Ethan stirred slowly, the world returning in layers of sensation. First came the warmth—soft furs beneath him, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and fresh water. Then the sounds: the quiet rush of a nearby stream, birdsong overhead, and the soft murmur of feminine voices close by.
He opened his eyes to a canopy of woven vines and blooming flowers forming a natural bower. Sunlight filtered through in golden shafts, dancing across the crystal-clear stream only a few paces away. He lay on a bed of plush pelts, naked beneath a light silk sheet that did little to hide the morning hardness already stirring between his legs.
Three familiar faces hovered near, along with several new ones—all watching him with tender, eager smiles.
Sylva knelt closest, her silver hair loose and shining like moonlight. Elara sat cross-legged beside her, golden locks braided with tiny white flowers. Liora arranged a woven tray of vibrant fruits—glistening mango slices, star-shaped peaches that glowed faintly, clusters of berries the color of rubies.
Four new women completed the circle. One was petite, with midnight-blue hair that fell in silky waves to her waist—Mira, she introduced herself softly, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. Beside her stood twin sisters with sun-kissed skin and honey-brown curls, their bodies lithe and athletic. The fourth was taller, with deep mahogany skin and close-cropped black hair, her smile warm and knowing.
"We did not wish to wake you too soon," Elara said gently, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "But the sun has climbed, and you must eat to regain your strength."
Ethan sat up slowly, the silk sheet pooling at his waist. He felt surprisingly refreshed—no lingering fatigue, only a pleasant languid warmth in his muscles. "How long was I out?"
"Only a few hours," Sylva answered. "Long enough for us to prepare this place for you." She gestured to the bower: pillows piled high, pitchers of flower-infused spring water beaded with condensation, the fruit tray artfully arranged.
Liora leaned forward, selecting a slice of mango. Its juice dripped golden down her fingers as she brought it to his lips. "Taste," she urged softly.
Ethan obeyed, the fruit exploding with sweetness on his tongue—richer, more vibrant than anything he'd known on Earth. Liora's eyes never left his mouth as he chewed, her breath quickening when a drop of juice escaped the corner of his lips. Without hesitation, she leaned in and licked it away, her tongue warm and deliberate.
A soft chorus of approval rose from the others.
Mira crawled closer on the furs, her small frame moving with catlike grace. "We will bathe you now," she said, voice husky. "To wash away the dust of your journey… and prepare you for what comes next."
Before he could respond, gentle hands guided him to stand. The silk sheet fell away, leaving him fully exposed. None of the women looked away; instead, their gazes roamed over him with open admiration and hunger.
They led him the few steps to the stream, where the water ran shallow and warm over smooth pebbles. Elara and Sylva took soft cloths dipped in scented oil; Liora and the mahogany-skinned woman—Kira—carried bowls of flower petals. The twins poured fresh water over his shoulders, letting it cascade down his chest and back.
Hands were everywhere—gentle, reverent, thorough.
Elara washed his chest, her full breasts brushing his arm with each motion. Sylva knelt to clean his legs, her breath ghosting over his thighs as she worked upward. Mira took special care with his hardening cock, her small hands slick with oil as she stroked slowly from base to tip, cleaning and arousing in equal measure.
"You are magnificent," Mira whispered, eyes fixed on the thick length in her grip. "So strong already."
Kira poured warm water over his shoulders from behind, her body pressing close. "We have waited lifetimes for this," she murmured against his ear. "For a man who can give us life again."
As they explained in soft voices between touches, Ethan learned more of Elysara.
Magic sustained their youth and beauty—women here aged slowly, remaining fertile for centuries. Children were always daughters, born through ancient rites that had grown weaker over time. The "Great Absence" had lasted nearly a thousand years. No man had walked these lands since the last Breeder vanished, leaving only legends… and warnings.
Sylva's tone darkened briefly as she rinsed his calves. "Most of us seek only life and love," she said quietly. "But there are shadows on the fringes—women who hunger differently. Old tales speak of cursed ones who take a man's seed… and then his life."
The others hushed her quickly.
"Do not frighten him," Elara scolded gently. "Those are rare, banished long ago. He is safe with us."
Ethan filed the warning away, though a faint chill lingered.
The bathing turned unmistakably sensual. Mira's strokes grew firmer, her thumb circling the sensitive head until precum beaded and mixed with the oil. The twins took turns kissing his neck and shoulders. Liora fed him berries from her lips, letting him suck the juice from her fingers.
When he groaned, hips twitching into Mira's hand, the women guided him back to the furs without a word.
Mira straddled his thighs, her tiny garment slipping aside just enough to bare her breasts—small but perfect, nipples dark and peaked. She leaned forward, midnight hair falling like a curtain around them, and took him into her mouth.
Slow, worshipful suction. Her tongue traced every vein, swirled around the crown, dipped into the slit to taste him. The others watched with soft moans, fingers trailing over their own bodies in sympathy.
Ethan's hand found her hair, guiding gently as pleasure built fast and fierce. When he came, it was with a low groan—Mira swallowing eagerly, her throat working around him until he was spent. She pulled back only when he softened slightly, licking her lips with a satisfied smile.
"Still so much," she whispered in awe. "And so soon after the first."
The women shared the remnants on her tongue in tender kisses, passing his taste between them like sacred communion.
Ethan lay breathless among the furs, heart pounding.
In the distance, beyond the bower, he noticed movement—dozens more women approaching along flowering paths, drawn by word that had already spread. And among them, for just a moment, he thought he saw a lone figure at the treeline: pale skin, dark hair, eyes that gleamed with something colder than desire.
When he blinked, she was gone.
Sylva pressed a cool cloth to his brow. "Come," she said softly. "The village awaits. Willowmere will welcome you properly at dusk."
As they dressed him in a light tunic of softest silk and led him toward the gathering crowd—now nearly fifty strong—Ethan felt invigorated, desired beyond imagining.
But that fleeting shadow lingered in his mind.
Not all hunger in Elysara was the same.