Collide Gamer

The mansion had a dancing room.

To be more exact, it had two. One was of the stripper variety, with poles and platforms that let the ladies of the harem perform for John, themselves and each other. The Gamer had been repeatedly told that it was a nice form of workout. He could believe that in a heartbeat. Dancing always exercised basically all muscles.

The second dancing room was closer to a ball room, although John found it to have that European concept crossed with more Middle Eastern aesthetics. Large, low couches allowed plenty of seating, each of them enveloping an ocean of pillows with stone circles at their centre. Small tables offered space to put down glasses and small meals. A couple of cookies and milk currently claimed that space.

John’s tongue was busy tasting something much sweeter. Standing over him, Siena had one foot on the seat of the couch and one knee on the top of the backrest beside the Gamer’s head. Her hands were on the back of his head, keeping him in the place he had no interest in leaving anyhow. “Such… a skilled tongue,” the shadow spirit moaned approvingly.

Always eager to make his women experience bliss, John curled the extended muscle, seeking one of the sensitive spots of the dominant woman. Exploring Siena’s pussy was a somewhat unique experience. The walls were lined with little bumps. Had he been penetrating her, they would have stretched and squirmed as massaging tendrils, eager to draw every drop of cum out of him. With his tongue, they were inert, but still present enough to be felt.

Each was a small bundle of nerves in its own right, a lesser clit that could be teased to great effect. He did so on the way to his true target. It was a smooth bit of her twitching walls, not noteworthy in terms of texture. All that made the location noteworthy was Siena’s reaction whenever he found it.

“Oh, good man,” Siena moaned. “Smack my ass, John! Ah!” He gave her what she wanted instantly. His hands had already been squeezing her plump cheeks, taking one off for a moment to then bring it back in with jiggling might was basically second nature. Insofar as spanking could be called a masochist’s joy at all, it was the only kind of that play Siena also enjoyed. “Do not dare to stop… lap it all up!”

Eagerly, John pressed his parted lips against her sex. The overflow of her juices filled his mouth when she came. There was a bit of spiciness to Siena’s fluids, like cinnamon, mixed with faint sweetness and that particular taste of night air. John could not get enough of it and continued to devour her with lips and tongue until the urgent press of her hands turned into a light pull.

“That was sufficient repayment,” she purred.

“Just sufficient?” John licked his lips, catching what lingered of her taste on them.

“More than sufficient,” Siena added mirthfully. Her style of domming had shifted over the years, becoming less forceful and humiliating. She was still perfectly capable of focusing those desires when she wanted to. By and large, however, she had become more of an encouraging dom.

That being said, she was still a clear dom.

“What do you think, sex slave?” she asked.

Delicia was seated between John’s legs. The only item covering the heavily endowed shortie was a thick black metal collar. A chain connected the back of it to an anchor half-hidden by the edge of the couch. It said a few things about Lee that she had come up with this room with all of its features unprompted. It also said a lot of things about John and the rest of the harem that they used it on their first day in the Illusion Barrier.

“I do not think. I leave that to the Splendid Mistress,” Delicia answered with mesmerized mirth. The smile of the hypnotized was plastered on her otherwise vacant expression. Her hands were folded on top of her thick thighs. Her breasts rose and fell with each rhythmic breath. Her eyes were focused absolutely on John’s cock.

“That’s right,” Siena purred. “You are whatever I want you to be.”

“Yes, Splendid Mistress.”

“And I want you to be obsessed with your Master’s cock.” The words caused an immediate blush to fill Delicia’s cheeks. “You exist to pleasure him. Your body craves him more than anything you have ever known. You want him inside you, your pussy, your throat.” Siena’s moaned instructions made Delicia grow visibly hornier by the second. John’s cock, untouched through all of his pussy worship, could not get any harder. Precum had long since formed a rivulet down the underside of his shaft. “But you can’t have him inside you. Only mistresses are allowed that. What are you?”

“I am a sex slave that exists for my Master’s cock, for his pleasure.”

“And he is just sooooo needful after serving me,” Siena sighed languidly. “Luckily, your body has more than holes to please him. Wrap your breasts around his manhood, Delicia. Reward him for serving the Splendid Mistress well.”

‘God bless the hypnosis kink,’ John closed his eyes to really take in the sensation of his dick getting drowned in tit flesh. Sometimes it was the sight that could be most enjoyed, most of the time the combination was where it was at, yet at that moment he just craved losing himself in that squish.

He kept his eyes closed even when he heard the little slap of naked feet on smooth stone. Only when he heard the cussing did he stop his focus on the warmth of Delicia’s tits. “I fucking hate you, you asshole.”

“No, you don’t,” John answered and beheld Eliana. The pretty little psycho wore a harem outfit, consisting of a satin bra, loincloth, detached sleeves and baggy pants that had a huge cut-out for her groin. Every bit of the deep purple fabric was easily seen through, leaving her nipples and pussy practically exposed. Bits of gold and silver added to the outfit, stringing the pieces together and making the incredibly pale form all the more exotic form.

“Cockwaffle,” Eliana cursed. “Asshole. Dick. Pervy Pig. Shitface. Beaver-lover.”

John raised an eyebrow at the last one. “I’ve been quite the opposite of a beaver-lover,” he gestured vaguely in the direction of her smoothly shaven cunt. Eliana had been one of the women in his harem who had not started out this way – she had used to sport a moderate bit of bush.

“Shut the fuck up and tell me what you want.”

“Stand straight and be quiet,” John chastised her.

All of the annoyed attitude on Eliana’s face collapsed into obedience. “Yes, Master!” she declared hastily, put her hands behind her back and engaged in her best imitation of being a statue for his viewing pleasure.

John’s eyes roamed to the two women flanking her, who had instinctively struck the same pose. To Eliana’s left was Claire, choosing red satin, while Lyndell was to the right, clad in black. Their harem outfits were every bit as transparent as Eliana’s. It was a wonderful combination of colours and shapes.

“Claire, I have an empty side that I would like occupied. Eliana, show Lyndell the basics of belly dancing.”

“M-me?!” Eliana’s mood swung yet another way, stammers and nervous giggles accompanying every word. “I, uhm, I t-totally suck a that fucking stuff though. I’m t-too fat to be a good dancer, w-who would want to w-watch me bumble about like a retarded, drunk, moronic bumblebee?”

“She’s doing the self-deprecation thing again,” John complained to Siena, while receiving the vampire maid that gleefully pressed herself against him.

“To call herself fat, when her linea alba is clearly visible.” Siena shook her head. “A pretty submissive like her shouldn’t demean herself. It’s unbecoming of property with such high value.”

Eliana shifted in discomfort. “Look at my unreasonably big-“

“Lovely thick thighs?” John asked. “Wide hips of a future mother?”

“Don’t fucking tease me!”

“We’re, at most, two months away from you finally getting bred.”

“YOU ADDED 18 DAYS TO IT WITH THIS GRINDING SESSION, YOU CUM-MANGO!” Eliana stomped her foot hard enough for the building to tremble. There was genuine rage there. Rage that John would not have had in her position, but was entirely expected coming from her. What she had wanted for two years was finally within viewing distance, only for them to take a detour. “Asshole… I’m sorry…”.

“I get it,” he assured her. “We do need this time to plan the wedding though. This isn’t a real delay.”

“What about after we get out of here though?” Eliana grumbled, her anger diminished but not undone. “Will that be the only fucking delay before you tie the knot with the pussy empress?”

“I… can’t promise that,” John said slowly.

Eliana growled. It was a bestial, almost wolfish sound. The nature of her rage shifted entirely, from annoyed to cold and simmering. The air in the room changed with her mood.

John did not have to tell Delicia to stop her slave-play. The alchemist broke the hypnosis of her own accord, turning to face Eliana with the rest of them. Both eyes of the failed goddess were the same: one dot within, six lines crossing through a golden ring around the pupil. They rotated at a steady, swift pace.

“You present me with one displeasing announcement after another,” Eliana hissed. “Do you think I am too fucking stupid to realize why you called me of all of your women to teach her how to dance?” She pointed at Lyndell.

The last Lorylim stared at the finger for a brief moment, then moved her grey gaze further to Eliana’s face. The blood mage did not look back, entirely focused on John.

“I’m not letting her chastise me on what I am,” Thana declared, her voice steeped in hatred. “Take your humanity and eat it, devour it like I devoured Romulus’ heart. You’ve robbed me of my purpose. Can you let me be a failure in peace?!”

The goddess of genocide began to turn on her heels, only for the rest of her body to refuse the motion. She growled again. Her nails turned into claws that dug into her palms. She stared at John with every bit of disdain for humanity that she still had to offer. Yet, for all of that negativity, there was admiration there.

‘What can I even say to her?’ John wondered. Eliza and Thana had melded to such a degree that the bits of the goddess that remained were a hardened core of her old purpose. It was a resentful revenant that seemed unable to ever fully dissolve within the humanity it so despised. John was starting to wonder if this was perhaps the permanent state she would be stuck in. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I did call you specifically because you have been avoiding Lyndell. I know why you are. The truth is often horrible.”

“Shut up!” Thana snapped, still trying to twist out of the way. Bits of bone carapace pushed out of her pores, shaping into malformed spikes that tore holes into the outfit. Alluring satin became torn drapes over asymmetrical mutations. “Leave me alone!”

“Alone,” Lyndell formed the word slowly with her lips. “Alone…”

The last Lorylim suddenly moved. Her fingers grabbed Thana’s chin, forcing the failed goddess to face her. Lips pulled back, still growling, Thana was incapable of moving away. Her will was on the surface, but Eliza’s was strong enough to keep her still. Thana’s eyes remained averted, still.

“Human eyes are a window to the soul. Would you gaze into mine?”

“You’re no human.”

“I wish to be.” The hold Lyndell had on Thana’s chin loosened. A gentle touch of her face made the failed goddess tremble. What was the origin of it? Rage? Nervousness? A craving for affection? A mixture, most likely.

Thana growled once more, then obliged. “Get this over with. Say your piece. Say how horrid your victory was.”

“My victory… I believe my victory was sweet, euphoric even.” Lyndell blinked, eyes cold and distant. “I barely remember… that satisfaction and then… untold aeons. Day by day by day, the reality of my victory chipping away at me. Purposeless dwelling. I must have enveloped the entire planet with my roots. I could have become anything. My purpose allowed me nothing. Darkness, day by day, just darkness. Impulses at the edges of my fraying mind, until all became too much for me.” Lyndell’s voice became slower, quieter the longer she went on. “…The victory is sweet and it is poison. Cherish that you have been robbed of your purpose before you achieved it. You would not have known how to continue.”

The failed goddess did not move for a long time. “You continue now, don’t you?”

“And I wish for all that I destroyed. Touch, warmth, the continuation of my line.” Lyndell straightened up, her hands retreating to her flat stomach. “Darkness comforts me, silence is my home, stillness is what I know. I do not think I can ever be without them again. Part of my psyche will forever crave the quiet of an unmoving world… only to be alone again, that is too unbearable for my mind. I cannot do it.”

John stood up and put an arm around Lyndell, pulling her against his chest. There were no words nor tears, her forlorn expression had never changed. Only the small quiver of her hands when she reciprocated the embrace gave away the state of distress.

“Don’t give yourself to that path, absent of warmth.”

Thana remained motionless. The wolfish stare of the failed goddess faded slowly, replaced with a confused and annoyed blinking. “Come here, Eliza,” John offered. There was more than enough space for her in the hug.

“Okay,” she said miserably and joined in the hug. Into John’s chest, she muttered, “She doesn’t know what to do. Should I try to drag her back up?” Follow current novels on 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮•𝘯𝘦𝘵

“No, she deserves a break,” John said. Like always, he did not regret that he had to shatter what Thana was. To regret neutralizing the goddess of genocide would have been suicidal empathy in the truest meaning of the phrase. Still, he could understand that being not only denied purpose but entirely rewritten must have been an unpleasant experience.

John held his Eliza by the shoulder and combed through Lyndell’s hair. The black of her veil brushed against the back of his hand. Touching it made clear how different the texture was from regular satin. It wasn’t smooth at all. Rather, it was fuzzy, like a peach, and warm.

“I won’t let you be alone again,” he promised Lyndell.

“Careful,” she warned him, a voice like eyes in the night. “Take the place of love in the darkness of my soul and I will break the world should you let me go.”

“I will take on that responsibility,” he promised her.

Lyndell pressed herself against him with renewed tremors. She was a goddess, the last of her species, the only one of her kind. She was a dangerous entity, ancient, filled with the knowledge of a civilization she could not recall. She was a precursor – and she was nothing. She was a shell that had harboured resentment and taken her final vengeance against those that had robbed her even of the quiet of isolation.

She was his Lyndell. John knew it would end like that. He wanted it to end like that. Not just because she was attractive, not just because she deserved repayment for her deeds, but because he liked her. From the amusing directness and awkwardness to the trauma etched into her soul, she was lovely.

“I want to learn how to dance now,” Lyndell whispered.