​"Uhnn?"

​He closed his eyes. He didn't want to open it. Why would he? He was skeptical. His instinct was being severed into smithereens. He was making sure that he was yet sane. He wasn't ready to take unnecessary chances. He didn't know how quickly treacherous time would test it. But of course he knew that the Nymph would keep to whatever she had in mind. And he knew that sooner or later he would open his eyes. Twas nothing to him. Twas something. He didn't know what to think. He tried concentrating his thoughts to no avail. He didn't want to be pawn of his thoughts but of course he had no choice. He was already one. Not just any pawn, but that trained by time and tested by pored pain. He did savor the taste of the atmosphere. He wanted it to speak to him, like it would back on earth. A part of him had forgotten that he was no longer on earth. He didn't actually matter to him. Well, his instinct wouldn't say nay. He knew he would open his eyes of course, but he needed to table his theses. He needed to prune options. And he was already on it.

The first question he wanted his inky instinct to address was ​what was the Nymph having in mind. ​He couldn't really be sure. But he wanted to. He didn't want to open his eyes and be betrayed. He didn't want taunted time to mock his grit. He didn't want curiosity to pawn his attention. He was going all red and of course twas conspicuous. He tried making meaning of what might be happen. And his instinct did toss an eerie idea to him. A part of him refuted that idea. He didn't want to sway to it. He didn't know why. But he felt like not to. But he rummaged his thoughts for the possibility. His head yet was blank. He couldn't remember quite the numbers of things he did back on earth. Of course twas nauseating and annoying. Probably that was one of the codes of being spiritual. He couldn't be sure. Probably that was one of the pain of being in the world of fantasy. His rusty rage met gloom and his pain was pored in pulpy stances. He was weary of closing his eyes. There was no pull to it. Twas just some confetti of ideas. He was done feeding his instinct with crumps of throbbing thoughts. He snapped outta his thoughts and flung open his eyes to withstand the fantastical reality.

His eyes almost popped out. There were tits. Voluptuous and succulent. Fresh and milky. With strained sway as though they were carved by some sickle. There were quite the number of mysterious things he didn't know about the world of fantasy. He actually was dying to know them but his urge and surge were not enough. Thereby, his efforts were mocked and he became merely a pawn. Ah! What he had always been. A part of him wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to ignore the seductive calls of the trained tits. But he couldn't resist them. He looked into the eyes of Nymph from the tits, they were still. He could say so. He knew when or when not they were. He didn't even know what he was thinking. Her eyes were innocent. As though she was the holiest saint who would ever exist. That could be true though, probably she removed her blouse and revealed her tits to test him. He must hold himself. But his eyes wouldn't hold themselves. He couldn't force them. It would be unfair of him. He could only force his thoughts. That's to some extent an extended treason.

His eyes travelled across her face to her lips. They were succulent and somewhat succent. He had no idea what he would do with them. He kept admonishing his gluttonous heart that twas but some test and he needed to really hold himself. He knew that he needed to hold himself. But of course he did like the Nymph. He couldn't even really be sure whether or not he'd fallen in love with her. He couldn't be sure. His thoughts were not accurate. They didn't need to be. He had forgotten how he had felt the first night he was to have sex with Miranda, his wife, after their nuptials. He was simply some sort of sorted fool at that moment. He dumped the thought and kept on what he could. His eyes caught her neck, they were like silk, milky silk. He knew that if he had a grasp on them, they would quake heavily under his rude touch. He wouldn't take chances of course. But touching of course wouldn't be chances if twasnt a test. He kept at the journey.

His eyes then had a pick on the tits again. Whenever he got to that junction, exactly what he would call it. For at that spot, he would loose track of what to do next. The only thing he would think of or nurse was having them punished. Was squeezing hell outta them. He knew that twas a great option but he didn't think twas the best idea. He kept to the fact that twas merely a test and of course he must pass it. If he didn't, he probably might no return to earth ever. But did he really want to return to earth? That should be a question for some other days. He ignored the thoughts. He wouldn't be their slaves forever. He hadn't been. And if he had, he would quit being. He tried very hard to take his eyes of the tits but again like stray ewes returned to the roundabout. The nipples said somethings he couldn't fathom. He fought free. He kept his eyes tracing lines on her skin. Towards her abdomen. Twas etched in her stomach as tough twas not there. He hadn't seen anything of such sort. He had even forgotten how his wife's looked. Then he caught hold of her vagina. The gate was red. Was it. He couldn't be sure. Twas clear like the path to an emperor's throne. He wanted to dig through but he must be sane. But how long would he wait.

Then his expectations were smothered as again the Nymph spoke. He had been dying of hearing her. But of course twould be, ​congratulations, you passed the test. ​Well his instinct told him. That treacherous instinct. Could he bank on it?