Ready Player Fun

by A V Kern

  “Heya Sherm-worm,” I replied, posing dramatically with my ample chest thrust out.

  “Whoa,” he said as he approached. “Is that a new space suit? It’s pretty hot, dude.”

  “Sure is! It feels nice, too.” I wiggled in place, showing off my spiffy new suit and enjoying the sensation of the skin-tight, pliable metallic material that shielded me from enemy attacks while also showing off my best assets—my tits and ass, obviously—in shiny, chromic glory. It even had auto-dodging projectile defense systems! Jacking into my spiny and logging into O-Face as Felicia had never quite stopped being a shock, but in a good (sexy) way. Every time stepping from my dude body to my female avatar was just as hot as the first time had been. In the real world, I’m your pretty-average 22 year-old nerdy, horny dude. I watch a lot of porn, and if there’s fucking involved, I’m curious about it. In the 2050s, when you can look like whatever you want online, most of us are way more relaxed about sex stuff than we used to be. I’m a classic horndog. Sex is literally my favorite thing in the world, and I’m interested in exploring the limits of those experiences however they might come. So yeah. I have a dick IRL, beat my meatspace meat a lot to satisfy basic biological needs, and spend the rest of the time I’m not eating, sleeping, or seeing to other bio-functions running around in the O-Face as Felicia.

  I picked a female avatar for purely sensual, erotic reasons—I’ve been playing as a chick since I was 15, and by now I’ve just gotten used to loving the orgasmic bliss that comes with it. Sherman and I have gotten ourselves into all kinds of wacky situations throughout the virtual landscapes of the O-Face, where players fornicate in the wildest ways you can imagine in custom, handmade worlds of debauchery all the time. I don’t know if Felicia’s avatar is how real women’s bodies feel, but I don’t really care, either—I fucking love screwing around in the O-Face as Felicia.

  Felicia McFly is a totally righteous babe: She has long, dark hair that shines and falls in loose curls just past her shoulders, plump, intensely kissable lips that fall open just a little bit whenever I’m lost in thought, a cute, upturned nose, and pretty blue eyes. I’m 5’9” when I play as Felicia, on the tall side of average for a girl, and around 130 lbs, not that either of those stats matter much in the virtual world where I can be as strong or weak as circumstances require. My scifi exo-suits give me all the physical strength and stamina I could want to leap around in the Hyboria-inspired landscapes of the savage zones or the stunningly beautiful vistas of Coitotopia, the super-sex planet. Felicia is slight and sexy, with a nice hourglass figure that’s a perfect ratio of big tits and big ass in an explosive little package, and the sounds that come out of my mouth when I orgasm are hot enough to make me orgasm all over again right then and there, usually.

  The first time I logged in as Felicia I sat down to finger myself a little and explore my new lady parts. I didn’t get up for a solid four hours, when I finally came up from my orgasm-chain for long enough to gasp for air and decide I’d probably had enough for one day. But it’s fucking great! You never get sore and you never get tired. My skin is super sensitive and it feels so fucking good to have my pussy stretched out. We like to joke in the O-Face that it doesn’t matter if you’re straight, gay, cis, trans, or even ace—you’re most likely a girl here just for the thrill of it. That’s not always true, obviously. Lots of people prefer to play as men, either because that’s the only way they feel comfortable or because they’re curious girls who like rolling around with a dick instead (although I can’t understand why you’d limit your pleasure like that, given Roger Dodger’s stupid hardware rules). My friend Sherman is like that: A dude in real life, and a dude in the game. He knows I’m a dude too, but he doesn’t care how I roll.

  Some people get by on UBI these days. Not me. I do have a job, but even that’s in the O-Face: I’m a cunter. A professional clue-hunter. As soon as Bartleby Shaw announced that he was giving the O-Face away to whatever dillweed solved his great, mysterious game, the players who hang out here put their collective heads together and made a plan to save their beloved playground from fuckheads like Roger Dodger. They launched “Operation Player Fun”, a crowd-sourced community effort to raise funds to pay for full-time clue hunters with proven skill and knowledge to solve Shaw’s puzzle and take control of the O-Face before Dodger could. Every month everyone puts in a few creds, and the collective budget pays for hundreds of us cunters. The community votes on who gets paid based on the level of skill of the cunter and the effort expended in cunting. I made the cut since I’ve been researching 80s trivia for nearly a decade now and spend a shockingly large number of boring hours every week reading Shaw’s personal digital journals, where he mostly rambles about how hot getting fucked by minotaurs is and how unfair it is that there aren’t real minotaurs in the world to fuck.

  Sherman whistled and eyed my new exo-suit appraisingly as he high-fived me and then did our signature 80s cool-kid handshake. “That’s a nice one. Musta been a lot of creds.”

  I shrugged. “I can afford it after fragging dweebs in the Danger Zones last week.”

  Sherman’s eyebrows climbed to the top of his head. “Whoa. You were in the Danger Zones?”

  “You know it. And I made a killing too.”

  The Danger Zones were the parts of the O-Face where you put real creds on the line, along with all your accrued levels and any items you carried. Most of the time you could do menial, lame things for creds like act as some rich kid’s pleasure slave for a few days or blast NPCs away for the occasional credit drop, but PvP was where the real money was at. In Danger Zones, unlike everywhere else in the O-Face, getting fragged meant you dropped a good chunk of your creds permanently, and the player who fragged you could pick them up. Since creds were backed by neo-bitcoin (the decisive winner of the coin wars of the 2020s), they were just as good as real American dollars, and you could use them to buy anything you wanted and have it sent directly to your living room by Googlezon’s drone army. PvP in the Danger Zones was the only thing that came anywhere close to the thrill of sex for me.

  I could tell Sherman was impressed by my exploits. Only the best players, like Ap0ll0, W33b, and Sug0i—all of whom were also cunters just like us—did well in those dangerous places with all the squarehead FU troopers lurking around in their fancy weapons and armor that were bankrolled by Roger Dodger’s CRR. Now that I had this baller combat suit, though, along with my sweet morphing arm cannon that could turn my delicate little hand into a very-intimidating blaster with a single thought, I was going to do even better there. I couldn’t wait to try my luck against my rival, LisaFrank90210, an IRL chick well-known for her associations with the CRR. She’d worked for them as a mercenary lots of times, and I had nothing but contempt for a freelance merc cunter working to bring down the same game that she’d spent so much time playing in.

  “Let’s get cunting,” I said to Sherman. “What’s the plan today?”

  “I think we need to take another crack at the Tomb of Horrors.”

  “The what?” I banged the side of my head to get the virtual earwax out, not quite sure I’d heard him correctly.

  “The Tomb of Whores, dude. You know, that zombie-themed sex dungeon?”

  “Oh, right,” I muttered. For a second I thought Sherman had been implying that someone would be nerdy enough to re-create a vintage AD&D module room for room inside of a virtual reality videogame and force players to play through their childhood nostalgia in a desperate and pathetic effort to make some kind of human connection no matter how thin it was, but not even the minotaur-fucking Bartleby Shaw was that sad. Probably. All of that 80s pop culture research I’d done must have been getting to my head.

  “Yeah, it’d be nice if we could get past the Wanton Baroness. We need to find out if the Bronze Dildo really is there on Whore Island like we think it is.”

  I nodded while Sherman scratched his chin. Part of Shaw’s mysterious game was that he’d scattered three magic dildos across the land that we cunters needed to find: t
he Bronze Dildo, Ruby Dildo, and Mithril Dildo. Players needed all three of them to unlock Shaw’s secret final challenge at an unknown location somewhere in the O-Face and claim victorious ownership of the virtual world. In the five years since Shaw’s death, no one had found even a single dildo—not one of his special ones, anyway. A giant scoreboard hung over the plaza at the center of the O-Face’s Grand Fuckatorium above all the other fuck-tracking boards, taunting us, and it had remained empty all these years. It was depressing in a world based around sex that nobody had managed to score yet. I intended to be the one to pop that cherry.

  “All right, then. Let’s try this again,” I agreed. I summoned my pink and white convertible that could also transform into a 15-foot tall Japanese fighting-sexbot on command, and we drove down the rainbow highway out of Brony Pastures all the way to Whore Island, in the middle of the Fuckabilly Sea. After a ton of study of Shaw’s lifelong patronage of sex workers, Sherman and I were pretty confident that the Bronze Dildo would be here, and we hadn’t told anyone else yet. Cunters were free agents who answered to no one and did whatever they thought was best in the pursuit of the magic dildos, kind of like Spectres in the Mass Effect game series, if you’re the type of person who finds it helpful to draw pointless parallels to videogames for the sake of making a reference. If you found a lead, it was best to keep it to yourself and let the others do their own thing. You didn’t want to be the person to accidentally release vital information to the FU Troopers—that was a quick way to earn the ire of the citizens of Operation Player Fun and get booted off the cunter payroll. Anything that helped Roger Dodger hurt all of us.

  Sherman’s avatar was a huge, green-skinned lug of a mutant in battle armor. You can guess where he got the inspiration. He liked to mow down enemies with a gatling laser that made sex noises as it fired, which was funny since you could tell it was overheating when “ooh ooh ooh” changed to “ow ow ow” and he had to slow it down a little. If he got attacked while it was cooling, it was easy enough to wave the huge steel tube around like a club, too, and whack whatever bad guy was getting in our faces with 40 or 50 pounds of solid steel. I thought the whole setup was pretty hilarious. Me and Sherman were like peas in a pod.

  As we parked my convertible on Whore Island and hopped out of the Malibu-mobile, Sherman hefted his laser and I cocked my left arm, waiting as it quickly shifted from the delicate fingers of Felicia McFly to a cool, metallic arm-cannon that fired impressive yellow and blue energy bursts. Metroid and Megaman were both favorite games of mine from Shaw’s era of videogaming, so I liked having it as an homage to both of them.

  “Ready?” Sherman asked.

  “Ready,” I agreed.

  Together we marched into the Tomb of Whores, blasting sex-crazed zombie hookers as we worked our way toward the Wanton Baroness’s room. This part was a breeze for us. We were so good at fragging these basic NPCs that it was almost too easy these days. I chatted idly with Sherman as I blew a hole through the torso of droopy-breasted pale-skinned shambler in fishnet stockings to run down what we thought we knew one more time.

  “The Wanton Baroness was inspired by Shaw’s first encounter with a prostitute when he was twenty-two, and no one’s ever figured out how to get past her. We’re pretty sure the Bronze Dildo is here because his first and only clue he left us was to ‘look where crustaceans lie.’”

  “Yep,” Sherman agreed. “And most people think that’s down in the mermaid’s pleasure palace, under the sea.”

  “But we figured out that the STD Shaw famously contracted from his first sexual encounter wasn’t an STD at all… it was crabs!”

  “Right. So ‘where crustaceans lie’ would obviously be at the symbolic representation of the first person to ever give Shaw crabs.”

  “We’re so smart, Sherm-worm.”

  He grinned at me. “That’s why we get to be cunters.”

  We blew away the last of our zombies and stood in front of the Wanton Baroness’s door. This was the part where we always got stumped. It really was true that no one had ever gotten past her, as far as we knew—information online said that players had tried killing her and fucking her, but neither of those allowed you to progress past her room, so eventually people got bored of zombie-fucking and just avoided the Tomb of Whores altogether. Not us, though!

  I put my hand on the door, but then stopped. I put my ear to the door, listening closely to a weird noise coming from inside. Then I laid a finger to my lips, giving Sherman a pointed look, and opened the door slowly, slipping into the room with my blaster at the ready.

  A metrosexual-looking, blonde-haired dude in a golden cape was standing in the middle of the room with his shining white pants around his ankles, bending the Wanton Baroness over a table to give her a proper fucking. I lowered my blaster-arm and stared at him in open-mouthed surprise as he finished with a heaving, gasping grunt and pulled out of her.

  “Oooh, ahhh,” moaned the Baroness, evidently pleased with his performance.

  “Ap0ll0?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

  Ap0ll0 glanced over at me and Sherman and blushed, pulling out of the Baroness and yanking his pants up. He quickly drew his iconic shining sword from its sheathe and shoved the Baroness away from him.

  “The same thing you are, no doubt,” he replied, eyes narrowing. Ap0ll0 was one of the best cunters in the game, and I’d only had a handful of run-ins with him before this. Nobody knew who he was in real life, but he was one of the most popular male avatars in the game and took considerable pleasure in fucking people’s brains out in every way imaginable. He seemed to love giving it to as many women as possible… even beyond what I’d expect for a normal horny dude, and his name was usually on top of all the fuckboards.

  “So you figured out the crustacean clue,” Sherman said.

  “The crustacean clue?” Ap0ll0 repeated, sounding confused. “I just wanted to try fucking a zombie, but… oh my god. Holy shit. How did I miss it? Of course! Shaw’s first STD was crabs, wasn’t it? Which means that you’re here because you think… you think the Bronze Dildo is here, too!”

  I sighed. “Nice one, Sherm-worm. Keep your big mouth shut next time, okay?” At least Ap0ll0 was one of the good guys. I thought we could probably trust him. “Okay, Ap0ll0,” I said. “You can come along with us for this one, as long as you don’t tell anyone else where to find the Bronze Dildo.”

  “But how do we get past her?” Ap0ll0 asked. “I’ve read the summaries. No one ever clears this room.”

  “That’s because they’re not as smart or horny as Felicia McFly,” I said with a smile. “Nobody knows Shaw like I know Shaw. In his journals, he always talked about how much it sucked to get fucked by her.”

  “And?”

  “Well, don’t you see? Everyone always tries to fuck the Baroness, but Shaw complains about getting fucked by her.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Ap0ll0 replied. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  “Or is it?”

  I yanked a vial of purplish, frothing liquid from my utility belt, took careful aim, and hurled it at the Wanton Baroness suddenly. The fragile, corked vial sailed through the air and smashed into her, splattering the goop all over her body. She began to moan again as the dick-giving potion I’d thrown worked it’s rather unsubtle magic and produced a giant, quivering cock from her crotch. I leapt across the room to where Ap0ll0 had been fucking her just moments before, dropped my space-pants, and shouted: “Okay, Wanton Baroness! Give it to me! Fuck me hard!”

  She shambled over and slid it in me, pumping eagerly. The steel rod I’d given her quivered with excitement, and the familiar orgasmic pleasure of the heightened limits allowed by my female VR body began to build. Her grunts grew more and more excited, and I tried to keep my words coherent as the pleasure crescendoed so that I could explain my brilliant theory-crafting to my comrades. “Bartleby Shaw feels like he was the one who got fucked that night, since it took forever for him to get rid of the crabs,” I explained. “So we
clearly need to do the same to follow in his footsteps.”

  The Baroness exploded inside of me with a groan, triggering my own super-intense orgasm, and I shook and moaned amid a series of sudden celebratory explosions of tiny crustaceans that showered all of us like confetti as a fanfare of trumpets played. Sherman and Ap0ll0 looked around, confused as to the source of the crabfetti and trumpets.

  As she pulled out of me and staggered back, O-Face creator Bartleby Shaw’s famous in-game magical avatar for all his nerdy wizarding needs, Captain Minosexaur, appeared before us in a flash of magical energy.

  “Congratulations, Felicia McFly!” he intoned in a deep, gravelly voice. “You have solved the first clue of the Overlord’s Facade, and I now solemnly award you the Bronze Dildo!”

  “Aren’t you dead?” I tactfully inquired.

  “I live so long as a single man or woman enjoys fucking mythical creatures!” he roared.

  “Cool,” I replied with a shrug.

  “Yessss!” Sherman shouted, pumping his hand in the air. “You did it, Felicia!”

  “We did it.” I smiled and winked at Sherman. I had done it, but there was no reason to make the others feel bad that they weren’t as cool or as brilliant as me. It’s not like I needed to show my superiority in some kind of fact-spewing, dick-waving contest about esoteric game knowledge or something.

  Captain Minosexaur handed me a very large dildo worked in bronze, surprisingly heavy, and for a brief moment the scoreboard from the Grand Fuckatorium flashed overhead. “Felicia McFly” appeared in the number one spot. I was exhilarated. Finally, someone had scored in the O-Face, and that someone was Bowie-fucking-Jackson. I’d waited years for this moment.

  “How’s it feel?” Ap0ll0 asked with a grin.