The Are Kicking In

Space began to unwind. It was the only way Lois could describe it. She was still in the cold room, viewing the naked women in their hanging straps, milked like cows, smoking glass cocks like strange hookahs. Yet it was like she was seeing more of them than just the three dimensions of space allowed. Time slowed and seemed to peel back. Bright colors slipped in and out of their skin, and Lois was aware of the layers of skin and muscle rustling over bone, the vast dark cavernous spaces between their legs.

"They're so...empty," Lois said, shivering in place.

"Yes...but they don't want to be," Fingers fluttered over her. Too many fingers, all down her arms, pulled at her jacket. "Do you want to be empty?"

Lois turned to look at Angelica Blaze...and saw her. Really saw her.

It was like two images overlaid, one over another. In front, pale and translucent, was the dickgirl who had fucked her cunt with such **** intensity in the bathroom. That secret smile, the dark eyes, full hair, small high breasts...but over and beneath and around it was something else. A spreading red stain in space, like menstrual blood in the bathtub. Six dark horns crawled out of the vast dark tresses of her hair, which was limned by a dark halo that seemed to drink the night. Pure white eyes with neither iris nor pupil floated above and behind the unblinking human eyes, so flat and lustreless by comparison. Every part of the crimson figure seemed somehow more solid and real...hyperreal, weightier, the world lensing around the thin limbs, the mass of her distorting space and time just by existing.

"You see me." Blaze said. Two of her limbs began to shed her clothes. Two more began to peel Lois Lane's clothes off of her. Listlessly, the woman hung in their harnesses, breasts being pumped, lazy in their highness, eyes locked on the screens.

"You can be like them, you know," the figure seemed to shed her skin, and the features distorted. Lois could feel the very presence of the figure tugging at her blood, like a moon drawing at the tides. She shivered in the cold as her clothes hit the floor, naked skin goosefleshed, nipples hard, pussy aching, almost cramping.

"Do you want that?" Hands, too many hands, laid on the reporter's skin, so warm against the cold air. The figure seemed to loom over her, almost a giant, and between her legs a nest of red serpents, blind and seeking, weeping their black jism, hungry for her cunt. "Or do you want to join with me?"

"I..." Lois closed her eyes, but the figure still burned in the darkness behind her lids. It was her third eye that was open, the reporter realized. The **** had awakened her to new levels of reality, and there was no way to block it out. She could only embrace it—one way or another.