Chapter 103: The Ancient Tree Ritual
The air in Crimson Hollow didn’t just hum; it pulsed, a low-frequency throb that seemed to originate from the gnarled oak itself. Its roots, thick as a man’s thigh, breached the cobblestones like petrified serpents. Aidan stood before the flat, dark stone, feeling the gaze of two dozen women like a physical heat on his skin. Their silence was worse than any demand.
Mei’s fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. Each pop of a button was loud in the quiet. She pushed the fabric from his shoulders, her small hands smoothing over the hard planes of his chest, the old scar from a training yard knife fight below his ribs. Her touch was proprietary, loving, a stark contrast to the collective hunger encircling them.
“For them,” she whispered, her lips brushing his sternum. “And for us.”
She knelt, the damp stone darkening the knees of her otherwise pristine skin. Her eyes, upturned, held his as her hands worked his belt, the button of his trousers, the zip. The cool air hit his flesh, then her warm breath. She nuzzled the thick, soft weight of him through his shorts before hooking her thumbs in the waistband and drawing him out.
A collective, sharp inhale came from the circle. His cock, already thickening, lay heavy in Mei’s palm. She kissed the tip, a tender brush of her lips against the slit, before opening her mouth and taking him in.
She worked him with a practiced, devoted intensity. Her tongue swirled around the crown, licking up the pre-cum that beaded there, swallowing him down until her nose pressed into his pubic hair. She gagged gently, tears springing to her eyes, but she held him there, her throat fluttering around the impossible girth. The sounds were obscenely wet, loud in the ritual silence. He watched, transfixed, as her cheeks hollowed, as she pulled back with a slick pop only to spear herself on him again, taking him deeper each time. His hands found her hair, not to guide but to anchor himself as his hips gave a helpless, shallow thrust.
“Fuck, Mei,” he breathed, his head falling back. The tree’s branches seemed to reach for him.
When she finally released him, he was fully erect, a vicious, veined pillar of flesh, glistening with her spit. She rose, her own body trembling, and led him to sit on the stone’s edge. The ancient rock was cold against his ass. Mei climbed onto his lap, her thighs framing his, her tiny body a pale ghost in the torchlight. She positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, already slick and swollen for him.
“Watch me take you,” she said, her voice shaking not with fear, but with want.
She sank down.
It was always a stunning, brutal stretch. Her tight cunt parted for him millimeter by millimeter, a burning, velvet resistance that made them both cry out. He saw the strain in her neck, the clench of her jaw as her body accepted what it should not be able to. She took him to the hilt, his pelvis grinding against her clit, her inner walls stretched taut around his monstrous shaft. She was so full she could only sit there for a moment, panting, impaled.
Then she moved.
Her rhythm was slow, deliberate, a deep, rolling grind that milked him from root to tip. Each rise was an exquisite torture, each fall a perfect, crushing relief. Her nails dug into his shoulders. “You feel it… the tree… it feels you,” she gasped, her words breaking apart. The air did seem to thicken, the chanted whispers of the women winding around them like smoke.
Aidan’s control shattered. He gripped her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh, and began to fuck up into her, driving her down onto him with piston-force strokes. The stone beneath them was unforgiving, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the surrounding huts. Mei’s cries turned shrill, her head thrown back, her body convulsing around him as her orgasm ripped through her.
“Cum,” she begged, raking her nails down his chest. “Fill my cunt, Aidan, please, I need it—”
His release was a tidal wave, blinding and absolute. He slammed her down, burying himself to the balls as he erupted, jet after hot jet of semen pumping deep into her womb. He groaned, a raw, animal sound, as he emptied himself, feeling her fluttering channel draw every last drop from him.
For a long moment, they were still, joined, breathing the same incense-thick air.
Mei slid off him, his spent cock slipping from her with a wet, messy sound. She turned, presenting herself on her hands and knees on the stone. The torchlight gleamed on the mix of their fluids glistening on her inner thighs, on the tight, rosebud pucker of her asshole.
“Here,” she said, looking back over her shoulder, her eyes dark. “They need to see you claim all of me.”
He needed no urging. His cock, still miraculously hard from the ritual energy or the sheer deviance of it, wept fresh pre-cum. He spat into his palm, slicking himself, then pressed the broad, leaking head against her back entrance.
“Breathe out,” he commanded, his voice rough.
She exhaled, and he pushed.
The resistance was fierce, a tight, burning ring of muscle that fought his invasion. He leaned his weight into it, perspiration beading on his brow, until with a sudden, brutal pop, the head breached her. Mei screamed, a sound of pain and profound satisfaction that was swallowed by the approving murmur of the circle.
He fucked her ass slowly at first, each inch a hard-won conquest, her channel gripping him like a hot, silken fist. Then deeper, faster, the lewd, wet sounds of it filling the plaza. He pounded into her, his balls slapping against her soaked cunt, his mind blank to everything but the heat and the pressure and the sight of his thick shaft disappearing into her petite body.
“Gonna fill your ass,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, brutal. “Gonna breed you in every fucking hole.”
His second climax was a sharper, more desperate thing. He drove in to the root, held there, and pulsed, seeding her bowels with a hot, shameful rush that made her sob his name into the stone.
He pulled out, staggering back. Mei collapsed forward, spent, his cum already leaking from her.
The first village woman was already moving forward, an older matron with stern eyes and a hungry smile. She laid a hand on the stone, still warm from their bodies.
“The blessing,” she said, not a request but an acknowledgment.
Aidan looked at Mei, who gave him a tired, proud nod. He looked at his cock, still hard, jutting out like a weapon. He felt the old mix—embarrassment, a thrill of power, a deep, unsettling arousal. This was his duty. His function.
He reached for the woman, drawing her to the stone.
The night deepened. The torchlights guttered. One by one, they came. He took them on the stone, in the dirt, against the pulsing roots of the oak. He filled cunts and mouths, his stamina a relic of his training and the strange energy of the hollow. He lost count. The faces blurred into a tableau of parted lips, clenched eyes, and grasping hands. He was a tool, a font, a god.
As the sky began to pale, the last woman—a young girl with wide, awestruck eyes—stumbled away, her thighs wet with him. Aidan sat on the blood-dark stone, his body trembling with exhaustion, his cock finally softening against his thigh, raw and spent.
Mei crawled to him, wiping his stomach with a piece of cloth she had produced from somewhere. She leaned her head against his shoulder. In the grey dawn, the tree looked less like a pagan god and more like a dead, twisted thing.
“It is done,” she said softly.
Aidan said nothing. He stared at his hands. They were shaking. The circuit was complete. The road now led only back to Tokyo, to the gilded cage of the Tanaka empire, where a different kind of hunger awaited. He helped Mei to her feet. Together, they walked from the hollow, leaving the echoes of chants and the smell of sex and old blood behind them. The weight of what he had done, of what he had become, settled on him more heavily with each step away from the stone.