The midsummer festival was Eldenwood's heartbeat.
Every year, when the moon swelled full and the air thrummed with honey-wine and woodsmoke, the village opened the old bathhouse at the edge of the oak grove. Fed by a hot spring, its stone walls steamed with scented water; rosemary, rose petals, and crushed mint floated on the surface. Men and women bathed separately by day, but after dusk the partitions were drawn back and the whole village mingled—naked, laughing, half-drunk on mead and warmth.
Elaric had never lingered long before. Young men splashed and wrestled; he'd wash quickly and leave. But this year, the thought of *them*—Isolde, Mara, perhaps even the baker's wife Lena—lured him like a moth to lantern light.
He arrived as the sun bled gold behind the trees. Torches guttered in iron sconces. Inside, the air was thick, humid, fragrant. Steam curled in slow spirals. Voices echoed off stone: low, intimate, punctuated by soft splashes and the occasional throaty laugh.
Elaric stripped at the threshold. His cock, half-hard from anticipation, swung heavy between his thighs. He stepped into the main pool—and froze.
They were all there.
Isolde lounged on the submerged bench, water lapping at her collarbones. Her massive breasts floated like twin moons, nipples dark and peaked from the heat. One hand idly traced the swell of her hip beneath the surface.
Mara stood waist-deep, pouring a ladle of water over her head. Rivulets raced down her broad back, over the outrageous curve of her ass—two pale globes glistening, parted slightly as she bent. Between her thighs, a glimpse of pink, slick and swollen.
Lena sat on the edge, legs dangling, kneading dough-soft tits together with oiled hands. Her pussy was bare, lips puffy, a steady drip of arousal mixing with the spring water. She caught Elaric's stare and smiled slow, wicked.
"Well, look who's joined us," Mara purred, turning. Water sluiced from her heavy breasts; they swayed, slapping softly against her ribs. "Thought you'd hide in the fields forever, farm boy?"
Isolde's eyes glittered. "He's been *ploughing* plenty, Mara. Haven't you, love?" She crooked a finger.
Elaric waded in, water rising to his hips, then chest. His cock jutted proud beneath the surface, brushing Isolde's thigh as he reached her. She gasped, hand dropping to wrap around his shaft. "Still so thick," she whispered. "I've been sore for days."
Mara closed in from behind, pressing her soaked tits to his back. One hand slid down his abs, joining Isolde's on his cock. Two feminine grips—four hands—stroking in tandem, slow and worshipful. Lena watched, thighs spreading wider, fingers circling her clit with lazy circles.
"Room for one more?" Lena asked, voice husky.
Elaric's answer was a growl. He turned, capturing Mara's mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. She moaned into him, tongue slick and eager. Isolde's lips found his neck, sucking a mark just above the collarbone. Lena slipped into the water, breasts bobbing, and knelt before him.
Three MILFs. Three sets of dripping cunts. One insatiable cock.
Lena took the lead. She cupped his balls, rolling them gently, then dragged her tongue up the underside of his shaft. Isolde and Mara continued stroking, smearing precum in glossy streaks. When Lena's lips closed over the head, Elaric's hips jerked. She took him deep—throat relaxing, gagging softly, saliva dripping down his length to mix with the spring.
Mara broke the kiss to watch. "Gods, look at her swallow him. Bet your pussy's jealous, Isolde."
Isolde laughed breathlessly. "It is." She moved to the bench, spreading her thighs wide. Water lapped at her folds; she was *drenched*, arousal stringing from her pussy to the surface. "Come here, Elaric. Let me ride that beast."
He pulled free of Lena's mouth with a wet pop and lifted Isolde easily. She straddled him facing away, ass presented like a gift. Mara and Lena guided his cock to her entrance. Isolde sank slowly—inch by torturous inch—until her plush cheeks rested on his thighs. A low, guttural moan escaped her.
Then she began to move.
Slow rolls of her hips. Up, down. The water churned gently around them. Her ass rippled with each bounce; Elaric gripped it hard, spreading her cheeks to watch his cock disappear into her gripping cunt. Mara and Lena knelt on either side, mouths on his neck, his chest, fingers teasing Isolde's clit and nipples.
Minutes blurred. Isolde came first—pussy clamping, squirting into the spring with a broken cry. Elaric didn't stop. He lifted her, turned her to face him, and impaled her again. Her tits crushed against his chest, nipples dragging with every thrust.
Mara whimpered. "My turn."
They shifted. Mara bent over the bench, ass high, pussy dripping in a steady stream. Elaric slid into her from behind—tight, molten, *soaked*. She pushed back greedily, taking every inch. Lena straddled Mara's back, facing Elaric, and fed him her tits. He sucked hard, teeth grazing, while pounding Mara with long, deep strokes.
Lena came just from the friction—pussy grinding on Mara's spine, juices smearing. Mara followed, screaming into the water, walls fluttering around Elaric's cock.
He pulled out, still iron-hard. The women turned to him, eyes glazed with lust. Isolde dropped to her knees in the shallow water, Mara and Lena flanking her. Three tongues—three sets of lips—worshipped his cock. Licking, sucking, sharing the slick length between them. Hands cupped his balls, stroked his thighs, teased his nipples.
Elaric lasted another twenty minutes—edges teased, release denied—until the pressure was unbearable. With a roar, he came. Thick ropes painted Isolde's tits, Mara's face, Lena's open mouth. They licked it clean, sharing kisses slick with his seed.
Finally spent, he sank into the water. The three MILFs curled around him—soft, warm, satisfied.
"Festival's just begun," Lena murmured, tracing his softening cock. "Tomorrow's the hayride. Private wagon. Plenty of room…"
Elaric smiled into Isolde's hair. The harvest was far from over.