Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan-Chapter 111: Frozen Naked Ninja

Ren stood by the riverbank, her fingers fumbling with the last of her clothes. She peeled off her skirt and top, leaving them in a pile on the dry stones.

The night air bit at her exposed skin, sending a violent shiver down her spine. It was a cruel shock compared to the heat that had been radiating through her veins just moments ago. Her body was still humming, buzzing with the lingering, electric aftershocks of what she had just done to Syris.

Her jaw ached—a dull, throbbing reminder of the enthusiasm she had put into her "performance." The taste of him, salty and potent, seemed etched into her tongue, a flavor that made her knees weak even now.

"Okay," Ren whispered to herself, shaking her head to dislodge the erotic memory. "Focus. It’s just water. It’s just... liquid ice."

She took a step in.

"GASSSSP!"

The air left her lungs instantly. It wasn’t just cold; it was a personal attack. The temperature was violent. It felt like a thousand tiny needles stabbing her pores simultaneously.

"Oh god," she wheezed, wading in until she was waist-deep. "This is it. This is how I die. Not by a beast, not by being overworked, but by hypothermia while skinny-dipping in a creepy forest."

Despite the sensation of her limbs slowly turning into icicles, Ren began to wash. She didn’t have a washcloth. She didn’t have a loofah. She had two hands and pure desperation.

She cupped the freezing water and splashed it over her face, gasping as it hit her heated skin. She rubbed her lips violently with the back of her hand, trying to scrub away the ghost of Syris’ taste, though the memory clung to her tongue.

She moved down to her neck and chest, where his release had splattered warm and white against her skin. She clawed at herself, using her fingernails to scrape away the drying fluids. It felt sacrilegious in a way—washing away the evidence of her husband’s passion as if it were filth—but she had no choice. She scrubbed until the skin was raw and stinging, watching the evidence of their intimacy dissolve into the black current.

She dipped lower, her hands trembling as she reached between her thighs. The friction burned against the icy water. She washed away the slick, heavy evidence of her own arousal. She scrubbed and scrubbed, scouring every inch of her body with a ferocity that turned her flesh a patchwork of angry red marks against the pale, shivering skin.

She had to be clean. She had to smell like nothing but river silt and cold air.

But as she scrubbed, guilt washed over her heavier than the river water.

’I feel terrible,’ she thought miserably, dunking her head under the freezing surface to rinse her hair.

She had used intimacy as a tactical weapon. She had pleasured her husband into a coma just so she could sneak off to meet a fox. And physically? Her body was confused. She was freezing on the outside, but her core was still throbbing with unspent desire, creating a miserable, contradictory sensory overload.

She surfaced, sputtering and wiping water from her eyes.

She looked up at the sky.

The moon was huge, silver, and undeniably sitting right at the peak of the heavens.

"Shit," Ren cursed under her breath, scrambling toward the bank. "I’m late. I’m so late."

She clawed her way out of the river, her body shaking so hard she could barely stand.

"T-t-too c-c-cold," she stuttered.

Just then, as if the universe had been waiting for the punchline, a gust of wind tore through the clearing. It wasn’t a gentle breeze. It was a sharp, icy draft that whipped around her wet, naked body.

Ren let out a silent scream, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I hate this," she whimpered, her teeth chattering like a broken wind-up toy. "The universe hates me. Fate wants me to freeze into a statue!"

She looked toward the camp. Syris was a motionless lump by the fire, blissfully asleep thanks to her handiwork. Viper was sprawled against a rock.

She had to get past them to reach the treeline.

Ren took a deep breath, which rattled in her chest, and began to move.

She was a ninja. A shivering, wet, naked ninja.

She tiptoed past Viper, lifting her knees high like a cartoon character to avoid snapping twigs. Her coordination was shot; her legs were numb blocks of wood.

Rustle.

Viper shifted.

Ren froze mid-step, one leg hovering in the air, balancing precariously.

Viper grunted in his sleep, turning his head slightly. He didn’t wake up, but the movement was enough to stop Ren’s heart.

Panic flared. What if he was faking sleep? What if he opened his eyes and saw her streaking through the camp?

"Oh my," Ren whispered into the darkness, her voice trembling just loud enough to be heard if he was awake. "I sure need to pee."

She waited.

Viper didn’t move again. His breathing remained steady.

Ren exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. ’He bought it. Or he’s really asleep. Either way, move!’

She hurried her pace. She needed to get into the cover of the trees.

She took a confident step forward, her eyes fixed on the destination.

CRUNCH.

Her bare foot landed squarely on a jagged, sharp rock hidden in the grass.

Ren sucked in a breath through her teeth, biting her tongue to stop a scream. Pain shot up her leg.

"Mother of..." she whispered a slur of curses that would have made a sailor blush.

She hopped on one foot, clutching her bleeding heel, trying to keep her balance while completely nude and shivering violently.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow."

She checked the wound. It wasn’t deep—just a nasty cut—but it stung like fire against the cold air.

Ren gritted her chattering teeth and forced herself to keep moving. She limped toward the dark, foreboding mouth of the forest, a pathetic figure of misery.

"This is karma," she muttered bitterly, hobbling over a root. "This is instant karma. I drugged my husband with a blowjob, and now the universe is punishing me."

She sniffled, wiping her nose as she disappeared into the shadows.

"Why am I wet? Why am I cold? Why am I naked and bleeding in a creepy forest filled with beasts?" she grumbled into the darkness.