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Her dad nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. He gently pinched her big toe and asked, “How about a deal? I give you massage if you go to bed right after, how does that sound?”

“Thanks, Mom!” I purred, kissing her on her lips. She tried to resist, but only for a second or two before she gave in and started kissing me back. It felt so different, kissing her instead of Daddy! She was softer, more gentle. I liked it... maybe not quite as much as I did Daddy's more forceful style, but still, it felt really good! I kinda regretted it, actually, when I had to pull away, but she deserved to be taken care of, too. I detoured to her breasts on the way down, sucking hungrily on her thick, erect nipples, making her gasp. She moaned, arching her back and running her fingers through my hair, pulling me tighter into her soft, yielding flesh. I couldn't help but giggle at her reaction, and to give her a few teasing little nibbles as well. I wondered, with her titties and nipples both being so much bigger than mine, if that meant they were more sensitive as well? It wasn't something I could directly test, but it sure seemed that way. Then I moved down again, and though her eyes were wide and she was nervously biting her lip, she opened her thighs eagerly enough. I made myself go slow, teasing and exploring, savouring my first ever experience with a pussy other than my own. She tasted good, just like I did, only maybe a little more concentrated and strong. That was probably just because I could only taste myself on my fingers or Daddy's cock, I figured, never directly from the source. I started getting more into it, kissing and sucking, flicking and playing with her lips with the tip of my tongue. She was quite a bit meatier than I was, which I kinda liked; it meant I could really pull and nibble on them, which she really seemed to love.

The fights continued, but they were becoming more and more drawn out. The weakest combatants had all been culled in the first three rounds, and now the remaining warriors were going at it with everything they had. Eventually, Noah’s first target entered the arena. He was a young man, spirited and garbed in plate mail, having won his fights with hard-won determination and effort. His name was Falco. Noah followed him outside, the warrior unaware of his presence. On the other end of the ring, his opponent arrived, another man, a few inches taller and years older, wearing dark clothes and an amused smirk upon seeing Falco. Both were brawlers, entering the ring without weapons.