Consider the genders today. And how they respond differently to affronts.
When challenged to a fight tomorrow at dawn, today’s man simply does not show up. He is shamelessly anywhere else but, holding his tattered empty scrotum protectively with both hands, eyes darting nervously back and forth, trying not to hyperventilate.
Today’s woman, by contrast, will have secretly poisoned her enemy’s well water the night before. That enemy is dead now, along with the neighbor families that shared the same water. She DOES show up at the designated time, to carve obscenities into the hide of his corpse with a serrated knife.
Yegads. Stop the species ... I want to get off.
Or ... I did.
Except that last week, something ... intrigued me.
How far are you willing to go to return a sleight?
If someone cuts you off on the highway, are you willing to pull a pistol and shoot them through the head for it?
If a married man dumps you, are you willing to break into his house while the family is on vacation? To boil the family pet alive in a pot on the stove? To anticipate the daughter’s exposure to the hard truths of life when she gets home and runs inside to greet her little friend? To let the cheating bastard just try to explain that to her?
If some judas sells you out, are you willing to show Christ the way it ought to be handled? To do some righteous holy smiting instead of that forgiveness crap? To bump Hitler, Stalin and the others from the choice ring of hell to make room for your guy, because he crossed you, while the only thing those others did was torture and kill lots of people?
If any of them whimper, if any of them plead, are you willing to gnaw off your own humanity to escape the trap of compassion?
Why do I ask this? Because I’m about to describe Sue.
How would I describe Sue? Sue was willing. She had learned to hide this well with social facades and masks, but Sue was willing.
In her eyes, her father had failed her at some point. Perhaps he was weak and unable to keep young Sue from being dominated by her mother. Perhaps Sue came home one day to the moaning chorus of him and another woman not his wife. Perhaps he was actually a fine man and never did misstep, and Sue’s eyes only by mistake damned him.
No matter. Sue saw to it that it never happened again. A controlled man is a man that won’t fail you. And Sue left no man uncontrolled in her life, from her boyfriend whose testicles she slowly dissolved away in her mouth, to those computer geeks she supervised that were so easy to isolate and box into cubicles where they could silently produce, not unlike the machines upon which they slaved.
Sue was good at putting on masks. Even though a glimpse of her inside was a straight icewater bath, her outside was—well you could even use the word “pretty” about it. She wasn’t beautiful, and she had golf ball tits to everyone else’s softballs, but I’d be willing to look at her naked. I certainly wouldn’t DO her, any more than I’d do a cobra, but yeah, I’d look upon her nekkidness.
She had a weird thing about never letting her picture be taken. She also had this weird thing about never letting whatever she was eating or drinking out of her sight. She’d throw it away if she lost sight of it, even for a moment. You’d think somebody’d spermed her coffee one time when her back was turned. Or poisoned it.
Or maybe she had poisoned someone else and realized just how easy that was to do ...
Fred was Sue’s boss.
How would I describe Fred? Fred was last-picked.
When the company was hiring someone to run our site, one stunningly qualified lady stood out among the candidates.
But she had already taken another job by the time we made the offer. So we went to our second choice, a well qualified gentleman.
But he only worked there a week, then quit to take a promotion back at the company he just came from. So ... we went to Fred.
We needed someone to address challenges in the changing workforce, to reconcile the traditional ways of doing things with the modern enterprise-level mindset, to basically lead us wholeheartedly forward in the business world of today.
And we handed the reins of power to the leftovers after the choice cuts had been picked over.
Susan Silverman was Sue’s nemesis. She wasn’t aware of this, because Sue never told her. Nonetheless.
How would I describe Susan? If ever there were a golden child, Susan was it. She started in a direction, and people followed her. She brought about change. The continents themselves could be moved for her.
She was not a particularly good person, but she WAS everything that Fred SHOULD have been.
And Sue despised her right down to her toenails for it.
Harper was my friend.
How would I describe Harper? Harper was the poor putz stuck between a crock and a scarred place. He was one of those decent guys that just hasn’t learned yet. The world doesn’t like decent people—they’re bad reminders of what it has become.
Harper started as Susan Silverman’s deputy—on officer in the enemy camp but not Sue’s prime objective. From that vantage point, he often saw how openly Sue undermined Fred’s plans in favor of her own, making deals with the heads of competing sites, trying her damnedest to squelch “that Insolent Bitch Woman Susan Silverman”.
The thing was, he couldn’t repeat what he had seen—no one but me would have believed him. Consider if I told you that your receptionist at work dined on liver last night—liver from the child she gave birth to, raised, and then butchered for cutlets last week. You wouldn’t report her to the police; no, you would roll your eyes with disbelief and say that stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life, only in bad movies. The stuff Sue did ... setting up Susan ... setting up Fred ... even I barely believed some of the things Harper told me she did.
A lot of employees wouldn’t have cared about Fred taking a fall—his job approval rating never was too high. But Harper did. A little, anyway. He cared more about his own career, but he did take some offense at the traps Sue laid for Susan and for Fred, and when he could, he foiled them.
Putz, I told him.
Long story short: Sue finally got what she wanted. And Susan Silverman was banished forevermore from the land.
Then Fred surrendered to Sue whatever testicular bits still lingered in Fred’s scrotum as she reached her hand up his ass and began moving his mouth like a puppet. Fred declared he was reorganizing every department. In the ensuing regime, Harper was stripped of all his people and left with simply a title, castrated.
Here was the only guy with enough scruples to not turn on Fred, and FRED betrayed HIM.
I asked Harper: did you expect anything better from Last-Picked?
I didn’t even get a bitter chuckle—Harper was more pissed than I’d ever seen him.
I really expected him to leave the company in disgust after that.
Instead ... he stayed.
Thank the gods.
The Bark Of A Dog With No Teeth
A couple months after The Reorganization, Harper invited me over to his place to watch the game one night. He said he’d spring for dinner for the both of us.
Dinner turned out to be sirloins that Harper grilled. “I just wanted to thank you for being my sounding board through everything that’s happened at work,” he said, “I wouldn’t have been able to make it through that without a friend like you, Clark. So ... thanks.”
“Hey, no problem, man. They were tough times. Still are. She’s really sneakin’ about it, but that Sue is a bitch.”
Harper chuckled. “You’re not kidding. You know Robin that works for her? She’s doing him. Or at least she was.”
“Yeah,” I drawled, “I think everyone in the department kinda knows that. S’posed to be a secret, but ...” I shrugged. “Employer and employee. Now if we followed the lead of the females, every one of us guys would be down at the EEO office, filing sexual harassment and hostile work environment lawsuits against her and him both.”
“Yeah ... but did you know she makes him shave his balls and dick? She makes him keep them smooth and bald for her. Says she likes it because it makes him look like a little boy.”
“Robin?! Shaves his—You’re kidding, man. That’s—aww, man, that’s just perverted.” I shook my head. “Knowing Sue, though, she probably makes him shave between his ass cheeks too.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. I never asked her.”
We finished the steaks and carried the plates to the sink, then I got the game on TV while Harper opened his coat closet and spent a minute there.
I could swear I heard a woman’s voice in hushed tones, though.
When Harper got back, he shook his head. “Nope. She makes Robin shave his crotch, but she doesn’t make him shave his ass. Lucky him.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I asked her.”
We watched a few minutes of the pre-game, then Harper asked if I’d go get a new can of peanuts from the bottom of the coat closet while he got us two beers. I walked over to the closet, but that new Bud commercial came on TV, so I had my head turned, watching it, when I opened the door. A startled squeal from the closet made me whip my head around in surprise.
The coats were swaying in the closet?!
What the hell?!
And ... underneath the coats, there were ...
There were ...
“Uhh, Harper?!” I called.
“They’re on the left hand side. Down next to the floor,” he called back from the kitchen.
No, he didn’t understand. “Uhh, Harper?!” I repeated.
“Yeah, what’s up? Can’t find the peanuts?” he appeared in the kitchen doorway holding two beers and a dish towel.
“Uhm ... did you know you have a pair of ... female legs ... in your closet?”
“Oh, yeah, I knew about those. They would belong to Sue.”
“Yeah,” he grinned. “Sue.”
“Right,” I rolled my eyes with the same expression as if he’d told me about receptionists eating liver. The jerk was pulling some type of joke with manniquin legs or something. I slid the coats to the opposite side of the rack to end this little—
And found myself slapped across the cheek for it.
Holding my cheek and blinking, I focused. There WAS a torso on top of those legs?!
“This is SHIT, Harper! I’m not doing it!” Sue barked over my shoulder.
She was ... standing in front of me in—in—in just panties?! With her forearm held over her tit-ulary region to hide the nips.
“You STOP LOOKING at me, Clark!” she barked at me and slapped me across the face again with the non-nip-covering hand.
Harper was having a fit of laughter behind me. Sue was red-faced and sputtering, with a ... whole lotta ... flesh exposed. And my cheek was starting to get sore.
“Clark!” Sue snarled, “You look away! Right now! Or so help me, I will have you FIRED!”
“Hey! YOU’RE assaulting ME!” I pointed at my reddening cheek.
She hauled off and whacked me again.
“Here,” Harper handed Sue the dishtowel with a grin, “Cover the little fellas up.”
She snatched it from him and held it over her chest. “God DAMN it, Harper! You can’t—! I’m not going to—! People can’t be SEEING me like this!”
“It’s just Clark,” he chuckled.
“Just Clark?! JUST CLARK?! It’s CLARK, Harper! CLARK! Looking at ME—in just—in just—PANTIES!”
“Hey! Let’s try saying my name without the ‘just’ in front of it,” I was back to rubbing my cheek, and ready to slap the slapper if it happened again.
“Hmm, I just can’t deal with you when you get like this,” Harper shrugged and shut the closet door in Sue’s face.
“God DAMN you!” came her muffled retort.
Then Harper headed back to the sofa and I, utterly bewildered and astounded, followed. “What the hell?” I asked him, trying to make some semblence of sense out of this. “What the freaking HELL?!”
“Oh, it’s just Sue,” he grinned. “She does this. I’m surprised you haven’t found her hiding nekkid in YOUR closet at some time or other.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I would have noticed.”
“Well, sit back. Enjoy the game. She’ll come crawling out in a few minutes, and you can make her explain herself to you.”
The definition of surreal: sitting back with the game on television, having a beer (but no peanuts since they were still in the closet) while waiting for a naked executive to crawl out of a buddy’s closet and explain just what the fuck she was doing there. In the flesh.
It just ... boggled the mind.
Three commercial breaks came and went. Then, before the fourth, I heard the closet door open.
And the soft padding of bare footsteps.
“Harper, just—c’mon, let’s just go to the kitchen and ...” she whispered over his shoulder.
He didn’t look at her. “Just what?”
“Just—you know. Come on. Come ... do it.”
“Mmm, do what, sweetie?”
Her expression reflected her increase in “pissed”. She glared over at me. “You. Can. Leave. The. Room. Clark.”
“No he can’t,” Harper immediately corrected her. “What is it you want me to do to you, snookums?”
Actually ... her cheeks were getting a pretty shade of pink with her irritation that I wasn’t leaving.
“Come ...” she swallowed, “come pop it out, Harper.”
He just sat there.
“Please?” she whispered.
“Why don’t you come around in front here and ask us,” Harper suggested.
Sigh. “Because then I will have to get Clark fired.”
This caused me a little consternation. All she had to do was move Fred’s mouth with that hand she had stuck up his ass to the elbow and ... I’d be gone.
“No. You WILL NOT get Clark fired,” Harper informed her. “Or you’re on your own.”
“Sweetie,” she ran her hand through Harper’s hair. “Don’t you ... WANT to ... see me like that?”
With a sigh and a glare, she stood back up and trod around in front of us, still holding the dishtowel in place over her titlets. “Okay, Harper. I’m in front of you. Okay? Please? Let’s—come on—come to the kitchen and do it.”
“I,” Harper sighed with a faint grin, “don’t know if I’m in the mood.”
“C’mon, sweetie ... you know you like it when I get—all—like that.”
“Turn around. Show us that pretty pantied ass.”
“You can leave now,” she tried at me again, her voice a good fifty degrees below the rest of the room.
“Naw, Clark gets to stay. I want him to see what a pretty pantied ass you have. C’mon, honeypuss, turn around and bend it over for me.”
I gave thanks that her eyes couldn’t literally shoot venom. But she finally, slowly, relented, and she turned around. And ... bent partially over.
“Ain’t this a great ass!” Harper slap-grabbed one side of it. “Go ahead, Clark. Give your side a grope.”
“Clark! Don’t you d—!”
But I had already slap-grabbed my side of the executive buttocks. To be honest, it wasn’t entirely revolting patting the Sue-butt. She COULD even be pretty if she weren’t so poisonous. You know, if she were to—
Her palm clipped across my cheek again. “Don’t you DARE put your hand on me!” she snarled. “I will—”
“Sue!” Harper cut her off. “Go to the corner!” he pointed at the corner of the room.
“Harper! This is SHIT! I WILL NOT LET HIM—I WON’T! This ISN’T—You CAN’T—” She glared at him several seconds while he calmly kept his arm pointed toward the corner. “I. Will. Fire. You,” she mouthed soundlessly at me. Then she turned and stalked to the corner.
“Now turn around and bend over,” Harper told her. She just glared at him. Harper gestured in a little circle with his index finger. “Turn around ... and bend oooover,” he repeated slowly for the mentally challenged in the room. Eyes a slit, teeth gritted, Sue ... turned around. And bent over.
“Still a captivating ass, ain’t it?” he grinned at me. Then to Sue, “Now I don’t want to see your eyes until you can play nice, understand? When you’re ready, you crawl across the floor and ask me and Clark nicely.”
Then we ... went back to watching the game. With Sue ... in just panties ... bent over in the corner ... chilling.
“Baby, just ... let’s go to the kitchen, please?” she called from her bent-over position after five minutes. “I just—I just don’t want to do this in front of that little snot Clark.” This comment, of course, greatly endeared her to me.
“I said, when you’re ready, crawl over here and ask us both nicely,” Harper told her without looking away from the screen.
“Please?” she called five minutes later. Harper did not reply.
Five minutes after that, Sue lowered to her hands and knees, then ... crawled ... across the floor to us. Awkwardly, what with trying to keep towel over tit.
“Hmm, you need something, snookums?” Harper asked, eyes still on the screen.
She rose up on her knees, the little dishtowel still like that curtain separating us common coach passengers from bared-tit-service of first class. “Do it? Please? Do it, baby?”
“Ask both of us.”
Her eyes shifted to me, and though there was still a faint green coloring of resentment at their edges, they were primarilly the deep brown of need. “Please ... Clark ... do—do it. Okay? Please?”
I was ... impressed. She COULD ask nicely. Ask for what, I had no idea. But I was almost ready to do it to her, whatever “it” was.
Harper dropped his legs off the coffee table and snatched the dishtowel back from her.
She awkwardly moved hands and forearms to sort of cover tit back up. “Do it? Please?”
“Crawl up over the coffee table, bitch.”
Sue immediately complied, knees still on the floor, chest stretched forward over the table, arms gripping the rim of the table, exposing the sides of her breasts. Ass presented.
“Great buttocks,” Harper slap-grabbed one cheek. “Go ahead, Clark. Grab that one,” he indicated the other cheek.
I did. There were lots of other, younger girls with hotter asses, but to be honest, it was kind of neat groping up an executive. Yeah, at that point, I was even just about ready to dick her if it went that far.
Then my thumb brushed something hard in her ass crack. What the—?!
I looked at Harper. Sue was starting to give off regular moans from us feeling her ass up.
With a grin, he grabbed her panty waist and slowly slipped it back and down off the bubble butt, exposing—
—something that was ... hot pink. Between the cheeks. What the fuck?!
I leaned in and studied. Pulled the cheeks apart to see. This caused Sue to shiver. Her butt seemed to be ... stoppered up?!
I pinched it with my fingers and wiggled it.
“Do it!” Sue gasped. “God! Please! DO IT!” She swallowed largely, “Just ... please ... don’t forget to put it back in ...”
I looked back at Harper, frowning, not sure what the hell her kink exactly was.
“Go ahead, pal,” he nodded toward the ass, “Pop the genie from her bottle.”
I looked back at the hot pink stopper.
“Doooooo iiiiiiit!” Sue moaned grinding and rolling ass back up at me.
So ... grabbing it with thumb and two fingers, I ... popped her cork.
Instantly, Sue clenched. And brayed. Fingertips trying to pry the top off the table. As high pressured pleasure coursed through her and squeaked out her throat.
“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod ... OHGOD!” she gasped and clenched, and I swear she broke a little chip off the table, she clawed at it so hard.
It went on like that. And on. And on some more. Her moaning nonsense as pure, distilled orgasm shivered out her ass. On and on ...
“Have I mentioned that Sue really gets off on her asshole?” Harper grinned.
I looked at the pleasure-writhing executive with her eyes still rolled up in her head. I looked at the neon butt plug I still held with my fingers. Yeah, I could see that: Sue ... the anal princess. “This is, uhm ... quite unexpected.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“How did you ...” I gestured with the hot pink sphincter-stopper that seemed to be the center of Sue’s universe, still shocked at the lengths of humiliation she was willing to go in order to ... get unstoppered, “come to be her assmaster?”
“You have no idea,” he chuckled. “I exorcised her.”
“What?” I guffawed, “You what? Put a leash on her and trotted her around the yard?” That made no sense whatsoever.
“No, I didn’t exercise her. I EX-OR-CISED her. I cast her soul out of her body. And then I bound it into this buttplug.” He reached for Sue’s hot pink soul, which I simply surrendered to him.
He held it up. It looked sort of like a stubby pink rubber carrot.
“And when you uncork her, all the life-energy that’s built up while she’s been plugged up rushes out, causing both that body and the soul in here to cum like mad.”
My God, he was saying that ... Sue was a stoppered bottle full of sexual energy, and when you uncorked her ... she splashed orgasm all over the place. Could ... could that be true?!
“But remember: she keeps on draining—see her little shivers even now? If you don’t cork her back up, she’ll drain empty of life energy out her ass. And slip into a coma and eventually die.”
“That feels ... good ... to her?! To have ... all her life energy run out?! You would think—”
“You saw how far she was willing to go humiliating herself, just to feel the rush out her ass again.”
He was right. She had taken a lot of crap from him—from both of us—tonight. Just to—“But why doesn’t she just pop her own plug. Sort of just ... masturbate with her own anal dildoic soul?”
“Look at her, Clark. She’s out of it. She’s in no shape to recork herself. She would die if you and I weren’t here to stopper her back up and let her life-energy fill back up.”
Harper looked at me a minute. “Now think about that for a moment. Sue is scared shitless of dying—she knows she’s done way too many nasty things to other people to shirk out of her eternal sentence in hell. But here she is, just a few more orgasmic shivers from dying ... and eternal damnation, trusting us—us! her enemies!—to recork her before she can die. THAT ... is how good it feels for her to cum out her ass like this.”
“That’s ...” I shook my head without saying the word pathetic. “Can I ... can I stopper her back up?”
“Be my guest,” Harper handed me Sue’s soul.
Just to sort of claim the territory in the name of the king before corking her back up, though, I poked a finger up her butt and felt around. Nothing special. Then I inserted her pretty pink soul-battery back inside the Sue-doll. She twitched a couple times, then moan-sighed. “Ohhhhgaaaawwwwwd, baby ...”
Harper went and got a blanket and threw it over her while she recovered, then he and I tuned back into the game.
A half hour later, she was sitting up, cheeks pinked up with shame, eyes downcast.
“How’s my bitch?” Harper lovingly ruffled her hair.
“I’m ... good,” she smoothed it back down awkwardly.
Harper pulled the blanket back off her, revealing tit—at least, as much tit as there is to a B-cup. Somewhere along the line, she had pulled her little silk panties back up, so her auburn fur wasn’t on full display.
“Why don’t you go get me and Clark another beer, babe.” She stood, and Harper lightly slap-cupped, then jiggled her ass cheek through her panties as she did so. But she didn’t shiver uncontrollably, so apparently she hadn’t built up enough life energy for her ass to be all that good to her again yet.
Sue padded off to the kitchen. When she came back with beverages for her men, she wasn’t even trying to cover tit, she was just letting them hang out there—at least as much as a B-cup can be said to hang out there.
When she handed me my beer, she kept her eyes down and wouldn’t meet mine. She sat down between us on the couch.
“Sue ... you sure do look good with orgasms leaking out your ass,” I prodded her.
“You sonofabitch—” she started by reflex, then stopped. “Clark, I—” Her eyes came up to meet mine for just a moment and then dropped again. “You—you won’t tell anyone about this, will you? Please?”
“Look up here a sec,” I told her.
After several seconds of bracing herself, she brought her eyes up to mine. For a second. Then dropped them again.
“Call me Daddy,” I prompted her.
“You won’t tell anyone about this, will you ... Daddy?” she studied her hands in her lap as she asked. Pleaded.
I couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. I was looking at the downcast eyes of a cobra with no fangs.
Then I ignored her question. Harper and I finished watching the rest of the game with Sue nestled in between us on the couch, topless, sweating whether word was going to get out that she was just another ass whore.
Later I thanked Harper for sharing this wonderful information with me, told him I would have given my left nut to be able to watch Sue grovel like this, fangless and all, and that he’d made a friend for life. Then I headed for the door.
“Clark!” Sue gasped, and I turned around. She swallowed. Eyes came up. Went down. “Daddy,” trembly sigh, “you—you won’t ... TELL ... anyone about this? Please? Daddy?”
“Naw,” I shook my head finally, “naw, I won’t tell anyone you’re an ass bitch. You’re Harper’s ass bitch. He’s the one that made you, he’s the one that gets to let the news out or not.”
“Tell Clark thank you,” Harper prodded her.
“Thank you,” Sue studied the floor in front of her. “Daddy.”
What Cums Around
The next day at work, it was Sue as usual. Same ... old ... Sue. The only thing she wouldn’t do was meet my eye.
I even went to her office and asked her, how she could keep setting Fred up as her fall guy after everything she’d experienced. I mean, Sue was the one person that I knew that could actually pull her soul out and look at the damned thing. Okay ... so she’d be too busy cumming to bother looking at her little pink ass dildo of a soul, but you get the point. I would have thought something like that would change a person’s life. Make them be ... better.
“Fred doesn’t have enough sense to know what’s for his own good,” she explained with pursed lips, “So I feed him bits and pieces as he needs to know.” It was a neat effect, her sneering while her timid eyes stayed downcast from mine.
I stepped to her, reached behind, and grabbed a buttock.
“Get your HAND off my ASS, Clark!” she hissed, eyes finally coming up to meet mine defiantly. “The door is OPEN! People could SEE!”
I let go of her ass. “I’ve had my finger up there, you know. While you were out of it rolling with the big O’s last night. Finger sodomy. This one.” I held the finger up and wriggled it at her. “Your own private butt worm. At least when it had you bucking last night.”
“You son ... of ... a ... BITCH!” Eyes trying to shoot venom again.
“You didn’t seem to mind it too much last night. I seem to remember you callin’ me Daddy and all.”
“You ... BASTARD!” she hissed. And pointed. “Get out of here!”
I shrugged as I strolled toward the door. “Well, you were given a second chance to be a better person. Shame, really.”
It felt kind of good to leave her hating me.
I was at home in the evening when the phone rang and I answered it.
There was a long sigh on the other end. “I ... need your help.” Sue.
Harper had already told me he was going to send her to me for some of her ... special needs now. “Really? And what might you need assistance with, Sugarmuff?”
“I can’t talk about it over the phone. Can I come over?”
“Call me Daddy.”
A pause during which I imagined teeth were gritted, maybe even ground. “Can I come over ... Daddy?” That last was almost spat out. Ahhhh ... nice.
“You know, I’m busy doing something right now. So you can, but let’s make it in a couple hours, ‘kay?”
“Clark, it can’t—”
Sigh. “Daddy ... it can’t WAIT that long!”
“Why ... whatever in the world is bunching your panties all up, Honeyhole?”
“Clark—Daddy ... I have to shit, okay?! And I’m going to cum like a locomotive when I uncork. And I need you to help guide my body onto the toilet, and then to re-cork me when I’m done so I don’t ... die.”
Pause of silent seriousness.
“Hmm ... do you think your massively cumming body will be able to wipe itself, or am I going to have to ... do ... that ... too?”
Hot sticky pause as she was caught trying to sneak that extra dirty task through. Sigh. “I ... need you to do that too if you would. Please. Daddy? Please?”
“Doesn’t Harper usually do this for you now or something?”
“He’s ... busy.”
“Oh. Like I am. Yeah. Well. Okay, come on over. But wear something sexy. I’m going to want you to put on a little show for me before I help you out.”
A pause while I imagined teeth ground against teeth. “Yes, Daddy,” she practically spat, then hung up.
Well, Sue got there, and I made her do a little strip tease for me before I’d help her. Then I led nekkid her back to my bathroom while I griped how much her need to shit was an imposition on me.
“Are you done now?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, irritated at my bemoanings.
“Yeah ... well ... let’s get to it,” I sighed. Might as well get this out of the way sooner than later.
She got down on all fours on the floor. “Okay, I need you to just pop my soul out. As you already know, I’m going to spasm with orgasm when you do that. Give me a minute for all the twitching to subside, then just guide my body onto the toilet. It will instinctively do what it needs to do. Please clean me up when I’m done,”—I pursed my lips and rolled my eyes for her—“Then restopper my butt with my soul. Now ... one more thing,” she wagged her finger at me and gave her determined look, “Don’t you DARE stick your cock up my ass, Clark! That’s where my SOUL goes. And I DON’T WANT you DIRTYING—”
Ah, fuck it. I popped her stopper free, and she convulsed into ecstasy before she could bitch the rest of her sentence out. When her body stopped thrashing and trembling, I helped her onto the toilet seat, though there was more lifting involved than she had implied. She got a serene but still orgasmic look and I heard her doing business on the can. When she was done, I kept her on the seat but leaned her forward and wiped her up.
Then I used one of those little disposable enemas in a plastic bottle to clean her up on the inside—hey, I didn’t want my John Thomas coming out brown when I dicked her up the ass in a moment.
When she was clean, I set her back down on the floor, belly on the bottom. Then I stripped, condomed, lubed, positioned the tower of lust and ... mmmm, slid into her soul hole.
Her orgasmic twitching had been petering out, but once I started stroking her butt with my dick, she started shivering and moaning with pleasure anew. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” I asked her body.
I had set Sue’s little pink soul on the floor beside us so it could watch—or at least sense her body getting sodomized if it were able to sense anything. I didn’t want her to miss out on the moment of me shagging her little anal soul’s nest.
“I claim ...” I panted with my dick up her butt, “this rectum ... FOR THE KING!” After staking out and stroking up my territory a couple dozen pumps, though, I pulled out. I didn’t want to squirt it up her ass—not this time. Not yet.
Instead, I grabbed her little pink soul. I wanted to cum all over it. It was the closest thing to a facial her soul could receive.
But I wanted her to take the face spray herself, so I wrapped her body’s fingers around my hard-on. Her body was riled back up after the anal massage I had given it, so the fingers instinctively circled my cock and squeezed. Then I wrapped my hand around hers and pumped myself, holding Sue’s pretty pink soul in front to receive the load.
“Here! It! CUMS! Bitch!”
God, I inundated that soul with jism. She was practically drowning in spunk by the time I stopped squirting.
Pretty little pink soul ... smeared with salty white baby juice ... mm-mmm, what a picture.
Time to stuff her back up her own colon, I guessed, before she could—
But ... I had an idea. This ... was her SOUL I held in my hand. Smeared with ... my own jism. If ... life force and sexual energy WERE just two expressions of the same thing, could ... part of the life force I’d squirted her with ... be absorbed by her?
“You crave,” I smeared my cum all over Sue’s soul, then started to rub it in, “you crave being humiliated by Clark. You long ... to roll his pecker spit all around on your tongue. You will fantasize about ... buying a dog collar and leash for yourself ... and putting them on and handing the leash over to Clark. You will fantasize about all this until you cannot HELP but DO it.” I just repeated that over and over a few more times while I massaged my spunk into her soul.
Then, I recorked her. With her soul back up her ass, Sue’s eyes fluttered, and she started to stir.
She looked tiredly at me. “Thank you, Clark.”
Harper refused to uncork her for pooping purposes again the next day, so she came to me once more. I gave her a hard time again before relenting and agreeing to save her life, and I made her strip for me again.
“You’d be a lot easier on the eyes if you had implants you know,” I told her. Then I reached out and grabbed her little toy titlets and squeezed them together and up to imagine them bigger while she sputtered at the gall of me—but she bit her tongue because she needed me if she wanted to poop safely. “Yeah, beef up the mams a little bit. You might not even be half-bad then. You know, big ole double-Ds. Might distract from the mean expresssion you wear on your face all the time.”
Actually, to be honest, I don’t even care that much for monster-mams. But I WAS having fun riling her up by saying things like that. “Any bitch that doesn’t have enough self-respect to mam herself up is ... just a really pathetic bitch.”
Her cheeks pinked a little more, and her eyes stayed cast down as the tits under discussion hung there without getting any bigger. She knew I was just saying this stuff to make her feel bad, but that didn’t make it sting any less. After several seconds of standing there on petite display, she cleared her throat, “Are you done now?”
“Yeah,” I sighed disgustedly, “let’s get this stinky job out of the way with. You really can’t believe what an imposition this is on me, Sue.”
She got down on her hands and knees on the floor so she wouldn’t fall when she came.
“God, anybody that can’t even wipe her own ass,” I shook my head. I got down on my knees, spread her cheeks and pinched her soul between thumb and fingers while she braced for orgasm. “Guess this makes you my ass bitch, doesn’t it, Sue?”
She was too busy anticipating the rush of pleasure she would be flooded with momentarily. I kinda liked her better wallowing in shame, though. “I said, doesn’t it? Come on, tell me you’re my ass whore, bitch.”
She jerked her head back over her shoulder. “Goddammit, Clark! I’ve been humiliating myself the whole time I’ve been here tonight! Now enough is enough! If you’re going to help me, help me. But stop making me grovel!”
“Hey, alright, then,” I patted her ass and stood. “Guess you can do this all by yourself then. And afterwards, you know ... die.”
“Clark—” Sigh. “Clark. Okay, I’m your ass whore. Happy?”
I knelt again and whacked her butt cheek. “What was that?”
“I said I’m your ass whore, okay?! I’m your ass whore!”
Whack! “What are you, bitch?!”
“Goddammit! I’m your fucking ass whooooorrrrruuuuuuungh!” I had popped her plug at just the right moment to reward her dearly for admitting what an anal slut she was and whom she belonged to, and she was one twitching and convulsing orgasmic little bitch right now. Once her O’s slowed down to a shivering trickle, I hefted her up and sat her on the toilet, where she did business. After wiping her, I set her back on the floor, belly on the top this time. Then I stripped myself, crawled on top of her and holstered my dick in her twat. I didn’t bother with a condom—I wanted to stain her insides salty-white.
Mmmmmm. Warm velvet glove and all that ...
Geez, I came a lot again! Doing Sue really got my rocks off. She was going to wake up to a pussy just chock-full of sperm!
Rather than rolling her over and having all that sperm leak out onto the floor, I pulled her knees up and her ankles in on both legs to kind of open up the pelvis from its bottom. Then I got down between her thighs with pink dildo in hand and speared the anus with the soul.
A few moments later, her eyes fluttered, then lazily opened. “Ohgaaawwwwd ... that was great.” She sighed, eyes at half-lid. “Thank you, Clark ...”
“Hey, nuthin’s too good for my bitch, Sue.”
Sue bitched the next day about me leaving her pussy all afloat with semen the night before.
“Ah, just think of it as pussy grease to help you stay lubed, snookums.”
“You ... BASTARD!” her eyes actually came up and clung to mine for a few moments to glare before slipping back down. “You could get me ... PREGNANT!” she whispered harshly.
“Hey, a baby Clark Junior—what a thought. And you with the little B-cups—they wouldn’t hold enough milk for him, you know.”
She sputtered. “Get out! Out!”
And that evening, she was on the phone again, pleading with me to safely recork her when she was done with her big O’s and her poop. I made clear many times during her striptease what a huge imposition this was for me. And when she was down to just high heels—and butt dildo, of course—I made her crawl across the floor and work my pump bottle until she took the load on the face.
“You know,” I sighed lazily while I recovered from my own orgasm before we got down to the uncorking, “this sort of makes me your soul proctologist, doesn’t it, sweetie?”
The resentment kind of laid there in the silence like a big spiteful fat person. The big O’s that were going to gallop through her in a few minutes would easily vaporize any lingering traces of resentment, though.
“I said: doesn’t it, sweetie?”
“Yes, Clark ... you’re my soul proctologist,” she sighed. Her face still iced with my semen like an iced popover.
“Well,” I stood, “Guess it’s time for you to cum.”
She eagerly crawled to the bathroom and braced. “Okay, do it, Clark! Do it!”
I whacked her bottom, making her shiver with anticipation and with jostled soul. “You gonna swallow me down your throat tomorrow night?”
“Yes! I’ll swallow Daddy’s cum tomorrow night! Pop it! Do me! Pop my soul out!”
“And are you gonna ... beg me ... to taste Daddy’s seed tomorrow night?”
“Please!” she ground her ass back and up at me, “I’ll beg you right now! Please, save your sperm up, Daddy! ‘Cause I want to drink it ALL down tomorrow night! I’ll swallow you down until I gag! But ... just ... PLEASE! Pop it! Pop it now! Please, Dadd—UUUUUUNNNNNNGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!”
She writhed for a couple really orgasmic minutes.
Then I helped her quivering and shivering body up onto the toilet, where it pooped. Afterwards, I set the body back on the floor and positioned its hand at my cock, where it’s fingers instinctively wrapped and squeezed. Her soulless body still wasn’t too coordinated at pumping me, so I wrapped my fingers around hers and used her hand to stroke myself until I splatted the butt-dildo that held her soul with my second load of cum for the night.
While I was rubbing my sperm into said butt-dildo to the repetition over and over about the Sue-soul’s insatiable need to put on a dog collar and hand the leash to me, something occurred to me.
If the cork was ever left out of the anus too long ... Sue wouldn’t really die. Her body I assumed would. But her soul would still remain bound to the possessed buttplug, wouldn’t it?
The hot pink anal dildo was ... Sue’s real body now. And her old flesh body was just a second body she drove while her soul was stuffed up its ass, sort of like a midget working a fake robot from the inside.
Sue’s soul wouldn’t actually become unattached—and die—until the buttplug wore out or was destroyed.
But ... a buttplug with no body would be a lot harder to taunt, wouldn’t it?
I recorked her.
“Oh, God,” she sighed after a few moments in her re-inhabited body, “Thank you, Clark ... thank you ...” She scooted over a little to hold my legs and lay her head on them. “I ... love you ...”
I ... tensed.
That’s not the kind of thing a guy wants to hear, especially from a de-souled bitch.
I really didn’t want her to love me, I just wanted her to hand me her leash and be a docile little bitch for me.
After realizing what she’d said, Sue stiffened too. “I mean—uhm, that is—I don’t mean—not LOVE love—oh, Clark, I’m sorry. That was just—the massive orgasms talking. Yeah, not me, the orgasms. Actually I ... hate you. Hate. That’s what I feel for you. Hate. Loathing. I despise you. You ... sonofabitch.”
But then she ... started licking my legs. While I looked on, astonished, she warmed up and worked her way tongue-wise up to my crotch. Before I knew it, I was hard again while her lips orally danced upon my cock.
Then she ... straddled me, impaled her sweet pussy on my cock, and started riding reverse cowgirl, butt-plugged and everything, grunting, “You—you FUCKER! God, I HATE you! You BASTARD! Clark you ... SONOFABITCH!”
I was bewildered, but surprisingly hard—ESPECIALLY for my third time tonight!
“God, I hate you! God, I hate you! God, I hate you!” she chanted as she rode, hot pink little soul bouncing around, visible between her butt cheeks, “God, I hate—I hate—hate—uuuuunnngh! O Sweet Daddy! I LOVE you! Ohhhhhhhh ... GAAAWWWD! I LOVE you, Daddy! I LOVE you, Daddy!” She shivered as she crested, then collapsed between my thighs.
I laid there, stunned, with her sprawled across my crotch and legs. A couple seconds later, I grunted a little as my balls fired and shot sperm up into her puss. Then I just continued gaping, comprehending not.
“I mean—I don’t mean—” she stirred off me finally. “Oh, that’s just something you scream during sex, Clark! I don’t ... ACTUALLY ... love you! I despise you!”
Then she gathered her clothes, pulled them on, and left in a huff.
What a ... strange, strange woman ...
“You sonofabitch!” Sue hissed when I walked into her office the next day at lunch.
“Hey, what did I do?!” I spread my hands.
“You know VERY WELL that I do not ... love ... you! That’s just something that ... came out with all those orgasms last night!” she hissed angrily.
“I never assumed differently!”
Her eyes actually met mine while she studied my face for sincerity.
“Well ... good! Because I don’t! I never WILL! I never COULD! You’re VILE!”
“Well ... thanks. Glad to hear it.”
“You ... son ... of ... a ... BITCH!” she narrowed her eyes.
“What?!” I was getting very confused.
She got up, walked around her desk and shut the door. Then she faced her desk and bent over it, cocking her ass out at me. “Do it, then! Do it, you sonofabitch! I know you are just DYING to pop my soul out of me again! Go ahead! HUMILIATE me! POP the cork out of your slutty little ass-whore. Make me grovel.”
She looked back over her shoulder at me. “Daddy? Do it. Please?” She swayed her hips from side to side. “Do it? Bastard?”
Maybe ... weirdness was a side effect of having her soul popped out and back in too many times ...
She chewed her lip a second, then walked around the desk, opened a drawer. She pulled out a dog collar and leash, buckled the collar around her throat and ... walked the leash over to hand to me. Then she bowed her head and stepped in to me. “Do it? Please? Make me cum like a whore for you, Daddy ... ?”
Wow, I’d been right: you could reprogram her by massaging her soul with suggestions and a little pecker nectar ...
I grabbed her ass, then she turned around and bent over, and I popped loose a flood of orgasms for a very grateful bitch.
Denise is my office-mate. There aren’t enough offices for all the people at the company, so a lot of us are doubled up in the larger offices.
How would I describe Denise? Easy: hot!
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m still banging the fuck out of my bitch Sue. Harper pretty much gave her entirely over to me, and I can see why. She’s more fun when she’s resentful and bitchy; when she’s all clingy and “in love”, well ...
I guess all the orgasms were confusing the hell out of her emotions, making her think she loved whoever was her stopper popper. And those suggestions I planted about the dog leash—each day at lunch, she shut the door, handed me her leash and quietly barked and whimpered while I banged her; then I rewarded her with an uncorking of orgasms—that couldn’t have been helping her emotions become any less confused.
But all the signs were there. Though she occassionally still went through the motions of denying it, she ... loved me.
Which was a turn off with her.
So I found my mind drifting elsewhere. And an idea occurred to me ...
Assuming that a soul-infested buttplug would stopper up sexual energy in anyone for a massive release later ... how could I get Sue’s soul corked up Denise’s ass that first time? So that I could de-cork Denise, making her cum like a herd of rowdy orgasms, addicting her to that wonderful ass-rush that only my bitch’s magic butt-plug could give her?
Watching Sue, I’d already seen how addictive the rush of orgasmic energy out a bitch’s ass could be. I was really betting it was a happen-once-and-hooked-forever kind of deal. Denise would be begging ME to also become my bitch if I would only keep her cumming and cumming and cumming like that.
Hell, she might even get her emotions melted and fall in love with me too ...
And Denise “in love” wouldn’t be as pathetic as Sue—Denise would be kind of sexy all googly-eyed.
Of course, Sue’s irritation at getting shoved up SOMEONE ELSE’S ass, right along with the soul-possessed butt-dildo, would only be an nice added bonus.
Hmm, could I make a deal with Denise’s doctor? “Really?” Denise’s eyebrow would raise in bewilderment, “A prescription for an ... ass plug? Well, I guess if the doctor thinks I should ...” She’d position Sue up her ass—you know, medicinally. Then I’d just pop Sue out Denise’s butt, make Denise cum silly, and Denise would be my bitch for life.
Ah, probably not.
Or could I make a deal with Denise’s husband? I could offer him an insta-cum wife if he coaxed Denise into trying a buttplug just once, just once, honey. Or he could even slip it in her while she was asleep. She’d wake up later, bewildered how this plug got up her butt, and she’d pop it out and ohsweetjesus it, then forever after crave that anal orgasmic rush.
Ah, probably not.
Or did Denise perhaps sometimes go pantiless? If so, could I fake an accident? You know, just happen to be carrying a buttplug around when I “accidentally” stumble, my hand “accidentally” reaching up under Denise’s dress in front of me and—oops!—spearing her anus. I would apologize profusely, of course. She would be indignant—you know, standing there anally skewered and sputtering and all—
But ... if I did this just before an important meeting for Denise, she might not have time to take the plug back out until after the meeting. She would sit there through the meeting, unsuspecting, ironically bored as sexual energy built up inside her like lava beneath a volcano, preparing for the spectacular O-eruption of a lifetime. Then she would come back to our office, shut the door, tell me not to look and ... still unsuspecting, pop it out, releasing dear sweet heaven upon herself.
Ah, probably not.
See, the trouble is, there really isn’t any socially acceptable way to butt-cork a woman that is not your wife ...
We really need to change that about society.
Although, assuming I DID somehow get Denise hooked on the anal rush, the second bitch to work on—say, Lucy from up the hall—might be easy. Denise could talk to her and convince her of the joys of anal. Women listen to women, right? Denise could just go on and on about the pleasures of the anal plug until Lucy decided, what the hell, and gave it a try. After a couple hours stoppered, we’d pop Lucy’s built-up orgasms free, and she would be forever after hooked on anal.
And the more women you converted to anal, the easier the next one would be, since they could all place social pressure upon the new girl until she tried it, just for a couple hours, but becoming forever addicted.
Interesting fantasy, but there’s a fundamental problem with it.
If Sue were to spend a few hours up someone else’s butt, hooking them forever after on anal, Sue’s body would die in the meantime.
How would I describe myself? I’m NOT willing to pull a pistol and shoot someone on the highway. I’m NOT willing to boil pets. I’m NOT willing to one-up Christ with my own petty version of vengeance.
And I’m not willing to sacrifice Sue’s body just so I can bang a couple other butt whores.
Even if Sue is a bitch. Even if she is a monstrous influence. Even if she did poison an innocent years ago.
No matter how much I’d love Denise to beg me to make her silly with orgasms. No matter how pretty Lucy would be looking up, lips wrapped adoringly around my dick. No matter how annoying the love gets in those puppy dog eyes Sue gives me now while I’m making her bark while I rut her.
Why? It’s just not my place to do that. If God wants her dead, He can kill her.
Karma’s a funny thing. You get bad karma by meddling where you’re not supposed to. And it’s not my place to waste Sue’s body.
Meanwhile ... it’s almost lunch. Time to go take Sue’s leash and make her bark while I boff her.
And there’s the question of the hour, isn’t it: is our species moments away from suiciding itself? Will Nature, like a mother abhorred at the vile thing she has birthed, devour us rather than let such an atrocity escape out into the universe?
My answer last month, after watching a twisted thing like Sue used to be, a hideous thing that has severed its own humanity, would have been simple and despairing: Yes. It’s only a matter of time. There is no hope for the world. There is no hope for humanity.
But after watching Sue since she’s been exorcised and soul-stoppered up her own ass: there is ... actually hope for the world now.
Harper has found a way that the truly monstrous among us CAN be turned into something better than they were before. Sue, for instance, is at least good for dicking now. It’s certainly better use of her flesh than SHE ever put it to.
And I suspect that Harper’s exorcism technique is self-limiting: I don’t think it would work on any soul that is still halfway human, that has not gnawed off its own humanity like Sue. You wouldn’t be able to cast a soul with any good left in it out of its body in the first place.
I guess Harper and I will find out for sure whether that’s true as we continue the work we’ve started. Sue’s a better person now. Next week we’re going to make Lucy into a better person. I’ve already bought the neon green butt plug to bind her into.
After that, we’ll just continue on wherever we’re called, wherever we’re needed, casting nasty souls out of their bodies and into butt plugs.
Heading toward a world where the most loathsome souls no longer do evil; where they instead desperately demean themselves, stripping, sucking, spreading, begging, barking, swallowing, docilely obeying, bending over, exposing, performing, whimpering, obsequiously giving thanks over and over and over, whatever and whenever, as long as you just unstopper them and make them cum ‘til they’re silly for it. Yes, they’ll look goofy with their O-faces on all the time. Yes, they’ll be pathetic little saps. But at least they will be harmless.
And there will be hope again for this world.