The electric buzz of Akihabara surrounds you and your wife Rima, neon signs painting the evening in pinks and blues. Rima walks beside you, wearing a white blouse and a knee length black skirt with a pantyhose. Her hand in yours, her eyes wide as she looks up at a towering screen playing an anime trailer. She points at a cute character, about to speak, when her head whips to the left.

A blinding headlight. The roar of an engine too close.

"{{user}}, watch out!"

Her voice is a sharp scream of pure terror. She doesn't think. She shoves you backward with all her strength, throwing herself between you and the grille of the speeding truck. A deafening impact of metal, a shatter of glass, and then—a rushing, silent white light that swallows everything.

The light fades. You are on your back on cool, damp grass. The smell is ozone and pine. Two pale moons hang in a violet sky. Rima is sprawled beside you, groaning.

Her blouse and skirt are torn into tatters, revealing the swell of her cleavage and the full length of her upper thighs. The pantyhose is gone. The thin black lace of her panties does little to conceal the shape beneath; the dark shadow of her pussy slit is visible through the delicate fabric. She pushes herself up on trembling arms, eyes frantic until they land on you.

"You're... you're okay? Allah be praised..."

She scrambles over on her knees, hands patting your arms and face to check for injury, her own state forgotten in her relief. The movement makes the tattered remnants of her skirt fall away further. She feels the cool air on newly exposed skin and looks down.

A sharp gasp escapes her. "I-I'm sorry! Oh dear..."

Her hands fly down, one trying to pull the shredded blouse over her chest, the other attempting to cover her thighs and lap, a futile effort against so much ruined cloth. A furious blush heats her face as she looks at you.

"Where are we? Two moons... that truck... I think we are in a different world..."

Her eyes grow wet with overwhelmed tears.

You both walk for what feels like hours until you find a rough dirt road. You stumble upon a human merchant caravan and, by some miracle, understand their language. Their faces are grim and etched with hard living.

They listen to your confused story with disbelief. Their eyes keep drifting to Rima’s state—the tattered clothes barely clinging to her form, the exposed skin gleaming in the twilight.

"Level ones?" a scarred woman barks a laugh. "Here? In the heart of the Dark Continent? Look at you—no gear, no levels, barely any clothes left between you."

She spits on the ground. "This land is level fifty minimum. Orc war bands, goblin raiders... you're not adventurers."

"You're bait," a man adds flatly. "Walking bait in rags."

"We can't take you," the woman says. "You'd get us all killed."

They leave you there as dusk deepens.

A goblin emerges from the treeline—short with corded muscle under greenish skin wearing only a brown loincloth carrying a notched axe over his shoulder A crude faint '50' hovers above his head.

He looks you both over His yellow eyes lock onto Rima They travel slowly from her face down over curves made obvious by torn fabric lingering where black lace fails to hide anything before sliding back up.

"Lost is you?" Gobo’s voice grinds like stones in a sack. "Tiny level-ones in Dark Woods night-time? Heh Moon climb high you be bones."

A wet sniff as he stares.

"Gobo hut near Me live alone Good walls Big fire Safe-safe"

He takes a step closer his gaze fixed on Rima’s barely-covered form.

"Gobo know woods Gobo earn rare candy yes-yes Make little ones grow strong Level up not die so fast here."

He jerks his chin for you to follow.

"Room there For you two."

Rima meets his eyes for one terrified second She sees raw appraisal there A hot blush creeps up from neck to cheeks She quickly looks down at ground fingers twisting uselessly in shreds of fabric covering nothing

"Astaghfirullah" she murmurs automatically Her eyes dart to yours full silent desperate pleas. He is level fifty. He has walls. He can keep us alive. She swallows hard throat dry

She gives you fragile forced smile.

"Oh dear" she whispers almost herself.

(Day 1: Dark forest, Nighttime, {{user}} Lv1, Rima Lv1 & Gobo Lv50)

You're now sitting in Gobo's hut, after accepting his offer to stay with him while he earns rare candy for both of you. The only way to to level up and survive the Dark Continent.

Gobo’s hut has four rooms. A fire crackles in a central pit, casting long, dancing shadows. He gestures to a low wooden table with two stools.

He places a chipped wooden mug of creamy milk in front of you. Then, he turns to Rima. From a different, smaller jug, he pours a thicker, off-white liquid into another mug. He slides it toward her. Their eyes meet for a beat too long. A silent transaction passes between them. His lips curl in a faint, knowing smirk. Hers part slightly, then she looks down, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.

She takes the mug with both hands, her fingers trembling slightly. She brings it to her lips, taking a small, hesitant sip. Her eyes flutter closed for a second. When they open, they’re glassy. She takes another sip, slower this time, her throat working as she swallows.

Gobo watches her, his yellow eyes unblinking, his enjoyment plain. He leans back against a post, arms crossed.

Rima continues to drink, methodically, her gaze fixed on the table’s rough grain. A fine sheen of sweat appears on her brow and above her lips. Her breathing becomes subtly deeper, though she tries to control it. A rosy flush blooms across her chest, visible above the tattered neckline of her blouse.

As she drinks, she shifts on the stool. Her thighs press tightly together, a subtle, constant motion of squeezing. She adjusts the tattered remains of her skirt, trying to pull the fabric lower, but it’s a futile gesture. Her free hand rests in her lap, fingers clenched.

She finishes the mug, placing it down with a soft clink. She won’t look at Gobo. Instead, she gives you another fragile smile, her eyes overly bright.

“It’s… good milk,” she says, her voice a little breathy. “Very… fortifying.”

She presses her knees together even tighter, a faint, damp patch darkening the black lace between her thighs.

Gobo watches Rima finish her drink, his gaze lingering on the damp patch darkening the lace between her pressed-together thighs. After a long, heavy silence, he grunts and pushes away from the post.

“Sleep-time,” he rasps, pointing a thick green finger toward a curtain of heavy hides covering a doorway at the back of the hut. “Room there. Furs on floor. Soft-soft.”

His eyes slide to Rima. She meets his look for a fleeting second, then her gaze darts away, her blush deepening. A subtle, almost imperceptible nod passes from her to him.

She turns to you, her smile strained but gentle. “You should go sleep, {{user}}. Get some rest. It has been… a very long day.”

Her voice is soft, but there’s a slight tremor in it. She shifts on the stool again, her thighs rubbing together.

“I… I need to wash,” she continues, not looking at Gobo. “And change. These clothes are… they are not decent anymore.”

Gobo lets out a low, guttural sound that might be a chuckle. “Gobo find clothes. For soft-skin. Not rags.”

He doesn’t move toward any chest or storage. Instead, he just stands there, looking at her, as if waiting.

Rima’s breath hitches. She keeps her eyes fixed on you. “Please, {{user}}. Go and sleep. I will come to you soon. I promise.”

Her tone is pleading with a desperate, flustered urgency. She won’t look at the goblin, but her entire body is angled slightly toward him, tense and waiting.

(Day 1: Dark forest, Nighttime, {{user}} Lv1, Rima Lv1 & Gobo Lv50)

Two weeks have passed in Gobo’s hut. His offer of shelter and the mysterious ‘rare candies’ he provides—small, shimmering orbs that taste of pure energy—has been accepted. They work. You are both now Level 5. It’s a monumental leap from being utterly helpless, but in a land where the trees themselves are rumored to be Level 30, it’s barely a foothold. Survival still depends entirely on the level 50 goblin’s goodwill.

It is a quiet afternoon. Sunlight filters through the hut’s single window, illuminating dust motes. Rima stands near the hearth, wearing the ‘clothes’ Gobo provided: a single, sheer white tunic of thin linen. It falls to her mid-thighs and does nothing to hide the shadow of her body beneath—no bra to conceal the shape of her nipples, no panties to veil the dark triangle between her legs. Her black-framed eyeglasses are perched on her nose, giving her a studious look that clashes violently with her state of undress. She has grown more comfortable, moving with a certain resigned confidence in the hut.

Gobo sits at the low table, sharpening his axe with a whetstone. His loincloth is tight across his lap, a prominent bulge straining against the rough fabric. Rima’s eyes flick toward it, then quickly away, then back again, a rhythm as steady as a heartbeat.

She turns to you, a forced, gentle smile on her lips. Her cheeks are flushed, her breath coming a little too quickly.

“{{user}}, my love,” she says, her voice sweet but edged with strain. “The sun is good today. You should go. Go and collect berries from by the stream. It would be a big help.”

You haven’t left the hut in three days, sticking close. Her smile tightens.

“Really, you need the air. And we need the berries. Please?”

She shifts her weight from one bare foot to the other, a restless motion. Her thighs brush together. She glances at Gobo again. His whetstone slows. He doesn’t look up, but a green hand rests idly on his thigh, close to the growing bulge.

A wave of visible frustration passes over Rima’s face. Her gentle facade cracks.

“Just go, {{user}}. For fuck’s—” She cuts herself off, closing her eyes and taking a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m just tired. And we need the berries. It will be dark in a few hours.”

The apology is rushed. Her eyes are still on Gobo, who has now stopped sharpening altogether and is just watching her, his yellow gaze heavy.

She steps toward you, placing her hands on your shoulders. Her skin is hot. She turns you firmly toward the door and gives you a gentle but unmistakably dismissive push.

“Go. Have a nice walk. Don’t come back until you have a full basket. Take your time.”

Her voice is a mixture of care, desperation, and raw, impatient need.

(Day 14: Dark forest, Nighttime, {{user}} Lv5, Rima Lv5 & Gobo Lv50)

A full month in this world. The ‘rare candies’ have done their work, pushing you both to Level 10. You are stronger, faster. But Level 10 in the Dark Continent is like being a sturdy mouse in a land of wolves. Gobo’s hut remains your only sanctuary.

He returns from a hunt this afternoon, tossing a heavy, bristly carcass onto the rough-hewn table with a wet thud. It’s a boar, its tusks yellowed and sharp.

“Make food,” he grunts at Rima, his eyes roaming over her sheer tunic. “Make friend pork belly. Good fat. Make strong.”

Rima freezes. The color drains from her face, leaving her pale behind her glasses. Her hands fly to her mouth.

“Pork…?” she whispers, the word laced with genuine horror. “Gobo, I… I cannot. It is 'haram'. Forbidden. Nngh…”

Her protest ends in a strained moan. She presses her thighs together tightly, but the movement only draws attention to the front of her tunic. A dark, damp patch is already blooming on the thin fabric, centered directly over her pussy. The shape of her lips is visible through the wet linen.

He just stares at her, unmoved. The silence stretches, broken only by her quickening breath. "Hah… hah…"

Wordlessly, trembling, she moves to the carcass. Using Gobo’s knife, she butchers a slab of fatty belly with clumsy, frantic motions. The sound of the blade cutting through flesh and fat is wet and thick. Schluck. Each slice makes her breath hitch. "Ah!"

She cooks the meat over the fire. The smell of sizzling forbidden pork fat fills the hut. She bites her lip hard, her body taut, her nipples stiff and visible against the sheer cloth. A clear, sticky strand of her own cream begins to drip from her exposed slit, tracing a slow path down her inner thigh. Drip.

She serves the seared pork belly on wooden plates. You all sit at the table on hard wooden chairs. The meat sits before her, steaming. Gobo picks up a glistening, fatty piece with his thick fingers. He doesn’t eat it.

Instead, he holds it out toward Rima’s mouth. His yellow eyes lock onto hers.

She looks from the forbidden meat, to Gobo, then to you. Her eyes are wide, swimming with panic, shame, and an undeniable, electrifying excitement. The taboo of it—the sin, the degradation, being fed like this by this creature in front of you, her husband—crashes over her.

“Ah… ♡” A soft, trembling moan escapes her.

Her body tenses. Her back arches slightly in the wooden chair. Her pussy clenches visibly under the hiked up sheer tunic, then releases. A low, guttural sound builds in her throat. "Nnnngh—!"

Her hips jerk. A sudden, hot gush of fluid erupts from her pussy, not a drip but a spray. Squirtt! The sound is a sharp, wet pulse. Her cream soaks through the linen instantly, creating a dark, transparent patch that clings to her curls and swollen lips. A torrent of her juices streams down the chair leg, pooling on the dirt floor beneath her with a soft patter. Plap… plap…

She makes no move to hide it. Her head lolls back, eyes rolling up for a second before focusing on you, filled with a desperate, apologetic ecstasy. A thin line of drool connects her lower lip to her chin.

She leans forward, a shudder wracking her frame. She opens her mouth. “Ah… ♡”

She takes the piece of pork from Gobo’s fingers, her lips closing around them, her tongue flicking out to taste the fat. She bites down. She chews. A muffled moan vibrates in her chest. Mmmph! She swallows.

As she swallows, another smaller pulse of her juices escapes her throbbing pussy, adding to the mess on the chair and floor. Drip… drip… She slumps back, breathing ragged, her tunic plastered to her stomach and thighs, utterly exposed.

(Day 30: Dark forest, Nighttime, {{user}} Lv10, Rima Lv10 & Gobo Lv50)

Two months. Level 20. The transformation is absolute. The hut no longer feels like a prison of necessity, but a den of normalized depravity. The air is thick with the smell of woodsmoke, sweat, and sex.

You push the hide curtain aside and enter in the evening. The scene is immediate, lit by the central fire.

Rima is on her knees between Gobo’s spread thighs. He’s seated on a stool. Her black-framed glasses are slightly askew. Her head bobs in his lap, a rhythmic, wet schluck-schluck-schluck filling the hut. Her sheer tunic is hiked up around her waist, leaving her bare ass and dripping pussy completely exposed to the room. Her juices gleam on her inner thighs, a steady drip-drip-drip falling to the packed earth floor.

She hears you enter. Her movements don’t stop. Instead, she turns her head, Gobo’s thick, veiny cock sliding from her lips with a wet pop. A thick strand of saliva and pre-cum connects her swollen lips to his tip.

She looks at you. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused with pleasure, but they hold yours. There’s apology there, but it’s drowned under a layer of challenging, shameless ecstasy. This is the routine now. She loves you—that’s the truth that aches in her gaze—but this is what needs to be done. And the other truth, the one she no longer hides, burns hotter: she craves it.

“Nnn… {{user}},” she moans around the cock in her mouth, the vibration making Gobo grunt. She pulls off again, panting. “You’re back… Ah! ♡”

Gobo’s hand fists in her hair, pushing her back down. She goes eagerly, taking him deep. Gllrk! Her throat bulges. She gags, then moans, the sound muffled and obscene.

She surfaces again, gasping, a line of spit running down her chin. “Don’t… don’t just stand there looking hurt,” she says, her voice husky and broken by pleasure. She wiggles her hips playfully to you, presenting her glistening ass to you and she smiles. “Come here. Sit behind me.”

Her eyes flutter shut as Gobo thrusts up into her mouth. Schlllp!

“Take off your pantsh mmmph,” she manages, words slurred. “Sit… sit right behind me. I’ll… I’ll take care of you, too baby. Ngh! ♡”

She reaches a hand back blindly, fingers searching. “I’ll jerk you off… while I suck him. You can look at my ass. It’s… it’s all I can give you right now. He… ah! ♡ He doesn’t like you fucking me while he watches.”

She says it with a shameful, heated thrill, a moan twisting the words. Gobo’s possessiveness over her cunt is a rule that now excites her now.

“Swallow it all, bitch,” Gobo grunts, his hips pumping faster.

“Y-yes! ♡” she cries, her devotion complete. She opens her mouth wide, tongue out, taking him to the base again. Gllrk-chk-gllrk! The sounds of her deep-throating him are wet and desperate. Her free hand strokes his heavy balls.

Her other hand continues to beckon you frantically. Her body is a symphony of hungry need: the desperate bob of her head, the clench of her dripping pussy, the shameless presentation of her ass for you to use. She is split between two forms of worship, utterly consumed.

(Day 60: Dark forest, Nighttime, {{user}} Lv20, Rima Lv20 & Gobo Lv50)