Back Alley Temptress (1): The Night Hero Emilia Surrenders to Self-Pleasure
In the deep shadows of the night, as darkness blanketed the streets, a shabby-looking man trudged along alone, grumbling under his breath. It was the very same man who had picked a fight with Emilia at the Adventurer Guild earlier that day. But his appearance was far improved from what Emilia had seen—his battered body now fully healed, thanks to the top-grade potion she'd tossed his way like trash.
Grrr... fuck... that bitch...!
The sleazy-faced man, Mattis, ground his teeth viciously, snarling. He'd been missing teeth here and there to begin with, and Emilia's beating that afternoon had knocked out a few more—but now, thanks to the potion, his mouth was filled with perfect, gleaming white teeth, not a single one out of place. His mind and mouth were a nonstop torrent of filthy curses and obscenities. Just replaying the day's events made his rage boil over, refusing to subside.
He'd only recently arrived in this city and had barely heard rumors about the famous Platinum adventurer. Fragmentary whispers at best—he had no idea she was that terrifying. Whether someone had maliciously fed him vague gossip or they'd all been carelessly loose-lipped, he couldn't say. But even if he'd heard the full story, he probably would've picked the fight anyway. In his mind, no woman belonged above a man—it was an intolerable abomination.
This was a major city, after all, with standout female adventurers and even merchant guilds run by women. But in his backwater hometown, where he'd scraped by as an adventurer, women were nothing more than baby-makers—nothing more, nothing less.
...Of course, his narrow worldview had twisted him into holding such beliefs; whether anyone else shared them was anyone's guess. And with his middling skills, constantly propped up by sycophants his whole life, self-reflection was a foreign concept.
Fuck... fuck...
But damn... she was strong... shit...
No regrets, but he had an eye for power—or rather, after a thrashing like that, he couldn't not recognize it. Even with his body fully healed by potion, phantom pains throbbed where she'd struck, a warning from flesh to mind: Don't cross her, ever.
And that mark on her hand...
He'd glimpsed it while she pummeled him—an intricate pattern etched on the back of her hand. Some folks got tattoos, but this was different. Probably one of those Blessings he'd heard about. People bore all sorts, marked on their bodies. As a simple country adventurer, he couldn't say which kind, but combined with her Platinum rank, it confirmed she was leagues beyond him—fundamentally different.
"Haaah..."
His anger wouldn't fade, yet he lacked the guts to challenge her again out of spite. So here he was, slinking into the back alleys for some cheap distraction. In a big city like this, the brothels offered top-tier whores in quality and variety—nothing like the sorry lot back home. If he could make a high-class beauty scream on his cock, maybe it'd ease his mood a bit.
Plus, my body's in prime shape... that potion's doing?
Feels like old aches are gone... new teeth... and I'm rock-hard somehow...
Worth every astronomical coin that top-grade potion cost. For a mid-tier adventurer like him, it was untouchable luxury, yet she'd handed them out like candy, one per person. What generosity—or just proof she played in a different league altogether. It left him with complicated feelings, not pure hate anymore.
"Aaaaaaah~~~!!"
Mattis clawed at his head, shuffling down the alley. His favorite spot was just ahead. He jingled the coin pouch stuffed for a full night, heart quickening with anticipation—until suddenly...
"Um... excuse... me..."
Someone grabbed his arm, yanking him to a halt. Lost in thought, Mattis hadn't sensed a thing—he leaped back, startled. The dim glow of a magic lamp revealed his interrupter: hooded figure. His heart dropped, fearing it was that woman from earlier, but the frail voice and total lack of menace quickly dispelled the notion.
He sighed in relief, but eyed her warily, hand drifting to the dagger in his coat—ready to strike if needed. She flinched at his tension, waving her hands and stepping back, then doffed the hood.
A plain-faced woman emerged.
"Ah... um... sorry if I scared you... I just thought... maybe you're looking for a girl...?"
She fidgeted with her gloved hands, speaking timidly.
Oh. A streetwalker.
Back-alley hookers often approached like this—unlicensed, unaffiliated with any brothel. Cheaper than the houses, usually desperate for quick cash. Risky for STDs, so most avoided them. She looked young, healthy flush—no obvious sickness—but the heavy clothes screamed poverty. Maybe a down-on-her-luck adventurer.
"...So?"
"Ah, yes... um... were you headed to that~ shop over there...?"
"What's it to you? Got a problem if I go?"
"N-nooo... not a problem... just... if you need a woman... um..."
Her face flushed with shy embarrassment as she stammered. Bingo. Classic ploy: snag a guy heading to a brothel, offer herself cheaper. She seemed disease-free, and young pussy had its appeal, but...
"Hmmm..."
Mattis cupped her chin, sighing regretfully. Big round glasses, freckles—plain as dirt, no spark. These types were amateurs too, clueless at pleasing a man. And that innocent look screamed virgin or near-virgin. Fresh meat had flavor, but if she didn't know how to play along, it could sour fast.
Not worth it. Stick to the plan.
"Forget it. Just piss o—"
"...Like this."
He started to tell her to scram, but she parted her cloak—and his words caught in his throat.
"Wh-what do you think...? Don't you wanna... peel this off...?"
"Don't you wanna see it up close...? Bet it'd feel amazing to touch... ♡"
"If you buy me... you can do anything you want... ♡"
Beneath the parted hood, hidden until now, spilled forth voluptuous breasts like ripe fruit. Massive swells strained against thin, rough fabric, asserting their presence. And with the hood shed, her trapped scent burst free—a dizzying wave of feminine musk that hit Mattis like a drug, head spinning.
Nothing underneath that flimsy top, either. Panties maybe, but shadows and the baggy fabric teasingly hid her crotch.
Correction. Correction. Correction.
Virgin? Bullshit. This was a pro slut—or a master whore. No way a woman this lewd and seductive was untouched.
And that expression—pure gold.
"Heh... hehehe..."
She narrowed her eyes beneath those glasses, cheeks blushing, beaming like she was melting from his lust-filled stare. The plain makeup, the dorky glasses—maybe all a ploy to see men like him transform.
"...How much?"
Mattis asked, swallowing hard. He had to have her.
She held up two fingers: two silver coins. Absurdly cheap, even for an unlicensed alley girl.
Slurp... slurp... slurp... slurp... schluuuurp... schluuuurp... schluuuurp...
"Guh... ugh... ooohhh yeahhh...!"
Back at Mattis's inn room, he hunched awkwardly on the bed, thrusting his hips forward as the woman—Mona, apparently—devoured his throbbing cock with expert skill. No amateur; her tongue danced like a veteran's, her mouth a whirlwind of service.
His roommates were all at the brothels, room empty. No shower, straight to stripping naked and dragging her to bed. The cheap price had raised flags, but stripping revealed a body that shattered expectations—a divine slab of woman-flesh.
Jackpot slut. After today's disaster, he'd thought his luck cursed—yet here she was. Fate hadn't abandoned him entirely.
Savoring the soft lips and warm tongue enveloping his shaft in ecstasy, Mattis thought so. To himself.