Complete Slimegirl Saturation

Headsharts Jun 17th, 2015 (edited) 5,171 Never
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  1. (Contains male anal, as well as an offensive disregard for human biology.)
  3. The blare of the alarm rouses you from sleep with all the grace of a fairy ballerina strapped to a speeding brick. It pounds against the eardrums, heartlessly demanding your attention. Slowly, very slowly, through the inconsiderate mechanical bleating, you open your eyes to the ceiling, dreading each move you know you'll have to make to get out of bed and shut off that damn clock.
  5. But through the beeping, you hear your bed growl. It warbles beneath you, and a muffled, scratchy and bubbly voice makes the shifting softness below quake slightly. "I've got it..."
  7. Thank god.
  9. The noise muffles just like the voice, distorting as if several rooms away for just a second, before silencing.
  11. "Thanks." You move to sit up, but cold sensation jump-starts your system and jolts you awake and aware to your bedroom around you. Viscous red fluid splashes on your chest like custard, with enough force to push you back down onto the gently sloshing sheets. It splats audibly against your skin, but despite the impact, the fluid remains cohesive, surface tension maintaining it like an arm pushing your body down.
  13. "I knew giving you a waterbed to sleep in was a bad idea," you mumble, smiling slightly. For two weeks now, the bed had served its purpose as a combination bunk and cuddle-fort for your wife. It was an unusual living arrangement. But then again, "usual" didn't exist if your partner could help it.
  15. "Oh, please. You've been sleeping like a baby ever since you first closed your eyes on it!"
  17. "Maybe. But I've still gotta get to work, so-" the liquid surges and grows over your chest as you make another move to get up, knocking you back down and trickling over your skin like dense, heavy oil. It sticks like glue upon reaching the bed itself, keeping you pinned on your back in what looks like a layer of clear jam. "Rosy, I need to get up."
  19. "You really are still asleep, aren't you?" The viscous liquid covering your chest begins to, against all expected laws of gravity and fluid dynamics, trickle up towards your neck and out of sight, coating your collarbones and stimulating your skin with a gentle, ever-present suckling. The image of it never fails to make you think of droplets of liquid metal dragged towards a magnet, and the feel upon your nerves isn't unlike a pleasant electric tingling. "Today's your day off. A whole morning, lunch, afternoon, evening and night to spend with me!"
  21. The calendar on your bedside requires craning your head sharply left to see, and squinting to focus on it in the golden light that seeps through the curtains. But sure enough, there's today's date, circled in bright green marker pen, surrounded by hearts and smiley faces drawn in red ink. Rosylyn's own, no less.
  23. "Huh," You say to yourself. "Well, okay." You pause. "Why's the alarm still on?"
  25. "Oh, I did that," Rosy confesses from beneath you. "What's the point in having you to myself for a day if you spend most of that day sleeping?"
  27. Of course. Leave it to a slimegirl to undervalue just how great a sleep-in is. Technically, they didn't need sleep at all, being sapient masses of fluid. They ran on what was probably some combination of electrochemical stimulation and pure, physics-defying magic, rather than food and oxygen. Of course, without simulating it, nights could get boring pretty quickly. And besides, it was a human thing. Rosy loved doing human things. "Just give me ten minutes?" Even as you finish saying it, you can almost hear her pout inside the bed, and the slime on your chest chills with indignation, sparking a little shiver halfway up the spine. "Hey, Strawberry?" You call her by a pet name: something you'd thought up with because of her colour, and something which she'd initially, and vehemently, opposed. It was hard to draw a blush out of her given her hue, but once it was there, even turning away from you sputtering wasn't enough to hide it. What with being transparent and all.
  29. Now is a different story, though. She even modifies her taste if you ask nicely with that name. And right now, you feel the chill on your chest and neck give way to cosy spread of heat, like a heavy blanket. "Yeah?"
  31. "Make a deal. Ten minutes of rest for me, and you come up here so I can give you a core-rub. Deal?"
  33. "Damn right, deal!" instantly the waterbed below you shifts and squirms in a frenzy with her cheered reply, before it starts to deflate. Surges of mass flow into the gooey polyp currently drawing circles on your sternum, and as the slime from inside the bed flows out to join you, Rosylyn begins to take form.
  35. The tentacle fills out with bulbs of slime, all the liquid keeping the bed inflated funnelling out to sit atop you in an ever-growing puddle. The increase in weight pushes you back down into the sheets, and the lack of mass inside it turns your otherwise cushy mattress into a practical marshmallow. Slowly, she moulds herself from shapelessness, forming curves in what most scholars commonly refer to as "all the right places."
  37. Her hips and waist form from the gloop submerging your torso first, and the sight of it happening is one that never gets old. Less than a sculptor carving an image of beauty from stone, Rosy's transformation is more akin to watching the air being drawn out from a vacuum bed. The overfilling spills and undefined rolls implode gently, sucked inside herself until they seemingly tighten against the feminine form hidden beneath. And what a form. Despite melting into formless fluid above the knee, the thighs, hips and ass are shapely beyond compare. Plush, shiny, and just begging to be massaged; they're as distinct as can be on a transparent body, round and bouncy. She wastes no time in continuing the process upwards to her bust, filling into the toned waist and belly with just a hint of chub to plump herself out. You barely have time to admire this new, slightly stouter version of Rosy before she takes to pumping her chest up in the most erotically surreal way. Liquid jelly rhythmically pours out into her bust from over and within, causing ripples and jiggles to cascade through the slowly filling mammaries until two round, perky breasts practically balloon out from her body. Their size is borderline ridiculous for the short and almost-slender girl; two truly shimmering orbs, large enough to engulf the full stretch of your hands like malleable volleyballs tipped with perfect, red-ripe nipples. They seem sensitive to movement beyond all sense, and those barely bouncing teats entice you like a hypnotist's pendulum. The thought enters your head that they want nothing more than to be tweaked and suckled, but the sticky, lethargic slime matting you and your hands to the bed means that for now, you can only watch. Forming the head atop a slender neck was easy enough for her, a soft jaw standing out already, but facial features and details required a little more effort. As a slimegirl, Rosy had a preferred image (or several, depending on her mood and what time of the year it was), but forming herself into it in such a way so as to not come off as uncanny was a task, especially after spending a whole night as a formless liquid. Even slimegirls aren't all early birds.
  39. Continuing with the plan of working upwards, she starts with the mouth, forming lips around the hole she uses to simulate the motion of speaking. She didn't need to, of course. Her body was effectively one big, fully manipulatable sensory organ. By vibrating any or all parts of it in certain ways, she could simulate speech as if her entire body was a set of voice-box, throat, tongue and mouth. It was why practised slimegirls could put most impressionists to shame.
  41. But to Rosy, authenticity was everything. Mimicking the mechanisms of a voice-box within her liquid chest, projecting sound all the way to her mouth, was more than just entertainment. It was fascination. Like no other slimegirl you knew, Rosy enjoyed looking like a human in the same way that people enjoy wearing different kinds of clothes. But above that, she enjoyed /being/ a human. By creating a face, with eyes, ears, a mouth and a nose, Rosy liked to focus the world through those otherwise cosmetic sensory organs, rather than her entire slime body. Of course, she would default to her infinitely more intuitive senses any time she shed her human forms. But by acting like them, Rosy felt closer to the fascinating bundles of solid bone, muscle and skin that called themselves humans. She could feel closer to /you/, with your brain and heart and organs, all fully shielded from the outside world by a tough, temperature-resistant body she could only envy and adore.
  43. The slime draws away from her mouth, and you can at last see the full, cherubic lips that seem made perfect, wherever smiling or pouting. The case was the same with her ears, eyes and pertly nose, now all fully formed. Though the slimegirl could see, hear and smell from any part of her body, she always formed her face with a nearly fanatic amount of care and detail, and it showed. Even in- no, especially in her eyes. No matter how tall or short, no matter how refined or childish, how slender or plush, the eyes never changed. Rosy couldn't do much with changing colours in her body, but her eyes she darkens in tone until they seem like fluid rubies sparkling happily at you, drinking in your sight with the same adoration that you do hers. Slight shifts in saturation and brightness, along with softly etched lines mark out every detail until she's satisfied, and the slimegirl blinks at you to show them off. It works. Large and clear and gleaming, from the irises to the pupils, it seemed always to you that no actual eyes could compare to the ones she makes.
  45. Her faces always change with the seasons or her mood, but no matter what, even just a tiny bit of her playful, shiny personality make it into them. A uniting theme or bond between them all to maintain perfection. But just when you think Rosy's done, she even goes so far as to darken and further saturate her cheeks, forming a little blush across her face.
  47. "Wow," you breathe at the new form, as she flourishes herself at you, stretching to and fro and observing the subtler movements of her gooey fingers.
  49. "Ah, that's better. So about that core-rub?" Rosy coos, sinking onto/over you until her face rests a few inches above yours.
  51. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
  53. "Forgetting what?"
  55. "Uh..." you smirk, pressing your forefinger into the side of her head, still bald smooth and free of anything resembling hair.
  57. "Oh, whoops!" The blush on her face deepens (so the darker red pretty much fills most of her face), but you can tell it’s just for show. Still chuckling slightly, she shakes her head: her version of brushing her hair in the morning. Red foam and bubbles surge from her "scalp", blooming into waves and crests of hair like a waterfall, flowing all the way from her neck to her waist, down at your crotch. It continues to fill out, surges of Rosy flowing over herself, sticking like bubbles and thickening with colour.
  59. When she looks back at you, it's with a full head of lightly textured goo, resembling a long, bouncy, curling sort of cut. All wild and messy, more or less. Last week she'd had it short, with bangs falling to her eyes. The week before that, long and straight, sticking all the way to the small of her back.
  61. She shoots you a grin, and watches you shiver at the sensation of her viscous form engulfing your arms all the way up to your fingertips. Warmness follows her touch, and soon the caressing motions on your torso spread outward with it, massaging every bit of skin she can reach. Which, for her, means a simultaneous full-body stimulation.
  63. You sigh and close your eyes, content to just drift inside Rosy. "I thought I was meant to be giving you the massage."
  65. "I can't help it," she shrugs, sending interesting ripples down through her body. "When you get hot in the night, you get all sweaty, and I can't help myself." As she speaks she grinds (though it really is more like oil flowing over you) the mass of slime that would be her groin against your chest. She's having breakfast already, it seems, picking your body clean of sweat to get a start on the day.
  67. "Isn't too much salt unhealthy?" you ask, listening to the gentle, ever-present "schlick" of her moving over you.
  69. "Well, if it is, then I'll just balance it out with something sweet later." You feel your arm rise within her, guided by a gentle pair of pushing and pulling forces that feel more like a water current than anything physical. Her control over your limbs is gentle; a soft lifting in complete absence of gravity. Not wanting to deny her any longer, you follow the current of her body, outstretching your fingers and scraping their tips against the bouncy, gelatinous orb suspended within her.
  71. Her reaction is instant, and your arm feels like its been submerged between two jacuzzi bubblers.
  73. "Oh... Yeah, right inside me," her voice quavers, modulating and losing coherency with her physical form. Your touch is like a lightning bolt, and the look on her face makes it abundantly clear that you lit her up.
  74. Not missing a beat, you clench at the rubbery core, running it between your fingers and feeling it squeeze out tiny electrical sparks; sparking and warming your hand in waves as a response to your pressure.
  76. "You enjoying that?" you smile at her, kneading that bouncy little ball with all the care and attention in the world. All slimegirls are possessed of a core. Where humans have organs, numerous and spanning their whole torso, slimegirls have a little ball, usually around four inches in diameter, filled with strange little bubbles and glowing lights, easily the most important part of a them. They can shed as much of their mass and form as they like, but as long as the core's intact, a slimegirl can persist and regrow. As their all-in-one organ, the core is their brain and their stomach. Any matter, dust or food or bodily fluids, so long as it can be broken down into constituent matter, will permeate through the body and into the core for conversion into either energy or slime mass, at will.
  77. Of course, the core can be dissipated into the body if the slimegirl ever needs to slip into a tight space, but as any mass shed then would mean a loss in the portion of the core, most slimegirls keep it together in a single place.
  78. And though a slimegirl's slime is capable of tactility, transmitting it to the core through electrochemical impulses, the core itself is the one place where they can't dial back on those sensations. Touching it directly results in the kind of raw feeling that leaves them panting and begging for more.
  79. And as for Rosy...
  81. "Dlnt stblblp," she blubs near-incoherently. A glance down at your chest reveals her, mostly melted like an ice-sculpture left in the sun too long, shimmering between many expressions of bliss. Eyes closed, a small smile on her face, and a fondle of that little ball elicits a gasp and that same, dopey grin that makes your heart just a little bit lighter in your chest.
  83. Rosy drips over the bed, barely cohesive now and running over your skin like warm honey. Tendrils from the pool below her bust lap weakly at your neck, and the globs covering your hands work between your fingers like dozens of tiny mouths to caress you. Her version of hugging and rubbing herself over you. She can barely keep her mind on what she's doing with her body, but her suction and ministrations upon your skin make you feel like melting yourself. Every ounce of tension seeps away in waves as you let it leave your body, and despite just waking up a short while ago, sleep looms close by.
  85. "Hey, Rosy, hang on..." You close your eyes again, helpless against those warm, miniature tongues lapping at your extremities by the inch, but push firmly with the back of your wrist to unhand her core. It floats there, gravity failing to run its course against her slowly reforming body's resistance.
  87. "You done already?" she pouts, growing a second pair of arms to cross them over her chest. The blur of her face solidifies fully, back into detail, and her expression changes from peeved to amused. "Aww, you getting tired? Right after a night on my waterbed?"
  89. "Our waterbed," you emphasize.
  91. "Without me, you couldn't even sleep comfortably on it."
  93. "Without you, I could just fill it with water."
  95. "I, uh..." Rosy pauses to think of a rebuttal. "Touché. But can a boring waterbed like that warm you all night long?" Her body heats up again, intensely and consistently. Images of snuggling up beside a lit fireplace on a warm rug pass over your mind, and again sleep threatens to take you with a vengeance. Literally every part of your body is exposed to the warmth, and any pretences of objection seep away like the tightness in your muscles. Even your genitals, floating buoyant within her, can barely muster the strength to become aroused. "Can a waterbed hug you all over?" The goop at her base takes that as the cue to cover you like a skintight suit. Before, when you were massaging her, she seeped over you with little consistency. But now, her frictionless form drowns every part of your body with all of Rosy's love and attention. Not a hair on your body is left bare from the translucent heaven, and arms, her arms, smother you up to your jaw. She's paying you back with interest for the time spent on her core, and presses dozens upon dozens of fingers and thumbs all across the entirety of your body, undulations of herself designed to roll the tension out of you like dough. No masseuse could come close to matching the contentment Rosy gives you. After months and months of unavoidable intimacy with her, the slimegirl knows exactly where to knead and love to make you turn into mush. Those mouths from earlier come back with renewed vigour, suckling and licking your fingers and toes, even reaching all the way up to your wrists and ankles, sucking and kissing as if her life depended on it. With her actual hand she draws swirls in your skin, tracing the lines of your hands slowly with her fingers pressing against her own goo skinsuit, tantalisingly, teasingly... forming little fingernails herself to scratch and stimulate in all the right places.
  97. "Hah... Rosy, I really am going to fall asleep," you smile, eyelids leaden and totally immovable now.
  99. "Nah, that's not going to happen."
  101. "Why not?"
  103. "'Cos I can do this!" Icicles stab right into your nipples, the two most sensitive points on your chest. The jolt of jumping into ice water from that most warm and pleasurable massage feels like a punch to the heart, and forces a girlish scream from you lungs. The sleep and tiredness leaves you like a freaking bullet, but just as soon as you try to jolt up in pain, the sensation vanishes, the slime around your body returning to a merely relaxing room temperature.
  105. Your breaths come fast and light, heart beating a mile a minute, but Rosy just lets out a slight chuckle at your pain. "You pansy. Ah," she sighs mischievously, "playing with your nerve endings is so much fun. Y'know, you'd be surprised how little effort it took to cause that."
  107. All you can do is groan in frustration. By now, you're used to Rosy's electroshock antics, and her transmission of tiny electric impulses to your own body. She never takes it past single jolts, but she's not afraid to play them for all they're worth. You'll just have to get her back later. Maybe with some ice-cubes pressed up against her core.
  109. "Oh, don't tell me you're grumpy!" she calls up from just above your groin. Now entirely submerged down from her curvy form, like a melted jello pudding, she sits you up, moving you like a puppet with her slime exoskin so you can see her face melted into the gooey suit, currently grinning an innocent little smile about an inch north of your privates.
  111. "Not grumpy," you amend, "but don't think you get to be on top after that."
  113. "No? Not even if I do this?" Her mouth vanishes, and your member escapes the passive warmness of what loosely translates to her chin, bringing brisk outside air to touch somewhere besides your face for the first time in minutes. The contrast of hot to the sudden cold pales, though, to the sensation of soft, full lip wrapping around your shaft at its base. You tense up, already partially hard from the constant intimacy. Slowly, her lips slide up the length towards your head, slipping inch after inch of you inside the tight, formfitting throat she creates solely to mould itself to you. The slow slurps of a gooey tongue wrapping around your balls, cupping and rolling them, is all that can be heard until Rosy begins to hum and moan. Her voice reverberates through your skin, but nowhere is it more pleasurable than where it thrums and vibrates at your glans, when her lips have fully engulfed your length. The sensation is alien; a reverse blowjob where her mouth begins at your crotch and ends at the tip to recede again, vacuum pressure of an all-encompassing slime tube bringing you to your full erection. Her face bobs up and down, stretching out from the slime suit, her eyes looking up lovingly into your own.
  115. "Mm, so how do you like it?" she asks from nowhere and everywhere at once, her voice completely disembodied from the mouth trying to suck the semen right out from you.
  117. The subtle vibrations work their way through your shaft, and her lips kiss at your tip each extension with such intensity that you can only manage a breathless "keep going!" The thrumming at the base of your groin begins, the release surging within you all too quickly. There's no restraint to her greedy sucking and slurping, liquid tongue flicking over every bump and nerve with such intensity that you can't help but buck and thrust back, bouncing off of the bed into those lips. But it's like trying to thrust against air, when her mouth follows perfectly your rise and fall, and her slimy prison covers and keeps you stuck in place, sat up and looking at her mouth bobbing up and down from the most surreal angle.
  119. The pressure rises, starting within the base of your groin, bubbling and seething as Rosy's blowjob thunders through your nerves and fries your mind white with pleasure. Up and down, faster and faster, more than humanly possible, brining your pleasure to a peak as you clench, holding back the white wave of pleasure for as long as possible before the slimegirl hums a long, drawn out "Mmmm..."
  120. Her vocal vibrations are the spark that makes you explode and gasp out, shooting spurt after spurt after spurt of seed out with as much rapturous force as you can manage. She turns herself inside out and sucks at your head like a faucet, drinking up every drop of it straight from the moment it exits the tip of your glans. Muscles spasm and light blinds you, and after thrusting out every last wave of pleasure, you flop back, twitching and gasping.
  122. "Wow."
  124. For the next short while, your mind draws a blank as you recover, eyes either closed or staring up into nothingness. Only when you finally notice the cold on your now bare, unslimed skin do you glance over at the girl lying beside you, smiling kindly. "Don't get too sappy, I'm still not finished with you."
  126. "I know. Just give me a minute, okay?" you smile back, watching the small, milky bubble of your own cum slowly roll around between Rosylyn's breasts. She sees you watching and makes a show of it for you, spiralling the pearly liquid all around her breasts, before letting it make its natural way to her nucleus. "So did you have anything planned for today, or shall we just fuck like rabbits for the next dozen hours?"
  128. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Rosy smirks. "Actually, I thought we might go out today."
  130. You scoot across the bed to shuffle up against her, wrapping and arm around her back to draw the two of you together. It's like pressing yourself against a warm, living water-balloon. "Go out where?"
  132. Rosy shrugs. "Picnic? Fruit picking?" She rests her forehead against you, like a hot water bottle to keep you comfortable. "Both?"
  134. "Sure." The thought makes you smile. Rosy loves fruit above all other human foods, especially the ones she hasn't tried yet. Carambola, Pitaya and Panama Berries were just three of the things she'd managed to cross off of her list while living with you. You weren't too sure about arranging holidays abroad just so you could travel around and try different fruits with her though. Maybe someday.
  136. "Great! Can we go now?"
  138. "Lemme get cleaned up first, and get something to eat."
  140. Rosy flops back onto the bed as you sit up, stretching across the covers. Even as you walk into the bathroom you're taking second and third glances at her, from her full, ripe ass, down to her thick thighs, and finally each individual toe on her sleek feet, dripping slightly as she yawns.
  142. Honestly, at this point your bathroom routine could be entirely optional. Every morning Rosylyn covers your body with her own to suck off every bit of sweat and grime accumulated on your skin from the night prior, and leaves you feeling cleaner than if you'd even showered. At first the concept was a little weird, but knowing that Rosy sees all the dirt and oils only as food in particle form makes it a little easier to accept. After all, she can't contract illnesses, spread germs, or incite infection. Whatever icky fluid made it into her body would be sent to her core and either burned for energy or converted on an into... whatever slimegirls were made out of. Hygiene was no more important to her than a hobby, and bacteria no more threat than rain.
  143. That being said, you still liked to brush your teeth and use the toilet by yourself. The brushing your teeth was just something for comfort's sake. Maybe the reluctance to get rid of such an innate and important habit, even if it could be made redundant.
  144. It was more or less the same using the toilet. Even if Rosylyn could break apart your faecal matter with the same amount of fuss as a piece of bread the moment it entered past her membrane, it just didn't seem right. Watersports and scat were one thing, but it just didn't feel... respectful.
  145. Whatever it was, Rosylyn, being as into human culture as she was, could understand it. Your toilet time remains your own.
  147. You go through the motions, and, as with every time since Rosy entered your life, wipe until your ass is as clean as can be. Maybe it's just a pride thing.
  149. When you finally walk back into the bedroom, Rosy is exactly where you left her, laying on her side with her head resting (and mostly melting into) her hand. She smiles at the sight of you, rocking into the half-empty waterbed and sloshing over herself like a tower of jello, quivering precariously. Just when you think she might spill back into herself, she bounces back, maintaining her plump human form, letting her breasts heave and her hair roil.
  151. "Y'know, I was thinking..."
  153. "Oh?" Hearing that tone in her voice that starts your stomach aflutter, you inch closer to the foot of the bed, and to her own slick feet.
  155. "I had a surprise I was saving for tonight. But I can't really wait to show it off to you. And besides, if you like it we can always do it again later."
  157. "Uh, okay, sure. What is it?"
  159. Her eyes half-close, a sly smile creeping over that otherwise innocent face. It takes a second to notice the slight ballooning of her breasts, and much longer than that to notice a thick, gloopy strand of her hair curling around your wrist, strong and rubbery where it grips the skin. You resign yourself to the four other snaking ropes of hair that billow out from her back, each plasmic protuberance winding restrictively around your limbs, save for the last, supporting you by the waist. Content to be taken by her gentle embrace, you feel your feet leave the floor and watch the ceiling become unusually close as Rosylyn lifts you into the air like a feather.
  161. She picks you up like a child would a doll, carefully and effortlessly. With the ability to alter her own density and consistency at will, the act of pulling you through the air and onto the bed is no more challenging to her than taking a carton of juice out of the fridge. Kneeling down right in front of Rosy, you open your mouth to repeat your question, but she cuts you off.
  163. "Okay, so about this. I was thinking I wanted to surprise you with this, but if you get uncomfortable, just say so, and I'll stop. Got it?" Her expression when she says that catches you off-guard, if only because it's not of her usual, bubbly self. It's not solemn, as such. But it's sincere.
  165. "Got it. But you still haven't told me what it is."
  167. "Do you trust me?"
  169. "Yes," you say, without thought or hesitation. Rosylyn's your partner, your soul mate. "With my life," you add with a smile.
  171. Rosy matches that smile and then some, slowly surging closer to you until your knees are submerged in the slimy pillar where her own would be. "Good. So let me keep it a surprise, at least until I start doing it. I promise, if you let me, I'll make it feel really, (she places a shapely, melty hand on your chest, warm and squishy) really, (that hand spreads into a formless mass, crawling over your chest in every direction and making you shiver at her loving touch) really nice." The crimson slimegirl is inches away from you, looking into your eyes with undisguised passion, and heating up until the inside of her body is like a hot tub. Whatever she has in store for you, there's no question as to how she wants to initiate it.
  173. Your left hand moves to cup her cheek, pressing against a surface of perfectly smooth, baby soft skin rather than sink into her face. Frothy hair tingles over your fingertips like a gentle waterfall, submerging up to your knuckles as you stroke her face, watching her cheek wobble slightly at the touch. As you do that, your right reaches out and grasps firmly at her breast. As far as you're concerned, no human or monstergirl, holstaurus or otherwise, could ever hope to match the perfection of Rosy's chest. Its softness, the perkiness of her bust in total defiance of gravity, the way it pushes back as your fingers dig indents into them, overflowing and spilling around your hand. The texture of her areola and the nubbly hardness at the tip of her nipple, just pressing against the palm of your hand and begging to be bitten, suckled, squeezed and tweaked. And of course, the natural layer of goo coating her, a natural sweat that lubricates and adds a sheen to her skin like rubbing oil. She moans and melts a little when you push against the cherry tip of her nipple, a self-made erogenous zone to amplify the tactile signals as they're sent back to her core.
  175. Like a tidal wave, she crashes into you, and in the same move stifles that moan with your mouth. Her lips mash against yours, delicious and full and soft, followed immediately by her tongue. The second it invades your mouth her taste floods you. Strawberries, richer and sweeter than any you've ever tasted, all because of the liquid goo flowing from her tongue like saliva. The temptation to drink it up is too much to resist, and you start lapping it up, drinking Rosy's delicious body into yourself as you kiss back. Her forcefulness is matched with aggressive passion in equal measure, and the slimegirl cries out in pleasure through her whole body when you squeeze her breasts tight enough that your thumb and ring finger touch through the deepening indents in her transparent blubber. You're drowning in her, grasping her chest like a life preserver and loving every second of it. It's every moment where she almost loses form grinding against you, flowing over your chest and your bare crotch. Every ounce of herself tingling sweetly on your tongue and filling you up, like water to a thirsting man.
  177. Within seconds you're at full-mast, already thrusting slightly against her slippery membrane. You want to slip inside her more than anything else, to penetrate any and every part of her body and paint her white from within. But she's holding back, setting the mood and giving you just a taste of the starter before the main course. Just as that thought enters your mind, Rosy's waist wraps around you. From your feet, over your knees and up your thighs until she has you engulfed up to your hips, the current inside her sloshes and lifts you up. Your legs unfold and you lean back against the many hands she has supporting your back. When she eventually pulls her lips away from you, letting the trail of saliva break onto her breasts and slip inside them, you're lying back down, but not on the bed. Instead, a firm cushion of goo suspends you, effectively sandwiching you in Rosy, who's slowly crawling up your chest again until her eyes are level with yours. "You ready?" she whispers, a few droplets of hair falling onto your cheeks.
  179. "Yeah. Go for it."
  181. "Okay, then close your eyes."
  183. You do, and focus on the gentle heat seeping into your bones from the slime surrounding you. Producing so much excess substance and energy before a proper meal must be taxing for Rosylyn, but it doesn't stop her from slowly increasing her own temperature for your own benefit. Her gentle currents rock you like a tide, and even with every speck of sweat and dirt cleaned from your body, that barely noticeable suckling still continues. It's like countless tiny lips kissing at every pore on your body, all forming together into one giant mouth that fits your body like a glove to a hand. Even against the skin on your shaft, you can feel her, gentle motions too light to build you up, but stimulating enough to keep you firm, coupled with what feels like hot, wet breathing against your tip. With your eyes closed, it becomes your entire world. She's inside your ears, whispering words of relaxation independently in each one, all over your body, still lingering on your tongue and lips, and filling your nose with her fruity scent.
  185. All of it together, it blurs your mind into a haze of pleasure, like her massage could just churn and melt you apart until only happiness is left. You feel her between each toe and finger, stroking your head through every strand of hair, but in particular at your butt, where she's flowing over your cheeks, slowly converging her current on a single point. That point.
  187. "Rosy." Your eyes open, and she's still there above you gentle smile fading into a frown at your addressing.
  189. "Huh?" The progression of that current towards your anus ceases, though it doesn't stop altogether.
  191. "What are you doing? Where are you going with this?" Of all the places on your body, the anus was the one place you'd marked as off-limits. Your "danger zone", as she referred to it. Of course it'd be difficult for her to actually avoid contact with it while you were submerged in her, so you'd just asked that she not actually do anything with it, or enter inside.
  193. "You said you trusted me, right?" Her mouth doesn't move when she speaks, but you can hear her whisper in both of your ears, like a surround sound system, and close enough to send pleasant little tingles up and down your spine. Her expression changes, becoming pouty and pleading. "I know you said no butt stuff, but... I want to make you feel good. And I've been reading some textbooks recently-"
  195. "Textbooks?"
  197. "Biology textbooks." You frown at that. Just what was Rosy planning on doing? She continues, but not without noticing the look on your face. "I read stuff, stuff about the prostate, and nerve clusters, and about tissues and cell membranes, and permeability, and diffusion..." Your eyebrows raise higher with every other word spoken until the incredulous look given to her upgrades to outright surprise. "I-I know it sounds weird, but if you just let me show you," she tapers off into silence.
  199. "Strawbs." Her eyes widen and her core pulses at the sound of the pet name. "I know you mean well, but you know that butt stuff, even with you, makes me a little uncomfortable. It's not your fault I feel this way at all, but I think you can make me feel good without that." You end with a reassuring smile, but it only makes her frown.
  201. "I know I can, but still." You feel her solidifying under your hands. "I'm a slimegirl. I'm your wife. I want to make you feel as good as I possibly can, and I want to understand more about the human body. Your body." The solidifying slime around your hands take shape, and you realise that she's forming her own hands inside herself, fingers interlocking with yours and palms pressed together. She slowly drags your hands up from your sides, out of her gunk and back into her own chest through her breasts. There, she guides them to her core, letting you cup it. You oblige, gently holding the blubbery little ball of lights and layers and warmth, embracing and enclosing it in your fingers. She shivers and warbles as you surround her from all sides, but barely manages to maintain her dripping form.
  203. "I love you." As she says it, her wedding ring rises to the surface of her core, brushing against your forefinger. Two bands of gold and platinum entwined together, set with a ruby and surrounded by a circle of diamonds, Rosylyn always kept it protected in a little bubble within her core. The closest it could ever be to her own heart. "With all of my being, I love you, and I would never do anything to hurt or harm you. You know that."
  205. "Of course I do." You say it without hesitation.
  207. "So please, just for a few minutes, trust me even if it makes you uncomfortable at first. I'll do whatever I can to make it as perfect an experience for you as possible. Please?" Her whisper trails off, and inside her puppydog eyes you can see the shapes of lovehearts, a hopeful smile upon her lips as she places a third hand on your chest, right over your beating heart.
  209. Well, she's poured herself out to you, metaphorically speaking, and put you in a corner in the process. Turning her down now might well break her heart. After a handful of seconds, you match her smile. "Okay. You can do what you want to do. Unless I say so, you've got permission to fly into the danger zone." You deeply hope you won't regret those words, but the slight trepidation almost entirely dissolves away as her lips touch with yours. It's not a wild, lust-driven kiss like before, but a long, slow and gentle kiss. Her taste on your tongue is renewed as small amounts of ooze on her mouth make way into your own, barely more than a trickle, but more refreshing than any drink in the world.
  211. "Thank you." Those whispered words repeat themselves inside your head, echoing while more of her hair falls around your head like a waterfall, and her noses squishes against yours. Her lips pull and push, yours wrestle lovingly, both sucking and planting smooches over and over. And as you do, that swirling against your posterior resumes its movement, trailing around the curve of your ass, flowing up into the crack, down the valley, and sliding slickly over your taint. She's not much more than an inch away, and as she draws nearer and nearer, the swirling fades until it's not much more than a warm presence. You brace, thinking that it's too late to back out of this now, especially with Rosy's mouth over yours. Was this such a good idea after all?
  213. "Relax," you hear her voice in your ears again, about as loud as a gentle summer's wind. "Remember to just relax. It won't feel like anything's going in, all it'll feel is warm. Just trust yourself to me. Keep holding my core, and relax every muscle in your body. Just let yourself float, and melt away inside me." The warm, tender electricity coursing through your spine as her voice plays intimately against your ears is pure heaven. You go utterly limp, but the hands inside her own chest keep your own suspended at her core. By now her heat is like a sauna, so perfect you could just fall asleep forever in it. You close your eyes again, sinking deeper into the thick pink, syrupy fog shrouding your mind. "Good," she coos. "Just like that, just relax everything. All the way from your toes..." As she says it, firm motions within her body begin to massage, again like mouths sucking. But no ordinary mouth could knead you to putty like she does, working her way upwards as she speaks. "And allll over your feet. Then your legs. There we go, just let me wrap all around your thighs, feel the tension seep away as I rub them so deeply. Then I'll rub your abs, nice and hard until they're all warm and soft." God, it feels perfect. She's rubbing your abdomen with six firm little rounded points, like the heel of a hand, flowing around your navel and pressing in deeper to your muscles than you ever thought possible with such a gentle, loving touch. Still, she continues to fill your head with her voice, sweet as her taste and soft as her breasts against your chest. "And all over your back. You love my backrubs, don't you? The way I trace fingers up and down your spine, to make you shiver juuust, like, that~. Then I'll rub your shoulders, just like always when you get home, and sit back against me, resting your head between my breasts. Just feel my hands rub your shoulders like they always do, and stroking back and forth and up and down on your neck. Back and forth, up and down... Back and forth, up and down..." You feel yourself drifting off as she does it, dozens of fingers pulling the tension right out of your body with their expert touch. Her kissing is so much more gentle too, the both of you fallen into an instinctive rhythm, a slow dance of your lips.
  215. "Mmm..." You let out a quiet moan, a sigh of utter contentment carried on your breath that vibrates through Rosy. You're in bliss, and you want her to know it.
  217. "That's right, just drift away with me. Feel me trickle behind your ears and over your scalp, and feel my fingertips rub your head, tracing fingernails all around and through your hair." As she carries out her headrub, you finally understand why dogs get that dopey look on their face when they're petted. The sensation of fingers in your hair, their tips and nails drawing spirals upon your scalp, is orgasmic in a way that defies sex. It's the ultimate cherry on top to her bodily massage, and even if you wanted to get up now, you're almost certain your pleasured body would lack the cohesiveness to actually obey you. It's rapturous, and she hasn't even begun to have sex with you yet, still physically and verbally preparing you. "There, you're all relaxed. Now just stay like that, relaxed and open to me. Let me just slip inside... Breathe in, and out. Slowly now, in, and out. In..."
  219. You feel her warm liquid presence contacting against your anus, and on the next breath out, it happens.
  221. She was right. It feels nothing at all like something physically entering you, but instead it's a heat that penetrates you more deeply than Rosy ever has before. You clench and feel yourself tighten on instinct at the sensation of the alien invasion, but your wife's massage is still there, and her voice still in your ears. "Shh... Remember to relax. Just loosen up, all those muscles in your butt, just loosen them and breathe slowly, and steadily."
  223. Against the instinct you loosen up again, but you can feel more. Where before it was just a sensation of temperature, you can feel Rosy pouring along the walls inside, a liquid travelling further and further inside your anus, millimetre by millimetre. But then its passage inside you stops. Rosy lifts her head slightly, breaking your minutes long kiss as you open your eyes.
  225. "So, how does it feel?" she asks, using her mouth this time.
  227. You focus on it. The sensation is there, and still slightly uncanny, like the feeling of a finger against your belly-button, but it's more austere than unpleasant. That, and it's making the gentle throbbing and hardness of your member all the more noticeable, it seems. "Not terrible," you say to her.
  229. She beams at you. That alone would've made this whole thing worth it, as far as you might be concerned. "So can I keep going?" You nod at her. "Okay. I'm about a few millimetres from your prostate, if I'm feeling this right." She pulses gently inside your anus, making you jump just slightly as she shows you her current position, making her giggle a bit. "I'm going to see what playing with it can do, so get ready. Just say if you want me to touch it in a certain way, and I will."
  231. "Go for it." Her hands around your wrists tighten slightly, and she pulls you away from her core, slipping your arms out into the cold air. "Hmm? Rosy?"
  233. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not have your hands on my core while I do this. If you flinch and start squeezing, things could get a little, y'know, messy." The innocent smile she gives you doesn't do much to offset the unease that ambiguity provides.
  235. "Oh. Right." She thickens her waist, giving you resistance and bounce to squeeze your arms into, and raises out her butt from underneath your hands like two swelling bubbles, all springy in your grip. As you settle into her plush, huggable body, her hair curtains down over your arms like water from a hot tap. You're wrapped back up in her, hugging tightly and being hugged back by countless limbs, all banding around your body, rippling and stroking your back, petting your head, and supporting you as she slips even further up your anus. In its own understated way, it's satisfying, though maybe not outright pleasurable on its own. Almost as if it's acting as a catalyst to the feeling of your privates being caressed with such an all-consuming, feather-light touch. In she seeps, filling you up, and all the while you're trying not to clench or squeeze any muscles, waiting until...
  237. She touches something hidden deep inside you, and you jolt, gasping out a breath. "Found it~," she hums happily, rubbing against it like a little nub, a cluster of nerves never before stimulated with such a gentle, intense touch. The sensation is like a lightning bolt in slow motion, an arc of prolonged tension glowing along your spine. But it's at its most intense, its most pleasurable, at your core, the base of your testes. It's the buildup of an orgasm, that same feeling, but stretched from your anus through your crotch and less intense. Less desperate, but infinitely more constant, feeling like the blood making you hard is being forced into your member against its own will, making you throb with every second and twitch, physically twitch inside Rosy's goo, with every little rubbing motion she makes.
  239. "How's it feel? Am I touching it just fine?"
  241. From the moment she sparked your prostate you'd had your head sandwiched between her gooey breasts, using her entire body as a life preserver just like before. You pull your face out of her bosom just enough to catch a breath of air and answer her. "It feels amazing."
  243. "Perfect! Now then, how about we start the real fun here!" She lifts herself up and parts her slime away from your crotch, forming two pink, chubby thighs in the process. You're about to protest at the sudden cold chilling against your privates, but Rosy's already silenced you before you can begin, growing her arms back out until they end with slender, exceptionally defined fingers. Down to the "Y" shape above her legs she takes them, where her thighs are so thick they practically spill back into each other. She places her fingers there, one hand on either leg, and slowly parts them, revealing a pair of full, literally wet and dripping, hot red labia. As they distinguish themselves from the chub being pulled away, you even see inside her, a tube being formed within her body beyond those puffy lips. It's like looking at a cross-section of an onahole, but it stops being even that when you see another tube form around the first, distinct from it and pulsating with a slightly different rhythm. Then little rings, like doughnuts, form around the whole length of them. One, three, five, seven, eight rings surrounding the length of her makeshift sex organ, bubbling into existence until they float there fully formed, squeezing and rippling, opening and closing like so many pairs of lips. But even through all that the show doesn't stop, as you watch her form tiny little tentacles, like cilia, along the inside surface of the inner tube like ribbing. They all wriggle back and forth, as if promising to show you what they'll do when they finally have you at their mercy.
  245. Between that and her bubbling against your prostate, you've all but lost the mind of a rational man. You need to stick it in her. You need to pump and make her moan and spear those lips until you're spent of every bit of energy you can muster. Rosy can see it in your eyes, and she slowly flows over to you, until her thighs are framing your manhood, pointing straight up towards the ceiling. You tense, and feel it intensely inside your ass, squeezing against the fluid that compresses and heats as the walls of your anus clench around it. Positioned directly above you, Rosy smiles more lewdly than you would've thought possible with such a cherubic face. She slips a forefinger between those plump lips, watching as a single droplet of red slime lands squarely on the tip of your rod.
  247. "Just one more thing before we begin." From the hair behind her head, a dark crimson tentacle reaches over and slips inside her nipple, reaching for her core and plucking out her wedding ring. She makes a show of slipping it back out of her nipple, revelling in the slight humping motions you make against the few drips she allows to splatter down onto you. After setting the ring on the bedside, she looks back down at her core, which begins to glow with even more intensity. Bubbles begin to form on its surface as the light becomes bright enough to illuminate her whole body, and Rosy's eyes shut in concentration. It looks like her core is boiling away, the ball of brightness becoming smaller and smaller as bubbles spray off in every direction and dissipate, until it's gone entirely.
  249. "Okay, all ready." With her core dissipated, and the rest of her body ready to experience unstoppable pleasure, she slowly lowers herself, impaling you with a shared gasp.
  251. "Oh, god." Her lips are perfect. Beyond perfect. As they stretch around the widest part of your head, raw heat and lubrication flow down your shaft in rivulets. She takes up inch after inch in herself, using her labia to such and squeeze like her own mouth even while you enter into that tube. The doughnuts split open one after the other as you buck wildly, spearing into Rosy's honeypot and feeling her thick, sticky honey grip and milk you to incontinence. It's unbearable, and the pressure deep inside you heightens your senses until every aspect and detail fights to throw itself to the forefront of your dissolving mind. You hilt in her, and she gasps. With the sensitivity of her core diluted into the rest of her body, contact against her slime is making her feel all the raw pleasure that you do. And with all the concentration she's put into the sleeve pumping your manhood, it’s no wonder that she matches every gasp you make with her own moans.
  253. You pound and thrust her pliant body, bouncing off the bed of goop she's suspending you in with every aching muscle you can apply. Her eyes are rolled back in her head, her mouth is open and panting, hanging tongue melting onto the sheen of breasts. The buildup of orgasm is coming, and with Rosy pulsing through your clenched behind, it's more intense than ever before. Every touch of every cell that excites every nerve along your length, you can feel in clarity. Every follicle in your scalp being brushed as she combs through your hair with a dozen splayed fingertips. You fuck her with abandon, like a beast, the only thought in your head is the need for release. But Rosy, burbling and drooling all over from the exercise, holds you back, slowing you like hardening cement. "Wait... Wait a second! Hang on!"
  255. Her hold prevents any movement made in vain, and the ceasing pulsations of the sleeve between her legs brings you back to your senses, if only slightly. Her breasts are still jiggling, and you're still throbbing inside of her, the tidal wave of orgasm only frozen, not dispelled. "What is it?"
  257. She sinks down to you, and again the blanket of her swollen breasts submerge your upper body. She looks into your eyes and addresses you between wet, melty kisses. "You're going to- mmh! -going to cum me out. Ahnmm... I'm inside you, and you're going to cum me back out for a -hhhnm- very, very long time, okay?"
  259. When her warm, liquid lips part from yours with a stream of saliva and strawberry juice, you stare at her, blankly, trying to comprehend just what she means by that. Rosy notes your look, and carries on, using little tendrils of slime to rub and massage your ear lobes. "Remember what I said about reading textbooks earlier? Cell membranes, diffusion and permeability. It gave me some ideas, and I got to thinking about it." Those little tentacles roll over your lobes, trailing loving feather-touches over the cartilage-filled rims and kneading a gentle tingling sensation into your brain through them. "First I started practicing on plants." She roils up and plants a trio of kisses on your forehead, sucking up the beads of sweat formed on your skin. "I tried letting myself get sucked up by the roots, and working my way into the xylem. That's tissue inside the stem," she adds on, as if she feels that her explanation needs a biology lesson to go with it. "I could move through that however I wanted, but as I shifted myself about, I found out that I could move through other membranes as well. Impermeable ones, even bark, if I squeezed in enough." That tingling in your brain turns into pleasant shuddering when the tentacles invade your ears like tongues, licking clean the canals and exiting hot breath into the canal, slow and sensual and rhythmic. "So now, I'm inside you. Permeated all the way through your body and filling. Up. Your balls." She emphasizes those last four words, perfectly in time with the swelling sensation you feel inside them. True to her word, she's filling them up, making them gravid and weighty. Outwardly, you don't see them grow, but the feeling is like a sponge being soaked with water: fuller and heavier, and only magnifying your primal urge to release as she mixes herself with your semen.
  261. "Mm, can you feel me sloshing around in there?" You nod, and she plays with your sack in her slime, forming tentacles to fondle and caress the two overfull balls like a pair of marbles in an impossibly dextrous hand. "I'm going to get rid of your refractory period, Love," Rosy whispers from every direction at once, on top of you and inside your head. "I'm going to make you cum more than you've ever cum before, over and over again. Alright?" You nod. Anything to relieve the steel-cable tension in your body, the feral lust making your blood boil and your loins burn so perfectly. "Okay," she murmurs. Then she kisses you, deeply, flooding your mouth with her until she has to send oxygen through her body to keep you breathing through it. Your eyes close as four different tongues all tangle and swirl with your own, eyes shut while she takes you. Then, the cement melts, and the gyrations, the thrusting, and the milking all begin again at once.
  263. You turn Rosy’s body into a tsunami with your humping. With every round you rocket up into her, parting those lips and piercing through those gelatin toroids, perfect resistance and a million loving touches speeding you toward orgasm. She moans and grips your entire body, clenching to you in a pressurised hug, steadying herself on the only solid thing she can. But it’s a futile effort; she’s as coherent as you are, bubbling into an indistinct gooey mass, splashing and dripping all along the floor and walls. Up, down, up, down, up, down, the only thought in your brain as you race faster than you can control over that edge. The pressure builds and builds with every second and every tight, slick movement inside her. It spikes with every happy sound Rosy makes. But even as you lose yourself, you can feel the slimegirl holding you back down there, pushing the point of release further and further away with your own progress. She’s inside you, and she gets to say when you cum.
  265. Rosy crashes back down to kiss you, trying to drink and suck you up with her lips, tasting your mouth with her tongue, letting you bite and swallow when you force too hard in reciprocation. She coos long and loud when your teeth squeeze on of her tongues in a particularly delightful way, shivering all the way from your glans to your anus, up against your prostate and even further, where nerves won’t reach. It’s another rapturous spike of sensation, and you jet closer to that release, so desperately sought. Minutes pass like it, the two of you thrusting like ocean waves in a storm, lost in your sea of pleasure together. Rosy sways between puddle and person, sometimes breaching to smile lovingly at you, frequently passing waves of warmth over your skin, always reminding you of the warm weight in your testes. It should be impossible, the amount of fluid and lube coating you from tip to base while she keeps such a tight grip, but she manages it nonetheless. You’re at her mercy, pounding in front while she makes your nerves sing deep down and behind. From somewhere near your stomach you hear her voice, distorted and jumping in pitch with the movement of your hips. “Are you ready?”
  267. You gasp out a “yes”, begging for sweet, sweet release. The animal instinct to rut has taken your mind completely; if you don’t burst now you might go mad from the bliss.
  269. You have no warning when Rosy lets you cum. It’s like a blocked hose suddenly freed. Like the drop of a rollercoaster, from zero to freefall. Like a lightning strike, and the clash of a mighty hammer shaking the earth, and a great dam breaking into a torrent, all rolled into one. Your vision goes white and your head shuts off. Everything in your body becomes just an organ to experience the pulsing, raging spurt of your semen into Rosy’s perfect body. Your anus is clenched around goo like a vice, your pleasured prostate supercharging the electric explosion tearing you apart. You cry out, Rosy screams, and you buck into her like a machine made only for this. With your orgasm you shoot out rope after rope of pearly globules, watching them slowly float up into your wife’s shuddering body, before slowly being dissolved into nothing but nutrients and pleasure. You’re in heaven, riding the orgasm, a raging explosion of a fire between your legs, just wishing that it could never end.
  271. And after seconds of shooting blanks into her, it doesn’t look like it will. You’re still tensed up, thrusting in time with the empty pulses wracking your body, but the pleasure hasn’t dissipated at all.
  273. “How’s it feel?” Rosy asks, out of breath. Of course you’re too far gone to answer her. Rosy takes your grunts and moans as response instead, holding you by the hips and cradling your body, supporting it through orgasm after orgasm. After seconds you look down, and see yourself inside her. At first glance you’re just twitching wildly, but then you see it. An invisible flow of something entering into the ecstatic slimegirl. A barely seen current of red slime, her own substance entering you from behind, and flowing back into the source, filling out her hips, her breasts, her ass, even her hair. You cum into her without pause, over and over again like a hose, and it isn’t long before the countless bursts all merge and meld into a single, continuous stream flooding the mind, eroding it away. All senses narrow until your world becomes just you and her, a single being joined together so intimately the line between is blurred away. Rosy’s subtly sweet smell, her richer taste… The feel of her ballooned breast in one fist, ass clenched firmly in other, and her body kneading like dough from head to toe… The uncontrollable cries from her mouth and the sweet, sensual hums she whispers in your ears…
  275. It jolts your mind back into some semblance of coherent thought when you feel a bump, another little spike a pleasure down below. It’s like a constriction at the base of your shaft, released to let out another orgasm to throw into the mix as you groan under Rosy’s ministrations. From your tip, another milky droplets shoots out, dribbling out into the red slime just like before. You remember what she said before, and you realise: she’s set your sperm production into overtime, doing whatever it is she’s doing to get you to make more semen, purely so she can suck it back out and melt it away.
  277. Time passes for the two of you like that: a world of endless heaven punctuated every few minutes by a small discharge of pearly white amongst cherry red. And despite your exhaustion, your utter surrender to pleasure, Rosy never lets up, flowing into and lightly stroking your behind, while using her own perfectly made sex organ to milk herself out of you like a pump. You feel herself on top of you, riding cowgirl, then below you, missionary and doggystyle, then huddled up against you, both floating on the pillow of her hair. She flows through positions, pouring herself against you in so many different ways, and all of it fades into an undefined blend of lovemaking.
  279. For all you know, hours could’ve passed before you notice the lack of miniature ejaculations, and Rosy picks up on it the second you stir from pounding into her tight hole. Her face appears from the mound of slime in front, all hazy-eyed and dripping, as if she can’t keep herself together through the onslaught of pleasure.
  281. “Rosy? You okay?”
  283. “I’m almost done,” she grins between thrustings. “Any more and I’m just gonna melt from all this!”
  285. “You want to finish?” you manage to breathe out, still feeling every ribbed contour and liquid squeeze of her insides as if she’d just planted herself atop you.
  287. “I need to!” Rosy squeaks. Her smile turns apologetic, and she cups your face with a pair of hands. “I’m not as durable or as tough as you. But don’t worry, I’ve got something big planned for the finish!”
  289. You don’t get to ask her what; she’s already occupied your lips with hers yet again, whisking you back up into her embrace, floating inside. Her pace picks up and she slides herself up and down your shaft doubletime, squeezing over your glans and stroking the shaft feverishly. The intensity of your constant orgasm doubles, but there’s something even more behind it. It feels like Rosy’s grown thicker, rubbing up against your prostate, and even through release after release, you can feel a pressure in your balls heavier than anything you’ve felt before. Ignoring the tension in your body, the lightning locking your muscles into every twitch and pulse, you thrust in time with Rosy. Her jelly hips pound and splat against yours, her juicy labia is crushed against your crotch over and over, reforming every time you pull out. Mouths and hands and fingers and muscular walls all twirl and spiral and tease and squeeze, milking endlessly, pushing you full to bursting more and more.
  291. Just like before it builds up within you, only so much more powerful. A torrent of energy gushing out of you and being inflated at twice the rate. Rosy humps and bounces, breasts jiggling and hair whipping, splatting against you. You push back, savouring every inch you plunge into her, and every second you spend there. Thrust after thrust after thrust, you listen to her gasp and moan, softening little by little. That ball of infinite heat and pressure slowly expands up into your shaft, and with one final push, Rosy gushes through your anus and into your balls. You cry out and fire off like a cannon, blasting every last drop of her out of your system, along with more semen than you’ve ever produced in a single session. Load after load of thick, ropey streams fizzle away in Rosy’s screaming,  rapidly sinking body, turning into a formless blob with every. Her breasts drip and fall into the bubble of goo below, the slimegirl gurgling happily as her face sinks down onto the surface of her body. All at once the pressure leaves you in a final, pleasurable spurt, her crotch and honeypot melting around you into a warm liquid, cradling your twitching member in a buoyant ooze. All in all, you must have sprayed three times a normal payload into Rosy with that final explosion. You watch it all sink in and dissolve into nothing, and a huge wave of exhaustion and satisfaction hits you, covering your body like a heavy blanket. Rosy lets you drift down onto the bed, before she loses consistency entirely, deforming into a puddle with all the consistency of water.
  293. “Oh… Ohh wuw.” Her voice is barely discernible, vibrating through the pool of her body. You look down and see her face float on over to you, resting atop your chest and smiling at you. “Su, huw’d yuh liwke it?”
  295. Your head makes a little splash in her where it flops back, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. “Different. Weird. Awesome.” You bring your hand up, sifting through the watery slime, feeling something much more viscous and solid climb and creep over it. When you raise it up, you see a miniature version of Rosy rise from your palm; all she can form in her current spent condition.
  297. “See? I told you you’d like it!” She pulls herself up enough to create a pair of hips, and plants her hands on them.
  299. “Maybe a little bit,” you smile at her, watching as she pulls first her legs, then her feet out of the mass in your hand. “Probably best to save that for special occasions though. I’m beat.”
  301. “You’d better not be thinking about going back to sleep!”
  303. “Just ten more minutes?”
  305. Rosy huffs, and stamps down on you palm with her foot. The moment she does, her fluid surges below, picking you up like a wave and rolling you out of bed, onto the floor. “Not even for a core-rub,” she grins, still sitting in your hand with her knees pressed against her chest. “I did some pretty crazy things to your body to get that much out of you, and you need breakfast if you don’t want to suffer any aftereffects.”
  307. “Aftereffects?”
  309. “Severe hunger.”
  311. “Ah.”
  313. “So come on!” She bounces up and down, simultaneously shifting herself underneath you, gaining viscosity and forming a strange little seat around your butt. “I want to go out somewhere today!”
  315. You offer no resistance as she starts to crawl across the floor, taking you away from the bedroom and into the kitchen, pitching ideas for how to spend your day. Of course, at the end of it all, you’ll have a repeat of this morning to look forward to, just like she promised.
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