Inside the pink, gelatinous prison, Diana was suspended in a state of sensory overload. Translucent, beaded spheres linked together like anal beads, penetrating every cavity of her body with a granular, rhythmic friction. A viscous, warm liquid followed the intrusion, seeping into her tightest gaps and forcing her to gush her own fluids into the soup that surrounded her.
Diana's limbs floated freely in the gel, yet she was held fast by the slime's internal pressure. Three distinct channels pumped a heavy, narcotic fluid into her mouth, pussy, and ass, filling her with an overwhelming sense of distension. She felt heavy, bloated, as if her very soul was being weighed down. The gel was absorbed by her mucous membranes, and slowly, her sensation began to drift.
She climaxed quietly, a muffled, vibrating orgasm that shook her suspended frame. She couldn't scream; the liquid filled her throat. Her twitching slowed as her thoughts began to solidify—literally. She realized with a detached horror that her consciousness wasn't just fading; it was being extracted. Her mind could still send signals, but the connection to her physical brain was fraying, turning into a sluggish, remote feed.
Poof.
With a wet, suctioning sound, Diana was ejected from the slime mass. She landed on the cold lab floor, her powerful legs locking instantly into a humiliating, half-squatting position. She was a statue of flesh, her mind numb and unable to perceive the room, yet her internal organs churned with a frantic life of their own.
She felt like she was trapped in a narrow, dark tunnel. She couldn't move her eyes, which were rolled back in a drugged haze, saliva dripping in a long string from her slack jaw.
Then, the birthing began.
Her high, distended abdomen rippled as a bulge moved downward. The gel she had absorbed—now saturated with fragments of her own personality and libido—was ready to be expelled. Her anal sphincter, unused to such intrusion, was stretched wide open.
Plop. Squelch.
A burst of mixed fluids hit the floor, followed by a cylindrical, green-hued mass of gel. It hung from her gaping rosebud for a second before falling with a wet thud. It didn't splatter; instead, it quivered and reshaped itself.
It formed a grotesque, erotic caricature: a miniature version of Diana's head and torso, devoid of arms or legs, ending in a massively enlarged, hungry vaginal structure.
Diana's throat let out an unconscious, broken moan as another mass moved through her bowels.
Plop. Plop.
Green gel continued to tumble from her ass, piling up beneath her. Each one was a "Soul Toy"—a living masturbation aid containing a fragment of the Guardian's own psyche. They wriggled on the floor, their wet, oversized pussies twitching in anticipation.
In the old days, the Dark Legion used these slimes to harvest captured women. They would strip a girl's personality, turning her soul into a consumable sex toy for the monsters. Once the toy was used up, the girl was an empty husk. Diana had saved countless victims from this fate, resetting their minds with her magic. She had never dreamed she would become the factory herself.
But Diana was no ordinary woman. Her soul was a roaring fire compared to a candle. The slime's attempt to strip her was like trying to drain an ocean with a spoon.
The discharge finally ceased. Her abdomen flattened, and the numbness receded. With a gasp, Diana regained control, stumbling forward as her legs unlocked. She looked down at the dozen wriggling blobs on the floor—her "children" of filth. She had lost maybe a fraction of her power, enough to make two clones, but she remained whole.
Yet, as she stared at the piles of green jelly, she felt a phantom itch. A collective wave of intense, desperate lust washed over her, emanating from the toys. Involuntarily, her thighs clamped together.
Curious, she picked one up. The moment her palm touched the "waist" of the gel-torso, Diana gasped, feeling a phantom touch on her own waist. The sensory link was still active.
She lifted the item, staring at the oversized, glistening slit at the bottom. Slowly, she inserted two fingers into the gel-pussy.
"Ah!"
Her knees buckled. She felt the sensation twice—once as the finger penetrating the toy, and once as the toy being penetrated. Her own vagina was empty, aching with a hollow need, but her brain registered the fullness of her fingers stretching the gel. The feedback loop of pleasure was instantaneous and blinding.
"This..." she panted, pumping her fingers into the soul-toy, watching her own miniature face on the gel contort in pleasure. "This opens up... possibilities."
One Month Later.
The air in the abandoned warehouse was thick with dust and greed.
Two men stood under a flickering light. One tossed a heavy bag onto a crate, the zipper splitting to reveal stacks of cash. The other nodded, placing a sleek, metal suitcase on the table.
He clicked the latches open. Inside, nestled in protective foam, sat a glowing, green clump of high-grade gel.
"Top shelf," the smuggler grinned. "Direct from the source. You stick your dick in this... and you're fucking a goddess."
.....
.....
.....
Support me and read advance chapters on patreon.com/ImmortalDaoWriter