Enter the house of horrible sounds

Biting on my scratched lips, I ripped myself out of my trance, the enchanting rhythmic pounding purposely ignored by my consciousness to allow my valor and intrepidity to persevere and rotate the wooden knob, Orihime's ancient door creaking open, my gaze noticing the usual sight of the straight stairs and superfluous, yet always cramped rack.

A pair of large blue-gray Nike sneakers stood in the hallway and a large leather jacket hung on the shelf where usually the keys and entry fruits laid, the unfitting metal spikes protruding from the black fabric into the cozy image.

The creaking stopped and the thumps became louder and more violent by each step I took down the birch parquet, my dirty shoes, unbeknownst to me, leaving prints on the diamond-shaped carpet.

Suddenly a waft of air coursed through the house, slamming the door shut and making me jolt up in terror from the loud noise.

But along the hefty breeze, another sense was triggered by the appearance of a pungent smell. If I didn’t know it better I would say that the fakecum actually exuded the earthy aroma of real sperm, of a fuck ton of it and of the strongest smell I ever inhaled of any cum, the inhuman potency and womb-expanding fertility of the odor even palpable in the house’s lower floors.

From the sounds which reverberated off the cyan walls of the staircase, I mused that Orihime was currently busy enjoying herself as the muffled moans and groans of pleasure echoed through the otherwise abandoned house.

Suddenly, just as I grabbed the last handle of the railing to propel myself up the last few stairs, I noticed a wet feeling around my feet.

My gaze darted downwards and stared in horror at the sheer impossible quantities of actual puddles of fakecum which this naughty Yoruichi had sold or gifted, I don’t even know, to my innocent girlfriend who seemed to experiment with it, spreading it all around her home in a mindless act of libido-induced frenzy.

I cursed the dark-skinned beauty for corrupting Orihime like this and jumped up with strangely hefty effort, my feet stuck in the gooey, slimy tar, since this word described its consistency the most appropriately.

Squelching noises filled the corridor as I stormed the few yards towards my girlfriend’s pink room, the Hello Kitty painting on her doorway enough proof of her childish innocence.

“How do I compare to your pathetic, limp-dicked shrimp of a boyfriend? Huh? Tell me!” A vociferous, very masculine voice sounded through the whole floor, its origin right in Orihime’s chamber.

But wasn’t she masturbating right now?

No, don’t tell me.

With a shaking hand I grabbed the doorknob and twisted …