She was dropped to the floor, skidded away, struggling out of the remaining scraps of purple material as Lovecraft advanced, hair unfastening itself and fanning out around her head like an unholy halo. Her dress flapped, folding and unfolding and dissolving and revealing the legs she used to walk, bent back arthropod abominations and sliming tendrils pushing her forwards.
She crawled backwards. The stone was cold beneath her, bra strap pressing into her back. Lovecraft followed, more arms unfolding from the corset of zir dress like a hindu goddess — some almost human, others with what looked to be biological syringes and medical equipment surrounding them. The primary tongue — Lisa could see others swirling in that jaw — flicked across her lips as she advanced. The legs parted more — the folds and petticoats of the dress had slimmed back into a bustle-like tail, and on the underside were pulsating orifices that flexed with every step Lovecraft took.
She couldn't tell what they could do. She couldn't tell anything about Lovecraft. Nothing new, nothing different.
`You like it like this, don't you Lisa?' Claws gently wrapped itself around her arms, pinning her to the floor with zir squamous weight. `Being worthless. Being stupid.' The tendrils slithered against her shins, crawling and rolling against them, higher and higher up past the knee —
A single touch against her underwear was enough for her to moan, the sort of wanton noise she didn't indulge in even when she knew she was alone. It was too much, something touching her not moved by her own hands she could barely think about the texture or how the uncomfortably expensive lingerie she was wearing would be ruined by the slimed residue that stuck to her. Claws slipped over her shoulders, pulling down her bra straps, even as more claws set to work stroking the edge of her breasts, sharp and rough edges almost cutting her but never quite breaking the skin.
Lovecraft's hair unfurled further, reaching over zir shoulder from where she towered over Lisa's prone form, wrapping around her arms and collarbone and stroking and rubbing, rising to wrap round her throat and massage it and that danger was even more intoxicating than what those bizarre multi-elbowed arms were doing to her chest, squeezing and shifting and playing with her like she was a toy.
`It is nice to have you quiet for once, Lisa.' Those tongues flicking out of the mouth — they were different shapes, some like spades, some pointed, some forked. Without her power she didn't know what they could do, what they were for. `Always talking. You prefer it this way, I think.'
`This — ah — this your little fantasy?'
`Always questioning. Darling, you'd know if it was my fantasy. But I suppose you didn't come here to be groped or talked dirty to. You came here to be [/fucked]. So let's put that power of yours to good use.'
The claws over her breasts unfolded — ah, there's the retractable skin — little needle like blades slipping out and into the very centre of her nipples and the feeling was so intense her eyes rolled upwards and out of her control. Not so much a spike as a constant, heated pressure and suction, and she could feel them moving inside her flesh, working a little deeper.
And then she felt them spasming under the force of the injection of some sort of venom, and with the tendrils playing over her panties that was enough to almost send her into oblivion. She was trying to thrash to get closer, but those claws held her firm. `Easy, easy, Lisa. I wouldn't want to hurt you. It'll take a few seconds to take effect...'
{ — wants to hurt you, you deserve this, what you've always needed, ze can make you cum, can make you beg -}.
`What — what did you do?' The torrent of information was unending, more and more of it about how violated she would be, how dirty she was, how she'd wanted this for so long —
She came, hard, screaming and crying and begging for more, and all while Lovecraft laughed, and that somehow made it better, that melodious little chuckle, so inhuman, so delightfully wrong. And the information didn't stop. {you liked that didn't you, being in my grip, giving in to me, lose it, lose it all, you don't need anything other than zir rubbing against you all ridges and eyes and bone -}.
A slight sting. `Let's tone it down a bit shall we? That was slightly more — extreme a reaction than we had tested for. Don't want to lose sight of the big picture, do we darling?'
The information faded. It was still there, but pieces, impressions, not the previous neverending torrent of filth. She could still feel it, pulsing little waves of pleasure through her and leaving her spreadeagled, no desire to cover herself and full of languid desire.
Her sight focused in from the blur her orgasms had left her, settling on Lovecraft. Zir legs had spread further, revealing — her power told her that it was zir {pussy — wet} but at the moment Lisa wasn't entirely sure that it wouldn't say that if she looked at anything. The scent from it was different from the smell of her own juices — slightly nutty like a good roast.
Of course, the most notable part of it was the limber flexible not-quite thread that extended from it. Her power assured her it was a clitoris, and a prehensile one that was going to do wonderful and terrible things to her. The teeth she could see deeper inside Lovecraft promised that too.
The hands lifted her up, legs and arms still spread, almost painfully so. She could feel the strain in the joints of her shoulders, her hips, as Lovecraft adjusted her so both their vaginas were level, those lips and teeth mere centimetres from her flesh. She could hear them gnash.
Then ze pulled them together.
In that instant she felt that tiny weapon flit up and down her length thirty, forty times, probing and prying between her lips, tasting her — then their heads were pulled together and lips met and those tongues slid into her mouth. Everything turned fuzzy.
They pushed against the inside of her throat. They rubbed against her own tongue and teeth. And all the while that incredible second mouth, that vagina dentata worked on her, nibbling and probing and licking and touching —
She tried to press closer, to reciprocate, but Lovecraft held her still, still working, still teasing and trapping and overflowing her. Fuck her, her power was right — she wanted to stay here to do anything for this entrancing eldritch goddess to keep zir pleased, to keep her in zir arms.
What a good little hussy she was.
Finally her lungs screamed for air, and she drew her head back, drooling, her gums and jaw aching and sore. She didn't care — she knew the makeup that filled in between her domino mask and her eyes was a muddy wreck — she just wanted to regain her breath as fast as possible so those tongues could pour back down her throat.
`Oh no darling. We can do that again later.' A disorienting shift in perspective as Lovecraft spun her round. She whined as that clitoris left her but now she was face to face with it, and more tendrils were wrapping round her, presenting themselves to her fingers and face as the blood rushed to her head. `Now. You pleasure me.'
It was like a french kiss, made better by the fact that she knew each swirling touch of her tongue to the thing wriggling between her lips was making Lovecraft moan, that even as their teeth clashed and the pressure grew stronger she was paying zir back. Warm sticky wetness around her fingers, pulsing, probing. She surfaced and a different vagina was pressed to her face. Still the same warm, wholesome taste — like a Sunday roast.
The first tongue to enter her was one of the spade shaped ones — she felt it unfurl within her and begin to writhe even as a forked one wrapped itself round her clit and began to manipulate it — and she screamed in pure ecstatic joy into the tendril-cunt that was fucking her face.
She orgasmed again, then again, then again, as her vision narrowed. Finally she was cast down, still arcing her back for contact that was gone, licking thin air, pumping fingers slick and slimed together into nothingness.
`Dear me. You're almost ready.' Lovecraft settled zirself over her. `Almost gone. Not good for much but bugs — ah, that gives me an idea!' {lying, knew what to do with you all along}. `Normally we vat-grow certain creatures for Anansi but I think today I can make an exception.'
A host for some alien insect creature? Some tinker made, biological nightmare birthed from her?
Stings on her labia. `To ensure it stretches properly. Now, we need to make sure your little babies are well fed while they're in there — you'd forget, wouldn't you?' Something rubbing against her sopping thighs, slipping up them and then —
It wasn't like she'd never used a dildo, or her fingers. But never anything that stretched her so much so fast, reaching up inside, working its way up, pressing higher and higher and higher.
And then it started pulsing, and she felt it jetting something into her, not in individual sprays but in a constant stream, and she could hear it, feel it through bones, impaling her, rising her up —
At some point she came. She wasn't sure if it was her power's constant reminders that this was all she could ever be good for, that pleasant numb haze that still lingered on her tongue beside Lovecraft's juices, or the sheer wanton self-destructiveness of knowing that she had asked for this, asked for all of it. Asked for the tightening of the skin of her stomach, the fullness, the feeling that she couldn't take any more and would simply burst from how much was inside her.
The nutrient pump pulled itself from her, splashing purple goop across her stomach. It was thick, its surface tension compressing it into balls that like mercury ran across the dome of her belly to the floor. She scrabbled for one, pushed it into her mouth with her gooey fingers, savouring the fruity taste.
She lay there for a long time, Lovecraft wrapped round her, until her power went back to normal, until the last shivers of pleasure subsided. Ze made a surprisingly good cuddling partner, good enough that she almost didn't mind the cold floor.
Finally she spoke.
`You said I wanted this because of the control.' She was surprised by how languid her own voice sounded, the little tremor to it.
`Mmm. Dollar book psychology, darling. Coil took control of your life — and your parents did before that, but I haven't read enough Freud to go that far. They made you hurt, and thus you want to hurt them, to hurt him. That lack of control is what hurts you, not the way he applied it. You wanted — want — a situation where your lack of control was under your control.' {believes what she is saying to a certain extent, knows detail is more complex, not entirely concentrating, unguarded}. An opportunity for more information.
`Dollar book psychology.' She wriggled a little. Her stomach still felt uncomfortably taut, and she could feel something dribble down her thigh before one of Lovecraft's manipulator palps wiped it away. {biodegradable substance, tinker designed, no actual alien babies}. She felt mildly disappointed by that revelation.
`It's a good deal more complex, of course.' {amused tolerance of your own ignorance on the subject, knows you're probing, doesn't mind}. `But it's a decent start.'
`You're -'
`Not what you expected? Not just earthy groans, dirty jokes and tentacles? My dear I'm no whore. I am a hetaira.'
It had been a long time since she'd studied Classics. She'd abandoned a lot of her knowledge of it because her parents had forced it on her. But with a little thought — `Companion.'
`It's never really about the sex. Anyone can have sex. What we sell is comfort. Understanding. An open ear, an open heart. No preconceptions.' {deliberately emphasising appeal of work, oversimplifying}.
`It sounds like you want to — hire me.'
`Oh no.' {partial lie — would like to hire you}. `You'd be useful here. No doubt of that. Someone with your, mmm, skills. Not even serving customers though there are some you'd be ideally suited to. Just — analysing them. What they really want. What they really need.'
`Checking the dollar book for you.'
`Yes, dear.' {smiling, all mouths smiling, aroused by your impertinence}. `Something like that. But — you'd want to be equal partners. To run the things you thought you could run best. And you wouldn't, and I couldn't abide that. I'd end up eating you. And Coil wouldn't allow me to grab you, and I can't hurt him.' {real regret, hunger — is thinking about what it would be like to work alongside you, what it would be like to rend you limb from limb}. `Webs within webs.'
Lisa swallowed. `Maybe — maybe some other day.'
`Mmm. There's a thought.' {picked up on nervousness, hunger was deliberate to check response}. `Of course we haven't finished today's session.'
`We haven't?' A sting on her hip, a small brass spider scuttling away, and the voice of her power faded.
`Oh no, my dear. After all, I did all those horrible things to you. Took you and took you and took from you. Don't you want to pay me back, darling. Darling Lisa, darling darling darling -!'
* * *
EROTARCANA: SILK, LEATHER, POTS?
Goddamn it Melanie, how hard is it to let things be for five minutes?
She'd had a hard couple of days — organising things for Coil, helping the little alliance against the ABB take shape — and had been looking forward to relaxing, even if just for a couple of hours, in the arms of one of the servers. Check in had been fine, though Lovecraft had apparently been "busy elsewhere" {serving a more important client}. She had met with her server, and they'd just been getting to the good stuff when —
`I'm sorry to interrupt.' Anansi's childish voice. `Someone appears to have followed you, Tattletale.'
There'd been only a few likely options. Taylor — and she wasn't sure if that shivery feeling at that thought was want or fear — a bored Alec, or, as it had turned out to be, Faultline.
Once upon a time — shortly after Coil had `recruited' her, while she was still struggling to make the Undersiders get along and not murder each other — she had met a marvellous, smart young woman with dark curled hair and good lord she'd never realised she had a type before. Funny the way revelations snuck up on you.
It had, naturally, fallen apart. She couldn't — touch her. Be touched. Without her fucking power getting in the way and ruining everything. So Faultline had started teasing her. Every snide remark about her intelligence, every defeat, all of it was undercut by body language begging Lisa to bend her over and take what was hers. And underneath that was the simple message. You can't do it and I know it. Come on if you think you're hard enough.
