The Permanent Afterglow

The last hour passed... and Vanessa, crying from the pain in her jaw and in her tortured pelvis, was hurting too much to hate John as quickly as he had predicted. A gentle fog of their fluids and body heat had started to cloud the distant stretches of light in the room, and was now oppressive in the afterglow. John's eyes flickered open, stunned as he was from finally running out of his prestigious stamina, and through this haze did he look down on Vanessa's suffering form, with every hole now so fully known, even shaped, by him.

John, barely able to stand, had at least the distraction of so many pop-ups to not think about the irritation on his deflated manhood. Most of the achievements were dismissed, their effects obvious and only a reminder of his flesh worn raw, but John had to read the rest of them twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating:

Biomancy lvl6
Telemancy lvl6
Augment/Reduce emotion lvl6
Augment/Reduce physiology lvl2

Gamer's luck lvl4
Gamer's luck: Gamer's luck has become Gamer's fortune!

Gamer's fortune
Gamer's fortune: Your luck and crit rates improve by 10%. Base critical modifier for all effects and attacks are now triple instead of double.

Equilibrium lvl2

Masturbation lvl20
Mastubation: your high skill allows you to get hard with little to no stimulation. Your ejaculation is a lot stronger than normal and your balls refill in 1 minutes up to 30 times a day.

Masturbation has achieved its max skill level! Gamer quest unlocked!

NEW GAMER QUEST: "The Drive to Win!"
Have at least seven sexual partners in a seven day period.
Progress: 5/7, 4 days remaining.

Rewards:
+Masturbation will become Gamer's drive!
+500XP

(Potential Reward) New Skill: Gamer's drive
Gamer's drive: The Gamer can temporarily increase or decrease his libido by up to 5% per character level, to a maximum of 75% at level 15, at will. Balls refill to full thirty seconds after an orgasm. There is no longer a limit to number of orgasms per day.

The change in his luck skill ended his dreams of a 100% crit rate, but being able to triple his damage and augments... but even that seemed unpalatable after the last few hours. With a sigh, John eventually minimized it all; wiped out as he was, the last thing he wanted to consider was finding two more women to fuck. Standing up, he winced at the pain and damage he took, more than enough to kill him when he was but a mere level 3 Gamer, all earned from the rancorous sex he... they... just endured. The difference of course was that he could simply chuck his mana to stop the pain in his cock and meditate to bring his health and vigor back to full; he did so, and once again felt fresh and ready for the fight... leaving him to look over Vanessa's trembling body, only 6hp from **** (he wondered how she managed to take less damage than him in total). He had nearly fucked her to ****, and guilt began to gnaw at him anew.

New skill: Heal lvl1, 40mp
Heal: heals a target touched, or one's self, for 10hp per skill level. Dying targets are stabilized and instead healed for 2hp per skill level until they're back to 1hp or higher. Does not work on dead targets. Heal does not damage or heal inanimate/construct/undead targets.

All his meditation today had combined with his need to give him a skill he rather wished he had long ago... and, ironically, another reason to touch his victim. Victim. Why was she the victim here? She wanted him to sign away his freedom, she wanted him shot, she bullied and used him for the last five years without even caring enough to remember his name... so why did he feel like the monster? He consciously dismissed the memory of the contract that now floated in his inventory.

John walked over and kneeled beside her, their naked bodies still glistening and stinking of sex, with the only piece of clothing between them being the magical belt that hung lop-sided over John's newly toned hips. A single, tearful glance at him, and she buried her face in her hands, as if she could manage no other escape. He touched her shoulder with a sigh. He thought to say something, some kind of apology without surrendering to her and starting the whole loop again, but he closed his hesitant mouth and focused on the new spell.

Vanessa healed for 10hp.
Vanessa healed for 10hp.
Vanessa healed for 10hp.

He continued on like this until she was healed to full, which prompted her to finally look up at him with those pitiful red eyes. His eyes were red too; they had been crying since hour three of their fuckfest, a natural reaction from ignoring the pleas of their bodies to stop. "C'mon Vanessa, let's get cleaned up." She nodded, silent and terrified, and let him lead her up the basement stairs.

Fifty (actual) minutes later...

The shower was still warm despite being the second one in the last half-hour, but Vanessa could hardly feel it. Her nerves had been driven beyond their maximums for nearly a quarter of a day and the memory still felt fresh in her flesh. She stared down at her body, at the locks of her hair as fresh water slowly washed out the semen and sweat, and looked beyond them at her newly enlarged breasts, now hearty 32GG's in an absurd contrast to her fit (but not too fit), athletic (but only athletic enough) body. They were practically a mark on her now that she knew the reason for their explosive growth. She was marked. She was his, and he claimed her in every way she promised herself she'd never let a man claim her, and in ways she never thought possible... and a tired, angry punch did nothing to the tiles of the shower as she cried. She had to take it back... back from this bizarre, suddenly-sexy god-loser with a name that begged to be bullied. He could bend reality in a way she barely understood, molded her body, made her love him for hours, impregnated her despite being on birth control... but the fear of this enemy wouldn't dominate her. She would take everything back. She hated him enough to do it. She hated him. She repeated it in her mind. So why did she, upon being healed of her wounds, upon being free of his magic...

... want nothing more than to go right back to riding his cock? She whimpered at her new love, burned into her nerves, imprinted onto her very soul by the sorcery of his attacks... and whimpered more when she tried to rub herself in the shower only to feel nothing.

Outside the shower, freshly bathed himself, was an exhausted, worried John Newman. He had shuffled her into the bathroom when he bathed first, if only to keep her safe in her bizarre, shell-shocked state, and directed her to jump in after he had finished. She had obediently waited on his toilet, despondent throughout his washing, and he had almost wished she'd made a run for it. Once he finished, guilt helped him manage to ignore his libido and direct her into the shower without touching her. If she was grateful, her vacant expression did nothing to show it. As he waited outside, he had taken her clothes (they were ejected, along with his, when he finally closed the sex-soaked false reality), used craft and a bit of cash to repair and wash them, and now waited to offer them to her, neatly folded. He'd even return her underwear, though at this point returning her bra seemed as useless as it would be incriminating.

What the Hell do I do now?

He reviewed his inventory: he wore a fresh set of clothes from his room now, and kept the belt, ring, amulet and now his bracers on, because he couldn't help but feel more comfortable with them, and assembled the stolen pistol before looking it over.

mundane item: Glock 17 9x19 9mm handgun (silenced). A magazine-fed semi-automatic firearm with that deals 10-65 damage with a +50% critical chance modifier, which deals triple damage on crits. Can only crit living creatures. This model has been equipped with a suppressor and loaded with subsonic rounds.

He stashed the gun into the duffel bag in in his inventory; it didn't impress him at the moment, and it only reminded him ever more of what got him here. His mother, by some unknowable blessing, was missing tonight; he didn't know why, and a brief search through the house found no trace of her except a note on the kitchen counter, advising that she would be re-organizing the basement. The idea of heading down there, to the real version of the last place he ravaged Vanessa, was as dissuading as the danger of her coming up and finding his despondent lady friend. With a bit of luck, she'd be down there as long as it took for Vanessa to get out of the house. The sudden absence of the shower snapped John out of his thoughts. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly... and when the door finally opened with a rolling wave of steam, he stood to regard the cleansed woman who stared daggers into him.

Vanessa Hawthorne
Lvl 6 Cheerleader
<Bitch Queen>
HP: 50/50
Status Effects: Fatigued, Pregnant (♀️)
Relationship: +200

W-Whoa! She... I mean, if Summers was... what the Hell does this mean?!

Moreover, why was Vanessa trying to burn through his head with her glare? "Give me your phone."

"What? Why?"

Vanessa sighed, but her belittling voice was absent as she instructed him. "Because I've been missing for hours, and if I don't call by now then you'll be on, like, every wanted poster in the state by morning, and the country by tomorrow night... plus they'll probably end up breaking into your house with orders to shoot to kill."

John wasn't sure if she spoke from experience, but he had nothing to lose: he really didn't have a plan for explaining her disappearance, and though she submitted to him, her free will meant trouble.

But I could fix that... I could make her tell any story I want. The contract-

John shoved the phone towards her with an eagerness only he understood.

She dialed with the expertise of an 18-year-old who lives in her phone, and the other side picked up nearly instantaneously. "Hey- ugh. Put Ophelia on the phone, you shithead, and call off the search! Alpha, delta, einstein, foxtrot, zed. God, I can't even visit my fucking boyfriend's hous- why are you still on the fucking phone, asshole?!"

John leaned back as Vanessa Hawthorne returned in full, her face red with fury. What the Hell was that code? What if it's a secret language for 'come kill this big-dicked fuckhead'?

A moment later, a feminine voice could be faintly heard... and Vanessa swapped faces, voices, and even visible blood pressure as John might a pair of socks. "Heeeey Ophy! Yes, I am... no... what, Frank? I dumped his pathetic ass."

John blinked, stunned by the news, but he remained a silent listener. "Don't tell me you thought he was going to stick around? I'm a cheerleader, not an idiot, c'mon! As if I'd keep some meathead around? Ugh, please," she giggled playfully. "No no, I found... well, maybe you'll get to meet him one day, heehee... Oh of course, c'mon miss Ophelia! Yeah, just track this phone- oh good, you already did- yeah, of COURSE call off those losers, last thing I wanna do is make a bad impression, haha... that's fine, I'll tell mom all about it. So have them pick me up in..." Vanessa eyed John, biting her lip as she contemplated it. "... two hours? Yeah, I know it's a school night, thaaaaanks Ophy, say hi to Sam, bye!" She hung up the phone as she smiled so earnestly, so warmly... and let it melt the moment the disconnected message popped onto his mobile. "You're safe for now, John Newman. So now let's talk."

She handed him his phone back... and he continued to stare. She reached to his face and raised his slack jaw back to close, and only then did John, embarrassed, speak. "Wh... Who was that?!"

"Ophelia? She's the head maid... and our tactical officer, though really it's kind of stupid to keep hiring all these ex-Special Forces people just to wipe windows-"

"You remembered her name!" The Hawthorne raised an eyebrow. "You... your butler practically raised you, but you couldn't even remember his!"

"Oh," she interrupted, flicking her hair with a strangely confident stance, "you... you don't... you know, I thought maybe you figured that out, being a fucking, like, wizard or demigod or whatever the Hell you are? Do you really... not get it? After everything you did to me, I was sure you had me pegged..." Vanessa cleared her throat after considering her choice of words.

John remained totally baffled. She was healed and bathed, sure, but more than regained her composure she now spoke to him at an even level... not as an equal, because it could be that such was impossible for Vanessa, but gone was her immediate, palpable disgust and dismissal. More immediately important, John hadn't a clue what the Hell she was talking about. "You mean... the..." John looked down the hall before whispering, "... sex?"

Vanessa stared, dumbfounded at the awkward young man before her... and laughed nervously while shaking her head. "No- haha- no no no, that's not... there's no way you're... like this- hey. Are you the same Newman that just hella rocked my fucking world for what I thought was like, the whole night?" She glanced out the window again, where the evening had only begun to approach. "I'm sure it wasn't just an hour or two..."

"Eh, well, time flows kinda differently in-"

"You ARE the same Newman, right?"

"Y-Yeah!"

"Alright. Good. Then stop sounding like some fucking virgin nerd who's never seen or touched pussy before."

The mouth on her was ever impressive. "Look, I think you're avoiding my question here-"

"Fucking incredible. Look: Hubert is a man. Ophelia is a woman. This is why there's a difference."

"Hubert... is- wait, why does that change how you remember them? Do you have like a... psychological condition or-"

"For fuck's- of course I know who Hubert is, you retard! I grew up thinking he was my dad until I embarrassed my actual father at a dinner when I was eight, the old idiot even played video games wi-" She shook her head. "Why the fuck am I telling you- look! The point is, I'd have to be brain dead to forget him! But I've..." Vanessa leaned against a wall, and contemplated why she would tell Newman any of this. Wasn't he her greatest threat? Wasn't he the enemy she always feared? So why did she want to open up like this? Why did she get so excited by the idea of opening up, in more ways than one? "... I've learned about this world. I was taught it, and then I experienced it firsthand... and now I know what men are, and what they all want to be..." She turned her head to regard him, her eyes still full of hate. Despite the dire anger there, her relationship score remained unchanged. "... and where I have to put them."

What the Hell is her relationship score about?! John leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, bug-eyed as he weighed her words. Vague as she was, his mind was unusually sharp as of late, and it dawned on him at last. Thinking back... he only knows her tailor's name because she said it before kicking her out. But she never bothered to call the mobster anything but insults... was this really Vanessa Hawthorne? What else was broken in this girl, and what the Hell happened to break her? "So... so you just... pretend to forget their names?"

"No, I don't forget... I just act like they're not worth remembering, because they aren't... well, until they are. Frank was worth remembering, useful as he would've been. Mother approved of him, too."

John almost nodded until he caught it.