9

Julian’s eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry and unfocused. A wave of grogginess washed over him as he slowly regained consciousness. He blinked several times, trying to clear the lingering fog from his mind. As his vision gradually sharpened, he realized he was nestled between two enormous, soft mounds. A blush crept up his neck as the realization hit him – his head was buried between Private Dohva’s massive breasts. She was fast asleep, her chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. The scent of milk and warm skin filled his nostrils, a heady and somewhat embarrassing aroma. He was lying in a small cot with her, their bodies pressed close together. The scene was… intimate, to say the least.

Julian, despite his grogginess and the undeniable comfort of his current position, felt a surge of embarrassment. He was determined to extricate himself with as much dignity as possible. He began to wriggle gently, attempting to shift his weight and subtly maneuver his head free from between Dohva’s ample breasts. It proved more difficult than he anticipated. The soft flesh yielded slightly, but also seemed to cling to him, offering a tempting resistance. He continued to wriggle, careful not to wake her, acutely aware of the delicate situation and **** to avoid causing any unwanted attention. Each movement was deliberate, a carefully calculated attempt to escape the 'comfy breast trap', as he privately termed it, and salvage what little remained of his composure.

Just as Julian finally managed to free himself from Dohva's embrace, breathing a sigh of relief, he turned towards the door of the infirmary. He pushed it open, hoping to find some privacy and a moment to collect himself. However, his hopes were immediately dashed. Standing on the other side was his aunt, Thaline, her expression a mixture of annoyance and thinly veiled amusement. She crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping over him with a critical eye.

"Got a cut-ass then did you?"

Thaline’s voice was sharp and direct, devoid of any softening sentiment.

"I hear you let Eira do a number on you in public."

She didn't bother with pleasantries, cutting straight to the chase. Her obsidian eyes narrowed, assessing his condition.

“And smelling like… milk?”

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her gaze lingering on his slightly flushed face.

“Dohva’s been ‘taking care’ of you, I see.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her features – a hint of disapproval, perhaps, or maybe just resigned acceptance.

"Don't think for a moment this means I'm going soft. You still have your Dragoon's drills to complete after dinner."

Julian’s face burned with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. He stammered, attempting to formulate a response, but the words caught in his throat.

“I… it wasn’t… she just…”

He trailed off, realizing how pathetic his explanation sounded. He glanced back towards the cot, where Dohva still slept peacefully, oblivious to the awkward scene unfolding at the door. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on Thaline instead.

Thaline’s lips curled into a sardonic smile.

“Save your excuses, Julian. Eira challenged you, and you 'lost'. A Dragoon doesn’t back down from a challenge, regardless of who issues it. And as for Dohva… let’s just say she has a nurturing streak.”

She paused, her dark eyes narrowing again.

“However, that doesn’t excuse your lack of discipline. You allowed yourself to be disarmed, to be put on the defensive. A true warrior anticipates their opponent’s moves, adapts, and 'overcomes'. You did none of those things.”

She took a step closer, her imposing figure looming over him.

“Tonight, we’ll focus on footwork and reaction time. And perhaps a refresher course on maintaining your composure, even when faced with… distractions.”

Her gaze flickered pointedly towards the sleeping Dohva.

"And I expect you to take responsibility around my girls. Don't go getting handsy with any of them. I don't care how old you are. You're Lael's kid and still a 'boy' to boot."

She said lowly. She didn't care if her nephew was seven or seventy he would be given a firm talking to about treating a lady properly regardless of if he'd been a willing participant or initiator.

Julian winced under Thaline’s stern gaze, the weight of her disappointment pressing down on him. He lowered his head, shamefaced.

"Yes, Aunt Thaline."

He mumbled, his voice barely audible. He knew better than to argue with her when she was in this mood. Her expectations were high, and she wouldn’t tolerate any excuses. He braced himself for the grueling training session that awaited him, already anticipating the burning muscles and aching joints. It was a harsh reality check, a reminder that his newfound magical abilities and Dohva's kind attention wouldn't shield him from the rigorous demands of becoming a Dragoon...

~

The mess hall buzzed with the low murmur of conversation, punctuated by the clatter of cutlery against stoneware plates. Four large bench tables, illuminated by the flickering glow of candlelit chandeliers, were occupied by the Royal Dragoons. The women were grouped in twos or threes, sharing meals and animatedly discussing the day’s events. Julian, however, sat alone at a bench, a small island of solitude amidst the camaraderie. He picked at his dinner – a hearty stew of vegetables and meat – feeling self-conscious under the scrutinizing glances of the older women. They were all seasoned warriors, their bodies honed by years of rigorous training and combat. Nearly three times his age, they seemed to exist on a different plane of existence, their experiences and perspectives far removed from his own.

Across the mess hall, Thaline and Dohva were engaged in a hushed conversation, their voices barely audible above the din. Thaline’s expression was tight, her jaw set with determination, while Dohva’s face was a mask of wounded pride. The other dragoons, sensing the tension, wisely avoided the area, knowing better than to interfere in what appeared to be a private, and potentially volatile, exchange. Their whispers and sidelong glances spoke volumes – a lovers’ quarrel, perhaps, or a disagreement over Julian’s… unconventional nurturing?

The hushed conversation between Thaline and Dohva abruptly ended as Thaline’s hand clamped firmly around Dohva’s wrist. Dohva’s eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of apprehension crossing her bovine features. Without a word, Thaline tugged Dohva to her feet and strode purposefully towards the exit of the mess hall, her expression unreadable. The other dragoons watched them go, exchanging curious glances and murmuring speculations. The suddenness of their departure, combined with Thaline’s forceful grip, left no doubt that the situation was serious. The mess hall fell into a hushed silence as the two women disappeared through the doorway, leaving Julian alone with his stew and a growing sense of unease.

The heavy oak door of Thaline’s quarters clicked shut, sealing them off from the prying eyes and ears of the mess hall. The stoic seriousness that had been etched on Thaline’s face moments before seemed to melt away, replaced by a softer, more **** expression. She turned to Dohva, her gaze filled with a quiet apology. Reaching out, she gently cupped Dohva’s face in her hands, her thumbs tracing the delicate curve of her jawline. Then, slowly, deliberately, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Dohva’s in a tender, forgiving kiss. It was a silent plea for understanding, a gesture of affection that spoke volumes about the depth of their connection. The kiss lingered for a moment, a brief respite from the tension that had gripped them just moments before.

Pulling back slightly, Thaline rested her forehead against Dohva’s, her breathing evening out.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

She murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

“I was… frustrated... maybe a little jealous even... seeing him in the infirmary with you, your breast likely having been in his mouth to provide sustenance..."

Thaline grabbed one of Dohva's large breasts for emphasis, giving it a firm squeeze.

"Call me selfish, but these belong to me do they not?"

Dohva’s ears twitched, a faint blush rising on her cheeks as Thaline’s confession and subsequent actions unfolded. She let out a soft, contented sigh, leaning into Thaline’s touch.

“You are not selfish, Thaline.”

She rumbled, her voice a soothing balm.

“I understand. It is… natural to feel possessive.”

She nuzzled her head against Thaline’s, returning the affection with a gentle nudge.

A flush crept up Thaline's neck as her hand, seemingly of its own accord, drifted southward. Her fingers curled around the generous curve of Dohva’s bottom, giving it a firm, possessive squeeze. Dohva let out a soft, surprised moo, her brown eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. Thaline’s lips descended upon hers once more, the kiss deepening in intensity. It was a raw, passionate display of affection, a clear indicator to the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them. The air in the room thickened with desire, the scent of perfume and warm skin mingling in a heady aroma. The sounds of their soft moans and gentle sighs echoed in the confines of the room, a private symphony of intimacy.

A muffled rhythm began to permeate the heavy oak door of Thaline’s quarters. It started subtly – the creak of the bedsprings, a soft gasp – but quickly escalated into a more insistent, undeniable cadence. The sounds of their passion were unmistakable, traveling through the wood and into the quiet corridor. A low moan escaped Dohva's lips, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Thaline. The rhythmic thumping against the mattress grew louder, punctuated by whispered words and fervent sighs. It was a vivid and explicit soundtrack, leaving little to the imagination of anyone within earshot. The once-quiet corridor now throbbed with the energy of their copulation, a peek into the unrestrained passion that had consumed them...

~

Concerned by the heated display of his aunt dragging Dohva away, Julian finished his dinner and mustered up the courage to go to his aunt's sleep quarters and confront her.

The heavy oak door swung inward with a resounding thud as Julian burst into Thaline’s quarters, his small frame filled with righteous indignation. He’d barely registered the muffled sounds as anything more than Dohva being harmed, his seven-year-old mind leaping to the conclusion that his aunt was inflicting some sort of cruel punishment. But the scene that greeted him shattered his naive assumptions into a million pieces.

The room swam before his eyes, a chaotic tableau of exposed skin and unrestrained passion. Thaline was positioned behind Dohva, her own garments discarded in a heap on the floor. Dohva was on all fours, her large, muscular back arched, her cow horns serving as… handles? Julian’s gaze locked onto the contraption Thaline wore – a leather and metal device that defied any logical explanation he could muster. She was thrusting her hips with a ferocious intensity, her face contorted in a mixture of exertion and pleasure.

Julian froze, his small body rigid with shock and confusion. His mouth hung open, forming a silent ‘o’ of disbelief. The scene was so far removed from anything he'd ever experienced or even imagined that his brain struggled to process it. His eyes darted between the two women, taking in every detail with a horrified fascination. The scent of sweat and arousal filled the air, thick and cloying.

Dohva’s eyes widened in surprise, her bovine gaze flitting between Julian and Thaline. A blush crept up her neck, staining her skin a rosy hue. Instinctively, she reached for the blankets scattered across the bed, attempting to cover her bouncing breasts with a semblance of modesty. But her efforts were thwarted by Thaline’s firm grip.

Thaline’s lips curved into a slow, possessive smirk, her obsidian eyes gleaming with a predatory light. She didn’t release Dohva, instead, her hand tightened around the base of the cow demi-human’s tail, giving it a gentle, deliberate tug. The action elicited a soft moan from Dohva, and simultaneously, a noticeable increase in the tempo of Thaline’s thrusts. She didn’t even glance at Julian, her focus entirely consumed by the pleasure she was giving Dohva.

“What do you want, boy?”

Thaline purred, her voice laced with a dangerous amusement. She continued to tug gently on Dohva’s tail, her movements precise and knowing.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to barge into someone else’s quarters without knocking?”

Her gaze finally flickered to Julian, assessing his expression with a cold, calculating stare. There was no shame in her eyes, only a detached curiosity and a hint of challenge. She didn’t seem bothered by his presence, not even remotely concerned about the inappropriateness of the situation. It was as if he were merely an unexpected observer, an insignificant detail in their private world.

Julian, his mind reeling and his cheeks burning with shame, wisely decided against voicing the whirlwind of confusion and concern churning within him. He understood, on some instinctive level, that questioning his aunt’s actions would only lead to trouble. Instead, he executed a swift about-face, his small legs pumping as he turned and fled the room. He reached the door with a determined stride and slammed it shut with a resounding boom, the sound echoing through the corridor. He didn't bother to offer a word of explanation, a farewell, or even a glance back. He simply needed to escape, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the disturbing scene he'd just witnessed. The image of his aunt and Dohva, locked in their passionate embrace, was seared into his memory, a haunting tableau that would likely linger for a long time to come.

A soft groan escaped Dohva’s lips, a sound laced with both pleasure and exhaustion. She shifted slightly under Thaline’s weight, arching her back to allow the woman closer access. Thaline readily accepted the invitation, hunching forward to seal their lips together in a fervent kiss, her tongue tracing the contours of Dohva’s mouth with practiced skill. Her hands, still firmly planted on Dohva’s hips, tightened their grip, urging her to deepen the rhythm. The sounds of their passion escalated, filling the room with a raw, wet squelch from each thrust.

A soft, breathy whisper escaped Dohva’s lips, barely audible above the rhythmic sounds of their coupling.

“Y-You were so mean to the poor boy…”

She murmured, her voice thick with arousal. She tilted her head back, her brown eyes meeting Thaline’s with a pleading expression.

"Commander..."

The word was a sigh, a surrender, a submissive declaration to the power Thaline held over her. She continued to move with Thaline, her body instinctively responding to the woman's every touch, every command. The rhythmic thumping against the bed continued, a relentless beat that echoed Dohva’s whispered plea.

Thaline’s grip tightened on Dohva’s tail, her own breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn't break the kiss, instead deepening it, her tongue working against Dohva’s with a possessive fervor. A low growl rumbled in her chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated desire. She ignored Dohva’s whispered comment, dismissing it as a mere distraction. Her focus was entirely on the pleasure she was extracting, on the intoxicating sensation of control.

“Be a good girl and take it.”

Thaline muttered dismissively, her voice a low growl against Dohva’s ear. She sealed her hips firmly against Dohva’s bouncy bottom, amplifying the friction and intensifying the sensation. A moment later, the strap-on began to pump, releasing a hefty load of viscous, shimmering magical fluids deep within Dohva. The liquid pulsed with an ethereal glow, radiating a palpable energy that filled the room. Dohva let out a strangled cry, her body convulsing with a mixture of pleasure and surprise as the magical semen flooded her insides hotly.

Dohva’s back arched violently, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the bed. A guttural moan escaped her lips, a sound that bordered on pain and ecstasy. Her body trembled with each pulse of magical energy, her muscles contracting and relaxing in a rhythmic spasm. The scent of ozone and something akin to wildflowers filled the air, a byproduct of the potent magical fluids now coursing through her...