Collide Gamer

John woke up. He had no idea what time it was and he barely remembered getting where he was, but he certainly knew about the where. The scent of his women caressed him, as if the combined scents of his harem were a mistress all of their own. That being said, the answer as to who was attending his morning wood was a resounding: ‘no one’.

On the morning after the fourfold release of the wet t-shirt contest, the abstinence hit him with a renewed strength. Adding to his need to have someone lie by his side was the weakening of his impulse control that being drunk brought with it.

And he was still drunk. John recognised it in the numbness that was layered atop a burgeoning headache. He was in that horrid in-between state, where he was sober enough to know exactly what awaited him within the next hour.

His eyes refused to open at first. They were crusty, marked with the various byproducts of the bad sleep brought from imbibing litres of diluted nerve poison. He rubbed the sleep out of them and stared into the darkness. At some point, he had taken out his contact lenses.

He had no idea where he had put them. Luckily, the Blessing of Binding on them meant they automatically returned to his inventory whenever this happened. He reached into his inventory to find… nothing.

“Huh?” he muttered and felt around the bed. A stone dropped into his stomach when he realized that, among the manifold little aches, there was the unpleasant jabbing of something hard adhered to his sweaty body. He pulled the pieces of something off his body, hoping he was incorrect. He pulled the Mandala Sphere out of his inventory, to give him something to look with.

His hunch was sadly correct. Sometime between his last memory, stumbling into the maids, and now, he had not only taken out the contact lenses, he had decided to sleep on them. Among the many pieces of magic on it, Indestructible was not among them. The super-thin plastic was cracked, connected only by the miniscule runes of Mithril and Baelementium that were now bent irreparably out of shape. When John Observed it, he just got a description of it being junk formerly known as the Visions of Calamity.

“Really? That’s how I lose these?” John groaned. They had been a gift of the Horned Rat of all people and had served him well for well over a year. “Normal people lose headphones when they are drunk, I crush a billion-dollar pair of contact lenses…”

He let out a deep sigh, gathered what he could of what had been his contact lenses, and put them into his Inventory. He had no idea what some seer could get out of these remnants, so he was going to dispose of them in a safe manner at some point. Until he found a more adequate replacement, there were plenty of alternatives.

Fusion’s military up came with a pair of contact lenses as a standard issue. They were enchanted with low-level dark vision, anti-illusion measures, and a few protective spells for the eyes. Nothing too impressive individually, but as a mass production they were quite the breakthrough.

John needed none of the enchantments, just something to Possess. To that end, they were perfectly adequate. An issue was that they weren’t crafted as a properly bound pair, meaning that his two Possessions did not sync up automatically. It had been long enough since John had learned how to deal with the oddities of seeing through Possession that he could walk without experiencing any vertigo.

Mild annoyance with himself was all that he could muster towards the loss of the lenses. For one, he was too close to a hangover for strong emotions. More importantly, he knew better than to cry over the mistakes of a person he couldn’t even remember being. What would the point of that have been?

‘Really, I should consider it a blessing in disguise. It’s about time I got an upgrade on those,’ he thought. ‘Plus, all of that distracted me from my morning wood.’

John pushed himself out of his bed and slurped into the living room. Though that was not usually a word to describe movement, he certainly felt that way as he walked. Every shambling step was its own, annoyingly audible advance.

He immediately went to the bathroom. He emptied his full bladder, then scrubbed away the disgusting taste that followed a night of alcohol and sugar fermenting in his mouth. He spat out the heavily peppermint flavoured foam, gargled some fresh water, spat that out as well, then spent a solid thirty seconds just staring at himself in the mirror.

“Why do you drink, moron?” he drawled at himself. The milky-eyed reflection had no answer.

John turned his head to the shower. He felt sweaty. He remembered the multitude of environments he had been in over the course of last night. Magnus definitely had smoked a cigar at some point. The smoke still clung to John’s skin. Taking a shower, however, seemed like too daunting a task. He limped his way back to the living room, hoping he would find something he could put down his gullet without his stomach refusing its stay.

A note on the table caught his attention. It was written in Aclysia’s hand, easily recognized by just how perfect it was. One would have been excused if they thought the cursive had been printed. The text was a simple summary of what had happened. It informed him that the maids had stripped him and that his clothes were in the wash.

John hadn’t even questioned where his clothes had gone. He did question why Aclysia felt the need to wash clothes enchanted to be self-cleaning, but the maid had always been a bit odd when it came to that. No matter how much the magic assured something was spotless, she still gave it the occasional wipe.

‘Far from the worst oddity for a housekeeper to have,’ John thought and read the last sentence on the paper. It detailed where Delicia had stored the anti-hangover pills. Limping to the kitchen, he opened the drawer and popped one of the professionally sealed pills out of its plastic confinement and into a glass. He filled it with water, then took a sip. He had intended to down it, but that seemed like too much.

John made his way to the Couch and let the magical furniture contort to the shape of his body. The amorphous leather was in constant flux beneath him. Only a sobering man could find it impossible to get into a comfortable position on cushions reacting to his subconscious impulses.

Ultimately, he gave up and just sat on a couch-shaped Couch. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed. The pill inside his stomach dissolved, unfolding its alchemical genius. It was best to take them before one went to bed. Since he had failed to do so, he would have to wait for the hydration and nutrient restoration to filter through his biological systems. Gamer’s Body would accelerate that tremendously.

The list of debuffs disappeared in an instant. One moment he was suffering, the next all of his systems were hit with a full force reboot. It was a sensation equivalent to an orgasm. Relief flooded through his system. Everything suddenly worked again. Unable to hold it back, he moaned in delight. His morning wood popped back up with full force.

Someone outside the room cried out in much stronger ecstasy.

John’s eyes flew open. He already knew what he would find. He pushed himself off the Couch and marched over to the door. He pulled open the door, looking down at the brunette now quivering before him.

“H-h-h-hiiiii, John!” Layla squeaked, then threw her head back. An orgasm had her squirt where she sat, her yoga pants already soaked through. Hands squeezed thighs, barely staying away from her honeypot.

“What are you doing?” John asked, grimly.

“Not trying to get into our… your apartment!” Layla declared. “I was standing right here! I did not even touch the doorhandle!”

For once, John allowed himself the utilization of the passive Observe to read Layla’s emotions. She was horny, obviously, and obsessed, unsurprisingly. She was also truthful in her statement. “Sorry for doubting you.”

“You should… be…!” Layla squirmed, forcing her eyes to keep staring up at him, despite the flutter of the lids.

“What were you doing in front of my door?”

“I was just… noticing that your aura was… subdued, so… I decided to use the opportunity to… get… mhm… closer!” She came again, her curvy, short form squirming on the floor, adding a special kind of gleam to the marble.

John became all too aware that he was naked again when she stretched towards his cock. Erect, it throbbed less than a step away from her face. Her mouth opened as if she could suck it across the distance. She had to swallow back the drool.

“You’re so perfect,” she swooned, her trembles intensifying and ebbing away in waves of ecstasy and self-control (a semblance of it, anyhow).

“You’re doing very well,” he complimented her. “Definitely breaking your consciousness record.”

“T-thank you,” she stuttered, without an ounce of shame. It was only orgasmic trembles that made it difficult to keep her vocal cords in line.

“I’ll walk away for a moment, then I will come back,” he told her. “I want you to try and keep it together, okay?”

“Y-yes!” she moaned.

John stepped back into the apartment, leaving the door open. He made his way back to the bedroom, opened the closet, and pulled out a casual combination of t-shirt and sweatpants. It wasn’t just that he hoped it would help Layla focus if he didn’t put his cock in her face, he also thought it’d be a bad decision on his part to remain nude. She was turning him on. He was just a guy and she was a nubile, very willing brunette with shapely breasts and thighs that were made to envelope heads.

Thankfully, his steadfast spirit remained, despite the release brought by the previous day. ‘Seems like I am actually toughening up a bit,’ he thought.

When he returned to Layla, she was still on the ground. He approached her at a casual pace, watching in admiration as she maintained… well, she didn’t maintain her composure. She was yet again squirting, barely capable of keeping her lustful instincts of putting herself on her back and thrusting her hips up in a wordless, crying plea to have her pussy stuffed. What she maintained was control and consciousness.

“Think you can handle this?” John asked and offered his hand.

Layla grabbed him in an instant. For a brief moment, all of her pleasure was muted and a different kind of expression sat on her face. A smug, deep fulfilment of emotional need, an expression equal parts submissive and entitled. It swiftly was subsumed by another wave of climaxes. Her eyes were unevenly open. She only just barely managed to keep her focus with one.

He pulled her up to her feet. “I am inviting you inside,” he said, formulating things very clearly so they could cut through her euphoria. “Are you accepting?”

“Yessssssssssssss,” she hissed.

They weren’t holding hands. Sure, they were connected by the palm, but the movements were more akin to a cruise ship towing a smaller vessel. When they had reached the Couch, he told her, “I want you to let go of my hand now.”

“N-no…”

“Layla… look at me. Look – at – me.” The words had the intended effect, dredging the self-control of the woman back to the surface of her mind. She stared at him, her brown eyes tinging pink by the turmoil of her magic within. It was the first time he had observed that, but he didn’t question it. “You didn’t touch the door. You didn’t violate the boundaries. You broke your record. That was a victory. Now, tell me what it felt like.”

“G-good…”

“Good? Like an orgasm?” John asked. “Or like something else?”

“S-something else… another k-kind of… Ah!” She pressed her eyes shut, trying to suppress the bliss that made her thighs quiver. Immediately, she returned to staring at him. “It was…”

John hesitated for a moment, unsure if he had the right to exert on this pliable mind the vision he had for her. Then, the words of Maximillian rang in his head. ‘If not me, then who?’ he asked himself. ‘Is it better to shirk this duty because I am terrified of my own moral shortcomings? Of course not.’ “It was a victory, Layla,” he stated with growing certainty. “You had a victory over your worst impulses. You maintained a boundary. You were in control. What did that feel like?”

“Soooooo baaaaaaaaaaad!” Layla moaned. “I wanted to come in and… snuggle up to you and… have you… pound me pregnant!”

“And why didn’t you do that?”

“B-because I shouldn’t?”

“Exactly.” John squeezed her hand in support. That little bit of touch made her entire body turn taut as a bowstring. Her knees buckled, but she did not collapse. “You were in control. I want you to exert that same control again, I want you to win over these instincts again. Show me that you’re not just a horny beast stalking me, Layla. Show me that you’re a woman I can rely on. Let go of my hand. Sit down.”

Trembling fingers reluctantly relaxed around his palm. Every centimetre of air that grew between them was hard fought. Gradually, she leaned back, until she reached the tipping point of gravity and fell into the Couch.

The furniture was steeped in his aura in its own right and Layla moaned loud. Still, she stopped climaxing for long enough to even her breathing. He turned around and walked to the other side of the long coffee table, sitting down opposite of her.

John just observed her for a bit. Layla was a riddle wrapped in an enigma and yet she was the most open book to be found. He knew so little about who she actually was, yet he knew everything about what she wanted. Her lips opened and closed in an attempt to begin a conversation. All that left her were more cries of pleasure.

“If you would allow me to monologue a bit…” he trailed off, only continuing when she gave him a trembling nod, “…I think I am starting to understand why I want to help you so much. You are a test for me. Of all the women that I have had the honour of bedding over the years, none have thrown themselves at me as readily and persistently as you… and that forces me to finally steel myself against the temptation. I cannot, I could never, allow myself to be the kind of person that would take advantage of the state you are in.”

The words were delivered without any intent. John still had not resolved if he wanted or not. He couldn’t, not while she was quaking from his mere presence. A state that faded as he talked.

There was a mixture of emotions on Layla’s face, none of them lust. A dark-eyed rage, a deep-seated panic, a scandalized gasp, a swooning delight, they all mixed into that particular expression that only crazy hot women could muster. It was a wide-eyed, smiling stare of sharp adoration that made John’s skin feel pleasantly hot. It was a red flag as much as it was an invitation.

Every regular man would have been best advised to shove her out the door at that point.

John was no regular man.

“You think I am that sexy?” Layla cooed, twirling a lock of brown hair around her index finger.

“Undeniably,” he responded, to girlish giggles. “You have gorgeous, wavy hair, and I do love the bottom-heavy shorties.”

“With the nicely thick thighs?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

Layla squeaked and shifted, then suddenly composed herself. To call her in control of herself would have been overstating it. She was clearly in some different kind of trance, not as outwardly visible as cumming her brains out but all the same overriding the thoughts a mentally sound person would have. “I was so, so concerned I was just deceiving myself, but you love the way I look after all! I love the way you look too! Blind eyes or not, however you want to present yourself! You’re the man I love, scars and all!”

Stoically, John let the words wash over him, leaving them uncommented. He had another direction that he wanted her mind to wander. “You’re making very good progress,” he reiterated. “You didn’t violate my boundaries and you let go of my hand… Now I want you to do the hardest thing of all.”

“…Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

Layla pressed her lips together, draining the pink from their fullness. Her jaw was clenched. No details were given. All the same, she did what he had hoped. She stood up. The first two steps took her closer to him. She was drenched in sweat and love juices, sashaying by the nature of her wide hips, and smelled in a delectably sweet way that John’s brain simply registered as ‘fertile’.

Then, she passed him. She walked slowly. She walked hesitantly. She walked all the same. She only stopped when she reached the doorframe. “…Is victory supposed to feel like you are tearing yourself away from everything you love?” she complained.

“Victory in a battle can feel like that sometimes. Victory in the war, however, is bittersweet at worst.”

“I hate bitter things,” she groaned, then stepped around the corner.

Layla actually walked away from him of her own volition.