Elise & Mark: Initiation

I woke up.

Elise was already awake and dressed in her priestess attire, her back turned to me, immersed in silent prayer, her face bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the window.

Her calm contrasted with the turmoil of the previous day.

I got up in turn, still groggy, and went to get dressed.

— You're finally awake, she said, turning around, a slight smile on her lips.

— Yes, I replied, my voice still thick with sleep.

We can go eat now.

We went downstairs.

As usual, Elise attracted all eyes with her radiant beauty.

Her aura as a priestess and her generous curves left no one indifferent.

We settled at a table in the inn's hall, already a bit more lively than last night.

Stephanie came shortly after to serve us breakfast.

Her fresh face, covered in freckles, seemed more cheerful this morning.

— Hello, Stephanie, how are you? I asked her, trying to seem casual.

— I'm fine, Mark, and you?

Are you feeling better than yesterday?

You looked like you weren't feeling well, she asked me, a hint of sincere concern in her blue eyes.

— Yes, yes, I'm much better, I replied, an uncontrollable blush rising to my cheeks as I thought back to the previous day's scene.

I looked away to meet Elise's gaze, who offered me a barely perceptible smile.

We began to eat the fresh bread and eggs.

— Today, we're going to the adventurers' guild, Elise told me, her voice regaining its more formal and determined tone.

And then, we'll start our training to become real adventurers.

— Yes, I replied enthusiastically.

Let's finish this meal quickly to become adventurers sooner!

After finishing our meal, we went without delay to the adventurers' guild.

The interior was vast, a little dark, and the air smelled of old waxed wood and cold iron.

A few scattered adventurers still lingered, sipping beer or cleaning their weapons, but the place was calmer than I would have imagined.

Their occasional murmurs and the distant clinking of armor were enough to create an atmosphere of discreet professionalism.

We headed towards a secretary sitting behind a massive wooden counter.

She looked bored, her eyes fixed on an open ledger.

— Hello, we're new and we'd like to become adventurers, I asked her, my voice a little more confident than usual, despite the imposing hall.

She slowly raised her eyes, her neutral gaze sweeping over us from head to toe.

— Very well.

What is your class and do you need training? she replied in a monotone voice, without any inflection.

— I'm an apprentice swordsman and my wife is an apprentice priestess, I explained.

Yes, we need training.

— You see that board over there? she said, indicating with her chin a huge oak panel covered with parchments.

These are the missions, divided by levels: Beginner, Intermediate, Normal, Difficult, Dangerous, and Extreme.

You start at Beginner level.

When you have completed enough missions, you will move to the next level.

Do you understand?

— Yes, we understand everything, Elise replied, her voice clear and determined, visibly more comfortable than me with the secretary's austerity.

The secretary nodded, then continued, her voice lowering slightly, an imperceptible nuance of concern creeping in.

— Now, let's talk about the leveling system.

The more monsters you kill, the higher you level up.

And the higher your level, the more skills you can learn from your master.

— Incredible!

What level can we reach? I exclaimed, my eyes shining with excitement at the thought of progressing.

— You can go up to level 99, she replied, her gaze suddenly darkening.

But be careful with monsters.

Even if they can't kill you, if they capture you, they will make you their slaves, she said with real fear in her eyes, her voice becoming a barely audible whisper.

Elise frowned, fear reflecting on her face for the first time.

— But what do you mean, they can't kill us?

And what do they do with slaves? Elise asked, her voice betraying a slight anxiety.

The secretary took a deep breath, like someone revealing a heavy secret.

Her gaze was now fixed on us, heavy with gravity, as if she hesitated to utter these words.

— They have been blessed by the God of Monsters.

It's a very ancient protection.

Humans, men and women, cannot die from monster attacks.

If you sustain a mortal wound, you will regenerate, but you will be unconscious for 24 hours.

That's where the danger lies.

They take advantage of your unconsciousness to capture you.

And as for what they do with slaves... women are used for reproduction, because female monsters are very rare.

And men... it depends on the race of the monster that captures you.

It can be personal guard, forced laborers... or worse, she said, the same chilling fear still present in her eyes.

A shiver ran down my spine.

— Now, you can go see your masters.

You, Mark, will be with Suzanne who is on the training ground, and you, Elise, you will have to go to the church and ask for a master according to your god.

"I wish you a good journey," she told us, resuming her duties.

I turned to Elise, my heart heavy at the thought of us separating, even temporarily.

— We'll meet tonight, I told her, reaching out to kiss her.

— Yes, see you tonight, she replied, kissing me tenderly.

Train well.

Our lips parted, the familiar taste of her saliva comforting me for a moment.

Then, we each went our separate ways, Elise heading towards the exit and I towards the back of the guild.

Mark's Side

I went to see my master, Suzanne.

Upon arriving in the guild's backyard, which served as a training ground, I saw her immediately.

She was a breathtaking woman, endowed with an incredibly muscular body, sculpted by years of effort.

Her armor, made of leather and metal plates, left little to the imagination, highlighting every powerful curve of her musculature.

Her back was broad, her arms sculpted, and her thighs imposing.

Scars, thin and numerous, contrasted sharply with her tanned skin.

She exuded an aura of great experience and raw strength, a true seasoned warrior.

She was in full motion, wielding a training sword with disconcerting fluidity, and her gaze was intensely focused.

— So, you're the new one? she asked me, her dark eyes sweeping over me with barely veiled judgment.

— Yes, I'm the new one! Mark, apprentice swordsman! I replied, my voice louder than expected, still stunned by this striking beauty.

She let out a frank laugh, melodious and a bit mocking.

— Are you sure you're an apprentice swordsman?

You're far too cute for that.

My face flushed.

— Come on, come on, I'll teach you the basics.

She sat on a stone bench and asked me to sit on the ground, right in front of her.

I complied.

From that vantage point, she seemed even more imposing.

Her muscles, glistening with sweat, exuded an intoxicating scent, a mixture of salt, iron, and a deeper, irresistible fragrance.

Her generous breasts, barely contained by the armor, fought for their place, seeming ready to escape at any moment, attracting my gaze despite myself.

I felt a heat rising in me.

— So, I'll begin, she said in a composed voice.

You know there are three ranks: apprentice swordsman, swordsman, and master swordsman.

An apprentice swordsman is the beginner, one who has never touched a sword.

With experience, you become a swordsman.

And when you manage to master your aura, you become a master swordsman.

— Master, are you a master swordsman? I asked with naive curiosity.

A mischievous smile stretched her lips, tinged with a hint of amusement and threat.

— Of course I'm a master swordsman, my dear.

Next time you ask such a silly question, I'll punish you, she told me, laughing.

My body tensed.

A mixture of fear and excitement ran down my spine.

The mere idea of a "punishment" from her awakened unknown sensations.

— Alright, she began, her tone firm again.

Start with thirty laps of the training ground at a sprint, then you'll strike that dummy a hundred times with deep lunges, holding this wooden sword firmly.

You have one hour, starting now.

And not one step less, not one blow less, I'm watching you.

I began to run.

Each stride burned my lungs, but I forced myself to follow her advice for my stride and breathing, feeling her gaze weigh on me.

When I finished, my legs were trembling, my breath short.

I sat down.

— You're going to receive your punishment, she told me with a mischievous look.

I grabbed the wooden sword, my arms already heavy.

The hundred lunges with the sword were an ordeal.

I felt my thighs burning, my body groaning, but Suzanne's presence, silent but attentive, pushed me to continue.

She sometimes came closer, walking around me, correcting my posture with a dry word or a firm tap on my shoulder, a warm and muscular hand that left a burning mark on my skin.

When I had finished my hundred blows, I returned to Master Suzanne, out of breath, dripping with sweat.

I could feel her scent of iron and musk grow stronger as she approached.

— That's good, you're doing quite well, she said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice, her eyes glowing with a look I couldn't decipher.

Now, I'm going to teach you two skills: Guard and Charged Strike, which are the basic skills of an apprentice.

But first, rest a bit.

— Yes, Master! I replied, excitement overcoming fatigue.

I sat in the grass.

She brought me a drink.

"Here, take your reward, a special drink I made for you."

I took the drink.

It tasted of iron and smelled quite strong.

I asked: "What is this drink?"

She replied, laughing: "It's my special drink.

But it will make you stronger; it will help restore energy.

I hope you like it."

It had a bizarre smell coming from the drink.

"Alright, let's resume the exercise."

— I'll start with Guard.

Take this shield and resist my blows.

This skill will allow you to parry any attack by drawing on your energy reserve.

It's not just about holding the shield, Mark, it's about becoming the shield.

Feeling the strike before it arrives, becoming a wall, and above all, connecting to the energy my sweat gave you, she told me with a playful look, but whose gleam left no doubt about the seriousness of the exercise.

But I won't be gentle, my dear.

If you falter, you start over.

She stood facing me, her wooden sword raised.

The first strike was a sharp blow to my shield, which resonated to my bones.

My arms trembled.

She gave no respite.

Each strike was precise, powerful, aiming at my weak points – my flank, my head, my legs – forcing me to move, to anticipate.

The shield vibrated in my hands, my arms absorbed the impact, and sometimes, her sword brushed so close to my body that I felt the air it displaced, the warmth of her breath and her effort.

Her body approached and moved away in a dangerous dance, and I could smell the scent of her sweat, now so familiar, enveloping me.

This same smell, amplified by the drink I had drunk, seemed to penetrate my senses, making me strangely more alert, more receptive to each of her movements.

She pushed me to my limits, her breathing a little faster, her expression concentrated.

My muscles burned, my feet slipped, but I held on.

She sometimes laughed, a short and exciting laugh, when I succeeded in a particularly difficult block, or groaned if I faltered.

She pressed me more and more, using her body to unbalance me, her hips brushing my arm as she pivoted, her muscular thigh grazing me if I tried to step back too quickly.

I felt the contact, even fleeting, like an electric shock.

Little by little, my blocks became firmer, more precise.

I no longer just endured the blows; I learned to absorb them, to deflect the force, to use the shield as an extension of myself.

The more I concentrated, the more the effect of the drink seemed to work, sharpening my reflexes.

Each time her body passed near mine, or the smell of her sweat became more intense, a new wave of energy flowed through me, allowing me to hold on longer, to block harder.

I finally managed to block all her blows without fail, feeling a strange connection establish between us through the rhythm of attack and defense, a dance of power and resistance where each impact strengthened the invisible bond that united us, as if my strength was now linked to her.

— Bravo!

You have successfully acquired the Guard skill.

Now, for Charged Strike, you will have to take a sword and try to draw on your energy reserve to unleash this blow.

It's a blow that comes from the gut, Mark.

You have to put everything you have into it, your body, your breath, your intention.

She showed me an example: with a powerful and concentrated movement, she lunged and exploded a training dummy in half with a single blow.

The force released was impressive.

— Now, your turn!

I trained, drawing on my last reserves of strength, frustrated by my repeated failures.

Suzanne gave me no respite.

If my blow lacked power, she would approach, showing me the movement again and again, her strong hand on mine, guiding my arms, her muscular body close to mine, making me feel the power she wanted me to find within myself.

Her deep voice resonated, her encouragement tinged with inflexible demand.

Two hours later, exhausted but proud, I finally succeeded, the blow resonating and splitting the dummy with a dry crack.

The same thrill of tension ran through me, this time mixed with the pride of having impressed her.

I collapsed to the ground.

— You can come back next week.

Elise's Side

I headed towards the church, worried about Mark.

He was so weak around women; I was afraid he would cheat on me, but I trusted him.

Upon arriving at the church, I went to the chief priest.

— Hello.

I would like to take classes to become a priestess of the Goddess of Love.

For now, I'm an apprentice priestess, I said, excited.

— Oh, you've come at the right time!

I myself am a priest of the Goddess of Love.

Do you know what the priests of love do? he asked me, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes.

— No, I don't know at all.

I know there are very few priests.

— Indeed, there are very few priests.

The priestesses of Love have a particular power: they do not draw their strength from faith like other priests, but from their desire.

Already, all priestesses have a curse on them: the more excited you are, the more you attract men.

The problem with this curse is that the priestesses' spells make them excited.

The more spells you cast, the more you want to make love.

Do you understand? said the priest.

— Yes, I understand, I replied, stuttering.

That means as soon as I cast a spell, I'll be excited, and the more excited I am, the more men I'll attract.

Elise felt overwhelmed, but excited at the same time.

She thought: "That's why all eyes are on me... and maybe Mark will be more daring."

— Do you accept? the priest asked me in an uncertain voice.

— Yes, I accept! I replied with a determined voice.

— Then, we will move on to learning spells.

The first will be "Healing."

I will cut my finger and you will have to heal it.

But when you use it, you will feel excited.

— Yes, I understand.

The priest took a knife and cut his hand.

I placed my hands around his palm and strongly thought of healing.

His wound began to close, but I started to blush.

I had tingling all over my body and a small urge to make love.

That was it, the famous excitement.

— So, how do you feel?

— I feel excited, and I'm starting to want a dick.

— Now, the second spell is "Light Arrow."

You point your palm at a dummy and think about sending an arrow.

I tried by pointing my hand at the dummy and thinking very hard that an arrow should come out of my hand and pierce my enemy.

A light arrow shot out, and my excitation became stronger.

— You learn quickly, my dear disciple!

I think if you continue on this path, you could even become a Saint! he said, laughing.

— The next spell is "Antidote."

This will be the most restrictive spell to learn, because it has no side effects, but to use it, you have to suck the dick of the poisoned person.

It does, however, have an advantage: it reduces excitement, he told me with fear in his eyes, afraid that I would refuse.

— Can you let me think? I asked, a little uncertain.

I really wanted to be an adventurer, but I didn't think my class would make me do such... daring things.

I had promised my heart to Mark, but he didn't hesitate to flirt with other girls in front of me.

After thirty minutes, I made up my mind.

I accepted.

I returned to see the priest.

— I accept.

Then the chief priest took a paralyzing poison.

— You have to take off my pants and put my dick in your mouth, then make me cum.

If you do, the poison will disappear.

But if you do it, I will remain immobile for thirty minutes, with no consequences for me.

It's up to you.

I crouched down.

I took off his pants with absolute determination, my fingers barely trembling despite my resolve.

After, I took off his boxers.

I saw his 16 cm dick, erect, vibrating.

I was shocked.

It was the first time I had seen a dick other than Mark's, and my mind, despite the tension, noted that it was anything but "cute."

It was thick, engorged with blood.

I began to touch it with my hands, and the texture, hard and warm under my fingers, was a new surprise.

I took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself.

A distinct odor floated around his crotch: a pungent mixture of sweat, dried semen, and a slight hint of urine.

My stomach clenched for a moment, but the growing excitement, fueled by the previous spells, began to drown out this repulsion.

I delicately placed my lips on the glans, hesitating for a moment.

The priest let out a hoarse moan, and this sound gave me a strange impulse.

Then, I began to push it deep into my mouth.

The warmth was intense, the texture a little rough.

I moved back and forth slowly, awkwardly at first, then more confidently.

The smell was still present, sometimes nauseating, but each movement increased my excitement, gradually transforming disgust into a kind of perverted fascination.

The tip of my tongue brushed the hollow under the glans, and I felt the pulsation of his blood, of his desire.

My cheeks grew hot, my stomach contracted.

The dick swelled further in my mouth, and I felt the pressure building, a sign that he was about to explode.

— You have to swallow everything, otherwise the spell won't work! gasped the priest.

So, I plunged as deep as I could, my throat contracting.

Sperm gushed out, hot and sticky, filling my mouth.

Its taste was strong, bitter, metallic, infinitely more pungent and disturbing than anything I had known from Mark.

It was horrible, an assault on my taste buds, but the excitement was at its peak, blurring my senses.

It was a sacrifice, a necessity to acquire this power, for my future as an adventurer, and also... an act of submission that, paradoxically, gave me a strange sensation of power.

I made a violent effort not to vomit, swallowed it all at once, feeling the thick liquid slide down my throat.

— Thank you.

The poison has dissipated.

Come back whenever you want to learn more spells, he said, his voice hoarse, as he got dressed.

I immediately headed towards the inn to wait for Mark.