GamerGirled For Life (Part 1) free porn video

Title: GamerGirled for Life (Part 1) Author: Cupertino Abstract: A VR game going through beta test has strange effects on Scott and one of his friends. Standing alone in a sterile all white environment of a futuristic empty warehouse, Scott inspected his scoped rifle. He couldn't wait to try it out in unison with his automatic dropdown visor, which offered him an ultra zoomed crosshair visual on any target in range. According to the specs, his tall lissome body could hold a gentle breath, pull a smooth trigger, and - with some understanding of wind conditions - perfectly plant a bullet a mile away, contacting a target with a deep penetrating Teflon coated kiss. He just wished his boots offered a more stable base. Why did the virtual world game designers make the assassin character's stiletto heels so damn tall and pointy? The architects clearly challenged the realism of the physics engine when they went too far in modeling the femme fatale with such a narrowed waist, severe arched spine, double- Ds, and built in five-inch heeled boots. Of course, with everything tested only at a beta level, the virtual game world surrounding Scott would probably go through some improvements before opening to the general public. But for a beta, it amazed and surpassed his expectations, especially on how the game affected all his senses. To Scott, breathing deeply really felt like his lungs filled with air. Movement had weight and momentum. He could even smell the burning powder of previous gunfights. What could go wrong in such a high end realistic VR world? Researching the character he had chosen, Scott had spent nights binging on forum discussions written by lucky early testers praising the female despatcher's abilities. Helpful notes had indicated the importance of maintaining a slow steady almost sensual gait when sniping from rooftops. A vigorous bout of running exposed a weakness in the sniper's targeting. Breathing heavily made the game's physical simulator induce too much heaving motion in the assassin's large breasts. The shifting bosom shook the gun, ruining the aim. Such detractors fell on players with deaf ears and wide leering eyes locked onto the liquid latex catsuit. Those gamers especially drooled over the visibly pleasing jiggle in the boobs during automatic fire. The whole package made the seductive killer popular among many male players. For the sex appeal alone, Scott forgave the designers their faults. For months he watched previews, while he anticipated the game's release. He had loved seeing the three-quarter view demos of the female assassin. As beta approached, Gamer Corp. finally released details on all their new heroes. Scott read about his mysterious crush. He lapped up her backstory of betrayal. Many times he slowly whispered her name: Madie Deadveux. When he won an invite to the open beta for him and his friends, it was on! He scrolled passed all the heroes offered and picked Madie, who could captivate any man in her virtual world. Back home, his body laid back in a relaxed repose on his bed in a pathetic little studio apartment. A visor covered his eyes, clasped the temples of his head, and buffered terabytes of WiFi waves from all the Internets. Data pulsed directly into his senses. Electrons carried him away from his unkempt flat, dropping him into a world that at first overwhelmed his mind with its textures, smells, and motions detailing his new lanky body. Dropping into VR for the first time, it took several minutes to comprehend his new surroundings. It felt so real: sound, smell, sight, and skin. The shiny rubber outfit crinkled under the arms. Sometimes the latex squeaked between his legs, stuttering his movement, mostly at the knees, when he did several quick side steps to regain balance from a misstep in his stiletto heels. Fortunately, Madie Deaveux's thighs gapped wider than most PhotoShopped swimsuit models, so the legs seldom chafed. With his virtual naughty tongue, Scott felt his plump lips and tasted a waxy red lipstick. Running his tongue over his lower lip again and again, the coating never seemed to smudge away. The taste persisted. Wiping it on the back of his gloved hand didn't remove it either. Pursing his lips together, he could still sense the lipstick's waxy gooiness. How women put up with make-up, he didn't understand or want to. He ogled himself some more. The supple curves of his body captivated his hormone driven soul. As he adapted to being inside a copy of Madie Deadveux's body, her virtual sensations tantalized and poured into his mind. Strutting around the staging area, his tiny ankles bent sideways whenever he misplaced a heel. He cursed multiple times, finally hunching down to find if any controls would retract the long steal stilettos. Since his gun could mechanically transform into different shooting configurations, why not have shoe options for comfort? Annoyed after fiddling about for a minute, he gave up pressing around the sides of his ankles. No button presented itself. He would need to research some more at home in real life. For now, the heels would just have to stay. Exasperated, he wondered: why would a super assassin wear such liabilities? Could a real woman have her feet jammed into such tiny toe boxes with seamless vamps soaring back up in hurtful arches? Shifting his weight, the fetishized footwear only ached his feet a tiny bit. He hummed and hawed, reassuring himself that he could take it. Then worries popped into his now pretty head: how would his feet feel after running and jumping? He looked at his hot bod - surely he could take a little discomfort. After all, Madie's "feature set" was awesome! Stumbling about some more, he found it easier to keep a balanced walk if he sashayed his hips. The game seemed to encourage an undulating motion. It felt ridiculous, but if it got him an advantage in gameplay, he'd do it. Having fun practicing a sudden whirling reverse turn fast draw, Scott accidentally threw his long raven-haired ponytail into a violent swing, which threw him off his stilettos. Regaining a relaxed stance, his brunette hair hung down to his well-rounded rear. Shifting his hips, the tip tickled his latex covered derri?re. If he were naked, the paintbrush like point would surely slip between his butt cheeks. He pulled the ponytail over his shoulder and inspected it. Three heavy metal rings, equally spaced apart, bounded the brunette trusses into a deadly whipping braid. The demos had showed how buttons about a finger or two above the front of his left hip would open anyone of the bands, letting it fling out as a grenade. He peered over his left breast to see the controls -- or at least he tried to. He twisted, searching. The body armor resisted rotating his waist. His eyes strained to see over the boob's horizon down into the concave hourglass curve starting above of his left hip. Using his right hand to press in the oversized breast didn't help in seeing the buttons. He barely saw a blue glow from the panel. Thwarted, he settled for feeling for its presence and in trusting that its fingertip sensors would work when needed. He remembered how the forums recommended keeping the bottom ponytail ring for last, because releasing the long free flowing hair led to other problems. "Wow!" he laughed, spinning on the tips of his tiny feet, his arms stretched out, head back as he gleefully enjoyed his new body. Giddy and jerking to a stop, he felt dizzy. He marveled at how the VR could present even a realistic vertigo. He spun again, carelessly sending his hair around like a whip. When he stopped, it swung wide, stretching out, almost doubling its length. It encircled his shoulders once, twice, and on the third round it pinned his slender arms to his sides. A loud snap stung like a lash. "Ouch!" He felt the bite on his boob. "Man, this game has all the sensations." He had read about slight tactile impacts - i.e. a euphemism for pain, obviously - but the skin under the latex suit still tingled. He rubbed it some more. "Jeeze." He'd have to be careful with his blasted ponytail. Then he noticed that he kept massaging his left boob. The soothing touch felt good. He cupped the flesh some more, feeling the heft. The flesh possessed some real weight. The outfit's plunging neckline dropped deep, exposing the skin between the boobs. He enjoyed squeezing and seeing how his added flesh pushed up in volume, deepening the exposed cleavage. He grabbed both undersides with a sturdy purchase. Pressing with different syncopathic rhythms, the cleavage inflated and relaxed, again and again -- utterly fascinating! He couldn't stop. He watched, squeezing himself so many times. Suddenly he freaked, wondering where the rest of his team was. He wouldn't want them to log in while he played with himself. His dainty hands let go and he bent at the knees, unconsciously pressing them together like a girl in a miniskirt. His catsuited body gracefully lowered and retrieved his rifle off the floor. He didn't loose balance as he did so. His mind cheered: yes! He smiled, happy at how fast he had progressed. Exploring the room, he approached a large steel door. He knew it wouldn't open till the game started. His gloved hands stroked around the control panel lights, flashing the phrase "Waiting..." "Come on guys," he said to the empty room. "I want to go!" His high heels clicked and clacked on a bright white cement floor. His steps verged on awkward, but slowly improved. He challenged himself by walking an imaginary sobriety chalk line. Maybe he could navigate in these shoes after all. After he and his buddies finished the game, he planned to stay home and do some research. Others online must have written about minimizing the occasional latex squeaks and the constant hammering heels. It all seemed too loud to actually be stealthy. Looking at the metallic sheen of his rubber encased hands, he thought how the game designers would surely need to make some corrections. Hopefully not too many though. It all felt great. Racking the slide of his gun, his dainty hands fell short of fully wrapping the grips. He irked at how sex appeal only enhanced things if it didn't get in the way of function - too much anyway. A little could be ok. He breathed. His breasts lifted. Ok, maybe a lot. He shot off some rounds aiming at lights overhead, taking out several rows. Glass shattered everywhere. The falling simulation of shards dazzled him. It was beautiful. Moments later, the glass slivers eventually disappeared and the lights restored themselves. They flickered back on. He blasted walls of perimeter windows. More glass fell. Spent brass cartridges ejected from his gun and dropped to the floor. The expended cylinders bounced around his pointed boots and under his high heels, certainly a tripping hazard if he stepped carelessly. The recoil vibrated his shoulders, jiggling his cleavage. Foreign and strange, it all felt innately like his own body. The immersed femininity really wasn't something he wanted, but the team needed a sniper and until the designers added more marksmen, he wasn't about to settle for the only other available choice of a lame bow-and- arrow guy. He kept shooting his pre-game unlimited ammunition so he could watch his chest vibrate. It captivated him. "Wow, the Madie skin is off the hook, bro," said Brendan, from IT. His huge robotic form shook the prep room with every step. The suit motors roared as the metal feet hit the ground, thud, thud. Inset into a thick metal helmet, a large blue visor hid any hints of humanity, yet clearly the glass panel locked onto something in particular. "Stop checking me out like that," said Scott, wagging a latex coated finger at him. "Wait. What do I sound like?" he asked, paying attention to a sexy French intonation for the first time. "Holly shit," said Max, materializing beside Brendan. "The game's like totally changed your voice, Scott. That is you in there, right -- girly guy?" Brendan punched Max's Samurai shoulder. "It changed yours too. You sound raspy and wise and shit. No, wait, that's my natural voice I'm hearing. Never mind." "You," said Max to Brendan, "sound like you're stuffed in a trash can." "I don't understand," said Scott. Max pursed his lips, flirting. "Talk some more." "Fuck you," answered Scott. Max tapped his heart as if he were in love. Scott looked at his body and stomped a foot in frustration. He covered his mouth with a hand as if he were impolitely chewing food. "I recorded the speech phrases. The computer has my voice. I set up the account. I did everything right." "God, Madie sounds sexy," said Brendan. "Yeah," said Max, "I'd do her. But this is not the Madie Deadveux voice in the videos. It's more of a high pitched version of you, Scott. It girlyfied you, man." "Great game feature," said Scott, throwing shade back without realizing it. "I didn't think they'd invent a new autotune for voices." "Oui, mon cheri," said Max, sounding like a fancy waiter. Switching back to his Midwestern drawl, "It's changed your accent too." "Whatever!" quipped Scott, adding an strong perturbed eye roll. "I'm ready. Are you?" He clicked his heels around Max's samurai character, who held a bow and toted a quiver of arrows. "I should have chosen the archer." His anger subsided and something else kicked in. He found himself circling Max again. "I'm calling dibs," said Max, not liking the orbiting inspection. "It's not fun having clones on the same team." Scott smiled, going full circle around Max for a third time. He wanted to reach out and stroke the Samurai's exaggerated wide shoulders. "I love how the tattoos of the koi swim down to the wrists." "You love?" asked Max. "Is the game changing your words too?" The sexy assassin bit her lower lip. Scott didn't want to admit to his choice in diction. It seemed better to let his friends think the computer screwed it up. Flustered, he racked the slide of his gun to change the subject. It ejected an unspent cartridge. He had forgotten that he had already loaded the chamber. "When does this damn game start?" The cartridge rolled to a stop in the center of the group. A few seconds later, it faded away to oblivion. "What?" said Scott, still uneasy. He wished he had chosen the archer after all, because from what he had just seen up close in person, it looked so manly, so muscular, so fuckable - he shook his head, confused. He hoped he hadn't said anything out loud. Embarrassed, he thought: forget the Samurai. Choosing the sexy assassin clearly beat any lame-o archer. After all, Madie's body felt pretty damn good - even with the boobs and slim figure needing a little mental adjustment to walk properly. Besides, maybe a flirty body would distract guys on the opposition. He'd shoot their drooling faces off - the bastards. He held up his gun, pointing it to the ceiling. His other gloved hand slid over his hips across some controls. He noticed that he could rest his wrist inside the drastic cinch of the waist. The hipbone acted like a shelf. Until that moment, the crushingly tight cinch had escaped his notice. His fingers pressed against his flat belly. He shook his shoulders to loosen up, but his torso remained stiffly boned and corseted. It turned him on. If he could get a chance during the game, he wondered about finding a nice quiet corner in the shadows to feel himself up a bit. He smirked. This would take a few games to get used to. Maybe several games. "Someone's a little too into themselves," said Cameron, now logging in as a rollerblading mad-bomber. "Man, this skin is tight! I can feel the tactile fingertips. I can sense the motion." He zipped about the room and blew up a column. A metal truss beam broke free. The bending pipes buckled in a series of pops. The support swung down, wailing in a massive descent, like a slow falling timber. More popping breaks followed. An explosion of dust hit the floor. Unfortunately, Cameron skated right under it. Purple blood splattered everywhere. "Yo!" yelled Brendan, half painted in purple cartoon blood. "Cameron just rollerbladed right into that!" Only a pair of busted legs extended out from under the wreckage. "Cameron!" huffed Max, yelling into the air. "You're such a dork. The games about to start. Log back in again. Hurry up!" As part of a preamble, the warehouse windows dimmed as if a solar ellipse hit. Videos of Gamer Corp heroes, jumping and shooting, painted every sheet of glass and ceiling span. Ads followed. The first ad showed an elephant drinking beer. "Yeah!" yelled Brandon. Logos of a nanite cosmetic company scrolled around the room followed by an animation of skin pores and winkles be reduced to smooth supple skin. A woman smiled. "Whoa!" said Max. "Who the hell is that targeted to?" Brandon's robot head motored about. Servos whirred his shoulders into a shrug. With a half enthusiastic fist pump, he yelled, "Yeah!" As Nanite Cosmetics faded out, so too did the bloody Cameron mess on the floor. The fallen debris vanished. The building rebuilt. A third ad cut in: online dating specialized for dorky personalities. Max rubbed the back of his neck, looking down. "No!" said Brendan. "You used that service?" "Woah!" Cameron yelled, as he reappeared, his rollerblader body reset to full health. "You feel pain in this beta game. Not all of it. Fuck. It hurts though. They've got to tone that down." Scott ignored the idiots and tried practicing slinging his ponytail in a circle. With a good head swerve, he got his long braid to spin faster and faster. Brendan and Max stepped back. Scott leered at them with a mischievous grin as he pointed back their way like Babe Ruth did to the outfield. His hair finished another orbit. His left hand quivered over the grenade launcher button on his left hipbone. He pursed his lips. "Don't flirt like that, dude," said Max. "It creeps me out. Somehow, I can't stop looking though." "Me too," admitted Brendan. With a firm sudden halt of Scott's head, the hair unexpectedly whipped around his face, dropping down to the neck, taking another loop around with a sharp choke. Smack. The tip stung the latex covered shoulder near where it previously snapped his breast. In sudden pain, he dropped his hand from the hip controls. Had he pressed a button, a grenade ring probably would have stayed with him and blown off his virtual head. "Ah!" he yelled, feeling a burning sting. "And I'm not flirting by the way! I was trying to be a dick and aim at Cameron behind you." "Ooo! Ooo! Whip me! Whip me!" Brendan stomped over and bowed with his robotic rear aimed at the sexy assassin. His helmet motored a slow owl head rotation to see over his shoulder. "Do it, bro!" Scott raised his rifle and shot Brendan in the ass. "Holy! Crap!" yelled Brendan, popping up in a jump, landing back down with an earthshaking crash, all while grabbing his rear. "That totally - didn't do anything really. I didn't feel nothing, bro. I think your characters need some armor if you're feeling stuff." "That's not fair," said Scott, not liking being the only one to feel his skin burn. He shot Max in his bare tattooed arm. "Fuck! That hurts!" "Good. I feel better now," said Scott. "So Brendan, our main tank here, is the one that doesn't feel much - or maybe the lack of brains protects him from his VR upload." "No brain, no pain," yelled Max. "Game commencing," said a loud female's voice overhead. The guys cheered. The huge gateway opened, letting them all storm out into a virtual space-aged version of New York City, complete with flying cars and plenty of things to shoot. ***** At home early Monday morning, Scott packed his laptop for work. He searched across a strewn mess of clothes covering his floor. Standing there naked, eating burnt toast; he wished he had done laundry instead of VRing all weekend. "Useless," he said picking up a sock stretched out of whack. His pants had to be somewhere near his boxers, wherever they were. He found a shirt that could pass for clean for one more day, maybe two if he warmed it up in the microwave. To him, dryer-machine heat meant washed. He then smiled as he picked up a pair of black leggings. He missed Emily, his ex-girl friend. "You're such a chauvinistic ass," she had yelled, storming out the door. He recalled her pausing to look back at him. She had scolded him one last time, saying, "You can't post such nonsense. Delete it." With crossed arms, she had waited for an answer. For a second, hope had shown in her face that he'd actually comply. "What? Girls just don't get the first-person shooter genre. That's all I said. It wasn't like I doxxed her." "She's just blogging. She's a friend. Take it back." "All of Leslie's complaining, being all politically correct about how sexualized games are, well - it's girls ruining the fun. Come-on." That was a month ago. Now the slinky pile of cloth slipped over itself, pouring out of his hand about to fall to the floor. He tossed it about in his palm, flinging and searching it. He found the crotch area and gave it a deep sniff. He really missed her. Maybe his comments were rude. He should have deleted them. His friend, Brendan of course went ten times further when he piled more masochistic thoughts onto the thread. So did Max and Cameron. They had all been jerks, and continued to be, and Scott knew better. Feeling a strange urge, he looked around as if someone might see him, alone, naked in his studio basement apartment with no windows, buried under a brownstone stoop in Brooklyn. He ignored his embarrassment and listened to a deep desire. He couldn't fight it. Fumbling the wad of slinky cloth about, he stretched its waistband, held it open in front of him, and put a foot inside, as if dipping a toe into cold water. Putting both feet in, he pulled the stretchiness up over his calves and thighs. Portions of the leggings gripped under his feet. Pulling them on like pants started to seem the wrong approach. He almost fell over. Determined, he tugged several more times, pinching and pulling. Finally getting his feet to extrude through the openings at the ankles, it began to cooperate with him. He thought how wearing it would be better than going commando, but he'd be lying if he stuck to that as a reason for deciding to try it on. He didn't know why. He just had the desire. Maybe he wanted the tight feel his body experienced wearing Madie's outfit in VR. He missed the sensations he had climbing the rooftops, his torso crushed in a corset, his feet aching in high arched shoes, and his skin vacuumed packed in latex. He stood on his toes as if wearing heels. For a moment he imagined standing tall on a gable shooting at foes. Getting back to fighting the ex-girlfriend's leggings, he returned to pulling it up his torso and around his waist. When the crotch snugged up against his manhood, he paused to reflect on a strange notion of wearing such a girly item to work. He then wondered about dealing with his bulge in front. He made a choice and stuck his hand inside to tuck his member down between his legs. It took some adjusting to press his balls under a bit more, but after a few attempts, he pulled the tights up forcefully into place, probably stretching them to their limits almost ripping the material. The compression smoothed out his crotch, surprisingly flat and satisfyingly female. Mmmmm - just like Madie, he thought. He loved it. He looked at his floor-to-ceiling mirror, doubling as a sliding closet door. With his bare feet, the leggings cut off at the ankles; its waistband sat comfortably above his belly button. He turned. The Lycra hugged his rear - possibly adding a little lift. His balls ached, but they seemed ok. And wow, he adored how the lower half of the mirror reflected back a semi-sexy shaped woman from the waist down. He really did miss Emily and now Madie's body too. He gave himself a spank and felt a growing erection pleading between his legs and fighting the taunt Lycra Nylon blend. The outfit certainly turned him on. He wanted to answer his lusting needs. However, he had to rush to work. He bit his lower lip, noticing the absence of Madie's lipstick taste and waxy coating. His thumbs pushed under the waistband, ready to peel it off. Then he reconsidered. Yes, he thought. He would do it. Searching some more, he found his jeans and pulled them over the leggings. Who would know? While dealing with his boring job, he could fantasize all day, feeling the sensation under his clothes. ***** Shots fractured a brick wall above. Scott felt a pelting cloud of particles sting his face and his exposed cleavage. He stood and walked sinuously in his metallic blue latex catsuit painted over his Madie Deadveux wet dream of a body. A fast head tilt dropped the visor into position. Crosshairs tagged an attacker assaulting abandoned shops in a New San Francisco street several stories below. He knew anyone watching would see a hot babe with evil red glowing visor lenses. He shot, taking out one robot. Then everything exploded around him. His body flew back. He?d been hit. The game switched to slowmo, supposedly to enhance the fun. Scott felt the terrifying force as he flew back high in the air from the detonation. He regretted being so cocky standing out in the open like that. Over his shoulder, he watched his body soar above a back alley. This was going to hurt. Returning to a normal speed, his body slapped against an angled tiled roof. He gasped at the harsh sensation; amazed he hadn?t been killed and sent to the staging area. He laughed, until his body started to slide down the roof. His arms flailed. His hands tried to grab at anything. Like a little girl, he screamed as if riding an amusement park thrill ride. With a fast jerk at his wrist, he found himself hanging from a gutter, his fingertips barely holding on. For several seconds, he dangled like a rag doll. His whole back and shoulders stung from hitting the roof tiles. His long legs waved about, helpless, unable to step on any kind of a foothold. He looked straight down. His rifle had dropped to the alley five stories below. He thought how he could let go, die, wait a few minutes in staging, and then return to fight ? all hopefully before the game ended. The other option would be to climb up, if he could. He?d then need to search for dead bodies, hoping one would offer meager supplies like a stashed handgun and some health points. Bigger weapons couldn?t be stolen in the game. Dying would at least restore his rifle. ?I got you,? said a burly bagpiped player, with missiles sticking out of a plaid inflatable bag instead of the typical honking musical tubes. Scott felt his slender body lifted up high in the air and then lowered gently back down onto a flat roof. A grappling hook and cable retracted towards the missile packing bagpipe player, who also dropped to a stand next to the sexpot female. ?Thank you,? said Scott, unintentionally in his sexy French accent. He focused hard on his voice, hoping to get the VR to use his own vocal patterns. ?I really appreciate it,? his coquettish voice squeaked. Infuriating him, the system just made his words sound even more bubbly and girly ? almost flirty. He shrugged, not understanding the game?s programming. His gesture probably looked quite contrite rather than annoyed. ?Yeah, sure,? said the voice behind the SciFi-themed missile carrying clansman. The guy?s voice wasn?t altered to sound Irish. Lucky bastard, thought Scott. It just sounded like a normal guy. Why couldn?t the Madie character have voice options too? ?You?re the first girl player I?ve run into in this game,? said Mr. Bagpipes. ?Remember my ID: DannyBeer. I?m usually on this server?s realm.? A game ending warning alarm sounded over the city. ?Maybe we could play again.? A sharp pain hit Scott?s back. His hand touched around the hip. Purple fake blood covered his palm. ?I?m hit,? he said in a sexy rasp ? his thoughts cursed at the sultry voice again. His body dropped into DannyBeer?s arms. ?Remember, search for me,? said DannyBeer. He gave Scott?s shoulder a slow caring caress. ?An FPS girl gamer is so hot. I thought you only played RPGs.? ?I?m, I?m...? protested Scott, just before his voice cut off. DannyBeer?s hand hovered over Scott?s racy body. The fingers almost clasped a boob. The guy?s eyes regretted considering such a rude act. The potential fondle withdrew. Scott sighed, happy the guy would be a gentleman ? then a quick harsh butt pinch followed as the sultry assassin helplessly remained collapsed in Danny?s strong manly arms. ?Really?? silently mouthed Scott, otherwise motionless as his body became disabled. His life points dropped to zero. In a heavenly three-quarter out-of-body experience viewpoint, Scott watched the guy gently set Madie Deadveux down. As the body faded to an invisible oblivion, the guy looked at a floating summary of glowing red letters above Scott?s forehead, spelling out the dead?s user ID, the number of kills, F for female, and other stats. Danny looked up and about, yelling out with knowledge that his lost girl would be listening. ?I?ll search for you too, OneShot,? he said, using Scott?s username. ?Game over,? said the female announcer?s voice. Scott found himself stuck in the staging area with a new group of players. His team had lost and his friends must have called it a night, logging off. Game hungry strangers surrounded him. Even after weeks of play, Scott had never interacted with other players in the game. He focused mainly on the sensations and his womanly form. ?Shit,? said Scott. He wanted to get back in to point out to Mr. Bagpipes that in no way was he a girl. He didn?t need any coddling ? and certainly not an ass grab. Then Scott remembered the floating letter F for female. It confused him. He knew he registered as M. The only other option was undisclosed. He had always blown over reading the stats when he got killed. Had they always been set that way? He felt mortified. ?Hey!? said a guy?s voice from a Madie clone, wearing a red metallic devil themed outfit. ?Do you want to switch to something else or should I? We have too many snipers and need a tank.? ?Wait,? said Scott in his French accent. ?Your voice?? ?Yeah?? said the boy?s cracking teenage speech. ?How did you set your voice?? ?Same as you. You know. I recorded stupid phonetic phrases.? ?I did that too, but it doesn?t...? Overhead lights flashed. The female announcer?s voice boomed. ?VIP. Skipping ads. Game commencing.? Everyone cheered. ?Never mind,? said Scott. ?I?m unplugging. Thanks though. Oh wait, how?d you guys skip the ads?? ?We pay to skip all that. My parents cover it. We?d love to have a girl join us.? He waved forward, beckoning for Scott to pile in. ?I?m...? said Scott dropping his head in frustration. He looked up with contrition, ?Gotta go. But thanks.? ?Merci, lady,? said the kid. He turned, almost tripping, regained his balance, and ran off through the door. Scott twisted his VR shoulders left and right as if writhing against an invisible binding rope. He struggled hard to log off. He couldn?t remove his visor in real life. He couldn?t feel his real body at all. He couldn?t unplug. He thrashed some more. He was stuck. ?Wait!? He called out to the kid. ?Help!? But the kid was gone. Running after everyone, Scott joined the warzone again. Eventually, he found the devil version of Madie standing on a burning car. ?Something?s gone wrong. How do you take the visor off?? asked Scott. His eyes showed worry and concern. ?What?? the kid said, shooting while his Devil skinned version of Madie Deadveux wagged its long red latex tail, whipping it about. ?Just take it off.? ?I can?t.? ?Girls! Come on. I?m busy.? He switched to automatic fire. His boobs fiercely bounced, but he didn?t seem too distracted by it. Scott admired the concentration. The violent shaking always turned him on. ?Please, tell me.? He knew the bratty kid probably didn?t know what was wrong or how the VR visor could ever block movement, but with a lack of sleep and all the strange sexual thoughts, maybe something obvious was being overlooked. The kid scoffed. ?Here. Hold this.? ?Ok,? said Scott, reaching out and grasping a donut sized metal ring, hinged open. A light on it blinked red. The thick metal tube rolled in his petite hand and then clicked shut. ?What? I didn?t know the game allowed you to give things to people.? He looked up. The kid charged into an attack through huge Egyptian columns. His Madie hair flowed free, missing its last hairband. The long strands tangled into the red imp tail, tripping the kid ? just like the forums had warned. ?Shit!? said Scott realizing it wasn?t a gifted item. He looked down at a beeping Deadveux hairband grenade. His arm pulled back to throw it. Too late. His immobilized spirit now watched a three-quarter view showing a slow motion snuff film of himself. Cluelessly looking down and then slowly reacting, he relived the embarrassment. An explosion enveloped his VR body. It stung second after each shamefully slowmo second. ?Aaaah!? yelled Scott materializing in the staging area. The jolt of pain left him shaking. ?I?m going to find that brat!? His palms rubbed around his restored head that had just been vaporized. His fingers slid down his face to see if he still had a nose and mouth. The slowmo had intensified what the manual called slight tactile impacts. ?I want out!? His VR body twisted and turned, but his real life body remained dormant. He couldn?t feel his real self. Only the senses of Madie Deadveux fed his brain. He was stuck in-game and tired and sleepy. He played VR too much and it caught up to him. His eyes fluttered and closed ? just for a second, he thought. He collapsed to his knees, hands between his legs ? just to meditate, for a second... Sleeping for a few minutes, probably longer, something prodded him awake. ?Game over,? said the female announcer. At home, in real life, Scott?s male body revived. His hands sprung to his face. He yanked off his visor, lucky to escape. Why couldn?t he leave before? It seemed only the break between games had released him. Had he ever left during a game? Maybe he had never tried it before. He vowed never to go back. He spent too many nights in VR, not eating and taking care of himself. Regret hit him hard. He knew the cravings would grow. He would fight it, he swore. In the back if his mind, a voice told him he?d be sucked back into VR the next day, tops. He sighed. He so loved the experience. But was it hurting him? Then he remembered his voice problem. How the hell did a he not figure out how to change the voice settings? Some blasted kid could do it. The necessity to change the voice to normal erased his fear of being imprisoned in the game. He completely forgot about his thrashing panic. He knew he could fix the voice. That was the important item. Staying up late, he searched online. He recorded his voice again. His account said M for male. He changed it to undisclosed. Eventually falling asleep, his head rested near his laptop in his dinky studio apartment. The forums had mentioned nothing of any bugs forcing Madie Deadveux to be played with a female French accent. ***** ?A guy should never do that to a girl,? said Jill, a cute short blonde that Scott enjoyed talking with at work. He liked looking at her ass, especially when she wore her snug fitting jeans. She packed a bit more padding behind her then he normally fantasized about, but the jeans made it work. He regretted not asking her out. Beautiful and buxom, she would have been wonderful. Regrettably though, she was just too plump for his overly picky finer taste in women. He wanted someone taller, like Emily, his ex. Ideally he wanted a Madie Deadveux minus the assassin skills. Not many women could ever match up to that exaggerate body type though. Actually, no woman could, given how the game designers modeled her. Shaking his head no and pulling his unkempt hair back over his ears, Scott tried to push his pedantic point. ?But I was guy ? I mean I am a guy.? His story had skipped the part about being unable to leave the game and him asking silly questions about taking off his visor. He?d had blown himself up to if being bothered in-game like that. Jill tittered, shaking her head too. ?You?re hopeless. Regardless, that kid thought you were a girl and blew you up. That?s just rude. Girls can play just as well as the guys.? Scott shrugged. ?I don?t know.? ?Now I want to blow you up too.? Abandoning the conversation, Scott rolled his eyes and continued on his way. He muttered to himself as he pushed a cart loaded with new computers to install. He took an elevator to a newly renovated floor soon to be staffed, probably in a couple months. Plenty of work lay before him in a sea of cubicle parts and yet to be assembled desks. Fortunately, he just did the tech stuff. Checking his list, he had to set up a new desk, install a new phone, and ? he paused. Behind an office door, he found a dry cleaning bag hanging on a hook. Odd, he thought, since the floor had just been remodeled. No one would have used these offices yet. Before throwing the garments onto the bottom shelf of his cart for a trip to the lost-and-found, he stopped when he noticed a dark grey skirt inside. Lifting away the plastic and paper covers revealed multiple wire hangers holding a white blouse, a skirt, and a jacket. Touching the garments made him daydream. He wanted to be Madie in the real world. No guns. No grenades. He just wanted to exist in a female form again, all the time, everyday. The desire never hit him before ? ever. He leaned out the office doorframe and surveyed the open space. The entire cubical area echoed empty. Only half assembled cubicles and unassembled panels filled the area. Retreating back into the office, he shut the office door and locked it. What or why certain desires filled his mind, he didn?t know. But he pulled out the short slate-grey colored jacket and checked it against his shoulders. His hands stroked the luxurious cashmere shine. It called to him and, as he checked it against his shoulder width, he thought: it might actually fit. Draping the rest of the items over a box for an unassembled desk, he removed the jacket?s hanger and slipped his arms cautiously inside one at a time, slowly feeling its silky lined sleeves. His short sleeve t-shirt let his recently shaved arms just slide in. He did so many odd things now. Shaving being one of them. The jacket pulled up against his back. It was snug, but it fit him. The arm movement seemed a little restrictive. Still it felt good to slide his fingertips down the lapels to its slightly cinched waist. Very feminine. Very secretarial ? no, female executive ? no, just businesswoman. The other labels seemed sexist and wrong. He knew a month ago he would have thought things like: Wall Street Bitch and drooled. But now, businesswoman. Wait. Businessperson. Yes. That last proper label made him feel good inside, as if the suit jacket treated him like Pavlov?s dog and he had just earned his doggy biscuit. Over previous weeks of gameplay, he had lost so much weight. Madie?s lissome form inspired him to tighten up his midsection. Originally, he fantasized about dating such a woman. Forget Emily, he had declared. He needed to move on. And now, he found his thinning frame could actually fit into a woman?s jacket. He adored the silky lining. Buttoning the coat at the top, he realized that there was room to spare for some boobage. Madie?s body would have filled the space nicely. He dropped his trousers, revealing a pair of Emily?s leggings. He liked wearing them now and had been doing so everyday for weeks, rotating among three recovered from the laundry. Of course the casual style wouldn?t go with a business skirt, but the black Lycra did hold in his manhood, nice and flat and feminine. Nervous, Scott decided to press on. He could do this. Stepping into the skirt, the inner lining rustled against the tights as he pulled it up. He enjoyed a slippery cooling effect as materials slid over each other. With the Lycra covering his shaved legs, he had noticed a better enjoyment of the glossy material. And now, he could feel the skirt better too. It all justified is odd actions lately. Getting the skirt up to his waist, he instinctively reached in the front for a pants zipper to close. Scoffing at himself, he checked around the waist and then reached behind. ?Women?s clothes,? he muttered. ?But I guess it looks better that way.? Pulling his arms back to reach the zipper forced his head down. He saw the taunt front of the skirt bridging his thighs and forming horizontal rippled stretches emphasizing the restrictive cashmere. His fingers fidgeted at his rear with the zipper flap. Then... Zip. He sucked in his tummy. Zip. One inch was left. The skirt?s cut demanded a higher position on his body than he was used to. He adjusted, finding it matching the level of the tights. Zip. He closed a flap adding a final touch of hooking a sideways metal loop at the top. His hands pressed down on the smooth flat front of the skirt. The thin wool hugged his thighs dictating a limited stride. The skirt stopped just above the knees. He felt how it wrapped his rear. The top edge held snug just under his rib cage, covering his belly button same as the tights did. He really had to hold his stomach in even with his recent weight losses. For the first time in real life, he wore real women?s clothing. Hiding leggings underneath didn?t seem count. This was visible to the world and a complete outfit ? almost. He neglected the blouse. He wished for a mirror to see himself. Did he look good? He knew wearing leggings ruined the overall appearance. Still, the rest seemed to fit pretty good. Taking it all in, there he was; wearing a snug pencil skirt, jacket, and a conflicting ragged game logoed t-shirt showing between the v of the lapels. His bare feet would have looked so much better in heels. He wondered about stockings. The white silk blouse remained on the last wire hanger. It called to him. He considered, but hesitated. Looking down at his body, he felt the skirt?s waist tighten when he breathed. He had to hold in his stomach or risk popping the hook and breaking the zipper. A better posture seemed to help. Sucking in his stomach wasn?t enough. Pulling back his shoulders somehow made him fit more comfortably into the skirt. He missed Madie?s high heels and tight bodysuit. The VR outfit cinched him in cruel undeniably lovable ways. In contrast, a skirt offered different sensations. The material inside glided and swished over his legs. The satin lining in the jacket sensuously slipped over his arms. He craved to level up the outfit. A mismatch of leggings and no shoes coexisting with a formal outfit hampered the joy. He?d promised to investigate matching the right woman?s things together. As he walked around bare footed, confusion grew about his motivations. Where was this all going? A range of emotions built up from guilt, embarrassment, and bewilderment. It all flooded his mind. He quickly disrobed. A minute later he felt normal again in his own clothes, leggings secretly underneath, his manhood tightly tucked. But anything hidden just didn?t count ? so a voice in his head told himself. A looming need to go much further bothered Scott. He rolled his computer cart away, leaving the woman?s suit hanging on the door of the empty office, repacked in dry-cleaner plastics. He vowed never to touch it again. ***** A room with a view boiled in the city heat. Scott thought how the rebuilt Newer New Orleans world could use less realistic humidity. At least the game developers didn?t add mosquitos. He huffed in the heat. A useless fan slowly spun overhead. For this game, he chose a Mardi Gras version of the Madie Deadveux skin. It came with a short Frenchmaid-like skirt, decked out in gold and black highlights. Beads hung around his neck ? blasted annoying dangling beads that he couldn?t rip off no matter how hard he tugged. They swung and looped a boob, creating a lopsided look. After constantly adjusting them, he tried shooting them off. Nothing happened. The shiny beads just swerved about and tangled around his gun. Taking a languid viewing position in the heat, with sweat going down his cleavage, Scott wondered how others could be enjoying such hot muggy virtual weather. He stretched his neck and watched for targets. Large hoop earrings slapped the sides of his face ? reminding him of another girly item that pissed him off. In a cracked French mirror hanging on the wall, he could see black raccoon make-up surrounded his eyes. His smoldering gaze slid down his own body. He admired his short cut ankle boots. Very stylish, he thought. Setting his gun down, he began to press down the girly skirts to see his cute feet. The petticoats kept pushing back to block the view. The puff just wouldn?t yield. It just stuck out like a ballet dancer?s prissy little outfit. He paused thinking: he might want to try a swan lake costume one day. He coughed and dismissed the wild notion. The game didn?t offer a ballet skin for his character anyways. Of course, in the real world he could buy a tutu. He choked, purging the distraction. Pressing his back against a wall near a window, he carefully peeked out, then slid his soft bare shoulders down along the harsh brick surface. When his rear landed on the floor, the stiff skirt radiated up, resisting any notion of lying flat against his thighs. The gun felt overly heavy and his interest in sniping targets diminished as his desires increased to stroke his shear nylon legs. Normally, he was encased in latex, but not in this costume. The sheer silk stockings over his legs felt more sumptuous and very girly. How the material skimmed over his supple skin captivated him, especially in the way the fibers flexed over his bending knees. He stretched his hands out to touch his tiny ankles. He slowly slid his fingertips up his legs. At mid thigh, the petticoats blocked his view, but his fingertips moved underneath and touched all the way up under the skirt. The fingers tangled in garter straps as his hands searched for access under his petticoats. He touched himself through the ruffled satin panties. In the game, his manhood was gone. The feeling disturbed him. He tugged at his outfit to get access. It refused him. He couldn?t disrobe. He tried to pull the outfit away from his breasts so he could at least see the nipples so clearly pushing their perkiness out against the skintight low cut dress. The off shoulder short puffed sleeves didn?t allow him to extract his arms and peel out of the ridiculous costume. No zipper in the back could be undone. The demeaning outfit mixed conflicting sexual enticement with humiliating belittling. He abhorred the lace accents and short wrist gloves knitted like doilies around his hands. Suddenly he felt indifferent. Something trampled his anger. He mellowed and relaxed. Meh, he thought as he reconsidered hating the frills. His harsh critique softened. The mesh gloves were actually cute. Maybe he?d wear them again. Back to looking at his protruding tits, the game designers obviously modeled naughty bits of Madie?s body underneath. His hands stroked over those details. He loved patronizing the fine arts. He tugged at the exposed edges of his lacy bustier peeking out from the maid-like uniform. He tugged some more. ?Damn it.? The blasted French Quarter costume stayed perfectly glued in place. Not hearing anything in the streets below, plus with the exaggerated summer heat, he found himself lost in thoughts and not truly getting into the game?s action. Sexual distractions took over. He realized that he hadn?t orgasmed in weeks. He wanted to, but his body in real life failed him. Maybe stress interfered. His many recent attempts at masturbation left his soft dick sore and tender even when using lotions. Desperate constant rubbing got him nowhere. But in VR, sans manhood, he felt a very different yearning. A vague desire tantalized him. In real life he felt an urgent horniness always answerable, until recently, by a quick jerk, cashing in thoughts from his mental spank bank. Yes. He confirmed, sitting there in a Fenchmaid assassin?s body: he was horribly horny. In VR, at least he felt sensations from the clothing, the body, and a female craving for something intangible. He?d always isolated himself when in the game. Now he wanted to answer his mysterious cravings in the hopes for relief. Since being solo didn?t satisfy, he wondered if he should share his deep burdens with someone else out there. Kicking his gun away and cupping his breasts, he so wanted to defeat whatever blocked him from enjoying Madie?s body. It would be devastating if his friends ever knew how he spent his time. He blamed the game designers. The devs shouldn?t have denied a player the right to really get to know their virtual bodies. The sensations felt too real to ignore. Why weren?t the other gamers out on the streets just touching themselves? He wondered how others denied themselves such joy. It surprised him that there wasn?t an orgy going at the start of each game. Was he just perverted? Scott felt so ashamed. Still he continued to massage his pillowy chest. He laughed, knowing his ex-girl friend would say they?re not real. Of course not, he thought. They?re virtual. Hm, he wondered: would it make sense to have virtual implants? He squeezed his flesh. Did it matter? Was his virtual bust enhanced with virtual silicon? He squeezed. Fuck such silly thoughts. Enjoy the moment. Maybe back home, his body reacted. He desperately needed a good sexual hit, even solo. Shots fired on the street below. A guy?s voice yelled over the radio into Scott?s earpiece. ?I?m hit. I?m changing to a healer when I come back.? Scott ignored the squawking. If he could, he would remove his glued in earpiece. He wanted to stroke his legs and press his fingers into his lap. The skirt puff hindered his exploring fingers. So many lacey thin layers had to be flipped through to get contact with the rippled panties underneath. He loved the look, but now he wished he had chosen the bodysuit skin instead. A jet pack flew by the window. Oblivious, Scott slowly moved his fingers. He began to feel blood going to different places. His nipples felt harder. Between his legs, deep inside his body, muscles he never had before flexed and pulsed. He felt a wet spot forming across his panties. He so wished he could pull the lingerie off; impel the panties down his legs, and kick them across the room. A noise buzzed louder at the window. A blonde angelic woman dressed in white armor with metal feathered retractable wings behind her, climbed inside the room. She looked shocked and appalled at seeing a Madie Deadveux character masturbating on the floor. The angel cocked her head. Her eyebrows rose with an incredulous look. Scott oddly did not care. Judge me if you need to, he thought. He stroked his legs and raised one high-heeled foot into the air as he slid his hands down from the ankle boot, over his thigh and then up between his legs. Muscles pulsed, begging for mercy. ?Mmmmm,? he uttered. His breathing quickened as both hands pressed into his skirted lap. He rocked back and forth, eyes closed, face aimed to the ceiling in a sexual prayer. ?Mercy,? was his only mantra. ?Mercy...? All the deep breathing, engaged the game?s fake physics approximation used in heaving his chest and jiggling his boobs like he was riding a horse. The over zealous jiggle had to be a software glitch, but he liked it. It sent him into spasms. He gasped and moaned as he sat up, slipping his ankles underneath to give his thighs leverage to bounce his body up and down to match the fake physics applied to his chest. His skirts flounced. Making eye contact with the angel, Scott left his mouth agape as he appreciated a voyeuristic kink he never knew existed. He licked his lips, tasting the make-up. His virtual body felt so hot. Drips of sweat formed on his forehead. The maid costume caught perspiration at the v of the brazier. ?Do you need heeling?? asked the angel?s soft loving voice. It startled Scott. Hearing the words made the woman real. He kept at it, touching himself in front of the stranger. He reveled in it. He looked at the angel, who now kneeled down to check for wounds like a paramedic. Her white armor clanked against the floor. ?I need something,? Scott answered in a breathy French accent. The angel aimed her staff at Scott and tethered a glowing stream of energy between them. ?Your life points aren?t charging. Strange. You should be going above a hundred percent by now, but you?re dropping.? ?Keep going, lady,? said Scott. ?God. It feels good. You have a nice voice.? The angel nodded. ?This is kind of a hot hottie, huh?? Both stared into each other?s eyes. They both leaned forward and kissed. Scott?s eyes popped open with an explosion of sensations. ?Mmmm!? His legs kicked. His body shivered. There was no stopping it. His whole soul rushed towards the light. Finally! He had orgasmed for the first time in weeks! The angel ignored the show. She stuck her tongue in even deeper. Her hands began to grope the breasts. One hand slid around to the nape of the neck while the other continued to fondle the breasts. Scott reveled in being sandwich in a tight hold, rendered helpless. He loved it and even started to think he might build to yet another climax. Popping her suction away, the angel said in such a lush voice, ?I have to know who you are.? She breathed so deeply, so sensually. ?My name?s, Brendan.? ?Come again?? yelped Scott, rolling away fast and jumping to a wide Karate stance, his gun drawn. ?I mean, I came already ? I mean, it was really more of a half climax not totally there -- I mean, just say your name again.? ?What!? shrieked the angel, covering her mouth with both hands. ?Something wrong?? She held up both hands in surrender. ?Was I too forward?? The blonde haired, big boobed angel with the sweetest voice Scott had ever heard stared back alarmed and concerned. ?Tell me your name again,? said Scott. Annoyed, the angel stood arms akimbo, ?I?m Trashtalk.? ?I thought you said your name was Brendan.? ?That?s my name, but I have a new ID I set up.? He pointed at his body. ?I didn?t want my friends to know I played a healer. I?m normally a tank.? Scott knew it wasn?t the healer aspect Brendan felt ashamed of. Brendan looked back, thought for a second, and said, ?This is Wednesday afternoon. I took a day off to be here. Wait a minute. What?s your name?? Scott thought of jumping out the window to his death, but the healer could just jet pack down and bring him back to life. The questioning still wouldn?t stop. His friend could also simply let him expire to see the red glowing ID name appear above the body. There was no hiding or escaping. Besides, the techbro idiot seemed to have already figured it out anyways. ?It?s me, Scott.? ?No!? ?Yeah! I found an empty office at work. I thought I?d play.? Brendan added air quotes as he said, ?Play?? He threw up his hands. ?I saw you play?n.? His female voice growled in anger. Scott felt like he was being scolded by his mother. ?Play with yourself, you mean,? said Brendan. The angel looked repulsed. ?We kissed, bro!? ?No we didn?t? ?Yeah we did.? ?It doesn?t count!? The angel paced about in agitation. ?It?s VR,? whimpered Scott. He felt lonely and scared. ?Hold me. I?m not feeling so good.? Brendan walked over and pulled the assassin against his armored bosom. ?There, there.? Scott dropped his gun. ?This feels so nice. I needed some sexual release so bad.? ?Fuck yeah, bro,? said the sympathizing sweet lilting voice. ?I know what you mean. I?m torn to shit. I?ve been in a dry spell for the past month.? Their arms held tight to each other. Both guys stood there in their female bodies, suddenly realizing their actions. They pushed away. ?Um, uh,? said Scott, running a hand over his head. Brendan stumbled about with his hands in the air. He blew blonde strands from his ponytail away from his mouth. Some hairs stuck to his lipstick. He puckered and spit a few times. His wings knocked pictures off the wall. ?Shit. Fuck. Crap. Uh. Yeah. I?m so out of here. I?m so, so not playing this game anymore.? ?You?re not telling anyone are you?? asked Scott pointing to the floor, circling his lacy gloved finger around the room and then back and forth between them. ?About what? That I got you off by kissing -- smooching a co-worker? A guy co-worker! Yeah, Bro. I?m thinking I?ll just forget that part.? He pointed his gun at Scott. ?You better too.? Bam. Brendan pulled the trigger. In the staging area, Scott hid in a corner waiting for the game to end. He was stuck until then, also he didn?t want to leave. A part of him hoped that Brendan would show up so they could straighten things out. ?Game over,? said the female announcer. With the steal door closing, Scott?s body began to respond. He sat up from a black leather couch, taking off his visor. Alone in an office suite used for temporary storage of cubical parts, Scott wore nothing but Emily?s leggings and also a pair of high-heeled sandals he found discarded in his closet. They were too small, letting his toes extend over the front edges. His jeans and shirt sat draped over an unplugged copy machine. A wet dream mess dried in his tights where his flaccid member pointed back to his rear. He felt around. A wet spot began to spread over his butt where he clearly had emptied out a load saved up for a month and a half. Despite getting off, the climax left him incomplete and unsatisfied. Somehow he had missed the joy. Somehow it didn?t quite translate back to VR. Now he only had a mess to clean and no benefit for having made it. ***** Early morning the next day, both Scott and Brendan avoided talking to each other. Scott angrily opened another computer box and extracted a new chassis. He scowled at Brendan, the huge Neanderthal lummox. ?That fucking hurt,? he finally said. ?What, my shot to your chest,? said Brendan, not really asking. ?Let?s not talk about it.? He lifted up another computer. He wore a bro-bun, something that Scott hadn?t notice the big lug doing before. Swiping a hand across his face, Scott pushed his own long hair out of the way. He needed to get it buzzed off. He didn?t have money to spend on barbers. Maybe he should just tie it back like Brendan did. Grabbing a rubber band, he continued talking as he fidgeted with his shoulder length hair. ?I like your sweater,? said Scott. ?Thanks. I see you?ve lost some weight. I?ve been doing this cleanse detox thing. I think I?m losing muscle though.? ?Me too.? They stopped their conversation right there. Scott pointed over to the next cubical while walking backwards to the hallway. ?I?ve got some stuff to move.? ?Yeah,? said Brendan. ?I?ll be over in the other building.? ***** Scott paced like a tigress in a cage. His hips swayed out of habit and he pulled his ponytail back over his shoulder. He wore a red devil skin with horns at his temples. A red tail with an arrow at the end swung around under its own control. Working overtime didn?t distract from his urges. Days passed with no VR. The urges continued to burn. He relapsed back into being Madie Deadveux. On that a Friday night, he should have been hanging out with friends. Instead he hid in the Eiffel Space Needle of New Paris, while strangers played below. Masturbation didn?t work in the real or virtual world. Outside VR, he now looked too wimpy to attract any girls. Given his waning physic, none of the girls at work would give him a second thought. His pants barely stayed up. His shirt looked half empty. In VR, his curvy body filled the outfit. ?Hey,? came a gruff voice from behind. ?OneShot, it?s me DannyBeer.? Scott smiled back looking at the fat clansman, loaded up with armaments. ?I?m glad you came.? He wondered what the real Danny looked like. ?Hi there,? said Scott?s sexy French voice. ?You looked upset.? ?My life sucks.? Danny stepped behind Scott and together they looked over the city as rocket packs flew by, missiles launched, and fireballs rose to the sky. Sometimes a line of tracers shot into the air like celebratory fireworks. Danny laughed. ?Paris lights are beautiful, huh?? Scott giggled. The big guy?s arms leaned on the railing. His tree trunk sized forearms surrounded the latex clad assassin. Scott turned around in the narrow space between, finding himself face- to-face with a red hair beard. He looked up, remembering how being with the healing angel got him off. He couldn?t believe his adventurous sinful inappropriate thoughts. He needed someone close to him to help him get off. The game made that clear. None of his friends could fathom what Scott thought about to proposing. Hopefully, Brendan could be trusted to stay quiet about the kiss. Only DannyBeer seemed right for the job. Who better, but a guy who seemed kind and gentle ? and adorably infatuated. Scott?s breathing deepened. His lips quivered. His long lashes batted about as fast as his mind battled ideas. He consciously slowed his panting, trying to calm himself. If he didn?t suppress his rising heart rate, the boob jiggle glitch risked kicking in. ?Could you put your hand here?? requested Scott, knowing full well that acting on his idea endangered increasing his breathing levels. The perils piled up. Still he resolved to continue to touch Danny?s wrist and slide it down between them. Danny?s eyes widened as the French assassin took control and lowered his hand between the soft deep valley of the cleavage, across the cinched belly. The woman Danny clearly crushed on manipulated his hand, folded his digits, and isolated the index finger to point it further and further down, stopping with a slight tug up between the legs right on a certain spot. ?Wait,? said Danny, not moving his hand but rapidly looking around. ?Surely, we?ll get banned if we?re seen like this.? ?I don?t care.? ?I do.? ?But don?t you feel the VR drilling into your soul. It?s so hot.? Danny hummed and hawed, ?Honestly, I don?t feel anything like that. I mean this body feels real to a certain extent, I guess.? ?You don?t feel your virtual body wanting ? needing?? ?I feel myself at home lusting when I?m looking at you. When I get to talk with you. Ok, I?ll confess, I?m rubbing myself right now at home.? Scott turned away, blushing. ?I thought everyone hooked in like me. I don?t seem to feel my real body when in VR.? ?You?re face is red. It?s cute. I think most everyone?s here to shoot things. Not much else.? Danny checked out Madie?s body. ?I love your voice. I hope one day you?ll let me see you talk for real, in person.? He scanned the city for something. ?Hold on.? He shot a grappling hook, picked up Scott at the waist, and they both descended the steal tower towards an abandoned apartment. Scott?s mind thrilled at being held so tightly. His tiny ha