Chapter 309: Rewarding Three Beauties For Their Advises

The three women, his magnificent, mature Archmage-level slaves, watched his approach, their reactions a symphony of newfound devotion.

Ondine, ever his most devoted queen, let out a low, throaty purr. Her dark eyes, which had held the sharp, calculating glint of a political mastermind moments before, were now soft, glazed with a deep, abiding lust. She shifted, her magnificent, heavy breasts jiggling, her raven hair spilling across the silken pillows, a silent, open invitation.

Priscilla, the proud Archmage who had resisted him so fiercely, now trembled, not with fear, but with a burgeoning, undeniable excitement. The last vestiges of her defiance had been washed away in the torrent of pleasure he had forced upon her, her body now a finely-tuned instrument that hummed with a desperate need for his touch. Her magnificent, voluptuous form seemed to soften, to open, her pale skin flushed a delicate pink.

And Zylle, the fiery spymaster whose hatred had been a burning sun, now found that fire transmuting into something else entirely. A possessive, all-consuming passion. Her hatred hadn’t vanished; it had simply been redirected. She no longer hated him for breaking her; she hated the thought of any other woman having him. She hated the moments when he wasn’t inside her. Her obsidian eyes, once cold and resentful, now burned with a dark, hungry fire.

“My Lord,” Ondine whispered, her voice a silken caress as he drew near. “You were… magnificent. Your mind… it is as sharp and as powerful as your cock. Please, reward me first. Let me feel the mind that will conquer the world deep inside my pussy.” She reached out, her long, elegant fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw.

“No, Master!” Zylle’s voice was a sharp, possessive hiss. She crawled forward on her hands and knees, her magnificent, curvy ass held high, a deliberate, shameless display. “I provided the most crucial intelligence! The secrets that will break them! My throat is still raw from serving you. Surely my pussy deserves its reward now!”

Priscilla, ever the latecomer to this game of submission, found her own voice, a soft, hesitant whisper that was nonetheless filled with a desperate, burgeoning need. “I… I also counseled you, my Lord,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on his magnificent, throbbing dick. “My knowledge… it is yours. My body… is yours. Please… teach me more. Reward me for being a good student.”

Alaric chuckled, a low, dark sound of pure, masculine satisfaction. He loved this. The competition. The desperation. The absolute, all-consuming focus they now had on his pleasure, and by extension, their own.

“Patience, my beautiful pets,” he purred, his ruby eyes glowing with a possessive fire. “There is more than enough of me to go around. You have all counseled me well. And you will all be rewarded. Thoroughly.”

His gaze settled on Priscilla. She had been the one in his lap, the one he had brought to a shuddering, involuntary climax with his fingers while she spoke of ancient alliances. It was only fitting that her reward came first.

“You,” he said, his voice a low command as he pointed a single, imperious finger at her. “You were a very good student tonight. You will receive the first lesson of your reward.”

A jolt of pure, electric pleasure shot through Priscilla. She had been chosen. A triumphant, almost giddy smile touched her lips, a stark contrast to her usual stern composure. She looked at the other two women with a flicker of victorious pride.

Alaric moved to her, his powerful body covering hers. He didn’t enter her immediately. He savored the moment, his hands beginning a slow, methodical exploration of the magnificent, voluptuous body he had so brutally claimed.

He cupped her full, heavy breasts, his thumbs circling her dark, taut nipples, which were already pebble-hard with arousal. Priscilla gasped, her back arching, her magnificent boobs pushed up towards his mouth.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze devouring her. “So full. Perfect for a Lord’s pleasure.” He lowered his head, taking one of her pink nipples into his mouth, his tongue laving it, his teeth gently scraping against the exquisitely sensitive peak.

Priscilla cried out, a high, keening moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure. “Oh, my Lord! Yes! Please!”

While his mouth was busy with Priscilla, his hands were not idle. His left hand slid down her body, his fingers tangling in the soft blonde curls between her thighs, finding her already slick, wet entrance. His right hand reached out, grabbing a fistful of Ondine’s magnificent, heavy breast, squeezing it hard.

Ondine gasped, a thrill of pleasure-pain shooting through her. “Yes, my Lord! Don’t forget about me! I’m waiting for you!” she purred, pressing her magnificent chest against his back, trying to seduce him even as he pleasured another.

Zylle, seeing her rivals being pleasured, let out a low, frustrated growl. She crawled closer, her hands reaching out to caress his powerful, muscular legs. “Master,” she hissed, her voice a low, desperate plea. “Let me serve you. Let me taste you while you fuck her.”

Alaric chuckled, his voice muffled against Priscilla’s soft flesh. “Eager, are we, my little spymaster? Very well. You may worship at my feet. But do not distract me from my current lesson.”

Zylle needed no further encouragement. She lowered her head, her tongue flicking out to trace the veins on his powerful thighs, her lips caressing the base of his shaft, her worship a constant, maddening promise of what was to come.

Alaric returned his full attention to Priscilla. He moved his fingers inside her, finding her tight, virginal passage still swollen and tender from his earlier assault. But now, it was slick, wet, and welcoming. He stretched her with his fingers, preparing her for his magnificent cock.

“Are you ready for your reward, Priscilla?” he growled, his voice a hot breath against her ear.

“Yes, my Lord! Please! I’ve been so good! Please, give me your cock! Fill my pussy!” she begged, her words a desperate, shameless litany of need.

He positioned himself, the massive, purple head of his dick pressing against her entrance. “Then take it,” he commanded.

He thrust.

This time, there was no pain. Only a profound, overwhelming, soul-shattering pleasure. He slid into her with a slick, wet sound, her body accommodating him perfectly, stretching to accept every single inch of his magnificent length. She screamed, a raw, animalistic sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy as he filled her completely.

He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one a punishing, glorious reminder of his ownership. He set a relentless, pounding rhythm, her magnificent, voluptuous body bouncing on the bed with each brutal impact.

“Whose pussy is this, Priscilla?” he grunted, his hips slamming against hers.

“Yours, my Lord! Only yours!” she shrieked, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.

While he fucked her, his free hand continued to play with Ondine’s magnificent tits, squeezing and kneading her full, heavy flesh, his thumbs rubbing her nipples until she was moaning and writhing against his back.

“Oh, Alaric! That feels so good! I’m so wet for you!” Ondine cried, her own hand sliding between her legs, her fingers finding her own slick, swollen clit.

Zylle, at the foot of the bed, continued her devoted worship, her tongue and lips a tormenting, exquisite counterpoint to the deep, pounding pleasure of his fucking. She licked his balls, taking them into her mouth, her tongue swirling, her breath hot and wet.

Alaric was a god of multitasking, a master of depravity. He was fucking one woman, being fellated by another, and groping a third, his entire being a whirlwind of sensual, commanding power.

He brought Priscilla to a screaming, shattering orgasm, her body convulsing violently around his cock, her inner muscles clenching and milking him in a series of desperate spasms. He roared as he came inside her, his seed flooding her womb, a hot, possessive brand marking her as his.

He didn’t pull out immediately. He stayed deep inside her, letting her tremble and sob against the pillows, her first “reward” complete.

He finally withdrew with a wet, sucking sound, leaving Priscilla a boneless, whimpering puddle of bliss on the bed.

He turned his gaze to Zylle, who was watching him with wide, hungry, possessive eyes, his own seed still glistening on her lips.

“You,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “You were a very… diligent… servant. It is your turn.”

A triumphant, feral grin spread across Zylle’s face. She looked at Ondine and Priscilla with a look of pure, victorious pride.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered.

Zylle obeyed instantly, her movements fluid and sensual. She presented her magnificent, curvy ass to him, a perfect, tempting target. It was still marked with the faint red blush of his earlier spankings, a testament to his ownership.

He didn’t enter her immediately. He knelt behind her, his hands gripping her magnificent buttocks, spreading them wide. He admired the view for a long moment, the deep, shadowed valley of her ass, the tight, pink pucker of her asshole, the slick, wet entrance to her cunt.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking out to taste her. She cried out, a sharp gasp of surprise and pleasure as his wet, hot tongue explored her, lapping at her clit, tasting her juices.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her skin. “So ready for me.”

While his mouth was busy with Zylle, his magnificent cock, already hard again, was not idle. He reached out, grabbing Priscilla by the hair. “You are not done, my pet,” he growled. “Serve me.” He pushed his hard dick towards her face.

Priscilla, her mind a blur of pleasure and submission, obeyed without hesitation. She took his cock into her mouth, her lips and tongue working him with a newfound, desperate skill, her eyes closed in blissful concentration.

Ondine, not to be outdone, moved to Zylle’s other side. “Let me help you, sister,” she purred, her own tongue finding Zylle’s magnificent, heavy breast, her mouth closing around the dark, taut nipple.

Zylle moaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure, overwhelming pleasure. She was being eaten out from behind by her master, her tits were being suckled by her queen, and she was about to be fucked senseless. This was a heaven she never could have imagined.

Alaric finally moved, positioning himself behind her. He drove into her with a single, brutal, powerful thrust, his hips slamming against her magnificent, spanked backside.

Zylle screamed, a raw, primal sound of pure ecstasy as he filled her completely. “Yes, Master! Fuck my cunt! Please! Harder!”

He pounded into her in a frantic, animalistic rhythm, his thrusts deep and punishing. He was a storm of lust, and she was the whirlwind at its center. He pulled her hair, tilting her head back, his movements raw, savage.

He brought her to the edge again and again, his masterful control a tormenting, exquisite pleasure. He would slow down just as she was about to come, then slam into her, pushing her back from the brink, her cries of frustration and pleasure a symphony of surrender.

Finally, he gave her release. He drove his cock as deep as it would go, his balls slapping against her magnificent ass, and came inside her with a deep, guttural roar, his body convulsing with the power of his release.

He collapsed on top of her, his weight a comforting, possessive blanket. He stayed there for a long moment, his breathing ragged, his body slick with sweat.

He then rolled off her, leaving her a panting, trembling mess on the bed. He looked at Ondine, who was watching him with a patient, knowing, and incredibly seductive smile.

“And now, my Queen,” he said, his voice a low, husky purr. “It is time for the ruler of this harem to receive her king.”

Ondine’s smile widened. “I have been waiting, my love,” she said, her voice a promise of untold pleasures.

He didn’t move to her. He lay back on the pillows, his magnificent cock, impossibly, already beginning to stir again. “Come to me, my Queen,” he commanded. “Ride your king. Show me the power of the woman who will rule this world by my side.”

Ondine crawled over to him, her movements a fluid, sensual dance. She straddled his hips, her magnificent, heavy breasts swaying with the motion. She looked down at him, her dark eyes burning with a mixture of love, lust, and absolute devotion.

She took his magnificent cock in her hand, guiding it to her wet, welcoming entrance. She lowered herself onto him slowly, a sharp hiss of pleasure escaping her lips as he filled her completely.

She began to ride him, her hips moving in a slow, grinding rhythm that was pure, exquisite torture. She was a goddess of lust, and he was her willing, adoring throne.

While she rode him, her magnificent ass working his shaft, he reached out, his hands finding the magnificent, voluptuous bodies of Priscilla and Zylle. He pulled them closer, his fingers playing with their swollen, sensitive clits, his thumbs rubbing their nipples.

The three women moaned in unison, their bodies a symphony of pleasure orchestrated by a single, magnificent conductor.

The night descended into a marathon of depravity, a blur of tangled limbs, slick skin, and endless, screaming orgasms. Alaric’s stamina was truly, inhumanly divine. He moved from one woman to the next, his energy seemingly limitless.

He took them against the wall, pinning their magnificent bodies against the cool tapestries, their cries echoing in the chamber. He had them on the floor, on the thick fur rugs, his movements raw, animalistic. He had them perform a tittyfuck for him, their magnificent, heavy breasts pressed together, his cock sliding between them, his seed coating their faces and chests.

He made them pleasure each other, their initial hesitation quickly melting away into an eager, competitive desire to please him, their tongues and fingers exploring each other’s magnificent bodies under his watchful, approving gaze.

As the first pale light of dawn began to creep into the chamber, he gathered them all on the bed for one final, glorious act. He had them lie in a circle, their heads pillowed on each other’s magnificent thighs, their mouths open, waiting.

He stood in the center of them, a god surveying his adoring goddesses. He began to stroke himself, his hand moving in a steady, practiced rhythm.

“You are mine,” he declared, his voice a low, hypnotic murmur. “My queens. My archmages. My sluts. And you will take my seed, my essence, my power, and you will make it your own.”

He came with a final, triumphant roar, his seed erupting in a hot, thick torrent, showering their faces, their hair, their magnificent breasts. They moaned in unison, a sound of blissful, absolute submission as they licked his seed from each other’s lips, a final, intimate sacrament sealing their bond to him, and to each other.

He finally collapsed amidst them, a satisfied, triumphant smile on his face. He had rewarded them well. He had solidified his control. He had forged them into a true, unified harem, their individual prides and hatreds melted away, replaced by a singular, all-consuming love and devotion to him.

The Conclave of Five Peaks had just begun. But in the most important battle, the battle for the hearts, minds, and magnificent bodies of his powerful women, Alaric Steele had already won a decisive, and exquisitely pleasurable, victory.