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The Rambler in the Park, pt 3.
2003-11-23 at 12:35 p.m.

fiction by Indrid-Cold

The Rambler in the Park, pt. 3

Fran woke to the hissing of the shower a room filled with steam.

Immediately she felt a sense of alarm. That much steam didn't come from a brief shower.

Fran was fully aware of Ren's propensity for self-pleasure in the shower and knew that on occasion this meant some marathons. She would even join him on occasion, to his pleased surprise.

But-the steam. There was too much.

"Ren?"

Nothing. Only the continued hissing. She knew it was just water under strong pressure, but it brought to mind snakes, coiled in a den in hideous ball at mating time.

She shivered.

She shook her head as if to clear away the apprehension that had dogged her non stop since entering Dagon, Georgia, rose and went to the bathroom door.

Fran knocked. "Ren?"

Silence other than the sound of the water shooting from the shower head. Presently she became aware of an accompanying high-pitched keening-water rushing through pipes, setting off vibrations that turned the plumbing into a mass of atonally arranged flutes.

It was a sound she'd heard off and on all her life, as had anyone in an older house-yet this whine brought to mind an unearthly singing. Heard in the the heart of an empty town in remote North Georgia it was wrong, and frightening.

She tried to banish these thoughts and raised her hand to knock harder.

It was then that she saw the door breathe.

A scream rose in her throat. Stifling it with the heel of her hand she backed away.

Surely she was still dreaming.

The door was another non-descript core door when they entered the room, painted the usual unimaginative gray.

Now it was the gray hide of a huge animal, slowly expanding and contracting.

With each contraction a new gust of steam issued from beneath the door.

Fran ran.


Blindly, out the hall door towards the stairs, couldn't run fast enough to escape that one glimpse of some huge horror.

Thoughts of Ren had even vanished now and all she could think of was getting away.

Where were the stairs?

She stopped short. She stood in the darkened end of the hall, where Nyarla Jean had said the massage rooms were. The only lights here were the red exit sign at the end of the hall and red lights denoting the letter over each door.

Exit. She started towards the end of the hall and a blessed exit and realized there was no door beneath that sign. She stood, frozen in the lurid red glow.

"Darlin'?"

Fran jumped, wheeled to see their hostess, Nyarla Jean, standing close to her, pale blue eyes looking concerned.

"Oh God," Fran blurted, "The shower, Ren, I-"

The other woman raised her hand to Fran's lips, a gentle, deliberate gesture. With a strange little half-smile she whispered, "Don't worry 'bout your man, sweetie. He's FINE."

Across Fran's vision, through her body came a warm, unexpected feeling of relaxation, like a shot of strong hard liquor. "You're sure?"

Nyarla Jean's strange smile remained. "Hun," she said, "You really need to relax. I could see that when you came in the door."

Fran nodded, mute.

"Why don't we give you a massage?"

Fran thought about that. She and Ren had assumed this was a place where the only massages were given to paying male members-a prostitution front. Surely if their hostess was offering her one it must be legitimate.

"Free of charge." whispered Nyarla Jean.


The room had unexpectedly lavish furnishings. In the middle was a massage table, nicely upholstered in what appeared to be red leather, the usual hole at the head cut for the patient to breathe comfortably.

At Nyarla's gentle insistence Fran removed the clothes she'd fallen asleep in, and wrapped a towel around her waist. Nyarla Jean pushed a button and music began to play from an unseen source.

Feeling numb, strangely removed from things, Fran lay down.

Nyarla Jean's hands were magic. She started at Fran's head, long deep strokes at the back of her neck that sent waves of relief through her back.

As she moved downward she spoke.

"Your man's probably just gone out to walk or somethin', Miss Fran. It ain't much after sundown, but we got a nice little town here."

Fran murmured assent. It seemed now like she'd just wakened from a nightmare and panicked. Soon she'd be asleep again with Nyarla Jean's sure touch.

"No, it ain't much after sundown, but really, that's when the most interesting things happen."

Fran noted this, and a seemingly distant part of her brain thought it an odd thing to say...but the continued touch of the other woman's sure and powerful hands made responding seem pointless.

"You know, I could see how tense you was when you came in the door."

Nyarla Jean was working carefully on the muscles in the girdle area now, and Fran had to admit she felt a little...well, a little sexual charge out of that. She'd not, like many women her age, ever been too interested in exploring her sexuality, but then again...it was just a massage.

"Men...they don't think about us sometimes, do they?"

Fran murmured an affirmative at this. The magic hands worked lower. Onto the buttocks.

"No, they just care about gettin' their rocks off. About their money, or their cars. Just use us..."

Fluidly, as if it were a natural part of the massage process, Nyarla Jean slipped a hand down to Fran's vagina.

Fran was sure any other time this would have had her leaping off the table in shock. But good lord, this felt good. That magic hand working there. Gentle circular motions against the labial lips. She was almost immediately wet.

"That's good, ain't it darlin'?" whispered Nyarla Jean, her voice husky.

"Real good..."

Fran sighed, a heavy sound of release. It was good.

She turned over, causing Nyarla Jean to remove her hand. The other woman didn't look surprised as Fran sat up and pulled her forward, and kissed her.

Fran had never kissed another woman, and it was almost magical. The softness of the skin, the delicacy of the way the other woman's tongue moved.

Nyarla Jean's hand worked it's way into Fran's crotch again and found her erect clitoris. She inserted a finger into Fran's hole while her thumb gently massaged the clit. Fran moaned, her mouth still sealed to Nyarla Jean's.

She couldn't believe it. It felt like some part of her didn't want this, no, not at all. She'd rarely ever looked at another woman in a sexual way-it didn't make sense to Fran-she didn't care about lesbians and what they did, she just knew she preferred men. Yet she was as wet as she could remember being and waves of pleasure were already making her hips shake as they kissed.

Nyarla Jean began to finger-fuck Fran now, and it seemed as if her fingers were unusually long and supple. Fran released the kiss and sat back, watching.

With an odd grace the other woman climbed on to the massage table, somehow never altering the ecstatic rhythm of her hands inside Fran's pussy, and lowered her head.

With the touch of Nyarla Jean's electric tongue on her clitoris Fran forgot everything, and came. The orgasm seemed to rumble up from the center of her body and everything was shaking. She let loose a cry that was generated from that same place deep in the gut.

The entire time, mercilessly, Nyarla Jean kept up the rhythm with her fingers and tongue.

Fran heard a ripping sound, and opened her eyes.

What she saw was beyond horrible. It was as if Nyarla Jean's clothes had exploded off her body. Instead of legs now a set of boneless tentacles wrapped themselves around the base of the table. The head of the creature sealed to Fran's crotch was the same, but the pale eyes both she and Ren thought so odd were glowing, the whites and pupil having disappeared. The arms were extended to either side of Fran's hips and the fingers had distended and seemingly become boneless as well, and were dancing their way up Fran's body.

Fran didn't know how she did it, but with a burst of violence she launched herself off the table. She tumbled to the floor, pain coursing through her knees and elbows. She turned to see, incredibly, the thing that called itself Nyarla Jean Thotep sending those flesh-colored, horrible tentacles in her direction.

Fran rolled towards the door, acting solely on instinct now. She sat up and a tentacle that had been a finger giving her pleasure only moments before shot towards her eye. She whipped to one side, whirled, and grabbed the doorknob.

For whatever reason, it was not locked.

A sound like a great vat of spaghetti being dumped into a sink came behind her, and she heard the thing hiss her name "Fraaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnn....."

She ran into the red-lit hall and turned. Beneath the exit sign there was now a door. Too terrified to question this she hurtled through the door and down the stairs, naked as the day she was born...

(...to be continued...)

(Click here for part 1, here for part 2, and finally here for the conclusion.)




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