Nudity Isn't Shameful (3): Selling My Dick
Straight to the point: I'm going to become a male prostitute to rake in a shitload of exchange vouchers.
Objectively speaking, it's a tough call.
Male prostitution. Never done it before. Not before I died, and not even in my first playthrough did I ever sell my body for some gain. Not once.
And yet here I was, deciding to do it. Not an easy choice, but once I shifted my mindset a bit, I realized there was no easier way to score exchange vouchers.
"You know what humanity's first profession was?"
"Prostitution. Fucking prostitution."
That was some history buff hero mocking us back then.
"Even after crossing worlds and getting their second lives, those bitches are still whoring themselves out. Rotten sluts."
That wasn't historically accurate, but plenty of heroes in the other world had sold their bodies for gold. Hell, the guy who said it ended up sneaking off to get his dick wet because she offered creampies for a single coin.
In a world where the Demon King was an absolute evil but no absolute good stood against him, it all boiled down to survival. As long as I made it out alive in the end, whatever I did along the way didn't matter.
I'd already proven that. I killed the Demon King and used the Goddess's wish to reset the world.
If becoming a male prostitute let me cut that ten-year grind short and live easier, there was no reason not to take that path. I'd already walked the "righteous" one.
So, sex it was.
I'd already spent my Goddess Points on that route, turning what I had to call Sex Level Up into a passive skill I couldn't control.
A body that gained mana from fucking.
"You ever read any wuxia?"
"There's this thing called harvesting yin to supplement yang—guy steals a woman's yin essence with his dick and converts it to his own yang energy?"
Some older hero dude had said that.
"The Goddess will lend her power in any form to kill demons, even if it's a murderer, a psycho, or a heretic doomed for hell."
That came from a devout believer who handmade his own priest robes and wore a cross necklace.
Putting it together: As long as it helped kill demons and I stuck to the restrictions, boosting mana through sex was fine.
The issue: Were succubi demons or not?
Of course they fucking are.
Dangerous ones, too. Not like the Black Knights or other Demon King minions who handed out overwhelming deaths to heroes, but succubi were different.
Even your average succubus was deadly. You think it's a normal village, turns out the female innkeeper's a succubus who drains your mana while fucking you at night. Or a male hero gets sucked dry until he's a withered mummy.
Would the Goddess forgive sex with something like that?
It's ambiguous, but my guardian angel makes the first call.
Depends on the hero. But I'd already won Estiel over.
If I fucked a succubus, she'd gloss it over in her report unless it was egregious—something like, "He nearly got raped by a succubus but turned the tables with sex and survived," or "Behold his iron will, resisting her charms unscathed."
Other demons slice your throat; succubi fuck you to death. Same goal: kill the hero. Surviving that—and by sex, no less—didn't mean endorsing demons.
She'd write the report that way, as long as it wasn't too blatant.
But if it was unavoidable, she'd report straight: a lust-blinded male who fucked the demon right in front of him despite the rules, defeated by his own dick.
Even if I somehow fucked Estiel and got her hooked, she wouldn't abandon her angelic identity for me. Angels weren't built that way.
Right now, watching the tutorial, she'd be questioning my words anyway.
Why a succubus, of all things?
The answer was simple.
First: This was the tutorial. Some leeway there.
Second—and the real kicker...
"What're you gonna do if there's a succubus? Sell your dick for real?"
"If there's no succubus, any sex-crazed bitch will do. One who'd pay a guy for it."
A real succubus was fine, but if not, the metaphor worked too.
"You know someone like that?"
"I do, but introducing her like that'd embarrass me."
"What's embarrassing about a naked chick hanging in the kitchen?"
Shemiri shrugged.
Shin Yu-hee had been shocked by the orgy when she first left the prison, but she'd looked pretty stunned by Shemiri too. A woman wandering naked? The eighteen rookie heroes must've been floored. And the guys? Major dilemma.
Shemiri was tucked in the kitchen booth, so it wasn't obvious, but her body was sensually stacked—model-level curves any guy would wanna fuck at least once.
Honestly? Me too.
If not now, no chance for sex.
Chekhov's Arena. There'd be arenas in the world we head to next, but not run by Chekhov, and no Shemiri managing an underground diner.
These were past figures I'd never meet again.
And I already had intel on them. Including the woman in front of me.
"So? Know any girls?"
"Hmm..."
"If it's tricky, ask around."
"There is someone I know pretty well."
Shemiri gave an ambiguous smile and checked the clock.
"She's about done with her shift."
It was 9:50 PM. She'd opened at 5 AM when the prison doors unlocked—normal human stamina-wise, closing hours ago wouldn't be weird.
Why sit here instead of clocking out?
"Hmm..."
"You interested?"
I bowed my head toward Shemiri.
"I could go right now."
"Now?"
"If a customer wants to use the merchandise on the spot, it's possible right here."
The diner table. Her employee booth.
"Don't worry. I'm not the type to fuck for free bread on top. Selling dick is selling dick; buying bread is separate."
"...Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Hmmm. No customers for almost two hours, and it's not time for more anyway."
Click.
Shemiri stood, unlocking the booth door.
"Come inside and talk?"
"Option one."
"Huh?"
"I can give you one freebie. Like a sample taste."
"...Hah, what the fuck."
Shemiri waved it off.
"Gotta keep watching for customers."
"No need to close?"
"This ain't that kinda place. And I'm a dark elf. Sleep two hours at dawn."
"So you'll keep the diner open?"
"Gotta do business. Never know when a hungry customer's coming—can't turn 'em away."
"Picky."
"Then... hang on, watch this."
Shemiri locked the employee entrance, cleared the counter chair, and shuffled stuff around.
Meanwhile, I scanned the kitchen beyond—cooking tools, ingredient crates, and a door between cabinets. Probably her room.
Shittier than expected, but useful as backup if our hideout gets hit.
If I played nice with Shemiri—the succubus-disguised-as-dark-elf, sex-loving future top client—her room could shelter us a day.
At minimum, assuming I stayed in her good graces.
"There!"
Shemiri clapped, pointing to her handiwork at the counter: chairs gone, crates lined up longways. Enough for a person to lie flat.
Me.
"Lie down here? Strip, get hard."
"Work with it inside?"
"Why not? You know this place ain't normal."
"Just this place?"
Shemiri gave a bitter laugh.
Chekhov's Arena wasn't "normal" sexually because it was insane. It just was.
"Heh heh, alright then... let's see the cock that killed Tehalt. Lie down."
"You ready? Won't end with one go."
"If it sucks, never again. If it's good, I'll buy more. Here, lie this way. Yeah, legs off the crate end."
Shemiri licked her lips, directing my pose—like flopping onto a bed, calves hooked at ninety degrees to the edge.
"Urgh..."
Slide.
Like sitting in a chair, she lowered her hips slowly onto my dick.
"Nothing beats free sex with a handsome, ripped warrior."
Same here.