Lewd Ascent - A Futa LitRPG Ch. 016-025

"F-Fuck me," Rosalie cried, hips jerking back and forth, raising Zoey's head with each lewd thrust, and bouncing the bed, creaking wooden beams. "Faster. Faster! Oh my gods!"

Ever the professional, Zoey worked her up, up, up, and then down, gently, only stopping when Rosalie's pitiful cries turned pained, and she pushed her head away. Zoey's eyes were hazy as she refused to release eye contact. Rosalie hadn't thought they could be prettier, but draped in lust, they somehow were.

Rosalie laid limp against the pillows, the last remnants of her orgasm shaking her. She wondered how every time Zoey extracted bliss from her, it was a more mind-blowing high than the previous.

"How was it?" Zoey asked, shimmying up and kissing her neck, then cheek, then forehead.

"It was ... adequate ..." Rosalie breathed.

2.05 A Trip to the Trees

Zoey's dreams were odd. Turned out, having her memories wiped by a demanding goddess resulted in dreams that didn't have much to latch to, and thus, were incoherent. Strange. Twisting and ephemeral. She wouldn't say they'd been outright upsetting, but they'd been bizarre. More mind-bending than most.

Rosalie's enthusiastic extracting from Zoey's lower half had made things up. Zoey's morning had started off pretty great, all things considered.

Rosalie had, of course, immediately upon their mutual satisfaction, risen from the bed and professed how they 'needed to get things moving'. Which was true enough. Zoey was supposed to be saving the world, whatever that meant. Why her party-member was more devoted to that goal than she herself was, Zoey didn't know. Considering Rosalie's urgent coaxing of Zoey's lower half, maybe Ephy had made the wrong choice. Here was a girl dedicated to power and sex in equal measure, for all her reticent and denying nature.

Why had Ephy chosen Zoey, anyway?

Zoey had a thousand and one impossible-to-answer questions bouncing around in her head, so it was hardly difficult to add that one to the list of 'ignored'. If there was any skill Zoey was cultivating since her arrival to this world, it was blissful ignorance.

She didn't ask, this time, to join Rosalie in the shower. And Rosalie didn't protest when she slipped in, then wrapped her hands around her waist, her lower half pressing into Rosalie's ass. Zoey was learning a few things about her serious-faced partner. Primarily, that she ought to stop asking, and start paying attention to how she reacted, instead. Which was a problematic mindset, Zoey knew. If a direct no ever came out of Rosalie's mouth, she would stop in an instant. But initiation—well, Zoey needed to be assertive when it came to that. Even if Rosalie alluded to not wanting Zoey's attention.

Shit. That sounds bad. She'd have to walk that tight-rope carefully. But for Rosalie? She would. Happily.

Zoey enjoyed the hot spray of water, hunched over and resting her head on Rosalie's shoulder as Rosalie lathered soap across herself, pretending to ignore Zoey. Or maybe actually ignoring her. Again, hard to tell with this girl.

"You're so useless," Rosalie huffed. "Not even going to help?"

Zoey laughed, water droplets slipping down her face and from her lips, before aiding Rosalie in lathering the soap across her body. She made sure to play with Rosalie's tits—rubbing pointer-fingers across cute, hard nipples until she was breathing hard—while getting her well and thoroughly clean.

Rosalie returned the effort, though stopped thrusting her hand into Zoey's cock when it had reached full mast. Tease, Zoey wanted to say, despite the fact she'd done the same thing just a second earlier, rubbing fingers into Rosalie's tits and between her legs.

They stepped from the shower, skin flushed in excitement, but knowing they needed to move on with their day.

Can't spend forever fucking each other, Zoey thought.

Which was a tragedy, but she'd have to learn to live with it.

Zoey watched Rosalie go about her morning routine. She dried her hair with some magical item that vaguely resembled a hairdryer—only vaguely, by function, a rock with some sigil carved into it that blew hot air—then how she wrangled her long, platinum hair into a ponytail. The domesticity of it all ached Zoey's heart.

"It looks great on you," Zoey said, which received a huff as Rosalie continued to go about her routine.

"Are you going to get dressed, or just watch me?

"The second."

Zoey savored the coloring in Rosalie's cheeks. Zoey's heart skipped a beat, and her earlier words—you'd be easy to fall for—hammered into her ears. Not easy. Effortless. Impossible to not.

It had already happened.

Shit.

Was it unreciprocated? Zoey couldn't be certain. Rosalie allowed Zoey to nuzzle her head into the crook of her neck, but she rolled her eyes when she did. When Zoey lathered her in compliments, she mostly seemed annoyed. And Zoey wanted to be confident that it was part of Rosalie's act, but such consistent rejections were hard to shrug off.

And sex was sex. It wasn't romance. Did Rosalie only like her for the pleasure she could provide?

Whatever. Zoey would have Rosalie in whatever manner she was willing to return.

They left the inn a few hours after sunrise. The innkeeper was less friendly with them than before. Maybe they'd made more noise than Zoey had thought.

They'd certainly left more mess than could be called considerate. Multiple pulsing orgasms weren't the cleanest of things, and it'd been impromptu enough Zoey had forgotten to lay towels out. She was still getting used to this whole, wielding-guy's-equipment thing.

She considered apologizing in advance, but sheesh, how awkward. The rock-man only disliked the noise they'd made. The mess would be discovered later.

Sorry, dude. Part of the job?

They left a tip in the form of an apology. He was slightly less annoyed after that. It must've been generous.

Their destination was routine: the squat, plain building the innkeeper provided. The guide's house. The person who would lead them to civilization greater than six tiny buildings.

The bartering was quick and harsh. The man seemed to enjoy Rosalie's no-nonsense, flat tone as she scolded him for his fleecing suggestions. Zoey enjoyed Rosalie's harsh tone for a different reason. This composed, powerful woman was writhing around my tongue, half an hour earlier.

She mostly spectated the interaction. They set off shortly, headed west.

Or 'west'. Who knew if the sun rose in the east, in this pocket-realm? To borrow a phrase, she wasn't in Kansas anymore.

###

The trip to the nearest city was uneventful. Monotonous. Having company, Rosalie wasn't a hundredth as willing to reciprocate in Zoey's flirting, and Zoey wasn't comfortable in asking odd questions: how the world worked, and et cetera. So it was painfully boring. It lasted around five hours. The man made mind-numbing small talk. It revealed a few interesting facts about life in the Fractures, but mostly Zoey focused on how her feet hurt. The stamina potions helped, even if she was embarrassed she was the only one to pull them out.

###

Triyhull, or the City Nested In The Trees, was a sprawling metropolis hanging between titanic towers of wood. It took six shifts—the standard verbiage for moving between realms—to reach from whatever irrelevant pocket they had been shunted into. Upon arriving, Zoey's breath was understandably stolen. Even Rosalie seemed vaguely appreciative, despite being more accustomed to the impressive sights of the Fractures.

Zoey was slightly less appreciative of the two-hundred-story climb from the forest-floor and up into the canopy, where Triyhull proper began.

Thank god for stamina potions. Was there any downsides to relying on the yellow potions so heavily? Rosalie hadn't said anything, and Zoey would have assumed she would. But maybe she was being nice by not pointing out Zoey's weakness. Rosalie was harsh in some ways, but she had a soft spot for Zoey. One of the few reasons Zoey kept hope kindled that her affection was reciprocated.

The press of alien life was more apparent in a big city. Rather than a single odd stone-man innkeeper, the sapient life of the Fractures swarmed around her as their guide led her and Rosalie to the nearest guildhall—the 'Last of the Forest'.

Men and women built from flickering flames drifted by, feet hovering off the ground, bodies red or blue or green, almost painful to look at from their brightness. Half-human, half-animals brushed against her in a hurry, fox-ears and dog-tails and antlers so seamlessly integrated in their appearance, but no less alien for the fact. Zoey tried to not stare. The two races were just some of many. The peoples of the Fractures were varied as the pocket realms that comprised it, she discovered.

And nobody paid attention to the stream of strange lifeforms, so Zoey needed to do the same. She would rather Rosalie didn't become suspicious of her. Zoey hadn't told many lies in regard to her past, but the few she had, she'd rather keep under lock and key.

The guide parted without much fanfare. Coins passed Rosalie's hands and into his, and then they were alone, standing outside the Last of the Forest's guildhall.

"It's quite the sight," Zoey offered.

"It's something," Rosalie returned idly. "We've a long day ahead of us. To the artificer district, then."

###

Going about the identification of their less-than-appropriate items was, to put it lightly, awkward. Because how were they supposed to request their nipple rings, cock rings, butt plugs, and so on be analyzed by a highly skilled artificer? These people were, as a whole, men and women who had devoted their lives to the study of magical items. And for all Rosalie had suggested it possible, by Zoey's fumbling explanations, it didn't seem sex toys were something often produced by a shard.

Because. Uh. Obviously not, for all she'd convinced herself it might be plausible.

Zoey took the lead on the situation, though even she—somewhat experienced in sexual matters, and much less shameful than Rosalie—found difficulty in explaining the situation. She wouldn't say her face blazed as she talked to the hunched-over grandma (why did it have to be an old woman? Zoey might have preferred any other demographic, especially considering her raised eyebrows, and vaguely disapproving expression), but her cheeks were definitely colored as she explained the nature of their items.

"An artefact," Anja One-Eye said, "that inserts into the anus."

"Two people's, they come in pairs," Zoey mumbled, not a person to trip over her words, but Jesus, if there was ever a time. "Sounds like there's some kind of linking effect? You can look at them yourself." The box of growing-in-size butt plugs were set across the counter, Anja eying them with something between distaste (Rosalie had an ally there) and curiosity (Zoey had an ally, too).

"Just what kind of shard did you wander into, dear?" Anja asked.

Rosalie snorted, and Zoey cleared her throat. She'd been much more amused when their bizarre circumstances had been a shared hilarity between her and Rosalie only. The titillating nature of the shard was much less funny in face of a disapproving, hunched-over, leather-skinned grandma. "An odd one," Zoey said. "Do you think you can have them identified, or not?"

"Don't get snippy, now," Anja scolded. "It's an odd collection to take in. I'm not intending to make you uncomfortable."

"Great," Zoey said. "Can you, or can't you?" She was only human. Her polite nature extended only so far, and after explaining her suspected use of several sex toys to a blissfully unaware, painfully vanilla seventy-year-old-woman, her patience had frayed. Or maybe her embarrassment. Rosalie's snorts weren't helping.

"Sigils are sigils," Anja One-Eye said. "I don't see why I wouldn't. Though perhaps seeking out a specialty identifier would be best."

"And you can provide directions to someone like that?"

"I could. But the rest of your haul, I would be happy to handle for you." Anja was, ultimately, a business-woman; her discomfort with handling Zoey and Rosalie's less-common portion of equipment wasn't overshadowed by her desire to secure a profitable arrangement.

"Perfect," Zoey said, not caring about the economics behind the whole fiasco, and wanting to be over with this. "We'll do that."

Finally, Rosalie stepped in. "Twelve copper for every sigil identification, expedited. Two silver for connecting us to a specialist. We'll discuss sales in the morning."

The offer must have been generous, because Anja accepted immediately. Though, ever the business-woman, she didn't show her satisfaction, and grumbled instead. "I can make that work. Tomorrow morning? How early?"

"When do you open?"

"First bell."

"We'll be there."

Anja nodded. "I would help you with the rest, but ..."

"It's odd, we realize. A specialist is fine."

"Fe is an odd woman. But competent. She'll sort you out without problem."

"That's all we ask. She'll take expedited orders?"

"As far as I know. You'll want to get there as soon as possible. She closes early."

Rosalie nodded. "Then let's finish this, and have you pass us directions."

2.06 ❤ Out Shopping

Fe Dullette was an odd woman, as perhaps expected of the suggested connection for identifying sex toys spat out of a lewd pocket dimension.

She was also painfully attractive, and dressed in a way to emphasize it. That she had horns curling from her head, and a short, puffy-white tail sprouting from her tailbone? Well, Zoey was quickly accustoming herself to the fact not all people here were human, and Fe's plush, sheep-girl appearance definitely did something for her.

Not that Zoey allowed herself to harden at her curvy, meek appearance. Because, as she'd already stated, an erection would be literally impossible to ignore, considering Zoey's generous bestowal. Fe's figure wasn't so impressive as to counteract the insanely embarrassing predicament she'd be in if she raised mast. Though still impressive. The sheep-girl had hips with their own gravitational well.

Zoey's explanation to Fe was much less awkward than with Anja One-Eye, which she was exceedingly grateful for. She didn't need to explain what the rounded silver objects were beyond the words 'butt-plugs', or why jewelry that attached to erotic zones would be appealing to certain people. She was, while perhaps not promiscuous, at a minimum knowledgeable. She knew her way around Zoey's (in what had been her opinion, until Anja) mostly vanilla sex-related items. Anja's opinion on who to go to had been well-formed.

In fact, Fe seemed outright intrigued by their haul, not simply 'not uncomfortable'.

"And where was the entrance to this shard?" Fe asked, shooting apologetic glances between them. "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

Zoey looked at Rosalie. Obviously Zoey couldn't answer that question. Her arrival to the shard had been under once-in-a-lifetime circumstances. Rosalie had been the one to enter it naturally.

"The Verdant Sanctum," Rosalie said. "You'll forgive me if I'm not more specific than that."

Fe bobbed her head. "Of course. Such a valuable find, you'll want to visit it again, I'm sure. It was only curiosity—everything you say is confidential. I'm a professional."

Revisit? That was something they could do? Zoey wouldn't mind stopping by to see Mel again.

"Once was more than enough," Rosalie said dryly.

"But with such strange items ... I can see these selling exceptionally well. Even I would—" the sheep-girl coughed. "That is, buyers won't be difficult to find. The market might be niche, but the supply is lower than the demand."

"You've seen items like this?"

"Here and there," Fe said. "They're quite uncommon."

So their assumption had been right. Rare, but not unheard of.

"But you can identify them?" Rosalie asked. "By tomorrow morning? We'll pay for the rush. We want to be on our way."

"Of course. I'd be happy to, with items as interesting as these. I'll get right on it."

"Then we won't hold you."

Rosalie and Zoey left the store, and Zoey glanced back, seeing the sheep-girl flip the glass storefront's 'open' sign to 'closed', then the blinds flicker down.

Zoey wondered how such items were 'identified'. What, exactly, would the busty sheep-girl be doing?

###

The next stop was the shopping district. They chose their destination at random, one of the hundred buildings crammed shoulder-to-shoulder and teeming with patronage. Treyhull was one of the most populous cities in the Fractures; one of the primary congregating points for Wayfarers, and so there was no lack of either customers or stores. Though as Rosalie had said, many of these people weren't Wayfarers, but civilians who had ventured from Haven to provide their services at a more lucrative rate, exchanging their day-to-day safety for a higher salary.

Perhaps not a significant amount of safety was traded away, though. Not in a place like Treyhull. Guards were posted everywhere, green-and-blue uniforms sharp, and adorned with silver badges. Their eyes were pointed to the sky, scanning with vigilance. Zoey could infer threats didn't come from the forest floor, often—though they'd built the city in the treetops because it was far from safe there—but rather from above. Some manner of winged beasts? She had yet to see anything.

The shop they entered was smaller than most, and only a few people wandered around inside, browsing. Most were humans and the half-animal, half-human creatures she'd seen so many variations of. Shops divided themselves based on their typical patronage, which was reasonable. What would fit on a human would have difficulty fitting on those hulking rock-creatures, and no individual store could supply clothing for all races. These weren't huge department buildings, like back on Earth

She looked through the wares, collecting shirts, pants, and undergarments to try on. A young black-haired woman helped Zoey with finding a bra that fit. Her eyes flicked to Zoey's lower body more times than could be called subtle during the process, giving Zoey the first confirmation that the unnatural addition down there wasn't something that could be hidden, even with boxer-briefs and baggy pants. Oh well. She guessed she'd have to get used to the odd looks. By the slight flush on the woman's cheeks as she went about assisting Zoey, it wasn't a disgusted look. Rather, an intrigued one.

The same woman helped Zoey carry the clothes to a dressing room. She wrote something down on a notebook as Zoey walked in, probably keeping track what she'd brought with her. Zoey's mind wandered to her earlier thoughts about how theft and inventories worked. How did they prevent it? Close observation? Some manner of alert system? She'd ask Rosalie later; it wasn't like she planned to steal, anyway.

Inside the stall, Zoey went about trying the various items on. She started with the undergarments—the underwear, specifically. She was trying to find something a good mix between securing and not uncomfortable, which was a hard line to toe. If she wanted to receive less looks, she'd need to wear something that glued her package in nice and firm, but Zoey didn't like the feel of that. Too loose, though, and just walking around would make her situation apparent to anybody nearby.

A knocking at the door interrupted Zoey's efforts. She glanced at the wood, then said, "Occupied?"

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am." It was the same woman who had been helping her earlier. Her voice was timid, and—a bit breathless? "It looked like you might need help. Can I, um, come in?"

While Zoey wasn't an expert on this world's customs, she didn't think store attendants were supposed to ask to enter their client's dressing room. A grin crept onto her lips as she guessed what was happening. "I'm barely dressed," Zoey said. "Is that fine?"