After the close call with Chasca and Pan, I lived a lonely life. It wasn’t that I stopped sleeping around or didn’t find anyone I liked. I just… was afraid to make the same mistake. Couldn’t trust myself to open up to others.

My rank still went up, though. I stopped paying attention. The numbers were meaningless, absurd. My strength was the only thing under ten and even then I was strong enough to easily lift a person. Thirty dexterity, the splits were easy to do, fingers nimble, tongue able to do amazing things. What did forty-something charisma mean? I couldn’t, like, convince people to give me money or let me stay in their house for no reason. But, if I wanted to, I could convince them I was trustworthy, that I’d pay them back, or that I lost my money and couldn’t afford a room at the inn for the night. As I spoke, I could tell how they were reacting, changing what I said to match what they wanted to hear.

I could walk all day without being tired and still keep my company entertained until dawn. I could recite a dozen pages from a book, word for word, after reading it once. I could walk into a room and know who the big shot was, which drinks were the best.

Just, absurd, all of it.

Ten years and I felt even more lonely than when I came to this world. But I still liked this world more. Travelling, sleeping with women—it beat working in an office with a bunch of arseholes. The forests were beautiful, full of animals. Meadows of wildflowers. Even the cities were nicer, no towering blocks of concrete, and enough magic that there wasn’t shit in the streets, just the odd pile of horse dung that hadn’t been scraped up yet.

A beautiful world to be lonely in.

Out of it as I was, I did know roughly what was going on. The demons were pushing in from the east. Despite reading a lot of scriptures, I hadn’t learned why exactly the demons were evil, just that they were the “spawn of Hades”, not sure how that was different to us being the children of Hera or Aphrodite or Artemis. It honestly seemed a lot like tradition. The demons looked different and scary, so they were evil, and that was just how it had always been.

Otherwise, all I knew was that demons were all one race that just looked different depending on their class. Imps were the child and adolescent class put together, then, for example, a lover demon would be a succubus or incubus, while an entertainer would be a siren or satyr.

In the “blessed lands” where we lived, most people only knew of the demon war classes—dragons (mages) and giants (warriors). But dragons weren’t like the dragons from my world, more like the kin of some kind of reptile, and giants weren’t that huge, just very tall and very muscly. Stories of them were propaganda, making them seem like terrifying monsters. I hadn’t read any actual accounts of a succubus seducing a man and draining him to death.

As for devils, that was the demons’ noble class, the most powerful one being the king—or shah, as the demons called their ruler. People didn’t really know about any of this stuff, so they used whatever names for whatever things.

All they needed to know was that the demons were evil and trying to invade the blessed lands.

I picked up that stuff whenever I ended up around the frontier. It was a good place for me to go, where a lot of the higher ranked warriors and mages and such were, which obviously included women. I didn’t want to sleep with them for stats or ranking up, but they… felt more normal. My high charisma wasn’t as effective since they had high charisma too, and most of them were stronger than me and had enough constitution to last the night.

But I was still a rank ια lover with a ton of practice and skills, so it was hard for them to keep up with me in bed.

Anyway, ten years of loneliness later, I ended up at the frontier again. It hadn’t been the frontier the last time I visited, but the demons were pushing in. From what I heard, there was a new Shah and he wanted to force a peace conference, so this was their “give us a good deal” push to scare us.

None of my business.

At least, that was what I thought.

In the middle of the night, after leaving a cute mage in a blissful coma, I went back to my room to sleep. An hour later, fighting broke out. Two hours later, I was being escorted to the demons’ camp as a prisoner of war, or maybe hostage was the better word. They hadn’t done anything to me, the goddesses’ protection effective even against demons, and my hands were only loosely tied. With my dexterity, I could have easily undone it, but that sounded like a good way to get more tightly tied up… and not in the way I liked.

Not the perfect situation, but I still had a bed. It was more of a dormitory, eight other women in the room, but I’d slept in much worse conditions.

In the morning, we were told to line up by giants—female giants, I was pretty sure, their deep voices higher pitched than the giants who had escorted us. Not to mention, it was polite to have women oversee female prisoners.

The reason why we were lined up soon became clear: a devil walked in, probably the person in charge of the camp by how respectful the giants were. She looked fairly human, which was why I was more confident calling her a woman, but had scarlet skin, bright and vivid, her lips a deep maroon and irises black. Her black hair was sort of like dreadlocks, almost like snakes, thick strands with a scaly pattern, and I wasn’t sure if they were braided or naturally that thick. She had her hair tied in a bun at the back. And there were two horns, coming out the same place beastkin’s ears did, about the top of each side of her head. They weren’t long, about a finger’s length, with a gently curve, pointing up. Black like her hair—and it made me think her black nails were natural.

Her clothes were simple, but elegant. It looked like a bodysuit with leggings underneath and a cloak over the top, all in black, but it was probably moulded or padded, not exactly showing her chest or every line of her body. On her head, she wore a tiara, the design made to securely fit her around horns.

She strode along the line in long strides. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, chin high. Of course, no one looked at her, turning away or staring at the ground.

No one but me.

Her pace slowed to a stop, meeting my gaze. Her lips thinned for a moment, then she asked, “Is there something you wish to say?”

Her voice was cold, mature. I didn’t know what devils looked like at different ages, but she was maybe my age, maybe older.

Numb to the world, sensitive to beautiful women, I asked, “Are you single?”

I caught the slight curl of her lips before she caught herself. After giving me another look, she stepped away and gestured for me to follow, so we walked to the end of the room for what little privacy that gave.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked, showing her my hand: sapphic lover, rank ια.

She kept in the laugh, but couldn’t keep from smiling—and what a seductive smile it was, wry, her eyes narrowed. “There is no need for you to seek benefits. This war will be over in a few weeks, a month at most, and we will ensure you are comfortable in that time. Even if we wished to mistreat you, the goddesses would punish us.”

“The only benefit I want is you,” I said.

This time, she turned away, her smile shy. Oh gods, a shy look on a cold woman was my aphrodisiac. I licked my lips, stuck my chest out a little more, tilting my head and fluttering my eyelashes, any tiny thing I could do to have her.

“Tonight,” she whispered.

The other women asked me about it when the devil and giants left, but I just told them what the devil said about us going home in a few weeks, enough to distract them. I patiently waited the rest of the day.

At nightfall, we were told to sleep. I lay in my bed and waited and waited and waited and—

Clink.

No hesitation, I slipped out of bed and walked across the room. If anyone else was awake, I didn’t care. Outside, a nymph awaited me, said, “This way, please.”

So polite.

In the dark, vaguely lit by glowing torches, we strode across the camp to a hastily-built place about the size of a cottage, surrounded by a fence. There were four guards who paid us no attention as we walked through to the cottage. The nymph knocked, then turned around and left me there.

After a few seconds, a voice—her voice—said, “Come in.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

The inside was lit by a fireplace, hazy with incense, a flowery smell. There wasn’t much else in the room. Bed, desk, wardrobe, full-length mirror.

And her, her in lingerie. Silk, it looked like, shimmery, almost white, beautifully contrasting with her vivid skin and black hair—contrasting with her black nails as she picked at the hem of her nightie.

She smiled, shy, confident. Alluring.

I stepped up and started slow, kissing her with my arms wrapped around her. Her shyness told me she wasn’t used to this; being with other inexperienced women told me she’d like this, make her feel safe. Gentle kissing, a secure embrace. Easing her into it.

Her kisses were clumsy, almost making me laugh. Clumsy, but enthusiastic, her hands not sure where to be, one moment hanging on my shoulders, the next across my back, then hesitantly touching my waist.

Breaking away with a smile, I whispered, “How do you like to be touched?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

My heart pounded, just once, a rush going through me. She was a virgin? This beautiful woman, at this age, was a complete virgin? I swallowed the lump in my throat and then left a last kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Let’s find out together,” I whispered, close enough to her ear to tickle her with my breath.

She shivered, a sigh slipping out.

I led her to the bed—simple, but comfortable, and just wide enough for two—and had her lie down. With ease, I slipped out my dress, then lay down next to her. For a while, we went back to kissing. At the same time, I touched her, innocent touches. I stroked her arm, rubbed her shoulder, cupped her cheek, feeling her tense reactions gradually soften until, when I gently squeezed her earlobe, she didn’t tense up at all.

Finally, I could start. Like she was a puzzle, I began to unravel her secrets, her reactions so thrilling. How she moaned when I first ran my nail up her neck, how she gasped when I pinched her waist, how she squirmed when I blew on her ear, how she purred when I stroked her long, thin tail.

However, she wasn’t so simple. Maybe my giggling set her off, maybe she wanted to cover up her embarrassment, but she started touching me back. A little clumsy, but enthusiastic, loosely copying the things I’d done to her.

I was honest, moaned when she massaged my ear lobe, when she brushed my fox tail, when she kissed the bottom of my neck. She liked it. I could tell, her smile so pure and eyes shining. Proud. I even noticed her nails, which had been pointed earlier, were now smooth, trimmed. Adorable.

It was fun. I couldn’t remember the last time sex had been this fun, had felt new, exciting.

Thinking that, I wanted to hear her laugh. So I tickled her. She pretended to stop me—I knew her strength was much greater than mine. She didn’t tell me to stop. She let me tickle her, her mouth stretching into a wide smile, throaty chuckles eventually spilling out, her eyes watering.

Beautiful.

I leaned in and kissed her, then offered no resistance when she rolled on top of me, sitting on my waist and tickling me. Just that, instead of laughter, I gave her an intense moan. The way she froze up, it was even more adorable. The look of panic, then I laughed and her eyes narrowed and mouth pouted, upset with me.

Really, I wanted to play with her for the rest of my life.

The desire inside me still burned, mingling with the lightness in my chest, freeing. But I wanted her to burn too. Taking her hands, I guided them to my boobs. She didn’t know what to do, just squeezed them and stayed like that, so I slowly reached up, watching her face for any reluctance, but she just stared at my hands with a look of anticipation.

My hands were definitely worth anticipating.

Gentle, I felt her shape through her nightie, the silk feeling great on my fingertips, then cupped her, feeling her firmness. Slowly learning her. About my size, bigger but she was taller than me, a little sag, soft. She liked her nipples being lightly grazed, especially when I covered her boobs and rubbed in small circles.

At the same time, she was learning me. I had to show her on myself, though, because I liked it rougher and didn’t want to do that to her. But she learned, pinching my nipples through my nightie, the linen not as slippery as her silk, letting her get a good grip.

An hour had passed and this was as far as we’d got and I would’ve been happy if we stopped there.

But I was even happier that we didn’t.

We took off our nighties and I showed her how well mouths and boobs went together. Showed her how to grind, silk undershorts perfect for that. Showed her how to play with pubic hair, combing through, gently pulling. Showed her how fun inner thighs could be. Showed her how to treat the lips nicely, hers cute—I didn’t care about the shape, but hers were cute, making a pretty butterfly when spread.

Hours after I entered the room, I showed her how to have sex. No, how to make love. Slow and gentle, filled with kisses and caresses, reassuring whispers. I wanted her to enjoy it. I felt so privileged to be her first, wanted her to know how amazing it could be. How she deserved to feel so good, how beautiful she was, how much I appreciated everything she’d done to me.

“I feel something coming,” she whispered, fear in her eyes.

“It’s okay, let it out, I’m here,” I whispered and kissed her forehead, one arm cuddling her, the other lightly patting her clit.

She held on for a little longer, then I felt the tension leave her, melting in my arms. A surge of something rose up in me, warm and soft, almost like I’d finished as well. Almost, but different. Stuffed with fluff, light, but firm, firm enough to keep cuddling her, help her through the after-tremors.

Once she settled, I kissed her. She kissed me back. Gentle, soft, like she had nothing to give, but had to give me something. My reward for looking after her.

I was still so aroused, but couldn’t ask any more of her. Besides, that fluffy feeling was still there, enough to calm me down. Didn’t want to poke her pride and get myself off right now. This was her first time, it deserved to be special.

Well, at the least, I wouldn’t ever forget it.

We kept kissing for a while, then just cuddled. She told me a lot about herself. When she was an imp, she’d lived by the frontier and often sneaked out, hiding under open windows and listening to the goddesses’s children talk. She loved our stories, even the ones that talked about the evil demons.

“I want… to make a third land. A land between the blessed lands and the cursed lands, where our peoples can live together if they so wish. A place where we can hear each other’s stories and songs, read each other’s books, see each other and be friends. I do not expect everyone to feel this way, and it will certainly be difficult since our peoples have been at war for so long, but that is my wish, my desire.”

She told me how hard she’d worked to try and become a devil, how happy she’d been when her mark changed. She told me how long she’d worked to rise through the ranks—both as a devil and as a general—until she was finally crowned shah a few months ago.

Yes, I’d slept with the “Demon King”. I would have even if I’d known and I still wanted to do it again.

For what little of the night was left, I listened. Never asked her anything, nor did she ask me anything, not even knowing each other’s names.

Dawn broke. As I dressed to leave, she said, “Thank you,” her voice cool—finally back to normal.

Turning, I smiled. “I’ll be waiting for you in that land.”

She smiled back, no need to ask why. I knew she knew because, before I left, she offered me a ring—a simple, silvery band. I accepted it, felt her warm feelings from it long after I left.

The start of my happily ever after.

mialbowy

Whoops, late author note. I hope this arc wasn’t too similar to the last. I’ve had both knocking around my head for a while, so they may have rubbed off on each other. That aside, it’s not quite Lit-RPG, but I have had an idea for a D&D-style character: an androgynous priest of Aphrodite; he is also the willing vessel of Sappho—who is the patron saint of the female orgasm and uses his body to “perform rituals”. I would want to write it as a novel, but don’t know if it’s as interesting as I think it is. Some example story beats would be help gay lovers elope, lawyer a prostitute out of jail, and maybe dealing with some fall out after waking up next to women that Sappho took care of. Overall arc of growing gender dysphoria leading to gender swap.