We’re Fucked, Pt. 114 (Fiction)

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial

Jacqueline’s grip slides in an upwards motion along the length of her cock. She twists her wrist gently at the apex, then she thrusts her hand back down to the base, flexing and curling the ropy veins that bulge beneath the skin. Her shaft pulsates in the rhythm of a serpent struggling to ingest a mouse.

While she strokes herself faster, the column of blood-engorged tissue swells as if inflated by a bellows, acquiring the consistency of a wooden beam, and a thickness that could choke a horse. From the slit of the bulbous, waxy dome oozes a pearl of pre-cum. Rubbing her thumb, Jacqueline smears the slimy fluid around, making the glans gleam in the candlelight like a fresh bruise.

Mommy’s breaths become rapid and shallow. Wet squelches fill the bedroom as her right hand, its fingers fighting to encase even half of the girth, pumps up and down the tumescent meat-tower, from the leaking tip to the root and back, over and over. Her firm grip must feel like she’s holding onto a pillar of lava, whose throbs and twitches bespeak of a hidden engine roaring and revving, that risks spilling its white-hot fuel. The glans has blossomed to an eggplant shade of purple. Those bulky balls clench, about to cough up a glittering stream. I’m gawking at a pole that would support a flag. At a missile poised to launch. At a war club forged by the gods to break down the gates of Olympus. This abomination of a dick, an insult to the reproductive organs of mankind, could breed the planet to overflowing, turning the solar system into a generational cradle for its progeny.

A sheen of perspiration has sprouted over Jacqueline’s body. Beads of sweat gather at her hairline and dribble down her forehead; some drip onto the ruffles of her choker, where they twinkle like crystals, and others fall onto her tits, where they streak over those twin hills of bouncy flesh and cling to the lace of her bralette like dew on spiderwebs. The physical exertion has etched a grimace onto her flushed face: her eyebrows are furrowed, her jaw clenched, her nostrils flared. The light in her cobalt-blues is dimming like a dying star.

I picture a crimson-tinted niche in which a heart struggles to beat as its muscle fibers strain, until the organ pops like a water balloon, spraying out gobs of flesh, blood and gore. A cold jolt of fear shoots down my spine.

“Jacqueline, stop!”

The shout that has shattered the midnight silence ricochets off the walls. My hand rockets to my mouth. I’m shown a close-up of Nairu startled awake, her chestnut hair mussed. As she rubs the sleep out of her eyes, she climbs down from her unicorn-themed bed, leaves her bedroom, and bursts through our locked door like a cannonball, to find me as naked as when we first met.

“What sort of maniac has desecrated my slumber?” demands Nairu.

The antediluvian waif stands with her face contorted into a scowl, and her tiny fists balled. My gaze travels from her wild hair to her sleepwear: a fuzzy, mint-green onesie sprinkled with stars and moons.

Jacqueline, the goddess whose radiance elevates us from the squalor and strife of this planet, and who has tucked her still-raging penis away, steps forward and bows in supplication before our adopted child.

“Je suis désolée, mademoiselle. Mommy and mommy were enjoying some adult time.”

“You people make such a racket, I cannot rest in peace!”

“Th-this is merely a misunderstanding,” I say. “It must have been a rat.”

My heart shrivels with remorse and shame as the child squints at me, perhaps expecting me to strip off my skin and reveal the hideous gargoyle underneath. I’m reminded of her Paleolithic upbringing: those cavernous dens crammed with stalactites, reeking of offal and guano. Every night she must have slept with a knife in her hand.

“Why would a rat scream like a lunatic?”

“S-some vermin are nocturnal.”

Nairu arches her eyebrows, then a yawn ripples through her mouth. She shrugs.

“That’s a fact, so I consider the matter settled. But please put a cork in it, oui? Otherwise I’ll have to search for a new dwelling free of rats and nutcases.”

She turns towards the exit and navigates her way over the jagged fragments and splintered shards of the door, heading back to bed.

Jacqueline’s chest heaves with ragged pants. Her gaze has locked on me, and the grimace of exertion has given way to bewilderment. My brain sizzles and crackles as my neurons reconnect. I had forgotten to breathe while mommy flirted with the edge.

“Are you enlarging your heart as well?” I ask in a controlled tone. “The same way big wings require strong back muscles, such a gargantuan dick must demand an elephant’s heart to pump it full of blood. Hell, maybe even a whale’s, with arteries wide enough to slide through. Your shapeshifting power may let you stay forever young and fit, but I’m quite sure that if your heart were to explode, you’d drop dead like any random pleb.”

Jacqueline pales. She presses her index and middle fingers against her carotid to check her heart rate. The mammoth dick, as it flops about, deflates in fast motion to a flaccid state and the girth of a beef sausage: its veins recede into the flesh, its crown shrinks and retreats into its sheath. Her engine must be cooling off, because her shoulders sag, and she lets out a long sigh.

“Even in the best of times,” I say, “men’s cocks exert an undue influence upon their minds, so a dick that size must operate like those zombie-raising parasitic fungi.”

Jacqueline wipes a lock of sweat-tangled hair away from her forehead.

“It’s not just the dick’s fault, ma chérie, it’s yours. You have hypnotized me with those enchanting eyes and that sweet little mouth. Your aura, your presence, it all makes me want to spend my seed in a deluge, to impregnate you with a hundred babies.”

A flush crawls up my face.

“S-see, that’s the cock talking.”

She hefts her flaccid, wrinkled member and waggles it back and forth.

“I did go above and beyond. I wanted to impress you, darling.”

Jacqueline slumps next to me on the edge of her bed, causing the mattress to sink under her weight. She examines the palm of her right hand, whose pads and creases glisten with moisture. Mommy, adorned with a choker, a plunging lace bralette, a garter belt, and sheer stockings, looks like a high-class escort who’s reconsidering her life choices. Even a goddess with a magical penis may harbor the shadows of our frail and ephemeral existence.

I wrap my left arm around her back, then nuzzle against her temple. She smells of fresh sweat, musky and salty.

“You may have a cock,” I whisper, “but you’re all pussy.”

Jacqueline chuckles.

“That feels good to hear, mon chouette.”

“And I was beyond impressed with you even before you grew a penis that would make the rest cry in shame.”

Jacqueline’s warmth seeps into me like the heat of a hearth; it penetrates my bones and dissolves my aches. She’s the tether that keeps me from falling into the abyss, from drifting off into my inner wilderness and never returning. As the fingers of my left hand drift over the bumps and ridges of her vertebrae, as my mouth kisses and nips the delicate flesh of her ear, I reach down to caress her belly. The abdominal muscles tense up. I slide that hand to her lap and take hold of her flaccid member. Jacqueline’s breath hitches. With my touch and a surge of blood, the organ twitches, swells, and lengthens, pushing against the confines of my fist: the shaft stiffens, the veins bulge, the crown emerges.

The flickering flames, like a fading sunset, are casting dancing shadows over my right hand as it glides up and down the silken skin of the meat-rod. A vulture of desire settles in my gut, stirring my insides with its fluttering wings, aching for me to satisfy its craving for flesh and blood.

My nipples grow hard, my nethers wet. I lick my lips. I’m tempted to lean down and swirl my tongue around that slit to lap up the salty liquid, like licking the tears of a weeping god. I imagine myself closing my mouth around the glans, slathering it with saliva, then gulping down the shaft centimeter by throbbing centimeter, swallowing her in a wet, tight sheath of velvet. I’d let her use my mouth as a cocksleeve until she detonated in a steaming jet that could fill a trough.

Jacqueline swivels her face towards me, pressing our cheeks together. Her warm breath puffs into my mouth.

“You’re drooling like a hungry puppy, my naughty little slut,” mommy purrs, her voice thick with lust.

She’s sporting a predatory grin that exposes the razor edges of her pearly teeth. Those eyes, pools of cobalt-blue fire, sting me, sear my flesh and soul as if she were scorching a hole in my psyche, implanting her mother-shaped presence in the dark, fathomless abyss of my mind, where I keep my demons locked away.

The heat emanating from her mouth reaches out for mine in tendril-thin, invisible tentacles. A shiver races down my spine. She engulfs me in the fiery warmth, the velvety interior of her cheeks, the rough edges of her taste buds, the lubricating essence seeping from her glands.

Mommy releases my mouth with an audible pop. A strand of saliva stretches between our tongues, glimmering in the candlelight, before breaking.

“Oh, ma petite puce,” she breathes out, “the same person who used to hunch over her computer and rarely spoke. Look at you playing with my dick like it’s your favorite toy. I want to awaken you to the delights of licking balls, sucking cock, and swallowing a rich and creamy load. That’s what a horny little slut deserves, n’est-ce pas? So now I’ll stand up, and you’ll kneel before mommy like a servant before her queen.”

Author’s note: today’s songs are “Gold on the Ceiling” by The Black Keys, and “You Just Want” by King Creosote.

I keep a playlist with all the songs I’ve mentioned throughout the novel so far. A total of a hundred and eighty-two videos. Check them out.

Wanna feel this uncomfortable again but in an audio format? Check out the corresponding audiochapter!