Chapter 94: Fun With MILF Ulriya In River

The morning light streamed through the window, casting long golden beams across the room. Alaric stretched lazily, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth as the memories of the previous night danced through his mind. His eyes shifted to the bed beside him, where Ulyria lay curled beneath the sheets, her silver hair spilling like moonlight over the pillow. Her face was serene, her breathing soft and steady.

A wave of possessiveness surged through him, laced with satisfaction. She was his now, in every sense that mattered. A pawn in his game, a leverage point for her son. The thought filled him with grim amusement.

Sliding out of bed, Alaric moved with deliberate care. He dressed quickly, pulling on his usual dark attire—a leather tunic and cloak that seemed to absorb the light. The faint rustle of fabric and the metallic clink of his belt buckle broke the silence, but Ulyria didn’t stir. Her exhaustion suited him fine; she would need her strength for what came next.

Once fully dressed, Alaric paused by the door, casting one last glance at her sleeping form. Then, without a word, he stepped into the hall, letting the door click shut behind him.

Downstairs, the inn’s common room was alive with the muted hum of conversation. The aroma of fresh bread and spiced tea filled the air, mingling with the occasional crackle of the hearth. Alaric’s eyes quickly found Rosalind, seated at a corner table. Her auburn hair caught the morning light, and her emerald eyes sparkled as she toyed with a slice of honeyed toast.

“Well, well,” she teased as he approached, her lips curving into a playful smile. “Look who decided to grace us with his presence. Sleep well, your highness?”

Alaric chuckled, sliding into the chair across from her. “Well enough. Though the mattress leaves something to be desired.”

Rosalind’s grin widened. “Oh, the horrors of a subpar mattress. How do you even survive?”

“Barely,” Alaric replied dryly, though a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. His tone shifted as he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Rosalind’s teasing expression softened, her brow furrowing slightly. “What is it?”

“I’m heading back to the Steele mansion,” Alaric said, his words clipped and to the point. “With the ten bottles of Mystic Rejuvenation Elixir in my possession, there’s no reason to linger here any longer. They need to be delivered.”

Understanding flickered in Rosalind’s eyes. She set down her toast and folded her hands neatly on the table. “I see. So it’s time to wrap this up, then?”

“Exactly. You’ll stay behind to handle the remaining loose ends,” Alaric said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Once you’ve finished, you can join me at the mansion. I’ll be waiting.”

Rosalind tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Alright,” she said finally, her voice steady. “I’ll make sure everything here is squared away. You won’t have to wait long.”

Alaric reached across the table, his hand brushing against hers. “Good. I’m counting on you, Rosalind.”

Her fingers curled slightly, returning the touch. “You always do,” she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips. “And I always deliver, don’t I?”

He inclined his head, a rare glimmer of warmth in his otherwise sharp gaze. “You do.”

Standing, Alaric pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “Make it quick. I don’t want to be gone longer than necessary.”

Rosalind gave him a mock salute, her grin returning. “Yes, sir. Safe travels, Alaric.”

With a nod, he turned and strode toward the stairs, his mind already shifting to the next phase of his plan.

Back in his room, Alaric found Ulyria awake, standing near the window. She had changed into the maid’s uniform he had provided, a garment tailored to be both practical and provocatively revealing. The fitted bodice clung to her figure, and the short skirt left little to the imagination. She shifted uncomfortably, her hands fidgeting with the hem of the apron.

The sight of her stirred something dark and primal within Alaric. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes raking over her form with a predatory intensity.

“You’re ready, then?” he asked, his voice low and commanding.

Ulyria glanced at him, her silver eyes clouded with a mixture of resignation and defiance. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmured.

Alaric stepped into the room, closing the distance between them in a few measured strides. He reached out, tilting her chin upward so their eyes met. “Good. We leave within the hour. Everything else has been handled.”

Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. “I understand.”

He studied her for a moment longer before releasing her and turning away. “Pack whatever you need. We won’t be stopping until we reach the mansion.”

Ulyria hesitated, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. “And what happens when we get there?”

Alaric paused, his back to her. “You’ll play your part, as we agreed. Do that, and you’ll have nothing to fear.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more. Turning back to the small dresser, she began gathering her belongings with deliberate efficiency. Alaric watched her for a moment longer before stepping out into the hall, leaving her to her preparations.

An hour later, they stood outside the inn, the morning bustle of the town surrounding them. A carriage waited nearby, its sleek black exterior gleaming in the sunlight. Alaric gestured for Ulyria to climb inside, his expression unreadable.

The journey to the Steele mansion stretched before them, a four-day crawl across the countryside. The carriage, though appointed with cushioned seats and velvet drapes, felt like a gilded cage to Ulyria. The close proximity to Alaric, the oppressive silence punctuated only by the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the creak of the carriage wheels, amplified the tension that hung heavy in the air.

Alaric, settled comfortably in his corner, observed Ulyria with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He knew this journey would serve a dual purpose: transporting them to their destination and further cementing his control over her. He intended to use these days to erode the last vestiges of her resistance, to mold her into the submissive instrument he required.

The first day was a subtle campaign of reminders. Alaric began with verbal jabs, casual yet cutting remarks designed to chip away at her self-worth. “That dress suits you,” he’d say, his tone laced with a mocking sweetness, “It’s… appropriate. For your current station.” Or, glancing at her hands clasped tightly in her lap, “Such delicate hands. A shame they’re wasted on a servant.”

Ulyria, though stung by his words, refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. She kept her gaze fixed out the window, the passing landscape a blur of greens and browns. But Alaric persisted, his words becoming more pointed, more personal. He recounted details of their previous encounter, twisting them into crude insinuations, painting her as a willing participant in his game.

As the day wore on, his tactics shifted from verbal to physical. He began with seemingly accidental touches – a brush of his hand against her leg, a lingering graze of his fingers against her arm. Each touch sent a shiver of revulsion through Ulyria, but she dared not pull away, fearing a more overt display of his power.

By evening, the tension in the carriage was palpable. As the light faded and the driver lit the carriage lamps, Alaric’s touches became bolder. He reached out and ran a hand down her arm, his fingers trailing across her skin, sending goosebumps erupting across her flesh. “You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Are you cold, my dear?”

Ulyria pulled her arm away, her heart pounding in her chest. “No,” she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible.

Alaric chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “Don’t lie to me, Ulyria. I can see the fear in your eyes. It’s… intoxicating.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You know what I want, don’t you? You know what you’re here for.”

The next day, Alaric’s assaults escalated. He no longer bothered with subtle touches or veiled insults. He openly caressed her, his hands roaming over her body with a possessive familiarity that made her skin crawl. He would cup her breast, his fingers squeezing gently, watching her face for any sign of resistance. “Such a generous offering,” he’d whisper, his voice thick with lust. “You should be proud of what you have to offer.”

Ulyria’s stomach churned with disgust. She tried to push his hand away, but he simply tightened his grip, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Don’t,” she pleaded, her voice choked with emotion. “Please.”

Alaric ignored her plea, his touch becoming more insistent. He ran his hand down her stomach, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip. “You’re so soft,” he murmured. “So… inviting.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “Look at you, sweet cheeks,” he’d murmur, his voice laced with contempt. “Such a ripe, juicy slut. You’re practically begging for it.”

Ulyria flinched, her eyes filling with tears. She wanted to scream, to fight, but the image of Orion, vulnerable and alone, flashed through her mind. She knew she couldn’t risk anything that might put him in danger. She closed her eyes and endured, her body stiff with resistance, her mind numb with despair.

The third day was a blur of humiliation and degradation. Alaric’s control over her was absolute. He touched her whenever he pleased, whispered whatever crude remark came to mind, knowing she was powerless to stop him. He would pull her onto his lap, forcing her to straddle him, his hands gripping her hips tightly. “Dance for me, little bird,” he’d command, his eyes burning with lust. “Show me how grateful you are.”

Ulyria, her spirit broken, obeyed. She moved her body mechanically, her eyes fixed on a point in the distance, her mind detached from the reality of the situation. She felt like a puppet, her strings pulled by Alaric’s cruel hand.

By the fourth day, Ulyria was a shell of her former self. The fight had drained from her eyes, replaced by a dull, empty resignation. When Alaric touched her, she no longer flinched or protested. She simply closed her eyes and waited for it to be over.

Sensing her complete surrender, Alaric became bolder. He spread her legs, his fingers exploring her intimately, whispering lewd suggestions in her ear. “That’s it, sweet cheeks,” he’d murmur, his voice a low growl of satisfaction. “You’re such a good little slut. You know you want it.”

And then, in a moment of utter despair, Ulyria’s eyes fluttered open. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. “You’re right,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, laced with a deep resignation. “I am a slut. I don’t deserve to be a mother. I’m just… yours.”

A triumphant smile spread across Alaric’s face. He had broken her, completely and utterly. He had reduced her to the submissive creature he desired. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “Now, let’s see how much pleasure I can give my little slut.”

~~

The carriage lurched to a halt, jolting Ulyria from her dazed stupor. Alaric’s voice, low and laced with a predatory anticipation, cut through the quiet. “We’re here, sweet cheeks. Time for a little… detour.” He ran a finger down her arm, a possessive gesture that sent shivers down her spine. “Think of it as a little break. A chance to stretch our legs. What do you say?”

Ulyria met his gaze, her eyes a mixture of fear and weary resignation. The constant barrage of his manipulations had left her emotionally exhausted. “Whatever you want,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Alaric’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “That’s my good girl.” He reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle. “Come on. Let’s take a little walk.”

He practically dragged her from the carriage, his grip on her hand tight and unforgiving. They were beside a river, the water sparkling under the midday sun. The sound of the rushing water, usually a source of peace, felt ominous in this context. It was secluded, private – perfect for whatever twisted game Alaric had in mind.

He turned to her, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Ever gone skinny dipping, sweet cheeks?” he asked, his tone teasing, almost playful.

Ulyria’s eyes widened. The thought was both shocking and terrifying. “No,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I… I can’t swim.”

Alaric let out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t let you drown.” He reached for the hem of her dress, his touch sending a jolt of revulsion through her. “But I certainly intend to get you wet.”

He began to undress her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring each moment of her growing discomfort. His eyes roamed over her body as each layer of clothing fell away, taking in the goosebumps that rose on her skin, the way her nipples tightened in the cool air. He watched her breath quicken, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and a strange, unwanted anticipation.

As her dress pooled at her feet, Alaric leaned in, capturing her lips in a forceful kiss. His hands roamed over her body, cupping her breasts, squeezing her hips, his touch both possessive and demanding. He pulled back, his eyes burning with lust. “Damn, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed, his voice rough. “I could just… devour you.”

Ulyria shivered, her body trembling. “Please,” she whispered, her voice laced with desperation. “Just… be gentle.”

Alaric’s chuckle was devoid of warmth. “Gentle? Where’s the fun in that?” He reached out, pinching her nipple between his fingers, a small, sharp pain that made her gasp. He trailed kisses down her neck, nipping at her earlobe, his breath hot against her skin. He could feel her body responding, her breath quickening, small moans escaping her lips. He knew she was close to the edge, but he wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet.

He led her into the river, the cool water shocking against her heated skin. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, the fear of the unknown, the fear of the water itself. But beneath the fear, he also saw a flicker of something else – a fragile trust, a desperate hope that he wouldn’t truly hurt her.

As they waded deeper, the water reaching their thighs, Alaric turned to her, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. “You know,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “I’ve been thinking. About you, about us, about this… arrangement.”

Ulyria looked at him, her eyes wide with apprehension. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

Alaric smirked, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples. “I think it’s time we took things to the next level.” He leaned closer, his voice a low growl. “I think it’s time you fully embraced your role. Forget about your son for a moment. Just… focus on me.”

Ulyria’s breath caught in her throat. “What are you saying?” she stammered, her mind reeling.

Alaric’s lips brushed against her ear as he spoke, his voice a seductive whisper. “I’m saying it’s time you accepted that you’re a slut. My slut. You’re here to serve me, to please me, to obey my every whim.”

A moan escaped Ulyria’s lips as his fingers slipped between her legs, his touch sending a wave of unwanted pleasure through her. “But… I can’t,” she gasped, her voice laced with desperation. “I’m a mother. I have a son. I can’t just… forget about him.”

Alaric chuckled, his fingers moving faster, his touch becoming more insistent. “You can, and you will.” He leaned back slightly, looking into her eyes. “You’ll forget everything but me. Everything but this feeling. Everything but the pleasure I can give you.”

Ulyria’s body trembled, a confusing mix of pleasure and fear coursing through her veins. She tried to cling to her resistance, to the memory of her son, but Alaric’s touch was relentless, his words a constant assault on her senses.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl. “Let go. Just feel. Let the pleasure take over. Let it consume you. Let it make you mine.”

Ulyria’s moans grew louder, her body arching against his hand. She felt herself slipping, falling into the abyss of sensation. The memory of Orion, once a shield against Alaric’s cruelty, began to fade, replaced by the overwhelming need for release.

As Alaric’s fingers moved with increasing urgency, Ulyria’s control finally shattered. A cry escaped her lips as she reached her climax, her body convulsing in his arms. The world narrowed to the feel of his touch, the sound of her own ragged breaths, the overwhelming wave of pleasure that washed over her.

When the intensity subsided, Ulyria lay limp in Alaric’s arms, her body trembling, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Shame, confusion, and a lingering echo of the intense pleasure warred within her.

Alaric pulled her close, his arms tightening around her. “Good girl,” he whispered against her ear, his voice laced with triumph. “Good little slut. See how good that feels? See how good I can make you feel?”

Ulyria could only nod, her voice lost in the confusion of her emotions. “Yes,” she whispered, the word barely audible.

Alaric’s smile widened. “There’s so much more where that came from,” he murmured. “So much more pleasure I can give you. And you’re going to take it all, aren’t you? You’re going to be my slut, my whore, my everything.”

Ulyria’s eyes met his, a flicker of defiance still burning within them. But the fight was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-weary resignation. “Yes,” she whispered again, her voice barely a breath. “I am.”

Alaric’s smile widened, a look of pure triumph in his eyes. He had won. He had broken her. And she was now his, completely and utterly.