011: The Sexually Frustrated Priestess
"You've been through a lot. Saving Hanbyeol and ending up locked in that root prison all alone."
Daesik had handled all the external matters after getting a report from Jimmy. Then, after a good night's sleep, he showed up in my room and said exactly that.
As I tidied my messy hair, I habitually cast Purify on my body out of habit. It'd be nice if it could just passively apply every set interval. Then I wouldn't even have to think about it.
"It was nothing. Hanbyeol took good care of me. You could've woken me up if you'd come..."
I did have an apology to give Daesik, but bringing it up now and making a fuss would just seem too gay, so I held back. I'm a generous and compassionate priestess, after all.
"How could I disturb you when you were sleeping so soundly? Everyone's been saying it—how we pushed you too hard. 'That one who wouldn't listen and kept stomping all over the mats.' I just wanted to lay them flat."
"Next time they don't listen, you can cut off the heals and let them die. That's why I sent those guys. Speaking of which... resurrection..."
At his last words, I flinched and glanced at his face. He's right; it was my fault. Even in a fantasy world, messing with life and death is the domain of gods—or defying them. "I just used the skill I had" wouldn't fly as an excuse.
"...I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine. You couldn't have known. I only just learned about it myself. But we need to figure out how to handle it. Our organization's pretty tight-lipped, so we'll keep it contained among ourselves, but we can't say for sure no one was watching. Someone could have been spying on that evil spirit tree raid from afar. Which means word could reach the church at any moment, and it wouldn't be strange. Even if we're lucky, you could get branded a necromancer."
I hung my head even lower, feeling utterly ashamed. Should I just act like I have no ties to them and flee as a fugitive? But no matter how I thought about it, that had no future. Without power, I'd just end up like pre-Daesik Onyx—captured by some crime boss and sold into slavery. This world didn't seem to have great public safety.
"I'm sorry. Rather than cause trouble for the guild..."
Still, I couldn't let them suffer because of me. Better to turn myself in to the church, even if it meant being locked in a monastery. At least they'd consider my circumstances, and if they executed me, I could beg for a painless death. I knew my imagination was veering to extremes, but nothing positive came to mind no matter how I tried.
"There is a way. We can tie it to my image."
"Your image, Daesik? How?"
"Just say you reformed us. Perfect timing, too—people have been suspecting I've gone from psycho killer to goody-two-shoes lately. This is a den of criminals, after all. No matter how much we launder ourselves to go legit, the roots don't change. But if there's a trigger for it, that changes the story. Everyone wants a better life. Accepting our past and repenting as an organization might sell better than a full identity wash."
"...You're forming a guild with the current crew?"
"I was planning to whitewash as an adventurer guild anyway, but with this, we'll own it outright. A criminal group reformed by their kidnapped priestess. Sounds good, right? Some of them already genuinely call you 'big sis.' Gae Saeng Guild would be a fitting name."
It was embarrassing, but better than turning myself in and getting arrested, so I nodded. Daesik continued calmly, as if to reassure me.
"We've got plenty of excuses that the organization will buy. If anyone asks why you're sticking around, just spout some priestly lines. 'Helping the poor souls' or whatever. But if you're in danger, let the others die—they're expendable. In games, you'd just rez them with mana, but resurrection's usually some kind of divine authority. Or it requires sacrifice."
It was awkward, but not hard. Games and fantasy novels were full of that stuff. I could hypocrisy my way through it easily. Better to help an old passerby with their load, calling them "sir," than kick them from behind—even if it was just lip service.
Thinking back to resurrection refocused me, and I remembered Patrick suffering, so I asked.
"Um... is Patrick okay? He was complaining about aftereffects."
"He shook it off quick, so don't worry. Like I said, they're bad seeds—never prioritize them over yourself. Our goal is us getting home, gathering users to find a way back. Whoever wants to stay can."
"Got it."
Obvious, really. I vaguely wanted to return to reality too, but some might not. If life's hell back home—debts, bad situations, no attachments—maybe wielding magic here is better. Those with families would want out, no matter their max-level power. Or folks like me, with mixed feelings. Deputy wasn't a huge deal, but I'd carved out a spot, life was stable. I wanted to visit my parents near retirement over holidays, say hi... but this life wasn't bad either. The body was too pleasurable, for one.
With Daesik right there, lost in such slightly impure thoughts, my face heated up in embarrassment. Noticing, he asked worriedly.
"You still look unwell. Feverish, maybe. You should rest. I'll tell Hanbyeol to nurse you when she gets back. Sorry, I've got work piling up—gotta go."
"N-no, I'm fine. Really. Don't worry."
"Oh, and keep an eye on Hanbyeol while you're at it. She's got some emotional scars. You're so kind, she clings to you, so I'll leave her in your hands."
Me? Kind? Did he mean "kind" like a stab wound? Stunned by the unfamiliar praise, I just stared wide-eyed as Daesik left, too flustered to argue.
Was there ever a reason to call me kind? In-game, I barely initiated chats—just nodded along to small talk. Maybe those moments painted my character image here as kind? Who knows. Here, I'd been tied up or locked away, doing nothing for Hanbyeol. She'd done everything for me.
If she had scars, it hurt my heart, but it was common. Domestic abuse, online harassment for being a girl. Guys got pad-lip, girls sexual shit—some say no difference, but it varies. Playful roasting or deep wounds, depending on the person. I couldn't judge her pain; best I could do was take her teasing like always. I'm no therapist.
...Lately, she seemed to love messing with me, but no malice... right? The memory of her laughing as I snorted water made chills run down my spine. Nah.
Her casual skinship felt like girl-on-girl play. Guys did risky pranks too when young—fist of fire with alcohol, tossing someone in the pool. One dude chipped his arm attempting a drunk backflip. Pre-job, we'd hang like that; now, just check-ins and vague "dinner sometime" promises. Bittersweet.
Depressed? Sentimental? I wasn't this emotional before. Woman's body making me teary-eyed lately? Hormones, probably. I'd roll with it coolly. Moping alone would be too gay. Even in a woman's body, my mind wouldn't accept that.
Anyway, no more worries. A priestess reforming criminals? Gods vary, but doctrines push "live righteously"—love neighbors, no harm, honor parents, raise kids well. Obvious stuff religions teach, since people suck at it.
Started rocky, but settling in eased my mind. Problem solved, tension gone— even the view outside looked pretty. Gray buildings dotted with tall red crosses? This place with trees and fountains looked nicer.
Would I miss home once this became routine? Fleeting thought; I glanced at the clock tower instead. Just past noon. Late brunch and Daesik chat done; nothing till Hanbyeol's evening return.
Priestess duty? I'd skimmed scriptures—stiff prose, ditched 'em in a corner. Guarding the door? "Praying for self-discipline," my fancy excuse.
No phone, no PC, no games.treatment better, but still caged. Time-killer? I cleared my throat softly, checking if the door guards could hear.
"Um, hello?"
Unlike Daesik's room, soundproofed—had to yell to be heard. Heart pounding, I slipped into bed, pulling covers over.
Rolled sideways, wrapping tight like a cocoon. Baby-swaddled, I slid a hand under my priestess robes.
Blanket constricting, stroking smooth bulge brought relief, fulfillment. Previous four rounds unsatisfied? This was why.
Vine-bound torment—no, self-indulgence revealed it. Needed restraint to fully feel. Craving fetal protection? Or thrill of forced pleasure defying ethics? Dunno.
Adult woman solo time? Fine. Private, so shameless. I savored it guilt-free.
Slowly circling the petal's nub, panties soaked. Fingertip grazing bald slit—sticky thread stretched. Imagining sight excited more than seeing.
Eyes shut, deep breaths, picturing stimulated valley. Darkness sharpened images.
Realization: never properly seen my pussy. Laughable—I'd obsessed over face, tits, ass, but skipped the core from shame.
Interviews said women often don't know theirs either. Porn-watching guys know better. Enjoy now, inspect later. Precious pleasure-giver deserves care.
For now, fantasized a pretty actress from a one-night vid. Thanks, teach—no "sis," conscience intact.
Taboo thoughts thrilled more. Heart raced, breaths ragged. If they knew—a resurrection-wielding reformer masturbating wildly—what faces?
Organization might buy Daesik's orders excuse, thanks to Jimmy's misunderstanding. No real defense if caught.
Thrill of secrecy muffled moans—nose leaked them. Taboo spine-tingle twisted me.
Heightened senses felt blanket's cool-warm on stockings. Legs cocooned, crossed—calf-to-thigh friction as hips rocked slow. Soft rasp audible outside.
Hanbyeol's new stockings post-rip felt divine. Focused on clit-spine climb, turned head to stifle gasps.
Gasps became sighs, ragged exhales. Body met conditions—climax knocked early.
"Hngghk—!"
Body arched bow-like. Fireworks in head—yes. But lacking.
Cocoon pressed erogenous zones good, yet thirst lingered. Body craved more, better memories.
Wanted breast caresses, full-body strokes. Desires merged—I struggled arm to grab tit, tease nipple.
Other breast jealous—second hand up top. Then swollen folds complained. Why only two hands? Breasts monopolized, island lonely.
Aroused body ditched bonds, flung blanket, sat up. One leg off bed, grinding crotch on edge.
Insufficient. Fingers' melody craved rigid pressure.
More, more... barren room lacked tools. Heat cooled; unsatisfied, breaths slowed, sigh.
Mind drifted to pink vibrator. Bring mana vibrator? Excuse for Daesik? Charge with what—ask Hanbyeol? If she figures it out?
No answers, but that satisfier lingered.