Choose the rightmost doorway with the orgasm carvings.

You approach the rightmost doorway, drawn by the carvings of ecstatic figures caught in moments of sexual release. Your fingers trace the outline of a woman's face, her stone lips parted in eternal bliss, and the door responds to your touch. It slides open with a low rumble, revealing a chamber bathed in a pulsing pink light.

Stepping inside, you find yourself in a circular room with a domed ceiling. The floor is covered in plush, velvet-like cushions that seem to invite you to sink into them. In the center sits a stone altar shaped like a woman's spread legs, with a depression between them forming a basin.

The door seals shut behind you with finality. Carved into the walls are explicit scenes of men and women in various stages of climax, their faces contorted in pleasure so intense it borders on religious experience. The figures seem to writhe and move in your peripheral vision, though when you look directly at them, they remain still.

"Welcome, seeker of pleasure," a disembodied voice purrs, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "To progress, you must offer your ecstasy to the temple. Fill the basin with your essence, and the path forward will reveal itself."

Realization dawns on you this is a trial of orgasm. The mist from earlier has already made you uncomfortably aroused, your sex aching with need, making this challenge particularly cruel in its simplicity.

You approach the altar hesitantly. As you draw closer, the air thickens with an aphrodisiac scent that makes your head swim and your knees weak. Your nipples harden painfully against your shirt, and wetness floods between your legs.

"Three climaxes," the voice instructs, growing huskier. "Each more powerful than the last. Begin."

The command hits you like a physical ****, dropping you to your knees beside the altar. Your hands move almost of their own accord, unfastening your pants with trembling fingers. The moment you expose your sex to the chamber's air, a wave of pleasure courses through you so intense that you cry out, falling forward onto the cushions.

"That's it," the voice encourages as your fingers find your slick folds. "Give yourself to us. Let the pleasure remake you."

You rub your clit in frantic circles, already embarrassingly close to orgasm. When it hits, it's unlike anything you've experienced before—a tsunami of sensation that arches your back and tears a scream from your throat. Your release spurts from you in a clear stream, splashing into the stone basin which absorbs it eagerly, glowing brighter.

"One," the voice counts, sounding pleased. "But we require more. Deeper. Stronger."

Instead of satisfaction, your orgasm leaves you even more **** than before. Your clit has swollen to almost twice its normal size, throbbing visibly with each rapid heartbeat. You feel changed, enhanced, your body's capacity for pleasure expanding beyond human limits.

"Continue," the voice commands. "Your transformation has just begun."

**** and no longer caring about dignity, you plunge two fingers into yourself, gasping at how incredibly sensitive you've become. The walls of your pussy contract around your fingers with new strength, gripping and pulsing as if trying to milk them. Your second climax builds faster than the first, crashing over you with such **** that your vision briefly goes white.

As your cum floods the basin a second time, you feel something shifting inside you, reorganizing. Your G-spot expands, becoming more prominent, more receptive. Your labia plumpen, darkening with blood and sensitivity. You're being remade into a creature of pleasure, designed for maximum sexual response.