Edith?...Ellen?...Emma! That was her name. You were actually going to get lucky for once, until you stripped down and she saw the tiny little three-inch hard-on between your legs. You remember her pointing and laughing, and then you woke up here.You look around, and everything feels so real. You can feel the twigs under your feet, and smell the wet air, but there's a strange overlay over everything. It looks like the display you see on a video game, with an inventory, bars for health and other attributes, even a map and an objective box, which is empty at the moment. Looking down at yourself, you appear to be wearing a ragged , brown peasant shirt, with similar, roughspun pants. In your hands, you appear to be holding a rusty, iron dagger. Out of nowhere, you hear Emma's voice. "Hey there, loser. A pindick like you has no right to take a woman like me home from a bar. I thought I was actually gonna get fucked by a real man, with a real cock, not your little babyprick. Losers like you. When she was soft... and warm... and yielding. She was drier in the morning, hotter too - internally I mean. At night she'd get real wet and wild, fucking Jolene after the sun went down seemed to be as much a contest, or a battle, as a coupling. At night she was demanding, insistent - she knew what she wanted (hell she knew what I wanted too) and she got it... more often then not.But damn, in the morning, pretty much any morning... man, for me that was the best. Sometimes she'd just throw a leg over me all casual-like, reach down between her legs take hold of old Howard (Ok, let me explain - I met Jolene at a bar across the street from a Howard Johnson's. I was pretty drunk at the time and kept slurring her name from Jay -lynne to Joel - ine, finally she said "Jo like Ho Jo, ya know, across the street." I told her I did know and escorted right across the street to the front desk, and got us a room. We just about broke the bed by check-out the next day. So she named my johnson.
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