The air in the hut was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, musky tang of sweat—ours, mingled together in the oppressive heat. Irene’s voice slithered into my ear like a secret, her breath warm against my skin.
"Welheim... is your cock hurting again?" Her fingers twitched near my thigh, just close enough to tease, to make my pulse spike. My mind raced.
If I played this right—if I let the lie sit on my tongue just so—she’d drop to her knees, her lips parting, her tongue swirling over the head of my cock, using her saliva as an excuse to "heal" me. But that wasn’t what I wanted. Not this time.
I wanted her pussy. I wanted to feel her clench around me, wet and desperate, her nails digging into my back as I fucked her raw. The thought alone made my cock twitch, pressing against the flimsy leaf skirt, the stretched foreskin illusion threatening to betray me.
Before I could answer, Grom’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Welheim." His tone was calm, measured, but it sent a jolt of pure panic through my veins. "What happened to your cock?"
I stiffened, my breath catching in my throat. "N-no, it’s not hurting—it’s just..." I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "It’s hard. Uncomfortable." The admission hung in the air, heavy and awkward, like a confession I hadn’t meant to make.
Grom let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Ah. Welheim, you have to take good care of your cock." His voice was warm, almost amused, like this was some rite of passage he’d been expecting. "It’s precious. Used in giving birth, after all. You’ll need it in good condition when the time comes."
He shifted and turned to the side. "Looks like you’re growing up. Soon, you’ll need a woman of your own. Once your hair has grown in, we’ll find you one. You’ll be ready then."
I nodded, my throat tight. "I know, Uncle Grom."
Grom’s gaze turned distant, his voice softening with nostalgia. "Don’t worry, boy. It’ll settle after a few breaths. Just like when I was your age—happened all the time."
He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I had hair on my face and around my cock already, so the next day, my parents spoke to Irene’s, and that’s how we came to be together."
My cock throbbed at his words, the image of Irene spread beneath me flashing through my mind. The leaf skirt did little to hide the way it pulsed, the head pressing insistently against the fabric.
Then Irene’s voice, sweet and infuriatingly bold, cut through the tension like a knife. "Should I use my saliva... again to calm you?"
Fuck.
My heart pounded so violently against my ribs that I was certain the entire hut could hear it. Irene didn’t even flinch at the idea of Grom being here, of him listening to every word, every breathy confession.
My throat tightened, my mind racing for a way to shut her up, to deflect, to anything—but Grom didn’t seem angry. He was just... curious. His dark eyes flicked between us, not with suspicion, but with the quiet, measured interest of someone who had seen it all before.
"Does using saliva calm down... a hard cock?" he asked, tilting his head just slightly, like this was some fascinating new piece of knowledge he was filing away.
My stomach twisted. I scrambled for an answer, my thoughts tangling like vines. If Grom was calm, maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe I could make this work. "Yeah," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I.... I tested it before. With my aunt, during the day. When it got hard, I asked her to use her saliva, and it worked. Helped me calm down."
Grom nodded slowly, stroking his chin as if considering the merits of this newfound healing technique. "That’s good," he said, his voice warm with approval.
"It’s a good thing you’re a healer and know how to take care of yourself." His gaze flicked to Irene, then back to me, lingering just a second too long. "And if you need help, ask your aunt. But remember—don’t waste your seed. It’s sacred."
His words sent a fresh, throbbing surge of blood to my cock, which twitched violently, pressing insistently into Irene’s stomach. She let out a soft, startled "Ah—!"—barely more than a breath, but it cut through the silence like a blade.
Grom’s brow furrowed. "Irene? Are you alright?"
She didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. "It’s nothing," she murmured, her voice just a little too high, a little too quick. "It’s just... Welheim’s cock. It’s hard, and it’s poking at me. Surprised me, that’s all."
My blood turned to ice. She told the truth. Every instinct in me screamed to run, to bolt out of the hut and vanish into the forest, to never show my face again. But Grom’s next words pinned me in place like a spear through the chest.
"Welheim," he said, his voice still calm, still knowing. "Is it still hard?" He paused, then added, "If you have a way to ease it, you should ask your aunt Irene to help you. If you think her saliva can help you."
The words hung in the air between us, thick and heavy. My cock pulsed, aching, the idea of Grom encouraging this—of him not even considering the possibility that I wanted more than just her mouth—making my head spin. Did he really think I’d settle for that? Or did he just not care?
Irene shifted beside me, her breath hitching just slightly. The air in the hut was suffocating, charged with something raw and dangerous. Grom didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t let on. He just lay there, watching, waiting, like this was some kind of test.
And then, slowly, Irene turned her body facing me and looked at me. Her dark eyes were wide, her lips parted just enough to let a soft, warm breath escape. "So," she whispered, her voice dripping with something dark and hungry. "Do you need help, Welheim?"