by Gentry Race
The clown girl stepped up to me and slowly came in for a kiss. She tasted like cotton candy with a tinge of anthrax. I could feel her waxy lip gloss smearing on my lips. The kitsune fluttered her three tails in tandem, excited for what she was about to do. She stepped closer and gave me her lips, followed by her tongue. I was in ecstasy as she pushed her soft, full lips all around mine.
These were not the dull-eyed stock models from other cheap virtual games. Their eyes had soul behind them. Their flesh had warmth. Their touches were soft and as real as could be.
The clown girl placed her hand on the bulge in my pants. It was on fire, wanting to be free from the confines of the tight jean material. She unzipped my pants and pulled them down as I kept kissing the kitsune. I grabbed one of the kitsune’s long tails and softly petted her thick coat of fur. She purred in response.
Clown Girl was already pulling out my cock. I looked down and there it was. Tommy Gun Thomas. Tommy and I had had some good times, but enough with the practice — those were just dry runs… Well, a little lotion was used, so not completely dry. I chuckled to myself, trying not to lose the nonstop kissing that the kitsune pushed on me. She lowered her cat-like ears in pleasure.
The clown girl was holding the base of my shaft in a tight grip. Then another hand grabbed it — this one belonging to the kitsune. They began stroking me up and down. Then clown girl spit on my cock and I felt her warm saliva coat the length of it. Their hands were gliding now. Then I felt a mouth close around it.
Clown Girl twirled on me like a lollipop, pushing it to the inside of her cheek. She patted the outside of her bulging cheek with her hand, increasing the stimulation on my head. I was in heaven, but trying not to lose focus on the passionate kissing of the kitsune. Then I felt pressure on my dick, followed by a sharp pain.
“Ouch,” I said, pulling back from the kitsune and away from the clown girl.
“Did you bite me?” I asked.
“Sorry, master,” the clown girl said. “I only bit a little. Forgive me, I like to nibble.”
She did only bite me a little, but I wasn’t going to take the risk of sticking myself in there again. I motioned for kitsune to turn around and get on top of Clown Girl. They kissed each other heavily. With her preoccupied, she couldn’t cause any more trouble. Besides, what I wanted was the soft, wet kitsune. I couldn’t count the many times I’d fantasized about being inside of one.
Maybe I can get Jess to cosplay like this on our future wedding night.
Three furry tails raised to my face, tickling my nose. I grabbed two tails with one hand and the last one with my other hand, ready to divide and conquer. She perked up her ass like a catwoman in heat, and I centered her hips like I’d always imagined. I was swollen and nearly a purplish-red from them teasing me.
I lined up her engorged labia and gently rubbed my head along it, just as I’d seen in porn videos. Never having done this, I tried to remember every point of action I had seen as a teen. Though, I mean, what wouldn’t work? These projections were simulations… It’s not like they were real people that would complain or anything.
“Give it to me, Daddy,” kitsune said.
I smiled at the confirmation and pushed all of me inside. She was warmer than warm. Tight at first, but as I pushed in further, she opened up. She felt amazing. I watched clown girl grab kitsune’s breasts as they continued to make out. It was so hot.
I rocked into the catwoman a little more. She purred from the pounding and looked back. Then I gave it to her more.
“She needs some,” kitsune said.
I pulled out my sopping cock and lowered to clown girl’s level. Her suit was already open, with a ragged slit cut into it, as if someone had already ripped it. I didn’t care. I inserted myself into her, and she was heaven too. She was easier to gyrate a steady motion with. Back and forth, I helped her on her way to climax.
She moaned under kitsune, breaking away from her kiss. Then she growled, not like an animal, but more like a crazy schizo patient would after getting an overdose of meds.
Not gonna lie, I was a little scared. I could tell by her breathing getting faster and the sounds of her moaning that she was pushing to a climax.
I felt like I was going to explode.
THUNK!
While I was giving it to Clown Girl, the kitsune raised her ass up and hit it into me hard. I fell back onto the floor, and just as I realized what had happened, kitsune was smothering me in kisses. She grabbed the base of my cock and held it straight up.
I couldn’t hold back. If she gave me just one more stroke, I was done for — there would be semen everywhere.
Beads of precum started to ball up on my tip. Kitsune saw my reaction, and made sure not to jerk me anymore to avoid any eruption. Like a crazy edging session, she pressed her lips to the clear fluid oozing out. And then I saw a shadow looming over me. Clown girl. She was coming for me like I was going to come for her.
She stood over me, holding her hands behind her back. I could see the large mallet extending out on the floor behind her. She got a crazy stare in her eye and grit her teeth.
I began to panic. Kitsune pressed her hands on my chest and groin, holding me down. I couldn’t move; she was strong as hell. Despite the impending pain, I was still hard. It was an involuntary erection. Is dick fear real?
WHACK!
Clown girl slammed the mallet down hard on my cock. The labia slits on the mallet ate me up like a fat kid eats cake. The pain shot through my stomach. I looked down, and the lips of the inlets began to pulsate in a rhythmic throbbing, pulling on my cock.
The contrasting feelings were insane. The pain, the pleasure. The lips were working me good, and I couldn’t hold on. A cascading crescendo of craziness was coalescing. I was going to climax. Finally, the spurring desire inside of me burst out in a stress-releasing glory. Each throb squirted a hot mess inside the mallet. I grabbed onto both sides of the hammer, pulling it harder against my pelvis.
Yes, I knew I was fucking an inanimate object, but I was caught in the moment.
After my last ecstatic spasm, I finally noticed the ornate detail of card suits along the decorated brim of the mallet. I dropped my head to the ground, exhausted.
The girls began to vanish, along with the room that was projected to look like a nineteen-eighties starship. All that was left was a restaurant bar clad in black sheets.
Panic ensued as I looked at my phone, finally remembering my work event.
I was late.
7
Supervillain, Heist
I stepped out of the LayBoy PR demonstration feeling like I’d been hung out to dry. My balls ached slightly. My penis was just smashed by a fake, double-sided vagina hammer, I thought.
Just when you think you are secure, confident… Nothing like a clown girl and a kitsune to deplete you of that.
As I walked down the street, I passed by a mob of cosplayers dressed in skimpy outfits and carrying their favorite superhero weapons.
A muscular woman wearing a bald cap was painted in silver from head to toe. Along with a tight, red, one-piece bathing suit walked toward me with a group of fans. I heard someone call out ‘Dr. Awesome!’ as she passed me by. She was not so sly that she did not check out my half-bulging junk; her inspection led me to quickly check my zipper to make sure my super weapon was neatly tucked away.
Fairweather's Tiki Bar wasn’t far now. Just a few blocks up. I turned the corner and saw what looked like a park grounds. Tall, wrought iron fencing was neatly wrapped around brick walls, complemented by bright grassy greens and ivy throughout. I entered into the square.
A row of shops and restaurants ran alongside the grounds and sat nestled just below a large baseball stadium: Techo Field. The layout of the park grounds was gorgeous. On one side of the grounds was the small bank, where the PR event would take place, nestled in between a deli and a sporting goods shop. It was surrounded by people dressed in security uniforms. I couldn’t tell if they were legitimate guards or just a
ctors.
Across from the bank was an open field and a stage outfitted with large display screens atop it. A DJ was attending to his booth, just off to the side, while other workers hung a large banner displaying the lowercase “i” of the Iconoclast Games logo.
I popped into the nearest restaurant to ask where Fairweather’s was. Upon my entrance, I was graced with exuberant lights and detailed ice sculptures, surrounded in bright-colored candies of all sorts. People dressed in flamboyant costumes, that was over accentuated by their unflattering body types, mingled about. A large sign pointed to the back: ‘Iconoclast Games Event’.
I wove my way through what looked like a barren back hallway that the staff used for service. An elevator was on my left, and I stepped inside. There was a statue of a deer dressed in a cape and laying down for some odd reason. Fairweather's seemed quirky and hipster-ish to be one of the best rooftop bars to get a tiki drink in San Diego.
Stepping out of the elevator, I could hear the mingling of a crowd not far away. I caught sight of an odd array of costumes, colorful and bright. One guy was naked with toilet paper rolls glued to him.
What a sight.
A series of ramps switchbacked up into each other, and then I was there. Two doormen waited to check me in. After asking for my I.D., checking the list, and slapping an Iconoclast Games slap bracelet on my wrist, they allowed me entry.
I was in.
A large, rectangular deck overlooked the park grounds that were larger than they looked. More people dressed in colorful costumes were crowded around tables, conversing about the latest game level they’d achieved or created. I could see the impressive view of the stadium just beyond the grounds. You could practically watch the games for free from this spot.
Fairweather’s decor were soft, muted blues snuggled into mustard-mayo yellows that gave way to off-white, creamy hues. The obvious nautical theme was reinforced with rope accents, along with anchors and compass insignias that repeated over Comic Con logos; a female eye with a furrowed eyebrow. It looked like an aquatic superhero from the depths of the sea had decorated the joint.
“Michael,” a voice said from behind me.
It was Phil Travis at his best: a big smile, pearly white, chiclet teeth, a Hawaiian shirt printed in Comic Con logos, and holding some kind of intoxicating sugary drink in a carved out pineapple. I could tell he was already buzzed.
“Well, I made it,” I said, blushing as I thought back to the events that had happened not twenty minutes ago. I looked around to see if I knew any of the other minglers.
“Yes, we’ve got quite the demo show tonight. We are calling it ‘Superheist, Me’. We have Tessa doing her villainy from the Subspace, aiding a supervillain volunteer group of robot henchmen. Then our superhero will save the day. It's gonna be great,” he said, grabbing my shoulder like a father would.
Superhero saves the day? What a cop-out move, I thought. Of course they wouldn’t let the villain win.
“Now, tell me,” Phil said. “Are you nervous about the panel? Hall H can be a little nerve-wracking, with that big of a crowd.”
Hall H was one of the biggest ballrooms that the San Diego Convention Center had to offer, saved for only the biggest of the big debuting blockbuster movies, TV series and comic book properties. It was the crème de la crème of publicity. Never had I spoken to an audience that large — four thousand eight hundred people, to be exact — in my life.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, grabbing a glass of champagne from a server as they passed me.
I took a huge gulp just before Phil pulled me to the side, leading me to a table where a group of people were sitting.
“Come meet some of the team and a special guest,” he said.
I immediately recognized them as the board members of Iconoclast Games. These were the people in the headshots at the bottom of every email I got about company profitability. However, one person stood out.
He was young, wearing a worn baseball hat, with a sharp, angular jaw that was accentuated every time he chewed his piece of gum. He wore an Iconoclast t-shirt and a VIP lanyard.
Blain.
Blain McCormick was the newest game creator from SnowStorm Games. He’d created the expandable level packs for their hit game series Artifex. People had raved about the additions, saying they were better than the original levels — levels that I had helped create during my short stint there. He was an asshole that needed that an enema — a nemesis.
“Michael,” Blain said, standing up. “Congrats on Supervillain, Me. It’s turning out to be quite the hit.”
“Thanks,” I said. “We all worked hard on it.”
“You did,” Blain said and then asked, “Tell me, have you gotten any critiques about the narrative being similar to other games?”
I gave him a scowl. Anytime there was a hit sensation, assholes like him chalked up the fame and success of the product to a copyright infringement of some kind. Everything was a riff on everything, just fine-tuned, altered and changed. Maybe by refining each other we create the magnum opus, I thought.
“There is always some inspiration behind every creative,” I said, cracking a fake smile.
I hated negative assholes like that. Why can’t people just have a good time without complaining? And don’t get me started on the critics. What warrants a person to take one minute out of their day to ruin a creator’s week? Make a five-star review on the first game one month, and then one-star its sequel? Don’t they know that one-star reviews can cause a series to perish?
The one-stars can be so heartbreaking, and I have received my fair share. But Supervillian, Me was the highest rated game in Iconoclast Games history. Gone were negative reviews; now I was only showered in praise and asked, ‘where is the sequel?’.
To my left, I saw a gorgeous cosplayer in an outrageous heroine suit. Her muscle tone reminded me of Hera, and I immediately felt better.
I nodded my head and turned away, but not before saying, “Gentlemen, excuse me.”
Blaine of course had to get the last word in. “We are all looking forward to the demo… and to your panel in Hall H on Saturday.”
I stuck the back of my hand up as I walked away, trying to show him only the slightest acknowledgment. Despite Blaine’s insults, the upcoming demo, and the Hall H panel, my mind was on the cosplayer that had caught my eye. I took a closer look as she chatted it up with some staff member.
Her body was fit, thicker toned than Jessica’s, and she wore a hard rubber ballroom mask that covered the top half of her face, like one you would see at a Venetian party. It was decorated in swirls of gold glitter, and long strands of green, purple, and beige — Venetian colors — dangled from her thick, hard, rubber padded pant legs and chestpiece, like some kind of Italian wrestler hybrid. Her tanned arms were visible, save for banded white rubber sheaths that wrapped around her biceps.
As I got closer, I noticed how tall she was. I looked at her overly thick-soled shoes and couldn’t make out the reason why she would such a thing, other than the obvious height increase so many ladies loved to with their modern day heels. And then I recognized the small strawberry mole on her upper arm. It was Hera.
I gave a huge surprised smile and a light punch on her arm. “I didn’t know you were going to dress up.”
She caught my gaze under her mask and cut off the conversation with whoever Joe Blow was. She sprung excitedly at me, hanging onto my neck.
“It was a surprise. I am gonna be the superhero that stops the demo bank robbery tonight.”
I was shocked at first, but the surprise quickly wore off. Hera did have the look to pull it off… And she looked absolutely stunning in that superhero outfit.
I leaned over and whispered into her ear, “You know, you would look amazing as a supervillainess.”
She nudged me and gave a wink. “Stop. You know I am the good one, through and through.”
“Yooo, mothafuckas,” a familiar voice shouted from the back.
It was Ari. He had a dri
nk in one hand and what looked like papers in the other. He looked nothing short of ridiculous, wearing a crazy concoction of free promotional merchandise he’d probably collected throughout the day: a bright pink t-shirt that advertised the next big TV show from a cable network, three lanyards showcasing zombies, and a headband embroidered with the first three letters in the alphabet.
“Whoa. Nice outfit, Hera,” he said.
“Where did you all go?” I asked. “I got out of the shower, and both of you were gone.”
“I had to get here early for the event,” Hera said. “Sorry, I wanted to surprise you.”
“And that stuff you have in the fridge is fucking nasty, man,” I said to Ari.
“Hey, don’t touch my stuff,” Ari said.
“I looked up ptcha… jellied calves’ feet, man,” I said in disgust as I glanced at Hera, who now looked a little sick as well. “What are you doing with that? Putting it on pizza?” I teased.
“Nevermind all that shit. I got us…three…tickets…to Wire Cafe’s open rooftop bar!” Ari exclaimed with dramatic pauses, waving tickets before his face like a fan.
“What the?” I asked. “How in the hell did you pull that off?”
Ari smirked and cocked his eyebrow, emphasizing his cunning. “Well, it just so happens that the doorman’s Jewish.”
“Damn,” I said. “The Jewish discount again. It's like a club.”
Ari made sure to 'politically correct' me. “It is… and you can only say that because I made you an honorary Jew.”
“When can I be one?” Hera asked, feeling left out.
“When you ask three times,” Ari said matter-of-factly.
Hera was about to ask two more times, until he smiled and cut her off. “On three separate occasions.”
Everyone laughed.
Across the bar, over the sea of impressive elfling costumes, I couldn’t help but notice an intriguing woman wearing a very detailed costume. Her petite frame was outfitted in an exosuit I knew too well. She flipped her blonde hair to the side, revealing soaring, blue eyes. They stabbed into me like daggers.