Erion froze in place. His hand still on his member. His face flushed, as if he was about to explode.
And Selina? She stood there. A small towel in her hands. Her eyes widened as if she had seen a ghost standing tall before her.
He didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't even swallow.
"Damn…" he muttered inside his skull, "this scene… I've seen it before… a porn movie? Maybe… no, definitely. This scene always comes right before the woman approaches, tosses the towel, kneels in front of you as if she's forgiving all your sins… then says the magic words: Let me help you."
He remained frozen, unmoving. Waiting for those words.
But they never came.
Selina kept looking. One second. Just one second. Then she turned around.
And left. Without a word. No scream, no slap, no threat… just silence.
The door closed quietly behind her. As if nothing had happened.
And he remained. Standing. Like a forsaken rod in a ruined temple.
Then…
Did his mind return? No. His lust did.
Still standing, erect, his upper body trembling from the shame… and his lower half demanding closure.
He wasn't done.
He had started, and now he had no brakes.
He shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to erase the shame. But his hand? It resumed the show, with the ferocity of a starved beast.
Zara.
Her sculpted ass, lying defenseless, her exposed pussy like a forbidden meal on a fasting night.
Selina.
In that damned dress, the tense lips, the eyes that said: "I'm here… take me." Even when angry… she was hotter.
Then… disaster.
His mother.
Her messy hair, half-naked body, the men passing by her like a filthy station. And in the middle of it all? A direct stare from him… to her.
She whispered, her whisper as repulsive as a noose:
"Why don't you join them?"
His mind screamed: Damn! Damn! This is filthy! Disgusting! Delete!
But the hand? It doesn't hear. It doesn't think. It just plays.
Its rhythm… scandalous. Anger. Shame. Desire. All crashing down.
Then… the explosion.
Not a release. A rupture.
A gasp, a choke, a shudder… The first spurt? On the floor. The second? On his leg. The third? Unknown. But his heart vomited with it.
And silence reigned.
He sat down. Half naked. Half a man.
Looking at his hand… wet. The floor… stained. The air… repugnant.
Inside him? A hole.
"Damn… I did it. I did it with… nothing."
"Zara. Selina. My mother. What's next? My grandma? The queen? Or the devil himself?"
He laughed. Or tried to.
[Warning: Instinctive control collapse.] [Sudden drop in sexual cognition.] [Recorded imbalance in lust — Status: Post-pleasure void.]
Then he spat out the words inside him:
"Damn this body… damn the system… and damn me."
"Wait! Damn it indeed!!…"
Erion gasped. His chest heaving madly. His pulse choking him. His hand still trembling, as if asking: What did we do?
"Selina… saw me."
He stood, frozen, as if the earth refused to hold him. Between him and himself? A flood of stickiness, uncleanable stains, and a scandal not yet complete.
"She saw me. Erect. I was masturbating in front of a killer's wife. And to her imagined image!"
The sentence alone could bury him. The wife of a man who could crush his skull without blinking, a naive man… smiling at him with childlike trust.
"I swear I'm insane… or stupid… or cursed."
The door hadn't fully closed. The room's air was heavy, still thick with heat, lust, and the filth lingering in wooden walls.
Then—the voice.
"Erion! Dinner's ready!"
Garon. His voice heavy. Kind. Safe. Like an angel inviting you to the Lord's table… after you defiled his temple.
"Dinner? Now? After I… spilled the last ounce of manhood on the floor?"
He ran to the second pair of pants he had bought. As if running to cover an eternal shame. He pulled them over his damp body, the button trembling in his fingers.
No time to wash his hands. No time to erase the guilt. No time to be human.
He washed his face with water. Drank half the cup like he was performing ablution with the last drop of dignity.
"I'm a priest. A holy man. Just a man from whom a curse escaped. It happened. It's over. We are now in the post-catastrophe phase."
Dining room.
Dim light. Smell of soup and spices… and fresh betrayal. The table wooden, long. Suggests intimacy… but today it suggests judgment.
He sat. Tried to appear normal. But his skin under the pants burned. His pulse throbbed in his throat. Lust had died… but its ghost remained.
Selina was there.
Sitting, modest. In a long home dress covering her legs completely, sleeves reaching her wrists. No exposure. No direct seduction. But everything about her testified.
Her arms crossed. Her eyes on him. Calm… silent… As if saying without sound: "I saw you. And I won't forget."
Her lips tight. Her face rigid. But she didn't explode. And that's worse.
As for Garon?
He laughed. Poured drinks. His face gleaming with genuine joy. "Ha! Here we are! My wife, my friend, and the sacred soup! Like a real family, isn't it?"
Erion nearly laughed… but swallowed it. It would've come out like a dying gasp.
Selina carried his plate and walked toward him.
Her steps cold. Measured. No provocative femininity. No swaying.
But in her eyes? A silent war.
She placed the plate before him, then bent slightly. Just enough to bring her face close to his ear.
She said in a dry whisper:
"Please… don't leave more stains."
As if she were talking about the room. Or his soul. Or… something else.
Erion's throat dried up.
The scent of her hair? The same scent that filled his nose when he was… doing what he did.
"Ah… you mean the room?" he mumbled, trying to deflect.
She looked at him, her eye narrowing as if about to laugh or kill him.
She said in a low voice only he could hear:
"Rooms can be cleaned with towels… but minds? Can't."
Garon laughed with a chuckle that sounded like a drumbeat inside a coffin.
"Selina always says deep things! I never get them, but they make me feel smarter!"
Erion didn't laugh.
The spoon trembled in his hand. The soup before him, but its taste? Ash.
"She knows. And I know she knows. And Garon… smiles like a fool."
He looked up. Selina began to eat. Slowly. Modestly.
No licking. No oral theatrics.
But she handled the spoon precisely, as if every movement whispered to him: "I saw you. And I might tell the story anytime I wish."
She said in a soft, hoarse voice:
"It tastes good, doesn't it?"
He replied, trying not to tremble:
"Hot… very."
She said with a faint smile:
"Some hot things… leave a stain that can't be washed."
Garon laughed again. That childlike laugh that breaks backs.
"Are you talking about the soup? Or the sheets? I told her the room needed cleaning!"
Erion tried to laugh. But it came out like a dying cough.
He was going to die. Or explode. Or kneel under the table and beg forgiveness… or take off his pants again and apologize to them.
But instead…
He finished his dinner. Bite by bite. Every nerve in his face sweating, every bite going down like a thorn stabbed in his throat.
And Selina? Doesn't speak. Doesn't smile. Doesn't whisper. But every blink carried judgment, and every moment of silence screamed: "I know. And I'll keep you terrified."
And Garon? Just laughs.
As if life were a sexual joke he never understood… but is happy to be in the middle of.
Erion nearly burst. Dinner wouldn't end. Selina wouldn't relent.
Every glance from her replayed the film in his head… and he was the filthy protagonist in it.
"I have to say something… anything… I'll die if I stay still between them."
He slowly wiped his mouth. Raised his eyes to Garon. Smiled a shaky smile even his lips didn't believe.
He said with a tired voice, feigning optimism:
"By the way… I never asked before… what brought you to that forest? I mean, the place is… very isolated."
Selina raised an eyebrow. A small look… but enough to reheat his skin beneath the fabric.
Garon paused. A moment of suspended silence, like a blade hanging in the air.
Then he cleared his throat. Grabbed his glass and drank it all at once, as if bracing for a confession.
"Good question."
He looked directly at Erion, with a heavy gaze. A man carrying something… he no longer wants to carry.
"Since you saved me… I suppose it's only fair you know."
Erion focused. Held his breath. Finally, something to take him out of his personal trial.
Even Selina lifted her head this time. Her eyes sparkled… soft curiosity beneath the ice of silence.
"I was bitten." Garon said it while staring into his plate.
"A demonic snake. The kind that doesn't just bite the flesh… but disturbs the entire magical balance."
Erion slightly opened his mouth. Nodded, slowly… as if understanding. He didn't understand. But "demonic snake" seemed fitting for a man nearly dead and half-naked in the mud.
"Luckily, our village had a single emergency vial of the antidote. Rare and precious… we'd kept it since the last magical incursion."
Erion nodded again. This time, with a more serious expression. Then frowned slightly, tilting his head:
"I see… that explains your condition back then, but… what brought you to the forest in the first place? I mean, no one goes wandering there."
Selina slowed her chewing. Garon went silent again. He froze, like someone not expecting the second question.
A moment passed like a wheat stalk snapping between the fingers of time.
Then he said, in a softer voice… still burdened:
"I was looking for something… a cure."
Erion narrowed his eyes: "A cure? For… illness?"
"Yes and no…" Garon shook his head slowly. "I was looking for a cure to something else."
A glance at Selina. A glance at the plate. Then, finally… he looked at Erion.
"A disease unseen. A magical disease. Sexual. Ancient. Spreading again in the kingdom."
Erion didn't move a muscle. Sweat began pooling again on his brow.
"A disease…" Garon continued, as if reading from a death sentence:
"… that over time causes a man to lose his ability to get erect or ejaculate and turns him into a eunuch in the end."
Then he took a bite. As if nothing had been said.