A short story about the time I helped my World of Warcraft guild vent some frustration [FemalePoV][FMMMM][Masturbation]

I slammed my hands onto my keyboard, hammering out a precise pattern, deviating in response to innumerable digital prompts. On the screen in front of me Buffstorm danced through a whirlwind of masculine destruction, sword and shield weaving deft strokes through the air. The fire-god smouldered above him, striking with an axe ten times as high as my warrior was tall, but Buffstorm shrugged off each blow, what damage he did take healed by a flurry of holy light. I was so focused on keeping up the rhythm of Buffstorm’s actions that I didn’t notice when the titan’s health bar dropped to twenty percent, and a voice screamed into my ear.

“EXECUTE!”

The battlefield lit up with the cast off energy of forty trinkets, blazes of arcane power, and a myriad cool-downs firing all at once. Bolts of frost and shadow filled the battlefield, and a hail of arrows fell towards our target. The relentless assault of quick-stabbing knives and blades continued, and the melee dynamics underwent a sudden shift as every warrior began acting as one. I joined my martial guildmates in hammering a single key as fast as I could, and Buffstorm joined their warriors in adherence to a single aggressive goal, striking at the heart of our enemy and unleashing our pent up fury to dispatch him once and for all.

Health chipped away, the valiant began to fall. Buffstorm died to an unlucky fumble, was resurrected, taunted the elemental lord into attacking him and struggled to hold his attention.

Fifteen percent. Ten. Eight people dead, thirty-two still alive. The Vent server was silent, our voice chat carrying nothing but anticipation, focus, and the absent sound of people holding their breath. Twenty-four of us left standing. Seven percent. Five.

My world narrowed, the room around me fading from view. My desk was a distant memory, my chair forgotten; I floated in a void of pure concentration, doing everything I could to keep Buffstorm alive while lashing out with as much strength as he could muster. Three percent. Two. One.

“BY FIRE BE PURGE-”

The words were lost in an almighty scream as the boss’ health dropped to zero and the vent server exploded in triumph. I joined in, though I had turned off my mic, raising my fists and whooping with victory at our close-fought battle. My screen shuddered with firey death throes, Buffstorm weathering it like a true hero until the last of the flames and the shouting died away. Only twelve of us were still alive, but that didn’t matter, and resurrection spells started flying while people chatted excitedly about the possibility of loot.

“Alright, quiet down,” said our Guild Leader, Sult. “Nice tanking, Buffstorm.”

I stayed quiet. Guild rules said I had to have a mic, and I had to connect to the voice chat server, but they never said anything about speaking. I made Buffstorm bow to Sult’s character, hoping that would be enough. It wasn’t. The silence stretched on, until Sult broke it by repeating himself.

“I said: Nice tanking, Buffstorm.”

Fuck. I’d been hoping to avoid this. I was more than happy to skirt rules, disobey them even, but now I faced something altogether more terrifying than any written law; social pressure. The silence deepened. Fuck.

I leaned forwards, clicked on my mic, and spoke in a voice completely at odds with the masculine mountain of muscle that was my character.

“Thanks. Nice healing, Sult.”

The last echoes of my unmistakably not-male voice faded away, and I cringed in anticipation, bracing myself for the inevitable shitstorm and slew of unwanted private messages and whispers.

“Awesome,” said Sult. “Dan you owe me five gold. Everyone else, get your beer, it’s party time!”

Sult began barking out orders, coordinating the mass resurrection, divvying out the spoils and calling for mages to erect portals. After-raid parties had become a constant fixture in our guild, a way to socialise and blow off steam following a Friday night spent murdering lizards or getting eaten by golems or whatever. At the guild’s inception people had drunk throughout whatever raid we were attempting, but as we progressed and things got more difficult Sult had decided to curb the unwanted behaviour in the way of all good leaders; by encouraging it in a different time and place.

He changed our schedule, asking people not to drink on week night raids but calling an earlier finish to our Saturday adventures and setting aside the time for a good booze up. Usually we formed groups and hit up smaller dungeons to farm gear, sometimes we continued with our raid in an experimental, no-judgement-when-someone-drunkely-kills-us-all kind of fashion, and every now and then we took some time to chill out, sitting in one of the capital cities and drinking while chatting. With the death of our primary target only minutes earlier, Sult decided on the latter, and we descended on his character’s home town.

I watched the cleanup in a daze, trying to figure out what had just happened. Five gold? And a complete absence of people hitting on me? Something was up, and I intended to find out what. A portal flickered into existence in front of Buffstorm and I clicked on it, one step taking him from lava filled caves to quiet, stone streets. My guildmembers jumped through alongside me and we found a secluded grove for our characters to sit down.

Time to party.

The raid started to fracture, small groups splitting off and going their own way. Those who were too young to understand the attraction of sitting around drinking and who just wanted to play the game. Those who were too old to understand the attraction of sitting around drinking and who just wanted to go to bed. A small handful who didn’t drink, or weren’t social, or didn’t fancy wasting an evening for some other reason.

The vent server showed around fifteen people still online when the migrations finished. Sult called beer time, and the airwaves filled with the sound of opening cans. I grabbed mine and the quiet *clink-tshhh* of the lid separating from the bottle joined in. I was a regular at the after-raid parties, but since I stuck to typing in guild chat instead of voice chat, the noise caused a commotion.

“Damn, was that Buff?”

“Um, yeah?” I said.

“No way, what are you drinking?”

“…beer?”

“Awesome!”

I wasn’t sure how I’d got away with that response. My “beer” was bright blue and came in a clear glass bottle stamped with the letters W, K and D. It melted your teeth, dyed your lips and tongue for at least twenty-four hours, was dangerously fizzy, and tasted of nothing but sugar and artificial flavourings. It was wonderful. But I wasn’t going to say any of that to a bunch of young men drinking lager.

I took a long swig of the heavenly liquid, letting myself slope back into my chair and listening to the conversation pass back and forth. It was relaxing, after the stress of combat, even if that combat was fictional. I clicked a button and Buffstorm started drinking as well. No reason for him to miss out. Aldori, a warlock who I’d shared a consistent amiable banter with sat down next to my warrior, telling Buffstorm that he was almost as good at fighting as a demon, if not quite as pretty.

A few of the guys decided to run a dungeon after all, a handful of others calling it a night. People sloped off in ones and twos, and before long there were only six of us left; me, Aldori, and the four guys who were the core of the best raiding guild on the server. Not that you would guess by looking at them.

Sult, our guild, raid and healing leader played a night elf priest named SultryLips. Of course, that was a stupid name, so we called him Sult. His second in command was a Druid named Flash. I didn’t know Flash too well, but he was Sult’s best friend and seemed nice enough. The third of our number was HumanWarrior, a night elf hunter with two pets; a cat named Spider and a spider named Cat. We put up with him because he had a higher attendance than anyone else and was a crack shot with a tranquilliser. The final member of the group was the guy who ran our vent server, DanTheMan. He was, of course, a female gnome.

“So, Dan?” I asked.

“Whassup?”

“Five gold?”

“Ask Sult,” he said. “It was his fault.”

“It was not,” cut in Sult.

“You started it!”

“And you kicked up a fuss because you didn’t believe me. You tell her.”

“One of you better tell-” I started, but Sult’s commanding voice had already worked it’s magic, and Dan began to speak.

“Okay, okay. Alright. So the other night, some of the guys were joking around about you being quiet on mic. You’re shy, or have a dumb accent, or whatever. Anyway, Sult says they better cut that shit out, because you’re our best geared tank so we’ll be fucked if anyone pisses you off enough that you leave, and that he thinks you have a good reason for being quiet around them.”

“That reason being?” I prompted.

“That you’re a girl, duh, and they would ruin things by trying to get in your pants. He made them swear not to be asses about it, but I didn’t believe him, so I bet him five gold he was wrong. End of story.”

“You missed the bit where you were adamant that women couldn’t tank,” added Flash. “’There’s no way the best tank I’ve ever seen is a girl’, I think you said?”

“Alright, thanks for that, fuck off. I was wrong, obviously. He was right. Lesson learned. Sorry, Buff. I’m an idiot.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. Offensive, sure, but the glowing praise made up for it. He had been wrong, been proven wrong, accepted it and called himself an idiot and me the best tank he’d ever seen. I could let the past slide. The confession brough with it another question, niggling at the back of my mind.

“Sult?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know?”

“You called your character Buffstorm. And half your descriptions of his actions involve his biceps.”

“What? Buffstorm is a cool name! You’re one to talk, SultryLips.”

“Right,” he said. “Exactly. Would you call your character SultryLips?

“Of course I wouldn-” Oh.

“Maybe mention your character’s tits in conversation every now and then?”

“Okay, I get it.”

“Sorry,” he said. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he’d said the word ‘tits’.

“I still think Buffstorm is a cool name,” I mumbled.

“And I still like SultryLips,” he replied. Our words hung in the air for a fraction of a second, and I wondered how to bridge the gap opening between us.

“My name is the best,” said HumanWarrior.

“No. Way,” I said, at the same moment Sult said, “Absolutely not,” and Dan, Flash and Aldori set off on a simultaneous chorus of “Fuck off.” The vent server descended into raucous laughter.

We continued chatting and making our way through whatever we were drinking. The bottle I’d drunk was already making its way to my head, but I opened a second anyway, then a third, then a fourth, scooting aside a deck of Pokemon cards to make room for the empties on my desk. My room was a tip, but I spent my evenings playing MMOs, and that felt far more important than silly things like tidying up.

The three night elves, Flash, Sult and HumanWarrior started dancing, because they were all female and that’s what female night elves did. Aldori turned himself into a skeleton, Dan started turning other people into skeletons, and Buffstorm sat down to eat a hunk of chicken. As the drinks kept flowing the conversation turned dirty, then ridiculous, then crude, then dirty again, Flash telling some story about a guy he knew who had been caught in a compromising position by his sister-in-law. I offered my unique perspective, chipping in absently until Aldori announced in a joking tone that staring at three gyrating night elves for half an hour was far too much for him to take, and that a thing had ‘come up that he had to take care of immediately’. The guys laughed, made jokes, asked him to stay, and he replied in an offhand manner without thinking about what he was saying.

“Maybe if I didn’t have to listen to Buff’s voice.”

“Dude,” said Sult.

“Shit, no, not like it’s bad, I didn’t mean that. Her voice is awesome, that’s the proble-”

“Dude!” said Sult, again.

“Shit,” said Aldori. “Just… just forget I said that, Buff. Sorry.”

I blinked drunkenly, mind catching up with the conversation that had almost passed me by. My voice was awesome? Of course it was.

“I don’t mind,” I slurr-said. I definitely didn’t slur it. My voice *was* awesome.

“You’re drunk,” said Sult. “We’re all drunk. Aldor is right, we should call it a night.”

I’ve never been very good with rules, did I mention that? Happy to avoid them, willing to break them outright. I’m even worse when someone tries to tell me what to do, especially if they think it’s for my own good. I took a deep breath and tried to sound as sober as I obviously was.

“Sult, it’s fine. Really.”

“But-”

“I said I don’t mind.”

“I really think-”

“Wanna know what I’m wearing?”

That shut him up. It also shut up everyone else, except Aldori, who whispered “God, yes.” I wasn’t intending to tell them, but the reaction was too perfect, and my heart was hammering at the chance to get back at Sult for being patronising. Unfortunately, he understood what I was doing and beat me to saying anything.

“Alright, you made your point. Sorry.”

Aww, I thought.

“Aww,” said Aldori. “I wanted to know.”

“Me too,” said Dan.

“I warned you guys about this,” said Sult.

“You warned us not to piss off our tank by hitting on her. We’re not hitting on her, and she isn’t pissed off.” I could practically hear the eagerness in Dan’s voice.

“He’s got a point,” I offered.

“Alright, fine,” said Sult, outnumbered. “Tell us what you’re wearing, then we can all go to bed and these two idiots can dream about it.”

I’d been so caught up in getting one over on Sult that I hadn’t planned any further than this. What was I wearing? I tried to focus my alcohol addled mind on taking stock.

My top was cheap fabric with the front cover of a metal album printed on it. I didn’t know who they were, I wasn’t a metal fan, but I liked black T-shirts and well built men standing in fantasy locations while lightning or lava exploded around them, so I’d picked up a bunch of similar designs on a whim. I was also wearing camo-pants, and had a baseball cap covering my short hair, despite the fact that I was indoors and it was eleven in the evening. Yeah, Samantha Carter and Karrin Murphy were my heroes. Shoot me.

And hang on, why had Sult said ‘tell us’? Not ‘tell them’? Was he interested as well? Were my actions breaking through my guild master’s authoritarian exterior? Alcohol and excitement conspired to form a plan in my mind. Time to make this interesting.

“One second,” I said. I flicked off my mic, stripped off the pants and hat and turned it back on again. “A black T-shirt. And my underwear. That’s it.”

“Oh wow,” said Dan.

“Right, now can we please-” began Sult.

“What kind of underwear?” said Aldori.

“Oh for the love of-”

“Black,” I said, interrupting Sult. I was enjoying twisting this knife entirely too much. “Plain. Nothing frilly or exciting.”

“Oh this is plenty exciting,” breathed HumanWarrior. I jumped. I’d forgotten he was there.

“Are we done?” asked Sult.

“I haven’t even started,” said Aldori.

The innuendo hung in the air, suspended in the ether of the internet, a tangible force trapped between voice clients. No-one spoke. This was the moment, last chance to back out. I knew it. Aldori knew it. Sult knew it; had been acting like he was trying to avoid it all along. I leaned towards my mic, to ensure my voice carried, and spoke with in a deliberate manner that left no clue whether I knew what I was suggesting.

“Are you gonna?”

Three things happened at once. Sult let out a quiet expletive. Flash disconnected, I only found out why later. And the mics belonging to Dan, Aldori and HumanWarrior started to transmit the sound of people undressing.

“Dan?” said Sult.

“Yeah?”

“Switch the vent server to private. Now.”

The commanding tones of our leader made everything somehow more real. I had a moment of clarity as the blur of alcohol dissipated enough for me to realise what I was doing, but I was too committed to stop. I took another swig of my drink, then a larger one, then downed the rest of the bottle in one. It joined the steadily growing stack of empties on my desk.

“Anything else you want to ask?” I said.

“What do you look like?” said Aldori.

“Average height, athletic, short blonde hair.”

“How big are your tits?” said HumanWarrior. What an asshole. I answered for the benefit of everyone else anyway.

“32B.”

There was a series of short, shallow grunts, and then HumanWarrior disconnected.

“Holy shit, already?” laughed Dan.

“Good riddance,” said Sult. “He was being a dick. Sorry, Buff.”

“Sam,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Sam. Not Buffstorm. Sam. Samantha. Me.”

“Oh. *Nice.*”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. The questions had dried up, replaced by faint sounds of slapping flesh. The guys weren’t talking, but I guess that made sense; they didn’t want to hear each other given what they were so obviously doing, but it left me at a loss. I wasn’t experienced at this sort of thing.

“I’m going to take my top off,” I said. Someone grunted in approval. I pulled the black material over my head, and threw the tee into a pile of clothes. “Bra too,” I added, unclasping it and dumping it too. “And…” I slipped my panties down my legs and launched them to join the rest. “…that’s everything.”

“Fuck,” said one of the guys. I think it was Aldori.

“Yeah. I’m completely naked.”

“That’s hot,” said Dan. I guess he wasn’t in any frame of mind to be eloquent.

I crossed my arms over my chest, shivering a little at the exposure and trying to decide what to say next. A noise must have escaped my mouth, or Aldori read too much into my silence, or maybe he was just hopeful.

“Are you touching yourself?” he asked.

“I’m considering it,” I replied, realising as I spoke that I’d already made up my mind.

My right hand ran down my body, coming to rest between my legs. My heart thumped loud in my chest, and I ran an exploratory finger over myself. Not wet, not yet, but on the cusp of it, the first hints of lubricant starting to flow. I licked my first two fingers and reapplied them, stroking up and down a few times, coating my folds in saliva before coming to rest on my clit. I shivered again, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

“Okay,” I said. “Now I’m touching myself.”

“That’s so ho-”

“Shut up Dan,” said Sult. “I want to hear Sam, not you.”

I began making small circles with my fingers, teasing myself forward into pleasure. Not that I needed a slow build up; I was unreasonably, incredibly turned on by the situation unfolding, and growing wetter with every passing moment, but habits are habits and I had no reason to rush things. Conscious of the three men listening, I played up my audible expressions of pleasure; not faking them but increasing their volume, ensuring each one was loud enough to be heard. I told myself it was for my guild mates, but the way each moan increased the sensation at the base of my spine spoke the truth.

I was *really* enjoying this.

My left hand squeezed absently at my breasts while my right continued working, and the noises in the air, both my own and those transmitted through my speakers, grew more frantic. One voice stood out against the others; faster breaths, shallower exhalations.

“Close, Dan?”

“Y-Yeah,” he managed.

I wasn’t, but the situation was getting to me and I wanted to do something to help him out. My imagination ran free and I closed my eyes, dreaming of the three men I had fought alongside for so long, standing over me, stroking themselves while watching me quiver on my chair. I didn’t just want them to cum; I wanted them to cum for me.

“I wish I was there,” I breathed. “Kneeling in front of you. Waiting for you to cover me. Wanting you to-”

My words trailed off as they were rewarded with a series of guttural groans. I moaned instead of speaking, running a hand over my chest and imagining his fluid splattering against it. His orgasm sounded intense and that spurred the motions of my fingers, the knowledge that I’d given him such pleasure adding to my own. The last of his shuddering died away, but I didn’t stop moaning myself.

Dan ran the voice chat server, so he couldn’t disconnect when he had finished, but he muted his mic to drop himself from the action, a gesture I found strangely respectful.

Two down, two left.

I was reaching the limits of my own desire, not ready to finish but ready to move onto the next stage. My fingers left the nub they had spent so long attending, trailed downwards, found my entrance, pushed against it. I opened easily, my walls slick with excitement, and let out a long, low sigh of satisfaction.

“Did you just-” said Aldori, leaving the question hanging.

“No,” I purred. “Not yet. That was me putting a finger inside.” I let out another long sigh as another digit joined the first. “Two fingers.”

It’s an odd experience, narrating masturbation during the activity itself. An intrinsically self-motivated act, repackaged as performance, and something I had never attempted before. I was confident that I could switch off the chat, fixate on my body and make myself finish, but I wanted more; both to cum and to please the men I was talking to. Attending to myself while making the right noises and updating my partners on what I was doing was challenging, and exciting. The combination of alcohol and arousal didn’t help, the first fogging my brain while the latter switched off everything not related to pure, physical sensation. I tried my best anyway, frigging myself while speaking into my mic, mixing short descriptions with lapses into involuntary sounds of pleasure.

Apparently, it worked.

“I’m getting close,” said Aldori.

“Where would you cum? If I was there?”

“Inside you.”

The words took me off guard. I was still riding a fantasy of touching myself while they stroked themselves over me, expecting him to say my chest or my face. Before I knew what was happening that notion was obliterated, replaced by an image of him ploughing into me, his cock taking the position of the fingers that were doing the same.

“Do it,” I said. “Fuck me. Cum inside me. Fill me up.”

Each short sentence was punctuated with gasps, my mind struggling to control my body as it imagined the actions were real. Despite my distraction, my words had the desired effect. Aldori moaned as he came; “Sam,” another thing that took me off guard, almost pushing me over the edge myself. I held on, slowing my penetration and fighting the urge to do the opposite, listening to my name repeated over and over in the midst of strangled, orgasmic panting.

When he finished he took a cue from Dan, muting himself instead of disconnecting, leaving me alone with Sult.

“Still want to call it a night?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then what do you want?” I had to make him say it.

“I want to hear you cum.”

“Why? What are you doing?”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” I wondered if he could hear my smile.

“Ugh… Fine. I’m stroking myself.”

“And…?”

“And what? And your voice is hot. And I want to listen to you.”

Good enough.

“I’m pretty close…” I said.

He didn’t reply, which I took as acknowledgement and a wish for me too continue. I listed to his breathing, tried to imagine him fucking me. It didn’t work, too different to the way I’d been teasing him throughout. My mind floated backwards through time, settling on previous ideas, and again I imagined Aldori thrusting into me, while Sult stroked himself over my chest. That worked, and I didn’t hold back, using both hands to bring myself to a shuddering climax.

It’s difficult to describe the noise you make as you cum. Your mind is… otherwise occupied. My entire body shook, juddering with pleasure that spread out from my groin and up through my spine. I exhaled with each wave, part moan and part scream, losing myself in the intensity of what I was doing. When it was over, it left behind only the sense of the noise, something awkward, animal, and far, far too loud. I flushed with embarrassment.

“That was the sexiest thing I have ever heard,” said Sult.

My cheeks flared, a sensation which deepened as he informed me he was about to cum too. I pushed aside my shame to vocalise the aftershocks of my climax, purring into the mic, coaxing his release out of him. The last of his groans died away, and I heard the click of a microphone.

“He’s right,” said Dan. “That was really hot.”

The sides of my face became furnaces, burning with mortification.

“Y-You were listening??”

“Yeah, I muted my mic, not my speakers.”

“B-But…”

*Click.*

“I was too,” said Aldori. “I agree with them, by the way. You sounded amazing.”

I pushed my keyboard forward, crossed my arms on my desk and buried my head in them, feeling the heat of my cheeks against their skin. One guy hearing that was bad enough, but three? I hid my face and tried to fight the humiliation.

“Hey, Sam?” said Sult.

“Mmmm?” I mumbled.

“You okay?”

“Mmmm.”

“Cool.”

I stayed like that for a few minutes, embroiled in my own personal war with bashful confusion.

“You’re still the best tank we have,” said Sult.

The compliment hit home, and I jerked my head upwards. I looked at my screen, at Buffstorm, sat in a leafy grove in the home of the night elves. He was still eating chicken.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Lets pretend this never happened, call it a night, go back to raiding as normal tomorrow. Okay?”

“Raiding sounds good,” I said, thinking it over. With the offer of normalcy the last of my shame died away, leaving only memories behind it. I had enjoyed myself. *Really* enjoyed myself. Now that Sult had handed me an out, I wasn’t sure that I wanted it. And those last words from him had almost sounded like an order, one that was for my benefit.

“But…” I added, “I wouldn’t be totally against doing this again.”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/h109q1/a_short_story_about_the_time_i_helped_my_world_of