Chapter 161: Chapter 161 – Psychic Rejection

Upon arriving, her husband, Frank, was waiting at the door. The man in his early sixties, with neatly combed silver hair and a gentle face, gave her a warm smile.

Although just a Rank C Awakener who now mostly took care of the house and garden, Frank had always been a calm harbor for Ophelia after her stressful days.

“You’re home early today, dear,” Frank greeted, opening the door wide. “I’ve prepared your favorite chamomile tea.”

Ophelia returned his smile, though somewhat stiffly.

“Thank you, Frank.” She entered, put down her work bag, and gave her husband a brief hug.

Frank returned it tightly, and as always, there was a warmth and stability in his embrace that Ophelia was grateful for.

But today, that warmth wasn’t enough. The tingling sensation from earlier hadn’t gone away. In fact, the more she tried to ignore it, the more it felt like an itch that needed scratching.

“Are you hungry, I can cook you something now,” Frank said, leading her to the dining room. “Did something happen at the academy? You look… tense.”

“Mmm, the usual,” Ophelia answered briefly, sitting down. But her eyes watched Frank—his posture slightly stooped with age, the careful way he poured the tea. An irrational urge stirred within her. After years of living more like affectionate roommates, why did she feel so… thirsty today?

They ate with light conversation. But Ophelia’s mind drifted. After dinner, while Frank was washing dishes, Ophelia approached him from behind. Her arms circled his slim waist.

“Frank,” she whispered in his ear, her voice huskier than usual.

Frank was startled but smiled. “What is it, dear?”

“Take me to the bedroom,” Ophelia said, and the commanding tone in her voice made Frank pause for a moment.

But he complied.

In the bedroom, the light was still dim. Ophelia, with an uncharacteristically aggressive movement, pushed Frank to sit on the edge of the bed. Then, without much ado, she leaned down and kissed him—a deep kiss, full of tongue and hunger.

Frank, surprised, was stiff at first but then responded gently.

“O-Ophelia? You… are you okay?” he asked when they parted for breath.

“More than okay,” Ophelia murmured, her hands already unbuttoning Frank’s shirt. “I want you. Now.”

Frank let his wife undress him, his face red with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. They hadn’t been intimate for years. Their passion had long cooled into quiet warmth. But seeing his usually very controlled wife act like this…

Ophelia pulled Frank’s pants down. And there, Frank’s half-erect, modestly sized dick was exposed. It twitched weakly in the cool air of the room.

Frank blushed deeply, profound shame surfacing. “Sorry, dear, I… might need some time—”

“Quiet,” Ophelia cut him off, her voice firm but not harsh. Her hand reached down and began stroking, massaging, stimulating him with hurried movements. After a while, with effort, Frank’s cock finally stood erect.

Ophelia stood up, quickly removing her skirt and panties. She then guided Frank to lie back and straddled his lap, guiding his cock toward her already wet entrance.

As the warm tip touched her sensitive lips, something stopped.

Ophelia froze. A sharp discomfort pierced her. It wasn’t physical pain, but a deep psychic rejection. As if her body was saying: This is not what I want. This is not enough.

She lifted herself off again, pulling away. Frank, confused and losing his erection, looked at her with a hurt expression.

“Ophelia? What’s wrong?”

Ophelia stood by the bedside, her fists clenched. A burning frustration took hold of her. She looked at Frank’s cock, which was shrinking and going limp again, and a profound sense of disappointment flooded her.

Why? she thought wildly. Why do I feel like this?

“Sorry, Frank,” she finally said, her voice tense. “I… I’m just very stressed today.”

Frank, though hurt, immediately sat up and pulled the blanket to cover himself.

“Stressed? What happened? Talk to me.” His tone was full of sincere concern, as always.

Ophelia looked at her kind-hearted husband, and a sudden guilt pressed on her chest.

“No… nothing specific. Just… work pressure. Fatigue.” It was a lie, and they both knew it.

Frank nodded slowly, then reached for her hand. “Then you should rest. I’m here for you, always.”

Those words should have been comforting. But for Ophelia, they were like pouring gasoline on the fire of her frustration. His unconditional kindness only irritated her more. But she forced a thin smile.

“Thank you, Frank. You’re too good.”

That night, as Frank slept soundly beside her with steady breaths, Ophelia lay awake. The restlessness in her body still simmered. Quietly, she slipped out of bed and went to her wardrobe. Behind a pile of underwear, a small wooden box was hidden.

She opened it. Inside lay a large, jet-black dildo made of premium silicone, with impressive length and girth, and a ridged tip for G-spot stimulation. This toy had been her secret for years, ever since she realized Frank couldn’t satisfy her physically.

She took it and returned to bed. With her husband sleeping unknowingly beside her, she spread her legs and guided the cold tip of the dildo to her entrance, which was once again wet from her own fantasies.

But once again, as the tip was about to enter, the same discomfort arose. Even stronger. As if there was a mental barrier preventing her from pleasure, even from a toy.

She pushed a little, trying to force it, but what surfaced was disgust and reluctance. Frustration peaked. She threw the dildo to the floor with a rough motion, then buried her face in a pillow.

’What is wrong with me?’ she thought, almost crying from confusion and unfulfilled desire.

.

.

.

The air inside this B-Rank dungeon was thick, reeking of ozone and burnt lightning. Bizarre, grayish-black trees towered overhead, but the sky above wasn’t sky—only cracked darkness emitting a dim, purple glow.

My breathing was heavy, and the saber in my right hand, [Mindrender], was smeared with the thick black blood of monsters. Three large figures with glowing yellow eyes were approaching with menacing, stealthy movements: Thunder Wolves, steel-gray furred wolves with forked horns on their foreheads crackling with blue electricity.

They emitted low growls that vibrated in my bones. I took a step back, then turned and ran. Tree trunks flashed past me.

I could hear the heavy thud of their paws behind me, getting closer.

Then, the air around me vibrated. I glanced back—all three horns were glowing brightly, gathering energy.

Damn it.

I leapt sideways, diving behind a large tree trunk just as three bolts of bright blue lightning shot from their maws, merging into a single devastating beam of energy.

BOOM!

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