Chapter 3

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.