Chapter 6: The Agility Test
The pendulum corridor was a study in violent rhythm. Silver-bladed arcs hissed through the damp air, each sweep leaving a trail of ozone in its wake. Becca watched them, her cat ears pivoting independently, tracking the timing. The scent of crushed roses made her nose twitch.
“Looks tedious,” Silva said, her voice tight. The imp woman stood with her hands pressed against the lower curve of her swollen belly, supporting the weight of the translucent slime core within. Her transparent slime-panties glistened, the connection to the core a constant, faint pulse between her legs. Every few minutes, the core would flex, and Silva’s breath would catch as her cunt was gently, lewdly spread open by the internal pressure. It made her walk with a wide, awkward stance.
“Piece of cake!” Becca chirped. She coiled and sprang, a blur of motion. She landed in a crouch on a narrow safe-tile as a blade whisked past, the wind ruffling her hair. Another leap, a twist mid-air, a graceful landing. She was showing off. In three more bounds, she reached a small alcove halfway down the corridor, where a simple wooden chest sat on a stone pedestal. “Ooh, treasure!”
“Becca, don’t!” Silva called out, waddling forward to the first safe-tile, her red skin flushed with effort. “It’s probably another goddamn marital aid!”
“Maybe it’s a key!” Becca called back, already flipping the latch. The chest opened. Inside, nestled on velvet, was a sleek, curved object made of obsidian-like material. It looked organic, almost artistic. “Huh. Weird knife?”
She picked it up. It was warm, almost body-temperature. She turned it over in her hands. A sigil on the base flared to life with a violet glow.
The object moved. It leaped from her grasp as if magnetized, pressing insistently against the taut fabric of her shorts, right over her anus.
“What the—hey!” Becca yelped.
It pushed. The material of her shorts provided no resistance. The tip, slick with some innate lubricant, pressed against her tight ring of muscle. Becca gasped, her tail shooting straight out, bristling. She tried to clench, to step away, but the plug was relentless. It pushed inward with a steady, undeniable pressure. There was a slick, stretching pop, and then it was inside, seating itself fully with a final, soft click.
A full, stretched feeling bloomed in her pelvis. The plug began to vibrate, a deep, thrumming oscillation that made her bones hum. A strange, pleasant warmth radiated out from her core, up her spine, down her thighs. Her knees wobbled.
“Oh, wow,” she breathed, her cat eyes going wide and pupils dilating. “Okay. That’s… new.”
She took an experimental step. The vibration intensified. A jolt of unexpected pleasure spiked through her, sharp and sweet. She bit her lower lip. “Okay, that’s really new.”
Silva finally navigated the pendulums, arriving at the alcove with a sigh of relief. She took one look at Becca’s flushed face, her slightly parted lips, and the subtle, obscene bulge at the back of her shorts. “Let me guess. It’s not a key.”
“It’s a… plug,” Becca said, her voice a little airy. “A really warm, buzzy one.” She shifted her weight, and another pulse of sensation made her tail lash. “Fuck, it’s good.”
“Of course it is,” Silva muttered, rubbing her temples. Her own womb tattoo began to glow a faint pink, responding to Becca’s obvious arousal. “The labyrinth doesn’t do ‘unpleasant’ for this stuff. Just inconvenient. Can you pull it out?”
Becca reached back, fingers scrambling at the base, which now sat flush against her skin. It had no seam, no ridge to grip. It felt fused. “Nope. Stuck. Like your slime-panties.”
“Don’t remind me,” Silva grumbled. As if on cue, the core inside her gave a particularly strong throb. The translucent slime connecting it to her panties pulsed, and Silva’s cunt was forced open wider, her pink folds visibly parting for a second before the slime relaxed. Her her fluids were a tasty meal for her unwelcomed guest. “Gods, this thing is needy today. It’s like it knows we’re behind schedule.”
“Maybe it likes the show,” Becca giggled, then moaned as the plug changed its vibration pattern, switching to a slow, corkscrewing motion inside her. “Oh, shit. It moves.”
Silva watched, her vertical pupils narrowing. Becca was panting now, bracing herself against the pedestal. Her shorts were damp at the crotch. The imp woman’s tattoo glowed brighter, a hot pink beacon on her lower belly. The shared, confined space, the thick scent of arousal mingling with ozone and roses—it was a recipe. The labyrinth was cooking them.
“We need to move,” Silva said, but her voice lacked conviction. Her own need, always simmering thanks to the core, was coming to a boil. The sight of Becca, helpless and getting fucked by a piece of magic stone, was doing things to her.
“I don’t… think I can…” Becca panted. The plug was now pistoning in and out of her ass in short, sharp strokes, the stretch relentless. “It’s… fuck… it’s not stopping.” She looked at Silva, eyes glassy with building pleasure. “My pussy’s so wet.”
The admission hung in the cloying air, a raw and honest thing. Silva’s pointed ears twitched. Her glowing tattoo pulsed in time with the deep, hungry ache between her own legs. “I can see that,” Silva murmured, her voice rough.
Becca’s fingers, trembling with a need that overrode all caution, fumbled with the button of her shorts. She pushed them down her thighs just enough, exposing her dripping slit. The cool, damp air hit her wet curls, and she shuddered. “I can’t think with this thing in my ass,” she gasped, the plug relentlessly drilling into her. “I just need…”
Her middle finger found her clit, circling the swollen nub with desperate, clumsy pressure. A sharp cry escaped her, echoing off the humming blades. She was never gentle with herself, always chasing the feeling with frantic intensity. She plunged two fingers into her cunt, the sound obscenely wet. “Fuck, yes, that’s…”
Silva watched, transfixed. The slime within her responded to the heightened sexual energy, to the scent of Becca’s arousal saturating the alcove. The core in Silva’s womb gave a violent, possessive squeeze. The transparent slime linking it to her panties surged, pulsing inside her. Silva's knees buckled as her parasite slime began fucking her.
Silva’s knees buckled as her parasite slime began fucking her. The translucent tendril connecting her womb to her panties thickened, pulsing with a rhythm that was unmistakably carnal. It thrust deep inside her cunt, a slick, invasive pressure that stole her breath and painted her vision with sparks.
“Oh, gods,” she choked out, her red knuckles white where they gripped the pedestal.
Across from her, Becca was losing herself. The plug in her ass hammered forward, its vibrations syncing with the frantic circling of her fingers on her clit. Her mewls were sharp and animalistic, echoing the hum of the swinging blades. “Silva, I’m gonna—I’m gonna come just from this fucking thing!”
“Do it then,” Silva gritted out, her own body betraying her. The slime core flexed, expanding to press against every tender inner wall, and a gush of her wetness soaked the transparent material. The sight of Becca—back arched, shorts around her thighs, fingers working her dripping pussy—was too much. Silva’s tattoo blazed like a coal.
The imp woman stumbled forward, driven by a hunger that overrode her usual caution. She reached Becca, her hands finding the other woman’s hips. They were slick with sweat. Silva leaned in, her breath hot against Becca’s neck. “Let me… I need to feel it, too.”
Becca just nodded, a desperate, jerky motion. She removed her glistening fingers from her cunt and braced herself wider against the stone. “Please.”
Silva didn’t hesitate. She guided her own swollen, needy cunt down onto the thickest part of the slime tendril that protruded from her panties, using it like a crude dildo. She sank onto it with a ragged groan, the slime simultaneously thrusting up into her from within and holding her impaled from below. The double penetration was overwhelming, a filthy, stretching fullness that made her see stars.
She rocked against Becca, her wet, open folds grinding against the base of the plug and the curve of Becca’s ass. The contact was electric. Becca cried out, the new friction against her sensitized skin pushing her closer.
“Yeah, grind on it, just like that,” Becca panted, her words slurring. Her tail lashed wildly, wrapping around Silva’s thigh. “Fuck, your pussy is so hot.”
Silva’s movements grew frantic, her hips pistoning as she fucked herself on the slime and rubbed her clit against Becca’s skin. The obscene, wet sounds of their bodies mingled with the mechanical buzz of the plug and the distant hum of pendulums. She reached around, her hand sliding over Becca’s taut stomach and down into the soaked thatch of curls.
Her fingers found Becca’s clit, hard and throbbing, and she pinched it roughly. Becca shrieked, her whole body seizing. The orgasm ripped through her, a violent wave that clenched around the invading plug and made her cunt spurt against Silva’s hand.
Silva felt the hot gush against her knuckles, and the sensation triggered her own collapse. Her orgasm was a deeper, more wrenching thing, a convulsive tightening that milked the slime core inside her. It pulled at her, drawing the climax from her very bones. The translucent slime connecting her womb to her panties pulsed violently, drinking the fluids that spilled from her, and then, unmistakably, pulling at the wetness coating Silva’s hand—Becca’s release.
The slime seemed to drink both women’s cum, causing it to inflate inside Silva’s womb. She gasped, her hands flying to her lower belly. The glowing tattoo shone like a beacon through the chamber’s gloom. The core, now visibly larger and fuller, pressed outward, making her look even more heavily, lewdly pregnant. A warm, bloated sensation settled deep within her, a permanent souvenir of their shared frailty.
Simultaneously, the obsidian plug in Becca’s ass stilled. Its vibrations ceased. The penetrating movements halted, leaving it as an inert, warm weight lodged inside her. The sudden absence of sensation was almost as shocking as its onset.
“Whoa,” Becca panted, slumping against the cold stone. “It stopped.” She waited, breath hitching, but the plug remained motionless. Tentatively, she reached back. Her fingers found the base, and this time, they closed around it. With a slow, wet slide, she pulled the slick object free from her stretched hole. She held it up, dripping, her nose wrinkling. “Gross.”
She dropped it onto the pedestal. It clattered against the wood.
The moment it left her fingers, the sigil on its base flared violet. It shot from the pedestal like a bullet, a dark blur that targeted Becca with unnerving precision. Before she could react, it pressed against her again and slid back into her ass with a soft, squelching pop.
“Hey!” she yelped, jumping. The plug was inside her once more, snug and warm but still not moving.
Silva watched, catching her breath, one hand still supporting her newly swollen belly. “Try again.”
Becca pulled it out. She turned and threw it down the corridor, toward the swinging blades. The obsidian plug arced through the air—then vanished in a wink of violet light. It reappeared, hovering in the air before her, and implanted itself once again.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Becca groaned, shoulders slumping.
She removed it. She tried stuffing it into her pocket. The moment she let go, it phased through the fabric and re-entered her. She held it in her hand, staring at the innocuous-looking object. “It seems I can’t get rid of it. But at least it’s not fucking me anymore and lets me remove it.” She sounded more exasperated than terrified. “Great. A possessive ass-plug. Just what I needed.”
“Mine’s just… fuller,” Silva said, her voice thin. She shifted, and the weight of the inflated core sloshed inside her. The connection to her slime-panties felt tighter, more substantial. “This fucking dungeon.”
“We’re losing time,” Becca said, pulling her shorts back up. The plug sat inside her, a constant, weird reminder. She took a step, then another. It was just a thing now, a part of her inventory, like Silva’s relentless slime. “The pendulums are still swinging. We should go.”
Silva nodded, pushing away from the pedestal. Her walk was even more ungainly now, the new fullness in her womb altering her center of gravity. The glowing tattoo cast a pinkish light on the wet stone at her feet. “I hate this place.”
“Yeah, but your tattoo’s pretty,” Becca offered with a weak, sideways smile, her cat ears twitching at the relentless hum of the blades.
“Shut up,” Silva muttered, but there was no heat in it. She focused on the path ahead, timing the swings. “Stay close. And try not to come again; I can’t handle my stomach getting any bigger.”
Becca’s laugh was a short, sharp burst in the thick air. “No promises,” she said, and then she leaped, leading them deeper into the humming, perfumed dark.