Lewd Ascent - A Futa LitRPG Ch. 001-015

Which was fine. Rosalie had a purpose, and romance was not it.

Perhaps that was why the indulgence had been so intoxicating.

How ... those words had slipped from her mouth.

Been coaxed and pulled from her mouth.

"Not to be pushy," Zoey mumbled into Rosalie's ear, the intimacy of her proximity sending shivers down her spine. "But I kinda stopped halfway to take care of you."

Take care of her. Zoey had certainly done that. She'd been melted down and reformed in powerful hands. In the curling, encouraging motions of fingers as they explored Rosalie's insides.

The rest of what Zoey had said hit her. 'Stopped halfway'. Zoey had been thrusting between her breasts, and into her mouth, when she'd pulled away to coerce Rosalie into saying the most embarrassing sentences she'd ever uttered—or had even passed her mind.

She wanted Rosalie to finish her off.

That emanating, scalding heat pressed against her stomach, Zoey spooning her like she was, was her cock draped across Rosalie's stomach. And it wasn't from a friendly interest. Rosalie's eyes flicked down, taking in the enormous girlcock laid across her.

Her heart rate picked up.

"Rosie?" Zoey murmured.

Rosalie realized she hadn't responded. But how could she? How could she ever speak again? After what Zoey had heard escape her lips?

What did she think of her, now? Not that a member of the d'Celestin family cared for the opinions of nobodies, and that was what Zoey was, truth told, but the concept still pained her. As a matter of her birthright, Rosalie always presented a solid appearance of herself. It was the one thing that mattered as much as competence, in the eyes of the d'Celestin family. Ability, reputation. The pillars on which Rosalie's life rested.

And now, the second—reputation—lay toppled, crumbling.

Your stupid slut is begging to feel good. She wants it so badly. Please. Please.

Rosalie thought she might heave.

"Hey," Zoey said softly. Her hand brushed away a strand of Rosalie's hair, and Rosalie realized just now that her eyes had squeezed shut. "Did I go too far? How are you?"

The gentle concern washed through Rosalie, and she breathed in—and it caught in her throat.

"Ah, shit," Zoey said. "I did, didn't I? I thought you were having fun."

Rosalie had been having a lot more than fun. The concept of 'Rosalie d'Celestin' hadn't even existed—what had been in its place was a sludge of hot, burning plasma, a thing that was almost a sentient being, but only wanted and needed and formed no true rational thoughts.

"I'm fine," Rosalie said. Her voice was locked with ironclad control. She knew how to be composed in face of anything. Terror, excitement, pain—she'd be trained for it from a startlingly young age.

She made an addendum. But not pleasure. The opposite. The deprivation, perhaps, worked against her.

Zoey's soft lips pressed into Rosalie's neck, then another kiss, just beneath her jaw. Rosalie couldn't help the way her neck craned, opening up the space—such an indecorous permission, and offered without thought. This is the problem.

"We all say stupid shit when we're about to come," Zoey said, amusement lacing her tone, as if this were some joke. "And I bullied it out of you, so you can't be blamed."

She knew exactly the source of Rosalie's distress. But of course she did. After what she'd done? Pretty obvious.

And for all the reassurance, Rosalie doubted most people stooped to the level Rosalie had, said the things she did, regardless of how lost in the moment they were. Even if they did, how 'most people' acted didn't matter. Rosalie wasn't most people. Couldn't be. She was held to higher standards.

And had fallen lower, regardless.

"Seriously," Zoey said. "If you keep pouting, I will start showering you in compliments. I'll be super embarrassing about it, over the top as possible."

Rosalie's eyes flicked open. For a brief moment they caught Zoey's—from so up close, those deep green irises bored into her—before Rosalie glanced away, as if burned. Because there wasn't any judgment there. Only teasing amusement. Which didn't make sense.

She leaned up, extricating herself from Zoey's grasp. "Let's get you taken care of. We need to keep moving."

"Nope," Zoey said. "I want you to tell me all that shit you said doesn't matter, first. Because it doesn't."

Rosalie stared down at her companion.

Zoey frowned, then sat up herself. She took Rosalie's face in both her hands. Rosalie had genuinely no idea why she allowed it. Why she leaned into it, even, and her eyes closed. "It doesn't," Zoey said. Somehow the sheer certainty in her voice started to convince her. "Not that there's anything wrong with being ... all those things you said." Cock-hungry whore, Rosalie's mind supplied. "But what we say in the heat of the moment is for fun. It's a way to take a load off. And it says nothing about who we are. Not to mention, I never kiss and tell, so if you're worrying about that, you're insulting my honor."

How, exactly, this girl knew what was plaguing Rosalie's thoughts, and addressed each in order, baffled Rosalie. Was she that obvious? Or was it Zoey in specific who had such an easy read on her? She wanted to be upset. But with her face cradled in Zoey's hands, and being reassured in such a soft, concerned voice, she couldn't be.

Rosalie sighed, the tension somehow draining from her. "You're reading into things," she said simply, opening her eyes and meeting Zoey's. "I was merely tired. As reasonable, after what you did to me. Now please, stop being so dramatic."

A smile split Zoey's face. Rosalie's deflection—her attempts at nonchalance—might not have been as convincing as she'd hoped.

Why does she care that her reassurances worked?

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Let's get you taken care of."

"No complaints there," Zoey grinned. "If you're taking suggestions, can we do what we were before?"

For all her sweetness, she's still a pervert.

"Fine," Rosalie said. "But don't think it's becoming a regular thing."

1.11 Slimey Fun I

Zoey's stomach clenched as she emptied herself onto Rosalie's face. Rosalie pumped diligently away, reverting to her hands from the previous use of her tits and mouth, and expertly milked out Zoey's sticky delivery.

Zoey really couldn't understate how amazing Rosalie's hands were. It didn't make sense how they were so soft, yet so powerful. Probably her upbringing, her extensive training in combat, which resulted in strength and dexterity in equal measure. And a helping of natural talent. But still, Zoey didn't know how such an ostensibly inexperienced girl—Zoey didn't know that for sure, but Rosalie's behaviors suggested it—knew with such intuitiveness which way to twist her wrists, and the perfect pace to slide her hands up and down to easily persuade Zoey's cock to empty itself.

Afterward, Zoey enjoyed the sight of Rosalie's chest and face so thoroughly covered in her warm girl spunk. Rosalie wiped her eyes clear, opened them, looked up at her, and leveled a scathing glare at Zoey's self-satisfied smirk. "You really are disgusting, I hope you know that."

Zoey would have teased back by alluding to Rosalie's whining, perverted confessions, but she didn't. Rosalie had been genuinely upset—something she'd worked past, Zoey thought, but it was best Zoey didn't dig too hard into the weakness.

Best saved for when Zoey had her fingers wriggling around inside Rosalie, anyway. Embarrassing admissions only stayed embarrassing when forced out sparingly.

They washed themselves off in the hotspring, Zoey's well of supernatural power now topped-off, then continued along their adventure.

###

"This is it," Rosalie said. "I'm almost certain."

"The boss room?"

"Just so."

It had only taken an hour more of pressing forward before they reached an ominous sign driven into the road, blackened at the edges and time-weary. 'BEWARE THE SLIME,' the decaying wood read, scrawled in black paint that hadn't dried before it started to drip, and while Zoey might not be genre-savvy, she could recognize the imminent warning of a boss encounter when she saw one.

"It's about time," Zoey said. "This ought to be interesting."

Rosalie frowned at Zoey, then hesitated, as if bracing herself for an unpleasant topic.

Zoey's stomach sank, Rosalie's next words obvious. "You don't want me to come with," Zoey preempted.

"It's for the best," Rosalie said slowly. "This won't be like the earlier fights. Bosses are smarter. They employ strategy. If they identify a weak point—"

"They'll dig into it." Zoey sighed. "You don't need to defend yourself. I get it." Zoey's time spent advancing through the shard had made the difference in their combat proficiency starkly apparent. And while it was a kick to her pride to be told joining in on the final fight would do nothing but cripple her partner, she'd much rather take a kick to the pride than end up dead. The brutal reality of the shard had been presented to Zoey, and while both she and Rosalie remained unharmed, that was on part of the second's competence, and not a lack of trying from the shard. They could be hurt. Killed, if they sufficiently misstepped. This adventure Zoey had been thrust into, while interesting, and even half-whimsical from its similarity to videogames back home, was still dangerous. It needed to be treated as the threat it represented.

So Zoey shoved down her protests and did what was better for the both of them. "Okay. Well. Good luck. And don't get hurt."

Rosalie sniffed. "This is a first advancement shard. Even without my armor, I'd be mortified to be injured, much less defeated."

Zoey believed her. But that didn't mean she wasn't worried, seeing her partner go off and tackle the most dangerous part of the shard herself. "Remember to expect something weird. This isn't a normal shard. Be ready for anything."

Rosalie paused, then grimaced. "Right. I can't say I'm looking forward to what it's put together. But some parts of the shard are normal ... so perhaps the boss will be too."

Rosalie didn't sound like she believed it would. Zoey didn't, either. But they could hope.

Rosalie gave a serious nod to Zoey, then turned and advanced forward.

Zoey posted up under the base of a tree, watching her figure disappear into the darkness, and tried not to worry too much.

###

It'd been about an hour, not that Zoey had a way to tell the time, but she knew something had gone wrong. Rosalie had departed too long ago. Why hadn't Zoey asked when to expect her back? She'd assumed a handful of minutes, and when that had passed, she'd adjusted her estimate to ten or twenty. Then thirty.

An hour later, Zoey sat, stomach wringing in fear and expecting the worst.

Perhaps something odd had occurred. Maybe she'd won, and been shunted out of the shard as soon as she had. Zoey didn't know how these things worked. But just because Rosalie hadn't returned didn't mean she'd lost—(and thus been injured? Killed? Surely not the second?)—but simply that she couldn't return, which several situations could account for. Trapped, to name a second. Perhaps she'd fallen down a pit and needed Zoe's help. Which was absurd, but she was just spitballing, here. Or maybe she'd gotten lost.

Either way, it was time to go lend aid. Not that Zoey could provide much of that in the case Rosalie had lost. Because anything that could square up against Rosalie and come out the victor, Zoey would last, hm, a minute? To be enormously generous. Ten seconds, the more realistic estimate. One attack? Probably a single attack.

Maybe someday she could hold her own, but she hadn't had an opportunity to practice, and Zoe was hardly a talented fighter by her nature.

She stopped herself from pacing around in circles, then, deciding waiting only made things worse, and Rosalie wasn't returning, continued down the trail, passing the hunched-over sign declaring 'BEWARE THE SLIME'. Zoey gripped the light, spiked mace she'd raided from the armory earlier. Her spells were the more effective weapon, considering Zoey's lack of proficiency with arms, but its reassuring weight helped steady her. And maces didn't take much finesse to use at their simplest level, which was why Rosalie had suggested it.

The reason for the sign's warning became apparent in short order. Thick green goo appeared in clumps as Zoey worked her way forward, coating rocks, trees, and grass in shiny globs that glinted in the permanent moonlight of the pocket dimension. Zoey wondered if it was poisonous. Not acidic, at least; the grass and trees seemed unharmed. But why 'beware the slime', then? She forced away her curiosity and didn't attempt something as stupid as scooping up the green material. Bolded warnings scrawled on signs hammered into the floor were usually best heeded. Or so Zoey assumed.

Again, not an expert at this whole, dungeon-adventuring thing.

The beaten trail lost itself to nature as she ventured forward, disappearing just as the treeline opened up into a clearing. Zoey blinked as she took in the—frankly magnificent—sight laid in front of her.

An enormous clearing splayed out, the circular treeline almost unnaturally sharp, like it'd been cultivated—or designed by some greater Maker—to be that way. The stars seemed brighter, now, and the crescent-moon burned in the sky. The inappropriate word Zoey wanted to use was 'cinematic', but while at some moments in the past few hours Zoey had been able to treat her new reality as—well, not the reality it was—now was not one of those moments. The sight was breath-taking, but also unnerving. Ominous. It heralded a final encounter. An ending of some sorts.

Hers?

At the center lay an enormous pool of that green goo, larger even than the hot springs she and Rosalie had visited. The slime was thick and viscous and only slightly translucent; in such quantities it appeared almost as a solid object.

To the right of the pool, a blonde figure lay unconscious, supported by a boulder of the green slime. Her head and hair was visible, but the rest of her body was obscured by the slightly-opaque material; Zoey could only make out a shadow of it. Her stomach tightened in fear, because sure enough, Rosalie had lost.

How?

What did that say for Zoey?

And what had she lost to?

The only solace Zoey took was that it looked like she'd been captured, not killed. She seemed alive. Though from this distance, the extent of her injuries was difficult to make out. Zoey needed to get closer.

She walked hesitantly forward, rolling her grip on her weapon, feeling comically out of place, and unprepared. She wasn't some warrior. Even keeping her feet moving forward toward the grim reality that awaited her was difficult. She swallowed, hard.

Zoey made it halfway to Rosalie before the pool of slime shivered. She froze in her tracks, a deer in headlights, and watched ripples of green shake the liquid.

Beware the slime. Guess I'm finding out why.

At the shore of the lake, a figure coalesced, roiling from the bubbling edge and taking shape. Zoey probably shouldn't have been surprised at what emerged, but she was.

A curvaceous, translucent woman of green slime rose in height, forming from the liquid that poured out of the lake. She finished taking shape even as she advanced, confidently, hips swaying with sensual swagger as she strode forward. A sculpted, soft body fashioned from the see-through clay: navel, nipples, clavicle, the other enticing edges to a woman's body, naked and on full display. Her shape was nothing like Rosalie's: not hard muscles and deadly-looking, but gentle, round, with full breasts and skin (slime?) that looked painfully soft to the touch. A mane of thick slime simulated hair, swaying to beneath her butt, and bouncing with every confident step. Her breasts were generous, perfectly shaped, and she had perky, hard nipples a shade darker. Behind them, and down a bit, inside the slime-girl's lower chest, was a perfect sphere, fist-sized, of forest-green material, standing out against the neon translucence that made up the rest of her body. Zoey wasn't sure what it was; some part of her alien biology?

Her face was the most unnerving, upsetting for its dyssynchrony with the implied deadliness of the situation: it was warm, bubbly, smiling, exuberant, even, as if the slime-girl was delighted to have received a visitor. She looked at Zoey the way someone would for having their best friend unexpectedly show up after years overseas. Delighted. Like she was about to break into a run and scoop Zoey up in a hug.

Zoey shakily rose her mace up, then brought an ice spike to the forefront of her mind.

The slime-girl paused in her advance—she wasn't far, now, less than twenty feet.

"Aw," she pouted, putting her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me you want to play like she did."

Zoey reeled back.

She could talk?

The discovery changed everything. Or did it? Were talking bosses normal? She wasn't prepared for this. Assuming this was a non-standard situation, then a talking, sapient creature could be reasoned with. Maybe they didn't need to fight?

Or ... Zoey's brain catching up with the slime-girl's words ... maybe the way Rosalie had fought the creature had been all wrong.

"Like she did?" Zoey asked carefully.

"All that poking and slashing, it really hurts, you know! I don't like hurting people, but she made me. Because she didn't want to fight the fun way."

Zoey was forming a picture in her head of what had gone down in this clearing—and what the 'less fun' and 'more fun' types of fighting were.

She glanced Rosalie's way. Alive. Just hurt.

Back to the slime-girl.

"Well," Zoey said. "Any chance I can take her and go?"

"Without playing? That's such a mean request! Do you know how long it is between visitors?"

There'd been people before her and Rosalie? She guessed that made sense? Or was it just part of the slime-girl's ... programming? That was a weird word to use. But how real were these 'shards', anyway? Did they persist outside of their adventure, or were they designed, the sapient creatures instated with default memories? Zoey didn't have time to be puzzling over stuff like this.

She lowered her mace, and let the ice-spike spell fizzle. Going even further, she tossed her weapon to the side and let it impact the soft grass as a sign of good faith. Zoey's way out of this predicament wasn't a fight—not a physical one, in the way Rosalie had supplied. Again, if Rosalie had lost, Zoey stood less chance than a gnat.

She'd have to win another way.

"Can I challenge you for her?" Zoey asked.

A smile split the slime-girl's face. "Depends what you mean by challenge," she sing-songed. She resumed her swaying forward, and Zoey didn't retreat, though instinct screamed for her to. "I'll have you know, I'm not an easy slime to satisfy."

The slime-girl's features resolved as she got closer, and Zoey could make out the finer details to her figure. The playful, gentle eyes, the soft, full lips, and the pouty curves between her legs, glistening with wetness—her chosen form was thorough, as expected for what 'challenges' she preferred to offer.

Zoey's length started to stiffen right as the slime-girl finished closing the gap between them.

Without sparing a moment, the slime-girl reached up and took Zoey's face in both her hands, then pressed her lips to Zoey's. She pried Zoey's mouth open and slipped her tongue in, causing Zoey to squeak in surprise. She closed her eyes and reciprocated, her hands going to the slime-girl's slim waist.