To Save a World Ch. 07

And then Aaron discovered another key difference between his women. When Lydia stiffened in orgasm, she stiffened. When Serche stiffened, her toned limbs crushed your body like an industrial vice grip.

She surged into him like a vengeful silver wave as her orgasm ripped into her. Their foreheads knocked together with a painful thump as she mindlessly sought his lips to plug her mouth from making so much noise. She kissed him so hard that Aaron was sure his lips would be bleeding in some spots. So restricted, she was only able to emit periodic deep grunts in time with the spasms of her cunt. Her chest crushed him with an exhilarating pressure, nipples digging into his skin like hard jewels.

She came down from her high with whimpering shudders. Aftershocks of her mind-shattering orgasm still ripped from her body as their locked lips continued to dance. She tasted like light flowers in fresh river water.

"M.. mmf... master... mercy... mm... my tail." She managed to whine around their kiss.

Realizing he was still jacking off her tail, Aaron stopped and buried his fingers back into the yielding pillow of her ass cheek.

Aside from the burning in his limbs from two open-water fuck sessions, Aaron had another need that would not be denied. This time, he would cum.

Without a word of warning, he reared his hip and thrust into Serche, making her cry out in surprise before he shut her mouth with his own. It was an exhausting thing, and he huffed around their kiss, but he would not relent. Thankfully, Serche had recovered enough that she was able to put her fitness to bear, meeting his clumsy thrusts with fluid undulations of her hips.

Serche's pussy fluttered around his girth. Whereas Lydia seemed to make him fight for every inch of her gloriously tight, wet channel, Serche's cunt welcomed every thrust and was loathe to let go. Her walls gripped him with a determined, addictive strength as she rode him up and down. His cock seemed to vibrate with pleasure as she bathed him in her heat.

It was not easy on Serche as well, and her face was contorted into an adorable expression of pure focus, with her silver brows knit together above closed eyes and parted lips.

That lustful, wanton expression from the otherwise formal and stern Serche was what pushed Aaron over the edge. He gripped her ass like he wanted to crumple it in his hand and forced his cock as deep as it would go up into her cunt. His mouth locked around a nipple as Serche whimpered with need.

He almost bit her as he unloaded deep. His whole being seemed to pour out through his cock and into the welcoming, Serche's fiery depths. The bottom half of his body felt like liquid. One with the river. The woman gurgled something incoherent as she too came apart, her pussy walls desperately milking his spurting meat. She coaxed every thick, hot drop of his essence by the intense fluttering of her muscles.

Serche whimpered a sound of protest. Aaron was still locked around her right nipple, and the bud was sure to be sore come tomorrow with the amount of suction he was putting it through. As an apology, he gently swirled his tongue over it. Serche murmured breathless noises of pleasure.

"Crap," Aaron finally popped off the delightful breast. "I'm so tired - my arms are barely holding on to this rope. I don't think I can get back up to the raft anymore."

"If swimming lessons are this... fun. I'd love to do it every day." Serche panted. "Soon enough, I'd be treading water as expertly as any of you."

Aron laughed. Despite complaining of his tiredness, he managed to make small, luxuriating motions of his hips to stir his still-hard cock inside Serche's spent tunnel. The shaman whimpered and bit her lower lip, golden eyes gazing at him with an awed, satiated look.

"Does this thing ever go down?" She whispered with a smile.

"Around you guys? Never. Wouldn't want it to, either, if this is what it earns me every time."

Serche grinned at him. "Good answer."

The pair luxuriated in their embrace for a little longer, until Aaron couldn't ignore the screaming in his muscles anymore.

"Serche, if we stay for a minute longer, I literally won't be able to come back up."

Serche hurried to scramble off him. Despite her fear of the water, she managed to remove herself from his body and clutch the rope instead. Aaron hauled himself out of the water and back onto the rough, uneven surface of the Paradise Lost. He plopped bonelessly on his back as soon as he was able. The semi-hardness of his cock flapped about like a disgruntled snake, but he was much too tired to care. The diffuse light of the cloudy sky pierced through his closed eyes. Aaron just laid there and breathed.

A weight dropped to his crotch. He peeked out under one eye to find Lydia above him, assisting Serche off the water. She was already dressed in her only tunic, coupled with a ridiculous-looking deerskin skirt while her linen underpants were drying out. She covered Serche as soon as she could. The two women were giggling together. Lydia shot knowing glances down at him.

Trasnu stood directly above him. He was the one that had dropped the cloth to hide his naked crotch. "Cover that tool up, will you?" He chastised lightheartedly. "Lydia looks like she's about to use it for some spearing."

"Sorry." Aaron apologized as he squinted up at the Rakan.

Trasnu smirked. "No, you're not."

That very hour, they weighed anchor and allowed the Paradise Lost to float downstream once again. The term 'weigh anchor' amused Aaron - it was practically the only nautical-sounding thing he knew. He remembered that there were supposed to be different names for each side of a waterborne vessel, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall what the starboard was supposed to be, nor where the bow and aft were.

Well, at least he can say for sure that he wasn't even remotely close to being a sailor in his past life.

Thankfully, no one in their group minded, as they were just as ignorant as he was. Serche and Trasnu he could understand. He was once again surprised by Lydia, though, as it turned out that she never cared to know all about ships and things.

'My interests were more on staying alive, master.' She had said. And besides, she stayed away from the docks. Apparently, the street gangs there were tough as shoestrings and twice as mean, and anyone else was liable to be grabbed by the dockhands and sailors to keep in their holds as slave labor.

So the front of the raft remained the front, and the back, the back.

Their anchor was a huge, rectangular river rock tied all over with rope. They found it a little upriver from their camp, and the bindings they made themselves. A large part of the week since Trasnu arrived from his expedition was spent making rope. It was easy enough, but it was a time-consuming, tedious job. Nevertheless, they were able to make an impressive amount of the stuff out of vines that Serche prepared. It was stored in thick rolls in the box.

Rakan ingeniousness had never failed to amaze Aaron so far, and the Paradise Lost did not disappoint in terms of displaying this astounding trait. It might have been Aaron's brainchild, but it was Serche and Trasnu who brought it to life.

His main contribution was only the floor, the raft itself. It was more or less twenty feet long, but only about eight feet across. The logs, artificially grown through Lydia's practically unlimited magic, were ramrod straight and didn't have a lot of pesky branches. More importantly, all of them had just about the same thickness. Eight whole logs were bound with a mixture of rope and magically-enhanced vines, each of them more or less a foot in diameter.

And then that was it. They tested it, found it to float, and Aaron was happy to christen it the Paradise Lost.

It was Trasnu that added the things that made it a truly useful vessel, no matter how primitive; the anchor, the box, the steer, the sleeping quarters at the back, and, most astonishingly, the fire pit.

With Trasnu's survival experience and ingeniousness, Serche's magic, and Aaron and Lydia's labor, the group had the most basic of comforts in their journey. They slept in a rudimentary bed, had warm meals, and did not lack clean drinking water, as long as they made sure to refill their containers before the day's bath and ablutions (which, by the way, was a strict double-measure of 'to each their own' and 'don't ask don't tell' policy).

Aaron still missed the certainty of having a home. In fact, he felt nostalgic every time he thought of their camp deep in the forest. Even though Trasnu had always mentioned that they would leave eventually, it was still a solid place in the world for them, and he missed having it.

But they currently lacked for nothing. And besides, they did need to hurry.

He looked over to the older man from where he sat, feet dipped to the water, over the side of the raft. Trasnu had not stopped fishing since they weighed anchor and started to drift downriver again, throwing and gathering his fishing line on the other side of the boat from Aaron. He didn't look sickly, but Aaron could see a tiredness in his eyes that wasn't there before. And from whispered conferences with the girls, he knew that Trasnu winced every time he used a sudden burst of energy. The hunter might look hale and hearty, but it took him his all just to pretend that he was so.

Aaron got the distinct impression of watching the Rakan age years in a day. It made his insides tie themselves in knots.

He mentally shied away from the thought of what they'd do should Trasnu's situation degrade further. The young man desperately tried to hide it, but even entertaining the possibility of losing Trasnu gave him debilitating pangs of anxiety.

Often, it was just a heavy blanket of dread that settled in his body, making it hard to swallow and hard to breathe. It made his heart pump like he was running. Sometimes, when it was really bad, his thoughts would freeze and he would simply be paralyzed. Trapped in his own brain with the monsters of fear and paranoia.

The young man shook his head, steadied his breathing. Thankfully, no one had seemed to notice it yet. He knew it wasn't healthy, but he couldn't help his reaction. This group was all he had in this strange new world. They were his family, his lovers, his friends, his allies. They were his world. He simply, terrifyingly, could not bear to lose even one of them.

He took a deep breath and got up from his seat. Water ran down his legs and splashed into the wood.

Trasnu watched him as he approached. "Care for some fish, master?" He asked, nodding towards his catch. There were already seven decent-sized fish of various coloring carelessly strewn about right where the hunter stood. One of them was still flopping its tail.

Despite the fear in his gut, Aaron wrinkled his nose playfully. "No thanks. Unlike you dog-people, I don't care for raw, stinky fish. I'm civilized."

Trasnu snorted. "Back in the Age of Harmony, they used to eat all sorts of raw things. You could say eating raw fish was the height of culture."

Aaron raised a brow. "How'd that work out for them?"

"Probably not well. It's what started the War of the Races. The humans couldn't stand the stinky food."

The young man chuckled. It had taken him a while to learn Serche's lessons of never taking the Rakan storyteller's words to heart - the insults, the praises, and the stories all. In the Shaman's own phrasing, Trasnu's words were like a drunken tavern song; good for the moment, but best left unremembered after.

"Are you all right, Trasnu?"

The older Rakan man eyes him again, this time with a curious flick of his ears and tilt of his head that Aaron somehow translated to mild irritation. "Yes, master, I am well. Just as I was well this morning. Or the day before. Or the day before that."

Aaron swallowed, aware of the man's annoyance. But he couldn't stop himself. "But you'll tell us if you feel any differently, right? You'll say so if you start to feel pain?"

"Yes, dear." Trasnu groaned in protest. "No, wait. You're worse than a spouse. You're more like a mother. Spirit's own honesty, boy, you could make a ladder to the heavens with the number of years in between our ages. Just trust an old man's word, will you?"

"Yeah." Aaron sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. I just worry, is all."

"You have nothing to worry about, my master. The Old Hunter remains the healthiest person in both of the Great Realms."

'If only you were telling the truth.' Aaron thought as he laughed along with the Rakan's proud pronouncement.

The next day, Trasnu didn't wake up.

"H... He's still breathing." Serche's voice shook in the slightest way.

It was just the crack of dawn. The four of them had taken to watching the raft in shifts, and it was supposed to be Trasnu's turn in the hours just before sunrise. Serche thought the old Rakan was just tired, so she didn't try to wake him up until at least an hour after he was supposed to relieve her. When she tried to, she found him unresponsive and immediately woke Aaron and Lydia.

Lydia sighed in relief, but the tension in between Aaron's shoulders wouldn't relent. He felt like there wasn't enough air around, and his heart began to pump nervously. He took his eyes off the sleeping Rakan and looked around the dark landscape. It's always darkest before the dawn, they said, but what if the sun never showed up again?

His gaze fell back to his two companions, kneeling on either side of Trasnu's pallet. Even through the gloom, Aaron could tell plainly that they had their eyes on him.

"W... what do we do, Aaron?" Lydia's words were soft and afraid.

Aaron's world seemed to stop, and a weight seemed to drop on his shoulders. 'Ah, there it is', he thought. The sudden responsibility felt like a death sentence.

"We-" His voice broke, and he cleared his throat to try again. "We need to hurry. We need to go faster - much faster."

"Is it going to work?" Serche immediately asked.

The group had a shared understanding of what this implied. They just couldn't lazily follow the currents of the wide river anymore. The Paradise Lost needed some serious speed.

This wasn't the first time that they'd thought of going faster. With practically nothing else to do, the group had tried out methods of acceleration - primarily using magic. But it used up a lot, and the group didn't want to exhaust Lydia's supply when they didn't feel comfortable enough for periodic top-ups. They thought they needed to reserve magic for emergencies.

Aaron knew it was pointless, but he cursed his thinking and their sensitivities of privacy. They had waited for a long time to hurry, and now they had their emergency.

The young man breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down. "We already know it works for short bursts of speed. What we need to do is sustain it."

His gaze settled on Lydia. She looked nervous, but her eyes held a core of determination. "I can do it." She said shakily. "I'll pace myself and last for as long as it takes."

Aaron nodded. Serche's magical reserves can't hold a candle to Lydia's, more so his. However, out of the three of them, Lydia also has the least control over her output and is, therefore, more liable to waste magical energy, which was why they didn't push it early on. Lydia would need to struggle to remain in control.

"You've got this." He didn't mean to, but his smile felt strained. He stood up and heaved a huge sigh. "Okay people. Trasnu needs us, we're not going to fail him." The young man looked at each of his two companions', and he hoped they saw confidence instead of fear in his eyes.

"Let's get to it."

Thankfully, magic required little preparation. All they really had to do was shake themselves out of the nervous fugue that had settled over them the moment they realized their situation. Serche did a series of stretches that, had the situation been anything else, would have made Aaron drag her down to the floor of the raft. He and Lydia opted to splash themselves with near-freezing water.

"Ready?" Aaron asked.

Lydia looked up to him and nodded. "I always feel silly doing this." She sat cross-legged, her back to the huge chest on the center of the raft. She was facing the way they came, her eyes on the ripples that the raft made as it blundered through the water.

"Remember, send force down and diagonally, like a speedboat."

"Once again, I don't know what a speedboat is, master. All boats are speedy to me." Lydia sighed.

Aaron smiled, his lips tight with nervousness. "Point taken. I don't know why I keep on forgetting."

Aaron saw the magical woman's eyes shift, losing their focus as she stared into the water. He cautioned Serche to hold on to something just in time for the raft to lurch.

It was a relatively small movement, but with the size and weight of their vehicle, that motion carried a lot of force. It was like an invisible, giant hand slapped Lydia's side of the raft.

Everything not tied down to the logs themselves flew a foot into the air. It was a testament to the beastmen's agility that Serche managed to land on her feet, knees bent and slightly spread, her fingers touching the floor. Aaron was not as athletic, nor fortunate. He flew up and slammed down like a sack of potatoes.

Lydia winced. "Sorry -"

"No, totally my fault." Aaron managed to groan as he stood up. "Try again. Find that sweet spot, just like last time."

Lydia nodded. Aaron held tight on the secured heavy box, but kept his joints loose, following the motion of their heavy craft. This time, he was ready for the sudden lurching motion, and Lydia's magic was considerably more controlled. The Paradise Lost sailed (if this could even be called that) much faster. Aaron actually felt wind play with his hair in its passing.

The young man looked at Serche and nodded, and she swiftly made her way to the steer. The Rakan had kept her balance without needing to hold on to anything. "Good thing we tied Trasnu down, huh." His voice was low, but Serche's ears picked it up and she chuckled.

The principle was simple - they just mimicked modern boats with magical force. Lydia, with her vast amounts of magical energy, acted as the engine, while the Shaman, armed with her incredible senses, was left to steer. Of course, that left Aaron to guard against any other external factors that might arise. Right now, that was a euphemism for "not doing anything".

Though it was incredibly basic, it still took them quite some time and magic to figure this thing out. It was outside of all of their expertise, Serche being an expert at manipulating living things as Lydia was with emotions. In the end, it came down to trial and error, but they managed to learn some things.

Magic, as it turned out, did not act like it did in the movies. At first, Aaron thought they could propel their craft just by having Lydia stand on one end and sort of push at the water. Of course, water is vastly different from fire, if not its polar opposite. That first few times resulted in the young woman simply sinking magic into the river uselessly.

When she learned to 'grasp' at the water, pushing at it diagonally made her fly five feet into the air in an arc that ended in a spectacular splash into the river. At that moment, something inside Aaron's brain clicked as suspicions that he did not even know he had were justified: magic followed the laws of physics.

This was somewhat counter-intuitive, as magic itself was a violation of physics. But it would explain so much. It would explain why Serry flaming debris at them as they fled, and not magical fireballs, way back in time. It would explain why, despite trying quite hard, he couldn't make more than a large drop of water appear in thin air - because it had to be collected from the surroundings, and not just made out of nowhere. It would explain why Lydia flew - the third law of motion. Aaron guessed that Lydia couldn't push more water than she herself weighed, and so the law of opposite reaction assured that she would move in the opposite direction.