Chapter 341: Returning To His Pavilion

Alaric woke up slowly, his senses swimming in a sea of warmth and a deep, bone-deep satisfaction.

His first sensation: he was still buried deep inside Elaine’s tight, motherly pussy. She was warm, wet, and clenched around him even in her exhausted, borderline-comatose sleep. It was a nice, snug, welcome home feeling.

His second sensation: his left arm was draped over Queen Kate, his hand completely cupping one of her massive, soft breasts. She was purring in her sleep, a low, contented rumble like a big cat full of cream.

The two royal women were out cold. Not just sleeping. Wrecked. Draped over him, under him, tangled in the sheets like discarded, beautiful puppets. They were completely, utterly spent.

He smirked, his eyes still closed. ’Good morning, Your Majesties.’

He carefully, and almost reluctantly, pulled his dick out of Elaine. It came free with a soft, wet, pop. It was still half-hard. He felt like a god, his body thrumming with a powerful, vibrating energy.

He slipped out of the bed, his naked body a perfect sculpture in the pale, pre-dawn light. He stretched, his back popping, his muscles not even remotely sore. He was a bottomless well of stamina.

He looked at the bed, at the tangle of pale limbs, black hair, and royal sheets. ’My new toys,’ he thought, a possessive, cold smile on his face. ’But… toys need to be tagged. Need to make sure the old King knows… they’re mine now. Not his to play with.’

He focused, his mind sharp as a needle, whispering a soft, intricate spell he’d designed just for this. “My Mark. My Property.”

He walked over to Kate, who was sprawled on her stomach, her magnificent ass in the air. He pressed his thumb to her skin, right on her mons pubis, just above her swollen, red, well-fucked pussy.

A faint, intricate tattoo, like a wisp of black lace or a tiny, complex brand, burned itself into her skin for a split second, a flash of dark, arcane light. Then it faded, becoming completely invisible to the naked eye. But he knew it was there.

“One,” he murmured.

He turned and did the same to Elaine, who was curled in a fetal position. He moved her leg, pressed his thumb to her soft, motherly mons. Another flash. “Two.”

’Now for the others,’ he thought, his mind reaching out like invisible tendrils across the Conclave.

He found the concubines’ quarters. He found Lila and Nyla, the twins, tangled together in one small bed, like two sleeping kittens. Tag. Tag.

He found Anya, the dancer, in another tent, her graceful body asleep in an oddly beautiful pose. Tag.

He found Juliana, the quiet one, in hers, curled up tightly. Tag.

“And that makes six,” he grinned, pulling his magic back. “All my new pets. All properly collared. A nice, neat little set.”

’Now,’ he thought, the real, delicious cruelty of the spell settling in, ’if that useless, sniveling husband of theirs tries to touch them… ZAP.’

The seal was keyed specifically to Reginald’s aura. It wouldn’t hurt anyone else. But if he tried to get familiar…

’The moment his pathetic little mushroom gets within an inch of their skin,’ he mused, ’it’ll hit him with a jolt of pure, non-lethal arcane power.’

He chuckled to himself. ’It’ll feel like being kicked by a mule. Right in the balls.’

“He’ll think he’s lost his magic touch,” Alaric chuckled out loud, the sound soft in the quiet room. “He’ll think he’s the problem. Oh, this is so much better than just killing him.’

It was time to go. He needed to set his other plans in motion.

He walked back to the bed and pinched Queen Kate’s nipple. Hard.

“Aaaah!” Kate gasped, her eyes flying open, her whole body jerking awake. She saw him, the naked, powerful man standing over her, and her first instinct was fear and shame. She tried to cover her naked body with the sheets.

“My… my lord…” she stammered, her mind still foggy with sleep and too much sex.

“Get up,” he commanded. His voice wasn’t playful. It was all business. Cold. “You have a job to do. I’m leaving.”

Kate scrambled to sit up, her muscles screaming in protest. Her whole body felt like one giant, tender bruise. “A job, my lord?” she asked, her voice a raw croak.

“You’re going to wake up your ’King’,” Alaric said, pulling on his own trousers. “You’re going to tell him nothing. Not a word about me. Not a word about this.”

“But… what do I tell him?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Won’t he find about all this?”

“He won’t know shit,” Alaric said flatly. “Let him think whatever he wants. Let him think he had the night of his life. I don’t care. Your only job today is to get him to agree to my alliance.”

“The alliance…”

“The full alliance,” Alaric clarified, his voice hard. “The one that makes him my bitch. Got it? The one that gives me everything. I don’t care how you do it. Seduce him, threaten him, lie to him, tell him it was your idea. Just get it done. Understand?”

Kate, seeing that cold, ruthless look in his eyes, the look of a true master, not a lover, just nodded, her own eyes full of a new, deep, fearful respect. This wasn’t just a man who’d given her pleasure. This was a master.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, her voice firm now. “I’ll… I’ll handle him. I’ll get it done. I promise.”

“Good girl,” he said. He was fully dressed now. He walked past the bed. As he did, he gave her bare ass, which was poking out of the sheets, a hard, stinging smack that echoed in the quiet tent. WHAP.

“Oww!” she yelped, a jolt of unwanted pleasure shooting through her.

“Don’t disappoint me,” he said, not even looking back.

And then he was gone, melting through the tent flap like a shadow.

Alaric slipped out of Elaine’s tent, like a ghost in the dawn, his magic wrapping around him, making him invisible to the sleeping camp.

He bypassed the Strathmore guards, who were still sleeping like babies in their guard post. His Sleep suggestion was still holding them tight. Pathetic.

He was out of their camp in seconds, strolling back to his own pavilion as the first grey light of morning touched the mountain peaks.

A few minutes later, back in the King’s bedchamber, the numbing, sense-deadening spell Alaric had placed on King Reginald faded.

Reginald groaned. His head… oh gods, his head felt like it was full of wet sand. His mouth tasted like a donkey’s stable. And his body…

His body… it ached. It throbbed. A deep, profound, all-over exhaustion. He felt… weak. And sore. Incredibly sore.

“Kate?” he mumbled, his voice a dry, painful croak. He reached over the wall of cushions his wife had built, his hand fumbling for her warm, soft body. “My love? That was… incredible…”

His hand found… an empty, cold bed.

“Kate?”

He sat up, or tried to. His head spun like a top, and his whole body screamed in protest. “Ugh… Gods…”

The tent was empty, save for him. The faint, musky smell of sex hung in the air. His sex, he thought, a faint flicker of pride starting to bloom in his aching head.

“Guards!” he called out, his voice weak. “Guards! Where is the Queen? Is she… is she alright?”

The two guards, Sergeant Thomas and Corporal Davies, burst in, their faces full of polite, dutiful concern.

Then they saw him.

The King. Looking pale, utterly wrecked, his hair sticking up in a mad halo, a dazed, sated look on his face.

Their expressions instantly changed. The polite concern vanished, replaced by a deep, knowing, man-to-man respect. Awe, even.

“Your Majesty!” Thomas said, his voice full of a new, hearty, almost boisterous admiration. “You’re… you’re awake! We… uh… we took the liberty of bringing you some… food! A… a restoring broth! From the kitchens! Hot and strong! We… uh… we figured you’d… need it.”

“Broth?” Reginald said, confused. ’Why am I so sore?’ he thought. ’Did I… did I pull a muscle?’ “Why? I’m just… tired. A bit sore. Where is Queen Kate? Did I… did I overdo it?”

“Ah,” Davies said, shuffling his feet, a lewd, poorly hidden grin plastered all over his face. “Her Majesty… well, she… she slept in Lady Elaine’s pavilion, Your Majesty.”

“Elaine’s?! WHY?!” Reginald was shocked. Mortified. ’Oh gods,’ he thought, his heart sinking. ’She was that angry? She left me again? But… I thought…’

“Oh, no, Your Majesty!” Thomas said quickly, seeing the King’s face fall. “No, not at all! Quite the… opposite, sire!”

“The… opposite?”

“Yes, sire!” Davies jumped in, his grin widening. “According to her handmaiden, who we… questioned… Her Majesty left because… well…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“She said, sire, that you were… uh… ’too heavy-handed.’”

“Too… what?”

“Vigorous, sire!” Davies clarified. “The handmaiden said the Queen was… sore. In… in a good way, sire! A very good way! Said she… needed to… recover. From your… attentions.”

“’Too heavy-handed’?” Reginald repeated. “’Vigorous’?”

Then it clicked.

His mind flashed to a dream. A hazy, wonderful, powerful dream. A dream of him… being a god. Of him dominating Kate, his beautiful, fiery wife. Of her screaming his name. Of the bed shaking and slamming against the tent pole. A dream of unbelievable stamina…

’It wasn’t a dream!’ he realized, a wave of pure, undiluted pride hitting him like a physical blow. ’It was REAL! I did it! I was the one making that noise! I was the one who made her scream like that! I did that!’

He was a lion.

“I… I was, wasn’t I?” he said, trying to sound modest, but his chest puffed out so far a button popped off his nightshirt. “A bit… vigorous.”

“That’s one word for it, sire!” Davies laughed, his tone full of boisterous camaraderie, like they were old war buddies. “We… uh… we heard! All of us on the watch! Sounded like you were… tearing the tent down! Congratulations, Your Majesty! Truly! We… we didn’t know you had it in you! No offense!”

“You… you heard?” Reginald asked, his face red as a beet. But it was pure, unadulterated pride, not shame.

“Gave us all hope, sire!” Thomas said, slapping his knee. “Gave us all hope! Showed us all how a real King gets it done!”

Reginald, though his body felt like it had been hit by a carriage and then stomped on by an elephant, had never, ever in his entire life, felt prouder. He had finally satisfied his wife. He was the King.

Alaric strolled back into his own pavilion, the morning sun on his face. He felt fantastic.

He’d conquered a Queen, a princess, and five concubines. He’d set a political alliance in motion. And he’d humiliated a King while simultaneously boosting his reputation. All before breakfast.

’A good two days’ work,’ he mused.

The moment he walked through the flap of his private chamber, he was ambushed.

“My Lord!” Ondine’s voice was a velvet purr. She latched onto his arm, pressing her magnificent body against his side. She was wearing a silk robe so thin it was basically just a suggestion of fabric. It was completely see-through. Her nipples were hard.

“You’ve been gone for two whole days,” Priscilla’s voice came from his other side. Her own robe was just as flimsy, her voluptuous curves spilling out, her huge tits begging for attention. “We were so worried.”

Zylle didn’t use the door. She simply appeared in front of him, a shadow in black silk. Her cold, perfect body pressed right against his chest, her hands snaking around his neck. “Master. You left us… unattended. We were… concerned.”

“You were horny,” Alaric corrected her, a grin on his face. He wrapped his arms around all three of them, pulling them into a group hug of naked, willing flesh. The combined scent of three desperate, powerful, horny women hit him. He’d just finished a 24-hour-plus marathon… but… his dick twitched with renewed interest.

“We’ve missed you,” Ondine said, her hand sliding down his chest, past his belt. “Deeply. And… we’re ready.”

“We were so worried,” Priscilla added, her own hand finding his ass, squeezing it. “And so bored. We haven’t been… properly attended… in days.”

“We require… reassurance,” Zylle finished, her lips finding the pulse point on his neck, her cold tongue flicking out like a tiny, welcome snake. “That we are still… useful to you.”

“Ladies, ladies,” Alaric laughed, “calm down. I was just… handling diplomacy. You know. Foreign relations. It was very… hard… work. I had to… entertain… several foreign dignitaries.”

“Is that what you call it?” Ondine asked, her fingers skillfully unfastening his trousers, which he’d just put on. “Well, your diplomacy is over. It’s our turn. We have… needs… too.”

“We’ve been waiting for two days,” Priscilla pouted, her hands tearing at his shirt, her own lust burning in her violet eyes. “Two long, lonely days.”

“The ’guest’ you brought back has been… silent,” Zylle added, her voice a low growl of annoyance. “She just sits in her tent and stares at the wall. She’s been no fun at all.”

“Oh, Lady Ruoli?” Alaric chuckled, his trousers falling to the floor. “She’s just… resting. She had a… very long night before she met you. She’s probably just… tired. Poor thing.”

They were on him in an instant. Like a pack of beautiful, starving wolves. They tore his remaining clothes off, their usual poise and grace gone, replaced by raw, primal need.

He was pushed onto the massive, fur-covered bed, and all three of them were on him at once.

Ondine’s mouth went straight for his cock, her regal lips closing around him with practiced, hungry skill.

Priscilla’s mouth covered his, her tongue dueling with his, a hot, wet, magical kiss.

And Zylle’s cold hands were everywhere, her touch like ice and fire, her fingers finding his nipples, his balls, the sensitive skin of his inner thighs…

It was an orgy. A tangle of pale limbs, dark hair, blonde hair, and powerful magic, all fighting to please him, to claim him, to remind him who his women were.

After an hour of this delightful, chaotic reunion, as he was pounding into Ondine from behind, her royal ass jiggling with every deep thrust, while Priscilla knelt in front of her, sucking her clit, and Zylle was sucking him off at the same time… he got a wicked idea.

“Zylle,” he commanded, his voice a rough grunt as he bottomed out inside his Queen.

“Master?” she replied, her voice muffled, her mouth still full of him. She pulled off for a second, her lips glistening.

“Go to the guest tent. The one we put that other new ’ally’ in,” he panted, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “Bring me… Lady Ruoli. Tell her the partnership meeting is starting. Now.”

A cold, cruel smile touched Zylle’s lips. She loved seeing other, proud women broken and humiliated by her Master. “Yes, Master. With pleasure.”

Zylle vanished, melting into the shadows like she was never there.

Ten minutes later, the tent flap was thrown open. Lin Ruoli was shoved into the room, stumbling. She was pale, terrified, and still looked broken from her own ordeal. She saw the carnage of the orgy. The tangled, naked, writhing bodies. The smell of sex. Her eyes went wide with a new, fresh horror.

Alaric, still buried deep inside Ondine, just grinned at her. He beckoned her with one finger.

“Get over here, Ruoli. And take your clothes off. It’s time to… negotiate… again. Show my women what a good, obedient partner you are.”

She obeyed, her hands shaking so badly she could barely untie her robe. She knew what this was. Humiliation. But… she had to, for her husband.

The moment her robe fell, she was pulled into the writhing, naked pile by Zylle, her screams of shame and pleasure joining the chorus.