The climb was brutal. Two vertical kilometers of smooth, slightly elastic material that offered little purchase. Jackob shifted back to his Red Bug form for the additional limbs, each chitinous claw finding delicate purchase in the cord's weave.
Halfway up, lizz's voice boomed through the chamber: "I see you... Peppa Pig~"
Jackob nearly lost his grip. Did the goddess actually see him? Or was this another mind game? He pressed himself flat against the cord, willing himself invisible.
"What's with this obsession with pigs?!" he muttered under his breath. The indignity of it all almost outweighed the terror. Almost.
Then he saw it - hanging above him like some holy grail of perversion. Her bra. The sheer scale of it was mind-boggling, each cup large enough to house a small village. The delicate fabric shimmered with some alien sheen, the straps thick as ancient oaks.
For a moment, Jackob forgot he was prey. The sight awakened something primal and deeply confused in his traumatized psyche. This wasn't just clothing - it was intimacy given form, a sacred relic from a world of softness he'd never known.
"Imagine being the thing touching her chest all day..." The thought came unbidden, accompanied by a warmth in his gut that had no business being there during a life-or-death chase.
His reverie shattered as a bloodcurdling scream echoed from somewhere below. One of the other bugs had been found. Time was running out.
With renewed desperation, Jackob scrambled the remaining distance. When he finally reached the summit, the first thing he did was test the surface with one clawed foot.
Boing.
The material gave slightly under his weight, springing back with gentle resistance. He took an experimental step, then another, marveling at the strange sensation. It was like walking on clouds, if clouds smelled faintly of flowers and something uniquely, intoxicatingly feminine.
The scent enveloped him, triggering memories he didn't know he had - of maternal warmth, of safety, of things his brutal upbringing had denied him. For the first time in his life, Jackob understood why men wrote poetry about women's undergarments.
A crash from below jolted him back to reality. Thizz was getting closer. With no time to savor his discovery, Jackob unsheathed his sword and carefully cut a small slit in the fabric, just large enough to squeeze inside.
As he wriggled into the dark, perfumed space, another scream rang out. Only two bugs left now. Jackob curled into a ball, trying to control his breathing as the world outside descended into chaos.
Darkness. Warmth. The faint rhythmic thud of a heartbeat not his own. Jackob lay perfectly still in his makeshift cocoon, every sense straining for signs of danger.
The bra shifted suddenly, sending him tumbling against the inner lining. Through the fabric, he heard thizz's voice, closer than ever: "Where are you, fourth bug?!"
Jackob held his breath. The entire undergarment swayed violently as the goddess presumably picked it up. For one terrifying moment, he was certain he'd been discovered.
Then - with a casual flick - he was airborne.
The world became a whirl of motion and sound. Jackob tumbled end over end, the cushioned fabric the only thing preventing him from being pulped against the chamber walls. When the movement finally stopped, he found himself nestled in some other piece of clothing, the fibers soft against his carapace.
Cautiously, he peeked out. The chamber was quiet now. No screams. No counting. Just the slow, rhythmic breathing of a sleeping goddess.
GHHRRRRRRRRRRRRR
The snore hit like an earthquake, vibrating through Jackob's entire body. "WTF?!" he yelped, scrambling for purchase as the fabric trembled around him.
The sheer absurdity of his situation struck him then. Here he was, a former slave turned shapeshifting assassin, hiding in a giantess's underwear while she slept. If his life hadn't been at stake, it might have been funny.
"If we were the same size," he muttered, "I swear to GOD I'd beat you senseless!" The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Then came the realization. Wait... did I just say I'd beat my wife? The thought shocked him to his core. Wife? Since when had he started thinking like that?
He slapped himself - a sharp crack that echoed in the confined space. "What the hell is wrong with me?!" The years of deprivation, the lack of any healthy relationships with women, the trauma of his upbringing - it had all twisted something fundamental in his psyche.
Yet as another earth-shaking snore rolled through the fabric, Jackob found himself smiling despite himself. There was something perversely comforting about this insanity. He curled deeper into the softness, letting the scent and warmth envelop him.
"...crazy b**ch," he whispered affectionately. "...but damn if you ain't cute."
The admission hung in the perfumed air as sleep finally claimed him, there in the most dangerous - and strangely comforting - hiding place imaginable.