We’re Fucked, Pt. 27 (Fiction)


Jacqueline’s Audi ascends along a one lane, winding road bordered by three meters tall hedges and a fence topped with spikes. The apartment buildings we pass by have three floors, are built on raised platforms, and were designed by architects who were allowed to flaunt their creativity. Between the clusters of houses like secret villages in isolated wooded valleys, the night and the downpour conceal our surroundings, but even during the daytime, the view would have been reduced to grassy slopes and palisades of straggly trees.

I could mistake the dark grey cloud cover of this evening for the murky fog in my own mindscape. Raindrops are pattering against the windshield, but the wipers drone on as they swish back and forth. The candy red taillights of the few cars ahead of us glisten in the wet road like vertical columns of luminous smoke, while random reflections glow white against the blackness as if to illuminate some unknown dimension.

I can see my own reflection in the milky glow, but I can’t bear to face my own eyes. I recall my own name and I can come up with my own thoughts, but my eyes might be blank, or they might have become black as coal. Maybe I’m already dead. The world is so strange to me. I’ve become a blind person trying to comprehend what she can only sense with her fingertips. All I can feel is a longing as if something was pulling at my heart, a hook embedded deep within it and tugging at a thread buried at its center.

Jacqueline’s raven black hair flows freely in her profile view as she focuses on the road to drive smoothly. I wish I knew how to carve her effigy in marble so I could place it on my nightstand. What kind of woman charms and enthralls someone who for many years has struggled to retain her sanity, and can barely function due to a relentless horniness and self-hatred?

Nobody knows that I dared to invite Jacqueline out on a date. Nobody would have expected it either. She could be guiding me to an isolated house. Inside, I would follow her meekly into a dark cellar where I’d allow her to chain me up naked to a wooden beam. I would become Jacqueline’s secret pet, to play with and ravage whenever she remembered I existed. My mistress would return to work and feign ignorance about my disappearance. Our boss would get pissed because I quit without notice and every call went unanswered, but soon enough he’d hire a stable programmer who wouldn’t varnish her office chair with her cunt juices. In a few weeks, everyone but my captor would forget that I was born, although I would remain down in the silent, velvety blackness of that cellar, and hopefully I’d never see the outside world again.

“It’s alright if you can’t wait,” Jacqueline says, “but I intended to fire you up from zero if necessary once we reached my home.”

I swallow to clear my throat, and I taste remnants of Jacqueline’s saliva. My heart beats rapidly, my breath is ragged.

“W-what do you mean?”

She glances at me and gifts me a patient smile.

“Even if I were blind, I smell your arousal. You are soaking with it. But I couldn’t mistake how you are playing with yourself.”

I realize that I have lifted the skirt of my dress, slid my right hand under my panties, and I’m lazily rubbing my clit. I’m a slave to the need that burns through my body like an electric fire.

“My consciousness has shrunk and is bobbing in a heated, churning sea of impulses, I’m afraid,” I say in a threadbare voice.

“You are a sensual creature and you are craving a big, sloppy fuckfest with a woman that you are free to love as much as you love her breasts.”

“Still… I shouldn’t stain your upholstery.”

I sigh and retract my sticky fingers although my clit keeps throbbing. I slump in my seat.

“Don’t let my masturbatory habits distract you,” I mutter. “I’d hate for us to die in a fiery wreck before I reach your bed.”

“And you endured that horrible scare with your car, too…” Jacqueline says regretfully. “Yeah, I’ll drive safely, don’t worry about it.”

The passing, snow white headlights illuminate Jacqueline’s motherly features, and also bring out some raindrops that cling to the windshield, producing a halo like frenzied fireflies around the passing cars. My coworker is driving by the kind of apartment buildings that prosperous professionals pick to distance themselves from the rabble.

Dazed, it takes me a moment to realize that Jacqueline is maneuvering to park in front of a four stories tall, bone-colored apartment building. Water runs down the sides of the building in tiny waterfalls, reflecting the light from the street lamps. She kills the engine, and I shake my head to snap out of my trance.

“Take the umbrellas, sweetie,” Jacqueline orders me as she unlatches her seat belt.

Once we expose ourselves to the cold of this evening and to the breezes that spray us with rainwater, I cover Jacqueline with her umbrella. I follow her down a narrow path between low walls to the front door of the building. We hide from the elements in the entrance hall while a thunder crashes resoundingly.

Jacqueline grabs her umbrella from my hand, closes it and shakes it. She sighs.

“We finally got home! Stormy evenings like these are meant to be enjoyed under the comforter, preferably beside a warm lover.”

A glimpse of my gawking expression in the mirrors that cover the wall convinces me to close my mouth.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Jacqueline?”

She draws her head back, then giggles.

“What’s with that outburst?”

“No way you live here.”

“Oh, but I do. I didn’t steal someone’s key, as much as I want to impress you.” She kisses me on the cheek, entwines her fingers in mine and tugs on my arm towards the dim flight of stairs. “Your legs remain strong enough to walk up two floors, yes?”

When I stagger a few steps into Jacqueline’s apartment, she locks the door behind me. She stores her umbrella in its stand then prompts me to slide mine beside it. She helps me peel off my thick corduroy jacket. As she hangs it on a coat rack, I’m drawn to the living room, the first open space on the left. I press the switch on the wall, and the living room gets bathed in warm white light. The corner velvet sofa, that faces a widescreen television instead of a pile of board games, could seat five people comfortably. A carpet under the rosewood coffee table is made of animal skin, possibly human.

I shuffle to the balcony door. Even on this evening, dark as the sludge in the bottom of a coffee cup, I make out the silhouette of Mount Igueldo. Between its slopes and some nearby buildings, a bowl-like concavity contains part of the Cantabrian Sea up to the horizon line. The wind is howling outside while a drizzle hits the windowpanes.

I clear my throat.

“You are like rich or something, Jacqueline. How can you afford such luxury with the wages of a clerical worker at our shitty office? Do you deal drugs on the side?”

“Sort of,” she answers coyly from behind me.

When I turn around, Jacqueline is standing next to the sofa and wearing the attire she chose for our date inside the cozy pub: a crimson, lace dress with sheer sleeves that cover her arms, and a choker neckline that pushes her breasts together like twin mountains of ice cream. Her skirt has bunched up enough that it reveals how her thighs bulge a bit over the welt of her black stockings. Those cobalt blue eyes are peeking at me through her thick eyelashes.

I’m an ungainly beast compared to this vision. I force myself to hold Jacqueline’s gaze instead of ogling her tits.

“Huh? What kind of drugs?”

As I wonder whether my coworker might be one of those women who snort cocaine while riding horses bareback, she walks up to me, cups the back of my head and devours my mouth. I close my eyes. Jacqueline envelops me in an embrace, and her scent fills my nostrils. My mind gets foggy, my skin flush with heat. I moan into her mouth as her lips suck at mine and her fingers dig into my hips, then she slides her hands under the skirt of my dress to fondle my ass firmly. Rivulets of drool are dribbling down our chins.

I hold onto Jacqueline. Right now she’s my sole reason for living.

Once we break apart, we rest our sweaty foreheads against each other and catch our breaths.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom, baby?” Jacqueline whispers as she rubs my shoulders.

I nod weakly.

“I need to pee, yeah.”

“It’s the door at the end of a hallway. I’ll use my bedroom’s bathroom.”

Jacqueline pulls away from my grasp, but she shoots me a smoldering look before she sways down the narrow hallway ahead of me. She enters a room on the left and closes the door behind her.

Inside the bathroom, that contains a toilet, a sink and a curved shower enclosure, I lean against the white ceramic sink with both hands as I stare at my reddened face in the mirror. My eyes are glassy and I’m gazing into infinity with a slack expression. My body is burning with desire, my panties feel damp.

“What the fuck,” I blurt out. “What the fuck, what the fuck.”

I wash my face with cold water. I pee. I flush a couple of times to cup fresh water and clean my pussy thoroughly.

Jacqueline must have been waiting to hear me close the bathroom door; when I step onto the hardwood floor of the hallway, she summons me from the bedroom in a lilting voice. I swallow, then venture into her domain.

She has donned a midnight black, babydoll negligee that emphasizes her delicious curves and exposes half of her skin to my lust-drunk eyes. Her breasts overflow the reinforced lace cups, creating a shadowed space between the center gore and the meaty undersides of her tits, in which I yearn to stuff my face. Beneath the wavy, sheer lace hem of her negligee, her pale ivory legs are toned, their skin elastic.

I’m stunned. As the rain splashes on the porcelain tiles of the balcony behind Jacqueline, she waits for me to regain my senses. A sentence forms in my mind: that’s not the body of a forty-four-year-old woman. I’m witnessing the benefits of unrotten genes, good luck, regular exercise and inordinate injections of semen. The holy grail to deter aging.

I’m about to slide into a dejected mood, but I catch myself. Jacqueline has led me to her nest to fuck me, so she has already accepted this worthless beast enough.

“What do you think of my choice of attire, Leire?” Jacqueline asks playfully.

“That my heart might explode.”

She holds her hands behind her nape, which lifts the silken balloons of her breasts, then she sashays towards me while her mammaries bounce and jiggle. I’m about to drool, so I tighten my lips to contain my saliva. Had I ever felt this ravenous? I’m overcome with the urge to feed on flesh and blood and sex and cum and death and the world itself.

“You are as candid as a kid gaping at a chocolate pie, Leire,” Jacqueline says with a smirk. “You wouldn’t be able to hide how you feel.”

“Yeah… Your tits are a French national treasure.”

She giggles.

“I’ve lived in this country for most of my life, you know.”

“Well, they become a national treasure of whatever country adopts you.”

Jacqueline’s gaze is igniting my brain, so I look away. I notice two cameras mounted on tripods. They are placed strategically at both sides of the foot of the bed, and their black lenses are peering through ring lights that radiate a soft glow. My coworker has separated the king size bed from a wall enough to prop up two full-length mirrors behind the pillows, and a mirrored wardrobe offers a profile view of the whole mattress. Two snaking cables coming out of the cameras connect to a hub placed on a desk next to a desktop computer, whose monitor is showing a video editing program.

“You asked me how I could afford such an apartment with my salary,” Jacqueline says. “There are plenty of economic opportunities for a woman blessed with this body and who knows how to set up a home recording studio.”

“You are a cam girl?” I ask, awed.

“Let’s say I have a whole network of girls making me plenty of money.”

“Huh?”

My mind is reeling as Jacqueline approaches me, and my pussy throbs hoping that she will assault my mouth again.

“I’m going to record what I will do to you,” she states. “You are fine with it, right?”

“T-to sell it online?” I ask in a trembling voice.

Her pupils are lit with a gentle fire.

“Not this one. I intend to treasure our lovemaking session forever.”

I recall the moment back in our office when a floating screen showed a live feed of me as I abused my genitals, although when I turned around, nobody was standing behind me. My facial muscles freeze. Was Jacqueline the one who pointed a camera at my workstation? Is that why she remained unruffled after I opened up about my masturbatory habits?

Should I be angry that my coworker, whose breasts I’ve wanted to suck on for months, has been spying on me? I drop that line of thought, because I’m getting wetter. Without my knowledge or consent, Jacqueline was interested in me enough to set up hidden cameras at the office to record me rubbing my clit. She must have fantasized about fucking me, and now she has seduced me, brought me to her apartment, and intends to ravage my body and swallow my soul. I’ve never felt so desired and horny.

“S-sure, record me all you want,” I say, breathless. “But give me a copy of the video afterwards. I look forward to playing it at home whenever I’m missing you.”

Jacqueline’s nostrils flare. She bites her lower lip and loosens her shoulders. As she walks by me towards the wardrobe, she reaches out to caress my jawline and neck with her fingers. She slides the door open, which reveals two dozen Seagate external hard drives stacked like ingots.

After she closes the wardrobe, Jacqueline turns around with an impish grin.

“Figuring out how to send you several gigabytes of video files would be a huge bother, but I’ll gladly lend you the external drive so you can copy the files yourself. You’ll have to give it back, though!”

From now on, even in the darkness of my dreary bedroom back in Irún, after another meaningless workday I’ll be able to lie in bed and masturbate as I play the video of us fucking. I’m so thankful that I fear I might burst into tears. I’m standing in front of a creature of unearthly perfection.

“Whatever you want, Jacqueline,” I say obediently.

My beloved blushes. She bats her eyelashes and cocks her head as she widens her mouth in a smirk.

“I’ve brought you to my home and my bedroom, and now you offer me to do whatever I please with you, huh?”

A few minutes of relief from this life filled with anxiety and stress and worry and loneliness and self-loathing and despair may save me, or at least make me believe that one day I might be.

“Anything.”

Jacqueline exhales a pleased sound.

“But words are cheap, aren’t they? So you’ll have to prove how much you’ve lusted after me.”

2 thoughts on “We’re Fucked, Pt. 27 (Fiction)

  1. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 26 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

  2. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 28 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

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