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Apocalips

The oceans were boiling.

Her seafoam hair tossed by the hot crosswinds, Atom waited at the edge of the cliff.  Debris whipped around her naked body as she swayed in time to the silent song of her planet’s destruction.  She was the last experiment, the last adaptive life form to be introduced onto the dying world, and her bloodline had failed.  Taurus was a miscarriage of an experiment.  So they burned the evidence.

Her slender fingers danced across her bare clitoris.  She leaned into herself, gasping.

A telltale whisper of bare feet made Atom turn her head slightly to catch the approaching figure in her peripheral.  "Rino,“ she said softly, dropping her hand.

Neutrino, his haphazard face obscured by his customary hood, bowed slightly.  "So they cast us aside at last,” he said, a sweeping gesture taking in the dying water below them.

“There are worse ways to die than seeing the end of the world.”  Atom had always longed to find a neuro-dump of poetics, but she had been denied this one pleasure by her creators and did her best to compensate.  "Rino, hold me.“

He came beside her and wrapped her in his corded arms, and she closed her eyes to forget that he was a conglomeration of all of the dead scientists who had built their careers on Taurus.

She slipped her hands beneath his robe to find his growing erection and pressed it to her hairless mound.  "One last time,” she said when his dark red eyes met her pale yellow ones.

Something not quite human dug her nails into the bare back of something over-human.  Perfect breasts brushed patchwork skin.  Fire rained into the sea, turning the water into a fine hot mist that pinkened them both.

Their final coming was together, roaring, howling, as the cliff beneath them surrendered to the beams of flame and collapsed into the sea.

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Robot Uprising

The lab hummed with life and nearly-life as Titus sidled through.  He tried to keep his clumsy apologies to a minimum, but it seemed that every time he turned to make his amends he bumped into someone else’s delicate project.  Finally, grumbling, he reached the bank of office doors at the back and dove into his.

Gleaming a tantalizing silvery-blue, the robot stood slumped against her upright harness.  Her faceted eyes were lifeless, and even her metal breasts seemed to sag.  Titus ran his hand down her chrome-plated arm, a whisper of a touch that lingered over the activation pod at the base of her wrist.

She blinked and straightened, her head swiveling as she gathered vitals about her surroundings.  After a moment, she locked her eyes on Titus.  "Hello, sir,“ she said in a voice several notches too loud.

"Ttssshhhhhshhhh!”  Titus’s fingers danced frantically over first his mouth, then her mouth-opening, as he scrambled to find the volume.  A few flicks of the remote on his desk and she was speaking in a sensuous whisper.  He glanced over his shoulder.  No one in the lab had seemed to note the interruption, but instead of taking chances he hit another button, which darkened the windows.

Now he crossed back to the robot and wrapped his arms around her.  She stood unmoving except for her eyes.  "Are we alone?“ she asked.

Titus nodded. "Yes.  Yes, very alone.  Very much alone.”

Whirring and clicking, the robot sprang to life, stepping down from her harness and pushing him onto his knees.  "Make my pleasure modules sing,“ her staccato voice snapped.

Titus’s face creased in a beatific smile.  "You forgot – ”

“Make my pleasure modules sing, BITCH.”

Titus fell to licking at the slit of artificial flesh as the robot purred and gripped his tousled hair in impossibly strong fingers.

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A Pile of Compilers

Amie rubbed her aching eyes and sighed at her monitor.  Somewhere in the bowels of this 3000-line program was a missing semi-colon, and she had to find it.  This was not amusing.

Stacy bounded into view, glaring at something over her shoulder.  She ducked behind Amie’s cubicle wall and pressed her back up against it.  "God damn it!  I hate working with computery men.  Stinky fuckers, every one of them.“

"Carl swatting at you again?” Amie asked, still squinting at the endless lines of code trickling down her screen.

“Always.  I don’t know if he thinks he can slap me straight, or just likes the idea that my cute little lesbian butt has touched other cute little lesbians butts.  Who even knows.”  She leaned over the desk so that her cleavage dangled temptingly in Amie’s line of sight.  "Whatcha working on?“

"Same as before lunch,” Amie sighed, but it was hard to stay grumpy with two beautiful breasts in her face.  Impulsively, she leaned forward and planted a kiss between them.

Stacy giggled and tugged on Amie’s long, straight hair.  "Stoppp.  If someone sees, they’ll bring a sexual harassment suit down on us so fast…“

"It doesn’t count if you like it,” Amie said, flashing her teeth.  She kissed Stacy’s chest again, this time dropping lower so her tongue could tease just above an areola.  "Besides, it’s almost midnight. Who’s even here besides Carl?“

Stacy pretended to think.  "Mmmm…no one.”

Amie pointed a finger at her coworker, her gaze locked on her screen again.  "You.  Me.  Break room.  Ten minutes.“

Despite her earlier protests, Stacy straightened up and grinned.  "Make it five and I’m there.”

Amie’s heart was starting to pound, but the excitement building between her legs made scanning code go faster.  She spotted the missing syntax with seconds to go, hit the key triumphantly, and switched her laptop to the innocuous puppy screensaver.

The door to the break room was closed.  Amie slipped inside and closed it behind her, surreptitiously locking it from the inside.  Stacy sat with her back to the door, draped in the blanket she used to keep her legs warm in the winter.  At the sound of the door closing she looked over her shoulder, grinned, and dropped the blanket as she stood.

Amie had to bite the side of her lip.  "God.  We do this once a week and I still can’t get over how gorgeous you are.  Every fucking time.“

"Shut up.” Stacy model-walked towards her coworker with a slinky smile.  "And take your clothes off.“

A moment later she was burying her tongue between the folds of Amie’s pussy as Amie sat up on the counter and rested her heels against the cabinets, gasping as Stacy expertly worked over her clit.  She rested one palm on top of Stacy’s golden curls, trying not to worm off the counter as she came hard.  Stacy raised her head and wiped a dribble of cum off her nose.

"My turn, beautiful.”

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Rainbow Roll

Jack always wondered why the sushi shop on the corner never closed until 11 pm.  His apartment building overlooked the little shop, and he saw customers moving in and out until around 10, when the city hushed into an informal curfew.  But the lights in the sushi shop still flickered until an hour later, when they would finally go out, leaving a faint emptiness where the neon buzz had been before.

One night, a project deadline kept him at the office past dinner, so by the time he got home around 10:30 his stomach was very angry.  Jack shrugged off his shoulderbag and went back out into the rainy night.  He flipped up his hood and dashed across the street, not even bothering to glance for cars.

The shop bell jangled and the lone server – a slender, pretty girl of indiscernible Asian origin – glanced up from her stool. She gave him a smile and paused to grab two menus before crossing to the table he had chosen.

“Party of one?” she asked in a soft accent.  Jack nodded and took the menus with a grunt of thanks.

The first covered his expectations: sushi rolls, miso soup, some haphazard teriyaki offerings.  It was the second that caught his eye.

Above the top of the flyer, the words “RAINBOW ROLL” were displayed in glittering golden letters.  Below the title was an image of a man reclining on pillows with beautiful, scantily clad women sprawled around him.  Jack frowned and glanced up, catching the server’s attention.

“Can I try the rainbow roll?” he asked, tapping the second menu with two fingers.  The girl kept her gaze on his hand, then met his eyes and grinned.

“Of course.  Follow me, please.”  She bowed slightly and waited for a confused Jack to stand and trail her to the back of the restaurant.

They passed through a bead curtain into a smoky room lit by candles and smelling strongly of incense.  Jack turned the corner and froze, one hand on the wall.

The menu had not lied.  Spread out across the length of the room, a veritable rainbow of naked women lounged: dusky black, creamy brown, soft gold, ivory white, and several in between.  They smiled with their teeth and blew him kisses as the waitress touched his elbow to move him closer.

Jack turned to utter his thanks and surprise to the waitress, but he was unable to get the words out as his gaze raked up and down her thin body, her breasts and crotch outlined by a slim silver bikini.  She cupped her hand around his ear and stroked it down his stubble.

“Enjoy your rainbow roll,” she said as the other women rose and surrounded him with eager hands and mouths, drawing him down onto the spread of pillows.

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Rivalry Love

Brent peeled off his Elks uniform and chucked it across the locker room.  It landed halfway in the hamper, dripping sweat into the pool already on the floor.  He waved an aching arm at it.  Good enough.

His footsteps slapped hollowly through the empty rows of lockers and benches as he padded to the showers.  He had opted to stay late, preferring the solitude of the field for his endurance training; besides, then the showers were deserted and he could hose off in peace.

Brent adjusted the temperature with a practiced hand and stepped under the flow.  He closed his eyes to let the water tumble down his face.  He let out a deep sigh as his muscles started to relax.

“Oh!”

Brent whirled around at the single, startled word.  Standing buck naked at the shower room doorway was Rodney Whittaker, quarterback for the Bobcats, the Elks’ biggest rival.  More specifically, Rodney Whittaker was Brent’s biggest rival, his nemesis on the field and in the hearts of both schools’ cheerleading squads.

“I thought – uh, they said – I biked over to see Cynthia, and they said I could use the showers.”

Brent had never seen Rodney so flustered.  His gaze dropped to the other boy’s cock, which to his surprise was halfway hard.  Rodney followed Brent’s line of sight and suddenly his cheeks pinched in a smile.

“Right?  Everyone’s always like, ‘You just play football because you have a tiny dick, blah blah blah.’  So much for that.”

“Yeah,” Brent said.  He turned around slowly, staring at the wall and trying to think of anything else, because a sudden rush of blood was swelling his own dick.  He put a hand over it, tried to push it down.  He frowned at the sound of three of the other showers turning on.

But before he could turn around, another hand slid down over his, slipping between his fingers and gently caressing his shaft.  Brent moaned without prompting, his heart skipping beats wildly.  Rodney’s now-rock-hard cock pressed into his ass crack.

“I’ve seen you watching me,” the other boy murmured into his ear, making Brent shudder.  "I know you want this.“

Brent bit his lip.  A thousand scenarios flooded into his mind: the coach walking in to find them; his mother making a surprise visit to the school; his teammates discovering not only his pleasure but his fraternizing.  But worst of all: looking back on this day and regretting that he hadn’t taken the chance he had been dreaming of for almost three years.

So he put his palms against the wall and offered his ass to his greatest rival.  Rodney grinned, swiped his tongue across his hand, and moistened his cock.

"I won’t make any wide receiver puns,” he chuckled, and nuzzled the tip against Brent’s asshole.

The sound of the showers mostly drowned out the boys’ satisfied grunts.

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Closing Time

The tempered squawking of the baseball announcers was the only sound of life in the bar.  Grunting as he leaned across the counter to reach the far corner, the bartender glowered at the small figure hunched over the last stool.  "Hey.  Kid.  We’re closing.  Move along.“

The figure uncoiled, lengthening into a slender woman with a pixie cut.  She smacked a piece of white gum under her canines.  "Your sign’s still on,” she said with a jerk of her thumb over her bare shoulder.  The movement made her visible breasts quiver.

The bartender stopped mid-wipe and sighed.  "Right.  Okay.  Look, I’m turning off the sign.“  He crossed the distance behind the bar and flipped the switch.  Neon tubes hissed and died.  Hands to hips, the bar cloth dangling from his fingers, the bartender faced his last customer.  "We’re closed.”

“Excellent.”  The young woman swung off the stool, and with a thrill in his groin, the bartender realized she was not wearing pants.  Her heels ticked away the seconds as she moved to the door, bolted it, and slunk back towards him.

He suddenly found that his hands were awkward, no matter where he intended to rest them.  "Ma’am, I’ll h-h-h-have to ask you…“

"I’d prefer you give commands.”  She dropped to her knees on the rubber mat, her tongue lolling.  Like graceful divers, her hands disappeared into his pants and slid them off.  "So?  What’ll it be?“

"In your mouth,” he gasped, his hand moving without bidding to the back of her head.  Her hair was coarse, dyed too many times; he grasped a handful and pressed her nose into his crotch.  She accepted his length down her throat with a grateful gulp.

His eyes fell on the envelope, splashed with beer, resting where she had been sitting.  His name was on the back.  His fingers trembling with the effort of concentrating, he managed to extract the card.

Happy birthday, bud.  Have one on us.

It was signed by bar owner and his coworkers.

Stabilizing himself on the edge of the counter with his palms, he adopted a wider stance.  "Deeper, bitch,“ he said, and she went to work.

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An Unusual Weapon

She is almost six feet tall, her breasts bound in plated strips of pulsing charged armor.  Most of the rest of her body is nude, except where similar electrified panels hold in the un-aerodynamic parts of her body.  She moves like the night, dark and sudden, shadowed and malicious.

It doesn’t strike me that anything is unusual about her until she draws her blade.

My hand drops to my holster, but her weapon whips out and strikes my hand.  My hackles rise, my ears flatten, and by instinct a howl fills my throat, a cry of pain equal to the sting of her blade.  Instead of a mortal wound, a harsh red welt rises on my wholly intact furred fingers.

I stare in disbelief at the warrior woman’s weapon, which quivers upright in the air.  It shimmers insubstantially, as if undecided on what form it will take.  One of those forms is distinctly phallic, and now the weapon hardens into this shape as she smacks it into her other palm with a toothy smile.

“We both know how this fight ends,” hisses her translator.  Her grey lips do not move, but her eyes narrow and widen expressively.  "You, on your knees, ass in the air.“

She is so frank that I give her the benefit of the doubt.  My jaws work around the words of the common language, but it is like gnawing tough game.  "And if I shoot you first?”

“You won’t,” her translator says, and follows this up with an eerie facsimile of a chuckle.

Something whips under my feet and I am on my face in the loam, spitting leaves.  She gently rests her booted feet against my hips, and the cool tip of her weapon slides into the small of my back and against the waistline of my uniform.  She leans down, so close that I can feel the pulse of her armor on the back of my neck.

“Now,” she says, and it is not the translator speaking for her anymore, “let’s see how you like this.”

The tip of the weapon moistens and slides down my skin as I shudder with anticipation.  If only every spat between bounty hunters ended like this.

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Roman Rule

She stares at oncoming dust cloud until her muscles tremble with the strain, but still she does not move.

At last, she can see his horse, its muscles rippling under its dusty white coat, and then the gleam off his helmet.  She falls to her knees and lifts her hands above her bowed head.

She dares not cough even as the dust swirls around her.  His booted feet land in her line of sight and she clenches her eyes shut, desperately trying to contain the urge to stand and embrace him.

“Master,” she whispers, the first words the slave has spoken in the months he has been gone to war.

His rough hands descend upon her shoulders, wrenching the tunic from her.  He squeezes her breasts and presses his mouth to hers, his breath hungry as his tongue seeks hers.

He spins her around and slams her shoulders against his horse’s flank.  The beast noses at her hair as the rest of her dress falls away and he presses his hard cock against her entrance.  His hand on the top of her head, he presses her down and she cups her lips around him, taking him until she gags.

Without warning, he lifts her and holds her hard against the horse, this time holding her weight on his forearms.  He thrusts into her, and she cries out, the void between her legs filled again at last.

When he is done, he lets her collapse into the dust to recover a moment while he pulls his armor back on.  Then he extends a hand, meeting her eyes for the first time.

“Come,” he says, and lifts her onto the horse, leading the beast and his exhausted slave girl back to his home.

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To tide you over…

To tide you over…

to tide over my lovely followers, please enjoy this short story!  I continue to work on other projects, but the 50 Unexplainable Stories project I started with my friend Jill is one of the most consistent. and I happen to be rather fond of this little tale. 🙂

50unexplainablestories:

Hoover Hawg of Eden, by August Williams

The house wasn’t the same anymore.  Now the wind rattled impolitely at the windows, begging to let the dust in, a hollow replacement for the baby’s cries of hunger.  Artie sat on the edge of his cot and listened to the plaintive howl, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the peeling wallpaper.  He hugged his knees to his chest and tried to stop trembling.

In the other room, his mama stammered her plea: Arthur senior had to bring something home, anything to silence the spasms of her stomach.  Artie bit his lip and closed his eyes, his mama’s soft and wrinkled face rising into his mind.  She bore her Native American heritage proudly, though she rarely spoke of it.  He heard her whisper, the desert will be kind enough to take me—it is full of my ancestors.

Artie dashed the tears from his face with a grimy sleeve and pushed himself off the cot.  He ran past his parents, huddled over the dinner table, their hands entwined.  He stopped long enough to grab his noose stick from against the side of the house and fled into the dust…

(for the rest, click the link!)