the key and the keyhole
Everything is getting jumbled up. Your brain, your whole body has been at fever pitch for what feels like hours. Your awareness crackles across your body as another orgasm rips through you, causing your back to spasm. You’re dimly aware that aching muscles sent an arc of your cum out into space. Your belly sloshes, heavy low down, and latex-tight around what feels like a basketball in your womb.
Awareness flickers to elsewhere. You are untethered from the earth, which floats away behind you. The basketball in your womb becomes a flurry of desperate scrabbling, some mortal wholly wrapped up in the Maelstrom inside you. With unusual clarity you see infinite space, onyx glass in all directions; cold, impermeable, austere.
The first woman I picked declined your offer despite heavy flirting and accepting a drink. I put a hand on your shoulder as you watched her saunter off. You were stiff with outrage.
“Save your appetite. The night’s long. Plus I love this song.” I kissed your shoulder, causing several men and a few women to become distinctly jealous. “Let’s dance.”
Sometimes we dance sexy. This time I fuck about to make you laugh, doing Closing the Curtains, Wringing Out the Dishcloth, all those stupid moves Once you loosen up again and join in you begin to enjoy yourself. Then you notice me looking across the room thoughtfully. You follow my gaze.
I have a type. Luckily, though, you share that type: she looks like you. Her face is rounder and her hair has a natural wave to it, but you could be sisters. She’s round, all edges softened. She’s perfect.
She sees us both looking and casts a shy smile. You grin, forgetting for a moment to hide the fangs but it’s enough distance in a chaotic enough environment that you get away with it. With a hand on my chest you push away and thread towards her. Lots of people are hunting in the club tonight, but none so literally as you.
“No way. You’re pulling my leg.”
“I just need to perform the right visualisations. You’re welcome to try me out, lover~”
“And you could take a whole—”
“Yes, but it’s exhausting, and messy. Just orgasm after orgasm. … Are you okay? You’re quiet. Stuff like this normally sends you—”
“Crowley. Self-orgy. Threesome. Chain-breaking. Ah, fuck, get dressed. Slutty. We’re going out.”
She doesn’t remain shy for long. Rachel, her name is. In the taxi she leans across to kiss you. Rachel tastes like cranberry from the woo woos she was drinking, and her kiss is hot and unreserved. While all her attention is on your lips and the way your tongue traces hers, she keeps a hand on my shoulder where I sit in the front seat.
The taxi driver doesn’t know where to look when he drops us off at yours. I handle payment while you lead Rachel by the hand, both of you giggling when you fumble through your bag for a front-door key.
You’ve both given up by the time I get there, instead trying to wrestle one another against the door and take control of another long kiss. I use the key you gave me to open the door. By way of thanks you take her hand and place it firmly between my legs. She looks up at me, acknowledging my hardness with a hungry lip bite, but with your hands either side of her face you smother her with another kiss, reclaiming her attention. Her other hand fondles the fat around your middle and strokes up to your breasts as we all squeeze our way through your front door.
It’s peaceful out here. The terrified, impotent struggles of the soul dissolving inside you are the only thing breaking the perfect, crystalline stillness.
Pleasure blossoms across you as you take another draught from your meal. In that split-second connection you and your prey understand one another totally. You love her and she loves you. But yours is a predator’s love; and she’s been tearing herself apart in your womb, pumped full of your spiritual venom like a fly cocooned in spider’s silk. When you connect, your act of love is to yawn open channels to deeper realms of dissolution; hers is to sacrifice herself, flee the inferno, flow into your being. That which she gives drowns utterly.
Only a split second. Most of her awakes from the fatal embrace and finds itself still melting inside the same prison. Her struggles tickle inside.
Another orgasm is blooming. You feel yourself being dragged back to the physical. But as you go, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a flaw in the vitreous vault of heaven.
The prison isn’t perfect.
You flicker back down to earth to cum.
Clothes are an inconvenience. We undress one another opportunistically, when we can bear not to touch, grope, kiss.
I unzip your dress and pull it over your head. In an unusual moment of vulnerability your arms and head are bound up in the fabric while Rachel cuddles up to you, preventing me from pulling your dress the rest of the way off. She uses the moment of weakness to slip her hand into your panties. Your knees go weak. She’s good: firm, starting slow then following the rhythm of your breathing and your growing wetness.
Sensing no malice from her, I join in. Keeping you temporarily in bondage—and you are beginning to struggle, now—we both fuck you, touching and kissing and kneading your body from breasts to belly to wonderful broad arse. All the while your hips rock to the rhythm of the two fingers she pumps into your pussy. You feel me hard against your backside but I don’t make a move there yet.
When you begin to stiffen on your way to orgasm I wriggle you free of the dress and throw it in the corner. Your Doppelgänger stares into your eyes as she sprints to finish you off.
You want it, but you know now’s not the time. We overpower her gently together, you knocking her off-balance with a ferocious kiss that sends her wheeling backwards. I kiss her neck—safer than if you did it—and slip aside her panties to stroke the length of her vulva. She falls open readily, already so turned on from where she was touching you. Even her bush is like yours. Perhaps less wild. I prefer yours.
Are you a boob girl? Hers are handfuls, and you massage them forcefully like you’re claiming her piece by piece. I know you like fat. Where she’s shorter she’s rounder, her shape more apple than your thicc belly, hips and thighs. You grope her flesh on the way to her arse, digging in your fingers to enjoy the heft of meat and fat. You wonder if she notices your sudden salivation in the kiss.
You grab my cock and massage it absently, almost a possessive gesture. She reaches for your pussy again, groping beneath the swell of your belly, and you let her pleasure you. The immediate danger of cumming has passed. Your juices flow hot and swift: Your hunger is growing. She doesn’t realise she’s stretching open her murder weapon.
Your physical body is a riot of sensation, loud and stretched and hot and dripping wet and filled with the scent of sex. Your legs are in the air and I’m pumping into your bumhole, filling your back passage with a deep massage rubbing your aching vagina and your stuffed womb…
When you cum, a portion of Rachel gushes out against me hard enough to spray. The vulgarity of it makes me cum instantly, rammed deep inside you, fingers now claws digging hard into your pillowy backside.
Even before I’ve finished seeing stars you’re grabbing me by the hair and pulling my face downward. You want to drown me like you’re drowning Rachel, fill me with your fluids until I submit and you can consume me…
You follow the trance-light back to your place in the sky. This time you’re looking for the imperfection, and you see it: a near-invisible faultline. A place your prison is weak.
This calls for a celebration. Rachel screams without words as you drink away her childhood in one sweet draught.
Sex is half-battle, half-race. Alliances are formed and then broken as you and I compete to break our new toy and avoid being made to cum before it’s time.
I see you eating a woman without consuming her. That nearly does it for me as I’m buried deep inside you at the time.
At one point, Rachel has hold of me by the root. I’m so hard it’s like I’m coming apart at the seams. You watch me watch her open mouth as it swoops down to engulf me; see the way I tense, the way I look at her tongue—
You grab her by the hair and lick the side of her face possessively. Salt. “He won’t be eaten by anyone but me.”
Rachel nods, a little afraid by the sudden intensity. Her fear makes her pliable: she rolls onto her back when you bring your arm down, and doesn’t struggle when you hover over her. In fact there’s a light in her eyes, an eagerness. Mine too. I position myself lower down, my hands on her knees. That same hardness waits to be quenched in her depths.
Rachel, lips moistened, asks,“But I can eat you?”
You smirk and begin to lower yourself down.
“Almost perfectly wrong, pet.”
Another fault, and another, and another. You skim the outer reaches of your planetary jail cell. Consuming Rachel is far from your mind as you seek patterns and clues. She is left to churn up, to scream for mercy. The venom that is one of your many spiritual enzymes brutalises her consciousness. Every part of her is fractured and melted and broken. All she wants now, all she could ever hope for, is an end to the torture that is now the only thing she’s capable of experiencing.
Your womb continues to bathe her in liquid annihilation as you bite your fingernail and think.
The faults radiate from multiple points.
You know this pattern.
She diligently licks the feminine maw that drips with the desire to consume her, and you let her. You ride her tongue, feeling it gather up all the frustration and teasing and stalled orgasms then instill them into pussy lips made hot by your witchcraft. Focused as she is on your clit, she hasn’t noticed how your inner labia hang lower and longer than before.
I take my station and tease her with my tip among her folds as I watch for your instruction.
It’s indelicate, but a throat needs lubrication. Rachel flinches as a string of your pussy juice rains over her pretty face. “Did you just piss on me”
You adjust the position of your hips. “Take a deeeep breath, pet.”
She does, to scream or shout, but she never gets the chance. Your cunt swoops down on her and smoothly swallows up her whole head in one thrust.
You fall back onto your much-padded arse and lazily grab the arms that seek to fight you off. It’s a signal to me: I grab her legs to prevent her from pinwheeling her way out of her predicament, then sink myself into her pussy as deeply as I can. Between the two of us there’s no escape.
She stiffens. So do you as she slides into you by another inch. A voice muffled by your vaginal walls pleads for you to let her out, but since when do you listen to your queefs?
You blush as another thrust forces her deeper, and forces air out past your lips. A flat ~pfft~ gusts around her disappearing neck.
Desperate to avoid more of that you cram your hips forward. Your cervix, which naturally should protest against such treatment, irises gloriously open to accept her bounty. Your labia track slickly over her skin and your lower belly begins to swell.
Pleasure burns through you. The stretch and struggle and thrusts are delicious. Her voice is practically indiscernible beneath our grunts and moans and the inches upon inches of fat that surround her tomb.
Sex works her deeper into you. It’s no time before her whole upper body has been swallowed up by your cunny. I don’t cum till I can mount you, my hands kneading the gorgeous fat of your belly. Even then I hold on, till you start rhythmically clenching and unclenching deep muscles to slide her in and out. You masturbate me with her pussy, and yourself with her body, until it’s too much for us both. I cum in her and you cum around her, cracking hip bones with the violence of your pleasure.
With a rhythmic sucking sound your womanhood slurps up her legs. She curls up in a tight ball beneath the thickest part of your belly, shuddering as she sobs in the dark. Your labia squeeze shut behind her in a sort of swallow I find so endearing I have to kiss them.
“Careful,” you say, sounding pleasure-worn and breathing heavily. “I don’t have a lot of control from this point… Uggghn!”
A great contraction pulverizes bone and minces internal organs. She won’t last many of those but she does fit much more comfortably inside your feminine core. Other automatic processes spring to life, juices drooling onto the flesh that will undergo an odd parallel digestion. Aphrodisiacs, they set your skin on fire and your heart racing.
“Okay. Okay okay. I’mma need to cum. A lot. Right now.” Another contraction and Rachel’s soul slips whisper-quiet into your astral body, recoiling as it is punctured and injected with a potent venom. “Hours… for the ritual. Keep going.”
I look down at you, writhing with need, red lips parted, groping at your own boobs and gut… Belly swollen and huge as if pregnant… Legs parted and bucking against the air, begging for stimulation… Deep, dark pussy hot and wet, diamonds of excitement glimmering among the black thatch…
How could I say no? I get to work.
Rachel screams as she drains into your spirit and is destroyed. In the physical world your diligent but exhausted lover massages your aching body to another rolling orgasm, made ecstatic by the cum-digestion of the woman you just wiped from existence.
All for clarity. You learnt a fragment of a name and a handful of signs for the entity that imprisoned you here.
You look back down to the earth and smile coldly. The light of seven billion souls clusters and swarms. Seven billion living bodies. Seven billion beating hearts.
One of them fights to weaken your chains with every lick of your voracious cunt. You are going to reward that one by almost drowning him in your juices as you force him to drink down the deluge. And he will worship you for it.
You feel the orgasm building. Time to pay a visit.
Alarm bells ring in heaven.