Review: ‘Boy’s Abyss, Vol. 1’ by Ryou Minenami

I’ve read virtually everything that the manga artist Shūzō Oshimi has released, which is unfortunate as he has become my favorite. I searched online for other series similar to what that author produces. Many recommended Inio Asano’s stuff, but I’ve also gone through his. Then someone mentioned this series. Although I’ve only read the first volume so far, it has become my most intriguing find in a while.

Shortly after we meet the protagonist, a high schooler, he tells to his homeroom teacher that he won’t go to college, as he needs to stay at his town to help his mom: the father isn’t in the picture, his grandmother has dementia, and his older brother is a violent hikikomori. Our protagonist has resigned himself to a life of misery. He feels powerless to change his fate. The guy is, however, somewhat obsessed with an idol group, whose casual, carefree cuteness and cheerful songs provide a fast escape.

His only friend is a short, somewhat chunky (certainly for manga standards) girl he’s known since childhood. However, she’s leaving soon for college, and she’s worried that the protagonist’s mental health will only deteriorate once he’s left behind. We learn about a prominent feature of their small town: a fabled spot on a bridge, where hundreds of years ago a couple of lovers jumped to their deaths. It ended up getting called “Lover’s Abyss”. It recently got featured in a popular novel, and some of its fans travel to this town in the boonies to visit the site.

As if his home life wasn’t ruinous enough, the protagonist has to endure having turned into the de facto gofer of a local gang leader, who was also his childhood bully. Worse yet, the protagonist’s mother, intending to relieve herself of her burden, has pleaded to the bully’s father, who runs a construction company, to hire her son so he can contribute to the household income, which will likely end up turning her son into a sort of slave not only for this bully but for his entire crew. The protagonist suspects that his mother knows he’s been bullied by that guy, and that she’s sacrificing his well-being for her own benefit.

During one of the runs to buy cigarettes for the gang leader, our protagonist deals with a new clerk at the convenience store. She refuses to sell him the cigs because he’s underage. Afterwards he witnesses this beautiful but aloof clerk handing some expired food to a homeless guy, who winks at the protagonist as he passes by. Then the protagonist realizes that the clerk is none other than his favorite member of the idol group with which he’s obsessed. He’s stunned. What the hell is this girl doing here? Why is she working as a clerk? How come she looks so despondent?

The protagonist reveals that he has recognized her. She makes him promise that he won’t tell anyone, and asks him to please show her around town, because she’s just moved there and is a bit lost. She ends up sitting on the back of his bicycle as he visits some local spots. The girl, who’s a few years older than him, gets the sense of how miserable he feels. They talk about the famous local spot for suicides, and as they stand on a bridge looking down at the river below, she offers the protagonist to kill themselves together.

From then on, at least until the end of the first volume, the story has become a psychological roller coaster. Why does this beautiful twenty-year-old, who had it all in a big city, want to die? Is she romantically interested in our hapless protagonist? Was that guy she met at the back of the convenience store truly a random homeless person she was helping out? The protagonist can’t understand this girl, but he doesn’t want to stay away from her, and the notion of jumping off the local bridge and freeing himself from a life of misery is becoming increasingly alluring.

The drawings and compositions set up well the somber, gloomy mood of this story. Whoever is in charge of drawing the scenery does a particularly good job. However, the main artist uses classic exaggerated expressions to add levity in certain moments (just a few, thankfully), but for this story they feel as out of place as they would be in Oshimi’s “Blood on the Tracks”. However, regarding the story, he does a great job setting up dramatic questions, and I feel in good hands.

Unfortunately I had to stop reading it on the train yesterday, as it features nudity. In particular a really nice pair of perky tits. So you might dislike this series if you are against drawn tits, I guess.

Review: ‘Tomo-chan is a Girl!’ by Fumita Yanagida

This is a review of the whole series.

The most endearing romantic comedy manga that I’ve read in a while. Our main couple are two emotionally stunted individuals who grew up competing and inflicting violence upon each other. As children, the guy often got the tingles for the titular Tomo person, but he repressed them, as he didn’t want to consider himself a homosexual. It took him until middle school to realize that his childhood friend was in fact a girl, but by then the damage was already done. Tomo is too wild, too much of a tomboy, and too generally uninterested in lovey-dovey stuff for the main guy to consider her a romantic prospect, although he doesn’t want to spend his time with anyone else.

The manga starts with both in high school. Tomo has become an extremely fit girl with uncomfortably large breasts. The guy has gotten buff from years of martial arts training in the hopes that one day he’d manage to defeat the titular Tomo. Most of the initial comedy comes from their inability to deal with their long-standing, repressed feelings for each other.

As the two remaining main characters we have a raven-haired, cynical and aloof girl who acts as Tomo’s confidant.

Also, a doll-like, mostly dumb, inexplicably British girl who bridges the difficult emotional issues of the rest of the cast with her big-breasted innocence (sort of like Chika Fujiwara from ‘Kaguya-sama: Love Is War’, but without the malice).

We meet a few memorable secondary characters. The British girl’s mother got pregnant at thirteen years old, is extremely rich, and cheerfully explains that she coddles and overprotects her daughter so she’ll never leave her side. Tomo’s mother is an older clone of herself, except married to a big oaf of a man who runs a dojo famous enough that the Yakuza is wary of its members; however, the guy can barely stare at his wife without fainting. One of my favorite “arcs” of the series comes from a pair of high schoolers who mistake Tomo for a romantic rival, but when they confront her, they quickly realize that they dared to intimidate someone who would eagerly send them to the hospital. They remain terrified of Tomo even after she takes upon herself to help them approach their romantic interest. Eventually, the two girls shift into admiring Tomo’s cool, manly demeanour, while regretting that she hadn’t been born with a dick.

For whatever reason, this series seemed to have been released on a page by page basis, with a fixed format: four stacked panels. An odd choice for a story that develops arcs for not only every main character, but for a few secondary ones as well. In any case, this is an almost entirely character-driven, consistently funny series that features well defined, contrasting personalities. I thought there was plenty more to squeeze out of these people, so it’s a bit of a shame that it has ended unambiguously.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 32 (Fiction)

Some of my nightmares have recreated this moment, when I enter my workplace and I face the view of these walls, the ceiling, the row of cabinets and the long table, everything sporting different shades of white as if stripped of color, except for our black and blue ergonomic chairs, and the digital windows of our computer monitors. The strength of the white-yellow light fixtures makes me squint. At least the glass door to our boss’ office is closed, and that room remains unlit.

I thought I had snagged my umbrella on something, but Jacqueline has grabbed it from my hand to put it along with hers into the stand by the entrance. Our intern Jordi swivels in his chair towards us. He’s the same thin-faced, freckled kid with his coppery red, side parted hair, the impeccably ironed white shirt and black pants, and the thick glasses perched upon his nose. Still, I feel that he should have changed along with the entire world, now that Jacqueline and I have entangled our particles.

Jordi smiles with relief.

“When I came in and realized that you weren’t in the bathroom, that you hadn’t even turned on your computer, I thought that something might have happened to you.”

I clear my throat.

“Well, people shouldn’t be that predictable. It would get boring.”

Our intern’s gaze slides down to my Sunday dress, that shows through the opening of my corduroy jacket. I feel vulnerable, so I instinctively look over my shoulder for help from Jacqueline, but she has taken off her coat and is hanging it on the rack. I hurry over to imitate her. When I take hold of my jacket, its fabric feels heavy against my hands, like an old blanket that used to warm me when I was younger.

As we walk to our workstations, I feel Jordi’s gaze on my face, but I’d rather ignore him until I settle back into the routine. I can’t remember how many days ago, when my coworkers dragged me to a nearby restaurant to spend the lunch break with them, the kid admitted that he lacked interest in sex. I wondered if his lack of enthusiasm stemmed from having been molested by his babysitter, or because his parents shunned masturbation, or because that’s just the way he’s wired. In any case, it made me feel safer at the time: he was that less likely to rape me. However, now that I’ve returned to the office thoroughly fucked, I’m as eager to deal with him as I would with a child. What, most of your mental energies aren’t spent fantasizing about filling your mouth with a breast, holding an engorged clit between your lips, or having something hard and tubular shoved into you? I don’t give a shit about Jordi’s reasons. I’m not going to let some stupid boy ruin my day.

“I must say, Leire, that’s a lovely dress,” our intern says with the tone of someone who’d rather ask why I’m wearing a dress at all.

I snort as I type in my login credentials. I need to focus, to slide into the mindset of a programmer whose main preoccupation is figuring out how to synthesize abstractions into code, but I suspect that the people around me will keep dragging me down to the material world, where my thoughts are trapped.

“Well, wearing a dress wasn’t my first choice, let me tell you,” I mutter as I stare at my screen.

“I thought you had an endless supply of hoodies and sweaters. I’m surprised you even own a dress, to be honest.”

“Leire has slept in my apartment,” Jacqueline proclaims from my right side. “In my bed. With me. In my arms. We made love last night.”

I gasp as if she had slapped me across the face.

“So that’s why she had no choice but to wear yesterday’s dress,” Jacqueline adds.

My head whirls around. The light fixtures are glaring. I must have blushed, or at least my face feels that hot. I turn towards my beloved, but when I open my mouth to complain, her cobalt blues, framed by her long and dark eyelashes, hold my gaze with a reassuring serenity, as if there was nothing more natural than to share our lust with the world. That raven black hair cascades around her face and spills over her shoulders. I want to run my hands through it as I feel an echo of her hair’s smoothness on my palms.

The tightness of her blouse accentuates her meaty breasts, and she only buttoned the garment up enough so that anyone bold enough to peek could descry the central gore of her bra. Her skirt is hugging her toned thighs, of which I get an eyeful as she crosses her legs under the table. Back at Jacqueline’s apartment, I beheld her as she covered most of her delicious skin with these clothes, and yet I find her presence more erotic now, maybe because if she ordered me to kneel at her feet, possibly to test my devotion in front of our intern, I’d have to resist the urge. But how will I concentrate on my tasks when Jacqueline, the most desirable woman I’ve encountered in this world of flesh and blood, remains naked under those clothes and underwear of hers?

“You and Jacqueline have… had sex?” Jordi asks, baffled. “It seems I was out of the loop. I didn’t notice any of this going on.”

I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I put them in my lap, my fingers curling into the hem of my skirt. When I turn my head back towards the guy, I can barely lift my gaze to his hairless chin.

“I’m dominated by my mating instincts as much as the next pervert,” I say quietly. “Although I technically can’t mate with Jacqueline…”

“I’m so glad, senpai,” Jordi says. “Your skin even looks healthier.”

“She looks radiant, doesn’t she?” Jacqueline contributes cheerfully as she pokes me in the shoulder. “The pancakes I made her for breakfast may have helped.”

Jordi nods.

“We start the week with something nice.”

My cheeks are on fire, my hands trembling. I feel so volatile, so thrown off balance, that I want to downplay what spending the night with Jacqueline has meant for me, but as an impromptu comment slides down my tongue, a stinging pain explodes in the tip of my moist organ. I’ve bitten it. I hunch over and cover my mouth with my palm, like that would help.

A warm hand slides to my nape. Jacqueline has rolled her chair over, and with her right hand she’s holding a water bottle as if expecting me to grab it. I smell her shampoo, the same brand she keeps in her second bathroom, the same that I used for my shower.

“Poor thing,” Jacqueline says warmly. “There’s a dot of blood on your lower lip. Here, wash your mouth off. The water is quite cool from having stayed here overnight.”

I straighten up. The tip of my tongue is throbbing.


Jacqueline’s cobalt blues glisten when she raises the bottle to my lips, and her gaze keeps boring into my brain as the cool water mixed with some of her saliva floods my mouth. Coddling me like this must turn her on, maybe even more in front of witnesses, but I couldn’t judge her for it, because the tingles are already flowing down to my crotch. Jacqueline smiles knowingly as I swallow the metallic-tasting liquid.

A trickle of water has seeped out of the corner of my mouth, but she wipes it away with her thumb.

“Do you feel a bit better, ma chère?” she asks. “You look calmer now.”

My pussy is demanding attention. I take a deep breath and relax my muscles.

“Y-yes… Thank you.”

My thoughts are swirling. I fear to look over at Jordi’s expression, even if I would just confirm that I’m causing the kid second hand embarrassment.

As soon as Jacqueline places the tainted water bottle next to her monitor, the office door swings open, and the footsteps of an overweight man enter our workplace. The three of us shut our mouths; in my case, because I don’t want to give my boss an opening to bother me with nonsense. The longer this prick sticks around, the more his presence suffocates me, as if he were leaning in towards my face and breathing down onto my nostrils.

My heart starts beating faster. I can barely lift my head from its lowered position; it feels like there’s a thick piece of metal weighing me down. However, I shoot Ramsés a look so he can’t complain later that I refused to acknowledge him. He’s wearing a burgundy suit, carrying a briefcase, and struggling under the weight of his douchebaggery as he walks past our table.

My boss is one of those fiends who believe that everyone should be grateful for their existence, although he forces me to do things for him. Also, his belly pokes out over his belt like an angry monster from the depths of hell. I’ve heard that men look good with a bit of belly fat, but his should have migrated higher to form breasts. Nobody can look good without a pair of tits. And Ramsés’ mustache has to go. It looks like a turd wrapped in hair.

I would take revenge on so many people if only I could afford it. But then I remember that I can’t afford anything, and I have to accept what life throws at me. The thought makes me want to break down in tears.

My boss mumbles a greeting. The bulge in his pants is growing bigger and thicker with each step he takes, until it resembles a small tree trunk. As he dangles the keys that will unlock his private office, he spots me sitting at the central workstation. He does a double take and stops mid step. He lifts his gaze, red from years of puffing on his cigarette butts, from the chest of my dress to my face. His stare feels like a needle pricking my brain. I can feel his dick throbbing in my direction.

“Who…? Ah, good morning, Leire.”

“Yeah, morning,” I say in a raspy voice.

Confused, Ramsés glances away hurriedly, then he continues into his office as he rubs the stubble of his cheeks. As usual, he leaves the door ajar, likely to spy on the conversations of his employees.

I close my eyes. My body is sore from having spent the previous evening getting fucked. I take a deep breath, but the scent of cigarettes has made its way into our office, along with the damp air, the musty odor of old furniture, and the smell of the carpet that hasn’t been washed in ages. When my gaze drifts towards the window, I don’t see anything beyond the rain that is coming down heavily.

Now I fear that Jacqueline, to mark her territory, will admit our dalliance to our boss, but for now she remains busy checking her inbox in Outlook. My French goddess claiming me as hers would make me horny enough to fuel a hundred of self-care sessions; however, if Ramsés finds out that his secretary and I have fucked, he might fire me for adultery.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 31 (Fiction)

Jacqueline drives past another row of four-story-high, designer apartment buildings for the well-off, past the walled headquarters of the Basque Nationalist Party. The road descends in the stormy darkness of this morning towards hilly neighborhoods of Donostia that I had never seen. The windshield wipers work frantically while the radio plays a pop hit about love and heartbreak. I can’t stop thinking about Jacqueline’s pussy as it clings tightly around my brain like an iron band, squeezing all the blood out of me.

I want to lick her cunt. I want to eat her out until she cums on my face. But she doesn’t seem inclined to allow it as she drives. Right now I can’t even hold on to her waist, nor stroke her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse. My fingers are cold, so cold that they hurt.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, and all that,” Jacqueline says anxiously as she taps at the steering wheel. “Our office is a six minutes drive away, yet we’ll arrive late.”

Jacqueline covers my left hand, which is resting on my thigh, with her hand that should be focusing on the gear shift. Her thumb strokes my knuckles and squeezes them softly.

“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “Please, concentrate on the slippery road and what’s ahead of us.”

She returns her right hand back to the phallic gear shift. The road curves on an elevated path in front of a cornflower blue building complex that resembles a hospital. A few lights shine from its windows. On top of the building that acts as the main entrance, a metallic-looking block features the words ‘Matia Fundazioa’.

My mind remains stuck in a feeling of jamais vu, so maybe I’ve been dreaming ever since I dared to invite Jacqueline out on a date, back when I was lying in bed and masturbating. Maybe I was dreaming even before I grabbed my cellphone from the nightstand and called her. Am I truly the kind of person who invites another human being out on a date, let alone a woman?

Hundreds of raindrops slide up the slope of the windshield until the droning wipers push them away. I gaze at formations of clouds that resemble tentacles. They are stretching through the sky while their suckers grasp for more water to drown us in. We are riding inside of a giant aquarium with water splashing from above. Still, some dark, solid-looking patches of cloud are streaked with light and color: the sun is peeking out over the horizon, ready to strike with its sharp, venomous fangs.

“I thought you’d be freaking out, Leire,” Jacqueline says. “You always make sure to arrive at least fifteen minutes before the shift starts.”

I sigh deeply.

“Can’t say I care about much at the moment.”

Jacqueline turns her head towards me. She grins. The raindrops on the windshield make the lines of her face shimmer.

We are descending along an arching road lined by trees, some of them that reach up to the sky, others that squat low and heavy like fat men on the verge of a seizure. The asphalt is slick, like wet glass. On the left side of the road I recognize the graffitied, rain-weathered roof of the Lugaritz Euskotren station.

Past the approaching roundabout loom two twin towers, both tortilla brown and with external elevator shafts like blocky cigarettes. One of those towers contains the Regional Treasury, where years ago a hired goon waltzed in and blasted away the security guard. Afterwards he set a fire that got rid of plenty of documents, which likely included incriminating ones that someone wealthy had wanted gone.

Once we reach the end of the street, I avert my gaze from the signpost that features the name of the business park where we work, and I end up staring at the multicolored playground built in the middle of a manicured lawn. The rainwater cascades down the horizontal beams of the swing sets, creating tiny waterfalls.

Jacqueline continues driving up the slope towards our office building, past the last vestiges of civilization.

“I don’t want to work,” I blurt out.

“I know, baby,” Jacqueline says as she presses on the gas pedal.

“I don’t want to work,” I repeat in a low voice. “I just want you.”

A small, sad smile forms at her lips, but her eyes gleam in the gloom of the early morning. She squeezes my left thigh softly through the tights she lent me. A shiver runs down my spine.

“You are so cute when you’re clinging to mommy like this,” Jacqueline says sweetly. “You’ve grown up into such an adorable little thing.”

I feel myself blushing, so I clear my throat.

“Just because your face glows like a lightbulb that shines all over this place called ‘reality’.”

“In any case, we must earn some money so we can have fun in our spare time.”

The Audi is following a corridor of overgrown vegetation that hides the view of everything except that gaping maw up ahead, an underpass beneath the highway. On the other side awaits the business park, our destination, where hundreds of people gather at least five days a week to waste their lives away.

My heart beats faster and faster. The feeling of being adrift in the middle of the ocean overwhelms me.

“I-I mean, why have I suffered through so much nonsense at the office, although I hate my life? How does time fly so fast when all I do is get worse every day? I feel like a zombie that sleeps and shits. When will this misery end?”

Jacqueline shoots me a hurt look that makes me hurry to stammer an apology.

“Baby, you are breaking my heart!” she complains. “Haven’t you enjoyed the time we’ve spent together? I love having sex with you.”

“Me too! But the memory already hovers over my life like a hazy glimpse of some remote, otherwise unreachable Shangri-La.”

“How can you say that? You were eating me out fifteen minutes ago!”

I close my eyes and rub my forehead as if I could wipe away all my troubles.

“I’m… not really sure what’s happening inside me right now. I should have shut my mouth. I struggle with existential crises on a regular basis, but they usually lack an audience.”

Jacqueline purses her lips.

“Well… If spending the night with me has made you reconsider what was lacking in your life, I guess that’s a good thing.”

Once we pass by the green afro of a tree, a view opens up of the two story high, rice white box that we consider our office building. Its only splash of color corresponds to the row of garbage containers, from festive colors to earthy ones, arranged in a row next to a perennially closed garage door. A few cars, white, black or silver, are vying for the remaining parking spots.

“Why are these people suddenly trying to occupy our turf?” I ask.

Jacqueline chuckles.

“They always do at this hour. They likely work in other offices of the building.”

“Ah, our fabled neighbors.”

Jacqueline pulls up her Audi. The engine dies down, the wipers cease their incessant droning, the radio stops playing music, and we’re left with the sound of heavy raindrops pattering against the roof of the vehicle. But near the entrance of our office building and the row of garbage containers, the murky morning disguised that a bumpy, fluctuating carpet of darkness has metastasized over the sidewalk. I’m trying to focus on the black mass through the overlapping curtains of raindrops when Jacqueline places a hand on my nape.

“Grab your umbrella, sweetie. At least we can try to arrive before Ramsés does. I’d hate it if he caused you trouble because I’ve kept you busy.”

She offers me an affectionate smile, then she exits the Audi and opens her umbrella. I follow her example, but as soon as I expose myself to the elements, the cold air hits me like a slap. The wind is blowing the rain sideways.

While the canopy of my umbrella blocks the upper half of my sight, I follow the hem of Jacqueline’s coat to cross the parking lot. She steps onto the narrow sidewalk in front of the entrance, and her boots pass through a few shadowy, bunny sized blobs that are hanging out on the drenched pavement as if it was their farm enclosure.

I stop so suddenly that I nearly topple over. I blink repeatedly. The creatures hop and wobble around on six legs, but their bodies remain blurry in the visual equivalent of a poorly tuned radio station.

My heart sinks. Jacqueline fucked me so good that I must had assumed that my brain would no longer need to populate this world with hallucinations to keep me company. But instead, these faceless, blobby creatures have proliferated.

“Leire, what’s wrong?” Jacqueline asks from the doorway of the entrance. Her long black hair is fluttering in the wind.

One of the blobs, that resembles a giant slug, crawls towards my sneakers. Its gelatinous, slimy body is covered in bumps and protrusions.

The anxiety, my most faithful companion ever since I was a child, is spreading its tendrils throughout my chest. I grab my umbrella tightly with both hands. How did it truly feel to lie in Jacqueline’s arms after she emptied herself in my mouth? Its echo is dwindling, and soon enough it’ll get reduced to an insipid memory. Nothing, no matter how pleasurable, can compete against this dread when it insists on growing more powerful with every passing second.

Ah, that’s it! I’m horrified that I’m about to waste more hours of my life programming so my boss can pocket the earnings, which tests the endurance of my cracked mind, so in the process it leaks these hallucinatory horrors into the world like a car expels fumes from its tailpipe. I shouldn’t worry about it.

A hurried man approaches the entrance. Jacqueline steps aside, but once the worker disappears inside the lobby, she walks up to me cautiously and lifts the canopy of my umbrella to look into my eyes. In the reflection of her cobalt blues, I see an unruly child that’s likely to wander off into traffic the moment her loving mommy lets go of her hand.

Doesn’t the world get more insubstantial with every step we take? The windows of the surrounding buildings are breaking into fragments, their walls crumbling into dust.

A gust of wind shakes my umbrella. I straighten my back and shrug dismissively.

“Sorry. I was suddenly bludgeoned by the realization that my best years are behind me, that I have little to look forward to except for decades of meaningless drudgery. Hard to handle in a gloomy day like this.”

Jacqueline’s eyes twitch. I can’t help but notice the wrinkles around them, like the furrows on the surface of an old map. Despite her age, those decades haven’t managed to wear down her beauty and vitality, or at least not enough for her to be considered old yet.

“You’re going to be just fine, sweetie.”

She was midway through reaching to stroke my cheek when a woman wearing a bulky coat rushes past us, so Jacqueline abstains from public displays of affection.

“Please, don’t listen so closely to what comes out of my mouth,” I say. “Let’s get going.”

I’m careful to step over the wobbling alien bunnies; otherwise, my traitorous mind would eagerly recreate how it would feel to crush them under the soles of my sneakers.

“What are you doing?” Jacqueline asks, confused by my behavior.

I hurry to block the entrance in case any of my hallucinations intends to follow us inside. I close my umbrella, and as I shake the rainwater off its fabric, I attempt to assuage my beloved’s concerns with a carefree laugh, but it comes out shrill.

“Just casually stepping over monsters.”

One of the fluorescent lights is buzzing faintly like a dying insect. Jacqueline raises an eyebrow at me. She was already peeling her lips open when I take her hand and pull her towards our office. The world hasn’t ended yet, so there’s still time for me to avoid sinking into the swampy depths of my rotten mind.

Review: ‘Memories of Emanon’ by Shinji Kajio

A short story in manga format, about a smoking wench who goes around breaking people’s hearts, and who also retains the memories of her entire evolutionary line. So she says, anyways.

The tale is set in the late sixties. As the protagonist we have an alter ego of the author, a curious young guy who reads plenty of sci-fi.

He has boarded a big ship that will presumably end up in some Japanese port, and inside he comes across a mysterious, hippyish, beautiful young woman. He’s eager to get to know her, but as his opening he admonishes her for smoking, which annoys her. However, faced with the closeness of drunk old guys who are eager to ply her with liquor, she prods our protagonist to leave with her to get some fresh air, which will allow our hapless protagonist to get to know this girl.

Most of this story is about unveiling the concept: as far as Emanon (‘NONAME’ backwards) knows, she’s been reincarnated hundreds of millions of times, ever since she was a multicellular organism floating in the primordial soup. We still don’t know how that transfer works; when she dies, does her consciousness jump to another body? Is she reborn in her own offspring?

The protagonist has read enough sci-fi that he can come up with a few suggestions for why Emanon exists. The guy believes, assuming this beautiful gal isn’t lying, that her purpose must be to exist as a witness to human evolution, and possibly become the trigger for the next step once our species outgrows its brutal instincts.

The protagonist, being a young, red-blooded guy in the presence of a fascinating, beautiful girl who can carry a conversation about any obscure topic, is on the fast path towards falling in love. Will that lead to happiness, or to ending up haunted for the rest of his life?

This manga is short enough that you, whoever the hell you are supposed to be, should just grab a copy and read it. It’s good.

In the afterword, the author comments that he came up with Emanon back in the sixties, when he himself was travelling around for work in the big ship featured in the story. He daydreamed that one day he’d end up meeting another passenger who would turn out to be that kind of beautiful, mysterious girl, wearing the kind of fashion he was into, with whom he’d spend a few hours that he would remember forever.

Reality rarely blesses us in such ways; fortunately some people’s minds are strong enough to conjure up daydreams that allow their owners to forget for a while about life’s eternal disappointment.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 30 (Fiction)

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.

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.”

Review: ‘Ultra-Gash Inferno’ by Suehiro Maruo

Four stars.

If there was such a thing as hell, and one of its inhabitants was able to render spontaneously his psychosexual nightmares into a manga format, something like this graphic novel would pop into existence. This manga is you-can’t-tell-people-you’re-reading-this disturbing. Although the collection contains a curious amount of eye-related incidents, it goes way beyond shoving eyeballs into vaginas, which is almost a joke in this post-Bataille world.

Most of the short stories come close to hallucinatory non-sequiturs, but the last one, about a midget who’s trying to seduce a beautiful woman left behind in post-war Japan along with her young son, is haunting me already. The author seems to have about as much faith in human beings as I do, and it’s always nice to come across a kindred spirit.

For those people interested in exploring their darkest impulses even if they risk realizing, “Fuck, I’m into this”, this one is a classic.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 29 (Fiction)

The last throes of the orgasm leave me dazed and drained in a pool of euphoria. I slump from Jacqueline’s lap onto the mattress like a rag doll. Once my eyes snap open, I stare vacantly at the ceiling as I catch my breath.

Jacqueline’s face looms over mine. She climbs onto me and pins me down, squeezing her boobs against my punier breasts. Our bodies are slippery with sweat, and the heat that her skin radiates causes goosebumps to erupt all over my limbs.

She draws her head back. Her brow furrows as she observes me with concern. Only when I follow her gaze I feel the warm tears running across the heated skin of my temples.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Jacqueline asks, her voice gentle and soothing like a lullaby. “Is something troubling you?”

The cacophony of the downpour and the heavy wind that pushes against the window remind me of the harsh reality here at the orphanage of this planet, and of the bleak future that awaits us all. Jacqueline massages my neck as she awaits my answer. The corners of my mouth turn upwards.

“I always cry during sex. It doesn’t mean anything special.”

Jacqueline smiles back, deepening her dimples. She holds my head and tilts it to lick my tears delicately, even off the tips of my eyelashes. She runs the pads of her thumbs over the contours of my cheeks to wipe away the remaining moisture. A deep sigh escapes from within my chest.

Jacqueline seeks my tongue with hers. We make out under the shroud of her raven black hair, that has gotten plastered to the sides of my face. My heart races while she laps at my organ as if she were feeding at a stream where she’d discovered a nest of tasty fish eggs waiting to hatch.

We roll around in the bed like beasts wrestling in slow motion. Jacqueline’s thighs grip at my waist tight as she fondles my naked, skinny body greedily.

I’m floating above myself. The flesh of my arms and legs and chest is made of paper mache painted gold with glitter. Molten metal flows through my veins.

* * *

My consciousness emerges for air from the churning sea of my impulses. I’m lying on my back. Outside, the wind howls as it rushes past the balcony, and the rain continues to pelt the earth like millions of bullets fired into the ground. I hear it hitting metallic roofs and gushing down gutters.

I’m befuddled as if I just woke up from an operation. As I prop myself on my elbows, I realize that the tap is running in the adjoined bathroom, behind its closed door. Less than a minute later, Jacqueline comes out wearing a punch pink satin robe, tied in front and embellished with lace trim on the sleeves and hem.

I blink away my daze. As Jacqueline approaches the bed, the fabric of her robe shimmers in the light from the nightstand lamp, close to candlelight. Her raven black hair falls loosely around her shoulders, and glistens in silky waves. Her gaze is intense, but her smile suggests she’s about to break out in giggles at some private joke.

“Your turn, sweetie. You can use the other bathroom if you want more privacy.”

She’s standing close enough to make my heart race. I find myself unable to stare straight at her confident beauty.

“M-my turn for what?”

“For starters, to wash your face. Otherwise all that sticky residue will stink in a short while. But you can grab a new toothbrush from any of the bathrooms, and also pee and shit if necessary. You know, the whole routine of getting ready to go to bed and sleep soundly without worrying about your dreams haunting you.”

My gaze wanders over to the two fleshy pillows that Jacqueline’s robe has covered, but I catch myself and rub my eyelids.

“Did I pass out? Did I actually die?”

“Still alive, as far as I can tell.”

“I didn’t vomit nor empty my bowels while my subconscious was in charge, did I…?”

Jacqueline holds my gaze with sympathy.

“The sheets seemed clean enough to me, just moist with our sweat and naughtier fluids. You are still out of it, but so am I.”

I scoot closer to the edge of the bed until I sit upright, placing my bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. Jacqueline sits beside me. She smells of soap, fresh deodorant and mint. She wraps an arm around my shoulders and leans in to plant a lingering kiss on my temple, which sends a thrill through me.

I lower my gaze to my calves. Am I embarrassed because I remain naked, because I’m in the presence of the only human being who has touched me intimately in years, or because I want to beg for Jacqueline to let me suck on her tits again?

I lick my dry lips and speak hoarsely.

“It feels as if we just fucked each other to death.”

Jacqueline raises her eyebrows and nods in agreeance.

“I thought I had gotten used to any kind of sex, but… I guess not.” She lifts my face with her thumb, forcing me to look into her cobalt blues. “Anyway, maybe you need to eat? Should we whip up dinner?”

The mere thought exhausts me. Cooking takes too much time and energy when compared with simply licking off someone’s pussy.

“No, I’m drowsy. So, am I going to spend the whole night with you…?”

Jacqueline chuckles.

“Of course you are staying,” she purrs. “I’m going to keep that frail body of yours in my warm bed.”

I avert my gaze because I’m too tired to risk getting horny, but I find myself staring at the black lenses of the mounted cameras.

“Won’t it be a waste to record us sleeping for like eight hours?”

“Thank you for reminding me, but I already turned them off. I also secured the videos. Of the little I’ve checked, you’ll have lots of fun playing them when we are away from each other.”

I realize that the ring lights have been switched off, I guess back when I lay unconscious. I forget quickly about the video evidence of tonight’s debauchery, because I imagine myself cuddling against Jacqueline’s tits under the comforter for as long as we want. Wait, tomorrow is Monday!

“Oh shit, we still have to go to work,” I mutter.

Now that Jacqueline and I have fucked, the world outside of this bedroom should have been reduced to a black void. Inside of our private shelter, we’d lie around naked while our bodies consumed themselves until we starved to death. We’d end up like two mummified corpses locked in an embrace, straight out of a Beksiński painting. But reality intrudes upon my fantasies and forces itself on my senses with a sharp reminder that I need to stick my tongue in someone’s asshole five days a week to survive.

Jacqueline pats my bare thigh.

“Baby, it hurts my heart when you look that miserable! I understand, though. Why would we need to resume the routine of wasting half a day at work to earn a salary, after we have experienced such a bliss? But we sit next to each other at the office, so we will spend very little time apart.”

I sigh deeply.

“I just want to stop working for that prick. Is that too much to ask?”

I regret how bitter my voice sounded. Jacqueline runs her fingers along my jawline, then she presses her lips against mine gently as if to assuage my worries.

“Don’t suffer for stuff you can’t change at the moment. What you should do is get up and show mommy your ass as you walk to the bathroom.”

I swallow, then clear my throat.

“Okay, let’s try that.”

I jump to my feet, but I wobble slightly like drunk. While I shuffle out of the bedroom, my ass cheeks burn as if I were warming them by a fireplace.

I enter the bathroom at the end of the hallway and close the door. I make the mistake of staring at my naked reflection in the sink mirror. I look haggard and gaunt, with my skin hanging loosely over my bones and muscles like tattered rags. My eyes are sunken in dark circles; added to the bags under them, I resemble a raccoon.

I shut my eyes and concentrate on breathing deeply. I feel my ribs poking through my skin, but the self-imposed darkness allows me to better smell the lingering traces of pheromones and similar erotic scents, echoes from a distant shoreline where some women washed ashore naked in a wave, their hair clotted with blood and chunks of flesh, perhaps dead or injured in a shipwreck or drowned in the rough sea during a storm.

As silently as I can, I push a tiny turd out through my asshole. I clean the puckered hole with toilet water in case Jacqueline decides to stick her tongue in there. I rip open a pack of toothbrushes, then I brush my teeth. I take a shower mainly to clear my head, but also to wash off the grime and sweat.

When I return to the bedroom, Jacqueline is lying in bed waiting for me, concealed up to her head beneath the comforter. Her raven black hair is splayed on the pillow in a wild mess. She pulls away the bedclothes to reveal her punch pink satin robe, inviting me to snuggle with her.

My pussy stirs. I want to bury my face between those large, meaty tits, which fill the robe’s ample chest compartment. I shiver, then I recall that I’m standing naked.

“S-should I put something on?”

“No way,” Jacqueline answers as she leers at me seductively. “The only way you are ever getting into my bed is naked, girlie.”

I climb into the empty space next to my beloved, and as soon as I nuzzle up to her warm body, she covers my nakedness with the bedding. Jacqueline must have reached for a hidden light switch, because the night envelops us. We sink our heads in the pillow, with our noses a few centimeters away from each other. Jacqueline strokes the skin along my collarbone as if caressing a cat’s fur, while she breathes deeply and stares at me lovingly.

“Your luminous beauty shines brighter than anything else in this dark world,” I blurt out, overwhelmed by her tender touch.

Jacqueline squints and laughs softly as her shoulders tremble. When she catches her breath, she grins playfully.

“Baby, you’ve already gotten me in bed.”

“Back at that Irish pub you told me to speak freely, so that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m telling the truth, too. You could make a stone feel like a living creature.”

“Ah, what a nice compliment!”

Jacqueline hugs me and covers my face in wet smooches. My nipples rub against the silky fabric of her robe, which causes me to squirm as a wave of pleasure courses through me.

I close my eyes and snuggle against my beloved. Hints of her musk waft about like incense. Beat by beat, my heart slows down until it matches Jacqueline’s rhythm.

How did an awkward, unhinged creature like me, who couldn’t shake off her hallucinations even during masturbation, end up having guzzled an angel’s vaginal secretions? In retrospect, I should have expected Spike’s stink to pollute the sanctity of Jacqueline’s bedroom, for that horse-shaped fiend to spectate tonight’s holy lovemaking. But why would my rotten brain rely on imaginary beings anymore, when the most perfect woman has welcomed me into her domain?

“It seems I have outgrown my need for horses,” I say proudly.

Jacqueline raises her eyebrows, then smirks.

“I haven’t got the faintest clue about what you mean, but I can tell that’s a good thing. I’m glad, baby.”

She rolls onto her back and lifts the bedclothes to create a void.

“Come here. Give mommy a big hug.”

I hurry to crawl on top of Jacqueline’s supine self. Once her fleshy tits get squashed together with mine, she nuzzles her face into my neck, she drapes her shapely legs around mine, and she wraps her arms around my back. A deep sigh escapes from my lungs. Jacqueline slides her cheek over mine and kisses each of my eyelids with a lingering, moist touch that makes me melt.

“As I thought, our broken pieces fit together,” she purrs.

I blush furiously while a warmth spreads in my chest. I can barely push words through my tightened throat.

“You go on like that, Jacqueline, and I’ll fall in love with you.”

Her tongue flickers delicately as she licks the contour of my left ear.

“I’d love for someone to worship me,” she whispers. “But you gotta be careful with what you say while we are cuddling in bed. I might end up wanting to ravage you and make you plead and beg until I cum deep inside you. Do you understand?”

“A-an odd threat coming from you, but I can’t deny its effect.”

Jacqueline smiles wickedly at me, then shen cups the back of my head to lower my lips onto hers. As soon as she sticks out her tongue, I suck it into my mouth and savor her taste.

The canvas of my mind has been painted with Jacqueline’s scent and her gentle touches and the warmth of her breasts and her cobalt blue eyes and the way she holds my gaze. I feel it to my core: whatever doubt I retained about giving myself away to this woman has vanished. I need to belong to her, now and forever. If she wants to kiss or lick or tickle or stroke or fondle or pinch or nibble or ride or spank or maul or torture or strangle, I want to as well. I adore the taste of her juices and want to feel more of them, a whole flood, running down my gullet to satiate the hunger that lurks below my consciousness. I might also want some of her fingers sliding in and out of my asshole.

We have rolled onto our side, facing each other. Jacqueline retracts her tongue with a smacking sound, then she brushes away a lock of hair from my face. She yawns and shifts slightly, making my body rock as she nestles closer to me.

“Mommy needs to catch some Z’s, particularly after such a good fuck,” she says mellifluously. “I’m guessing you also sleep on your left side, so turn around. You welcome the notion of spending the whole night with my tits pressed against your back, right?”

I roll onto my left side, facing the closed door to the balcony.

“Absolutely. Please keep me in contact with your tits at all times.”

Jacqueline giggles. After she slides her left arm under my neck, she wraps her right arm around my torso and lowers that hand to pat my defenseless abdomen, which causes a shiver to run down my spine. Jacqueline pulls my body against her voluptuous self so her tits fit snugly against my back, my ass rests against her crotch, and the back of my thighs merges with the front of hers.

She’s breathing on my nape and inhaling deeply. Her soft hair brushes over my shoulder and chest with every gentle movement she makes. I nestle in Jacqueline’s arms as I hope that the warmth she radiates soaks me.

My eyelids get heavy, my eyes grow moist. The tension in my body dissipates, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of well-being. Jacqueline will keep me safe and loved. She’ll never allow anyone to treat her girl like a monster. I can live happily ever after in her embrace.

Note from the author: Thus concludes the unexpectedly long sequence in which Jacqueline and Leire frick, which might be related to the rest of the plot. How will our delusional, mostly unhinged protagonist adapt to her new reality as the adopted daughter of someone eager to screw her own daughter? Stay tuned and all that (assuming anyone reads this garbage).

These weeks have been tough at the office. As if the usual issues of working as a computer technician in a hospital that handles a couple hundred of covid cases weren’t enough, I fucked up my lower back relocating PCs, and I also suffered through two major migraines. I’ve yet to recover fully from the latest.

Migraine headaches are some of the scariest experiences I endure on a regular basis; I’m someone who relies entirely on the doors I can open through my mental abilities, so losing half of my vision as well as most of my ability to understand anything for a few hours makes me fear that one of these days the effects will become permanent as in a stroke. I swear I’m getting a bit dumber with each attack. I still remain disoriented from the migraine I suffered two days ago at about nine at night, shortly before my shift ended.

I’m going to be busy for a couple of days; I ordered a new processor, motherboard, RAM, cooler, etc. to upgrade my PC, and I’d rather make sure I get through the annoyance of putting essentially a new PC together before I focus on anything else.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 28 (Fiction)

Jacqueline squeezes my right ass cheek through my dress, digging into the flesh with her nails. I wince, and my pussy quivers. She pushes me gently until we stand between the cameras that face the mirrors at the head of the bed, with its flamingo pink comforter and matching pillowcases. Two puffy toss pillows of faux fur are propped against the regular pillows, and their colors, baby blue and turquoise, make me wonder from which alien creatures they were skinned.

“Take off your shoes, push them under the bed, and sit down,” Jacqueline orders me huskily. “The cameras need to start recording. Quite anticlimactic, isn’t it?”

When my ass sinks into the plush comforter, my mind floods with images of me lying under the bedding while Jacqueline smothers me against her breasts. The pair of cameras are glaring at me through the rings of light like cyclopean, robotic police officers interrogating me for messing up their futuristic dystopia.

I feel drugged. I blink repeatedly to snap out of it, and I realize that Jacqueline has stooped behind one of the cameras. Her raven black locks frame the lense and its ribbed focus knob as she twists the machine on the tripod. The way her tits hang makes my neck shiver. I lick my already wet lips as I hope that her nipples, that bulge in the reinforced cups, slip out. I’ve become a kitten who is searching for anything to suckle on, except that I’m three steps away from the most appetizing breasts on Earth.

Ah, I’m supposed to take off my shoes. I fear that I might collapse onto the hardwood floor, so I bend over carefully to remove my left sneaker. To take off the other, I dig in with my freed toe. The rainwater must have seeped into my shoes, because my socks are moist. I peel them off. I smell them, but as I grimace, Jacqueline grabs the socks and tosses them aside.

She pulls me up then turns me around so I face the mirrors at the head of the bed, where her silky negligee glimmers in the soft radiance of the mounted ring lights. My beloved looms behind me, several centimeters taller, as I shyly hold my own reflected gaze. Dressed in my high-waist, tiered dress with a square neckline and puffed sleeves, I look like a teen, or a worn out thirty-year-old woman cosplaying as a teen, who went out for a stroll on a Sunday only to be lured into a house of sin where she’s about to be defiled. A surge of tingles in my tummy threatens to flow down to my crotch.

Jacqueline slides her hand under my hair. As she combs it, she strokes my scalp with gentle motions. I shiver. My neck loosens, my gaze unfocuses. The fingers of Jacqueline’s right hand rest on my chin, then she tilts my head to examine the self-inflicted wounds on my neck closely.

“Poor thing, stabbing yourself with a fork,” she coos.

“How do you know I used a fork?” I ask, surprised. “I don’t recall telling you.”

“What other implement of that size has four prongs?”

“Ah, you are so intelligent,” I say dreamily.

Jacqueline chuckles. Her breath stirs my hair.

“And you, baby doll, should aim better when you attempt to impale your food.”

“No, I intended to kill myself painfully.”

Jacqueline’s fingers, that were caressing the skin around my puncture wounds, freeze. She wraps an arm snugly under my chin.

“Yes, I know.”

After she plants a soft kiss on my wounds, she licks them up and down, coating them with her warm saliva. I squirm as a heat rises in my loins. Jacqueline wraps herself around my torso, pressing her breasts into my back and nuzzling her nose against the side of my neck. Her nipples poke me through her negligee. In the mirror, my beloved resembles a wild beast that longs to sink its fangs into its prey.

“You know you are safe with me, right?” she whispers. “You don’t need to worry about anything.”

Her hands brush lightly over the undersides of my breasts, then she pinches my erect nipples through my dress and bra. After she plays with my nubs for a few seconds, Jacqueline takes a step back. She unbuttons my dress near my nape, grabs the sides of my garment and pulls it upwards, exposing my panties.

“C’mon, lift your arms and shimmy,” she orders me with a wicked smile.

I raise my hands and wiggle my butt. The front of the dress glides over my closed eyes like a veil. When I open them, I find myself staring at two wads of armpit hair like clumps of daddy long legs. I lower my arms reflexively.

“F-fuck, I forgot to shave my armpits!” I blurt out.

I blush deeply and I avert my gaze from my panicked reflection, but Jacqueline laughs. She traces a pattern across my back with her fingertips, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

“It’s just a bit of hair, sweetie. No need to look so ashamed of yourself. But look at this…”

Her red nails dig gently at the valleys between my prominent ribs.

“You are so skinny, Leire. Your diet must be atrocious. No wonder you seem woozy half of the time! You need someone to take care of you, don’t you? And who better than me?”

Jacqueline closes her eyes and buries ner nose in my hair as she wraps her arms around my torso, squeezing me against the cushions of her breasts.

“Yes, skinny and pale like a lost little girl,” she whispers.

My breath hitches as Jacqueline’s warm saliva dribbles down my neck. She’s a freak. My eyes water, but I blink repeatedly to clear the tears away. I’ve never felt so relieved. Another freak could take me as I am. Another freak could even love me.

She unclasps my bra and pulls it off as if she were undressing a doll. My breasts fall free. Jacqueline purrs as she kneads my chest with both hands, and she pulls lightly at my nipples with her thumbs and index fingers as if testing their firmness. I whimper and tremble with pleasure.

“I love your boobs,” Jacqueline says.

“Not as much as I love yours,” I reply hoarsely. “But yeah, mine are pretty cool.”

“Oh? I was sure you would have grown to dislike them somehow.”

“I could never dislike breasts, even my own. They are my only good trait. My oddly big, pleasantly-shaped breasts. If only I had the confidence to parade them around like you do with your titanic tits, I bet my life would have fared better. But I also wouldn’t have ended up here…”

“So what do you see when you face the rest of yourself, Leire?” Jacqueline asks seriously.

I glance at my skinny body in the mirror.

“I see a walking corpse. Everyone can tell how crazy I am just by gazing into my sunken eyes.”

Jacqueline’s breath tickles my neck. I hear how hard her heart beats.

“Such disdain for yourself… I want to put more meat in your bones, for sure. But first, let me show you how you look like to me.”

Her wet mouth closes around my neck while she circles my areolas with her index fingers like a blind person reading the bumps. She runs her palms over my breasts as her hands travel downwards, then her fingers trace over my sunken abdomen down to my navel, where she presses a thumb into my belly button. A wave of hot tingles travels through my pelvis.

The painted nail of her middle finger tugs lightly at the waistband of my panties. Jacqueline cocks her head playfully and licks her lips at me in the mirror.

“Your pussy has soaked through. It’s aching for someone to eat it out, isn’t it? And maybe fingerfuck it too?”

I nod silently, but I swallow hard and try to steady myself, because I’m getting light-headed.

Jacqueline massages my mound firmly through the thin material, spreading my folds. She grinds her palm against my throbbing clit.

A thousand tiny sparks of heat ignite within my body. My legs quiver uncontrollably, and are folding inward as if about to crumple under my weight.

My beloved wraps her left arm under my chin while with her right hand she slides a finger inside my panties. She drags it down the length of my slit teasingly, making my sensitive flesh shudder. She starts rubbing my clit with circular motions. My pussy throbs and twitches, and I’m writhing about as her tongue wets the ridges and grooves of my left ear.

Jacqueline slides the finger out until her hand leaves my panties. I’m trembling and panting. When she ceases to hold me, I nearly collapse onto my knees.

She brings the index and middle fingers of her right hand to my lips. I smell my pungent musk.

“Open your mouth, sweetie,” she orders. “Taste what is happening to you.”

In the mirror, Jacqueline’s cheeks are flushed with arousal. As she slides her fingers into my mouth, I imagine her forcing them down my esophagus, pushing her entire hand into my stomach. She’d plunge her fingers into my bowels, where her sharp nails would sink into the walls of my intestines and rip them open. Those bloodied fingers would rummage through the viscera to grasp at my ovaries, until they found their target. She would yank at them and drag my reproductive organs out of their natural habitat so that they could be inspected, analyzed, manipulated, while my gaping vagina poured the contents of my body in thick strands of magma.

I suck my slick, salty juices off Jacqueline’s fingers, making slurping sounds. She hums with pleasure. Once I’ve finished cleaning her fingers thoroughly, she takes them out of my mouth and lowers them to my waist. Both of her index fingers tug at my underwear as Jacqueline squats, sliding the panties along the curve of my ass. They drop onto the hardwood floor, and I step out of them.

“Now you are going to be a good girl and lie on your back,” Jacqueline orders me, “sinking that pretty head of yours in a pillow.”

I crawl onto the mattress, exposing my asshole to her lust. I position the baby blue, fluffy pillow so I can lie down in perpendicular to Jacqueline. I roll onto my back and let half of my head sink into the toss pillow as if I were to take a nap against the belly of a fat sheep.

Jacqueline’s bust protrudes from the bottom of my vision as she gazes at my naked flesh. I’m a piece of artwork, or an animal sacrifice presented before a goddess.

“D-do you want me to spread my legs?” I ask weakly.

She narrows her eyes at me and brandishes a hungry smile.

“No, stay like a corpse in its coffin.”

I nod.

“A suitable pose.”

Jacqueline climbs onto the mattress and straddles my waist. A light sheen of sweat shimmers on her forehead and cleavage. Her cobalt blues have gone glassy with lust. She looks down at me as she smiles with smug satisfaction while her raven black hair falls across her face, obscuring it with shadows. The midnight black negligee hides her crotch, that’s breathing warmth onto my navel.

My thighs are quivering with nervous energy. My mind is a blank slate except for one word repeated endlessly: fuck.

Jacqueline scoots closer to my brain. Although I try to hold her gaze, the heavy globes of her breasts cover my vision as if I stepped under a fleshy awning. I’m captivated by the enticing fragrance of Jacqueline’s cuntal secretions.

She straddles my face, and I find myself staring at her pink, swollen pussy lips. Her vagina radiates an oven-like heat against my skin, while its nectar oozes out like wax dripping off a candle onto my mouth with wet squelches, coating my lips, teeth and chin. At the top of her slit, the hood has drawn back over the throbbing clitoris, a gargoyle perched above a fountain that spews a warm, thick, gooey, sour and intoxicating liquid.

Jacqueline presses the velvet cushions of her thighs against my ears, sealing the holes, deafening me, protecting me from the maddening din of the outside world. As she lowers her pussy onto my mouth, its silky folds surround the edges of my vision like the canopy of heaven.

I stick out my tongue and taste her warm, slippery labia. It stretches apart inviting my organ to crawl inside and loll around within the confines of her saturated vaginal walls. Her pubic hairs brush against my nose and cheeks. As I wrap her throbbing clit with my lips, I slurp greedily at her wetness, intending to draw out all her fluids.

Jacqueline is balanced precariously on her knees while she rides a steady rhythm. Her muffled voice breaks as she says, “My poor baby girl, you must have been starving.”

I consider opening up about my dietary habits, but my tongue is busy. My hands are kneading at Jacqueline’s muscly ass cheeks as if to mold dough into rolls, then flatten them and cook them with hot oil until they get crispy brown.

Her thighs are trembling, and to support herself she leans with both hands against the mirrors propped up behind the pillows. Her clit has become hard as a diamond point. Her moans grow louder, her hips start to rock faster, and she’s panting with excitement. She’s reaching the heights of her climax.

Jacqueline shudders and spasms as she empties her juices into my eager mouth. She cries out hoarsely, trying to suppress the volume. I swallow her salty fluid as it spills down my throat. It’s mixed with a hint of copper and a trace of bitter chocolate.

She grinds to a stop at my lips. The muscles in her thighs tense and release as she comes down from her high. She lifts herself off my face, dampening my hair with her juices. She slides to my side, then she leans upon one elbow to look at me. Her face has flushed red, her cobalt blue eyes glisten, and a pearly drop of wetness clings on her lower lip. Her breasts heave heavily, about to slip from the cups of her negligee, as she tries to regain control of her breath.

Jacqueline takes a long, shuddering sigh. She leans dreamily over my face, then she thrusts her tongue into my mouth, invading me. She sucks on my organ, drawing it deeper into her warm cavern, that must be flooding with the taste of her own pussy. When she pulls away to catch her breath, she licks her lips clean and shoots me a satisfied glance.

“You are a natural slut, sweetie.”

My chest swells. What is that? Pride?

“I’ve always known I was depraved. But thank you for the compliment, Jacqueline.”

She kneels on the mattress. Her tits wobble heavily as she arranges the pillows so she can lean back against them. I become aware of a pattering on the window of the balcony, and of the background din of a downpour. It’s been raining the whole day, hasn’t it?

Something about Jacqueline’s pose reminds me of how my mother used to sit in the bathtub in the middle of winter because she was cold, until the day when we found her frozen stiff; the water had gone ice cold overnight. Icicles hung from the taps like stalactites from a subterranean cavern. We didn’t find any signs of foul play, or of a struggle; my mother had never struggled in life. She had never experienced what it meant to be afraid of death, because she had already been dead.

Jacqueline says my name as she lifts her breasts to entice me.

“You’ve more than earned these, don’t you think?” she whispers seductively. “You’ve been eyeing them for months at work, and now they’ll be yours.”

She crosses her arms to grab the sides of her negligee, and before I realize it she has pulled the garment off her torso. Her breasts spill out heavy and pendulous. I gawk in awe as my mouth floods with saliva. My gaze is glued to the taut, creamy skin, with bluish venules visible beneath it, of each large, pillowy orb of flesh. Jacqueline pushes her tits together, which emphasizes her pink areolas and nipples hardened to pointed nubs, like bullets ready to be fired into my brain.

I’ve turned into a dog who’s been offered the most appetizing treat of its servile existence. I worship breasts. I live for breasts. They are the center of everything that moves and breathes in this universe.

Jacqueline takes my right hand from my thigh and lays it gently on one of her tits. When I recover from the shock, I knead at the doughy globe, making it jiggle. I stroke at its base to test the weight of the flesh, to feel it resting on my palm. I run the tips of my fingers over her creased areola, and I lick my lips at the nipple that invites me to feast at its juicy depths.

“I’ve… never seen anything this beautiful,” I mumble.

My beloved grabs the turquoise toss pillow and places it on her lap, covering her crotch. She flattens the faux fur, then pats the pillow invitingly as she offers me a sultry smile.

“Come, my girl. Lie down sideways.”

As I crawl into Jacqueline’s lap, I’m breathing heavily, inhaling her strong and arousing scent, fresh sweat mixed with a whiff of musky perfume. A string of drool falls from my chin onto her stomach. I’m about to wipe it with my hand when Jacqueline cups the back of my head and pulls me into the fragrant valley of her cleavage. Her tits almost engulf my face. An intense heat radiates from the mounds of fat and firm flesh and silky skin.

Her heart beats like a drum inside her chest. I press her soft orbs tightly to my cheeks with both hands while I lick the salty sweat of her cleavage. I’m panting, as I can barely pass air through my nose due to her enormous tits.

“So cozy, aren’t they?” Jacqueline asks sweetly. “Like a blanket on a winter night.”

The ends of Jacqueline’s locks brush against my face like silken feathers as I nuzzle my way to her left breast. My tongue slithers over her erect nub, and my beloved squirms with pleasure.

“Let’s see you suckle on it properly, baby girl,” she whispers, breathless. “Don’t just smear your precious saliva on it.”

I press my lips tightly around the teat, latching onto the smooth flesh. When I suck deeply at the hard tip, Jacqueline lets out a low moan. Her taste makes my eyes water. I’ve been deprived for so many years of what sustains human beings alive.

Warmth suffuses all of my muscles, making me weak. A flood of calm acceptance envelops me. Although I’m a worthless piece of shit and an embarrassment to humanity, right now I can be grateful.

“You look so relaxed, Leire,” Jacqueline coos as she strokes at the crown of my head. “Like a baby about to fall asleep. But not just any baby, my very own.”

Her throat makes small noises that vibrate through her chest.

“I wish I could fill that sunken tummy of yours with my milk,” she whispers dreamily. “You’d drink up as many litres as you needed until nothing in you remained empty. I would love if I did little else in life than run my fingers over your scalp as you suckled on my breasts.”

Jacqueline’s fingers comb my pubic hair, then she teases me by running them along my inner thigh.

“Why would a little sweetheart like you hate herself, huh? Don’t worry, mommy will take good care of her girl and make her feel like she deserves.”

She slides a long finger down the crease of my pussy. I whimper softly. I’m so wet that my inner folds are oozing juice like a leaking tap.

“Look at me, Leire,” Jacqueline whispers hungrily. “I want to look into your pretty eyes while I feed you.”

I tilt my face upwards. In the blur of her face, her cobalt blues burn brightly.

I fall down a well of endless time while Jacqueline’s loving fingers stroke my clit. My whole body quivers and twitches with pleasure. An orgasm builds up within me, threatening to explode, until my eyes roll back and my vision whitens as I come in a giant wave of ecstasy.

Finally, a good death.

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.”


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.


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.”