The morning sun climbed higher, casting longer shadows across the training grounds. I left Amelia to her work with Elara, my focus shifting to my own development in Magic Synthesis. I started with the basics: conjuring small, potent fireballs that burst into ephemeral blossoms of flame, sharp crackles of lightning dancing between my fingertips, and precise, slicing wind blades whispering through the air. Each spell was a brushstroke, refining my connection to mana and testament to the growth of my innate magical abilities.
As I delved deeper, my ambition stretched beyond mere conjuration. I began experimenting with more advanced concepts, weaving intricate patterns of energy that hinted at greater power. For instance, I briefly manifested a Shield of Reflective Mana, a shimmering barrier that could theoretically deflect incoming spells, though it flickered out after mere seconds, draining a significant portion of my mana. Similarly, a nascent Teleportation Rune shimmered into existence for a fleeting moment, hinting at instantaneous travel, before dissipating with an acute thrum of mana depletion. These advanced spells, though short-lived, confirmed the boundless potential of my Magic Synthesis.
After a couple of hours of intense magical practice, my mana reserves were considerably depleted, yet the hum of enhanced power within me was undeniable. I then transitioned to physical training. My Warrior skill immediately kicked in, guiding my movements. I drew my sword, its familiar weight a comfort in my hand, and began a series of sweeping slashes and precise thrusts against imaginary foes. My movements were fluid, powerful, each strike imbued with a deadly grace. I moved through a complex series of combat forms, my body a blur of motion, muscles coiling and releasing with effortless power. Every lunge, every parry, every spin felt instinctively right, my enhanced Strength and Agility making me a formidable force. I pushed myself, feeling the burn in my muscles, the sweat beading on my brow, reveling in the raw physicality of the training.
By the time two or three hours had passed, I was thoroughly invigorated, both magically and physically. I sheathed my sword and made my way back to the inn. The inviting aroma of cooking wafted from the kitchen, and I found Gretchen busy preparing lunch, her back to me. The inn was quiet, the midday rush yet to begin, leaving us momentarily alone.
I seized the opportunity. Silently, I approached her from behind, my arms encircling her waist. I leaned in, my mouth brushing against her ear, as my hands found purchase on her large, firm breasts, kneading them gently through her clothes. She gasped softly, her body tensing, then relaxing into my touch. I felt the familiar weight of her ample curves against my palms, pressing into their yielding softness.
"Mmmph..." A low moan rumbled from her throat as I pushed my burgeoning erection against her ample ass. The thick, throbbing warmth of my boner, even through the layers of our clothes, was undeniable, a potent reminder of last night's conquest. She pressed back instinctively, a silent invitation, her ass grinding subtly against me, savoring the heat.
I continued to tease her, my fingers deftly circling her nipples through the fabric, making them pebble beneath my touch. Her breath hitched, and she arched her back, pushing her rear more firmly into my groin. I leaned down, kissing the sensitive skin of her neck, tasting the faint saltiness of sweat and the sweet scent of her arousal. Her moans grew louder, a soft, continuous hum of pleasure. I toyed with her, my hands moving from her breasts to cup her firm buttocks, squeezing and releasing, feeling the taut muscle beneath my palms. I could feel the silk of her underthings against my fingertips, a thin barrier that only intensified the sensation, the promise of bare flesh a delicious torment. My thumbs found the sensitive crevice between her buttocks, tracing the tantalizing line, hinting at deeper invasions.
"Master..." she whispered, her voice husky, almost lost in her breathing. She kept her hands busy with the lunch preparations, but her movements were slower, more deliberate, clearly distracted by my intimate assault. Her hips swayed with each grind of my erection, a silent testament to her burgeoning desire. The soft clinking of pots and pans seemed to mock her rising need, a mundane backdrop to our private, escalating game.
I continued to knead, to stroke, to tantalize, keeping her on the edge, pushing her just enough to elicit those breathless moans, but never fully unleashing the full force of my intentions. The playful torment was exquisitely satisfying. After a few more minutes, the first sounds of returning customers drifted from the common room. I pulled away, leaving her breathless and flushed, her body trembling with unfulfilled desire. Her apron was slightly askew, a tell-tale sign of our clandestine moment.
I gave her firm butt a parting pat. "Lunch smells delicious, Gretchen," I murmured, a knowing smirk on my face. She gasped, a soft whimper escaping her as she turned, her eyes wide, glistening with a mix of frustration and adoration. I simply winked and made my way to my room, eager to await Amelia's return and hear the full account of her "therapy" session with Elara.
The midday sun beat down as Amelia and Elara made their way towards Elara's house. I trusted completely in Amelia's prowess to handle this delicate, yet profoundly effective, "therapy." My own training session at the inn had left me feeling potent and satisfied, the memory of Gretchen's heated moans a pleasant hum in my mind.
Upon entering the Matron Mage's home, a modest but comfortable dwelling, they found Theron, Elara's husband, dutifully tending to some household chores. He was dusting a bookshelf, his movements precise but entirely unremarkable. As he looked up, his mild eyes widened slightly at the sight of Elara and Amelia, then flickered with a nervous excitement as he took in Elara's slightly flushed face.
Amelia stepped forward, her presence commanding yet tempered with an almost clinical calmness. "I am Amelia, assistant to the medical practitioner. You must be Elara's husband," she stated, her gaze sweeping over him, appraising. "I am here for the therapy for your… condition. From this point forward, I will be engaging Elara in intensive sexual training, with the goal of stimulating your… recovery."
Theron visibly fumbled the duster, his hands trembling slightly. His gaze darted between Elara and Amelia, a profound mix of apprehension and raw, barely contained excitement flickering in his eyes. He swallowed hard, attempting to compose himself as the mention of "training Elara" clearly excited him. Indeed, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor began to run through his slender frame, and his dick seemed to swell beneath his robes.
Amelia, sensing his rising arousal, stepped forward with a confident, almost playful smirk. She slid her arm around Elara's waist, pulling the Matron Mage gently but firmly against her side. Elara, still observing her husband's reaction, yielded easily, a faint blush returning to her cheeks.
"Oh, husband," Amelia purred, her voice a low, seductive rumble clearly meant for him. Her words dripped with a teasing, taunting authority. "It seems you couldn't quite handle this beautiful lady, could you? You couldn't make her truly feel what she's capable of. But don't worry, darling. I'll show you how to properly play with this butt." As she spoke, Amelia's hand, with a deliberate, slow movement, dropped from Elara's waist to firmly cup one of Elara's well-toned buttocks, giving it a light, possessive squeeze.
Theron's eyes widened to saucers. A choked gasp escaped his lips, and his entire body spasmed with a jolt of intense, humiliated pleasure. His erection, already prominent, visibly hardened to an almost painful degree, thrusting against his robes. The excitement radiating from him was palpable, a desperate, animalistic yearning.
Elara gasped softly beside Amelia, her eyes momentarily wide with shock at Amelia's audacious display and Theron's immediate, violent reaction. But then, a slow, dawning realization spread across her face. This was working. This humiliation, this blatant display of dominance over her, was exactly what Theron responded to. A faint, almost imperceptible shudder, a strange mix of discomfort and a burgeoning, unexpected thrill, ran through her own body.
"It's working," Amelia murmured to Elara, her voice low and triumphant. Elara nodded mutely, her eyes still fixed on her husband's trembling form.
Amelia then addressed Theron, her voice brisk. "Now, Theron. We require your private chambers for this therapy. Where is your bedroom?"
Theron, still trembling, stammered out directions, his voice a barely coherent whisper, his eyes never leaving Amelia's dominant form or Elara's buttock.
Amelia, still holding Elara possessively by the waist, led the Matron Mage deeper into the house, following Theron's directions. They entered a quiet, tastefully furnished bedroom. Once inside, Amelia released Elara and gestured to the large, soft bed. Both women sat down, a comfortable silence settling between them.
"Looks like it's working beautifully, doesn't it?" Amelia stated, a satisfied smirk on her face.
Elara nodded, a profound sigh escaping her lips. "I've never… I've never seen him like that before. So… so excited." A touch of sadness, even regret, colored her tone. "He's usually so… quiet. So withdrawn."
Amelia's expression softened, a touch of genuine empathy mingling with her usual manipulative charm. "Elara, your husband is what we call a cuckold. And it seems, from his reaction, a rather significant one."
Elara merely nodded again, her gaze distant, filled with a quiet sorrow. "I always suspected… that something like this was at play. But to see it so plainly…" She trailed off, a hint of shame touching her features.
Amelia leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her powerful Charisma enveloping Elara like a warm blanket. "So, Elara," she began, her words seductive and carefully chosen, "do you want to truly NTR your husband with me? To completely cuckold him? To take this to its absolute limit? It will only get him more excited, I assure you. His impotence… it could be completely cured if we fully embrace this. And think, Elara," Amelia added, her voice laced with subtle manipulation, "it wouldn't truly be cheating, would it? We are both women. There's no risk of… unwanted consequences. No messy fears of pregnancy or breaking oaths in the traditional sense. This would simply be… therapy. For him. And perhaps… a release for you as well."
Elara's eyes, already wide, widened further. The idea was shocking, forbidden, yet utterly compelling. The thought of relief for Theron, of finally overcoming this obstacle in their lives, mingled with a new, unexpected surge of desire within herself. Amelia's powerful charm was working its magic, slowly dismantling Elara's ingrained modesty and societal expectations. The very concept of "therapy" framed the illicit act in a way that made it palatable, even desirable.
After a long moment of intense contemplation, a shaky breath escaped Elara's lips. Her gaze met Amelia's, then darted towards the door, as if sensing Theron's lingering presence outside. A profound, almost desperate hope, fueled by the morning's undeniable success and Amelia's compelling charm, finally won out over her reservations.
"Yes," Elara whispered, her voice barely audible, but firm with a newfound, hesitant resolve. "Yes, Amelia. Let's… let's do it. For Theron. For… for us."