their legs formed an unbroken hoop of flesh around the opening to the sac. Currently the hoop was tightly closed.
The sac beneath them was bulbous, green and shaped a little like a vase. It looked like it might be part of a plant.
Definitely part of a plant, Fowler thought. The sac curled round and upwards into a thick green vine that stretched up into the darkness above them. A separate thick stalk ran out of the back of the sac, just below the girl's waist, and entwined upwards around the other vine.
“What are they?” Fowler asked.
And why did they make him feel so horny?
“Souls of former whores, sprouting up from the shores of hell itself,” the taxi driver said. “During the second world war Prague was occupied by Nazi Germany. They used to bring pretty local girls here to 'entertain' the soldiers. It was bad enough normally, but in 1945, with the Soviet tanks poised to take the city, the soldiers went far beyond even those levels of depravity. What they did to the women was so monstrous it tore a fracture in the wall that separates our existence from that parallel dimension we refer to as hell. These precious blooms are all that remain of the souls of those poor girls.”
“They look like someone crossed a stripper with a pitcher plant,” Chris said. “Are they dangerous?”
“They are souls in torment,” the taxi driver said. “Life was unkind to them and so in their afterlife they crave the embrace of a warm, living body.”
“Pitcher plants are carnivorous,” Chris pointed out.
“You've got nothing to fear from these,” the taxi driver said. “All that remains of their wretched souls is an unquenchable desire to provide pleasure. Don't feel that you're taking advantage of them. They need to please as much as you want to be pleased.”
“This is a bit fucking weird if you don't mind me saying,” Fowler said.
The plant-like features extended into the girl's upper bodies. Their pale skin was flecked with green and long tresses of leafy vines cascaded down onto pale shoulders instead of hair.
“Yes, but you won't find pleasure like it anywhere in this reality,” the taxi driver said with a knowing smile.
The girls held their arms out to them. As one they sighed and the mouths of their bulbous pitchers fell open. The air was flooded with a sickly sweet scent. The thick aroma left Fowler feeling a little foggy. He was aware of a sudden tightness in his trousers as his cock strained against the material. It was difficult to think. He had the sudden overwhelming urge to fuck something, anything, right now.
“How do we fuck them?” Miller asked.
A girl descended right down so that the opening to her pitcher was just below the level of the platform.
“Take off your clothes and slide in,” the taxi driver said. “Then relax and leave everything to her. She'll show you pleasures you never even dreamed existed.”
Fowler was already ripping off his shoes and socks. On the other side of him Terry was tearing off his shirt like a man possessed.
“I'll come back in a couple of hours after you've finished,” the taxi driver said, shambling off. Fowler barely heard him.
“Uh guys, are we sure this is a good idea?” Only Chris seemed reluctant.
Fowler had kicked off his trousers and was removing his shirt when he thought, whoa, what are you doing here? This was all a bit damn fucking weird when you thought about it.
At the edge of the platform a girl waited for him. Her pitcher gaped open, the pink interior inviting him to enter.
“I mean they aren't even human,” Chris continued.
Fowler shook his head, trying to clear away the clouds of lust. What the fuck was he about to do again?
He looked back at the girl. She was smiling at him, but there was ivy growing out of the back of her head. Fucking ivy!
The opening of her pitcher twitched and the air was thick again with that sickly sweet scent. It pervaded Fowler's lungs and roared through his blood like fizzing magma.
Fuck it!
He
The sac beneath them was bulbous, green and shaped a little like a vase. It looked like it might be part of a plant.
Definitely part of a plant, Fowler thought. The sac curled round and upwards into a thick green vine that stretched up into the darkness above them. A separate thick stalk ran out of the back of the sac, just below the girl's waist, and entwined upwards around the other vine.
“What are they?” Fowler asked.
And why did they make him feel so horny?
“Souls of former whores, sprouting up from the shores of hell itself,” the taxi driver said. “During the second world war Prague was occupied by Nazi Germany. They used to bring pretty local girls here to 'entertain' the soldiers. It was bad enough normally, but in 1945, with the Soviet tanks poised to take the city, the soldiers went far beyond even those levels of depravity. What they did to the women was so monstrous it tore a fracture in the wall that separates our existence from that parallel dimension we refer to as hell. These precious blooms are all that remain of the souls of those poor girls.”
“They look like someone crossed a stripper with a pitcher plant,” Chris said. “Are they dangerous?”
“They are souls in torment,” the taxi driver said. “Life was unkind to them and so in their afterlife they crave the embrace of a warm, living body.”
“Pitcher plants are carnivorous,” Chris pointed out.
“You've got nothing to fear from these,” the taxi driver said. “All that remains of their wretched souls is an unquenchable desire to provide pleasure. Don't feel that you're taking advantage of them. They need to please as much as you want to be pleased.”
“This is a bit fucking weird if you don't mind me saying,” Fowler said.
The plant-like features extended into the girl's upper bodies. Their pale skin was flecked with green and long tresses of leafy vines cascaded down onto pale shoulders instead of hair.
“Yes, but you won't find pleasure like it anywhere in this reality,” the taxi driver said with a knowing smile.
The girls held their arms out to them. As one they sighed and the mouths of their bulbous pitchers fell open. The air was flooded with a sickly sweet scent. The thick aroma left Fowler feeling a little foggy. He was aware of a sudden tightness in his trousers as his cock strained against the material. It was difficult to think. He had the sudden overwhelming urge to fuck something, anything, right now.
“How do we fuck them?” Miller asked.
A girl descended right down so that the opening to her pitcher was just below the level of the platform.
“Take off your clothes and slide in,” the taxi driver said. “Then relax and leave everything to her. She'll show you pleasures you never even dreamed existed.”
Fowler was already ripping off his shoes and socks. On the other side of him Terry was tearing off his shirt like a man possessed.
“I'll come back in a couple of hours after you've finished,” the taxi driver said, shambling off. Fowler barely heard him.
“Uh guys, are we sure this is a good idea?” Only Chris seemed reluctant.
Fowler had kicked off his trousers and was removing his shirt when he thought, whoa, what are you doing here? This was all a bit damn fucking weird when you thought about it.
At the edge of the platform a girl waited for him. Her pitcher gaped open, the pink interior inviting him to enter.
“I mean they aren't even human,” Chris continued.
Fowler shook his head, trying to clear away the clouds of lust. What the fuck was he about to do again?
He looked back at the girl. She was smiling at him, but there was ivy growing out of the back of her head. Fucking ivy!
The opening of her pitcher twitched and the air was thick again with that sickly sweet scent. It pervaded Fowler's lungs and roared through his blood like fizzing magma.
Fuck it!
He
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