Lira kept him trapped between her breasts for what felt like an eternity, with slow and deliberate glides that never quite gave him enough friction to tip over the edge. Every upward stroke dragged the sensitive ridge of his cockhead through the slick valley of her cleavage; every downward one buried him completely in soft, yielding heat. Pre-cum leaked in steady pulses now, mixing with her sweat and making the channel between her tits glossy and obscene.
Oswin's knuckles were white on the edges of the stool. His thighs trembled. His breathing came in short, ragged bursts.
"Please…" he whispered again, voice cracked and desperate.
Lira tilted her head, pretending to consider it. Her own breathing had grown uneven and her cheeks flushed with pupils blown wide, the faint scent of her arousal thick in the humid air of the hut.
"You've been such a patient boy," she murmured, almost tenderly. "Holding back for Auntie like this… it deserves a reward."
She released the pressure of her arms just enough to let her breasts part slightly—cool air kissing his overheated skin for one cruel second—then pressed them back together harder, tighter.
This time she moved faster.
Not frantic, still controlled but purposeful.
The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin filled the small space. Her nipples dragged along his shaft with every pass, hard little points adding sparks of sensation. She angled her torso so the head of his cock bumped against the underside of her chin on the upstroke—close enough that he could feel her warm breath ghost over the tip each time.
Oswin's hips jerked once—instinct overriding everything.
Lira didn't stop him this time.
Instead, she leaned down farther, letting the swollen head brush her lower lip on the next upward glide. It was not a kiss. Just the barest, feather-light contact of soft mouth against slick skin.
Oswin groaned, long and broken.
"That's it," she whispered against him, lips moving so the words vibrated along his length. "Let go for Auntie. Show me how much you've learned to trust me."
She squeezed her breasts together one final time—firm, enveloping—and dragged them down his entire length in one long, slow pull.
The pressure snapped something inside him.
Oswin came with a choked cry—hips bucking upward helplessly as thick ropes of cum erupted between her tits. The first pulse painted a white stripe across the inner swell of one breast; the second hit higher, catching the underside of her chin. More followed—hot, messy spurts that coated her cleavage, dripped down her sternum, pooled in the soft dip of her collarbone.
Lira didn't flinch. She kept moving, a little gentle now, milking every last tremor from him with slow, soothing glides until he was spent, shuddering, oversensitive.
When the last weak pulse finally ebbed, she released him completely.
His cock twitched once more in the open air, spent and glistening, before slowly softening against his thigh.
Lira sat back on her heels, looking down at the mess he'd made of her chest with quiet satisfaction. Cum dripped slowly between her breasts, tracing lazy paths over her skin.
She scooped a thick bead from between her cleavage with two fingers, brought it to her lips, and licked it clean—slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving his.
"Delicious," she purred. "Such a generous boy."
Oswin could only stare—brain fried, body limp, chest heaving.
Lira rose gracefully, unhurried, and retrieved the discarded drying cloth. She wiped herself down with casual efficiency—between her breasts, along her stomach—then draped the cloth over his lap like a blanket, covering his softening length.
"There," she said softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "All done for today."
She leaned down and pressed a gentle, almost chaste kiss to his temple.
"You did beautifully, nephew. Held out longer than most first-timers." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Next time… we'll teach you how to return the favor properly."
Oswin swallowed, throat dry.
"Next… time?"
Lira's smile turned wicked again.
"Of course. Lessons don't end after one session." She straightened, retrieving her discarded skirt and breast band but making no immediate move to put them on. "You'll come back tomorrow after the midday meal. Auntie has more to show you… and you have so much more to give."
She glanced toward the open hut flap where late-afternoon sunlight slanted in.
"But for now—go help your mother with supper. She'll want to hear how well her boy behaved." Lira's eyes sparkled. "And don't worry. I won't tell her everything… yet."
Oswin stood on wobbly legs, loincloth forgotten on the floor. He fumbled to tie it back on, hands still shaking.
Lira watched the entire time, amused.
When he finally managed to cover himself—barely—she stepped close one last time, pressed her still-sticky breasts against his chest in a brief, warm hug, and murmured against his ear:
"Remember this feeling, Oswin."
She nipped his earlobe lightly.
"That's what being a man in this village means."
Then she released him, turned away, and began sorting herbs again as if nothing had happened.
Oswin stumbled toward the doorway on legs that felt like water.
Behind him, Lira's soft chuckle followed.
"See you tomorrow, sweet boy."
He stepped out into the cooling air, the village sounds washing over him—women laughing, fires crackling, children running.
His body still buzzed and his mind was haywire.
'One day in this world… and I'm already ruined for anything else.'
He took a shaky breath and started the walk back to his mother's hut.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.