Page 19 of Warped
CHAPTER 18
S omewhere 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 doing and 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, a scent to 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 remain downwind , 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. He needed that 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.
He watches them through slitted eyes, barely cognizant of what they are doing. The sights and sounds barely register with his mind. The grunts of the two men spit-roasting a woman on their erections. Her muffled moans as the one in front fills her mouth with his seminal fluid. The cries of the other two women as they ride the warper’s face and penis, respectively. The scent of their dripping cunts.
It is a pleasant scent… but not the one the Psi-hound is searching for.
He understands a little about this mission he’s been sent on. Snippets of thought gleaned from his handlers’ minds. He understands that there is a large sum of money to be made. An ungodly amount, to borrow a term from those who believe in things such as gods. He understands that the woman he’s tracking wishes somehow to spoil that financial opportunity, and therefore she must be eliminated.
That will be the other men’s job. Mikkelson and Lundgren. All the Psi-hound must do is lead them to her. If he’s successful, he will receive no monetary compensation as a reward. No piece of that ungodly fortune his masters stand to make from this whole affair.
He doesn’t care. Money is of no consequence to him. All that matters is the scent.
He must find the scent…
Suddenly, his body goes rigid. He has caught something. Not the scent, but an intuition, a hunch, and that is almost as good. He opens his eyelids fully and stares at the big blue warper lying on his back beneath the two writhing, howling women.
“Lundgren.”
He is answered with a muffled grunt.
“There is a way station up ahead.”
Two more grunts that might be the words: “So what?”
“The ship we’re following may have stopped there to recharge. If so, it will give me an opportunity to regain their scent. Kindly go to the cockpit and steer us in close, so I can check.”
Lundgren shoves the woman off his face and snarls. His augmetic eyes are glowing red and crazed with lust, like the eyes of a demon crossed with some wild beast caught in the throes of its seasonal rut.
“Fuck you!” he barks. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
On the other side of the hold, the man named Stanley is stroking his erect shaft, squeezing a few last drops of semen into the open mouth of the woman who is servicing him. He turns his eyes toward Lundgren with a glare of disdain.
“You’re the only one who can fly this thing,” he says. “Now do as the hound says, and get your stupid ass in the cockpit.”
Lundgren remains unmoved. He returns the man’s glare with an even deadlier glare of his own.
“Talk to me like that again,” he growls. “And you’ll be the one with a dick in your mouth.”
Stanley’s face blanches. His erection withers.
Mikkelson, still thrusting into the woman from behind, sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Lundgren,” he says without slowing the rhythm of his fucking. “Remember the bonus we’re gonna get if we catch her? With money like that, you’ll be able to get yourself a whole harem of whores. Now please, do as the Psi-hound says.”
Lundgren scowls at him for a moment. Then he grips the hips of the woman on his lap, raises her up a little, and begins viciously slamming his cock into her from below, fucking her with such violence it seems as though he is trying to kill her with his cock.
The woman does not seem to mind.
“Oh my God!” she cries. “Baby, I can feel it. I can feel you coming inside me. Oh my God, it feels so fucking good!”
It takes Lundgren several seconds to finish ejaculating. When he’s finally done, he tosses the woman aside like a spoiled child discarding a toy in which he has lost interest. He rises and stomps away toward the cockpit, his hard member swinging back and forth in front of him, slinging a few last drops of fluid in its wake.
The others watch him until he is out of sight. Then they return to what they were doing before. The woman who had been sitting on Lundgren’s face crawls over to her companion, whom the big warper just filled with seed, and kisses her passionately on the mouth. Then she lowers her face between the woman’s open thighs and starts to lap at the warm, thick cream leaking out of her. Both women moan with renewed ecstasy.
The sight is more than the Psi-hound can stand. All his pent-up pleasure starts oozing out of his swollen tip, drooling down his throbbing shaft to pool on the floor between his folded legs.
It doesn’t matter. The Psi-hound is no longer worried about distractions. He is certain he will find what he seeks at the way station.
He will find the woman’s scent.