Sylvie picked up another strip of meat and held it near his lips.
"Eat slowly. Don't choke yourself," she said softly, her usual scolding tone already fading into motherly warmth.
James leaned forward, but instead of biting the meat clean, his lips brushed against her fingertips. His teeth grazed her skin ever so slightly before he pulled the food into his mouth.
Sylvie stiffened. "...Careful."
James chewed with a smirk tugging at his lips. So sensitive, huh? Interesting.
When she fed him again, he did it deliberately—closing his mouth just a little too eagerly, letting his tongue flick against her finger before he pulled away.
"Mm—!" A soft sound slipped from her throat. She blinked, startled, and pulled her hand back as if she had touched something hot. "W-What was that…?" she muttered under her breath.
James's eyes gleamed. Oh? Looks like someone felt that.
"Mother," he said casually, "you should be careful. What if you drop the food?"
"I-I… I won't," she replied quickly, almost defensive, then picked up another piece. This time, she tried to be more careful, holding the meat further away from her fingers.
But James leaned forward, caught her wrist, and drew the bite straight from her hand. His tongue deliberately swept along her fingertip, leaving a faint trace of wetness before he pulled back.
Sylvie gasped, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. "Ryan… that's… that's not how you…" She trailed off, her voice trembling.
James chuckled inwardly. She has no idea what's happening to her. Damn, this is going to be fun.
He bit down on the meat, chewed slowly, and then—without warning—closed his lips over the tip of her finger, sucking lightly before letting go.
"A-ah—!" Sylvie jerked her hand back this time, pressing it to her chest as though trying to calm the strange flutter in her body. Her breathing had grown faintly uneven.
"Mother?" James tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Are you alright? You look red."
"I… I'm fine," she said quickly, averting her gaze. "It's just… you're being strange today."
James grinned to himself, stretching lazily on the bed, his cock twitching again under the blanket.
Strange, huh? Just wait, mother. This is only the beginning.
~~~
After finishing the meal, Sylvie stood up, brushing her hands on her thighs.
"You've been lying down since yesterday. Walk around a bit, Ryan. It'll help your body recover faster," she suggested gently before stepping out of the room.
James—no, Ryan—nodded. "Yeah, might as well. Can't learn everything from memories. Some things I'll have to see for myself."
He pushed himself up and spotted a strip of cloth folded neatly on the table. Guess this is supposed to be clothing here, huh?
Wrapping it around his waist, he stepped outside. The warm air hit his bare chest, but almost immediately, he frowned. Every step felt wrong. His cock swung freely like a damned pendulum, and worse, his balls kept getting crushed between his thighs whenever he moved too quickly.
"Ahh—fuck—!" Ryan winced, pausing mid-step, sucking in a sharp breath. "Nope. This is torture."
He hurried back inside, shutting the door behind him.
"System!" he hissed. "I need a painkiller. And underwear. How much?"
[5 points for underwear. 10 points for painkiller.]
"Yeah, give me both. Right now."
[Transaction successful. Items stored in system inventory.]
"Finally." Ryan reached into the storage mentally, pulling out a small tablet. He popped it into his mouth, swallowing dry. Within seconds, the ache in his nuts melted away, leaving him sighing in relief.
"Damn… that was hellish."
Next, he pulled out the underwear—basic, but clean and snug. He slipped it on beneath the cloth wrap.
"Now that's more like it. Primitive world or not, I'm not walking around with my nuts in a vice", he muttered with a grin.
Satisfied, he strutted confidently back outside, rolling his shoulders. But before he could take two steps, a sharp voice called out:
"Ryan, where are you going?"
He froze, blinking. Ryan… oh, right. That's me now.
Turning around, he spotted a tall young woman with long dark hair tied back neatly—his older sister, Emilya.
"Have you gone deaf?" she snapped, crossing her arms.
"Ah, no~" Ryan chuckled awkwardly. "Just lost in thought."
"You still haven't answered me. Where are you going?"
"Oh, just a stroll," Ryan replied casually. "Mom told me to walk around a bit."
Emilya studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But don't stay out too long." With that, she swept past him and into the house.
Ryan let out a breath and smirked. Right… I'm not James Smith anymore. I'm Ryan Blake. Better start acting like it.
With that, he took his first real steps into the new world outside.
Ryan stepped outside, the cloth strip around his waist barely containing him, his new underwear providing some comfort. The village sprawled before him, primitive yet vibrant, alive with people going about their daily lives. But what caught his attention immediately were the women.
They were a sight to behold, their bodies honed from physical labor, yet undeniably sensual. The first woman he saw was sitting at the front of her hut, her skin a warm Mexican tone—neither dark nor pale, but a perfect sun-kissed hue. Her tits were massive, full and round, the dark, erect nipples clearly visible even from a distance. Her waist was slim, tapering down to wide hips that swayed enticingly as she moved. Long raven hair framed her face, accentuating high cheekbones and full lips.
Other women were equally captivating, their bodies slim and curvaceous, skin ranging from creamy white to shades of caramel brown. Many were topless, their breasts firm, nipples hard, swinging gently as they carried out chores. Their thighs were thick and muscular, a testament to the daily grind of village life, adorned with swirling black-and-red tattoos that seemed to dance with every step. Bone necklaces rested between their breasts, polished smooth, adding a touch of exotic beauty to their wild, primitive surroundings.
Ryan's eyes roamed freely, drinking in every detail, every curve, every subtle sway of their bodies. His erection shifted against the cloth strip, responding instinctively to the endless stream of stimuli.
As he continued walking, one of the village women—his neighbor—noticed him and called out.