The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Edge of Oblivion

Chapter Five: Cosmic Cleanup In Aisle Three

READ FIRST: (*All adult warning from chapter one are still in effect and binding so if you haven’t read them do so before proceeding. Copyright W.A.C. © 2000 this work “Edge of Oblivion” and all it’s components and or related materials.)

I.

All the stores customers (several he had been unaware of) and a previously unseen stock boy are in an unexpectedly frantic and excited state all over the aisle three floor, in one of the chest style freezers, and against whatever gives the least unfavorable resistance. The things being done with food astounded him. One man is pumping what looks like a high school cheerleader with a giant unwrapped german salami. The health code implications make him ill. And the argument that size doesn’t matter is clearly being settled definitively for one woman at least. Another woman in her mid forties, has the better of the stock boy who she has more or less pinned ass down in the frozen food case. His pants around his ankles, his ass quite probably frozen to a stack of TV dinners beneath, he is oblivious to his probable freezer burned butt and its thawing effect, on her, and the stack of dinners. She too is bottomless. Which is anything but wasted on the younger woman who is alternately squirting and licking chocolate syrup from the jumbo sized 4 oz. Free bottle on and off the more mature woman’s still very nice ass whenever her motion with the stock boy allows. She squeezes on the up strokes and licks on the down.

The weirdest bit of all this is the reaction of the other two “shoppers”. One is going about their shopping as if nothing unusual is going on, and the other is simply smiling and looking on approvingly as if he is watching nothing extraordinary. One could almost get the impression he was... overseeing things. Like a theater director might stand ready to prompt actors. This man glances unapprovingly at Edge. Edge get a very bad feeling. One of dread. Like one of those “turning points”, pivotal moments, was slipping, or had already slipped away from him. The man just stares without emotion. Something about this weird detached manner was in itself disconcerting. He seems to be trying to fathom something very deep. His non participation becomes disturbingly more pronounced without him doing anything.

Ice cream is now being applied back at the freezer, and whipped cream back in the freezer. The woman working the stock boy is getting her jugs iced while she thankfully applies whipped cream, simultaneously licking it off the stock boy’s various “exposed” parts. Her tits are responding to the condiments and his creamy wet hands with pert attention. Even the aureoles are rosy with enthusiasm at the colds touch. Edge gets the feeling that beating her with the half thawed tv dinners would excite her at this point.

The man has not looked away. He is now staring intensely. Edge is his focus. Edge tries to sort through the whole scene to decide whether this was something he either wanted or needed to get involved in. This was one very strange scene, but it wasn’t like anyone seemed to be being harmed, or was under duress of any kind. What exactly was he supposed to do here? Join in? Referee? Take pictures? Lecture on safe sex? He just didn’t know. And as he usually did at such moments, Bourbon the cat had gone cryptic. And, of course, the most obvious immediate possibility existed that this wasn’t at all what it seemed, and he was having another delusional Quixotic episode. Was this his psycho-erotic windmill to tilt at? Was this the incident that would finally get him fitted for the white jacket with all the shiny buckles? And if something weird really was going on, was it really any of his business?

Edge wavered, unable to decide what was the best course of action, if any. A little voice inside told him he was getting sucked uncontrollably into the gaping vortex of weirdness again. Get your groceries and bail out, the voice told him more firmly. Get the hell out. Hey, stupid, get your freakin ass outta there NOW! Edge waited for something to happen to help him decide. The shopper who had been loading their cart, oblivious to the three way going on in the frozen case, stopped loading her cart with partially thawed tv dinners she had removed from under the stock boys ass. For some seconds she joined in staring at Edge. Her eyes glazed over. Anger and then rage came into them. Homicidal rage. Her expression hardening from indifferent to something near to insane. His ex girlfriend had had that look just before she left. He didn’t like it then and he didn’t like the implications now. This wasn’t going to be a simple matter of walking away, the little voice whispered to him. And he knew it was true. The moment was gone. The point of no return had definitely passed if it hadn’t before this. The decision was made for him. She came at him using her nails like claws. She lunged at him, intending extreme harm. Instinctively he pushed the cart at her to slow her progress and buy him a moment to size things up, maybe even deflect her. Bourbon gave him a shocked and dismayed look as he went careening with the cart he was still sitting in when Edge launched it. Edge had no intention of harming her or launching Bourbon into the fray, the move was simple instinct. She clearly wasn’t operating under her own will, or at least in her right mind. He just wasn’t justified in beating a victim senseless if he could avoid it. He’d seen that out to lunch look before, during one of his recent adventures/ delusions. The mind suck ray in the lab of Dr. Anton Borge’. That device had left people mindless, deranged, violent sex starved zombies working towards his world domination plans (between fucks), one bedroom at a time. A disturbing incident.

Was the Doctor operating again?

He couldn’t be, Edge had seen to that. Borge’ was the last victim of his own machine. Edge had cleverly used the mad scientists own genius and egomania against him. Evil genius’s always had this wonderfully exploitable character flaw. Last Edge had seen of the not so good doctor, he was drooling oatmeal and whacking off in an insane asylum somewhere in an alternate dimension, or universe, or was it reality? It didn’t matter now. Borge’ had guacamole for brains. He wasn’t behind this.

The bare breasted buxom brainless bad ass blond has had no difficulty avoiding the cart. It careens off to the left due to it’s bad wheel. Again Edge curses himself for taking a bad cart. The irony of Edge facing his fantasy woman is not wasted on him. He has imagined overcoming such a woman and making her conquered body his would be funny if she wasn’t about to try to shred him, manhood included. He can see she is no simple brain drain case. She is thinking and anticipating and potentially very dangerous. No happy fantasy ending. And worse, she is really pissed, bordering on deranged.

Bourbon lets out a yowl as he and the cart strike a display at the end of the aisle and skid sideways into a wall before he can escape the carts momentum. He leaps away from it, but his momentum carries him in the same general direction with painful results. “Told you not to take that cart,” he hisses trying to regain his footing in the gooey ice cream puddle he rolls into. “Damn it, I’m going to be sticky for weeks.” Edge grins. “So things aren’t all bad.” Edge has to dodges himself. The bare breasted buxom deranged bad ass blond passes through the space he occupied a second before and hits the floor hard behind him. She bounces repeatedly like a beach ball spinning out of control. It is fascinating to watch. The smell of sex and stagnant saline moves through the air with her like a spritz of cheap perfume. She goes suddenly off to the right when one of her implants bursts and changes her trajectory. She crashes into a stacked can display at the other end of the aisle. A pool of saltwater, cream of coconut, and blood begins to immediately form. She and the coconut are markdowns now due to the large dents in the surviving cans and in her head (which didn’t particularly survive well).

Prune woman continues to wait for Edge to finish checking out or pick up his bag, taking no notice of the damage being done to her store or its’ patrons. The stock boy comes at Edge with a pricing gun; or he would if he weren’t so thoroughly frozen into the frozen case he would join in the attack. But his butt is semi-frozen and numb and he simply cant get out of the case. He may only be stuck but Edge cant tell. As this occurs the other man, the observer, the director, the puppeteer, moves towards one of the other aisles. The woman who had been on the human popsicle.... becomes the next one to go from horny to insane. As Edge turns toward the mysterious observer the last of the shoppers not otherwise occupied, comes cartwheeling at him like a demon cheerleader. This athleticism could be better put to use he laments. She slams into him before he can get clear. They collapse in a tangle of arms and legs. Edge rolls clear but she springs immediately to attack again. She gets a handful or hair but narrowly misses raking his face. He pushes her backwards with all his strength (dispite the fact that this is one of his fantasies as well) and literally throws her off her feet. She lands on her side and rolls to her feet with lithe agility. She crouches to spring again. She seems to have a lot of energy to expend. She’s not going to stop coming.... Michael really didn’t want to strike a woman. Especially one who wasn’t in her right mind. But he couldn’t keep this up forever. And the stranger who seemed to have some knowledge of what the hell was going on here was making one of those cliche’d super villain get away’s. Edge needed to have some serious words with him.

Bourbon was little help. He was too busy obsessively extricating his fur from the sticky ice cream mixture. Normally right in the thick of things he is paralyzed by his instinctual feline nature. The demon bimbo cheerleader from hell snarls like an animal and prepares to strike again. All she needs to complete this bizarre transformation is to froth at the mouth, and the whipped cream kind of creates that effect. Edge braces himself. He’ll try not to hurt her too bad. Hopefully one good shot will stop her. One good sucker shot that won’t do too much damage. She springs and clings. She is more agile than he anticipates. He expects to grapple, pummel. This is not what happens. What happens is unexpected. She grabs him but not as expected. It appears to be some new kind of hand to cunt combat. As he grapples for a grip to throw her off she wraps her well muscled legs around the hand looking for a hand hold. She flexes and twists so the only handhold he can manage is her pussy. A hand guides him inside. She licks instead of bites his face. She sucks a hickey on his neck that’s going to be there a month when he anticipates she is going to bite out his jugular. Fuck me fuck me fuck me. She smells of heat. She is sweaty with excitement. He feels her lust running through her as a series of shivers and orgasmic spasms. She is practically a human vibrator. What the fuck? Was she trying to fuck him or kill him or something in between? From second to second her psychotic emotional shifts make it impossible to tell. The “observer” continues to do just that in what seems like a detached sort of supervisory capacity. In a moment he will be gone. Edge was beginning to think he was fighting the symptom rather than the disease. This weird shift seems almost like a delaying tactic. A delay to what end? If the objective isn’t actually to hurt him then... It comes clear suddenly, and she suddenly collapses like she’s made of over cooked noodles. Edge is puzzled. He hesitates. He suspects this is some sort of trap or trick or maybe he has just exhausted her with his impressive manly... nah. That’s not it. She lays there almost lifeless and still... she doesn’t move. He realizes she isn’t going to. Her eyes have rolled up into her head. She’s beyond out to lunch. He doesn’t understand it. He didn’t even hit her and she certainly hadn’t hurt herself judging from her performance; performances. It is like someone has pulled the batteries out of her. Like she was used up, or something like that. Edge looks her over carefully after rolling her off of him. But there are no control devices or implants or anything like that that Edge can see. Although drugs and hypnosis wouldn’t be so readily apparent she had acted more out of control than controlled. It was like she had burned out emotionally in one big insane horny burst. Suddenly her breathing slows and becomes irregular. Damn! It is as if she doesn’t care if she keeps breathing and is just shutting down. There is nothing Edge can do. There is nothing physically wrong. Then she just stops, ceases, becomes truly inanimate. Edge cannot believe it. He really wanted to get her number. She was someone he could have gotten to know. Why was it that almost everyone who had sex with him....?

Edge manages to stop pining away over lost opportunities long enough to focus on the relevant matter at hand. Edge looked for the mysterious stranger who was somehow responsible for this. He was nowhere to be seen. Edge looked frantically around for any slight movement or hint of how the stranger had disappeared. But Edges musings and initial search were cut off by an assault launched by ice ass (the stock boy), now apparently extricated from his cryogenic ice tomb. He takes edge almost entirely by surprise since he was discounted as a frozen sale item might be. It would have been absurd, maybe even entertaining, (in a three stooges kind of way) watching someone who wasn’t some completely mindlessly enraged lunatic with a tv dinner frozen to their nearly blue ass under differing circumstances. But the reality that ice boy had every determined intention of caving Edges head in or something equally irrational (like beating him unconscious with the pricing gun, while marking him 2 for 89 about 50 times or 60 times like a case of unmarked cans) kept Edge from being even slightly amused. Whether the cracking sounds were the cheap, made in taiwan, price gun giving way, or his skull doing an impersonation of a dropped egg, he couldn’t tell. Edge claws desperately for something resembling a weapon. A can from the knocked over display rolls next to his hand. He bashes the stock boy in the head, and he lurches sideways heavily stunned. Cream of stockboy mingles with creme of coconut, and creme of cheerleader. Edge feels a wet spot on his back and hopes it is cheerleader juice or coconut and not stock boy. The thought gives Edge a shiver. An image of a dog humping a mans legs flashes through his mind. He steps clear of the staggering disoriented stock boy, who is is no way a match for him physically under best circumstances or in his current dazed state. The stock boy goes face first into the bottom shelf and he gets a face full of bulk goods. He will be no more trouble.

The wet foot prints on the market floor tell a confused story. Edge tries to decipher it. His tracking skills and natural instincts are now keen with the rush of adrenaline. There is no haze or fog or hangover effect. The mans track seems to just end in front of a standup display freezer. Juices and such. Edge looks all around to see if the tracks start up again somewhere. They just end. Bourbon (now beginning to focus more on events than his sticky fur) indicates with a head gesture that Edge’s assessment is correct. He indicates the freezer. “Went in there.” Edge gives Bourbon a dubious look. “And I suppose he’s hiding behind the OJ?” The cat just continues to indicate that that was where the mystery man had gone. The hair on Edge’s neck stood up again. “You said we weren’t... going... anywhere.” Meaning outside Edge’s native dimension. “So I was wrong, we are going to do a little traveling on this one.” Edge groaned in resignation. This whole thing felt like something out of bad 30’s serial, or bad 60’s superhero fiction. Maybe that was where his mind had gotten all this material from? If he could take one series of events or actions back at that moment that had shaped his life, it would be to have skipped all the pulp fiction he had read, and watched as a kid. It had giving his breakdown way too much material to work with later on in life. Now. A man really is the sum of his experiences Edge thought. Real or imagined. Damn John Carter, damn Richard Blade, damn Batman, damn The Shadow, damn Captain Video, damn Buck Rogers, and damn all the rest of them!

II.

Bourbon having come fully back to his senses now, was strongly suggesting, at great length, that they leave before someone curious showed up and they had to answer unanswerable questions. Edge readily agreed. There was little else he could do. It was what needed to be done next that Edge was slower to accept. But if this was just his over active imagination again, then what harm was there in looking stupid and trying to pull a frozen food Alice in Wonderland and enter the freezer? Worst case he’d get that nice quiet comfortable room away from it all when they found him insisting he really could walk through the freezer into the secret chamber or whatever was beyond. Edge opened the freezer door. He was badly disappointed. It didn’t contain contain juice, it didn’t contain juice racks, it didn’t contain a secret room, it was a damned ancient stone staircase leading down into an impossible misty ancient forest. This was far worse than he could have hoped. Below was a long abandoned and overgrown stone plaza that looked almost mayan but at the same time alien, like the turquoise and cranberry colored sky that hung forbodingly low over it all.

Bourbon bounded enthusiastically down the steps. “Well? Are you coming or not? Don’t just stand there letting all the cold out,” he chuckled. “Think of the markets electric bill!” Edge tottered on the brink for a moment, actually two brinks; one personal, the other the portal; then stepped through, and the doorway was, as expected.... gone.

Suddenly a bizarre thought occurred to him: “Shit, we forgot the toilet paper!”