The Doll who Loved me

The Doll who Loved me

Chapter 1

“I wish I was loved.”

His fingers hovered close to the keyboard. Tits. His eyes gazed upon two glorious tits. Breasts. Gazongas. Gorgeous ones at that. He moved the cursor over the “size” option, clicked the dropdown menu, and then hovered the little icon over the many, many available options: C, double-C, D-, double-D, E, double-E, F, double-F…

The standard was double-C, and those were already some of the most beautiful breasts he’d ever licked with his eyes. He’d rarely consumed porn. Too fake. Too ugly. «Porn women ain’t real women,» he thought. They were, however, much more real than that, were they not?

He wasn’t so sure. Those breasts, for instance: they looked much more natural—much more real—than the deal he had seen, both in porn and in real life. Only the titillating titties of old film stars could compare to those breasts, those fake breasts he had on-screen; and those titties, like the film stars, the like films themselves, were now legends. Whispers in the wind, gushes in the cock.

For all purposes, those breasts there, on his screen, they were real and gorgeous—and he wondered if they could be even more so.

He clicked on the double-D option. His eyes. They almost left his skull. *Boing!* His legs spread themselves out on their own, his posture on the chair stiffening up, and in his groin he felt a fire, a burn, a truly energizing shot of masculine purpose right in the middle of his dick. «These… tits…!»

Yeah, the tits. Those were truly astounding tits.

«Jesus!» He was amazed by the materialness of the pair: their softness, their roundness, their hazelnut shape, the sheer touchability of their every inch. They seemed too good to be true—and, given his line of work, a pinch of skepticism was always sensible. After all, those were only images; and images, he knew all too well, were very deceiving. «I know it. I make them so.»


«Still… they look good.» He scratched the underside of his chin, where a shallow, unkept beard was forming. «So fucking good!»

Unreally good. Unreasonably good. And still, there was a reason: if any brand could stand to lose from false advertisement, it probably would have been that one; the most expensive one; the most luxurious; the most exclusive; the brand with the realest, humanest dolls on the market, and one of the very, very, very few companies that managed to break past the borders of their country and gain the world.

On the screen, right below the images of the doll, he saw the testament of the company’s worldwide triumph: “global delivery available – 18 countries.”

His heart beat more unsteady, trapped in the limiar of hope and disappointment. «Sure, they deliver all around the world, but they wouldn’t deliver here.» He gave his throughts a silent beat. «Would they?»

Why was he wondering that? It’s not as if he was ever going to buy that doll. Just looking at the price made his mind laugh, and another part of it cry, because he was so fucking poor, and he knew it, he tried to forget it and he couldn’t—every time he looked at the price of something, he was reminded of it. Poor, poor, poor. His dead carcass of a body d’be worth more dead than alive. He was…

«Quiet. Quiet.» He closed his eyes. He shook his head vigorously. «Quiet!»

His eyes returned to the screen. “More real than the real deal.” They read on the top of the page. The company’s tagline. «Ain’t joking, they ain’t.» He whistled very softly, and his penis too, in a state of happy hardness, seemed to concur. «Fucking… hot!» He found himself rubbing one thigh against the other, mesmerized beyond his own self-control. «Fuck. If this is the reaction a mere image of this woman has on me…»

Not a woman; a doll. A mere image of a mere doll. A fake light. A fake woman. «Darn it!»

He moved the mouse again. Next to the delivery information, there was a very small circle with a question mark inside. He clicked on it, his heart racing like horses on a track. A little bubble appeared next to the circle with text in very small font inside. His heart steadied its hooves. «Available in the following countries:» read the text, with a list of the eighteen countries to where delivery was an option.

His was included. «No.» His heart gave a couple of irregular beats, each beat like a laughter, a proper response to the absurdity. «It can’t be.» He moved the mouse away from the text box, which disappeared as he did so, and repeated the action one more time just to be sure—the digital equivalent of him pinching himself on the arm to see whether he was dreaming or not. «It just can’t be right.» He moved the mouse back to the little circle and the question mark, clicked on it, and…

It was. It was right. Or so it seemed. «No. They deliver here?» None of the neighbor nations were listed, and in the whole, wider continent that was scarcely more than a pair of big-shot countries included in that prestigious list. Nah, he seemed to be reading it right; his eyes, after a good couple of vigorous rubs, revealed the exact same text, though with much sharper, undeniable clarity: «they deliver it here. Holy s- smokes!»

What were the odds? Such an obscure company, or rather, such a small company in the greater scheme of things, biggest fish of the tiniest pond, a servicer of such precise industry—niche within a niche—servicing his country, his damned frigid corner of the world, when much bigger, much grander, more essential companies could barely even provide for the confines of their own nations, much less to their neighbors, let alone further beyond… «This… this is a miracle! »

A miracle. A miracle, indeed. A sign from the heavens, he could even say, and as such it would be very uncorteous to ignore. Turning his back to the gods, he’d learned it well, was no good. «No good at all.» Therefore he kept exploring: in the options menu for the breast sizes, he selected the largest on—double-F—in curiosity. «Mama!» Now the breasts, once glorious and gorgeous, were bloated and disproportionaed, two abnormal ballons of unarousing titflesh, enough tit to scare off a bull and put its cows into unemployment; the damned milkers were so grotesquely voluminous and heavy that they went down, down, down to the woman’s navel. «Fukken…!!»

In a haste, having been blemished by the sight of those unsavory mamaries, he clicked aimlessly on the previous options of breast sizes, trying to cleanse his memory from that hideous image. He didn’t judge it, though. There certainly were people in the world for whom those ballons would have been a tantalizing sight; people for whom their enormity was a selling point, not a repellant. «Well. Such are people: there’s always something for everybody.» He reasoned, himself very intimidate to this reality. «People will fuck anything.» He pondered, the weight inside his body, deep in his belly growing, turning very, very uncomfortable. «Anything.»

Except for himself.

The double-D breasts were big—massive, in fact—but still believably so. He liked breasts that huge and shapely, perhaps more than most men. The thought of their fertility aroused him. What’s more, just looking at the doll’s nipples, witnessing the perfection of their craft, made him pucker his lips and gently suck in the air, all without his knowing. He wanted to eat those tits, to suckle on their imaginary milk. Had those globbets of mommy love been real, they would be lush, hot, and delightful to touch, never for a day dry of their creamy content, their life-giving nectar.

He was much closer to the screen now, puckering his lips like he was trying to kiss it. He spent so long looking at that doll, in such a mesmerized state, he completely ignored his room falling into darkness, and the moon rising to the take the sun’s place in the sky. The night had risen, but if not for the burning of the screen light on his eyes, which became intense after a couple of hours of minimal blinking, chances are he would have never noticed it.

With a yawn and short squeaks of discomfort, he pulled himself back on his wheeled chair, only to notice the embarrassing bulge in his sweatpants. His penis, in its erect state, formed a tent with the fabric. A very short tent at that. At the tip of such short, puny tent, he saw a moist, sticky smudge growing on the fabric. «Curses.» Was he really going to have and relieve himself in the bathroom again? Just how many times, really, would a regular man have to do this in a single day? «A regular man?» He wondered. «A real man? Zero.» His stomach felt even heavier, and his heart beat as if it pushed against two heavy walls closing on it. «A real man would never need to this, for he would have women to do it with.» His eyes darted again, irresistibly, back to the screen. «A real woman. A real man with a real woman. Not this… travesty… here in front of me.»

Travesty? Perhaps. A travesty he could not look away from nonetheless. «Knuk mirh, gotten!» He bit his lower lip. «These breasts… fukk! They’ve even got weight on them!» He loved the way the tits arched down gently, forming a teardrop shape with the aid of gravity. Their silicon—or whatever materials they were made of—was so smooth and consistent enough to behave like a real breast of such size; or at least how he imagined a real breast would behave. Those were breasts whose fullness indicated real life and meaning within them; breasts that carried life-giving amounts of milk and healthy fat in them; tanks immaculately designed for the rearing of many children and the conforting of many more lovers. They were firm and meaty; dense and heavy, but not rock-solid; not too perky or pointy like the breasts of women with implants—less “breasts”, in this case, and more like lumps of plastic protruding like cancer on a woman’s chest. «Yuck.» Disgusting. «This fake woman has such real breasts whereas so many real women…!»

He needn’t complete the thought. The irony was just too glaring.

Like so, he spent maybe another half of an hour into the night looking at those knockers, gawking at their shape, rubbing his penis between his thighs, heaving like a starved wolf or a runt who’s just been abandoned by the pack. It was enough staring and gawking and wheezing that he nearly forgot the rest of the woman’s body; that there was way more than just breasts to look at. «Uh…» And so, grunting like a moron, he moved the mouse about on the screen, clicked a couple of buttons here and there, absent mindedly, and after a couple more minutes ended up with the full view of the doll’s naked, raw, uncensored body—and this, this was almost enough for him to lose it in his pants right then, right there. «Urgh! Så…! Jævla…! Hott!»

Beyond arousing, beyond carnal, she was indescribable. To put it simply, she was his type. Exactly his type. «Heaven’s fuck!» Poor man. He was almost drooling on his machine! «What the… gott! Meiner!» It got that on that state where thoughts made no more sense; he just had them for noise, to keep himself still anchored to the real world and not be swept away by the streams of daydreams, the urge to escape and lock himself away, throw away the keys, in more lovely fantasies.

The fake doll had a fake history to match. Just the right amount of cheese to be served with some good wine:

[…] is a tall, muscle-bound Amazon for the fearless soldier who love ‘em rough. A goddess amongst queens, leader of women and lover of men, endowned with mystical powers of the forest spirits, this steadfast, unwearying warrior is a match for any men in both the battlefield and the bed. An avid horse-rider and thirsty cock-rider. Are you strong enough to take on her? Nights of fire and fury await!

She stood at exactly six feet tall, which greatly aided the elegance of her physique, despite its strength. Or perhaps because of it: she had muscles on top of muscles; that is, her muscles seemed to have muscles of their own, and all in all she was stronger than any woman on the planet, and stronger than almost any man he had ever seen. Clearly, that doll belonged to a more risqué, niche selection of the company, and her price tag was an obvious reflection of that.

Still, she wasn’t no monster. She wasn’t no lady either. She was like superheroine, only a little thicker. «Valkyries.» He thought; was the first thing that sprang to his mind, actually: the powerful demiwarriors of the heavens, guiding the souls of the bravest of soldiers to their final rest in Sovengard. But the Greeks also had them—the Amazons, he recollected—and sure every people on the planet must have had a similar concept of such titan women: women stronger than men; women with muscles; women with an hourglass figure; all at once, both in the same. Female and male made whole. The perfect being. «God.»

Her aggressive, expansive, unashamed musculature didn’t detract from her femalehood; to him, well, it only enhanced it. Her height, as noted, only helped her in her distinct femininity; it allowed her abundant muscles to be very well-distributed, and even though her shoulders were wide, her neck thick and veiny, and her arms even more so, she still rocked that thinner waistline, wide hips, long legs, and all sorts of features that made her unmistakenly woman; undeniably feminine. «Jaeven unt haelen!»

Her legs were long as a model’s; her thighs and calves, as big, protruding, and powerful as a horse’s. To power up such heavy limbs, her butt was the stuff of legends: enormous and enormously round, hard in a way wholly opposite to her breasts, this time indeed heavy and rigid as rocks, enough to withstand the direct blow of a sledgehammer, breaking whatever object or projectile was hurled against it. «This is an ass!» Even when she was seen from the front, her gigantic buttocks showed very visibly, abounding to each side, overflowing like meaty cakes of power capable of moving mountains—or just tearing through them with a kick.

Her construction was so perfect he could see the strands, the individual fibers of the muscles if he zoomed in very tightly on the image, witnessing her biceps, her shoulder blades, her abdominals, and her thighs—by the gods! Her thighs!—each as thick and wide as her waist.

She was big. She was buff. She was the true gem in that otherwise samey-looking, predictable roster of plastic babes. Her rareness was accentuated by a glaring red text blinking above her pictures: “Last units remaining!”

Initially, he was dismissed. He had to be. «Nyah! Cheap trick.» Was it, though? Very few of the dolls on sale had that sign. «She’s the most expensive of them all. Surely they’re trying to convince buyers to take her, creating a false sense of scarcity with this… this sign.» He told himself, and the longer he tried to convince himself of this, the less he believed his own words, the greater the urge to just… buy her… have her… love her… became.

All the instinct within him fired up in one direction. «No. No!» He closed his eyes, shook his head, hit it with his closed fists a little. ‘Twas the very direction he wanted them to never go. «No, no, no, I can’t afford it, this is just too stupid, it’s not prac-!»

He couldn’t deny his own long-held desired: he had flirted with that kind of buy for a long time, but the circumstances never seemed to align for him… until then. «No. Please no!»

He had his own apartment. He had his own savings. He had enough disposable income to buy that doll, even throw her away, and still not end up homeless. Most importantly, he now the perfect woman, his exact type of lady flashing so temptingly before him on the screen, no more than a couple of click aways from his very arms and his eager embrace; an opportunity, indeed, made more tempting, perhaps even more agonizing when paired with that untiringly blinking sign—“Last units remaining! Last units remaining!…”—which became more oppressive the longer the refused to consummate the buy.

«A million and a half.» He read it on her price had. «This doll was basically a car. Fuck.»

It felt fair, though. Given her height and musculature, that doll was probably worth two or three other dolls with a more regular physique. «She’s just! So! Big!» The thickness of veins, the shreddedness of her muscles, it all pulled his eyes irresistibly back to her—and his tongue too, very slow and imperceptible, leaving his mouth and drooling on his pants. «She’s just… so… pretty.»

Perfect. She looked perfect for him. More so than perfect: she looked impossible. «It… it shouldn’t exist.» That body-type, that ideal mix of muscles and curves and height, he could swear no real woman could ever look like that, so flawless, so… ideal. «Jaelen!» He enveloped his head with boths hands, holding it tight for a while, afraid that someone had stolen something from it. After all, for all he dreamed about it, it’s not that he ever expected to see her, the woman of his dreams, right there, in the flesh, transposed so immaculately into real life. «This… this is scary.» To think that anyone else would pen down the woman of his dreams. «Like… she looks exactly how I ever wanted her! Straight out of my head!» Indeed: a doll blue-printed from fantasies with unnerving accuracy. It was sort of uncanny, that feeling he got, but also… heartwarming also, in an intimate, affectionate kind of sense: to know that someone else in the world; some engineer or designer on the other side of the planet’d had the exact same fantasy of his, down to the very pores on her skin and fibers in her muscles. «Whoever you are, I congratulate you.» The woman on the screen replaced the one in his dreams; no imagination, after all, could look so definitive; so precise and clear-cut.

He looked deep into her eyes, which carried a heavy, royal air of serenity around them. She wasn’t just sex and appeal; she was also authority. Confidence. Gravitas. She really had that stern, peaceful look in her, the dignity of a queen, calm and smooth, with that subtle grim of someone who’s perfectly confident of her own abilities and secure in her position of power; a leader who knows no one else can dethrone her, and so doesn’t need to flaunt her power or brag about it even in the face of the staunchiest competitors.

She was, in short, the exact opposite of him.

For a moment, the price didn’t seem to matter. Rather, it was the doubt; the nagging insecurity that he wasn’t worthy of buying such a piece in the first place. «What a woman. Fuck.» Even if fake, even if wrapped on silicon instead of skin, that woman felt above him; beyond his reach; too much woman for a boy like him.

He felt bad. Humiliated. He even considered closing the screen and going back to his work—which should’ve have been fnished many, many hours prior.

It was foolish to dream with love. Foolish to even try. «My heart…» He touched his breast. His heart, indeed, had been fed too many false hopes already; better not feed it anymore—lest the hopes became a poison that would undo him in his sleep. «But… but…» Wouldn’t this be a good thing?

His finger pressed the right button of the mouse very lightly. The muse’s stern look, however, kept him from hitting the red ball on upper-right corner of the screen. It was a firm, but caring gaze. Strong and loving. Hard and soft. Her facial features were beyond human—they were almost godly. Though her body was Spartan, her face was cherubic, like a beauty from some exotic Arabian stock. Her skin was so much warmer, leagues more lively than his own palish look. She struck a beautiful balance between the tenderness, frailty of Lady Europa and that strength so well-known (and so desired) from the nordafricans.

«She is, like…»

Perfect. She was ab-so-lut-ely… perfect.

His eyes glided back to the persnickety, pressing red sign: “Last units remaining! Last units remaining…!” Wouldn’t be a surprise if she were the very last woman in stock. He had seen that warning on some other premium offerings before, and every time when he checked back, like clockwork… poof!, They were gone. Someone rich bastard scooped the very last one of them, and he’d have to wait at a full year, usually longer for them to come back to shelf again. «And not all of them.» He noticed, with a heavy heart, and his saliva made a deep, grave sound as he swallowed and gulped. Indeed, some dolls were not even restocked, but instead replaced by newer models, not all of them as appetizing to him as the previous ones. «This can be… the very first and very last time I see this woman.»

His woman. The woman of his dreams.

While he was thinking, the sign was blinking, the clock was ticking. The software and applications of his were still open on the taskbar of his computer, waiting for him to come back and be productive again. They didn’t judge him, though, for they were already so used to the procrastination. It was so common for him to stop mid labor and just… daydream; peruse useless shit on the bad Internet connection while thinking about better, more exciting things to do—things he would never had the money, much less the balls to do.

A trip. A better job. A fresh start. «So many more people have such a worse time that I do.» He thought again, as he always did when he dared dream with better things, with greener pastures, punishing himself for being so ungrateful—or for having a spine. «Such a worse lot in life.» He looked around on his room. Clean. Spotless. Lifeless. «I could be worse off. So much worse off.»

I could be worse off.

I could be worse off.

I could be worse off…

If this line of thinking ever brought him any confort, he’d be the happiest man on earth. Instead, he was him: petty, pitiful, and frail.

The powerful woman kept looking at him, her face both the same and slightly different at every gaze. More compassionate, even. It was like she knew what was going on in his mind; almost as if… she was the one—and only one—who could understand him and comfort him; to help him and nurture him in those times of need.

He couldn’t find the strength to hit the red ball and close the Internet navigator. No. Not when doing so, like the closing of the door on a lover’s face, could risk severing the relationship for good; the very last time he would ever see that beautiful face, that gorgeous body again. «She went for sale yesterday. Yesterday!» He thought, biting off his nails. «This red sign wasn’t there when I first saw her. Now…»

Blinking and blinking: “Last units remaining! Last units remaining! Last units…” «Damn it!» Was she really that on demand or did they make only a handful of hers?

Didn’t matter. The sign kept blinking: “Last units remaining! Last units…”

Her face was so serene it was like a shell: he could hear ocean on it. «She’s begging me to buy her!» She was meant to be his!

Indecision. God-accursed indecision! He couldn’t buy her, he couldn’t send her away, so all he could do was… run away; get up from his seat and walk in circles around his condo—not a very long walk, anyway. His apartment was just a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room doubling as dining room; that, yes, and one decently-sized storeroom opposite to his bedroom, crossing the narrow hallway that linked all these small rooms together. Bedroom and bathroom to one side, storage room and kitchen to the other, and the dining/living room in between them, before them all.

When he was sold that rent, at no point was the word “studio” uttered—and perhaps it wasn’t, if only by a technicality; perhaps the small storage room opposite to his bedroom gave it the extra feet-square to be classified a “condo” proper, or anything not as demeaning as a petty “studio.”

Technicalities, technicalities. What he knew is that «it’s nothing to brag about. Definitely nothing to be proud of.» But, again…

He could’ve had it much worse.

He could’ve had it much worse…

«Doesn’t matter. It’s home.» And the thought this time around was sincere: it was tiny, it was damp… but it was home—and it was so much more than anything he had ever thought he would ever have in life.

He walked around the place like it was his first time. «It’s calm. So peaceful.» He went to the tiny balcony at the end of the living room, opposite to the entrance of his home, and took a deep breath the fresh air from that thirteenth floor. «Not downtown. Not suburb.» He thought, wondering how the location—the location, indeed!—had been the one perfect things about that apartment.

From where he stood, he could hear nothing but the wind, and see little else but the walls of the slightly shorter building complexes surrounding his own and the calm ocean in the distance, shimmering above their roofstops, under the placcid skies of the abandoned north. It was cold there; it was cold anytime, any day of any season, almost bone-chillingly so at every hour, but he loved it that way. It made him fell safe; protected; as if the cold were like walls: walls that shielded him than the unstable, unforgiving hotness of his homeland.

The view of the ocean, as slim as it was, never failed to soothe him. The coolness of the air was perfect for every time his head got heavy and hot. If he could stomach it and look down, past the safe rails of his narrow balcony, he would spot the odd car or two whistling by like tiny lost ants in the asphalt long, long below, and their precise movements, like the rhythmic tics and tocs of a metronome, would bring harmony to his noisy head every time—again, like clockwork. Tick, tock. Tick «okay.» He slapped the concrete baluster with his heads a couple of times. «Time to, uh, sort this out.»

He returned to his bedroom. The Amazon goddess still awaited him. “You are never going to see me again,” she said clearly, told him with every word, and for a brief instant he even looked back, hearing her voice just behind him, those words laid like warm honey upon his nape.

He looked down. His head felt heavy. «A million and a half.» That was no piss money. «But… well… what else would I do with it?»

He had worked so hard, suffered for so long, lived for so little that the pile of cash he ended up sat upon began to lose all meaning. Just blue paper on a stash. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it, for all those efforts to feel like… a waste? An insult? «Who am I to think saving money makes a lick of difference?»

Thinking hard about it, it was quite irrational: his life was proof of it; the world around him was proof of it. No: saving money was not just silly, but insulting to the gods. «Ain’t no need to save shit when, decade in, decade out, like clockword,» again, «like clockwork, all savings’ gon’ be gone.» Dissipated away in a crisis. Stolen by a state. Pillaged on a war. Obliterated on a mushroom cloud.

The world around him was proof enough that no money and no savings could survive any longer than a decade—so why bother? The past was trash, the future was a threat. Only the present could be safe; only the present could be anything at all.

Besides… if there was one purchase his cash would be useful for… just one purchase, nothing else… wouldn’t that one be it? Love?

«Love. I will buy myself some love.»

He sat on the chair, his muse looking softer, more inviting on the screen. Her body! Her tall, strong body! As if her skin itself was an armor; an armor that would protect both her and him in a firm embrace. Wouldn’t that feel heavenly? «A hug. Imagine it! A hug… on this tight, strong body!» How firm amazing that would feel, how strong and lovely her arms would be around him, how tender and confident her lips would be on his neck, or her hands all over his body. Mmm…!

He refreshed the page. The dool still stood there, waiting for him, but the sign… was it blinking faster now? «Fuck.»

He perused through the other sections of that salespage, customizing his doll with careless abandon, selecting the small details he thought he would like the most: the style of hairdo (long, dark, full), the varnish on her nails (blasé beige; nothing too catchy), the shape of her pussy (tight, tight, tight!), the color of her eyes. «Green.» He thought with absolute conviction. «Green. Her eyes shall be green.»  Deep green eyes, as stunning as the core of an emerald cracked open. «She looks… absolutely beautiful… with strong Nord eyes!»

And so he chose it, making her in the liking of his fantasy. In the end, he had assembled the perfect woman; the dreamy girl; and all that was left for him to do—all that he battled against all these hours—was to click the big, yellow rectangle at the end of the page, with the single word “BUY” emblazoned in big, bold, red letters in the middle.

He hesitated.

He argued against it.

He hesitated. He hesitated…

*Click!* Now, only a credit card payment screen separated him from his one, true love. «Fuck. Fuck it.»

He scrambled to find the little piece of plastic. It wasn’t that often that he had to use it. «Everything’s cash. No one buy’s stuff with plastic anymore.» And so he searched and searched, getting more lost as the seartch went on.

Perhaps he was being clumsy on purpose; perhaps he was finding more elaborate excuses, constructing more convoluted theatric to not purchase the doll, not change his life around, not get to feel any love in his life. «It’s not that I deserve any.»

He didn’t. Did he not? …?

It wasn’t only the cost or his insecurities that hurt the most. No. To him, to buy that doll was to admit something intolerable; a truth—one of the many—he’d spent his whole running away from, but that would face him every day, every time he looked at himself in mirror: «I am undesirable.»

Thankfully, his thoughts were unceremoniously interrupted by the feel of something hard… and cold… in his fingertips. «Hmm. There you are.» He pulled his head from the lowest drawer of his desk. «How did you end up here?»

The card trembled on his fingers as he typed the information on the boxes, very quick and absent-minded. For all his fears, his plentiful paranoias, the possibility of someone stealing his money through that sketchy website didn’t even cross his neurotic little mind. «For that, there should be supply.» Supply of fools; of people who paid for things that way, through the virtual realm. «I think I’ll be the only in this country making this purchase, I swear.»

The digital pointer of his mouse glided over the new rectangular, smaller yellow button in that page. Inside this button, the word “confirm” was emblazoned in big, but not-as-bright red letters. He averted his gaze from the screen right before consummating the deal.

He closed his eyes. Took a deep, deep breath. «Here goes fucking nothing.»

Nay. Not nothing. One million and five hundred kröne. That’s a good deal more expensive than nothing.

He shut his thought. He shut his mind. *Click*

A few seconds passed. The screen flickered. The transaction was complete. «Oh, no.» His love was now ready for shipping.

He stood there, unmoving, not a thought in his head. Whatever was done, was done. No reason to fret, no purpose in crying about it anymore.

Out of curiosity, he went back to the sales page, hitting the “refresh” button of his navigator one last time. The page was reloaded, but there was something off about it. In a blink, he noticed two, and only two things different from before: one, the images of the doll—of his woman—they were grayed out; all color had been drained from them, and the beautiful glow of her green eyes was replaced by a light, fuzzy smudge—and even, devoid of color, therefore of soul, those eyes still looked deep. Serious. Honorable. «Oh.» Two… «Oh, my.»

The red sign next to the doll was no longer blinking, and its text had changed. Now, it simply spelled: “OUT OF STOCK.”

Leaning back on his chair, he allowed himself a rare… smile. «Maybe this wasn’t a bad decision after all.»

Chapter 2

Wednesday was groceries’ day.

At some point in the long past, there had been a particular reason for him to pick that day—and only that day—for buying his weekly necessities, though he no longer remembered it. Wednesdays just felt right. There was laxness to them: they were perfectly spaced between the Mondays and the Fridays, that is to say, between the dreariest and the cookiest days. Like all good things, they stood right in the middle, the healthy cornerstone of the workweek, almost balancing on its head, and in this day—Wednesday—the world felt alive, but tame. Unthreatening.

Safe. It just felt safe. Not that he had many reasons to expose himself to the outside every week; once every month would suffice, given that he ate very little, and consumed other frivolities even less often. Somewhen in the past, too, he had changed his schedule for buying groceries from only once every month to once every week. As with his choice of Wednesdays, the exact reason for the change eluded him, but this time it seemed just a little bit clearer: «she is so pretty.»

He stood idle at the entrance to the store. Time slowed down whenever he spotted her. «Pretty.» That wasn’t the best word for her. «Hot!» That was.

It wasn’t a perk he hadn’t considered when moving to that country—not consciously, at least: to his tastes, people there looked much more beautiful compared to those of his homeland, of just to people in general. The women who would be models elsewhere, in that country were usually teachers, drivers… or cashiers. «No. No! Don’t look at her. Don’t think about her. No…»

‘Twas difficult to keep one’s mind tame when in a sea of such good-looking gals. The most average of them looked like models; the better ones, like angels. Competition seemed so stiff even the cutest gals wouldn’t think too highly of themselves, and many of those ladies probably even faced their own load of rejections and self-esteem issues, thus becoming easy (or at least easier) targets for the men with just enough flame within their hearts and weight between their legs.

He wasn’t such man. He had no such weight. None. «Waste.» He might as well’ve been born a girl; when it came to both genitals and courage—to manhood and manhood—, it wouldn’t’ve been much of a change. «Waste. Waste.»

He remembered how long it took him and how painfull it felt to just gather enough grit and look at a woman in the eyes for the first time. The laughter and mockery that came right after didn’t make his future attempts any easier; if anything, they only validated his fears. «Waste. A waste.»

The lesson had been learned: never look at a lady. Never address them. Hell, don’t even think about having them. Ever. «A waste. It’s just a waste.» He lowered his head, averted his gaze, and walked inside. «Don’t bother them. You’re watste. You’re just… waste.»

Even then, he couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty girl at the register as he loaded the bags on his cart. He often stopped between the lanes just to have another glance at her, though making sure he was never noticed, never spent too long doing so. He had become quite the expert at being a lurker without being a creep. He didn’t want to make pretty girls uncomfortable, yes, but he also wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasure of seeing them. «The sight of a pretty woman is a human right,» he sometimes justified to himself, self-servingly.

At first glance, that girl in the counter was the polar opposite of the one he’d purchased—and not just from the fact that she was real. She was slim and very feminine, hardly weighing nine and a half stones, he would bet, and definitely without a drop of tomboyishness in her whole demeanor. She was an all-‘round princess, yet she still carried that humbled, honest look of someone who didn’t have all things in life handed to her on a silver platter—beauty aside, of course.

She seemed down-to-earth. Real. Just like him. He loved to imagine how much better the world would be from her point of view. Good parents, great country, strong relationships, calm and quiet people. How would it feel to have people always smiling when they looked at you? Treating you like a human? Showing you always the better angels of their nature?

Should feel nice, he sighed. A world less dry, less threatening. A world where he’d be safe anywhere, anyday, not just on Wedsnedays, and definitely not by living in the frozen outskirts of the earth.

He calmly placed his items one by one on his cart. Stopping by the frozen goods, he gave one good look back at all he’d bought and realized his lifestyle wasn’t all that bad. «Maybe I’m not such a loser,» he smiled, if only briefly. There was not a bit of organic food or spice in sight, yes, but at least he was past the point of consuming only ready-made goods or frozen junk. There was pasta and rice and beans with nice sauces and whole pounds of decent, chewable meat coupled even with some bottles of juice imported from his native land, of all places. «Ironic.» He realized, feeling the weight of those bottles in his hand. «Back there, this thing’d be cheaper than water.»

Considering how hard sanitation and plumbling came around on his land, that wasn’t all hyperbole. There is only so much junk, after all, one could have before kissing their heart sweet goodbyes. Mostly, though, it wasn’t health that compelled him to be reasonable with his stomach; it was shame. His hatred for growing fat just happened to be much stronger than his pleasure of eating.

His country. His old, bastard country. «Well, well.» He thought, this time more somberly. «Ironic.» The things people did to him back there did leave some positive side effect on his body—if not on his mind.

*Blam!* He startled himself by throwing a package of meat a little too hard in his cart. *Blam-bang!* The sound of the heavy meat clashing on the metal woke him up from the nasty thoughts, only for him to notice that other people in the venue were staring at him very intently. He immediately lowered his head and rolled himself away between the asiles, hoping to disappear as fast as he could from any gaze.

People could sense the weird and the disease in him. It was obvious for anyone with their minds in the right places: just as beautiful, rich people exhuded the smell of ease and success, he smelled the stench of failure and inadequacy. It wasn’t even that he resented the fact he was made to fail and slumber; it’s just that failure and the shame dragged on for so long! «Nature could end me now and quick.» He thought, moving along the isles without picking anything. «More merciful this way.»

The realization that he could go on for fifty, sixty, maybe seventy years in that life was often suffocating. On the rare occasion, alone in his apartment, his heavenly kingdom, he screamed to himself, banged his head against the walls, never to be heard. Not that he minded, of course, never being heard. He preferred it that way, that nobody knew of his problems. It was much better than someone knowing, but not caring. Or worse: someone knowing… and enjoying it.

He felt the swelling behind his eyes and stopped in the middle between two asles, felling his heart pace and his skin burn, sweat forming on his forehead. There was a slight unease of breath followed by a blurring of his vision. He had to shut his eyes and count to ten, twenty… fifty… but the problem didn’t go away as easily as it used to. The longer he faced it, the worse it got. The last time he had it this bad…

No. No point thinking ‘bout it. ‘Twas back in his old land. In public. It involved slurs and beating. Lots of beating. And blood. His blood.

He felt like losing balance, and the image of those shelves toppling on one another like dominoes, or toppling onto him all because of his carelessness, it burned in his mind as if it wasn’t just imagination, but the terrifying reality he couldn’t run away from. «The manager’ll come. They’ll scream at me.» The swelling and pain behind his eyes got stronger. His hands were trembling, gripping the handrail of the cart like they wanted tear it off.

“You alright, mate?”

A voice came by his side. Almost scared the soul out of his body. “You alright, mate?”

He answered just as promptly without giving the stranger a look: “hmm… yes, yes, I am. Uh, headache.” He tapped on his forehead with his fingers, as if to emphasize the point. “Big one.”

“Huh.” The stranger gave him a good look and, thankfully, left him be. Maybe he saw that he was no good. Maybe he saw that he was a foreigner. Still, it stung a little. Even if that had actually been “just” a headache, it would have been nice for the stranger to have asked if he needed anything, or even go the extra mile and offered him some health assistance—like calling a doctor or something. «Nah,» he forged on between the aisles. «I’m good. ‘Tis better this way. This guy made me a favor.» People like him were better off forgotten.

Maybe looking at the beautiful cashier would make him feel better.

It did. And it was weird. At moments like those, he usually didn’t like thinking about women. Brought back unconfortable memories, you see, and it was useless, anyway, to dream ‘bout something he’d never have.

That girl, however, made him feel special; she made him feel calm and sweet. It was something ‘bout her beauty, both provoking and delicate, like a lover and a sister, or a goddess who’d turned into a mortal just to take care for him.

He didn’t feel too intimidated by her. Was it because she was poor like him? Or at least working class? Was it because she was young and quiet—an uncommon thing for pretty gals like her—, maybe nerdy or a bookworm, someone even closer to him?

«You should go talk to her.»

That voice. That annoying voice in the back of his head. He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to physically expel it. «No!» He reaffirmed. He was not to do the same fucking mistake he did… so many years ago.

He turned the cart around and strolled aimlessly throught the market, with nothing else to buy. The calm and ease were gone now; he was just fearful, with his head heavy and aching, his heart speeding again, the pressure rising as he realized that, romantic or not, he would have to face that girl up-close.

«Come on. You’ve done that already. Many times, even!» He tried forcing on a smile and being positive, but was bombarded by a tsunami of vicious thoughts at every attempt. Maybe he shouldn’t leave that place. Maybe he couldn’t. He looked around and tried to imagine himself living in that already-too-familiar store—the same spot he’d been shopping for the past two years. Or something like that. «Fuck.» The word exploded in his skull, hurt his bones time and time again: «fuck. Fuck. Fuck.» Like a deathroll inmate, he marched to the counter trying his best to not look at the guard.

Don’t disturb her. Don’t you dare ruin her good day and good mood with your presence. Beauty was something too precious to be tainted by his being. It was, in a way, his only way of caring for her: the farther he got from girls, the more invisible he made himself to them, the better.

T’was a nice relationship: he fed on their beauty silently, covertly, and in turn he left them alone, sparing them from the taint of his being. Though that girl did not know it, she made the world a much better place just by existing and being beautiful—as if her abundance of blessings trickled down into his empty husk of a human being.

«I respect you. I really do.» He thought, growing a hunchback as he put the groceries on the counter. She might have been looking at him. He couldn’t know, of course, not without lifting his head and seeing it for himself. «I could be feeling less stressed by not coming out here so often. But I do. All because of you. Beautiful stranger.»

He raised his head. She wasn’t looking at him. Mechanically, as if the job had become part of her instincts, the girl just grabbed the stuff, passed each product under the barcode reader, and stashed them on the other end of the counter. «Oh.» Was his first thought. «Hot.» Was his second. These two were his only thoughts, basically: «Oh. Hot. She hot. Fuck!»

Her skin was beyond flawless, freckles included. «They’re like whiskers. Her face is so cat-like. So… feminine.» Her eyes too were aggressively green. Like… «wow!» Almost two big emeralds dimming out every other source of light in the store.

She barely looked at him directly, and that was nice. She treated him with the casual disinterest of a tired-ass, bored-out-of-her-mind teenage cashier, one who had to take on those menial jobs just to pay her way through uni or something like that.

«Here,» he pondered, «she doesn’t have to worry about education.» He felt another pinch in his heart. Looking around the place, it was easy for him to forget just how clean and tidy everything in that country was, to the point that even a mundane store like that shone like chrome. «Nobody suffers here. It’s like paradise does exist, but it’s meant only for them.»

He felt hurt and a little bit resentful, leading him to mutter to himself and… oh… catch the girl’s attention.

The way she looked at him, she seemed a bit startled. “Sorry?” She leaned forward. “Did you say something?”

He staggered. Deer-on-the-headlights look in his eyes. “No. Nothing.” He said, stammering his way through the meager words.

“Hmm.” The pretty girl moved the last few itens past the scanner: “four thousand five hundred, seventy-two, twenty-two.”

“Uh-huh.” He muttered, counting up the bills and getting the hell out of there as soon as the changes was handed to him.

Some time later… «I don’t know. I wish she, like, said something.» Perhaps she could have asked whether she’d seen him before; perhaps… perhaps… she could have commented on the fact that he bought groceries regularly there, same time, same day, every week without fail, or… «I don’t know.» Something. Anything.

Stupid. Selfish. He should be glad none of this happened. The best thing was for her to not say anything, of course, he knew it very well.

Still hurt, though.

«Why can’t I do a bloody thing?!» He hit his head with a fist, thrashing the bags he was carrying on his arms. «You stupid little cunt!»

A car almost ran him over as he crossed the streets without looking. Almost. «Fuck.» As he landed on other side he realized, with great sadness… «Fuck!»

He was still alive.

«Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…»

He looked back at the store. Through its dark, blue windows he glimpsed his girl, so faintly visible, and the sight of her brought him peace. «Be happy, you woman. You don’t know how good you’ve got.» With a long, chill sigh, he turned around one last time and walked slowly back to his place. «This doll can’t take long enough to come.»

Chapter 3

Boobs. Breasts. Titties. Knockers. Shakers. Milk-makers. Gazongas. He’d spent the entire morning looking at those, and they weren’t even half of all the mommy tanks he’d have to work with ‘til the day was dead.

He stretched long and lazily in his chair, both content and annoyed by the nature of his work. It could get tiresome, you know, working with the same damned thing all day long, day after day in the week, all four weeks of the month, for months and months on end until there were no more months left to waste. «‘Tis what I can do, though,» he reflected, «‘tis what I know to do. I guess it could be worse. So much worse.»

Playing with pictures all day long, building beautiful covers for raunchy and erotic books. Most of his clients used to write speedy-pence romances to be sold online for peanuts a pop, yet sometimes he got the occasional big fish, or had to work with such particularly nasty requests the clients were pretty much willing to pay him whatever he asked («if not me,» he reasoned, «who’d work for these degenerates?»).

Ain’t not enough psychos left in the world.

He looked at his computer and admired the sumptuous cleavages shining on the screen. They were all nubile beauties with overdeveloped, lactating breasts, their dresses stained with their overflowing milk, their naked figures dripping with hot, thick mommy nectar from their nipples.

It was a lactation thing, the niche for that particular client, and his penis couldn’t quite decide whether to be hard or asleep. “I need you to make them all milk.” His client had especifically instructed him: “breasts. All ‘em tits. Big tits, all lactating. The dresses are almost tearing up, you know, ‘cause ‘em tits so big! Really hot. Some them, really nasty tits, huge bonbongas. I want ‘em tits naked, shooting milk. Not all covers. Some covers, nasty tits covered. Some covers naked, big tits free. Y’er go’it? I tell which cover which. You cover tits and you not cover tits when I tell ya, a’kay? Very fine. You can name price. I pay for first cover, just one cover, a’kay, with ‘em tits out, then we see if we continue work, a’kay?”

There were really strange, uncommon types asking for beaks all the time, and he didn’t mind them, quirks and all. As long as they paid, all clients were equal. «T’would be nice, though, to make money without having to work for it.» To be born an heir. That would have been the sweet life. To be born beautiful, from a great family, attending top academies and dating all the girls in there, knowing that all the problems in life would be taken care of because he was a spoiled-as-fuck golden boy, the winning sperm of the lottery of the wombs. «I wish I were spoiled.» He sighed, returning to work after a long sip of bad coffee. «Life sucks when you’re not.»

The cover was partially done. To be added still was all the shine and polish: he added a few effects on the tits, making them gleam like sweat, like dropplets of morning dew on their soft, velvety skins, and then went to work on their pores, their skin tone, adding rosy bits and specks to their most delicate areas, like blushing, but for the tits, making it seem as if the woman was especially nubile and hot and fertile, not unlike a princess about to be deflowered by her gallant knight, or a female baboon shaking her swollen nethers to her prospective groom.

Countless times he sucked in his lips and bit them very lightly, his mouth getting drier as the hours mounted. The skirts of those nubile vixens were just short enough so one could think they saw their panties—a tantalizing window to paradise, more erotic than nudity outright. Their asses, hips, and legs were just as he liked them: wide, thick, and meaty. Those were healthy, strong teenagers brimming with fertility and life, good wombs ready to produce great babies, their thight cunts inviting big, unyielding endowments worthy of their lush, fruitful innards.

His dick got softer still, as tiny and inelegant as a dried out, shriveled shrimp, as he thought of the kinds of men who could have such young beauties on their arms. «Men who are the total opposite of me.» His eyes swelled, and the pressure in his head got distracting, if not painful, to the point that he found himself struggling to focus. As it happened, the combination of six unbroken hours of work, just as many gallons of coffee, and a lifetime of sexual frustration wasn’t too great a recipe for one’s mind state.

He stood. His penis made a tent in his lose shorts. A small tent, a pitiful tent, but a shamefully noticieable tent still. «Some men ain’t even have this luxury,» he sighed, adjusting whateved passed for a cock on his pants, then heading to the bathroom just right next to his desk.

Pants down. Cock up. Hand down. Jerk off.

He hated the mirror in front of him. Always forced him to look at himself, that bastard thing. He could try another position, but that was the absolute best one in the tiny bathroom he had. Everytime he accidently got a glimpse of himself in the shiny surface, he felt he could rip his dick off in anger. In hatred. To mitigate that, he closed his eyes, laid his head very low, and tried to imagine instead of himself the kind of man he would have loved to see in the reflection, and that women would have loved to have in their own arms: that kind of equinely endowned, muscular womb seeders who would have the women just like the ones he edited on his covers, and better.

In the porn flicks of his mind, he imagined not himself, but other men fucking the women. Men he knew he would never be. Men he wished he’d been born as, but had been cursed never to be: big, hulking, hairy muscle-bound stallions teaching those uptight little sluts a lesson. He would imagine their orgasms and their fountains of squirt. Rows of women standing in a line, waiting to be fucked by a single of those tireless bisons. Kings and noblemen in the Middle Ages used to have harems like those, he read about it: dozens, if not hundreds of pussies on the side, ready to always satiate their masters’ needs whenever they required. That’s the perk of wealth and power: all the finest pussy in the world.

He felt the sweat running down his cheeks. His breath was uneven, his head almost exploding. He hated himself for it, but his cock sure felt nice—and it was his cock, not his head, that dictated the rules this time around. “Oh, god!” He would imagine this one glorious, beautiful male, his body sculpted in marble, his face carrying the smile of someone who never had a problem in life, fucking rows and rows (and rows and rows (and more rows upon rows…)) of ladies, who themselves could barely hold their own orgasms at bay, one after another passing out, collapsing with sheer exhaustion and elation with the mere penetration of his giant cock head, his ungodly titanic hammer shattering their squirting, quivering pearls.

“Oh, god, what…” He rolled his eyes and moaned: “what a man!”

He shot his load over the sink onto the mirror. Pitiful threads of transparent white goo, barely a sperm, more like a sneeze from his pee, not an ounce of the virility to be expected from real jizz. He jerked himself harder, trying to coax more of that paltry paste from his cock, but that was all his measly tool could muster. When hardened, his member was only a little bigger than his palm side-to-side; less a penis, more a pencil wrapped in meat, and his ejaculate was, fittingly, just as pathetic.

He watched in disbelief his paste slide down on the mirror, like a slug of frustrated manhood, while the image of that powerful stud fucking his harem of mares was still vivid on his mind, burning as brightly as the bonfire for a pagan god of fertility next to the dead, wet charcoal that was his reality, his wet, dead penis resting on his palm.

He came when he had come; and when he had come, it was not a squirt; it was a fountain. A whole dam breaking loose.

The beastly alpha roared like a lion, thundered like a bull. His load was enough to make a woman full for the rest of her life; both with his massive cock inside her and his massive load now filling her up, she felt full like with no other man—no other band of men—could ever fill her, stretched beyond the limits of even her wildest fantasies, and experiencing more orgasms with a single thrust of that stud than she had with all the partners prior in her love life.

Many partners. All losers. All washed away by the potent torrent of her stallion. *Bluuush…!*

This was the image in his mind when he came with his eyes closed: a giant, ripped, muscular man ejaculating hot and hard in the womb of his conquered lover. The ejaculation of a natural-born consumer of cunts! The sexual apotheosis of a Real Man, not the petty little dribbling of a flabby-dicked boy like him.

When all was said and done and his sack felt like an empty ballon, just a stack of skin with nothing inside, he was left with the sad task of cleaning up the mirror. «Ridiculous. Digusting. Pathetic.» The words bounced around in his skull without his wanting. Though he was aware of them, he wanted to not think. «Ridiculous. Sad. Disgusting. Pathetic.» His hand wiped the mirror, pieces of toilet paper getting damp and sticky on his fingers, the motions circular and waivy, capturing his eyes. «Digusting. Disgusting.» He tried paying attention to them, those meandering, ondulating motions, and leave the words back, back in his mind, deep within it, buried away, pretending even that those words were not there.

But they were. By the gods’ mercy, they were. «Disgusting. Sad. Little. Little man.» His wipes little by little lost harmony. The toilet paper between his fingers piece by piece feel apart, the pressure of that wiping making his movements jarred, unpredictable; long pauses in one place building up to a long, ungrafecul swoosh in a mercilessly straight line. «Fucker. Disgusting. Dis… repulsive. You’re rep-» One would feel the mirror cracing, the skin penetrated by shards of glass as thin as dandaleon petals, but that was all for now just in his mind, where the words were that much sharper. «You repulsive. Disgusting. Loser. Loser. Loser. Pathetic.»

He truly was… «Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.»

As soon as he sat back on his desk, he felt sadly hornier. «Fuck.» Masturbating usually helped clear the mind, but it wasn’t uncommon that this self-love yieled the very opposite effect, and that one session… oh… that one had been particularly innefective. «Fuck me, god.»

He felt like dying. The pressure in the back of his eyes had grown so strong he needed to squint, squeeze, scratch them from time to time just to set his mind straight and his thoughts clear. «Hell. Hell. Hell.» As he pressed his fingers against his eyeballs under their lids, *squish*, it felt like water; high-pressure water, a murky tumor in the back of his eyes being pushed back into the brain. Is it this what his mind produced when in his moments of idleness? When he wasn’t guarding it, just trying for once… to relax? «Poison. Poison. Poison.» A heavy, gulpy slime, dark as sugarcane syrup, oozing from his brains, popping his eyes out if he wasn’t paying attention.

«Hell. Hell. Fuck. Hell. Hell. Kill. Me. Hell. Hell. Kill me now.»

To want to die. To kill oneself. Those are two wholly different things. Different things that stressed just how… «useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless!! Use… less… usele… ss… usel… use… useless… useless… usel… ess… ess… s…»

He was.

To kill oneself. That’s an action. It requires strength. Courage. All the more so depending on the method one choises. Now, to die, simply to die, that was easy. People did it all the time, if against their will, for dying, simply dying, was so natural one needn’t a will to it at all; one just needed to… be alive… yes. Be alive and you will die. That’s for sure. One of the precious few sure things the universe had to offer.

«Die. Die. Die. Useless. Die…»

T’would have been so much better if he’d just… never woke up one day… or never had existed at all in the first place.

Never having been born. Never having to have waddled through all life. «Just… just…»


Precisely: nothing. Just nothing. That’s even better than to simply die—although, in the great scheme of things, in the eyes of a heavenly accountant, t’would be all the same.

He stared at his own reflection in the dark areas of the computer screen, seeing his bonecheeks produding through his pale skin. Though he now made some effort in leaving his cubicle every once in a while, that country knew no sun; its hottest summers would pass for the harshest winters back in his land, and its winters would barely be something to live through. They would have been, without a hint of hyperbole, apocalyptic: give his people a single day of the mildest eve on that country’s winter, and by the twelfth hour they would all. Be. Dead.

«They would all. Be. Dead.» Hmm. This thought brought him some confort.

No, it wasn’t a nice country at all, that one he chose to live in, so close to the endless white, yet thousands of people had risked their lives every day to set their feet on those frosty shores. «Nature kills, but the people don’t.» His mind drifted back, back, back to his old place. «People killed, but nature di’n’t.»

Was there anywhere anyplace where the two would meet? Good people and good nature? He didn’t know; he wasn’t in the business of knowing. What he did know, though, and what anyone with common sense knew in their bones was that the opposite—terrible nature and terrible people—far and wide abounded; and that country, that inhospitable country at the top of earth’s dried-out skull, was living testimony of that, being surrounded by neighbors just this terrible.

Hell is reality whilst paradise a fantasy. Still, he sure tried his best to find paradise: the Midwesterners, long having neglected the astounding fertility of their land, choose instead to splinter into petty, tribalistic squabbles, and never wanted any business with foreigners like himself anyway. He was mediocre and unambitious; definitely not cut from the ruthless cloth of the yankee race.

South of his country, in the heart of the continent, was sure an attractive bet, but whoever could murk through its porous frontiers would be met with a much worse, much more organized and centralized sort of domestic squabble; not as much “squabble” as instead “war”, with deathcamps as big as cities famously littering the country’s once-said-to-be idyllic farmlands. «And Bretannea, by proxy, was ruined by all the desperate peoples and psycho soldiers that inevitably spilled over from this rotten core of a continent.» He thought to himself, typing aimlessly on the keyboard and moving things absent-mindendly on his screen. The urge of spitting almost took over him, but last time he’d surrendered to it, he spat on his computer instead, risking the ruin of a many months’ salary. Nah. He swallowed the spit instead. *Gulp*

Everywhere else in the Oltten Jörden was little more than a mix of much deadlier clusters of internecine struggles and sad, pitiful scrambles for mere survivals; the more peaceful lands in there that still afforded any kind of life—almost all far from the oceans, deep in the east, near the hordelands, and little above the deadly winds that carried the poison from arabia—only knew pace because they offered nothing of value to make war for, and could support no meaningful populations to build one single battalion in the first place.

“La paz es fácil en tiempos de abundancia.” Went the saying from his land, from one of his country’s neighbors: “peace is easy in times of plenty. It is in times of hardship and strife that we see the true face of people.” Correct. He didn’t object to that. However, «the far opposite can be just as right.» It is also easy to make peace when you don’t have the strength in your body to lift a sword; when poverty is so overwhelming and there’s nowhere in sight to escape it, you get peace. A crooked sort of peace, sure, but peace no less.

The peace of starvation. “Pacce Mortum.” The peace of death.

The continent got lucky. In many ways that deathly peace was better than a life of emiscerated slavery, which is what the inhabitants of the fareast got—or so the sayings went, and wherever they went couldn’t be too reliable. People told fantastic stories of things just beyond the mountains, no longer than a handful of dozen miles east, so how could he be any trusting of anything going on in the farthest of fareasts? Hell if he would believe any of that load. However, when your entire region earns the moniker of “Slavelands”, good things shan’t be expected from ya.

«There’s one land that is good.» He thought, a pang of regret tearing his heart. «One land that must be good. Peace. Paradise.» A land so close and so far. «Damn it!»

La Plata. Neighboring his country. So close! Yet… so far! Offering millions safe harbor. Yet he rather not think of it; not any longer. «If I had only tried harder!» He hit his own head, but buried those thoughts deep enough, quick enough that he didn’t need his fists anymore.

Immigration was too tight. The borders, uniquely closed. Not surprising that they were closed, but shocking that they were actually patrolled. «Fuck. Must be booming as a land.»

Those millions it offered safety must have been worth a damn to begin with. «I’m not.» He mulled, the thought hitting his heart like a gavel. «I’m not worth one damn thing.» Therefore, closed. The borders as closed to him by the redtape as any mountain range or frigid outskirts would wall off any country.

Fail. Fail. Fail. Through trial and fial, rejection and capitulation, he drifted up there, one continent away, as close to the white as humans could get without turning mad or feral. He had landed, through sheer luck and outright stubbornness—an adamant, irrational persistence of life, or just a lack of guts to embrace death—he had washed ashore on very edge of the planet, where the scraps of civilization fell like a rapid into the void. «The only place left. The only place where I can live.»

A scrap of humanity suitable for the scrap of a human being that he was.

He took a long, chill sigh. «Could’ve been worse.» Yes. It could have been a lot worse.

Moved by some sudden and strange urge he couldn’t quite explain, he lowered his hands to the bottom hem of his shirt and pulled it up. «Darn it, y’ol.» He could count the ribs on his chest. «Eat more. Needa eat more.» On most days, however, his lips only knew the taste of coffee. «Perhaps… if I eat more…?»

Would he somehow fix that general gracelessness of his form?

Doubtful. He wasn’t particularly tall, and by no means would he ever be considered handsome. Cute? Perhaps, but even for many that would have been a stretch. He had a pathethically oblong face with very flattened, all-too-symmetrical features, like a piece of shit stomped by a boot on the sidewalk: nose too flat and wide, skin too pale and thin, lips so dry his mouth, when shut, looked like a single line cut on rubber with a razor—Saharan shape without Saharan colors; Caucasian blandness without Caucasian smoothness. He often looked like the sketch of a human being—as if the gods, when creating him, were like children trying to draw a person from memory, and he ended up being born by accident (or by a sick joke) instead of being discarded along with the millions upon millions of rejected drafts.

His release had given him no release. Like a castaway who drinks the water from the ocean, that false taste of sex had only rendered him more addicted to it. The heat and the touch of young, virgin beauties; that’s what he needed! Sweet, inexperienced girls who nonetheless rocked the massive boobs and ass and thighs of ravenous succubi; lovely-looking angels with a demeanor from hell, tight pussies swelling under their steamy pink panties, their gazes like those of sex-starved demonesses in heavenly faces, their bright-colored eyes flaring with the blaze of hades.

He leaned ever closer to the screen, wishing to lick the women through the pixels. «No.» The sooner he finished, he reasoned, stopping himself on his horny tracks, the sooner his thirst would be quenched. «Yes. Work. Gotta work.» Rubbing his thin thighs against one another, the heat always encroaching, always threatening to get the better of him, he added extreme amounts of detail to those women on the screen, making them little by little more untouchable, more impossibly erotic compared to their real counterparts. By the end of his shift, the night was high. The cup of bad black juice just kept magically refilling itself as the hours rolled on top of one another, without his noticing, and his stomach grumbled, churned, turned in demand of some good—if not that, of something solid. *Chuuurn!*

«Fuck this… belly!» He cursed his physiognomy as he reviewed each and every one of his finished covers before sending them off for approval by his depraved client. They were all beautiful works of smut that would also sell beautifully. There was a fizzle of pride in his heart; all but a speck of the emotion he used to feel when he’d begun that work, so many years ago, as an act of desperation rather than inspiration, trying to make some shekels—any money!—that would keep himself from death or worse: impoverishment. Homelessness. It’d been by sheer, idiotic luck that he landed his first clients, and it was only by sheer, idiotic luck he learned that, no, he was not entirely useless, no, his future was not all used up, and was allowed to build a whole trade on top of others’ lewdness, other people’s depravities—his entire life, a man’s whole story founded upon mankind’s uncough yearning to screw.

Even at world’s end. Even after they managed to almost make themselves extinct. Even in the eye of apocalypse, all that people cared about, all that people lived for, all that people paid for was screw.

Or perhaps it was because of all this that people cared all the more about screw. «Ain’t much else to hope for, eh? At the end of the word.»

Though he was a loner, and though he was a crooked fuck, a mentally disfigured twat with as much social grace as a bat in daylight, he was not, despite everything everyone had ever told him, an absolute zero. No. He was zero point something. And it was that filthy, smutty something that managed to pay his bills, get him on his feet, and aid him in his flight from his compatriots and captors, finding solitude, if not peace on the farthest edges of humanity’s ash heap.

He both hated and pitied them. His people. No. They were not guilty of the rottenness of their souls, he knew that, he was too clever to not know that, but no amount of cleverness or insight or whatevers-whenevers helped ease the pain of all they had done to him back in the land, way further back in his youth. From the day he was born to the day he would die, he would carry those cumbersome sacks of iron thorns in his mind. His body would grow weary and weak, but the thorns, the heavy pile of psycho-dung stenching in his skull, that would remain the same size, the same weight, if not grow heavier with time, as it usually did, bending his spine and cracking his bones until he was sent, hopefully, to an early, early grave.

*Click!* He pressed the glittering blue icon on the screen and waited for the images to be sent away. It would take a long while. With just as long a sigh, he leaned back on his chair, thinking if maybe he could, should relax a bit. «No.» Another mind within his mind interjected. «I need money.» So he carried on to the next client instead.

Money, yes, money. It was money that’d allowed him to escape his wretched place, to rent that little piece of crooked paradise. The nature of his work—irregular, unpredictable, independent and undependable—was just as unforgiving as it could be occasionally, rarely very fulfilling: some days you made bank, some days the bank made you. He both envied and despised the stability of more formal professions, who never had to worry (too much) about their next paycheck, which was sure to land, as regular as the cold, the week ahead or the month to come, but who also became tame, compliant drones in the process. Evil drones, no less, all too often: golems who, to safeguard their beloved stability, were always willing, even eager to slander, steal, smear, and kill, or to put in charge like-minded golems who would gladly, even merrily slander, steal, smear, and kill.

There’s nothing as sad and pitiful as a man in a cubicle. The anti-habitat of a human: the white walls of an air-conditioned building, the thumping of the fingers on the keyboard, the occasional boorish chat by the kleidam or perfunctory sneeze of a coworker, the mortifying buzz and hum of blindfolded productivity.

He wanted their perks without their leash: a good salary, nice prospects, a sensible dental plan, but not those detestable cubicles to rot away in virtual sheets, moving what little money remained from there to here and here to there, all for the fat profits of his uncaring masters, a mere engine to power the easy, unmerited luxuries of his thieving lords—lords whose blessings their gorgeous sons and beautiful would inherit in full, mind and body, blood and purses, to grow up tall and rich, handsome and lazy, beautiful and spoiled. The boys, the varóns, to end up real studs meant to screw, marry, and mingle with only the best princesses, the vacas of the world, breeding future princes and kings for humanity, who would go on to continue the endless line of injustice, the endless thread inequality that kept poor blokes like him on the mud—or rather, on the cubicle.

Sons of prosperity, heirs to happiness. How detestable was their existence, and how wonderful would be to have it!

He bit his lips, drawing blood, dreaming with better rolls of the dice as he read the assignment from a different client. «Hmm.» This time, thankfully, by the gods’ blessings, he wouldn’t have to suffer (too much) from thirst: it was a regular set of covers, that job he got, for yet another run-of-the-mill series of wishy-washy tales of romance. All very girly, all very quaint, almost innocent, not the type of work that would require rolls upon rolls of luscious lactating tits, not the type of imagery that would have stirred too violent an emotion inside his flailing, wheezling dick.

Or so he thought.

The covers were in the style of primordial yanky romances, one that had become quite the visual cliché in his field: a damsel in the strong arms of a dark, thick, shirtless, muscle-bound, long-maned hero. He, the poor editor, was already tantalized by the women—big-bosomed beauties whose every curve was emphasized by their tight, light dresses, their healthy and fertile bodies exhuding femininity, enough to stir up the eggs of any a male. «Fuck! Not this again!»

Again: more erotic than erotic itself. More pornographic than outright nudity. «Whoever makes these dresses… bravo.» Whether women or gay, they understood the male mind better than the males themselves—and they ended up all the more cursed for this. «Fuck me… gods!»

As tantalizing as the nubes were, ‘twas not them, this time around, that threw his brains off their rails; ‘twas the men. «Fuck…! These…! Men!» He licked his lips, or t’least his brain did. As he laid his eyes on the hard bodies of those studs, his penis resurrected, alive yet again. The image was just as arousing as the not-naked-but-still-very-naked virgins on their arms. And painful. So bloody painful. The aggressive muscles of those man-shaped stallions, whose pants bulged enormously on their crotches, brought down and heavy by the massive meat clubs between their bronzed, thick, hairy legs, all of it reminded him of a virility he would never possess. Their legs were built like Greek columns, their torsos wide and massive and firm as the back of horses, their pectorals so enormous a single halve of them was wider than his whole torso—from loin to neck.

He admired their six, often eight slabs of gorgeous abdominals, the shinny, lustrous hairs that adorned their chests, and the beautiful dark manes flowing like divine waterfalls from their perfectly-shaped heads, or the vast, well-kept beards on their sharp, chiseled jaws. «Fuck…! F-fuuuck…!!» The burning on his loins stopped being just a joke, became something truly… physical. «Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuc……» His balls, tiny within his shriveled sack, vibrated; literally shivered around his pitiful member, whose wooden-solid state made him feel the trembling in his inner thighs, castigating his anus, leading him to weave and heave like a female himself. A female in heat.

“Fu-uh-ck!” He whistled, no, he moaned, the middle syllable going high into the high end of notes, the mating call not of a bull, but of a hen; a hen who’d just found the perfect cock to lay eggs for.

“Fuck… shit!”

In heat and haste, he picked up the computer and almost knocked the half-empty mug from his desk as he stood and ran, ran again and back to the bathroom. «No… gods… no!» The praying did no good as he shut the door and put the laptop on the sink, lowering his trousers in a serious of fast, unthought motions, and began to ferociously masturbate to the images of those powerful stallions. He closed his eyes and moaned, moaned, moaned under the sultry grace from those portraits of obscene masculinity, in heat and in love with the abundance of meat and muscles and manhood in those larger-than-life, stupendously bred bodies. The images were rarely pornographic, but it wasn’t the prospect of their glorious, naked bodies that got him off; it was the sheer sturdiness of their postures, their gazes, their firm, authoritarian eyes commanding respect without a word.

The perfection of their physiques, living statues out of marble contrasting with the flabby frailty of his own figure. The thought of himself, puny boy, being dominated by those gorgeous studs—chained down to the bed by nothing but their powerful arms and hand-whipped in the legs, the back, the ass by their powerful hands, lock-n-chocked ‘round his neck by their swollen biceps, sinfully sodomized, split apart, and made two by the colossal columns of those wild males in heat. “Aaaaiiin…!! Deusss!!” All of this and so much more brought him over the edge, and then beyond, and then beyond, and then beyond…

“DEUS! DEUS!! AI, CRISTO-OOOH!!” His eyes shot to the heavens of his skull, and the boy’s entire body contorted horrifically, spasmiscally into the mirror. By some cruel play of this same body, one of his eyes descended a little from the high heavens they were cumming on, and the boy was forced to get a glimpse of his own reflection. «No!» He tried to avert the gaze, to send the eye back and quickly onto paradise, but it was too late: the image of his own self got his penis softer and delayed the inevitable explosion. He needed to bathe his mind on more hundreds of those hundreds of powerful, virile bulls to get his cock hard and manly again—washing away with their seed the pathetic nature of his body, his mind, his being.

Many of those males on his work files wore only black or white boxers, leaving little to the imagination about the size and sturdiness of their masculinities. Some clients asked him to make the bulges bigger, but he scarcely needed to be told that before editing them into obscenely well-endowed hunks, looking like they packed an elephant trunk and a pair of mangos in their garments.

As he furiously beat his struggling, slowly hardening meat, he accidently selected some of the folders containing the more pornographic images of his archives. «Jesus!» The naked crotches flaunted cocks so big and beautiful he almost felt them slapping his face through the screen. *Spat!* The collection of turgid, swollen meatstacks, manhoods in their fullest and their fattest, added fire and poison and acid to a torrent that was already too hard to contain mere seconds prior. “Ai, macho…!!”

Taken aback, shocked and surprised, the boy felt a thunderous vibration in his penis and a sudden shrinkage of his little balls, getting littler. “Ooooh…!!!” The bathroom was filled with squishy noises as he prematurely unleashed his load.




“DEUS–!!! DEUS MEU… D-DEUS!! OH, DEUS!!” He almost lost a leg with that nut. “Deus, meu deus, ai, deusinho-oooh!” He leaned on desperately with an arm towards the mirror, where his semen had landed, all two squirts of it, barely visible.

«Merda… merda… fuck.» His mind steadied, his train of thoughts returned to one same frequency, and his eyes, descending once again from their peaks, led him to see himself once again on the smeared surface, causing the anger, that anger that never died, no matter how many times he masturbated and ejaculated, to boil and brew anew.

«Pathetic. Sad. Sad. Disgusting. Pa-… pathetic. Dis-, uh, disgusting.» He almost felt the urge of spitting in his own image; at making a clone of himself and clubbing him to death. «Pathetic. Pathetic. Disgusting. Pathetic…» Was that what they felt when they saw him? Long ago? «The people from my land. My neighbors, my… my mot-… my mother?» The saliva was spilling out from his lips, oozing like a cataract of defeat and shame. «This great disgust and hatred?»

His fist was tight shut. He could almost throw a punch at the glass if the glow of his computer screen hadn’t caught his attention sooner. There on the screen, he noticed he had indeed shot more than two pitiful ropes of semen, as another one had actually hit the upper tab of his screen, prompting him to quickly scramble for some toilet paper to clean it up. «Filhen! Häellen! This is so fucking disgusting!»

As he wiped the cum off his computer, his fingers slid over the model’s hair on the screen, like a cuddle. He gazed upon that massive, muscular body, all culminating on a thick, long, soft penis that dangling magnanimously, intimidantingly between his huge, veiny legs, the absolute pendulum of virility—like an ol’ clock made of manhood.

The man was obscenely packed. His balls were so big and full the boy could see their bloated outline from behind the cock. Was that what a Real Man looked like? He’d never seen any in real life to compare to, and certainly not naked, though even the fake males of cartoon comics or porn actors from the flickies never sported manhoods so fabulously fat and gorgeous as that one on the screen. The fact that the monster was soft only made it more imposing, like a third leg so ungodly thick no hand could grasp its barrel-sized girth in full. The big, salient vein dripping down along the cockard was very turgid, twice as long as the cock itself, thanks to its many zigs and zagas, but thick as a pinky all throughout, with legions of smaller, but still thick veins sprawing from it like branches on a tree, all covering the surface of the gargantuan womb-smasher like a rugged spiderweb of studliness. It was such a big and heavy  stick it looked like he needed an extra portion of blood just to keep it up there, dangling on the god’s hips without falling off and rotting away.

His penis grew harder again. He felt like spending whole hours just looking at that model, that god in a man’s flesh. He ran his fingers across the screen, imagining the touch on that firm, rock-hard male, and wished, for a moment, that he was such male. «No. Never. Wasn’t meant to be.» The voice within the voice within his mind came up again, and he dropped the silly thought. Instead, more realistically, he imagined himself instead being dominated, roughened up, beaten and fucked raw in the lowlands by that powerful minotaur, that raging human bull, that tireless and tirelessly fertile stallion. The shallowness of his own cum couldn’t compare to the scortching, heavy broth that bull was sure to cum on his guts, to the massive buckets of load he undeniably, unquestionably gushed on the tight pussies of his hundreds, thousands of lovers. “A man like this…” He muttered to himself, touching his own pecs, pinching and twisting and pulling his own nipples, “must ejaculate like a fucking firehose.”

The minutes went by, countless and uncountable, as he imagined himself being humiliated, subjugated by that mighty male in all manners of sexual depravity, to the point his dick was fully hard again. Still, t’was all dick no juice, for his balls were probably as dry as the cerrado. Nevermind. T’wasn’t a problem that his dick, if anything, was just a cosmetic addon to his body. After all, he was not supposed to be the virile partner there. The man was. He had more pleasure imagining that stud plowing him with brutality or—even better—humiliating and derogating him before his harem of fertile females, than actually being that super stud or having sex with all those women himself.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never push his imagination to such ludicrous highs. An example: he often tried and pictured himself as a better, richer man, a stud of better breeding and brighter prospects in life, trying to get a lay with a beautiful woman on a social gathering whatever. Then that stud, that rival male always appeared, barging into his own thoughts, interrupting his own fantasies, and very easily stole the woman from his arms, laughing at him while heading to his bedroom with his lay, ready to take his prize, to plow his trophy from her gushy womanhood.

He didn’t know what success felt like. His life had been so bereft of things to brag about that any notion of braggadocio was restricted for him to mere dictionary definitions; lexical explanations without any application. «I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be good. What it’s like to be a Man.» Therefore even in his fantasies he came out the loser; even in his dreams he was a virgin.

He could change them, play with them, conconct as many new scenarios as he could, and as fastastical as he could make them, yet the dreams, in their core, remained the same: he had a beautiful girl on his arms, only to second later have her be stolen by a stud. Then, he would be made to watch as the man laid his own fantasy woman, showed him how a real man fucked, mocked him at every opportunity as he took his lay to ever greater heights of pleasure, her body twitching and her eyes rolling as he managed to extract one squirting orgasm after another out of her battered pussy.

It didn’t end there. It never did. After she was laid conquered and wrecked and ruined on the bed, the male would withdraw his gorgeous pipeline from her and proceeded to jerk it off with his two thick, heavy, hairy, ubermasculine hands over her body. As she panted and wailed and slowly recovered her breath, the overmuscular stallion would turn to him and demand: “why don’t you feed your girlfriend a real man’s cock, huh?” And the boy, the measly boy, the disgusting boy, in turn, would just stood there, befundled, barely understading his lord’s words.

“Do you want this cock again?” The huge male asked the submissive princess. “Tell your pussy boyfriend how badly you want this cock.”

She didn’t even make an effort to resist, to feign loyalty to her previous, defeated male, before he looked at him almost pitifully in the eyes and screamed: “yesss. I want this cock! Gimme this cock… NOW!!”

“Then ask your boyfriend to put it inside you.” He laughed, the stud did, clearing from the scene any lingering trace of doubt: “not his pencil dick. My cock.” He grabbed his own manhood fully, ever proud of the many inches long-n-round he had on display. “Tell him to come here and guide my stallion horse cock into yout tight cunt.”

And he, the little boy, almost had tears in his eyes when his girlfriend once again jumped at the opportunity, never a second of doubt and hesitation, the ectasy dripping from her voice as be begged, nay, screamed: “DO IT, YOU LOSER!! PUT THIS MAN’S DICK INTO MY PUSSY NOOOW!!!”

He then crawled towards the couple on his knees, weeping and yelping like a hurt puppy, a lonely tear sliding down his cheeks as grabbed that massive penis as respectifully as he could, like the handling of a divine relic, and felt its hardness, its lusciousness, its liveness, its granite-and-steel texture, as well as the its immense girth, its superiority in every sense of the word imaginable, the immense, throbbing balls massaging his own knuckles with their potent, unstapable thumps and throbs and pounds, like two hearts for testicles, fifty stones each, so full of virile semen you could hear it coursing and sloshing inside.

“Good pup.” The mighty male fondled his cheeks. “Now, put this cock where it belongs.”

He moved the penis gently inside his girlfriend’s quim, seeing it be wholly stretched by the helmet of that monstrous manhood. «Zie… die… götten!» He would think and she would moan, his breath echoing unevenly across the bathroom. «His head alone is bigger than my whole thing.»

“Deeper.” The man commanded, and he silently wept as he pushed the cock deeper into the woman, seeing her groin bulge as the immense serpent penetrated her innermost hoods. “Look how deep I can stretch her, boy, and you’ve got barely a third of me in her.” He could do nothing but to gulp, whimper, and silently oblige, guiding inch after inch (after inch after inch after inch after inch) of that endless manhood inside the woman. “Now…” The male leaned to her and sucked her tits, making her moan and wet herself like a prowled dam, “feel it. I’m deeper in her than any man has ever been, than any man will ever be, and there’s still another half of cock to go.”

In the end, the man could never penetrate her in full. The penis would easily hit her cervix with the many inches (and inches and inches and inches and inches and inches) still left outside. Therefore, with utmost control, his body being both a force of destruction and creation, the stallion proceeded to fuck her pussy, body, mind, and soul senseless for another hour, drawing so many orgasms out of her that the poor little being didn’t know what’d hit her when it was all set and done. She yelped, screamed, moaned, quaked, and fainted more times than anyone could count, and the little man, both within the dream and out in the bathroom, came quick and hard by watching that superior male conquer the ever-living soul of his lover; orgasms so great that even her sisters, her mother, her grandmas, and all the women of her past, alive or dead, would feel it—and get hopelessly addicted to it.

Sex so good it could be felt through generations, across time and space.

Despite his third release, his pecker sang a song without notes. His little, shrived bowls were exhausted—the exact opposite, or course, of the raging stallion in his dreams, who still ejaculated like twenty men inside the woman. Still, the pleasure of that third nut was more sublime, and he, the boy, found himself fumbling his own buttocks, teasing his little asshole with his index as he descended from ecstasy and found himself again, rather anticlimactically, in the same dark, dreary bathroom, in front of the mirror still smeared by his prior load.

The computer still shone on his frail body, its screen slightly dimmed after so many minutes of inactivity. “What a man,” he muttered softly, and then more loudly so: “what a man.” The swelling of his eyes got worse and worse, and he closed the laptop quietly, every motion a testament to his defeat, and returned to his desk like soldiers from a beaten army being paraded, in chains, along the ample streets of the victorious nation—living spoils to the victor. «Fuck,» he thought. «That’s three nuts. Three.»

He didn’t like the habit, he knew it was poisonous to both mind and soul, but what else could he do? In the lack of any healthy options, it was quite literally the only thing that kept he sane, even alive. «Fukken idiote!» He hated himself not only for having failed to remain “chaste”, but also for not getting anything out of it. «Fukken fukken funkkert-hen!!» He had nutted three times in one night and still did not feel sathed. «You fucking rotten piece of shit.»

He opened the laptop and stared at the same erotic image of the stud dominating the busty damsel, his wide shoulders and Greek-column-thick arms enfolding her like the walls of an ancient roman capital. The sight of his exposed, muscular back, not to speak of the protrudent slabs of muscle on his shoulders, literal walls of meat along an impossibly wide frame, got his penis twitchy again, and by the end of that shift, some hours past moonfall, he had jerked off again in his seat, his pants still on, making a mess of his hands, his chair, and his underwear.

«I fucking hate myself.»

Change the clothes. Clean the bathroom. Go to bed and die. That was how he spend the remaining waking moments of his long overstretched day. He was in no mood for anything else. «Fuck me. Fuck me always. Fuck me to hell.»

He jumped into the black, or rather, sank into the bed with his head heavy, his eyes aching and throbbing,  his brain begging for release, as if the twisted mass of meat in his skull had morphed into a nest of hornets.

«This doll… this doll…» He though to himself, holding back the flood in his eyes, waiting to die. «She can’t arrive soon enough.»

Thankfully, the sleep did. He was allowed to close the day with some sort of happiness; if not happiness, contentment; if not contentment, finality. No death, but the little death—and this was good enough for him.

As good as he would ever get.

Chapter 4

He woke up to a buzzard several days later.

“Uh… hi, hey…” He yawned as he picked up the telecom from the wall on his living room. “Uh, good morning.” It was three waypast sunshoot.

“Uh, hi. This is, uh,” there was the sound of papers shuffling as the porter searched for his name. “One-three, three-nine C, am I right? There’s a package for you.” A weird, unthought pause followed. He knew those silent hiccups all too well: the keeper was looking for words, tripping and trampling on his own tongue; he knew that silence, yes, but it was uncommon to find it on other people. “A big package.” Another piece of silence followed, and this time he didn’t know what to make of it. “Anyone ‘ma pick-a-up?”

He felt a tightening on the chest, almost blocking the words from him: “b-be right down. Er, down t-there in a, err, a minute, a m-minute, in a minute. Or two.”


Phone hanged. He could count his heartbeats on the tip of his fingers; he could count it right up his neck. Asphyxiating. «She…» He didn’t think of much as he grabbed whatever serviceable clothes he had in arms reach and headed to the door; to the door, not through the door, for every step was a moment to pause, every gut reaction gave way to gut protestation, with his legs going nimbler, his belly growing feebler, an uncontrollable desire to unload. «She…» Almost uncontrollable. «She can’t be here.» He felt in his guts the same fear… oh, come on! «No. I can’t… I can’t just…»

The same fear he felt whenever he had to look up to a girl. Imagine going up and… tal… t-t-talking to… «I can’t. This can’t be…»

His hand was frozen on the doorknob, melding into it. He had become a statue of his living room; not much so as a welcoming one, but a harbinger to anyone idiot enough to try and enter his house: there’s no good that can come from here; no positive you can gain from him. Go away and save yourselves. Your lives are worth living. Unlike h-

Buzzard. Buzzard, buzzard, buzzard. He snapped up and back into reality, his eyes as if shattered, made of glass and them smashed by a hammer. Painful thing. He felt ‘em shard in his gray mass up his skull. “Fuck.” His heart, he could feel it in his fingertips, count the beats within his throat; one heart for every finger; one heart squeezed tight where his apple would’ve been. «Fuckfuckfuck……!»

The comms device in his apartment had an alarming sound for its bell; no such sound could be called a mere ringing. It was very clean, very loud, and all-throughout very fake; t’wasn’t a sound made by real things, but computadorized ones. A digital sound. Electronic. A sound, too, like many unpleasant things, he knew all too well. “Uh… yeah?”

On the other side of the line, he could hear the fingers thumping. “Sir, you coming down?”

He looked at the imaginary clock atop his condo’s entrance. Minut-avon-minute, flirting with an hour had passed. “I’m so, so sorry. Uh…” Don’t look for an excuse; don’t try for an explanation; you just gon’ make yourself look and sound and be more ridiculous, you bloody idiot. “I’m going right down.”

Right down. Right now. He didn’t think of it as he slammed the comm into the wall and burst through the door without opening in, being washed clean and void by the overbearing «white! White! White!»

Yes. White. The salt mine under a cloudless sun white of the long, long, long hallway before his home. Several doors, near countless, stood before him and the lifts far, far, far away. He lived at the very edge of the edifice, cornered in a dark, safe, protected rim of that tall haven, and he loved it, yes, he would die for the protection that lone, isolated corner gave him… but the drawback was also there, where he stood, clear and obvious every time he had to leave his cave and face the world. «It’s so far away!»

He counted the two hundred steps it took him to cross the hallway in its entirety, flowing by the midsection, the only point in that long march where there were windows; the only point from which natural light flowed. Everything else was neon, neon, neon. «Argh! This… white!»

White, yes. Overwhelming white, everlasting white, this time wholly manmade: the white walls and white doors and blue-gray doorknobs under the white neons from the white phosphorescent lights. T’looked like the hallway of a deserted, but well-kept hospital; a hospital where everyone was already dead. «The last time…» He pondered, taking the first steps away from his apartment, counting them as the hallway become longer, longer, longer.

The last time he had seen a neighbor there. Never.

He arrived at the elevator antechamber, beads of sweat abounding on his forehead, and lost his balance for a moment as the white seemed to have bounced around on the many walls more electrically in that wider, more disorienting space. There were three elevators for his section of the building, all incredibly fast, all eerily soundless, and he noticed not when he pressed the buttons for one of the lifts, or which buttons he pressed or which lifts he called, or when the descent had started, or when he threw himself into one of the lifts in the first place, or when the lift had arrived, or when his body was hurled aggressively into the walls of the reception floor, everything in and around those elevators being an immense sensorial wasteland, badlands where his ears got lost and his eyes melted into his skull, the feeling like molten metal burning on his nostrils. “I…!”

It was in the midst of this disorienting desert that he was called by a very pleasant, quite lively voice: “ah, so you’re from one-three, three-nine, alright?”

Suddenly he’d been lost, but suddenly he’d been called back by that calming, slightly awkward, but nonetheless inviting and friendly voice. “I…” His own voice flowed out much better as he shook his head, blink hard and slow for a bit, then took a good look around, placing himself on the space, trying to get a read of his surroundings.

He was shaking as he stood in the middle of the entry lobby of his massive, sprawling condominium. If anything, due to the enormity of that foyer, the whites were all the more oppressive, yet burned somehow less aggressively on his eyes: long and wide-apart walls, high and high and high and high ceiling, an equally tall and rather pompous glass door to his left, and an endless row of mail boxes and white nothingess to his right.

And in front of him, what mattered the most, stood a young, jovial face and a nonjudgmental smile to welcome him, and a long, light-gray granite counter separating them both. “One-three, three-nine, am I right?”

The boy couldn’t help but to smile back and nod in sweet avowal. “Huh.” He said, but felt he had to say more than just that. “Yes, yes. I’m from, uh, this unit.”

With movements as fluid as nature, the young porter shuffled some papers under his side of the counter with one hand whilst pointing to the boy’s back with the other. “The big boy’s for ya.”

Startled again by the voice and the movements, the boy looked back, and only then he noticed the giant wooden crate resting on a wall of the foyer—a light-brown, yellow monolith as inconspicuous in that environment as a mountain lion on a baby’s crib.

“Oh, yesh… uh…” He could now barely look the porter in the eyes, as pleasing as they were. “I guess this one’s mine.”

“‘Tis alright, ‘tis all great.” The young worker slid him a clipboard with a list over the counter. “Your name here and here… and here-and-here two. Two copies, okay?”

He ignored it. He was too focused on the box, finding it much, much larger than expected. «Too large.» He gulped, feeling an unexpected (and unexpectedly good) tingling betw’n’is legs. «How big is she?»

He was called back again—again—to reality by an impatient banging of the clipboard on the counter. “Hey-I-need-ya signatures.” The portier waited for him to sign. “Uh, hey, man? Y’all right?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry.” He took a deep breath, focused on not making his hands shake so much as he scribbled four barely-readable signatures on the two sheets o’paper. As he did so, two elderly ladies walked on from the lifts’ area, stopping by the foyer as they two caught sight of the hideous package standing so tall, too tall, so imposingly in the area.

“Hallo, missen Olsen! Gët’middag, missen Svensson!” The doorboy—and he was, indeed, a boy; a young lad not any older than twenty, he would bet—greeted the two still-faced elders.

The last signature on the paper looked even more hideous than the previous ones, as he couldn’t quite concentrated with those two strangers staying there, doing nothing, just looking at the box, then to him, then whispering something on each other’s ears before slowly and cautiously deciding to leave the hall.

The young porter also stared at him deeply, thinking God-knows-what, looking amused as he got the list back, as if witnessing a wild, yet harmless rare animal in its habitat. «I’m sick. This is sick. I’m so fucking si-»

“Sooo…” Once again, it was the voice of that young lad that rescued him from much more unsavory thoughts. “Guess ya gonna need help with this one, eh? I’m feeling charitable today, so let me…”

“No.” He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, relax, relax, don’t lose your shit now. “I mean, uh… no, I’m fine, uh, thank you. Thank you very much.”

“It’s a pretty hefty load, you know.” The doorboy cast a long, silent gaze towards the resident, seizing him from head to toe and then back up, toe to head again, trying his best to hide a smirk. “I really think you’ll need my help.”

“No. No help.”

“You sure?”

He looked to the doorboy. The doorboy looked at him. He gulped, and in gulping he feared the tiny blob of saliva would get stuck in his throat, for it alone had more girth than all his throat, legs, arms, and hips combined. “You really sure?” The young porter felt the need to ask again, and his voice snapped the boy off his thoughts one more time:

“Yes. I… uh, am sure.”

“Doesn’t sound too sure to me, to be honest.”

“Well…” He straightened up his posture, tried to look as confident and respectable as a man in charge ‘f his own destiny. “I am. Thank you.”

“Oh, walle.” The young man shrugged, “suit yourself, then. You are gonna need this, though.” He rolled a dolly cart from around the counter.

“Uh, oh…” The boy mumbled out some thanks or whatevers, his lips and tongue making no discernible words; only grunts and grumbles that somewhat conveyed his emotions, like an animal’s. «How… how do I actually use this thing?»

There came the time to actually move the crater, and the boy had to gulp again as the object loomed large before him, not to different from the building itself. «She’s big.» He reiterated, as if pinching himself on the mind, on the brain matter to truly believe what he was seeing. «She. Is. Big!» The size, the dimensions, the… «weight!»

The doorboy watched watched amusedly as the puny resident tried in vein to even just place the lower plane of the box on the cart’s platforms, failing to do so with as little as a single inch. Minutes upon minutes to no end, the sweat grew, then rained from his skin, eventually turning his blue shirt brown and gluing it, along with all his clothes, to his needle-thin, skeletal body, like lycra. “You are sure you don’t want any help?”

“I-I’ve s-said…” He tried to speak, but the air was searing coal in his lungs, themselves turned into a smelter. “N-no… n-no-oow… n-no help… t-t-t-t-thanks.”

“You know you’re not an ant, right?”

He cast the porter a puzzled look. “What?”

“You’re not an ant: you cannot carry objects fifty times your body weight.” He scanned the guy again, head to toe. “Or a hundred times, I guess”

“Fuck y-” He covered his mouth, and what little progress he had made was undone as the crater fell back on the wall—a little motion, but one that, combined with the crater’s indescribable weight, generated no less than catastrophic loudness.


“Häellen fukkert fukken mischt! Oh!” He covered his mouth again “I’m… I’m s-sorry. I’m so sorry, so sorry!”

“Welp, this is getting ridiculous. Just let me lend you a hand, comrade.”

«Goddamn it.»

“Holy s-!!” Not even the young porter, though, was prepared for the weight of the huge crater. “The hell is in here? Did you order a bear?”

“I… I-I…”

As the young lad tried (and failed) to assist him, the boy gave him a long, inspecting look. He was a much more robust, healthier-looking male than he was, with a much more pleasant, fresher face, but even all his youth and liveliness seemed to come to naught as the massive box didn’t budge another inch, maybe two, but no more than three up from the ground.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry? Sorry for what? What was he still apologizing f- “Let me lend you a hand.”

“Yeah, man, much appreciated. Shite!” The lively young man cracked his neck, rubbed his own shoulders to disperse a lot of the heat and acid on them. “I need to go back lifting stones. Darne häerrun! And here was I thinking I looked like some dope shit or something.”


“Don’t mind me, though. Come on.” He invited the boy to come closer. To be perfectly frank, that was to him an uncommon sight. Or a very threatening one. «What does he want to do with m-?» “This is more of a collective effort, you know.” The doorboy cut him, rather impatient, wondering what was taking him so long. “I am here to help ya, not do your work for ya.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Uh-huh.” The porter smiled, and once again invited the resident to come closer—which he did, albeit very, very, very-very-very cautiously. “Come on now. On my mark.”


“On three: one, two…”

The two youngsters nearly farted their souls out as they tried now lifting the box in tandem. It would take them several tries and no short deals of backaches later on, but eventually the two lads managed to lay the damned thing onto the cart, making the job of moving the damned thing around somewhat more bearable. “Good, good, not… watch out!” Shouted the porter once the box finally landed, and the boy quickly laid his hands on it, pushing it in the opposite direction, trying to prevent it from falling over them.


“Hang on there!” The worker joined him, both men now supporting the massive weight of the container on their arms, cracking their spines as they tried to prevent the crater’s fall—and their deaths along with it. “Careful now! Fucking floor’s slippery as a fucker!”

“Ugh! I can feel… oh… that!”

The boy slipped, his glutes crashing on the ground. It was funny how his body kicked off on the floor, as if he had a bouncy butt to speak off—which he hadn’t; there were just two protruding bones with skin stretched all over them, that thing he called an “ass.”

“You okay?”

“Hmm, yes, no… oof… no problem.”

“Well, it’s secure now.” The worker whipped the sweat off his forehead, then slapped a couple of times on the damned box that had given them such pains. “Damn it, dude, what the hell is in here?”

He gulped. He could have said anything sensible, yes, like “a fridge” or a “new sound system”, anything that would have sounded convincing or belieable, credible and beyond suspicion, yes, or he could have just stayed silent, yes, staying silent would have been much better, confidently implying that the porter should mind his own business. Or something.

Any of these alternatives would have been better. Any of the would have been great, yes, but instead of any of these he answered…


The doorboy tilted his head.


“Yeah. Hmm… sofa.”

He was retarded. There was no disputing this.

“A sofa made of titanium or…?”

“‘Tis just a sofa.”

“Looks a little too heavy, yet a little too short to be a sofa, to be perfectly honest. You know, not wide enough, in my opinion.”

“Look, it’s just… uh… it’s just something to sit on.”

“Okay, okay, hey, ain’t my business, anyway. However…” The doorboy stretched and shut his palms a couple of times, flexing and relaxing his hurt fingers and the sore muscles along his wrists and forearms. “Forgive me the question if it sounds perhaps a little too silly, but… are you new here? Are you moving in with this stuff or…?

Indeed, he found the question amusing. “No. Not moving. I… I live here.”

“You do?” The worker was puzzled. “For how long?”

“Two years now.”

“Two years. Well, darn! I should have known you by now.” He reached out with a hand. “Name’s Jonathan.”

The boy stared at the porter’s hand, bewildered, not sure if he should reach back out to it or recoil from it. “Hmm…”

“You’re supposed to shake it. The hand.”

“Uh, okay, hmm…” He shook the hand, he himself shaking along with it. “Uh, n-nice… nice to… meet you.”

“Likewise.” The two hands remained together in an awkward hug, the shaking having long stopped. “And…?”

The boy looked at him, deer-in-the-headlights kind of gleam in his eyes. “Hmm…”

Jonathan chuckled. “Your name.”


Yes. “Oh!” Of course he wanted to know his name. «My name…» Even that, however, to him wasn’t as easy or reflexive a thing as it was to other people. «To be fair, it’s not that I go talking to other people a lot. Meeting other people. Greeting them.» He would have known how to say his own name much faster if he had to type it, as in the keyboard of a computer, pressing the keys to write a message to his clients on the screen. Even then, wouldn’t have been as natural as it should’ve been. «What was the last time I told someone, talked to someone with my first name?» He generally, no, always used his last name, his business name, which, quite frankly, was the only name that mattered, the only name in him which was worth a d-

“My mate, are you okay?”

Once again, once again, once again… “Oh?”

The young man’s voice brought him back to the crust: “do you have problems with low pressure, or any medical issues as such? I noticed you, uh, sort of ‘space out’ all too often. You ‘blank out’, whatever the technical term is, and I… well, I’m starting to get a little worried.”

“Oh. Oh…” He hugged one arm, shoulders low, head to the ground, apologizing without having to apologize. “No, no, it’s just… it’s nothing, really.”

“‘Nothing,’ huh.” He smiled. He seemed, with every fiber of his being, to be aware of the other’s mistrust, and tried, with every delicate motion, to display trustworthiness to that odd stranger. “Just as ‘nothing’ as when you didn’t want my help with this big ol’ crater, here?”


A sudden, well-warranted silence befell them both. “Excuse me?”

The young man looked up to the porter, a rare, if awkward smile reluctantly budding on his lips. “My name, I guess…”

“Your name. Oh.”

“João.” He said again with greater confidence. “My name is… João.”

“Oh. Alright.” Jonathan tilted his head again, making sure he had heard it correction. “Zhu-anhm?”

“No: João.”

The head was tilted again, this time on the opposite direction, like a confused puppy. “Zho-ahn-o.”

“Just call me John.”

“Oh, John, hmm. Alright, this one is easy to remember.” He smiled, and finally their hands parted ways. “John! Hmm. How come I’ve never seen you before?”


“Oh, I guess, uh, you don’t leave the unit very often, do you?”

This Jonathan fellow looked (and acted) like the joyful, extroverted type, so there was (probably) no harm intended on the question. John couldn’t know for sure, though. He’d always been pretty inane in guessing people’s motives, and experience had long thought him to, when in doubt, err for the worst. As such, his posture became defensive; his face, heavy and still; “the face of few friends”, as it was called back in his land. Still, a part in him tried to sound casual, even friendly, even inviting to that stranger: “well, you see… I work remotely.”


An awkward pause.

“I work a lot.”

“Oh, that’s a rare thing! Not the working a lot part; that every body does, it’s the remotely thing that’s sure unusual.” Jonathan was peeved by the disconnect of the boy’s face and his tone of voice. Still, he carried on the talk in good spirits: “and you mean you work with computer, on the digital network, this kind of thing?”


Jonathan’s eyes beamed with endless curiosity. “Is it too expensive? I know for me it is. Can’t get a connection without paying a liver and leg for it.”

“Well…” He sort of shrugged, sort of averted his gaze, “you know how it is. Yes, it is expensive, but for what it is, it’s quite reliable.”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard this country does have one of the most reliable, uh, connectivities around, eh? Is that true or is it just us bragging ‘bout nuthin’, beating our chests with no bananas?”

“No, no, it’s, uh, it’s actually true.”

“Super fascinating!” The way this Jonathan guy looked around, it was as if he was trying to process a fact too fantastical to be true, to be an actual fact. “Well, uh, I guess when you live here, I mean, right here, so far away from… anything! I don’t know. Maybe it’s something about magnetic waves, right? It’s easier to transmit information, uh, to sattelites and such from up here, so up north on the planet?”


“I heard its easy for the signals to get to the sattelites. Easier, at least.”

“I… I don’t know. People say many things. Can’t be sure if any is correct.”

“But you don’t work with this, do you?”

“I mean, I… I…” I just draw boobs and ass for a living, he wanted to have said. “I just type stuff and make-a money. I don’t do any of the technical.”

Jonathan gave him a long, humorous whistle. “Niiice! Must-a be a nice life, huh, without dealing with the stresses of… well…” He gestured all around himself. “This?”

“Hmm…” He quite didn’t get what the young worker meant; the place was nice and calm, ample enough for thoughts to get lost and souls to meander. “I mean, this is a nice place.”

“I mean, life in general, eh?”

“I guess so.”

“And you guess correctly.” The young man snapped his fingers, full of authority, and daringly took a bold step towards the stranger—who, peculiarly enough, didn’t step back, not this time around. “Don’t be a-intimidated, though, if y’er feel I’m pressing for too many details. Folks say these things ‘bout me; that I’m too invasing and such.”

The stranger—John—allowed himself a corteous smile. “You’re quite fine. Uh, not a, uh, not a problem.”

“Good-a-know. Anyway, it’s just, ah, quite rare to see ‘em folks still working with ‘em digital things. I couldn’t even get my hands of a cellphie.” Then, as it seemed be quite usual for that fellow, his eyes darted around his face with renewed energy, a shot of adrenaline and other sorts of nice chemicals making him glow, literally beam in front of John, who felt himself, all throughout his body, much more comfortable and warm. “You own a cellphone?”

John kindly shook his head and moved his hands across each other. “No. I’m afraid I am not that loaded.”

“Bummer. Saw one of those execs once, nice suit and all, in the Greenblack quarters using one of those. Cellphones, you see.” He made very emphatic gestures with his hands, illustrating the dimensions of the object from his memory. “Biiig fucking stuff. Don’t even know how they put ‘em on the pockets and such, if you can put it on pockets at all. Thing looked like a dark, gray stuff brick. ‘Twas quite awesome, though. Dude must have been trillion-loaded in the least.”

“Don’t think it’s worth that much.”

“Ooh, I’m just fascinated, you know, with this technology stuff. Heavens know we got so little left.” Then, to John’s surprise, some would even say shock, the young porter—Johna… Johan… Jonathan, Jonathan—gave a light tap on his shoulders, and he was left there, standing, still, and still-faced, not sure of what to do with that gesture. “Still, in this day-n-age, it’s awesome that you find yourself, uh, handsomely employed.” He pointed back, towards the counter and the endless, long, long wall of mailboxes. “Most of e’folks gotta bustle with this fucking shit. Not that a’ay’complanin’, no sir. Just gets hella tedious after a good whole while.”

“I… see.”

“Those bloody nips stealing everything from us, ya know. Every bit of land, every piece of tech, every fancy bite of jobs, they always them ‘em, like they always do.”

“Hmm, yeah.” Something in John’s head signalled that «yay; this conversation has gone for all too long and has exhausted its purpose; I shoulda be going know,» and he agreed with that voice, for once; agreed with it without any kind of pain, but there was a problem: in his way stood the box; the box stood in his way, and darn it if he could just… get!… the damn thing!… moving! Even on the cart, the thing was too! Heavy!

“I myself would lika work with ‘em digital things. You know, on the network and such. I was actually looking to get into it, but frankly those computer kinda things sorta fly over my head totally, completely. Heh. You can tak’a fellow from the farm, but ya can’t take the farm from the fellow.” He pointed towards himself, on his own chest. “Born and raised in the glaciers, ya know. Pa and ma like ol’ vikings in the greens. Man, that was the life! T’was just grass, ice, mighty mountains on the back, and cows back mooing all day long, ‘em lazy bastards. That was the life, yes, but still I recon I shoulda moved west much sooner. I always saw those pictures, ya know… I don’t know if ya know, but ya must probably know, or t’least know what e’talken’ about, eh? Those pictures, ad-ver-tis-e-ments, of young people always loaded, ya know; ‘em young jerks always full of shit in ‘em pockets, and I always kind of pictured ‘em of being a-sorta like yourself, eh? Not you you, personally, but your job, your professional. Digital shit and stuff.”

“Uh… huh.”

“Man, talk about being a gullible, downright retarded country boy and fuck. Fell for that false adart… adv… advertisamant like a goddamned duckling. But, anyways, serves me y’er fukken right! That’s what you get by getting y’er eyes all full of glitz, seeing ‘em pictures of young, handsome hobos in their fancy Toyotas, ‘em expensive Yamatas, wearing those fine down-district clothes and whatnot, and I go like: ‘huh. That’s a life I could get into.’” He shrugged, not without a great sense of humor cloaking his undisguised resignation. “And the porterboy is the life that I got.”

“It’s… it’s…” What was he supposed to say, even? Was he supposed to say anything? Eh? “It’s a nice life.”

“Yeah-ah, it’a is. Guess, ah, couda be worse, hey-eh, me jolly?”

“Hmm. Yeah.” It was hard for him to not be aghast by the sudden flurry of emotions that Jonathan person so effortlessly displayed. «Is this how normal people are or is him just another sort of crazy?»

“So, you one of those guys?”


“‘Em fancy dudes in theis nice clothes and their plenty chicks in ‘em expensive Toyotas?”

“No. I most definitely am not.”

“Oh, bummer. Okay, no problem.” Jonathan sort of stretched, cracking his knuckles before walking around the fellow. “Sort of was wondering how cool would it be to have a rich friend and all.”


“I mean, I guess I do have rich friends already but…” He shook his head quite fervently. “Nah, nah. She’s well-off, but… is she rich? Hmm…”

“Uh, man, where are you g-… what are you doing?”

“Uh, helping you?” Jonathan firmed his grip on the handles of the cart. “Taking this to ‘em lift?”

John looked to the elevator hall and measured the distance between it and where he was standing. Could’ve been miles, could’ve been a couple of steps. «With a bitch this heavy…» well, they were both in the same.

“Nope. I’m, uh, I’m fine, thanks.”

Jonathan looked slightly irked by his attitude. “Are you sure, me lad?”


“You’re sweating like ‘em tropics a’rainin’.”

“I am not.”

The young porter just rolled his eyes. Somethings couldn’t be helped, he probably reasoned. “Well, your sofa, your troubles. Just make sure y’er bring the cart back when ye done, m’kay? You ain’t believing the amount o’ people who just leave ‘em things up and expect us to all ‘em service for ‘emselves. Lazy bastards. We ain’t servants, you know.”


Thankfully, that Jonathan fellow was just as vibrant in his exit as he was in his speaking, and in a blink, almost an unceremonious pause, he just darted back to his counter and left the strange man be—he alone with his heavy load. “Ye a’sure ye ain’t needing an’a help, a’ya?” Was his only interjection, and John, already heaving and wheezing by merely pulling the cart by its rails and lifting the front of the package few quaint milimeters, turned to him with his head, swollen head, forehead sweating rivers, and nodded in ehxasperation:


The Jonathan guy, though, was a man of his word, a dude of respect, and left poor John to his devices until he said otherwise. He didn’t. «Was already enough talk for a day. Or a whole life.» With his heart racing by exhaustion and other confusing feelings, it took John him an eternity and a couple of minutes to get to the lifts; an eternity, yes, and a couple of minutes, yes, but still… «I did it!» He had done it, and he quite couldn’t believe it himself. «I can’t… oh! I just… fucking…!»

Maybe he wasn’t as measly and as pathetic as he made himself to be. Maybe that Jonathan dude had seen this in him, but not him in himself, and that’s why he so casually left the man be.

“Ye doing fine, my mate?” He heard the worker’s voice from over the counter.

“Y-yeees.” He answered, the sweat getting into his mouth, and the young man’s voice continue to fill him with… confusing emotions all throughout.

“Will it fit?”

John quite wasn’t all sure what he meant until he looked at one of the elevators once its doors were opened and noticed that… «darnhen schutz!» It would be a very, very, incredibly tight fit.

A couple of minutes and an eternity passed until he finally, finally managed to place the cart and its box into the elevator; weren’t he was thin as he was, there probably wouldn’t have been space left in there for him.

“Everything okay back there?”

Again, again, again, that voice… «feels like medicine.»

“Yaaah, it’s fine.”

“E’right. Have fun with your sofa.”

*Plim!* The doors of the elevator slid shut behind him, the poor man squeezed between them and the crater like parmeggiano on a hot press. In silent embarrassment, as he walked back to his apartment, for whatever reason he couldn’t stop replaying that encounter on his head every step of the way. «What… what… what was he…?»

He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand him. But it was okay; he couldn’t understand most of anything, especially people; oh, he couldn’t understand them all. «So nice. Such smile…» And warmth and gleam and… all around happiness. «Hmm.»

Before he could dissect those feelings, those memories, and try and make sense of the strange young fellow’s utter kindness to him—«Jonahan. Jonathan. Hmm…»—he found himself back in his home. Alone but not alone.

Together, at last, with the love of his life.

Chapter 5

Doors closed. He could finally take a peaceful breath. «What am I…?»

He sat on the sofa, looking at the massive package standing before him, hearing his own heart thump on deep in his ears, feeling it beating against his chest.

Resting in that coffin was the answer for all his troubles: low-maintenance, low-cost silicone love. The anti-vampire of affection. Still…

He didn’t want to open it. His feet made a quaky noise as he tapped it repeateadly, painfully on the floor. «What am I what am I what am I what am I what am I what am I what am I…??» was his mind desperately wondering in its state of suffocating anxiety. «What am I to do??»

He tapped his feet quickly with an unpleasant churning in his stomach and a cold sweat in his forehead. «Is this really what I came to??»

The sun was setting when he realized he’d have no peace unless he opened the box. «Maybe I should return it.» He rocked his body and bit his nails, pacing around like a frenetic cat the living room. «I could use the money. This is so ridiculous.» He stood in front of the box, a tower of wood ready to crush him, the sexual Thor to his impotent, measly, envious, petty little resentful Loki. “Open me or I crush you,” said the box unto him.

«Prostitutes are cheaper. Aren’t they?» The thoughts popped and blasted in his mind, colliding brutally, repulsiverly with other thoughts in the opposite direction: «coward.»

The image of the cute cashier in the mini-market flashed in his mind, followed by visions of many other prettier, flesh-and-bones women he’d seen in real life. All those were much better than the solution before him… or were they?

«Lasses a’ so crazy. Well, of course they are: women are people, and people are crazy.» He took a deep breath, walked around the box, and inspected it. Forget opening the box; how he was going to do it was the real question. «They can be cute, even hot, but should I expect them to be good?»

No. No, he should not. «I should not expect anything from women, for I should not expect anything from people.» The thought revulsed him some more. «People!» The syllables dripped with wrath and filth. «Peo-ple!»

If people weren’t pushy, they’d be needy. If not needy, they’d be cruel. If not cruel, they’d be childish. If not childish, they’d be annoying. People would be a thousand different things, none of which pleasant, none of which anywhere remotely good. «At least… at least a doll can be anything.» He smiled. «She can be anything I want her to be.»

It was at this point, reading the crude instructions badly imprinted into the wood itself, that he realized… “heite shite!”

There was no helping it: he would help. Again.

«Huh? You want what?» From the other side of the buzzer, he heard the jerky chuckling of the young porter, that Johan… Johannes… Johnny guy. «A crowbar, heh? Oh, yes, guess you’d need one to open your sofa. Just a speedy minute, will ya?»

One speedy minute later, the box lied on the ground and he stood over it, a sweaty bloody mess, with the crowbar shaking in his hands. “Comrade meine, are you sure you’re not going to need help getting her o-?”

“No.” He replied, perhaps a little too brutishly, maybe a tad too sharp and pithy, and the porter guy took a respectful step back, bowing as he went away.

“Hey, always the resident’s choice. I’ll be downstairs if ya ever needa any help-a.”

“Uh… yes. T-thanks.”

The porter boy—Jonas… John… Jonathan—made a quirky salute with his fingers before turning around and marching away, soldier-style. “Hatten gutten misch, freude mienen!” Just as soon as he had appeared…

«He’s gone.» It took him many long blinks and million-yard stares into the everconsuming whiteness of the hallway for him to understand that «I’m alone again.» This made him feel good. This made him feel awful. «I shouldn’t have been…»

So brutish to him. No. He shouldn’t have, but he always was; always to people who were neither pushy nor needy nor cruel nor childish nor annoying to him, but helpful, kind, solicitous, attentive, generous, and all the good stuff. «Why do I do this? Why do I treat them like that?»

Because he was a piece of shit. He knew it, everybody knew it, you could sniff if in the air not just around him, but miles away; even the dogs and the birds could, and that’s why they flew away, stayed as far away from him as possible, like all good things, material or immaterial, good people and good fortunes, all always as far away from his vile rotten piece of shit core of a soul as pos- «shut up.»

«Shut. Up.» He hit his own he- «shut it! Shut it!! Shut the fuck up… for fucking once, thine heine schmeite!!»

Having never used the tool before, that crowbar thing, he did a splintery mess on his place as he tried to pop its lid open. Frustration grew in him with every failed attempt; it burned in his veins like acid, like molten glass coursing through it, piercing his heart, penetrating his muscles, rupturing his nerves, making the process of trying out new things be a much more physically exerting thing to him as it would be to other people.

Normal people. Healthy people. People who were worth a da- «what the fuck did I just tell ‘bout shutting the fuck up?!!»

The crowbar lied on the floor, like his knees. Looking at that box with more calmwater eyes, he leaned closer to it, inspected it this time physically, tactilely with his hands, sliding his thumb while avoiding the splinters over the juncture where the lid and the rest of the container met, figuring out the best point of attack, finding even enjoyment in that more thoughtful, pensive approach. «Things a’ much better in life when taken slowly.»

He straightened his back up, grabbed the crowbar with redoubled intent, then placed its forked, twisted claw on one of the four edges of the massive, titanic box, reasoning as follows: «this is where ‘em bigger nails are pinning this things shut. If I take these four out first…» He pushed the handle; the tool clawed brutally into the wooden edge, forcing the nail out. “Uurgh!” Like with everything with that doll, it wasn’t an easy process; even with a plastic woman, he would need to work to gain her love. No fair.

«…the other ones might come out easier. Now…» He recounted it with the doorboy’s voice: «three, two…»




“Uuugh, oof! Oof… uuugh!”

*Clank, clank, crack!*

“Fukken mischt! Uuurgh!!”



He did it. The box was opened.

He moved the giant lid out with winged hands, the thing weighing as cottom on his bloating hurt fingers. «She is… she is…» His thoughts circled onto one another, serpent-eating-its-own-tail ‘round his brains, as he only slowly, only slowly, only very, very slowly turned his gaze down unto the box, beholding everything the heavens had to offer: «she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is she is»


After an eternity, he could only stop and stare. And gawk.

She was definitely more beautiful in person than on-screen. «An… an… an an an an an an an…»

Impossibility. His thoughts, rather useless to form any coherent sentence, any coherent anything. He was just too shocked, floored, dumbfounded by that utter, astounding beauty he found before himself. He wanted to worship her. He wanted to love her. But first, he had to get her out of that damned, unworthy box.

Unworthy. Yes, for it felt wrong, an insult, grave offense to have her just laying there on the floor, on cold, dry, splintery coffin like a dead animal. Like spitting in the face of the gods. A face she sure had. «Damn… her… d-!!… … …»

She was so big she seemed to overwhelmed the generous dimensions of her box; so great she made every space she was in tiny and insignificant. She was just this fukken big, and that was not all of it; she was sturdy. Hard. Like a paragon of stability, or a standard for all things harmonious and beautiful; engineers would’ve used her body to measure the solidity of a building’s foundations. Hel geherten, they would use her body as the foundation, for there seemed to be nothing in the universe, no material out there among the stars more hefty, hard, and steady than that which bound together her mountains of curves, flesh, and muscle.

Split an atom and you will end a city. Split her skin and you will end the world.

He stared deeply into her. Her face was strong and wilful, locked in a neutral expression, but with just enough personality to avoid seeming eerie or uncanny. She was beautiful, and her beauty was further exposed by an unshakeable, immaterial aura of confidence, a sense of self-assurance as mountain-hard that impossible body of hers. Looking at her was like looking at an imposing sequoia in the wild—a pillar of power dwarfing all vegetation around it, turning all its neighbors into grass.

He was that grass: shorter, thinner, frailer.

It was said the lions, in the wild, live alone, in isolation, just them and their prides surrounded by hundreds of miles of nothingness, for no one else wants to stand next to a lion, and once you spot them, you run away.

She was that lion: alone and only in the wild. Only she existed, for only she was a needed.

She was taller than him by many inches, and her dark, bulky hair was so long and voluminous, flowing down to her fantastic, wide muscular hips, he felt as if she could use it as a blanket during the harshest of winters.

She was a thick. Thick as the sequoias he’d just compared her to: a steel-sculpted warrior of an Amazon who seemed not just the pinnacle of femininity, but the apotheosis of masculinity too. She looked like she needed no man, for no man could possibly crack her. She needed only herself and her steelhard womb, which was perfectly capable, it seemed, of fecundating itself all on its own. «Alpha and Omega. Ain’t that the stuff the gods are made of?»

Gods. And goddesses.

Just looking at her made him feel smaller, more pitiful, more ashamed of himself, who should (in theory) be stronger and bigger than that fairer sex. The femininity in her face only added to his confusion, as if no such tenderness could exist atop such hard, stone-carved body, or such toughness and fierceness could never work along with an honest, sweet-hearted gaze like hers.

He walked to-and-fro and fro-and-to, carefully inspecting the doll while avoiding her gaze. Even from up-close she could be easily mistaken for a real person, and her uncanny stillness did nothing to damp the effect of such hyperrealism; if anything, it was her realism that made her truly, utterly spooky. «Darne schultz! Those folks wain’t foolin’round.» He gulped long and hard, pacing more nervoursly around the box. «This is one masterpiece of a lass!»

The Pietà of sex dolls.

She had come fully clothed. Thank the gods, for he wasn’t sure he could bear the sight of her nude without fainting and dying. «This is like… what those old folks felt when they first the exposed ankle of a woman? A dancer, fully closed, showing off just a little piece of skin on the stage?» He understood them fully, for the mere neck—the immense, wide, thick, long-yet-muscular neck of that woman—was close enough to making his member gush like an fountain all over pants, soaking his underwear and painting him all white, puddles and lakes of seed all over him.

His entire house, by the mere sight of that woman’s neck, dripping with milk, walls, floor, and ceiling, like a rainfall of virility. «Keep. It. Together.» His fists, tighter. His head, chillier. An icy cold snake, like the blow of the winter wind, crawling up his spine.

He firmed his eyes on her. Fought against his natural urges. «Keep it together. Keep it together.» Goddess or not, she was the doll, he was the owner. «Together. Together. Keep it together!» He would better learn be master of her, not the other way around.

She wore such an amazingly detailed attire that it got him to really admire, even respect the care, attention, and artistry that went into picking, perhaps even making her unique outfit from scratch. «Just her wardrobe’s probably worth tens of thousands of kröne.» It was a truly tasteful, meticulously composed handpicked attire, a package within a package, the perfect bow to the tidy gift that was the woman: there was that large, glossy black leather jacket laid over her miles-long, protruding shoulders, its full sleeves covering and restraining her potent arms all the way down to her wide, thick wrists—“thick” when compared to any average bloak, but perfectly proportional, even delicate for her goliath height.

Underneath the jacket followed a dark-grey, short-sleeved shirt with an economic, unintrusive design; the only eye-catching thing in it, aside from the arousing highlight of her muscles, so tightened and constricted by that fabric—as they would be by any fabric, that is—was the huge imprint at the center, sprawling from just under her magnanimous bosom to down where her abs and bellybutton rested: an outline of the latinamerican continent in full dark-green with one sentence, in huge white font and capital letters divided into two mirroring arcs—one above, one beneath the engraving—blazoned onto the fabric: “Born to be Wild.”

The shirt was just thigh enough to highlight her musculature without looking ill-fitting, and this wanton, cocky display of physical prime, of a woman who knew her assets and saw no cause to hide them, announcing herself to the world like a flower on springtime, sent his mind into many confusing, conflicting thoughts, only brakered, if for a short and uneven while, by his continuous admiration, some would say adulation over her amazing, utterly exquisite design: as enticing fully dressed as she would be when naked.

Her piece continued down and under her powerful hips in the form of long, dark jeans tightly wrapped around her… «god!»

Her… «oh! Oh!»

Her powerful… «damn!»

Legs! Her legs! Legs, legs! Two treetrunks in and winthin themselves. A pair of massive pillars of meat that could only very unkindly be described as merely legs; more appropriately, they were two unbelievably long, impossibly ripped logs of power testing constantly the constraints of that poor jeans,  their outrageous musculaturemuch better highlighted by the tight fabric than her torso, such huge tonnage of meat and muscle he wasn’t sure whether there was a woman there or three in front of him: the woman above her hips and the women for each leg.

Those were the legs of a greek god, or perhaps a greek goddess who had beat the gods and all of the Pantheon on their own games; as if Aphrodite, aside from her beauty, had also been an unbeatable beast on the battlefield.

«Long! Long! Long!!!» He thought, paralyzed and hypnotized by the sight of those long, long, looong legs, his tongue almost lolling out of his mouth, the saliva nearly oozing from his lips: long, long, looong legs, thick and mighty and powerful legs, like a woman and a mare, a bit of both, strong as a bull’s bottom, long as a supermodel’s walkers, and thick, thick, thick, impossibly thick, impossibly juicy, wrapping a skull around their meat and turning ‘em brains into mush! «She… s-s-she… she… t-this… t-this woman…»

Shake his head. He had to shake it *shake shake shake!* so as to not get lost in the fumes of the fires slowly rising deep in his breast.

Each of her legs was wider than his torso. Compared to his waist, pff, it just wasn’t fair, not fair at all: a single of those powerful stompers outflanked his waist by almost two-to-one. Her arms alone seemed each as thick as the thickest part of his thighs, and her feet, much like her hands, were just as proportionally gigantic and intimidating, a single toe as massive as his heels, a single thumb as long and girthy as his aroused pecker. Such an emasculating sight!

«By the… gods!» He gulped and kept thinking, his mind racing and raging, the blood burning, and his breath falling apart. If there ever were Valkyries, that woman would be Freyja; beyond mere godhood, really, as she seemed to outstrip and outrank even those legendary of godly warriors: not a Valkyrie, not a goddess, but an elemental force, next to Chaos or the Tree of Life, perhaps, but one endowed with Cock Power, with Big Dick Energy superior to Thor, Baldr, and Týr put together—a Tree of Masculinity. A Tree of Cocks. «This woman… ibn fukkert lass…!» He kept on thinking and gulping as his eyes took in all that the goddess had to offer, a task akin to a lonesome man drinking dry a full spring in a sitting.

Her legs and jeans flowed into long leather boots, their calves reaching upwards to her knees. The heels were short and thick, spreading a protective layer of leather and rubber along her sole instead of enhancing her height, which needed no further enhancing. The toe cap was only long and sharp, giving the general impression of femininity, a passing resemblance to a woman’s shoe, but ultimately, like all else in her attire, it settled for practically over aesthetic, the boots of a true motorbiker, a legit adventurer and outskirt-dweller, a practitioner of survivalism still in touch with urban fashion trends. Were she not a doll, were she an actual living thing, no one would have doubted, for the thinnest of slices of time, that she had indeed ridden through all of the Andes, north to south, Nunavut to Magallaens, all on her own; a woman who did full justice to her motto and went further beyond: born to be wild, born to be wildest.

«Is this… gold??» His eyes swung and swayed drunkenly about her body, stopping always, irresistibly at her hips—her atomic, world-shattering, wide-enough-to-land-a-plane-on hips—and fixed at the wide, thick, jet-black leather belt that tied that whole thing together. The buckle, as big as his hand, shone golden like the sun, the type of shine that made itself unmistakable from the real material, a glimmer that belonged to no fool’s gold. «All that glimmers may not be gold,» the buckle said to him, «but this bitch is.»

It was a distinctly unisex outfit that further proved how she was the best of both sexes: a motorbike-club attire adorning an Amazon powerhouse of a physique. How amazing would it be to take off those clothes… and… «how terrifying!»

His eyes met hers, and his dick became smaller. «Fuck.» He rubbed his eyes under their lids, pressing and pushing them with the tips of his thumbs. «I could swear she was staring at the ceiling just now.» She wasn’t: her eyes stood at a lower angle, staring straight at… him.

His breath quickened. Her muscles kept on defying her clothes, making battle with the fabric, and they seemed to be gaining ground at each passing second. Her arms, especially bulky, tested the sturdiness of the sleeves with her ever swelling, ever bulking hulking biceps, drawing a death sentence to both her shirt and her jacket, bringing them to an unhumble tear.

He stepped closer. He couldn’t avoid it, for his racing heart carried him forward. Past the initial shock, his arousal became greater than his fear, and his dick, for once, honored its duties and grew accordingly. He no longer felt embarrassed by his sex as it tented his shorts and almost bumped against the gruff surface of box when he knelt beside it and… leaned closer. Closer on towards her face.

She smelled like wild berries and hazelnuts and green bushes in the rain. “Wow.” He looked at her. On his knees. Like a servant. “You are… wow.”

His hand landed on her hips. «Oh. OH!» His eyes grew. The shock… «what the fuck??» Indescribable: his fingers drilled into her jeans, trying to sink in her skin, but under the denin of her jeans he realized… «gotten meine scheize mistch!! Untter bitchen hast nnie heissen!» There was no skin in that body; only muscle; and her muscles were «stone! This woman might as well be made of solid concrete, sante meischen scheize!!»

It was like squeezing a soft, warm kind of steel. Those powerful, enormous thighs made his fingers feel just like his dick: minuscule. If she were alive, she would be one of those people who could easily pick a man like him up, lift him over her head, and then… *CRACK!!!* Tear him in half, like paper, and then proceed to drink up all his blood and viscera for sustainance, draining the energy from lesser males so she could add to her own divine power.

«Okay, man, okay, hmm.» He closed his eyes, shook his head. «Focus focus focus focus focus……»

His hands crawled up along her waist, then skidded back quickly, his heart beating so hard he felt his ears shutting off at every beat, *womp* and *womp* and *womp* being all he could hear amidst the survey of her body. “Darn icht hart!” The hardness of her muscles, the realness of her flesh. She was outrageously powerful and uncomfortably warm. If he closed his eyes, he could swear he had a real woman on his hands!

There it was. A woman! Finally, a woman! In his grasp, under his palm, for good and… forever! «My fantasies.» He felt impure even just thinking about it. «They don’t even come close to making justice to you.» The sweat abounded uncomfortably on his forehead, the saliva piling up on the back of his mouth, sliding down his throat without him ever swallowing it. «Santen fukken ircht, you’re perfect.»

Glutes to the ground, sitting on the floor. There, in his living room, he stayed sat down and still until the sun had long kissed the blue and gone to rest. Her green eyes glistened in the dark, reflecting, like a feline, whatever little light managed to reach inside the rooms.

«I don’t want her.»

He retreated into his bedroom, leaving the doll behind. His actions, so abrupt, only made sense when mirroring the chaotic state in his mind. «I gotta work. I got work to do. Work. Work.» Even his foolishness and his typical self-delusions made not the feeblest attempt in being convincing this time around; they didn’t move him, they moved alongside him and his mind, racing, raging, crying, not as much as action as flight; not decision, but protection. Survival. Escape.

He reverted to doing what little work he could through the rest of the night, hunched over his computer on the desk, eyes burned by the brightness of the screen, fingers frenetically typing nonsensical keys, mouse icons and cursors moving within the frame without goal or meaning, drudging for drudgery’s sake, busywork that was cover for cowardice, his mind twice as focused on wasting time, achieving as little in hours what he would get in a second of honest labor.

He worked to flee. Flee, flee, flee! Fly far from the love he should have never bought! «Damn it! Stupid! What in the fucking hell were you thinking?!»

As he fled, there she laid. All the time there she stayed, waiting patiently until the inevitable exhaustion of his energies and his admitting of defeat: it was four past the darkness rein when he gave up on trying to work and went on to sleep; it was an hour later when gave up trying to sleep and returned, finally, to the living room, seeing her still there, in the box, on the ground, so calm and peaceful, staring at the ceiling with her green eyes shimmering with love, patiently waiting for his inevitable return.

His eyes swelled as he beheld her, a thousand nasty thoughts eating his mind by its sides. «I’m sorry!» His vision was blurry as he bent down to pick her, preparing for the Herculean effort it would take to lift her. Every bone of his body cracked as he pulled the doll, every nerve in his brain burned, every joint in his body snapped, but surprisingly, shockingly, impossibly… «oh.»

He lifted her. He lifted her up quite quickly, and spending not nearly as deadly an effort as he’d prepared to face. «I thought I was going to die trying to pick you up.» He thought with the doll on his arms. «That I’d break in two. But…» How was that possible? How could it make any sense? «You’re not nearly as heavy as felt when in the box.»

There was more to those impossibilities, he soon discovered with every step: walkin hard and slow with her along the darkness of his hallway, stopping at every foot or two to try and catch a breath, he was amazed by how much progress he could make while still saving up energy for another bout of steps, a farthest of farcries from the effort he was sure would’ve made him collapse long before the midway point of his journey. «It feels like you are walking with me!» He looked up to his doll’s face, and her eyes were looking straight ahead, past him and over his head.

Her breasts rubbed against his chin, even when he stood many, many feet apart from her. «Hatten! Miscth mie!» He looked at those magnanimous milkers, feeling ashamed and naked in their presence. «I’m not looking at these tits; it’s these tits that are looking back at me!»

They were enormous. Gigantic. Divine. Boobs of impossible volume, girth, and bounciness, the kind of overgrown baby-feeders he’d never thought a woman so tall and muscular could boast. For every inch of her body where she seemed to lack a single gram of fat, replacing it instead with amazingly bulging veins and astoundingly hard, ripped, stacked plaques of steel-hard muscles, her breasts seemed to pick up the slack and concentrate all the fat she should’ve had elsewhere; several stones, nay, hundreds of pounds of fat taken from the legs, waist, belly, sides, calves, arms, and more, all crammed and clogged and choked into those titanic tits that would overwhelm an entire tribe’s worth of babies, let alone a single lonesome child, condemned to drown in everflowing milk from such an endless, gorgeous tittage. «Those tits are meant to feed baby bears, not measly humans!»

Not all fat, though, abounded into her tits. It would have been a slight, or maybe a grave exaggeration to say so; for if her tits certainly picked up the premium real estate of fat tissues from her body, her royal-round, rock-hard, gigantic ripe ass got the seconds dibs and snagged the runner-up trophy. «Hell hell hell!!»

‘Twas the ass to end all asses; a voluminous and ever-expanding backage that defied the balance and order of things everywhere its mighty owner carried it to. ‘Twas a fruitful, colossal sitter, and one that still carried many a trump up its sleeves. That ass had a gravitational field; that woman carried not just two massive, monstrous orbs of power and abundance on her netherspine, but two veritable planets. «Mercury, Venus, Earth…» He tried recounting the planets, his memory too pitiful for even that. «Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars… and her ass!» No matter how unintelligent he was for all things physical or astronomical, one thing he—anyone—could know for sure was… «her asses! Her both buttocks! Each a planet?» Was it perhaps the mammoth gravitational forces of her ass that were aiding him in moving her forward? He didn’t know, he didn’t; all that he knew was that… «this… this ass…!!» All that he knew was that… that… that ass…!

«If I touch them…» His hands gravitated perilously close to her mountainous backstages, his fingers always tempted to fumble and grope that triumph of a thigh crown meater. «I die. If I touch this ass… I die.» He was sure of that, and with ever-weakening resolve he pushed forward, stopping at every couple of steps to catch a breath (many breaths), these intervals becoming all the more frequent as he carried on, his willpower and steadfastness sapped by the draining spells of that bootilicious, breastyummy mommy.

He was attacked at all times by all fronts. It was unfair! Asymetric warfare in its purest extent: her smell made him dizzy, her heat made him quizzy, her meat added an unbearable tonnage of horniness and frustration to a sex that had far too long gone without the real deal, the true release any man desire. ‘Twas maddening. ‘Twas carnage. Psychological carnage aroused from her meat.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. That he had lasted that long was already miracle enough. «I am… beyond… I’m so beyond pathet-»

*Groom!* The pressure behind his sore, sleepy eyes got to a bursting point. His face was swollen, the tumor inside his skull having grown past its limits, ready to blast his bones from inside out, a gory sight to behold. He looked to his beautiful woman with the opposite feeling any man should have in that situation: misery, not ecstasy; hopelessness, not the longing for an eternal life by her side; the side of such astounding beauty. «Why??» Why was he like that? Why couldn’t he even consummate the happiness he had expressely paid for?

Why did he feel as hopeless and loveless as he ever did? «Stupid. Stupid idea! This was nothing but… a mighty, sweidy, tighty studid fukken idea!» Buying that woman. Purchasing an avatar of love. Had he been really this silly, this stupid? Silly and stupid, indeed, to think that he could even fake a shred of love and companionship.

«Welp. We’re here.» He couldn’t believe himself—his thoughts, his words, his senses—as he felt the back of the door hit the wall in the end of the corridor. To his left, the door to his room; to his right, the one to the cramped, tiny, degrading storage room of his house.

The decision couldn’t have been any clearer. «I’m keeping you in here ‘til I decide…» He took a long pause and a deep breath in between his words, incredulous of his own tremendous idiocy. «‘Til I decide what I can fukken do with fukken you!»

He slid the storage room door open and peered inside. “Hmm.” T’d been a long time since he had paid that chamber any attention. He was a tidy and clean type, so it was unusual for him that the space looked so novel, so uncharted and unexplored. «Feels like it’s the first time I’m here… yet I’ve been here so many times before.»

He sure had. As much as the general space was a novelty and a curiosity to him, the items and furniture within it were not. «Look at them, all… all here.» He couldn’t quite put his fingers on the sensations he was feeling, but all of them were quite familiar, even sensations he wasn’t intimidated or humiliated by. «‘Tis easier to feel than to explain. I can see everything here, though.» He guided his eyes around the darkened space, which he illuminated with the turn of a single switch on the wall inside, beside the door.

There was the long steel shelf resting on the left wall of the room, adjacent to the back wall of his apartment hallway, by far the most distinctive feature in the place, as it was the only one that showed signs of life, undeniable proof that somebody not only lived there, but took care of the house with all the assiduousness any self-respecting owner would. The shelf was filled with cleaning products, most of them dusty, but some of them showing signs of frequent use, and empty buckets and bucketloads of dry clothes for extra tidiness.

Before this shelf, there was an ample free space for someone to walk in. It was a clean, almost square area measuring four to five feet in each side, almost free from wall-to-wall if not for a small chair peculiarly places right in front of the sliding door, its back resting on the right wall, looking unlike the other chairs in his apartment. «Maybe it’s meant for one to climb over and reach innacessible parts of the shelf?» He pondered, even though there was a short, foldable stair at the end of the storage room, resting between the shelf and the rightward wall.

He paid it no mind. He continued to inspect the unusual room; the room to which he’d been more time than he could count and had never seen before: lying against the shelf and very close to him, in front of the door and almost touching the leftward wall, there was a long broom with very dark, very rough and thick cone-funnel bristles inside a big and empty bucket. «I remember you two.» He talked to the objects with eerie familiarity; they’d been the only friends he’d had inside that home, and he looked at them as if he’d never seen them before. «Ungrateful type of friend that I am. Well, with friends like me…»

That was pretty much all too see in the room. ‘Twasn’t exceptional in any sense, but perhaps he wondered, maybe, «hmm… are there other rooms in this house I haven’t discovered?» Or rediscovered?

All these questionings and observations were useless, sure, next to the mammoth woman he had in his arms. «Aye, fukk mischt!» He was reminded of her almost suddenly, his arm having grown dormant by holding such heavy, bulking thing so tighly all the time. «You…» He handled the doll with surprising ease, the task of moving her around becoming easier the closer he was to letting her go. «You star here now. Hmm. Somewhere. Somehow.»

She was so big he wondered whether she could fit in such a tiny, cramped place. Besides the indignity of the place—a queen confined between the walls of a catacomb—there seemed to be very few places for her to rest but… «between the shelf and the wall here on my right, or…» His eyes sunk, gravitating towards the only logical place. «This tiny chair.» ‘Twas too small a chair, though, for so large a woman, so planetary an ass. «This chair will have to do.»

And so it did: while placing the woman down on the chair, sitting her in that filthy mock throne leagues beneath the glory of her buttocks, such divine asscheeks, he wondered whether he should have been more surprised by how well the chair withstood the doll’s titanic weight or… «how easy it is to move her.»

Easy, indeed easy, and beyond effortless. «Natural.» It felt natural moving her limbs around, prompting her to sit on the chair, as if it wasn’t him that was moving the doll, but the doll moving herself. «Freaky.» It was rightfully unanny, that fluidity of her motions, and it would have spooked him, indeed, if he didn’t well know that «well, this is what I paid for, and I can be damn sure ‘twas worth the money.»

That construction of that woman was an artistry of industry. When he placed his hands, ever so careful, on the back of her legs, behind her knees, on the joint connecting her calf and her inner thight, all he needed to do was a gentle… *pull*… combined with a more gentle puch of the doll on her ironhard, steelplate-layered abdominals, and then the doll just… *bump!*… she fell sitting on the chair, glided her buttocks gently towards it, bending her knees and sitting down just like a normal person would. A real person. «That… that was just too easy.»

The doll sat still there, ever so patient, and he just stood still next to her, ever so pathetic. “Well…” He twirled his thumbs, not knowing what to say, knowing but pretending to not know that he just didn’t need to say anything, for she was just a doll—just a doll—and he owed her no excuses. «I… uh… I, eh…» So there he stayed, motionless and pathetic, looking for reasons as to why he should leave her. “Good night.”

He looked at her. The doll stared blankly, mercilessly straight at the wall in front of her. Her expression was so compassionate yet lonely. It felt like misery, such a beautiful person relegated to such a tight, graceless space, surrounded not by jewels or crowns, which is the least she deserved, but by dirty cleaning tools and dusty hygiene apparel all around. It would have been more merciful to just have left her in her coffin. «Out from a pan into the other.» From the frying pan into the boiling kettle. «Just one bigger coffin, this one I’m putting you in.» And not that much of a bigger one, insult to the injury.

He beheld her closely, stared into those deep, big eyes of captivating green. «Like hills.» They were: like sprawling wide hills of ample fruit and shiny gold. Hills of infinity, of peace. There was no suffering or pain or struggle in those eyes, no wanting in those hills, for they were prairies of endless bounty, and all animals within it could live in harmony ‘til the dying of the stars.

Paradise, they say. The planting of the first seed before the winter, the people called it. «Nirvana.» Irresistibly attracted to that view of splendor, he didn’t realize as his arm was stretched towards her body, and his palm touched the back of her hand. «Oh. Oh…»

Oh. Silk smooth. And hot. His fingers melted between hers, squeezed her palm a little. She was never at room temperature, that impossible doll, always warm and alive. «This is why you don’t deserve me,» he thought, but got confused with his words, changed them from places to produce the very opposite of what he meant to say: «I mean… I! I don’t deserve you. This is why… I… do not deserve you!» He emphasized it firmly, brutally, feeling the heat of her fingers diminish word by word, second after second. As it happened with all, the chillness of his body overtook hers, sucking out all her warmth through his palm, like… «a vampire.»

The vampire of love.

‘T’would have done well for him, with such realizations, to move away, move away, back and away from that lovely door, whom he didn’t deserve, even admitting as such. Alas, «I’m a hypocrite.» We all are, aren’t we? Especially when next to the object of our desires—and what desires those are! «Love. Wamrth. Hotness. Sexiness.» He looked at the doll, the doll looked past him to the wall. «You are so unrelentingly beautiful.»

He moved closer, holding her waist with his other hand. “Heiße! You are strong.” The courage that had been gathering within him those past couple of minutes was something to fear and tremble. Oh, oh, look at him! If he got any cockier, he would have probably thought of himself some galliant stud or something. «Quiet now. Quiet… please.»

His fingers. His courage. Thanks to this courage, his fingers… kept venturing forth. Venturing warm, hotter into her belly. «Oh…» He surrounded the left side of her belly with his fingers, applying to her meat, to her muscle a gentle squeeze. «Oh!» Nothing in there moved. No piece of flesh caved in; not a milimeter whatever. «Geil Schwein!» As he squeezed her meat, adding his other hand to her right side just to be sure he wasn’t imagining things, he felt no meat, no flesh, but only iron, sheets of stainless steel wrapped around titanium in that rock-hard colossus of a womanly body. “Heiße, you are hot.”

Chaude, chaude, chaude! There was nothing else in that woman but flames in corporeal form. He looked up to her, seeing her staring at the wall behind him, motionless. In any other woman, that face would have been one he couldn’t stare at for too long. «Fölmaakt!» He thought. «Heiße meinen! Gods be praised! You are one fürkhen perfect specimen, ain’t ya?» He felt uncomfortable muttering those thoughts, even as he kept them well enclosed within his tiny skull, for they felt heretic, defiant, able to shatter the natural order and condemn the world to unspeakable things, like… opening a rift into the Eternal Ice and… send him hurling down to crash and freeze, trapped in its eversprawling ice crystals for all eternity.

Such was to happen, it was said, to men who didn’t know their places. «What are you looking at, creep? Oh, my god! Are you autistic or what?? Get lost, you fucking loser!»

The burning behind his eyes… “aargh!” Too intense, too intense! The tightening on his chest got more extreme and his panting hastier as he choked on his own breath, the air in his lungs as heavy as stone. He gulped and coughed, gagging on his own saliva, locked in there with his doll, not wanting to leave, not daring to take the first step, too coward to act, too horny to flee. «Stupid. You’re so… friehen… stupid! Why can’t you do anything, you fucking useless piece of dump??»

He looked up again. His eyes on her face, her eyes still staring at the wall, but… her expression… it was somewhat different. She was still the same, but her calm, her coolness, they were replaced instead by a very subtle, very tender concern, as if she… she…

As if she worried about him.

“Hmm. I guess… this is it. Okay?” He shook his head, stood up with mourning. “Stay put while I… I think what to do, hmm… what to do to you.”

He knew what he had to do; the only thing a man can to do its sex doll. He knew it, of course, and knew it quite well, but was too much of a coward and sissy to ever consider doing it. «Maybe I’m not a man, after all.»

He shut the lights and slid the doll shut very slowly, glancing at his woman one last time before darkness enclosed her for good. Her expression… «her face!»… Somewhat more changed now. More somber. More concerned. «Yeah, right.» He shut the door completely and moved away, diving in his bedsheets with the abandon of someone who wanted to leave everything behind, hopefully to never return again.

To sleep and never wake up. That would be heavenly thing!

The doll stood away, locked up in her scanty throne. Both lovers slept apart, loneliness being the only thing they had in common. «She can’t be… she can’t be… she… you’re never… you are… never…»

The doll. Silent. Peaceful. Lonely.

The boy. Lonely. Just lonely.

Chapter 6

The night was colder than usual.

On the good nights, he used to lay belly up, staring at the blank, white ceiling as he fell asleep. Good nights didn’t come around very often. Instead, for most of his life, his posture on the bed was wholly different, and the sleep, if it ever came, was slow and persnickety to arrive: shoulders to the mattress, one side, then another, then back to one side again, changing positions like a top, minute to minute, second to second, his knees on his stomach, his feet trying to touch his hips, him crying and wailing and hiccupping as he turned back into a baby, but was never able to turn further back into nothing.

From where he laid that night on his left shoulder, feet towards where his living room would be, and his back to the sole window of his bedroom, he could see, through the partially opened door of his room, across the dark, dreary hallway, the door of the storage room where he had locked his love away.

Dark. And silence.

He used to fear the dark and the silence. A recurring nightmare as early as his childhood’s budding years: a shadow. Standing behind or just beyond his bedroom door. A shadow just barely, but never fully out of sight, spying on him, prying on him, peeking inside.

The shadow was not evil. It was not good either. It was unknown, unmoving, just… standing. And standing. Standing all the time… until it wasn’t. In the blink of an eye, the shadow would have disappeared, not to be seen again for nights on end.

He always feared the night when he would blink and the shadow would be back. Inside his room. Closer. *Blink* And closer. *Blink* And closer… *Blink* Until it stood beside his bed. Beside him.

Him. Helpless. Defenseless. Dead.

In his freshest years, the shadow terrified him. The neighbors knew painfully well the degree to which his fears would fester, for his scandals traveled easily across the block, like winds of torment leaving no one a good night sleep, screams of agony to last until the break of dawn—or until the break of his jaw by his momma’s sandals.

His momma. She enjoyed those scandals all the less. Oh, she really did not, and, unlike the neighbors, who had the desire but not the opportunity, she had the desire and all the opportunity, which she laid upon him with repeated, merciless prejudice, every cry of fear begetting every cry of pain ‘til there was no more crying, no more nuthin’ no more.

There is a certain logic to child beating. Those who say it doesn’t work have either never raised a child or faced any sort of deprivation in doing so. A caring, attentive childbearing is a luxury: it demands time, money, ample resources, and people had always had very little of these to go around. It was true then, it is truer now: love is expensive, and everyone is dirt poor. Folks cannot afford the luxury of raising their kids well, so they settle for the next best thing: raising them rough, raising them decisively. Like civilians in times of rationing, generals and soldiers in the heat of the battle, sometimes some ears must be pulled, a couple of wrists twisted, a bundle of skulls banged against the walls in the name of victory—or, if not victory, t’least survival.

Anyway. There is a certain logic to child beating, he reasoned, and he was living proof of it. In ol’ times long past, he used to cry so hard it was his throat, not the blows, that hurt the most. Eventually, with a lot of attention and intense focus, his momma taught him it would be much easier, less painful, less bloody all in all if he’d just… stopped.

And stop he did.

Not to say that the logic was perfect. No logic, plan, or strategy ever is. For instance, though the screams had stopped, a strong pissing followed, and by the sight (and scent) of his wettened bed his mother grew even more irate—and so did the beatings.

He still cried in those lonely lights, under the gaze of the shadow by the door, and his mother still punished him with redoubled effort, frustrated for having to teach the little man that same lesson over and over again, fist after fist against his back, arms, belly, head. As she pummeled him, he learned to shut up quicker, to cry lower, even to control his bladder somewhat. The yelling and screaming, even the crying eventually faded, if not went away completely.

The pissing remained, though. Even to this day, in his young adulthood, living alone with himself and his terrors, without even the shadows to scare him so often as they once did, he still woke up, a couple shameful nights, with the warm rash all over his legs, and the day was therefore lost on embarrassing hours trying to clean the sheets and tidy up his sleeper.

He didn’t like to think much about this. He didn’t like to think much about anything at all, but restless minds seldom know peace.

Sometimes, well, he felt it was laziness: the «I can clean it all up in the morning, anyway» kind of laziness, so just… piss away. But sometimes he felt it was an urgent, life-threatening fear, like a monkey in the jungle sighting a jaguar. It was just the deep desire to unload it all and run away—flee, fly, maybe jump through the window and escape, once and for all, from all his troubles. For good. Forever.

It was dark, that bedroom of his, and an even darker the hallway beside it. He rarely opened his eyes, and when he did it was very little, always looking through some obstruction like his fingers, his hands, or the tiniest crack between the bedsheets. He curled up on his cradle like a fetus, safe and sound within his imaginary womb, and spied on the hall very carefully, one tiny blink at a time, making sure that the shadow was gone for good; that it, like the beatings, had been banished once and for all to the confines of his childhood.

From said confines he hadn’t seen it since. It had left him just like he did his momma, exorcised by the need to survive. Still, he doubted it was truly gone. No: just a matter of days, he told himself, time and time again, just a matter of months, maybe even years, until some great fear or happiness brought it back, unearthed it for his well-deserved terror, and once it did, the shadow wouldn’t be just standing, no, standing there by his door. No, it wouldn’t. Instead, the shadow would be there. There. By his face. Just inches away from his flesh. Ready to tear it out. And snap his neck like his momma did.

In the meantime, in the absence of that ole, familiar horror, he found greater fears to fear and worry about. Compared to the horrors and the struggles and the sheer anxiety and insecurities of single-living, of urban-foraging, of paycheck-to-paycheck-subsisting, the shadow of his infancy wasn’t such an evil sighting. It was quaint, pitiful, silly, an amusing night tale next to the real monster that was being an adult.

Still, still… he worried about it. Guarded himself against it. Dreaded the night it would come back, no warning, as sudden and unpredictable as his pissing, and as surely and unavoidable as the hands of his momma tearing up his flesh.

Any night now. He felt it: any night now…

The hallway stood dark and empty, and the silence felt discomforting. He dreaded any noise during the day, buzz and bluster of any kind, and walking outside was an often unbearable, saint-being-nailed-to-a-cross kind o’ pain, so he had to wear earplugs, earphones, headsets, anything, anything that helped him tune down the noise and the chaos. Even tolerable levels of sound, if they went for too long, could break him into tears, screams, and piss.

What a dastardly issue to have in the country he was born. His land, ‘fter all, was the land of noise. Of sound. Of shout and scream and crocodile tears and beatings. Many beatings. Beatings aplenty, beatings everlasting, the only thing that was truly abundant in that land of slaves: rich people beating cops. Cops beating poors. Poors beating poorers. Poorers beating themselves and their festering vermin of children. Beatings and poundings, floggings and screamings, all a whole nation making implode and collapse into itself, a castastrophe once or twice (or thrice or more) every generation, generating yet more noise, yet more screams, and more beating, beating, beating!

Though his was country that managed to destroy itself every generation or two, it also somehow managed to rebuild itself every time in an even uglier shape. As to be expected, this country didn’t offer a poor bloke like him much of anything in terms of healthcare. Or education. Or employment. Or decency. It didn’t really offer him or anyone (that is, anyone without a thousand acres of land under their name) anything except for bills to pay and frogs to swallow. The fact that it also was a dump of a place, literally and metaphorically, and everyone, everywhere, all the time was expected to shout and scream and screech like a baby bird to his momma to get the slightest sliver of attention or scrap of food, well, this didn’t do him or his mind (or his bladders) many favors, and so he emptied them out.

Empty, empty, all o’them empty. A husk, a hollow, a corpse others forgot to bury. Hadn’t he left that land as soon as he did, he’d have been this: a hollow. A creature worse than dead, you see: still alive, but broken, nothing but the poorest of bums roaming on the streets, beaten, spat upon, thrown around, ragdolled by one and all, and eventually cleansed off from society by the merciful bullet from some death squadron or some off-duty cop wanting to have some laughs with his peers.

So he left. Yes, he left the place, but the place didn’t leave him, not immediately, and certainly not all completely or quickly, the positive effects on his sanity slow to take hold. For a good while, he felt worse: to live on borrowed time, in the shadow of bankruptcy, of police, of deportation, of hatred, of low-paying quams, of expensive living, of no health coverage, of the memory of his mother, the memory of her hands, the pain… the pain…

Of the shadow. The shadow that one night might come back, one night to haunt him, sooner than later, and then… take him back, back, back to his land, back to the piss, like a child, like a nobody, just like his country: undoing himself time and time again, and coming out of its undoing worse than he was before.

If you fight, they will beat you. If you flee, they will catch you. If you stay, they will kill you.

«Kill. Me.» He turned around, facing the wall. «Kill me. Gods have mercy. Kill… me.» He turned around again, facing the door and the hallway. He dreaded noise during the day, he dreaded silence during the night. His window, always open, let both the cold and the gentle sounds of the night enter his sanctuary. If not the wind, t’would be his head, ever restless, to create sounds where there were none. In the absolute coolness of the night, he imagined dangers were none abounded, the silence to compound his paranoia.

Not for a second in his life, he felt it, could he get any rest. Everything needed to be tightly controlled, carefully managed, obsessively regulated for him to just carry on through the days alive, in one piece: one misstep here, the fangs of monsters would close on his throat; one mishap there, the claws of enemies would rip his eyes out, lift him by the skull off the bed to throw him out, out, out through the window, defenestrating him dead.

He had never slept on any floor lower than a tenth. It was a cardinal rule. Ever since he got the chance to decide where he could live and sleep, he made this rule a golden one to live by: the higher the building, the surer the death. It was his insurance against life, his hedge against the inland monsters of his memory. «Gringos have guns. I have the sky.» He pondered, becoming calm all of the sudden.

The thought of sleep comforted him. The good, long sleep beyond the window: the nuzzling slumber under the restless nights. Under, under. Through the window and under the asphalt: a life without troubles or traumas. No life at all.

The darkness beyond the night. Serene silence, unconscious peace. The only instance, indeed, when he believed he had any sort of control over anything: not over his life, but over how he could end it.

«No one can control their own lives.» He thought. He was wrong. That stupid vermin of a slave country child. Stupid! Stupid! Correct yourself, you bloody fool: «I cannot control my life. Other people can. Everyone else can. I cannot.» He closed his eyes and smiled. «I can’t control life, but I can control… the other end of it. Not the flame, but the smoke. And I… I… I prefer the smoke. Everything is quieter in the dark.»

It made him calm. Slow. And sweet. These thoughts, they gave him hope: hope that one day the suffering was to end, and he would be the one to pick the day, the time, any date he wanted, anyway he saw fit.

Control. Yes, yes: he had control. It wasn’t a great deal of control, but it was control still. The day he would stop hurting. The day he would stop living. Such a great feeling, this was: to have control! Great enough to stop his eyes from aching and turn his body soft. A little sleep before the slumber. He had to be prepared for it, after all.

He stared towards the hallway as he slowly embraced the calm. No shadow stood by the door. He blinked, and still no shadow stood by the door. He blinked again, more slowly, more softly, and still no shadow stood by the door.

He blinked again. And blinked. And blinked. Slowly he felt himself steering away from life, cradled in the wings of the crows of sand.

It felt good. Felt comfy. Happy.

He hoped this happiness would never end.




He sprang out on the bed. There’d been a noise in the hallway. For the briefest of moments, he imagined something besides his cushion. He knew it was pure imagination, but still it scared him enough to weld his eyes shut, not dare a little to open them. Felt even he was trying to scare himself, to conjure up those demons and monsters out of his mind, into his haven.






Blindly, he tapped around on the mattress, trying to find the switch to the little lamp on his bed table. His fingers felt the coldness and rigidness of the little plastic cube, tip-tapping around it to be sure, no mistakes of what they were holding. *Click* The light inundated his room in soothing yellow, that small, potent lamplight shining away the demons with its rays of gold, and its subtle, but unmistakable warmth on his face made him confident enough to… oh… try and… oh, oh… so… slowly…

Open his eyes. A fraction of a sliver of a figment of a strand, a snip of snippets, and then a little wider still, and then, come on, just a little wider, wider more until…

… … …

… ?…

Nothing. He saw nothing. No monsters beside his bed. No shadow by the door. Nothing. Whatever had laid there, produced any sound, ‘twas like the slivers of his barely opened eyes: a figment of a snipper of a piece of his imagination, his desire to scare himself and suffer, afford not the meekest slices of peace.

Nothing. There was nothing, so he should’ve felt safe. Should’ve; wouldn’t’ve. The peaceful, elating nothing did not dissuaded him from the memory that, no, the certainty, he could swear, that he had heard… something. «I swear there was a bump. A sound coming from… just there.» He looked past his bedroom door, across the hallway, to the darkness blanketing the walls. «There. The… door.» His eyes looked like glass. A shimmering fear, crystalline as the snow under the moon: «the storeroom.»

Back to sleep. There was nothing to fear from there. T’was all in his silly imagination. Now, please, back to sleep.

Back to sleep.

He got up. The act took him a good half of the night, he felt it: every swing of his arms a fight, every pull of his spine a battle; hard and weary, blood and sweat, sang und toil, steaming and panting breaths burning through his throat, flaring through his nostrils, the pitiest of dragons, until he managed to lunge himself upward, forward, and sit at the edge of his mattress.

Eyes in the dark. ‘Cross the room. Into the dark. Long and deep was his stare cutting his bedroom past the door, facing the phantasmagoria that danced and feasted in his hallway.



…! “Urgh!” …!! …!

*Tremble, tremble!*

He got up. He felt every fiber of his legs rebelling against his will, but…

He got up. The muscles conceded, the fibers aquiesced, and his feeble legs, trembling like sugarcanes after a good whipping, obeyed him. It amazed him that he had the strength to do it, nay, that he had the guts, the cajones to pull it off. «I… can even…»

Walk. He could not only stand up, but even—oh, goodness!—straddle across his room, beyond the veil, towards the hallway!

Gods and spirits bear witness! What a mighty warrior was about spring! «It’s just in my head.» He told himself at every step, believing it less and less the further he walked. «These things, they’re… they are just in my head.» *Step, step…* «Just in my head. They’re just in my head.»




The hallway ahead, a realm of possibilities: a tall and pale, sluggish and slender vampire to jump from the dark to seize him by the throat; a canine-looking ghoul leaping from a corner to bite his legs clean, feast on his genitals, slurp on his guts like macaroni whilst leaving his skin untouched, consuming him hollow like the yolk sucked off a soft-boiled egg, the juices drained from under the apple’s peel; an eight-feet-tall, long-armed, short-legged ape demon, its head touching the ceiling, its jaw hanging long and low with its chin the floor, all skin and teeth along its serpentine mouth, the tongue snaking out for miles, snatching and dragging him by the waist before the beast’s long, skeletal arms did, crushing his spine, splitting him fresh.

His mind created monsters where none existed, out of the dark and real people. The monsters of the dark, the less terrifying sort: phantasmagorical devils, japery ghouls, malignant souls, mythical fiends, soul-stealing imps… *yawn* These figures, if he were to be honest to his heart, swayed closer to the amusing side of scary. They were creative. Puzzling. Enticing to the curious brain and the restless mind.

They had mythos, stories, and folkore behind them. And real people? What had them? What stories could they tell, what curiosities entice? None. Nothing. No creativity. No spark. No deep desire to corrupt the soul or spoil the virgin. Nothing. Just sheer, shallow, self-serving pettiness; the casual, uneventful evil of a monkey who wants bananas, and therefore smashes the skulls of other monkeys who stand in its way. The everyday villainy of normal people. The casual monstrousness of average folks.


What demon, then, wouldn’t appear more honorable, what devil more alluring? «I take the demons over folks.» He gulped. «Satan is kinder than people.»



Tiptoing on a razor’s edge, wearing his heart on his wrists. He hated it: living on the edge, walking on the blades, but he couldn’t help but to keep himself threading upon the sandy line of silvery glass. He was like a cat, automatic, by instinct, always maintaining his senses sharp in case some predator would leap from the nearest branch, from the suspicious bush, leap from the dark and pick his bones clean.

*Tip. Tap.*

*Tip. Toe. Tip. Toe. Tap.*



He turned the lights of his bedroom, and all those imaginary, amusing fears disappeared in a blink of the mind. The remainder of his house, though, remained a terrible, treacherous place, feeding his twisted imagination all the pains and the horrors it so ardently desired. He could peek at it, the darkness at his hallway’s end, the living room drenched in it, very briefly from the luminous safety of his sanctuary, getting a prood, any confirmation that there was, after all, a shadowy tall beast standing still, ominously at the tail of his passageway.


No. There wasn’t. Not that his mind wouldn’t insist on making strange shapes out of the nether—such as an evil, demonic doppelgänger out of the tall melting-leaf plant in his living room. The forced, artificial fears entranced him, left him frozen, almost paralyzed in the middle of the hallway—an easy prey for whatever monster that might there lie.

It was almost by chance, then, and after a lot of blind, shaky tapping of his hands on the wall, that his fingers landed on the light switch for the hallway. What remained of his fears, of his creativity, *poof* all disappeared with the dying of the dark, along with the weight lifted out of his lungs. “Ooh…”

He reached out to the storage room door and slid it open. *Vroosh!* The first thing he saw—and it was pretty impossible not to see it—was the massive body of a woman fallen across the tiny space. She remained stiff, her posture stark, but for some reason she had leaned over and fallen forward, off the chair, and her forehead, judging by her position, had banged against the wall in front, with her right shoulder knocking a product or two off the cleaning shelf next to her.

He sighed with relief. «How on heavens did you knock over?» He sighed again, a little more concerned. «Guess this stupid chair ain’t got legs that strong. Well, certainly not strong as yours. Hmm.» Upon closer inspection of the chair, however… «no. Seems fine.» He looked again to the doll, looked back to the chair, and stayed there, still and stiff, not knowing what to make of that whole situation. «You do, you idiot. You know very well what you need to do to this doll.» What sex dolls were meant to be used for. It was only natural. Even duckings in the wild would copulate with whatever rubber doll even in passing resembled anything remotely close to another duck. Was he not, after all, an animal like any other? A hot-blooded male surely more puissant and packing greater vigor than a measly, miserable d- «shut up.» He shook his head aggressively, moving the entire world around his body, a stiff, absolute point in the fabric of the universe. «Shut up. Shut up! Shut. The fuck. Up!» His eyes, reddened by the sweat from his forehead, landed again, back again on the fallen doll—his doll—so stiff, so straight, standing across that tiny space like an old and frail woman with no one to help her get up. «This is so rude. To anyone, let alone… to you.» Not a lady, but a… «woman… such a woman… like this, all alone, by herself, sitting on such a tiny, filthy fucking uncomfortable…»

Quiet, quiet now. He wouldn’t want to end the universe with the stir of his mind, would he?

He looked at her. Her body, her… everything… made it impossible to look elsewhere, anywher’elsewhere. «This is so bloody silly.» He thought to himself, convincing himself not a bit.

She was a doll. She was nothing but a doll. A perfectly constructed, masterfully manufactured doll, yes, but still «a doll. A doll. A bloody doll! This is just a bloody doll!» A collection of silicon sheets wrapped around a titanium frame. A plaything. Not a real thing. «People are just meat wrapped around a calcium frame, though.» He thought, for no reason at all, just how he did with the monsters in the dark: if they didn’t exist, he had to invent them. He just couldn’t help himself but to craft souls out of lifeless things, if only to give himself, the loneliest of souls, something to get attached too. «Like a little monkey to a hollow doll of its momma.»

His momma…

Setting out to the living room, he looked for a chair both comfortable and wide enough for that fat, silicone ass of the doll, yet also small enough to fit the cramped space of the storage room. Not for a second, as he performed these actions, did he think or made an attempt at thought of anything different, perhaps any other solution that wasn’t so ridiculous. Or cowardly.



His thoughts were all like this: «…» «…» «…» Dots of light in the void.

He liked them like this. Those moments, albeit rare—rare?—carried him on through life: not thinking. Just acting. Just carrying on, like a river through the desert, unthinking, unfeeling, just matter across the rough. Spear, spear! An arrow through the mountaintop.

He wanted to be like this: an unthinking, unfeeling machine. Like his computer. Like the keyboards. Or… «the doll.»

Once this glimmer of thought shimmered on his mind, he found himself back again on the tiny, narrow space of that room. The doll waited for him, still collapsed in that undignifying position, and he was faced yet again with the new unpleasant challenge of trying to make that huge, massive woman sit tight on the still tiny, still weak-legged chair—there was no chair, be it in his home or in the world, that could confortably house the continent-sized mass of a backend such as that which his doll donned.

«Fukken mirh.» Sore and sour, he grumbled, and readied his body for another battle with that doll.

The groand and moans multiplied in the dark. Amidst all the panting and shivering, all that wheezing and wailing and whining, and all the sweat that was now raining from his face, gluing the fabric of his clothes to his body, the stupid little boy still wrestled with the desire of returning the doll back to yankyland and getting his own life back to normal—the depressive, miserable normal, yes, that nonetheless he was very used to. «Stupid. Stupid. Stupid idea!» He kept repeating to himself, always looking for a way, for some magic that would allow him to move the doll without touching her. «What a stupid, silly idea. And how pathetic!» Fake woman for real love. Even men who did prostitutes were much more men than that! «Stupid! Stupid! Stupid fucking cunt of an id-!»

*Broom* He stopped what he was doing. The pain, the sore, the tiredness of his muscles, even those went away as his ears, like a prey’s, spiked up and stiffened, scanning for danger. «What did I just…»

His spine tingled with icycles as a breath of cold air hit his shoulder, right under where the mouth and the nose of the doll were resting.

He looked to his right. Across the hallway, he could see the windows of his bedroom opened, the soft curtains shyly with the timid winds of the dying summer. «Uh.» He whisked his fears and suspicions away and returned to the task of getting the mountain off the ground.

Her size and weight! «The gods be damned!» Her massiveness rendered any soft touch or meek pull futile. «Guess there’s… no other way…» He huffed and puffed in between sentences, «…no other way… to handle you, eh?» He needed to be firm. He needed to be rough. Closing his eyes, he lassoed the doll’s waist with both arms, perhaps not hugging her but crushing her, and drew his nose close to her neck, smelling her incredible… «Fuck! Senhor dos céus, que cheiro é esse?» He took a few extra sniffs. *Sniff* *Sniff* *Sniff* «Darn me in hell! I didn’t know dolls could smell like… wow!»

It was so nice. So… princessly. Like the virgin smell of a fresh dame. It invited him irresistibly to a couple more sniff, his nose drawn closer and closer to that fake flesh realer than any meat.

He shut his eyes harder, allowed them to fly off to the heavens of his skull. *Sniff…* *Sniff…*


He pulled back. Eyes wide open. «What did I just…?»

For the briefest of moments, he’d felt something on his neck. A sniff, but not his own. A whiff of air. A blow on his nape. Shivers down his spine.

*Broom!* He dropped the doll again, her forehead sillily banging against the wall. *Bump!* All of his work undone, all of her dignity further spoiled, but he couldn’t care about any of that, not anymore. «I’m sure I felt something. This time.»

He looked back. Out and past the door. Along the hallway. Had… something snuck upon him and… took a sniff of his flesh?

He scratched his neck, the memory of that blow still kindling lively on his flesh, like a kiss on a wound, and looked around, trying to make sense of that sudden gush of air. «Maybe it was the wind.» His bedroom window was open, after all, and the curtain sheets were swinging and swaying more brightly with the cold breeze.

He looked down and back to the doll again. «This breeze…» He felt it, touching his nape with the tip of two fingers, feeling the mark in there still unmistakable, as real as the weapon of the murder on the detectives hands, stenched in blood. «This was not just any gush of wind.» He reasoned, quite decisively, and stayed there, standing, still, looking down upon a woman who waited for his rescue.


Hmm. No.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and laced the doll again with his arms, one around her trunk-wide waist, another supporting her head and back, cradling her like an overgrown baby mammoth, pulling her up with more effort than a god rolling a boulder up and down a mountain.

She was just! So! Heavy! A real woman would never be anywhere near that weight, even a physique-obsessed chick of similar bulk. The doll’s muscles, instead of meat, felt like a weird type of malleable metal: unmistakably fleshly, but still harder than the core of the Earth. It took him close to two minutes of pushing and pulling and wailing and heaving and panting to lift that doll out of her uncomfortable position—yet, just as tremendous had been had been his effort in pulling her up, smooth as a cotton kiss it’d been to sit her down. «Again, this woman’s mobility is amazing!»

Shouldn’t surprise him. It was one of the promised features of the product itself. The company even had a fanciful term for it—“4D joints”—or something in the like.

He crouched and touched her swollen tights. No amount of denim would ever be enough to hide the sheer tone of those muscles: the swole, the shreddness, the thickness, hardness, and robustness of her mare-like hips and her Greek-column-strong legs…!

Fukken haellish! Her lower muscles belonged to a bull!

«Heavens, woman, you packing!» He couldn’t hide his sneaky smile. As he touched her thunder legs, trying to support her as he picked her up, he felt an intense, volcanic brust on his pants, and his heartbeat ran apace. His lungs weighed with a different kind of heat, as if holding a blazing cannonball coated with ice-cream, for the muscles of his woman teased his touch, challenged his preconceptions of what a woman should look and feel like, and forced him to face the detestable, deeply shameful reality of his own body—«I’m weaker as a whole than a single leg of this woman!»—and his own libido: «gods fuck me! This is my type!»

It felt like being gay without going all the way. «No need to think like this.» He shook his head, hopelly shaking those nasty thoughts off his skull too. «There’s more to women than crytal-like tenderness. And…» By extension… «more to men than… than…»

His fingers. They were just beneath her powerful ass. «Höllen macht!» Those buttocks both felt and looked like two wrecking balls under his tender touch. Merely squeezing, or trying to squeeze those two gargantuan planet-sized warheads of power made his own glutes hurt and his legs wobble and weaken, as if drained, perhaps not out of blood, but every fiber out of its will and soul—something much deeper than the mere energy coursing in cells, in his veins. «Darne schültz!» He couldn’t even conceive of a type of exercise or health routine that would have been needed to craft a bottom so splendid. Hïerllen! Even the grecs of Lacon would’ve tapped out after a month of such back-breaking, femur-splitting routine. That was a kind of physique that would have easily left the common man paraplegic—and he should have felt proud of himself, perhaps, don’t know, maybe, for he, if not capable of sporting that physique himself, was at least able to hold it on his arms and even handle it like a man, the minutes piling on one another just like he felt bodies or balls of steel were piling on his arms, that woman’s musculare becoming heavier at his every breath.

Yet he couldn’t stop holding her nor staring at her either. He didn’t want to. His penis was now fully hard, trying to escape the confines of his pajamas, tenting his undies, rubbing against the bone of his thighs to peek through the fabric and poke her on the knees. He panted audibly as one of his hands fell on her upper, outer thighs, and the other hand followed with a slow glide towards her patellars, unconsciously and purposefully forcing each leg on opposite directions, bend them their knees and making the doll finally…


His heart beat at a ridiculous pace. For all the struggle and pain and wailing and panting and heaving that had come before, he did not really expect the greater ease and smoothness of her motions. «Damn it, I swear!» He pulled back, his mind and his eyes in severe disagreement of what had just happened. «I swear this woman’s alive!»

Not only did the doll’s thunderous legs bend, they did so with a remarkable, lifelike ease, her boulder-hard ass landing as smooth, graceful, and effortless on the chair like a thin ballerina from the east. In no more than a fistful of seconds, the doll had sat. Had motions, so fluid, conveyed a sense of action and decision of her own, so natural and lifelike they prompted the boy stand up and back off, rubbing his eyes while scratching his head, waiting for them both to come to an agreement.

«Häellen…!» She was so incredibly real! «Gods be damned! What amazing work! I didn’t know dolls could be… this… real.» In between rubs of his eyes, some part of him really expected the doll to just… stand up and… greet him… moving on her own, speaking her own mind, truly alive and well.

Alas, the woman stayed there, still and stiff, reminding him that, yes, «she’s just a doll. Like monsters in the dark: she’s not real. She’s ain’t alive.» Indeed. She was just a doll and nothing but a doll.

Still… “hell if there’s some realness in her touch, in this beautiful skin of hers!” He admired her, looking at his own fingers, feeling a human heat in them which wasn’t his own. «Some unbelievable engineering went on this stupid toy.»

He silenced his mind, shivered at the thought of what the doll would do to him if she heard those words, if she were real enough to hear them. His eyes went down to hers. A sigh of relief was heard as he saw nothing different, nothing aggrieved or hurt in that doll’s face because of his insults. Still… «I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re… much more than just a toy. At least to some men.»

Men that sure were not him. Would never be him. «Hmm.»

He shook those annoying thoughts off his skull again, slapping his hands on his sides to shake off the thin veil of dust he felt he had accumulated throughout that whole ordeal, only to realize his hands were soaking wet, just like the rest of his body, and in the place of dust he was covered instead with the stinky grease of a warrior after the battle, or a runner after the marathon. «Feels good.» In the brief moment of peace he had bought to himself after expelling those previous thoughts, these were the only two, three words that kicked around the walls of his skull, timid and temporary like flickers of a dying fame: «feels really, really good.»

The doll was set. With that new, robust chair he had found for her, nothing would make her fall again.  «Work is done.» The wind called his attention back to his bedroom, invinting him back to bed. «Should be going now. Long work tomorrow.»


He stepped forward. The door was to his right; the doll, to his front. He took the step forward and, instead of leaving her, moved closer to her, crouched by her side.

«I… I…»

Her breasts were outrageous. Almost stole his breath as he stared at them, facing him tits-to-eyes. So full. So lush. So ripe. Those were the breasts of a Mother with capital M! Breasts any man (or boy) would drool for! «Gostosa.» He catcalled her in his mind, a wolf howling in his loins, unable to control his raw emotions as they were stirred, shaken, boiled in and around his guts by that formidable pair of titflesh. Her somewhat punk, somewhat casual attire only made her hotter; the elegance of her style, the tightness of her clothing making for a combination that just screamed…

Rip! Us! Off! The clothes. The undergarments. Everything she wore, all the fabric, it begged… rip us now!! Shred us and devour her! Now. Now! NOW!

«Heavens! Birth me strength!» How could a woman, fully clothed, be more erotic than when she was naked?? «Lords of Chaos, strike me down! Strike me before I…! I…!!»

He shook his head, shook it hard, but this time the thoughts were not so easy to rid himself from. They were not just thoughts, they were instinct. The thoughts themselves were just a sheen: something much deeper, much more primal moved him, and he was unsure whether he would be able to control himself, fears and all. «Look at her.» He was shivering, averting her gaze by keeping his eyes franctically frozen on her tits. «Just… look at her! You think a man like you deserves a woman like her? L-look at her and you’ll shed away all these silly pretenses! J-just… look at her… and you will remember what a vermin you are!»

So he did: he shut his eyes, rubbed them harder with his fingers, and opened them up again after having forced his head backwards, his chin up to meet her in her own gaze. Lords would know he would’ve never had the strength to do so without first breaking eye-contact with her wonderful, luscious tits, which would’ve kept him locked there, frozen in that cage along with her for all eternity—a fitting end, if anything, for a man who had dared insult a queen as such.

The doll stared stonily, stoically at the wall behind him, too good to look at him, to dead to do anything at all. Even this blank, careless stare was enough to add heat to the bubbling pire that was now busting, gusting in the stressed confines of his innards, like a pressure pot ‘bout to burst, and now he could do nothing less but… lower one hand… let one hand fall heavily, weightily down to his pants and… and…

A moan startled him. It was his own. «Merda!»

He shook his head. Again. Again and again and again, as many times as it would’ve been necessary. Why was he jerking off to a woman whom he could have at any moment, at any time he liked, and in any way he fancied? Why jerking off to a lady that he outright owned??

«No.» He simply repeated in his head. «No, no, no, no! No!» He wanted to bang it against the walls, but the presence of that woman, aside from its soothing allure, had also a very surveillant, disciplinarian mana to her.

It was her face. Something in her beautiful, regal semblance, and also her poise, her stance, her halo of coolness, her aloof authority. To stand next to her was to feel like a kitten protected in the paws of a big, but friendly dog. He felt shielded and nurtured, her presence so calming that his anger, usually hard, nay, impossible to control, it just… poof! Just like that, it… poof! It wasn’t anymore.

«Hmm… oh…»

Still, there was something off in that otherwise masterpiece of a ma’am. The way her hands stood beside her body, for instance, so straight and rigid, it was a little awkward to look at. “Here. Let me… mm.”

He touched her arms—her long, hard, muscular arms—and bent their joints just as effortlessly as he had done knees, laying them crossed on her lap like an upper-class lady in a very fancy dinner. He was staggered by their gentleness. Their hardness. Their power! The ripple of her muscles, the swell of her veins, he almost wanted to… press his fingers on the visible bulges of her veins through the jacket and… run ‘em fingers along those thick corridors of blood and power.

Imagine. Just imagine: folding those sleeves… undressing those arms and… sticking the tongue out and… running its tip… along ‘em veins…!!


Again, something. He felt something. A whiff of air. A breath on his neck. He looked up to see the majestic, perfect face of his woman, and her presence nullified all these fears, made him forget these and all silly ideas.

Only she mattered. Her beauty, her heat. Not his fears, not his mind, not the monsters in the dark. Just her. «Perfect.» Her and the perfection her being conveyed: he was in her arms. Nothing would come to harm him. «Simple.» Like two and two put together: he was with her, he was safe.

All was well, all was right. Two and two.


He raised his head and looked around, shapes and shadows floating into the place. He had fallen asleep on her lap, gods know for how long, but the uncomfortableness of his position—or a sudden, stronger blow of the wind through his bedroom window, who knows—awoke him from that heavenly cradle. «Ai, saco…»

He raised his head. Just a little. His beautiful woman was still looking past him, straight towards the wall. He felt he needed to say something, but a lot of nasty thoughts kept his mouth shut. The power of her face, still, spoke louder than his thoughts. She was beautiful, staggeringly so, and her beauty made him feel beautiful too. Safe. Warm. Confident like he never felt before. Like the sunlight on the planets, giving them life, filling them with soul.

“Well,” he uttered. “G’night.” He moved to her and… gave her cheek a little peck. Then turned around with haste, smiling like the fool he was, shutting the light and shutting the door behind in his little room of secrets.

Chapter 7

~ Morning ~

Sunbeams that day would not smile through.

He didn’t feel like working. Honestly, he didn’t feel like waking up at all. «Hell.» Was his first thought of the day. «Fuck.» Was his second, and from then on these were pretty much the only thoughts he had—or variations of these.

The sun felt detestable. He scrambled to shut the curtains while really not trying to wake up. He stood still on the bed, laying on it like a deadwood plank, hoping for sleep to carry him back again into the netherlands, and there he should stay forever. «I need to work.» Said half of his mind. «I fucking hate work.» Replied the other.

Rolling and twirling, twisting and turning on the mattress, he “slept” for thirty minutes more until he just… *woosh!* Stood up quickly, startled by nothing, and, feeling suffocated, jumped out of the bed and straight into his desk, *woosh!* *woosh!* where he stared at angrily, almost hatefully at his machine.

«Stupid piece of shit.» He banged his fists on the device. «Fucking move. Move!» The constant, frenzied tapping of his fingers on his desk reminded him that, «fucking hell!!», there was no coffee there to make him company. The world could end and there would still be no greater tragedy than that: a morning without coffee. Or was it evening already? No, it was morning, and he had no coffee at hand, only a sorry peace of cheap cup on his desks, feeling cold and rough between his fingers. «Curses! Fleimen hursen!» He cursed at the mug, standing angrily again and stomping his way loudly towards the kitchen, puffing steam through his wide, flat nostrils.

Just as he was about to leave the room, however… *duuum!* His computing machine hummed its own wake-up noise, demanding his attention. “Fuck.” He said, then screamed: “FUCK!!” And covered his mouth, always afraid, yet always forgetting that a neighbor could hear him, anytime, anyday, and demand his eviction. “God fucking damn it. This worthless piece of shit.”

He pressed his fingers on the keyboard, typed the series of passwords to unlock the petty machine. *Tween!* There ya go: safety was through, and the work was ready to be made. “Fuck you. And fuck off.” He could finally part to the kitchen and… «oh, fucking damn it!» As he left the room again, he realized he’d forgot the cup behind, back again on the desk. “Fuck! Fuck!! FUCK!!” Angrily he grabbed the cup, but on his way out he almost tripped on his own feet, banged his face against the edge of the door. Almost.

“Fucking…!! Fucking… Furhen…!!”

The sight of the storage room ahead, with its own door slid shut, restrained his bad spirits for a minute. A lady was resting inside. A lady whom he would not dare disturb. «Fucking… shit!» He completed his curses in his skull, and then he arrived at the kitchen.

Shock of shocks: there was no coffee on the cheap machine. He would have to make it from scratch, powder to black piss. “God… damn it!” Feeling his head swollen and burning, not enough skull for that load of bullshit, he grabbed the coffee bag and fed what little remained in it into the machine, walking to-and-fro impatiently as the machine took for-e-ver to be done with it.

All the time he felt his eyes popping, his iris melting, the heat and pressure in his skull almost cracking it open like an egg. *Click!*

Coffee was ready. As he grabbed the pot from the coffee maker, disaster struck: inattentive, he’d poured the liquid onto the cup way too quickly, and the dense, boiling steam that rose from the mouth ended up burning his hand, making him in turn, in a reflexive jolt of his fingers, drop the cup on his feet. “No!!”

His brain short-circuited as he tried to avoid the disaster one second after the disaster had become unavoidable: the cup falling, the pot dropped, the hot coffee pouring all over his hand and pajamas, the loud and steamy splash of the liquid on the floor, on his feet, all over the counter, sink, oven, everything, everywhere. “No, no… no-no-no-no!!”

There were hours where seconds happened, seconds where hours happened: everything, everywhere, all at once, so intensely that he could neither retell nor process the sequence of events even as they had unfolded. All he could do was take a deep, defeated breath and… resign himself to his fate, accept the consequences of said sequence.

“God… fucking…” He looked down to the mess with rage, wanting to stomp on the ground, to scream: “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!…………………” And screams there were, but no stomping. Good boy. Even in the throes of rage, he hadn’t fallen so completely ill to insanity as to ignore the heaps of broken ceramics on the ground, and what little sane part of his brain remained advised him to not risk hurting himself further with yet another episode of infantile rage.

«Ya got too many problems, ma boi,» said the brain to him in a fatherly voice he wished he’d ever known: «Broken mugs? Spilled coffee? That’s bad enough. Sliced feet ain’t be so fun.»

“Fuck you!!” He answered by punching the wall. *Bang!* Then punching some more. *Bang! Bang!* Then screaming: “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” And screaming as he punched the walls, barely realizing the punches harmed his fists more than they did the walls. Shocking.

After all, when you are too thin, you don’t punch the wall; the wall punches you.

“FUCK IT… oow!! Ouch!!”

Broken fingers. Not so much, of course, for even him wasn’t able to hurt himself so seriously; not for the lack of desire, sure, but for lack of strength. Of vigor. Of nutrients in his short, pitiful body.

Anyway. As anger begets anger, he air-kicked his slippers onto the fridge, screaming profanities at every opportunity, getting more and more irate the less goal and sense had his ire, and making a much bigger fuss of the kitchen out of that single broken mug.

The thought of having to clean it up, his own mess, it filled him with endless hatred. As he left the kitchen with the new batch of coffee in his new coffee mug—one of dozens of spare ones he had the foresight of accumulating—he just left things as they were, mess and coffee and steam and broken ceramics and all, hoping that they would have fixed themselves before he returned to them.

And all the way back to his bedroom, of course, he’s just… «fucking! Fucking shit!! Fucking fucking shit, you fucker!! Fucker!! Shit! Fucking! Shit, shit, shit, fucker!! FUCKING SHIT, SHITTING FUCKING FUCKER… FUCK!!!»

Sitting down on his desk. The goddamned machine facing him. Maybe a sip of coffee would calm him down. Yes. He’d battled through hell and heavens to get it, after all; might as well taste the victory, for once. He was always a less-than-pleasant individual before some drugs on his tongue. “Not a morning person,” as the folks said. Or just not a good person at all. That worthless shit.

«Shut up.» He felt his eyes burning wet as he turned the mug on his mouth. «Shut up.» The vision blurring. Too much water grating his eyes, like razors peeling grapes. «Shut… up…»

*Tzzz!* Tongue burned. Coffee spilled. *Spit!* Oh, no: he’d hit his own computer. “NO!!”

Taking the little machine and turning it upside down, he avoided the worst by having the few spoons of coffee drip down from the under the keyboard and into the desk. Thankfully, the liquid never had the time and chance to spill into the organs of his infernal gearbox. The death of his work tool had been averted; the death of his tongue, not so much. “You fucking…!!

Also, it turned out that, in all that mess, he’d forgotten to put on sugar on it.

“You fucking…!! Piece of shit…!!” He spoke through gritted teeth, angrily grabbing his head with both fists and… hurling it against the desk.

*Blaam!* He hit it. *Blaam!* He hit it again.

He hit his head until it hurt, in which case he proceeded to punch the desk instead, imagining it being undone into splinters under his fists: he, yes, a powerful man, *blam! Blam! Blam!*, undoing his enemies with his mighty fists, yeah!

*Blam! Blam! Blam…!*

All while being very careful with his machine. Yes: even in the depths of his rage, he knew it, he wasn’t crazy enough to jeopardize his only source of coin.

He stood up and punched the walls instead, hard enough for them to tremble even down the end of the hallway, near the kitchen—not a testament to his strength, no, that didn’t exist, but perhaps to the shoddy construction of his building.

He punched and punched until his eyes were nearly exploding. That sensation, so familiar, he couldn’t imagine feeling any other way: the pressure, the hurt, the endless screaming and crying inside his head, like voices of the dead trapped in the folds of his brain. Oh, well, that’s just how heads naturally felt,he reasoned. The burning, the pain, they got just a little stronger some days. A little too strong sometimes.

He could barely see as he looked around, the pain in his fists adding to the blurriness of his vision. Every time his heart beat, his eyes blurred and blanked. It looked as if the whole apartment was shaking and, with the steady beat of his eardrums, that a shadow was slowly consuming all there was, eating him up from the edges of his eyes and into the marrow of his brain.

«Y-you… stupid… filthy!… piece of shit!!» He grabbed his head again and paced furiously around, drunkard, only to circle back to his bed and fall flat on it, like a Goliath shot down by an imaginary David.

The desk, however, it screamed back at him: you gotta work, you gotta work! You gotta no time a’ lose, ye loser! Sewerwater pauper, worthless beggar! Y’er ain’t gonna work? Well, that’s too bad. Ye gonna starve, and then you gonna see what’s good for ya, yeah! Might as well just leap off that fucking w-

“SHUT!! UP!!!”

Silence. He got a moment of it.

That’s it, one moment. Now, back to life.

He couldn’t waste a precious second of his day. «I’ve gotta…!!» His head was so close to exploding, he could swear! «I’ve gotta… fucking work!»

Make money. Survive. If his life wasn’t perfect, at least it wasn’t hell. It was still… life. Worth living, for many. If things ever have got better, it was only because of his work, and if he ever dared to stop…

… if he ever dared to take a day off…

… if he ever even contemplated being… just a little less stressed… just a little less pressured for work, work, work… and work… and work… and work…

…he would die. He would starve. That was just a fact of life, especially for poor, worthless gutterscums like him: one second of laxness, no more, and everything he’d ever achieved would just… rotten… rotten away just as quickly as the burn of the hope that he could one day have escaped that fate.

You spend an entire life hustling your way into decency, into the barebones basics of life, and then… one slip… one long tap… and all is lost. And there ain’t never coming back.

One shot at living decently. Not luxuriously; not confortably; decently. One shot to being one step above a bun. And that’s it. That’s all you got. That is the way of life. That is his way of living.

So he labored. Not that the next few hours of work were any kinder to him or his mind than his first few minutes of waking up, but at least they were distracting—distracting of his pain, distracting of his headache, taking his energy and his attention away from his self-hatred and putting into the hatred of his own work. It wasn’t much, but this much was the most he could hope for.

The illustrations were especially spicy that day. Bad news. He always had this terrible boiling in his balls as he was forced to stare down at those beautiful, nubile vixens and their tall, hard, buit, and bulging stallions, their angelic faces barely concealing their Satanic intent towards their potent partners, and having sometimes to meticulously edit their images, cover up their indecencies, flourish and highlight their curves, their muscles, their best erogenous features… oh.

One would understand the pain, the agony that would come from it: working with absolute sexual abundance, yet being unable to do anything with it. Retouching them without touching them. A starving beggar seeing a playboy splurge. Even eunuchs had a better time in their masters’ harem than he did with his labors; t’least the eunuchs didn’t have a cock to suffer.

Such exposure made him masturbate once or twice or seven times every morning, before lunch, even with the tamest of works. That day, though, the pictures were on the “extra naughty” side of things: bulging bosoms, protruding genitals, horse-like appendices, flood-type levels of seminal releases. Things were hard and hot that day, two notches up beyond forbidden, so it was obvious he felt his head would crack-n-explode before he had finished off even the first (of many) of those requests.

Before noon, he’d jerked off. Jerked off time and times enough. Jerked off so many times not only his dick, but his arm felt numb. And then went back on to jerking again. Like pouring gasoline on the fire; he just wanted those flames to burn stronger. «Piece… of shit!!» By the enenventh time he came, he felt blood had come out. Not quite. Still, his penis was nothing but a stillborn worm in his dried-out hands. Few more jerks and it’d fall off. Nasty stuff. He had to spend the rest of the day walking ‘round like a cowboy as he did his trips between his desk and his bathroom, his whole crotch burning almost as bad as if it’d been ground against glass fresh out of the smelter.

He jerked and jiggled his way back to his chair, adding the finishing touches to that first batch of books. «I hate my life.»

Yeah, yeah. How many times had he complained about it? Lost track of it. What did he expect to accomplish by saying it yet again? Was he hoping to elicit pity from someone? Was someone ever seeing him, following his actions, keeping tabs of his childish behavior, taking any pity off his wrong-footed mornings? If not from someone, then, perhaps he wanted pity just from himself?

Whatever it was, he was getting none of it. And he knew it. «I fucking hate my life.» And he deserved it.

He stood idly before the computer. There was still another half day of work ahead of him, and he dreaded it. He wanted the day to just be over; to go to bed and hope that this time, this time he wouldn’t have to wake up. «Why? Why the fuck does this keep happening?»

He knew why, as well as why he was asking why, knowing full well, deep inside, it was all «useless. Useless! USELESS!! Fucking useless brainrot of a retard!!»

He sprung up, so suddenly, almost as if his muscles had rejected his body and tried to escape him through his skin. One blink and he was in the hallway. Another, and he was back at the kitchen.

Kitchen, kitchen. Ah, yes, kitchen. Still a mess. «Fucking hell!» How come hadn’t the kitchen fixed itself in his absence? He wondered it, but he knew the answer, and he kept this answer deep, deep inside his brain, beneath his ego, just so that he could have something to complain and whine about, just so he could feel like the victim in that tragic play that was his life.

«Please… please…» He held up his head, in shambles, shaking like a motherfucker, and whined: “please… shut up. Shut… up!”

As the tears glimmered, falling on the ground, they mixed seamlessly with the spilled coffee.

Coffee. Coffee. Ah, yes, coffee. That’s why he was there. That’s why he even bothered leaving his room one more time. If not for the coffee, he’d just abandon the kitchen; let the mold take over, a whole jungle grow on it, he didn’t care, for he needed nothing but coffee to survive, and he deserved nothing better.

Just unsugared, bitter coffee. A diet fitting of his soul. «Häellen… krast kraft herfukker!»

As he frantically searched for another bag of powdered coffee, and his hands met only plates and cups, empty jars, vases, and bowls in the boards, cabinets, and drawers, his mind slowly grew to the terrible realization that he maybe… maybe… «HÄEVENS FIKK!!» He slammed the cabinet shut. “Oh, for FUCK’S SAKE!!” He grabbed his head and banged it against the walls. “DID I SERIOUSLY FORGET TO BUY HÄEFFEN CAFFE??!”

Yes, he had, and there was nothing… «shut up!!» He could do… «SHUT UP!!»

A cold and sticky wet sensation on his feet distracted him for further anger. There was a limit, after all, for how much and how long one can rage against the void, and he had already spent all his wrathful energy that morning. As he looked down to the floor, seeing the cold, syrupy mix of spilled coffee and hopeless tears sticking to the sole of his thin, long feet, he sighed, and then decided… for once… miraculously… oh…

To do something useful about that whole situation.

«Fine.» He dusted off his shoulders. «I’ll clean this fucking chicken… I mean kitchen!» He hit his head and banged it lightly against the walls some more. «Kitchen, kitchen, you stupid dungbeetle of a brain, kitchen!!»

Cleaning stuff. Not something he often did. Truth be told, t’wasn’t something he often needed to do, for he didn’t really use the apartment for anything but solitary, lonely work, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to its living room just to chill, to enjoy his time, to read something or just… «how do they say it?»

Sock off…

No. S-…


Yes. Slack off.

Two years. Perhaps a bit more. He didn’t know, he didn’t count, he didn’t bother. After two or so years of living, if one entered his place, one would still think it was newly built, never inhabited. The fact that he also didn’t lapse on personal hygiene, more than just a surprise, was a big help to the livability of the place: his sharp senses, finicky habits, and overall pussy sensitivities made him not only avert to unplanned noises, but (maybe even more so) to bodily smells as well.

Say what anyone will about him, he wasn’t a hoarder, and he wasn’t some fat, dirty, decaying pig either. To the standards of a loser, hell, he wasn’t all that too terrible. He had no future and he had no wealth and he had no lovers and he had no happiness and he had no friends and he had no childhood and he had no incentives and he had no encouragement and he had no education and he had no courage and he had no metaphorical balls and he had no literal balls either… but! He did have a basic sense of hygiene. And cleanliness. If not a love for hygiene, t’least for the aversion to filth, and all the problems filth entailed. Great as his problems were, there was no trash to be sniffed on in his apartment.

No trash, of course, except for himself.

In the middle of the hallway, he stopped. At the end of it, he reasoned, he would find the materials to clean his bloody mess.

In the storage room. The room where his woman laid. «Oh, fuck.»

The door had been closed for… how long now? A week? Two? A whole year during when he didn’t bother giving her another look. He was just too afraid: afraid of what she represented, afraid of what she meant to him. He had crossed too many thresholds, leaped over one border too many, but still believed (or hoped) that he hadn’t crossed his own personal river.

That he didn’t need that doll. That he could yet live without her, just as he had done all this time without anyone.

Like in everything and in everywhere else in life, he was wrong. Extremely so. Supremely so. The doll was it. Her skin. Her lips. There was something about her that irked him the wrong way. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was something about her realism—the fact that not even her blank, stern expression seemed itself fake, but indeed seemed to change depending on how one looked at her, or what type of mood you were having that day.

It was always the same face, and every time a different expression. It really made his spine tingle—and not in the good way, not in the pleasant, if conflicted ways his penis tindled. Like a masterpiece portrait of sex dolls: you walk to the left, she follows you with her eyes, you walk to the right, and still her eyes are following you, just like the eyes of great portraits should, focused on you everywhere you go, changeling and elusive, just as great a paragon of beauty as she was a shapeshifting demon ready to devour you.

Decipher me or I’ll swallow you, she seemed to say. I’ll swallow you and all you c-

*Sniff!* He took a deep breath as he slid open the door. His neck, stiff. His head, forward. The doll, to his right, nestled on her chair, remained in the exact same position as he’d left. He ignored her, yes, he did, looking forward, pretending there was nothing there, nothing out of the ordinary, just cleaning materials and dry buckets and unseeded wombs, nothing to be concerned about.

He went on to grab a bucket, a broom, and a bottle of sunflower clorox before turning back and…


*Broom!* He dropped everything. *Broom!* The bottle rolled over to the doll’s feet, distracting him for a while, and then, when he blinked, the source of his shock had apparently gone away.

He rubbed his eyes. «Was she…?» In his head burned vividly the image of two green dots facing him. Two big, predatorial eyes. Eyes of a tigress, ready to ambush. Her big, bright green eyes facing him, her head unmoved, spying on him from the corner of their lids. One blink, however, and she was normal again, facing forward, staring at that wall.

Slowly, and without taking his eyes off her, he grabbed the materials from the floor and stood back upright. Dust was starting to gather on her. She remained like that, in such an innocent pose, her hands carefully crossed over her powerful thighs, like a little child waiting for playtime.

There was no impatience in her face, no distress in her posture, no reprimand in her demeanor. She was calm and magnanimous as one could be, a true queen of the Amazons, and seeing her like that had both a soothing and pitying effect on him. «Even condemned to watch paint dry, to have dust gather on her beautiful skin, to sit still and idle in this cramped space with no expectation of ever leaving… even with all of this… she’s still here for me.» Tears formed on his eyes. Happy tears. Hopeful ones. «She isn’t angry or even bothered by this at all!» The waters slowly receded, giving way to a dryness that mirrored his next thoughts: «that’s… that’s…»

He sighed. He felt cold gel being injected in his veins, replacing blood for ice, turning cool and calming what was once so acid and hurtful. He lowered his head and blushed a little, muttering a half-hearted apology, almost excusing himself in a self-serving timbre.

He couldn’t just leave her there and walk away. He couldn’t just pretend that she didn’t exist. No. That was no way to treat a lady. Doll or not. That was just no way to treat a woman. Any woman. Ever.

“So… how you doing?”

The doll stood silent. The doll stood still.

“I… uh… hope I haven’t disturbed you with… all the noise.”

The doll stood silent. The doll stood still. He smiled, though. Rolled his eyes. «I’m talking to a doll.» Could his shame have been any greater? His humiliation any more complete?

The doll was ever calming. To look at her was to fill one’s stomach with roses and butterflies. «I can’t…» He thought, or rather tried to think, yet he couldn’t complete it. «Think… I can’t think…»

He couldn’t think bad things about himself when she was around. Her beauty was just… too… overwhelming. And her smell! «Hmm. Hazelnuts. In the virgin bush. She still smells nice.» An eyebrow shot up, him staring at her for what felt like the rest of the day, ‘til night come.

For some reason, he felt compelled to talk. He couldn’t put it into words; it was just a very natural, guttural reaction, like responding to a person who really kindly approaches you and treats you well, without any ulterior motives in their mind—not that he knew the experience, of course, but still… instinctively… as a human, as a person… he knew how it should feel, how it was supposed to.

“Having a bad day.”

He felt his eyes popping out. Again and again and again and again, that same crushing pressure. Almost out of nowhere, he felt short of breath, and he was soon panting loud and coarsely, trying to tame his lungs.

“It’s, uh… no reason. Nothing in particular.”

He looked to the doll. The doll looked at him. Her face was somewhat lighter, her eyes open to his heart.

His lips trembled. He mumbled through the rest of his words. “It just… happens… somedays, you know. I… wake up the wrong way. With the wrong… soul.” He shook his head. “I know I don’t make much sense. I’m stupid that way, I know.”

There was a slight, but perceptible change in the air. He felt threatened by someone, something—something that stood really close to him, just right there, in the chair where the doll also stood.

He looked at her with different eyes. It was almost as if… something… some little thing he really couldn’t quite grasp… had just happened between them both.

She had the most intense green eyes he’d ever seen. Even a tiger’s gaze would look tame in comparison. He feared those eyes. He admired them. Those were the eyes of a woman whose power would only be used against her lover’s enemies, never against the lover themselves.

Those eyes alone cleared him of any trouble. He felt aloof and serene, almost forgetting all the bad stuff that had happened just a while ago. «Why am I even here?» He asked himself, then the bucket on the floor caught his eyes, then the bottle of clorox, then the broom he had just dropped. «Ah, yes. The chicke- I mean, kitchen. The kitchen, yeah. Gotta, uh, gotta clean up the chic- kitchen, I guess.»

He looked at the doll. “I made a mess in the… kitchen. Something just clumsy, you know.” He stared for a while longer. He smiled. “I guess you wouldn’t be much of a help, right?” He swung the bucket in his hand. “Though I guess you’d like to, huh? The kitchen is, like, your natural habitat, right? ‘Cause you’re a woman and such.”

She stood there, silent, still. The energy felt sucked out of the room. From the window of his bedroom, he could see that clouds had probably blocked out the sun, and so the apartment had gone darker all of the sudden.

Still, he kept feeling that unexplainable uneasiness near the doll. “Sorry.” He was compelled to say. “Bad joke. Really bad things happen when I… I… attempt a joke.” He sighed. “Not much of a rouser. I’m not much of anything, really.”

The air remained dense and dark. He felt best just leaving the doll be. “Yeah. I… I…” He stood up, terrified of looking back. “Gotta go.” He stopped by the door, though, and looked back into the tiny, cramped room.

Cruel. Too cruel. Just too much cruelty to leave her there. Her. A woman so patient, so kind, so… understanding. Such a good listener who gave his lips ears no other woman (or person) would sacrifice a second of their time to.

«She’s a doll!» He tapped his forehead with his knuckles repeatedly, half-assedly sliding the door back shut. «She’s a freaking bloody doll, you… disturbed little person!»

Cleaning the kitchen. Fuck. This thing usually felt like such a bore, such a pain, but to him, that day… uh. It felt different. «Why does this feel so fun now?»

Through the drudgery of mopping, of scrubbing, of disinfecting; through the annoyance of checking for tiny shards of ceramics in every little corner under the drawers, then applying the clorox, the detergent, scrub and scrub and scrub until it was all shinny, realizing that it wasn’t shiny at all, then scrub and scrub and scrub again, then picking up the wet and coffee-drenched paper towels and throw them in the bin, wash his hands, notice he’d missed a spot, bend over again to clean it and throw yet again the new loads of paper towel on the bin, then go on to wash his hands again… the daunting grind of all those chores felt, if not satisfying, at least quite bearable. He wouldn’t call it “happiness,” but… it was a pretty darn similar.

One would wonder, yes, what made that task so much more rewarding this time around; what made that day so much less hateful all of the sudden, even when compared not just to days prior, but to mere minutes before. «Oh, who am I kidding.» He knew it very well. There was no needa wonder: «T’was her.»

If just talking to that doll made him feel that way… «No.»

Then what would touching her, kissing her…? «No!»

He shook his head, accidentally kicking the bottle of clorox on the floor. He picked it up quietly and carried on with his cleaning duties. «Shite und schmeite! I’m not this much of a loser.» His eyes, again… the unbearable swelling… «Am I?» He scratched them. «I’m not going to romance a doll.»

Then why the hell did he buy it?

God knows. He did things even he didn’t understand.

It was only when the kitchen was clean and white, shiny and sweet-scented, that he faced the facts: «need to put all this shit back.» He grabbed the mop, the sponges, the cloths, everything, and stopped himself by the door, looking back at the kitchen to nod approvingly at his own work: “this is nice.” He spelled it out, aloud, nodding more gently as he felt a strange warmth spread all over his breast. “This both looks and feels nice. Real nice.”

Maybe the entire house would benefit from a make-over like that. Maybe… «No. I’m done.» And returned to the little storage room to stow back all those belongings.

*Tap* Hand on the knob. *Pull* Sliding the door. *Swoosh!*

The doll was still there: sat on her chair, hands laying beside her hips, arms almost straight besides her torso, with only a slight angle on the elbows, her face gazing firmly straight at the wall. The sight of her made him smile, and calmed whatever storms were now just building up again in his breast. “Hey, there.” He greeted her, putting the apparel back in place. “Need to buy… uh, coffee.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. As he looked at her again, he just found it impossible not to say something. “Forgot to buy last week. You know, Wednesday.” Was he really going to tell her…? “Wednesday is, uh, grocery day. I… I… I like Wednesday for that.” He sighed. Regardless of how stupid he sounded, the doll just stood there, listening to him, very attentive, accepting, as if his words actually meant something. “There’s, uh… there’s a person…” He started saying, but didn’t finish it.

Could he really finish it?

«A pretty blonde. There’s a pretty blond girl working there. Cashier. I know, I know. It’s… quite a creepy thing to fix on, but… oh, she’s cute. You should’ve seen her. I’ve always imagined… you know…» Even in his thoughts it was hard for him to admit. «Always though ‘bout… ‘making a move.’ But… well…»

He shook his head. Shook his limbs also. Fruitless, fruitless! Even if he was saying something important, even if the bloody topics that came out of his mouth actually meant anything to the world around him, his doll, much like every single person and every single thing in his life, would not give one d-

«Shut up.» He shook his head. «Please… shut up… for one fucking second.»

He looked at her. Again. Once more. Upon looking, he blamed himself again, yes, but this time in a good way; as in “how-could-I-ever-doubt-her-sincerity” kind of way.

“I’m sorry.” He nodded again, so apologetic. “Thinking shit.” Was he afraid that maybe the doll would feel jealous towards that woman—that real-life, meat-and-bones, soul-and-blood actual woman? “You’re much more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.” He said, and then he realized what he had just said and felt supremely embarrassed by it. “Okay, that’s… that’s about it. Huh…” He shook his head, kind of giggling, kind of not, and left the room.

The door was left open as he headed out to buy some coffee.

~ Afternoon ~

Midway towards the market, he met a couple of dark-skinned individuals on the walk. His head, already heavy, and growing hotter the farther he got from his apartment, sank as an anchor in a dark, dense ocean even he tried to pretend didn’t exist; a squall of dark emotions even his other dark emotions were scared of.

Giving those people a very quick, cool glance as they passed, his head was cleared, his mind emptied, and the world around him waned into white, an echoeless nothing as a single strand of thought flickered in and out of existence, as painless and momentous as the gliding of the guillotine’s blade through the convict’s neck: «malditos pretos.»

Time to count. Count down to cool down. Three, two…

«What have they ever done to me?»

Those who perpetrated nasty things to him in the past were pretos, said one side of his head. That’s what. But… they were also whites, yellows, reds, and all sorts of races the gods had put on that Earth to hate him. In his great Tome of Miseries, that pedestal of his Memories of Wrath, moorish folks should have no special place. Should they? ‘Fter all, when it came to hating him, despising him, wishing him dead, life was a democracy: every race hated him equally, and everyone equally wanted him gone.

There was the matter of basic statistics, of course: pretos were the most people in his motherland, and if most of the people hated him, despised him, tortured him and whatever, well, it was only fair that, proportionally speaking, most of his tormentors would have been moorish in their complexions.

Not a matter of nature. Just a matter of data. Sheer disgrace and bad luck.

«They were also poor.» He reminded himself of this basic fact. «Dreadfully so. Poor like no one else can be on this planet. The kind of poverty that to people is like gravity to a pebble: inescapable.»

Poverty breeds no kindness. How could he, then, expect anything but unkindness from people bred out of nothing but utmost poverty?

He should know it. He was one of these people, after all. Somewhat. He did have one extra luck, yes, embroiled so lightly in his skin; a luck which, if it didn’t make his life much less terrible, t’least made it a twinge more bearable, a bit more… escapable.

«It’s not what the mind reasons, but what the heart feels,» he told himself, sneering as he looked back to the couple who’d just passed him by. «Malditos pretos de m-!!!» He immediately stiffened his face, trying his best to look decent, making his darnest hardest effort to not act and sound like an animal on two legs. «Just as I got here, so do they?!» The anger… it could often be unquantifiable. « Why do they have to follow me here?! Huh?! Why?! It’s like I can’t have a fucking… second… of peace!! Don’t they have their own lands to keep shitting on?! Do they really have to cross a whole fucking ocean… just to torment me so… just to… to…» The pressure. It could gauge one’s eyes out! «RAÇA MALDITA DO CARALHO DE ESCRAVOS, MERDA!»

He continued in that infuriated state until the market appeared in the horizon. It wasn’t that much of a short walk from his apartment, and often he dreaded having to make it for the sheer distance and effort alone, but anger, oh, she was often the best of fuels, and it shortened space like no space travel or fanciful futuristic technology ever would. «They’re gonna ruin everything again. All over again. All over again! They’re gonna turn this country into the very same shithole I spent so long trying to escape. All over again!! All over again!! Why is it so difficult for us… for them… for us to behave…?! Por que esses macac-?!»

He got into the market. *Ding!* The doors made a pleasant ring as they slid open for him. The warm air of the heating inside washed him like a dragon’s breath. If not for the quaint ringing bell, he would think he was walking in and over hell—and god knows his mind was already there.

«Malditos. Malditos… macacos!»

Usually, when he arrived at his destination, his angry thoughts quickly subsided, his fury brought to a sudden, unceremonious end, but that day…

Oh. That day was different.

That day he felt like just killing someone.

He walked through the deserted isles of the minimarket trying to envision weapons everywhere he looked: a rifle here, an handgun there, a quick-shot spitfire right in front of him, between the packs of coffee. Everyday materials turned into deadly tools, which he pictured himself yielding to purge the good lands from all unwanted, unwelcome intruders.

Much like his dreams. Much like his fears. But even better! The visitors in his room—the dark, tall shadows by his bed—were mysterious, impossible to touch; the intruders of his land, though, all equally tall and so much darker, they were very much material.

And material things could be unwound. Material invaders could be hurt. Those fleshly shadows could be vanquished. If he’d just had the balls to…

«No.» At one moment, he stopped. He stopped and… tried to tame his head. «No.» He told himself. «No.» He shook his head.

Oh, was he so brave and firm with his own head, wasn’t he? What a big, boldie boy. A big, bold, beautiful boy who believed himself so righteous and so honest, trying to tame the demons of his soul without realizing (or just refusing the face the fact) that these demons were no demons, but him and himself alone. «Please. Shut… shut up…!!» The tears gleamed as they fell. Little crystals on the ground.

Balls. That was all that mattered, wasn’t it? Balls. If he had them, he could purge the world. He could make himself a real man and achieve the success he so resented on pretty much everyone else.

Balls. Balls. If he only had them, life would be better, no, it would’ve been best, but that’s the whole crux of his journey, wasn’t it? He had no balls. Never had them. Never would have. That’s why he couldn’t purge anything—neither the country nor himself. That’s why he wouldn’t ever sleep with a woman. Hell! That’s why he couldn’t even sleep with a fucking d-


“Ya, camradie?”

A voice came from his side. He didn’t immediately react to it: “ya, camradie? Arre you awwrite? You look not so gut, mai brata.”


He thought it was just another of the many voices in his head. It was only when it repeated itself, this time even slower, in a more measured pace, that he noticed… no: the voices in his head never sounded so concerned with him: “camradie maia, err’yu awwrite? Du you need ambulanssa? Yoy, mai brata. Yu don luk reah-lly soon prishka.”

He looked at whom spoke: a dark man towering as a mountain. At first, his size and tone were off-putting, truly startling. If he were suffering from an abscess of hiccups, there mere sight of that man would have cured him, for he was, truly, spectacularly tall, if not very bulky an individual, and one whose tone of skin was outstanding in its purity even amongst the most isolated, unmiscegenated tribes in the heart of unyesahara: a skin as dark as the void of the universe; a black as complete as the starless sky under which the earth had been replaced with pure slabs of fine-cut obsidian.

“Mi… migraines.” He told the stranger with a smile. “Fuc… freaking migraines, man.”

“Migr-ahi-nes, migr-ahee-nes.” He repeated, his command of the country’s tongue still not as firm as he would’ve liked. “Ah, headache.” Then immediately he pointed to his right, to the corner on the far opposite side of the store’s entrance. “Derr und pharma jus close. Zem proly‘ave sumthin for y’er… migraynes. Ve unterstaant misch gut, brata?”

Damn. He wasn’t supposed to talk. He wasn’t supposed to help him. Why did he have to be so solicitous, just like this, so out of the blue? “Yes, I, uh, I do understand, no… hmm, no problem.” He paid close attention to the man, to see if they both understood each other nicely: “and, no, there’s no problem with me. Uh, it’s nothing, hmm, nothing bad.”

An outstanding liar he could be, sometimes. Regardless of how modest and harmless he tried to act, though,  the stranger kept staring at him. The boy’s eyes were probably swollen, just like his entire, hideous face, and he knew his own skin, much like his eyes, was red and moist, as if suffering from the most severe of rashes.

The man kept staring at him, in silence. «Oh, no.» Deep within his mind, he began to make his obituary. Did the guy sniff it out? His soul? Did the stranger smell the rottenness sipping through his pores, the thick, fetid leachate he let out, like the slime of a snail, everywhere he went, making his trails on the ground so that no one with a soul dared step where he once smeared?

“Is it money problem?”

At first, he didn’t understand the question. When he did, he was taken aback. Slightly.

The stranger, looking deeply into his eyes, wondered whether the boy understood him or not, so he repeated the question in an even more calming, pedagogical way: “are ve having some, uh… issues wiz shekhen, mein fraer? Wiz money? I can lend some shekhen, sum moneys, buy mediceen for’yer needs.”

The question should have offended him. Should have, but really couldn’t, for at the very moment he understood it, he looked down towards himself, towards his own body, and realized he was wearing wearing nothing more but his grey sweatpants and a long, black kerchiefed jack that was quite indintinguishable, at a distance, from a trash bag. «For heaven’s sake! I forgot to change my pajamas?» That, combined with the sorry state of his face—his messy hair, stoned-dead red-eyes, washed-out pale face, sickly thin skin, and bulimic thinness all throughout—sure made him look quite close to a medhead escaped from the gutters.

«Is this… how I usually look?»

He wore his best smile on his face, however, when he provided that stranger with an answer: “nah. It’s just… a head problem, really.”

Just as he thought the stranger would make himself more inconvenient, stick to his ass and continue to bother him with further-denied aid, no, the boy was rather surprised to see the big man just shrug his shoulders and turn around. “Okay. If need’elp…” He gestured politely, walking away and back to minding his own businesses, probably not even thinking about the disturbed-looking individual anymore.

«Did he… did… he…» The thoughts richocheted wildly and confusedly inside the young man’s head. «Did he just listen to me?»

Why, if that sounded like dream. It was unusual to find people who just offered help without using it as kind means to some wicked ends. No. That guy was the opposite: he came, he was told ‘no,’ he went away. Such surprise, even shock were enough to dispel most of the youth’s anger and hatred for a while, carrying him to the counter with his bags filled with coffee packs and milk bottles and jugs of juice with an almost airy, dreamy demeanor. ‘Twas almost like a good night’s sleep, and all the better as he blinked twice, woke up and back to reality, and saw the cute, blond woman at the register, staring at him and tapping her fingers on the counter.

“That’s two ninety, fifty-fifty eight, sir.” She tapped them faster, her body language pointing to all the groceries on the pick-up side of the counter, begging for bagging.

“Uh, mmm…” The words fought to leave his mouth, a pile-up in the middle of his throat. “A m-minute, please.”

He did the mistake of looking at her. Why, god, oh, had he looked at her?! Unlike the stranger, she wasn’t at all understanding of his state; she looked irked and repelled, as all ladies would when confronted by such a walking trash bag of an individual—barely a “man”, no, just “individual” indeed. In a desperate attempt to save whatever face he could, he looked away, made sure to not disturb her further, quickly averting his gaze and vowing to not disgrace a person like her… a beautiful… cute… adorable, hard-working woman like her… with the dirtiness of his semblance. Or his being.

«Of course she’s looking me like that. Of course this fucking bitch hates me.» He thought. «Look at me. Look at my fucking state. Filthy piece of s…!»

The notes were counted and the register’s computer beeped a few times.

“Oh, my, uh…” He was surprised by her now tender voice. “I’m sorry, sir, but I forgot to ask you if you’d buy a bag for that” She pointed to the recyclables beside the counter. “You don’t happen to have a bag with you, do you?”

He shrugged, mumbling without raising his eyes, giving her a couple more notes for the extra purchase. “Nay. I’ll, uh… give me two, t-than- uh, thank you.” The girl was sure thinking him some kind of weirdo. «Don’t look at her, don’t look at her. Don’t act like a fucking creep, please.»

As soon as he had crammed all his petty foods into the big, green-colored, rough-textured bags, he was out of the place, and the rush of emotions and strong chemicals in his body caused him to think no ill of anybody for the most part of his walk back home. Pretos, intruders, foreigners, people in general, they could all walk at ease now; they were all safe from his impotent rage.

Easy hatred, flash-in-the-pan wrath. Those were obstacles he had long tripped over, waters long past by his mills. People had no fault for his own ills, no one but himself to blame for his guilt. «Shut up.» He grabbed his head and shook it, almost dropping the groceries on his way. «Shut… up… please!» But the voices weren’t going to shut up quite as easily this time, no, they weren’t.

This time, after all, they were right.

It was not her fault she despised him, that cute cashier. It was not anyone’s fault they treated him like trash. After all, well… look at him. He was despicable on his own, dressing and walking and speaking like only trash would. What a shocker, indeed, to expect garbage to be treated like anything else but garbage. Just look at yourself, y’er worthless wasted of semen: even without saying a word, your very existence by itself is repulsive. Repulsive!

His head bobbed heavily as he walked, a grotesque hunchback protruding as he straddled along the sidewalk. Passerbys, if there were any, could’ve seen the bones of his spine sprouting so clearly on his back, almost as if his skeleton struggled to get out of that sad sack of meat, even it too fed up by that lame excuse of a human being. «I have to spend all my calcium carrying your worthless meatbag around?» Said the skelly, surely. «No! No good for me! Adieu!»

*Blam!* He burst so aggressively through the doors of his apartment block, whisking by so fast, like an arrow across the main hall of the building, that he barely heard the words that were shot back at his direction:

“Uh, good… oh, hey, man. How are y-?”

The porter. That nice, young doorman he’d met days (months?) ago. He saw him move like a ghost into the elevators hall, the bags of groceries making a stupid rattling noise as he did, like impotent spooky bells and heavy chains on the world’s most pathetic ghost, and then disappear into the building, as nonexistent then as he had been before.

“Uh, okay.” The porter appeared to say as the elevator’s doors slid shut.

Poor man. He didn’t deserve that. The boy had heard him, but also hadn’t. There were so many things going on in his head that the warm words were only meaningless noise among them, so his brain just threw them all in the back of his mind, canceling them out as he was heading to the lift. He didn’t even bother remembering the young worker’s name, if there was or had ever been a name at all. «John? Johan?»

He often didn’t remember his own name. How would he, then, remember the names of absolute strangers, people whose employs were so beneath him. Why would he? Why even bother?

Still, he felt bad. «He didn’t deserve it. He was… nice.» A nice man, indeed. Talkative fellow, sure, but one who had been nice to him. And respectful. Just like that tall, dark fellow on the store just now. He deserved—they both did—some niceness back, and he very rudely denied it to them both. «Of course I did. I’m an ass.» He, or one of the many voices inside him, or all the voices at once, said: «I hope they’re rude to me next time. I hope everyone is rude. All the time. Forever. Saves me the time of trying to be nice. And it’s fair. It’s how the universe should be: everybody rude to me, everything trying to kill me, just like my countrymen, just like the goddamned pretos, just… just like…»

He laid his forehead on the elevator’s wall, hard enough that he could feel some pain in the action, yet weak enough not to attract any suspicion from anyone else outside. «Fuck.» He hit his forehead again. «Fuck.» And again. «FUCK!!»

*Ding!* The doors opened.

He ran—not walked, ran—to his apartment with oceans in his eyes, blast through his house’s door like a bomb, dropped the groceries on the ground as if the handles were made of thorns, not even checking if he’d closed the door behind him, and sat, yes, collapsed his buttocks by his desk, in front of his infernal workstation, and then proceeded to work in it frenetically, furiously until long past the pearl of the moon—he couldn’t, he wouldn’t ever know the times for sure, never exactly; he never bothered with the clockarms, never saw a reason to. «Fucker like me needs to time.» He had no meetings to attend to, no mornings to wake up from. Nothing. When you are too much of a nothing, time itself means as much as you: nothing.

So he worked away just like he lived: like an animal. He rose and fell not with the cycles of the sun, but with the unstable churning and aching of his gusts, his perception of time regulated entirely by his unregulated body—so unregulated that he woke up at times as disparate as the yawning of the sun or the darkest reign of the high moon. He could never know when a day would start, just as he couldn’t know if that day would have an end again—that he would still be there to see it.

That day… yes. That was a bad day. A bad day, he figured, because he had probably slept so very little the nights prior, slowly compounding his miseries until, *blam*, they just exploded on him on day, that very day. «Yeah. Yeah. That’s likely it.» He thought while masturbating frantically in the bathroom—the supelvelth time that day, upteenventh just in that evening. «Bad sleep. Much work.» He couldn’t even form long sentences by that point: «Sleep unt four. Wake seven. Little sleep, bad sleep.»

And too much work all over again.

He didn’t even think about anything sexy as he masturbated. He did so mechanically, just to let off some milky steam. «Semen piles in the body like poison.» His thoughts wandered. «I get charged. Packed in the crotch. Loins hot and heavy. Unpleasant to sit.»

When he came, no milk came. His jerking was usually jizz-less after the fourth or eighth round, especially if he didn’t let enough time in between blasts—and even if he did, well, sometimes he still couldn’t shoot shit, for he was «impotent, weak, and limp,» by his own words, among so many others, on his way back to work, back to admire those beautiful people in the books: the virile studs and their fertile maidens; the massive, thick man-rods and the tight, lube-ridden, juice-dripping moisty butterflies, all the juices in the universe, all the nectar for the gods.

Joy and pain. Looking at those people brought him these two dissonant feelings. It was inspiring to see how great human bodies could be, agonizing to realize how far from these bodies he was by virtue of birth. «Mine are bad numbers of a lottery I should have never played.» He cut the images and spliced them in the covers, feeling the cock, I mean, the clock strike eleven past twelve. His hand moved with greater difficulty and jank, his muscles hardening like drying clay.

He scratched his eyes, stood up, jerked off for the twvelveth time. This round around, though, he couldn’t even achieve relief. His penis was sore, his helmet like a purple grape about to be squashed into wine. He hit his head on the mirror, but realized even this act was without anger, wholly unintentional; he was just so sleepy he couldn’t keep himself straight any longer.

«I need to die.» He thought, shaking his head immediately after. «I mean, I need to… sleep.»

He walked not to the bed, but to the kitchen, where he prepared some warm milk to maybe, perhaps, hopefully, soothe his nerves, make his body relaxed enough to slumber through a temporary peace. Though he was as sleepy as a cat near a fireplace during winter, but without any of the cozy feelings that would usually entail, his veins still coursed about two gallons of cheap black colombine drug, depriving him of sleep without given him energy in return, not any longer.

He felt cranky, jaded, dead but still living, and work felt like a more terrible grind, even more excruciating than usual. Still, knowing that the coffee was inefficient, knowing that he could buy better brands, he persisted in filling his body with that cheap junk for years. It was simply the kind of coffee he got used to, years and years ago, and change to people like him did not come lightly; between choosing an unknown good and a known evil, he’d stick to the evil always.

Repetition felt like home. A good home. Not like his old home, his old neighborhood, his old acquaintances, which were hot, chaotic, and savage, no, no, but much more like his new city, new his country, his new empty apartment in his sprawling, vast, ever-expanding white apartment blocks: cold, bland, quiet, and predictable. Safe.

Safety. He prized it above anything else. To invite a new kind of coffee, a new kind of brand, a new kind of experience into his house, into his mouth was akin to letting a hollow horse roll past the door to his safe haven: just giving way to the enemy!

In the kitchen, he hit his head a few more times against the wall. He walked to the living room, which was cold thanks to the opened glass doors of the balcony, and through these doors he stared into the night, approving of the uniformity of the void, its few stars dimmed even by even the dimmer lights of the lifeless city underneath.

He stepped forward, feeling the cold wind on his body. He looked down. It was a nice, merciful fall from there. The handrails were low enough for one to fall through with a slight distraction; a simple, careless lean, and that’s all there was to it. For the standards of that country, it was a really badly built place. «They forbid these kinds of hazards, try to protect their people at all costs.» He raised his head and sniffed out the air. The northern winds had such dry bitterness to them. «They care that their people don’t kill themselves.» He choked on his own saliva. «They won’t care for me.»

He stepped on the lower rail of the baluster. He looked down. If one just ignored the white dots on the streets, one would be staring into almost a perfect void. The full moon shone much brighter on those latitudes, whenever she appeared, yet at the feet of his building lied only shadows, like the mouth of a leviathan agape, ready to swallow him and give him peace.

All it would need was a step, just one step, and a tiny jolt into the darkness, maybe—the darkness he knew so well. The darkness he still struggled to love.

There would be no more surprises in the void. No more changes, no more novelties, no more frustrations. No more aggression. Provided that the religious folks were wrong, there would be nothing beyond the dark, and this nothing was so much better than the everything he’d had before it. «Zero is better than negative.» He looked up, staring at the different, hideous darkness of the sky with a mathematical mind to give him peace. Or the illusion of it.

He put his other foot on the lower rail, and his body rose against the baluster, past which he looked again, neck bent, head lowered, eyes down, down, down. «But the pain…»

The pain was his only enemy.

He’d seen pictures of people who’d fallen from those heights, yet survived. Only a demon or a very nasty brand of god could curse a person to such end: to deny them the release of death, yet also invalidate them through a long remainder of their lives. In that country, sure, people like these used to be put to sleep—which was some solace, but not enough. Not nearly enough, in fact, for him to ignore the fact that the pain of survival would be extreme.

Not to mention the fall. The falling itself. The yankeedoodles had it easy, for their lands abounded guns, it was said, and every discussion, every torment, every slight grievance was solved with a bullet to the brain. Easy, quick, simple, efficient. Everyone else in the world, though, when lucky enough, only had tall buildings at their disposal, which, though usually efficient, still left them with one too many seconds to horror and despair, even repentance as they were fell.

There was no kind dying for those who jumped: their last seconds on Earth—the longest of their lives—would be filled with horror and second thoughts. Ah, the second thoughts! The windows of opportunities they’ve been denied in the heights, the brilliant plans of salvation that only came when salvation was impossible, all hope lost, a little too hard, a little too late—but that was the point, wasn’t it? To torment the tormenter one last time, giving them a little taste of Hel before they went on to freeze in it forever.

It was his stupid body trying to survive. «I want to die. I do, but my body doesn’t.» In a last, ditch effort of survival, the mind went berserk, filling the person with all sorts of foolishnesses and stupidities. «Hope.» He realized. «It gives us hope when there’s none. It’s always like that, ain’t it?» He smiled, barely realizing he was still staring into the void, leaning further and further, without notice, into the dark. «We only feel hope when we shouldn’t; we persist when we should give up; endure when ending it all would be better. For everyone.»

He knew what it was—survival instinct—but he preferred to always think of it as «torture. Sadism.» Life wanting to keep him in suffering for as long as possible.

His feet stepped blindly in the air, climbing a set of stairs that wasn’t there. Maybe, if he got a chair, he could just… hop out easily and fly. He wouldn’t even notice when his feet left the support. It’d just be… *bluum!*

He turned around. He was sure he’d heard a noise in his home. “Mm.” Much too quickly, he left the balcony and went inside to see what might have happened. His thoughts, as if freed from the void, sprang back and down to more earthly concerns.

There was still hope. Not the hope he desired, but the hope he could afford: «the doll.»

Yes, his doll. The love he could purchase for a million and a half a unit. It wasn’t the perfect hope, but it was still hope—and, better yet, a very tangible one.

He slid the storeroom’s door open, peeking into the place to check what was going on. A bottle of clorox, as it turned out, the same bottle he had used that afternoon, it had fallen from the shelf, rolling by the door as he slid it open. The broom too had apparently fallen across the tiny space, almost hitting the head of the doll, who, as always, still sat there, patient and compliant, with dust piling on her beautiful skin.

“Hmm.” He muttered, putting the things back into place. His eyes met the doll’s, and hers looked lonely. “Hey.”

She didn’t answer. She seemed mad at him. Of course she did, what did he expect? After a whole week locked in that place—she, a queen! Queen of the Amazons!—, she probably felt really fed up. It wasn’t even the imprisonment that enraged her, but the imprisonment at the hands of… such a man! Such a boy!

“I’m sorry.” He knelt before her. The words weren’t easy to flow. He avoided her angry gaze, instead staring at her strong, ripped legs, whose muscles tested her jeans and highlighted her power, her nobility, as much so as the indignity of her confinement. “You’re dusty.” He touched her thighs, trying to wipe the dust off her jeans, and immediately felt a wave of power ripple through his body.

She was warm. Hot. Like real skin beneath! The doll stared beyond his head, into to the wall, yet still her face again appeared slightly changed—angry at him, and irate for his gesture. “I don’t… I can’t…” The words, the damned words. He knew them, but didn’t want to say them.

The shame. The mighty shame of admitting it. His eyes, nearly exploding. He rubbed them along with his whole face with both hands, covering himself, hiding his gaze as he finally managed to utter those words out, costing his soul: “I’m a really bad person.” And he kept saying, very slowly, with far too many pauses, but still saying no less: “I’m… such a fucking piece of garbage.” He looked up to the doll. “If you were smaller, I think… maybe I’d touch you. You’re just too fucking big, you know. Too fucking strong.” His foot grazed hers, his toes tip-tapping along her calves. “I don’t deserve a strong woman like you. What would I do to you in bed? I can’t give you pleasure. I can’t… do anything. I’d just be there, like a dead stick, flabby and pathetic, whilst you waited, frustrated, and probably quite disgusted too.” He pulled back his legs and hugged them, a fetus sitting in front of his plastic mother. “It happened once, you know. Not sex. I never got close to sex. But… a girl, once. A kiss. I couldn’t even kiss right. I almost puked in her face, and she was already trying her damned best to ease me up. I knew she was trying, oh, and I liked her so much for that, but… it’s just not right for a man.” He looked down to his own body and detested everything he saw—the very little, yes, and very frail, very weak, very pathetic that he saw: “look at me. I’m not a man. Jesus, your legs… just one of them is larger than my whole hip. I’m… how can I be a man to you if I can’t even be it to a regular girl? I… to be with you, it’s… just gonna… show… how much not of a man I am. It’s awkward. I’ll only be thinking nasty things, and… I just don’t wanna… you know…” He scratched his whole face forcefully, almost aggressively, as if trying to pull his skin off and gauge his eyes out. “I just don’t see myself ever getting anything nice in life. Ever being loved.” The doll just stood there, ever so royal, looking so mightily down upon him. “You are a very beautiful woman. I just… I mean, I know you know it, but… I guess… I just want to take this out of my chest: it’s not you, it’s me. Obviously, I’d love to sleep with you, but… even though you’re fake… even though you clearly can’t hear what I’m saying… even with all that, it’s just not right. You’d hate it.” He chuckled. “You’d hate it so much you’d… create life… you would, uh, become alive just so you can jump out of the window and, uh, rid yourself of me. I’m… really fucking… bad. At everything. The only fucking thing I can ‘do,’ if you take that to be something, is porn. Not even good porn at that, just… soft, petty porn. Covers for romance books, you know.” He gave her a longer look and smiled. “You look like a woman who’d hate romance books. You’re more like… not reading books at all. You’re like a biker, a cool girl.” He leaned on to his legs, hugging them tighter, looking at her longer and deeper. “Heavens, the kind of man who would have you. He’d must be, like… six and a half feet tall? A mountain of muscles, of… testosterone.” He sighed. “I have the same amount of testosterone as a mouse. This is why I look for women like you: very strong, buffy girls. I’m so weak that I need a strong woman to protect me. Both physically and mentally. That doesn’t mean that you’re wrong, no, but that… well… you probably attract a lot of losers like me in your life, huh? Not that you would want to, but… anyway… you must be used to it. Just that.” For a moment, he realized the ridiculousness of it all, or made out the ridiculous where none was, just like his monsters, just like his hatreds, just like himself. “You don’t attract anybody. You’re just a fu-… a doll. Just a doll.” The light flickered. The same peculiar sensation from a week earlier—the tightening of the space, the heating of the air—returned. He looked at the doll and tried to read her, but again, before he could get any answer, he was hopelessly lost in her beauty. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry. You are a… woman. Or a representation of one. Doesn’t excuse me from treating you bad.” So many bad things invaded his mind that he felt compelled to just leave without one more word. The reason, he thought, boiled down to «I’m so fucking bad, so fucking useless that just talking to you feels insulting. I know you d-» He shut his eyes hard and inhaled deeply. “I know you don’t want me. No woman does. If one ever does, well, she’s crazy. Or psycho. Or evil. I might wake up the day after in a bathtub and find out my organs have all been harvested. Not that this is the woman’s fault, of course. This is actually a good thing to do. My organs are worth more outside of me than inside, giving life to any other person but me, and this woman, you know, this crazy, psycho bitch, she’s…” Inhale. Hold. Hold. Exhale. *Sigh* “She’s good for… taking them out and… selling to people much more deserving.” He looked up. Her face was enigmatic, indecipherable. “I’m not looking for pity. I’m even feeling calm right now. I spent my whole day hating, my whole day shouting, my whole day… thinking… about killing myself.” The light flickered again. He shrugged it off. “I spent the day really fucking bad. You must have heard it, right? With all my… screams, my… head bangings and my… you know. So…” He shrugged. “I don’t feel that bad right now. Not even that… tired.” He rubbed his eyes. “I mean… fuck. I am tired, but… I don’t feel like… I need to die… to… cure myself of this tiredness. I’m more calm and… level-headed, I guess you’d say.” He looked at her. And just looked at her. Her massiveness and beauty shook him in a most brutal, primal of ways. He found it honest to just say it out loud, without keeping everything to himself: “I am… I am… getting so turned on by you right now. No reason in specific. You’re just… that fucking hot.”

Her knees faced his way. So close. One arm-stretch away. He raised his hand and brought it closer, so much closer to her body, but stopped short of touching her.

He looked up to his woman again, always vying for her reaction.

“Please…” He said, simply, and then…

He touched her. He touched her in the knees.

Power. It was an indescribable rush of power that he felt from that incredible woman. The bone structure was so firm, and her skin so smooth, so perfect, her muscles so tender, yet also thick and unyielding, like a fortress made out of love, its iron walls raised with kindness, its stainless steel plates bound by benevolence.

With one hand he rubbed her knee, squeezing it, pinching it lightly, them venturing slowly up in her thigh, the touch causing him an instantaneous, full-blown hard-on, the aggressive rush, near eruption of blood tenting his penis upwards like a pole, wilful to break through his boxers, tear up the lycra of his shorts, a protuberant and aggressive mound rising, so noticeable, between his legs, a tumorous hill of horniness bloating up in his crotch.

He was breathing heavily, noisily as the hand was laid down fully on that mighty thigh and… and…

He squeezed it!

His heart jolted. His breath was abruptly cut short. His body shook along with his heartbeat as he felt the absolute strength, the boundless hardness and hotness of that muscular, bronze-cast thigh, that mountainous leg where all the thunders resided.

The darker skin of her face, a symbol of lusciousness and fertility; the light mahogany, dark-golden glimmer of her countenance, of youth, health, and endless child-rearing capabilities.

Her body was one that screamed health. Really: with that size and bounty, that fullness of booty, such a splendid body would need a whole village to be properly fed. Entire fields and crops razed just for breakfast; in a single meal, more nutrients to fill a breeding bull to a bursting point—and then on to the next plate! «By… the… gods…» His mind was anesthetized. «Even her teeth must be white and perfect.»

A woman such as her… no, a mare; a human bull in female shape, such superb titan, she was meant to fight, she was meant to protect, and she was meant to birth as many kids as all humanity would need, litters, as plentiful and ripe as rabbits, as big and strong as horses.

The richness of her being was almost magnetic. It pulled his face closer, closer, forcing him to pucker his lips, move his head forward, bring his mouth closer, and…

Lay on her knee a gentle, worshipful kiss.

He looked up, witnessed her high and mighty face, and laid his other hand on her thigh, spreading his palm all over it so as to measure its insane girth. “Fucking… massive!” He muttered. His two hands, stretched as wide as his long, skeletal fingers could reach, the tip of each thumb separated by what still felt as the radius of a whole planet, both hands barely covering half the girth of her thigh, which was all pure muscle.

He continued to dust off the lap of his goddess until the glimmer of the belt trapping her immense hips caught his attention. Only that feeble, stupid lasso separated his lips from the deliciousness of her being. «By the heavens…» He gulped, raising his eyebrows as he noticed how the belt, oh, was not nearly so ‘feeble.’ It was a thick leather constraint nearly as wide his hand, its girth almost as large as his fifth digit, literally more leather used there than in a whole jacket—such as the one she wore.

«If I… only could…»

His hands reached out painfully to that impregnable boundary, his fingers trying to worm their way between the golden, titanium-laden buckle and her impossible… “aah!!”

Her impossible… her massive… “oh, fuck!” He withdrew his hand quickly, licking and sucking his fingers as if they’d been burned.

“As if?”

No: they had been burnt. As he tried to violate his queen, little spider trying to court his gigantic black widow, not exactly fearless, but just too drunk by her power and beauty—if there were, in any case, any difference between these—he felt the sting of her muscles; perhaps more precisely, he felt the violent rejection of his body by her warrior-like, battle-tested abdominals, who were having none of that heathen touch, tolerating not an inch of contact with his worthless skin. «Heavens… fuck!» He looked at his fingers and saw their tips flush, like rash, the tingling, spiky sensation a child gets after messing around with a power socket. «What… muscles… must this woman have!»

At this point, the petty male could do nothing but to look up again to his deity and behold her so royal, so haughty, almost mocking of his failure. «These muscles are not for you.» She said, very clearly, every word imprinted on her lofty countenance. «My abs are above you—or any man.»

His pathetic burnt hand had nowhere else to go, then, but to the only place it went every time he felt defeated and humiliated: down and down, into his pants.

After no shortage of defeat and humiliation that day, however, the boy found that scrubbing his rigid, turgid worm only caused it to twitch painfully and burn as if his urethra spat and spewed pebbles on fire.

“Aargh!” Awash with pain, the ridiculous male was forced to lean back and spread out his legs, giving his sorry member a bit of air—a position that forced him to witness the pathetic state he’d brought his sex to.

His cock was so hurt that even having naughty thoughts, even just thinking them elicited painful jolts of thorny ejections in his tool. “Ouch, ouch, fikken… oooh…” The fire… it rose! “ARGH!!” It was like having a toothed thorn of spikes rooted into his member, its surface peppered with shards of glass, its spiked teeth facing south and inward, towards his loins, and then having every pump, every throb of his battered member slowly eject said thorn, causing the penis to only flail itself fresh. “DEUSES, QUE MERDA!!”

The poor, disgusting male left his legs spread out and wide, like a woman about to receive a breeder into her garden, and his shorts lowered, his boxers loose until his penis could get some semblance of cold or fresh air. «Merdamerdamerda!! Caralho, eu não consigo sequer manter… essa porra de pênis!»

Daringly, though, and in spite of all his pain, he managed a glance towards his woman; just a glance, nothing longer than that, his bile not so great as to allow him more than a couple of seconds of peeking at a time. «To waste my cock… jerking off to nothing… when I could be… I could have been…» He struggled with his last words. The thought reeked of blasphemy. «I could be jerking off to her!»

He could do more than just jerk off. He could do it, he knew he could do it, but he pathetically ran away. Again. Once more. As he always did.

“Argh! Fuck me, häellen, it hurts!” He closed his eyes and rocked himself back and forth as the burn consumed his crotch. He tried to touch his penis carefully, very gently, maybe to massage it back to health, but the omnipresent figure of his woman, whose lushness and fertility overflowed from her body like the waters of a fall would a lowball glass, enmeshed its way again surreptitiously into his eyes, the accidental glimmer of that omnipotent symbol of womanhood enraging his loins to an erupting state, his legs and his penis ending up in far and distant places of the house after they exploded with so much lust. “AAAH!!!”

His legs failed him, his crotch gone numb, fireballs blasting from his pecker, piss of lava drenching and burning his shorts. “Fucking…!” He hit the back of the head hard on the shelf. *Bang!* Several useless trinkets fell around him, painting a sad, sad picture of him, alone and desolate in the junkyard. “Heavens! Fucking… hell!” He grabbed his head, one hand on each side, and shook it a little. Water, water, salt on his eyes. Pain. “Fucking…!” Hiccups were heard. Whines like those of an abandoned dog. He looked to his woman, to his goddess again and… sucked his tears dry, back into the back of his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m… so very sorry.” His legs laid widespread on the ground, his hurting, burning, throbbing cock—or whatever worm in there he dared call a ‘cock’—unleashing steam from all the hurt. “I’m so… so…”

Imagine: touching that doll. Undressing her naked. Imagine. Imagine, you stupid virgin boy! «Please!» He told the voices. «Shut up.»

Touching that buckle. Undoing it. Pulling her jeans down. Oh! The legs! The phenomenal, mighty mare legs of that superhuman woman, ready to protect him, to warm him, to wrap themselves around his neck and crush…

“Fucking shit, stop!” He shook his head. “It hurts!”

His penis shook and shivered inside his shorts. He dropped his shorts lower with his finger and spread his legs even wider, always searching for a position or a state of undress that would grant his penis something, anything of a less agonizing state. He was short of being naked now, and knew that only his birthday suit would give him any peace and chill downstairs.

He couldn’t do it, though, for his sex doll was still there, always there, staring at him, or rather, at some point on the wall just above him, lording over him with her grand, courtly presence, and he couldn’t dare, no, he would never dare to get naked in front of her. So disgusting! So lowly! So… him!


Because he was a moron, and because he knew not what he wanted, or perhaps because he couldn’t set limits to his desires, which were now finally taking over his muscles, the boy stood painfully slowly on his knees and leaned on and over the doll’s mighty lap. The combined girth of her legs was far wider than his shoulders; they looked almost like a single’s bed where he could lay and rest upon forever—a baby back in his mother’s fold, his head resting on the soft pillows of her generous bosom, his legs spread all over her wide, fertile hips; a little calf in the open, besieged with fertility and abundance everywhere it roamed. “Oh, deuses…”

He advanced farther atop that woman’s legs, his sweat burning in his brows, his heart pounding, his breast turning into a *drum-drum! * *Drum-drum!* *Drum-drum!*

He stopped by the woman’s hips, his nostrils… oh… his nose… hovering mere inches above where her massive, magnanimous pussy would be. The wild scent of a lioness in heat invaded his cavities, burned the entirety of his throat, as well as the nerves under his eyes, and so intense was his pain that he felt the urge of puking, of throwing up, and coughed up greatly as he tried to stand and raise his head to a tolerable, respectful distance from her pussy. “For fuck’s sake, woman… what the fuck is this smell?!” He looked down to the sunken delta of her jeans, into the crown of her thighs, the central valley of her hips, all meat and mound and muscle coalescing into the oblong shape of her glorious…

Nay. That was nay common pussy. No simple, earthly vagina. That was Pussy with its initials capitalized; the Vaj to end all Vajs, the Queen of the Cunts, Ruler of Sissies, and Sovereign of Snatches; the Tyrant of Twats, Rajah of Vajayjays, Commandant of Coochies, and Empress of Vulvas.

That… supreme… cunt…!

“Av götten en’alle dæmonen ze hebben gemaakt!” He could feel, nay, he could see his sweat raining on her lap, staining her jeans, highlighting her… powerful… amazing… “cunt!”

His tongue collapsed from his mouth, lolled out through his lips as he muttered, and his head soon quickly followed. *Flomp!* Without the physical strength or the mental focus to undress her, dead below his hips and exasperated above them, the poor neophyte just collapsed undignifiyingly on the thighs of his Momma Goddess, and lapped on them like a dog on a meatdry bone until his saliva was dripping, raining from her jeans and from all sides of her seat.

He cared not for the roughness of the fabric, the rash of his tongue against its wet, sandy texture, or ooze of his spit as he feasted on the clothed thighs of his woman. He cared not for anything in particular; not for dignity and certainly not for his own, for in order to care or have dignity one should first be human, and he was not even that, not even a dog, barely even a pig anymore. He was something else entirely; a new species, a new form of life, and one moved not by survival or desire for procreation, but by the power of the thirst and the horny alone.

Under the scent of her cooch and the girth of her thighs, he devolved into a braindead slime of lewdness, munching on her legs like a pig would on its bowl of ration, but… well, how else could he have reacted? How on heavens could he have ever resisted her?

He licked her slabs of meat and spread apart her Greco-column-sized legs with as much strength as he could muster, nesting his head, that tiny, insignificant, grape-sized head of his in the middle of her thunderous thighs. «Fuck me, gods, this good!» He panted and grunted and kissed and kicked in the air like a newborn calf, his crotch burning, hurting, yet loving all the hurt, adoring every second of pain with every fiber of his penis rupturing, splitting apart, and being undone—the pain and the pleasure battling to see who was the most dominant force in that horny boy’s body.

“Bir de götten!” He muttered. “You’re so… fucking hot!” His lips made mushy noises on the doll’s thighs, her jeans soaked with warm saliva as he ate her legs up like a starving calf munching on some hot, wet fodder. “Fucking hard. So fucking hard! Götten mirsch!” Slowly, his hips twirled and gyrated with hypersonic sexual aggression, dry-humping the air and the chair’s leg in a way so shameless even very old, very horny street dog would scoff at.

Dogs had decency. He had none. Granted, how could anyone—especially one so sex-starved as he—keep their decency or any semblance of composture next to such thighs that would bring down the gods from their heavens? The thicker and most delicious part of her legs, just beneath her fire-spitting pussy, was so firm, meaty, juicy, and voluminous that it conjured images not of any woman or human at all, but of animals: big, heavy bulls; massive, endowed minotaurs; fertile, fierce mares; hungry and ferocious lionesses ready to gnarls on their prey’s neck.

Those legs contained all of mankind—or, at the very least, it sure felt like she could squeeze mankind dry between them, drain all the juice out of the planet between her thighs.

Thighs, thighs, thighs! The terrifying glory of thighs so fat and hard and ripe with muscles you could literally make a whole human being out of each. Her thighs were heavier and weightier each than a full-grown woman—and her calves than a whole child. He couldn’t get enough of them, no one could, and even if he had the whole night, nay, the whole weekend, fuck it, a whole year to explore that daunting continent of walkers he would still come short of a full map of its territory.

«This… this is…» He gulped, his brain short-circuited at every letter of every word. «This is to much!!»

His endless kissing was ended with him sucking back his own saliva from the soaked jeans. His spit came with a flavor: meat and beef, a finely cut steak, the taste of true muscle, as well as, perhaps, hopefully, the salty nectar of her pussy as spice.

That fact that her legs constantly defied the restraints of her clothing just breathed life and personality into them. To touch it, even at one’s gentlest, was to caress a log made of interwoven iron bars, oceanliner chains intertwined and compressed into two magnanimous, god-ordenained legs; just above them, the pure fertility and femininity those ample hips communicated, combined with the sheer might of the physique they carried, sent the little, horny dog moaning aloud, occasionally kicking the walls as his crotch fired up his legs with sharp jolts of electricity, not unlike a prisoner jolting under the electric baton of their sadistic guard—a half-abuse, half-delight torture that quickly made him soft and desensitized everywhere south of his bellybutton.

Pain can only be ignored to such a point, though, before it breaks the body, yet he seemed willing to keep ignoring it, poking the beast so he could see when it was finally going to tear him apart. «What’s the price of this hornineess? My legs and my arms?» He posited the question, and gave it a mere second for the answ- «Deal. Just let me… just… stick it… in and out… in and out… in… and out… and there you go, you can take my limbs now. I’m satisfied.»

He had wasted them, though. All his precious ins-and-outs wasted in that day, that whole morning and evening on the holes made by his fingers, by his hands, so many fruitless, lonely handscapades that evening that he was left not with a penis, but only with his mouth and fingers to keep on kissing. And kissing! And kissing! Kissing and licking and fumbling those denim-strained muscles until he could get some, any release out them.

His arousal grew so strong that, from his awkward position, as the grip of his knees faltered, he lost his balance, thereupon banging his head on the edge of the chair, then collapsing loud and violently on the floor. *Braam!* As he slumped, the grip of his hands on his dick moved past torture and into execution, and like a French noble’s neck on the lunette of a guillotine he felt a cold, sharp blade slicing through his urethra, carving his dick up like a good knife on a sausage, and this was enough pain to finally, finally make him call it quits—and announce his desistance by howling like a brain-damaged wolf. “AAAAUUUURGH…!!!”

In between the senseless explosions of colors and sounds of his banged-up head, just as the pitch of his howls kept rising into the squeals of a piglet being eviscerated by a vulture, loud bangs of two heavy feet were heard from the ceiling above, and anyone present, with a sounder state of mind, would have heard the angry, impatient shouting of the upstairs neighbor: “WAT THE FECK IZ GOING ON DOWN ZERE?!” *Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!!* “AIN TRYEING TO FOOCKING SLEEP!!”

*Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!!*

*Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!!*

He laid there, on the ground, kicking a bunch of tools out of the shelves as he bit his tongue and tried to make quiet, writhing for a few seconds as the pain only slowly, very slowly subsided. Alas, the razor-slicing agony of his netherpricker refused to go away so quickly. «Is this what a kidney stone feels like?!» He wondered, his mind going through the nerve-wracking symptoms he’d read on his computer.

He stayed down and defeated for about ten thousand minutes, the footsteps of his neighbor going away rather quickly after he’d made quiet, and only then his body returned to “normal.” Like the prick of a needle of a water balloon, the blow on his head, right there, so fatally close to his left temple, ushered all the consequences of his misbehavior and long lack of care towards his own body at once: his sight went blurry and refused to sharpen back, no matter how hard or how many times he blinked, his skull and his brain both hurting like there was a blanket of rusty nails stuffed in between them, and the nerves behind his eyes—or whatever space lied there in the dark emptiness of his sockets—seemed to swell so much they’d pop ‘em eyes like two fingers would a blister.

His muscles turned to jelly, his many sleepless and badly-slept nights charging his body now with heavy interest rates. As he lied there, squirming in near-death agony, he felt how so many of his limbs didn’t obey him at all; how all the electricity that poured from his brains and through the highways of his nervous system just… withered away… or were cut abruptly and short of their destinations; the entire sponge of his worthless being behaving like a canal after too many holes had been drilled on it: the water spewed and splashed from anywhere into everywhere, from every bloodied pore and all over the fields, except in the vital tanks they were meant to fill—his muscles, lungs, bladder, heart…

«What the fuck have I done to myself??»

He stood there, petty and feeble, feeling like dying, but never quite getting there, and hoped that the worst did not come to pass.

He tried getting up, but failed. «Gods help me!» His heart went hysterical, and he felt his eyesight further blurring into darkness. «Am I going blind?» He tried getting up again. And failed. «Am I gonna be a cripple??»

No. Not quite yet. Though he felt he deserved many miseries, that was still not be the day he would have such a comeuppance: after a handful more of minutes, he managed to keep his eyes open for longer tiks and toks at a time, and the blurring of his sight appeared to stop, if not immediately to reverse. One, two, three, one, two, three, his persistent attempts to get up yielded (some) results, and though he failed, after ten or twenty more minutes, to put himself at his own feet, at least he managed, with great effort, to stand on his own knees, one hand holding onto the woman’s thigh for dear salvation, like a safe mountain a little lamb like him could lean on.

He retrieved his hand quickly. To simply look upon that woman was to invite all that chaos all over back again to his body. “Fekken fleschken!” He grabbed his crotch and felt a pasty, gooey broth ooze down, slow and sticky, through his urethra. In his mind, he imagined blood coming out of his member, or pus. “Häellen fekken mischt!”

The jeans of his woman were darker with all the saliva-worshiping he’d bathed her on. “I’m sor… I’m so sorry.” Pain invited him crawl out of the space like a vermin, yet his arousal kept him in place. “I… I… I will return you. I… honestly don’t know… why I ever thought… you could be any… any help.” He shook her head, rubbing his face with anger. “Not your fault. It’s not… your… fault. It’s… just me. Ain’t no doll or woman who can ever fix… me!”

The light flickered. He barely noticed it, though, as he made his way painfully to the door and switched it off, half-crawling, half-limping his way back to his bedroom. His worm-like, worn-out sex, though badly bruised and badly beaten, was not bloodied. It burned like a whore peppersprayed in her parts, yeah, and it looked like a limp little baby arm that’d been grated too many times, enough that all its skin’d been peeled, or like a newborn snake covered in blood, or a very long worm extracted alive from a swollen belly, and it pissed urine like it was some type of unhealthy-looking sexual lubricant—not quite pus, not quite blood, but not quite lube either. Some thick, semi-transparent, quasi-beige liquid that smelled funny, like pissing vinegar.

«This… is disgusting.» He told himself, leaning pathetically on the wall of his bathroom, the thick piss and pus taking forever to leave his bladder.

The final droplets dissipated on the toilet water when felt a cold wind on his neck. Slowly tilting his head to the mirror beside him, he saw his bedroom on the reflection, as well as the door closing on its own by the gush of wind. As he got a hold of his thoughts, he noticed the lights of the storeroom still on. «Häellen fërhen.» He closed his eyes, and it hurt him. He shook both his head and his penis, and both hurt just as bad. His sight went back and forth, getting darker and shaper like the peaks and valleys of a wave, not exactly sure where it would settle. «It hurts… so fucking much.»

He returned to the storage to make sure that this time he’d left the lights off and the door sealed. His heart skipped some beats as the green glow of his doll’s eyes caught his gaze. He felt goosebumps all over, but soon they were replaced by a strange, warm feeling of comfort, like all his muscles, just one second ago hurting like wrapped on spiky vines, were coddled lovingly on a fluffy, cozy blanket.

He smiled. His doll was still there for him. “You… you…”

What was he going to say? What could he say that wasn’t absolutely embarrass- «Just now… a little ago… despite everything I did… despite… everything I felt…» He squeezed his breast and felt his heart on his palm. «When I talked to you… when I told you… well, not everything, but… a bunch… when I talked to you, I…» Half of his lips smiled. The other half melted and left his mouth. «I felt… kinda good… kinda… not so bad.»

Moron. Bloody, fucking moron. He would do better by shutting up, not saying one other goddamned word. Zeet! Nyat! Every word, like every beating of his heart, detestable! Utterly, utterly detestable! To be perfectly honest, he didn’t know why he cared to remain aliv-

“Thank you.” He said it, or his mouth said on its own. “T-thanks. Thank you… so much.” He looked at the doll. The doll just stayed there, staring down at her own stained, saliva-drenched jeans. “It, uh… it helped a lot.”

He looked at her. And then looked at her some longer. He always felt as if he needed to say one more thing, just one more word, and that would be it. No matter how many words he said, they never felt enough, this feeling was never gone.

She was a queen, and the queen demanded worship—but what worth was there, after all, in being worshiped by the likes of him? The worship of a vermin to a god. Or an ant to a boot. Insolence.

“Thank you. I don’t care. Thank you. Thank you so much.” He turned around. He stopped. He dared give one fleeting look over his shoulder, seeing the doll still there, still there, patient, warm, and wet. “Good night.”

He shut the lights, shut the door, and that was the end of it.

~ Night ~

He couldn’t sleep.

It was one, maybe one-thirty-cent past the Highrise Moon when he laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, his hands over his chest, at first patiently, them nervously waiting for sleep to knock him out, but… nothing. «Come on, come on. Just… come on, please!»

It should have been an instantaneous thing, the blow of the sandman ‘gainst his head. He had banged his body time and time again, and left his self a trodden, demolished brute. His muscles all ached, the exhaustion overtaking their every fiver, and his skull cracked along with the heartthrobs of his brain, his eyes pulsating like at any moment they would pop, resulting in two squishy balls dangling from the sockets by their twitchy nerves.

It was the piss. The black piss he couldn’t for the sake of him get rid off! The devil’s herb. By all accounts, his body should have been gone, but the piss, the coffee, it still burned in his veins, it lingered on his blood like poison and kept him unnaturally alive, repulsively awake. No matter how painful he felt, how depleted his body got, the poison would not. Let. Him. Go!


It was the hatred. Yes, it was hatred still; the lingering thoughts of his white rage directed both against others and himself; against the whole world and his heart alone, making him feel like acid just under his skin, or countless long chains of nails churning inside his bones.

He itched and scratched himself, lightly at first, then furiously, and after about thirty painful minutes he was wrestling with himself on the bed, turning to all sides, accidentally (and then on purpose) banging his head against the headpiece and the walls, feeling increasingly desperate as the spirits of slumber just skipped over and past him, going on to grace some other fucker with the release of the little death.

«Goddamn it!!» All his actions during the day came back to haunt him, amplified in his head. When he closed his eyes and stuffed his head on a pillow, he heard the loud static of a TV in his skull.

Then, the voices. Only his voice at first, and a single one at that, but then it copied itself, gave birth to other voices, and multiplied: several clones of him talking about anything; screaming, screeching, yelling at the clouds, banging their fists on imaginary walls, turning his brain into a ball pit for tantrum-ridden children. A clatter of hatred so powerful he felt the house itself shaking, his body, his insides throbbing like rails as the train slowly approaches.

«Negros de merda! Macacos! Macacos e vadias!! Women so fucking… vadias! S’if they know what’s bad in’e world! Bunch ye’ crybabies!» He wanted to nail his fingers into his skin, tear his face off. «Fucking spoiled rats’ asses! They keep complaining and complaining, these people of the rich world, like the know better! Fucking worthless spoiled… vagabonds! What do they know about having it any bad?! Huh?! Fucking suffering! And I am the one whom they blame! I! Can’t have a second of peace and they blame me for everything! Fucking… useless goddarned hypocrites!!» His tirade of hatred spared few targets. «Fucking shit! Fucking gypsy vagrants stealing, fucking bitches complaining ‘bout everything, everything!» Few targets indeed: «I… I can’t stop… I can’t do shit! No. I… I wasn’t born so fucked up! I had many opportunities in my life, yet still I can’t do shit with any of them! My fucking… job, it’s… so fucking worthless!! There are people half my age making billions, and they… no! They had it better! They had mommy and daddy! They had love and a good country, a good… fucking… society!!» He gritted his teeth, screaming on the pillow as his country became yet again the target of his wrath: “fucking… piece of shit nation I had to be born into!! Fucking shite filled with… monkeys! And pigs!!” He started tearing up the pillow. The feathers glided softly by the side of his bed. «That fucking land of useless mediocre pieces of shit!! I could have been so much greater if I were born elsewhere!! In Nipon!! Even in the yankee swamps, I…!!!» He bit the pillow. He tore it piece by piece. Soon, he was eating the cloth and the feathers. “I’d been a fucking trillionaire by now!!”

Other voices joined in—different voices this time, and much less merciful than his older ones. These newcomers, real voices, not just invented; the voices of his past, stored deep in his mind, programmed to play on repeat for pretty much as long as he lived and on the worst moments of his life—and the tune they had to play, oh, it was meant to drag ‘im deeper, so much deeper; if possible, the deepest he could be dragged: “parasite! Have some common sense, you fucking crazy! Who do you think you are? A nib?!” Those were the responses every time he was foolish, stupid, asinine enough to tell someone, anyone of his dreams and aspirations: “but I wanna be an artist! A designer! A bloody painter, for old blood’s sport!” Sometimes, in his hatred and despair, he got too carried on his own ego: “I’m gonna be the best fucking designer in the whole fucking world!! I’m gonna make billions on the Internet!!”

Oh, boy, the laughter. The laughter and the hatred. Indeed, he didn’t want to design erotic covers his whole life. He never once saw himself designing covers in the first place; he only got to that point because… he needed to survive, to make money and get by until the day after—and the day after that, oh, and the day after, the day after the day after, the day…

The fact that those cheap, knock-off covers were the only time in his whole damned life he’d ever made any money was source of both immense solace and desolation: his art—his genuine, effortful art—was worse than worthless. It was negative: he lost money, he lost time, he lost friendships, he lost every damn thing a human being would consider to be basic not even for a good life, but really just life in general, decent living at all—if even that!

His dreams cost him everything, yet his shit made him money. Not that any of this elicited any pity from the voices. In his failure and his “successes,” they all agreed on the same thing, and screamed it, top-of-their-lungs, in his brain, directly into the ears of his soul: «useless! Useless! Y’er so fucking useless!»

Their words weren’t the worst of it, though. It was the laughter! The laughter, the jest, the ridicule, like hyenas and demons, eyeballing as they just scoffed and scoffed and scoffed at him, endlessly. In time, the static noise became only one long, uninterrupted chant of mockery. The whole world scoffing at him. Enough to make one blow their brains out.

He screamed: “AAAAHH…!!!” His eyes popping. He could see the blood coming out like some low-grade yank relic, a flickie. He wanted to stick his hand in his sockets and pull his eyes out clean, and then crush his fucking brain inside his skull, breaking his bones, tearing his head from inside out.

The room shook as he hit it repeatedly on the wall. Then, there was screaming. He screamed so he could let all his pain out, and the more he screamed, the greater the pain grew, for the voices all grew louder, always one step ahead of him, always more powerful, ever unrelenting: «there are slaves toiling their bones out in sahelfrica! Their paltry little children being sold off for barley! What do you know of pain and misery, you fucking imbecile?!»

«Useless! Parasite! Fucking waste of sperm!» Then, the look of disgust from his aunts as they looked to his mother, who too was deeply disgusted by him. «Twenty fucking years of a child for nothing!»

«I don’t fucking care about the children in the goddamned deserts!!» He screamed, yet he didn’t know if it was really him who was screaming. «Fuck you!! I hope you fucking die and rot!!»

And the laughter—oh! The fucking mockery, all the more intense when it mocked his dreams and his ambitions. It was always the background of some admonishment, yet it was not all that he could hear: «you think we have money for this sort of thing?! You think you some kinda wageen or what?»

«You fucking ass!! Look at yo’ country!! You think this a place for this type of fagot-y shit?!» Then the blows! So many blows in the back of his head. «You are piece of shit, okay? Everybody here is! If it were not for you to be a piece of shit, you’d be born in Taipei or some good country or shit! But you weren’t! You fucking weren’t, e’right? When is it going to get in your fucking head that you’re not made for this shit?! Crist’amado, seu merda!!»

When he expressed the desire to go to a nihonese university. «If I go to Busan,» screamed his guts, «everything will fall into place.» In Busan—or Edo, or Taipei, or Cinh’a’phur, or whatever fancy place he happened to read or hear about, his talents would be recognized; his mind, sharpened.

These dreams, for the most part, never warranted a proper response; only laughter, yes, only laughter, jest, and ridicule: «hahaha!! Hey, nippie boy!! Komo-komo! How’s the study for Edo going, huh? Ooooo, I’ve heard they’re hiring sweepers in their country! Good westie sweeper to take care of their fancy nippie shit! Maybe you can get there like this, hahahahahahahahaha…!!!»

Laughter, laughter! Louder and more numerous—eternal, unrelenting sneer! Sometimes, though, there was silence. Silence, silence, the worst of silences; a silence so contemptuous that no word could better convey its message: «this is so fucking stupid I ain’t even addressing it!» But sometimes they did, oh, and the response was worse than any laughter or even silence: “YOU FUCKING MORON!!” Hit. They hit and hit and hit him. And hit him some more. And offered him to the neighbors so that the neighbors could hit him too and laugh at him along with the whole block. “This guy thinks he’s some Edo boy!! What a fucking donkey!!” And laughter. And more hits. Heavy blows on the back of his head. Strong enough to make his eyes pop—but they didn’t, they sadly didn’t, and he sadly didn’t die from the hits, remaining alive just to hear, yes, hear some bit more of the laughter, more of the sneer, and receive even more, heavier blows.

There is a method to torture, you see: the secret is to cause just enough pain without damaging the body. Maximize the pain whilst minimizing the damages. That’s the way you get the best net suffering; the best return on your blows. «Who do you think you fuking are? Some kinda genius?!» Sneer, laughter, and blows. Every. Fucking. Time. «Hey, y’all! He thinks he nippie brain!!» Laughter. Just laughs and laughs and laughs. And blows. So many blows to his head! «Fucking stupid piece of shit! Thinks he’s better than all of us and such!!»

But he was, oh, he was: he studied, he read, he made art. He stayed silent when no word was needed and spoke then truth when he was prompted, but the nation, the accursed, piece-of-shit nation he was shat on needed no truth nor peace nor silence. On the contrary: t’was a nation of babble and jeer, and whenever any discussion turned somewhat serious, everything that was spoken was just… lies.

Lies. Lies! Big fat lies! Lies and lies and lies!! A nation so enamored with lies that the worst of liars saw themselves righteous. The only “good, upstanding citizens” in the public’s eyes were those who lied the most. Truth and decency, humility and honesty… oh, by the lods in heaven, what ludicrous ideas! Those who spouted them would get ‘emselves whooped! No mercy or love for ‘em truthtellers.

In a land of liars, he who tells the truth is first to die. «In the land of the blind,» one of the many voices screamed, «the one-eyed man is king.» It was a famous saying from somewhere ‘round his continent. Another lie. «Yeah, right! Fucking shit!!» He banged his head harder, but more slowly. «In the land of the blind, anyone who’s got an eye will be arrested and blinded! As soon as the piece-of-shit people discover that a person has an eye, they will jump on him like animals and gauge his eye out!» His, after all, was a land so compelled to mediocrity and indecency that the biggest crime—the only serious crime—one could commit was to try and rise above their station. It was a country where everyone—and he meant everyone—spent all their effort and energy trying to bring everybody else down to their level, to the mud and the shitter where pigs so love to linger; where good, compassionate leaders where unheard of and where only the biggest trash bags of Earth ever became any successful at all.

He wasn’t a piece of shit. Well, he was, but not at first, and not by disposition. A long time ago, he swore, he knew it, he could rememver it vividly, there had been a good man where his shallow husk now stood, but the people of his nation made sure to correct that. Oh, they did! Hence the laughter, the insults, and the blows. So. Many. Blows!

«Piece of shit!!» He hit his head. «Fucking useless piece of SHIT!!!» And he hit his head again. *Bang!* *Bang*

The worst thing was… he didn’t disagree with the voices. He fought them just for the sake of fighting, for the stress and the pain of it, but never, not in the slimmest of slivers of time, had he had the slightest hope of actually winning. In reality, before he even uttered the first word, he knew he’d already lost. He never believed anything good ‘bout himself, and whatever defense he made for him was just to see it be shattered and stomped so mightly, so brutally, so completely by the evil forces in his head.

*Bang! Bang!*

In a way, the act of thinking was just another self-flagellation: to ram his head against a wall, see all his hopes and dreams shattered’s soon as the words left his tongue. *Bang! Bang!* Whatever argument he imagined, no matter how fair and just, was shredded immediately by the sharper, cleverer thoughts—who might’ve been unreasonable, yes, even irrational, but were always cleverer, stuff from a much keener wit than anything he himself could ever muster.

A great humiliation, that of never being able to rise above your opponent’s guile. The greatest humiliation, then, when this very opponent lived inside your head, following you forever, and never, ever, not for a single second ever shut up.

*Bang! Bang!*

To think was to be continuously humiliated. When it wasn’t his “family,” it was his teachers; when not the teachers, his bosses; when not his bosses, the strangers; when not the strangers, his acquaintances—and only “acquaintances,” yes, for he’d never had friends. Whoever it was, whomever he knew or had ever known, they were all enemies, and the enemies never slept—nor ever let him sleep.

*Bang! Bang!*

“Fuck!! Fucking!! Shit!!” And his head yelled back at him: *bang! Bang! Bang, bang, bang…!*


He heard something splinter. Maybe his skull finally cracking. Maybe, just maybe… “I die.”

The window was right there. *Bang!* Death would probably be more merciful through it. *Bang!* Still, despite all his pain… *bang!* He didn’t really want to die. *Bang! Bang!* He just wanted to sleep!

At one point, his body got stiff. *Bang!* The combination of mental and physical exhaustion had burned him four times as harshly as anything he’d felt that day. *Bang! Bang!* When he hit his head on the wall, he looked like a human hammer. *Bang!* None of that stopped him, however, from bashing his skull hard enough for the foamy surface of the wall to be bent under the impact.

*Bang! Bang!* He felt a wetness in his skin. Blood, probably. Hopefully.

*Bang! Bang!* Despite all this, he still hit it. God knows what could happen if he truly hurt himself, ending up on a hospital bed, damaging his brain so bad that he’d have some freaky issues for the rest of his life, unable to work, to feed, to… anything.

Still, he couldn’t stop. He… *bang!*  He didn’t want to stop it. *Bang! Bang!* The act wasn’t all torture: he preferred the pain on his skull than the voices inside of it; the attack from the outside, rather than the abuse erupting from the inside.

*Bang!* Whenever he hit it… *bang!* The voices got a little quieter. *Bang! Bang!* Almost as if they were hurt… or… *bang!*… satiated. *Bang!* Like he was doing exactly what they wanted him to do.

*Bang! Bang!*

It was three past the seventh churn of the lowsea moon when he felt he couldn’t take it any more. The window was open, and the wind, through whispers, invited him to sleep. His head met the wall more slowly and with greater rhythm. Maybe that was, indeed, the day he would just… give up.

*Bang!* He hit it. *Bang!* He hit it again. *Bump!*

In between the many hits, there was a different kind of noise. *Bump!* How weird. That was not… *bump!* how a skull being cracked… *buuump…* should sound like.

«What the…?!» At such heights of head-banging action, it was rather a miracle that he was still able to think, but indeed he was, and from his thoughts he tried to locate the source of that weird noise, which seemed to be «the hallway?» He turned to his side and looked at the deep, long darkness beyond his bedroom door. «The…» He gulped. It was unknown whether the sound had happened many times or whether his head repeated it on its own, like the echo of a ghost. «The storage room?»

*Bump* He froze, staring at the door, startled and chilly. The sound once again came, this time undeniably from the storeroom across the hallway.

The incredible pain in his head, however, caught up to him in a banger. “Ahh!” Like the waters of a dam finally collapsing after years of neglect and disrepair, the pain burst through his orifices like lava, sipped and spat from every ridge and fold of his brain, and soon, quite very soon, his writhing on the bed, his extreme agony, they felt as if the blood itself was incandescent, burning along every vein, squirting in flames through his every orifice.

He squirmed in pain for about half an hour, hearing the strange noises as they repeated from the hallway, *bump! Bump! Bump!*, faster, louder, scarier, as if someone was trying to get out.

In time, the thuds diminished, and so did pain of his head. «Screw this.» By the time the moon herself became sleepy, he tossed aside whatever pride he still felt and, with great difficulty, feeling his skull threatening to explode at every moment, his brain so heavy and hot it it felt like a piece of meat on a fire pit, he left his bed, stumbled his away across his bedroom and towards the hallway, seeing shapes and color flicker everythwere, sources of light all around him, like stars emanating from his pain. «Fikk nischt!»

He stood before the door across the bathroom, separating him from the sources of those imaginary blows. His bravery was such that he didn’t even bother turning on the lights anywhere in his house—or perhaps it was just his confusion, or his willingness to die. “Are you there?” He asked no one in particular, turning his head gently, spying on his surroundings with the corner of his eyes.

*Bak! Bak! Bak!* “Are you there, ghost?” He knocked on the door three times before waiting for the response.

And then there was silence. Just silence. He waited enough until he could hear his own breath deep in his ears, close his eyes and feel his own organs beating, churning, doing what organs do and keeping him alive whilst his body returned to normal—a somewhat painless, greatly bored normal. “Fuck this.” He muttered, quite gently, and then he opened the door.

*Woosh* The barrier was slid away, and there he saw her. Yes, there he saw his love again: ever so patient, ever so calm, and so… loyal. Still waiting. Still praying for him to come, locked in that same position, as always, without a complaint to be heard or a whiff of anger to be felt. “Y-you…!”

It felt like villainy, treating her that way. It wasn’t decent. “Y-you… woman!” His fists were clutched shut, like balls of iron, and his whole being was put shivering, like a languid steel bar hit by a long bat, as he tried not to cry, fought the tears back with as great as might as he could muster, and the words rolled out of his tongue, unprompted, unseen, and uncontrolled, let escape by his focusing so hard on his own tears:

“P-p-please. Help me!”

He knelt before her. Her lap was a soft pillow; her muscles, gentle and kind, something that would never be assumed by just looking at her sturdy, titanic demeanor. Once he made contact with her heavenly thighs, he was at peace. Even his battered head hurt much less when in contact with her strong, loving body. He even felt a hand on his nape, cuddling his hair, prompting him to raise his head and look up, only to see nothing, just the same doll standing at the same position, looking down upon him with her gorgeous green eyes.

“Can you sleep with me?”

Took him fifty lifetimes to ask that question, but there it was, finally asked. As the wind of his words passed through his lips, burning them with shame, he felt his old self speaking louder, covering his mouth so he could avoid any further embarrassment. «Caralho! Mas que… mas que merda eu acabei de fazer??»

He’d crossed the uncrossable thread. Now, he was less than a boy; he was basically an insec…

«Stop this.»


He heard a voice. In his head. A different voice. A new voice. A kind one. Definitely not a voice he had heard before. Just like… the touch of the invisible hand on his neck. Such sudden voice startled him, made him turn his gaze to all sides instinctively, wondering «what was this? I know I heard it, for sure!»

Had that voice really come from his head alone?

“You didn’t happen to talk just now, did you?” He asked the doll, a rare smile drawn on his face. «A smile.» So rare he’d noticed it, and then noticed it again as it grew and repeated itself: another smile! Oh, and yet another! And bigger, and brighter, a smile with all his teeth, brightening his heart, casting a gentle light upon the dark rooms themselves! «Why do I feel… so… so…?»

That doll. Only in her presence he felt compeled to smile so much and so ofter. Or at all.

He kept his eyes firmly laid upon his goddess, enamored by her perfection in every inch of herself. “Can I… please… take you to bed?” He left a gentle pause hand on the air, glide down to his hands on her lap until he could speak again, now with a puppy whine in his vocals and a beggard’s gleam in his eyes: “please?”

The doll’s face got closer, his own eyes inviting her embrace. In his head, then, he heard her answer: «yes.»

It was that same voice he’d heard before.

“Thank you.” He kissed his goddess’s thighs, and with great effort led her to bed.

~ Morning ~

Sweat. There was so much of it. He wasn’t expecting that much, to be honest, but perhaps that was just his sleepy mind making him drunk to all reality—after all, by that point, he should well have been used to it. «By the gods, woman!» He heaved and wailed as he pulled his giantess another inch across his bedroom, painful inch after painful foot bringing her ever closer to his bed. «You. Are. Heavy!»

But not quite as he remembered. As they walked together, he often felt she was half the weight as when he’d plucked her from her crater. It was like someone else was helping him carry the doll across his place—someone invisible—and at points, for instance, whenever he looked down to both their feet, he had the impression that hers were also moving along his, even if only to mimic his steps. “You lost some weight, huh?” He cracked a joke, hoping to avert some of pain of carrying her around for so long. “Being locked in there was, uh… a real harsh diet, wasn’t it?”

There would have been dead silence in the room if not for his panting and gasping, as well as the deep, thick noises of moving such a heavy being across thick-sweated airs. He was lousy at jokes. Everyone told him so, everyone made sure to never let him forget this, yes, yet still he cracked them, silly little jokes, always hopeful that one day some of them, just one of them would finally land. “Sorry. Hmm, it’s no problem, though.” He smiled. “I will feed you. I will feed you well now.” He started to giggle before the punchline: “do you like chicken? Good. ‘Cause I will feed you some good cock from now on.”

He almost dropped her as he tired to hide his silly smile. Though the chuckles made his head hurt, the pain felt negligible, and all the more insignificant now that she was by his side. Maybe he hadn’t hit himself so hard, after all. Maybe most of his pain had been imaginary. Like most of his problems, perhaps.

“There we have it.” He was a puddle of salt and nectar by the time he’d managed to lay the doll beside him on the mattress. “Bem-vinda à casa. Lar, hmm, doce lar.”

The flexibility of that doll yet again amazed him: as he tried to lay her on the mattress without any noise, at first thinking it would be too harsh of a task to his poor, noodly arms, he was shocked as the doll seemed instead to lay down on her own, her movements again so fluid and natural as to feel lifelike. “Wow.” He couldn’t stop being aghast by the skillfulness of her craft, all the talented work and mindboggling precision that had gone into manufacturing her joints, her skeleton, her whole incredible being. “Caralho. You are, uh… really real.”

So there he stayed, silly and still, sitting on the edge of his bed while his woman took all of it for herself, her massive body too massive even for the full length of that narrow bunk, her legs having to be bent a little just so that she could fit. «You really are gigantic.» He gawked at her some more, and then wondered what to do next.

Lay. Lay down. Next to her. By her side. Even face by face, if you’re so brave. Yes: that’s what he knew he should do. That’s what he’d always know he should’ve done, from the very goddarned moment he popped her out of her coffin. “I’m… uh…”

He didn’t know how to, though. It was just too… scary. That woman. That goddess. Too much woman for a virgin boy who’d barely kissed another woman in his life, and not even a pretty woman at that. To just lay with that woman, just like that, out of the blue, himself being who he was, it was as if a man who had spent all his life bedridden, unable to walk or to even crawl, paraplegic and wheelchair-bound, was now suddenly expected to run several marathons back-to-back in quick succession—and win every single one of them. “I can’t…”

He was caught, trapped in a moment between times, her hypnotic eyes working their magic on him, stirring his soul like sweet stew on the low fire, and then he heard it, his heart, and something else along with its kindred beating: «you can.»

That voice. Her voice. «I…» Caught him offguard, threw him off his balance, that tender voice within his mind, and moved him in such a way as if another body inhabited his skin, sharking his soul as in a tight confinement. «It… it can’t…»

Still he kept on looking, her green eyes inviting him. That voice… «it’s…» Hard to explain. Impossible to distill. Generally he could rationalize anything that was thrown his way; generally he had to, for he just could leave any magic or wonder up to the universe; everything had to be exact, precise, rational, cold, and bland. Everything needed to be empyrical: no fantasy to one’s heart, no hope to one’s future. Everything. And yet, tried as he did, he couldn’t put any finger on that… peculiar, eerie kind of loving voice that uttered now in his head, to the ears of his soul: «you can.»

The voices were all his. Always were. He knew it. But that voice… that incongrous, incredible voice… «it is. It is my voice. I know it is mine. And yet…»

And yet…

Slowly, always trying to not disturb her, apologetic in his every movement, he relented and laid besides his woman.

Quiet. Quiet. Only the quiet to warm them up, break the ice between them both, join them together, arms ‘round an iceberg, an embrace of cold turning warm, soft, and close, close, their bodies slowly, slowly… slowly… closer… close together… slowly. And slowly.

Still. Still. He stood still, his eyes on her, getting used to her beautiful face, her soft air, her bewitching green eyes. They glowed so brightly by the full moon’s light, casting emeralds on his face, lighting his skin green—a cool contrast with the red smudge and purple bruises on his forehead.

There was a noticeable nervousness in his breast, predictably. His chest moved heavily, up and down with the weight of mountains, and his breath could be heard coarsely from the other side of the room, perhaps even the house. He cleared his throat, swallowing his nasty saliva, and avoided his woman’s gaze in shame, protecting his genitals with both hands like she was going to knee him on the crotch.

Her eyes demanded worship. He had a lot of worship to give, yet still… still…

He said nothing. Did nothing. He wanted it that way. «Just a moment between us two. Hmm.» The light of darkness enveloped them tightly, protected them—him—from all the monsters that preyed about. «I need to get used to you. To this face. To all… that you mean to me.»

Sunlight began to pour into his room. The cockerel would have sang, but there were not roosters in the ice. Upon seeing the golden threads on her face, he was struck, as lover’s do, by her morning beauty, and then ashamed, pissed, irate by his waste of a day. «What did I do except to hate? What am I except of… waste?» He grabbed his own hair tightly, though refrained from pulling it and injuring himself further this time around.

Because of her. Only because of her. He wouldn’t behave like that in front of woman, would he?

«I need help.» He wanted to say to her, beg to her, pray for her. After all, a woman deserving of worship is also a woman yearning to grant miracles. He who is worshiped is divine, and what else were the divines for if not to also… grant miracles? Hear their worshiper’s prayers? “P- p… p-please.”

A gush of wind instilled coolness in his warming heart; stirred back all the worst sensations of his inner self, if only very subdued now, very gentle, sweet, and unremarkable, like a child’s irritation with an unwanted brush. “I…” His tongue was held still by his brain, as if often was, yet the latter’s grip on the former was greatly diminished, and diminishing further still as he recitated that impotent litany, growing more and more impotent the more and more he felt the warm touch of a loving, beautiful woman on his hands. «She ain’t alive.» He reminded himself. «Despite all that…» His eyes wandered on and over her body, «she… is not… real.»

“She is not real.”

“She is not.”

“She is.”

“She is!”

“She is real.”

“She is real and… she loves me.”

His face probably looked very ugly, he would bet, after all the beating and insomnia. He would be tempted to say that the previous day had been the worst of his life, but this title, alas, had too many contenders. «Wouldn’t make into the twenty atop my list.» He told himself, not failing to crack a small, self-pitying smile.

Her face stood before him. Calm, placid, waiting. She didn’t look impatient, but she did look… disappointed? «To the gods in heaven, the guardians in Hel, I swear… your face changes every time I look at it.» He was amazed, always amazed, but not a little bit with himself too. Though it was about one three-fourths past the sunrise kiss, and the early birds were chirping, and the late sleeper were yawning, their arms, legs, bodies stretching, and the early workers were out driving in their cars, sizzling by the streets towards their faraway offices, he wasn’t angry anymore. «I lost sleep. I lost a whole day. Missed a whole night of dreams.» He repeated, trying to gauge his inner reaction, and noted how no angry demons were to be found.

He didn’t want to explode anymore. The window remained open, but he no longer wanted to fly through it towards the moon anymore.

He was at peace.

“I’m sorry.” He mustered the courage to touch his damsel’s hands, knowing it was her he should thank for all his calmness. “I’m just…”

Nay. No more.

No more. There needs… no more.

Words. None of them. No more words for many minutes. Time passes. Still no sleep to knock him down, yet also no anger. The eyes of his doll now glittered with gold, reflecting the sunlight that illuminated his bedroom, the whole place fresher with the gentle breeze of summer, the airy chants of the larks.


Her voice. That voice. It told him very clearly that he would know no sleep until he let his words out. He heard that voice in his head—the voice he had made up for his woman:

«You need to let it out.»

He squeezed her palm, and in his head he imagined her squeezing it back. Her voice was… her voice… «this voice I am making for her.» Was he? He didn’t… he… couldn’t… the voice had just appeared in his mind, spoke to him in a tone he’d never… heard… «I never heard such a voice before.»

It was strong, but feminine. A singer’s voice, full of harmony and softness even when not singing; powerful and clear in the subtlest of whispers, yet sharp as a blade, piercing as a spear when she directed it aloud to her listener. To him.

It was the voice of a warrior goddess, befitting of the ferocious Amazon beast that she was. As he moved his hand nearer to her hair, his palm hovering so close to her heavenly locks, he wondered, antecipated eagerly the wonder feel of that lush, smooth mane on his touch. Predicably, though, and so sadly, he kept his hand a few inches away, not daring to venture any closer, not without greater knowledge and intimacy with that powerful woman he knew stood so much, so far away and above him. «You wouldn’t mind. Would you?»

The fact that he could stare at her, still, such incredible beauty so upclose, to witness such a dreamy woman, such a lady far better and leagues hotter than his best fantasies, and do so without having his heart fail him or his mind rebel against him, oh, that was far and away enough reason for pride and commendation.

“You… are… so fucking hot.” His eyes didn’t waver. “And… you know it. Of course you do. You know you’re beautiful, as any woman who looks like you… does.” He allowed himself a couple of hours to crack open the realest recesses of his soul; to say, confess, to tell her what he really wanted to since the day he’d lay eyes on her across the ocean, across the screen: “I don’t… talk… to beautiful girls. I don’t talk to girls at all. Not saying that you’re a ‘girl,’ of course.” He moved his gaze lower, lower down onto her body—her massive, muscular body sinking on the soft mattress of his bed, as heavily as a boulder would on a long, thin mat of a trampoline. “You’re a woman.” He blinked. “You’re the most woman there is.”

He slid his hand up along her arm, feeling the tightness, ripeness of her muscles. Like all other parts of her stupendous physique, her arms were amazingly well-defined; her biceps, true testaments of peak human physicality, were swollen and hard, bulging and solidly constructed, and it was a wonder to anyone who beheld those guns how they could possibly be contained in such tight, strained sleeves—the strongest sleeves in all of fashion, surely.

She had just these amazingly ripped, ironclad muscles; clearly not as delicate and tender a woman one would envision, but still, oh, still a woman, undeniably woman—an hourglass sculpture of power and love, countless stones of muscles cloaked under miles of the tenderest skin. Her body begged a palm to touch it, a tongue to worship it, yet that tiny man didn’t feel worthy of being even her beneath her feet, let alone laying side-by-side with her, almost like—oh, the audacity!—a husband. «I am, at best, an offering.» A sacrificial lamb to be gutted on the altar of her awesomeness.

As he went on thinking, the sun stretched out in full. Five past seven of the clear day sky. Her unflinching gaze kept the lover’s back against the wall, as if, in the lack of his action, she was the one to take the first step. And the second too. And the third, and the fourth…

She was to do all the walking. He knew it and, predictably, felt so ashamed by it. “I’m so s-”

«Shut up.»

Her voice. Her voice…

He heard her voice again, this time without a script. «Shut up and kiss me.»

His heart jolted, happy as a piglet in the mud, a labrador pup next to its wholesome momma. She was a woman, and she desired his lips! Even the fact that she was a doll and that her voice, yes, was probably a concoction of his mind, none of this did anything to dissuade him from his happiness. «Heavens!» His heart now beat so full of joy. «Is this what it feels… to be… a-… attractive?» His eyes doubled in size. «Is this what it feels to be… desired?» Though only the tiniest fraction of the thinnest sliver of the real thing… «it fills me with… with… more energy… than a thousand cups of expensive coffee!»

He squeezed her triceps, thick and powerful, and attempted to move his head just a half-inch closer… «No.» He moved it back, shaking it. “No.”

He looked down. «It’s okay.» She said. «On the cheek?»

He looked up. Her beauty was just… so… aggressive. Made his eyes hurt—they didn’t stop hurting! “N-no.” His lips trembled as he answered, and his eyes almost… popped? Melted? He couldn’t describe it, nor wanted to feel it for much too longer.

Before he could escape from her grasp again, her gentle voice melted like butter into his ears: «then hug me. Just hug me. I need no more than that.»

She was asking. Not begging, not demanding, just asking. Her tone was such that it would make rejection feel like villainy. Like a snake charmer and master of her craft, she could strike that perfect balance between kindness and authority, both little sister and mighty queen, all but stealing all will and agency from her subjects as she commanded them, no matter how angry, no matter how destitute, or how rebellious. «Pretty please? Prettiest of pleases? Hmm?»

As far as he was concerned, he didn’t nod on his own, and his lips didn’t move on their own volition, but still he did it all so surely, so quickly, so unavoidably innevitable, as if any other action was imp-… unthin-… desc-… indescrib-… -ble…

“Okay.” Said his lips, and his arms snaked around her waist, bringing him closer to her, pulling them both into a hug.



In his chest, he felt something like piercing. «Cristo! Meu cristo amado!» Breasts. The breasts. The astonishing breasts of his woman pressed against his torso. Felt like lances, each on one end of his chest.

Their faces were separated still by many inches. He could feel his heartbeat making ripples on her sturdy tits, and those tits felt like she too had a heart beating deep, deep inside of them, underneath all those mountains of titflesh. He tried pulling her closer, hugging her tighter, but then discovered no energy was there, anywhere in his arms or his body to pull off that feat: past the smooth, initial softness of her skin, she was pure muscle. Pure concrete. No in-betweens: a titanium core under a pinthin layer of smoothness.

An Amazon beauty carved out of the earth’s heart, unalloyed and absolute, untainted by the elements and indifferent to the universe, one and indivisible, supreme and unquestionable, like only gods—and goddesses—could be.

Trying to honor this hardness, his dick grew hard too. Her body like granite, his member like chalk, the unwelcomed and blasphemous turgidity causing the boy yet more unwelcomed pain. The slicing feel of a razor inside his urethra only got sharper as the hours of unsleep piled onto one another, building a mountain of their own, unheavenly in its nature, and the pain, though extraordinarty, was no longer soitary either: every fiber in his body began to hurt, as if the buck had small spiky tendrils grinding their ligaments or countless parasites slowly eating him up from the bone marrows, rotting him away before even granting him the chance to die. He was, in fact, feeling more physical pain at that moment than he had all previous night or day long, yet… yet still…

He was cool. He was chill. There was bliss beneath the blisters. “You’re so beautiful.” He said, finally, feeling a little ashamed that he did, and feeling a whole lot better after he did it. The words moved some of his pains away, like pressure out of the cooking pot, and her hair, so close to his eyes, with her scent so aggressive through his nostrils, kept inviting his touch, every strand of her begging for caress. It was a vast, magnificent mane no woman could pull off even after exhaustive work; you either had it or you cried for it: such a sumptuous, vast, dense crown that could only be worn by its rightful ruler, a mattter of birth instead of merit—or rather, birth that made the merit—and only she, the most woman of all women, had in her blood that superior royalty no commoner could fake. “Fuck. You are, like… really, really beautiful.”

The doll smiled. Not really, not for sure, but she did. Her face changed according to his mood, her demeanor matching his desires, and to him, in that moment, she was smiling.

He tried moving his face closer, yet her tits blocked him. Her chest was so endowed, her bosom so big and firm, that even with his tightest hugging he couldn’t bring his nose much closer to hers, not any closer than a couple of three feet apart. This caused him to smile, and then he feelt a breath of warm air on his neck.

He kept his eyes firm and still on his doll, a twinge of tenseness now coloring their adoration. «Feels like she just breathed on me.» Even the scent of that breath was distinct and lifelike. No wind was coming from the window, he was sure. For a moment, even her eyes seemed to have changed direction, twitched to-and-fro before stopping back, irresistibly back at his own.

He took a breath. In. Out. Deep inside, then deep away. As he did so, he paid attention to his every motion, his eyes unwaveringly open, drying under the chill morning, and then he felt his breath hit her skin and kick back onto his own neck. “Oh.” He smiled, both relieved and sorrowed as he realized that «well, you ain’t real, aren’t ya?» He moved his hand closer to her hair. «I… I kind of wish you are.» No. How could he? What a silly thing to- «If you were real, I guess… you wouldn’t be with me.»

Her eyes enchanted him. They reassured him. «…»

He lowered his head. Blushed a little. «Thanks. Thanks for… being with me.»

There was silence. It tasted sweet. Her eyes, like the skin of her cleavage, had a softness to them, and power too; a gaze like her chest stretching her shirt, straining its cloths to the limit, but doing so to the boy’s mind, his soul, deconstructing him ether by ether.

He let his head roll down, down onto that powerful bosom, his skin coming into contact with those two mighty planets, gravity too strong for his alien’s flimsy feet, those boobs like two giant, flexed muscles, but also soft and tender, full of life, full of nature, greenery everywhere; two planets a lonely species could make a home, away and safe from any threat so it could thrive on them… forever.

He moved his nose just a few inches above her bosom, smelling the wild, almost sweaty odor from that primordial creature. She was savage down there; had the smell of a virgin battle princess, one who had just killed a beast to feed her entire tribe. The thought of her as a young, independent, mighty warrior, an Amazon who able to so fearless, perhaps effortlessly fend for herself… it aroused him immensely.

His dick throbbed on his crotch, its bruised helmet rubbing hard and painfully against the roughness that had become his legs, crushed under the tight, unconfortable fabric of his cheap garment. «My.» As he palm landed on the sturdy side of her waist, that sunker valley just undernath her latissimus dorsal muscle, he felt and noted, almost as if shaken away from a catatonic state, how perfectly decent and boring they both locked. «Your clothes…» Despite their closeness (and his woman’s deepest wishes), the two birds were still both fully clothed, their plumage very chastley unpluched—and so would remain, he would make sure of it. «I just… wouldn’t dare undress this beast!» Heavens knew if he would have a heart attack if he tried. Just the feel of her  laterals, the tease of her glutes near his fingertips, this alone was enough to send perilous shivers into his heart, not to mention his sorry, dilapidated d- “damn, woman!” He smiled. “You are built.”

Before he could even realize it, his lips were puckering, stretching forth, planting a kiss on… her cleavage!


All sound…

…all of… the… sound…

… seemed to disappear… for a minute…

… an hour…

His dick tremble, his crotch firing up like a sun, and in his mouth he felt, powerful as the gallop of a wild mare up a windy hill, the taste, the texture, and the firmness of… of… her mighty bosom! «Damnedmedamnedmedamnedmedamnedmedamnedme damned me all the way down to hell!!» He could taste her muscle in his tongue, in the very recess of his mouth! It was… «hard. So hard! Pure fiber of flesh. Like… the taste of power.»

He laid his nose back again on her breasts, smelling the primal scent that could only be gestated, nurtured, and birthed from such a boobful abundance. “Ahoy-ah-häevla!”

Firestorms and thunderbolts reacted on his arms, forcing him into a hug so tight as to tear them from his shoulders. “You fucking…!!!” His hips buckled forth, aggressively, the tip of his minuscule crown breeder squeezed bloody and puple against the rough fabric of his unders, like a thumb on a moulding, the door hastily blammed shut. *Crush!* “You fucking goddaned w-…!!!





He almost did it. Almost. As soon as he laid his face on her cleavage on more time, though, her breasts dwarfing his head and conforting his frame, a sudden, much swifter, stronger wave of coolers sensations washed over him—like fire, yes, but made of water and flowers, not the coarse and untamed flames of teenage arousal he’d just felt, and instead of taking her, deflowering her, raping her, he just…

«What…? What is that…?» He could not process the power of those heavy walls that were closing onto him, weighting over his body from every direction, and nudging his eyelids shut. «Sleep…?»

He wrestled it, he resisted it, and then…


Just like that, swift’s as the fairy’s wing, his head reposed on her cleavage, his muscles cooled, his soul surrendered, and his body lost touch with all its senses, the sleep hitting him like a baby drunk on his mother’s milk.


[NSFW/+18!] The King of America and the Goddesses of Brazil – Part 2

Her mind wandered a bit more, however, on the sexual feats of her own past. «Fuck. I guess I am sick.» Or maybe just too powerful for her own sake: once the boy-killer reached the age of eight, she began to ritualistically consume about twenty pieces of a meat a day, every day, without fail. «My palaces were an endless revolving door of dicks. Hell! A new batch of studs arrived even before the semen of the last batch cooled off! It was insane, and those were, like, literally my beginner years!» Once she was ten-years-old, she liked to say, things “got serious.” Quantity and quality of meat walked hand in hand. «There wasn’t a day where my mouth, ass, and pussy didn’t feel forty different kinds of dick. By the age of twelve, I was fucking fifty guys a day, until I got to such power that I literally couldn’t touch a man’s penis without making him explode with cum and orgasms all the time.» The multiple orgasms that men generally associated to women, she gave men—and then some!

By the time she was eighteen, she had mastered the art of consuming a hundred men every day, all the time, as well as the art of fucking for whole weeks uninterrupted. The men she devoured never believed the previous guys once they said, between their panted, desperate breaths, that “she’d been fucking us for five hours straight and she’s been only getting stronger!” Of course, the guys who said that heard the same thing from the guys that came before, and so on and so on, none of the them ever believing anything, of course, until their cocks met the fury of that woman’s untiring vagina.

Eating that stallion monster cock like it was nothing, Imelda felt the semen very close to the doorway of her anus. All that was left were a few inches for the stud to fully, totally conquer her body—if not her spirit, sweeping her off her feet like only her very first few studs ever managed to do. «Again, when I was too inexperienced, too young and clueless of my sex.» Still, after the very first she had had sex—a mere eight-year-old, 6-feet-tall behemoth of a fully grown woman (at least physically)—she still managed to last eight hours without a break, fucking her five powerful studs over and over and over until they were all—all!—begging for her to stop. «I was a fucking mess, but absolutely bloody victorious.» As the waves of semen kept pushing deeper into her guts, she kept travelling deeper into her past, finding more amusement in her endless conquest than in that novel stallion: «mm. I guess his dick has reached full power.» The density of the semen kept piling up, but it seemed unable to gain ground as fast as before. «Maybe if I relax my guts he can make his way to the end, but that’d be cheating.» With the muscles of her arms bulging, the veins booming and sprawling all over her titanium physique, the woman raised her palms and power-slapped her stud’s buttocks, making the guy open his mouth and make a terrible face, almost as if he was going to puke his guts out through his mouth. «Come on, beast boy! You can cum your loader harder than that!»

The bull’s balls were throbbing right on the woman’s abs, their power enough to make them jump and jolt over her body. With her hands firm and warm, the woman power-punched both his testicles and his glutes, making the giant teenager neighed just like a fucking horse, and two more men collapsed on the ground, ejaculating madly while only six remained. “You are a fucking monster.” Leonardo, of all man, tried not to stutter as he confronted the woman with the painful, obvious reality. “You are not… human!”

«Oh, baby,» the woman chuckled (and gagged on the semen) as she made her palms sink on the man’s iron buttocks, his muscles barely enough to contain the atomic power of her slaps, «to your agony and despair, I’m glad to announce that I am, indeed, fully human. I’m just… next level. Maybe the next step in humanity’s evolution, with a blood so bloody good all of humanity put together can barely amount to a few veins of my perfected physique.» With her slaps slowing down, the iron woman thought about the only woman who could possibly measure up to her in grace, power, and sexual splendor. «Only her—her!—is worthy of calling herself my superior!»

The woman. The monster. The goddess. The Queen. Only that mighty woman, who taught her to become a true demigoddess of sex and cock-destruction, was indeed of a finer breed than even herself. «Cursed majesty! How the fuck can you be so bloody perfect?!»

As the stallion came, Imelda searched her past for signs of her superior breeding power, finding them all, however, very much lacking when compared to her Queen. «When we first met, I was a truly arrogant eighteen-year-old. I had just finished my birthday party when she showed up in my castle, totally dry and fresh off cum or sweat—unlike myself.» Sucking and pumping, she felt her body a little cooler, almost as if she was literally travelling to the past, leaving that teenager and those pitiful men behind her. «For my birthday party, I made myself the challenge of fucking as many men as I could in under 24 hours. From midnight to midnight, I fucked over 1,238 men, very few of which actually lasted any longer than half a minute at a time. It was only when the last man fell… that she appeared!» Imelda could still remember, with great fear and tribulation, the bang of her mansion’s doors as the rival barged in without announcement, facing the haughty teenager almost as if they had known each other their whole lives. «She was hateful, and she was my god! Never before had I felt so many disparate emotions for a single person, like… ever!» She was the most beautiful, inhumane goddess in the world, and she was the most despicable devil in the deepest canyons of hell—and, judging by the way she fucked, the latter definitely wasn’t a stretch. «She fucking humiliated me!»

As the Queen stood before her, both women looking at one another as if they needed to say not a single word to communicate clearly and fluently, the young teenager sneered, the twenty-four hours of relentless fucking barely taking any effect on her body. “I see you had your fun.” Were the first words the majesty ever said to her, uttered while slowly—oh, so slowly!—undoing her ropes. “Now let’s see how I measure up.”

The teenager sneered again and laughed, but the sight of the terrifying woman made it very clear that, if anyone could ever challenge her… it was her! “What are you going to do? Fuck this pile I have already fucked?” The younger Imelda stood up atop her ten-feet-tall pile of beaten, defeated men, their bodies so battered and ruined it looked like a herd of elephants had stomped all over them. From her tight, perfect pussy oozed an apparently-endless amount of jizz, which only added to the insane layers of thick cum slowly cooling off all over the beaten, brazen bodies. “If you are one to have used up men, you’re already beaten by m-”


Just that. One word. “Shut.” Not even “shut up” or “shut it,” just… “shut.” As the gigantic woman spoke, whom Imelda could see from afar was much taller, much larger, much harder and more powerful than she could ever hope to be, the haughty teenager obeyed, her lips sealed together almost as if an invisible forced has sewed them with an invisible, hot needle.

“Y-y-yes, ma’am.” Even to this day, when she consumed the endless gallons of sweet jizz from her eighteen-year-old horse-cocked teenager, Imelda couldn’t understand what force had led her to utter those docile, passive words to the complete stranger—or rather, yes, she could understand it very well; she just couldn’t accept it.

As the titan royalty undid layer after layer of her fancy, expensive robes, massive tanks and buses rolled over on the outside of Imelda’s mansion. From these vehicles, heavy and mighty, she could hear thunderous steps making the earth literally tremble all around her. “I’ve got my entourage.” The Queen announced, looking rather pitifully to the pile of hundreds of men Imelda stood over. “Jesus, girl, you have no self-respect? Look at these pathetic boys you just fucked.” The way she giggled, it was like Imelda was some little girl with barely any boobs or butt to her body. “Damn it, you girl! It’s like you barely lost your virginity! The stud’s a see in your mountain of flesh and cum, atop of which you so arrogantly stand, thinking yourself such a great bitch, such an awesome cock-conqueror… oh, ha, ha, ha!” She gave the most arrogant, blood-boiling laughter the woman had ever heard! Meanwhile, as the Queen spoke, the earthquake just got stronger, with the silhouettes and the shadows of her studs appearing on the cum-ridden windows of Imelda’s palace. “How big are they? Eight inches, nine inches?” The Queen walked from side to side, eyeing the pile of semen-smeared men while she undid, artful and graceful, layer after layer of the expensive robes she wore with such unmatched, imperial elegance—a true Queen, indeed, both in physique as in manners. “I can see a twelve-incher from here, oh, I can.” Again, the hateful bitch laughed: “you poor, poor cunt! You’re still virgin! Oh, my pure, pure virgin baby girl! And to think that you’ve spend the past twelve years fucking a bunch of eunuchs. Oh, no, no, no. Tonight, my girl,” the Queen undid the final layer of her ropes, turning to Imelda in all her glorious muscular, “I teach you how to fuck.”

As the final layer of her clothes flowed into the ground, the doors, windows, and walls of the mansion were shattered by what could only be described by a barbarian invasion of muscle-bound giants. «That was the first time… I got a glimpse of real men!» Not entirely true, for sure, but that was indeed the first time Imelda saw so many of those hyper-gigantic men she once thought the rarest of the rare amongst humans: nude, naked, bronze-skinned and dark-haired gorgeous studs who were more horses than men—at least when size was considered—and whose genitals sported such power and virility the temperature within the room went from “hot” to “fucking scalding” in a heartbeat. The smallest of the men were ten inches long with their completely soft members; the biggest of them… «fuck. Fuck! Fuck!!» Imelda began to squirt again, though not with the teenager she was still eating; the memory of those super stallion, as well as the feelings of her innocence, all struck her pussy with the fires of teenage sexual awakening again. «Fuck me god! Those were true, beautiful Bulls!»

The most prized men in the Queen’s harem: the Bulls! The hyper-sexualized, genetically-superior studs whom she was meant to breed and overbreed until the entire Earth was reshaped by their perfect, big-dicked genes. The most indescribable males in all of humanity: Bulls! And they were gathering in Imelda’s palace by the dozens, their size great enough to make her previously-gigantic room look crowded with just a few tens of them. “First, my beautiful,” said the Queen as her rope was still descending, “you’ll need a bigger place. My palace will be a nice abode for our lovemaking once tonight’s deed is done. Then…” Her eyes and Imelda’s were locked, “I’ll teach you the power of my pussy… myself.”

The robe was undone, and Imelda collapsed that very instant. In the Queen’s quarters, consuming the full twenty-five inches of teenage bull dick—the guy had gained an extra inch after all the flood of power thanks to Imelda’s sucking—the men tried to make sense of their dominatrix’s actions, seeing her panting and squirming, finally experiencing orgasms of a woman in heat. They wondered how long… just how long could a single woman torture a man’s cock so hard, never wanting to admit what they knew deep inside: that Imelda could do that shit forever!

The woman was orgasming madly not for the stud, though, but for the memory of the first time she had ever seen the Queen naked. It was a glorious form no human eye was meant to behold, and even the super-sized Imelda, with all her perfect genes, collapsed form her mountain of stud, rolling and banging and kicking down into the ground, until she stopped at the very feet of the uber-muscular beast now standing before her—a woman so unbelievably virile her muscles had muscles with more muscles on top of each other, and so bloody fertile that her gigantic, planet-sized tits were squirting hot, fat thick milk at her every slightest breath. “Wake up, you inexperienced cheap whore.” The Queen gave Imelda the slightest, friendliest of “kicks”—no, not a kick, to be honest, but a mere grazing of her skin with her thumb—yet still Imelda’s 1,200-pound body was hurdled into the mass of men behind her, almost getting stuck in their cum like a fly on a spider’s web while the Queen’s gigantic Bull rubbed shoulders on the crowded room. “You fucked, let’s see…” With her perfect, almost supernaturally-attuned intellect, the Queen counted the total number of men Imelda had consumed, “ah, I see. One thousand, two-hundred and eighty three men in twenty-four hours.” The Queen turned around, and all the Bulls in the place… they immediately… their cocks… they just!!… “Let’s see by how big a margin a beat you.”

Imelda was crying and screaming and orgasming gallons through her pussy as she saw the hyper-virile walls of muscles that was her Queen’s back, culminating down on the most massive, perfect pair of glutes the Universe could ever bestow a living creature. «And her legs!! Oh, god, her fucking legs!!» Outrageously well-endowed legs like Chun-Li’s would look like straws compared to those bulging, rippling, throbbing pillars of power, muscles, and veins that were the Queen’s legs. With the smallest, thinnest of her leg muscular fibers, that Queen already outdid the legs of any woman in all of human existence—even the fictional ones, whereas the Queen was entirely, totally, completely, and unbearably… real! “BY THE FUCKING G-!!!” Imelda was screaming, but that was barely the beginning of her nerve-frying orgasms.

There were the cocks. The massive appendages of the super stallions, all

so imposing when soft, now truly earth-shattering when rigid: *BOOOOOOOM!!!* As the cocks sprouted into fullest hardness, the earth trembled, the castle shook, and the walls, floor, and ceiling where all cracked. *BOOOOOOM!!!* Imelda had never seen those many cocks grew so unbelievably hard so fast and so synchronized; in less than a third of a second, the beastly womb-destroyers went from limb arm-like appendages to true pillars of virility smacking their giant studs on the abs… and sometimes on the pecs. «What-what-what…?!!» Imelda’s mind was frying as she witnessed, for the very first time in her life, cocks so fucking huge that they smacked their men straight in the pecs—and, for some of then, almost right on the fucking chin! «WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING HERE?!!»

The Queen was not one for long introductions, though. As soon as the massive megalondontic dong hit the chests of her supermen, the Queen proceeded to fuck through them one by one, performing the most shocking act of carnality any woman could do to any other living creature. To any inexperienced gaze, what the Queen did to those men might have truly looked like a massacre, with many of them literally being led to a bleeding state by the superwoman’s voracious, cock-breaking fucking, but that was simply all that the Queen could do, her power being such that, even if she wanted to, she could never fuck her men any weaker than that. “Do you see, you stupid child, why our men need to be so big, so genetically and biologically superior?” She shouted, like an absolute boss, while riding seven massive super-sized cocks—three in her pussy, four in her anus—and jerking off twenty-four other gigantic, indescribably-enormous penises—five in each hand, then seven crammed between her bulging arms. “Fuck me, that’s how I like it! Superbeings like us literally can’t have any men smaller! They gotta be studs or they gonna be bad! You’ve been spoiling yourself rotten with these petty pencil dicks you fucked!” Powerfully, with her gaze alone, the Queen instructed her unspoken commands to the surrounding Bulls. “My boys will have to teach a good lesson… once we’re done! For now, my little nun… watch and learn!” She smacked her lips as her dozens of men collapsed, rolling down unconscious on the growing pile of quasi-dead, squirming bodies she was building, and other twenty, twenty-five studs came in to replace their fallen comrades. They had long waited for a chance—any chance—to beat and discipline the unruly majesty, but for years and years on end they were just left with disappointment, humiliation, and defeat. “I want all my holes destroyed. Let’s see how well you fare this time, stallions!” She snapped her fingers, and then Imelda saw her inhuman body be even more inhumanly filled by more cocks than even a literal mare could take. The Queen was overstretched, over-fecundated, over-fucked by ten massive donkey dicks on her anus, twelve gigantic horse cocks on her cunt, about fifty-to-seventy enormous penises all over her body, and well over twenty super-sized womb-destroying member in her mouth.

“Begin!” One of the men roared, and the hundred-plus super studs began to pound the cock-filled bitch in earnest.

Imelda’s castle had collapsed within about five seconds of that giant ball of cock and muscles thrusting inside the Queen’s every hole. The majesty even had a name for it—“engine of cunt destruction”—and it was one of the several tactics her gigantic super bulls developed to try and discipline the Queen a little.

They all failed miserably in the end. “No…!!!” The final of those beast men kept thrusting and thrusting and thrusting inside the Queen’s mouth, seeing his weaker comrades one by one fall around himself. “No… it can’t… it can’t be like that!” The giant mega stud thrust himself with deeper and more desperate force inside the woman’s mouth, making even her enormous, well-develop torso bulge with the leg-thick length and girth of his equine genitalia, but all that he drilled from the beastly woman were sensual gaggles, gurgles, and chuckles. His prick was unloading like a fountain, and Imelda could never swear that a single man could produce so much semen. «It’s been only ten minutes since she’s been fucking these hundred horses, but this one single man has already produced more cum…!!» She looked, absolutely staggered, to the massive pile of her own men behind her—a pile which the Queen now dwarfed with her much superior virility. «All of my men… all of them!…» Imelda was flustered with profound shame, «in twenty-four hours of sex they amounted to nothing but a single load of this single human throat-fucking this… this…!!» She still didn’t know what to call the female stranger back then, you see. «This god!»

The lone men remained atop the pile of defeated Bulls fucking the throat of the giantess with all his gusto until his legs began to buckle and his muscular fibers to nearly snap. With stars in her eyes, Imelda witnessed the power of a Bull pushed to the very limits of his being; an entire muscular mountain depleted of force, completely red with scorching blood and wrapped with bulging, throbbing veins themselves as thick as arms! It was godly, it was heavenly, and it couldn’t last for much long: the semen of the stud exploded from the woman’s mouth and nostrils at every thrust, minutes and minutes on end until the Bull began to roar at deeper tones, his roars becoming longer and longer until they finally started to grow weak, and so on and so on until their weakness transitioned to absolute exhaustion, and the mighty Bull began to die in earnest.

As his titanic body fell backwards, the Queen immediately stood up and grabbed him, swallowing the unimaginable loads of cum so that she could then kiss the stallion on his torso, like a mother putting her son to sleep. “Shh, shh.” She smiled, and then her lips met his. “This was an awesome fuck.” Rivers of jizz flowed down from the 12-feet-high pile, forming a gigantic lake in which Imelda bathed and fecundated herself. “Now, my gorgeous stallion… go to sleep.” The Queen did a single squeeze on the man’s right testicle, and his gigantic body seized up in a painful freezing, his eyes bulging and his jaw dropping before he fell completely asleep and unconscious—that 5-second squeeze putting him down like a hurt animal who’s just been euthanized.

The Queen stood stop her superior pile of stud, looking down upon the poor Imelda, who did her best to keep her consciousness intact. Without a word to the “rival”—if you could even deign calling Imelda such thing—she turned to next batch of 150 super studs who were climbing up the pile, making them halt and waiver before pointing a finger at them, curling said finger, and spreading her arms in a glorious display of muscles. “Alright, y’all. Next!”

She proceeded to destroy those men for the next fifteen minutes. The Queen always enjoyed to let her men have their way with her at first, especially considering that she was “lazy” and didn’t like doing much of the fucking at first. If anything, that was one of the royal’s first lessons to her now-obedient pupil: “if you’re a woman who respect yourself, you wouldn’t even begin to think about fucking a dude’s dick before your pussy was sufficiently warmed up and lubricated with a few millions of gallons of sperm. Let the studs try you out at first, having their way with your every hole, unloading their mightiest loads until their bodies naturally (and inevitably) collapse in exhaustion. Once you start feeling something—anything! Even just a little spark in the cooch—then you can start trying out their cocks in earnest.” Every time Imelda blinked, hundreds upon hundreds of men were raining down like droplets on a rainforest storm, with the Queen making 8-feet, 9-feet-tall muscle behemoths faint with a single squeeze and pump of their cocks, all while thirty, forty, sometimes fifty stallion gang banged her in the nether holes, ejaculating as much combined cum as three Niagara Falls.

With her mansion now destroyed, a crater was formed. An area of the entire state of New York was destroyed as the Queen proceeded to fuck—or rather, be fucked—by her most prized stallion in the first four hours of that exhibitionism, with only a handful of super studs lasting longer than fifteen minutes in her cooch, and the record-holder (at that point) going only as far as “twenty-two minutes, fifteen seconds, and a thousand, eight-hundred and seventy-two fractions of a second.” She grappled her men by the cheeks, prompting in him a look of utter horror (you see, he thought, quite foolishly, that he would be the one to dominate the woman, ha, ha!), and gave him a motherly kiss before twist-squeezing his dick inside her own cunt so bloody hard that…

“OOOOOOOOO-UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHH…!!!!!!” The scream. Goddamn, the scream! It was a roar, but it was anything but masculine: it was the ultimate roar of defeat. «Like Kronos being slain by Zeus. The fall of a titan.» Imelda, then much more “used” to the Queen’s performance, licked her lips and bit them with both desire and ambition, coveting that power which seemed so divine and superhuman to her. «She’s… she’s…!!» As she saw the 9-feet-tall body of the giant collapse into the ocean of cum, she had a revelation: «she’s just murdered this man’s masculinity!»

Like the allied invasion of Normandy, an endless sea of places crossed the skies, and from those mighty, gigantic jumbo jets thousands upon thousands of superhuman soldier jumped, splashing on the jizz and making their ways valiantly to the enemy—the Queen. “Alright, then!” The woman stood up, her pile of men now measuring up to 45-feet-high. She stretched her muscles and playfully danced on the pile, beating her own gigantic breasts like a silverback inviting his rivals to a fight. “Time to fuck!”

She proceeded to destroy over a hundred and thirty thousand males in the proceeded twenty hours. By the time she was finished, her pile of men had grown into a literal mountain: 134,587 massively muscular Bulls completely collapsed into a mountain as high as 872 feet, their bodies almost unseen under the much superior coating of semen, which then surpassed about eighty-three trillion gallons of semen.

By the time the woman was done, Imelda saw her holding the last man—a 13-feet-tall, 35-inch-long horse cock yielder—upside down by a single leg, giving his ass playful slaps and kissing his upside-down balls before casting him aside—his penis still ejaculating hundreds of gallons of seed as he swirled down the mountain of muscles and cum. “That’s twenty-four hours, I guess.” With her fists on her hips, the glorious goddess turned to her new slave. “You see, little one, what true power really looks like?” With a single, mighty flex, the Queen expelled all the cum, all the semen, and all the sweat of the other males from her body, and the shockwave left behind a skin as smooth as a baby’s—with, of course, muscles as hard as the core of a metallic planet. “Now, time for you to experience it!” The Queen stepped down towards her pussy, who in turn pissed and ejaculated in utter fear and arousal. “Nah, nah, no turning back now. I’m gonna fuck you like no human being has ever been fucked before.”

Once the Queen got to spitting distance, Imelda realized that the woman hadn’t broken a single bead of sweat herself. “What the f-??!!” As she was grabbed by her legs and pussy-pounded away at the speed of light, Imelda could barely complete her question once the Queen started to give her a crash course in fucking.

Gulping and gargling on the semen of her amazing stallion, Imelda reflected on her ultimate humiliation—an event so traumatic that it made her a little pitying, if not respectful, of the men she now humiliated. «She banged for five days straight.» Back then, tsc!, that was all that Imelda could take. «And she took it so bloody easy!»

She had banged the arrogant teenager until Imelda was forced to relent and beg for her to stop. Even fainting or passing out weren’t a option for the teen; with her superhuman fingers, the Queen could literally jolt life back into the squirming, screaming, squirting teenager, and then keep alive and sane for as long as her pussy could take her pounding without literally catching fire. “I GIVE UP!!! PLEASE!!!” The arrogant teenager begged for the first time in her life: “PLEASE, STOP!!! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!!”

And just like that, *plim!*, the Queen pressed a few spots in the woman’s pussy and then, *plim-plim!*, Imelda fell asleep like a baby, waking up on the Queen’s arms only many weeks later. “That was some awesome resilience you just displayed.” The Queen kissed her, treating her like her baby. “Now… let me teach you to be more like me.” Thus began Imelda’s teaching—one which she didn’t know if it was a blessing, or Hell’s most painful, unyielding curse.

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[NSFW/+18!] The African College Futa – Part 6

Her grim was nothing short of demonic. The heat within her body increased by many dozens of degrees. She was burning! The heat in a single organ enough to cook any normal human being alive! Sliding her tongue on my neck, she laid the following whispers on my ear: “my turn.”

Then she turned us around and pressed me against the door. *Craaack!!* The stone surface cracked. Several pebbles kicked and rolled on the ground. Not a fraction of a second passed as the goddess took over my mouth and unrolled her tongue inside of me. «Jesus…!!» The tears multiplied, all of my limbs shivered, then froze. The massive African literally breathed air inside or me, filling me up with her power and her scent while also punishing me with the complete unrolling of her tongue.

If I thought mine was massive and powerful, it still couldn’t compare with the absolute giganticness of her member! The thickest segment of my tongue was still narrower than her fucking tip, and as he tongue-fucked me I felt myself being throat-raped by at least three of the thickest dicks I’d ever sucked. In less than a second, that monster had reached my stomach, and her tongue just kept going, curling up inside my organ like a giant mass of meat or a hot, burning tumor, growing and growing until I filled up my stomach completely and proceeded to stretch it!

“Heather!!” Veronica screamed, fear and arousal splitting her body in two perfect halves. She could see my belly bulging as the African kept unrolling countless inches of her tongue within me. This unnatural sight filled her with tremendous arousal, the likes of which we only feel we standing before a sexual partner who’s equal parts sexy and deadly, and as she frigged her cunt with double speed and strength, she saw the layers of that tongue whirling inside my belly like a nest of snakes, the bulge in my stomach both huge and lively.

Trapped by her powerful arms, I squealed. I hated to admit that such domination, such utter and absolute subjugation of my very organism, was getting me hotter by the second. When I tried to headbutt her, she retracted her tongue from me, almost killing me with the vacuum this created. «God!!» I wanted to scream once I felt the last inch of her member leave me, but instead I could only gasp, then feel my insides coming out through my throat in a huge mass of vomit. “Gonna puke?” She tapped my back with her other hand, now holding me tight with both arms, but I resisted the urge and shut my mouth, swallowing back all the nasty content she had almost withdrew from me.

Our huge bodies stayed somewhat still, panting and quivering as I fought back the intense burning on my crotch. «No!» The pressure was growing and growing, like a balloon full of lubes ready to explode out of my cunt. Veronica was behind her, squirting many fat jets of nectar in the ponds of that mansion, and upon seeing her sorry state, I told myself I could be so weak.

Still, just as I was gaining back my energy, the monster woman held my chin up with her fingers and smiled. “I can kiss you all the way down to your anus.” She stuck her tongue out. Nine fat inches of members slivered past her full lips, and I lost both my breath and my color as I watched it rise and rise and rise, knowing there was still much more from where it came. “As a matter of fact,” she spoke rather perfectly, even with that monster tongue out, “I can pierce you from your mouth to your anus with my massive, monster tongue, and use its tip to fuck you friend’s pussy right there.” She gestured behind her, where Veronica was screaming her heart’s out. “Do you want that to happen?” Her grim…! What type of demon was she? “Do you want me to tongue-fuck your guts, huh?”

Taking the initiative, I attacked her mouth again, and this time her tongue fought back against mine, the slurps and wet sounds inside our mouth making the palace’s wall rumble, and our kisses popping and slapping in the only time I broke our kiss and screamed over her shoulder, looking angry at my friend: “Veronica, now!! Make yourself useful and attack this fucking bitch!!”

The goddess only raised her eyebrow and muttered “ooh!” in a curious, self-serving tone, like she was entertained by my call. To my surprise, through, Veronica wasn’t as useless as she looked like, standing on her feet almost immediately and running fast—thought also clumsily—to my help. “You fucking whore!!” Was her war cry. Poor little thing was still squirting her womb out as she ran. “I beat you!”

She jumped on the African’s back and took over her neck. Her tongue also amazed me by how long and powerful it was: she was licking the African like a snake, her drool spraying on our faces, the ounces of saliva flowing down our bodies as we kissed and licked and bit each other like three lionesses in heat.

The goddess raised her head and laughed, feeling us tear her clothes apart with our hungry hands and teeth. Pieces of cloth flew all around us as we devoured that beast, unprepared for what we were about to find underneath it. “Heather!!” Despite her initial burst of power, Veronica squealed and audibly squirted on the goddess’s legs. The African’s abs had been exposed, and their sheer size, power, and hardness struck my friend with instantaneous orgasms. “I c-can’t…!! She’s just…!!” Her legs rippled, trying to keep her body standing. “She’s too powerful!”

“You think I don’t know?!” I shouted, feeling those powerful abs rubbing against mine. “Bitch! I can feel them straight on my belly!” When I heard the African laughing, I kissed her harder, licking her like a bitch while slapping Veronica behind her. “Get a grip, woman! Devour this African bitch!”

Just as I said that, however… I screamed! A tremendous pressure grew around my waist, and I felt that my guts would be squeezed out through my mouth. “God!!” The giantess crushed me against the door, making the cracks on its stone grow while she whispered in my ear: “disrespect me, my continent, or my people one more time,” her grip was tightened, making my eyes see red, “and I will murder you.” She licked and bit my neck. “Do not test me, you cheap Yankee prostitute.” Her monstrous thighs were pressed against my crotch, spreading up my legs and making my cunt lips swell with juices. I yelped like a hurt animal, yet still I could contain my orgasms, holding back my squirts to the last… “You think you’re so strong because you’re holding back your squirts, don’t you?” At that moment, my heart sank. “Oh, you bitch.” Her tongue went all over my face, with her hands… those powerful hands as heavy and hard as sledgehammers… they squeezed and caressed all of my muscles, pinching me just hard enough to let me know that “if I want to, my inferior white whore, I can tear up your body with my fingers… like this!” She crushed the muscles on my waist, and I let go a long yelp, which she muffled with her mouth, filling my throat with the unfurling of her tongue. “Whore.” She said, having me gasp and shiver after she’d pulled her monster tongue. “You think you’re in control?” She stimulated my pelvis harder and harder, crushing my cunt with her knees. “The only reason you haven’t cum yet is because I didn’t let you too. Don’t you worry.” She licked me. “I know exactly where your power ends. I won’t have you squirting now. Let’s take our sweet, sweet time, baby, so I can crush your defenses one by one, reduce your souls to quivering messes first, before I properly ruin your bodies with the extreme power of my muscles!” Abruptly, she let me go and turned around, exposing her massive abs to Veronica, feeling her squirts splish and splash against her legs. “Kiss me, babies! Kiss me and undress me! I wanna feel your American tongues all over my body!” Her eyes glimmered. “Show me the true power of American women. Now!” She snapped, and automatically we obeyed her command, biting her, kissing her, tearing every piece of fabric from her body and… trying to resist…


…trying to resist the sheer arousal that struck us upon seeing those gorgeous, light-brown muscles. Her body was massive in ways words can never even begin to describe! We both were big and hard, but she… she was hardness itself! When we compared out muscles to iron or stone, we knew it was a metaphor, a mere figure of speech, but in her case… “fuck!!” She was truly, perfectly, unironically solid! At the tip of our fingers, lips, tongues, and limbs, we truly were feeling a hot piece of titanium covered by only a thin layer of skin. At times, what we saw and what we felt became two different things in our minds, in a weird case of cognitive dissociation, for what we were seeing was fleshly, but what we were touching was the core of a mountain.

“Heather!!” Veronica squirted while kneeling and drooling all over her abs. The goddess was ripped! Insanely ripped! In her belly lied not a six or an eight, but a veritable ten-pack of bulging, throbbing abs! “Oh, fuck!!” My friend’s mouth, tongue, and hands were having a field day on those abs—the part she loved the most in any body (genitals aside). She pressed and rubbed her face against that labyrinth of muscles, feeling their size, their power, sometimes even placing her ears against it so she could hear their fibers contract and rumble. “Jesus fucking Christ!! Each of muscle of your abs is as big as the biceps of stud!”

The African laughed, raising her head and closing her eyes while she grabbed me by the air and guided my head to wherever she wanted me to lick in the moment. “I know! My body is perfect!” She said it so casually, so confidently, that we couldn’t help but to accept it too. “I am perfection incarnate, my bitches.” She wasn’t split between delight and arrogance; rather, she was experiencing them both fully and simultaneously, hence her calm speech amidst her laughs of joy: “lick me. Suck me. Your tongues disappoint me.” She manhandled us both even harder, treating us like mere extensions of her limbs. “Come on! Bathe me with your tongues! Spit on me, cover me with your squirts.” She grabbed Veronica by the hair and raised her with a single hand, having her cunt squirt all the way up to her bellybutton before facing her straight in the eyes. “Show me that you Americans aren’t as weak, meek, and genetically feeble as us Africans think you are!”

“Jesus!!” Before Veronica could even take back the control of her muscles, the African sank in her mouth her voracious tongue, doing to her throat what she had just done to mine, albeit in a much smaller scale.

I placed my hands on her massive breasts and tore up the last strands of clothing from her torso as my friend orgasmed beyond control. Her squirts flew down on the African thighs like two waterfalls, and they burst in mighty intervals, once every two seconds, along with screams inside the African’s mouth, which I heard while kissing her neck. “Stop that!” I took a bite on her, but it was like biting steel. “Don’t you see my friend is not as strong as me? Ooh!!!” I tried to hurt her in the boobs, but it was I who ended up burning in the cunt when I touched those massive, ungodly spheres of motherly power. “JESUS!!!” Her breasts felt both solid as rocks and bouncy, silky smooth as, well, breasts would feel. That bitch wasn’t just powerful, but loaded, with gallons of milk sloshing inside those vast containers. “Jesus Christ!!” Feeling all my nerves seized up by bursts of energy, I closed my eyes and tried hard not to squirt! I was always on the edge of a world-shattering orgasm without actually crossing the line; while my friend orgasmed her heart’s out as easily as hundreds of women at the mercy of expert stallions, I held my ground, yet knowing that, once I finally came… «Jesus!!»… my squirts would be so strong they’d be able to crack rocks or bend metal!

Those tits weren’t just huge, they were perfect! Their shape was perfectly proportional to her insane height and musculature; each tit was big as two basketballs, yet weighing about fifty pounds each. Like… what the fuck! Even as huge as they were, their weight was insane! They should have been at least five times bigger—true monstrosities attached to her chest!—to justify that inhuman weigh!

The goddess looked back at me while I kissed her. “Everything you can touch in my body is hard, baby. You know why that is?” She stretched, her muscles roaring like engines. “That’s because I’m dense! Literally dense: every fiber in my being, every liquid in my veins or my ducts, everything is hyper-concentrated to a degree mere humans cannot comprehend.” As to prove her point, she flexed her right arm besides my body, and with shock and terror I saw her biceps swell and tremble like the trunk of a huge tree being split in the middle. An army of thick veins covered her biceps, her blood running so fast and hot I could literally see the stream through the constant rumbling at the surface of said veins! “Try to lift me up!”

Kissing her back, feeling her hardness in my mouth, I gagged: “w-what?”

She fondled my hair with that huge, hyper-flexed arm. “I said lift me up. Come on!” She moved my arms around her waist, and once again I found myself near an orgasm when I felt her insane abs on my palms! “Lift me up with all your power! You’re the second strongest creature on Earth, so I know that, if there’s anyone who can do it, that person is you!”


While Veronica was licking and worshipping her abs madly, and also trying to pull down her pants, I hugged that monstress hard and… lifted her! Or at least I tried to. “GOD!!!” My muscle fibers swelled, almost tearing through my skin, yet that goddess stayed firmly on the ground, not rising a single inch above it. “What’s the deal?” She mocked me. Her laughter! By the gods, how odious and arousing her laughter was! “Can’t lift a single a woman, o powerful Heather?” Her tone became all the more mocking the harder I tried to lift her: “mighty, muscular Heather, the Great Skank of America! I thought your muscles were made of a better material, judging by all the rumors I heard about you in school.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” I was spuming, thick steam coming through my nostrils, my shoulder and my back growing in width as I pulled—god!—and pulled and pulled and… “AAARHH!!!”

My muscles boomed like several explosions under my skin, and the floor cracked under my feet, with fissures growing to every direction, all the way to the farthest walls, in my maddening attempt to lift that goddess. Alas, all my power came to naught: she and the earth seemed one in the same. “Tsc, tsc. A pity. You do have a wonderful body, but I’m afraid your muscles fibers just can’t compare…” She raised an arm. She flexed it. Boom!! “To this!”

I breathed on her neck with great fury, yet also kissed and licked it with great passion. I was in love with her shape, her power, her firmness, her… everything. «My god!!» I felt over my hands the massiveness of her bosom. «What breasts! What powerful, full breasts!» Taking a deep breath, I shouted: “Veronica, help me! Grab her legs and lift up that cunt!”

Yet my weak-minded friend had other things going on: she had tried to tear up and pull down that monstress’s pants, with no avail, feeling like the cloth was glued to her skin, yet suddenly, while fumbling her crotch… “Veronica!!” She looked to me, her voice cracking, herself about to cry. “There’s a bulge here!” Her hands moved down to her knees… and then below it! “M-my god!!” She felt the thing, the monster, that limb snake throbbing, growing, filling up with blood, power, and s- “It’s her cock!! She’s really got a cock, Veronica, and it’s monstrous!!”

Her panicked voice was followed by the African’s portentous laughter. “I was wondering why you were taking so long to mention it! My dick is my greatest feature!” Turning her head around, making her neck widen and its arteries bulge, she looked at me, and the whole world seemed to grow darker around us. “My beautiful bimbos!” She closed in, seizing my lips with a kiss. “My weak little pussies! Why don’t you finish off my body so we can really start our fun?” She slapped Vanessa hard, dropping her on the ground, yet having her always crawl back on her knees, begging for more. “Can’t you even take my pants down and reveal the glorious monster I flaunt between my legs?”

“Aargh, Veronica, you useless cunt!!” With blood filling my eyes, I made my muscles swell. Hardness and power boomed in every inch on my body, and the cracks under my feet grew longer, wider, and deeper. The African was surprisingly quiet when I roared and squeezed her waist with my growing arms, arteries and vein bulging all over my skin, my entire body becoming a vascular monument of virility, fifty men and more brimming through my fibers, a female goddess in the making, so powerful I felt I kick Hercules’s ass and pummel Ares, the God of War itself!

Shockwaves burst from me, ruining the entire palace. A mighty roar erupted from my throat, and then many others followed. Our bodies sank on the ground while the cracks grew, my size and weight proving too much for even that stone to hold, and the African I was holding looked down to see herself being finally lifted up in the air—even if by just a petty inch. “Veeery good!” Waved her sinuous, penetrating voice. “Can you lift me any higher, Heather?” She turned around and pecked in the cheek. “Show me how powerful you are before I ruin you?”

“YOU…!! FUCKING…!!” My muscles roared. “BIIIIITCH!!!” Glasses and windows exploded all over the mansion as massive crater appeared around us, and I succeeded in lifting that monster woman not just an inch, nor two, nor three, but a full fucking foot from the ground. Every single fiber in my body seemed five times its original size, to a degree that even Veronica, once so entranced by the African’s might, moved back and awed at my beauty. “H-Heather… y-you… y-you are…!!”

That’s right, baby: my body, at that point, was taller than 7.5 feet, surpassing even the height of our African dominatrix, and probably matching her in weight too as its muscles ballooned to over 600 pounds in total. I was a bull of a woman! A pure machine of virility in the body of a giant lady, and the arrogant African seemed far too pleased by my growth: “good! You’re finally starting to arouse me!” She licked her lips and fondled my hair. Despite the pressure my arms created around her waist, she could breathe and speak fluently, not a crack in her voice or even a whimper of suffocation. “My delicious Yankee cunt! I will take special pleasure in ruining your body,” she kissed my cheek, “and breeding you like a stallion!”

I wanted to kill her! I wanted to destroy her! I wanted to crush her guts out and tear her apart limb by limb! I wanted to… fucking… win! However, the sheer difference in scale, the massive chasm between us, it was all becoming too apparent as my muscles cramped and my fibers, one by one, threatened to shatter like overstretched ropes. “AAAH!!!” Through my mouth came the most painful, ear-piercing scream I’d ever shouted, and through my eyes burst steamy tears of pain. I was hurting so fucking badly! My body acted without my consent: I dropped that woman off and felt her fall before me, the mere foot setting her apart from the ground feeling like miles. Then, there was the touchdown… BOOOOOOOOM!!! The African sank two whole feet on the ground, with cracks growing so long they reached even the ceiling, and if there was any piece of glass in that whole mansion intact after my massive muscle growth, well, now there wasn’t anymore: her impact on the ground made the crater swell to over ten feet white, with the shores of her decorative ponds along the walls being shattered and the waters now coursing free on the floor, like burst-up dams or overflown rivers.

Both I and Veronica were pushed away from her, my back hitting the stone door, nearly shattering it, and Veronica sliding a few feet away while cumming like a waterfountain through her cunt. “So…!! Much…!! Power!!!” Before she could continue singing that goddess praises, the goddess herself walked up to her and lifted her by the hair. “Veronica, heh?” She asked, sliding her fingers unceremoniously into her cunt.

My poor friend exploded!

“NO!! PLEASE!!!” Waves of electricity seized her body! Her muscles boomed and throbbed, then her limbs were wailing all around, screams of painful ecstasy being shouted while her tits lactated and her cunt gushed like a firehose. “NOOO!!!” I could feel the intensity of her orgasm like someone standing feeling the burn of a desert sun in every inch of the skin. “NAAAH!!!” The goddess didn’t even “finger” her; she just stuck the fingers in and out, ripping her panties away and taking great care to not touch anything else inside her. It was a mere bland penetration; an act so simple, so puerile, yet with results so utterly devastating it demonstrated just how far above us that African stood in terms of physicality and sexual potency.

“B-by god!!” I gulped, looking at her with a terrified expression. Whatever bravery or audacity I had was terminated by the simple in-and-out motion of her rigid fingers inside Veronica’s cunt: she moved them in, she penetrated her, and then…

Gushes!! Gushes and squirts and hoses of girl cum, all accompanied by the most exasperating screams any woman could ever shout. Veronica begged for mercy, yet her legs were spread even wider, repelled by some unseen force, her very muscles wanting to open her up to those fingers like a suicidal prey on a lion’s mouth. “AAAAHH!!!” Her tears! Her face! Her squirting cunt, her lactating tits, her shivering, swelling muscles… god! Those were orgasms I’d never seen before!

My knees trembled, my body wanting to fall and kneel to her. «Why do I even…?» Before hopelessness, though, could completely take over me, the African moved her fingers back and tossed Veronica away like a ragdoll, having her fall well over fifteen feet ahead, crashing on the ground like the wet mess of flesh and cum that she was. “Now,” she turned around, “you.” She grabbed my hair and I tried to resist, yet her strength was godly, and I was nothing but a mere human. In the blink of an eye, *vush!*, my 600-pound muscle Amazonian body was hurled in the air like a piece of plastic, and I fell over Veronica before she even had a chance to recover. *Boom!* When our two bodies collided, the ground beneath us cracked. My body pushed hers several feet away, and the cracks followed us until we stopped sliding and rolling on the ground.

As we recovered, we were dripping in girl-cum. “Jesus… Fuck!!” Every muscle in me was sore, and Veronica too felt the same.

“I-It’s like…!” She whimpered, curling in a fetal position on the ground. “Fuck!! I’m cramping!”

The effects of all our effort finally got to us. It was a delayed response, yet that didn’t make it any less painful. “Fuck!!” I bit my lips and raised my head, trying to get a hold on all the pain, but my muscles were swelling and bursting in several points of my body, like literal bombs were exploding under my skin, and for a moment, tearing up and crying in pain, I really felt that was my end, with all of my fibers about to explode in a bloody mess.

“You two are good ones.” Behind us, the giantess stepped forward. *Boom! Boom! Boom!* Every step carried an explosion with it, and the ground cracked beneath her feet. Goddess! It was only now that we realized that such monster woman was actually hiding all of her power, the slivers of which finally began to reveal themselves to us. Her jeans were tearing up and her muscles were swelling, her majestic physique booming easily to over seven feet and eight inches, her arms growing so swollen and hard it was a little uncanny that they were still able to move at all!

That monstrosity of a dark-skinned woman made her way to us with power and authority, savoring the moment before her banquet, her feast upon our bodies. “Not the best, but certainly good ones. The finest bodies this continent can offer, and easily better than even the mightiest warriors back there in Africa. Honestly, I’m being a little harsh with you two.” She stopped, and her smile grew more honest and friendly. “Out of all human beings on Earth, only my father and my mother are mightier than you.” She flexed her arms, but I think that wasn’t intentional. The two biceps just bulged, with the rest of her body following in waves of contractions and thickening of its veins. “Delicious Western whores! I’m way stronger than my mother, but my daddy, no matter how old he gets, is still the mightiest bull on the planet. It’s from his seed that I came, and it’s with my seed that I’ll make you cum!” She licked her engorging right biceps, wrapping her tongue around the entire muscle, revealing to us, so facetious, all the inches of her monstrous snake, with pints of saliva dripping on the ground.

“Veronica!” I managed to command without a studder. “On your feet!”


I was so fucking tired of that weakling! I grabbed her by the air and slapped her so many times and so hard that little shockwaves made the dust swirl around us. Little pebbles on the ground were pushed away, and my friend was left in a dizzy, frenzied state when I stopped smacking her face and almost screamed right in her nose: “you fucking, pathetic blonde! What worth are you if I’m the one doing of all the job here?!”


When I saw her tearing up, I kissed her. Just like that, no doubt in my mind, just pulling her face to me and sliding my god-forsaken tongue deep into her throat, making all the pain disappear with that soul-sucking kiss. The first motions of my tongue inside her, as well as the suctions of my lips against her, cleared her mind from any fears and insecurities, and the following powerful movements, with my tongue reaching midway between her mouth and stomach, made her whimper and cum like a little bunny in coitus. She was so cute, yet so fucking arousing! Her squirts splashed against my thighs, building a puddle under our legs.

“You two are so cute together.” The giantess watched us with her hands on her hips, her muscles bulging even without her doing anything.

Sliding my tongue out of my friend, I looked her in the eyes and uttered: “I love you.” I kissed her. “I love as much as a woman can love another.” Her face was filled with kisses. Her lips spent little time dry or alone. “I love you ‘til the end of time, Veronica, and in no corner or the Earth I’ll find a woman as beautiful, as powerful, as determined, and headstrong as you.” I pulled her face closer, touching my forehead on hers. “However, you must not forget who we are.” My face brimmed with fury. “We’re Amazons! We’re strongwomen! We’re muscular Valkyries who extract orgasms from men like kids sucking lollipops, certified skanks who lay hundreds on a daily basis just to kill our boredom! When we’re serious, when we really fuck, damn!, we leave thousands in our wake, and there’s no college fraternity or army battalion, no Wall Street firm or porn studio with enough muscle studs to resist our two raging cunts!” I slid my fingers in her cunt, then my other hand on my own, and we both moaned as I struck us both with smaller, more controlled orgasms. “We’re fucking goddesses!! And she…!” I took my hand from her and pointed to the African bitch, my fingers dripping with her juices. “She’s a fucking usurper! A contender, a muscle wannabe! We cannot fall so easily to the influence of this damned foreigner, not when we have such reputation to maintain!”

I stood up. Despite our shameful humiliation in the hands of that African, I felt energized. Hopeful. I felt a coolness and calmness I hadn’t felt even while training hard for this day, and maybe that’s because, unwillingly or not, that African skank had awaken in us a monster long dormant.

I flexed my muscles and felt the power surge all over me. The ground cracked beneath me, and my body sank on it as the muscles just kept hardening and growing. Their size, already massive, didn’t increase nearly as much as their mass, turning denser than iron, each of my biceps easily heavier than the heaviest bowling ball. «Jesus fucking…!!» I almost came. «Damn!!» My panties and my bra were the last pieces of clothing remaining in me; they snapped like any over-stretched elastic would: *snap!!* Their pieces flew up to the ceiling, some of them even flying over a hundred feet and disappearing in the horizon, far beyond the shattered windows of the palace. My body was now free, my nakedness pure and perfect as a primordial human, and as I processed all that energy that still swelled inside me, making every muscle bulge and rumble like pieces of iron trembling very hard, I turned to the African whore, addressing both her and Veronica with my mighty words:

“We’re the strongest women in America. We’re the sole goddesses of this planet!” I flexed my muscles, and the ground sank under me me. “Our power has no match in the universe! So stand up, Veronica, and let’s show this goddamned cunt just what we are capable off!” As I turned to face that skank upfront, I breathed massive clouds of steam through my nose, and my feet ended up burned by their heat and intensity. “Urgh!!” My face was pure fury. My power… no one could deny it had endless potential for growth. “Let’s end this fucking bitch!!”

Making her monstrous shoulders, triceps, and biceps swell even more, the African clapped for us. First slowly, then faster, then so hard every clap was like a thunder, making the cracks everywhere thicker. “Very good! Oh, very good, my American girls. Oh, the speeches! It’s just like in the movies!” She laughed. “In this little game of ours, you already made me unleash half a per cent of my power, so I commend you for that.” Something seemed to seize her, however, as she looked down and grunted, like an invisible force has snatched her by every limb and restrained her, with her incredible muscles looking more impossibly ripped than they already were.

“Veronica.” I asked my friend, who was finally getting on her feet. “Do you see that?”

“Uh!” She muttered, staying just a few inches behind me for protection. “It’s her aura. It’s…” She gulped. “It’s growing around her! It’s like a literal force field around her muscles. Oh, god!”

Her muscles boomed and swooned, and massive shockwaves pushed our bodies a few inches back, creating further cracks on the ground. Just like we had experienced our cramps, the monstress seemed to be experiencing her own, though pleasure and power were the only things coursing through her muscles, not a drop of pain in sight. “You fucking cunts.” She grunted, steam coming liberally through her nostrils. “You have no idea…”

While our muscular contractions had always waved from our crotches to the rest of our bodies, hers now were the inverse: the rippling waves of her muscle fibers arose on her limbs and met in the crotch, where the insane bulge was growing and hardening, tearing through her jeans fiber by fiber. Those trousers were apparently made of an infinitely dense material, because even with all the pressure inside them they still refused to give in.

It was just a matter of time, however, until the truth was revealed: looking up again to us and smiling like the demoness she knew she was, the African had apparently come to terms with her own power, finally agreeing to let it all out.

“Behold… the penis of a goddess!” With louder thuds and growing earthquakes, her jeans snapped, unraveled, exploded, revealing inch after monstrous inch of the insane, bull-sized endowment they had concealed from us for so long.

Veronica and I gulped as the floor trembled around us and the cracks grew all over the sumptuous palace. Though the jeans of the African goddess had already begun to tear up, she wasn’t exerting any effort while looking at us with her hungry eyes. Then, after taking a short, casual breath… she flexed!

*Boom!!* I stepped back, trying to calm my heart down as all of the muscles of that incredible goddess swelled and her tits grew to inhumane proportions. Her height, already towering, increased even further as the veins multiplied just as much as her abs, sporting now a mindboggling 12-pack in her belly. The energy and pressure inside her vast musculature could be compared only to a nuclear powerplant, yet still her face was calm and soothing, like that was really no big deal for her, nothing but her morning beauty routine.

“H-Heather…!” Veronica sweated coldly, though her newfound confidence allowed her to stand tall—though shivering—by my side.

“Yeah, I see it.” I tried not to move away from the goddess, but the heat…! Shit! The heat from her body was like a sun being born right in front of us! Her veins turned out to be much more impressive than even her staggering muscles, for even at that distance, so many feet apart, we could see those vast ducts throbbing and bulging like hearts, pumping gallons of blood into the prized asset between her legs—and the monster, oh, could barely wait to break free from those earthly constraints. «Jesus fucking Christ!» I thought, gulping as I struggled to keep myself still, without shaking. «What are those jeans made off?!»

Little by little, one by one, with stretching and tearing noises echoing all over the mansion, pieces of her jeans either snapped away or fell on the floor, revealing inch after maddening inch of the anaconda beast they hid within. As hard as her muscles grew, though, it still looked it would take a hell-lotta time for the monster to be released; after all, there were so many inches to it!

Our eyes savored the slow, artful reveal of the beast. Our pussies were so swollen we looked like female animals in heat displaying our aroused, engorged sexes to a prospective male to breed us. Well, to be honest, reality wasn’t much different than that: she was a monster who was going to breed us time and time again (and time and time again once more), until we could no longer breath, until every orifice of our bodies was oozing with her virile seed, but at the time, well, we still didn’t know that—or rather, we outright refused to admit it.

I refused to admit it.

As time went on, though, my tough façade became increasingly difficult, nay, impossible to maintain: as the jeans unraveled, one massive testicle fell from them, dangling at about the midpoint between the goddess’s crotch and her knees. The height of that dangling test was all the more impressive considering its impossible size. “Fuck!!” I muttered, covering my mouth and looking at that ball swell.

“Fuck!!” Veronica followed me, now shaking from head to boots. “H-Heather! That thing… it is…!”

Yes, it was. It was the biggest, fattest, heaviest-looking testicle we’d ever had the honor to lay our eyes upon. An Ostrich egg could scarcely begin to compare to the monstrosity of that lively ball now throbbing between the goddess’s thighs. The beast was swelling with semen, throbbing and bulging at every second as gallons and more gallons of virile seed were pumped into her system. Soon, the tearing noises became ear-splitting, and the second ball fell down to make its sister company.

I can’t deny it: the sight of that masculine pair was the most arousing shit I’d seen in my life. The massive, multiple orgasms I was holding back since making out with that goddess now finally began to show their faces, slipping through my engorged labia like powerful, yet still contained squirts: *squish! Squish! Squiiish!* I yelped. I cried. A lonely tear fell down my cheek. I was hyperventilating, and one my one my limbs began to quiver—though not nearly to the (shameful) degree of my friend Veronica. «Holy fucking hell! Keep it together, Heather!» My arms were trembling much more than my legs, and in an instinctive reaction I glued then to the sides of my body, making my titanic breasts engorge and squirt a few strands of milk through their steel-hard nipples, which unfortunately added even more power to my barely-hidden orgasms. “Fuck!!” I let steam out through my nostrils, feeling my heart hurt and my sight blur as the shape and the size and the power of those testicles dangled so close, yet so far from me.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy fucking shit! I was expecting bull balls out of that woman, yes, but that was fucking ridiculous! «Impossible! This…!!» Despite all my rage, I licked my lips. «This is simply impossible! Oh!!» Those eggs were quite literally as big as ostrich ones. Okay, maybe a little smaller, but still so big I was sure both of my hands could hardly hold a single one—if even half of it! «Fuck!!» Seeing those engorged cum tanks struck me on a deep, personal level. Out of all things I loved in a man, the testicles were easily my favorite, supplanting even the cock itself. Sure, many men had donkey dicks to fall for, but without big, massive testicles to back them, pff!, was it even worth calling him a man at all?

As the giantess kept adding veins to her body and pounds to her muscles, our eyes silently met. Her grim told me everything: she could read my fucking mind. «I know you love big balls, my dear, that’s why I’m revealing my eggs first.» Her incredibly full, luscious lips moved forward, puckering maybe in a tiny, discreet kiss for me. «But I’m not going to give you the big, fat balls you’re used to with all your exes and past studs. No.» Her muscles roared and boomed even harder, with the ground cracking further beneath her feet. «I’m not going to give you big balls. I’m going to give you monster balls!» Her testicles swelled accordingly, adding buckets of thick, boiling seed into her system.

I almost came again. “Aah…!!” I lost my balance and almost fell over, but thankfully my legs readjusted so as to give me support. My sight was very blurry, like something in my brain was about to explode, but that massive pair of elephant balls always remained crystal clear, slowly dominating anything and everything in my mind and soul. «I can’t believe it!» My fingers… fuck!! They were desperate to venture inside my cunt and drill thousands upon thousands of orgasms from it! «I can’t believe it!» My eyes, so many tears! «I can’t believe I can actually hear the spunk soaring inside them!»

Indeed, that was the reason for my near madness: not the sight, not the power, but rather the sound of those massive balls. In a way, the sound mirrored its power: it was deep, groveling pump that followed every powerful throb of the balls, and then a slow, grave sizzling of the cum coursing inside her cuts. It was like very thick marmalade or, actually, magma running around those balls; a slow, heavy, gooey sound only a very heavy, hot, and abundant liquid can produce.

Sticking my tongue out, I panted like a dog. Veronica was completely entranced by those balls, even more so than I was, staring at those jewels like her mind had been totally gone. If those balls were the only thing we’d ever seen in our lives, fuck, we’d already have plenty of pornographic material to jerk off to, but that tasty sight was only the beginning of it, with the best still about to be revealed.

“I think that’s enough teasing for today, right?” The African spoke with a strange, rather friendly Welsh accent. “Time to give ya what you really came here for.” Then, closing her fists, raising her arms, and taking a deeper breath, then goddess flexed hard again, this time showing some kind of effort through her serious, compenetrated face, and her muscles tore through her jeans completely, making the cloth fly away to all directions, some strands even hitting—but not injuring—our own big, muscular bodies.

Then we saw… we felt… *CLAP!!!* The impact of that thing on her abs made the entire place shake! For every time that goddess moved, damn it, it seemed that an earthquake had just struck us. The reveal of that monster, however, was something else entirely: as her jean was torn apart, her penis rose in a split second, so hard and powerful that it could only stand perfectly upright in her body, hitting her abs with such force as to throw her back a little. When her feet touched the ground again… *BOOM!!* Veronica and I had to struggled so as not to fall, and the cracks—which by that time had grown to every corner and surface of the walls, floor, and ceiling all around us—grew deeper, wider, and more numerous with the impact. The goddess wasn’t even sweating—ha, ha! Not even close!—yet the power she displayed was a force of nature, easily superior to the total energy of any natural disaster known to man.

Then, there was that thing. Her cock. That fucking monster cock! “Oh, my god!!!” The thing… the beast… the fucking, outrageous monster… Jesus Christ, I’m cumming! Ooh!! Fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just that… oh, Jesus… fuck!!

*A few minutes later*

Okay, dear reader, sorry for that. This is the one and only time I will address you directly, ‘cause… goddamn! Fuck! Her monster cock, like, the mere memory of it… ah, fuck, here we go again! Aaah!!! Fuck, fuck, fuck…!!

*A few more minutes later*

I’m so, so sorry for that. If you could see my state, I bet you’d take pity on me. Mmph! I hate that. Sadly, that’s the only way to react when one remembers that monster phallus the impossible woman carried between her thighs. Her cock was so splendid, so massive that… fuck, I came again. Just squirts, you now, gushing all the time out of my cunt. I’ll need a literal mop to clean my fucking place. Shit! If carrying her five babies on my belly wasn’t already enough, having to clean up my mess every time after I’m reminded of her… oh, fuck. I think you understand it, right? Please, let’s go back to the story. I will try and, mm, *clears throat*, to be as professional a narrator as possible.

Her cock stood completely upright, forcing itself against her abs. Its swollen, throbbing helmet, puking precum at every second, rested between her titanic breasts, not exactly penetrating them, but forcing itself just a few inches into their valley. The precum gushed from the enormous urethra like a fountain of virile goo, covering the rest of the cock in an impossibly clean and shiny sheet of lubricants. When the drops hit the ground—fat, heavy pellets of lubricant—we could hear the grave thuds of the impact, as well as see a huge puddle of masculine essence growing between her feet.

Veronica fell on her knees besides me, but I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back up. “Resist, Vivi, resist!” My eyes, however, were just as frozen on that genital as hers were. I tried to turn my head around, but couldn’t. It was like a magnetic force pushing my face to that splendid cum dumper, no matter what direction I tried to turn it to.

“Curious to know how big it is?” The goddess rested her hands besides her cock, spreading her fingers wide to give us a sense of the insane scale of that sexual leviathan. “Everyone asks this. It’s the first question that comes out of their mouths. Most of the times, it’s the only question.” Her eyes. That evil glimmer! “They can’t say or do much else after I’m through with them.”

The beast throbbed in all its maddening length. Inches upon inches of thick, virile meat just throbbing with enough life as to scare away even an angry bull or domineering stallion. The cock and balls moved in tandem, the massive orbs swelling when the cock contracted, then shrinking as the cock burst into a prideful expansion. *Goorsh!* The ejection of precum, those virile and steamy eruptions, was sometimes strong enough to pierce her boobs and hit the African in the chin. “Ahee!” She whimpered, uncharacteristically delicate and lady-like, as the top of her breasts was covered by an inch-thick layer of transparent good.

She sank one hand into the virile pool, then lifted it up to show us the viscosity of her liquid. “My seed is delicious, you know.” She stuck out her tongue. “Sometimes I just… mm!” She began to suck and lap on that steamy broth. “Oh, goodness! This is what the Greeks would call ambrosia, I guess.” With her other hand, she oiled her muscles with the thick cream, all while the cock was producing more and more loads of it. She seemed to be in full control of that penis, as it began to produce noticeably larger and stronger loads of precum. Her balls pumped juice now twice as hard, their swelling making them both jump like springboards in her rigid sack.

Never breaking eye contact with us, she kept talking in between suctions: “my lubes are as sweet as honey, with taste of wild berries and a bit of oranges. Sometimes, you can taste an entire forest in my juice, and that’s no surprise, right, given how wild my member is.” She pointed down, and the balls throbbed much harder once I looked at them. “Aren’t you curious about my dick? Are Man-Women common in your land? Or, as you would call them: futas?”

Hell, if I wasn’t trying my damn hardest not to fall apart! My body still stood, though my limbs were all now shaking. I wouldn’t manage to get any better control of myself that day after that point. In fact, it’d be all downhill from there. “Y-your cock does not matter. Only how well you yield it!”

The goddess tilted her head, making a cynical, mocking face. She didn’t even try to laugh off my concern, so pathetic it sounded to her ears. “Please, Heather.” She raised her dripping hand to me. “If I snap these fingers, I’ll have you on your knees, almost squirting for me.” Her thumb trembled, and then my legs… they trembled too! “Can you drop the act just for a bit? I know you’ll have nothing else in your mind but my cock… forever! The least you could do is try to gather a little more information about it before, you know, it ruins every orifice of your body and leaves you leaking semen for a whole year.” She pressed her thumb against her middle finger, threatening to undo me. “Your friend Veronica, I see, is much more honest about her feelings.”

“She’s weak.”

“Maybe, but she’d be enjoying herself far too much for that to matter. It’s not weakness, you see, but the will to submit.” With her left hand, she stroked her pole. Fuck! The beast was so wide her enormous hand covered little above half its girth. “There is nothing more delicious for a muscle woman like her—like you!—to submit to a superior specimen.” Every muscle in her swelled and rumbled. “A perfect being. A goddess. The most physically, mentally, spiritually, sexually superior animal in all the planet.”

“Fuck. You arrogant…!”

“Arrogance?” Her muscle throbbed again. “Would you call it arrogance to state the obvious?” She threatened me with her fingers again. “With the snap of these, I’ll have you on the floor. With a single word, I will have you gushing gallons, so don’t come at me with this pretension of humility, you American cunt, with this insistence of saying you have the slightest chance against me.” Her ears spiked, like she could hear my heart throbbing harder or the hairs on my skin stiffening with arousal. “The things I will do to you… oh, god! You will wish you’d never been laid by any other man or woman on Earth, for once my powerful semen fills your wombs, oh!, then you will know what true blessing really is. To be bred by a goddess! To carry the load of a perfect human, to be the bearers of humanity’s evolution!” Her cock gushed the biggest load of precum yet, bathing her face and drenching her hair, yet prompting no change in her confidence, glistening smile. “So, little one… do you understand, now, the difference between us, or do you still want to pretend you can hold a candle next to me?” Her posture relaxed just a bit. “It’s fine by me, you know, whatever way. The longer you hold on to your pride, though, the quicker you will fall.” She pointed to my right, to Veronica, whom I was still holding, the poor woman being speechless and utterly demoralized. “I will fuck her first. Veronica!”

She stood up, her whole being reenergized, looking at the African with a stupid smile in her face. “M-my q-queen?”

The African laughed, her booming jester making the palace rumble. “Yes, my beautiful American acolyte, I will fuck you hard and good to warmup my cock. I will use you to show your arrogant friend how submission is much better for your pleasure and your endurance. Your friend, so tall and muscular, thinks that by resisting me she will somehow outlast me?” She shook her head emphatically and dramatically. “Oh, please! She’ll be unconscious in thirty minutes if she keeps up this stupid behavior.”

“Aarh, fine!” I sneered. “How big is this cock, anyway?”

“Are you attracted by it?”

“Yes.” I blurted out, and my body suddenly… got calm. Peaceful. Cooler. The trembling stopped and the arousal… it got a little more under control, though I still could feel the immense pressure built between my legs. “Fuck. Fucking shit.” I blinked slow and hard. Damn it. I felt tears pressing against the back of my eyes, the urge of kneeling before her and offering my wet cunt for her taking being all-encompassing and nigh-irresistible. “I am… incredibly attracted by that filthy cock.” I bit my lips. “In fact, I’d do… anything… for it. Anything.” My lips were drooling, and my mouth moved by itself. “It’s the biggest, most beautiful cock I’d ever seen. I just… I have no words for its greatness. You have a cock superior to any stallion or bull on Earth, and I don’t doubt that those two balls of yours pack enough semen to back up its supreme length and girth.”

“Oh, honey, it packs way more semen than that, I can assure you.” She flexed her chest, making her breasts jump and stimulate the bowling-ball-sized head lodged between them. “I can cum a small sample of a few gallons right here, right now, just so you can see what real semen looks like.”

“No. N-not yet.” I clutched my fists. “First, tell us: who the fuck are you?! How the fuck are you even possible?! And…” I licked my lips. “Fucking hell! How big is that monster dick of yours, anyway?”

Adopting a more casual posture, the goddess let her cock rest. The beats throbbed less strongly and frequently while she spoke: “well, let me see… quick answers first: my cock is twenty-five inches like this, fully aroused, but it can grow yet even bigger if I’m really serious at fucking.” Her eyes, once again, that demonic gleam to them! “I don’t believe you can yet take it, but I know you’re the only ones in this continent with the potential to. It’s going to be a bliss training your bodies to take on my full-blown hardness, which can easily surpass thirty inches when I’m over eight feet tall.” I gulped. “I know what you’re thinking.” She said, and a cold feeling crawled over my spine. “I know what you’re feeling too: this cold in our spine.”

The lips in my pussy hardened. A small orgasm struck me. I moaned: “ooh!” She smirked in approval, loving to see me react just as she intended too. “Good girl. Why don’t you cum for me again, nice and hot?”

“Fuck!” Before I even tried to resist… god! Another orgasm! My labia trembled and shivered like a rattlesnake’s tail, and the squirt was only barely held back by my force of will. My knees hit each other, my legs almost giving in, and all my strength and self-control had a real toll as I stood with a frozen, horrified expression, feeling all the breath having been sucked away from me in an instant.

By my side, *boom!*, Veronica fell on her knees and began to frig herself. Fingers on the pussy, gushes galore: *splash! Splash! Splash!* Her cunt was a hose of squirts on the ground, so hard and pressurized I guess they would tear a skin open. “V-Veronica, you c-”

“Be quiet, Heather.” The African commanded, and then turned to “Veronica, my love, I command you to stop cumming.”

“B-but, m-my queen…!!”

Her eyes turned leonine, truly fiery and beast-like. “Now.” Just like that, like magic, Veronica’s pussy was sealed, and she panted loudly, as if experiencing an indescribable elation. Further finger snaps were heard, with the African now commanding: “rise up, my beautiful blonde. I have great plans for your body, and I don’t want it worn out before I get to plow it with my cock.”

“God!” She whimpered, and obediently (if shakily) stood up. “Y-yes, my queen!”

Her mind was completely gone. Mmph! So much for a help in that sexual fight. «Guess I’ll have to take down this bitch all by mys-»

“If you’re still deluding yourself, dear Heather, about your ability to take me down alone, well, I do admire your persistence, even if it is a foolish one.” She smiled. “I guess it’s an American trait, isn’t it, the perseverance and hope even against impossible odds?” She casually, even effortlessly flexed her muscles, and her body boomed with the power of a race car, growing in size and cracking the ground around her. She was so fucking beautiful, yet massive as a mountain! “I know, I know. Isn’t my form perfect?” She moved her hands along her curvaceous silhouette. “My form is so feminine, like a supermodel, but my muscles are of iron, my body twice as massive as the world’s biggest bodybuilder, and my weight at least twelve times that!”

“Y-you’re…?” I tried to ask, but the dryness in my throat, as well as the snapping of her fingers, shut me up like a…

“Good little puppy.” Her smirk. Goddamn, that smile! Her confidence was just “endless, I know. I am a goddess. Not a metaphorical one, but a literal one.” She flexed her right biceps, making that monster muscle swell like a whole world in and off itself. “Look at it, my baby, and despair. Can you see the fibers rippling? The blood coursing inside the many veins? Let me get it even more ripped, if these things are not yet obvious to you.” After a delicate, sensual breath, she made the biceps swell a little more, yet get insanely more ripped, with the veins swelling and throbbing to the dozens, and the fibers being so obvious I could count the sets of dozens for every inch of girth in her arm. “That’s more like it. My arm, right now, has the mass of a whole, muscular man, and the strength to… well.” She looked to a wall on her right. “Instead of telling, why don’t I show it?”

She walked to the wall. Cracks were formed on the ground as she stepped. Her muscles rippled, her legs swelled, and her massive ass hypnotized me with its almost inconceivable shape and hardness—nothing short of the world’s most perfect ass!

Once getting in reach of the wall, she punched it. *CRASH!!* We almost fell over as the room trembled and the wall was shattered around her fist, dust rising everywhere, pebbles kicking on the ground, a real mess forming until it all settled and revealed to us a four-feet-wide hole on the wall.

Our jaws were dropped. It’s not that we doubted she had the strength to do that—oh, come on! After all that has happened, how could we? What was scary was the ease in her action! Like… come fucking on! She didn’t even blink while punching the thing! She didn’t pull her arm too far back nor even panted as her fist landed on the stone! She just… flicked it, almost! A simple laying of her fists on the stone, and then *bam!*, hole on the wall!

She turned to me, shaking her fists, seeing the dust and the rubble as nothing but a nuisance. “Damn, I don’t like getting this dirty before fucking your brains out. Anyway, I guess you’ve seen it, right?” She pointed down, to the ground. “I would like to tear up a meteor crater on this floor, destroy this entire fucking mansion with a punch, but I guess this little demonstration is enough for now.” Without realizing, again, totally unconscious, she made her muscles swell, her height increase, and the arteries inflate and multiply all over her envious musculature. “Oh, god, I wish I could take you to the great highlands of Africa, where the surface is hard and the space is free and empty. I fuck craters out of mountains with the bodies of my lovers.” She winked. “Very hard to find people who can survive me. With you two, we’re going to wreck so many mountains!” I gulped. My body was much cooler and controlled, as if the intimacy between as both… “You’re wondering how all of this can be possible, right?”

I stepped back. “How do you read my mind?”

“I told you.” She pointed to herself, her biceps swelling beautifully, her abs multiplying to over a dozen. “I’m a goddess.”


“Only if you compare me to your Western gods, like that pussy Christian one, but I’m not interested in these Eunuch, virgin gods of yours, with all their talk of chastity and what-not.” Clicking her tongue, she gave her lips on good, long licking and sucking. “Think of me more of a Greek demigoddess: I’m the daughter of superior beings, carrying superior blood, superior genes on my body.” Her muscles swelled in sequence, one growing and hardening after the other in a rippling wave of power across her. “To compare me to a normal human is to compare said human to a bird: all I need to crush one…” She raised her arm, “is a strong grip!

Upon saying that, she clutched her fist, and the whole place just went… *boom!* A literal shockwave emanated from her fist. My pussy hardened and clutched apparently just as hard, with my juices piling inside of me, like a balloon ready to burst. «Daaaamn!» Whenever I wiggled my hips, I literally felt my juices of arousal shaking inside of me, drowning even my womb.

She continued. “I’m the result of millennia of breeding between the most perfect beings on Earth. Unlike all other humans, who became weak as they abandoned the wild, my clan—my family!—made sure to preserve all the muscles and the power that linked us to the stronger primate, and then to perfect it.” She flexed beautifully and hard, taking pleasure on every delicate, elaborate pose she assumed. “Hundreds of thousands of years ago, when my forefathers foresaw the sad, pathetic fate the rest of humanity was choosing, they made the conscious choice to only mate with the strongest, smartest, most beautiful creatures on Earth, even if that meant the greater risk of never meeting your partners and leading your bloodline to extinction.” She flexed again, smiling as she felt her buttocks rise and harden like boulders, and her legs swell like veritable tree trunks. “Glad they never ran out of pussy to breed, nor cocks to milk. Even back then, when we were at our weakest, a single of my forefathers could still defeat twenty hyper-muscular, hyper-hung warriors in battle, and then take their wives with all the energy left and breed them for days on end. Those were the weakest ones, of course.” Flexing and showing me her marvelous back, which was a Roman mural on to itself, she threw me a wry, lustful look. “Today, we’re as close as ever to perfection. To muscular deityhood!”

She moaned. The power for a moment felt too great for even her to hold back: her muscles hardened so fast and so powerfully they boomed like drums, and a literal crater formed under her body, making her sink a few feet before she could control her body. Like, she literally shooshed it into obedience: “shh, shh, my muscles. You’ll get your change to feed.” Then she looked at me, walking out of the crater and standing on a mighty pose. “I know you wish to defeat me, but there’s no purity in your blood to allow that. To you, defeating me is as impossible as a weak man beating a pride of lions all by himself. You’re defeated before you even started, though that doesn’t mean you’re weak or undesirable. Quite the opposite.” She stretched her arms forward and crackled her fingers. Again, her beautiful muscles swelled all over those outrageously thick limbs. “Inbreeding is not too common in my family, at least not on a kinship any closer to second-degree cousins.” Her eyes glimmered. “I’ve already fucked all of my female cousins, with whom I bred over twelve strong successor for my bloodline, but the hunt for perfect bodies and perfect blood never ends. I know, instinctively…”


She raised her head, looking so high and mighty to me. “Is there anything you want to say… insect?”

 “H-how…” My throat was so fucking dry. “H-how did you breed… so many offspring… if you’re just eighteen…?” Right in the middle of my question, I stopped asking it. Of course! I realized very soon that, for a superior being like her…

“Indeed, my beautiful Heather.” She gave one step closer. *Crack!* The floor sank under her feet. “You realize it already, don’t you? A woman like me… so powerful…” She flexed her muscles, taking incredible joy from every slightest gesture, “so brimming with strength… perfect in every way…” Her muscles danced, they swelled, beauty incarnate, a testament to utmost potential of all living beings. “A woman like me would never be chained by petty morals or human beliefs, right? There’s no law that can hold me back, no moral that can contain my fire. I am the law. I am the moral. The moral of the absolute perfection.” She flexed her abs, and each muscle boomed with power. She was a living sculpture, both fleshly and untouchable. “I fucked my first harem of men at the age of eleven. My fire was too great back then for even my tutors to contain it. If you’re worried about a ‘little, helpless child getting banged and abused,’ oh, please, don’t be: first, it was I, naturally, who did all the banging—day in, day out, several times consecutively, until all the eighteen guys I banged were fallen immobile on the ground, shaking and shivering under the countless orgasms I’d given them. They were the mightiest warriors of my palace, beasts as tall as seven feet, muscle studs no lighter than three hundred pounds each, and by the age of eleven I took them all ruthlessly, mercilessly, cumming inside them what would today, sure, be nothing but a trickle. Still, it was enough to fill their asses and their bellies, as well as their mouths and their nostrils, with whale-like amounts of seed.” Another step. *Crack* The ground just couldn’t stand her superior weight. Her smile was delirious, savoring our bodies before laying a hand on them. “Also, I was no child. Yes, I was eleven years old, but my body was about, mm, sixty per cent of yours. I was six-feet tall and weighed over two hundred pounds, with a six-pack and massive breasts and butt to boot.” She flexed her buttocks, and shockwaves literally made cracks on the walls behind her. “My dick was small. No more than ten inches flaccid, fifteen inches hard back them, but it was still enough dick to have those studs screaming on pain, pleasure, and agony, and stretch their anuses so wide that you could stick a fist inside them without even touching their flesh.” She laughed maniacally, her muscles throbbing at every breath she took. Her breasts…! Damn, how they swelled! They inflated and hardened like muscles, with threads of milk being spilt from their steel-hard nipples. Once she looked at us again, oh!, our pussies squished, out juices almost burned us. “Back then, my balls were so little! They were like oranges, not these potent bowling balls I carry between me legs.” She held one of the massive testicles, and you could really hear her fingers sinking into the cream inside it as she lifted it out. “Mm, delicious! I’m so full of spunk!” She looked at us. “Back then, I could only fill a bathtub with my seed. Really, I started growing a dick by the age of six, which was also when I started nutting. Even by our standards, oh, a woman shouldn’t start fucking so young, yet the consequence of these antiquated rules was that I masturbated like crazy, gushing cream all over the walls and the ceiling, already feeling so potent and mighty by the power of my seed. My first nut was enough to fill the biggest bottle of Coke you have. One year later, I was cumming literal buckets for every jerk off. Even my parents were astounded by my precociousness: by the age of ten, I filled my first full bathtub with semen. By the age of thirteen, my first swimming pool.” Rippling waves of muscular power sprawled over her body. “I sure used all the seed in my stock to breed those beautiful males, and after that no power in my kingdom opposed to me fucking indiscriminately, sleeping with whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted.” Her smile… could it grow any larger? “I already had five hundred kids before I turned sixteen. My cousins and my lovers, all the largest and most beautiful specimens I could get my cock into, they turned into breeding stocks for my raging seed, giving birth to as many children as their mighty bodies could withstand.” Again, another step. An earthquake. The whole world shuttered under her presence. “I gave them twins, tripplets, and quadruplets every time. There’s no way a seed as powerful as mine can breed just one kid per womb” She grabbed both balls with her hands, and then she took a deep breath, rolling her eyes, being struck with the ecstatic realization of her sexual supremacy. “Damn, am I hot! My cock is almost leaking! Look at it!” We did, and from the enormous opening of its urethra we saw… *sblorsh!* The heaviest, thickest droplet of cum splash on the ground. “Fuck! I’m just so loaded! Haven’t been fucking for more than twelve hours. After so much time, I’m shooting gallons like a teenage girl first discovering dick. Absolutely pathetic.” Still, she managed to hold back all the semen, making us suck and smack our lips as we could literally see the bulge of her penis decreasing as the jizz made its way back into her balls, which grew just a little bigger and rumbled like two powerful cruise engines. “Fuck!” Steam came out of her mouth. “When a woman is just too perfect, the masculine power in her veins transforms her body. Some scientists in my land really theorize that’s the reason why hermaphrodites exist: the body must accommodate its masculine power! It’s inevitable!” Flexing her arms, she watched the veins inflate all over. “The intense muscular power bursts through our vaginas, for our bodies are not meant to only be impregnated, but also to impregnate. We’re transformed into living missiles of cum. Living, breathing sex machines with the sole purpose of inseminating and fecundating every fertile creature of Earth, regardless of its sex. Indeed, I can’t see a gushy hole without thinking of ramming my cock into it. Trying to hold back my bestiality is a real struggle, you see. Thankfully, most horses and bulls, even elephants run away from me in fear, for they know they can’t take a cock like mine.” She chuckled. How deep and masculine were her sounds, almost like grows of a beast locked up inside her breast. “Men will do, of course. Women are great, but finding one that can resist my cock is a challenge. Even when I breed them, their uteruses are usually burned to a crisp by the heat and power of my seed. There are many abortions, unfortunately, as well as many women who die during their pregnancies, for their sad, little bodies aren’t fit for carrying my superior genes and my superhuman offspring.” A brief sadness exuded from her. “With the power of my cock and the never-ending luster of my muscles, I unloaded my jizz in over two million wombs and asses, successfully breeding about two hundred thousand of those wombs. By that I mean, those were the women who actually had my children and survived to tell the tale. All in all, I have about eight hundred thousand kids on Earth, ten thousand of which are on a level comparable to mine—the only real, true successors to my perfect bloodline.” She licked her lips. “I don’t like thinking about the scores of women I killed just by breeding them. Sadly, it can’t be helped: my jizz is more powerful than about ninety-nine dot nine percent of mankind, and those who cannot take it, but still desire it are probably going to meet a grizzly end. That’s why I fuck so many men: most of them can’t get pregnant, and they’re way more muscular, way more, well, manly than the girls, so they usually resist the challenge better.”

“Most of th-?”

She raised her finger to her lips. “Shh. Shhh! Quiet, my whore. I’m just about to finish.” She turned her back to us and flexed. The dripping of our pussies turned into a near water tap on the ground. We were panting, gasping, crossing our legs like we were about to piss ourselves, and the heart inside our pelvises was so intense it really made as aware of the presence of our wombs—like, we could literally feel the wombs inside of us, and sense every inch of their surface, all of their shape like we were running our fingers over them. «Jesus…!!» I thought, cumming in my mind. «Christ!»

She chuckled. “Don’t be afraid. Your wombs are producing extra eggs for fertilizing.” She moved one arm to her back and lifted one leg backwards, grabbing it by the ankle and pulling it up, literally stretching like a player before the game. Her muscles cracked like falling trees as they were stretched, tensed, and hardened, the overwhelming intensity in every fiber making us sweat and our hearts pound. “That’s what happens to every creature that lays its eyes on me. It is customary in my kingdom, you now, to get people like us in the presence of couples, even animals who are not very fertile, and after a few hours their fertility levels surpass those of rabbits. One couple, for instance… I remember this one well, for it was the first time I did it! I was only nine years old when the priests led me to their house, and this old couple, both well over forty, had spent an entire life without breeding a single year. No worries: one good look at me and, one year later, the woman had triplets. Not only that, but she kept breeding kids until sadly passing away during childbirth. Not that her bloodline was in any trouble, mind you: she had about twenty kids before kicking the bucket. Her husband, though, is still alive and breeding like crazy: reports say that she’s got his own harem now, which he overbreeds with powerful, healthy offspring, well over sixty kids by this point. Killed a few women himself, that greedy bastard, for even his gonads were kicked into overdrive after simply laying an eye on me. All they needed was just thirty seconds next to me.” She stretched her other leg, her thigh growing to reality-defying proportions. “Thirty seconds, nothing more, and they became two of the most fertile being on Earth after my family. This, indeed, is one of the many royal responsibilities: to ensure the fertility of the general population, even if that means having to spend some time among the commoners—which is a crazy debasing task for a perfect creature like me, you have to understand.” She sighed, standing upright again, flexing her shoulders quickly. “The things us royals do for your subjects!” She turned again to face us. “Of course, perfection has a cost—sometimes, too great a cost, in my opinion.” At every word, at every motion, she flexed her muscles, making a symphony of muscular might with her body. “How often do you two cum with each other?” She smiled. “Oh, I can see it’s a lot, as you seem to vibe so well with one another.”

We both looked at each other and gulped, wondering about what she was planning. “Of course we… we do.” I gulped, finding it increasingly harder to stare at that woman. Was she growing taller? She seemed to be, and the cracks on the ground left no doubt that her muscles were definitely getting heavier and denser.

With a flex of her thighs, she assaulted her palace with more virile shockwaves. “You two are potent mares. Your muscles are extremely beautiful and well-cultivated.” Keeping a good distance from us, she walked in a long circle, inspecting us like cattle. “Beautiful asses, ripped and massive thighs, gorgeous legs, and biceps build like tree trunks. Oh, your form is wonderful, and I don’t doubt you use it to crush many inferior cunts and cocks, don’t you?” She moved her hand along her powerful abs, which were so ripped they looked like a labyrinth of muscles in her belly. The gesture brought her incredible pleasure, as shown through her deeper gasps and frequent grunts, slowly building up to what sounded to be very low-key moans. “Oh, baby! Isn’t it hard? To have such massive, powerful bodies, yet barely be able to ever use them to their fullest? I know it, for I never went there.” She admired the hugeness of her biceps. They were so massive that, along with her incredible breasts, it was hard for her to move her arms lower than a forty-degree angle compared to the rest of her body. “Not with a living person, I mean. Of course I’ve unleashed my full power already, otherwise I wouldn’t be alive—my massive body exploded with the years of pent-up energy, absolutely desperate for the lack of a proper release! Oh, babies, I unleashed my full power, indeed, but not on human beings or animals, which would have all been that at only 40% of me, but on whole mountains and canyons, which I reshaped with my powerful thrusts, crushed with my mighty arms, cracked with my gorgeous… oh!… squirts!”

A very strange sensation struck us. We were simply not used to seeing that woman—always so dominant and supreme—experiencing pleasure like a submissive female, moaning and crossing her legs due to her incredible excitement, which she was doing now. Seeing her eyes rolling and her lips be bitten sure was an interesting sight, yet one which, like everything she did, was charged with a lot of hidden dangers behind it. “Where are you getting at?”

Her smile both warmed us and seized our bodies again. She kept stalking us, cracking the ground with her slow, predatorial walk. “Oh, hasty, aren’t you? Don’t you worry, my babies. Momma Africa will have a lot of milk to feed you hungry pussies.” She giggled, and then she was dead serious again. “What I mean by that is that only powerful people can give pleasure to a woman. Orgasms are born through power—the power of dominance, of physical and psychological strength, if not superiority! This is much truer for us women, who have a special fondness for submission and passivity! We love being dominated, and the sight of a powerful partner makes our cunts wet and our wombs hungry! I can’t speak for you, but I can for me: I love power, and I would love to cum under a powerful dick, but… look at me!” The ground cracked again, as if her aura became something physical, a true force of nature to be reckoned with. “Look! At! Me!” She flexed her muscles, and the shockwaves assailed our bodies. Veronica came. I was on the edge. “I am perfection incarnate! Who the fuck can outfuck me?” She flexed her biceps, which grew and grew and grew and… “Look at my fucking size, my fucking dick, my fucking everything! I’m the pinnacle of human sexuality! No other being can even come close to me! Even my parents, which are capable of outfucking an army of stallions and succubi, tremble before me, openly admitting that ‘never, oh, daughter, in all of our fucking have we ever seen a person half as powerful as you, or even a tenth as virile.” She looked down to her dick, which now was spewing fuckloads of precum in the middle of her tits. She opened her mouth and shot those viscous juices into it, and upon contact with her tongue, oh, we saw the steam rise with a frying sound, as if the heat in her body was just too oppressive.

“H-Heather…!” Veronica cried beside me again. If I wasn’t so entranced by that perfect being before me, I would have rolled my eyes as I answered: “yeah?”

She pointed to the goddess: “I’m feeling my skin burn. Aren’t you?”

Indeed I was. «This fucking… flawless bitch!» Her sexual greatness was so extreme her body was radiating energy like a nuclear power plant, making us very uncomfortable, even hurting whenever she got just one inch closer.

She knew it very well, for we could see it all in her confident, downright-unbearable gaze: “who can ever bring pleasure to me? I tell you: nobody. Nobody! You probably have encountered this problem very often in your lives, where you’re so superior to your partner that you can rarely get off with them. The strongest men are just too weak, and the regular man… oh!” She laughed. “What a fucking joke! If they can just hold off their cum when looking at us, that’s already a major achievement. Lasting over thirty seconds under our bodies is an impossibility, and only a sliver of humanity—made of by the most powerful studs and fertile women—can truly get close to bringing us joy… and ecstasy.” She bit her lower lip, assaulting us with her heat as she drew another step closer. “That’s why you two love each other, don’t you? You two massive, tall, over-muscular American Amazons, with your big butts and your massive tits, your sculptural abs and your powerful legs, your all-in-all tireless energy, getting off exclusively on each other’s marvelous cunts, squirting gallons into each other’s mouths, fecundating each other like only you two powerful creatures can.”

My knees hit one another again, yet my face grew more resolute, my teeth gritted with anger: “what does this have to do with anything?”

The goddess spread out her arms, assaulting us… oh! Fuck!! What a woman! Her form…! Her muscles were more massive and visible than ever! Fuck, what a monument she was! In that revealing, unashamed position, she exposed to us every perfect inch of her godly form. “Everything, my Yankees! It has everything to do with us, for only strong women can get other strong women off… this is why I like you.” She sucked her lower lip. “This is why I have great hopes for you!” With a single hand, she touched her left boob, and it squirted a jet of milk so powerful steam was left on its trail. The thick, semen-like milk splashed near our feet, sprinkling on our bodies.

Veronica couldn’t bear that extra attack of fertility: she came, and her juices further wettened my already so sweaty, steamy body. Truth be told, my cunt was like a partially open tap: the dripping had grown so much it was more like a continuous drool of thick lube on the ground. A huge puddle had formed under out pairs of legs, hers much bigger, of course, than mine—but not for too long, as I soon would (sadly) find out.


The queen raised her finger to her lips again. “I don’t want you to envy, for my perfection really is a curse if my intent was to ever give myself pleasure. I cannot experience pleasure, my darlings—not with another human beings.” Her fingers travelled near her cunt, which was glistening with its first sights of moisture. She sucked her lips and bit them. She was no longer only getting hard; she was finally getting herself aroused! “The heat! The power! Oh, nobody can give me any of this. Only I… I!… can make myself cum. Like this…”

To our surprise, she raised her arms, standing on a T-pose, yet her cunt dripped with impossibly thick juices as she drew a deeper-than-usual breath and… flexed!

It wasn’t an apocalyptic, stone-cracking flex, like most of her flexes were, but a very contained, precise hardening of her thighs. We stood in awe as we watched her inner thighs harden and rumble around her pussy, crushing its engorged, dripping labia, and vibrating on it like two giant machines. Then… came her first orgasm.

“ROOAAARR!!!” The woman wasn’t joking: when she came, she came like a fucking thunderstorm: a fist-sized jet of lubes burst from her cunt, whose lips spread out like they were being penetrated by a donkey dick, and upon impact with the floor, *crack!!*, its stone tiles literally cracked under its intensity. “UUUURRH…!!!” I always thought me and Veronica experienced the strongest, messiest orgasms on Earth, but fuck! We were so, so fucking wrong!

Squatting down slightly, hosing juices on the ground without a pause, the Alpha amazon drew a deep breath and… roared! She roared, oh, god, and the palace shook as her pussy unloaded yet a more massive volume of juices! The tiles on the floor kept cracking, with her juices soon washing to our feet like the waves of the ocean, burning them upon contact. “Aaah!!” Both me and Veronica jumped. The place was soon filled with steam. Those juices were not only voluminous, but hot like magma. It took us both, two powerful, superhuman amazons, a lot of time to get used to those sensual liquids, and once we did, oh!, weird things began to happen in our bodies.

“H-Heather!!” Veronica cried. “H-Heather!” Her pussy began to squirt like mad, and her knees didn’t take much longer to faulter, bringing her entire, massive frame to the ground. Laying her lips on the wet ground, she slobbered on those juices, drinking them like a literal bitch, and soon the squirts of her cunt became even more distracting, hosing out of her womb like firehose. “GOD!!!” She cried, yet kept drinking those juices, giving herself more maddening orgasms the more she filled her body with the African’s nectar.

I looked at that bitch. By god, the pressure inside me! My pussy was partially hosing itself, tiny squirts followed by a continuous drool, and the feeling was akin to holding a yoga ball inside my cunt: unbelievable pressure! Soon, very soon, oh, I would burst. “Y-you fucking…!!” The African interrupted my words with her even stronger moans, however.

“Oooh!!” She came. Her pussy stopped hosing, and her labia, once so loose, now contracted like the mightiest of muscles, clamping so hard and so fast that a tiny shockwave burst from them and I could hear its grave whiplash making my eardrums hurt and shiver. “Fuck!!” What followed, then, were long, drumming growls, like a gorilla, with the goddess gradually standing upright again and gathering immense energy in her muscles, which were growing ever so slightly. “Fuck!!!”

I was disarmed. For the first time ever, I saw no authority, no cockiness or domination in her face, but pure… submission! Her eyebrows were arched, her face was twitching, and her mouth hanged open like she was expecting to blow a cock even mightier than her own! Her balls were dripping with pussy nectar, with their insides getting filled with even heavier loads of seed. Something in me told me that not for a second she stopped producing semen; the junk just kept piling up and piling up harder in her balls, increasing their density just as her muscles did on her body. I could even get a proof of that, indeed, by looking at their level on her body, dangling lower ever minute, now standing a few inches above her elbows.

The goddess could not be distracted from her earthshattering, very feminine orgasm: with her fingers twitching, she seemed to be exerting immense pressure and strength to not frig herself mad and raw before of us—in which case the results of her orgasm would be truly apocalyptic. While a massive set of multiple orgasms was brewing, she found in herself some strength to brag: “only I… ooh!… can make myself cum… fully!!” She looked at me. “Cum hard! Cum strong! Aah!!” She stepped forth. *Boom!!* More cracks on the ground. For a second, I thought she would fall on her knees. “Pay… ooh!… very close attention!!” She gulped, like even she wasn’t sure of what to expect. She looked down and ordered her genitalia: “cum!” A second later, she was silent: a wave of back-breaking, muscle-tearing multiple orgasms ravished her body. The muscles fibers in her body one by one vibrated with unparalleled brutally, and the squirt that exploded from her pussy was so strong that it sent pieces of stone from the floor flying all around us, with the burning steam not taking much longer to follow.

«Fuck!» I found myself hyperventilating. «Fuck!!» A strong sensation burned my pussy. I moaned, and a long thread of squirt exploded from my lips, which I managed to harden a second later. Once I came back to my senses, I realized my fingers were pushing against my engorged, scarlet labia. I was so mad with arousal I wanted to frig myself so desperately hard! God! I was losing all control, yet it seemed that the giantess wasn’t in much better shape herself.

“OOOORHHH…!!!” She wasn’t exactly lady-like in her orgasms. Though her face was cute and submissive, her roars were beyond manly. Seriously, I can’t even describe them as having male properties, because no man I knew could produce sounds so powerful or so grave. She was literally like a lion roaring while in coitus. A bull. A stallion. Powerful! She was just so fucking raw and powerful! “OOOORHH…!!!” Upon hearing those mating calls, I came again. My pussy exploded so hard I had a much harder time controlling it, shutting in close only after biting my lips and drawing blood from them. Veronica, by my side, oh!, she was almost dead: her orgasms were free and uncontrolled; she was no longer even trying to keep them at bay, but experiencing them at the fullest extent a woman could experience an orgasm—the fullest, of course, before being fucked by that potent, raging stallion of a woman!

“OOH, FUCK!!!” She raised her head and cursed to her gods in her native tongue, and the sight of her exposed, naked muscles almost drove me over the edge again. After a long string of invocations, she looked furiously to her own cock and commanded: “STOP!!!” Her pussy immediately obeyed, and the balls throbbed when her leakage stopped, no doubt poked by the massive contraction of her pussy labia.

The woman spent a long time then roaring and grumbling, very low-key, with her sounds becoming almost guttural, like wind passing through a long tunnel. When she looked up to me again, she was back at her older self. Her face, however, it was… “Oh, god!” I covered my mouth. The goddess was sweating.

She wiped the sweat of her forehead, making her biceps boom with the casual motion. “I am getting lousy. In the days of old, when I was still fresh and virile, fucking like there was no tomorrow, it took me two hours for me to sweat by my own orgasms. Now, oh, it barely took me a few minutes.” To my shock, she slid her left fingers on her cunt and collected a huge load of juices from them, raising the hand to her mouth and liking the fingers loudly with her long, serpentine tongue. “Still, though… mm! I’m so fucking delicious! It’s been a long time since I don’t really make myself cum, so consider that a little treat for you.” Her eyes became more malicious as she spoke. “I cannot sweat with other people unless I’m really committed to fucking them. We’re talking days of relentless, spine-shattering sex marathons, and there are very few people who can take this level of power.” She concluded her suctions with a long *pop!* in her middle finger. “Veronica, stop cumming.” She turned to my friend and commanded. “Your screams are getting to my nerves.”

Immediately, my friend collapsed on the ground. Her eyes were frenzied and bulging, like a crackhead on a particularly intense high, and her body was stiffer than a statue, literally cramping from every muscle. Occasionally, a tiny, pitiful yelp came out of her mouth: “heee!! A-heee!!” My friend was the strongest women I knew aside from myself, and she was completely ruined before the fight had even begun.

When I looked to the African goddess, it was obvious she knew exactly what kind of power she had on us. She couldn’t help it: she was just so fucking superior…! “Do you see now, Heather, what a truly genetically superior superhuman looks like?” She flexed her arms again—never a dull sight! “It’s funny: the Nazis always obsessed about a genetically-enhanced superbeing, and, in a way, they were right about our existence.” She laughed, flexing her abs, her quads, and her left leg. “If only they knew it wasn’t their Arian blood, but our African one! Oh! How hard would they be rolling on their graves!” She made a massive flex of her entire torso, making her abs boom and multiply as her massive, J-cup tits squirted fat, boiling threads of milk. “The Arian blood, oh! Don’t make me laugh! Like all white folks, they were flaccid, weak, and pitiful! It is the African blood the superior blood of mankind, the only blood able to produce a hyper-fertile, hyper-virile, perfect human being, the only genes capable of creating… me!” She grimed. “Now, my dears, I have a challenge for you: if you can make me moan once, I will take you with my full power.”

Our ears stood deaf for a second, the weight of those words failing to rest fully in our minds. “W-what?”

The goddess relaxed her muscles. She was casual and chill, playing with her hair and adjusting the glasses on her nose. In a way, she looked just like a teenage girl—a massive, titanic teenage girl with god-like powers in each of her swollen, throbbing arms—playing with her figure and rejoicing on her young, juvenile beauty. “No man or woman can lead me to orgasm. None! Every time I cum, it’s simply because I commanded my body too, just like I showed it to you.” She pointed down to her genitalia. “Cum.” Immediately, as quick and sudden as the flash or a lightning, her posture unraveled again, and her knees shook as her cunt beneath her balls unloaded another massive splash of titanic sexual fluids. She wailed and yelped, yet just as quickly, with the snap of her fingers… “Stop!” The drainage was over, and my ears rumbled with the hard clutching of her pussy lips. “You see?” She was panting a little while she spoke: “only I can make myself cum, for only I am the unstoppable force and immovable object in this Universe.” She pointed up, to the cracked ceiling, as if showing us the stars—which were the true home of her faintless spirit. “There is nobody above me, and there never will be until my offspring comes of age.” She licked her lips. “Not that I think any of my current sons and daughter are any great. Don’t get me wrong: they are, by far and wide, the most powerful human beings on Earth after me and maybe my parents, and they will become great propellers of human evolution in the years to come… yet they still can’t hold a candle to me. As a mother, as a breeder…” She punched her own abs, with strong echoes shaking the walls. “I’m an absolute failure! The purpose of my perfect species, after all, is to continuously breed stronger and mightier beings. I might be perfect, but my perfection must pale in comparison to that of my offspring; it’s a transitory, temporary state of divinity, to be dethroned by the yet holier, hotter organism I’ll birth from my powerful womb.” Her hands drew an “O” shape over her crotch, under her bellybutton. “For every generation, the task gets more and more difficult still.” She chuckled. “Funny to think, isn’t it? My first forefathers, the founders of my perfect clan, risked it all in the evolutionary game to breed only with the finest human beings on Earth, and this trade-off apparently followed every member of my family ever since: to improve our bloodline, we must only breed with the strongest, smartest, hottest, mightiest, most physically, intellectually, and mentally overdeveloped beings on the planet. That takes a lot of searching, you see, even though we leave a lot of superior human beings in our wake. Given that I, Jamila Nobu Ko Dunwe, am the most perfect organism on Earth—the crowning achievement of my bloodline, the supreme breeder of all living beings—, very few people on Earth (almost none!) can actually improve upon my kind.” She licked her lips yet again. “You, however, are the chosen ones. I can sense it!” With another stronger step, like she could barely contain the excitement in her body, she made cracks grow up to our feet, making us both step back in response. “My beautiful, powerful Yankees! I’ll have your bodies today, I’ll have your bodies forever! But for me to be sure you’re deserving of my seed—as well as the title of Strongest Women on Earth beneath me—I need to test your fire. Your power!” Her muscles flexed on their own. “Oh, babies, you make me so hot! But can you actually make me moan?” Her smile, more devilish by the second. “Forget about making me cum. That’s absolutely impossible. However, it is long said in my family that whatever mortal can make us moan and shiver with pleasure, that’s the one who will continue and perfect our bloodlines. I honestly believe, my beautiful cunts, that you two are those humans.” With snaps of her fingers, she commanded to us both, especially to my friend: “get up, Veronica, stand proud, Heather, and fortify your bodies and spirits for the task at hand.” While my friend got up and stood tall and firmly by my side, the African spread her arms on a T-pose, offering herself to us in all her god-like grandeur. “Attack me. Lick me. Kiss me. Bite me. Blow me!” Her monster cock throbbed vividly, and her ginormous balls soon followed. “Do everything you want with my body… and then some!” She licked her lips for every sentence. “I promise I won’t do a thing: I’m not going to touch you, kiss you back, or stimulate you in any way, at least not intentionally.” Deep, growling chuckles erupted from her chest. “I want you to give your all on my body, exploring it and stimulating its senses until you lead them astray, make them go fucking overdrive!” Waves of rippling power coursed through her muscles. Without her moving a foot, the ground just kept cracking and sinking beneath her. Once again, we both could see a faint forcefield around her body, rising up to the ceiling and vaporizing all the cum and milk stuck on it. If we were to stand above that Queen of Fertility, we damn sure knew we were going to be burned to death! That fucking goddess! Fuck! Her body was so hot it literally behaved like an U.S. Army super-classified laser canon! “Destroy me!” She clutched her hands, then opened them again, relaxing her muscles as much as she could. “Use your massive bodies to give me pleasure. I command you!” Veronica vacillated by my side, almost launching herself into the titaness. Poor girl! She really had no more self-control left in her, had she? “Tongue, fingers, fists, your muscles, whatever! Use anything you can to make me feel, for once, like a woman! Kissing, punching, kicking, biting me, anything goes! Be as brutal as you can, as savage as you want, and I will welcome it all! In fact, I prefer that you’re rough on me, as massive bodies like mine bode well with over-stimulation. What to normal humans would be murderous violence, to me is just vanilla foreplay.” Her face lightened up like a devil. “In fact, don’t you think I’m going to be soft on you. If anything, you better attack first before I ruin your bodies with every muscle cell I got.” In one final act before her total abandonment, the goddess adjusted her glasses on her nose, striking us with a uniquely nerdy look before she spread her arms and legs again. “Attack me. If any of you makes me moan aloud just once… I’ll deem you worthy, and I’ll breed you with all I’ve got.” She closed her eyes and raised her head, and then her lips laid silent and still.

No more words. Just… silence. Waiting. We were even confused about her sudden quietness, like our very muscles were just waiting for a command to attack and destroy her.

I looked at Veronica and Veronica looked at me. Worse than unsure, we were afraid of what to do next. That powerful woman, even in her most relaxed state, looked like she could kill us with a flick of her finger at that distance—the energy and power travelling from it being enough to rip our limbs apart.

Calmly, then, I stepped forward. “Follow me, gorgeous.” I commanded, and Veronica shook her head before even more slowly following my lead. “She’s not gonna give us command. She cannot lead; she must be lead!” I cracked my knuckles, making sure to keep a steady, leisurely pace. “Big talk for a big, fucking African bimbo!”

She looked at me. I shuttered. For a sliver of a second, I could see the murderous instinct burning in her eyes, yet I kept my ground. My pace didn’t change at all: just step after calm step towards that giant woman.

“This fat, arrogant African.” I provoked her. “Does she think she looks that impressive to us?” I waved her away. “Such an inferior, course, beastly creature. I will show her the superiority of our bodies—out superiors, stronger American genes!—and I will make her scream aloud and submit to our dominance and our superior status.” I stopped. Her body and mine were about two feet away. If I didn’t get any closer, it was because both our massive bosoms didn’t allow it. The difference in height was staggering, yet still I tried not to be too intimidated. «By god!» I almost gulped, but managed to hold my saliva in the last moment. «She’s so… fucking!… big!»

Laying my fists on my hips, I stood on the tip of my feet, trying to look her in the eyes, but making only so high as her lips—by god! Those full, hard, meaty lips! “Got something to say before I slay your cunt, my African slave?”

She looked at me, without a word, for a long time. Then, her lips parted, and she said in the sweetest, chilliest tone I’ve ever heard: “after I filled every pore of Veronica with my semen, I will destroy you.” Tough as I tried to look, I could listen to my heartbeat in my eardrums. “I will fuck you to the very last inch of your life, and then I will quash you like an insect. Mark my words, my beautiful American slave.” She spread her legs even further, making her cock swell and a whole gallon of precum just spew out of it and flow over her monster tits. “I will breed you every day, in every waking hour of your life forever. I’ve got a special harem for haughty whores like you. I’ll make you queen of it, with even a golden leash customized for your beautiful neck.” She looked up again, leaving me to wonder how literal her words were. “This is your last day as a free woman, Heather. Spend it wisely.”

A silent second passed before any of us did something. In that fateful moment, all our eyes were locked. We gazed upon each other souls, crushed by the immenseness of her aura. She was divine! Upon seeing her, I knew I was inferior—like my very genes were shivering in fear, covering inside my cells, my very blood freezing and its stream slowing, with an incredible desire to piss contaminating my waist.

I was defeated, yet I had to fight! I had to fight because she demanded me to, just as she demanded me to give her my all. «Alright, my queen.» I wanted to pucker my lips and lay them upon her solid body. Instead, I licked them sensuously, displaying a confidence I knew very well to be fake. «I will worship you!»

Once this second was over, we attacked. Veronica went from behind while I scoured her from ahead. It was a massacre as soon as we laid our fingers on her: Veronica was squirting her guts out, screaming profanities as the energy of Jamila’s body struck her pussy and her core like the fingers and penises of all her past lovers—including me. “IT’S TOO MUCH!!!” She quivered while latching on to the titan’s body like a sloth on a tree. “GOD!!” Her squirts made a titanic mess on the woman’s back; it was like she was being showered by a hydrant. “SHE… SHE…!!!” Tears rained from her eyes like storms. She was beyond mad with lust: she was orgasming atop multiple orgasms themselves! “GOD!! I CAN’T TAKE IT!! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!”

In less than five seconds—*boom!*—Veronica fell on the floor, defeated. She would eventually stand up and worship that goddess appropriately, yes, but right now she was just going to cum and squirt and scream her lungs out through the power of her orgasms.

Not that I cared too much, of course, for I had my hands full—literally. «God!!» My first movement was to grab that woman’s balls. I assumed it would be a display of authority and power, like I always grabbed and pulled and squeezed the balls of the awesome studs who though they were oh-so-great and powerful.

With my studs, yes, I was always successful—mostly because I was usually taller and always bigger, hotter, more muscular than they were. Even the ones that happened to be bigger—guys built like horses!—were always weaker, and I loved seeing their energy and luster vanish from their bodies as I outfucked them all. “What?” I used to say, so devilish and perverted, riding them like a kid high on sugary drinks, “can’t you even take this little pussy for four hours in a row?” I clenched my pussy and made my inner walls vibrate on their cocks, which never failed to make them scream and cum again… and again! And again and again and “weak, pathetic male!” I punched them and tortured them. Oh, it was wild! “I will show you what fucking really means!”

It wasn’t anything like that with that woman. Oh, by god, how it wasn’t! As soon as I laid my palms on both those mighty monster orbs, a superhuman energy filled my arms and ran down straight into my cunt, striking it like someone had just inserted fingers and tentacles into it. “Ooh!!” I moaned, and soon forced myself to bit my lips hard to stop it.

Didn’t work. The moans just kept coming. The dripping in my pussy was so fucking mad! It didn’t help, too, that Veronica was cumming as if the Niagara Falls had been placed inside her womb. It was so much squirting that I felt just wrong for holding all my orgasm inside.

The queen looked down at me, smiling like she had the whole world in her palms. True to her word, he didn’t do a thing, not even teasing me like she definitely wanted to, yet that didn’t prevent me from reading her face, where her thoughts were so clearly written: “once I finally let you cum, you will squirt an ocean for me, baby.” She winked slowly and deliberately, having her very muscles contract and dance for my pleasure. “I will drink every last drop of you.”

Those words alone, even unsaid, were enough to almost kick me over my limit. I moaned again, and then purred like a kitten, feeling my body grow heavy with the intense desire to drop on my knees and… submit to her! “Ooh!!!” My pitch was high. I was making a fool of myself. “Aahee!!” I came like a little bitch, and I shouldn’t! I was the strongest woman in the world, damn it! No way… “Aaah!!” No way that African fucking bitch would defeat me—not so easily, at least!

I squeezed those balls harder, yet every attempt at a counter-attack drove me nearer to a defeating orgasm. The absoluteness of them was indescribable. Those were not just balls; they were the balls! Giant and oval and perfectly-shaped, as if sculpted by the gods of fertility themselves… ah, scrap it! The gods themselves wouldn’t have balls so mighty and perfect. «Jesus!! Oh, Jesus!!» Tiny squirts left my cunt—not exactly squirts, but highly—pressurized threads of lubes from all the ocean I was holding within. My pussy was growing sore and cramped with all the strength I exerted to keep the orgasm at by. The squirt was so much it was passing through my cervix and filling my womb. I could feel the threads of this “inverse squirt” hitting the back of my womb, even flowing through my tromps and hitting my fucking eggs. “Ooh!!” I moaned. “Oooh!!” Louder and longer. My eyes rolled back. I was already cumming; the squirt would be just the cherry on top.

Without taking my hands out of those… mighty!… perfect!… godly balls!… I slapped myself metaphorically, opening my eyes and trying to give that woman a challenge. I could sense, for once, that she too was trying hard to keep herself at bay. The sight of my turgid tits, with their rock-hard, sharp, lactating nipples, probably was too much even for a goddess like her.

The presence of my mighty, highly-fertile body awakened in her the most primal instincts: she was a goddess of fertility, and she needed to breed!

“Fuck!!” I bit my lower lip and looked at her, taken aback by her face of utter pleasure. The goddess was rolling back her eyes and clutching her fists really hard. It was like the pleasure at moments was too great even for her! We were already closer to our goal, even though far from how we’d imagined we would achieve it: instead of us giving her pleasure through our actions, we were doing it by the scent and the touch of our fertile bodies.

«No!» I told myself. «That can’t be all we have to offer!»

Magically, my shivering stopped, my grip steadied. Her balls were a world apart, each of them, yet I held them like I was really going to conquer and subdue them. «Jesus, these fucking balls!!» I’d never even fathomed things so massive and hard and… full!! Not just full of semen, but full of life! A life of their own!

Clutching my fists harder, I pressed my fingers against her sack, making them penetrate it just a few millimeters. The little they sank, however, was enough to paint the clearest picture of her power: oceans! Oceans of cement-thick semen swirling inside those balls! Rivers to make the Amazon basin look like a bucket, and streams so powerful they paralleled the very currents of the oceans!

Power! Inside those hard, live-giving stones was the elixir of Power itself! One thing was to fell oneself powerful, like I and Veronica many times did; the other thing, however, was to literally, physically have Power stored inside oneself. That woman didn’t just hold semen—gallons and gallons of it—inside her balls. No. She held absolute, unassailable Power!

I was moaning and biting my lips again, and for every second I guess I needed to shake my head and snap myself back into reality. «Get… a fucking… grip!!» Between every word, though, I moaned and cleared my throat. How fucking great can a single woman be?

No longer able to just stand there, apart from her, I threw my body against her. *Broom!!* The very fabric of the Universe might have been shaken, indeed, once our too massive bodies collided! Out monstrous tits exploded with milk due to the pressure, and through my over-worked nipples I felt a pang of pain, really sharp and acid, for the loads of motherly nectar were too great for their tightness. The more aroused I was, the tighter my nipples became, yet the stronger my breasts gushed. “Aaahee!!” This by itself made me moan and gush again while the African was just chuckling, keeping her mouth shut so as to not tempt herself with my outpouring of milk.

Between our bodies, though, something much more awesome laid. Something whose power I had (once again) underestimated. Something much bigger than her balls. Much mightier. Much holier. “Oh, my fucking…!!!” I had to shut my eyes hard and draw blood from my lips by biting them even harder. Between our bodies, going from our crotch up to the very middle of my tits (and beyond) stood her massive, hard pillar of womb destruction: her almighty, superior COCK!!


The sheer solidity of that monster struck my female soul with awe-inspiriting admiration! The size! The power! Jesus fucking shit! That beast could only be compared to a mountain or a canyon or something of even bigger size and weight! The power inside its veins! The throbbing so intense I could actually hear it! Every time it bulged, it sent shockwaves inside my body, electrifying my muscles! I wanted to crush and dominate that penis, only to find myself completely surrendered to its enormity!

The African chuckled, knowing her member only subdued me even further. Her balls were pressed against my crotch, and only too late I realized that, by allowing them such proximity to my cunt, I basically had signed my death warrant: the orgasms just kept piling until they hurt me, and tears of pain left my eyes as sharp, painful whimpers did my mouth. Still, I embraced that mighty woman, squeezing myself harder against her and… laying my mouth on her meaty cock head!

«Fuck!!» How was I even alive?! The orgasms inside me… Jesus! They would have killed any other woman, no matter how powerful! The touch of her awesome penis in my mouth was… divine! That thing was bigger than large, clutched fists, and I was lapping and drooling on it like a thirsty bitch, making it ooze with my saliva as it spewed rivulets of sweet, ambrosia-like lubes. With my arms, legs, and my muscles, I danced on that woman’s body, squeezing my whole self on her, all while I heard Veronica recover her senses and attack her from behind.

“We need…” She struggled, her cunt still orgasming oceans-worth of sex sauce. “We need to defeat her!”

Yes! How meek of me to be reminded of my goals by my much weaker friend! As I slobbered over that gargantuan penis, feeling the semen accumulate, I remembered her words about passivity: «you will learn how being passive and submissive is the greatest strength of all.» Veronica was now attacking the woman’s ass, spreading its massive cheeks with her hands and… fingering her anus! Almost fisting her! Damn, the audacity! What more, the giantess was actually enjoying it!

“Mmrr!!” She purred, and her eyes rolled all the way back again. She closed them and lifted her head, having huge veins grow and throb over her muscles. She was becoming more ripped, more massive, more powerful, all thanks to the energy that was growing inside of her—the arousal that, just like my own, was driving her closer and closer to insanity.

Veronica was now taking charge, wrapping her own mare-like thighs against the woman’s legs and sucking her anus while fingering and sometimes fisting it. For a woman that huge, a whole fist would have felt like a small dick in comparison. Still, it mattered little: I could feel her waist and her hips trembling, and her muscular fibers booming as the heat took spread inside her lower body. She was in heat, and her womb was finally warming up! “Mm!! Mmm!!!” The growls remained inside her throat. It was clear she was working hard not to let them through. Those were not moans, but we were in the right course. At the end, it might had been my pitiful Veronica, whom I looked down upon so often, the one to bring that awesome goddess over the edge, not me. How could that be?!

«Passivity!» I pondered while eating that cockhead greater lust. Yes, that was it! My friend had allowed so much pleasure to explode out of her body that she no longer had the mind-twisting pressure and fire eating her from inside out. She was free! Her gallons of squirt had made her body light and free like a feather, while mine… fuck! I was carrying a whole ocean of juices inside of me, trying so desperately to keep an appearance none of us believed in any more. That was the power of submission!

“I will never surrender to this power!” I looked at the witch in the face, and she opened her eyes to look down upon me. With a surge of energy, I hugged her body harder by the second, creating stretching and booming noises as the pressure between our bodies would have been enough to grind as stone into dust. Slowly, the ground cracked beneath our feet, and them… “Ooof!!” I lifted her! A mere inch over the ground, yes, but still… I lifted her. “You’re not the only one with hidden powers here!”

Her muscles boomed so hard that almost threw my body back. I remained still, however, and crushing her harder still. “What?” I teased her, pressing my whole face against her growing cock. “Little girl gets angry when she’s called a bitch n*****? But that’s what you are: n*****!!” I crushed her harder. Her body rose further still, now standing one whole foot above the floor, and I started bending over backwards to keep pulling her even harder. “You grotesque animal! You’re only good for showing off your filthy monster penis!” Pushing the envelope (and the limits of my sanity), I took one arm away from her.

She stood still. Our bodies remained frozen, like a Roman statue depicting two goddess in the middle of a fight. Veronica, which for a long time had been lost in he own lust for Jamila’s body, was lifted along with the goddess’s ass, only now realizing what I had just done. “H-Heather!!” She exclaimed in awe. “You’re so massive!!”

Maybe I was: my arms were rippling with power! Big, fat fucking guns! They throbbed with obscene veins and gallons of blood as hot as lava coursing inside of them. Steam came rushing through my nostrils, and a cocky smile was finally drawn again in my face. I was back. “Stand back, Veronica.”


“I SAID!!” I crushed her harder. “STAND!! BACK!!” The walls rumbled. My body throbbed. “I will make her cum myself!”

I attacked her. My choice of words had been very deliberate: I was going to make her cum! Not moan; cum! Just as Veronica dropped her body and fled in fear of my booming voice, I slammed that African cunt on the ground. *Boom!!* In all honesty, a meteor wouldn’t have made such big a mess: as I dropped the woman on the ground, massive cracks threatened to split it into many canyons. Parts of the ceiling fell around us, each enough to crush an elephant under their weight.

I didn’t give a damn. Screw that, screw the world. Screw her! I climbed on the goddess with my full body, not riding her, but trying instead to dominate her like a man on missionary. It was hard to say whether I was fumbling her muscles with my hands or slapping and punching them. Maybe it was both. As I climbed over her crotch, the insanely massive surface of her balls forced themselves into my pussy, feeling me with such heat it was like an incandescent spire of iron had penetrated me. Still, I kept my cool. More than that, actually: I attacked! I twerked on those balls like they were nothing, guiding my left hand to the pussy she hid underneath them.

That woman had everything: the world’s biggest penis, the universe’s fullest balls, a tight, ripped muscle anus tucked between two massive cheeks of pure muscle, and, to top it all off, the world’s most gorgeous, wet tight pussy my fingers had ever felt. “Uuu-ooh!!” I let of a moan and a growl of arousal as the tip of my fingers managed to penetrated the night-unbreakable seal of her pussy labia.

Christ, how tight she was! After they entered her, my fingers were then pulled deeper into her vagina! I no longer had any control on them! The pussy was eating them all up without her making any discernible effort. “Fuck!” I let escape a whimper of pain. Fuck! That was hard! I could feel the suction and the intense motion of her inner membranes suckling on my fingers. It was animalistic! «Fuck! How much control does she have on her own body?!»

Absolute! Her legs, her abs, her biceps, all her muscles, everything was rumbling with intense power. There was no reason for her pussy—the core of her femaledom—to be any different! As I whimpered, her pussy ate up my fingers. I had inserted two in it, yet the pussy labia soon swallowed a third finger into itself. Despite possessing a titanic penis and balls to intimidate five pairs of bulls, the monster woman also had a hard clit on her pussy.

Her genitalia was both astounding and complete, and it amazed me by how tender and small her clitoris seemed in comparison to… well, everything else. It was so beautiful and delicate, as little as my pinky, yet hard like a pebble sticking from her body. I struck that clit with my thumb and felt the waves of energy spreading away from her crotch. The titan roller her eyes, biting her lower lip as she fought against the temptation to lift her legs in pleasure. Still, she spread her legs a little further, accepting my laying over her body.

“You fucking… you fucking…!!” I wanted to insult her, to denigrate her, but couldn’t contain my raging passion, my undying love for that Amazon as my face lied so close to both her tits and her jaw-dropping abs. “Fuck! Your abs are so sculpted and hard!!” I proclaimed loud and clear as I lowered my mouth on her belly and slurped all over her massive muscular canyons. Her insane abdomen was like a whole geography in and on itself: the sunken valleys between her muscles were so deep and tight they both pulled my tongue inward and squeezed it. My saliva promptly began to fill those canyons, yet she was so huge—so humongous, so insanely giant—that even after minutes of sucking and slurping, I had failed to fill those abs.

I fumbled her left thigh with my right hand, panting and gasping as I lost myself in its masculine hardness. “You’re so sculpted!” I gushed. “So… muscular!!” My clit was getting hard like a small penis. A had a beautiful, delicate rosy clit atop my tight pussy—a “lady clit,” like many girl lovers complimented it—yet I was getting aroused like a roid-filled weightlifter while worshipping that impossible body. My palm went to the side of her buttocks, feeling the unyielding titanium texture of her muscle under her velvety skin. Her sweaty skin was both leather and silk, a very smooth, flawless surface with only barely perceptible twinges of ruggedness atop—like a little bitterness on the world’s most delicious sweet.

I tried to recompose myself by attacking her pussy. I finally reverted to the offensive there, yet it was… «fuck!!» So fucking hard! As my fingers began to stimulate her insides, I was affronted by the insane smoothness of her mucous walls. Like… fuck! I knew vaginas, I loved them, but I never felt anything remotely similar! It was as if all the best vaginas in the world had coalesced into a single, super cunt which also had the muscular power of a bull! It was inhumane! “God damn, girl!!” I let go louder and louder proclamations: “your pussy’s perfect!!”

As my fingers attacked the walls of her cunt, I could feel her juices pilling up. Soon, it was like I had stuck my fingers into a succulent, recently-cut piece of beef: the sweetness was sloshing inside like a little sack of sugary water! *Slosh-slosh-slosh!* My fingers were burned by the superhuman heat of her lubes, which soon began to squirt out of her pussy—not exactly orgasms as they were mere byproducts of both the pressure and my movements. Still, that shit was hot! I could feel the steam hitting my wrist. My fingers penetrated her deeper and harder, sinking on the gorgeous walls of her cunt, trying desperately to find their way to her holy cervix.

Her womb! I could feel the power of her womb rumbling, booming, spreading its aura of heat and fertility as my fingers drew closer. It was like… damn! Her womb was made of gold! I could hear the juices splashing and squirting from her tiny cervix—something that was anatomically impossible for any girl, but just casual and nonchalant for that perfect woman. Goddamn! How much I hate how perfect she was!


I stretched out my right arm in a warning: “don’t you dare touch her, you dumb blonde! She is my lay! Mine!!” Yet I was being laid by her much more than I was laying her, even though I stood on top, riding my freaking crotch on her fucking monster balls. “God!!” My eyes went to the top of my skull, and I held back a tremendous orgasm which threatened to literally expel my brain out from my eye sockets. Fuck!! That was a volcano erupting at the speed of a lightning just now! “Fuck!!” My scream reverbed into the space, and the African twirled under my body, vibrating tenderly as I shook so aggressively.

Taking one arm from the ground, she grabbed Veronica by the neck. “I promised I would not interfere, and I won’t, but you two will need your combined power to stimulate me. At this pace, little Heather…” her vagina hardened! “…you will fail to even make me grunt, let alone… moan!”

Suffocating and manhandling Veronica by the neck, she pushed my friend to her left tit. “Suck it!” Like a newborn calf, Vanessa suckled on her tit until the milk was sloshing inside her throat. I could hear the loud, grave gulps of the thick liquid flowing down her stomach. Her belly bulged, and so did her eyes. The amazement flashed on her face as she realized the milk was as dense and heavy as cement, and that only a few gulps of it were enough to completely fill up her stomach.

Letting go of the tit for a second, she spit milk messily from her tits, and even sneezed a bit of it from her nostrils. Her whole face under her nose was drenched in white, and her expression was one of utter admiration, if not complete and submissive adoration: “your milk… it’s so fucking good!”

The giantess had heard it all, but she accepted those compliments like a proud father to a little son. “Yes, I know.” She laid her left hand again on the ground, which cracked under the grip of her fingers. It was then that I realized that, aside from that casual command to Veronica, the titaness had been true to her word—almost to an annoying fault! Her legs and arms were spread out, with cracks forming under her hands and her heels. The back of her head, too, was pressed against the ceiling, and her whole body hardened and rumbled as she constrained her muscles. She looked like a mighty man holding a charging bull steady with his bare hands—with the difference that she and the bull were one in the same!

“You fucking… cunt!!” I penetrated her cunt even harder, squeezing her balls with my thighs. “How can you be so fucking perfect?!” Her muscles hardened in response—less a flex of pleasure and more one of arrogance. She only grunted in response, closing her eyes and letting herself be taken by out stimuli. Veronica ate her tits hungrily, dislodging her jaw like a monster to eat as much of those tits as possible. She was clearly turned on by the goddess’s fertility, as show by her sucking the left tit like a machine while massaging and squeezing the right tit with the full power of her hand. The milk sloshed out of those hard nipples like fountain.

It was soon building milky puddles on the ground, and steam rose from those puddles like incense. Fuck! The milk almost didn’t spread out on the floor, but stayed glued to it like a cream, increasing in height as new layers were squirted on top of it. «Shit! How can it be so fucking hard!» I was thinking about the milk, but could as well be referring to her impossible pussy. Slowly, its hardness tested the strength of both my muscle fibers and the ligaments of my bones: *crack!* I know she didn’t mean to harm me, but the ferocious movements of the insides of her cunt were literally about to crack my fingers! I puffed on her abs, feeling the sweat accumulate on her body, and after ten minutes of that frenetic stimulation, I realized I hadn’t even come close to meeting the seal of her womb—the burning, inviting entrance of her cervix!

“Fuck!!” I panted like I had just run a thousand-mile super marathon. “How… fucking deep… are you?!” There was no response other than her increasingly loud and more numerous grunts. «Well…» my exasperated self pondered, «at least bitch’s enjoying herself.» My sweat was raining on her body, which exhaled a thin sheen of steam. She wasn’t sweating, but the air was condensing around her mighty muscles, which hurt just to touch. Inside her cunt, I couldn’t even feel my fingers anymore, like they had been burned down to their nerves. “Fuck! Fuck!!” As I laid my right hand atop her abs of steel, a heard a sizzling sound, and the burn forced me to pull my hand away quickly. “Fuck!” Maybe that was just my imagination, but hot damn! Even if that was the case, there was no denying that woman’s body was the hottest organism on Earth. Literally!

My wrist hurt as I tried to reach her depths. Who the fuck could ever bottom that bitch? “Your vagina… ooh!” I was moaning louder and louder, feeling the sprinkling of milk from Vanessa’s mighty suckling. “God, almighty!” There was no separation between my thoughts and my speech anymore: I said out loud everything that my mind conjured. I was kinda getting off on it alone, to be honest. “Your muscles, you cunt!” I opened my eyes after rolling them back for so long. “Damn, you fucking bull!” I crammed my right hand on her balls, feeling myself weirdly re-energized. “Oh, my god! Your balls! I can feel… Jesus!!” Even with my newfound humility, I was still too amazed—“God!”—, too fucking aroused—“Oh, god!!”—to keep my focus or my train of thought. “Oh, my god!!” Tiny, high-pressurized squirts burst from my pussy. I could feel their steamy threads hitting and dripping from her balls. “Fuck!!” I squeezed those monster testicles harder, wanting—but also stupidly refusing—to take my left hand from her pussy and feel those mighty orbs wholly on my palms. “Jesus fucking Christ, what a perfect organism!” I was speaking in very unnatural ways, but those were the only ways I felt truly described her: “your testicles…!” I licked my lips. “Your testicles are the heaviest things I ever touched! Fuck, it’s like the weighs from my gym! Jesus Christ, how heavy are these things?”

I tried to lift a single one of those dense cum factories with my hand—and, granted, I managed to do so a few inches higher. Still, after a point, my biceps hurt, my arm trembled, and I felt in my torso an exhaustion I only felt after literal dozens of hours of sex marathon, or a few nonstop hours of a brutal exercise routine meant specifically to break me up. I was a little masochistic, but even that was too much for me. “Damn!!” I let the testicle fall, and the floor literally cracked under it!

*Tuum!* I covered my mouth with both hands when I saw the massive beast throbbing on the cracked floor. Her pussy squirted juices on my lap upon the withdrawal of my fingers. The giantess twirled her hips, grunting louder and faster, but not moving from her spot. Her pussy labia shut like a magic seal, the muscles hardened so intensely they could bend steel, and in my nose I could feel her intoxicating smell—my wet, dripping fingers contaminated by her sex juices, her divine lubes, her ungodly pussy-nectar. “Jesus!!”

I could barely contain my right hand as it lowered itself to my crotch. My pussy wasn’t just burning; it was almost getting infected, like a kidney illness after we hold back piss for too long. In my pussy, the pleasure was all the problem. “Oh, god!” I raised my head and leaned back, supporting myself with my hands on the floor and behind my hips, trying to ease that pain and that pressure by spreading my legs open and… relaxing my cunt! “Oh!” It didn’t seem like I could do it: my labia were permanently hard! “Oh, fuck!” Like a muscle flexing to the point of cramping! Something terrible would happen if I relaxed my pussy. “Jesus!” But also, something equally terrible would happen if I just… didn’t!… let!… go! “FUCK!!!”

After a long, deep breath, my labia relaxing. An ocean of steamy cream left my pussy, my clit twitching like crazy, and a few squirts rocking my body along near-paralyzing orgasms. “FUCK-FUCK-FUCK!!!” I saw everything pink, then red, then green, then yellow, then pink again, then in several different, gaudy colors as the orgasms took over. It was so fucking weird! I wasn’t cumming—I mean, I was squirting, per se—but the juices just kept flowing out of my cunt like an overturned bottle of water—and they just kept coming, Jesus! “Oh, god!!!” One squirt left me. I could hear it splash against the titan’s thighs. “Oh, god!!” Again, another splash. The pain, far from being alleviated, however, only grew stronger.

“Save yourself for me, Heather.” I heard the powerful, booming voice of the titan amidst her grunts. “I want your full squirts when I penetrate you with my fingers.”

“Oh, god!!” I failed already: more loud, messy, burning squirts exploded from my cunt, and I felt I was finally going to lose it, allowing the full power of my orgasms to finally flow through unimpeded, exploding in an orgasmic maelstrom never seem or felt before by any female on Earth, human or not.

“Heather,” her voice was calm, but scary. “Stop.”

And just like that, like pure magic… *crunch!* My labia hardened and my pussy sealed itself shut. The movement was so aggressive I felt my clit being pulled out of me by a fucking wrench. “God!!” My raised my head up higher and leaned back further, feeling my eyes bulge and my sight blank as I stuck my tongue out and panted like a bitch who’s just been kicked right in the stomach. That was a pain so sharp I soon felt ice all over my veins. After that, the cold became pleasant, then almost anesthesiac. I could feel my lubes filling my pussy and my womb again, so much that a gentle bulge soon appeared on my belly, and the agony soon returned—a pleasurable pain so intense I quickly felt my lower body numb.

“Cock.” The giantess grunted, and I snapped back to reality like I had just been slapped hard in the face.

“W-w-wha…” I shut my eyes and shook my head. “What??”

The giantess was doing her best to keep her end of the bargain: no words, no nothing. Just us and her body! Still, trying to give us a leverage, she briefly pointed to her monster cock, which still rest fully soft on the ground.

My eyes doubled in size. In a way, it was like seeing that cock for the very first time. Every time, actually, was a new, epic discovery: she had so much cock a single look couldn’t take it all—nor two, nor three, nor dozens of looks, for that matter.

Attracted to it like a magnet, I crawled to that beastly penis, reaching out to touch its mighty crown with my palms. “Eeh… eeep!!” I squealed like a little rat or a squirrel. The heat…! The heat emanated from that beast… it was so fucking ridiculous! Her urethra was easily one inch long, spewing fat, juicy lubes like a hose on very low-pressure. The cock laid on the ground like a sleeping anaconda, so huge it easily reached down and past her knees!

I laid my palms over her fist-sized head. I stretched my fingers as wide as they could get, and I still could only cover little over half her motherfucking penis. «No. Wait…» I cleared my throat. I tried to grab that penis and straighten it. The monster rested in a gentle “S” shape, and I wanted to see it straight to accurately measure it. “Oh, my god!” I tried pulling it by the head, but the monster bulged so little! That thing was literally like trying to pull a goddamn truck! “Fuck!” I put both of my hands on it. Only then could I actually encircle the whole goddamned girth of that beast! “Oh, my god!!”

The penis could sense my presence; it could smell me, as well as react to the slightest of my touches. As soon as I gripped it with both hands, it spewed whole bottles of precum on my body. “Stop! Oh, god!” That prick was a fucking machine! As it shot load after load of translucid pre-jizz, it made grave thuds, like some kind of military weapon. My head was hit by a single load, and that alone was enough to cover it completely, almost suffocating me with goo.

My body was like I’d fallen on an ocean of transparent hell: from head to toes, passing through my gorgeous abs, my monstrous boobs, and my tree-trunk thighs, damn!, I was covered by well over an inch of precum. “Fuck!” I had to eat that motherfucker to give my face some breathing room. Still, it was a futile venture: the lube flowed down so slow and dense that it completely filled my throat, like I had the world’s second biggest and longest dick stuck inside me! I tried spitting it out, but the beast was so fucking hard and sticky! Jesus! I wouldn’t be so desperate even if I drank industrial glue straight from its furnace. «Fucking… hell!!» My abs hardened. My entire body throbbed. «Fuck!»

I leaned forward and flexed my muscles the hardest they had ever been flexed. With the mighty contraction, the goo was finally expelled from my throat: *goooorsh!!!* It spilled from my mouth and nose, splashing over the gigantic penis, which only throbbed in response. The donkey dick remained soft and mostly idle; if any image ever spelled “unimpressed” more clearly, it was that dick laying so soft, almost staring at us with an air contemptuous, seignorial arrogance to it. «Is this really the best you can do?» The monster penis seemed to speak to me. «I ain’t even pumping!»

I heard the woman’s balls throbbing and saw—literally saw!—the loads of semen filling them up. The cracks grew below them, and every minute they sank just a little lower on the ground. The balls were already huge—ostrich eggs!—but their weight was the one thing that increased dramatically in all that madness. Upon seeing those godly testicles, I laid my forehead on the prick’s head, kissing it and licking it as it spewed loads of precum on my face, mouth, and tits.

The whole snake trembled as it shot magnanimous loads of precum. The sheer amount of it was ludicrous. The serpent never got any harder than that, yet for every load it easily rivaled the combined lubrication of fifty men across a whole year. I place my mouth on the top of the crown, stretching my jaw a bit until I was eating about forty percent of its surface area. Have you ever tried to stick a whole fist on your own mouth? And what about when that fist is pretty much the size of a bull’s hove? Well, picture that, and you’ll pretty much picture me trying to eat up that gargantuan dick.

Placing my hands around its mast, I realized that my fingers struggled to touch each other. I could grip the whole monstrous girth, indeed, with both of my hands, yet the tip of my fingers only barely touched. That soft penis easily had over five inches of diameter. “Oh, my god!” I moved slightly away, receiving a mighty facial of precum. Damn, it was like a bucket of gel being shot at high speeds against me! My head even hit my own back, making my neck hurt. “Fuck! You absolute monster of a woman!” I grabbed and touched that penis artfully, seizing it up with my hands. “One palm.” I gulped. “Two palms.” My heart stopped briefly. “Are you seriously three palms long?”

I could hear her humorous chuckles, though they were almost indistinguishable from her grunts of pleasure. While I worshiped that mighty dong, Veronica did an incredible job on the woman’s tits: “fecundate me!” She commanded with authority, moving up Jamila’s torso and laying atop her breasts. What the fuck was she doing? “I want you to hose your gallons of milk straight in my womb!” With those words, she laid her mouth on the giantess’s left tit while mounting her right tit with her crotch. She positioned her cunt atop her squirting nipple, and then crammed herself in it like she would a fat dick.

The nipple penetrated her, and the subsequent hoses of milk made her howl like a she-wolf in heat. Damn, that sight! What a spectacle it was to see the loads of milk splashing from between her legs, and her belly gently bulging every time massive loads of milk were squirted deep into her womb. “Oh, my goddess!!” Needless to say, she was cumming. Oh, boy, how much and how hard she was cumming! “I can feel your milk in my womb! Goddess!! It’s taking up everything!” She became speechless. What was happening inside her surpassed even her wildest expectations: “no! Oh, no!! I can feel it… fuck!!!” Orgasms and orgasms and orgasm… “Your milk is thicker than any semen I’ve ever sucked! Jesus fucking Christ!!” The milk was slushing out of her over-stretched, over-filled cunt. Literal gallons of it formed a massive pool around our bodies. I could see the waves splashing on the ground, making the puddles (or lakes) grow and grow and grow. Steam was rising everywhere. That milk was so hot it bubbled! Veronica’s belly began to grow, the gentle bulge becoming an obscene pregnancy. “Fuck!! Heather!!” Tears flowed out. “She’s in my womb!” The orgasms were so many that, for every word she said, there was a solid minute or two of just screaming, crying, gasping, panting, moaning, and shouting her lungs out in pleasure. “Heather! My eggs!! Her milk is in my fucking eggs!!”

As if to demand her full focus and concentration, the left tit between her arms shot up a massive geyser of burning milk on her face, hosing her like the ejaculate of a hundred and one men. She gagged and suffocated on the epic load of milk. Along her sexy, muscular back, I could see the motherly nectar flowing like a river and building a lake along the valley of her spine and between her ass cheeks. The African grunted much louder now, biting her own lips while rolling her eyes intensely.

“You are a goddess.” I confessed out loud, mesmerized by the amazing loads that kept gushing out from her tits and back from Veronica’s pussy. The orgasms my friend experienced were visible from afar: they were clear waves going to-and-fro her pussy, sprawling over every inch of her body. Her muscles trembled and vibrated, and sometimes she lost control of her body, head-banging against Jamila’s right tit or almost pushing herself away from her in a violent muscular contraction, much akin to when we are electrocuted. Still with the penis in my hand, I lost my breath as I saw her losing her words and her control, her eyes sometimes turning to the sigh with pure exasperation, her voiceless being asking forgiveness to the gods, because her orgasms were just that fucking intense.

“Aahee!!” She cried. Devoid of context, it would see like a cry of pain. “Aaahee!!” Her legs stiffened, straightening out like a plank. Her whole body froze while her legs, her hips, and her ass shook like a vibrator with increasing intensity. I could hear the engine-like sound of her shaking, like a heavy metal object being dragged across an uneven and rugged terrain. Squirts exploded out of her pussy while milk came geysering out through her tits. She stuck her tongue out and cried; I never heard anyone or anything scream as she did then: “AAAA-AAA-HUUUU!!!” There was a brief second of silence and frenetic trembling, and then again… “AAAA-AAAAA-HUUUU!!!!”

Squirt, squirt, squirt. She was exploding liquid orgasms through her cunt. There came a point when she literally vomited out the liters of coffee and energy drinks she had taken that morning, prior to our arrival. Thankfully, she had kept her stomach free from any solid food, she wanted to be in peak condition to fuck that unfuckable titan. If she had eaten something, the scene would have quickly become an unsexy mess.

As the liquid vomit burst through her throat, I felt myself a little aroused, honestly. It really resembled semen, as she loved drinking milk or milk-flavored energy drinks. The vomit hosed through her mouth and nostrils, like it would if she had drank literal gallons of semen. She was puking, then screaming again all by the power of those orgasms, which kept building up until all of her body was shaking like under a power-line-burning electrical overcharge. Her screams became higher-pitched until they disappeared altogether, and the only expression of her intense climax—other than the bone-cracking trembling, I mean—were the tears flowing unendingly from her eyes.

A spark of energy flew from her mouth and struck my cunt. A powerful hose exploded from it, lifting my ass off the floor. “FUCK!!!” I felt in myself just a bit of the body-snatching contractions my friend was suffering every fucking second: all of my muscles seized up, and a near-cramping muscular destruction turned my body stiffer and harder than a rock. Then, a second later, it was all over. “FUCK!!!” I screamed the loudest I had done that day—yet not nearly as loud as that titaness would make me scream, that’s for sure. I panted and gasped like I had just run another set of back-breaking marathons. Tears flowed from my eyes, disappearing into the tropical-like rain of my sweat. “Fuck!!”

Openly, I laid my head on that penis, closed my eyes, and just… cried. I cried like a baby, like a pampered trust-fund kid, too humiliated and confused by the dumbfounding perfection of that woman. For a whole minute, maybe longer, I had no movements under my hips. My bladder had unleashed all its content, and in shame I had to feel the warmth of my piss disappearing into the blistering heat of all other fluids. That goddess made us orgasm in an almost metaphysical level! I knew, deep inside, I’d never had a chance of winning, but even then, after I admitted to my weakness, that woman just kept throwing us one curve ball after another, revealing to us just how fucking outclassed we truly were!

We were the two strongest “normal” humans on planet Earth, and still we were driven to paraplegic condition merely by worshiping her body! “My goddess!!” My state of lust was beyond disgraceful. “My sexual titan!!” My tongue darted out of my mouth on its own, wrapping itself around the girth of the cock. I gargled and I salivated, spreading my ooze like butter along that marvelous member. “Fuck!!” My cunt squirted out juices of power; pure, distilled feminine pleasure that felt both inevitable and unforgiving. «I have to stop them!» My inner voice strongly scolded me, and I willed my labia shut by focusing tremendous amounts of energy down to my hips—not all my energy, though, for another huge amount was reserved for my tongue and the divine worshipping of her member. “Jesus!!” With inch after inch of tongue unfurling, I felt my mouth wrapping itself on that cock like a snake.

The giantess seemed to like that very much. “Wroom!!” I heard from her throat, like a powerful roar held back, a grunt unlike anything we had ever heard before—like the rumbling of the Earth itself, or an even bigger, mightier beast finally awaking form within her. «Jesus Christ, what… what power!!» I felt my juices building again, yet I shouldn’t underscore my power at that moment: with over ten inches of goddess tongue wrapped around that member, I felt it monstrous structure throb and harden around my flesh.

The beast was coming alive, and all because of the touch of my tongue! «Do you like my member, master? I will show you…» I thought, yet even my train of thoughts was broken by the intense gaggling inside my throat and pressure growing in my chest—it wasn’t easy, after all, to move a fifteen-inch-plus tongue around, and the more inches I stuck out, the harder it became to control that monster, or to keep the same degree of strength evenly across all the many inches. «I will show you, you arrogant cunt, that I too have a member worthy of praise.»

Proud, fearless inches unraveled from my mouth as my tongue completed a whole lap around that gigantic crotch-python, going on strong for a second lap, so sturdy and willful that it managed to lift the titanic penis out of the ground!

My hands moved forward, my arms too looking like snakes. The ground kept cracking under the giantess’s motions, yet it was specifically the weight of her genitals (and nothing else!) that made it crack so hard and so much. «Damn!!» My eyes were probably as big as those Japanese animation characters, and shining just like cartoons, once they focused again on the woman’s mountainous balls.

My hands laid on them. The energy! “GOD!!!” Few were the words I could utter with so many inches of my tongue out and so much pleasure building inside me. I was orgasming already, and maybe I’d been orgasming the entire time without even noticing, but that orgasm—or rather, those endless multiple orgasms—were definitely of a different, more insidious kind than the orgasms I usually experienced. Without being able to release my feminine cum, I was being eaten alive from inside out by the all-consuming, hungry heat of my raging pussy. Every single nerve cell of mine was over-aroused, exploding with power, yet my pussy was again shut as a bank vault, with ocean loads of girl cum making my belly bulge. «Jesus!!!» Instead of cum through my pussy, them, tears came out squirting through my eyes. «Fuck!!» Even all the strength of my pussy muscles, of course, couldn’t hold back all the creamy jelly inside me: from between my uber-muscular legs, a steady stream of cum flowed. It would keep flowing just like that, a massive as the Mississippi river, until that giantess finally penetrated me and… made me unload it all!

Yet back to the penis: the strength of my tongue was enough to lift that monster off the ground, and once my palms met the throbbing surface of her semen bags… all world disappeared around me. Her heavy, powerful, ultra-virile sperm makers were hot! In fact, they were burning: smoke and steam burst from under my hands, which would have been burned to a crisp if not for my superpowered nature. At that moment, I think I could bathe on an active volcano and get off from it while a mild tan at worst.

Those balls were superior to such a raging volcano, however. Their size was—how do I put it—both massive yet perfectly proportional to the goddess’s huge body. They weren’t abnormally huge—depending on what you consider to be an “abnormality,” of course—, making the woman’s crotch look like some disfigured monstrosity, but instead they were two gargantuous, gorgeous seedmakers as big as ostrich eggs (actually, a litte bigger), and each as heavy as ten basketball-sized spheres made entirely of titanium. «By god! I can’t lift them!!» I tried to sneak my finger under her eggs, but couldn’t do it; the eggs were so heavy they were all but glued to the floor, making it crumble further as endless loads of heavy sperm were released inside them.

Filled with admiration and literally shedding tears of awe, I slid my tongue back and left her penis heavily and loudly fall back on the ground. *Slurpt!!* My tongue came back to my throat so hard I felt as if I’d been penetrated by that giantess already. However, there was no thud; no fall from the monstrous penis back on the ground. As I looked up to it, I realized the monster was dangling at a fifteen-degree angle in relation to the floor.

The goddess was getting aroused! Our bodies were finally fulfilling tier purposes! With louder and more frequent growls, the titaness tacitly gave us her command not only to continue, but to redouble our efforts. Veronica came back from her soul-shattering orgasms with a long bang—making the result of all her muscles nearly snapping at once—followed by a long and terrifying silence. Her whole body, once stiff and vibrating like a metal rod, melted on the African’s chest like a piece of molten cheese, and I could see the steam of her panting breath leaving her mouth and nose as she recovered her strength, looking so funny with her eyes rolled up and her tongue rolled out.

She too had an amazing tongue—more like a mouth-penis, just like mine—and she decided to make the best use of it on her “second round.” “I will make…” She took a deep breath, trying to stand on all fours on the African’s wide, muscular bosom. “I will make you cum… so much!!” She inserted her cunt again on Jamila’s left tit, making her grunt, and attacked her right breast with her mouth and tongue.

She was not kidding. I wondered where the fuck she’d got so much determination and energy from! The orgasms she had experience would be enough to take down an army of women and power all of Manhattan, yet there she was, crazier than I’d ever seen her before, sliding inch after inch after ungodly inch of her tongue on the African’s right breast, trying to wrap it all around its widest girth.

She failed, of course, but still it was an impressive sight to see her seventeen inches of blonde Barbie muscular tongue embracing and squeezing that enormous boob. She went to work with her fullest might, every muscle in her body stimulating that woman’s chest: her thighs throbbed and boomed as they squeezed gallons of milk of the left tit, her nostrils exploded with the milk her mouth gulped greedily from the endlessly squirting right tit, which her tongue worked out with all its ultra-muscular inches. The rest of her body, meanwhile, worked to divert enough energy to these activities, shaking and curling, bending and hardening like the pistons of an engine. She curled up and stretched out like an industrial machine, her abs bloating to over a dozen in her over-muscular, sweat belly, and her own tits exploded with so much milk on the goddess’s bosom that pints of it splashed on my face, soon contributing a great deal to the milky lake around us.

For every gallon of milk she squirted, of course, the giantess lactated at least four. There was no way in heaven or hell for any of us to come close to her—but that didn’t stop us from trying. Oh, no, it didn’t!

With my mouth free from her penis, I saw the monster rise and rise, ever so slowly, so hard to please, but already the most massive and mastodontic cock I’d ever witnessed in all my life. “Goddess!!!” I vocalized my amazement. “Your cock is like the penises of my past thirty lovers!! None of them was shorter than nine inches or thinner than two-and-a-half inches wide, yet your cock… your monstrous, muscular god-cock!… is already worth all their penises combined! Indeed,” I fondled that elephant-like phallus with my elbow, “I might be underplaying its greatness! You’re barely fifteen percent hard, my goddess, yet your cock is already over thirty inches long!” That beast grew and grew and grew, literally as thick as a telephone pole, yet the penis was barely a fifth of its full hardness, the veins pumping so much blood at such intensity and heat I could literally hear the heavy chugs inside them: *chuuuuug! Chuuuug!* “Damn!!” I was again overwhelmed by the multiple sensations. “Your balls!! Look at them grow!” I licked my lips. “You semen-filled, horse-sized stud!!”

Her balls bloated in my hands, almost crushing the tips of my fingers on the ground. The cracks, of course, they grew too, and my tongue rolled out of my mouth again, almost on its own, to wrap itself around that magnanimous cock once more. I was trembling with heat in every pore. The touch, the texture, the sensations of having such a god cock in my face, such titan balls on my hands… fuck! I was the most blessed bitch in the world.

“Ahee!!” Very wimpy and feminine, I growled. My tongue slobbered all over that prick again, with pints of saliva covering one tenth of its surface—but it was okay, it was fine; we’d have all the time in the world to worship that hermaphrodite diva.

I spread my fingers and laid my hands on those balls, pushing into them and squeezing them just to feel their absurd hardness. How the fuck was that possible?? They were both flesh and iron; just beneath their surface, I could feel the glanding throbbing and moving around, pumping unsurmountable amounts of seed around the testicles, yet at the same time I felt like touching a surface of iron.

I squeezed her right ball so hard I made my whole arm ripple and harden. Damn, my muscles looked good! Thick veins covered my arm just to give it enough strength to touch that mighty testicle, and inside it I both felt and heard the streams of jizz coursing so slow and powerful. The beasts made sounds like heavy chugs flowing along: *chug! Chug! Chug!* I could taste the semen in my mouth already, for that sperm was clearly the world’s thickest, and the goddess had clearly endless loads of it.

“Is that…?” I was almost speechless. “Are these your sperm cells??”

I could feel them! Like little tadpoles, trillions of them for every cubic inch of her virile breeding equipment, yes, I could feel her sperm cells literally swimming with their endless energy! The monstress chuckled—every chuckle a powerful grunt—and then I realized she was dying to show off to us, to tell us just exactly how superior her sack and her semen were.

But, alas, she was really true to her world: not a word, not a conscious movement, nothing. Just her body and ours, waiting so eagerly for us to make her groan!

Veronica was almost all sore and cramped as she worked out the giantess’s tits. I could see her muscles bloating and making painful noises, bone-shattering cramps spreading through her mighty mare-like muscles in waves of sheer agony, her mouth hanging open and her twenty inches of tongue shaking like a snake caught up on an electric fence, all because the pain and the orgasms were both so intense.

The monstress tits squirted milk as high as the ceiling. The whole room was hazy enough so we couldn’t see any further than a couple of feet away. The ceiling—whatever part of it remained intact and uncracked—drip with milk and sexual fluids. We were laying on a hot, steamy lake of sexual filth, and such lake wasn’t any deeper only because her palace was so great, and also because, well, we hadn’t even started fucking for real. Actually, we hadn’t even begun the preliminaries per se, for our host, our goddess, shit!, she still wasn’t even aroused!

“You damn… giant!!” With a burning on my chest, I unfurled inch after inch after inch of goddess tongue around her prick. “I will show you my power!” Faster and harder, I stimulated her balls, and those monstrosities rumbled, boomed, and throbbed with literal gallons of semen being dumped inside them by the second. The internal stream of seed made my hands tickle. I could feel the sperm cells both faster and angrier, with constant clouds of steam rising from her stallion genitalia, all because they were so eager to fecundate!

As I licked, sucked, and massaged her, I felt a slight bump on the balls towards my direction. The sperm cells were swimming towards me. «By the goddess! What power!!» I could feel their bloated, hard heads pressing against the iron skin of her testicles, trying to swim into my hands, piercing my body like mighty bullets of pure virility, fecundating me straight from my guts, piercing and thrashing me like instruments of sheer destruction. Those sperm cells, if unleashed on my stomach, would certainly pierce its walls and penetrate my insides just so they would get to my womb.

I felt the terror and the fear that came with being near a giantess whose power was beyond even her own control. I snuggled those balls much harder, applying a kind of pressure that would literally crush stones into dust; to the giantess, though, that touch was nothing but a breeze. “Mmrr!!” She hummer, so animalistic. “Mmm!!” Her pleasure was finally becoming decent. The sweat spread around both me and Veronica, getting lost in the much larger puddles of filth, yet all that effort, of course, was just to give that giantess the same amount of pleasure she would get by fingering herself for about thirty seconds. We were so fucking outclassed.

«My goddess!!» I squeezed her prick with my tongue, forcing the monstrous endowment much higher. The monster was now over thirty-five inches long and eight inches thick—as thick as the biceps of a very fit (if not over-muscular) dude, and growing thicker by the second. The veins made it look and feel even thicker, even harder, like the leg of a bodybuilder. My twenty-five inches of succubus tongue did their best to stimulate that beast, but it threatened to rip it from my mouth at every second. “Mmrr!!” The goddess grunter faster, faster, and faster! The ground cracked, our bodies sank, and the entire house trembled as she slowly, very slightly began to lift her crotch from the ground. Victory was near! I could feel it.

“Bull!!” I spoke with my tongue out. The burning in my chest was like a Californian firestorm: I wrapped thirty inches of python-tongue around that cock and made my best to add even more inches to it, but I knew I was nearing my limit. “You’re a bull!!” Changing my tactic, I unwrapped my tongue from that penis and instead guided it towards her balls. As great as they were, her testicles were not so monstrous as to overwhelm my now thirty-three-inches long goddess tongue: I lapped on those balls like a hungry bitch in heat, and then loudly, messily whipped them with the tip of my tongue, causing the giantess to raise her crotch even higher and yelp with agony: “mmm-uuuh!!”

Nah, it wasn’t a yelp, but it was so, oh-so close! Her lips were hardened. The muscles around her chin, flexed and hardened. She was suffering! She was now consciously keeping her mouth shut so that she wouldn’t concede defeat so soon. We, however, were ravenous! Despite all our inferiority, all the Grand-Canyon-like difference between our bodies, our power, our virility, and sexual potency to hers, we were still discovering more power within us than we’d ever imagined before—and this canyon, as large and unsurmountable as it was, was growing narrower by the minute. One day, maybe, it might even be just as small as the cracks on the floor and all over the walls (though I was very sure it would never, ever be shut).

With my hands, I pumped that god cock. “Fuck!!” I crammed my mouth all over her balls, feeling her heat invading all my face and her tadpole-like sperm cells trying to pierce it, swimming so hard against her skin and into myself. “What a stallion-sized dick! What a world-class pussy breaker! Fuck!!” I squirted milk through my tits. “To think of the legions of girls, women, and man you penetrated and deflowered with this monster toll… the countless wombs you bred with your mighty horse seed… fuck!! The whole towns you’ve fecundated with your gallons of seed… god!! I’m cumming!!!” My tits hosed milk, almost as if compensating for my hard-shut pussy. “I’m cumming with your power!!!”

My saliva dripped and drooled all over those balls. There was just too much testicle and too little ooze, though! I smacked my face, banged my head, and whipped my tongue against that heavy sack, and still I needed about five whole minutes to cover with my saliva. Her god-cock was throbbing, growing, standing proud now at thirty-eight inches of leg-spreading, pussy-tearing, womb-wrecking meat, and its angle towards the floor showed me that—finally!—the giantess was at least fifty percent aroused, or even more.

“Mmmrr!!!” Her fingers closed in on the floor. *Crack!!* Huge holes were formed around her fists. The veins both throbbed and expanded on her body, creating a powerful mural of full vascularity. «Hot! Fucking! Damn!» I found myself near another round of pussy-exploding orgasms as I saw that living sculpture gaining such tremendous hardness before me. She was beyond a goddess; she was the whole universe! The veins were usually as thick as fingers, and they sprawled over her body like mighty oil ducts on a land, transporting all the necessary fuel for her full, unbridled power.

Power. Power! What power it was! I felt the most powerful of those veins growing right under my own veins, giving her steel-hard cock a firmness unseen even in the world’s tallest, sturdiest mountains. With a motion as quick and sudden as a lightning strike, then… *bump!!* Her cock rose hard, and rose fully! My hands were almost burned by the sudden attrition, missing the cock for a bit as it stood completely upright, in a ninety-degree angle to her body, and then…

*BAAK!!!* We both jumped. The ground shook. I heard Veronica cry before I saw her body falling over the titaness’s head, and then writhe in pain as a huge red mark had grown in the left side of her waist. She was in so much pain she was almost breathless, yet I couldn’t be too worried about her once I saw the cause of her agony: the mighty penis, in its insane hardness, couldn’t be contained in a “mere” ninety-degree angle, pointing to the ceiling; its strength was so supreme that Jamila’s crotch could only pull the penis further and further and further, making it smack violently against her tits so hard that her entire body actually sank a little on the ground.

*CRAAACK!!!* Like the fall of a meteor, the ground sunk beneath us and the cracks grew wide and plentiful at all directions. Sections of the walls fell nearby; they were followed by large chunks of the ceiling collapsing: *boom! Boom! Pow!!* Her mansion was being eroded, pulverized like a sand castle, yet the goddess could only smile in that state, finally starting to feel a pleasure worthy of her size.

Her balls throbbed and roared like engines; I felt their insane heat on my tongue. Steam came out from under my tongue, the powerful semen inside burning so hot it instantaneously vaporized my saliva! “You goddess!! You monster of power!!” I ground my face harder against those monster balls, feeling her sperm massaging my cheeks. “God!! Please, my goddess, let me cum!” The juice was oozing through my pussy! Inside, I felt my womb drowned in girl-cum! My belly was bumped like it carried a four-month-old pregnancy, and the juices felt as heavy as a small melon stuck up on my cunt.

The goddess only grunted, however, with her lips trembling and her breath growing fast-paced and desperate. All around us, the crater kept growing: *crack! Crack! Crack!!* She kept clutching the floor hard enough to turn it into dust; whenever the stone was ground down to atoms, she had to grab a new batch again, and within seconds she turned it into dust. Smoke was rising from all her pores, and her body was covered by so many thick, throbbing, burning veins it looked like an extra armor of muscles atop her already god-like musculature.

The goddess was much, much closer than I expected! Greedily wanting to take her all by myself, I commanded: “cum! Unleash the mighty semen from these balls! I want to see you, my goddess, I want to witness you unload all the jizz from these mighty orbs!!” Reaching out to her prick on her abs, I masturbated it with my whole arms; my tongue, in the meantime, savaged her throbbing, bustling balls. “By god, how much semen to you have!! Fuck! These monsters are changing shape thanks to all the heavy juice you’re producing!” I pressed the tip of my tongue against her many glands, looking for the source of all that semen. “Fuck!! They’re like machines!! You’re producing cum like a fucking champion, my goddess!! More!!” I bit and battered those bull bastards. “More semen! I’m crazy for your cum, my goddess!! It’s only to be expected from a muscular mare like you!!”

There was a sound; a mighty, gooey sound coming from the tip of her daunting prick! As I raised my head (yet kept lapping those horse testicles with my tongue), I was awash with both excitement and disappointment, all at a very short span of time: excitement, yes, because I thought she had cummed; disappointment, indeed, for I saw it was a massive load of precum.

How powerful was that penis, honestly? Her self-control was beyond divine, and her virility was unlike anything nature could produce: despite being only in her lubricating stage, her penis unloaded buckets of precum with enough pressure to push Veronica’s body all the way to the wall behind her. My poor friend actually crashed on it, and a few pieces of the wall fell over her convulsing body, with the sight of the cracks growing and multiplying giving me almost mind-altering orgasms.

“Yes!! And no!! I don’t want precum, my goddess!!” I assaulted her penis with my arms; all of my muscles, especially my biceps and triceps, throbbed and rumbled just so as to give her a world-class handjob. “I want your fucking semen!!” Under my tongue, her balls roared! The giantess was forced to lift up her hips again from the floor, bringing my whole upper body up with her.

Yet I was ravenous and unforgiving: “I will eat ya!!” Standing on my knees, I gave those balls a crushing massage with my two melons, splashing milk all over them, making her crotch and her elephant-sized genitalia drool with milk like a fucking Niagara Falls. “I will fucking eat all this godforsaken semen!!” I added my elbows to that ball-stimulation, nearly squirting my womb out as I felt the vast masses of her semen nearly repelling my arms—that’s how strong they were!

With my face and arms now on her monster cock, I could finally give it the worship it truly deserved: crushing it with my hands, I wrapped with around with my tongue and pushed my face against it. With a coordinated, triple assault of forearms & arms, lips, and tongue, I blew it!

Out of nowhere, then, the giantess stopped lubing herself.


My heart stopped. Pieces of the ceiling fell in greater speed. The cracks on the ground grew, and all other sounds soon disappeared as the echo of her roar flew into the distance:






I was left speechless, frozen, terrified. That wasn’t the moan of a woman or even the roar of a lion; it was really like a monster the size of a mountain roaring at the depths of the deepest canyon! It was a sound that stirred up the very core of the planet, and around that mansion, from the many trees and vast forests of her property, every single bird took flight and fled in despair; every wild animal ran the fastest their legs could carry them, and volcanoes deep in the Pacific went off thanks to the reverb of her mighty roar on the planet’s magma core.

Her entire, massive body froze in the air, with huge, almost ludicrous holes on the ground around her arms and heels. She supported herself on the floor like a table. Every single muscle of her body trembled, vibrating at an incredible frequency, so fast and powerful it produced a hum that struck both me and Veronica deep in our very guts—a humming so intense and deep that, just like certain frequencies would crack glasses, it threatened to make our insides explode.

Her balls swelled. Those gigantic things were too heavy even for her leather-strong sack; they dangled down until a midpoint between her crotch and the floor, stretching her sack like an elastic. Inside, Olympic-pool’s worth of semen were added. The amount of sperm was so insane that even the hyper-concentrated nature of the fluid could no longer hold back the balls from increasing in size: once as big as ostrich eggs, the balls now swelled bigger, becoming almost as large as basketballs.

The throbbing inside them was constant and tireless. Even with my head away, I could hear the semen being pumped into the ducts like a fucking factory. It was both a hum and a pump; she had a literal machine clocking in sperm twenty-four-seven: *puuump! Puuump!! Huuum… puuump!!”

Just as I thought to attack that monstrous monument of virile breeding power, the monster woman lifted her legs high up in the air, bringing her whole lower body with her until she was backflipping and standing on the ground just by her hands, completing the backflip with a gracious motion to rival even the movement of the greatest of Olympic medalists. Her landing, of course, could only be so graceful: her tremendous weight added two craters to the floor, each over forty inches in diameter around each of her foot.

They were not the only thing forty-inches long in that scene.

There was a constant, powerful hum coming from her breast. The goddess stood tall, upright, perfect. Her muscles remained on the insane hardness they were just before her “moan,” and the veins were now thicker and more plentiful. From afar, I could see the blood flowing, nay, racing inside those veins. If one of them managed to be cut (by a helicopter blade, apparently), it would squirt blood like a fucking hose before her superpowered body shut it instantaneously.

The goddess raised one massive arm and moved her hand gently to her face. With her thumb and her index—both too brimming with fat, throbbing veins—she grabbed her glasses and took them out. “Fine.” She said, clouds of steam coming through her nostrils. “I will fuck you.”

She folded the temples of her glasses delicately with her fingers, only to throw them away one second later on a distant wall, shattering them to dust upon the impact, leaving only a few small cracks on the stone as proof of them having ever existed.

I gulped. With a thunderous roar from her hardening thighs, the goddess lunged towards me.

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[NSFW/+18!] The King of America and the Goddesses of Brazil – Part 1

A pile of men laid on the floor, making it very hard for Imelda to reach the inner quarters of her queen’s palace. «For fuck’s sake,» she sighed, jumping over the massive bodies with great difficulty. «Even for her, this is quite overdoing it.»

It was a sight she had gotten used to, though. The most beautiful, hard, muscular males were all gathered in those long halls, their naked and ripped bodies spread out on the floor, ready for the taking from any daring Amazonian who wished a good cock inside of her, yet the mighty woman barely paid them any, jumping over them and zigzagging between the mounds of their piled-up bodies while trying to not get lost in that massive castle. The rainforest added heat to an already heated place, and at times she felt like a turkey on Thanksgiving, cooking in a most unpleasant way.

The males were shivering. She spent some time stopping by some of them and gawking at their amazing, divinely sculpted physiques. It was not arousal, but rather admiration: while most women spent their entire lives without fucking a male at least 10% as attractive as the least attractive of the men in that castle, her Queen was able to consume those not by the dozens, not by the hundreds, but literally by the thousands every day. At points she even doubted there were so many of these men in the world, like such overwhelming amount of beauty was just a physical impossibility. «I guess the top 1% of males really is that hot!» She put her foot on the ripped, swollen abs of one of those studs, making him quiver with even greater pain than he already was under. «Damn, my Queen. Leave some meat for some of us less developed goddesses.»

On her calve, she felt a tiny hand fumbling her. Well, it wasn’t a small hand; behind her, she saw, was a 230-pound fitness model who commanded millions of dollars in paychecks every years thanks to his smoldering Latino-look and his Heaven-sculpted physique. His biceps were bulging as he moved so painfully on the ground, trying to get a piece of that woman. “I…” His voice, dark and deep as the depths of the deepest oceans, struck the goddess with some kind of fire; even with all her sexual abundance, those males were a temptation hard enough to resist. “I… Im… Imelda.” The gorgeous male squeezed her tight, but in that muscle he met nothing but the utmost resistance. “F-fuck…” His penis twitched and hardened. “It’s like… iron.”

The power-woman turned around and kicked him under his abs, right above his crotch. The male contorted and cried before she kicked him one more time, literally throwing him away like nothing. “Touch me again without permission and I’ll rip your cock clean with my teeth and eat it in front of you.” She wasn’t joking; her face was fire and fury; no one would ever dare cross that woman. “Any of you.” She turned around, challenging the literal piles of uber-muscular fitness gods to a fight. “Feeling strong and haughty? Then come at me and test my muscles.” The goddess flexed, feeling the power surge within her veins; her muscles barely rigid at all, yet already harder than any of the muscles of those super studs around her. “I’m not in the mood for used, fucked up flesh today. A goddess such as myself deserves nothing but the freshest meat.” She licked her fat, dark, wide lips and smacked them, making a pop rumble throughout the halls. “The meat our Queen is having.” In the distance, very faintly, she could hear the moans and gasps of the dozens of men still strong enough to take on her royal; there was a long walk until she got there, and the Queen—judging by the lack of her own roars—was barely having any effort taming those haughty males in her abode.

“You.” She leaned down to a man and grabbed him by the balls. The daunting penis of the man flopped in and around her arm, its tip reaching halfway to her elbow. She cared not for the impressiveness of that dick, which was so fat she could barely hold it until her finger met around its girth, and measured a daunting eight inches while completely, absolutely, outrageously soft. “Up, up!” Without a care in the world, she pulled the beast up, bringing over three hundred pounds of muscle into the air by the waist while the man squealed and cried like a pig. “Get all these dudes out.” She kicked him, and the man’s ass, spanked by her mighty foot, crumbled and collapsed as if its muscle was made of clay. “Come on, pig!” She kicked him again, time and time and time again, and one final time so hard that the body of the man, muscles everywhere, flew many feet away and crashed against a wall, whimpering and crying as a blood dripped from his groins—not blood due to her treatment, though, but the Queen’s many, many hours ago. “I want this place clean off useless flesh. We will be getting your services once more again… soon. For now,” she clapped, and her claps literally made the stained-glass windows crack, “out, all of you! Back to your quarters! Get some rest, regrow your muscles.” The stepped over many puddles of blood, many of the penises drained out of so much cum that their balls had receded into their own crotches and the dicks were forced to ejaculate nothing else but the liquid of their veins. “Fuck, you’ve been specially fucked, I see.”

Some of the men had absolute terror in their eyes. They latched on to the ground like cats about to fall from the trees, even though there was no threat at all to them—well, maybe not entirely; the entire castle was trembling and quaking oh-so-faintly, courtesy of the bloody Queen whose cunt never stopped teaching those males a lesson in virility. “What…?!” Some of these men, with blood dripping from their eyes like tears, looked up to the tall, virile female, and gasped: “what are you?”

Imelda put her foot over his head and crushed it. “I’m god.” She raised her foot and brought it down with fury. CRASH!! The ground underneath the man’s skull cracked, and the rest of the body of that muscular giant squirmed like an insect’s after it had its head crushed by a stone. Uncaring and cold, she raised her foot again, and one more time brought it down. BAAAM!! The cracks sprawled from the small crater, and the man’s skull was drilled about six inches into the marble, his eyes finally shut and his body no longer moving.

Puffing steam through her nostrils and laying her fists on her waist, the goddess made her way through the pile of males, counting the steps until she arrived at her Majesty superb love room. The height of those walls and piles of men were an impressive sight; everywhere she went, there was literally more flesh than stone and, if her Queen ever wanted it, she could easily build a palace solely with the bodies of her fucked up lovers. “Your bodies would be the bricks.” She said out loud, to herself, fearing no shame in being heard. “Your cum would be the cement.”

She looked around those piles of males and counted them just for fun: “two thousand, five hundred and sixty-eight… two thousand, five hundred and sixty-nine…” She stopped by a new pile, where at least fifty men must surely have been laying, one atop the other, a huge mess of fuck-drunk, messed-up males looking like they were beaten and trampled upon by a horde of bisons. “One, two, three…” Quickly, pointing at each piece of ass, she counted indeed a total of fifty-eight men in that one singular pile, adding them to her overall score: “with these five hundred and seventy behind me, that’d make the whole sum, mm…” She touched her chin and raised her eyes, thinking for a second. “Alright, that’s two thousand, six hundred and twenty.” She sighed. “And this is barely one third of the castle. Fuck, my other girls must be having hell in counting you all lazy asses.” Walking again, she laid her hand on the mass of beaten males and dragged all the cum in their sweaty bodies on her fingers. The massive loads of cum dripped on the ground, forming a trail along her steps, and the semen formed huge piles on her hand as she fumbled those males. “I’ll have to order at least five thousand of you every day until you recover.” She took her hand off those walls of virile muscle and brought it to her face, smelling deeply the scent of that sweet cum she had in her palm—a whole Evian bottle of warm sperm. “Mm… mm.” She closed her eyes and walked more slowly, feeling all the details and variations of that nice, generous load of testicle juice. “Gotta give it to you: you are some fine pieces of ass. Mm, mm!” She brought the palm to her lips and slowly started to lick the cum and drink it like a cat. “This is some quality nut.” She looked again to the virile broth and saw it was so thick that it barely attached to her tongue; she had to eat it if she wanted it inside of her. “Goddamn you males!” She stopped by some men and gave their hard asses one powerful, assertive slap. “Your cum is specially high quality today!”

Walking like nothing was going on in her mind, she began to eat the cum like a cake. Three big bites was all she needed until the cake was over; she enjoyed the semen for as long as she could, finding special pleasure in bloating her cheeks with that tasty male juice and yawning like dental care, then gargling on the semen before swallowing it and feeling its thick, viscous content descend inch by inch on her throat until it filled her belly so hot and good. “Mm, mm. Oh, god, that’s some good semen!”

The woman sent the semen from one cheek to the other, experiencing the wild range of flavors contained in that heavenly load. She yawned very slowly, activating all her billions of cells in her super sensible palate to evaluate the genetic quality of that semen—down to every individual male that had come in there. “Mm, mm. These are twelve different men. Their loads range from moderate quality to very good quality. Mm, mm. Fine breeders, you are, though not of the finest kind. Your penises range from eight inches to a nice fourteen inches when hard, and your testicles, mm… mm… your testicles can cum from a little cupful to a XL Coke bottle of semen. The thickness and consistency, mm… that’s kinda lacking.” The goddess lifted her head slowly and, without moving a muscle in her throat, let the warm jizz slide into her throat, flowing slowly until it mixed with the big load already in her stomach. “Your semen is still liquid, my studs, which is far beneath the semi-solid mass of a real good cum.” Far from cleaning her lips, she reveled on their smears: she licked her palm, kissed it, sucked it, and then she sucked every single one of her thumbs down to their bases, making sure that not one drop of that filthy broth was left wasted. “Fucking hell, you’re a B-class type of studs, and still you all taste so good.” Her hands freely slapped the hard, massive asses of those muscular stallions, making many shiver and grunt while they simply tried to sleep. “I do not know where my Queen finds so many of you. Ever since we conquered this land, we’ve had over a million of your kind, and still we need more to keep our furnaces well fed.” She laid her palms on her groin, feeling her womb throbbing. “Oh, fuck. I’m horny.” She looked around the place, seeing if any of those wasted man was of stellar fucking material. “Today… I will make babies.”

The males tried to touch her and worship her everywhere she passed. Even with their eyes closed and their ears bleeding, they could literally locate her by the power of her walking; her feet stomped the ground with a strength to make it crack, and the walls rumbled as the windows cracked—some of them literally shattered—all under her mere stroll. Many tried to pull the thin, silky robe she wore over her body, trying to uncover the formidable mountain of muscles that she was. Their faces were met with skull-cracking stomps, and their breaths were almost extinguished under her brief, but terrifying fits of rage. Imelda was much less forgiving than her majesty—a necessity, maybe, for an Alpha female who nonetheless was still not at the very top of the pack; in order to survive even her Queen, she needed to be ruthless, whereas the majesty could afford the grace and the humility only available to the truly safe, the truly secure.

«That bitch. Where is she?» She cracked her knuckles and tried to keep her anger in check. Those piles of men were getting too old already. The length of the walk unnerved her. She wanted to breed now, yet the distance from her breeding ground was really getting to her nerves. «Where is that bitch hat breeds hundreds of studs without even telling me about it?» Her ropes grew apart in her body, revealing more and more of her musculature as she strolled at a faster pace and released steam through her nostrils. Enraged and pumped, the power woman was a force to be reckoned with. «My bitch! My Queen! Where the fuck are you?»

She turned around a few hundred times before she finally arrived at her destination: in the anti-chamber of Her Majesties quarters, a sight of absolute delight. “Hello, studs.” The men who weren’t already standing stood up at once, their combined movement making a rumble that would be scary and terrifying anywhere else—but that, in that place, was barely audible under the ferocious spanking, banging, pounding, screaming, and crying that was going on beyond the portal into the Queen’s bedroom.

Ignoring the sound, which had indeed become so commonplace as to be imperceptible to her, Imelda focused instead on the power beasts around her, and she feared not giving them as generous smile as she approved everything of what she saw. “I see. As always, she has left the finest for last.”

“My lady Imeld-”

BOOM! The room quaked. The fucking and banging going on in the bedroom stopped for a little, for even the Queen herself heard that violent sound, only to a second later resume fucking as if nothing had happened.

The man who had dared to speak was now on his knees, his immensely gigantic body shivering and quivering like a naked lamb on the cold, his massive chest weaving, her breath leaving him, and his mouth finally opening to let out a huge stream of puke. Bloorsh! The puke splashed on the lady’s ropes, giving her no anger at all. With one foot, she stomped the monster’s skull, and his face was sent banging against his own puddle of vomit so hard it cracked the ground beneath it.

Imelda looked around. The massive, beautiful males were shivering. No word was exchanged, no look other than hers, for even the tallest men began to lower their heads and avoid their gaze—all but maybe two or three of them. «The bulls,» she thought, smiling wider as she left the beaten man behind. That guy who’s just puked was a 7ft3in-tall, 450-pound muscle behemoth whom, prior to be called into the Queen’s harem, used to fight crazed beasts in the wild, protecting villages for a price, and who had infamously wrestled a bull into the ground in under than seconds and snapped his neck like a toothpick, and now he was there, on the ground, quivering and almost crying after a single punch of Her Majesty’s confidant.

The great lady walked calmly and lazily by every man, stopping by every once and then so she could feel their muscles and fumble their genitalia. She said no word; there were only motions: the woman stopped by a stud who was a whole foot taller than her—a 7ft9in tall beast of a man—and whose over-muscular frame absolutely dwarfed hers, when he was the one who shivered and cowered, turning around obediently as the lady rolled him by the hips. “Amazing musculature.” She laid her lips on his right flank and started to eat it, to consume it, licking and coating it with her saliva as her hands fumbled both his gigantic, plentiful abdominal muscles, and his lower back. “Come here, stud.” She turned the guy around aggressively, pushing him against the wall and making the entire chamber quake again, with the guy panting as she pressed her hips against his massive, round hard ass, and them giggling her hips on the crack between his glutes almost as if she had a penis, feeling her own vulva finally moisten and swell and give her the beginnings of a splendorous pleasure. “Ooh, yeah. Yeah, baby, baby good!” The turned the guy around again, laying her left hand on his abs and pressing him against the wall. “What a good horse you are.” He raised her right hand to the man’s face. Another thing there was rising, but she paid it no attention—yet. She grabbed the man’s cheeks and turned his head from side to side, seeing his heavenly face in all its splendorous, young, beautiful glory, and realized that the massive stud—a beast who weighed over 500 pounds with under 5% body fat—was merely a 19-year-old youngling. “You’re are nice breeding slave. Oh, god, look at these.” She put her fingers into his lips and forced them open, and the men began to pant quickly, almost as if dying inside. “Oh, what good teeth.” She turned the man’s face and kept prying his lips open, evaluating his perfect white, shiny teeth. “Protruding canines, almost like a wolf.” She let him go, stepping back to see him in his full glory. “How much cum are you able to produce, slave?”

The man weaved. His eyes were moist, almost tearing up. He looked to the other men, who looked at him to give him confidence, reassuring him that the dark lady wouldn’t do anything too aggressive if he was wise. Gulping painfully, the beast spoke in tone deeper than the Mariana trenches: “my lady…”

“Drop the niceties.” He looked sternly up to him. “No ‘my lady’ bullshit. Just tell it as it is.”

The beast crossed his superb, massive arms under his back, trying to hide his shivering and his nervousness. “Mm, my… uh…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “A barrel.” Imelda lifted one eyebrow. “I can ejaculate a barrel of hot seed.” He looked down to her master and made a very, very foolish move: “you would like to…?”

A hand. Just a raised hand. One raised hand and that’s all that was needed for the giant to shut the fuck up and the entire room to fall into stillness—thought not “silence.” In the bedroom beyond the large, golden door, indescribable horrors were unfolding, with the final men of the Queen screaming for mercy as she consumed them like they would never be consumed before. Imelda tried to not pay attention at those sounds, knowing full well they reflected a power that she would never truly, truly have.

The woman—the goddess—heard many stretching noises on the room, and her smile became more malicious, if not more loving. “You boys enjoying yourself to my body?” She stepped further back, turning from side to side slightly, taking the lighting of the room into account so that the men could see the absurd profile of her outrageously muscular and curvy body from under her robes. “I will rip and devour the penis of any man who’s fully heard.” She closed her eyes and pointed forward. “Except this guy.” She opened one eye and looked at him. “He’s the only stud who’s allowed to be hard during my presence. Every other male will be emasculated if you disappear. This is no place for horny teenagers, after all.” She ran her hands down along her sexy profile, highlighting the ridiculously muscular, thick, sensual figure of her titanic body. “Alright, my studs. Don’t disappoint me, will you? I really don’t want any blood today. Alright. Three… two…” She waited a little longer. “One…”

She turned around and opened her eyes. About twenty-eight men were in that room, and around her she saw twenty-seven semi-hardened cocks. A few of them—the Bulls—were actually fully (or almost fully) soft, with only four or five men coming really close to me outstanding hard. “Oh, my, my.” Her smile now became beaming, for she approved a great deal of what she witnessed.

The biggest cocks known to mankind were there, in that room, and the offering for the night was surely one of the finest the Queen had ever assembled. Imelda feared not in displaying her raging arousal, spreading her legs up, like a cowgirl amount to mount her horse, and letting the strands of umidity flow down her uber-muscular thighs into tiny puddles around her feet. In front and around of her she counted twenty-seven outstandingly massive penises even when “just” semi hard, with the hardest ones belonging to the weakest males, and the softest ones to the finest of the finest meats of the Queen. “I’m impressed with you Bulls.” She looked at the three males who remained mostly soft; only one, however, dared to look her in the eye. “Leonardo, aren’t you?” She spoke to that one male, and the place rumbled as he reflexively (daringly?) flexed his muscles. “Oh, my. Aren’t you one gigantic beast.”

The stud, while soft, was already the biggest member in the room: between his legs dangled an appendix of such impressive, monstrous proportions, that even the other males kept their distance from him, already respectful of the monster’s obvious status as Absolute Alpha of the group. The monster raised his chin and dared to face the lady as a superior, not as a mere servant, and the noble picked up on his challenge, laying her fists on her hips and throwing him a scorching one-sided smirk. “Arrogant horse. Before you even get the chance of gazing upon our mighty regent, I will destroy you.” She turned her back from him slowly, yet already she could hear the beast gulping, his nervousness beginning to show through his hastened, pacing breath. “Your eighteen-inch-long soft penis mighty be already as thick as an arm, and you may have fucked over 15,000 women before you were ever recruited; and I figure that your fecundity is, indeed, hella impressive, with every single one of your women becoming knocked-up even when you used industrial-scale condoms, and even when they were on the pill (and even both together!), and that you have bred them with an average of two children each, resulting in an offspring that is literally 30-33 thousand strong… however!” Powerfully, she flexed her chest, her arms, and her shoulders, and all the males there either gulped or shivered upon seeing the massive expansion of her muscles, so fucking strong that even her lose robes threatened to be ripped by them somehow. “You will realize that all the world you thought was your own out there… all the planet you thought you ruled over, because you are such a massive, powerful stallion…” She giggled. “All that world was a mere training ground to this castle. To us! Your Queen and your regent.” She stepped back towards her eighteen-year-old muscle giant, whose massive cock rose past his bellybutton; nothing less than an outstanding 24-inch pillar of manhood. “Let me get warmed up for you first.”

The poor stud was trembling. As the hands of the woman touched his penis, a massive broth of precum spurted out of his immense urethra, bubbling up in a gooey, steamy mess that immediately filled her fingers and covered the entire gigantic surface of his monstrosity of a cock. Instead of being annoyed, the woman cooed, looking up with great pleasure and approval to her beloved stallion. “Such a young horse already producing so much of this virile juice.” She smacked her lips, stretching her jaw slowly and sensuously. “I know you’re young, and I know you barely fucked, like, 200 women before coming here. It’s natural, my stud, but I must urge you to contain yourself.” If the cock of the stallion was impressive, his balls were even more so. Despite having a 24-inch hard cock, his manhood actually looked disproportionally small compared to the testicles that powered that beast: dangling as low as his knees, his milkmakers were literally as gigantic as American footballs, managing to outflank even the mighty Bull whose cock remained the softest of all cocks in that chamber.

It was precisely those two superb seed-making machines that Imelda slapped like a dominatrix, and it was precisely those slaps that made the stud cry and almost collapse on his knees before the goddess. Imelda put one hand on his gigantic abdominals and pushed him back, literally cracking the wall behind him this time. “You can cry. It’s okay. I know I’m too much a woman for you.” She cast a sly look behind her, seeing if all man were still soft. “Remember: a penis goes hard, a penis gets chopped.” The belly of the giantess literally roared, and the chamber was filled by the sound of a feline hunger. “I’m serious. One of out favorite punishments, as you might know, for the very worst offenders of this land—the rapists, the serial murderers, the worst of corrupts, and all that manly vermin of the Earth!—is to take off their pants, bite off their cocks raw, and then… oh!” Her pussy grew more swollen and harder. She was lubricating like crazy, but that was still barely even the beginning of the beginning. “We eat those cocks raw if they are appetizing enough. If a criminal is more hung than eight inches, we fucking dine on his genitalia. Normal minds can barely comprehend the pleasure that is to bite the cock of an odious man and feel the semen squirting out of his balls just as we chew on them.” She turned around just a bit, caressing the massive cock of the youngster with one hand; not jerking him, but mostly just grazing him, making him even more afraid and nervous than if she was actually pumping his dick for raw seed. “It’s just like fruits, honestly: biting a testicle of a well-endowed male, you see… the real good part…” She licked her lips and shivered, the waves of pleasure taking over. “The fattest part of the testicle… damn!” Her eyes rolled. “If you do it right, you now, the juices squirt out into the walls, even the ceiling. Oh, god, it’s good to eat the genitals of a male whose done nothing but harm to society, and so I’ll eat yours too, indeed, if you dare disobey me.” She turned around quickly, as if to catch some man on a weak spot, or as if to answer a question nobody actually made: “‘But what crime have we commited?’ You might wonder. Well, no crime. It’s just that we can do whatever we please, so, if you’re feeling daring…” She chuckled. “Try me. Test my patience. It sure has been a long time since my stomach has had actual cock for dinner, not just the juice.” Out of nowhere, then, the beast woman gripped the cock of her stud by the crown, and the poor male just moaned and groaned while his hips twerked like a woman’s and his massive ass literally cracked the walls further with those movements. “If you can’t resist what I’m going to do to this stud, close your eyes and shut your ears, because… yes, I admit: the arousal of my body subduing a big beast like this wonderful horse here…” Her other hand caressed the superb pecs of that ultra-massive breeder. “It is one hell of an arousing sight. Now…” She turned her face again to her male, who was sobbing under her touch. “Oooh, baby. Mommy’s hurting you like this, mm? Like… this?”

With her hand on his cock, she performed a twisting motion which immediately brought the giant to his knees. The goddess grabbed the giant by his neck and pushed him aggressively against the wall, crushing the stone and making parts of the wall fall on into the ground. “I love younglings like you. The feeling of mastery and domination is just something we cannot get from any of these other studs. Now, my darling…” Pumping his crown, she felt the jets of precum hitting her bosom and absolutely drenching her robes. “Fear not. I’m not gonna fuck your for real.” She licked her lips. “You are too young for that. You… are meant to feed me cum.” Opening her mouth, she lined up her lips on the steamy, boiling urethra of the teenage stallion. “Now, darling boy… cum.”

A single motion. One simple, lonely squeeze, and that was all it took for the “inexperienced” stallion to cum harder than a herd of horses. The room was filled by the liquid sound of thick, hot seed travelling through the breeding cannon of that prized stallion. Before the woman even performed the action, the males were already apprehensive, trying their best to contain their raging arousals. Once she did it, though… they almost lost it! «Focus!» They thought to themselves, closing their eyes and even breathing as little as possible so that not even the smell of that teenager’s supreme cum enticed them to nut on their own.

The woman merely squeezed the underside of the teenager’s massive helmet with her fingers, her gigantic hand forming an O around the penis, and promptly twisted her tight squeeze on the penis, making her fingers vibrate very tenderly at the very end of the movement. The young bull released a deep, growling grunt of earthquake power, and the entire room rumbled as his seed began to flow.

The silky, velvety fat lips of the dominating demigoddess enveloped the exploding cum cannon, and her seal on the prick became something that the young stud had never felt before. With explosive ferocity, but also panicky incontinence, the teenager was shocked to feel all his self-control and will power drained throughout the most painful, embarrassing five seconds of his live: the cum, which at first came out in controlled bursts, slowly gained ferocity and intensity until the young man was not only nutting with his full force, but far-and-wide surpassing any force he had ever cum with before. «DAMN IT!!» His mind panicked. A glimmer of hope, however, beamed within it: «FINE!! WHORE! TAKE IT!» His gigantic, super-massive, super-veiny arms shivered; he wanted to grab that woman’s head and push it down on his cock, yet he didn’t know if he’d end up with both arms still attached to his torso afterwards. In doubt, he merely thrust his hips upward, penetrating that woman’s endless hole with the power of a bona fide human breeding machine. «TAKE ALL MY GUNK!!»

The teenager was immediately shocked and flabbergasted by the… incredible… indescribable, really… the goddamn divine seal of the woman’s lips on his cock, which no woman had ever managed to blow at all. You see, that stallion’s cock was literally horse-sized. No, cut that: horses have, on average, sixteen to eighteen inches of a fully rigid penis, whereas that young man displayed a full twenty-four inches of manhood—a two-foot-long cock! His girth was similar to that of the flexed biceps of a world champion bodybuilder, making his supreme genitalia not only long, but massively, inhumanly fat.

It was exactly that beastly, demonic genital that the woman ate up like it was nothing. With the squeeze of her mouth on his prick, the young man literally blanked out for two seconds, and if not for the woman’s one hand against his abs, he would have collapsed on his knees with a generalized failure on his leg muscles.

The game was on.

Liquid burst after liquid gunk resonated on the room. The trhoats of the men were shivering, their apples moving up and down, just like their cocks, the discomfort and the pain of that young man’s torture striking their nerves on a very personal, intimate level. As the teenager regained his consciousness and returned to grunting and moaning, the males all closed their eyes and shut their ears, trying their best to resist the famed emasculation of those stallion-like giantesses.

«What delicious, savory cum.» The woman tasted the seed, and it was wonderful. It wasn’t just the consistency that struck her cunt with pleasant, agreeable sensations, but the sheer volume of it. Looking up to her quivering, spasming male, she smiled, not letting a single drop of his cannon loads even drip through her lips.

She was eating as much cum as a hundred horses unloading their seeds straight in her mouth—with a difference: whereas a horse can cum for only as long as fifteen seconds, that guy just… kept going. And going. And then going some more. With loads as fat and thick as a human arm, the goddess relaxed her throat muscles completely, making sure that the massive train of jizz had uninterrupted passage straight into her belly, where it splashed with the most phenomenal sound ever heard by those men: *splooorsh!!*

“B-by G-god…” One man covered his mouth and shut his eyes. If the goddess had heard him, she would punish him later. That torrent of jizz was far too good, far too holy for a massive woman like her to deny, and she would drain that stud’s super balls down to their latest drop of seed, to the point that he would need weeks to ever nut a single load again.

As the seconds rolled on, the sound of the man’s spurting became more aggressive, downright scary. Bigger and badder-looking studs turned their ears to the young, spasming male, wondering how the fuck could a cub so young nut such legendary loads of man juice. Without any extra effort, indeed, most of the penises in the room began to go down, down, down, for the feeling of being surpassed by a pesky teenager was the cherry on top of the cake of humiliation those men had continuously been forced to ear since their recruitment by the merciless Queen.

It’s not that the load was massive; it’s not that his balls were powerful, heavy, and lively; it’s just that it kept going for so! Fucking! Long! «Jesus!» The biggest, baddest male of the group—Leonardo!—was the only one to face the scene with his eyes opened, and even he, atop of his pedestal of uber-masculinity, could barely resist getting his cock semi-hard and shutting his eyes from time to time so that it didn’t sprout fully hard against his abs. The other men who got a glimpse of his manhood, oh… their penises went fully soft on the spot. It was already humiliating enough to have an eighteen-year-old with balls literally as big as American footballs and a cock longer than an average arm, but to see that this man wasn’t even the biggest, the baddest, the manliest of them… fuck! That was just too much to take! As the men looked at Leonardo, they wondered “fuck! How the fuck can a monster like that exist?!” As Leonardo looked at the teenager, he wondered “fuck! How the fuck a monster like that…?!”

He wasn’t referring to the man, however, but the woman. *Glurk! Glurb! Glunk!!* The sounds of her swallowing became the most terrifying thing in the room. The cum machine that was the man’s penis was muffled by her ferocious gulping, and then a new stage of that terrifying blowjob began—one that would see the teenager be completely destroyed, down to his very spiritual well-being: readying her muscles, the goddess shut her eyes and prepared herself. «Very well, stallion. I see you can literally cum a barrel.» Her belly was somewhat bloated by the tanks of cum she had swallowed, but it wasn’t nearly as big as it should have looked considering the terrifying amount that actually left that prick. In fact, seeing her like that, one would wonder where the hell was all that cum going to!

The goddess had her tricks, and the teenager’s body wasn’t actually a true breeding machine he himself was led to believe it was. Hers was. The woman’s. The giantess’ body. She was the true breeding machine, and she was now going to show that gigantic teenager… what a real woman was made of.

Her right hand left the stallion’s abs. His whole body began to shiver and contort, his muscles flexing and bulging as the wall behind him cracked and crumbled, and huge rocks fell from it on the the ground, the cracks spreading through the walls, along the floor, and the poor young man beginning to quiver like a girl, his moans growing higher-pitched—still masculine, but betraying a femininity that would completely overtake him. “Aaahee… aah… ooh…” The god crushed the walls with his hands, trying his best to not push that woman’s head to the very base of his balls. “Aaaheee!!!” His moan got really feminine. The woman knew it was time.

Her arms were crossed behind her back, and the outrageous form and hardness of her ass became really apparent as she bent over a little and ate a few more inches of that dick. Ten inches of monster cock were penetrating her, the loads being shot unforgivingly inside her throat. As the gigantic testicles of the stud rose higher and higher, their pumps sounding like Buddhist gongs echoing through the Himalayas, the beast-woman chuckled for herself, ready to utterly annihilate that man’s masculinity. «Try not to fall down, okay? Oh, you will fall. Just… try to last a little longer than the last teenager I fucked, alright?» She looked up to her male, who in turn had his face spasming like an epileptic, his eyes rolling to every direction, his lids twitching and his cheeks shivering like a terrible computer glitch, his face looking like a really badly-animated character model going haywire on an old computer. The goddess slowly placed her right hand on his monstrous shaft, which was so ungodly thick that an average woman’s fingers would never be able to encircle it fully—an average woman, that is. «Look how he trembles.» There mere touching of her fingers around the massive breeding pole caused the monster to spurt and ejaculate fatter, louder streams into her mouth. «You’ve never met a woman who could hold your breeding stick fully, have you?» Barely applying any pressure to the dick, the goddess just slurped and gulped on it… until it was finally time… to kill her fucking prey.

The monster began undoing himself before she did anything. The feeling of her two hands on his ejaculating fuck-stick was already… something… so utterly pleasurable, yet so deeply terrifying that he felt it as coming straight from hell itself. That woman…!! That ungodly, hellish beast…!! Was it true, everything everyone told him about her. «C-can she literally kill a man… by giving him a blowjob?»

One second later, he figured it out: the room trembled with the burst of a sound wave so powerful its walls cracked and all the men—literally all the males, Leonardo included—hugged the walls or covered their cocks to protect themselves from that unseen threat. They felt it in their own loins, so much so that the promise of keeping their member soft was broken almost completely: out of those twenty-seven massive stallion, only Leonardo and five others managed to not grow their dicks into full hardness. All other men, with their hearts now almost exploding through their breasts, were losing their breath and their damned minds under the terror of being touched by that woman’s spirit—a jerk-off, you see, so bloody powerful that they literally felt it in their own massive dicks! «Did she… d-did she just touch me right now?»

One of the men—the weakest, meekest of the stallion—went a degree further and straight-out ejaculated in the room. The other men were shocked upon seeing his massive, messy jet just burst forth from his steamy urethra and give that room a shower like never seen before. Walls, curtains, and MOBILIA were all rained by the stud’s superb ejaculation, which was like a very potent hose turned on from his balls. “Oooorh!!!” The poor male rolled his eyes and collapsed on the ground, turning his hose of cum to the marble and cumming a literal pool around himself. His pain was felt within the breasts of all poor men who heard his cry; even Leonardo, who was such a stud he was almost divine, a demigod amongst children, had to gulp and look away as the beast came uncontrollably in the middle of the room, the pool of cum now reaching up to three feet of diameter around him. «Pathetic,» he thought, although he felt he was not so above that poor comrade as he would like to believe.

The goddess ignored all that. She was just too focused on killing that one teenager with orgasms before she could rip her other victims apart with the power of her muscles. What she had done, indeed, was solely focused on that one man’s pleasure, yet the power of her tactic, going far away and beyond anything any human could even think of, struck the entire room with nothing short of a stellar, reality-bending type of energy.

The teenager’s strength was drained from his legs. For a split second, indeed, before it was all gone, he felt his guts, his stomach, his liver, and all his lower organs moving towards his prick, and then sort of liquefying and being squirted out through his urethra along with his cum—or rather, sucked out brutally by the now-ferocious throat muscles of the inhuman goddess. A split second later, his sight literally blanked out—and it did not return. “Goh-!!” As he opened his mouth, he felt his voice dying, and then his hearing disappeared along with it, with only his sense of balance, smell, and space awareness remaining, enough for him to feel his knees hitting the ground and forming two massive crater around them.

His entire body froze up, and then began to grow. The other man, covering their mouths, saw the teenager gain even more volume and mass, to the point that the ground kept cracking and sinking even though there was no other movement at all from the ground man. The veins in his body, which were already insane in their number and shreddeness, now sprawled and multiplied like living snakes. Leonardo himself raised one eyebrow and nodded respectfully to the young man’s physique, recognizing in him the genes of nothing less than an absolutely superb male specimen. «This bull, with a little training, will literally become the top breeder of the universe.» His muscles roared, almost in response to a challenger. «Curse you. If she doesn’t kill him, I guess I’ve met my worthiest rival yet.»

The young stud kept growing as the goddess kept doing whatever she was doing to his prick. What was astounding was that, following that one, single movement she performed, the goddess now remained as immobile as the youngling, her muscles perfectly controlled, her body still the same frame as before, only her throat and belly moving as she ate up insane amounts of gunk from that super boy’s testicles.

Speaking of testicles… holy molly, the beasts were huge! They were already the size of American footballs before, but now, resting on the ground, the giant seed makers were so enormously bloated and hyper active that they seemed… to be getting!… even bigger?! «What??» All men—Leonardo included—couldn’t resist looking at the teenager’s testicle and feeling a little inadequate, wondering how a single man could sport a pair now as voluminous as two basketballs. It wasn’t even the volume which called for their curiosity and shock, but their outrageous, inhumane mass! The balls were so visibly solid and heavy that the ground was literally cracking underneath them, the cracks growing wider and longer at every throb of the mighty orbs.

The beast stud kept his mouth opened, with his eyes almost popping out of his skull, but now sound came from his breast. He was voiceless, and everywhere around him he just saw perfect darkness. It was only the beginning of his utmost suffering. «W-what… what is that…?!» What was that he was even feeling, he began to wonder, but even his mind seemed physically shaken and stirred inside his brain; unbeknownst to him, yeah, his woman was masturbating him down on a molecular level.

«I want you to get a taste, young man, of what I and my Queen have dubbed… quantic blowjob.» Imelda kept performing her masterpiece on the guy’s dick—an act of such outrageous power that it really cannot be describe here, in these quick, unworthy sentences. «Your body is now changing on a subatomic level. If I so want to, I can literally crack your bones and bleed out your organs without lifting a finger.» She squeezed both of her wrists crossed under her back, making sure to emphasize that whatever she was going to do to the young man, she was going to it with her mouth and tongue alone. «Now feel, my young stud… your sexual, physical, mental, and ultimately physical… annihilation.» The young stud began to feel a fire of demonic vermin consume him from his loins and upwards, an orgasms of such tremendous power he literally felt like burning from inside out.

«W-what…?!! What…??!» His mind, when it thought of anything, could never go beyond this simple, single word. Slowly, but quite visibly, steam began to burst through his very power, and the massive super stud, with his muscles now reaching their fullest size, realized that his blood was literally boiling.

What Imelda was doing now was nothing but the most basic thing a woman was expected to do in a blowjob: to suck and, well, actually blow. Her throat muscles were moving. Her lungs were sucking air. Simply put, the woman had started to actually blow that stallion away, yet the power of her blowing, as well as the complexity of her muscular movements, went far beyond what should even be physically possible. That was the blowing not of a human, or even of a superpowered earthly creature; that was the blowing of a goddess—and the woman was really, sincerely just getting started!

Her most aggressive movement—the one that threw all the men off g

uard—was to simply repeat her first squeezing-and-twisting of the cock, but now with both hands. Granted, she had used all ten fingers of her hands, which later she would admit to have been “a bit of an overkill,” but the act itself was just that: one hand squeezing and twisting the cock just under its crown to the left, and the other doing the same on its middle to the right, both hands twisting in opposite direction while the fingers vibrated at the very end of the motion.

To the young stallion, though, that thing was a revelation. Just as his knees were buckling and his sight was disappeared, he saw very clearly a shiny beacon on his hips, illuminated like a golden statue of his massive genitalia, with all the veins in his body sprawling from it and highlighted by a very blazing, scorching red. «By… God…!!!» Were his only thoughts before his sight (and his sanity) kissed him bye-bye and he began to collapse into the ground.

The goddess did no other motion on his cock after that one. None whatsoever. Her hands were not only still, but completely lose, grazing only the very tip of the cock’s skin, as if to remind the man that “yes, my darling, mommy’s still in charge of your penis.” Aside from that, her body was pure stiffness; not a muscle in her moved, at least when seen from afar; not one fiber in her changed, which spoke volumes about the goddess’s inhuman level of self-control. She was a woman who could literally control every single cell of his body and command it to her will, and she was using this monstrous, demonic power to now torture her youngster into both sexual bliss and insanity.

Here’s the deal: the goddess didn’t move on her exterior, but her interior muscles… oh! They were not only massaging or sucking that cock; they were ripping it! The young man shouted and roared within his mind, his soul now becoming a pure cacophony of orgasmic sounds, as he felt his hips being pulled up from the ground and his mastodontic prick being sucked deeper and deeper into the throat of that super woman—and what a fucking throat she fucking had!

“Gasp…!!! Gah…!!” His mouth occasionally produced some exasperate sounds, but that was most that it could make. Everything else was stiffness, stillness, and pain, with his super muscles shivering and trembling as if he was about to be literally implode. “Garh… gorh…!!!” Saliva began to drool from his lips, and his tongue slowly rolled out along with it. The other men were gradually more shocked upon seeing the many inches of that man’s kisser, almost as if a pink, snakeish salamander was leaving his throat. «Holy fuck!» They surely thought. «That ain’t a tongue! That’s a fucking anaconda!»

The stud’s tongue, dripping steamy saliva all the way, rolled down to the man’s pecs, and then further down into his upper abdominal muscles. Overall, twenty-six inches of tongue now laid exposed and resting on his torso, with so much saliva bursting from the stallion’s mouth that, in a few second, his entire torso was shining under the bath he was giving himself. His saliva formed a big puddle around his gigantic ass, with his thighs having swollen to literally the girth of a Greek column.

His hips kept being pulled, time and time again, by the gradual and unceasing sucking of that goddess’ innards. Within herself, pressing back against her muscles just as hard as they pressed against it, the woman felt the full hardness of that penis, the absolute girth and monstrous length of it all conquering her, dominating her, penetrating her almost as if she was the passive one in the relationship. As the massive, fist-sized helmet of the super prick burst through the entrance of her stomach, she rolled up her eyes and shivered. Finally, finally! The goddess was experiencing her first real orgasms.

«Yes! Yes!! Yes!!» Her hips twerked. Her gigantic, mega hard muscular bosom danced, and the penises of the men grew insanely harder upon witnessing the jiggles of that super monstrous ass—the two most perfect, most divine butt cheeks that had ever laid their eyes upon. «Now this is a fucking cock!!» The goddess raised her ass and squirted on the ground. The men could see her juices just splashing against the rock like a fucking hose. They weren’t the only splashes she had in store: as the minutes rolled, more splashes followed. *Boom! Boom! Boom!* Some of the men stepped back and averted their gazes, shocked to see a woman cumming as if she had a strong hose embedded deep within her cunt.

Little did they know that the beast was only warming up her cunt, those splashes being barely enough to be considered a proper squirt for her. «This stallion is a fine quality breeder with the potential, indeed, of becoming one of the strongest, sturdiest males in all the planet. Still,» she looked up to the man, who was sort of dead, but still sort of alive, his muscles being an absurdity in size and bulk and rigidity, «that’s still only that: potential. This youngling has a long way to go before he deserves to truly dominate my steely womb!»

Still, the goddess couldn’t help but to be caught up off guard by sudden and unexpected bursts of pleasure, like one which saw her vulva spread out much wider and her womb blast her vagina with such a maddening volume of loads that the goddess literally had to pin up her hips like a bitch and hose her squirts like a fucking machine: *blooorsh!!!* Her juices literally washed over the body of that one collapsed dude, whose ejaculations had been so strong they formed a puddle five feet wide and three inches thick of pure cum around him. Her squirt managed to beat his spunk in volume, thickness, and heat in a mere five seconds. Flabbergasted, the other males felt their jaws drop as they saw that single woman literally flood the place with her sexual juices, making all of their feet know the insane heat of her nectar as it blasted off stronger and stronger from her cunt.

The pleasure eventually subsided and the goddess, always with her hands crossed under her back, returned to sucking and pumping and outright ripping the dick out of her stud’s hips with her throat alone. Knowing she had reached a limit at that position, she moved her legs and jiggled her butt, almost like a cat about to strike. «Calm down now, now, now.» She told the guy, but only in her thoughts. «Mommy’s gonna be… little rougher now.»

She spread out her legs, like a crab, and stomped the ground with her feet. *BOOM!!!* The entire room shook while about a third of its windows and glasses exploded—not only shattered; fucking exploded!—with the shockwave of her stomp. Massive cracks sprawled to every inch of the place, and the entire surface of the room, on any direction one looked at, now appeared to be covered by dark spider webs, the scale of the destruction only increasing as the goddess applied force to her feet and slowly, oh-so-very slowly, began to squat up from her position.

The hips of the super stallion were brought up from the ground, with pieces of rock falling from his gigantic, oversized, mega ripped glutes. The goddess loved the extra effort his gigantic, titanium-hard mega testicles forced her to put into the lift; she rarely felt her horse-sized legs to get so much exercise when fucking a dude, and the fact that she was experiencing such tremendous effort from none less than an eighteen-year-old was beyond fascinating; it was truly fucking arousing. «God, I feel like a little girls again! Fuck!» She gargled. She literally gargled a little! «This stud is so big, so powerful, so heavy that I… I…!!» She turned her eyes to the sides, seeing her feet sinking on the ground, the cracks growing insanely, the entire place rumbling as if it was about to collapse. «I’m on cloud fucking nine!!» Her pussy honored the male with potent jets straight to the ground, blasting it with such force that, yep, they managed to crack the floor a little. «Alright, little darling. Time to come up with mommy!» Tired of those cheeky plays, however, the goddess returned to sucking him in earnest.

Her gigantic thighs, seeing only in a silhouette beneath her robes, boomed, bustled, and exploded. *Boom!!* Her muscular power, when rising, created shockwaves that whiplashed the men’s massive torsos, chiseled pecs, and impeccable physiques. *Boom, boom, blaam!!* That was beyond power; that was insanity; and all their cocks—except for, maybe, Leonardo’s—were not hurting them on their torsos as they pressed against their abs and throbbed while becoming harder than they’d ever been—harder than iron, harder than fucking steel! «C-control yourself, Leo.» The gigantic mega Alpha of the room felt his breath out of pace, with beads of cold sweat finally forming atop his forehead. «P-please. No. You c-cant… t-this c-can’t…» The mega stud finally moved, cleaning the nervous sweat our of his forehead. «T-this c-cannot be possible»

The entire body of the Amazon grew as she lifted that stud from the ground. The balls of the teenager, a truly impressive sight, remained firmly on the ground, sinking even lower as their weight somehow just seemed to grow, but the goddess’ ascension was unstoppable as she squatted up with graceful ease, all the weight and power and sheer hardness of that stallion barely enough to make her even stop for a second and regather strength. She just kept rising and rising, and the stud kept cumming and cumming, with his sack being stretched and pulled from the ground as his hips literally stood many feet above it. The goddess uncrossed her arms from under her back and placed her palms on the giant’s buttocks. Two powerful loads of squirt splashed on the ground, sprinkling on the body’s of all shell-shocked men in the room. «Damn, ain’t these glutes a wonder of the universe!» She fumbled those glutes possessively, feeling in them nothing less than pure muscle. «Absolute titanium!» Adjusting her posture a bit, she moved her palms upward on the giant’s bottom, then firmly held him by his upper glutes and his lower back. «Alright, stud. I want your massive, ejaculating donkey deep as deep as my guts. For that, I’ll need to change poses a bit, so… be ready. Three, two, one, and…!!»

The room shook as the goddess effortlessly—really fucking effortlessly!—lifted up the entire body of the stallion of the ground until he was all above her. The head of the stud, completely stiff along with his neck and torso, literally banged against and cracked the wall behind him, leaving a crater of cracked stone behind as the goddess lifted him, then pressed him once again against the wall.

The head of the monster hit the ceiling, then cracked it as the goddess pushed him higher and higher, making sure that his hips were at the exact same level as her face. The woman rolled her arms around his thunderous legs, and the hardness and volume of her muscles became great enough to start tearing through the silk of her ropes.

The men were… dead. Almost. They sure wouldn’t stand that situation for much longer, of course, if things kept getting that much hotter. They just couldn’t believe (or accept) the insane hardness, definition, and size of that woman’s arms. They were “god!” Some of the men muttered, and their knees cracked the ground as their bodies collapsed and their penises began to erupt. “This woman… if fucking god!!”

Bursts boomed in the room. Their penises unloaded. If that first man had an impressive ejaculation, it could hardly even begin to compare with those that followed; the first man had a “mere” ten-inch-long hard cock, whereas those stallions ranged from twelves inches to an astounding twenty inches. The tip of their monster cocks reached way past their bellybuttons, with the most endowed of them cramming his pussy-breaker smack in the middle of his gigantic pectorals. Their balls went from as big as apples to almost as large as grapefruits, and their weighs were impressive enough to make audible “booms” every time these testicles contracted and sent another massive load of jizz flying through their cocks.

As they ejaculated, not an inch of the ceiling immediately above them went unscathed. The jets spurted with glorious might out of their horse-sized genitalia and, once it splashed, so powerful and loud, into the ceiling, it literally made it rain thick, steamy cum all over the place. Leonardo’s body, along with all other semi-nude stallions in the place, started to get drenched in their rival’s cum. None of them really minded it. Despite the cascading fountain and the squeals and screams of those men who had fallen, they still only had eyes for the impressive dominatrix, whose musculature, they felt, wasn’t even starting to get warmed up.

Their impressions were correct. As the woman embraced her stallion’s gigantic legs, she smiled to herself, feeling his tremendous weight like a plume. «Let’s see… wow. You weight over a literal ton, my stallion!» She looked again to the youngling’s beautiful face, which was nonetheless almost fully buried into the ceiling at that point. «Such a model look, such a baby face, yet such literally equine weight!» She spanked the guy’s legs, pushing him further against the wall until it ceded and caved under the pressure. *BROOOM!!!* A giant crater formed around him, and large pieces of the wall fell immediately after the woman’s push, with her sending his prick to the very depths of his being, eating him up with such gargantuan power that the beast managed one deep, short-lived roar out of his breathless lungs: “ROOOAARR-OOOHHH…!!!” It was an immensely pained, hurtful roar; one that made the men still standing grab their cocks again and squeeze them, trying so hard not to cum.

“Is she…?!” The whispers, at that point, were almost inevitable. They all thought that the woman wouldn’t hear them, of course, given all the cumming and the screaming of the other men now on the floor—they were wrong, of course, but their punishment wouldn’t arrive until the cock-eating lady was done with her little filly. For the moment, then, the shocked men muttered: “is she pregnant?”

It was easy to forget, throughout all that terrifying emasculation, that the teenage stallion was cumming nonstop. Once in a while, the men could hear the powerful sloshes of his cum bursting so mightily from his prick. In fact, he wasn’t just cumming like a stallion, ejaculating like a herd of breeding bulls, but he was indeed fecundating an entire planet—or so he felt—with that amount of seed that his testicles produced. His seedmaking glands rested right beneath the woman’s massive, gigantic, out-of-this-world breasts, and as they throbbed they made a brutal massage on the woman’s abs, allowing the stallion to indeed feel her muscles for once.

«GOD…!!!» His mind, already electrified, died and was reborn more times than anyone could count. His hypersensitive, gigantic testicles throbbed against her abdominals, and in there they felt the most masculine, virile sat of muscles any living creature could flaunt. That woman was a fucking man—of course, in raw muscular power only! It was mind-blowing how she could sport such an impressive, lively, and hot pack in her belly, almost as if all the bodybuilders in the world’s had died and reincarnated into a single, perfected set of abdominals. Her muscles were… «GOD!!!» He cried in his mind, and his jaw-dropped face began “eating” through the marble above him, his face pressed deeper and deeper into the ruined ceiling as the woman performed her demonic destruction of his genital.

His penis had penetrated her throat and her stomach fully. Only a few inches remained outside of the woman’s mouth, and his girth was such that her lips were like an anaconda’s mouth as it swallows an ox whole. It was almost too much cock for that woman—until she giggled and shrugged that girth away, gagging and gargling on the penis just for fun, allowing his overabundant cum to flow almost to the tip of her nostrils before she “inhaled” it back into her throat, the waterfall of cum inside her body being the most amazing experience she had in weeks! «I want to savor this moment, stallion, before I dominate your cock completely.» She looked down to her beautiful bull’s genital in all its remaining glory; its veiny, throbbing, thickening three inches outside her mouth being the symbol of another superman she would destroy and shatter. «You’re too young to experience that, in my opinion: the humiliation of a woman eating up your full genital. Once stallion, now humbled. Like all men, you bet you would never find a woman who come even close to making your penis feel anything even remotely close to that, let alone the full domination by a single female. Sadly, my beautiful teenager… my boy and my son…» She looked up to him again, seeing the tears dripping from his chin, «I will have to destroy you. Rules are rules, and legends are legends: there hasn’t been a man whose ego I haven’t annihilated, and you won’t be any difference.» With her muscles rumbling, she prepared for her final push. «I ask for your forgiveness, my man, for your manhood dies… now!»

The three inches went inside of her, and that was that. For a rare, almost harrowing moment, the room fell into the deadliest of silences, and then everyone felt the semen bubbling up in their own balls as the body of that teenager, like a virile balloon of muscles, grew bigger and heavier and harder, as well as redder, like a scorching piece of iron on the furnace, come the final inches of his prick swallowed by the merciless lady. Two other men fell on their knees, and as the ground cracked their penises exploded, the ceiling and their torsos showered by the unending cum their more impressive balls produced. This time around, the two stallions were big-time fecundators: one had balls literally as massive as pears, and the other, almost the size of the biggest grapefruits. «Pathetic,» the goddess pondered, paying them no more mind as the teenage penis penetrated her guts.

To a lady who measured almost seven feet in height, it was an honor for any cock to reach the entrance of her guts, let alone penetrate it. The stallion, indeed, didn’t go any farther than burying half of his helmet into her guts, but that was already an achievement literally only other six guys ever matched. «This one, when he grows up…» The goddess almost “burped” inside of herself, caught by surprise by the unending loads of that superhuman horse. «Damn it, beautiful! You a’gonna be a prized pussy breaker, huh?» The goddess crammed her head deeper into the cock, burying her face on the stallion’s titanium abdominals, and a few more inches of the god managed to conquer her cocks, spurting the unending loads this time straight into them.

From the outside, it almost looked as if there was no more space for the woman’s belly. She wasn’t fat—oh, not by any stretch of the definition, but she was definitely bloated, like a woman mid-pregnancy, with her belly growing, and then receding at every few seconds of so by the terrifying loads of that stallion inside of her. «My metabolism is kicking today, huh? After all this load, I should have spurted some of it through my nostrils.» The bubbling, boiling semen surely made its way up her nasal cavities from time to time, but she could keep track of it and control it oh-so-casually. «My body roars! My blood boils! Fuck me, this cum is hot, hot, hot!!» Losing a bit of control, the goddess propelled her mare-like legs forward, making her thighs boom and roar like engines of a powerful race car, and then pushing the poor teenager against the wall so hard that… *BOOOOOOOM!!!!*

A whole four feet of the wall—two feet in every direction—collapsed as the crater under the teen’s back deepened by a couple dozens of inches. The massive stallion body was drilled deep into the wall, so much so that the cracks now reached the very foundations of the building, and the entire wing of the castle trembled as the woman power-blew that penis into oblivion.

From the other size of the room, an authoritative voice made sure to keep the situation in control: “by the gods, Imelda!” Everyone in the room—literally everyone: Imelda especially!—seized up and froze in their places, at least only as long as to hear the next couple of words: “you having a hellish amount of fun, I can sense!” One of the man, gasping and moaning, collapsed on the ground, cumming straight on his own face as his forehead banged the ground and his titanic, monstrous 23-inch cock ejaculated a whole bathtub of boiling semen in the room. None of them expected to hear that voice so soon, and none of them even dreamed it could be so… holy! «I-i-is that…?!» All the minds raced into a single checkpoint: «the Queen?»

Imelda stopped sucking. Despite the shivering and the trembling of her stallion, who was now unloading the most epic jizz of his live straight on the woman’s gut, she stopped everything she was doing to turn her gaze at the golden door and wonder, in terror, whether she had gone too far or not.

Her mind was racing. Despite her hating to admit that, there were now two Imeldas battling for control: one being the usual Imelda, haughty and imperial, and the other… the other being… one… who… «fuck!» Even she didn’t want to admit to herself, to accept this nature she worked so damned hard to suppress. «T-the Queen… is she…?!» Ignoring the cum, Imelda gulped, and the young man’s semen as a result flowed even deeper within her intestines. «Is the Queen angry?»

Thankfully, she was not. Quite the opposite: “hey, my love, just try to be, uh, a little less intense, okay, ‘cause your fucking is making cracks even inside this room, and I can’t fuck my own men at any decent strength like this.” She laughed, and then the room was filled with joy and levity. “As much as I hate to admit that… let’s take it easy, okay? This castle is undeniably of shoddy construction, at least in these high floors.” There was something of a sigh, followed by a moan, followed by very masculine, manly grunts—the squeals of the men she had by the dicks and balls. “If we both fuck hard at the same time, we will collapse this entire wing. Just make sure to tone it down a notch, okay? Okay? Fine. You can go back to fucking this stallion.”

The sound and air only gradually returned to the room, like everyone was suddenly waking up from a dream. «W-was that… her?!» The remaining men could barely believe it, but even as their souls burned with passion and adoration for that heavenly voice, their focus was drawn again to the superhuman woman who returned to savagely fuck and blow and rip that stallion’s cock once more; her entire body now turned into a fuck-machine of rage, frustration, and desire. «Why?!» The woman asked, pumping that prick with the power of the gods. «Why does she have to be so… perfect?!» With the brutality of an aggravated lover, she intentionally began to coax the semen out of the stud’s balls with her inner muscles, the entire length of the super cock now pumped and drained from all its seed.

“OOOH…!!!” The beast roared; just as quickly as they burst, his roars quickly died out: “OOOH-OOOH-OOOOH…!!!!” Imelda felt his semen stretching her guts out like party balloons, the ferocious eruptions of that cum reaching a whole new level—one that even she was surprised to discover. «Ain’t you one powerful heck of a baby horse, huh?» With her thirst redoubled, the goddess pumped her body deeper into the cock, her forehead now blasting a hole on the man’s abs—not literally, of course, but… honestly, it was very close. The gushing of the semen straight into her guts was… oh, god, how would she put it? «Fucking amazing!!» The eyes of the powerful woman glimmered, with the orgasming stallion barely realizing how much he pleased and amazed his dominatrix. «This beast… oh, god! Is he getting too powerful for even my body? My holy, unbeatable metabolism??»

In all of existence, there had been only three males who’d managed to out-cum that woman’s metabolism; three massive, mega Alpha males whose appendages produced and shot more spunk that even that woman’s body could hold at any given time. All of these males were over twenty-five years of age, which she came to think was the bare minimum age any male needed to be in order to have a shot at her—bur then there was that stallion! That god! That teenage super stud whose cum was not only filling her up, but gaining ground on her intestines and making her anus twitch in anticipation.

The goddess saluted him with another salvo of squirts, an event which was becoming all-too-frequent in her orgasming body. Within her mind, even the brief anger against her Queen disappeared and was replaced for a deep arousal—some would say admiration!—for that young breeding bull. «A barrel my ass!» The goddess increased the power and intensity of her muscular motions, powersucking that cock now with great gusto, treating that youngling no longer as a servant or a slave, but as a full-blown lover. «Liar!! Who could believe you came so much more than that?!» Unwrapping her arms from his powerful, horse-sized legs, she grabbed his supermassive throbbing testicles under her even-more-massive breasts and… and!… crushed them!

“UUUUUH…!!!” The bull roared briefly, with pieces of the ceiling falling as the goddess crushed and massaged his gigantic, oversized bull testicles. Her hands could barely cup even a third of each of those eggs, so enormous that they were, and the semen of the stallion was literally bubbling inside of them, so much and so hot cum that the goddess could picture a billion streams flowing like rocket fuel inside those titanic gonads.

«Huge! Huge, huge, huge!!» She flexed her abs, and now her muscles too were joining her hands in the massage and stimulation of those massive super balls. «Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so goddamned huge!»

The other males, shivering and trembling, could barely believe what they were witnessing; not the power or the size of the stallion, no, which they had grown somewhat used to; it was actually the intensity of the woman that got them flustered, as if only now they had seen her invested on a sexual partner, and the fear of that woman just grew to no end inside their breasts. Even Leonardo, who was almost as big as that stallion while not yet even aroused, gulped and shivered upon witnessing Imelda like that, doubting even his own ability to take on a beats like her. «Is she even a woman anymore?»

The room continued to be undone as the beast woman pushed the stud deeper and deeper into the wall, power-sucking his cock with ferocious madness, crushing and worshipping his balls like a religious fanatic near her god. «Your power is fucking amazing!!» Crushing him deeper and deeper and deeper into the stone, the goddess took her time to look around and see almost all the males defeated and fainted, only about ten of them remaining on their feet in the room. «Pathetic. This stallion here beats them all without a sweat. Only Leonardo, maybe, is worth his grain of salt. Everybody else is a petty, useless eunuch!» With inhuman power, the goddess crammed the dick even deeper in herself, her face now buried so deep on the man’s muscles that the young stallion roared once more, then blacked out, the power of her fucking so raw and unrestrained he didn’t now whether that was pleasure or agony which he was feeling all the time.

His semen kept ferociously gaining ground on the woman. About half of her intestines were filled and stretched by the junk. «By the gods, he came a small lake inside of me!» Regaining a bit of method to her insanity, the goddess slowed down her external movements a little and held the gigantic balls more firmly in her hands, appreciating their size, texture, hardness, and full-blown energy. «Fuck. These testicles… oh, god! They are bigger than American footballs now, almost as big as two fat, heavy babies. Oo-la-la!» She squeezed and massaged the balls, desirous to feel every bit of power they contained. «The semen flows at an unending pace. His prick is now a literal firehose in my guts, unloading about five gallons of this massive semen at every second, and not slowing down for anything in this world!» She tried increasing the pressure on her cock, crushing every inch of it inside of her. Her throat, her belly, her guts, all of her coalesced around that cock to give it the most hellish squeeze it even faced, yet the monster penis barely reduced his outflow of spunk at all—on the contrary: it just kept shooting and shooting and shooting at a maddening pace, its spurts becoming so fast (and the pauses between them so negligible) that the woman now felt as if the stallion was cumming one continuous, unending load inside of her.

Her eyes opened up wide and her eyebrows went all the way up in her forehead. Her body was rocked with shivers not of her own power, not of her muscles flexing, but of her sincere, submissive arousal. «It c-can’t be!» With her pussy gushing and dripping a mad amount of viscous cum, she felt a fire rock her hips and briefly take the power of her legs, and her entire body hardened as a massive wave of multiple orgasms took over her. «It can’t…» The semen flowed up to her nostrils. It exploded from her nose, smearing the stud’s abs and her own face as she opened her mouth even wider and let out a painful “oooh…!!!”

In the room, even the most clueless of guys raised their eyebrows and looked at each other in utter disbelief. “Did she just… moan?”

Yes. Yes, she did, and she did not stop at a single moan. Soon, an eruption of cum burst volcanically from her pussy, the power and hotness of that girl-semen so intense that the room grew foggy with its steam. The ground was flooded with her literal pools of ejaculatory lubricant, and only the plentiful cracks on the floor managed to keep those juices at an acceptable level. If the ground were clean and solid, those juices would have risen up until the very ceiling, drowning everyone in that unholy chamber of sex.

«THIS IS THE BEST FUCKING DICK I HAD IN AGES!!!» The goddess opened her eyes even wider, not wanting to miss a single second of her own body being undone by the superior sex god. «JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, WHAT EVEN IS THIS?! THE CUM IS OVERFLOWING IN ME!! OH!! OH, GOD!!!» She saw and felt the semen spurting out of her nostrils, two long and fat threads of boiling his bursting from her nose and blasting the abs of her super stallion—who, in turn, only shivered and crumbled as his own mind was beyond passed-out at that point. «HOLY FUCK!!! I’M FUCKING CUMMING!!!» Her pussy kept unloading gallons and gallons and gallons… «I’M FUCKING CUMMING, JESUS CHRIST!!!»

Two more men fell on their knees, feeling their hands and legs burn under the thick, gooey juice of that woman’s scorching vagina. “It’s… it’s…!!” They penises began to “pathetically” eject loads and loads of semen into the miss—as “pathetic,” of course, as penises as larger as twenty, twenty-two inches could ejaculate. The men who were still conscious lowered their heads into the pool and began to lap on it like kittens, drinking the steamy cum that the woman produced. “My god!!” They looked up to their counterparts, who didn’t know what to make of their humiliation. “It’s… it’s…!!!”

They wanted to say it was good. No, beyond that: it was the best fucking thing they had ever taste in their whole lives, but before their minds could form any coherent thought, their penises spoke for themselves, and the result were several massive, muscular men quivering and twitching on the flooded ground, throwing female cum all around, orgasming and ejaculating like horses in every direction, spraying the ceiling, the walls, and the body of their comrades with literal gallons of super cum. They were driven mad with orgasms, and not one of them recovered or was able to get another single gulp of that pussy juice—a single cup of it was apparently enough to fry a man’s nerves, and the remaining eight studs wondered if it was a good idea at all to remain in that place or if it would be a much better idea to just jump through the windows and flee for their fucking lives. «When we were called,» Leonardo gulped, «we weren’t called for her, for this woman. We were called for the fucking Queen!» His eyes gazed upon the golden door, the only part of that room which hadn’t been cracked or creaked or outright destroyed by the power of Imelda’s blowjob. «The power of the Queen is said to be leagues ahead that of any woman on Earth… even Imelda.» Shivering and gasping, his breath now completely out of pace, the gigantic stud began to feel his ass relaxing and his guts churning, almost as if he was about to shit himself like a scared monkey. «If this is what Imelda can do, then what… what…?!» Deep inside, he already knew the answer for the question he was barely able to make: «what can the fucking Queen do?!»

As the legs of the teenage stallion hanged over the woman’s massive, wide, and strong shoulders, shivering with every spurt of cum his balls propelled into his cock, the woman tried desperately to squeeze his balls against her abs, never satisfied of that hung boy’s massive glands. They were just so fucking divine, you know, his massive, supersized balls! «Oh, goddamn, these balls!» It’d been quite a while since the woman had seen testicles so massive, so shapely, and so bloody powerful. «They are two engines in this guy’s crotch!» The super balls, however, rocked back-and-forth, near-and-away the woman’s body as she released them and was forced to grapple the beast by his buttocks again. If anything, though, his glutes were a worthy replacement. «Round and hard, pure muscle for these cock-craving hands!» She went wild, moving her throat back-and-forth at the same pace of the guy’s ejaculation, looking like a machine gun of blowjobs as the guy spurted cum at crazy speeds.

About seventy percent of her intestines were overfilled with hot male seed, and the steam of the abundant semen began to appear from her twitching asshole. «Oh, my fucking god, it’s happening!» Her mind went fucking bananas! «It’s fucking happening, at last!» Despite the insane power of her metabolism, which was able to convert cum into energy like a plant does sunlight, the eighteen-year-old bull was more powerful by a considerable margin, marking his territory on her insides like a general marching with his armies over the enemy field. Inch after inch, following the quasi-continuous stream of his arm-thick loads, the young man’s semen conquered the woman’s guts, making sure to stretch them to their very limits before claiming another inch and stretching it just the same. His cum was an avid, possessive liquid; the powerful, unyielding jizz that only the mightiest of superhuman breeders ever possessed. «This stallion is already among my top five cunt-fuckers of all time, and he’s gaining rank fast!» Making her own muscles burst with power, Imelda carelessly pressed the boy once more against the wall, this time sinking his gigantic body on it completely, so hard and so fast that his balls formed two enormous cracks under that even more massive crack around his back.

That wasn’t all the destruction: as the balls throbbed, sending jizz after jizz after jizz into their master’s cum cannon, the cracks grew and the pieces of the wall collapsed. They were like two drills making holes on the wall. The goddess adored them! «Fuck! Jesus! I can feel these babies throbbing against my abs!» The two balls, though, which could so easily crack those marble walls, had barely any effect on the goddess’s belly other than very relaxing tickles. «Oh, god, this is so wonderful!» She moved her belly up and down, side to side, always looking for a perfect spot, almost like a lover telling another where to scratch on their back. «Jesus, this is so fucking good!» Meanwhile, the spunk just kept coming. And coming. And coming and coming and coming. In her belly, she felt the complete fullness of a jizz that now only was voluminous, but was actually becoming denser by the second.

In fact, given the amount of seed that young boy had ejaculated, one would expect the woman to have exploded or, considering that her body was indestructible (which it was), one would expect it to have grown to the size of a tenis court, but none of that happened. Instead, had tummy had ballooned to the size of a six, maybe seven-month-old pregnant lady, and there it remained as the woman ate his dick into her own guts and allowed him to ejaculate straight into her intestines. Past that swollen point, her belly didn’t grow any further. There was a key, after all, to her cum-drinking method. «On one side,» she thought rather calmly, now accepting the new level of the god’s ejaculations as if her biology had grown and improved to accommodate it, «there’s my metabolism, which is literally god-like.» The woman giggled as she stopped the flow of cum through her nostrils, regaining absolute control of the guy’s cock without relenting an ounce in her power. While the poor boy squirmed and further destroyed the wall with his muscles, the Herculean lady thought about the myriad of cocks that had met her fury, as well as the myriad of poor men who’d been emasculated by her thrist. It was a number far too great for normal minds to even compute.

«I hate having to be discrete about it, but even for ladies like us, well, some rules must be respected.» She closed her eyes and sighed, all while taking entire bathtubs full of semen into her guts. «Technically speaking, I was a minor when I lost my virginity.» She giggled. «Actually, I was six years old when I took my first mates, which is really quite awesome, coming to think of it. Sadly, of course, even I have to shut up about it so as not to give pedophiles any wrong ideas. Yes, yes, I was six years old when I fucked my first man… but I was also six feet tall, three-hundred pounds, and overdeveloped in every way a woman could be: breasts, ass, thighs, muscles… you name it, I had it all. I was also a 340 IQ beast of a lady, so it wasn’t as if I was some innocent pretty darling who was utterly clueless about the universe.» As the goddess thought about herself and her own divinity, her orgasms slowly subsided. Her body was getting far too used to that stallion’s orgasms, which wasn’t a very good thing. «Damn it. I’m cancelling my own pleasure by overthinking things. But, anyway, what am I to do? I really am fucking perfect, after all.»

Changing positions for a bit, the woman startled all by suddenly throwing herself back and literally slamming the stud on the ground. It was so fast, so sudden, so unexpected that… *BOOOOOM!!!* Everyone, even the might Leonardo… *BOOOOM!!!* They all fell or were pushed away by the shockwave created by that kung-fu-like movement, with the woman literally slamming her man’s torso against the ground in one swift motion. What was more amazing was… *BOOOOOOM!!!* that she did so without actually holding his body with her hands. His cock on her throat was all that she needed to do that backflip, and as she herself collapsed with her back on the ground, creating such a massive splash of the lubes that literal waterfalls of female cum (and smaller parts male semen) exploded through the windows and rained from the towers as if god was squirting upon the mortals. It was some truly amazing display of power! «Okay, where was I?» The goddess felt the waves of her own cum splashing against her body, that new position having sent the cock somehow even deeper into her. «Ah, yeah, my first men. I was six years old when I grabbed my first set of cocks and drained them for all their worth. Ever since then, well, I never stopped. Five men a day met my cooch, and five men a day were utterly humiliated until I grew a bit bigger and graduated to bigger and more plentiful studs. I gotta confess that I wasn’t too hard or too experienced back then: even a single men took me about two hours to defeat, with a gangbang of five gigantic studs being enough to overpower me and even tire me out!» Her suctions became both harder and more numerous as the teenager stud roared and wailed above her, her body reacting subconsciously to her memories, almost trying to compensate for her perceived weakness. «It was only after about 2,300 men that I truly mastered the art of sex, and that I became a truly unstoppable machine of fucking. Since the age of twelve, hell, no man has ever been able to even come close to tiring me out, and from them all my life has been a ceaseless, endless fuck-fest in search for the perfect stallion, the godly male who would once again make my pussy feel the pleasure of utter submission.» As she felt the cum gaining ground on her intestines, the goddess smiled, yet her expectations remained in check after so many years (and hundreds of cocks of experience). «This guy might be this man, but he needs time. A lot of time!» Even if he grew up to become this superman, she reasoned, it would already be a disappointment compared to her. «He’s eighteen-years-old already. At his age, I had fucked and annihilated over half a million men!»

Buckets and buckets of cum invaded the Amazon, and she couldn’t help but to grow a little bit more of the it all. «Fuck. He’s losing potency. Or rather, he’s literally just passed out, so even his body isn’t exactly experiencing the pleasure of fucking in its fullest.» Maybe she was getting just too distracted about her own past to get fully invested in that task, her stallion having fulfilled most of his obligations towards her body. «He is one amazing lover and possibly one of the strongest men alive, yes, but for the moment I guess I’ve seen it all.» She even opened her eyes and looked around, seeing the devastation and destruction they have both wrought into the place. «I wonder if I should just… well… end it all now.»

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[NSFW/+18!] The African College Futa – Part 5

We were staggered as we stood before the gates of her estate. The hills which led up to her house, no, her mansion were green and sprawling, a fitting setting for the arena where she conquered so many hearts and bodies.

Veronica, standing beside me, couldn’t get her act together as the Uber left us there. “No, wait!” She gestured to the car, but the driver didn’t see her. “Heather, can you pinch me, please? Are you really seeing what I’m seeing?”

Hell yeah, I was, and I was biting my lower lip with so much envy. “This can’t be true.” My fists roared as I tightened my grip. “She must be renting this fucking place!”

As the gates opened before us, we heard her sexy, thunderous voice rumbling from the speaker: “you came in an Uber? Too bad.” She sounded so mocking! “It’s gonna be a long walk to here. I wish you could save all your energy but, tsc, I’m all alone here, so I can’t order one of the cars to you.” We looked at each other, wondering just how much wealth she concealed in that property. “Just follow the trail. You’ll get here eventually.”

It took us ten minutes—ten freaking minutes!—to walk all the way up to her modern, Silicon Valley-style mansion at the top of those breathtaking hills. Not that the activity was any pain for us, honestly—it was actually refreshing—but the vastness of her estate really got to our nerves before we’d even had a chance to see her. It was like fighting a mosquito with an atomic bomb! She had no sense of fairness whatsoever!

As we walked, we pondered just how could a woman like her be possible. “Is she some kinda of African heir of something? She came from Nigeria, right? Well, that country has a lot of princes.”

“What are you even saying.” I tried to smile as I looked to Veronica. She had come a long way since we were discharged from the college hospital. For three whole days we did nothing but to train, train, and train, abstaining from sex and even masturbation, eating only the best of foods and injecting ourselves with enough supplements to tune up our bodies to near superhuman levels.

As we strolled up those mighty hills, no one could say the training hadn’t yielded results. Veronica was at least fifty pounds heavier than usual, with two or three inches added to her already-impressive 6-feet-1-inch of height. Her tits made coarse, bubbly noises as they bounced so heavily, like huge, dense metal objects being dragged on an iron floor. Her ass was atomic, a supersonic rear capable of cracking boulders if she sat on them, and her legs… oh, god! I was losing my cool just by looking at those long, divinely-sculpted legs, both delicate and powerful, the steel-hard legs anyone would expect from an Amazonian princess.

Her long, platinum blond hair swung on her back, its tips grazing the immense bulge of her buttocks in her tight jeans. “You’re delicious today.”

Looking at me, she flexed her guns. “After so much train- Oh god!” She jumped back, startled, and I smiled as I saw her sleeve being torn apart by her swelling biceps. Once she got past her initial scare, she chuckled, then she flexed both her biceps. “You see this? This shirt was lose at the start of the weekend, and now…” She roared. The cloth was torn in several different places, the bulging of her six-, near eight-pack abs testing the strength of her shirt in her belly. “I’m fucking shredded! Bet I can even kick your ass if I wanted to!”

I looked at her with dead seriousness, and then our walk briefly stopped as I turned to her and reminded her of who exactly she was talking to. Words did not left my mouth. They weren’t needed. Eyes alone could see the foolishness of her remarks, and I gifted hers with the unparalleled superiority of my physique, walking closely towards her as I flexed, grunted, and swelled.

Every piece of my clothes began to shred, the noises like the cracking of thick, dry branches, and then I held my hands together in front of my belly, ready to give her just a taste of my overall power. With barely half an inhale, I hardened my entire physique: my shoulders bulged like two walls besides my neck, which itself became thicker than the leg of a man, and the veins became visible even under the thickest parts of my clothing. The cloth was torn and shredded as my abs obtained inhuman hardness, and the area on my cleavage was completely ripped open by the swelling of my breasts. In a single hold of my breath, I kept expanding, with my head getting higher and higher as my body grew bulkier and bulger.

“Mmm!!” I tried to keep my cool, but the energy inside me was like a volcano or a little sun, enough to give birth to another universe if I so chose to. “Grrr!!!” Huffing and puffing, I began to groan and roar as this energy was converted into sheer muscular power. My usual 6-feet-4-inches of height turned to 6-feet-5, then 6-feet-6, then eventually… “Jesus!” Veronica stepped back. “Fucking!” Again, she stepped back. “Christ!!” I rose to 6-feet-7-inches before my sleeves were completely torn open, pieces of rag falling from my arms as my muscles continued to expand and grown and bloat.

If Veronica was the princess of all Amazons, I was the fucking goddess. There was no way even her hardest training could have surpassed mine in those past four days of agonizing celibacy. We had trained apart, making a conscious choice not to even see each other, for Lord knows how much longer we’d be able to stay celibate after seeing each other’s increasingly muscular, increasingly sexier physiques. The abstinence helped create a mystique around us, as well as to hide from her the true nature of my power—and how incomparably greater than her I had become. “Do you want power?” I took another breath. “This is power!!”

My shirt literally exploded! It was a mess, yet it was so satisfying. Veronica stood still as pieces of cloth whipped her body, one long strap even covering her eyes. Once she took it away, her jaw dropped as she saw me growing like the Hulk, my muscles bulging around the remaining pieces of cloth, the straps and strands tearing up and stretching out noisily. My legs were as huge as tree trunks, and my ass was so titanic as for each buttock literally weight more than a multiple cannon balls. I was at the height of human power, and my effortless flex still kept breaking new record at every second.

Veronica kept stepping back, her lightning-fast heart beats audible to my super sensitive ears. “What the f-!” She covered her mouth as she saw me grow to near seven feet of height. My growth would look even faster and scarier if the ground wasn’t actually sinking beneath my feet! I was grunted and puffed, I looked down and noticed to depressed areas around my feet, my weight increasing so much the hills themselves weren’t able to support me. Awesome. “Fuck!” Taking another breath, I finally began to feel a pang of effort in all that delirious flexing. “How would you like your goddess to reach seven feet, huh?” I looked at her, pieces of cloth still dangling in my body. “I know you dream of it. Witness the power of a true goddess of muscles, the strongest woman on Earth!” I roared. “The warrior who’s gonna fucking destroy that African cunt!” Then I roared even harder. In a last ditch of power, I puffed out steam through my nose, and my body sprouted the final inches, reaching the seven feet mark while having added fifty extra pounds of muscle just in that last few seconds.

Hot steam was coming out of my mouth as I relaxed my muscles and contemplated myself in my heightened, muscular glory. My relaxed muscles were bigger and harder than any professional male bodybuilder would be when performing in the stage. Raising my head, I saw Veronica struggling to unbutton her jeans skirt, her arousal so great her fingers were fumbling over her hips. “No.” My voice came out stronger, making the leaves of the trees behind me swirl. “Don’t touch yourself.” I pointed up in the hills, to the mansion of that worthless bitch. “Her! We have to use all our power to defeat her!”

Judging by the way Veronica panted and trembled, she no longer saw me as her friend, but as her literal goddess. “Heather!!” She fell on her knees, her eyes tearing up, and the ground caved a little around her. “With a body like this, you won’t need my help!”

I liked that. It made me confident, not to mention horny, but deep inside I still harbored some insecurities. Raising my right arm and making its biceps grow, I wondered what kind of woman could really surpass me. «That’s it. That bitch was only bluffing.» I flexed my other arm, literally hearing each of my muscle fibers expand and grow. «She may be a mighty, horny muscle woman on her own right, and she mighty have actually massacred us both in our usual selves, but now…» I felt my abs singing! «Now… I’m no longer my usual self! I’m not a human. I’m a goddess!» The strands of cloth kept falling and snapping from my body as my muscles throbbed and hardened. «And now this angry goddess is up to slay!»

To the delight of my companion, I lifted Veronica off the ground and laid her on my shoulder, caring her uphill as my steps made coarse sounds on the sinking ground. “Heather! You’re so strong!” She cooed and squealed, fumbling my back with her eager hands. “Holy fucking hell! Look at these!” Her fingers waddled through the endless valleys and crevices of my iron musculature. “It’s like this shit’s made of steel! You… you…!!” Her legs shuttered. She was cumming. “Ooh!!” I heard the juices piling between her legs, drenching her panties, filling it up. She wasn’t exactly squirting, but she was close to it. “You’re impossible, Heather!” She kissed my shoulders deliriously. “You’re the strongest woman ever. Ooh!”

I twirled her body around my shoulders, like an acrobatic trick, and settled her in my arms. Her eyes were swirling around, dizzy, as her face turned to mine. I leaned forward. You could feel the force pulling our lips together, like a magnet. We kissed. I never stopped walking, carrying her like a feather, yet time seemed to stop as we shared that long, romantic kiss. Our mouths did bid farewell to one another until I was standing by the door of her massive house, staring at it dumbfounded as my friend returned to the ground. Soon, we were both equally speechless.


“I know.” I held her hand. We squeezed each other’s palms. “I’m angry too.”

We kissed one more time. To our shock, then, the door opened. Our breaths were taken away, this time for real: I felt my insides swelling and screaming for oxygen, my body trembling and desperate to run away, as my eyes fell over that gorgeous creature standing inside the palace. “Well, hi.” She greeted us, her lioness voice making our ears rumble. “I see you dared start without me.”

Before we could say I word, before I could even open my mouth to affront her, that beast of a woman pulled us both inside. We almost tripped over our feet and fall flat on the ground as we entered. The powerful African closed the door, her arms rumbling under her over-stretched sleeves as she performed the motion. The smooth, gray doors seemed to be made of something very heavy, stone carved out of mountains, as their closing made the entire palace tremble.

What a palace it was. We were being attacked on all senses as we looked around the place, startled, flabbergasted by its immensity. “Jesus…!” The place was minimalistic, almost crystal-like, with the walls made out of light-colored stone and the ceilings made of, if not glass, something shiny and transparent. There were two big ponds in front of us, with rivers of clear water trailing the walls into the depths of that palace, and smooth waterfalls sliding down said walls to refill them. Everywhere we looked, we were affronted with a kind of grandness and luxury only billionaires and Arab kings could afford—and the Queen of such palace, walking loud and hard behind us, knew very well the effect her possessions had on her subjects.

“It’s a neat, cozy place.” She said, her voice reverbing inside of us. We stood uneasily before her, trying to feign a strength that was no longer there. “I fuck all my lays here.”

Fuck, she was straight. As straight as only kings and emperors could be. Her eyes and mine soon met, recognizing ourselves as each other’s biggest challenges. While I was stiff and weird, trying to feign a strength that no longer was there, she was graceful and calm, knowing full well the fight was won before it even started.

Then, she made a little bow, and we both looked at each other, wondering just what the hell she was planning. “I’m afraid it might not be big or strong enough for you two.” As she stood upright again, her eyes had a different, demonic gleam to them. “You’re fine. The first fine people I met in this country.” She cracked her knuckles. We saw her biceps bulge. “I will have a lot of fun fucking your bodies.”

I stepped forward. “You worthless cunt!”


Despite my strong words and my aggressive pose, my fists were trembling. Little by little, more parts of my body joined them in their shaking: my arms, my voice, my breast… I could barely hide my fear as that monster bought my challenge and gave one step closer to me. «Holy shit!!» The distance between us had blinded me for her true height; even ten feet apart from each other, that massive transfer student was noticeably taller than me. «How tall is she?!»

Her grim! Fuck! The smugness in it was driving me craz- “I’m seven feet and three inches, for your information.”

Our jaws dropped. “W-what?”

She stepped closer again. Nine feet separated us. Still, it looked (and felt) she was breathing down on my neck. Her power was overwhelming! The aura emanating for her body distorted the space around it, creating a dizzy vortex along her silhouette. As our bodies warmed up, with a special boiling focused on our pelvises, her grim became wider and cockier. “Fuck you, you white, blond whore.” Her voice never lost it smoothness. Her tone was peaceful and calm. “I know what you are thinking, so I’m giving you the answer.” Her body appeared to swell as she flexed her muscles involuntarily, her dark, silky clothes stretching under such atomic power. She had nukes for biceps and planets for breasts. It was like an elemental, universal creature approaching us, and with each rumbling of her breath I felt myself smaller and shorter, more and more insignificant.

“I’m usually six feet nine, but I knew you wouldn’t come here unprepared.” Her eyes were like lasers upon our bodies. God! She was almost undressing us with her gaze! My body, which was already partially revealed, became completely naked as she took another step and the entire house, I swear, quaked with her step. “You’re hard. I can see your bodies are in peak condition. Oh, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?” She raised her arms. Our hearts stopped.

“The power that courses in the veins of our muscular bodies! The most beautiful thing is a woman’s body, a lady silhouette covered with layers and layers of muscles.” She flexed her right arm. Not even that, really: she just moved her fist a little and her sleeves… *streeetch!* Both of them were torn in the middle, revealing the breathtaking bulge of her light-brown biceps, complete with the thickest, biggest vein we’d ever seen in such a muscle! “The power to tear a man in half with our bare hands… to make them scream, learn their proper place…” She lowered her arms, looking much wider than she did before. Every inch of her clothes was on the brink, the leather and silk of her elaborate model trembling under the powerful rumble of her musculature. “The power to pound their anuses with our fingers like they were horse cocks… or to make ladies squirt rivers with a single finger… like this one.” She lifted the index finger of her right hand to me, then curled it. The entire sleeve of her right arm exploded, leaving straps to fall slowly on the ground. *gulp!* Upon seeing her, I felt my feet standing on nothing. Pure void. The simple motion seemed to excite every fiber of her titanic arm, which was much bulkier and harder than mine.

The goddess tore off the remaining straps from her arm and gave its muscles a long look. “Oops.” She turned to us. “You know how it is. Sometimes, we just can’t hold back our power, can we?” She giggled, and we both stepped back as we felt a very malicious aura coming from her. “What’s the matter? You’re not afraid of me, are you?” She stepped forward. The entire place trembled, and a crack appeared under her foot. “You spent the whole week training, growing hard and massive like you are now, and I don’t doubt you’ve reached the pinnacle of physical perfection you white, Western chicks can get.” Another step. We heard the hardening of her muscles like truck tires beings stretched. “That’s why I trained too. I didn’t want you bitches to come here looking taller than I was. That’s why I’m over seven feet now. Once I’m done with you,” another step. Steam was coming out of her mouth and nose, “I would have grown past eight feet. I will have probably added another thousand pounds or two to my muscles, even though I won’t need to used them all.” She winked. “Trust me, dears, you won’t want me to. This vast summer palace you see here will already be completely leveled by me going 3% on your asses.” She chuckled. “God knows what would happen if I went full-power on you. Dear!” Her eyes! Pure tiger look. “Only time I went over 5%, I destroyed a whole city back in Africa, leaving a trail of bodies in my wake. Four hundred of the mightiest warriors in my continent laid destroyed, fuck-drunk, unconscious in my trail of spunk, their asses stretched and their bellies bulging with all the seed I’d gushed inside them. I took their wives and bred them too. You see,” her teeth shimmered, “I really care about breeding, even though I’m still fairly young, barely a month over eighteen.” Our hearts sank. She…! “You!!” Her knuckles were cracked. The shockwaves echoed in our hearts. “Taking your white, Western wombs will be one of the biggest delights in my life. I just hope you’re worth it. Not just ‘all show,’ you see. God knows how disappointed I am in many of you white chicks. You little, infertile wombs just can’t compare to our African gods dicks.”

“B-b-but…” Veronica still didn’t get it. Points, though, for being the first to speak: “but you’re a woman, aren’t y-?”

She shut up as I lifted my warm in front of her. No need wasting time with words. If anything, her long speech only betrayed insecurity—or so I told myself. If there was a time to attack, that time was…

*BOOOM!!* Now! Our bodies collided in a loud, earthquake-inducing thud, and her feet were dragged on the floor as I pushed her with all my might, meeting in her the resistance of a mountain. Our mouths were embroiled in a violent kiss. I plunged into her, my tongue reaching as deep as her throat, and my arms went around her waist to give her a bear hug, which further increased the pressure tearing up her clothes. Veronica stayed behind us, just watching, the moisture in her crotch so great a huge stain was showing in her shorts. Soon, drops of aroused nectar began to drip on the ground, with her legs quickly quivering as I pushed that African bitch further and further back.

«You’re arrogant whore!!» I tried to be mad at her, but quickly I discovered that I was in love. Love! The taste of that mouth was something I had never imagined! I felt like a wild animal fucking at the heights of lust, her tongue and her palate like cocaine to my senses, my nose being electrified by her aggressive, animalistic scent, my hands burning as they fumbled her back and counted, one by one, her countless muscles.

Power! I was tasting power in my mouth, with saliva squirting from the sides of our lips while I relentlessly kissed her. Her tongue remained passive, contemplative at the bottom of her mouth, just taking my onslaught of love without even a sketch of counter-attack. My legs climbed over her thighs, and soon I climbed on that woman like a sloth on a tree. My tongue pierced her harder and harder, swirling in her hot, wet mouth, my lips smacking over her, with the saliva now oozing into our chins and dripping into out bottoms.

The goddess was pushed far back into the door, placing her palms on its surface and then smiling, even giggling as I kept attacking her. I shook my hips over her abs, thrusting on her like a man would her cunt, but that was a bad call, a terrible one, for her overblown abs struck my pussy and my clit under my jeans, leading me to moan inside her mouth. “Oow!!” Our kiss was almost broken, but I wouldn’t recede, no, I wouldn’t give up so easily, not before sucking the cocky grim out of those fat, hard, luscious lips forever.

“Y-you’re so… hot!!” Veronica unbuttoned her shorts and knelt behind us. Her hands plunged into her panties. Four fingers stimulated her insides, trying to drill away the heat that was cooking her from the inside. “OOOH!!” Her forehead fell on the floor, the pleasure taking her in tsunami-like waves, and soon squishes were heard as the squirts left her cunt in stronger and stronger jets. “I c-can’t…!!” Poor little blonde was crying! “I can’t with you too!!”

Worthless weakling! She was on her knees before even trying to beat her! I wouldn’t be this weak! No! I promised myself I would have that goddess on her knees before even ceding to her an inch of my body. Her hands and arms stayed back, pressed against the door, as I thrust my tongue time and time again into her throat, penetrating it like a penis, showing her the fullness of my member. «How do you like that tongue, you African whore?» Inch after inch after inch, I unfurled my tongue inside her. A fat penis would feel so hard and thick inside her. When the tip of my serpentine member passed through her vocal cords, the goddess opened her eyes and looked down to me, her face finally changing from an expression of calm smugness to delighted surprise. Still, I kept unveiling my tongue, sucking her stomach all the way up from her mouth, and gradually I felt her arms quivering, her hands clutching on the door, as if her the pleasure was slowly switching off her self-control and taking over her nerves, forcing her to attack.

Yet the mighty goddess stood her ground, spreading her legs and lifting her hands above her head, her mighty biceps rumbling like Harley-Davison engines, and then crossing her fingers behind her head, which she rested on her palms while casting down on me a smug look. She wore a judging expression in her face, instead of her usual arrogant one. «Come on.» Her eyes ordered me with these exact words: «show me what you got.»

Feeling intense pressure on my chest, my tits swelled, my lungs burned, and my tongue unraveled deeper and deeper inside her throat, no longer a human tongue, but a monstrous one, like a succubus, throbbing and stimulating all her nerves in every direction, reaching for the absolute impossible… until it was made possible! With a gasp from my nostrils, I felt something… incredible!… in the tip of my tongue. «My god!» The tight constraints of her throat had disappeared. In their place, a warm, heated openness, like my tongue had just ventured into a new environment. «Her stomach!» With my fat, python tongue overfilling her mouth and stretching her jaw, I felt its very tip twirling inside her stomach. Giving it a gentle curl, I felt the mucous walls of her organ, and then my hairs spiked as I realized… «shit! I’m licking this bitch’s belly!» I kept striking it with my member, not in an aggressive manner, but instead as lovingly as I could make it, seeing if the bitch would finally surrender or at least concede to my superiority.

Brief twitches of her fingers and the glimmer of surprise in her eyes was the most I got. All in all, the bitch remained the same, smiling wider even, like a tutor who sees a student perform just as expected. To my shock and horror, after our kiss had gone on for over five unbroken minutes, it was I who began to feel a growing tiredness in all my muscles, with the insane length of my tongue cramping and hurting, and every muscle in my chest throbbing in heat waves as I stretched it full. «No! No!!» I told myself, reaching out even deeper in her stomach. «I shall not surrender so easily! I shall not faulter! I shall conquer and destroy!!» The way I was going, my tongue would soon bathe on her acid. Who knows! I might as well have pierced her guts, if my courage and valor were great enough.

I would conquer! I would dominate! I was the superior woman, damnit! So why?! Didn’t she?! Fall?? «Goddamn it!» Minutes passed. Veronica passed out at least twice under so many orgasms. Her shorts had been torn into at least four pieces as her fingers massacred her pussy, drawing a lake of cum from the depths of her womanhood. As she recovered her consciousness and looked up to us, dragging her chin on the floor and trying to keep her eyebrows raised, she howled and sweated like she’d just completed the Iron Man challenge three times in a row: “y-you… you two are monsters!!” She could see the bulge of my tongue on the African whore’s belly, as well as its length throbbing all the way from her stomach to out mouth. “Jesus!! You…” More squirts came out of her and stole her breath. “GAAH!!” Her eyes nearly popped out. “You two have been going for fifteen minutes!! JESUS!!” The squirts were followed by jolts of pleasure that made her entire body squirm on the floor. “Jesus, stop!! You’re making me cum so much already!”

Selfish weakly bitch! As if our fight had anything to do with her worthless ass anymore. My eyes and that bitch’s met as I opened them, finally, after a very long time. She had been looking to me all the time, apparently, since I’d pierced her stomach. My sight was blurry thanks to the tears. Soon, they came flowing down, running on my cheeks, dripping on her bosom as I painfully gasped for air.

The cramps on my tongue and chest became too hard to ignore. In an act of desperation, I took my hands from her neck and raised them to her hair, grabbing and pulling it so hard my sleeves exploded out of my arms—whatever rags remained on them, at least. My muscular back was fully exposed as my shoulders widened and my biceps swelled, and during the kiss I roared inside her mouth, pulling her hair with great strength, feeling little resistance in her neck, and her head turning up accordingly. Her eyes were still open, though, and barely blinking. That bitch was mocking me and all my efforts.

«You fucking whore!!» I stimulated her insides with pumps and throbs of my tongue, controlling that long, inhuman muscle like no person ever could. I was no longer a mere human, you see—both metaphorically and literally, with my physiology morphing so as to match that equally inhuman bitch—, yet still my superstrength seemed unable to match hers, my tongue only getting stronger and more severe cramps as I tried to ruin her!

The bitch was smiling and giggling when she felt the cramping twizzling of my tongue and heard my yelps of pain. Not only was my tongue cramping, but so were all my chest and back muscles. Soon, the cramp was visible through the painful waves of contractions of my muscle fibers, rippling all the way down to my mighty buttocks, which made my jeans explode and revealed themselves in all their circular, swollen glory.

“Jesus Christ!!” The view of my perfect rear struck Veronica with yet more countless orgasms. My white, tanned skin was beyond perfect. One could see oneself like a mirror in the glistening skin of my massive ass, each buttock so hard and smooth it looked like white gold perfectly polished. My buttocks rose and jumped as the jeans kept being torn up from my upper thighs down to my calves, the massive, monstrous thickness of their muscles tearing the cloth as easily as toilet paper.

I couldn’t hear the screams of my friend nor the squishes of her pussy, though, for the pain inside of me had outgrown all the pleasure I took from that fight. Tears were rolling down my eyes as I still persisted on that kiss, feeling my tongue being sliced off from inside out, every nerved being dynamited, and the cramps in my breast getting so hard I felt like my lungs were being compressed like in the abyssal depths of the ocean. «Resist!» Still, I kissed her! «I gotta resist! Ooh!!» My mind started blanking as the pain grew beyond comprehension. It was like needles were being introduced on every inch of my body. I felt like I was crying out blood, and the goddess too realized my intense pain.

In a few swift motions, she grabbed my hair and pulled my head away. Such was her ease that her biceps barely shivered with that act; whereas my muscles literally tore off my clothes with their expansion, hers remained idle and cool, too bored by that action like I didn’t even exist.

My tongue slid off her throat like a measuring tape. It was amazing! I felt its quivering tip leave her stomach and pass through the many inches of her insides in less than a second, returning to mouth in a whiplash so strong it pushed my head back. *Snap!* For a moment, I thought I had torn open a hole in the back of my skull with that overly aggressive motion. The air came rushing back a second later, with my lungs cooling off and all the main magically disappearing.

“Shoosh, shoosh, my love.” She placed her huge hand on the back of my head and pushed me closer to her, laying my head in her hard, powerful shoulders. “Shh, shh. You’ve fought so well! It’s amazing to see how you can almost kiss me without standing at the tip of your toes, or how you can grow your tongue to the depths of my very stomach.” With her next action, she showed me how utterly vulnerable, even worthless I truly was: she pulled my head back and, though I tried to resist it, I felt my neck almost snapping if I persisted on that struggle. She looked at me with a hungry smile, and just when I tried to move away… *boom!!* I gasped! God! I felt I was going to puke my guts out! She embraced me! Taking her other arm from the wall, she wrapped it around my waist, then squeezed me like toothpaste.

Her grim was nothing short of demonic. The heat within her body increased by many dozens of degrees. She was burning! The heat in a single organ enough to cook any normal human being alive! Sliding her tongue on my neck, she laid the following whispers on my ear: “my turn.”

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Updates and announcements

Indefinite hiatus

Hello, my beautiful! So, about this hiatus of mine… it’s gonna last a while.

Probably. I mean, I hope it doesn’t, but a lady can’t help when the whole GODDAMNED WORLD falls suddenly on her shoulders, right?

I’m really sorry for the lack of freebies and all, but you have no idea how much work I’ve been doing lately. A few key things that you may need to know:

  • Freelancing is my main form of income, and all my clients have come back HARD… with a fucking VENGEANCE!
  • I got about one hour of writing to do every day, and I’m using it all on my novel–The Doll.
  • There’s no estimate on when (or if) work will cool down. I hope by December things will be more chill, but no promises.
  • Until then, no freebies, no other updates, no nuthin. :,(
  • For the time being, “The Doll” will shift into a more “traditional publishing”–it’s going to be released when it’s ready, and then it will have all the marketing and fanfare it deserves–and that I can afford.
  • This means no chapter updates and freebies from the novel, just like my porn.
  • I’ve been planning on further professionalizing my whole business, including a visual overhaul of my website. Still, of course, due to everything happening to me, that’s also a long-term thing.

More updates and information are available for my Patrons.

I wish, I wish, I goddamn WISH I could be working for you again, giving out freebies galore and, who knows, heck, even writing new porn again.

However, hey, that’s life. ❤

Just be sure that I *am* still thinking about you, and I *am* still intended on coming back whenever possible.

It’s just that, for the time being, *welp*, I gotta CHASE THAT BAG!! 😉

Wish me luck. And remember, if times are ever rough, and y’all need some great little stories to keep you warm, you can always read my greatest inspirations:

Enjoy. 😉

The Doll who Loved me

The Doll who Loved me – Chapter 3: The perfect male

Boobs. Breasts. Titties. Knockers. Shakers. Milk-makers. Gazongas. He’d spent the entire morning looking at breasts, and those weren’t even half of all titties he’d have to work with until dawn.

He stretched long and lazily in his chair, both happy and annoyed by the nature of his work. It could get tiresome, you know, working with the same damned thing all day long, day after day in the week, all four weeks of the month, for months and months on end until there were no more months left to waste. «‘Tis what I like doing, though,» he reflected, «so I guess it could be worse, right? So much worse.»

Playing with pictures all day long, building beautiful covers for raunchy and erotic books. Most of his clients used to write tasteless romances to be sold online for peanuts, yet sometimes he got the occasional big gig or had to edits so particularly nasty the clients were pretty much willing to pay him whatever he asked («if not me,» he reasoned, «who’d work for these degenerates? Psycopaths?»).

He looked at his computer and admired the sumptuous cleavages shining on the screen. They were all nubile beauties with overdeveloped, lactating breasts, their dresses stained with their overflowing milk, and the naked figures dripping with hot, thick mommy nectar from their nipples.

It was a lactation thing, the niche for that particular client, and his penis couldn’t quite decide whether to be hard or soft with those images. “I need you to make them all milk.” His client had especifically instructed: “breasts. All ‘em tits. Big tits, all lactating. The dresses are almost tearing up, you know, ‘cause ‘em tits so big! Really hot. Some them, really nasty tits, huge gazongas. I want them tits naked, shooting milk. Not all covers. Some covers, nasty tits covered. Some covers naked, big tits free. You got it? I tell which cover which. You cover tits and you not cover tits when I tell you, okay? Very fine. You can name price. I pay for first cover, just one cover, okay, with the tits out, then we see if we continue work, okay?”

There were really strange, uncommon types asking for gigs all the time, and he really didn’t mind them, quirks and all. As long as they paid, all clients were equal. «It would be nice, though, to make money without having to work for it.» To be born an heir, that would have been a sweet life. To be born beautiful, from a great family, attending top American schools, dating all the girls there, knowing that all the problems of his life would be taken care of because he was a spoiled-as-fuck trust fund kid. «I wish I were spoiled.» He sighed, returning to work after a long sip of coffee. «Life sucks when you’re not.»

The cover was partially done. He needed to add all the shine and polish, however, which could almost be another whole work in and on itself. He added a few effects on the tits, making them gleam like sweat, like dropplets of morning dew on their soft, velvety skins.

All the time he sucked his lips and bit them very lightly, his mouth getting drier as the hours mounted. The skirts of those nubile vixens were just short enough so one could think they saw their panties—a Sharon Stone-crossing of the legs type of effect, though way less artistic. Their asses, hips, and legs were just as he liked them: wide, thick, and meaty. Those were healthy, strong teenagers brimming with fertility and life, good wombs ready to produce great babies, their thight cunts inviting of big, unyielding cock worthy of their lush, fruitful innards.

His dick got a little softer as he thought of the kinds of men who could have such young beauties on their arms. «Men who are the total opposite of me.» His eyes swelled, and the pressure in his head got distracting, if not painful at times, to the point that he found himself struggling to focus. As it happened, the combination of six unbroken hours of work, three liters of coffee, and a lifetime of sexual frustration wasn’t a great recipe for his head.

He stood up. His penis made a tent in his lose shorts. A small tent, mind you, but still a noticieable one. «Some men ain’t even have this luxury,» he sighed, adjusting his cock on his pants and walking to the bathroom in his room.

Pants down. Cock up. Right hand down. Left hand on the wall. Jerk off.

He hated the mirror in front of him. Always forced him to look at himself, that bastard! He could try another position, but that was the absolute best one in the tiny bathroom. Everytime he accidently got a glimpse of his reflection, he felt he could rip his dick off in anger. To mitigate that, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine the kind of man he would have loved to see instead in the reflection: that kind of big-dicked, muscular studs who would have the girls just like the ones he edited into his covers.

In the porn videos of his mind, he imagined not himself, but other men fucking his women. Men he knew he would never be. Men he wished he’d been born as, but had been cursed never to be: big, hulking, hairy muscular daddies teaching those uptight little sluts a lesson. He would imagine their orgasms and their fountains of squirt. Rows of women standing in a line, waiting to be fucked by a single, tireless bison. Kings and noblemen in the Middle Ages used to have harems like those: dozens, if not hundreds of pussies on the side, ready to always satiate their masters’ needs whenever required. That’s the perk of wealth and power: all the finest pussy in the world.

He felt the sweat running down his cheeks. His breath was uneven, his head almost exploding. He hated himself for it, but his cock sure felt nice—and it was his cock, not his head, that needed explosion. “Oh, god!” He would imagine this one glorious, beautiful male, with his body sculpted in marble, his face carrying the smile of someone who never had a problem in his life, fucking rows and rows of ladies who could barely contain their own orgasms, one after another passing out with the mere penetration of his giant cock head on their squirting, quivering queenies.

“Oh, god, what…” He rolled his eyes and moaned: “what a man!”

He shot his load on the mirror: pitiful threads of transparent white, almost a watery goo without an ounce of the virility to be expected from real jizz. He jerked himself harder, trying to coax more of that paltry paste from his cock, but that was it. His hardened member was only a little bigger than his palm side-to-side, and his ejaculate was just as pathetic. In disbelief, he watched his semen slide on the mirror as the image of that powerful stud, still fucking his harem of mares, was still etched into his mind.

He came when he had come; and when he had come, oh, it was an orgasm like no other!

The beastly Alpha roared like a lion, thundered like a bull warning off his rivals. His load was enough to make a woman full for the rest of her life; both with his massive cock inside of her and his massive load now filling her up, she felt full like with no other man—or group of men—could ever fill her, stretched beyond the limits of even her wildest fantasies, and experiencing more orgasms with a single thrust of that stud than she had with all the (many) losers in her love life.

That was the image in his mind when he came with his eyes close: a giant, muscular stud ejaculating hot and hard in the womb of his submissive lover. The ejaculation of a powerful conqueror of cunts! The sexual apotheosis of a Real ManTM, not the petty little dribbling of flabby-dicked boy like him.

He cleaned off the semen from the mirror and returned to work, feeling sadly hornier. «Fuck.» Jerking off usually helped to clear the mind, but that one session had been innefective at best. He felt like dying, honestly, with the pressure under his eyes so strong he needed to squint, squeeze, and scratch them from time to time just to set his mind straight and his thoughts clear.

He always felt like dying, but never like killing himself. It would have been so much better if he’d just… never woke up one day, or had never existed at all in the first place. Never having been born. Never having to waddle through all that load of bullshit.

He stared at his own reflection in the dark areas of the computer screen, seeing his bonecheeks produding through his pale skin. Though he now made some effort in leaving his cubicle every once in a while, that country knew no sun; its summers would be winters back in his homeland, and its winters could barely look like planet Earth in some days.

No, it wasn’t a nice country at all to live in, yet thousands of people risked their lives every day to set their feet on those frosty shores. «Nature sucks, but people are nice.» His mind drifted back to his old place, where «people sucked, but nature was nice.»

Was there anywhere a good combination of both? He sure tried to find it: the Americans had long neglected the astounding fertility of their land, choosing instead to splinter into a life of petty, tribalistic squabbles, and they never wanted any business with foreigners like him anyway. He was mediocre and unambitious; definitely not cut from the superior cloth of the Yankee race.

France was the next best thing, but the country too was involved it own, peculiar sort of domestic squabbles to make room for mudblooded peasants like him. Everywhere else in Europe was a raging clusterfuck, just like Asia a few years prior. Would the Europeans end up just as as fucked as the easterns? Their entire continent turned into a depleted battlefield? Its massive populace, into a zombified, mechanized mass of slaves threading and toiling endlessly over the torn-out, bombed-to-oblivion fields that had once housed Earth’s fastest-growing, most technologically-dominant civilizations?

Of the East’s sad fate, only Japan, claimed the experts, remained a viable country to live in, and he even looked into immigration to that strange, unwelcoming land, but the Japanese indeed would rather all bomb the world to oblivion then to allow a single one of his kind even land a boat on the tiniest, most remotest island of their entire bloodied archipelago.

Through trial and error, rejection and capitulation, then, he ended up there, as close to the North Pole as humans could get without abandoning society altogether, almost as if the very edges of the planet, where the scraps of civilization fell, were the only place left for a scrap of human like himself.

Sighing with mild content, he lifted his shirt and looked at his belly. Damn! He could count his ribs on his chest. «Eat more.» He thought, but on most days his lips would know only the taste of coffee. He wasn’t particularly tall, and by no means could he ever be considered hadsome. Cute? Maybe, but even that would have been a stretch for some. He had a pathethically oblong face, like a piece of shit after being stomped by a boot on the sidewalk, and a nose too flat and wide in a skin too pale and graceless—African sharpness without African warmth; Caucasian blandness without Caucasian smoothness. He sometimes looked more like the sketch of a human being than a human proper—as if he’d been God’s first draft for Adam before He discarded it and started all over.

His release had given him no release. It had only made him needier. The heat and the touch of those young, virgin beauties; that’s what he needed! Sweet, inexperienced girls who nonetheless rocked the massive boobs and ass and thighs of ravenous succubi; lovely-looking angels with tight pussies swelling under their pink panties, their gazes like those of sex-starved demonesses in angelic faces with bright-colored eyes.

He leaned closer to the screen, wanting to lick the women through the pixels. The sooner he finished, he reasoned, the sooner his thirst would be quenched. He rubbed his thin thighs against one another constantly, adding extreme amounts of detail to those women, making them little by little more untouchable and impossibly erotic compared to any real one. By the end of his shift, it was night already. The cup of latte just kept magically refilling itself as the hours rolled over one another, without him ever noticing, and his stomach grumbled, churned, and turned in demand of some real food.

He reviewed each and every one of his finished covers before sending them off to his horny client for approval. They were all beautiful works of smut that would also sell beautifully. There was a fizzle of pride in his heart; all but a speck of the emotion he used to feel when he’d started that work, so many years ago, as an act of desperation rather than inspiration, trying to make some money—any money!—to keep himself from starving. It had been sheer, dumb luck that led him to his first clients and taught him that, no, he was not entirely useless, and it was over this sheer, dumb luck that he founded his entire career, built his entire life upon.

Though he was a loner and a crooked fuck—an autistic twat with as much social graces as a bat in daylight—he was not, despite everything everyone had ever told him, an absolute zero. No. He was zero point something. And it was that filthy, smutty something that managed to pay for all his needs and helped him to escape his compatriots and captors, finding solitude, even peace on the farthest edges of the Earth.

He both hated and pitied them. His people. They were not guilty of the rottenness of their souls, but that didn’t help ease the pain of all they had done to him back in his youth. From the day he was born to the day he would die, he would carry all those massive bags of shithead in his mind. His body would grow weary and weak, but the shit, the heavy pile of psycho-dung in his skull, it would remain the same size, the same weight, if not grow even heavier, bending his spine until it cracked and sent him (hopefully) into an early grave.

*Click!* He pressed the button and sent the covers. With a long sigh, he leaned back on his chair, thinking if maybe he should relax a bit. «No.» Another mind within his mind interjected. «I need money.» He carried on to the next client instead.

Money, yes, money. It was money that allowed him to escape his wretched place and rent that little piece of paradise. The nature of freelancing was just as unforgiving as it could be occasionally, rarely very fulfilling: some days you made bank, some days the bank made you. He both envied and despised the stability of more “formal” types of workers, who never had to worry (too much) about their next paycheck, but who also ended becoming such tame, compliant sheep—even evil sheep, on some cases: sheep who, to protect their beloved stability, were always ready to slander, to steal, to smear, or to vote for fascists.

There’s nothing as sad and pitiful as a man in a cubicle. It was like the anti-habitat of a human: the white walls of an air-conditioned office building, the thumping of the fingers on the keyboard, the occasional chat and sneeze of the coworkers, the mortifying buzz and hum of productivity.

He wanted their perks without their leash: a good salary, a career ladder, a nice dental plan without those detestable cubicles to rot away in Excel sheets, moving money from there to here and here to there, all for the fat profits of his uncaring masters, a mere engine to power the easy, unmerited luxuries of his robber barons—barons whose sons, by the way, would all end up tall and handsome and muscular; real studs meant to fuck, marry, and mingle with only the best females of the world, breeding the future princes and kings of humanity, who would go on to continue the endless line of injustice, oppression, and inequality that kept poor blokes like him on the mud—or rather, on the cubicle.

Sons of prosperity, heirs to happiness. How despicable was their existence, and how wondrous would be to have it!

He bit his lips, dreaming with the better rolls of the dice as he read the assignment from a different client. This time, at least, he wouldn’t have to suffer (too much) from his thirst: it was a regular set of covers for yet another run-of-the-mill series of wishy-washy romances. All very girly and very innocent, not the type of work which would require rolls of luscious lactating breasts; not the type of imagery that would have stirred too many emotions inside his flailing, wheezing dick.

Or so he thought.

The covers were in the style of old arcade romantic sagas, with a damsel on the strong, thick arms of a dark, shirtless, muscle-bound, long-maned man. He was already tantalized by the women—big-bosomed beauties whose tight, light dresses highlighted every curve of their healthy, fertile bodies, making them often more erotic than if outright naked—, but it were the men who completely threw him off.

As he laid his eyes on those studs, his penis grew harder yet again. The image was just as arousing as the not-naked-but-still-very-naked virgins. And painful. So bloody painful! The aggressive muscles of those studs, whose pants bulged generously around their crotches, carrying massive meat sticks between their thick, hairy legs, all of it reminded him of a virility he would never possess. Their legs were built like Greek columns, their torsos wide and massive and firm as the back of horses, with pectorals so enormous a single halve of their chest was wider than his whole torso.

He admired their six-, sometimes eight-pack of gorgeous abdominals, the shinny and lustrous hairs that adorned their chests, as well as the beautiful dark manes of their heads, and sometimes the vast, well-kept beards on their manly, chiseled jaws.

The boy picked his computer and stood up abruptly, almost knocking the coffee mug from his desk as he ran again back to the bathroom. He barely shut the door as he put the laptop on the sink, lowered his trousers and began to masturbate to the images of those powerful stallions. He closed his eyes and moaned as he beheld those portraits of obscene masculinity, getting in heat with the abundance of meat and muscles in those larger-than-life bodies. The images were rarely pornographic, but it wasn’t the prospect of their glorious, naked bodies that got him off; it was the sheer confidence in their posture, their gazes, their firm, authoritarian eyes commanding respect without a word.

The perfection of their physiques, living statues out of marble, contrasted with the flabby misery of his own. The thought of him being dominated by those studs—being chained to the bed and hand-whipped by their powerful hands, chocked by their swollen biceps while they sinfully sodomized him like wild males in heat, all of it brought him over the edge.

“Oh, god!!” He rolled his eyes and leaned to the the mirror, getting an glimpse of his reflex before immediately averting his gaze. Too late: the image of his own self got his penis softer and delayed the inevitable explosion. He needed to bathe his mind on those hundreds of powerful, virile bulls to get his cock hard and manly again.

Many of those males wore only black or white boxers, leaving little to the imagination about the size and sturdiness of their genitalia. Some clients asked him to make the bulges bigger, but he scarcely needed to be told that before editing them into obscenely well-endowed hunks, looking like they packed an elephant trunk and a pair of mangos in their boxers.

As he furiously beat his meat, he “accidently” clicked on the folders containing more pornographic images. «Jesus!» The naked crotches flaunted cocks so big and beautiful he almost felt them slapping his face through the screen. His penis vibrated and his balls shrank, filling the bathroom with squishy noises as he prematurely unleashed his load. “Oh, god!!” He almost lost the strength on his legs. “Oh, god!! Oh!! Oh!” He leaned desperately with an arm to the mirror, where his semen was barely visible—all two squirts of it.

He accidently took another peek of himself, and this time he didn’t avert his gaze so quickly. He stared at his reflection and let the anger brew. He almost felt the urge of spitting in his own image; at making a clone of himself and clubbing him to death. «Was that what they felt when they saw me?» The saliva was spilling out of his lips. «This great disgust and hatred?»

His fist was closed. He could almost throw a punch if the glow of his computer screen hadn’t caught his attention before. There, he noticed he had indeed shot more than two pitiful ropes of semen, as another one had actually hit the upper tab of his screen, prompting him to quickly scramble for some toilet paper to clean it up. As he wiped the cum off his computer, his fingers slid over the model’s hair on the screen, like a cuddle. He gazed upon that massive, muscular body, all culminating on a thick, long, soft penis that dangled between its huge, veiny legs, like the absolute pendulum of virility that it was.

The man was obscenely packed. His balls were so big and full the boy could see their bloated outline from behind the cock. Was that what a Real Man looked like? He’d never seen any in real life to compare (certainly not naked), though even the fake cartoon males or porn actors didn’t sport a penis so fabulously fat and gorgeous as that one. The fact that it was soft only made it more imposing, like a third leg so ungodly thick no hand could wrap its fingers fully around its girth. The big, main vein on it was very salient, with smaller, plentiful veins sprawing from it like branches through the rest of the gargantuan womb-smasher. It was such a big and heavy penis it looked like he needed an extra portion of blood just to keep it up there, dangling on his hips without falling off and rotting away.

His penis grew harder again. He felt like spending whole hours just looking at that model of masculinity. He ran his fingers across the screen, imagining his touch on that firm, rock-hard Alpha male, and wished for a moment that he was the Alpha male, before dropping the silly though and imagining himself instead being dominated, beaten, fucked raw in the ass by that powerful hairless bison, that raging human bull, that tireless fertile stallion. The shallowness of his own cum couldn’t compare to the scortching, heavy broth that bull was sure to cum on his ass, or to the massive buckets of load he came on the tight pussies of his hundreds of lovers. “A man like this…” He muttered to himself, touching his own pecs, pinching and twisting and pulling his own nipples, “must ejaculate like a fucking firehose.”

The minutes went by as he imagined himself being humiliated, subjugated by that mighty male in all manners of sexual depravity. Though his dick was fully hard again, his balls were probably as dry as the Cerrado. Nevermind. He was not supposed to be the virile partner there, after all. The man was. He had more pleasure imagining that stud plowing him with brutality or—even better—humiliating and derogating him before his harem of fertile females, than actually being that super stud or having sex with all those women himself.

He imagined himself as a better, richer man, for instance, trying to get a lay with a beautiful woman in a party. Then that stud, that Alpha male appeared and very easily stole the woman from his arms, laughing at him while heading to his bedroom, ready to take the prize on his own bed.

His dreams changed, yet remained the same: he imagined himself with a beautiful girlfriend, only to have her stolen by the stud. Then, the Alpha made him watch as he fucked his own girl, showing him how a real man fucked, mocking him at every opportunity as he took his woman to even greater heights of pleasure, her body twitching and her eyes rolling as he managed to extract one squirting orgasm after another out of her battered pussy.

It didn’t end there: after she was laid conquered and wrecked and ruined on the bed, the male withdrew that gorgeous pipeline of a penis from her and proceeded to jerk it off with both hairy, masculine hands over her body. As she panted and slowly recovered her breath, the overmuscular stud turned to him and demanded: “why don’t you feed your girlfriend a real man’s cock, huh?” The boy, in turn, just stood there, befundled, barely understading his Alpha’s words.

“Do you want this cock again?” The huge male asked his submissive princess. “Tell your pussy boyfriend how badly you want this cock.”

She resisted, she bit her lips, but she inevitably relented, looking almost pitifully to the boy: “yesss. I want this cock!”

“Then ask your boyfriend to put it inside you.” He laughed, clearing any lingering trace of doubt: “not his pencil dick, of course. My cock.” He grabbed his manhood. “Tell him to come here and guide my stallion cock into yout cunt.” They were both shocked by the command, and he, the little boy, almost had tears in his eyes when his girlfriend finally relented, the ectasy dripping on her voice: “please, honey… do as he says.”

He crawled towards them on his knees, weeping and yelping like a hurt puppy, a lonely tear sliding down his cheeks, and grabbed that massive penis as respectifully as he could, like the handling of a divine relic, and felt its hardness, its lusciousness, its liveness, its granite-and-steel texture, as well as the its immense girth, taking the chance to also touch his immense, throbbing balls, who were so full of virile semen you could hear it sloshing inside.

“Good pup.” The mighty male fondled his cheeks. “Now, put this cock where it belongs.”

He moved the penis inside his girlfriend’s pussy, seeing her being wholly stretched by the helmet of that monstrous manhood. «Oh, my god!» He thought to himself, moaning in the bathroom. «His head alone is bigger than my whole penis!»

“Deeper.” The Alpha commanded, and he silently wept as he pushed the cock deeper into the woman, seeing parts of her groin bulge as the immense serpent penetrated her innermost womanhood. “Look how deep I can reach, and I’ve got barely a third of my cock in her.” He silently obliged, guiding inch after inch of that endless cock inside the woman. “Now…” The male leaned to her and sucked her tits, making her moan and wet herself like crazy, “feel it. I’m deeper than any man has ever been in her, and there’s still another half of cock to go.”

In the end, the man could never fully penetrate her. The cock easily hit her cervix with many inches still left outside her cooch. Sadly (for both partners), she didn’t quite enjoy cervical penetration, therefore, with utmost control, his body being both a force of destruction and ecstasy, the stallion proceeded to fuck her pussy senseless for another whole hour, drawing so many orgasms out of her that the poor little being didn’t know what’d hit her when it was all set and done. She yelped, screamed, moaned, and fainted more times than anyone could count, and the little man, both within the dream and in the bathroom, came hard by watching that superior male conquer the ever-living soul of his lover.

Despite his third ejaculation, no semen left his penis. His little, shrived balls were exhausted—the exact opposite of the raging stallion in his dreams, who nutted like ten men inside his girlfriend. Still, the pleasure was even more sublime, and he found himself fumbling his own buttocks, teasing his asshole with his index finger as he descended from ecstasy and found himself again, rather anticlimactically, on the same dark, dreary bathroom, in front of the mirror still smeared by his previous load.

The computer was still on, its screen slightly dimmed after so many minutes of inactivity. “What a man,” he muttered softly, and then more loudly so: “what a man.” The swelling of his eyes got more pronounced, and he closed the laptop quietly and returned to his desk. «Fuck,» he thought. «That’s three jerk-offs.»

He didn’t like the habit a lot, though he admitted it was the only thing that kept he sane, even alive. «Fuck idiot.» He hated himself for having failed to remain “chaste,” nutting three times in the same day and still not feeling sathed. «You fucking piece of shit.» He opened the laptop and stared at the same erotic image of the stud dominating the busty damsel, with his wide shoulders and Greek-column-thick arms. The sight of his exposed, muscular back got his penis twitchy again, and by the end of that shift, a few minutes past two in the morning, he had jerked off again in his seat, without even taking his pants off, making a mess of both it and his underwear.

He changed his clothes quickly, and half-heartedly cleaned the bathroom mirror, where his semen had nearly solidified, leaving two tiny, ugly smudges in the glass. He was in no mood to do anything else. After sending those last covers to the client, he sank into the bed with his head heavy, aching and throbbing like his brain had morphed into a nest of hornets. «This doll… this doll…» He though to himself, holding back the flood in his eyes, «she can’t arrive soon enough.»

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[NSFW/+18!] The African College Futa – Part 4

“You two are freaks, you know that?”

The images and sound only slowly came together as the pieces of my mind returned to their place. The first thing I saw was a friendly face close to mine, shining a light on my eyes. Then, I heard painful gasps beside me, turning my head to see Veronica on a bed by my side, squirming and panting as he looked wide-eyed to the ceiling, as if seeing a ghost or having a painful heart attack.

“Veronica!” The beds trembled and creaked as we both tried to move. “What…?!” Shaking myself harder, I realized my arms and legs were tied to the beds.

“Please, don’t make another scene.” The nurse walked closer while holding a syringe. “I don’t wanna have to put you down to sleep again.” Despite the sternness her voice, she couldn’t hide her arousal. No man or woman could, and her desire was shown by her fumbling and squeezing our biceps and our legs with her fingers. “Your beautiful, gorgeous bodies… oh!” She squirmed. “Let me tell you one thing: it was suuuper arousing seeing you two breaking the beds and tearing these metal handles so easily with your powerful arms.” She pointed behind her, where I could faintly see a mess of broken equipment and cracked walls. “You, Heather.” She slapped my mighty thigh. “With these huge legs of yours! You broke the bed and tore through the walls with your kicks. I think you would kill a horse with those legs if you kicked it hard enough.” Her fingers travelled between my inner thighs, rising up to my tight, quivering cunt. “You delicious, giant whore.” Her fingers teased me, moisturizing themselves with my lubes. “Mmm! How long has it been since we last fucked?”

As much as I loved that tight-assed, sexy doctor wannabe, my mind was in too many different places to care about her generous offering. “What happened?” My sight finally returned to normal, allowing me to see the wide range of emotions in her face. She pondered on the answer for too long before giving us her best account of the events: “you two were found fainted, screaming in the bathroom. Tamany Hall, building four, remember? What the fuck were you two doing there, huh? Is it some kind of drug the campus police hasn’t yet caught up to?”

As the events suddenly sprang back up to my memory, I looked to my friend Veronica and tried to aid her in her pains. “Vee-vee, relax. Calm down, love.” I tried to reach her. “We’re safe now.”

Despite her body being more relaxed and still, her voice was marred in fear—yet also twinges of desire: “t-that woman…!!” Her legs quivered. The entire bed shook. “S-she’s no woman!!” These words peaked the nurse’s attention, who turned her head and listened closely: “s-she’s a freaking monster! She…!” And then, they started all over again: the orgasms. “Oh!!” Her body jolted. The bed jumped with it. “OOOH!!” The bed jumped again as she suffered one massive orgasm after another, probably a set of multiple O’s, and I could hear, from between her legs, the ebb and flow of juices in her cunt, ready to shoot at any moment. “My god!!” She was clearly losing her breath, and the machine to which she was hooked denounced her heartbeat going past 200bpm. “She’s so powerful!! So godly!! So…!!”

We all heard the exact moment when she squirted. It wasn’t even just a matter of hearing it, but also seeing it: thick, steamy threads of lubes gushed from her legs, splashing all over the bed while making a real mess on the floor and even the walls. “No, no! Not this again!” The nurse ran with her syringe to her, trying to avoid those scalding gushes as Veronica screamed and found herself sinking deeper and deeper into delirium. “Heather!!” The leather cuffs that strapped her into the bed were tearing up. “Heather, please!!”

She tried to reach out to me, but the best I could do was shoosh her to sleep: “calm down, my love. You’re safe now.” When I saw the nurse’s syringe penetrating the long, bulging vein in her biceps, I knew her agony would soon be over. “Go sleep now. We’ll talk again real soon.”

The nurse—who I think was named Amanda or something…—injected the entire content of her syringe in Veronica’s body—“enough juice to knock out a lion,” she later told me—yet still my friend took five minutes to completely pass out, fighting against the medicine like a minute for every second until her eyes closed for good.

Breathing hard, and a little scared herself, Amanda (or was it Fernanda? Bah, who cares…) turned to me with another loaded syringe. “You wanna one too?”

“No worries, doc.” I smiled. “I’m not as weak as her.”

“Mm.” Her eyes lustfully bathed upon my body. “I wonder what dose would knock you know.”

I smiled. “Ain’t enough sedative in your whole hospital to take me know, babe.” Then, with smooth motions of my head, I invited her to “come, get closer, babe. Let me out so I can touch this awesome body.”

She leaned forward and moved her shoulders closer, making her incredible rack swell and test the confines of her vest. “Can’t you two stop thinking about sex for a single minute?”

“Well, I guess she ain’t thinking about no more.” I nodded to Veronica, but to my surprise she did seem to be thinking about sex, as the juices kept gushing from her pussy like little sprays of sexy, sweet-scented female cum. “Damn, doc. What the fuck happened?”

“I told you already.” While she talked, she slowly undid my ties. “You were found in a delirious state on a bathroom.” She undid the restraint on my right hand. “You don’t remember anything?”

One by one, very gradually, the events returned to my memories. “It’s coming back now. Oh, fuck. I wish I didn’t remember it.”

I felt my left arm freed up. “What happened?”

I looked at her. “Can’t you guess?”

She could. Very easily, in fact. I suspected she already knew what had happened, but only kept it hidden so she could hear it straight from our lips, arousing herself with our sexy recounting of the events. “You met Jamila, haven’t you? The African student. Well, no wonder you’re were left in that state.” She moved on to unstrap my left leg. “That awesome student… mm! I have to stop myself from thinking about her so I do not… cum again. Fuck.” She trembled. I could see she was having some issues trying to walk. She looked at me. “Promise not to cause I scene?”

I nodded. “No problem. The only thing I will do once I’m freed is to grab your body and fuck you in this bed.”

“Then I guess it’s better to leave you tied.”

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t you tell me you don’t want it.” I flexed my belly, and the flexing of my abs was powerful enough to make the cloth rumble above my waist. She sucked her lower lip and let it go, making a sensuous *pop!* with it.

“You whore.” Her hand climbed over my left leg. “You’re so… hideous! With all these muscles!”

I laughed. “Come on, you can lie better than this.” I flexed my insane Amazonian legs. Unlike my torso, they were uncovered, free for the view of anyone wanting to see what a real woman looked like. “My muscles are sooo much more toned now that I’m dehydrated. Those orgasms, you see…” I shuttered a little when remembering them. “I think I gushed a whole gallon back in that bathroom. My body is hard and ripped like a mountain. Come on, baby.” Taking her by surprise, I stood up, making the best of the fact she’s untied my hands before my legs. “Free me so I can fuck you with own these powerful…” I flexed one arm, “mighty muscles!” I flexed another, and her eyes soon had swirls in them.

“Shit! I have to admit.” Slowly she moved her hands to my flexed guns, letting her jaw drop as she squeezed them and saw how her hands couldn’t even cover half of their rigid mass. “You’re tantalizing!”

“Mm, ‘tantalizing.’” I wrapped a powerful arm around her waist and pulled her to me. “You really are smart, eh? Using these big words on this big, big girl.”

“Okay, you!” She pulled me away. “Fuck.” Her hands stopped on my abs. “Seriously!” She pulled my gown up, uncovering my belly. “Oh, fuck me! You’ve got an eight-pack?”

I flexed my abs and performed a belly dance for her, hypnotizing her with the loud, rumbling rippling of my muscle fibers. “Try putting a coin between those abs. I betcha I can crush it.”

I was surprised by her serious expression as she looked up to me. It’s as if she was worried about something. “Don’t fuck her.” She fondled my cheek. “Please, I beg you.”

I turned serious just as quickly. “Why? Did someone tell you something?”

“No need too. I knew you were going to challenge her sooner or later. That’s why I’m begging you, for the well-being of your beautiful body,” she squeezed both my biceps, “forget about her. Take a semester off if necessary. Try moving to another country and fucking a new flavor of men instead of going against that… that…!” The mind failed her. “That creature!”

Trying to assert my dominance, I pulled her in a tight squeeze.

My nose and lips travelled over her neck as I smelled her sweet scent and sucked her tender skin with many kisses. “You’re seriously telling me to run away. Me?! The strongest woman on the planet??”

She tried pushing me away, but her arms failed to respond accordingly. She was enjoying me far too much to move away too soon. Her hands travelled along my back, her fingers memorizing every shape and sulk of my wall so muscles, and eventually she had one hand on my ass, another on my abs, feeling the insane hardness of my Wonder Woman body, slowly teasing up my cunt as the bed creaked with our passionate make-out.

Five minutes later, feeling drunk and dizzy, she finally managed to speak: “you are not.” Her eyes betrayed painful sincerity. “The strongest, you know. Not anymore.”

The tightness of my hug became a little too painful, as proved by her faint yelps. I couldn’t accept that, but I also couldn’t pretend not to see the writing on the wall: “it’s a matter of honor, you see. I have to prove to her I… I can stand my ground.” No! I had to be even more emphatic: “that I am the superior cunt.”

God, how I hated that look of pity in her face. The way she caressed my cheeks and kissed me… fuck me! It’s as if she was mourning a soon-to-be-dead friend! “My dear, look what happened to you.” She pointed to the unconscious Veronica snoring by our side. “Look what she did to you two without even getting to fuck you! How many kisses did she give you before you completely lost your minds, huh?”

My face was aflush with shame. “She kinda didn’t.”

“Mm? What did you say?”

I sighed. “She didn’t kiss us. She didn’t even touch us.”

Even for our knowledgeable friend, that felt like a bit of a stretch. “You two were like this and she didn’t even kiss you?”

“Touch us, actually.” I gulped and cleared my throat. “She… *sigh* She actually didn’t lay a finger on us. Well, she kinda touched us, I guess, but… in a completely non-sexual way.” I could see that she was not only amazed, but also deeply, maddeningly aroused. “We challenged her to a fight, though, so there’s not much to do about that anymore.”

She tried to speak, but her dry throat got the better of her sometimes. “I mean… uh… well…” She cleared it and smiled. Her mind was clearly on another places—probably the warm, gorgeous muscles of that tall, sexy bitch! “Fuck me, to think she did that to you… fuck! With mere words!”

“Yes, yes, fine. You can stop fawning now.”

“She’s just such a goddess you see! But, well, yeah, I guess…” She gave me a quick, almost apologetic kiss. “You too are quite a woman stud, you know that, right.”

“Stop taking pity on me. Please, it’s disgusting.”

“You don’t need to do this. Please, Heather, pleeease, for the sake of you and your friend, as well as all your lovers, I beg you:” she pulled my face, pushed her forehead into mine, and stared deep into my soul, “don’t fuck her. She’s going to annihilate you both!”

Annihilate. Exterminate. Wreck. Conquer. Destroy. «Amazing!» I thought. The African’s lovemaking was never described as simply “to fuck” or “to screw.” Only the most savage, severe words were used when witnesses (or broken lovers) recounted her sexual Armageddon. For an unknown listener, these tales would have given the impression that people were fucking a huge animal, like a bull or a stallion, not a mere human being. «Is she really human, though?» I shook my head, trying not to get too lost on my own thoughts.

“I’m strong.”

“Not strong enough. Please, Heather, remember the things she did! She fucking wrecked the entire football team! And the wrestling one! Fuck, even our MMA students weren’t enough to take on her, and she laid with over twenty at the same time!” She gestured clumsily, trying to show me the size of those students. “They were massive, beefy studs inches taller than yourself! She fucked scores of these men in a slaughter-orgy without even taking a moment to breath! I…” She brought her hands to her chest, feeling a surge of blood turning her whole face and torso scarlet. “I know it! I’ve seen it first hand, well, not the guys, but with myself. Her lovemaking is not something that can be described or understood by mere mortals. When she fucks you, she truly, really fucks you, and no other fuck will ever be the same… ooh!…” Her hips twirled. She was clearly on the cusp of another orgasm. “Sex is never the same after she lays waste to your cunt.”

I wiggled my lips, trying not to look impressed. “Well, she fucked you, and you look alright for my taste. You’re not a tall, three-hundred-pound muscle jock,” I smiled, “you’re a beautiful, busty, gorgeous, yet delicate supermodel. I don’t see you riding around in a wheelchair after her pounding.”

Her silence begged for respect. It was hard to maintain my cocky smile while staring at her stern, serious face. “I couldn’t walk for two days, you know. That’s because she didn’t ‘really’ lay me. She said it herself: if she’d fucked me with a fraction of the strength she does a man… I would be dead.” She spread her legs apart. “She would have ripped my legs out of my body almost without thinking, she said, and I’ve seen the ruin in her lover’s anuses to know that these aren’t mere bragging words. You’ve seen the pictures, I’ve seen the bodies, let’s stop pretending that she’s a beast that any average human can take down, okay? Anyone who’s seen her knows that she can fuck a mountain into pebbles without even breaking sweat. Are you really that arrogant (or that stupid) to buy her bluff and expose yourself to mortal danger? Are you really in such a need for adrenaline or orgasms? Look at me, Heather! Please!” She kissed me. “I’m really worried about you. Scores of men almost died without her even going into ten percent of her full power! God knows what’s gonna happen to you… and beautiful Veronica… if she really does you with double that power, let alone going all-out on your cunts!”

Despite her honest, legitimate despair… I couldn’t accept it. “It’s a matter of honor, Amanda.”

“Huh, my name is Fernanda.”

Damn it! “Yeah, that’s what I said: Fernanda.”

“You said…”

“Pretty girls like you can’t understand.” I just kept going, flexing my arms and shoulders to distract her, and the muscles threatened to tear through the constraints of my clothes. “Muscle girls like me, we… we have a certain code. A code of power, if you will: we’re proud for being the best, the biggest, the baddest amongst all women, and knowing that we could kick any man’s ass is something that brings us unparalleled pleasure. Most of all, being the biggest, baddest, strongest of all women bestows on you a certain aura of power, an unwavering feeling of… divinity.” I took her by the waist, slowly lifting her without even noticing it. “When you have a body like mine—tall, hard, massive, and beautiful—you feel and act like a goddess—because you are! That’s something no one can take from you, or no one should take from you, until a challenger appears. Oh, Amanda.”


“Yes, Fernanda!” I kissed her. My lips and tongue met every inch of her neck, nape, and bust. “Fernanda, Fernanda, beautiful Fernanda. I’m a goddess! I’ve always been a goddess, and now that fucking bitch came to take my title away. I will not stand idle and watch her steal my glory without a fight. No! I will fight! I will fight and I will die, if necessary, trying to protect what I’ve built after so many years of strenuous effort and bone-breaking exercises. I will reclaim my muscle godhood or I will die trying. That, my friend,” I gave her a long, breathtaking kiss, “is something I will never run away from.”

Once her head stopped spinning, she talked in a resigned tone: “you brain-damaged muscle head. Really, ‘muscle head!’ Despite having a pussy…”

“A gorgeous pussy, you gotta admit.”

“Mm!” She turned her face away, blushing. “Despite having such a tight, super delicious pussy… you’re nothing but a dude, you know that?” She hit me: her fists almost cracked on my massive, hard breasts. “A stupid… dumb… idiot jock!” She hit me again and again and again. “That’s what you are, you know that?”

I grabbed her arms and squeezed them, just enough for her to feel the wonderful mix of fear and arousal that comes with having a much physically superior partner. Our eyes glimmered as our gazes met, and our mouth could hardly stand too long apart before I told her: “I know, and that’s just how you loved me.” She moved on for a kiss, but I moved away while gesturing to my legs, still constrained. “Free me, pussycat. Free me… and I will lay waste to your cunt!”

It was only after she came over two hundred times, with her squirts splashing in every wall of the place, that her screams became impossible to ignore and a team of eight nurses, plus security staff—two for each limb—had to tie me down and sedate me, knocking me out so I could stop ruining that pussy with my tongue, fingers, and the ceaseless grinding of my hips.

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African College Futa series

[NSFW/+18!] The African College Futa – Part 3

Didn’t take us too long to find that fucking bitch. As big as she was, you see, she wasn’t one to be so easily lost in the crowd. When we found her, though, she was dining alone on the college hall. Always the same hall, always the same table, and always alone. It’s not like people didn’t want to talk to her. Oh, quite the opposite! Wherever she was, there was always a crowd forming around her; people too fearful to approach her, but too entranced to leave her. As we walked to her table, we saw the same lines of men and women hoping, oh, praying to get a chance to talk to her. As we looked at many boys’ crotches, we saw big bulges (and some, okay, not so big) poking through their pants. The girls were crossing their legs and giggling, their cheeks all blushed as their hard nipples poked through their shirts.

“Jamila, uh, you got some time to help me on my assignment? I was wondering if you could…”

The African bitch raised her hand, so sudden, yet so graceful that even I and Veronica stopped on our tracks. With that simple, threatening motion, we felt our legs tremble. «Damn!» My eyes widened. «Look at the size of her forearm!»

She was wearing a white T-shit under her uniform. “I know what you need, my love, but I’m not sure I can give it to you now.” We heard her speak, even though dozens of feet still separated us. Very elegantly, like every motion was a royal affair, she raised her cup of tea for a sip. “Let me have a good look at you first.”

“Oh!” Her reluctance burned and died in a flash. “O-okay!” Moving past the mass of students, she walked within Jamila’s range, giving us all a good view of her body.

“I-is that…” I stammered to Veronica. “Is that Heloise?”

“Mmr! Uh-uh.” My friend nervously nodded. “That bitch!” We both watched as the tall, proud student offered herself for Jamila, who still took her sweet time, taking a long sip of the tea before even turning her head to look at her.

Heloise had the fame to be the hottest, yet bitchiest cunt in all of college. “Heloise, Morena, then you and Veronica.” Some dumb jock had told us once, prompting us to almost rip the cock out of him with our cunts: “Heloise is the hottest, but you too are the best fuck in anyone’s life!”

Though we feigned outrage, we couldn’t be too shocked at that assessment. “Bitch is beautiful.” We admitted to each other, having made numerous attempts to take her to bed with us. Unlike every other man or women in school, however, Heloise was the only totally oblivious to our charms. “Why do you keep asking? Do you fancy me for some faggot?”

“We think you like a good fuck.” We licked our lips and leaned towards her while showing her our massive, milk-filled breasts. “Don’t you wanna know what is to be fucked for rea-?”

“No.” She bluntly shot us down, time and time again. “I’m not interested in girls, and even if I were,” she looked at us with clear disgust, “I wouldn’t be interested in freaks like you two.” Then she walked away, jiggling that massive, hard butt of hers. “Girls and muscles! Yuck! As if these two things were ever meant to be together!”

Harsh, but meaningless words. The French goddess herself was very fit and toned, with thick legs going for miles and breasts so humongous that had actually disqualified her for a place in the Miss Universe competition. We envied her, we desired her, but so did every student in school, and as a result that rich, spoiled heiress acted like the absolute queen of college, if not of all of woman-dom.

It was then with great revolt that we saw her, in all her Barbie-like poise, melt like sweet girl in front of her strong, authoritative daddy: when Jamila turned to her, damn!, we could swear we heard the gush between her legs. The tall, supermodel bitch always wore skirts, showing off those god-gifted legs to anyone brave (or delusional) enough to try and flirt with her, and thanks to it we saw the hottest thing two raging bisexuals could see in an attractive bimbo like her: hot threads of lubricant flowing down her thick, toned legs.

“Daaaamn!” I felt like I had to push my eyes back with my fingers, so hard they were bulging! That blonde bitch wasn’t just aroused, she was, like, squirting before everyone. “What the fuck is going on??” Just as we felt our own legs trembling, Jamila gave her one very long look, judging her from head to toes, then back to her head again.

“You look cute.” She turned her attention back to her table, where a huge, heavy book lied open. “Let me see you tonight. At nine. My place.”

“D-don’t you p-prefer my place, J-Jammy?” Her voice, usually so sexy and haughty, was now as graceless and clumsy as a newborn emu. “D-daddy’s outta town. M-my mansion is…”

“You can go now.” She waved her away. “We be seeing each other again soon, sweetie.” The newly crowned queen of college turned her head and gave her a promising wink. Then, she addressed all those around them: “please, folks, I need some space. You’re actually blocking the wind, you know.” She waved at them, and not one of those bastards, as horny as they felt, dared to disobey her and star. “That’s much better. Thank you.” She smiled as she talked to herself: “no matter how many you are, I’ll always have time for each and every one of you. Right now, however, I need to…”


He looked up. Her left eyebrow was smugly lifted. “Can I help you?”

We stood right next to her, each of us at once side, already positioned to take her down if all things came to it. “Does that also include us? Your time?” I pointed at her breast, trying not to be intimidated by the massive bulk in her shirt. “I suppose you have time for us too, right?”

To our shock, her face warmed up to us. “I was wondering when you were going to introduce yourselves.”

Then… she got up! She got up and we both instinctively stepped back, in a very visceral, reflexive motion, as if our survival instincts were screaming at us to get the fuck outta there!! “Heather.” She looked at me. “Veronica.” She looked at her, then she stretched a hand to each of us. “It’s so nice to meet you. I suppose you want to get a piece of me, right?”

It was…! It was so much…! «God!» It was so much to take! Shaking her hand, feeling her warmth, we immediately realized we stood before something of a much superior nature and nearly incomprehensible power! Her size, her height, her muscles, her grip, her beauty…!! I was never into black chicks, even a light-skinned black like her, but once I saw her face, I accepted the impossible: she was at least three times as hot as Heloise herself.

“Jesus… oh, damn.” As she shook my hand calmly, but firmly, I felt a pressure build up between my legs, and then be discharged in a quivering, noisy gush.

Veronica experienced the same thing too. A dark spot quickly grew in her jeans. “Y-y-you…!” She tried to speak, the poor little fool, but then the goddess lifted her fingers to both our lips and said:

“I know you two used to be the baddest bitches around. The strong women, the tireless Amazons… I know your type all too well. Your reputation preceded you, you see. Well…” What she did next…! “I was eager to meet you.” Her hands…! In front of all the students, in the middle of that vast, crowded hall…! She moved her hands down to our asses and squeezed them! “Veeery eager.” Her massive, powerful, muscular hands fumbled our hard muscles again and again, feeling their rigidity and making our nipples just as hard, and we just stood there, letting her abuse go on. “I see there’s good cause for your reputation. Wonder if those big, massive bodies of yours…”

“Who d-do you t-think…??” I muttered a yelp of protest, but then her eyes were turned to me.

“Did I say you could speak, cunt?”

By god, she was towering! I was left speechless once she stood closer to me, seeing her rise so many inches above me, and now I felt that fear all over again, but with a new, irksome twist to it: it was danger! Real, wild danger, like we were both facing a tigress without morals or scruples. A dark, twisted aura formed around that b-… that demoness!… and we swore we could see the space being distorted around her!

Her presence! Her power! Fuck! Were her muscles rumbling, slowly stretching the fabric of her shirt, threatening to tear that shit up? We knew that, if she so chose, she could wreck us then and there, before all the students

and the teaching staff, and there would be no consequences. «By god!» I tried to gulp, but my throat was so completely dry! «Her arms! Are these really arms?! They are so inhumanly big!» She could kill us, yes, and no one would dare lift a finger against us. She could kill us in front cops and all they would do is pull down their pants and jerk off to her mighty, sexy body.

Fuck. What the hell was going on down my panties?! The dark stain, which was at first contained to my crotch, soon reached my knees. “I-I-I’m s-sorry!!” I felt my sight blurring and my eyes tearing up as I tried to at least keep a firm pose—to no avail. Legs, arms, breasts, heads, hips… all of my body was shaking like a bamboo stick to the wind.

The mighty Amazon moved closer to us, taking us by the waists and pulling us both to her. “You probably came here with a challenge in mind, didn’t you? Oh, I know you did. You entered this hall with such confidence, even anger, your strong footsteps being heard all the way over here.” There was a rhythmic grunting deep in her breasts, like a really deep, really low chuckle. “Come on.” She stepped away. “Tell me what you wanted to say. Show me those two furious warriors who took no crap from nobody.” Her lips… they twisted in a sort of cocky smile we hadn’t seen even in the mightiest of studs! “Show me what you’re made off, my white American prostitutes.”

We couldn’t. We. Just. Couldn’t! Veronica was literally crying before her, the tears flowing without a sound. As I tried to muster some strength within me, I realized my body straight out refused to obey. My muscles were frozen and my face was twisted in a pitiful, childish expression. The only movement I could make was to fall on my knees and ask for that goddess’s forgiveness.

She knew we couldn’t move, and seemed to revel greatly in that kind of effect she had on us. “Very well.” Her face quickly changed from pleasant to… deadly! “I command you.”

Then, and only then, did we dare talk to her, even lifting our fingers to her breasts: “I-I-I challenge you!” Still, our voices were cracking. “We challenge you to a fight!”

She smiled while we both covered our mouths, wondering what had just happened. “Heh!” She chuckled. “That’s usually my catchphrase, you see. Are you so out of your minds that you think you can steal from me without consequences?” She moved closer. “You beautiful cunts. It’s game!” Then she… raised her hands… took our palms and… shook them. “I see you this Friday, eight p.m., at my place.”

She turned her back to us, sat back on her table, and returned to study. Maybe a full minute had passed until we recovered our senses and tried to clear things up with her. “Err… you mean…”

She raised her hand, though, just like she did with Heloise, and waved us away: “I’m studying now. Please, leave me be.” Then, one look. Just one look at the corner of her eyes, and we were defeated! “I advise you not to fuck anybody until then. I really do.” She licked her lips. Fuck! We could hear her tongue slurping those huge, fat lips as she watered them! “You two are the only people here who can give me some challenge. I’m reserving an entire weekend for you.” She looked briefly to her side, seeing Heloise still there, gushing on a nearby table. “That French blondie is a fine lay, but she can’t last two hours before she’s screaming her lungs out and showering me with her pussy juice. Two hours and she’s passed out and dehydrated, gushing from her cunt and tits. I need no more than a night with her. You, though, I hope are a different case.” She bit her lower lip, turning away one final time. “I pray you do not disappoint me.”

We dared not to spend a second more in her presence. Both of us feared she might just break us if we did. What we did instead, then, was to turn around, leave the hall, and run to the nearest bathroom we could find.

“Heather! Veronica!” We found a few girls there—many of them old flames of ours. “What are you d-?”

“All of you… OUT!” We roared. “Out of here NOW!!”

They ran away with countless shrieks. They too dared not defy us. To them, we looked just like that African goddess—minus the threat of death, of course, of even overwhelming sexual aura.

We locked ourselves in the boxes and tore off our clothes. The sound of cloth being torn and shredded filled the bathroom. Soon, there were the rumbles of us laying our backs on the walls and the squishes of our fingers penetrating out cunts. I think neither of us have ever orgasmed so hard and so quick just with a finger penetration. Every inch of our cunts was ablaze, and the nectar that came pouring out of them was the stuff of legends. If there was any doubt we didn’t care what any staff would think of our behavior, our screams dispelled it: within seconds, the entire bathroom, along with the hall besides it, was shaking with our savage screams of pleasure and cries of ecstasy.

“GOD!!!” Our minds… a million pieces! “MY GOD!!!” Our pussies, a wet explosion! “Oh, god, oh, god, oh GOD!!”

I heard a body fall on the neighboring box, and I knew it wouldn’t take long for my fate to be the same: Veronica was cumming so hard that her legs had failed her, and she loudly dropped on the toilet, while gushing hot juices on the floor, sprinkling the walls and the door with her cunt. My friend was much less resilient to that witch’s power than I was: “h-h-how can she… h-how can it be…?!” In between every sentence, gushes and more gushes of girl cum. “FUCK!! How can she be so HOT?!”

My back slid down on the wall, my legs shaking so hard my knees were hitting one another. Tears left my eyes in abundance, and I asked myself how long could I resist that orgasm without passing out or going mad. «Release!!» My mind exploded. «I need some fucking release!»

I crammed four fingers as deep as I could in my cunt, and an ocean of cum came gushing out. My thumb ravished my clit while I squirted on my feet, holding on to the top of the boxers so I didn’t fall down. That was the supreme humiliation, the ultimate defeat: I, a mighty goddess, had to lean on the walls like an invalid so as to not succumb to my raging orgasm.

My friend wasn’t any better: peeking under the boxers, I saw her legs and hands on the floor. She was down, maybe kneeling until her forehead touched the ground, while fucking her pussy with both hands. Her splashes of nectar were loud and multiple. She was cumming tanks, and even she didn’t seem to understand the intensity of her own orgasms: “Veronica!! Veronica!!” She asked for help to someone just as helpless as her! “What the fuck is going on?! H-h-how… AAAAH!!!” A long sprout of cum was gushed out of her cunt, hard enough to take her voice out. “H-how… how do I make it stop?!!”

I didn’t know, and I wouldn’t waste my time trying to discover it. As wave after wave of orgasm overtook me, I learned instead to enjoy that ecstasy and prepare my body for the things that monstress would do to us—that giant African goddess with muscles of steel and the face of a black Aphrodite. “Just… OOH!!” After a lot of cumming and moaning, I let myself fall on the ground and, with my legs spread as wide as that boxer allowed, squirted my juices on the door ahead of me, sometimes with jets as high as four feet. “Take it! Take it all!!” My fingering intensified: instead of trying to tame that pussy, I would wreck it like a barbarian! “Don’t try to fight it! Attack it! We’re gonna need… OH, SHIT!!!” Loud splashes where heard. My juices were sprinkled all over my shirt and my face. Their warmth was somewhat refreshing. “We’re gonna need all the power we can muster… if we are to take that cunt down!”

“GOD!!!” We were left alone, two muscle goddesses in that bathroom, as no one who heard our cries would dare venture it. Minutes passed until our senses were fried by our relentless fingering, our pussies becoming desensitized by the numerous merciless blows on our cunts, our insides burning like engines, our wombs literally shaking and throbbing, trying not to fall out along with our bowels. That orgasm was shaking us in a visceral level!

Two puddles of squirt soon appeared from under our boxers, as well as our feet, thanks to us laying our backs on the ground, feeling the darkness overtake our eyes. We added flames to our orgasms as much as we could, but out cunts never appeared satisfied. We came and gushed and squirted until our legs were numb and stiff, yet still our bodies demanded more, our cunts almost eating our fingers out on their own.

With fire in my guts, I imagined that goddess undressing for me, her massive, impossible body slowly revealed, her muscles begging for a good licking! I exploded! My fingers briefly left my cunt as it gushed torrents of cum! I was in heaven! The juices were ricocheting on the door and splashing back on my own face. I was showering myself on my own nectar, and all I could do was beat my pussy even harder, wishing my fingers were only twice as long so I could reach my womb and stimulate my cervix!

“Fuck!! Fuck!!!” A wave of energy took over me. “FUUUUCK!!!” It could have been a few minutes, it probably was a couple of hours, but the end point was the same: we both were passed out, fuck drunk in the middle of the bathroom, abandoned while our cunts still squirted on their own from time to time, utterly and royally defeated by the African goddess before she even laid a single finger on us. «Jesus Christ! Jesus fucking Christ!»

If we thought that was pleasure, though… by god! Neither heaven nor hell would prepare us what that woman would do to us—*gulp!*—in the weekend to come!

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The Doll who Loved me – Chapter 2: A cup of blessings


Wednesday was groceries’ day. At some point in the long past, there was a particular reason for him to pick that day—and only that day—for buying his weekly essentials, though he no longer remembered it. Wednesdays just felt right. They had a laxness to them: neither the dread of Mondays nor the chaos of Fridays. They sat right smack in the middle, almost as if balancing the whole workweek on their head, so the world seemed alive, but tame.

Safe. It just felt safe. Not that he had many reasons to expose himself to the world every week, Wednesdays or not. Once every month would suffice, given that he ate very little, and consumed other frivolities even less often. Somewhen in the past, too, he’d changed his schedule for buying groceries only once every month to once every week. As with his choice of the groceries’ day, the exact time of the change eluded him, but the reason was much clearer than ever: «she is so pretty.»

He stood idly at the entry of the market. Time slowed down whenever he saw her. ‘Pretty’ wasn’t the best word. ‘Hot’ was.

That was a perk he hadn’t considered at all when moving to that country—well, not consciously, at least: people there looked much more beautiful than the average—almost astonishingly so—, and girls who would be models elsewhere were usually teachers, drivers, or cashiers in that land. The most average of them looked like models; the better ones, like angels. Competition was so stiff even the cutest gals didn’t think too highly of themselves, and many of them probably even faced a good deal of self-esteem issues, becoming easy (or at least easier) preys for men with just a little bit of balls between their legs.

He wasn’t such a man. In fact, he might was well have been born a girl, so paltry was his pair. He remembered how it took him an Herculian deal of effort to even just look at a woman in the eyes for the first time—and that was with his fucking phychiatrist! His experiences taught him to never again even try and address a lady. Ever. «Just a waste.» He lowered his head and walked in. «Don’t bother them. You’re just a waste.»

Yet still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty girl at the register as he loaded the bags on his cart. He sometimes stopped between the lanes just to have another glance at her, all while making sure he’d never pause for longer than three seconds, more or less. He had become quite an expert at being a lurker without being a creep. He didn’t want to make pretty girls uncomfortable, yes, but he also wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasure of seeing them. «The sight of a pretty woman is a human right,» he sometimes justified to himself.

At first glance, that girl in the counter was polar opposite of one he’d purchased, and not just from the fact that she was, well, actually real. She was slim and very feminine, hardly weighting nine and a half stones, and definitely without a drop of tomboyishness in her whole demeanor. She was an all-around princess, yet she still carried that humbled, honest look of someone who didn’t have all things in life handed in a silver plate—beauty aside, of course.

She looked down-to-earth. Real. Just like him. He loved to imagine how much better the world would be from her point of view. Good parents, great country, strong relationships, calm and peaceful society. How would it feel to have people always smiling when they looked at you? Treating you like a human being? Showing you always the better angels of their nature?

Should feel nice, he sighed. A world less dry, less threatening. A world where he’d be safe anywhere, anyday, not just on Wedsnedays, and definitely not by living at the very edge of the frozen outskirts of Earth.

He calmly placed his items one by one on his cart. Stopping by the frozen goods, he gave one good look at all he’d bought and realized his lifestyle wasn’t all that bad. «I’m not that much a loser,» he smiled, if only briefly. There was not a bit of organic food or spice in sight, yes, but at least he was past the point of consuming only ready-made goods and frozen junk.

Yeah, he still ate like a college student, but at least he’d be a rich college student: there was pasta and rice and beans with expensive sauces and whole pounds of expensive meat coupled with some fancy-ass bottles of juice imported from his native land, of all places, which happened to sell for a pretty penny up there in the Artics. «Heh. Ironic.» He wondered, feeling the weight of the bottles in his hand. «Back there, this thing’d be cheaper than water.» Considering how hard sanitation and plumbling came around, that wasn’t all hyperbole.

There is only so much junk food, after all, one could have before kissing their heart bye-bye. Mostly, though, it was shame: though food did bring him confort, it’d never been to him the end-all, be-all it was for other people. His hatred for growing fat just happened to be much stronger than his pleasure of munching on junk food.

In a way, the things people did to him in his old country did leave a positive side effect on his body—if not on his mind.

He startled himself by throwing a package of meat a little too hard in his cart. The sound of the heavy meat clashing on the metal woke him from those nasty thoughts, only for him to notice that other people were staring at him very intently.

He immediately lowered his head and carried on with his business, rolling fast between the lanes and disappearing from any gaze as quickly as possible.

People could sense the weird and the disease in him. It was obvious for anyone with their minds in the right places: just as beautiful, rich people exhuded the smell of ease and success, he smelled the stench of failure and inadequacy. It wasn’t even that he resented the fact he was made to fail and slumber; it’s just that everything took so long! «Nature could end me now and quick.» He thought, moving along the isles without picking anything. «More merciful, ya know.»

The fact he could have to go for fifty, sixty, maybe seventy years longer in life sometimes made him desperate. Alone in his apartment—his heavenly kingdom—he sometimes screamed to himself, banging his head against the walls, never to be heard. Not that he minded, of course, never being heard. He preferred it that way, that nobody knew of his problems. It was much better than somebody knowing, but not caring. Or worse: somebody knowing… and enjoying it.

He felt the swelling under his eyes and stopped at the middle between two lanes, felling his heart pace and his skin burn, sweat forming on his forehead. There was a slight unease of breath followed by a blurring of his vision. He had to close his eyes and count to ten, twenty… fifty… but the problem didn’t go away as quickly as it used to.

The longer he faced it, the worse it got. The last time he had it this bad… well, it was really, really bad! Back in his old land. In public. It involved slurs and beating. And blood. His blood.

He felt like losing balance, and the image of those shelves toppling on one another like dominoes because of his carelessness burned brightly in his mind. «The manager’ll come. They’ll scream at me.» The swelling and pain got stronger. His hands were trembling, gripping the cart’s handrail like they wanted tear it off.

A voice came by his side. Almost scared the soul out of his body: “you alright, mate?”

He answered just as promptly: “hmm… headache. Big one.”

“Uh.” The stranger gave him a good look and, thankfully, ignored him. Maybe the man saw that he was no good. Maybe he saw he was a foreigner. Or maybe he had feigned normalcy so that the stranger didn’t feel like saying anything else.

Still, it stung a little. Even if it was actually “just” a headache, it would have been nice for the man to ask if he needed anything, or maybe even go the extra mile and offer him some health assistance—like calling a doctor or something. «Nah,» he forged a smile on his face. «I’m good. It’s better this way. This guy made me a favor.» People like him were better off forgotten.

Maybe looking at the beautiful cashier would make him feel better.

It did. At moments like those, he usually didn’t like thinking about women. Brought him back unconfortable memories, you see. It was a useless, anyway, to dream about something he’d never have. That girl, however, made him feel special; she made him feel calm and sweet. It was something ‘bout her beauty, both arousing and delicate, like a lover and a sister, or a goddess who’d turned into mortal just to take care of him.

He didn’t feel too intimidated by her. Was it because she was poor (or at least working class)? Was it because she was young and quiet—an uncommon thing for pretty gals like her—, maybe nerdy or a bookworm, someone even closer to him?

«You should go talk to her.»

That voice. That annoying voice in the back of his head. He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to physically expel it from within him. «No!» He reaffirmed. He was not to do the same fucking mistake he did… so many years ago.

He turned the cart around and strolled aimlessly throught the market, with nothing else to buy. The calm and ease were gone. He was now just fearful, with his head heavy and aching, his heart picking up pace, the pressure rising as he realized that, romantic or not, he would have to face that girl up-close.

«Come on. You’ve done that already. Many times, even!» He tried smiling and being positive, but was bombarded by a tsunami of vicious thoughts at every attempt. Maybe he shouldn’t leave that place. Maybe he couldn’t. He looked around and tried to imagine himself living in that already-too-familiar store—the same spot he’d been shopping for the past two years and something. «Fuck.» The word exploded in his mind, time and time again: «fuck. Fuck. Fuck.» Like a deathroll inmate, he went to the counter trying his best to not look at the guard.

Don’t disturb her. Don’t you dare ruin her good day and good mood with his presence. Beauty was something too precious to be tainted by his being. It was, in a way, his only way of caring for her: the farther he got from girls like her, or the more invisible he made himself to them, the better.

T’was a nice relationship: he fed on their beauty, they weren’t disturbed by him. Though that girl didn’t know it, she made the world a much better place by just existing and being beautiful—as if her abundance of good blessings somehow trickled down into his empty chalice of love.

«I respect you. I really do.» He thought, growing a hunchback as he put the groceries on the counter. She might have been looking at him. He couldn’t know, of course, not without lifting his head and seeing it for himself. «I could be feeling less stressed by not coming out here so often. But I do.» He raised his head. «All because of you. Beautiful stranger.»

She wasn’t looking at him. Mechanically, like the job had become part of her instincts, she just grabbed the stuff, passed them under the barcode reader, and stashed them on the other side. It was only then that he noticed he’d forgot to hurry up and package the groceries. «Fuck!» Was his first thought. «Hot!» Was his second. These two were his only thoughts, basically: «fuck! Hot! She hot! Fuck!»

Her skin was beyond flawless—freckles included. «They’re like whiskers. Her face is so feline. So… feminine.» Her eyes were aggressively green. Like… «wow!» They were almost two big emeralds dimming every other light in the room.

She barely looked at him directly, and that was nice. She treated him with the casual disinteresst of a tired-ass, bored-out-of-her-mind teenage cashier, one who had to take on those menial jobs just to pay her way through college or something like that.

«Here,» he pondered, «she doesn’t have to worry about college.» He felt another pinch in his heart. Looking around the place, it was easy for him to forget just how clean and tidy everything in that country was, to the point that even an mundane store like that shone like chrome. «Nobody suffers here. It’s like paradise does exist, but it’s meant only for them.»

He felt resentful and a little bit angry, leading him to mutter to himself and—oh!—catch the attention of his girl.

She looked straight at him, a bit startled. “Sorry?” She leaned forward. “Did you say something?”

He staggered. Deer-on-the-headlights look in his eyes. “Nah, nothing.” He said, stammering his way through the words.

“Hmm.” The pretty girl moved the last few itens past the scanner: “four hundred fifty-seven, twenty-two.”

“Uh-uh.” He muttered, swiping his card and getting the hell out of there as soon as his payment came through. There was a brief moment, however, as he was typing his PIN, when he wished she’d recognized him. «I don’t know. I wish she, like, said something.» Maybe asking whether she’d seen him before, maybe commenting on the fact that he’d bought groceries regularly there, same time, same day, every week without fail, or… «I don’t know.» Something. Anything.

The best thing was probably for her to not say anything, of course. Still hurt, though. «Why can’t I do a bloody thing?!» He hit his head with a fist, thrashing the bags on his arms. «You stupid little cunt!»

A car almost ran him over as he crossed the street without looking. When he got to the other side he realized, with great sadness, that he was still alive.

«Fuck.» Feeling his head almost exploding with negativity, he looked back at the store, through the dark, blue-ish windows where he glimpsed his girl, so faintly visible, and then he was calm again. With a long, chill sigh, he turned around and walked slowly back to his place. «This doll can’t take long enough to come.»

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