Across Black Seas of Infinity 02 [F] [mast] [cosmic horror]

Author’s note: I am eager for feedback, so please leave a comment. In a top-level comment I will post links to the whole series as it develops, as well as a link to my other writing.

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Orne Library loomed over the intersection of College and Coolidge streets like a phantasm of gothic doom, a grim promise that modernity would never dig humanity free from the crushing weight of history. The pleasant morning sunlight did nothing to dispel the shadow that swept over Abigail’s soul as she approached the heavy wooden doors of this cathedral, erected not for any god, but for the adoration mankind’s most precious and dangerous treasure.

Victoria grabbed Abigail by the arm and pulled her to a stop on the stone ascent. “Professor Ward was cavalier in sending you here, but he has a… special relationship with Professor Armitage. I think they go back a long ways. Ward gets help that the Librarian normally takes great joy in withholding.”

Abigail tore her gaze away from the dark edifice and met Victoria’s worried eyes. “What’s the big deal? It’s a library. He’s a librarian. Why wouldn’t he help us?”

“Help *you*,” Victoria emphasized, releasing Abigail’s arm and pushing her long, dark hair behind her ears. “This trip isn’t for me. There’s nothing Armitage has that I want… not that I’m willing to pay for, anyway. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The Librarian may know something about the knife — may — but that knowledge won’t come cheap.”

Abigail shook her head. “I need to figure out what’s going on with me. In my head… in my body. I went to the doctor last week, after that night in Ward’s office, and she said I was fine. Tip-top shape. Better than ever, actually.”

Victoria scowled. “Good for you. I’m here to take notes for Professor Ward, not to tell stories and braid your hair.”

Abigail continued: “The thing is, though — and I only realized it after I left the doctor’s office — she didn’t think it was weird at all that I was stripped down to my panties and clutching a huge knife the whole time she examined me.”

“You’re fingering it right now.”

Abigail took a deep breath and forced her right hand away from the carved hilt of the Knife on her right hip, strapped awkwardly around her waist over her sundress. She carried it everywhere now and no one seemed to notice, including herself. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’m glad you’re here.”

The two girls passed through the thick wooden doors into the front hall of the library and were immediately in another world, a plane of long-forgotten lore and aeons piled deep upon each other. There were dozens of other students around them, whispering at tables, shuffling stacks of books, and poring over scattered papers, but to Abigail they were mere apparitions passing through some nearby dream, oblivious to reality. A solitary substantial form held her attention from across the space, an old man she somehow knew was Henry Armitage.

Abigail strode towards Armitage with Victoria in her wake, hardly noticing the students doding aside as she crossed the floor. When the girls approached, the Librarian was speaking in a hushed voice to a cluster of lesser bookkeepers near a special display featuring enlarged maps from several popular fantasy series; even when he noticed the girls, Armitage took his time dismissing his underlings.

As they dispersed, the Librarian cleaned his glasses and inspected them against the multihued light from the library’s stained-glass windows. “Ah, Miss Keen, good to see you again. Have you reconsidered my offer?” Professor Armitage looked thoroughly average except for a tweed suit about a century out-of-date. His beard was neatly clipped, and his bald head gave him an air of distinguished authority.

“No thank you, Professor Armitage,” Victoria answered with a deep blush that raised Abigail’s eyebrows. “This is Abigail Carter, one of Professor Ward’s freshmen. Dr. Ward thought you might be able to help her with a rather… interesting situation.”

Armitage replaced his eyeglasses and looked down at Abigail, as if appraising her for one of the library’s displays. “A fine specimen indeed.”

Abigail cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Professor Armitage, I don’t appreciate –”.

But Armitage cut her off. “I was referring to the dagger, of course. Please follow me, Miss Carter, Miss Keen. Some conversations require privacy.”

The girls followed Professor Armitage out of the main hall of the library and into a warren of twisting corridors that led to a series of workrooms and offices, each buzzing with activity. Abigail was surprised to eventually stop not in a grandly appointed office but in a small, windowless storage room. The walls and floor were packed tightly with shelves, and the three had to turn sideways to make their way to a small clearing near the back of the room. Armitage flipped an unseen switch and an ancient Edison bulb sprang to life above their heads, casting a flickering yellow glow.

“Now then, Miss Carter, may I have the dagger please?” Armitage asked and held out his hand.

Abigail pulled the knife from her belt but froze when she attempted to pass it to the Librarian. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped it, and her arm shook when she commanded it to release the dagger.

Armitage nodded. “Not surprising. How long have you been in possession of this artifact, Miss Carter?”

Abigail dropped her arm and held the Knife limply by her side. “About ten days. I take it everywhere with me. I sleep with it. I shower with it. I can’t put it down… not that I want to. The thought of being parted from it makes me sick. I went to the doctor and she said I was fine. She didn’t even notice the Knife.”

“A doctor!” Armitage humphed. “Well, if you don’t want to be rid of it then what do you want from me, child?”

Abigail turned the knife over in her hands and thought. “Can you at least tell me what it is? Or anything about it?”

Armitage smiled. “Indeed. I can help you, and in return you will give me some information that is of interest to me. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure,” Abigail nodded.

“Excellent. Please follow me.” Armitage traced his finger over the wall of the storeroom in a complex pattern that Abigail’s eyes couldn’t quite follow, and the wall shifted outward with a deep groan to reveal a dark staircase leading down into the depths of the earth. Armitage took a lantern from a hook just inside the passage and flicked it to life with a spark. “This way.”

The Librarian descended and Abigail looked at Victoria, but the grad student motioned with her hand for Abigail to go first. Abigail kept the Knife in her hands and followed Armitage down the spiral, quickly losing track of time and distance as they spiraled downward in silence. A heavy wooden door with iron crossbars stood at the base of the stairs, and Armitage unlocked it with a massive key that disappeared quickly back into his coat as the door swung open, releasing a wave of frigid air.

“What is this place?” Abigail gasped and shivered. She was dressed for the warm autumn day a million miles above them, and goosebumps broke out all over her body. Tendrils of mist curled and twisted through the utterly still air, animated by some unseen force. The lantern’s light seemed muffled by the chill, compressed to a shrunken, wavering ring around them, and shelves packed with tomes and artifacts stretched into the shadowy distance.

Armitage led them to a long, narrow table and sat down in a single chair with his back to the shelves. He gestured for them to take the only two other chairs and pull up to the table. Wisps of fog twisted around the three of them, sending chills down Abigail’s spine and hardening her nipples; she clutched the Knife to her breast and drew a bit of reassurance and warmth where it touched her bare skin.

“Put the dagger on the table, Miss Carter. I promise you I won’t touch it,” Professor Armitage said. She complied, but kept her right hand on the table near the hilt. “Now then, this item is not actually a knife or dagger — it’s an athame. You’ll notice that the blade is not merely dull, but completely unsharpened. An athame is a ceremonial tool used by many cults to draw runes or glyphs in the air during the performance of their superstitious rituals, and is commonly associated with the element of fire.”

“I learned all that from Wikipedia,” Abigail interrupted. “Superstitious rituals? I don’t know what happened in Professor Ward’s office last week, but it seemed real enough to me.”

Armitage leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Tell me, Miss Carter: are you pregnant?”

Abigail’s mouth dropped open, momentarily speechless. “No!”

He gestured at the Knife’s hilt. “Good. This figure is a representation of Shub-Niggurath, a type of fertility goddess. I strongly recommend that you do not get pregnant while in possession of the dagger — if you can avoid it.”

She stared back in shock. “If I can avoid it? I don’t think that’ll be a problem….”

“Now then, in Simon’s office, did the dagger do anything noteworthy?”

Abigail’s body warmed as she remembered that night, and her skin flushed with arousal. “It drew on me,” she said, suddenly holding the dagger over her heart.

“Show me.”

Abigail barely hesitated before slipping her left arm out of the strap of her dress and baring her left breast. The pitch-black tattoo stood out starkly against her pale skin. Without a word of request, Armitage came around the table and leaned down to inspect Abigail’s breast, tickling her skin with his breath and tracing the lines of the tattoo with the tip of his finger. Abigail breathed deeply and felt her pussy wetten at the contact, and she yelped slightly as the Librarian’s finger circled her nipple and then squeezed it softly. She struggled to calm her panting as Armitage returned to his seat. Victoria’s skin was flushed and her eyes were wide as she stared at Abigail, then she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Along with other treasures, this room contains memories I’ve collected from… various sources,” Armitage said. “I’ve seen a tattoo like yours before, and I’m willing to share the memory with you — in exchange for one of your own.”

Abigail pulled her dress back up over her burning skin and clutched the Knife. “Memories? In these books?”

“Basically yes. Perhaps the memory will mean more to you than it does to me. I will lend you the tome that contains the memory, to explore at your leisure.”

“Ok… and what memory of mine do you want me to tell?”

Armitage smiled. “Not tell, dear girl.” He spoke an unintelligible word and two hands formed from the mist by the Librarian’s shoulders — one disappeared behind him into the darkness, and the other floated above the table in front of Abigail’s face. “I have a technique that will allow me to share in your memory directly. Don’t worry, it’s completely harmless. Simply close your eyes and think back to the time you lost your virginity.”

Abigail laughed nervously and kept her eyes fixed on the spectral hand. “Unless you can see the future, I can’t help you there, Professor.”

Armitage shrugged. “In that case, your first orgasm. Share it with me. Don’t look so dismayed, this is purely for research. You’re somehow bound to that fertility dagger, and this memory will serve as a reference point for your future experiences.”

Abigail’s face screwed up with distaste, but she forced herself to relax. Her pussy was already throbbing with arousal, and the Knife burned in her hands as her mind tip-toed around the memory. “Very well. It wasn’t anything special –”.

“Hush, child.” Armitage said. Abigail closed her eyes and felt a warm pressure against her forehead, and then her mind opened to the eldritch penetration. Armitage continued to speak: “A Saturday morning… not long ago. Sunlight slanting through the drawn curtains of your bedroom. Cool sheets against your skin. The front door slams. Your parents are taking Eliza to her soccer game. You just woke from a dream you can’t remember — I can tell you later, if you want — and your panties are warm and wet. You rub your fingers over the white cotton, but it just makes you ache. Why doesn’t it feel like your friends say it should? Is there something wrong with you?”

Abigail was breathing heavily now and could see the image clearly in her mind, like she was there again. Her right hand held the Knife while her left hand slid beneath her dress, between her legs.

“You hook your thumbs under the waistband of your panties, lift your butt, and tug them down to your ankles. Your hand finds the soft flesh between your legs and you sigh as your middle finger presses between your lips. You rub your wetness around in a circle and then up to your clitoris, sending electrical surges through your body. You slide your fingers back down and push them into your wet hole. You bite your lip and gasp; you’ve never used two fingers before — it feels uncomfortable, tight, but very right. Your fingers are slick and make a suction noise when you pull them out and begin circling again. Is this what your friends talk about? It’s different this time. Your tummy and thighs tighten as your fingers speed up on your clit, sparks radiating from your pussy, through your legs and stomach and arms. Suddenly you can’t breathe, you can’t even move except for your fingers, and then your throat erupts with a cry and your body begins to shake. You curl up into a ball with your hand jammed between your legs, panting, whimpering as your fingertips wiggle in your pussy, drawing out every possible drop of pleasure while you lay naked in the morning sunlight.”

The room was silent until Victoria cleared her throat. “Well, that was fun,” she said.

Abigail opened her eyes and quickly pulled her soaking fingers out of her pussy and crossed her trembling legs. “Wow. What… how did you do that?” Her body was shaking and it was hard to even stay in her seat.

Armitage closed a book that had laid open on the table and it was whisked away into the darkness by the misty hand, only to be quickly replaced by another, more ancient volume. “Thank you, Miss Carter. I am eager to study your situation further, as it develops.”

Abigail did her best to dry her hand on her dress and regain her senses. “Everything that’s happened to me the past two weeks… is it some kind of… magic or something? Why is it all about sex?”

“Don’t be foolish girl: sex is everything,” Armitage replied.

“That’s absurd. Sex is just… sex,” Abigail said, still breathless.

“Says the virgin. Sex is the foundation of life, the meridian between something and nothing. Power and submission. Yearning and satisfaction. Growth and decay. Sex is the mediator between the mind, the flesh, and the soul.”

“Professor Armitage, I don’t understand what’s going on, yet, but that just sounds like crazy mysticism.”

“Tell me, girl: have you ever learned a truth that you wished you could unknow?”

“Yes…”

“Have you ever had an orgasm you didn’t want? That your mind rejected, evaded, denied… but your body accepted? Demanded?”

“No. That’s… I don’t know.”

“When you do, come see me. I’ll pay handsomely for that memory. Sex, life, power. You will understand. You’re at the beginning of a long road. Meanwhile, here is the memory I told you about. Read it in a safe and secure location and return it to me when you’re finished,” Armitage said and gestured at the tome on the table. “And Miss Keen, I hope now that you will take me up on my proposition someday.”

Victoria blushed again, but this time she nodded. “Perhaps, Professor.”

Abigail lifted the thin volume and found it to be surprisingly heavy. “Thank you, Professor Armitage. I’ll let you know if I learn anything,” she said, turning to the stairs, eager for the sun and sky.

“Thank you, Miss Carter — and I hope that you don’t find the memory too disturbing.”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/65xluw/across_black_seas_of_infinity_02_f_mast_cosmic