Laying Pipe
Sometimes when you've been at a job for a long time, you feel you've pretty much seen every crazy situation it can throw at you. In my case, that meant every manner of perverse piping job and every imaginable clog thereof.
And yet when I was contacted about running pipes through the new castle being built on the edge of town, I found myself looking twice at the requirements, and had to give them a call to confirm.
"I'm sorry, this is a typo, right? You need pipes that can handle 200 degrees, surely?"
"No, Mister Darkwater," said the voice over the line. "For our purposes, we will indeed need pipe rated for 2000°F. The master of the house is of a...cold-blooded nature, and wishes to have lava pits installed for his comfort."
"Lava pits? You know there's not, like, a municipal lava system I can hook you up to or anything, right?"
"Do not worry about the materials, sir, just the piping."
"I generally do residential work--I'm fairly sure I don't have pipe that can handle that kind of heat."
"I believe that can be arranged as well. But your assistance at helping us get fitted would be appreciated."
The castle was a massive edifice of gray stone, straight out of a fantasy novel or a video game--I figured it was some tech billionaire's attempt to live out a childhood dream.
Seeing the familiar green cartoon pipes that had been stockpiled for me by the rear entrance only confirmed it. Clearly, whoever was in charge of the place was a little touched.
Luckily there's a simple procedure to discourage the more unserious kinds of shenanigans: "So, I'm going to need payment up front for this," I said, directing my comment to the white tiger that appeared to be in charge.
"By all means--we do need your services, sir. Please survey the site and give us your estimate."
I was left to wander the stone halls of the castle myself with a copy of the blueprints I was assured was up to date.
If the blueprints were to be believed, however, there was no trace of any existing plumbing anywhere in the place.
That frankly seemed unbelievable to me. Who goes out of their way to build a leisure castle so ornate as this and forgets things like running water? Was the stone all they had?
I decided to check out the master suite to make sure that it wasn't just a trick of the documentation. The room was dominated by an unkempt four-poster bed, a wardrobe, and the scent of stale piss.
It didn't take long to determine that the smell was coming from the statue of an otter that was sitting alongside the bed. It was hollow, contained no visible drainage, and had nevertheless been filled nearly to the brim with urine.
"Who are you and what are you doing in the king's chamber?"
I turned to see a servile polar bear and a large blue-shelled turtle--an actual koopa--standing in the doorway. The turtle was burly, wearing a tiny crown and carrying a massive sledgehammer, and looked like he was itching to beat me to a pulp.
"I'm the plumber," I said.
The turtle's eyes widened. "A plumber?" He crossed the room in a blurry dash, swinging his hammer before I could even try to dodge and hitting me with a sharp crack.
I was entirely surprised to hear the sound, which was not the sound one would expect when a hammer meets the fur of an otter. "What the--" I started.
The turtle looked at me sharply, but I was finding it difficult to move or speak beyond those words.
I have a trick to try and get around this kind of shenanigans as well. Just a bit of concentration, and...
My transformation didn't come on as easily as it should have. Normally it was the work of a thought and my body would take on its slime form, which really did have more uses than just unclogging stubborn pipes.
But now I felt like I was transforming against tension, like instead of slippery slime I was taking on the form of a viscous sludge.
I looked down and saw my body was the same gray as the castle stones.
The turtle king's expression in response to my change was very like terror.
I tried lunging forward--to grab his hammer, to disarm him--but in this condition my lunge was little better than a lurch, half my body toppling over with a thlack like a slap on wet concrete.
Ungainly as the action was, it was clearly still more than the koopa had been expecting, and it frightened him enough that he ran out the door, nearly knocking over his attendant in the process.
In a moment I was alone, though I was sure reinforcements would be coming.
I figured my best chances would be in making use of what the turtle had just done to me. I sloshed my way under the bed and tried to spread myself out, forming as thin a layer as possible across the stone floor to blend in before letting myself solidify again.
Now, a thin layer of stone doesn't exactly have the best auditory awareness. The vague tramp of footsteps approached, the vibration mostly felt, partly heard. Unintelligible speech, as though very far away, could just be made out as those footsteps scoured the room for the intruder before moving on to search elsewhere.
I waited, to make sure I was alone again, and pulled myself back together under the shadow of the bed.
My new liquid form was still a little difficult to keep together, but I was getting the hang of it. I confirmed the room was empty and moved out from under the mattress into the dim light.
The double doors that opened into the room were closed.
I listened, but heard only quiet outside.
I opened one of the doors.
The koopa king was standing behind the door, a half dozen armed furs behind him.
Well, fuck.
Wait...
Behind him?
You don't put the pawns behind the king.
He yelped and tried to jump backwards, but only managed to trip over his own feet. I made use of the advantage and did the closest thing to a leap that a semi-solid could manage, hitting him with a dull thplat and coating the whole front of him in concrete otter.
He freaked out.
Flailing and tearing off globs of me, he gibbered out something that was probably meant to be "Get him off me!" and "Don't shoot!" but with the incomprehensibility that comes from trying to enunciate both thoughts simultaneously with a mouthful of sludge.
A couple of the smaller henchmen ran away.
"Change me back," I said. The timbre of my voice in this new form was deeper, though unsteady.
"Fuck off," he said, still trying to shake me.
"Your funeral." I started to solidify around him, freezing him in place.
The turtle yelped and tried to withdraw into his shell, but I already had his arms and head fast; he could do little more at this point than wave his hands ineffectually.
I was no stranger to engulfing people in my usual liquid form--mostly playmates--but the concrete was much more of a challenge. I was too sludgy to cover him entirely without a lot of effort, but being able to go partially solid more than made up for it.
Through the thick layer of stone covering his beak, I felt the king's muffled screams of panic as much as I heard them. Where my thick substance had been slathered across his hide, I could feel the race of his pulse. And from the vantage where I had been seeping in through the lower openings of his shell, I could feel the throb of an arousal so intense it could only be born out of pure fear.
Oh, I could definitely have fun with this.
I slid some of my thick sludge over his hips and down his legs, engulfing them into me, and experimentally pushed his leg forward. He began to fight back as soon as he realized what I was doing, but his own strength was nothing against the monster he'd inadvertently made me; with a series of precarious lurches I marched him back into his room and slammed the door shut.
The astonished minions that had remained didn't even try to follow.
We tottered towards the bed and I recoalesced as best I could into my old shape, pushing the turtle back into the mattress.
"Ready to give up yet?" I said, raising a dripping paw.
He only growled at me; fortunately his magic hammer had been left in the hallway and any physical attack would be futile. "Plumber," he said, "You tried to seal me in stone."
Was that his fear? "I know you enjoyed it," I said.
The turtle was silent, as though he knew it couldn't be denied.
I laid a paw on his crotch, engulfing his still-hard member in wet concrete.
His beak reddened.
I leaned forward, stared into those blue eyes of his, and slid my mucky fingers further south, exploring his vent.
His eyes widened, but he didn't protest.
"You just want to be filled up with concrete, don't you..."
The turtle's blush spread.
I stepped forward and slid my liquid cock into him.
"Oh fuck..." we said, together.
There was always a heightened level of sensation in my slime form--something about the way my fluidity would mix with and saturate and fill every little corner of what it encountered. Being a much thicker sludge multiplied that altogether: I had some solidity to push back on, meaning I could fully feel the tightness of his hole without him forcing me back out.
I slumped forward across his big belly as I thrust into him, covering him with wet concrete as I slammed into his rump. His own cock throbbed hard in the sludge that coated it as he moaned out in mixed pleasure and distress.
I knew then that I couldn't help it. I had to engulf him again.
I spread across the body of the turtle, wet muck covering his legs and creeping up his arms and torso. My substance effaced all his features, burying the little lines that delineated his scales, the bordure of his carapace, and his poor thick manhood under a spreading layer of gray.
The palpitations of his heart were evident inside me as I flowed up his neck, the turtle's panic increasing again as he disappeared into me as if down a hungry throat.
I could feel him whimpering inside me as he realized he was buried alive in wet concrete.
I stopped thrusting into him and started to solidify again.
The reaction was immediate--at least from his cock, which throbbed against the firm concrete and coated me internally with a layer of his spunk. By the time the king had recovered from his climax I could feel his limbs trying to flail, to break free, but I already had him immobile. He tried to scream, but his mouth wasn't given room to open.
I held him in place there until I felt his struggles cease, then eased up again.
"You'll change me back," I said again, reforming enough to speak but not enough for him to escape my control. "Now."
The king gave no further resistance.
I left the castle unchallenged, rubbing my arms and glad to feel my fur again.
Of course I didn't take the job.
I'd laid enough pipe for the day.