‘All true,’ gurgled the Necroscope, feeling her left nipple extend into his throat like a tongue, while his scrotum swelled to bursting from the pressure of his juices. ‘A woman would die in agony from what I have done to you!’
‘Likewise a man from these caresses of mine,’ she replied, shuddering. ‘But of pleasure, however monstrous!’ And she drew out his great, soft, spidercrab hand from her body, folded his legs at the knees and fed them into herself; until finally he was drawn in to his navel, and she experienced the geysering of his cold semen laving her palpitating innards.
‘And yet the Old Lords in their time took Traveller women for themselves,’ Harry panted in his delirium. She was full of him now, her pale belly round and shining, grotesquely bloated where his arms and hands encircled it; and her body had so gorged on him that he looked half-born. She coiled herself forward to kiss him, and their teeth clashed as the flesh of their faces melted into one face.
A moment later she extruded him in a huge contraction; but just as quickly he entered her again, head-first this time, so that she must speak to him telepathically to answer his query. Those women died screaming, she said. I’ve heard it said that following a raid, Lesk the Glut would take ten or more in a night, bursting them like bladders with his sex! Ah, that was violation! But the so-called ‘Lords’ weren’t all alike; if a girl was beautiful, then she might survive. Brought on by degrees, she would be vampirized, and as her metamorphosis progressed so her satyr Lord would instruct her. The Lord Magula fashioned himself a huge mound of a woman, and slept within her when their excesses exhausted him.
She expanded herself convulsively to let him out, then fell on him and grasped at his slick body with exploratory hands of her own. The Wamphyri equivalent of ‘talking dirty’ had incensed them . . . what orifices could be entered (of each of them) were entered; their kisses fetched blood; their juices drenched the bed and dripped from it on to the floor all around. They themselves flopped damply from the bed, slipping and sliding in their own liquids. Harry’s system endlessly manufactured semen, which was endlessly sucked from him by Karen’s various lips. They let their vampires run rampant. Scythe teeth nibbled (but never so deep as the bone), and nails like claws of Tyrannosaur pulled and gouged (but only to bruise, never to break).
They reduced the bedclothes to drenched rags, the slate bed itself to rubble, the huge room to a shambles. Their lovemaking (lustmaking?) grew frantic and impossible to follow in its contortions and convolutions. Their cries became primal as their bodies shared totally; they knew sex as no merely human beings had ever known it; the Necroscope’s greatest climax of many was when Karen entered him.
For fifteen hours they spent themselves, vented, tormented and demented themselves. So that in the end they didn’t merely sleep but fell unconscious in each other’s coils . . .
When Harry came out of it, Karen was washing him. ‘Don’t,’ he said, feebly trying to push her away. ‘A waste of time. I want you again, now, while you’re still here.’
‘Still here?’ She took his member in her hand to cool its bruises with water, and watched it grow there like a club.
‘It’s a dream, Karen, a dream!’ he gasped, his hand seeking her softness. ‘Like everything gone before. Dreams of a madman. I know it now for sure, for I saw you lying dead. Yet here, now . . . you live! Unless … is there a necromancer in Starside?’
She shook her head, drawing back from him a little where his hands began to pull with some insistence at her once more entirely human breasts. And: ‘It were best if you listened to me, Harry,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t dead that time. It wasn’t me you saw lying there, broken in the bony scree.’
‘Not you? Then who?’
‘Do you remember when you starved me?’ Karen stared hard, earnestly, even accusingly at him. ‘Do you remember how you lured my vampire out of my body with a trail of pig’s blood? Ah, but I was Wamphyri and crafty! The mother creature Inside me was crafty! More so than any other. She – it – left an egg in me. The tenacity of the vampire, Harry.’