JК
Ribofunk :: Филиппо Пол Ди
Страница: 121 из 156Why, just look at you! You're a disgrace to my household!"
Coney turned toward a mirror.
He was covered with gravedirt. There was a bare raw ulceration on his arm where the shuggoth had brushed him. Dried blood crusted his midriff from the beetle's embrace. His back ached from being tossed to the ground by the scorpion. His swollen ass stung from the snakebite.
"Yes, Peej Hopcroft is right. I am a mess. But it was only-"
"Silence! Where is the trope I gave you?"
Coney dug out the crawlypatch. "Here it is. But I do not think-"
"You are not meant to think! Just give it to me!"
Coney handed the close of N-fear over.
"Luckily, I had a second patch which I brought with me. The lovely Peej Foxx has already applied it to her charming skin. I, therefore, will use this one."
Coney's master pressed out the activation pattern on the patch and applied it to his arm. It crawled until it found a vein, then settled down.
"Ninety– second delay, my dear. Just long enough for us to slide into our Sacks, whereupon we shall meet in virtual heaven."
Two wrinkled circuit-skinned and SQUID-studded bags lay on the soft floor, one end of each agape. Coney's master and Peej Foxx each wormed into his and her own semi-organic Sack, which sealed up behind them and tautened into shape, flowing into orifices, and molding around organs.
Coney watched his master's Sack.
When the violent, highly nonerotic twitchings began, he headed home.
The long way round.
Afterschool Special
"My poohs are so slouch!"
The phemes just spilled out like someone had tripped my gates. At first, I was shocked. But then I felt good.
Before today, I would've rather gone wiggly with a var than admit the truth in front of anyone except Jinx. But somehow-right here and now-everything looked different. I was sick and tired of sticking up for my simplex parental units, especially when they wouldn't let me have what I wanted.
The class was taking a break from invirting with CADaver, the human-anatomy virtuality used mainly to train feldshers. We were all lounging around in the spleen, wearing our secondary identities. The school had a contract with MicroDisney, so we were forced to wear their patented images. Everyone hated it, but the trope dosers claimed it was for our own good. The theory was that no mega-eft spoilboy or churlgirl would be able to run better grafix than someone else, so we could concentrate on studying instead of showing off.
Coney turned toward a mirror.
He was covered with gravedirt. There was a bare raw ulceration on his arm where the shuggoth had brushed him. Dried blood crusted his midriff from the beetle's embrace. His back ached from being tossed to the ground by the scorpion. His swollen ass stung from the snakebite.
"Yes, Peej Hopcroft is right. I am a mess. But it was only-"
"Silence! Where is the trope I gave you?"
Coney dug out the crawlypatch. "Here it is. But I do not think-"
"You are not meant to think! Just give it to me!"
Coney handed the close of N-fear over.
"Luckily, I had a second patch which I brought with me. The lovely Peej Foxx has already applied it to her charming skin. I, therefore, will use this one."
Coney's master pressed out the activation pattern on the patch and applied it to his arm. It crawled until it found a vein, then settled down.
"Ninety– second delay, my dear. Just long enough for us to slide into our Sacks, whereupon we shall meet in virtual heaven."
Two wrinkled circuit-skinned and SQUID-studded bags lay on the soft floor, one end of each agape. Coney's master and Peej Foxx each wormed into his and her own semi-organic Sack, which sealed up behind them and tautened into shape, flowing into orifices, and molding around organs.
Coney watched his master's Sack.
When the violent, highly nonerotic twitchings began, he headed home.
The long way round.
Afterschool Special
"My poohs are so slouch!"
The phemes just spilled out like someone had tripped my gates. At first, I was shocked. But then I felt good.
Before today, I would've rather gone wiggly with a var than admit the truth in front of anyone except Jinx. But somehow-right here and now-everything looked different. I was sick and tired of sticking up for my simplex parental units, especially when they wouldn't let me have what I wanted.
The class was taking a break from invirting with CADaver, the human-anatomy virtuality used mainly to train feldshers. We were all lounging around in the spleen, wearing our secondary identities. The school had a contract with MicroDisney, so we were forced to wear their patented images. Everyone hated it, but the trope dosers claimed it was for our own good. The theory was that no mega-eft spoilboy or churlgirl would be able to run better grafix than someone else, so we could concentrate on studying instead of showing off.