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The following two fights went by with little enthusiasm from the audience. Their thirst for blood had been beyond satiated, and now they were simply left sick. Foley withstood his opponent’s attacks as always, waiting for him to tire before opening his defenses and striking back. Saimallah crushed his opponent without touching him, ending the match in seconds.

He pushed against the seal, using his mana to separate from his clone, but it was like he was buried in concrete. He couldn’t project his mana even a centimeter beyond his skin. It was even more difficult than performing his workout, but this was precisely what he wanted. Saimallah said that he and his fellow monks used these headbands to train their projection abilities, and there was no better way than this. As he struggled and strained, the seal began to give, ever so slightly, feeling less like concrete and more like rubber.

As if she had set an alarm, Sarah awoke just after midnight. Slipping without a sound from her bed and creeping down the hall, she strode into her father’s room again. This time the hesitation had left her completely. With a clean and gentle movement, she swept the sheet of his bed and locked onto her resting father’s member. Crawling up his bed between his legs, she hovered over his crotch, leant down and sucked his flaccid cock into her mouth. She swallowed his thick, soft sausage down to the base, licking the head and breathing in his thick scent. It didn’t take long for his cock to harden, with each throb growing thicker and longer in her mouth until it pushed her back.