Shudder Page 14

  “Are you Mike?” she asked in luscious tones, her face twitching in a seductive and at the same time self-assertive sneer.

  He smiled coldly and nodded. Yes, for you I’m Mike.

  “Susanna,” she said and sat down with an elegant angle to her behind.

  Susanna. He smiled to himself. She used that name in the website as well. Obviously a fantasy name from somewhere. Probably some love novel from like forty years ago.

  He was dating someone’s alter ego.

  With a charming but manful smile, he quickly and confidently fed her some crap about visiting parents and off they went to her place. She drove her blue Volvo and he followed her with his Toyota.

  She looked like everything he had fantasized about. His abdomen tightened as he drove, as if he suddenly needed to take a dump, but it just meant that he was very excited. With one gloved hand, he caressed his stomach and sweated with impatience.

  Her home was a cozy two-story house. The bedroom was on the second floor, near the bed stood a plastic mannequin in a corset and with the leather mask from the pictures pulled onto its head. Either this suggested that she lived alone, or that the house would be empty of children and spouses for the foreseeable future.

  As she looked at him with expectation, Mike thought about her self-assured nervousness. He was well acquainted with this condition in women and knew what it implied.

  He knew Susanna was in that middle ground where sexual desire pushes one towards the fantasy of trying out everything exciting and fashionable in carnal play as seen in popular magazines, websites, and love novels, but the personality defenses still resist the more outrageous impulses.

  She wanted it, without quite admitting to herself what exactly ‘it’ was. She did not quite want the responsibility for going to the places she longed for.

  Splendid, this meant that he would have to be the one to push her where she dared not go herself, and this in turn meant that she would want to resolve her internal paradox in the usual way—by letting him tie her up and have his way with her.

  Without breaking his mysterious silence, Mike slowly took out his latex suit from the bag. With a gasp of delight, Jane began undressing herself.

  Her bra was black and lacy and had zipped up slits, which she unzipped with theatrical grace, and the dough of her breasts unrolled downwards. Her panties were part of a set with the bra, but she did not unzip them—apparently a delight left for him.

  She walked over to the mannequin and undressed it. Soon the corset was on her, producing an hourglass effect on her outline, pushing the flesh to bulge outwards from above and below.

  Mike felt himself trembling with impatience as she put on her mask and looked at him, eyes glistening expectantly, and in a way defiantly too.

  He felt her desire like beams that bounced off his body. “Bouncy, bouncy,” he muttered. She shook her sagging breasts coyly. “You like them?” she inquired from behind the mask. He did not correct the misinterpretation, but stretched his leopard hands, and proceeded to fulfill his fantasy of pulling and kneading.

  She moaned. “Do you want me to be your sugar mommy?” she asked in a husky, guttural voice.

  “I’ll be your cocoa Daddy,” he answered sternly.

  * * * *

  After breaking the ice with some fondling and pinching, and focusing her attention solely on her mouth by way of tongue, finger, and penis, he finally tied her up. This time though, he went for diversity and tied her wrists to her ankles.

  After rocking her awhile like a wheelbarrow with his penis in the lower end of her digestive tract, he noticed how she averted her masked face from his penis, when he only tried to do the preliminary ass-to-mouth.

  For a really glorious night, she would have to be a willing participant. This meant that he had to fool her old-fashioned disgust matrix. An easy job for an expert like him.

  A wizard like him.

  A master like him.

  First then—the color barrier. He took a thin chocolate bar from his bag and shoved it into Susana’s anal sphincter. Even as his finger still pushed it into her, through the latex he felt the chocolate already beginning to melt from the intense internal heat.

  He followed the chocolate bar with his penis and basked in the woman’s sniveling for more. Three minutes later, when he took off her mask and placed his cock inside her mouth, she did not turn away. His penis looked brown and dirty, but was sweet and warm and this allowed her to forget where it had been as she strained to slurp up the icing.

  Good, color barrier broken. Now—the texture barrier.

  Oh, he was ever so excellently prepared. He was the greatest.

  As her anus gaped, not fully closing even during the involuntary spasms, the thick slime of the chocolate oozing out of it, Mike took two small bananas from his bag.

  He peeled them in front of Susanna’s half-glazed eyes and went back to stoop by her ass, hidden from her gaze by the mounds of her breasts and belly.

  He pushed one banana slowly into her, listening attentively to her groans, pressing with his finger until it sank completely inside and the sphincter closed over it. He pushed it deeper in with his finger and then pushed his penis through the loosened sphincter.

  He felt it encounter the banana lodged in front of it, but as he pushed forward, the fruit proceeded forward up the innards. He pumped for half a minute, holding Susanna’s flesh, feeling it stretch as she writhed in her unfolding lust journey.

  Having made so pleasurably sure that he had created space for the second banana, he slid it in. After a few inches, some resistance appeared and he thought he felt it crumple against the first one. Still, the sphincter closed over this one was well.

  Now he really let himself go.

  Even as he slid his penis inside her ass hole, she began a high-pitched wail, interrupted by “Yes”, “No”, and “More” exclamations. At least he assumed that this was the meaning of her warbling.

  He pumped away for five minutes, until brown lumpy froth wreathed the back entrance and the base of his penis. He whipped it out, and saw the anus move like the mouth of a gasping fish.

  He almost felt like...no. Of course he didn’t. He felt like the exact opposite.

  “Give it to me. Give it more,” he muttered repetitively, almost melodically, as he pushed at the lower part of her corset. With a coinciding gasp from the faraway mouth, the nearer orifice opened and chocolate covered banana pieces squirmed out onto the bed sheets.

  With a soft ringing appearing in his ears now, Mike took a piece and slowly mashed it against Susanna’s face.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Anton sat in his office, his window open, the air conditioner compensating the chilly fingers of the outside air, and already melodiously stoned-or, rather, ‘buzzed’—he was traveling in the endless realms of the web, and so far had smoked only his eighth cigarette.

  The implied friendly disapproval with which Dave had watched him smoke cigarette after cigarette had made him vow to himself to cut them in half. So far, he had more or less smoked half his daily dose.

  Slightly on edge, but still completely in control.

  He was examining the most viewed videos in every category in the five main porn portals on which most of the nighttime web traffic of the city converged.

  The majority, about sixty percent of the consumers, still went for the traditional porn scenarios. These were structured along the same self-perpetuating plots since time immemorial.

  One man or a group of men kiss a woman and lick her pussy and ass. Then she sucks their dicks. Then they take her vaginally and anally. Then they come on her face or on her outstretched tongue.

  A little fisting here and there, as a bow to contemporary trends, some piss play in about two thirds of the flicks, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  The sixty perc
ent were still mainstream but the other forty percent...

  They were almost evenly divided between intense sadomasochistic gay porn and intense sadomasochistic heterosexual porn.

  Dildos for example, had grown considerably in length and breadth in the last decades.

  Anton remembered how only yesterday, which, for a man his age was roughly fifteen years ago, only two or three actresses matched the ravenous male gay anuses size-wise.

  Only a special dozen could not only swallow the longest penises to the balls, but also allow them to slide in and out for more than fifteen seconds without vomiting.

  Today, a two and even three-foot long soft gelatin dildo slithered into almost every female anus in front of the cameras of small budget companies. Vomiting was no longer a mere side-effect-sometimes it was the main attraction.

  ‘Snakers’, as these girls were called. They all claimed to be ‘snaker-shakers’—women who orgasm from the presence of the long snake.

  A minute of relentless pounding of the throat was no longer a one of a kind circus stunt. Everyone was a ‘pelicanna’ or a ‘giraffa’ these days.

  Anton lit another cigarette, conveniently forgetting that his next one should be in only half an hour, and reflected on the elastic properties of the impossible, and of the human orifice.

  Even medical authorities would have judged two feet of dildo up the colon impossible. That is, before the advent in the 1990’s of gay fisting clips in which muscular arms disappeared all the way up to the shoulders in cave-like entrances in plain sight of the whole world.

  Then came a time when skeptics said that only men had the internal structure capable of accommodating foreign bodies of such formidable size. Women were not built for such intrusions.

  Then it turned out that they were.

  Both genders could be a ‘Kangarass’, although only one could be a ‘Kangapuss’.

  A soft twelve inch dildo down the throat had also been in the province of the chosen few ‘Giraffa Queens’, before another generation came, which had learned to stuff more than thirty inches down their throats, all the way, through the various internal sphincters, into the stomach.

  Completely logical in hindsight, was this not how medical cameras entered the stomachs of patients with suspected ulcers? He remembered his own sagging jaw and bulging eyes the first time he had ran across such yoga-like self-infliction.

  Still, he mused, in spite of the growing popularity of these impossible games and their easier to perform satellite activities, not everyone had the time and the drive to learn to take huge things up the back entrance and down the gullet.

  While on the other hand eating and drinking bodily refuse did not depend on developing extraordinary physical capabilities. It depended only on learning to convert disgust into arousal. Could this be an additional explanation for the growing popularity of the brown lipsticks and the acrid yellow soda pops?

  After all, was this not what arousal was for, in a masturbation context: the ability to convert anxiety-producing stimulus into controlled excitement? A pill with which to sugarcoat the pressures of the world? That strange tendency of the psyche to use the magic medicine of the homeopathic like-for-like compulsive neurotic rituals, to keep the personality from collapse.

  Or from radical change, which the subconscious regulators tend to regard as the same thing.

  What better way for a girl to deal with the fear of gang rape, than imagining being gang raped while masturbating?

  Anton thought of plenty better ways, but this one was logical in that it followed the direction of least resistance, a spontaneous magical attempted self-cure.

  In that train of thought, what better way for a man to deal with the subconscious fear of the huge penis of authority, than to put a huge dildo up his butt while playing with himself? It was also the perfect neurotic medicine for women who have decided to compete with men by becoming quasi-men.

  What better way to deal with a life which demands so much from you, that you can only get small gasps of air, than to choke yourself with a belt or a bag, while stimulating the clitoris or its bigger brother?

  This new fad of gratefully eating shit, trying to work up a swallow wallow frenzy in yourself, was this not—

  Anton’s eyes widened. All periphery thoughts receded as the computer monitor transfixed his attention.

  While he had mused, his eyes had automatically scanned the messages in a pedo-fantasy forum, which professed to deal only with cartoon depictions of children impaled on huge cocks. Of course, any cock looks huge near a child and this, to Anton, was half the answer to the whole issue.

  Now, on the fourth page of the comments in this forum topic, he saw a suspicious link. It was suspicious, because it was hidden inside the text, not underlined, not standing out in any way.

  He only caught it because of his automatic habit of moving the mouse in concentric circles all over the screen. The little arrow turned into a hand for a second somewhere...there.

  He pressed the link. Another page appeared, with a lot of gibberish and photos of underage girls and boys lying on a beach. Various commercial banners popped up.

  Clever, most people would think this page to be a dead-end, a dud to lure people into seeing advertisements.

  Anton scanned the gibberish and finally found the real hidden link, which was the letter ‘i’ in the word ‘little’. He pressed it.

  A blue page loaded, but full access required a password.

  With a sigh, Anton activated the break-in program, which Deus had designed for him. A small counter appeared. Eight minutes until the break-in.

  He sucked the last pleasure from his cigarette and put it out in the longship ashtray.

  Small flakes of ashes were lying around it. He picked up the ashtray and blew at the surface of the desk. The flakes jumped up into the air and then slowly parachuted to the floor.

  Waiting for the program to eat its way through the site’s defenses, he skimmed over the news.

  Ah, a thematic coincidence with his own musings, a group representing the rights of ‘fecalists’, was challenging the medical-solidarity logic, by which they were pronounced misfits by the health ministry.

  Anton first pressed the link to Minister Fischhof’s statement, to get the back-story. The official stance turned out to be, surprisingly, not completely illogical.

  The core thesis was, that “while everyone has the right to indulge in whatever consensual play they deemed pleasurable,” playing with feces was an unreasonable and selfish act, since people who ingested feces were “more likely to fall ill, more likely to take antibiotics on a regular basis, more likely to be hospitalized and thus more likely to put an unreasonable strain on the National Health System.”

  Now Anton returned to the retort of the fecalists.

  According to their take on the matter, far from being more susceptible to illness, they were, to the contrary, with much more robust immune and digestive systems, precisely as the result of the ingestion feces.

  “For too many generations,” they said, “we have been prone to fall ill at the slightest infection and be slaves to various allergies, because we have turned away from nature, and created artificially clean environments. Our immune systems have gone weak from living in all that cleanness.”

  Scat play then, was implied to be the perfect way of regaining the natural balance and fortifying the organism.

  Not bad, not bad. Anton grinned to himself, ever ready to acknowledge an interesting argument. Especially one that smacked of contemporary magic sensibilities. That would surely get them some attention.

  The scat lobby was still weak, so far worldwide only the mayor of Copenhagen had admitted to being a fecalist. A Welsh MP had also made hints.

  More people would follow soon, if his experience in these matters counted for anything. Actors and musician
s had already started coming out. Doris, the scandalous singer, was already covering his face with chocolate on stage in his last year’s tours.

  Five years from now the first members of the clergy would be confessing publicly and explaining humbly how they hadn’t really meant to count the practice as a sin, if one gets one’s translations and interpretations right.

  Anton heard a ping and opened the window to the blue site. The break-in program had broken in.

  The site was called Twinker-Belles, as the rainbow colored letters at the top announced.

  The clips and pictures that were visible looked far from harmless.

  Anton lit another cigarette, braced himself, and played a clip to make sure.

  A boy of about eight, dressed as a little sailor, was opening the cheeks of his buttocks with an obliging smile, while a clown in a rainbow wig was unzipping the zipper of his red pants.

  This was happening in a brightly colored room with flowers and ponies drawn on the walls.

  Anton exhaled two uneven jets of smoke from his nostrils, suppressed an urge to double up in hysterical coughing, and dialed the number of his contact in the police.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  How she had squirmed, oh how deliciously the old slut had squirmed. Even after his overwhelming orgasm, the ringing in his ears had not yet subsided completely. His legs didn’t shake only because he willed them not to.

  He was no longer Mike; there wasn’t anyone in front of whom to feign that identity anymore. He was just himself.

  Joshua.

  Wizard.

  Master.

  He could not afford to take off his latex costume here, so he buttoned up his long black coat directly over it. Then he approached the bed and looked at the lovely body one last time.

  In the end, she didn’t have enough of her own shit to enable him to kill her with it and bananas just weren’t the same thing. It would have felt like cheating. A wise man can always find another authentic way, though. Fortunately, she did have more than enough cling film in her kitchen.