Sora turned to nag Eirene about something trivial—her voice high and teasing—and bent slightly forward to emphasize her point.
Ah! The skirt rode higher!
Her ass cheeks spread just enough to show the thin strip of fabric clinging desperately to her crack, outlining the puffy pussy lips still swollen from earlier.
A faint wet sheen even lingered between her thighs—either leftover cum or fresh arousal, I couldn't tell. The sight made my mouth go dry.
And then… there was Eirene.
She walked with perfect posture, every step measured, graceful.
Her robe—flowing white fabric pinned at the shoulders—draped over her hourglass figure like liquid moonlight.
The material was thin enough that sunlight backlit her silhouette, hinting at the elegant flare of her hips and the subtle dimples at the small of her back.
When she stepped over a crack in the ground, her ass shifted—firm, high, perfectly proportioned.
Not as wide as Sora's, but tighter, and more sculpted. The cheeks were round and lifted, sitting high on her frame like they were made to be cupped.
Each stride made them flex subtly—left, right, left—creating a hypnotic roll that drew my gaze like gravity.
I tried to look away. I really did.
Don't stare. You're not a pervert. You're a good person. Your parents raised you better than this.
But my eyes slid back every time.
Sora leaped another rock—her ass cheeks clapping together audibly this time. Eirene stepped daintily over the same obstacle—ass flexing once, twice, the fabric pulling taut across the perfect curve.
Okay, compare and contrast time, brain:
Sora's is wider—soft, jiggly, would feel incredible to grab handfuls of, sink fingers in until she squeals. But Eirene's… oh lord, Eirene's would sit so perfectly in the palm.
Firm, high, like it was carved for exactly that purpose. One cheek per hand. No spill-over. Just… ideal.
Oh no, I was losing it.
We kept moving. Sora kept bouncing. Eirene kept gliding. My cock—traitorous bastard—started thickening again despite the recent marathon.
Forgive me, Mum. Forgive me, Dad. I wasn't raised to be this way.
But the thought came anyway, loud and unfiltered in my own head:
'Eirene's ass is the best.'
"Yew!" And a cute, startled yelp from Eirene snapped me out of it.
She spun around, one hand flying back to cover her behind. With her cheeks—both sets—were flaming pink. Silver eyes wide, pupils blown, lips parted in shock.
"You wild beast!" she squeaked—actually squeaked. "Didn't you have enough back there?!"
Crap! I completely forgot! She can read the surface thoughts.
I threw both hands up.
"I'm sorry! It was a slip! Eyes and thoughts—both slipped! I didn't mean—"
"Oh my! Was Lord Yanen peeping at our butts?" Sora, who had turned at the noise, immediately assumed position.
She bent forward at the waist, hands braced on her knees, ass thrust out toward me.
The skirt flipped up completely, black lace stretched tight across plump cheeks. She wiggled—once, twice—making the globes bounce and clap softly.
The thong had ridden up so far it was practically a string now, disappearing between them. Her pussy lips peeked out on either side—still puffy, still glistening faintly with dried cum and fresh arousal.
"Lord Yanen can gawk at my ass all he wants," she purred, voice dripping honey. "You can quickly stick your cock inside if you want. Obsidian Hollow isn't running away, you know."
Argghhh!! The sight was devastating.
Brown cheeks spread just enough to show everything—swollen folds, the faint pink of her inner lips, a thin trail of wetness already forming again. Her thighs trembled with anticipation.
She arched her back further, ass rising higher, practically begging.
I swallowed so hard my throat clicked.
"Sora… calm down. Please. We should reach the tribe first."
She pouted but straightened—slowly, making sure I got one last good look at the way her ass jiggled back into place.
I just wanted to see normal people. Normal clothes. Normal conversations. Anything to remind me I wasn't completely lost yet.
Another hour passed.
The jagged rocks on the horizon grew closer.
Wooden fences appeared—tall stakes lashed together with black vines, topped with sharpened obsidian shards that glinted like teeth.
Beyond them, low stone-and-timber huts clustered in a rough circle around a central fire pit. Smoke rose lazily. Figures moved—tall, dark-skinned, silver-haired.
"So that there is your village? We're getting close." I said.
"Huh? Can Lord Yanen see it from here? We still have some hours to walk, though."
[Fool, she is not supernaturally aberrant like you!]
Eh? So I can see from such far sight?
But after some hours, we really reached.
Obsidian Hollow. The dark elf village.
Sora's home.
I exhaled.
Finally, a civilization. Maybe I can pretend I'm still a decent person for five minutes.
***
The wooden guest room they led us to was surprisingly nice.
Thick timber beams overhead, polished dark floors that gleamed under the soft glow of hanging crystal lanterns.
A single large bed dominated the center—wide enough for three people, piled high with furs and woven blankets in deep forest greens and blacks. A low table sat in one corner with a clay pitcher of water and two cups.
The walls were hung with woven tapestries showing stylized hunts and moonlit forests. One narrow window looked out onto the village fire pit, where shadows danced from the flames outside.
It was proper and dignified. Fit for high-level guests.
Which made me feel even more out of place.
I stood in the middle of the room, hands on my hips, staring at the bed.
"There's… only one bed."
Eirene, already perched on the edge of the mattress like she owned it, gave me a flat look.
"Pervert."
"Who're you calling a pervert?!" I yelled, cheeks heating instantly. "You were naked in the plains of the wasteland a moment ago!"
Before she could retort, I lunged—fingers finding the sensitive spots along her ribs.
Eirene actually yelped, and tried to twist away.
"H-Hey! Stop—!"
I didn't stop at all.
My fingers danced mercilessly over her sides, under her arms, along the curve of her waist where the robe clung just enough to hint at the smooth skin beneath.
She squirmed, her silver hair whipping as she tried to bat my hands away, but every time she grabbed one wrist I found another opening—tickling the hollow behind her knee when she kicked, the sensitive dip of her collarbone when she arched back.
Laughter burst out of her—high, helpless, completely undignified for an Emanation.
"St—stop! How are you even—! I'm an Emanation! You can't—ahhahaha—!"