Harem Master: Seduction System

Chapter 293: Fun With Mother And Aunt

The moon was a cold, indifferent witness in the sky. Alaric dragged Zylle Mordan’s limp, powerless body from the cratered field, his grip firm and unforgiving on her arm. She stumbled, her legs barely able to support her, her mind a shattered landscape of disbelief and primal terror.

He didn’t speak. The silence was a weapon in itself, a suffocating blanket of dominance that left no room for protest or plea. He moved with a swift, purposeful stride, pulling her along like a spoil of war.

They flew. A brief, disorienting surge of wind magic, and the ruined farmhouse vanished, replaced by the glittering lights of Lysandra. He landed not at the Bellerose estate, but in a secluded courtyard of the Royal Palace itself, now under Ondine’s absolute control.

He dragged her through silent, opulent corridors, the few guards they passed bowing deeply, their eyes carefully averted. They knew better than to question Queen Ondine’s... special guest.

He brought her to a lavish, isolated suite. He threw her onto the massive, canopied bed. The silken sheets were a cruel mockery of comfort. Zylle landed in a heap, sobbing softly, her body a symphony of aches and the deep, violating soreness of his claiming.

"Do not move," Alaric commanded, his voice a low, chilling whisper. He waved a hand, and invisible bonds of force settled over her, pinning her to the bed.

He approached, his ruby eyes holding no trace of the passion from their battle, only a cold, clinical focus. "Now," he murmured, more to himself than to her, "let’s remove your old master’s leash. Permanently."

He placed his hand on her chest, directly over her heart, where the Dark Seed pulsed faintly beneath her skin. Zylle flinched, a whimper escaping her lips.

As an Archmage, this process was almost trivial for Alaric now. He had practiced it on Brita, understood the mechanics. He focused his own potent spiritual energy, a fine, needle-like tendril that pierced through her skin, through the seed’s outer shell, seeking the core.

He felt it. A faint, almost imperceptible strand of will, a psychic signature that was not her own. Lord Vortan’s will. A kill switch. A chain.

With a mental command, Alaric’s spiritual energy, infused with the purifying essence of the Azure Spirit Lion, flared. It was not a destructive blast, but a precise, surgical severing.

Zylle screamed, a raw, primal sound as she felt something fundamental being ripped from her very soul. It was a brief but agonizing sensation, a spiritual amputation.

Then, it was gone. The connection to Vortan, a bond she had carried for years, a source of both power and terror, was severed.

Alaric withdrew his hand, a faint wisp of dark, corrupted energy dissipating from his fingertips. He looked down at Zylle, who was now panting, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling with the aftershocks of the spiritual violation.

A profound sense of relief washed over Alaric. The leash was broken. She was truly, completely his now. Another powerful asset, unshackled from her former master, ready to be bound to a new one.

He looked at her magnificent, naked body, sprawled and vulnerable on the bed. Her full, heavy breasts rose and fell with her ragged breaths, her slender waist and impossibly curvy hips a testament to her mature, powerful femininity. He felt a familiar stirring, the desire to claim her again, to brand his ownership onto her newly freed soul.

But no. Not yet. He had other matters to attend to. He savored the sight for a moment longer, then turned and left the chamber, sealing the door with a powerful ward. She was his prisoner. His prize. And she would wait for his pleasure.

He found Ondine in the royal study, overseeing the consolidation of her new regime. She looked up as he entered, her dark eyes gleaming with adoration and respect.

"My Lord Alaric," she purred, rising to greet him. "Is the... matter... concluded?"

"It is," Alaric replied smoothly. "The Archmage Mordan has been... persuaded... to extend her stay in Jorailia indefinitely. As my personal guest."

Ondine’s smile was triumphant. "Excellent, my Lord."

"Now, my Queen," Alaric said, his tone shifting to one of command. "You will send a messenger to the Phantom Assembly. To Lord Vortan."

He dictated the message, his words dripping with calculated arrogance and contempt.

"Tell him that the Jorailian Kingdom appreciates the Assembly’s concern for our war against the demons. However, we have the situation well in hand under our new, more capable leadership."

He paused, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Tell him that if the Phantom Assembly truly wished to aid its allies, they should have considered their obligations to the Steele Family when my territory was besieged. Their... convenient absence... has been noted."

"And as for his envoy, the Archmage Zylle Mordan," Alaric continued, savoring the final, devastating insult, "tell him that she was a most... generous... gift. Her beauty and skills are greatly appreciated, and she will be... well cared for... under my personal protection. We have decided to keep her. Permanently."

Ondine’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer, blatant audacity of the message. She was essentially telling Lord Vortan that they had stolen his top lieutenant and were keeping her as a spoil of war. It was a declaration of dominance.

"It shall be done, my Lord," Ondine replied, a thrill of excitement coursing through her. She loved this. She loved his power, his ruthlessness.

Deep in his shadowy sanctum, Lord Vortan received the message from the trembling, terrified messenger Ondine had dispatched. He listened in silence, his shadowy form utterly still.

When the messenger had finished, a pressure, cold and immense, filled the chamber. The very shadows seemed to freeze.

"He... dares?" Vortan’s voice was a low, sibilant whisper, a sound more terrifying than any roar.

Zylle. His Zylle. The most brilliant, most beautiful of his Archmages. The woman he had cultivated for years, whose power he had nurtured, whose loyalty he had considered absolute. The woman he had planned to finally claim, to take her virginity, to make her the mother of his heir, sealing her bond to him forever.

Stolen. Claimed. By this... upstart Queen. This puppet of Alaric Steele.

A wave of incandescent rage, so potent it made the shadows around him writhe and boil, washed over Vortan. This was not a political slight. This was a personal, intimate violation. A theft of his most prized possession.

"STEEEELE!" The name was a shriek of pure, unadulterated hatred, a sound that made the stone walls of his sanctum crack.

His plans to subtly manipulate Jorailia, to perhaps even turn this new Queen into an asset... they were ashes. Steele had not just outmaneuvered him; he had spit in his face, stolen his woman, and dared him to retaliate.

But Vortan was no fool. He knew Steele’s power. He knew the strength of his fortress. A direct war against the Steele-backed Jorailia, while also fighting Ingranad’s legions... it was suicide.

A cold, terrifying calm descended upon him, extinguishing the fire of his rage. "So be it," Vortan whispered to the darkness. "You wish to play this game, Steele? Then let the game begin."

He issued new orders to the Phantom Assembly. Their shadow war against the demons would intensify. They would fight with a new, desperate ferocity. But it was no longer a war of conquest. It was a war of survival. They would bleed the demons, yes. But their true objective now was to gather their forces, their resources, and to find a path of retreat. A path to another kingdom. Another continent. Away from the encroaching darkness of Ingranad, and the rising, predatory shadow of Alaric Steele.

Lord Vortan would retreat. He would rebuild. He would grow stronger. And he would wait. He would wait for the day he could return and reclaim what was his. And when that day came, he would burn Alaric Steele’s empire to the ground and flay the skin from his bones. The game was far from over.

With his affairs in Jorailia settled, his new queen firmly in control, and his message of dominance delivered, Alaric felt a familiar, insistent ache. A hunger that politics and power could not satiate.

He needed his women. His true, core harem.

He used his newly refined teleportation skills, a gift of his Archmage ascension. A shimmer of azure light, a brief sensation of spatial distortion, and he was gone from Jorailia, reappearing moments later in the familiar, opulent warmth of his private chambers in the Mystic Ice Sect.

He found Lyra and Cassandra waiting for him, as he knew they would be. They were in his bed, the silken sheets a tangled mess around them, their magnificent, mature bodies utterly, gloriously naked. They had clearly been anticipating his return.

"My love," Lyra purred, her blue eyes dark with desire as she rose to her knees on the bed, her magnificent, heavy breasts swaying with the movement.

"You’re back, nephew," Cassandra added, her voice a husky invitation as she stretched languidly, her impossibly curvy hips and plump buttocks a breathtaking sight. "We’ve been... so lonely without you."

Alaric’s cock, already hard from the thought of them, strained against his trousers. He didn’t bother with words. He shed his clothes with a speed that spoke of his desperate need.

The night, and the day that followed, was a marathon of unrestrained, depraved lust. He had been away for days, his desires honed to a razor’s edge by the games of power and conquest. Now, he unleashed that pent-up hunger upon the two women who craved it most.

He took them on the bed, his thrusts brutal and possessive, their cries of pleasure a symphony of surrender. He fucked Lyra from behind, his hands tangled in her long blonde hair, while Cassandra knelt before them, her mouth eagerly working his balls.

He flipped them, taking Cassandra in the same position, her magnificent, curvy buttocks jiggling with each powerful stroke, while Lyra’s skilled hands roamed his body, teasing and tormenting him.

"You missed this, didn’t you, my sluts?" he growled, his voice rough with passion.

"Yes, Master! So much!" Lyra cried, her voice a high-pitched moan of ecstasy.

"Please, nephew, don’t ever leave us again!" Cassandra begged, her body convulsing around his cock.

He moved them to the floor, taking them on the thick fur rugs, his movements raw, animalistic. He held them against the cold ice-crystal walls of his chamber, their hot, slick bodies a stark contrast to the frigid surface, their cries echoing in the stillness. He carried them, one in each arm, fucking them in mid-air with the aid of his magic, a breathtaking display of power and depravity.

He cum inside them, on them, their bodies glistening with his seed, their faces flushed with a mixture of exhaustion and blissful satiation. He made them call him God, their voices hoarse with passion. He made them lick each other clean, their initial feigned reluctance quickly melting into an eager, competitive desire to please him.

He was a god, and they were his willing, adoring goddesses, their magnificent bodies his personal playground, their pleasure his divine right.

The next day, as the afternoon sun cast a warm glow into the chamber, Alaric, his initial, ferocious hunger finally sated, decided it was time for a different kind of... entertainment.

He produced two outfits he had specially commissioned from one of his workshops. They were schoolgirl uniforms, in the style of the Verdant Dawn Academy, but with a few... modifications. The pleated skirts were ridiculously short, barely covering their magnificent buttocks. The white blouses were at least two sizes too small, the fabric straining against their large, heavy breasts, the buttons threatening to pop, leaving their midriffs and navels completely exposed.

"Put these on," he commanded, his voice a low purr.

Lyra and Cassandra exchanged a glance, a mixture of amusement and eager anticipation in their eyes. They had learned to love his games, his fetishes. They dressed, their magnificent, mature bodies a delicious, erotic contrast to the youthful, innocent attire. They looked like two incredibly sexy, voluptuous milfs who had been thoroughly, exquisitely debauched.

Alaric’s ruby eyes drank in the sight, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his handsome face. The contrast was a potent, intoxicating aphrodisiac. Lyra, his regal mother, her magnificent, heavy breasts straining the thin white fabric of the blouse, the buttons looking as if they might fly off at any moment. The ridiculously short pleated skirt did nothing to hide the powerful curve of her hips and the lush swell of her magnificent buttocks. Cassandra, his elegant aunt, looked equally, if differently, ravished. The cropped blouse was tied just beneath her own ample bosom, pushing the heavy globes upwards, creating a breathtaking vista of cleavage. Her micro-mini skirt was a mere suggestion of fabric, revealing the long, toned length of her legs and the impossibly voluptuous curve of her ass. They looked like goddesses of sin forced into the guise of innocence.

"Well, well," Alaric purred, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the chamber. He began to circle them slowly, like a wolf inspecting two particularly tempting sheep. "Two new students, in my private study after hours. And in such... inappropriate attire. You must be here for some... extra lessons."

Lyra, ever the bold one, played along instantly. She adopted a look of feigned innocence, her blue eyes wide. "We are, Professor Steele," she said, her voice a breathy, respectful whisper that was utterly at odds with the fire in her eyes. "We heard your... teaching methods... were exceptionally... thorough."

Cassandra, picking up her cue, lowered her gaze shyly, clutching a textbook she’d picked up from a nearby shelf to her chest. The motion only served to further accentuate the magnificent swell of her breasts. "We’re... we’re having trouble with our... practical studies, Professor," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "We were hoping you could provide some... hands-on instruction."

Alaric stopped in front of Cassandra, his tall frame towering over her. He reached out, his finger hooking under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Hands-on instruction, is it, Miss Cassandra?" he asked, his ruby eyes gleaming. "I see. And this... textbook." He plucked it from her grasp, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby chair. "I don’t think you’ll be needing that. My lessons are entirely... practical."

He then turned his attention to Lyra, who was watching with a hungry, expectant look on her face. "And you, Miss Lyra. Your uniform is in a state of... scandalous disarray. The top button is undone." He reached out, his fingers brushing against her collarbone as he slowly, deliberately, undid the second button, revealing even more of the deep, shadowed valley between her magnificent breasts.

Lyra’s breath hitched. "Forgive me, Professor," she whispered. "It was... warm... in the library."

"I’m sure it was," Alaric smirked. "But in my study, we maintain a strict dress code. And an even stricter code of conduct. It seems both of you require a lesson in discipline before we can even begin our academic review." He stepped back, his gaze sweeping over their magnificent, half-exposed bodies. "The first lesson is about respect for authority. Bend over my desk. Both of you."

The command was soft, almost casual, yet it carried the undeniable weight of absolute authority. A shiver of delicious, terrifying anticipation ran through both women. They exchanged a quick, heated glance, then, without a word, they moved to the massive oak desk.

They bent over, side-by-side, bracing their hands on the polished wood, their magnificent, curvy buttocks presented to him in all their glory. The ridiculously short skirts flipped up, exposing them completely from the waist down, save for the sheer, lacy panties they wore beneath.

Alaric walked behind them, his gaze lingering on the breathtaking view. Two perfect, voluptuous asses, one belonging to his mother, the other to his aunt, offered up to him like a sacrificial tribute. He ran his hands over them, from the gentle curve of their lower backs to the full, heavy swell of their buttocks.

"Now," Alaric murmured, his voice a low growl of appreciation. "For your punishment."

SMACK!

His open palm connected squarely with Lyra’s left buttock cheek. The sound was sharp, resonant, echoing in the quiet study. A bright red handprint bloomed on her pale flesh.

"Ah!" Lyra cried out, her body jolting.

"You will count for me, Miss Lyra," Alaric commanded, his voice firm. "That was one."

SMACK! He struck Cassandra’s right cheek with equal force.

"Nngh!" Cassandra gasped, her hips twitching. "One, Professor..."

He continued, alternating between them, his slaps hard and stinging, leaving a tapestry of red marks on their magnificent, quivering flesh. Their cries of pain quickly morphed into breathless moans of pleasure, their bodies instinctively arching into each blow.

"...Four! Oh, yes, Professor!"

"...Five! Harder, please!"

"...Ten! Thank you, Professor!"

When their magnificent asses were a uniform, fiery red, he finally stopped. He reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Lyra’s panties. "Lesson two," he purred. "Proper attire." He ripped them off her, the delicate lace tearing with a satisfying sound. He did the same to Cassandra.

Now, they were completely bare from the waist down, their slick, wet cunts glistening in the soft light, their reddened buttocks a stark, beautiful contrast to their pale thighs.

He positioned himself behind Lyra first. "Let’s begin your... practical examination, Miss Lyra," he growled, his massive cock pressing against her entrance. He drove into her with a single, powerful thrust, his hips slamming against her magnificent, spanked backside.

Lyra screamed, a raw, primal sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure as he filled her completely. "Oh, Professor! Yes! Fuck my cunt! Please!"

He pounded into her against the desk, his rhythm fast and brutal, his hands gripping her hips, controlling her every movement. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear. "This is what happens to naughty students in my study, Lyra," he grunted, his thrusts deep and punishing. "They get a very... thorough... education."

With her body flush against the unyielding oak of the desk, Lyra felt every powerful plunge of his cock as a shockwave that resonated through her entire being. The stinging heat on her buttocks was a constant, glorious reminder of her punishment, a perfect counterpoint to the profound, filling pleasure in her core.

"Are you learning your lesson, Miss Lyra?" Alaric growled, his voice a hot breath against her ear. His hands clamped onto her hips like vices, setting a merciless, punishing rhythm. "The first principle of my class is absolute obedience. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor!" she shrieked, her voice breaking with ecstasy. The ridiculously small blouse was soaked with sweat, clinging to her heavy breasts. "I understand! Oh god, I’ll be so obedient! Please, teach me more!"

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, and reached around with one hand. His fingers found her clit, already exquisitely sensitive, and began to circle it with a practiced, cruel precision that shattered her thoughts. The dual assault, the deep, brutal fucking from behind and the tormenting touch in front, was too much.

"And you, Miss Cassandra," Alaric said, his voice level and cold, not even turning his head. "Are you paying attention? This will be on your exam."

Cassandra stood a few feet away, her body trembling, her legs pressed tightly together. Her own reddened buttocks throbbed in sympathy, and a slick stream of her arousal was already trickling down her inner thigh. The sight of her sister, the proud Sect Matriarch Lyra, being taken so crudely over a desk by her own son, was the most depraved and intoxicating thing she had ever witnessed.

"Yes, Professor," she managed to say, her voice thick and husky. "I’m taking... copious notes."

"Good," Alaric grunted, his pace quickening. "Then observe this. This is how a student demonstrates her comprehension." He focused on Lyra. "Come for me now, slut. Show your classmate how you graduate."

The command was absolute. Lyra felt the orgasm, which had been building into a tidal wave, cresting under his control. With his fingers working their magic and his cock ramming into her depths, she had no choice but to obey. A guttural scream tore from her throat as her body convulsed violently around him, her cunt clenching and milking his shaft in a series of desperate spasms.

Alaric drove into her a few more times, burying himself to the hilt, groaning with the pleasure of her tight, spasming passage. He didn’t pull out. He stayed deep inside her, letting her tremble and sob against the desk, her "exam" complete but her position unchanged.

He finally turned his gaze to Cassandra, who was watching with wide, hungry eyes, her nipples hard points straining against the tight fabric of her own tiny blouse. "Miss Cassandra," he said, his tone one of academic disappointment. "While your classmate was engaged in her practical, you were merely standing there. An idle mind is an undisciplined mind. I expected you to be preparing yourself."

"I... I’m sorry, Professor," Cassandra stammered, a delicious shiver of fear and anticipation running down her spine. "How should I have been preparing?"

Alaric’s lips curved into a cruel smile. "You should have been on your knees. Get over here."

Cassandra’s breath hitched. She quickly obeyed, walking on trembling legs to the side of the desk where Lyra was still panting, draped over the wood. She knelt on the thick fur rug, her eyes level with the magnificent, depraved scene of Alaric buried deep inside her sister.

"Now," Alaric commanded, his voice a low purr. "Your classmate gave an excellent performance. It’s polite to offer your congratulations. Use your mouth."

Cassandra didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to taste the commingled sweat and seed on Lyra’s quivering thigh. Lyra moaned softly, a fresh wave of pleasure washing over her.

"Good," Alaric approved. "Very good. Teamwork is an essential part of my curriculum." He finally withdrew from Lyra with a wet, sucking sound. Lyra whimpered at the loss, slumping further onto the desk. "Stay there, Miss Lyra. Your review isn’t over yet."

He then turned his full attention to the kneeling Cassandra. He stepped in front of her, his massive, glistening cock inches from her face. "It’s your turn for an examination, Miss Cassandra. But you seem to have a problem with authority. We’ll address that in a different way."

He moved to the large, throne-like professor’s chair behind the desk and sat down, spreading his legs. He looked every bit the king on his throne. "Get on my lap."

Cassandra crawled forward, her heart pounding. She straddled his legs, her back to him, her magnificent, spanked buttocks settling onto his powerful thighs. The short skirt offered no coverage at all, her bare, wet cunt hovering just above his groin.

"Now, let’s see if you’ve learned anything about posture," Alaric murmured, his hands gripping her waist. He pulled her back sharply, impaling her on his cock in one smooth, devastating motion.

"Nnngh!" Cassandra gasped, her back arching as he filled her completely. It was a different sensation from being taken over the desk; it was more intimate, more controlling. She was completely at his mercy, his puppet.

"That’s better," he purred, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her belly. He began to move, lifting and lowering her on his shaft with a slow, grinding rhythm that was pure torture. "Your practical examination will focus on endurance and vocal participation. For every thrust, you will thank me. Do you understand, Miss Cassandra?"

"Y-yes... Thank you, Professor," she gasped as he lifted her and slammed her down again.

"Louder."

"Thank you, Professor!" she cried out, her voice echoing in the study.

"Thank you, Professor!"

"Thank you, Professor!"

He leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear. "And you, Lyra. Are you still with us?"

"Yes, Master," Lyra moaned from her position on the desk, her head turned to watch. The sight of her aunt being fucked in his lap was almost enough to send her over the edge again.

"Good. Your part of this group project is to encourage your classmate. Tell her what a good slut she is. Tell her how much she loves being taught by her professor."

Lyra lifted her head, her eyes locking with Cassandra’s. A wicked, complicit smile touched her lips. "You’re doing so well, Cassie," she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. "You’re such a good student for the Professor. Look how he’s fucking you. He owns that perfect ass. He owns your cunt. You love it, don’t you?"

"I do!" Cassandra sobbed, the combination of the physical pleasure, the verbal commands, and Lyra’s goading words creating an intoxicating cocktail of submission. "Oh, Professor, thank you! Please, fuck me harder! Teach me everything!"

"As you wish," Alaric growled. He increased the tempo, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, slamming into her with a force that made the sturdy oak chair creak. He held her firmly, his powerful body controlling her completely as he pounded into her, her cries of "Thank you!" becoming a breathless, rhythmic mantra of pleasure.

He reached around her, his hand sliding between her legs to find her clit. "Now, Miss Cassandra. Your final exam question. Are you a good girl for your Professor?"

"Yes! The best girl!" she screamed.

"Then come for me and prove it!"

He flicked her clit hard, and at the same moment, drove his cock as deep as it would go. Cassandra screamed, a long, keening wail of pure bliss as her orgasm ripped through her. Her body bucked and convulsed on his lap, her inner muscles clenching around him frantically.

He rode out her climax, his own control fraying. He pulled out of her just before she was finished, her body still twitching. He stood up, pulling the utterly spent Cassandra with him and pushing her onto the floor next to the desk, where she collapsed in a heap.

He stood between them, a god of lust surveying his two conquered goddesses. Lyra was still draped over the desk, her magnificent, reddened ass pointing towards the ceiling. Cassandra was a boneless puddle of bliss on the rug. Both were still clad in the tattered, ridiculously erotic schoolgirl uniforms.

"Individual examinations are complete," Alaric announced, his voice thick with his own barely restrained lust. "Your scores were... acceptable. However, you will not pass this class until you complete the final group project."

He grabbed Lyra by the hips and pulled her off the desk and onto the floor, positioning her on her hands and knees. He then nudged Cassandra with his foot. "Get up, Miss Cassandra. Get behind your classmate."

Cassandra, still weak-kneed, obeyed. She knelt behind Lyra, her breasts pressing against Lyra’s spanked buttocks.

Alaric moved to stand before Lyra, his hard cock level with her mouth. "Your final assignment is about synergy," he said, his ruby eyes blazing. "Miss Lyra, you will pleasure me with your mouth. Miss Cassandra, you will pleasure your classmate. I want to hear a symphony of depravity. Begin."

Lyra eagerly took his cock into her mouth, her years of dedication to his pleasure evident in her skilled technique. At the same time, Cassandra leaned forward, her tongue finding Lyra’s slick, swollen cunt.

The study filled with the wet sounds of their worship. Alaric threw his head back, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. He tangled his hands in Lyra’s hair, fucking her throat while Cassandra devoured her sister from behind. It was a tableau of perfect, controlled corruption.

"You see?" Alaric grunted, his climax building rapidly. "This is the peak of academic achievement in my class. Total, absolute, and willing submission. You have both earned top marks."

His control finally shattered. With a guttural roar, he emptied himself down Lyra’s throat, his powerful release a testament to the marathon of lust. He pulled away, leaving Lyra coughing and gasping, his seed dripping from her lips.

He looked down at his two prized women, his mother and his aunt, debauched and broken for his pleasure in their silly little uniforms. They looked up at him with eyes full of adoration, exhaustion, and blissful fulfillment.

"Class dismissed," Alaric said, a smirk of ultimate satisfaction on his face. "Do not remove your uniforms. You will remain here until I return. You may have more... homework... later."