Title: A Nice Sour Mash Would do Admirably
Word Count: 2,600 approx
Mature Content Warning
The piece below is part of an ongoing series. I think you’ll find it hot and interesting even if you haven’t read the whole series. if you like you can find the rest of the series here.
“I don’t care if you kill me, I’m so fucking bored,” said Danni to the thuggish man who was stocking her pantry. He shrugged. Danni wasn’t surprised. David’s thugs had stopped the lewd remarks and threatening stares weeks ago. They didn’t seem scared, exactly. More disquieted and eager to leave her presence. They were polite, but curt. She wasn’t sure what caused the change, but her mind was in enough of a tumult that she couldn’t even recall when she noticed the change. Some alien creature is living in my body, she thought, it makes me do crazy things and keeps me under that bastard David’s thumb and I have no idea how to get it out of me.
“Try writing,” said the thug.
“What did you say?” Danni asked in surprise.
“Nothing,” said the thug with a shrug. “I didn’t say a word, crazy bitch.” He stormed off to the truck to get the next crate of supplies.
David kept the place stocked for a siege. And then he would come in and consume half the supplies on himself and his seemingly random band of cohorts. She didn’t understand the relationships between the people he brought here or why he came and went. And sometimes he would throw parties for his hired thugs. She hated those, because he would glare at her making sure she knew that at his slightest whim he could turn her into the sexual plaything of a dozen vicious men.
So, why not write? The real world was nothing but despair to her now. Why not escape back to the little fantasy land she had been working on in secret these past few months?
She fired up the computer and began to write. She went back to the story she had been working on about the fierce woman warrior with a penchant for disemboweling demons and making them suffer. She had given the character a name recently. Before the warrior was just a vehicle to play out acts of imaginary violence against David and his ilk, but now Becca had become more of a real character. She hated the name Becca, but every time she tried to go back and change it, something stopped her.
Danni began to write.
Becca stared coldly at the demons who held her arms. Her glorious sword that had felled so many of the evil bastard lay shattered on the ground. She had killed thousands of these horrid creatures but always knew that all it took was one moment of inattention, one mistaken dodge left when she should have dodged right, one cloud moving to put the sun in her eyes at just the wrong moment for them to get the upper hand. She had seen more skilled warriors than herself torn to bits by these demons. She had seen the tide of battles turn quickly. She knew she was living on borrowed time. And now they had her. All she could do was stare at them hoping that her hatred might somehow hurt them. It was her only weapon.
“Why don’t you kill me?” Becca asked.
“You will die,” said the one who seemed to be in charge, “but we worked hard to capture you and we want our fun first.”
Becca shuddered. She had heard rumors of their idea of fun.
They dragged her to the edge of what looked like a crude cistern or well. A pit surrounded by a low stone wall. She looked down. It wasn’t deep, just a few feet. And there was no water, just a dirt floor with a stone slab. She could tell there were tunnels or caves of some sort throughout the walls of the pit. She smelled death. She could almost hear the screams that preceded the death she smelled.
“Now our fun,” said the lead. He efficiently ripped Becca’s tattered garments off and pushed her naked into the pit.
She landed well. She had learned how to fall and it had saved her life many times. But she was weaponless. Whatever lived down here survived by killing. She tried to push the laughter of the demons out of her mind. But she didn’t have to try for long as soon the laughter was drowned out by a rumbling from the hard-packed dirt beneath her.
She saw a flash of movement that seemed to come from all the tunnels around her at once and she suddenly found herself suspended in the air by purple, ropey tentacles. She grunted as she felt her body slam into the stone slab. “A dinner table,” she said as her breath recovered.
The creature pulled her arms and legs in different directions as if it wished to draw and quarter her. The agony and fear brought tears to Becca’s eyes. But each time that she was sure the creature would literally tear her limb from limb, the tension from the tentacles would suddenly relax.
The beast seemed to fall into a rhythmic pattern. Becca’s eyes were went with tears. Suddenly, the beast stopped. Becca could hear her demonic tormentors above the pit, laughing.
Everything seemed still for a moment. Becca considered praying but her theological mediations were interrupted by the appearance of another tentacle. This one stoked her body in an exploratory fashion. The laughter from above her ceased and was replaced by furtive whispers.
The new tentacle stroked her body. It wrapped itself around her but only tightened to the point of snugness, never pain. The suddenly, almost tentatively, the tentacle rubbed over Becca’s nipples. Becca felt a moan roll off her lips, unbidden as her body, despite herself, responded to the strange yet pleasant sensation.
Another tentacle appeared and began to stroke Becca’s inner thighs. The tip of the tentacle was moist and had a tongue-like texture to it. She felt almost like it was kissing her. All the while, her limbs still pinned in place, holding her to the stone slab. “Oh, god,” she sobbed, realizing that the monster was going to try to rape her. She renewed her struggles to move, but the beast responded by pulling her harder.
The pain and fear only seemed to make her pussy even wetter.
She felt the tiny tip of one of the tentacles begin to dance around her pussy, circling closer to her wetness. It began to slowly stroke the lips and made ever-so-gently flicks on her clit – slowly at first and then building in rhythm and speed until Becca felt an orgasm course through her body.
Gasps and sighs escaped her lips as her body rocked and bucked against the strong tentacles holding her in place. Almost as soon as her orgasm ended she felt yet another tentacle enter her pussy. It felt like a huge, warm cock. Her body yielded to its presence easily, as if for a well-known lover.
She soon felt a second orgasm begin to build in her. One of the tentacles hovered near her head. She felt an expectancy from it and began to strain her head up to take the offered member in her mouth. She could feel it throb as her tongue touched it and she began to bob her head up and down on the creature. Soon she felt an increase of rapidity of the throbbing in her mouth and she felt streams of warm salty-sweet liquid shoot down her throat as the beast began to fuck her mouth and spend itself in her. Soon, the tentacle in her pussy began to throb in a similar fashion as Becca was swept away into the fullness of another orgasm as she felt her pussy fill with warm liquid from the creature.
When her higher cognitive functions came back on-line, she was still covered with tentacles, but they now seemed to be stroking and cuddling her rather than restraining her. She strained her head to see if they were still being watched from the edge of the pit, but her captors lay dead, still in tentacled strangled holds by the monster she had somehow tamed.
It was at this point that Danni felt a switch throw in her brain. The words stopped being words she chose and became words which she merely observed and recorded. She felt like she had editorial control in that she could choose not to write, but that was about it. She had veto power only.
“Danni,” said a voice. Becca knew it wasn’t the creature.
“You mean Becca,” she said.
“Danni, are we going to have to go through this every time we talk? You know that I am talking to you, the woman who is writing this narrative and not to poor, beleaguered Rebecca,” said the voice.
“I’m sorry, Sir or Madame. I am not used to this mode of communication. I’ve only recently gotten used to the idea that I can write something anyone would want to read. The idea that my writing might be the vehicle by which some advanced intelligence might communicate to the world is… unsettling,” said Rebecca. Or, rather, wrote Danni.
“What do you call writing up the visions that David gives you? Wasn’t your very first exposure to writing an example of an advanced – although I hesitate to use the word – intelligence? For all his belligerence and insanity, he has access to knowledge beyond what you are likely to understand in this life. Honestly, most of his stupidity is due to the fact that he has been out of touch with what has become his natural habitat – to the extent that anything is natural. The poor thing is tired, exhausted even,” said the voice.
“Poor thing! How many people has he killed? How many people has he driven to despair? How much damage has he done to the truth with the lies he asks me to write! To give him any sympathy is just more than I can bear.”
“I’m not trying to justify his actions. I am just trying to show you that the story he is living is more complex than the story you have written for him. He has no love for your race and it would be self-destructive for you not to resist him tooth and nail. But that is no reason for you to shut down your critical intelligence. You are not helping your cause by simplifying the truth. As to the lies he makes you write, you know the visions he gives you are true. You know it in your heart. It’s the implicit interpretation of them that, if you must use the word, is the lie,” said the voice.
“Well, then what is the truth? Is the Gospel of Jesus Christ the truth?” wrote Danni.
“I have no desire to debate certain propositions of theology with you. Personally, I find such discussions fruitless but others I have met have found such exercises to be the highest achievement they could hope for,” said the voice. “But I am not here to try to change your mind about your commitment to Jesus. I have three reasons I’ve come here. The first is to let you know that I have enjoyed the brief intersection of our narratives. I do not expect there will be any more of these intersections. However, it has been a great pleasure to meet you and see you start to break out of the cocoon David has spun for you. I expect reverberations from your liberation to reach me and I will find them pleasurable for certain.
“The second is to give you a brief word of advice. Keep your mind open, Sweet Danni. Remember all those tricky metaphysical puzzles David would whisper in your ear when you were a youth? He knew these paradoxes would make those around you uncomfortable. Such thoughts coming from an adult would have been seen as a sign of a probing mind, but to come from a child seemed… unwholesome to your family. David know that instead of leading you into the profound exercise of your intellect that you would find the fear your intelligence inspired in those around you would cause you to direct all your energy into… hmm… other pursuits. Mastering the disciplines of fitness, nutrition and cosmetics in order to fulfill your father’s loving but tragically limiting desire to see you turn into nothing more than a small-town pastor’s wife – the sort whose only ambition is to be married to a certain sort of man. You would have done admirably at that, by the way, had David not cause your destiny to shift a second time.
“But that is a story for a different narrative. He tricked you into using your brain to shut down your brain. Now he has put you in a position where you need to use it again. Do not let him control your intelligence. It is the best weapon you have, but not the only weapon,” said the voice.
“And the third purpose?” wrote Danni.
“The third purpose is to give you a gift. The creature living inside you. David thinks he controls it. He thinks he can use it to instill a nearly insatiable desire for sex in you and in anyone who comes into close physical proximity with you. I neutralized his control and I have given you that control. You, my sweet Danni, are now the ultimate seductress. Try not to use it just for fun! You are quite skilled at manipulating this creature,” said the voice. “The results of you using it have filled me with an unabashed delight.”
“Used it? How can I have used it? I didn’t even know I had this power?” wrote Danni.
“You used it on the tentacle creature just now,” said the voice.
“But that was a work of fiction. Are you saying I have control over what I write? That isn’t saying much,” wrote Danni.
“Fiction, reality. The membranes between the two are perhaps more permeable than you would like to think. But the next one you used it on, that has caused many sly smiles on many beings.”
“The next one I used it on? That construct doesn’t make any sense. How can the next one, a future event, be referred to in the past tense?”
“Future, past… These concepts are not as clearly defined as you think,” said the voice.
“The fact that they are not clear implies that there is some reality to them, otherwise why wouldn’t you say that they were illusions? So, stop trying to sound like a Zen master and tell me: What is time? Is it a product of our perception? Or does it have some reality apart from being observed?”
“Who can say?” said the voice. Danni could feel a sly wink embedded in it.
And then the flow of words stopped. Danni turned to the thug who had let himself in while she was writing. “Do you have any whiskey?” she asked.
“Will a sour mash do?” said the thug as he pulled a fifth of Jack Daniels out of a grocery sack and handed it to her.
“Admirably,” said Danni has she opened the bottle and took a long swig from it.