The ring started warming up the moment I closed the door behind me, which I was choosing to interpret as enthusiasm rather than impatience. By the time I'd set my purchases on the table it was running genuinely hot against my skin and my cock was already half hard. Twitching in my trousers with the particur energy of something that had been waiting for this since approximately the alchemist's shop.

  I kicked my shoes off. Stepped out of my trousers. Set my shirt on the chair.

  My cock swung free and immediately went to full hardness with the unhurried inevitability of a drawbridge dropping, the wide fred head already beading with Morning Dew, the light catching it in a way that I had to admit was genuinely appealing. Warm gold, faintly luminescent, running in a slow thread down my shaft and dripping from the underside in a way that was fascinating.

  I looked at it for a moment.

  A dealer doesn't sample his own wares. I was pretty sure I'd heard that somewhere. It seemed like relevant professional wisdom for the current situation. I had a bowl to fill and a business to start and I was going to approach this with the discipline and focus of someone running a legitimate commercial operation.

  I picked up the goblin club.

  The narrow end was about an inch and a half where it tapered and I coated it thoroughly with what I was producing in continuous generous supply. I worked the Morning Dew into the wood with slow deliberate passes until the whole taper was slick, warm and luminescent. Then I set it on the floor thin end up, knelt over it, and reached back to line it up with the patience of someone who had been doing this long enough to know that patience was the entire job.

  I sat down slowly.

  The entry required the usual negotiation — my body making its initial objections known and then reconsidering as the Morning Dew did what Morning Dew did. Warmth spreading outward from every point of contact, the familiar opening-up sensation that I was absolutely not going to describe as welcoming out loud but which was, if I was being honest with myself in the privacy of my own rented room, welcoming. I pressed down steadily and felt the club seat fully with a deep pressure that made my cock jump hard enough to fling a bead of Morning Dew onto the floor two feet away.

  I settled back on my heels and took stock.

  Up until a few days ago I had never had anything in my ass. I had thought about it in the abstract the way nineteen year olds think about things in the abstract at two in the morning, filed it somewhere in the probably interesting someday category, and never followed up. I sat on the floor of a rented room in a fantasy city with a goblin club inside me and examined my feelings about that decision with genuine curiosity.

  I sort of liked it, I thought. That seemed like an understatement. I really quite liked it, actually. I was retroactively annoyed at myself for waiting this long, which was a strange thing to feel given that I'd been in this world for four days and had technically been doing this for three of them, but the feeling was there regardless.

  I positioned the gss bowl between my knees and got to work.

  The motion was something I'd found on the second morning, a slow rolling rise and fall that worked the club steadily in and out while keeping the angle consistent, not bouncing so much as flowing, my thighs doing the work while my core stayed retively still. I'd gotten better at it each day. I was, if I was being objective about it, developing genuine skill here, which was either impressive or concerning and was probably both.

  Morning Dew ran from my tip in a near continuous drip and fell into the bowl with a faint luminescent gleam, pooling at the bottom, the warm gold of it catching the light from the window. Drop by drop, patient and steady. I watched the level climb with the satisfied focus of someone watching a project come together.

  I shifted my angle slightly, chasing something I could feel just out of reach, and found it.

  The club caught my prostate at a different angle than usual and my whole lower body seized up for a moment with a sensation that I did not have adequate nguage for. I had heard about prostate stimution in the vague theoretical way of someone who had done some reading and filed it away with the probably interesting someday stuff. The reading had not covered it adequately. The reading had in fact done a genuinely poor job of conveying what it actually felt like, which was less like pleasure in the conventional sense and more like someone had located a nerve cluster I hadn't known existed and was pressing a button connected directly to the base of my penis.

  It's not weird, I thought, with some feeling. It's awesome.

  I kept that angle and found the rhythm again, the club working steadily against that spot with each pass, my Morning Dew production noticeably increasing as the stimution deepened, the drip becoming something more continuous, the bowl filling faster now. The ring was running hot at my base, drinking down each wave of sensation as it built and released, the charge climbing in long steady pulls. I pressed the ft of my hand against the top of my shaft to keep my cock from flopping around too aggressively and disrupting the collection situation, which required a certain amount of concentration to maintain while also keeping the motion going, and I had a brief moment of appreciation for the fact that I was apparently capable of this level of multitasking.

  The orgasms came differently this way. That was the thing I was still getting used to. By hand there was a clear escation, a recognizable climb toward a recognizable peak. This was more like weather, building pressure, a deepening warmth that spread from the club's position outward through my hips and stomach, and then a release that wasn't centered anywhere specific but seemed to happen everywhere at once, an intense concentrated sensation at my tip and simultaneously something deeper and fuller from further in, the two sensations arriving together and combining into something that made my thighs shake and my breath come out ragged and surprised even though I'd felt it several times already this session.

  The ring absorbed each one immediately and completely. I felt them arrive and felt them go, the charge gauge climbing with each cycle, the ring getting darker and heavier and more thoroughly satisfied with each pass.

  I reached the bowl's capacity and held back the st edge deliberately, the ring humming with impatient approval, the pressure building behind the absorption threshold in that specific way I'd discovered on day one looking at two craters in a tree. I held it and worked faster, the club moving steadily, sweat on my lower back now, my thighs starting to have opinions about the sustained effort, my cock dripping continuously into the bowl.

  I bent forward.

  The act was easier now than it had been on day one, my body knowing what was coming and cooperating without the previous argument. My lips closed around the wide fred head and the ring detonated with the immediate full body response it always had when I did this, warmth exploding outward from both ends simultaneously, and I tasted the accumuted Morning Dew on my tongue, warm and faintly sweet, the systemic healing spreading through me from my stomach outward in a long slow wave.

  I held myself there and let the pressure build one more cycle and then released the ring's hold entirely and let it happen.

  My mouth filled with something thinner than I was used to, more watery, the taste different from my own baseline, something I was going to have to think about ter in terms of what it implied about the ring's involvement in my biology, and I swallowed it. I felt the systemic warmth hit in a wave that was deeper and more complete than Morning Dew alone, spreading fast through every part of me and leaving that live wire feeling behind it, every nerve ending awake and running hot.

  The club hit the floor somewhere behind me. I wasn't sure when that had happened.

  I was on my back on the cold stone floor, which I also didn't specifically remember deciding to do, one arm flung out to the side, staring up at the ceiling of my rented room with the particur quality of attention of someone whose higher functions had temporarily clocked out. My chest was heaving. I was in heaven.