Though her body tried to overtake the creature, it couldn’t; its quarry had too great a lead. The creature reached the top of the chain, and once there, clasped itself onto the back of what looked to be a huge male. Despite her attempt to curl up and hide, Krysty found herself experiencing everything her body felt. She was a helpless passenger as it moved into position on the creature’s back, as with a suckered hand it guided its upstanding member under the unprotected buttocks, nosing it into the warm, moist crevice it found there.
Trapped inside the male body, swept away in its hormone storm, Krysty momentarily lost touch with her real-world identity: she wanted only what the body wanted. A chirping sound erupted from her throat as she thrust deep into the clinging softness.
Ecstasy swallowed her up.
As her body’s hips fell into a rocking rhythm, a hand from below gripped her foot, then her hip. Krysty felt the weight of another creature on her back. It was enormous. The vibration deep in her belly became an
earthquake as a rough hand reached under her buttocks, as something thick and hard nudged against her.
Pleasure-very familiar, very feminine-exploded between her legs; it brought her back to herself in a headlong rush. The unmistakable sensation told her that her dream-body had two sets of sex organs, one male, the other female, both fully operational.
As did all the creatures in the living web.
As her hips reared back for another jab, the huge creature hanging on her shoulders thrust, and she was penetrated. As her body lunged forward, the creature she rode turned its head and opened its wet mouth in a gasp. Krysty stared into a white, flabby face framed by a bald pate. The eyes were unreadable, flat, as dead as a doll’s. The teeth like yellow nail points.
Stickie!
Krysty’s spirit fought with all its strength, but there was no escaping the predicament. Unable to break free of the grip of the creature that had mounted her, wedged in, front and back, lost in the tweeting chant, the lubricious, thrusting pleasure, Krysty panicked, flailing in the darkness of the alien skull. Her real self wasn’t just lost and adrift; it was drowning. It was dying. There was no Gaia power in this feverish universe, nothing and no one to come to her aid.
As more and more stickles added links and layers to the chain, the mass humping built to a frenzy. Krysty knew with a terrible certainty that she would be impregnated by the great thing on her back, that her belly would swell and swell until she staggered under its
weight, and that soon she would give birth to a gaggle of needle-toothed, dead-eyed monsters.
That’s what this elaborately choreographed exercise was all about
The birthing of monsters.
As that realization sank home, at the edge of consciousness she sensed an onlooker, a shadowy presence lurking beyond her field of view. A presence of pure and perfect evil-which stepped forward, into the light of her mind.
Not just a bystander, this, or a mere watcher.
This was a laughing ringmaster.
With steel eyes.
RYAN AWAKENED on his hands and knees on the gateway floor. As he clung to it, the gleaming surface seemed to dip and swirl, and the chamber’s violet-tinted armaglass walls spun wildly around him. Strands of acrid bile dangled from his parted tips. His mind reeled with more than the usual postjump confusion. He had suffered an awful defilement, a rape of soul that not even a lifetime of Deathlands’ horrors had prepared him for.
Against his will he had been forced to share space, breath, heartbeat with the mutated and inhuman.
The gateway chamber reeked of vomit Ryan dry-heaved from the stench, his stomach threatening to invert itself and climb out his throat All around him, amid the groans of his companions, he heard what sounded like dozens of tiny lips blowing soft, wet
kisses. Slowly, like a curtain rising, the mat-trans haze lifted from his brain.
It was then he realized there were too many legs, arms and bodies inside the sealed chamber.
With an effort he focused his eye.
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