Andrew carved out slices of his weekends for Eva, spending hours simply talking with his mother. When Eva went out, he turned his attention to Amara. Her screams bounced off the walls, a raw, uninhibited symphony as he brought her to the edge.
"You'll just have to wait about four more years," he'd whisper, his voice a low growl against her ear, "and then I'll ravage you with my dick."
Her body convulsed, a final, shattering climax tearing through her, each word of his a fuel to the flame.
As for Lucy, he often made her climax in the training room, Amanda a silent observer. Amanda watched with an unwavering gaze, her curiosity a tangible thing. She understood now those moans, the arching back, the nonsensical words Lucy whispered to Andrew; they were expressions of profound pleasure. Andrew, for his part, aimed to keep everyone content, their cultivation journeys smooth.
One afternoon, a week after her revealing conversation with Lucy, Amanda found Andrew alone in the training room, performing a series of rapid, intricate movements. His body flowed like water, each limb a weapon, each strike carrying an unseen force. He moved with a grace that belied his young age, a mastery that hinted at something ancient. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, catching the light as he spun and kicked.
The days bled into weeks, a rhythmic cycle of training and growth. Amanda, a study in quiet determination, began the arduous process of skin forging. She drew the ambient qi into her body, each invisible strand a needle, weaving itself into her very flesh. Pain became her constant companion, a sharp, searing fire that licked at her nerves, but she met it with an unyielding resolve. The academy training room, a sanctuary of dense qi, amplified her efforts, accelerating a process that would otherwise take months. She knew this suffering was a crucible, forging a stronger self.
Andrew, meanwhile, delved deeper into body forging. His focus shifted inward, to the unseen architecture of his organs. He pulsed qi into his kidneys, his liver, his heart, building resilience, honing their function. His movements in the training room grew more precise, each twist and turn a testament to his increasing power. Lucy, content in her role, simply gathered qi, cultivating her foundation with a peaceful dedication. Her progress, while steady, lacked the dramatic intensity of Andrew or Amanda's efforts.
Andrew knew about the advanced classes for organ forging cultivators, the ones designed for those who had reached his stage. The thought of attending, however, brought a faint grimace to his lips. He wanted no trouble, no unnecessary scrutiny. His current arrangement, tucked away in his designated training room, suited him perfectly. There, with Lucy and Amanda by his side, he could pursue his unique path without drawing unwanted attention. He attended the mandatory lectures, a necessary evil, but once the morning lessons concluded, he retreated to his private haven.
His self-imposed seclusion fueled a simmering dissatisfaction among the other girls in the academy. Whispers followed him through the hallways, eyes lingered on his retreating back. The training rooms were a coveted resource, and Andrew's monopolization of one, particularly with two of the academy's promising talents, sparked envy. Yet, there was little they could do. Andrew held a peculiar position, a genius among geniuses, and his eccentricities were tolerated, if not always understood.
Time flowed past, a relentless river, carrying weeks into months. The Vavilon academy operated on its own unique rhythm, devoid of traditional semesters. There were only specific windows for new student intake and biannual examinations. Those who faltered academically or showed insufficient progress found themselves unceremoniously expelled. Andrew and Amanda, however, never faced such anxieties.
Most first-year students struggled to even begin cultivating. Sensing qi, that subtle life force, proved an elusive concept for young minds, let alone the rigorous demands of skin forging. Only the genius class, a select few, truly embarked on that arduous path. Andrew remained an outlier, a force of nature who defied conventional testing. His innate talent, an almost frightening aptitude, positioned him on the precipice of organ forging, just shy of becoming a Foundation Establishment cultivator. Amanda, too, made remarkable strides, nearing the completion of her skin forging by the year's end. Lucy, however, found her progress slower. Advancements for a Foundation Establishment cultivator required more sustained effort, greater understanding.
Andrew's lessons continued, a solitary pursuit of knowledge within his isolated training room. His movements, once fluid, now carried an undeniable weight, a subtle tremor of immense power. Each practiced strike stirred the air, a miniature gale born of concentrated qi. His organs pulsed with internalized energy, undergoing a silent, profound transformation. He felt the subtle shift within his very core, a strengthening, a hardening, preparing his body for the leap to the next realm.
Amanda, meanwhile, endured the exquisite agony of skin forging. Her small body, taut with concentration, became a conduit for qi, each invisible strand intertwining with her flesh. The initial searing pain had dulled into a constant ache, a deep thrumming beneath her skin. She often emerged from her private training sessions glistening with sweat, her dark hair plastered to her forehead, but her eyes held a fierce light, a testament to her unyielding resolve. She ran her fingers across her forearm, feeling the subtle difference, the newfound resilience of her skin. It felt denser, almost metallic, a testament to her tireless effort.
Lucy observed them both, a quiet anchor in the whirlwind of their progress. Her cultivation, a steady gathering of ambient qi, continued uninterrupted. She refined her existing foundation, solidifying her control over the basics, preparing for deeper insights. Her blonde hair often fell across her face as she sat cross-legged, a serene expression etched onto her features. She understood the unspoken truth: cultivation was a marathon, not a sprint. She might not possess Andrew's startling talent or Amanda's youthful drive, but she had perseverance.
The end-of-year tests loomed, a stark reminder of the academy's unforgiving nature. Andrew, of course, presented little challenge. His mastery of qi manipulation, his burgeoning control over his internal organs, spoke volumes. He moved with an almost ethereal grace, his body a finely tuned instrument of power. The academy elders, initially skeptical of his rapid ascent, now observed him with a mixture of awe and trepidation. They saw in him a potential that could reshape their understanding of cultivation.
Amanda's examination involved a demonstration of her skin-forged body. She stood before the examiners, her small frame radiating a subtle power. A senior instructor, eyes narrowed in concentration, delivered a controlled strike to her arm. The impact, which would have left a bruise on an ordinary child, merely created a dull thud. Amanda's skin, now imbued with qi, absorbed the blow, her expression unchanged. A murmur rippled through the observing faculty.
Lucy's test, a display of her foundational strength, involved manipulating elemental qi. She effortlessly conjured a small, dancing flame in her palm, then a swirling vortex of air. Her control was precise, her qi reserves stable. The instructors nodded, satisfied. She might not be a prodigy, but she was a solid cultivator, a testament to diligent effort.
As the academy year drew to a close, a sense of quiet anticipation settled over the student body. Some celebrated their survival, others mourned their departure. But for Andrew, Amanda, and Lucy, the path forward remained clear. They had weathered the storm, their bonds strengthened, their individual journeys continuing, each a unique testament to the power of cultivation.
After the exams, the trio made their way to the qi-intensive training room, a sanctuary Andrew claimed as his own. The air, thick with concentrated energy, hummed around them.
"Happy eighteenth, Luce," Andrew said, his voice a warm rumble. He pulled a small, intricately carved wooden box from a hidden compartment in the wall. Lucy's eyes widened a fraction.
"Andrew, you really didn't have to." Her cheeks flushed a light pink.
"Of course I did." He offered her the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, lay a delicate jade pendant, glowing with a soft inner light. It pulsed with qi, a potent artifact for a Foundation Establishment cultivator.
"It's beautiful," Lucy breathed, her fingers tracing the smooth, cool surface of the jade.
"And there's more." Andrew gestured to the open mat in the center of the room. "A full body massage."
Lucy's gaze flickered to Amanda, then back to Andrew. Her breath caught in her throat. Her body tensed, then relaxed. "Alright."
Slowly, Lucy began to undress. Her silk robes slid from her shoulders, pooling on the floor. Her delicate undergarments followed, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin. Amanda watched, her expression unreadable. Lucy's body, toned and graceful, was a study in feminine curves.
Andrew's hands, surprisingly gentle yet firm, began their work. He started at her shoulders, kneading the knots from her muscles, chasing away the lingering tension of the exams. Lucy moaned softly, a sound of pure contentment. His touch was magic, erasing the stresses of the past months. He moved down her back, his strong fingers pressing into her flesh, coaxing out sighs of pleasure.
He worked his way to her legs, long and shapely, then her feet, each arch and toe receiving his undivided attention. She felt herself melt into the mat, consciousness blurring at the edges, carried away on a tide of sensation. A wave of euphoria washed over her, light and boundless.
Then, his lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine. A breathless gasp escaped her. He moved lower, teasing the hollow of her throat, then the soft curve of her collarbone. Her breath hitched. His kisses grew bolder, tracing a path to her breasts. Her nipples hardened, straining against his lips, and her back arched reflexively.
A low growl rumbled in Andrew's chest as he moved further south. His touch grew intimate, exploring the warmth between her legs. Her hips began to twitch, an involuntary rhythm building within her. He found her clitoris, his fingers a precise dance, teasing, stroking, igniting a fire in her core. Her breath turned ragged, shallow gasps escaping her.
"Oh, Andrew," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper. Her body convulsed, a wave of pleasure racking her frame. Pleasure, sharp and intense, unfurled within her. She cried out, her hips bucking off the mat, riding the crest of another explosive climax. Again and again, the waves broke over her, each time more powerful than the last, until she lay trembling, utterly spent.
Andrew leaned down, brushing her damp hair from her forehead. He pressed his lips to hers, a tender, lingering kiss. "Happy birthday, Lucy," he murmured against her mouth.
Amanda stood rooted to the spot, a turmoil of emotions swirling within her. Envy, a sharp, unfamiliar pang, twisted in her gut. She wanted that massage, the exquisite touch that had transformed Lucy into a trembling heap of pleasure. The kisses, too, held a certain allure, a warmth she craved. But the other part, the way Andrew's fingers had lingered, the raw, primal cries that had torn from Lucy's throat, that particular intimacy with her pussy—she wasn't so sure about that. Not yet.