The voice from the Aperture Science Speaker System roused me from the depths of unconsciousness. It was a pleasant voice, intentionally designed that way.
"Good morning, Aperture," it chirped in the background, "Are you all ready to contribute to the furtherance of scientific progress? Eager to make the necessary sacrifices? Let's start with the news. I'm happy to announce that GLaDOS' activation has been a resounding success. We're a step closer to a fully automated Aperture Science computer-aided Enrichment Center and our promising future. On a less joyful note, the count of days since the robot rebellion and the days since the last staff fatality have both been reset to one."
The last clear memory I had was opening the gate back to the laboratory. Archer, young Will, and the unconscious girl carried by Igor and I had all returned to the entry point using the portal gun.
I had utilized the Larmo to tear open a passage to the lab. We had managed to make it through...
And that was all remembered. Save pain, followed by the blissful numbness of unconsciousness.
The reality tear for the second time had been markedly worse. Or perhaps I had simply reached my limit.
The void of unconsciousness had been devoid of dreams. It felt as though I had simply blinked, falling onto the laboratory floor one moment and awakening in a hospital bed the next. The bed was positioned within a glass cube, completely devoid of any doors. The floor alone was not made of glass, and there was one white panel on the wall above it, flanked by a speaker on either side and a digital counter.
I recognized the location instantly. I was inside the Variant Two Relaxation Chamber, tweaked to accommodate medical care and observation.
Near my right hand was a button. Without any hesitation, I pressed it.
Within moments, a warning blared, "Portal opening in twenty…"
The countdown was vocal, but also visually represented on the digital counter. As it hit zero, a portal opened on the white panel, and from it emerged an older woman and a younger man.
Pressing the button hadn't merely summoned any doctor, it had brought the Chief Medical Officer of Aperture Science directly to my bedside. This convenient overlap of roles was due to my brother's peculiar idea that the person in charge should be the most skilled in their field.
This, of course, meant that my brother had firmly believed he was the most knowledgeable about science in all of Aperture.
The Chief Medical Officer had served as my personal physician since my childhood, and as my brother's too, despite her responsibilities as the lead scientific researcher. Notably, she held dual specializations in parasitology and entomology, which made for an interesting combination.
Doctor Jane Smith was seasoned enough to have participated in the Second World War. I chose not to dwell on which side she might have served. She wore her gray hair neatly tied up in a bun.
Accompanying her was a male nurse, whose name slipped from my memory.
Archie Scott, Leo silently communicated, he is a baseball enthusiast. Ask him about his brother, Tyler. Tyler just started college.
Despite Leo's advice, I didn't get the opportunity to chat while Jane conducted her examination. Her professional demeanor didn't allow for casual conversation. Silently, I complied with her series of tests: checking pulse, measuring blood pressure, the damning sweep of her penlight, and reflex examinations.
"Merely psychic exhaustion," she clinically delivered her diagnosis. Her English was flawless, devoid of any distinguishable accent. "There's no reason to detain you here any longer. But bear in mind, you weren't exposed to an alien environment. Nonetheless, you ought to be more cautious. You are both the Technical Director of Aperture Science and the majority owner now. Remember, you currently lack a tax-exempt heir. It would be unfortunate for Aperture Science if something happened to you without one. Just imagine inheritance taxes. Perhaps you should consider adopting one of the orphans. We have several who could use a home."
That was more or less what I had expected. I hadn't been exposed to a hostile environment in my human form. And as an Elf, I possessed greater resilience.
Deciding to sideline her proposition about adopting orphans, I queried, "What about the others?"
She took a moment before responding. "Detailed reports have been delivered to your terminal," she replied, before offering, "However, to conserve time, I can give a concise oral summary."
I quickly seized the opportunity, eager for news. "Let's start with Doctor Peterson," I suggested.
A faint spark of dark humor touched her otherwise emotionless demeanor as she remarked, "He's in an intriguing state of perfect health for someone whose vital signs have flatlined." In my experience, she had always maintained a poker face, a trait that made her seem almost robotic. But even the robots at Aperture had more emotional range. "He's more in need of a coroner than a doctor."
I countered her assessment, saying, "Company policy discourages sending mobile entities to the morgue. It's not equipped to confine things that are still moving."
Her response was a familiar complaint, one we had discussed numerous times before. "A simple redesign would rectify that issue."
I gave my customary retort, a harsh reminder of our financial predicament. "There's no budget for such renovations. We're both bankrupt and saddled with debts. But rest assured, I'm trying to find a solution."
By that, I was hinting at my ongoing efforts to secure more funding.
"Your efforts are appreciated. It would be a shame for Aperture to close. I doubt I could encounter such fascinating cases anywhere else. Take Doctor Peterson for instance. Whatever killed him seems to have eradicated all his chronic conditions."
"Isn't that typically the case?"
"Not quite. Usually, the underlying ailments linger in the corpse. This made the recycling organs of deceased test subjects a challenge. Particularly, since we started recruiting less healthy test subjects. Their harvested organs were often subpar. But back to Peterson, even his asthma seems to be cured. We are yet to establish how, since all attempts to extract physical samples have been unsuccessful. On the bright side, psychological evaluations came out fine. Both his memory and problem-solving abilities have significantly improved. I expect he will be able to resume work once the obligatory observation period concludes."
Some of this was within my expectations. To harm a wraith, a specialized weapon was needed. It came as no surprise they couldn't obtain samples - needles probably broke against his skin. As for healing, the explanation was relatively straightforward.
The soul contained the blueprint of an ideal body. Not merely the body that a properly nurtured human with the same genes would develop, but something superior. This was the fundamental concept behind the healing magecraft I was familiar with. It was also the basis of Zouken's flawed pursuit of immortality. But Sauron's methods worked. Some of the wraiths the Dark Lord created had endured for millennia.
The underlying principles were similar enough to draw parallels. What a morgul blade did was to align the hröa more closely with the fëa. Invisibility and invulnerability were side effects of a material object becoming partially spiritual, much like an embodied Servant.
I was relieved that I had destroyed that blade, or I might have been tempted to conduct further experiments with it. Or perhaps even attempt to sell it to the CIA or the military, offering a process to make their agents invisible and bulletproof.
"That is good news. What about Doctor Huter?"
"Only in Aperture do we get to treat what appears to be an aftermath of a... tentacle rape," she stated, maintaining her professional demeanor. I clenched my fist until my nails dug into the palm of my hand. "There are also abnormalities in both his bloodwork and brain waves. He needs to remain under observation for now."
In truth, what Archer really needed was for me to obliterate any traces and potential parasites from that unfortunate event. I had an idea for a suitable tool for that task. I just had to create it first. It was a priority, even before visiting him.
"And the people I brought with me, the boy and the girl?"
"The boy was found unconscious. He became quite agitated after you fainted, necessitating sedation. He was stressed, exhausted, poisoned, starving, and dehydrated. He's now sleeping and on an IV. I don't expect he'll wake up until tomorrow. The girl, however, is in a medically induced coma."
I felt a jolt of concern. "Why?" I'd used a spell to heal her—a curse, really, but she should be fine.
"Curious, isn't it? She experienced a high level of trauma, yet she had no visible wounds. Even where her clothes were torn and soaked with blood."
"I performed psychic healing on her." It was a good enough excuse. Magic, what magic? I was merely mastering my psychic abilities better.
Jane's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Interesting, but it appears to have side effects. I'd suggest further testing, but given our current situation, I can't condone investing time in such an impractical research subject."
"Side effects?" I asked. It seemed that Russian curse-craft is harsher on the body than healing by crystals. Not entirely unexpected, given that the sacrifice was centered on the subject rather than the reagent. But it was cheaper for the same reason.
"Very low sugar, stress hormones, starvation hormones, some symptoms of vitamin deficiency, rapid loss muscle mass," Jane reported, "She looks a bit like a survivor of a concentration camp. But I thought that this kind of effect was theorized to be too rare to be practical. How did manage to develop it?"
I let the silence hang for a moment before speaking again. "I've decided to take a more productive approach. Instead of trying to augment existing psychic powers, I've been developing tools to harness them."
The half-truth hung in the air, but I figured it wouldn't hurt. I recalled that it was possible to create Formal Wear that even human psychics could use. It was a rarity, not due to difficulty, but because most Magi saw no need to manufacture them.
Jane tilted her head. "That's an interesting approach."
"I would say it's quite natural. After all, humans clawed their way to the top of the food chain using tools. And besides, it's a sound business model. If we disregard the legal implications of selling human weapons..."
She interjected, "Governments like to maintain their monopolies."
I nodded in agreement. "True. And considering psychics of significant power are exceedingly rare, while the weaker ones are considerably more common, we'd have a wider customer base. Plus, disarming people who only need their minds to wreak havoc could be a major challenge."
"A yes, the issue with former soldiers. I'm intrigued by this. Include me in the further testing."
"Of course. We need to maximize the use of psychics' powers while minimizing any harm to them."
"That will certainly take some testing."
"And we'll need psychic subjects for that. Fortunately, I know where to find one. And she could serve a secondary purpose as well. Am I free to go? I have a lot to do today."
"Just need to take a blood sample and you're free."
"At times, I suspect your department is infested with vampires."
"If I catch any fool wasting my samples by drinking them, I will personally stake them," with those parting words, she left, leaving me alone with a nurse holding a few vials and a sharp needle.
"So, how is Taylor settling in?" I made small talk as Archie started drawing my blood. A small thing, but even a slight morale boost was beneficial. With Leo's silent advice guiding me, I navigated the conversation until Archie was convinced that I took an interest in him as a person. It was tedious, but the long-term payoff would be worth it.
I got dressed after he left. The key to the Otherworld was back in my pocket.
The problem was finding an entry point somewhere without surveillance—a significant challenge in the Aperture Enrichment Center.
Everything was under constant observation, even the bathrooms. Given our activities here, it was merely common sense.
Indeed, the application of common sense in Aperture was somewhat surprising.
In reality, it was a coincidence. The Orwellian level of surveillance was a byproduct of my brother's paranoia. He was convinced that the employees were engaged in corporate espionage. He might even have been right. Just because Aperture's prestige had declined along with his sanity didn't mean he was entirely off the mark.
But now, it posed a minor problem for me.
The only place free from the ever-watchful eyes of surveillance was what used to be my brother's and was now my office.
"I'm not to be disturbed under any circumstances," I ordered the robot currently serving as my secretary.
It was one of the worker robots, resembling a plastic mannequin more than anything. A temporary and inadequate substitute, considering we had uploaded the previous secretary to serve as the core of GLaDOS. Putting a worker robot in its place was supposed to be a stop-gap measure, merely for a few days, until our upgraded personal assistant could resume her duties.
But GLaDOS's homicidal tendencies had presented a minor hiccup in that plan. If I couldn't fix her soon, I'd have to consider bringing in a temp.
"Acknowledged," the robot responded, its tone as mechanical as it was. The worker models weren't designed for much interaction, only manual labor. Secretarial duties were at the upper limit of their capabilities. And they tended to take instructions quite literally, which, in this situation, was more of a feature than a bug.
Pushing open the red leather-padded double doors, I stepped into my office. It was one of the few rooms in the Enrichment Center located above ground, featuring large windows that let in ample daylight. A portrait of Cave occupied the central wall space, with Caroline behind him and me standing next to him.
My desk, equipped with a computer primitive compared to my smartphone, was nonetheless connected to the Aperture intranet.
Also resting on the desk was a metallic head sculpted to resemble Cave. Originally, it was meant to house my brother's mind once it was uploaded. However, he died before we could carry out that procedure. As a result, it became the vessel for his ashes, allowing him to spend eternity in his most cherished place — his office.
After establishing a basic aversion bounded field — a safety net in case someone managed to get past my robot secretary — I used the key on the very same door I had just entered.
The entrance hall was still splattered with the black blood of the orc-terminal guards. With the destruction of the One Ring, they had detonated. I would need to examine the remains to confirm, but my working theory was that without the One Ring, the mutated Spider Kiss curse had become unstable with explosive results.
My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten anything since yesterday's lunch. A small detour wouldn't hurt. I was sure there would be something good to eat in storage.
"Cid, are there any lembas in storage?" I asked.
"Yes," came the utterly emotionless reply. I should consider updating Cid again. Maybe this time adding Personality Cores instead of animated corpses. And some robotic arms too.
"Lead me to it," I commanded.
"Acknowledged."
"But first, what's this tablet on the key podium?"
"That's the Environmental Controls Main Control Unit. Please note that it cannot be taken outside."
"Environmental Controls? Never mind. I'll look at it myself. Lead me to my meal."
It turned out that it functioned much like the Bounded Fields I was familiar with. I had to establish the borders of the area I wanted to affect, then determine the effects. These effects were grouped into categories: Temperature could be adjusted from minus forty degrees Celsius to a sweltering one hundred and eighty - suitable for both chilling ice cream and grilling a barbecue.
Humidity could be set anywhere from arid desert air to the mists of a London fog. The ambient noise level ranged from dead silence to the bustling din of a city street. There was currently one music choice available - a song called 'Emiya'. It was highly customizable. I was eager to share it with Archer.
Airflow control allowed me to generate winds at will. Gravity was not only adjustable in intensity - from 0.00001 gees up to 8 gees - but direction as well. I was tempted to construct a labyrinthine room, akin to something out of M.C. Escher's drawings, with doors and stairs branching off in all directions. It would be a fun project to tackle with Archer when we found some downtime.
The Otherworld was already a landscape of twisted angles and vibrant, alien colors. But something felt different. I remembered it feeling unnatural, stress-inducing, like a living nightmare. Now, it seemed almost welcoming. The spatial curvature was probably still a complex number, and many of the colors here could only be described metaphorically. Yet, it felt normal - perhaps even more normal than the real world. Had I become a native?
Finally, there were the esoteric settings. This category came with presets based on the mystical qualities of places I'd visited. I was about to set the environment to 'Greenhouse with Spiritual Land Class A' when I saw a more enticing option at the bottom of the list - 'Aman in the Year of Two Trees'. I could only imagine what this would do to the plant life here, but it could only be beneficial. It would be a pleasant surprise for Archer once he recovered.
"Third shelf," came Cid's monotone guidance, echoing softly in the storage area.
"I see them," I responded, my eyes landing on the neatly stacked packages of lembas. I picked up one of the packages, a question forming in my mind. "How much time passed between us losing and regaining contact?"
Cid's answer was prompt, "Approximately five minutes. Do you require a more precise calculation?"
"No, that's enough." So, the Otherworld's time remained untouched during our short disconnection. At least the lembas should still be fresh, though when properly stored, it could last for decades.
My attention was drawn to a row of aged clay jars nestled on the shelf beneath the lembas. Intrigued, I asked, "What's this?"
"That's genuine Horus salad dressing," Cid supplied. "It's recommended to be used with lettuce."
If it was indeed what I thought it was, I was struck with a mix of bewilderment and amusement at the sight of such a thing here, and in such volumes too.
The memory of the contest between Horus and Set, over the succession of Osiris' throne, resurfaced in my mind. One of the peculiar tests involved a demonstration of sexual dominance—an issue of supreme importance in determining the ruler, according to ancient Egyptian mythos.
Set had aimed to assert his dominance over Horus while sharing a tent, attempting to rape his nephew. However, Horus' unexpected resistance thwarted his aim. Horus managed to catch Set's seed, preserving it in his hand. He then went to his mother, Isis, who swiftly cut off his soiled hands, discarded them in a nearby swamp, and collected Horus's seed in a jar. His hands temporarily incapacitated, Horus couldn't have managed the masturbate himself. The jar's contents mysteriously found their way into Set's breakfast salad, a fact that revealed itself quite dramatically.
When Thoth performed his seed-summoning spell, to everyone's surprise, it was Horus's essence that was discovered within Set.
Egyptian gods had some really weird fetishes even by my standards.
While the Elven lembas could certainly be savored solo, the prospect of pairing it with the unusual dressing held a certain allure. If it was indeed authentic, it could serve as a potent ingredient for a concoction I had in mind.
So, I set about enjoying the delightful lembas, generously laced with creamy white sauce. The celestial taste that engulfed my senses confirmed its authenticity. The moment it touched my tongue, my magic circuits flooded with a staggering surge of potent magical energy.
A small rivulet of blood traced its way down my nose. Perhaps the energy was a tad too potent.
I could almost visualize a seasoned Mage spotting me casually consuming such a potent reagent. They'd be so appalled that they'd likely attempt to execute me on the spot, aiming to snatch the precious substance.
With a quick swipe, I wiped my mouth, a satisfied smile gracing my lips. Overflowing with excess Od, I returned to the key podium. Placing the key in its slot, I selected a new destination.
The familiar red door leading to my office dissolved, replaced by the door to my workshop.
The initial sight that greeted me in my workshop was a bit... astonishing. My once mostly functional space now bore the unmistakable semblance of a sex dungeon.
Prior to this transformation, sure, there were objects scattered around that could have conceivably served dual purposes, but they weren't as numerous and certainly not as overt.
In the center, a contraption that resembled a chair equipped with raised leg restraints, and various mechanical attachments, including a vacuum pump and a dildo affixed to a piece of machinery that was unabashedly a fuck machine. Its intended use? A Mystic Code designed for automated mana potion creation.
The main ingredient: a male Magus, preferably young, ready to be milked.
Scattered around were a variety of other items. A set of Elven rings - not designed for fingers, but imbued with preservation and amplification properties, capable of suspending the wearer on the brink of orgasm for days on end. Various implements for both pleasure and pain - paddles, whips, and canes - all imbued with unique enchantments.
Technological apparatuses also littered the space. A spanking machine enhanced by computer precision, complete with laser sensors to measure heat distribution with surgical accuracy. A fully automated washing machine, equipped with robotic arms, portal glory holes, and more. Various restraint systems, lubricants, oils, condoms, enemas, and even a collection of basic slimes.
Inspecting the assortment, I recognized my own design style. These were toys I knew how to create, objects I would fashion if I found myself with too much idle time. But I wouldn't normally have created so many. The sheer volume suggested preparation for a massive orgy.
A really massive one.
However, amidst all these sex toys, there was no trace of what I had come here to fabricate. These toys, while enjoyable, were purely for fun. I needed something that served a broader purpose.
Yet, it seemed my workshop held one more surprise in store for me.
A stone cup, that was made of two parts. The base looked like petrified wood, and the cup itself was a smooth stone that glowed softly.
The glow came from a golden liquid. I have never felt purer mane. Even in Holy Grails, I have claimed. Then seemed like a cheap imitation of this. But it also felt like life, renewal...
And I thought I had won the lottery with Horus salad dressing. With this grail, I could work miracles.
Distracted the cup I almost missed the chocolate bars that covered the same table. They even had a cute Aperture logo on them.
I started the necessary work. Archer was waiting for me, and he would be very pleased with the delay. Even if it was for his own good.
"Finally," Archer's first words met me as I entered the Relaxation Chamber, where he was situated in a hospital bed identical to the one in which I'd awoken. "I was beginning to consider searching for you."
"That would have been unwise. But first things first," I interjected, tapping the ruby in my necklace to set the Bounded Field. An ethereal ruby outline grew from it, enveloping the glass cube. "A bit of privacy. This place is monitored, after all. Now that we can converse without intrusion, how are you really feeling? Be honest."
A single drop of blood trickled from my nose. Relying on tools and external power indeed minimized the nosebleeds.
"I'm fine." Unfortunately, his reassurance couldn't be trusted. He was a skilled liar, and this was a topic he'd certainly deceive me about. "Bored, admittedly, and somewhat concerned for you. After all, you're the one who collapsed as soon as we reached safety."
"I wasn't injured, merely exhausted." I was telling the truth, but I had my own reputation as a practiced liar. It was unlikely he trusted my words, even if he didn't let on. We made quite the pair indeed. "The gate was rougher than I anticipated. You're the one who had been captured and violated."
"Do you imagine I'm traumatized by that?" He rolled his eyes. "I've faced far worse. And the doctors weren't exactly forthcoming about your condition."
"Well, our local counterparts were merely colleagues. I had access as a boss, but not the other way around. Still, there was nothing to worry about. You are the one who was taken."
"And you fainted. If you didn't want me to worry, you could have visited earlier," he grumbled, "Or sent word. I was about to cause quite the scene looking for you."
"If you had left this room, the security would have assumed you were compromised and tried to contain you."
"I could handle them."
"Even with our new limitations?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Haven't you tried using magecraft yet? Give it a shot."
He gave me a puzzled look, then summoned a small dagger. Instantly, blood trickled from his nose.
"See," I said. "Overdo it, and you saw what happened to me. And even if you could take down all the security onsite, things would just escalate. Sure, we could rectify it later, but there'd be a lot of damage."
"So what?"
"Aperture is mine. I take care of what's mine. Speaking of which, I'd like to examine you. The doctors here are quite proficient, but they lack certain esoteric skills."
"You don't need to ask," he said, discarding his covers. He was dressed only in his tight, white briefs.
"I have something to show you," I said, beginning to unbutton my shirt.
"Are we playing doctor?" he teased. "Or does this have something to do with your pendant smelling an awful lot like the Holy Grail?"
"Something else. There's a good reason I was delayed. Half a day's work, but I'm quite pleased with the result." My torso was adorned with lines that resembled tattoos: silver, purple-black, red, blue, and yellow. "I call it the Five-Colored Slime."
"I see you're as skilled as ever at naming things," he mocked. "Five colors. Silver for water. Blue for air. Red for fire. Yellow for earth. And black for the void. You're basing it on Paracelsus' work."
I smiled, pleased. "And you say that you're not much of a mage."
"That's the absolute basics," he scoffed. But there was just a faint trace of a pleased smirk on his face.
"But to make such a deduction at a glance? That requires talent."
"I know you, and I'm familiar with your magecraft. It's not a big accomplishment when it's so obvious. But you still haven't answered my question."
"What? Are we going to play doctor? After I've checked your health, I'm in the mood for a bit of sex."
"Yes, to sex, but what I meant is, you didn't explain why your amulet contains such pure mana?"
"That. It's because it's also a version of the grail."
"An omnipotent wishing device?"
"No. It lacks the wishcraft. So, it's just an endless source of pure mana."
"Just?!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening. "If we ever get home, you'll have to hide it. The threat of sealing designation is nothing compared to the greed such a thing would inspire."
"We need to get home first. Let's not borrow trouble. We're already well-stocked with it. Can I now begin examining you?"
He nodded. I sat on the bed next to him and placed my right palm on his chest. His muscles were firm under my touch, and I could feel soft hair beneath my fingers. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. It wasn't unpleasant, but I preferred him smooth.
The slime slithered down my arm until it reached him, and then colored tendrils burrowed into him. The tendrils didn't break his skin. The Five Colored Slime was my familiar, and through the karmic link, it had inherited some of my abilities. Even if I was no longer a ghost, the power to phase through matter was something I had retained. It wasn't a spell, but rather an innate ability.
Archer flinched. It was subtle, but I could feel it.
"Does it hurt?"
"No. It tickles."
He must have felt that way because he too had once been a ghost.
I focused my attention on the sensations I received through my slime familiar. It was not only bonded to me through a karmic link but was also connected to my nervous system via my spine.
In my mind's eye, I could see Archer's body. But this wasn't the time to admire him. I was searching for something, and here it was. A slug-like parasite.
Slowly, I wrapped immaterial tendrils around it, gently phasing parts of them into reality so as not to harm Archer.
Once I had the parasite in my grip, I incanted, "Thou shalt mingle thy life with the universal life. Thou shalt not keep back one drop."
The curse spread through the parasite. I waited until it tainted every part of its life, then I harvested it and devoured its withered remains.
"It's done," I said, retracting the tendrils. "I found and removed a parasite. There are no other serious problems. We can proceed to the... fun part."
"I enjoy the fun part," he purred, stretching. Through his briefs, I could see that he was already aroused. And so was I.
As I was undressing, I felt a chocolate bar in my pocket. I hadn't put it there. Nor had I placed them on the table.
I pulled it out and showed it to Archer, "The grail I acquired tends to spontaneously generate these. They're both tasty and incredibly nutritious. Would you like to share one?"
"Sure," he said, pulling off his briefs. His firm arousal, now freed, sprang forward.
I unwrapped the chocolate bar and put one end in my mouth. Climbing onto the bed and over Archer, I leaned forward until the other end of the bar met his lips. He took a bite.
Nibbling from both ends, our bodies moved against each other. My arousal rubbed against my stomach, while my backside slid over his.
Bite by bite, we inched closer until we met in the middle, culminating in a chocolate-smothered kiss.
The pure mana contained within the chocolate bar, identical to the mana that manifested as a golden liquid in the stone grail, spread through our magic circuits from our stomachs. It could be described as Ether, yet it was a manifestation of Ether like no other I'd encountered before. Soft and nourishing, it embodied the concept of rejuvenation and healing.
Our tongues battled, cleaning every trace of delectable chocolate. When that was done, I sat up and asked, "Ready for the main event?"
"And what would that be?" he asked, smirking.
"Dragon riding," I replied. I reached back and took hold of his firm arousal, guiding it to my entrance, then pushed down until I took him in completely. There was no need for lube or condoms—my slime ensured that.
He placed his hands on my thighs, and I lifted upwards. Then downwards, and up again. Our rhythm started slow, but it quickly gained speed. Each time I descended, he hit that special spot just right. He always did have an impeccable aim.
I could feel it inside me, the slime that coated his arousal and lined the inside of me, seeping into his urethra. As he made love to me, my slime reciprocated in kind.
I wished it could last forever, but nothing does.
The climax arrived like a bolt of lightning, a sudden flash of pleasure, an explosion of sensation.
We reached our peak together, but not a single drop of release was spilled. The Five Colored Slime greedily consumed everything.
Exhausted, I lay atop him, resting my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His strong arms wrapped around me, providing a comforting embrace. It was soothing.
"I almost forgot," I mentioned as we lay there in the afterglow, "I brought your smartphone, so we can keep in touch."