Dark Moon
We returned to the 667 Unit.
Personal time had been granted until the Freesel Kingdom’s 82nd anniversary celebration the following week. Even training hours were exempted. It was a kind of vacation, if you wanted to call it that. Of course, leaving the unit without permission was still forbidden.
The long-awaited break was sweet as honey, yet I could not afford to waste it. Falling behind here meant death and nothing else. The members of the 667 Unit, myself included, threw ourselves into self-improvement.
At present the 667 Unit numbered fifty-two. The rest had died for every reason imaginable. Falling in combat on a mission was the merciful end. In the early days many simply failed to endure the mana injections and perished. Others died trying to escape the unit too soon.
From the unit’s point of view the fifty-two who remained were successes—skilled enough to survive missions, free of any thought of flight, and obedient. Discipline and oversight inside the unit had loosened as a result. We were still watched, of course, but the leash was longer than it had been.
A soldier’s days were orderly.
Rise early for roll call and a run. Sweat, then shower. Breakfast in the mess. After that, under ordinary circumstances, came training or a mission; now we had free hours. I usually spent them poring over magic texts or practicing mana breathing techniques.
After lunch I met Instructor Lexy. We drilled marksmanship together, then spent an hour or two fucking. Those were the happiest hours of any day.
After dinner came rest—watching the television that had been permitted for the past year. Thanks to it I could piece together a little of how this world actually ran. Evening roll call, then lights-out. And the cycle began again.
Today, however, was different. No. 212 summoned me and dragged me straight toward the baths.
“Wait, No. 212. What are you planning?”
She answered with a languid, knowing smile.
“What else? Going to have a snack.”
I understood at once what she meant by snack. I had half-expected it, so the words neither startled nor flustered me. If anything I felt a small spark of anticipation. In this bland routine, a jolt of pure filth was electric.
“There are cameras outside and inside the baths. You know that.”
The men’s and women’s sides shared a wall. One camera covered the entrance; another sat inside. Blind spots existed, yet if we vanished from view for too long an instructor or a soldier would come looking in person. Even that was an improvement. Once upon a time live wardens had stood watch instead of lenses.
“Did you know the women’s bath has no cameras at all?”
“…I just learned that. Because of No. 31, right?”
“Mm. So the girls play around in there all the time. Last week we even threw a party.”
“So that’s why the women are so fond of bathing.”
I had already guessed as much. No. 31’s status was anything but ordinary; even Instructor Vinous, the man who effectively ran the unit, watched her mood with care.
“Going into the women’s side is fine, but what about the cameras?”
“Don’t worry. The fix is simpler than you think.”
No. 212 cast a spell. Space rippled for an instant, then settled. It looked like a failure.
I read the formula and knew it had succeeded.
3-Class auxiliary magic—Hallucination.
A spell that induced illusions and false images, its strength varying with the caster. Little more than sleight of hand, it rarely fooled mana-awakened senses sharper than a civilian’s.
…She isn’t casting it on me. She’s casting it on the cameras.
Look closely at the lenses and the air in front of them shimmered.
“Is this really safe? If an instructor pays even a little attention we’ll be caught at once.”
“It’s fine. They haven’t monitored properly for half a year. The cameras are practically decoration. We could have walked in without Hallucination and nothing would have happened. And you know they never call us during evening hours.”
I had no counter-argument. The soldier on duty was almost certainly half-watching television and half-asleep.
Together we opened the door to the women’s bath for the first time. The changing room alone was already different. The men’s side was bare and utilitarian; here the walls, the layout, even the light felt bright and almost cheerful. The space was larger, and it smelled better.
“…It’s huge.”
“It used to hold fifty at once without trouble.”
No. 212 gave a bitter little smile. The number of women left now was less than half that.
“Come on.”
She took my hand and led me toward the bathing hall itself. I hesitated.
“Not in the changing room?”
“We finally get inside the women’s bath and you only want to see the lockers? We have to look at the real thing.”
“A little late to ask, but… people?”
“Hehe. Everyone who was going to wash already finished. From this hour on the place is mine—rented with the cosmetics I bought last time.”
We stepped into the bath proper.
I gawked like a country boy fresh off the train. The hall was larger than the men’s—no, far larger. From the tiles underfoot to the fixtures themselves, the finish was luxurious enough to pass for a noble’s private bath.
“Surprised? No. 31 takes bathing very seriously.”
“Even so… this is extreme. Do you know who she really is?”
No. 212 shook her head.
“No idea. She never talks about herself. High enough nobility that even Instructor Vinous can’t ignore her, that’s all I can say.”
She padded over and yanked my trousers down in one smooth motion. I had known it was coming and made no move to stop her. Looking at my half-hard cock, she swallowed.
“Tits or ass. Which is it today?”
No contest.
“Ass.”
“Then lying down will be better.”
Heart hammering, I stretched out on the warm tiles and looked up at her. Without a second’s hesitation she stripped. Black mesh panties, sheer enough to see through—the pair she had bought only yesterday.
“Pretty, right?”
“…Pretty. And filthy.”
She turned her hips slowly, showing them off. I could not tear my eyes from the center. Through the mesh the outline of her pussy and the soft brown of her pubic hair were just visible.
“Looking that hard is making me shy.”
Cheeks faintly pink, she hooked her thumbs and drew the panties down.
Her pussy was neat and clean, closed in a single straight line, the flesh a vivid pink. A light scatter of brown hair sat above it—clearly tended.
“No. 211. Looking at me down there got you hard, didn’t it?”
She grinned at my fully erect cock, then climbed over me into a sixty-nine. Her full, white ass settled over my face. Between the round cheeks a small pink anus peeked out; below it her tightly closed pussy glistened, already wet.
“Slurp!”
She took me into her mouth at once and began to suck with fierce, hungry strokes. She had been waiting for this. Her hips rocked gently.
I sniffed without thinking. The scent was different from Instructor Lexy’s—Lexy’s was strong perfume; No. 212’s was softer, subtler. Both of them made me ache the same way.
I reached up and gripped her ass. She flinched but never stopped working my cock. I kneaded the soft flesh. Texture alone was enough, yet every squeeze tugged at her pussy, parting the closed lips just enough to show the pink interior—tiny clit, a urethra no bigger than a pinprick, a vaginal entrance smaller than my index finger.
The sight of that entrance made me swallow hard.
“Hnnngh? Suddenly you’re rock-hard. Why?”
“…Because you’re so fucking lewd down there.”
More precisely, I had seen the hymen. The instant I recognized it, raw hunger to tear it open with my cock flooded me.
I pushed my tongue out and licked her. No real taste, yet the simple act of licking her pussy was enough to set me on fire. The more I lapped, the more slick poured from her entrance—faintly salty.
“Haah… haaa… Does my pussy taste good?”
“It does.”
We worked each other for a long while. At first we were almost gentle, like licking candy. Then the heat rose, filthy wet sounds filled the air, and we sucked like animals. The wet noises echoed off the tiles and only drove us harder.
I felt the climax first. No. 212 was devouring me like a beast that had gone days without food; the stimulation was overwhelming.
My cock pulsed and flooded her mouth. She never stopped sucking even while I came, so fiercely that I half-believed she was trying to swallow the whole length.
Her ass trembled, then lifted. Tasting my semen must have pushed her over; a gush of her own juices spilled across my face. I stared at the twitching hole and licked my lips.
I want to fuck her…! I want No. 212’s virginity!
But would she let me? Her goal had always been my semen. For reasons I still did not fully understand, she craved it.
Her hips tried to rise. I grabbed her ass and yanked it back down. Heavy weight settled on my face; soft labia pressed against my mouth.
It’s only flesh…
And I felt ready to lose my mind over that flesh.
“Ahn. No. 211. Are you going to keep me like this forever?”
Reluctantly I released her. She stood. Only then could I see her face—lips curved in a languid smile, yet flushed scarlet all the way to her ears.
“I still want more snack… One more time is okay, right?”
“Fine. But this round is tits.”
“Oh—good idea. Should I wrap you with them? I think they call it a paizuri.”
No reason to refuse.
“Please.”
“Ahaha. You’re so serious, No. 211.”
She laughed and peeled off her top. Leaving myself half-dressed felt wrong, so I sat up and stripped as well.
“……”
“……”
We simply looked at each other, bare.
Then footsteps sounded at the entrance—more than one person. At least five.
Both our faces went white.