Trolley No. 1852

by Edward Lee

  “Just relax, relax,” she whispered further, fingers first tending my slack testicles, then the even more slack shaft, and then—

  Perhaps the decadent French writers were correct in their esoteric allusions to a link between death and sexuality (their La Petite Morte) for the more I focused on the possibility that impotence would result in our destruction…

  My member swelled.

  If anything, the sudden erection sprouted even longer than before—longer than ever—until it thumped, bobbing up and down. I knew that the thoggs had been, in their own non-verbal manner, laughing at me before, but—

  They’re not laughing now, I thought, assured. They could all detect that the dimensions of my genital shaft easily exceeded that of even the largest of them. When Selina’s hand measured its entire length, she gasped, “Good gracious, Morgan. I had no idea you were so…”

  She needn’t finish; instead it may have even been with some secret eagerness that her deft fingers brought my purpled glans to her folds.

  “Now!” she panted.

  I nudged it in, then grasped her hips and commenced to stroking. The familiar wet slapping resounded as I increased tempo, sliding my erection (each and every of its proven twelve inches) all the way in and all the way out. Simultaneously, my left hand slipped round and under, to gently agitate her surprisingly excited clitoris, and with that, Selina began to moan with vigor. I stepped up my pelvic rhythm then, pursuing a crescendo; whereupon my sister quite waveringly squealed. Her back arched like that of a cat; every tendon in her body tensing; and then her climax spasmed and broke most obviously. She writhed and bucked, even shrieked to the capacity of her lungs, to the extent that the blissful vociferation echoed within the vast valleys between the mammoth Pyramidiles. I cursed myself for acknowledging my own incestuous pleasure, for as her orgasm drew on quite lengthily, Selina’s interior vagina constricted to an unfathomable tautness which brought me past the margin of my own return. This next seminal ration gusted from my loins in innumerous spurts, and with the release I experienced my own ecstatic culmination, the potency of which I would’ve never believed possible…

  When both of our spasms abated, Selina collapsed. “For goodness sake, Morgan. Never in my life have I had such a wonderful f—”

  “You needn’t say it, Selina,” I severed her profanity. “As you’ve directed, we had no choice but to sully ourselves for the whims of these things,” but when I looked around I sensed disappointment about the mien of the thoggs, or rather even displeasure. My forced performance for their mere sport seemed to have left them in agitation rather than satisfaction.

  Selina sensed it too, obviously attuned to them either by indoctrination or some totemic function of her queer pendant. She even giggled. “They’re jealous, Morgan.”

  I refastened my trousers. “Jealous?” I questioned but suddenly the notion made sense. Not only was I possessed of more substantial genitals (the utmost symbol of masculinity) but I had also demonstrated a further degree of sexual superiority over them: my efforts alone had brought Selina to a devastating climax, whereas theirs had not.

  “Will they let us go, now that we’ve done as they ordered?”

  Selina knelt as she faced me; her shoulders slumped. “Not… just… yet…”

  It was the clothed motorman who approached, then slapped me across the head.

  “What?” I blathered. “What is this?”

  “They’re furious that you out-performed them, Morgan,” came my sister’s disconsolate reply. “They won’t let us go back until you’ve sufficiently debased yourself. It’s their way of getting back at you, for proving that you’re more masculine than all of them.”

  I couldn’t imagine what she might be implying, but then imagination was hardly necessary a moment later when the motorman lowered his trousers and extracted the harrowing genitals.

  “You have to take him in your mouth,” came Selina’s regretful words.

  “In the name of all things decent and pure!” I caterwauled.

  “And you’ll have to swallow it all. Only then will they be satisfied… That way, they get their last laugh, in spite of your manly prowess… by turning you into their bitch, so to speak.”

  Despair couldn’t have lengthened my face further. Since the motorman’s release with Miss Aheb, enough time had passed to permit full sexual revivification; the thing was ready again, in other words, and to that state of readiness I could all-too-awfully attest. The grotesque organ had already become engorged by the thing’s mere thought of what impended.

  “Just do it, Morgan,” my sister pleaded. “You don’t want to know how many times I’ve had to…”

  To this end I resigned myself; I’d be doing it not only to spare my own life but Selina’s as well. So I steeled myself with every mental fortitude… took the appalling thing into my mouth.

  Having had no experience in such things, however, I hadn’t a clue as to what I was doing. I harnessed initiative only via the deduction that I must do my best to imagine the proper technique…

  In only seconds that dreadful “carrot” hardened to full size in my quivering mouth.

  Inept as I was sure my oral subventions were, the motorman seemed overly pleased by the effort. Each time I drew my lips rearward, along the organ’s tapering form, I increased the suction, which caused the beast’s hips to fidget.

  “Faster now,” Selina instructed. “And… get ready…”

  I forced the implication from conscious thought, proceeding as instructed. Then…

  The motorman’s “jism” poured into my mouth.

  The effect was worse than any conjecture. My face seemed to turn to stone after my first gulp. To assign simile to the taste of the evil slew defied possibility. Gout after gout, it issued, each mouth-filling allotment seeming thicker than the previous, and more lumpen.

  “Keep swallowing, Morgan!” my sister implored. “Don’t spit up!”

  Easier communicated than achieved. Numbed to my brain, I forced myself to mechanically pause, then swallow, pause, then swallow. The stuff was hot, and I could swear I actually felt spermatozoic constituents moving around on my tongue each time my oral cavity was re-filled. I could only imagine that the forced consumption of carrion or even excreta would be more agreeable than this…

  I reeled on my knees after the abatement of the motorman’s final spurt, that last deposit being thick as gelatin. My stomach threatened to heave and properly eject the violation, but I gathered all my forbearance, fisted my hands, and, shuddering, swallowed the whole gelatinous mass.

  “You did it!” Selina congratulated.

  When the hideous lump at last sunk to the pit of my squirming gut, I collapsed posthaste into a dead faint.

  2.

  Some inestimable time later, my senses seemed to rise, akin to putrefactive gases voiding from a lime-pit. It was upon the pristine floor of Miss Aheb’s lavish yet eldritchly lit bed-chamber that my consciousness re-found me; in fact, my first sight was that of the corrupt chandelier suspended overhead, shimmering in its queer anti-light.

  Of the dimension-transcending trolley-ride back, I remembered nary a detail. I was alone, however, and as I roused myself, I checked my pocket-watch to see, to my dismay, that the time was but four-thirteen in the morn…

  Only one minute later than when I’d checked so long ago!

  The watch continued to tick, though, the second-hand revolving…

  Just like Erwin mentioned. This place, and that horrendous domain I’ve just returned from, must exist in some daedalic contravention of time…

  A strange tapping cut into my ruminations, tapping which I recognized eventually as footsteps. It was my sister, maskless but dressed once more in her conductor’s garb, who crossed the mosaic flooring. The chamber’s bizarre acoustics lent to her voice an uncanny echo. “Oh, Morgan, I’m so sorry about what they made you do.”

  “It was of my own free volition that I came here in the first place, and of my own free volition that I sm
uggled myself aboard Trolley 1852,” I recited. “All in the interest in finding you.”

  “You’re such a gallant man, Morgan. I can only imagine your disgust with me.”

  “Disgust?” I asked, irked. “You’re my only sibling, and I love you with my whole heart. Please know that.”

  “But to learn that your only sibling could stoop so low as to submit to prostitution…”

  “My dearest sister, what you must also know is that I fully understand the travails that force women to resort to such alternatives. In these times of economic cataclysm, women even more than men suffer from the throes of subjugation.” Groggily, I sat up. “This, believe me, I comprehend, and I love you no less.”

  Selina seemed relieved to hear this, relieved enough even to sob. But what I simply could not reckon was the hideousness of her maligned complexion, the once-beauteous countenance made appalling by the swirls of phlegmatic-green mixed with fish-belly white. “I had no choice but to consign myself to the life of a common street-whore but even then I was homeless and barely able to eat…”

  “I understand that,” I reiterated. “But… what I don’t understand is…”

  “The change,” she finished for me, and touched her face with loath. “Eventually some girls corralled me into the club, but as I briefly explained earlier, I did not service johns for long after my arrival. It turned out, Miss Aheb fell in love with me, so… she changed me…”

  “Your skin,” I knew. “She effected a metamorphosis, to make your skin like hers”—I gulped—“and like the skin of Pyramidiles and the thoggs.”

  “With this, yes,” she explicated, fingering the pendant. “The change allows me to live forever, but this is what I’ll have to do… forever. She wants me all to herself; and when I’m not servicing her, I conduct the trolley and, every week or so, see to the transport of our… collection across the ingression threshold.”

  Collection, I thought numbly. The constant collection of human semen to be used for God knows what by the Pyramidiles…

  “The legend is true,” I droned. “The club’s matron, Miss Aheb, and the witch-priestess Isimah el-Aheb of thousands of years bygone are one in the same!”

  Did the chandelier’s counter-light suddenly climb in intensity? It was Miss Aheb herself who next strode into the chamber, adorned in the diaphanous black gown which highlighted her preeminent physique. Yet the sleek arms and legs, the plunging decolletage, and her face remained abhorrent by her skin’s similarity to that of the mountainous Pyramidiles. I knew now that the leviathanic monsters had, through some occult mode, shared their hideous skin with Miss Aheb and Selina. What other traits beyond appearance might this dermal metamorphosis have instigated?

  “Why, immortality, Mr. Phillips,” the lithe madam answered via some manner of psychic surveillance. Her coy smile beamed down on me as her accent buoyed her words. “You know much of what very few know at all.”

  “The legend of the Pyramidiles and their utmost servitor is obscure to be sure,” I asserted, “but some trace of their history has remained. Cuneiform cylinders analogous to the cylinder in your own possession, for instance. It is a legend that pre-dates legendry…”

  “And therefore?”

  My words abraded like stones grinding. “The oldest legend in human history.”

  “Very good,” she congratulated and sashayed about Selina. Her grotesque-colored hand caressed my sister’s bosom as she did so; whereupon, she proceeded to a great armchair nestled in the room’s corner: a throne for all intents, composed of adhered jewel-like crystals of the same composition as the pendants. It was here that she sat, elevated and grinning cunningly, as some sluttish, monstrous version of Cleopatra, some iniquitous queen of the Halls of Eblis. “And now? Whatever shall we do with you?”

  “Answer my questions,” I dared. “What harm can there be in that, given that my chances of surviving the night are in all likelihood non-existent.”

  Her expression turned wanton as she considered my request; likewise, her hands lifted her plenteous breasts out of the accouchement of her gown, where she then titillated herself before me. “Your desire to know is like the lust of a beast in rut, Mr. Phillips. Do you believe that you will be better fortified by such knowledge when I have your life snuffed out?”

  “I quite indubitably do.”

  Her fingertips twirled the papillae of each distended nipple, generating a sensation which caused her to seethe. “Very well…”

  “In exactitude just what are these mountain-sized creatures known as the Pyramidiles?”

  Some psychic directive compelled Selina to approach the throne and, with immediacy, bring her lips to Miss Aheb’s bosom. “They are so much more than creatures, Mr. Phillips, and even so much more than gods. I’m surprised a man of your erudite distinction has failed to make that deduction. They are not millions of years old, nor even billions, but so much older that their existence transcends time as we know it. They are ageless.” She paused to concentrate on the pleasures lent to her via my sister’s lips. “Creatures? No. They are poly-sentient bio-machines, self-perpetuating organic industries, Mr. Phillips. They create vast technologies via their immeasurable intellect and then produce their own laborers to make those technologies transitive.”

  “The thoggs,” I uttered.

  “Oh, yes. But the thoggs you’ve beheld are but one variety of a multitude. The Pyramidiles breed them, you see, specifically for implementation on this planet. There are hundreds more incarnations, for hundreds of other worlds, and when I say ‘worlds,’ I mean not only other planets in this and other solar systems but also planes of alternate existence in other dimensions and other terrestrial realms the likes of which even an advanced mind such as yours could never cogitate.”

  “So that awful abode of theirs is not a planet of itself?”

  “No, nor is it a dimensional firmament, Mr. Phillips. It is an esoteric terrascape of their own creation, just as the thoggs and all their multiple variations are the Pyramidiles’ very creation as well.”

  I felt enslimed by the sheer evil of the implication. “And through these vast technologies and with these thoggs, you travel from world to world!” I outraged, “from dimension to dimension and from realm to realm, to unleash horror upon the populace of those places!”

  “Exactly,” she cooed and moved Selina’s lips from the current, well-tended nipple to the next. “The thoggs you saw were the bipedal hybrid propagated for this world.”

  “An invasion is what you’re talking about!” I shouted.

  “Quite right. But this invasion, whenever it might come to pass, will not be initiated for the purpose of conquest.”

  I knew all too well of the legend’s most atrocious entails. “It is instead for the blatant molestation and torture of the human race, the psychic horror of which the Pyramidiles subsist upon!”

  “It is their food, which they derive from countless worlds and innumerable domains—yes. We’ve just come from one such domain, a quasi-terrestrial sphere that existed in another phase-shift. It had a population of a trillion, Mr. Phillips, and the slow, systematic torture, mutilation, and protracted murder of its pacifistic inhabitants fed the Pyramidiles full to bursting. It was glorious.”

  And eventually, they’ll do the same here, I realised.

  Miss Aheb broadened her sluttish smile. “Yes. They will.”

  The rest, now, remained fairly elementary. “Depositions of human sperm,” I croaked. “This is the purpose of your inviting the most virile of men to this ‘free’ bordello, and hence the ruse. It’s no real bordello at all, but a collection outpost! You pilfer the semen from all these men, night after night, then deliver it all to the Pyramidiles whose bio-mechanical capabilities isolate the human characteristics that are specifically desired and then immix those characteristics with that of their own!”

  “Custom-made thoggs, Mr. Phillips,” she went on. “Genetic constituents from human semen is amalgamated with certain constituents belonging to the Pyramidi
les. The result: creatures of servitude and utility that are ideally suited to earth’s environment.” The ardour imparted to her sensitive nipples via Selina’s mouth was all-too-ostensible; the noxious woman’s chest rose and fell more rapidly, her infernal skin beginning to sheen with perspiration. Still, though, she continued to explain as though this revelation of diabolism was of itself libidinally stimulating. “The average human ejaculation contains hundreds of millions of spermatozoa, Mr. Phillips, yet only several hundred are chosen for propagation: the choicest, most motile and highest quality per batch. That is why it’s taken several millennia to produce a serviceable number of thoggs. But since time per say is of no significance, what does it matter?”

  “It matters quite a bit with regard to your actual mass-dispersal of the heinous creatures upon the earth!” I yelled. “When exactly is this ‘invasion’ of yours to take place?”

  “Only when we’ve manufactured exactly two billion thoggs, Mr. Phillips.”

  My indignation spilled over. “But that’s the human population of the world today!”

  “Precisely.”

  “At least give my race a fighting chance!”

  “Really now, Mr. Phillips. Fairness is not on our agenda. Only the efficacious slow-destruction of mankind. I know that the Pyramidiles will enjoy a veritable feast on the pain and horror generated at the hands of the thoggs.”

  By this point my infuriation left me utterly stupefied…

  Miss Aheb urged my sister’s mouth from the well-sucked nipple. “That felt delicious, dear.” Her svelte hands directed Selina to the foot of the throne. “Do here now, my darling,” and then she raised the hem of the gown. “You know how I simply adore your mouth on me.”

  Selina knelt before the madam’s parted thighs, then lowered her face…

  More, more outrage. “Release her! You’ve demeaned her enough for tonight!”