming.

He was a Grandmaster Mage. Two ranks above her. And he had killed a peak Seventh Order beast. An entity that could face down an Archmage.

He was utterly ruthless. She had seen glimpses of it. Heard stories.

She knew, with terrifying certainty, that he meant his threat. At this moment, Alaric Steele would absolutely dare to do anything to her if she displeased him. Anything at all.

Her resistance, physical and mental, was futile against his calm, overwhelming will and power. His fingers tightened slightly on her waist.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She had to speak. Speak the truth. Or suffer the consequences.

“Young Master… please…” she whispered, the words barely audible. She was asking him to not touch her, but she couldn’t voice the protest directly.

He ignored her silent plea, his gaze never leaving her face, his eyes demanding her answer.

She looked down again, unable to meet his terrifyingly cold gaze.

She began to speak, her voice a low whisper, confessing her order’s contingency.

“My Master… Lord Vortan… the Assembly… they… they have no current plans to… actively challenge the Steele Family,” she confessed.

His hand moved, subtly, slipping under the fabric of her clothing.

Brita gasped softly, a mixture of shock and revulsion rippling through her. His fingers brushed against her skin.

“Don’t… don’t do that,” she whispered, her voice thick with suppressed emotion. Her body trembled against his touch.

His gaze remained calm. Cold. Unyielding. His fingers continued their exploration, slow, deliberate, inside her clothes.

“Continue,” he commanded softly.

She forced herself to focus, to speak through the building tension, the revulsion of his touch.

“They… they will leave the Steele Family alone… as long as… as long as you can successfully defend against the demons.”

His fingers traced the curve of her hip.

“However…” she hesitated again, dreading the next part, but knowing she had no choice. His touch was becoming more insistent now.

His hand moved upwards, towards her breast.

“If… if the Steele Family starts to fail… in the defense…”

His fingers found the swell of her breast under her clothes.

Brita choked back a cry. “Please… Alaric… stop…”

His gaze was unwavering. Demanding.

“Then… then the Phantom Assembly… will take the opportunity… to completely take over the Steele Family,” she finished, the words rushing out in a desperate spill.

Alaric stared at her, his expression unreadable, save for the coldness in his eyes. His hand, however, was anything but idle. It cupped her breast firmly through the layers of her clothes.

‘Take over,’ he thought. He knew how Lord Vortan operated.

Persuasion, first. Offer ‘aid’, then leverage it.

Threats, if persuasion failed. Undermine, isolate, exert pressure.

And if all else failed? Elimination. Kill him, kill his core family members, install someone loyal to the Assembly to manage the territory, the assets.

The thought was infuriating. This place was his. These assets, his family, his collection of women… they were his.

And this woman, this high-ranking member of the Assembly, had been living under his roof. Eating his food. Watching him. Reporting back to Lord Vortan.

He had tolerated it. Let her observe. Let her report. He had even toyed with using her connection to the Assembly for his own ends.

But her hesitation, her confession, proved she was a liability. A potential fifth column.

His hand became more forceful, squeezing her breast, thumb brushing against her nipple through the fabric.

Brita gasped again, her body arching slightly despite her resistance. His touch was violating. Wrong.

“I have let you be, Brita,” Alaric said, his voice dangerously low, utterly cold. “Despite knowing you are part of that… organization.”

His gaze bored into hers. “But now… I cannot trust you.”

He paused, letting the weight of his next words fall.

“Not,” he stated, his voice hard, absolute, “unless our relationship changes.”

Before she could even process the implication, before she could voice another protest, Alaric moved.

He reached behind her, grabbed her shoulders, and with surprising force, pushed her backward.

Brita stumbled, falling onto the large, soft bed behind her.

She landed amidst the pillows with a soft “Oomph!”

Alaric was already stripping. His jacket came off first. Then his shirt. Revealing a powerful, muscled physique.

He didn’t stop. His belt, his trousers, his undergarments.

Brita watched, wide-eyed, a sense of dread washing over her.

Then she saw it. His erection. Massive. Thick. Looming.

‘No…’ The thought screamed in her mind. ‘Not like this… not him…’

Alaric stood naked before her, his eyes burning with cold intent and predatory desire.

“Today, Brita,” he said, his voice a promise and a threat. “Our relationship changes.”

He advanced on the bed.

“Today,” he repeated, his voice thick with purpose, “you will become mine. Body and soul.”

He climbed onto the bed, crawling over her.

Brita scrambled backward instinctively, trying to escape, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.

“No! Young Master! Please! Don’t!” she cried out, raising her hands defensively.

Alaric ignored her pleas. He pinned her down easily with his weight.

“Resistance is pointless,” he stated, his gaze cold and determined.

His hands were on her now, tearing at her clothes.

RIIIIIP!

The fabric ripped, exposing her pale skin.

She struggled beneath him, pushing against his chest, twisting her body.

“Let me go! I won’t! I belong to my Master!” she yelled, tears welling in her eyes. The thought of being taken by anyone other than Lord Vortan, especially this ruthless, powerful man, was unbearable.

“Your Master isn’t here,” Alaric growled, continuing his work. “And soon, you won’t want anyone but me.”

He worked with brutal efficiency, stripping her naked despite her struggles.

Brita was exposed. Vulnerable. Tears streamed down her face, a mixture of fear, anger, and violation.

Alaric paused for a moment, looking down at her body. She was indeed beautiful. Voluptuous, yet toned. A Master Mage’s body, honed by discipline and mana.

‘Untouched,’ he noted, his gaze lingering on the soft blonde curls between her thighs. ‘A virgin. Saving herself for Lord Vortan? Pathetic.’

A cruel smile touched his lips. ‘Not anymore.’

He knelt between her legs, pushing them apart. Brita squeezed her thighs together, trying to deny him access.

“Open for me,” Alaric commanded, his voice hard.

She shook her head wildly, sobbing. “No! I won’t!”

He gripped her hips, his fingers digging in, forcing her legs wider.

“You will,” he stated, his voice absolute. “You will take your Master’s cock.”

He positioned himself, the thick head of his erection pressing against her resisting entrance.

Brita whimpered, tensing every muscle.

Alaric pushed. Slowly at first, stretching her tight passage.

“AAAAH!” Brita screamed as the blunt head forced its way inside. It hurt. Not just physically, but deeply, profoundly. It felt like her loyalty, her devotion to Lord Vortan, was being ripped apart.

Tears streamed down her face. Her nails dug into the sheets.

He paused, letting her adjust, letting her body stretch around him. He felt the tearing. The resistance.

‘Good. Let her feel it. Let her know who owns her now.’

He began to push deeper. Inch by agonizing inch.

“Ngh! Stop! Please! It hurts!” she sobbed, begging him.

He ignored her. His eyes were locked on hers, cold and relentless.

He drove forward, finally burying his massive cock completely inside her virgin depths.

Brita screamed, a raw, animal sound. Blood leaked onto the sheets. Her body was a mess of pain and violation.

Alaric held still for a moment, feeling the incredible tightness, the sense of breaking something precious.

‘Mine,’ he thought, the word a hammer blow of possession in his mind.

He began to move.

His thrusts were slow, deep, deliberate at first. Punishing. Asserting his dominance.

“Feel that, Brita?” he growled, his voice low. “That’s your Master’s cock. Claiming you.”

“I hate you!” she choked out between sobs, pushing against him weakly.

He chuckled, a harsh sound. “Hate me now. You’ll scream my name in pleasure soon enough.”

He changed positions, flipping her onto her stomach, taking her from behind. Her hips were raised awkwardly, her virgin ass offered up to him.

“Look at you,” he said, grabbing her ass cheeks, squeezing them. “On your knees for me.”

He slammed into her, deeper now in this position.

“Nngh! Ah!” she cried out, her body protesting.

He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. “You belong to me now, Brita. Understand?”

“No! Never!” she screamed, struggling against his grip.

He ignored her defiance. He thrust into her relentlessly. Fast. Brutal.

He felt her body starting to react, despite her will. The friction, the fullness, the sheer intensity of the sensation began to overwhelm the pain and anger.

Her protests began to mix with involuntary moans.

“Fight it all you want,” he whispered in her ear, thrusting deep. “Your body knows the truth.”

He flipped her back over, spreading her legs wide. He leaned down, licking the blood from between her thighs.

Brita shuddered violently, revulsion and a strange, terrifying thrill coursing through her.

He mounted her again, settling deep inside. This time, he began to add a hint of System energy to his thrusts. Not enough to cause harm, but enough to subtly enhance the pleasure, to make her body more receptive to his touch.

Her moans grew louder. Her struggles weakened. Her eyes, previously filled with defiance and tears, began to glaze over.

He found her clit with his thumb, rubbing it as he thrust.

“There it is,” he purred. “Your body betraying you.”

“N-no… M-master…” she whimpered, confusing him with Lord Vortan in her haze.

Alaric’s eyes gleamed. ‘Perfect.’

“I am your Master now, Brita,” he corrected, plunging deep. “Alaric is your Master.”

He drove her towards a climax, his thrusts relentless, his thumb teasing her relentlessly.

Her body tensed. Her back arched.

“Ahhh! Master! Alaric!” she screamed, her voice thick with pleasure, her first orgasm wracking her virgin body.

He held her tight, feeling her convulsions around him.

He didn’t stop. Not after her first. Or her second. Or her third.

He spent the entire night claiming her. Brutal thrusts mixed with moments of almost tender, terrifying intimacy, whispers of ownership mixed with hard, demanding commands.

He took her in every position imaginable.

Doggy Style, watching her face twisted between pain and burgeoning pleasure.

Missionary, forcing her to look into his cold, dominant eyes as he ravaged her.

On her side, pulling her legs up high, stretching her open.

Over the edge of the bed, her ass presented to him, vulnerable and begging.

He made her ride him, at first awkwardly, then with growing, reluctant skill as her body began to crave the feeling of him deep inside.

He took her against the wall of the room, lifting her, pinning her there while he thrust into her.

He made her service him orally, forcing her mouth onto his cock even when her body ached and screamed for him to be inside her instead.

He used System skills subtly, amplifying the pleasure, making her increasingly sensitive to his touch, his presence. Her resistance waned, replaced by a desperate need for the next thrust, the next touch.

She cried, she begged, she moaned, she screamed his name, sometimes Alaric, sometimes, in moments of utter surrender, she’d accidentally call him Master, confusing him with Lord Vortan, only for him to correct her sharply.

“Alaric is your Master now!” he’d growl, plunging deeper, punishing her slip-up, reinforcing his ownership.

The room was filled with the sounds of their coupling, the rhythm of his thrusts, her increasingly desperate pleas and cries of pleasure.

By dawn, Brita was a shell of her former self. Her body was bruised, marked, utterly spent, but her core… her very being… felt irrevocably altered.

Her virginity was gone, taken by this ruthless, powerful man. The space within her that she had reserved for Lord Vortan was now filled, utterly and completely, by Alaric.

He was still inside her as the first rays of sun touched the window. She was lying on her back, legs wrapped weakly around his waist, head lolling to the side.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her body twitched with residual tremors. She had long since lost count of the times she had climaxed. Twenty? Thirty? It felt endless.

Alaric, seemingly tireless, continued his slow, deep thrusts. He wasn’t nearing climax himself yet. He was simply… occupying her. Reinforcing his victory.

He pulled out slightly, then drove deep again.

Brita whimpered, a soft, raw sound.

He leaned down, kissing the sweat-slick skin of her neck.

“Feel that, Brita?” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “That’s me. Inside you. Claiming what’s mine.”

He withdrew completely, finally ready to end the session. It was almost midday.

Brita felt a strange sense of loss, a hollowness, as he pulled out.

He cleaned both of them with a swift spell.

Brita lay there, aching, trembling, utterly defeated. Her eyes, when she looked at Alaric, were dazed, filled with a complex mixture of pain, shame, exhaustion, and a terrifying, dawning need.

He stood over her, looking down at her.

“You are mine now, Brita,” Alaric stated, his voice calm, final. “Your loyalty. Your body. Your power.”

He saw the acceptance in her eyes. The breaking of her will. The new programming taking hold.

‘Success,’ he thought, a grim satisfaction filling him. His Divine Harem God System thrummed with amplified power.

“You will report to me,” he continued. “Everything about the Phantom Assembly. Their plans. Lord Vortan’s intentions.”

He paused, then added the final, crucial command.

“And you will obey me. In all things. Without question.”

Brita, her body screaming in protest, her mind a haze of conflicting emotions, could only manage a weak nod.

“Yes… Master,” she whispered, the word tasting strange, wrong, on her tongue. But the need, the strange, terrifying dependence his ruthless claiming had instilled in her, was already taking root.

Alaric smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of a conqueror.

“Good,” he said. “Now, rest. You will have new duties tomorrow. Duties only my personal slut can fulfill.”

He turned and walked towards the door, leaving Brita lying naked and broken on the bed. Her virginity taken, her will shattered, her loyalty rewritten.

She was no longer Brita Kuusk, loyal Master Mage of the Phantom Assembly.

She was Alaric Steele’s. His whore. His slave. His conquered asset.

She curled into a ball, tears still flowing, but different now. Tears of pain, yes, but also tears of shame and a terrifying, dawning anticipation for the next time her new Master would come to claim her.

The Phantom Assembly had made its move on the kingdom.

Alaric Steele had made his move on the Assembly’s Master Mage.

And the game of power, seduction, and conquest in the crumbling kingdom of Eloriath had just taken another brutal, decisive turn.