The axlotl tanks!
He remembered emerging time after time: bright lights and padded mechanical hands. The hands rotated him and, in the unfocused blurs of the newborn, he saw a great mound of female flesh — monstrous in her almost immobile grossness . . . a maze of dark tubes linked her body to giant metal containers.
Axlotl tank?
He gasped in the grip of the serial memories that cascaded into him. All of those lives! All of those lives!
Now, he remembered what the Tleilaxu had planted in him, the submerged awareness that awaited only this moment of seduction by a Bene Gesserit Imprinter.
But this was Murbella and she was not Bene Gesserit.
She was here, though, ready at hand and the Tleilaxu pattern took over his reactions.
Duncan hummed softly and touched her, moving with an agility that shocked Murbella. He should not be this responsive! Not this way! His right hand fluttered against the lips of her vagina while his left hand caressed the base of her spine. At the same time, his mouth moved gently over her nose, down to her lips, down to the crease of her left armpit.
And all the time he hummed softly in a rhythm that pulsed through her body, lulling . . . weakening . . .
She tried to push away from him as he increased the pace of her responses.
How did he know to touch me there at just that instant? And there! And there! Oh, Holy Rock of Dur, how does he know this?
Duncan marked the swelling of her breasts and saw the congestion in her nose. He saw the way her nipples stood out stiffly, the areolae darkening around them. She moaned and spread her legs wide.
Great Matre, help me!
But the only Great Matre she could think of was locked securely away from this room, restrained by a bolted door and a plaz barrier.
Desperate energy flowed into Murbella. She responded in the only way she knew: touching, caressing — using all of the techniques she had learned so carefully in the long years of her apprenticeship.
To each thing she did, Duncan produced a wildly stimulating countermove.
Murbella found that she no longer could control all of her own responses. She was reacting automatically from some well of knowledge deeper than her training. She felt her vaginal muscles tighten. She felt the swift release of lubricant fluid. When Duncan entered her she heard herself groan. Her arms, her hands, her legs, her entire body moved with both of the response systems — well-trained automation and the deeper, deeper plunging awareness of other demands.
How did he do this to me?
Waves of ecstatic contractions began in the smooth muscles of her pelvis. She sensed his simultaneous response and felt the hard slap of his ejaculation. This heightened her own response. Ecstatic pulsations drove outward from the contractions in her vagina . . . outward . . . outward. The ecstasy engulfed her entire sensorium. She saw a spreading blaze of whiteness against her eyelids. Every muscle quivered with an ecstasy she had not imagined possible for herself.
Again, the waves spread outward.
Again and again . . .
She lost count of the repetitions.
When Duncan moaned, she moaned and the waves swept outward once more.
And again . . .
There was no sensation of time or surroundings, only this immersion in a continuing ecstasy.
She wanted it to go on forever and she wanted it to stop. This should not be happening to a female! An Honored Matre must not experience this. These were the sensations by which men were governed.
Duncan emerged from the response pattern that had been implanted in him. There was something else he was supposed to do. He could not remember what it was.
Lucilla?
He imagined her dead in front of him. But this woman was not Lucilla; this was . . . this was Murbella.
There was very little strength in him. He lifted himself off Murbella and managed to sink back onto his knees. Her hands were fluttering in an agitation he could not understand.
Murbella tried to push Duncan away from her and he was not there. Her eyes snapped open.