Collide Gamer

“May I be your masturbatory aid for the final stretch?” Lorelei was already kneeling in front of him, correctly predicting that she would not be denied. A simple nod was all it took for her to shimmy closer and for her mouth to part, ready to take in his manhood.

“Babababa!” Rave shouted. “What are ya doing? No sex with tiger!”

“I am merely the Saint’s cocksleeve,” Lorelei disagreed. “I shall gain no pleasure from this. The chastity belt ensures this.”

Hailey shook her head. “We all know that ain’t true, Rel.”

“Where will the difference lie between what service my throat would render and what Nathalia’s breasts did?” Lorelei posed the question. “It is self-evident that I shall draw less climaxes from this. My mouth and throat are simply for his delight. Mine plays no factor.”

There was indeed not that clear a difference between envelopment by her mouth and Nathalia’s tits. Best was the argument between being still outside and inside the body of a woman, but that was practically just aesthetic, given the dragoness’ sensitivity. Compromises were heaped up, yet Rave had the final word on it.

She bit her lower lip, wrestling between her impulses. Thoughts worked behind the lust-glazed, sapphire irises. In the end, Rave had always been too horny to be uncompromising. “Alright fine!” she yielded, to sighs of wanton delight. It was as if the entire harem was vicariously living through Lorelei, as she made herself his sex toy.

The stroking technique of his women could never be faulted and the squish of Nathalia’s tits was legendary. All the same, being inside a woman was unbeatable. The heat, the shifting of the tight tunnel walls, the slippery wetness of it all,

John tilted his head back and groaned loudly. Had he not been three climaxes deep already, he would have pumped a fresh load down her stomach instantly. “I have the best cocksleeve collection in the world,” he voiced the kind of objectifying thought that only a willing harem would tolerate.

A hand on the back of her head, the Gamer took control over the tempo. Lorelei made herself completely responsive to his whims. Keeping her lips tight around his shaft and her breathing even, those were her only two purposes now. She bobbed to the push and pull of his firm hand, truly aiming to be nothing but a device to circumvent his masturbation-ban.

“Jane… Jane!” Momo shouted across the room.

“Hmmm?” the feline Lightbearer hummed.

“Get your fingers out of your cunt!” The criticism would have held more weight if Momo did not have her plush ass planted on a table, rubbing her own clit for everyone to see. “You have to announce the next candidate!”

“Oh, right!” Rave did not stop fingering herself, but she did make the next announcement, “Claire!”

The vampire maid moved to the stage in a hurry. She was vibrating, having not touched herself the entire wait. The taste of his cum that she had gotten from Scarlett’s skin had left her in a daze.

Claire was barely present. The music started and the vampire began to dance. Every last one of her motions was desperate, yet made fluid by her trance. She only stood for the intro of her song, gothic chanting mixing with the heavy techno. For the rest of her performance, she was on the floor, crawled up as close to the edge of the stage as she could.

Her shoulders were always pulled back, her head always slightly tilted back, giving her an open appearance. Every motion was an invitation to take her, to kiss and bite her neck, to pull her off that stage and do whatever he wanted with her.

She moved with the fluidity of a snake and the affection of a trained bitch. Water splashed all over her, the jets at the edge of the platform soaking the front of her shirt through. She kneaded her petite breasts, thrusting her hips not to the beat, but to the rhythm of John’s usage of Lorelei’s throat.

Eyes wide open and never leaving John, she forgot all about the performance and just pleasured herself. Her hand invaded the tiny denim shorts. Her mouth formed the only word that mattered to her, over and over again. “Master. Master. Mastermastermastermastermaster!”

The rapid motions of her fingers and the demanding push and pull on Lorelei’s head found a shared rhythm, syncing up with the beat of the song. Claire came, over and over again, her mind melting to this novel flavour of pleasuring her Master. It was not water that had soaked through her bottoms by the time she was called off the stage.

“Bae!”

Never had John thought he would ever liken someone to horny clockwork, but his passive maid embodied that description perfectly. Every stride was measured, every swing of her sashay an accentuating counterbalance to the last. When she stopped in the middle of the stage, she pushed her hand beneath the parted waistband before the song even began.

The white-horned maid’s hips circled in a skilful belly dance to the pendulum swing of a grandfather clock that had been mixed into the song. She twirled around, thrusting out her juicy ass. The tip of her artfully messy ponytail dangled just above the waistband. Between her juicy thighs, the denim stretched over her shifting knuckles.

“Master!” she cried out as she smacked her ass. The sharp sound was the prelude of her first climax. It was mild compared to the wreckage Claire had just wrought on herself. Beatrice controlled the spasms well, incorporating them into a slow, hip-shaking drop into a squat.

As soon as the climax was over, she straightened back up. She danced with wide, mechanical motions into one jet of water, then backed away. To the pace of the song, she made her way to the other side of the stage, fully soaking her shirt there. Legs straight, bent forwards, squeezing her decently sized tits, before revealing the hard, pink nipples, clearly visible through the translucent shirt.

Back in the middle of the stage, she rode out the song with minimalistic, bobbing motions, moving her hips and her fingers to the song. She finished out her performance with another shouted, “Master!” as a second orgasm ravished her attractive form.

“Lyndell!”

Urgency guided her climbing of the stairs. Her song was slower, languid, yet retained the underlying, quick beat. Without a care for teasing, the grey-eyed woman grabbed a hose and unceremoniously soaked herself instantly. She dropped the source of water to the floor, then pulled the shorts off without a care.

That left his beloved goth fungus with only a wet shirt and flip flops. It was an amusing outfit for a living apocalypse and a sublime fit for a horny mushroom. Remembering her belly dancing lessons, she moved in small, fluid circles, while black digits parted the dark grey of her lower lips.

The pleasure was too much for her. Quivering legs gave in. She squatted there, dark nipples erect beneath the white layer of wet fabric. Her light grey-black hair was just a bit frazzled.

It took her no time at all to reach her climax. The depraved howl belied her otherwise so depressed nature. She was shaking like an animal in heat. By the end of her first release, she remembered what her best asset was, turned around, and positioned herself in a kneeling posture that emphasized her ass to the utmost. Pussy juices and water dropped off her hand.

Lyndell had not done well with waiting the first time he had asked her to and it was evident that she was not doing well with abstinence the second time around either. She NEEDED to cum, as often and as quickly as possible. By the end of her open display of perversion, she had taken the edge off.

“Nightingale, come on up.”

With a flutter of her dark wings, the harpy rose halfway up to the roof of the tent, then landed softly on the stage. Covering herself with her feathers, her figure remained obscured for a brief moment. As soon as the electro-swing remix of her song kicked in, her arm wings spread wide open.

The pale, slender figure of the harpy stood out against the halo of darkness woven by her magic. Light and shadow competed around her, the technicolour flood banished into the channels that Nightingale allowed.

The harpy used her wings to emphasize what mattered. She knew that he was even less into talons than he was into human feet and that her wings, while aesthetic, were not what allured the gaze. The deep purple of her feathers was a moving frame for her petite breasts, for her dancer’s midriff, and for the feminine swell of her hips.

She belonged firmly in the category of courtly dancers. She had grace and sweeping, slow gestures. She also trembled in unsatiated desire. Unlike the others, she was physically incapable of taking care of herself.

If John could have assistance, then so could she.

“Finish the dance,” he ordered.

The magical properties of his voice had the bird lady trill in delight. Passive pleasure had her hips wiggle every more urgently. The mist in the air alone had dampened her shirt to the point that it was translucent now. The purple shade of her nipples and the midnight blue markings on her chest and back were all plainly visible.

The music ebbed away. Her dance slowed. The reward for her obedience sat in. Eyes closed, she moaned aloud. Her long tongue extended and curled around a phallic object of her fantasy. Her hips bucked aimlessly as the orgasm had the muscles beneath her taut skin shift.

She was every bit as gorgeous as the starlit sky.

“Scarlett!”

The technomancer headed up the stage. She had been cleaned thoroughly and the saliva of the others had since dried, leaving no mark of all the cum that had covered her features. It was proof of just how voracious the harem was when it came to his seed. Which, to be fair, was only half because of general submissive streaks. It could not be understated how much ‘delicious orgasm juice’ aided in making them all go wild for the stuff.

The remix that started to play was on the industrial side, fitting for the woman and her style of dance. Scarlett balanced on one foot, the mechanical ball joint on the leg socket keeping her level. Though the flexibility of her doll-like limbs was artificial, that of her back was genuine. Her spine arched, her shapely posterior compacted, as fingertips and toes met above her shoulderblades.

Flawlessly, she transitioned into a ballerina’s twirl. It was so odd for this cold, cussing capitalist to dance in this fluid and excessive a manner, yet it fit her as well as the outfit. She cut through streams of water deliberately. Each contact added more moisture to the white top. Soon it was soaked through, her flat chest a delicious display of subtle femininity.

In the second half of the song, she gave into her needs. After a final twirl to the drop of the beat, she plummeted to the ground. Her heart-shaped cushion of an ass hit the ground with a nice, percussive smack. She ripped the seam of her pants wide open, then began to rub her pretty pink slit. She bit her lower lip in frustration. Her eyebrows pulled together. She wasn’t climaxing, despite the rapid work of her fingers.

“…Master…” she muttered, unprompted. That singular word seemed to break the spell. Her eyes suddenly opened wide as her orgasm visibly manifested. Her hands accelerated, her mouth repeated his erotic title without further hesitation. “Master! Fuck… Master!” she threw her head back. Pussy juice squirted all over her fingers. “That… proves… nothing…” she muttered, brattily, and vacated the stage.

“Metra!”

The blonde berserker babe sprinted to the stage, leaping up the stairs without using a single step, and waited for her song to start with a swishing tail. Once the metal remix of the song started playing, she put both hands to the collar of her shirt. Immediately, she tore it apart, leaving the tattered remains on her for effect. The denim shorts were not so lucky, being torn to nothing in an instant.

Metra’s dance was a lot more of a show. She grabbed the hose, adhering the tattered shirt to her curves, as if there was anything left to hide. Like Aclysia, she showered herself, soaking her open, messy mane of gold-blonde hair. Unlike Aclysia, she discarded the hose in quick order, whipping back her medium-length hair as she grinned at the crowd.

Confidently, she strutted around. She pushed out her chest there, presented her ass here, and was constantly sneaking in stretches of working her pussy. When she was on the final stretch, she stopped in the middle of the stage. Standing broad-legged and proud, she squeezed one nipple and fingered herself at an accelerating pace.

Her green eyes dashed between all of them. Metra loved the attention. She basked in it. Exhibitionist’s delight made her voice grow ever louder. To the best of her ability, she pushed back her orgasm, putting on a show for as long as possible. By a miracle, she managed to stave it off until the song ebbed away. As the melody quieted, so did Metra. The climax that had her pussy gushing also had her O-mouthed in silence, the pleasure too intense to be expressed in an audible scream.

“Oh… fuck… I needed that…” she groaned as she headed off the stage.

John forced his hand to slow. Lorelei’s face bore the marks of being used as a cocksleeve for well over fourteen minutes. Sticky strands connected her stretched lips and the base of his girthy rod. Despite her physical inability to enjoy this, her eyelids were fluttering. Without the accompanying orgasm lock, she may have been squirting from the pure, psychological gratification she experienced from being his masturbation aid.

“Last and by no means least, Delicia!”

The bratty maid boobed breastily up the stairs, taking every step with a hop that set her huge tits, fat ass and thick thighs all into motion. She was a compact package of curves, her cinched waist emphasizing everything about her figure. The dry, white t-shirt hung off the front of her tits like a curtain.

With a wide, smug smile, she began to dance to the high-pitched remix of the song. Hands above her head, she bopped to the beat. She made short contact with a jet of water, just enough to create a wet streak between her breasts. To tease the crowd, she squeezed her own breasts.

She froze up. A low moan escaped her. For a brief moment, her expression went vacant with lust. It was enough to make John’s cock twitch in Lorelei’s throat. Then, her hands released her breasts in a hurry.

Resuming her dance, Delicia flashed all of her curves. She was so proud of her tits, and there was much to be proud of, but everything else was to drool over as well. Ass to the crowd, she pulled down her pants to her knees, then bounced on her heels. The relaxed cheeks of her ass smacked against each other with enough force to clap to the beat.

She ran two fingers over her slit. They curved inside. Her tongue lolled from her mouth. Her blue eyes rolled up for a moment before she hastily reclaimed control. She pulled the shorts back up, hiding her drenched cunt from view.

Bouncing to the closest hose, she picked it up and splashed herself. The curtain over her breasts turned into a glove, conforming like a second skin to the slight slump of her lusciously firm, huge tits. To tease the viewers even more, she groped them again. Perhaps the intention had been to jiggle them.

Her needs had other demands.

“Master!” The word tore from her lips suddenly and intensely. The bratty expression on her face disappeared. Confused on what to do first, her hands dashed between twisting her nipple, pushing down her pants and fingering her cunt, all while she walked towards the edge of the stage.

The result was a broken shortstack brat on the floor, her pale ass up in the air, her tits squished beneath her small back. Though he could not see it, he could hear her working her pussy. Loud, repetitive wet smacks filled the air. The song was just ambience to the much greater show that was Delicia’s desperation.

“I haven’t been spanked in days! It’s hell! Master, I need you to put me in my place, please! I haven’t known how badly I needed getting fucked into submission before I knew you, but I do now and this is the worst! Can I cum? Please, Master, can I cum?”

“Not quite yet…” John groaned. His fingers curled deeper in Lorelei’s white-blonde tresses. Back and forth, up and down, he forced her to take the full length of his cock over and over again. Her throat vibrated with delighted moans. She was just a mess, his mess, just like Delicia was, just like all the other women around him were. “Cum for me!”

The order went out to the entire room. All women present shared in one stretch of bliss. Gorgeous gasps, moans, sighs, cries and screams of pleasure all intermingled in John’s ears while seed pumped up his cock and into the stomach of the one woman who could not climax. All the same, Lorelei’s expression was one of dreamy bliss.

John basked in the moment. Finally, his testicles felt lighter. By the time the tingling in his body subsided, he had a semblance of reason return to him. He still kept Lorelei in place until her undulating throat and venerating tongue had milked every drop out of him. Only after, was he ready to return to abstinence.

He rose out of the armchair, the women all around still trembling in their individual aftershocks. Truly, it was a blessing of biology that men got to see their women in the afterglow in the case of simultaneous release.

Finding the microphone next to Rave’s twitching butt, he picked it up. “The winner…” he announced, “…is everyone.”

What other answer could there be?