Returning from Sawa late at night, Ritchie dozed on the cart but noticed Rosa had touched his notebook. As expected, the prankster was curious about his choice.
He subtly checked the hidden pages in his chest band, smirking, relieved his secret technique remained safe.
Rosa, too, smiled, a hint of relief in her expression. She loved teasing him but didn't want real trouble. His chosen technique seemed steady and safe, easing her mind.
...
Back in Glasloval, Ritchie's knight training began in earnest.
Every morning, he reported early to the camp, where Diana forced him to run Garden Street, which was four kilometers long, in an eighty-kilogram weighted armor. One lap at first, then two after a week, now five, all within an hour. He'd failed once, never again.
The run was just a warm-up. Next came blocking practice with two eighty-kilogram lead shields. Diana's stick struck like lightning at any gap, painful but not crippling.
After seven, Ritchie got a brief break for classes. Before that, Randy injected him with X23, the muscle growth agent that nearly killed him. In class, he endured the agonizing itch and burn of muscle restructuring, worse than Diana's strikes, biting back any sound.
After noon, he returned to camp, hauling heavy armor, often over a ton, without tools.
The labor was grueling, but he preferred it to Diana's painful training.
Each day, he barely held on.
At home, he wanted only to collapse. Intense training killed his appetite, and rations couldn't fill a knight's hunger.
His mother forced him to eat dinner, sympathetic to his exhaustion from camp labor, urging early rest.
Sometimes, she considered pulling him from the camp, begging his teachers for another job. But she never acted, relieved he'd stopped fighting since joining.
She didn't know those fights stemmed from her flaunting their wealth, sparking envy. Guilt kept her from meddling.
She also didn't know that, alone in his room, Ritchie obsessively indulged in the lewd technique's fantasies.
After weeks of practicing the technique, Ritchie's fighting aura barely grew, lingering just beyond the seed stage. But his inner fire surged uncontrollably.
Each time he cycled the aura as instructed, his mouth dried, and his erection raged for hours.
Before this cursed technique, he could finish in half an hour. Now, no matter how hard he tried, his swollen, purple member refused to release.
After another futile half-hour, Ritchie eyed his penis: hard as a hammer, thicker than two fingers together, nearly a foot long, and iron-stiff, a far cry from its former rubbery state.
He fantasized about using it to ravage the camp's female knights (even Diana) but lacked the courage.
Targeting them was impossible.
He sat up abruptly. Days ago, he'd decided to find a woman. He knew a place where money bought company.
At his age, he'd never dared consider it, especially without money.
Ritchie opened a drawer, retrieving bills from a hidden seam. This was his month's wages, which was more than his parents earned.
He'd thought to help his family but couldn't explain the money without implying theft or deceit. So he hid it, and now it had a purpose.
Stuffing bills in his pocket, he called to his mother and dashed out.
Night had fallen. The old district had no streetlights, but house windows glowed.
The place was east, near the city walls, frequented by soldiers. Ritchie wondered if his father had been there, betraying his mother.
A rundown alley awaited, lined with three-story buildings split into tiny, pigeonhole-like rooms, their narrow windows casting dim light.
Kerosene streetlights flickered yellow. Gaudy women leaned against walls, cooing at passing men.
Ritchie's heart pounded. He'd never seen anything like this.
Then he spotted a familiar figure.
In a shadowy corner stood a girl his age, large eyes, chestnut hair, looking lost. Her slim frame and pale face stood out even in the dim light.
Ritchie stared, shocked. It was Isabella, his class's most beautiful girl, his dream crush.
"Isabella, why are you here?" he blurted.
His question hit like a whip. She trembled, eyes widening in panic.
A heavily made-up woman in her twenties sidled over. "Men come here for fun, women to sell it. Since you're friends, why not help her out? Poor thing…."
She trailed off with a long sigh.
The cramped, low-ceilinged room held only a makeshift bed of wooden planks, bare of any bedding, just a layer of cardboard spread across it.
Ritchie's classmate walked ahead, her expression blank but her movements practiced. She pulled a stack of old newspapers from a box under the bed, swiftly spreading them over the cardboard before starting to undress.
Isabella was gaunt, her thinness clearly from malnutrition. In Ritchie's memory, she hadn't been this frail before.
Not only was she thin, but her skin was deathly pale, almost tinged with a faint blue. Her hips were small, the flesh taut, with a sparse patch of hair between her legs.
Her ribs stood out starkly, and her breasts, small as fists, rose slightly, their rosy tips captivating.
Lost in his thoughts, Ritchie didn't notice Isabella had already shed her clothes and begun undressing him.
As soon as she unbuckled his belt, Ritchie's erection sprang free.
Isabella had once been the girl of his dreams, the focus of countless fantasies as he pleasured himself. His arousal had been straining against his pants since the moment they started.
Her slender, cold hands gently grasped his shaft, the sensation so exquisite that Ritchie tilted his head back, eyes half-closed, savoring it.
He didn't catch the subtle frown that flickered across Isabella's face.
Her grip tightened, stroking quickly, her lips letting out soft, seductive moans.
It was a trick she'd learned from other women. Most men couldn't resist it and would finish quickly. But right now, she just wanted it over. Being with someone she knew felt humiliating, helpless.
Ritchie, oblivious to her feelings, was lost in the moment. The delicate, skilled touch of her hands was nothing like his own.
But despite the pleasure, something was wrong. The fire in his body wasn't easing. Instead, it was growing, his erection throbbing painfully.
Isabella's hand was tiring after stroking for so long. She knew this wouldn't be enough to finish him. She needed something more intense.
Leaning closer, she took him into her mouth. Her agile tongue teased the swollen tip, flicking lightly at the sensitive groove beneath, occasionally probing the slit. Sometimes, she grazed it with her teeth.
After teasing for a moment, Isabella finally took the massive cock into her mouth. But Ritchie's size was overwhelming. Even as it pressed against the back of her throat, only a small portion fit inside.
Ritchie, who had never experienced such a sensation, felt his mind go blank, his body as if plummeting endlessly without ever hitting the ground. His cock was enveloped in a tender warmth, bathed in care unlike anything he'd ever known. The soft, wet sensation was utterly exquisite.
Yet, at the same time, a restless heat surged uncontrollably within him, pooling most intensely in his lower abdomen. It pulsed in waves, rushing toward his cock, aching for release, only to be thwarted each time, forced back.
Isabella, still working on Ritchie, keenly sensed his cock swelling slightly in her mouth, which was a telltale sign he was close. She redoubled her efforts, licking and sucking with fervor, but after a quarter of an hour, there was still no result.