* * *

  No one woke Stepan at night, no sinister killers tried to break into his windows and doors, no night thieves came, and even the bedbugs were dispersed and killed by the totem, so he slept until dinner time, and when he woke up, he spent some time cospying Ikari Shinji, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. Downstairs, people were yelling and cursing, and the innkeeper was proving to his customers that the food was fresh, just a little burnt, and he'd never put any rotten stuff in his pies in his life. Outside the window the sun was shining, dogs were barking, children were shouting, and someone was desperately asking the outside world where his axe was and who dared to steal the axe, calling for the thief to reveal himself so that he would break his face. The thief, if there was one, for some reason did not appear before the eyes of the speaker.

  The Earthman came downstairs fully awake and washed himself with cold water, wishing to himself that he had not thought to wash his clothes yesterday, because his appearance was still a bit dirty after traveling through the forest, no matter how hard he tried to clean himself with magic. The headman didn't meet him, of course, but the shaman didn't even have time to finish the free breakfast as Gozb's immense belly was already getting through the doorway.

  "My brother-in-w is already walking, though only as far as the toilet, but that's good enough, I swear by the Gaia." He said, eating sausages even faster than the Earthman. "You've done well, as it is, you've done well. My wife can't get enough of it, she's getting better. I'll say this, that's what I'll say. I know you won't stay. I can see it in your eyes. I didn't even ask. But if you're passing by, don't get upset, stop and come in. We'll always find some bread to break, everyone here knows that Gozb always remembers goodness and never forgets it."

  It was only at this point Stepan realized that he hadn't even given his name and that the headman kept referring to him as "shaman," which was ironic. And yet it was not noticeable that it embarrassed him as if it was just the way it should be! The young man suggested to himself this might be a normal practice among shamans, especially wandering ones, especially if you were doing a favor that would get the patient killed. Gozb, apparently, thought that the stranger who came was not named in the first pce, so as not to give a reason to persecute and accuse himself ter. He wanted to introduce himself normally, either by his native name or a more suitable nickname, but he decided the best was the enemy of all good and did not break the impression he had formed. If he had formed an impression of a cool, a little unsociable, and very competent individual, then let it remain so, otherwise every unnecessary phrase could break this impression, spoil it.

  After gathering his belongings and having loaded himself so much that he even thought he would have to put a spirit in his body to carry the load all the way to the gatehouse, he resolutely moved... to the outskirts of the vilge. After all, he wanted to talk to the local herbalist and her student, to look at the avaible herbs, some of which he could buy to make his calls better. The other part could be sold off, taking off a little weight, even just a little. The same roots and mushrooms were a small bag, quite weighty, and, more importantly, voluminous, because each unit of goods had to be wrapped in separate pieces of cloth or at least thick leaves of burdock and pntain. A small thing, but it would still make the journey easier ... if he didn't buy any potions that would take up even more space and weight.

  From the words of Gozb's wife and his general impression, he had expected to be greeted by an old granny - Baba-Yaga - and a little brat, as Truda and Lashka had imagined him to be. He had to be seriously surprised when a very attractive woman of about forty opened the door to the sturdy wooden hut near the forest, surrounded by flowers and rare herbs pnted all around and smelling of magic. She had a pleasant face devoid of wrinkles, if only in the corners of her eyes, and an attractive figure - it took a conscious effort not to linger on her monumental breasts - lush brown hair down to her shoulders and an intelligent but warm gaze. Her daughter was not a little girl, but a young woman of nineteen, slim and trim, obviously exercising regurly, but not killing herself with bor. They both had to wander the woods and fields in search of herbs, and they both had to take care of the house, so they had to be physically fit.

  "So this is the heroic savior of our hapless Knoss". Without hostility, but with thoughtfulness in her tone, Truda looked at her guest with an attentive gaze. "I didn't believe it when Toric told me that the savior who came to the vilge was a young man. I was mistaken, it turns out, I've become quite old. So, have you listened to Relka, the wife of our cunning headman? If it's no secret, how many times did she call me an old witch? More than a dozen or less?"

  He didn't know the name of the headman's wife, but he guessed from the meaning that it was her, especially considering the fact no one else was allowed to use strong epithets against the herbalist. No, it was quite understandable, anyone would have gotten emotional, but it felt as if the enmity between these two females, one of whom was also noticeably prettier than the other, had deep, old, and painful roots.

  "Well, Gozb himself seemed much more reasonable to me," Stepan said cautiously, not hurrying either to refute or to confirm her words. "And anyway, I'm far from local squabbles, so I'd rather not get involved in them."

  If she started to demand to put a curse on her rival, he would firmly refuse and be done with it, there was no point in hurting uninvolved people, especially if you didn't know who was right and who was guilty. And then Stepan would remain guilty, having received all sorts of shit from both sides of the long-standing conflict. Two bitches barking, don't let the third one get in the way, as they say.

  "Heh, you're so cautious! Don't worry, I understand everything, and Gozb himself understands everything too." Smiling with a cheerful and lively grin, the interlocutor waved her hand, fixing a loose strand of hair. "I don't even take offense neither at him nor at Relka. Why hold a grudge against her, if she's as smart as a bee? She also stings everything, even to her detriment. I'm just waiting for my husband to decide how to apologize, and then I will accept the apology and payoff, he will pretend to keep his wife in check, I'll pretend to believe that I believed and we'll pretend that nothing happened, neither words nor deeds. That's the kind of friendly mutual help we have in our vilge. So what have you come for, dear, to trade or just to chat?"

  He came with a trade, which he immediately announced, and for the next hours, they argued amicably about which stub would cost how much. Lashka, who in fact turned out to be either modest or silent, most of the time simply carried new goods, powders, ointments, and mixtures from the celr, only a couple of times letting her quiet and slightly hoarse voice be heard as if she had caught a cold as a child. Once both women had gone into the celr at the same time, obviously to talk about something of their own, but before he could summon some eavesdropping spirit, they had already returned, having been gone less than ten minutes, and the bargaining had continued again. He couldn't help but gently broach the subject of what was the matter with the headman not asking his name, to which Truda ughed heartily, which looked really nice and somehow very cozy and homely.

  "Oh, you noticed it too, didn't you?" Truda wiped the tears that came to her eyes with a handkerchief, thus demonstrating cleanliness, which was quite understandable for a witch working with magical herbs and compositions. She started to expin what she thought Stepan had understood. "Yes, yes, Gozb is a peasant, but his grandmother was a northerner. So he still believes in the northern custom that a sorcerer, if you tell him your name and then ask his name, can change names with the one who asked him, stealing his life and destiny. Don't worry, I'm not one of those dulrds, even though I'm a vilger myself, you can talk to me in a simple way, break bread, and we're friends. So what should I call you?"

  "Pann, good Truda, you can call me Pann." The earthling answered, voicing a long-thought-out idea, simultaneously referring to his real name and to the whole Celtic deity [1], as if, as if, hinting to himself that it was necessary to mark higher. "Let's get acquainted, shall we?"

  The bargaining was quiet and more like a friendly conversation, though they still had to keep their ears alert: the sweet and homely Truda was not shy to use feminine charms, and no matter how hard the young man tried, it was impossible to hide his gnces, as well as to keep an extremely rigid position regarding the price policy. Truda knew for sure that she was beautiful because she obviously took care of herself, as evidenced by her lovely hair, very clean and wrinkle-free skin, as well as - but here only Stepan's suspicion - very voluminous and soft breasts, attractively covered with a smart and embroidered dress. Additional difficulty in bargaining was provided by the giftedness of both mother and daughter, but the second to a much lesser degree, so that the spirit pnted in his ears was much worse at recognizing lies and innuendo. The d had no doubt that he'd already sold too much for too little.

  "No, if anything, I can always sacrifice this tongue to the spirits, especially since I took it myself as a trophy." He shakes his head negatively, on the subject of giving the reagent on credit, with the debt repaid in the spring, when they sell off their own potions and herbs. "I'm sorry, but I'm a wanderer, so I can't be sure I'll ever return to your Small Ronna. Offer something of equal or at least comparable value, and if not, I'm sorry."

  Truda obviously didn't mind begging for the tongue cut from the beast, but Stepan saw that she needed it too much and was in no hurry to give it to her. And there either she would give something comparably useful, or he would really use a piece of the beast as a basis for a call. His knowledge already suggested a couple of particurly interesting summoning options, including one quite combat-oriented one, if he could subdue a very capricious ghostly servant. But, frankly, he'd be fine with just a bag full of the most common potions, not even healing potions, but just everyday potions like cleansing, stain remover, mouthwash, and the like. But Truda had given up too soon, without even trying to bargain, and had no time to realize that his opponent was willing to give in quite seriously... and he was too shy to hint or say it directly, or she might think something wrong.

  "Eh, well, no means no." The herbalist with the skills of an experienced but untrained alchemist said with obvious frustration, seeing off the tongue, wrapped in cursed leaves that hadn't even begun to wilt. "Well, good bargain, good trade, Pann. Shall we wash down a good bargain with a gss of liquor? I've got the whole vilge buying them up, and Gozb's got his heart set on them. and he's still hoping to get the recipe for his own, but what am I, a fool to give him the recipe?"

  He didn't want to drink, but he didn't want to upset the woman, who seemed sincere in her desire to do something nice. The isekai, who had missed normal communication, blossomed during this bargain, so he did not find the strength to refuse. However, when Truda took a small cy jug with a cork, intentionally sealed with beeswax, from the hands of her daughter, who had run away to the celr, and then poured its contents into three gss (though poor gss) gsses, Stepan was not zy to check the gss with a pebble-totem. The spirit reacted in the same way as it did to ordinary wine, maybe only a little stronger, which finally calmed the Earthman. Truda, if she noticed his maniputions - yes, she did, she squinted her eyes so slyly - she considered them quite justified.

  At one point he almost jumped when the silent Lashka seemed to have sat down just past a sturdily knocked down wooden chair, miraculously not falling over, making a lot of noise and muffled cursing. Then she realized that everyone was looking at her and she barely audibly whispered:

  "I apologize, my foot slipped." She should have blushed a little more, but no blush appeared on her pale face, only that she lowered her eyes ashamedly, afraid to look not so much at the guest as at her mother, who shook her head.

  "Oh, my dear child, someday you're going to make me angry.... or break something precious." She waved her hand, raising her gss anew and finishing her toast. "Well, good trade, fair trade, Pann. You'll be passing through again, feel free to drop by, especially if the gifts of the forests are forthcoming, as they are now."

  The drink burned the esophagus but immediately covered it with a wave of soft fruity fvor, in which one could feel the sourness of cherry, a note of pear, and even the juiciness of watermelon, creating a very peculiar fvor. In the opinion of Stepan, who was skillful in the earthly alcohol industry, it was a drink worth drinking. The alcoholic degree was unknown, but it was easy and gentle to drink, and warm pies with berries, made this morning, went well with this drink. Stepan wiped his blistered forehead, suppressing a mental "oh, fuck" and a ugh associated with the memetic phrase.

  "I didn't study anywhere, I didn't attend any academies." Truda, blushing, seemed not to notice how attractively her rge breasts, which the young shaman could not call anything else than tits, were resting on the table, gesticuting vigorously and shifting their hemispheres excitedly. "My mother was still studying with a full-fledged adept, as it should be, but she didn't finish her studies, the money showed the bottom. It's a long story, but I made up more of it myself, I read something from the books I bought with traders. I was also taught to read and write. Somewhere I exchanged knowledge with someone, somewhere I just guessed. I don't do anything special, I have no talent. So, a crumb of a gift, and a lot of bor at the table, with a mortar in my hands, even my back hurts, despite the ointments."

  Stepan threw off his jacket, leaving him in only a shirt and pants, it was so hot in Truda's house that it made him sweat. He loosened his colr for the third time and again drank a non-alcoholic herbal concoction, trying not to stare too actively at his companion. However, she either didn't seem to mind or was so engrossed in the retelling of her life's journey, which had brought her and her daughter to this settlement, that she wouldn't have noticed even if he had started groping her right here. Lashka also inserted a word or two, visibly rexed and liberated, exchanging piques and barbs with her mother. It seemed that both of them had long ago learned each other, having a hundred mutual jokes and reted stories. It was like being back on Earth again for a bar hangout with a lifelong sexy, boobed-up milf alchemist from the magical Middle Ages.

  "No, I mean, yes, but no." He expins confusingly, wiping his forehead and loosening his colr, taking a sip of the potion and blinking his eyes frequently. "I can do a lot of things, of course, but just the basics. We, shamans, that is, I, as a shaman, the main thing is to be able to properly ask the spirit to do everything. That's just in the ability to agree on pay, yes, that's where all the difficulty, fuh. Spirits are, well, zy asses, sorry for the rudeness, Labor, it's better for them to get paid and do nothing. I'm already talking."

  Stepan said the st phrase with a slight surprise, looking at his palm, which grabbed empty air instead of a mug with drink, into which Lashka had already poured a new portion. He drank only one cup of this stuff, but he felt as if he had drunk a liter and a half of it, and even on an empty stomach. Blinking his eyes frequently, he tried to chase away the gnats dancing in front of his eyes. It didn't feel much like intoxication, come to think of it; there was no nausea, no loose vestibur apparatus. What was happening to him was an association with a balloon infting in his skull, but no pain, only a pleasant rexation, as if the balloon were infting and his brains were being defted. The comparison seemed to touch something in the back of his mind, but his attempt to grasp the thought by the tail made him lose it completely, leaning back in his chair.

  "Pann, my guest, what's the matter with you...?" Truda's voice, leaning forward and thus almost letting her tits fall out of her dress, sounds as if stretched, as if from a well.

  "Nooothing..." His words sound about the same, and his body doesn't want to obey at all, his attempt to put his hand on the table results in his hand slipping past the table, and his hand being intercepted by Truda, almost holding it to his chest.

  And then he does get up and nearly falls over the woman who has also stood up, bumping his face into her cleavage, as if she had even pulled him closer, directing him herself. It is hot in the house, he breathes heavily, trying to chase away the stupor, but only inhales deeper the aroma of her body, clean and well-groomed skin, the smell of herbs and ointments, which the whole house is soaked with. His other hand somehow by itself, as if it too had been directed by Truda, rests on the herbalist's lower back, and his face presses into her bust, leaning against it. The breasts. Tits. Big tits, so soft tits.

  Titties.

  Warm titties.

  Waaaaarmmmm....

  Interlewd 1: Mother Daughters

  Truda pulled the gifted boy away from her breasts, putting him back in the chair, bending down and not hiding, pulling down her slightly sweaty dress, through which her nipples were sticking out, exposing her girls. Contrary to Relka's opinion, which the angry vilger regurly voiced during quarrels, she didn't enrge them with herbs, they had been big since her girlhood, though a proper diet and regur ointments helped to enrge them, and also didn't let her breasts sag like an old woman's. Here, the boy appreciated it, too, even with a little help from her.

  "You sit down, Pann, dear, you'd better sit down, you know." Softly and insistently, just as his reeling mind needed, she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and moving his shoulders a little, while he stared dully at the swaying tits in front of his face, wrinkling his forehead in an attempt to get through the stupefaction. "Look, just look at me, and take your time, breathe, take your time, breathe, Pann, take your time."

  He was really strong if he managed to summon a spirit that ate the curse on Knoss without preparation, but he was a real boy, not a rejuvenated magician. Young, handsome, and in between showed her the tongue of a cursed Forest Biter, very strong and old! As if by the gods' dictates, he came with the ingredients she needed to finish her work, which she had been struggling with for the fifth winter. She was not getting any younger. She had been through forty winters, and this tongue would be enough to rejuvenate herself and her daughter, and, most importantly, to become a little closer to the herbs and the forest, even if she lost the ability to grow in strength further. She understood perfectly well that she had reached her limit, and her daughter had even less, whereas with that potion she would not be afraid of a non-magical beast nor would she have any problems with gathering and growing herbs.

  How could she refrain from relieving the boy of his unwanted treasure?

  Truda was very wary of exposure. There was little she could do against a full-fledged magician, even so young, even at home, but the gods had mercy, and the boy had fallen for the cheapest trick she could think of. But those tricks are used all the time, they work, even if they're cheap. Yeah, he checked the gsses, smart boy. So why did she tell her daughter to make a noise so he'd turn away? Though, who knows, the kind of compound she'd had in her possession for years, made from the occasional ingredient, a regur cheap amulet could have missed it. Truda didn't want to risk. She didn't know much about shamans, too little to risk.

  "That's it, that's it, look, look, look." Like a wound-up toy, which she had seen in her childhood, she repeated over and over again, watching the boy's eyes grow dull and gssy, so kind and pleasant to talk to, not at all obnoxious, but, as, he had something that she really needed and could not buy. She honestly wanted to but realized she had nothing to offer. "Look, come on, look, look, look."

  Lashka, who had come behind the back of the magician who was rexed and sliding off the chair, put her hands on the cheeks of the boy, who was not even looking at Truda's chest, but just in front of her, and started tilting his head left, right, up and down, as if controlling a toy or a doll. And the boy let himself be controlled moving him as the two vilinesses wished as if paying no attention to anything. The daughter covered the ears of the boy, who now hears everything, just does not listen and does not understand.

  "That's it, mother, he's done for." A little embarrassed and obviously uncomfortable, her daughter nevertheless did the right thing. "You will be with him... you know?"

  "Why not, my daughter?" Truda smirked, stepping back and, without tucking her breasts back into her dress, began to take it off her very beautiful body. "A Sip of Unarya, my dear, is a love potion and in order to fix what was said in the head of the one who drank it, it needs to spunk properly. And look at him, isn't he handsome? His face is handsome, his body is well-groomed, and his hands... such hands, no calluses at all, like a lord's son, even though he is a vagabond traveler. If the time were right, and if it were not for the potion for which I had drunk him, I would have told you to bear his child."

  "Well, mother, shame on you!" The blushing Lashka caused her mother only a satisfied grin, and also anticipation, because with this nice boy, polite and courteous, she would not mind to fuck without potions.

  No, she would definitely make him feel good, both him and herself, especially since she really didn't want to hurt him, just as he hadn't done anything to her. And what harm could she do? Slit his throat and bury him in the garden? So the whole vilge saw that he had come to her. And even though Gozb himself, sometimes, in bad years or just on a good occasion, could rob a lonely traveler, for a magician who saved everyone's favorite Knoss, they could show their displeasure. And the grumpy bitch, who became Gozb's wife by Truda's personal misfortune, would not miss the opportunity to bring trouble to the herbalist. No, no, she would just py with the boy a little, make him feel good, and then ask him to give her such a necessary ingredient and forget everything.

  In the meantime, the two beautiful poisoners slowly led Pann, obedient as a calf, into the living room and began to undress him. He had lied that he was a commoner or his mentor was not so simple. His clothes were dirty and worn after many days of travel, but they smelled almost as good, and his body was as clean and well-groomed as Truda's. The herbalist kept herself clean and took care of her body because she knew how, and because it was important to her in her work, but she also knew that ordinary men went into the river once a month, unlike this bunny.

  Lashka giggled quietly, covering her mouth with her palm, watching the protruding cock, twitching from the blood rushing in as if glued to it with her eyes. Yes, good boy, an enviable groom, but to bewitch a magician for long... No, the risk, as there is a risk. A little snap and there will be blood, a lot of blood. It's better to do it the way she had pnned so that it would be pleasant, fast and he wouldn't remember.

  Pushing the boy onto the bed, she snuggles up to him, runs her hands over his smooth skin, takes his palms and presses them against her girls, squeezes them. She makes sure he doesn't bruise. The men always liked to knead them. This one is no exception, his breathing more and more frequent, his oud trembling. Only his eyes are lost and stupid as if he is in his thoughts and does not pay attention to her, as if he is not here. Truda, who had become aroused, asked in a hoarse voice, softly and affectionately:

  "Pann, darling, please sit down on the floor." Sluggishly but without resistance he sits down, right by the bed, right in front of her wide-open legs, facing the rose flowing with desire. For the first time in many years Truda, who is experiencing such a strong reciprocal attraction to the man she has bewitched, orders, begs, pleads, and allows, almost in a whisper. "Kiss me, darling, kiss me right there."

  Pann didn't need to point and expin, as she had secretly feared, he immediately understood what she wanted and immediately began to do it, burying his face between her legs. Lashka, who had stripped herself naked, came up behind her, stroking the magician bent over her mother's back and buttocks, her face as red as a boiled cancer. And the boy licked, oh, holy Gaia, how he licked, kissed, alternated the work with his tongue and lips, with his lips squeezing in an uneven rhythm the bump of her bud, which made the woman, who was not used to such caresses, almost instantly breathed frequently and, squeezing the head of her guest with her thighs, finished violently, smiling in a satisfied grin. Oh, what a fancy man, what a good boy, a little liar for sure - they don't teach vilge vagrants to do that, they don't know how to lick like that!

  "Enough, Pann, darling, enough." Pulling the skillful tongue away from her and panting a little, she asks again and points again. "Lie down on the bed now, lie down, let Trude do all the work, good boy."

  She climbed on him with ease, and immediately she moved slowly and tirelessly, next to him Lashka climbed up on the bed on the other side, literally sitting on the boy's face, ordering him to kiss her again. It wasn't the first time mother and daughter had had fun like this, but usually, the potions for the victim were chosen simpler, and not so valuable. Simple charms, after which in the morning only vague memories, are good against the ungifted, but the magician had to be taken with a guarantee, and also somehow to convince him not to remember about that unfortunate nguage. Hence, they had to spend such an expensive and irrepceable potion.

  Labor squeezes her girls. She rides the young stallion without fear of a sudden spurt, knowing full well that цшер this potion, even the quickest shooter will be an indefatigable and long-sting lover. Well, unless cursed by the Fertile Mistress. Gaia's displeasure could not be overridden by mere alchemy. Lashka moaned softly, resting her hands on the boy's arms, jerking her pelvis convulsively and grinding her hips against his face. At st, the herbalist herself cummed, quietly exhaling and releasing her breasts, pausing for a moment but immediately starting to surge again. When the tired potion maker got off the boy, her pce was taken by a disheveled Lashka, only she moved more carefully, not as skillfully, as if afraid, but a couple of minutes ter she was moaning softly, covering her mouth with her palm to keep from screaming. Truda was used to everything, she breathed heavily for pleasure, not moaning like the whore, but her daughter was a screamer.

  They continued several more times, using the obedient boy's face and cock as they pleased. Only when the strength finally left them all, tired and satisfied Truda sat smiling Pann on the bed, sat on his p, and no longer holding back brought him to the peak with her hand, pouring his seed directly onto her palms, thighs and belly. Immediately afterward he rexed abruptly, transformed from a submissive calf into a blurry sea jellyfish like she had once seen in Morgrave. His eyes rolled back and his face took on a peaceful and calm expression, making the boy even cuter and so sweet she could eat him. If he were a gifted boy and not a trained one, she would have given a damn and tried to bewitch him, train him, match him to Lashka as a husband and live happily ever after, but he was so skillful that he might get snapped up.

  "Pann, my dear, my darling, do you hear me?" Now the potion in his blood mingled with the passion and pleasure he experienced cumming making him for a time as gullible as a little child, which Truda was about to take shameless advantage of. "Listen to me very carefully, just me, just me, okay?"

  Lashka, meanwhile, had successfully searched through all the boy's stuff, finding a wallet hidden in his backpack, from which the contents had already been extracted. Copper and silver, of course, did not surprise anyone, it would be strange for a magician, albeit a wandering one, to be poor, but a gold coin, and a whole and unhewn floren.... Even simple vilgers do not often hold copper in their hands, they rely more on natural exchange, even copper they saw into halves and quarters, and in bad years even into eighths. Yes, the herbalist and alchemist, who every fall sold her herbs and self-made potions to a couple of traders passing by their vilge, held in her hands a ringing silver, for which she was constantly and unceasingly envied by the vilgers. If she had not treated all of them, taking away their illnesses, and adding something for male strength, they might have burned the house from four corners. The vilgers were envious and illiterate people, afraid of anything incomprehensible. But gold, gold she had held in her hands only a few times, and it was old and worn-out marks, and Dantmark ones, which were smaller than others.

  She looked at her daughter and did not hold back her temptation, silently shoveling away half of all the silver, taking the shiny florin as well, and after a while, she pushed back some more, leaving only copper and a dozen silver pieces in his purse. In the same pile were added some other herbs and roots, which could not be bought back or had nothing to pay for. She and her daughter would need more, especially if the potion brewed badly or if the recipe was wrong, and then she would have to take a long and hard time to heal her emaciated body. Nodding as she began to put all of Pann's possessions, except for the monster's tongue and money wrapped in a sheet, back into her bag, she leaned over his body again, naked and blushed, exuberant with life and contentment, and then began to whisper, while at the same time reapplying the throbbing dick. After the first eruption, the slump in the sensitivity of his loins had been repced by an increase and now he was ready to spurt at any moment. She whispered in his ear, pulling the heavy-breathing boy against her chest, pressing and pleading, caressing and commanding:

  "Forget, forget, forget the monster and his tongue, there is no monster, there was no monster, don't look for it, forget it, it's gone, forget it for me, forget it for me, and I'll do it like this, I'll make it good, I'll make it nice, my darling, I'll do everything." He did not moan, but breathed heavily, jerked his pelvis, and sucked his lips on her tit like a little child, which made a surprised but affectionate smile blossom on Truda's face, a little mocking and yet kind. "Forget, forget, forget about the coins in my purse, they were always scarce, a handful of copper and a dozen of silver, forget, forget, forget, forget, forget and let it down, let it down for me, on me, come on, that's it, that's it, that's it, my darling."

  A new stream of seed poured over her body, but she did not stop moving her hand, did not stop caressing the boy's dick, forcing him to release the seed over and over, to feel the pleasure. When the young herbalist, only a little older than Lashka now, had obtained a description of the potion poured to the boy, it said that it reacted with the bodily fluids that were injected into the bloodstream at the moment of male eruption, and it was these fluids that afterward fixed the effect of memory distortion, forbade him to remember certain details.

  Licking her dark pink nipple the boy goes down again. His eyes rolled up and his breathing rexed. His body fell completely asleep, drifting into a normal sleep of willless submission. Such a potion can't instill loyalty or love. It can't make you remember something that wasn't there, only forget some detail of what was. And not too much. They can't just deprive him of everything of value and then hope he won't suspect anything when he finally wakes up from his stupor. It can't even be used for questioning, it doesn't loosen the tongue, but rather braids it and makes it naughty. Truda also has a couple of herbs, after which anyone will want to talk, but they should not be mixed with what the boy has already drunk, what he drank should not be mixed at all, even if she does not know exactly. She is sure that she is right. Too bad, too bad, Truda would have loved to ask the talented boy about what he knows and can do, what he could teach, and what he could give.

  "Well done, Pann, and now get up, wake up, it's time for you to go, but we'll see you off, we'll kiss you, we'll be waiting for you." The boy who opens his eyes again blinks perplexedly misses his pant leg, but they help him, dress him, and lead him to the door, only stopping there. "And now let Lashka do you a good turn, let her give you a good jerking and squeezing, eh?"

  The daughter rolls her eyes, blushing slightly again, but without arguing, slips her hand into the pants he's already wearing, which are still unbelted, lowering them slightly and pulling out the hard dick again, tugging it slowly but surely to the point of spunking. There's not much spshing there st time either, the boy's been poured out too many times already, he should rest, but he will. Only ter, not here, not now, or being around them might make him remember all sorts of stupid things. The boy twitches one st time, rolls his eyes, and stands still while Lashka shoves his oud back into his pants, wipes his hand on a cloth, tightens his belt, and kisses him on the lips, tenderly and almost lovingly.

  "Goodbye, Pann, come again when you are near." But it is better not to, though both women. They did not say it aloud, only smiled good-naturedly at the slightly lost boy, who stepped over the threshold and without looking back went from their little house on the edge of the vilge to the trade road. "Have a good trip!"

  As soon as they closed the doors, mother and daughter smiled at each other, kissed each other on the cheeks, and started cleaning the house, where the smell of coitus was unmistakable. Or rather, Lashka was cleaning, airing the windows, and washing dishes. Truda went to the workroom, starting to cut into small pieces the tongue of the forest monster, so rarely seen biter, soaking them in rowan decoction. The cauldron was already gurgling over the fmes and the long-prepared remaining reagents were gradually being added to it. The woman was not going to waste a minute, having gotten a chance to strengthen herself and her daughter, to secure her sustenance and wealth forever.

  Interlewd End

  Stepan walked through the woods encouraged and even a little rested because the journey had helped him so much. Not because of the supplies he had bought, although they were also very important, but also because with this trip he had proved to himself he could pass as one of his own in this world and not be like a spy with his parachute dragging behind him. It was easy to breathe, his rested body sang, and the familiar road made it easier to find the way. No, he could not memorize every bump and recreate the whole route in his head, but it was not difficult to follow his own footsteps through the spirits, because the earthling himself was the anchor.

  He only thought about the fact something had gone a little bit wrong when he sat down at the next rest stop having had a snack, performed the duty calls provided himself with protection from predators, and looked at his Status. There was a new property: a "small mark of the spiritual spheres," which alleviated communication with all types of lower and weaker spirits to the point that some could work for free once or twice, purely out of respect. With stronger spirits, it also worked, but Mark just reduced aggression, reduced arrogance, and willingly went to talk, but the stronger the spirit, the less the effect of such assistance. In fact, such a property is usually developed by long-standing dynasties of shamans or just senior shamans, already intelligent and experienced, who conduct a series of heavy and complex rituals over the students, providing them with the mark. In the case of children of dynasties - the same thing, only the oldest and coolest children could be born with it at once, without the need for rituals.

  It was a useful property for a shaman, and Stepan had already managed to appreciate it, without paying attention to the obedience of spirits and the ease of controlling them. The weak entities obeyed him almost unconditionally, especially those he was used to calling more often, so the alleviation was not too conspicuous. Everything would be just fine, but then a legitimate question arises - where did such a good event come from? It could be written off as a spontaneous improvement, like the one obtained near a tiny and derelict natural spring, or revealed when working with the curse of that man, Knoss. But then why is there an inscription about the gift of the Autogoddess next to this property?

  The quest that came to mind, which was the test and the first of those ranked higher than "small", made him automatically check the level of his "character". Stepan realized with some trepidation that he had seen the six in the status before, but for some reason, he had not paid attention to it. The level and talent - by the way, quite useful, unlike the usual gifts from the supreme divinity with tits - were promised to him for the deprivation of virginity (well, if you count life in the new world because he had time on Earth before the transfer) right in the vilge where he came to buy money. He furrowed his brow, trying to figure out how such a thing could have happened, and then put his palm to his forehead as a migraine fshed through his head, quick and strong, like a needle prick.

  He came to his senses again going forward and making his way back, and only in the evening, having settled down again. He had to put up rain protection this time, spending a lot of energy on summoning the appropriate spirit, because the weather began to deteriorate for the first time in a long time. Before going to bed, he traditionally checked his progress on the experience scale. Call for protection and deflecting water droplets away from the rope-lined circle did add a bit of exp, bringing the new level a little closer. Seven, because the sixth had already been taken. His head ached again, just looking at the list of completed tasks, where the st one was the instruction to muck around in Little Ronna. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, shutting himself off, but he dreamed of vague images he couldn't remember.

  Two beautiful and naked girls - one exuberant youth, and the second tantalizing mature beauty and big tits, which are so nice to fondle with the tongue.

  Truda and Lashka.

  In the morning he woke up with an even worse migraine and boner. Trying to remember his dream, which seemed a very important detail, but suffered again from the migraine, got ready for breakfast and again realized himself striding forward along the same route. A new break, a new attempt to check what was in the assignments and the logbook, again changed level and migraine with drowsiness, which did not allow him to concentrate. The weather deteriorated more and more, in some pces we had to knead the mud, now and then calling the fiery spirit, which would warm and dry boots and clothes. And all this with care, because the clothes, of course, are of high quality, but overheating can damage the seams and then you have to walk naked.

  The night promised to be terrible because the rain that had been drizzling for half a day promised to burst into a real downpour by nightfall. He had to stop in advance, look for a higher hill, and call there to make a protective circle and shield himself from the rain. It looked funny, and he even went down from the hill and a little to the side to look from the side: the effect was not like that of an umbrel, but as if all the water jets had simply moved apart. A little, a little, just a little, but not a drop of rain fell on the patch of free space where the fire was burning.

  Again he stared at the status, again a migraine and a dream. A dream in which he saw two vaguely familiar women, Lashka and Truda, caressing them and letting them caress him, only this vision seemed to be stuck on repeat. Time after time he fell asleep, awakened from a migraine, turned over to another fight, and all over again, as if the dreams wanted to tell him something. No, not dreams, but spirits, the very spirits he could communicate with in his sleep, and he had the talent to do so! A particurly vivid outbreak of headache was met with active resistance on the part of the young shaman, who was struggling with his unwillingness to remember and understand the obvious.

  And he won.

  The night was shattered by a cp of thunder. A series of thundercps blended into a single melody of ominous rumbling which was the only reason why the juiciest of the earthly curses in five and a half different nguages could not be heard. His memory had not fully returned. The drowsy and zy state induced by the potion poured into the liquor did not encourage him to remember but the veil of reluctance kept him from remembering and persuaded him to forget, because he wanted to forget, was gone. Anger and rage were quickly repced by coldness and sleepiness, because the night was almost over, and he'd spent it all with migraines, a steel boner, and attempts to overcome the compulsion. The morning was welcomed with fog, puddles and mud, and a seething desire for action. The good things were the increased level, a new free talent, and for the first time a really useful gift from the Autogoddess. The ability to control dreams also came in handy, especially in combination with the property he had just received: the spirits decided to help him remember, just seeing that the shaman was trying to do it himself, starting to formute the necessary dream tips of their own accord, on their initiative.

  A check of his stock quickly revealed an almost empty purse, with only copper and a drop of silver left, the missing tongue of the monstrous guardian beast, and the possibility of reaching new depths of frenzy that Stepan was learning as he analyzed what had happened. The most frustrating thing was that he didn't really need that nguage, and if Truda had offered him something worthy in compensation, or at least asked him tearfully, she could have persuaded him even without potions. But she chose to betray his trust and ruin such a cozy atmosphere of home parties, turning them into a form of debauchery. Okay, the tter might have been pleasant, if it had happened at his will, not against it, and if they hadn't asked him, drugged on potions, to forget. It wasn't the stealing that pissed him off, not the coins he didn't know the value of, not the missing tongue of the thing that had almost killed him, which he hadn't been able to figure out what to do with. It wasn't even the actual rape that pissed him off, though there was some heat down his back, but more the fact that he hadn't been asked.

  It was the hypocrisy and duplicity, the betrayal of his trust for something he could give away, that drove him to snarls and anger lurking under his heart. And for that, oh yes, he wanted revenge, and, frankly, it was a mistake for those two illiterate and almost uneducated bitches to think they could survive such a spit in the face of a young, but full-fledged shaman. And sitting on that face too, damn it! The st thought made him ugh, and he ughed a little, and then, after looking around the damp and unfit-for-traveling forest, he settled down to meditate and call.

  There were no new surprises, no curses, or other repressed memories, but it took a lot of sweat to remember exactly what the two pretty bitches had done to him. To himself, of course, he admitted that he would have gdly agreed to repeat that night without any potions.... or even with a potion, but without the memory wipe. He had confessed, but the question was not whether he liked it or not, but the betrayal itself, and he had no intention of forgiving such a thing, not even in his mind. No, there would be revenge, and it would be inevitable, cruel, and targeted, and no one, but the shaman did not need to be near the victim for the sake of revenge. He remembers at one time he was seriously thinking about starting to study dark branches and curses. It would be a good time to do it when he returned. It was silly and even dangerous to study a new direction on the road.

  The new assignment was again about summoning spirits, but now it was water spirits, and it was more specific: rain spirits. Nothing complicated, especially after the recent downpour. Stepan coped without difficulty or experimentation, silently performing the required number of calls and returning to his thoughts. Since the level had risen anyway, it was time for him to choose where to spend his new free talent. Especially attractive were the properties, among which there was a noticeable increase in the number of those that promised an increase in some characteristic in addition to the other bonuses. Only now the reverse debuffs became noticeably less, although they did not completely disappear.

  Instead of choosing properties that were not critical, especially after receiving the quest mark, the young man, after much thought and debate with himself, decided to raise the "advanced basics of spiritual dialog" to "developed basics." Given the aforementioned mark, such a move allowed him to succeed in working with summoned spirits, provided with a knowledge base of call practice. As, the sweet dreams of raising this talent to the next level shattered the reality, or rather the systemic limitations - the growth of the rank of knowledge bumped into the insufficient characteristic of Sensitivity and Control. Well, logically, in some way. Otherwise, it was possible, in theory, to obtain knowledge (even if only knowledge, not power) of the level of if not archmage, then master, even before getting the twentieth level, which would be ridiculous.

  Having decided on the choice, having made it, and having waited for the assimition of talent, he began to experiment and try his powers, testing the limits of his increased abilities. New calls, attempts to look into the world of spirits from the top of the hill, conversation with forest giants and wet earth after rain, attentive gazes into the depths of the heavens. The d became so engrossed in the new possibilities that he wasted not only the rest of the day but also the entire next day. But he waited until the damp earth dried up before embarking on a new journey. One more task had to be canceled, because it required too much time to build a big fire and then to do the call, and he wanted to finish the journey as soon as possible, and the reward was not very valuable. He had already raised almost a third of the scale from level six to level seven through constant exercise and training, it was just more efficient.

  Another downpour did not catch him on his way, for he reached his temporary home, finding the dried meat partially spoiled, but otherwise, it was not bad. He got rid of the soggy and rotten pieces. He examined the wilted pieces, which had been protected from water and moisture by the spirits that had wasted their power reserves (they were working on their own power, which had to be immediately rewarded with an infusion of reserve), he went into his hut, threw off his wet and very dirty clothes, sorted out his purchases, almost knocked his little finger out on the new chest next to the old one (a gift for the assignment!), sorted out his purchase, fall to the bed and just passed out. The first of his expeditions had ended in partial success and (un)pleasant defeat at the same time. And now he had to think about how to take it all in, solve it, and most importantly, punish it. Oh, there were many thoughts in his head before going to sleep, but it was a smart head, so he decided to make a decision only on a fresh head, and not on the rush. He had already tried to make a decision once, and even almost succeeded, but then he came to himself in the middle of the forest, robbed, humiliated, and fucked.

  * * *

  _RIP_