A Portal To Hell

The reporter stared, suddenly breathless, at the queer illustration in the book. There was something about it, some trick of the pigments or its technique, where the longer she looked at it the more depth it appeared to have. She wondered suddenly if it was like those old magic eye books, where if you stared long enough a hidden image would appear.

A sense of motion filled Lois as she gazed rapt at the crimson wound, which seemed to fill her vision. The world faded away...the noise of the club grew distant until it was undistinguished white noise. She became aware of the beating of her own heart, the pulse of the blood pounding in her temples, a rising heat like a fever...

Then she saw it. Only for a moment, but it was there. She let her eyes relax, the better to absorb the picture, paying more attention to her peripheral vision and...yes, there was something moving in the painting. Small, wiggling things. It was like a **** perspective trick; as though they were far away, but growing closer, getting bigger even as she watched.

Little things floated in front of the reporter's vision, and she was afraid to blink. Her hands were gripping the book so hard that they hurt. Heat spread throughout her body, a weirdly feverish sensation that made the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end.

She became aware that her nipples were hard, pushing against her bra, and her pussy felt damp, thighs clammy, and as the things grew closer Lois saw that they were vaguely phallic-shaped...the ends of them at least were blind-one-eyed worms, the tiny urethras opening and closing, the worm-like bodies extending back into the crimson vanishing point.

Lois felt a mounting trepidation as the slithering cock-things grew larger and larger. But they were still confined to the page, no more than a trick of art or light, some forgotten technique now revealed. That was what the reporter told herself.

Until the cock-headed tentacles burst from the page, the foremost of them headed straight for her face.