Alaric slammed back into Elaine's tight, broken pussy one last, conquering time. It was a brutal, punishing thrust, a final stamp of ownership that tore a choked, hopeless cry from her throat, muffled against the desk's hard wood.
Eleanor froze in the doorway, her hand still on the tent flap, her eyes wide with a sick, twisted kind of jealous terror. She watched her lover empty himself into her mother.
He pulled out. The sound was wet and final. His cock, slick and glistening, was still hard.
Elaine just collapsed over the desk, a broken, sobbing mess. She didn't have the strength to stand, her legs shaking violently.
Alaric calmly, almost lazily, fastened his trousers. He didn't even look at the sobbing, broken mother-daughter pair. He was done here. The game was over. He was bored.
"My work here is done," he announced to the room, his voice cold as a winter wind. He was no longer "Brad." He was no longer the seducer. He was the Master.
