What the Fuck?

John felt warm and safe, and that’s how he knew something was wrong. He opened his eyes to take in his surroundings, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. He was still in the tent, still facing his designated side, and still fully clothed. It was only upon trying to sit up that he identified the problem: Moira was wrapped around him from behind. She’d pulled herself close and snuck her right arm beneath his, elbow nestled in the nook of his waist and bent so that she could cling to his chest. Her legs were entwined with his as well, and she had even wormed her other arm beneath him to cradle his neck. It sounded like she was still asleep, for which John silently praised the Lady, in all her benevolence, but getting out of the situation was all but impossible. There was no telling how she would react if she were to wake up. John’s heart rate began to quicken.

Okay, John, remain calm. She did this, not you. Contrary to previous assessment, Moira isn’t actually a sadistic psychobitch. If I wait long enough, she’ll probably wake up and roll over, then both of us can pretend this never happened.

John sighed as quietly as he could and released the tension in his body. Given the scenario, he had no option but to wait, maybe even go back to sleep. He had to admit that, once the panic wound down, being held by Moira was… nice. He assumed that being the little spoon to someone who was so much smaller than him would have been awkward, but he felt just as snuggled as he’d always imagined. John hadn't cuddled anyone since he was a toddler. He'd long forgotten that being held by someone was about more than just being cozy and warm. He felt protected - wanted, even. Moira wrapping herself around him was fulfilling in a way completely different to how Nazrinn clung to him while fucking. The Warden’s embrace was safe, bringing with it a peace of mind he’d never felt before. For a moment, John earnestly wanted to stay right where he was, forever.

A nearly silent whimper shattered the sense of serenity that had filled the tent. Moira squirmed behind John, then readjusted the arm draped over him so that her hand fell squarely between his legs. More specifically, her fingers delicately cupped his member. John froze solid again, suddenly struck by a cold bolt of lightning. He was scared stiff, to be certain, but that didn’t stop his body from reacting to Moira’s **** molestation. Something else began to stiffen while John broke into a cold sweat. Even if she was more level-headed than he once thought, there was no telling what Moira would do if she woke up like this. Tear his balls off, most likely. He looked around frantically, as if there was anything around that could possibly help him. It was all he could do to keep his breathing steady, even though his heart felt like it was beating a thousand times per minute.

Moira let out a contented sounding moan and pulled herself tighter against John, to the point where he could feel the soft pressure of her breasts on his back. The dichotomy of such a pleasant experience being the cause of wildly intense distress was not lost on him. In one section of his brain, having his cock between the petite fingers of the world’s most uptight, self-righteous Paladin was hot as hell. A nearby part of his brain even briefly entertained fishing out his phone and snapping a photo, but some area in the other lobe was desperately shouting to convince him that that was tantamount to suicide. Things only became worse when she began to nuzzle her cheek against his shoulder with a silent sigh and pleased little mewls. An iron grip seized John’s chest and refused to let up.

WHY. THE FUCK. IS SHE. SO. CUTE!?

Paralyzed, John had **** but to try to endure while he reached full mast. He dared to turn his head and try to catch a glimpse of Moira’s face to see if she was waking up, but her position made that difficult. She was still out as far as he could tell. And yet she was apparently not content with the level of **** she had put him through so far. Moira continued to up the stakes, this time by wrapping her fingers around his shaft and giving a gentle squeeze. Unexpected and unwanted as it was, a woman’s touch sent a warm shiver of pleasure through John. It may just have been a hand, and through layers of clothing, no less, but sexual contact was sexual contact. At his limit, John let out an involuntary moan.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh FUCK!

Moira stirred and her breath faltered. John snapped his eyes shut and offered fervent mental prayers to whatever deity would listen. He could feel the faint tickle of Moira’s lashes as her eyes fluttered open; she was awake.

There was silence and stillness for a short while as Moira came to full consciousness. Tiny movements in her limbs and fingers threatened John with more unintentional harassment, but only for a few seconds. Soon enough, John felt Moira’s breath halt and body lock up much as his must have earlier. Undoubtedly, she had realized the position they were in and, undoubtedly, he was about to lose his genitals. Or so he thought, at least.

Moira’s grip loosened until she was merely resting her hand on his crotch, but she otherwise didn’t move at all. John focused all of his will on pretending to still be asleep. It was difficult to maintain slow and steady breaths with his heart pounding like a drum and he hoped against hope that Moira didn’t feel it. He wished he could will it to be calm but had no such luck. It was only when he stopped focusing so intently on his own heartbeat that he realized he could feel something unexpected. Moira’s heart was racing just as hard and fast as his. He could only just barely feel it, thanks entirely to how tightly she was still holding herself to him. More than that, he could feel the heat of her heavy breathing wash across the back of his neck. In the quiet, he could even hear what sounded like her swallowing. He could only come to two conclusions, either she was frothing with rage or she was getting off on this. Considering how unlikely the latter was, John almost didn’t even consider it a possibility. Moira’s fingers closed around his still hard dick again. John braced himself for the moment of truth.

Moira’s grip loosened when John’s cock gave an involuntary twitch from the stimulation. She gasped while John suppressed his own wince and he could feel her body become even more rigid. Her breath became irregular and unsteady but, undeterred, her fingers closed in once more. She squeezed a little harder and her breath became harder yet. Mixed signals of sheer terror and powerful arousal shot through John’s synapses, sending his mind into a bewildered spiral of adrenaline. Further exacerbating his descent into chaos, Moira stopped, then began to tenderly knead him with her thumb. Before John could even process the new turn of events, he felt a sudden, sharp intake of breath, and Moira practically flung herself off and away from him as much as the cramped tent would allow. Given that her left arm was below John’s head, she unintentionally pulled it a few inches back as she yanked herself free.

John let out a garbled, “Muh?” It was all the eloquence he could muster through such whiplash of sensations and emotions. Twisted awkwardly, with his legs still facing left while his shoulders lay flat and his neck was craned to his right, John caught a momentary glimpse of Moira curled into as tight a ball as humanly possible. Realizing he was awake, she unfurled herself in a frankly pathetic attempt to look natural.

“N-newman!” she stammered. She wasn’t looking at him, instead facing the canvas wall her nose was mere inches from. “Ah, it’s early yet!” she continued. The anxiety in her voice was palpable. If anyone could pick up on someone pretending to be calm, it was John - not that Moira was doing a very good job of it. “You should get some more rest while you can. I’ll wake you if you sleep in.”

“...Kay.” John feigned sleepiness and rolled back over to his side. Moira couldn’t see the expression of shock locked onto his face, but he sounded genuine. Unknown minutes passed in sheer incredulity. John had no thoughts, no words. He just kept replaying the morning so far in his head over and over again, desperately trying to make sense of it. It was as if he believed that going over it enough times would help him realize that what he thought was completely wrong, and some other, more believable course of events took place. Try as he might, his efforts were in vain. What happened was exactly what had happened.

-
<Achievement Unlocked!>
Fruit of Temptation
Have a “Hands On” experience with a Warden.
+2 CHA
-

Not now, you!

Unsure how to deal with the reality of getting felt up by the most stuck up, (apparently not so) prudish girl he knew, John continued to pretend to sleep until his thoughts were less of a mess and his erection softened. This excursion into the Abyss had already thrown John’s opinion of Moira onto its head, but apparently it wasn’t done throwing curveballs at him. He peeked back over towards Moira, now lying on her back with her eyes closed. Her breathing was still abnormally heavy, and stiff niples formed tiny but obvious tents at the peaks of her breasts. John had to shake away thoughts of watching the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest for the next hour or so. Obviously, Moira was going through her own dilemma of conflicting emotions. It felt wrong to ogle her like that, despite the fact that she was the one molesting him only a few minutes ago. She hadn’t done it on purpose, after all.

...Not at first, at least.

“I gotta go take a leak,” John grumbled and pulled himself up to hobble out of the tent. It was true, but he’d really said it as a convenient excuse to get out of such close quarters with Moira. A little more time and separation would probably do them both some good.

The morning was not yet done messing with John Newman, it seemed. No, it was just getting started. The Gamer was confronted by a freshly gobsmacking sight the moment he exited the tent: a middle-aged man, nude save for a red ball cap and a stained pair of briefs, sat at a small wooden table only a few yards from him, eating waffles. At least a dozen cans of beer lay scattered at his feet, with several more on the table. He raised his head to stare at John with a vacant, uncomprehending expression as syrup dribbled down his chin. His appearance was… average, incredibly so. Mr. Stone was the dictionary definition of plain, but this man was a picture perfect mold of ‘Generic White Male.’ None of his features stood out whatsoever, starkly opposed by the fact that his very presence went against all reason.

“Uh, hello?” John said. The man responded only by matching John’s gaze, unblinking. His eyes were bloodshot and open wide, with heavily dilated pupils. After a moment, he shoveled a new forkful of waffles into his mouth, never once breaking eye contact. John could swear that the sound of his sloppy chewing was audible for miles. “Are you o-”

Screaming. Intense, bellowing screaming. Chunks of half chewed food tumbled from the man’s mouth as it seemed to open more than possible and he emanated the loudest noise John had ever heard come from a single person. No other part of him moved, he still sat as comfortably as ever, fork in hand. The only difference was the steady scream of a man clearly unhinged.

He stopped after a few seconds, and returned to his meal.

“MOIRA!!”