Chapter 6

Rosalie peered out into the hallway, then, after a few moment’s quiet analysis, stepped forward and waved for Zoey to follow. She did so. At a distance, as they had discussed.

They had dropped the impromptu banner-clothing. By high odds, they’d be getting in a few tussles in the upcoming adventure, and tripping over hastily tied, decaying cloth would be a pretty hilarious way to go, especially when both she and Rosalie had already milked out orgasms from each other; modesty really ought not to be a concern of theirs. Rosalie was embarrassed about sex and related fields, that much was obvious, but even she wasn’t that impractical. Her good-sense as a Wayfarer overruled her desire to cover her body up.

And so Zoey got a great view of her ass as she walked carefully down the hallway, inspecting for traps, or potential threats. If Zoey hadn’t just emptied herself, her cock probably would’ve risen up in its stiff, angry seal of approval. Because Christ, this girl had one of the best asses she’d ever seen. And Zoey had had the internet, back home, so that was really saying something.

Like the room prior, the hallway was nondescript besides the vines curling from between crumbling gaps in the wall. The presence of plant-life was much more pervasive. Zoey’s paranoia flickered again, but she forced it down. Rosalie was the expert here, and she’d thought nothing of the vines, even when Zoey had roundabout brought it up, asking whether they were dangerous. For that effort, she’d only received an odd look, and a snide comment about how using the slime to jerk herself off had been dangerous, because who knew if it was poisonous, but otherwise, no, they were just vines.

So. Clearly they meant nothing. Just a convenient (in regards to Zoey’s earlier plight) part of the scenery.

Zoey didn’t know what to expect from this adventure. Combat, certainly. Traps, a given. Loot—an interesting upcoming event. Rosalie had given her an overview of how the world worked, but every shard was different. Each came with their own form of monsters, and obstacles, to overcome. Like the coffin debacle, and that Rosalie’s weapons and armor had gone missing.

Hopefully forever.

Not really, because she needed those, but damn, Zoey wasn’t going to be happy when she didn’t get to see that ass wiggling in front of her. She wanted so, so desperately to discover the sensation of burying herself into Rosalie, and feeling those soft cheeks pressing into her crotch, but while Zoey’s horniness levels had skyrocketed since her new addition between her legs, the urges were far from overwhelming, at least in a literal sense. She could control herself. She wasn’t some savage. She admired from afar.

But maybe someday...

A vine, thicker than the previous, drew Zoey’s attention as they slowly advanced down the hallway. It was laid out across the floor, from wall to wall, serving as a stumbling block. The strongest paranoia yet hit Zoey, the need to call out and warn Rosalie, who’d clearly seen it, but thought of it only as scenery, something to watch her footing for. Zoey bit her tongue.

Rosalie knew best. Right?

Rosalie stepped carefully across the thick protrusion, and Zoey felt silly, for a brief, ridiculous moment. She’d overreacted. Of course it was safe. What was it going to do, grab her and—

Then the vine shuddered, and Zoey barely made out what happened next. The vine came to life, snaking out and wrapping around Rosalie’s legs at thigh-level, securing her in thick, green loops, like an anaconda. Rosalie was swiped from her feet with barely time to squeak in surprise. She dangled from the ceiling, upside down, and in response, the mass of vines on the wall started to writhe and animate, heeding the incapacitation the larger, trap-vine on the floor had provided.

Oh, shit. Zoey hadn’t been paranoid; she’d been dead right.

Of course the dungeon they found themselves in wanted to molest them. It had crammed them in a coffin and forced Zoey to orgasm across Rosalie’s body as their very first obstacle, for god’s sake.

And while what was about to happen to Rosalie would be an amazing show, and something Zoey would have loved to see in an abstract sense, Zoey sure as hell wasn’t letting Rosalie just hang there and be groped by slimy vines. Not if she didn’t want it, at least. Which, knowing Rosalie, was definitely the case.

Not that she’d be getting out entirely unscathed. Zoey could only do so much, and the slimy green vines were on Rosalie in a blink. They wrapped around her torso, and her arms, further securing her in place, and the most enterprising of the bunch shoved itself into her mouth.

At least her lower holes seemed to be spared, since the thick, securing vine had her thighs solidly shut.

Her tits and mouth, not so much. Rosalie thrashed about, trying to fight the vines off. Zoey finally startled into action; she was hardly some trained adventurer, and everything had happened in what felt like half a second.

Her arsenal of tools was small, but she could at least try.

An hour of practice was far from enough time to have become a proficient spellcaster, but she had at least some. She called forth that strange well of energy, then in some inexplicable way, activated her Rune of Arcana, calling forth a single circle: the fundamental unit of spellcasting.

Mentally drawing the swooping, interlocking diagram for a high-velocity ice spike in the way Rosalie had taught her, she flung out the first of her spells, aimed directly at the largest vine, the one that had Rosalie’s legs incapacitated.

It cut through green plant flesh with surprising efficacy. Two more spikes had the largest of the vines severed, and Rosalie thumping into the floor. The strength of the bindings at her legs now cut off, Rosalie’s thrashing gained purchase; the grip started to loosen at her thighs, and Zoey could hear the vines start to tear. Rosalie’s mouth was still occupied by a squirming occupant, and—Zoey paused in surprise. It was emptying some kind of fluid into her mouth. A translucent, pink material dribbled from her chin and out her nose. Based on the second, Zoey assumed the vine must be injecting its payload with no small amount of force.