A Study in Purple (3/3)

Here's the third (and final) part of A Study in Purple. My plan going forward is to post stories in pieces so I can offer more regular updates, then edit up the story later and upload it so you can have the whole thing in one place.



The first day had been exciting. Albert was responsible for the project’s success while his master was off dealing with adventurers, and he had two underclassmen reporting to him for 6-hour day shifts. By the second day, it had grown a little dull.

The slime didn’t really do anything. Even when fed its ration, the creature simply gathered up the vegetables (discards from the royal kitchens) and allowed them to dissolve over the next few hours. Albert took notes, of course - how long the feeding took, which movements the creature made, and any slight coloration or size changes that he noted from one shift to the next. It was the same documentation, though, day in and day out. His grand adventure was proving to be nigh unbearably dull.

By the third day, though, he’d begun to find the experience peaceful. Even cathartic. An alchemist’s apprentice was always in motion, rushing from class to the lab, then to study, then to sleep, before waking up and repeating the process. He’d had little time for friends or hobbies, let alone contemplation.

In a way, Albert decided, the slime was quite pretty. He could stare for hours, watching the interplay of colors. How the wet sheen reflected the candlelight. Each small movement was fascinating. By the fourth day, Albert had stopped bothering to take notes and simply observed. There was something about the creature, something he couldn’t quite place, that made it utterly fascinating.

The long hours were getting to him, though. Twice Albert had caught himself dozing in the small hours of the morning, just asleep enough to have odd, vivid dreams that he couldn’t quite remember. The third time it happened he snapped awake, sheepish at breaking his vigil, and blushed as he noticed the shape pressing against the front of his trousers. Had it been that kind of a dream? He struggled to recall, but colors and lights came to mind.

As his eyes turned back to the slime tank, he could almost swear the creature had been rearranging itself. Was it moving when he drifted off? Shaking himself and slapping his cheeks to ward off slumber, Albert made a mental note to stock up on more coffee. Master Caine had advised no more than two cups a day, saying that most apprentices guzzled far too much of the stuff, and Albert had always been fastidious about keeping to that limit. But with another three days of sleepless nights ahead of him, Albert was inclined to make an exception. Sure, the creature was secure in its cage. And yes, he was probably just imagining the strange oscillations in the purple goo. But alchemy was all about preparation, and he wasn’t about to botch his first big responsibility.

* * * * *

On the fourth night, caffeine humming comfortably through his veins, Albert had settled in to study. Contemplative Concoctions, by Wilfred Smythe, lay open on the table. Smythe’s primary contention was that a good alchemist should sleep exactly nine hours each night - no more, no less - in order to optimize their mind and focus their neurons. He expounded endlessly, piling up evidence like a dragon. Smythe was a respected alchemist and researcher, read by every race that practiced the craft, a genius in his own time.

It was the most boring thing Albert had ever read.

He tried reading out loud, which didn’t seem to help. Finally, Albert turned to his purple companion. If it wouldn’t move for Master Caine’s research, at least it could be an audience for Caine’s apprentice. Albert tried to get into it, lecturing aggressively at the slime and adding colorful (and sometimes expletive-laden) commentary in an effort to liven things up. But an hour later, bored and weary, the man drifted off to sleep with the tome draped like blanket across his chest.

When the apprentice woke from his brief snooze he was irritated but unsurprised. No stimulant was potent enough to match Smythe’s mindless, rambling lectures. He was more than a little surprised, however, to notice the slime had moved. More than moved. The thing was standing up, and it… it…

It was a woman. Well, not just a woman. Albert stared, awestruck and bewildered. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Plump, luscious thighs. Wide, sensual hips. And her breasts...

They were perfect. Exactly the right shape, the right size, the right heft. As though her tits were alchemically designed to make a man helplessly aroused with a single lustful glance. Albert realized he couldn’t look away - she was so gorgeous, so perfectly alluring, that the only thing that made sense was to continue staring at his glistening goddess as she bounced and jiggled herself in front of him. His penis strained against his pants, painfully erect. Logic and self-preservation was drowned out by the thump of his heartbeat and the blood roaring in his ears.

He was dimly aware that the woman imprisoned in the glass cage was purple, her toned body composed entirely of slime. That was wrong, wasn’t it? Slimes couldn’t take human form - the best they could manage was a vague bipedal imitation. He’d have to make a note of it later; Master Caine would be thrilled at the discovery.

But that was later. Right now, Albert just wanted to stare. So soft, so curvy - a body in which you could lose yourself completely. That this woman was a purple ooze monster was secondary to how much the alchemist enjoyed watching her move. Each shift caused her jelly-like form to bounce and jiggle wonderfully. Albert soaked in the sight, rubbing himself absentmindedly through his pants at the lewd display. Surely there was nothing to worry about. After all, the slime was trapped in its container and was safely outside.

As Albert watched, the woman made an “O” with her fingers, holding her hand to her mouth and extending her tongue suggestively. She knelt, boobs pressed against the glass, her finger beckoning him forward. He moved without thinking, trousers tumbling down around his legs, cock leading him forward to offer her what she wanted.

“What am I…” Albert muttered to himself, pace slowing just a meter shy of the small hole in the glass. “I almost… almost…” But when he looked at the slime woman, purple skin glistening and translucent, she smiled at him. He watched her body straining against the glass. The plush softness of her lips. He wanted her so badly, and she wanted him, so why did he hesitate? The alchemist’s mind grew numb, erection twitching eagerly, trying to reason his way out of the situation. But what was so wrong about it, really? He was testing a hypothesis, right? The more he looked the more it all made sense. Albert’s body trembled with excitement, and he found he could no longer restrain himself. Taking two steps forward, he lay his hands on the glass casing and  thrust his penis through the feeding hole.

Her mouth engulfed him. Wet, sticky, and slightly warm, her mouth molded itself to the man’s shaft and massaged him lovingly from all directions at once. Albert’s knees buckled, moaning breathily as the stimulation assaulted him. Her tongue was deliberate, teasing, relentless. He was at the brink of orgasm in minutes, eyes unable to focus as the pleasure overwhelmed him. The alchemist thrust himself forward, desperate for more, building up to climax… and then nothing.

The slime burbled happily, her slick purple fingers kneading his balls as her tongue lapped at his glans. Blearily, Albert looked down at the creature. Her expression was almost smug. She held him just at the edge, easing him down before building him to new heights of pleasure, minute after euphoric minute. It was unbearable, but it felt too good to stop. Albert pleaded, whimpering promises with each teasing lick and slurp. Time had no meaning - there was only the ecstatic agony of now.

Albert leaned helplessly against the glass cage, knees barely able to support himself, when at last she let him cum. Pleasure exploded through his body as his balls emptied themselves, ropes of hot semen pumping themselves down the slime girl’s throat. He watched in lurid fascination as they pushed through her throat, white strands suspended in her body as she guzzled hungrily. There’s so much… he thought, still half-blind with pleasure and relief. When his hips stopped bucking she began to suck again, drawing the last few drops into her mouth before at last letting go.

The alchemist collapsed. He was exhausted beyond words, vision fading in and out as he watched his own fluids dissolve within the creature’s translucent purple body. He was going to lose consciousness, he realized. The other apprentices would find him, pants around his waist, dick covered in purple goo. He’d be expelled if he was lucky. At worst, they could charge him with Interfering in Royal Business - a capital offence in time of war.

The slime turned, watching him, a smile flickering across her face as she licked her lips. “Yum!”

Her voice was a wet chirp, discordant but clearly understandable. She could speak? Albert’s mind began to race. This ran counter to everything alchemy knew about the species - they were practically mindless. How had she talked? Had she always been able to? How did that fit in with her taking human form? With questions bubbling over in his mind, Albert’s eyes flickered closed and he slept.

It was still dark when he awoke. Albert pushed himself to his feet. He wiped awkwardly at his penis with a sleeve, attempting with moderate success to clean off the purple slickness before pulling up his trousers. His candles had guttered out, but from the window he could see the first glimmer of dawn creeping over the horizon.

The slime was still in her - its - cage, now a dormant puddle of purple goop. Albert sighed deeply. It hadn’t been a dream, but what had happened? He wanted to write to Master Caine immediately, to tell him what had transpired, but how could he without explaining his own role in it? Clearly the creature had seduced him somehow - there was no explanation for him acting such of his own volition. Would Caine believe that? It was possible. Albert was his star pupil, entrusted with his most important work. But would the magistrate? The king? Albert flushed deeply, imagining his explanation of a cross-species blowjob to the royal court. No, this couldn’t get out. He was the only one who knew, after all. Right?

Albert’s eyes widened. Unless… would she - it, damn you, it - talk to someone else? It had never manifested like that before the other students. Perhaps he was special in some way? The alchemist sighed. His relief would be here in twenty minutes, so there was no use in speculating now. Perhaps tomorrow night, some sort of arrangement could be made. Or… well, he’d just have to wait and see.

Albert busied himself tidying up the lab, doing his best to arrange everything as though he’d been studying the whole night. He took some slapshod notes in the research journal. Pleased with his subterfuge, he settled back down in front of Contemplative Concoctions. Perhaps a little skimming was in order. This was going to be fine, Albert told himself. Nothing to worry about. And most importantly, there was no way that could happen again.