A/N: ARRGHHH GODDAMIT, I FORGOT ABOUT UPDATING THE FIC ON NovelPhoenix FOR NEARLY A WEEK. No wonder I thought that I was forgetting something the whole week while updating on NovelPhoenix. Will post half a dozen chapters today to make up
The heavy, suffocating quiet of the underground pen dragged on. Rebecca's breathing had finally evened out, the panic attacks fading into a dull, exhausted numbness. Her fingers were still loosely tangled in the gaps between Ghosty's neck plates, feeling the steady thrum of whatever passed for a heartbeat in his mutated chest.
This is fine. I'm just resting. Five minutes, then we move.
Ghosty shifted.
It was subtle at first. Just a slight adjustment of his massive frame, his armored flank pressing a fraction closer to her side. She barely noticed.
Then he shifted again.
His bulk rolled another inch toward her, the heat radiating off his body intensifying against her ribs. His heavy paw, which had been resting loosely over her stomach, curled slightly, pulling her closer.
"Ghosty," she mumbled without opening her eyes. "You're squishing me."
He responded by letting out a soft, contented huff and pressing even closer.
The line between "lying beside her" and "lying on top of her" was rapidly dissolving. She could feel the weight of his chest settling against her arm, the hard ridges of his chitin plates digging into her shoulder. His hind legs shuffled, dragging his lower half into alignment with hers.
"I said you're squishing—" Her eyes snapped open. "Wait. What are you doing?"
Ghosty had moved.
Not just closer. Over.
He had somehow maneuvered his massive frame during her micro-nap, and now he was directly above her. His front paws were planted on either side of her shoulders, his broad chest hovering mere inches from her face. His back legs straddled her hips, his heavy bulk casting a shadow over her entire body.
But he wasn't putting his full weight on her. His arms were doing the work, holding himself up in a terrifying, armored push-up position. The only points of contact were his paws, his knees, and—
Something else.
Something hot.
Something very, very hot, pressed directly against her lower stomach.
"What—" Rebecca's voice came out as a strangled squeak. "What is THAT?!"
Ghosty lowered his head, his wet nose bumping against her cheek. He let out a soft, rumbling chuff and began nuzzling into the crook of her neck, his intoxicating scent flooding her senses, thick and dizzying.
"Ghosty! Answer me! What is pressing against my—"
She felt it throb.
A thick, pulsing heat radiating through the fabric of her tactical vest and the bulletproof insert beneath. It was positioned directly over her navel, and it was unmistakably alive. She could feel the rhythmic beating of his circulatory system through the shaft, each pulse sending a fresh wave of feverish warmth into her skin.
Oh no. Oh no no no no—
"GET OFF!" Rebecca shoved upward against his chest plates. "What did I JUST say to you?! I said you were forgiven! I said it wasn't your fault because you're just a dumb dog! That doesn't mean you get to IMMEDIATELY do it again!"
Ghosty's response was to drag his wet, rough tongue slowly up the side of her neck.
"Hah—!" A sharp, involuntary sound escaped her throat. "Stop! That tickles—no, it doesn't tickle, it's GROSS, stop it!"
He ignored her completely. His hips shifted, and the thick heat grinding against her stomach slid lower, dragging heavily across her lower abdomen. The friction produced a wet, obscene sound that made her want to crawl into a hole and die.
"This is NOT pack bonding!" she shrieked, her hands slapping uselessly against his armored shoulders. "Wolves do NOT do this! I paid attention in that lecture!"
His jaws opened, and she felt the sharp points of his teeth graze the shell of her ear.
"Nn—!"
A small, humiliating moan slipped out before she could stop it. The light bite had sent a sharp jolt of sensation straight down her spine, her body betraying her in the most mortifying way possible.
"DID YOU JUST BITE MY EAR?!" She bucked her hips upward, trying to dislodge him. "That is NOT okay! That is a very sensitive area and you are ABUSING it!"
Ghosty let out a low, rumbling sound that vibrated directly against her throat. His teeth released her ear, only to immediately latch onto the junction of her neck and shoulder. He didn't bite down hard—just enough pressure to pin her skin between his canines, holding her in place like a misbehaving puppy.
"Ah—hah—stop, that's—you're being a FREAK!"
His hips rolled again. The massive, slick heat dragged even lower, now pressing directly against the junction of her thighs. Even through her tactical pants and the heavy nylon belt, the temperature was staggering.
Why is it so HOT?! It's like he's storing molten lead in there!
Her left hand shot down instinctively, pressing flat against his lower abdomen to create a barrier between that thing and her crotch.
"Bad! Very bad!" she gasped, shoving with all her strength. "You keep that—whatever that is—AWAY from my—"
His tongue lapped across her lips.
Rebecca froze.
His wet, slimy muscle dragged slowly across her lower lip, the rough texture catching on the soft skin. Before she could react, the tip prodded insistently at the seam of her mouth, pushing gently but firmly.
"I swear to GOD," she whispered against his tongue, "if you shove that thing in my mouth again, I WILL bite it off. I don't care if you saved my life. I will be a tongue-murderer."
He pulled back slightly, his milky eyes staring down at her with an intensity that made her stomach flip.
Then his hips thrust forward.
"OH—" Her hand, still pressed against his stomach, felt the shaft slide beneath her palm. The skin was impossibly smooth and slick, coated in some kind of warm, viscous fluid. "That is NOT what I meant by move away!"
The grinding resumed with renewed enthusiasm. Each roll of his hips dragged that obscene, feverish heat across her pubic mound, the thick shaft nestled perfectly in the groove between her thighs. The wet friction was maddening, the slick fluid seeping through her pants and leaving her skin feeling sticky and hot.
"You are the WORST guard dog in the history of—" She gasped as he nipped at her collarbone. "—in the history of—fuck, stop BITING me!"
Another moan escaped her. Her free hand was clutching his shoulder plates so hard her knuckles were white, but she couldn't seem to push him away. Her body felt like it had been filled with warm concrete, heavy and unresponsive.
Meanwhile, the relentless grinding was having an unintended side effect.
With each thrust, the hem of her shirt—already partially untucked from their earlier activities—was being pushed steadily upward. The thick, slick shaft was acting like a plow, sliding beneath the fabric and slowly working it out of her waistband.
She didn't notice. She was too busy trying to angle her hips away from the persistent heat grinding against her clit through what felt like three layers of fabric.
"Listen to me," she panted, her voice coming out breathier than she intended. "I understand you have... needs. Biological imperatives. But this is NOT the time or place! We are in a DUNGEON, Ghosty! There are ZOMBIES everywhere! Have some DECENCY!"
His response was to lick a long, wet stripe up her throat.
And then she felt it.
Cold air.
Sudden, shocking cold air directly against the bare skin of her stomach.
Rebecca looked down.
Her shirt had been completely pushed out of her waistband, the hem bunched up just beneath her bra. And the massive, glistening purple shaft that had been grinding against her through three layers of tactical fabric was now—
Oh.
Oh no.
It was inside her shirt.
The thick, vein-covered meat was nestled directly against her bare stomach, the feverish heat searing into her skin without any barrier whatsoever. She could feel every single ridge, every pulsing vein, every slick inch of it pressed flat against her abs. A thick bead of something warm and wet dripped from the tip, pooling directly in her navel.
"GET IT OUT!" she screamed, her hands flying to her shirt hem. "GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT—"
Her fingers clawed at the bunched fabric, trying to yank it back down, but Ghosty's bulk was pinning it in place. Every time she tugged, his hips rolled forward, driving the slick shaft deeper into the gap between her skin and her clothing.
"This is NOT happening!" she shrieked, her nails scraping uselessly against his armored sides. "You are NOT doing this right now!"
Ghosty let out a deep, satisfied groan that vibrated through his entire chest. The sound rolled through her body like a bass note, and she felt the shaft pulse against her stomach in response.
Why does it PULSE like that?! Why can I feel his HEARTBEAT through his DICK?!
She shoved at his chest with both hands, pushing with every ounce of strength her exhausted body could muster. He didn't budge. He simply adjusted his stance, spreading his hind legs wider, and resumed his slow, deliberate grinding.
The wet friction was obscene. The slick fluid coating his shaft made the movement almost silent, a smooth, gliding pressure that left a warm, sticky trail across her bare abs. Each thrust dragged the thick head from her navel up toward her ribs, then back down to her waistband, massaging her stomach with his mutant junk like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Ghosty, I am BEGGING you," she gasped, her head falling back against the concrete. "Use your brain. You HAVE a brain. I've seen you solve puzzles. You KNEW how to trick that centipede. So you KNOW this is wrong!"
He responded by lowering his head and dragging his rough tongue slowly across her exposed collarbone.
"That's not an ANSWER!"
The shaft slid higher.
Past her ribs. Past the underside of her bra. The thick, flared head burrowed upward like a determined mole, pushing the fabric of her shirt ahead of it as it climbed.
"No—NO! It's going somewhere I don't want it to go!" Rebecca's hands shot down to grab the shaft directly, trying to physically restrain it. "Stay DOWN! You stay RIGHT THERE!"
Her fingers wrapped around the slick, impossibly hot meat.
It throbbed violently in her grip.
A thick, guttural groan ripped from Ghosty's throat, his entire body shuddering above her. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, driving the shaft another inch higher despite her attempts to hold it back.
"DON'T YOU DARE ENJOY THIS!"
She squeezed harder, trying to act like she was wringing out a wet towel rather than gripping a zombie dog's erection. The shaft pulsed in her fist, another heavy bead of warm fluid dripping onto her fingers.
It's so SLIPPERY. How is it this slippery?! Is this what pre-cum is supposed to feel like?! This is NOT in any of my textbooks!
"This is—" she stammered, her face burning so hot she could probably fry an egg on her forehead. "This is a complete violation of the human-animal social contract! I FEED you! I give you BISCUITS! And THIS is how you repay me?!"
Ghosty's tongue lapped at the corner of her mouth, catching the edge of her lower lip. She turned her head sharply to the side, clamping her lips shut.
"Don't even THINK about it."
He nipped at her ear again. Lightly. Just enough to make her breath catch.
"Ah—FUCK! Stop doing that!"
Her grip on his shaft loosened for just a fraction of a second.
That was all he needed.
The slick meat slid through her fingers like a greased eel, shooting upward with shocking speed. The flared head breached the neckline of her shirt, popping out from the collar like a horrific jack-in-the-box, and wedged itself directly between her breasts.
Rebecca stared down at the purple, vein-covered monstrosity now resting in her cleavage.
Her brain did the thing again.
The white-screen-spinning-hourglass thing.
He's—
It's—
That is currently—
The massive head was resting in the valley between her breasts, warm and heavy and pulsing against her sternum. She could feel her own heartbeat trying to sync with its rhythm, which was absolutely not something that should be physiologically possible.
"EW EW EW EW EW—"
Her voice came out as a rapid-fire shriek that would've made a smoke detector jealous. Her hands flew to her chest, trying to push the glistening purple head back down the collar of her shirt, but her fingers just slid uselessly over the slick surface, accomplishing nothing except smearing clear fluid across her sports bra.
WHY IS IT SO SLIPPERY?! WHY DOES MY BODY HAVE NO FRICTION RIGHT NOW?!
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?!" she screamed at the ceiling. "WHY IS YOUR—YOUR THING—COMING OUT OF MY SHIRT LIKE SOME KIND OF HORRIBLE—"
Ghosty's hips rolled forward.
The shaft slid another inch higher, the thick, flared head pushing deeper into the valley between her breasts. The movement created a wet, obscene schlllk sound that echoed off the stone walls of the pen.
"NO NO NO STOP MOVING—"
His front legs buckled slightly, and his entire upper body shifted forward. His broad, armored chest pressed against her face, practically smothering her in warm chitin plating and that intoxicating, overwhelming scent of petrichor and earthy musk. His massive head hung over hers, drool dripping from his slack jaws onto her hair.
She was practically wearing him like a blanket now. A two-hundred-pound, horny, mutant blanket.
The shaft pulsed between her breasts. She could feel every single vein wrapped around it throbbing against the soft tissue of her cleavage, each one a thick, pulsing cable that seemed to have its own heartbeat. The skin was impossibly smooth and hot, like someone had wrapped a freshly boiled sausage in silk.
I don't—I've never—this isn't—I've seen maybe two videos. In total. And neither of them involved this. Neither of them involved a DOG.
Ghosty's hips established a slow, grinding rhythm. The shaft slid forward through her cleavage, the slick head bumping against the underside of her chin on every upstroke, then dragging back down between her breasts with a wet, sticky squelch. Pre-cum was pooling in the hollow of her sternum, warm and thick, slowly trickling down her sides.
And every single pump sent a strange, shivery pressure radiating outward through the soft tissue of her breasts. The friction of that hot, slick skin dragging against her was doing something to the nerve endings there that she absolutely did not consent to.
"Oh my god oh my god oh my—nn—god—"
Her hands were still pressed uselessly against his armored chest. She shoved. He didn't move. She shoved harder.
His hips just pumped forward with more enthusiasm, as if her resistance was somehow encouraging.
To Be Continued