This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder Than Expected

2.13 Self Reflections, More Literal

Hiking for multiple hours with a plug of metal inserted up her ass wasn’t the most comfortable of predicaments, and more than that, Delta’s relief only lasted twenty minutes before the jostling stimulation had her dick filling her pants out again. Under Delta’s suggestion, Zoey tucked her unwieldy member into her waistband to better accommodate walking with an erection, because they didn’t have time for Zoey to be relieved every twenty minutes. And while the strategy had her cock stuffing all the way up her shirt, at least they weren’t rubbing against Zoey’s pants, caressing her sensitive tip against the tough material.

Her thoughts were sex-hazed as they walked. Delta made constant fun of her for it, and Zoey tried to be her normal self, but mostly failed. Rosalie seemed irritated by Delta’s teasing—and flushed at Zoey’s own constant red cheeks, the way Zoey’s eyes were latching to their hips, chest, and thighs, her constant stimulation driving her thoughts wild. It at least spiced the mundane trip up, had the clock ticking faster than it would have otherwise. She and Delta stopped twice to work her up to more ambitious plug sizes; she did better than expected, going up two more, and having Zoey feeling painfully (and delightedly) full.

Their destination realm, the Crystal Ravines, they arrived to an hour after noon—not that there was any sun to be making such a determination by, but rather, some artifact Rosalie carried around, which she checked with almost anxiety-inducing consistency. Zoey had jokingly called her a taskmaster, but she really was one. She worked with demanding efficiency and adhered to a schedule, and expected she and Delta do the same.

Tracking down a shard entrance was trickier, but only took a few hours. By Delta’s raised eyebrows, it was an impressive speed, and one facilitated entirely by Rosalie. Old blood, Delta’s phrase bounced around in Zoey’s head. It had the same ring as royalty, even if context didn’t fully equate the two.

They stared into the murky black void of a portal. Zoey had grown fair enough used to the things, existing as doorways between realms, between shards, and even inside loot chests, so the magical sight didn’t amaze her as much as the first times. Still interesting, though. 

“Remember,” Rosalie said. “If we’re separated, stay still. You’re not fit for solo wayfaring.”

“I know,” Zoey said. Again, her pride prickled at the way she was given so little credit; and again, her more rational mind fought that reaction down, because Christ, she didn’t deserve credit. She was the fragile newbie that needed to be cared for—escorted and doted on. “I’ll sit tight until you find me.” If it came to that. There was no guarantee entry would separate them.

“We ready, then?” Rosalie asked.

“As ever,” Delta said.

They stepped in.

###

Zoey groaned as she struggled to consciousness. She couldn’t remember why, but she couldn’t allow herself to give in to the desire to fall back asleep. Hadn’t she been doing something? She shouldn’t be resting. She had just … just …

Just entered a shard.

Her eyes shot open.

She flailed up in bed, throwing a warm, plush bedsheet from her body, cold air filling the vacuum and chilling her skin.

“Mmm,” a voice to her left breathed. “What? What is it?”

Zoey’s head pivoted. It didn’t sound like Rosalie or Delta. It didn’t sound like anyone she knew.

Her brain stalled.

She took in the face of the woman asleep next to her.

Zoey’s eyes widened.

Both of theirs did.

Both of Zoey’s did.

Not-Zoey—the woman asleep next to her—shot up in bed after her, bursting to awareness, and clutching bedsheets to her chest. She gasped, “What—What—”

“You’re me,” Zoey said incredulously. “What the fuck.”

“You’re me?! No, I’m, I’m—”

“Me?” Zoey suggested.

Not-Zoey shook her head. “You’re—”

“Calm down,” Zoey said. “It’s shard bullshit. We were ready for this. Don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic,” Not-Zoey exclaimed. “I’m not. But how am I supposed to—?” Not-Zoey froze, then stared down at herself. She tossed the sheets off.

Zoey stared. So did Not-Zoey.

“Where the fuck is my cock?!” she shrilled. 

Okay.

Okay.

This was weird.

What else had she expected?

Not-Zoey’s hand scrambled between her crotch, as if to confirm her cock had really vanished. And it had. Not-Zoey had a cleanly shaved pussy, and while she was post-Ephy transformation, the most noticeable of her changes had comprehensively vanished; no enormous foreign genitalia took up residence between her legs. Zoey’s hand patted absently at her own crotch, making sure a similar fate hadn’t befallen her. It hadn’t.

“So,” Zoey said, “do you think I’m the fake one, or you?”

Not-Zoey gaped at her, at the question, before shaking her head and groaning. “Me, obviously.”

At least she came to terms with it fast. Zoey paused. At least I came to terms with it fast? Or was Zoey being too prospective she wasn’t the fake one? She didn’t feel fake. She assumed Not-Zoey didn’t feel that way either; it was simply the changes between her legs which suggested it. Whatever ‘fake’ meant—Not-Zoey seemed real enough to her.

“Where are we?” Not-Zoey asked.

Zoey looked around at the finely adorned room—resembling a manor’s master bedroom—but found she had more important questions.

Namely: she was naked again, sans the equipment Rosalie had carefully helped dress her with. Don’t tell me the shard stole our inventories again. Or for the first time, in Zoey’s case. She wondered if Rosalie—and Delta—were in similar circumstances.

She checked that ephemeral, internal pocket-space.

Good news:

Not empty.

Bad news:

Zoey burst out laughing.

“What?” Not-Zoey asked with wide eyes.

“It left the sex toys,” Zoey said simply. “And took everything else.” In fact, she’d been so taken off guard—and accustomed to its presence from the long walk—she hadn’t even noticed that the plug was still in her ass. So at least we’re not starting from scratch.

A long pause.

Not-Zoey grinned. “Fuck me, that’s funny.”

“Isn’t it?”

The two of them collapsed back, the strangeness of the situation serving as a catalyst to hilarity. They laughed themselves out, wheezing toward the canopy of the fancy bed.

“Perverted,” Zoey corrected. “Not funny, perverted. Railroad us more, right?”

“As if you’re mad about it. We get to see Rosalie’s butt again, all day long.”

“It’s not the worst thing that could happen,” Zoey amended.

“And Delta's,” Not-Zoey said.

A pause.

“Shit,” Zoey said.

“Preaching to the choir, sister.”

“So you’re uh,” Zoey said. “You’re good?”

“About being a clone?” Not-Zoey shrugged. “Feels normal. And we’re pretty good at pushing off the existential dread, aren’t we? Fuck it.”

They silenced, Not-Zoey’s casual words hitting a little too hard for either of their likings.

“Anyway,” Not-Zoey said. “Guess the question is, why? Don’t tell me—?”

Don’t tell me it’s a sex thing.

Zoey and Not-Zoey stared at each other, a blush building on their faces.

“I am not being fucked by myself,” Not-Zoey declared loudly. “I’m not—stop getting hard!”

“I can’t help it! You’re naked!”

“I’m you! You, you—you narcissist!”

Zoey sat up in bed—at least her ‘pitching of a tent’ was slightly less noticeable that way—and raised her hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

Not-Zoey huffed, also sitting up. “You’re not fucking me, I don’t care what this shard has planned. That’s weird. That thing isn’t going inside me.”

“No intentions.” Zoey wouldn’t have wanted that either, if she had been in Not-Zoey’s position. Which, uh, made sense. They were the same person. “Seriously, chill. You’re me. We can talk this out.”

“Okay. Yeah. We can.”

They stared at each other.

“Let’s uh, start with figuring out what the hell’s going on.” Zoey started shuffling from the bed, intending to explore the room.

“Rosie told us to sit still,” Not-Zoey said.

Zoey froze, one foot already touching the floor. “You think that means … even the room we spawn in?”

“Dunno. Guess we should’ve clarified.”

Zoey hesitated, before finishing climbing out of bed. Not-Zoey tutted, then followed after. Oddly, she dragged the bed sheet along with her, wrapping them around her to preserve her modesty. Was that what I would do, in her situation? It had to be, right? Or was Not-Zoey not Zoey?

Stupid question. But the point was clear.

She guessed in this situation—Zoey being the one with the cock—Not-Zoey had taken a meeker role; or at least wanted modesty more. I guess that makes sense. Not-Zoey was the one under threat of being ravaged.

Her cock pulsed at the idea.

Zoey tried not to think about what it’d be like to fuck herself. To feel her own pussy squeezing around her. I’m actually a pervert, aren’t I? Ephy had leveled the accusation as soon as she had summoned Zoey. And why else would Zoey have been chosen as a goddess of eroticism’s champion?

I’m not fucking myself. She already said no.

I already said no.

“Would it count as masturbation?” Not-Zoey asked.

A laugh was torn from Zoey’s lips, before she quickly cut it off.

She distracted herself.

The room she and herself had found themselves (herselves?) in was ornate, dripping with wealth. As Zoey had first appraised, a noblewoman’s bedroom. Getting dressed, at least, wouldn’t be a problem, or so she thought until Not-Zoey started pulling open wardrobe drawers and finding nothing. Tease. 

Not-Zoey huffed. “Shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Being naked’s part of the job, I guess.”

Not-Zoey tossed the blanket she’d been covering herself with back onto the bed. Zoey tried not to pay attention to her naked curves. Fuck. My naked curves. What the hell is wrong with me?

“I’m not doing it,” Not-Zoey said flatly. “Stop staring at me.”

“Sorry.” She hadn’t meant to. “I mean—you know I won’t. If you don’t want to.”

“And I don’t!”

“I know!”

Not-Zoey wiped a hand down her face. “Go jerk yourself off or something, if you’re going to be weird.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a cock.” Then, pointedly, “Your cock.” Two could play Not-Zoey’s game. “Who cares if it’s hard? You know it’s just a … biological reaction.”

“Stop pretending wanting to fuck yourself is normal.”

“It’s you wanting to do it,” Zoey sneered. “If you were in my position, you would too. We’re each other, remember?”

Not-Zoey paused. “Can we please focus?”

“Nice deflection.”

“Asshole.”

Zoey laughed, which had Not-Zoey doing so, too. At least the brief confrontation, and tension, had broken. 

“Well,” Not-Zoey said. “Not much in here. And we can’t leave.”

They looked around the room, then sat on the bed.

“Guess we’re waiting,” Zoey said.

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