I was still naked, cock heavy and slick, when I padded barefoot down the inn's narrow staircase. The whole place was quiet—too quiet for morning. No clink of dishes, no low voices, no footsteps. Just the soft golden light pouring through the front windows and painting the empty street outside.
Breakfast sounded good. Not here, though.
I pushed the front door open and stepped into the cool air. The house directly next door looked ordinary: two stories, weathered wood, smoke drifting lazily from the chimney. A family home. Normal. Boring.
I tried the front door. Locked. Solid. No give.
Irritation flickered through me, sharp and hungry.
I circled around back. The kitchen window stood open, white curtains fluttering like they were waiting for me.
Inside, a woman in her thirties stood at the stove. Long dark hair. Blouse and skirt stretched tight across wide hips and an ass that looked made to be grabbed. She stirred a pot of soup, humming softly to herself.
The second I saw her, my cock went from half-hard to stone.
I vaulted the sill without a sound and landed behind her. One quick motion flipped her skirt up over her hips. White panties clung to her already, the crotch noticeably damp.
I hooked two fingers under the waistband and yanked them down to her knees.
She gasped—a bright, eager sound. "Oh… it's you…"
I pressed in close, sliding my length between her warm thighs.
"Damn right," I muttered.
I was just about to push inside her when—
**Thwip.**
An arrow sliced through the open window.
The steel head hissed past my ear—close enough that I felt the air part. I jerked sideways on instinct; my shoulder slammed into the cabinet. A pot rattled.
The arrow buried itself in the far wall with a clean, vibrating **thunk**.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I whipped around toward the window, eyes scanning the street.
Nothing. Empty road. Golden light. Not a single shadow out of place. No archer. No movement. Just silence and the soft bubbling of soup.
The woman didn't even look at the arrow. She turned her head toward me instead, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with need.
"Please…" she whispered, arching her back so her ass pushed against me. "Don't stop now. I need it so bad…"
Adrenaline still roaring through me, cock somehow harder than before.
I grabbed her waist and hauled her away from the stove—three long strides to the far corner beside the pantry, completely out of sight from any window.
Her back hit the wall. Skirt still bunched at her waist. Panties tangled around her knees. She spread her legs without being asked, reaching down to part her glistening folds with two fingers.
"Fuck me," she breathed. "Right here. Please."
No more waiting.
I lined up and sank into her in one long, slow thrust. Virgin-tight heat gripped me like it never wanted to let go.
She moaned—loud, grateful, head tipping back against the plaster.
"Yes… oh god, yes… so deep…"
I took her hips in both hands and started fucking her hard. Possessive. Each stroke slapped her heavy ass against my pelvis.
"So good," I growled. "You feel fucking perfect."
She whimpered, nodding frantically. "You're so big… ruin me… please…"
I cracked my palm across one cheek. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly.
She cried out in pleasure; her pussy clenched down hard.
"Harder," she begged. "Use me. I want everything."
I gave it to her—relentless, balls-deep rhythm. Her breasts bounced under the thin blouse. She came fast, shaking, sobbing my name as her walls fluttered and spasmed around me.
I didn't slow down. I fucked her straight through it until the pressure broke and I buried myself to the hilt, groaning low as I pumped thick ropes deep inside her.
We stayed locked together a moment, both panting.
I pulled out slowly. A thick white strand stretched between us, then snapped.
She gave me a dazed, blissed-out smile. "Thank you… so much…"
I patted her flushed cheek. "Stay here."
I walked into the next room—cock still dripping, still half-hard.
The daughter sat at the kitchen table. Late twenties. Robe hanging open. Full breasts spilling out. She was eating a sandwich, calm as anything.
I snatched it out of her hand.
She looked up at me. Her eyes went bright, pupils blown wide.
I gave myself two rough strokes, aiming at the bread.
Before I could finish, her hand darted out.
Fingers wrapped tight around my shaft.
The next second her mouth was on me—warm, wet, eager. She took me deep, sucking hard, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing.
I froze. Brain blanked for a second.
She bobbed once, twice—sloppy, hungry little sounds—then pulled off just enough to look up at me with glistening lips.
"Much better than on the bread…" she purred, stroking me slowly with both hands. "Can I have it straight from you, master?"
I stared down at her.
My voice came out rough, half-laugh, half-growl.
"Was this supposed to be part of the game?"
She only smiled—wide, wicked—then slid me back into her throat and hummed a pleased little sound that vibrated straight down my spine.
Somewhere outside, I could still feel unseen eyes on me.
But right then, her mouth was too damn good to care.
I patted her head, then glanced around.
Stairs stood in the corner.
I climbed them, cock bouncing with each step.
Two doors waited at the top.
The first opened to storage—boxes and old junk.
I opened the second room.
My eyes widened.