The Light of Lusst'ghaa Ch. 01
- H.P. Lovecraft.
"Beyond the horizon of perception, vibrate the streams of Essence.
They reveal Lusst'ghaa, the Land of Eternal Ecstasy, to Seeing Ones.
We will follow it's glow until we run out of breath."
-The Book of Lasih.
~o0o~
"Yv'h, lauv'abrarc, yv'h lusst'ghaa..."
My ears were filled with song.
It was dark, dark and wet. The air was hot and humid all around me, muggy as a summer's day, but with the comforting smells of fresh-cut grass and blooming wildflowers replaced with something I couldn't identify, something that somehow smelled both of heated crotch sweat and... salt? The sea? Heated metal? Blood? Whatever it was, it was heavy in my nostrils, both revoltingly strong and yet almost... arousing? No, no, I couldn't be aroused, that would be disgusting. I tried to shake my head clear of the strange thoughts, but my head wouldn't move.
I lay in what must have been a pool of my own sweat on something that felt molded to my form and oddly warm. Not like a warm bed is warm, whatever it was felt almost organic. It even seemed to pulse slightly beneath me, like I could feel it's heartbeat. Like I was being held by something alive. Not a very encouraging thought.
My arms were bound, I think, or- no, I couldn't feel anything holding me down, I just couldn't move. Sleep paralysis? Was I still in my bed, and just hallucinating this whole thing like some sort of alien abduction? Was I about to get probed by Roswell Greys? I would have laughed hysterically, I think, except my mouth seemed to be as paralyzed as my arms and legs. I think I panicked a little then. I tried to sit up, to kick, to scream, anything. But I couldn't. I could only lie there, frozen stiff, my only movement the steady in and out of my breath.
The song came again, an almost Gregorian chant sung by what sounded like men and women both, the highs and lows blending into a single haunting chant. It was almost ethereal, and would have been peaceful and pleasant to listen to if not for the circumstances.
"Yv'h, ah'maahnda. Yv'h lusstghaa."
It must be a dream, I decided then. People in real life didn't get kidnapped by singing cults like something out of a bad cosmic horror movie, paralyzed, laid on some sort of pulsating altar, and sung to; ergo this wasn't real life. Well, that was a relief to figure out; if this was all a dream, then there was no sense panicking.
What the hell language was that, anyway? It wasn't a language I spoke, or had even heard before, but it felt strangely familiar. Like something from a dream I had had when I was a child, or the face of a friend I hadn't seen in decades... I didn't know it, and yet I couldn't quite say I didn't know it. It wasn't Latin, that's for sure, even though the singing sounded like plainsong. It wasn't any occult or cultic language I'd studied, like Enochian or Reverse Latin, or even fictional occult languages like Aklo. I couldn't recognize a single word, but it felt more and more like I could almost understand it.
'Yv'h'. The way they sang it, maybe it meant 'hail' or 'praise'? Like ftaghn, but with less phlegm. 'Hail lauv'abrarc.' A god? A concept? A place? An event? And what was kLusst'ghaa"? What a bizarre sort of word- it sounded like 'lust,' but that had to be a coincidence. As I lay there trying to puzzle my way through an alien language for lack of anything better to do, the darkness was lit, slowly, from all sides, in slow throbbing pulses.
The light was dim, a dull white glow that in normal circumstances probably would have been too dim to see by, but after the complete darkness the light stabbed into my eyes like knives. A thin groan came from between my lips, the first sound I had succeeded in making. I tried to form words, to ask them to turn the lights off and let me go, but all I could manage was a faint 'Nnnngh,' that sounded like little more than an escaped breath.
As the lights pulsed brighter and dimmer, I heard a low sound accompanying them, an almost mechanical drone or whir, or maybe pulse-whir, that sounded more like a musical sting from a sci-fi soundtrack than anything I'd ever heard in real life. It sort of sounded like 'vhoom.'
Vhoom. Vhoom. Vhoom. Vhoom.
I could see, now, between the pulses. The ceiling above me was arched, made of some oily grey substance that formed Gigeresque ripples and ridges that glistened in the light. Pulsating biomechanical pipes dangled from the spine-like arches that joined together in a ring around a perversely yonic opening, and the pipes thrust into it and vanished inside. The opening in the ceiling was pinkish and mottled, like diseased flesh, and it expanded and contracted around the bundle of pipes almost as though it were in a state of continuous orgasm, like a woman clenching around her lover's penis must look, and the pipes seemed to slowly push in and out of the slick opening. Liquid dripped slowly out around the thrusting pipes to drip to the floor, and I could hear the wet schlicking sound they made. One pipe in the center of the other pipes, thinner than the others, seemed to be reaching straight down towards me, but I couldn't move my head to see where it actually ended up.
Vhoom.
What. The. Heck?
Vhoom.
If this was a dream, then I clearly needed to get laid more. The symbolism here was so heavy-handed in it's perverse eroticism, it felt like a pornographic movie designed by H.R. Giger and H.P. Lovecraft's lovechild while hopped-up on a double dose of rectally-applied Nitrous Freudium. I knew I wasn't the most sexually experienced person in the world- I didn't even masturbate much, only when the need got so bad it distracted me from college essays and study- and so, sure, maybe I had some pent-up sexual energy I'd been repressing that could conceivably result in weird dreams, but this was ridiculous. I had weird dreams sometimes, sure, but never sex dreams. Not since I was a teenager, and even then it had never been like this.
I felt whatever paralysis was holding me down weaken just a little, and tried to slowly raise my head. God, my neck muscles felt weak as a kitten! I couldn't lift my body up at all, but with my head free I could, with some effort, lift it up just enough to see around the room.
Vhoom.
The first thing I noticed was that I was as naked as the day I was born. The second was that I was completely impaled through the stomach.
Ok, after a few seconds to panic and hyperventilation, it turns out 'impaled' was probably a slight exaggeration. The pipe probably wasn't going into my body- there was no feeling of pain or fullness, and when I clenched my stomach muscles I couldn't feel anything different about them. More accurately, the pipe was joined to some sort of odd metal thing that covered my groin and lower stomach like some bizzare techno-organic panty, or crotch-plate, or... something, I don't know. I'd never seen anything like it. It looked like something out of a messed-up 80s sci-fi film, all organic ridges and whirls, like some pervert's xenomorph sex-slave fantasy bikini. It cupped my hips and covered my groin, and judging by the sensations of something wedged between my cheeks it had something like a thong back. God; I'd never even worn regular thongs much less... whatever the heck this all was! This whole thing was insane. I didn't even want to think about what was causing the odd feelings of fullness down there. I couldn't let myself think about it, or I'd panic for sure.
Vhoom. Vhoom.
I was lying on a table of some sort, made of the same weirdly-organic material as the room. The top was made of a milky white somethingorother that looked like glass but was too warm and soft, molding itself to my body as I weakly shifted back and forth, that glowed dimly and pulsed along with the room lights. The lights were set into recessed sconces in the walls all around me, which were ribbed like the inside of a ribcage.
There was no sign of the choir I had heard, or anyone else for that matter. No people, no door that I could see, just walls and lights. Was the music being pumped in by speaker? Where the singers in the next room? Or in a room under me? Were the singers just outside the door? Assuming there was a door. Assuming there were singers. Assuming this dream made any sense.
Could I move yet? No, not really. A little wiggle was all. The altar top seemed to be thrumming a little harder beneath me, or maybe that was just my heart beating harder in panic. Well, look on the bright side- the paralysis wasn't affecting my breathing, and it wasn't affecting my neck any more. Pretty soon I'd probably be able to move. Hopefully.
Vhoom.
Between one pulse and the next, she appeared.
She was stark naked, save for a porcelain mask and a short black leather jacket. The mask was white save for a black circle on the forehead, blood red lips, and two crimson tears trickling down the cheeks. The eyebrows were decorated with ornate black curlicues, and the eye sockets were rimmed with black paint. The expression of the mask was blank, serent. It gave her the look of a porcelain geisha doll, contrasting oddly with the slickly modern biker vibes of the jacket. Her hair was black, tied in a high ponytail, and shone in the light. She was... beautiful. It was a absurd thing to think, in the middle of such an utterly bizarre experience, but there it was- the woman was utterly, absurdly beautiful. Her beauty didn't make me feel jealous or insecure, it didn't make me feel inadequate, I just could not ignore it. I couldn't look away. Everything about her, from the gentle waves of pitch-black hair that cascaded down her shoulders to her shapely breasts to the gentle curve of her collarbone, everything was perfection incarnate. I stared so long without blinking that my eyes began to tear up.
Vhoom.
She was right by me, now, close enough to touch if only I could just move, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that she could just as easily touch me, while I lay there helpless and paralyzed. Her head tilted, like an inquisitive bird, and I could feel her eyes sweep up and down the length of my body, lingering on the pipe jutting from my groin. The light was steady now, a cold dim white coming from all around. I could see her clearly. "P-p-please," I managed to get out. I tried to say more, maybe 'Please don't kill me,' or 'Please help me,' but I couldn't get the words out. My chest felt like the air itself was weighing me down, my vocal cords were frozen still. I felt so weak.
She didn't reply, but reached out and grabbed the still-throbbing pipe and twisted it sharply to the left, before pulling it free. Oooohshitshitshit that felt bizzare, halfway between what I imagined pulling a large dildo out of yourself would feel like- not that I'd even done something like that in real life- and poking at your belly button, but in reverse. The strange woman held the pipe up to my face for a moment, as if to show it off, and I gasped as loud as I could at the sight of the thin tendrils that writhed out of the ends of it. Those things had been inside of me? Penetrating my flesh, wriggling around in my guts? I looked down at my belly, but the crotch plate still covered it, hiding whatever damage that thing had done to my stomach beneath the alien metal.
And then she spoke. "Afraid, Seeing? Of this little trinket?" She shook her head slowly, and her tone turned gently chiding, like a disappointed schoolmistress. "Oh, my sweet Seeing. There are so many more terrifying things waiting for you, in the dark. This little old thing?" She held the pipe up and waved it demonstratively. "This is your best friend, dear." She paused, head tilted in contemplation. "Well, I'm your best friend, really. But trust me, this runs a very close second. I'll take it out for the moment, as a show of trust, but this hasn't done it's job yet and believe me, you'll want it to, Seeing."
The way she said the word, it wasn't a verb at all, but almost... a title? Why was she calling me 'Seeing'? What the hell was a 'Seeing,' anyway?
"See- seeing?" I managed to croak.
"Oh, so you do talk," she said teasingly, letting the pipe drop to the floor with a wet squelch, and folding her arms beneath her breasts. "I'll admit, I was beginning to wonder about that, my dear. Thought the Changed had got your tongue."
My... my tongue? Something out there wanted to take my tongue?
My confusion must have been clearly mirrored on my face, because she laughed, a bright and joyous noise utterly incongruous with the dark alien surroundings, and said "A joke. That was a joke, Seeing. No one's going to take your tongue. I have plans for your tongue, you see." She spread her first two fingers wide and placed them to the lips of her mask, rubbing them back and forth. "If you take my meaning."
She placed the hand on my lips, slipping a finger between them and thrusting gently in and out. Oh. I get it. I've been kidnapped by a lesbian alien who wants me to go down on her. She's going to turn blue and develop head-tentacles any minute, right? Why me? Why not someone who actually liked this sort of thing? Why not Cindy; she swung both ways, and she'd said the effing xenomorph was goddamn sexy during one of our movie nights! She'd effing love this! Why choose me? I'm straight as an arrow! I steadfastly ignored the little voice whispering in the back of my mind saying, 'sure you are: just who was staring at her breasts so hard her eyes watered a minute ago?' I'd been ignoring that voice for years, and had plenty of practice.
"'Seeing' or 'Seeing One' is the term we use for very special people like yourself. It's quite a literal term, really- you have the power to 'see' into other realms. Psychics, basically. In ancient times people like you were shamans, seers, Pythias, biblical prophets. But now you're expected to parade your abilities on Jerry Springer for a mocking audience, or sit in a puddle of your own filth in an asylum, drugged to the gills. But I saved you from all that, my dear. You're going to be very special indeed."
There was only one response I could make to that. "Y-you're... insane." Something in me screamed at the thought of insulting her. It felts as wrong as laughing in church. But what other word could I use?
"Hmmm," she said, her tone teasing. "She gets her voice back and uses it to insult me. Not the most promising start to the very special sort of relationship that you and I will be sharing. And after I've gone to all this effort to bring you here and give you a very special gift! But, I know, I know, I have been going about this all wrong. Bringing you here, paralyzing you, rambling about things you couldn't possibly hope to understand yet... it must be terrifying for you waiting like this, unable to move, like the buildup of fear and tension in a horror movie right before the cat scare. But don't worry- I promise you, you've completely misjudged the genre of our little tete-a-tete."
She raised her left hand imperiously, and the lights dimmed, the cold white glow turning a warm amber. She crouched down, and retrieved the pipe from where it lay. Oh, no. Nononononono. Please no. "Please," I said aloud, "I don't understand what you want from me! Just... just let me... just..." I slumped back, utterly exhausted by the effort of speaking. It didn't seem to have any effect on the woman.
"I think we've had enough foreplay for tonight." Leaning over me, she brought the pipe up, held itover my belly, and as I shook my head with all the strength I could muster, she plunged it back into my belly with a sickeningly-wet squlorch. I screamed at the feeling of utterly alien violation, my vocal cords seemingly shocked back to life by the sensation. I felt so invaded, feeling the weird techno-organic thing thrust deep into me, into a place nothing should be able to go. There was no pain, not really, just an utterly sickening sense of wrongness.
"You see, dear, you think you're in a horror movie," she purred, locking the pipe with a twist. She stepped away, pressing a seemingly undistinguished section of the wall, and what must have been some sort of alien control panel emerged from the floor with a meaty wet sound. The thing looked every bit as Freudian as the pipes above me, a low stand that flared out at the top into a barbed disk like the mane of a xenomorph frilled-neck lizard, with a gaping mouth in the center that sprouted a barbed stinger-tongue. She braced herself against the console with her left hand and with her right grasped the protruding tongue in a forward grip, and pushed it slowly down into the device, letting out a pleased "Hmmmm, yes, there we go!" to herself as she did so. Something about the way she moved made the act seem obscene, almost as though she were pleasuring the alien machine, making love to it with it's own tongue.
The lights turned an eye-searing shade of magenta and began to pulse again, the low pulse-whirr returned louder than ever, and the device clamped to my hips began to vibrate gently. I was too exhausted from my effort of screaming previously to even groan as suddenly my crotch and backside felt unnaturally full, as though the device had extruded probes into my vagina and anus before I had woken up and somehow just swelled them to uncomfortable size. Oh no. Oh, Good Lord. Did I just lose my virginity to a bikini-machine-thing?
At least it didn't hurt. At first they were uncomfortable, as they were dry as bones and every little wriggle and vibration tugged them around in my holes, but then I felt their movement ease as some sort of slickness formed inside of me. They couldn't have torn me that easily, so it wasn't blood- was I getting wet? For this thing? But, no, my anus was slick as well, and obviously that doesn' get wet like a vagina; the probes must have been self-lubricating.
That was disgusting. I couldn't move, I couldn't scream, I couldn't clench myself shut to resist the machine violating me; all I could do was lie there and take whatever the strange woman intended to do to me. Could I protest; if not in screams, at least in whispers? I was unsure.
Vhoom. Vhoom.
"This, my dear, isn't horror." The damned woman spoke over my weak, breathy attempts to protest, and stood up, removing her mask in one smooth motion to reveal a face like the Bernini statue of Saint Teresa- cold marble twisted in divine exaltation, a melding of holy ecstasy and sensual Earthly bliss. "This is porn."
Vhoom.
The vibration of the machine increased suddenly, and the probes embedded in my lower body began to vibrate as well, a steady buzz that slowly transformed into a throbbing pulsation that seemed to penetrate everywhere. I didn't just feel it in my crotch, I felt it in my head, in my teeth, in my bones. It was like I was dissolving into the vibrations, like my flesh was being filled with some sort of strange energy. The vibrations made the probes swish back and forth in my well-lubricated orifices. It was almost pleasurable.
The probes began to thrust, and you could forget the 'almost.'
'Thrust' might not be the correct term. It was difficult to be sure, but it felt like they were retracting, shrinking down and then growing to full size and hardness again, like erections forming, deflating, and then forming again while buried up inside me. In, out, in, out. Oh, God. They felt bigger than they were before- was it just the motion, or were they actually growing? Was this what sex felt like? I felt obscenely bloated, wrapped around the perverse device. My whole body was... I couldn't even marshall my thoughts to put it in words. My skin tingled, I was soaked in sweat, my breath came out in harsh pants.
She was beside me now, her hands stroking my belly, my breasts, cupping them and rubbing them and pinching the nipples to hard little points. She rolled them with her thumbs, and then bent to suck one into her mouth. Compared to the bonfire that was the rest of my body, it was a gentle pleasure, but so strangely tender in contrast to the bizarre mechanical fornications that it seemed all the more powerful. She cooed wordlessly to me in approval and encouragement.
http://blog.tiching.com/robots-ayudan-ninos-ninas-salir-la-pobreza/
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