The building materials dropped off at their place were extensive. There were various raw materials, wood and stone, among other things. More important were the various tools used to work that wood and stone, to mix cent and spread plaster. All of that was stored in the large, semi-decrepit barn. It had survived so far, so perhaps it would survive until John had the ti to replace it.
Once everything was dropped off, the Abyssal construction supplier tipped his hat and hit the road. It didn’t matter too much if the Gar had forgotten about sothing, anything he needed was just one call away from being delivered. He had the finances and the influence. He would have gotten a discount too, had he asked for it. This was, after all, one of his subjects.
Ignoring such political thoughts, John went straight to work, equipped with a couple of wooden stakes, a asuring tape, and Eliana to keep him company. The pretty little psycho was wearing a shirt with a criss-cross, wine red and deep blue pattern on it, in addition to so loosely fitting pants. Hanging out in the countryside gave an easy excuse to look the part. Thanks to the choker around her neck, she had brown hair and skin of a mild tan that matched the outfit.
“How do you like it so far?” John drove a stake into dirt.
“We’ve been here for two fucking hours.” Eliana’s legs swung back and forth. She sat in one of the many cheap plastic chairs they had brought along. Not a glamorous seat, yet comfortable enough and suitable for the environnt.
“You still have to have an opinion.” The asuring tape stretched with a ratcheting sound. After two tres, he stopped, and drove the next stake into the dirt. “You can say whatever you want,” he encouraged her. “You already ca here with despite how out of the blue it was. I can take it if so of you aren’t the biggest fans.”
“Okay… so first off, I’ll take the fucking teleporter for every last bathroom visit.”
“That is fair.”
“I love the scenery though,” Eliana was quick to continue, gesturing out into the forest. “I wonder what kind of shit Jane will bring back.”
“We can hunt out here, by the way.”
“I didn’t get a permit.”
“Fuck the permit,” John turned to her with a grin, “I’m not telling if you’re not telling.”
“…I never shot a fucking gun… do we have guns?”
“I bought so for the hell of it.” The Gar turned a corner, after having placed ten stakes in a row. The twenty-tre line would be the front of the ambitious house-building project he was engaging in. “Want to shoot so later? We can be savages out here. There’s no one in a several hundred tres radius.”
“So you an… if I want to just tear all my prude-ass clothes off and start furiously masturbating while watching you, I fucking can?”
John chuckled. No matter the ti or place, his harettes remained nymphomaniacs. In her defence, he was currently shirtless and doing physical labour. Whether that generally got won going was debatable. Considering his toned body, their relationship, and how seldom anyone got to watch the Gar do any extensive physical activity outside of fucking, it certainly worked for Eliana.
“You could,” he told her, driving another stake into the dirt with the reinforced heel of the boots he was wearing. “Or…” He walked over to her and grabbed her by the cheek. She gave him big, anticipating eyes. He was going to string her to a tree at so point during their stay here. Not right now, though. “…you could be a good girl…”
“I’ll always try to be a good girl,” Eliana assured.
“…and get a sack of cent out of the barn.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s not what a good girl would say,” John chastised her and gave her a little clap on the cheek. “For the next month, you’re a farr’s girl. Get ready to lug plenty of stuff around, we need every hand we can out here… and stick to what is mundanely possible.” There was basically no chance anyone bothered them out here, but he did not want to run the risk. “Then you can masturbate watching .”
“Deal.” Eliana got out of the plastic chair and hastened towards the barn. It was on the opposite side of the clearing. A bit sub-optimal when it ca to the building. John had elected he would rather deal with that bit of hassle than dig the water lines and such all the way over to the barn. He was building next to the old house instead.
It would give him a nice side-by-side, down the line. The current house was, by his estimation, sixty years old. There was no actual building plan around anymore, so he could only go by the state the materials were in. From what little there was to gather about the history of this property, the previous owner had bought it to beco a farr after World War 2, raised his children here, then eventually died and none of his children wanted to tend to the property in turn. It was a rather enormous property, even in this rural area, so the WW2 part may have been entirely fiction. At the very least, this was not the kind of size a normal soldier would be able to afford after service. Perhaps they hadn’t served at all. Perhaps they had inherited it from the Hostead Act era. Impossible to say.
In any case, it was impressive that the house still stood after all this ti, in the state that was the tornado capital of the union no less. Much could be said about old-ti constructs, but the people certainly knew how to make do with what they had.
John desired to emulate that. What he would build here would not be another brutalist, quickly smacked together square of a house. It would be just as charming as that house would have been in its early days. Modernized and larger, sure, but appropriate for the climate and the environnt as well.
A month was, by most standards, too short a ti to get a house built. What John had going for him, besides the absurd amounts of money he could throw at every issue, was that he was not doing this from scratch and he was doing it with the world’s most capable construction crew, on a sixteen-hour work schedule. They had the physical abilities, the tools, and the wit to take care of everything. Further, they could simulate all of John’s plans over in the Protected Space.
A laundry list of advantages over the average farr. John was trying to make use of as little as possible, but he also wanted to have that house built before the end of the month.
As he continued to asure and mark, he caught himself humming. ‘The world looks more colourful already,’ he thought, consistently smiling. It felt nice to do sothing whose success or failure was so clearly determined, that would not cause anyone trouble but him. When he was done with one step of building, he was done with it. It wasn’t like paperwork, where one form was replaced by another one and twenty when he wasn’t looking.
Farm chores could be like that eventually. Bringing feed to animals, making sure the fence was hot, checking on the water, such and other things. Over the scale of that, however, he would have complete control. No one could force him to buy more pigs than he wished to care for.
Just the prospect of this all tingled the most base instincts in his male brain. He was driven, more so than most of his peers, to provide. To have a farm that was entirely self-sufficient and capable of feeding, clothing, and otherwise maintaining the lifestyle of his girls was a wonderful prospect. Yes, the Guild Hall was that as well. It was also a whole lot more.
This was just his. That was nice. That was relaxing. The confines the expectations of the nation put on his behaviour fell off. Now he was just so shirtless guy with a hamr, driving stakes into the dirt. There was an honesty in that, impossible to achieve otherwise.
He straightened up and stretched. A little bit of sweat rolled down his back. ‘I must be an oasis for certain won around,’ John thought and looked around, expecting at least one harette to be glued to him. Indeed, he found Aclysia and Claire standing behind the window of their current humble abode. Their newfound appreciation for the farm life was written blatantly across their faces. ‘Now where is Eliana?’ he wondered. He expected her to return by this point.
A miserably stumbling little woman tried her best to advance away from the barn. Every step looked terribly like it could be the last one. John dropped his tools and hurried over. He heard Eliana’s ragged breathing, taxed in a non-fun way, from over a dozen tres away. “K-kill… eeeeeee,” the pretty little psycho begged.
John took the bag of cent out of her arms. 25 kilo, a weight that he could lift effortlessly right now and properly would have been able to move around before he got his powers (although not for long distances). Eliana collapsed, her thighs turned into putty. “What happened?” John wanted to know.
“Fuck, I am WEAK, fuck, shit, fuck, no wonder girls want big fucking guys, fuck my life, I totally forgot how fucking SMALL I am.” Eliana’s tirade of curses were unhelpful in finding an explanation. She swallowed heavily, grabbed his leg and dragged herself forwards. Unsubtly, she pressed her face right into his crotch. “John, if I ever lose my magic, you have to fucking promise that I’m fine being an annoying cumbucket.”
“You’re not annoying,” John reprimanded her imdiately. “Yes to the rest of that – although I would keep you around for a few more reasons than breeding you.” He kept the bag of cent over his shoulder with one arm and patted her head with the unoccupied hand. She had seen him lift entire house walls, he had seen her lift hills, yet sohow her eyes reflected a never before seen intensity in appreciating his physical form. With the panic of seeing her tortured like this fading away, the Gar clicked in what just happened. “…Did you use your blood magic to actually revert yourself to your baseline human strength to be as mundane as possible?”
“Worst fucking mistake ever,” Eliana gasped, slowly regaining control over her breathing. She was built pretty well for her size. John’s preference for slender, athletic won was reflected more or less in all of his harettes. That being said, she was a woman of 1,62 tres. Most of the local farrs would have justifiably smacked him over the head for telling a 5 foot 3 inches, adorable little thing like her to haul a cent sack. That she was fitter than most city dwellers helped little there. “Fuck, how do mundanes do this? I forgot how fucked-up weak I am.”
“This is why the bible tells you to respect your man,” John joked.
“…Fuck you and let collapse in the plastic chair.”
The Gar humd. He could not lie, seeing her weak like this, dependent on him to move heavy things around, that did tickle another itch in his brain. Hundreds of thousands of years of human evolution had prid both to be appreciative of him doing the heavy labour for her. In the Abyss, the sexual dimorphism of humanity was considerably muted.
John was not entirely estranged to it. Several harettes were still weaker than him, but even Lorelei, the physically weakest of the bunch, could hope to bench press as much as a highschool quarterback. To see one of the strongest mbers of his harem on her knees, staring at him like only a small woman appreciating her man could, brought these instincts back with a vengeance.
‘Fuck it.’ John dropped the cent and pushed Eliana into the grass. The healthy green was a pretty good cushion. Not that Eliana cared too much, she was too busy giggling wantonly. Her loose pants conford to the shape of her round butt when he stretched her thighs. Only doing the minimum of undressing, he unzipped his jeans, pulled out his cock, and then pulled her pants halfway down her thighs. Panties were slipped to the side, then he found easy entrance into her wet cunt.
“Oh fuuu-u-uck, yessss,” Eliana shouted, audibly more sensitive than usual. The current situation must have tingled her submissive itch as much as it did his dominant one. It was the first ti he fucked anyone on his new property and it was the simplest, roughest, and most ecstatic it possibly could have been. That the rapid rutting into his (currently) brunette submissive was also short lived did not bother either of them. After about five minutes, she had cum two tis and he had dumped a massive load into her. “That was… fucking… aweso…” Eliana’s rear plopped into the grass, after John pulled out of her.
The Gar dropped down next to her. “Alright… you stay like that for the rest of the vacation,” he ordered her.
“Fuck yeah, I will,” Eliana agreed instantly. “Being weak fucking sucks donkey balls, but being weaker than you is…” A shudder went through her, ending the sentence in a non-verbal and clear way. “So if I can’t lift for shit, what do I do around here?”
“Well, you can still lift.” John grabbed his zipper. For a mont, he considered pumping a second load into her, but he wanted to get stuff done today. There was always the evening. “Be a good farm girl and find stuff to do. Being weaker does not an you don’t have to be crafty.”
Eliana looked down at herself. Unlike him, she decided to strip out of her pants. In her defence, his very much non-mundane load would have made her legwear sticky and a case for the washing machine. While they did have the necessary facilities in the bus, what was installed in there was a longshot from the monstrosity they had back ho. They did have to tolerate dirty clothes out here, albeit less than the situation would have implied.
After he returned to work and Eliana to her watching position (pleasuring herself for their mutual enjoynt), it did not take too long for her to make herself useful in various ways. Conversely, being more limited in what she could do appeared to have a motivating effect on Eliana. Whatever small tasks she could pick up, she did. This took the forms of rolling over the cent mixer, finding additional wooden stakes, fetching shovels, helping him plan out the pipe layout, and generally being a second eye on things. It also took the form of being his go-to cumdump for the hours he was on this.
It did teach John a rather obvious lesson: won were indeed the weaker sex. While he shovelled dirt out of the demarcated area with her, it also taught him a different lesson: her being weaker did not an she was weak. From a purely objective standpoint, Eliana was still a human and they were among the craftiest bunch in the animal kingdom. Her carrying capacity being lower was a factor to plan around.
‘I am once more reinforced that balance is best. People that think the sexes are completely equal and those that think won are inferior can both bugger off,’ the Gar thought. He ramd the shovel into the bare dirt and beheld their work so far. They weren’t even a quarter through digging out the necessary area to start the preparation of pouring a cent slab. ‘Getting the mixer out this early was definitely a mistake.’
“We… stopping?” Eliana asked, using her shovel as a crutch. She was so tired, she even forgot to curse. It was adorable.
There was no particular reason to stop. Even nightfall was just a suggestion. Shovelling was not work that required regular working hours. The sa rationale ant that there was no particular reason to continue. Who would complain if he decided to treat insomnia by throwing dirt around for an hour? Who would insist he keep going already? Nobody. This was his property.
“God, this is liberating,” the Gar suddenly blurted out. Everything was so green and brown and the air slled uncompromisingly of nature, with the pleasant fragrance of spring mixing with the constant decay of forest matter. De-facto, it was not the greatest aroma the Gar had ever slled, but it did plenty to unclog his brain.
Eliana waddled up to him and hugged him. “Can you answer the fucking question?”
“Yeah, let’s stop here for today,” he responded, with a big smile.
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