Nara was not doing the fifth form.
Nara was pressing her thighs together and watching with her bottom lip between her teeth and her hands wrapped around her wooden sword so tightly that her knuckles were white.
Celia was doing the fifth form. She was doing it with more aggression than it technically required.
Rika was watching. Just watching. Her eyes were moving between Edda’s face — the rolling eyes, the drooling mouth, the forced discipline of a warrior trying to maintain function while being destroyed — and Raven’s face, which was calm and focused and beautiful in the morning light.
He pulled out.
SKHLRK—
Edda’s body pitched forward. She caught herself. Her hands went to her knees. Her head hung. Seed poured from her gaped anal in a thick, white, continuous stream that ran down the inside of her muscular thigh and dripped into the dirt. Her chest heaved. Her mouth was open. The drool fell in a thin thread to the ground.
She breathed.
Raven looked at the women.
They were exhausted from two hours of training. Their faces were flushed. Nara’s hair was stuck to her forehead. Gia’s knee had clearly started hurting again. Celia’s arms were trembling. Marla and Fatima had sat down on the ground without permission.
"Come," he said.
They looked at him.
"Come here," he said. "All of you."
They came.
They were not graceful about it. They stumbled from their positions toward the center of the clearing. He stood with his cock out, still hard, glistening with Edda’s seed and the slickness of her anal. The women arrived in front of him one by one.
Nara reached him first.
She looked at his cock. She looked at his face. She went to her knees. Her mouth opened. She took the head between her lips.
SLRRRP—
The others knelt around him. Celia on one side. Gia on the other. Marla and Fatima together in front. Rika last, her jaw tight, her pride visible in the set of her shoulders, but her knees finding the dirt anyway.
He fed them.
Not all at once. One at a time. He moved through them — a hand in each woman’s hair, guiding her forward, pressing her lips against the head, letting her suckle. He spent a few moments with each. Nara, who sucked the tip with desperate enthusiasm. Celia, who took him deep and refused to show how much it cost her. Gia, who made small, hurt sounds that had nothing to do with her knee. Marla, who wrapped both hands around the shaft and worked her mouth with the thorough focus of a woman doing a job. Fatima, who took him slowly and let her tongue do the work.
Then Rika.
She had been waiting at the end. He crouched in front of her. He gripped her jaw. He tilted her face up.
"You," he said.
She looked at him. Her truth-seeing eyes were very wide. They searched his face. They found nothing dishonest. The ability that let her see lies found nothing to flag, because he was not lying about anything.
He guided his cock to her lips.
She took him. Her eyes closed. Her mouth stretched. SLRRRP. She sucked with the concentrated fury of a woman whose pride was fighting a losing battle against her body’s need.
He came.
Not all at once. He distributed it. A rope for each of them. He moved back through the line, one hand gripping each woman’s hair as he pumped a thick, white, warm load into each open mouth. He used the other hand to channel the healing — invisible, woven into the seed, spreading through each body as they swallowed.
He did not tell them it was healing magic.
He let them believe what they believed.
Nara swallowed and sat up straighter and looked at her arms with an expression of confused, pleased surprise. "I feel... restored."
"Yes," he said. "You do."
They all did. The trembling stopped. The fatigue lifted from their limbs. The seed settled warm in their bellies. They licked their lips. They looked at each other. They looked at him.
"Go," he said. "Your energy is recovered. Continue the forms."
They went.
Edda had recovered enough to stand. She watched her women return to their positions. She looked at Raven. She wiped the corner of her mouth. She straightened.
"Fourth form," she said. Her voice was steady again. "From the beginning."
The days accumulated.
They had a texture. A rhythm. Morning training. Midday fucking. Afternoon rest. Evening waterfall. Night claiming. The pattern repeated with the comfortable inevitability of seasons.
He fucked Nara on the dining table after the third day’s training.
He bent her over the food she had been serving and lifted her skirt and pulled her panties to one side and drove into her cunt while the other women watched from the doorway. Her face went into the pot of stew. She lifted it immediately, steaming, the broth on her cheeks, and screamed.
PAH PAH PAH—
"AAAAAANGHH~!! HNGHH~!! MY LORD— HAH— THE STEW— HAH— IS GETTING— HAH— COLD—"
"Eat it after," he said. He gripped her thick hips. He drove deeper. Her tits dragged across the table surface with each thrust. The pot rattled. The bread fell.
"But it will— HAH— be cold— AAAAAANGHH~!!"
"I will warm it," he said. He slammed.
PHACK—
"KKKKHAAAAAAANNGHHHHHH~!!"
He filled her cunt over the dining table with the other women watching from the doorway. The seed ran down her thighs and dripped onto the floorboards. He pulled out. He sat down. He ate the stew.
It was, in fact, cold.
He warmed it with a small flame from his fingertip. Nara sat beside him, leaking his seed into her dress, eating her portion with the slightly unfocused expression of a woman who had been thoroughly seen to and had not fully returned from it.
The fifth day he took Celia against the waterfall wall.
She was a strong woman. She fought it the way she fought everything — with her jaw set and her body braced and her refusal to make unnecessary sounds. He respected this about her. He pressed her against the rock face with the water pouring over both of them and fucked her pussy from behind with his hand around her throat and his mouth at her ear.
PAH PAH PAH—
She made sounds. She did not want to make them. They came out anyway — short, sharp, involuntary sounds punched from her body by each thrust. "Ngh—! Ngh—! Ngh—!"
Not moans. Not screams. Just sounds. Like a fighter taking hits.
He gripped her throat tighter.
"You can scream," he said. "There is no one to see you."
"I am not—" PAH. "NGH—! I am not going to—" PHACK. "AAAAAANGHH~!!"
There it was.
He fucked the scream out of her. He pulled it from the set jaw and the stubborn shoulders and the braced thighs and the walls that tried to hold against him. He fucked through all of it. He left her on the wet rock with her cheek pressed against the stone and both hands flat on the surface and her cunt gaping and leaking and her voice gone to nothing.
She pressed her forehead against the rock.
"I hate you," she said. Her voice was wrecked.
"Your cunt gripped me the whole time," he said.
A long pause.
"I know," she said.
The sixth day was Marla and Fatima together.
He took them in the field behind the training ground.
He laid them both on their backs in the grass and fucked one while his hand attended the other.