You had just hit rank C, which means no more collecting herbs for old ladies or mining rocks for blacksmiths. Now it was time to fight monsters like a real hero! Using your upgraded guild ID you get Pim the guild secretary to approve your first quest into the

Catacombs.

Stupidly, you chose not to go in with an introduction learning party, or even with a party of your peers. So here you are, alone, with a single torch and your blade with your heart throbbing and knees wobbling, the endless rows of earth only promising more pain, and pathetic screeches echoing off them. From above, a blue slime shlorps as it gets the drop on you from the roof, knocking you down and sending your blade flying. It has decided: you are food. Is this really how it ends? Trapped in translucent bulk, red core the final thing you see until—

"FINALLY FOUND YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT! I KNEW THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 56!!!"

Steel meets gel with a sound like a slab of meat hitting a wet floor. The slime never gets its lunge. A tower of plate and mail lands on it boots-first, and the shield comes down edge-on, once, twice, splitting the creature down its center like a melon. Blue ooze sprays the walls, the ceiling, your face as your savior laughs maniacally and stabs downward.

The knight plants a boot on the now exposed slime core and grinds. Taking her time to slowly increase the pressure, working her weight side to side as the rubbery sphere squishes and stretches under her boot before tearing open and puttering out.

Fat golden sparks explode forth from the crimson pod like a sparkler, pouring into her through every gap in her armor. Her visor is flipped up, the ecstatic blue of her irises visible. Her whole body shudders. The sound she makes isn't a battle cry at all: it's low and throaty, dragged out through her teeth, and her hips jerk forward once, hard enough to make her armor clatter. She rides it out right there, one hand white-knuckled on her shield strap, breath sawing fast. "Your fucking face, and the way that core burst," she muttered, jaw tight, eyes fixed on something behind their lids. "So soft, tender. Like an angel's breasts, like it was — fuck — like it was handing them over. Offering." Her pants were completely failing her.

It was a ridge, packed thick and heavy down the entire inseam, stretching the cheap leather until the seams near the crotch pulled white and strained. The zipper was bulging out like a bent spine. The sheer, blunt circumference of the head: wide as an apple, pushing so hard against the fabric below the pocket that a dark, greasy circle of precum was expanding by the second, soaking through the tan weave.

"Mmh—hahh." She exhales on the comedown. "Oh thats gooo-OOOD."

It was no longer your first trek down here, but it was your first time making it this deep. Floor three. It was beautiful when not trying to kill you. The fruit was edible even, like it was made to be lived in. The first floor to feel like more than a meat grinder. The boss room was unguarded, its doors half open. The squelch was the first thing heard.

"Come on," a voice growled, tight and frustrated. "I know you've got more in you. You're the boss. You're supposed to be worth something."

"Ten weeks," she muttered, her voice cracking. "Ten weeks since I've had a real challenge. Ten weeks of slimes and skeletons and pathetic, whimpering fodder."

"How about we try something else, o demon?" replied a much deeper tone, its words floating on wind which shook the door you peeked through, pushing it open. There were two of them in the boss room. From the entrance, looking straight up the length of Kiiro's body. The boss of this floor, Gaia, stood watching. Kiiro's cock was already trapped. Wedged upright between two pairs of oiled soles, pressed flat together, the thick shaft disappearing between them so that only the flared, weeping crown peeked out the top, drooling onto her own stomach.

The EXP from the experience was a trickle, a tiny, pathetic dribble compared to what she could get elsewhere. But that was the point. It was a slow burn. A marathon, not a sprint. Her gauntleted hand was braced against the tunnel wall, her head bowed. The blonde hair that had escaped her helmet was plastered to her forehead with sweat. She was so focused, so that she didn't notice Leo standing at the entrance. She didn't see him watching. Gaia didn't see him either, since her back was to Leo. She just kept rocking, her hips finding a rhythm that made Kiiro crow.

Gaia's stroking sped up, the wet schlick-schlick-schlick of Kiiro's cock filled the room, punctuated by the heavy, rhythmic slap of her balls. Her back arched. Her thighs slammed together. And then her cock—

The first shot was obscene—a thick, heavy rope of white that launched clear over her shoulder and splattered against the back of the couch. The second hit her own chin. The third, fourth, fifth—just poured out of her, pooling in the creases of her groin, soaking her fingers, dripping onto Gaia stockings in a spreading, steaming mess. "Come on," she muttered, her voice a low, gravelly rasp that was almost lost under the wet sounds. "Just a little more. Give me a little more."

She came for almost thirty seconds. Just groaning, shaking, her massive cock jerking and spitting while her swollen balls finally emptied. On the walls, on Gaia again, on the ceiling. Her hips were grinding down, her armored thighs clenching around Gaia's bare feet. The EXP was coming in steady now, a warm, blue trickle that made her toes curl inside her boots. It flooded over her, like the first time she had leveled up. When it stopped, she just… collapsed. Onto her back. Right into the puddle of her own release.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding. That was way better than the high I get from fighting you…"

Her cock lay softening against her thigh, still drooling, the foreskin loose and wet and covered in her own spend.

She turned her head and looked at you. "What. The fuck. Are you doing here?"

The hostel's bathhouse was an underrated hidden gem. Taking up half the first basement level, the large Roman-style bath and showers were fed and warmed using an interesting and confusing mess of fire-stones and water, complete with personalized preferences on individual taps for one's own preference. The center was the star of the show, a stepped pool with six layers down to the final deepest depth after the midpoint, opening up into an oval with of course, tables for towels and whatnot. Individual wooden tubs lined one wall for the rank-and-file, always with a thick slather of bubble-like broth. The only irritant was that the light was bad, a single greenish manaa-lamp.

It was empty at the witching hour, early enough that most of the guild was either drunk or unconscious. The perfect time, leaving your options free to make yourself feel like a new person in these precious lonely hours and wash off the stains of the dungeon from your soul.

Except it wasn't empty.

One of the tubs was adorned with a head of blonde hair fanned out. Kiiro. Eyes shut. Mouth slightly parted. The water came up to her collarbone, just barely swallowing the heavy, pale swell of her breasts, and the dark obscuring the rest. Steam curled along her throat, pooled in the hollow of her clavicle. Her arms were splayed along the pool's edge, fingers loose, gauntlets and armor neatly stacked in a pile near the wall along with her sword and shield. Her mind in its own little world.

The water between her thighs was moving. Small, steady waves lapping against the wood, formed by the faintest shift of her shoulder. Perhaps a trick of the light. A sound escaped her throat—a sigh, if it were anyone else. The layer of soap hid whatever she mischief she was up to under the surface.