Chapter 2: The shirt +18
It was better to forget and focus on her beloved's survival. Ignoring the photos, Laurel hurried back to the kitchen after locking everything. Maybe it was a dream, or perhaps it wasn't her house, but she found herself organizing the food. First, she separated perishable foods, both raw and canned. There was beef that she would need to prepare in the next few days since there was no electricity. She wondered if she could turn it into jerky, recalling survival programs she had watched. There were two compartments full of vegetables, more than she could eat alone. Perhaps she should prioritize drying the meat and consuming the vegetables first? There were also two bags of rice, and although she didn't eat much, she wasn't sure how long the rice would last, but it seemed like a substantial amount. Additionally, there was a package of noodles, six packs of instant noodles, four cookies, and six packets of snacks.
The space exuded an air of sophistication and cleanliness, with sleek lines and minimalist design elements creating a sense of spaciousness and elegance.
The countertops, crafted from polished marble or quartz, extended gracefully along the walls, offering generous space for food preparation and serving. Shining stainless steel appliances, including a state-of-the-art refrigerator, oven, and dishwasher, imparted a modern touch to the room. However, in the face of the new reality, all these amenities seemed futile.
As Laurel twisted the tap, clear water gushed forth from the sink. Observing the flow, she hurried through the kitchen, swiftly rummaging through the cupboards where she had spotted pans. Methodically, she stacked the pans and filled them with water, aware that the supply from the tap would soon cease. Bottles and pans of water soon covered most of the kitchen surfaces, a stark reminder of the necessity to adapt to the changing circumstances.
As Laurel finished her task, she leaned back, placing her hands on her hips, feeling the beads of sweat trickling down her forehead. In the early days of the apocalypse, scavenging for food and dispatching zombies had seemed simpler, but now, even the slightest exertion left her frail body exhausted. Dizziness washed over her, prompting her to gulp down some water before staggering out of the kitchen.
Returning to the room where she had awoken, Laurel found herself grappling with a dilemma. Should she venture outside to confront the zombies, fulfilling the adventurous dreams she had harbored, or should she focus on completing one of the missions that awaited her?
Reclining on the bed, Laurel contemplated her options, feeling a reluctance to engage in physical exertion. The prospect of venturing out to confront zombies lost some of its allure when she considered the absence of the comfort of her computer screen.
Yet, perhaps there was a compromise to be found. With a thoughtful gaze directed skyward, Laurel entertained the notion of pursuing both activities. Despite her perception of accomplishing little, she had taken crucial steps, such as securing the house and familiarizing herself with its layout. She had expended energy dragging furniture to barricade doors and windows, and had meticulously cataloged the provisions she had imagined consuming over the course of a day in her dream.
As Laurel reevaluated her options, the absence of sleepiness—likely due to the nature of her dream—allowed her to consider her choices with a clear mind. With only two missions available, she found herself drawn to the quickest and perhaps most private option. After all, indulging in a solitary act of self-pleasure while adorned in a fictional character's attire seemed harmless, devoid of any potential judgment.
Venturing into the next room, she set aside the trophies and masculine decorations that likely belonged to someone else, hoping to find clean clothes that would fit her frame. With a sense of urgency, she rifled through the drawers, searching for suitable attire. Finally, she extracted a generic black t-shirt, its fabric smooth beneath her fingertips.
Throwing herself onto the double bed, she hesitated, feeling a twinge of discomfort at the thought of engaging in such an intimate act while wearing borrowed clothing. Yet, dismissing the unease, she resolved to proceed, convincing herself that in the confines of her secluded environment, there was no harm in indulging in a moment of solitary pleasure.
Laurel scolded herself inwardly, chastising her own embarrassment over a mere dream. It was absurd to feel shame in a realm of subconscious imagination, she reasoned.
With resolve, she peeled off the short shorts and panties she had been wearing, noting the lack of hair on her intimate area without surprise. After all, in this dream, her body seemed to conform to a different standard, a realization that momentarily gave her pause. Her anatomy, with its petite size and delicate pink folds, felt alien to her, akin to that of a character in some fantastical harem tale.
Shaking off her unease, Laurel tentatively explored her smooth skin with her fingers, marveling at the unfamiliarity of it all. Licking her fingertips, she summoned the courage to stimulate her clitoris, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks at the sheer audacity of her actions.
Contrary to her initial hesitance, arousal came swiftly, her pussy responding eagerly to the gentle touch of her index finger. In the quiet of the room, her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm matching the cadence of her fingers as they moved in a familiar dance of pleasure. Despite the strangeness and embarrassment that lingered, she found herself succumbing to the primal urges of her body, lost in the intoxicating sensations of pleasure that swept her away.
As Laurel's movements grew more fervent, her waist undulating against her own slickened fingers, she found herself seeking solace in the fabric of the shirt pressed against her face. Inhaling deeply, the familiar scent of soap enveloped her senses, though the absence of her own personal fragrance left a pang of disquiet in her chest. Despite the weakness and indistinctness of the scent, the simple act of seeking comfort in it elicited a tremor of arousal within her, mingled with a sense of guilt and shame.
Sliding her fingers between her delicate folds, she navigated the contours of her own arousal, guided by instinct and desire. As she penetrated herself, the sensation of her own flesh enveloping her fingers, once so familiar yet now strangely foreign, sent a shiver down her spine. The moist, obscene sound of her fingers moving in and out, coupled with the raw moans that escaped her throat, filled the room, amplifying the intensity of her pleasure.
With each thrust, she increased the force of her movements, her moans growing hoarse as ecstasy washed over her. It felt unnatural, almost perverse, to lose herself so completely to the throes of passion, yet she found herself unable to resist the overwhelming tide of sensation that consumed her. And amidst the cacophony of her own pleasure, she marveled at the newfound intensity of her desires, surprised by the depth of her own arousal and the primal urges that drove her to heights of ecstasy she had never before imagined.
She could perfectly feel the shape of the two fingers as her walls clenched, sucking and squeezing painfully. Intensifying the pace, Laurel felt her skin crawl. It wasn't enough. Inserting another finger, she continued to try to go deeper and deeper.
The sheets started to get wet, both from her sweat and the fluids that dripped easily from her pussy. Her throat was dry and sore, but Laurel continued the movement with her fingers while spasms ran through her entire body. The tingling skin was a remnant of one of the best orgasms she had ever had in her life. All in her shameful dream.
Her fingers stopped moving as they were squeezed by her pussy, which after so much effort had acquired a more intense pink color.
Disinhibition unlocked! level 1
Masturbation unlocked! level 1
Congratulations, you completed a mission!
Would you like to open the first newbie prize pack?
The comfortable bed seemed to swallow her up, as she fought for her hand to stop shaking.
The shaky voice replied a weak 'yes' as notifications continued to appear before the vision.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Apollonos
Apollonos I'll probably update when someone is reading it
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone