Denied

The glass was slick, and the creamy white good didn't help. Lois struggled to climb up the gentle slope, hands and feet pressed against the glass. Progress was measured in inches, eyes fixed just ahead, palms flat against the glass for the maximum friction, pushing with her toes, every moment dreading that she would begin to slip...

It wasn't slow. It was a furious, painful struggle. The glass was slick. It almost didn't matter what the angle was. Her hands were wet with slime and she could get little traction as she pawed against the glass. The smell of the stuff was the worst, not because it disagreed with her but because it made her hungry. She wanted to suck the goo from her fingers, out of her clothes. A part of her wanted to just slide back into the pit and drink it.

Except she knew what that would mean. Like an alcoholic drowning in a vat of beer. Overcome by their appetites, their addiction. Total loss of control, heedless even of their own destruction. Sure, drowning in the vat of goo would be quicker than thirty or forty years of hard drinking, but the results would be the same...and Lois didn't even know why she wanted it so much. She hadn't tasted the white cream before tonight...but she did.

She would not quit.

There was no where else to go but up.

Her muscles burned by the time the rim came in sight. Lois silently thanked herself for every session on the treadmill, every hot yoga session and pilates class. She would make it. Just a little further...

Lois' hands were no longer as sticky; the white goo had dried to a kind of film in the long minutes of her ascent. She reached up and laid her right palm flat on the smooth, flat rim; then her left. Her shoulder heaved as she brought her head up level with the rim.

There were a pair of feet there. Slim, red, muscular, the toes decorated by small gold rings, the ankles with slim gold bangles, the nails painted black. Something white and familiar dripped on the floor between those feet. One of them rose forward and pressed against Lois' forehead. Not pushing so much as resting there, but it was all the reporter could do to remain her grip.

"So close..." a voice, husky and strange came from above her. There was a hint of an accent.

The shove was gentle, but insistent. Lois' nails scraped uselessly against the glass as she was pushed relentlessly backwards. Her knees lost traction, and with a long squeak of wet cloth on glass, she began to slide back down. Lois was too tired to even try to check her motion.

Her last sight, fading into the distance, was of the naked red woman with the dripping cock.

Then the splash, and she began to sink into the white ooze. She almost laughed, as the resignation hit her. She was going to die. So she opened her mouth, and began to drink.