I looked up at him. “No more,” he said. Then he kissed me, a long, slow kiss that went past tasting and kept going until my muscles eased and I was lying back, letting go, opening my legs.
A cock bumped my pussy. I mewed like an animal, pressed toward it, greedy for it to fill me, stretch me, sink as far as possible into my hot, aching core.
I was coming before he was all the way in. The orgasm went on and on. So did the fucking. One hunter and then the next, maybe each more than once. I didn' t know anything but the roller-coaster rush of rising and falling, in and out, full-body rapture.
My ears were ringing, the number of bees in my bones multiplied by ten.
And that floating time after, when there are no thoughts, this time it lasted. This time I got lost in it.
“Okay?” That voice came to me from far away, years later.
“Mmm,” I said. It must have been convincing, because the hunter kissed the top of my head, another brushed warm lips over my temple, the third nipped my collarbone.
“You' re good,” the last whispered, the words like a feather gliding over my skin.
I heard the rattle of belt buckles, the hiss of zippers.
I sat up slowly, wincing over tender places. It was so dark. I thought about that a moment and opened my eyes. That helped a little. Everything had the fuzziness of a dream. They' d be gone in a minute. That was important for some reason I couldn' t grasp.
“You okay, sugar?” one of them asked. “You' re awful quiet.” I couldn' t sort them out, dredge up names to go with faces. My mind limped back toward blessed blankness.
“Good,” I said. It was one word. A very short, simple word. Yet all three paused.
Was I saying it wrong?
I closed my eyes. This all felt too complicated. It was a sex game. It seemed simple enough on the surface, but underneath it had more knots than a hunter' s net.
“I got this.” This was a new voice, but not unfamiliar. Wastelander. The name flashed in red neon behind my eyes.
“Hey, Waster,” one of them said, his voice hitched high, bumpy with nerves.
“Is she yours, buddy?” another asked. “She didn' t say you' d claimed her exclusive.
We didn' t know.”
His hands were in my hair, lifting it from my neck. I held my breath, too aware of his hands.
“Did you look?”
No one answered the question.
He smoothed my hair down over my shoulders.
“Don' t worry about it. It' s my fault as much as anyone' s. I got this. You guys go on.”
I closed my eyes, heard the soft pops-one, two, three-as each hunter teleported out.
I hugged myself and opened my eyes into the stare-down I knew was waiting for me. When I looked into the eyes of the other hunters, I saw lust and a desire to be a woman' s fantasies. When I looked in Waster' s eyes, I saw things about myself. I didn' t need a mirror just then.
“I' m safing-out,” I said, “I' ve had enough.”
“I' m not here to use you, sweetheart. I' m here for the aftercare.” I didn' t know what that meant, but it didn' t sound like anything I could handle.
“I think you' re supposed to care before.” Where had that come from? I wanted away before I said something even stupider. “I' m out, Waster. Go away.”
A leash dropped over my neck, cinched tight.
“I mean it, Waster. Cut me loose.”
Blackness and the spin of a teleport followed that order.
We emerged in a bedroom. A fire glowed in the hearth. A tub of steaming water had been placed just in front of it. He plunked me in the tub.
Water sloshed. He picked up a sponge and squeezed. Streams of hot water ran down my back. I groaned. I meant to argue. I' d get to that in a minute. I pulled my knees to my chest, rested my forehead on them and let Waster' s soap-slicked hands work the soreness from my shoulders.
Eventually pride scrabbled its way back into my consciousness. “I said I' m out.
You' re not supposed to keep me when I don' t want to stay.”
“You safe-out of sex, not aftercare,” he said, using the sponge to rinse away the soap.
He tried to push my knees apart to wash between my legs. I pushed his hands away and stood. “I can safe- out of whatever the fuck I want to safe-out of.” I snatched a towel from his shoulder. I ached in a thousand small places, not all of them physical.
He hadn' t unleashed me. I wrapped the towel around me. Waited.
“It' s natural to feel lost, a sense of letdown after a scene pushes your boundaries. I just want to make sure you' re okay.”
“You weren' t worried the other day.”
He sighed, tipped his head back, kept his eyes on the ceiling when he answered.
“Prey aren' t the only ones who get their boundaries pushed.” The leash fell away from my neck.
I logged out.
Jolie stared at the black screen on her laptop. Just sat looking, not thinking, not moving. Breathe in. Breathe out. Blink. Repeat. She had the lights out. Lest arousal seep away into the cool quiet of her shop. It just felt too pathetic to ease the frustration with her own hand in the backroom of a computer shop. Too lonely.
“That wasn' t real,” she said out loud. As if saying it could banish the very real effects.
None of what just happened meant any more than watching a movie or reading a book. But this felt more real than either of those. In movies or books she watched characters go through the scripted events. Yes, she could get immersed in the story, feel as if she were there, but she felt it in an external way, empathy for someone else. In a game world she was the character she created, had to move her, think for her, make choices. There was no script. She did things in the story world and other characters responded. They did things she reacted to, with a pixel body, with avatar senses that could be disoriented by the effects of taking a drink or drugs, going too long without food or sleep or sex. Even her hair fell over her eyes when the virtual wind blew.
Her physical connection to the avatar gave the story power. Her real body responded to what she saw happening to her avatar. Like Snatch Me, she was shaken by the force of her craving for a man. Unlike Snatch me, she didn' t have three or four handy to see to the matter. Unlike Snatch Me, she wouldn' t let three or four see to the matter. Or would she? What she did there could change who she was here.
Where was she supposed to put all that when the game ended? How was she supposed to keep that world, where she could be any of her fantasies, separate from this world, where acting on those fantasies could get her arrested or killed? She couldn' t even figure out how she was supposed to get through the rest of the afternoon when all she wanted to do was crawl through that laptop screen and beg Waster to fuck her.
But she knew, if/when he did, just like the first time, their virtual chemistry would create a connection so real he could make her feel him, make her come in both worlds with no more than the carefully wielded power of the right words. A man, a character, who could do that, was dangerous. A woman could get lost in the dark wilderness that was Waster, so lost she' d never find her way back.
She might go back to his world but she could not go back to him.
The bells on the front door forced her the rest of the way back to reality.
She straightened her clothes, ran her hands over her hair and went out to greet her customer.
Mack.
“Busy?”
She wanted to say yes, go back to her workshop. She shrugged. “It gets quiet this time of year.”
“Well, good. I came to get some help with that 3D software I told you about. I brought a bribe.” He held up a small cardboard box.
Her mind flashed on Urit tossing her a box from behind the checkout desk.
“Jolie?”
He had that expectant look, like he' d said something she was supposed to have an answer for, an affirmative answer judging by the way he was poised at the gate that separated the employee area from the
