Forward

The tunnel began to narrow—not to actually narrow in diameter, but to constrict, the muscular walls bearing down on Lois as she scrambled forward. The soil beneath her hands grew wet, and became little more than a slick ooze. The tunnel was hot, and she could feel the pulse of liquid flowing through veins beneath her hands as she scrambled forward—and knew she had entered, somehow, a living thing.

Lois hurried forward. Her hands slipped against the slick, pulsing flesh. She moved a few feet, and the whole tunnel constrict around her, walls and ceiling pressing into her, so that should could hardly move. It was like being trapped in a living sleeping bag, warm yet somehow heavy, and the reporter fought for calm, tried to breath slowly through her mouth.

After ten slow breaths, the walls and ceiling began to release, and Lois scrambled forward. She managed only a few feet before the tunnel began to constrict again. Claustrophobia warred with nausea as the constricting tunnel brought the sludge she had been crawling through up around her, soaking into her clothes and hair. After an eternity, the tunnel ahead of her seemed to relax...and then there was a movement, a convulsion of the tunnel, and it carried her forward. She wiggled in the meat trap, barely able to breathe as another pulse ran through the floor, and carried her forward again. Each pulse seemed to take her closer and closer to the light ahead... Lois could just about feel the cooler air of a breeze...

...and then there was a sudden rush of movement, and the mouth of the tunnel gaped wide as her head and shoulders were pushed through it, her tits popping out of her shirt and supported on the rim of flesh. The reporter shook her head and gasped to find herself stuck in a familiar orifice.

"And that, Miss Lane," a harsh voice said, with a slight hint of a Mediterranean accent, "is what you get for using the back door without permission."