>>58931048Will you draw her eating Cynthia alive or what
Cynthia gasped, a strangled sound. Diantha cried out, her back arching.
“Cynthia…” Diantha breathed, her voice a mix of agony and something else—a desperate, shared recognition of the obscene physical truth.
Their lips were inches apart. The hot, foul air was shared between them. In a moment of insane, grief-stricken solidarity, Diantha closed the gap.
It wasn’t a kiss of passion. It was a kiss of shared doom, a final, desperate connection in the darkness. Their lips met, salty with tears and the metallic tang of acid. It was clumsy, desperate, and unbearably intimate. The stomach chose that moment to clamp down hard, mashing their bodies together, forcing the kiss deeper, more frantic.
Cynthia kissed back, a sob trapped in her throat. It was wrong, it was horrifying, but it was a feeling, a connection that wasn’t pure pain. Their tongues met, a fleeting, slick touch amidst the surrounding sludge.
Aldith’s delighted clapping was faintly audible. “Bravo! A final performance! For me! How utterly perfect.”
The kiss broke as both women gasped for air, crying openly now, their faces slick with each other’s tears and digestive film. The physical reaction, however, had been ignited. The grinding pressure was no longer passive. Their hips, trapped and guided by the pulsing stomach walls, began to move in tiny, involuntary circles against one another. The friction was maddening, a sharp, building sensation that cut through the constant burn.
Cynthia’s mind screamed in protest, but her body, hypersensitive and starved for any sensation other than agony, was taking over. A low, shuddering moan escaped her, vibrating into Diantha’s skin. Diantha answered with a gasp, her head falling back against the fleshy wall, her eyes squeezed shut.
