This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder Than Expected

1.09 Shameful Confessions

Zoey had never been a person to sulk, so Rosalie’s less-than-encouraging statement didn’t keep her stuck in the mud for long. If anything, it let Zoey know that she needed to be putting greater effort in. That if she wanted Rosalie as a long-term addition to this adventure, Zoey needed to take the serious side of her lewd transmigration more … well, seriously.

And she wanted that. To have Rosalie by her side for the extended future. A surprising amount. The reminder that Zoey couldn’t, in fact, take that for granted had her looking at Rosalie in a new light. And Zoey had already had a high opinion to begin with. 

Rosalie’s companionship was the kind that had to be earned. Not as a prize, a reward, because that was a gross way to view it, but because effort deserved effort, goodness goodness, and so on, and Rosalie had gleaming qualities pouring from her in droves. Sure, she could be snippish, and she might be drowning in denial when it came to a few matters of the heart (in a less-than-appropriate sense of ‘matters-of-the-heart’), but that was where Zoey’s complaints ended, really.

They hacked their way through the stone and vine-infested interior of the shard, slaying monsters, avoiding traps, and clearing rooms—armed with weapons, now, which did wonders for Rosalie’s already-competent fighting skills—and eventually they emerged from the crumbling cathedral and out into a twilit forest.

Zoey had been briefly confused, wondering whether they’d escaped the shard, but Rosalie had shaken her head and explained plenty of shards progressed in aesthetics; they’d simply entered the next ‘phase’, for lack of a better word. They set off down a beaten footpath which winded between crooked trees. Leaves rustled in the wind, providing an ambience that was a nonsensical mix between eerie and calming. The breeze set a chill on her skin that gave the two of them a legitimate reason for wanting clothes, beyond modesty. Goosebumps were set prickling as they plodded down, seeking the exit of the shard. And presumably, whatever boss monster lay in wait, guarding it.

Zoey asked Rosalie how she knew which way to go, and she responded that she didn’t, not for certain, but that the obvious paths were more often the correct one. Seeing how there was a whole pocket-dimension to explore, if that maxim hadn’t held true, simply finding the boss would take an unreasonable amount of time. So, the dirt path that winded from the cathedral’s entrance was the obvious candidate.

Rosalie’s sharp senses noticed the sound of moving water before Zoey's did. She steered them off the path, taking a detour. They picked across felled logs and sunk their toes into the dark, moist loam of the forest—had it rained recently?—before bumping into their destination: a burbling hot springs which probably didn’t make logical sense for its existence, but hey, incoherent pocket dimension, remember?

Steam wafted from the pool. At the edge—the deep end, it seemed—a waterfall pounded into the water, throwing up sprays of mist. Rosalie seemed especially happy to have been given an opportunity to clean herself off. Zoey considered asking whether it could be a trap, but Rosalie didn’t seem concerned, and this wasn’t like the vine situation; she trusted Rosalie knew what was going on.

Rosalie sank into the warm water, step by step, body quickly obscuring as she walked into the steam. Zoey followed after her. It was, unsurprisingly, hot. It took a second for her to adjust to the warmth, but once she had, the heated water coaxed out the exhaustion and tension from the previous several hours. She tossed handfuls of water into her face and hair, then scrubbed, working out the grime that had collected, then afterward, dug under her nails to clean those out, too. Rosalie was doing similar.

After the practical matters had been attended to, they simply relaxed. Rosalie waded out to underneath the waterfall and let the water pour over her. Zoey didn’t think hot springs usually had waterfalls feeding them, but she’d seen, and would be seeing, a lot stranger in the coming … god, how many years of her life? How long would she be here? In this world? She didn’t want to mentally delve into those topics yet, so she shied away and let herself be distracted by more attention-grabbing matters.

Like Rosalie. The outline of her back, and her long platinum hair that dipped into the water and splayed out, normally reaching all the way to her lower back. She’d complained about not having something to tie it with; it had been annoying for her to handle during her fights. It was an otherwise impractical aspect to a strictly practical girl. Zoey suspected she was fond of it. For good reason. It was gorgeous. Everything about Rosalie was gorgeous.

"I can feel you ogling, you know."

Zoey started in surprise. Rosalie continued to demonstrate an awareness of her surroundings that bordered on the supernatural. Considering the world Zoey found herself in, it might be just that: supernatural.

"Not ogling," Zoey said. "I'm just wondering how you're so pretty." 

The words surprised her as much as they did Rosalie, who turned and blinked at her. Her cheeks colored, and she looked back forward. "Pretty. That's not the compliment you think it is."

"You'd rather me say 'dangerous'," Zoey said, knowing Rosalie in at least some small way, by now. "Or 'regal'. Deadly as you are elegant. Those are all true, too. But pretty is the word that popped in my head."

The waterfall pounded against the pool, filling the silence that was Rosalie’s response, and Zoey hesitated, wondering whether she'd been too direct.

But Rosalie finally huffed. "And what, exactly, has prompted this barrage of flattery?"

There wasn't annoyance in her tone, which spurred Zoey on. "I don't know. Just wanted to say it. I don't have much of a filter."

"That much is apparent."

Zoey waded forward. Rosalie didn't turn, though she definitely heard the sloshing water as she closed the distance. Zoey took that as good news—that she hadn't been told to stop.

Arriving behind Rosalie, she reached out and took long locks of platinum hair in her hands. Rosalie's hair was wet, darker than normal, but still silky, pale, and gorgeous. She played with it for a bit, running her fingers through and separating tresses, squeezing water out as she traced gently down the length. She was surprised Rosalie let her.

"Long hair's always felt like too much of a hassle," Zoey murmured. "But when I see yours, I get the point. Makes me want to grow it out."

Rosalie turned, and Zoey let the platinum locks slide from her hands. Rosalie wore a perplexed expression, and she studied Zoey. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry?" Zoey was a bit distracted by the six or more inches of height she had over the shorter girl. And the intensity of her eyes, capturing her like they had every time before. Everything about her is heart-stopping. How is it fair?

Rosalie blushed, then looked away. "Stop looking at me like that."

Zoey blinked. She'd accidentally won a staring contest, lost in Rosalie’s eyes. "Sorry." She didn't know what she was apologizing for, but it felt like she'd been caught doing something inappropriate.

A short silence.

Rosalie huffed. "Fine."

"Fine?"

Rosalie grabbed Zoey's hand, and the two of them waded back to the shallow end. "It's really obvious. I'd rather you just ask, next time. Not all this nonsense."

"Ask what?" Zoey hadn't a clue what was going on.

"You need relief. That's why you said all that embarrassing stuff, and why you're acting like this." Rosalie pointedly didn't make eye contact as she dragged Zoey along. "Normally I don't suffer sycophants, but I suppose you're my responsibility. So fine."

"I didn't call you pretty because I wanted in your pants," Zoey said amusedly. "I told you, I just wanted to say it."

They were almost out of the spring now, and Rosalie's gorgeous, dripping body revealed itself bit by bit, no longer obscured by the steaming water. What Rosalie had implied hit her, suddenly. 'Fine'? 'Relief'? As in … she's going to help me?

That hadn't been Zoey's intention at all, but her lower half wasn't displeased with the development.

"I guess I'll start being more vocal," Zoey said with a grin, and a quickly growing member. "Who would've thought calling you pretty would get you going so fast?"

"I'm not 'going', thank you." She sniffed, and Zoey could make out the deep flush even from behind, splashes of red coloring the tops of her shoulders. "This is your problem. I'm just helping solve it."

"Sure," Zoey said, smirking. "Want me to keep laying them on? Should I say how you move like nobody I've ever seen? That such an intimidating, deadly-looking girl has no right having such soft, cute curves? That your eyes literally turn my brain off? Or how about—"

"Shut up. What's g-gotten into you?"

"No way." Zoey laughed, the stutter somehow the funniest thing she'd heard all day. "You do, don't you? You have a praise kink. That's so—"

Zoey's teasing was cut off with a gasp, as Rosalie turned on her. "Ah," she said. "I figured out how to turn the nonsense off. Thank the heavens."

Her slim hand stroked up and down Zoey's length, derailing her train of thought. 

"Really," Rosalie said. "I already told you I'd help. What was all that for?"

"M-Meant it," Zoey gasped between strokes. “You’re gorgeous. Stunning. And more than that, good-hearted, caring, beautiful inside and out. Y-you, you’re, ahh—fuck me.” Her ability to string together sentences frayed as Rosalie picked up her pace, and a second hand joined the first, determinedly attempting to shut Zoey up. But she wouldn’t be defeated so easily. “I barely know you, but every minute in your company, my opinion—my opinion—” she panted as her stomach squirmed with pleasure, “s-shit, that’s, that’s so—keep going like that, I—” Zoey whined, hips bucking into Rosalie’s hands, then forced herself to focus. “My opinion of you goes higher,” she finished. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Is this a confession?” 

Zoey couldn’t make out the expression in Rosalie’s eyes. Their gazes hadn’t separated for a second, and the intoxicating eye-contact amplified the feeling of Rosalie’s encouraging strokes to an almost painful degree.

“No,” Zoey said. “I’m not saying I’ve fallen for you. Just that it'd be easy.” Too easy.

Rosalie’s hands worked down her length, then back up, over and over. The smaller girl was shockingly composed, for so normally being a disaster when it came to intimate matters. The situation with the vines must have closed that gap, and in no small way. She studied Zoey with a blank look on her face, and Zoey wondered if she was being too honest. But her brain wasn’t working like it should. Rosalie’s soft, powerful hands were coaxing out sentences she would normally have been more discretionary with.

“It’d be easy?” Rosalie said quietly. “To fall for me?”

“I think it would,” Zoey replied.

For close to a minute, only the lewd whines of Zoey’s pleasure filled the air.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rosalie finally said. “Now get down. We don’t have all day, and we’ll need to clean up once we're done.”

Rosalie guided Zoey to the floor, then pushed her down so she was splayed out, half-leaned up by her elbows. Rosalie climbed on her lap and continued stroking, but now with her body supported by Zoey’s thighs. Her crotch pressed into the base of Zoey’s cock. It was a highly compromising position. 

“You have lubricant, don’t you?” Rosalie asked. Her voice—and posture—was still all business. Only the red on her face, and the wetness between her thighs, betrayed her inner emotions. Zoey’s words had affected her. But in what way … well, Zoey wasn’t sure, yet.

But she’d only said the truth. So, however it worked out—at least she had that.

And her brain was occupied with other matters. She could only stave off the lust for so long. She’d said her piece, so now it was time to enjoy Rosalie’s help.

Summoning that bottle of lubricant she’d acquired from earlier, Zoey poured the slick clear liquid onto the top of her cock, and Rosalie got to work rubbing her hands into it, spreading the slippery stuff. Zoey watched Rosalie stare intently as she worked away. There was something predatory, hungry, in her eyes. Her mouth had fallen open, lips parted in absent concentration.

“Do you …” Rosalie started, then cut off.

“Do I what?” 

Rosalie bit her lip. She was still staring at her cock, and not Zoey. “Do you want to … use my chest?”

Zoey blinked rapidly.

“I’ll squeeze them together, like this.” Rosalie stopped stroking to press her tits together. “You can go between them. Um. If you want.”

A beat of silence, then Zoey leaned up. Rosalie squeaked in surprise as her seat tipped her over, and she fell into the grass. Zoey climbed over her, taking Rosalie’s offer, and with shaking hands guided her cock to her sternum, just beneath her breasts. Zoey wasn’t the only one whose composure had frayed; Rosalie panted in excitement, and she squeezed her tits together, shaping Zoey’s new plaything. Zoey thrust into it. Her cock, thoroughly covered in lubricant, slid easily between the excruciatingly soft, pressed-together skin. The friction, and pressure, wasn’t as gratifying as Rosalie’s powerful hands, but the idea it was Rosalie’s tits she had her cock stuffed between, that Rosalie had been the one to suggest this lewd act, made up the deficiency. The feeling wiped away her thoughts, and her consciousness distilled down to the slide of her pulsing meat between Rosalie’s tits. She humped away awkwardly, supporting herself by her hands and her crotch resting on Rosalie’s stomach, pistoning her hips in long strokes. With her impressive length, she bumped her cockhead into Rosalie’s chin with every back and forth.

Rosalie leaned her head forward, and the next stroke had her cock impacting her soft, rosy lips. They parted, and Zoey’s cock pierced into her wet mouth—then popped out with the back-stroke. Rosalie leaned her head in further, and when she caught Zoey next, Zoey managed to work into a rhythm where she was thrusting both between Rosalie’s soft, pressed-together breasts, and inside Rosalie’s wet, welcoming mouth, tongue teasing circles around her cockhead.

“You want to know what I think?” Zoey panted between lewd jerks of her hips. The words came unbidden, spilling from her mouth without a thought. “What I think, Rosie, is that for all your denials, all that prim and proper posture, you like this. Being used. Servicing me. Your tight, fuckable body, doing whatever it can to milk out pleasure.” She watched for Rosalie’s reaction, but Zoey had gotten it right. There was no outrage in the husky lust descending into her eyes. Zoey’s demeaning words had stirred something in her. Rosalie’s head continued to bob, mouth latched to her cock, awkwardly meeting Zoey’s pistoning as she thrusted between her tits. “What I think,” she continued gruffly, emboldened by the lack of protest, “is that a certain gorgeous princess has been caged up too long. That she’s gotten used to respect. To people walking on eggshells.” Zoey pulled out of Rosalie’s mouth, and her tits, then shuffled down so she could lean and murmur into her ear, “and that really, she just wants to be called what she is.”

“And that is?” Rosalie’s breathless response came, mouth no longer occupied.

Zoey’s spit-and-lubricant covered cock pulsed against Rosalie’s stomach, scalding both their skin. “A fucktoy,” Zoey whispered, lips not an inch from her ear. “A cock-hungry slut. A girl who wants nothing more to be stuffed. Filled up. Who knows why she’s been given so many soft curves, and wet, warm holes.”

“That’s not true,” Rosalie said huskily, “That's not … who I am …”

She sounded doubtful. 

Zoey’s hand slid down Rosalie’s stomach, and to between her legs. Rosalie’s hips bucked of their own accord, pressing her pussy into Zoey’s hand, seeking pressure. “Your body,” Zoey murmured in Rosalie’s ear, “is the more honest participant.” She rubbed tight, hard circles into Rosalie’s pussy, amazed at just how wet she was, and how instantly her fingers were drenched. Rosalie writhed under her. “So,” she whispered, “here’s your chance.” Her index and ring finger played between Rosalie’s lower lips, teasing entry. “Tell me what you want, that’s it, and you’ll get it.”

Rosalie’s hips tried to buck into Zoey’s hand, to penetrate herself with Zoey’s fingers, but Zoey had expected it, and her hand danced back. Zoey laughed softly into her ear. “Nice try. Say it. That’s the only way.” She rubbed smaller circles into her entrance, on the very edge of slipping in, but not. She could tell by the way Rosalie was whining the sensation was killing her. The expectation. The need.

“Nothing to say,” Rosalie finally gasped. “Not sure, ahh, what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, now,” Zoey tutted. “It’s just us here. Alone. No one to hear. It’ll be our secret. So please. Listen to what this,” she pressed the base of her palm into Rosalie’s core, wrenching a groan from Rosalie, and another writhing of her pelvis, “is telling you.”

Zoey continued to tease, and finally:

“Fine. D-Do it. I, I need you to, to—” she couldn’t finish.

“To do what?” Zoey asked sweetly.

“Make me feel good.”

“How?”

“Zoey, please. Your fingers. Fuck me. Fill me up.”

“And who’s asking? Is it my little fucktoy?”

“Zoey.”

“Answer me.”

“Yes. Fine. Okay? It’s your f-fucktoy. Your cock hungry whore. Your stupid slut is begging to feel good. Okay?” Her lower half thrashed desperately for relief. “So please. Help her. She wants to cum. She wants it so badly.”

“That wasn’t hard, was it?” Zoey sank her middle two fingers into Rosalie’s begging heat.

This, at least, Zoey wasn’t an amateur at, as with the new equipment between her legs. Zoey had always preferred girls, so she’d picked up a thing or two. She explored Rosalie’s insides, noting which movements caught her breath, which ones had her hands scrambling at the grass for something to hold on to, where curling her fingers had Rosalie’s toes doing the same.

She made sure to be mean about it. She didn’t offer relief quickly. Despite how little they’d done, Rosalie was already riding the edge of a crashing, pulsing orgasm, but Zoey knew the signs well enough to keep Rosalie on the edge of bliss, but not send her crashing over. She whined and protested, knowing what Zoey was doing, but when her hand came down to find relief herself, Zoey swatted it away. The second time, Zoey threatened to stop. So Rosalie was forced to endure.

And she endured. Until she couldn’t.

Her begging turned pitiful.

“Please. Zoey. Let me. I’m so close. Please. It’s, it’s right there. I want to feel good. Let me come. Please. Please. I need to. I need to. Fuck. Zoey. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” 

Zoey could hear the tears in her eyes, the burning frustration of being denied something she so desperately needed. 

“Okay. But it’s only fair if you do something for me, in return.”

“Anything. Anything.”   

“I want you to be honest with yourself.”

“How? I, I will. Just, please, let me—”

“Shhh.”

Rosalie went quiet, besides the panting and whining.

“You’ve been stealing looks,” Zoey said. “It’s not very subtle. You’re obsessed, aren’t you? Maybe I have an ego … I want you to tell me what you think of it.”

“What?” 

“Put it into words. And you’ll finally get relief.” Zoey curled her fingers to emphasize her point, drawing a gasp from Rosalie.

“I c-cant. Too, too embarrassing …”

“Then I guess this is where it ends.” Zoey’s fingers slid from inside Rosalie, trails of her arousal bridging from her fingers.

“No,” Rosalie burst out. “No. Keep going. I will.”

She resumed. “So?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Just be honest.”

“But. I don’t know. Fuck. It’s, it’s perfect. Obviously. I wanted it inside me the moment we met. I want it in me now. It’s so big. It would hurt. I want it to hurt. For it to barely fit. For me to stretch around you. To feel every inch. To be full. For, for you to, oh my gods, oh my gods, it’s, it’s—” Rosalie’s hands scrambled madly at the grass, tearing up clumps and digging into the soft dirt. Zoey thrusted her fingers in and out as fast as she could, the time for playful subtlety gone. Intensity. That was all that mattered. Building higher, going faster. Zoey used the thumb of her free hand to rub at Rosalie’s clit as she thrusted two fingers in and out, filling the air with lewd, messy sounds. Rosalie whined and cried, her needy pussy spasming around Zoey’s fingers, and her stomach shaking, her entire body shaking. To Zoey’s surprise, Rosalie kept going—kept rambling on, fulfilling Zoey’s earlier request. “I want you to shove into me, to not care. To use me. To use my hole. To treat me like the s-slut I am. To be yours. For you to make me yours. To bend me over, fuck me, use me, fill me up, stuff me with your hot seed, breed me, whenever you want, yours. Yours. Your object. Fuck. Please. Please.” Her words were losing coherency, more shaking and stuttering than not, and the intensity of the orgasm wracking her body had brought tears to her eyes; she sobbed between demeaning statements, the pleasure having reached such an unbelievable high her brain had stopped being able to deal with it. She writhed, sobbed, gasped, shook, and clenched around Zoey’s fingers, spasming from relief.

Her hands shot up, grabbing at Zoey's wrist, and knees clamping closed, begging her to stop. She finally acquiesced. Her fingers slid from her twitching pussy, trailing arousal. Rosalie sagged into the dirt. 

Zoey kissed her way up her body, stopped with a gentle one on her cheek, wiped the tears from her eyes, and said, “I'm taking it you liked that.”

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