The Greyson farmstead squatted on the far bank like a fortress of resentment—high log palisade, watch fires flickering, the snorts of Red Willem's dire boar echoing from its pen. Lin Tian crossed the river at midnight, water cold against his calves, moving with the silent grace of his refined physique. No guards spotted him; his senses, sharpened by traces of absorbed yin, caught their patrols long before they could see him.
He came for information—and for her.
Elara Greyson, wife to Red Willem for twenty-two years. Forty winters old, mother of four grown sons who now carried pitchforks and hatred in equal measure. Whispers from Lena and Rowan painted her clearly: once the beauty of the valley, now neglected, her husband lost to rage and rye whiskey. Her body had ripened into full, fertile maturity—wide childbearing hips, heavy breasts that strained every bodice, thick thighs and an ass that swayed when she walked the yard fetching water. Untouched for months, they said. Starved for gentleness, for hunger.
Lin Tian slipped over the palisade and into the shadows of the main house. A faint light glowed from the kitchen window. He watched.
Elara stood at the hearth, stirring a pot of stew. Firelight danced across her curves. Her simple wool dress clung to sweat-damp skin—deep cleavage spilling over the low neckline, nipples stiff from the night chill pressing visibly against fabric. Her auburn hair, streaked with premature silver, was pinned loosely, stray tendrils curling at her neck. Full lips pursed as she tasted the broth, hips shifting weight from one thick thigh to the other.
The scent reached him even from outside: rich stew, woodsmoke, and beneath it the warm, feminine musk of a mature woman long denied.
His cock stirred, thickening slowly against his thigh.
He waited until the house quieted—Red Willem's drunken snores rumbling from upstairs, sons bedded in the loft. Only then did he tap softly at the back door.
Elara opened it with a kitchen knife in hand, eyes widening at the sight of him: young, impossibly handsome stranger, broad-shouldered, with a subtle glow to his skin that made her breath catch.
"You're the one Rowan's been hiding in her hut," she whispered, voice husky from disuse. "And Lena's been humming while she works the mill. What madness brings you here?"
Lin Tian stepped inside without waiting for invitation, closing the door softly. Heat from the hearth wrapped around them. Up close, her scent was intoxicating—warm skin, faint milk-sweetness from breasts that had nursed four babes, and the deeper, hidden aroma of arousal already beginning to bloom.
"I bring relief," he murmured, voice low. "From the endless hate. From lonely nights."
Her hand trembled on the knife. "My husband—"
"Is asleep. And has forgotten what he has." Lin Tian reached out slowly, fingers brushing her wrist, guiding the knife down. His touch was warm, electric. She gasped softly, nipples hardening further.
They stood inches apart, tension thick as honey. He could hear her heartbeat quicken, see the pulse fluttering at her throat. Her breasts rose and fell with shallow breaths, cleavage glistening with a faint sheen of sweat.
"I shouldn't," she whispered, but didn't pull away when his thumb traced the inside of her wrist.
"You should," he countered. "Let me worship what he ignores."
Minutes stretched into an eternity of slow, deliberate touches. He started at her hands—calloused from years of labor—kissing each fingertip, sucking gently until she sighed. Then her arms, pushing sleeves up to expose soft, full flesh. His lips trailed up to her neck, breathing hot against her ear while one hand settled lightly at her waist, thumb stroking the curve where hip flared wide.
Elara's breath hitched. Her free hand rose hesitantly, fingers threading into his hair.
When he finally kissed her, it was slow—lips brushing, parting, tongues meeting in a languid dance. She tasted of stew and sweet wine, moaning softly into his mouth as years of neglect melted under his patience.
He backed her gently against the sturdy kitchen table, hands sliding up to cup her heavy breasts through wool. They overflowed his palms—soft, pendulous, yet firm with lingering fullness. Thumbs circled stiff nipples, pinching lightly until she arched, a whimper escaping.
"Gods, it's been so long," she breathed.
Lin Tian answered by lifting her onto the table's edge, stepping between thick thighs that parted instinctively. The dress rode up, revealing pale, plush legs and the shadow between. He knelt slowly, kissing down her throat, across collarbones, until he freed her breasts completely.
They spilled out—magnificent, veined faintly blue, dark areolas wide and textured, nipples thick as ripe berries. He groaned approval, taking one into his mouth, sucking slow and deep while kneading the other. Warm, sweet milk beaded at the tip; he lapped it greedily, the taste flooding his senses as her rich yin began to stir.
Elara's head fell back, fingers clutching his hair. "Yes… like that… oh, sweet mercy…"
He switched breasts, sucking harder, teeth grazing until she shuddered. One hand slid down her belly—soft, rounded from motherhood—to the apex of her thighs. She was soaked already, wool damp. He pushed the dress higher, exposing plump outer lips framing delicate pink inner folds glistening with nectar. The scent hit him fully—thick, heady arousal, musky and sweet.
His fingers traced her slit slowly, parting slick folds, circling her swollen clit without direct touch. She bucked, thighs trembling.
"Please," she begged, voice breaking.
Only then did he taste her.
Lin Tian buried his face between her thighs, tongue dragging flat and slow from entrance to clit. She was drenched—hot nectar coating his tongue, dripping down his chin as he lapped greedily. Her flavor was rich, mature, addictive. He sucked her clit gently, then harder, two fingers sliding into velvet heat that clenched immediately.
Elara muffled cries against her forearm, hips grinding against his mouth. He curled fingers, stroking that sensitive spot inside while tongue flicked relentlessly. Her first orgasm built slowly, tension coiling until she shattered—pussy spasming, gushing fresh wetness that he drank eagerly.
He didn't stop. Rose only to free his cock—thick, veined, already leaking pre-cum—and guided it to her entrance. The head nudged slick folds; they both groaned at the contact.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
Her storm-blue eyes met his, glazed with need, as he pushed in inch by inch. She was scorching hot, impossibly tight from disuse, inner walls fluttering around him like silk gloves. When he bottomed out, her legs wrapped his waist, heels digging.
They stayed still a moment, savoring fullness. Then he began to move—long, slow strokes that dragged along every ridge, hitting deep. The kitchen filled with wet sounds, her breathless moans, the creak of the table.
"Harder," she whispered eventually. "I won't break."
He obliged. Hands gripped her wide hips, pulling her into each thrust. Breasts bounced hypnotically; he caught one, sucking hard while pounding deeper. She came again, harder, walls milking him rhythmically, squirting around his shaft.
Lin Tian flipped her gently, bending her over the table. Her thick ass presented perfectly—round, plush, marked faintly from years of labor. He spread cheeks, admiring glistening pink pussy and tight rear entrance before sliding back in from behind.
The new angle let him go deeper. He fucked her steadily, one hand reaching around to rub her clit, the other pulling her hair gently to arch her back. Slaps of flesh echoed softly.
"Fill me," she sobbed. "Breed me like he never does anymore."
The words snapped his control. He thrust erratically, burying deep and flooding her with thick ropes of cum. She keened, pussy clenching to draw every drop, another orgasm crashing through her.
They weren't done.
He carried her to the warm rug before the dying hearth, laying her on hands and knees. She rode him next—slow rolls of wide hips, heavy breasts swaying as she ground down greedily. Then missionary, her thighs over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half while he hammered deep, mouths fused in desperate kisses.
They coupled until the fire burned low—four times total, each release drawing richer yin into his dantian. Warmth spread slowly, refining qi by another thin layer, meridians widening imperceptibly. Still far from breakthrough. Still deliciously distant.
At dawn's first light, Elara lay curled against him, body glowing—skin smoother, breasts fuller, eyes bright with newfound vitality.
"Stay," she murmured sleepily. "Make this house live again."
Lin Tian kissed her forehead, dressing quietly. "I'll return once more tonight. Then I must move deeper into the feud."
She watched him leave with quiet understanding, fingers tracing where his seed still leaked warm between her thighs.
Power gained: Another precious refinement. The barrier to Rank 1 remained distant, patient.
Next: the stolen brides—women claimed by the enemy, bodies ripe with forbidden longing.