Whoooore!

Saturday, 01 August, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

"Whoooore!"

The call resounded widely through the resplendent skies, reverberating afar. It was a beautiful Winter morning, sunny and limpid, like only the Southern Hemisphere ever seems to produce. El ciel stood indescribably azure much futher than any other sky. Much further than the Condor ever goes. Much further still.

A good distance behind there could be perceived something akin shuffling, somewhere back there across the whole floor of bare concrete with its rusting rebar sticking out unevenly yet at regular intervals, bent and twisted yet the same exact thickness throughout. Momentarily a woman emerged from the brutalist stairwell, stark naked but for the shockingly tall platforms, her gait very peculiarly employing her considerable gluteals for propulsion. As she stepped into the utterly blue rectangle of sky it became obvious her arms stood firmly attached behind her back, tightly bound in a laced leather fold. Perhaps that accounted for her strange manner of walking ; or maybe it was something else.

She crosed the distance somewhat hesitantly, lumbering unsteadily along, like a strange sort of very fascinating beetle caught between the infinite blue and the absolute gray, trapped by the tiny bits of leather holding her together and the tiny bits of plastic holding her up high. It seemed to take everything she had, yet presently she stepped into the light, her beautiful chocolate catching a muted shine under the kiss of the Heavenly Father in fusion above. She sunk to her knees.

"May I serve your majesty." she whispered, barely audibly.
"Humbler."
"Is there anything this cheap cunt may usefully do, Great Gracious..."
"Yes. Go stand over there, by the edge."

She sighed deeply and with that sigh she briefly sunk, but then she started to rise to her feet ; then in turn thought better of that also, and crawled towards the edge, on her hands and knees, each laboured step parting her womanhood, splitting her twat this side and that. The edge, the edge, ladies think nothing well without an edgei. Once at her indicated destination she finally stood, the refreshing breeze coaxing goosebumps out of her sides and painful, pinch-like erection out of her nipples. Her dark areolas stood to attention through their usual representatives, dozens of bumps swirling about the main one ; there was some fine sand on her knees, a spot of blood here and there, and on her elbows ; a tiny but unmistakable streak caught the sunlight, sparkling and happy, on the inside of her left thigh, just like the sparkles on the outsides of her eyes, or maybe not at all. Are eyes the windows of the soul, perhaps ? Or are the souls these days left behind unfinished, standing under the Sun incomplete, bereft of windows or even the walls the windows would go into ? Are such things as might've made souls perhaps left at the intermediate stage of load bearing concrete pillars with prefab concrete chunks as floors/ceilings, for lack of funds to complete construction, are they standing there without the trims, wind howling through the strange constructions like so countlessly, uncountedly many "urbanization projects" dotting the endless lands some pope gave some kingii ?

The beautiful chocolate girl looked down the endless depth. Scary as height always looks, the truth is that she wouldn't even feel it ; before she'd know it she'd be gone already. Death, they say, is no proper subject of our earthly fret -- for, once it exists, we are no more ; and while we still are, it is not yet. How little do philosophers understand of a woman's heart, how it palpitates and over what, and how! She looked up, away from the chasm. She looked for His eyes, a belaboured, terrified smile forced to her lips. She fixed herself on His eyes, on nothing but His eyes.

"Turn around" she heard, and so she did, "Step to the edge" she heard, and so she did, her platform resting exactly alligned with the god damned edge. Not over, he hadn't said "step over the edge" ; but not the slightest under, either. Exactly alligned with the very end, precisely there, on the thin line separating heartbeat and silence.

There, toeing that line she felt his rod parting her. It brought back all the other times she had been so parted before. One by one, the first time... the last time... that one time... each and every time. She had known a lot. Enough ? No, not really enough. She had known more than it is common in other places ; for some distant girl herds, especially the ones that don't know they're a herd, it'd seem immense, inconceivable. She didn't take much more, or much less than any other woman in the time and place... well, maybe a little more. Men had always liked her, as they enjoyed her body they'd smile and treat her softly. She wasn't exactly used to it, but she did like it ; though she also loved being subjected, gasping for air, helpless, underneath... She could feel his thrusts pushing her closer and closer, over the edge. She could feel the lure of the earth, pulling on her heavy breasts... on her heavy hips... on her heavy belly... He wasn't holding her armbind ; she couldn't hold him bound in it. Her hands, spread like a butterfly, caressed helplessly his lower chest with each thrust. She knew she wouldn't make it through ; nobody ever did. She felt his manhood being sucked out of her, pitilessly. She tried to hold on, she tried to squeeze it hard, clamp it down, but it was no use -- she was too slick, and there it went. She felt the supposed feeling of freedom one supposedly feels in these circumstances. She had time enough to close her eyes, tightly, to squeeze them shut, and... that was it.

"Whoooore!"

The place supposedly supported a great empire, once upon a time. Before the real men came, the place had its own notions and ideas, sprung out of the sky rather than the earth. They also built, but differently ; they also worshipped the wide open sky, very similarily. The dead, buried in the sky, the living, squirming through the mud, the nights, the stories, the fire...

There was the shuffling again, a pile of blonde curls followed by a truly humongous udder emerged through the distant stairwell. She could have been a cow, for sure, or, if not a mother an excellent wet nurse in any case. Her arms stood stiffly by the side of her head, bent painfully at the elbow. She had been handcuffed at the wrists, the cuffs biting into her milky white skin. Behind her back a lock attached them to a chain, and lower another lock attached them to a thick metal rod biting into her flesh. It continued into a hook, buried deep in her colon, holding the whole thing tautly, painfully together. She was on full display, her shaved pubis and her light pink lips visible across the floor. She shuffled over, wincing, and fell to her knees, painfully.

"Ooof... Great Master, may I..."

He grabbed her by her chain, coaxing a whiny wail out of her, and dragged her by the edge. She stood there, more or less, sweating and trembling, edging herself back in by small degrees in tiny movements of her barefoot toes. He bumped her exactly once, his erect penis finding its way through her slick the moment before the rest of his body communicated upon her its impulse, and... there she went.

"Whoooore!"

———
  1. Who said that ? And when, and why did he ? What kind of edge did he mean, and how much of a point did he have ? []
  2. How about this, what's it reference ? And how come the commies stopped using the guts exhortation ? What's a Hans Küng and what's a "Bahamas papacy" ? []
Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
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2 Responses

  1. [...] Meanwhile the days... the days are so much better spent on the green. There's buzzing life, not necessarily any less human than the unconvincing simulacra of humanity put forth by the unconvincing simulacra of urban aglomerations. [...]

  2. [...] you do. And by you I very much don't mean you. Occasionally I'll just be holding my dick and yell "whooore!" and there you go (by which I don't mean you). My life's amazingly simple for how elaboratedly [...]

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