He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, both drenched in sweat, her back rising and falling in ragged gasps. Her fingers weakly clutched at his forearm, which was still wrapped tightly around her waist.
Sol chuckled darkly, nipping at her earlobe as he finally pulled out slowly—her inner muscles clenched futilely around the emptiness, a lewd pop echoing in the silence as his cock slipped free. A thick stream of cum mixed with some other fluids trickled from her gaping entrance, pooling between her thighs. She whimpered at the sudden loss of fullness, her body twitching like a gutted fish on the furs.
He turned to look at his handiwork. Her limbs were sprawled in total disarray, her skin flushed and marked, her expression one of absolute, decimated bliss. A part of him wanted to do so much more. His mind raced with images of other positions... bending her over in the Flatiron, taking her from behind in a feral doggy style, watching her bounce on him.
But alas, reality crashed down on him. He was completely spent.
His chest heaved, and his legs felt like jelly. Two rounds had drained him entirely. This body was still weak, malnourished, and recovering from a beating. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was trembling with exhaustion.
He collapsed onto the furs beside her, staring up at the dark, thatched roof of the hut.
"Hey," he whispered, nudging her shoulder slightly. "What is your name?"
There was no answer.
Sol frowned. He nudged her again, harder. "I asked you a question."
She remained limp, her head lolloping to the side.
Panic flared for a split second. Had he really broken her for real? He hurriedly reached out, pressing two fingers against her neck to check her pulse, then placing his hand under her nose. He let out a relieved breath when he felt the steady, strong beat of her heart and the warm puff of air against his skin.
She wasn’t dead. She was just fast alseep...passed out from the sheer intensity of the pleasure and exhaustion.
He flopped back down, wiping sweat from his forehead. He stared into the gloom, trying to process the chaotic storm of information in his head.
Even though he had inherited the memories of the previous Sol, they weren’t like a well-organized library. They were a messy, chaotic jumble. He didn’t have photographic recall; he couldn’t just pull up a map of the village or a genealogy of the tribe at will. Memories only surfaced when triggered by a face, a smell, or a word, often mixed up with his own modern knowledge, creating a disorienting fog.
But amidst that fog, one thing was becoming crystal clear: this power.
He lay there, analyzing what had just happened. He had read tons of fantasy novels and comics in his past life, so he had a framework to understand supernatural phenomena, even if this was reality.
He looked at the woman sleeping beside him. She had obeyed him perfectly. But it wasn’t the robotic, glazed-over obedience of traditional mind control. She hadn’t been a zombie. She had retained her personality, her sanity, her fears, and her desires.
"It’s definitely not domination," Sol mused silently. "It’s... more like re-writing."
When he gave a command, it didn’t feel like he was forcing her against her will. It felt like he was changing her Common Sense.
It was as if he altered the fundamental laws of her reality. In her mind, stripping for him wasn’t strange... it was as natural as breathing. Giving him a blowjob wasn’t a taboo act for a married woman...it was the logical, obvious thing to do. He realized his power was closer to manipulating the "Truth" or the "Axioms" of the world for a specific target. He made his words the new Law of Nature for the listener.
"If this is really true, then this is really terrifying," he whispered, a grin spreading across his face. "And perfect."
Just as he reached that conclusion, a sudden sensation interrupted his thoughts.
It started as a spark in the center of his chest... the same warm current he had felt briefly after climaxing with his aunt earlier that morning. But this time, the sensation wasn’t a trickle; it was a flood.
It felt like a dam had broken inside his ribcage.
A thick, potent heat surged outward from his sternum. It didn’t hurt; it felt incredible, like bathing in hot spring water after freezing in the snow. The energy washed over him, flowing into his tired arms, down his trembling legs, and wrapping around his spine. Every muscle fiber it touched seemed to vibrate, knitting together, shedding the fatigue and the soreness instantly.
Then, the current rushed upward.
It hit his brain like a hammer wrapped in velvet.
His mind went blank. For a second, there was nothing but white noise.
Then, he regained his clarity.
The world suddenly seemed to sharpen. The darkness of the hut wasn’t so dark anymore; he could make out the individual strands of straw in the thatched roof, the grain of the wood in the support beams. The muffled sounds of the night became distinct layers of audio... the chirp of a cricket three huts away, the rustle of wind in the trees, the steady heartbeat of the woman beside him. Even the smell of the air separated into components: musk, dust, distant smoke, crushed grass, the metallic tang of blood from a distant butchery.
He gasped, sitting up, looking at his hands. They had stopped trembling. He clenched his fist, and the grip felt solid, tighter than it had ever been. His body felt lighter, as if the gravity holding him down had lessened.
But unlike before, the surge of energy slowly receded, but it didn’t disappear into the void. Instead, Sol felt the remaining warmth retract, coiling back like a serpent until it settled into a specific, hollow cavity right in the middle of his chest. It sat there, a reservoir of warm, humming power, waiting to be tapped again.
"What is this? Vitality absorption? Mana?" Sol wondered, touching his chest. "Or... maybe cultivation?"