Page 44 of Warped

Still, I feel it just the same.

“But,” Traven goes on. “None of those other women ever made me as hard as you do. You turn me on so much it fucking hurts. If that doesn’t convince you that I think you’re beautiful, maybe this will…”

He grabs my hips and starts thrusting into me, hard and deep. The plug inside my ass only adds to the overwhelming sensation of fullness every time he slams his cock home. I toss my head back and wail in desperation as he fucks me like a ragdoll.

“Take it,” he growls. “Take itall!”

His climax ignites my own. With each spurt of fluid he releases inside me, a fresh wave of pleasure ripples through my body, until I feel like I’m drowning in an ocean of warm, sticky bliss. Before long, my muscles give out, and I collapse on top of him as he continues to spill his seed inside me. It seems as if he will never stop coming.

When, at last, his thrusting stills, I open my eyes and look at the image on the wall. It is, without a doubt, the dirtiest image I have ever seen.

And it is me.

Below the sparkling gemstone embedded between my cheeks, the lips of my pussy are slathered with the abundant cream that is leaking from my stretched and penetrated hole. I have two loads inside me now, from two different men. I ought to feel ashamed of myself, but I do not. All I feel is satisfaction, the likes of which I have never known before.

“Beautiful,” Rek says behind me. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

He lowers himself onto me, sandwiching my body between his and Traven’s. Then he sweeps my hair to one side and kisses me between my shoulder blades, a tender kiss that warms me with renewed lust.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s go to the shower and get you cleaned up.”

“Do I have to?” I ask brattily. “I kinda like being dirty.”

Beneath me, Traven chuckles so deeply I can feel it rumbling in my bones.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We won’t let you stay clean for long.”

CHAPTER 18

Somewhere behind them in the Warp, another ship is following. It is a little chisel-shaped, military-grade personnel transport that is able to move somewhat faster than the bulkier cargo vessel.

What it offers in speed, it lacks in comfort. There is no lavish bedroom within. No wall imager system for ambiance. No birthday cake mattress. No satin sheets.

Between the cockpit to the fore and the engines to the aft, there is only one long, low-ceilinged room with mats spread haphazardly on the floor, their fabric stained with sweat and other human secretions. The air is hot and heavy with the odor of sex, and the incessant sound of skin clapping against wet skin.

Mikkelson and Stanley are sharing one of the women between them. The two men don’t like each other very much, but they have set their differences aside in favor of sating the excruciating lust that has gripped their minds ever since the transport passed through the Warpgate. At the moment, Stanley is making use of the woman’s mouth while Mikkelson pounds into her from behind.

Meanwhile the big man, Lundgren, is lying on his back on one of the mats on the floor. His blue-tinged warper’s muscles glistening with a film of sweat. One woman is sitting on his face, grinding herself desperately against his mouth while he feasts upon her dripping loins. A second woman is bouncing wildly on his erect penis. Occasionally, as if following some silent music no one else can hear, the two women will pause what they are doingand lean across the big warper’s body to kiss each other deeply. Then they will lean back and return to their moaning and riding.

Only the Psi-hound is alone.

He sits in the corner, observing the orgy that has been going nonstop for hours now. Like the others, he is completely nude, and his thin bones show starkly beneath the harsh overhead lighting that bathes his emaciated form. His legs are folded like a fakir’s, his skeletal finger resting atop his knobby knees. His erect phallus, the only part of him which seems to be imbued with any sort of vitality, is sticking straight up from his groin like a large candle ensconced in the hollow of his abdomen. Though it throbs and bubbles with arousal, he dares not touch it for fear that the pleasure might distract him from the task at hand.

Right now, he has a job to do, ascentto catch.

There are some who theorize that the Warp is composed of pure consciousness, the collective consciousness of all humanity, and any other yet undiscovered intelligences residing within our universe. If the average adult human thinks about sex twenty times a day, one can only imagine how often the collective consciousness thinks about such things. It is for this reason that the reproductive urge becomes so intense while traveling through the Warp.

That’s the theory, anyway. One of many.

All the Psi-hound knows for sure is that the Warp is filled with psychic currents that change direction as impetuously as the thoughts of a disordered mind. Psi-scents are much stronger here—so strong he can practically taste them—but in order to detect the desired scent, one must remaindownwind, as it were. That is often easier said than done.

He had the woman’s scent when they first came through the Warpgate. The scent of the warper she was with as well. The one she met back there in that dirty little club.

But then there was turbulence.

A Warp storm blew through, erasing every trace of that precious psi-scent. The Psi-hound knew his quarry’s heading, but that wasn’t enough. Heneededthat scent. His masters had trained him thus. With needles and drugs and neurochemical reinforcement, they trained him never to rest until he had found the scent he was looking for and followed it to its source.

So he sits and searches while the others have their fun.

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