Reincarnated as a Mushroom? Chapter 56 - 55: The Ritual of Thigh and Tongue, or: How to

Chapter 55: The Ritual of Thigh and Tongue, or: How to Worship a Warrior

Deja vu wrapped around us like a scented fog—familiar, thick, and charged with sothing primal. After our initial kiss, I descended down Kimchi’s sculpted form like a pilgrim at the altar, my mouth offering reverence in the only language it knew: pressure, warmth, and devotion.

Soft gasps escaped her lips, each one a note in a crescendo of sighs. When I reached the sacred juncture between her thighs, I worshipped it like the shrine it was—lips eting her rosebud with rhythm, tongue tracing her folds like calligraphy across vellum flesh. She moaned, once, twice, and then lost count.

Kimchi wanted to skip ahead. She wanted to feel her mate inside her—completing her, claiming her. But even through the tension of urgency, she couldn’t deny the exquisite agony of patience. What my mouth did to her was nothing short of a liturgy of lust.

Her breaths grew uneven. Not desperate, but... asured. Like she was holding sothing back. Through the psionic link I could feel it—a friction inside her heart. Not arousal, but caution. A warrior’s worry. Not for herself. For .

She was afraid. Afraid of becoming her Queen, of losing control and damaging what she cherished.

So I made a choice.

Without warning, I lifted her. Out of the water, into my arms. Her body wrapped around mine with instinctive grace—her breasts now level with my face. I took one of her pink nipples into my mouth and began to suck, slow and deliberate, while my hand found the other and teased it with pinches and rolls.

She cried out—ecstatic, unfiltered. The sensation cracked sothing inside her. Her first climax hadn’t even faded before another was rising to take its place.

"Ah—my Irvine... aahh!"

It was music. Chaotic. Sacred. A hymn to the return of intimacy.

The heat between us was no longer a question of if, but how long we could contain the inevitable.

After another rush of shudders that left my waist slick with more than just water, Kimchi’s restraint crumbled like old marble. She stepped away from , still trembling, and guided to a wide, warm rock at the pool’s edge—half throne, half sacrificial stone.

"I want to give to you," she said in that gentle, ritualistic cadence she always used when sothing mattered more than she could articulate. "Not just take."

It was phrased like a question, but her body answered before I could. She knelt, and without ceremony, took into her mouth—not with slow devotion, but with ravenous worship.

"F—fuck!" I groaned, my entire nervous system locking up.

This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t foreplay. This was a declaration.

Kimchi had never started here before. Never begun with abandon.

For long, disorienting monts, my brain lost all connection to language. Only twitching, only half-choked moans. When I could finally breathe again, I tangled my hand in her hair and began to guide her gently—but firmly—deeper. A silent affirmation of mutual trust.

And then ca the hum.

Her signature vibration, a weaponized moan that turned her throat into an instrunt of psionic bliss. I threw my head back, let out sothing between a prayer and a growl, and released.

She drank everything without flinching.

When she opened her eyes again, they were still hungry.

I smiled. Predatory. Possessive.

The beast in answered the warrior in her.

With a growl, I flipped her around and pulled her onto all fours. She looked back at , wide-eyed and panting, the tension in her hips visible as she waited. Not as a submissive. But as a soldier prepared to be conquered by the one man who could earn it.

I lined myself against her—her body already soaked with anticipation—and paused only to whisper:

"I love you, Kimchi. You were the first face I ever saw."

She tried to respond, but the mont eclipsed words. Her breath ca out in thick, trembling exhalations. Her eyes said everything: Yes. Take . Now.

And I did.

No ceremony. No gentleness. Just raw, ecstatic union.

There was no pain. There were no walls left between us. Just rhythm. Wet, furious rhythm. Flesh eting flesh in a syncopated dance that echoed across the stone.

pah

pah

pah

For ten minutes it was this: the music of our bodies, the grunts and cries of unspoken need. Until I lifted her again—legs hoisted over my shoulders—and drove downward, watching her legs tremble and twitch with every brutal wave of pleasure that coursed through her.

Orgasm after orgasm crashed through her. Ti lted. Thought beca irrelevant.

The hours passed not in conversation, but in connection. She took everything—mouth, womb, soul.

Eight hours in, my body finally began to slow. Every muscle ached from the relentless movent, from the fire we’d summoned together. I sent her a pulse through our link: One more. This is the last one.

I pushed, fast and deep, until the crescendo hit. And this ti, I pulled out, letting my final release paint her chest and face with everything I had left.

Spent, I collapsed into the water beside her. My head barely above the surface, body humming with weariness and elation.

She stared at with dazed joy, her form still twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure. Her first ti with her mate had not rely satisfied her—it had changed her.

"Seventeen years," I heard her whisper. "It was worth every second."

She lay there, basking in her afterglow, licking stray trails of my affection from her skin. After a ti, her legs rembered how to function, and she stumbled into the water beside .

We held each other—warrior and warborn, queen’s knight and reclaid soul.

As she pressed against my chest, I looked up at the vaulted ceiling—black stone littered with shimring white motes. Our artificial night sky.

A smile crept onto my face. Not smug. Not satisfied. Just... peaceful.

"So," I murmured through telepathy, too exhausted to form sound. "How was your reward?"

Kimchi inhaled deeply, nuzzling my chest. "It was everything Orchid—I—ever wanted. I... I love you, Irvine."

My heart skipped.

"You... you used ’I’?" My voice cracked with disbelief.

She nodded slowly. "Yes. Orchid wanted to show that I love you. Not just the na you gave . ."

Gods.

I didn’t even care if that made full sense. I pulled her tighter, pressed my forehead to hers, and whispered, "I love you too, my lovebug."

We kissed, slow and lingering, and then let the silence wrap around us.

There were no more words.

Only the gentle sound of artificial wind through leaves, the soft bubbling of the pool, and the quiet rhythm of two lovers breathing together under a stolen sky.

Chapter 55: The Ritual of Thigh and Tongue, or: How to Worship a Warrior

Deja vu wrapped around us like a scented fog—familiar, thick, and charged with sothing primal. After our initial kiss, I descended down Kimchi’s sculpted form like a pilgrim at the altar, my mouth offering reverence in the only language it knew: pressure, warmth, and devotion.

Soft gasps escaped her lips, each one a note in a crescendo of sighs. When I reached the sacred juncture between her thighs, I worshipped it like the shrine it was—lips eting her rosebud with rhythm, tongue tracing her folds like calligraphy across vellum flesh. She moaned, once, twice, and then lost count.

Kimchi wanted to skip ahead. She wanted to feel her mate inside her—completing her, claiming her. But even through the tension of urgency, she couldn’t deny the exquisite agony of patience. What my mouth did to her was nothing short of a liturgy of lust.

Her breaths grew uneven. Not desperate, but... asured. Like she was holding sothing back. Through the psionic link I could feel it—a friction inside her heart. Not arousal, but caution. A warrior’s worry. Not for herself. For .

She was afraid. Afraid of becoming her Queen, of losing control and damaging what she cherished.

So I made a choice.

Without warning, I lifted her. Out of the water, into my arms. Her body wrapped around mine with instinctive grace—her breasts now level with my face. I took one of her pink nipples into my mouth and began to suck, slow and deliberate, while my hand found the other and teased it with pinches and rolls.

She cried out—ecstatic, unfiltered. The sensation cracked sothing inside her. Her first climax hadn’t even faded before another was rising to take its place.

"Ah—my Irvine... aahh!"

It was music. Chaotic. Sacred. A hymn to the return of intimacy.

The heat between us was no longer a question of if, but how long we could contain the inevitable.

After another rush of shudders that left my waist slick with more than just water, Kimchi’s restraint crumbled like old marble. She stepped away from , still trembling, and guided to a wide, warm rock at the pool’s edge—half throne, half sacrificial stone.

"I want to give to you," she said in that gentle, ritualistic cadence she always used when sothing mattered more than she could articulate. "Not just take."

It was phrased like a question, but her body answered before I could. She knelt, and without ceremony, took into her mouth—not with slow devotion, but with ravenous worship.

"F—fuck!" I groaned, my entire nervous system locking up.

This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t foreplay. This was a declaration.

Kimchi had never started here before. Never begun with abandon.

For long, disorienting monts, my brain lost all connection to language. Only twitching, only half-choked moans. When I could finally breathe again, I tangled my hand in her hair and began to guide her gently—but firmly—deeper. A silent affirmation of mutual trust.

And then ca the hum.

Her signature vibration, a weaponized moan that turned her throat into an instrunt of psionic bliss. I threw my head back, let out sothing between a prayer and a growl, and released.

She drank everything without flinching.

When she opened her eyes again, they were still hungry.

I smiled. Predatory. Possessive.

The beast in answered the warrior in her.

With a growl, I flipped her around and pulled her onto all fours. She looked back at , wide-eyed and panting, the tension in her hips visible as she waited. Not as a submissive. But as a soldier prepared to be conquered by the one man who could earn it.

I lined myself against her—her body already soaked with anticipation—and paused only to whisper:

"I love you, Kimchi. You were the first face I ever saw."

She tried to respond, but the mont eclipsed words. Her breath ca out in thick, trembling exhalations. Her eyes said everything: Yes. Take . Now.

And I did.

No ceremony. No gentleness. Just raw, ecstatic union.

There was no pain. There were no walls left between us. Just rhythm. Wet, furious rhythm. Flesh eting flesh in a syncopated dance that echoed across the stone.

pah

pah

pah

For ten minutes it was this: the music of our bodies, the grunts and cries of unspoken need. Until I lifted her again—legs hoisted over my shoulders—and drove downward, watching her legs tremble and twitch with every brutal wave of pleasure that coursed through her.

Orgasm after orgasm crashed through her. Ti lted. Thought beca irrelevant.

The hours passed not in conversation, but in connection. She took everything—mouth, womb, soul.

Eight hours in, my body finally began to slow. Every muscle ached from the relentless movent, from the fire we’d summoned together. I sent her a pulse through our link: One more. This is the last one.

I pushed, fast and deep, until the crescendo hit. And this ti, I pulled out, letting my final release paint her chest and face with everything I had left.

Spent, I collapsed into the water beside her. My head barely above the surface, body humming with weariness and elation.

She stared at with dazed joy, her form still twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure. Her first ti with her mate had not rely satisfied her—it had changed her.

"Seventeen years," I heard her whisper. "It was worth every second."

She lay there, basking in her afterglow, licking stray trails of my affection from her skin. After a ti, her legs rembered how to function, and she stumbled into the water beside .

We held each other—warrior and warborn, queen’s knight and reclaid soul.

As she pressed against my chest, I looked up at the vaulted ceiling—black stone littered with shimring white motes. Our artificial night sky.

A smile crept onto my face. Not smug. Not satisfied. Just... peaceful.

"So," I murmured through telepathy, too exhausted to form sound. "How was your reward?"

Kimchi inhaled deeply, nuzzling my chest. "It was everything Orchid—I—ever wanted. I... I love you, Irvine."

My heart skipped.

"You... you used ’I’?" My voice cracked with disbelief.

She nodded slowly. "Yes. Orchid wanted to show that I love you. Not just the na you gave . ."

Gods.

I didn’t even care if that made full sense. I pulled her tighter, pressed my forehead to hers, and whispered, "I love you too, my lovebug."

We kissed, slow and lingering, and then let the silence wrap around us.

There were no more words.

Only the gentle sound of artificial wind through leaves, the soft bubbling of the pool, and the quiet rhythm of two lovers breathing together under a stolen sky.