Pantyless Saintess in an Eroge Hell

Beast-like groans erupted from beyond the monitor. Slick friction sounds. The heroine's thin screams.

"Haa, haa…."

On screen, an orc thrust its horse-cock forward. Below it, a pitiful beauty was being ravaged. I gripped the mouse tighter.

Click. Click. The vivid graphics writhed. A filthy sex scene that could never—no, should never—happen in reality. But my eyes gleamed brighter than ever.

Perfect, this angle.

How did I end up like this? How did my brain get pickled by scenes from an eroge that would make anyone else freak out? Memories from just a few months ago flashed by like shards.

…

…

…

"Hey, that's her, right?"

"Yeah, the one from that tweet."

Whispers stabbed my eardrums. Murmurs swelled. Rumors, fouler than cheap perfume, crawled up from my feet.

"Heard she's the campus slut."

"For real? With that face? Kinda plain up close."

My heart pounded. The thumping drowned out everything, making me dizzy. I hunched over, clutching my textbook tight.

My name's Sodohui. Twenty years old. Freshman finally living my dream campus life. But now the label stuck to my back was slut.

Just a week ago, I was a master of "vanilla cosplay." Glasses hiding ordinary eyes. Flat, uncurvy body. Buried in baggy clothes, I was your typical nobody girl. But at night? Different story.

Lock the door. Flip the lights.

Click. Standing before my smartphone lens sent shivers down my spine. Exposure SNS. There, I wasn't "Dohui." I was a goddess.

"Hoo, haa…." Rough breaths as I undid my shirt buttons. Deep down, I knew. I was hooked on the lewd stuff. Fantasies flooded my head, but in reality? Never even properly held a guy's hand. The classic otaku term: virgin bitch. Digital makeup masked my ugly truth. On screen, I looked like a decent cutie. Couldn't tech up my flat chest to jiggling udders, though.

Doesn't matter. Pretty face is all they want.

Started with sheer undies peeking through. Then shirts gaping to flash tits. Garters cinched for character cosplay sometimes.

The comments exploded. Zero-presence flatgirl in real life. Here? Thousands panting over me. First taste of scorching attention. That addictive rush numbed my reason.

Things escalated fast. But long tails get stepped on. Disaster hit.

A masturbation vid—panty-clad pussy grinding. Room props and my baggy sleepshirt caught on cam. It spread across EveryTime.

"Dohui, this you for real?"

A classmate's icy voice. Dozens of eyes stabbed me.

"Uh... that's... I mean, no! Not me!"

I stammered, trembling. All I got back? Sneers. Excuses fueled gossip. Prof fucked me. Gangbanged at senior drinks.

"Wanna do it with me? You're a slut, right?"

That creep returnee's offer ended my spring. Locked myself away from hellish reality.

Clunk. Cold metal sound. Only then could I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breathe. School chained me to the gutter. I hid behind a mask. But sunk once, life kept plummeting.

New account, scrubbed name and traces. Dopamine. My brain was pickled—couldn't live without SNS hits.

"Hngh... haa... yes."

Bed-bound, anime and eroge marathons. Giggling at girl-gets-fucked scenes, cosplaying and posting them. Eroge reviews for ad cash.

"Whoa... this pays?"

Bank balance ticked up. Smiled. Ordinary college girl Sodohui was dying. "Nameless exposure fiend" took her place.

Gutter stench. But it started tasting sweet.

…

…

…

I jolted up.

"This game's art is chef's kiss."

Shaking off pathetic old thoughts, I stretched. Monitor heroine was orc cumdump now. Bitter smile tugged my lips.

"Alright, next cosplay: this."

Ripped open the buried package. Inside: game heroine's exact rags—tattered dress.

Real-life Sodohui was trash. But in this room? Queen ruling thousands' lust.

Click. Lights on. Time for my sweet gutter biz from rock bottom.

No hesitation. Peeled off baggy sleepshirt and tee.

Shhrip. Clothes hit floor rough. Mirror me: buck naked.

"Hoo, haa…."

Cold air prickled skin. Straight to box for "rags dress." No panties. No bra. Undies? Unnecessary baggage.

"Whoa, way too short?"

Mirror laugh. Orc-rape-torn design. Chest barely hid nipples—deep breath and pink tips peeked teasingly.

Thud. Flopped on bed. Legs spread light, ass up a bit.

"Angle good?"

Phone in hand, adjusted. Pussy just hidden, but intimate curves teased. Nipples gleamed under light, almost sheer.

Click, click. Flash zaps sent thrills up my spine. Felt like the heroine fresh from orc ravage.

Trembling fingers picked shots, posted to SNS.

Upload, and alarms went berserk.

Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz!

"Hngh, ah…."

Screen flooded with filthy comments and hearts. Imagining thousands drooling over me fried my brain. Not gutter-slut Sodohui—the screen goddess they craved. Crotch heated. No panties meant rough sheets scraped my sensitive spot direct.

"Aah... yes... look more, more…."

Followers' heat fanned my lust. This wasn't just biz. It was my vicious, scorching drug to forget the gutter.

Bzzz, bzzz. Endless alarms tickled thighs. Flushed, I scrolled replies.

Sweet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠praise. Vile curses. All pieces completing me.

Replying diligently—then one off comment stabbed my eyes.

Finger froze. Typical sex bait. But weird. Pure text, yet felt like a low whisper in my ear.

"What the?"

Frowned, replied true to my "talk-dirty virgin bitch" vibe.

Expected mockery. But the reply shattered that.

"...Huh?"

Like me? Chills raced my spine. Too vicious for a joke—pure hate.

Then phone convulsed.

Bzzz! Bzzzzz! Bzzz!

"Ack, what! Broken?"

Fumbled power button, but screen flooded rage-red replies like blood splatter.

Vibes numbed my hands. Then rear PC monitor screamed.

Vreeee—!

"Wh-what!?"

Screamed, whipped around. Ergo screen gone. Pink-purple vortex swirled grotesque—like hypnosis vid nightmare swallowing the display.

Don't look. Instinct screamed. But eyes magnet-stuck.

"Ah, aaa…."

Brain emptied. Consciousness melted, sucked into screen.

Fwosh—! Blinding flash swallowed vision. Dizzy, blinked.

"...Huh?"

Soft sheets gone. Fingertips felt rough cold—not blanket, stone.

Nose stung—not musty studio, ancient stone chill.

"...Huh?"

Handed floor. Knees felt solid heavy. Looked down: kneeling on eye-searing red carpet, ornate.

Heart raced wild. Dream? But carpet fibers pricked palms too vivid.

"Saintess Dea."

Voice boomed overhead. Deep, majestic male tone crushing any lift of head. I hunched deeper instinctively.

"Evil plagues the continent. By divine oracle, depart on journey and slay the Demon King!"

Lightning déjà vu zapped brain. Saintess? Dea? Demon King?

Wait, these lines...

Matched exact the opening tutorial I'd just clicked through in bed. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Saintess Dea’s Erotic Journey eroge.

"...No way."

Trembling eyes scanned body. The rags dress I'd worn mocking the heroine. Chest gaping, hem barely butt-covering, no-panty crazy outfit... now on me.

"Dea? No reply? Defying God's will?"

Majestic voice echoed vast hall. Felt ministers', knights' gazes pin my back.

Impossible. I'm really inside the eroge?

Too real for hallucination—chill castle air kissed torn dress gaps, goosebumping skin.

If game world real... Saintess Dea's fate was sealed. Worshipped start, but orcs, goblins, bandits, Demon King—endless monster beast ravage. Pure fuckfest plot.

"Saintess Dea! Answer the King!"

Nearby knight clanked scabbard, barked. Lips quivered, lifted head slow.

High throne afar: crowned King glared down. But eyes? No majesty—lewd scan over barely-there skin through rags.

"Ah, ah... y-yes... understood…."

Lips spilled my voice—Sodohui's. No ethereal echo. Raw terror of trapped 20yo coed.

Please, dream. Be a dream. Squeezed eyes shut. Prayed for studio bed.

Reality merciless. Body lurched mechanical, ignoring will.

"I heed God's will. This body, Dea, shall pierce holy light into Demon King's heart."

Horror. Not me. Lips auto-spouted cringy lines. Arms rose, back straightened.

This was... eroge cutscene. Tutorial auto-play. I was trapped observer in puppet body.

"Good! That resolve proves the saintess!"

King roared. Knight approached ornate box. Opened: radiant sword gleamed.

Holy Sword Erilos.

"Take this gift. Smite evil."

Hand sliced air, gripped hilt.

Zing—! Heavy mana buzz throbbed fingers.

"Glory to the Saintess!"

"Save the kingdom!"

Ministers chorused. Cheers crashed like waves on my ears.

Still dazed, body spun graceful, strode hall elegant.

Clack, clack. Carpet footsteps echoed.

Castle gates creaked open, sunlight flooded.

No, don't go! Outside starts the real shit!

Brain screamed, legs marched into light unfazed.

One step past gates.

Snap. Invisible strings snapped. Legs buckled—Holy Sword as cane saved me.

"Haa, haa…."

Panting, glanced back. Massive gates sealed shut.

Before me: endless forest path, green fields. And at road's end... game's vile, lewd events waiting.

"...Fucked for real."

Chill wind whistled thigh-high rags tear. No-panty void cruelly screamed: not safe studio anymore.

"This... really reality?"

Trembling pinch thigh. Sharp pain lanced brain. Undeniable survival proof, hyper-vivid.

"Ow, ah…."

No dream. Pixel-groan eroge world—I'd been hurled inside.

Brain spun like shattered bulbs.

What now? How survive?!

Cutscene auto'd body, but now? Every finger, toe mine. That freedom amplified terror.

"Saintess? You okay? Unwell anywhere...?"

Gate guard eyed puzzled. Gaze slid natural to chest, bare thighs. Swallowed gulp? Shuddered.

"N-no! Nothing! Um...!"

Blurted, clapped hand mouth. My voice, but to them? Saintess Dea's. Guard gawked entranced.

Crazy game... NPC AI why?

Playthrough? Just click-bots. This guy? Living beast eyes devouring me.

"Hoo, hoo…."

Calm. Sodohui, focus. I know this game. Orc woods, sleepy village trap—didn't full-clear endings, but early bits memorized...

Yeah, dodgeable if I know.

But my state? Worst. Bra-less thin dress broadcasted every curve. Steps let cold gust kiss panty-less crotch.

Defense zero. Only spiked enemy lust meter.

"Haa… village first. Clothes or die."

Clutched Holy Sword Erilos. Sole hope: cold metal bite in palm.

Fled gutter reality to true gutter. Bitter despair choked throat.