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 internal
ly 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 s
kirted 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.
Eroma Page 8