When they left the Kingsroad for an empty side path, Max decided to “warm her up” a little and told her to stop.
“My new knowledge is… rather broad,” he said cryptically. “Don’t be afraid. Just do what I tell you. All right?”
“Aye?” Kyra said nervously, letting out a strange, nervous chortle.
“Squeeze your legs together.
Tighter.”
Then Max pulled her into an embrace. His left palm gripped the back of her neck, and his right palm pressed against her coat near her hips.
“Hug me. Don’t spread your legs. Make them tighter. Move your hips against me, forward and back. Don’t stop until I say so.”
Then he began kissing her, firmly massaging her neck and buttocks.
It didn’t take long before she was moaning into his mouth, and her body began writhing against his. Unsure how well she would be able to walk after orgasm, Max stopped the stimulation and her, perhaps first, try of syntribation.
“Stop. That’s enough,” he said, taking in her flushed face and slightly glassy eyes.
“Can you walk?”
“M-more… can we d-do more? That w-was… that was wonderful,” she said dreamily, with a foolish smile.
“Later. Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Theon didn’t do things like that?” he asked.
“I was drunk. I don’t remember much of what he did.”
“And you?”
“Me?” Kyra hesitated, then laughed as if it were a joke.
“Yes, you.”
“I… sometimes. But… not like this. Never like this… wonderful?” she answered haltingly.
“You can talk and walk, so such wonderfulness is rather moderate.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Max said seriously. “Stop.”
His one hand slid behind her back, the other pressed against her right breast, making her breath hitch, and her body slightly quiver
“Do you feel it? Like something flowing from your chest downward. Toward your hips? A connection?”
“Yes?”
“Imagine ‘wonderfulness’ or ‘pleasantness’ as a drink made from two ingredients of different quality.
The existence of such a ‘connection’ tells us that the first ingredient — Arousal — was decent. But because your body is still fully under your control, just that.
The second ingredient — Touch — let’s say, also was decent. For and against via novelty.
Together, they made also decent drink yet very far from the best possible.
Which is also good. Because a lot of people drink not so much for flavors, but just to quench thirst.”
“Why? If there are better drinks?”
“Because good results always require knowledge, effort, and time. And people typically don’t want to bother with those when they don’t have to.”
He looked into her bright eyes, shining with desire.
“Let’s go. Staying wet outside isn’t healthy,” earning him a small, embarrassed squeak from her.
A few minutes later, they reached his shack.
Max opened the door, lit the candles, and stoked the stove.
Checking his charges again, he saw confirmation that his plans for today might actually work — 0.12
After finishing with the stove, he sat on the bed and looked at sitting on an ugly stool Kyra. Her cheeks fully red, her hands nervously twisting and pulling at her hair and clothes.
“First, I want to set one simple rule. If you really don’t like something, or if it becomes more painful than pleasant, you must tell me outright. Without any stupid ‘I thought it would be better this way.’ Understood?”
“Yes,” Kyra nodded.
“What do you know about sex?”
“Not much. Stories from friends. And some memories… dreamlike ones.”
“That’s not what I expected from a barmaid.”
“Did you expect me to be a whore?” she asked sharply.
“Aren’t you?” Max asked calmly.
“I’m not… that’s not…” Kyra tried to protest.
“You’re not stupid,” Max cut her off. “You could have chosen not to. But then you would have spent the rest of your life wondering, ‘What if I had agreed? Why was I so stupid?’”
“Yes?” Kyra latched onto the convenient answer, even more so without the word ‘whore’ being mentioned.
“And yet,” Max continued, “that still makes you a whore, doesn’t it? You accepted money for sex. Like a whore.”
“I—I no… I… w-want…?” she tried to say something, her face burning crimson as she turned away, staring at the blank wall.
“Kyra. Look at me.”
She slowly turned her head back and met his eyes.
“You’re my whore. Therefore, this doesn’t count,” he said. “Do you understand?”
She paused to think. Despite her inexperience and fleeting nature, she undoubtedly had one — very rare for her environment — trait Max valued deeply: self-reflection
“Yes,” she squeaked in joyful embarrassment, at the same time intensifying the twisting and pulling of her hair and slightly wiggling on the chair.
’Classic. Works even in another world,’ Max thought.
Despite its seeming simplicity, the ‘You’re My Whore’ line had surprisingly complex reasons and balances.
On one side, Kyra was a human being who wanted others to be nice and respectful to her.
On the other, she was an aroused woman whose sexual instincts and subconscious constantly screamed: ‘Sexual arousal and sex without a strong and/or reliable protector means vulnerability during pregnancy and death! Therefore, before sex there should be as many proof of father's strength as possible! Do you have them?!’
Aroused Kyra desperately wanted something completely opposite to respect - thing related to equality between equally capable people; because if a protector is as equal as his ward, how can he be considered a protector?
She wanted to feel that the potential father and protector of her and her future children was so vastly superior to her that he had no reason to pay any attention to her because he already had everything he wanted. Except sex.
The words “You’re a Whore” directly told her subconscious that a high-quality protector was offering her valuable benefits in exchange for sex, making such sex safe and advantageous.
And the addition of the word “My” created the illusion that such a one-time arrangement had the potential — foremost because the more emotionally intense an experience is for humans, the faster it leads to personal attachment — to become a long-term one. Perhaps even evolve from ‘woman and man’ relationship into a ‘human and human’ one.
Which, although extremely unlikely, was still potentially possible with Max because of another aspect related to the ‘virginal whore’ dichotomy - a submissive promise — due to enormous medieval risks rather serious one — to adjust her conscious and subconscious ‘keyhole’ to his ‘key’ from the very beginning to the very end.
“Take off your coat and stand in front of me,” Max said softly but firmly
When she did, he continued, “Since you know nothing about sex, I’ll teach you a little.
You’re trembling now. That’s good for intense pleasure. But very strong arousal also causes faster physical and mental exhaustion.
Kneel in front of me.
Close your eyes.
Open your mouth.
Wider.
Relax your throat.
Don’t resist.”
When she tremblingly complied with face worthy of best Westerosi painters, Max continued in a calm voice.
“Do you feel it?
I’m not touching you physically, yet your body reacts as if I were. Flutter, tremble, feel good.
Because sex happens mostly in the mind, not in the body.
There are many tricks to give pleasure while barely touching, or not touching at all, far stronger than any clumsy physical contact.”
Leaving her kneeling, Max checked his charges, from their latter increase concluding that they could rise also only from mental and emotional actions.
“In sex, you mustn’t rush. First, you have to let the body, and more importantly — the mind, ripen.”
As he spoke, his palm lightly brushed her cheek, feeling how Kyra pushed her face into it. Slowly his fingers slid down to her neck, drawing out a shiver and a repressed giggle.
“Also, there always must be a little unpredictability and excitement.”
His hand slid up her neck and began — under her soft giggles — to roll her earlobe between his fingers.
Soon he returned to her cheek, now with his thumb brushing her lips.
“You shouldn’t touch the same areas for too long, or they will lose their sensitivity. If it’s unavoidable, you have to alternate.”
“And…
…before sex…
…you must…
…always…
…wash your hands with warm water. Get up. Take off your clothes down to your smallclothes and wash your hands.”
When they washed their hands, Max explained that her frustration was actually a good thing, comparing it to a road — just because it branches doesn’t mean it’s leading the wrong way. What matters is to keep moving forward and look at the beautiful surrounding landscapes.
Then he sat on the bed and told Kyra — now dressed only in loose trousers and a thin chest wrap barely covering the lower part of her breasts — to stand in front of him and the bed.
“Everything can only be done for the first time once.
If you take everything at once, there’ll be nothing to discover later. The greatest total pleasure comes from small revelations. Like one body part per day. Or from very thrilling revelations, like the firstly bared breasts in an alley near the market.
But that’s not our case...”
“Why?” Kyra couldn’t help asking.
“Because I don’t want to,” Max said with a shrug, carefully studying her body.
“It’s another rule — as always, with some exceptions, but rather rare ones. There is always one to lead and one to follow. Per act. And any sudden change of this during an act leads to a loss of mood flow and long-standing trust.
Turn around. Slowly.”
Kyra’s busty petite figure was stunning.
Thanks to a narrow waist — unmistakably hourglass-like, yet slender — with fairly compact shoulders, a long-oval pelvis, and long, fit legs.
“Take off the wrap,” he said, once again confirming that receiving of charges related also to the named character’s pleasure or emotional significance.
“Beautiful,” he said, speaking nothing but the truth as he examined the two almost ideal spheres, only barely softened by gravity.
In the twenty-first century, many would have accused her of having implants. But the main reason why so many failed plastic surgeries looked like swollen ugly balloons was that throughout history, exactly such big-cup, gravity-defying round breasts — rare and fleeting in nature — had always been the gold standard of youth and beauty.
The same was true about big-cupped cones which matched the form of dense mammary glands, and of the more frequent classic 55:45 teardrop.
Her nipples were less impressive: small half-beans set in the middle of moderate pink, flat areolas positioned nearly at the center of her breasts. Yet they suited her chest rather well.
‘Gorgeous hair. Gorgeous breasts. Gorgeous waist. Long, fit legs. Such a combination is statistically possible, but should be rather rare, more so for medieval conditions and rations. Such “luck” because Kyra is a named character? Because of biological adaptations of this world’s humans to magic? Something else?’ flashed through Max’s mind.
Lowering his gaze, he was pleased to see a small wet stain on her wide, short-like underwear. Lifting his eyes again, he saw slightly twitching hands and lips, a flushed pink neck, a foolish, dreamy smile, and her glassy gaze, looking both at him and through him.
‘To say she was “ready” would be an understatement. The main question is how to get full charge while being sure she can still make it home,’ Max thought.
“Take off your underwear and show me your insides,” he suddenly said.
At first Kyra clearly didn’t understand. Then a shiver ran through her body, and her hands and legs began to tremble violently.
“Now,” Max said.
Her hands, as if for the first time in her life, pulled down her underwear. And using the fingers of both hands, she spread her labia apart.
“Closer.”
Giggling foolishly, as if someone had just told her a joke, and blushing, Kyra — mentally still a virgin, Max noted — slowly stepped toward him and the bed.
Her outer labia were fairly meaty, with neat, small inner lips hiding a small, navel-like, slightly throbbing pink entrance — lubricated enough for a few drops of moisture to run down her thighs, but not more.
’The younger the age and the sparser the pornographic and arousal stimuli - the less activity there is in the already very rarely active and sometimes underdeveloped Skene’s glands,’ he thought.
He inhaled her sweet, musky scent and pulled back her clitoral hood, fully exposing the tiny, pea-sized, almost untapped, glassy glans. This made her body twitch; her giggles grew louder, and her hips began small involuntary swings.
Studying her leaking sex and glassy eyes, Max decided it was time. He abruptly stood up and shoved her back toward the wall, pinning her there with a hungry kiss.
His left hand began to knead her buttock, as ample as her breasts.
And his right hand plunged into her bush and pushed two fingers into her tight vagina. After pressing his fingers against the upper vaginal wall and the base of his palm to her clitoral area, Max began rhythmically jerking his hand.
For the first few seconds, Kyra’s body just adapted with small moans and trembling.
Then the moans turned into familiar, breathy giggling — right into his mouth — forcing him to shift from kissing her lips to kissing her neck, from her collarbone up to beneath her jaw.
And her body began to writhe violently, by its sounds and movements making it seem less like fingering and more like the result of intense tickling.
Her eyes closed, and the hands that had been stroking his back before now clutched his shirt, twisting and pulling it desperately.
To keep her from squirming away, Max stepped closer to her right side and grabbed her shoulders with his left hand.
Over the next twenty to thirty seconds, her writhing and suffocating giggling intensified — until she suddenly went still.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her face contorted as if she were about to sneeze.
Her hips jerked forward so sharply that Max thought she might lose her balance.
A moment later, her thighs began violently jerking back and forth, accompanied by sounds more fitting for a dying animal than a climaxing human, intently milking his fingers with her snatch.
Unwilling to risk experimenting with a completely unfamiliar body, Max stopped all stimulation and gave her a few minutes to come down from the orgasm, simply holding her against the wall, mesmerized by the sight of her heavy breathing, dreamy smile, occasional giggles, and tears streaming freely from beneath tightly shut eyes.
‘Orgasm is the safe release of intense nervous tension when it becomes hazardous to health. Therefore, during orgasm almost anything related to nervous overload is possible: laughter, tears, crying, aggression, hysteria, sometimes — during really hard orgasms — at least a headache, but typically just freezing in place,’ he remembered through his half-clouded consciousness.
Unwilling and somehow unable to wait any longer, Max grabbed her by the waist, guided her to the bed, and laid her down at its center.
Quickly stripping off his clothes, he climbed in beside her left side. Roughly evaluating her level of arousal, physical and mental condition, and already known timings, he suddenly squeezed her neck with one hand and began slapping her inner thighs — and when she closed her legs, screwing each of her nipples — snapping her out of her haze with a few startled yelps.
Then he moved over her body, spread her legs, and thrust into her in one motion, sinking into a warm, slick, tight embrace.
Fingers had done a poor job of conveying just how incredibly hot and tight she really was.
Originally, Max had planned to simply bury himself inside her and only after some adaptation to her and preparations for her next orgasm start thrusting. But her body immediately began writhing again.
Realizing he wouldn’t last long, he pressed his body against hers and, instead of pumping into her cunt, began shallow upward thrusts, grinding his pubic bone against her clit, his cock slightly brushing against her cervix or fornix. At the same time, he sucked and bit the lowest part of her shaking neck and collarbone.
Despite the powerful urge to finally shut up her silly giggles, or to pin her hands above her head to keep her from tearing his only clean sheet, feeling his orgasm rapidly approaching, he instead leaned on his right arm, squeezed her left breast hard with his left hand, pressed his thumb into her nipple, and made a few very fast, deep thrusts.
Lightning traveled down his spine, and he began cumming his brains out.
At the end of his orgasm, the ridiculous sounds and contractions of her vagina confirmed that his gamble on her left breast had paid off.
“Firm breasts have a high amount of connective, and therefore glandular and vascular, sensitive tissue, stimulation of which raises nervous tension. Shocker,” he thought.
For a few minutes they simply lay there, breathing heavily in each other’s thick scent.
Then he lifted his head, looked into her eyes filled with devotion, kissed her cheek, leaned close to her ear, and whispered, “Thank you. I needed it.”
Kyra suddenly wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his for a few seconds, then, with a foolish, dreamy smile, whispered, “Please, more,” beginning to grind against his pelvis again.
Checking his charges, Max saw 0.71.
Pulling out of her with a wet popping sound, Max pushed her legs to her chest, thrust in again, and began fucking her desperately, filling the room with slapping noises, wet squelching, and giggling sounds.
After two more rounds, lying heavy on her and breathing hard once more, Max discovered that he still lacked 0.23 fucking charges.
“Charge gaining mechanics are obviously diversity-related,” he concluded.
Carefully withdrawing from her, he told Kyra to clean his dick with her mouth. Then he created a cup from the table and gave it to her.
“Get up. Hold the bowl between your legs. Then collect the semen into it while standing in front of the bed,” he ordered the sweat-glistening Kyra.
Clearly tired, Kyra rose from the bed with the bowl between her legs and stood before him as he had said, looking to the side.
“Contract your vagina. Don’t be shy, I’ve already seen everything there is to see,” he said.
“Are you feeling tired? This is mainly fatigue of the mind. It can be temporarily subdued by strong emotions, especially aggressive ones, but each subsequent wave of fatigue will be faster and stronger.”
“Now drink it,” he ordered once nothing more was dripping into the cup.
Without wasting much time, Kyra did.
“How are you? No pain?”
"Toired. And a chost a little hort. But pleasantly... both," she answered still savoring of his essence.
“Want more? Sex.”
“Yes.” She smiled and quickly nodded.
“You’re insatiable… though that’s normal for women.”
“Really?”
“Yes… their bodies don’t lose things,” and he pointed a finger at her belly, “…only gain,” he improvised a simple explanation. “Wipe yourself thoroughly with your chest wrap; the more moisture, the bigger the risk of fast irritation and inflammation.”
After Kyra cleaned herself, Max decided to approach things from another angle. The best angle. From behind. Through the dark hole of her subconsciousness.
“Lie down in the middle of the bed.
Close your eyes.
Imagine the most depraved thing I could do to you.
Right now and overall.”
For the next 15 minutes, he lightly stroked her body, alternating with sudden sharp slaps to her thighs, brief squeezes of her neck, and kisses in random places.
When she began trembling on the edge, he rolled her onto her stomach, pinned her pelvis to the bed with his shin, and shoved his thumb into her vagina, furiously massaging her G-spot.
The moment she began to climax, Max clamped down on her G-spot and clit and held them through the entire orgasm and its aftershocks. More than three minutes of convulsions, frantic leg kicks, shrill cries, and twitching aftershocks.
’What the heck? Still not enough?!’ wondered sweaty and exhausted Max with consternation, looking at the treacherous 0.93 charges.
About five minutes later, she turned her sweat-soaked head and looked at him wearily and playfully.
“Do you want more?” Max asked, handing her a cup of boiled water.
“My… insides… hurt… And my body too. A bit. Legs… especially…” Kyra replied. “But… if I can… then yes,” she added, giving him a mischievous or rather succubus look.
“Do you need… release another way?”
“No,” Kyra said with a giggle.
“Sit on the edge of the bed. Spread your legs.
Wider.”
Scraping away the top layer of wood from part of the table, Max snapped off a cleaned section and sculpted it into a dildo.
He slid it into Kyra and reshaped it inside her into a wide teardrop form.
From two more wooden pieces he created rings and clamped them onto her breasts, turning them into wooden bondage.
“Can you walk?”
“It’s… not very pleasant, but yes.”
“Don’t ask questions. Do what I say.
Stand in front of the bed.
Stick out your tongue.
Good.
Say words that start with the letter W.”
“Wool. Wasp. Wax. Wood. Wall. Wolf. Window.”
“Stop.
Walk in a circle quickly and touch every wall of the house.
Name things starting with M.”
Kyra rose heavily and, with a swaying gait, began moving quickly, touching the walls.
“Max. M-milk. Mug. Mo-rrow. M-mud. Man. Mug. Mit-tens.”
“Faster.”
“Mg—Mror—Mmet—Mg—”
“Come here.
Kyra, come here.”
When she approached dreamily, Max removed the wooden bondage from her chest, finally drawing from her a full, normal moan.
“No matter what happens,” he told her, “squeeze your breasts hard with both hands until I say stop.”
Then Max laid her on her stomach on the bed — this time with her legs and hips hanging over the edge. He pinned her back with his shin, wrapped her hair around his left fist, pulling her head back, and with his right hand began spanking her ass.
When her body began its now-familiar pre-orgasmic wriggling, he abruptly dropped his right hand to the dildo, reshaped it into something more carrot-like, and ripped it out of her.
Kyra screamed and began thrashing on the bed, winking at Max with a much wetter-than-before creamy cunt.
When her body calmed down, he grabbed her hair again, lifting her half-conscious, panting head to his. After a short hesitation, he quietly said, “Good girl.”
’There it is. I said it,’ he lamented.
’Fuck. You don’t say ‘good girl’ to someone you don’t intend to see—fuck—again.
Another reminder of how ridiculously dangerous submissiveness—‘completely harmless’ empathic natural predators is.
You think you’re in control and fucking them, but in the end you’re the one getting fucked.’
Knowing her for just a few hours, of course he hadn’t planned anything long-term with her—just sex for charges and a single payment.
But the combination of her extroversion, curiosity, introspection, personal connections tied to metalworking, as well as her endurance and strong submissiveness, made him change his mind and preliminarily promote her to a potential Winter Town agent of influence. Perhaps a manager, perhaps a shop owner; in any case, someone he wanted on his team, at least in the role of a housemaid.
Lying down beside her, he began stroking her hair with one hand.
“Whm pn,” Kyra cutely mewed.
“What?”
“W-hy?” she repeated.
“What ‘why’?”
“W-hy pan pl-sant.”
“Why is pain so pleasant?”
"Y-ys."
“Like all complex questions, this question has many answers.
Because body parts which feel pain similar to parts which fell pleasure.
Because pain, which dulled during arousal, accentuate feelings related to a partner’s, or rather 'protector’s, complete physical and mental superiority.
Because our first ancestors essentially did nothing but hunt, eat, sleep… and fuck — used sex as their main entertainment and vent. But because, if you think about, people can do rather small number of deeds with genitals, each of which made such things more banal and less precious. Our ancestors began to use their minds to, in a way, stretch sex by mixing it with different behaviors, emotions, and... things, making it much more complex than in animals. Which also passed down to us.
Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered weakly. “P-rotec-tors?” she added afterward.
“Sex exists for childbearing, and childbearing for child protection. Therefore, a sub... mind part of sex is also about those goals. If you didn’t see me as a good protector for your possible children — for example, if I were constantly asking you what I should do — you wouldn’t even be wet.
By the way, are you already satisfied?” he asked, breathing heavily and wet by at least 6 different fluids Kyra.
“I… w-want… m-more… b-but I c-can’t,” she resentfully mewled.
Max let out a relieved breath.
Despite having already confirmed the “one point per female named character” limit, he still said:
“If in the future we were to repeat this — which is just a possibility and nothing more, not because of anything about you, but because this is exactly what we agreed upon: convenient stress relief for me in exchange for money. Still, if we were to repeat this, we will come up with something to satisfy your insatiability. But you would be doing most of the work. You understand?”
“Yes,” she said, at the same time with hints of joy and disappointment.
Max nodded and gently patted her head.
’Without automation, this kind of work will quickly become boring and tedious,’ he thought, and added to his plans the creation of steam-powered sexual machinery.