Stalking in the Alley — 13
The moment the Stalker told me I'd won, I collapsed right where I stood, her cock finally pulled free of me.
The long, endless crisis was over at last.
I hadn't escaped this place yet, but I'd cleared the biggest hurdle so far, and relief washed over me in a warm, trembling wave.
"Now then, about my reward... Mmph—"
-Churp. Chu.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask for my reward, the Stalker kissed me.
Unlike last time — that kiss where she'd been savoring me, tasting what I'd been through — this one was different. This was the kiss of a lover.
Her tongue intertwined with mine without leaving a single gap; she pulled back only to keep tangling with my tongue alone; her lips pressed down over my mouth, sealing it softly, generously, perfectly — and because she did nothing else, nothing at all but kiss me with pure, undiluted devotion, I found myself swept into a lover's kiss from beginning to end before I even realized it.
"......"
Not a single word was spoken, but as I felt the thin strand of saliva stretch and sag between our lips when the kiss ended, I understood, deep in my bones, exactly what that act was telling me.
I'm never letting you go.
Until now, she'd wanted me as a lover, as a kind of plaything — but now I could feel the unspoken pressure of being treated as a companion, as something beyond mere amusement.
I still have to get out of here.
For one instant, I actually thought that living here forever wouldn't be so bad.
Because that single kiss had shaken my heart more than any caress ever had.
But I had to leave.
I didn't even know whether I was actually dead back in the real world, what had happened to my family, or whether the world outside was still normal.
At the very least — literally, at the very least — I needed to get out of here to find out what had become of me, the man I used to be.
(Still no good, hm? I can't reach you.)
(Then let's settle our transaction. You wanted the two internal ejaculations waived, yes?)
"Yes."
(You still have payment left over, you know. What else are you curious about?)
At her question, a dozen doubts surged up at once.
The gender change. Whether this was originally part of the Anomaly World. Whether she was the one who dragged me here...
But I shoved all of those thoughts aside. They wouldn't help my situation one bit.
So I decided to ask the one question that might give me even a sliver of hope in my current position.
"There are other exits, aren't there?"
The police station — the exit the Stalker had told me about.
But she had never once said it was the only one.
My eyes were closed and I couldn't see her face, but I could feel her grinning, delighted, as if this was great fun.
(Twenty meters behind me, there's a line. Doesn't matter where — twenty meters back, measured from me. That's an exit too.)
(Though I know how to stop someone from moving backward, even if I don't know how to stop them going forward? If you can cross that line, by all means, try.)
(And if you wander this alley for more than fifty kilometers, it automatically connects to the outside — and the moment you take one more step, you're free.)
(Now then, was that answer satisfying? You don't have much question-cost left, you know?)
(Exits are that important a piece of information. They carry quite a price.)
For a moment, hope bloomed in my chest at her answer.
But the more I turned it over in my head, the more I realized every single option was useless.
Walking fifty kilometers. Even granting that my stamina for walking was effectively infinite, covering more than fifty kilometers of wandering would take tens of hours. Out.
Crossing the line twenty meters behind her. Also out. If the monstrous strength I'd witnessed earlier applied to her leg speed, she'd close that distance at a truly terrifying pace — an ordinary human would be caught in an instant.
Useless.
Neither of those two exits could be escaped with a single question's worth of information.
Take the line, for instance: crossing twenty meters at an adult's sprinting speed takes about seven seconds — ten, accounting for variables.
Even setting aside her catch-up time, I'd need a way to stagger the Stalker for at least a few seconds first —
Which would cost yet another question.
"What do you mean I'm almost out? I've only asked one question!"
(If you add two more internal ejaculations, I'll allow ten more questions. How about it?)
"Absolutely not. Never."
Apparently, waiving those two internal ejaculations had eaten up an enormous amount of my cost.
But I wasn't about to accept. The moment she properly, fully had sex with me here, I had a feeling I'd end up declaring defeat without even meaning to.
"Tell me about the walls in the rulebook. In detail."
I deliberated for a long, long time.
A method to pin the Stalker down for a few seconds, maybe.
Or since fifty kilometers was a practically impossible number, wouldn't it be worth asking whether it could be filled some other way?
Shouldn't I prioritize a guaranteed exit over information about the walls? The doubts piled up.
But the moment I imagined the worst — what if that answer only demands another question? What if my cost runs dry right there? — I gave up on all of it.
Realistically, I'd fail to get real information, hang my hopes on that one exit, and wither away waiting on it. That was the likely outcome.
Better to burn every last drop of my cost learning about the walls — the other route to defeat.
Even if I knew the victory condition, filling it would be hard. But if I didn't know the defeat condition, I'd be gone in a flash.
(This is your final question, then?)
"Can I still ask more questions?"
(Explaining the walls in detail will end it. If you drop the in detail condition, other questions remain possible.)
"Then that's fine. Explain the walls in detail."
In a horror game, it's better to collect a broad spread of vague information.
You can always learn the details as you die — with the basics in hand, you can at least reason your way forward.
But reality is different. There's no retry button. One clear piece of information is worth more than two murky ones.
(The walls appear when certain conditions are met.)
(First: if the rulebook has been delivered to someone, the walls spawn at random around that person. Even I don't know where. Truly random.)
(Second: when a specific action is repeated, a blocking wall appears. Keep turning only right, or alternate left and right — any patterned, regular movement will be cut off.)
(Third: if you destroy more than fifty percent of a path, a wall materializes directly in front of you to block you.)
Hearing those conditions, I thought, thank God I asked this question.
The first was pure random chance, nothing anyone could do about it.
But the second — she'd told me the answer was to pick one side of the path, and if I'd chosen one side consistently, a wall would have appeared guaranteed. If I hadn't known, I would have been doomed, no question.
As for the third — I lacked the strength for that anyway, so it wasn't even worth considering.
(Each wall comes with a theme. A part of the body, and a penalty to match.)
(If the theme is "hands," you might be unable to use your hands for a set time — or my hands might cling to you for that duration, caressing you without pause.)
(There are four penalty options in total. You get three drawn options plus one of your choosing, all mixed together, and a fourth — the blend — at reduced intensity.)
(Whether you shuffle all three, or just two of your favorites, is entirely up to you.)
A cold shiver crawled up my spine.
If I hadn't known about the walls — if I'd been hit with those penalties blind?
I might have survived one or two. But from the third on, even walking would have been beyond me.
The only reason I could still stand after all the caressing I'd endured was the rest time I'd been given between rounds.
But would there be any rest while the Stalker was chasing me? Probably none whatsoever. She wasn't the soft-hearted type.
If I'd taken three or more of those five-minute penalties in a row, the Stalker would have caught me, without fail.
Even with her speed limit — six kilometers per hour is a brisk walking pace — no woman whose legs were trembling from continuous fondling was escaping anything.
(There, answers complete. See you in thirty minutes.)
Thirty minutes of rest after internal ejaculation.
True to her word, the Stalker's presence vanished with a whoosh.
Startled by the sudden silence, I dropped my head and swept my gaze around me, but she had disappeared without a trace — and I realized that during rest time, the Stalker could not interfere with me at all.
What do I do now?
My strength hadn't fully returned, so rest was essential.
But thirty minutes — calibrated, apparently, to how long it takes a person to regain their senses after sex — felt like luxurious free time in my current state.
Hint.
[Hint: Evade the Stalker's pursuit and escape]
"Oh, come on."
For a moment, rage flared at how utterly useless that was.
But I soon recovered my composure and thought the hint through.
It gives you the tip you need most for the situation at hand?
It wasn't a perfect fit for anything.
When she'd proposed this trade — if I hadn't understood what she meant, it would have been over.
Even knowing her "tastes matched mine" — I still had to infer what that meant myself.
The hint only offers a breakthrough for the situation you're in. Nothing more, nothing less.
That's why such vague information was coming through now, when nothing was urgent.
The status window isn't much either.
I called up the status window; my current state appeared, and the space beside it was completely blank.
When the Stalker was around, there'd been a creeping, chill-crawling sensation — now that she was gone, even the shivering, the only state I'd had, had vanished with her.
Nothing useful.
Not that I was disparaging the two features.
Without the status window, I'd have been paralyzed with fear, unable to do anything; without the hint, I'd have been crushed with no way through.
But neither was something I could leverage right now.
Might as well start walking around.
I was finally able to walk again.
At the end there, I hadn't come — only the Stalker had, over and over.
The semen still trickling out of me felt gross, but I didn't have time to clean it out, so I left it.
My exposure level was truly spectacular, but walking around in nothing at all wasn't an option either, so I put the swimsuit back on.
Just walk. Empty your head and walk. No thoughts at all.
If I carelessly introduced a pattern like left-right-left-right, a wall would spring up.
I didn't know whether penalties applied during rest time, but the rulebook said the wall only vanished once its penalty was paid.
Right now the Stalker was gone, so I could just walk freely — but if a penalty were somehow mandatory anyway, I might have to spend the entire rest period bent over with my ass thrust out, palms braced against the wall, waiting.
I should've asked where the police station is.
And so, walking without any destination in mind, the regret over the questions I'd thrown away came flooding back.
There was nothing here I could use as a landmark. I just kept walking, with no way to tell whether the police station was drawing closer or slipping further away.
How much time has passed?
Wandering nothing but narrow alleys, I had absolutely no sense of where I was.
I didn't even have a watch. No way to know how much of the Stalker's promised thirty minutes had elapsed.
Is escaping this even possible?
I knew about the walls now, and I was walking without her chasing me — and even this was this hard. What kind of nightmarish difficulty would it have been, knowing nothing, with her on my heels?
Where does the Stalker even appear from?
I figured roughly thirty minutes must have passed by now.
As I walked, I bowed my head.
Because if she materialized right in front of me, it would be game over on the spot.
"...!"
A jolt of pure dread shot through me.
The sudden chill on my skin — and the primal certainty that something terrible was about to happen —
I lunged forward, two desperate steps.
(So close.)
I froze at the voice that came from directly behind me —
and realized, from the feel of her cock flicking up onto my pussy, and from the hand fondling my breasts like she was greeting an old friend, exactly where the Stalker had just appeared.
(The instant I arrived, I could have been inside you.)
Two steps. If I hadn't taken those two steps, she'd have been buried in my pussy on the spot.
(I was so curious what face you'd make if I were inside you and threatening to cum. What a shame.)
The Stalker walked forward slowly, sliding her cock between my thighs beneath my pussy, kneading my breasts as she spoke.
(In that case, I'd have demanded doggy-style three times as the price of the trade, I think.)
So saying, she pressed herself close against my frozen, rigid body.
-Slap! Slap! Slap!
Her hips cracked against my ass, and I felt the impact shudder through me.
Then she hardened her cock again, and as if lamenting the pussy she'd missed, kept grinding it against me over the swimsuit.
(Not the simple hip movements from last time — a cock that hunts for your weak points and exploits them. Doesn't that fascinate you?)
Embracing me from behind, she seized my breasts in a crosswise grip, squeezed hard, and drove her cock in as deep as it would go, pinning my hips down with hers as she whispered.
(This is how I would have ravished you.)
This was what would have happened, if I hadn't leapt those two steps on pure instinct.
(Though there was also the option of letting you use my ability after an internal ejaculation, but — fufufufu.)
As she spoke, her cock pulsed and sprayed hot semen in powerful bursts —
and I bolted forward in sheer panic, running for my life —
(Well, this has its own charm, I suppose.)
my hand unconsciously coming up to touch the semen splattered across my ass, even as I realized —
as if my body were already waiting for her cock —
that my pussy had gone slick and wet, and arousal was running down my thighs.