As the plush fabric of the rug yields under my kneecaps, even if I had lost my sense of sight, I would feel the heat radiating from the beast that Jacqueline is pointing at my face. I would feel the tension in its shaft, the thrumming of blood in its veins. I would smell its sharp tang that tugs at my ovaries and sends a tremor through my bones, an iron musk that triggers the urge to inhale a lungful as if I were a cokehead seeking her fix. But my eyes present me with the sight of the crimson crown: it hovers near my nose, so close that, through the slit gaping like a toothless mouth, I can peer down the bore of that flesh barrel.
I imagine the moment of release akin to a dam breaking or a volcano erupting: as the pressure within the shaft builds to a boil, a torrent of scorching, frothy white would gush forth from Jacqueline’s towering meat-mast. The first surge, like fired from a firehose, would imprint a goopy starburst onto my chest, smearing my skin from sternum to chin. The next volley would whack me square in the face and splatter my hair, coating my eyelids and nose and mouth with its gummy texture as if it were sunscreen. The thick seed would cling to my features like a layer of rubber: a demon’s mask melted onto my skull. The cock, with its remaining load, would spurt and pulse, spurt and pulse. My goddess of debauchery has become a fireman in a world ablaze; if left to her whims, she would keep spraying, spurting, and spewing until the global sea level swelled to new highs, surpassing the hundred and twenty meter increase observed since the last ice age, flooding cities to the rooftops, drowning whole species in her sticky deluge.
Jacqueline is stroking my scalp, but I wish she would clasp my head and yank me so that her engorged cockhead kissed one of my corneas. The hot, solid pole, throbbing and vein-crisscrossed, would push against the yielding jelly, whose vision would spiral into a chaos of flashing colors and pinprick spots. An icy jab of pain would escalate into a maelström of agony, causing me to thrash and shriek, as the flesh-spike squashed the eyeball with a sickening squelch against its orbital socket: the blood vessels would rupture, the nerves sever, the vitreous humor discharge. Once her cockhead nestled against the orbital rim, Jacqueline, rocking her pelvis with stabbing thrusts, would drive her meat-truncheon like a chisel until the wall cracked. Prying apart the bone shards with wet crunches, she would plunge into the sinus cavity. From there she’d breach into the cranial vault. Her member would shred through the fibrous meninges amidst which cerebrospinal fluid ebbs and flows, to reach the frontal lobe. As an alien warmth rent my brain tissue like pizza dough, seizing my synapses and firing off sparks of ecstasy, the world would shatter into disjointed fragments. A black void would expand within my self, swallowing chunks of who I was and could have become. Jacqueline’s cock, lodged snugly between the convolutions of my gray matter, would unleash a viral payload that would rewire my neural pathways. Who’s to say what sort of madness would bloom?
Her corona, a bulb of pulsing meat, prods my cheek as if vying for my attention. I’m breathing shallowly, my vagina is clenching with the urge to be filled. I tilt my chin upwards and behold my beloved past the meaty obelisk. Trails of sweat like rivers on a map are shimmering white upon the sculpted landscape of Jacqueline’s abdomen, its peaks and dips highlighted by the honey-golden glare of the candle flames. High on her torso, the plunging lace bralette encases her pair of bronze-tinged flesh-boulders, whose nipples are pushing the intricate, wavelike patterns. Nestled in the valley between her breasts, mommy’s glorious visage gazes down at me with a look that would enchant anyone into a willing slave. Her hooded cobalt-blues are swimming in lust, and her cheeks blushing with a powder-pink aphrodisiac glow. I wish this giantess would scoop up my unworthy form like a doll, then pop my head into her mouth and suck me dry.
“Balls first, mon coeur,” Jacqueline purrs.
Her sac, bloated with a seething, sloshing broth, hangs heavy as a ripe peach. If I were to prick that taut skin with a needle, her salty seed would erupt with the strength of an industrial-grade waterjet cutter, carving through my face like the jet slices through centimeters of steel. Down the corners of my lips dribble rivulets of drool.
“Leire,” Jacqueline says in a husky voice, “tilt your head back and open that sweet little mouth, like a good girl.”
My head falls back and my jaws part as if I were a newborn chick waiting for a worm to fall out of the sky. Jacqueline steps closer and lowers her hips until the hot, leathery pouch lands on my tongue. As its weighty load presses down, a shiver jolts through mommy and escapes her throat in a groan.
“You’re salivating so much, my delight, it’s like dipping them in a hot bath.”
I close my eyes. With the adoration and reverence that a priestess would bestow upon a sacred artifact, and with her throbbing shaft draped over my forehead, I lick my goddess’ scrotum in languorous, rolling sweeps, kneading its fatty bulk. The wrinkles and ridges come alive, quivering and tensing.
Jacqueline’s fingernails are scratching my scalp. I grab onto her thighs with both hands, some of my fingers digging into the firm, tensed-up muscle, the rest into the lace band of her stockings.
I engulf her swollen ballsack in my mouth, and trace the shifting, squirming nuts inside. One of my hands has drifted to my vulva. The middle finger runs up and down the slick divide before diving into the sopping depths. I need to sink my teeth into the flesh-rind of these balls, peel the scrotum open like a ripe fig, and munch on her spongy orbs as I savor their juices.
I pull back, allowing mommy’s scrotum to slide off my tongue and sway freely. My saliva is accentuating the wrinkles and folds with a glossy sheen. Along its bottom, beads of fluid morph into shimmering threads.
“Jacqueline…” I murmur.
Honey-golden specks dance in mommy’s cobalt-blues as a coy smirk crawls over her lust-drunk face.
“What is it, my love?”
“Me laisserez-vous mordre vos couilles?”
Jacqueline gasps, her eyes widen. The predator inside her recoils as if realizing it risked snagging its ballsack on barbwire.
“Tu veux les mordre?”
“Oui, maman,” I whimper.
“So, once again, I miscalculated the depths of your appetite. Détendez-vous, ma petite chasseuse. You can’t bite mommy’s balls. Think about how painful and messy it would be.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, and I lower my gaze. My fingertips disappear in the fuzzy rug. This heat and humidity are smothering me like a wool blanket in summer.
Jacqueline’s bare feet step forward. She grabs her dick and presses its weeping crown against my forehead, branding me with a fiery imprint, before she starts rubbing her glans over my skin, spreading a wet and warm layer of slime in vertical, diagonal, and horizontal streaks. She steps back as if to admire her work.
“Do you know what I’ve written on that pretty forehead of yours, ma chérie?”
“N-no.”
“I have etched in ‘MINE.’ Do you know why?”
A bonfire flares up in my loins, one that could melt steel and rock alike.
“Yes.”
“Please share.”
“Because I’m yours.”
Jacqueline crouches before me, and cradles my face in her hands as if it were a cracked teacup that she wished she could repair.
“That’s right. My little doll now and till the end of time, are you not? And I will take care of what belongs to me.”
Author’s note: today’s songs are “Debaser” by Pixies, and “Flame” by Sebadoh.
I keep a playlist with all the songs I’ve mentioned throughout the novel. A total of a hundred and eighty-four videos. Check them out.
Do you want to relive this chapter but in an audio format? No? Well, here’s the link anyway.
Only slightly related to this chapter, and for those of us who have been interested for years in the demise of the Ice Age, I recently came across this small article: Comet impacted Earth 12,800 years ago and changed human history. Similar articles have been showing up this past week on my Google Alerts feed.
The Domains of the Emperor Owl 
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