5 - No Car Chases in Books

Following her logic quickly pulls me away from turning her into a pony again: we daren't fly, after what happened last time, and on the ground we'll be vulnerable, and she can't speak in pony form which might have made all the difference before.

I cast about desperately, the maddening whisper already eroding my patience. What have we got? Of the cars parked in view, there’s not much that actually even looks like a vehicle, let alone a good one.

"These are all terrible!"

"RRR! What'll we do, Owner?"

My heart leaps at the sight of a boxy Nissan sportscar, but jerking towards it reveals only a general sense of frayed disrepair rather than--wait a sec.

"Have you read Snowcrash?"


"And there's the Deliverator's car."

I gesture to the car, which doesn't change but does look in-between in some way.

"It's working, Owner! Keep telling it!"

I march us towards it, instinctually falling into the cadence with which my father delivers the eucharistic prayers that according to the version of Christian doctrine he believed in gleeful defiance of his Church's less morbid approach effected the transformation of bread and wine to flesh and blood as I talk to it. My pastiche of the opening of Snowcrash quickly gains momentum and becomes a ridiculous hymn of overkill:

"When the Deliverator puts the pedal down, shit happens. Megawatts of electric potential are unleashed through metal sphincters to spin tires big and sticky enough to move a semi loaded with all the overwrought metaphors necessary to describe his ride's performance, while enough computing power to give a cold war general nocturnal emissions governs every aspect of its performance and suspension geometry for optimal, precisely controlled and directed in the direction he chooses, leaving-everything-else-on-the-road-in-the-dust asskicking. Behold, the chariot of the Deliverator!"

"The chariot of the Deliverator!!"

It worked!!! WOOO!!!

The car doesn't visibly go through any sort of morph or transformation sequence, and yet, as we reach it, it's become a gleaming black cyberpunk vision of angular bodywork and wrap-around lights with just the properly dystopian amount of wear and tear--I can even see the crooked rectangle of YT's Smooth Move Ex-Lax sticker on the passenger window. It crouches by the curb on tires wide enough to print very repetitive newspapers in one pass, waiting.

You can't raise a car over your head to show it to the congregation, so I substitute opening the driver's door dramatically.

Which is locked. An LED strip on the top edge of the side mirror illuminates purple for a moment, then like a cat's eye closes again in disinterest, and there's a sigh of some slow-spinning cooling fan deep within the car blowing for a moment.

"Fuck. I don't suppose your powers include breaking into cars."

"Yours do, Owner."

Dom rescue notes, flipflipflip there.

Recreate the energy. Remind them who's in charge.

Now the trick is, what’s the part of the ritual where you felt it the most? I’ll tell you where I felt it the most...snuggle up and bat my eyes at you.

"When I left my home, I knew if I went to find you you'd claim me and I wouldn't have any choice about it. I knew you'd make me so yours I'd never be free ever again."

God, around you the slightest thing just turns me into a puddle. If I go on with this little soliloquy I’m going to drip down my leg...well, there’s something we can work with.

"It makes me sooo wet, Owner. Feel it? I can't wait to serve you with this, with all of me. You claimed me so hard I couldn't even move. What's that going to feel like to be fucked by? What's it going to do to me? I already feel your power, and it turns me on. It makes me still and obedient when usually I'm so hyper. If you can do that to me, you can claim this car, easy."

And while I seduce I’ll just take the hand I’m holding and show you what I think of aaaaalllll this hoo you like how smooth my outer lips are don’t you...come on, kiss me...mm.

I do feel it, as we kiss and I seize her around the waist with my free hand, pulling her up as if this will somehow let me better drink of her.

The desperation not to be controlling, not to be a monster claws at the edge of my consciousness, but I ignore it for once, opening myself to the darkness that rushes inside me as I pull her of her feet, clutching her to me with a strength that will brook no resistance and kissing roughly, letting the parts of myself that want to ensnare her and hold her helpless, mine, unfold.

It’s strange that of the whole night, this moment feels more like summoning a demon than any other.

Ooooh hoooooh yeah there we go!

She surrenders slowly as I tighten my hold as if melting into my grip, mine, controlled, kissing back but compliantly, waiting for each move as I open her lips, embracing my tongue when I probe under hers, body going limp and soft in my arm when I take her lower lip between my teeth.

Strangeness, terror, a feeling of being deeply freakish even as I’m loved: yes, this is what I do to machines, too.

This is my car. It just hasn’t found out, yet.

When I’ve drunk enough nectar out of her to reel with the power, I break the kiss, placing her back on her feet with the hand I’ve twined in her hair, and, turning to the car, my car now, place a calm, steady hand on the car’s bodywork, and then pull the handle.

It pops open effortlessly, and I swing the door wide, then stroke the bodywork. It pants happily with a chorus of obviously-per-device cooling fans, and I drop into driver seat, jumping when Lyra accidentally honks the horn (sounding a properly cyberpunk touch-tone note like an angry modem) climbing over me into the passenger seat the instant I’m down.

Yeah yeah glare all you want I can tell you liked that.

“There’s a door on the other side, you know.”

“How boring. Now what?”

Good question. Instinctively, I’m playing my ‘get-in-a-car’ macro and buckling up, fixing seat position, setting the mirrors. Lyra watches, fascinated.

The whole interior is immaculate and seemingly untouched, and as I adjust things it comes to life with guages and readouts, wrapping us in a cocoon of anime-worthy vacuum fluorescence as the on-board computers boot with thematically-appropriate log messages whizzing by on the HUD that flickers to life in front of me.

“Buckle up.” I indicate her seatbelt, having a feeling we’re going to need them before this is through.

Oh, yeah, the weird little three-point body harness thing. Is this even safe? The third point slides through, won’t that tighten over my breasts like a slutshamer if I struggle too much with my hips?

Man, whoever came up with this thing must have never gone topless. Can I put it in between, will that fit?

No, scratch that, they definitely had never seen breasts before at all. How the fuck do girl humans make this work? “Mrf. Can I put the top behind me please, Owner?”

I glance over, seething internally at the delay, but she has a point: even cyberpunk sportscar designers don't plan for bare H-cups when designing seat belts. I don’t like it, but we don’t have time.

"I'll be bouncier that way..."

“Okay, but hold onto something, this is probably going to get interesting.”

That's why there's this handle in front of me, huh. Grab.

Still clinging to the feel of that rushing darkness within, fueling it with a look at Lyra’s bare breasts rising and falling, all the hotter out of context in the fading-out interior lights, I stroke the dash and put my foot on the gas. “Okay, boy. Let’s go.”

As soon as it hits the pedal, twin ice-white suns ignite at the front corners of the hood to light our way, and an ear-splitting electric whine fills the cabin and the motor jolts into action, revving to redline. There’s no one parked ahead of us and the car seems to know this as it drops the accelerator from under my foot and down to the floor. I grab the yoke-shaped wheel as with a neck-snapping jerk we burn out, all four tires smoking.


Mercifully to my inexperience, the electric powertrain seems to be some type of fully-automatic system, with no evident controls but the steering, gas, and brake pedals, and the car lives up to my rhapsodizing about it's auto-control systems: readouts in the corner of the HUD seem to describe how it's adjusting each wheel's parameters as we accelerate. In no time we're hurtling along faster than I dare go on burbclave surface roads, caroming around the strangely non-euclidean maze of Lanes and Places and Courts, but the car sticks to the road and its course with videogame-like simplicity.

If you got anywhere at all in F-Zero you can manage this, I shakily reassure myself.


These roads like, just keep changing! I wish I could--

"Owner, this car has a map computer!"

Point to that dark spot in the console.

I glance over, and sure enough, there's a tiny display in the center of the dash with what looks like a map scrolling and rotating with the car's motion.

"If you can figure it out, figure it out! I want to get to a road where we can go fast, in case--GAH!"

A previously unseen road-sign appears, covered in perfekti, and the road curves hard left. I slam the yoke full left and it clunks against its stop as the HUD reads out how the squealing tires are carefully keeping us upright as the car pivots left, drifting sideways and gaining forward momentum again simultaneously like we're playing Asteroids. They look almost smug, in the way the updates flash across them with silly-awesome storage-tube change-highlighting, and the HUD displays a recommended heading to align our velocity vector with the road's new direction.

I glimpse them detaching from the sign, oozing into the road to follow with disconcerting speed before a curve takes them out of sight.

"Can you still feel where the perfekti are?"

"No, I'm sorry Owner!"

"Try to get us where we can drive fast, then. Big roads. Highways."


Why did you never have more driving fantasies? This rules!

I don't know if perfekti are fast, but this car--oh. Sudden insight blossoms: the game we're playing is mine's better, not driving simulator.

"We'll be easily fast enough to outrun them if we can just get space."

I daren't try to fiat us an autopilot that could manage it in this maze--it'd be too likely to turn us to jelly, something the car can easily do if the limits on the graphs at the corner of my sight are accurate.

Okay, mapping system, mapping system, how do you work.

HAH YUS! It's big now!

And there's the button to turn it into instructions for Owner to follow.

"Owner I got it! Where would you like to go--"

Shifting light around Lyra draws a glance from me, to see her enveloped in a holographic topographical map.

"There's a big like, hump in the road and it says 'hidden' on the map and it's coming in four seconds but if we turn we'll escape it!"

She's perfectly timed: a side-road is just approaching, and I swing us into another squealing, drifting, gut-wrenching turn. The new path is a terrifyingly narrow passage with parked cars on both sides, but it opens out onto a larger road at a T-junction.

"Right looks like it leads to big roads, Owner!"

I slide us through the intersection, totally ignoring the traffic light which has only a single steady-red bulb: apparently it's always red, and onto the larger road. Lyra isn't wrong, there are lots of bigger roads ahead, but a distant city skyline of modern steel and glass also slides into view on the horizon ahead of us above the houses, the exact opposite of the sort of place we'll find the type of portal we need. Right?

"Do you think we'll be able to find the kind of door you need to take us home even anywhere near here?"

"Is there anywhere more numinous than where we've been?"

I look out over the expanse of perfect burbclave houses to the computer-graphic-perfect city skyline...what city is that? It doesn't look like New York or Boston or even Hartford, and the land is as flat as a mode-7 racing game.

"I don't know. Does the map say what town we're in?"


I can like, zoom out, right? To see labels?

"Houston, Texas, USA."

"What!? How?"

"Did we travel far? I conflation-jumped kind of hard..."

"Like fifteen hundred miles!"

"Is that far?"


"I'm sorry, I just wanted to save you from the perfekti, I didn't have time--"

"It's okay. I'm just impressed. Unless cows are numinous, though, I don't think we're going to find what you need here."


"Would you like me to route us to the ocean, Owner?"

"Yeah. Do it."

Her seeming wish to use this as a last resort is worrying, but it's the best option so far. I'm not exactly sure how far it is to the sea from Houston, but that's okay because the Deliverator's car is powered by an indestructible infinite-wattage radiothermal generator like the rat-things or Reason. This is why there's no fuel or charge guage.

Okay, search. Oooh neat it's like a keyboard made of light!

Oxesn...oops hehe Ocran nope delete OCSAN argh it's really hard without a keyboard you can touch!

O C E A N there sheesh.

"What!? Owner it doesn't know how to get there!"

"Fuck! Just zoom all the way out, you should be able to see it and I'll try to steer towards it--it has GPS, right?"

Zoom zoom zoom...that's it? Where's the rest?

"Yes Owner it knows where we are but when I zoom out there's nothing but Houston!"

Whatever answer I was about to give is obliterated by the need to dodge around a double-parked car draped with spiderwebs and swing through a T-intersection.

Spikes spikes EEEEEP yeah go Owner!

If we could--DUH!!!

"Owner would you like me to try to use your sword to find the Lost Ocean again?"

I'd facepalm if I were physically capable right now of peeling my iron fingers off the wheel.

"Good idea! Go ahead!"

Okay, twist and grab...grab...

"RRRGH!!! SPIKES!! Owner your sword only exists for you!"

"What? How? You can see and hear it, can't you?"

"I can, when you're holding it, Owner, but I can't draw it for myself!"

And I can't wait to have you make toys you can use and I can't pick up by their handles but right now this is really annoying!

Initiative helpful initiative OOH!!

There’s a kind of surface-thing in front of me that looks smooth enough to draw on! It’s gonna be cramped as fuck, but I’m trying to scry the fucking ocean so I don’t exactly need much precision or sensitivity.

We've come to a mercifully straight road through a commercial area,  so I floor it, but there's still nothing to the landscape but parked cars and vague buildings, no sign of direction or where we are. Risking a glance at Lyra finds her hand between her legs? 

"What're you doing?"

Will this work in nectar, even though my nectar is clear? Let's find hhout.

Alright, carefully now...it’s hard to draw the way we’re flying around corners and bumping over stuff, but I’m not about to ask you to slow down. Inner circle. Outer ciiiircle...careful now...there.

Fuck, um...water triangle? Oh hey look, water everywhere. Surprise.

Salt. Earth’s got salty oceans.

There’s a certain satisfaction, I’ll admit, in tearing around the burbs at the speed the roads are actually made for.

I’m also trying to at least head for more main-looking roads, climbing up the tree of traffic distribution, but the Burbs just seem endless with a tangled confusion I sinkingly suspect to be an effect of Limbo’s distortion and we never quite manage to lose the unglowing-glowing white mass that slides back into view in the mirrors a few seconds after I take each tire-squealing corner.

Okay carefully so I don't get in your way--

“FUCK! I’m driving!” Out of nowhere, Lyra’s reached across and wiped her fingers across my forehead, and the startlement and obscured vision have nearly run us into a light-pole. The side acceleration as I steer back onto the road is gut-wrenching as the car indicates it's dance of four-wheel independent steering in the corner of the HUD to keep us on our wheels.

“I needed salt!” There. Salt. Listening to my lopsided freehand circle feels pretty quoozy and it’s noisy as fuck because of course humans are full of salt water and there’s a lot of you around, but even near a city the ocean’s pretty clear.

“Owner it's to our left!”

“What is?”

"The big body of salt water I'm scrying! That's the ocean, right? Does texas have any other big salt water?"

"You are awesome. Yeah, that'll be the ocean."


Also yumm, licking my finger.

“Your sweat tastes awesome when it’s fresh, by the way.”

“Not the time for flirting!”

“It’s always time for flirting!”

I blow by a couple of dead-end looking subdivision entrances and then just barely catch an artery-road that tees into the one we’re on, slamming the brakes and peeling around the corner, almost throwing Lyra into the dash with the deceleration but thankfully she’s already braced against it because of whatever the spell she's doing requires of her hands.

Flashing yellow from the center of the instrument cluster smacks me with a moment of panic before I parse the evenly-blinking yellow spinning-wheel traction-control icon as saying "don't worry, I've got this".

I slam the gas pedal as soon as we’ve straightened out and then gulp involuntarily, some distant part of me surprised that gulping in the face of danger actually happens in reality. The road is straight, going through a commercial zone, and on the right there’s one of those big cheap buildings that still tries to be all architectural, and it’s crawling with perfekti that perk up and sort of ooze toward us as we approach. Church? School? Something else? What attracts these things, other than me attempting to lose my flowers?

“Are we going the right way?”

Lyra nods, face a mask of fear as she looks at the perfekti ahead and behind.

“Alright, let’s see if you assholes can do 90.” We’re actually already well past ninety miles an hour, but I’m going to get to say it exactly this once in my life and it may be the last thing I ever say, so I’m not going to screw up the reference just for a number on a speedometer.

There are words covering the building, every surface encrusted in a black-on-white serif font, but I’m too busy dodging the perfekti that’s made it across the parking lot and into the road to read it. It’s massive, size of a semi or larger, and by the time we get there it’s covering three of the four lanes and we barely scrape through, driver’s side mirror sparking off the bodywork of a truck parked by the side of the road opposite the parking lot and then symbols and tendrils are flashing by the window behind Lyra’s silhouette and shrieking across our bodywork and then we’re past.

I don’t know if perfekti are exempt from the laws of physics the way my sex life apparently now is, but they seem to have some kind of momentum because the thing is sort of turning ponderously to follow us, accelerating in our direction even as it pivots.

Fucking hell, that was close. Even through the car I can feel this one...

“DODGE LEFT!” The tendril’s already rising as I blurt it but you’re quick on the draw and you slam us all sideways at the last second and the falling tendril just shatters empty pavement instead of us.

Also OOF this is intense. I'd enjoy it if we weren't about to die and I wasn't topping-sorta with my warnings. Fuuuck I want to just melt into a beating....

The road’s curving, we’ll need another one soon.

“Need to go right soon!”

This car is incredible. I think we just changed lanes so hard the bucket seat bruised my kidney.

Right. What’s on the right? Nothing. Strip malls, post apocalyptic or sparkling or both. No side roads. Fuck.

Now what do we do?

“DODGE AGAIN QUICK!” Is it telegraphing on purpose? Can perfekti play with their prey? I’m sure feeling toyed with, anyway.

There’s no oncoming traffic but I realize we’re on the wrong side of the road and instinctively dodge back over the yellow line, which is the opposite way we should have gone and so it’s close as fuck this time, the bumps as we fly over the cracked pavement practically knocking the teeth out of my head, wheel wrenching crazily in my hands from bumpsteer, force-feedback over drive-by-wire but supremely detailed.

Overall we’re curving left, and there’s no sign of any other roads, still.

No, there. Is that the overpass of a highway crossing the road? Please be an interchange...wait.

"Is that spell routefinding or a compass?"


Squealing tires, matching kidney bruise on the other side, fragments of pavement plocking off the windshield and rattling through the undercarriage.

When the big one finds you, may this song remind you, that there's no GPS in hell. “Is it telling you what roads we need or what direction the ocean is?”


Fucking duh why didn't I scry a path? Could I have, or would that be like trying to scry the path through the Absolute Shadows? Limbo is so weird.

“Point me the direction.”

She undrapes her tail from her thigh, and uses it to point a direction more-or-less parallel to the highway leading away to the right. Good. We’re already north of 110mph on a surface road, but the car feels solid so I add throttle anyway. Are the perfekti falling back?

Risking a glance in the rearview, it looks like the big one that’s been attacking us is having the same kind of trouble retracting that last tendril as saved us before, and it’s blocking enough of the road to hold up the pack that’s been catching up this whole time. It’ll be back on our tail in seconds, though.

There’s a road sign, flashing past so quick I can barely read it: 


Limbo has distorted the outline of the sign into an odd shape I finally recognize as the silhouette of two safety-sign figures performing the eponymous sex act on each other.

For real? Route 69?

Whatever, if we can make 110 on a surface road maybe we can go fast enough to outrun perfekti on a highway - I’m not convinced this car even has a top speed seeing as we’re going this fast and not even halfway to redline.

There’s a sign showing which direction is which way, but it’s past before I’m even sure I’ve seen it and desperately I realize that no matter what kind of turn there is we’re going to have to start to slow down about 30 seconds ago to make it, so I cross my fingers that this won’t give the perfekti time to catch up and slam the brakes as hard as I dare at this speed. The car teeters terrifyingly on the brink of fishtailing, but between me and the thing’s mechanical instincts we manage to keep pointed forward, and then there’s a horrible moment where I can’t make out how the ramps are arranged to figure out which way to go but I finally manage to tease out that the entrance on the left side of the road will put us going right on the highway.

It’s coming up and so are the perfekti. We’re probably going to die if I try this, but we’re definitely going to die if I don’t.

“Hang on!”

I slam the wheel to its stop again.

Gah spikes we’re going to flip omigod this would be so much fun in another context!

Wait, we weren’t supposed to go this way! “Right! Right! Owner what are you doing! Wrong way!”

“Trust me.” I bite the words off against the acceleration of my first-ever real-life handbrake turn, but they’re lost in the squealing of tires when we somehow make it around the ninety-degree corner onto the on-ramp and then we’re too busy being centrifuged by taking the curving 30mph (according to the huge yellow sign that blurs by) ramp at at least twice that to argue.

Something’s wrong with space again, this didn’t look so steep from the ground.

As we crest the ramp and pull onto the highway, I’m now looking at what the highway looks like to someone who never goes further than the local video store. We’re at least a few hundred feet in the air, and the highway snakes out ahead of us dipping and weaving raised variously on dirt causeways, cyberpunk-looking brutalist pillars, and precarious rusty ironwork, crisscrossing in the distance with other highways. I hope the alien geometry will fuck with the perfekti as much as it’s going to fuck with us.

We’re about to find out, because the guardrail next to us crumples like cardboard and tears free, gripped by a perfekti tendril. I floor it and keep it there, the motors' note rising without apparent limit, speedometer pegging at 255 km/h even as we keep accelerating, and behind us there’s a vision-blurring impact as the perfekti tries again to pull itself up, succeeding this time. For an instant we get a horrifyingly clear look at its underside as it soars onto the road, but our acceleration is enough to throw off its aim and we just barely clear it, and it mercifully seems to need a moment to collect itself before giving chase.

Oh. How the fuck did you even figure that out? “We’re still not going the right way. Still need a right turn.”

Damn but I wish I could break contact with the circle and twist around to look behind us. “Exactly how about to die are we at the moment?”

I risk a look in the rearview, grateful for the empty roads, then gasp, hopeful. “We’re outrunning them! Hell yeah! Good boy!” I’d give the dash a loving pat but my hands are damn well not leaving the wheel at what must be almost 200mph.

Almost empty roads - a car crawls along our lane at the speed limit, our speed bringing us on top of it disconcertingly fast, and I swing around it with white-knuckled care, afraid we’ll lift off if I make any big control inputs.

“How much of a right turn do we need?”

Lyra grins, relief plastered all over her face, and points her tail right, perpendicular to the road.

“Alright. First chance I see.” In the distance I can see a couple of highways crossing this one, twisting away in mostly the direction we need to go. The ocean is hard to miss, right?

I’m about to let out a relieved sigh when a motion in the rearview catches my eye.

Lyra startles, twisting around to look behind us.

Holy dust and spikes what was that? It feels like someone just slapped me in the soul.

Well, so much for the scrying. I hope I can concentrate enough to hear it again. Guess I really had to look and...oh fuck.

It exploded. You’d think that’d be a good thing except for the part where it launched babies everywhere and one’s coming right down on us and oooh dust...


Too late.

There’s a terrifying thud on the roof, and a shriek of metal on pavement as the car bottoms out from the impact, the sudden friction throwing us against our seatbelts. We very nearly spin out and flip, but somehow I manage to keep us mostly pointing the direction we’re going long enough to see the baby perfekti’s tendril reach down across the windshield.

“Hang on!”

We’re still fishtailing, and I try to keep the oscillation going, just on the near side of a skid, in an attempt to hurl the thing off the car, and it does work after a couple of cycles, hurling the baby off Lyra’s side of the car where it bounces along the pavement, symbols trailing like sparks, but it’s clinging with tendrils to the bodywork and trying to reel itself in.

I consider grinding it against the guardrail, but I’m worried that at this speed that’ll put us into a spin.

The car lurches dangerously and there's a bang against Lyra's door--

"What was that!?"

"The perfekti! It's trying to break my window!"

This isn't a surprise; if it has the strength to hold on through the ride I've been providing it ought to be able to crumple the car like tinfoil, but from the repeated bangs I infer that it's actually having a tough time getting in.


There’s a crunch from her window that chills me to the bone, but I don’t dare take my eyes off the road.

We need me to use your sword. We need me to use your sword and be your tool so I'll just be you using me to act.

Is "helpful initiative" enough for that?

I sure hope it will be.

"Use me! I can help!"

AAAH what was that? Am I that horny to serve?

Spikes. I so am.

Use me. Even in the circumstances those words put a rush between my legs I'll have to worry about being a bad person for some other time. At the moment, my reaction to them will be the difference between life and death.

"Take my sword and use it to defend us. You're mine and you'll do as I say."

I'm not sure how exactly I know this will work. Something in what she said about my making the rules of my own Dreamwork, the way the sword also turned out useful for cracking into the robotic ghosts of monotheism, the way her saying use me feels just...brings it before me.

Thank Sade for you saying that. I can practically feel your hands on me, telling me what to do--

Crack. Yeah, that’s breaking glass. Time to stop stalling...

The fire strings out as I draw the thing almost like it’s confused, but you give us a sidelong glance and it seems to kind of calm down. Please keep working please keep working please keep working...

Fuck too late crash swing slice burn WOO YUS GOT YOU HAH! Bad ass I split it in half and now it's on fire!

My eyes are fixed ahead as I weave us through the baby perfekti that now dot the road and crawl up from the surrounding landscape, so all I see when the window breaks is two tips of perfekti tendrils that whip into the space between me and the dash, and then explode, unraveling violently. The cabin fills with deafening wind, and the car lurches dangerously as the now-burning perfekti loses its grip, changing our center of gravity wildly.

That's right burn until you fall off the car and can't chase us and light the rest of them on fire and burn up the whole pack!

A fucktoy can dream...


Ow...Sade's Balls, that wind is intense!

Being down a window pane at this speed is actually serious business--a glance over shows me Lyra clinging to the door handle, squinting against the wind practically tearing her hair off while Cleavage's fire streaks away from the blade, blown like it's in a hurricane, and for my part it’s powerful enough to interfere with keeping my hands on the wheel, and the asymmetric drag is having a pretty bad effect on the car’s handling.





"Owner the sign says 'beaches'!!"

"I saw! Hang on tight!"

Baby perfekti still dot the road, but it looks like the pack following us destroyed itself to produce them. Either way we’ve got to slow down and the sign is one more reason.

At 200mph, one mile happens in 20 seconds. This is going to be interesting.

“BRACE YOURSELF!” I can’t even hear myself over the gale. I get on the brakes, gingerly at first, but I have to ramp up the braking pretty hard to get us down to 70 in time to hit the ramp and the whole way it feels sickeningly like we’re going to flip tailgate over hood at any moment. With the motors shut down there's an eerie calm of wind noise and brakes rushing subaudibly, and the headlights the car put on for me without my even thinking of it dim as if it's narrowing its eyes and holding its breath in concentration.

We make it, barely. 

Worse than the nauseating drop of the ramp is the unexpected T-junction at the end. The car helps me through another sideways turn that’s barely enough--the traction control light flickers desperately and we kiss the median of route 6 as we come round with a disconcerting impact but we’re barely moving compared to before and everything seems to hold together.

We’re back on a surface road through thinning suburbs, but there are only a couple of baby perfekti around (did they manage to target the explosion at the highway somehow?) and it’s a big road, so I slam the gas back to the floor. The perfekti aren’t big enough to keep up and there’s fewer and fewer of them, so I don’t take us past 70.

We drive like that for a good while, just riding along in shock, both breathing like we’ve run a marathon, the seventy-mile-an-hour wind in Lyra’s shattered window seeming like a soft summer breeze after the 200mph gale we’ve just endured.

At length I have the presence of mind to lick off the little bit of Lyra’s wetness that still clings to my fingers, which brings me out of shock enough to realize that she needs help too.

I lay a hand on her thigh, right at the top, feeling the softness, trying to think of how good it felt wrapped around me before, even trying to accept that I’m apparently into both BDSM and monster girls, but my hand trembles and all I feel is the shaky terror of whipping tendrils and median walls rushing at us and the sound of shattering glass and the smell of burning perfekti (which is admittedly better than the smell of intact perfekti).

Spread myself for you a little and try to settle back in this chair OUCH my wing fuck fuck okay I can sit sideways that way I get to look at you, too.

Lyra turns to me and lays her hand on mine, a look of pity fighting through the mask of pain on her face.

God, the energy coming off you...you’re not even in one piece in there, are you? And yet you’re still here. Second time tonight. You humans really are unbreakable.

Thank Sade, we’re out of the spiked up not-city. Sad to say that these blank, empty fields are an improvement, but at least we’re not likely to get perfekti out here.

Is there anything around? No.

“I think we can slow down if you need to, Owner.”

Good God I need to. I just lift my foot off the gas and let engine braking slow us bit by bit. What I really want to do is stop, puke my guts by the side of the road, and then break down crying, but I’m afraid that if I let the car stop rolling it’ll never start again.

To say nothing of myself.

When it hits 25, I set the cruise control and drop my guard as much as I dare, taking long panicked breaths, unable to shake violence of this latest brush with death, forward motion of the car bringing the onrushing median wall back and vertigo of turning back to my mind’s eye.

"There should be a Window Repair button somewhere."

Ooh, right here, under my chair!

Lyra clicks something by the side of her seat, and a fresh, undamaged passenger-side window complete with a renewed RadiKS-calling-card sticker rolls into place, quieting the wind.

“Did we ditch them?”

“I think so.”

You look like I feel. I wish we could stop so you could hold me. We’ve still got a long swim ahead of us.

Coming down from the rush now. Ugh, everything hurts.

I want to hold onto your arm. There. Cling.

Taking her hand from mine, she wraps it around my bicep and I’m startled again at the softness of her bare hand. It occurs to me I’ve not really felt her bare-handed touch since we’ve met. It feels good, and the way she clings submissively feels good, and this and the exchange of energy it sparks calms us both fractionally.

Fractionally. I take a long, slow, ragged breath.

“I thought we were going to die back there. I’m sorry.”

“We made it, that’s the important thing to me, Owner. It was almost fun, when we weren't about to die!”

"Heh. This car is pretty great, and you're an awesome navigator. Are you hurt?" She looked bad before, but didn't have any obvious injury.

Twist around to--hhhouch okay okay nevermind fuck fuck fuck.

"My wing hurts and I can't move it. Feed me when you can, Owner, and it’ll stop hurting."

I shift my grip on her thigh, squeezing, close up beside her pussy, grazing the lips and feeling their still-slippery warmth on my fingers.

Unnf, now I feel better. Spread a little, maybe get fingered?

Her soft hair on my shoulder contrasts the hard, rounded edge of her horn, underlining her alienness. It should be disturbing, but I just want to hug her to me all the more.

It’s hard not to let the pressure of wanting to feed her interfere with the lust needed to do so. Just focus on her soft cheek against my arm, so feminine, how small and vulnerable she looks...

Oooh, that’s new. Soothing, makes me sleepy. Coo...nuzzle...

Omigod, this is you thinking I’m totally kawaii, isn’t it? Aw!

Let's encourage you some. Snuggle nuzzle wish I could purr.

"I think we proved I'm really yours, if I can wake your sword for you!"

My cock stirs, and my shorts suddenly seem much tighter.

"You really excited about it."

"It makes me sooo wet..."

When I reach for her cunt to check, she spreads her thighs and slides down in the seat to press into my hand.

“You want my fingers.”

Yeah, make me wet, you love to turn me on...

“You can ask, you know. It’s not exactly a chore feeding you.”

“I like it...mmm...so much better when it’s your idea. Owner.”

Her lips are warming, getting noticeably puffier, even starting to be damp, maybe. Can succubi directly get wet on the outside?

“I see you meant what you said just now.”

Come on, inner lips now, find my clit. If I spread my legs more will that tempt you in? From there I bet you can feel how warm OH YES.

“I mean all of...mmm...it. Ritual and car thing...too...not just...ohmi...unh...wasn’t just for...fighting perfekti, I really want to be...ooooh...”

...gasp oh yeah that’s my clit woo!

How long is it supposed to take a girl to get turned on? I thought it was supposed to take time, but Lyra’s not, she’s already slick and wet and the way her inner lips kiss my finger makes it so tempting to put them inside her, but I’m...saving that. For when I can appreciate it a little more.

Returning to her clit: “Do you want to come?”

“I want you to decide....mmm...Owner...just feed me please Owner...I don't have to cum as long as you feed me lust...”

Oh. My lust is her food. Of course she’s submissive: do anything to turn me on isn’t such a bad deal for her. Are there vanilla succubi? How does their feeding work, if so?

“So wait, can you be horny and well-fed at the same time?”

“Yes? No? I’m always hungry...ooh...lust is tasty, but playing with me makes me wanna cum, too, they’re like, separate needs...only, mmm, not...’s hard to explain...”

On human girls, I’ve read that there’s supposedly a spot on their clit where the nerve comes out to wrap around the surface, that’s much more sensitive than the rest. I have no idea if this applies to succubi, or is even anything but one of those Internet myths with humans, but she definitely doesn’t seem to mind my looking around for it...

“Nnnnnn oh my...”

Fuck damn that’s intense.


Ooooh hhaaaaah fuck fuck fuck

When I settle into circling over and over the spot, she stiffens in her seat, spreading her legs and arching her back, head thrown back, and I almost stop, thinking it’s too soon, but she...

 "Please Owner please may I cum?"


Oooooh gasp omigod gaaaasp pant...holy fuck that made me cum right quick.

Pant pant pant pant DAMN that's better with permission.

“Um. Do you want the nectar, Owner?”

Sade knows you must need it.

Distracted by listening to her come, it comes to me that I still have my fingers between her lips, resting on either side of her clit.

Nectar. Yeah. Nectar already all over my hand, but I reach into the folds of her lips, trying to take as much onto my fingers as I can, realizing I’m still shaky and rattled under the horniness as the moment passes.

Ohohohoo nf so sensitive after I cum, makes me shudder...

It’s worrying to realize how out of it I’ve been when licking her flowery musk off my fingers clears my head. How late is it? The sky is still blank and the car’s clock just reads --:--, but in the (real? normal? other?) world the sun must be well up by now.

“How are you now?”

Close back up, nestle on your shoulder like before, so comfy.

Makes you so happy.

"Fed. Owned. My wing feels a little better."


I squeeze her thigh gently.

Yumm. You really don’t ever stop. Yay for grabby hands.

Waiting. Come on, order me, what do you want to talk about?

Fuck so hungry I need to spend like the next decade gagged with your cock and bound so I can't blink.

Slowly, it comes to me that it's going to take forever to get there at 25. I press the gas pedal, and Lyra slides sleepily along my arm as the acceleration shifts us in our seats.

Lean up enough to let you work it but keep my hands where I can feel your muscles go.

In response, I stroke her thigh soothingly.

Okay snuggle back sigh.

Snuggle tighter grab.

"You are so cute."

Blushy blush.

It's an odd thing to say to a demon, but she's truly adorable cuddling my arm peacefully. She seems so almost helpless, clinging there. If she's trying to capture my heart, it's working.

The highway stretches on blank on either side as if the entire universe consists of only this road. There's no sign at all of perfekti.

"Can you tell where we are?"

"This should go straight to the ocean, I think. We must be getting close by now. What's the mapping system say?”

Blink. I forgot about it.

Make it big, now I should be able to just zoom it out until I can see...sheesh, how far is it?

ZOOM LIMIT REACHED probably means that's everything.


Spikes. Weird. I wonder why?

"I'm sorry Owner, it doesn't have the shore in here."

"Weird. Probably it only has the city we started in or something. Oh well, I think we'll be fine as long as we watch for signs and stay on this road."

“We’re gonna make it.”

“Yeah. I think so.”

Holy fuck. Have I really been this fucking convinced we’re not gonna make it? Did I forget that thing about being unstoppable if you're a separated pair of Hollow Hearts?

"Let's get there."

Boo, don't let go of me!

"Take my hand."

Oh. Slide my fingers into your hand. Unff, warm...

The instant she finishes suggestively wrapping her fingers around my hand, I slam the gas pedal to the floor.

Whee! I love you so much!

Once again the car slams against our asses and takes off like a rocket.

Yeah fast this is fun when we're not about to die.

When I reset the cruise control at what feels like a reasonably fast but manageable speed that doesn't have too much drama attached, the speedometer turns out to be reading about 130mph.

OMIFUCK KISS AWW snif I don't know if I can get my hand kissed I might be too abased for that blush blush blush.

Okay back on my thigh yes Owner but now holding my hand too aww...

I'm almost upset the road isn't all curvy like before. This could be so fun if we weren't worried about dying and stuff.

This maneuver leaves her draped perfectly along my arm, which she snuggles happily, head raised to look out the windshield with me.