Slime Breeder

"It's gonna be fine, Sam," says Alfa as they move forward, and Sam rubs his arm, feeling extremely underdressed as they make their way further into the dungeon corridor. Alfa, Jock, Maven, and Harrow were all clinking in their usual armour, and Sam felt almost naked in just his tunic and some leather armour they grabbed out of a barrel at the back of the inn.

It didn't even fit properly.

"Yeah, fine for you, maybe," Sam mutters. It fucking figures that he'd drawn the short straw, he's never won a coin toss or a straw pull in his fucking life.

"Look, Amaethon says he does this stuff all the time," says Maven, shifting their stave between their hands, their fingers beginning to glow with fresh magical power, their skin lit up from underneath at their palm, their fingertips. "All you're gonna do is distract it while we attack it from the other end - it puts all its energy into breeding, and Amaethon says that it can't put up the same kind of magical shields while it's busy with a partner."

"A partner?" Sam repeats, raising his eyebrows. "You mean a victim? One these slimes sucks someone in they breed you until you have no magic left, and then they just eat you!"

"Babe, that takes years," says Harrow dryly, one hand on his sword. "You're not even gonna be in there for a whole day."

"And you're gonna get the orgasm of your life," says Alfa. "Multiple, probably."

"I don't need a slime to get me off," Sam mutters, giving her the finger, and Alfa's laugh echoes down the corridor as he splits off from the rest of the party, Jock leading them further down one of the stony halls.

Sam draws the blunt sword they'd also pulled from the inn backroom and holds it in his hand, just at his side. He doesn't know how intelligent these things even are, probably not intelligent enough that they'd even know the difference between an adventurer and a random passer-by wandering into the dungeon, but caution is best, he thinks.

His breath catches in his throat as he turns down the place that Jock had marked on the map earlier, the place where the old stone ruins give way into a cave tunnel that starts going under the ground. There's a slightly sweet, floral smell on the air, and he forces his body to move forward even though he knows that he's walking directly into a trap.

His footsteps are quiet on the dirt under his ill-fitting boots, and he breathes in deeply, letting the floral sweetness wash over him, sinking into his lungs. He feels dizzy and slightly hazy, knows that there's a drugging effect happening and again, his shoulders twitch, his back stiff and his instincts screaming at him to turn and run, but he keeps his head forward, keeps his body moving.

He can't quite suppress the instinct when a tentacle of goo wraps around his ankle to strike out with his sword, though, and he groans in disgust as the severed end of the tentacle turns from tentacle to sticky liquid, soaking into his foot and the ground below.

He can see fairly well in the dark, doesn't need that much light to be able to see by even though Jock or Harrow would be drenched in darkness here, and the slime reflects what little light there is anyway. His heart skips a beat when he realises just how big the fucking slime is, worrying about the other four going up against it, but that's kind of out of his hands right now.

Another tentacle whips toward him and he cuts through it with the sword, but that just rips off the tip - the rest of it keeps coming toward him, and although he cuts off the end of it again, then a third time, he can't manage a fourth sweep before the tentacle hits him in the chest and gathers around him, pinning his arms against his torso and forcing him to go still, the sword clattering to the ground.

He grunts, trying to struggle, but the slime is coiling around his body and wrapping him up in its slowly expanding, green jelly. His arms feel packed so tightly against his torso that he feels as if the bones might break, his ribs crying out in pain as if there's a fucking rock on top of his chest, and fuck, isn't this thing supposed to keep its victims alive? Is it trying to fucking starve him of oxygen?

He keeps kicking, struggling to punch his way free, his head bobbing on his neck, and although he tries to heave in a breath the tight crush is just too strong for him to fight past, is stopping him from getting in even a small gasp. He feels fucking dizzy, his vision darkening at the edges, his blood roaring in his ears and the world spinning around him--

And then the crush lets up, and he heaves in a gasp of air. His vision comes rushing back to him, his whole body flaring with strange sensitivity at being allowed a breath after starving for oxygen. On his second gasp for air, another one of those slime tentacles dives down his throat, and Sam can't get free - it's so far down his throat, sinking down into his stomach, so thick, that he can't even bite down on it.

Gulping helplessly around the sweet-tasting slime, he finds that he can still breathe through his nose, but there's no real relief in the realisation - the slime is pulling him closer, into his body, and he cries out as he finds that he's swallowed into its bulging green mass.

There's slime all around his body, around his torso and limbs, around his head, utterly encased by the thing and unable to struggle free.

And the shitty leather armour, predictably, is fucking melting down on contact with the slime, being broken down before his eyes by the slime's contact. At least it's not his armour.

Gulping helplessly around the tentacle down his throat, he squeezes his eyes shut, whining at the heat that kisses his skin as the slime works its way underneath the armour and the tunic both. The cloth is broken down to nothing, the bits of leather strap and surviving leather falling away from his body, and even though he isn't looking he can still feel it, feel the way he's not just being stripped naked but is being more fully surrounded by it. The gooey, warm gel, still cooler to the touch than his own skin is, is sliding its way against his actual skin, encasing him as best it can.

It occurs to him, dizzily and distantly and with a sort of burning thrill of horror and sudden awareness, that he's no longer breathing through his nose, that he's submerged entirely in the green slime's embrace, its expanse. What he's breathing isn't air - it's slime, it's down his throat, not just in his stomach but in his lungs, has to be.

He doesn't feel dizzy or like he's choking anymore, and when he tries to blow air out through his nose nothing happens, no pressure shifting inside him, no air coming out of him, no movement inside his nostrils. He tries to cough, but with the tentacle thrust inside him, with its slow, gelatinous movements that are making his throat quiver and his cunt throb sopping wet - and fucking why, exactly, does this make him so horny? - he can't make the muscles move, can't force the cough out of his throat.

Is this what it's like to breathe underwater?

The slime is packing close to him, up and around his legs, his torso, just like it is around his head - he can feel it between his toes, mercifully neutral in sensation rather than directly ticklish, but there's no such luck when the slime squeezes in between his arse cheeks, between his thighs.

He squeezes his eyes tighter shut, knowing that it's coming, but he still moans when two tentacles at once press up against him, a thick one cramming itself into his hot, open cunt and the other, a little smaller but still bigger than he'd like, into his ass.

He knew it was coming, wholly expected it and came in here knowing the thing was going to fuck him, but knowledge hadn't prepared him for the pure sensation of it, the wet, warm slide of the slime against his skin and now inside him. He whimpers, because the tentacle in his throat pulls back and then thrusts, and fuck, but Sam's hips jump at the same time, even as the tentacles feed further into him from the other end.

The one stuffed in his cunt is slicker than he could have imagined, radiating heat and making his cunt tingle and throb from the inside, and it begins to let out the same sweet tasting slickness from the one down his throat, too. It's so much more powerful than the aphrodisiac that had been on the air, makes him feel dazed as it washes over him and sings under his skin, pulses within him and makes his heart speed, makes his blood pump faster in his veins.

Two more tentacles come to suck and pull and grab at his nipples, coiling around his tits and squeezing the whole of them at once. He feels entirely overwhelmed with it, with the hot pleasure that radiates out from his chest and makes him squirm on the tentacles impaling him, beginning to thrust in and out of him, and fuck, the friction makes him whine, the way it drags and pulls inside and out of him.

He's drowning in the slime and drowning in sensation and drowning in pleasure, his whole body lit up with it, and he shifts and squirms and fidgets as best he can as the tentacles feeding into his cunt and his ass keep sliding inexorably forward. He feels so full he might well fucking explode with it, feels the strange pulse of the tentacles as they keep pumping their fluid into him - it's settling into his stomach, being pumped into his guts, into his cunt.

There's a kind of shift deep in his pussy, one that makes his stomach flip, and there's no pain, just a sensation of giving way - it's in. It's in, in his fucking womb, and the other tentacle is moving further into his guts, sliding into him, shifting and moving as if it's fucking burrowing, and--

Sam opens his eyes, and moans aloud when he looks down at his belly and sees what's happening to it, sees the shift and bulge under the flesh as the tentacle in his ass packs into his guts, his stomach just made up of the gooey tentacles underneath. As he stares down at it, unblinking and unable to look away, he feels more of the slime's aphrodisiac fluid keep pumping into him, sees his belly bulge out, sees it inflate.

His tits are throbbing, heat thrumming under the skin, his nipples tingling again and feeling like they're getting bigger, his tits feeling like they're getting bigger.

The first slime egg is the size of his fist, and he catches a glimpse of it just a second before it forces its way past the ring of his cunt, making him yell as its pressed further into him, as he feels it press against his inner walls and then pop past his cervix, dropping into his womb and into the waiting liquid there.

The next eggs are already coming, and they're different colours - greens and blues and purples and whites, all kinds of slimes, all different ones. Sam's head is spinning and he feels tears prick at his eyes as his ass and his cunt are forced wide by the new eggs at the same time, as they slide and push inside him.

His tits feel stinging hot and lightning sensitive, his back arching up and into the tentacles sucking hard at his nipples, and he moans as he realises that the throbbing ache under the skin is his tits growing, that those soft, gnawing pains are growing pains, the pain of his flesh expanding, of his tits fattening before his eyes.

A tentacle rubs and plays over his cock, and his orgasm crashes over him with the force of a storming wave, leaving him yelling and writhing as his cunt twitches and clenches around the tentacles shoved inside him, his back arching and his tits wobbling.

It occurs to him that even were it not for the tentacle shoved down his throat, his screams would be muffled by the green slime that encases him on all sides, thick enough that he can't even see through it - are the party already fighting the slime on the other end? Are they fighting it right now, and he doesn't even know?

More eggs are pumping into him, his belly bulging out and full with them, and it aches, feels so fucking heavy. Even though he can't possibly come again so soon, he can feel the orgasm threatening, feel it already on the horizon, inescapable, unending.

Another tentacle forces its way into his cunt, alongside the first, and helplessly, Sam tries to give himself over to the tide.

* * *

Sam coughs and splutters, spitting up the last of the slime still lingering in his throat and clinging to the inside of it. Maven had cast a spell to remove the majority of the slime from inside him, working it out of his lungs and where it's clinging to the inside of his throat, but he's not used to breathing air, not now.

Jock silently brings a skin of water to his mouth, and Sam drinks obediently from it, swallowing it down.

"That was longer than a day," he says hoarsely.

Jock's expression doesn't change - it rarely does, remains impassive - but the others all look at one another sheepishly.

Sam's belly is stuffed so full of eggs he cannot stand to his feet, his bulging gut rested on his thighs and expanded outward from his hips, too, and he's humiliated at the thought of trying to lay them in front of the party when he knows that every egg will be an ecstasy, when it will hurt, but also, he'll come. Multiple times, probably, with the eggs currently in him.

His tits, fat and sore and dribbling milk, are resting on top of his belly, and Harrow can't tear his eyes from them, is staring at them with his lips slightly parted. He's licked them twice in the past ten minutes, a nervous habit, and each time it's made Sam's cock throb and his cunt clench hungrily around empty air.

All he can think about is Harrow fucking him, Harrow's cock plunging into his ass or his cunt, Harrow's fingers touching him, while Harrow leans in and tongues at his nipples and sucks the milk out of him. The slime had milked him of it, had fed him its nutrient fluid and suckled out of its tits too, had pulled and tugged on his nipples until it had flowed freely out of him.

Harrow could do that, but also, he could suck, and his tongue is probably so skilful, his mouth so hot and wet--

"We couldn't kill it the first time," mutters Maven, their expression sour as they lean on their stave. "The thing was huge, and even with you as a distraction, it had..." They clear their throat. "Robust magical barriers."

"We had to come back," says Alfa.

"Twice," says Maven.

Sam is plump and well-fed from slime nutrients, is hazy and dizzy and just wants to lay these eggs and wank and suck Harrow off and maybe feed his friends from his sore tits, and fuck, fuck, he is not sober enough for this conversation.

"How long?" he manages to ask.

"A few weeks," says Alfa.

"A month," corrects Maven, and Alfa shoves them in the shoulder, but before Sam can get angry - he can't quite remember how to get angry - Alfa is on the floor next to him, one of her palms resting on his belly and making him whimper. His cunt wants for anything, wants for something, and his tits let out a dribble of milk. Alfa draws her hand back to keep it from getting wet.

"Listen," says Alfa, "Sam. There's-- See, the thing is, the reason we took so long, is that these things have been breeding for ages - there's so many of the little ones. I mean, you'd know, wouldn't you?" She presses experimentally on his belly, and Sam isn't sure about the look in her eyes, the academic curiosity, but just because he doesn't trust her doesn't mean he doesn't keen from low in his throat, his legs spreading as one of the eggs lets down. He squirms and grips handfuls of dirt, his whole body feeling strangely heavy now it's not suspended in slime, and he wails as he clenches down hard, forcing the egg out of his cunt, electricity singing up his spine, rocking his bones.

"Fuck me," whispers Harrow.

No, fuck me, Sam is too dizzy with lust to reply.

"But we definitely can't go up against the bigger ones, the older ones, without a distraction, and you're already... I mean, it'll just be a little more, okay? We already know you can take it! So we'll just carry you up and toss you into the next one, and that one should be way quicker. The dungeons are pretty big, but we've made a map - there's countless little slimes, but the big ones, the ones we need you for, there's only like, what, two more?"

"Try twelve," says Maven, and Alfa throws a clump of dirt at them and says loudly, "They're exaggerating."

Sam's head is lolling and he can feel the fucking weight of thought in his head, the desperation to force some thoughts through his fucked-stupid mind. It's like all the cogs up top are sticky with the same slime that's been fucking him.

"Sam," says Alfa, and she strums across his cock with her thumb, making him moan and arch up into it desperately, eagerly, craving the return of the pleasure he's been experiencing, the same fucking ecstasy he's been drowning in. "You even enjoyed it a bit, right? You can take a little more?"

Sam moans helplessly, head tipping back, and he wants to rock his hips into her fingers but his belly is too heavy to let him move.

"The pay-out is huge," Alfa says softly, smiling at him, her eyes twinkling like gold coins. "They begged us to go back in, clear out the rest of them. And any treasure we find is ours."

Sam just wants it, wants the tentacles again, wants to go back to being fucked for a while so he doesn't have to keep thinking. He wants Harrow to suck on his tits for a bit, wants to know what his lips feel like wrapped around one of his nipples, Sam's hand touching through his hair.

"'Kay," Sam mumbles. "Fine."

"Okay, great," says Alfa, jumping to her feet and clapping her hands together. "Jock, just pick him up from behind and squeeze him, okay? He'll be easier to carry if all those eggs are out of him."

Jock shrugs his shoulders and comes up behind him - Sam is already moaning just when his heavy palms slide across his skin, even before he puts pressure on his bulging stomach and makes his whole body throb with pleasure. His eyes roll back in his head as Jock starts to rub and massage in circles, forcing the eggs out of him, his cunt and ass both twitching as they slide down and pop free, heaping in a wet pile on the floor, moaning incoherently.

He hears Alfa saying, "See? It's fine."

"You're literally a monster," says Harrow. "You are so fucking shrewd."

"Oh, I'm the freak here? You're basically salivating looking at his tits. Want to try some?"

"Yes," Sam moans as he comes, his cunt spasming and forcing out a bunch of eggs at once, Jock letting out a low whistle behind him. "Yes, yes, yes, please, please, suck from me, suck from me--"

"He's fine," Alfa repeats. "I told you, Amaethon said once someone's had a taste of this kind of pleasure they don't even want to go back. We could breed slimes of our own with him, if we wanted - make a whole business out of it."

"Shut up, Alfa," says Harrow, but all that matters is that after he's done talking Harrow's lips are on Sam's nipples, pressing down on him and making milk spurt out of his tit and over Harrow's warm, curious tongue.

It's a different pleasure, less all-encompassing, but keener, somehow, and he wants to drink it all in before he's thrown to the next slime.

Alfa's right, after all. How could he go back, now that he's felt this?