Description After pissing off his game-developer ex, Vlad finds himself inside an open-world gay erotic fantasy game where everything about him is up to 11—and, unless he undertakes a perilous quest, further changes will await him.
|Updated||21 Sep 2019|
It happened on my nightly security rounds—my last nightly security rounds, as it turned out, though I didn’t know it at the time. I was making a 2 a.m. pass through the sprawling bullpen where the A-team game designers worked and noticed that one of the geniuses was still hard at work, his monitors casting a glow over the whole left side of the room. I knew instantly who it was and detoured to loom behind him, a sneer crawling over my face before I could stop it.
“Oh, very realistic,” I scoffed, startling Leo out of the usual deep dead-to-the-world work focus he called concentration.
“Damn it, Vlad!” he barked. His hand jerked up from his mouse toward the monitors, like he intended to turn them off, but he pulled it back and slumped in his chair, grimacing. I’d already seen it—there was no point in hiding it.
I don’t think he was really that worried I’d narc on him for working in his own, secret X-rated fantasy game project in his off-time, even though we both knew misappropriation of company resources like that was a termination offense. Our brief bout of fucking a year ago may have ended kinda badly—we really had nothing in common other than the fact that he thought I was hot, and I agreed with him—but that didn’t mean I was going to sell him out to Hexacorp. What he could expect, though, was that I’d make fun of him for designing a world where everything was just a little too ridiculous to be taken seriously.
I bent and looked closer. “Seriously, Leo,” I said, shaking my head a little. “Are those his pecs, or is he shoplifting a couple of pumpkins?”
“Shut up,” Leo said, a little more heatedly than I expected. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, and I tried not to look. His adorkable thing was my kryptonite—that was what had got me started with him. I concentrated on his carnal geek-out on the screen to distract myself, then squinted and looked closer with a frown.
The three-D figure on his screen looked familiar. In fact… he kinda looked like me, apart from the crazy proportions. Was that how he saw me? Or maybe imagined me? Because the guy on his screens was excessively built, and I mean that literally. I was pretty proud of my real-life muscles, naturally—I was packing a vintage Marky Mark physique into my security uniform whereas this guy looked like two Mr. Olympias mashed together, only with a waist smaller than mine and my own prettier-than-I’d’ve-liked mug pasted on up top under a mane of my wavy raven-black hair. And—
“Whoa, wait,” I objected, bending forward a little further, so that my tight belly was resting on his shoulder. “Is that his dick?”
“Don’t you have rounds to do?” Leo gritted out.
“It’s, like, the size of an arm, hanging there,” I said, astonished. “I mean, a regular guy’s arm, not this guy.”
“Vlad—” Leo growled ominously.
I was laughing. “Seriously, how is he even going to run with that thing?” I scoffed, staring at the huge, heavy-looking bulge stretching out the character’s taut, charcoal-gray leggings from inside his mini-kilt all the way down past his knee. Leo was seething as I bent over him, but that was only egging me on. I have a weakness for getting people’s goats, and then fucking that goat until it begged for mercy. Or however you’d extend that metaphor. “And forget fighting with that thing,” I went on relentlessly. “Look at it, it must weigh a ton.” At that moment I saw that the end of the bulge had a faintly perceptible cleft, and corrected myself. “Sorry, they must weigh a ton,” I said, chuckling. “What are they for, fuck-choking two orcs at once? I mean, wow, that’s—”
Leo erupted from his seat and faced me, fully enraged. “Shut up!” he bellowed, and it was so unexpected I took a step back and raised my hands.
“Dude, relax,” I said placatingly. “I was just razzing you, like always. I didn’t mean—”
But Leo wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were full of fury—and determination. “No, I mean it. Shut your face now.” His lips were curled and I saw intent in him, though what that intent signified I as yet had no idea.
He pulled open a drawer in his desk and pulled out a black, home-made-looking remote, barely taking his eyes off me long enough to do so. He raised it, and for a second I thought it was some kind of weapon and took another step back, hands raised a couple inches higher. Rather than aim it at me, however, he pointed the remote upward. There were a series of sharp slamming sounds and suddenly I was being smacked with fiercely intense green and blue ceiling-mounted floodlights that seemed to be smacking on from every direction, pinning me in place like an accused supervillain about to be eviscerated by a panel of stuck-up, godlike types with a self-proclaimed mission to judge and destroy evil. I wanted to run, and I should have, but I was so shocked I forgot my feet were capable of moving.
“I’ve had enough,” Leo’s voice said from beyond the lights. He was calm and unemotional now, the fury mostly spent. I’d seen him like this—when he gets fixated on something he’s determined to do, he’s relentless and cold. It’s kinda scary, especially when it’s directed at you instead of some problem on a screen. “We worked on this for weeks, me and Wayne,” he said. “We were going to stick it out and wait ‘til the game was fully beta-tested. You’d go on vacation and not come back—no one would muss you. It was all planned. But I am so done with you.”
I was so confused. Wayne, his best friend? He was a particle physicist, not a game designer. What did he have to do with this shit? And—fuck. What did he say? No one would miss me? My pulse was racing, and I was so stunned and confused, not to mention more than a little terrified, that I thought I was in serious danger of passing out. Which would have been embarrassing as fuck, and very possibly fatal to boot.
I peered into the darkness beyond the lights and thought I could just make out Leo’s face. It was stony and unforgiving. Shit! I was boned. “Leo, babe—!” I pleaded.
He raised the remote again, and this time he did point it at me.
“Good luck,” he sneered as his thumb pressed down on the remote, and my last thought was, Fuck, my ex is one sarcastic bitch.
“Move along, Behemoth,” I heard a voice say. “Yer blockin’ the road.”
I blinked and saw nothing in front of me but wharves under a evening sky and a few scraggly ships creaking in the ebbing tide, most of them still bustling with human activity even at this apparently late hour. Beyond them a dark sea stretched to the horizon, dappled with the reds of a sunset already being chased away by the indigos and black of the coming night. The place stank of fish in a way that seemed extra-intense, as if my sense of smell had been jacked up—I could hear a lot of noise that was tough to sort out, too, like something was up with my hearing. And there was something somewhere close by that was tugging at me ever-so-faintly deep inside my guts—what the fuck was that? Not to mention I was feeling a kind of low-level arousal all of a sudden, like I’d been watching hot gays making out all night—only it felt inexplicably like this was my natural state, like I was always more than a little turned on all the time, twenty-four seven. The hell? I mean, I was a randy enough guy, and plenty of sex came my way with a smile and a strategic wardrobe; but this felt like I needed to get off soon and keep getting off every few hours from here to kingdom come.
A throat cleared and I looked down to see a gruff, weathered-looking but rather handsome fellow looking up at me dourly, a lantern raised in one hand. He was around thirty, maybe a bit more, and was wearing dark, well-made clothes of a uniform-like cut the significance of which I didn’t recognize. Though he seemed to be of ordinary human proportions he barely rose up to my chest—a chest, I realized with sudden dismay, that I could barely see over, and that the guy in front of me kept glancing at like he couldn’t take his eyes off it for long.
Wait—this was that chest.
No. Way. No way.
My brain put it together in seconds, and I didn’t even stop to ponder the ludicrousness of it—only that it had been done to me, with that fucking remote. “Leo!!” I cried out, ignoring the disdainful watchman, or whatever he was. People were pushing past me on either side of a boardwalk connecting the wharves, and behind me I heard people cursing at me to get out of the way. I ignored them too.
“LEO!!” I bellowed, instinctively raising my voice toward the sky.
“Now see here, Master Behemoth,” the watchman remonstrated. “My name is Mortag, not ‘Leo’; and I’ll thank you not to be making a ruckus on the Queensblood Eve.”
“Get the fuck out of the way!” someone behind me demanded. “By the gods’ buttholes, is his brain as thick as his hams?” This remark drew a laugh, and I felt my face redden. I’d always had a sore spot about the dumb muscle thing. I had a damn bachelor’s! Sure, I wasn’t an MFA digital designer or fancy particle physicist like some people, but—
“If I might make a suggestion,” the watchman, Mortag, said, breaking into my thoughts. “If you head to the Nightingale Inn and tell them I sent you, they’ll have a free mug of ale for you. How does that sound?”
I looked back down at this Mortag guy. His jaw was rough with the night’s stubble, but his dark blue eyes shone even in the light of his lantern, and his face, if stormy at the moment, was very clearly more than handsome. The watchman, for his part, seemed to be forcing himself to look only at my face, as if scoping the full extent of my form might trigger some unprofessional behavior on his part, or at least a stronger temptation to same. A stray thought surfaced in my own head, about how, if this really was the gay fantasy-erotica world Leo had designed, there might not even be any guys in it who weren’t good-looking fuckers.
Hmph. Maybe worse things could happen than for me to… dally here. At least until Leo—what? Let me out? Fat chance of that happening, I thought sourly. I’d pissed him off for good. And—shit, they’d been planning to stick me here anyway, I remembered abruptly. Leo had even said I wouldn’t be missed. The only difference between their devious plan and my having been chucked here impulsively after I’d unwittingly goaded Leo a bridge too far was that the open world of the game and all its mechanics hadn’t yet been put through the full battery of post-development validation trials for the various bugs to be uncovered and fixed. Great.
So what were the other possibilities? Maybe I’d be here until… what else would end this? Well, if Hexacorp discovered Leo’s little illicit “back door” project they’d absolutely shut it down, and me with it. That sounded all too likely the more I thought about it. Inevitable was probably the right word for that scenario.
No. Fuck no. No, I’d find my own exit from this place, even if I had to rip a hole in this world with my bare hands.
And that meant finding out what I was up against. Which meant… working the locals.
“Sorry,” I said to Mortag, trying on a shamefaced smile. My voice sounded impossibly deep and strangely fluid in my ears, but I ignored the unsettling dissonance with twenty-five years of hearing myself talk and soldiered on. “I don’t know these parts,” I explained, even as my brain continued to freak out over speaking with a voice that wasn’t mine. “Where is the… Nightingale, you said? If you point me in the right direction, I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” Talking about hair reminded me of my own, and I brushed back my long, wavy black locks behind my ear, a semiconscious gesture I still retained from the days I’d actually hair long hair (though not this long).
Mortag stared up at me, looking slightly stunned, or maybe stoned was more like it. “Fuck, his voice,” said someone behind me, and it sounded almost like a moan.
Then I understood. I was having an effect on him, with my voice. My sexy voice. Others too, sounded like. My constant, low-level arousal amped up. I could just bend down and kiss him, I thought. I could probably fuck him. Geez, was there a “great responsibility” speech for sentient game characters with uncanny sex powers? Probably some NPC in this world had one all ready for me.
I kept myself in check and waited, with difficulty. Mortag blinked a couple times, then seemed to force himself into focus. “Directly ahead of you and to the right, just beyond the last warehouse,” Mortag said faintly. He recovered a bit more. “Don’t forget to say I sent you,” he added, more firmly.
“I won’t,” I said. “Thank you… Mortag.” As I’d guessed, using his name punctuated the effect of my strangely unnatural voice, and Mortag’s eyes widened slightly and a small sound escaped his throat before he wrenched his eyes away and pushed roughly past me. I smirked to myself and started down the boardwalk, rivulets of people passing around me as I moved through them like a giant. As I’d guessed, walking around with the muscle bulk of two bodybuilders and enough junk in my pants to inseminate an army—not just massive knee-length dongs as big as my new buddy Mortag’s arms but balls at least as big as grapefruits as well—was ridiculously awkward and, unnervingly, more than a little self-stimulating thanks to all the friction on top of my not being able to get it out of my head just exactly what this body was designed for. Geez, trust Leo to have the most impractical fantasy kinks imaginable, and then stick me with them.
How big was I? How big would these knee-length wangs get when they were hard? It would feel so good to get hard now, I kept thinking. So good. These cocks, they probably were jacked to feel way better than my real cock. I could just get hard, right now, and find out… May get Mortag to help, and some of his other watchmen dude, they were security guys like me, always up for a little break in the monotony…
I had to keep pushing the thought away. No hard-ons, not yet. I had to chant it like a mantra. No hard-ons, no hard-ons. This crazy fucked up sex bod would be a blessing and a curse, that was becoming obvious.
At least I didn’t have horns. Did I? No, Vlad, you saw the character, and there’d been no horns. Stop psyching yourself out—you’ve got enough problems without that.
I tried to put my freakiness out of my head for now and just kept walking, keeping my legs a little apart from each other as I did so out of simple necessity. Soon I was passing the last wharves on my left, and the end of the warehouses on my right. No sooner was the last of these behind me than I saw a large and boisterous-looking inn come into view. It was loud inside, with what sounded like a babble of a whole city in its walls, and I couldn’t tell whether my upgraded hearing or the inn’s rowdy customers were more to blame for the din. I stopped and stared at it a moment… but there was no point in delaying.
“This is the most fucked up version of beta-testing ever,” I grumbled to myself as I mounted the wide, well-made porch and pushed through the doors into the establishment.
“Hi,” I said to the bartender, a willowy youth with pale green hair who wouldn’t have been out of place propping up the bar or dirty dancing with five guys at once in three quarters of the clubs I’d ever been in—most of which were almost as crowded as this place was, and a lot less rowdy. As if to further his resemblance to a club twink, he even had a four silver earrings on the side of his left lobe, with the other ear left blank.
I supposed I shouldn’t judge by appearances, though. Maybe the rings were his kill count, and the right ear was left empty for future rub-outs.
The barkeep looked up at my greeting, and his face immediately blossomed into a saucy smile. “Hey,” he said, pitching his voice above the noise, though with whatever had happened to my ears I could hear him well enough anyway. “What can I get you, Mister Behemoth?”
That word again. Was that a… race around here? Was there a land of guys like me? That didn’t sound right, knowing Leo. Maybe it was just a legendary thing, like calling some Colossus after the Colossus of Rhodes. “Hey,” I replied. “Er, Mortag sent me.” I felt like the idiot who said the code-word aloud to the cashier instead of texting it like you were supposed to, but it seemed to work.
The youth eyed me shrewdly. “Causing a disturbance on the pier?” he asked.
I gave him that same smile-of-manufactured-humility I’d given the watchman. “Not intentionally,” I said.
The barkeep sucked in a long breath like he couldn’t stop himself from partaking of me one second longer, even separated as we were by the counter. His eyes rolled back and his head fell backwards a bit like his neck had gone boneless. I rolled my own eyes. There were drama queens in every world.
“I do not doubt it,” he said. He fixed me suddenly with his dark brown eyes again. “My name is Maj,” he said. “Instead of shaking hands we should make out a bit. It’s the custom here, you know. You don’t want to come off as a tourist, do you?” he asked with a quick wink.
I smiled despite myself, and my heavy, sex-ready cocks twitched their interest in Maj’s scheme. He was very cute and would no doubt be an enthusiastic lay, though my tastes ran more toward the quietly handsome, nerdy types, even now that I’d been screwed over by one. Before I could say anything, though, a gruff voice beside me interjected, “Don’t taunt the poor Behemoth, Majquaith, and give him his pint of ale.”
I turned curiously to see, standing next to me at the bar, none other than the watchman I’d just left behind on the boardwalk. “Mortag?” I said, surprised.
But my handsome, stubble-bearded intercessor scowled mightily at that, and Maj chuckled as he went about filling a large wooden flagon as if I’d betrayed my tourist colors after all. Belatedly I saw that the man in front of me, though facially identical and of the exact same build, was dressed very differently. In place of the somber, uniform-like outfit Mortag had been wearing, his doppelganger was kitted out in loose clothes all in pale white and a matching soft hat atop his loose, dark brown hair.
“Gatrom,” the newcomer huffed, as if I were mistaking the sun for the moon, and was the fifth idiot today to do so.
“He’d the local wizard,” Maj confided as he passed me my ale over the counter. “You should listen—he knows all about Behemoth Syndrome.”
Huh, so it’s a “syndrome”. That’s… ominous. “Sorry,” I said to Gatrom. “You look just like him.” I took a gulp of the ale—it was surprisingly decent. Since the wizard seemed to want to talk to me I looked around for a table to sit and talk, but while there were indeed one or two empty table even in a place as crowded as this, I would have thought twice about sitting on the elderly, spindly-looking wooden chairs they were matched with at my old weight, so forget whatever I weighed now. I decided remaining standing at the bar would be my best option. “Do you know all about it? This Behemoth Syndrome?”
He eyed me soberly. Maj handed him a mug of ale as well, but he ignored it. “I know many things,” he said. “And one is that you are in grave danger.”
Of course. “How so?” I prodded, taking another swig. I was already getting used to the bunching of my gigantic biceps, though they were big enough they were almost in the way for something like lifting a mug to your lips.
Gatrom fixed me with a penetrating stare that was much like his his alter-ego’s. “You know nothing of your… condition?” The way he said the last word was weird, and as I registered this I suddenly caught of whiff of his extreme arousal. He’d been acutely aware of my slightly chubbed giant dicks this whole time and was so turned on by them he was brutally hard, right now. Knowing that made me a little cocky, though I was already aware that it was like gasoline being thrown on a fire.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You will continue to grow, just as you have been. Your strength, your physique, your stamina, your—” (here he glanced at Maj) “—effect on others…” Maj shivered and fanned himself ostentatiously.
I pursed my lips thoughtfully, ignoring the twink bartender. “Sounds good so far,” I said.
Gatrom’s handsome face darkened with disapproval—even that was kind of hot. I was into this guy—both of him, I realized. “As you grow, you will reach points of division,” he continued harshly. Seeing my incomprehension he added, “What gets too big will divide in twain, each a reasonable size once more. Muscles, extremities…” I must have been staring at him like a village idiot, because he scowled even harder. “By the Sky Bull’s testicles, Behemoth, it has already happened to your monstrous sex-member,” he exclaimed.
“Ah,” I said, suddenly getting it. My two giant wangs—the feature of my fantasy-fuck body that Gatrom was most aware of. It almost made sense. I smelled his arousal spiking—he liked the idea of not just the two arm-sized dicks I had now, but more like that to come. Fuck, this conversation was going to need to end soon. But as soon as I thought that I realized there was something else I needed to know.
I cocked my head sideways at him. “Is that what happened to you?” I asked.
Gatrom gasped. “Of course not,” the wizard said, offended.
“But you and Mortag…” I protested.
“He cast a spell to be in two places at once,” Maj cut in. He was leaning forward, elbows on the counter and cheeks in his hands, as if my meeting with Gatrom was being performed for his entertainment. “The old fool didn’t realize it would actually make two of him, and that it couldn’t be undone,” added with a curve to his lips.
“D’prennian spellbooks are treacherous,” the wizard groused. “That grimoire had it in for me, I know it.”
I frowned slightly. “So, why is he a city watchman and not a wizard?” I asked.
Gatrom gaped at me like I was truly stupid, and even Maj seemed surprised. “You can’t divide magic-adeptness!” Gatrom said, sounding scandalized.
“Of course,” I said. I was becoming distracted by how good-looking he was. I was ready to wrap this up and propose activities other than trading portentous pronouncements in a noisy, crowded bar. Man, this jacked up body needed serious attention, and not infrequently. “So, I’ll get more arms and legs and cocks,” I said. “And I guess pecs, since these things can’t possibly get much bigger and not be totally in the way.” I shrugged my boulder-like shoulders. “I can work with that.”
“You will also,” he said darkly, clearly intent on alarming me into some kind of action, “become more and more obsessed with sex and ejaculation.” When I to respond to that with amusement he added ruthlessly, “To the point where you will be able to think of nothing else.”
My smile faded. That was a horse of another color. I might like sex as much as the next Behemoth, but I was not at all keen on losing my identity and sense of self over it. Stalling, I took a long drink of the ale. It was potent enough it was having an effect already even on someone my size, though, fortunately or unfortunately, part of that effect was to increase my level of horniness a notch or three.
“I take it you have a solution,” I said at last, setting the half-full mug back down on the counter with the intent of leaving it be for a bit.
Gatrom nodded. “You must travel to the Mountains of Yur,” he said. Maj drew in a breath—yeah, the Mountains of Yur weren’t exactly in commuting distance of wherever we were, and probably all manner of trials and tribulations lay between—hordes of hunky barbarians, herds of angry centaurs, swarms of sharknados, gods knew what. “There,” Gatrom persisted, “you must harvest the copious ejaculate of the Great Dragon, Urar-uramar.” A gasp from Maj this time. “From that I can fashion a potion that will arrest your condition—and, if we are not too late, possibly even reverse it.”
I blinked at him. Okay, so much for leaving the ale aside. I grabbed it and took a long gulp, then slammed out down again. I eyed him steadily—pretty much. “So you’re coming too,” I said. Just saying the word “coming” was threatening to make me hard, that’s how horny I was now.
He nodded reluctantly. “Your condition is too advanced to await your return,” he admitted.
I said, “And Mortag.” When he seemed about to protest I explained, “We may need a strong pair of hands.” And I have two dicks that will need sucking, I added mentally. Again, Gatrom reluctantly agreed.
I was done. Everything else could wait for morning. Without preamble I picked up the handsome wizard and slung him over my shoulder, garnering me a yelp of protest from Gatrom and a general laugh and much clapping from the rowdy patrons of the bar. “Put me down,” he griped.
“Oh, I will,” I promised. I pointed at the twink—he’d come in handy after all—literally, as I was going to need a lot of hands for what I had planned. “You,” I directed. “You’re with us.” I’d have preferred Gatrom’s equally handsome double, but there’d be time for that on our spoogequest to the Mountains of Yur. I made for the stairs, wondering what dragon jizz tasted like.
Maj immediately turned and yelled into the dark archway behind the bar at the end farthest from the doors. “Missy! Cover for me!” he called, and then he was scampering after me up the stairs without waiting for an answer. Meanwhile I was trying to figure out how to walk with expanding erections in these stretchy but snug leggings—maybe in this world Behemoths didn’t need pants, I thought hopefully. Once I got upstairs I wouldn’t be needing pants for a long time, that was for sure. Gatrom and Maj were about to learn first hand just how much of a Behemoth I was.