Harem Master: Seduction System

Chapter 349: Alaric and Fiora’s Child

The journey back to the Jorailian capital was fast. Alaric was impatient. He had no time for the traditional, slow, meandering pace of a royal procession. He had new toys to put in his toybox, and a war to prepare for. His war-carriages, their wheels glowing with faint runes of Haste and Celerity, set a pace that left the Strathmore guards sweating and panting to keep up. They cut the travel time in half.

They arrived at the capital, a massive, black-toothed fortress-city carved into the heart of a mountain range. King Reginald and his entire court gaped at it like country bumpkins seeing their first city. The scale of it was obscene. Strathmore’s walls were stones and mortar; these walls were polished black obsidian, fused with magic, soaring hundreds of feet into the air. Gleaming arcane towers, crackling with barely-contained energy, punched the sky. The power rolling off the city was palpable, a heavy, thrumming weight in the air.

"Gods above," Reginald muttered, his face pale. "This... this is a fortress... not a city."

Kate, beside him, just smiled. This was power. This was the man she’d given herself to. She felt a thrill of pride.

Alaric didn’t wait for them to get settled. He immediately had the entire Strathmore delegation "interned." They were escorted, not to the public royal guest houses, but to a luxurious but very isolated wing of his own private palace. A gilded cage with one entrance, one exit, and his own personal guards.

"For your safety," he’d said to Reginald, his voice dripping with fake concern. "The Conclave is over. Tensions are high. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to my new, dearest allies."

"So thoughtful!" Reginald had beamed, clasping Alaric’s hand. "Your hospitality knows no bounds, my boy!"

’The moron,’ Alaric thought, smiling as he led them inside. ’They’re prisoners in my palace, and he doesn’t even know it.’

The first person to greet Alaric in his private, central halls was his official wife, Griselda. She was radiant, as always, a beacon of simple, naive kindness in his den of vipers. Her kind face was glowing with joy, though she looked a little tired, dark circles under her eyes.

"My love, you’re back!" she said, rushing to hug him. She threw her arms around his neck, her soft body pressing against his.

He allowed it, stiffly, patting her on the back. "Griselda. You look... well."

"Oh, Alaric, wait until you see!" she said, pulling back, her eyes shining with a pure, simple joy that almost made him uncomfortable. "We have news! The most wonderful news in the world!"

She grabbed his hand, her grip surprisingly strong in her excitement, and dragged him down the hall towards the royal nursery. "Hurry! You have to see him!"

The nursery was massive. A room he had built, filled with the finest silks and softest furs. In the center, in a massive cradle carved from rune-etched heartwood, lay a tiny, newborn baby, wrapped in the finest white silks.

Alaric already knew the answer. He’d been counting the days. His face was flat. "Fiora?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Yes!" Griselda beamed, clapping her hands in delight, bouncing on her toes like a child. "She had him! Just two days ago! A healthy, beautiful boy! He’s perfect! Just look at him, Alaric! Your... nephew!"

Alaric looked down at the red, sleeping, wrinkled infant.

His son.

His son. With his cousin-sister.

A flicker of... something... pride? Ownership? It passed through him, cold and quick. ’Good. Another heir. A spare, in case something happens to the first one.’ (He also had a secret child with Priscilla, hidden away in her tower. It was always good to have backups.)

"He looks... strong," he said. It was the only compliment he could think of. The baby looked like a tiny, angry potato.

"He’s perfect!" Griselda cooed, gently brushing the baby’s shock of dark hair. "And Fiora is so happy. Look at his hair, Alaric... it’s dark, just like yours! And his eyes..."

She gently brushed the baby’s eyelid with her thumb. The baby squirmed, and his eyes fluttered open for a second. Dark, unfocused... but...

"I knew it!" Griselda gasped in delight. "Look! They’re your eyes, Alaric! That same... shape! The Steele eyes!"

Alaric froze. His own eyes narrowed. ’You fool,’ he thought, a cold annoyance rising. ’You oblivious, stupid, simple-minded fool. How can you be so blind? How can you not see it?’

But Griselda was oblivious. She just beamed at him, her face full of wonder. "It’s the Steele blood! It’s so strong! He looks just like his uncle! Oh, this is wonderful! A true Steele!"

Alaric forced a smile. It felt like a crack in a mask of ice. "Yes, Griselda. Just like... his uncle."

’This woman,’ he thought, relaxing as he steered her out of the room, ’is a miracle of stupidity. She sees the truth and names it something else. It’s perfect. She’ll never suspect a thing.’

"Let’s go," he said, patting her hand. "Let Fiora rest. We have much to discuss about our... new guests."

He left her, his mind already moving on. The baby was an asset. Filed. Next.

Griselda was completely, blissfully oblivious. She floated through the dark, brutal politics of his palace like a sunbeam in a den of vipers. It was almost funny.

"Isn’t he wonderful?" she cooed, rocking the cradle. "I sent for Fiora right away when you arrived. And poor, poor Fiora... she’s so happy to have such a healthy son, but so sad. My heart just aches for her."

"Sad?" Alaric asked, his mind already on Kate’s tits and Elaine’s ass, locked away safely in the guest wing. He wondered if they were aching for him yet.

"Yes! She... she told me the whole tragic story," Griselda said, her kind, naive eyes filling with actual, genuine tears. "The father... oh, Alaric, it’s so terrible... he was a traveling merchant."

"A merchant," Alaric repeated, his voice flat.

"Yes! From a far-off land! So handsome and charming, she said. She... she loved him so much, Alaric. So much! It was a whirlwind romance, she said... so passionate..."

’A traveling merchant,’ Alaric thought, hiding a smirk. ’Right. A very... familiar... merchant. One who traveled... all the way from my wing of the palace... to hers. On his dick. A very... passionate... business trip.’

"But... his ship..." Griselda’s voice broke, and a tear spilled over, rolling down her cheek. "It was... lost at sea! Just... gone. With all hands. A terrible storm."

’A storm I vaguely remember Zylle telling me she created,’ he mused. ’Oops.’

"He’ll never even know he has a son!" Griselda sobbed, her heart bleeding for the fake, dead merchant. "Isn’t that the most tragic thing you’ve ever heard?"

"Terrible," Alaric said, his voice flat as a board. "Just... awful."

"We must take care of them," Griselda said, wiping her eyes, her face full of earnest, naive compassion. "She’s all alone now! Fiora is family, Alaric! Your cousin! And this little one... he’s our nephew! Our own flesh and blood!"

"Of course, my love," Alaric said. He patted her head like she was a good, simple dog. "We’ll give them everything they need. Spare no expense. Fiora... she won’t want for anything. I’ll make sure of it."

Griselda beamed at him, her adoration shining from her face. "You’re such a good man, Alaric. The best man."

Alaric almost laughed. ’Oh, Griselda. If you only knew. If you had any idea what a good man I really am.’

She had no idea. She had no clue that her "nephew" was her husband’s inbred, pure-blooded son by his own cousin.

She had no clue that her own Queen, the regal Ondine, warmed his bed every other night, her politics and her pussy both loyal only to him.

She had no clue that his brilliant Archmage Priscilla and his lethal assassin Zylle were also his personal, devoted fuck-toys.

She definitely had no clue about the six new royal women—a Queen, a Princess, a mother, and three concubines—he’d just stashed in the guest wing like a secret pantry full of snacks.

Her innocence... it was a shield. It was so total and absolute that it was... convenient.

’It’s better this way,’ he decided, kissing her on the forehead. A chaste, cold, brotherly kiss. It was like kissing a sister. (Which, for him, wasn’t much of a deterrent, but she just wasn’t his type. Too... nice.)

’She’s my Queen. My public wife. The face of the kingdom. She handles the daytime duties. The babies. The charity events. The boring, administrative shit.’

He smirked. ’The rest... they handle me.’

Alaric left the nursery, leaving Griselda cooing over the baby. His mind was already on his next project.

Fiora had her child. Check.

Now... it was their turn. The older generation. The original stock.

He didn’t bother with his new toys in the guest wing. Not yet. Kate, Elaine, Eleanor, all of them. Let them wait. Let them marinate. Let them stew in their desperate, horny anticipation. Let them wonder when their new Master would finally call for them. He liked them aching. It made the eventual release so much sweeter.

Tonight, he had a special appointment. A family appointment.

He walked through the silent, opulent halls of his private palace, his footsteps echoing on the marble. He went to his mother’s wing. A secluded, luxurious set of rooms he had built for her and her sister, far away from his father’s wing. Very far.

He didn’t knock. He owned this place. He owned everyone in it. He just walked in.

He found them.

Lyra, his mother. And Cassandra, his aunt. (Lyra’s real sister, and Fiora’s mother.)

They were together. Just as he’d commanded.

They were waiting for him. Eagerly.

They were dressed for him. In thin, matching, silken nightgowns that hid nothing. Lyra’s was a deep, emerald green that matched her eyes. Cassandra’s was a fiery, ruby red that clung to her ripe, mature body like water.

"Alaric, my son!" Lyra said, her voice breathy and low. She rose from the sofa, her eyes gleaming with a very, very un-motherly light.

"You’re back," Cassandra purred, her voice low and smoky. She didn’t get up. She just lounged on the chaise, one leg draped over the side, the red silk slit all the way to her hip. She was a true milf in her prime, just like her sister. Voluptuous, confident, and hungry. "We... missed you. Terribly."

They both knew why he was here. They’d talked about it. Begged him for it in whispers for months, ever since Fiora had gleefully announced her "miraculous" pregnancy.

Fiora, Cassandra’s daughter and Lyra’s niece, had his baby.

They wanted his child, too.

"It’s been... quite some time... since you visited us," Lyra said, her hand caressing his arm, her full, heavy tits pressing shamelessly against his side. "We were so lonely."

"We were starting to think you’d forgotten about us," Cassandra added, her hand finding his other arm, rubbing her massive, soft breast against him. "That you’d found... younger... toys. Like our little Fiora."

"How could I forget my two favorite ladies?" Alaric purred, his horny nature flaring up again, instantly. The taboo of it... his mother, his aunt... together. Two sisters. It was a massive, filthy turn-on.

"Fiora’s child is beautiful," he said, not letting them go, his hands sliding down their backs, gripping their plump, mature asses. He squeezed. Hard.

"He is," Cassandra, the baby’s grandmother (and Alaric’s lover), gasped, her eyes half-closing in pleasure as he squeezed. "A strong, healthy boy. He has... your look."

"Of course he does," Alaric smirked. "And I think..." he said, his voice a low, lustful growl, pulling them hard against his already-growing erection, "...it’s your turn."

"Both of us?" Lyra breathed, her eyes wide with shock and fiery, desperate excitement. "Together? You mean... now?"

"Tonight," Alaric confirmed, grinding against them, letting them feel exactly how much he wanted this. "I’m going to impregnate both of you. Together. All night long. You’re not leaving this room until you’re both full of my seed. Dripping with it."

He didn’t love them. Not like that. He didn’t love anyone. But he lusted for them. And he wanted children. His children. Pure-blooded children from his own line. His mother, his aunt... their blood was strong. The purer, the better.

He pushed them both backwards toward the massive bed in his mother’s chamber.

"Alaric... my son... are you sure?" Lyra whispered, her body trembling with anticipation.

"We’re... ready, my love," Cassandra purred, already pulling at the straps of her nightgown.

"Strip," he commanded, his voice rough. "Both of you. Now."

He shoved them onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and silk.

"I want to fuck my mother and my aunt at the same time."

They eagerly obeyed.

Like two starving priestesses pouncing on a sacrifice, Lyra and Cassandra tore at their own clothes. The thin, expensive silk of their nightgowns didn’t stand a chance. Rrrriiiip! The sound of green and red silk tearing was loud in the chamber.

In seconds, they were naked. Gloriously, maturely, shamelessly naked.

They stood before him, their son and nephew, their master, panting slightly, their eyes gleaming with a dark, taboo hunger. They were sisters. Lyra, his mother, had a softer, rounder body, her massive breasts heavy and full, her hips wide and motherly. Cassandra, his aunt, was firmer, her body tighter, her plump ass higher, her huge tits just as massive but perkier. Two prime, first-class milfs, his own blood, offered up to him.

Alaric’s dick, which was already straining his pants, felt like it was about to explode. The taboo of it... the raw, filthy power... it was a massive, overwhelming turn-on.

"Good," he growled, his voice thick with lust. He kicked off his own boots, tore off his own shirt. "Now... to the wall. Both of you."

"The wall, my son?" Lyra breathed, her eyes wide.

"Yes. Hands on the wall. Asses out. I want to... inspect... the Steele family’s beauties."

Trembling with anticipation, they scurried to the tapestried wall. They leaned forward, pressing their palms flat against the cold stone, pushing their plump, white, magnificent asses out for his viewing.

Alaric walked up behind them, his own pants falling to the floor. His massive cock sprang free, rock-hard and pulsing.

He stood behind them for a long moment, just... looking. Two perfect, mature, fuckable asses, side-by-side. His mother’s. His aunt’s.

"So... similar," he murmured, his hands cupping their cheeks. Lyra’s was softer. Cassandra’s was firmer. "But both so... delicious."

"Alaric... please..." Lyra whimpered, her ass wiggling invitingly. "Don’t... don’t wait..."

"Does it matter about which one you take first?" Cassandra purred, her own ass grinding back, searching for him.

Alaric grinned. "No. But... tradition. Mother first."

He shoved Cassandra gently aside. "Watch, aunty. Watch me take your sister. Watch me fuck my mother."

He grabbed Lyra’s wide, motherly hips, pulling her hard against him. He lined up his massive dick with her wet, pink pussy.

"You’ve ached for this, haven’t you, mother?" he growled, nuzzling her neck. "Ever since I first came back. You’ve wanted your son’s cock."

"Yes!" she sobbed, her voice thick with shame and desire. "Oh gods, Alaric, yes! Please!"

"With pleasure."

He slammed into her.

One, hard, brutal thrust that buried his entire length inside her.

"AAAAAHHHHH!"

Lyra screamed, her voice raw. It was so much bigger than she remembered. He was a boy then. Now... he was a monster. He filled her, stretched her, split her.

Alaric groaned, his own voice a low growl. She was so hot, so tight, so wet. Fucking his own mother... it was the ultimate taboo. The ultimate power.

He started pounding into her, hard and fast, his hips a relentless piston, his balls slapping against her plump ass cheeks. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

"Oh, son!" she cried out. "Yes! Yes! Deeper! Deeper!"

While he hammered his mother against the wall, his free hand wasn’t idle. He reached over to Cassandra, who was forced to watch, her own juices streaming down her legs.

He grabbed her massive tit, squeezing it hard. "You’re next, aunty," he panted, still fucking Lyra. "You get to take your son-in-law’s cock. Right after your sister."

"Yes... please..." Cassandra whimpered, grinding her own pussy against the wall.

He pulled out of Lyra with a wet, sucking pop. She collapsed against the wall, sobbing and boneless.

He shoved her aside. "Get on the bed. Don’t move."

He spun Cassandra around, pinning her to the wall in exactly the same way.

"Your daughter was good," he growled, lining himself up with her tight cunt. "But I have a feeling... the original... is so much better."

He slammed into her.

"NNNNGH!" Cassandra grunted, her eyes rolling back in her head. "Oh... fuck... Alaric... yes!"

He pounded into her even harder than he had his mother. She was firmer, tighter, fighting him. He loved it.

"You’ll be a grandmother and a new mother... at the same time," he taunted, pulling her hair. "How filthy is that, aunty?"

"So... filthy..." she gasped. "So... good! Give it to me, nephew! Give me your baby!"

"Beg for it!"

"Please! Fill me up! Fill your aunty’s cunt with your seed!"

That did it. He roared, a deep, guttural sound, and climaxed inside her, his hips jerking as he flooded her with his first massive load.

"Hnnngh... yes..."

He pulled out, breathing hard, and wiped his glistening cock on her ass.

"Now," he panted, already feeling himself stirring again. "To the bed. The real work... has just begun."

He dragged them both to the massive bed in his mother’s chamber. Lyra was already there, sprawled on the silk sheets, her legs spread, waiting for him. Cassandra crawled up next to her, her ass still aching.

He didn’t join them. He lay back against the mountain of pillows, his still-hard dick pointing at the ceiling.

"My turn to rest," he said, his voice a low, satisfied purr. "Your turn to work."

"You... you want us to...?" Lyra asked, her eyes wide.

"You’re sisters," he said, grinning. "You know how to share, don’t you?"

They looked at each other. A moment of hesitation. Then... a slow, wicked smile spread across both of their faces.

They pounced on him.

"Naughty, naughty," he chuckled as they fought over his cock. "Ladies... share."

He directed them. "Mother. My mouth. Kiss me. Like you mean it."

Lyra climbed up his body, straddling his chest, her massive tits hanging right in his face. She kissed him, deeply, her tongue dueling with his. A hot, wet, taboo kiss.

"And you, aunty," he groaned against his mother’s mouth. "My cock. Show me what you taught Fiora."

Cassandra eagerly lowered her head, her long hair brushing his thighs. She licked the head of his dick, slowly, making him hiss. Then she took him into her hot, wet mouth.

"Oh... fuck... yes..." he groaned, his hands gripping his mother’s ass, grinding her pussy against his stomach.

"This... this is heaven," he gasped.

He swapped them. "Mother. Your turn. Suck your son’s cock. Aunty... I want your mouth. Kiss your sister’s leavings off my lips."

They obeyed instantly, eagerly. Lyra dove down, taking him deep into her throat, her sobs of pleasure muffled. Cassandra climbed up and kissed him, her tongue hungrily lapping at his mouth, tasting her own sister’s saliva.

"Gods... you Steele women..." he gasped, his hands buried in their hair, forcing them harder. "You were born for this. You’re all... just... filthy whores."

"Yes, my son," Lyra muffled against his shaft.

"Whatever you say, my nephew," Cassandra purred against his lips.

"My breasts..." Lyra panted, pulling off him for a second. "Use my breasts, Alaric... please..."

"Yours too!" Cassandra demanded, pushing her sister aside, shoving her own massive tits together. "Use mine!"

"Both," he groaned. "Both of you. Show me."

He sat up. He pushed them onto their backs, side-by-side. He knelt between them.

"Put them together," he commanded.

They obeyed, shoving their massive, soft, white breasts together, creating a deep, wet valley of milf-flesh.

Alaric shoved his massive dick between their four tits. It was hot, tight, and unbelievably slick.

"Oh... gods..." he hissed, as he started to fuck their tits. Fast. Hard.

"Look at them bounce..." he panted, watching their chests jiggle violently with his thrusts. "So... perfect..."

He grabbed their nipples, pinching them, pulling them.

"Alaric!" they both screamed.

He felt his climax building again, fast. "I’m... coming!" he roared.

He climaxed all over them. A massive, roping load that showered their chests, their necks, their chins, their faces.

"Drink it," he commanded, his voice a hoarse pant. "Don’t waste a drop."

They eagerly obeyed, lapping his seed off their own skin, off each other’s skin, their tongues dueling over the last drops on his cooling dick.

He lay back, panting. That was... round two.

He was instantly hard again.

His stamina was not human. It was a god’s.

"Now," he said, his voice serious, the fun and games over. "For the heirs."

The rest of the night, and all of the next night, became a blur of taboo, determined, programmatic hedonism.

He was no longer just playing. He was breeding.

He pushed them onto their hands and knees, side-by-side, like two prize mares.

"Asses high," he commanded.

He knelt behind them. He started with his mother. He slammed into her wet, gaping pussy, pounding into her with a deep, powerful, rhythmic stroke.

"I’m filling you, mother," he panted in her ear, his hand gripping her hip. "This is my son. I can feel him. Take all of my seed."

He roared as he climaxed, flooding her womb with a massive load.

"Don’t... don’t let any spill out...!" he commanded, as she sobbed and convulsed around him.

He pulled out of her drenched body. He didn’t wait. He didn’t rest.

He moved to his aunt.

"Now you, aunty," he growled, slamming into her from behind. "I want a daughter from you. A filthy little princess just like Fiora. But stronger. With my power."

He pounded into her, just as hard, just as deep.

"Yes, Alaric!" she screamed, her ass wiggling back against him. "Give her to me! Give me your daughter!"

He flooded her, just as much.

"Again," he commanded.

He moved back to his mother. He fucked her again. Climaxed again.

"Again," he commanded.

He moved back to his aunt. Fucked her. Climaxed again.

"Are you full yet, mother?" he taunted, his voice a rough rasp.

"No... more, Alaric... more!" she sobbed, aching for him even as she was drenched in his seed. "I need your child... I need you!"

"Aunty, your cunt is gaping," he groaned, pulling her on top of him. "It’s perfect. Ride me. Take my load."

She rode him like a wild woman, her massive tits slapping against his chest, until he came inside her again.

He pushed her off. Pulled his mother on top. "Your turn, Mommy. Ride your son’s cock. Milk me dry."

She did.

This continued. All night. All the next day. All the next night.

He lost count of how many times he came. Twenty? Fifty? A hundred?

He fucked them in every position he could dream up.

He had Lyra sit on his face, her milky thighs trapping his head, while he fucked Cassandra with his fingers and tongue.

He fucked Cassandra from behind while Lyra sucked her sister’s tits.

He double-teamed them, his cock in one of them, a magically-conjured dildo, identical to his own, buried deep in the other.

He showered them in his cum. He made them drink his semen from a golden goblet. He painted their bodies with his seed.

By the dawn of the third day... they were broken.

He finally finished, one last, massive load emptied deep inside his mother’s womb.

He collapsed between their limp, slick, cum-drenched bodies.

They were unconscious. Sobbing even in their sleep. Completely, utterly wrecked. Their wombs were aching, full, and overflowing with his potent seed.

He was done. He had planted his crop.

He smiled, his eyes closing. He was sated.

For now.