R'lyeh Sutra by Skawt Chonzz

Author:Skawt Chonzz [Chonzz, Skawt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Horror, Occult, Poetry, Regional & Cultural, 45 Minutes (22-32 Pages)
Amazon: B008EQVJ84
Publisher: Martian Migraine Press
Published: 2012-06-25T04:00:00+00:00

Bells in the green deep

tolling for the Forgotten

shivers down the spine

the Brown Jenkin:

loathsome abomination?

Or kinky sex move!

Picture in the house:

“victuals yew cain’t raise nor buy!”

What’s that ceiling stain?

Behind the wheel of an industrial hovercraft, freight-hauling across a blasted desertscape of flattened brush, salt pans and black-blue onyx shale. On the seat next to me Astrid kneels, posing like a fetish Varga Girl, legs tucked beneath her, explosion of copper hair a halo of fire. She pouts. She's wearing a white rubber catsuit of some kind but it's obviously practical for the environment we're travelling through, there are tubes pulsing with some clear liquid criss-crossing her form and flat mesh panels at her abdomen, thighs and neck. She licks her lips and I laugh heartily. I am wearing a similar suit, black, cool against my skin.

A screen set into the dash flickers to light. Alex's face fills the screen. He is wearing communication headgear and rectangular implants in his forehead designate his rank, which is high.

"Agent Landotter, Agent Stargrave. You've got a stowaway. In the back."

I angle the rearview mirror while Astrid turns around to look. In the flatbed behind us, there is a barely discernible numinous form trying to conceal itself behind a stack of battered metal cases.

"Well, fuck," I say. "I thought this run was s'posed to be clean! Who do these disincarnates think they are? I mean, what's it want?"

Alex is impatient. "What does anything imaginary want? A little more reality. Early telemetry suggests a possible origin in the post-eschaton. I need you to deal with this futurist asshole before it condenses."

"I'm on it!" Astrid squeaks. She smiles, flash of terrible white teeth, some of which are filed to points. She reaches for a zipper just below her navel and pulls it down, reaches behind her with her other hand to grasp the tab and pull it up her backside. Then she folds the white rubber aside to her inner thighs and snaps it tight on metal grommets set into the rubber. Her pubic hairs spring forth, a forest of tiny peacock feathers, dripping with moisture. The cab of the hovercraft fills with her scent. Seawater and stars. She displays herself to me, little violet pucker and dripping folds, improbable iridescent feathers, and I feel myself getting hard.

"Gawd! I'm sooo horny! Gonna fuck that thing into oblivion, see if I don't!" she hoots, as I toggle a switch that evaporates the roof of the cab. Like that it's gone. Blast furnace of endless desert heat momentarily dries her moist pussy before her internal systems compensate. The rush of sparkling fluid that results is phenomenal, a real testament to the wonders of bionic augmentation. The seat is soaked beneath her. She fingers herself, dipping between the feathers, and coos.

"What if it's female?" I ask, panting.

Astrid opens a storage compartment in the dash, extracts a fearsome strap-on dildo, slips it over her legs, fits it to her waist. Servos in the mechanism whine and the dildo snaps open at the base, swings upward, tucks its steel head into the depression of her navel, pressing hard.

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