I'm not going to get this 80K story done this month, but I am going to take a big chunk out of it at least.

Before Scott could answer, she pulled his robe off his shoulders, easing it down until it was puddled at his waist. Scott sat there bare-chested, with Betsy’s soft, warm hands caressing the firm muscles of his back.

“You certainly take good care of yourself,” Betsy commented. “If only you did as much for your psyche as you did for your body.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked. “Meditation? I’ve tried that.”

“And?”

“Too much to think about.”

“Is your life really that complicated? Aren’t some things nice and simple?”

“Not enough things.”

“Then we should make things simple. Do or don’t. Yes or no.” 

Betsy leaned close to him, pressing her breasts against his muscular back, letting him feel her erect nipples even though the robe she still wore. Her chin landed on his shoulder as she reached around him to rub his chest and the hardened six-pack of his abdomen—even a part of herself found it hard to believe how daring she had become. The more she touched Scott’s bare flesh, the more aroused she became. Her fingers flowed down Scott’s rigid belly to where his body hair became hard and wiry, and she could see his cock showing its hardness through the insubstantial barrier of his robe. 

“Man or woman. You’re most certainly a man, Scott. Now let me be a woman.”

Scott was on the edge of losing his mind. Betsy had draped herself all over him, her fingers caressing him from his nipples to the hairs of his groin, her every touch sending a new shiver through him, while her breath on his neck sent hardness down into his crotch until he didn’t think he could swell anymore without bursting. He could smell the sweet perfume of her bare body, something intangibly her mixed with the fury of the storm outside, while her breasts pressed warmly against his back, letting him feel her racing heartbeat through her firm cleavage. 

“Betsy,” he groaned. “Stop.”

“Alright, Scott. I’ll stop.”

Betsy pulled away from him, leaving Scott feeling insufferably cold, even with the fire going. But that only lasted until she walked in front of him. She’d taken off the robe and the fire silhouetted her body, its shadows the only thing she wore, the only blunting there was for the perfection of her naked flesh, her creamy skin, the absolute artistry of her proportions, with supple muscle, full breasts, and womanly hips all balanced with no margin of error. No, everything about her was sleek and lithe and well-formed, like she had honed her body to sculpted perfection in just the same way that she’d trained her mind to be even more disciplined and ordered than his own.

And capping it all off was a flower bud of purple pubic hair at her groin, almost punkish, representative of the mischievous will that Betsy cultivated right alongside all her honor and training. It drew Scott’s eye. It pulled at the rest of him. Her sex was the ultimate perfection, the zenith of her beautiful body, the final temptation in a physique that was entirely seduction. Scott actually fell to his hands and knees before, trying to hold himself back, even as he was helpless not to stare. 

“There, Scott,” Betsy said, her voice devilishly even, not trying to be seductive except in how sultry her British accent was at all times. She was either certain he was seduced or did not care in the slightest if he spurned her: perhaps both. “I’m not touching you anymore. But would you like to touch me?”