Open your eyes!

You see a familiar shape slowly come into focus standing over your bed. "Good morning Glory!" she says cheerfully as she fusses with your blankets. You groan and shift "Leave me alone Shirya, its far too early for your nagging." "Oh please, you're lucky to have anyone to nag your crippled ass." she playfully smacks you on the forehead and throws back the sheets, exposing your body to the stark morning light. You feel a twinge of shame as your once powerful body is reduced to a that of a man with one good arm, and nothing else but a torso tattooed with cross-hatched scars, too deep, and too numerous to count. "Don't look so embarrassed Tov', at least your face and your cock are still handsome." She said with a wink, and begins absent-mindedly playing with your member, bringing it slowly to arousal. "I wasn't going to leave you to die when I found you, but you can't exactly carry your weight around here, and you know I have needs." "Do I have a choice?" You ask exasperatedly. "Do you want one?" "No." Asked and answered.

Shirya was a little older than you, though not by much. Her mid-to late thirties at most, and not unattractive in the least. A true Good-Samaritan. She lost her husband in the same war that you lost your family, and most of the rest of you. You still remember meeting her like it was yesterday, her clothes mostly torn and burned off, coffee colored curvaceous frame glistening with sweat as she pulled you from the smoldering remains of your demolished house. She hadn't said anything that day, and neither had you. The silence went on for months, until finally broken by necessity, and the healing powers of time, as she tended your wounds and nursed you back to some semblance of health. She lived in a communal village that mostly weathered the storm of the attacks, a place where everyone had their part to play. A place where all of the able bodied men had perished in the war. Her role was that of the town healer, yours had become that of the town stud. It wasn't the worst job, but it was a far cry from that of the King's Hand.

Your reflection was summarily interrupted by Shirya, as she hopped onto the bed and almost gleefully straddled you. Gently, yet eagerly, placing her sex over your stiffening cock. She always seemed to take great pleasure in the fact that you couldn't do anything to stop her, whether you wanted to or not. She removed the rest of her robes and let her voluptuous breasts fall, her dark nipples peaking as her bosom rose and fell during her stationary dance atop your body. She grabs your thick hair, and pulls her self closer to you, desperately trying to take as much of your large member inside of her as she can. Her eyes are closed, as if remembering a different time, you can feel her cervix tickling the tip of your gland, causing a redoubling of its firmness. Her face was beautiful, though marred with tragedy, but still nothing to look away from. As she gyrates upon you, grinding her insides along your shaft, you can't help but think back to the haunting beauty of the creature in the pond, her eyes, her lips...her tongue. You feel the twinge of guilt that you aren't thinking of Seph, your wife did not deserve to be forgotten, but the woman in the dream was too entrancing to push out of your head. _Find me. Find ME. FIND ME! _You're startled out of your thoughts as Shirya furiously rubbing her own clit, shouted "FUCK ME, OH FUCK ME oh FUCK, I'm gonna fucking CUM. Fill me up Danny, fill me up baby!" You were used to her calling her husband's name, its why she never kissed you, never opened her eyes when she was really going for it. You never blamed her, you never would have lived without her. Maybe you never should have. As her back arches, and her legs shakes, unintelligible moans escape her lips as she bucks and sways her hips, masturbating herself as she rides you. You feel the climax building in your loins, your heart beat going faster, and faster, filling your eardrums with rushing blood. Rushing like the water of a river, or a brook. her begging and pleading finally push you over the edge, your gasps for air become clenched muscles and grunts as you hold back until the last possible second, bursting past the dam and spilling over, flooding her womb as the fingers of your left, lonely, hand bite into her side. Her cries and yours intertwine, a practiced ritual, the passion of two long-time lovers, bodies with chemistry, and knowledge, but without the love. White-hot and cold, explosive, intimate, contractual. She trembles beneath your one good arm, sweat dripping from her hairline, streaking down over her heaving breasts, and tracing lines to where your bodies become one. "Thanks Tov," She whispers to you, like she always does. "I'll be here all week, you reply." Chuckling dryly, but without mirth.

As Shirya started to clean us off, and dress herself, she says "There's a new woman in town who says she was looking for the 'Hand of the King' or something dramatic like that, I don't know if you know what that means, but I do know you were in the old king's army before the end. I said she could come visit you this morning." "I'm going to need a few minutes to recharge, Shir. You don't go easy on me." "Haha, I don't think that's what she was after, besides, she might be a bit old for you. She'll be here in half an hour."