Chapter 4: Count Douchebag’s Manwhore

Only a few hours ago, just the thought of taking a bath with Zoe was enough to turn my dick into a brick, but as we derobed to bathe for the second time that morning, my attention was more on Zoe’s state of mind than her state of undress. After seeing what happened with the Nightmen, I was worried about her. And though I knew that the “The Resplendent Trader” was a walk-in-the-park next to “The Hounds of Night,” all of the Patron scenarios involved humiliating sexual depravities, regardless of the difficulty setting. That was kind of the point.

I took comfort in the way she changed with the difficulty adjustment. It was obvious that she also received a shot of confidence and positivity from the switch, and now she seemed rather glib about what had terrified her only moments earlier. “You wanted me to fuck a dog, Deacon? Are you kidding me with this shit? What is wrong with you?” She stepped into the tub waters brazenly this time with no reluctance or modesty. “Who the hell designed this trash anyways? How does getting fucked by a dog make an echo into a better Lovedoll?”

“It’s about shattering the base personality,” I said, climbing into the tub across from her. “Human girls make imperfect sex slaves, especially Americans. They have too much pride and entitlement, and are generally unsuited to any life of service to another.” I picked up the sponge and began to scrub off my chest. Starting the game anew also covered me in filth anew.

“They need to get knocked down a peg,” I continued, “and so we traumatize them. Make them realize that they are now some plaything, a vessel that must obey; obey no matter what is asked of it. If a client wants to watch his dog fuck his Lovedoll, then it’s important that the Lovedoll understands that even this isn’t beneath her. Even this, and moreover, she should enjoy fucking her master’s dog. She should yearn for it. The act itself then cooks up a cocktail of humility and shame that opens a psychological tear that the program can then fill in with supplemental behavioral modificat...” CRACK.

Zoe’s fist surprised me the second time just as much as it had the first time. It left my lip just as busted, too.

“You’re a fucking monster,” she said though raw misty eyes. “All of you are. Your whole company belongs in jail.” She finished cleaning up and hopped out of the tub, probably glad to get as far away from me as possible. I cradled my aching jaw and reflected upon how much I deserved it. My own actions seemed revolting to me, and I couldn’t believe that I’d actually run this simulation with Miss Proud’s echo and others and actually ENJOYED it, all of it. I felt ashamed.

We redressed in silence, and Zoe’s sullen attitude quickly gave way to her usual focused, disciplined self. In the moments before Maia’s return, she riddled me with pertinent questions.

Was it important to act in a specific way? Did it matter if she pretended to enjoy it or not? And why the hell hadn’t she gotten the chance to choose a class?

“You didn’t get a chance to choose a class because you died in thirty seconds,” I said, still flexing my jaw. “Please don’t attack the Patron this time, and the answer to your other two questions is ‘yes.’ Just like any other game, performing your duties correctly and with gusto will reward bonus experience. Ham it up, talk dirty, and generally pretend that you love every minute of it, because at this difficulty, we’ll need every point that we can get.” Zoe frowned but nodded resolutely, pursing her lips and slowly shifting her weight from one foot to another. She continued to do so until Maia came to get us once more.

We made our way through the tavern quicker this time, no longer impressed by the fantastical company. It wasn’t another moment before we were at the oaken double doors once again, but this time, the doors were of a bright golden wood, where it had previously been ebony, and the wall sconces blazed with a lively intensity, wherein last time, they only served to cast shadows. Even Maia didn’t seem as grim.

“Alright, let’s have a look at yez.” I couldn’t help but notice that her tone was much more civil on the easier difficulty, almost matronly. She straightened out our clothes for a moment, tugging on sleeves and hems. She grimaced when she saw my wound. “Oy, what happened to your lip?”

“I fell.” Christ. I sound like a battered wife.

“You fell?” She scoffed. “Well if you don’t please the Patron, you’re gonna fall a whole lot more, savvy?” She smiled at Zoe. “You, on t’other hand, clean up well, dear.” Zoe smiled back. It was the first time I remembered her smiling since we arrived. But then Maia ruined it. “The Patron’ll enjoy you plenty, even if he tends to get rough with the pretty ones.” Zoe’s smile disappeared. She bounced a few times on her heels and scowled at me. Maia pushed open the doors.

This Patron’s Suite was large for a bedroom and extravagantly outfitted with furs, rugs, curtains, and tapestries draped over every wall. There was a large circular bed at one end and a small wooden platform set up in the center of the room, upon which two oiled naked girls gyrated and danced to an unheard rhythm. This time, the girls looked cleaner and better fed, and there weren’t any others on the ground getting fucked by dogs.

Two figures sat upon cushions several feet away, watching the olive-skinned girls dance. One was a bearded man - tall, dark, and devilishly handsome, his oiled beard tinkling with bells and charms. The other was a woman, also tall and dark, but with pale golden curls, almost white, and bright eyes of a vibrant sinister red. I recognized the man as The Resplendent Trader - this difficulty setting’s Patron - but I’d never before seen the smoking hot lady before.

Seeing us walk into the room, the beautiful woman quickly bowed to kiss the Patron’s fingers, before rising to her feet and gliding over to receive us. She curtsied to Maia, at which time the portly proprietress took her leave, pushing the massive wooden doors closed behind us with finality. The dark beauty turned to us with a contemplative expression. “Two of you?” she said. “My Lordship only asked for one. Maia would do well to listen to our demands if she wishes to keep my master’s patronage.” I looked at her queerly.

“Who are you?” I asked. She blinked, seemingly surprised that I would dare speak.

“My name is Tiana,” she replied, “Consort Paramount to Lord Giles the Ram and master of his concubines.” Interesting, I thought. Perhaps, another dev added her in for the straight male subjects. I had no interest in training a male subject, and had never even looked at that code. My thoughts dispersed as she drew a slim dagger out of her shirtsleeve and pressed the tip to my throat. I seized up with fear and swallowed reflexively. “Now pray tell, who the fuck are you?”

I began to stammer as her blade started to draw blood, but Zoe spoke up for me, much to my dismay. “You don’t know who this is?” she said quickly. “This is the famed manwhore of Count Douchebag of Rikersdale. The most treasured ass in all the East!” I tried to look in her direction without moving my head. What was this now?

“I know not of any Count Douchebag,” Tiana said. “What of his ass?”

“Count Douchebag is a purveyor of the finest male pleasures in all the land,” Zoe explained. “Maia only wanted to ensure that Lord Giles was satisfied. I know of many a great and powerful Lord who’d rather have a beautiful boy for a plaything rather than some dirty little urchin like me.” I stared daggers at her, even as Tiana pushed harder on the blade.

“I don’t think so,” Tiana said. “My Lord has peculiar tastes, but he prefers maidens to boys I’m afraid.”

“Are you sure? Just try him out, I beg you. He’s the best cocksucker I’ve ever seen! Just ... you know, pound him up the ass for a few minutes just to be...”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” I countered. “I might be good, but I’m sure that Lord Giles would much rather sample your ample charms than mine own. Look at those tits! Bright and perky as you please! My ass is actually disgusting. No one should go anywhere near it.”

“Oh, lies! You could bounce a quarter off that ass! Mine is nothing compared to yours!”

“Silence!” Tiana glanced between us, seeming unsure. “Fine, I shall present you both and he may choose for himself. Follow me and obey all commands. When in doubt, do as I do.” I felt a fluttering of fear as Tiana turned to guide us back to the patron, but Zoe only looked resolved as she fell in line behind the other woman. She was adjusting better to the simulation than I was. We crossed the room in silence, and Tiana shooed away the dancing girls and led us onto the center stage in their place.

“For your pleasure, Lord Patron,” she announced. “I present to you two gifts from our chubby proprietress. The first is the famed manwhore of Count Douchebag of Rikersdale, whose ass is of notable repute. The other is...” A swelling triumphant musical chord swept through the room, startling Zoe, and lending dramatic gravitas to the situation. It was a cutscene moment. “The Traveler!” A lightning bolt struck outside, filling the room with light for the briefest instant before the thunder rumbled through the building. The Patron sat silently, studying us, letting the moment grow pregnant.

“The Traveler,” he grumbled. “I’ve heard of you. That noble turned outlaw who sparked this thrice-damned war.” He spat. “Don’t seem so noble now, do you?” Zoe and I shared uncertain glances. “Tell me, Traveler, to set the record straight. From whence do you hail?” He crossed his arms and sat back, waiting for an answer.

Before my eyes, the room darkened and grew dim, and the flickering sconces on the walls slowed and stopped, until the entire simulation froze in place. A large ornamental oak-framed mirror materialized in front of us, reflecting our detailed avatars. Carved into the top of the mirror was the question “From whence do you hail?” Underneath, seemingly superimposed onto the face of the mirror above our reflections, were five options: Truvain, Able, Argonia, Nok, Monmouth, Summerstone. The first entry was currently highlighted.

“Dude,” Zoe whispered. “Is this a race selection screen?” She reached up and swept her hand to the side, giggling as the simulation recognized her gesture and next highlighted the word “Able.” The menu was nothing if not intuitive.

As I watched, Zoe’s reflection in the mirror morphed, growing several inches shorter while her eyes grew more asiatic in appearance, with dark black pupils. Zoe actually smiled as her hair shortened and straightened, until her shiny black locks framed her now milky white face. She was still recognizable as Zoe, but she became a more petite, pale-skinned Japanese version of Zoe. I smiled too. It was kinda neat.

“The simulation will be paused until you make a decision,” I told her. “But no stalling. In two minutes, the game will choose for you.”

“Fun,” Zoe said, turning in the mirror to examine her new smaller body. She ran her hands across her newly flat chest and hips, and nodded appreciably at how thin her waist looked underneath the gossamer-like gown that now hung loosely from her shoulders. “I seem to have lost a few pounds. Is there any functional differences or is it a purely aesthetic choice?” I approved of the question. It was what I’d expect from a gamer.

“Mostly aesthetic,” I said. “The consumer version of the game will be different but you need to remember where you are,” I said. “This version is first-and-foremost a Lovedoll Training Program. In the LTP, your options basically include our most popular models. An outside tech would ordinarily make this choice for you, according to what the client orders, but the choice has reverted to you because no one’s at the wheel.”

“The most popular models?” Zoe arched her new eyebrows, admiring their severity. “So what’s this model? Dragon lady? Oh wait, this is like a Japanese schoolgirl or idol or something, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. “Are you really that surprised? Japan is a huge market for us.”

“Gross.” Zoe reached up and swiped her hand again.

Her reflection slowly regrew to her original height and her features reverted back to “vanilla,” but then my eyes gravitated to Zoe’s thighs as her thin legs grew plump and soft, and the twin bubbles of her ass expanded like balloons. Her gown also filled out as her swelling breasts stretched the thin material, and she gasped as her hair blossomed into a brilliant platinum blonde. She frowned at me with juicy lips plumped up to twice their normal size. “Oh hell no,” she stated. “Nope nope nope. Even if this version is full of ‘sex-stuff,’ I refuse to play through it as some bimbo pornstar.” She shook her head and laughed.