They didn’t have long to bask in the memory of shags past, or to worry overly much about their potential distant relative status.
“I will kill you now,” Lotus said, unwinding herself from Çrom’s body and rising to pad away across the stuffy little room. She crouched and opened one of a little collection of boxes against the far wall, and rummaged inside it while Çrom struggled to sit up.
“Hold on,” he said, “that was very enjoyable and all, but it didn’t exactly make me see the wonder and opportunity of my immortality. I wouldn’t be averse to another round at some point, but I’m not about to embrace eternity and find new purpose, so-”
“Of course not,” Lotus turned back around with a couple of antique-looking leather pouches in her hands, and returned to the slightly expanded nest they’d rolled out together.
“Oh,” he said with heavy inevitability. “You mean you’re going to just-making-sure kill me. Because nothing I’ve just told you about how bad it is had the slightest impact on you.”
“On the contrary,” she said softly. “I have the greatest of sympathy for you – unless of course you are simply insane, and have been lying all this time, and will in fact die permanently the moment I kill you. That would be most disappointing … but I suppose you would be dead, thus escaping my ire.”
“That’ll show you,” Çrom said, glancing uneasily up at the pouches. “So…”
“I will observe, using these,” she knelt beside him and pulled out what looked like a pair of old all-seeing goggles from one pouch. The lenses were dusty and scratched, the straps so worn and often-repaired that the script burned into them was no longer legible.
“Are they soulwatchers?” Çrom asked out of archaeological interest. “I thought you didn’t go for gadgets … although I have to admit, they don’t look quite as out of place in this setting as a mica reader would have,” he continued to eye her uncertainly as she coiled the goggles around her head, settled the lenses into her eye sockets, and examined him with a slightly uncomfortable level of scrutiny. “Are they working?”
“As well as they ever have,” she said with a shrug. “You seem entirely normal.”
Çrom couldn’t help glancing down. “I’m not too old to take some comments personally, you know,” he said. Lotus smiled dutifully at the joke, then opened the other pouch with a worrying degree of caution. This pouch was darkly stained, and had a very suspicious smell coming from it. “What are you thinking?” he asked, trying to keep the quaver from his voice.
“First,” she said casually, “I was thinking of having you again.”
“You were?” he brightened. “Well like I said-”
Quick as a flash, she straddled his legs. Still watching him quizzically through the weird old soulwatcher glasses, she pulled a wrinkled black leather object from the pouch and gingerly unfolded it. It was a glove. She donned the glove extremely carefully, then reached inside the pouch with it. Çrom heard something unpleasantly damp being manipulated in its stained depths, and he frowned when she set the pouch aside in another waft of that highly suspicious smell.
“Is that-” he said, but she leaned forward over him, blocking his view. With her un-gloved hand she reached down between their bodies, while the gloved hand – now with a fresh and glistening dollop of something on its first two fingers – went in and wiped his perineum with an almost electric jolt. “Gah it’s lovespike,” he accused through suddenly clenched teeth.
“Mm,” she said, shifting back and carefully removing the glove, rolling it and tucking it back into the pouch. She stood, returned the pouch of thoroughly illegal and altogether merciless narcotic ointment to its box, took something else from the box’s depths, and returned to mount him.
The compound, which had gone by many names over the years, worked fast but also wore off fast unless you followed it up with other, equally illegal chemicals. Lotus didn’t appear interested in doing so – but she didn’t really need to. Çrom was paralysed, his body incapable of movement although the full range of sensation remained … and, as the name of the ointment suggested, his organ had become painfully hard while she was still pacing across the room.
Lotus had her way a final time, studying his face disconcertingly with the dusty grey lenses even as she bounced and ground herself on him. Within another fifteen or twenty minutes, the lovespike began to wear off. It was hard to measure time with any precision given the circumstances, but Çrom knew this was roughly how long lovespike lasted so he guessed that was how long it had been … in any case, he found he was able to move his toes and fingertips, although his speech was still a little slurred.
“Damn it, Lotus,” he half-laughed, half-groaned as she rode him through a climax that was more muscle-clench than ejaculation. “I think you got them all.”
Lotus knelt on his hips, her body going as still and taut as it had been when she’d settled by his side earlier. She looked down on him with the weird glasses, her head tilted to one side in that way that had somehow become so very familiar, and so very endearing, in a very short time.
Then, without breaking eye-contact, she reached into the drifts of litter they were lying in and produced the other things she’d taken from the box on the other side of the room.
Çrom didn’t get a good look at them because she moved faster than a snake. But whatever they were, she hammered them into his skull through his eye sockets where he lay paralysed, killing him instantly.
– Posted from my Huawei mobile phone while waiting for the bus.
So…his soul is contained in his jism and her hoo-hah will restrain it and keep him from being revived?
You can see why I don’t write stories, can’t you. -.-
Yes. To that second paragraph. No to everything else. #NotThatKindOfAuthor
It’s too bad you’re not, I kind of miss Piers Antony from time to time.
And Memory of Shags Past is already a great title for a Xanth book. Or an Austin Powers spin off. Or a Wheel of Time sequel. Or an X-Men movie. Or a birdwatchers’ almanac…
Not to be confused with “Memory of Shag’s Past”, a biography of one of the most unfortunately–or fortunately depending on the person asked–ogre in the urverse.
I chose a species because “Shag” surely does seem like an ogre name, innit?
Loud Shag could definitely be an Ogre name. *makes notes*
*–named ogre” damnit
Finally. Sex in the Urverse. And it even got a bit weird there.
Leaving it up to my readers’ good taste and imaginations clearly wasn’t working! No more mister nice guy.
Yeah, “fornicated” in Part 16 was arguably a bit bland for me, as far as prose descriptions go. Second time was better.
I had “screwed” first, but I wanted something classical and slightly alien.
Fair enough. “Fornicated” is better than “screwed”.
Of course, the obvious answer is that the second time is always better than the first.
“Of course, the obvious answer is that the second time is always better than the first.”
Unless the second time you end up with spikes driven into your brain via your eyeballs….
Also, sex is not horror, so “leaving it up to imagination”, doesn’t quite work the same way!
Although certainly sex can be horror. In which case leaving it up to the audience’s imagination is probably the right way to go.
Had to google “perineum”. But turns out I actually got it right.
Hee. So right.
Yup, I saw “perineum” and immediately thought “taint”. One of my favorite John Stewart jokes is when he spoke about the “taint” in Washington, D.C., and showed the Lincoln Memorial and the Pentagon with the area between highlighted red. The Memorial is the giant phallus thing, and the pentagon is kinda ballsack-like if you squint, in case you don’t see the joke.
The Congress is between the two, if you still don’t get the joke XD
My favorite definition is that James May is the taint of Top Gear. because he stands between the asshole and the cunt.
I…know nothing of Top Gear or James May….
Typical American, no idea of the culture beyond your walls.
Just kidding, it’s a British car show, the other two main characters can occasionally be a bit …… difficult. Not worth researching.
Jeremy Clarkson is a little bit worth YouTubing. But he’s a pretty awful person in real life. Just think of him as a persona.
I dont mind his persona, I find that amusing. I mind his propensity to punch people and get his shows canceled. That’s a cunt move.
Also it’s not a wall, it’s an art installation in highly penetrable steel, with tunnel and barbed wire highlights.
Wouldn’t Pentagon be the anus in that joke? 🙂
Never thought of Pentagon like that before. Now cannot unthink it. (The Memorial is obvious, of course.)
I figured anus. The part between shaft and ballsack is something else, isn’t it? Just … undercock.
I’m copyrighting “undercock” by the way.
Was just about to reply to your previous comment that we can coin it here and now.
“Wouldn’t Pentagon be the anus in that joke? 🙂”
Oh right, LOL, my bad. There’s even a “hole” in the middle. They are indeed the anus. An anus that loses billions of dollars and can’t account for it, kind of like it got lost up in there.
The God of Tetris is, I’ve decided, my go-to image now whenever I want to make a God of the Blog declaration.
Ed Helms saying “if we could somehow…” *throws shocker* “…cleanse that tainted area…”
To be fair, Hammond is generally alright, he just turns into a bit of a dick when he wins.