Chapter 11: Sponsorship Prospects
The muffled laughter from the common room had faded, leaving Sarah’s dorm room in a bubble of dense, tangible quiet. It was just the two of them now, surrounded by the silent vigil of manga spines and the soft, electric glow of two computer screens. One displayed a spreadsheet, columns labeled with potential sponsors—local game shops, a dice manufacturer, an energy drink company. The other screen was paused on a particularly dramatic frame from last week’s stream, Aelia mid-sentence, her pixelated face a mask of righteous tension.
Emily scrolled through the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring. “The metrics are good. The fanart’s pouring in. But it feels like we’re just… broadcasting a slightly raunchy home game.”
“Because we are,” Sarah said, not looking up from where she was sketching a new dungeon layout on graph paper. Her pencil moved with quick, sure strokes. “That’s the charm. But charm doesn’t pay for better mics. Or a second camera. Or my addiction to these overpriced matcha lattes.” She took a slurping sip from a tall paper cup.
“So we need a hook. Something that makes us the show, not a show.”
Sarah put her pencil down. She swiveled her chair to face Emily directly, her eyes catching the lamplight. “Mark’s got material. Whole campaign arcs he’s sketched out. Darker. Edgier. Way more… involved.”
Emily leaned back, the old desk chair creaking. “How do you know?”
A shrug. One shoulder lifted, then dropped, as if it were nothing. “We fuck sometimes.”
The words hung in the air, simple and seismic. The click-clack of an unseen keyboard down the hall was the only sound. Emily felt a hot wave travel from her chest up to her ears. She stared at Sarah, who looked back with a placid, almost analytical expression, like she’d just commented on the weather.
“Oh,” Emily managed. The chainmail top from the other night felt like it was tightening around her ribs in memory.
“Yeah.” Sarah spun her pencil between her fingers. “It’s not a thing. It’s just a thing that happens. Usually after a really intense session. Brain’s all lit up, you know? All that adrenaline and collective imagination has to go somewhere.”
Emily’s mouth was dry. She reached for her own drink, a forgotten soda, and took a sip. It was flat. “You and Mark.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Since when?”
“Few months. After you joined, actually.” Sarah grinned then, a flash of her usual mischief. “Don’t worry, it didn’t break the group. If anything, it makes the game better. He knows how to read a room. Knows what… pressures to apply.”
The image was immediate and vivid: Mark’s observant eyes, Sarah’s provocative bets, the way the narrative always bent towards moments of exposed choice. Emily thought of Mandy, settled into Jake’s lap, the slow surrender of her body over the course of an evening. A deliberate pressure. Applied.
“Is it…,” Emily started, then stopped. She tried again, her voice lower. “Is it just sex?”
Sarah’s smile softened, became something more genuine. “Mostly. But it’s also the best creative brainstorming I’ve ever done. You think the musical chairs was off-the-cuff? We talked about that.” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "It's exciting. This is what people want. The players. The listeners. You."
Emily’s heart was doing a strange, staccato rhythm. The air in the cluttered room felt thicker, charged like it had before a storm. "So how did it start? The… thing with Mark."
Sarah studied her, a slow, appraising look. She picked up her pencil again, tapping the eraser against her bottom lip. "You really want the gossip?"
"Not gossip." Emily swallowed. "Context."
"Fair." Sarah put the pencil down, folded her hands. "It was after a session. Just us. He was showing me some campaign ideas, darker stuff he wasn't sure the group could handle." Her voice shifted, taking on a storyteller's cadence. "He had this folder. Mind flayer cult stuff. Really grim. The concept was these human and elf women, their minds get… rewritten. Not just broken. Molded. They become willing. Complicit. They want to be sold. They beg for it."
A shiver, cold and precise, traced Emily's spine. She thought of Aelia, of principles fracturing under pressure. "That's… intense."
"It's fucked up," Sarah corrected, her eyes bright. "And it hit me, right in the gut. Or lower. This heat, you know? Like a circuit closing." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have a thing for that. Reluctance. Non-consent played out in fantasy. The loss of control, but safe, in a story. CNC. He didn't know that. But he could see me sweating. My breathing changed."
Emily could picture it. The empty common room. The low lamplight on Mark's notes. Sarah, usually so in control, visibly rattled by her own desire.
"He just kept talking," Sarah continued, her gaze distant, reliving it. "Describing the auction block, the bidding, the… training. The more graphic he got, the wetter I got. It was embarrassing and so fucking hot. My knees were shaking under the table. Finally, he just trailed off."
Sarah paused, letting the silence stretch. The hum of the mini-fridge in the corner seemed to grow louder.
"He looked at me. Really looked. He didn't say a word." Sarah's next words were deliberate, blunt. "He stood up, unzipped his jeans, and walked over. He didn't ask. He just shoved his cock into my mouth."
Emily's breath caught. The image was visceral, immediate. She saw the action, raw and presumptuous.
"My brain just short-circuited," Sarah confessed, a thin, wild smile on her lips. "I didn't push him away. I opened up. I sucked him like I was starving for it. We fucked right there on the table, scattering dice and character sheets. He bent me over, pulled my hair, used me. We couldn't stop, had to find an unlocked study room. I swear he was inside of me for hours, and I couldn't get enough."
The clinical detail, the filthy language, it was a deliberate provocation. Emily felt a corresponding heat pooling low in her own stomach, a shameful and electric pull.
"After," Sarah said, leaning back, the memory glazing her eyes. "We talked. I told him about the kink. And he got it. That's when it became more than a one-time fuck. It's a… collaboration."
"Collaboration," Emily echoed, the word tasting strange.
"Yeah. Now, it's even simpler." Sarah's voice was matter-of-fact, almost casual. "Sometimes, before a session, I'll just text him 'green.' That means I'm free use. For the night. He can do anything he wants, anytime he wants. Walk me to a storage closet during a break. Make me suck him under the table while he DMs. Take me after everyone leaves."
She let the statement hang, a gauntlet thrown onto the graph paper between them.
"My current obsession," Sarah finished, her eyes locked on Emily's. "Is having no obsession at all. Just being an object. A plot device he can use. It makes the game feel… real."
Emily's skin was humming. She thought of the microphone, the unseen listeners, the points in Sarah's bet. She thought of Cody, sweet, predictable Cody, and felt a galaxy of distance open between that thought and this room. The chainmail she'd worn felt like a premonition.
Sarah watched her, reading the conflict on her face. She didn't push. She just smiled, picked up her pencil, and turned back to the dungeon map.
"Think about the sponsorships," she said, her voice returning to its normal, bright timbre as if they'd been discussing the weather. "Edge sells. Authenticity sells." She drew a dark chamber on the paper. "And we've got nothing if not edge."
Sarah leaned back, the chair groaning under her shift in weight. She surveyed her shelves, a chaotic taxonomy of pop culture memorabilia that seemed to pulse in the lamplight. Her eyes weren’t on the manga.
“You know, a good prop can sell a scene. Make it feel lived-in.” She stood up abruptly, the motion scattering a few loose dice across the graph paper. “Come look at my special collection.”
Emily followed her to the overstuffed bookshelf, its upper tiers bowing under the weight of books and board games. Sarah’s hand went not to a book spine, but to the very back of a lower shelf, behind a slumped Box of Lucky Charms mascot. She pulled out a small, polished wooden box, its surface unmarked.
“My most _immersive_ miniatures,” Sarah said, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. She placed the box on the edge of her cluttered desk and lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in custom-cut foam, were not goblins or knights. The first thing Emily’s brain registered was a sleek, obsidian-black shape, vaguely serpentine, with subtle ridges along its length. Next to it was a bulbous, silicon form in fleshy pink, with strange, flared contours. Another was a deep violet, carved with intricate, almost arcane patterns, and unmistakably phallic.
Emily blinked. Her mind stuttered, trying to reconcile the shapes with her expectation of painted wizards. The obsidian one glistened under the lamp.
“These are… detailed,” Emily managed, her voice thin.
Sarah picked up the obsidian piece. It was cool and heavy in her hand. “This one’s a crowd favorite. Great for solo quests.” She rotated it, showing the subtle taper, the elegant curve. “Smooth. Substantial. Warms up nicely.”
She set it down and lifted the pink, bulbous one. “This is a ‘Tarrasque,’ obviously. Textured. For advanced players.” Her thumb stroked one of the flared edges. “The suction cup base is a nice touch. Lets you stick it to a bathroom tile, or a dorm room window, for hands-free… gaming.”
The reality crashed over Emily in a slow, hot wave. The intricate violet one, the sleek black serpent, the bizarre pink creature. They weren’t figurines. They were all, every single one, sex toys. Designed to look like fantasy artifacts. A laugh, brittle and startled, escaped her throat.
“Holy shit,” Emily breathed.
“See?” Sarah said, a genuine smile spreading. “Authenticity. Immersion.” She gestured to the collection. “This is what people don’t see on the stream. This is the, ahem, backend.”
Emily stared, fascinated and horrified. Her gaze kept snagging on the veined detail of the violet one, the lifelike shading. “You have a… theme.”
“A dedication to craft.” Sarah primly replaced the pink toy. Her fingers then lingered on a smaller, simpler piece near the back. It was a modest, tapered shape in matte silicone, a faint blue. Unassuming.
“But this,” Sarah said, picking it up with a reverence she hadn’t shown the others, “this is the real prize. The future.” She held it out on her palm. It was nondescript, almost clinical. “Bluetooth remote. App-controlled. Ten different vibration patterns. From a gentle hum to… well, let’s just say it can mimic a dragon’s purr or an earthquake.”
Emily looked from the unassuming blue toy to Sarah’s face, which was alight with a devious, giddy energy.
“I can't wait to use it during a session,” Sarah confessed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “Let Mark control it from his phone. See how long I can last, narrating Vex’s actions, while he’s turning my pussy into a fucking symphony.” She bit her lip. “I’m dripping just thinking about it. The ultimate game. Can I keep my voice steady? Can I roll a die while I’m getting vibrated into next Tuesday? Will anyone notice?”
The image was instantaneous and overwhelming: Sarah at the table, the microphone picking up every catch in her breath, Mark’s finger hovering over his screen under the table, his narration never faltering. Emily felt her own face grow hot, a mirror of the heat coiling low in her abdomen.
“You’re insane,” Emily said, but there was no condemnation in it, only awe.
“Probably,” Sarah agreed nonchalantly. She gently placed the blue toy back in its foam slot. For a long moment, she just looked at Emily, who was still trying to process the shelf of fantastical silicone. The charged silence from their earlier conversation had returned, thicker now, flavored with the faint, clean scent of the toys’ packaging.
“You should go,” Sarah said softly, breaking the spell. “Think about the sponsorship stuff. And the rest.”
Emily nodded, numb. She gathered her bag, her movements clumsy. Her mind was a riot of images: chainmail, Mandy on Jake’s lap, Mark’s knowing eyes, Sarah’s matter-of-fact confession of being used, this shelf of hidden, sculpted pleasure.
As she reached the door, Sarah’s voice stopped her. “Hey. Wait.”
Emily turned. Sarah was holding the simplest toy from the box, the smooth, tapered blue one without the remote functionality. She extended it.
“Here. For instructional purposes.”
Emily stared at the object in Sarah’s hand. It looked innocent enough, like a abstract art piece. But its purpose was now screamingly clear. She didn’t reach for it.
“I don’t… I mean, Cody and I…”
“It’s not for Cody,” Sarah said, her tone leaving no room for argument. It was a statement of fact, not a suggestion. “It’s for you.” She stepped forward and pressed the cool, silicone shape into Emily’s palm.
The weight of it was nothing. The significance was immense. Emily’s fingers closed around it reflexively. It was warmer than she expected, having absorbed the heat of Sarah’s hand.
“Thanks,” Emily whispered, the word barely audible.
“See you Sunday for the session,” Sarah said, turning back to her dungeon map as if she’d just handed over a spare pencil.
Emily stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her. The common room was dark and empty. The only sound was the hum of the vending machine down the hall. She looked down at her closed fist. She opened her fingers.
The small, blue shape lay in her palm, clean and purposive. It was a key to a door she hadn’t fully admitted was there. She thought of her quiet dorm room, of Cody who would be texting her goodnight soon, of the microphone and the points and the chainmail biting into her skin.
She slipped the toy into the deepest pocket of her jeans, where it pressed against her thigh, a secret contour. The walk home would be long, and dark, and full of a new, trembling kind of silence.