Day 11

Day 11 - The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy / Barbarella - Free Space

"Have you no shame, girl?" The baron asked, incredulously.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say about a complete lack of shame.

Firstly, while humans are far from the only sex-negative in the galaxy - and in fact, more races are sex and nudity negative than the machinations of poorly-adjusted fiction writers and French comic artists would have one believe - they are perhaps more insufferable about it than most. They are, however, less insufferable about it than the historic cult of Callodress on the planet Kepler 22-B. of the cult, in an frenzy of religious excitement after their third reformation, became so ashamed of sex in fact that they began the practice of stoning to death anybody accused of even thinking about it. It should be said that this proved a rather temporary state of affairs, as the Keplerians would soon be driven extinct after a frightful incident involving one cult member being seen holding his genitals while using a urinal, resulting in the bloodiest and most conclusive battle of the cult's history. While human sexual repulsion is perhaps not as strong as that, it has indeed gone on much longer, making its relative insufferability difficult to gauge in a galactic sense. For more on the Scale of Galactic Insufferability, consult the Guide's entries for pebbles in one's shoe, the Galactic Center for Irritational Anomalies, and people who fail to properly use tagging systems on pornographic websites.

Barbara Ellis, a former resident of Earth and current human, in fact had an abundance of shame. However, standing naked in an alien recreation of the Palace of Versailles, surrounded by creatures (all in era-appropriate dress for pre-revolution ) of various shapes, sizes, hues, patterns, wavelengths, psychic proclivities, personal tastes, accents, languages, and most importantly odors ed so far out of what her primitive ape-descended brain considered normal that it simply failed to as something she should be ashamed of. In fact, just about everything she had experienced since being rescued from Earth's destruction by a ing long-haul space trucker had fallen outside of her brain's capability to fully process. Even while being introduced to the apparently universal concept of Ass, Grass, or Gas by said trucker, most of her thought process had been pre-reserved on deeply meaningless questions about what had just happened to her family home in Shrewsbury, who was going to feed her cat while she was being taken as far as the Andromeda Galaxy, and if her nonbinary roommate Ethel was going to be late on this month's rent.

These questions, already unimportant to both galactic politics and her current nudity in an alien royal court, were made more unimportant by the fact that all three now all shared the same answer; it had blown up, it had blown up, and It had blown up.

"I said, have you no shame, girl?" Gardlehardtex was clearly annoyed to be repeating himself, and his abundant chins bounced as he did so, which was to say nothing of the fluctuations in his odor.

"About as much as I've got luck, I guess." Barb finally answered.

As most living things do, Barbara Ellis had considered herself to be rather tragically unlucky from around the time she was a teenager. This was despite the fact that she had been lucky enough to be born into an upper middle-class family, had been fortunate enough to be one of only a handful of Humans to survive the destruction of Earth, and had been fortunate to develop as a leggy blonde who was rather pleasing on the eye.

Luck, of course, is always a matter of perspective. From where Barbara Ellis was standing, none of these things seemed particularly lucky now. In fact, all her upper middle-class heritage had gotten her, as far as she was concerned, was the privilege of wearing real Burberry instead of knockoffs during her 'wasted' adolescence. All being a leggy blonde who was rather pleasing on the eye had gotten her was picked up by a space trucker and then perved on by a great number of alien species. And all that being in the handful of surviving Humans had gotten her was a few pitying looks from some of those same aliens, one free drink from Milliways, and the gifts of a fuzzy yellow towel as well as a book with the words 'Don't Panic' written on the front in large, friendly letters. She had not, as of yet, opened the book or investigated the inner contents. Figuring that any book titled 'Don't Panic' was likely some self-help rubbish, and as a result was mostly ill-prepared for the various situations she found herself in.

In fact, had Barbara read even a small amount of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, she might have stumbled upon the section for 'Public Nudity.' The Public Nudity section of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is fairly short, and centers mostly around two succinct, sage pieces of advice.

'If you should find yourself in a situation where you are nude in public, try to change that. If you should find yourself in a situation where you are about to possibly be nude in public, stop that.'

The Encyclopedia Galactica, in comparison, has a multi page-long spread detailing the history and cultural morays of public nudity. However, almost all readers review the Guide's section more positively based both on the practicality of its recommendations and the inclusion of several picture examples.

Another thing that Barbara might have known if she had bothered to open the guide was the Human race's insistence on beaming all of their media out into space - everything from political speeches to science fiction films involving leggy blondes finding themselves in various sexually compromising situations - was highly unusual. While this broadcasting isn't uncommon for pre-spacefaring civilizations, it is often brought to quite a quick end at the first noise complaint from the nearest nuclearly-equipped neighbor. Due to the Earth's comparable galactic isolation, this broadcasting went on with minimal interruption for a great many years before the planet's eventual demolition. The lasting result boiling down mostly to a general galactic affinity for leggy blondes, as well as a prolonged boom in the sales of Satellite filters which allowed their species to block out reruns of reality dating shows. For more on Reality Dating Shows, consult the Guide's Entry for 'Scale of Galactic Insufferability.'

"We welcome you into our court, Princess Mackeritz, and here you stand, caught in the act of trying to seduce my dear, young prince!" Queen Gardlehardtex (regrettably, some relation), screeched, her lack of chins and odor both bouncing as she did so.

"I seduced him?" Barbara gawped.

"Oh mummy!" Prince Gardlehardtex (obviously, abundant relation) seemed to recognize the opportunity to pin the blame on her. "That vixen, that harlot, that-"

"He's still got my knickers in his pocket." Barbara pointed.

"Silence!" Bellowed Baron Gardlehardtex (confusingly, no relation). As he did, he slammed his scepter down mightily on the golden arm of his smaller-than-average throne. Which was a bad scene, as it's generally frowned upon to be the one bellowing and slamming your scepter down when in the presence of a near-distant-relative who outranks you. "We've know about your little ruse! The real Princess Mackeritz arrived today in her carriage. Likely waylaid by your devilish trickery-"

"Honestly, she popped that flat all on her own." Barbara insisted.

"Silence!" The Baron slammed his scepter down again, this time drawing a polite but stern look from the king.

"Throw her on the dungeon!" The Prince cried.

Barbara, too concerned with her own potentially imminent mortality, didn't feel particularly pressed to correct the Prince's turn of speech. Though, in her experience, none of the situations she'd been in thus far had killed her.

"Yes, on the dungeon with her!" The Queen echoed. This time, making Barbara really consider if she should be correcting them.

"What, you intend to let me rot away in a dungeon?" Barbara asked. "I'll just escape you know."

"Oh no, we'll be putting you on the deepest recesses of the dungeon, where it can torture you for the rest of your miserable, deceiving existence!" The King slammed his scepter down more mightily on his throne than he needed to, perhaps feeling a little insecure.

Two of the court's clockwork soldiers stepped forward and grabbed Barbara just above either elbow, this being a universally adopted technique to prevent females of any species from further resisting, despite it only in fact working on females from the planet Retrogargleblaxis, whose brains are located in exactly this position. Another way in which Barbara was actually very lucky in a cosmic sense was that none of the of the Lefasire Court she was currently standing in had read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy either.

Since Barbara was resident to a timeline where the Earth had been demolished in the late 2020s instead of the early 80s - as happens in most timelines - the royalty would have had access to a version of the guide whose section on Earth had been updated slightly beyond the standard 'Mostly Harmless' age. Including a section about how grabbing a Human female just above the elbow does not disable their ability to kick one very hard in the bollocks. This update having been written by an unpleasantly oily contributor with an ice pack stuffed into the front of his pants.

Another way in which Barbara was actually cosmically unlucky was that she had, thus far, trenchantly avoided practicing or learning any sort of fighting technique outside of hair-pulling, bollocks-kicking, and happy-slapping. All of which were just as useless against clockwork automatons as seduction. Meaning that while grabbing her just above the elbow did not leave her evolutionarily helpless, her life thus far largely did.

"I don't suppose one of you is secretly a flesh-and-blood person simply pretending to be an automaton?" Barbara asked petulantly as the dragged her into the dark recesses of the palace. "No? Either of you suddenly developed sentience and lustful impulses?

The automatons lustlessly took her down to the dungeon, which was in fact a place you went into and not onto, and tossed her into an empty room before slamming the door behind her. Which was more a figure of speech, as the door actually quietly hissed shut automatically. But if they could have slammed it, they certainly would have. Leaving aside the fact that they had no emotions as well as the door being unable to slam.

It was a simple stone cell, with an evenly polished floor but uneven cobblestone walls. The first oddity was perhaps the door, which was honest spacefaring metal that sealed the cell seemingly airtight, perhaps to keep the odor of the prisoners out of polite company, as she couldn't make out any sort of hole or latrine for doing her business. The second oddity was a slot in the back wall at floor level, just about big enough for her to slide and crawl her way through, assuming she were to lose twenty pounds specifically from her chest and rear end. Which, given what she assumed she knew about prison food - or lack thereof - probably would become feasible sooner rather than later. Kneeling on the floor to look through the slot, all she could see was darkness, though as the light of the cell slowly dimmed to what must have been power saving mode, she could really only see darkness most everywhere else. She sat with her back to the slot and held her hand up in front of her face, trying to see just how far she could extend her arm out before she couldn't make out her own fingers any more. As she did, she felt a slight draft across her back from the slot.

"You could have at least given me some clothes!" Barb shouted at nobody in particular. Though in her experiences in space thus far, aliens never gave you more clothes than you currently had, they only ever stripped you naked.

In fact, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says about clothing-

At that exact moment, the narrator was rudely interrupted by Barbara shrieking loudly. This being a common thing for surprised people to do, and the sensation of a warm, gelatinous fluid seeping from the slot behind her and touching her fanny was surprising enough to make Barbara ignore usual rules of etiquette.

Barbara, trying to escape the potentially perverted ooze entering her cell, stood quickly and pressed her back against the door. She watched helplessly as more and more of it seeped from the slot until eventually it formed a standing level on the floor that was impossible for her to avoid. It was thick as molasses and the kind of artificial green reserved for candy and tasteless automobile paint jobs. She wondered for a moment if she was going to be drowned in it, which would certainly explain the airtightness of the door, but it was a rather short method of torture if it was one, though she wouldn't be able to speak to its actual suffering quotient for a minute or two now, judging by the rate of seepage.

"HELP!" She cried out, almost involuntarily. Even when one knows that one is meant to be having a bad time, it is awfully hard to suppress the urge to do everything in one's power that might help you not to die.

Nobody came, of course. Being that she had been put here to be tortured for the rest of her miserable existence, which seemed like it would come down to minutes now. As the slime covered her feet, she tried to take a few mincing steps out of it, but found her legs held to the floor as if the substance was glue. It was quite warm, almost like a hot bath if a hot bath could hold one down and force one to enjoy it. Honestly, after the brisk walk down in the nude, she didn't entirely mind drowning in something warm, assuming it didn't taste terrible, as she would presumably be ingesting a good quantity of it.

Strangely, as it continued to fill, up past her knees and onto her thighs, Barbara found herself being moved without moving. She had been standing with her back to the door when she first reacted to it, but steadily she had made her way back to the center of the room. Of course, trying to move back was a non-starter. As it pulled up around her buttocks, Barbara couldn't help letting out a squeak as it seemed to take her feet off of the floor, holding her perfectly in place at a sort of angle, her legs out in front of her almost like she was seated. She realized that it was moving her and then holding her in place with full autonomy, meaning she was potentially being drowned in something with the autonomy to take either pleasure or displeasure in the act. She wasn't sure which possibility felt worse.

Before long - though it certainly felt longer to her - Barbara was immersed up to her jaw in the green slime that had filled her cell. Despite how cozy and soft it was to be held weightless at a forty-five degree angle in what felt like a hot tub, she spent the first minute or so like this in panic as she waited for it to fill up over her head. When it didn't do so, she cleared her throat and tried a bit of squirming. This was not particularly helpful, as squirming has never especially helped any dangerous situation, but it did calm her down somewhat. The threat of drowning, while still present, faded a bit from her mind. Now all she had to worry about was everything else. Namely the promise of torture.

"Well well well," A voice boomed from seemingly all around her. As if the walls themselves were speaking.

Then Barbara felt something without seeing it. Of course, there was very little light in the cell and it was hard to see most things, but it was more that she could sense a presence even though no face had come in. She'd found out rather quickly that things without faces still had a sort of 'face aura.' This particular face aura gave her the impression of a corpulent, jolly man. Though that made one wonder how a slime might be corpulent.

"What have we here?" The corpulent-sounding voice continued. "A Beetlegeusian? No, too straggy. Perhaps a Makifoa? But they don't tend to come in blonde…"

"Earthling." Barbara squeaked back weakly. "Human."

"An Earthling? Hmm, I've never tortured an Earthling before." The voice seemed to hesitate. "Hang on, a blonde human? You've certainly got the figure, and the hair is right..."

"Nope, not her." Barbara tried to put an end to that notion right away.

"Aw, really?" The voice groaned. "I really thought you might be."

"Common mistake." Barbara grumbled. "Really."

"It's just that you do look-"

"Trust me, I'm aware." Barbara rolled her eyes. "It really is just a stunning coincidence."

"Very well, human." The voice burbled in displeasure. "What, then, shall I call you?"

"Barbara Ellis." She answered, bracing instinctively, from a lifetime of dealing with this.

The slime paused for a very long moment, a sort of thought-like rumbling happening from somewhere inscrutable within the bowels of the dungeon. Meanwhile, in what she hoped was more the esophagus of the dungeon, Barbara waited patiently.

"Are you taking the piss?" The voice sounded like it couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or confused.

"Swear I'm not." Barbara sighed. "My parents are… bloody stupid."

"Rather incredible coincidence that, then." The voice grumbled.

"Believe me, nobody is more tired of it than me." Barbara gave a little squirm.

"You really do look a lot like-" The voice started.

"It's not on purpose." Barbara glanced at the hole in the floor, wondering if she could somehow swim through the slime and out. The hole was big enough to fit her, in theory, her curves would just be a very tight squeeze. It seemed like the kind of hold perfectly sized for her to get halfway through before getting stuck, leaving her fanny poking out for some guard to find. "I've always thought I looked more like Amy Adams, anyway."

"I've never heard of this 'Amy Adams', human." The voice burbled. "Do you have any other names I might call you? This could get terribly confusing."

"'Ey call me Mommy Dev-O sometimes." Barb found herself working almost entirely on muscle memory. "I love that."

"I'm not calling you that either, human." The slime bubbled angrily.

"Human is fine, then." Barbara said sheepishly.

"Very well, human." The slime settled down and the voice beamed with pride. "I am Oleaginous Abundance Slooge the Third. Master torturer and part-time dungeon."

"Hello, then." Barbara tried to wave.

"Well then, how best shall I torture you?" Slooge asked.

"You what?" Barbara gawped.

"I simply asked how best to torture you." Slooge repeated the question. "You haven't gotten me in your ears, have you? I do try to avoid the ear canals when I can, so easy to get little bits of myself lost."

"No, I'm just surprised by the question." Barb itted. "A torturer doesn’t usually ask how one would like to be tortured."

"Ah! But that's what makes me so terrifyingly good at my job!" Slooge burbled proudly. "I've studied the old masters thoroughly, of course. I could make you feel you were drowning, I could stretch your limbs painfully, perhaps pull off your fingernails, yes? But I find nothing is quite so effective as the fears you already have tucked away in that brain of yours, you see."

"Go on," Barbara prompted, hoping to keep him talking as she looked for a way out.

"But of course. It's a terrible lot of trial and error guessing what a prisoner is most afraid of, and if you've got more than one prisoner you'll embarrass yourself at least once by putting a Dog in John's cage when he's terrified of spiders and it was Mary who hated dogs." Slooge monologued. "So I find it best to just cut out the boring part and get right to the exciting bits - the torture."

"And so you want me to just… tell you how I'd like to be tortured?" Barb frowned.

"I'd rather think that would have made sense by now, am I not being clear?" The normally polite torturer seemed a tad frustrated.

"Oh no, you've been perfectly helpful, it's my primitive Human brain, I'm afraid." Barbara tried her best to pat the slime around her reassuringly. "You see, on Earth, it's a fairly novel concept to ask somebody how best to torture them."

"And that's why your backwater species never produced a torturer worth his thumbscrews!" Slooge bellowed, then cleared his throat, both of which effectively just made the cell vibrate around her. "No offense meant."

"None taken! The more time I spend about, the more I agree with you." Barbara kept glancing at the narrow gap that Slooge had oozed in from. Trying to do the mental math on how she'd fit her hips through. "But perhaps you could help me through this, then. What sort of torture are you capable of? Could you give me some recent examples?"

"Absolutely," Slooge stiffened a bit around her wrists and ankles. He cleared his throat again, vibrating softly, and Barb found she rather enjoyed the feeling. "I had a prisoner recently who said he feared being buried alive. So I covered the whole of his head but his nostrils to cut off all his senses, then I steadily restricted his air until he ed out and wet himself!"

"How frightful," Barbara wiggled her hips a bit, trying to grind up more against the bits of him that vibrated when he talked.

"Yes, something of my magnum opus, if you ask me. I'd never made someone wet themselves before." Slooge, accommodatingly, stiffened slightly where she'd been wiggling, making a decent friction point between her legs that made her catch her breath sharply. "Another prisoner, she was deathly afraid of the Tralgardino Burrowing Worms. Now, I normally wouldn't spend the kind of money it takes to import some of those and would have settled for just some maiming, but I was feeling in a bit of a creative rut, you see. She screamed most pleasingly when the worms ate into her ears and then popped out of her brain through her eyes."

"Ghastly!" Barbara whimpered.

"Oh quite! Though the cleanup was a proper nightmare. Still, I really think that one helped me get my groove back, so to speak." If there was one good thing Slooge had going for him, it was that he vibrated when he spoke. If there was a second, it was that he seemed to enjoy hearing himself speak. "And then there's the Steak Dinner Technique."

"You what?" Barbara was almost too lost in the vibrations to catch him. Being on the dungeon was rather like a spa day once you got used to it.

"Yes, a strange one that. The prisoner told me that he came from a planet where eating was a social affair, as well as one that you did constantly throughout the day with food that had been treated very badly. He was also an adamant Vegan, by his telling. So, once a day, I would bring him a carefully prepared, top-quality rare steak. Then I'd leave, forcing him to eat it alone in his cell." Slooge burbled with an almost insecurity. "It was a strange request, unlike anything I'd ever heard before in all my proud years of torturing. But I do aim to go above and beyond."

"I can really tell." Barbara muttered, her brain kicking into high gear despite the growing tingling and warmth in her groin. "And how long did you keep this up?"

"Oh, about a month." Slooge sounded almost ashamed. "You see, I really try never to have a prisoner die under my care, but I'm afraid this one developed a seriously clogged artery and ed on."

"How… horrifying." Barbara tried to keep up the act.

"It's a shame, I really do think the Steak Dinners were starting to make him crack. Tragic to be bailed out by such a-" Slooge stopped suddenly and bubbled angrily. "Wait a moment, you aren't trying to get out of being tortured by stalling me, are you?"

"I'm afraid so," Barbara gave a sigh. "It's just… if I tell you how best to torture me… well, I'm naturally terrified of the consequences."

"You really needn't be," Slooge's voice shifted back to gleeful. "I assure you, I'll really do quite a bang-up job of it. Worst torture of your life."

"Are you sure?" Barb bit the inside of her cheek nervously. "It's not as queer as the Steak Dinners, but it's probably something you've never done before."

"My dear prisoner, I assure you, I'm so well-versed in the fundamentals of torture in all its shapes and forms, that even a technique as alien as Steak Dinners can be grasped by my slimy, evil mind better than you can imagine." Slooge puffed up proudly, pressing the harder slime more firmly against her crotch and making her suck in air sharply through her teeth. "Why, by the end of the Steak Dinner torture, I had even begun to experiment with pan-searing and roux-based cracked pepper sauce."

"Well, it's just that us humans… we're a bit odd." Barbara forced herself to stumble over her words. "You see we're… p-positively s-shameful about sex."

"That is odd." Slooge burbled.

"Oh now that you know, I'm doomed." Barbara whimpered. "But the whole affair of sex and procreation, it's the most shameful thing in the world to us. Some of us even do it through little holes in sheets so we don't have to touch each other or see each other more than we need to. Very often, we try to get it done so fast so that only one party has to suffer the embarrassment of an orgasm. But we're forced to do it, it's the only way to reproduce. It's why we've been trying since the dawn of our species to get cloning technology down, it'd save us all so much suffering."

"I see," Slooge vibrated softly. "You're giving me some truly evil thoughts, but please, don't let me interrupt."

"Well, I really don't want to tell you this, but one time I… I actually had an orgasm while trying to procreate with a partner." Barbara shuddered and sniffled. "Not only did I cry myself to sleep that night, the partner was so ashamed of me that I had to move house just to get away from him. Seeing his face just made me relive that horrible experience over and over again."

"Hmm, what a truly strange species you are." Slooge bubbled thoughtfully. "It's hard to believe you and Barbarella are from the same planet."

"Oh yes, same planet, but we may as well be different species." Barbara corrected him, hoping it would be the end of the matter. "She's French."

"I see…" Slooge reverberated in thought. "I rather like the sound of these 'French' when you explain it. What are you, then?"

"Normal," Barbara answered curtly.

"I do not appreciate your attitude!" Slooge bellowed suddenly. "And I think it's high time we tortured you!"

Barbara let out a squeak that turned into a purr as the slime congealed around her groin pressed hardly against her. A little concave section identified her clit and suctioned it in, squeezing around it as the slime started to vibrate more consistently. A pair of larger concave slime suction cups squeezed over her nipples and vibrated as well.

"Unfortunately for you, I have been learning the ins and outs of your body while you tried to delay, and the nerve density you have is nearly identical to that of a Beetlegeusian." Slooge explained, his voice once more oozing with evil and corpulence. "Even if I've never worked with an Earthling before, it seems all too easy to please one of you."

"Right," Barbara huffed, "How awful."

She let out a bigger squeak at the feeling of semi-hard slime sliding effortlessly between the lips of her pussy, parting her just enough to spread her pleasantly before pres toward her navel and finding her g-spot effortlessly. As it started to stroke and vibrate there in time with her clit, her vision went white for a moment and she started shaking. In her encounters with sex toys, both alien and human, she had yet to get her hands on an array that could do all of these things at once as well as Slooge could. Barbara wasn't sure she was going to last very long.

"Does it make you perspire in terror to feel the pleasure I'm capable of giving you?" Slooge pestered. "Does it make you quiver in dread to know how easy it was for me to find the most sensitive regions of your human anatomy?"

"It might… nnf-" Barbara cleared her throat with difficulty, grinding her crotch into the vibrations and suckling. "It might make me… palpitate… in horror if you buggered me right as I was about to cum."

"How shameful!" Slooge bellowed.

"I can't help what gets me off." Barbara tried to sound deeply ashamed of that fact.

While Slooge had figured out most every way to arouse her that didn't require a mouth, he didn't seem to be in any hurry to actually get her off. Perhaps it was him enjoying his work, perhaps he thought it would be more intense if he made her wait. Where she'd been happy in the past to turn her vibrator up to one notch below too fast and bust one out, the slow, suckling vibes from the slime around her were almost relaxing. Were it not for the fact that they were making her so horny that she couldn't speak, she might have been able to doze off in the warm embrace of an amorous slime. The only problem was the aforementioned horniness.

"Are you miserable, human?" Slooge asked.

"Not… really…" Barbara answered through gritted teeth. "Orgasm's… good… afterwards… is… the torture…"

"Yes, I suspected as much." Slooge burbled. "Perhaps I should draw this out, maybe even deny you. Really make you dread the coming misery of-"

"Oh no!" Barbara swallowed heavily, no longer caring if her voice lilted or cracked. "Best hurry!"

"Hmm, if you say so." Slooge sounded in disbelief. "It is my first time doing this sort of thing after all, you would know best…"

Barbara yelped as a slimy, thin tendril forced her asshole open. It was just enough to let her feel that it was there, but that's all she needed. Her mouth dropped open and a keening, yelping set of gasps ed out of her lips before her eyes squeezed shut. Everything had gone pure white light, even when she was looking at the inside of her eyelids. Her cunt was burning up, drooling so much fluid into Slooge that she might have been worried about the room flooding again. Her ass squeezed around the slime, unable to fully close and happier for it.

"Fuck! I'm-" She couldn't get out more than that.

"Yes, human, you will." Slooge commanded gleefully.

She opened her eyes again only for them to cross and roll up, blinding her as her open mouth let out a froggy croak and a groan from down in her gut. Barbara shuddered and jerked against Slooge, unable to actually move anywhere and all his pleasing parts still locked firmly in place where they were. As her pussy and ass clenched, they just seemed to coax more of them inside of her, giving her a warm, full sense that made the lightning crackles of pleasure turn into fading purple sunset stormclouds.

As she was coming down, her legs still kicking and her throat still creaking out purely vowels, Barbara reached a point where she realized that the vibration wasn't stopping when she'd really have liked it to. She tried her best to wrap her lips around real words, giving a renewed squirm against the prison as she tried to pull away.

"W-wait!" Barbara managed to groan. "S-stop!"

"Why would I stop when my torture is working so well?" Slooge asked, dumbfounded.

"O-oh! Ooooh!" Barbara squealed.

The white-hot, overstimulated feeling was more urgent than it was pleasure or pain. It was closer to pain, certainly, but it was more an intense, animal feeling like she needed to pull her hand away from a burning stove. Her clit was swollen and throbbing, completely stuck and stuffed up against the vibrating walls of the suction cup like an animal caught in a trap. Her nipples were turning red and looked bigger than they'd been when they'd entered the slime. She could see little veins starting to pop out on her hips and stomach, echoing from her crotch like ripples outward as her belly also turned redder. But more than all of that her brain was throwing out crossed-wire signals and trying to force her to think her way out of being held. Like now that her body was stuck she could just wish it free, and that she needed to think harder to do so.

But beneath the intensity and the unpleasantness was a building, desperate kind of tension, like she was going to wet herself. Hiding under it, or at least behind its sofa, was pleasure. It wasn't that the vibrations on her clit and nipples hurt, it was that they were too good.

"You'll-" Barbara gasped. "You'll… I'm going… Can't… Breathe…"

"Yes, this seems to be working tremendously." Slooge burbled. "Perhaps I should push you even further."

The vibrations increased and Barbara let out a sharp, shrill, short scream. Now the pleasure and the urgency were building in equal part, like two rockets racing toward the stratosphere neck and neck. And no matter which one won, it felt like the end result of the race was that she'd die.

"You're going…" Barbara nearly bit her tongue as she tried to say anything with consonants. Her eyes went crossed again. "Drive… me… nutty…"

"Yes, a rather unfortunate side effect of torture. Rather diminishes the efficacy of it moving forward." Slooge mused.

Barbara came again with such intensity that she thought she was actually dying. For the first time in her life, she squirted, and prodigiously at that. The feeling was equal parts like her bladder was being emptied and like her cunt was squeezing so hard in pleasure that it was forcing her body out through it. She was seeing white stars in a white field of light, her fingers curled into fists and her legs and toes so curled and flexed that they were aching. She couldn't even hear the sounds she was making directly, more the sounds that came bouncing off the walls from them, groans that sounded inhuman and primal, like a howler monkey with its sensitive bits caught in a mousetrap. Ever since entering the space-adventuring part of her life, she'd heard variations on phrases expressing how limited and animal her brain was compared to the rest of interstellar society. Now, for the first time, she had some inkling of what everybody had been talking about. What she was feeling now was, simply, too much pleasure for her to actually understand it or for it all to fit inside of her. She was a gibbering, twitching, muttering ape that had gotten too much of the good feeling to catch it all and now her brain was trying to dump more of the happy chemicals than it could do at once. The result was something like madness, and something like death. Which was to say, it felt good.

She felt her feet touch the floor as if distantly, Barbara only barely realizing that the vibrations had stopped and her clit had been freed by the sludge suction cup. Slooge had been saying something, but like her sight, her hearing had been put on a sort of power-saving mode until her brain finally made sense of the whole orgasm business. Finally, she swallowed a scratchy, overused throat and let herself be laid on her back as the slime receded from her. She had a very large, very stupid smile on her face, though her pussy ached terribly. Barbara would have quite liked to do that all again, though ideally after a nap.

"Very well, then, I'll leave you to wrack yourself with guilt and humiliation, human." Slooge burbled his way back into the hole near the floor while Barbara tried to how she was supposed to see straight. "And don't even think about trying to escape through my entry hole. I know your weakness now. If I catch you sneaking out, I'll do that again 'till your eyes go permanently crossed."

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