The cool air hitting her skin brought a fresh wave of goosebumps, a stark contrast to the internal heat still radiating through her. Every muscle ached, not with exhaustion, but with a delicious, heavy satisfaction. Lucy pulled her tunic tighter around herself, her fingers fumbling with the ties. Walking felt like navigating a marsh, her legs still protesting with subtle tremors. Her blonde hair, usually meticulously kept, felt like a wild bird's nest. She ran a hand through it, attempting to tame the unruly strands, but gave up with a sigh. All she wanted was to soak in a hot bath until the last vestiges of sensation faded, leaving her numb and clean.
She pushed open the door to her home, the familiar scents of cooking and her siblings' boisterous energy washing over her. Three pairs of eyes, wide with bewilderment, fixed on her. Her youngest brother, Finn, dropped his wooden sword. Her sister, Elara, froze mid-chew, a piece of bread still hanging from her lips. Even Liam, the usually unflappable eldest of her younger siblings, cocked his head, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"What happened to you?" Liam asked, his voice a mixture of concern and disbelief. "You look like you wrestled a wild dog and lost."
Lucy managed a weak smile, her cheeks still burning. "Just... hard training," she mumbled, her voice a little too light. The lie felt flimsy, transparent. How could she explain the maelstrom that had just whirled through her, leaving her like this? How could she tell them about Andrew, about the unyielding, overwhelming pleasure he had commanded from her body? She couldn't. Not now, not ever. "I'm fine, really. Just a bit tired."
She made a beeline for the bathing room, the hushed whispers of her siblings following her like persistent shadows. The water, steaming hot, enveloped her like a comforting hug. As she sank into the ceramic tub, the heat began to loosen the last knots of tension from her muscles. She closed her eyes, the image of Andrew's intense gaze, his knowing smile, flashing behind her eyelids. For the second time, she confronted the unsettling truth: this small boy, years younger than her, held an inexplicable power over her. The ferocity of her climax, the way her legs had convulsed, the hour and a half it had taken her to even consider moving again – it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was dangerous, exhilarating, and utterly captivating.
She soaked until her skin pruned, until the water grew cool, until she felt sufficiently cleansed, both physically and mentally. Later, tucked into her bed, sleep came easily, a deep, restorative darkness that held no dreams, only oblivion.
The next few days were a revelation. Lucy woke each morning with a surge of energy she hadn't known she possessed. It was as if her entire being had been recalibrated, sharpened. Her senses hummed. Flavors tasted more vibrant, colours appeared richer, sounds clearer. She moved with a newfound bounce in her step, an almost giddy lightness. Her concentration during her cultivation practice sharpened to a razor's edge. She felt strong, invigorated, like she was running on some potent, illicit fuel. It was an unnatural high, she suspected, but she wasn't complaining. She was nearing the completion of her body forging, her bones denser, stronger, more resilient than ever before. Soon, she would move onto foundation building, laying the groundwork for true power. The thought filled her with a fierce satisfaction.
In the wake of that fateful encounter, Lucy's demeanor underwent a seismic shift. Gone was the reticent girl, replaced by someone bolder, a person who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to claim it. Every week, without fail, she would approach Andrew's training room with a steely resolve and a fluttering heart. She'd send Eva and Amara away with a casual request for privacy. "Special training," she'd tell them, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
The door to the training room would close with a definitive click, sealing Lucy and Andrew in their secret world. Inside, the room was a sanctuary of raw, unbridled power, a place where normal rules did not apply. Lucy would undress with the ease of shedding a second skin, her clothes pooling at her feet like fallen leaves. She'd stand before Andrew, her body a map of strength and femininity, the air charged with anticipation.
With a grace born of practiced ease, she would lower herself onto all fours, her blue eyes meeting Andrew's with unspoken need. "Make me cum," she'd asked, her voice a whisper. And he would. Andrew, with the wisdom of ages in his young eyes, would touch her with an expertise that belied his tender years. His fingers, deft and sure, would work their magic, drawing out climax after powerful climax until Lucy was left trembling, utterly spent.
On the other days, Lucy was the picture of discipline and focus. She would train with Andrew, sparring and exchanging knowledge with an intensity that spoke of their mutual dedication to cultivation. They were a study in contrasts: the seasoned warrior and the prodigious child, each pushing the other to new heights. On these days, there was no trace of the carnal dance they performed in their private haven. They were student and tutor, partners in the quest for power.
Yet, on the days when her body ached with a different kind of need, Lucy had no qualms about dropping the façade. She would approach Andrew, her eyes dark with desire, and without a word, she would disrobe. Her clothes would fall away, revealing the taut lines of her body, the muscles honed by countless hours of training. She would stand before him, vulnerable yet unashamed, waiting for his command.
"How should I position myself?" she'd ask, her voice the barest murmur.
Andrew's eyes would gleam with a mischievous light as he'd survey her, his mind already weaving scenarios that would push her to the edge of ecstasy. "Lie back," he'd instruct, his voice steady and confident. "Spread your legs wide. I want you to feel every single touch."
She would obey, her body an instrument for his pleasure and her own. His words, a blend of ancient wisdom and youthful bravado, would send shivers down her spine. He'd speak of energies aligning, of chakras opening, of the cosmic dance of yin and yang. His language, couched in the terminology of cultivation, would be a heady aphrodisiac, stoking the flames of her arousal until she was a writhing, moaning supplicant at his feet.
On these days, Andrew was a maestro, conducting Lucy's body with a mastery that left her breathless. He would bring her to the brink again and again, each climax more intense than the last. And when the fury of their passion was finally spent, they would part with a silent nod, their secret intact.
To the outside world, they were an odd pair: the precocious child with an old soul and the promising young cultivator with a fiery spirit. But within the walls of the training room, they were something else entirely, something that defied explanation. It was a connection forged in the fires of shared experience, a bond that transcended the boundaries of age and convention.
Lucy's cultivation accelerated. Days blurred into weeks, punctuated by her clandestine visits to Andrew's training room. Her body, already a vessel of power, became a conduit for an even greater force. She devoured knowledge, practiced her forms with unwavering dedication, and meditated until her mind felt like a clear, still pond. Her progress astonished even her tutors at the Vavilon Academy. They whispered about her aptitude, marvelled at her rapid advancements.
After two months, the moment arrived. She had accumulated enough Qi to form her foundation. The process was daunting, a spiritual metamorphosis that tested every fiber of her being. She secured a Foundation Forming Pill, a potent concoction that cost five hundred merit points. The price was steep, but completely worth it. With the pill dissolved on her tongue, its potent energies flooded her system, guiding the swirling currents of Qi within her. Pain, intense and all-consuming, ripped through her. Her bones vibrated, her internal organs churned. She gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her forehead, her muscles clenching. She focused on Andrew's face, on his calm, unwavering gaze, using his image as an anchor in the tempest.
Hours later, the storm subsided. A profound stillness settled within her. The pain faded, replaced by an unfamiliar sensation of interconnectedness, as if every atom in her body had aligned with the universe itself. Her Qi, once a turbulent river, now flowed like a majestic, silent ocean. She had done it. She had formed her foundation. At almost sixteen, with a third-level cultivation aptitude, she had progressed at a pace usually reserved for those with a second-level aptitude. It was a remarkable achievement, a testament to her relentless effort and the unique influence of Andrew.
Her first impulse, after the dust settled, was to find him. She strode toward his training room, her steps light, her heart pounding with a different kind of anticipation. She found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, a faint smile playing on his lips, as if he had been expecting her.
His eyes met hers, and the smile widened. "Congratulations, Lucy." His voice was soft, warm. "You succeeded."
A flush spread across her cheeks. She felt a lightness, a newfound freedom, unlike any she had experienced. The success of her foundation-forming felt like something they had achieved together. She met his gaze, her blue eyes shining.
"Thank you," she managed, her voice a little breathless. A different kind of heat spread through her, a familiar tremor. She met his gaze directly. "Do you want to make me cum?"
His lips twitched. He held her eyes, a knowing glint in his own. "Do you want to cum, Lucy?"
She didn't hesitate. Her fingers went to the ties of her shirt, pulling them loose. The fabric drifted to the floor, followed by her trousers, then her undergarments. She stood before him, naked, her body tingling with anticipation. "I'm a good girl," she said, her voice husky. "I want a praise."
Andrew watched her, his expression unreadable. He raised a hand, beckoning her closer. She moved, her hips swaying slightly, her gaze fixed on him. Each small movement sent a fresh wave of electricity through her. When she reached him, she lowered herself to her knees, her eyes still locked with his.
Hours passed. She lost count of the climaxes, each one more intense, more profound than the last. He touched her, not with the urgency of a lover, but with the measured precision of a master artisan. He brought her to the precipice again and again, his words weaving a spell around her. He praised her strength, her dedication, her unwavering spirit. He praised her body, the vessel of her power, the conduit of her desire. She writhed, she arched, she cried out, her entire being consumed by the pleasure he so expertly orchestrated.
When the last tremor faded, she lay sprawled on the mats, utterly spent, her skin slick with sweat, her muscles heavy with blissful exhaustion. The room was dark, the only light filtering in through the high windows, painting stripes across the floor. She couldn't move. Her body, usually so responsive, had become a languid, yielding mass. He had emptied her, cleansed her, left her an ecstatic shell.
"You can stay," Andrew said, his voice quiet in the stillness of the training room. "You won't be able to move for a while."
She didn't protest. She simply nodded, a soft sigh escaping her lips. He covered her with a light blanket, his touch gentle. She closed her eyes, the echoes of her pleasure still reverberating through her. She drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, enveloped in the quiet security of Andrew's presence.