When Jamen awoke, he had a pounding headache and was thirstier than he ever remembered being. He blinked his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a minute, slowly piecing together everything that had happened to him in the past few hours. The first few moments of consciousness, he was sure that the events of last night had been a dream, but as the mental filters which differentiate reality and dream kicked in, the mental alarm bells started to sound.

He sat up and looked around—he was in a tent. Not the average thirty-dollar dome tent, but a large, military-style construction of red canvas and wooden poles. Through the partly-open front flap, he could see the red sand and desert, further affirming that the crazy events flooding back into his mind were not a dream at all. What the hell was happening?

A clay pitcher filled with water and a cup sat on a small table next to the bed, along with two pieces of a strange-looking fruit. His thirst and hunger were suddenly his only concerns, and he quickly downed four cups of the lukewarm water before tearing into the fruit. It had a thin, bumpy red skin and white flesh on the inside, and tasted sweet—the flavor was somewhere between an apple and a mango. Quickly finishing the second piece, he tossed the pit aside, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The floor of the tent was covered with a woven carpet.

He was naked. His cleric's robes, undergarments, and gossamer robe were folded on a bench on the other side of the bed. He stretched the kinks out of his back and started to walk over to retrieve his garments when his nose picked up on an odd, but pleasant smell. It was coming from him. He sniffed his arm—it smelled herbal, almost floral, yet musky. He ran a finger over his chest. It was slightly oily, and when he sniffed his finger, it had the same scent. They must have washed and oiled me, he thought.

He recalled the red-haired women that were his last memory before losing consciousness. They drugged me. As further thoughts came flooding back in now, his heart raced and he hurriedly threw on his clothes. I have to find Casey!

After he finished dressing in his robes and slipped on his socks and shoes, he picked up the canvas backpack that had been left next to him at the cave when Casey was taken. He had to have been taken—he couldn’t get up and walk away. Chances were that these redheads had him—all Jamen had to do was find him and they could be out of here.

Cautiously he peeked his head out of the front flaps of the maroon canvas tent. He was in a camp or settlement of some kind. He stuck his head out a bit further, and didn’t see the guards on either side of the entrance until it was too late.

“He’s up! Go get Merah,” said the one to Jamen’s left. The one to the right scampered away. “Good morning, master,” said the remaining guard.

Jamen considered ducking back inside, but that was pointless now. He emerged fully from the tent and stood upright, taking in the woman who had spoken to him. She had a mane of curly red hair and was dressed in flexible leather. It had to be flexible to contain the woman's enormous breasts. The leather chest piece was well-crafted of red and gold leather, and displayed no cleavage, offering protection up to the neck. The arms were left bare to allow free movement, and…

Jamen blinked at the woman, wondering if he was really seeing what he was seeing. Two holes the size of plums were cut into the leather, exposing both of her nipples. The areola had almost no pigment, but the nipples stuck out proudly. He promptly filed this bit of information under the increasingly-crowded ‘what the fuck' folder for later perusal.

The woman also wore a matching leather skirt, or perhaps kilt was the better word, that ended just below her knees, where it met the leather sandals and ankle straps that protected her feet. A sword was sheathed at the woman’s waist.

“Did the master sleep well?” the woman asked.

“Who are you, and why did you drug me?” Jamen asked.

"My name is Susu," the woman said. "I didn't drug you, I just guarded you as you slept. Merah will be here soon—she will answer any questions you may have." Jamen looked at the woman, then her nipples, then at her again before retreating into the tent.

Now that his head had started to clear a bit, he took stock of his situation. “Ok, think, Jamen,” he said out loud. “Yesterday I was playing Arousia. Something bad happened, and now I’m here. I’m still a cleric, but I don’t have any of my gear.”

On the table next to the bed, behind the water pitcher, he saw the two scrolls that had depicted their stats both in Arousia and here. That was the part he didn’t get. Was he in the game, or wasn’t he? The VR must have glitched out. He was still in his gaming chair in his apartment. The log out mechanism was busted, but someone would come by and pull him out of the game soon, just as soon as…

Just as soon as his dead body started to decompose and stink up the place. Dammit.

Jamen thought some more. The log out command didn’t work, but there was another trick that might.

“Summon admin,” Jamen said into the air. Nothing happened. Jamen swore.

He picked up the scrolls on the table, opening one of them. It was Casey’s. It looked the same as it had previously, except that his SP was full now, whatever SP was. Maybe it regenerated over time.

He opened his own.

He had taken a glance at when he first got here, but this was the first time he thoroughly looked it over. He had seen all of these spells before, except Weeping Scab. Didn’t sound too healthy, but it was ostensibly a low-level damage spell. He touched the words ‘Minor Heal’ with his finger. Nothing happened.

In Arousia, touching the various stats and spells transformed the printing on the page to give the player more information. Here, it appeared that he was limited to this one page.

The fact that there was even a page at all, or that he was still in his robes was something he couldn’t wrap his head around. He furrowed his brow in thought, then came to a decision. He would proceed from this point on as if he were still in the game. He would forget all this bullshit about being transported to a different planet, or multiverses, or quantum particle doohickeys. He would try to log out or summon admins at regular intervals until he was out of this damned simulation.

He glanced at the sheet again. In Arousia he needed his cleric’s crook to cast spells. Here, without the crook, he wasn’t sure how. He looked at the words ‘Weeping Scab’, concentrating on the spell and its desired effect. As the image formed in his mind, a word did also.

“Kurap?” he said aloud.

A burning pain shot up his arm as an angry looking scab the size of a golf ball formed on the back of his hand. “Fuck!” he swore, as he dropped the stat sheet and started shaking his hand. Pausing after a moment to look at it, he saw that the spell worked as advertised. The crusty scab was leaking a yellow goo. He sniffed it, and suppressed a gag from the stench of rot and infection.

Pulling himself together, he concentrated on the Cure Wounds spell, and another word came to him.

“Balut,” he said, while looking at his hand. The scab began to glow bright orange, and when the light had disappeared, so had the scab. He flexed his fingers a couple times, even smelling the back of his hand. Good as new.

He picked up the stat scroll from the ground and was about to test another spell, when the front flaps opened, and two women entered the tent. Jamen could see Susu, the one guarding his tent, peeking in and smiling at him before she let the tent flap fall. Jamen took an involuntary step back, but the two women approached him with their hands up and their palms facing him. One was around 25, while the other probably in her mid-thirties. Both had heads of thick red curls and freckles splattered across their faces. They both were dressed similarly to the guard, including the exposed nipples peeking out from their extremely well-endowed chests. The leather armor they wore no doubt compressed them, and they were still impressive. Jamen's mind boggled at what size they could expand to if freed from the constrictive leather.

The younger one had three golden-colored U-shaped bands sewn into the leather covering her stomach, while the other had three as well, with a vertical line slashing down the middle of them. Jamen thought it looked sort of like a menorah.

“Hello. My name is Merah, and I am the leader here,” said the younger one in a friendly tone. She was pretty, but strongly built, with muscular shoulders and arms. “This is the village of Ibu. Well, it’s more like a travelling encampment, but we have been here since the rift opened. We will get to that later. This,” she said, gesturing to the older woman, “is Tua, our chief tactician.”

Jamen glanced to Tua, who was also quite attractive, although her face had a hawkish quality to it. Maybe that was because the woman was looking at him the way a hawk would look at a squirrel.

“I want to know why you drugged me and brought me here,” said Jamen. “And I want to know what you did with my battle axe.”

The two women looked at each other.

“We did not drug you,” Merah said. “We found you. And there were no weapons on you when we did.”

“You were drugged by the Tante—the cave women. We found one of their clay pots next to you. Do you remember us finding you?” Merah asked.

“I remember bits. Your hair. I don’t remember any cave women.”

Tua spoke up for the first time. “You were at one of the entrances to their complex when we found you. We were doing reconnaissance,” she said gruffly.

“Let’s say I believe you, which I don’t. Are you at war with these women?”

“War? No, not exactly,” said Tua. “But we’re not on speaking terms. They don’t trust us, we don’t trust them. It was one of their own who brought the curse that killed the men.”

“Ok, so wait a second,” Jamen said. “What do you mean by the last man?” This world had to be Arousia. He had to be still in the game. This was too coincidental.

“They have…powers, the Tante,” Merah said, waving her hands for effect. “They have the power to ward off evil, and the power to summon it. Twenty years ago, a member of their tribe, a powerful sorceress, was wronged by the man she loved. In revenge, she evoked a curse which ruined every man in the land, making them unable to breed. Those that survived the curse either ended up killing themselves or going mad.”

Tua continued for her, her face taking on a far-away look. “The last baby was born twenty years ago. She’s a member of the Tante—her mother conceived on the night of the curse. There is a prophecy,” she looked to Merah before continuing, and Merah nodded in approval. “The night the men died, one of our seers gave a prophecy, which stated that the one who had the power to break this curse would be conceived on the very same night it started.”

Merah nodded, then continued. “Her name is Cahaya, and it was her we were looking for when we found you. And now that we have, maybe we don’t need her to break the curse after all.” Merah smiled, taking a step closer to Jamen, who in turn took a step backward. Unfortunately, there was a bed there, and Jamen plopped onto it. He crab-walked backwards towards the pillows before relaxing somewhat.

Merah smiled at Jamen, then at Tua. “Tua here is one of the few in our numbers who remembers what sex was like, so she will guide me in the process.”

“Process?” croaked Jamen.

“The sexing, yes. What is your name?” Merah asked.

"Jamen," he replied. He was beginning to think he had lost control of this conversation. No, scratch that. He was never in control, and now the mere prospect of it was entirely out of his reach.

“Master Jamen,” Merah said, approaching the bed and bowing her head. “will you, for the sake of our lands and our future, put a baby inside me?” Merah looked up, her face a picture of hopefulness.

This was happening way too quickly. “Wait, wait, waitwaitwait,” Jamen said.

“What is wrong?” Merah asked. “Tua told me the sexing was pleasurable for both the man and the woman.” The woman looked to Tua, who nodded in agreement.

“Very much so, as I remember,” said Tua.

“Well yes, it’s pleasurable, but…” Jamen stammered.

“Good. There are three-hundred twenty women in our group, so I expect the next few days will be very pleasurable for everyone,” Merah said, clapping her hands together and grinning broadly. “How many at a time can you have?”

“What? Wait,” said Jamen. “I don’t have the time right now. I need to find my friend… I mean, my battle axe. It’s…it’s a family heirloom. Find me that axe,” he said. “and I…I will do as you ask.” He tried his best to make it sound like they were asking a lot of him.

Merah’s voice took on a tone of authority. “Tua, form a party to take to the caves at the plateau. Bring back the master’s battle axe.”

Tua snapped off a crisp salute and left the tent without another word. “She will bring your axe back, master. Of that I’m certain.”

Jamen nodded sheepishly. “G-good,” he stuttered.

“May I sit on the bed?” Merah asked. Jamen nodded.

Merah sat at the foot of the bed, her hands folded in her lap. She looked at him, then looked away bashfully before looking back. "All my life I have dreamed of this moment. We all have. We have spent countless hours pleasuring each other, preparing for the day when a man…when you…would come to us. Now here you are, and I feel like a girl who has never even picked up a sword. I'm lost here, I'm not sure what to do next."

“Well normally, people talk. Get to know each other a bit, before…you know,” Jamen said.

“Before the sexing?”

“Yes. Well, no. We don’t call it that. We call it sex, or making love, or fucking,” Jamen explained.

“I like fucking,” Merah said. “I will call it fucking, for you will be our king.”

“What do you mean?” Jamen asked, taken aback.

“You, Jamen, are the most important person in this world now. Everyone here will do what you say, when you say it, master. Our lives are yours, and all we ask of you is offspring. Can you do this for us? We beg of you.”

Jamen tried to make it look like she was asking him to fight a dragon with nothing but a flip-flop. “I…I have no choice. I will help you.” He rose from the bed and walked around to the front, putting his hands on his hips. Turning his head to one side and lifting his chin regally, he said, “For the good of our people.”

Merah, overjoyed, clutched her hands to her chest. “Oh, thank you, Master Jamen. When can we begin?”

"When my axe returns to me, we can begin the repopulation," he said, then lowered his chin and let his hands fall to the side. He wasn't feeling the roleplay right now, with everything going on. He took a seat on the room’s only chair and crossed his legs. “So, Merah,” he said, “I have to ask something. What’s with the nipples?”

Merah looked down at hers. Unlike the guard's outside, hers were dark and full, and the nipples themselves were about as big as the last digit on his pinky. "What's wrong with them?" Merah asked. "Do you not like them?"

Jamen stared at them. “No, they’re great nipples, really, but…why do you cut holes in your armor to expose them?”

“Well in battle we have leather flaps to cover them, but they allow easy access when needed,” she explained.

Jamen tried to wrap his head around this, but couldn’t. “And…erm…why would you need your nipples in battle?” Mentally, he filed that last question under ‘things he never thought he would say out loud.’

“Why, for the milk, of course.”

This wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “The…milk?”

“In preparation for the coming of…well, for your coming, all the women here have conditioned their breasts for lactation,” she explained. “It requires weeks of constant suckling and squeezing, but given enough time and attention most women can produce milk even if she is without child. When the savior does come and plants children in our wombs, our breasts will be ready for them.”

“I…I did not know that,” Jamen said.

"We drink from each other multiple times each day," Merah said matter-of-factly. "Since our lives and our future depend on it, we want to be able to produce as much as possible. Many of the women think it makes our breasts too large and cumbersome, but most of us know we are doing this for an important cause. The most important cause."

“That’s…very noble of you,” Jamen said.

“Master,” Merah said, standing up, “I would be honored if you drank from me.” She walked over to him slowly, her feet light on the woven carpet, and Jamen could feel his face redden.

"I…my axe. Okay, sure, Merah," he finished. The woman walked over to where he was sitting and straddled him, placing one hand on the back of his head. Her skirt flared open as she sat, and Jamen could feel the warmth of her crotch through the fabric of his robe. She leaned back and pulled his head toward her, and he took her nipple into his mouth and began to suck. Her nipple stiffened at the touch of his mouth, and instantly began producing streams of the cloudy, nurturing liquid.

Jamen had never tasted breast milk before. His mother had told him he was bottle-fed. It wasn't like regular milk—it was more watery, a little bit bitter but not unpleasant. The experience of drinking what she was producing was where the actual pleasure lay, and Jamen felt himself begin to stiffen. Merah felt it too.

“Oh,” she said. “Is that your…penis?”

Jamen pulled away from her nipple with a wet pop. Milk dribbled from his chin and off her breast. “That’s kind of the technical name for it,” he said. “Some call it a dick, or a cock.”

Merah smiled as she reached a hand down between where the fabric of his robe met the material of her undergarment, and began rubbing the growing bulge she found there. "I think I will like fucking your cock, Master," Merah said, then slowly licked her milk from Jamen's chin. "Do we have to wait?"

“No, I, um…I suppose not,” Jamen said. He’d meet up with Spoony soon enough, but this was…special circumstances, he decided to label it. Merah clapped her hands then stood up, leading Jamen by the hand back to the bed.

Outside the tent, the two guards looked at each other as strange sounds began emanating from inside. Susu looked at the other guard—her name was Darmi—and smiled. “May I have a drink?” she asked, and Darmi obliged. The drink turned into a kiss, and soon Darmi’s hand was under Susu’s skirt, their lust enflamed by something they had never experienced—the sounds of a male voice in the throes of passion.

Inside the tent, though, the throes of passion were quickly turning into apologies of ‘this never happens.’ Jamen was on his back, the naked Merah on top of him, grinding her mound of curly red hair on his dick. His flaccid dick.

"I don't understand," Merah said. "Tua said it is supposed to get hard, stay hard like a rock until the moment your seed comes forth."

“It is,” Jamen said, flustered. “I… it’s this place. The situation. I just can’t…concentrate, I guess,” he said lamely. Merah looked confused.

“Master doesn’t find me pleasing?”

"No, Merah, you are very pleasing, I assure you," Jamen said. He stared at her enormous, naked breasts before caressing one. She moaned as he squeezed her nipple, sending a spray of milk over his chest. She felt his dick twitch when the liquid hit his skin, so she began expressing her own milk, spraying his chest, stomach and face. Jamen found it incredibly erotic, but his dick didn't for some reason. He slapped the mattress in frustration.

“We just need help,” Merah said, and before Jamen could protest, she shouted, “Susu! Darmi! Please come inside.”

A moment later, the two guards were inside the tent. Both clutched their fingers to their mouths as they saw the scene in front of them.

“May they join us, Master?” Merah asked. Jamen reluctantly agreed, and they both walked to opposite sides of the bed, on either side of Jamen’s head. They began unbuckling their chest armor, while Jaden spread his arms wide and slid a hand under both of their skirts. Surprisingly, he already found them both dripping wet. They moaned appreciatively, slipped off their chest armor exposing twin sets of breasts heavy with milk, and as one lowered their mouths to Jamen’s chest, licking off the milk that Merah had sprayed.

Jamen’s fingers worked inside both the women simultaneously while Merah continued to grind on his semi-erect dick, but after a few minutes, Jamen resigned himself to the fact that it was no use. “Get off, get dressed,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

The women looked—not hurt, but shocked would be a more apt description. Like finally meeting your God, creator of worlds, only to find out he’s a bum who lives in the alley three streets over. “Master, we are the ones who are sorry. We have failed to please you.”

“No, Merah, you pleased me greatly. You all did. That was incredibly hot,” Jamen said.

The women looked at each other. Susu mouthed the word ‘hot?” but Darmi shook her head.

"I am new to this land, and this is normal for men after a time of great hardship or stress," he said, sitting up. "Sometimes the spirit is willing, but the flesh isn't able." He had heard that somewhere before, and normally it would sound like a lame excuse, but he was the first man most of these women had ever seen. They didn't know any better. "Bring me my axe, and give some time to adjust. I will make you all heavy with child, you have my word.” At this, the expression on the women’s faces brightened.

After washing Jamen clean and bringing him food and water, the women left him alone inside the tent. Judging from the shadows, he guessed that it was well past midday. I've barely even left this tent yet, he thought. Somewhere close by, he heard the nickering of a horse. Horses, why not.

Part of him wanted to explore, but he was too disappointed in his performance to leave the tent. He had three beautiful women in here, three! Each willing to do whatever he asked them. Angrily, he munched on what looked like a red banana, then leaned back at the bed, staring at the blood-colored fabric above him.

“Log out,” he said aloud, waiting. “Summon admin.”

Jamen heard nothing but the low voices of the guards outside their tent. Probably sharing their disappointment.

“Casey, where the fuck are you,” he whispered.