Sol’s hand hooked into the waistband of her woven trousers. He pulled downwards, intending to strip her bare and expose the prize he had been working towards.
Lyra’s hand shot back, gripping his wrist with unexpected strength.
"No!" she gasped, her body locking up. "Sol, stop! Not here!"
Sol frowned, tugging again, but she held fast. "Aunt, the treatment requires direct contact. The energy cannot flow through this weave."
"We cannot be naked here!" she pleaded, pressing her face into the furs, her voice tight with genuine fear. "This is the Hearth... the Ancestor’s soil! To bare one’s lower half where we eat... it is forbidden! The spirits will curse us!"
Sol grit his teeth hard. DamnSuperstition.
He focused on the Ash Gray energy, trying to summon a command strong enough to shatter this primitive taboo, to make her forget the gods and only see him. He pushed... but the reservoir was dry. The earlier exertion in the wilderness and the sensitivity boost he had just burned to awaken her nerves had already drained him. He hit a mental wall, and he felt that if he tried any harder, there would be severe consequences. So, he stopped.
He couldn’t force her mind. Not right now.
He let out a sharp, frustrated breath through his nose. He looked at the rough, woven fabric covering her ass. It was a barrier, yes... but with her sensitivity dialed up this high, maybe it didn’t matter.
"Fine," he whispered, releasing her waistband but not his position. "If the barrier remains, then I must apply more pressure to reach through it."
He moved his hand between her legs again, cupping her ass fully over the rough fabric of her trousers.
"I will work through the cloth," he stated.
He pressed his palm flat against her mound, grinding the heel of his hand down against her pubic bone. The weave was coarse, but underneath, he could feel the radiating heat of her body....she was burning up.
Even through the coarse, woven fabric of her trousers, he could feel the incredible quality of her body. This wasn’t the soft, doughy flesh of a noblewoman who sat on cushions; this was the result of survival. Her glutes were firm, honed by years of walking the forests and tilling the earth, yet they possessed a delicious, elastic give when he squeezed.
He dug his fingers in, kneading the flesh. It yielded under his grip, snapping back with a resilience that drove him mad. It was power wrapped in softness.
"You are so strong, Aunt," he murmured, his thumbs circling the dimples of her lower back before pressing deep into the meat of her ass. "Solid. Built to endure."
Lyra let out a shaky breath, her face buried in the furs. The praise, combined with the heat of his palms seeping through her clothes, was making her head spin. "Sol... you are pressing... so hard."
"I have to," he grunted.
He lowered his hips, closing the distance between them.
He pressed the rock-hard top of his cock directly against the vertical seam of her trousers, slotting himself perfectly into the crack of her buttocks.
"Oh!" Lyra gasped, even though she didn’t know it was his cock, her body still jerking as she felt the undeniable heat of him branding her through the layers of cloth.
He also began to move. He ground himself against her, rolling his hips in a slow, heavy rhythm. The friction was muted by the fabric, but the heat was unmistakable. He rubbed the head of his cock against the base of her spine, then dragged it down over the curve of her ass, feeling the heat radiating from her skin.
"Do you feel that?" he whispered, exhaling on her neck. "That heat? That is the energy trying to transfer."
"It’s... big," Lyra whimpered, her hips instinctively pushing back against him, seeking the pressure despite her fear. "It feels... heavy."
"It is heavy with the cure," Sol replied, his control slipping.
He ground against her one last time, savoring the feeling of her firm, elastic ass cheeks parting slightly under his weight. But it wasn’t enough. The barrier of the clothes was infuriating, and he needed to break her.
"I need to reach the source," he rasped.
He slid his right hand down from her hip, moving with purpose over the curve of her thigh and diving between her legs. He cupped her fully, his palm pressing flat against the rough fabric covering her ass cheeks.
The sensation for Lyra was immediate and overwhelming. Because he had dialed her sensitivity up to an excruciating degree, the rough texture of her own trousers rubbing against her wet flesh felt like sandpaper and velvet all at once. It wasn’t the slick slide of skin-on-skin; it was raw, abrasive friction that dragged against her clitoris with every movement.
"Sol..." she whimpered, her hips bucking involuntarily against his hand. "The cloth...Sol... it rubs... it...it’s too rough!"
"It’s necessary friction," he lied, pressing harder, using the coarseness of the fabric as a weapon. He began to rub in sharp, circular motions. "The roughness scrapes away the stagnation."
He could feel the dampness starting to seep through the material. She was so wet that she was soaking through her trousers.
"Oh gods..." Lyra cried out, her fingers digging into the furs. The abrasive rub against her sensitive pussy was sending jagged bolts of pleasure straight to her spine. It was overstimulating, bordering on pain, but she couldn’t pull away. "Sol! It’s too much! I feel it everywhere!"
"Take it," he growled, leaning his weight onto her buttocks to pin her down. He increased the speed, his hand a blur against the wet spot forming on her pussy. "Let the friction burn it out."
His hand glided with predatory grace from the curve of her hip down to the V of her thighs. The rough weave of her trousers acted as a barrier, but under his influence, it became a torture device of texture. Lyra flinched hard, her muscles clamping tight instinctively, trapping his hand against her hot pussy.