"It's gonna be fine, Sam," says Alfa as they move forward, and Sam rubs his arm, feeling extremely underdressed as they make their way further into the dungeon corridor. Alfa, Jock, Maven, and Harrow were all clinking in their usual armour, and Sam felt almost naked in just his tunic and some leather armour they grabbed out of a barrel at the back of the inn.
It didn't even
fit
properly.
"Yeah, fine for you, maybe," Sam mutters. It fucking figures that he'd drawn the short straw, he's never won a coin toss or a straw pull in his fucking life.
"Look, Amaethon says he does this stuff all the time," says Maven, shifting their stave between their hands, their fingers beginning to glow with fresh magical power, their skin lit up from underneath at their palm, their fingertips. "All you're gonna do is distract it while we attack it from the other end - it puts all its energy into breeding, and Amaethon says that it can't put up the same kind of magical shields while it's busy with a partner."
"A
partner
?" Sam repeats, raising his eyebrows. "You mean a
victim
? One these slimes sucks someone in they breed you until you have no magic left, and then they just eat you!"
"Babe, that takes years," says Harrow dryly, one hand on his sword. "You're not even gonna be in there for a whole day."
"And you're gonna get the orgasm of your life," says Alfa. "Multiple, probably."
"I don't need a slime to get me off," Sam mutters, giving her the finger, and Alfa's laugh echoes down the corridor as he splits off from the rest of the party, Jock leading them further down one of the stony halls.
Sam draws the blunt sword they'd also pulled from the inn backroom and holds it in his hand, just at his side. He doesn't know how intelligent these things even are, probably not intelligent enough that they'd even know the difference between an adventurer and a random passer-by wandering into the dungeon, but caution is best, he thinks.
His breath catches in his throat as he turns down the place that Jock had marked on the map earlier, the place where the old stone ruins give way into a cave tunnel that starts going under the ground. There's a slightly sweet, floral smell on the air, and he forces his body to move forward even though he knows that he's walking directly into a trap.
His footsteps are quiet on the dirt under his ill-fitting boots, and he breathes in deeply, letting the floral sweetness wash over him, sinking into his lungs. He feels dizzy and slightly hazy, knows that there's a drugging effect happening and again, his shoulders twitch, his back stiff and his instincts screaming at him to turn and run, but he keeps his head forward, keeps his body moving.
He can't
quite
suppress the instinct when a tentacle of goo wraps around his ankle to strike out with his sword, though, and he groans in disgust as the severed end of the tentacle turns from tentacle to sticky liquid, soaking into his foot and the ground below.
He can see fairly well in the dark, doesn't need that much light to be able to see by even though Jock or Harrow would be drenched in darkness here, and the slime reflects what little light there is anyway. His heart skips a beat when he realises just how big the fucking slime is, worrying about the other four going up against it, but that's kind of out of his hands right now.
Another tentacle whips toward him and he cuts through it with the sword, but that just rips off the tip - the rest of it keeps coming toward him, and although he cuts off the end of it again, then a third time, he can't manage a fourth sweep before the tentacle hits him in the chest and gathers around him, pinning his arms against his torso and forcing him to go still, the sword clattering to the ground.
He grunts, trying to struggle, but the slime is coiling around his body and wrapping him up in its slowly expanding, green jelly. His arms feel packed so tightly against his torso that he feels as if the bones might break, his ribs crying out in pain as if there's a fucking rock on top of his chest, and fuck, isn't this thing supposed to keep its victims alive? Is it trying to fucking starve him of oxygen?
He keeps kicking, struggling to punch his way free, his head bobbing on his neck, and although he tries to heave in a breath the tight crush is just too strong for him to fight past, is stopping him from getting in even a small gasp. He feels fucking dizzy, his vision darkening at the edges, his blood roaring in his ears and the world spinning around him--
And then the crush lets up, and he heaves in a gasp of air. His vision comes rushing back to him, his whole body flaring with strange sensitivity at being allowed a breath after starving for oxygen. On his second gasp for air, another one of those slime tentacles dives down his throat, and Sam can't get free - it's so far down his throat, sinking down into his stomach, so thick, that he can't even bite down on it.
Gulping helplessly around the sweet-tasting slime, he finds that he can still breathe through his nose, but there's no real relief in the realisation - the slime is pulling him closer, into his body, and he cries out as he finds that he's swallowed into its bulging green mass.
There's slime all around his body, around his torso and limbs, around his head, utterly encased by the thing and unable to struggle free.
And the shitty leather armour, predictably, is fucking melting down on contact with the slime, being broken down before his eyes by the slime's contact. At least it's not
his
armour.
Gulping helplessly around the tentacle down his throat, he squeezes his eyes shut, whining at the heat that kisses his skin as the slime works its way underneath the armour and the tunic both. The cloth is broken down to nothing, the bits of leather strap and surviving leather falling away from his body, and even though he isn't looking he can still feel it, feel the way he's not just being stripped naked but is being more fully surrounded by it. The gooey, warm gel, still cooler to the touch than his own skin is, is sliding its way against his actual skin, encasing him as best it can.
It occurs to him, dizzily and distantly and with a sort of burning thrill of horror and sudden awareness, that he's no longer breathing through his nose, that he's submerged entirely in the green slime's embrace, its expanse. What he's breathing isn't air - it's
slime
, it's down his throat, not just in his stomach but in his lungs, has to be.
He doesn't feel dizzy or like he's choking anymore, and when he tries to blow air out through his nose nothing happens, no pressure shifting inside him, no air coming out of him, no movement inside his nostrils. He tries to cough, but with the tentacle thrust inside him, with its slow, gelatinous movements that are making his throat quiver and his cunt throb sopping wet - and fucking
why
, exactly, does this make him so horny? - he can't make the muscles move, can't force the cough out of his throat.
Is this what it's like to breathe underwater?
The slime is packing close to him, up and around his legs, his torso, just like it is around his head - he can feel it between his toes, mercifully neutral in sensation rather than directly ticklish, but there's no such luck when the slime squeezes in between his arse cheeks, between his thighs.
He squeezes his eyes tighter shut, knowing that it's coming, but he still moans when two tentacles at once press up against him, a thick one cramming itself into his hot, open cunt and the other, a little smaller but still bigger than he'd like, into his ass.
He knew it was coming, wholly expected it and came in here knowing the thing was going to fuck him, but knowledge hadn't prepared him for the pure sensation of it, the wet, warm slide of the slime against his skin and now inside him. He whimpers, because the tentacle in his throat pulls back and then
thrusts
, and fuck, but Sam's hips jump at the same time, even as the tentacles feed further into him from the other end.
The one stuffed in his cunt is slicker than he could have imagined, radiating heat and making his cunt tingle and throb from the inside, and it begins to let out the same sweet tasting slickness from the one down his throat, too. It's so much more powerful than the aphrodisiac that had been on the air, makes him feel dazed as it washes over him and sings under his skin, pulses within him and makes his heart speed, makes his blood pump faster in his veins.
Two more tentacles come to suck and pull and grab at his nipples, coiling around his tits and squeezing the whole of them at once. He feels entirely overwhelmed with it, with the hot pleasure that radiates out from his chest and makes him squirm on the tentacles impaling him, beginning to thrust in and out of him, and fuck, the friction makes him whine, the way it drags and pulls inside and out of him.
He's drowning in the slime and drowning in sensation and drowning in
