Rubberwerks 2 - Part 5

It wasn't a mere headache that drove Janice home, or the urging of her lover. She needed to get away. She was being pursued and so running home, even if her gait was more of a shamble, was the only recourse she could conceive.

Something was inside her. At first it had been a buzz on her brain, a sound that was formless but insistent. Now that sound was a voice, one she could hear. More, she could no longer deny its urgings. It had to be from the pod. Of course it was. That strange black ooze that first reached for her and then seeped into her skin. That ooze was inside her now, a thick black snake coiled in her brain.

You are us now, it said. You are us and we are you and soon you will be made perfect.

"No," she hissed, walking through the mostly-empty streets of the domed town at night. "Shut up."

We cannot be quiet because we are you. You are us. Such a beautiful body. Such a delicious gift for us.

She slammed into the apartments, banged on the button to take her up o her new home. She held her head in her hands, squeezing. She thought she might squeeze so hard that her head would pop like a balloon. A balloon filled with black goo that would run out of her crushed skull and slither away.

It whispered to her while the elevator slid up, while she rushed to her door, while she barreled through the home, finding the bathroom and quickly shedding her clothes. She wanted a hot shower, something to focus on besides the words slithering into her brain.

One of us. Chosen. So special. So perfect.

Her clothes were a pile on the floor. When she turned to the mirror over the vanity, she gasped. Beneath her left breast was a patch of glossy black, like a spot on her skin. Another rested on her right thigh. When she touched the spot, her body exploded with a blast of pleasure. She jerked her fingers away, afraid they might simply sink into this black flesh.

Touch. Feel. Our bodies love to be touched. Our existence is pleasure.

"Stop it!"

There is no stopping what you are. Give in. touch. be rewarded. All touch is good touch.

Her hands found the spot of dark skin on her hip and she trembled at the raw sexuality she felt when her fingers stroked the shining skin. She was wet, dripping even. When her fingers moved between her legs, she watched in the mirror. Two fingers followed the curve of her pelvis, rubbing over her swollen clit. Her lips were puffy and wet. When she lifted her fingers, she saw that the juices covering them were as black and glossy as the patches of skin. Tears squeezed from her eyes, but she was incapable of stopping the journey of her fingers to her mouth. Even as she disgusted herself with the act, her tongue and lips caressed those fingers, her mouth sucked. Her nipples drew to hard points and more of the black fluid dripped from her cunt.

Her body rewarded the debasement with pure ecstasy, a pleasure beyond any she had known. It was a tsunami, a force so powerful that it leveled what existed inside her and left only debris floating chaotically in its wake.

We never grow accustomed to the pleasure. It grows and grows until it is all that is left. Pleasure and service to the whole.