Speed Run 1

Speed Run

Warning: Spoilers ahead for the video game Subnautica.

Oh. Also sex stuff.

"All right, BabyBlew, we're live in three, two, one... go."

The steady

tick, tick

was the only sound behind me as the camera's red light switched on. A welcoming smile blossomed on my lips the moment I saw it like it always did. I reflected again about how I missed being able to see my clock during my stream, like I used to. Back when I'd started, the time had always been in my peripheral vision, a way of checking my pace against known milestones. Now, the "clock" was merely a metronome Charlie had supplied. It supplied a steady drone in the background, an unremitting reminder to grind, grind, grind. To focus. To never lose focus.

The camera was a small unit mounted over the monitor across the way on my desktop a few feet away. Like usual when I trained, I'd gotten myself good and comfortable, hydrated, muscles limber. Even though I was streaming live, Charlie would be uploading the playthrough later, so I made my introduction so folks who stumbled onto it on the internet would be able to find more of my content. Basic business stuff.

"Hello there, everybody, this is BabyBlew and welcome to another speed run through

Subnautica

. Today we're once again working on pathfinding and sticking to our goals, monitoring our progress by some checkpoints I've set up. To my impending chagrin and probably your delight we're once again joined by my friend HoosierDaddy who's going to be 'helping' me out. If you're new to the stream you'll see pretty soon what the implied air quotes are for." Without turning around, I waved in Charlie's general direction. Turning around was a major no-no. If I was watching him, I wasn't watching the game. Not that I'd started yet, but you didn't build habits of success by fudging the rules.

My chair was a few feet back from my desk and though I was wearing glasses, these were the purely decorative pair I wore for streaming. They were a cute pink and purple pair that made the blue in my eyes pop fetchingly, even if they completely failed to address my nearsightedness. I could see well enough to game, though, and peering around looking confused wasn't the worst aesthetic for the internet dudebros.

Still, the presence of a sudden flurry of text was easy to make out. The stream chat exploded in greetings far too small for me to read in the narrow strip at the side of my monitor, probably well-wishings and preemptive lols. Before we'd begun taking my training more seriously, I used to simply run a tri-screen setup one window for the game, one for stream controls and chat, and one for auxiliary details like the timer to help keep me on task. (I'd also worn real glasses and sat close enough to read, for that matter.) The third screen had always featured an inspirational quote. Charlie, however, had convinced me all that was a distraction, so now it was only one screen, and he served as intermediary for the chat, passing along interesting comments or the vibe of the moment.

To that end, "She's still warming up, gang. Give us a few. Whew, we got some eager folks today, can't wait to see BabyBlew start up and get wet."

With a roll of my eyes, I still gave a generous chuckle. "Far be it from me to deny the people their wish. All right, let's do this!"

As my avatar leapt out of the survival pod and I set out immediately to begin gathering, the presence of a field of celebratory avatars appeared on the screen. I recognized them by color. The usual glhf banners, some classics Charlie and I had made ourselves like BlewEyes (a cartoony me with big sparkly eyes), BlewGills (me kissing a cute little Peeper fish from

Subnautica

), and loads of the more recently added BlewBalls (me jacking someone off, his cum spraying my bare chest). I hated that last one -- but that was sort of the point.

"All right, Baby, get gathering. You got this. Zero death run."

My eyes narrowed and I stuck my tongue out. "You know damn well I need to die after scanning the last Mobile Vehicle Bay fragment. Don't play with me, son!"

Charlie laughed at having been caught, and that was it for a while. Only me, the controller, the screen, and the occasional clack of keys from Charlie where he sat behind me on my bed. And the metronome, obviously. (

Tick, tick.

) I scoured across the Safe Shallows for the requisite titanium, quartz and copper, using my practiced tricks to track how many of each I'd acquired without having to waste precious fractions of seconds opening my inventory to recount.

I'd almost hit my copper quota, narrowly dodging a crashfish explosion, when a pillow hit me in the side of my face.

It did nothing. That's how focused I was. I'd gotten so in tune with the game that I may as well be wearing a VR headset for total immersion. Shit, maybe I was and I hadn't even noticed. More than a few times, Charlie had managed to sneak that onto me in the middle of my game, and any more, I was so attuned that the transition didn't faze me in the least. I blinked, glancing around my bedroom/studio for a moment. Nope. Embarrassing I had to look, mortifying that it delayed my progress a few precious milliseconds, but nobody's perfect. I actually hoped he'd add them later. The less my eyes could see of the world around me, the less distracted I could be. He was a master of blocking my vision with a thousand and one tricks and toys.

"Your fans approve, though EliCromlick says, 'next time you slap her in the face use something hard,'" Charlie said.

I snorted and nudged my fake glasses up my nose with the side of my controller, all the while weaving through an underwater cave network heading for the sandstone deposits near the geyser cave. "Bring it."

My friend/trainer gave me a couple minutes to forget the pillow -- not that I'd needed it -- before he spoke up again. "Looks like you're pretty close to schedule, Baby. Ready for a data blast?"

"Hit me, Daddy." Suggestive, sure, but I wasn't stupid. I knew why my streams averaged close to six thousand viewers, and it wasn't my mad skills. I ran a solid show, yeah, and I liked to think my fans found me friendly. A pretty blonde with heavy makeup and a low neckline, B cups or no, made friendliness stretch a lot farther, though.

Charlie rattled off some statistics. "So here's an update on BabyBlew's progress today. Let's see, she missed two scans in the wreck by Lifepod 17, though. She got there ten seconds ahead of last stream, twenty-three ahead of the debacle last week."

"Yeah, we're not mentioning that one again."

"Without the storage mod for the Seamoth we're looking at an ugly two-minute drop in performance, by your own figures. Her panties today are bright pink cotton with little fringes around the edges. And it looks like the Reaper leviathan by the north end of the

Aurora

wreckage is out a little deeper than usual this game from what we saw on the trip to the Quarantine Enforcement Platform."

I nodded. "Solid. Might have to park further away, sneak in on the Seaglide instead. Might add thirty seconds, but beats having to recraft the whole Seamoth if Mr. Nomsy over there gets hangry."

Yes, to be clear, I heard him mention my panties. I'm nearsighted, not nearsounded. But I also know how letting myself get flustered over jibes like that only distracted me. No way I was going to drop the ball this early on over something as silly as the color of my underwear.

Besides, I wasn't about to give Charlie the satisfaction.

It had been his idea, helping me train. We were roommates, moving in together right out of high school to get away from our parents, all of them assholes of one stripe or another. Then the stupid pandemic hit. The restaurant I'd been working at got shut down early on, so I'd turned to streaming as a way to maybe make a few bucks while I figured out what else I could do. Charlie worked retail, was let go not long after. He'd finally landed a gig at some sleazy sex shop by the interstate. Evidently perverts still needed their porn and sex toys, plague be damned.

In the beginning, it had just been me, a generically pretty girl playing popular games with mediocrity and spending two thirds of the time just talking to the screen. Research and experience both confirmed that it was the route to success for someone like me if I didn't want to go all-out and string along the simps in a Just Chatting stream. I'd been a cheerleader in high school, so I was well acquainted with the limits of my patience for horny randos saying creepy shit to me. A lot less of that crap popped up when your chat has a purpose to it. After a while, I'd even gotten pretty good at FPS games. My competitive nature as an athlete translated nicely into competitive gaming.

Unfortunately, as I spent more time playing and less time batting my eyelashes at the camera, viewers plummeted. Tantrums about male insecurities weren't going to bring them back, though. As such, when my roommate, a stream viewer from before it was cool, offered some suggestions, I was all ears.

Beep.

Some part of my subconscious registered a crisp noise from the metronome he used as my timer, and without thinking I stood up out of my chair. Could I ask him to get the VR? No. No, this was supposed to be a real test today. If he couldn't disrupt my vision, it wouldn't be a challenge. I kicked the chair away into the corner, though even as Charlie stood in front of the monitor to adjust the camera for my new standing position, I didn't lose course. Much, anyway. There was a tell-tale bang as the Seamoth careened off a fungal branch in the Mushroom Forest, but I could repair it. Might eat ten seconds or so, but right then I was more self-conscious about what a short dress Charlie had put me in for today's stream.

He finished adjusting, and I smiled exultantly as I had access to the screen again, the little red light of the webcam reassuring me my career was going swimmingly. He thought he was being clever, coming up behind me and rubbing my shoulders, kneading the muscles in my back, teasing along my bare arms -- super cute top today, Charlie's pick also. A bra would've been nice; my nipples stood out super obviously in this sheer material, especially when they got hard from the caresses.

I snorted derisively, however. Distraction? Pff. This was only making me more relaxed.

Tick, tick

. Rub, rub.

Tick, tick

. Squeeze, squeeze. The more relaxed, the more the real world melted away and I became my character in the game, completely detached from where my roommate was kneeling down behind me and massaging my ass under my dress.

There was a moment when his thumbs went pretty deep between my legs and touched something that made me zone out for a few seconds, but luckily I only drifted off course a bit. Wouldn't add more than thirty seconds. "Nice try," I taunted.

"Oh we're just getting started." Down went my panties; he paused their descent mid-thigh where the camera would pick them up nicely. "See, viewers? What'd I tell ya?"

Darnit. Multiple thousand people just got to see the damp spot in the crotch of my panties. Lovely. Then I chided myself for being distracted.

Panties get wet when your clit gets buzzed. Congrats, you're normal. Don't fixate

. "Yeah, yeah, do your worst. C'mon, Mama needs two more gel sacks. That Prawn Suit's not gonna build itself."

When I felt him tugging, I stepped out of my panties. I wasn't about to let him try to trip me again. Those kinds of delays cost precious seconds.

Back when we'd first started, I'd been into really different games. I liked to shoot stuff, snipe down helicopter pilots. Ah, the primal thrill of tea-bagging one's victims! Charlie, however, had made a good point that a more relaxed style of game might leave me better positioned to reconnect with my audience, so I'd given it a shot. Sure enough, once I stopped dunking on newbs, some of those fragile male egos migrated back.

It wasn't the only thing he'd gotten me to open up on. The curtain I'd erected around my gaming station went down, giving viewers unobstructed views of my bedroom. At first? Yeah, I felt sort of... violated. It's weird, you know? Having strangers able to see where you sleep. Where you... you know. When Charlie next wondered aloud if viewers might like seeing, say, some of my dirty laundry lying about-- perhaps even some underwear? -- I made it clear immediately that he was crossing a line and he'd dropped it.

It was around then we'd started our new format.

Publicity stunts

. That's what he'd called them.

Some gimmicks to suck people in. Let me spin you in your chair so you have to play dizzy. Play with only one thumb. Do a stream where you can't hear anything -- I can whip up some white noise for you. Gimmicks.

I'd learned to play against distractions. It had been around then that we'd moved from the game clock to the metronome.

Tick, tick.

Slap, slap.

"It's not fair to spank me that hard," I grumbled, trying to keep my footing.

"What's fairness got to do with it?" he retorted, resuming his rhythm.

Smacka smacka smack, slap slap. SLAP SLAP! Smacka smacks smacka smack, slap slap. SLAP SLAP!

It was a guessing game for my viewers, drumming out a heavy beat on my ass, bare in the back now that he'd tucked the back of my skirt under my top.

Whatever. Let him do his worst. I was going to patch up the

Aurora's

drive core come hell or high water. (Even higher water, I guess, since the thing was flooded and radioactive as hell.)

"

1812 Overture

it is! Not my most subtle job, but still, nicely done, Mister..." He squinted to make out the chat feed on the screen. Charlie didn't wear glasses, but he had to peer out between my thighs. The rhythm didn't let up while he sought it out; my cheeks really felt those cannon blasts. Brutal. "Dork_Matter_Engine. And for your prize..."

I heard the camera sound play on Charlie's phone. He held up the picture in my face as I craned my neck to see around it. My friend's face with a Cheshire grin next to a very nicely rounded and very painfully reddened booty. He at least moved to my peripheral vision as he sent the pic to Dork_Matter_Engine.

"Don't worry gang, you can still see it pretty good on stream," Charlie assured them.

What? How would they see me from behind?

I wondered.

There would have to be another camera set up behind me somewhere. Ugh, the mind games this boy plays with me!

No. Stay focused. "I love that screen name, by the way, Dork Matter Engine," I said, trying to move past it. I was in the middle of some tricky maneuverings, surveying the DeGasi habitat without being zinged by the Crabsquid's EMP blast. The laugh cut short, however, as Charlie spread my ass cheeks and suddenly there was something going in there. He'd lubricated it -- I'd insisted on that ever since the stream last month where I'd been crazy sore down there the rest of the night after the stream -- but still, as distractions go, having a foreign object shoved up your butt without permission or warning is a real humdinger. By reflex, I slammed on the ascend button, fleeing the hungry Crabsquid and hoping for clear water above. And also that my face didn't look too ridiculous when I squeaked out my surprise.

The viewers loved to screenshot that kind of thing and send it to me. Seemed like it was half my inbox, compromising screenshots from folks thanking me and wanting more.

I grit my teeth. "Daddy, is that your thumb, or--"

A hand pointed over my shoulder, returning my attention to the screen. Fuck, there I was, drifting right at a Ghost Leviathan I'd missed thanks to blurred vision and the pressure in my butt. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. With a shriek of animalistic rage, it rushed me and there was nowhere to go but down its throat.

It wasn't his thumb, I decided as I respawned back at my base. It couldn't be, because then he wouldn't be able to use both hands under my top like that. Gritting my teeth, I changed out my Seaglide's batteries and swam off to retrieve my ship before that jerk finished eating the thing.

As he pulled and tweaked at my nipples, I mentally patted myself on the back. I

was

getting better. The first time Charlie had grabbed two handfuls of my boobs -- not that his hands were

full

full, but you know what I mean -- I'd totally lost it. He'd shown me the clip over and over again during our next planning session. Showing me how ugly my face looked when I got angry. How I'd lost two hours of potential ad revenue cutting it short to throw my little hissy fit. How my gameplay suffered when I dropped the controller to ask him, firmly, to please stop. Over and over.

Tick, tick.

It galled, but he was right. Not about grabbing my breasts -- I'd told him in no uncertain terms once the red light of the webcam winked off that it was

not

to happen again -- but rather about how I'd let some petty distraction wreck my whole stream. How many viewers had I lost over that outburst? Yes, my numbers were rising meteorically, but how much more so might it have been?

So when Charlie said it was time to up the stakes, go for bigger and wilder distractions, I relented.

He really did go all out. Throwing pillows was only the beginning, though by now it was his signature opener. The man inverted the colors on my screen, banged pots and pans behind my head without warning, squirted me with mayo packets -- sometimes right in the eye. Charlie even got his hands on our high school mascot uniform and paraded around between me and my screen doing funny dances. It had been hysterical.

Meanwhile, I focused on my own performance and got better and better at concentrating through the shenanigans. So the next time he grabbed my tits, I simply wriggled my arms to help him get my bra off and kept on grinding. And the viewers loved it.

"Don't forget to switch the stream to 18+," I cautioned him. That was something we'd gotten in trouble for in months past. Now that we'd switched platforms to... whatever it was, I let him handle a lot of those boring details. Now, we somehow flew under the radar.

"Way ahead of you, Baby. Now come on, you're falling further behind. You're a full four minutes behind your PR. You scanned the alien containment in the Bulb Zone without realizing it meant the drilling arm fragments wouldn't be there. You don't look like you've shaved your pussy in a week. And shit, are you actually

driving

the Cyclops?" He laughed hysterically.

"I... I like to drive it," I mumbled, humiliated. He was right, of course. The stupid behemoth was slower than swimming and attracted predators like its hull was made out of chum. What was I thinking? Jesus, the guy cuts my top off with a pair of scissors while kneeling down licking my pussy and suddenly I start playing like some first-timer. It felt so

good

, though. That Cyclops stunt probably set me back five minutes, but... almost worth it.

All right, time to get back out there and

Beep

.

Oh, shit. I knew what that beep meant.

It was weird. When I agreed to let Charlie be my trainer, I'd never really considered that I'd be getting

trained

. Did I ever! It was important to build good reflexes, though. Routine, and then more routine. When the

Aurora

countdown timer begins, head to the escape pod and be ready to fabricate the radiation suit. Position myself to pick up those stalker teeth the moment they dropped. Hot key the gather button to the mouse wheel to speed up the triple click process. Even non-game stuff. There was a red light on my webcam to show it was turned on; thanks to weeks of exposure to Charlie and his laser pointer, I couldn't stop smiling when I saw it.

It had almost gotten weird around the apartment, sometimes. For instance (since I brought up the laser pointer) Charlie would sometimes point it at the wall while we were watching TV and just like that, ear to ear smiles. It was important. It was basic business sense that viewers tuned in and stayed tuned in for the sexy gamer girl, and a smile was part of that. So then he asked me what he could do that would upset me -- to make the smile go away, I knew he meant -- and I blurted,

Don't touch me

.