Date- 30 Mar 2321

Time- 10:51

Location- Sky Blossom City, Dungeon Highway, Barren Lands, Blood Rock Cave Gate Dungeon

"Real smooth, Anna. Blame it on the victim. I deserve it. After all, By challenging your authority, I was seducing you." I snorted as I commented, coming to an understanding that me standing up to Anna somehow turned her on.

Anna had a pretty unusual interest that was really hard to understand, like a complicated puzzle made of things that most people don't talk about. I kept wondering if I was special to her or just another guy she's been close to. This question hung over me like a dark cloud, but I didn't want to dive into it because it felt like opening a can of worms.

A part of me wanted to believe that I had a unique place in her life, the thought that I might be just another guy she's dated made me uneasy. Going down that line of thought would bring up feelings and questions I'd rather not deal with.

"Hey, don't act like I am the only one who enjoyed it. I heard your pleasure-filled moan. Would it kill you, to be honest?" Anna argued. She did not seem to understand what consensual meant.

Given Anna's stunning allure, it's hard to imagine that the question of consent has ever been a stumbling block in her previous relationships. What man could possibly view her advances as anything less than a serendipitous gift, a dreamlike moment materializing into reality? Her beauty, radiant and captivating, likely turns any interaction into what many would consider a dream come true.

I mean the dynamics of discomfort and pride can shift dramatically depending on who is involved in the situation. If you were subjected to unwanted advances from a hairy aunt, the next family dinner would undoubtedly be a tension-filled affair, fraught with awkward silences and forced smiles. It's a scenario you'd likely want to erase from memory, a moment souring the family dynamic.

Conversely, if the Southern Emperor were the one making the moves, the narrative flips entirely. Far from a cringe-worthy tale, this encounter could morph into a surreal episode that elevates your social status. Some might even consider it an unexpected honor, a story to proudly recount at family gatherings.

As plates pass and glasses clink, you might find yourself not avoiding eye contact, but locking eyes and exchanging high fives, relishing the strange glory of the experience.

After all, the southern emperor was the hero of the southern region, 'Hey, dad. Guess what?'

'What son?'

'The southern emperor chick sucked on my tongue.'

'High five, son.'

'High five.'

'And son, don't call her a chick. After all, she is the south's hero.'

"..." Shrouded in a cloud of embarrassment, I deliberately avoided Anna's gaze, my mind replaying the involuntary moan of pleasure that had escaped my lips. Though a flicker of enjoyment had ignited within me, that didn't exonerate Anna's actions.

I could rationalize that it was merely a physiological response, a surge of hormones that bypassed my conscious control, but the crux of the matter remained unchanged: it was not consensual.

Each stolen glance at Anna became a thorny reminder of the blurred lines and uncomfortable truths that now lay between us. Consent, after all, is not a flexible boundary to be trespassed but a solid cornerstone upon which any relationship should be built.

"Fine. Next time I will ask your permission, even if it ruins the mood." Anna did not apologize. With a snide lilt to her voice, Anna retorted that she had bypassed asking for my consent to avoid diluting the electric charge of her own arousal.

In her skewed perspective, this justification seemingly granted her the liberty to cross boundaries and make sexual advances without my explicit agreement. Her words hung in the air like a thick fog, obscuring the fundamental importance of consent and casting a disquieting shadow over the ethical landscape between us.

"..." I couldn't help but roll my eyes, recognizing the all-too-familiar pattern of Anna refusing to apologize, as if doing so would diminish her lofty status. Her words echoed in my ears, a jarring self-justification.

As if asking for permission would somehow cleanse the act, especially when it was glaringly apparent that she had no intention of honoring a "no" had it been given. This was Anna in her quintessential form: unapologetic, defiant, and casually trampling over the sacred ground of consent as if it were a mere formality.

"Come on, don't be a sour puss. Admit it, we had a good time. Suppose you weren't such a tease. Right now, I would be showing you how it feels to do it 30,000 feet above the ground." Anna did not seem to understand or care that I didn't want to talk to her right now.

To lay my cards on the table, the idea of joining the Mile-High Club, of experiencing the primal thrill of intimacy while soaring 30,000 feet above Earth's surface, isn't entirely lost on me. The notion comes imbued with a certain wild allure, a gravitational pull towards audacity that's hard to completely ignore.

Yet, when Anna presented this tantalizing proposition, I found myself hemmed in by an array of compelling reasons to decline.

It wasn't a straightforward rejection, nor a flippant dismissal of her daring offer. Rather, it was a decision forged in the crucible of complex emotions, situational logistics, and ethical boundaries. In that moment, wind buzzed with Anna's audacious suggestion, I was forced to navigate the intricate maze of desire and prudence, arriving at a crossroads that demanded both courage and restraint.

"..." As I glanced below at the city landscape, it became unmistakably clear that Anna was deliberately lingering over the twinkling expanse of Sky Blossom City, the labyrinthine streets below forming complex patterns like constellations in an urban night sky. Her intent seemed to deviate sharply from our agreed-upon destination: the warehouse.

The winds hummed a monotonous tune, filling the silence that had settled between us since I had chosen to withhold conversation.

My mind waded through a quagmire of indecision. Should I break my self-imposed silence to confront her on this apparent detour, or should I let the Anna's wayward course unfold without comment? Each option carried its own set of ramifications, a spiderweb of potential outcomes that stretched out before me, as complex and entangled as the city streets beneath.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.