Eroma

  Fotina was a teen Moor. This might be getting relevant.

  “One day I needed to send a package, but I was busy with other things, so I asked Thea to do it for me. She took the package and the car, and drove to the nearest package office. She did not get there. A texting driver crossed the line and struck her head-on. She died in agony, her blood on the pavement.” He grimaced. “Naturally the other driver survived almost unscathed, physically and legally. He lied about the texting, and they couldn’t prove it, so he remains on the road today. I would put a malign spell on him, but the coven forbids such spiteful use of magic.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fotina said. It was just a story within the setting, explaining his attitude, but it moved her.

  “Thea strongly resembled you, physically,” Tris said. “When I look at you, I can’t help seeing her. An outstandingly lovely Moorish woman, gracious and personable.”

  “And you can’t have sex with your sister,” she said, getting it. “Even an adopted one”

  “Worse. You remind me of my overwhelming guilt. If I had not asked her to do my errand for me, she would be alive today. I should have been the one killed, not her.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Not your fault. I know intellectually that you have no connection to her. But emotionally, it is quite another matter.”

  She nodded. “I have a brother IRL. I wouldn’t have sex with him either, and if he died because of me I’d never forgive myself.”

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  “But I am not your sister, or any reincarnation of her. You shouldn’t take your guilt out on me.”

  “I know it. You are an innocent victim, as she was. But my emotion—” He broke off, then dropped his trousers and under-shorts. “See.”

  She saw. His penis was completely limp. He had no sexual desire for her at all.

  Or did he? She stepped out of her own clothing and stood naked before him. There was still no arousal.

  “May I?” she asked.

  “By all means. If you can find a way to seduce me, I would welcome it.”

  She went to him, hugged him close, and kissed him. He went through the motions, but there was no passion. She stepped back half a step and reached for his penis. She squeezed it and tickled his scrotum. Nothing. Finally she turned around and set her bottom against it. That had instantly excited any man she had tried it on in the game before. Still nothing.

  Tris was truly impotent with her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She was not ready to give up. “Suppose I cut my hair off, or donned a wig? So that I looked different?”

  “You could try it. But I already know you as yourself, so I don’t think it would work, any more than it would if my sister had donned a wig. Appearance triggered it, but appearance can’t un-trigger it.”

  This understandable hang-up was about to wash her out of the game. This was a challenge, all right. How could she possibly handle it?

  She feared she couldn’t. Rather than stretch this out further, it was better to acknowledge her failure and expediently end it.

  She dressed and left the room. “Where are you going?” Tris called.

  “Out,” she called back over her shoulder.

  “Because of me?”

  “Because I’m not the player I thought I was.”

  He followed her. “Please, Fotina, I would do it if I could! I don’t want you to suffer on account of me.”

  “Not your fault.” She forged on out of the mansion. There was the parked limousine. On impulse she went to the driver’s side and got in. She would simply drive out of the setting, foolish as that might be. It really would be simpler to speak the words of quitting the game, and be done with it. Why wasn’t she doing that?

  He clawed the opposite door open and lurched into the adjacent seat as she started the vehicle moving. “Fotina!”

  “Let me go in peace!” she snapped.

  “I can’t. I just don’t know how to help you.”

  She pulled out onto the highway. The limo handled beautifully. She doubted she had ever before touched a car this expensive, in or out of the game. It was a pleasure to drive.

  “Then don’t try,” she said, glancing at him.

  “Look out!”

  An opposing car had drifted out of the opposite lane and was coming right at them. Another texting driver, maybe even the same one that had taken out his sister. For the moment she was frozen, her reflexes inadequate to the need.

  Tris reached across and grabbed the wheel. He jerked it toward him, and the limo swerved grandly.

  The other car side-swiped the limo instead of hitting it head-on, but the impact was still considerable. They spun out of control, tires squealing and popping. They came to rest beside the highway, upright.

  “I couldn’t save her, but at least I can save you,” Tris said. His face was flushed. “I’m damned if I’ll kill both of you!”

  “Not your fault,” she said. “I should have kept my eyes on the road.”

  “Oh, Fotina, I’m an ass! I put you at such risk!”

  “No, you—”

  Her words were cut off by his kiss.

  Soon they were in the throes of it, clothing literally torn free, his member jamming into her as she pulled her knees up to her chin on the seat. That was a new position, and made her cleft fully available despite the awkwardness of the vehicle. He reached the trigger, and they suffered mutual bliss together.

  She had, after all, seduced him. Not by any conscious intention or artifice; it was sheer luck. But it was one great sexual episode.

  It also eliminated him as a prospect for the one who hated her. Tris had been honest with her throughout, in game terms, and his final passion had been sincere, she was sure.

  In due course help arrived, and they explained about the texting driver. There had been other witnesses, and the driver had been run down and arrested. They were in the clear.

  The next warlock was Orton, a Nordic. His magic was invisibility. He took her to his place of work, a shoe factory, and made them both invisible amidst the lathes and punches. When it happened, she could not see him or herself at all, but felt his hand on her bottom. He bent her over a pile of leather and had at her from behind, ramming in until he found her cervix and set them both off.

  Other workers turned to stare at the seemingly empty spot from which sounds of ultimate passion emanated. Finally, one walked across to feel the space with his hand. Fotina saw him coming just in time and stood up high enough so that his hand touched her right breast, Orton still embedded below.

  The man’s eyes widened and he retreated. “You’ll never guess what I thought I felt,” he said. “That’s some ghost!”

  Fotina had to stifle her laughter, because they were not inaudible.

  Orton finally withdrew, and they got quietly out of there. She had to admit it had been fun.

  The next was Ramos, a Mongol whose magic was illusion. He was an ugly man, but he used illusion to transform himself so as to be more esthetic. Except for one detail.

  “Your penis is projecting from your chest.”

  “Oh.” His image fuzzed, then reformed with the penis in the right place. He sat down and she sat on it, taking it in, and it was perfectly serviceable. Except that in the throes of orgasm he lost control of the illusion, and the penis image floated across the room, fountaining beautifully.

  She sought to kiss him, but he used illusion to hide his face and she couldn’t find it. All right, this was essentially a business association and he did not have to pretend emotion he did not feel. Still, she was slightly nettled, a feeling she carefully concealed.

  Next was Vere, an Elf whose magic was contortion. He twisted himself into a phenomenal knot with only his erect penis sticking out. Fotina climbed on it and took it in, causing it to spout so vigorously that the knot was in danger of fraying.

  She completed much of the roster without any real problem. Soon she had to identify the one who hat
ed her, and she had no idea. All the men had been attentive, and all had evinced real pleasure in the sex. As warlocks, they needed that interaction on a regular basis; it enhanced their powers. They had had a succession of house mistresses, but most had been turned off not by the frequent sex, but by the magic.

  So who hated her? She struggled with that, reviewing each relationship. Tris? Because Pedro had beaten him in Round 4, and she was Pedro’s girlfriend? No, what she had come to know of Tris did not suggest that small a compass; the man had accepted his loss with grace and seemed to wish her well. Yes, he had at first been impotent with her, but that was not at all the same as hate. Kemo, who had recruited her? Again, he did not seem to harbor any resentment. Orton, with the invisibility? They had had such fun in his office! He had given every indication of enjoying her company. Ramos?

  Perhaps it was Ramos, with his power of illusion to make his ugliness become handsomeness? He had declined to kiss her, alone of all the warlocks. Could he resent her natural prettiness, holding it against her? It was a thin clue, but that was the most likely prospect.

  Meanwhile, she had one more warlock to do, the last in the roster. Others had privately warned that he was a bit backward, and that prior coven maids had had trouble seducing him. It wasn’t that he was ugly, or violent, or uninterested. He was just different.

  Fotina nerved herself and entered the room of Wade, the thirteenth warlock. There she found three things: a booklet, a bassinet with a baby doll, and a stone statue of a man with a huge erection.

  The statue was surely Wade in a state of magical transformation. She had been told he was a Moor, and the statue was Moor. He was a handsome, well-constructed man. But that penis was simply too big for any normal intercourse, apart from its stone state. It might be four inches in diameter, and about six long. What a monster!

  She looked more closely at the doll in the bassinet. It was a newborn Moorish baby girl, every detail authentic, a perfect little darling. It looked almost ready to come alive. What was it doing here? Men did not normally play with dolls. Yet this was surely no game.

  She picked up the booklet. It turned out to be a birth announcement: Born this day (and it was today’s date) to Wade and Fotina, a girl, 22 inches long, 7.5 pounds, Fortuna. Share our happiness.

  Fotina stared at the words. The doll was supposed to be her baby with Wade? The man she had not even yet met? How could this possibly be, even in simulation?

  Obviously this was her challenge to figure out. It had to make some kind of sense, somehow. She merely had to fathom it.

  Had she met Wade a year ago, romanced him, married him, had sex with him, gotten pregnant, and finally birthed their baby, this would be theoretically possible. But she had not. She had been at the warlock’s coven only a few days, game time, and a few hours IRL time. So in what frame of reference could there be a birth announcement?

  She remembered the rapid romance of the waiters and waitresses in Round Three. In the game, things could happen fast. She shuddered. She didn’t want anything like that.

  The realistic doll obviously represented the baby. Was it what Wade desired, to marry her and sire her child? Even the name, Fortuna, resembled her game name.

  Another mystery: if he secretly loved her, why become a statue when it was time for her to come to him; for the statue was entirely too realistic, apart from the grossly thickened member. She believed it was Wade. Was it part of her challenge to get him transformed back to flesh?

  They had said he was backward. This wasn’t backward, it was crazy.

  Maybe it was a riddle? She had to figure out just what this tableau meant, interpret it, and seduce Wade. There had to be a key.

  Backward. Part of it was: birth announcement and baby, before there was either sex or any relationship.

  Then it came to her: this whole setting was backward! She had to go through it in reverse order. Announcement, baby, sex, romance. That might seem impossible, but with magic just about anything could happen. If she could go through the steps, she could prevail.

  Except for that massive stone penis. Even a living one that size would be a hazard, and unyielding stone would be worse. How could she possibly get that thing into her?

  She ran it through her mind, this way and that, and had an idea. She rechecked the baby, then the penis. The penis was the same diameter as the baby’s head. If her vagina had dilated enough to birth the baby, just today, it should remain big enough to take in the penis.

  Of course, she had not been pregnant and had not birthed any baby. But, with magic simulation, maybe it was possible. Her vagina had stretched similarly in the Round Four Horror setting. Their private anatomy had also changed there, without their immediate notice.

  She doffed her clothing and checked herself. Yes, her vagina had been stretched, and was wet, as if she had recently given birth.

  All right. She had the birth announcement. She had the baby. Now she needed to take the next step back: the sex.

  She approached the statue. She fetched a stool and set it before him. She stood on the stool so that her groin was just above his. She moved in close. She wet her hand with her own genital juices and smeared it over the member, making it slick. She stretched her genital opening wide with her fingers and draped it over the tip of the penis. She pushed down, getting it lodged. It was only the outer lip of it, against the rounded curve of the head of his penis, but it was a fair start.

  Then she held her breath and bent her knees, letting her weight settle her on the stone member. Her vagina slowly stretched to take in the massive head. It got tight, and she was afraid it would balk, but she applied more force and managed to nudge it on over. She was cruelly distended, but she had the whole penile head inside. It was really no worse than accommodating the first satyr had been.

  She bore down, and slowly took in more of it, until at last her straining pelvis came up against his. She had taken all of him in! Her opening was wedged dramatically taut, her genital shaft was stretched tightly thin, and her belly felt as if she was riding a massive pole, but she had made it.

  What was supposed to happen now? She felt the cold phallus inside her body, that was all. It remained unyielding, as did the rest of the statue. Had she misunderstood the challenge?

  Maybe not. She simply had not yet finished. She was having sex, but not the romance.

  She lifted her face to Wade’s stone face, and kissed his hard mouth. “I love you, Wade,” she said. “Let’s get married and have a baby.”

  The stone face softened. The stone phallus inside her warmed and thrust, gushing hot fluid. He had his orgasm, and that gave her hers. She kissed his warming lips desperately as the passion swept them both.

  There was a sound behind her. The baby! Fortuna had animated and was crying for attention.

  “I must go to her,” Fotina told Wade. She got off his slackening member, stepped down from the stool, and went to the bassinet. She picked up the baby and put the infant to her breast, which was now swollen with milk. Fortuna nursed, contented.

  “Thank you,” Wade said. He was now fully human.

  “You are welcome.” She had completed the challenge, and had now done the last man, his way.

  Things fuzzed, and Fotina found herself in the main hall facing the thirteen warlocks. The baby was gone, and her innards felt normal again, as if she had not recently had massive sex and birthed a baby. “Which one of us hates you?” Kemo asked.

  “Ramos. He refused to kiss me.”

  Ramos nodded. “It was a necessary role. I am glad it’s over. I don’t hate you in reality. May I kiss you now?”

  “Yes.” She was greatly relieved that she had gotten it right.

  He kissed her warmly, and it was manifest that he did not hate her outside the role. Then he stepped back. “Thank you.”

  “Sixteen men survived Round one,” Kemo said. “Who is missing from that roster?”

  This caught her completely by surprise. A challenge of omission! She turned inward, counting off m
en. Thirteen in the Coven, plus Pedro and Lance who had survived Round Four. That was fifteen. Who else?

  She had exchanged with a number of men in Round One. There had been a joint party following Round Two, consisting of all the survivors who had made it to that round. It had been fun reconnecting, however briefly. Which one had she not seen here?

  “Brand the Mongol!” she cried.

  Brand appeared. “Thank you for remembering me,” he said.

  The scene dissolved. She knew she had qualified for the sixth and final round.

  Had Pedro also qualified? She desperately hoped so.

  Chapter 6:

  Favor

  Pedro was torn internally as he rode his horse toward the enemy castle. He had just received the news from the final, most authoritative ocular test: he was going blind, probably within three years, and it could not be prevented. Far worse than that fate, at the moment, was the prospect of facing Fotina. How was he to tell her? Obviously, he could not marry her, and inflict that on her.

  “Ho!” the guard at the castle gate challenged him. “Who are you, and why do you come here?”

  Pedro halted his horse. The script of the Round Six setting was upon him, and he had to focus on that. He had had to do some background study on his role here, which was not a simple one. Otherwise, he could have washed out because of ignorance. His private dilemma would have to wait. “I am Prince Pedro. I am here to do the King a favor.”

  The guard consulted with his superior, then swung open the gate. “Enter, Prince.”

  Soon he was ushered to the boudoir of Princess Fotina. She was lovely in her royal robe, but plainly nervous, and not pleased to see him. “Damn! Has Father decided to marry me off already, to an enemy prince? You will have to take me by force, because I will not submit willingly.”

  “And you have a knife at your lovely breast,” Pedro said.