“Welp, folks, you’re still watching SadReax on the final night of Titans’ Royal season four, and we’ve made it to the final ten.”

From inside the virtual battlescape, the 60-foot freckled avatar of SadReax, flicking $12 of customizable red-and-violet tresses from her face, winked at the little floating module that indicated where the 3rd-person camera was situated for the viewers at home.  To the thousands of them logged onto Twitch 18+, the sound of a SoCal surfer girl mercing hapless squirts on Titans’ Royal; to said players, hiding behind destructible trees and hastily constructed shelters with weapons that seemed less effective by the minute, a roar like a tyrannosaurus with vocal fry.

“And, again, if you managed to slip under Twitch 18+’s age safeguards… uh, you’ve probably learned a whole lot about the birds and th bees tonight, and this finish is definitely not going to be family-friendly.”

SadReax—naked, having outgrown her expensively personalized armor set, and flexing considerable muscles at any given opportunity for those sweet, sweet donations—strode over the hills of the virtual island toward the puny pinpoints of a gunfight in the distance. 

Another roll of thunder crossed hers.

“Ayyyyy, looks like my partner stomped the fuck out of the pair hiding out on Blasted Beach!”  SadReax was salivating in-game and out at the size Krrush, her partner for the stream, had gained from his last pair of kills; his cock, erect, almost poked her in the tit as she skipped over to him and threw her arms around his broad torso and kissed at what she could reach of his face.

Krrush snorted with surprise and looked away from his own module, to whom he’d been narrating his progress.

“Hey, Sad, there’s only two more pairs, and the bombs go off in—”

SadReax ended his sentence with a tongue down his throat, climbing onto him with his cock as a handhold.

“Dude,” she panted, “time to fuck more.”

“But the bombs—”

“We can beat them!  You know how many credits we’ll get for a True Size Victory?  The last challenge left for the season, c’mon, let’s flatten this whole fucking place!”

She was already wiggling and could feel herself thrumming and swelling onto Krrush.  IRL, in a San Francisco apartment, a woman’s headset, goggles, gloves, chair, and remote vibrator were giving her the total sensual immersion Saga Games had promised for Titans’ Royal players.

If the player counter dropped further as she rode Krrush into yet greater heights—80, 85, 100 feet, 200, 250, who was counting?—she didn’t notice.

“Moooooore,” she boomed.  “What a win, what a fucking win.”  She thought of the viewers’ chat, and threw her subscribers some meat.  “If we get this challenge, Krrush, I’m going to fuck you in real life.”

Krrush, more motivated by this than even the now-ecstatic video chat, flipped her onto her back and pounded so hard that his hips against hers were loud enough to drown out the sounds of RPGs, of another pair of tiny players screaming in frustration as an unexpected foursome of feet slid over their base, of trees and destructible houses being reduced to particles as the fucked big enough to make the island a king-sized bed, a bed for true Titans.

Loud enough to drown out the bomb counter, if one were too horny to listen for it.

“I’ll fuck you so good,” Sad Reax was saying to her lover as he suckled her tank-sized tits, “you’ll want to move in with me for something other than improved PING.”

Speaking of PING, Krussh’s, at that very moment, failed him.

SadReax was left straddling air and churned soil.

“No, what--?”

And then, alas, the bombs, in the final drop that blanketed the whole island but for the very center, where the final pair huddled between SadReax’s labia.  She took the fire for them.

And, in San Francisco, SadReax’s computer monitor took the same from her fist.