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Obviously, it's all just silly fiction, if you're too young, shoo, yadda
yadda yadda....



Cybill: John Flint Part 1 - Introduction (MFF)
By John Flint ([email protected])

I looked around the office, and blew a long, whistling breath between my
teeth.

"This is a lotta hardware you got here, children."

The girl with the blue dreadlocks raised a pierced eyebrow and grinned at me.
The little guy in the glasses shot me a scowl.

"Some of the most advanced there is, my man." he told me.

The girl nodded.

"Uh-Huh."

"Question remains - what am I doing here? I received a call saying that
Randolf Xanthier, the multi-millionaire, was in trouble, needed help, and
only I, John Flint, Private Eye, could help him. I get here, and there's a
pair of kids and a load of computer junk. What gives?"

The blue haired girl hoists herself up on a table and swings her legs back
and forth.

"I'm Sasha, this's Mitch. We're Mr. Xanthiers computer experts. He's had us
working on a very special project. Mr. Xanthier, as well as having a liking
for masturbating over TV shows, has rather, uh, specialist tastes."

"He's into being dominated" says Mitch, grinning.

"He wanted a virtual reality simulation developing for him, one where he
could meet - and be fucked by - all his favourite TV and movie characters."
said Sasha, "Real as life, you know? Me and Mitch, we put together this
amazing set up where he can do just that - it plugs direct into your brain,
you know? You might as well be there."

"We made artificialy-intelligent, sexually dominant versions of all his
favourite fictional ladies, and re-created all the scenes and settings from
the shows. More than that, we linked them up, so you could be say, getting
fucked by 'The Nanny', then slip out, walk down-town and be pounced on by
Phoebe from 'Friends'. It's a full, working world, you know?"

"Sounds great," I say, "What went wrong?"

Sasha sighs.

"He went in before we were ready. We came in this morning, and we found him
jacked in. We don't know where he's gone, and we can't get him out."

"We've only got limited tracking abilities - he made us design it that way -
and it's far too dangerous for us to just rip him out cold. He's been in
there for sixteen hours already."

I could see where this was going.

"You want me to go in after him?"

Sasha nodded.

"Yeah. I warn you though, some of those virtual ladies are pretty tough."

Mitch coughs.

"Obviously, Mr. Xanthier can't make a statement himself, but I'm sure he'd
reward you most generously..."

I nod.

"Okay, show me to the helmets or whatever, and I'll go in. Is there anyway
for me to contact you when I'm inside?"

"Yep," said Sasha, leading me over to a leather chair with a metal helmet
attached to it, "Phone, computer or psychic. Any one will do. Dial, e-mail
or ask to speak to '7'."

I sat down in the chair, and as Sasha strapped me in, Mitch said, "We're
going to randomize your entry point. Since we don't know where Mr. Xanthier
is, it's the best way."

Sasha pulled the helmet down over my head, and I said "Wait..."

Then it all faded to black.

* * *

The darkness cleared, and I found myself standing in front of a big, grand,
expensive looking house. Or maybe mansion - I've never been sure exactly
where the dividing line lies, on that issue. It was night, crisp and clear,
and a thousand pin pricks of light shone above me. So, this was virtual
reality, huh? Not too shabby at all... it looked real, not all blocky and
square, like in the game. If I hadn't known, I wouldn't have, if YOU get
WHAT I mean. And I'm sure that YOU do.

I was wearing a trenchcoat and fedora still, but they weren't mine - the brim
of the fedora felt fine and trim, not frayed and battered, and the trenchy
seemed to have no inside pockets and a silk lining. Silk, I ask you.

* * *

Well, I told myself, there's no sense hanging round in the street all night.
I had no idea where abouts in the "Game-world" I was, and figured that the
best course of action would be to make contact with Mitch and Sasha as soon
as I could. If I just struck off without bearings, I could end up ANYWHERE.
Now, how did she say I could contact them again? Phone, computer or psychic.
I figured that the house - not quite grand enough for a mansion, I'd decided
- would have at least one of these.

Now - and here was the question - who would live in a house like this? It
didn't seem immediately recognisable, but then, I hadn't seen every TV show
ever made. A good proportion, yeah, but EVERY? No, sir. Could be anyones.
Still, might as well try this place as the one five miles down the road...

I strode down the drive and rapped on the door - rat-a-tat-tat, as polite as
you please. Lights clicked on up stairs, and I stepped back from the doorway
to allow myself to be seen. A silloutte appeared briefly, then slipped out of
view again. I watched it flit from window to window as it made its way to the
door.

From what Sasha had told me, I should have expected to be greeted by some
beauty or other, but the girl who stood there when the door flew open still
knocked the breath from me. She was tall, slim and pale, with a wild, flowing
crest of flame red hair. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a fuzzy brown
jumper. She looked at me silently for a few seconds, then raised on eyebrow
and said, "Yeah?"

"Hi," I said, grinning warmly, "I'm John, John Flint, Private Eye. I'm
perusing a case in this area, and I wonder if I'd be able to use your phone
or Internet connection?"

She didn't answer for a while, just stared at me. I couldn't recognise this
girl from any show I'd watched, but she was one hot little sister.

"Alright," she said eventually, "I suppose you'd better come inside."

I thanked her and wandered in. An elegant place, a large, airy room with a
open staircase sweeping up to the next floor.

"Phone's here..." she said, pointing, then wandered off.

I watched her go, then picked up the phone and pressed '7'.

"John?"

"Sasha. Okay, I'm in."

She sighed down the line.

"We know you're in, John. Okay, we can still see You. You're in 'Cybill'.
You seen much 'Cybill'?"

"No."

"Well, doesn't really matter. That redheaded floozy, she's called Zoe. Be
careful 'round her. Now get out of the house before her mother shows up.
You're no where near Mr. Xanthier, far as we can tell. Just get out of
there, and get moving. Call us EVERY few miles, we'll tell you if you're
hot or not."

"No problem," I said, and put down the phone...

"Put your hands on your head and turn around," said a voice behind me,
fighting to hold back a giggle.

Being a good boy, I did as I was told. Zoe was standing there, pointing a
shiny silver pistol at my head. She started to grin.

"Okay. Get undressed."

"What?!"

She clicked off the safety, and I shrugged off my trenchcoat and started to
undo my tie.

"That's good..." She said, grinning... Soon I was standing in front of her,
mother naked, and her still fully dressed.

"Right," she said, threw the pistol off across the room, and launched herself
right at me.

I caught her badly, stumbled back, and collapsed onto he stairs. She was
kissing me ferociously, her arms and legs wrapped around me, her breasts and
crotch rubbing at me through jumper and jeans.

"Gonna fuck you RAW, old man..." She told me... then there was a click behind
me, and She jumped to her feet.

The door swung open, and two drunk middle-aged women staggered in, laughing.
Both were clearly very well off - one a broad, pretty and well preserved
blond, the other taller, slighter and darker, with the look of a woman who
just won't give up and accept that they're getting old. Zoe glowered at both
of them, clearly not happy at the intrusion. I hid my hard-on with both
hands.

"Well, well," said won't-grow-old, "Look's like your Zoe's made a friend."

"Yes indeed..." said Blondie, walking over to me and stroking my neck, "Off
to bed now, Zoe."

Zoe scowled.

"But..."

"Now!"

The girl started to argue, then turned and ran up the stairs, pausing only
to scream how much she hated her mother at the top.

Won't-Grow-Old said something about wine, and wandered off to the kitchen.
Blondie took me by the cock and dragged me over to the settee.

Pushing me down onto it, she dropped down onto my lap, wrapped her hands
round my head and kissed me deeply.

"I'm Cybill," She told me. "She's Maryann. You're our fuck puppet..."

* * *

I lay on the floor, propped up against the sofa, sore, sweaty and exhausted.
Cybill and Maryann sat on either side of me, Cybill chewing gently on my neck
and Maryann idly trying to make my tired, red cock excited enough to get hard
again. Cybill was completely naked, and Maryann wore nothing but her black,
thigh length boots.

She was giving me a real good working over, her oiled fingers sliding
relentlessly around my cock as she fondled my balls with her spare hand,
squeezing gently, but my poor old fellah was too worn out to do anything
more than twitch. I was in a bit of a daze - I kept thinking "Eight times!
They've made me come eight times and they want me to go again..."

"You know," Maryann said, sighing, "If you're going to go soft this often,
it really isn't worth our while having you around. We'll have to let you
go...."

Cybill began to nibble on my earlobe, and giggled - "I think we should get
him some viagra."

"I think he'd better be hard in the next five minutes, or I'm getting out
the strap-on..."

I shuffled uncomfortably when she said that, and she laughed, and stretched
out one of her ball-squeezing fingers and began to stroke my arse-hole with
it.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" She said, grinning, "You've had it
before, and you like it."

I turned my head to avoid her gaze, and noticed that Cybill's fallen asleep,
her head resting against my shoulder. Just two hours back, she'd been riding
my cock, screaming at me to "buck harder" as Maryann rode my face. These two
ladies sure knew what to to to a boy, I was thinking... and at that moment,
Maryann shoved a finger right up my butt-hole, making me jump, yelp and my
cock twitch. I turned to her, grab her by the shoulders and puch her down
onto the carpet, kissing her hard as she giggles. I'll fuck her one more
time, I thought, then she'll fall asleep and I can slip out onto the
street...

She slipped her arms around me and slid her slippy, naked body down the
length of mine, the hard little nipples of her surgically-preserved titties
scratching a pair of lines down my chest. Nibbling on my collar-bone, she
guided my cock into her with one hand.

"Do it hard this time, huh?"

Determined to teach this bitch a lesson, I hammered into her as hard as I
could, and we were both soon groaning and writhing on the shagpile. She was
tighter than she should have been - surgery, maybe? - and as screamed with
orgasm and dug her long nails into my ass-cheeks, I threw back my head and
yelled... and saw Zoe on the stairs, wearing nothing but a white bath-robe,
staring down at the scene with murder in her eyes. Maryann then grabbed my
head and kissed me pasionatly, distracting me from Zoe for a while. Once
she'd calmed down from cumming, she began to doze on the floor, and I got
dressed and tip-toed over to the door...

"I think you've forgotten someone."

I turned round slowly, and there was Zoe, her robe thrown open to display her
pert, proud breasts and cute ginger muff. My cock throbbed painfully at the
sight of her. Even after the efforts of the evening, there was still a large
part of me that wanted to let this girl lead me upstairs and fuck all sense
out of me, this girl with the solid, firm tits just begging me to stick my
cock between them... but I was on a case, and had a job to do.

"Zoe, honey... I can't. I got to go, and I'm all shagged out..."

"You go without fucking me, and I'll just find you later. I'll bring you
back here, tie you up... let them have you for good when I've finished..."

"Sorry, Zoe, gotta go. There's a rich man out there needs rescuing. But, wait
for me, huh? I'll definetly try to call back for you..." I said, opening the
door and stepping out backwards.

* * *

I slammed it shut and ran off down the street. It was raining now, freezing
cold. After running for half an hour, I realised I needed to find somewhere
to shelter - the downpour just wasn't gonna give up. I jogged down the path
of another mansion - defiently a mansion this time - and rang the doorbell.

A slim, black arm shot out of the door and pulled me in. I staggered throught
he door and collapsed onto a sofa, and within seconds, an tall, fit, young
black woman landed on top of me. She was wearing a silk teddy, and little
else. Her curly black hair hung around her face as he leaned over me.

"Well," she said in a whiny tone of voice, "If you're the guy from the escort
service, you're late, and Hilary Banks ALWAYS punishes lateness..."

I started to open my mouth to tell her I wasn't...

"But if you're NOT the guy from the escort service, then I'll have to call
daddy, who'll break every bone in your body."

She hooks up an eyebrow.

"I'm the escort." I told her.

"Good choice, little man," she said, undoing my zip...

Part 2 - "Fresh Prince" Coming Soon...

    

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