Wanton Witch: XdCeX Online - Discretion Guaranteed. A LitRPG Series. Read online

  The Wanton Witch

  XdCeX Online - Discretion Guaranteed

  ilo man

  Copyright © 2018 by ilo man

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

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  Chapter One

  “Vincent you’re a fucking…”

  Vinnie tore his eyes away from his mobile.

  He didn’t like it when she called him Vincent. She never called him Vincent, well, unless she was pissed at him. He took a slug from his bottle of Jack and sparked a fat one.

  “Vincent, you’re a fucking loser…”

  Loser?

  How could he be a loser? He was a goddamn rock star—a world-famous celebrity. A legion of fanatical fans followed him around the globe—a legion of horny, fanatical fans…

  “Vincent, you’re a fucking loser. You’ve shit on me for the last time.”

  Okay, that stopped him cold, he didn’t remember doing that.

  This was a worrying development. He grabbed the bottle and panic-gulped more Jack, slouching back in his threadbare tour chair, his favorite chair, swig, puff, and back to the phone. Shit on her? He grunted.

  Sounded vile, no wonder Meg was calling him Vincent.

  Hang on! Vinnie’s memory began to clear. They hadn’t even shagged the other night. Relief flowed through him. There was no way he’d shit on her. She’d hopped on a plane straight after his gig, and he’d hopped on some blond, super fan, bimbo type.

  “Oh, thank fuck for that,” he gasped.

  Okay, so, no one shit on anyone.

  Why the hell was she calling him Vincent?

  “Vincent, you’re a fucking loser. You’ve shit on me for the last time. You shagged my cousin, you bastard.”

  Oops. So, the super fan was her cousin. It all made sense now.

  Super-fan had kept saying how much she loved Meg, and that they really shouldn’t be doing it. Hmmm. What to do... Read on.

  Meg normally gave him a clue how to make it up to her.

  “Rock n’ roll, baby,” he muttered to himself, shaking his flowing, black hair back, taking a huge toke on his spliff. “She gets to hang with the millionaires; I get the crazy fans. It’s a fair trade.”

  “Vincent, you’re a fucking loser. You’ve shit on me for the last time. You shagged my cousin you bastard. She wants you to know you were a shit lay, and that she’s never been with anyone so selfish.”

  Okay, that was harsh.

  How could he be a shit lay? Getting boned by a rock star should be reward enough. What the absolute fuck? Shit lay?

  “Must be a psycho.” He nodded to himself, knowing the truth of his words, and looked at the bottle, realizing it was nearly out. “Psycho bitch. What did she want? Face-time? I’m a goddam rock star. Bitch.” He drained the dregs of his Jack, a somber mood clouding over him.

  “And I have to agree with her. You’re all you, you, you. I’ve gotta life too, cowboy. So here it goes. Go fuck yourself, Vinnie. We’re done. We’re so over. And yes. You’re a shit lay—the worst I’ve ever had.”

  She’d come round, he decided. She’d have to come round.

  “Fuck her,” he muttered, but his bottom lip trembled, his heart fluttered, and tears welled. “She’s the only damn thing that’s real,” Vinnie whimpered.

  His dressing room door burst open. His agent gave him daggers.

  “Showtime Vinnie, you’ve got one minute.”

  Pulling out his intravenous tubes, Vinnie groaned, fully expecting a burst of morning-pain. It didn’t materialize. Before he attempted to lift his head up, he inched his eyes open, still expecting the worst, and he breathed a sigh of relief as no glaring sunlight, no piercing headache, rifled his body. He attempted the first inch up.

  No hangover either. Sweet.

  That mean machine had scrubbed his blood clean.

  “Thank you, Sandy,” he declared, and finally sat up.

  Sandy replied, her calm, reassuring voice wafting around his luxurious, penthouse apartment. “You are welcome, though Webster hooked up your flaccid body.”

  Vinnie’s heart stopped. “Not flaccid, Sandy, never flaccid.” What was it with the world antagonizing his poor cock at the moment?

  Her voice came from tiny speakers in the wall, their apertures no bigger than the ends of a straw. Sometimes she even dispensed with those and just spoke inside his mind using some of the most advanced wetware ever implanted into a human.

  Vinnie had money, heaps of it, and he wasn’t afraid to spend it. Vinnie had most things, he loved that about his life, and though he didn’t have a girlfriend at the moment, he was determined to work on that aspect right away.

  “Limp?” Sandy ventured.

  Vinnie growled. Was she baiting him?

  “Vinnie Targetti doesn’t do limp. Try unconscious—I was wasted, man, but what a night, what a gig.” He jumped out of bed, scratched his balls and gave his cock a playful slap. He felt like a million dollars, though that was bugger all nowadays. He felt like a million dollars if you discounted the cloud of doom that still hung over him.

  “Never limp.” He slapped his cock again. “Look, Sandy, I’m already getting a boner just thinking about you.” He strutted in front of his full-length infinity mirror, his reflection cascading away like he was at the head of a long queue of naked Vinnies. He admired his athletic body, lean and neatly trimmed.

  Sandy sighed. “I’m a computer program, nothing sexy about me.”

  Vinnie pressed his lips close to the wall by the mirror’s side. “I’d shag you to within an inch of your life.”

  Sandy chuckled. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

  Vinnie snapped his head back. “You been reading my messages?”

  “All your devices are interconnected. I have to scan it to display it. Quite…damming though. Your super-fan certainly didn’t hold back.”

  He collapsed on the end of his double-queen bed—his empty, double-queen bed. Megan’s words, or rather, her text came crashing back. Worst I’ve ever had. Shit lay.

  These were depressingly bad reviews. Worse, he suspected they might be right.

  Facing facts wasn’t his favorite past time, but Meg’s abandonment was just…intolerable. He was, after all, a world-famous rock star.

  “Fuck, man, I’ve been dumped. Shit. That’s gotta be bad for business.”

  “There’s worse.” Even Sandy’s normally calm voice sounded concerned. His eighty-six inch flat screen fired itself up. It
rapidly flicked through some web pages until it stopped on the desired one—red and white headlines screaming out.

  Vinnie Targetti, a lay to forgetti!

  Ax n’ Fire Mayhem front man ‘Crap in bed.’

  Well, self-proclaimed sex god Vinnie Targetti gets called out by super-model-ex-girlfriend Meg’s cousin, Sally Ann Beaumont, according to Sally, Vinnie’s mini is very skinny, and Vinnie himself hasn’t got a clue what to do with it.

  Vinnie held his head in his hands, coincidently staring at the aforementioned Mini Vinnie who’d shriveled away in embarrassment. A gut feeling of creeping sadness clawed through him. How the fuck was he going to get out of this one? Worse, was this bad news going to spread? Would other girls creep out of the woodwork and slate his good name?

  He knew he had to act, and fast.

  “Coffee,” he barked, jumping up.

  “In the lounge area,” Sandy told him.

  He marched out of his bedroom, straight into his wide, luxurious, open plan apartment. Aiming straight for its nest of sofas, he noticed something curiously out of place, but he couldn’t stop himself, he’d already jumped, just like he always did.

  He sailed through the air, landing perfectly in his armchair, legs akimbo.

  His agent, Felicity Brockstein, looked up from her wrist-pad. “You could have put some clothes on.” She let her eyes linger between his legs. “So that’s the famous Mini Vinnie? A quick shot of that bad boy leaked all over the Internet should at least dispel the skinny rumors. I suppose that’s one thing.” She smiled and licked her lips. “Shame you’ve got no clue how to use it.”

  Vinnie covered his modesty, then quickly decided he wanted a smoke and his coffee, and so needed his hands. Besides, she’d already got a good eyeful.

  His eyes lingered on her open neck shirt, a tantalizing hint of her breast on show, milky white, pert, ripe.

  His shame-filled dick rose up for a look like a charmed cobra.

  “Webster, get me my gown,” he blurted. Enough was enough; his precious reputation was on the line.

  Vinnie’s droid burst into action, well, it walked slowly into his bedroom.

  Felicity lofted her eyebrows then went back to her wrist pad. “The question is; what the hell are we going to do about it? You’ll have your sponsorship deals pulled. Streaming will dry up. Really, Vinnie, can’t you make up with Meg and offer the super-fan something to retract?”

  Vinnie had a better idea. “I’ll just hook up with a new one, a real super fan, whatever, bonk her brains out and all good.” Vinnie took a sip of his coffee and sparked up a smoke.

  He shook out his long, black hair, letting it cascade over his muscle-bound torso. Vinnie had the body of someone who worked out regularly, put him in a gym though, and he’d find the bar before any of its devil-machines. “And I’ll be giving her my A game.”

  “If only you had one.” Felicity had a degree of despair etched all over her face. Webster held up his dressing gown, and Vinnie stood, finally covering up.

  “We can’t even blame the tool, just the craftsman,” she moaned on. “If only you were good in the sack, this would all blow over, but you’re not. In short, you’ve got a magnificent ax, but you can’t chop wood.”

  “How the fuck would you know?” Vinnie demanded indignantly, fed up with the constant shit coming his way.

  A long sigh passed through her lips as if the whole conversation was boring her. “I’ve been reviewing your videos—you do know everything in this apartment is recorded, don’t you?”

  “No,” Vinnie replied but had a funny feeling his answer was wrong and that he did know. Wasn’t it to protect him—to stop him getting sued for shit? The truth was, he’d thought he found it all a bit kinky, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  How many people were rating his sexual prowess 0 out of 10?

  Felicity frowned. “Well it is, and if you want me to sum up your repertoire it’s this: Hey babe, I’m the lead singer in a big rock group. Hey babe, I’ve got a big cock, wanna suck it? Hey babe, bend over. Pump, thrust, pump, thrust, cum, slug of Jack, spliff, sleep.”

  “I try,” Vinnie said and gave her his biggest, rock n’ ‘roll, charisma-filled smile.

  Felicity’s shoulders slumped. “Solutions, let’s talk solutions.”

  “Why don’t I bone you, and then you could tell the world how good I am?” He arched his eyebrow, his metaphorical line cast, his bait waiting for Felicity’s full and lush lips to snap his offer up.

  “You see,” Felicity countered, leaning forward, flashing more of her boobs. “That’s the problem right there. Why don’t I bone you? Did you ever think the woman might want some pleasure too?”

  Vinnie squirmed a bit. He took a sip of his coffee. “So that’s a no?”

  Felicity straightened, all boobage vanishing. “You’re going to do one of two things, Vinnie Targetti. Either, you’re going to lose all cred as a rock n roll, bed-hopping, party monster, or you’re going to become the best lay in the world. What’s it to be?”

  Vinnie nodded slowly. She had a plan.

  He knew she had a plan.

  “I’m listening.”

  Chapter Two

  They stood around the VR pod.

  It was about the size of a coffin and shaped much like one too.

  “I had it customized,” Felicity explained. “Meg was good enough to let slip what was about to happen, so when the news broke over-night, I was ready. Sandy?”

  A flat-screen flickered on. Vinnie’s name cycled the yellow bottom band, the news presenter above seemingly oblivious to it.

  Rock Superstar Vinnie Targetti goes into long-term rehab.

  It scrolled on, showing a rerun of the morning’s news.

  Inwardly, Vinnie thanked Sandy for switching it off almost straight after. He looked at the VR pod affectionately. “I like it.” Vinnie was already used to full VR (Virtual Reality) pods. He used his other, more generic pod, every day.

  An hour gave him all the work out he needed to keep his body well toned and…heavy metal, without the need to do any exercise. It was the perfect win-win.

  He laid down; his body did the work.

  “So, I just hide out in here for a while, wait for the dust to settle, and presto, you drum up some fake reviews, and I’m good to go?” He hoped that was the plan. He prayed that was the plan. It was certainly an acceptable one. “Yes?”

  Felicity opened the pod’s lid.

  An ambient light illuminated the coffin’s internal perimeter filtering through a blue gel that filled it to three-quarters full. “This is no ordinary pod,” she stated. “This is a deep-dive pod. See those tubes and the tanks over there?” She pointed at two steel torpedoes around six feet long and three in diameter. “Those are the waste and nutrient tanks. They’ll feed you and clean you daily.”

  “Daily?” Vinnie said, alarm bells ringing.

  “Daily,” Felicity assured him. “You lie in the tank, you shit in the tank, piss in the tank, whatever. It acts as a womb, constantly cycling the gel, cleansing it, and revitalizing it with oxygen and nutrients. In short, Vinnie, you’re under, and you’re under good—deep, deep immersion.”

  Only one thing bothered Vinnie about it all.

  Well, that wasn’t strictly true; quite a few things did, like why so long? Couldn’t he hide out in his flat, or make sure he wore a hat when he went out? Actual rehab? He scoffed at that option.

  No one in showbiz went to actual rehab. They drove up the long gravel drive, went into the vast stately home, but then bolted out of the back door as fast as lightning.

  “How’s it going to make me a good shag?” Yep, he’d reviewed the vids, and there was no doubt about it, he was a shit lay. Apart from one lengthy clip with some mystery brunette—he’d played his A-game that night.

  Wouldn’t it just be easier to find her and get her to go public?

  “Vinnie?” Felicity said, shaking him. “Are you fucking listening to me?

  “What? Sorry? Miles away.” />
  “I’ll start again. Have you ever heard of XdCeX-Online?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sandy?”

  A white line crossed the black screen. It slowly darkened and turned to luminous azure, then spiked with a heartbeat that raced along it. It pulsed like that every ten seconds, a deep beating sound reverberating every time the line peaked. Vinnie gazed at it, waiting to see what would come next. Just when his mind was about to start wandering again, the line began to beat faster and faster, soft murmurs and pants of fast breaths filling the room, becoming more and more urgent until a gasp finally rang out followed by an ear-splitting scream of euphoric pleasure.

  The line blurred, then exploded outward with a colossal crack, as the screen’s pixels shattered to snow. They then imploded into an erratic dance of shape and form that began to spin and spin, growing and shoving the light away until one sole white pixel remained. It grew, all the while spinning until it took up the whole screen, then displaying a perfectly rendered 3D village—medieval looking—set in the folds of an Alpine-type valley. A lively, effervescing river ran through it.

  The picture settled, but then zoomed out, the village becoming just a speck, the valley no more than a crease in a mountain range. The mountain range, in turn, was a mere blot of gray, white and dirty green surrounded by lush and verdant lands occupying the southern stretch of a heart-shaped island. It soon rotated until the island blurred, and the picture swooped down again, focusing on a stunning elven-looking woman with a full, pale-green cleavage, an inviting, sensuous mouth, and a hint of something in her endless violet eyes that matched her long, vibrant hair.