House of Holes (32 page)

Almost before she’d finished there was a sudden volcanic swirling of the waters. An amalgamation of body parts heaved itself up on the widest part of the ledge and stood dripping. There must have been a hundred penises—some pale pink, some coffee colored—along with breasts and eyes and clits and an enormous mouth at the center. It stood on a mass of arms and legs.

“There you are,” Rhumpa said, more appalled than she let on. “Take a moment to relax. May I touch you?”

Seventeen penises nodded yes.

“Where’s your head?” she asked.

The hands and feet shook: none.

“No head? Why not?”

Then ten hands grabbed ten semi-erect cocks and began stroking them. Another ten hands circled tiny clitlike buttons of flesh in folds of skin.

“Must you do that right now in front of me?” Rhumpa asked.

Suddenly a very large hand came thrusting out of the central fleshball and scooped her up.

“I’m lurid and loveless and lost,” the monster seemed to say. “I need a real person. I’m growing out of control. I’m propagating without guidance.”

“You need a head,” she said. “If I dance for you, will you develop a head?”

All the legs and hands said no. No way. No head today. And the big hand gave her a squeeze to say, “Never mind my head, dance for me anyway.”

“Let go of me, and I’ll dance,” Rhumpa said.

The hand put her down and smacked the water hard. Another drench of sexual splatterment went over her. It made her tingle everywhere. She felt she was in touch with a giant collaborative moan.

Climbing the five steps of a metal ladder, she stood on a tall platform that technicians used when they needed to open or close a hydraulic valve that led to a smaller treatment tank. She began singing the Benassi Brothers, swinging her ass: “I love men, money, power, and I love my sex.” She could see the monster turning on its legs, trying clumsily to keep time. On an impulse, she unclamped and unsealed the front of her wetsuit and danced with her breasts on display, her nipples high and pointy in unpuzzled skyward erections. Almost immediately, many monster hands took hold of many penises, and there was a general convulsion of orgasmic fluid release. The monster sat in a puddle of its own secretions.

Then it revived. Rhumpa spoke: “I will give you good loving if you grow a head.”

There was silence, and then a bulb formed at the top of the fleshy confusion. There was a huge sucking sound, and a head popped into place. It was a normal head, male, with a mouth and a nose and two eyes, and it blinked at her.

“Can you hear me now?” she voiced.

Out of the mouth came a strange amphibious croak: “Aaaa-oooowwwawaooo.”

“Take a moment to organize your thoughts,” she said. “You are built from other people’s orgasms, and yet you seem to have a soul.”

“Not much of a soul, but it’s there,” said the pornmonster.

“And do you wish to be freed from the tank?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you think you would live a normal life if you were free?”

“No, not normal,” said the pornmonster. “I have way too many sex organs for that. But I could lead a better life. I would like to help in some way. My name is Friggley.”

In the control room, Harry watched and took notes, squeezing his crotch from time to time. The creature looked like a hedge ball with frondy things hanging off it. It moved rapidly but shufflingly forward, a tumorousness of overstimulated desire. Harry observed as it surrounded Rhumpa and slid her wetsuit completely off. One after another of the penises found and sounded her cervix. Rhumpa seemed, oddly, to be enjoying it—it was a gangbang from a single source. When the fleshly storm had passed, she leapt onto its back and grabbed hold of what looked like two scrotums.

“Harry, open the main hatch, I’ve got my new friend Friggley by the balls, and I’m going to take him to the Handjob Festival.”

Harry, in awe, opened the main gate of the tank enclosure, and Friggley shuffled down the road. Then, in a sudden flurry, more drama. The Pearloiner leapt out from a bush with a cackle and tried to snatch away several of Friggley’s clitorises and hide them in her freezing jar. A small tussle ensued, which Friggley easily won by clasping the Pearloiner in several of its wank-strong arms. “Don’t let her go!” said Rhumpa. She seized the precious clitty jar, remounted Friggley, and the curious trio lurched toward Lila’s office.

The Pearloiner Says She’s Sorry

T
he Pearloiner was sitting on the couch, staring forward remorsefully. She’d been crying. The icy jar of clits was on a side table, shedding a soft gray mist. Zilka and Cheyenne stood on the open pussyrug, stripped down to their bras. Friggley was tied by the balls outside.

“It was a misguided passion,” the Pearloiner was saying. “There are better things to collect. I see that now. I’m truly sorry for my compulsive thieving.” She fished in the jar, finding the plastic bags with Zilka’s and Cheyenne’s clits in them.

“Thank you, Madame Pearloiner,” said Lila. “Zilka and Cheyenne will fix your hair and dress you for the Sherry Cobbler and Farewell Handjob Festival. As a first step, we must forgive.”

The two lovely almost-naked women washed and blow-dried the Pearloiner’s hair and dressed her in a white shirt and a flattering navy-blue linen jacket. They left her naked down below.

“Now, Madame, you know what you must do,” said Lila. She put the clitorises in the Pearloiner’s open palms. “Cup their pussies and reinstate their joys. Only you can give back what you took away.”

The Pearloiner cupped the women’s crotches and jiggled her hands rapidly, saying, “By the power and the authority of the federal Transportation Security Administration, Eastern Region, HQ, I hereby give you back your clits and humbly ask your forgiveness for being so greedy to possess them.”

“Oh, ooochie,” moaned Zilka, feeling her tender stem re-connecting. Moments after, Cheyenne’s clitoris went live. Her face cleared, and she beamed. “Finally!” she said.

“Now down on the pussyrug, you two,” said Lila. “You must fix the repairs in place by gently grinding your gorgeous twats against each other.”

Zilka and Cheyenne scissored themselves together and humped and ground, clit to blissfully reanimated clit.

“Sealing it with a crimson pussy kiss,” said the Pearloiner, visibly moved.

Lila opened a drawer and pulled out a large smooth wooden dildo, which she handed to the Pearloiner. “Madame, put this handmade Dendro wherever you would like it to go,” she said.

The Pearloiner threw her strong tanned legs open and steered the dildo deep into her fur. She shook her head. “It’s good, but it’s not what I need,” she said. “I need live dick.”

Lila pondered, then smiled. “Zilka, Cheyenne, take Madame P. to the pussywall and strap her so that her pussy and fanny are exposed for all to see. The last batch of Deprivos are arriving. They’ll take care of her hungry twitchet.”

“Oh!” said the Pearloiner, feeling ripples of arousal.

Shandee Goes to the Festival

S
handee got up late and wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She walked through the Cockstorm Room blindfolded and held about seventy stiff and semi-stiff cocks. Then she washed her hands and sat for a while in a darkroom talking to a nice couple who ran a vegetarian restaurant. She went outside and had a sherry cobbler at the Sherry Cobbler and Farewell Festival. It was a fine end-of-summer day; the Garden of the Wholesome Delightful Fuckers was crowded with celebrants, and many brightly painted pedal-powered Masturboats were out on the White Lake. Luna and Chuck churned by, circling each other. There were screams and splashes from the pussysurfers.

As Shandee came closer to the dock and the tent, she heard Lila’s loudspeakered voice announcing the handjob cumshot contest. She paused to watch a little of the proceedings. The contestants stood on a raised dais dressed in crotchless tuxedos, their arms tied at the wrists behind their backs, while Lila, pacing with her cordless microphone and her wild hair, urged on the strokers, who knelt in position beside or behind the cocks they stroked. Women who wanted to be jizz-splashed stood in the shallows of the lake wearing waders with blue butterflies painted on them, holding their mouths open, making beckoning gestures. “Okay, we’re in the final ejaculatory launch window,” Lila was saying to the cheering audience. “Our contestants must shoot hot sauce within the next ninety seconds. Lift your tops and show them your titties, my friends, floof out your hair, stick out your tongues, and let’s get some nice moneyshots out of these bad beautiful cocks and these gorgeous sexy hardworking cockstrokers. Because, boy, are they at it! That’s it, my lovely strokers, jack the big dicks off, work them, bring that cream to market, don’t hold back, jack them harder, that’s it, Trix, honey, jack Pendle off, come on, Jessica, closer, closer, really fast now, that’s it,
wank those hunky spunk pipes!
” There were male groans of amplified pleasure. “And here goes Pendle first, oooh, lovingly stroked by the delightful Trix—well climaxed, you two, and let’s hear it for the Heftyshot bathing suit that’s down around Pendle’s ankles!” Applause, followed by another moan and more airborne come-drops flying through the air. “And now our Kathy’s got Ned launching—there it goes! And Hax, oh, my goodness, three big squirting jizz bombs from Hax, our tattoo master, smoothly cockstroked by Jessica—thank you, Hax and Jessica, with your beautiful smiles! And now comes Wade and Crackers, what a team—look at her fist fly on that eye-popping pink dick—ah, out it tosses!” More applause and cheering, and several women who’d been splashed jumped up and down flashing peace signs. Then there was a trumpeting noise. “And, oh dear, there goes Friggley, our pornmonster. Yeek, I don’t even know what that was, pumped off by Rhumpa, the Pearloiner, Donna, and Polly, all together. Very good effort, women—not at all disgusting. Let’s hear it for these resourceful jerkoff artists!” Lila turned and held a hand out. “And now—ah!—a tremendous sideways splash of semen from handsome Ruzty’s banana dick. Has he, yes, he’s taken the lead with a long arching slider. Ruzty’s ahead now. But now, last but never least, here’s Marcela, our dazzling heavy-dicked ladyboy, stroked by Dune. She’s new to having a penis, and it’s a biggie, and she has obviously taken to it in a major way. But she’s almost out of time. Will she get there? Will she shoot? She’s working her hips, she’s almost—now”—suddenly an enormous “Graaaawh!” was ripped from Marcela’s throat—“blowing a—whoa, shit!—a glorious spunkbomb of Elmer’s goo from that prodigious transplasmic dick of hers! My gravy! Stroked by Dune, like the master cockjerking bad boy you are, Dune. Mwah, blow you both a kiss. An absolutely amazing cumshot by Marcela and Dune!” Zilka gave Lila a piece of paper with some numbers on it. “And the official results are in: I declare Marcela and Dune the winners of the Sherry Cobbler Handjob and Massive Cumshot Contest. But all you jizzblasters deserve a prize.” More cheering, whistles.