Knocked Up by a Fertile Familiar?

Emi's protests died in her throat, strangled by a wave of pure, unadulterated panic. "No! Get away from me! You can't" she shrieked, pushing herself flat against the unyielding wall, trying to somehow phase through it.

But Verdant Green was already in motion. It didn't fly or rush; it simply dissolved, the pink cloud losing its form and pouring towards her like liquid smoke. There was no physical impact, no sensation of entry, but Emi felt a sudden, invasive bloom of warmth deep within her core, a blossoming heat that centred in her womb.
It was an internal caress, an impossible sensation that had her muscles locking up. The warmth began to move, a slick, insistent pressure that coated her inner walls, massaging them with a skill that no lover had ever possessed. She gasped, her back arching off the glass as the energy swirled and pulsed. This was an ****, a violation, and her mind screamed in denial. But her body... her body betrayed her completely. A wave of liquid heat washed through her, her nipples hardening into tight pebbles against her blouse, and a fresh slickness of her own making dampened her bikini bottoms as the entity within her found a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves and focused its attention there.

The heat inside Emi kindled into a roaring inferno, a tempest of pure pleasure that raged through her. Every nerve ending, every single cell of her body, felt like it was being individually plucked and tuned to a single, devastating chord of ecstasy. This wasn't the simple, friction-based gratification of a quick fumble in a club bathroom or the lazy satisfaction of a weekend morning in bed. This was something else entirely, a deep, cellular hum that resonated with the very core of her being. Verdant Green's 'massage' had evolved into a symphony of sensation, a masterful orchestration of pleasure that built upon itself in soaring, impossible

The pleasure continued to build, a tidal wave of sensation that refused to break, instead growing ever taller, more powerful, threatening to shatter the very foundations of her consciousness. Emi's mind, that sharp, flexible tool she had always prided herself on, was now a useless wreck. Words, numbers, strategies; they were all gone, dissolved into the overwhelming feeling. The boardroom, the monitors, the mall outside, they no longer existed. There was only the sensation, the all-consuming, divine agony of it.

And then, the wave crested. The world dissolved into a blinding flash of white light. For a timeless, eternal moment, Emi was no longer Emi. She was a star, exploding in a supernova of pure, unadulterated bliss. She was the universe, contracting into a single point of infinite density before expanding outwards in a glorious, cosmic orgasm.

She felt the birth of galaxies, the **** of suns, the ebb and flow of cosmic tides, all within the span of a single, heart-stopping heartbeat. It was too large now to be called pleasure alone. It lifted her clean out of the present and into a rushing pageant of faces, rooms, griefs, and hungers that felt less like imagination than recollection.