I was panting, draped over her slick, shaking body, my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest. The humid air in the chamber smelled intensely of sweat, cum, and the faint, sweet incense. The System's message—Life Expectancy: 30 Days—was floating in my vision, a huge, neon confirmation that the insane, desperate risk had paid off. Thirty days.
I slowly shifted my weight off her, peeling my damp body away. Cum was dripping from both of us, running down her inner thighs. Her pussy was slick and overflowing, the thick, white mess gushing out of her like a broken faucet onto the velvet sheets.
She was still half-conscious, her breathing slow and deep, her legs spread wide, slick and exposed. I pulled my cock out of her, and the sound of the wet separation was disgusting and thrilling all at once. My cock was still semi-hard and dripping.
She stirred, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh. "Arthur," she mumbled, reaching for me weakly. "Don't go..."
I didn't have time to process the guilt of deceiving her, or the sheer, frantic madness of what I'd just done. I just needed to move. I was still dangerously exposed, naked from the waist down, standing over a woman who thought I was her husband.
I grabbed my pants from the floor, ready to put them back on, when she grabbed my cock with a surprising burst of strength. Her eyes were still shut, but her hand was insistent, pulling me down toward her face. She licked her lips, her intent clear.
"Finish it," she slurred, pulling me.
I plunged my semi-hard cock into her mouth. She started sucking instantly, a deep, eager wetness that had me groaning as she worked her skilled tongue around the head of my member.
"Hnnnngh... Arthur... that's good... so good..."
She was clearly talented, treating my cock like a lollipop, deep-throating me until she gagged, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, only to pull back and go at it again.
But then, an abrasive, cold text sliced through the heat of the moment.
[Can't extract anymore life force from the target for now]
The message was insistent, taking up the center of my vision. Can't extract anymore? I felt a sudden, heavy pressure in my chest, a weird mental block that made the act feel suddenly empty and futile.
I tried to ignore it, thrusting my hips anyway. She took it like a champ, gagging on my cock as I pushed deeper.
[Warning: Further attempts will result in negative life-force drain. Target is currently oversaturated.]
That stopped me dead. Negative drain? Was I just minutes away from losing those thirty days?
I pulled my cock out of her mouth immediately. She was still in a haze of pleasure, her mouth wet and drooling, staring up at me with drowsy adoration.
"Why stop, my love?" she whispered, her voice husky.
I zipped up my pants, suddenly feeling exposed in a new way—exposed to the System's rules, to the reality of the game. I didn't answer her. I couldn't.
I looked around the room, finally registering the opulence that the sex had completely blocked out. Heavy drapes covered tall windows. The furniture was dark, ornately carved wood. There was a huge, gold-framed mirror on one wall.
My heart hammered against my ribs again, not from exertion, but from the sudden, cold fear of being caught. I needed information, and I needed to get out of this bed.
I leaned down and kissed her forehead quickly, but as my lips touched her skin, a sudden, crushing exhaustion slammed into me. I slumped to the side of the bed, intending to stand up, but my muscles failed, and the world went dark.
I wasn't out for long, but when I snapped awake, it wasn't the slow, confused start I expected. It was a violent jolt back to reality, powered by pure, screaming terror.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY QUEEN, YOU FILTHY PIG?!"
The voice was a deep, thunderous roar, a man's voice, thick with rage and the authority of command.
"No! Arthur, please! Whaaaah!"
The cry was hers—raw, desperate, and heartbroken.
My eyes flew open, stinging from the sudden shift in light. I was sprawled on the velvet carpet next to the bed. Standing over the woman—who was now sitting up, clutching the sheets to her chest and sobbing—was a giant of a man. He was powerfully built, dressed in rich fabrics and a fur-lined tunic, his face contorted in a mask of murderous fury. The name he'd shouted slammed into my consciousness: Arthur.
Her husband. Arthur.
My brain, still foggy from the forced sleep, caught up to the scene of horror. The massive, four-poster bed was a disaster. The red velvet sheets were stained a violent, dark crimson, soaked in a huge, wet patch that was unmistakably cum. Her pussy, spread wide and completely exposed by the bunched-up gown, was still weeping my mess. Thick, white cum was still running down her inner thighs, creating shiny, slick trails that confirmed everything Arthur needed to know. It looked like a broken faucet had been pouring right out of her.
Arthur pointed a shaking, armored finger at her, his voice dropping into a terrifying, guttural snarl.
"Don't you dare lie to me, you cheating sow! Look at this, you whore! Look what you allowed! You let this common street filth ruin our marriage bed! God damn it, I knew it! I knew those whispers about your family, about your appetite—they were all true! You are nothing but a rutting slut in a silk dress!"
"I didn't! I swear!" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper through her sobs. "I thought it was you! I was half-asleep! I didn't know him! He was so rough... he was so big... I thought you were just... different!"
"Different?! You let him plunge his cock into you until you're overflowing with his filth because he was 'different'?! He was rough?! So you enjoyed it, didn't you, you pathetic little whore! You enjoyed his cum, didn't you, you scheming, dirty bitch! You're a disgrace! You're a backstabbing viper who has defiled my kingdom and my honor! You're nothing but a tavern harlot pretending to be a queen! I should have known better than to trust a rumour-fueled little cunt like you! You've shamed this house! You've shamed my name!"
He continued to stalk closer, raining down vile, soul-crushing names on her, his face inches from hers. She just huddled back against the headboard, tears streaming down her face, utterly broken by his accusations. He didn't let up, his voice a low, venomous hiss.
"Look at the state of yourself! Dripping in a stranger's filth! Your pussy is still swollen and glistening! You claim you were asleep, but your whore's body was wide open and begging for it! You goddamn filthy traitor! You are lower than the chamber pot! I wouldn't let a dog lick you clean, you disgusting, used piece of trash!"
And then his gaze snapped to me. I wasn't wearing armor, didn't have a sword, and was still half-dressed. To him, I was just a walking, dripping piece of evidence.
Arthur took a massive stride toward me, his hands clenching into fists the size of small hammers. I scrambled backward, knowing that the "Life Expectancy" timer didn't protect me from a medieval king's temper.
"You," he spat, his voice trembling with a deadly quiet that was more terrifying than his shout. "You piece of shit! You are going to regret the moment you crawled out of whatever gutter you came from."