by Edward Lee
—even in the knowledge that he would likely be dead soon.
These “endearing” intimacies—it should come as no wonder—magnified later in the day into activities far more robust, which provided for Wilbur several instantaneous ejaculations, and for Sary several bouts of half-hour-long orgasms. Wilbur’s “seed”—it was now plain to her—proved the vital desideratum for orgasms so potent; in fact, the effect of this oddly shaped material on her libidinal system left her more sexually satisfied than nearly any woman to ever trod upon the earth, since only a handful, in all of human history, had ever experienced intercourse with one as para-worldly as Wilbur. Afterward, with her face imprinted by what seemed a permanent grin of satiation, Sary lay on the cot like something boneless and absent of all vim, though her groinal nerves still pulsed euphorently in post-orgasmic ecstasis. The sky was darkening by the time her senses began to resume a semblance of order, and then her previously orgasm-discombobulated vision focused through inconsiderable lamplight; she found Wilbur bent over attentively at his desk, whereto he’d moved the iron-hinged book. His engrossment was undeniable as he was reading intently; his lips moved in silence as he seemed to recite extracts to himself. Sary wanted to go over there and take an interest in his studies, but the carnal “working over” he’d unleashed left her with not even enough energy to move. Minutes later he closed the book rather gingerly, so not to allow any undue noise to be made; it was clear Wilbur believed her to be asleep and sought not to wake her. So...
Sary made no actions to inform him otherwise: she pretended to be deep in slumber, all the while keeping her eyes closed to slits. His spending the day with her had already diverted so much of his time. She had no right to demand more of it by interrupting him.
But... What was he doing?
To the old carven bureau he moved next, opened a drawer, and appeared to engage in some scrutiny while taking stock of something inside. Did Sary hear a few tiny metallic clinks! from within? Wilbur took on an expression of frustrated concern, whereafter he paused, then turned carefully and tiptoed toward the elaborate washing chamber. He’d taken the lamp with him, and set it down on the other side of the apparatus, then very slowly pulled out what he’d referred to earlier as a “privacy curtain.” Sary was touched by his modesty but more so by the care he was taking to keep from waking her. Now the meager illumination glowed behind him (while he stood in front of it) shielded by the curtain; this arrangement allowed her to view him only as a silhouette.
Sary watched with attentiveness then, as the silhouette began to disrobe.
She’d known full well that—aside from the disconsonance of his penis—Wilbur’s anatomy existed in an extreme departure from the anatomies of other men. That bulkiness, for instance—an often oscillating bulkiness—that she’d noted beneath his shirt, not to mention the single hoselike appearance of some evidently organic object that he kept hidden down his pant leg. In the midst of their intercourse on the covered bridge, Sary even thought she may have detected this object’s emergence when Wilbur had lowered his trousers—the impression she’d received was that of a girthy multicolored snake roving independently about as she succumbed to his oral succor and genital penetration. Yet her orgasms had been so propulsive and absolute that she honestly didn’t care what the bizarre appendage might be. The acknowledgment, in other words, was obvious: Wilbur was physically different from typical men, and this atypicality (for whatever reason might explain it) was immaterial to her. Her only concerns were of Wilbur, and the cruciality that he understood the thoroughgoing manner with which she cared for him. Just at that moment, her eyes rapt on his silhouette, she mused, Wilbur could be a durn DEMON and I wouldn’t keer. Naw, I wouldn’t love him no less...
She saw with no difficulty that Wilbur had removed all his clothing behind the illumined curtain, and, yes, the curious and even writhing bulk about his lower chest she saw as well. Likewise, that organic object that ran down his pant leg was now liberated from the confinement of his trousers and, just as she’d thought, it hovered about him as the giant man prepared to wash. This was not the first time Sary would wonder if Wilbur was actually possessed of a tail. But as her curiosity heightened so did her arousal; she needed him yet again, to experience still more of that sexual cabalism that he and only he could deliver to her; so an idea sparked at once in her mind and she said, “Wilbur?”
The silhouette froze. “Aw, durn, Sary,” came the warbled respond. “I’se sorry I waked ye. ‘Twas trine hard not tew.”
“Naw, I warn’t asleep.” She giggled. “I’se watchin’ yew ‘hind that cartin, and a-gettin’ mighty hot, if yew know what I mean. Dang, Wilbur, I’se so ‘tracted ta yew, I could jess squeal. And-and, wal, mebbe yew en’t of the sart ta wanna heer words from a gal that’s serious, but I got me no choice but ta say thet yew’re jess-jess, like, reely important ta me...”
Wilbur’s black silhouette remained frozen.
Sary continued, her voice soft and lilting by its enrichment from desire. “I en’t never felt so good ‘baout a fella as I feel fer yew.”
More silence from the wash-cove, perhaps for as much as a full minute. Then Wilbur replied in a strange, stifled half-choke: “And theer en’t nuthin’ never made me so happy as what ye jest said.”
The seriousness of these conveyances seemed to materially thicken the air, like broth converting to roux. Sary knew she mustn’t overwhelm him with her feelings now, for they were ultimately selfish, and she knew that much was on his mind of late. So she changed the motive of her words: “Would yew like it if I come in theer with ya and help ya warsh? I’d jess be et up with happy were yew ta let me have my hands all abaout ya.”
The bulk surrounding the silhouette’s lower chest seemed to shift more actively; and the “tail” moved about with more deliberation. But Wilbur’s dark voice said, “Mutch as I’d like ye tew, I’m afeered ye’d be reely disquieted by seein’ me full naked. Ye already know that theer be a lot abaout me quite different from fellas as ye’re used to—”
“Wilbur!” she exclaimed, “I dun’t keer, not one bit!”
“—but, wal, I got me a idea...”
***
Emotion pulled at Wilbur’s élan vital as of one whose arms had been lashed to opposing steeds. Wilbur’s joy at having been informed of his importance to Sary had nearly caused him to collapse in a tumult of jubilant tears. There’d been nothing of the disingenuous in her voice, nothing at all, while another of Wilbur’s otherworldly aptitudes enabled him to detect with some accuracy when one was conveying untruths. Yet the impact of his joy was almost as immediately superceded by a riveting fear.
What it be Sary wants right naow is more hobknobbin’ and... He looked down at his penis, which remained an empty sheath.
Not even a specimen as vastly deviated from humankind as Wilbur could successfully engage in intercourse with such rapidity that he might possess an instantaneous sexual recovery. Dang, all this fuckin’ we been doin’ has up’n left me limp as a cut-off dog tail; in other words, intercourse with her just now had been rendered impossible. At once, though, he recalled her seeming ecstasy when he’d tended to her privates with his tongue that day on the bridge. He considered repeating this gesture, but then, a more diverse possibility occurred to him...
“Wilbur?”she insisted. “What’s this ideer’a yours?”
The curtain, of course, still intercepted her view of him, but he would need to give up this veil. “All right noaw,” he said, “what ye need ta do fust is go’n pull closed all the curtains over the little windows.”
Her excited movements were easily overheard as she discharged the instructions and came back to the cot. “I done it. What naow?”
“Naow? Wal, jest ye wait a sec,” and then he fully turned down the oil lamp’s wick. Darkness filled up the room.
“What can ye see?” he inquired.
“Why, nuthin’, a’course! ‘Tween the cartins closed and yew puttin’ off the lamp, it be darker than the bottom of a
rabbit hole!”
“Good,” Wilbur murmured. Then, completely naked, he stepped out from behind the privacy curtain and began to approach the cot.
“Wilbur?”
“I’se right heer, hon. I’se comin’ over—”
“Wal be keerful yew dun’t fall! Haow can ya see?”
“I’se jess fine, Sary,” he assured, as he was able to see, even in such tenebrousness. It might be appropriate to mention that the eyes in Wilbur’s head were essentially as normal as those of typic men; and with them, indeed, he could scarcely see a thing. Yet the paternal side of his genetic inheritance had graced him not only with two eyes in his head but also—
Two more eyes in his hips.
These were described in Hazred’s Al Azif as “ancillary ocular organs.” Did they appear as human eyes as well?
The answer to that would be an indubitable no.
The fringe of cilia surrounding each was nothing akin to eyelashes. Instead these protective hair-like strands were motile, greenish-yellow in color, and possessed of collateral sensory nerves. Each eye, too, was harbored at the front of each hip by a cusp of pink, porous mesenteric tissue which existed quite unlike a typical socket of bone. The eyes were oval, not spheric, and black, not white, with only a diminutive aperture to suffice for pupil and iris. With them exposed like this, Wilbur could see acutely through utter lightlessness, heavy fog, and torrential rain and snow; indeed, he could even see through certain solid obstructions such as clothing, wood panels, and none-too-dense sheet metal.
And just now he could, to a great and enthusiastic detail, see Sary as she lay awaiting him on the cot, her naked physique cringing for him, her breasts near to pulsing, and the frenzy of anticipation coning her nipples. She cringed further as she tried but failed to resist the impulse to stimulate her sex manually.
“Aw, Wilbur,” came her parched, liquid-like whisper, “all’s I’se livin’ fer of late is ta be made love to by yew...”
Wilbur stepped ahead, his tentaclettes all aflutter and his probosciduct elevated and pendulating. “Heer I be,” his own facsimile of a whisper returned and then he leaned carefully over, visually adoring her body with his rudimentary eyes. “Gonna tetch ye naow, but it’ll be differnt from what ye expect.”
“Dew it, please, Wilbur! Carn’t stand waitin’ ta feel ya...”
As has been aforementioned, the area of Wilbur’s body that, when juxtaposed to a human’s, would be identified as his “thorax” or upper abdomen/lower chest, was outgrown with exactly twenty boneless appendages. These were similar morphologically to, say, common garden snakes: each being possessed of a yard’s length (though further extension was possible) and a width of a half an inch. Each, too, possessed a terminus akin to a cephalopodic “sucker” combined with a mouth, and was rimmed by protractible fangs comparable to fishbones in width yet a strength far surpassing any metallic element on the known Periodic Chart. These examples of dentation Wilbur mentally commanded now to retract entirely. Additional mention, however, is thus: only eighteen of Wilbur’s tentaclettes were as described. Each side of his thorax also possessed one larger and more diverse tentaclette. Wilbur’s grandfather had called them the “dominant” tentaclettes, while they were referred to in the Wormius’ translation of the Necronomicon as the “tentaculum superiora.”
It was the pair of these organs which Wilbur’s mind now summoned to action.
He wielded them slowly and precisely, to adhere their silver-dollar-sized suckers to each of Sary’s nipples; each sucker, it has until now been neglected to add, possessed a much smaller sucker within—a sucker within a sucker, in a sense—so that the smaller affixed themselves to each of Sary’s papillae, while the more encompassing organ covered the entire areola.
And next, as was their function, they began to suck.
The sudden and quite exotic pleasure so immediately generated caused Sary to squirm, tense, and moan just as immediately. Yet this action existed only as the aperitif of what Wilbur envisioned. Eighteen more tentaclettes remained to be utilized, and the colossan wasted no time in manipulating the sucker of each to attentively encompass the tender, super-sensitive flesh of Sary’s majora and minora, and her clitoral node as well. These, too, began to suck with a steadfast precision. The intricate process, of course, provided for Sary an even more adventive means of pleasure; and the eruption of responses from her sexual nerve-network became plain with the rise of her moans and the extent of her pelvic convulsions. Wilbur, to himself, celebrated his craft in producing such a gratifying stimuli for her.
Still more remained, however.
His probosciduct reared, as if excited itself by the prospect of its next task. This malleable, tail-like appendage could extend to a length of six or so yards, and was fascinatingly adorned by purplish emblems of an annular or spiral nature. And though its terminus was indeed fitted by a fleshy duct capable of ingestion and expulsion, Wilbur’s extra-dimensional genes provided it not with teeth. It did, on the other hand, come equipped with an exaggeration of a tongue which, where taste buds would be on a terrestrial tongue, sported hundreds of diminutive wedges, better described as being like larks’ tongues. Wilbur required no great amount of contemplation as how to most creatively apply these minuscule tubules.
He brought the probosciduct to bear, so to speak, down between his own legs, and not quite but very nearly entering Sary’s vagina. The appendage would not seek penetration, but its otherworldly tongue would. With a careful slowness at first, the tongue slid forward, delving to the farthest depth of Sary’s vaginal canal, then with the same slowness began to protract and withdraw, all the while (since it was expandable) swelling to a girth which far exceeded that of Wilbur’s erection, or the erection in fact of any human male. Simultaneously, of course, the myriad of tiny tubules began to lick, revolve around, and otherwise titillate every square millimeter of Sary’s interior vagina.
The process elicited the desired effect, as the young woman flew into a delirium of exhilarating spasmodic reactivity. Wilbur then increased the tempo of the back-and-forth penetrations, until they reached a cycle more akin to that of the piston of a motor than the carnal thrusts of a man. Meanwhile, he thought he would maximize his suitor’s pleasure by unreeling the much more narrow forked tongue in his mouth, tantalize Sary’s anus, and thus afford a more complete ornamental stimulus which he hoped would be of a kind unrealizable to the present experience of women of the earth.
He would be quite correct, as well, as he engaged himself thus, in a manner of metaphor, as an organic “apparatus” whose singular purpose was to entreat as thoroughly as possible the full range of a woman’s sexual response.
Thet’s a-workin’, thet’s a-workin’...
Sary’s orgasms, though not as lengthy as those manufactured by his sperm, did indeed suffice to leave her quaking, shrieking, and spasming with previously unknown pleasures. When her nerves had fully liquidated their capacity to orgasm, Wilbur recalled all appendages, while Sary lay in a near comatose state, so potent were the rigors of her delight.
Thar’s the ticket, ee-yuh. She look more happy’n a egg-suck dog in a blammed hen house, he thought. It was a quip his grandfather used to say.
Wilbur could not have been more regaled. He relit the lamp, then briefly left her inert while he washed, dried himself, and donned clean clothes. His own penis, energized by the visual excitement of Sary’s nudity, had now assumed a semi-turgid state as his body struggled to beget more of his alchemical spermatozoa. He felt a great assurance that by morning he would have undergone more than enough refraction, whereupon more proper intercourse would ensue. His grandfather had once said, Willy, when a fella’s wore his pecker out on a gull, he needs ta take TIME afore his dick got more goods ta give up. Therefore, Wilbur took this simple pearl of wisdom to heart. There would surely be more “goods” available after a sufficient passage of time.
He gathered up his canvas carry-sack, filled with the few things he might need (a small crow bar, for instan
ce, and his pistol). A moment was all that he needed to take pen in hand and scribble a quick note, which he left conspicuously on the desk top.
Gawd, I love her, he mused, his eyes agaze at Sary’s sleeping form. He retraced his steps back to the cot, to plant a fragile kiss on her lips.
Then he left the tool-house, quietly closed the door behind him, and ventured out into the vast and illimitable night.
Sixteen
It was three gentle chimes to which Sary found herself waking, with a mist of lamplight filling the room. A second’s confusion, then the memory of her previous seizure of pleasure resurfaced, which sired a delighted moan. But a quick sweep of her hand made it clear: Wilbur was not in bed with her.
Whar could he be at THIS hour?
A tickling sensitivity flared within her sex when she rose nude from the cot. Had Wilbur gone out to check the traps? Or perhaps he was tending to the smoker. But the sliver of yellow light from the oil lamp seemed to impart a summons, so she drifted to it...
She turned up the wick, to discover a sheet of paper awaiting her on the immense desk. It read:
Deer Sary: Only the hevens know how I about have a fit just bein away from you for even a minnute. But I didnt want to wake you, figuring how tired you likely be. I hadd to go to the generul store in Aylesbury ta fetch me somethin them cads at Osborn’s don’t got. It be a long walk, I know, but do not wurry yourself becuaze you can rest sure that I’ll be back by time the sun rise, and will likewise be thinkin about you til then.
