Date: 2011-02-16 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: Players must complete sexual challenges to win an erotic virtual reality game in this fantasy from New York Times –bestselling author Piers Anthony. In Eroma—the futuristic, multiplayer virtual reality game of erotic romance—participants can touch, taste, feel, hear, and see everything. Each male and female avatar, from fairy to elf to human, is naked and gorgeous, and sexual climaxes are immediate and mutual. Weekly, millions tune in on 3-D television to watch every intimate, passionate encounter. To win the game—and a large prize—the players must conquer difficult, arousing tests. But some c
Publisher: Open Road Media
Rights: Copyright © 1982 by Andre Norton

Eroma

An Erotic Romance

Piers Anthony

Contents

1. Avatar
2. Maiden Heaven
3. Poop of the Day
4. Sustenance
5. Coven
6. Favor
Author’s Note

Chapter 1:
Avatar

He logged onto the Eroma site and there it was: the Notice. He was accepted for the August Game! He had been trying for months. This was the leading erotic romance adventure site, with a competition that could make a player rich, notorious, and sexually satisfied for life. What more could a poor horny nonentity want? He had filled in the application form in advance and entered it, knowing that the selection would be random. All the selections were made in a two-hour window of opportunity, and his was ready.

YOU ARE PLAYER #16 MALE. SELECT AN AVATAR NAME FROM P.

He did a quick mental count, knowing the way the game proprietors thought. P was the sixteenth letter of the alphabet; that was why he had it. Pure chance.

He considered the alphabetic list. Pacian, Page, Park, Paul, Pedro... That one appealed to him. He was not Hispanic, so that would help preserve his anonymity despite the audience of millions. He checked Pedro.

WELCOME PEDRO. SELECT AN AVATOR RACE.

Another list appeared: Elf, Faerie, Mongol, Moor, Nordic, Nubian. Race in an online fantasy game was not at all the same as in real life. Weren’t the Moors the Arabs who conquered and ruled Spain for several centuries in medieval times? He knew nothing about them, but Pedro was a Spanish name, so maybe he should be a Moor. Not that it would have any relevance to the real Moors; the game had its own definitions.

There were other choices, which he handled with similar caution. It was just the avatar, after all: the figure he would animate within the game. But if anyone in real life—popularly abbreviated IRL—caught on that he was playing this particular game, he’d be a laughing stock. Unless he scored really well.

When he was done, the Game authority verified his choices, then gave the key instruction: REPORT TO THE GAME CENTER AT 0900 HOURS NEXT WEEK.

There it was. He was in, and his active participation would start as early as next week. The game aired once a week, in a four-hour session. That gave players seven days to recover.

He was so exited he hardly noticed the reminder card in the mail: he was due for a routine eye appointment on the morrow. But he was glad to get it out of the way before the game.

The test did not go well. The oculist wanted him to take anotherone. Pedro took it two days later. It would be a few weeks before the results arrived. He wasn't concerned.

The next week, Pedro reported to the game center as directed and identified himself. He was ushered into a private cell where he sat on a comfortable chair in an encompassing harness, donned a special helmet, gloves, boots, and had a device attached to his midsection with a complicated condom on his penis. This was to enable him to properly operate his avatar. He could exit it at any time by saying the null code phrase, I QUIT, or removing the helmet. Otherwise, the equipment would remain in play for the full four-hour session. He had no intention of quitting.

When he was ready, he spoke the magic words: “Pedro is entering Eroma.”

Immediately the illumination in the chamber faded and the game scene opened around him. It was a breathtaking view. Why not? With computer animation they could have anything anyone could imagine.

He was sitting on a miniature throne that overlooked the lush valley ahead, centered between high snow-covered mountains, a steaming volcano, forests, fields, rivers, and a large central island-studded lake. Cleared paths wound through the forests and up the slopes, leading to attractive pavilions.

He stood up, faintly surprised that he could do so. But of course the equipment monitoring his body responded to his motions, and the harness prevented him from crashing into anything in real life. He could stand and walk, and wave his arms and look around. The animation tracked him perfectly. Already the scene seemed real.

After he had done these things, satisfied that his avatar was functioning, he knew it was time to start the game. His avatar was nude, but of course that was the way it was in Eroma. It was a sexual game and a sexual competition, and clothing would merely get in the way, at least in the early rounds.

There was a nearby pool. He went and gazed at his reflection. He was a swarthy, but otherwise neutral male, nothing distinguishing. That too was part of the game. He would have to earn his appearance. There was a small name plaque tattooed on his chest: PEDRO. He knew there was another on his back, identifying his dominant and recessive traits. He would have to get another player to read that for him, so he would know what he had been assigned. His familiarity with prior games guided him; this was a variant of the standard opening setting.

He walked down the main path, and came to a sign: INTERACTIVE ZONE. He passed it and glanced back. From this side the sign said: PEDRO PRIVACY ZONE. Good enough. He could return here when he needed to. But he had no intention of doing so. He was here to play the game, for all he was worth.

Soon he was in a minor labyrinth of diverging and intersecting paths. Other players appeared.

They were nude, male and female, of course, of all physical types, but all young and attractive. He was afraid he would get an embarrassing reaction as he got close to the girls, but he didn't. It seemed that being public stifled that particular effect. As had evidently been the case in the prior games he had watched so avidly.

“Oops!” He had almost collided with a girl on a merging path, having been so busy checking the variety of bodies ahead. “I'm sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

“My fault,” she said. “My eyes were downrange.”

“Uh, hello, uh, Fotina,” he said, reading her name on the inset plaque above her small breasts.

“Hello, Pedro,” she said, reading his plaque.

“You’re a Moor,” he said, faintly surprised, noting her swarthy skin and dark hair, matching his.

“Yes. I thought not many would choose that, so I did.” She hesitated fractionally. “Could I ask a favor?”

“Let’s exchange favors. We can read each other’s traits.”

“Yes.” She turned around, exposing her back to him. Her buttocks were as modest as her breasts. In fact her overall proportions were barely nubile, as if she was not completely out of childhood. But that too was part of the game; the first round was always for defining the traits of the avatars.

“ARTS/magic,” he read aloud.

“Oh, thank you!” Then he turned, as she returned, and she read for him. “MAGIC/arts.”

“They’re the same too!” he exclaimed, surprised. “By sheer coincidence.” Or was it? Sometimes the game proprietors played little tricks on players, so as to make things more interesting for the television viewers. Had their meeting been arranged? He could break that up simply by walking away.

“If you don’t mind—” She faltered. “I barely made it into the game, and didn’t get to properly review the rules. Could you tell me why one word is capitalized and the other isn’t?”

“No problem. Let’s walk on down to the main assembly area, and I’ll explain.” He had studied all the rules carefully, and discovered he rather liked having someone to clarify them for—Especially an inexperienced girl. He wasn’t walking away.

“Yes, of course,” she agreed gratefully. “Thank you.”

They resumed walking, tuning out the others converging on the main path. “It’s to identify the dominant and recessive genes, as it were. Dominants are capitalized.”

“I don’t understand. I thought people would just interact and exchange what they have.”

“They will. We will. But it’s not completely straightforward. Each sexual exchange will give the other person the dominant trait, and half the recessive trait. There will have to be another exchange to get the other half of the recessive.”

“Oh. So if you and I exchange, I’ll get Magic and half of Arts, while you’ll get Arts and half of Magic?”

“Exactly. We don’t get to keep our assigned traits; we can only pass them along to others. For a person to get all ten traits, he’ll have to make at least ten exchanges with different other players.”

“Couldn’t you and I make two exchanges and get both traits complete?”

“We could. But it would be wasteful. When a player has a full trait, it can’t be added to. We’d each have two traits from two exchanges. If you and I make one exchange, then exchange with others who have those recessives, we’ll each have two dominants and one recessive, or three complete traits from the two exchanges. Since time is limited, that efficiency counts.”

“Now I understand,” she said. “Thank you. Would you like to exchange with me?”

Why not? He hardly knew her, apart from the anonymity of the avatars, but their dialogue was compatible, and what counted was the exchange. “Yes. But there’s a hitch: we can’t do it in public. Not in the first round. It’s a game rule that I understand is enforced.”

“How is it enforced?”

He shrugged, embarrassed. “Well, for one thing, a man can’t get an erection if observed by more than one person. A woman can’t loosen up enough to let a man in to get an orgasm. It’s the orgasm that effects the exchange.”

Now she shared his embarrassment. “Oh. Yes. Of course. I knew that, but forgot. I'm sorry.”

“No need. It’s hard to keep everything straight at the outset. There’s so much to acclimatize to.”

“Can we go into a forest glade? Or isn’t it supposed to be done outside?”

“Outside is all right if it’s private. That is, with no other players watching. But there may be another factor: safety. Off the main paths there are monsters.”

“Monsters,” she repeated, glancing around nervously. “Then we need a house.”

“There are some,” he agreed. “We’ll find one.”

They took a diverging path that led to a pavilion on the side of the hill. It wasn’t far, and soon they were at its door. It was a circular structure, hardly more than a roof with a surrounding thin wall.

Pedro opened the door. Immediately there was a howl and a nebulous shape loomed close. Fotina screamed.

Luckily, Pedro had virtually memorized the rulebook. “Begone, spook!” he cried, waving his arms.

“Oooo, shiiiit!” the ghost moaned, and faded away.

“What did you do?” Fotina asked. She was breathing hard from her alarm. That did things for her torso.

“Haunts don’t count,” Pedro explained, stepping inside and looking around to be sure there was nothing else. “All they can do is bluff. I called its bluff. Come on in; time is of the essence.”

“Yes.” She entered.

In the center was a round bed. That was all. “Let’s do it,” he said, suppressing his nervousness. He had had sex many times in real life, but how would it work in the game framework, with avatars? His member was twitching; being private with a woman was an automatic turn-on.

“Yes,” she repeated, seeming as nervous. “How? I—I haven’t done this before.”

“Well, the game’s just started,” he said reassuringly, as if he were not suffering the same doubt.

“Ever.”

Pedro paused, taken aback. “You mean You’re a virgin? IRL?”

“Ire ell?” she asked blankly.

He smiled. “In Real Life. It’s a shortcut. The game is fantasy life, but we do exist outside it.”

“IRL,” she repeated, getting it. “Yes. I am a virgin.”

“But this is a sex game! For people who are jaded with the real thing, or can’t get enough of it, like me. Are you sure you belong here?”

“Not at all sure,” she said candidly. “But there’s a big prize for the winner. I need the money.”

He gazed at her half pityingly. “Oh, Fotina! Your chances are one in sixty four, and worse if You’re not skilled. You don’t want to start your sexual life this way.”

“It’s the only chance I have to get what I need. My family—” She broke off. “But That’s no concern of yours. You know sex? Do it, so I can learn.” There were tears on her face. Score one for the avatars: they were realistic.

“Fotina, you can exit the game at any time. Just say the words, and You’re out. You don’t have to have sex with strangers.”

“It can’t be worse than what I face if I drop out. Please, Pedro, you seem like a nice guy. I’m glad I’m starting with you. Just show me how.”

What could he do? If she stayed in the game, she would have to have sex— many times, with many men. Some would not be considerate; all they would want was a fast exchange. At least he could break her in gently.

“Lie on the bed, on your back. Spread your legs.”

She lay on the bed and spread her legs. Her eyes were tightly closed.

He got on her, his penis rising nicely despite his mixed emotions. What would help her? “It is okay if I kiss you? You don’t have to do it.”

“I prefer it. I wish kissing was all it took. To—to make the exchange.”

“That’s not the way of it. Men wouldn’t join the game. They want sex. With multiple women.” He did not add that he was such a man.

“I understand. But I’m glad you want to kiss me.”

“I do.” He kissed her mouth. She kissed back, desperately. “It’s that purely business sex isn’t my style, though it’s the rule here.” He kissed her again. “We can pretend we’re doing it for love.”

“For love,” she agreed tightly.

This wasn’t working. Oh, he could penetrate her, and that should trigger the exchange. But he wanted her to like it, or at least not feel as if she were being raped. She needed to learn to do it readily, so as to have a chance in the game. “May I kiss your breasts?”

She opened her eyes, surprised. “Is that the way it’s done?”

“It is when it’s a complete act of love. He likes it, and she can like it too. Breasts are kissable.” She, as a template woman, had only moderate breasts, but in this situation they were more than enough to turn him on. The game proprietors knew what they were doing, ensuring that the avatars had what was required to play their roles. His functioning penis was part of that.

“Oh. I didn’t know. Yes, do it.”

She was a virgin, all right. He kissed her right breast, then her left, sliding up to the nipple. He sucked on it, and the aureole expanded. He felt her stiffen. “I’ll stop,” he said quickly.

“No. It just surprised me. Because—it just did. Go on.”

But he was cautious. He tried his best not to freak her out. “Because why?”

“Because I liked it.”

He had to laugh. “I was afraid you hated it!”

“No, it’s nice. It makes me want to—to have the sex. Is that the way it’s supposed to be?”

“Yes. Avatars have enhanced sexual capabilities. Lips, breasts, genitals—they’re responsive. More so than IRL, generally. Only in this game, after this, you’ll want to do the sex quickly, because there’s only so much time. I just wanted you to—to be at ease this first time.”

“I’m getting there. I’m glad You’re teaching me.”

He gave her nipple a final lick. He moved up and kissed her mouth again. This time her eyes Weren’t locked shut in dreaded anticipation. He decided on one more spot lesson.

“My penis has gotten hard, as it needs to be for this. Put your hand on it. Feel it.”

Hesitantly, she obeyed. “It’s hot! And so big. I’m not a big girl. Are you sure it will—will fit?”

“It should. All the avatars are sized to be compatible. And IRL, her vagina stretches to accommodate his penis, so there’s usually not a problem there either.”

“Oh,” she said doubtfully. Her hand was frozen on his member, as if holding a glass decoration. She had no idea what to do with it.

“After this, when You’re alone with other men, and you see their penises get big, you’ll know they will fit and that there’s nothing to fear in that respect. Apart from the fact that none of this is really real in the physical sense. Our real bodies never are in contact, only our animated avatars. Everything we feel is tactile and electric feedback from the equipment. Our willing suspension of disbelief makes it all seem real. Even sex.”

“Yes.” But she seemed to remain uncertain.

He took his member from her hand. “Now I will penetrate you, slowly. If you are uncomfortable, say so, and I’ll stop.”

“I will.” Her eyes squeezed closed again.

“Fotina, ordinarily I would not ask this. But you need to know exactly how it’s done. For your effective participation in the game, with other men. Please watch.”

“I’ll try.” She forced her eyes open, lifted her head, and looked down at his erection. She evidently remained somewhat wary of such a formidable instrument.

Then at last he fitted his penis into the slit of her vagina and pushed in slowly. The slit became an expanding hole. The fit was snug, but her flesh yielded graciously. There was no discomfort, in part because the genitals of all avatars were crafted to be pre-lubricated.

Her gaze was riveted on that gradual penetration, as if she were afraid it would split her apart along the central seam. “I’m not hurting you?” he asked, concerned about more than physical discomfort. She had never done this before, and was perhaps reconsidering.

She laughed, and he felt her flesh shaking against him. “It’s an avatar, as you told me.”

Was she getting it, or was this the verge of hysteria? “Oh. Yes. Of course.” He eased the rest of the way in. “Now it’s at almost full depth. The worst is over.”

“It’s not bad at all,” she said, relaxing. “Sort of warm and deep and interesting.” Then she added with surprise “And nice.”

“It’s supposed to be pleasant. The avatars have feedback circuits to facilitate the process. As do real people, actually. But I think it is enhanced for the female avatars. They can enjoy sex much as the men do.”

“Yes,” she agreed, relaxing further.

“Now I must go for the orgasm. That means thrusting.”

“Thrust,” she agreed. Her eyes were locked on the juncture of their bodies, where penis entered vagina. She had become fascinated with the sexual process, which she had never seen before. “I’m feeling—urgent.”

He thrust. The tip of his penis came up against her cervix.

Then the orgasm came upon them both. His body shook as it took him, and so did hers. For thirty seconds they were locked in its ecstasy, kissing madly.

Then it was done, and both of them relaxed. Pedro got off her and lay beside her, taking her hand. “You did well.”

“What happened?” she asked, amazed.

“Oh, the orgasm? That’s part of the avatar programming. When the penis pushes against the cervix, which is a kind of switch in an avatar, it triggers an electric stimulation that puts both parties into instant orgasm. It lasts until the trait transfers are made, then abates. It doesn’t work exactly that way in real life, but this is what you can expect in the game. For your next exchange, all you have to do is get his member deep enough into your vagina to make that contact, and it will happen. Then you are through with him.”

“Am I through with you?” she asked somewhat plaintively.

“I’m afraid you are. We both need to exchange with other players, as often as we can. There would be little point in us exchanging again.”

“Where is the exchange? I don’t see or feel any difference.”

“It takes about fifteen minutes to manifest. That’s also the recharge time, so you can do it again. You’ll have Magic and I’ll have Arts. And I’ll have half of Magic, and you’ll have half of Arts.”

“But if I can’t see or feel them, how do I know they’re really there?”

“Good point. We had better stay together long enough to verify that the process is working.” He didn’t mind staying with her longer. He liked her.

“I don’t want to hold you up in your quest for more traits,” she said.

“It occurs to me that verification is important, this first time. Hereafter, we can operate on faith.”

“But I really shouldn’t—”

He rolled over, lifted his upper section, and kissed her. She flung her arms about him, pulling him closer. She really did want his company. He understood it was because he was her first sexual participation and first acquaintance in the game. He had given her a good experience. Still, it was flattering. He held her and continued kissing her. He was getting something himself; this was like making real love, and he liked that.

After a little while she drew back slightly. “If you want the other,” she said, presenting her breasts.

She was trying to vamp him, to make him stay. Yet he was not loath. He slid down and kissed her breasts. He rolled her over on top of him and put his hands on her buttocks. “Men like this too,” he said, squeezing.

“I’ll remember!” She kissed him again.

“But if we continue this way, we’ll want sex again, and will half waste an exchange.”

She tensed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh, hell, it wouldn’t be disaster. Meanwhile, let’s explore our traits. They should be developing.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You should be getting Magic. That means things like telekinesis, telepathy, clairvoyance, illusion, levitation, pyrokinesis. I should be getting Arts. That means singing, dancing, painting, writing, all the creative artistic things. We should be able to do a little already.”

“How do we do them?”

Pedro considered. “I was never much in the arts, so if I can do anything at all, it means it is happening. Let me see if I can sing.”

“I like singing.”

“Any talent you have in real life doesn’t apply here. You won’t be able to sing.”

“Wouldn’t training or experience count for something?”

“I suppose it would. Maybe we’re not complete blanks. But the exchanges will add new abilities or qualities to those you may already possess.”

She took a breath and opened her mouth. She sang a few notes. They were off-key and sour. “Ugh!” she said.

Pedro tried it, still holding her and feeling her bottom. “Alas my love, you do me wrong, to cast me off discourteously,” he sang, trying the beginning of “Greensleeves.” It wasn’t great, but it was better than he had ever managed before in life. “I believe it’s working,” he said. “It should get better soon. You should try something magical.”

“Try what?”

“Oh, maybe illusion. Can you make something appear that isn’t really there?”

“I’ll try.” She concentrated. Nothing seemed to happen. Then he reacted. Her buttocks seemed to have become larger, softer, and sexier.

“Are you enhancing your ass?” he asked, bemused.

“Yes. Trying to make it feel moreso.”

“You are succeeding!”

“You’re just saying that.”

“The hell I am. You suddenly have a most evocative posterior. You made an illusion of feel, which is something I hadn’t thought of. But if you still doubt, we can prove the magic. Try making something visible, that we can both see, like a face in the air.”

“Yes.” She focused again. Her bottom lost its plushness. A ghostly face appeared behind her head, where he could see it.

“You've got it,” he said, excited. “Look and see.”

She did not turn her head. Instead the face slid around to the side so that she could see it. “Oh!” she exclaimed, pleased.

“When you did that, your rear reverted to ordinary. That suggests you can do only one act of magic at a time. Still, it could be quite useful.”

“It could,” she agreed thoughtfully as the face faded.

“You’ll need to practice, of course. No one is good at anything new immediately. Maybe you can work out some set bits, like a supple bottom, or a scary ghost face, or starting a fire, that you can do without delay when you need them.”

“Yes.” She seemed to be concentrating, but nothing was evident.

“What are you working on?”

“Telepathy.”

“Mind reading? That could be really useful.” Then he reconsidered. “Are you reading my mind?”

“Yes, a little. But it’s complicated.”

“I hope I’m not giving away my darkest secrets.”

“No. I can get only the surface. You—you really like my—my ass. As it was with the feel illusion. And you halfway like me.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t lying to you about that.”

“You haven’t lied to me about anything.”

“True. But I have to say that lying is part of the game. You can’t afford to believe anyone completely.” He paused, considering. “But yes, work on mind reading too, so that other players can’t lie to you. It could save your place in the game. But don’t let on that You’re doing it; just quietly act to protect yourself.”

“I will,” she said.

Pedro tried singing again. “Greensleeves was my delight! Greensleeves was all my joy.” This time it came out well. He was indeed singing.

“It’s really working!” she said. “For both of us. I didn’t really believe it.”

“Soon the traits will manifest fully,” he said. “But here’s a caution: don’t display any of your Magic if you can help it. I won’t show my Arts.”

“But isn’t that the point? To get good traits?”

“Yes and no. I have watched every Eroma game so far, and come to some conclusions how to play it well. The first round is always for defining the avatars. That’s what we’re doing now. But it’s seldom as simple as just collecting traits. The other players are watching, and they tend to gang up against anyone who looks too much like a winner. You want traits, but you don’t want them known, lest you be targeted and driven out.”

“That’s mean,” she protested.

“It’s a mean game. Schemers are more likely to win than nice people. You want to try to come across as innocent, harmless, nice. A good friend who is no threat to anyone. A likely loser in the first round. You need to be able to scheme, and lie, and betray those who think you are their friend. That’s how you get ahead.”

“I don’t like it!”

Pedro nodded. She was either a true innocent, or an excellent actress. Either way, she could be a good ally, in some subsequent round, if she got there. He liked her, perhaps foolishly, and was trying to help her get there. “Let me modify that. You need to be able to recognize a schemer or liar, so you don’t get betrayed and washed out. Don’t be too quick to trust any player, male or female. Be cautious.”

“I trust you.”

“Keep your eyes open, because the next person you trust may betray you. And maybe most important, stay beneath the radar. Don’t call attention to yourself. Flashy players tend to be eliminated early.”

“I still trust you.”

“Fotina, we met coincidentally, colliding on converging paths. We could become fast friends or hated enemies. It’s no basis for trust.”

Her lower lip trembled. “I need to trust someone. This is all so new, I wouldn’t get anywhere on my own. You are helping me so much. Please, say I can trust you.”

Pedro found himself foolishly melting. He believed her. “You can trust me. Read my mind to verify that. But don’t trust anyone else.”

“I will. I did. I won’t,” she promised. She kissed him fleetingly.

“If we meet again, later in the game, we can try to help each other,” he said. “We can be like oath friends. No matter how we deal with others, we won’t betray each other.”

“Yes!” she agreed gladly.

“Meanwhile, we need to do some serious interaction with others. Only those with the most traits will make the cut. The top sixteen men, the top sixteen women.”

“Half will lose?” she asked alarmed.

“Half will be eliminated in this round, and again in the next, and in each round, until there’s a single winner.”

“How do they get eliminated?”

“Some will get eaten by monsters.” He saw her shocked reaction, and quickly clarified it. “That doesn’t mean they die. They just get washed out of the game. Of those who make it through this round, only the top scorers—those with the most acquired traits—will qualify for the next round.”

“So I must do well in each round.”

“Exactly. You need to be constantly on your toes.” He smiled. “And busy with your vagina.”

“I’ll try,” she said bravely.

“I wasn’t trying to be crude. This is a sex game. Everything is sexually determined. Careful management counts for a lot. Survey all the players you meet, noting what traits they offer and what traits they have acquired, to the extent feasible. Go for the traits more difficult to acquire, so you don’t get caught in a logjam later. But if there are easy takings, take them; efficiency is essential. Don’t be flashy, just quietly get the job done. Get the right men into you, any way you can.”

“I will try.”

“And use what you have, like sex appeal. If you exchange for appearance, you’ll have it in spades. But until then, use your magic. Men are fools for sexy girls, even in a game like this.”

“I will fool them,” she agreed. “Thank you so much for your good advice.”

“You’re welcome. I have enjoyed being with you.”

“Yes!”

Fotina kissed him again, passionately. Her whole body seemed fuller and sexier than before. That meant she was enhancing herself with illusion, and no longer reading his mind. That was perhaps just as well.

She took his rising penis and fitted it into her vagina. She was learning rapidly on every front. She would be a good player. She plumped down on him, making the penetration complete. Tip touched cervix, completing the connection.

They went into another joint orgasm, kissing avidly. It was as intense and wonderful as the first one.

In due course they relaxed, still kissing. At last they disengaged. “Fotina, I think I love you a little,” he said.

“And I love you. More than a little.”

“But now we really must get on with the game, lest we both wash out. We can’t do each other any more good by exchanging, so I think we need to separate for the rest of this round.”

“But we’ll meet again in the next, won’t we?”

“I hope so.”

They kissed once more, and then left the pavilion. Pedro hoped he was not being foolish to trust her. His warning to her applied to him also: there was no sufficient basis. Yet game friendships could endure, sometimes.

They followed the side path to the main one, and walked on down to the main pavilion. Fotina gave him one last beseeching look as they separated, silently begging him to remember her. Then she was lost in the throng. Pedro somehow felt guilty, for no good reason.

Now the names and traits were abundant. How should he proceed, to be most efficient? He needed to consider people, safety, and privacy. This early in the round, almost any partners would do for exchange; people were available in plenty, but not privacy. He knew that the moment any of them left the main premises, there would be danger. Perhaps he should start with the more difficult aspects.

There should be privacy on the islands, because they could be reached only by the water, and the water would not be safe. Get to an island with a partner, and the rest would be easy. So why were the others merely milling around, wasting time?

He walked down to the lake. There was a pier where several six-passenger boats were moored. The water rippled. He picked up a pebble and flipped it out into the lake. A serpentine head appeared, biting at the spot where the pebble fell. Just so. The challenge was getting safely to an island, when a lake serpent could readily chomp anything on a boat. Several players were looking at the water, daunted. A good half an hour must have been wasted in this befuddlement. These were mostly novice players, not sharp on the uptake. Fodder for early elimination.

Pedro got smart. He stepped into a boat, untied it, and took a double-bladed paddle from its deck. He faced the pier and the players standing on it. “I need three women who can row and two men who can balance standing,” he announced.

“Don’t you have that backwards?” a man asked. “Men should row.”

“No. The men need to fight off monsters.”

Some were confused, but some caught on. In a moment he had his complement. He assigned the three women to the three benches, with paddles, while he and the men stood beside them, also with paddles. “Row out toward the nearest island,” he told the women. “Defend them,” he told the men.

The women oriented and started paddling, two on one side, one on the other. The boat wee-wawed, then steadied as they got coordinated. They moved slowly toward the island.

A serpent head lifted from the water. Pedro was nearest to it. He used his paddle as a battering ram, poking the serpent in the snoot. Surprised, it submerged. “They’re not used to prey fighting back,” he said, satisfied. “Stay alert.”

Another head appeared. The nearest man bopped it with his paddle, and it retreated. A third head rose, but dropped out of sight before a paddle could orient on it. Meanwhile the boat progressed.

The players on shore, observing, soon sought to imitate Pedro’s strategy. But there were more than fifty of them, and only three remaining boats: enough for eighteen. Arguments broke out. Again, the amateurish nature of many contestants was torpedoing their chances.

“You are a smart cookie,” the woman beside Pedro murmured. She was a fair Nordic whose nameplate said AILENE. “Let’s exchange.” Her talent was HEALTH/appearance

“Gladly,” Pedro agreed. “First, we’ll have to assign sessions, so that all of us can exchange efficiently.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

Before long the boat reached the island, having intimidated the lake monsters. They were surely crafted for exactly such intimidation, so that clever boaters could pass. Pedro noted with satisfaction that only one other boat was on the way; somehow the competition for places had been settled to that extent. The other players were losing valuable time squabbling instead of organizing.

Pedro took the lead again. “Each of us wants to exchange with each other eligible person,” he said. “That will be nine exchanges, total. We can do one couple every five minutes, alternating couples, and get all nine done within an hour. The order doesn’t matter; we won’t leave the island until all exchanges have been accomplished. Ailene and I will lead off. The rest of you decide on partners, and watch for danger.”

“Lake serpents won’t come on land,” a man pointed out.

“Other players might,” Pedro said. “We want to finish with it first.”

The man nodded, understanding.

Pedro led Ailene into the pavilion and closed the door. It was similar to the one where he had trysted with Fotina, but without any ghost. It seemed the lake monsters were considered enough of a challenge.

No further words were said. They got on the bed, Ailene spread her legs, and Pedro, suddenly erect, got into her. He felt her cervix at the depth, and then they were in the orgasm. It lasted half a minute and faded. They got up.

“Not even five minutes,” she said appreciatively.

“Two, maybe.” He patted her bottom.

“Don’t get fresh!” she snapped.

“Apology,” he said, surprised.

“Joke,” she said as they left the pavilion.

He smiled, but was privately annoyed. She was nevertheless right: this was a business transaction, not a social one. Neither expressions of romance or sexuality were in order. His tryst with Fotina had spoiled him.

The second couple was waiting as they exited. Pedro and Ailene took paddles and stood guard with the remaining couple.

Meanwhile the second canoe approached the island.

“Occupied,” Pedro called warningly.

The lead woman on the boat smiled. She was Salina, Nubian, EMPATHY/intelligence. “We noticed. When You’re done, where will you go?”

“Back to the pier for another load.”

“Why expend the time? It’s bound to be a dangerous hassle there, because of the duffers. We’ll take the next island. When we’re done, we can exchange women with you for another round in a fraction of the time a full return trip would take.”

She was right. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Agreed.”

“Until then,” she said. The boat moved on to the adjacent island.

The second couple emerged, and the third entered. “We made a deal with the next island,” Ailene informed the second. “Wife swapping.”

“What?” the woman demanded.

“Joke. We three women will join their men for more rapid exchanges.”

“Oh. Yes. Good,” the woman agreed, disgruntled.

Pedro realized that he had been wrong to be annoyed. Ailene did make sly jokes, but seemed to be sensible.

Meanwhile, his exchange with Ailene was taking hold. He felt renewed vigor, and realized it was the enhancement of health. Good enough.

Then his foot burned. “Ouch!” he exclaimed, jumping. He looked. There was nothing on his foot.

Ailene laughed. “Magic hotfoot,” she said. “Just testing.”

Pedro controlled his renewed annoyance. It did make sense for her to test her dawning magic ability. Minor pyrokinesis. Throwing a hotspot.

The third couple emerged. Pedro glanced at the second woman, an Elf named Fanny, COURAGE/strength.

“In a few minutes,” she said. “You may have had fifteen, but I've had only ten. I can’t do it yet.”

She was right. “Say when,” he agreed.

“I do appreciate the way you organized this,” Fanny said. “It helps us all.”

“Yes,” the third woman said. She was a yellow-skinned Mongol, Zora, EMPATHY/magic. “We were hung up, unable to organize for privacy, until you stepped in. You have helped us all.”

“I was helping myself,” Pedro said. Her traits were a problem for him, duplicating two he already had. What he needed was Appearance, Intelligence, and Strength, to fill out the halves he already had. There was no reason for him to exchange with her. But he didn’t want to tell her that. For one thing, she might need the traits he offered.

“I’m just about ready,” Fanny said.

They entered the pavilion. “Let’s not be entirely mechanical,” Fanny said, kissing him.

“Ailene rebuked me when I patted her butt.”

“I’m not Ailene.” She patted his butt.

“Okay.” He realized that she might merely be playing for more time, to fully recharge for the exchange. Regardless, he preferred to make it more like a tryst than a business trade.

They got on the bed. She took his head and brought his face to her breasts. They were fine big ones. In fact her whole form was extraordinarily feminine.

“I exchanged for an Appearance,” she explained before he asked. “It is manifesting.”

“That’s why you delayed!”

“In part,” she agreed. “But I do like a little emotion with my sex. I feel if we are to do a thing, we might as well do it right.”

“I agree,” he said, kissing her evocative breasts while she fondled his rising penis.

They couldn’t delay long, lest it spoil the rapid schedule. Soon he entered her, and made the connection, and they were in the throes of the orgasm.

There was a clamor outside. They hurried out.

A third boat was coming. This one consisted of six men. That was mischief. They surely intended to drive away the men and take the women. Pedro hadn’t thought of that ploy. If the women didn’t like it, would rape follow? Would rape work for the exchange?

“Need help here,” Pedro called across to the other island.

The others quickly responded. They crossed, arriving just before the male boat did. They took up paddles as weapons.

The male boat considered the array of a dozen armed defenders and reconsidered. It sheered off, looking for easier prey.

Then they organized for the exchange of women. “But we haven’t finished!” Zora protested.

“Another time,” Pedro said. “We need to facilitate the greater good.”

She looked doubtful, but went along with it. Soon the original three women were rowing across to the other island with its three men, and the other three were remaining. Pedro saw with satisfaction that these ones had the recessive traits he needed. He had lucked out.

•  •  •

Fotina was in the crowd of players, but she felt lonely. She really did like Pedro. She had liked his look the moment she spied him coming down the path, maybe because he shared her Moorish game type. She knew it was just coincidence, but had acted on her inclination and arranged to collide with him. Their association had proved to be well worthwhile, for he turned out to be an experienced, or at least knowledgeable player, and had filled her in on most of what she lacked.

He was also, she thought fondly, a nice lover. It was her first sex, in any venue, and he had been gentle and accommodating. What more could she have asked for? She had not been fooling when she said she loved him. Yes it was foolish, because there was no real basis; she had no idea of his nature in real life. But what she had learned of him, she liked.

She had entered the Eroma game halfway by chance. Her father had facetiously suggested it, because he liked to watch the sex it featured. It seemed that every avatar was tracked, and every sex sequence pictured for the large TV audience. Men loved it, for the pornographic detail. So did a number of women, apparently, maybe for the underlying romantic theme. Fotina had never been interested in that sort of thing; the thought of public sex appalled her. She wanted to learn what she needed to obtain good employment and develop a nice career. She was intelligent, and could ace almost any academic course, though many of them bored her because they lacked imagination. Why should she waste her time on erotic TV games? She preferred to orient on the challenge of college. Then, degree and job in hand, she might consider romance. She liked men well enough, but this was not the time for them.

But things changed. The economy had crashed. Her father lost his job. His unemployment benefits were running out, they were in default on the mortgage, and foreclosure threatened. Her mother, ill with a chronic condition, could keep house, but was unemployable. Her sisters were too young. Suddenly college was out of the question. Fotina had to go to work wherever she could, to pay for food. She had gotten a job at the local grocery store, as a stock clerk. She was good at it, because she could rapidly catalog the myriad of products together with their assigned shelving, but there was no future. Pay was minimal, but guaranteed, and it helped for the food and utilities. It wasn’t enough to cover the mortgage payments, however.

Her father’s joke took root in her imagination. She knew nothing about the Eroma game, but she applied at the last minute. She filled in the routine form, which concluded with a request for a statement on why she wanted to play, and asked her to state a number. She paused at that point. Why did they want either, if selection was purely by chance? There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of applicants for every avatar role; they had to winnow them down ruthlessly.

Meanwhile the clock was ticking. A corner of her application screen listed the number of roles available, evenly divided between male and female, restricted to ages 18-29 to preserve the suggestion of potential young romance. The 32 female positions were being filled rapidly. Most of the applicants had filed ahead of time, but she had come late and was in the two-hour qualification window. As she paused, it was down to 5, then 4. When it got down to 0, there would be no point in completing the application. Yet she hesitated. Why even show the progress of placements, if it was simply a matter of randomly taking 32 of thousands? That suggested that there was something else.

Her father had mentioned before, he’d noticed patterns in the selection of players for each game. He had said there were probably odd formulas mixed in with the randomness, that a smart applicant might figure it out some day. But it was different for each game, and there never was much time, because all the positions were filled within two hours of the game’s opening.

Fotina touched the STATEMENTS section of the screen. There were all the statements of the qualifiers so far, and the numbers. The key must be here, because it was the only non-random thing listed. What was it?

The roles remaining dropped to 3.

What was the hint here? The statements were generally about the Eroma game, how much the applicants liked it, how they loved fantasy role playing, sex, and money, and would make great players. The numbers were generally small, no ten billion and one, or square roots of infinity.

The spots dropped to 2.

Then she saw it. The numbers matched the number of words in the statements. That had to be at least part of the key!

But, maybe not all of it. The qualifiers were anonymous, but listed by gender and age. Did that relate? Why bother with such incidental information?

Now only one spot remained.

Age! The number had to match the applicant’s age!

She wrote her statement. “I am young, innocent, smart, pretty, and desperate to help my family. All I want is a chance.” Eighteen words, maybe not the most persuasive or sophisticated, but that wasn’t the point. Followed by her age: 18. She had had her birthday earlier in the month. She clicked the Enter button.

CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE QUALIFIED. THE ROSTER IS NOW COMPLETE.

She had made it, barely. The very last female entrant. She felt light-headed.

YOU ARE PLAYER #32 FEMALE. SELECT AN AVATAR NAME FROM F.

Because they had run through the alphabet and gone six letters into the second cycle. She typed FLORA.

THAT NAME IS TAKEN. SELECT ANOTHER.

Just her luck. Who had gotten her name? But what did it matter? She was in the game! She reviewed the offerings, and selected an odd one: FOTINA.

WELCOME FOTINA. SELECT AN AVATAR RACE.

She chose Moor, because it was closest to her Latina background. She went on to choose hair color—dark –and height—average—eye color—brown—and features, from a group of template pictures. It was foolish, but she was trying to match her avatar to her real appearance as closely as possible. Soon her avatar was complete.

Her father was amazed. “I didn’t mean it literally,” he said. “The game is fun, but the thought of my sweet daughter in with all those sex perverts—”

“We need the money,” she said. “It’s not real, only avatars.” That ended the discussion because he could not deny any of it. All he could do was shut up and let her try.

She had entered the game, and was learning how to play it on the job, as it were. She was a quick study, but she had never studied sex, so it was a challenge. Pedro had been an enormous help, which she really appreciated.

Now she had to find other men to mate with, soon and often. But here too, Pedro had helped prepare her. She assessed the situation, saw that privacy was going to be the big hurdle, and probably safety too. There was a lake with islands that looked private, but there were monsters in the water that interfered with crossing. She saw Pedro organize a boat, but she was no good at that sort of thing.

She spied a man with a trait she very much wanted: Intelligence, and a recessive of empathy, which was fine too. But she wasn’t sure she could just go up to him and ask him. She was a bit shy, and he was an imposing Nordic.

Unless she could draw on the traits she had acquired from Pedro. Magic and Arts.

She quickly drew on the magic of illusion, because that was what she had practiced. She used it to enhance her form, so that she looked twice as shapely and sexy as she had any right to be. Then she tried to use the Art of Dance. She bounced her hips. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

She approached the man, who stood slightly apart gazing at the throng around the boats. “Excuse me, sir,” she said.

He turned, and she saw that his name was Norris. “Yes?”

“Have you—do you want to—exchange?”

“There’s no privacy,” he said shortly.

“There’s a pavilion up the hill.”

“I saw it. It would take too much time to get there.”

“Maybe we could use a shortcut?”

“Too dangerous. There are monsters in these woods.”

This wasn’t going well. She applied her illusion, making herself look sexy, and did her little dance. Pedro had said this would help. “Maybe there’s a way.”

His pupils expanded as he looked at her. He licked his lips. It was working! Men really could be corralled by their inordinate interest in sex. “What way?”

She thought rapidly. “I—I can do a little magic. Maybe enough to fool a monster.”

“Can you do pyro?”

Pedro had mentioned that. Pyrokinesis. Fire magic. “I can try.” She made another flirt of her hips.

Norris decided. “We’ll try it.”

They went to the edge of the glade. Signs said: BEWARE MONSTERS. That meant there was no protection beyond this point.

“This way.” She strode ahead, making sure her bottom was fully enhanced. Yet again she appreciated Pedro’s advice; she would not have thought of this device on her own. Would it work?

He followed. She did not need telepathy to know his eyes were fixed on her flexing buttocks. Oh, Pedro, she thought. You truly advised me wisely!

It was an open forest, and progress was rapid. There was a roar.

Both of them paused. “What was that?” Fotina asked nervously.

“A dragon,” Norris replied. “Fire should stop it. Get your pyro magic ready.”

Fotina focused on pyro. The dragon appeared. It was a huge winged serpent with legs. It spied them and roared again, clashing its teeth so hard sparks flew.

Sparks? Why should this creature fear fire? Even if it wasn’t a fire-breather, it should not be superstitious about flames.

Norris was getting a similar reservation. “I fear we miscalculated,” he said nervously.

Had she come this far, only to wash out by being eaten by a dragon? Fotina hated the thought, but could not realistically banish it. “We had better retreat,” she said, with about ten times the confidence she felt.

“Or hope we can outrun it,” he agreed.

They turned and started back toward the central glade. And stopped.

Another dragon was barring their escape. It was just as big and scary as the first.

“Magic,” Norris said tersely. “Make fire.”

She decided not to argue. There really wasn’t time. She focused on a clump of dry grass before the second dragon, willing it into flame.

Nothing happened.

“Hurry,” Norris said.

She tried again, with all her force. A tiny wisp of vapor rose from the clump, but no flame. “I don’t have enough heat,” she said. “I guess I haven’t had enough time to practice.”

“Now she tells me,” Norris said, disgusted.

Fotina thought desperately. “Maybe we can climb a tree or something.”

He looked as though he thought that suggestion was too idiotic for words. But then each dragon took a step forward, closing in. She noticed with a background portion of her mind that they were taking measured paces, as if giving the players time to think of something, if they were going to.

They ran to the side, toward the biggest tree nearby. It looked like a huge gnarly oak, with large limbs radiating out in all directions. As they reached it, Fotina saw the lowest limb was out of her reach. She couldn’t climb.

The two dragons converged, then turned almost as one and stalked after the two morsels of prey.

“Get up there!” Norris said. He put his hands on her hips and heaved her up.

Fotina grabbed the branch. For a moment she hung from it. Then she swung her legs up, got one over, and scrambled to the top of the branch.

She looked down just in time to see Norris leap and catch the branch himself. In moments he was on it with her.

The dragons were closing on them, evidently not concerned. “Can dragons climb?” Fotina asked.

“I don’t think so. But their heads can reach this high.” Indeed, the dragons were already lifting their heads, and they were high enough to snatch a morsel or two from the branch.

Fotina noticed other branches twisting out and up, not far above the first. She scrambled along to get within range, then leapt to the next. Norris followed. They were another level up. This branch was smaller, but they were able to wrap their arms and legs about it and hold on securely.

The two dragons' heads could not quite reach this far. They were safe. The dragons did not seem annoyed. What did they know?

There was a squawk from above. “Oh, shit!” Norris said.

“What is it?”

“Raptors.”

“What?”

“Birds of prey. Hawks, probably.”

“Well, this is a tree. They probably live here.”

“We’re the prey.”

Uh-oh. How would they defend themselves, with their arms and legs occupied with holding on to the branch?

The birds appeared, flying down from above. They eyed the people. One dived right at them, screaming, beak open for a bite.

Fotina did something, and the bird sheared off. Surprised, it flew up, circled, and dived again.

And sheered off again.

“What’s going on?” Norris asked.

“Tele—telekinesis,” Fotina said. “More magic. I’m pushing it to the side, just enough.”

“Good show,” Norris said. “But we still have a problem.”

“I’m getting better at it. I think I can hold them off even if more than one dives.”

“That’s excellent. But we can’t go anywhere.”

“Not with the dragons below,” she agreed. “But at least we’re safe.”

“Here is the problem: if we stay here too long, we’ll both wash out of the game, because we won’t get to exchange for traits.”

He was right. They couldn’t win this way.

Fotina scratched her brain again. She got a notion. “I can do only one kind of magic at a time. You watch for the hawks and glare them off. I’ll try to handle the dragons.”

“You do that,” he said dryly.

The two dragons were patiently waiting, side-by-side, for something succulent to fall from the tree. They could afford to be patient; they Weren’t players with a deadline.

She focused her pyrokinesis on the neck of one of the dragons. She made a hot spot.

A wisp of steam curled up. The dragon whipped his head to the side, nipping at the other. It thought the other had nipped it. That was the idea.

The second dragon angrily denied it. After a moment the issue faded, and both dragons oriented on the prey again.

Fotina projected her pyro heat again, at the same place on the same dragon. The steam rose sooner; she was getting better with practice.

This time the dragon was outraged. It turned and chomped its companion on the neck, returning the favor. The other, bitten, reacted as angrily, biting back.

Then it was war. The two dragons went at each other viciously, forgetting the prey.

“Now we can get away,” Fotina said. She scrambled down to the lower branch, dropping to the ground.

Norris followed. “That was clever,” he said. “But their distraction won’t last long.”

“Long enough,” she said. She put her arms around him.

“What are you doing?”

“We have privacy,” she said. “Monsters don’t count as witnesses.” She pulled him close and kissed him. “Get it up.”

“But there is no certainty that they’ll continue fighting,” he protested.

She reached down and took hold of his penis. “Now.”

“This is ridiculous!” But his member was solidifying in her hand. This was private, and they were male and female. That made the sexual response almost automatic.

“The sooner we do it, the sooner we can get away from here,” she said. “Pick me up. Back me up against the tree trunk.”

He obeyed almost unconsciously, still protesting. Now she was high enough against him, with the trunk bracing her and her hands still free. She oriented his hardening penis and stuffed it into her vagina. She made sure of the lodging, then settled down on it, taking it all the way in.

The tip touched her cervix, and the orgasm was upon them both. They stood there, transfixed by its rapture, while the dragons still fought.

It finished. The exchange had been made. “Good show,” she said, and kissed him. Then she dropped off his softening member and was back on the ground.

They skirted the fighting dragons, found the path, and hurried back to the main glade. The dragons finally realized that their quarry was escaping, and broke off their quarrel to pursue. But they were too late; the couple ran across the line and was safe.

“You’re some woman!” Norris said.

“I’m just another player,” she said, remembering Pedro’s advice to keep her profile low. “Just grabbing an opportunity. If you exchange with another woman with magic, you’ll be able to mess up dragons too. Bye.” She moved away, leaving him staring.

It was time to find another man. The problem of privacy was paramount. The uphill pavilion was too far, as Norris had pointed out; it would take half an hour to make the round trip, each time, leaving nothing for locating prospects and exchanging. She needed privacy close by.

She saw others still milling about, similarly balked. She realized that many would be washed out simply because they could not manage to make enough exchanges. Smart ones surely were figuring out ways, as Pedro had. But the boats were all out now, no chance there.

She walked around in circles, pondering. How could she find a close, private spot, that no one else knew of? She got an idea. Could she make one? Out of illusion? Perhaps an opaque pavilion they could enter for the deed, just like a real one? But the moment others saw it, they would converge on it, wanting to use it, and the ruse would quickly be discovered and ruined.

Unless they couldn’t see it. An invisible dome? They would see through it!

Or, maybe not. Suppose it was invisible from outside, opaque from inside? Or simply invisible from both sides? Not transparent, but also not visible. In order for those who looked at it to see nothing, but also not see its contents, —maybe see the illusion of ground.

She worked on it, in a grassy unoccupied alcove of the central glade. A dome that showed the ground below and the trees beyond, but as images, not reality. Invisible because it was decorated with the scenery around it. From its other side it showed the milling players, another illusion image. From no side did it show its real interior.

It took frustrating time, but finally she had it. She stepped through its wall—it was visual, not tactile, illusion—and stood inside. And saw—nothing. Just the surrounding scenery and people. But how could she be sure no one could see her in here?

She exited, went to the edge of the forest, found a large fallen branch with some drying leaves, and dragged it into the dome. Then she stood outside and looked. She saw nothing. It worked.

She dragged out the branch, and smoothed out the turf. She had her private place. Now all she needed was a man.

She returned to the group and surveyed prospects. The one who appealed most was a Nubian man labeled LUCK/integrity. Luck struck her as an extremely valuable trait. Integrity—there was surely little market for that, in a game where lying and cheating were considered tools to get ahead. Still, he would surely have had a lot of business, if only there had been privacy for it.

She approached him. He was Oliver, a handsome man of his species. “Would you like to exchange?” she inquired coyly. She could not enhance her appearance, because all her magic was focused on maintaining the invisible dome, but her Arts trait was available, enabling her to move her body in an interesting manner.

“I have promised my first exchange to Clover,” he said. “But we have no privacy.” He indicated a nearby woman, a lovely Faerie with flowing green hair, labeled INTEGRITY/magic.

Fotina already had magic, but duplication for the sake of acquiring a new trait could be tolerated. Not that she could exchange with a woman anyway. “If I find privacy, so you can exchange with her, will you exchange with me next?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me, the two of you.”

They accompanied her without question. It wasn’t as if they had anything else to do.

She led them to the dome. “I have an invisible dome,” she said. “I have crafted it by magic. I must demonstrate it so you can believe me. Stand here and watch.” She stepped inside.

She heard their muted exclamations. She had disappeared. But she could see them. It didn’t matter, as long as what was inside could not be seen from outside.

She stepped outside, reappearing. “Now you go,” she told Clover. “Just take three steps forward and you’ll be in.”

Clover stepped forward. Her feet, legs, and torso disappeared as she crossed the slanting wall of the dome. Finally her head went too. “That is amazing,” Oliver breathed. “I didn’t quite believe it when you did it, but I know she has no magic, no illusion.”

Soon Clover reappeared. “Did it work? I saw you standing there.”

“It worked,” Oliver said. “Let me try it.” He walked in, disappearing in stages. In a moment he reemerged. “I am satisfied. I will make your deal.”

“Take Clover in,” Fotina said. “Meanwhile I will quest for another man to do both Clover and me, while you recover.”

“We can see out!” Clover protested. “That’s not private.”

“Yes it is, dear,” Oliver said. “Outsiders don’t have to be private, just insiders. If That’s not so, it won’t work. We can verify its legitimacy by game rules by trying it.”

Clover nodded, agreeing. They disappeared into the dome.

Fotina returned to the group, checking the men. She found one labeled COURAGE/integrity. That would give her one trait and fill out another. She approached him. He was a Mongol, named Brand.

“Would you like to exchange?” she murmured when she got his attention.

“Yes, of course. But—”

“I have a private place.”

“Say no more.” He followed her to the dome. Others watched them go, but ignored them; there was only the glade, the dangerous lake, and the unsafe forest. What could they do?

“It is an invisible dome I crafted with magic,” Fotina explained as they walked. “You can see out from within, but not in from outside. So it is private.”

“If others outside know we’re there, it’s not private.”

“When using a pavilion, others know a couple is inside, but can’t see the people, so it is private. This is the same.”

“Ah. Good point.”

They reached the dome. Oliver and Clover had finished and now stood outside. “I have brought a man for you, Clover,” Fotina said. “After I exchange with Oliver. Then I will exchange with Brand. Then we will seek others.”

They went through the demonstration routine for Brand, who was soon satisfied. Fotina took Oliver inside.

“I am not ready yet,” he said.

“That’s all right. We can take it slowly.” She lay beside him and stroked his body.

“You seem amorous.”

“I want to exchange as soon as possible, so I am trying to work you up. You may kiss my breasts if you like.”

“I like your attitude. Such interaction is fun even if I can’t yet do the act.” He put his face to her bosom and kissed her breasts.

“It is a game of sex,” she said, enjoying his attention. “A romantic element is not excluded.”

Oliver paused. “I love Clover. I know her from the real world, and we agreed to meet in the game, because our love is not feasible there. More need not be said.”

Illicit love, using the game as cover? Why not, if they could arrange it. “I understand. I love another player too. But I will not see him again unless both of us exchange with many others first, so as to qualify for the next round. So with you, the romance is pretense. Yet it can be pleasant.”

“Exactly.” He resumed kissing her breasts.

She reached down and stroked his penis. It began to come alive. Time was passing, and they were stimulating each other; this perhaps would enable a sooner exchange.

Indeed, his penis stiffened in her hand. She lay on him and fed it into her vagina, glad that Pedro had made her understand this aspect. A girl did need to know the mechanics of it. Then she fit herself as snugly to him as she could, taking him in. It was interesting, doing it this way. With Norris in the forest she had jammed it in, because haste was of the essence, but this was much nicer. She felt his member probing deeper, still expanding. She kissed him, making another push of her pelvis against his.

The tip touched her cervix, and the orgasm was upon them. Oh, yes, it was wonderful!

“You are a remarkable woman,” Oliver said.

That was the second such compliment she had received from a man. “I am merely doing what I need to, to get ahead in the game. I wish you and Clover well.”

“Perhaps we shall meet again.”

“In another round,” she agreed. “I hope so.” It occurred to her then there had been no ejaculate. There had not been with the other men either, but she had been too much taken with the novelty of sex when with Pedro, and with the need to flee the dragons with Norris, to notice such a detail. She had not had sex in real life, but she knew that much about it: men actually spurted during their orgasm. Game sex was cleaner. She hoped it wouldn’t spoil her for real-life sex, at such time as she had it.

They got up and stepped out of the dome. “That’s weird, seeing you appear out of seemingly thin air,” Brand remarked. Then he and Clover entered.

Oliver looked slightly pained. “Remember,” Fotina reminded him. “Both of you have to do it often with others, so you can continue in the game, and be there for each other in the next round.”

“It’s true,” he said. “I just wish I could have sex twenty times, all with her alone.”

In due course Brand and Clover emerged. Fotina took Brand’s hand and led him back into the dome. “I know You’re not ready,” she said before he could protest. “But I want to be there the moment you are.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “You went to a lot of trouble to set up the dome, and don’t want to waste it.”

“Let me play with you,” she said as they lay on the turf. “Or if you prefer, you may play with me.”

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” Brand said. “Are you familiar with 69?”

Fotina was blank. “A significant number?”

He smiled. “The numbers are physically the same, looking like each other inverted. People do it like this.” He changed his position, placing his head toward her legs. “Now I will do you while you do me.”

“What can we do this way?”

“This.” He put his face to her groin and licked her vulva. She felt a sudden surge of mild pleasure.

“Oh!” Now she understood. She moved her face to his groin and kissed the tip of his penis.

“You may lick it, suck on it, or take it all the way in,” he said. “Just don’t bite.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t!” she exclaimed.

He laughed. “Humor. Teeth do not exist, with oral sex. Just the lips and tongue and throat.”

“Throat?”

“If it gets in deep enough.”

That set her back. His penis remained mostly flaccid, but seemed like more than she would want to take in that far. However, she did put her mouth around the head, and licked it. She felt it grow another notch.

Meanwhile, Brand was running his tongue into her cleft, and even into her vagina. That was most interesting; she would enjoy having him do that for a long time. But it was when he licked the full length of her channel up to her clitoris that she felt the full impact. It was an almost electric jolt of pleasure. Enough of that, and she might have an orgasm even if his penis wasn’t inside her. Was that possible?

She sucked on his penis, and it got larger. She took more of it into her mouth, pressing her lips against the shaft below the head. The member became quite hard, and she felt a certain throbbing in it, as if it were being pounded from below.

“I think I’m ready, if you are,” Brand said. “Shall we do it?”

“Yes!” she agreed gladly.

They changed the position, and she lay on her back with her legs spread. He got over her, fit his stiff member into her vagina, and thrust all the way into her. She felt the hot rod driving toward her center. Then it struck her cervix.

The orgasm was instant and transporting, as always. She loved it, and she realized she loved everything that led up to it. Sex was fun!

“You are a good partner,” Brand said as it passed. “I would enjoy sex with you even if it didn’t count toward my qualification in the game. Even if there were no orgasm.”

“I like it too,” she confessed.

“Thank you for making this private dome. You made the exchange possible when I had just about given up on progressing in the game.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now we must find other partners to bring here.”

“Yes.”

They got up and exited the dome. Oliver and Clover were gone, but other players were approaching.

“Uh-oh,” Brand said.

“Is something the matter?”

“There may be. Did you warn them not to advertise the dome?”

“Should I have?”

“It’s a place of privacy, and there is a throng of players desperate for that. They are going to quarrel over it, as they did over the boats, and may ruin everything.”

She realized he was right. “What can I do?”

“I fear you will have to abolish it before a fight breaks out.”

“But then no one could use it,” she protested.

“It is a problem,” he agreed grimly.

“I’ll ask them to take fair turns,” she decided.

“Lotsa luck.”

The vanguard of the group was upon them. “Where’s this invisible dome?” a player demanded.

“If you will arrange to take fair turns, I will—”

“Forget that! We need it now.”

“It isn’t yours to decide,” she protested.

“Get out of our way,” a woman said. “We’re taking it.”

“You can’t—”

The man pushed her roughly aside and strode past her, followed by the others.

“Abolish it,” Brand murmured. “Make a smaller portable one around yourself, an invisibility shield, and get out of here. These freaks are not going to be reasonable.”

She was coming to understand that. She had encountered some nice players; now she was encountering the other kind. She nodded, and let the dome go. Then she reconstructed it around herself, a smaller version.

Brand saw her fade out, and nodded. “Good luck,” he said, carefully not looking in her direction. “And thanks for the two exchanges you enabled for me. And really great sex.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, knowing he could hear her. Then she walked back across the glade, ignoring the angry hubbub behind her as the players searched for a dome that no longer existed.

There were a few players remaining in the central area, seated in groups of two, three, or four, chatting. They were evidently waiting for the round to end, resigned to washing out.

She let her invisibility shield go and approached an individual man. “Why aren’t you looking for the invisible dome?” she asked him, certain that these folk now knew of it.

He looked at her. He was an Elf, APPEARANCE/health, named Dylan. “Fotina, we feel it is not right to take such advantage of you. Those of us with magic should be able to do something similar for ourselves. You should be allowed the advantage of your innovation.”

She liked that answer. “I will make a shield here. Exchange with me.”

“Gladly, if that is your choice.”

She formed the shield around them. “Now no one can see us,” she said. “But they can hear us, so speak softly.”

Dylan looked around. “Are you sure? I see them.”

“Step out, look, then step back in here,” she said. “You won’t see me.”

He did as she directed, and returned. “You’re right; you are invisible, and I presume I am too.”

“Yes. Now we can exchange in privacy.”

He hesitated. “I accept intellectually that we are private. But emotionally I feel exposed. And it seems my emotion governs my physical reaction.” He glanced down meaningfully at his limp penis.

“May I?” she asked, reaching for his member.

“Be my guest,” he said, smiling. “If you can rouse it, you can have it.”

She took the penis and gently massaged it. It did not respond. She put her mouth to it, licking the head. Still no response. She took it into her mouth, applying what she had so recently learned from Brand. She sucked. Now it responded, expanding slightly. “See,” she said.

“Nevertheless, I fear it’s a lost cause.”

She returned to her effort, taking it in farther. She sucked harder. She was rewarded by further enlargement, though it remained soft. She continued, and it continued, slowly achieving a more respectable stature.

“I fear it will fade the moment you stop the immediate stimulus,” Dylan said. “It is only your persistent attention that makes it respond.”

She feared he was correct, because the moment she paused, it did lose firmness. She increased her suction, trying to get it hard enough to last the few seconds that would be required to get it into her vagina.

The extra attention was effective, and the member became respectably firm. She made one final effort, thrusting her mouth down all the way to the base of it. She was taking the whole of it in!

The head of it came up against her uvula at the back of her mouth, touching her throat. And suddenly she was in orgasm.

What? How could this be? Yet she could tell by the pulsing of the member and the rigidity of Dylan’s body that he was sharing it. Actually, that might not be surprising, because it was his penis being stimulated. But she—how could she get her orgasm when there was no contact with her cervix?

“Your uvula!” Dilan gasped while in the throes of it. “Another contact point! The game allows oral sex to culmination too!”

More than one trigger. That did make sense. Why have oral sex if it was a dead end? So, to their mutual surprise, she had brought them to a mutual climax.

The orgasm ran its course and faded, and they both relaxed. Fotina realized that she had made a significant discovery. Just as there were a number of places and ways to find privacy, there was more than one way to achieve an orgasm. All a player had to do was be inventive enough to discover the different routes.

She was pretty sure that she could survive this round.

Chapter 2:
Maiden Heaven

Pedro found himself standing on a road leading to a fancily moated castle. It was beautiful, built on a small rocky mountain on an island in the water, with a solid outer wall, and a higher inner wall, and lofty turrets in the center. A flag flew from it with the words MAIDEN CASTLE. It was his challenge to invade that castle and reach the highest turret, where the Queen resided, and forcibly seduce her. The term “rape” was not employed in the Game, because all women were either competitive player avatars or animated androids. But there would not be the voluntary kind of sex here that existed in the first round. He would have to fight, literally, for sex, and only through sex would he prevail.

He was equipped. He was now a handsome, muscular, healthy, naked warrior, possessing all the avatar traits he had exchanged for in the first round. Could he employ them all? He glanced at the ground, focusing. A small smiley face formed there, magic illusion. Good enough. But he knew that using magic would be only part of what he needed to win, and with a limit of one type of magic at a time, he would be foolish to depend on it too heavily. He would be better off depending on Luck, since that was a real factor here, and could help him in unanticipated ways. And, of course, his muscle, charm, and wits.

He advanced on the castle. He saw the serpentine head of a large moat monster lift from the water. There would be no swimming across. There was a drawbridge. It was raised. There was a small structure beside the road where a female guard stood. Obviously he would have to deal with her to get the bridge lowered.

She stepped out as he arrived. She was a large, muscular woman with flowing black hair and huge breasts. “Begone, stranger,” she said. “Thou shalt not enter these demesnes.”

That confirmed the archaic fantasy nature of this setting. Language was always a tip-off. “Ah, but I insist,” Pedro said.

“Then needs I must slay thee, thou presumptuous impostor.” She raised her hands in a wrestling stance. She had no other weapon.

There was something about her. “Ailene!” he said, reading her name tag. “You made it through?”

She grimaced. “Nay. I got eliminated. Couldn’t quite manage enough exchanges. But I scored well enough to continue as an opposition avatar, and That’s worth something. I’ll get a point when I stop thee.” She glanced down at herself. “Nice body, no?”

“Magnificent,” he agreed.

“Well, let’s get to it. We be opponents now, and I won’t give thee anything free. Thou needs must take it by force.”

“If I understand correctly, I will have to have sex with you, and you won’t cooperate.”

“Thou hast it correct,” she agreed.

“This time it will be no joke when you rebuff my patting your bottom.”

“No joke,” she agreed. “I have to confess thou wert a good guy. Thou helped us all get ahead. If I had it to do over, I’d give thee all the bottom thou wantst. But I still had some real-life scruples. I be sorry. Had I been more lenient, I might have gotten the one more exchange I needed to qualify for this round.”

That moved Pedro, oddly. “I’m sorry you didn’t make it, too. You facilitated our exchange, and I appreciate it.” He paused, assessing her pale Nordic beauty. Her breasts were giant wonders, her thighs were massive, her waist small. She was truly of hourglass configuration. Her flaring long hair coursed down across her shoulders to form a partial yellow cloak about her upper section, teasingly enhancing it. Obviously she had acquired Appearance, and probably Health. “I have a foolish idea. Will you let me pat your lovely bottom now, no Game advantage intended, before we get down to business?”

She considered fleetingly. “Yes. May I kiss thee when thou dost so?”

“Agreed.”

He took her in his arms, pressing her close so that those marvelous breasts flattened against his chest, and kissed her. He dropped his hands to her bottom, giving it a good pat and feel. It was delightful.

She did the same, taking two handfuls of his buttocks and massaging them. She shifted her body slightly, so that her breasts stroked against him. He had been flaccid, considering their dialogue public, but this made him react. His penis swelled.

She let go and stepped back. “Penetration wasn’t included, in our spot deal,” she said.

“I know. You just—You’re a sexy creature.”

“Thank thee. It be a nice smooch. Now we had better get serious. Thou dost not have all day.”

“I don’t,” he agreed. “I appreciate that you did not try to harm me when my guard was down.”

“Was it down?” she asked, glancing at his now-standing member.

He laughed at the double entendre. “No. I had a magic guard against sneak attack, just in case. I’m glad I didn’t have to use it.”

“Sneak attacks be not permitted in this round. Amazons lie not.” She smiled at the second double meaning. “Combat be open and straightforward. No sucker punches, no biting, just regular boxing and wrestling. But trust that not, once we engage. I just wanted to apologize for my prior attitude, in my fashion.”

“Accepted.” He took a breath. His member remained standing; evidently there was not the same privacy rule here. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

He jumped forward, catching her wrists in his hands. She was an Amazon, but he was a trait-enhanced man, as strong as she. What mattered was which one of them made better use of the traits, in combat.

She brought up her knee, but he was already turning to block the blow. He pushed her back, hooking her standing leg, so that she had to fall on the turf. She landed with a whomp, he on top, his groin pressing against hers inside her lifted leg. He kissed her mouth.

She went limp. “Damn,” she said.

“What happened?”

“Thou hast first to disable us, then spread our legs, then penetrate to our turnoff switch. Each one be different. Mine be the kiss during combat. Thou hast disabled my fighting ability.”

As she had said, Amazons did not lie. He had, pretty much by chance, accomplished the first part of a three-part challenge. Probably this first opponent was easy, to acquaint him with the system; others would not be.

“What’s next?” he asked.

She laughed. “I told thee: spread my legs. Thou canst not get into me otherwise. Naturally I will not tell thee how.”

“They are spread.” He realized as he said it that she had lowered her knee, straightened her leg, and gone rigid from the waist down. Her limpness was selective.

He got off her and addressed her legs, which were now locked together. He put his hands on her knees to pry them apart, but they were like knobs on logs, immovable. He tried her feet, but they would not separate either. He tried bracing one of his feet against one of hers, and hauling on the other with both hands, with no success. He had disabled her combat mode, but not her resistance. Her legs were beyond his strength.

He put one hand to her crotch and tried to slide a finger into her vagina. He could not reach it; it was secure between her legs. He rolled her over and tried from behind, poking between her generous buttocks. He could reach only as far as her rectum, which did not exist; avatars did not need to eat or eliminate. Her hole remained secure. There might have been some give in a real woman, but this was an avatar, crafted to perform exactly as designed.

He turned her back over, lay on her and kissed her again. She kissed him back appreciatively, but her legs did not loosen. “I’d let thee if I could, Pedro,” she said. “I like thee. But I can oblige thee not.”

He considered. If an ordinary kiss accomplished one part of it, some other regular act of love or sex should accomplish another part of it. He kissed her breasts. They were wonderfully plush, but her legs remained locked.

Then he kissed her left nipple, and sucked on it. It expanded—and her legs parted. He had found the second key!

“Congratulations,” she murmured. “I’m rooting for thee, really I am, but I have not yet begun to fight.”

He got on her and poked his stiff penis cautiously into her vagina. All he had to do now was penetrate deep enough to reach her cervix-switch, and she would be defeated. Why did she think he could not do that?

Her vagina contracted, closing tightly about his half-embedded member. He pushed harder, but so did she, and the pressure was such that his penis got squeezed out. Her channel was thoroughly lubricated and completely slippery, which in this case, prevented him from staying in or achieving any depth. It was like squeezing a slippery pumpkin seed between thumb and finger: it soon popped out.

His member was stiff and ready. There was an avenue there, and he meant to forge into it. He reentered and pressed forward with all the weight of his body, and penetrated farther.

Ailene came alive. She wrapped her arms and legs about him, lifted her head, and kissed him passionately. That excited him, and he felt the first stirring of his climax.

“If thou dost get thy orgasm before thou reacheth my internal switch, thou dost lose,” she murmured, kissing him again. “I will, of course, encourage thee to do that.” Her vagina squeezed rhythmically.

Oops! If he let it proceed, encouraged by her tight avenue, he would indeed climax. But if he withdrew, he would have to start over again. What could he do?

There must be a third trigger he could employ, if he could find it in time. What could it be?

The kiss and been the first. The nipple the second. Maybe the third would be farther down.

He rolled them both over so that she lay on top of him. He put his hands on her bottom to knead her buttocks again. Nothing happened. He pushed a finger down to find where his rod connected to her hole. That excited him more, but not her. He reached farther, to his limit, finding her clitoris. Still nothing. The switch was not there.

He lifted his hands and used the tips of his fingers, delicately tickling her bottom. Some women were excruciatingly ticklish there.

She burst out laughing. Her belly jerked, and her breasts lifted and dropped back against him. And her vagina relaxed.

He shoved the rest of the way in and found her cervix. He jammed against the switch.

They were both in the orgasm. She kissed him madly as the thirty second siege passed. She did, indeed, seem pleased that he had succeeded.

As the mutual climax faded, they both relaxed. There was a sound. “What’s that?” he asked, fearing an attack.

“The drawbridge,” she replied. “Thou defeatest me, and what I guard is no longer a barrier to thee. Good job, Pedro.” She kissed him once more. “Congratulations, again, warrior.”

They separated and got back to their feet. Sure enough, the drawbridge was descending. He would be allowed across the moat to the castle, where more challenges surely awaited.

“Thanks. It was nice,” he said.

“Good luck.” She resumed her stance by the guard tower.

Pedro’s penis had subsided when he had the orgasm with Ailene. Now it rose again. Evidently the fifteen minute recovery rule did not apply in this round; he could have sex as rapidly as he could get new partners for it.

He walked across the bridge. At the other end another Amazon barred his way. He did not recognize this one; she must have been among those remaining on the mainland, most of whom were eliminated. He hoped Fotina wasn’t among them.

“Halt, stranger!” the Amazon called. She was Nubian, black from head to toe, statuesque, with a name tag saying: DEMI. “Thou shalt not penetrate here without settling with me.” More double meanings; the Game programmers, evidently, had a wry sense of humor.

Pedro didn’t halt. He leaped forward, catching her about the waist in a tackle, bearing her down to the pavement. He pinned her and quickly kissed her.

She grabbed his hair with one hand and yanked his head back. She knocked his shoulder with her free hand, pushing him over. She rolled and landed on top of him, upright, her knees pinning his elbows down. She smacked him across the face, snarling.

Obviously she had not been pacified.

Pedro jerked his upper section up so that her knees slid off. He slid partly out from under her, still lifting his head and shoulders. His face smacked into her ample bosom. He caught one nipple in his mouth and sucked vigorously on it.

She caught his head again and hauled it back down to the pavement. Again, she had not been disabled. She worked herself forward so she could use her knees to pin him down again. Her thighs were parted, her vulva not far above his face.

Pedro concentrated on the character trait of Luck. He needed some now. Would it help?

He lifted one arm and jammed three fingers into her exposed vagina. They penetrated two knuckles deep before the hole tightened reflexively to halt them.

Demi looked surprised. “Oh, shit!” Then she went limp.

He had found the first trigger! His Luck had helped. He knew better than to depend on it again; Luck was notoriously fickle.

Pedro guided her down on her back. Her legs straightened and locked together before he could get between them. He would not be able to get into her until he found the second trigger.

He kissed her mouth again, just in case. Nothing. He kissed both breasts, and sucked on each nipple. Nothing. He turned her over and tickled her bottom. Nothing. He could not get into her genital region at all. What else was there?

The triggers seemed to be things that normally turned women on. What had he not yet tried?

He doubted it would work, but he lay on top of her, his hard penis against her belly. He kissed her again. “You are beautiful,” he whispered.

Her legs spread. He had found another trigger.

“Thou didst get lucky,” she muttered, disgusted.

He got over her, and nudged into her vagina. It was slick but almost impenetrably tight. He would trigger his own premature orgasm before he got to operative depth. He needed the third trigger.

He kissed her mouth again. No reaction. He kissed her breasts. Nothing. He kissed her belly button. She made no reaction. Nothing was working.

Unless...

He got on her again, and put his member to her vagina. He pushed in, and it went. That hole had softened! One of his actions must have done it, but it hadn’t shown externally, and she had not been obliged to tell him. What an irony, if he won the ability to get into her, and lost by default because he didn’t know!

“Damn,” she said as he slid on into the deeps.

“It’s the breaks of the game.” He kept moving, wary of any possible contraction on her part that might set him off early. She remained passive, resigned or disabled.

He thrust to the innermost chamber. He touched the trigger point.

“Thou utter, undeserving shit!” Demi gasped in his ear as she clasped him and kissed him, caught in the divine throes of the orgasm. “I've thrown away better men than thee!”

“I love you, too,” he gasped back. “You’re one great piece of ass.”

Then, at last, she smiled. “Fotina sends her regards.”

He stared at her, astonished, as the orgasm faded. “You know her?”

“Briefly, in the first round. We exchanged with two men. But she had more credits than I did, and I think made it through.”

“That’s great!”

“She loves thee, thou knowest.”

He got off her. “Why do you hate me, then?”

“Because I don’t think thou lovest her back. Thou willst break her heart. She deserves it not.”

“She’s not here?” he asked. “I won’t have to fight her?”

“That’s right. Be thou relieved or annoyed?”

“Relieved. I can’t say I love her, but I do like her, and know she needs the money if she can win.”

“She does.”

“I don’t know if You’re my friend or enemy, but thanks for telling me. If I don’t win, I hope she does.”

Demi nodded. “I think I be not thy enemy any more.” She squeezed his hand, reassuringly. “Go on about thy business.”

He hesitated. “I—I asked Ailene to let me kiss her and feel her, and she did. Would you—”

She stepped into him, smiling. He kissed her again, and this time she kissed him back with feeling. He stroked her bottom, and his penis twitched.

“Maybe when the Game be done,” she murmured, reaching down to give it a gentle tweak. “I understand all the avatars get together, before they exit the Game, and sex be not competitive. It be just for fun.”

“I’d like that,” he agreed, giving her bottom a final pat.

Then he faced the castle, ready for the next challenge.

There was a portcullis, and an Amazon guard beside it. This one was a little winged Faerie, but he did not let that fool him. She was also a warrior, dedicated to his defeat. Her name tag said: FLORA.

That was an F name, the same as Fotina. There were a few duplicate letters. Not that it mattered.

“Come to me, Flora,” he said, grabbing for her.

She flew straight up, eluding him. “Forget it, mush for brains.”

He looked up. She was now hovering above him, vertically, her legs parted so that he could see right into her bare crotch. She was probably teasing him, just to be difficult. It was effective; he very much wanted to get into that cute groove. His penis was already standing tall.

He jumped, reaching up to catch her by one ankle. He hauled her down, hand over hand, while she fluttered desperately, trying to get up and away.

When he reached her juncture, he put his face in it and kissed her vulva. She continued to struggle, wrapping her legs about his head and squeezing his ears. He tickled her bottom. She exclaimed and released him. He brought her down further, and kissed her breasts. That wasn’t effective either. She caught his head with her two hands and pressed it into her bosom, trying to smother him. He tickled the sides of her breasts, and she squealed and let go again. Finally, he reached her face, and kissed it. She fastened her mouth on his and started sucking the air out of him. It was magic, and effective because of its surprise. In a moment he invoked his magic protection. It wedged her face out from his face, and he could breathe again.

“Thou canst beat me anyway not,” she said. “I’ll show thee.” She lifted herself just enough, oriented, and settled her cleft down on his standing member. She took it in.

Was she giving up that easily? He did not trust this. But it would be foolish not to follow through, in case it was a bluff to make him withdraw and forfeit.

He thrust boldly, achieving full depth. Somehow, he missed the cervix. He pulled back, and thrust again, holding her in place with his hands on her slender, yet nicely padded hips. He thrust a third time, as hard and deep as he could, and still did not find her trigger. She was small; how deep could she be?

“Give up?” she asked. “I told thee thou couldst plumb me not, thou stupid man.”

He tried again, withdrawing almost completely, then thrusting with all his force. His member went straight through to the bottom of the hole—and out beyond.

What? Belatedly, Pedro got smart. He invoked his illusion magic, not to fashion illusion, but to dispel it. He focused on where his penis entered her body.

It wasn’t in her vagina. It was sliding up between her buttocks, which were surrounding it and closing tightly on it. She had made it seem as if he were penetrating one part of her, when actually he was angling away from it.

“No matter how deep thou pushest, thou canst get there not,” she said smugly.

She didn’t realize that he had fathomed her ruse. “I’ll just have to keep trying,” he said grimly.

He thrust again, withdrew again, and this time pulled all the way out and slid forward to her true cleft. He found her vagina, lodged, and jammed in.

“Wretch!” she shrieked in outrage. “Thou canst go there not!”

“I can try.” He held her firmly and pushed slowly upward.

It was not to be that easy. Her vagina closed in the manner the others had, barring his progress. He was in deep enough for her to clench on his member, forcing it to react. Much more of this, and she would force his premature climax.

He had to find the loosening trigger. What could it be?

“Thou canst win anyway not,” she said. “Thou be man enough not.”

She was a very pretty Faerie, but she was annoying him. He thrust again, but only succeeded in stimulating himself further.

He held her in place against him, and kissed her mouth. That wasn’t it. He lowered his head and kissed her breasts. No luck. He tickled her bottom. She squealed, ticklish, but her vagina did not relax.

What could trigger a Faerie? He had exchanged with one in the first round, but she had been perfectly ordinary except for her wings, which had not been functional because she had, at that point, lacked the magic to make them work. They had nevertheless been sensitive, and she had insisted on being on top, so they would not get crushed against the ground. That seemed reasonable. He might push Flora down on the ground, and make her hurt, but what would be the point? He didn’t want to hurt her, but to trigger her orgasm.

Her wings fluttered futilely, their fringes sometimes touching his head as they moved. These were functional, as she had demonstrated, but they were for flying, not sex.

Or were they?

He let go of her hips, pressing her against the bars of the portcullis to keep her in place. He reached around her to catch her wings, pulling them forward.

“Hey!” she screeched. “What be thou doing, thou pervert?”

He brought the tips of her wings to his face. He kissed their white feathers.

“Oh!” she cried despairingly as her vagina relaxed.

He thrust on in and made the connection. The orgasm was upon them. He held her close while they experienced the intensity of it, he standing, she supported by his hands and embedded penis.

“What betrayed me?” she asked as it passed.

“You depended on sight illusion rather than tactile illusion. I felt my tip project beyond your ass cheeks. I knew you couldn’t have a second opening to your vagina. So I used my magic to penetrate your visual illusion and confirmed it. As for the wings—I guessed. Nothing else was working.”

“Well, thou didst win,” she agreed, resigned.

There was a rumbling as the portcullis lifted, granting him access to the castle proper.

He lifted her off his slackening member and set her on her feet. “Would you let me kiss you and feel you, before I go?”

“Why? We be done here.”

“This is a game. I like to think that we’re competitors, not enemies. That we can part friends, or at least people who might like to interact socially if we had the chance. You’re a pretty creature, and I’m an appreciative man.”

She cocked her head, considering. “Do I get to do it to thee too?”

“Yes, if you wish.”

She spread her wings, flapped, and hovered before him. She glided forward, extended her face, and kissed him. He stroked her behind. She reached around to stroke his. It was a very nice kiss.

“Thank you,” he said as she drew away.

“Thou be an odd one,” she said as she flew up and away.

Pedro walked through the gateway. The portcullis clanked down behind him. It seemed he was committed to this avenue.

The passage led to a central courtyard with a fountain. The pool filled the chamber. The only way forward was to wade though it. There did not seem to be any vicious fish or reptiles in the water.

He walked into the pool. The floor angled down steeply. Soonhe was waist deep, then chest deep. Then he had to swim. That was no problem, as long as there were no water monsters.

A shape loomed before him. He paused, treading water. It was a girl with the tail of a fish. A mermaid!

“Thou mayst pass not,” she said. Her name tag said: MELA.

He had not expected this. An Amazon mermaid!

“Before thou dost ask, I will answer,” she said. “I be named after a fantasy mermaid in some cheap novel.”

That had not been his question, though perhaps it should have been. What actually came out of his mouth was pretty stupid. “How can you spread your legs, when you have none?”

She laughed, and her breasts splashed in the surface. “I spread them not. I bend over so thou canst have at me from behind. But I will do it not unless thou dost find the key to make me.”

“I didn’t see a mermaid avatar in the listing.”

“It be a special role for this setting. I was an Elf in the first round.”

“Do we have to fight in the water? I don’t know how long I can hold my breath.”

“This be a Game setting. Thou canst breathe under the water. Try it.”

He put his face down and sucked in some water, expecting to gag. It didn’t happen. He was able to breathe, despite the feeling of the water against his face. “Okay,” he said, relieved.

“This bit thou dost with the girls: before or after?”

Apparently, word was spreading. That meant the Amazons were in communication with each other. “Before, if you wish.”

She twitched her tail and was abruptly up against him. She kissed him. He reached around her to cup her upper tail, and found nice buttocks. He wasn’t sure whether they were illusion, or the tail was, but concluded that it didn’t matter.

“Thank you,” he said.

“This distinguishes thee from the other men,” she said. “They seem to want any personal relationship not, just the sex.”

“Well, sex is what it takes to win.”

She put a finger against his lips reprovingly. “There be a difference. Thou dost care about people. Even opponents.”

“It’s one of my many weaknesses.”

“It becomes thee. There must be a woman in thy ancestry.”

He laughed. “You have found me out!”

“We had better get started,” she said regretfully. “Now we be opponents.”

“We are,” he agreed. He grabbed for her, but she flicked her tail and swam away. He pursued, swimming so that the center of the pool was behind him. She swam to the side. He moved to intercept her. She reversed, and so did he. Gradually he herded her toward an alcove at the edge of the pool, so that she had no further room to escape. He could not help noticing how slender yet shapely her upper body was, how her hair flared out even when wet, and how efficiently her tail moved her. She was a pretty thing, regardless of species.

At last she faced him, her back to the rim. “Thou be not as dull as thou lookest,” she said.

“I certainly hope not!”

She laughed, and her wet breasts bounced enticingly. They were not large, but were perfectly shaped. “Actually, thou be one handsome man, even if thou dost lack a tail.”

It was the magic of the avatar form, won in the first round. Of course she knew that. He closed on her, and this time she did not try to escape. He put his hands on her narrow waist, drew her in, and kissed her mouth. “You did not turn your face aside,” he said.

“None of us do,” she said. “When thou dost go for a kiss, we have to meet it. It be a rule of engagement.”

He realized that was true. The other Amazons had resisted him, but never foiled a direct kiss. “But you don’t have to let me catch you?”

“There needest be some challenge.”

The kiss on the mouth had not immobilized her, and he knew he would not be able to hold her lithe slippery body in position until he pacified her. He lifted her half out of the water and kissed her breasts.

“Oh, do that when we meet in off-time,” she said. “It really turns me on.”

Which was her way of saying that he had not turned her off, which was the state he needed her in. She was sprightly and pleasant, but she was indeed opposing him.

He held her close and slid his hands down to her bottom. He probed between the cheeks of her buttocks. She did have a crevice there, but he could not reach her vulva. He tickled her buttocks, but she did not react. Still, there might be a trigger. He turned her around, lifted her again, and put his face to her bottom. He kissed the crevice, as far in as her could reach.

“That, too,” she said. “Thou must be some lover in real life!”

He had tried her three most female aspects without success. What remained?

Then he remembered the Faerie’s wings. He dropped down under the water, caught the tip of Mela’s tail, and kissed it.

She went limp. He had found it!

“Oh, well,” she said as he surfaced.

“You’re some piece of tail.”

“Thank thee. Thou hadst better lay me on the floor, because I can swim not well enough now to stay afloat, and I do need to breathe.”

Lay her on the floor. A double meaning?

The pool was shallow here. He stood about chest deep and took hold of her again. He lifted her out of the water and set her down on the rim, then all the way back until she lay on the floor. She was just as shapely that way as when she was swimming.

He joined her on the floor. He needed her bent over, so he could get access to her vulva. The trigger could be anything he had tried before, or something else.

He kissed her mouth again. She returned the kiss, but did not bend. He kissed her breasts again. She inhaled, expanding them against his face, but did not bend. He turned her over and kissed her bottom. No luck.

So it wasn’t mouth contact. He lay behind her and put his penis to her bottom. He couldn’t enter, but could rub it against her flesh. When that failed, he slid up and put it to her face. She took it into her mouth and sucked on it but that wasn’t the trigger either. He moved again and pressed it to her tail. Nothing. He was running out of options.

Frustrated, he touched his penis to her breasts. He gently squeezed them against it, it disappeared within the forming cleavage. She abruptly bent her tail forward. “I thought thou wouldst get there never,” she said.

Aha! He lay behind her and guided his member into her exposed vagina. It tightened to the point of obstruction. He could not penetrate far enough. He still had one trigger to go.

He stroked her breasts with his free hand. They were wonderfully evocative, but her vagina did not relent. He lifted his head and kissed her ear. “Oh, that be so romantic!” she breathed. Still tight.

What remained except words? “I love you,” he whispered in her ear. It was a standard ploy, in or out of the game, not meant to be taken seriously.

Her vagina relaxed.

He drove in, connected, and they were in the throes of the orgasm. He had passed another hurdle.

They ebbed. “I dare thee to repeat those words outside the contest,” Mela said.

“You know I can’t. If I truly love anyone in the game, it’s Fotina.”

“That will do.” She turned her face and kissed him passionately. “She be worth thy while.”

“Surely so,” he agreed as his penis emerged. Why were the Amazons so interested in his possible romance with Fotina?

“It’s that we love romance,” she said, fathoming his thought. “You two seem well matched, even if thou be the oldest man in the game and she, the youngest woman.” She slid back into the water.

“We are?” he asked, surprised. “I’m 29.”

“Which be the upper limit. She be just 18. Thou didst not know?”

“I didn’t, though I suppose I should have. I knew she was inexperienced.”

“But she’s smart and a natural player. The way she uses her magic—” She broke off. “Hmm, I be saying too much. Thou hast to get on to thy next rendezvous.”

“I do,” he agreed. “You know, I do like you, from what little I know of you. Will you kiss me again?”

“What, again?” she asked as if shocked. She was teasing. She moved to the edge and lifted her face as he put his down, and they kissed. “Good luck, Pedro.”

“Thanks.” He stood, turned about, and walked on into the castle.

The passage led to a grand stone stairway. He mounted it, and came to a nicely furnished chamber.

“Well, now,” a voice said.

“Fresh meat,” another said.

They were two Amazons, Nordic and Moor, named Essie and Gina. One was a statuesque blonde, the other a sultry dark haired creature. Both were large, lovely, and predatory.

“Two at once?” he asked, dismayed.

“So it seems,” Essie said, advancing on him from the right side. “Hast thou not had enough of faeries and mermaids?”

“What did thou expect?” Gina asked, advancing on the left. “Continued easy challenges?”

Pedro didn’t like this. He started to turn, but Essie grabbed him by the shoulders and held his back firmly against her breasts. Gina stepped into him, flattening her own breasts against his chest, and kissed him. Sandwiched between them, he couldn’t help reacting. How could he take on two Amazons simultaneously?

“Relax and enjoy it,” Essie said.

Gina withdrew slightly and took hold of his rising penis. “What do we have here?” she asked.

“Didst thou find something?” Essie asked. “Fancy that.”

“I wonder what it’s for?” Gina asked rhetorically.

“Play with it,” Essie suggested. “Make it speak.”

“Good idea.” Gina massaged his member with knowledgeable authority, and it became fully hard. She dropped to her knees and put her mouth to it. She licked the head tantalizingly, then took it in and sucked on it.

They were going to make him spout before he ever had a chance to tackle them!

Pedro heaved forward, bringing Essie to her toes, then shoved back, pushing her against the wall. Her grip on him slackened. He caught Gina’s head and hauled it off his penis. Then he turned around, pinned Essie against the wall, and jammed his member at her crotch.

The ploy failed. Her legs were straight. He could not get between them.

Meanwhile Gina tackled him from behind, shoving him into Essie. She reached between his legs from behind and caught his penis again, while Essie held him tight against her.

“Put him in me,” Essie said, now spreading her legs voluntarily. “Give him a taste of heaven.”

Gina pushed the penis into Essie’s cleft, and on into her vagina, which was tight. Gina shoved him so that he drove in part way, and shoved him again. His member wedged in farther. The vagina loosened just enough to let him in farther, then clamped on him. Much more of this, and he would spout involuntarily. Which, of course, was their intention. They were trying to rape him.

He put his hands on Essie’s breasts, not to caress them, but to push them away. He tore his penis out of her possessive vagina. He twisted so that Gina’s hand lost purchase on his member. He was free, for the moment.

It was to be a physical battle! All right. What he needed to do first was immobilize them. Then he could proceed with whatever next step seemed appropriate.

The two of them leaped at him together and bore him backward to the floor. Essie sat on his face, her vulva wetting his nose. Gina took his penis and vigorously massaged it. “Let’s see this thing spout,” she said. She knew what she was doing; his member was responding. He had to get out of this immediately.

Pedro tried to bite Essie’s bottom, but found he could not; that was evidently against the rules. Instead, he extended his tongue and poked it as well as he could into her vagina. That made her lift off him, surprised, and he was able to roll to the side. He drew up his legs, breaking Gina’s hold on his member, and scrambled back to his feet. He knew he was in desperate straits; these Amazons would soon wear him out and do him in, one way or another.

They were coming at him again. He had to recover the initiative.

He caught Gina, turned her to face him, and kissed her mouth. She had to meet him, per the rule he had learned from Mela. But it did not disable her. She reached again for his penis, surely intending to jam it into her at her convenience, not his, while she was able to force it to premature performance.

He ducked his head and kissed one of her breasts, mouthing the nipple. No effect. She pushed him back, trying to gain operating room. He reached around her and thrust a finger into her bottom, finding the slit and the hole. No effect. She threw her arms around him and held him while Essie came back at him from behind.

He dropped to the floor, curled up, and rolled forcefully against their legs. Caught by surprise, they fell in a tangle of limbs, everything showing wide open. He lurched clear and stood for a moment. Regular tactics Weren’t accomplishing much. What else was there? What hadn’t he tried?

Essie got to her feet and came back at him. “I’m going to send thee to hell,” she said grimly.

They had spoken of heaven and hell. Was that significant? Often small hints were important, in the game.

He met her with open arms, clasped her, and whispered, “Bless you!”

She lost volition. She stood there helplessly, then sank to the floor. He had found her key!

Now Gina was coming at him. He caught her and whispered, “Bless you!”

She wrapped her arms about his body and drew his midsection in toward hers.

“Curse you!” he said.

She went limp, and also sank to the floor. He had found her key also.

What now? Both women had been denied their ability to attack him, but now their legs were tightly closed and he knew he would not be able to pry them apart by force. He needed the next trigger.

One had been defused by his blessing, the other by his curse. Similar but opposite. Could that be a pattern?

He went to Essie. “Curse you!”

Her legs opened. Victory!

He went to Gina. “Bless you.”

Her legs parted. Good enough.

He got on Essie, readying his member.

“Before thou dost frustrate thyself,” she said.

He paused. “What is it?”

“Thou must do both of us together, or fail. If thou dost do one, the other will be freed and thou willst have to start over. Thou willst be here all day, doing us in turn, even if thou knowest our triggers. We be willing to settle for that, but are obliged as a matter of Amazon honor to warn thee.”

Amazon honor? Maybe so. The game did have rules of engagement, as he had learned. They applied to him too, as he had found when he had tried to bite her ass.

“How can I do you both at once? I have only one penis.”

“That be thy problem,” she said, grinning.

He pondered. “How much time do I have to figure this out?”

“All thou dost want. But thou willst not progress before thou dost do us. We can wait; thou canst not.”

So it seemed. He was so close to success, having disabled and opened them both. But he knew their vaginas would resist him, and even if they didn’t, when he did one, he would be through until he could recover, and the other Amazon would be undone, as it were.

Well, first things first. His next step was to soften their vaginas. Otherwise he would not be able to penetrate either one of them.

He tried blessing and cursing them, but the words had no further effect. He verified by poking his finger in after each attempt, and finding the aperture tight. He tried kissing mouths and breasts. They kissed back, and pushed their breasts against his mouth. It was a teasing cooperation, since it had no effect on their vaginas.

Finally he kissed a clitoris. That did it; his probing finger proved that her vagina had softened. He kissed the other clit, and this time the same trigger was effective for both of them.

“Well, thou hast us vulnerable now,” Gina said. “Thou canst defeat us. Go ahead and do it.” She knew he couldn’t.

To do one was not enough. But how could he do two simultaneously?

Then he got a notion. “Gina, get on Essie, face down,” he said. “Or would you prefer I moved you there?”

Silently, Gena mounted her companion Amazon. Now the two women lay as if having sex with each other. If the position bothered them, they did not show it. They were giving away no hints at this point.

He squatted to arrange them more carefully. He spread their legs wide. He got Gina’s cleft right over Essie’s cleft, so that the two formed a roughly vertical line.

He got down on them both, his legs between theirs, his member pointed at their dual clefts. He nudged his penis into Gina’s vagina. It slid in without impediment.

He pulled out and moved down to Essie’s hole. He pushed in, and this too was easy. They were certainly ready.

He took a breath. Then thrust hard into Essie, all the way to the end. He rammed her cervix, triggering the orgasm.

The climax was upon them both. Pedro gritted his teeth and did just about the hardest thing he had ever done: he pulled his pulsing penis out. He reoriented it, and jammed it into Gina’s hole. It was still hard; the thirty second orgasm was still in process. He thrust it all the way in, tripping her trigger too.

Essie went into her orgasm, and Pedro got a second jolt. This time he remained embedded, enjoying it. He rode it out, until it expired.

He had done them both.

“Congratulations,” Essie said. “Thou hast defeated us.”

“We thought thou hadst it in you not,” Gina said. “Or in us, as it happens.”

The three of them got to their feet. Both women stood before him, faces lifted, arms at their sides.

He went to Essie, embraced her, kissed her, and fondled her bottom. He did the same with Gina.

“Thou really be an incredible man,” Essie said.

“We fought thee as hard as we could, and thou stillst won,” Gina said.

Then both of them closed on him, kissing and fondling him with no ill intent. “Good luck,” they said together.

“Thank you.” Pedro turned and walked out the far doorway. This led to the base of a circular stairway that extended up into the high turret.

He mounted the stairs, looping around and around. Finally, he came to the topmost chamber.

“Come in, Pedro,” a dulcet voice invited. This was the Queen, a lovely Mongol wearing a crown that seemed to clothe her completely, though she was nude. Her nameplate said: HERA.

He came to stand before her. “This is the final battle?”

“Thou hast conquered six maidens,” she said. “I be the seventh. We shall do it here.” She indicated a queen-sized bed.

He joined her on it. She smiled and put her arms about him, drawing him in close. She set his penis at her vulva, and guided it into her vagina. There was no resistance. Apparently this was a different kind of contest.

“Thou hast fought well,” she said. “I believe I will keep thee. The girls all like thee, and will welcome thy attentions during off-hours.”

“Off hours?”

“They must challenge other players. But only one needs be on duty at a time, when a player reaches her station.” She smiled. “Or two, as the case may be.”

“I don’t plan to stay here,” Pedro said.

“Be not concerned. Thou willst progress to the next round. Thou hast already qualified.”

“Then why—this?”

“I be entitled to a bit of sport myself.”

“Sport?”

“With a handsome man who has played very well. Be thou ready?”

“I’m not sure. Aren’t we supposed to fight?”

“Theoretically. But thou canst resist me not, so it be academic.” Then she kissed him, flexed her pelvis, and drew him in the rest of the way, and the rapture was upon them both.

It was the best climax yet.

•  •  •

Fotina stood before a high castle set in a lake moat. She had to win her way through to the highest turret, where the king resided, and seduce him. From that turret flew the identifying flag: MAN HELL. That suggested what to expect.

First, she needed a bit more background. The players she encountered were obliged to respond accurately to her questions, to the degree decreed by the game rules. They could not lie to her, but neither did they have to tell her everything. Pedro had taught her caution.

She approached the station where the drawbridge rested when lowered. A brute Nubian warrior man stood there. His name tag said: ZEKE. “Begone, stranger,” he called. “Thou shalt not enter these demesnes.”

“I have to, if I am to continue in the game.”

He contemplated her, his eyes lingering on her breasts. She, having qualified for this round by exchanging for most of the available traits, now possessed a pretty face, hourglass figure, lithe muscles, and perfect health. She was the perfect figure of a Moorish woman, fully capable of attracting the eye of any partly-human male. “Thou art a neat little package, girl. Come here and I will give thee such a plumbing as to make thee forget all about the game.”

She was mildly annoyed. She liked being splendidly attractive, but leering turned her off. She preferred to have a man notice and desire her, but to be mannerly about his interest. “Your penis isn’t even up.”

“Say the word, maiden, and it will rise to the occasion.”

“What word?”

“That thou dost accept my lust as a non-challenge.”

“You want sex outside the game challenge?” she exclaimed angrily.

“Even so, pretty thing.”

“Well, you won’t get it. I’m here to compete. Now, how do I compete with you?”

He sighed. “Thou hast asked, and I must answer. Here be the way of it: we each throw out one or two fingers. Be their total odd, the onus be mine, and I will seek to fathom thy three triggers and render thee helpless for my gratification. Thou must balk me by forcing my orgasm without thine. If the fingers total even, the onus be thine, to seek my two remaining triggers and cause me to spout without thy climax. Either situation can lead to either resolution, but generally having the onus be considered an advantage.”

Fotina thought about it. “So, either you get to try to rape me, or I get to try to rape you.”

“Neatly stated, wench. I be game, either way.” He licked his lips, focusing on her posterior.

His language was getting cruder by the minute. “I’d rather swim the moat.”

He smiled. “Be my guest, strumpet. The moat monster be hungry today.” And there, of course, lifted the huge toothy head of the aquatic monster.

But Fotina was canny. She quietly invoked her magic, enabling her to penetrate illusion. The monster became translucent, losing its coloring. As she concentrated, it lost coherence. She relaxed, and it returned to full view, looking relieved. It existed only in appearance. The moat was safe to swim, at least in this respect.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Then throw thy fingers, whore,” he said, pleased. “I will fuck thee so hard my gism will come out of thy mouth.” It was, of course, figurative, since male players put out no ejaculate, avoiding mess.

“You misunderstand, turd. I don’t think I’ll play the game with you.” With that, she turned and dived into the moat.

The monster swam to intercept her, but she knew it for illusion, and swam right through it. Annoyed, it faded out.

Something else appeared. This was a triton or merman: a man with the tail of a fish. His flaccid penis showed at the mergence of his belly and upper tail. “Ho, player lady!” he called.

Oh, no! The moat was guarded by more than illusion. “You’re a castle guardian,” she said.

He drew up before her. His name tag said: YON. He was a Moorish player. She rather liked that type, for some reason. But he was an opponent. “I am, damsel. What may I do for thee?”

“I don’t suppose you will just let me pass unmolested,” she said.

“Nay, not that,” he agreed. “Needs I must vie with thee to prevent thy passage.”

“What are the rules of engagement? Can you try to drown me?”

“Nay, fair one. Thou canst breathe the water an thou needest. First we throw fingers—”

“I get it. The drawbridge guard told me. He wanted to get into my pants, as it were.”

He took polite note of her bare midsection, without staring. “And very nice pants they are, I am sure. That comes with the condition of being male. I, too, desire thy lovely body.”

“And you will not let me pass unless you have your chance at it,” she said. She knew it was foolish, but she much preferred the idea of wrestling with a polite fellow Moor than with the crude Nubian guard.

“Even so, fair creature. I may be a triton in form, but my underlying nature be human man, and thou art a wondrous sight. The thought of amorously clasping thee appeals mightily. However, needs I must advise thee that this be not thy best course.”

“You think I should go wrestle with the drawbridge lout?”

“True, maiden, much as I would like to clasp thee. I be but the first of two moat guards. Thou wouldst not like the second.”

“I am not going to give the drawbridge freak the filthy pleasure of fondling my ass. On guard, Yon.” She raised her hand.

“I gave thee fair warning. But, glad I be to have at thy ass myself.” He raised his hand.

They threw down their hands together. Each had extended two fingers.

“It be even,” Yon said. “The onus be thine. I be ready.” Indeed, his penis was rising, preparing for the engagement. Throwing out the fingers was the first trigger, priming him for action. Now she had to figure out how to render him passive, so she could have her way with him.

Yon waited, not attacking her, per his role. That gave her time to think. What would render him helpless?

“This be thy first encounter,” Yon said. “Needs I must advise thee further: there be two triggers to render me passive, and then to enable my orgasm. Kissing, fondling, words, penetration—the various sexual acts. Any of these can be a trigger. But they are randomly assigned. Thou must fathom them by trial and error.”

“If I render you passive, why should I bother with the rest?” she asked. “I should be able to swim on.”

“Sexually passive,” he clarified. “I will still balk thee, until thou unman me by evoking my orgasm without thine.”

Ah. The notion of a sexually passive man was intriguing, but really, it was a game definition.

She swam into him and kissed him on the mouth. He met it with enthusiasm, and tried to insert his penis between her legs. Oops—he was not sexually passive yet. She had the initiative, but when she put her body up against his, it was an invitation to sex.

She withdrew. The kiss on the mouth had not done it. What next?

She submerged and put her mouth on his standing penis. She took it in part way. She knew better than to draw in the whole of it. Regardless, it didn’t work.

Before she disengaged, she reached in with one hand and tickled his scrotum. His body went limp. She had found the trigger!

She took hold of his member and massaged it, but it did not respond; it remained hard, but unyielding. She rose to the surface and put his penis into her vagina, part way. It remained hard and dry.

She held it there a moment more. “I think You’re just the handsomest man!” she whispered in his ear

His penis heated and jerked in her vagina. He was in his orgasm. She had found the third trigger! She felt the faint electrical echo of his rapture, that would have triggered hers had he been able to penetrate deep enough to trip her switch. As it was, she lost the rapture, but won the point, and that was its own kind of pleasure.

“It’s been nice,” she said, as his member finished and expired. “Maybe after this is over, we can do it for real.”

“I’d like that!” he gasped. “Thanks for letting me do it in thy tight hot cleft, instead of making me spend in the water.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. It had been coincidence, but she appreciated how it was nicer for him with partial entry than with none. She liked him, and was glad it had happened that way.

She swam on across the moat. The inner bank was a vertical wall that provided no purchase. She swam along parallel to it, looking for an access. There had to be one; otherwise, there was no point in defending the moat.

She found it: a shallow bay leading to a miniature beach— it was ideal for wading to the shore and to the land surrounding the castle.

As her feet found the slanting sand, about shoulder deep, something barred her way. It was a thick tentacle.

She remembered Yon’s warning: she would not like the moat’s other guardian. This must be it.

She flung herself backward, away from it. The hump of its head rose from the surface of the water. “There be no other access, lovely nymph,” it said, seeming to have no difficulty speaking despite its underwater nature. This was, of course, a Game simulation; outside reality was, at best, peripheral. On the hump was printed the name: XENOS.

“You’re an octopus!” she exclaimed.

“I be a male Mongol Player in octopoid form,” Xenos said. “I may look bestial to thee, but thou dost look luscious to me, and I mean that not in a culinary sense. I mean to thrust into thy divine love slit and spend my ardency there.”

“An octopus!” she repeated, still taken aback. “But, you have no penis!”

“Octopi do it with a tentacle,” he said, lifting one. “I can thrust any one of my eight into thy marvelous little hole and spend there. Abandon hope, fair creature, for thou art mine to ravish.”

Fotina recovered some spunk. “The hell you will, monster. I will wipe you out and move on into the castle.”

“I will love to have thee try, thou luscious maiden. Come into my embrace.” Xenos lifted several tentacles toward her.

She was sure she could not avoid him. But since he was an ordinary player in a Game costume, as it were, she should be able to handle him. His reactions would be mostly human, and he might have trouble coordinating all those tentacles. A surprise, direct attack might win the day.

First there was a formality. “Throw your fingers,” she said. “Or whatever.” She lifted one hand.

Xenos lifted one tentacle.

She threw two fingers. He threw just the one. Too late she realized that she should have anticipated that. Now the total was odd, and he had the sexual onus.

She swam directly into his multiple embrace.

It was another mistake. Xenos wrapped his tentacles about her, forming a thick cocoon, his cartoonish face inches from hers. She was abruptly helpless in his embrace.

However, that same hold locked her legs together. He might have her helpless, but he could not penetrate her with anything. “Got me,” she said. “But what are you going to do with me?”

“First I must make thee accessible,” he replied.

“Lotsa luck!” The moment he unclasped her, she would make a break for it.

One tentacle unwound, then another. Her arms came free, but she couldn’t swim because the rest of her remained wrapped. One tentacle caught her right wrist and held her arm firmly out from her body. Another tentacle caught her left wrist, and held that arm out similarly. Then the nether tentacles unwound, freeing her legs.

But those legs remained locked together, in the female defense. The tentacles tried to pry them apart, but were unable. “Damn,” Xenos muttered.

“You have to find the triggers,” she reminded him slightly smug.

“So I do.” Keeping her captive with four tentacles, he used two more to touch her breasts, stroking them and curling around them. It felt like human hands fondling them. The tips of the tentacles coiled on the nipples, gently squeezing them. Fotina abruptly went limp. He had found a trigger.

Her legs remained locked. Xenos left the tentacles on her breasts and used another to explore her face. The tip tickled her nose, then slid into her mouth. It felt like a finger. Or, yes, a penis. But it didn’t accomplish anything. Her second trigger was not in her mouth. She didn’t know where it was, and had been surprised when her breasts turned out to be a trigger, but the next one was evidently protecting her despite her inability to fight.

He left the tentacle in her mouth, and used the eighth one to feel her bottom. It stroked her buttocks, then insinuated itself between them, tickling the crevice. She had to laugh—and her legs parted.

Oh, no! He had found the second switch.

He wrapped a tentacle about each ankle so that her legs could not close again. Now she was effectively spread-eagled in the water. She could not draw in any of her limbs; the tentacles were too strong. They remained also on her breasts and in her mouth. He had all her bases covered, literally: four limbs, two breasts, one mouth.

The eighth tentacle now had free access to her cleft. It slid along it, arousing a trace of pleasure that she tried to suppress. It pushed into her exposed vagina. But it penetrated only a little way. Her third defense was the tight hole, and the tentacle could not get far.

He pushed in, withdrew, and pushed in again. The slippery tentacle managed to get a little deeper, but not enough. The tightness was holding. He put a large eye close to it, inspecting it at pointblank range, but still could not find a way.

She knew that it would be a matter of time before Xenos found the last trigger, and loosened her tight vagina. Then he would be able to get all the way into her, and touch her cervix, and set off her orgasm. That would be her defeat.

But what could she do? She could neither fight him nor close her legs. All she was able to do, really, was cooperate in the sexual act that would finish her chance to progress to the next round.

Then she got an idea. Xenos had said that he could copulate with any tentacle, and indeed, their touches were all similar, and her body recognized them as sexual. That was why the tentacles had been able to disable her defenses.

She closed her mouth on the tip of the tentacle there, and sucked. Xenos was so busy exploring her vagina that he did not notice. He was indeed a man inside the octopus form, and her accessible vagina evidently fascinated him. He was playing with it, hoping to wedge it open. She had seen a similar fascination in some of the men she had exchanged with in the first round. It wasn’t just the game with them; they had liked seeing and touching her female parts for their own sake. When they tongued her it gave her some pleasure, but it had also given them pleasure; they liked having their faces and fingers in her cleft.

And, of course, that was the major reason the men and some of the women were playing the game. Yes, they wanted to win the big prize. Yes they wanted the notoriety. But they also wanted it for itself, to be thoroughly and openly sexual, knowing that a considerable audience was watching—to see the vaginas of attractive women up close, and see their tongues licking them, their penises entering them, going in deeper, finally achieving full depth and triggering the wonderful mutual orgasm. She had not understood that before entering the game, but she had learned a lot in a short time.

And, truth to tell, she had discovered she liked being able to fascinate men sexually. Some were selfish and uncaring; others were attentive and caring. Most were in between. But they all loved sex, and the empathy she had traded for enabled her to share that love. She had become a sexual being. Yes, her sexuality represented considerable power over men. But it also was increasingly delightful for its own sake.

Still, she had a job to do. She continued sucking. The tip of the tentacle swelled like the penis it was, becoming larger and harder, with a rounded head. She tongued beneath that head, finding the male G-spot, the excruciatingly sensitive region that could set off an orgasm when appropriately stimulated. Oh yes, she had learned how to please a man!

“What art thou doing?” Xenos demanded, finally realizing that there was action apart from her vagina.

She did not answer. She continued sucking, not taking it in too deep, but deep enough so that the whole of the swelling head was within her mouth. A mouth could be far more stimulating than a vagina, when properly wielded, because of the moving tongue and the suction. A real penis would be just about ready to spout at this point.

And it did. It stiffened further, thrust, and throbbed. She felt the faint tingle of its orgasm as it delivered. She had succeeded in triggering him before he triggered her.

“Beautiful!” Xenos said as his rapture faded. “Thou hast defeated me.”

“All part of the game,” she said. Now she relaxed internally and let his other tentacle slide on into the depth of her vagina. It was no longer Game-significant, and she knew it would please him. It was, after all, his attention to that vagina that had enabled her to win when she should have lost.

“That was nice of thee,” he said, feeling the no-longer functional cervix. “Thou needs not give me that.”

“This too is the Game,” she said. “I oppose you when I have to, but I don’t hate you. I’m sure You’re a decent guy in real life, one I wouldn’t mind knowing.”

“Thou art nice,” he said. “Thou didst beat me, but are making me feel good about it.” He paused. “Or art thou angling for something else?”

She laughed. “Like information about what manner of creature I will face next? No. I know this is my own challenge.”

“Nevertheless, I will tell thee,” he said. “It is a ram. He will knock thee off the narrow way unless thou letst him do you his way. Most women balk. They’d rather lose than be rammed from behind, as it were.”

“Pun taken,” she said, laughing again. “I've gone this far. I guess I can handle sex in that position.”

“But then thou willst lose, because he will plunge to thy core and set off thy orgasm, much as thou didst set off mine.”

“Oh. So it’s more than revulsion that stops the women.”

“Yes. They realize they will lose if they do, and lose if they don’t. So they don’t.”

“It’s certainly a challenge,” she agreed, intrigued.

They separated, and she waded on out of the moat and onto the little beach. From there a narrow path led to a small door in the castle, as if this were an exit from a kitchen where a servant would come to dip water for washing. It curved between rocky barriers, a crevice in the stone upon which the castle was built. It obviously wasn’t the main access, but still it was defended by assorted guards. She was not unexpected.

But if the next guard was in the form of a rambunctious ram, where was he? He wouldn’t be inside, would he?

She paused to survey the route more carefully. There seemed to be no access but the path, because elsewhere the stone rose up to buttress the vertical outer wall of the castle, or dropped down into the moat. And the path was just one avenue. There was no place to step aside, should something like a battering ram come charging down it. Anything the ram struck would be boosted back into the moat, surely much the worse for wear. It could be a rather nasty trap.

Why had Xenos warned her? She had given him a fillip for experience, and remained a little while to chat with him, and he appreciated that. Would he really have told her anything he was not supposed to? She doubted it. More likely, he used their dialogue as a pretext to warn her of the next challenge, somewhat as the triton had before. Maybe such hints made possible a larger number of qualifiers, so that the next round would not be short handed. Or maybe it was a spot intelligence test, designed to select the smarter players, rather than relying on pure chance. Smarter players surely made for a more interesting end game.

She needed to be smart. Assume that the ram would charge when she got halfway along the path. She would have to flee or stop him. Fleeing, even if successful, was not a way to make progress. But stopping him by letting him do her his way, which surely meant her on all fours, he mounting from behind, and ramming in so hard that even a tight vagina might not protect her—that did not appeal.

Fotina had always objected to either/or situations. Generally there was another way, often better, if a person thought of it. She had thought she had avoided the either/or of the drawbridge keeper or failure, by diving into the moat. But she had merely discovered an alternate route. This time there did not seem to be one.

Still, there must be something. Could she leap over the charging ram and go on? Maybe, but though she had good strength and health, it seemed risky. What other trait might help?

Magic! She had focused on illusion, and had become reasonably competent there. She had pondered it during the intervening week separating the first and second rounds. She couldn’t perform any magic outside of the game, but she could work out possible applications, and she had done so.

Such as form changing via illusion. Sight and touch should be enough to accomplish a lot, especially if the other party did not anticipate it. Becoming a seeming tiger or dragon would be unlikely to fool the ram, being too obvious. But what about a ewe? One with a solid fat rump and a romantic nature? One eager to accommodate his mating urge? Why would he hesitate? He would be a human male player in the form of a ram, with the same sexual interest. He would know that to hesitate might be to lose the opportunity, particularly if the ewe were walking away from him.

She rehearsed the form, making her head become sheepish, her body look woolly, her legs and arms look thin, and her bottom look massive. She could put this on in an instant; practiced illusion was relatively easy magic. She even managed to form the illusion odor of the genital, as animal forms were more smell oriented. She was ready.

She started up the path, walking slowly. Sure enough, when she was halfway along, the castle door flung open and the ram came running out. He spied her and charged down the path. She had no escape.

She turned around and donned her costume. She got on hands and feet, rather than hands and knees, and filled in illusory flesh that came well below her actual torso. She was a thick-bodied, short-legged sheep of the female persuasion: a saucy ewe. Her hind end had a fat tail above, and a broad crevice below: the ewe’s wide-open vagina.

The ram skidded to a halt just behind her. He took a good look and sniff. “I am Fotina,” she said.

“I be Ramsey,” he bleated.

“I throw two fingers.”

“I throw one phallus,” he said with a laugh-bleat.

“Then you have the onus. I seem to be helpless before your overwhelming masculinity.”

Had he paused to consider more carefully, he might have realized that this was doubtful. But he was a male facing an invitingly wide-open female. This was not conducive to doubt. His male arrogance was quite ready to accept her capitulation to his robust sex appeal. Who needed triggers? She had already yielded the issue.

He sniffed her rear again. Then, concluding it was a fair offering, he came closer, rose up on his hind legs, and brought his front legs down on the upper side of her bottom. He almost knocked her over, but she braced herself and held her place, exactly as a real ewe in heat would.

His huge phallus came up under her body, lifting to find the place. It located the hole and lodged at the aperture. Then, satisfied, the ram thrust violently forward. Again Fotina had to brace herself, and again she succeeded. The long phallus plunged its full length in, much farther than any normal human woman could accommodate. But still she held her place, not giving way before the onslaught.

The phallus reached the bottom of the well, felt the cervix, and launched into its impressive orgasm. Fotina felt the swollen heft of it, the throbbing pseudo-emission. It continued for thirty seconds, and finally abated. The ram was done.

“I trust you are satisfied,” she said as he held his position, savoring the last of his beastly orgasm.

“Oh, yes!” he bleated. “You be one fine piece of ass, especially for a ewe.”

“That’s good. Now behold, as I allow the illusion to fade.”

“Illusion?”

She let it fade. Her true outline was revealed, only half the mass of the apparent ewe, braced against a rocky projection along the path. The low slung sheep pudenda did not exist; it was empty air below her belly, framed by her slightly parted legs. His massive phallus projected between her thighs and pressed against her belly, where her two hands held it. She had squeezed the end of it so that it had seemed to come up against her deeply buried cervix, setting him off.

She had not been penetrated, and her orgasmic switch had not been triggered. She was, in her fashion, pristine.

“O, manure!” he swore, defeated.

“Better luck next time, Ramsey,” she said, letting his phallus drop. She skirted him and walked on toward the castle, leaving him to his rumination.

Ramsey had assumed that her seeming capitulation to his lust meant that her triggers had been activated— that she had become helpless to oppose him, was unable to close her legs, and that her vagina was not tight. She had facilitated his urge, kept her legs open, and presented him with a seemingly large slack vaginal avenue. Not because she had to, because she was playing the game her way. He had let his animal passion thrust him into loss of the contest.

Fotina smiled, remembering Pedro’s sage advice about men. He had told her that men were fools about sexy girls, and that she should use her magic. Ramsey had been just such a fool, and her illusion magic had enabled her to readily defeat him.

However, the next contest might not be as easy. She braced herself, then opened the little door and entered the castle.

It was indeed a scullery. The way led through to a larger hall. Here there were stone steps wending upward. That was the direction she wanted to go.

At the top of the flight she found a nicely furnished chamber.

“Well now,” a voice said.

“Fresh meat,” another said.

They were two warriors, Nordic and Moor, whose name tags said: EZRA and GILES. Both were tall, handsome, muscular, and predatory.

“Two?” she asked, dismayed.

“So doth it seem,” Ezra said, advancing on her toward the right side.

“What didst thou expect, wench?” Giles asked, advancing on the left.

Fotina didn’t like this. But she did not get to set the rules. The game had evidently upped the ante.

Well, no help for it. If she got overwhelmed, she would have to hope that she had progressed far enough to qualify for the next round, regardless. Meanwhile, she intended to make a good fight of it. Her wits and magic had gotten her through so far; they would have to rise to the occasion again.

“Ready?” she asked, lifting one hand.

They lifted their hands.

The three of them dropped their hands. Fotina threw two fingers, as she always did, not because she lacked originality but because she figured no one would figure her for such consistency.

Ezra threw two fingers. Giles threw one.

“O, manure!” she swore, echoing Ramsey. She had not anticipated this, somehow assuming that both would throw the same number of fingers. Now Giles had the onus with respect to her, and she had the onus with respect to Ezra. More bluntly, while she was doing one, the other would be doing her.

Giles’ penis rose to attention. Ezra’s penis remained flaccid. She would have to avoid the one and activate the other. She would have to make both get orgasms without letting her body join in that pleasure. Somehow.

She sifted through assorted strategies, knowing that she had to take whatever initiative she could, lest they seize it. Her best bet seemed to be to tackle Giles and try to finish him before Giles finished her. If she prevailed rapidly, she might then be able to fight Giles alone, balking him and winning the day.

She swept into Ezra, trying to do as much as possible as quickly as possible, to activate his triggers by sheer volume of attempts. She kissed his mouth, grabbed his hand and used it to stroke her breast, then her bottom. She pushed his head down to her breasts.

He went limp. She had found a trigger! Now she could fight off Giles without worrying about Ezra.

Just as well, because Giles was already on her. He was trying to poke his stiff penis into her cleft from behind. She automatically locked her legs together so he couldn’t get anywhere, but that limited her when addressing Ezra.

Giles reached around her and put both hands on her breasts. She went limp. He had found her first trigger, and wiped out her active resistance to him. She could still clamp her legs, and tighten her vagina, but she could not otherwise oppose him physically.

However, she retained full mobility when addressing Ezra. Maybe she could finesse that, to a degree, to avoid Giles.

Giles caught her by the shoulders and turned her around for a kiss. He was looking for the second trigger. But before his lips touched hers, she lurched to the side and caught Ezra with a kiss on the mouth. That didn’t seem to affect him, but at least it got her away from Giles.

“You’re so handsome!” she whispered in Ezra’s ear.

His penis rose. She had found the second trigger!

“You’re so beautiful,” Giles whispered in her ear.

Her legs spread so that she was standing with them wide apart, her vulva exposed. He had found her second trigger.

They were running neck and neck, as it were. She needed to evoke Ezra’s ability to spout before Giles evoked the softening of her vagina. Finishing Ezra was only the first step for her victory, but if she failed, she would lose the issue regardless what Giles did.

She bore Ezra to the floor, straddled him, and kissed his standing penis. There was no effect. Meanwhile, Giles was testing her vagina again, taking advantage of the raised position of her bottom, and she could not stop him. Fortunately her vagina remained tight; he could penetrate only marginally.

She kissed Ezra’s face again. No luck. Giles kissed her face. No luck. She took Ezra’s hand and set it against her breast— and felt a tremor. She took his penis, and felt it throbbing. She had found his third trigger, and he was now primed for orgasm.

Giles took her hand and set it on his penis. She felt her vagina slacken. She had lost her last defense!

Desperate, she put her mouth to Ezra’s member and took it in. If she could suck him off before Giles realized—

Giles put his finger into her vagina, apparently just testing. It readily penetrated. “Aha!” he exclaimed, gratified.

Fotina realized that it was too late to set Ezra off, because Giles would penetrate and set her off at the same time or soon after, and she would lose. She had Ezra in hand; now her first imperative was to stop Giles.

Giles oriented behind her, and she couldn’t draw away from him. He put his hard penis to her vulva, and she couldn’t close her vagina. He would plunge inside in seconds, and she would be done. Unless she thought of something instantly.

Desperation gave her inspiration. She put one hand back and circled the shaft of his member with thumb and forefinger as it entered her vagina. He didn’t notice; he was reaching around her to catch hold of both her breasts, evidently to enhance his pleasure of the occasion. He was savoring his incipient victory.

Fotina sucked on Ezra’s penis. It responded immediately, ready to perform. Meanwhile, Giles thrust slowly into her, still savoring. She felt his member slide moderately deep, then withdraw, then slide in deeper.

She invoked her magic. Not illusion this time, but telepathy. She quested for Ezra’s mind, which was open to her will, and locked on it. He was on the verge of his orgasm, awaiting only her final suck.

Then she sought Giles’ mind, and found it. He was enjoying her body, feeling her plush breasts, her round bottom, and the warm firm (but not tight) length of her vagina. He too was on the verge.

Giles thrust harder. His member pushed in to the limit, the base smacking into her flesh. It was the flesh of her encircling hand, not her bottom. It mechanically prevented the tip of his penis from quite reaching her cervix.

“What?” Giles asked, realizing that something was amiss.

“Merely facilitating your pleasure,” she said, squeezing. With that rationale she was cooperating, not resisting. It might be a technicality, but the game did not prevent it.

“Well, get it out of there, witch!” he snapped.

She had to obey. But now, she gave the final suck and evoked Ezra’s orgasm. And as Giles finally thrust home, she sent the rapture of Ezra’s orgasm to Giles’ mind.

“Hoo!” he exclaimed, thinking it was her orgasm, that he had triggered her switch. That set off his own.

The two men were in the throes of their orgasms. Fotina was not. She had managed to escape, by the skin of her vagina.

When the rapture passed, and Giles made ready to withdraw his penis from her vagina, he realized that she had not been reacting. Her body was placid. “Thou hadst no orgasm!” he said accusingly.

“I had no orgasm,” she agreed. “Do you care?”

He shook his head, bemused. “I care that thou outplayed me. Thou used magic, of course.”

“Telepathy,” she agreed. “But it was a close contest.”

The two men got back to their feet. “Well, we have failed,” Ezra said glumly. “Get thee on up to King Hugh.”

She walked on to the next flight of stairs. They led in due course, to the highest turret.

“Well, hello, lovely mistress of magic,” a mellow voice greeted her. It belonged to an almost excruciatingly handsome Mongol king bearing the name HUGH. His golden crown was his only apparel.

“Hello,” she said uncertainly. “Did Mongols have kings?”

He laughed. “This be the Eroma Game, divine creature. It has its own conventions.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course,” she agreed uneasily.

He approached her, exuding cheerful confidence. “What be thy intention with respect to Player Pedro?”

She was taken aback. “I intend only to try to win the Game. I like Pedro. He helped me a lot.”

“Indeed. Thou hast conquered six warriors. Now thou and I shall make love.” He indicated the king-sized bed.

“You are the final challenge for this round?”

“Thou hast already qualified, sultry Moor. Therefore this be for merely pleasure.”

“Oh.” Could she afford to believe him?

“Read my mind,” he said.

She did, as that magic remained invoked. He was being completely honest with her.

Hugh guided her to the bed. They lay on it together. There was no showing of fingers, no questing for triggers. He simply kissed her mouth, and thereafter all she wanted was to have sex with him. He kissed her breasts, and her buttocks, and she was in minor ecstasy. Finally he mounted her and entered her, and they shared an orgasm that seemed to last several minutes. It did indeed feel like love. It was paradise.

Then they lay beside each other, staring up at an elaborate chandelier. “Why did you ask about me and Pedro?”

“Because thou dost love him, and he be capable of loving thee,” he replied. “Both of you are fine players with the potential of winning the Game. Both of you have excellent fan bases already.”

“Fan bases,” she asked, confused.

“Ah, I forget: thou art not a scholar of the Games. Then needs must I clarify it, in simple fairness. This be a spectator sport to a considerable degree. For every player there be a million viewers, and that ratio rises as the number of players diminishes. Some players attract more attention than others. The two of you be the present leaders.”

“A million?” she asked, thinking she had misheard or misunderstood.

“Eroma be the leading entertainment of the moment,” Hugh said. “The initial television audience this time was sixty four million. Many folk seem to like adventure, sex, and romance. We provide the first two, but the third cannot be scripted; it must come from the players themselves. When the two of you had your initial dialogue, many focused. More are focusing now.”

She was still having a problem. “I—I knew the Game was a public spectacle. But that many people! And isn’t there some privacy?”

He laughed. “We all be avatars, Fotina! Worse than puppets or marionettes. Our bodies have no tangible existence, only the animation provided by the players. Why should we need privacy?”

“But we've been having sex!”

“Aye, lover, we have. That be the prime attraction.”

Fotina rallied. She had known there was a large television audience; her father was part of it. Somehow she had forgotten it, or put it out of her mind, during her participation. Now it was no longer theoretical; it was personal. “I don’t feel like a—a mannequin.”

“Thou hast here no need to eat, drink, or even breathe,” he pointed out. “Nor to piss or shit. Thou neither burps nor farts. This seemeth like life to thee?”

“Yes, actually. I do feel alive here. And when I have sex—just how detailed is it for the audience? What do the ellipses cover?”

“There be no ellipses.”

“But That’s impossible! I can see them showing kissing, feeling, clasping. But when two people are embracing, very little shows where they are in contact.”

“Needs must I show thee,” he said.

The chandelier faded out, replaced by a huge screen. At first she thought it was a mirror, because it showed the two of them lying naked on the bed. But then he kissed her mouth, and her breasts, as he was not doing in present game reality. He mounted her, and the image showed the motions of his body as he penetrated her, thrust, and climaxed.

Then a side view came on, as if there were a camera close beside the bed. It showed him coming down on her, setting his penis into her cleft, and thrusting in. The image was quite clear and detailed, as if the camera were only inches from their genitals. And her body became translucent, so that it seemed to be made of glass. Her vagina was outlined in faint color. His member, another color, was penetrating her vagina to the depth, causing it to round out as it accommodated him. The merging to their genitals could not have been shown more clearly. He was also kissing her mouth, and his tongue was running into hers with similar outlining.

The picture faded, and the chandelier reappeared. She realized now that it too was an image on the ceiling screen.

“There are no ellipses,” she agreed, awed. “Everything shows. Outside and inside.” She did not care to confess that watching that translucent penetration of her body turned her on, making her wish to see and experience more. It was the very essence of sex.

“That be the case,” he agreed. “But this be standard. Folk get tired of seeing merely sex, no matter how novel the views. Romance, however, be always fresh. When thou and Pedro didst confess having feelings for each other, the audience jumped. Now it is to the interest of the Game to encourage that interaction, as it encourages all romance. Remember, Eroma be the contraction of Erotic and Romance. This be the essence of the game.”

“But now it won’t be spontaneous!” she protested. “If we know that so many are watching.”

“Thou wouldst deny thy dawning love for Pedro because others see?”

“No!” Then she reconsidered. “I guess I was saying that. I like Pedro regardless. But the thought of having a million people watching when we kiss, or have sex, seeing his penis in me—” She shook her head. “I though that at least my vagina was private. This is difficult.” Yet increasingly tempting.

“Consider it a challenge,” he said.

“Why are you telling me this? I could have loved Pedro without knowing.”

“That be part of it. The audience wants not only to see genuine erotic romance, but to know that the players know it, and can help themselves not. That they know themselves to be naked in more than body. It adds a delicious titillation.”

“A voyeur’s titillation!”

“Aye, lass. Like none other.”

“I’m not sure I want to continue this exhibition.”

“Thy doubt, too, be appealing. Thy initial innocence be a prime factor in thy appeal. Thou needs must discuss it with Pedro when next the two of you meet.”

“We won’t meet if I drop out of the game!”

“Precisely, filly. But then thou willst never know him in life.”

“Damn you!” she swore, meaning him and the whole game.

“It be a damnable game,” he agreed. “Except for voyeurs and those with no fit lives of their own. Thou dost be fortunate to belong to neither category. Now come with me to the main chamber for the off-hours rendezvous with the staff. They like thee very well.” He got off the bed.

“What the hell,” she said, joining him. She knew she was stuck for it. They had gotten her seriously interested in Pedro, and she couldn’t depart voluntarily until she came to terms with him. It didn’t matter that the entire audience of millions knew it; the hook was firmly in.

“Good girl,” King Hugh said, patting her pert bare bottom.

Chapter 3:
Poop of the Day

The results of the follow-up eye test were not good. Pedro was losing visual coherence in both eyes. It was probably not serious, but might require him to use corrective lenses or, if the problem was in the optic nerves, medication to correct an imbalance. Because of this, he was given another test. The result would be available in two more weeks.

Meanwhile, he was advised to be cautious, especially when driving. His vision was not as sharp as it had been, and that could lead to mischief unless he was alert. What about the online game? That should be no problem; for one thing, he was not driving, so would not be putting himself or anyone else at risk. That was a relief, because he really liked the game, and was doing well in it. He reported on schedule for Round Three.

Pedro found himself in an elegant restaurant, fully clothed, seated at a table with three other players. He recognized two of them: Salina, the Nubian woman leading the second boat on the lake in the first round. She had understood an aspect he had missed, that the boat crews could exchange with each other, and thus had helped him make more exchanges more rapidly. He was glad to see that she had survived to this round. The second was Fotina, sitting opposite him. He suppressed his exclamation of gladness; he did not want to give away his personal interest in her; that could be a game liability. The third was a man, Norris, a handsome Nordic. But what were they all doing here, genders mixed, and clothed?

That last was significant in more than one respect. Not only was it a departure from the norms of this game, it made all of them look far more elegant. The women were beautiful, and the man was quite handsome, as Pedro was sure he was himself.

“Perhaps we should introduce ourselves,” Norris said, “despite our name plaques. We can acquaint ourselves better by reviewing our prior interactions. I am Norris, and I know Fotina, having exchanged with her in the first round.” He glanced at Pedro. “I believe you were the man smart enough to take the first boatload of players, male and female, to an island. But you, Salina, I have not met before, though I saw you, along with Pedro and Fotina, at the Maiden Heaven after-competition party.”

“I joined Pedro in a subsequent boat,” Salina said. “But, I don’t know either you nor Fotina. I’m afraid I was too distracted at the party to pay proper attention to all present.”

“I understand about distraction,” Pedro agreed. “Once I saw Fotina at the party, I mostly tuned out the rest.” Oops, that was more candor than he had intended.

“I exchanged with Pedro on the mainland,” Fotina said. “And with Norris in the forest.” She smiled. “There were dragons.”

Pedro looked around. There were three other tables, each with two men and two women. “All sixteen surviving players are here,” he said. “This is evidently not to be interactive, like the first round, or personally competitive, like the second round.”

“And probably not sexual,” Salina said. “Considering the setting and the clothing.”

“Chances are that half of us will be eliminated,” Fotina said. “One way or another.”

“I had understood that every round was to be sexual,” Norris said.

“It may be a matter of interpretation,” Pedro said. “Sex is not necessarily penis into vagina or mouth. It can be more devious. It behooves us to figure it out quickly, so as not to be at a disadvantage with those at other tables.”

“Indeed,” Salina agreed. “Unless it is every person for herself. In that case, it seems that you and I should make an alliance, Norris.”

“Why?” he asked. “I would prefer to ally with Fotina, who is a remarkable woman.”

“Evidently you did not watch the playbacks during the week off between rounds. The news is all over about the romance between Pedro and Fotina.”

Fotina blushed. So did Pedro. They had made no secret of their interest in each other, but neither had they exactly advertised it. Fotina had not realized that other players might see this as a game factor.

“I see,” Norris said. “In that case yes, Salina. If there are to be competitive couples, I shall be happy to coordinate with you.”

“This may not be the case,” Pedro said. “In prior games, each round has been sharply different, both in setting and in manner of interaction. But it is true that Fotina and I like each other, personally.” Since there was evidently no secret there anyway.

“And that the game proprietors are promoting our romance,” Fotina said.

“Promoting it?” Norris asked. “Why?”

“It seems that the wider audience gets bored with straight adventure and sex,” she said. “However, romance is always novel. Thus, they encourage it, at least as a side show.”

“Several players spoke to me of Fotina’s feelings about me,” Pedro said. “But I am wary.”

“Wary?” Fotina asked sharply.

“I wouldn’t want to bore anyone with my conjectures.”

“We are not bored,” Norris said, and Salina nodded. “If the game is to be rigged—”

“Oh, it’s not that,” Fotina said quickly. “It’s that they get a bigger audience if there’s a good romance. It seems they can see every detail of it.” She colored again, slightly.

“Then what is your conjecture?” Norris asked Pedro.

“I understand that in the bad old days when racism was rampant, attempts were made to allow folk of the black persuasion to mingle with those of the white persuasion, there could be subtle but ugly devices.”

“What devices?” Salina asked. She was a black Nubian, while Norris was a white Nordic.

“If two black boys were given jobs at an otherwise white factory,” Pedro continued, “they could not legally be fired unless they gave cause, which they were careful not to do. So, the white establishment found other ways to encourage them to leave. They would give each a sharp knife, privately, and advise him that the other was only pretending to be friendly, but in fact intended to stab him in the back, literally. So it was best that he be prepared, or even take preemptive action.”

“That’s mischief,” Norris said. “It could lead readily to a deadly fight.”

“Exactly,” Pedro agreed. “One boy might be dead or seriously injured, and the other culpable. Both would soon be gone, and the whites theoretically had no responsibility.”

“Ugly,” Norris agreed. “How does that relate to you and Fotina? They are not encouraging you to distrust each other. Rather the opposite.”

“It may nevertheless be a similar conspiracy,” Pedro said. “They told me she loved me. They surely told her something similar about me. Now they are putting us together. Are they trying to facilitate our progress in the game, or impede it?”

“How could such a relationship impede it?” Salina asked.

“If we became sensitized to the fact of the other players, who might try to eliminate us so that we could not collaborate to eliminate them,” Pedro said. “Or to the larger outside audience. We, in the game, have sex with many other players, but if we should become possessive of each other, that would interfere. Jealously is a prime human motivator.”

Norris nodded. “That is possible. Assuming you both know this, and play your best regardless, what then?”

“We might not want an audience of millions overhearing our every word of love, inspecting our every kiss, watching the very penetration of penis into vagina. It’s all right when having sex with relative strangers, knowing it’s an aspect of the game, but difficult to accept when interacting with one you love.”

“Especially when they have given each of us a knife, as it were, by telling us of the other’s supposed interest,” Fotina said, “and put us together.”

“I see,” Norris agreed. “You might prefer to drop out entirely, to preserve your newly-desired privacy.”

“Yes,” Fotina agreed.

Pedro looked around again. Beyond the tables was open floor. “Do you dance?” he asked Fotina.

“I do,” she said, surprised.

He stood. “May I have the pleasure?”

“Why, yes,” she agreed, slightly flustered.

Norris spoke to Salina. “You?”

“Of course.”

They walked as two couples to the dance floor. As they arrived, music struck up, a pleasant waltz.

Pedro took Fotina in his arms. She was lovely and light, a pleasure to hold. But it was more than that. His feeling for her was stronger than he would have preferred it to be. They were, after all, competitors, and ultimately only one of them could win, assuming they got to the last round. They had no business liking each other too well.

They danced, and the other couples danced too. Soon more couples formed and joined them. Pedro’s attention remained on Fotina. He knew that in this scene she was merely a fetching avatar rather than a real person, yet his feeling for her was burgeoning.

“This provides us a bit of pseudo privacy,” he said, forcing himself to focus on business. “They are watching everything, but I prefer the illusion of an individual dialogue, however unrealistic.”

“Why?” Fotina asked. “Why do we need privacy, real or imagined?”

“I believe it is as we conjectured. They are setting us up for something. Perhaps heartbreak; that surely scores with an audience too. If this is the case, before it happens, I want you to know that I am indeed strongly attracted to you. Their promotion of you merely facilitated an interest that was already well advanced. You are a pretty, nervy, smart, accommodating girl, and I feel comfortable with you. Of course, if in real life you are a four hundred pound bald woman—”

“I look very much like my avatar,” she said quickly. “I wanted to be myself, as much as possible. Does it matter?”

“I wish I could say it doesn’t. But it does. I am orienting on the physical person I see here, and a serious change in that would make for a certain amount of emotional chaos. It is part of being male; we do tend to orient on physical appearance.”

She smiled. “Then be reassured on that score. You?”

“I am a complete nonentity, a file clerk, not at all the handsome muscular figure of my avatar, but neither am I ugly. I would be lost in a crowd, not standing out in any particular manner.”

“I spoke truly when I said I loved you more than a little,” she said. “It’s not a matter of your appearance, though I confess that I, too, would be set back by a four hundred pound wrestler with rings in his nose. You helped me so much at the beginning! I know I’m a foolish girl.”

“I fear I am becoming similarly foolish. I helped you out of simple decency, because you asked me. But something about you appeals to me, beyond your mental assets. When we had sex, it wasn’t the same as later with the other women. Even though it’s all in avatar form, you turn me on. I am trying to fight it, but I am losing.”

“I am sorry to complicate your game strategy, yet I confess I am happy you feel that way. I will help you in whatever way I can, because I want to please you.”

Her innocent candor touched him again. “Then I make you this personal oath: never knowingly to do you harm or cause you emotional distress, in or out of the game. Because, though I am older than you, you are the kind of girl I would like to date in real life. To see where it might lead.”

“I echo your oath,” she said. “After the game is done, let’s date.”

“Agreed.”

“Shall we seal it with a kiss?”

“Of course.” He bent his face down, and she lifted hers, and they kissed.

He had thought there would be moderate impact. He had misjudged the case. Suddenly she was overwhelmingly important to him. He had never been in real love before.

There was a smattering of applause. Others had been watching. Both of them blushed again, then continued their dance. They were emotionally ready for whatever the game threw at them.

Meanwhile, the dancing was wonderful. Fotina was a man’s dream, a lovely and attentive young woman, synchronizing her movements perfectly with his. More than that, he knew her for a very smart, adaptable person: one with a mind. That counted for a lot.

The music stopped. “Dinner is served,” a uniformed majordomo announced.

They returned to their table, as did the others. A waiter appeared and passed out fancy menus.

Pedro looked at his, half expecting it to list horrible things, like live slugs or raw octopus tentacles. But it was a beverage list, with a number of wines, beers, soft drinks, and milk. An ordinary beginning for a banquet.

“A mug of beer,” Norris said.

“White wine,” Salina said.

“Milk,” Pedro said, still cautious.

“Lemonade,” Fotina said, evidently similarly cautious. What kind of drinks would be served to players who did not need to eat or drink?

A waitress came bearing an empty mug. A waiter approached and stood before her. She held the mug down near his crotch. He opened his fly and brought out his penis. He urinated into the mug. The piss streamed out voluminously, soon filling the mug.

The four of them at the table stared without moving or commenting. What could they say? Pedro was surprised that the waiter was even able to urinate; evidently, in this round, the avatars were anatomically and functionally correct.

The waitress took the mug and set it down before Norris. It was full and frothy. “Your beer, sir,” she said.

“Thank you,” Norris said, keeping a straight face. He did not touch it. Theoretically this was politeness, waiting until the others were duly served.

“I gather we are able to eat and drink in this setting,” Pedro said. “Though the food can hardly be real.”

“It is as real as your avatars,” the waiter replied. “You are expected to partake.”

“Or else?” Salina asked.

“Those who do not will forfeit their places in the game.”

Just so. This was to be a challenge of gustatory fortitude. Such things had occurred in prior games: the eating of live eels, of raw sheep’s guts, and so on.

The waiter brought a wine glass to Salina. But instead of opening a sealed bottle, he beckoned to the waitress. She hoisted her skirt to reveal a bottom without underwear. She spread her legs wide. The waiter put the glass down close to her crotch. She let go with a stream of urine. It swirled around in the glass, filling it. Pedro saw that similar offerings were made at the other tables. They were all being treated to this astonishing show.

The waiter set the glass before Salina. This was her white wine. It still looked a lot like urine.

The waiter brought a milk glass to Pedro’s place. The waitress removed her shirt, baring her full breasts. The waiter held the glass before her bosom. She took her hands and squeezed around a nipple. A stream of white milk squirted out, catching the glass. She continued until the glass was half full, then shifted to the other breast, and milked it similarly until the glass was full.

The waiter set the glass before Pedro. The fluid looked exactly like milk.

Finally, the waitress brought a tall lemonade glass to Fotina’s place. The waiter brought out his penis again and urinated. The waitress set it before Fotina.

Now the waiter and waitress stood back and waited.

“I think we are expected to sample the drinks before we get to the next course,” Norris said.

“Or else,” Salina repeated.

“Together?” Pedro suggested.

The four of them lifted their glasses and brought them to their faces. They knew that they could not get away with balking.

Pedro sipped his milk. It was cold, and tasted exactly like milk. The temperature revealed that it had not just come from living breasts.

Fotina sipped her drink. “Cold lemonade,” she said, relieved.

Norris tried his. “Excellent cold beer.”

Salina sipped. “Perfect white wine.”

“They are messing with our minds,” Pedro said. “The drinks are genuine, at least to the extent feasible, in such a setting. Only the mode of presentation differs.”

“We can handle it,” Fotina said.

They sipped their assorted drinks, reassured. Secretly, Pedro suspected that worse was coming. This was only the introduction, to establish the type of challenge, and incidentally give the TV audience a show. Men pissing into glasses? Children would love that!

He looked around. Two of the other tables had a person missing. It seemed two people had balked and were gone.

The waitress cleared away the empty glasses. Pedro looked at his menu. It showed aperitifs and salads.

“Lettuce, tomato, carrot, onion salad,” he said. “And rolls.”

“The same,” Fotina said.

“Ditto,” Norris agreed, and Salina nodded. There was a certain support in unity.

“Make it one big salad for the four of us, with the rolls on the side,” Pedro suggested. “Less trouble that way.” Also, maybe less anatomical exposure and natural functions.

First the waiter dropped his trousers and bent over. The waitress held a plate close behind him. He heaved, and his rectum extruded a brown mass. It turned out to be a roll. He heaved again, defecating another. When there were four rolls, the waitress put the plate on the table.

Now the waitress bared her breasts again. She squeezed out a thick yellowish substance, catching it in a small glass bowl. This turned out to be yellow butter.

The four patrons gravely took a roll each, spread butter, and chewed on them. They were warm and tasty. However, another person disappeared at one of the other tables.

The waiter brought two large salad bowls. The waitress put her head over one, poked a finger down her throat, and vomited a copious greenish jellylike liquid. When she had enough, she reached into the mass and drew out—a lettuce leaf. It seemed to have formed from the puke. She washed it off with a damp sponge and set it in the other bowl. Soon she had several leaves, enough to form the base of the salad.

The waiter stood by the lettuce, hawked, sneezed, then put one finger to his nose. He blew, and a string of mucous emerged to land on the lettuce. He blocked the spent nostril and blew again, and more mucous streamed out. It was a jelly base for the rest of the salad.

“Snot sauce,” Salina said, grimacing.

“Only the best,” Fotina agreed, looking faintly ill.

The waitress bared her bottom and extruded a red globe from her anus. It was a whole tomato. She squeezed out another. The waiter took them and used a sharp kitchen knife to slice them into sections, which he added to the lettuce.

Then the waiter bared his bottom and extruded a yellow mass: a whole carrot, followed by another. These were sliced into the developing salad.

Next, the waitress stood and looked sad. Tears welled from her eyes. Then she bent and puked out a whitish ball. It was an onion. The waiter sliced it into the salad also.

Finally the waiter bared his penis again, and the waitress bared her bottom. He approached her from behind as she bent over and slid his member into her vagina. He stroked several times, then withdrew and oriented on the salad. Several spurts flew out and splattered on the salad. The salad dressing, courtesy coitus interruptus.

It turned out to be excellent salad. More vacancies appeared at the other tables.

“What’s next?” Norris asked morosely.

Fotina looked at the menu, which now displayed offerings for the next course. “More aperitifs: beef stew and raisin pudding seem to be the least unappetizing.”

“This makes me nervous,” Salina said.

“The longer we hold out, the better off we are,” Fotina said. “We’re the only remaining table with all four players.”

“That semen salad dressing was a close call for me,” Norris said. “I know this is all merely a show, but it is getting to me.”

“It’s like the old time real-life competitions,” Pedro said. “At some point they would have the players eating repulsive things. I’m sure that live roaches and caterpillars can have good food value, but I would have difficulty eating them.”

“But you can eat vomited lettuce and shit-out tomatoes?” Norris asked. “I think I would prefer the caterpillars.”

“We have to order,” Fotina said.

They did. The waiter obligingly defecated the lumpy brown stew, which looked exactly like diarrhea, bubbling with embedded gas. “So nice to have the farts mixed in to the liquid shit,” Norris remarked.

The waitress vomited the raisin pudding into small individual bowls. “And the raisins well soaked,” Salina added.

Norris lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth. That was as far as he could go. “I can’t eat this shit,” he muttered.

Salina tried with the pudding. She managed to open her mouth, but stalled there. “Ditto this vomit.”

Pedro nerved himself and put a spoonful of stew in his mouth. It tasted exactly like stew, but he feared he detected a whiff of poop about it. Too bad. He chewed and swallowed.

Fotina tried the pudding. She got it in her mouth, looked as if she wanted to vomit it back out, but then managed to swallow.

Then Pedro tried the pudding, and Fotina the stew. Both succeeded. They were eating the offerings.

Norris and Salina disappeared.

Startled, Pedro looked around, but the two were not in sight. They had simply faded out.

“We eliminated them,” Fotina said sadly. “When we ate what they could not.”

“It’s a competition,” Pedro said. “I wasn’t trying to wipe them out.”

“Me neither.”

They continued eating, glancing every so often at the other tables. One had two remaining players, while the other two tables had three. Six players had been eliminated. “One of each gender to go,” Pedro murmured.

“Before we are safe,” Fotina agreed.

They finished the course. As did the players at the other tables. It was time for the next.

The menu shifted again. The main entries showed. Roast piglet. Roast turkey. Roast lamb. Roast beef.

“We had beef stew,” Pedro said. “I prefer variety, even in this.”

“The turkey, then,” Fotina suggested.

They ordered the turkey. The other tables finished and made their orders.

Then something odd happened. Instead of bringing the roasts, the waiters and waitresses looked at each other, all around the room, a similar act for them all. Was this important?

“Sometimes there are tricks,” Pedro murmured. “We’d best pay close attention.”

“I see one already,” Fotina murmured back. “He has come to look like you.”

Pedro was startled. “Whatever for?” He focused on the waitress. “She looks like you.”

“And the others look like the other players,” she said. “Except for the extra man and woman.”

“Eight waiters, ten players,” he agreed. “The appearance must count in some probably unpleasant manner.”

“Yet, how could seeing the hired help imitate us be more than a curiosity?” she asked.

“Never underestimate the deviousness of the writers who craft these games. There’ll be something.”

Their own waiter sent a masculine stare at their waitress. She turned away, then glanced archly back. They were flirting! Yet, the actual Pedro and Fotina had not being doing so.

The waiter walked around the table and bowed to the waitress. She curtsied to him. He gestured to the dance floor. She nodded, accepting. He took her hand and led her there.

“I agree with you,” Fotina said. “They are up to something, and I am increasingly nervous about it. What happened to our order for the main course?”

“I don’t know, and fear we will not appreciate it when we discover how their present actions relate.”

The waiters and waitresses danced, all four couples, beautifully. Their expertise was professional; they made turns and lifts that were beyond the capacity of ordinary folk. The women’s skirts flared out into full circles as they twirled on their dainty feet. The men synchronized perfectly, catching them and supporting them exactly right.

“I would love to look that graceful!” Fotina said.

“You do,” he said sincerely, causing her to blush again, becomingly.

“I’m still trying to figure out how this dance could possibly relate to our meal, or our progress in the game.”

“Or what the game proprietors are hoping we’ll say, while we have this semblance of privacy,” Pedro said.

“With only sixty four million viewers watching and listening.”

He shrugged. “Some may be watching the other tables, or even the dancing; it’s a nice show.”

They looked as their doppelgangers did another very nice lift and twirled. Her legs flashed all the way up to her panties. “At least now they have underwear,” Fotina said.

“In case this gets difficult, we need a way to communicate privately,” Pedro said.

“But the game monitors everything!”

“Maybe not everything.”

“But we’re just avatars here. They have to know everything we say and do.”

“They may not pick up on everything.” He found her foot with his foot, under the table. “I love you,” he said, and pressed once against her foot.

She gazed at him, confused. “But—”

“I hate you.” He pressed twice.

She considered. “These are mixed signals.”

“I really don’t know how I feel.” He pressed three times.

“You are making no sense at all,” she said. Her foot pressed his twice.

She had caught on! Once for true, two for false, three for confusion. “I’m sorry.” He sent no signal.

“I think you do have a point.” She pressed once. “Though I also think you are crazy.” She pressed twice.

“That too,” he agreed. They had succeeded in setting up an avenue of communication they could use as needed. It might count for nothing, but could be helpful. Regardless, he was pleased to verify her intelligence, in this incidental manner. She was a smart girl, in or out of the game.

The waiters and waitresses concluded their dance exhibition. They returned to their respective tables. Pedro, Fotina, and the other players watched silently, knowing something was coming. The two of them still looked exactly like Pedro and Fotina.

The waitress removed her clothing and lay on her back on the table. The waiter removed his and joined her, his member rising and swelling formidably. He mounted her, guiding his penis into her cleft and settling on her for a kiss. He thrust, withdrew, and thrust again. He went into an evident climax, and she joined him, clinging to him as they panted together.

“It’s like watching ourselves,” Fotina murmured, pressing his foot once.

“I disagree. They’re only imitations.” He pressed her foot twice, to indicate that he really did agree with her.

Then the waiter got off and dressed. The waitress sat up, got to her feet and dressed also.

But there was an oddity. The waitress’ clothing no longer fit. Her belly was expanding visibly.

“She’s pregnant!” Fotina said, surprised. She didn’t need to press his foot.

“So it seems,” Pedro agreed warily. This little skit was amazing and confusing: what was the point?

The woman’s abdomen became huge. Her “pregnancy” was advancing at an astonishing rate. Maybe a month per minute.

Fotina glanced around. Pedro did too. The three other waitresses were in similar states.

The waitress lay back on the table. She lifted her knees, spread her legs, and heaved. From her open vagina something emerged: the head of a baby. She heaved again, and more of it slid out. Soon she had, relatively cleanly, delivered the full baby. He had short brown hair matching the color of the parent’s hair, and looked somewhat like Pedro. He took a breath and cried.

Pedro touched Fotina’s foot, signaling her to brace herself. Whatever the point of this mini-drama was, was about to come clear.

The waitress picked up her baby and held it to her breast. She got off the table.

The waiter brought a toaster oven and set it on the table. He brought an empty platter and a steak knife. He set them on the table. Then he took the baby from the waitresses’ arms and set the baby on the platter. Then he put the loaded platter in the oven, closed the door, and turned the oven on. The baby cried as the heat intensified.

Chaos erupted. Fotina screamed, as did the women at the other tables where it seemed similar scenes were being enacted.

“It’s only emulation,” Pedro reminded Fotina. But he was severely shaken. How could they show such a thing, even in pretense?

Fotina sat there, staring without focusing. He nudged her foot, but it was unresponsive. She had been stricken to the core.

Pedro found he could not move. Whether this was his own incapacity or a restriction by the game he didn’t know. All he could do was watch.

The waiter opened the oven. He used potholders to remove the hot platter. The baby was cooked and browned. The waiter set aside the oven, then picked up the knife. He sliced a section off the baby’s rump.

Pedro saw that the baby now looked like roast turkey. The little play was over, and their entry was being served. It was just another pretense, like the urine, feces, breast milk, mucous and semen. They would have to eat it, or lose out to those who had fewer scruples.

And there was a couple doing it already. The man looked around at the others. “Whatsa matter, chumps?” he asked. “Can’t play the game?”

“I can’t!” Fotina said, in tears.

Pedro did not try to argue with her. She knew it was emulation rather than reality. It was the implication she couldn’t handle: that there was any circumstance in which she would eat her baby, in reality or symbolically. He understood perfectly. He could probably do it if he had to, but not if it meant washing her out. He had meant it when he said he would not hurt her. “If you go, I go,” he said, and he tapped her foot once.

She extended her hand. He took it. They were about to wash out of the game together.

•  •  •

Fotina held Pedro’s hand and closed her eyes. Her emotions were tumultuously mixed. She was grief stricken to fail her family by washing out of the game before coming close to the big prize. But she simply could not handle the idea that she could ever harm a baby that way, her own or anyone else’s, even in a completely imaginary setting. Yet she was pleased that Pedro was joining her, lending his support when he surely could have gone on without her. It indicated that he did love her in return, at least enough to put her before his game ambition. That counted for a lot.

Moments passed, but nothing seemed to change. She cracked an eye open. She was still in the dreadful restaurant, still at the table with Pedro. How could that be? She had balked, and that eliminated her, didn’t it?

“Aren’t we gone?” she asked stupidly.

“Apparently not,” he said.

“May I have your attention, please, players,” a voice called. “Please rise and form a circle around the dance floor. Something has come up.”

Fotina looked at Pedro. He shrugged, not having any better idea than she did.

They got up and went to the dance floor. The other players did the same. Soon ten people were standing in a large irregular circle. Fotina clutched Pedro’s hand tightly; she needed him now, more than ever.

Two figures appeared in the center. One was a tall, handsome man in a well-tailored business suit. The other was a stately older woman in an evening gown. “I am Ero, Proprietor of the Eroma game,” he said. “My companion is Roma, Chief Executive Manager.” He paused to smile briefly. “I assure you, in real life, IRL, neither of us look anything like these avatars.”

If he expected a responsive chuckle from the players, he was disappointed. All of them were too shocked by the recent incident, and too uncertain by this abrupt departure from the regular game format.

Ero spoke again. “Normally, we would have eliminated one more couple, leaving four to continue the next round. But there are two complications. The first is that it appears that only one couple is qualifying, and four being eliminated. This is not feasible for the orderly continuation of the game. The second is that we appear to have a viewer revolt on our hands.”

Pedro spoke. “You crossed the line with that last challenge. We are not baby eaters, not even in pretense or parody. Fotina and I prefer to wash out of the game than to participate further in such a degraded episode.” Heads around the circle nodded; the others agreed with him.

Except for the one couple that had eaten the baby. “It’s a game, rube!” the man said, sneering. “If you can’t handle it, you don’t deserve to remain.”

“Fuck off, shithead,” another man snapped at him. “We have standards you evidently don’t.”

“Well, you lost, loser. You knew the rules.”

“We knew,” Pedro said. “That’s why we’re ready to concede defeat. Conscience demands it.”

“Amen,” another player agreed.

“This appears to be the sentiment of the great majority of our viewers,” Ero said. “They feel that the last challenge was beyond the pale. Now that Roma and I have reviewed it, we agree; we trusted our programmers without considering the deeper sentiments of the players or the larger audience. We apologize for putting you through this horror and ask that you put it behind and continue the game.”

“It’s a bit late for most of us,” Fotina said. “We have already been eliminated.”

“Not so,” Roma said. “We are suspending that aspect.”

“You mean to substitute a different challenge?” Pedro asked.

“No,” Ero said.

They looked at him, perplexed.

“We mean to modify the rule,” Roma explained. “Four couples will qualify; one will be eliminated.”

“Which one?” the sneering man asked.

“Yours,” Ero said.

“Hey, wait an instant, buster! We qualified.”

“You assumed you qualified,” Ero said evenly. “You assumed that the challenge was to do a reprehensible thing, when, in fact, it was to make an honorable sacrifice.”

“You can’t do that! You’re changing the rules after the game has been played!”

“In difficult cases, the proprietors have the authority to interpret the rules,” Roma said. “That rule exists, as can be verified. This is such a case, and we are exercising it. We prefer not to have your kind in our game.”

“Bitch!” the man yelled. “You can’t—”

He and his partner faded out before he finished the sentence.

“There may be a lawsuit,” Ero said. “We will handle it. Are the rest of you satisfied?”

The others considered, and slowly nodded. Justice had been done, game style, and now they could proceed to the next round.

Except for Fotina. She struggled with herself, and realized that she couldn’t accept. “No.”

Roma turned to her. “I don’t understand.”

“You did change the rules. That’s not fair. I can’t take advantage of that.”

The other players exchanged glances. They had accepted the change, but evidently Weren’t entirely easy with it.

“She has a point,” Pedro said.

Fotina flashed him a smile of appreciation for his support. Nevertheless, she argued with him. “You can stay, Pedro. You have a game to win. My decision is for me alone.”

He shook his head. “If you go, I go,” he repeated.

“This is awkward,” Ero said. “We need four couples.”

“You can promote one of the losing couples,” Pedro said.

“We need you,” Roma said.

“We’re not special,” Fotina protested.

Ero addressed the three other couples. “We will take them aside and reason with them. The rest of you have qualified. We will see you in the game next week. We believe we can persuade this couple to remain in the game.”

The others faded out, leaving just the four of them. They were, in effect, alone. What were the proprietors up to?

Roma focused on Fotina, and suddenly Fotina knew that this was not a woman to be trifled with. This might be an avatar, but behind it was a formidable business executive. She intended to have her way, and believed she could manage it. Still, Fotina intended to stand her ground.

“You entered the game in the hope of winning enough money to secure your family’s finances,” Roma said. “If you leave now, you will sacrifice that.”

“I have to win fairly,” Fotina responded. “We do need the money, but it matters how we get it.”

“And I think you are not about to debate that,” Pedro said, supporting her again. She truly valued that!

“We are not,” Roma agreed, her mouth twitching with a semblance of humor. “But we are about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Fotina waited noncommittally.

“In return for your continued presence in the game,” Roma said, “we will arrange to have your father rehired at his old position. That will abate the family financial crisis, and enable it to meet its several obligations.”

Fotina felt her jaw drop. “You can do that?”

“We can. We have high connections. He’s a good worker and they were sorry to let him go. There are signs the economy is recovering. They wish to recover valuable personnel. Everybody gains. This represents an ethical solution to your family problem.”

Fotina was unable to speak for the moment. She had never anticipated this.

“Your research is impressive,” Pedro said. “But it begs a question: why are you so desperate to have Fotina in the game?”

“You know why, Pedro,” Roma said. “It’s the romance. Our viewers have locked onto it, and the longer the two of you are in the game, the higher our ratings become. We need both of you. If we lose you, the ratings will plummet, and our sponsors will not be pleased.”

Pedro nodded. “Fairly answered. If Fotina stays, I stay. But it is her decision.”

The three of them looked at Fotina, awaiting her choice.

What could she do? She had no certainty of winning the game. This compromise would solve her family’s problem in the best possible way. She was not easy about the change in the rules, but the offer was overwhelming. “I’ll stay,” she whispered.

“Congratulations,” Ero said. “Now we have another matter to discuss.”

“Another?” Fotina was blank. “Haven’t you gotten what you want?”

“Not all of it,” Roma said. “We want your wedding.”

Fotina looked imploringly at Pedro, not knowing how to react.

Pedro picked up immediately. “Fotina and I are interested in each other,” he agreed. “But that does not mean we will marry. We both know that things may be substantially different IRL. We may have little in common outside the game. We simply don’t know, having had no opportunity to get to know each other there. Plus, if we do decide to marry, why should we do it in the game?”

“For our ratings,” Roma said. “They would break records.”

“Why should we care about that?”

“Because we are prepared to make another deal to make it worth your while.”

“We don’t even know each other that well,” Pedro repeated. “Marriage is a serious matter. Being rushed into it for some deal is foolish, apart from being singularly unromantic.”

“You have had no chance to get to know each other in real life,” Roma agreed. “We believe you would confirm your love and desire to marry if you could interact outside the game.”

“Or realize that we are not right for each other,” Pedro said. “But That’s academic, isn’t it?”

“No. This is the deal: if you marry, you will do it in the game for our audience; in exchange we will arrange for the two of you to interact in real life for a week.”

Fotina’s heart throbbed. “How?”

“We will send the two of you to Honeymoon Isle at our expense, for the week between this round and the next. This is a private resort reserved for serious or married couples. No one there will find your association to be remarkable. They are all lovers.”

Fotina was wickedly tempted. To be with Pedro physically for a week! Even if it didn’t work out, it was bound to be a phenomenal experience.

Pedro hesitated. “We have jobs we can’t just skip.”

“We have connections there too. Competent substitutes will report, with the approval of the management.” Roma smiled faintly. “They will not seek to displace you; your jobs well be secure.”

“Our folks will wonder,” Fotina said.

“You will explain to them that the game has provided an incidental benefit for achieving the fourth round. Quickly; a limousine will be waiting to take each of you to the airport from your respective residences. There will not be time for questions.”

They seemed to have thought of everything. They certainly knew how to manage people. Fotina looked at Pedro, but his face was neutral. He was letting her decide.

“We’ll take it,” she said.

•  •  •

Honeymoon Isle was absolutely beautiful. They were ushered into a lovely suite surely ten times as expensive as they could ever have afforded on their own, complete with kitchenette, spacious bathroom, closet stocked with dress clothes and beach clothes, phone, TV, computer, and a phenomenal view of the adjacent beach and small boat harbor. The air was balmy and there were palm trees; it was a tropical paradise.

“Hold me,” she told Pedro. She had just met him and found him modestly handsome.

He held her, silently. She let down her guard and cried into his shoulder. It was just so sudden and amazing.

After a while she drew back. She glanced at the double bed. “Do you want to?”

“Let’s take a walk first. Maybe have dinner. Get to know each other. There will be time.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed, relieved. They had had sex in the game, but this was real, and that was something else. She was not at all sure the one would translate successfully to the other. She had made the offer because, above all, she wanted to please him.

“But I would love to see you change clothing,” he said.

She laughed. She went to the closet and selected a swimsuit. She led him into the bathroom and changed into it, letting him see her naked in the process. She did not ask to see him naked, because she knew he would have an erection he would not want to show her yet. She had learned so much about sex in the game, yet not nearly enough.

When she was done, she vacated the bathroom and let him change to trunks. He was, as he had said, nothing special, just an ordinary nondescript man. She was more than satisfied with that. It was his intelligence, experience, and caring nature that turned her on.

They went out and walked in sandals on the beach. Other couples were there, nodding pleasantly, but otherwise ignoring them. When she saw others kissing, she turned to Pedro and lifted her face. He took her in and gently kissed her, and it was everything she had expected, which was actually not much. He was, in fact, slightly clumsy.

“I haven’t kissed many girls in real life,” he said, embarrassed. “That’s one reason I like the game.”

“Me too,” she agreed, meaning that she had little romantic experience apart from the game.

They entered the water and swam. It was warm and wonderful. They kissed again in the surf. She was plunging rapidly into love, as she had expected to. Everything was simply so pleasant.

They returned to their suite and showered together. He did have an erection, and it looked formidably huge, but now she knew it would fit. They didn’t have sex. It was enough just being together in this manner, as if they had been married for a year.

In due course, they dressed and went to the convenient restaurant. “As long as they don’t serve...” She trailed off, not wanting to say it.

They didn’t serve babies. Nevertheless, Pedro and Fotina ordered a vegetarian entree. They had a lovely quiet meal. There was no bill; everything was covered.

Back at the suite at dusk, she posed the question again. “I—I haven’t done it before, in life. If you will show me how—”

“Are you sure you want to?”

“Yes!” she said. “So that I will have done it, and won’t have to dread doing it wrong.”

“I don’t think you could do it wrong. Fotina, you look just like your avatar, and I’m half blinded by your beauty. But I don’t want to push you into anything prematurely.”

She kissed him. “Please, just do it. Don’t worry about me. I know that in real life there isn’t a trigger for a mutual thirty-second orgasm. I don’t seek an orgasm. I just want to feel you in me, and know that I have given you joy.”

“Even so, You’re a virgin and I’m nervous about that.”

“You want me to take the initiative?” she asked, surprised.

“If you would. That would guarantee that I’m not rushing you.”

That pleased her. Being in control made her less nervous. She had done it in the game. “Then lie down on your back.”

He lay on his back, his erection evident against his belly. She mounted him, spreading her legs wide apart. She took his stiff member and lifted it to her cleft. She tried to put it in her vagina, but the angle was wrong. It simply didn’t fit. This had not been a problem in the game. How could she fix it without embarrassment?

“Lean forward,” he suggested.

Oh. She leaned forward, reached down, and guided his penis in. It was moist at the tip, and her whole vulva was wet with excitement. The member still seemed huge, and her aperture seemed small, but as she pushed back against it her flesh parted, letting it slide slowly in. There was no pain; she didn’t have much of a hymen. She continued taking it in, feeling the further stretching. There seemed to be such a long way to go! Finally, it seemed to be completely embedded. She felt its hot fullness agreeably distending her body. Yes the thing was huge, but it really did fit!

But there was an oddity. After a moment she identified it. “This is weird, without a big audience. Does it count?”

He laughed, making his member pump pleasantly within her. “Not for any game credit.”

She had to laugh too. She liked laughing with him almost as well as having him inside her. “I haven’t done sex outside the game. I guess it shows.”

“Charmingly,” he agreed.

“I picture the two of us like this in the game, with my flesh going translucent so everyone can see how deep you are in my center. I was taken aback when I first saw that, but now I almost miss it.”

“If we marry in the game, they’ll want more than a kiss,” he said. “They’ll want sex, exactly like that.”

“Just so long as it’s with you. I don’t care if the whole world knows I love you.”

“The whole world will,” he replied.

“And I do love you. I knew it the moment I saw you in real flesh.”

“And I love you,” he said. “Same instant. You’re an absolute doll, way beyond anything I deserve. But we still should get to know each other better before we make any lasting commitment.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, vaguely disappointed.

“May I?” he asked, indicating her breasts, which were half hanging toward him.

“You may,” she said, smiling. Her mammaries were not as large as those of her enhanced avatar, and she had been concerned they would not appeal to him as much. His interest was reassuring.

He put his two hands on her two breasts and stroked them, caressing the nipples. That excited her, and she felt her vagina squeezing on his penis. It was working in much the way the avatar did. Did the human body have similar triggers for facilitating sex? Was her vagina loosening?

Then suddenly, he was bucking, and she knew he was having his orgasm. He had not been able to hold it back any longer. The double stimulation of her vagina and breasts had been too much. Which meant that she had really truly done it: she had taken him in and made him perform. They had had sex!

“Kiss me!” he gasped.

She lay down on him, maintaining the connection, conscious of her breasts flattening against his chest. She found his mouth with hers and kissed him as his arms came up around her. The contact of their lips was like sweet fire, radiating thrills through the rest of her body.

“Oh, Fotina, that was the greatest sex I ever had!” he said. “You’re absolutely perfect!”

“You’re welcome,” she said, kissing him again.

“But it was all for me. You didn’t get there.”

“Orgasm? I don’t need it. Just being with you like this is enough.”

“No it isn’t. I want you to have the same kind of joy I had. Let’s clean up, and then I’ll do you.”

“Clean up?”

“We just had real sex. I ejaculated.”

Oh. “That’s right: it’s not like the game where things are not messy.” She kissed him once more, then got off him and went to the bathroom to mop herself out. He was right: there was thick liquid in her that would have dripped.

She returned to the bed. This time he had her lie on her back, and he put his face between her spread legs and licked her vulva, just like in the game. And, just like in the game, she felt an immediate wash of pleasure. He continued, and the pleasure slowly grew, heightened when he touched her clitoris. He also poked a finger into her vagina, and that helped too.

Soon enough she was in the throes of a phenomenal climax, not identical to a game orgasm, but close enough. She closed her thighs on his head, caught in the rapture of it. It went on and on, a brief eternity.

Then at last it faded, leaving her sweetly exhausted for the moment. “Thank you!” she gasped.

“Welcome,” he said, smiling. “Now we have truly shared.”

“Just hold me and kiss me, Pedro!”

He did, and it was its own kind of heaven. She felt as if she were floating on a soft pink cloud, lifted by their love. Would forever be long enough to hold this embrace?

“We were supposed to take a week to decide,” he said. “It only took me an hour. You’re the girl I want to be with the rest of my life.”

“And You’re the man,” she said, loving the way he said it. “I think I knew that the first hour in the game, when you took so much trouble to show me the ropes.”

“As if having sex with you is trouble!”

She knocked him lightly with her fist. “You know what I mean. So what are we going to do with the rest of the week?”

He chuckled. “I presume you don’t want to settle for staying right here naked on this bed the whole time.”

“I think half the time should be enough,” she said with mock severity. “Not counting sleep.”

“Awww.”

“Two thirds?”

He hugged her again, and kissed her. “If you don’t stop teasing me, I’m going to get hot for sex again.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

And of course soon they were in it again. She loved flirting with him, turning him on, rousing his passion. It was another kind of game, a love game.

Finally they were sexually exhausted, and the night was not that far advanced. They turned on the TV to watch, remaining nude on the bed. “What program?” he asked. “They have several hundred channels to choose from.”

“You choose.”

He found a nature channel and put on “The Life and Times of the Black Widow Spider.” At first she thought he was teasing her by selecting something repulsive, but as the program advanced she got interested. She had never even thought to examine the life of such a creature, in fact, she had preferred that all spiders be exterminated. Now she changed her mind. These were reclusive spiders not looking for trouble, and their lifestyle was a considerable challenge.

“This is the kind of thing you watch?” she asked.

“Yes. We can switch to a game show, or something, if you want.”

“No, I like this. Thank you for introducing me to a new aspect of TV.” Her respect for him was growing.

In time they fell asleep, holding hands on the bed. She woke in the night to discover him stroking her breasts. He was a man; he wanted sex again.

She rolled over on her side, facing away from him, knees brought up to her chest. She knew about alternate positions from the game. “Put it in,” she said.

“That won’t do it for you.”

“Yes it will.” She pushed her bottom against his groin, feeling his hot member there.

He did not argue further. He slid into her from behind, thrust, and ejaculated almost immediately. She felt the fluid pulsing into her, three, four, five, six spurts before he was spent. Then he lay there, connected, his hand on her breast, as his member slowly diminished in her.

She knew she should clean up, because of the ejaculate, but she was sleepy and she so loved having him close this way. She drifted off.

Later yet, she felt him entering her again, and jetting again. He really liked sex! And she really liked giving it to him. She drifted back to sleep.

There might have been still another time, but she wasn’t sure; it might have been a dream. Regardless, she was deeply satisfied to have it.

In the morning, she woke to find him sound asleep beside her, snoring gently on his back, his flaccid member sleeping too. She got up quietly and sat on the toilet, cleaning herself out. Real life bodies did have natural functions. Then she got a daring notion. She returned to the bed, sat beside him, and played with his penis. In moments it expanded and extended, until it was at full mast. She admired it, pleased with her handiwork. It was large, but not too large, as she had verified several times. Then she got on him, fitted the hard member into her clean vagina, and lay against him, savoring the full penetration. She had done it herself, with no help. She kissed him.

He awoke. “What?” he asked, confused.

“It’s called sex,” she said. “Did you forget what you were doing and fall asleep? That’s not very complimentary to me.”

He caught on. “You minx!” He held her and thrust repeatedly, and forged on into his climax. “You’re an amazing girl!” he gasped as he jetted.

“I should hope so,” she agreed, squeezing him where it counted.

“Oh, Fotina!”

“How many times, in the night?” she inquired.

“Three. Four, counting this. Paradise.”

“Thank you.”

“Now I owe you four.”

“I will put them on your account,” she said. “I want to have breakfast first.”

“Oh. Yes.” He disengaged, got up, and went to the shower. She joined him there. It did not lead to more sex; it seemed she had finally wrung him out. Still, it was fun.

They went out for breakfast, holding hands. Other couples nodded. Everyone was a lover here.

“What a pretty boat,” Fotina remarked, glancing across the harbor.

“Boat?”

“There on the horizon, with the blue sails.”

He peered, but shook his head. “I don’t see it.”

“Well, it’s small.” Maybe a glare off the sea had interfered with his view.

Back at the suite they considered what to do next. There were assorted entertainments on the isle, but right now Fotina just wanted to be with Pedro and maybe innocently tempt him into more sex. It wasn’t that she was eager for the act itself, but that she liked demonstrating, to him and herself, her power over him in this respect. It was a game that made her feel important.

He showed her a card game on the computer. She had not realized that card games existed for that. “It’s called Grandfather,” he said. “You deal out the cards, about half of them turned up, and match up suits. The object is to get all four suits built up from ace to king. There are three deals, but even so, your chances of winning are only about one in three. It’s just a diversion.”

“Any diversion is fun, with you.” She reconsidered. “As long as we do it naked.” The idea of constantly turning him on turned her on. They played it naked.

He demonstrated, playing a game and losing. Next, she played, and lost. Then they collaborated, and won. “Oh, this is fun!” she said.

A weather bulleting appeared on the screen: STORM WARNING. REMAIN INSIDE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

“What, because of a little rain?” he asked.

“Maybe they get good storms here.”

It seemed they did. The winds outside rose rapidly, howling around the edges. The power failed.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “We were about to win again.”

This was an obvious time to distract him with more sex. But she had already proven herself in that respect, and was intrigued with the game. She felt around in the chest of drawers, and sure enough, found a sealed pack of playing cards. There was enough daylight to see. She dealt out the cards in the Grandfather pattern, and they played.

“From the avatar pack to the real life pack,” she said. “And it works!”

“Fancy that. Next thing you know, they’ll be having big-prize card game competitions IRL.”

“And they may even discover how to have IRL sex,” she agreed, laughing.

They finished the card game, but it wasn’t nearly as neat or convenient as the computer version. “Let’s have some more sex,” she suggested.

“It’s my turn to do you, to reduce my burden of debt.”

The notion appealed. “Okay.”

She lay on the bed and he went to work. “So I guess we’ll tell the Eroma folk that we do plan to marry,” she said.

Pedro lifted his head. “Have we agreed on that? I don’t recall proposing to you.”

“You forgot. Keep slurping. I’ll do it.”

He resumed licking. She did not react sexually as quickly as he did; it took a while to get her there, though it was a very nice delay.

“I am getting down on one knee before you,” she said.

He paused again. “Which knee?”

“This one,” she said, slapping her right knee. “Now stop talking.” Then she used her hand to push his face down for further action. “Pedro, I love you. Will you marry me?”

He continued licking. She caught his hair and hauled his head up. “Now you can say one word, you tease.”

He grinned. “Yes.”

She pushed his head down again. “Good. We don’t live close to each other. Who is going to move?” She held his head in place so he couldn’t answer. “What, silent? Then I’ll decide. You can move to join me.”

He tried to lift his head again, but she clamped her thighs on it to hold it in place. His stimulation was bringing her close to culmination. He reached with his hand to tickle her bottom. “No fair!” she cried, laughing as her legs released involuntarily.

“You should talk about playing fair,” he said.

“I apologize. I’m almost there; please don’t stop.”

He resumed, and soon her climax was upon her. As it started, not only did he continue licking, he tickled her bottom mercilessly. She went into a hysterical orgasm. “You beast!” she gasped amidst it.

He came up and joined her, kissing her as his resurgent penis probed. She wiggled, facilitating his entry, and pressed close as he ejaculated. This was another minor revelation: doing her had turned him on too.

Suddenly, the power resumed. “So That’s what it was waiting for,” he said.

“Obviously.”

“Now that we've decided, should we notify the game proprietors to cancel the rest of this stay?”

“Don’t you dare!”

The rest of it passed quickly. They watched quality TV, they played cards, they swam, they ate, they did the entertainment tours including some wonderful boat sails, and, of course, they had so much sex it seemed it might come out their ears. Fotina learned to do Pedro as he did her, finding a penis more challenging to take in all the way orally than it was in the game, but she managed. And it did turn her on, to a degree, even though there did not seem to be any orgasm trigger in her throat. They had sex underwater in the sea, after observing another couple doing it— and in the tunnel of love, and in the racing car in the horror house. Finally, they buried themselves in sand and tried it that way, but the sand made it too uncomfortable. Well, at least they had made the effort.

Between times they talked, learning everything about each other. They turned out to be two ordinary people who had happened to meet in the game and fallen in love. “Nothing remarkable about us at all,” Pedro concluded.

“But we’re valuable for game viewership,” she said.

“Yes. They are doing this to make money; they hardly care about us personally.”

“I’m still glad it happened.”

“So am I.”

“I guess we’ll have to go back to being competitors for a while.”

“And having avatar sex with others,” he said. “Can you handle that?”

She grimaced. “I’ll have to. It’s not the sex; I've learned about that. It’s having to do it with someone other than you, and knowing you are doing it with someone other than me. I guess I am a little jealous.”

“At least it’s only avatar sex. I don’t want to have IRL sex with anyone but you.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, we don’t need to win anymore. Your father has his job back, and I consider you to be a bigger prize than any money could be.”

“And what will you support me on? Bookkeeping money?”

He sighed. “I’d better win the game, or let you win so you can support me.”

“Okay.” She kissed him.

They messaged the game authorities: they did plan to marry, and would do it in the game. They knew the authorities would be elated, for reasons that had nothing to do with real romance.

They made desperate love the last night, knowing there would be no more for several weeks. Fotina was in tears, but fortunately Pedro understood why.

On the final morning the helicopter took them to the airport. There they had different flights to their home cities. They held each other and kissed one final time, so passionately that they attracted stares from other travelers. They didn’t care.

When they separated, Fotina could hardly see her way to her seat. Fortunately, an understanding flight attendant was there to guide her.

It had been the best week of Fotina’s life.

Chapter 4:
Sustenance

Pedro found himself in the control room of a spaceship with seven others: three male, four female, all naked. He was relieved to see that one of the females was Fotina. This was another unified setting, rather than separate ones. He hoped it would not be as ugly as the last, and that it would be as wonderful as the conclusion of the last turned out to be. Getting to know Fotina IRL, having repeated sex with her in the flesh—what else could possibly match that?

An alarm went off. WARNING the sign flashed. RANDOM FOODER BREAKDOWN.

“Oh, shit!” Kemo said, checking it. The nameplates really helped; Pedro had not directly interacted with the others in the prior rounds, though, of course, they had all been at the Poop of the Day restaurant. Kemo was a powerful Nubian, surely possessed of all the best avatar traits.

“How bad is it?” Nola asked. She was a lovely Elf with flaring green hair.

“Bad. It seems to have shorted out, and the food raw material was jettisoned before it spoiled.”

“That’s idiocy!” Tris exclaimed. He was a handsome blond Nordic.

“No,” Pedro said. “It’s the arranged setup for the challenge of this round of the game. We are going to have to land on the one ship-hardened site of a nearby hostile alien planet to find enough food to complete our voyage.”

Tris nodded, frowning. “Sometimes I forget that we are subject to the whims of imbeciles.”

“In that case, we’d better strap in,” Xylia said. She was a fair Nordic beauty. Of course, all the surviving avatars were handsome and lovely; they had won those traits in the first round. They all enjoyed sex, too; that was why they had entered the game. Pedro suspected that Fotina’s IRL resemblance to her avatar was a rarity; Nola and Xylia were probably overweight wallflowers. The game made a phenomenal difference by lending extreme sex appeal to all players.

They strapped in and let the autopilot take them down. But first Fotina fetched the ship’s manual, and paged through it as the descent commenced. “This is bad,” she said.

“Out with it, girl,” Kemo said.

“The imbeciles have laid it out. The planet is nicknamed Horror. It was colonized two generations ago, but subsequently abandoned because it was considered too dangerous to be pacified. Some colonists remained, but their present state is unknown.”

“They may or may not help, if they survived,” Tris said. “They’ll speak the universal language, but may have become uncomfortably alien in the interim.”

“True,” Fotina agreed. “Horror, officially named Horizon, seemed at first to be the ideal Earth-type world, with similar gravity, atmosphere, and compatible animal and plant life. Then colonists started disappearing. Some were later found, but there’s no indication in the record what had happened to them. Only that at some point the colony was revoked and most of the people fled the planet. It seems they refused to speak of what they had seen.”

“How convenient,” Tris said.

Fotina’s mouth quirked. “It’s a game. The imbeciles don’t care about things like abuse of coincidence. They just want a good show.”

“A show we are unlikely to enjoy,” Xylia said wryly.

“Except for the sex,” Kemo said.

“Unless we have to have it with monsters,” Xylia said. “Traditionally, slavering sci-fi monsters always lust after pretty human girls. I never could figure out why.”

“Because the cheap magazines of the original science fantasy genre needed girls and monsters for their covers,” Kemo said.Xylia’s lips quirked. “Why else?”

The ship shuddered as it braked and plunged through the atmosphere. It came to a landing on a paved field near an impressive alien forest. They were on location.

“Now it is up to us,” Kemo said as they unbuckled. “Do we go out to forage for food in a group, or singly?”

“Based on prior games,” Pedro said, “there will be some significant threat. If it’s a dinosaur or a belch of poison gas from a vent, everyone in the vicinity will be wiped out. If it’s a man-eating rabbit, a single person can handle it. My impression is that we shouldn’t put all our eggs in one basket.”

“Plus, it’s easier for the viewing audience to focus on one person at a time,” Xylia said. “No one has to miss any monsters raping any girls.”

“Maybe go out in pairs,” Fotina suggested. “I want to be with Pedro, for good or ill.”

Xylia glanced at her. “There’s a rumor you might marry him in the game. Is it true?”

“It is true,” Fotina said. “That does not mean we’ll be given any breaks in the game, just that before we leave it, we’ll have a public wedding.”

“How did they get you to agree to it?”

“They gave us a week together IRL at Honeymoon Isle.”

“Damn! I’d have killed for that, regardless of the man I was with.”

“Pick a man to marry,” Fotina said. “Maybe the game execs will make you a deal.”

Xylia shook her head. “Can’t. IRL I’m committed. My boyfriend would never understand.”

The others laughed. “He understands how you have frequent sex in the game?” Nola asked.

“He thinks it’s a quiz show setup. I haven’t clarified the details.”

Pedro wondered how many players were like that, being only nominally single and available. This was certainly the place to indulge secret desires while remaining technically faithful.

“Back to the topic at hand,” Kemo said. “I’m amenable to pairs. How do we decide who’s first?”

“Throw fingers,” Pedro suggested. “Three do it together; two are bound to match.”

Kemo nodded. “I’ll start. Who else?”

Xylia and Tris joined him. They threw, and the two men matched. “Damn,” Tris muttered. “I was hoping to be with you, Xylia.”

She laughed. “Why Tris, I didn’t know you cared.”

“It’s that a woman is more fun alone together than a man.”

“That’s all?”

“You force me to admit it: I do have a hankering for you.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Why don’t I give you a dramatic sendoff?”

“Okay!” He looked around. “Where can we get private?”

“There is no privacy here in the ship.”

“Then how—”

“Let’s put this setting to the test. Those waiters had public sex in the Poop coop.”

“I don’t know.”

She approached him, put her hand on his penis, and quickly massaged it into erection. Then she leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around him. They went at it standing, hugging and kissing as his member thrust deep into her open vagina.

Pedro exchanged a glance with Fotina. This public display was surely giving the TV audience a passing thrill, and it turned him on. She nodded slightly, agreeing to have sex as soon as they had opportunity. As they had discovered so well, avatar sex was not really far removed from IRL sex.

Tris and Xylia finished their joint orgasm. They had demonstrated that public sex was feasible in this setting. “Thanks!” he exclaimed.

“I have a little bit of a hankering for you too,” she confessed. “Come back safely.”

“I hope to,” Tris said. “If we find usable food, we’ll qualify.”

“And if you get eaten by a monster, you won’t,” Xylia said. “So be careful, okay?”

“How much time should we give you?” Lance, the third man, asked. He was a Mongol.

Kemo and Tris exchanged a glance. “A game day,” Kemo said. “If we’re not back by then, chances are we wiped out.”

“A day it is,” Xylia said.

The two men departed the ship. Pedro felt the gravity of the situation. It was the game, but again, his experience with Fotina reminded him how close to reality it could come. Letting two of their number go out alone was nervous business.

“Do you really care for him?” Nola asked.

“Not until I saw him eying me,” Xylia said. “That turned me on. And there is a fair chance I won’t see him again. We know that only half of us will survive this round. Danger always did give me frisson. I do feel a little bit like a prospective widow.”

“So what do we do for 24 hours?” Lance asked.

“We leave that up to you,” Pedro said. “Fotina and I have eyes only for each other.”

“Actually, we’re probably mostly off-camera now,” Xylia said. “The game will be following the two men, as they make or break their roles. If we had a monitor, we could see what they encounter, and be better prepared.” Naturally there was no monitor.

“It will switch back to us fast enough if we do anything interesting,” Nola said.

“I might think of something,” Lance said. “Which of you three spare maidens is interested?”

“We all are,” Ula, the last woman, answered. She was a Faerie, her wings folded tightly against her back and sides, since they were useless in a non-fantasy setting. Magic was required to fly, as the wings were not large enough in a scientific sense. “We’ll take turns with Lance, and the spares can make it hands on.”

“Hands on?” Lance asked.

“While you have sex with one of us, the other two women will be stroking the two of you wherever it counts, especially where you join. It’s a special experience for all concerned.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Lance said.

“Maybe we can demonstrate on Pedro and Fotina,” Ula said. “They are about to have sex anyway.”

“What?” Pedro asked, taken aback.

“Start in with her,” Ula said. “Tune us out. This is merely a demonstration for Lance.”

Pedro looked at Fotina. No sex they had in the game was private. Did it make any difference?

She evidently felt that it did. She made a slight shake of her head.

“We’ll pass,” Pedro said. “Our sex is no longer casual. Maybe we can go outside and survey the environment around the ship, to be sure there’s no immediate threat.”

“That does make sense,” Ula said, evidently disappointed. “Don’t go far; we don’t know how close threats lurk.”

“Not far,” Fotina agreed.

The three free women gathered around Lance as Pedro and Fotina opened the hatch and exited the ship.

“Ula wanted to get her hands on you,” Fotina murmured. “Maybe touch your penis while it orgasmed.”

“Women get turned on by that sort of thing?”

“If they like the man.”

It was becoming clear why Fotina had declined to participate in hands-on sex. She was staking her claim to him. He thought of other men handling Fotina while Pedro was having sex with her, and understood.

The ship stood on a concrete pavement that extended out some distance. On one side was an old service building; on the other was an open landscape replete with fields interspersed by trees. It was as though no human foot had tread there in centuries, but it looked supremely peaceful, rather than dangerous. The air was comfortably warm. That was just as well they had no clothing to protect them. The game preferred nudity throughout, for sexual suggestiveness. The exceptions, as they had discovered, could be uncomfortable.

There was no sign of Kemo and Tris. They must have gone into the natural region, where food might be found.

“We’d better check the building,” Pedro said. “Cautiously.”

“There could be food stored there,” she agreed.

“Or a lurking monster. We can’t afford to take anything for granted.”

“And it will seem private.”

That had become important. They walked to the building.

It turned out to be empty, except for a pile of fine netting on a desk and a piece of paper pinned on the wall. Pedro checked both immediately. The netting was simply a length of metallic material about eighteen inches wide and eight feet long, possibly used as wrapping before being discarded. He tried to tear it, but it was far too strong to yield.

The paper looked like a crude map. In one corner was the spaceport; the rest seemed to be the local landscape, with fields and trees. Nothing else was marked. It did not seem to be a treasure map.

“Games generally have hints,” he said. “Or useful things whose purpose may be obscure. These can’t be random.”

Fotina looked around. “It’s safe here, for the moment, and private.”

Ah, yes. He went to her, embraced her, kissed her, and felt her bottom. He saw no inviting place to lie down; the floor was hard and dirty, as was the surface of the desk. “That position Tris and Xylia used—I believe it is called The Tree.”

Fotina jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. She clasped him close, kissing him as her breasts flattened against his chest. In a moment, he was thrusting into her from below. He penetrated to her trigger, and they had the instant joint orgasm.

“Not quite like IRL,” she said as it passed. “But easier.”

“Either will do, for me, as long as it is with you.”

“My sentiment exactly.” She dropped down to the floor. “Now we need to figure out these hints.”

“The webbing might make you a skirt,” he suggested facetiously.

“Actually, it might.” She took the material and wrapped it several times around her hips. It covered her genital region, reaching down to her thighs, but concealed nothing. If anything, it made her more enticing, because of the illusion of partial concealment. “If anyone thrust a spear at me, this should stop it.”

“Then wear it. We have no idea what the natives are like. They well might carry spears.” He refrained from saying it would be no defense against rape unless she fashioned it into a breech clout or diaper: something with nether protection. Even that way, it would not impede a rapist long; he would simply push it aside and proceed.

“And what about the rest of me?” She stood there as if on display, her breasts appealing above the skirt, her legs similarly appealing below it.

“Maybe you could fashion it into a toga?”

“There’s really not enough.” She unwrapped it and looped it over her shoulder. “But I’ll keep it; never can tell when a see-through skirt might come in handy.”

If she wanted to tempt men, it would; the see-through skirt attracted attention to that portion of her body, without denying penetration. Partial clothing could be more of a turn-on than nakedness.

Pedro took down the map. On the back was a crudely printed message: DANGER—DO NOT TRUST THE NATIVES.

“A warning surely worth taking seriously,” Pedro said. “I doubt we properly understand it yet.” He carefully folded the map and tucked it into the built-in pocket behind his name plaque. He checked the slide-out drawers of the desk. In one was a small metal object. He examined it. “This is an ancient waterproof cigarette lighter,” he said, surprised, lifting its tight lid.

“It must have been forgotten in their hurry to depart,” she said. “Does it work?”

He flicked the little wheel. A spark jumped, and a flame formed. “Yes.”

She shrugged. “Could be useful if we need to make a fire.”

“Or another game-type item we might need for some other reason.” He closed the lid, extinguishing the flame, and put the lighter in his mouth, tucking it into a cheek.

They returned to the spaceship and let themselves in. The orgy was in progress. Lance had evidently done Ula, but Nola was working on him, trying to restore him to operative mode by licking his penis. Xylia was holding his head against her breasts.

All four looked up as Pedro and Fotina entered. “Find anything?” Lance asked.

“A length of net,” Fotina said, displaying it. “I saved it just in case there’s a use for it. We don’t see why the game would provide it otherwise.”

“And a map of the area,” Pedro said. “With a warning on the back saying danger—do not trust the natives.”

“Duh,” Lance said. “If any colonists remain, they may want to take our spaceship and strand us here.”

“With luck, Tris and Kemo will bring back a report on them, trustworthy or not,” Xylia said.

“Also an old lighter,” Pedro said, taking it out and demonstrating its flame.

“Nobody smokes anymore,” Lance said dismissively.

Pedro shrugged and returned the lighter to his mouth.

The surrounding illumination blinked. “That’s an indication of night,” Pedro said. “Our real-time session is four hours, so probably an hour equals a day in game time.”

“Then they’ll be back soon,” Xylia said, stroking Lance’s head. They had just spent the night together, in game reckoning.

But the two men were not back. The group had to acknowledge the obvious: they had gotten trapped or killed. If the former, they might be rescued; if the latter, they were out of the game.

“Who is next?” Xylia asked.

“Three of us throw fingers,” Lance said. The gamble going out seemed equivalent to the gamble of staying in, because of the chance to win actively rather than by waiting it out.

Lance, Xylia, and Nola threw fingers. This time the two women paired.

“Well, if they were led astray by lovely nymphs,” Xylia said, “we won’t be.”

“But if they were caught and eaten, we may be even more delectable,” Nola said. She glanced at Lance. “I never did get the chance to do you. How about a similar sendoff to what Xylia gave Tris?”

“So quickly a tradition forms,” Xylia murmured.

“Why not?” Lance approached Nola. She jumped similarly onto him, and soon they were having exuberant sex.

Again, Pedro felt the impact. He squeezed Fotina’s hand. She squeezed back, agreeing.

The two women departed. “If they don’t return,” Lance said morosely, “we remaining four are the likely winners by default.”

“Not the way I prefer it,” Ula said. She eyed Pedro. “You’re sure you wouldn’t like group sex?”

She was definitely trying to get a piece of him. “Not since I met Fotina,” he said.

She sighed. “So what do we do for an hour-long day?”

“Grandfather!” Fotina said.

“What?”

Fotina rummaged in the ship’s supplies and found a deck of playing cards. Soon they were taking turns playing games.

The light blinked. Another night was passing, and the women had not returned. Pedro felt a twinge of nervousness; this did not bode well.

Indeed, the women did not come back. Those remaining were perhaps winners by default. None of them were satisfied with that. “Do we go out as a foursome, or another twosome?” Lance asked.

“It’s looking increasingly dangerous to go out,” Ula said. “I proffer a deal: I’ll go next, with Lance, if Pedro gives me a sendoff.”

Pedro looked at Fotina. She made a quick, almost visible calculation, and decided. “Do it,” she told Pedro.

He realized that it wasn’t the risk of going or staying she was concerned with, but the prospect of separating the women so that she would no longer have to have competition. She would give Ula what she wanted in order to be rid of her.

Pedro stood. Ula jumped into his arms even before he got an erection. His member rose swiftly, as she pressed against him and kissed him; he could not help it. In moments it was lodged in the groove of her buttocks, unable to enter because of the angle. Pedro almost smiled; he and Fotina had encountered that problem IRL.

Ula quickly rectified that. She heaved her bottom away from him so that his member moved forward. Unfortunately, it went too far, and was now in front of her.

At this point Fotina interceded. She stepped close, took his member in her hand, and directed it to the aperture, where it slowly pushed in. In this manner, Fotina made the act her own.

The feel of Fotina’s hand on his embedded member set him off immediately. He thrust and jetted upward into Ula, finding her trigger so that she could join him. Fotina was still touching his scrotum and the base of his penis below it as the mutual orgasm took them. That added to it.

“Now you know about hands-on sex,” Ula said as the climax finished, satisfied.

So they did. It was a worthwhile variant.

Then Lance and Ula departed. At the portal, Ula had a thought. “If we don’t come back within a couple of hours, game time, come look for us. It could be something that doesn’t happen instantly.”

“Good point,” Pedro agreed.

Then they were gone, and Pedro was alone with Fotina. “Now we’re free to have private sex,” she said. “But Ula made sure we’d have to wait.”

“She’s a conniving creature.”

“You sort of like her anyway.”

“I do,” he admitted. “That in no way diminishes my commitment to you.”

“You wanted sex with her without alienating me.”

“Yes, embarrassing as it is to admit it.”

“And I wanted to see you having sex with another woman, without being afraid of losing you.”

He stared at her. “You actually wanted this?”

“Seeing two others have sex turned me on. I wondered if it would turn me on to see you doing it. It did.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“Come here.” She spread the netting on the floor and lay down. “Get into position.”

“It’s too soon. I can’t get it up yet.”

“Precisely.”

Perplexed, he joined her and got into position on her without penetration. She took his member and put it in for him, so that he was in her without erection. In a prior round that would not have worked, but this was not competition but facilitation. Then she held him close and kissed him repeatedly.

His member started to swell. Slowly it penetrated as it expanded, growing into her. Finally it achieved full hardness and depth, pushing against her trigger, and the orgasm was upon them.

“You wanted this kind of sex too!” he exclaimed.

“To feel you coming into me as I arouse you,” she agreed. “But the only way to do it was to have you do someone else first, so you’d be slack.”

“I thought you just wanted to get rid of Ula, your way.”

“That too. I wanted you to have it with someone who wanted you, so the sex would be real. I managed to phrase it as a favor to her, so maybe she’ll owe me.”

“And to think you started as a sexual innocent!” He was amazed anew, and not at all displeased.

“I’m a quick study.”

He rolled over with her, so that she lay on top of him, still connected. “I want what novelties you’ll come up with after we’re married.”

“Hundreds, I hope.”

When they were done, he brought out the map and contemplated it, looking for anything he had missed before. He found it. “There are faint lines on it. Boundaries, I think, marking off four territories.”

“But no houses or roads or other indications of high level culture?”

“None.” He studied the sections. “One seems to have mostly fields in it. Another mostly water. A third has trees. The fourth seems like hills and brush, a sort of badlands, maybe. Such features are obvious landmarks; why should they need to be mapped or delineated?”

“There must be a reason,” she said.

Time passed, and Lance and Ula did not return. “Let’s get on out there,” Pedro said grimly.

“Fully alert and ready for anything,” she agreed.

“Considering the ugly mystery of their non-return, I think we should first seek to locate or fashion defensive weapons.”

“What if fighting is not the way to win?” she asked. “Our mission is to obtain food for our journey. Couldn’t we best get that by trading peacefully with the natives?”

“What do we have to trade?”

She paused, considering. “Excellent point. The game must have a way for us to prevail, if we can figure it out.”

“Suppose the others tried to reason with the natives, and got killed? Remember the warning on the map said not to trust them.”

“Suppose they tried to fight them, and got killed?”

He considered. “Maybe we need weapons that don’t show, that we won’t use unless there’s no alternative.”

She nodded. “That will do.”

They kissed again, and went out. “The closest section is the hilly brush,” Pedro said. “This also seems like the best place to find weapons. Solid sticks, sharp stones, vines.”

“Vines?”

“Long supple ones can be used like ropes, to lasso or tie up animals or people, at least temporarily.”

“Point made. We’ll explore the badlands first.”

They walked across the pavement and onto the turf of Horror. Pedro wondered again about that name. What had so horrified the settlers that they fled and would not say what from? What about those remaining behind? Weren’t they horrified too? It did not seem to add up perfectly.

The brush was thick and prickly, a challenge for their bare feet. Fortunately, there were paths through it, likely made by animals. “If we follow the paths, we’ll be heading where the creatures that made them are,” Pedro said. “We may not like those creatures.”

“This is a game setting,” Fotina said. “Two couples have to make it through. That means there can’t be deadly traps for all; they’d have no players left. I think it must be more subtle than ravening monsters. We should be able to travel safely. The warning did not say to fear the land, but to distrust the natives.”

“Good thinking,” he agreed.

They searched for potential weapons, but before they found anything useful, two figures came bounding toward them along the paths. A man and a woman.

“Not exactly,” Fotina said as they got a better look.

Not exactly was correct. Both people were naked and humanoid, with alert faces, long hair, and highly sexualized torsos. But their skin was tanned to the point of looking leathery, their feet were so lean and bony they halfway resembled hooves, and their hands were heavily callused. They were probably genetically adapted for life on this planet, without the use of clothing, tools, or weapons.

In fact, they resembled nothing so much as a satyr and a nymph. Both, mythologically, highly sexual creatures. The female’s large breasts bounced enticingly as she ran, and the male’s impressive member seemed to be perpetually erect, as if it had a bone in it.

Pedro and Fotina waited as the two closed the distance. They came to stand a few feet away, looking expectantly at the players. Contact seemed to be up to the planetary visitors.

“Hello,” Pedro said.

“Ha-loo,” the nymph responded, smiling and inhaling. Her prominent bosom seemed eager for action. “I Berry. Hee Brush. Fock mee pleese.” She spread her legs and gestured to her crotch.

How direct could she get? These did not seem to be recycled players, but complete new animations. Was there a reason? “I am Pedro. My companion is Fotina. Why should we do that?”

“Wee must breed out.” Her accent was fading as she oriented on what might be a largely forgotten tongue. “Yoo from Earth. Original stock. Wee need.”

That made sense. They did not want to become dangerously inbred. But she had not quite answered his question. “Why should I breed with you? How will that profit me?”

She smiled cannily. “Wee will trade information for breeding. One breed, one answer. Fair exchange.”

So that was the setup in this round: answers in exchange for procreation. This way it guaranteed plenty of sex for the audience. But what about the warning on the map, not to trust the natives? Would the answers be accurate or relevant?

Did they have a choice? They would simply have to make the deal, with the caution that the answers could not be fully trusted.

Pedro looked at Fotina. She nodded, evidently having come to the same conclusion.

“Here is my first question,” Pedro said. “We have six companions who came this way before us. Where are they now?”

Berry turned around, bent forward, put her hands on her knees, and waited. Her posterior was quite plump and inviting, her vulva open. “Breed mee,” she said.

Pedro stepped up to her, set his groin against her bottom, and reached around to catch her breasts. They pressed firmly into his hands as she breathed, turning him on. His member rose and pressed against her taut belly. He drew back just enough to let it slide upward along her moist groove until it found the lodging. There was never any problem of lubrication in game sex. Then he pressed it in.

When Berry felt his entry, she pushed back eagerly, taking him all the way inside. Her vagina was slick and firm, readily accommodating penetration while squeezing conducively. He reached full depth, and that triggered the orgasm. Both of them were caught up in it for thirty seconds as he repeatedly slammed against her buttocks and pumped out pulses that felt utterly real.

When it ebbed, she drew off him and turned to face him. “Is that all?”

“All I have to give,” Pedro replied, bemused.

She looked disappointed. “They are with the big trees,” she said. Then she turned again and ran away. It seemed that one seminal donation, of whatever size, was all she needed. Maybe she had the ability to hold it within her until she became fertile and could use it.

Pedro tapped his chest where the folded map was. It was a signal to Fotina. They knew where the big trees were, so didn’t need to ask. But they did need more information.

Fotina turned about and put her hands on her knees, presenting herself for Brush. “What are they doing there?” she asked.

The satyr unlimbered his formidable member and had at her without ceremony. He thrust into her so vigorously that she almost fell over, with an exclamation, and had to take a step forward to brace herself. It didn’t matter; he was right with her, shoving in several inches, drawing back, driving in farther. She looked uncomfortable, and Pedro would have interceded, but she dissuaded him with a look. She intended to accomplish this. After the first moments she seemed to relax somewhat, becoming adapted to the situation.

The satyr’s penis looked to be eight or nine inches long, quite broad at the base, and he seemed determined to get all of it inside her. He just about succeeded. He drew back and tried once more, putting his whole body weight behind the thrust, and this time the last of it jammed into her sorely stretched aperture. It would have been painful for her, anywhere but in the game, where avatars had ample sexual sensation but no actual physical discomfort.

“Tight,” the satyr muttered appreciatively.

The climax came, and Pedro almost thought he saw the base of the huge member swell yet more with the bolus of ejaculate forging through it, and Fotina’s bottom and belly distend with its urgent volume. That had to be his imagination, as a vagina was not an aperture to the digestive region. It was as if a fire hose was in there, jetting gallons of thick fluid in repeated surges. And, in fact, some ichor leaked out around the base and dripped clingingly to the ground. Ejaculate was real, in this setting! That was why Berry had wanted more; Pedro’s offering had been tiny compared to the satyr’s evident effort.

Yet there had been no sign of ejaculate in the space ship, or when Pedro and Fotina did it in the building. It must be that the rules changed when away from the base. The natives had voluminous emissions. Did that affect the travelers’ mission? It might, but he wasn’t sure exactly how.

At last the monstrous orgasm was done, and Brush pulled slowly out, his member coming into view an inch at a time. It had truly been all inside her. It looked somewhat diminished, but not flaccid. Drool dripped from it, the remnant of his phenomenal effort. Fotina straightened up, more drool sliding out of her cleft and down her inside thighs. She grabbed some leaves from a nearby bush and used them to mop up some of it.

“Breeding,” the satyr said. Then he too turned and ran away. It seemed that was all the answer he would give.

“Are you all right?” Pedro asked her.

“I feel as if a mechanic squeezed a whole grease gun’s worth of grease into me,” Fotina said, trying ineffectively to mop up more of the ooze. “It’s quite a contrast from prior rounds, or for that matter, our honeymoon week.”

“Berry seemed disappointed in the amount. I didn’t understand, until I saw Brush in action. What a load!”

“What a load,” she agreed. “Pedro, I don’t want to drool forever, but I’m feeling depleted. Can you help me get more of it out?”

“I’ll try.” He looked around, and spied a smooth thick rounded stick of wood, about two inches in diameter and a foot long. He picked it up, brushed it off, and showed it to her. “Displacement?”

“Try it,” she agreed. She assumed the same position she had for the sex. She no longer seemed concerned about whether such a thing would fit. In fact, if anything she looked somewhat sleepy.

He stooped, looked close, and saw that her vagina had closed with translucent substance still welling out from the vent. He inserted the end of the stick carefully. The width was larger than her aperture, but that was the point: to squeeze out whatever else was in there. He pressed, and it slid in, distending the flesh, making the slit become a hugely filled hole. He felt his penis stirring; this was like another form of sex. That made him feel slightly guilty. “Okay?” he asked her.

Her eyes were closed, and she seemed unsteady, but she nodded.

He pushed the stick in deeper, and it went with some resistance, but not a lot. The satyr’s ejaculate squeezed out around it. He slid it slowly in until it encountered firmer resistance, six inches deep. He had hit the bottom of the well, filling her. The viscous liquid was welling out copiously.

Yet the satyr’s member had been longer. How had it gotten in?

“I stretched,” Fotina said languidly. “I think he pushed my vagina into my belly, but it didn’t hurt. I would never care to do that IRL.” Then she paused, reconsidering somewhat dreamily. “Then again...”

“Squeeze on it,” Pedro said. “So as to get as much as possible displaced.”

She tensed her belly, while he held the stick firm. More grease oozed. Then he let the stick slide out, as she continued to squeeze. “Like birthing a small baby, maybe,” she remarked, watching it emerge.

The stick was thoroughly greased, yet some remained in Fotina. But she was satisfied as she stood up straight; the drip was now comparatively minimal.

The whole business aroused and disgusted him at the same time. His penis was now standing.

She noticed, of course. “Go ahead,” she said. “Maybe you can displace some more.”

“You really don’t mind? My feelings are severely mixed.”

“I’m curious. Do it, before I fall asleep.” She resumed the hands on knees posture.

He moved behind her and put his stiff penis into her slot. It entered readily; there was hardly any resistance. The passage was, of course, quite well lubricated as well as enlarged, more mixed signals. In a moment he was at full depth, though it hardly seemed so. She could have absorbed another two inches length and one inch girth. He was impressed anew with the versatility of the avatar form. It really could accommodate in ways that might injure a real live body.

Nothing happened. He withdrew, and thrust, and repeated, but the aperture was so slick and loose that, in effect, he had no purchase. She had been so thoroughly stretched by the satyr and the stick that he felt almost as if his member was in warm water. In addition, his penis seemed to be becoming numb. He was unable to climax.

Embarrassed, he withdrew. “Can’t do it,” he said.

She turned around and kissed him. “I’m not surprised. You just had sex, and my vagina must be twice its usual diameter. It will surely recover, but I’m not sure there’s a point. We’ll have to question other satyrs and nymphs, and it may be easier if I remain stretched.”

“Good point,” he agreed. “You’re not upset that watching the satyr with you turned me on?”

“Watching you do the nymph turned me on.”

Which was about the best answer she could have given him. “I love you,” he said, kissing her again.

“I love you,” she said. “And now I know I can watch you have sex with other women, and you can watch me with other men, and it doesn’t damage our love.”

“That’s important,” he agreed.

“But now we need to get on with our mission, perhaps knowing a bit more what we’re in for.”

“Voluminous emissions.”

They laughed together and resumed walking along the path. According to the map, the trees were some distance ahead.

•  •  •

Fotina was glad Pedro had been able to handle it. Sex with the satyr had been more of a project than she had anticipated, and then the business with the excess ejaculate—in fact, that there was ejaculate at all—had complicated it. Then there had been his failure to complete sex with her. She was not at all surprised, because of her extreme looseness, but possibly she should not have encouraged him to try. She had learned that men did not like to fail. He could have felt humiliated, and it could have turned him off her. But he had admitted his incapacity while reaffirming his love for her. That was perfect.

However, their situation remained serious. She had not forgotten for a moment that six other players had come out here and not returned. The satyr and nymph had seemed forthright, wanting to breed out, but two things about that made her uneasy. One was the warning on the map, which was surely not empty. In what way could they not afford to trust the natives, since obviously they had been candid about their desire for sex? The other was the manner of the out-breeding. The nymph could have been impregnated by her sex with Pedro; animal—like, a single episode might suffice. She had gotten what she wanted. But Fotina herself had no intention of remaining on Horror World, even if it was only a crafted setting of the game. She would get food and ride their spaceship back to Earth. Even if she were pregnant, as the surprise manifestation of semen might make possible. That baby would be lost to this population.

They were not going to let her go. That was surely what had happened to the others. They were captive, for breeding purposes. Probably the men would be kept too, to continue breeding other nymphs, broadening the genetic pool.

Yes, it was all in the game. But, failure to recognize the real basis of the setting could wipe them both out of the game. She hadn’t said anything to Pedro yet, because there were too many uncertainties, but she would when she was sure.

Meanwhile all they could do was first, seek to locate and rescue their companions, and second, obtain a sufficient supply of food for the voyage. At least two others had to be saved, and the food mission had to be accomplished, or they could all wash out. The Poop restaurant sequence had been too close a call; she still shuddered at the thought of cooking and eating the baby. This could be just as bad, in its fashion.

“Fotina!” he said faintly.

He turned to him. “What?”

“You’re staggering. You must be really tired.”

“I don’t feel tired. Just relaxed. Very relaxed. When I relaxed inside, it helped me take him all in.”

“And my penis is numb,” he said. “Fotina—there must be a sedative property in that ejaculate! It made you relax and get sleepy, and it dulled my penis. That stuff is not just semen!”

She stood still, startled. “A sedative! That explains it. It must have numbed my vagina so that it could stretch all out of shape, and made me passive so it didn’t bother me.”

“Fortunately we got most of it out. But we need to eliminate the rest of it.”

“Yes!” she agreed. “Pedro, can you do it? I just need to lie down and rest a while.”

“I’ll try.”

She spread her netting on the ground and lay on it. In a moment she was asleep.

She woke after what she hoped was a brief nap to discover him reaming out her vagina with moss. “I think you got it,” she said. “I’m more alert now.”

“And my penis is back to its old self,” he said, drawing out the moss with his inserted finger. In fact, his member was erect, but she was not inclined to oblige it at this time. “The anesthetic doesn’t seem to last long, fortunately.”

“At least now we know,” she said, using her own finger to fish out the last of the moss. “The warning was right: do not trust the natives.”

“Amen. Are you able to walk now?”

She got to her feet. “Yes, I feel fine. Thank you for cleaning me out.”

“It was a pleasure,” he said, with half a smile.

She kissed him. “Some time you can do it when there’s not an emergency.” Then she reconsidered. “I don’t mean to be a tease. If you really want sex now—”

“No offense, but I think I’d better not. If there’s any trace of that stuff remaining in you—”

“Understood. I’ll give you a rain check.” She was glad to have offered, and to have been turned down, partly because she didn’t want to risk having him fail again.

He paused, then spoke diffidently. “When I was cleaning you out, I noticed something.”

“That my vagina turns you on?” she asked archly.

“Not exactly. It’s that you now have other orifices.”

“Mouth? Nose?”

“Urethra. Anus. Just like IRL.”

“What? Those don’t exist in the game avatars.”

“Check yourself,” he said, embarrassed.

She put her hand down and checked. She found her anus. She poked a finger in. It was definitely more than a superficial marking. “You?” she asked, amazed.

“I have a rectum too,” he agreed. “And I can urinate. I tried. So can you, I’m sure.”

“But we don’t need to do any of that in the game,” she said. “We don’t eat, so we don’t eliminate. It’s that simple.”

“Yet our mission is to find food for our space journey. What point, if we don’t eat?”

This set her back again. “Each setting is different. This one must have eating, drinking, and all. But why?”

“I think we had better figure it out,” he said grimly.

“I think You’re right,” she agreed. “I wonder if the others didn’t, and it relates to their mischief?”

“I think it is distinctly possible. There are just too many oddities about this setting.”

She tried to remember. “I don’t believe there were such additional features of anatomy in the spaceship.”

“I doubt there were. Someone would have noticed, especially with the hands-on sex. Probably those features developed after we left the spaceship and port and entered the world of Horror proper.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Along with the ejaculate. I wonder what other surprises are in store for us.”

“I think we had better be completely alert. Even seemingly irrelevant details may count.”

“Someone must have had wicked enjoyment setting up this round,” she said darkly.

“And we had better stay together at all times. Even for private functions.”

“I will pee in your presence,” she agreed. “Even if it does turn you on.”

“Actually—”

“I was joking.”

“Beware such humor. Some men are indeed turned on by the sight of a woman urinating.”

She nodded, realizing that it was no joke.

Pedro checked the map as his penis declined. “We are approaching a boundary,” he said. “The next section is mostly water.”

“Which may feature water monsters,” she said. “We probably need to stay clear of it.”

“There are many lakes, but there are avenues between them on land. We can follow them, if nothing prevents.”

There was the rub. Something would prevent. But all they could do was continue.

They crossed into the next territory. Almost immediately, two more figures appeared: another satyr and nymph. These were swimming in the nearest water. Would they trade the same way as the first pair had done?

“Hello!” Pedro called as the pair approached.

“Hello!” the nymph answered. “I am Lake. He is Lather. Breed with us, please.” She found her footing and waded from the water. At the shoreline, she paused to shake her torso violently, flinging water outward. That did phenomenal things for her ample breasts, as she had to know. Women did not turn men on accidentally; not in a game like this. Indeed, Pedro’s eyes were appreciatively glued to her. He had, by now, recovered his sexual ability, and the nymph’s vagina was surely tight. He had not suffered penile numbness from sex with the prior nymph, only with Fotina when ejaculate was still in her. It was also evident that this pair had had contact with the first pair, and gotten the accents straight. They might be pretending innocence, but they knew the score.

“I am Pedro; she is Fotina. Why should we do that?” Pedro asked, following the script.

“We will answer questions,” Lake said.

That seemed to be the only way to relate to the natives. It was a game challenge to figure out the right questions, to make it possible to prevail. But now there were additional cautions.

“In exchange for sex,” Pedro said.

Lake put her hands to her voluminous hair and brought out an object that had somehow been concealed there. It looked like a small fruit, resembling a plum. “Gift,” she said, presenting it to him.

“Thank you,” he said. He took a bite, then handed it to Fotina. She tried it. It was sweet and succulent and surely nutritious; a sufficient supply of such fruits should enable them to make the long voyage home.

Meanwhile the satyr was emerging and shaking himself dry. His genital member resembled the other, being mounted in a state of chronic erection, and substantial. Fotina, having had experience with one such member, was intrigued; would it service her as voluminously as the first? Would her vagina stretch not only to accommodate the member, but further to hold in the abundant emission? There was something to be said for such copious copulation, at least as a curiosity. She would have to find a better way to clear it out, after, and rapidly. Getting poked with a stick was not ideal, and not just because it put Pedro into a less than perfect sexual mood.

“Very well,” Pedro said. “We know our companions are in a territory ahead. Are they alive?”

Lake turned and walked back into the water. When she was chest deep, she assumed the posture, bending forward and bracing herself with only her head above the surface.

“They like it in the water!” Pedro muttered.

“Why not?” Fotina asked. “This is the water region.”

Pedro waded into the water. He came up behind Lake, and evidently penetrated her from behind; all that was visible was their two heads, his close behind hers. He surely had hold of her breasts, too. There was a stirring of the water as he thrust and climaxed.

When he was done, Lake separated from him, not asking whether that was all; they had learned about the minimal emissions of the visitors. She faced him. “They are alive.” She swam rapidly away.

Fotina noticed another detail: there was no kissing or embracing. No words of love or passion. Simply the presentation and the sex. No follow up either; they left the moment it was done. It was a business transaction, rather than a romantic one.

Now it was her turn. “Are they captive?” she asked Lather, who was waiting patiently, absent-mindedly fingering his massive member.

He turned and waded into the water. Chest deep, he waited for her.

Fotina followed him. She assumed the position, only her head remaining above the surface. He came up behind her, found the place, put his hands on her hips, and shoved in. She might remain stretched, but not enough; his member was forcibly dilating her again. And there was another thing: no breast fondling. The first satyr had never touched her breasts either. Pedro had grasped the nymph’s breasts, on land and probably under water, so they had to understand about that, but it was not a turn-on for them. Maybe the females figured Pedro was just getting a firm hold so as to draw himself in more powerfully.

Lather seemed to achieve operative depth more readily than Brush had. Maybe it was the water, or preliminary lubrication, or her pre-stretched condition. Most likely he had simply learned how. There was a different cadence to his thrusting that somehow got him deeper with less force, almost as if he were screwing it in instead of hammering. Regardless, his member felt as if it were poking out of her vagina and into her stomach from inside. Then it blasted out its tankful of viscous substance, making her feel as if she were being blown up like a balloon. Indeed, she felt her belly expanding as if full of grease, again. The avatar form was definitely more malleable than the IRL form.

She was sharing the orgasm. She had been so busy observing other aspects that she had hardly noticed. Those other factors made it a different kind of experience. There were ways in which she liked it, oddly. Maybe that anesthetic quality enhanced the effect. Or being filled to bursting with hot love juice was a turn-on.

At last he ebbed, and pulled out. She felt her vagina clenching automatically, holding in the gelatinous ejaculate. That was a futile effort. She would spew it all out again when he was safely gone. She had to, before it overcame her personal independence.

“They are with the trees,” he said, and swam away.

That was the same answer the nymph had given Pedro previously. It wasn’t what she had wanted. Had she trusted him, and been deceived? Or, did she not properly understand the answer?

Well, at the moment she had another concern: to get as much of the ejaculate out as she could. She remained in the water, and compressed her stomach muscles. She bore down as if delivering a baby. She felt the stuff oozing out. She put her two hands down and used them to stir water into her open vagina, washing more of it out. She put her fingers in and tried to hook out more. It was far from perfect, but she was getting a fair amount out.

“I have an idea,” Pedro said, coming to her. “I can squirt water in, sort of a human douche.”

“That might work.” She waded to shallower water and bent forward, assuming the position again, but this time with her bottom just above the surface.

Pedro sucked in a mouthful, then put his mouth by her vagina and squirted out a jet. The water splashed against her crack without much going in. “Closer,” she said.

He tried again, this time putting his mouth right on her vulva. He blew out a blast of water, followed by air. She felt it pushing in, somewhat like the satyr’s ejaculate, then slopping out. “I think That’s doing it,” she said.

Then she felt something hard. She felt with her hand and found the lighter.

“Oops,” Pedro said. “I forgot that was in my mouth. I blew it into you!”

“You wanted to light my fire,” she said, returning it to him. He took it, but kept it in his hand.

He did the douche again, this time keeping his mouth pressing tightly on her hole so that the water couldn’t escape immediately. She felt the distension. Then came the air, as his mouthful of water ran out, and that added more pressure. It was odd yet interesting. Then he withdrew, and the bubbly water spewed out of her. The air seemed about as effective as the water. The whole process felt surprisingly good.

“Again,” she said. “Hold it in longer.”

He did it a third time, filling her with as much water and air as he could. She was sure that her vagina could never hold such a quantity IRL. But the feel of his mouth on her vulva, and the pressure inside her, was indeed a turn on. The avatar was evidently crafted to like being inflated, by whatever means.

“Now do me,” she said. “Quickly, hard.”

Surprised, he put his groin where his face had been, his member ready. He took hold of her breasts and rammed in, thrusting repeatedly. The push of his effort caused her to step forward, and to continue until the water was shallow enough so that she could lie down while keeping her head clear. He lay above her, still thrusting. His hot groin was against her cool bottom, his legs against hers, while her breasts pressed into his pinned hands. He achieved his climax, limited ejaculation and all, and that triggered hers. They rocked together in the passion.

“I think that was a record recovery for both of us,” he said as they ebbed.

“Stay in me,” she said. “I love the feel of you against me like this.”

“You were turned on by the douche!”

“I was,” she confessed. “It was so different, and having your face there, and all that water pushing in, was like a big ejaculation. Not as much as the satyrs delivered, but good enough. Maybe it was the novelty, but I think also that I knew it was getting the satyr’s glop cleared out. That was a big relief.”

“Novelty, arousal and emotion,” he said. “It was certainly an experience.”

“And of course I love you.”

He got his face down beside hers. She turned to meet him, and they kissed, awkwardly, his front still plastered to her backside in the water, his member still embedded. “I guess we gave the game viewers a show to remember,” he gasped.

“I wasn’t even thinking of that. But they’re welcome.”

After a while they separated and got out of the water. “There are two more sections to go,” he said. “There may not be water for a douche next time.”

She also doubted that air without the added wash of water would be sufficient. “We do have some control. We can try to arrange to do it near water. It does work; I don’t feel the lassitude.”

“And my penis suffered no numbness. At least we have a strategy, of sorts. I hope it’s enough.”

Fotina had another thought. “We have no certainty of being near water, as you said, the next time we have to have sex with the natives. But there may be an alternative.”

“Moss and a stick?”

“No. Water. We can carry it with us.”

“We have no container.”

“Yes we do. We have discovered that we can eat, in this setting. We can surely also drink.”

“Sure. But that won’t—” He broke off, staring at her. “You can’t mean—”

“Urine,” she said. “What we drink should pass on through our systems, fairly rapidly, probably remaining sterile.”

“But I would have to—to piss in you!”

“Yes. With force. A powered douche. It would rapidly wash out the ejaculate, if you had enough urine to do the job. You can make certain of that.”

“Fotina, you amaze me!”

“If You’re game for it, I am. It’s certainly a better prospect than leaving the ejaculate in to put me to sleep and suffer whatever the natives have in mind for me. Such as being their permanent sex slave and baby maker.”

He considered a moment more, then put his face down to the water and started drinking. He drank deeply, until his stomach bulged with the quantity he had taken in.

She patted his belly appreciatively. “Now you know approximately how I felt, with all that ejaculate inflating me.”

“I can’t spew it out again, though.”

She smiled. “Not yet.”

They walked on, skirting the water but no longer fearing it. Water monsters did not seem to be the threat here.

“It occurs to me that we have been asking the wrong questions,” Pedro said. “We need to get a more comprehensive answer, so that we can zero in on what we need.”

“Makes sense to me,” Fotina agreed. “I’ll do my part.” She patted her own bottom.

They discussed it as they walked, and came up with what they trusted were better questions.

They came to the third territory. This was cleared land that seemed to have some development: walks and small buildings. Civilization, such as this world offered? Neither of them trusted that.

Two more figures appeared, another satyr and nymph.

They went into the routine. “Hello,” Pedro said.

“Hello,” the nymph said. It was always the one who wanted to breed with a person who answered that person. “I am Page. He is Book. Here is a gift.” She presented him with another fruit.

Pedro took it and made the ritual bite, passing it along to Fotina. She took her own bite. It was as juicy and sweet as the first, with a pleasant aftertaste. Yes, this would definitely do for the voyage.

“I am Pedro, and this is Fotina,” Pedro said, again following the ritual. “We are looking for our lost companions, who passed this way before us.”

“Indeed,” Book agreed. “We encountered them.”

“And you will exchange information for breeding?”

“We will. But first, let us get to know each other.” Book showed the way to a wood table with several stools. They took their places there.

“You are more social than the others,” Fotina said.

“We are the educated class. The others are more primitive. We are trying to retain what civilization we can, in a difficult situation.”

“Our situation is difficult too,” Pedro said. “We need to obtain a supply of food for our return voyage, but we seem to have lost our companions.”

“The plums should suffice,” Book said. “They are nutritious and mildly aphrodisiac. Your voyage should be memorable.”

Aphrodisiac! Now Fotina understood why she and Pedro had been so eager to have sex again, so soon after doing the native pair. They had eaten the fruit. Just as they had right then! They would have to watch that, hereafter. She was already feeling the urge to have more sex.

“We can handle it,” Pedro said. “But we do have questions.”

“Then perhaps it is time. We will, of course, answer, in exchange for breeding. The fruit affects us too, notably in the genital region.”

“Big penises!” Pedro said. “Capacious vaginas.”

“Exactly. And voluminous emissions. You will adapt soon enough.”

Pedro looked down at his member, and Fotina looked too. It was not only erect, it seemed larger than it had been. Plus, her vaginal capacity—the fruit had made it greater for the second breeding. She could accommodate the giant phallus more readily. It made sense. She felt the turn-on of the fruit, and knew that Pedro was getting antsy for sex. She hated making him wait, but they desperately needed more information if they were to succeed where the others had failed. Fortunately, sex and information were merged at the moment. “Do it,” she murmured to him.

“My question,” Pedro said carefully, “is a clarification of the socio-economic situation here.”

Fotina nodded to herself. That phrasing prevented the natives from simply saying, “They are with the trees.”

Page stood and assumed the posture beside the table. Pedro walked around it and addressed her from behind. He caught her breasts, oriented his member, and thrust into her willing cleft. He penis was definitely longer and thicker, and his thrusting harder, and his ejaculation seemed to take longer, as though there was more liquid pumping through. His groin smacked repeatedly against her bottom as he labored to get every bit of his juice into her. Page smiled appreciatively; this was her kind of sex.

Fotina, watching, was fiercely aroused. She couldn’t wait to get Book’s giant member into her. Regardless of the danger his ejaculate represented. But she suppressed any visible reaction, knowing that patience was best, despite the urgency the fruit incited.

When the last of the ejaculate was out and in, Pedro drew back. Even half flaccid, his member was more impressive. He sat down, letting it hang. There was some remnant semen drooling. Page’s vagina closed up tightly, not allowing any dribble to escape. She did not run away; instead she too sat back at the table. That was a change. “Book will answer,” she said. That was another change.

“I will,” Book agreed. “You have purchased an answer; it does not have to be from the object of your contribution. Page remains because she knows that the fruit you ate will soon cause you to become potent again, and she wishes to be available for a second offering.”

And Pedro’s penis was not diminishing further, Fotina noted. It remained at half mast, as though standing its ground while organizing its recovery. “Good enough,” Pedro agreed. It was as if his member smelled the willing cleft.

“You have asked the right question,” Book said. “I will clarify our situation to the extent I am able, though I admit to being eager to get to my own session with Fotina, who is an especially fetching creature. This will require a dialogue.”

“We’re glad to have it,” Pedro said. Fotina was staying mostly silent, trying to pick up on whatever subtle hints there might be.

“Planet Horizon was one of the most promising colony worlds extant,” Book said. “Gravity, atmosphere, temperature, and life forms were all highly compatible. But soon after the colony ship departed, mischief manifested. People vanished without trace. The colonists organized a posse to track them down. What they discovered so appalled them that they gave up any hope of maintaining any permanent presence here. They were evacuated, and the great majority of them left Horizon forever.”

“Just what was the horror?” Pedro asked.

“That I am not free to tell you. As it happened, some colonists concluded that they could handle it, so they remained here. They established several territories, and traded to make survival feasible. This is the Education Territory; we specialize in maintaining the Earthly language and culture as we know it, teaching the children. You just passed through the Water Territory, which provides water to the others. You also saw the Construction Territory.”

“It was a wilderness!” Pedro protested.

“It has the resources required for construction,” Book said. “Vines, sand, rock, small wood, and other such things we need.”

“Why can’t you just go and take them?”

“The wolves, as we call them. They will attack any intruders not protected by the proprietors. They alone know how to stop the wolves.”

“We saw no wolves.”

“Because Brush and Berry were there to keep them away. Just as Lake and Land were there to prevent the water monsters from attacking you. Similarly, we trade for the fruits, which are our main sustenance; only the natives of that territory can safely obtain them.”

“From dangerous trees?” Pedro asked, trying to mask his amusement.

Fotina did not share his feelings. She was aware how different things could be in each setting. Trees could indeed be dangerous.

“You really do not want to enter that territory,” Book said. “The others did, and so were doomed. The trees need their sustenance too, and will take it.”

Sustenance. That was an interesting word. Was it other than soil and water?

Pedro nodded. “If we do not come to some sort of deal with you, we will have to pass through those territories without any such protection, and will be lost.”

“Of course you will make a deal,” Book said. “Then all will be amicable.”

Fotina understood all too well. There were indeed dangers here, and their companions had refused to deal, and gotten trapped, unable to return to the ship, if they even survived. The natives had said they were alive, but that was not necessarily to be trusted.

“We have to get food and return to our ship,” Pedro said.

“We can’t let you do that,” Book said. “We need your genes, to abate our severe inbreeding. We need you to breed with all of us, make many children, and help us to raise and train them. If you do so voluntarily, you can have a good life here, protected, well fed with plenty of fruit, and of course, with all the sex you crave.” He glanced at the nymph. “Page is eager to show you how obliging she can be.”

Page got up and circled to join Pedro. She sat on his lap and kissed him. She took his hand and pressed it against one of her breasts. Fotina knew she was turning him on most effectively. Apparently, the nymphs did know about lovemaking, not just breeding. They just did not bother to practice it unless necessary, to delude an insufficiently horny visitor.

“But isn’t she your girl?” Pedro asked.

“Not in the sexual sense,” Book answered. “She and I are more like siblings. We must cross the lines, as it were, to breed, and there is always a price. This is one reason your presence is a pleasure for us.”

“And what is our alternative, if we do not make your deal?”

“You will have to oppose the trees. That is not recommended.”

The trees, again. What was it about them?

“I think Fotina and I need to move on,” Pedro said. “We are not going to desert our companions.” Fotina saw what an effort it was for him. Page was a most inviting offering. But he was right: they could not afford to remain here long, while the fate of their companions remained unknown.

“She will even answer another question,” Book said.

“Would she tell us exactly what is happening with our companions?”

“Oh!” Page exclaimed as if slapped. She jumped off his lap and ran away, leaving him with a stiff erection.

So much for that. They definitely had to move on. This was a honey trap, but nevertheless a trap. Fotina glanced at Pedro. Had he had enough time with his water?

He met her gaze and nodded slightly. She saw that his belly was fat; he had a full bladder. That was what she had been waiting for.

Fotina stood up and assumed the position. “We are going on. Acknowledging that, what is your advice?”

Book came around. He oriented his giant phallus, set the tip at her opening, and slowly pressed it in. She felt it sliding into her vagina, making the width of it expand. It continued, forging on with increasing authority, penetrating seemingly impossibly deep. But she had more room than in the past, and was accommodating it. When it reached the limit, she sucked in her breath and made more room.

She felt his groin come up against her bottom. He was all the way in, and she did not feel stretched out of shape. Filled, yes. Tight, yes. Unpleasant, no. She truly related to having this giant hot member probing her hungry core.

Then he thrust and spurted. The fluid surged out of him and into her, pressuring her flesh relentlessly outward. Now she felt stretched, fulfilled rather than distended, and saw how thick her belly was swelling. She had made progress, but she obviously was not nearly as deep and accommodating as a nymph.

On and on it came, until she almost thought she would burst. Then, at last, the savage flow eased, and he slowly withdrew. She kept her vagina as tight against the member as she could, so that it would not be evident that she had no intention of keeping the mass of ejaculate. She felt her hole draw closed as the tip of his spent member slipped out. She had muscles of closure there that she did not have in life. It was a supreme effort she had not made during the prior two satyr services. However, she felt it important to conceal her true purpose.

Book stepped back. “Do not trust the natives,” he said, and walked away.

“That’s the same thing the map said,” Pedro said, sounding cheated.

“Then it must be a fair warning,” she gasped. The substance in her abdomen was pushing against her lungs, restricting her breathing. Her belly was as swollen as Pedro’s was. They had a similar need to deflate. “Is he out of sight yet?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Ah, now he is.”

“Good.” She let her sphincter go, and the glop wedged out and slopped on the ground in a jellylike mass. She tensed her belly, bearing down to expel more of it. But it was not enough; she felt the numbness beginning. She needed the fire hose. “Pedro.”

He approached. “I’m so stiff I can’t pee,” he said. “Page really worked me up, and you—I hate to admit it, but the thought of doing this gives me the worst hard-on ever.”

“Put it in anyway,” she advised, resuming the mating position. “When it starts getting numb, the urine should flow.”

He did, pressing his stiff member in. He held it there, fully embedded but not ejaculating. “It is numbing,” he said. “And—here it comes.”

The flow of urine started, at first modest, then gaining force. It shot out of him almost like the satyr’s ejaculation, filling her vagina. She closed it about the base, not letting the urine escape, much as she had with the ejaculate. She wanted maximum pressure.

“Weird,” he said. “I can feel the jelly all around me, instead of flesh. I’m a spike in a pressured chamber.”

The pressure became too much; she couldn’t hold it in longer. She let go, and the fluid burst out of her, around his penis and across the front of his legs, and splashed back onto the backs of hers.

Pedro’s flow continued. It blasted out her channel, exactly as she wanted it to. It was effectively washing away any remaining ejaculate. It seemed more efficient than the mouth-blown water had been. For one thing, there was more of it.

“Thank you!” she gasped.

He laughed. “Welcome.”

They held the position, letting the last of it flow into and out of her, dribbling down their legs. This, too, was a kind of turn-on in its odd way, resembling sex without being sex. Maybe the aphrodisiac fruit was putting a sexual tinge on anything that happened in that vicinity of their bodies.

At last they both were empty, their bellies flat again. He pulled out, she stood and turned, and they embraced and kissed passionately. “Let’s not have sex that way again,” she said.

He squeezed her bottom. “Regular sex from now on.”

“I know the nymph left you frustrated. Do you want to do it now?”

“Yes. But I can’t. That numbness, remember?”

“I’m sorry about that. But it was the only way I could think of.”

“As long as it did the job. I’ll recover soon enough. Then I’m going to be really urgent.”

“I’ll take you on the moment You’re ready.”

“Thanks. The numbness is already starting to fade.”

They walked on, letting the urine drip and dry in the air. What did it matter? They Weren’t going to any formal party.

They crossed the boundary. They were in the fourth territory, the one with the trees. The dangerous one.

“It occurs to me you may not want to have more satyr sex,” Pedro said. “There’s no lake, and my bladder is empty.”

“Good point. A skirt can at least impede him somewhat.” She took the folded netting off her shoulder and wrapped it several times around her waist.

“They seem to need that one position for it,” he said. “Maybe if you insist on facing him, with that skirt on, it will balk him.”

“Let’s hope so.”

No pair of natives approached them, which seemed curious. They walked on until they came to a giant tree. Its trunk was perhaps five feet thick, and it rose about two hundred feet before the voluminous foliage spread. It was impressive.

Pedro glanced back as they passed it. “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“Something ugly.”

She turned and looked. There was something stuck to the trunk, roughly man height, but more like a hung gutted pig.

They went back to inspect it more closely. It was the desiccated figure of what might once have been a man, tied upright against the trunk. Yes, a man, because his shrunken scrotum and penis were visible.

“I think we now have a notion what happened to those lost colonists,” Fotina said grimly.

“Someone executed them and pinned them up against trunks, maybe as a warning to others.”

“But who, and why? Savage native animals should have devoured them, not left them to rot.”

“I don’t know. But I think we’d better find our companions soon.”

They walked on. They found another suspended body, this one of a woman, her hair reduced to a few strings, her breasts now no more than leathery flaps.

Grimly they continued. And heard a groan.

It was a fresh body of a man bound with his front to the tree. Fotina peeked at his face. “Tris!” she exclaimed, appalled anew.

“He’s alive,” Pedro said. “We must get him down.”

They inspected Tris close up. Tendrils grew from the tree and fed into his nostrils. Pedro grabbed them with his fingers and yanked them out.

Ichor welled from the man’s nose. His head dropped to rest against the tree.

“He’s no longer breathing,” Fotina said, horrified.

“We must have killed him by removing his life support,” Pedro said. “He was too far gone.”

“Let’s hope the others aren’t. We must find them immediately.” She kept her feelings in a kind of suspended animation, blocked off, so that she was able to function during this crisis of revulsion. If the two of them did not act effectively, they would be the next victims.

They searched. Fotina went out to the right to check the trees, and Pedro to the left.

Almost immediately he saw something. “I found Nola!” he called. “I’d know that green hair anywhere.” Then, after a pause: “She’s too far gone. I pulled out the nose stem and she died. Damn!”

“Keep looking,” Fotina called back. “At least we might save Lance and Ula. They were only two hours ahead of us. It must take time to—to dissolve the brain.”

“Right,” he called. “Uh-oh—there’s a nymph. She’s presenting.”

“Leave her alone! She’s trying to distract you from finding the others.”

“I know it. But damn it, I've just got to have it. That damned fruit. I’m so stiff it’s painful.”

“Pedro!” He didn’t answer. He was already after the nymph. Fotina realized that she should have made him have sex with her the moment the numbness wore off, to abate his urgency. She understood the potency of the fruit; she felt it herself. But the horrors bound to the trees had distracted her. How could a person think of sex in front of a cruelly destroyed friend?

She sighed. Pedro would just have to fuck the nymph. Then he would be able to return to business. It shouldn’t take long. She wasn’t jealous, just irritated by the distraction. She moved on.

Soon enough, she found more bodies, some ancient, some fresh. She located Ula, the faerie, bound with her back to the trunk, tendrils threading into her crotch and nose. Somehow the tree had gotten her there and infiltrated her body apertures, rendering her helpless. Her arms were bound back against the tree, so that her breasts and belly were exposed. Goo dripped from her vulva; she had been raped by a satyr.

“Ula!” Fotina said sharply.

The woman’s eyes opened. “Fotina! Don’t let them get you!”

“First I must free you. Hold on.” Fotina reached up and hooked a finger around a nostril tendril. She yanked it out. Ula screamed in agony.

But she didn’t die. Fotina had caught her in time. She tackled the crotch tentacles next, yanking them out of her urethra and anus. Then she stooped to undo the tendril bands around Ula’s ankles.

“Watch out!” Ula cried.

Fotina turned. There was a satyr charging toward them. She needed to fend him off, and she could do that most effectively if she didn’t have to watch her back. She backed toward the huge tree trunk.

“No!” Ula cried. “That’s how it got me! Don’t touch the trunk!”

Oho! But what could she do? She needed some sort of backing.

“Don’t!” Ula cried.

Well, maybe she could handle it in the open. She made sure her mesh skirt was firmly in place, and stood to meet the satyr.

“There’s another!” Ula called.

Oh, shit! One would hold her while the other raped her. The skirt could do only so much, especially if she got forced into the butt-presentation position. She had to cover her back.

The satyrs gave her no time. The one in front grabbed for her arms, trying to push her down into the mating posture, while the other rammed at her from behind.

His member jammed into the mesh skirt and bounced off. Startled, he backed away a moment. That gave her a chance.

She lurched into the satyr in front, pushing him off balance so he had to let go. Then she ran to the nearest tree and planted her back against its trunk. A few minutes shouldn’t hurt, especially since she was actively defending herself.

The two satyrs pursued her, but now there was no room for them both. Only one at a time could come at her.

One did. The other ran across to Ula on the other tree. Ula remained anchored, with vines around her neck, waist, wrists and ankles, holding her arms back and her legs apart. The satyr rammed into her vagina from the front, evidently knowing how to do it that way, and in a moment was filling her belly. She was evidently prey for any passing satyr, and had probably been inflated many times before Fotina found her. The predatory trees were a real service to the satyrs.

But Fotina had a rape of her own to fight off. The satyr’s member was banging into her skirt and getting nowhere. He was evidently too dull to realize that all he needed to do was lift the skirt clear, or bend his knees and come up from below. She had to discourage him before any such revelation occurred to him.

He backed off slightly, then rammed forward again, as if thinking that all that was required was a harder shove. She bucked her pelvis forward to meet him. His member collided so hard it could have broken. He moaned in pain, then backed off and ran away, holding his hurting member.

Fotina tried to step away from the tree. A thick vine had wrapped around her waist, holding her in place. In fact, during her distraction vines had also circled her neck, arms, and ankles. She was anchored, spread eagled, to the tree, wide open for the next attack.

“I told you,” Ula called. The satyr had finished his effort and departed, leaving her to deflate and drip. Fotina saw with horror that new tendrils were coming out of the tree and curling around the woman’s head and groin. She would soon be all the way captive again. She wasn’t even fighting it; the new ejaculate was pacifying her, putting her back to sleep.

Something tickled Fotina’s bottom. She glanced down, and saw that tendrils were twining through her skirt, blindly seeking her nether orifices. She realized that the trees sought their sustenance in the urine and feces of animate creatures, and had learned to go to the source.

Something nudged her neck. It was another tendril, reaching for her nose. The trees made sure of their prey by penetrating to the brain and nullifying it, so that free will ended. Then the captive became a mere generator of refuse, probably force-fed with fruit, while the satyrs raped her repeatedly. It was a fate worse than death.

Now she understood why the original colonists had departed in haste. Why this world was called Horror.

Well, she had not been pacified by satyr ejaculate. Her fighting spirit remained.

She turned her face, caught the intruding tendril in her mouth, and bit it off. Goo welled out and it retreated. Score one for the victim.

The nether tendrils still quested. She tried to pull her groin away, but the waist bond had tightened and she had little leeway. The tendrils were snaking between her buttocks and extending toward her orifices.

She jerked her hands forward, but they were securely manacled. She might work them free in time, but not before the vines got into her body. Indeed, the first had already reached her anus and was pushing into it. She clenched her sphincter, but the tendril was insistent. It exuded a slippery sap and threaded on into her colon. This was rape of another nature.

Another tendril came at her face. She snapped it off. At least she could fight off the brain attack. But how was she to stop the infiltrating vines that were insinuating themselves into her nether orifices? Already she felt one penetrating her urethra.

None for her vagina? No, of course not that was reserved for the satyrs. The trees must have evolved a deal with the remaining colonists, trading for services. The satyrs and nymphs probably did errands for the trees, such as driving victims to their trunks, and were rewarded with sex and fruit. That was why they, and only they, were safe among the trees. They had joined the enemy.

She had to stop this. But how?

She got an idea. It was risky, but at this point, doing nothing was deadly.

She straightened her knees, pushing her bottom up slightly. The mesh of the skirt caught against the bark of the tree and slid an inch down against her flesh. She pushed her pelvis forward so that it cleared the tree by half an inch, dropped it down, and backed up. And lifted it again, scraping against the bark, so that the skirt dropped another inch.

Bit by bit, she worked her skirt down. It was slow, but she had power. The tendrils had passed though it; as it descended they were dragged down with it, and slowly drawn out of her orifices.

Finally, the mesh was around her ankles, and she was clear of tendrils. Her cleft was slimy with the tendril excretions, but clear. Another small but significant victory.

Then another satyr came. Oh, no! That was the risk she had taken when she dropped her skirt. The beast was charging, huge hard member leading.

She decided on a desperate ploy. It had worked on Ramsey the Ram in Round Two; could she get away with it again? As his member jammed at her cleft, she tightened her muscles while spreading her thighs as wide as she could. His penis came up against the slipperiness of the tree ichor, and slid right on through to her butt crack. She closed her buttocks on it and jerked her body up and down.

The satyr thrust again, and his ejaculate spewed out copiously, bathing her backside and the tree trunk. He had been fooled! Her buttocks were getting numb, but she could handle that.

Satisfied, he pulled away and departed. She returned her focus to her freedom. She had to free her hands, but the vines held them securely. She could not wrench them free.

She pondered. There had to be an answer. This was the game; there was always a way, if the player could just fathom it. She needed to think outside the box of her present captivity.

Why did the trees bother to keep the captives alive? Tris had been alive until they yanked out his brain tendril. The tree hadn’t needed his brain, but had preserved his body. It was preserving Ula’s body. There had to be a reason.

It came to her. Of course, the breeding! The present satyrs and nymphs were at least second generation. The trees might make certain to maintain a docile breeding population, introducing new genes as available. That was what the personnel from the spaceship represented. Take the women: they were pinned with their backs to the trees, made available for raping. In time, that should lead to pregnancies. They could conceive and birth babies while fastened to the tree. But how could they take care of them? Holding, nursing?

Holding, nursing. They could do it only if allowed.

The trees would have to let the captives’ arms loose so they could hold and nurse their babies. When the babies got old enough to walk they would be small satyrs and nymphs and join the existing community. But for months, their mothers would be needed. With free arms.

Did the trees have any real sense of time? Seasons, yes, but not human time. Their responses would be triggered by particular signals.

Fotina made her best emulation of a crying baby. “Waaa! Waaa! Waaa!”

And the bonds on her wrists loosened. Her hands were being freed so she could hold her baby, that she had evidently conceived and birthed after repeated rapings. Score another for the home team!

With her hands free, she worked at the vines around her waist. She drew them out to get some slack, then bent them sharply. She repeated the creasing, until they weakened and tore. She did the same for her neck band. Finally she bent forward and loosed her ankles.

She stepped away from the tree. She had done it!

She ran across to Ula. She ripped out the new tendrils, then worked at the neck, waist, wrist and ankle bonds. Ula fell forward, freed. “What?” she asked drowsily.

“I have freed you,” Fotina said. “Now, try to clear the shit out of your ass and throw off your lassitude. Your life depends on it.”

“It does,” Ula agreed. She started walking, revving up her system, as she pawed at her crotch, trying to scrape out remaining ejaculate.

Fotina went in the direction she had last seen Pedro. Soon she found him, bound facing a tree. She ran up and ripped out his tendrils, then yanked away his bonds. She discovered to her amazement that his penis was wedged into a knothole in the trunk.

“Thanks!” he said as he freed that last bit. He was not far gone; it had been less than an hour.

“What happened?” she asked. “I thought you were doing a nymph.”

“She evaded me, then backed up against the tree and beckoned me,” he said. “I went after her, and rammed right in. Then I discovered that she wasn’t really there; she had become illusion. I’m not sure how That’s possible in a science setting. I had just fucked the tree, and it would not let my penis go. As I tried to pull free without, uh, losing it, the tree put vines around me, and then into me, and I was caught.”

“Just like a man,” she said, kissing him. “I was caught too. But I managed to get free, and to rescue Ula. Now let’s rescue Lance.”

“You’re some player,” he said. “And some woman.”

“Thank you.” His honest compliment gave her a thrill.

They found Lance, stuck similarly to a tree, and rescued him. He had the answer to the mystery of the mechanism. “The nymph backed up against the tree, but slid her body aside as I lunged, while still kissing me. I was in the tree before I could stop.”

“We need to get on with our mission,” Fotina said. “We have avoided getting trapped, but the others are gone. We need to get food to the ship, or we’ll lose too. It’s not over yet.”

“I will be glad to get out of this setting,” Lance said fervently. “But I don’t see how we can win.”

“I do,” Pedro said. “We have been playing nice. Now we need to play nasty. The four of us who were caught by the trees know they deserve no mercy. They hold women for rape and breeding, and men for semen and sustenance. They are merciless. We need to talk their language.”

The others looked at him blankly. Fotina left it to him to clarify, suspecting what he had in mind.

“Fire,” he said. “You bet That’s one thing the trees fear. We can gather some deadwood and kindling, make a fire, make crude wood torches. It will take time, but we can do it. We can threaten the trees, and make them drop their fruit. Then we’ll use the fire to protect ourselves as we trek back to the ship with our load. The wolves and sea monsters will be wary of it too. We can do it. Of course that aphrodisiac fruit will make for a rousing voyage back to earth, but we can probably handle that.” He smiled grimly. “As long as there are no trees, satyrs or nymphs along.”

“I don’t know,” Lance said. “Maybe we could capture one nymph for the trip.”

“No way!” Fotina snapped. The men laughed. The horror was fading, now that they had a way to fight it.

“If we could only make a fire,” Ula said sourly. The others nodded soberly.

Pedro brought out his lighter. The last piece of the game puzzle had fallen into place.

Chapter 5:
Coven

Pedro found himself in a court room. He had just been granted his divorce, according to the game background, and was now at loose ends. What would the game throw at him this time? Whatever it was, he was more than ready for it. He was in love with Fotina, and she reciprocated. They would marry by game’s end. The last round had confirmed what they had decided during their week’s “honeymoon.”

But his lingering joy of the prospect was tempered by the brief news of his eye test: it seemed that his eye problem stemmed from a genetic malady that was slowly rendering him blind. Fortunately there were treatments, once they narrowed down the particular chromosomes involved. Another test was doing that. The results would arrive in one more week. Since he could do nothing about it, he put it out of his mind.

The Clerk of Court approached him, probably with more papers for him to sign. She was a nondescript woman with heavy glasses and a severe hair bun, wearing a skirt suit. Her words surprised him. “You are adrift, Pedro.”

“I am,” he agreed wryly. “I did not seek this divorce. She got the house and children, and the notoriety cost me my job. I don’t even know where I will spend tonight.” It was all background script that didn’t have to make much sense.

“There is a place you can stay, with free room and board, and all the sex you can handle.”

Sex, of course. It was the unit of currency in the game. Still, he was wary. “What, managing a brothel?”

“No, it’s a coven I belong to.”

“A coven! Isn’t that a collection of witches?”

“Thirteen,” she agreed. “You will be required to service one of us a day, by a strict roster, having no choice of partner. The moment you do one, another will be with you until she too is serviced. You will never be alone.”

He tried to assimilate this. It did not seem like much of a competition, if each witch was that eager for sex. Unless there was a catch. “These witches—are they unattractive?”

“By no means. You will find us to be quite compelling. Some are more attractive than others, but you will find each to be quite satisfactory as a sexual partner.”

Did he have a choice? He had to play the game the way it needed to be played, or wash unceremoniously out of it. “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

“This way.” She walked to a back exit. He followed, noting the swing of her tight skirt. Under the formal outfit there was a body to conjure with, if that was not a pun.

She took him to her chauffeured limousine. They got into the rear compartment. There she opened her tight jacket so that her bloused breasts had expansion room, and unbound her hair.

“Xylia!” he exclaimed, recognizing the fair Nordic beauty, one of the victims in the prior setting. She had been caught by a tree, raped by a satyr, and horribly killed, but evidently had not let that turn her off the game.

“The same,” she agreed. “I have become one of the supporting cast. I will have the first turn at you, having recruited you.”

“You don’t need a roster to make me have sex with you,” he protested. “I will be happy to accommodate you.”

“We must follow the script. You must do me in the first twenty four hours. Then the others, in their turns.”

He was abruptly turned on. “Understand, I don’t love any of you. Fotina is my chosen. But within the game, sex with you would be a delight.”

“About that: in this round, one of us loves you, but won’t tell you. You must fathom who, in order to complete the round successfully.”

Ah, there was the challenge. “I will do my best. When do I start?”

She opened her blouse. “Well...”

He moved into her on the seat, putting his face to her bosom, kissing her classic breasts. She was a familiar person in a new setting, and that lent her special interest.

Soon her skirt was up around her hips, her panties pulled to the side. She sat sideways on his lap and his hard member thrust up into her from below. He lifted his face to kiss her mouth, but she turned her face away. That was evidently her signal that this was a role, not genuine sexual passion. Well, that was honest, at least.

Her plush bottom was conducive, regardless of her emotion. He pushed up farther. His penis penetrated to her cervix, and they were abruptly in joint orgasm. It was terrific. It also confirmed that the same climax trigger existed in this setting. That helped.

“Now you have done me,” she said as it faded. “I thank you, and must leave you, with regret.”

At least she was polite about it. “We’re still in the limo.”

She got off him and dropped down her skirt. “No problem. I’ll go switch out with the driver. Wait here.” She went forward.

In moments, another woman came back, a green-haired Elf. “Nola!” he said. She was the other woman who had been eliminated by the dread trees of Horror World. She too seemed to have survived it emotionally. These players were tough.

“The same,” she agreed, leaning down to kiss him. At least she had no compunction about that. “The coven is a kinder mistress than the trees.” That was surely a significant understatement.

“I, uh, just performed. Even in the game, there has to be a pause.”

“True. I will be with you until we connect.” She sat down beside him. “Now I must acquaint you with a rule of this setting. You must employ a different position each time.”

“That should be no problem. Xylia sat on my lap.”

“We don’t even need to keep track. You will simply be unable to assume any used position.” She took his hand. “I’m glad you won, Pedro. You deserve it.”

Could she be the one who loved him, in the script? “Actually, it was Fotina who deserves the credit. She freed herself from the tree, then rescued me. I would have been a goner otherwise, caught as I was with my penis in a knothole.”

“Your penis in a knot? May I laugh? It may not be funny to you.”

“Laugh,” he agreed. “I was an utter fool, chasing a nymph when I knew better.”

“That fruit. It made me so hot. I let a satyr back my butt against a tree. I was the same kind of fool.”

Pedro liked Nola. She would be fun to do, when the time came.

The limo drew to a halt. They entered an ornate mansion in a formidably fenced estate. The coven home.

The other members came to greet him at the front entry. He recognized most of them as former players. Surely all of them were continuing in the game by serving. Just as he and Fotina would have, had they lost instead of winning.

Nola introduced him around. She evidently had charge of him, until they had sex. Then she took him to her room. “You don’t have a room of your own,” she said. “You will always be with one of us, day and night. When you do me, I will summon your next date, and you will go with her. Now let’s change for dinner.” She stepped out of her clothing.

She was one splendid nude figure of an Elf. “Um—”

She turned her head. “Yes?”

She knew. “Let’s do it now.” He got out of his own clothing.

Nola nodded and backed into him. He put his hands on her hips, lifted her up as her legs spread, and set her on his standing member. Her vagina slid down and around on him, taking him in smoothly. He touched her cervix, and the orgasm came. He buried his face in her soft green hair, enjoying it.

She angled her head back and kissed him again as it finished. “Thank you, Pedro.” Then she dropped down to the floor. There seemed to be no ejaculate in this setting, which was perhaps just as well. They had seen more than enough of that in the last setting.

Another woman appeared. She turned out to be Imri, a Faerie, complete with folded wings. She took him by the hand and led him to her room. He was still naked, but that didn’t seem to matter. In fact, she produced new clothing for him after admiring his anatomy. It seemed he retained a larger size from the Horror Planet fruit, though it had not been true for his IRL session in the intervening week. He had spent that time on his own, wishing it could be with Fotina, but Honeymoon Isle had been a one-shot deal.

Dinner with the thirteen witches was sumptuous, replete with many courses, each with its selected wine. It was an eating setting, which meant in turn, it was also a urine and feces setting. Well, he could handle that. In fact, after the meal he had to retreat to Imri’s bathroom to relieve his bladder.

She was there with him. “You will not be alone,” she said, when he looked askance. “If you have a problem, I will help you.” She reached for his fly.

“Thanks, I’ll handle it myself,” he said quickly. But her observation caused his penis to stiffen, and then he couldn’t urinate. It reminded him of the way he had helped Fotina clean out the second load of satyr ejaculate.

“I think you do need my help,” she said. “Take off your pants and stand there.”

He shrugged and dropped them and his underpants. His erection was complete, standing tall.

Imri stripped bare, then spread her wings and flew up before him. She descended, coming close, her legs lifted high and spread. Her bottom came down on his penis. She settled slowly, taking it in, still flying. Their only contact was genital. When she got low enough, his embedded member reached her cervix, and the orgasm came upon them both.

He thought she would stop flying then, but she continued flapping her wings rapidly, her face transported by the intensity of the orgasm. She held that position the full half minute. Only when it passed did she fly into him and cling to his body, kissing him. “That was very nice,” she murmured.

“It was,” he agreed. “But now—”

“To be sure.” She dropped off him, caught his softening penis in her hand, and pointed it at the toilet. The urine came, and she guided it perfectly. All he could do was let it flow until he was empty.

Then she released it and kissed him again. “That was fun.”

Another woman appeared, also nude. Each seemed to know when sex had occurred, though he hadn’t seen any signal. “My turn,” she said.

Pedro recognized her. “Salina!” She was the Nubian who had led the second boat in the first round, and pointed out that the boats could exchange partners, saving time. Soon enough, he had exchanged with her and her female companions, and that efficiency had facilitated his qualification for the next round. He liked her.

“Good to see you again,” she said. “If You’re quite through pissing with Imri’s hand, come with me.”

Imri shook the last drop from his penis and turned him loose with a smile. “He’s done.”

“Thank you.” Salina took his penis and drew him along after her into the hall and on to her room. There was no doubt who governed in the coven; he was at the service of any witch who chose him.

She kneaded his member as they walked, managing to make it partially thicken. Then, in her room, she backed up against him, pressing her buttocks against his half-masted member. They were marvelously evocative, and he hardened further. Though not enough to do her, yet.

“I really appreciated your idea about the boats,” Salina said. “It enabled me to make enough exchanges to qualify for the next round.” She made a moue. “Of course then I got eliminated by a damned horny tentacled octopus. Still, thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“Have you ever been to the fair at night?” she inquired.

“You mean those things are open at night?”

“This one is. Come.” She led the way out of the room.

“I’m not dressed!”

“Neither am I.” That was true.

“But this isn’t a nude setting.”

She turned back, fetched a jaunty hat from her closet, and plunked it on his head. She put another on her own head. “Satisfied?”

Pedro decided not to protest further. Whatever she had in mind was probably legitimate in game terms.

They went out into the night city, wearing just their hats. It was early night, and all the buildings were illuminated. She took him to the limousine and they got in. It started moving. Evidently there was a driver on duty at all times.

Salina sat opposite him, her thighs slightly parted so that he could clearly see between them to her dark crotch. His penis twitched. There was something about that view that was especially conducive. She nodded, satisfied that she had his attention.

“There are three challenges,” she said. “One you already know: identify the one who loves you. Another will be a surprise at the end. The third may be difficult: you will have to rape one of us.”

“But all of you need to have sex in your turns,” he said. “How can that be if one doesn’t want it?”

“I didn’t say she doesn’t want it. I said you will have to rape her.”

“Oh, bondage?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“She is incapable of enjoying voluntary sex. It has to do with her upbringing. But she can appreciate it, if it is forced on her.”

“In Round Two it was competitive. That wasn’t actually rape. It was victory and defeat. So if That’s the way it is, all right. I will fight her for the right to have sex with her.”

“She won’t fight you. She will reluctantly submit, because as you say, sex has to occur and she won’t want to hold up the process for the others. You will merely have to force the issue.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, any more than she does. You will simply need to get it done.”

“Who is it?”

“Jalna. She’s a Moor, next in line.”

“Thanks for the information,” he said dryly. “Why did you tell me?”

“Because we lost our last man when he balked with her. We don’t care for that sort of disruption. This time we are giving you advance notice so you can handle it. See that you do.”

“I can make no promise.” Pedro had adapted to the various requirements of the game, including some remarkable ones with Fotina. But straight rape bothered him in the way that eating a baby did: he couldn’t do it even in simulation. He was in trouble.

The limo slowed and stopped. They got out. There were the brilliant lights of the fair, complete with raucous music and throngs of people. All were clothed, but none seemed to notice the two nude participants.

Salina led him to the giant Ferris Wheel. They got into a carriage and waited while the others loaded. That took a while since there were a number of carriages, and each had to be loaded individually when at the bottom of the circle. In due course all were filled, and the Wheel started its grand motion, carrying them up and around. The whole city was visible from the top, a lovely display.

“Now it is time,” she said. She got on him, facing him, her legs spread outside his.

“I’m not sure I’m quite ready.”

“Squeeze my breasts.”

He did. His member swelled to full mast.

She nodded approvingly. She lifted up, got on it, and settled down, taking him in. But not quite all the way. She tightened her thighs so that penetration was not complete. She kissed him.

It was a great kiss, turning him on further. Without that last bit of depth, however, he could not climax. What was she waiting for?

The Wheel accelerated, carrying them around at a dizzying pace. There was an appreciative “Oooo!” from the folk in the other carriages. Their carriage seemed to be about to fling itself off into space. As it passed the top of the loop, she kissed him again and dropped down the rest of the way.

They hit the trigger, and now the orgasm took them. It was wonderfully weird, there in seeming space. She was giving him a great new experience.

In time it expired, and they were left merged, but sexually exhausted. He held her close to him, appreciating the continuing feel of her breasts and thighs. She was enhanced by the game, and worth savoring.

The Wheel slowed and stopped. It was time to unload the carriages, one by one. They were paused halfway up one side.

“Okay!”

He looked up. A woman was hanging from the base of the carriage above them. He could see right up her short skirt. “I think someone’s in trouble,” he said, enjoying the view despite the awkward situation and the fact that he had just had sex. They were very nice legs.

“Damn,” Salina muttered. “I had hoped to sneak in a little more time with you.”

“There’s a woman falling off a carriage!”

She drew off him. “That’s Jalna.”

“Jalna!” he repeated, as the woman dropped into their carriage.

“Pedro,” she said, answering to her name. She was a wildly beautiful creature, perhaps in part because of her dishevelment.

“I will move on,” Salina said. “Have a great session.” She climbed over the carriage rail and dropped below.

These were athletic witches!

The Wheel turned a bit, for the next unloading and loading. Jalna sat down beside him. “I’m not going to sit in your lap for swinging sex.”

“Salina told me. She said—she said you are supposed to be raped. I don’t understand that.”

“Neither do I,” she said, surprisingly. “Except that I was the youngest girl in a big family, and if my older brothers wanted something of me, I had to oblige them. I learned about sex involuntarily. I never knew it was supposed to be fun until I went to college. Then it was too late.”

“I—I don’t think I can do it.”

“You have to. I will not give you sex voluntarily. But we both know it has to happen. I will simply have to clench my jaw and suffer through it.”

“There’s got to be a better way!”

“Well, I suppose you could drug me and do it in my sleep. I've been had that way before.”

He shook his head. “I just—it’s the opposite of your experience. I've never had sex with a woman who didn’t want it. Even in the game, no one’s here who isn’t more than ready for sex, even if some roles require her to fight it.”

She smiled. “Pedro, You’re taking this too seriously. I know You’re a gentle man. And I did have fun sex earlier in the game. Don’t forget that this is a role for this round only. Do what you have to do, and after the round I’ll be glad to meet you for fun sex, if You’re interested.”

“I do have a—a girlfriend,” he said. “I met her in the game, but I love her and mean to marry her.”

“Then your course is clear. Hold me down, fuck me, and move on to the next. Otherwise, you won’t make it to the next round.”

“I don’t suppose it would count if I did you when you were asleep naturally, so I could think of it as voluntary?”

“I’d wake and fight. However, that would count if you hung on and completed it. Could be quite a thrill for you. And, actually, for me. In this role, I enjoy being raped in a way I can’t enjoy voluntary sex.”

“I never bought into the idea that raped women turn out to like it.”

“Don’t,” she agreed. “Raped women don’t enjoy it, as a rule. But this is a very particular role, and when my cervix is triggered, I’ll have the joy of my orgasm. I am simply unable to do it by choice.”

The carriage reached the ground. They got out and were replaced by a new couple. “Let’s go home,” he said gruffly.

The limo was waiting. There was no sign of Salina. She might be riding up front. They got in and took their seats. Now it was Jalna sitting with her thighs visible under her skirt, turning him on. Damn!

“I know you want to do it,” she murmured.

“My position is still the inverse of yours. I do want sex with you, but taking it by violence would spoil it.”

“That’s the beauty of the challenge.” She spread her knees farther, giving him a better view of her pantyless juncture. She was teasing him, trying to work him up to the point where he would have to take her any way he could. He had a sick fear that she could succeed. He had chased after the nymph among the trees, knowing it was dangerous, and thus fallen into the knothole trap.

They reached the mansion and went to Jalna’s room. There was just the one bed, and she insisted that he share it with her. “But then I’ll be constantly touching you, getting hard.”

“What’s your point?”

“At some point maybe we’ll figure out how to have sex without violating my scruples or yours. Meanwhile, I’ll try not to bother you.”

“Don’t be foolish.” She caught his arm and guided him to the bed. He lay on it, and she stripped nude and lay against him, her thigh touching his, her breast against his chest, her arm over him, her soft hair caressing his neck.

Of course he got hard, and his penis jammed against her belly. She seemed to pay no attention. She was making it easy for him to desire her, and to have access to her body. All he had to do, as she said, was hold her down and do it.

He couldn’t.

She lifted her head and kissed him. “You’re a nice man.” She dropped her face to the pillow and went to sleep.

He felt her even breathing, her breasts sliding smoothly against his chest. He reached around her and stroked her bottom. Oh, he wanted her! He could clasp her to him, and shift around so that his stiff penis lodged in her cleft even as she struggled, and force it up into her until it scored.

But he would hate himself ever after.

He would just have to suffer. He held her close against him and slept.

The game illumination blinked, signifying the passing of the night. Jalna opened her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

“I am,” he agreed. His member was still pinned between their bellies, still hard, completely obvious to her.

She kissed him. “Damn, I’m sorry You’re taken!”

He had an alarming thought. “You can’t be the one who loves me!”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be ironic! No, I’m not that one. But don’t think you can ask the rest of us; they will all deny being the one, and one will be lying. You have to fathom it for yourself. Just as you have to figure this out. If you don’t do it before the day is out, you lose.”

He got a notion. “I think I have it! I can’t rape you, and you can’t submit without rape, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, tickling his rear.

“You could rape me.”

“Ludicrous.”

“I’m serious. You slip a potion in my drink, one that makes me unable to resist. Then, you mount me and do it. It’s involuntary, but not for you. You participate in a rape in a manner I can accept.”

She considered. “I wonder whether that would actually work? Be allowed by the game, I mean.”

“Let’s try it and see.”

“Here goes nothing,” she agreed. “It’s time for breakfast. Come on. Don’t bother to dress.”

They went down to the dining hall. Several clothed witches were already eating. They did not comment. Jalna served him cereal and milk, served herself, and sat beside him.

Pedro started to feel dizzy. “I—I—” he said, and flopped on the table, spilling the rest of his cereal.

“I drugged you, you fool,” Jalna said. “You teased me all night without doing it, so now I’m getting you back. Get on the table!” She hauled on him, and the other witches helped. They laid him on his back on the table, his flaccid member uppermost.

Jalna got up on the table and straddled him. She took his penis and kneaded it into hardness. Then she lifted and settled on him. “Take that, slacker,” she said, spreading herself full length upon him. “I am taking you by force.” She kissed him, then shoved her body down so as to take him in to full depth.

The trigger was tripped, and the orgasm came. Jalna lay on him, working her pelvis to maximize penetration, squeezing him internally. He spewed everything he had into her. Technically, that was nothing, but it felt like an overpowering surge. His member swelled with the force of it, pressed against her channel, pulsed within it. What a climax!

The other witches applauded as it ebbed.

“It was rape, right?” Jalna asked them. “He had no choice.”

“It was rape,” the Faerie Imri agreed.

“And now, it is my turn,” another witch said. “Get off my man, Jalna.”

And so, there on the table, he was passed along to the blue-haired Elf, Kyra. She possessively fetched him a new bowl of cereal and made him eat as his stupor gradually wore off. “That was a smart ploy,” she said. “You got her without raping her. A woman can appreciate that in a man.”

“Thank you. I did desire her. Just not the way she wanted.”

In due course Kyra took him to her room, and had him in a new position: him on his back, her on her back over him, taking him in as his hands held her breasts. It was another wonderful experience.

In this manner he moved through the remaining witches, until all too soon all thirteen had been done. Now it was time for the reckoning. He had handled one challenge, but two remained. He still had no idea which one of them loved him.

He sat facing the group of them. What was he to do?

Xylia, the Nordic clerk of court who had recruited him, put the dreaded question to him. “Which of us loves you, Pedro?”

His mind spun. He didn’t want to guess, but might have no choice. They had all treated him well. They had all kissed him, even Jalna, the rape prospect. They had all had sex with him in increasingly novel positions. Any or all could love him.

Except one, in one respect. Was it significant? Xylia had not actually kissed him. He had tried, but she had averted her face. He had taken that to mean that she refused the pretense, and simply got the job of sex done. But it could have been for another reason.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” he asked her.

“That would not be wise.”

“Is it because you love me, and don’t want to risk giving it away?”

She returned his gaze evenly. “Are you saying I am the one?”

He decided to gamble. “Yes!”

There was a gentle sigh among the witches.

“Yes, I am the one,” Xylia agreed. “That is why I recruited you. I wanted to have you close to me, even if I had to share you with my sister witches.” She grimaced. “Some of whom are seductive wenches.”

“All of whom,” Jalna corrected her. The others laughed.

He had won the second challenge. But he wanted more. What was so special about her kiss? It just might relate to the unknown third challenge. “Then kiss me now.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“We each have our separate magic, or magick, as we call it. Mine is the kiss. Had I kissed you, you would have been severely compelled. That would not have been fair.”

“I’ll risk it now,” he said. “Kiss me.”

She glanced around at the others. Slowly they nodded. Then, oddly, they began taking off their clothes.

Xylia stood and approached him, removing her own dress. Three other witches came and stood close around her. This was becoming more mysterious. She had said her kiss would be compelling. In what manner?

Xylia put her hands on the sides of his face, setting it just so. The other three leaned close. Then she lifted her face and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

The universe detonated. He seemed to be expanding in every direction, especially his penis, which was suddenly supremely urgent. He thrust, and had an explosive orgasm, feeling the ejaculate flow. There was a brief pause. Then he thrust again, and the orgasm resumed, and more semen flowed. Then, after another pause, a third effort, as the orgasm returned in force.

It continued with seemingly interminable bliss, as his lips remained locked on hers. How many spurts could he put into her? This was an extended orgasm like none other! He was peripherally aware of the other witches squeezing in close, touching him, maybe helping to support Xylia. The force of the continuing orgasm threatened to topple them both. Finally, it ended. It must have lasted five or six minutes! And all the time the kiss was unbroken, generating its own current. Now the kiss broke, coincidentally the same time as the last surge of passion faded. What a kiss!

He was in Xylia, his member slowly softening, as well it should. It had performed with amazing power and duration.

Pedro looked around. The witches were scattered around the room, sprawled on chairs, looking windswept. What had happened to them?

Xylia drew back, letting his penis drop. She half fell into her own chair, breathing hard.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I kissed you,” Xylia answered.

“Why is everyone sprawled in chairs, as though they were hit by a hurricane?”

“You may have trouble believing it.”

“Try me.”

“You have just done all of us.”

“I don’t believe it!” Then he paused, realizing that he was reacting as she had indicated. “I need more detail.”

“When I kissed you, your member became urgent. One of us took it in for the delivery. After the spurt, she got off and another got on for the second spurt. And so on, until twelve were done. Even Jalna, who put herself in place and got raped. Only then did I take you in myself for the final emission. Then I broke the kiss. A second cycle would not have been healthy.”

“But I was kissing only you throughout,” he protested.

“Maybe we can show you.” Xylia stood and approached him again. This time she put her hand against his mouth.

Nola came close, stood beside Xylia, and angled her body before Xyla’s so that her pelvis met his pelvis. She paused there a moment, then retreated. Imri came in from the other side, angling her body similarly, putting her pelvis in play. Meanwhile, Xylia’s hand remained on his mouth.

Pedro was beginning to understand. “I was kissing you, but having sex with the others, in turn. There was no recovery time. I did each in seconds.”

“Thirty seconds,” Xylia agreed, dropping her hand. “Including a pause for swapping out.”

“In six minutes I did twelve witches? And finally, you?”

“Once my kiss starts, it is best to complete the roster, lest the urgency become damaging. I would not be able to handle so many orgasms in succession, so the others took them. We had to spread out the magic.”

“I should think so,” he agreed, bemused. “Even then, I gather it was a pretty arduous exercise.”

“Mainly the rapid placements,” Xylia said. “We could not afford a blockage.”

“Well, I’m satisfied. Your kiss is potent, and I won’t take it amiss if you don’t kiss me again. I believe I have one more challenge to navigate. What is it?”

Jalna spoke. “Close your eyes.”

Pedro closed them.

“There are thirteen of us, and two surviving female players. Sixteen women were in the second round. Who is missing?”

It took him a moment to orient on the completely unexpected question. Not who was participating, but who was not. He knew he had met them all at the conclusion of the second round. He hadn’t been paying attention to them all, but a part of his mind had checked them off, to know with whom he was competing. Which one of these sixteen had he not encountered here?

His mind crunched, and he got it. One of the women on the boats, a Mongol. “Zora!” he exclaimed.

Zora appeared. “Thank you for remembering me. You have won the round.”

“Now let’s have a party,” Jalna said. “But no kissing, Xylia.” They all laughed.

Privately, Pedro was wondering how Fotina was doing in the female section of this round.

•  •  •

Fotina turned away from the judge’s desk. Her divorce was final, she was destitute, and she had no idea where she would go or what she might do. She was also aware that in this setting she had no special powers; she was just an ordinary woman.

The Court Clerk approached her. She recognized him as Kemo, the powerful Nubian who had lost his life on Horror World. He was now a supporting player. “Off the record, I think you got a raw deal,” he said. “Your ex is an utter cad.”

Suddenly overwhelmed, she burst into tears. He held her comfortingly. “There is a place you will be welcome,” he murmured. “Room, board, and entertainment provided. But you would have to oblige thirteen men.”

House mother to a college fraternity? At this stage anything was better than nothing. She hardly hesitated. “Where?”

“This way.”

He took her to a limo, and as they rode he described the situation. “It’s the male equivalent of a coven. Thirteen warlocks in need of an attractive woman who doesn’t condemn magic. They won’t practice it on you without your permission, but they are not like garden variety men.”

“Magic? I thought this was a science setting.”

“It’s a mundane setting where most folk don’t believe in magic, so warlocks and witches have to tread carefully. They don’t want to get burned at the stake.”

“I see. I can’t do magic, but the warlocks can.”

“That’s about it. Had you washed out of the last round, you could have served in this one as a witch, and done limited magic. But as a continuing player, you are designated ordinary.”

“Got it. I’ll keep my mouth shut about magic. How do we proceed?”

“You will have to have sex with each in turn before repeating with any. They are virile, and that could mean thirteen trysts in the first day. But you won’t have to do more than one a day unless you choose to.”

She sought to identify the worst of it. “Are they, um, unattractive?”

“Not at all. They are ordinary. Like me.”

“You are one of them?”

“Yes. But I don’t advertise that while on the job. People might misunderstand. Magic is frowned upon.”

“I am to have sex with you, too?”

“Yes. I am first in line, for recruiting you. But I am not rushing you. Any time in the next day or night will do.”

Indeed it would do for now, until she got her footing. She had garnered a fair amount of sexual experience in the course of the game, and could handle anything within reason. Of course, the game might throw in something beyond reason. That made her wary.

“There must be other conditions,” she said.

“Some. You must employ a different position each time, not repeating any until the complete roster is serviced. One man may hate you but will not say so; you will have to identify him.”

“Hate me! Why, when he can’t even really know me?”

“That mystery you must fathom yourself.”

This was growing more difficult, but it was the kind of thing the game could throw at a player. “What else?”

“Two other challenges you will have to navigate as you come to them.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you are eliminated from the game.”

Just so. “Bring it on,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

That night, with Kemo in the standard missionary position, she ventured an out-of-setting question. “How did you and Tris get caught, on Horror? We thought you’d be too canny for simple traps.”

“We were, we thought,” he said, penetrating her slowly, savoring it. “We got answers from obliging nymphs, but then fell prey to the aphrodisiac effect of the fruit. The nymphs of the forest were not immediately obliging; we had to chase them and back them up against tree trunks. I don’t care to discuss the rest.”

“Understood. I got backed against a tree too. I had fashioned a metallic skirt to fend off the satyrs. I managed to bite off tendrils and fight free.”

“You are a remarkable woman.” At that point, he penetrated to her cervix and the orgasm was upon them.

“I have learned a huge amount in the game,” she said as it faded.

“You surely deserve to win.”

“Thank you.”

“My turn.” It was another warlock, there to claim her company per their schedule.

She went through them rapidly thereafter, utilizing a different sexual position with each. It wasn’t difficult, because each was eager for sex and none were rough or twisted in preferences. They were all vanquished players of former rounds, several of which she had had sex with before in the first two settings.

But which one of them hated her? This was a game artifact only, as they knew she was committed to Pedro, but her survival in the game depended on her success in fathoming it. Each kissed and fondled her appreciatively, and several complimented her performance in the game. But if there was a deeper or more contrary emotion than sexual passion, it was not evident.

Then she encountered Tris. He had had sex with Xylia, then gone with Kemo to their joint fate on Horror World. This time he was quite different.

“I like you, Fotina,” he said. “I respect you. I think Pedro is one lucky man. But I can’t have sex with you.”

She smiled. “It can’t be that you don’t like sex. You performed impressively with Xylia.”

“Oh, yes. I do like sex. Just not with you. Not in this setting.”

Was this a challenge? “I don’t understand.”

“Can you stand a bit of dull background?”

“I can stand more than a bit, if it relates to how I turn you off. That’s not an impression I prefer to make on a man.”

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

Was that a line? Why use it to avoid sex? “Then tell me about you.”

“Before I was a full warlock, I was part of a melded family. Several of us were adopted orphans. That was why we did not much resemble each other physically or emotionally. Our parents were wonderful people. So, actually, were my siblings. I am Nordic, my teen sister Thea was Moor, but I could not have loved her more regardless of her race.”

Fotina was a teen Moor. This might be getting relevant.

“One day I needed to send a package, but I was busy with other things, so I asked Thea to do it for me. She took the package and the car, and drove to the nearest package office. She did not get there. A texting driver crossed the line and struck her head-on. She died in agony, her blood on the pavement.” He grimaced. “Naturally the other driver survived almost unscathed, physically and legally. He lied about the texting, and they couldn’t prove it, so he remains on the road today. I would put a malign spell on him, but the coven forbids such spiteful use of magic.”

“I’m sorry,” Fotina said. It was just a story within the setting, explaining his attitude, but it moved her.

“Thea strongly resembled you, physically,” Tris said. “When I look at you, I can’t help seeing her. An outstandingly lovely Moorish woman, gracious and personable.”

“And you can’t have sex with your sister,” she said, getting it. “Even an adopted one”

“Worse. You remind me of my overwhelming guilt. If I had not asked her to do my errand for me, she would be alive today. I should have been the one killed, not her.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Not your fault. I know intellectually that you have no connection to her. But emotionally, it is quite another matter.”

She nodded. “I have a brother IRL. I wouldn’t have sex with him either, and if he died because of me I’d never forgive myself.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“But I am not your sister, or any reincarnation of her. You shouldn’t take your guilt out on me.”

“I know it. You are an innocent victim, as she was. But my emotion—” He broke off, then dropped his trousers and under-shorts. “See.”

She saw. His penis was completely limp. He had no sexual desire for her at all.

Or did he? She stepped out of her own clothing and stood naked before him. There was still no arousal.

“May I?” she asked.

“By all means. If you can find a way to seduce me, I would welcome it.”

She went to him, hugged him close, and kissed him. He went through the motions, but there was no passion. She stepped back half a step and reached for his penis. She squeezed it and tickled his scrotum. Nothing. Finally she turned around and set her bottom against it. That had instantly excited any man she had tried it on in the game before. Still nothing.

Tris was truly impotent with her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She was not ready to give up. “Suppose I cut my hair off, or donned a wig? So that I looked different?”

“You could try it. But I already know you as yourself, so I don’t think it would work, any more than it would if my sister had donned a wig. Appearance triggered it, but appearance can’t un-trigger it.”

This understandable hang-up was about to wash her out of the game. This was a challenge, all right. How could she possibly handle it?

She feared she couldn’t. Rather than stretch this out further, it was better to acknowledge her failure and expediently end it.

She dressed and left the room. “Where are you going?” Tris called.

“Out,” she called back over her shoulder.

“Because of me?”

“Because I’m not the player I thought I was.”

He followed her. “Please, Fotina, I would do it if I could! I don’t want you to suffer on account of me.”

“Not your fault.” She forged on out of the mansion. There was the parked limousine. On impulse she went to the driver’s side and got in. She would simply drive out of the setting, foolish as that might be. It really would be simpler to speak the words of quitting the game, and be done with it. Why wasn’t she doing that?

He clawed the opposite door open and lurched into the adjacent seat as she started the vehicle moving. “Fotina!”

“Let me go in peace!” she snapped.

“I can’t. I just don’t know how to help you.”

She pulled out onto the highway. The limo handled beautifully. She doubted she had ever before touched a car this expensive, in or out of the game. It was a pleasure to drive.

“Then don’t try,” she said, glancing at him.

“Look out!”

An opposing car had drifted out of the opposite lane and was coming right at them. Another texting driver, maybe even the same one that had taken out his sister. For the moment she was frozen, her reflexes inadequate to the need.

Tris reached across and grabbed the wheel. He jerked it toward him, and the limo swerved grandly.

The other car side-swiped the limo instead of hitting it head-on, but the impact was still considerable. They spun out of control, tires squealing and popping. They came to rest beside the highway, upright.

“I couldn’t save her, but at least I can save you,” Tris said. His face was flushed. “I’m damned if I’ll kill both of you!”

“Not your fault,” she said. “I should have kept my eyes on the road.”

“Oh, Fotina, I’m an ass! I put you at such risk!”

“No, you—”

Her words were cut off by his kiss.

Soon they were in the throes of it, clothing literally torn free, his member jamming into her as she pulled her knees up to her chin on the seat. That was a new position, and made her cleft fully available despite the awkwardness of the vehicle. He reached the trigger, and they suffered mutual bliss together.

She had, after all, seduced him. Not by any conscious intention or artifice; it was sheer luck. But it was one great sexual episode.

It also eliminated him as a prospect for the one who hated her. Tris had been honest with her throughout, in game terms, and his final passion had been sincere, she was sure.

In due course help arrived, and they explained about the texting driver. There had been other witnesses, and the driver had been run down and arrested. They were in the clear.

The next warlock was Orton, a Nordic. His magic was invisibility. He took her to his place of work, a shoe factory, and made them both invisible amidst the lathes and punches. When it happened, she could not see him or herself at all, but felt his hand on her bottom. He bent her over a pile of leather and had at her from behind, ramming in until he found her cervix and set them both off.

Other workers turned to stare at the seemingly empty spot from which sounds of ultimate passion emanated. Finally, one walked across to feel the space with his hand. Fotina saw him coming just in time and stood up high enough so that his hand touched her right breast, Orton still embedded below.

The man’s eyes widened and he retreated. “You’ll never guess what I thought I felt,” he said. “That’s some ghost!”

Fotina had to stifle her laughter, because they were not inaudible.

Orton finally withdrew, and they got quietly out of there. She had to admit it had been fun.

The next was Ramos, a Mongol whose magic was illusion. He was an ugly man, but he used illusion to transform himself so as to be more esthetic. Except for one detail.

“Your penis is projecting from your chest.”

“Oh.” His image fuzzed, then reformed with the penis in the right place. He sat down and she sat on it, taking it in, and it was perfectly serviceable. Except that in the throes of orgasm he lost control of the illusion, and the penis image floated across the room, fountaining beautifully.

She sought to kiss him, but he used illusion to hide his face and she couldn’t find it. All right, this was essentially a business association and he did not have to pretend emotion he did not feel. Still, she was slightly nettled, a feeling she carefully concealed.

Next was Vere, an Elf whose magic was contortion. He twisted himself into a phenomenal knot with only his erect penis sticking out. Fotina climbed on it and took it in, causing it to spout so vigorously that the knot was in danger of fraying.

She completed much of the roster without any real problem. Soon she had to identify the one who hated her, and she had no idea. All the men had been attentive, and all had evinced real pleasure in the sex. As warlocks, they needed that interaction on a regular basis; it enhanced their powers. They had had a succession of house mistresses, but most had been turned off not by the frequent sex, but by the magic.

So who hated her? She struggled with that, reviewing each relationship. Tris? Because Pedro had beaten him in Round 4, and she was Pedro’s girlfriend? No, what she had come to know of Tris did not suggest that small a compass; the man had accepted his loss with grace and seemed to wish her well. Yes, he had at first been impotent with her, but that was not at all the same as hate. Kemo, who had recruited her? Again, he did not seem to harbor any resentment. Orton, with the invisibility? They had had such fun in his office! He had given every indication of enjoying her company. Ramos?

Perhaps it was Ramos, with his power of illusion to make his ugliness become handsomeness? He had declined to kiss her, alone of all the warlocks. Could he resent her natural prettiness, holding it against her? It was a thin clue, but that was the most likely prospect.

Meanwhile, she had one more warlock to do, the last in the roster. Others had privately warned that he was a bit backward, and that prior coven maids had had trouble seducing him. It wasn’t that he was ugly, or violent, or uninterested. He was just different.

Fotina nerved herself and entered the room of Wade, the thirteenth warlock. There she found three things: a booklet, a bassinet with a baby doll, and a stone statue of a man with a huge erection.

The statue was surely Wade in a state of magical transformation. She had been told he was a Moor, and the statue was Moor. He was a handsome, well-constructed man. But that penis was simply too big for any normal intercourse, apart from its stone state. It might be four inches in diameter, and about six long. What a monster!

She looked more closely at the doll in the bassinet. It was a newborn Moorish baby girl, every detail authentic, a perfect little darling. It looked almost ready to come alive. What was it doing here? Men did not normally play with dolls. Yet this was surely no game.

She picked up the booklet. It turned out to be a birth announcement: Born this day (and it was today’s date) to Wade and Fotina, a girl, 22 inches long, 7.5 pounds, Fortuna. Share our happiness.

Fotina stared at the words. The doll was supposed to be her baby with Wade? The man she had not even yet met? How could this possibly be, even in simulation?

Obviously this was her challenge to figure out. It had to make some kind of sense, somehow. She merely had to fathom it.

Had she met Wade a year ago, romanced him, married him, had sex with him, gotten pregnant, and finally birthed their baby, this would be theoretically possible. But she had not. She had been at the warlock’s coven only a few days, game time, and a few hours IRL time. So in what frame of reference could there be a birth announcement?

She remembered the rapid romance of the waiters and waitresses in Round Three. In the game, things could happen fast. She shuddered. She didn’t want anything like that.

The realistic doll obviously represented the baby. Was it what Wade desired, to marry her and sire her child? Even the name, Fortuna, resembled her game name.

Another mystery: if he secretly loved her, why become a statue when it was time for her to come to him; for the statue was entirely too realistic, apart from the grossly thickened member. She believed it was Wade. Was it part of her challenge to get him transformed back to flesh?

They had said he was backward. This wasn’t backward, it was crazy.

Maybe it was a riddle? She had to figure out just what this tableau meant, interpret it, and seduce Wade. There had to be a key.

Backward. Part of it was: birth announcement and baby, before there was either sex or any relationship.

Then it came to her: this whole setting was backward! She had to go through it in reverse order. Announcement, baby, sex, romance. That might seem impossible, but with magic just about anything could happen. If she could go through the steps, she could prevail.

Except for that massive stone penis. Even a living one that size would be a hazard, and unyielding stone would be worse. How could she possibly get that thing into her?

She ran it through her mind, this way and that, and had an idea. She rechecked the baby, then the penis. The penis was the same diameter as the baby’s head. If her vagina had dilated enough to birth the baby, just today, it should remain big enough to take in the penis.

Of course, she had not been pregnant and had not birthed any baby. But, with magic simulation, maybe it was possible. Her vagina had stretched similarly in the Round Four Horror setting. Their private anatomy had also changed there, without their immediate notice.

She doffed her clothing and checked herself. Yes, her vagina had been stretched, and was wet, as if she had recently given birth.

All right. She had the birth announcement. She had the baby. Now she needed to take the next step back: the sex.

She approached the statue. She fetched a stool and set it before him. She stood on the stool so that her groin was just above his. She moved in close. She wet her hand with her own genital juices and smeared it over the member, making it slick. She stretched her genital opening wide with her fingers and draped it over the tip of the penis. She pushed down, getting it lodged. It was only the outer lip of it, against the rounded curve of the head of his penis, but it was a fair start.

Then she held her breath and bent her knees, letting her weight settle her on the stone member. Her vagina slowly stretched to take in the massive head. It got tight, and she was afraid it would balk, but she applied more force and managed to nudge it on over. She was cruelly distended, but she had the whole penile head inside. It was really no worse than accommodating the first satyr had been.

She bore down, and slowly took in more of it, until at last her straining pelvis came up against his. She had taken all of him in! Her opening was wedged dramatically taut, her genital shaft was stretched tightly thin, and her belly felt as if she was riding a massive pole, but she had made it.

What was supposed to happen now? She felt the cold phallus inside her body, that was all. It remained unyielding, as did the rest of the statue. Had she misunderstood the challenge?

Maybe not. She simply had not yet finished. She was having sex, but not the romance.

She lifted her face to Wade’s stone face, and kissed his hard mouth. “I love you, Wade,” she said. “Let’s get married and have a baby.”

The stone face softened. The stone phallus inside her warmed and thrust, gushing hot fluid. He had his orgasm, and that gave her hers. She kissed his warming lips desperately as the passion swept them both.

There was a sound behind her. The baby! Fortuna had animated and was crying for attention.

“I must go to her,” Fotina told Wade. She got off his slackening member, stepped down from the stool, and went to the bassinet. She picked up the baby and put the infant to her breast, which was now swollen with milk. Fortuna nursed, contented.

“Thank you,” Wade said. He was now fully human.

“You are welcome.” She had completed the challenge, and had now done the last man, his way.

Things fuzzed, and Fotina found herself in the main hall facing the thirteen warlocks. The baby was gone, and her innards felt normal again, as if she had not recently had massive sex and birthed a baby. “Which one of us hates you?” Kemo asked.

“Ramos. He refused to kiss me.”

Ramos nodded. “It was a necessary role. I am glad it’s over. I don’t hate you in reality. May I kiss you now?”

“Yes.” She was greatly relieved that she had gotten it right.

He kissed her warmly, and it was manifest that he did not hate her outside the role. Then he stepped back. “Thank you.”

“Sixteen men survived Round one,” Kemo said. “Who is missing from that roster?”

This caught her completely by surprise. A challenge of omission! She turned inward, counting off men. Thirteen in the Coven, plus Pedro and Lance who had survived Round Four. That was fifteen. Who else?

She had exchanged with a number of men in Round One. There had been a joint party following Round Two, consisting of all the survivors who had made it to that round. It had been fun reconnecting, however briefly. Which one had she not seen here?

“Brand the Mongol!” she cried.

Brand appeared. “Thank you for remembering me,” he said.

The scene dissolved. She knew she had qualified for the sixth and final round.

Had Pedro also qualified? She desperately hoped so.

Chapter 6:
Favor

Pedro was torn internally as he rode his horse toward the enemy castle. He had just received the news from the final, most authoritative ocular test: he was going blind, probably within three years, and it could not be prevented. Far worse than that fate, at the moment, was the prospect of facing Fotina. How was he to tell her? Obviously, he could not marry her, and inflict that on her.

“Ho!” the guard at the castle gate challenged him. “Who are you, and why do you come here?”

Pedro halted his horse. The script of the Round Six setting was upon him, and he had to focus on that. He had had to do some background study on his role here, which was not a simple one. Otherwise, he could have washed out because of ignorance. His private dilemma would have to wait. “I am Prince Pedro. I am here to do the King a favor.”

The guard consulted with his superior, then swung open the gate. “Enter, Prince.”

Soon he was ushered to the boudoir of Princess Fotina. She was lovely in her royal robe, but plainly nervous, and not pleased to see him. “Damn! Has Father decided to marry me off already, to an enemy prince? You will have to take me by force, because I will not submit willingly.”

“And you have a knife at your lovely breast,” Pedro said.

She was taken aback. “How did you know?”

“A girl with spirit like yours would not bluff.”

“Well, then you know I’d rather die than be taken.”

Pedro smiled. “Relax. I am not here to marry you, or to rape you. I am here because I owe your father the King a favor or two.”

“The best favor you can do me is to depart instantly, leaving me unmolested.”

“I would like nothing better. But I am obliged to fulfill the favor first.”

“What favor?”

“I must train you to defend yourself physically, intellectually, emotionally, and magically. Only when that is accomplished will my geis be abated. Until then, we both must suffer.”

She considered, losing some of her apprehension. “How did you come to owe such a burdensome favor to my father?”

“He spared my life. I met him on the battlefield, he defeated me, and withheld the terminal cut.”

She glanced at him cannily. “Prince, no one ever defeated you in combat. We do know your reputation here.”

“No one has defeated me in mortal combat,” he agreed. “But this was magic.”

“My father used magic against you?”

“He did, and thereby preempted the advantage.”

“But you are also the leading magician in your realm.”

“I thought I was,” he agreed, somewhat ruefully. “I misjudged your father’s power. That mistake should have finished me. Instead he spared me, and our match was technically a draw. Only the two of us know the reality.”

“That it wasn’t really a draw,” she said thoughtfully.

“At that point I owed him. It is a matter of honor.”

“Honor,” she said musingly. “I did not know that your ilk knew its meaning.”

“We do. We may be enemies, but we honor the code. That is why your father sent me here, to meet you alone. He knew he could trust me in this respect. You must give yourself into my hands for the duration of the training.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” she said imperiously.

“Then perhaps you should so inform your father.”

She reconsidered. Evidently that was not a confrontation she cared to attempt. She changed the subject slightly. “You said a favor or two. There’s another?”

“There was an assassination plot against my father that might have succeeded. Your father intercepted it and notified me. I relayed the information to my father, who arranged to nullify it and save his life by seeming coincidence. That was a second debt.”

“My father signs people up for debts to him?”

“No. Nothing was ever said, and neither debt is known.”

“Then why—” She stopped. “Honor.”

He nodded. “Hence, when he requested a favor, I came.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

“Your father is a supremely practical man. He figured he stood more to gain by putting me under obligation than by killing me. In the second case, he preferred to see my father remain in power, than to see me become king prematurely by default.”

“Especially when it made you doubly indebted to him.”

“True. I am still learning from him.”

“What of the second favor?”

“I will honor that too, when the time comes.”

“What is it?”

“I do not know.” He shrugged. “I do not need to know. It is not a matter of choice.”

“This training you mention—does it include sexual?”

“It does. You must be competent to prevent any man from taking any sexual advantage of you, even if you are confined naked and weaponless in a cage with him.”

“Naked in a cage!”

“And in less extreme situations.”

She considered again. “Why would my father assign such a chore to an enemy prince, of all people?”

“Because I am the most competent trainer available. He insists on the best for his daughter.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. Your brother is a nice boy, but incompetent as a prospective ruler. The throne will, in time, go to you. Your father means to see that no one can outwit or outmaneuver you, for the good of your kingdom. I will see to that.”

“You’re that competent?”

“I am.”

“And who can outwit or outmaneuver you?”

“Your father.”

She burst out laughing. Then, abruptly, she sobered. “You’re not joking.”

“It is not a joke,” he agreed.

“I remain unconvinced that this is wise, or that you can teach me anything useful that I could not learn from our own competent servitors.”

“Perhaps a small demonstration is in order, then.”

“Perhaps it is,” she said defiantly.

Pedro lifted an ornate dagger in his right hand.

Fotina stared. “That’s a twin to mine!”

“No.”

She felt her chest, searching. “That’s my dagger!”

“Yes.”

“But I never let go of it! I was holding it to my breast. How could you get it?”

“The same way I could get hold of your breast,” he said, advancing on her. He fixed her with his gaze.

“Impossible! I’d never allow—” She broke off, appalled.

His left hand was on her bared right breast.

She slapped it away and retreated. “You manifest lecher!”

Pedro smiled. “And a very nice breast it is.”

She regrouped. “You can show me how to hold on to my knife and keep my breasts to myself?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it.”

“I used magic.” He let go of the knife and it floated in the air. “I slipped it gently from your grip while you were distracted and summoned it to my hand. You may have it back now.” The knife floated to her hand.

“And the other?”

“Magic, again. I distracted you with my gaze and masked my left hand. I will repeat in slow motion, without the distraction.”

“Do that,” she agreed, seeming sure that there was some other trick.

His hand disappeared. The lapel of her robe moved as his invisible fingers touched it. Her breast was bared. He laid his hidden hand on it, masking its touch. Then he banished the invisibility spell.

There was his hand back on her bared breast.

This time she did not flinch. “And, lacking magical ability of my own, I can prevent this how?”

“First, the knife,” he said, removing his hand and covering her breast. “You must bind it to you. Put it to your breast.”

She obeyed, more curious than concerned.

“Press it close. Invoke this spell: My dagger, know my flesh. Never cut it hereafter. Never leave it. Protect me always.”

Fotina repeated the words.

“Now cause the blade to cut you slightly, staining it with just a little blood so that it knows you.”

Again she obeyed. A drop of blood from the inner curve of her breast clotted on the edge of the blade.

“By this my blood I bind you to me. Invoke.”

She repeated the words. When she said “Invoke,” there was a sparkle across the knife and her bosom. “Oh! It stung!”

“The spell was not activated until that final word,” he explained. “You have bound the blade to you. It will not hurt you or leave you unless compelled by significantly stronger magic. You are unlikely to encounter that in servants or peasants.”

“Could you take it?”

“I could take it,” he agreed. “But I am the second strongest magician in this kingdom.”

“After my father,” she agreed. She shook her head. “I did not even know he knew magic!”

“I learned the hard way.”

“Now, my breast. How can I keep some lesser man’s hand off it?”

“This requires more magic.”

“I don’t know magic! I’m a mundane girl.”

“Anyone can do magic,” he said. “Some are better than others. Few people practice it to any degree, because magic is a tool as potent and dangerous as fire. Some seemingly trifling error can lead to disaster. The average person utilizes little if any, so as not to harm himself or others. But with proper instruction a person can learn spot spells that can serve well in need. Your knife spell is an example. Had you misspoken, your knife could have thrust itself through your heart.”

“You could have made me kill myself with my own dagger?”

“Had I not been bound by the geis,” he agreed.

“You used that word before. What does it mean?”

“It is an obligation of honor.”

Fotina sighed. “It seems I must trust myself to your obligation of honor. What is this other bit of magic?”

“I will teach you a spell to surround yourself with slippery repulsive gloss.”

“Just what every girl most desires: to be repulsively slippery.”

“You will be able to reverse it at will.”

“What, to attract a man’s hand to my breast and make it stick there? I can do that without magic.”

He smiled. “There are times when it could be useful. Suppose a man is attacking you with both hands? You could draw his left hand to your right breast and hold it there while you use your left hand to block his knife and your right hand to scratch one of his eyes out.”

She started to laugh, but cut it short, as before. “No joke, again,” she said soberly.

“Any man who touches you with malice deserves what he gets. That is the mark of an independent woman.”

“And you are quite serious about this training.”

“I do mean to accomplish it successfully. Only then will I be free to go my own way.”

“How long do you figure this chore will take?”

“Perhaps a year.”

“A year! Suppose I have other things to do, like traveling, dancing and dating?”

“You will do these things with me.”

“You dance?”

Pedro snapped his fingers. Music sounded around them. He bowed slightly and held out his hand to her.

Bemused, she took it. He brought her into his embrace and moved her in a formal dance step. She matched him automatically, and they did a nice little waltz.

Pedro gave no sign how much he enjoyed holding her like that. His role was that of a cynical trainer, not a boyfriend.

The music faded and the dance ended. Fotina looked at him with a new appreciation. “It seems that you do know more than combat and magic.”

“Now the spell. You will have to be nude when you make it, lest it taint your clothing.”

“I wouldn’t want my clothing flying off,” she agreed. “Not unless I was in a really seductive mood.” Without argument she disrobed and stood naked before him. She had clearly lost her apprehension about him and his motives. She was, not incidentally, a stunningly beautiful young woman. Pedro felt the impact despite his knowledge that it was merely her avatar, and his experience with her IRL. Now, more than ever, he could not afford to be unduly influenced by her appearance.

Pedro spoke a spell that summoned a ball of translucent gel. “You will define this as you did the service of your knife,” he said. “You will spread it across any portion of your body you want protected, and then invoke it.” He handed the glob to her.

She took it. Immediately it spread out around her hand and wrist, flowing along her arm to her torso.

“When it reaches your face, close your eyes, mouth, and nostrils, and put your fingers in your ears. In a moment it will set; then you can clear your ears, open your eyes and mouth, and clear your nostrils. Those will be the only places it doesn’t fully cover.”

“What about my cleft?”

“Fingers similarly in necessary openings.”

She did as directed, and soon was almost completely covered in gloss. She invoked it. Nothing happened. “Well?”

“I approach you using no magic,” he said, expending his left hand toward her breast. It did not touch; instead it slid around to her side, never touching her skin.

“Are you faking that?”

“No. You may, if you wish, call in a servant to try it.”

“I am calling the bluff.” She clapped her hands twice. A maidservant appeared. She paused, but then pretended not to notice that Fotina was standing naked before an armed enemy prince. “I have an itch on my back,” Fotina told her. “Please scratch it.”

The servant tried. Her hand refused to touch Fotina’s flesh. Confused, she tried again, with no better result.

“That will do,” Fotina said. “Depart.”

The woman left, shaking her head. “Tell no one,” Fotina called after her.

“You just ruined the maid’s story of the day,” Pedro said.

She was only faintly amused. “How do I reverse it?”

“It is a matter of will. Focus on the gloss and say mentally, ‘Reverse.’”

She focused. “Now try it.”

“I attack you without magic, slow motion,” he said. His own knife appeared in his right hand, while his left grabbed for her arm.

She lifted her left hand to block his right forearm. Meanwhile his left touched her arm and abruptly flattened against it, locking against her skin. He drew it back, but it was stuck. Her right hand came up to slap his face.

Then his hand jumped off her arm. She had re-reversed the gloss.

Pedro stepped back. “I believe you have the idea.”

“Thank you.” She fetched her clothes and dressed.

“Now we must begin. There is much to cover.”

“I am ready.”

“We shall see. We’ll start with running and math.”

“I am physically fit, and I know my math.”

“We shall see. Don shorts and shoes.”

She did not argue further. She changed before him, and in moments stood in a sport bra, shorts, and running shoes.

“Put on a hood,” he said.

“Why? I ask not with resistance but to understand.”

“So you will not be recognized.”

She nodded and donned a pink hood.

“That won’t do. No peasant has such a hood.”

“Then let’s run naked with our faces magically masked.”

“That will do,” he agreed. He stripped. His avatar was quite well constructed. He cast a spell to fog his facial and genital features, and another to fog hers.

They walked out of her suite, down the stairs, and to the rear portal of the castle. No one noticed; the spell of obscurity was around them both. They crossed the moat on a small boat, then jogged along the service road to the local peasant village.

The peasants were going about their business. They paused to see the two naked runners, then returned to their tasks, their curiosity magically dulled.

“I am coming to like this,” Fotina said.

“There is no need for the training to be unpleasant. What is the square root of twenty?”

“A scant 4.5.” She concentrated. “A generous 4.47.”

He nodded. He tried her on cosigns, derivatives, and logarithms. She handled them competently.

He picked up the physical pace as they ran through the village. She kept it, running well. She was indeed physically fit.

“You have your choice of two offers from another monarch. One will pay an increase of one gold piece every six months, the other will increase four gold pieces a year. Which will be more profitable?”

“The latter. It’s twice as much.”

“Reconsider.”

She did. “First half year, both are even: no increase. Second half year, the first has one gold piece, the second none.” She paused, reflecting, then continued. “Third half year, another two gold pieces versus none. Fourth half year, another three, totaling six gold pieces versus four. The first deal is better.”

“When making deals with other kingdoms, that insight may be significant.”

“I see that,” she said appreciatively.

“What is the closest planet?”

“To what?”

“That suffices.” She was a smart girl.

They completed a wide loop around the village and returned to the castle. Fotina was clearly winded and tired, but she did not complain. That was another good sign.

They showered and dressed. Fotina summoned the royal chef, and Pedro informed him of their diet. There was nothing easy about it; it was lean and mean. They were in training.

That night they rested on parallel mats on the floor, simulating the rougher conditions of solitary travel.

“I am perplexed,” Pedro said. “I do not fathom your father’s full rationale. If you are to be an unmarried queen, this training makes sense. But you will not be. You will marry advantageously and serve another king, who will cherish and protect you. This training is overkill for that.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. “Unless you are the one I am supposed to marry.”

“You would be delightful. I am favorably impressed with you. However, royal marriages are not for delight. They are for commercial and political advantage. Why does he believe I would marry you, when I can make more advantageous liaisons elsewhere?”

“Maybe he assumes I am enough your type so that by the time my training is complete you will become smitten with me and make a liaison for love instead of advantage.”

“He is not such a fool as to think that I would be such a fool.”

She laughed. “Already I know you well enough to know you are not insulting me.”

“I am not,” he agreed. “We both know the cold equations of marriage.”

“Could that be the second favor?”

He paused, taken aback. “That might be. But marriage is not a favor that can be required that way. I would have to want it.”

“And do you?”

“I wouldn’t mind it. You are a smart, winsome princess. That alone does not suffice.”

“If it is my task to win your love, to the extent that you will act foolishly and marry me, thus bloodlessly neutralizing you as an enemy, perhaps you should give me a fair chance to do it.”

“Fotina, I like you well enough to want to avoid hurting you. Therefore, I must remind you again of reality. You have no fair chance.”

She paused to ponder. “You are isolated from your household during this chore. That means no dating, no mistresses. That surely aggravates you. Suppose I become your mistress?”

She was raising the stakes. “A princess is no man’s mistress.”

“None but a prince’s.”

“I must break you of this foolish romantic notion. You can not win me through sex. Save it for the man you marry.”

“What if I am trying to marry you?”

“As I said, my geis prevents me from doing you harm. Using you for such a lesser purpose would harm your reputation and prospects.”

“How, if I should want it?”

“It would devalue you. Kings prefer virgins.”

“Kings prefer competent sexual partners. Teach me competence. Consider it part of my training.”

“You do tempt me,” he said. He was understating the case. He tried to turn her off. “Since this is beyond my assigned role, I must ask your father.”

“The hell!” she exploded. “I will not be teased.”

She had scored. Teasing was a kind of harm. He had misstepped. “I apologize.”

“Verbal is not enough.”

Pedro sighed. “I will not abuse my position.”

She sat up. “I am tired and I want to sleep. I don’t have time for an extended dialogue. I will leave you innocent of abuse. All you have to do is not resist.” She stood and crossed to his mat.

She had put him on the defensive, giving her the initiative. Pedro lay still.

Fotina squatted beside him. She took his hand and brought it to her breast. It snapped close; she had reversed the gloss. She moved the hand, causing it to stroke her.

His penis stiffened. He could have prevented it, but she had asked him not to resist, and he was obliged to play it her way.

She slid his hand from her breast down to her bottom. That too, was dangerously evocative. Then she got down and lay on him. She took him into her. “Now you may react,” she murmured, and kissed him. It was an extremely potent kiss.

He should have resisted, but desire overwhelmed him. He thrust deeply into her and put them both into the orgasm. They hugged and kissed in the throes of the passion. She had had her will of him, and made him her lover. He doubted any other woman could have done it.

Still, the mystery remained. Why did her father think he would choose to marry her? There had to be some reason beyond the delight of her body. Beyond the advantage of their union. Beyond love.

On the following days he taught her many things, and she was an apt student. In the nights they made love, and she was increasingly apt there too, becoming steadily more desirable. But this was not reason to marry her.

Then he taught her more basics of defense against magic. There was no magician in a class with Pedro or her father, but there were many in the intermediate range. She needed to guard against pyro that might burn her flesh, or illusion that might cause her to step into a pit masked by seeming turf.

“Show me,” she said. They were riding horseback in the countryside.

“A good magician could cause mischief simply by making a fire to spook your horse,” he said. “But there are simple spells to dampen fire or diminish its effect. You must learn at least one.” He glanced at a nearby dry bush, and it burst into flame. Then he took her hand as they rode and shared the feeling as he formed the dampening spell in his mind. The fire guttered and went out.

“Lovely!” she exclaimed. “Let me see if I can do it myself.” She glanced at another bush. It burst into flame.

Pedro froze. He had not ignited it.

Fotina focused, and the bush was stifled. “I did it! I put it out!”

“You also ignited it,” he said, amazed.

She was startled. “I thought you did that.”

“Try it again.”

She looked at another bush. It flamed. “I did!” she exclaimed. “I picked up the pyro from your mind the same time I picked up the dousing,” she said, piecing it together.

Telepathy. “You can do active magic!” he said.

“Well, with your instruction, sure. I never knew how before.”

“It’s not just a matter of how. You have to have the potential. Most magicians can’t do more than a limited amount, regardless of the instruction they receive. But you picked it up right away.”

“That’s good?”

“That’s why your father thought I would marry you! You’re another magician, or soon will be.”

“That makes the difference?” she asked, unwilling to believe it.

“Yes, it does. My kingdom and powers allied with yours will make us supreme in the world.”

“Yes!”

“He knew! He knew you had the potential. It must run in your family. He wanted me to bring it out. He knew I would marry you then, and provide a solid basis for kingdom expansion.” He shook his head. “It’s a political liaison. What a pity we were already in love.”

“Oh, Pedro!” she said, gratified. “Will you marry me?”

•  •  •

“Oh, Fotina, I can’t,” he said.

Fotina thought she had misheard. The script called for them to discover love and marry. “What?”

“I was trying to find a way to tell you. I can’t marry you. In the game or out of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I just can’t. It would not be fair to you.”

“Not fair?” she repeated numbly.

“Fotina, I want to, I desperately want to. I love you, in and out of the game. But I just can’t do it.”

“We agreed! We’ll marry in the game, and out of it.” They were deviating from the script, but she couldn’t help it. This was such a crushing blow.

“That was before I found out.”

“Found out what?”

“That I can’t.”

“What is this?” she demanded. “Are you afraid I’ll win the game, and you don’t want to run second? I’ll concede it to you!” Forget the script!

“No, no, don’t do that. You deserve to win.”

“Then what is it? In there something bad about me? I was good enough for sex but not for the long term? Now the game is ending and you want to dump me? Was it all a ruse to keep me playing when I would have quit?” She knew her voice was becoming hysterical, but it was an accurate reflection of her mood. How could he do this to her? She had thought he loved her. “What? Tell me. What?”

“I’m going blind.”

“You’re going where? Without me?” Then it caught up to her, like a slap across the face. “Blind?”

“I learned just before this round. It’s genetic. My vision is going and in maybe three years, I’ll be blind. They can’t fix it.”

“How does that relate?”

“I can’t stick you with a blind albatross. You deserve so much better. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

She stared at him. “You want to break up because you’ll be blind?”

“Yes. It’s the only way. You’ll be much better off without me.”

“You idiot!” she flared.

Now he was set back. “What?”

“You think I would dump you right when you need me most? How could you ever believe that? What do you think of me, that you can even imagine such a thing? I love you!”

“But you don’t have to—”

She closed the distance between them and almost tackled him on his horse. “We’ll handle it together!” she said. She kissed him fiercely. “But now we have to marry.”

“Fotina—”

“Oh, shut up!” She clung to him as she pushed him, and they fell off their horses together. She got on top of him and kissed him madly, repeatedly. She tore at his clothing.

In moments, she had made a tattered wreckage of both their outfits, kissing him all the while. She caught his hardened member and stuffed it into her vagina. She bounced on him, taking it all in, as she continued kissing.

The orgasm took them. Only when it had run its course did she release his mouth. “What do you say now?”

He made a gesture of surrender with his hands. “I love you.”

“Correct answer.” She let him up. “We will marry.”

“We will marry,” he agreed. “I don’t think I deserve it, but you are making me happy despite my vision.”

The round had effectively expired. Fotina saw the little indicator in a section of the sky: 100 M. They had cracked the nine figure barrier, and had an audience of one hundred million viewers. There was nothing like a good hot romance.

Two figures appeared, riding horses along the path ahead: Ero and Roma, the Game proprietor and Executive Manager. “The final round has concluded,” Ero said as they dismounted. “Pedro has won the game and the prize.”

“She’s not a prize, she’s a person,” Pedro said, dignified despite his dishabille.

“The prize money,” Roma clarified.

Fotina had for the moment forgotten about the game. “How was it decided?”

“Had the two of you agreed to marry before Fotina’s talent with magic was revealed,” Roma said, “she would have been the winner, having successfully fascinated the more desirable man. Had there been no agreement to marry by the end of the sequence, it would have been a draw. However, the agreement came after her magic was revealed, making Fotina the more desirable person, so Pedro was the winner.”

“But she proposed to me!” Pedro protested. “She insisted! How could that cost her the victory?”

“We set up the rules in advance, so as not to allow any subjective judgment to affect the outcome,” Roma said. “Victory was within your grasp when Fotina asked you to marry her. You threw it away by declining. Then she gave it back to you by insisting and getting your agreement. The viewers were on edge, knowing the stakes. It was a satisfactory climax.”

“Oh, yes,” Fotina said, laughing and blushing. “And the game conclusion was all right too.”

Pedro’s mirth exploded. Even the staid game proprietors smiled.

“We deviated from the script,” Pedro said. “We were talking about our IRL relationship.”

“We know,” Roma said. “The viewers knew also. That actually enhanced it. The two of you were no longer acting parts; you were debating reality. Real romance, not confined to the game. The ratings soared. Our feedback monitors went wild when you finally agreed.”

“Viewership broke the record,” Ero agreed.

“What next?” Fotina asked, feeling slightly dizzy.

“The inter-Round break,” Roma said. “Next week’s episode will feature your wedding.”

“Oh, yes,” Fotina said, remembering. “We agreed.”

“There will be things to accomplish in the interim,” Ero said. “Marriage license, blood tests, travel reservations.”

“Travel?” Pedro asked.

“To bring the two of you physically to the studio, so that you will be able to go on your IRL honeymoon immediately after the wedding,” Roma said.

Oh, of course. She hadn’t even considered the honeymoon. The prize should make it affordable, but she didn’t want to waste any money that might be needed for Pedro’s situation.

“Where do you wish to go on that honeymoon?” Roma asked.

Pedro and Fotina spoke almost together: “Honeymoon Isle.”

“If we can afford it,” Fotina added.

“We have another deal to offer,” Ero said.

Fotina exchanged a glance with Pedro. This could be interesting. The last deal had gotten them a week of sheer private bliss on Honeymoon Isle. “Deal?” she asked.

“We will cover all expenses at Honeymoon Isle for two weeks,” Roma said, “if you allow it to be broadcast.”

“Without ellipses,” Ero said. “That would be a ratings bonanza.”

Pedro shrugged, leaving the decision to Fotina.

She assessed it. “We would have no more privacy than we did in the game. Only now, it would be our real bodies showing the action, not the avatars.”

The two game proprietors nodded, looking almost hungry for the ratings that would bring.

“And the whole world would know us by sight,” she continued. “From faces to genitals.”

The two nodded again, now somewhat nervously. They knew she could veto it and ruin everything.

What the hell. It was not as if they had any remaining secrets from the viewers. “Done,” she said.

Ero, Roma, and Pedro looked relieved.

The game setting dissolved.

•  •  •

The following days were a blur of arrangements. Fotina wished she could simply be with Pedro, but of course, marriage was a serious family and legal business and everything had to be properly attended to. She knew Pedro was going through a similar hassle where he lived. By the week’s end they would be together. That made it all worthwhile.

Yet, even in this hurried interim, there were compensations. Her father had his job back, thanks to the game, and her family was on an even keel. That was one deal that had benefited all of them.

Somehow, it all got done. Then she and her mother and her brother traveled together to the game studio, while Pedro traveled with his parents. She was in touch with Pedro via cell phone. Fotina had to explain carefully to her mother the exact manner an avatar operated, because she would be at the wedding in avatar form. Mom would explain it to Dad when he flew in after work, though he had watched many games and surely already understood. Fotina also had to make sure that her mother understood that this was not an ordinary wedding in another sense. She had not been watching the episodes, and had not seen any of the sex. She was not thrilled to realize that everything about the wedding would be broadcast, including avatar sex, in addition to real sex on the honeymoon.

“We have to play the game the way it is played,” Fotina said firmly. “It got Dad’s job back. It introduced me to Pedro, the man I love. It got a lot of money for us to start our marriage with. It got us a free honeymoon. That money comes from the big viewership we are bringing them. We have to perform.” Fotina recognized that she and Pedro had become instant celebrities, and celebrities had to perform or rapidly lose their status.

Her mother sighed. “I know, dear. It’s just that it wasn’t like this in my day.”

Fotina smiled. “Nor in mine. I had to adapt a lot, in a hurry. But it’s worth it.”

Then they were at the studio. It was time for the final show. Rather, the next to final show: the wedding. Afterwards, they would be on camera for the honeymoon, IRL, with a monstrous viewership. Yet such was Fotina’s joy of the occasion that she really didn’t mind that audience. In fact she hoped it would break more records, justifying the game proprietors’ faith in them. She had come from being a rather private person to being a public person, as if some genie had uncorked her bottle and enabled her to fly.

She got into the harness and donned the sensors. It was time for her wedding.

She found herself in a quiet church setting. The pews were empty; it was evidently before the ceremony. And there before her stood—.

“Reverend!” she exclaimed gladly, recognizing the avatar made in the image of the minister of her local church. The Game personnel were still arranging surprises, to further enhance their ratings. There might be others.

“They asked me,” he said. “I had to come, though this is not my normal venue.” He looked around. “We have time for one rehearsal. This is the time to work out any problems.”

“Yes,” she said faintly.

“Here, I believe, is your maid of honor.” He glanced at the winged Faerie woman. Pedro had fought her in the Maiden Heaven round, and Fotina had gotten to know and like the spunky woman in the later party.

“Yes. The other F girl. A single letter isn’t much, but it seemed appropriate.” Flora Faerie nodded, glad to be participating.

“I took the liberty of selecting two of your bridesmaids, as you had forgotten. An experienced game participant will guide them.” Two girls appeared.

“I don’t want strangers,” Fotina protested. Then she recognized the girls. “My little sisters!” She ran to hug them both.

Pedro entered. Beside him was Kemo the Nubian, lost in Round Four. The two had come to know and respect each other in the game. Then, an older couple arrived: Pedro’s parents. Fotina had met them briefly before entering the scene; now they were avatars, looking younger and healthier.

They went through the rehearsal, getting it straight. All too soon, it somehow seemed, they were in the wedding proper. All the pews were abruptly filled with attentive parishioners.

“This way,” Flora murmured, guiding Fotina quickly out of the main chamber. Distracted, she obeyed, while last moment things got organized. She was glad for the help, as she was in danger of being overwhelmed.

Fotina left the church to stand at the entrance with her bouquet. She had a grand entrance to make.

There was her father, in avatar mode. They had brought him into it too!

The music of the wedding march started. He extended his arm, and she took it. They walked into the church.

Only as they passed through the doorway, the building disappeared. Instead, they faced a large cave, complete with stalactites and stalagmites. The parishioners, consisting of all the original cast of players, were seated between the stone columns, as was Fotina’s mother, dabbing her wet cheeks. Flora, the Maid of Honor, was standing to the left of the chancel area, and beyond her were Nola, the green-haired Elf, and Fotina’s two sisters, evidently being guided in the protocol and positioning of bridesmaids. To the right was the Best Man, Kemo. The girls were plainly thrilled. All were elegant in their dressy outfits. The game proprietors were having their fun, making a literal show of it.

They came to the chancel, where Pedro, Kemo, and Flora waited. Fotina handed her bouquet to Flora, then joined Pedro and stood before the Pastor. The cave faded, becoming a section of a floating iceberg. The parishioners sat on pews of ice. Pedro, Fotina, and everyone else wore heavy furs, their breaths fogging. The air was not actually freezing, but it certainly seemed so.

“Dearly beloved,” the Pastor said, beginning the ceremony. The scene shifted to Heaven, in the form of the colored clouds of dawn, with the brightly radiating rays of the sun emanating from just below the horizon. Pedro was back in his suit, Fotina in her wedding gown. The parishioners sat on opalescent pews formed of pink mist, dressed in heavenly robes, complete with bright little halos floating over their heads. There was an appreciative chuckle as they discovered this. A match made in Heaven!

“We are gathered here to consecrate the joining of this man and this woman in wedlock...”

Suddenly, they were standing in a somber forest glade, huge trees rising around them, a single shaft of light angling down to softly illuminate the chancel area. Fotina saw a television monitor screen, or magic mirror, depending on whether this was science or magic. It showed the groom and bride, with the sunlight brightening her white wedding dress and her tiara of flowers. She realized with a muted shock that she was radiantly beautiful.

“The purpose is to provide for the highest expression and the happiest fulfillment of the love of man and woman for each other.” She had missed some of it in the course of her musing; fortunately she was familiar with it from rehearsal.

With the words “highest expression” the scene changed to a mountain top, above the tree line, with the upper mounds of clouds showing below their elevation. The parishioners were seated on sculptured rocks. A breeze riffled Fotina’s hair and carried away a petal.

“Marriage is not only the most intimate, the most tender, and the most lasting, but also the most important contact into which human beings can enter, because it forms the very basis of our social structure.”

The scene shifted to a busy city street, traffic passing on either side. They were in the median between lanes, perilously close to lumbering trucks. A driver peered out his window as if surprised to see a wedding there. His truck started to drift before he corrected it. There was a nervous squeak from one of the girls as the truck barely missed her—a bit of programmer humor.

“They who have a sense of social responsibility will neither lightly enter marriage nor lightly renounce it. They will assume it only as a great responsibility.”

And Fotina did. She regarded this as the foremost event of her life. The game, the prize money, the ceremony itself, the special effects—all faded into the background of her attention as she focused on the reality of the commitment she was making. She would never terminate it.

“We are here to give it recognition, and to wish these two success and joy in maintaining it as they live and work together.”

The giant pillars of Stone Henge formed around them, perhaps symbolizing the eternal nature of their bond. The parishioners glanced around, some nervously, as if fearing a huge stone would fall on them.

“Such a ceremony as we are here to perform, does not guarantee the success or the permanency of this relationship. A consecration of each to the other in the bonds of mutual love alone can accomplish that.” It was a fair warning, but Fotina was not concerned; she fully intended to see it through.

The stones gave way to wood. They were cradled in the spreading branches of huge trees, with thick foliage above and the ground far below. Now the parishioners were really nervous, though they knew that none of it was real. Even so, Fotina thought, many aspects of their marriage might seem daunting, especially the onset of Pedro’s blindness, but they would trust their love and see it through.

“You yourselves must make it permanent.” Fire formed amidst the branches, engulfing them. Several parishioners were truly alarmed, and Fotina’s little sisters screamed. Nola shushed them, and things settled down. There was, after all, no actual heat in the fire, despite roiling clouds of smoke. Maybe some of the challenges of their life together would be like this, more smoke than fire, and they would handle them.

“You must show that in this, as in every relationship of life, genuine and abiding happiness depends upon the willingness to give as to receive, to modify individual desires for the good of each other, to blend insofar as possible your hopes and ideals.”

Now they were on the deck of a yacht at sea, the parishioners seated on deck chairs. It was idyllic. A storm threatened off the bough. At this point, even the Pastor seemed a trifle out of sorts, not to mention the parishioners. There was a pause as all of them watched the charging storm clouds.

The wind whipped the surface of the sea into frothy wavelets, then into larger waves. Finally a huge one, taller than the ship, surged forth and broke over the bough, drenching them all. There were more screams, until people realized that there was no wind or water there; they were dry and level despite the seeming pitching of the craft. Pedro took Fotina’s hand and squeezed reassuringly, and she took confidence from that. He knew that this was all sound and fury, signifying nothing much.

The Pastor smiled. “Even so, can faith prevail over seeming disaster,” he ad-libbed. There was a muted laugh.

The storm faded. In its place appeared an alien landscape, with green-trunked trees replete with brown foliage, a curvaceous city resembling nothing so much as a plate of spaghetti, and low-hanging blue and pink clouds. A few aliens came to gawk at the wedding party with purple eyeballs on the end of long stalks. They had evidently never seen anything this strange before.

“True marriage means a consecration of each to the other and of both to the noblest ends of life.”

Fotina tried to focus on the words instead of the alien realm. They were coming to the essence.

“In this spirit, I now ask you, Pedro and Fotina: Are you both determined to live, so far as in your power shall lie, this ideal of true marriage?”

The scene became a nudist colony. All the parishioners, and all the active participants, were abruptly bare. Fotina’s sisters giggled hysterically. Fotina could not help glancing at her mother, afraid how she would be taking this, but saw to her surprise that the woman was nude in the best way: her avatar figure was that of a splendidly well preserved middle aged woman, no shame at all. She even inhaled, almost enjoying it. Fotina’s father was similarly fit. Possibly they would arrange an amorous rendezvous before departing the game.

The wedding couple stood there, bemused.

Kemo learned forward and murmured in Pedro’s ear. Flora did the same with Fotina. “Answer 'I am,'” she said.

Oh. “I am,” Pedro and Fotina said together.

The setting became a lovely exotic garden, with rare and spectacular plants and flowers all around. All participants were appropriately clothed again. There was some relief, and perhaps some disappointment, as all the avatar bodies were excellent ones.

“Do you cheerfully undertake the duties that come from the uniting of two lives and the setting up of a home in the midst of society?”

This time they were on cue. “I do.”

“In sickness as well as in health, in poverty as well as plenty, in dark hours as well as in days of prosperity, will you cleave to each other, and by your mutual faithfulness, lighten the common sorrow as well as share the common joy?”

“I will.”

“What pledge do you offer that you will fulfill these affirmations?”

Fotina drew a blank. It had surely been in the rehearsal, but right now she had no idea how to answer.

Pedro, prompted by the Best Man, had the answer: “With these rings.”

“Do you on your parts accept these rings as tokens of the same?”

“I do.”

“Pedro, you will place this ring on the third finger of Fotina’s left hand and repeat after me as you do so: 'With this ring I thee wed, and pledge to thee my love, my honor, and my integrity.'”

Fotina stood still as Pedro did so. Then it was her turn, in the double ring ceremony. She managed to place the ring without dropping it, and to repeat the words of commitment without stumbling more than once or twice. Part of her problem was that she was trying, without great success, to not be overcome by tears of happiness.

The original church setting reappeared around them. That was a relief.

“You will now join your right hands.”

They crossed their hands over to join.

“In compliance with the requirements of the civil law, by virtue of the love which you bear each other, and in accordance with your mutual desires, we now publicly recognize the union which exists between you. Therefore, you are now, and will hereafter be regarded by all people, husband and wife.”

Fotina gazed at Pedro, but could hardly see him through her tears.

“May you be comfort and joy, counsel and strength to each other, through the chances and changes of life.” The Pastor paused a moment. “Now, may God, who is the Eternal Spirit of Love, be and abide with you. Amen.” He paused again. “You will seal your vows with a kiss.”

They kissed. It was a timeless moment, more profound and moving than all the sex they had had in the prior weeks.

There was a sound, starting like the faint roar of distant ocean surf, then increasing to almost deafening volume. They broke their kiss, perplexed.

There was a video monitor set in the wall beyond the chancel. It showed in bold figures, the current viewership: 120 million, with the flashing banner RECORD. The sound was the mass applause of the wider video audience.

Fotina had thought she would be able to handle the publicity. She was mistaken. She fainted.

Fortunately, friends and family were close. In due course she was back on her feet, bidding tearful farewell to her friends in the game, then to her family. It was all sort of giddy.

Then they were on their way to Honeymoon Isle, holding hands most of the way. This time their stay would be legitimate, because they were newly married. There were even loud strings of tin cans tied to the rear bumper of their taxi to the airport.

On the two-hour evening flight they heard something on the television sets of other passengers. It sounded suspiciously familiar. Fotina turned on their set.

It was the end-of-game party, with all the players and guests participating. The settings were those of the wedding, cycling through: Church, Heaven, Forest Glade, Mountain Top, City Street, Stone Henge, Tree Branches, Forest Fire, Seagoing Yacht, Sea Tempest, Alien Landscape, Nudist Colony, Exotic Garden, and back to Church before recycling. But now there was no wedding, just the mingling party.

The participants were enjoying an outdoor buffet that traveled with them. As they had learned, it was possible to eat in avatar form, and to have natural functions, though all were ultimately illusory. Pedro’s parents were associating with Fotina’s parents, still getting used to the wonders of the game settings and avatar forms. They noted players pairing off and seeking semi-private spots for trysts. They discussed it. Fotina knew, because she zeroed in on her folks and overheard their dialogue, exactly the way the regular viewers had done for individual players during the game proper.

Trysts? What about her little sisters? Fotina used the locater feature to find them, and was relieved. The two girls, along with their brother, were enjoying a separate diversion, a fabulous amusement park, with fantastic rides, slides, water sports, clown shows, and a wild fun house. They were supervised by the Game Proprietor Ero and Manager Roma, who obligingly summoned any diversion they wanted.

And while the children were screaming with delight as they rode the mile-high roller coaster that actually passed through several clouds, Ero and Roma quietly sneaked in a covert kiss. Ooo, naughty!

Fotina returned to the four parents.

“I admit to being curious,” Pedro’s father said. “I wonder—” He glanced significantly at his wife.

“I am curious too,” she confessed, blushing. “These animated bodies are remarkable.”

“If you will excuse us a moment,” Pedro’s father murmured apologetically. The two of them went off together.

“It isn’t as if we’re not married,” Fotina’s father said persuasively.

“Maybe once,” Fotina’s mother agreed somewhat grimly. “So you can get it off your mind.”

They adjourned to a nook behind a Stone Henge pillar, which became a seemingly private bedroom. The game authorities had evidently anticipated such reactions.

The two stepped out of their clothing and crawled onto the bed. He got a magnificent erection. She took hold of it and displayed it like a trophy, then touched her lips to it. All her public reservations faded away in private.

“Mother! Father!” Fotina exclaimed, shocked.

They paid Fotina no attention, of course. Soon he was thrusting vigorously into her. Then they discovered the mutual avatar orgasm.

Fotina shut off the set, horribly embarrassed. Pedro made no comment. She knew she was being foolish. She herself had been performing public sex all along, and there would be more to come. How could she begrudge the same joy to her parents? As they had said, they were married.

Fotina focused on enjoying the trip with Pedro. They had a honeymoon to enjoy together, after all.

Yet, it wasn’t quite the same. They had been anonymous before, but that was impossible this time. A hundred and twenty million people had seen them get married, and hackers had already ferreted out their IRL identities. However, the other honeymooners on the island were discreet, well understanding the need for a semblance of privacy.

That is, until they reached their suite. Cameras were not in evidence, but they knew they were everywhere, having been carefully embedded. There was even a TV monitor set up, showing the two of them as they entered the honeymoon suite.

“We can turn off the lights,” Pedro suggested. “Of course, they’ll have infrared cameras too, so they’ll see us anyway, but we can make it more of a challenge.”

“No.”

“Or we can do it under the sheets.”

“No. We’ll do it out in the open, with all the lights on.”

“Fotina, with a hundred million voyeurs watching?”

“I don’t care about them. I just care about you.”

“And I about you. But—.”

“In time, you will be blind. Then you won’t be able to see me. I’m going to make sure you learn touch typing, and maybe Braille, so you will be able to remain in touch with the world. I am going to take care of you, Pedro, in health and in sickness. And part of that is to give you a store of images you will be able to keep and remember when you can no longer get new ones.” She threw off her clothing and stood on the bed, lifting her arms and turning slowly around. “Look at me, Pedro! Everything I have is yours. I want you to get your biggest eyeful. I don’t care if a hundred million others get it too; you are the one who counts.”

He shook his head in wonder. “I love you, Fotina.”

“Well, I should hope so! Now grab me and ravish me!”

“I will never do that.”

“What, losing your interest already? You won’t get away with that.” She jumped off the bed and tackled him, tearing off his clothing. She wrestled him around to lie naked on his back on the bed, his erection stiff. She mounted him, fitting his member to her vagina, but not putting it in far. She let it enter only an inch or so, teasingly, making sure everything showed for the cameras. “Say the words, you slacker.”

“I love you.”

She lowered herself half an inch. “I don’t think I heard you. What did you say?”

“I love you.”

She dropped another half inch and put her hand to her ear. “What?”

“I LOVE YOU!” he shouted.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” She dropped the rest of the way down, stretched out on him, and kissed him madly as he detonated inside her. She did not get the automatic game orgasm with the deep penetration, but she was hardly concerned; there would be plenty of time to achieve hers the old fashioned way.

The monitor faithfully showed every detail. Fotina sneaked peaks at it every so often to verify how it looked to others. It looked pretty good. She was almost disappointed that there was no translucent body image to show his penis achieving operative depth and spurting inside her. Living flesh was not as versatile, in that respect, as avatar flesh. Maybe she would suggest to the proprietors that they arrange video enhancements to simulate that; it would surely add to the effect.

The following days were similar. They reveled in their honeymoon, and had sex frequently and not just in the bedroom.

At the end of the first week the monitor brought news of a survey: it showed a picture of Fotina, with the caption: WOULD YOU MARRY THIS WOMAN IF YOU COULD? After a moment it ran the answer. FORTY NINE MILLION MEN SAID YES.

“Forty nine million!” Pedro said, amazed.

“And to think I had to browbeat you into doing it,” Fotina said severely. She looked at the monitor. “How many men were surveyed?”

It answered her immediately. FIFTY TWO MILLION.

Fotina frowned. “Three million said no? What’s the matter with them?”

Pedro spanked her bare bottom. Then they went at it again, while applause sounded on the monitor. Public love was wonderful.

Author’s Note

It started, really, when I was revamping my five novel Cluster series, in order to get these thirty year old science fiction novels into electronic format for possible republication. They were written just before I made my fame as a fantasy bestseller, so had been largely relegated to obscurity. I felt this was an undeserved fate, as they represent some of my best work. But they used many symbols for indicating alien dialogue that the scanner couldn’t handle, so I had to do them the hard way: retyping them. It takes time to retype and proofread hundred thousand word novels, so I allowed two months apiece, or ten months for the five. I started in, and ran on schedule for the first two, completing them within four months.

Until a reader with better equipment than mine volunteered to scan them in for me. She did, and that enabled me to put the last three novels in order simply by proofreading the files. That saved me, by my estimate, four to five months of working time. What could I do with this windfall? Well, I’m a writer. So I wrote. I have an Idea file where I store summaries of story and novel ideas so that they won’t be lost while I’m working on something else. Many of these ideas are erotic, not just because I’m a dirty old man. That is, I’m 75 and I still like sex. It is because I orient on the existing market, and there has come to be a considerable market for erotic romance. Where? Mainly in electronic publishing.

I am much aware of the emergence and success of electronic publishers on the Internet, as I maintain at my www.HiPiers.com site an ongoing survey of electronic publishing. I started it so I would have an answer for new writers who need an alternative to the indifference and arrogance of traditional print publishers, some of whom do not seem to care whether a writer lives or dies. I list the electronic publishers I learn of, together with related services, and I run anonymous feedback from authors who use these publishers. Anonymous because errant publishers are notorious for retaliation against anyone who exposes their nefarious ways.

This list leads to some spectacular rows, as those same publishers try to silence me, but I’m not just any writer. I’m a writer who was blacklisted in the 1970s for protesting about being cheated, who fought through and later became a national bestseller. So today I am not just ornery, I’m rich. That means I have the will and the means to take it to any publisher that takes me on, and they know it. So they scream and make threats, but they don’t dare meet me in the legal arena. So my Survey remains as candid as I can make it. I do make corrections when a report turns out to be in error; that happens. But much of the anonymous feedback is favorable to particular publishers, and I run that too. Those ones don’t scream, for some reason. My interest is in having an accurate survey, so that aspiring writers won’t be deceived by shadier outfits, and will know where to find the good ones. I have had many responses from writers who found good publishers via my list, and avoided bad ones. That’s gratifying.

So I had dozens of erotic notions that accumulated while I was writing fantasy and could not be used there. In classic fantasy, the prince kisses the princess, and nine months later the stork flies in with a delivery. That’s one way to do it, but penis into vagina doesn’t fit, for reasons other than the size of their respective parts. But they do fit in the electronic publishing market. In fact there the fit can be examined from a seeming distance of one inch, in full color.

So in this extra time I wrote Relationships 4, the fourth volume of erotic stories, based on ideas in my file. But there were ideas that didn’t quite fit that, either, not because they were too dirty for even a jaded market—they Weren’t—but because they seemed incomplete. Like “Avatar,” wherein sex is the mechanism for defining the traits of an electronically rendered persona. But once a good avatar has been crafted, what then? There was no punch line. Like “Maiden Heaven,” wherein a man could defeat android female warriors by penetrating to their internal switches and turning them off. So once he wins into the castle and defeats the queen, what then? Would a man really want a harem of lovely women who turned off when penetrated? Like “Poop of the Day,” wherein the food is great but delivered in a repulsive manner. Once that point has been made, what’s the point? What could I do with these incomplete ideas?

Then I got a bright idea about ideas. The same notions that were incomplete as stories might do as chapters in a novel. The avatar could be formed, then undertake the challenge of the warrior maidens, and so on, in an online competitive erotic game with a number of challenging settings. The male view could be alternated with the female, until the two protagonists had to face off against each other in the finale. There it was: an erotic romance novel formed from six problematical stories. Titled Eroma, of course: EROtic ROMAnce.

It turned out not to be quite that easy. I had conceived the notions as stories, and in some cases had thousands of words describing their plot twists. Those did not necessarily mesh well with novel chapters. I had to do wholesale cutting and revision, adapting them to the new format. “Sustenance” was especially difficult in that respect. I wound up making new characters of the satyrs and nymphs, rather than having game contestants play them, though it could have been done either way. In “Coven” I actually ran out of my original idea, and needed to incorporate one that occurred to me during the writing of the novel: the backwards romance of the final warlock. I could not resist naming the mermaid in “Maiden Heaven” Mela, after a mermaid in my Xanth series. Sorry about that.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the novel. It was fun to write, for more than one reason.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Piers Anthony

ISBN: 978-1-4976-5741-0

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Contents
- Chapter 1: Avatar
- Chapter 2: Maiden Heaven
- Chapter 3: Poop of the Day
- Chapter 4: Sustenance
- Chapter 5: Coven
- Chapter 6: Favor
- Author’s Note
- Copyright Page