=> Jack: Start Jailbreak Adventure

You cannot start the Jailbreak Adventure because you are unconscious.

Jack Noir’s head is positively swimming when he wearily opens his eyes to his blurry, golden painted surroundings. He groans a bit under his breath, reaching a hand up to rub his temples. When he hand stops after a few inches, his stomach drops and his vision clears. Eyes glancing across the room, it finally dawns on him that instead of booting him back to Derse, the White Queen has strapped him down in some ancient Prospit torture room. Noir sucked his teeth, scowling as he pulled against the metal chains keeping his arms and legs pinned down. All the commotion gathers the attention of the Regulator Lug guarding from the outside. The Derse arch agent settles long enough to hear whispering from outside which is interrupted by the clicking of someone unlocking the door. He strains to see who’s entered the room, although with the clacking sound echoing in the small chamber, he can guess who it is that’s paying him a visit.

“Jack Noir, why are you trying to kill the princess?” Her voice is low as always, practically murmuring as she stops to stand on his right side. She’s only just barely out of reach, close enough to be heard but too far to be grabbed. He scowls again, flexing his arms as if trying to test his bonds again. If he stalls long enough, Deuce ought to find a way to break him out of this mess.

“Thems the breaks.” Even Jack has to wince at how his voice is trembling, worry echoing off the walls of the chamber and ringing back in his head. Her hand rises at the corner of his sight and despite himself, Jack flinches in expectancy. Instead of smacking him though, she gently places the cool palm of her hand down onto his chest. She rests it right above his heart; though his skeleton is too thick for her to possibly feel his heartbeat, Jack is sharp enough to know that with some brute force she could rip him open like a crab.

“Hm Yes...I quite expected that answer.” She raises her hand and lets it hover for a moment as she continues, “But I’ll make you talk, Noir.”  Her voice is still a low murmur as she begins undoing the fastener of his shirt. Worriedly he pulls away from her touch, squirming as she works her way down his until the black material is splayed open. Barring his teeth like a ferocious cat, Jack attempts biting at her outstretched hand with little success; in fact, instead of even moving aside she swats him gently, stunning the agent. She brings her hands close to her body, moving out of view and leaving Jack with only the sounds of rumpling clothes to piece together what she’s doing. When he can make out her sterling white image once more, she’s gripping a small piece of heavily scented white cloth in her hands.

“What’s that ya crazy bro-mfp!!” Nimble, sharp fingers squeeze his cheeks crudely as the ivory queen manages to stuff his mouth with the pair of her freshly worn panties, startling the intruder into silence. His tongue squirms against the lacey fabric, the contrast of her tart taste and rough texture of her skivvies making him curl his lips uncomfortably. Ignoring the muffled complaints from the prisoner, the young Prospitan ruler leans herself over his body, raking her clawed hands down his chest to the base of his crotch. He protests around the makeshift gag, trying desperately to pull his body away from the nails clawing at the thick layer covering his dick. Too busy squirming under her delicate fingers, Noir doesn't notice her other hand wrapping around his neck until she has already started applying pressure.

Gradually she increases her grip until Jack is choking, desperately struggling to shake off the stern queen’s hand. The edges of his vision start to cloud over in seconds, the panties in his mouth muffles the deluge of swears, threats, and insults from spilling past his lips. Despite his fear and panic, he can feel himself growing warm, his stomach knotting uncomfortably and his fat kidney bean swelling under the constricting protective outer skeleton. Rapidly hardening, he feels himself bumping against his carapace shell until the protective covering opens up on its own. It slides upwards with a small 'clack', his Fleshy Roman spear springing out immediately into view; the Colorado spitting viper is just as black as his outer layer, thick and veiny not quite unlike a human's. She keeps him teetering on the edge of consciousness and arousal for another minute before finally releasing him. His eyes are still lolling around the back of his head when he feels a weight settle above his waist. He strains his neck to look down, groggily focusing his vision on the fully nude monarch hovering above him, the fingers of her right hand doing a downstairs Indian rug burning and her left grabbing at thin husk covering her breasts.

Noir watches in fascination as she moans and sighs under her breath as she peeks behind the baby curtains  to reveal her slick, twitching Twaddle Dandy. Her own pristine shell finishes opening with a 'click' and she immediately starts to finger paint the musky hitchhiker. Still straddling his hips, she raids God's hen house furiously, stretching and dripping copious feminine fluids, coating his tickle dangus before even putting it in. Jack scowls, upset he can’t throw down the snarky broad and give her a proper fucking as she deserved and doubly upset that he was upset about that first part. He grunts, bucking his hips upwards only to skim the head across her secret Fish Forest and thrusting fingers, teasing them both but frustrating himself even more. He tries again, growling and snarling past the makeshift gag, when the queen raises her body higher up without a word. Thoroughly pissed off, Noir stews in his anger, ignoring the painful throbbing of his Gobble Missile as he watches the royal leader dances in the soggy sin.

He's absolutely ready to explode when she finally pulls her fingers out, the digits coated in thick cream that she wipes across his stomach. Shaking a bit as she descends impatiently, the queen drops herself in one motion, clutching at his sides for support when she takes his entire Tangy tart trombone. Jack whines around his gag, his Musky man candy pulsing inside her painfully tight Wizard Sleeve. It seems like an eternity before the female rises up, hovering with just the very tip of him still placed within her. He tenses up impulsively, bracing himself as she drops back down, quickly setting a steady pace as she bounces astride his Satan’s shovel. The room is close to silent besides the sound of hard shell hitting shell, and the queen’s wetness sliding along both their thighs; neither participant utters a word or a sound above a muffled gasp or moan.

Jack, never one to particularly give a shit about his partners, tries desperately to pick up the pace, feeling his stomach coil as he approaches orgasm. Snorting quietly to herself, the queen once again begins Poking at The Humpback of Notre Dame, fingers expertly Glazing the fish doughnut to a quiet, but powerful orgasm. Rocking duly until she finishes coming down from climax, her legs buckles around his waist, her drenched womb quivering around his shaft. Ever the regal ruler, the Wanking Questant pulls herself from Jack’s body, sucking in a deep breath at losing the feeling of fullness he provided. As calmly as she initiated their romp, all the while ignoring the prisoner tugging more furiously at his chains than before, she redresses herself with surprising efficiency before pulling her underwear from his mouth.

“You dirty fucking bitch come back here and FINISH ME NOW!” It's the first time he actually sounds upset that night, bitterness and unabiding rage towards his captor practically dripping from his words.

“Perhaps I will when you tell me why you and your agents killed the prince and princess.” Her response betrays no sentiment nor even seems to acknowledge more than amusement at her captive's situation, her figure slightly bent to work upon the restraints. She pulls back after re-securing his bonds, swiftly avoiding the wad of spit heading towards her face.

“Blow it out yer Moist Camel Hump.” Without another word she turns and leaves, making sure to give his still stiff Zulu chucking spear one long hard tug as she passed by.

Alone again in the dank cell, Jack contemplated what the hell he should do now.