The next morning, as usual, Ritchie left the house early. Katherine was still asleep. For some reason, the girl he once found annoying now seemed radiant in his eyes.
At the camp, Ritchie headed for the equipment room to grab his weighted armor but was stopped at the door by Officer Randy.
Inside, not only was Randy present, but so were Captain Carrie, Master Diana, and Miss Marilyn.
Ritchie froze, seeing so many people, but his eyes quickly landed on a strange object on a nearby table.
It looked like a human skeleton: slender limbs, a segmented spine, connected ribs, and a pelvis resembling a seat.
But it had familiar components: mana-driven tendons, directional axles, shock-absorbing pads… all parts of a battle armor.
"Is this a battle armor?" Ritchie asked uncertainly. If it was, it was the flimsiest one he'd ever seen.
"It's a training armor, made just for you," Randy explained. "It's a simplified version of a battle armor. Fewer tendons, less boost to strength and speed. The energy core only powers basic functions, no attack capabilities. It's for learning armor control."
She waved him over, pushing him toward the training armor.
It was much smaller than a standard armor, tailored to fit him perfectly. The pelvis was indeed a seat. As Ritchie sat, steel clamps snapped shut, securing his legs.
"Put your feet and arms in," Randy ordered, handing him a helmet with a movable faceplate and pale blue glass for eyes.
Following her instructions, Ritchie "wore" the armor… or rather, climbed inside it.
It felt odd. When still, it wasn't heavy, but movement brought resistance, like wading through water. The faster he moved, the stronger the drag.
"Get used to the upper body first, then learn to walk and run," Master Diana said. "Formal training starts when you can move freely in it."
"No more weighted training?" Ritchie asked.
"Correct," Diana said, sparking his relief—until she doused it. "You'll run in this armor instead."
She pointed to a corner stacked with lead plates. "Those are for ballast. Each weighs sixty kilos, totaling about four tons. It's the same as the defensive heavy armor you'll wear later."
A devilish smile crept across her face. "In one month, you'll carry all that weight and run five laps in an hour."
Ritchie nearly stumbled. This was far tougher than weighted training.
"I believe in you," Randy said casually. "You're the fastest-improving recruit I've seen. I'm rooting for you."
Ritchie forced a smile, though it looked more like a grimace.
Gritting his teeth, he refused to be underestimated. "What do I do?"
To his shock, Diana replied, "Only you know that. Do we need to teach you how to run or jump?"
She smacked his head.
"I have a suggestion," Marilyn said kindly, smiling. "Today's breakfast is potato and beef stew. How about you peel the potatoes? Please?"
Time was tight. The thought of failing Diana's challenge in a month sent chills down Ritchie's spine. Her punishments were brutal.
Desperate, he made a final choice: skip school.
It was wartime, and school rules were lax. Skipping was easy, especially with a note from Diana on Knight Order letterhead.
All morning, Ritchie peeled potatoes, buried under a mountain of them.
At first, Ritchie suspected Marilyn's kindness might be a prank to torment him. But after half an hour of peeling potatoes, he realized it was genuine training.
The task seemed simple but wasn't. He had to bend down, pick up a potato, peel it, and place it in a basin—two bends, two reaches, and constant coordination of fingers and hands.
Success or failure was obvious. Even with perfect motions, a potato that looked gnawed or turned to mush was a clear failure.
For three days, he peeled potatoes. The camp ate potato and beef stew for three days straight. By the third evening, Robin, the woman who dressed as a man, dragged him into a room and beat him soundly.
Thankfully, on the fourth morning, the kitchen floor was free of potatoes, replaced by piles of vegetables.
Picking vegetables was easier than peeling potatoes, but doing it in the training armor was another matter. Too much force turned greens to mush; too little, and bad leaves wouldn't come off, sometimes tearing good ones.
This time, Ritchie played it smart. He didn't rush but focused on finding the right feel.
His sharp senses helped. In just one day, his movements became fluid. Before Robin's face could turn sour, he'd passed the test perfectly.
A week later, the kitchen floor was covered with bean pods.
Ritchie nearly wept. Peeling pods relied entirely on finger dexterity. The training armor dulled sensation, nowhere near as precise as his own hands.
Exhausted, he returned home, fingers cramping. Worse, Robin had eaten beans for two days—nine meals of the same food. She'd surely lose it tomorrow, and he'd catch a beating.
Marilyn's gentle image shattered. This was murder by proxy.
Entering the house, Ritchie's cock instantly hardened.
Like before, three women strutted around in sexy lingerie. This time, he was sure it was deliberate.
Last time, he'd come home an hour early. Not today.
Their lingerie was bolder than before. Last time's outfits were tight but covered thighs and breasts. Now, half their asses were exposed, a tiny cloth barely covered their crotches, and their breasts were half-bared.
Worst of all, they wore corsets, accentuating their curves, paired with garter stockings that teased with every step. It drove him wild.
"I… I'll head up," Ritchie shouted, scrambling to the attic.
Like before, he cracked the curtain, peeking below. The women giggled, whispering. Katherine gestured, holding up two fingers for length, then circling her thumb and finger for girth.
His mom and Aunt Grace's jaws dropped, shocked. They huddled, whispering for ages. His mom shook her head, blushing, then grabbed Grace, tickling her relentlessly.
Watching them play, Ritchie's cock felt like a steel rod, a surge of pent-up desire flaring.
They messed around until eight. Finally, Katherine climbed to the attic.
Ritchie was already sprawled on her mattress, ready for her "service." Maybe she'd try something new.
Katherine never went all the way, but her tricks rivaled Lina's. She played with ambiguity, teasing him to the edge.
"You're ready early," Katherine said with a soft laugh, pulling a sleep cap from behind her.
"Is this for me?" Ritchie took it, sensing something off. "It's way too big."
He pulled it on, and sure enough, it engulfed his head.
"Big's good," Katherine teased, swaying her hips as she sat lightly on his chest. Her soft hips squeezed gently, stirring his imagination.
She tugged the cap down, covering everything but his nose and mouth.
Ritchie realized the eye area was thick fabric, and ear covers blocked sound. He was blind and deaf.
As Katherine shifted downward, his dulled senses sharpened his touch.
Suddenly, something felt different. Her hands gripped his cock tightly, but the sensation against his tip was new—thicker, more elastic lips, the opening pulsing like a small mouth sucking gently.
She teased him for a quarter-hour, grinding and pressing, until her pussy lifted away. A nimble tongue took over, circling his tip.
Every pore in his body seemed to open. This wasn't Katherine's skill—she had tricks but lacked this finesse. If not her, then it was either Aunt Grace or… He didn't dare think further.
Hesitating to peek, his hand was suddenly pulled up. Katherine guided it into a fist, leaving only his middle finger extended.
Confused, he felt his finger press against something soft, sliding in with little resistance.
The tight, wriggling sensation told him exactly what it was.
Was this another kind of anal play?
Fingering a woman's ass felt incredible, but even better was the muffled moaning— "Oh… sss… sss… sss… oh"—damped by the thick cap. The woman was clearly trying to stifle her sounds, hence the hissing.
Ritchie's curiosity burned. Who was teasing him?
His thumb pressed down, only to find a thin barrier at her pussy. Only her ass was open for play. What a shame.
Groping briefly, he found her clit, teasing and stroking it.
He'd perfected this on Lina and Rosa. It never failed with women.
The moans grew louder, more desperate.
"Ah… ah… oh… oh…"
The woman's voice spiraled, uncontrollable, urgent.
Time blurred. Ritchie felt his finger gripped tightly, her clit swelling, her pussy quivering violently. A gush of thick fluid coated his hand.
His finger was pulled out, then guided back, but this time resistance was strong. It was definitely Katherine—he could feel her trembling in pain.
"Ah… it hurts… stop… I can't…"
Clearly, it was her first time with anal play. The pain was worse than losing her virginity, which she hadn't even experienced.
A woman's voice whispered faintly, "Bear it. It'll feel good soon. Once you taste it, you'll be sneaking off to try it yourself."
Sure enough, minutes later, Katherine's hips began to writhe, moans escaping her lips. "Ah… mm… it hurts… ah… but it's kind of good… ah… I can't take it… so intense…"
Her moans grew louder, turning to incoherent babbling. "Ah… faster… harder… touch me down there… ohhh… too much… I'm dying…"
The anal stimulation overwhelmed Katherine, especially for her first time. Under Ritchie's fingers, she lasted less than five minutes, collapsing in a shuddering, soaked mess.
Another woman took her place. Ritchie couldn't tell if it was the same one from before—three women lived in this house, after all.