text: “What happens next?”
  
  
  “Now that, that is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” sings the sweet voice.
  
  
  The mysterious creature’s slick fingers trace their way into your breeches and tickle your Johnson. An overwhelming sensation of euphoria courses through your veins. Blood surges through your body. You feel… invigorated, as if you have more energy than the sun itself.
  
  
  “I get ever so lonely here by myself,” the voice sings. “Won’t you… play with me?”
  > You it's a trap!
  Shit, it’s a trap! Jon once gave you a book about just this situation. This magical sexy creature is none other than a water sprite, posing as the evil sorceress, Organa Mel Fy, probably one of her sultry minions. She’ll sex you up then drown you in the stream and feast on your corpse.
  
  
  “I want you to want me.” The water sprite moans and works magic on your body with her fingers.
  
  
  Try as you might you cannot resist her allure as she toys with you in her lap. The magical enchantment and sexual tension corrode the fibers of your mind, breaking the mental barriers you constructed for just such a situation.
  
  
  Saggy old nuns. Saggy old nuns. Saggy old nuns. Sally David. Mom. Oh shit, I’m still getting hard.
  
  
  Hard as a brick in fact.
  
  
  Help me!
  
  
  Do you have a sister?
  
  
  Yes, but that won’t work.
  
  
  You whacked it while watching her bathe in the river didn’t you, perv.
  
  
  Maybe…
  
  
  I suppose there is always self-castration.
  
  
  Go to hell.
  
  
  “Don’t be shy, baby,” sings the water sprite, “I just want to rock you like a hurricane, shake you all night long, twist and shout, scream a rebel yell, make you walk on water, take you down to the paradise city, administer rough justice, and get your rocks off.”
  
  
  Losing the battle of self-control your johnson twitches wildly. “Oh, sweet merciful God, that sounds orgasmic.”
  
  
  The water sprite leans in close and whispers in your ear, “Let me take you home tonight so I can keep on loving you.”
  
  
  The sultry songs of the water sprite prove too much for your feeble constitution. Your johnson explodes into a fountain of blood from a colossal aneurysm brought on by an overload of magical sexual tension. Since I’m not completely depraved, I’ll spare you the grisly details. Short agonizing story in brief: you bleed out.