Change of plans, bolt your way across.

You make your decision in an instant. No more careful steps. You launch yourself forward, bare feet slapping against the cool stone as you sprint down the remaining length of the corridor.

Click-hiss. Click-hiss. Two vents burst to life as your pounding footsteps trigger their pressure plates. The warm perfumed mist engulfs you—one catching your legs, another your chest and face. You gasp involuntarily, inhaling the cloying sweetness directly into your lungs. Your entire body convulses with pleasure, your cock jerking so violently you nearly stumble.

"Not yet," you grunt through clenched teeth, forcing your legs to keep pumping. Your vision swims. Every stride sends your leather pants rubbing against your aching erection. The friction is exquisite ****. Pre-cum has soaked through completely now, and you can feel drops of it hitting your inner thigh with each step.

Fifteen feet to go. Your scholarly mind, even in this state, automatically calculates trajectory and remaining triggers. You angle toward the right wall, trying to avoid the cluster of vents you spotted in the corridor's center. Ten feet. Your bare torso glistens with more than sweat now—the mist has left a sheen on your skin that seems to amplify every sensation. Five feet.

One final vent hisses beneath your heel. The mist catches your ass and lower back, and you cry out—actually cry out, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Your prostate spasms. Your balls tighten. You're right on the edge, teetering at the precipice of release.

Your outstretched hand hits the wooden door. Your other hand fumbles for the iron handle. It's not locked—thank the gods, it's not locked. You wrench it open and practically fall through the threshold, slamming it shut behind you.

You stand there, back pressed against the closed door, chest heaving. Your cock throbs with your racing heartbeat, still desperately hard, still right on the edge. But you didn't orgasm. You made it through.

Your glasses have slipped halfway down your nose. Your entire body trembles with the effort of maintaining control. The aphrodisiac mist still courses through your system—you're not any less aroused for having escaped the corridor. But you're through.

Slowly, carefully, you push your glasses back up and look around at where you've arrived. The room is perhaps twenty feet square, with rough stone walls and that same sourceless amber lighting. In the center sits a simple stone fountain, water burbling gently from a carved spout into a circular basin. The sound is almost obscenely suggestive in your current state. Along the far wall, you see two wooden doors side by side, both closed. A small alcove to your right contains what appears to be a simple wooden bench.

Your body screams for release. Your mind races with questions about what this room might contain, what those doors might lead to, whether the fountain water is safe to drink.