Corin let out a shaky breath as he pushed the linen pants down. Relief hit him the second his eyes dropped to what swung between his legs. The shaft hung fat and meaty, uncut, the skin loose at the tip. Even soft, it dangled almost seven inches long, heavy enough to pull downward against his thigh. The girth looked obscene, thicker than his wrist at the base, veins ridging the length like raised cords.
His heart thumped faster, not from shame, but from a filthy stab of pride.
'Holy fuck,' he thought. 'This body's swinging a monster.'
Then the darker whisper slid in. 'Is it gay to think your own cock looks good? Except it's not even mine, not really.'
He shoved the thought away. Who cared? He wasn't about to complain. If he was supposed to build the corruption harem the system kept hinting at, then this was the right weapon for the job. A loaded gun, and he intended to fire it.
Elara, bless her straight-laced heart, didn't react. Not outwardly. She kept her face professional, though the tips of her ears betrayed her. They glowed crimson as her gaze darted lower and then back up like she had to physically discipline her own eyes. "Into the tub, young master," she said softly.
Her voice was steady, but she wrung the sponge too tightly. He saw it.
Corin stepped into the steaming bath. Heat climbed up his legs, wrapped around his waist, and swallowed him whole when he lowered himself into the tub. The water hugged sore muscles, dulled the ache in his ribs, and coaxed a groan from his throat he hadn't meant to let out.
"Fuck, that's good," he muttered.
Elara knelt at the side. The movement pushed her skirt tight over her hips, shaping the curve of her ass as she shifted closer. She dipped the sponge into the steaming water, wrung it out, and rubbed it against the lavender soap until thick lather foamed in her hands.
"We'll start with your arms," she said.
Matter-of-fact, like she was announcing the day's chores. But Corin wasn't fooled. He caught the faint tremble in her wrist when she pressed the sponge to his forearm. The warm water sluiced down his skin, sliding over lean muscle. Her touch wasn't timid, though. Firm strokes, careful, like she was afraid of hurting him but determined to do the job right.
Corin leaned back against the tub, watching her. The sight of her bent forward, sleeves already damp from the steam, her lips pressed in a thin line as she concentrated on scrubbing him… it made him twitch under the water.
She moved from his arms to his shoulders, then down his chest. The sponge dragged over skin and muscle, squeezing out water that traced rivulets down his ribs and stomach. Her gaze stayed locked on her work, but not without struggle. He caught it. Those little flickers of her eyes downward before she snapped them back up.
"You do this often?" he asked, needing to poke, to push.
Her lips quirked. "Bathing wounded men? No. Bathing children, yes. My brothers when they were small. Or my father, after working the fields all day. But not like this."
Her cheeks heated, her voice trailing off. She squeezed the sponge harder than necessary, her knuckles whitening.
"So you're from a farm family," Corin said, filing every detail away.
"Yes. Tenant farmers. We grew barley, beans." She dipped the sponge again. "Life was simple. Hard, but simple. Mistress Catherine hired me two years ago. My wages help feed them."
There was steel in her voice, pride. But longing too.
Corin's grin tugged. Waifu material. Loyal, hardworking, tied to family. The kind a man wanted to break in and keep for himself.
"You must miss them."
Her eyes flicked up, startled that he asked. Few in the household cared about servant families. She nodded. "I do. But the mistress is kind. And I… I've found my place here."
Her hand moved lower without thinking. The sponge passed over his stomach, dipping dangerously close to where his cock floated beneath the water. His shaft stirred, thickening, rising with the sick thoughts he was conceiving by the second.
She froze, her hand pausing mid-dip. Her eyes snapped forward, but he saw the split-second glance at the surface, saw the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
Professional mask, but her ears betrayed her again, burning bright.
'Yeah, she noticed,' Corin thought, biting his tongue to keep from smirking.
She moved to his back, leaning in. The neckline of her plain wool dress dipped. For the first time, Corin had a clear look at her cleavage. Soft mounds, pressed together by the cut of her shift, the rough fabric doing nothing to hide the sheer weight of her tits. She leaned further, and a wet patch spread over the fabric where water splashed. It clung, outlining her breasts, nipples faintly pebbled under the soaked wool.
Corin's cock kicked under the surface. He had to shift slightly, praying the water masked the movement.
By the time Elara worked down his legs, her sleeves were plastered to her arms, clinging to pale skin. Water dripped from her elbows, ran down her wrists, and splashed onto her thighs. When she wrung out the sponge again, droplets sprayed across her chest, darkening her dress further until it hugged her curves.
His mouth went dry. She looked like sin wrapped in virtue, a body begging to be ruined, hidden under cheap cloth.
Finally, she set the sponge aside. "There," she said, brushing damp hair from her face. "All done."
Corin lifted an eyebrow. "All done? You missed a spot."
Her brow furrowed. "Where?"
He let the grin spread slow. "Everywhere the water doesn't reach."
Her eyes widened. Heat shot across her face like he'd slapped her. Scarlet from her throat to her ears. "Young master, that's… improper."
"Improper?" Corin echoed, sinking lazily into the tub. "Where I come from, we had a tradition. Tit for tat."
Her brow knit. "What does that mean?"
"It means every good deed deserves a return. You've fed me, cleaned me, bathed me, nursed me while I was half-dead. Where I'm from, ignoring that would be unthinkable."
Her lips parted with shock and perhaps confusion.
Something else lurking behind it. "That's… kind," she whispered. "But you're still hurt. You shouldn't strain yourself."
Corin leaned forward, ignoring the dull stab in his ribs. His voice dropped, low and hungry. "Strong enough to return the favor. Strong enough to bathe you, Elara."
Her breath caught. Her fingers curled into her skirt like she needed to hold herself steady. Propriety warred with something hotter, softer, beneath the surface.
"You'd… do that? For me?"
Before he could answer, the pink glow cut through the steam. A screen blinked alive in front of his eyes, floating between them.
[New Quest Generated]
[Dirty Quest: Wash her thoroughly. Earn her blush. Make her heart race. Reward: +5 Lust, +1 Depravity, 10 CP]
The letters glowed like neon filth, dangling temptation he was already half-ready to grab.
Elara, oblivious, sat stiff with her cheeks blazing. Her voice trembled. "If… if you're truly well enough, young master, then… I won't refuse."
Corin's eyes flicked between the pink screen and her flushed face.
'Holy fuck,' he thought. 'This system's going to drag me straight into being the dirtiest bastard alive.'
The water rippled as he leaned forward, reaching for the sponge.
The screen pulsed once, sealing it.
[Quest Active]