Chapter 264 Taking The Virginity Of Meng Yao

The evening within the Ice Heart Citadel was surprisingly calm. Alaric’s ‘Arctic Warden’ barrier pulsed with a steady, reassuring azure light, holding the lingering demonic stragglers and the biting northern winds at bay. The disciples, exhausted but buoyed by their recent victory and the presence of their powerful savior, had retired to their quarters, a sense of fragile security settling over the frozen valley.

Alaric, however, had other plans. The intense battle, the subsequent demonstration of his power in repairing the barrier, and the gratitude shining in Sect Mistress Meng Yao’s obsidian eyes had all been carefully orchestrated steps. Now, it was time for the final, most personal act of their… alliance.

He made his way through the silent, ice-carved corridors of the Citadel’s inner sanctum, his destination clear: Meng Yao’s private chambers. He hadn’t been explicitly summoned, but the unspoken invitation in her gaze earlier, when she had pledged the Sect’s resources and offered her… personal gratitude… had been unmistakable. She would be expecting him.

‘The Ice Queen herself,’ Alaric mused, a predatory smile playing on his lips. ‘Centuries of cold discipline, a peak Grandmaster Martialist, mistress of a reclusive sect. Breaking her icy facade, making her melt… it will be a particularly delicious conquest.’ He knew her type. The ones who projected an aura of untouchable control were often the ones who craved, deep down, to be utterly dominated, to surrender completely.

He reached her chamber door – a simple, unadorned slab of polished ice that seemed to shimmer with internal light. He didn’t knock. He simply pushed it open gently and stepped inside.

The chamber was surprisingly warm, heated by subtle magical arrays woven into the ice walls. Soft furs carpeted the floor, and a low fire crackled in a gracefully carved hearth. The air was scented with a faint, exotic fragrance – not the usual sharp scent of ice and ozone, but something warmer, more… inviting.

And there, standing near the hearth, her back to him, was Sect Mistress Meng Yao.

She was not clad in her severe Sect Mistress robes. Instead, as Alaric had… anticipated… she wore the illusionary black dress he had designed for her – the one that concealed the enchanted black silk bikini beneath. The dress, even as an illusion, was breathtaking, clinging to her magnificent, mature curves, the silver stockings shimmering in the firelight. Her long, jet-black hair, usually so severely braided, was unbound, cascading down her back like a silken waterfall.

She turned slowly as he entered, her obsidian eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, now holding a strange mixture of nervousness, anticipation, and a dawning, undeniable awareness.

“Lord Alaric,” she greeted him, her voice a low, husky whisper, a stark contrast to her usual clear, authoritative tone. “I… I was expecting you.”

Alaric closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the sudden stillness. He leaned against it for a moment, his ruby eyes sweeping over her, a slow, deliberate appraisal that made Meng Yao’s breath catch in her throat. He didn’t say anything, just let his gaze linger, on the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts beneath the illusion, the elegant line of her neck.

‘She’s ready,’ Alaric thought, a surge of possessive satisfaction warming him. ‘The groundwork has been laid. The fear, the gratitude, the awe… and now, the anticipation.’

He pushed himself away from the door, moving towards her with a slow, deliberate stride, his [Emperor’s Presence!] subtly filling the chamber, a warm, intoxicating pressure that made Meng Yao’s heart pound.

“Were you now, Sect Mistress?” Alaric purred, his voice a silken caress. He stopped just inches from her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body, to smell the faint, masculine scent of sandalwood and power that always seemed to cling to him. “And what, precisely, were you expecting?”

Meng Yao swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She could feel the familiar blush creeping up her neck, staining her pale cheeks. “I… I wished to express my gratitude more… personally, Lord Alaric. For saving my Sect. For… everything.” Her gaze flickered down, then back up to meet his, a hint of defiance mixing with her nervousness. “And perhaps… to discuss the… finer details of our alliance. As you suggested.”

Alaric chuckled softly, a low, predatory sound. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing against her soft lips. Meng Yao shivered at his touch, but didn’t pull away.

“Gratitude, Meng Yao?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I do appreciate gratitude. Especially when it is offered so… beautifully.” His gaze swept over her again, lingering pointedly on the illusionary black dress. “You wear my creations well, Sect Mistress. That black… it suits your icy beauty perfectly. Elegant. Mysterious. And… incredibly alluring.”

Meng Yao blushed deeper, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the fire in the hearth. “Thank you, Lord Alaric. The… the enhancements are remarkable. My disciples… they feel stronger, more confident.”

“As they should,” Alaric said, his fingers still gently caressing her face. He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. “But tell me, Meng Yao… these illusionary robes… they are magnificent, are they not? So intricate. So… deceptive.”

He pulled back slightly, his ruby eyes holding hers, a knowing, mischievous glint within them. “But illusions, my dear Sect Mistress, are for others. Not for the one who weaves them.”

Meng Yao’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. ‘He means… he can see…?’

Alaric’s smile widened. “Indeed, Meng Yao,” he confirmed her unspoken thought, his voice a low, intimate purr. “That beautiful, elegant black dress you believe you are wearing? The one that radiates such power and modesty?” He chuckled softly. “To my eyes, my dear, it is nothing but air. I see only the truth beneath. The exquisite, tiny black silk bikini I so carefully designed for your… personal comfort… and my personal viewing pleasure.”

His gaze dropped pointedly to her breasts, then lower, to her hips, to the tantalizing swell of her mound barely concealed by the scrap of silk. “And I must say, Sect Mistress,” he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation, “the reality is far more… breathtaking… than any illusion.”

Meng Yao stood frozen, her mind reeling. He could see? He had been seeing her, seeing all her disciples, in their bikinis, all this time? The thought was mortifying. Scandalous. And yet… a strange, forbidden thrill shot through her. He had designed them for her, for his viewing. The intimacy of it, the sheer audacity… it was overwhelming.

The blush that had stained her cheeks now consumed her entire face, spreading down her neck, even to the tops of her magnificent breasts, which strained against the thin silk of her bikini top, her nipples hardening instantly under his direct, knowing gaze.

She should be outraged. She should demand he leave. She should unleash her icy fury.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

A strangled sound escaped her lips, half gasp, half whimper. She looked down, unable to meet his triumphant, predatory gaze. She felt utterly exposed, vulnerable, yet… strangely… not entirely displeased. The thought of him seeing her like this, appreciating her body so openly, while the rest of the world saw only the illusion of modesty… it was a secret, illicit intimacy that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“You… you truly are a depraved one, Lord Alaric,” Meng Yao whispered, her voice trembling slightly, a mixture of shock, shame, and a dawning, reluctant amusement in her tone. “To target all the beauties of my Sect… to dress us in such… such shameless attire… and then to gaze upon us as you please…”

Alaric chuckled, stepping even closer, his body almost brushing against hers. He reached out, his hands settling on her waist, his fingers tracing the delicate line of her bikini bottom through the illusionary fabric that only he knew wasn’t there.

“Depraved, Meng Yao?” he purred, his lips brushing her ear again. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply appreciate true beauty. And true power. And you, my dear Sect Mistress,” his hands slid upwards, cupping her full, heavy breasts through the thin silk of her bikini top, his thumbs brushing against her already aching nipples, “you possess an abundance of both.”

Meng Yao gasped, her body arching instinctively into his touch. The feel of his hands on her breasts, so direct, so possessive, sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure through her. All thoughts of outrage, of propriety, vanished, consumed by the rising tide of desire.

“And yes,” Alaric continued, his voice now a low, husky growl, “I intend to target every beauty in this Sect who catches my eye. Especially their magnificent, icy, and surprisingly passionate Sect Mistress.”

He squeezed her breasts gently, his eyes burning into hers. “Starting with you, Meng Yao. Tonight. You offered your gratitude. Now, it is time to collect.”

Before she could form a response, before she could even process the full implication of his words, Alaric acted. His hands moved with swift, practiced ease. The delicate strings of her black silk bikini top were untied, the thin fabric falling away, exposing her magnificent, full breasts to the warm air of the chamber, to his hungry gaze.

Meng Yao cried out softly, a mixture of surprise and burgeoning excitement. Her nipples, already hard, seemed to swell further under his direct scrutiny.

He didn’t stop there. His hands moved lower, finding the strings of her bikini bottom. With another quick, decisive movement, they too were undone, the tiny scrap of silk falling to the fur-covered floor, leaving Sect Mistress Meng Yao standing before him completely, gloriously naked.

Her body was a masterpiece of mature femininity. Full, heavy breasts, tipped with dusky rose nipples that were now taut with arousal. A surprisingly slender waist, dipping invitingly towards the lush flare of her hips. A perfectly rounded, voluptuous backside. Long, toned legs. And between them, a neat triangle of dark, silken curls, already glistening with the dew of her rapidly building desire.

She stood trembling, her obsidian eyes wide, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She was beautiful. Powerful. And utterly vulnerable.

Alaric let his gaze roam over her, savoring the sight. “Perfect,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. “Absolutely perfect.”

He reached out, his hand gently cupping one of her breasts, feeling its weight, its softness. Meng Yao shivered, a soft moan escaping her lips. His thumb brushed against her nipple, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

“You are exquisite, Meng Yao,” he murmured, his other hand moving to her waist, pulling her closer, until her naked body was pressed against his clothed form. “So much hidden fire beneath that icy facade.”

He leaned down, his lips finding hers, capturing them in a deep, possessive kiss. Meng Yao gasped into his mouth, her initial shock melting into an overwhelming surge of desire. Her arms came up, wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer, her body instinctively responding to his dominant touch.

The kiss was long, passionate, a claiming. Alaric’s tongue plundered her mouth, tasting her sweetness, igniting a firestorm of sensation within her. Meng Yao kissed him back with a surprising ferocity, her centuries of suppressed passion finally unleashed.

He broke the kiss, leaving her breathless, her lips swollen, her eyes glazed with desire. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, her naked body cradled against his chest. Meng Yao wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him, her heart pounding.

He carried her towards the massive bed, laying her gently amidst the plush furs. He stood over her for a moment, his ruby eyes devouring her naked form, his own erection straining visibly against his trousers.

“Now, Meng Yao,” Alaric purred, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Let us begin your… advanced cultivation lesson. A lesson in pleasure. A lesson in submission. A lesson you will never forget.”

He began to undress, his movements slow, deliberate, savoring her anticipation. Meng Yao watched him, her breath catching in her throat as each layer of his clothing fell away, revealing the magnificent, sculpted physique beneath. Broad shoulders, a powerful chest, a lean, muscular abdomen, strong arms and legs. He was, she realized with a jolt, a perfect specimen of male beauty and power.

And then, he was fully naked.

Meng Yao gasped, her eyes widening in utter, shocked disbelief. She had seen men before, of course, in her long life. Sect guards, visiting dignitaries, even, in her youth, potential suitors before she had fully dedicated herself to the Sect. But she had never, ever, seen anything like this.

Alaric’s erection was… colossal. Impossibly thick, impossibly long, jutting proudly from a nest of dark blonde curls. It pulsed with a life of its own, veins standing out in sharp relief along its impressive length. The head was blunt, almost brutal, yet with a strange, alluring curve. It looked like a weapon, a pillar of raw, masculine power.

‘By the frozen spirits…’ Meng Yao’s mind reeled. ‘It’s… it’s a battering ram! A tree trunk! How… how can any woman possibly accommodate… that?’ A wave of fear, cold and sharp, shot through her, momentarily overriding the burgeoning desire. This wasn’t just a man; this was a force of nature. Her body, despite her peak Grandmaster Martialist strength, felt suddenly, terrifyingly fragile.

Alaric saw her shock, the flicker of fear in her obsidian eyes. He merely smirked, a predatory glint in his own. “Impressed, Sect Mistress?” he murmured, his voice laced with masculine pride. “Or perhaps… intimidated?”

He knelt on the bed between her parted legs, his presence overwhelming. “Don’t worry, Meng Yao,” he purred, leaning down, his lips brushing hers. “I will be… gentle. At first.”

He kissed her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers, distracting her, soothing her momentary panic with a fresh wave of intoxicating sensation. His hands began to roam her body, caressing her breasts, tracing the curve of her hips, sliding down her thighs.

“You are so beautiful, Meng Yao,” he whispered against her lips. “So soft. So… ready.”

His fingers found her core, already slick and swollen with anticipation. He stroked her gently, expertly, finding her sensitive nub, teasing it until she moaned softly, her fear beginning to melt away under the rising tide of pleasure.

“Open for me, my icy Queen,” Alaric commanded softly, his voice a hypnotic caress.

Meng Yao’s legs parted further, almost involuntarily, her body responding to his touch, his command. He positioned himself, the blunt head of his massive cock pressing against her entrance. She tensed, her breath catching.

“Easy now,” Alaric murmured, then, with a slow, deliberate pressure, he began to enter her.

Meng Yao cried out, a sharp, tearing sensation lancing through her as her virgin passage was breached. Tears sprang to her eyes. It hurt. A deep, stretching, burning pain. But beneath the pain, there was also an incredible, overwhelming fullness, a sense of being utterly, completely invaded.

Alaric paused, buried deep inside her, letting her adjust. He kissed her gently, murmuring soothing words. “Shhh, my love. It’s done. The worst is over. Just breathe.”

He held himself still, feeling her body tremble around him, feeling the slick warmth of her blood coating his shaft. He waited patiently, until her initial pain began to subside, replaced by a dull ache and a strange, tingling awareness of his presence within her.

Then, he began to move. Slowly. Deliberately. Each thrust was a gentle exploration, a careful stretching, letting her body accommodate his immense size. Meng Yao moaned softly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her body slowly, tentatively, beginning to respond.

He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, his touch tender, adoring. He whispered praises in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was, how tight, how responsive.

The initial ache began to morph into a strange, coiling pleasure. With each slow, deep thrust, the sensation intensified. Meng Yao found herself arching her back, meeting his movements, a primal instinct overriding her centuries of icy discipline.

“That’s it, Meng Yao,” Alaric encouraged, his voice husky. “Feel me. Take me.”

He picked up the pace slightly, his thrusts becoming firmer, deeper. Meng Yao’s moans grew louder, less inhibited, her body moving with his in a rhythm that was both ancient and entirely new to her.

He changed positions slowly, carefully, always mindful of her inexperience. He rolled her onto her side, facing him, entering her from that intimate angle. He laid her on her stomach, lifting her hips with pillows, taking her from behind, his hands caressing her magnificent backside. He sat her on his lap, facing him, guiding her movements as she rode his massive cock, her full breasts bouncing enticingly.

Each new position brought new sensations, new depths of pleasure. Meng Yao, the stoic Sect Mistress, found herself crying out his name, begging for more, her body completely consumed by the fire he had ignited within her. Her centuries of suppressed passion, her hidden desires, were finally unleashed, and the inferno was breathtaking.

She climaxed again and again, each orgasm more intense, more shattering than the last. Alaric matched her, his own pleasure amplified by her surrender, his seed flooding her womb repeatedly. He was tireless, relentless, his stamina seemingly divine.

He pushed her past her limits, breaking down her icy reserve, remaking her in the crucible of their shared passion. She clung to him, sobbing his name, her body a vessel for his pleasure, her mind lost in a haze of sensation.

She discovered desires she never knew she possessed. She craved his roughness, his dominance, the feel of his teeth on her skin, the possessive grip of his hands. She begged him to be rougher, to use her harder, to treat her like the slut she was rapidly becoming for him.

And Alaric, ever obliging, delivered. He spanked her reddened buttocks until she screamed, he bit her sensitive neck and breasts, leaving marks of his ownership. He filled her mouth with his cock, fucking her throat until she gagged, then forcing her to swallow. He used her in every way imaginable, his dominance absolute, his pleasure paramount.

As the morning sun once again painted the icy peaks, Sect Mistress Meng Yao lay sprawled across the massive bed, utterly spent, her magnificent body marked, her icy composure shattered, her soul irrevocably claimed. She was no longer just the leader of the Mystic Ice Sect. She was Alaric Steele’s. His ice queen, melted by the inferno of his passion. His virginity-taken slut, now utterly devoted to her magnificent, terrifying Lord. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. The cleansing had been thorough. And exquisitely, exhaustingly, divine.