Travel South to the Keep.

You approach the keep and the nearer you draw, the warmer you feel. It seems to radiate heat, but not in an uncomfortable way, almost in the same intoxicating way that your father's lager warms you after a winter's day of woodcutting. You climb the crumbling, cobbled steps carefully and are surprised to find the iron-banded tower door slightly open.

Like a moth you are drawn in by the light into the keep. By the guttering flames you see an extravagant feast spread out on the table before you, wine and cheese, bread and stew. Your belly grumbles plaintively, but this all seems strange.

"Oh, it warms me to see such a handsome visitor."

The voice is female, and it oozes at you from every direction, sending a shudder through your body.

The woman steps forward from the shadows and you see that she is tall and beautiful, with pale white skin and flowing red hair. She wears a crimson blouse and skirt of the same shade as her curled locks, her large breasts pushed upwards by a corset. Her green golden twinkle mischievously and her painted lips shine in the flickering lamp light.

"I am-," you croak, your voice horse from lack of drink.

She shushes you with a finger and comes forward, taking you by the elbow, her touch electrifying.

"Sit down my dear," she leads you towards the head of the table. "You must be exhausted from your travels. Please, eat and drink well. You will need your strength."

You think to ask her why but the food is so inviting. You tear into it greedily while she sits and watches, sipping from a goblet of wine.

"My name is Anja," she tells you in her throaty and enticing voice. "I would love to have you as my guest tonight."

You simply nod your head, unable to do anything but stare into those beautiful golden eyes.

"I...," she toys coquettishly with one of her locks of hair, "I have only one bed, but it's very spacious. We will have to share it."

You nod again and she leads you to the bedroom. You feel a warm knot of anticipation in your stomach as her hand pulls you to the bed. She exclaims when her hand touches your woolen over-shirt.

"Oh, why this is damp," Anja says with a wink, "it must come off."

She unbuttons it carefully and slides it off, her hands running across the warm flesh beneath.

"Your trousers seem to be moist as well, please allow me," she unbuttons them and slides them off, your partially stiff cock springing free. She giggles and licks her lips, then looks up at you from her perch on the edge of the bed.

She stares deeply into your eyes again.

"My dear Hans," she says with a smile. "What shall we do now?"