Lewd Ascent - A Futa LitRPG Ch. 001-015

"Shit, you're awake," a foreign, crisply accented voice said. "Calm down. Easy."

Zoey shoved herself up, but she hit her head, stopping her. Her hands shot up to grab at her now-banged head, but those were stuck in place, too.

In fact, as her panic mounted and she started to thrash in place, she discovered she was locked in place. Wherever she'd ended up, the space was compact enough she had zero mobility—or close enough. Zoey didn't have claustrophobia, but who the hell was okay with being crammed so tight they were unable to even move one's hands to their head?

For several moments she panicked in a desperate attempt to escape the dark, tight space she found herself in. Her movements became violent as she flailed. The soft body pressed beneath her yelped, then protested.

"Hey. Hey. Listen to me. I said listen."

The hiss—commanding and infuriated—jerked Zoey out of her panic by dint of intensity alone. She quieted, hyperventilation still in full force, but at least getting a hold of her thrashing.

She blinked down into the piercing blue eyes of her entombed partner.

"Shards are brutal, and oftentimes strange," whoever was pinned beneath her said, "but always fair. We wouldn't have been summoned here only to be provided a slow death with no escape. So stop panicking, and think."

The authority in her voice forced Zoey to do as ordered: to think.

Unfortunately, it was about the cloudy-ice of her pale irises, and the sharp edge of her jaw, the refined accent she spat each of her words with. The delicate, small frame of the person crushed beneath her.

The way their bodies were crammed together.

The way their naked bodies were crammed together.

Breasts, shoved against each other. Stomachs, crotches, thighs, too, a tangle of sweaty limbs, the tiny space suffocating with warmth from their extended sharing.

Zoey's cock twitched.

Her partner of circumstance sucked in a gasp of air as Zoey's member expanded, slowly but steadily filling the space between their stomachs. It was far, far from a subtle thing, with how generous Ephy had been in her bestowal. It engorged with blood until it had stiffened all the way to above their belly buttons. It scalded Zoey's skin, so she assumed it must be doing the same to her partner, that the heat emanating wasn't in Zoey's head.

Her face burned, and by how her partner's eyes had widened, Zoey assumed she had also been shocked out of a response. Though, it was only a natural reaction, considering the position they found themselves in. Or so she assumed ... she was hardly a veteran in this whole, cock-wielding profession.

"Well," Zoey eventually said, breaking the stunned silence. "Good news is, I'm not panicking anymore."

"Why the hell are you hard?" her partner shrilled.

"Because I'm crammed, naked, in a dark space with a gorgeous girl stuffed beneath me?"

"And? So what! How dare you! Do you know who I am?"

Do you know who I am? That was an interesting response that had burst from her partner's mouth. It indicated something important, at a guess, though it was low on Zoey's priority list to find out what.

And so much for the calm, assured composure Zoey had been introduced to. Being confronted with a slow death in an underground prison barely large enough to fit two girls wasn't enough to unnerve her, but a cock pressed against her stomach had her stuttering over her words? Her priorities might be disordered.

Not that Zoey was handling things well, either. The awkwardness of their situation burned into her, lighting up her face, neck, shoulders—probably her whole body. Because what a situation. Just, Zoey's discomfort tended to manifest as sarcasm, not a lack of composure. "Where are we?" she asked, ironically the calm one, now. It was a deliberate, strained type of composure, seeing how having the soft, hot flesh of a girl's defined stomach pressed into her cock was excruciatingly difficult to ignore.

"The entrance to a shard, obviously. Now, if you don't mind, get that thing under control."

"Not really a choice I have." The only 'choice' was to not start viciously humping, which every instinct in Zoey's body screamed to do. But however erotic the circumstances she found herself in, Zoey wouldn't do that to a clearly unwilling participant.

"Well, figure it out." The girl beneath her squirmed, wiggling Zoey's cock between their stomachs, and the action wrenched a moan from Zoey's lips. A moan which silenced—and stilled—the other girl.

"Maybe don't do that," Zoey suggested in a sarcastic pant. "Trying to keep things under wraps, remember?"

The rapid breathing of her partner—which hadn't existed until now—pierced the tiny space they were in, louder even than Zoey's.

"Alright," Zoey said. "What's going on?"

"We're stuck," the girl said tightly.

"I've deduced that." Zoey took a calming breath. "What's your name? Mine's Zoey."

"Are you serious?"

"Seeing the situation we're in, I think pleasantries are in order."

A long silence, in which only their panting could be heard.

The girl swallowed. "Rosalie."

"It's nice to meet you, Rosalie."

"Enchanted." Sarcasm dripped from the response, but Zoey forgave it.

"I don't know what's going on," Zoey said. "You said there's a way out?"

"A shard wouldn't just kill us, no alternatives offered, so yes. There has to be."

Zoey shelved the term 'shard'. "You've been awake for a while?"

"Long enough."

"And you couldn't figure anything out?"

"Clearly not. The solution lies with you, since none of my runes are applicable here."

Ephy mentioned those, didn't she? "What are those? Runes, I mean."

A long, disbelieving pause.

"Is that some kind of joke?"

"No."

"You're in the Fractures. In a shard. What do you mean, 'what are runes'?"

"Look, princess," Zoey sighed. "We're buried underground together, with about an inch of breathing room, so how about you humor me?"

Rosalie's response came after a few tense moments. Zoey had stopped supporting her head, instead resting it to the left of Rosalie's, pressing her forehead into the coarse material of whatever casket they found themselves in. She was trying very, very hard to ignore her cock's positioning sandwiched between their bodies, to little success.

"Runes are ... the progenitors of skills."

That said nothing of use, not to Zoey. "Skills?"

Another long pause, but Rosalie eventually answered. "Evolving a rune grants skills associated with it. Skills are ... the fundamental unit of power for a Wayfarer. An ability, granted by the gods. How we survive in the Fractures, conquer shards, and claim their riches for ourselves and Haven."

To say Zoey was having information dumped on her would be an understatement. Then again, seeing how she'd just had a conversation with the goddess of eroticism, then been dropped into a new world as her champion, that was expected, wasn't it? She tucked away the terms—shards, Wayfarers, skills, runes, Haven, the Fractures—and focused on the immediately relevant.

"And I have those? Skills?" It was more of a prompting question; Ephy had implied she did. At a guess, it would be related to the 'Bonder' class she'd been given.

"All Wayfarers do, the moment they enter the Fractures."

"And you think mine will get us out of here? How do I use them?"

A tense pause. "How are you even here? How could you possibly have managed to delve deep enough into the Fractures to enter a shard, without knowing how skills work?"

"I don't know," Zoey said honestly. "I can't remember much besides my name." And flashes of her old life, stripped of personal context. Like seeing memories on a t.v. screen.

"Oh," Rosalie said. After adjusting to this announcement—and seemingly believing it, or at least choosing to for now—she said, "Well. Do you at least remember how to draw your tabula anima?"

"Don't even know what that is."

"That could be ... a problem."

"Why?"

"Skills are intuitive, but you need to know what they are to use them. And bringing forth one's tabula anima takes practice. Most Wayfarers spend their first week—or several—learning how to draw it, and how to use their skills effectively."

"Guess I'm getting the crash course, then. Skipping the training wheels. What's the rundown?"

Rosalie was quiet for a second. Their asynchronous, mismatched breathing patterns was serving to heave sweat-covered skin across her cock in a consistent rhythm, and the constant stimulation—not to mention the situation itself—meant it wouldn't be going down any time soon.

"There's an easier way," Rosalie said slowly. "I can read your anima myself."

"Oh. Do that, then." Why hadn't she already?

Rosalie studied her with a perplexed expression. Again, Zoey was apprehended by those serious, piercing ice-blue eyes. "Baring one's runes and symbols is a highly personal matter. You don't seem to realize that. Your memory problems, I assume. So make sure you understand what you're offering."

Zoey laughed, the dire circumstances and the concern in Rosalie's words tickling her for a reason she couldn't place. "Of course you're a sweetheart," Zoey said. It made total sense, for some reason, for all the girl's serious, domineering attitude.

"I am not." Rosalie sounded offended Zoey had even suggested it. "It's—it's simply private, intimate information, and your memory is allegedly scrambled. So. I wanted informed consent."

"Pretty sure we're a few steps past sharing 'intimate' information," Zoey said amusedly. Her cock pulsed in emphasis. "So yeah. Go for it. What do we need to do?"

Rosalie huffed. "Skin contact, but I think we have that covered."

Another laugh, shaking her body, which really wasn't doing favors for keeping movement to a minimum, and Zoey's general attempts to ignore her predicament.

"Besides that," Rosalie said, "just don't refuse my request."

"And that means?"

"You'll find out. Close your eyes."

Zoey did so. The conversation stilled, Rosalie focusing on something Zoey couldn't begin to guess at. That lack of distraction—the banter and flood of information—no longer assisted Zoey in ignoring her aching member.

Eventually, a tingle somewhere in the back of her spine appeared, and Zoey's first instinct was to push it away. But it felt artificial, somehow. Like a 'request', as Rosalie had put it, though Zoey couldn't explain how she'd come to that inexplicable conclusion. She didn't fight it.

A second later, Rosalie sucked in a breath of air.

"What?" Zoey asked.

Rosalie didn't reply. Zoey opened her eyes, and saw that Rosalie's own were closed, and her brow was furrowed down in surprise—or concern.

Zoey tried to be patient, but to say her curiosity was killing her would be an understatement. And she would prefer for the distraction of conversation to return. She was trying not to lose herself to the biological, maddening urge to jerk her hips back and forth, to take hot, slippery relief against Rosalie's stomach.

"Well," Rosalie said, eyes still closed. "I believe you're in strange circumstances, as you told me."

"You thought I was lying?"

"You're first evolution on all of your runes," Rosalie said, ignoring her. "It's like you just arrived to the Fractures."

Zoey almost responded 'I did', but as Ephy had instructed her, her involvement with the goddess, and her transmigration from Earth, needed to be kept a secret.

"Evolution?" she said instead.

"How far advanced your runes are."

"It worked? You can see them?"

"I can." Rosalie paused. "I'll read them out for you."

###

Rune of Bonding

[1]: Bond. Release seed onto or inside target and activate skill to form Bond.

[1]: Alacrity. Bonded targets evolve runes with less effort.

[1]: Bolster. Provides a powerful, temporary boost in strength to Bonded target.

Rune of Arcana

[1]: First Circle. Cast spells up to one circle in complexity.

[1]: Element: Ice.

Rune of Sensuality

[1]: Lust. Mana replaced with alternate resource system Lust. Symbols are activated by expending Lust.

[1]: Harvest. Perform erotic acts onto self and others to harvest Lust. Bonded targets provide greater yield.

Rune of the Alchemist

[1]: Identify. Ascertain name and use of basic alchemy reagents.

Generalist Skills

[1]: Inspect. Discern basic information about equipment linked to the System.

[1]: Inventory. Store and withdraw items from inventory-space.

1.03 ❤ A Forced (And Slippery) Encounter

Zoey sat in stunned silence as she absorbed the information dumped onto her. She had expected one or two skills, but instead, she had ten alien abilities to puzzle over. Everything Ephy had detailed came into clearer view: the game-like terminology she had been using, runes, skills, and so on. Rosalie had detailed the list of supernatural abilities offered to her in a clinical, removed voice, but that didn't mitigate the perplexed amazement Zoey felt.

So. She had found herself in a world that operated on RPG-like principles.

For how oddly things had started, how was her situation only becoming stranger?

"I see," Zoey said. Like usual, she focused on the here-and-now. "So. Escape."

The two of them stayed silent. They had individually put together what needed to happen. It was fairly obvious.

"It seems to me," Rosalie said tightly, "that you need to Bond to me, then use Bolster. The boost in strength will allow me to wrench us free."

Assuming they weren't buried underground, and that this strange box they'd found themselves in could, in fact, be escaped from.

"And you're ... okay with that?"

"Let's see," Rosalie said. "Starving to death in a tiny coffin, or having you jerk off on me. I guess the second's preferable." She turned her head to the right, avoiding meeting Zoey's eyes. "So. Get to it."

It wasn't the most glowing of consent, but Zoey got the sense Rosalie wasn't the type of person to be providing happy, overt permission for these circumstances. And what choice did they have? Zoey's hands were as bound as Rosalie's. They were stuck in this situation together.

How they'd ended up in such a strange scenario ... Zoey suspected a meddling goddess.

Her breathing—and heart rate—picked up. It had calmed from their earlier analysis of the situation, Zoey's runes and skills. Her lips parted as she started to pant, and it grew loud in the cramped space. Rosalie probably felt trickles of the humid air against the side of her face. There wasn't any way for Zoey to avoid it, pushed in against each other like they were.

Zoey pressed her body up by her elbows, gaining the tiny inch of space they were provided. Her cock twitched, once, in preparation of what she'd been given permission to do.

"Okay," Zoey said. "Well. Might as well get to it. Are you ready?"

"No," Rosalie said, eyes closed and still facing away. "But take longer, will you?"

Again, it wasn't the happiest of permissions, but it was permission.

Zoey gave in to her newly found biological urges.

Her hips jerked forward, across the tiny distance she was afforded, and her throbbing cock grinded against sweaty skin. That first, slick indulgence of Zoey's cock grinding against Rosalie's stomach couldn't be put into words. It was mind-erasing. It forced one of the lewdest noises out of Zoey's mouth that she had ever produced, a mix between a whine, a moan, and an agonized sigh.

Finally. Relief.

Zoey was far from happy that Rosalie couldn't refuse, but it wasn't like Zoey had options, either. She was forced to do this as much as Rosalie.

And sure, Rosalie might not want to have her compact, muscly, pretty little body used as Zoey's plaything, a slab of meat to extract a pulsing orgasm from, to be covered in cum for express purpose of allowing them to escape, but Zoey didn't want this either. Not cognitively, at least, as a sapient being who didn't enjoy being forced into something as intimate as sex—or something close to sex.

However much her hips moved on their own accord, now, however much Zoey couldn't have stopped if she wanted to.

But this was the situation they were in. Zoey humping her girthy girlcock against Rosalie's stomach—between their stomachs—providing a sweaty, filthy friction, using lubricant of pre-cum and exertion as Zoey finally got the relief she so desperately needed.

The first hints of rapture started to build deep in Zoey's lower body. Slowly, bit by bit, still a far way off, but arriving. It was a hot, aching sensation she had never experienced before. Zoey's head fell forward, overtop Rosalie's ear, which she panted into, and Zoey closed her eyes and lost herself to the feelings crashing through her length.

Rosalie's own gasps were loud, painfully obvious. For not doing anything, she was breathing shockingly hard, sucking in breaths and hiccupping. And seeing how, based on their alignment in this coffin, their crotches were pressed into each other, Zoey didn't think all that wetness they were sharing was entirely sweat, sweat produced from the muggy conditions. Plenty of it, she thought, was arousal. From both of them. Natural lubricant from their aching lower halves. Rosalie's slickness, and her own, provided a slippery liquid that spread with the humping of Zoey's shaft, coating her cock as she slid between them. Zoey jerked awkwardly up and down, sliding her stiffness forward, then back, again and again, building to a pulsing, twitching climax.

Rosalie's hips bucked for the first time, joining in with Zoey's diligent efforts, and it didn't seem intentional. Rosalie's body locked up, as if the serious, formal-speaking girl was shocked at what she'd done.

"Keep going," Zoey exhaled hotly into her ear. "That's a good girl."

She wasn't sure where the words came from. Zoey was adrift in a hot sea of pleasure, bliss coursing through her lower half. Zoey wiggled her body around to get her upper thigh pressed against Rosalie's slick entrance, providing better purchase for her to grind against.

Rosalie acquiesced.

Her hips bucked a second time. Then a third. Soon enough, the two of them worked into a rhythm, grinding against each other, Zoey against Rosalie's abs, and Rosalie against her leg, building toward their mutual salvation. Because that was what this was. Salvation. They weren't doing this for pleasure. Sure, pleasure was a byproduct, but their hot, sweaty indulgence was from necessity, and nothing more. They needed out of this trap they'd found themselves in. Anything else, a byproduct.

The slide of their bodies together had nothing to do with want. With the gross, sticky pleasures of human lust.

"Shit," Zoey groaned. "You, you ready?"

"As ever," Rosalie gasped back, her hips jerking and wiggling against Zoey with almost as much fervor as Zoey herself.

Zoey focused on the building, white-hot burning at the base of her cock. She'd had plenty of orgasms in her life, of course, but always as a girl. She'd heard that guys' climaxes were more intense, or at least more sudden, that they burned fast then were spent. But that wasn't her experience. The feeling built, and built, and built, so much higher than anything she'd felt in her life, and not slowing down, but spreading through her body, erasing rational thought, waves of pleasure drowning out everything.

Maybe it was the reality of the situation. Maybe it was Rosalie's perfect, reluctant-then-willing body grinding against hers that built Zoey to such an unbelievable high. Whatever it was, the orgasm that clenched her stomach was unlike anything she'd felt. The world-ending relief hit her all at once, her cock spasming as it finally released its sticky payload.

The first spray escaped Zoey's girlrod, and Zoey cried out in half-pain, half indescribable pleasure. Sandwiched by their two stomachs, the cream had nowhere to go besides between them, coating Zoey's continued thrusting. It spread between their abs, providing an even slicker, slippier surface for Zoey to rub against. Rather than slowing, Zoey's pistoning picked up speed, and Rosalie's own body started to rack in pleasure.