By the time Aren stepped out of the house with Lyra beside him, the last trace of hesitation had vanished completely.
Not because the world outside had become less shocking.
But because his heart had already decided something very important.
…I'm going to enjoy the hell out of this life…
The loose trousers he wore were far too thin for modesty, hanging open at the sides and clinging lightly to his thighs, the fabric constantly brushing against the thick shape beneath. Every step reminded him of his own body, of the way this world did not punish desire but quietly encouraged it. Lyra walked at his side with relaxed confidence, robe barely clinging to her shoulders, breasts swaying freely as sunlight kissed her skin, nipples already faintly dark from the cool morning air.
And the moment they reached the street…
Aren's brain nearly melted.
The city was alive.
Not in a dangerous way.
In a joyful, ridiculous, shameless way.
People filled the wide stone roads, laughing, arguing, trading, flirting, moving through daily life exactly the way people did anywhere else — except almost all of them were naked, half-naked, or wearing clothing so thin and open that it existed mostly for decoration.
Men strolled past with cocks swinging freely, some long and slim, others thick and heavy, balls resting lazily against warm thighs as if gravity itself had joined the freeuse culture. Women moved just as openly, breasts bouncing softly with every step, nipples proudly bare, hips and asses uncovered, flesh moving naturally with motion.
And the truly terrifying part?
No one cared.
No one stared.
No one whispered.
No one slowed down.
This was just…
Morning.
Aren's eyes darted everywhere.
Not in panic.
In delight.
In disbelief.
In pure, honest appreciation.
"…Lyra," he murmured, voice low, "I'm going to die on this street before noon."
She laughed brightly and hooked her arm through his. "You always say that."
"I mean it this time."
They passed a small café where a woman sat naked on a man's lap while feeding him fruit, her breasts resting against his chest as he kissed the inside of her wrist lazily. Nearby, another couple lay sprawled on thick cushions beneath an awning, mouths meeting slowly while hands wandered without urgency, movements calm and lazy, like people enjoying sunshine rather than sex.
Aren slowed unconsciously.
His cock responded immediately.
Not violently.
Just… warmly.
Steadily.
…So casual… so open… so unfairly hot…
Lyra noticed his stare and deliberately pressed her thigh against his leg, brushing dangerously close to his groin.
"Careful," she teased. "If you look like that too long, someone will think you're inviting them."
"…I might be."
She laughed.
They wandered deeper into the city without direction, letting curiosity guide them.
At one plaza, a group of women washed themselves in a shallow fountain, breasts gleaming with water as they laughed together, while two men knelt nearby massaging calves and thighs with professional focus, chatting casually about breakfast plans. One woman casually lifted her leg onto a man's shoulder, completely unconcerned by the intimacy, while continuing a story about her neighbor's noisy bath sessions.
Aren stopped walking.
Stared openly.
"…Is this… hygiene… or foreplay…?"
"Yes," Lyra replied sweetly.
They moved on.
At another corner, a street musician played softly while a small audience lounged naked on warm stone benches, sipping drinks and watching a pair of dancers practice slow, fluid movements on a silk mat. Their bodies brushed constantly, limbs entwining, breath mingling, but the crowd commented on technique rather than arousal.
"Good hip control…"
"Nice balance there…"
Aren blinked.
…They're critiquing foreplay like it's ballet…
He loved it.
The deeper they walked, the more absurd and wonderful it became.
A merchant negotiated prices while fondling his partner's breast absently. Two friends argued about directions while one lazily stroked the other's thigh. A delivery woman balanced crates on her head while a man walked behind her massaging her shoulders, occasionally leaning in to kiss her neck whenever she complained about weight.
And no one stopped working.
No one stopped talking.
Life simply… continued.
Aren found himself laughing quietly.
Not from shock.
From joy.
This world wasn't obsessed with sex.
It was simply not afraid of it.
And that made everything… lighter.
Happier.
Hotter.
Lyra watched him with obvious amusement.
"You're smiling like an idiot."
"I feel like I accidentally walked into the best dream in human history."
"That's how you looked on our first date too," she teased.
"…That date ended in a bathhouse and three guests."
"And you still married me."
"Best decision I ever made."
She beamed.
Near the central avenue, the crowd thickened.
Here, performance halls and ranking boards dominated the street.
Tall crystal panels glowed softly, displaying rotating lists of names and categories.
Best Posture
Best Balance
Best Endurance
Best Presence
Best Proportion
People gathered casually beneath them, pointing, laughing, teasing friends whose names had shifted positions.
Nearby, small platforms held ongoing evaluations.
Men and women stood nude while judges examined posture, muscle tone, symmetry, occasionally pressing a palm against a hip or shoulder, lifting an arm, adjusting stance, murmuring professional advice.
A woman stepped down from one platform grinning proudly as her friends applauded and immediately started teasing her about her ranking.
Aren whistled softly.
"…They turn insecurity into entertainment."
"And confidence into status," Lyra added.
"I like this city more every minute."
And then…
They ran into Selene and Corin, their former students.
Not dramatically.
Not ceremoniously.
Just naturally — like running into old friends at the market.
Selene squealed the moment she saw Lyra and rushed forward to hug her, breasts smashing happily between them as they laughed and kissed cheeks. Corin followed immediately, wrapping Lyra in a warm embrace and giving her ass an affectionate squeeze without hesitation.
"Still perfect," Selene laughed.
"Still glowing," Corin added.
Lyra preened shamelessly. "You flatter me terribly."
They turned to Aren next, smiling warmly, greeting him with easy familiarity, clapping his shoulders, laughing about old training sessions and embarrassing festivals. Selene kissed his cheek, then deliberately glanced down at the very obvious bulge in his trousers and laughed brightly.
"Oh wow… some things really never change."
Aren grinned. "It's good to be remembered fondly."
Corin chuckled and clapped his back. "The city's been boring without you."
While they talked, Selene's hands wandered naturally, lifting Lyra's breasts playfully, laughing as milk beaded faintly at her nipples, admiring it openly, teasing her about still being "dangerously productive." Corin kissed Lyra's neck lazily while she laughed and leaned into him, completely at ease.
Aren watched.
Not tense.
Not jealous.
Just… enjoying.
Admiring his wife.
Admiring the attention.
Admiring the absurdity of it all.
And when Selene finally looked back at him with a wicked grin and said, "You look very pleased with yourself," he answered honestly.
"I really am."
They laughed, shared a few more kisses and squeezes, promised to meet later at the baths, and parted easily, bodies brushing casually as they disappeared into the crowd.
Lyra turned to him, cheeks flushed, breasts faintly damp.
"So?" she asked lightly.
He exhaled slowly.
Smiling like a man who had just discovered heaven.
"…I think I'm never leaving this city."
She laughed and slipped her arm through his.
"Good. Because we're just getting started."
Ahead, the tall white gates of the college rose into view.
Elegant.
Inviting.
And full of very dangerous possibilities.
Aren squared his shoulders, grinning.
"…Alright, paradise," he murmured. "Show me what else you've got."
And together…
They walked forward.