The ship carved northward through calm seas, the conch horn from Thalira tucked safely belowdecks, the memory of Aquaara's glowing reefs still vivid. The merfolk had promised swift delivery of the abyssal pearl to Eldoria, and already faint pulses of strengthened wards reached Ethan's senses across the miles—magic recognizing magic. Thalira's final words echoed: many of her sisters now carried his seed, their swift gestation already showing in subtle curves of scale and belly.
Yet the ocean had one more secret to yield.
Mid-voyage, the winds shifted, carrying scents of pine and high mountain flowers. A massive landmass emerged from the haze—not an island, but a towering continent of jagged peaks veiled in cloud forests, waterfalls plunging thousands of feet into mist. No charts knew it; no sailor's yarn spoke of it. The crew—seasoned women all—murmured of legends: the hidden realm of the Valari, tall elven kin who dwelled in sky-spiring trees, guardians of ancient sky-magic that could bind even shadow.
They made landfall at a sheltered fjord beach of black sand and glowing pebbles. As Ethan, Vaeloria, and Liraya stepped ashore, figures descended from the cliffs on silken ropes—eleven towering elven women, each standing near seven feet, lithe yet powerfully built, skin ranging from pale moon-glow to deep forest bronze. Hair flowed like waterfalls in silver, gold, auburn, and midnight, braided with living vines and crystal beads. They wore armor of leaf-mail and spider-silk that revealed as much as it protected—high breasts barely contained, long muscular legs striding with predatory grace. Ears elegantly pointed; eyes luminous with inner light.
The leader—Valyndra—stood tallest, nearly eight feet, her golden hair crowned with antler-like branches of living wood, eyes the violet of twilight. Rune tattoos of soaring eagles and ancient trees spiraled over her body. She spoke in a voice like thunder wrapped in silk, meaning flowing mind-to-mind: welcome, prophecy, need.
In their secluded high realm, no male had walked for ages beyond count. A blight had fallen—fertility lost, numbers dwindled to these eleven guardians. Ancient songs foretold a Seed-Bearer from the outer world whose essence could rekindle their eternal lines.
They were led upward.
The land—Valaria—was a vertical paradise: colossal trees rising thousands of feet, their trunks wider than city walls, branches forming natural cities connected by vine bridges and floating platforms. Waterfalls thundered into sky-pools; eagles soared beside living air-whales. Homes were grown within the wood itself—chambers vast and airy, beds of cloud-moss, hot springs bubbling in hollowed trunks.
Valyndra explained: their sky-magic could weave barriers unbreakable against shadow—if alliance was forged, and life restored.
Hospitality began with a feast in the highest bower, open to stars: tables of carved crystal laden with glowing fruits, honeyed meats of sky-deer, nectar that sparked on the tongue.
Desire ignited swiftly in the rarefied air.
That first night, in Valyndra's vast chamber—walls of translucent bark, bed a sea of silken moss— the leader disrobed, revealing a body of breathtaking scale: breasts full and high, waist narrow, hips wide and strong, long legs that could crush or cradle.
"I have awaited this since the stars sang your coming," she whispered, voice resonating deep.
Ethan pulled her down; their size difference thrilling—she towered even seated, but yielded willingly. Lips met in fierce hunger; her tongue long and deft.
Valyndra sank lower, wrapping long fingers around his cock—her hand alone nearly encircling him. She looked up, violet eyes glowing, then took him deep—mouth hot and vast, tongue swirling in patterns that drew sparks up his spine.
Ethan groaned, threading fingers in golden hair. "Yeah—suck that cock… just like that."
She hummed approval, taking him deeper, throat relaxing impossibly. Saliva coated him as she bobbed with elven grace.
"Fuck yeah—spit on it," he commanded.
She pulled off with a wet sound, letting a long strand of saliva drip onto his shaft, then stroking slickly before engulfing again.
Vaeloria and Liraya watched, shedding clothes, hands already between thighs.
Valyndra rose, pushing Ethan back onto moss, straddling his hips. She lowered slowly—her pussy scalding, impossibly tight despite her size, walls rippling as she took every inch.
"Mmmmh fuck my pussy," she moaned, voice echoing through the chamber.
He thrust up, hands gripping her massive thighs. "Yeah—do you like how good I fuck you?"
"Yes—pound me," she gasped, riding harder, breasts bouncing hypnotically.
"Mmmh harder—deeper—"
He surged upward, slamming deep. "I'm gonna cum in this pussy."
"Oh shit—I'm cumming—" Valyndra's body arched like a bow, pussy clenching in massive waves. "Oooooh… mmmmmm… yeeeees… oh fuckkkkkkk!"
Her climax triggered his—he buried deep and erupted, flooding her depths with thick pulses.
But the night stretched eternal.
Vaeloria claimed next—bending Valyndra over a root ledge, presenting her own pussy to Ethan. He took her from behind, pounding as she devoured the towering elf.
Liraya orchestrated chains—riding Ethan's face while Valyndra rode his cock, long legs wrapped around.
Days blurred in vertical ecstasy.
The eleven introduced themselves one by one, then in groups.
Twin scouts with silver hair pleasured him on a sky-bridge—wind whipping as one sucked deep ("Yeah—suck that cock… spit on it"), the other riding reverse, begging "Fuck my pussy… mmmh harder… yes pound me…"
He filled both, seed accepted eagerly.
A bronze-skinned warrior with auburn braids bound him with living vines, edging until he growled "I'm gonna cum in this pussy," then riding until "Oh shit I'm cumming—ooooooh—yeeeees!"
Village-wide rituals followed victories over shadow-tainted sky-beasts—combined might driving them back.
In vast canopy glades, Ethan became center: towering elves taking turns, long bodies wrapping around him, begging in chorus:
"Fuck my pussy…"
"Mmmh harder…"
"Yes—pound me…"
"Deeper…"
"Yeah—do you like how good I fuck you?"
"I'm gonna cum in this pussy…"
"Oh shit I'm cumming…"
"Oooooh…"
"Mmmmmm…"
"Yeeeees…"
"Oh fuckkkkkkk…"
Climaxes thundered like storms, flowers blooming in response.
The pinnacle: all eleven in the highest grove under auroras. A circle of towering beauty—Ethan moving among them, filling pussies and mouths, seed drifting like starlight.
Valyndra orchestrated: lines of bent-over elves, chains of grinding bodies, piles of long limbs and glowing skin.
His dialogue wove through: "Yeah—suck that cock… fuck yeah spit on it… do you like how good I fuck you… I'm gonna cum in this pussy…"
Their cries answered in harmonic ecstasy.
The land's magic surged—ancient sky-crystal uncovered, its power promising unbreakable aerial wards for Eldoria.
Alliance sealed in height and heat.
Departure came at dawn—ship restocked, crystal secured.
Valyndra stood tallest on the cliff, hand on now-visible swell—all eleven quickened, tall frames already showing the Breeder's potent legacy.
"The sky sings with new life," she smiled. However before they could depart a woman steps forward. Added to the previous one hundred and nine, one hundred and fifty-seven in total swelled with promise. 157 women pregnant in the second cycle