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The moment his fingers (Yoba, at least three!) sink into you, you whimper in relief. The slime is cool and pleasant, and anywhere it touches the pain is dulled to a mere throb.
"Oh, you take it so well," he says in appreciation and heat pools in your abdomen. Your hips try to press against his hand, taking his fingers as deep as they go, and—
the problem with the abyss? sometimes... it stares right back.