The girls’ eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, no one says a word. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across Bree’s face.“Naked tennis?” she echoes, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re really trying to shake things up, huh?”System shrugs casually, her tone nonchalant. “I figured we could use a bit of spiced-up fun. And I know our dear David here would thoroughly enjoy the view.”I can’t help but chuckle, raising an eyebrow at System’s bold suggestion. “You do know me well, System. But are you sure you want to join in? I mean, you just got that body—”“Exactly,” System interrupts, her eyes sparkling with a playful challenge. “What better way to get used to it than by embracing it fully? Literally.”Bree laughs. “Alright, I’m in. I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. And it’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked before.”Sasha nods in agreement, her competitive spirit flaring up. “Same here. Besides, it’ll make the game more interesting. Just don’t get distracted
System claps her hands, pulling everyone’s attention back to the game. “Alright, alright, enough stalling. Back to the game! And remember, the more teasing, the better. Let’s see if David can handle it.”With a sigh, the widow goes back to play. Once Sasha gets her hands on the ball and serves, the action speeds up once more, but this time there is an extra layer of danger to each stroke. The four of them — Bree, Naomi, Stella, and Sasha — are totally on board with it, and they seize every chance to touch, stare, and show affectionate flirt with each other — to tease me. Bree might run her fingers over Naomi’s back as they pass each other, or Sasha might ‘accidentally’ brush her chest against Bree’s when they go for the same shot.System, meanwhile, watches it all with an amused smile, calling out the points and occasionally adding her own suggestions. “Naomi, why don’t you give Sasha a little encouragement? You know, a kiss for good luck?”Naomi doesn’t hesitate, leaning over to pla
How many men can brag about dying fucking a woman less than half his age in a parking lot? I could, if I weren’t dead, of course. At sixty years old, my dick could still get harder than a stripper pole. Alas, though, my magnificent manliness is what ended up doing me in, because despite my cock being ready and willing, my heart just couldn’t keep up. It’s funny in a cosmically fucked up kind of way… I’d spent my entire life not knowing I had a heart, only for it to make itself known by cockblocking me through cardiac arrest. “Daddy?! Daddy?!” A panicked voice with daddy issues was the last thing I heard before a deafening crack. Then silence. Blackness. Nothingness. Fuck! No women after death? I mean, come on! I can take the fires of hell as long as there are feisty succubus and the likes servicing me from time to time. With an electric buzz, a blue screen materialized in front of me. Letters scrawl across the display: “Game over!” I feel someone watching me, causing my metap
If you ever die and wake up with a system, remember: no matter what happens, ALWAYS avoid pissing it off. Your life depends on it. Literally! That is the first lesson I learned the hard way. I won’t bore you with all the details of the crappy life Wrenn Dorn had before I arrived. He has a sobby backstory that will take me forever to explain the depths of it all. Just know that he— I —is a nobody. A nobody with a lot of muscles. I stand in front of a forge, surrounded by smoldering coals and glowing red-hot metal. The sound of fire crackles and pops as the metal melts. Raising the hammer above my head, I stare at the veins bulging out from my muscles. The hammer has always been Wrenn’s best friend— his only friend. He loves it as much as I love women, and that’s what I call the difference between a boy and a man. Despite his muscular build, Wrenn is still a boy. Barely reaching nineteen this year, he never had a girlfriend or even a fling. The one time he liked a girl, it was
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 t
Changing positions to get full control over my thrusts proved to be a bust. My fucking brain was like, ‘Hey, if you stay on top and press her down with your bulky frame, you’d get to do whatever you want, slow down when you’re close, and keep at it until one hour passes.’ But this woman always finds a way to get me off my game. This is not going to work out for me. Puppies! Dead puppies! She squirms beneath me, her hips moving in time with my strokes, making me want to jab inside her faster and harder. Dead puppies on the road! Fluffy roadkill! She squeezes me tighter and harder on the inside. The hot and wet feeling of her juices mixed with the softness of her inner muscles clenching around me is driving me nuts. Fuck it! Puppies don’t work! Rats! Dead rats! In sticky traps! Driven a bit away from the edge, I sigh and slow down the pace. My sanity is starting to slip away, so I need to calm down and think. System, how much longer? [43 minutes and 22 seconds remaining] Is
Wrenn has a small sleeping space in a tiny alcove in the back of the smithy. The place is barely big enough for him to lie down on his side and curl up a bit, or otherwise, his head hits the wall. To the right of his sleeping mat, shelves and storage bins of various sizes and shapes are piled high with tools and materials. Wrenn has to duck his head beneath other instruments hanging from the ceiling to get to his sleeping spot. Beneath the last shelf near his mat, there’s a small nook in the wall where once a mouse resided. That mouse has since long gone, eaten by a neighbor’s cat. Now, the nook is a storage space for the few things Wrenn has, including the letter I’m searching for. After plunging my hand into the hiding place up to near my elbow, I dig out the letter and set it on the sleeping mat. Even though the sigil is torn, I recognize the family crest in the wax seal as that of the Averys. This noble family is of the highest rank in the country of Zhenaria, and they have
The fire in the furnace burns fiercely, and the iron shavings start to sizzle as the heat rises. Aslan stares at the furnace in silence, his eyes locked on the fire. He watches the flames rise and fall akin to his breath. “Where are you going, Wrenn?” he asks just as I am about to leave the smithy. “Aren’t you going to finish up what you were working on? I need those weapons.”His voice is softer than before, even though his words are still as sharp as a knife. I stop in my tracks, feeling guilty for having left him alone. Do you remember when I mentioned Wrenn had a sad past? Well, his mother died when he was young, and his father is the king who never recognized him. So Aslan took on the role of father for him. Not only did he teach him how to be a blacksmith but also how to be a respectable person. Brushing aside the guilt, I take a deep breath and decide to face him head-on. I’m not Wrenn, nor a respectable person at that.“I have some personal matters to attend to,” I say, res