“So, what’s the plan?”

“Right.” Quinn spun around dramatically, decked in her usual delving uniform of the smallest string bikini fitting her massive furred J cups. Both orbs jiggling like a video game’s broken physics engine: today’s tiny top support a Confederate Navy Jack tented over each nipple. Daisy duke shorts, a tactical belt loaded with ammo and potions, and a massive hunting rifle slung over one shoulder completed the outfit. Her appearance normally distracted Honoka to no end, but Quinn barreled through her explanation like an otaku through a bodypillow shop. “We take the dungeon’s elevator, we go down ta Floor 270, we go in, take care uv Floor 271, then we dress warm, go over the icy tundra of Floor 272, hole up, have a cup of tea, an’ wait fer all this ta blow over.”

Honoka tried valiantly, but she couldn’t stop from laughing at the serious twitch of Quinn’s whiskers, breaking down and belly laughing. Behind Honoka, Miaka and Dolly joined in, though they sounded like they were in on the joke. “How did…did you practice that?”

“I dun know what’cha’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Quinn said with a thicker than usual accent, leading the way down the street.

Honoka hadn’t walked two steps into the house after her lunch date before Quinn shoved her back out, throwing clothing and gear around and stating if they wanted to catch the elevator, they needed to scoot! Which was fine, Honoka welcomed the distraction even if she didn’t know all that was going on. Slipping out of date clothing and into delving gear, Honoka walked out the door and followed the marching otter, Dolly and Miaka picking up the rear. A short march later, they were deep in the Dump district of Harvardtown, the roar of the massive elevators making it difficult to speak without shouting.

“She practiced for the last hour,” Dolly said, wiping some tears out of her eyes, unable to stop chuckling. “Quinn had the clip on repeat all through lunch.” The large cheetaur girl played packhorse, cat withers strapped with furry rolls that held the aforementioned warm clothing they would need for Floor 272 as well as armor Dolly didn’t have enough time to completely put on before they left the house. There were pieces of plate strapped on over gambeson, making her appear like a knight on a warhorse, the style more classic Arabian than European. One hand held a modern compound bow with a draw weight of over two hundred pounds if Honoka was any judge (she wasn’t), the entire thing longer than the petite(ish) woman. With one packed quiver at Dolly’s waist and another seven quivers hanging off her back, there were five hundred arrows on the quadruped cat girl. Probably more.

“It would be even funnier if we didn’t have to make a stop first,” Miaka pointed out, wincing in disgust as she drank a concoction out of her canteen, having trouble keeping it down. Knowing how many supplements and protein shakes the bird woman ingested daily, Honoka did not envy what other people endured to keep their bodies fit and muscular. The kikiyaon wore a replacement delving outfit of dark keikogi and hakama (the remains of her previous enchanted delving clothing at the bottom of a lava lake), the sleeveless top giving her arms and wings freedom in a fight. She still strapped the same enchanted rods over one shoulder and shotgun over the other, the only difference were the runes on either side of her chest glowed purple instead of the previous single white symbol. “Family is low on money, gonna nab a ticket from FDR before heading down.”

“That’s fine, actually a good idea for me to see how this works,” Honoka replied, picking up the pace to catch Quinn. Most of Honoka’s fancy armor had been destroyed during the rescue mission into Solomon’s, but the real loss had been the mithril katana. It wasn’t like the girls could head up there after leaving the scene of a murder and ask nicely for all their stuff back. Honoka wore spare armor plates over a simple tight peach t-shirt, breasts bound fundoshi style like Miaka’s with wraps underneath. Her bottom half sported unstylish loose cargo shorts, feet still shod in flip flops from the date, only now bound with rope to keep them on. With a plain steel katana at her waist and Eve’s Glock on the other side, she looked like a beach-bum-hobo delver.

The FDR building inside the dungeon was a lot different than the one Honoka visited a few times in Cambridge. Back in the real world, the Federal Dungeon Regulation building presented all the appeal and bureaucracy of the DMV. Long lines, bored federal workers, a bunch of chairs for people to wait for their number to come up. The FDR building down in Harvardtown, on the other hand, looked entirely different.

“So cool,” Honoka wowed, her eyes widening at the architectural wonder before her. Whoever designed the building clearly had a love of Louis Kahn. The edifice before her was a massive concrete homage to Kahn’s unbuilt Hurva synagogue, though on a much larger scale. This monument - with the interplay between pylons and pillars creating all the triangular angled lines layered upon each other - organized its interior more like a shopping mall than a place of worship, though. Inside, thousands of people milled around various open rooms, doing dozens of different things, everyone of them ignoring the magnificently complex shapes blocks of concrete made with the open roof allowing light in from the dungeon’s ambiance.

“I guess?” Dolly said, fiddling with her bow as she searched around nervously. “I hate this place. Lots of nasty guilds make FDR their unofficial headquarters. Better to duck your head, nab your ticket and get out. Less chance of something happening.”

“That is less likely since Ben Uygur thought it funny to pick a fight with Quinn earlier this week.” Miaka pulled up an amateur video from her phone of Quinn facing a huge man dressed and shaped like a gladiator of Rome. “Dolly sent me the video when I was in Japan. Anyway, Ben is a raid leader for the Tyght guild. The amount of trash he talks irritates most people, and it isn’t just that he’s ugly. Nobody calls him out because Tyght is a major guild and Ben’s level is somewhere in the twenties. He also has a tendency to beat on anyone he doesn’t like.”

Miaka pushed play, and Honoka idly noticed it was uploaded on Tube-U-R with a million views! Quinn appeared like she did right now, holding a tray of food from the court. Then, the six foot six (198 cm), three hundred pound (136 kg) gorilla standing behind her (not an actual gorilla beastkin, just a big human) came around and knocked the tray out of her otter paws. Heated words ensued. Although Miaka had the sound off, it was clear Quinn displayed a blackbelt in Mouth Fu, giving as good as she got. In less than a minute, a crowd gathered and the two were ready to throw down.

“After Bone Castle and Solomon’s, our guild earned a rep.” The Japanese owl flicked her beak towards Quinn. “And because we changed the paperwork so Quinn leads all our raids, everyone thinks Whiskers is the boss.”

Honoka was not only fine with that, she wished Quinn all the luck dealing with fame and infamy. Honoka did not need the stress of being a dungeon celebrity on top of everything else. Back to the video, Miaka unpaused as the group of women continued strolling deeper into the building.

On screen, Quinn held up her hand and sent a quick text with the other. She smiled, grabbed a small potion vial with clear liquid, downed it in a go, then quickly grew. Ben was stupid enough to wait around doing nothing, judging by the dumb look on his face.

“I remember this,” Honoka said, searching for when the video was uploaded to Tube-U-R. “Yeah, this was Tuesday, got the SOS while I was with Eve. What potion did she drink?”

“Its water,” Dolly said, pulling out an identical placebo vial from her belt. “We all carry them around with us as a smoke screen for allocation. Rumor is we have a high level alchemist on the payroll.”

Quinn never hid anything in her life or demeanor, the perky Southerner tended to flaunt herself even before Harmony points shot her into the sexy stratosphere. However, her fur sometimes made people forget that she had the muscles of a titan mixed under pornstar curves. So when her Strength jumped from twenty to forty and added the density properties of Bullish Strength while shooting her up to eight feet six inches (259 cm) in the video, half the crowd disappeared and the other half stared in horror at the expanding miniGTS monstergirl. Well, horror and lust. As the mature marker on the video warned, Quinn lost most clothing in a flexing, burgeoning burst when the otter topped over a thousand pounds (454 kg) of hard meat, only the tiniest bit of blue panties straining for dear life. Fur or no fur, there was no doubt left in anyone’s mind this woman was about to break Ben like a luchador supervillain fresh out of Peña Duro.

Maybe Ben realized this, but he couldn’t back down. The idiot went for a strong haymaker, putting a lot of power and skill into the punch. Quinn easily caught his fist with her hand, anime style, and then casually lifted him off the ground. Pausing to say something to the smaller man, she spun around and flipped him overhead, slamming him into the stone with a crash and more than a few broken bones. Quinn then said something else impolite, which shocked more people from the crowd than anything else that happened, based on their reactions. She picked a potion from her belt on the ground and tossed a low level healing towards the sobbing bully, walking away when the video ended.

“Not the first time that rollin’ possum turd tried ta start somethin’,” Quinn said ten feet away, beastkin sensitive ears able to pick up everything behind her. “Still thought I was ‘bout ta get my butt thumped, even with the SOS. Harmony points do a body good.”

Honoka, Miaka and Dolly all took a moment to ogle up and down Quinn’s backside, especially how the jean shorts hugged into her cheeks and tail. All three nodding in unison and appreciation.

The line for job tickets was longer than Honoka’s dick, so while Quinn took care of business, the other two wives decided to give Honoka a tour. In a way, the next half hour was adorable, each wife trying to show Honoka something they thought she would like. There were gadgets and gizmos, whozits and whatzits, even one place with twenty thingamabobs. Miaka’s highlight was a sword shop with all kinds of magical blades (though when Honoka saw the price of a similar mithril katana to the one she lost, she nearly choked and was carried out of the store). However, Dolly won this round with a banana split sundae meant to be eaten by at least four people, made entirely from various dungeon ingredients. Each scoop of ice cream possessed a different mild magical effect: one was on fire, one crackled with electricity, another was translucent and swirled like a slow hurricane. Honoka’s eyes grew as large as saucers and couldn’t stop herself from inhaling (not literally) the entire giant bowl, much to the surprise of the little old lady behind the counter. Still waiting on Quinn, they headed for a common area where they met some friendly faces.

“Hello, Dolly!”

“Howdy, Jake,” Dolly replied, leading the girls to a table in the center of the court. Jake - whom Honoka remembered was a member of Carnival, the one who tried hitting on her the first time they met - was a young black man with a triathlete’s build and shaved head. Next to his seat was a pack bulging with armor and a mace too large for any man to wield, much less carry. Right now he relaxed in white shorts and a tank, though one of his arms was wrapped in a sloppy splint. Also, he was missing his eyebrows. Alone at the large table for the moment, other packs next to seats at his table inferred he was saving places in the busy commons.

“You look like crap,” Miaka stated, pulling out a chair, flipping it around and leaning on the back. “You guys hitting The Twenty-Three?”

Honoka quirked an eyebrow, which Jake understood and chuckled good naturedly. “No, we were not near the bottom twenty-three Floors, considered the hardest and most dangerous areas of the dungeon.” Honoka nodded appreciatively. “We got back from Floor 80.”

“The Ocho?” Miaka looked shocked and Dolly paced nervously. “All it has is balloon monsters and slimes. Did you decide to tackle it naked and blindfolded?”

“Completely overrun,” Jake turned serious, rubbing his splint absently. “Ever seen a Balloon King? I have now, almost a hundred of them. Those nasty blue devils are twenty feet wide and cast AOE spells. We were hired to hold the line while other guilds got the last stragglers out and then sealed the gate. I’m honestly surprised to be alive right now.”

“Daaaa…ng.” Dolly caught herself, giving Honoka a sideways look.

Honoka might not be as savvy as her other delving wives, but she had spent time studying the ecosystem she lived in. While not a perfect metric, the further down into the dungeon a person went, the more dangerous and deadly it became. There were exceptions, but it mostly held true in the Harvard Dungeon. Kids played in the streets on Floor 3 and there were plenty of safe areas and businesses within the first hundred Floors. The second hundred Floors were rated between a 4 and 6 on the difficulty scale, eighty percent of delving runs happening in this range. From three hundred to four hundred, the difficulty inclined sharply until hitting the last twenty three Floors, all hard enough that most groups won’t go near them unless they had a death wish. Other dungeons ran on different metrics, but this was how Harvard worked.

For a guild like Carnival, Floor 80 should have been like walking to the store to buy milk.

“Only good thing to come out of that fiasco is I’m officially the second level thirty lightning magus in the world,” Cleo Tate said, surprising everyone as she led others of her guild to the table and sat down. The middle aged woman with light gray eyes and matching gray hair, who should have looked slightly ridiculous with long blue robes, staff and holding a tray of Mexican food, just appeared worn and tired. “I can’t believe Jordan Shapiro beat me by two days. He is going to be insufferable when I go to Seattle next month for Dungeon Expo.”

While Carnival seated themselves and spread out food, Honoka received and returned a smirk from a scarred Hispanic woman that showed kindness to an out-of-work architect a month ago. She carried two trays and set one in front of Jake, their seats intimately close. Smiles faded when Honoka studied the dozen men and women at the large table. Jake and Cleo were the ones with the least injuries in the group. Mostly burns and savage bite marks, bloody bandages and other fresh wounds made them look like they were waiting in line for the Confederate Army doctor to perform amputations.

“Do ya guys need potions?” Quinn said, stalking up behind while the other wives stagnated under the morbid sight of the injuries. “Or better yet, Banda’s at the house, she’ll double team y’all with healin’ hands and healin’ milk. Should be done wit her evenin’ milkin’ by now.”

Cleo glanced around her injured party and then looked towards Honoka. The socially inept woman wasn’t sure what the look meant, but it wasn’t happy. “I…we’ll be fine, thanks for the offer.”

Honoka didn’t like sitting in the dark. After all Carnival had done for them, Honoka especially didn’t like a cagey Cleo. “Is something wrong?” Honoka asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Cleo, newly minted level thirty Classer and arguably one of the most powerful magic users in the United States, grew scared for a moment before she visibly quashed that emotion with steely resolve. “We’ve been getting pressure - us and other guilds - to stay away from Becoming Monsters.”

“What do you mean, pressure?” Dolly asked.

“It isn’t overt, it rarely is,” Cleo picked at her food, keeping her head down as she talked, occasionally peering around the space. Others of her guild were likewise suddenly on alert for eavesdroppers. “A weird email, a strange text, a random stranger speaking in riddles. I’ve been around long enough to know if I don’t do as I’m told, all the jobs will dry up. Suddenly, I can’t get enough work for a dozen families to live off of because I did the wrong thing. Its why we left New Orleans. The group behind it doesn’t have an official name, but they are the real power in dungeons. They’re called the Deep Guilds.”

“Hmm.” Honoka wanted to immediately announce she hated bullies and that she didn’t care for threats, but that would only make Cleo’s life more difficult long term. If she wanted to help, she would need to prod the hamster in her brain to run faster on the wheel. Which must have worked, because she spread a nasty grin across her face as she pulled out her phone.

“Well, too bad we can’t help you,” Honoka said, maybe too loudly. Really, she was playing this over the top, but it isn’t paranoia if they really are out to get you. “I know someone who can help, though. His name is Philip Miner.”

“Philip…Miner.” Cleo looked confused, but she wasn’t born yesterday and could smell what the Rock was cooking.

“Yeah, he used to work for the BPD, but he lost his job recently.” Honoka pulled out her phone and typed rapidly, first sending Philip’s contact info to Cleo and then sending out an SOS to the rest of the wives. “You’d have to mosey up to Boston to meet with him, a face to face would be best for this kind of thing. I don’t know how much an out of work cop can help, but every little bit counts, right?” Honoka then summoned her Status and made the right allocations, reasoning wives had enough warning to strip clothing they didn’t want destroyed. The SOS system was training everyone to leap out of clothing on the first ring.

“Right.” Cleo, a hard woman by any metric, silently thanked Honoka with her eyes. She and her guild finished eating and stood, leaving the wives to hound Honoka for answers.

Before she could give any, Honoka’s phone rang and the black woman answered with a cheerful, “Hello!”

“This is really weird!” Banda shouted on the other side, her normally girlish soprano taking on a hissing inflection. “Why am I a naga?!”

“So that you can turn invisible, get to the van, text me for a human change, drive the van up to Boston as a human, turn into a naga again so no one sees you hike the couple of blocks to Philip Miner’s house.” Honoka’s lowered her voice, aware that someone might be listening. “I’ll send you the address. Once there, sneak inside, go back to your lovely holstaur self, heal Carnival when they arrive, then repeat the whole process coming back.”

While Honoka finished the conversation, a text from Padmava buzzed: Why am I a holstaur?! Rolling her eyes, Honoka pleaded at her wives, who blasted texts to the appropriate people. Hopefully, no one was watching Honoka’s phone plans too closely.

“I am not Ethan Hunt!” Banda didn’t sound mad, more likely flustered at growing a giant snake tail and another pair of arms.

“You’ll do fine,” Honoka reassured. Inflecting slowly, she tried to convey everything without actually saying it to Banda. “Its important, I’ll explain later.”

“You owe me!” Banda hung up, probably to try and find clothing to go with her crazy adventures over the next few hours.

“We need to head out right now if we want to make it back before midnight,” Miaka said, keeping the wives on schedule. “Floor 271 is going to take time.”

“Right,” Honoka said, stowing her phone and standing, happy to help her friends yet also worried what this Deep Guild business meant for her family.

********************

The dungeon elevator system was less Otis and more giant open industrial lifts slowly transversing the Floors. When Honoka visited here over a week ago, the place was a hub of activity and packed with people jostling on or hustling off elevators constantly in motion. Right now, a chaos of a different sort transpired.

“Its been like this all week,” Dolly said, pointing out how half the elevators had large orange signs saying out of order. “Guess I never thought it would get this bad.”

“Its a monster surge, happens a lot in other dungeons.” Miaka paid coins at the kiosk and received four tickets, shrugging as if it was the way it was. “Harvard’s different, mostly because no surges happened in five years. Just means we were due.”

“Should I be worried?” Honoka asked, wondering if the family would need to evacuate.

“Prob’bly…not…” Quinn took a woozy step, stopped and swayed a bit, then jumped over to a wall away from people to suddenly and violently vomit onto the ground. From the acrid odor wafting before the dungeon took care of the mess, not a pleasant form of gut expulsion either: this was fully flavored. Quinn’s whole body heaved, nearly throwing the mighty guild leader to the ground. Wiping her mouth with a furry paw, Quinn straightened slowly and groaned while gripping her stomach.

“Guess you’re pregnant,” Dolly said flatly, though she smiled a little in congratulations for her best friend and sister wife.

“Pretty sure uv that when I shot inta orbit wit the African Cum Cannon.” Quinn accepted Miaka’s feather arm to lean on as they walked towards their elevator. “Four hours of regen, two potions an’ a Banda healin’, I am still tender down there.”

“Don’t you mean African/Asian Cum Cannon?” Honoka asked fake indignantly.

“Nope,” Miaka answered, glancing behind and answering with a smile and a meaningful look aimed inside Honoka’s shorts. “There is nothing Asian about the Beast. He likes rap music, basketball, Tyler Parry and pleasing his hoes.” Which is when - as if she were remembering something - Miaka pulled her canteen off her belt and passed it to Dolly.

“That is…” Honoka sighed, giving up. “That is probably accurate.”

“Gah!” Dolly exclaimed, pulling the canteen away from her mouth as she looked like she was gagging. Then, a light illuminating inside her head, she choked another swallow despite looking about to join Quinn in the puking club.

They arrived at their elevator, though, so Honoka wasn’t paying attention. The absentminded woman hadn’t paid attention the last two times she rode on one of these, but this elevator was different than the one that went to Bone Castle. For one, it was smaller, probably half the size. It could only fit a hundred people, two hundred if they really mosh pitted. Not that it mattered, only a couple dozen joining on their ride, so there was plenty of space and the various groups spread out. The other difference from Honoka’s other dungeon delving dives was this elevator lined seats welded to the metal grate of the platform, hard plastic ones similarly found in city transit buses.

“Floor 270 isn’t a popular floor, so we get one of the older model elevators. The ride will take around an hour.”

Honoka was so distracted trying to gauge her elevator and juggle everything else in her mind she didn’t register who spoke. “Sounds exciting,” Honoka said blandly, a text from Banda led to some Status allocations. “However will we pass the time?”

Quinn pulled a plastic trash bag out of one of Dolly’s packs, draped it over a seat in the far corner from everyone else, then produced a celebrity magazine and got comfortable. Quinn was ready for the long haul, her other hand faintly rubbing her sick stomach. Searching around with her abnormal perceptions, she nodded as the gate closed and the elevator groaned downward at a glacial pace.

Honoka found most everyone else riding with the girls similarly pulling out phones, tablets or generally looking like they were going to spend the time asleep. Not the worst idea, Honoka could do with a nap right then.

“I have an idea,” Miaka said, yanking Honoka over to the corner as Dolly stepped around in front. “I think Dolly needs some help strapping on her armor.”

“Um…ok?” Honoka wasn’t sure what was going on. Yet as they passed deeper into dungeon rock, it grew pitch black, only a single light occasionally lighting the area from a wall. Other than dim phones lights, the whole area was utter darkness.

And in that darkness, Miaka reached into the tan shorts and grabbed Honoka’s penis.

“Don’t you want to…help…Dolly?” Miaka whispered, her beak and feathers brushing against Honoka’s ear.

Quinn must have been in on this scheme because she draped another trash bag over the corner seat, motioning for Honoka to stand on the seat. She also held a small dildo dripping female juices. There was only one logical hiding place it appeared from as Quinn handed the blue phallus to Miaka. The discrete otter held her magazine casually and discretely gave Honoka a thumbs up, as if handing dripping dildos was as normal as passing the salt.

“I…really? Here?” The aroused and rising futa furiously whispered helped onto the seat, her wives not allowing many choices. Dolly backed her cat rump up against Honoka’s groin, the warmth radiating from furry snatch only separated by a few layers of cloth to Honoka’s own heat.

“Won’t be the first time randy delvers got a little action before the action,” Miaka explained quietly, quickly and efficiently removing Honoka’s weapons, shorts and jockstrap, then pulling down Dolly’s cloth pants. “Everyone does it. The key is keeping it quiet.”

“That is not the point!” Honoka grew loud at the end, but calmed herself even as she idly rubbed up and down her throbbing rod, barely making out glistening pussy in front of her. That Honoka couldn’t see the treasured pussy seated between the spotted golden furred legs made the enticement harder to ignore. Though Honoka’s horny state wasn’t an excuse. “I am not a fan of surprises!”

“It’s half the fun,” Miaka teased, seating next to Honoka and teasing the dildo along the wet and dripping folds of Honoka’s own cunt, eliciting a moan that the horny woman bit her lip to prevent the sound from alerting the entire platform.

“Don’t worry,” Dolly said from seven feet away, or the length of her cat body. “Quinn has been trying to get me to try new things and…I want this. With you.” Even if Honoka couldn’t see it, she heard a blush in the young girl’s voice. “Also, what do you think Miaka keeps in her canteen? Already took the C&A.”

Honoka wanted to argue more, but Miaka decided this was happening and turned the vibrator function of the dildo on, shoving it into Honoka snatch. Quinn had a thing for powerful toys, and this dildo was no exception: Honoka felt that vibration in her teeth!

Am I going insane? Honoka asked no one, feeling her pussy squirt enough vaginal lubrication to fill a cereal bowl, drenching Miaka’s arm as her body both tried to move away from the sensational overload while also bending her knees to try and force it in deeper. This isn’t something normal people do, right? Or am I just a prude? In the end, her nature and being with her wives decided it for Honoka. She almost gasped or screamed, the air caught in her throat as she reached for balance on Dolly’s flank. This falling action placed her hard shaft atop the bountiful cleavage of Dolly’s glutes, pressing into it as Honoka’s knees bent and moved down, hotdogging both glutes and wet pussy, forcing Honoka to straighten and lean forward, moving up and down that sexual canyon a few times while juting spurts of premen onto Dolly’s withers, Dolly’s tail curving up to slither the slimy fur along her back.

“I…don’t know how…” Honoka huffed under her breath, wrestling mightily to keep her volume beneath the loud sounds of the elevator machinery moving them down, her own body now grinding into the cheetaur’s feline booty, Dolly using her rear feet to reciprocate in sequence. “…and you three won’t know when…but I will have my revenge!”

“Right.” Miaka must have smiled, because with a flick of one of her talons, she proved the dildo in Honoka’s snatch had higher setting, unleashed its full power! Falling forward, Honoka stuffed her mouth with loose and thick feline skin and screamed into Dolly’s back, Honoka’s body from the waist down becoming jelly and spasming in orgasmic relief. It had been days since Honoka’s last female release: while the Beast proved more insistent and needy of the two organs, Honoka’s vagina was also inhumanly insatiable.

With a gush Honoka never experienced before - at least to this level - a flood of femjaculate washed over the seats and the two wives seated close by. This wasn’t typical for Honoka, and the juices flowed with far more force and volume than she experienced outside of her male ejaculations. The amount of female slime gushing out of her snatch was comparable to when a car hit a fire hydrant and broke it open. Hot vajizzle wasn’t shooting in a single direction, it flooding in all directions. At one point the dildo pushed free and both Miaka and Quinn jumped in the line of fire, using their hands to try and mitigate the freshet.

After three minutes of this, they decided the best course would be to let Honoka finish. While Quinn grabbed a towel off Dolly’s back and wadded it against Honoka’s snatch, Miaka grappled Honoka’s shaking body with one hand and her cock with the other, moving the Beast into position and plunging the thick sausage into Dolly’s waiting sex nook.

“Erp!” Dolly exclaimed, causing delvers closest to glance up from their phones. They saw the outline of a blushing cheetaur before shrugging and returning to their boredom. The darkness was nearly absolute while elevator motors and grinding gears created a lot of noise. To the general populous, only indistinct shadows that could be any number of nothings were not enough to hold sustained curiosity. At least, not unless the wives’ activities became obvious.

“Keep quiet,” Quinn urged softly towards both offenders, although Honoka was not cognitively sensate at this point.

Miaka held Honoka in her arms, swaying back and forth like a bobbing owl, pistoning Honoka into the cheetaur’s snatch. One advantage to Dolly’s long feline body was the depth of cheetaur snatch: Miaka hilted the entirety of Honoka inside and there was still no cervical obstruction hitting Honoka’s head, despite Honoka’s recent size increases.

To Honoka’s addled brain, each plunge into the tight, hot maw of Dolly’s erotic cavern felt like sliding into an unending tunnel, deeper and deeper down similar to traveling down this elevator. Slapping hips to hips, pelvis to pelvis, the urge to push harder, deeper, was like a fire in Honoka that dispersed the shocking haze of pussy pulses. Regaining a sense of herself, Honoka’s hands clawed tightly onto Dolly’s fur and the woman pulled inward with shaking arms accompanying each thrust, silently urging Miaka to move faster.

Then the moment came. Honoka wasn’t sure how Quinn knew, yet before the Beast engorged to painful hardness, before the various tubes in Honoka’s abdomen unleashed their payloads, the otter woman dropped her towel and leaned over to seal a furry paw over Honoka’s mouth and tightly cut off the scream gurgling out.

“[Mmmmmmm!!]” Honoka muffled, pulling forward harder into Dolly with the help of Miaka, sluicing a cascade of boiling cum into the dark wetness of Dolly’s pussy. And low, though long the depths of cheetaur pussy might be, Honoka’s first spurt wasn’t finished before the space filled to capacity and a river of jizz exploded past the labial rim.

Seven minutes later, the deluge ended and a limp Honoka pulled out of Dolly. The damage to their corner of the elevator was surprisingly minimal. Every bit of skin, clothing, fur and feathers on Honoka, Quinn and Miaka was covered in various viscous fluids. The smell couldn’t be helped, but the shaft contained an updraft. Dolly was only drenched in her hind legs and some of her cheetaur back, but was otherwise unaffected. The reason they avoided swimming in cum was because the floor of the elevator platform was grated steel. Most of the mess plopped on the base of the elevator far below, devoured by the dungeon already.

Showing how much planning went into this little event - Honoka frowning as she stood shivering in her own juices - Quinn materialized gallon jugs of water and more towels out of the packs, the four wives having a quick birdbath to rid the worst messes away and wipe down any remaining evidence. This meant that when light increased and the elevator neared Floor 270, the wives were damp and held a few garbage bags of sopping towels next to them, otherwise appearing like a group of normal delvers.

“Are you still mad?” Miaka asked, swiping stray cum off the handle of her shotgun, plopping the baby batter into her mouth.

“…no.” Honoka sighed, defeated. It had been thrilling, having sex openly yet secret. Her heart still raced from the experience. Even if she was terrified it would happen again, she began to see why Miaka was into blatant public sex. “I just…I’m scared of getting caught.”

“The first time I did it with my first ex was on a ferris wheel.” Miaka was randy, her feathers fluffed from all the toweling but moving with an awkward gait that kept her legs from rubbing. With a bit of insight, Honoka wondered where Quinn’s dildo disappeared to. “Fastest BJ I ever sucked. He was still squirting when he pulled up his pants just before the door opened.”

“Are ya ok?” Quinn asked Dolly, the group moving with the crowd onto a stone platform leading down towards a dozen caves with signs over top each one.

“I’m fine.” However, with her slumped posture and sad look, the Southern girl did not look fine.

“Did I hurt you?” Honoka asked, alarmed: she knew how large and thick she was.

“No!” Dolly assured, straightening and attempting a smile. “It felt good, really. It is just…”

“Those basta…” Quinn clamped her muzzle shut, jaw bulging while she shook with anger. Huffing in frustration, she lead the way to the cavern farthest on the left. None of the other delvers from the elevator headed in this direction. “Those rapists in Bone Castle sometimes liked ta use things other than dicks. Whatever was around: fists, bottles, loaded gun barrels.”

Dolly didn’t say anything, but three caring hands reached around her large body and gave her the comfort she needed, bringing tears to her neon yellow eyes.

“She has nerve damage in the canal,” Quinn said softly, guiding slowly down the stairs of the cavern and leaning heavily on the railing, stomach issues returning with a vengeance to the strong otter. “Nothin’ dangerous, we think. Just means she doesn’t possess much feelin’ in there. Yet another reason ta harmonize quickly.”

Honoka took a quick peek at her Status. “96%. If I play around with allocations we could fix you by the time we get back.” She noted other menus in her Status and her eyes widened in shock. “Wait, Dolly is level thirteen? That’s seven levels in a week!” Clapping the blushing cheetaur girl where her human abdomen merged into cheetah hips, Honoka closed down her Status. “Your Class is a higher level than Quinn’s!”

“She’s been delving between sixteen and twenty hours each day,” Miaka offered, moaning a tiny bit as she gingerly stepped down the stairs. “Even been going with Carnival to squeeze in a few extra hours here and there. Which is good: if I went through what she did, I’d want to do anything I could to get out of my own head.”

“If you ever need anything, just ask.” Honoka reached around and hugged Dolly’s waist, the height difference making that the most accessible point.

“Thanks. And I did ask: I need ta level my harmonization,” Dolly nodded firmly, as if to convince herself more than anyone.

“Eyes forward, everyone,” Quinn announced, leaning heavily on the railing at the base of the stairs. Opening in front of them, Honoka would best describe it as the interior of a derelict industrial warehouse stacked haphazardly together by a toddler. Plates of rusty metal jutted out in odd places and angles, hundreds of holes opening like swiss cheese everywhere randomly. It was like tetanus given life and formed into the platforming level of a video game. “Floor 271 isn’t a cake walk.”