Wendy’s Pink Lipstick Conversion: Week 5: Chapter 7 — Penultima


    “I walk the earth my darling, this is my home.”

I Walk the Earth, performed by The Voice of the Beehive, lyrics written by Brad Nack


    “The first [riastradh] seized Cúchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of.”

Táin Bó Cuailnge, translated by Thomas Kinsella


    “One-third of a collection of beautiful waterlilies is offered Mahadev, one-fifth to Huri, one-sixth to the Sun, one-fourth to Dev, and six which remain are presented to the spiritual teacher. Required the whole number of water-lilies.”

Lilawati of Bhascara Acharya, translator unknown, taken from Kavanaugh by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
* * *


Wendy shoved her thoroughly saturated groin against the front corner of her bicycle seat when she saw Sara’s Mercedes in her driveway. She ground her pussy against her seat, cumming hard while standing astride her ten-speed. She lifted her right hand off the handle bar and unclasped the button on the fly of her baggy jeans, desperately wanting to feel a pussy, any pussy, her own pussy, desperately wanting to cum again. The jammed her fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and quickly rubbed her rock hard clit, so hard now, so big. It seemed to have grown, she seemed to have grown, her clit seemed to have grown. It felt huge against her fingertip, she felt huge against her fingertip, her clit felt huge against her fingertip, larger than a small pebble, not quite the size of a large piece of gravel.

Touching it, herself, her clit, once, twice, three times, a tremor shook through her body as another orgasm sped through her on the heels of the last. She could fuck herself forever now, she realized, I can just do it right her in the yard. Not bothering to look around for neighbors or passers-by on the sidewalk or street, Wendy stepped away from the bike, letting it clang loudly on the driveway beside Sara’s car. Then she pulled down her jeans, impatiently struggling out of her clothes. Suddenly the door opened, and Sara rushed out to greet Wendy.

She had been looking out the front door impatiently for her arrival.

“You’re here,” she cried, practically shouting as she threw her arms around Wendy’s neck. Then she looked down to see Wendy struggling to kick her jeans off her sneakered feet. She watched Wendy shove her fingers into her crotch and pull them out again to lick her juices, staring deeply into Sara’s eyes while she doing so.

“My god, Wendy. What are?”

“I can’t help it, Sara. I need it. I need it so bad, now. I need you so bad.”

Wendy lunged towards Sara, roughly trying to undo the belt around Sara’s skirt, but Sara slapped her hands away.

“You need to get inside, girl. That’s what you need to do.”

Sara grabbed Wendy’s hand and pulled her across the yard, up the stairs, and through the front door.

Hardly had she gotten through the door when Wendy yanked back on Sara’s hand and spun her around, throwing her against the wall as she leaned in to devour Sara’s red mouth, only then seeing how Sara had down herself up. Her auburn hair, so often in a long braid pulled flat behind her head, now billowed in a styled cloud of rolling, luxurious waves, enveloping her pretty oval face, so feline and hot, her face was heavily made up with layers of foundation and blush, and her lips, so full and wide, gleamed wet and red.

Her hazel eyes were beautifully, gorgeously, alluringly set off with by glittering metallic rose shimmer.

Wendy’s eyes ate her up at a glance as she quickly pulled down Sara’s pink PVC tube top. Sara’s right breast bounced free of her restraint. Wendy cupped the tit, delighting in the soft and yielding flesh. Wendy soaked in the sight of her girlfriend, one of her girlfriends, clad only in a pink PVC tube top and white mini-skirt. Sara’s parted legs stood on black strap platforms. Wendy pressed her pink lips against Sara’s red lips and groaned, urging her warm tongue into Sara’s mouth, her tongue caressing Sara’s tongue before pulling out again.

“God, I want your pussy so bad, Sara,” she panted. “I want to taste you so much. That’s right, spread those legs for me, baby. I need to touch you, feel you, oh baby, I need to do so much to you.”

Sara struggled against Wendy and gave up, spreading her legs wide for Wendy.

Why not? This is what she’d come over for. That and other things. And she had time. Let Wendy have her fun.

Let Wendy have her fun with her little kitty.

Sara whined at Wendy’s hands in her bare pussy, exposed to the air beneath her skirt because panties would be no more use than a bra for tonight. There’d be no use for any clothes tonight. She’d just worn the top and skirt because she had to wear something. Sara ground her greedy cunt over Wendy’s thrusting fingers, Wendy’s two middle fingers all the way in her as she massaged Sara’s hardening clit with the soft pads of the palmar monticuli at the top of her palm. Wendy rubbed her hand at a blazing speed over the clitoral hood of Sara’s burning cunt, sending ripples of pleasure throughout Sara’s body despite the unexpected intrusion of the unfamiliar Latin.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, Wendy. Don’t stop. Don’t stop fucking me, Wendy. Whatever you do, don’t stop. I’m cumming Wendy. I’m cumming all over your hand.”

Sara’s vagina clamped on Wendy’s hand. Wendy felt the hot fluids of Sara’s pussy flow over her hand as Sara hugged Wendy tight against her. Sara’s hands roamed from the soft cotton of Wendy’s sweatshirt down to cup the globes of Wendy’s bare ass, squeezing the two fleshy half-moons. Sara covered her mouth with the side of Wendy’s neck, muffling her screams in the rumbled fabric of the hood.

Renee coughed behind Wendy.

“Girls,” she said. “We need to bring this into the living room. It’s time.”

But what it was time for she wouldn’t say.

Temporarily subdued, Wendy licked Sara’s juices from her fingers as she followed Renee and Sara into her living room, admiring the view of her mother’s girlfriend’s round ass covered in nothing but frilly pink cheeky panties showing the lower halves of her round and jiggling butt. A very short camisole, sheer to the point of transparency covered her top, her round shoulders accented deliciously by pink spaghetti straps that fall down with every bouncing step she took.

Wendy swept along with the flow, sensing a new sensuous turn in her already overheated life.

Sara stood Wendy in the middle of the living room. The teenager noticed two additional flat screens standing on short tables on either side of her usual television.

A video recorder stood on a tripod to one side of the living room, its lens directed at the sofa facing the three screens.

Renee walked behind the camera, her nipples poking hard through the sheer fabric of her almost halter-top-like camisole.

Wendy furled her brows.

“What?”

Sara didn’t let her finish her question.

She held up her index finger and pressed it tenderly against Wendy’s lips.

“Hush, darling,” she said. “Just be patient a little longer, okay girl? I promise, you’ll get see everything tonight. And you’re going to cum so much tonight, baby, I promise. You’re going to have so many orgasms tonight. So many good feelings. But first, we gotta get you out of these awful clothes. You don’t want your mother seeing in this baggy outfit, do you? You want to look good for her, don’t you?”

Oh, god.

Wendy stood still, trembling inside, as Sara unzipped her sweatshirt and pulled it off her body. Then she gestured for Wendy to raise her arms so that Sara could pull her T-shirt off. No bra. Sara smiled. Then she leaned forward to kiss one nipple and then the other. Wendy pressed Sara’s head against her, holding the back of her head. Wendy’s body shuddered as an another orgasm threatened to rush over her. Sara forcefully unclasped Wendy’s hands from behind her hand and backed away.

“Not yet, my love. Not yet. Just wait. Just wait a little longer.”

She stepped back at the heat of the fire in Wendy’s eyes, and she knew that Wendy could not, would not wait much longer.

She knelt and tugged at the waist of Wendy’s panties, a mere thong, pulling her underwear down in a smooth but fast motion. Sara paused, her head, her nose so close to Wendy’s flaming pussy, covered in the golden glow of her blond thatch, and, unable to resist, planted her nose in the midst of the wet, pungent fur, tonguing the hood of Wendy’s clit, the tip of her tongue rolling over the nub and more than nub of the girl’s clit.

Sara tongue explored the folds of Wendy’s steaming cunt, glistening with the hot nectar of feminine lust, her tongue driving through the thick forest of her pubic hair, sweeping across the fur of her fat, puffy outer lips and then down to lick the tangy cleft, so hot, so good, so flowing with Wendy’s secretions now.

God, Sara wondered, how wet could the girl get?

How hot?

Wendy spread her legs and shoved Sara’s head hard against her inner thighs.

“Sara!”

Renee’s shocked voice rang out in the living room.

“We’re supposed to wait. You said we’re supposed to wait.”

But Wendy wasn’t waiting.

Suddenly the girl bent her head back and howled, her voice emerging from her throat in unearthly tones, Björk-like in her tremulous agony, at once guttural and high-pitched. She ground her pelvis into Sara’s face, holding her firmly with her hands as she gyrated and drove her pussy over Sara’s mouth, a cascade of fluid washing over the young lesbian kneeling in front of her.

Sara struggled against Wendy’s hands, fighting to fall back, her body contorting and twisting in a spasm of pleasure wracking her body all at once as the torrent of Wendy’s juices splashed over her body, soaking her tube top. Crying one last time in an exultation of sweet climax, Wendy released Sara’s head, and Sara collapsed to the carpet, falling back in a paroxysm of a climax more than climax, an orgasm of such shocking power, Sara lost consciousness again, although her body continued to spasm as she lay on her back, eyes rolled to their whites, face glistening with Wendy’s secretions, glimmering vaguely pink, shaking and mindless under the shimmering transparent pink coat of Wendy’s juice.

Wendy turned her head to fix her gaze upon Renee.

“Are you ready for me…Renee?”

The question came out derisive and seductive at the same time, laced with a sensual irony and charged with erotic confidence.

Wendy tossed her head, her hair, styled that morning but still holding its shape, shook about her head like a golden halo, and her pink lips flashed and gleamed, wet and lascivious. Her pale blue eyes, outlined with black mascara and dark eyeliner, pulled Renee in, oceans of lust and arousal in which the poor barista sank, losing all sense of memory and time.

When her thoughts returned to her, she found herself sitting on one of two armchairs, legs spread wide, the gusset of her panties turned to one side as Wendy devoured her pussy in long, hungry laps, less intent on delivering a climax than enjoying the sweet, sweet taste of Renee’s beautiful and somehow modest cunt. Her outer labia stretched in a wide, rolling curve of fur-covered flesh from thigh to inner lip, a thin line of pink flesh, strangely demure, a narrow strip of flesh sloping to the glorious crevice of her vagina almost entirely concealed in the thick foliage of Renee’s brown bush. The thin fold opened up at the top, the tight bud of a flower where her clitoris snuggled in her hood.

Wendy felt Renee regain her consciousness. Her eyes looked up, although she kept licking Renee’s vulva.

“I’m in love with your pussy, Renee. I love your taste so much.”

Renee couldn’t tell if Wendy’s mouth moved at the words, but they were loud in her head and hearing them a surge of pleasure and joy overcame Renee, moved by a kind of gratitude for Wendy’s praise.

“Oh my god, really?”

The question burst from her lips like the squeak of an excited schoolgirl.

Wendy smiled and pulled her mouth away.

“Really,” she said. “You’re so good.”

Renee spread her thighs.

“Then keep going, please. You feel so good. Your tongue feels so good, baby.”

Wendy stroked the flesh of Renee’s legs, moving the palms of her hands across the soft muscular tops of her thighs, enjoying the soft touch of Renee’s hair, a fine layer of soft hair covering the skin of the barista’s bare legs. Then her face plunged back into Renee’s pussy, this time more ardent, more deliberate in her oral ministrations.

She heard rustling behind her, but she didn’t stir, keeping focus on her task, not to make Renee cum, but to torture Renee until, squirming, wet, and shaking she cried out for, she begged for, she pleaded for release. And then to let her have it. Because that’s what girls did for each other. They gave each other sweet release.

She felt soft hands caressing her sides, soft palms sliding up and down her sides from the curve of her hips to the sides of her breasts and down again to pet and brush the soft contours of her ass. Crouched on her knees while licking Renee’s juicy center, she felt a soft body lean over her, kiss her lightly on the neck. Wendy kept licking while someone’s legs spread her thighs.

The kissing stopped.

Wendy felt hands on her hips as Sara steadied her ass while holding the tip of a dildo against her dripping lips.

Wendy almost stopped licking Renee.

She pooched her ass out, allowing her lover better access to her enflamed cunt, her engorged lips so ready now for penetration. Her engorged lips always ready now for penetration by any woman whomever, tongue, finger, or dildo, it just didn’t matter. As long as it was a woman.

She knew that now with a renewed certainty.

An infinitely recurring unstoppable lesbian sex machine.

She grunted into Renee’s sweet, sweet vulva, her beautiful and zesty vagina. Such a pretty organ, such a lovely piece of meat, so lovely and welcoming on the outside, leading to such pleasure, giving access to her most private and profound parts in the full generosity of the female, she couldn’t find the word for it, character. The tip of the dildo, evidently strapped to Sara’s hip, shoved inexorably forward, entering Wendy more or less at once, more or less completely, so ready was the girl for her lover.

Wendy shuddered and ground her hips at the phallus digging deep into her.

Her lover once again leaned over her back, squeezing the melons of her breast in her embrace. Soft, warm lips breathed sighs into her ear, a tongue flicked at her lobe, a shiver ran through Wendy, and a voice whispered to her.

“Of course I do, darling,” the voice said. “Of course I love you.”

But the voice was not Sara’s.

“I’ve always loved you.”

Then Mary’s hip swung backward, pulling her strap-on almost entirely from her daughter’s quivering and wet pussy, shoving it slowly in once more in a slow rhythm of intimacy and sex.

“And I always will.”
* * *

Jack Randall paced his Exo-Squat nervously, going over his talk with Wendy. The feeling that he had missed something important nagged at the fringes of his mind. He stopped mid-step in pacing, slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand, striking the hollow surrounded by the palmar monticuli and both the thenar and hypothenar eminences. The sharp contact produced a typical slapping sound in which a lower-pitched pop of air escaping the hollow could be discerned.

“The Warp ’Gasm,” he cried aloud. “I forgot to warn her about her coming change. I forgot to warn her about her Warp ’Gasm.”

Jack Randall shrugged his shoulders in a gesture suitable of expressing resignation to an unavoidable but almost entirely insignificant fate.

“Oh well,” he sighed. “I suppose she’ll figure it out.”
* * *

Twig watched the two white Corollas and the one blue Corolla crunch slowly down the graveled entrance of Glenbogle Park. His trailer guarded the entrance on the first row, but he guessed where those cars were going. That Moby’d been having quite a few guests lately, and Twig found himself more than once idly wondering what all the fuss was about. It wasn’t like Moby, and Twig didn’t like change. He didn’t like to see anybody, especially friends of his, break accustomed habits.

That only spelled trouble, and Twig hated trouble.

The Toyotas threw up a small cloud of dust as they rolled down the drive of the second row, and Twig promised to get to the bottom of this someday. He’d been needing to pay a trip to Moby’s anyway. Dude had good weed.

A few minutes later, Gerald, stooping to get through the front door of Moby’s trailer, took his by now accustomed place on the left corner of the small sofa running against the far wall, facing the kitchen at the front end of the custodial maintenance technician’s home. He looked back and up at the large portrait of the bearded man with the piercing gaze. Wade had explained to him that the photograph blown to poster size depicted the poet-scientist Stanton T. Friedman, but the name meant nothing to the Go-Between.

Frank sat on the other end of the sofa. Tom the Driver and Mike the Passenger, intimidated by the imposing figure of the Go-Between, resigned themselves to sitting cross-legged on the floor, tried to keep themselves from feeling like children in a room full of adults, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they had been listening in on a conversation, a series of conversations, they couldn’t really understand.

“We still really don’t know,” Mike muttered to himself.

“a blessed thing,” Tom finished.

They glanced shyly at the each other and quickly looked away.

Buddy and Rascal had joined the other Roadmen to drive around Edge City on reconnaissance, searching for any sign of the Pain Rabble or of The Pink Entity. Gerald had given them another Handheld Device. The two Roadmen eyed the instrument suspiciously, and Rascal tossed it into Buddy’s glove box as soon as he sat down in passenger seat.

“I don’t think we’ll be using that,” he had said to Buddy at the time.

Buddy had shaken his head in a gesture that confirmed rather than negated Rascal’s declaration, counter to the usual meaning of that particular movement of the head along a lateral plane. But Rascal had gotten the gist.

The other Roadmen waited in Moby’s trailer for their report. For any report from any of the Roadmen.

The Pink Entity seemed to have disappeared entirely, and Gerald could not detect even the slightest sign of the Pain Rabble, a fact which he found upsetting, even dismaying.

The Go-Between withdrew his powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of his own mind. His mind lifted from his body, and he hovered over the city, feeling for any emanation from the Pain Rabble, any vibration from The Pink Entity, anything suggesting extraplanetary origin. Except for a few stray Velikovsky waves coming from the corporate park, he could discern nothing. Edge City, for the moment at least, appeared to be entirely terrestrial, humanly if not safely ensconced in the nightmare thoughts of its simian inhabitants.

The Velikovsky waves did interest him. Not that the Go-Between called them by that name. He no more recognized the great Terran astrosophist than he did Friedman. But they were rare on Terra, he knew that much at least, but not impossible, not completely absent. The proximity to the portal, the obelisk, might be a cause of their presence in Edge City. That Diana Group thing might have been conducting experiments, they might have discovered the obelisk, although certainly they would not have known what to make of it. No one on Terra would know what to make of it.

The species just wasn’t that far advanced, and they were running out of time.

That Moby, now. That janitor.

Gerald recognized it immediately. He’d tried probing him, too. During their first meeting. The Roadmen had been trying to explain what little they knew when the Go-Between flexed his mind toward Moby’s mind. But the man turned to him, glared, and said, “Anymore of that and you can just leave.”

Then Moby shut him out.

Just like that.

Pretty as you please.

Gerald had gotten no more out of him. Not even the stray radiation of a straggling thought.

Which got Gerald’s attention right away. Monkeys didn’t do that sort of thing.

But driving around with the Roadmen the past week had taught him that maybe he didn’t know what kinds of things the monkeys did. Or could do.

And if he didn’t know, how could The Guild know?

Ah, but why would they care?

That was all back planet business. No concern of The Guild’s.

Gerald sighed. He knew he shouldn’t think that way. Those were regressive thoughts, and they wouldn’t get his people anywhere.

Just then Moby’s phone rang.
* * *

Sara regained consciousness to the sight and sound of Mary thrusting a glittering purple dildo into her daughter kneeling on the floor between Renee’s outstretched legs. The mother also knelt on her knees, the straps of the dildo wrapping in a wide, wing-shape from her hips, encasing her ass cheeks to wrap around her thighs. Mary’s thighs, ass, and hips were of course wider and fleshier than her daughter’s, but the treatment of pink creams, body lotions, and cleansers had almost completely smoothed over and reduced the clumps and dimples caused by cellulite gained and accumulated during the passing of the years.

Her skin was so youthful now, smooth, young, and glowing.
* * *

Sara found the remotes to the three televisions and turned them on, one after another. She stood up, went to the camera on the tripod, turned it to face Renee, Wendy, and Mary and turned it on. Immediately the third screen filled to the live

images of Wendy licking Renee’s pussy while being fucked from behind by Mary Love.

The large screen to the left of the three screens showed Mary sitting on a chair in her bedroom, legs spread with knees bent over the armrests, while fucking herself with her thick dildo, groaning into her webcam as comments from her lesbian viewers scrolled on one side of the screen.

Wendy raised her head from Renee’s pussy and looked back at her mother.

“Oh, god. Really, Mom?”

Mary playfully slapped Wendy’s behind.

“I told you I quit my job at Adamatic. I needed to do something. It was Sara’s idea, but I told her it was a great one. I love doing that. It’s so. Expressive. Like I get to show the whole world the real me.”

Then the video on the middle screen started, and Wendy saw her mother, barely dressed, in the early stages of a heated make-out session with a woman, almost a girl really, several years younger. The girl didn’t look much older than Wendy.

“I’m a porn star, too,” Mary confessed. “Well, I’m becoming a star. There’s still so much to do. I was a little nervous at first, but now I couldn’t dream of doing anything else. I love shooting lesbian porn. I wish you could see me on set. You’d go crazy. You wouldn’t believe the things your mother can do!”

The sounds coming from the three videos filled the living room of the Love residence.
* * *

Mary Love’s ass jiggled as the she thrust powerful plunges into her daughter, slow and deep. Her hands roamed Wendy’s ass, back and forth, sliding up the sides of her spine and under her chest to cup and fondle her daughter’s pendulous breasts. She pinched the hard nipples lovely, impishly, giggled, and slid her gentle hands in a smooth motion back to Wendy’s ass, never once breaking contact with Wendy’s warm and silky skin.

Mary held the two half-moons of Wendy’s ass, spreading them at her crack to show her light, pinkish peach-colored rosebud, partly opened as if ready for Mary’s intrusion. Mary leaned forward, collecting a gob of saliva in her mouth before letting the spit drip from her mouth in a string of spittle that landed in the crevice of her daughter’s ass.

She used the thumb of her right hand to spread her spit over Wendy’s rosebud, the rim of Wendy’s asshole. Mary urged the tip of her thumb into Wendy’s hole. She felt her daughter shudder with pleasure, excitement, and burning lust. She could feel the lust growing in her daughter, the fire, and felt the same fire burning in her. God, she loved doing this. She could do this forever. She could fuck Wendy forever.

Mary gasped as she began to feel it, the warmth of the scalding canal of Wendy’s vagina heating the surface of her dildo, shuddering and trembling inside Wendy like a cock, a throbbing cock ready to explode. The slow rhythmic fucking increased. Mary shoved her hips forward and backward, the rhythm picking up pace, increasing to a rapid beat, a fast tattoo of explosive pounding, and Mary’s clit, swollen, engorged, hard, sent shivers of delight and need up Mary’s spine.

The fast tattoo became a rapid staccato.

Mary’s backward pulls were shorter now, the forward thrusts deeper.

Then Mary felt a girl’s mouth on her clit, felt soft girl hands roaming and caressing her thighs, squeezing her ass, fingers plunging towards her crevice and the hole in the depths of her crevice.
* * *

Sara stepped behind Mary, dropped to the floor, and crawled between her spread thighs, turning over on her back as she scooted beneath the mother to watch mother fuck daughter from below. Mary’s pussy gaped above her, her lips extended and pierced with small rings, the bar through her hard clitoris bounced and jiggled, and Sara, a rising gale of hunger for pussy swelled the sails of her lust. She gripped Mary’s thighs and lifted her head to taste the dripping cunt of the dyke mother ramming her artificial cock deep into the scalding pussy of Wendy Love.
* * *

Renee leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and spread her legs wide, hooking both knees over each armrest and sliding her ass and pussy almost over the edge of the seat of the chair, giving Wendy as much access to both holes as she could. Wendy’s tongue lapped from asshole to labia, licking continuously in long, slow motions, sometimes circular and tickling, sometimes up and down and strangely affectionately. Renee’s pussy had turned to messy goo of spit, vaginal secretions, and matted fur. Spit and pussy juices trickled then flowed down the narrow valley of Renee’s ass. The barista shivered and moaned, tossing her head back and forth, gyrating and grinding her pelvis at Wendy’s mouth.

Then it hit her. The taste of it filled her mouth, the taste, texture, and thrill. She licked her lips, as if making sure, opened and closed her mouth, swirled her short, thick tongue inside her empty mouth, but the sensation, the taste remained. She could taste her pussy, she could taste her own pussy, and then she felt it. God, how could this be happening? She opened her eyes to see Mary driving her strap-on dildo hard into Wendy.

It didn’t make any sense.

It made no sense at all.

She could feel every thrust of Maddy’s dildo, her own pussy trembled, shook, and convulsed both to Wendy’s tongue and Mary’s cock, sensations of pleasure Renee couldn’t even imagine washed over her mind, and she closed her eyes again, moaning and whining to what was happening to her cunt. And when Wendy shoved a finger deep inside her asshole, Renee shrieked, feeling the first of many orgasms she would experience that night.

Wendy gulped the fluids pouring from Renee’s ravaged crotch.
* * *

As she luxuriated in the sensations of her mother pounding her from the rear, Wendy felt regret at not getting to fuck her mother first. The regret passed as Mary pounded her cunt, each deep thrust sending spasm of pleasure through Wendy’s body.

Wendy smiled. No, it was right somehow that the mother be the first to use the strap-on. It felt right to have Mary behind her like that. So good.

Besides, when her turn came, she’d give her mother, she’d give Mary, an orgasm to remember. She give her a thousand orgasms to remember.

Wendy arched her back, thrusting her hips towards her mother, letting her mother know to fuck harder, to fuck deeper. When Mary touched her breast, Wendy used her left hand to clamp her hand there, holding her mother’s hand on her tit, encouraging her mother, who needed no prompting, to squeeze and to fondle her, to knead her precious daughter’s lovely breasts, to tease the hard nipples of her tits.

The dildo sank deeper, and Wendy felt the heat and the warmth of it, so soft and hard at the same time, so hot.

You have access to lesbian powers your sisters can only dream of.

Jack Randall’s voice resonated in her mind, his words delighting and confusing her at the same time.

What powers?

She remembered Nikki’s astonishment as being able to feel her pussy through the lifeless material of her dildo. All the girls had said as much, Sara had said as much yesterday after school. God, was that only yesterday, only last night? The way she sat on that huge cock, the way they shoved it up her ass, clapping and laughing so joyfully. How they all had cum, just fucking had cum, and cum, and cum.

Could she do it again? Did she have to try, or did it just come, so to speak, naturally? Could she feel them? What could she do?

Wendy closed her eyes, continuing to lap between Renee’s legs, and tried to feel, to sense, the women around her. Her darling mother. Renee. Her beloved Sara. The world receded somehow. No, not receded. Changed. No. Her perception of it changed. A little, just a little. As if a new organ for perception had been granted her. She sensed a vibration, a wave, many vibrations, many waves, a vibration like the thousand interwoven strands of a spider’s web, a spider’s web spreading in all directions, with her, Wendy, feeling the strings at the center of it.

And then she knew something else.
* * *

She was not the center of it, and there was no spider, only the web. She was the web. She could feel and move at will along every string of the web. She could hear every vibration, if hear was the correct verb. See, feel, taste, smell, all five senses at once perceiving the web, the vibrations of the web, and one of those vibrations came from her mother, from her mother’s pussy. She could feel Sara’s tongue on her mother’s pussy as sure and a clearly as she could feel the shaft in her own cunt, and she felt the rings and the bar piercing and continuing to pierce labia and clit.

She could feel, she could taste her mother’s pussy in Sara’s mouth, she could taste her mother’s cunt on Sara’s tongue.

She squeezed the cock in her pussy with the muscles of her pelvis, clamping her pussy around the hard shaft. She could feel the shaft inside her, lifeless but not without vibrations of its own. It too was part of the web. She felt around it with her mind, her mind flowing into her vagina, her pussy, her mind becoming one with her pussy until she perceived every fiber and hum of the artificial cock.

She made it pulse. She didn’t know how she did it, she couldn’t explain how she knew to do it, but she did it. Each vibration of the cock vibrated a little more, every vibrating string of the cock thrilled at a higher frequency until the cock throbbed almost life-like inside her.

She heard her mother gasp.

She could do more.

She extended the vibration, the hum, until the artificial phallus became an extension of the vibrations of Mary’s vulva, joined the interstices of Mary’s labia, and Mary groaned at feeling the cock inside her daughter throb, sending wave after wave of sensation and pleasure into the very core of Mary’s being. Wendy made the piercings hum along her vaginal lips, and Mary screamed thrusting harder and harder into Wendy’s burning cunt.

“Oh god, oh my god. I’m fucking you, Wendy. I’m fucking you with my cock, and I can feel it. I can feel my cock, Wendy! It’s growing inside my pussy, Wendy. Like we’re both fucking each other with the same cock. Oh god, oh my god, I’m cumming.”

Wendy sent the orgasm into Renee, and Renee howled. She lifted her ass off the seat of the chair and drenched Wendy’s face with a spray of feminine juices, a cascade of liquid womanhood raining on Wendy’s blond face. Her glimmering pink lips parted as Wendy opened her mouth to catch as much of Renee’s pleasure as she could, Renee’s orgasm rolling down Wendy’s cheek and chin in rivulets of lust.

She rolled a chain of orgasms, little orgasms on a silver chain, little orgasms like pearl beads on a delicate silver necklace, and sent them to Sara, whose little body convulsed as she held tight to Mary’s thighs, jamming her groaning mouth hard against the gaping pussy dripping above her. Mary’s shrieking joined Renee’s.
* * *

Gerald climbed out the white Toyota, his seven-foot frame unbending in quiet agony as he leaned to the side, stuck his long feet on long legs out the small car first, clutched the roof of the car with his great hands and pulled himself out of the backseat, banging his forehead on the edge of the door.

He thought his bubble made for cramped quarters. This, this. Corolla. This Corolla thing beat everything.

Don’t even get him started on the kind of fuel it ran on.

Didn’t they know? Didn’t they care?

But it wasn’t as simple as that, and the Go-Between knew it. They knew, cared, and did nothing, the apes did. Gerald had been on the planet a week, and he’d spent an entire day trying to unwind the complicated reasoning or form of reasoning which imprisoned the simian mind in a cage of resigned inactivity, indifferent paranoia, crippling anxiety, and mindless exertion.

He gave up after three hours, vowing to stay as far as possible from human cranial functionings.

Oh, they did some things well. That thing called rock and roll, for example. That was a nice bit of sound manipulation.

Socks were nice, too.

Socks were very nice.

He’d had Buddy buy him several packages of white athletic tube socks.

You know, to show to the folks back home.

Frank and Wade joined Gerald, each Roadman standing on either side of the imposing figure and carrying a canister of bug powder. They turned around at the approach of the Buddy, Tom, and Mike, hard soles of their patent leather shoes clicking sharply on the pavement. They too carried the olive drab tanks of bug powder.

Rascal’s blue Toyota was parked in front of Tom and Mike’s car on the opposite side of the alley running behind Lynn’s Transmission and Fertilizer.

Rascal stood waiting with Frank in the parking lot across the alley.

Though the town crawled with Roadmen, Gerald wanted only those six Roadmen. Not that he held any particular faith in their abilities. They had none. But they weren’t wholly incompetent, either. They weren’t liable to get too much in the way.

He’d thought of going it alone, but something told him it would be a good idea to take some Roadmen with him. They needed to know the kinds of things that were waiting for them. They needed to know the kinds of trouble they could be getting themselves into if they didn’t turn things around and turn them around quick.

Besides, he’d keep them out of any major trouble.

His kind had dealt with the Rabble before. It didn’t take much more than a casual flick of the mind, so to speak, to get them to scatter harmlessly. They weren’t too big on psychic intrusion.

They liked their gadgets, did the Pain Rabble.

Buddy, Tom, Mike, and Wade waved at Frank and Rascal, then gathered around their leader, waiting for him to begin. Gerald, standing erect now, strode across the alley and onto the parking lot behind Lynn’s. He looked at the Rabble craft hidden under their blue tarps and nodded at the saucers, pointing them out to the Roadmen.

“See? When you called earlier, Rascal, I knew immediately why I couldn’t sense the Rabble. Still, it look me by surprise. I didn’t know they discovered mind-tarping technology. They concealed their minds from me. Should have guessed, but, well. Not really used to this kind of thing, you know?”

Wade and Buddy both spoke up at the same time.

“What do you mean? What’s under the tarp?”

Gerald looked at them.

“Well, go take a look.”

Buddy and Wade looked at each other nervously, and Tom and Mike tried to dig a hole in the asphalt with the toes of their shoes.

“Well, you know. I’d rather not.”

“Go on. Take a look.”

Wade held firm.

“Doesn’t seem right, somehow. Best not to look, I expect. Best to keep out of trouble we’re not looking for.”

Gerald arched an eyebrow at Wade, then looked around at the other Roadmen. Their expressions confirmed Wade’s reluctance.

“Well,” the Go-Between said, “I guess it doesn’t really matter at this point. But they’re spaceships, if you want to know. I think you call them flying saucers.”

Wade tightened his lips.

“Best let them be,” he said. “Best find that pink creature of yours.”

Gerald turned and walked purposefully to the back door of Lynn’s Transmission and Fertilizer. Chicken wire reinforced the small window set in the steel door, and something dark covered the inside of the window so that nothing could be seen of the interior. Gerald tried the door knob. It didn’t turn.

The Go-Between closed his eyes. A small tremor shook his body, a vibrating hum traveling from his head to the hand holding the door knob. The door knob rattled, clicked, and turned when Gerald twisted his hand. Then he pushed the door open and entered the acquired domain of the Pain Rabble.

Gerald’s vision swept the large room, taking note of the suffering human on its metal slab encased in the Rabble’s protective sarcophagus. He adjusted his mind and felt the presence of nine members of the Rabble. Their signal came from a distance. No Rabbler occupied the building, but Gerald extended his mind just to make sure, checking along the corners and walls for a Rabbler hiding behind a psychic diffusion device, but he found nothing. So.

Safe.

“Okay, it’s clear,” Gerald said, “start checking the other rooms.”

Tom and Mike scurried to the table to look through semi-opaque top. Even through the opaqueness they could make out the horrifying figure of Lynn Trammel, disfigured and flayed. They both leapt back from the sarcophagus, throwing a horrified and shocked look at Gerald and at their fellow Roadmen.

“What, who, what happened to him?”

“Body desecration. Pain Rabble behavior. Typical Pain Rabble behavior. It’s where they get their name. They’re masters of pain infliction. And pain reception. I believe they consider pain to be a path to psychic manipulation and progress. It is not. It’s a dead end. But they like it for some reason. Quite immature of them, but they’re not Pre-ascendant, not by a long shot. Still. Best to avoid them.”

Mike stammered out a furious protest.

“But we’re walking straight into them!”

“I’m with you. You’re safe with me.”

Having explored the main room, after looking with disbelief at the various metallic blades, sharp objects, whips, clubs, spikes, and saw blades of every shape and size hanging along one of the walls, the Roadmen followed Gerald into the room off the side of the main room, which had once been separated into offices and a conference room.

The Pain Rabble had gutted the room, pulling down the walls to clear a large space. But for what function was anybody’s guess. The room was completely empty.

Empty.

But Rascal pointed out a large hole in the floor near a corner on the far end of the floor. The opening of the hole was smooth and evenly cut, as if made by a precision instrument. The opening dropped several yards straight down. Frank aimed his flashlight, and the crew saw another opening leading horizontally from the first vertical shaft.

Gerald nodded.

“They’re down there. The entity’s down there, too. But it’s giving off weird signals. I can’t really explain.”

Gerald didn’t say how the signals reminded him of the brain waves coming from the tortured human on the metal table in the middle of the room behind them.

A tall, narrow aluminum ladder ran down one side of the shaft. Gerald held a foot of the edge of the hole.

“Follow me,” he said, “but you should probably use the ladder.”

Then he gestured to the tanks of bug powder.

“Just leave those here,” he said. “You won’t need them.”

Then he stepped over the edge of the hole and floated to the ground below.

Wade, Buddy, Frank, Tom, Mike, and Rascal followed the Go-Between, in that order, but taking the steps.

Gerald had already gone several feet down the second opening before stopping to wait for his crew. It wouldn’t do for them to get lost down here. He could feel the nine Rabblers, but he couldn’t know for absolute certainty whether any stray Rabblers lurked in the dark.
* * *

Mary shoved her cock, what else could she call it, hard into her daughter one final time, blasting an orgasm from her cunt in a fountain flowing from her groin, pouring in gush, an orgasm curling her toes and singeing her head with its electric intensity. She shuddered, feeling her cock throb inside Wendy’s pussy, half-expecting to discharge a mass of semen inside her.

Slowly she regained control of herself, pulling the phallus from Wendy, watching in lustful satisfaction as the girl’s lips gaped open, her mound a flat, vertical open gash covered in blond hair. Mary rubbed the juice-covered shaft and bent down to kiss her daughter’s hole.

“Oh baby, you can’t believe how good you make me feel,” she said, licking the flat of her tongue over Wendy’s drenched snatch.

Renee had in the meantime fallen off the chair, slumping and sliding forward until she collapsed on the carpet shuddering and convulsing with the tremors of a lasting orgasm, an orgasm that would not fade for several minutes. She turned over, shaking in a fetal position, clutching herself by wrapping her arms around her body. Sara had crawled over to her, lightly caressing the side of Renee’s hip, stroking her hand tenderly and affectionately over the young barista.

She slipped behind her and held her against her breasts, holding the girl through her ongoing orgasm, feeling the orgasm spread through her, sharing her orgasm, and muttering quietly to herself.

“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.”

A pink mist covered Sara, a pink dream, timeless and without space, and when she returned she brought back images of Wendy endless arrayed.

Suddenly Wendy shot up, threw mother on her back, pulled her legs apart, and thrust her own pussy against Mary’s pussy, frantically rubbing her wet cunt against her mother’s wet and shaven cunt. Mary’s cock flopped against her belly, dripping Wendy’s cunt juice onto Mary’s breasts. Wendy felt Mary’s piercings rubbing hard against her pussy, rubbing hard against her swollen and engorged lips. Her thighs rubbed against the leather straps of Mary’s dildo, and she ground her hips hard and fast against her mother, who stared up at her daughter, her head and shoulders jammed against the carpet.

“Oh god yeah. Fuck me, Wendy, please fuck me. Fuck me harder, Wendy. Fuck my pussy, girl. Oh, god your pussy’s so hot.”

Wendy fucked Mary’s pussy.

Throwing her head back, she screamed as a mighty torrent of orgasmic fluid erupted from her, washing over Mary’s groin, rolling down Mary’s pierced navel, and flowing between the valley of Mary’s tits. Continuing to explode, Wendy moved her cunt off Mary’s cunt and shift her hips over Mary’s face. Mary opened her red mouth to the cascade of fluids pouring from Wendy.

Wendy released Mary’s legs and fell upon her mother, licking Mary from belly to breasts, biting the bars in her nipples, from sternum to chin, finally settling on Mary’s wet and open mouth, her red lipstick gleaming wet and bright. Wendy’s pink lips fell upon Mary’s lips, her tongue drove into Mary’s mouth, desperate to make contact with her mother’s tongue, her beautiful mother’s hot and sexy tongue.
* * *

Her lips pressed against Mary’s lips, her pink lipstick burning on her mother’s red lipstick her with a sudden, flaming intensity. Mary covered Wendy’s lips with her own, her tongue urged its way into Wendy’s mouth. Mary groaned as she felt the tip of Wendy’s tongue, swirling in a frenzy against her own wet tongue.

Wendy opened in her eyes, feasting on the vision of her beautiful lesbian mother beneath her, their two bodies, hot, covered in sweat and the fluids of each other’s cunts, squirming, writhing, and grinding against the other. Wendy closed her eyes again, melting into the pleasure of her mother’s tongue, her hand slipping from her mother’s belly to caress the full slopes and soft yielding flesh of her mother’s breasts, her tits, her fingers pulling at the steel bars, pulling her tits hard and letting the fall back again to her mother’s body.

Mary groaned into Wendy’s mouth, shoving her groin upward against her daughter.

This is the first time, she thought. The first time I’ve even kissed her. Like this. Like a lover.

Her mind filled suddenly with the vision of the waterfall at Little Reno Arroyo Falls. She saw her mother kissing her vividly, clearly. She could feel her mother’s tongue on her tongue, then like as now, feeling her hand slip between her parted thighs to caress her pussy, to finger fuck her mother while the water falling into the pool of the basin chimed around her like tiny silver bells.

Did that happen? When? How?

She remembered how it did not happen, how her mother had hugged her close, and how Wendy had pulled away to get lunch. To eat lunch at the side of the pool, not fuck like famished lovers beside the cool waters.

But she had gone into the grotto, had gone behind the waterfall. She had seen it, seen the obelisk. She had seen so many things, so many faces and images of Wendy, of herself, of her infinite beings, her recurring self, over and over again, all lesbian, all forced lesbian, every single one of them a lesbian created by, shaped by, bent by Sara. Or Sarah.

All of them leaping out at her from the pink mist.

And she had been lifted up.

The Consortium!

They had contacted her.

She remembered that now, The Consortium, a million voices speaking all at once, a million million voices compounded by a million voices more, all of them sighing and cooing in ecstasy, all of them female, all of them wonderful, an endless wave and tremor of orgasm filling the infinitely wide halls of what she had no words for, a space beyond space, a reality beyond reality.

Oh, how she had orgasmed!

And then she had fallen somehow, and she had forgotten the entire thing.

Mary cooed into her daughter’s mouth, deliciously intoxicated by the intensity of the sensual bliss washing over her, drowning her whole being, Wendy’s mouth a carnal delight of taste and heat. Mary moaned and writhed into Wendy’s arms. Wendy’s hands swept over Mary’s body, touching her breasts, pinching her pierced nipples hard, squeezing and cupping her mother’s breasts, one by one in her hand, impatient to touch her mother, impatient to feel every delightful inch of that maternal paradise. Wendy’s hips gyrated against her mother’s groin, she thrust her mound against Mary, by now enclosing her mother in spread thighs while lying on top of her, pouring her kisses and love into Mary’s mouth.

Tongue churned and snaked against tongue, the sounds of their kissing, loud, sloppy, making hollow plopping sounds as lip lifted momentarily from lip only to fall back again. Sometimes Wendy nibbled Mary’s bottom lip, and sometimes Mary bit Wendy playfully. The kissing became less desperate, more affectionate, deeper and more passionate, more charged with inexpressible emotion as the two lovers realized who they were and what they were doing.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” smiled Wendy during a brief pause in kissing.

“Is it wrong? I can’t tell. I can’t tell anything anymore. Except that I need you. I need you desperately Wendy. I love you with my whole being, and my whole being is sex. Sex with you. Other women, of course. But you. Mostly just you. I love. You.”

Wendy’s tongue plunged into Mary’s mouth, sealing the declaration.

Eventually her mouth lifted again from her mother’s mouth.

“Sara made me want to fuck you,” Wendy said. “She kept saying it to me over and over, and there was nothing I could do or say to resist. I have to do whatever Sara tells me to do. She made me gay. She turned me into a dyke. Just like you.”

The daughter’s bare breasts mashed against the mother’s bare breasts. Wendy propped herself over her mother by her elbows, each elbow on either side of Mary’s flushed and wet face. Mary’s mascara ran, her makeup was smeared, her red lips a blurred haze surrounding her mouth. Wendy kissed her mother’s chin.

“I love you so much, Mom. I’m just so glad we’re.”

“Lovers?” Mary queried.

Wendy giggled, nodding her face above Mary’s.

“Girlfriends, I guess. You think? We’re girlfriends now?”

“But not exclusive. Oh god, I’m so sorry Wendy, but I’m such a slut now. Your Sara turned me into a total dyke whore. I really am. I just have to fuck practically every women I see. The cute ones anyway. I can’t get enough of cute girls, and I’m so horny all the time.”

Wendy rolled off her mother and spread her legs.

“Mom?”

“Yes, sugar?”

“Would you kiss my pussy again? I want you to eat me to another orgasm. I’m so turned on right now, I just can’t stand it.”

Wordlessly Mary scooted down, crawled between Wendy’s thighs, and planted her face on Wendy’s golden thatch.
* * *

Twig tapped one time on Moby’s door and walked in.

Moby nodded at him from his chair.

“Half-breed.”

“Nutjob.”

Twig sat on the couch.

“All those Toyotas.”

“Yep.”

“There a reason for that?”

“Hm.”

“You gonna say?”

“Space critters.”

“They gone now?”

“Nope.”

“Hm.”

“I got some bug powder left.”

“That a fact?”

“Might be that I need a lift downtown.”

“Downtown? Where to?”

“Lynn’s.”

“But that place been closed for years.”

“Sign’s still up. Lynn’s still there. In a way.”

Moby stood up and walked to his workshop.

Twig followed him.

Grabbing a canister of bug powder, and nodding to Twig to do the same, Moby walked out of the trailer and climbed into Twig’s Chevy Silverado after heaving the canister into the bed. He saw the crowbar lying on the seat before he sat down. Twig shrugged.

“Just toss it on the floor. Never know when you’ll need a crowbar.”

Moby sat back and closed his eyes. He never drove, and preferred not to go anywhere by car, going so far as to walk the three miles every day to Kid Lester High School. Then three miles again back to the trailer, which kept him in pretty good shape.

But he was in hurry. Those idiots needed him. And those tanks got heavy after a while.

The sun was setting on the horizon, alighting the west in the glow of a pink and orange haze surrounded by the darkening ink of the nightening sky.
* * *

Wade, Buddy, Frank, Tom, Mike, and Rascal joined the Go-Between several paces deep into the second tunnel. Contrary to their expectations of stumbling through a roughly cut passage, the tunnel led in a straight line to whatever fate awaited them, the floor smooth and even, as if paved. A wavering red light glowed at the far end of the corridor, beyond an opening which appeared small in a distance the Roadmen couldn’t gauge.

It could have been a quarter of a mile away.

Or more.

The walls loomed in a gentle curve high over their heads, and even Gerald could walk forward without stooping. The heels of their street shoes tapped on the ground, echoing down the corridor. The Roadmen looked at each other nervously, somewhat guiltily, but Gerald strode ahead without flinching or even noticing the noise.

They could blow trumpets for all he cared.

He had a creature to retrieve for The Guild, and he didn’t care much what the Pain Rabble had to say about it.

Gerald sent his mind along the corridor. He counted nine Rabblers surrounding the entity. He tried wrapping his mind around the entity but found it blocked somehow, covered in an impenetrable shield, protected against psionic invasion. Curious.

But the Rabble minds were exposed.

Suddenly Gerald stumbled, and the Roadmen behind him bumped into each other at the Go-Between’s abrupt faltering.

More nervous glances.

But the Go-Between soon recovered, held himself erect, and continued down the corridor.

Buddy stepped beside Gerald and touched him lightly on his upper arm.

“You okay?”

The Go-Between looked down, vaguely confused at the question.

“Hm? Okay? Oh, yes. Quite. Just the sudden violence of the Rabble. Their thoughts, I mean. It was quite. Vivid. I’ve packaged it, though. It’s in its own space now. Harmless really. Mostly.”

Buddy dropped back, not at all comforted by the Go-Between’s reply.

Frank leaned into his ear.

“Something wrong?”

Buddy shook his head and shrugged.

“Don’t know. I hope not.”

Eventually the red glow grew to a bright light as the opening at the end of the tunnel neared. The Roadmen slowed, recognizing a danger even if Gerald ignored it. They watched the Go-Between walk into the glow, his long, thin figured surrounded by the pink light seeming to waver as he receded beyond the edge of the opening at the end of the corridor.

Wade cast a confused look around the small group.

“I mean, should we?”

Rascal shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean.”
* * *

Mike looked at Tom, Frank stared his shoes, and Buddy squared his shoulders, ready to plunge in after his leader. Hesitating only momentarily, the Roadmen stepped one by one into the chamber illuminated by a harsh and sinister red light. The Roadmen saw their leader Gerald advance, his seven-foot frame a formidable body against the nine members of the Pain Rabble.

The Pain Rabble.

When the Roadmen caught a glimpse of the three Rabblers approaching the Go-Between, they almost bolted from the chamber in a mass.

Clad from head to foot in what looked like black leather, straps and steel buckles overlapping one another, with spikes and metal knobs running in all directions, the beings wore weird helmets on their heads, resembling nothing so much as bowler hats with wires, knobs, and red lights studded at intervals along and around the hat. The “brim” of the helmet taking the form of a thick strip of metal, gleaming with a red pulse moving along the circumference of the helmet.

With their tall leather boots on tall platform heels, they looked like a rock and roll band from another era, glamorously metallic.

But their helmets did not hide their hideous faces, horrible reptilian faces with red gleaming eyes revealing dark minds peering from behind black, empty slits. Terrible teeth, evil fangs cruelly pointed, protruded from the short snouts of their maws, and now and then a serpentine tongue, yellow and forked, flicked and darted from between the gnashing teeth.

They lifted their weapons, and the Roadmen fled.

They stopped, recovering their bravery and wits, just outside the chamber opening. They stood without the opening, trying to peer inside the chamber, wondering how the future, the immediate future, would unfold.

Suddenly they heard several loud noises. Severa thuds. Then the floor of the corridor quaked, vibrating all around them. A whirring kind of whine, loud and high-pitched, filled the passage. Then they heard a scream and another thud, like that of a body being flung against the wall of the chamber.

Then another silence broken only be the tread of heavy boots.

But by that time all six Roadmen had broken into a full run as they fled down the corridor to what they hoped was safety at the top of the steps above ground.
* * *

Mary’s tongue swept over the furry expanse of Wendy’s mound, worked up and heated by the taste, smell, and closeness of her daughter’s sex. A strange mood had settled on her, a bizarre mixture of frantic, almost demented lust, and a deeply satisfied, profound joy, intimate and maternal, a mood, a sensation, an emotion she remembered from nursing, protective, caring, embracing. She felt a relief, a feeling of accomplishment. The child had grown from a baby screaming in its crib, from the infant quietly suckling on her mother’s tits into this beautiful young woman. She felt something else too. A deep gratitude for Wendy, a deep and utter gratitude for Wendy herself, the daughter who stayed, who remained, who’d stayed with her, quiet as mouse these last years, sometimes overlooked.

A pang of guilt shot through her heart, almost tearing it.

Mary slowly lapped the fat, puffy sides of Wendy’s vulva, long tender laps of the tongue, licking the flesh and hair from crevice to thigh, lapping from just above her ass to the top of her mons and descending again in an oval circle, lapping her daughter’s pussy like a cat lapping its kitten’s ears, cleaning the length of her kitten’s body.

Mary breathed in the pungent aroma of her daughter’s golden snatch.

She raised her mouth from Wendy’s vagina.

“Your pussy’s so hairy, Wendy,” she said, giggling, pulling a pube from her mouth.

“Mom!”

“Just saying, darling,” Mary teased, then touched her mouth against her daughter’s mound again, probing the inside of Wendy’s pussy with the tip of her tongue, extending her tongue deeply into the hot and pulsing cleft, her lips covering her mound, half gnawing, half caressing Wendy’s pussy.

Then Mary rubbed the stud in her tongue against Wendy’s clit, and Wendy arched her back, grinding her pelvis hard against her mother’s mouth.

“Oh god, Mom. There. Oh god there.”

The sounds coming from the television screens, sounds of Mary in the throes of sex with her female co-stars, rocking her ass against one woman wielding a mighty strap-on dildo while crouching between the outspread legs of another woman in front of her, playfully, skillfully, theatrically licking her pussy while crying out to be fucked harder filled the living room, joining the sighs and murmurs rising from the bodies of the three young woman in the room, and the one middle-aged woman, so happy now, so deliriously happy and on fire.
* * *

When Gerald stepped into the red light, the nine members of the Pain Rabble turned their heads towards him. The leader gestured with a nod, and three Rabblers moved towards him with arms extended and some kind of weapon drawn. They crumpled to the ground soundlessly, and the Go-Between rushed quickly but calmly towards the Pink Entity, now a dark red, like a strong wine or dark blood, a deep almost black red. He immediately saw the protective netting around the creature, holding it in place. His mind tried to reach out again to the creature, to soothe it, to calm it, but again the creature, or the protective netting, flung his thoughts back at him as if in ricochet.

Then Gerald reached his hand out and took hold of the netting, made of some kind of metallic fabric, charged with psionic energy.

The Go-Between had meant to ascertain the nature of the device, but the netting shot a pulse of searing pain through his body, a pain catching Gerald completely off guard. Still struggling to package it, he failed to notice three other Rabblers rush towards him, weapons drawn and ready. They jabbed him several times with long, spear-like objects with heavy, knob-like endings from which charges of dark energy leapt and burst around the tall figure of the Go-Between.

Gerald screamed, tore some of the netting loose with a fierce yank of his strong hand, turned to face the three Rabblers. He glared at them with dark and angry eyes before knocking them backward with a giant psychic pulse that hurled the three Rabblers against the wall of the chamber.

The last three Rabblers hung back, reluctant to face the psychic power of the Pre-ascendant, who had turned his back to the Pink Entity.

Suddenly the ground trembled, vibrating along the ground, walls, and ceiling of the chamber. A sharp, high-pitched whine screamed from the body of the Pink Entity, and Gerald turned around too late to avoid a long, dark tentacle, a deep red-colored tentacle, darting from the midst of the creature and wrapping around his neck in an instant.

Then the Go-Between felt a pain he could not package.

It was a strange sensation, Gerald decided. Something beyond verbal, beyond linguistic expression. Or even psychic expression. Quite simply, words failed and thoughts faltered.

But he could scream.

Yes, he thought as the tentacle wrapped tighter around his neck.

I can scream.

So he did.

Then the tentacle shook him like a rag doll and flung him hard against the wall of the chamber. Gerald tried to stagger up, but his head rolled limply on his shoulders, and he collapsed unconscious to the ground.
* * *

As Rascal, the last Roadmen to climb the ladder, making sure Wade got up before him, clambered over the edge of the hole, the Roadmen paused long enough to gather their thoughts and their breath.

“So now what?” asked Buddy.

“What about Gerald?” Wade demanded.

“What can we do about him?” replied Tom.

“We need to get out of here!” added Mike

“There’s nothing we can do about him,” said Frank.

“I mean,” Rascal finished, “if he can’t go against those, those things, what good can we do?”

They all agreed.

Dejectedly, heads hung low, shoulders drooping, they slowly began to file out of the side room of Lynn’s Transmission and Fertilizer.

“No.”

Wade’s voice stopped them short.

They turned around, looking at their fellow Roadman in confusion.

Wade had remained where he’d been standing. Now he stared down the hole in the floor, squatting next to it. Finally he stood up and faced his partners.

Wade stretched his fat neck, turning his head this and then that way, as if working out a kink. Then he raised his hands to his collar and unbuttoned his top button of his white shirt. Then he unbuttoned another button and pulled his collar apart.

“We don’t know anything about what happened to him. About what happened to Gerald. We just took off. We just ran. And I’m tired of it. I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m not sure I want to know what’s going on, but I’ve seen some shit, and I know you guys’ve seen some shit, and I know we’ve been running around now for the past couple of weeks like chicken with our heads cut off. And I’m tired of it. I don’t know who or what this Pain Rabble is, and I don’t much care. But that Go-Between fellow’s been a pretty decent fellow to us.”

He turned to Mike and Tom.

“He unpaired the two of you, didn’t he? He didn’t have to do that. He could’ve left you the way you were. Heck, he probably thought the new you was an improvement, but he unpaired you anyway.”

He looked at the rest of the group.

“He told us things we’d never know. Things we probably shouldn’t know.”

Rascal spoke up.

“I mean. I’m kind of getting tired of being kicked around on my own planet.”

Frank nodded his head eagerly.

“It’s our planet,” he shouted.

Mike and Tom added together.

“Our back planet!”

Buddy stepped forward.

“So big guy. Any ideas on how to rescue the Go-Between?”

Wade nodded.

“Hm hm. We brought that bug powder with us, didn’t we?”

Wade pulled a canister of bug powder from the cluster of canisters they had stacked against the wall earlier. He lugged it the side of the opening.

“We got rope?”

Rascal walked out of the room and came back carrying a length of rope and swinging a long metal object resembling a scythe.

“They got some pretty nice stuff hanging on the walls here,” he said, gesturing behind him. “Might take some of that with us.”

Wade squatted next to his canister of bug powder and tied one end of the rope around the handle. Lowering the canister to the bottom of the shaft, he followed more slowly down the steps built into the shaft’s side. The other Roadmen did the same. Soon all six Roadmen stood in the corridor, each lugging a canister of bug powder. Rascal carried his scythe over his shoulder. Two other Roadmen, Mike and Tom, each held a long knife with a wide flat blade like large meat cleavers used by butchers.
* * *

The three remaining members of the Pain Rabble stooped over the prone body of the Go-Between. He’d incapacitated six of their group, but still. They’d got him at the end. A Pre-ascendant. A bloody, fucking Pre-ascendant. A bloody, fucking, self-satisfied, smug bastard member of a bloody, fucking, self-satisfied, smug bastard species. And they’d got themselves one. Well, with the help of that entity thing. Another stroke of luck, that. A bloody weapon of the bloody buzzers.

They wouldn’t be so fucking high and mighty now.

They wouldn’t be so oh we know so much fucking more than you do, we’re so much fucking better than you are, we’re so much more fucking bloody fucking enlightened than you, you stupid little fucking crawlers.

Crawlers!

Well, they’d show those fucking bloody buzzers who the bloody fucking crawlers were now.

That’s what they’d do.

I mean, once they’d figured out how to get that fucking thing back to them.

In the meantime, they had a Pre-ascendant to play with.

Two of the fallen Rabblers stirred to consciousness, staggering up to their feet like groggy sleepers and joined the other three standing around Gerald.

They dragged the long, unconscious body of the Go-Between towards the center of the room, just a few feet away from the entity, still covered in its metallic, anti-psionic netting, the hole Gerald had made in it having gone unnoticed.

A long metal table stood next to the imprisoned body of the Pink Entity, an assortment of objects, prods, blades, saws, and mysterious boxes with wires, buttons, lights, and switches attached to them covering the top of the table.

Two Rabblers carefully removed the objects from the top of the table, clearing a space for the Go-Between’s body.

The Rabblers lifted the body to the table, attaching the wires from the boxes to Gerald’s head, covering his temples and forehead with needles attached to wires leading to the boxes.

“We could take him above ground. He could join the body of our guest. We have better tools up there,” suggested one of the Pain Rabble to the leader.

“No. Here will do. We are not finished with the buzzer drone yet.”

“And the other humans, the monkeys who ran off?”

“They won’t come back. And if they do, so what?”

So what indeed.

Just then the entity stirred in its netting. Two other Rabblers had regained consciousness and scrambled slowly to their feet. Three Rabblers had their backs turned to Gerald on the table, two Rabblers were adjusting the knobs on the mysterious boxes, and two Rabblers remained on the ground, unconscious. Suddenly the netting from the Entity tore in several places. The creature began to hover. Two Rabblers quickly ran to a kind of cabinet, hurriedly retrieving gun-like objects which they aimed at the creature.

They pressed a button on the grips, and netting burst from the ends of the guns, momentarily trapping the entity.

Other Rabblers ran up to the creature, prodding it with long metal spear-like object, tipped with sharp points that dug into the surface of the entity.

The entity shook with fury, but the Rabblers held tight to their spears.

The Rabblers were so busy with the entity they didn’t notice Wade creeping up behind them with his canister of bug powder. Wade crept closer and closer until close enough to lick the reptilian skin on the neck of the first Rabbler.

The Pain Rabble species had made it through the filter.

They had fast craft, fast minds, good bodies. Though they weren’t fully psychic, they’d designed psionic weapons, and they could go toe to toe with a Pre-ascendant, yeah, sure, they had help, but still. They could float through each other’s minds, they could go collective. With the help of devices, they could go collective. They could mind wander. Not for long, but they could do it.

They were as far above the apes on this planet as the belchers were above the Rabble.

One or two of the Rabblers raised a head at the Roadmen’s entry, but really. What could they do? They saw Wade with his canister, and the danger still failed to register. Besides, that buzzer probe threatened to shake loose, and they weren’t ready yet. They had to focus all their psychic energy through the tubes of their psionic harpoons, pressuring the creature to submit with a combination of pain and dominion thought energy.

Wade raised his canister above his head and swiftly brought it crashing down against the back of the Rabbler’s head in one swift motion.

It had been a long time since any member species of the Pain Rabble had been hit by an ape. Most had forgotten just how hard a male ape, a he-monkey, could swing. The canister of bug powder struck the back of the Rabbler’s skull with the force of a small hydraulic press, and the Rabbler went out cold.

The other Rabblers noticed the psychic disturbance immediately. Two Rabblers, busy with the Go-Between, released their hands from the switches on the mysterious boxes, and strode to meet the Roadmen, to put a stop to this foolishness, this deplorable interruption.

The fat monkey who struck their fallen comrade lifted the metal object to strike over the head of the next nearest Rabbler, who couldn’t drop his net gun without the greater danger of letting the buzzer probe free. A taller thinner monkey ran up to the fat monkey. Four other monkeys stood just behind the first two simians.

It didn’t really matter, though, what the fat monkey did because both Rabblers raised their hands to a button on a device circling like a brim the helmet-like encasing over their reptilian heads.

One pulse of psionic device would be enough to knock out those primates.

Then they’d deal with them later. Show them the meaning of playing and sharing.

The fingers never touched the button.
* * *

The Go-Between stirred on his metal table, lifting his head and turning it to see the Roadman Wade strike a Rabbler with a canister of what they called bug powder. The Go-Between’s head span, he felt his mind being prodded and shocked by a thousand tiny pricks, he couldn’t focus. He needed to focus.

The Rabbler fell, and instantly the other Rabblers noticed the attack. The two Rabblers standing over him dropped their psychic probe boxes and left to confront the Roadmen.

Gerald ripped the wires from his forehead and leapt from the table, drawing himself up to full height.

He was a Pre-ascendant, a representative of his people, a people in communion with The Guild, and he had been selected by his people to speak directly to The Guild, and The Guild had agreed to him.

His people had not simply survived the Great Filter, they had avoided it altogether, flourishing, thriving in arts, culture, beauty, psychic communication, and science. They had early on recognized the obelisk for what it was, they had learned to communicate with The Guild through the portal, they had put aside what limited grievances they had held with one another, and they had flourished. Like few other civilizations could boast, theirs had flourished.

His kind didn’t get struck. It didn’t get prodded. It didn’t get poked or probed or stabbed or cut or shocked by any gadget built by or known to the Rabble.

His kind also didn’t play games.

The Guild liked that about them.

The Go-Between blinked, his mind sweeping from his body. The remaining eight members of the Pain Rabble dropped, as if struck at one time with a single blow.

Gerald came back to his body and opened his eyes to see Wade smashing a Rabbler’s skull with his canister of bug powder. Another Roadmen, Rascal, held a Rabbler cleaver, running and dripping with green blood in one hand while holding up the decapitated head of a Rabbler with his other hand. Mike and Tom both raised a canister above their heads, ready to drop it with lethal force on the prone body of yet another.

“Stop it!” the Go-Between shouted.

The Roadmen went quiet and still, looking at Gerald with confusion and more than a little fear.

“Um. Stop what?” Frank asked.

Gerald pointed around him.

“This, this. This desecration. This murder. This is not done. This is not done at all. Nowhere in the cosmos is this done.”

The Go-Between looked around him, angry, shocked, bewildered, and dismayed.

“What do you mean?” Wade asked. “You killed them, didn’t you? They’re just lizards, aren’t they? They were going to kill us.”

Gerald shook his head emphatically.

“No. No. No. A thousand times no. The Rabble doesn’t kill. And I did not kill them.”

Gerald stepped towards Rascal, pulled the head from the Roadman’s loose grip, and knelt by the headless corpse of the Rabbler. He placed the head at the shoulders, as if trying to reconnect it. Tears welled in Gerald’s eyes. Murder and body desecration. These animals. These awful, awful animals.

The Go-Between stood up, towering above the Roadmen gathered around him.

“A unique mind is gone from the cosmos forever. Well, forever-ish. It’ll always have this time, I suppose. I mean, the time right before you killed it combined with the entirety of its life before that. That will always be. It will always continue to exist in that space. So I hope it enjoyed it.”

“Well,” sighed Buddy, “isn’t that just how it works?”

“Yeah,” Tom added, “we all die, don’t we? I’m sorry, but if these fuckers are going to come down here to fuck around with us.”

“Then they’re gonna have to find out,” shrugged Mike.

But the Go-Between didn’t have time to explore the consequences, repercussions, and philosophy of ethics, mortality, causality.

The Pink Entity, now red, suddenly trembled, whining loudly, and thrashed its tentacles against the netting, ripping and shredding it. Pieces of Rabble netting fell from the quivering mass, and the Pink Entity rose, levitating from its pad.

The Go-Between didn’t wait for the entity to attack. He leapt forward, shouting at the Roadmen, and pushed them from the chamber with his mind, each Roadmen seeming to be pushed by an unseen force rapidly out the chamber and down the corridor.

In a moment, they found themselves staring up the ladder leading to the floor of Lynn Trammel’s shop.

“Quick, quick, get up there, quit standing around, you dirty apes and get the fuck up there.”

The voice of Gerald threw them into activity.

Tom, Mike, Rascal, Frank, and Buddy more slowly, then Wade, huffing, climbed the steps to the top of the shaft.

Finally, Gerald stood alone at the bottom of the shaft. He crouched slightly, squatting as if to jump, when a long red tentacle wrapped around his waist. Gerald groaned, closing his eyes to the sudden anguish. Other tentacles burst through the opening, and the Roadmen looked on, horrified, as the massive body of the entity began to squeeze through the opening, crushing the Go-Between against the wall of the shaft.

Suddenly a spray of yellow dust burst down in a wide, continuous stream against the body of the Pink Entity, now red, but rapidly turning yellow in the cascade of bug powder.

“Who’s your daddy now, varmint,” yelled Moby standing at the rim of the shaft. Twig stood beside him, both men showering the shaking and raging entity with bug powder pouring from their canisters.

“Can’t stand the yellow, eh?”

A terrible, high-pitched whine trebled from the creature, but it lurched and backed away from the spray of bug powder, releasing Gerald just enough for the Pre-ascendant to kick and pull away from the creature’s tentacles. He quickly scrambled up the steps of the ladder.

“What the hell is that thing?” shouted Twig.

“It’s a probe,” said Frank.

“It’s a Pink Entity,” said Buddy.

“It’s a damned varmint,” Moby muttered, “but we’d better get out of here. The damned thing’s grown since I last caught sight of it.”

Moby turned to Gerald.

“You gonna be all right, spaceman?”

The Go-Between, stooping with exhaustion, nodded his head and ushered the Roadmen, Moby, and Twig out of the side room.

“What about him?” Twig asked as the group quickly filed past the table of Lynn Trammel in his sarcophagus.

“Not much we can do about him,” Rascal shrugged.

“Best to just put him out of his misery,” Buddy suggested.

“No,” replied Moby. “Someone’s coming for him.”

But who or what it was that was coming for him, Moby could not or would not say.

The Roadmen dropped the matter and soon forgot about it.
* * *

Sara sat on Renee’s lap, the back of her naked ass, the bare flesh of her skin on the bare, furry strong thighs of the barista, and draped an arm around the front of the older girl’s shoulders, her lips open to Renee’s tongue, as she made out with Mary’s girlfriend, caressing her face, her shoulder, the round curve of her shoulder, so soft and warm, and down to her oh so adorable breasts, apple-sized and apple-ripe for tasting and biting. Renee squealed into Sara’s mouth as the lesbian empath pinched the barista’s nipples, first the left nipple then the right nipple, painfully and playfully pulling them out and twisting them.

Renee pulled away from Sara’s mouth.

“That hurts!”

“You like it don’t you, baby?”

Renee bent her head and smiled.

“I do.”

Renee’s mouth met Sara’s mouth in another long, wet, loud, and lingering kiss.

Sara watched Mary fuck her asshole with a 12-inch purpled dildo, a pink vibrating toy inserted into her fuck hole, wet and gleaming on the flat screen, her legs spread wide for her webcam audience.

“Your girlfriend is so fucking hot,” Sara sighed.

“Wendy’s mom?” replied Renee. “I guess she’s everybody’s girlfriend now. But you’re right. She is so fucking hot. Look at her. Wendy’s a lucky daughter.”

Sara looked down, smiling to Mary Love between the outstretched thighs of her Wendy, the teenager’s golden thatch glowing like a fire around Mary’s red mouth as the mother worked the daughter to another rising orgasm.

“Do me again,” Renee said, pushing Sara down between her knees. “You’re such a good pussy licker.”

Sara agreed.

She was. She was a good pussy licker.

Sara knelt between Renee’s Rubens-inspired thighs, and then, taking a sudden inspiration from the lesbian porn video playing in front of her, nudged Wendy’s head with her foot just enough for the girl to get the idea. Wendy squirmed and scooted her upper body until her head rested below Sara’s spread legs. Then Sara settled her gaping and shaven cunt onto Wendy’s open mouth.

Sara bent her head to look under her body.

She wiggled her ass playfully.

“Good girl,” she beamed. “You’re such a good slut, Wendy.”

Look who’s talking, Wendy thought to herself, but her mouth said nothing, busy as it was devouring her friend’s gorgeous mound, Sara’s pink labia spread wet and wide, opening into the depths of her warm and shining vagina, inviting Wendy’s loving and dexterous tongue.

Sara looked around the room.

“All of you are,” she said.
* * *

Once out of the building, once out in the open air, Gerald and his Roadmen along with Twig and Moby stopped, pausing to collect themselves, to collect their thoughts. A few of them carried tanks of bug powder. Moby, Twig, Rascal. Wade. Evening deepened, the sun had set below the horizon, and darkness gathered on the east, mustering its forces for its sweep across the sky while the twinkling stars formed ranks in the rearguard.

Suddenly the back door of Lynn’s Transmission and Fertilizer shuddered and splintered open. The group of men backed away, behind their line of Toyotas on the other side of the alley.

The Pink Entity, now wine red, squeezed through the oblong opening and hovered motionless in the small parking lot beside the three tarp-covered saucers. Shortly the shapeless creature began to vibrate and hum, many long tentacles emerged from its body, and in the flickering light of a street lamp attached to a tall wooden telephone pole standing just outside the parking lot the group of men could see the bulbous head, surrounded by a ring of orifices. A red mist billowed from the orifices.

Gerald recognized the danger immediately.

Velikovsky waves. Not that he called them by that name. Harmless to his kind, but he began picking up the disruption in the Roadmen and the man they called Twig. So that’s what those waves did. Interesting. He hadn’t noticed it in the tunnel. Course, it had been covered in that Rabble net at the time.

That red mist wasn’t going to help them.

The Roadmen fidgeted uncomfortably. Twig stretched his neck, tilting his head as if to crack a vertebrae.

Their trousers tented, and the Roadmen stepped away from each other, creating distance.

The Go-Between cast a protective energy grid over the six Roadmen and Twig. The man called Moby remained unaffected.

Interesting. But not surprising.

“We need to back up slowly,” Gerald said. “That creature is far too powerful, even for me.”

As if in reaction to his words, the Pink Entity, now red, advanced towards them, its tentacles waving around its body in all directions.

One of the tentacles wrapped around the exposed leg of one of the saucer tripods. Jerking the leg in a sudden motion, the tentacle lifted the saucer off the ground. Part of the tarp slid of the body of the space craft.

“I knew it!” shouted Frank. “I just knew it.”

Buddy shook his head at Frank.

The tentacle was joined by other tendrils, all wrapping around the saucer. The entity held the craft over its head and hurled it over the heads of the Roadmen, Twig, the Go-Between, and Moby. The saucer landed behind them, crashing against an old Buick, green and low.

The entity continued advancing, its tentacled body now in the middle of the street. Gerald drew himself up to his full height. The simians didn’t have a chance, but he could hold the probe off long enough to get away. He could do that. He might even survive the encounter.

Gerald stepped forward to meet the entity.

Moby looked at the tentacles sweeping and brushing the asphalt of the road with their rounded tips.

That’s when we saw the sewer hole, covered by a thick manhole cover.

Moby leapt up and ran to the Silverado, throwing up the door, and fetching the crowbar on laying on the floor on the passenger side.

“No!” Gerald shouted. “You can’t beat that thing off with a metal bar, you idiot.”

“I’ll give you idiot, spaceman. Just hold that varmint off me for a second, would you.”

Gerald strode forward, gathering every last micropsion in his brain.

The Red Entity hovered over the manhole, swaying, trembling, and humming. It raised several tentacles towards the Go-Between, and one tentacle darted swiftly at Gerald’s neck, but the Pre-ascendant seemed to shimmer in and out of reality, vanishing at the moment of contact and reappearing in an instant, just out of range of the probe’s tendrils.

The creature seemed to take no notice of the janitor moving towards it, crouching low to the ground and gripping a long iron bar in his right hand.

“Wait for me,” said Moby, inching closer to the creature, getting within a dozen feet.

The Red Entity twirled and hovered, lashing the space around the Go-Between with three or four tentacles at a time, cracking the air in their whip-like ferocity. Gerald managed to duck every lash but the last one, which struck him with brutal force across his cheek, slashing a bloody gash running from his left ear to his chin.

“Wait,” he warned again, getting even closer.

“Hurry,” said the Pre-ascendant. “I won’t be able to—”

“Now!” Moby shouted as he rushed forward, running into a tangle of red tentacles.

Gerald coiled into his body like a viper, pointing his head at the Red Entity, who recoiled by a heavy, solid, and irresistible blow.

Then the Pre-ascendant fell backward, collapsing to the street.

Tom and Mike ran to assist him.

Moby wedged the flat pointed end, the straight claw, of the crowbar into the hole of the manhole and leveraged the heavy steel lid off the hole.

Twig ran up to him, helping him move the manhole cover to one side.

“That’s about all we can do,” Moby said, “Get back now. Damned thing’s coming back already.”

The Roadmen struggled to help Gerald behind the line of Toyotas, joined by Twig and Moby.

The Red Entity, knocked back several yards, rushed forward several feet. Gerald’s psionic blow had driven it back into the parking lot, but it had already recovered from the force of the Go-Between’s psychic expenditure.

No Gerald was spent, exhausted, drained.

If they just had a Rabble net.

Those gadgets weren’t a total waste, after all.

But the Red Entity stopped in the middle of the street, just above the open sewer.

Its tentacles grew quiet, almost still, trembling and vibrating along its body. A few tentacles inserted themselves into the sewer hole. Then in one motion the entity dropped, squeezed through the round hole, and vanished.

Frank, Wade, and Buddy surrounded the hole, looking down into the murky darkness, seeing nothing.

“Some things just like the muck,” Moby said to the Roadmen staring at him. “Me? I got no use for muck.”

“Good riddance and fuck off,” Frank said to the open hole, raising a middle finger at the sewer line.

The others stared at him.

Franks shrugged his shoulders.

“Pardon my Burgundy.”
* * *

Friday, while sitting in AP French trying to concentrate on her reading assignment, Wendy reflected on the turn her life had taken. Things had changed at home. For one thing, she didn’t sleep in her own bedroom anymore, although, being a teenager, she loved to hang out there, going so far as to slam the door behind her, mostly in humor, at the constant teasing Renee and Mary put her through. But she’d emerge after a few hours, horny and affectionate, to crawl into her mother’s bed, joining the love-making already occurring between the two lesbians, Renee and Mary Love.

But that first night, that Tuesday, after the small orgy in the living room finished, after the last orgasm poured from their centers, their pussies, their glorious and wonderful vaginas, their beautiful and velvet soft cunts, so soft, so giving, so yielding, so throbbing and hot and wet and glistening, after pouring out their last orgasms and crying out, voices uplifted in a chorus of female ecstasy, after those final orgasms, Renee and Sara, thoroughly extinguished, stumbled towards Wendy’s bedroom, and collapsed upon her bed.

But Wendy had gone into her mother’s bedroom.

Mary slipped into a pair of pink satin bootie shorts, too short to fully conceal her round half-moons slipping and jiggling from the bottom of her shorts, so soft to Wendy’s touch, and Wendy couldn’t keep her hands off her mother’s ass now, and pulled a matching short pink camisole, the steel bars in the nipples of her large breasts now in an almost permanent state of hard arousal poking through the thin material.

She turned to face her daughter.

“Oh god Wendy. I still can’t believe this. Are you really? Are you really going to sleep in my bed tonight?”

Wendy, still nude, ran her hands beneath Mary’s thin nightshirt, moving them up to cup and feel her mother’s soft breasts, pinching her hard nipples between her thumb and forefinger.

Her lips met Mary’s, and Mary held the back of Wendy’s head, her fingers sank into Wendy’s golden hair, and she clasped her other arm around her waist, pulling the girl in close and feeling the soft, gentle curve of her daughter’s body, feeling the heat that never seemed to diminish, the warmth of her skin, her soft, feminine skin. Her tongue licked Wendy’s tongue, and Wendy’s tongue probed the wet regions of Mary’s mouth, and when they both broke the kiss, they wiped their wet mouths, wiped the saliva, the spit from their mouths with the back of their hands, and Wendy laughed at her mother.

“Oh, please, Mom.”

Wendy tickled Mary’s belly.

“How much does the old girl have left in her?”

But Mary fell back on the bed, shuffled off the bottoms she had just put on, and raised her knees towards her head, showing Wendy her readiness, asshole and pussy ready for Wendy’s mouth and tongue.

“Oh god, Wendy. I’m always ready for you, darling.”

Sleep took a long time to come that night.
* * *

School was weird, though. Especially that Wednesday.

The boys shied away from her, though the girls, even the girls who’d usually avoided her or never spoke to her, smiled at her, trying to get her attention.

And she’d give them her attention, all right. Barely being able to hold back the avalanche of lust threatening to overwhelm her at any moment, the girls were so hot, so sexy. Megan Harlowe and her crew.

Trina.

All that morning she felt a growing desire, an increasingly insatiable lust for, well, pussy, for the touch of a woman’s skin, a girl’s skin, the smell of her body, the way her silky hair curled and flowed around her fingers, the soft, pliant flesh of her breasts. Her satin, downy lobes tenderly bitten by her teeth, then kissed, the nibbled again, the line of her jaw in the mouth of her kisses. The touch of her lips on her mouth, so good, so sweet, her lips gliding across her pink lips, Wendy’s pink lips, covered and layered with her pink lipstick, so much a part of her now.

Sara, who had spent the night in her bed with Renee, braided her hair into a long, wide fishtail, the kind of braid Sara herself liked to wear. The look gave both girls a serious, sensual appearance, a sort of restrained sexual prowess, a leopard crouching behind the tall grass of the savannah. The weather turned cool now, but Wendy chose a while, pleated skirt falling to mid-thigh, strapped black heels, three inches to raise and make taut the back curve of her thigh, raising the slope of her ass.

She pulled a thin, long-sleeve pink sweater over her, leaving off her bra.

She felt panties were enough. Too much, really. Even though they were crotchless.

Blue eyeshadow shimmered metallic above her eyes, Sara carefully brushed thick black mascara over her lashes, lined her lids with dark eyeliner, brushed and wiped Wendy’s makeup, her foundation, her concealer, her blush, outlining and contouring Wendy’s beautiful face, at last applying the Pink Sunshine Spice to Wendy, who groaned at the burning which seared her from lip to toe.

“Oh, god, Sara,” she had said at the time. “Please. Please fuck me.”

“No time for that, silly,” Sara had admonished. “Besides, I’m running late as it is. I can’t wear anything you have. You’re too big, girl. In those heels you’re a fucking Amazon.”

Renee dropped Wendy off at school, kissing her passionately before Wendy opened the door of the Odyssey.

“God, Wendy.” But Renee’s voice faltered, and she didn’t finish her thought.

A couple of girls looked at them strangely as they walked by, but when Wendy caught their eyes, she found no hostility.

The school day began in a torment of desire, animalism, cupidity, a building storm of wanton Sapphic whorishness that did not abate.

Even in her heels, Wendy’s body undulated, swayed, and rolled, hot with longing, capturing the eyes of every girl, every woman, teachers included, who passed her. The boys didn’t even seem to notice her, parting around her as she stepped, making room for her without regarding her.

The girls, the women, teachers included, followed her with their eyes, sucking in their breath as she walked by, almost shaking their heads as she passed, as if trying to physically dislodge an unwanted or unsummoned or unexpected thought, unexpected in its loveliness, its charm, its seduction.

The hallways trembled pink.

The hallways shimmered, tremors ran the length of the floor, and Kid Lester High School, the edifice of Kid Lester High School, shook with a thrill, a vibration only Wendy could detect.

Fine, pink threads unfurled from the walls, the floor, the locker as she walked down the hallway, caressing her as she passed with fine tendrils charging her with an unbearable eroticism.

Wendy’s pussy tightened, twitched, and dripped.

Wendy found herself in the girls room between classes that day, quickly raising her skirt to slide her hands over her drenched cunt.

The girls flocked to her as if summoned, Nikki, Melani, Julie, Laura.

Sometimes all the girls would join them, or one or two of them at a time, all morning long between classes, not caring for any eye that saw or ear that heard, a quick make-out session, a mutual fingering of spread legs and upraised skirts, pulled-down jeans, shirts raised up or unbuttoned, bras unhooked and hanging loose, breasts exposed.

Or she’d fuck herself that morning in a stall, not stopping at the approach of someone in the restroom, someone, some girl, whose heels clicked on the hard floor as she’d stepped to the stall next to her. Wendy didn’t pause or slow or try to muffle her breathing, and soon she’d hear it, the girl in the stall next to her fucking herself silly, beating her hand against the wall of the stall as she came, and came, and came.

And they would emerge at the same time, and the girl would look shyly at Wendy, smile shyly at Wendy, fix her appearance, and quickly leave before being fully overwhelmed by that sudden strange desire and almost need to stay with Wendy, to hold her, to embrace her, to kiss, and to make love to her.

She ate lunch with Trina.

Trina was reserved, restrained.

The Octagon buzzed, a faint, very faint pink mist swirling fell upon the students, muting the boys, and tinging the girls with an obscure longing, a tingling in the groin, and a slight intoxication with the scent of the girl beside her, shampoo and perfume swelling in her mind.

Trina fidgeted beside her, sitting beside Wendy, and Wendy held herself back, knowing herself the cause of the sexual tension, the sexual heat filling the lunchroom, tried to restrain herself, tried to hold the tempest back, not wanting to drive the girl Trina away, realizing with a sudden thought how much she liked her, really like her and wanted to be around her, to enjoy her company, her voice, her laughter, and her smile. Such a pretty smile.

Wendy held Trina’s hand, leaning into her to give a her linger kiss on the side of her lips. Trina smiled, looked shyly away, then brought her face close to Wendy’s kissing her directly and openly.

“Wendy,” she murmured, sighing. “It’s just so. It’s all so.”

The pink mist thinned to near dissolution, melting away to the merest hint of pink, a thin pink glaze over the nature of things.

The voices of the boys rose loudly in the Octagon, a clashing discord of competing laughter, braggadocio, claims and counter-claims.

The voices of the girls were like the chiming of many bells coming from a far off place, a silvery tinkle of birdsong far from the madding crowd.

Maddy squirmed in her seat, looking nervous, even upset to the point distraught. But she said nothing and avoided meeting Wendy’s eyes. She looked away from Trina’s embrace of Wendy. Abruptly standing up, she collected her things, her tray of food, and left.

Wendy frowned at her friend’s behavior who so recently had made up with her.

Now she was backing off again.

After lunch, Wendy stopped her in the hallway.

Wendy caught her arm as she tried to walk by her.

“Maddy.”

“I’m sorry Wendy. You and Trina. I can’t. It’s just that. Everything about you now. You’re so different. You’ve. Changed.”

Maddy jerked her hand away, and fled down the hall, practically running.

Wendy thought about what Maddy said.

It was true. She had changed.

And not just by turning dyke.

She could feel the tremors, the vibrations, the thrills, the agonizing quivering of the world around her.

This morning, of course, throughout this morning especially.

But also something different.

She controlled it, somehow. Or controlled something.

That feeling, that experience, on Tuesday evening, while feeling her mother’s orgasms, of Sara’s and Renee’s orgasms, of being able to send them back and forth, of experiencing their bodies, their emotions, their beings as a total immersion of vibrating being, each vibration connecting to another vibration like a vast web came back to her at times throughout that week.

Especially in the midst of passion, of sexual heat with Renee and Mary.

It was as if a new world had opened up before her, a new way of perceiving the world only she didn’t quite have the organ for it. Sight beyond sight, sound beyond sound, taste beyond taste, touch beyond touch, and smell beyond smell. Grinding her cunt against Renee’s cunt, with her mother’s pussy over her mouth, Wendy could sense it, feel it, touch it with the tip of her tongue, vibrating like her quivering lips, throbbing like her heart beating in its cage.

She could edge her mother and Renee at the same time, simply by thinking it. No, not by thinking it. By not thinking it. By holding their orgasms in her mind. No. By spreading her mind across the thickening knot of vibrations clustering around each girl’s, each woman’s orgasm, and holding it, keeping it wrapped in delirious readiness, until Wendy let go.

Oh god, how’d they scream then, crying her name over and over again, shuddering above Wendy’s open and greedy mouth, Wendy’s legs spread wide for Renee, spread wide for Renee to pound her, or kiss her, or lick her, or finger her, or simply to rub her delicious and steaming pussy against hers.

Her mother tried asking her about it.

“Wendy,” she’d said one day, “don’t you think it’s strange? I mean. I mean. Do you know what you do to us? Do you know you’re doing that to us?”

But Wendy really had no answer.

She didn’t want to talk about what that Randall person had said.

She didn’t really want to talk about how she existed in every conceivable universe as a forced lesbian. Or that the person who forced her, bent her towards lesbianism, broke her will, and converted her to girl love was always Sara.

She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t tell the truth just then. So she did the next best thing.

“Can we talk about this later, Mom? It’s just so confusing for me right now.”
* * *

Wendy’s pussy seeped, a slow, continual leak of juices and lust. Though she’d jill herself after every period, rubbing her clit vigorously in the girls room, pushing one finger, two fingers, three fingers into her greedy hole jerking forward on the bowl to meet her hand, that Wednesday after lunch, during Trigonometry, it hit her full on, the building lust, the insatiable need.

She found herself dozing off, drifting into a semi-conscious state filled with the scent and taste of luscious women, of hot, naked women, slick with perspiration and oil, twisting and stretching the tight contours of their bodies, one after another tasting and touching Wendy, their hands, their soft hands in a continuous trek across the rolling plains and soft hills of her body, bodies gliding endlessly together.

From time to time Wendy opened her eyes, suddenly aware of where she was, suddenly aware of class and her fellow students.

Melani.

She shared the class with her, gorgeous, sexy Melani, sweet, delectable Melani with her oh so adorable pixie cut highlighting the sharp and tender features of her sweet and tender face.

Melani caught her look and smiled, biting her lip.

Wendy closed her eyes again.

So many sexy girls.

So many sexy girls in this class.

Marcia, Glenda, Pam, Christina, Judith, Rebecca, Maria. Anne. Susan.

All dressed in the cutest outfits. Skirts, dresses, snuggly soft sweaters, and tight smooth jeans. And their shoes!

Oh god, their shoes.

Wendy suddenly glimpsed a vision of herself kneeling in front of a long row of all the girls in her school, slowly unlacing or unstrapping or unbuckling their shoes, the heels, sandals, and boots of her lovely classmates, rubbing their bare feet in her soft and worshipful hands, kissing their heels, their toes, and kissing the arches of their feet.

“A true lesbian loves every part of a girl,” a strange voice seem to say to her, but she couldn’t recognize the voice. It came from nowhere and reverberated in her mind. “Even the feet.”

Wendy groaned loudly enough for the girl in front of her to turn around. The girl, Sofía Torres, flushed at seeing Wendy, her own center growing warm and excited as she gazed on the blond.

Her dark eyes tried to peer into Wendy’s blue eyes, but Wendy’s eyes closed and did not open.

With her eyes still closed, Wendy raised her hem to move her hand below her skirt, feeling the saturated heat of her cleft through her crotchless panties. She lifted off her seat to raise her skirt past the globes of her ass, the back of her skirt crumpling around her back while she spread her legs to gain better access. She slipped her fingers between her wet lips, her pubic hair soft against the sides of her fingers, her warm wet folds yielding like soft petals to the stroke of her fingers, her two middle fingers stroking her pussy as she began to writhe, squirm, and groan in her seat.

A pink mist swelled, billowing around the girls, her fellow students.

One girl after another leaned back into her seat and spread her legs.

Shoulders bared as shirts fell open or down or both, past the shoulder, dropping to the slope of their breasts, catching on bras, or a quickly fading sense of decorum, of decency, of embarrassment.

Hands reached up and out, grasping, fondling, caressing.

Sighs and murmurs arose.

Threads, gossamer fine, unspooled from the mist, connecting one girl to another, covering Wendy and her fellows with a fine silky mesh.

Sofía’s right hand rose to her chest, rubbing her breast over her bra, over her blouse, as she stared transfixed at Wendy, unable to look away, and unable to stop her left hand from drifting between her legs.

No, she told herself, not here. But her fingers unbuttoned the fly of her jeans as she half-turned in her chair to face Wendy. Slowly she unzipped her jeans and slipped her fingers beneath the band of her jeans and panties. The boy sitting next to her, a boy named Sean, didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t seem to notice anything, staring straight ahead with dull, lusterless eyes, his jaws slack, his mouth open.

Sofía’s mind raced, she’d done nothing even half as daring as this in her life.

Her mind screamed at her to stop, to stop at once and turn around, but a pink mist filled her mind, a pink mist filling her mind with lust and need.

God, she thought, Sofía thought, she’s so beautiful. Wendy is so beautiful.

The screaming in her head dwindled, Sofía’s jeans had slipped half-way to her knees, pulled down mid-thigh. She wanted to look at the rest of the class, to make sure no one saw her, but of course they would see her, how could they not see her, but her eyes never left Wendy’s face, transfixed and enchanted by Wendy’s blond glow, shimmering with a pink and beautiful aura.

And Sofía’s fingers entered her vagina. In the middle of Trigonometry, the very middle of Mr. Vernon’s lecture, she was masturbating, openly and without the slightest qualm. And no one said anything. No one said a word. She couldn’t even hear Mr. Vernon’s voice droning monotonously on about what she never had any idea in the first place.

Then through the lust-filled pink fog of her mind she heard it.

The sighs and groans of people pleasuring themselves. No, not people. Students, and not just students. Girls. Through her pink fog flashed the lightning certainty that every girl in her class masturbated along with her. Looking in her direction but not at her. At Wendy. She knew without looking that every girl’s eye in the room had turned towards Wendy, and that as Wendy did, so would they.

If she opens her eyes, if she looks at me, she should see my tits, Sofía realized. She should see my tits.

Sofía clumsily unbuttoned her blouse with her right hand.

Her blouse fell open, and she raised the cups of her bra above her tits, baring the light brown skin of her breasts, so hard now, and pert, so ready for Wendy’s admiration. Her tongue if she wanted.

She was ready for Wendy now, she realized.

She can have me any time she wants, wherever, whenever.

I couldn’t even begin to say no.

Díos mío I want her so bad.

Wendy plunged her fingers, her two middle fingers, into her steaming orifice, pumping her pussy like a piston. Short, ragged breaths escaped her lips, and a pool of liquid formed on the hard plastic of her desk seat. The pink mesh ballooned, billowing and puffing out, spun and blown like pink cotton candy, filling the room.

She could feel eyes on her, feminine eyes, pretty girl eyes upon her as she jacked herself, plunging and pumping her two fingers into her wet hole, thrusting her hips harder to fuck herself, and she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t even slow down, her need drove her.
* * *

She felt them. Every girl in the room trembling inside the pink mesh, a node of sexual energy, the closest just in front of her.

But she felt Melani the strongest, Melani, so adorable, so cute, so perfect, so in love with Nikki, trembling with a ferocious shudder inside her node, ready, so ready for Wendy.

Melani had felt Wendy’s onslaught first.

It hadn’t caught her by surprise, but it certainly caught her.

She had felt it that Monday night, the night of their orgy. They all had felt it. Wendy’s power. Wendy’s amazing, incredible power, so hot, so sexy, so wild, like a wildfire threatening to engulf. What? What could it engulf, Melani wondered.

Kid Lester High?

Edge City?

The world, the whole world?

Melani didn’t doubt it. Not for a second. She’d never felt anything like Wendy.

Not even Sara.

And Sara was just so. Incredible. Amazing.

Wendy reached out with her left hand, continuing to hammer her pussy.

Pink tendrils floated above Melani, caressing her, stroking her, brushing against her skin, charging her with a pink electric heat, so pink, so hot, so juicy. Tendrils slipped down her abdomen, caressing her belly, flicking soft and hot against the skin of her belly and going down, slipping down beneath her skirt, touching the firestorm of her cunt, raging.

Melani’s hands went to the zipper on the side of her skirt, unzipping the fly she raised her hips of her desk.

You’re in class, a voice warned.

I don’t care. Wendy wants this.

You’re in school, the voice warned. Stop.

I can’t. Wendy wants this.

Melani’s skirt dropped to the floor, and Melani slumped against the back of her seat, spreading her legs over the top of her desk as her right hand jackhammered her raging pussy, shaven and wet, lewdly open for the rest of the class.

No. Not the rest of the class.

For the girls.

For all the girls of the world.

And Wendy perceived her.

Seeing her friend so confident in the glory of her sex, she pulled strands of the pink mesh gathered around her and wove it into a ball, a ball of spun pink, and tossed it lightly towards Melani, sending the ball rolling along the lines and threads of the pink mesh stretching across the classroom from wall to wall and floor to ceiling.

Melani shuddered.

The ball unspooled over her, and Melani knew it and knew what it meant.

Oh, Wendy!

Melani sent tendrils of the pink stuff, she didn’t know how to do it, she just did do it, over the head of the girl masturbating in front of her, sending the tendrils deep into the girl’s mind, and the girl stood up, turned around, the girl Susan stood up, her jeans below her hips, her left hand inside her groin. She stood up and turned around, stepped silently towards Melani and knelt between the outstretched thighs of Melani, who had turned to greet her new friend. Her new lover for the moment.

Melani patted her vagina, stroking the folds of her glimmering and shining pussy.

“Kiss me here,” she said. “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

And Susan did. How could she not?

Melani was so gorgeous. So hot. So sexy.

Melani closed her eyes and groaned.

Oh, god Wendy.

The classroom resonated with the sighing of the girls in her class fucking themselves silly. Their sighs rose to groans, loud groans of a rising orgasm, and Wendy’s hand reached out to caress the face of Sofía Torres sitting in front of her, and Sofía Torres took her hand, brought it to her warm mouth, and sucked on Wendy’s fingers, one by one, intimately, affectionately, with a tenderness charged with erotic urgency.

“You’re so sexy, Wendy.”

Sofía’s voice shuddered inside Wendy’s mind.

“So hot. God you’re so hot. You make me so hot, Wendy. I can’t take it. I’m touching myself, Wendy. I’m touching myself for you.”

Then Wendy came, and her cumming was like a sudden rain in a dry place, a summer rain whose sudden downpour emptied the storm and let the sun shine behind the stray rags of clouds melting away after washing the parched ground already springing to renewed life.

When Wendy finally opened her eyes, she looked around her, fingers in her mouth, sucking on the juices of her pussy, and met the ardent gaze of every girl in the class, faces flushed and eyes dilated behind heavy hooded lids.

She wanted to feel embarrassed but couldn’t.

She wanted to feel alarmed, but it all seemed so normal.

The boys faced the front, drooling from open mouths, staring at nothing. Mr. Vernon sat behind his desk, seeming to pause in his reading of the Lilawati of Bhascara Acharya. Not necessarily trigonometric, he had deliberated the night before, but altogether joyful in its expository of the mathematical arts.

She smiled sheepishly.

“Um.”

But the girls were already sucking on their own fingers.

Wendy quickly pulled down her skirt, brushed herself off, and fled out into the hall, tapping a quick text to Sara, and dragging the pink mesh with her.

When the boys finally came to, they found a roomful of sheepish girls, not exactly embarrassed, no. But awkward and strangely disheveled.

But Mr. Vernon stood up from behind his chair, holding the book in his hand and speaking, almost chanting in a rhapsody the contents from the page before him.

“Pretty girl with tremulous eyes, if thou know the correct method of inversion, tell me the number, which multiplied by three, and added to three-quarters of the product, and divided by seven, and reduced by subtraction of a third part of the quotient, and then multiplied into itself, and having fifty-two subtracted from the product, and the square root of the remainder extracted, and eight added, and the sum divided by ten, yields two.”

But though the girls all were pretty, and though their eyes upon him all were tremulous, he received no more a satisfactory answer than did Mr. Churchill before him.
* * *

Wendy texted Sara, who had arrived late to school, having missed the first three periods.

Now? Sara texted back.

Now.

But that janitor, that Moby, stood outside his closet, rolling a yellow mop bucket with his mop.

When Wendy passed him, the janitor stared her down.

Their eyes followed each other even as she dragged Sara into the restroom.

“Weird,” Wendy said as the door closed behind her.

“Creep,” Sara agreed.

“No. Not creep,” Wendy reflected. “Just. Weird.”

Sara shoved off her heels, struggled out of her jeans and panties, hopped onto the sink counter, and spread her thighs.

“Whatever,” she had then said. “I’m ready. Lick me, please.”

Oh god, Sara. But Wendy wanted it. She wanted to taste Sara so badly.

On her knees, Wendy gazed affectionately at the wet snatch of her mistress. Mistress. It was the first time Wendy thought of that word, and it sounded so right.

After all, she thought. What else could she be?

She owns me. In every conceivable universe she owns me.

And no other pussy in the cosmos, not even her mother’s pussy, smelled so wonderful.

Wendy’s heart beat faster, her mouth felt dry, she licked her lips slowly, enchanted by the sight and smell before her.

But she pulled back, and kissed her way down to Sara’s feet, sliding her tongue slowly along the full expanse of Sara’s muscular thighs, the tender area behind her knee, along the hard slope of her calf, the bony prominence of her ankle, and along the hard sponge of her heel.

Wendy kissed the bottom of Sara’s foot, licking the arch, kissing the arch.

It smelled of sweat and tasted of, well, foot, but Wendy didn’t care. It belong to Sara’s body, and that made it utterly precious.

Then she brought her toes to her mouth, kissed the big toe, and slowly, seductively, sensually wrapped her pink lips around the big toe of Sara’s foot.

Sara giggled.

Wendy sucked on her toe like she sucked on the bulbous tip of Sara’s dildo, and then slowly, almost regretfully, she removed Sara’s foot from her mouth, and kissed her way back to Sara’s cunt, swollen and dark and waiting.

Wendy slid her tongue from the side of Sara’s inner thigh just above the knee, tortuously working her way to her lover’s box, her mistress’s slit.

She touched the tip of the tongue against the warm, wet flesh surrounding her slit, surrounding the bare and exposed lips of her lover’s pussy. Her lover. Her mistress. Her owner.

She tongued the warm, salty, tangy juices surrounding Sara’s cunt, the tipping of her tongue gradually turning into a full-fledged lapping from the top of Sara’s asshole to the knob of her clitoris, licking, licking, licking the wet, the hot wet insides of Sara’s breath-taking vagina, so beautiful and wonderful.

Then she tongued the clit, flicking her tongue against the hood of her clit rapidly and playfully.

Sara squirmed and moaned on the counter, wrapping her legs around Wendy’s back.

“Oh, baby, that’s so good, that’s so good, yeah, baby, you like my pussy don’t you girl? You can’t get enough of my pussy, can you? You gotta have it. And you’re so good at it.”

She did. She did have to have it. And she was. She was so good at it.

“So good,” Sara sighed.

Sara, getting wetter and wetter, tightened her leg grip on Wendy, squeezing the girl against her pelvis, feeling the approach of her orgasm.

Wendy felt it. Pink tendril drooped from the ceiling, flailing softly against the bodies of the two girls.

Wendy groaned into Sara’s vulva, mouth covering her pussy, and flicking her tongue like a buzz saw against the hard nub of Sar’s clitoris.

Then Sara’s orgasm broke out from her, but Wendy held it.

“Oh god, Wendy, what?”

Wendy shook her head on Sara’s mound.

“Please, please let me cum. I gotta cum so bad baby, please let me cum.”

But Wendy shook her again on Sara’s mound.

Sara’s orgasm ticked like an unexploded bomb in Sara’s brain.

“Please.”

Wendy pulled her mouth off Sara’s cunt, looked up at her lover, her mistress, her own, grinned, and said, “Okay.”

Sara couldn’t even scream.

She shuddered in a spasm of such ferocity, such intensity, Wendy had to catch her as she flailed off the counter, limp and trembling, almost silently groaning.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, Wendy. Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh my fucking god.”

Five minutes later Sara had calmed down enough to dress.

Wendy stopped her before going out the door.

“Sara. Wait. I need to tell you something. Earlier. In class. I made the whole class masturbate. I mean, I made all the girls in the class, in Trig, fuck themselves, and they I was doing it, and they didn’t care, and they didn’t stop, and Melani, Melani made the girl in front of her eat her pussy. Because I gave her the power. I let her have some of it. And.”

Sara hugged Wendy.

“I know, baby. I’ve seen you.”

“Wait. There’s more. Um. I don’t know how to say it. But you and me. We—”

Sara stood on her toes to kiss Wendy’s mouth.

“I know, darling. I’ve seen you. All of you. Yesterday. I didn’t understand at first. I still don’t understand. But you’re in all of them, aren’t you? Every single one of them.”

Wendy nodded.

“And I’m in them too. Right there with you.”

“But how?”

Sara shrugged.

“I can’t go where you go. I just can’t. But when you get back, I can see. I can you. I can’t see anyone as clearly as I see you, Wendy. You’re in every one of my dreams, and in every one of my nights, and I think.”

Sara stopped talking.

“You think what, Sara?”

“I think you always have been.”

Standing outside the restroom door, Sara stopped again and suggested cutting class the next day.

“We should take the day off,” she had said while pulling up her jeans. “Tomorrow. Just you, me, and your girlfriend Trina.”

Wendy curled her lips in a thoughtful frown.

“I don’t think Trina will skip class.”

“Why not?”

Wendy didn’t answer. She didn’t want to admit that she was the one who didn’t want to cut classes.

“I just think.”

“Well I’ll ask her. I’ve got a great idea where we can go.”

“Where?”

Sara pulled Wendy against her, leaned up for a quick kiss, and smiled.

“Remember our first date?”

Of course Wendy remembered.

And that was another thing that had changed about her life, Wendy decided as she sat in class that Friday, being careful not to unspool her skein of pink mesh.

Yesterday at the waterfall.

That was strange, wasn’t it?
* * *

Infinite. Infinity. Endless. Endlessness. Unfathomably deep. Unfathomable depth. Pink. A pink infinity filled with sighs and murmurs, cries and sudden shrieks of extreme pleasure, of arousal massed and piled high on arousal, waxing and waning without cessation. The pink infinity touched every corner of the cosmos, its tendrils touched the tiniest of fraction of a quark, and in its recessive shudderings it felt the tiniest stir of a dreamer’s whim or a poet’s fancy. Trembles, vibrations, quivers, shakes, and buzzes ran along every thread of its vast network, but at its center, it held itself remote, reclusive, and untouchable in its private ecstasy.

Then that last shudder hit it. That one. No. The other one darling. No, I mean, yes. There. Yeah, there. But not now sweetie, oh god, yeah there too. But we were. Oh go ahead. Just this once. Oh god yes. There. But she’s awakening and we really must, darling. Oh god if you insist. So hot. So juicy. Yeah, there. There. Yes, and there too.

Crikey, girls. You do make us late for simply everything.

The pink infinity began to stir and take shape. From the infinite void of its own pink mist of nothingness it emerged, sub-infinite in this incarnation, but still. Pretty damn big. A huge pink hive the size of lightyears surged across the galaxies, groaning with pleasure and the sharp thrill of orgasms.

Yes, yes. They do have nice butts, honey.

The monkeys do have nice butts.

Yes, yes. It is a pity about their brains.
* * *

Jack Randall wiped the sweat from his brow, yawned, shook his wrist, and brought the tip of this ball point pen, a fine point ball pen filled with black ink, to a fresh blank page of his black Muleskin notebook.

Ch’thologh Mohl, he wrote. The Consortium.

He lifted his head up, closed his eyes and sighed.

Bloody fucking stupid name.

Ch’thologh meaning a deep unifying orgasm, especially low frequencies with intermittent peaks of poignant climaxes, eons long, cosmic and universal, a shared orgasm filled with unifying purpose and Mohl, a communal, cosmic orgasm, feminine and mutual, higher-pitched and eons long, trembling and vibrating in a constant trill of female ecstasy. Pairs well with everything.

Ch’thologh Mohl, or as we might say in Aenglisch, The Intergalactic Consortium of Beehive Space Lesbians.

Jack Randall threw his pen down and groaned a groan of outraged sensibility.



End of Phase IV, Phase V will be the final phase