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I’ve been in an abysmal mood for the last week or so, and I didn’t feel like writing. On top of it, this Friday I came back home from work at eleven at night only to wake up at six for my solitary Saturday shift, that involved handling the computer issues of strung out nurses and doctors who’ve dealt with this crisis for far too long. At one point of that last shift I considered giving up and pretending I wasn’t present for the remaining hours. I need a break myself. Fortunately, this weekend I’ve played some more of GTA V in VR, I’ve emptied my balls, and I’ve managed to push out the rest of the thirtieth part of this strange novel that for whatever reason I need to write. Hooray.

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A herd of goats bleats around a fire as their hooves dance against the ground. Nearby, on a log by the fire, sits an ancient woman with long, gray hair and a white beard. She’s staring at the dancing goats with rapt attention, with cloudy eyes that gleam like those of a child.

The bleating muffles an approaching chorus of women that scream in pain and anguish. They are dragging their sons and daughters by the hand towards the herd of livestock. The goats cease their cavorting to face the weeping women, who kneel down and beg for their children to be killed. The women repeat that they can’t bring themselves to do it.

In a blink, the herd transforms into a single man who wears a bloodstained apron. His face is a patchwork of scars, one eye is blackened, his lips have been cut off. As the man plods towards the women, he takes a cleaver from his apron’s pocket.

My mind feels foggy. It takes me a few seconds to register the sky blue ceiling and its three hemispherical lamps arranged in a triangle. They are glowing.

My whole body begs for me to close my eyes again and let my head sink back into the pillow, but I groan and push the bedclothes away. I scoot to the edge of the bed. When I look up, I catch a glimpse of my naked reflection in the mirrored wardrobe, so I lower my gaze to my lap. I rest my elbows on my knees, rub my eyes and yawn loudly.

A background noise like oil sizzling in a pan quietens my deep breaths. I wish that my first sight after waking up, filling my field of vision, had been Jacqueline’s caring expression, but at least her scent has taken over every pore in my body, and her taste has coated the insides of my cheeks and my throat.

Before I’ve had time to acclimate myself to having woken up in someone else’s bedroom, the footsteps of the owner come down the hallway. My heart jumps. I straighten my back. Jacqueline has leaned against the jamb of the doorway, crossing her bare feet. Her punch pink robe, the only garment that prevented her warm skin from fusing to mine throughout the night, has slipped open at the neck, revealing her milky skin and the curves of her breasts. Thick locks of hair frame her beautiful face, with its delicate features and her cobalt blue eyes.

“I’ve made us a tasty breakfast. I prefer to eat after I’ve taken a shower, but you already washed that skinny body of yours last night, and I don’t want you to wait around until I come out of the shower. So go ahead and fill your tummy.”

I smile shyly as I take in the sight of her standing there with her head cocked slightly. The memory of our frantic fucking remains fresh in my mind.

Jacqueline’s gaze slides over the convex curves of my abdomen, then lower to my exposed slit. I hold my breath and swallow hard. She’s staring like I’m a leg of serrano ham on display and she’s aching to cut into me and gobble me up.

“I-I should probably put something on to walk around your home,” I say as the skin between my legs tingles.

Jacqueline licks the tip of her left canine tooth.

“I’d prefer if you showed me your bare butt at all times, but you have a right to your modesty, I suppose. Your bra, panties and socks must be lying around somewhere.”

Why is my stomach filling up with dread, as if I were about to endure a lengthy trial? I look over my shoulder. Jacqueline has raised the roller blinds, but the outside world remains dark and gloomy, both because we’ve woken up before the sunrise and because bulky clouds have covered the sky. The background din comes from millions of raindrops hitting every available surface.

“It hasn’t stopped raining?!” I blurt out.

“It has only rained for a couple of days, though.”

In about twenty minutes I’ll get dressed, travel to work and try to drown my intrusive thoughts for hours so I can focus on programming through the tasks that my dickheaded boss piled up on me. Once the workday ends, I’ll either stay to work overtime or just return home, where I’ll laze around, masturbate and go to sleep. I hope that at least I’ll dream about having sex with Jacqueline in a variety of positions.

In the vision, my hunched self, who sits at her workstation and types away at the dirty keyboard, wears one of my usual hoodies and loose fit trousers, but those remain in my apartment. I gasp.

“I can’t go to work wearing the dress I bought for our date!”

Jacqueline broadens a smile.

“Of course you can, sweetie, and your loveliness will liven up that aseptic workplace of ours. But I don’t want to see you shivering again, so I’ll lend you a pair of my tights.”

Although I was about to complain, Jacqueline pulls back her satin robe as she undoes the belt. She slips off the garment, unveiling her balloony breasts and pert nipples, as well as the trimmed pubes that top her slit, then she dangles the robe over her right arm. The sight of her nakedness causes me to suck in a sharp breath and squeeze my thighs together.

“Go on, Leire,” Jacqueline coos. “Surely you want to take advantage of the breakfast I prepared so lovingly, don’t you?”

My mind races, trying to come up with a witty way to respond. I don’t have any witty way to respond, only horniness. She smirks, then heads into the bathroom. Her breasts bounce heavily with each step she takes.

When I recover from my daze, I already hear the shower water splashing against Jacqueline’s skin behind the closed door. I try to shake off the drowsiness that clings to my bones, then I search around for my underwear. My panties somehow ended up under the computer desk. I lift them to my nose and give them a sniff. They smell of stale arousal, but to be fair, that wouldn’t have been enough for me to pick some fresh panties back at my apartment.

I stagger into the hallway wearing only my bra and panties, then I follow the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and honeyed pancakes that wafts from the kitchen. My stomach growls.

I hadn’t given the kitchen any thought, but I wouldn’t have expected it to be this narrow. The fridge, the counter and the oven cover the wall to my right. Most of the surfaces are graphite grey, so polished that they reflect the ceiling light’s glare like a swimming pool. Only a person at a time could stand sideways between the counter and the square dining table, that has two chairs pushed under it. A row of cupboards are hung close enough above them that I could easily bang my head by mistake.

I guess that Jacqueline had to pay premium for this apartment due to its quiet neighborhood as well as that wraparound balcony, which the storm has prevented me from exploring. At least those cherry red cushions on the dining chairs look like they’d support my ass competently.

More importantly, the table is set with three plates, one of which is stacked with pancakes, and a nearby, steaming coffee pot contains an ink-colored liquid. Although Jacqueline has poured honey on the pancakes, she has also lined up next to them butter as well as bottles of chocolate and strawberry syrup.

My brain buzzes as I plop down in the chair that faces the balcony door. Lightning flashes through the clouds. The rain sounds like it’s coming from far away, but I feel the cold that penetrates the glass.

I serve myself three pancakes and a cup of steaming coffee. Once the taste of the first sweet, spongy morsel of pancake hits my palate, I shiver and my vision blurs. A pang of hunger, as well as some inexplicable shame, flares in my stomach, then two thick, warm tears run down my cheeks. I wish I could sit here for hours to savour stack after stack of my angel’s pancakes.

The raindrops are hitting the balcony tiles in little taps as I sip my cup of bitter coffee. The coolness of the air feels good on my bare skin.

I recall some videos of lab monkeys who were allowed to venture out of their captors’ workplace into a meadow full of wildflowers. Haggard and wary, they dared to look up at the strange fireball that hangs in the sky. One by one the monkeys started wandering around, taking in the sights and smells. Some sat down and ate the grass. After a while they likely hurried back to the building, where they watched videos on their computers or had sex with each other in the comfort of their cages. I try to picture the same scene with a human, but when I close my eyes, the image I see is of a naked, obese man who’s being forced to masturbate in front of an audience.

“I don’t understand,” I mumble, then I sip the last dregs from my coffee cup.

How many men, and likely women, has Jacqueline seduced into a night of delight? Possibly thousands. Maybe even tens of thousands. I’m sure she’s made millions from all the horny people she took for a walk in her meadow of desire. She nearly fucked me into a coma.

Why was I selected to experience that taste of heaven? My head throbs from the thought of my infinitesimal place in the universe, so miniscule that it could fit on a postage stamp. As it concerns a broken beast like myself, Jacqueline might as well have gifted me the world’s most decadent cake, which I would eat until I died of diabetes.

I’m about to get hurt, I can tell. But maybe I’m ready for the pain.

I wipe the wetness from my cheeks. I don’t know why I’m crying, but it can’t be for anything more important than the food in front of me.

When I return to Jacqueline’s bedroom, I realize that she has left the bathroom door open. She’s standing in front of the sink, leaning in towards the mirror and offering me a full view of her backside. She has tied her raven black hair in a loose ponytail, and it smells of jasmine. A light scent of soap emanates from the naked, warm skin of Jacqueline’s toned arms, shapely back, plump ass, and long legs. The muscles that work under her skin shift with her movements.

My heart is pounding. I want to lick Jacqueline’s nape. I want to run my hands all over her body, to feel how firm and smooth it is. I doubt she would mind.

My gaze’s wandering ends at the reflection of those free-hanging breasts, that stand out with their weight and gravity. Once Jacqueline finishes painting her lips, she smirks through the mirror at my dumbfounded expression.

“The pancakes didn’t fill you up enough, huh? Then let’s take advantage of the few minutes we have left.”

Her breasts sway as she turns around. I’m rooted to the spot while Jacqueline struts up to me, and then past me, brushing my shoulder along the way, to sit down on the edge of the bed. A few stray drops of water drip off her chest onto her thighs and the sheets.

She stares up at me through her eyelashes as she reaches to spread her labia apart, exposing the glistening flesh within.

“Come here and eat up mommy’s pussy, honey.”

A wave of warmth washes over me. My gaze is glued to the pink promise of her lips as I shuffle towards my beloved. I kneel at her feet. The dark, slippery interior of her womanhood beckons me. I want to crawl inside it and go to sleep.

Jacqueline grabs my head and pushes it against her cunt. My nose is buried in a forest of scented hair. My tongue probes the warm, creamy depths of her sex.

“Suck on mommy’s clit,” Jacqueline whispers as her hands grip my scalp and dig into my skull. “Make mommy feel good. Make me cum all over your face.”

When I regain my senses, Jacqueline is petting my hair. I’ve grabbed her ass cheeks and I’m pulling her towards me while I lap at her engorged clit like a cat licking her bowl clean. Sweet, sour, bitter, and salty all coexist in this woman. I lick her even while the juices drip from my chin. Then there is nothing but the hot, humid taste of her nectar as it floods my mouth, my throat, my lungs.

Jacqueline’s breath comes out in short, ragged gasps.

“You are such a good little slut,” she utters in a voice between a purr and a growl. “Famished from morning to night.”