The walk back to his mother's hut felt longer than it should.
Oswin's legs still carried the faint tremble of release, his loincloth chafing against oversensitive skin with every step. The late-afternoon sun hung low, painting the village in warm gold and long shadows. Smoke from cooking fires curled upward, carrying the scent of roasting root vegetables and herbs. Women called to each other across the open spaces, laughing, gossiping, occasionally glancing his way with knowing little smiles.
He could feel the atmosphere shift already.
Before today he had been "the chief's boy," cute but mostly harmless. Now… something had changed. The way eyes lingered on him and conversations quieted for half a heartbeat when he passed. The way one older woman near the central fire actually licked her lips as he went by.
All of it was weird.
He ducked into his mother's hut, hoping to slip in quietly.
There was no chance.
His mother—Elara—was already there, stirring a large clay pot over the low fire in the center of the room. She looked up the moment he entered, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Well, well," she said, setting the wooden spoon aside. "My handsome son returns from his visit with Auntie Lira… and he looks properly drained."
Oswin's face flamed.
"Mother—"
Elara laughed, rich and warm, crossing the small space to cup his cheek in one callused hand.
"Don't be embarrassed, my sweet boy. Lira sent a runner earlier with a very pleased message." She leaned in, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "She said you were 'exceptionally patient' and 'generous with your appreciation.' That is incredibly high praise from her."
Oswin groaned and tried to hide his face in his hands. Elara just pulled him into a quick, enveloping hug—her heavy breasts pressing against his chest in that now-familiar, comforting way.
"You did well," she murmured against his hair. "I'm proud. Now sit. Supper's almost ready, and you need to eat if you're going to keep up with tomorrow's lessons."
She released him and turned back to the pot, humming softly as she added a handful of dried greens.
Oswin sank onto a low stool, grateful for the momentary reprieve.
But the reprieve didn't last.
The hide flap at the entrance rustled, and a new voice, sounding bright, melodic, and carrying just a hint of laughter—called from outside.
"Elara? Is the chief's handsome son home yet? I brought the extra tubers you asked for!"
Elara glanced over her shoulder with a grin.
"Come in, Mara! He's right here, still glowing from his afternoon."
A woman stepped through the doorway.
Mara was one of the garden sisters he had glimpsed earlier—early twenties, perhaps, with sun-kissed skin, long chestnut hair tied in a loose braid, and the kind of body that spoke of long days working the soil: toned arms, strong thighs, a soft curve to her hips and belly that made her look both powerful and inviting. Her breasts were full and high, and were barely contained by a narrow strip of woven cloth that left most of the underside exposed. Her skirt was even shorter than most, ending high on her thighs and swaying with every step.
She carried a woven basket balanced on one hip, the motion making everything jiggle in the most distracting way.
Mara's eyes found Oswin immediately. Her smile widened, they seemed open, friendly, and unmistakably hungry.
"Oswin," she purred, setting the basket down and sauntering closer. "I heard you had quite the education today."
Oswin swallowed. "Uh… yeah. Something like that."
Mara stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could smell the earth and faint floral scent clinging to her skin. She tilted her head, studying him like a particularly interesting plant.
"You look different," she observed. "More… settled. Like a boy who's finally tasted what being a man feels like."
Elara chuckled from the fire. "Don't tease him too hard, Mara. He's still recovering."
Mara's grin turned wicked. "Recovering? Oh, that's adorable." She reached out casually, very casually, and brushed the back of her fingers along his bare shoulder. "But seriously… you're going to need your strength. The village has been talking."
Oswin blinked. "Talking?"
"Mmm." Mara leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The news is the chief's son is finally 'awakening.' Widows are whispering. The younger ones are curious. Even some of us who've been patient are starting to wonder when our turn comes."
She straightened, hands on her hips, breasts thrusting forward just enough to make the cloth strain.
"I mean… I've got these tubers to deliver," she said innocently, gesturing to the basket, "but if you ever need help carrying heavy things… or just want company while you 'rest'…" She trailed off with a slow wink.
Elara snorted. "Out, Mara. Let the boy eat before you scare him off."
Mara laughed—bright and unashamed—and bent to retrieve her basket. The motion hiked her skirt high enough to flash smooth, toned ass and the shadowed cleft between her thighs. She knew exactly what she was doing.
"Fine, fine," she said, straightening again. "But Oswin?" She looked back over her shoulder, braid swinging. "Don't make us wait too long. The garden gets lonely without strong hands to help."
With that she slipped out, hips swaying, leaving a wake of warm air and unspoken promises.
Elara shook her head fondly. "That girl. Always the bold one."
She ladled stew into a wooden bowl and handed it to Oswin.
"Eat," she ordered gently. "You'll need your energy. Tomorrow Lira has more planned… and after Mara's little visit, I suspect others will start dropping by with 'gifts' too."
Oswin stared into the steaming bowl, mind spinning.
'One day. One fucking day. And the whole village already knows I'm open for business.'
He took a spoonful, barely tasting it.
Outside, the evening fires grew brighter. Laughter drifted on the breeze. Somewhere nearby, a woman's low moan carried—someone else enjoying the night.
Oswin exhaled slowly.
'This isn't just a harem fantasy anymore.'
'This is my life.'