Game Over

by Sahara Kelly

  This time, Zara made sure to turn down the volume before switching it on. And this time—for the first time in eons—she heard the voice of her hero.

  "Goddamn motherfuckin'—shit, here comes another one—fuck it, Zara, you'd better be ready because I'm gonna make it through this time—sheeeit that was close—I'm gonna nail your sweet ass, baby—"

  Ooooh. Zara blinked and then grinned. He would make it this time—she just knew it. And he sounded pretty damn horny too.

  I wonder if I have time to shave my legs?

  - - -

  Outside the Tower of Chaos in the Middle of a Patch of Cockweed...

  Sir Lincoln was sweating and straining as he forced his way through the often-impenetrable patch of cockweed. He didn't even think of striding boldly at this point, since striding was impossible and there was nothing bold about his struggling swipes at the annoying plant which wrapped itself around him at every opportunity.

  He lashed, slashed and lopped, feeling a triumphant zing every time he shuffled forward another step. He was half blind from the clouds of pollen that arose from the hacked blooms and had to keep an ear open for a hacking cough which signaled yet another incoming missile of Susie's acid snot.

  Hearing that whining approach, Sir Lincoln would halt his progress, take a two-fisted grip on his Magic Sword and whack the glob like a superstar Hall of Fame hitter in the ninth inning of a World Series baseball game.

  So far, he knew he'd taken out about a dozen flying chickens, a couple of inoffensive bird's nests and a giraffe that had accidentally wandered in from another video game. In between times, he reminded himself what all this effort and trouble was for.

  Zara.

  "Gonna fuck her." Swipe. "Gonna make her scream." Thwack. "Gonna make her come in twelve different ways." Chop-chop-chop. "Gonna bury myself to the balls in her pussy and stay there for a millennium or two." Scorching line drive to center field.

  Just the thought of all the things he wanted to do to Zara added an additional layer of sweat to his skin, making his tights itch like hell. Or maybe it was the pollen—he didn't know.

  A Shield of Invincibility would have helped a lot, he knew, but then again he needed both hands for the sword as well. Staying still for a moment or two he risked a glance around. Yep, he was definitely making progress. Only about another two hours or so and he should be able to cover the final twenty yards.

  "Go Sir Lincoln, go-go-go!"

  The chant sounded like a whisper in his ears. It was Zara's voice, her thoughts maybe, urging him on.

  "Roses are red, violets are blue; Come to my bed and I'll fuck you too."

  Oh yeah. That was more like it. Sir Lincoln's sword was a blur as he whisked away several more feet of cockweed while visions of naked chanting cheerleaders—who all looked like Zara—bounced their full breasts in time to the words.

  Wheeeeeeeee—

  "Fuck. Incoming..." The Magic Sword whirled into position, barely in time to deflect the worst of the acid blob. Some got on his hat and he could smell the sizzle of burning felt. He didn't care. The damn thing had been an embarrassment from the beginning.

  "Nothing can stop me now..." He sang the words to himself, wondering if Zara could hear him fighting his way through the foliage outside her Tower.

  "Gonna fuck her—da da ta da—gonna fuck her—" Sir Lincoln ducked, covered and parried yet another glob, this time grinning as it sailed harmlessly over his head. He slashed and swiped some more. "Oh yeah I'm gonna suck her good, gonna suck her pussy like a hero should—" His song billowed over the cockweed like—well, like the pollen that was also billowing over the cockweed.

  "Aaaaaccchoooooooooo." A massive sneeze shook him from head to boot and he quickly jumped then twisted to avoid the tendrils lovingly clinging to his ankles and the pair of incoming goo missiles.

  "Bless you."

  Sir Lincoln blinked as he swiped off three defenseless cockweed blooms. "Zara? Is that you, Zara?" He wanted to stop for a minute, wipe the sweat from his eyes, remove the bits of tights stuck into his ass cleavage and blow his nose. He also wanted to know if that really was Zara's voice or if the pollen was making him hallucinate.

  "It's me, lover. You're close—so very close."

  Swipe—thwack! "Holy shit. This is—this is too much. I can hear you. Super cool, babe." He dipped his head and fielded off a smaller lump of acid snot. Maybe Susie was running out of post-nasal drip.

  "What's that noise?"

  "Uhh..." Sir Lincoln staggered and cut through a tendril of cockweed. "Snot."

  "Huh?"

  "Honey, I'm kinda busy right now..." The globs may have been getting smaller, but apparently Susie's allergies still troubled her. A spatter of little droplets were almost impossible to withstand, and Sir Lincoln groaned and dropped to one knee as several reached their target and singed his ears.

  "I can barely hear you..."

  Sir Lincoln forced himself to his feet and bravely pressed on, keeping his focus on his task as best he could. "Can you hear me now?"

  "Yeah, that's better. God, I can't wait until you get here. I'm all hot and wet just thinking about it, Sir Lincoln..."

  "Oh yeah?" A wicked grin peeled his lips back from his teeth as more sweat dripped from his nose and more cockweed met its doom. "Where?"

  A naughty giggle made his cock tingle. No, wait, that was a cheeky bit of cockweed looking for its namesake. Thud. Gone. His masculinity was saved from horticultural absorption.

  "My pussy, Sir Lincoln. It's sooooo hungry for a certain gentleman to touch it and fill it and make it happy."

  And he thought he'd been sweating before? Sir Lincoln's whole body felt like it was radiating enough degrees Kelvin to start a thermo-nuclear reaction. His cock shot to full arousal, stretching his tights painfully.

  "I'm so wet, lover."

  Zara's voice continued its encouraging—and distracting—version of phone sex with Sir Lincoln in a garden that was trying to kill him. Talk about multitasking...

  "My thighs are wet, my pussy's wet—I can't touch myself, darling. I ache, but only you can fulfill me..."

  Sir Lincoln ducked again—just in time. "Sweetheart, I'm hard as nails too. But you're not exactly making it easy for me here..."

  His next foray wasn't as successful. "Ouch. Fucking shit..." He saw a distinct flicker beneath his feet and his life bar dropped a couple of points.

  "I can touch my breasts, though..."

  Aaaargh.

  "They're aching too, Sir Lincoln. My nipples are so hard, just waiting for your hands, your mouth...perhaps I could push them together and you could slide your cock up between these nice round mounds...I could suck it for you..."

  Slashing wildly now, Sir Lincoln was barely holding his own against the shrubbery, let alone the continual spattering of acid snot. He was breathless, erect, soaked with his own sweat and the next time the cockweed grabbed for his crotch he'd probably come right there and then.

  "Zara..." He squawked out her name.

  "Yes, my love?"

  "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

  Chapter Seven

  In Front of Princess Zara's LCD Screen, Zara's Chamber, The Tower of Chaos

  Zara pouted.

  This was fun, goddamit. Didn't her hero have a sense of humor, for Chrissake? She'd never indulged in phone sex before—or inter-level-communications-system sex—and she was enjoying every minute of it.

  Not to mention the fact that she hadn't invented one damn thing she'd told Sir Lincoln.

  Her thighs were wet, her nipples were hard and her pussy was so achingly ready to be fucked, she wanted to scream. She had dropped her pretty robe someplace as her excitement grew, stimulated by the knowledge that he was near—so near. The room was tidy, she was approaching lift-off and if her green-clad dude screwed up at this point, she'd kill him herself.

  Fiercely, Zara bit down on her lower lip, forcing back the erotic and explicit words she wanted to utter. There was a slight flicker on the monitor and then�
��oh Great Programmers—there he was!

  She could see Sir Lincoln for the very first time, in the flesh, doing battle with the final enemies. Or pruning somebody's garden. It could have been either, except for the fact that he seemed to be indulging himself in a little baseball practice at the same time.

  Every now and again he'd stop chopping bushes and take a solid swing at something greenish yellow and gooey.

  "Eeeuuuwww." Zara's eyes opened wide as she recognized the full extent of his skill. Every time one of the gooey blobs splattered, he winced—and his lifeline dropped a little.

  Shit. Fucking shit. He was so damn close now, soooo close. Did he have enough life energy to take him to the end—and her?

  She waited, assuming the correct pose for a Princess in the midst of an anguish-inducing crisis. That was the one where her hands were clasped tightly to her breasts, her lips parted on quick breaths of concern and her pulse thudded loudly in her ears.

  Hands? Check. Breasts? Check. Lips? Check. Pulse? Well, it was throbbing in her pussy more than her ears, but what the hell. The end result was the same. A vision of naked loveliness conveying acute concern and worry.

  She checked in the mirror just to make sure. Yep. Concern and worry were written across her pretty face. And her thighs were sticky and shiny too, although that wasn't actually in the directions for anguish-induced, crisis-suffering Princesses.

  Fuck it. She was two steps beyond horny, worried her hero was gonna die before he did her—who gave a rat's ass about directions at this point? Not Zara.

  The speakers continued to broadcast his mutters and mumbles and the occasional yip of pain when a bit of goo landed on his body. But he was moving forward. At least it looked like he was moving forward.

  Except for moments like that—when he was forced backwards a smidgen.

  Zara held her breath.

  Again he moved forward, more purposefully this time. His lifeline had gone down into the yellow range, but he still had some left. Zara prayed it would be enough.

  "We interrupt this program for a message from the Great Programmers..." Zara's LCD suddenly showed a picture of a shapely wench on a weight machine.

  "Are you worried about your physical fitness? Have you noticed the pounds going on and getting harder to get off ?"

  "Noooo." Zara screamed. "I'm worried about me getting off, you assholes." She practiced a little percussive maintenance on her LCD, whacking it hard with the heel of her hand.

  Nothing worked. She had to impatiently watch the boringly stupid infomercial featuring Bimbo Body flexing muscles while wearing a black thong leotard. Of course, Bimbo did have a pretty impressive selection of muscles to display.

  Zara glanced at the mirror again and flexed her own buttocks. Huh. Maybe she did need a workout or two. Absently she grabbed paper and pencil and jotted down the phone number, just as Bimbo walked into the sunset with some studly cover model type dude.

  "And now we return you to your exciting program already in progress..."

  About fucking time. A girl could die here from unfulfilled lust while some sponsor paid a few bills. Zara strained to see Sir Lincoln, almost hidden by lush green foliage. His lifeline was getting shorter all the time, the yellow all but gone and sinking down into the green.

  Shit. No, please no. Don't let him crap out on me at this point...pleeeeeese?

  Zara prayed with all her might, gaze glued to the screen. He was so frickin' cute, so well built, so—so—so everything she wanted. Everything she needed. And ooooh. A gap in the shrubbery showed her one hellaciously fine cock distending the fabric of those god-awful green tights.

  Wow. Her dude was well-hung, to say the least. Zara's mouth watered. She realized that the whole Magic Sword thing might have another meaning totally unrelated to the art of the blacksmith.

  Suddenly, alarms went off in her room and her screen began flashing red. "Alert. Alert. Princess Zara, alert status one please. Your hero is nearing the end of his quest."

  Yeah. Like she hadn't been at alert status one for God knew how long. "Alert status one" obviously meant horny, wet and ready to jump Sir Lincoln's bones. And his boner too.

  On tenterhooks, Zara's eyes bounced from monitor to indicator to monitor and back again. His lifeline was holding—barely—and his progress through the cloying greenery was still moving him nearer.

  But not by much.

  She was gonna explode—or implode—if she had to wait much longer. Hopping from one foot to the other, Zara gritted her teeth. And clenched her buttocks for good measure, in case there was a slight sag anywhere she couldn't see.

  She was sweating now, nearly as much as Sir Lincoln. The rain of acid goo balls seemed to have diminished a little, or maybe he was just getting better at fending them off. His swings were sure and powerful, and if Zara had owned a Major League baseball team, there'd have been a contract for several million dollars waiting for him at the dugout.

  Just when she thought she couldn't stand it anymore—her world shattered around her.

  Brilliant flashes of light illuminated the sky outside her window, followed by rainbows of color flickering across the LCD monitor. Fireworks exploded, their sharp crackles offset by searing white strokes of lightning.

  Music crashed into her ears, loud and with lots of drums. It was over-the-top orchestral, great swelling chords of a voluptuous and over-ripe movie finale. It would have made Beethoven deaf if he hadn't been deaf already. And dead too.

  Zara winced and shut her window in a hurry, but nothing drowned out the sound of an entire symphony orchestra apparently having an orgasm over their instruments. Her hands trembled and her palms were wet as she realized the implications of this immense Son-et-Lumi¬ère show.

  Sir Lincoln had triumphed over adversity, boldly striding through all the levels of the game to vanquish the final villain and was even now approaching her door.

  About fucking time!

  - - -

  He couldn't see, could barely breathe and didn't have time to think about much of anything at all. But as soon as Sir Lincoln's sword finally touched the wooden door of the Tower of Chaos, things started to happen. Fast.

  First off, somebody let off a shitload of fireworks, accompanied by an orchestral suite that rattled the ground beneath his feet. This was no Orgasmic Fairy Theme, this was a flat out Salute to the Extraordinary Hero—him.

  He grinned and wiped the sweat from his eyes, glancing back at the remains of the cockweed patch. Yep, there were Susie and Ted, separated at long last. Although to use the word "separated" was misleading, since they were already fucking their ferret brains out. Hopefully that would cure Susie's post-nasal drip problem along with a couple of other issues they'd both endured.

  The door creaked open and Sir Lincoln strode through, boldly now, filled with enthusiasm and a hunger for Zara that swamped him right down to his grubby and tired feet.

  A winding staircase unraveled before him and he went up, two steps at a time, knowing his heroine awaited. Along with her breasts, her body and those wet thighs that had haunted him quite vividly for the last hour or so.

  He crashed his way through the final door—

  And there she was.

  "Zara." Not much else to say, really.

  "Sir Lincoln." Her hands were clasped to her bosom in the very best Princess-style. "At last."

  The romantic moment was sort of diminished by her next words. "Get in here and fuck me, damn you."

  "All riiiiight..." Now that was the sort of welcome that warmed a hero's heart.

  She was naked, gloriously glowingly naked. And she had breasts. Two of 'em. "Shit." Sir Lincoln struggled with his clothes, not knowing what to do or where to grab first.

  "Don't wait." Zara ripped into him like a voracious beast, tearing his shirt away and tugging on his tights. "Strip, you bastard. I can't hold on much longer..."

  He dithered over where to put his hands. "You've got beautiful nipples, baby...two of 'em."

  "Yeah, yeah. A mat
ched set. Who cares? Fuck me." She tore off his tights. "Oh wow. Oh dude..." His cock erupted from the remains of his tights into her willing clasp. She sure was one horny little Princess.

  Not that Sir Lincoln was complaining, of course. Especially not when she squeezed his cock and ran her hands along its length, gleefully exploring him as fast as she could. "Oh yeah, this is gonna work so good, honey." She flicked her finger over the slit at the end, bringing a gasp of pleasure to Sir Lincoln's throat.

  Not that he could utter it since he had a mouthful of nipple at the time.

  Sadly, he had to release it with a pop. "I can't wait." He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her to the wall. "Right here, right now. First time, at least."

  "I'm so there." She slipped a thigh up around his hip and grabbed handfuls of his ass cheeks. "Do me, Sir Lincoln. I'm gonna die if you don't."

  Ever the obedient hero, Sir Lincoln of Green did Princess Zara up against the cool stone walls of the Tower of Chaos.

  He thrust into her without further ado, barely holding back a squeal of delight as he sank deeply into hot, wet, willing woman. Heroes shouldn't squeal—it was unmanly. But shit, he sure wanted to.

  And he probably shouldn't have pounded his hips against her body like a frenzied jackhammer—but he couldn't stop.

  She was squeezing him so tight with her inner muscles that any and all rules flew out the window. It was all about fucking Zara until both of them screamed out the orgasm to end all orgasms.

  And at the rate he was going, that didn't take too long, either.

  With one final massive thrust that shook the room and knocked a couple of pictures askew, Sir Lincoln came inside his Princess—great honking spurts of cum flooding her body and dripping down over both of them.