I died like an idiot.
One moment I was face-down on my keyboard at 3 a.m., buried under another all-nighter, the next… I was being born.
All my memories came with me—every spreadsheet, every regret, every stupid decision that led to my early grave. Reincarnated into a genuine fantasy world. Swords. Magic. Monsters. The whole medieval package.
For twelve years, life was almost perfect.
I grew up in a quiet village tucked between emerald hills and whispering forests. My parents were the kind of adventurers bards sang about—brave, loud, and stupidly kind. Dad would swing me onto his shoulders after every quest and tell me wild stories while Mom healed the scrapes on my knees with gentle green light. They were orphans themselves, so they swore I would never feel alone.
Then the monsters came.
I still hear the roar that shattered the night. I still see the blood soaking the dirt street. I still feel my mother's hand—warm, trembling—clutching mine as she whispered, "Run, baby. Live."
They died protecting the village. Protecting me.
I mourned them for an entire year. A full year of silence and stale bread and nightmares that wouldn't end. No relatives. No one left. Just a twelve-year-old kid rattling around in an empty house with a small chest of coins and enchanted trinkets.
But I survived.
I learned to cook, to haggle, to swing a rusted sword in the backyard until my arms shook. I stretched every copper they left me and made it last.
Thirteen years have passed since that night.
Now I'm twenty-five.
The crying boy who hid under his bed is gone.
And I'm finally ready to step into the world they died to save.
---
Elaric Voss made his way toward the forest's edge, wicker basket swinging lightly in his grip. The morning air was crisp, thick with the sharp scent of pine and the sweet perfume of wildflowers. He dropped to one knee in a sun-dappled clearing and started gathering the herbs his mother had once shown him—gentle fingers plucking each stem before tucking it carefully inside.
Then came the rustle.
Close. Too close.
His body froze. Heart slamming against his ribs, Elaric set the basket aside and crept forward on silent feet. With two fingers he parted the thick green curtain of leaves…
…and every drop of blood in his veins rushed straight south.
There, only a few meters away, stood Liora Thoren.
The village's most desired woman. Thirty-five years old, widowed, and utterly devastating. Her husband and two small children had been torn apart by monsters years ago, leaving her to live alone in quiet solitude. Right now that solitude had led her behind these very bushes.
Her long skirt was bunched up around her waist. Legs slightly parted. And right there in plain view—smooth, glistening pink folds, the delicate lips parted just enough to reveal the swollen little clit peeking out like a secret. A soft golden stream trickled from her, pattering onto the moss with a sound that made Elaric's cock throb so hard it ached.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't look away.
In his past life he'd been a burned-out salaryman who hadn't touched a woman in years. Now this twenty-five-year-old body was reacting like a starving man staring at a feast. A thick bead of pre-cum soaked through his trousers as his shaft strained painfully against the fabric.
Liora finished with a soft sigh. She gave herself one delicate shake, the motion making her bare pussy lips quiver. Then she stood, letting her skirt fall back into place.
And started walking straight toward his hiding spot.
Elaric's heart nearly exploded. He scrambled backward, snatched up his basket, and forced his trembling fingers to pretend he was still harvesting herbs. Every nerve screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move.
A shadow fell over him.
"Elaric?"
Her voice—low, warm, and slightly amused—cut through the morning air like velvet.
He looked up.
Liora Thoren stood right beside him, emerald eyes sparkling with something dangerously close to recognition.
---
Liora gave me the warmest, gentlest smile the moment her emerald eyes met mine.
"Good morning, Elaric," she said softly, voice like sun-warmed honey.
I forced my lips to curve, praying my voice wouldn't crack. "G-Good morning, Liora."
She set her own basket down just a couple of feet away and gracefully lowered herself to crouch beside me, completely focused on the herbs. She had no idea what she was doing to me.
The moment her knees touched the moss, her loose skirt shifted. The long slit in the fabric yawned open like an invitation I couldn't refuse.
My gaze locked on instantly.
Half of her massive, soft breasts spilled free, heavy and pale, jiggling with every small movement of her arms. Lower—between her slightly parted thighs—her pink pussy was on full, shameless display. The delicate lips were still puffy and glistening from moments earlier, slick with a mix of her own warm piss and the fresh dew of arousal that was already starting to form.
My cock twitched violently inside my trousers, straining so hard the fabric felt like it might rip.
We picked herbs in heavy silence. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the thunder of my heartbeat. Minutes stretched. Then her gaze drifted—accidentally, innocently—to my lap.
She froze.
There, blatantly outlined against the thin cloth, was the thick, veiny bulge of my fully erect cock. Her eyes widened. A soft, audible gulp escaped her throat as pink flooded her cheeks.
Right in front of me, her body betrayed her.
A fresh, glistening trickle of her warm juices leaked from her swollen folds, sliding down her inner thigh. Her slick lips plumped even further, parting slightly as another clear drop welled up and fell onto the moss. The dark wet spot on the front of her skirt bloomed wider, unmistakable now.
I saw every intimate second of it.
And my heart hammered so loudly I was certain she could hear it too.
Liora's breathing had grown shallow. Her thighs pressed together once—then parted again, almost shyly—as if her body had decided for her.
She slowly lifted her eyes to mine.
This time there was no accident in her gaze.
---
A few minutes later, both our baskets were full.
We rose at the same time. The moment Liora turned to face me, everything changed. Her breathing was shaky, uneven. Her emerald eyes burned with something far beyond simple desire — raw, desperate hunger.
"Elaric…" she whispered, voice soft as velvet but carrying an iron command. "Sit."
I obeyed instantly, sliding down until my back pressed against the thick, moss-covered tree trunk. The cool grass kissed my heated skin.
Liora stepped forward. Her hands trembled with barely-restrained need as she yanked my trousers down to my ankles in one rough motion. My thick, veiny cock sprang free — rock-hard, throbbing angrily, the swollen head already glistening with pre-cum.
Without another word she lifted her skirt high, straddled my lap, and wrapped her warm, silky fingers around my shaft. She lined me up against her dripping entrance…
…and sank down in one smooth, greedy plunge.
A broken groan tore from my throat as her scorching, velvet pussy swallowed every single inch. Her soaked walls stretched tight around my girth until the head of my cock slammed hard against the entrance of her womb.
She took all of me.
But she didn't ride.
She stayed perfectly still, fully impaled, her inner muscles clenching and rippling around me like a living vice. When I instinctively tried to thrust upward, desperate for friction, her hands slammed down onto my chest and shoulders, pinning me mercilessly against the tree.
I couldn't move. Not even an inch.
Liora leaned in close. Her massive, soft breasts crushed against my face, hard nipples brushing my lips through the thin fabric. Her hot breath ghosted over my mouth as she stared straight into my eyes with terrifying intensity.
Then, in a low, trembling whisper that sent shivers down my spine, she asked me…