Funatic
patreon
The Gamer Chapter 1280 – The T-shirt Economy
🕑 Added 2022-09-03 05:03:55 +0000 UTC“Here you go,” John said, handing Lydia her dress. They were inside her apartment. Between her limo and this place, she had worn one of John’s shirts and hotpants – which almost made it look like she was only wearing his shirt. To say that she looked adorable in it was understating it, all with her hair open.
John thought her naked and on her knees was the least regal the monarch could be, but somehow this was more intense. Even in the enlightenment era style of her quarters, moving with her usual elegance, this particular outfit made her seem so incredibly casual and, more importantly, adorable. One of his women wearing a shirt of his was always cute. It was special because she did it so seldom.
“Appreciated,” Lydia said and carefully hung the dress back into her dedicated dress-closet. It was a quarter the size of the one occupied by her various military coats. Once she was done with that, she marched over to her windows and closed every last curtain. “Much as I desire your company, I believe this is the end of my day and the middle of yours.”
“Time zones are quite the bother,” John sighed and watched Lydia strip out of the hot pants, and only the hot pants, in front of him.
“Thank you for the new pyjamas,” she said, pulling at the lower edge of (now formerly) his shirt. It was more oversized on her than one may have believed, considering they were almost the same in height. This was because, even though John was a slender man, he was still a bit broader courtesy of being a man and because he deliberately bought the largest size t-shirts he could comfortably wear.
He had the one heavily enchanted shirt he wore on actual occasions, an assortment of other shirts in case that enchanted one took the form of a suit jacket instead, and a stack of t-shirts that he wore for a day or two at a time before they disappeared from his closet for several months. Explicably, they sat in his closet, freshly washed and folded, after they had lost all of his scent and had taken their journey through Aclysia to the washing machine and back on the stack.
John actually had no definitive idea how many t-shirt he co-owned, because they were in constant circulation. By his estimation, every last haremette hoarded between 2 (on the lower end for girls like Salamander, Nathalia, Metra, and others that were either too tall, too well-endowed or too much of a nudist to wear them for long) and 20 (on the higher end, with primary offenders like Eliana, Aclysia and, recently joined, Claire). Averaging that to about 12 per girl, he was looking at something like 240 t-shirts, plus the 20 always in his closet.
If he had meant to, he could have combed his memories and counted all of them, but John had better things to do with his erudite mind. Such as trying to find any and all excuses to stay a bit longer. He was running short, however, as was Lydia. “You’re welcome,” he said, in a defeated tone. Lydia walked over and put a hand on the side of his head.
“We will see each other soon, my prince,” she told him.
John raised one eyebrow. “Prince?”
“You are a king in waiting, are you not?” Lydia said with a slight smile. “Not in the way Metra intends. You will be my spouse before I abdicate. One could not expect me to wait until my work is complete.”
“I suppose that would make me a prince by some description,” John hummed and gave Lydia one more hug. “Every minute apart is one too much,” he mumbled.
“You will survive, my love,” Lydia responded. “Now go, I require rest.”
Sighing, John did as she requested and left. He looked over his shoulder one last time in the door, to be met with a shooing motion. Closing the door behind himself, he walked away. Without her in his field of view, leaving was a lot easier.
Nightingale, Metra and Siena waited by the teleporter. The former two had reverted to their regular outfits, and the harpy took her leave almost immediately upon being teleported over. The only thing she requested was that Delicia was left in her care, which he obliged. “I must prepare for tomorrow,” was her goodbye, leaving John to move indoors.
After wearing a suit for so long, and reminded of his need to produce freshly worn t-shirts, John switched into a casual outfit with a press of a few buttons. T-shirt and yoga pants were comfortable in a different way than the highly enchanted, fine weave of the Chosen Set. The pants were nearly immediately dismissed. They would not be borrowed and John liked to let his floppy bits hang out at home.
It was about 17:30 now, over five and a half hours since he left, and even with the entirety of the drive back being filled with service, he had not gotten his fill yet. Which was why, when he was greeted the traditional way at the door, the result was predictable. Lavishly lusting after his ladies, he laid them low on every last level locality and long lewded them.
Aclysia, Beatrice and Claire were all twitching messes, after he was through. The last of those three had already been filled with cum when he got there, courtesy of Jake having been switching between work and hanging out with the haremettes. In any case, they were cared for now, leaving John with temporary satisfaction and some time on his hands. All of the other haremettes were still out and about, doing whatever they were doing for their day jobs. Jake was currently hanging out with Momo, churning through paperwork – without any sexual side action. Even with hyper-competence, they needed to take a few hours each week without distractions.
Well, John needed to do that. Momo just did that and the only two ways to get her out of her office was to goad her with cuddles or news on archaeological discoveries.
‘Let’s check on Scarlett,’ John decided. He had put her on file search earlier and he might as well check where she was on that. After lining his post-ecstatic maids up in a row and watching them start cuddling on instinct, he was out the door. Less than five minutes later, he was in Scarlett’s office.
The air had that particular smell of metal welding. A sharp and aggressive note, that was quite recent in origin, as the machines that had enacted the process proved. John knew how to identify a great number of Scarlett’s machines. The eight mechanical arms around a central platform, appearing like an upside-down spider of sorts, was something she commonly used to cut parts for prototypes.
As for the redhead herself, she was in the middle of changing when John walked in. When working with high-heated metals, the businesswoman commonly wore the protective garb that was proper for such heavy industry. The top, she had already discarded, and the thick pants dropped to the floor just as he entered, leaving her only in a pair of red lace panties. Petite as her chest was, she never bothered with a bra.
“Good timing,” she said and strutted over to him. Androgynous as her face was, flat as her chest was, her hips did not lie. Each step, her wide hips swung, as her bare feet carried her over the metal floor and to him. The second she was in front of him, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and demandingly pulled. Not one to resist, John let himself be kissed.
Her lips, pink and soft, wrestled with his. He could taste the heavy machinery on her lips, only making her more attractive. John loved himself the femininity of women like Lorelei and he deeply adored the triumvirate of business, crafting, and growing girliness of Scarlett. The last on that list was something constant contact with him and his other haremettes had brought forth. Not that he expected or wanted her to stop ever being who she was. Her putting on a dress and high-heels every now and again was just a special something.
While their tongues wrestled, the brat putting up every bit of resistance, her right hand greedily explored his chest. At least, that was what John thought what was happening. Under his shirt, it travelled up, caressing his muscles, until Scarlett suddenly broke the kiss. For a moment, he was blinded, then he realized what was happening and moved his arms so the technomancer could pull the shirt fully off him.
“Thanks for your business,” Scarlett stated, his top in hand, and walked back to her table. “I was running low on these.”
“I only wore it for about an hour,” he warned her.
Scarlett sat down on the edge of her desk and pressed the shirt against her face. Audibly, she took a deep, delectably perverted whiff. “You had sex in this,” she stated, her voice muffled through the cloth. Rather obviously, her hand crept into her panties and started rubbing something.
“That’s a statistically good guess, but how do you know?” John wondered. “Traces of perfume?” Only a couple of women used perfume in his harem – Aclysia and Beatrice, to be exact. Aclysia did it more to regulate his mood by triggering certain psychological responses the average human had to certain smells, then to cover her own lack of fragrance. Beatrice, on habit of her background, copied the habit. Claire had not yet decided if she wanted that particular trend. Momo was fine with herself smelling like parchment and various forest fragrances. Everyone else either had their natural musk or the traces of shampoo and bathing oils.
“No, although…” she kept on breathing through his shirt, “…I guess I smell cinnamon, that’s Aclysia.” Scarlett’s eyelids went a little lower, as she moaned. Walking over, John ripped the shirt from her and put it back on. “It will smell better after you’re done with me,” Scarlett explained her lack of resistance. “So, in about… two minutes.”
“Oh, the old quickshot routine, very bratty,” John responded drily. Seconds later, he slammed both of Scarlett’s wrists down on the table. It must have hurt, but that was part of the point. The redhead gasped.
“Oh, the old wrist-pin, very dommy,” Scarlett responded in kind and earned herself a smack across the face as her reward. He only needed one hand to keep that woman inescapably confined. “Aww, is that all you can do?”
“You really have a lot of spirit for a slave,” John growled, fully engaged in the role.
“Slave? You don’t own me.”
“You work for me, I use you to get off, eventually I will use you for breeding.” The mention of the b-word got both of them a bit excited. Him more than her, definitely, but Scarlett had long since reconsidered her initial stance of likely not wanting kids. It was a question of when rather than if now. The same was true for most of the harem. Eliana’s constant insistence likely caused a socially contagious case of baby rabies. Alternatively, just like with John’s tendency to pick out submissive women, maybe he had managed to subconsciously pick up those that were compatible with him on this level too. Another, and most certainly major contribution, was that human urges to breed would logically spike after entering a stable relationship with lots of resources available.
“You use me to get off? Oh… I was about to disagree, but you’re right. I barely get anything out of thi-“ Scarlett was stopped short when he smacked the side of her smooth thigh. “Oh fffffuck!” she gasped in response to the pain, writhing and kicking the air. The impact would leave a mark, but he wasn’t concerned about that.
“Yeah, you barely get anything out of this,” John agreed sarcastically, looking at the damp spot in her panties. Before she could shoot back with something else bratty, he had a hand on her neck. “Sorry, still wondering, how did you figure out the shirt thing? Female intuition?” He released his grip to let her answer.
“Probably some… pheromones…” Scarlett responded, filling her lungs with air. “You know the waiting room experiment?”
“The one where they first have a man enter the waiting room, sit there alone for a while, then he leaves, a woman is brought in, and eight out of ten times, the woman sits down on the same chair?” he asked. “Yeah, I can see how that tracks. You never know what you pick up subconsciously… back to breaking you.”
“Psh, good luck with tha-a-a-aaaat,” Scarlett started arrogant and ended moaning, as her panties were torn from her and his cock pushed into her with one swift thrust. “Fucking me – crea-ahhh-tive!”
“Really won’t take more for you,” John grunted, pounding her relentlessly. After a long day of work, Scarlett was in need of a good fucking. He knew that all he needed to do was to keep rutting into her.
Her face reflected resistance and short periods of surrender. The latter were first confined to her orgasms. Stretched of bliss, during which her agitating masked cracked and the proper submissive showed. Her mouth opened wide, her tongue stretched out, and her eyes reflected the deep-seated desire to be abused just a little more. John made it a point of principle to only give her what she wanted when she was making that face, goading her to leave behind that bratty shell.
“Oh... fuck… O---o-o-ohhh f-u-uu-uuuuuuck!” Scarlett screamed after ten minutes of uninterrupted heavy pounding. Finally, her legs wrapped around his hips, signalling her final break. Her petite breasts softly jiggled with every thrust. More intensely rippled her thighs, nice and thick. Her skin, having assumed a bit of a tan from all the time she hung outside with the other girls, was red here and there from various torments he inflicted on her.
“What are you?” he asked her, giving her face another smack.
“….b-roooken… slaaaaaave…!” Scarlett shouted, as best she could, as another intense orgasm rolled through her.
“Yesssssss,” John hissed, hammering into her a few more times before releasing inside her. The clenching legs around him wouldn’t have it any other way. Eyes rolling up, the redhead screamed while her spine curved off the table. Any intense spasming and further screams were forbidden by the hand grabbing her neck again.
With sadistic glee, he let his seed fill her womb. Once the last drop was out, he let her breathe again. For a little while, at least.
Then he was back to pounding her.
