Slime and Punishment

Marcc hated when his work took him to the less desirable parts of town.

"Town" was perhaps a misnomer. New Mureybat was an enormous city with a population of about eighty-five million humans, metahumans and monsters possessing some amount of humanlike intelligence living somewhere in its many districts. The two-hundred story skyscrapers stood out from the center like the stem of a mushroom. The downslope of this area towards the edge of the city, where moss might grow on a tree's trunk, represented the less privileged areas between the opulent city and the untamed wilds of the forests to the west.

It wasn't necessarily that Marcc thought he would be accosted or mugged or any other horrible fate. Some undesirables liked messing with elves because 'they got enough time.' Some didn't for fear that they could swing their wealth like an enormous sledge and squish them like vermin.

As a half-elf... Marcc wasn't quite so lucky in either variety. Anyone who knew the first thing about elves would know he was a hybrid just by eye. The real giveaway was his more humanlike fashion, with his tailored suit, waistcoat and watch chain. A full elf still attached to the old ways would never so much as touch any artificial textiles with a gnarled stick for having too much respect for the stick.

But what could he say? He looked good, and he loved the shiny look and feel of polyester. Maybe it was his human side coming forward.

Marcc walked evenly, but swiftly, through the blocks and blocks of old brick buildings, disused mills, and many neon signs advertising sin. Some promised nude women and metawomen of any shape requested, and the peep show had hundreds of potential pairings... some that sounded impossible or maybe illegal.

He walked past them all, trying not to look at them, nor to turn his nose up at them. He really should learn to drive so he could avoid these places, or at least be safe within the metal confines of an automobile. But that was just one more thing that could be taken from him if he was caught unaware. And one more human habit the elders could use as an excuse to sneer, participating in the creation of air pollution.

On the side of the street that Marcc was on, there was a nightclub with a long line to enter, a startling variety of metahumanity standing in a row like ducklings, waiting on the caprice of the cyclops bouncers. Good planning kept a pair of them facing opposite directions to stop anyone from sneaking in behind them, backs pointing to each other like they were dueling roommates in a sitcom.

Whatever was happening, the sidewalk would not be passable anytime soon, and the cyclops gentleman may have been staring at him from behind his weird one-eye sunglasses. (Sunglass?) Marcc crossed the street at the nearby intersection, squeezing between two parked cars to get through to the opposite sidewalk. He hadn't been at this part of the city before... but it was all about the same low level of danger. Nobody really ever got hurt out here. That's what the forest and all the untamed wilderness is for, for those adventurers to go out and level up. He just had to get back to the subway line, whatever way through the grid of similar blocks and roads took him to get there.

Then, his sharp ears heard something. Music. It sounded like a flute, but a little lower pitched. He'd never heard something quite like it. Among the bustle, traffic, and noises of general sin, Marcc craned his head about, trying to find the origin of this tune.

After traveling for a few blocks, in a quieter, darker part of the city, there was a folding table with a small goblin woman sitting on a rock behind it. The woman played a melancholy melody on her curved flute with her eyes closed, gently rocking her head with the imagined beat. Behind her was a coat rack with some rather rudimentary tools made of rocks and sticks, with a few metal weapons probably stolen from fallen adventurers. What sort of poor weapon couldn't protect a human from a goblin, Marc wondered. Maybe someone stole it from a camp as everyone slept.

The table was covered with some other gadgets and 'inventions' of unknown purpose. They could be weapons, or they could be more musical instruments. In the center of the table, there were some plastic handheld devices that looked sort of like torches... or rather, what the less posh residents called "flashlights."

Despite the fascinating selection of junk on display, Marcc found himself listening to the goblin woman's music. He had never known a goblin to be skilled in any musical instrument... except the drums, of course. He was much more used to the goblin merchant yelling to get their attention about bargains, bargains, and yet more bargains. He just stood there, forgetting what a bad part of town this was, listening to her play.

The goblin woman opened one yellowed eye as she realized she was being watched. She set her flute down on the table and engaged him. She wore an embroidered tunic that looked like it was made of straw, with strings of very large beads around her neck and knotted into her hair. Her ears were pierced, but there were no rings or other jewelry present. There were just unoccupied holes in her earlobes.

"Hello, elfy man!" She smiled at him. Her teeth were... better than most goblins she'd met, but not good enough to be fake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." Marcc said. "Your music was very lovely."

"Thank you, handsome elf man." She bowed a bit from her seat. "I wanted to make money as a musician, but most orchestras and bands don't have a place for the goblin flute. The only thing they want are drums."

Marcc had seen goblin drum performances on talent programs before. They didn't look choreographed. The smallest of the goblins either crawled on top of the drum or was swung by the ankle to act as a heavier mallet to make the performance louder. It looked fun, at least.

He looked to the table. He still could not ascertain what these knick-knacks were for. "What are you selling here, Miss...?" Marcc asked.

"You can call me Gobriella." She said. "And nothing I'm selling would likely impress the well-dressed elf man, I'm sure. Can't compete with elven weaves and dwarven steel. But we got rocks!" She picked up a sliver of tanned leather with long straps. "We got slings! Find a nice smooth rock, and you can send that thing quite a distance. Hit them right in the side of the head, and they won't get up!"

Marcc picked up the device from the larger leather piece where the projectile would be placed. "As an agent of the peace, I'm not really allowed to use weapons. But this seems like good construction."

"Oh yeah!" Gobriella smiled. "Goblin berserkers use them as jock straps. They whip them off and sling rocks with them!"

Marcc dropped the device back to the table. Every race that wore underwear had probably tried using it as a slingshot. Maybe that's why centaurs loved their bows so much. He discreetly rubbed the fingers that touched the device on his pocket square as he looked at her other wares.

"What's in those bags?" Marcc pointed to a series of cinched burlap bags.

"Genuine lizard jerky!" Gobriella said. "Great to chew if you're trying to quit smoking!"

"What kind of lizard?" Marcc asked. If a goblin had made jerky out of a dragon, someone needed to alert the media.

Gobriella shrugged, making an uncertain sound. "I don't know any names of lizards. They just said it was lizard jerky! Give it a look if you're not sure!"

Marcc opened the bag by working his fingers into the hole and pulling it open. There was an odd sound as she opened it... which was actually just Gobriella imitating a burp. (It was unclear why she imitated a burp rather than just burping for real. Maybe she still hoped for a kiss from the handsome elf.)

"Oh, no!" Gobriella cried. "That must be an enchanted magic gulping bag! Loves to eat meat... and polyhedral dice, for some reason."

Marcc closed the bag back up and set it down. Maybe she would have let him walk away with no jerky, literally holding the bag. He glanced around the other junk on the desk, but his attention returned to the plastic torches. There must have been something special, or tricky, about them...

Gobriella noticed his interest. "I don't know if you elf boys need one of these..." She picked up one of the oblong devices and unscrewed the lid from the flanged end, the end where the light would emerge if this was a real flashlight. She pointed the business end of the device at him.

Marcc leaned in to look. The device appeared to contain some form of gelatin. It was a dark purple, very dense yet still partially translucent. It almost looked like someone had made it without adding enough water to the recipe. At the center of the gelatin... there was a slit that ran most of the way through the device. There was a small bump on one end of the slit. The shape was rather familiar...

Marcc's light eyebrows rose high above his head. "Is this... what I think it is?"

"You bet!" Gobriella practically beamed. "100% real slimegirl pussy!"

He looked down the barrel again. His eyes hadn't deceived him. "How, uh..." He trailed off. "How did you relieve the slimegirls of such an important part of them? I would think they wouldn't give it up willingly."

"Nah, they can just make a new one, like getting a haircut." Gobriella said. "These are pieces of slime that broke off from the whole when fighters are chopping them up in the low-level forests. They don't possess intelligence or anything. I use my patented technique to shape them into that... 'important part' you speak of."

Marcc curiously put a finger into the device and delicately pulled one lip away from the other. "It's warm." He said.

"She likes you." Gobriella grinned. "So do I, but... I'm not for sale... for cheap."

Marcc considered the device in his hand. How would he explain this if he had someone over? He could say it was a torch... besides, when was the last time he had someone over?

"Humans always ask me why I don't put out the guitar case and take money from anyone for my music." Gobriella said. "We don't really do it like that. For goblins, everything is a transaction. But for those of us who like music, all we want is for someone to look at us and NOT feel disgust, even if it's for a moment. So for that, Mr. Nice Elf Man, I thank you. But if you really REALLY liked what I was playing, you could pay me by buying one of these. But only if you think you'll use it."

Marcc looked down to the inconspicuous pocket slimegirl pussy he was holding. It felt even warmer, as if his body heat had woken something primal in the little bit of slime, as if it wanted to reach out and touch him...

"How much?"

He didn't expect the goblin saleswoman to actually make change for him, but she did. Marcc walked away with his unusual souvenir tucked discreetly into his coat pocket.

Once he was out of view, Gobriella sat back down on her rock. She discreetly tapped a button on a wireless speaker with her toe. The lovely flute music resumed before she brought the flute back to her lips. The end of the 'flute' glowed for a moment before she blew two streaks of smoke out her nose.

---

Marcc returned to his apartment. It was clean, nice, somewhat spacious for a single occupant... but hardly fancy. Living in the city was expensive, but it was worth it to not have to commute from the periphery every day. He hung his coat up at the coat rack near the door, removing his new toy from the pocket and setting it down on the coffee table.

For a late dinner, Marcc had a pre-packaged faux-meat chicken sandwich. His elder relatives would be ashamed of him for eating anything that even resembled meat, or using a microwave. But whatever. They were all hypocrites. They all just ate their favorite junk food in private.

After that, Marcc took the torch with him to his bedroom. He went to his computer, trying to find the little pieces of enlightening entertainment or good news in the enormous mile-wide sewer pipe of bad news and misery that was the Internet. Even with the nice and comfortable life he had managed for himself, it was hard to remain positive about the future, especially with how long he'd live...

Discouraged, Marcc went to the sleazier parts of the Internet, the kinds filled with pictures and video of any combination of nude partners tangled in carnality. At least this part of the Internet was reliable.

Marcc shuffled down his pants and picked up the mysterious toy. It felt even warmer now, somehow. This must be his imagination. Maybe it responded to the warmth of his hands?

Once he had found an appropriate image, Marcc lowered the device onto his erection. The warmth was unsettling for a moment, but that feeling quickly left as he pushed the device all the way down over himself. The slime surrounded his member, both clinging and yet very slippery. He brought the device up and down, sliding off and onto his cock with a soft squishing sound.

This was definitely an improvement over normal masturbation. Maybe it wasn't shameful for a man to own a sex toy. If a lady had a sex toy, she was liberated. If a half-elf man owned one, he... well, there were no stereotypes about half-elves. Nobody had bothered to get to know a half-elf man well enough to come up with any, not even the elves.

The warmth from the device amplified, reaching the level where it could be described as 'heat.' It couldn't just be from friction. His cock pushed through the slime like it wasn't even there, feeling looser and more liquid as it got hotter. And yet, it had the feeling of clinging eagerly to him. The slime started to drag against his cock as he withdrew it, and there was something else within the small opening, rubbing the underside of him...

A tongue. Was the slime emulating lips and a tongue to give the sensation of fellatio? Or had it been that long since he'd had someone that he was just imagining it? The slime gripped and pulled against him as it got hotter and hotter, as if trying to hold him inside with a million tiny sticky fingertips.

Marcc slammed the device onto himself almost as hard as he could, possessed with a primal energy. His deep breaths turned into a powerful grunt as Marcc ejaculated into the device, holding it onto himself as his white semen swirled up into the purple slime. Once the orgasm had passed, he set the device down onto his mouse pad, stood from his chair, and went straight to his bed, hoping to drift off into some deep, restorative sleep.

On his computer desk, the unlidded slime pussy leaked a single stream of ejaculate out from the aperture, down towards the desk...

Before some force from within slurped it back inside like a noodle.

---

Marcc woke up the next day, feeling about the same as he always did. He showered, dressed, and ate a bowl of cereal. This was another sticking point for his elders because apparently refined grains were also some sort of sin equal to that of consuming animal flesh. How arbitrary their proclamations really were.

The lovely positive emotions that followed the end of Marcc's night didn't continue into the next day. He barely thought about the experience as he prepared for work like any other day. He was about to leave to catch a ride on the subway before looking around for something that he might need on this bright, sunny day. He patted every pocket on his suit jacket and his coat, but couldn't find it.

"Where did I put my sunglasses?" He wondered aloud.

---

Late that previous night, long after Marcc had fallen asleep, the sex toy started to do something unexpected. It rocked back and forth until the device rolled over the edge of the bed and to the carpet of the bedroom. It rolled along, out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. The device picked up speed as it left the carpet in the bedroom, rolling freely on the hardwood floor like a toy car.

The device entered the kitchen. One narrow, sticky tentacle reached out from the device and latched onto the handle of the freezer. It pulled open the freezer at the bottom before exiting the plastic device and slithering upwards. The little slime carefully stood on the end of the freezer door and opened the fridge. There was an open pitcher of water inside the fridge. The slime crawled up the side of the fridge, against the smooth surface of the pitcher, and into the water.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. The dark purple color of the slime lightened up considerably as it absorbed the water and added it to its mass. The slime moved with much greater freedom, sliding out of the fridge and taking the shape of a short woman.

Perhaps the saleswoman hadn't told the entire truth on how much of that slime had made it into that small package.

The slime stretched about with obvious relief. She closed the freezer door with her 'foot' and took a carton of orange juice and chugged the entire thing right from the carton. No matter how much of this she drank, it never made her orange. Why did they call it that, anyway? She'd have preferred regular water, but she couldn't take the chance of running the sink and waking the buyer up.

Fully rehydrated, the slime changed her density to be less tacky, so she could walk about in her bare feet without leaving any residue behind. She looked around the apartment. The flatware was all stainless steel, no 'silver' to be found here. She found his wallet, taking a few bills from there that he might not notice. In the pocket of his waistcoat, she found a lovely ornate pocket watch that must have been worth a fortune. Someone who still carries around a watch in the era of smartphones must have serious resources... or misguided opinions of fashion.

Then again, what did the naked slimegirl know about fashion?

She entered the bedroom on her own volition for the first time. The man was in his bed, turned away from the nearby computer desk. He hadn't even bothered turning off to computer, nor had it fallen asleep or otherwise returned to the password screen. This was a huge opportunity. She could change the password and call up later as a 'hacker' who had gotten hold of his personal information, log into his bank details... there was significant opportunity here.

Standing in front of the computer, she looked to see what he was doing before he had fallen asleep.

It was porn.

It had never occurred to her that someone might look at porn when using one of these devices. Sure, her sexual experience inside the chamber wasn't that much different than normal, except for the tight quarters. But for him, there was no partner to look at while he used the device.

The image he had used... was a point-of-view picture of a man having sex... with a slimegirl. The slimegirl in the picture was pink and alarmingly see-through in a way that only drawn art could be. He had successfully filled her with a large splattering of seed floating up into her torso as she rode the viewer's penis. The pair had fingers interwoven... and the slimegirl was smiling. She had literal hearts drawn in her pupils. (She'd have to practice that trick in the mirror someday... it might not look as romantic in real life.)

She definitely didn't expect this. She suddenly felt some pity for the lonely man who apparently just wanted some comfort... from someone like her.

The slime girl went across the room and saw him in bed, sleeping on his side, holding a pillow in his arms, She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, just long enough for him to start kissing back in his sleep. Maybe their fun could continue for him in his dream.

She rolled up the money and a few other things into the sex toy's plastic case, sealing it with the lid and 'holding' it inside her. She walked out of the apartment with the sunglasses on. That way, even if there was a witness, nobody could hope to describe what she looked like to the police. It was foolproof.