--- CHAPTER 5: Seductive Soak and Sacred Touch ---
There was a plump, mature woman rubbing his shoulders and back while he was taking a bath, her skilled fingers delving into the tight muscles, easing away the strains of royal duties and the looming shadows of war. What was there to refuse?
At least Arthas enjoyed it very much. This was, objectively, a high-tier royal perk. The warmth of the water mingled with the heat of her proximity, stirring something deeper than mere relaxation—a forbidden undercurrent that made his skin tingle with anticipation. This was his Aunt Priscilla, a woman whose presence had always commanded his respect, but now, in the steamy confines of the chamber, her touch awakened memories and desires he'd long suppressed, blending familial love with a hunger that felt both exhilarating and treacherous.
"Aunt, I don't think the Alliance cares about the threat of the orcs this time," Arthas ventured, his voice steady despite the racing thoughts in his mind. He was trying to keep the conversation on something—anything—other than the fact that his very attractive, very drunk aunt was currently massaging his bare shoulders. He envisioned the green-skinned invaders, their brutal axes and war cries threatening the fragile peace of Lordaeron, a reminder of his own budding role as prince and a fighter. Yet here, isolated from the court's intrigues, the conversation felt like a veil over his true focus: her hands, her scent, the way she leaned close.
"What's there to care about those green-skinned monsters? If Stormwind Kingdom can't stop them, can't the entire Alliance?" The lady snorted disapprovingly, her breath a warm puff against his ear, carrying the faint saltiness of Kul Tiras's ocean winds. And then, with a grip that was firm yet teasing, she pulled Arthas up by the arm. "Go put on your clothes, I want to take a shower."
"Uh, do you want me to help you?" Arthas replied, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He stood slowly, water cascading off his nineteen-year-old, warrior-trained body. He reached for a bath towel, but he didn't turn away. He deliberately positioned himself so his evident arousal—throbbing from the resurgence of long-buried urges—stood prominently before her.
The desire that had been suppressed for nineteen years was also incredible. It was a torrent unleashed by his rebirth with memories from another life. Back on Earth, he'd been a "social animal" buried under work, too exhausted for such passions. Who made him reborn with memories? He couldn't be as free of desire as a child for women anymore. Now, as a prince in his prime, every curve of her body ignited a fire that clashed with the Holy Light's teachings of purity, yet promised a conquest worth the sin.
Slap!
The lady slapped Arthas's backside, and it was very loud, the sting sending a playful shock through him, mixing pain with arousal in a way that made him twitch. "Go, you want to take advantage of your aunt!" she scolded, but there was a lilt in her voice, a spark in her eyes that Arthas was sure he didn't imagine, fueling his growing boldness.
Chuckling, Arthas wrapped the towel around his waist and moved to the other side of the room. After that, she took off her clothes by herself, shrugging out of her tight-fitting sea coat and trousers with a casual grace that belied the impact it had on him. She was completely naked, revealing her plump and fleshy figure. She has a lot of flesh, but she doesn't look fat; instead, it gives people a sense of fullness, a lush invitation that Arthas's mind raced to explore. Such a woman is definitely the best partner for men. Pressing on her plump body is like pressing on a soft mattress, yielding yet supportive. Being pressed by her is like covering her with a blanket, warm and enveloping. After being intimate, hugging her to sleep is absolutely sweet, her curves molding to his form in a way that would banish the nightmares of orc invasions and court politics!
Not long after, Arthas just lay on the bed, the silk sheets cool against his heated skin, and the lady came out in a bath towel, droplets still glistening on her shoulders like jewels from the sea. The white bath towel was wrapped around her chest, straining against its fullness. The whiteness that was about to burst out making Arthas' eyes straight, his gaze tracing the deep cleavage with unspoken hunger. The bath towel just reached the root of the thighs, tantalizingly short; as long as he bent down slightly, more would be directly exposed, a vision that haunted his thoughts.
My Aunt Priscilla in the game World of Warcraft, poor Priscilla Ashvane spirals into a hot mess of family loss, betrayal, greed, and straight-up evil—turning her into a haggard, morbidly obese villain who literally morphs into a tentacled monstrosity that could give your grandma's fruitcake a run for its money. But here in the present, real Azeroth? Oh honey, she's still in her prime: a curvaceous siren with hips that sway like forbidden spells, lips plump as enchanted plums, and eyes that could melt mithril armor right off a paladin's chiseled abs—talk about a glow-up that's got the Horde and Alliance both pitching tents!
There is no doubt that Arthas was aroused again, insistent and pulsing with need. Although the lady was his aunt and they had similar blood, he still couldn't suppress his feelings—the taboo of it all only amplified the thrill, a secret rebellion against the rigid hierarchies of royalty and faith.
"Aunt, you will offend people if you do this!" he said, his tone half-joking, half-serious, as he fought the urge to reach out and unwrap her like a forbidden gift.
The lady was in a good mood, humming a seaside song that evoked crashing waves and salty breezes. She took the wine and poured herself another glass, the ruby liquid swirling invitingly. "Hmm? What? did you say something?" she asked, sipping slowly, her lips stained red. She then lay back on the bed, her body relaxing into the pillows, the towel riding up even higher.
Looking at the aunt lying on the bed, Arthas suddenly had a bold idea. Why didn't he make the aunt his woman? The aunt's husband often didn't come home, and the two had been in discord for a long time—a union forged in political alliances rather than passion, leaving her isolated in her opulent world. It was just a family marriage; if there were no particularly serious problems, they would generally live their own lives and play their own games, and maintain a good family marriage on the surface.
But Arthas saw opportunity: claiming her would satisfy his erupting desires, secure her trade empire's wealth for his campaigns against the orcs, and fulfill a deep-seated affection that blurred lines between kin and lover.
"Holy light can keep you young!" he proposed, moving to the bed. He summoned a soft glow to his hands, the Light's warmth a pretext for closer contact, though he knew its limits in defying age.
Puff! The lady was almost choked, coughing lightly as wine caught in her throat. "Come on, Archbishop Alonsus is already old, and his attainments in holy light are not shallow, right? He is still an old man."
Humans generally believe in holy light, a faith that permeated Lordaeron's halls and battlefields. To say that holy light is also useful, it can cure diseases, calm the mind and calm down, and can also be used for fighting—channeling divine energy to smite foes like the encroaching orcs. Although it is not as strong as magic, nor as diverse as magic, it is easier to get started, simple to the extreme, cheap, easy to use and economical, accessible even to common folk. But to say that holy light can prolong life and keep you young is pure fart, a myth peddled in taverns, not temples.
"Aunt, let me give you a massage," Arthas insisted, his hands already alight with Holy Light. He pinched the lady's shoulders without waiting for her consent, the energy seeping in like a gentle tide. The holy light penetrated the snow-white jade muscles, relieving muscle fatigue, and the cells made good moans in the holy light bath. Her body subtly arched under his touch.
The lady's brows opened, as if the worries in her heart were relieved a lot—the burdens of trade disputes, slave oversight, and a loveless marriage easing momentarily. "Oh, it's quite effective. What about staying young, aunt doesn't care. My dear, am I old?"
"Of course not! you look very young and beautiful," Arthas assured, leaning in to kiss her cheek softly. The contact was electric, sending his pulse racing. He liked this kind of voluptuous mature woman, her curves a testament to lived experience, contrasting his youthful vigor. The strong desires of the young man and the deep cravings of the mature woman are a perfect match, a storm of passion he craved to unleash. Besides, the aunt also controls most of the trade in Kul Tiras, her ships laden with goods that could fund armies—this is an absolute rich woman, a strategic prize wrapped in seductive allure!
"I just want to find a woman like my aunt to be my wife!" he confessed, his words laced with genuine longing, testing the boundaries of their bond.
"Well, you kid," she murmured, a soft laugh escaping her.
The lady was kissed. She opened her eyes and looked at her nephew with complicated eyes, a flicker of something unspoken—affection, perhaps, or surprise. She is a slave owner and a black-bellied profiteer in Kul Tiras, navigating cutthroat deals with ruthless precision. She holds great power and controls the life and death of her subordinates, her decisions shaping economies and fates; her subordinates are quite afraid of her, whispering of her cunning. Only when facing her relatives will she show her gentle side, a vulnerability reserved for family like Arthas.
"You and Jaina are a good match. Auntie is old! You keep massaging. Auntie is tired. Let's sleep for a while," she said, closing her eyes, her voice trailing into relaxation.
It's not that Priscilla has never slept with Arthas—even when Arthas grew up, she would sleep with Arthas from time to time. But it was just adults coaxing children, innocent cuddles that soothed her lonely heart. And even if Arthas had a lustful heart, he couldn't act on it back then; being too young is not a good thing, limiting impulses to mere thoughts. Although Priscilla's husband complained about this, grumbling in private, this is an elder to a younger generation, and the younger generation is a prince of a country, heir to Lordaeron's throne. In addition, the relationship between husband and wife is not good, fractured by years of neglect, so he pretended not to see it. Anyway, he didn't worry about what happened—it was just a little annoying to see his wife being with others, a petty jealousy in their hollow marriage.
Arthas pressed and kneaded very hard, his fingers exploring from her shoulders down to her lower abdomen. The fleshy give under his palms was elastic and inviting, stirring his arousal further. The fleshy lower abdomen felt extremely fleshy and elastic, a soft mound that begged for more intimate caresses. The big hand stroked down, using the holy light to massage and knead, all the way down, and touched the plump thighs, sending shivers through him. Generally, plump women have thick thighs, but my aunt's thighs are very toned, without a trace of fat, full of flesh and elasticity, and her calves are slender and straight. When they are connected together, they form a perfect jade leg, which is very powerful and visually beautiful, evoking images of them wrapped around him in closeness!
Looking up slightly, Arthas was stunned on the spot, his breath catching in his throat. He was so aroused that it almost broke his pants, throbbing painfully with need.
I saw that my aunt's legs were slightly open, parted just enough to tease. The white bath towel only reached the base of her thighs; because of the massage just now, it was pulled up a little, and it was actually bare inside! The dark hair was so thick that it was almost crowded, a lush frame. The two pink areas revealed a trace of crystal liquid, glistening invitingly—it seemed to be aroused, a silent invitation that shattered his restraint.
Arthas had never experienced intimacy before he traveled through time and rebirth. As a social animal in his past life, how could he have time, buried under endless work? Although he had maids to serve him after his rebirth, he had heavy learning tasks—studying tactics against orcs, mastering the Holy Light—and was still young, so he naturally had little interest in these things, repressing urges until now. If he hadn't awakened the system today, granting him power and clarity, he might not have had the idea of opening a harem, and the hidden desire also broke out completely at this moment, a floodgate bursting with taboo force!
Looking up at the pretty face of my aunt who was sleeping, there was a blush on her face, which was the red after being drunk, soft and alluring under the dim lamplight. The slight snoring seemed to indicate that she was sleeping, peaceful and unaware.
Seeing this, the desire in his heart became more and more vigorous, a whirlwind of longing, guilt, and excitement. Arthas immediately turned off the lights, plunging the room into shadow. He took off his pants, revealing a strong body honed by rigorous training. Thanks to the exercise since childhood—swordplay, riding, Light-infused drills—he had this strong body, muscled and ready. The aroused manhood under his crotch was also 6.3 inches and two fingers wide—this was still in the developmental stage; it was hard to imagine how big and long it would be if it continued to develop, a thought that filled him with primal pride!
--- END OF CHAPTER 5 ---