Water trickles across the ceiling and down to the tip of a low-hanging stalactite, where it feeds a swelling bead of moisture. The bead's weight pulls it down until a thinning tether is all that holds it in place. Eventually, the tether snaps.
Plap.
The bead splats atop Marisa's bare buttock. Then the whole process repeats:
Plap. Plap. Plap.
You could time a clock to it.
But it isn't the slow, relentless drumming against her backside that wakes Marisa. It's the humming that accompanies it. She stirs atop the soft moss bedding and shoves a fist into one eye, rubbing away as she scans the cave for the melody's source.
The rest of the cavern is visible past the entrance to their little nook. Through it, she sees a subterranean pool of water framed by slanted blades of sunlight, spearing through the perforated floor of the forest overhead. The vine-tangled roots of the trees above reach down and crawl over the walls for a sip from the underground pond. At the pond's center is Nevra -- waist-deep in water as she softly hums.
Marisa blushes. The ink-blue elfling is clad in her brass collar and nothing else; her body is turned away. The subtle crease of her spine deepens near the center, then expands below into the plush pear of her buttocks. Her white hair is slicked down, dissolving into pale veins that cling to her lower half in a web of glittering ivory. The angle of her body leaves one side of her breast visible -- a plump sliver of indigo flesh.
Memories from last night flood her mind. Marisa pins her bottom lip beneath a row of teeth. Then she remembers where they are, and immediately sits up -- only to find herself similarly bare. She touches the leather collar around her neck.
"Slept okay?" Saya's voice snaps Marisa back into the moment. The other woman is off to the side, leaning against the wall of their little alcove. Her arms are folded beneath her chest -- unlike Marisa and Nevra, she remains fully-clothed.
Marisa reflexively curls her own arms around her own bare chest. Her face now feels hot enough to fry an egg. Saya almost certainly heard what she and Nevra had been up to, last night. "Y-yeah. Um..."
The redhead smiles. "Don't worry about it."
Marisa tries to change the subject: "Is it morning already? I didn't do a watch..."
"Nevra wanted you to get some rest. So we split your shift between us."
"Oh." Marisa isn't sure what to say. She doesn't feel like she deserves more rest than the two of them, but... it feels nice to know that they did that for her.
It's a show of gratitude. For helping Nevra. For getting them this far,
she tells herself. But Marisa knows better -- they wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for
all
of them. She's trying to think of a way to say that, to put it into words. Before she can, Saya crouches down beside her and squeezes her nude shoulder.
"Relax. Nevra just wanted to do something nice for you."
Marisa relaxes. As best she can, anyway. She closes her eyes and breathes. "Okay. What's our next move?"
"For starters? Get dressed and eat. Nevra found some mushrooms last night she says are edible -- pretty gross, but better than starving. After that?" Saya shrugs and gives Marisa a crooked grin. "That's what I was going to ask
you
."
Marisa peers into those bright jade eyes, struck by how different Saya seems. Before the attack, she figured her for a shy and awkward bookworm. But ever since the boggins...
Well, she thought Nevra was cold and ruthless at first. Didn't she? Maybe the elfling isn't the only person she's misjudged.
"Okay." Marisa reaches for her blue cloak. Part of her wants to scrub herself down; she briefly entertains the notion of joining Nevra (prompting yet another blush). But they need to get moving. The longer they stay in one spot, the more dangerous it will get. "We're going to need to scavenge for some supplies -- food, weapons, anything we can find. Then..."
Her words trail off. Saya's grin has faded into a look of puzzlement. It only takes Marisa a moment to recognize why: Nevra isn't humming.
They both turn at once.
The moon elf is suspended several feet over the pool. Her head is arched back, arms extended up. Water flows off her, tracing her form until it trickles down from her toes and back into the pool below. She slowly ascends -- a squirming, shimmering catch reeled in by some angler above.
A thin pink ribbon has snared her. It extends from the ceiling down into Nevra's mouth. The tip has contracted into a thin wedge to plunge deeper into her throat, only to now expand. It repeats this lurid process of inverted peristalsis: contracting to penetrate, expanding to make room. The vulgar 'kiss' deepens with each undulating pulse. Soft little "mmphs!" escape the moon elf -- she clings to the stalk, writhing in confusion. Like a dancer drunkenly swaying around a pole.
Marisa moves before she's processed the scene. She charges out from the alcove and toward the pool. Saya isn't far behind.
An upward glance confirms Marisa's fear: an enormous pink flower blooms overhead. It's a hushmaiden -- a predatory plant that hangs from branches and ceilings. Attracted by voices, they extend their stamens down to 'mute' the source, then pull them up into their clutches. But that's not all. With each successive spasm, the hushmaiden's stamen feeds Nevra a potent nectar that suppresses thought and resistance. Marisa can already see her throat pulsing as beads of honey ooze out from the edge of the elfling's stretched lips.
Marisa flings her cloak away and hurls herself into the water. Nude, she sloshes her way below Nevra and springs up to wrap her arms around the elfling's lower half. Maybe if she can leverage her weight against the hushmaiden, she can pull Nevra down.
Her arms curl around Nevra's hips and back, her cheek pressed up against her breasts. She feels Nevra's frantic heartbeat. Wet sounds emerges from the elfling's sternum -- gulping noises. She's being force-fed more of the hushmaiden's nectar.
glp. glp. glp...
Marisa's grip slips. The stalk inside Nevra's throat shrinks and swells, as if it was breathing on her behalf. All Marisa can do is watch as it pushes down like a fat slug, pumping her esophagus. Threads of nectar mingle with drool, oozing into her bosom. Marisa's grip squishes those breasts together as a lake of honey-gold ichor pools inside Nevra's cleavage.
"Saya! Help!" She can't look to see where the other woman is. It's taking everything she has to maintain her grip. All the while, Nevra's resistance is waning.
"...rrhhh...
glrk. glrk. Glrk
..." Rhythmic convulsions ripple down the stamen. As she swallows, Nevra's struggles fade. She somehow groans around the thick, pumping organ. Her body goes slack -- her arms drop to her sides. Marisa's grip slips again.
