Firefly. Part 33

"But he couldn't let her go. As he entered the house, he tried a desperate device. 'I will heave you up, and catch you higher,' he told her. 'Are you ready? Heave!' And he heaved, and she rose several inches-but his trousers didn't. He staggered several steps farther, then heaved again, and again it worked, but not for his trousers. He was in desperate straits.

" 'Where is your room?' he gasped.

"She indicated a room to the right. He carried her in there-and discovered that there was no bed as yet, or other furniture in it. Unwilling to dump her on the floor, but needing to put her somewhere so that he could pull up his trailing trousers, he lumbered across the room to the window. He set her posterior on the sill just as his trousers and shorts lost their last purchase and dropped to the floor, about his ankles.

"He looked past her head and her cloud of hair, out the window. This was a rear chamber, opening on a small yard limited by a big wooden wall that screened it from his own house beyond. But the oddest thing was that to the side there seemed to be a bit of forest and a body of water, perhaps a lake, when he knew there was nothing like that in this neighborhood. He stared, but could not get a sufficient view of it past her head. He drew back his head-and she drew back hers, and met his gaze directly. Her eyes seemed as deep as the sky.

"Now he realized that somehow not only had his trousers dropped, but her robe had ridden up or been drawn aside, so that his crotch was against hers. His member had shrunk in the effort of carrying her, but now it was resurging-and it was right at her cleft. If he didn't move away quickly, it would grow right into her!

"He knew that he should disengage immediately. But her eyes held him, and her grip on his shoulders did not relent. Only her knees relaxed, letting his body nudge more firmly against hers as her legs spread wide. She was a lovely girl, and seemed so willing, that somehow he just remained in place and let his erection find its way.

"Then he heard a sound outside the house. The girl's mother was coming in! In a moment they would be discovered! Yet such was the pa.s.sion of the moment, he did not draw away. Instead he began to thrust, hoping that somehow he could complete the job and disengage before her mother-"

They were coming into the vicinity of the cabin. Geode discovered that he had an erection himself. He stopped and turned to her. Jade literally jumped off the bike and hiked up her skirt; she had nothing on beneath now, though he was sure she had when they started out. He loosened his belt and dropped his jeans and shorts, and she leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around him. "In! In!" she exclaimed.

He was trying to hold her up, catching her in the same grip as described in the story, his hands on her b.u.t.tocks. But he wasn't in her. What would the man in the story have done?

"He let go with one hand for a moment," Jade gasped, as if continuing the story. "And reached around and between her spread thighs, finding his member and pus.h.i.+ng it into place."

Gratefully, he suited her word to his action. But not with perfect skill. He was standing, barely maintaining his balance, with her clinging to him, and somehow it just wasn't aligned. Things were jamming instead of juxtaposing.

"It snagged," she said. "But then she wiggled, and abruptly it went in." Her skill was greater than his, making her words accurate.

Just like that, he penetrated her. She clung to him, and bounced, and then pulled her face around to meet his, and kissed him. The muscles of her cleft clenched, and then he was thrusting, and the spasm of it took him.

He was so awe-stricken by the accomplishment that it muted much of the pleasure. He had achieved s.e.x with a woman! He stood there, holding her, as his o.r.g.a.s.m pa.s.sed. What an accomplishment!

She broke the kiss at last, and smiled at him. "I knew you could do it, Geode. I love you."

"I love you," he echoed.

Then the position became awkward. Actually, it had been awkward from the start, but their mutual eagerness to get the job done had overridden all else. She put down her feet, touched the ground as he bent his knees to bring her down, and let him slide out of her. Quickly, efficiently, she mopped herself with a tissue, and put on her panties (which magically reappeared) and skirt. He put on his own clothing.

Then they resumed their travel, without speaking a further word. None was necessary.

Yet even as they came in sight of the cabin, Geode had his erection back. It struggled for straightness within his jeans, embarra.s.sing him. He managed to get it vertical, relieving some of the discomfort, but the desire for renewed s.e.x remained.

"It's the firefly!" Jade exclaimed, noticing. "I feel it too!"

That was it, of course. She had thought she smelled it before, and had begged him for s.e.x; now they were closer to the source, and were both affected.

"We can't let Cyrano see us like this!" she said. Indeed, her bosom was heaving, her eyes were staring, and her mouth fell to slackness when she wasn't talking.

"But I have to check on him, and tell him Mid didn't call back."

"Yes. So take the edge off, now." She got off the bike again and grabbed his arm, drawing him behind a large live oak.

It made sense. If they did it now, they would be relaxed in Cyrano's presence, and not embarra.s.s themselves. He dropped his jeans again, as she scrambled out of her skirt and panties.

There was no art to it. He spread his legs and bent his knees so as to lower his torso, and she stepped in and set herself on his member. She was so well lubricated that penetration was immediate and complete. It was just like one of her stories! Then she closed her legs tightly, sealing him into her, and clasped his body to hers. Spread-legged, he thrust, so hard it actually lifted her from the ground, and burst. The o.r.g.a.s.m was more powerful than before, radiating out from his groin and spreading through his thighs and belly. The entire center of his torso was a nexus of ultimate pleasure.

"The wine of the G.o.ds," she gasped, shuddering against him. Her climax provided pleasure to the waning stages of his, extending its delight. "I've never had one like this! You're some lover, Geode!"

"It's the firefly," he reminded her. That was the one flaw in this bliss. He knew he hadn't done it himself, he had borrowed the pheromones provided by the firefly. It signaled not his conquest of impotence, but the power of the creature they hunted. The power to give even an impotent man a violent erection, and to make a woman climax almost as fast as he did, just from that penetration. No s.e.x was like that, in ordinary life, he was sure.

"We'll do it again at the house!" she exclaimed as she relaxed. "We'll do it on our own! We don't need the firefly!"

Geode nodded agreement, though he wasn't sure. The sniff of the monster's victims had given him erections, yet his impotence had remained. Now the firefly was close, and performing its magic.

"Now we've done it, we can do it again!" she said as she got hastily back into her clothing, and he got into his.

He hoped so! This had been an experience like no other, and he didn't want to give it up.

But now they had to see Cyrano. They checked each other, making sure that their sudden savage bout of s.e.x did not show, and cut across the field toward the cabin.

Yet even as he reached the door, Geode felt his erection returning. Those pheromones would not let go!

Cyrano let them in. His trousers were bulging, and the man did not bother to conceal it. "The thing is close, and getting closer," he said. "How many times did you folk have to have it off before you made it here?"

Secrecy was impossible! "Twice," Geode said.

"And more coming up," Jade agreed.

"I figure the thing never went far, after the last one," Cyrano said. "It stayed near, so its ambience built up, and now it's closing for the kill, turning it on. It doesn't even care if I know it's coming; it figures it can take me."

"You shouldn't wait for it alone," Jade said.

"You folk don't dare wait here! You'd be so busy f.u.c.king you wouldn't be any help anyway, no offense."

"No offense," she agreed. "It's true."

"Mid never called back," Geode said.

"Good! After sitting through this, d.a.m.ned if I want to give it up. I can't eat or relax; I just sit here watching and thinking of s.e.x orgies. Gimme a hundred women, any age, or a hundred men even-it wouldn't be enough. I'm saving the mask for nightfall; that's when the firefly'll come all the way in. That's when I've got to have my mind on my business instead of my p.e.c.k.e.r. Now get out of here before I attack the two of you. Come back in the morning, and I'll have the thing caged."

They nodded, and made a hasty retreat. Such was their renewed urgency that they couldn't even get clear of the house; they stepped into each other against the outer wall, tearing fly open and panties aside, and pounded into mergence. They didn't care if Cyrano overheard; he understood the situation well enough. They didn't bother with kissing; that only slowed things.

This time Geode wasn't sure he actually e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, but he did have the o.r.g.a.s.m. It seemed to reach down to his knees and up to his chest. Jade seemed to feel the same; every part of her body touching him was hot and slick with sweat.

Then she pulled back, not waiting for his erection to subside, and yanked her clothing into place. Geode crammed his member back into his jeans. As an afterthought, she hauled her panties off and tucked them into a pocket, so that she was bare-bottomed. He didn't need to ask why. They resumed their tour, he afoot, she on the bike.

But instead of going limp, his p.e.n.i.s only softened somewhat. Already it was girding for further action. Jade, glancing sidelong at him, licked her lips. How far through the forest would they make it before they had to pause again?

"Maybe next time you can stay on the bike," he said. "I'll come up behind. You can support yourself better, using the handlebars."

"Yes," she said. "That will be faster. I'll just lean forward." Because, as they both knew now, love was not the object here; there was only s.e.x, as fast and often as feasible. Until they got out of the ambience of the firefly.

* 38 - CYRANO HEARD THEM going at it just outside the door. G.o.d, what he wouldn't do for a woman right now! But that would be no good for the same reason that their company was no good: you couldn't keep good watch while you were f.u.c.king.

He walked to the window and watched them go. She was riding the red bicycle, with a short skirt, and her bare bottom showed in flashes as her legs pumped. d.a.m.n, he envied Demerit right now! That little b.i.t.c.h might be in her thirties, but in the ambience of the firefly she had become the s.e.xiest creature on two legs.

But the lure of the monster was greater. s.e.x was a sometime thing, but the capture of the firefly would be the accomplishment of the century. After that he could have all the s.e.x he wanted, simply by bringing a woman near it. Mid would make a fortune-the man knew how to exploit a thing like this!-and he would reward Cyrano suitably. Success, notoriety, and wealth: everything offered, after this night. So what was a little s.e.xual frustration?

He turned from the window and walked back to his central chair. His trousers pulled tight in the crotch, and he felt his member throbbing again, going into a familiar spasm.

He waited for it to subside, then opened his fly. He unwrapped the handkerchief from his p.e.n.i.s, wiped around himself, and brought out a new handkerchief. He wound this carefully around the member and tucked the ma.s.s in, closing his fly. He had lost count of the number of spasms he had had; there was a pile of soggy handkerchiefs in the sink. He was trying to avoid climaxing, because it wasn't good to push the body too far; after a time the s.e.m.e.n would be exhausted and a bloodlike fluid would spurt instead. To the pheromones it made no difference; they whipped the horse onward though it died in the effort. But he wanted to preserve his health. So he mostly sat, unmoving, and watched, though there were hours yet before the firefly came.

Came-now there was a nice entendre. The firefly came, and the victim came. But the firefly was feeding, and the victim was dying. Dying in ecstasy, but nevertheless done for. That wasn't what he wanted.

Had the firefly ever before encountered a victim who was ready for it? Cyrano doubted it. Down in the depths of the sea, there was no human intelligence. Oh, there were some pretty smart creatures, all right. The whale had a brain bigger than man's-but when figured as a proportion of total body ma.s.s, it was smaller. The giant squids were smart; they had to be, to control their prehensile tentacles. But only man had gone beyond the constraints of his environment and into art and technology and philosophy. Only man was aware of his own mortality-and guarded against it with a foresight unmatchable by any other creature.

Even if the thing had human intelligence, it didn't have technology, and that would spell the difference. A native from an uncivilized tribe would have complete human intelligence, but would be helpless against the marvels of civilization. The Europeans had destroyed the primitives of America not because they were better men, or smarter, but because they had technology. The simple facet of it known as the gun had made all the difference.

Well, Cyrano had a gun here, but he didn't expect to use it. He had a cattle prod too, and a.s.sorted other gimmicks. The prod he expected to use; with it he would prod the firefly into the cage. He still didn't know what the firefly looked like, but he judged it was small, really no larger than a man, and defenseless, other than its chemical factory. Otherwise it wouldn't be sneaking in at night; it would be charging in by day, in the manner of a tiger.

Mainly, he would be alert, as the victims usually weren't, and using the gas mask, as none had before. Instead of a pa.s.sive victim, the firefly would find an active one. That should be an entirely different matter.

The firefly. That was certainly a good name for it. To human beings, the flas.h.i.+ng of fireflies in the dusk was pretty and quaint, but to the fireflies themselves it was a matter of reproduction and death. The flashes were s.e.xual signals, and the males would fly around for days in the hope of a connection that would be over in seconds. Sometimes a female of a related, predator species would signal a male in, and he would come down with ardent expectations. But when he tried to mate, his light would flash in desperation, for instead of copulation he found death. The female caught him and consumed him. s.e.x had lured him to his doom. Cyrano had speculated more than once on the irony of that. That might have been a reason he had never married.

His erection was painful again. It required only minutes for the urge to recharge. Those pheromones were amazingly potent! They were the firefly lights that signaled human beings in, and they were every bit as compelling.

But a firefly who knew the signals were false would not fly in. In every species, survival was stronger than the s.e.xual urge. Even among the praying mantises, maligned as cannibals. It was true that in some species the female consumed the male, and indeed even decapitated him before he completed copulation, but he survived long enough to impregnate her, and in most cases he completed his mission and moved away unscathed. If he knew she was going to eat him, he would stay clear. There was the key: if he knew.

Cyrano knew the monster was coming to consume him. No amount of s.e.xual incentive could override that awareness. The firefly did not know that this victim was aware and ready, so the tables would be turned. If the firefly knew, it would avoid him-but it couldn't know. It was coming in for the kill; that was the proof it didn't know.

Where was the monster hiding? The more Cyrano dwelt on this, the more he realized that it had to be close, very close. The prior victims had not been aware of such tremendous s.e.xual imperative; they had slept, or in the case of Bull Shauer, had been stunned. So they had been unconscious or unable to move, and the monster had crept up on them and taken them. Had they wakened when it touched them? Maybe, but then it was too late. The pheromones in the air had been replaced by the pheromones in direct contact. Or by paralyzing drugs, more likely. Contact was too late, whether the victim was an amorous male firefly or a human being.

So the monster had homed in on sleeping victims, and the pheromones had been less evident. But this time it had remained in the vicinity, and its cloud of pheromones had intensified. It might even be snoozing under this house. Cyrano had checked the place carefully, inside and out, and found nothing, but since he did not know what he was looking for, that didn't mean much. Maybe the firefly had watched him, then moved close when he finished checking. That would not take more intelligence than was available to any predator. Certainly the presence was strong, and had been all day. Last night too; Cyrano had slept, and had had violently s.e.xy dreams, but had been secure in the knowledge that it was too soon for the firefly to feed.

He pondered again its likely mode of reproduction. Parthenogenic egg-laying, using the substance culled from the victims as the substance of the eggs, there to feed the developing embryo. All the elements of a good diet were present, except perhaps those locked in the bones. The firefly might not have bones. So it laid an egg every three days, and went in search of more protein.

Where were those eggs? They must be buried somewhere. Surely they weren't out in the open, where any animal could chew on them! They had to be under the earth, or perhaps in the water of the river or lake. A creature from the sea surely returned to the water for that; it would be thousands of years before it adapted to the land. So under the muck of the lake was where the eggs had to be. When would they hatch? After he captured the firefly, maybe he would be able to track down the eggs and learn their cycle. Maybe the firefly would lay an egg in captivity, and he could study it that way. The possibilities were exciting.

So Cyrano pondered, as he waited for the firefly, all afternoon. The waiting was dull, and he began to get sleepy, but he knew that was death. He roused himself, took a drink of water, and sat back in his chair. He could sleep after he had captured the firefly!

At last dusk came. The ambience of s.e.x was even more intense. His erection was painful, and didn't subside even when there was another emission. In fact, he seemed to be approaching a state of continuous low-grade o.r.g.a.s.m, his groin hot and pleasant. It was time for the mask.

He donned it. Soon his body relaxed; the pheromones were being filtered out. It was a relief!

Now he heard something. It was a high keening, as of a tuning fork, faint but definite. Was that the hunting melody of the firefly? No one now alive knew for sure! Maybe its metabolism was such that it had to make that noise when traveling, the way the wings of wood doves whistled as they flew up from the ground. But the sound was so faint that it wouldn't wake a sleeping person.

He gripped his cattle prod in one hand and a knife in the other. The thing was flesh, so the knife would cut it, but he hoped he wouldn't have to do that. He intended to trap it in the cabin and then prod it into the cage and seal it in. Then he would feed it chunks of meat or whatever it would consume; soon enough he would find out how to maintain it. But first he had to catch his rabbit.

The keening grew louder. Where was its origin? He couldn't tell; it seemed directionless. But it meant the monster was close, very close. He felt excitement, and some fear; this was dangerous, he knew. Before, the concupiscence had blotted out fear, which might also account for prior victims' failure to flee. In a moment it should show itself.

He was sweating. Nervous energy-and a long time seated. His trousers were clammy against his b.u.t.tocks; he felt almost as if he were sitting on a cus.h.i.+on of water. But he was not about to move until he spied the firefly. He didn't want to scare it off. It had to think he was asleep or helpless. Once it discovered otherwise, the battle would be on.

His posterior was turning numb. He ought to stand up, get some circulation in his legs, but not right at this moment. The keening was loud now, seeming to be all around him. The firefly was close, close! In a moment he would see it slide in that door. For he suspected it was snakelike; only a python could account for its lack of footprints. Or a slug. Something low and quiet, with the ability to move across the ground without leaving a trace. A snake was the most likely. But maybe more like a ribbonfish, flat, so it could squeeze under a door. He didn't dare move until it committed itself, and actually entered the chamber.

He must be sweating something fierce! Now he felt a trickle sliding down between his b.u.t.tocks, across his a.n.u.s. He wanted to scratch, but his hands were full of prod and knife. Where was that monster? He was about to slide out of his chair on a tide of nervous sweat!

Something seemed to probe his a.n.u.s; it was an almost physical sensation, distracting him from his watch on the doorway. Wouldn't it be ironic if he broke his concentration to s.h.i.+ft about and scratch at his a.s.s, and right then the firefly came in and caught him with his guard down! He held his gaze where it belonged; to h.e.l.l with his sweaty seat!

The probe centered, and infiltrated. It was like grease sliding into his r.e.c.t.u.m, setting up for the enema hose. As it got inside, it felt good, very good. It was as though the enema were starting, warm and smooth, distending his chamber, no real pressure yet, just nice and relaxing. With a pretty nurse operating it, her touch delicate, almost caressing. It was on the verge of s.e.xual, the way it spread into the tissue, the lining, turning it on. In fact, it was as if he were starting another o.r.g.a.s.m, this one centered on the a.n.u.s instead of the p.e.n.i.s.

An o.r.g.a.s.m? He touched his mask. Was it leaking? Were the pheromones getting through? No, it seemed tight. But he was definitely feeling a s.e.xual thrill down there.

Then, slowly, he realized. The firefly-it had somehow come up behind him! It had extended a pseudopod into his pants and gotten into his a.s.s! It was cornholing him!

He should jump up, rip it out, turn, and bash it! Everything depended on immediate action. He knew that.

But he knew also that what he was feeling was the most exquisite sensation ever in his life. His entire colon was radiating pleasure. Forget about o.r.g.a.s.ms; this was beyond them! It was so great, he just had to savor it a moment more, just a moment more, before he gave it up. He knew what he had to do, but it could wait that one second. Two seconds.

Cyrano sat there, and he didn't move. The rapture spread upward and outward, through his body.

The firefly was feeding.

* 39 - "d.a.m.n IT!" FRANK Tishner gazed at the clothed skeleton sitting in the chair. Even the gas mask remained in place, hanging on the front of the skull. Cyrano had so eagerly sought the monster, and had underestimated it. One more victim claimed.

What was he going to do? Cyrano had taken away the last body, but that couldn't happen now. There seemed to be no alternative; he had to do it himself.

He went out and checked Cyrano's van. Sure enough, there was a shovel there, in an a.s.sortment of useful tools. He walked to the verge of the forest, where leaves covered the floor. He donned gloves and carefully brushed the leaves to one side, making a pile. Then, picking a section without roots, he went to work with the shovel.

He dug a deep, narrow hole, setting the dirt on the piled leaves. Then he went to the cabin and gingerly picked up the chair with the bones. This close contact gave him a whiff of it; he wished he could hold his breath, but he couldn't. In consequence, he got an erection. He hated this business of handling a gruesome corpse and reacting as if it gave him a s.e.xual thrill. Understanding about pheromones helped some, but not enough; he knew that what was coming off those bones was entering his system and putting it through hoops.

He balanced the chair so that nothing slid off, and carried it out to his hole. There he tilted it, letting the bones slide off, into the hole. They hung up at the rim; he did what he didn't like, and used his gloves to pack them together so that they would go down. When they were all in, he shoveled in the dirt, packing it down firmly. There was too much, so he carried several shovelfuls to the river and tossed them in. Then he spread the leaves back across, so that the site looked undisturbed. Only if someone knew exactly where to look would this be discovered-and who would be looking?

It was well hidden; his erection was subsiding. What a way to verify a thing like that!

He took the chair back to the cabin and set it where it had been. He took Cyrano's knife and cattle prod back to the van and added them and the shovel to the pile of tools. He checked to make sure there was no other evidence of Cyrano's presence. Fortunately, the man had been all business, not even eating during his vigil; there were no traces.

Now, what about the van? Where could he take it, where it wouldn't be found?

The question prompted others. How could he drive it somewhere distant-without leaving his own car here? And in order to drive it, he needed the keys. The keys! He had forgotten to take them from the body! Was he going to have to dig it up again to get them?

But when he checked, he found them in the ignition. He could drive it! Had that been carelessness? Cyrano had not struck him as a careless man. More likely he hadn't wanted them to clink on his person, possibly alerting the monster, so had left them here. There seemed to have been no coins among the bones, either. So it was care rather than careless.

Yet the firefly had won the game. It had taken an alert, prepared victim-indeed, one who had expected to capture or kill it. That was chilling in its own special way.

Where was the firefly now? Surely it hadn't gone far, bloated with the flesh of another man, yet it was hidden at least as well as the buried bones.

He stood beside the van, pondering. He would have to get help; that was the only way. Geode, most likely.

Well, so be it. Geode had as big a stake in this as anyone.

He returned to his car, removed the gloves, and got in. This was his own car, not the marked sheriffs department vehicle. He started it and drove down the trail.

Somewhere in this forest was the firefly. They could probably kill it readily, if only they could find it! How could the thing hide so well, and strike so well, even when they knew the time and place of its next feeding? They had a.s.sumed it was an animal, but this was cunning beyond animal level.