Article 12466 of alt.sex.cthulhu: From: chfrost@aol.com (CHFrost) Newsgroups: alt.sex.cthulhu Subject: Story: The Rutting Room - Part V Date: 13 Feb 1997 07:38:14 GMT Note: I did not write this story, so don't bitch at me if you don't like it. This is a bastardized version of the original story that I found on the net! Important Safety Tip: This is a Lovecraft based, gothic horror story and is extremely graphic! It includes - f/M, f/F, F/M, f/f, F/f, ff/M, M/f, ?/fu, mc, nc, incest, oral, anal, hermaphroditism, transformation, portal openings, ect... Age Limit: 18 THE RUTTING ROOM - Part V Adapted by Wendy Palmer From a story by Grant Morrison This then was the grotesque scene that greeted me when I entered the room. I will not lie; I wanted to retch from witnessing the vilest scenes of depravity and degradation I have ever known, but at the same time I was fascinated by the bizarre strangeness. I must admit that the ten-fold increase in my arousal pushed me to the threshold of my self-control. Here was pure flesh, pure desire, set free of all restraint and civility, given uninhibited expression. Here all the erotic impulses that drive the human animal were here distilled and unleashed. The room itself was no less active than its occupants. Every object strained at the limits of its construction. Chairs, tables, candles, toys, furnishings: All these things ached with a newly revealed eroticism, each attempting to form of its substance some representation of a vagina, a breast, or a cock. The walls, floor, and ceiling were alive. They were suffused with a rosy glow, they extended stalagmite dildoes upon which the room's female occupants pleasured themselves. Vibrating gashes blinked open in the walls, dripping with cunt juice, exhorting the eager men and women to fill them. Forcing my eyes closed, my mind and body shuddered. I could not tell if I was in Heaven or Hell. My cock pulsed horribly and just as I felt it would surely rip through the front of my trousers, there was a quick movement behind and around me. Mrs. Bedlow lost control; In outrageous lust she had fiercely yanked my trousers and boxers down to my ankles. Wrapping both of her hands around my hugely outstretched member, she began to pump it. Everything was fine. The soft motion of her hands on my swollen organ felt so right, so good. No, beyond good. Glancing at Valentine, blindly surveying the room, I fought to think, tried to describe what I was seeing. I knew that he saw something quite different. His "sealed vision" permitted him to penetrate to the hidden nature of things. He saw the naked room. "My God!" I heard him say. "The taint runs deep..." He raised his bandaged hand toward the tall, narrow windows on the far side of the room. The windows themselves had become wide open slits, beautiful vaginas who's large labia were fashioned from the very fabric of the lacy curtains that had hung in a girl's bedroom. I forced myself to look beyond the carnal chaos of those vibrating windows, as fliting, urgent hands wrapped tighter around the breadth of my pounding penis, pulling and stroking in sympathetic beat to that of the room. Instead of chimneys and treetop and clouds, I found an obsidian sky, filled with strange liquid stars. Silhouetted against these dream constellations, I discerned vast structures. The windows of these threatening buildings were lit with a wholly different spectrum of unearthly colors. The buildings spat vast streamers of aurorae into the sky, and I heard strange sounds, like liver slapping against unhewn stone, which fill me with dread to this day. For just a moment, it seemed, I was granted a vision of a world beyond all known philosophies. A world where amniotic seas raged through living cities. Where vast things lurched and slithered. "What is that place?" I croaked. "What are those buildings?" "They're not just buildings," Valentine said, as he began to unwrap the stained bandages that covered his left hand. It pains me to confess that, at that moment, I lost all control. Mrs. Bedlow pulled me back and I fell. The room roared and fluxed around me, and I raised my head to see Mrs. Bedlow had been joined by her daughter. Four wet hands enshrouded the frightfully large visage of my cock had become, pumping fanatically up and down like they might have been trying to churn milk into butter. Mrs. Bedlow held my fleshy pillar in her hands as Imogen's slippery lips fastened around the angrily swollen knob of my huge erection. I bucked my hips up to slide in and out of her warm mouth, feeling strange open spaces at the back of her throat. As her tongue swabbed the peach-sized head of my cock, two more tongues slid out of the holes in the back of her throat, bathing and wrapping themselves around my bloated length. As she she gorged herself on me, I found my fingers were buried deeply in her mother's vagina. Fringing her off, I could feel the muscles of her pussy tense and suck at my hand. Mrs. Bedlow leaned over into me, her magnificant tits had swelled so much that they had torn completely free of her binding blouse. She rubbed and smooshed their heavenly softness against my chest as I helped her divest me of my remaining clothing. Her tongue dove into my mouth, seeking mine as Imogen forced her head down onto my now goliath priapian cock like a sword swallower at the circus, as if she had been doing it for years. Dr. Bedlow was a wreak of his former self. His own penis had grown very long and thick, but the travesty that racked his flesh the most was the second prick that now jutted out below the upper. His hands each encircled one of his dicks, beating his drooling members to a purple color, as he stared transfixed at Imogen. Imogen's arse was raised high in the air as she swallowed every last inch of me. Like a ripe fruit that begged to be plucked, Dr. Bedlow suddenly launched himself at her. Her own father's dreadfully large, raw looking cocks took her from behind, impaling both her tight anus and the dripping slit of her pussy. Wicked grins of pleasure crossed both of their faces as he tore into her with a titan's zeal. Mrs. Bedlow's excited, lactating nipples writhed upon my chest and loins as I saw Giselle and her father joining our orgy. As my fist continued pounding in and out of Mrs. Bedlow, Giselle Barnes approached her from the rear. Prying apart her ass cheeks, Giselle forced her oozing cock-fist into Mrs. Bedlow's arse. Meanwhile, Mr. Barnes took up a position behind Giselle and shoved one of his own bifurcating penises up his little girl's anus, horribly stretching wide her sphincter muscles, while he simultaneously rammed his other cock deep into her hot, fluid dripping vagina. Abandoning myself to the delirious, tidal flow of the bewitching room, I felt like my penis was hard enough to turn to steel in the reddish electromagnetic field of lust that pulsated through our bodies. The gigantic spasming cunt that Sarah Jane had become, and the tentacle-ringed, whale cocked monstrosity that had once been a constable, thrashed violently together. His oozing cock tentacles whipped wildly around, then coiled around her huge, double clit-tits. Pulling her huge slavering cunt towards his behemoth drooling prick, pure masculinity and pure femininity met and locked in a bizarre primeval embrace of sexual copulation. The two sexual forms embraced in a riot of motion, pounding into each other with tremendous force and energy. The deafening sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh became horrifically loud as the huge penis and the grasping maw of a vagina slammed over and over into each other. They seemed to be searching out the depths of one another, probing, wriggling, bending, clutching and stretching in unbelievably obscene ways, a hideous expression of pure erotic sensuality. Watching the spectacle closer, the altered forms of the maid and the constable seemed to be fusing together somewhere in the center of the room, creating a new and fabulous organism. I saw the shrieking, deformed thing rearing up towards the ceiling and collapsing like a wave. It was beautiful and glorious, a living Henry Moore sculpture carved from oozing, thrusting flesh. It strained for heights of gratification I could scarcely imagine, and I watched it pass into the palpitating substance of the room itself. Then I collapsed, hovering on the bring of orgasm for what seemed like endless hours. Suddenly Imogen was torn away from me. I looked up through the red fog to see Valentine breaking up the mass orgy. He then pushed Giselle back against a wall. She tounged the air, pleading with him to abuse her. Calmly, Valentine removed a key from his pocket and placed it in the girl's mouth. Her eyes closed in bliss and she began to suck on the rusty key. Valentine ignored the hands that scrabbled at the belt of his trousers and turned the key in Giselle's mouth. I swear that I heard the clanking sound of an ancient lock. Giselle's eyes snapped open, like switchblades, and she began to scream. For a moment the spell was broken. Mrs. Bedlow grabbed Imogen's arm and made for the door. "Get them out of here!" Valentine shouted. I reached for my clothes to try and restore some dignity to my appearance, but found only shreaded remnants. "Forget your clothes!" he cried. "Just get them out!" Ignoring my nakedness, I managed to push the others out of the room and onto the landing. I paused at the threshold and turned. Valentine lifted his uncovered hand. It was withered terribly, like the hand of some mummified king. This, I knew, was another legacy of his most dreadful confrontation with The Mysteries. Angela had died and Valentine had lost the use of his hand. It had, however, become for him a potent object of power. He placed birthday-cake candles on the tips of each finger and lit them. Then he lifted his Hand of Glory in preparation for the final battle. "Valentine, for God's sake!" I whispered. "You can't fight them alone." "I'm not alone," he said. "Get out now, while you still can. The only way to stop them from coming through is to use the room's own power against them. It'll destroy you if you stay." The air was filling with viscous streamers. Pearly-white, like semen floating free of gravity, this substance filled the air around us. Thin tendrils glistened and sang. "They're coming!" he said. "I can't leave you to fight them alone..." I tried to say again. "Out!" he yelled, and the door blew shut in my face. "May God help you, Valentine," I whispered. There was a moment of calm in which I heard Imogen Bedlow weeping softly, and then a surge of power shook the walls and I was thrown down the stairs. Recovering my senses, I saw that Imogen and Mr. Barnes were sprawled out on the landing in a yin yang position, their faces buried between each others wet thighs. Imogen's three tongues wrestled around his freakish siamese cock. Mrs. Bedlow was slamming herself up and down on her husbands freakish double cocks crying loudly, "Oh...you...bloody...oh... incestual...uhh...bastard! Oh...we...uhh...know...uhh...what...you... ahhhh...did...with...umm...poor...uhh...Imogen...yessss...before... ohhhh..." She spat and slapped at him even as she impaled herself repeated on his dual prongs, tears flowing like rivers. Her vicious slaps left red welted handprints on his face and chest as he gripped her hips and forcefully ground his long cocks up into both her vagina and rectum. A fearful grin crossed his face as she yelled and beat him. Giselle lay on her back in a depraved example of contortion; Her legs were bent far back, ankles crossed behind her neck. She was pounding the daylights out of herself with her grossly dripping cock-fist. Clutching a huge breast with her other hand, she milking it till creamy fluid shot out from her baby penis-sized nipples. Imogen backed up, dragging Mr. Barnes with her by his cocks, and mounted the stairway's blunt-ended wooden banister rail, her wet gash humping and mashed against its vibrating length. I desperately fought with the urge to join them. There was a great undulating sound from The Rutting Room and before I knew what I was doing, I had straddled the banister at the bottom of the stairs, aiming my throbbing olympian-sized erection up at Imogen's dripping cunt. The smacking noises my huge cock made as it slapped wetly against the railing succeeded in gaining her undivided attention. Grinning lasciviously, Imogen let go, quickly sliding down the slick wooden banister. I was almost sent flying across the floor as she powerfully impaled herself on the full length of my battering ram of a penis. Imogen let out a blood-curdling scream is the huge shaft suddenly plowed all the way into. Her magnificantly large, pointed breasts flopped around giddily as her momentum ground to a bone-jarring halt. I found myself running my hands over her luscious orbs, squeezing and pulling at her elongated nipples till milk flowed out freely. I felt the smooth, sweeping curve of her bucking thighs and ass cheeks, as I pushed and pulled her, forcing her wet pussy on and off my relentlessly pounding member. We rutted away like wild beasts for what seemed like long hours till my swollen penis was raw. My seed boiled and seethed inside my testes till it felt like it was backing up into my belly. She let out a roar of wicked delight that echoed my own as my body shook violently and blasted her insides with a tremendous amount of burning spew. As I ejaculated the undulating sound from the room itself intensified. The clobwebs momentarily cleared from my mind, and I dragged myself back up the stairs. I could not leave Valentine to his fate. But, as I passed by the grossly contorted form of Giselle, the human pretzel, my pulsing dick drew me over to her like a metal needle swinging to point at the north pole. She now hand her phallus-fist shoved up her ass. Her swollen, moist, pussy meat called for me to skewer it. I could not resist. Like some weird wet dream, I sank my enormous, blood engorged shaft deep into her. Fucking each other frantically, her cunt lips and inner muscles bit and crushed at my massive erection until I blew a massive load into her hungrily, semen craving quim. Trembling with pleasure I withdrew, feeling the thudding power of the room intensifying yet again. On wobbly legs, I again made for the door. My shaking hands grapped the tit-like thing the doorknob had become, and I opened the door. Of Sarah Jane and the young constable, no evidence remained, except for a shuddering cube of stressed flesh that was trying to move around the room. Valentine hung suspended and naked in the center of the room. He thrashed at the heart of a twitching web, a great spidery crucifixion. Filaments and protrusions extended from every corner of the room to penerate his mouth and rectum. His pelvis bucked and his penis slammed like a piston in and out of a soaking orifice that the room had manufactured for itself. "Valentine!" I shouted, but he did not respond. His body spasmed automatically. The far wall no longer existed, and in its place there was the vista of staggering abnormality, through which the monsterous "buildings" lurched. What looked like inhuman faces were scorched on the other walls. Leering, symbol drawings like forgotten glyphs appeared and were erased by unseen hands. The word "SUBMIT" was scrawled with some diarrheal substance that faded into bilious smoke. Saliva ran from the walls. I felt that I was being allowed to simply observe a battle that I could not comprehend. Looking up, I saw Valentine extend his flaming Hand of Glory. The tiny candles flared, and shredded paper began to rain down from the ceiling. The room's breathing grew more rapid and the walls flushed red. The same color spread across Valentine's skin like a rash. His own breathing was synchronized with that of the room. Together they ascended toward some inconcievable climax. The Mysteries reached into the room, spreading a scabbed, diseased shadow across the gaping windowsill. There was one ineffable moment when everything paused at once, and then Valentine threw back his head and screamed. It is to my eternal shame that I fled from the room and did not stay to help my friend. Instead I joined Mrs. Bedlow and the others for a final mesmeric orgy. Imogen's three tongued mouth wrapped around her father's cocks as Mrs. Bedlow's bruised lips locked about my singular one. I was lost. Sucking me fast a furiously, Mrs. Bedlow was what we all had become: unchained wild things. My hulking organ oozed slickly as she plunged, first her ass then her pussy onto it. Spending just enough time for us to reach a mutual orgasm in a hole, she would trade off with one of her other orifices till our juices flowed and pooled both in, on and around our heaving, straining, sweating bodies. The depraved side effect of being in close proximity to the Horney Chamber was our ability to orgasm an almost inummerable number of times, fatigue almost being irradicated. However, there is a limit to consciousness. I found it and was pushed beyond it. When I came back to my senses, as if waking from a fantastical wet dream of boyish youth, it was to find Valentine standing over me. The fingertips of his left hand were charred to matchsticks. "I'm sorry..." I began. "It's all right," he said. "They're gone for now, and there was nothing you could have done to help. This doorway to them has been sealed forever." "Thank God," I muttered. Then I saw the unconscious bodies of my consorts laying in a tangle on the floor all about me. "What have I done?" Valentine shook his head. "More than you know. Yet, what a price! More lives ruined by those gastly monsters." "But what about you?" I asked. He simply turned and walked back toward the door that opened onto the Horney Chamber. At the threshold he paused and looked down. "When Angela died, I thought I had died to love," he said. "I was cored-out, a hollow shell. Now it seems I've found the thing that was lost to me." "The room?" I said, barely articulating the words. He nodded. "I was enflamed," he said quietly. "I transformed the room into an instrument of purest love. The carnal and spiritual united. The Mysteries had managed to pervert the room's true inclinations. I restored them." I knew then what he was about to say. "The Horney Chamber, powered by love, opens out into innumerable worlds. It can be followed through dreams, into unimaginable universes," he said. "Rainbow skies, and blue, raging storms of tear-stained love notes. And there are others out there. Enemies of The Mysteries. Beings so wonderful that a whole world can not contain them. It's all out there old chap." He smiled at me. "That's were I'm going. Where I must go." He reached out and laid his ruined hand on my shoulder. The gentle touch filled me with such a presence of joy that I could hardly contain it. "Remember, we will always be friends," he said. "Goodbye." He opened the door. From within, I heard the sound of great sighing. The room was filled with light; spring mornings and new rain, scented black chiffons, red lamps swinging in the sweat of the night. All colors of desire, all love and longing expressed in one eloquent rush of charmed air. "Goodbye, Aubrey," I said. Aubrey Valentine stepped into the room where love lives and closed the door, and I never saw him again. <><><>