The central dais of Willowmere glowed under strings of luminous blossoms, petals scattered thick across the soft moss like a bridal bed. The entire village had gathered in a wide circle, their faces lit with reverence and quiet excitement. Soft chants rose and fell—ancient fertility hymns that seemed to make the very air thrum with warmth.
Ethan stood naked at the center, heart pounding. The nectar from the feast still coursed through him, sharpening every sensation while easing his nerves. Rowan, Talia, and Lysa approached slowly, their sheer robes whispering against their skin.
Rowan reached him first. The shy redhead's freckled cheeks were flushed crimson, but her green eyes shone with determination. She pressed close, full breasts soft against his chest, and kissed him tentatively. Ethan returned it, hands sliding to her waist, drawing her in until her breath hitched.
Behind her, Talia—the lithe brunette archer—moved with confident grace. She untied Rowan's robe, letting it pool at her feet. Rowan's body was lush: heavy breasts with pale pink nipples already peaked, soft belly curving to wide hips, a thatch of red curls glistening between trembling thighs.
Lysa, the voluptuous blonde healer, circled to Ethan's back. Her hands glided over his shoulders as she kissed his neck, pressing her own generous curves against him. Together the three women guided him down onto the moss.
Rowan straddled his hips first, knees sinking into the petals. She reached between them, small hand wrapping around his throbbing length, guiding the head to her slick entrance. Ethan groaned at the heat of her, the way her folds parted eagerly.
"Look at me," she whispered, voice shaking with need.
He did. As she sank down slowly, inch by inch, her tight walls gripped him like velvet fire. Rowan's head fell back, red hair cascading, a low moan escaping as she took him fully. Her hips began to rock—tentative at first, then deeper, riding him with growing confidence.
Talia knelt beside them, leaning in to capture Rowan's mouth in a deep kiss while her hand slipped between Rowan's thighs, fingers circling the redhead's swollen clit. Lysa moved to Ethan's head, straddling his face so that her dripping pussy hovered just above his lips.
Ethan needed no further invitation. He pulled her down, tongue delving into her sweet folds. Lysa gasped, grinding gently as he licked and sucked, savoring her taste—honey and salt and pure desire.
The three women moved together in perfect rhythm: Rowan bouncing on his cock, breasts swaying with each thrust; Talia teasing Rowan's clit while pinching her own dark nipples; Lysa riding his tongue, her hands braced on Rowan's shoulders for balance.
The village chants swelled, matching their pace.
Ethan felt the pressure building fast. Rowan's walls fluttered around him—she was close. He gripped her hips, thrusting up to meet her, driving deeper. With a cry she came, body shuddering, pussy clenching in waves that pulled him over the edge.
He spilled inside her with a guttural groan, thick pulses flooding her womb. Rowan collapsed forward onto his chest, trembling, as the crowd let out a joyous cheer.
Before he could catch his breath, Talia gently eased Rowan aside. The archer's eyes burned with hunger. She turned, presenting her firm, toned ass, and sank back onto him in reverse. Her pussy was tighter, hotter, gripping him as she began a fierce, athletic ride—hips slamming down, back arched, brunette hair whipping.
Lysa lay beside them now, kissing Ethan deeply, letting him taste himself on her tongue while Talia worked him relentlessly. Rowan, still leaking his seed down her thighs, crawled over to suck and tease Lysa's breasts.
The second climax hit Ethan like a storm. Talia ground down hard, inner muscles milking him as she came, and he followed—pumping another heavy load deep inside her. The village cheered again, louder this time.
Finally Lysa. The blonde healer pushed him onto his back and mounted him face-to-face, her heavy breasts swaying as she rode slow and deliberate. She leaned down, whispering encouragements—"Give me your child, Breeder… fill me…"—while clenching rhythmically around him.
Rowan and Talia knelt on either side, each taking one of his hands and guiding it between their thighs so he could feel his own cum slick on their pussies as Lysa claimed her share.
When Lysa came—back bowing, a throaty cry echoing across the lake—Ethan thrust up one last time and released again, weaker but still potent, flooding her until it seeped out around his shaft.
The chants reached a crescendo, then softened into celebratory song. The three women curled around him, kissing his skin, stroking his hair, whispering gratitude and promises.
For a moment, everything was perfect.
Then darkness moved at the edge of vision.
A sudden prick at his neck—like an insect bite. Ethan flinched, hand going to the spot. His fingers came away with a tiny black thorn.
The world tilted.
Rowan's face swam above him, alarm flaring in her eyes. "Ethan?"
His limbs grew heavy, unnaturally fast. Across the dais he saw Nyra—the pale, raven-haired woman—stepping forward from the shadows, flanked by three others just like her: skin too white, eyes too dark, smiles too sharp.
Seraphine's voice rang out—"Shadow Women! Guards!"—but it sounded distant, muffled.
Nyra knelt beside him, cool fingers brushing his cheek almost tenderly.
"Sleep, Breeder," she purred. "You gave your seed to them… now you will give your life to us."
Darkness rushed in from the edges. The last thing Ethan felt was strong arms lifting him—cold, unnaturally strong—carrying him away from the warmth of the dais, from Rowan's desperate cry, from the village lights.
The Shadow Women had him.
And the night swallowed them whole.