Try to convince the watchman to share his shelter

You climb down from Aegis and hitch his reins to the post. He begins to nose at the sparse grass as the rain drives down on his muscular neck. The watchman continues to chew his sausage, but watches warily as you approach him and duck inside his shelter. The warmth feels religiously good. The fire is small, but close, and it radiates through your waterlogged gown as you sit down on the bench beside the watchman.

"Didn't invite you in," he observes, peeling another slice from the sausage.

"You are not telling me to leave," you retort, producing a grumble from his barrel chest.

"Those girls at the White Rock, is it true they are all virgins?" he asks.

Not any longer, you realize sadly. Many of them, maybe even most of them, have been defiled by daemons. But you simply nod and warm your hands on the fire.

"So why are you here, trying to convince me to part with coins for a bit of your quim."

The crude language gives you an unexpected thrill. Under normal circumstances you would smack the sausage from his fat fingers and knock him to the ground for saying such things. Under these circumstances...

"I do not seek coins," you say, speaking just loudly enough for him to hear you over the rain drumming on the roof of the shelter. "I only want a bit to eat and a chance to dry my clothes. My... chastity is not offered."

He grumbles again and peels another slice of the sausage. Your mouth waters as you watch him pop it into his mouth.

"So what're you offering?"

"My gratitude," you suggest hopefully.

"Your clothes aren't going to dry on your body." He casts a sidelong glance. "Take them off and set them over that chair."

"But I will be completely naked," you say, averting your eyes from his and feeling a heat in your face that is not just the fire.

"Yes," agrees the watchman, "but you can keep warm by moving. I'll even give you something to do."

He lifts his chain shirt over his potbelly and leans back in his chair. He grunts and unbuckles his belt. His fingers work the buttons on his trousers until he opens them up and fishes out his fat, untrimmed cock. He looks back at you.

"Your hand will suffice. And when you're through you can have a bit to eat."

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your desperation wars with your revulsion. Can you bring yourself to such humiliation?