Ready For Transport

– by Shokolada –

She looked out at the blasted landscape before her. Huge shadows moved in the valleys below, cloaked in twilight, and perhaps something else. Inhuman cries drifted into the air alongside faint sounds of rending and smashing.

“I… I can’t believe it’s all gone,” she said to the quiet, robed form beside her.

“After all the eons of waiting, the stars were right. Promises long-made have been kept,” it grunted. “Your bargain with us was well-advised; some members of the human race will survive. Now, we honor our side of the arrangement.”

The cultist led her back into the cavern, away from the disturbing vista, and to an area lit by halogen worklights. He – she? It was impossible to be sure – guided her steps onto a small round platform, and took position behind a nearby podium. “We do not wish to stay here much longer. If you are prepared to start the journey, please disrobe and we will take steps to ensure your bodily integrity.”

She wasn’t looking forward to this. No one who’d undergone the journey had returned, and the few rumors about this process weren’t encouraging. But she had little choice. She took off her robe and stood still.

The cultist did something to the podium. A mechanical hiss sounded above her, and in an instant a cascade of something landed on her head to slide down, all over and around her body. The flow was thick and viscous, clear amber-colored with a tinge of green, yet did not seem to obscure her vision at all.

The amber glop slid down around her naked form. It was cold to the touch, and various spots on her body responded quite inappropriately. No, it was warm, and felt safe and soothing like a massage all over. This didn’t stop her involuntary reactions, and she felt disgusted with herself yet excited.

The flow began to diminish, and she sensed that she’d been coated from crown to toes with a thick layer of whatever it was, even under her feet as she’d moved to keep her balance. She was having trouble moving her feet now, though, and when she attempted to bring an arm up to wipe her nose and mouth clear, she realized that she could barely move it. The goop had stiffened into a pliable cocoon, still soft, still liquid, but holding her still.

They’d promised they’d keep her alive – but she needed to breathe to stay alive! She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a single syllable, the goop took the opportunity to flow into her mouth. It tasted salty, somehow familiar, but blocked her speech completely… yet she felt cool air on the back of her throat, and realized the same feeling was still in her nose. Somehow… somehow she was still breathing though the amber shell!

“First protection complete,” intoned the cultist, doing something else to that podium. “Applying second protection.”

Her platform began to rotate beneath her, and she had no idea how she stayed upright. An arm attached to the back of the platform held a box with a vertical slit, which immediately spit a narrow sheet of what looked like thin glass at her. She felt no impact as it rotated out of view, and when she came around again, she could see that the glass had wrapped itself around her feet, clinging to itself like some sort of impossibly rigid, clear plastic wrap. The arm began to rise, and she realized she was being cocooned a second time.

A few turns and the arm was up to her waist. The glass not only clung tight, but she began to feel it constrict slightly as if cooling or drying around her. The amber stuff still flexed somewhat, and slid over her skin in an oily manner, but her movement became further and further restricted. In fact, the glass became tight enough to press the goop between her legs, where… where… oh no. The goop repeated the trick it had done at her mouth; it pushed and wiggled and expanded and forced its way into her, growing large.

She tried to cry out again, but there was no use. The glass pressed itself over her slimed breasts, around her neck, and over her face; and at that moment she realised just what the salty taste and fleshy intruder in her mouth reminded her of. She flushed with this final humiliation, and with that, something changed, and she started to writhe about as well as she could in her sticky, slimy, soft, enveloping glass prison. The psuedopods in her mouth and pussy rewarded her by moving to match, and her cocoon sent waves of throbbing warmth all over her body.

“Orgone levels with this one are very high,” the cultist said approvingly to someone she couldn’t see. Not that she cared much. “I think this one has an excellent chance of surviving the experience.”

Jointed, insect-like arms latched around the glass from above and behind here. She heard a buzzing which might have been mechanical, might have been organic; and with a lurch, the platform, the cultist, and the cavern all fell away. As a blinding light built in her nervous system, she turned her gaze away from the blasted, dead world receding below her, and looked out to see the Universe ahead.

One last thought went through her brain, before the blast of fear and pleasure overwhelmed her: the stars absolutely were right.