Amazon Lily had a lot of strange traditions.

You’d experienced flower festivals, “Mate Endurance Trials” (don’t ask), and even the Serpent Spoon Ceremony (which somehow involved Boa feeding you blindfolded for half an hour). But today?

Today was different.

The Mateless Moon—an old custom where mated pairs were expected to show full bodily trust. No clothes. No armor. No shame. Just bare skin. No barriers between you and the one you loved.

Boa had told you about it earlier that morning… then instantly avoided eye contact for the next four hours.

Now, evening had arrived. The sky was dim, glowing violet with streaks of pink. You waited in your private chamber, heart pounding, unsure what to expect.

Then the door creaked open.

And there she was.

Boa Hancock. In all her thick, bare, goddess-tier glory.

Your soul left your body.

She stepped in slowly, arms crossed over her chest, long raven-black hair draped over her shoulders, trying to hide as much of herself as she could—and failing. Her thick hips swayed with every step, her soft thighs rubbing slightly as she moved. Her breasts bounced with the smallest shift, full and round, and the curve of her rear could shatter worlds.

You were stunned. Speechless.

Boa, on the other hand? A total mess.

“I-I’ve never… done this before,” she stammered, blushing to the tips of her ears. “It’s not that I’m ashamed. I just—this body was always a weapon before. Something admired… or feared. Never trusted. Never… given.”

She looked away.

“I want to give it to you,” she whispered.

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

She hesitated—then rushed forward and wrapped her arms around you, pressing her soft body into yours and burying her face in your shoulder.

Specifically… your armpit.

“Mmm… I love this smell,” she mumbled dreamily. “It’s so raw. Masculine. I feel safe here.”

You were frozen. Melting. Dead. Alive again. You couldn’t decide.

Then she pulled back just enough to whisper:

“…Are my breasts too large? I know they’re heavy. I always thought they might be… too much for comfort.”

You choked.

“Or…” she whispered again, turning around slightly, guiding your hands with hers to rest on her full rear, “is my bottom too fat? My hips too wide? I thought maybe if you held them—like this—it would help me feel… more secure.”

Your hands sunk in.

Your brain imploded.

“I-I like them,” you croaked.

She exhaled in relief, snuggling back into your chest with a satisfied hum. “Good, I thought I was getting fat…”