Ch 3. A Real Gentleman

On Kerenza, once the sun no longer shines on the sky, the temperature drops in the blink of an eye. Yes, I used to pass my time writing lame rhymes when I had nothing better to do. Sometimes it helped with a certain kind of ladies. Sometimes it did not. 

While I trudged on the slope to the top of the hill, I kept the cold at bay. 

Now, as the widow’s house comes into view and the ground is flat under my feet, the chilly breeze makes me gather tightly around me the bear coat I’m wearing over my shoulders. 

The sword is safely sheathed in its scabbard and rests hanging from a girdle I put around my waist. 

By the time I knock at the widow’s door, the darkness has settled, and the smell of rain permeates the air. 

I’m tired and bored. I have to end this errand quick, find a tavern, and a wench with big tits cascading over the cleavage as I’ve seen in the movies. Yeah, that would make my day. No time to waste with an old widow.

As soon as the door creaks open, I yank the sword free from the girdle and offer it using both hands. When I raise my arms, my gaze follows. My jaw drops instantly. How sorely mistaken I have been. 

Aslan never mentioned the widow being old. Just my mind getting ahead of myself. 

Impossible to be older than 25, the woman in front of me peers at me with big brown eyes. Her full lips are slightly parted as if waiting for something from me.

The tips of her reddish-brown hair brush the top edge of her shoulders, covered by the thin fabric of her nightgown. 

Of course, my gaze doesn’t stop there but travels lower. She needs no cleavage as the transparent cloth does little to cover her breasts or the twin little raspberries peeking through, hardened in response to the cold weather.

Conscious of my hungry stare, the woman tightens around her a woolen blanket before taking the sword from my hands. 

“Thank you,” she says, her voice low and trembling. 

She avoids my gaze and instead focuses her attention on the trees swaying under the wind’s onslaught. Her eyebrows furrow and she covers her mouth.

“A storm is coming, right?” she asks, her eyes wide. “You don’t have time to go back.”

“I’ll be fine.” I put on a smile. Women hate cowards. “I can run faster than the storm. Stay safe.”

A single thought ripples across my mind, repeating itself like a prayer: Make it rain! Make it rain! 

Right then and there, my prayer is answered. Rain begins to fall from the sky, pounding the ground and filling the air with its tapping sound. 

I don’t know if it was God or the Goddess of the Harem Multiverse who brought the storm, but I know one thing for sure: I’m a lucky motherfucker.

Without hesitation, the widow grabs my hand and pulls me inside the house. She closes the door and places the sword on the wooden table, remaining next to it, her back to me. 

“I’m sorry. I should have invited you inside sooner,” she says without turning around. “You’re already soaking wet. Take your clothes off, and I’ll get you something to dry you off.”

Only as I do as she asked, I realize that, indeed, I am soaked. 

The widow rummages through a wardrobe as the fire crackles in the hearth, too small to heat the entire room. 

By the time she returns with a large towel, I’m completely naked, not even a bit ashamed. Why would I? This body has muscles like steel, a six-pack that would make an NFL lineman jealous, and a pair of perfectly-formed pectorals. 

Well, what can I say? Thank you, system.

[My pleasure, daddy]

This time, I feel too good to object to the nickname. What can I say? I feel a buddy-bond forming.

The widow offers me a towel and a warm blanket. Her head is turned to the side, her chin touching her shoulder as she avoids looking at me. 

I smile. The shy ones are always the most interesting. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers barely above the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth. “I’ve sold or given to the orphans all the clothes my late husband left behind. You’ll have to use the blanket to keep you warm tonight.”

“That’s enough. Thank you.”

[Wow! You seem like a real gentleman! Totally different from the user I know]

Shut up and let me concentrate. My time will come soon enough. 

The room is small with a single bed. The widow sits down on the bed under the covers, her back to me.

After I dry myself off using the towel, I wrap myself in the blanket and lie down on the floor. Once every now and then, I toss around, switching sides, making sure she hears me. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, just the floor is cold and a bit hard, but I’ll manage.”

“I don’t have anything else to give you.” She sighs, her breathing hitching before continuing, “You can come in the bed if you want. It’s better than on the floor.”

I slowly get up and cross the floor, moving to the bed. I lay down on a side, close to her. My warm breath reaches her nape, causing her to shiver.

Even if I know well why she trembles, I fake ignorance. 

“Are you cold?” I ask, softly touching her shoulder over the covers. “I can help you if you want.”

Her head moves in a nod, and I slide under the covers with her. 

My hand settles on her waist as my nose snuggles in the space between her neck and shoulder. Her breathing becomes heavier as time passes, and I bet she’s painfully aware of my fingers pressing harder into her skin and my dick hardening against her ass. 

The time for gentlemanly acts is gone. There’s no way I can stop now. 

The fabric of her nightgown is so thin that I can feel her warmth as I rub my dick between her butt cheeks and soft enough to make it easier to move. 

Fuck! I’ve barely started, and I’m already close to the edge. 

Wrenn Dorn is a virgin, so pure and innocent that he hadn’t even jerked off once. 

How am I supposed to resist when this body is at the limit from the start?

The widow whimpers softly and pushes back her ass, trapping my dick between her butt and my belly. She moves her rump up and down my length, and I finish in less than ten seconds. 

I let out a sad chuckle. No matter how much I want to continue, I should stop here before embarrassing myself. I would finish again too quickly.

To be able to properly fuck a woman, I have to rub it off several times to get this body accustomed to the sensation. I would rather do that than see the judging stare in the widow’s eyes. That’s the worst.

The widow pulls up her nightgown and presses her ass directly onto my dick. She starts moving again, sliding easily because of my semen. 

“You can go again, right?” she asks.

My dick is already hard again. You see? That’s why I said the shy ones are always the most interesting.

She raises a leg and grabs my member with her hand, guiding it into her. Once I’m in, she takes her hand away and squeezes me on the inside. 

I groan. The widow is one of those women who can control those muscles. I won’t last more than a few more thrusts. 

[Side task acquired: Hold it in without cumming for more than an hour]

Ha! I’ll sit this one out for sure.

[Possible penalties: -80% stamina, premature ejaculation for the rest of the meld, impotence]

And I thought we were going to be friends!