Harem Master: Seduction System - Chapter 99

Chapter 99: Lyra’s Hot Lustful Desires
The grand Steele manor, usually a bastion of quiet routine for Lyra Steele, had undergone a subtle shift in its atmosphere with the arrival of Iridelle Khysarel. Lyra, accustomed to her son Alaric’s near-constant attention, found herself increasingly alone. Alaric, previously eager to spar with her in the training yard or discuss family matters over dinner, was now entirely consumed by his work with the blue-haired artificer.

From the very first day, Lyra had observed the interactions between her son and Iridelle with a growing unease. She had seen the way Alaric’s eyes lit up when he spoke to the young woman, the way he leaned in close to examine her work, the way his laughter, usually reserved and infrequent, flowed freely in her presence. It wasn’t a romantic interest, not yet at least, but it was an intense focus, a level of engagement that Lyra hadn’t witnessed directed at anyone else, certainly not at her, in a long time.

On the first few days, Lyra tried to dismiss her feelings as mere observation. ‘He’s simply excited about the project,’ she told herself, watching from a distance as Alaric and Iridelle pored over blueprints in the workshop. ‘It’s important for the family’s future.’ But a nagging feeling persisted, a subtle prickle of jealousy that she couldn’t quite shake.

She attempted to engage Alaric, suggesting a sparring session as she usually did. “Alaric, dear, would you like to practice a few forms with me this afternoon?” she asked, approaching him as he left the workshop.

Alaric smiled apologetically, his eyes still holding a lingering spark of the conversation he’d just had with Iridelle. “I’d love to, Mother, but I’m right in the middle of something with Iridelle. We’re finally making some headway with the artifact’s design, and I don’t want to lose the momentum.”

“Oh,” Lyra replied, her voice faltering slightly. “Of course. I understand.” She forced a smile, trying to mask the disappointment that washed over her. “Perhaps another time, then.”

‘Another time’ never seemed to come. Every time Lyra tried to spend time with Alaric, he had an excuse, always related to the artifact. He was either discussing designs, procuring materials, or overseeing the construction. Iridelle was always there, at his side, sharing his focus and his time.

At night, Alaric continued his secret visits to Lyra’s chamber, using Dreamwalker to manipulate her dreams. He crafted scenarios of intense passion, ensuring her desire for him grew with each passing night. But during the day, the reality was starkly different. He was physically present in the manor, yet emotionally distant, his attention firmly fixed on Iridelle.

As the days passed, Lyra’s unease morphed into a full-blown anxiety. She found herself constantly watching Alaric and Iridelle, scrutinizing their every interaction. She noticed the way Alaric would instinctively reach out to steady Iridelle if she stumbled, the way he would patiently explain complex concepts to her, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at her.

‘Why is he so attentive to her?’ Lyra wondered, her heart twisting with jealousy. ‘He never looks at me like that anymore.’

She began to compare herself to Iridelle, scrutinizing her own appearance in the mirror. She noted Iridelle’s youthful energy, her vibrant blue hair, and her gentle purple eyes. She then looked at her own reflection, taking in her still-voluptuous figure, her large breasts that, despite her age, remained firm and high. ‘I’m not old,’ she thought defensively. ‘I’m still beautiful. I’m more experienced, more mature. He shouldn’t prefer her over me.’

The thought, though fleeting, sent a shiver of unease down her spine. The very idea of competing with another woman for her son’s attention felt deeply wrong, yet she couldn’t suppress the feeling.

On the eighth day, Lyra decided to be more direct. She approached Alaric in the workshop, interrupting his conversation with Iridelle.

“Alaric, dear,” she said, her voice trying to maintain a light tone, “I was wondering if we could perhaps have lunch together today. It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper conversation.”

Alaric glanced at Iridelle apologetically before turning to his mother. “I’m so sorry, Mother, but I’ve already promised Iridelle that we’d continue working on the prototype during lunch. We’re on a tight schedule, and I really need to focus on this.”

Iridelle, sensing the tension in the air, offered a small, polite smile to Lyra. “Perhaps another time, Lady Steele?” she said softly.

Lyra forced a smile in return, though her eyes held a flicker of resentment. “Of course,” she replied, her voice tight. She turned back to Alaric, her disappointment evident. “I understand. Perhaps we can schedule something for later this week?”

Alaric nodded absently, his attention already drifting back to the workbench. “Yes, Mother. Of course.”

Lyra left the workshop feeling a deep sense of rejection. It was clear that Alaric’s priority was the artifact, and by extension, Iridelle. She felt like an outsider in her own home, displaced by a woman she barely knew.

‘He’s pushing me away,’ she thought, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. ‘He’s choosing her over me.’

That night, as Alaric visited her in her dreams, his manipulations took a new turn. Instead of simply enacting scenes of passion, he began to introduce a new element: the need for Lyra’s active pursuit. In her dreams, he would tell her that she needed to convince him, to seduce him, to prove her desire for him.

“Mother,” he would whisper in her dream, his voice a low, seductive murmur, “I need you to show me how much you want me. I need you to prove it to me.”

Lyra, in her dream state, found herself readily embracing this new challenge. Her inhibitions were lowered, her desires amplified by Alaric’s influence. She pursued him with an ardor she had never expressed in her waking life, using every seductive trick she could imagine.

The dreams were vivid and intense, filled with passionate embraces and intimate touches. Lyra, in her dream state, felt a sense of liberation she had never experienced before. She was no longer just a mother; she was a woman, desired and desiring.

But the dreams also left her with a lingering sense of unease upon waking. She would wake up with a racing heart, her body flushed with a mix of pleasure and shame. ‘It was just a dream,’ she would tell herself, trying to dismiss the lingering sensations. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

But she had no idea about how the dreams were having an effect on her. They were planting seeds of desire and insecurity in her subconscious, making her question her relationship with her son and her own desirability.

The subtle manipulation was working, slowly but surely eroding her resistance and preparing her for the next stage of Alaric’s plan.

~~

The dreams, initially a source of confused pleasure for Lyra, began to take on a more demanding quality.

Each night, the task of seducing her son in her dreams became increasingly difficult.

Alaric, in his dream form, would present new challenges, new tests of her desire. He would remain aloof, demanding more and more elaborate displays of affection, more explicit declarations of her longing.

One night, he appeared before her in the dream, not in the lush gardens they had previously frequented, but in a grand ballroom, filled with elegantly dressed figures. He stood at the far end of the room, his back to her, seemingly engrossed in conversation with another woman.

Lyra, in her dream, felt a surge of panic. She rushed towards him, desperate to gain his attention. “Alaric!” she called out, her voice echoing through the vast hall.

He turned slowly, his expression cool and detached. “Mother,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “What is it?”

Lyra felt a chill run down her spine. This wasn’t the Alaric she knew, even in her dreams. “I… I wanted to be with you,” she stammered, her voice trembling.

Alaric raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over her. “Is that so?” he said, his tone skeptical. “You’ll have to do better than that, Mother. You’ll have to show me how much you truly desire me.”

He turned away, resuming his conversation with the other woman. Lyra, in her dream, felt a wave of desperation.

She began to perform, to dance, to sing, to do anything to capture his attention.

She used every seductive trick she could think of, her actions becoming increasingly bold, increasingly uncharacteristic of a noble lady.

She felt a deep sense of shame in her dream, a feeling that she was debasing herself, but the desire to please Alaric, to win his affection, overrode all other considerations.

This pattern continued for several nights. Each dream presented a new challenge, a new obstacle to overcome.

Lyra, driven by the dream-Alaric’s demands, found herself engaging in increasingly humiliating acts, all in an attempt to win his favor.

The shame she felt in her dreams began to seep into her waking hours, leaving her with a constant sense of unease and self-loathing.

Then, abruptly, the dreams stopped.

From the fifteenth day after Iridelle’s arrival, Lyra could no longer dream of Alaric. She would go to sleep with the anticipation of seeing him, of finally winning his approval, but her dreams remained empty, devoid of his presence.

This sudden absence was even more unsettling than the demanding dreams had been. Lyra felt a deep sense of loss, a void that she couldn’t explain. She found herself constantly thinking about Alaric, longing for his attention, both in her dreams and in reality.

The period from the fifteenth to the twentieth day became a torment for Lyra. She was consumed by a constant, gnawing need for her son’s attention, a desperate longing that grew stronger with each passing day.

She tried to distract herself with her usual activities—managing the household, overseeing the estate—but nothing could quell the restless feeling inside her.

She found herself drawn to the workshop, hoping to catch a glimpse of Alaric, to hear his voice, to simply be near him. But every time she approached, she would see him with Iridelle, their heads bent over their work, their faces illuminated by the light of the forge. The sight would send a sharp pang of jealousy through her, forcing her to retreat.

‘He doesn’t even notice I’m gone,’ she thought bitterly, her eyes filling with tears as she turned away from the workshop one afternoon. ‘He’s completely forgotten about me.’

The constant rejection, coupled with the lingering effects of the dreams, began to take a toll on Lyra’s mental state. She became increasingly erratic, her moods swinging from despair to anger to a desperate longing. She was no longer thinking rationally; her emotions were driving her actions.

On the twentieth day, a dangerous thought took root in her mind. If she couldn’t seduce Alaric in her dreams, perhaps she could try it in reality. The idea, normally abhorrent to her, now seemed like the only solution to her torment.

‘If I can just make him see me as a woman,’ she reasoned, her mind clouded by desperation, ‘then maybe he’ll pay attention to me again. Maybe he’ll want me.’

The thought was fueled by a glass of wine she had consumed earlier that evening. The alcohol loosened her inhibitions, making her more susceptible to her impulsive desires. She decided to act.

She summoned a maid to her chamber. “Please fetch my son, Alaric,” she instructed, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. “Tell him I wish to speak with him on an important matter.”

As the maid departed, Lyra began to prepare herself. She discarded her elegant day dress and instead chose a nightgown, one that she had rarely worn, deeming it too revealing. It was made of a sheer, almost transparent fabric that clung to her curves, accentuating her full breasts and highlighting her long legs. The gown was a deliberate attempt to seduce, a desperate plea for attention.

She brushed her long blonde hair, letting it fall loosely around her shoulders. She applied a touch of perfume, a scent that she knew Alaric had always found appealing. She then sat on her bed, arranging herself in a pose that she hoped would be alluring.

As she waited for Alaric, her heart pounded in her chest. She felt a mix of excitement, fear, and a deep sense of shame. She knew that what she was doing was wrong, that it violated the natural bond between mother and son. But she was past the point of rational thought. Her desire for Alaric, fueled by his manipulations and her own insecurities, had become an all-consuming obsession.

When Alaric arrived, he found his mother waiting for him, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. The sight of her in the revealing nightgown sent a jolt of satisfaction through him. His plan was working perfectly.

He closed the door behind him, ensuring their privacy, before approaching her. “Mother,” he said, his voice smooth and controlled, “you wished to speak with me?”

Lyra looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with a desperate longing. She gestured to the space beside her on the bed. “Yes, Alaric, dear,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Please, sit with me. There are some important matters regarding the family businesses that I wish to discuss.”

Alaric internally smirked. He knew that the “family businesses” were just an excuse. He could see the desire in her eyes, the desperation in her posture. He sat beside her, his gaze sweeping over her body, taking in the revealing nightgown.

‘She’s falling right into my trap,’ he thought, a sense of triumph coursing through him. ‘Her dreams have primed her perfectly, and now she’s ready to take the next step.’

Lyra began to speak, her voice trembling slightly as she attempted to maintain a semblance of composure. “Alaric, dear, as you know, our investments in the northern territories have been… fluctuating recently,” she began, her gaze fixed on a point just past his shoulder. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes directly, the shame and anticipation warring within her.

Alaric listened attentively, or at least he pretended to. His eyes, however, kept drifting back to his mother’s exposed cleavage, the soft curve of her breasts barely contained by the sheer fabric of her nightgown. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the subtle scent of her perfume filling his nostrils. It was a potent combination, designed to disarm and entice.

‘She’s really going all out,’ he thought, a smirk playing on his lips. ‘This is going to be even easier than I anticipated.’ He decided to play along, to prolong the game, to savor the moment.

“Yes, Mother,” he replied, his voice low and attentive. “I’ve been reviewing the reports. It seems there’s been some unrest among the local merchants. We may need to reassess our contracts.”

As she spoke, Lyra subtly shifted her position on the bed, allowing the nightgown to slip further down her shoulders, revealing more of her décolletage. She also made sure that her leg was brushing against his, the soft fabric of her nightgown doing little to conceal the warmth of her skin.

‘He has to notice,’ she thought, her heart pounding in her chest. ‘He can’t possibly ignore this.’ She took a deep breath, trying to control the trembling in her voice. “Perhaps… perhaps if we were to offer more favorable terms to the smaller traders, it would quell the unrest,” she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alaric’s gaze flickered down to her chest again, his eyes lingering on the swell of her breasts. He could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her nipples were pressing against the fabric of her nightgown. He felt a stirring in his loins, a surge of desire that he quickly suppressed.

“That’s an interesting proposition, Mother,” he said, his voice husky. He subtly mirrored her movements, leaning closer, his hand accidentally brushing against her thigh. “But we need to consider the long-term implications. It could set a dangerous precedent.”

Lyra’s breath hitched as his hand touched her. She felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. She could feel his gaze on her, burning into her skin.

‘He’s looking at me,’ she thought, her mind reeling. ‘He’s actually looking at me. Does he… does he want me?’

She decided to be bolder. As she continued to speak about the business matters, she deliberately leaned into him, her breasts brushing against his arm. She also let out soft, involuntary moans as she spoke, hoping to further entice him.

“Perhaps… perhaps we could offer a tiered system,” she murmured, her voice laced with a seductive tremor. “A higher commission for the larger merchants, and a smaller bonus for the smaller traders. It would be a fair compromise… wouldn’t it?” She let out a soft moan as she shifted again, her breasts pressing more firmly against his arm.

Alaric felt a wave of heat wash over him. He could feel the soft warmth of her body against his, the subtle pressure of her breasts against his arm. Her moans, though barely audible, sent shivers down his spine. He had to suppress a groan of his own.

‘She’s really going for it,’ he thought, a mixture of amusement and anticipation swirling within him. ‘She’s practically begging me to take her.’ He decided to push her a little further, to see how far she would go.

He placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her leg. “That sounds like a reasonable approach, Mother,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “But we need to consider all the angles. Perhaps… we should discuss this in more detail.”

Lyra’s breath caught in her throat. She felt his hand on her thigh, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her body. She could feel her resolve crumbling, her carefully constructed façade of composure shattering into pieces.

‘He’s touching me,’ she thought, her mind reeling. ‘He’s actually touching me. He wants me. He really wants me.’

She could no longer contain herself. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “Alaric,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I… I don’t think I can concentrate on business right now.”

She then began to kiss him, her lips pressing against his with a desperate hunger. She poured all her pent-up desire, all her longing, all her frustration into that kiss. She wanted him to feel her desire, to understand the depth of her longing.

Alaric, for his part, didn’t resist. He allowed her to kiss him, his mind calculating his next move. He could feel her desperation, her need for him, and he knew that he had her right where he wanted her. The game was reaching its climax, and he was ready to claim his prize.

Lyra, emboldened by his lack of resistance, began to become even more bold. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face. “Alaric,” she whispered again, her voice trembling with emotion, “I… I want you.”

She reached down and took his hand, placing it on her breast. She closed her eyes, letting out a soft moan as his hand cupped her full breast, his fingers gently kneading the soft flesh.

Alaric felt a surge of triumph. He had finally broken her down, had finally pushed her to the point of no return. He looked down at his mother, her eyes closed, her face flushed with desire. He knew that he had won. He had successfully manipulated her, had turned her own desires against her. And now, she was his, completely and utterly.