Harem Master: Seduction System

Chapter 331: Outdoor Sex With Eleanor

The night air was cold as a knife, and it hit Eleanor’s nearly naked skin like a thousand tiny needles.

She was wearing the "garment" he’d given her. It wasn’t a garment. It was a spider’s web of black leather straps and tiny, useless patches of see-through lace. It was a whore’s costume. Her full breasts were bare, the lace just barely covering her nipples. Her pussy was framed by the straps, the lace over it hiding nothing.

’Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,’ her mind just looped, a panicked, broken record. She was outside. Outside. Dressed like this.

But her body... her body was on fire. She was ashamed. She was terrified. And she was, God help her, thrilled.

Alaric hadn’t even let her put shoes on. He’d just grabbed her hand, his grip like a steel trap. "Let’s go."

"Where... where are we going?" she’d whimpered, her voice a tiny, scared thing.

"For your punishment," he’d said, his voice flat and cold. "You failed me. Now you pay the price."

"A... a punishment?" she’d asked, her stomach doing a sick, excited flip.

"Shut up and walk."

He didn’t walk her far. He just pulled her into the deep shadows of the Strathmore camp, right up to a large, ancient tree. It was dark, but it had a perfect, clear, horrifying view of her father’s royal pavilion, not twenty yards away.

"Right here," he whispered, his voice a low growl.

"Here?" she squeaked, her panic rising. "But... but my father... the guards..."

"That’s the point, princess," he’d hissed. He spun her around, his hands rough on her shoulders, and shoved her face-first against the rough, cold tree bark.

"My lord... Alaric... please," she whimpered, her voice trembling. "Someone will see... They’ll hear us...!"

"They’d better not," he said, his voice a flat, cold thing right by her ear. "But if they do, that’s your problem, isn’t it? Punishment for failing me."

"I... I’ll be quiet," she promised, her voice a desperate, breathy gasp. "I swear... I’ll be so quiet..."

"You’ll try," he corrected her.

She heard the sound of him undoing his own trousers. The shhhk of the leather, the pop of a button. The sound was deafening in the quiet, freezing night.

She was so scared she was going to be sick. And she was so wet she was already dripping down her thighs.

He didn’t wait. He didn’t caress her. He didn’t whisper any more sweet, poisonous words.

He just grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He positioned himself behind her, his hot, rock-hard cockhead pressing against her bare, jiggly buttocks.

"This is for failing me, Eleanor," he grunted.

He lined himself up and, with one brutal, unstoppable thrust, shoved his cock into her from behind.

"Mmmph!"

A scream tore from her throat, but she was ready. She smashed her own hand against her mouth, choking the sound. The force of the entry slammed her body against the tree. The rough bark scraped her cheek and her bare breasts.

"Hnnn... mmmph...!" she sobbed into her fist, the pain and the massive fullness of him stealing her breath. He was so big.

"Quiet," he commanded, his voice a hot, panting breath in her ear. "I told you. Or do you want your father’s guards to find us? Do you want them to see their princess, dressed like a two-copper whore, getting fucked against a tree?"

"N-no..." she whimpered, her entire body trembling, a live wire of shame and pleasure.

"Then be quiet."

He started fucking her.

Hard.

He wasn’t playing. He wasn’t seducing. This was a punishment, and it was a claiming. His rhythm was like a battering ram. He was a machine of pure, angry lust, pounding into her with a speed and a force that was meant to break her. Slam. Slam. Slam.

His hands weren’t gentle. They were all over her. One hand snaked around her thin waist, his fingers digging into her side, holding her in place. The other hand... it found one of her large, swaying breasts. He grabbed it, squeezing the soft flesh.

"Ah!" she gasped, her hand slipping from her mouth for a second.

"So big," he growled, his fingers finding her already rock-hard erect nipple. He pinched it. Hard.

"Oww! Mmph!" she cried into her fist again, a new jolt of pleasure-pain shooting through her.

"You like this, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice a low, rough, filthy taunt. "Being fucked like an animal. Right outside your father’s tent. Where he could walk out and see you at any second."

"N-no..." she moaned into her fist. "It’s... it’s... mmmph... wrong..."

But her body was a filthy traitor. Her pussy was clenching his cock with every single, deep thrust. She was dripping wet for him.

"You’re a liar," he snarled.

WHAP.

His hand left her breast and cracked against her bare buttock. The slap was so loud in the quiet night it sounded like a gunshot.

"Mmmph! Ah!" she yelped, her whole body jerking.

"Don’t lie to me," he growled, his rhythm not slowing at all.

WHAP.

Another hard, sharp slap on her other cheek, this one even louder. It stung.

"Ah! Yes!" The admission was ripped from her, a sob and a moan all at once. "Yes, I do! Gods, I do!"

Alaric just laughed, a low, dark, triumphant sound. "I knew it. I knew you were a little slut."

"I’m... I’m not..." she sobbed, but it was a weak protest.

"You are," he insisted, his hand going back to her breast, squeezing and pinching her nipple in time with his thrusts. "You’re my little slut. And you love your punishment."

"Yes... please... Alaric... ah... ah!"

He just kept pounding into her. The hour was a blur, a fog of cold air, rough bark, the pain of his spankings, and the unbelievable, endless pleasure of his cock. He was a machine that didn’t get tired. He just fucked her, and fucked her, and fucked her, until her mind was just... gone.

Alaric was buried deep inside her, his rhythm a steady, powerful, piston that had been going for what felt like a lifetime. Eleanor was just... existing. Her mind was a hazy, pleasure-filled fog. She was no longer thinking, just feeling. Her moans were a constant, low, breathless whimper into her fist.

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

And then, he froze.

One second, he was a relentless machine of pleasure. The next, he was a statue of stone buried deep inside her, his body rigid, his hand on her breast clamped down, hard.

"What... what is it?" she gasped, her body screaming at the sudden, agonizing stop. "Don’t... don’t stop..."

"Shh," he hisses, his voice a razor blade in her ear.

"A guard?" she whimpered, her heart stopping.

"No," he whispered, his voice strange. "Magic."

She held her breath. And then she... felt it. A faint thrum in the air. A shimmer, like heat haze, snapped into place in front of them.

A bubble of energy, faint and shimmering, had just sprung up around the royal pavilion, not ten yards away. A soundproof magical formation.

"Well, well," Alaric whispered, and she could hear the grin in his voice. "What’s going on in there that’s worth this much privacy? Naughty, naughty."

A wolf’s curiosity lit up his eyes. He was intrigued.

"Don’t move," he whispered to Eleanor. "Not an inch."

As if she could. He was still inside her, a constant, throbbing, massive reminder of his presence.

He closed his eyes for a second, his head tilted. She could feel his magical senses reaching out like invisible fingers.

"Hmm," he murmured. "A 7th-order ward. Not bad. But... clumsy."

’Amateur work,’ he thought, his own magical knowledge an ocean compared to this puddle. He could break it in a second. But breaking it was loud.

He had a better idea.

He didn’t break it. He just... stretched it.

He carefully, surgically, fed a tiny, invisible thread of his own power into the matrix of the spell, like a parasite latching onto a host. He found the boundary. And he nudged it.

"Just... a... little... further..." he whispered, his voice tight with concentration.

The bubble warped. It shimmered, unseen by any normal eye, and its boundary stretched out like a piece of pulled taffy. It extended just far enough, silently, to envelop the ancient tree, and the two figures pressed against it.

A triumphant, wicked grin spread across Alaric’s face.

"There," he purred in her ear, his voice a triumphant, devilish whisper. "We’re inside the bubble with them. We’re part of their ’privacy’ now."

He nuzzled her neck. "Let’s listen in, shall we? See what the happy couple is up to."

The moment the sound hit them, Eleanor’s face flushed with a fire of pure, absolute humiliation.

It wasn’t talking.

It was the sound of a bed.

Squeak... squeak... squeak...

And... grunting. A weak, pathetic, out-of-breath grunting. A "huff... huff... huff..." that was thin and reedy.

’Oh gods... no...’ Eleanor’s mind imploded with embarrassment. ’No, no, no, it can’t be... That’s... that’s my father!’

She was going to die. Right here. She was just going to die of shame.

Alaric just smirked. His expression was priceless. He looked like a wolf who had just found a second, fatter, and stupider sheep.

"Oh, princess," he whispered, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "This is... this is just gold."

And then, to her absolute, undilengthened horror, he slowly, quietly, started to move inside her again. His thrusts were slow, deep, and perfectly, mockingly, in time with the sad, pathetic rhythm from the tent.

Squeak... (Alaric’s deep, slow, thrust.) Squeak... (Alaric’s deep, slow, thrust.)

"Mmmph..." she whimpered into her fist, her body caught between the pleasure of his powerful, deep strokes and the mortifying sound of her father’s weak, shallow ones.

Eleanor just wanted to die. She was being fucked by her lover, her master, while she was being forced to listen to her father fail at sex. It was a level of humiliation she didn’t even know existed.

Then, they heard a woman’s voice. Queen Kate. And she sounded bored. And annoyed.

"Is that it?" her voice snapped, sharp as broken glass. "Are you even in?"

"I’m... huff... I’m trying, my dear... puff..." her father’s weak, thin voice panted. "Just... just a moment..."

Alaric had to bite his own lip to keep from laughing out loud. He buried his face in Eleanor’s hair, his shoulders shaking.

"He’s ’trying’..." Alaric whispered, his voice thick with laughter. "That’s... oh, that’s just... sad."

The sounds from the tent were... pathetic. The squeaking was slow, with no passion, no power, no energy. It was the sound of a dying mouse.

"Gods, Reginald, just... just hurry up," Kate’s voice snapped. "I’m losing my patience. This is ridiculous."

"I’m... I’m... hnnngh..." her father grunted.

A final, pathetic little squeak from the bed.

"Oh... oh!" he grunted.

And then... silence.

The squeaking stopped. The grunting stopped.

Alaric stopped, too. He was still buried deep inside Eleanor, his body rigid, listening.

"No," he whispered into her ear, his voice filled with a genuine, stunned disbelief. "He didn’t... he couldn’t be done already. That was... what? Three minutes?"

"There’s no way," he murmured. "Even for him. Right?"

It was quiet for a second. And then they heard her father’s tired, but deeply satisfied, sigh.

"Ah. That was wonderful, my love. Just... wonderful."

Alaric’s jaw dropped.

Eleanor just wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. ’Oh, father... no...’

Then... they heard the slap.

It wasn’t a spank, like the ones Alaric had been giving her. It was a hard, sharp, angry crack of a hand hitting flesh.

"You... you hit me?" the King’s voice sounded shocked, and a little... hurt.

And then, the storm broke.

"You USELESS MAN!" Kate’s voice was no longer a bored, annoyed whisper. It was a venomous, seething snarl, filled with a rage that was hot as dragon’s fire.

"That was THREE MINUTES! I timed it! Three! Are you joking me?!"

"Now, Kate, that’s uncalled for..." her father’s voice was weak, defensive.

"Is it?! Is it REALLY? You’re a king! You’re supposed to be powerful! My last ladies’ maid told me her peasant boyfriend—a PIG FARMER, Reginald!—could go for an hour! An HOUR! And you give me THREE MINUTES?"

Alaric was shaking with suppressed laughter. He was literally vibrating inside of her, his own body trembling with the effort of not roaring with laughter.

"A... a pig farmer..." he wheezed into her ear, his voice thick. "An hour... oh gods..."

"Stop," Eleanor sobbed, her face pressed into the bark. "Stop laughing... it’s not funny..."

"It’s HILARIOUS!" he whispered back, his voice triumphant.

"And your pace is PATHETIC!" Kate’s tirade continued, a masterpiece of pure rage. "And your dick is TINY! It’s like a... a scared little mushroom! I wasn’t even WARM yet, and you’re done! You’re finished!"

"I’m... I’m tired, my dear," the King’s voice pleaded. "The summit... it’s very stressful..."

"Oh, shut up, you old fool!" she shrieked. "You’re useless in the council chamber, and you’re even MORE USELESS in the bed! Get OFF me! Don’t even TOUCH me with your failed, little... thing!"

"Kate, please..."

"I’d be better off with one of the guards! At least they look like men! Get away from me!"

They heard a furious rustling, the sound of pillows and blankets being thrown. ’She’s building a wall,’ Alaric realized, his grin widening. ’She’s literally building a cushion wall between them.’

"You’re a useless, pathetic, little man!" she hissed, her voice a final, venomous dart.

And then... just the sound of the King’s weak, defeated, heavy sighs.

And then... a new sound. A low, whistling snore.

He was asleep.

Alaric just... lost it. He buried his face in Eleanor’s shoulder, his whole body shaking with silent, uncontrollable laughter. He was still buried to the hilt inside her.

Eleanor, on the other hand, was mortified. Her face was pressed into the tree bark, her whole body trembling, not with pleasure, but with a shame so deep and so cold it felt like death.

Her father. The King. A failure. A total, complete, and pathetic failure.

Alaric’s laughter subsided, replaced by a low, amused purr. He leaned in, his own still-hard, still-massive cock pressing deep inside her, a stark, powerful contrast to the failure they had just witnessed.

"Well, princess," he whispered, his voice dripping with amusement and a new, dark idea. "That was... just... sad."

He gave a slow, deep, sinful thrust.

"Good thing you’re with me, huh?" he purred.

He gave another, even deeper, thrust.

"I’m not done yet. Not even close."