Chapter 1: First Night of Many
The walls pulsed, a deep, distant thump-thump that vibrated up through the floorboards and into the narrow bed. Jake lay stiff, eyes wide open in the near-dark. A single lantern flickered on the shelf above him, casting leaping shadows over the stack of tattered manga next to a half-empty flask of ale. The smell was a weird mix: dried herbs, old parchment, and the sweet, musky scent of the woman breathing softly beside him.
Luna shifted in her sleep, a warm, dense weight against his side. Her back was to him, the curve of her spine a pale line in the gloom. She was naked. He was naked. This was, technically, everything he’d ever dreamed about back in his old room. A real catgirl. In his bed. In a fantasy world.
So why did he feel like he was going to vibrate out of his own skin?
His cock was a rigid, aching problem pressed against the rough sheet. Every slow exhale from Luna, every shift of her hips, made it worse. He’d been hard for what felt like hours, paralyzed by a cocktail of wild desire and pure,社交 awkwardness. He’d summoned fireballs. He’d parsed dungeon glyphs. This, the simple reality of a warm body, was an unsolvable puzzle.
He tried to think about mana circuits. About skill trees. Nothing worked.
With a soft sigh, Luna rolled over. The movement was fluid, unconscious. Her arm flopped across his chest, and her face, serene in sleep, nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. Her full breasts pressed against his ribcage, soft and heavy.
Jake stopped breathing.
Her hand, which had been resting on his stomach, slid down. Fingers brushed his lower belly, then drifted lower, just shy of where he throbbed. A sleepy, questioning murmur escaped her lips. Her thighs, thick and powerful, shifted apart slightly against his leg.
It was an accident. It had to be. But his brain short-circuited. A choked sound, half-whimper, half-gasp, left his throat.
Luna’s eyes fluttered open. Kind, amber-colored eyes, slit-pupiled and slightly unfocused. She didn’t jump away. She didn’t scream. She blinked slowly, her gaze traveling from his panicked face down the length of their bodies. Her expression softened into something unbearably gentle.
“Oh, sweet boy,” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep. “You’re all wound up.”
Her hand, which had been hovering, finally closed around him. Jake jerked, a full-body spasm of shock and overwhelming sensation. He’d touched himself, sure, but this was different. Her grip was firm, knowing, calloused from work but incredibly soft in its movement.
“I… I didn’t…” he stammered.
“Shhh.” She squeezed gently, stroking once, twice, and the words died in his throat. “It’s natural. It’s alright.” With her other hand, she took his—the one clenched rigidly at his side—and brought it up. She pressed his palm flat against her breast. Her skin was shockingly warm, her nipple pebbled against his center of his palm. “See? I’m here. I’m real.”
He finally moved. His fingers, clumsy and desperate, curled around the generous swell of her breast. He squeezed, experimentally. A soft, approving sound came from her. Emboldened, he squeezed harder, fascinated by the give and weight of it, by the way it jiggled as he kneaded it. He couldn’t get enough. He groped, switched to the other one, his breathing becoming ragged pants.
Luna just watched him, a patient, almost sad smile on her lips. She guided his head down. “Go on.”
He buried his face between her breasts, inhaling her scent—like sunshine and fresh milk. He nuzzled, licked a salty trail of sweat from her cleavage. His hips began to pump involuntarily into the circle of her still-moving hand.
“Please,” he grunted into her skin, the word muffled. It wasn’t a request; it was a frantic, needy noise.
“I know,” she soothed. She released him and spread her thighs wider, hooking one strong leg over his hip, pulling him on top of her. The new position was clumsy. He fumbled, his elbow knocking the ale flask on the shelf. It wobbled but didn’t fall. “Easy. Easy now. There’s no rush.”
But there was. There was every rush in the world. All the pent-up fantasy, the loneliness of two worlds, the sheer, confusing want, focused into a single, burning point. He probed blindly between her legs, finding her wet and open. He didn’t pause. He didn’t ask. He just pushed forward, sheathing himself inside her in one frantic, ungraceful thrust.
Luna let out a sharp, sucked-in breath, her body tensing for a second beneath him. Her eyes closed. “Oh. Okay.”
Jake didn’t hear the hesitation. He was gone. The sensation was overwhelming, a hot, velvet tightness that shorted out every higher thought. He rutted. There was no other word for it. Short, frantic, piston-like drives of his hips, his face still buried in her chest, his hands gripping her shoulders for leverage. The bed frame knocked a ragged rhythm against the wall, competing with the distant thump-thump of the dungeon.
He was vocal, grunting with each drive. Luna was silent, her arms wrapped around his back, one hand cradling the back of his head. She moved with him, adjusting her hips minutely to take his awkward angle. Her breath came in warm puffs against his ear.
It didn’t last long. A coil, wound impossibly tight since he’d arrived in this world, snapped. With a final, shuddering cry that was more relief than pleasure, he spilled into her. His thrusts slowed to weak twitches, then stopped entirely.
The exhaustion was instant and absolute. The frantic energy vanished, leaving a hollow, trembling shell. He went boneless, his full weight collapsing on her. He didn’t pull out. He just stayed there, buried inside her, his face squashed uncomfortably between her breasts, his breathing slowly returning to normal.
Within moments, the deep, tidal pull of sleep dragged him under. He didn’t feel her careful hands stroking his damp hair. He didn’t hear her quiet, shaky sigh as she stared at the peeling wallpaper above. He didn’t feel the subtle, hopeful shift of her hips, trying to cradle him just a little closer before she, too, closed her eyes.
The lantern flickered, sputtered, and went out. The room was left in deep darkness, the only sound the synced rhythm of their breathing and the relentless, distant pounding of stone.
The room was left in deep darkness, the only sound the synced rhythm of their breathing and the relentless, distant pounding of stone.
Jake surfaced from sleep not all at once, but in a slow, warm tide. Consciousness returned first as a physical sensation: a wet patch on his chin from drooling, and a deep, pleasant ache in his hips. He was moving. Small, unconscious thrusts. The tight, wet heat surrounding him clarified everything. He was still inside her.
He blinked, groggy, the room still shrouded in pre-dawn grey. Luna was awake. Her amber eyes were soft on him in the dim light, her fingers gently carding through his messy brown hair. She didn’t stop him. She just watched, a patient tenderness smoothing her features, letting his sleeping body do what it wanted.
A soft whine escaped his throat as drowsiness fought with the building pressure in his groin. His pace hitched, sped up for a few thrusts, then slowed again as sleep tried to pull him back under. His hands, which had been limp on the sheets, wandered. One found the base of her spine, where the soft, velvety fur of her tail began. He stroked it absently, his fingers sinking into the dense pelt.
Driven by a half-awake instinct, he tilted his head and took her nipple into his mouth. He sucked lazily, his tongue circling the peak.
Luna’s breath caught. Her whole body, which had been pliant and soft, coiled into tense readiness. Pleasure, sharp and deep, gathered low in her belly. She couldn’t stay still. Her hips rolled upward, meeting one of his shallow thrusts, driving him deeper inside her.
That did it. The spark became a flame. Jake groaned, his eyes fluttering open fully now, though his mind was still fogged with sleep. He began to fuck her in earnest, his movements still languid but purposeful, each stroke aided by the slick mess they’d made hours before. He pumped into her, his face buried in the swell of her breast, her scent and warmth filling his senses. It was slow, grinding, effortless.
After five minutes of this drowsy, relentless rhythm, his back arched. A low, drawn-out groan vibrated against her skin as he came, spilling into her a second time in less than twelve hours. He shuddered, his thrusts stuttering to a stop. Finally, spent, he rolled off of her with a wet, soft sound.
They lay side by side, breathing heavily. Luna’s pussy throbbed, dripping his cum onto the stained sheet beneath her. It felt swollen, puffy, and gloriously used.
“Fuck,” Jake breathed, staring at the crooked shelf above them. A stupid, dazed grin spread across his face. “That was… fucking amazing. Waking up to that. Better than I ever imagined.”
Luna turned her head on the pillow. To her, the raw statement wasn’t a commentary on the act itself, but a compliment to her. He liked it with her. A fragile warmth blossomed in her chest, easing the slight soreness between her legs. She reached over and brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “I’m glad, Jake.”
His stomach chose that moment to growl, a loud, rippling gurgle that broke the quiet.
Her maternal instincts snapped into place, overlaying everything else. He needed sustenance. She sat up, the cool morning air raising goosebumps on her skin. “You need food. I’ll make breakfast.”
She slid out of bed, wincing slightly at the damp feeling that trailed down her thigh. Jake watched her pad naked to the small washstand, her tail twitching gracefully. Only then did the urgent pressure in his own bladder announce itself, a painful reminder that had been almost drowned out by his climax. “Oh shit,” he muttered, scrambling up. “Piss. Now.”
He hurried outside to the privy, the wooden floorboards cold under his bare feet. The dawn air was crisp. As he relieved himself against the side of the cottage, he replayed the morning in his head. It was efficient. Biological. Awesome.
Inside, the smell of frying eggs and cheap sausage soon filled the small space. They ate at the wobbly table, Jake shoveling food into his mouth between animated statements.
“The feeling, when you clench down like that? Incredible. Like, a perfect pressure. And the wetness, Jesus. Is it always that wet?” he asked, mouth full.
Luna nodded, sipping her tea. “Usually. For you, anyway.”
He beamed, taking it as more praise. “I’m gonna hunt Slime-bats today. Their gelatinous cores are selling for a ton at the apothecary since the alchemist moved in. If I use a compressed water needle, right through the membrane, it should pop them cleanly without damaging the core. A pressurized jet might work too, but the needle is more mana-efficient.” He gestured with his fork, outlining invisible diagrams in the air.
Luna listened, nodding along, asking a quiet question here and there about his safety. Her mind was elsewhere, on the mundane inventory of the cottage. Her body still hummed from his, her senses full of him.
Breakfast finished, Jake jumped up, energized. “Right! Time to go test the theory.”
As he grabbed his worn leather satchel by the door, Luna moved to him. “Wait.”
She pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him, pressing his face into the softness of her breasts. He stiffened for a second, annoyed by the delay, but tolerated it, his hands patting her back awkwardly. He inhaled the familiar soap-and-herself scent of her skin. After a moment, he squirmed free.
“Okay, okay. Bye, Luna.” He flashed her a bright, distracted smile and was out the door, the wooden frame rattling shut behind him.
Luna stood for a moment in the sudden quiet of the cottage, her arms still slightly outstretched. Then she turned, methodically clearing the plates. She began her chores, her movements practiced and automatic. As she swept, she mentally cataloged the pantry. Potatoes, onions, a tough root vegetable that needed slow cooking. Maybe a stew. He’d be hungry when he came home.
The distant thump-thump from the dungeon continued its steady beat, a counter-rhythm to the swish of her broom.