Chapter 11
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Johnson's General Store (7)
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Tszzzzzz! Hug!!!
Wahk!!!
"Hahk!!!"
"Time flies."
"Heuk...! Heek...!"
With my overflowing stamina, I went wild pounding Camella's pussy until I noticed the sun starting to stretch longer in the sky, at which point I finally stopped.
Looking at the wedding ring on the left hand of Camella collapsed before my eyes brought memories of my previous life flooding back.
After breaking off my engagement with my ex-girlfriend, I never dated anyone else.
If anything, I just had fun with married women.
It all started with the wife of a close older brother from the same company—a real fireplay opener.
After the breakup, I spent six months like a shut-in, and she must have pitied me because she kept inviting me over to her place, feeding me meals and drinks.
I was in my early thirties, the same age as his wife, and his house became a regular hangout since he'd married late in his forties. The three of us grew close fast.
At first, I wondered if the guy was just messing with me because they were newlyweds, but as we shared meals with his good-natured brother and his warm, perfectly matching wife, the initial annoyance faded, replaced by a bit of healing.
Thoughts like If I'd met a decent woman instead of my ex, maybe I could've built a family like this... lingered bitterly in my mind.
We always drank during those dinners, and since he was weak to alcohol and older, he'd pass out first. I'd carry him to the master bedroom, leaving me alone with his wife to finish the drinks.
Eventually, I opened up about exactly how things fell apart with my girlfriend. Once she knew my story, she started treating me even better.
Three months of these dinner-drinking sessions later, the now-comfortable wife began casually sharing bedroom stories about her husband with me.
"...Ugh! My hubby's great and all, but his age means his stamina sucks... Once a month is a lot for us."
"So when are you planning to have kids?"
"I dunno! Seriously... I want one before it's too late..."
We were at that age where everyone knows the deal, and with how close we'd gotten, our boozy chats grew more and more explicit.
Around then, she'd started showing interest in the various plays and techniques I'd used to satisfy my ex—little by little.
"For real? You've... you've actually tried that?"
"Yeah. Why, you curious?"
"N-no...!"
"Just drink up. I'll drop a subtle hint to your hubby later."
"That's not it!!"
Meanwhile, bored with vanilla novels, I'd picked up some erotic stories.
After fifteen years of webnovels, they'd lost their kick—getting stale. The smut felt fresh.
All sorts of kinks and plays, some I'd tried, some wildly out there, but I dove in.
That's when I started favoring NTL tags.
From one angle, NTR victims naturally hate NTR stuff.
But getting off on stealing those hot heroines away, feeling superior while living vicariously—that's the core appeal of NTL, right?
A guy brainwashed by being stolen from seeks out stealing others. Logical progression.
My tastes twisted more, and visits to the brother's house went from weekly to two or three times a week.
On days I dropped by for meals, her outfits grew skimpier, and once he passed out drunk, her subtle touches ramped up. We started crossing lines bit by bit.
"...Hah..."
Ulkeok!
In the end, a little over a year after my breakup, on a night she'd prettied up the guest room for her frequent visitor, we crossed the final line.
Seeing her collapse, moaning as my creampie gushed out of her pussy, stirred a storm of emotions inside me.
My ex, once the woman I thought I'd marry; his wife, who seemed perfect for him—now spreading for another man. Could I ever trust women again? Distrust brewed alongside the conquest rush of filling a close acquaintance's wife with my seed, twisted lust awakening like in those stories.
After that, drawing from my ex's gaslighting and smut ideas, I gaslit and trained his wife. Soon enough, she got the kid she'd craved.
He doted on his pregnant wife even more, and I smiled with genuine congratulations.
Of course, my sincere smile mostly hid relief that our blood types matched—thank God.
While we three stayed close, she'd asked him to introduce me to friends or little bros a few times.
True to word, she hooked me up with women—single friends and siblings at first, light flings.
Post-training, she brought more married women in similar spots.
Anyway, until the car crash killed me, those years of no-strings pleasure with tons of married women? Pretty sweet death, all told.
Whatever. Shaking off the sudden memory sparked by Camella's ring, I refocused on her sprawled form.
Back in the break room, the sex restarted soft for the first two hours, melting her like lovers, caressing tenderly.
I made her beg for it herself, teased her body till she ached, then got her to mount me cowgirl. Even pouty at first, she melted helplessly.
Early on, gentle sex as a reward. But for me, used to wild stuff in my past life, it felt bland—unsatisfying.
Once she was gooey enough, I sweet-talked her into letting me go wild, then pistoned like a madman.
This body, silent as an assassin even lugging mountain-sized packs to the Labyrinth.
A woman near 170cm but soft and untoned for over a decade? Pounding her standing doggy for an hour without tiring left even me awed at my specs.
Camella started screaming she'd die, begging mercy. But slamming her cervix like I'd punch through? She ended up howling in ecstasy.
Huge physical diffs from past life—especially dick size—so I tested positions, adjusting to the gap.
No need hunting her G-spot; one thrust scraped her walls with my massive glans, her hips bucking, face blissed out. Adding past-life tricks? Any woman would fall easy. Confidence surged.
Experimenting positions on her body left her splayed like a frog, legs wide, eyes rolled back, croaking. Worried a bit, but the masochist streak? She'll recover after sleep.
[Camella]
[Camella]
[Camella]
[Camella]
"Tsk... so close."
I knew Hitomi's blessing wasn't instant but lasted about a minute once triggered, so I glared at Camella silently. The numbers were jumping like crazy.
Thanks to Tanya from the park last time, I knew it updated live in real-time. But after pounding her like that, she'd have capitulated ages ago—or so I thought. Instead, her gauge bobbed in the 90s, betraying my hopes.
Good thing it never dipped below 90%.
Wished I'd pushed to 100% today to see what happens. Should've fucked harder?
With this monster cock, I figured one good session might flip any woman. Nope, not easy. Better leave her wanting for a while, let it simmer.
Kiiik-
"Let's see... shaving soap..."
Out of the break room, into the storeroom to dress, then scanning the shop interior.
I remembered seeing it last time.
[Shaving Cream Soap – 10 Bronze]
"Oh, there it is."
Fist-sized shaving soap in the daily goods section.
"Razors too... here."
Grabbed the razor set and soap, dropped 1 silver on the counter, and left the shop.
"Thanks for the meal."
Stealing razors and soap too would prick my conscience with Johnson. No change needed.
S-rank unused feel. Great stuff. Will use well again. Take care, Johnson.
"Ca...Cain!!!"
"Yeah, Sia? What's up."
"Y-you're so late... I was worried."
"Warehouse sorting took longer than expected. Sorry."
"I-it's... fine..."
As the sun set and darkness fell, we reached the dorm. Sia, pacing in front of my and Claude's door, rushed me.
"Where's Claude?"
"Not back yet."
"Cool. Dinner then?"
"Y-yeah!!"
Not just warehouse stuff—I'd checked body-fixing methods too—but skipping that, casually suggesting food, Sia fidgeted, eyeing me.
"What's wrong?"
"N-nothing... hehe..."
"Don't worry too much. Think I found a way."
"Really?"
"Yeah. So let's eat dinner good."
"Yeah!!!"
Her anxiety melted at my words; grinning ear-to-ear, I ruffled her hair, stashed the shop goods in our room, then headed down to dinner with her.
She'd fretted so hard she hadn't spent the allowance I'd given, holing up in her room. Ordered her fave meats and desserts, stuffing her till she was full as a balloon.
Of course, prepping for something later, I loaded her up extra on drinks. But she ate happy—what's the harm? Good is good.