Stories are like sex: they're lots better with folks I know and trust. I trust Simon bar Sinister and his readers to keep this story only in www.mcstories.com (or your own hard drive, if you prefer.) I reserve all rights to all my stories and they may not be used anywhere else without my permission.
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The fifth collection of fables of Rue, the Viscountess of Skin, and the hot weird secrets of the World beyond the Line.
GPX One, Two, Three and Four are available at a reputable link near you.
"I'm so glad you never argue with Porsches when traveling at high speed," Inès Demorouge informed her kidnapped passenger. "Of course, we've been stopped for nearly half an hour now. Why haven't you thrashed me? Is my pussy your kryptonite?" She squirmed deliciously around the tongue in her privates.
Rue stopped licking at Inès' slick snatch. "Thrashing? Was that an option, my dominus? You neglected to command me to thrash you."
Inès stretched her arms over her head and stroked the interior roof of the Porsche. "Well, never mind then. Continue your cunt-veneration, my lovely slut."
"As you command." Rue's mouth reached. Her tongue lavished the slick folds that gleamed pink-purple in the shadowed twilight.
Inès worked her hot thighs further apart. Wicked, wicked girl. She smiled at her grinning face in the rear view mirror. How can we explain this wretched depravity? She quizzed her image, but did not really seek a response. Intrigue. Assault. Kidnapping. Domination. Ass fucking. Fast cars. Lesbian sex. Her desires overruled all good sense, and she found that she liked this new Demorouge-person more than the sheltered one she had been.
In that exquisite moment, reclined in her potent Porsche and watching the red sun beside a country road, Inès adored each precious instant of epiphany. Being remade felt wonderful. She loved creation; prized this strange woman, Rue. She cherished with a frightening passion her sleek sexy black Porsche. Inès' voice stirred dreamily. "I give him oral."
Rue paused her tongue-work. "Him? The Porsche?" Her head tilted away from the steamy folds. She snorted and wrinkled her nose. "Naughty and yet divine."
Inès heard the 'eye roll' in the comment and smacked Rue playfully on the head. "To work, slut!"
"As you command." Rue pushed her belly further across the car's console and went deeper in Inès' honey-slit with her tongue.
Demorouge nodded languorously. She caressed a palm around the steering wheel while the other played at the nape of Rue's neck. Inès shifted her hips and derrière on the leather seatcock, encouraging the Porsche to start fucking her again. She wiggled, teased, and flirted with her ass.
Pulsing thick between her cheeks, the Porsche dreamed of long hot roads of black skin snaking over an infinite landscape.
Inès lifted hips and pushed down. The car woke with a chuckle of horsepower. The vibration made her gush sweetly on Rue's face.
Rue sucked the juices.
The sky tinged with the last of the day's sunlight. The horizon smothered the hot orb completely. Insects told their favorite rude limericks in chorus. The scene gathered tranquility measure by measure.
Bright! Lightning thundered to the ground yards in front of the car. The roadside heaved.
Inès screamed; her vision spotted with phantom flares. Fury brighter than the sun bleached everything.
She heard the car door open. Rue's voice, exiting again and strangely calm, "Go. Don't look back. Don't stop. I can handle this."
Inès hand fumbled for the keys, remembered they were still in her purse. "Let's go!" She ordered the Porsche.
Her lover started with a roar. The gearshift slammed into reverse and dust flew as the car backed powerfully onto the road.
But then Inès stepped hard on the brake. The car fishtailed to a hard stop. The driver blinked and leaned forward in awe. Her hands on the steering wheel white-knuckled, the insanity and terror outside the windshield washed over her. What had Rue said she never faced alone? The Misérables. Mother Mary. Might this be one?
She tried to swallow but her throat was a desert.
Out beyond the front of the car, a strip of the sun torn in the shape of a moth crackled and twisted within dancing lightning strokes. Colors wrestled, agonized and radiated into uneasy patterns from the bright thing. A faint scent oil, then too of gasoline sent a spike of dread through her. Had the car torn its undercarriage? Inès watched Rue run at the terrible light. Rue shrank.
No. It was huge.
Flickering radiation fell everywhere and she squinted. She wondered, was she already dead from the atomic poison she imagined roaring from this thing? Patterns, no, spirals of geometry spun outward from the monster. Mathematical barbs of terror crawled through Inès' skull. Then two wavering lines of raw energy pincered on Rue, lifted her running form and shook her like a dog snatching up a mouse.
"No!" Inès screamed.
In the hard, hard radiance, Rue's legs kicked. Jerked.
"No!" Inès shrieked. She threw the shift into first and stomped the throttle. The Porsche bound forward on the goad of her fury with a warrior's hot roar.
Flames sprouted and shot from Rue's outline. Her hair torched.
Inès drove straight into the certain dread of the thing killing Rue. The scream of the engine and the shock of metal tearing around her slammed huge slivers of pure black through her awareness. The thought tumbled from her head half-formed alongside pain she didn't want to understand. 'Seat belt. Crap--.'
Blood: she smelled blood heavy about her.
The crunch and tear of metal destroyed drifted somewhere nearby in slow motion. Still? Inès opened her eyes on colors straight from hell. Pain. She floated inside the inferno she had attempted to crush with the Porsche. Her face twitched in agony. Licking at her bloody lips, she found broken teeth too.
She blacked out.
Inès woke to faint singing. The tune meandered as if from an exhausted child.
Nothing.Nothing.Shield the nothing.Bound to Shield the Fall of Night.Freezing.Freezing.Slow the Freezing.Our Beatific offers purest might.
Softly chorused two times more before Inès craned her neck and saw Rue hung in the harsh light and charred from head to toe. Rue's voice wandered in child-like cadence. Cables of light sprang radiant from her burnt head.
The singing stopped. The burned mouth moved. "I told you to run, naughty Inès."
Inès looked up against resistance locked to her own head and saw lines of bright energy plugged into her skull. She tried to twist, but confirmed her weight holding her stuck fast to the hooks of light in her brain.
She threw up.
And felt better.
Rue spoke. "Nothing. I am nothing. She is less than nothing. Let her go." The light into Rue's head pulsed and she screamed out, "Yes, Beatific. Yes. Yes. I know my vow. Never lie. Never fall in love. Never shirk. Let no nothing be my equal. Shield the Night's Last Fall."
"Fiend," Inès shouted. "In the name of God, don't play with her."
"Inès," Rue panted. "Shut up. This is—Our Beatific. Whatever you see—whatever you think—is happening. This is my—Dominus." Rue screamed suddenly again, but then words tumbled out. "No, Beatific. No. I meant nothing. Inès is part of the Shielding. My trust is to Shield. Protection, my oath. I explain nothing to her. She is nothing."
Inès stared and felt terribly cold. The fierce Rue slaved to this monster?
Rue whispered and sang to herself. Her body shivered and bits of black fell off. She seemed a broken thing.
Inès wept. "Hurt me. It was my fault we were here. Please. Hurt me instead."
"Inès," Rue panted. "Shut up. I'm trying--." A flare of the hooks in Rue's head and she wailed.
One of the blinding lines leading to Inès' head pulsed. Sudden beauty exploded everywhere at once. Pain and ecstasy changed places and then exchanged places again. Every thought, every dear memory played again through her life in a second of time. And underneath it all, pleasure so strong and pure and beautifully sexual that she didn't mind when her bones burst into flame.
She screamed. She howled. Twisting in the seconds of her life, she celebrated being alive with a sound that rejoiced raw from her toes. Her thoughts fueled a rush of libido that might rekindle a star.
The ecstasy seemed to pause with a...question? Her head rang with a tone that lifted as if the music would complete with another response.
Wha-? Inès shook her head. Every part of her hummed with pleasure. Sweat and blood dripped from her chin. She felt empty without the immense sensory overload thrust through her being. The craving ached despite the ecstasy ending only seconds ago. She brought Rue's face back into focus.
Rue was slowly mouthing words without sound. No. Inès' ears couldn't make out the sound-- it was so plain compared to the missing overload. Her five senses seemed split to seven. Shock layered upon wonder and felt arousing. Inès stared. Rue's burned and torn body wasn't either torn or burned. Some trick of light or---.
The horizon exploded into song. The air caressed her, locked onto all her nerves and passed atomic force along the passages to her mind. She giggled; screamed, dangled and danced so hard she heard her joints crack one after the other. Inès discovered that all of civilization's words were variations of 'fuck-me' and put her entire voice into thanking the Beatific for that 'suggested' insight.
Inès woke in an ephemeral bath of nerves humming overlapping pleasures. Not torture. Pleasure. She'd seen Rue twisting in terrible pleasure. Inès' tongue found no broken teeth, but the flavors of her mouth delighted. The colors above caressed her eyes. The air passed in and out of her lungs sweet and without sin. Her head rested on Rue's naked thighs. She realized Rue smelled faintly of ozone and dripping pussy.
She blinked up at the adorable Asian face above. "Rue? What just--."
"Happened?" Rue glanced aside at the morning countryside. But just as Inès thought there would be no answer, Rue looked down at her. "You happened. Sorry. Welcome to my side of the Line. Happy birthday, Power."
Inès heart skipped a beat and found even shock felt sexy. Rue's voice played over her ears and slid into chambers within her head like a soft nostalgic song. She shivered wet and horny.
Rue rubbed at Inès' shoulder and went on. "You impressed Our Beatific. And mundanes just do not as a rule do that, so that made you eligible for promotion. You are now a Power. You have a tiny splinter of Our Beatific tucked inside your brain."
Inès groaned with arousal. Brain fuck. Heat echoed deep inside. "Splinter? Spike? Or leash? My brain? You mean I'm owned?"
"Drafted into the War Effort," Rue sighed. "You wouldn't run. You wouldn't shut up. You fought back. Congratulations."
Face flaming, Inès also felt that small rush of blood differently somehow, as if it meant she should laugh and sing and ask someone to slap her face silly. Yes. That would be so dirty and hot: slapping her delicate red mouth until she came. The sensory image heated her slick pussy further. Her head was all mixed up. Wired wrong? Rewired? Damn. She swallowed and it felt dreamy up and down her chest. "Rue, was that God?" Even whispering made her hornier.
Rue snorted. "Hardly, unless you have an odd idea of God. How could God not understand us? Or need help fighting against something trying to tear apart creation? I don't think God wears these many hats that clash so. And Our Beatific has the annoying habit of refusing to use language we powers can understand. And there are Other Beatifics and ...associated Familias with their own Chancels. Would God be many or one?"
Inès thought about that and the questions reassured her somehow. "I don't recall that Thing--." Pleasure spiked through her and she squirmed and thrashed and screamed. She'd misstepped somehow. She could feel her brain fracturing.
In a few seconds she might explode with orgasm and then lose her mind.
Rue held her down. "Please Inès, never be disrespectful. Our Beatific does not tolerate that from the meat, I mean, the field-promoted Powers in the Great War. Think of herm as something concrete instead of alien and make the notion very nice."
And as her brain translated Rue's advice, Inès massaged her thoughts and found the spiky glowing jumble settle to something tolerable and arousing. Toxic radiation might be thought of as--yes, better. Stretching fibers of raw power might be--of course, that worked. And dark foundations of matter and energy translated as --radial tires with alloy wheels?
Her car. Inès sat up. "I crushed Our Beatific with my car. My poor lover!"
Rue cleared her throat. "Ah, actually you ran into a tree. Herm isn't material. You cannot possibly think of your freezing Porsche as a threat to Our Beatific." Rue pointed. A stout century oak had won the short battle with her Porsche. The car's whole front crumpled about the tree's trunk. The windshield had been smashed outward--by a body, no doubt.
A scowl painted Inès' mouth and a tear escaped from her eye. These things also provoked energies that aroused her. "I killed him. And me, too, I suppose. I'm imagining this whole thing in intensive care. I'm mad. I'm dead."
"Sure, the world is always about us," Rue nodded. "Your God. Your love. Your pain. I hope you get through this part better than I did." She roughly dumped Inès off her lap and stood up.
Sprawling, Inès squawked outrage. "You heathen bitch!" Inès scrambled to her feet and jogged after Rue now striding up the road. "Neither of us is wearing a stitch. And what about my car? How am I going to explain that to the authorities? Oh, yes, officer. I was thrown through the windshield without a scratch? Oh, pardon me, but God fixed me and said it was alright with her?"
"Herm--not her. Our Beatific doesn't have gender like meat." Rue hid a smirk and kept walking.
"Dammit, Rue." Inès furiously kept pace. "I wrecked my Porsche and nearly killed myself because I thought you were dying. Don’t you care?"
"Not my problem. Your own fears painted that nasty picture. I was busy trying to let you get away so Our Beatific would not think you interesting, my lovely. You don't see me complaining about how I failed."
"You fucking bitch. I loved my Porsche. You hateful arrogant, scheming--."
"Who kidnapped whom?" Rue kept walking.
"Ruuuuuuue!!" Inès leapt with her hands like claws. They collided. Elbows dented ribs. Nails dug. Knees found groins. Hair stretched and threatened to rip out. Rolling in the dirt, the two women panted and showered each other with invectives that might have sheared bark from the trees if so directed. Every blow transferred energy. Sunlight warmed sweating flesh. Slippery crotches ground against muscled legs.
Hot. Friction. Life chafing life, which created more heat; more life.
It was so extremely arousing it generated more energy than they could reasonably use. In ten minutes time, Inès found herself appallingly horny and pinned to the ground by Rue in an oddly stretched arc above her. They both smelled of dust and sex.
Inès tried to tug free. She shoved.
Rue leaned down and kissed her.
It was so nice, so warm and full of emotion that she had to kiss her back. Tongues twined and seared. Then hands comforted, burned, exchanged, and rubbed at the itches they both knew needed to be scratched. Each gift made more energy, more emotion, and a deeper heat. Knees whispered affections to groins. Nails caressed sweaty skin. Elbows snuggled ribs. The sounds wormed their way inside their physical selves and gathered heat as well.
As the hot horniness seared through the Parisian, each sense became a stream of dizzying lust. The nearby road smelled of rubber and oil and come. The distant crumpled car threw off a musky leathery scent that made her wild with an ache to fuck. Her eyes drank colors she had never seen before; some with hazy auras she knew were invisible. She heard Rue's quiet breathing like an obscene phone call wired directly to her libido. Each kiss tasted of sunshine and glittering sacred vows. Rue's mouth held secrets that also promised secret history and laughs and dirty little poems that might be composed simply to make her lovers wet. Touching Rue's skin drove snowflakes of lust through her privates.
This all stirred her anew as if she might orgasm on each of seven senses.
In this, she realized she had indeed been rewired. Turning an eye inward, she saw her new identity and puzzled over the simplicity of that tiny slice of infinity. Silently she caressed the name-sound and wondered why she had ever answered to her former name at all. She must be this person now.
Red. Passion. Polishing force. Coloring the world. Face paint. Makeup. Hot. Blusher. Pretty. Captivating. Attention seeking. Redden. Rouge.
A marvel: the splinter within her brain could explain her name in several thousand languages from hundreds of worlds. What a thrill that Our Beatific could 'suggest' such a perfect name for her. How could Rouge not obey and go and fight and die if need be? Was she rewired a faithful hound to an alien savant?
Rouge smiled. Instead, she knew herself a sleek powerful machine given license to kill in defense of creation.
There was an oath in that binding. A trust she adhered to as might the most devious slave. She didn't remember swearing this vow, but it was obviously sacred. Sacred things made her hot. Mundanes were nothing, but they deserved protection. Her estate was everything and she was its Lord and Shield. Never lie. Never fall in love. Never shirk. Let no mundane be her equal. Shield the Night's Last Fall. Because of the illumination of her mind, she also saw the places she might twist this oath without Our Beatific's understanding.
She recognized the inherent dirty corruption of this sort of power and it, too, made her terribly horny.
Rouge sucked at Rue's slippery sex and marveled at the secrets within the splinter in her brain. Her muscles sang, toes curled and she reached with her mind's sliver to caress Rue's own alien shard transported by the waves of lust stretched tight between them.
Rue shuddered at that secret lewd caress and bit a fold of Rouge's pussy-flesh.
Rouge wailed, panted, trembled and within she heard her spine roar with speeding atoms of pleasure racing the highway to her brain. Her clitoris vibrated with the need for speed. She ground her sex against Rue's hot red lips.
So the two Powers spent the whole day banging away at each other's sizzling meat on the side of the road. Passing drivers ignored them while the cars themselves whistled approval, chuckled deep in their cylinders and winked their taillights as they raced by.
Afterwards, the whole Familia lived happily ever after--except for the scary parts.
There are a lot of unanswered questions, aren't there?
What about Perdy's challenge to the Duke?Or the conspiracy between the Bishop and the Marchese of Piss and Blood?Or perhaps the important difference between Deceivers,Mimics and the Warmains?And what are the Misérables exactly? Who do they toil for?Will Rose ever be unbent?When will Rose accept my proposal of marriage?I haven't mentioned the Dark Followers or the Wyld Lords yet.Will I publish this fable?Would you care?
Well, as Saint Rat might say: Tough titties, mundanes. Answers have prices. Scary costs. Blood. Tears. Ruined lives.
Move along, linger not, or you risk Crossing the Line.
If you're lucky, the Powers will win. If not, you'll never know what hit you. Your broken mind will be a hot wet drone fuckhole only happy when it is being ravaged and widened and used. You'll happily tear down yourself and everything you love just to be serviced one last time.
Take your pick. Or close your eyes to what's going on the way you usually do.
Oh, all right. No, the Porsche didn't expire; it was seriously pampered for months of convalescence. If it isn't obvious, Rouge is the Power of Hot Wheels.
Good night. Go to sleep.
No, you can't have another glass of water.
Thanks for special strokes from many with this unusual tale.
Thanks also to the additional inspirations of the Boojums.