Round 413

The passageway's breathing hitched, then synced with their own frantic heartbeats in a disturbing rhythm. The walls seemed to tense, every surface alive and watching as the glowing tendril wrapped around them both like a living rope. Silra's fingers dug into Jeane's waist as she was pulled flush against her, breasts pressing together through thin fabric. The air grew heavy with that sweet perfume, cloying and wrong, as the walls pulsed around them in time with their shared panic.

We have to do this, Silra whispered, voice barely audible over the low thrumming vibration that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Her hands moved of their own accord, sliding down Jeane's sides until they found the waistband of her pants. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling around her ankles as Silra's fingers continued their descent with practiced familiarity.

Stop, Jeane managed to gasp, but it came out breathless rather than commanding. Her body betrayed her, leaning into Silra's touch instead of pulling away. The tendril tightened further, binding them together more securely, and Jeane felt a fresh wave of arousal flood through her despite the terror. This isn't right, she thought desperately as Silra's hands cupped her bare ass, pulling her even closer.

The walls pulsed again, faster now, and a second tendril began to form near their feet. The bioluminescence intensified, painting everything in shades of pink and purple that seemed to highlight every inch of exposed skin. We can't stay here, Silra said, her voice husky with desire even as her eyes darted nervously between Jeane's face and the advancing wall-flesh. We need to move. Her fingers slipped lower, teasing at Jeane's folds from behind.

Jeane whimpered, conflicted by the need to resist and the overwhelming urge to give in. The tendrils were spreading now, one wrapping around their thighs while another began to creep up Silra's arm. Every touch sent jolts of pleasure through her body even as the walls seemed to close in, breathing harder with each passing second.

I can't, Jeane moaned, but she was already tilting her hips back, granting Silra better access. The tendrils responded by tightening their grip, ensuring they remained pressed together while also beginning to undulate against their skin in a way that felt obscenely like caresses. What's happening to us?