Akari's silver hair swayed gently in the breeze; her long legs remained wrapped around Ren's waist, her shapely, pear-like hips pressed tight against his groin. His cock—having just ejaculated but not yet gone fully soft—was instantly swallowed whole by her wet, wanton pussy. She deliberately contracted her vaginal muscles, squeezing the hot, throbbing shaft as if intent on draining him of his very last ounce of strength.
Ren's handsome face twisted in agony; his sharp chin quivered slightly, and beads of sweat clung to his long lashes. His pale skin gleamed with an almost luminous sheen, shimmering as if coated in oil. "Ah... Akari... your pussy... don't squeeze like that... I'm getting hard again... fuck... please... slow down..." he panted and groaned, his hands instinctively gripping her D-cup breasts again, kneading her rosy nipples. The curse of perpetual heat made his body burn with an insatiable hunger—he simply could not stop.
Akari sneered and leaned forward, her crimson eyes brimming with the ecstasy of vengeance. She wrapped her fair arms around his neck, her fingernails lightly raking across his back, sending another shiver through his frame. "You filthy dog—scream for me! Back when we were kids—when you fingered my ass—did you ever imagine I'd be the one playing with *you* like this? Now, your cock is my toy; no matter how many times you cum, it's never enough!" She began to ride him vigorously, her shapely hips slamming against his thighs, the rhythmic slapping sounds echoing through the giant trees. She drove with her long legs, her voluptuous hips jiggling with every thrust; with every downward motion, Ren's glans rammed directly against her cervix. "Oh... your dirty cock... it's so hot... fuck me deeper... no—*I'm* going to fuck *you* to death!" Akari cried out in lust, her voice hoarse and breathless, her D-cup breasts bouncing wildly against her chest, their soft flesh rippling with every movement.
She felt a surge of power coursing through her veins; the "Curse of the Giver" had made her body stronger and her skin smoother—and the allure of eternal life had left her utterly addicted. "Hah... Immortality? Like hell! I'm going to ride you every single day—fuck you until you're screaming for your mommy!"
Ren's mind went completely blank; his hyper-sensitive constitution made every friction feel like an explosive electric shock of pleasure. "Akari... Ahh! So much pussy juice... I'm cumming... I'm going to cum again..." His cock throbbed inside her hot, wet pussy, on the verge of eruption. But just then, the sound of footsteps echoed from deep within the woods; the rustling of leaves underfoot grew closer and closer, as if something were bearing down on them.
Akari's body went rigid, her crimson eyes narrowing. She scrambled off Ren immediately; with a wet *pop*, her pussy released his cock, trailing a stream of sticky, mixed fluids that trickled down her fair, long legs. Ren, too, scrambled to his feet in a panic—his legs were so weak he nearly stumbled. His cock remained rock-hard and erect, a bead of her pussy juice clinging to its tip as it bobbed in the open air. "Fuck... Who... Who's coming?" he panted, his handsome face flushed crimson, his long eyelashes fluttering as he frantically looked around. Both of them stood stark naked; Akari's silver hair hung in wild disarray, her D-cup breasts heaving with her rapid breathing, while the pear-shaped curves of her pert buttocks still bore the red marks of his fingers. Ren's pale skin gleamed in the sunlight, appearing simultaneously vulnerable and alluring.
They exchanged a glance. Although Akari loathed him to the very core, whenever she touched him—specifically through the information transmitted by their exposed, intimate forms—she inexplicably gained fragments of knowledge about this world. *Gaia Magna*—an alternate dimension dominated by women.
Here, the "Mana Resonance" bound itself exclusively to the female endocrine system; men, naturally devoid of this resonance, possessed frail bodies and pitifully short lifespans—a mere thirty years. Men were as rare as endangered species, treated as exotic pets or mere tools for procreation. Ninety-five percent of the women were either lesbians or bisexuals, seeking mutual pleasure and emotional connection with one another. Men? They existed solely for reproduction—and because they were too physically weak to withstand the intensity of female passion, they were typically treated roughly, toyed with like playthings. Akari's heart sank. She knew she had to protect this bastard—at least... at least until she had fully vented the hatred she'd harbored since childhood, until she had fucked him until he wept and begged for mercy. She couldn't let anyone else steal her toy.
The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. Three women emerged from the dense thicket, each astonishingly tall—at least six feet in height, some even taller.
They wore nothing but makeshift bras woven from leaves, barely concealing their ample breasts; their lower bodies were completely exposed, their thick pubic hair and pink, wet pussies swaying in the sunlight.
They had originally set out to hunt beast, still clutching stone spears and vines in their hands, but upon hearing the moans and rhythmic slapping sounds—the unmistakable noises of mating—they had changed course and headed straight for this spot.
The woman in the lead was Bruna; she stood like a monument forged from river clay and iron—six feet four inches tall, her body as solid as a glacier, possessing an indomitable grace that belied her forty-three years. A pale, ritualistic scar slashed across her face like a bolt of lightning, running from her temple to her lip, a stark symbol of authority etched into skin as smooth as damp earth. Her eyes, the color of whiskey-amber, slowly surveyed her surroundings; her full lips—almost incongruous against her stern jawline—softened her features into something almost divine: a fertility goddess wearing the cold, hard face of a warrior. Her iron-gray hair, streaked with silver, was braided into thick ropes, crowned atop her head by a diadem of power seized by force.
Her E-cup breasts hung like heavy teardrops—ripe and pendulous, pressing against her ribs with the maternal weight of experience.
Her lower abdomen was a dome of solid muscle, overlaid with a soft layer of feminine flesh—a canvas etched with silver scars that chronicled both the birth of daughters and the victories of battle. Her thighs were like tree trunks, her buttocks high and rounded—powerful enough to crack stone.
Only her hands—scarred and gnarled—betrayed her true age. She was the very embodiment of the Earth itself, risen to demand its tribute—a beauty that did not diminish with the passage of years, but rather grew all the more profound. Trailing behind her was Sylpha, a forgotten beauty buried beneath ink and parchment. Forty-one years old, her doll-like face—featuring a small nose, rosebud lips, and arched brows—wore an expression of perpetual, mild annoyance; her skin was as pale and translucent as parchment, the blue veins at her temples faintly whispering beneath the surface. Her storm-grey eyes were forever narrowed, solving equations only she could comprehend. Her jet-black hair was coiled into a tight, severe bun that pulled her features taut, lending her an air of academic urgency.
Her E-cup breasts were her magnificent burden—vast, firm, and high-set globes that swayed with indifferent momentum, occasionally knocking over scrolls. Pale pink areolas crowned nipples that seemed perpetually chilled. Beneath them lay a soft, rounded belly that curved down to shapely hips, featuring a small, deep navel she would absentmindedly poke at while lost in thought. Her hourglass waist was wrapped in the gentle warmth of womanhood. Her child-bearing hips were broad, and her thighs—pale and soft as pillows—seemed a relic of primal days, spreading wide and generous whenever she sat. Her ink-stained fingers were never at rest: grinding, writing, measuring. She was a lost fertility goddess who had wandered into a library and simply stayed there—a creature of soft curves and sharp inquiry, beautiful in her very obliviousness.
Last was Lyra, like a blade barely contained within its sheath—sharp-featured, with honey-colored hair and freckles scattered across her sandalwood-hued skin like a pale constellation. Her moss-green eyes glowed faintly. Her six-foot-one frame coiled with the impatient grace of a predator: lean, sinewy runner's muscles, a narrow ribcage, and long, lithe limbs...
Ren's eyes went wide. The moment he caught sight of their exposed nether regions—the thick tufts of pubic hair and those pink, luscious pussies—his cock instantly became more rock-hard, its tip oozing a glistening bead of fluid. "Fuck... so many pussies... I want to lick them all... and those tits are huge, too..." he mumbled to himself, the curse of perpetual rutting having reduced his mind to nothing but pure instinct.
Akari caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye and flew into a sudden rage. She abruptly lifted a long leg and delivered a sharp kick to his shapely ass. "You horny bastard! You get hard the moment you see a woman? You slut!" Her toes happened to graze his asshole—a sensitive touch that ignited Ren's entire body like a spark.
He let out a scream, his body trembling violently; his knees went weak, and he collapsed to the ground, his handsome face flushed crimson and tears welling up beneath his long lashes. "Ahhh! Akari... my ass... don't kick... it feels painful.. I'm cumming... fuck..." His cock, untouched by any hand, suddenly erupted, spewing thick, milky semen that splattered onto the grass—yet, due to the curse placed upon him, it refused to go soft, remaining rigidly erect.