“Tonight will test your training,” he says. “Day three into day four, the tonic accelerates. What you feel now triples by dawn.”
“I'll manage.”
“No. You'll survive. Different thing.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Your shelter. Inadequate for what's coming.”
“It's defended. Multiple exits. Good sight lines.”
“Against me. Not against environment.” He gestures toward the sky where clouds are building. “Storm season starts tonight. Your cave floods.”
Before I can respond, he's gone. Moving through the jungle with silence that shouldn't be possible for something his size. The only evidence he was here are the glowing footprints from my fungi trap.
I force myself to stand. To think through the implications. Storm season. Flooding. My carefully chosen cave becoming a trap instead of shelter.
The morning is spent relocating. Finding higher ground that won't flood but still provides defensive position. The tonic makes everything harder. Every ten minutes I have to stop, dropping to hands and knees as waves of need crash through me. My pussy clenches so hard it hurts, these violent spasms that make me cry out.
By afternoon, I've found a new position. A tree hollow fifteen feet up, accessible by vine ladder I can pull up behind me. The trunk is massive, old growth that has survived centuries of storms. Natural drainage means no flooding. Multiple escape routes through the canopy if needed.
But moving my supplies takes everything I have. Each trip up the vine ladder is agony. My swollen pussy lips rub together with each movement, sending shocks through oversensitive nerves. My nipples drag against my sports bra, the friction making me whimper.
During one particularly bad wave, I find myself humping the tree trunk. My hips grind against the bark through my pants, seeking pressure that might help. The rough surface provides friction that almost, almost gives relief. But not enough. Never enough.
When I realize what I'm doing, I force myself to stop. But my hips keep moving for several seconds, body refusing to obey.
Day Three - Evening
The storm builds throughout the afternoon. The air pressure drops, making my teeth ache. Humidity increases until breathing becomes like drowning in slow motion.
I've secured everything in the new shelter. Supplies elevated. Weapons within reach. Water collected from the rain that's coming. As ready as I can be while my body destroys itself with need.
The first drops are fat and warm. Then the sky opens.
Rain like I've never experienced. Solid walls of water that turn the jungle into an underwater world. Within minutes, streams form where none existed. Within an hour, my old cave is completely flooded. He was right. I would have drowned.
I strip off my soaked clothes. The fabric is torture against hypersensitive skin, and modesty is pointless. My scent was a beacon, broadcasting my arousal for kilometers.
Naked, I curl in my tree hollow and listen to the storm. Thunder that shakes the ancient trunk. Lightning that turns darkness into brief, blinding day. And underneath it all, the sound of a world reshaping itself with water.
A wave hits during a lightning flash. The combination of sensory overload makes me scream. My back arches completely, every muscle seizing. My pussy clenches in rhythms that match the thunder. Fifty-three seconds of exquisite torture.
When it passes, I smell him.
He's here. Somewhere close. That musk and ozone scent cutting through the rain and vegetation. My body responds instantly, fresh wetness joining what already slicks my thighs.
“You found adequate shelter,” his voice comes from everywhere and nowhere.
“You knew I would.”
“Hoped. Some humans are too stubborn. Die rather than take advice.”
Lightning illuminates him for a second. He's at the base of my tree, looking up. Rain streams over his scales, making them shine like oil. Both cocks are partially visible, pressing against their protective scaling.
“Why help me?”
“Game requires two players. No interest in playing alone.”
Thunder drowns out my response. When it passes, he's climbing. Those four arms making easy work of the ascent. Histail wraps around branches for stability, testing each hold before committing weight.
