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                                 Fantasy/syndaine
                                  Nikolai Kingsley
                                      Syndaine
                                Syndaine is a Virtual Reality system, one that
                                  allows hundreds of people to interact in a
                                 wholly ficticious, computer-generated fantasy
                                where anything is possible, even instances that
                                  have the appearance of sorcery.  there are,
                                      however, rules.  and it isn't free.
                   Once, she had taken a strong disliking to the way that the Sysop
                 of Syndaine had required her to pay for her time on the Simulation
                   system;  gradually, she had come to enjoy it and even to look
                 forward to it.  She had been paying the usual way - with Work-Hour
                Credits from her bank account - until Tasche-Schinereyf (the Sysop)
                                    had made his unusual offer.
                      She had been pottering around the office for half an hour,
                   convincing herself that none of the multitude of mundane tasks
                  sitting in the in-tray were so pressing that they couldn't wait
                  until tomorrow.  The last of them rationalised away, she set her
                  terminal to answer her mail and she left for the Simulation Bay.
                  She moved past the ranked couches, each with a still figure lying
                 on it, connected to the Syndaine computer by a ninety-pin terminal
                cable attached to a socket behind the ear; found an empty couch and
                                             logged in.
                  The muted air-conditioned hush of the Simulation Bay was replaced
                 by the babble of dozens of alien languages, the hum of information
                 commerce as hundreds of simulated people traded information which,
                in Syndaine, had physical reality.  She had arrived in the middle of
                  the market at Nimyf-a-Tel, surrounded by simulated book-stalls,
                food-retailers, prostitutes, mercenaries and hawkers of more dubious
                  wares.  She made her way through the press of the crowd (it was
                 *_always_* crowded on here; if there weren't enough real people in
                 Simulation to support the illusion, the operating system generated
                   some more), making her way to the taxi ranks on Second Avenue.
                   Not for the first or last time, she wished that the Sysop would
                   standardise on taxis; as she gazed down Second Avenue, she had
                  difficulty telling which of the bizarre forms were transport and
                 which were details of the environment, like park benches or trees.
                 She tentatively approached something like a two-metre-wide jelly-
                  fish, and was about to prod it and enquire about fares when she
                   spotted a Pegasus, dropping off a Bythian, two ranks up.  She
                  hurried over before the winged horse could fly off, raising her
                hand.  It saw her, ducked its head and kneeled down, allowing her to
                 climb on its back.  she settled down, grasping the bony shoulder-
                 blades from which depended the three-metre-span wings, pure white,
                 oversized dove's feathers spreading out as it stretched.  She had
                 read somewhere, once, that to be able to fly a Pegasus would need
                 wings so large that they would drape over it like a tent and would
                    require a pure sugar diet to supply the required energy; in
                Simulation, such rules of proportion were waived, as the effect was
                                       considered worthwhile.
                    `Take me to the top of the world.' she whispered.  The Pegasus
                ducked its head again, its long, silky mane drifting about its head
                  like a cloud of smoke; it then slowly spread its wings, bent its
                   hind legs, crouching for takeoff; with one mighty thrust and a
                  perfectly-timed leap, they were airborne, the wings beating with
                 greater speed than she had thought possible for an animal of that
                size.  She wove her fingers into the Pegasus's mane nervously; from
                   this altitude, it was possible to gain an idea of the general
                     topology of Syndaine; an attitude which she found somewhat
                    disturbing, as the shape simply defied explanation.  It was
                something like a toroid, if one discounted the spire in the middle,
                   which joined the toroid-shape somewhere below the surface of a
                    circular, annular river.  A similar spire depended from the
                 `ceiling' of the simulation (which was, today, lost amidst fluffy
                   grey-white clouds), leaving a gap of about five metres between
                       stalactite and stalagmite.  This was her destination.
                    By the time they had arrived, she was panic-stricken, her arms
                  tight around the Pegasus's neck, eyes squeezed shut.  He had to
                 stamp one of his forehooves a couple of times before she realised
                 that they had landed, and that it was safe to dismount.  Shaking,
                she slid from his back, almost too preoccupied with controlling her
                 fear to remember to pay for the journey.  She recovered slightly,
                                     managing a nervous laugh.
                  `I'm sorry... I usually travel up here in a covered vehicle.' She
                  held the credit-button implanted in her wrist against a similar
                    contact mounted on the Pegasus's shoulder, and credits were
                   electronically exchanged.  The Pegasus lowered its long-lashed
                 eyelids, snorted, took a couple of steps run-up and flew off.  She
                 turned to face the round platform that was mounted on the apex of
                                             Syndaine.
                  It was formed into a slight bowl, a shallow depression about half
                  a meter in depth, twenty metres across.  In the center were two
                   statues, standing less than half a metre apart; smooth, almost
                 featureless, powerfully-muscled males, over two metres tall, each
                  with a broad pair of wings outspread, the wing-tips touching the
                  floor three metres behind them.  They appeared to be carved from
                    bright red ceramic; as she watched, they rippled, like glass
                 containers filled with swirling liquids, and within moments, they
                 had reformed into sharp-edged blue crystal, like methane-ice.  She
                 approached them, stripping off her sari, regarding the razor-sharp
                  edges, imagining that touching them would be like kissing a bowl
                 full of broken glass.  She put her head back and stared up at the
                 flat tip of the spire suspended above her.  A huge eye, brilliant
                    green with myriad points of light drifting through the deep
                blackness of the pupil, stared impassively down at her.  She watched
                   it for almost a minute before being able to detect the slight
                pulsating change in the pupil's diameter which indicated that it was
                         alive and staring back at her.  She grinned at it.
                     The statues hadn't changed; she folded her arms and waited.
                  About a minute later, thousands of shades of blue swirled within
                   them, as if disappearing down a plug-hole, to be replaced by a
                smooth, milky green jade.

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  She approached the nearest statue, traced
                  the outline of its hip; it was as smooth and frictionless as wet
                  glass; faintly resilient, like the semi-rigid plastic that drink
                 bottles were made from; cooler than the temperate surrounding air.
                She positioned herself between them, glanced up at the eye above,and
                winked.  It winked back, momentarily being obscured by glossy black
                                               lids.
                     She reached out to the statue in front of her, put her hands
                around the back of its neck, drew it closer.  It flexed, bending at
                the waist; she pressed her lips against the smooth, featureless jade
                curve of its face, kissed it; reached down to caress the staff which
                  emerged smoothly from the juncture of its thighs, like a piston-
                   shaft emerging from an engine.  She squeezed the base, and it
                 deformed slightly, the tip bulging out like a balloon; it retained
                that shape momentarily, slowly resuming the original test-tube-like
                form, continuing to grow until it protruded almost forty centimetres
                 into the air.  Her breathing grew deeper as she ran one hand over
                 the curves of the rippling muscles presented before her, the other
                sliding down her belly to slip three fingers in between the flushed
                 lips of her sex.   The statue moved, holding its hands out to her;
                    she stood on the tips of her toes, resting her hands on its
                shoulders as it grasped her hips, lifting her up, holding her poised
                over the end of its shaft.  She arched her back, angling herself to
                     present a shallower profile, and it delicately pressed the
                    fist-sized head to her swollen lips, allowing her to spread
                 her legs slightly and wriggle down over the end, slowly taking it
                   into her.  She gasped as it entered; the shaft had developed a
                    series of ridges along the top which rubbed against her in a
                    breathtaking fashion.  The milky-green colours swirled, were
                 suddenly shot through with streaks of crimson, as if an artery had
                 burst within.  She felt a surge of warmth as it was remade in what
                    looked like red-hot molten glass, fortunately at a bearable
                temperature; still, decidedly hot, as it pressed itself forward into
                her again.  She clutched at its shoulders, trying to get a firm grip
                 on the slick substance; obligingly, two finger-wide slots formed,
                which she grasped gratefully, allowing her to apply better leverage.
                 The second statue, behind her, had leaned forward and grasped her
                   waist, placing its crudely-detailed hands just above the other
                   statue's.  She felt the slippery end of its erection pressing
                between her buttocks; she wiggled her hips, conscious of the pulsing
                shaft that impaled her from the front, and the second statue slowly
                pressed its slick length into her rear.  As the two statues began to
                  thrust rhythmically and yet slightly out of synchronisation, she
                  couldn't help but think of a mechanical model she'd once seen, a
                 brass and steel contraption, powered by steam, all wheels, pulleys
                and pistons... she couldn't remember what it was for, but it had an
                 unbalanced, irregular motion very much like the one that her body
                 was exhibiting at the moment.  She closed her eyes, gently rocking
                back and forth on the twin pillars, occasionally gritting her teeth
                  as their movements aligned themselves to induce peaks of sensual
                 pleasure.  She threw her head back, opened her eyes and looked up;
                                 the eye was watching her intently.
                  `I... hope you're... capturing this... Tasche,' she gasped between
                thrusts.  She looked down, saw the glowing red face in front of her
                  darken to the colour of dried blood, then further until she was
                pressed between two brawny angels carved from black ice.  They moved
                closer, pressing her body between their broad chests and washboard-
                ribbed bellies, their wings slowly curving around to touch the tips
                together.  Taking a firm hold of the hand-grips, she began to thrust
                  forward and back, the hands of the angel-statue in front sliding
                 down to hold her thighs, her breasts flattened against its smooth
                   chest.  She felt a gathering warmth in the pit of her stomach,
                 fluids dripping from her crotch, her nipples rubbing rhythmically
                 against the statue; the shaft that was smoothly sliding in and out
                of her rear changed shape slightly, developing shallow corrugations
                  that deepened with each thrust, until it was being forced in and
                 dragged out again with halting, almost painful deliberation.  The
                   ridges that ran along the top of the column thrust between her
                 swollen lips deepened also, each one flicking against her clitoris
                 as they passed.  Her breathing grew even more halting as she felt
                     herself mount the edge of orgasm; the statues blithely and
                unconcernedly thrust on, leaving her to try and regulate her motion
                          as much as she could and steer towards her goal.
                   She reached climax, shaking in the statues' grip, eyes squeezed
                  shut, mouth opened in an involuntary, silent scream; the statues
                  simultaneously shoved themselves in as far as possible, her wet
                  muscles squeezing the shafts in sharp spasms, gradually slowing
                until the last contraction came, held her in momentary ecstasy, and
                  passed.  She collapsed into the statues' arms, breathing like a
                   marathon runner who'd just surpassed all of her previous best
                   efforts.  The statues chose this moment to change again, their
                   surfaces swirling through half-a-dozen colours, settling on a
                mottled wet-concrete grey; at the same time, acquiring the abrasive
                texture of low-grade sandpaper.  Her eyes widened with the sensation
                  of having two giant nail-files thrust into her; nipples scraping
                against the chest of the statue which she was slumped against.  Not
                  daring to move, she waited, still breathing deeply, and a minute
                later the statues changed again, taking on a jungle-green colour and
                 the tactile properties of wet rubber.  She levered herself off the
                ribbed protrusion that had been plunged, to the hilt, into her ass;
                 pushed away from the knobbed prominence before her, accompanied by
                the squeaking sounds of wet flesh against rubber.  She addressed the
                                ocular apparition overhead sternly;
                   `I think... that little episode would cover two months' access.
                                              Easily.'
                                   Tasche-Schinereyf didn't argue.
                                            August 1991
                              nikolai `whar's mah thesauraus' kingsleyto More Fantasy Sex Stories and Sexual Fantasies
                                                  
            
                                                  
              
         
                                                  
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