This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder Than Expected

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,

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. 

She was cumming, too? They'd been rubbing against each other for a while, but that was still surprisingly fast. But those thoughts passed her mind only briefly. She was occupied in the erasing pleasure of white-hot orgasm. 

The second wave of hot cream escaped her cock, turning an already coated surface drenched. Her seed spilled between their stomachs, flooding between them, nowhere else to go. But Zoey’s cock wasn’t expended. The third wave suffused her throbbing member, jettisoning out another load of hot, lewd liquid. Flooding turned drenched, then overflowing. Her cum was everywhere, working between them as they humped their bodies against each other.

Rosalie’s body continued to convulse, shaking from the strength of her orgasm. Zoey had been with girls before, of course, but the pride of success that suffused her was different from those encounters. Her pulsing, sticky member being the provider of that spasming pleasure fed into Zoey’s imagination, forcing her cock to seize harder, because even after three drenching spurts, she hadn’t been emptied. 

Zoey shoved off the ground as hard as she could, somehow growing the tight space between their bodies further, so that the sticky load of her cock could make greater distance.

And it worked. The next batch of gooey white batter made better distance: it flew out, caressing her cock with hot bliss as it did, launching onto Rosalie’s chest. Further, even. Onto her neck. Rosalie didn’t mind, or notice. The two of them thrashed against each other, moaning with obscene volume, their husky voices echoing through the tiny space they shared. 

Zoey couldn’t believe how quickly the situation had devolved. Rosalie had seemed so composed, but by the way her body twisted and her lower half shoved desperately against Zoey, she wanted this as badly as her, if not more. 

In reality, she was a cock-hungry whore. She wanted pleasure. If Zoey had been in a better position, she would have wanted Zoey to thrust inside. To have her pussy walls convulsing and twitching against a stranger’s massive girlcock as she milked out hot seed into her womb. Rosalie wanted to be filled up. To be stuffed with sticky, impregnating girlcum.

Zoey closed her eyes, and pretended to provide that to her.

Another convulsion of her cock, the strongest of all the ones prior, and the sheer strength of the seizure launched white strands all the way to Rosalie’s face, who produced a surprised squeak of noise. It was almost unbelievable how much seed escaped from Zoey’s cock, considering how much had already burst from her. 

The white batter clung to almost every inch of their bodies. It gathered in sticky pools beneath them, dripping between their legs and off their stomachs. And yet Zoey’s convulsing provided more, and more, onto Rosalie’s face, neck, upper chest, still not spent. Every last drop of girlcum was milked from her twitching cock as Rosalie thrusted her desperate lower half against Zoey, until Zoey truly did have nothing else to give—and they sat in a pool of her cum.

Ephy hadn’t been kidding. Only the best for her champions. So much had escaped her it was nearly comical.

Zoey collapsed, her orgasm finally concluding. Almost as an afterthought, she activated Bond, which had been the whole purpose of this.

She’s not done yet, Zoey’s brain registered through the haze. She rallied, drawing on some second wind to keep grinding so that she could ride Rosalie’s orgasm to its own maximum. But Zoey was so unbelievably spent that she couldn’t do much. She wanted to be a considerate partner and help Rosalie—for all that the well-spoken, stiff girl would never claim to be wanting this—but Zoey didn’t have it in her. This newer form of orgasm was so much more exhausting than the ones she could coax out of herself, back when she hadn’t wielded a massive slab of meat between her legs. Still, she gave it her best, exhausted effort, because Rosalie deserved pleasure as much as she did. 

Rosalie’s twitching finally ended, and she collapsed, her body stopping its writhing. Zoey did the same. The tiny space finally went quiet—relatively—no longer suffused in moaning, whining, and groaning, only the gasping inhalations of two girls who’d just humped each other until their hearts had nearly exploded. They sucked in air, dizzy from exertion and body-racking orgasms.

Hot, sticky liquid coated the bottom of the box, and every inch between their shared skin, their tits, even the strands that had reached up to Rosalie’s face and hair. Pressed into each other, plenty of it had gotten onto Zoey herself.

It was a long time before one of them spoke.

“Well,” Rosalie said. “You did it, right?”