Chapter 7: Morning After
He woke to the smell of dew and damp fur. The breeding hut was quiet, a cathedral of spent bodies. Soft snores and sighing breaths echoed in the vast space. The weight on him had lessened, but not disappeared. Luna was curled into his side, her mouth slightly open, a thread of drool connecting her plump lower lip to his pectoral. Daisy was a warm, heavy blanket over his legs.
A thin blade of morning light cut through a high window, illuminating motes of dust and the faint, shimmering haze of dried sweat and sex that hung in the air.
Luna’s ears twitched before her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, focused on him, and her entire face ignited with a joy so pure it was almost painful to behold. She didn’t speak. Instead, she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, her tail thumping a slow, rhythmic beat against the furs.
“Daddy’s awake,” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.
She shifted, her large, soft breasts pressing into his side as she propped herself up on an elbow. Her blonde hair was a wild cascade, tangled from the night. She looked down at him, her blue eyes wide and pleading.
“I had a thought,” she murmured, her fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. “A really, really good thought.”
Eryndor simply looked at her. His body ached with a deep, foundational fatigue. His mind felt scoured clean, silent.
“You should take me for a walk,” she said, as if proposing a grand adventure. “Like, a proper walk. With a leash.” Her eyes sparkled. “You could use my hair. It’s long. And strong. I’ve been good, right? I’ve been so good.”
She rolled onto her hands and knees, presenting the nape of her neck to him. Her blonde hair fell forward in a thick, silken wave. “Please, Daddy? Wanna be your good girl outside. Wanna show everyone I’m yours.”
A part of him, the ghost of the ranger, recoiled. This was a degradation. An absurdity.
But a larger, newer part—the part that had moved mechanically from one wet, welcoming heat to the next, the part that had felt dozens of wills shatter and reform around his own—stirred with a low, interested thrum.
He sat up. The movement stirred Daisy, who mumbled and clutched his leg tighter. Gently, he disentangled himself. The cool air of the hut kissed his skin, raising goosebumps.
Luna watched, quivering with anticipation.
He reached out. He gathered a thick fistful of her blonde hair, close to the scalp, where it was strong. He didn’t pull. He just held it.
A shuddering sigh escaped her. Her eyes rolled back slightly. “Yessss…”
He stood, his legs protesting. He kept his grip firm. Luna scrambled to her feet, moving with him, staying close to the anchor of his hand. Her head was tilted back, exposing the long line of her throat. A dopey, blissful smile was plastered on her face.
They moved through the maze of sleeping bodies. A few eyes opened, watched them pass. There was no jealousy, only a soft, yearning admiration. A brunette with sleepy eyes reached out as Luna passed, giving her rump an affectionate, congratulatory pat.
The village green was bathed in pale gold. The feast table was cleared. A few houndesses were already about, drawing water from the well, tending to small garden plots. They all stopped. They watched.
Eryndor walked, and Luna followed at the end of her hair-leash, her steps perfectly synced to his, her back straight, her chest thrust out proudly. The morning sun glinted off the slight dampness at the apex of her thighs. She made no attempt to cover herself.
“Morning, Luna,” a redhead called from a doorway, her tone respectful.
“Mmmhmm!” Luna hummed, unable to nod. “Daddy’s walking me.”
They reached the tree line at the edge of the clearing. The forest loomed, familiar and dark. His forest. Or it had been. Now it was just a backdrop.
He stopped. Luna stood, waiting, her breath coming in little excited pants. He gave the hair a slight, experimental tug.
She moaned, low in her throat. “More, Daddy. Please?”
He pulled, guiding her to the left, toward a thick, mossy patch. She went eagerly, stumbling just a little on her toes, her balance surrendered to his grip.
“Here,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “This is my spot.”
She lowered herself, not bothering with the moss, simply squatting in the dirt. She looked up at him, her grip on his hand still tight in her hair, her expression one of utter, vacant trust. “I gotta make water,” she announced, as if reporting the weather. “Don’t let go, okay?”
He didn’t.
She closed her eyes, a look of profound concentration wrinkling her brow. Then came the sound. A loud, steady, hissing SSSSHHHHHHHHH. It pattered onto the leaf litter and dirt, steaming slightly in the cool air. A strong, musky, slightly sweet odor rose up, mingling with the scent of earth. Luna’s face slackened into an expression of pure, simple relief. Her tongue lolled out slightly, a thin string of drool escaping the corner of her mouth to join the stream below.
Drip… drip… plip.
She emptied herself completely, the sound tapering off into a few last, sprinkling drops. She sighed, a contented, emptying sigh. She remained squatting, making no move to clean herself, just looking up at him with liquid, adoring eyes.
“All done,” she chirped. “Your good girl did it right where you put her.”
Something shifted inside Eryndor. It wasn’t thought. It was a sensation, deep in his gut, warm and dark and spreading. It was the sight of her absolute vulnerability. The sound of her obedience. The smell of her submission, literal and metaphorical, soaking into the ground.
It was power. Pure, undiluted, and terrifyingly sweet.
He released her hair. She whined softly at the loss of contact but stayed put. He looked down at her, at the damp evidence of his control glistening on her inner thighs.
“Clean yourself,” he said. His voice was rough from disuse, but it held a new note. A command that brooked no dissent.
Luna’s eyes widened. Then she beamed. Eagerly, she bowed her head and began to lick, long, thorough strokes of her tongue. The slurping sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet glade. SLURP. SHLUP. SLORP.
He watched. And the warm, dark feeling grew.
When she was done, she looked up, her chin glistening. “All clean, Daddy!”
He didn’t offer his hand. He simply turned and began to walk back toward the village. After a heartbeat of startled silence, he heard the frantic scramble of her feet on the path as she hurried to catch up, not to walk beside him, but a respectful step behind, her tail wagging a frantic, happy tempo.
The village watched them return. The silence was different now. It wasn’t just curiosity or hunger. It was appraisal. It was reverence.
The grey-eared woman, the leader, stood by the well. She met Eryndor’s eyes and gave a slow, deliberate nod. Not just approval. Acknowledgement.
He had walked one. He had owned a simple, basic function. And in doing so, he had claimed them all, more completely than he had with the frenzied breeding of the day before. That had been a service. This was sovereignty.
Luna trotted up to his side, daring now to press against him. “Can we do that every morning, Daddy? Please? I’ll be so good.”
Eryndor looked out over the clearing. Over the dozens of pairs of watching eyes, the swishing tails, the bodies that existed now in a state of hopeful, eager readiness. Waiting for his next command. His next whim.
The ghost of the ranger faded, screaming into a void.
The Reclaimer took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air that smelled of pine, and damp earth, and willing bitches.
“Yes,” he said, the word final. “Every morning.”