Jax lay sprawled on the training mat, chest heaving.
Elara straddled him, her thighs locked tight around his waist. Her fingers yanked his zipper down, cool air hitting his skin. Her eyes gleamed, fixed on the bulge in his underwear.
"Look at this," she said, voice low and taunting. "Ready for my kind of training?" Her hand slipped inside, gripping his cock through the fabric. She squeezed slow, feeling it pulse.
Jax stifled a groan. "Hhhk... this the lesson plan?" 'Her grip's insane. Like she's testing a blade.'
Elara laughed, a sharp pss.
She tugged his underwear down, freeing his dick—hard, thick from his seven-inch boost. Her fingers wrapped tight around the base, stroking firm. "All part of it. Control or lose." Her thumb teased the tip, spreading precum.
He bucked slightly, hips twitching. Sparks shot through him. [Devotion Point +1] pinged faint, but her hand stole focus. She pumped faster, nails grazing the underside, twisting up.
"Fuck," Jax muttered, clutching the mat. Sweat slicked him, her grip sliding perfect.
[Devotion Point +2].
She leaned in, breasts brushing his chest through her top. Her breath scorched his neck. "Fight it." Her other hand pinned his shoulder, keeping him down. She ground her core against his thigh, her wetness soaking through her pants.
Jax's resolve was zero. His hips pushed into her hand, chasing the heat. "Elara... damn." [Devotion Point +2]. Her dominance hit hard—raw, commanding every twitch.
"Call me Professor," she said, smirking. She slid down his body, lips hovering over his cock. Her breath teased the tip. Jax tensed. "Hold—"
No pause. Her mouth took him slow. Slurp. Wet heat swallowed him halfway, tongue pressing flat. Gowk. She pulled back, cheeks hollow, then sank deeper. Saliva dripped, loud in the empty hall.
Jax's head tipped back. "Ahhh... shit." His hands grabbed her ponytail, holding, not pulling. She bobbed steady, hand working the base.
Slurp.
Muah.
[Devotion Point +3].
Her throat tightened, gagging soft but relentless.
"Professor... too much," he groaned, thighs tensing. Pleasure coiled tight, her suction dragging him close. She hummed, vibrations hitting hard. Pss. She popped off, spit linking her lips to his tip. "Not yet. Hold it."
She dove back, faster, head twisting.
Gowk. Gowk.
Jax's control cracked. He thrust shallow into her mouth. She allowed it, eyes watering, daring him to break.
[Devotion Point +3].
[Devotion Point +2].
Points hit 13.
Her free hand slipped between her legs, rubbing through her pants. Her getting off on this pushed him harder. "Fuck... you're wild."
[Devotion Point +2].
Elara pulled off with a wet pop. "Not there." She shoved her pants down, pussy glistening, shaved clean. She lined up and sank slow. Shhk. Her walls gripped him tight, hot and slick.
"Nngh!" Elara gasped, head tilting back. She ground down, clit rubbing his base. "Fills me... perfect."
Jax gripped her hips. She slapped his hands off. "My rules." She rode hard, hips slamming.
Slap! Slap!
Her breasts bounced, nipples poking through her top.
He thrust up, but she owned the pace, pinning his chest. "Take it. Learn." Her pussy clenched, milking him deep. Drip. Her juices soaked his balls, mat wet beneath.
[Devotion Point +3]. Points at 20.
Jax's hands slid up her thighs, feeling muscles flex. "Professor... killing me." Her dominance made it hotter—she ruled every move.
She laughed breathy. "Pss. Break for me." She sped up, walls fluttering. Her moans grew loud. "Yes... there!" She came hard, shuddering, pussy squeezing like a vice. "Ahhh!"
The clench nearly broke him. She lifted off fast. "Mouth." She straddled his chest, fingers in his mouth first, making him taste her. Then she stroked him quick. "Now."
Jax groaned, hips jerking. Spurt! Cum shot into her open mouth, coating her tongue. She swallowed most, some dripping down her chin.
Muah.
She licked clean, eyes dark.
[Devotion Point +5].
[Devotion Point +4]. Total hit 29.
Jax panted, body screaming—muscles burned, dick softening fast. 'One more point for reset.' He focused.
[Shop Open].
[Body Reset: 30 DP].
Ready to buy.
Bang! The door exploded inward, lock shattered by a kick. A woman stormed in. Late twenties, athletic, short black hair cut sharp. Her uniform hugged a lean frame, top tight on toned arms, pants snug on long legs. Green eyes, sharp as knives, lips pursed tight.
Badge read: [Instructor: Lena Hart]. [Strategy Specialist].
She carried Elara's confidence but colder, like a blade to Elara's fire.
She stopped, eyes wide at the scene—Elara half-dressed, chin wet, Jax naked and spent. "Elara, what the hell is this?"
Elara slid off, pulling her pants up quick. She smirked, wiping her mouth. "Lena! Just... extra drills."
Lena's eyes narrowed. "Drills? You're riding a student like a damn bike!" She stepped in, kicking the door shut. "This is the academy, not your bedroom."
Elara shrugged, smirking wider. "He's got skills. Needed a personal touch."
Lena grabbed her arm. "Personal? He's half-dead, and you're a mess. We've been over this—keep it out of here." She tugged Elara toward the door. "Move. Before someone else sees."
Elara pouted but went. "You're no fun. He's got spark, Lena. You'd like him."
Lena shot Jax a glance, softer. "Sorry for her. She's... a lot. Clean up. Keep this quiet." They left, Elara's protests fading down the hall.
Jax slumped back, naked, sticky with cum and her scent. 'Fucking hell. Almost had the reset.' His body ached, legs shaky, dick sore. He dragged his pants on, shirt sloppy, zipper catching. He stood slow, wincing. 'Gotta move.'
He stumbled into the hall, leaning on the wall. A few steps out, he saw her—Ava Bennet, propped against the railing, staring at the training fields. White hair fell straight, shining like moonlight. Red eyes flicked over, sharp and cool. Her uniform hung loose, jacket open, tight shirt showing curves, pants low on slim hips. Athletic, confident, like she owned the space.
She scanned him—rumpled clothes, sweat-soaked, limping. Her lips curved. "Voss worked you over, didn't she? You look like she squeezed you dry."
Jax leaned beside her, forcing a grin. "Just a hard session. Nothing crazy."
Ava snorted. "Hard session? Your shirt's inside out, zipper's stuck, and you smell like sex. Don't lie. Elara loves her 'private training.'"
He chuckled, wincing at a sore muscle. 'She's sharp. No point dodging.' "Okay, yeah. She pushed me to the limit. Real rough."
Ava's eyes softened, but her smirk held. "Honest? Smart. Most guys deny it and sound dumb." She stood straight. "You were sharp in screening. I want you for tomorrow's Death Race. Two-player event."
Jax frowned. 'Death Race? Not in the game files.' "What's that about?"
She grinned. "New this year. Hover cars, traps, wild tracks. It's for fun—bets, crowds, no rank impact. You in? Your moves would rock it."
He rubbed his neck, body aching but mind buzzing. 'Sounds like a rush.' "Alright, I'm in."
Ava nodded. "Good. The event is tomorrow and the preparation of the car design will be tomorrow itself. Don't be late." She glanced at her device. "Game Theory's up next. You coming?"
He pushed off the railing, legs steadier. "Yeah, let's head there."
They walked together.
Jax's mind churned. 'Death Race sounds like a blast. But... death? That's a problem.'