The wind swept unhindered across the dark desolate barren plain. Here was no expiation, no succor, no relief, no life, no light, and no inhabitants, save one.
The darkness was thick and clotted with heat.
Except for two distant sources: dim red stars forever wavering in the baking blackness, and a far distant reddish glow on the horizon from which sparks on occasion rose into the far, far firmament.
Ulkwogengos had been alone for centuries upon centuries. Only long memory to keep him company as he wandered the plains and ate his heart out in the blasted desolation. His only company was long memory that burned, delighted, and pained him.
He passed a structure, ruined and ancient, in the dry cracked earth. In the dimness, his eye never adjusted to he sought some meaning in the caryatids holding up a roofless lintel. Their twisted, violated, orgasmic forms sent shivers of pain, pleasure, and fear through him with their inhuman leers set in near-human faces.
Half-remembered cuneiform script covered the remnant walls, the bases of the primitive statues, and pot shards.
He reached down to lift a shattered clay head in the dust. In his gnarled and scarred hands, he turned it over and over.
He mused, How I wish this was even a skull to keep me company.
A thought of his village tents on the far flung steppe of his childhood. His first raid. He saw her face again filling his mind’s eye. She ran across the hard frozen ground, her many colored skirts a beacon to draw his eye to his first kill. Upon her back he rode her down; the horse’s hooves came down in a crunch. She lay dying choking on blood when he bound upon her, penis erect, bronze knife to her throat. That feeling shook through his spine. The blade bit deep in her throat. Her blood flowed deep and red over the white hoar frost.
It was still oozing when he lifted her skirt as he thrust and pounded away, releasing his seed.
Father and brothers found him. He, all of 15, still on top of the woman emptying his load. His father struck him in the face and pulled him off. “Fool! What good to us is a dead woman? You could have had her as many times as you would wish, we could’ve sold her, even with a bastard in her belly. Now she is meat for crows.”
Ulkwogengos did not care; he had mated with Devia, the dying goddess eternally reborn. To answer his father, he took the blade, seized her reddish golden hair, and severed a large chunk of her scalp.
Shaking it at his brothers and father, he said, “As Perkunos sees, I am sworn to him now, forever.”
Ulkwogengos was very right, but so very wrong.
He shambled along the blasted plain, one direction in a directionless place. Thoughts of blood and frost blocked out, ever so slight, the unbearable burning winds of the darkness.
And he cursed Perkunos through ages upon ages as men know them.
***
Cassi woke up, head pounding and a sour feeling in her stomach. She lay back, reddish gold hair splayed out on her white satin sheets. Not bad for a hillbilly gal from bumfuck Kentucky. In between waves of nausea, she took time to reflect on last night.
And damn, I thought the parties at UK were wild, but a D.C. private club soirée. Like getting fucked by Daddy, if Daddy knew what good blow was.
She admired her own pert nipples in the streaming of the morning’s light.
Nipples will take a gal far. But God, I have to shower; that old fart’s tongue was all over them.
Then she contemplated laying there and drifting off again until the heavy goatish semen smell made her sick.
Who know a 78-year-old man had so much joy juice in him? I’m still a mess. Well, it wasn’t all his spunk; his rent-boy aide took a ride, too. I’m such a baaaaaad girl.
She giggled at the aide, meek and mild, awkward, saddled up behind her.
The senator had his first go and told his underling to perform.
Cassi bent over the private back room bar, conservative black cocktail hiked up to her waist. The skinny effete Catholic school boy—Nick, famous for smiling at a Native American gentleman—fumbling pulling her panties aside, butter fingers slipping on the hem of her dress.
The senator remounted her after another bump of coke and did the reclaim, coming longer and harder this time.
Yep. It’s all the old man’s baby batter leaking out; schoolboy could only eke out a mouse squirt. No Plan B for this corn-fed gal.
Cassi decided she had to do something about her situation and got up. To the kitchen first for a heavy duty Ziploc freezer bag. Into the bag went her cum-, urine-, shit-, and blood-soiled panties, her bra the old man slobbered on, and the little black dress. Then the bag went into the freezer.
Yeah, old man, you’d better have something good for this good old gal, or we’ll show your constituents what family values you left in me. You and that pipsqueak; it would be funny if he left some pubes.
She regretted not having her phone with her when Senator Family Values cut all the way loose and demonstrated his manhood to her again when effete school boy conservative sucked him off.
Intern life in DC, she thought wistfully.
***
The clomp of stumps and the clattered of a chariot came across the blasted plain to Ulkwogengos’ ears. In the dimness, he saw the vehicle, the master, high and mighty, the charioteer a pale and red shape in the dusk, the chattel pulling via bones and chains run through their bodies, feet cut off.
There was no segregation here among men; black, white, brown, and yellow equally pulled their master’s chariot.
The garish cavalcade stopped at Ulkwogengos’ feet. The lead “horse” panted, blood streaming in rivulets down his torso, eyes bugged out, not from effort but from having the lids excised. The chariot driver alighted and spoke in a guttural, hushed, reverent tone, “My master, Asmodeus, has a demand, almost a boon, for you.”
Ulkwogengos looked over the chariot driver’s shoulder to his black-clad master hidden in omnipresent shadow, “It’s a long time. I didn’t think we did these things anymore, such was the deal struck between the Above and the Below,” Ulkwogengos put a finger to his cracked lips, “what is it: a hundred and forty years ago?”
The driver smiled and cocked his head, “Even in a place such as this, me thinks you count the time well, as if expecting. I take it you won’t be saying ‘no?’”
“I haven’t said ‘yes’ either.”
“Prithee, my master does not take denial very well.”
“What would I be doing?”
“Much like you did in the Vendee, or Fez.”
Ulkwogengos put his finger to his chin again.
This time the master spoke. “Remember human, this chattel you see before you were once kings among men.”
Ulkwogengos smiled. “I’ll take it.”
The driver nodded; the master stood stock still.
***
Still naked from her shower, Cassi enjoyed the feeling of sunlight on her body, glorying, in fact, after she popped her hangover cure of aspirin and lithium. A gift from a well-to-do, well-connected congressional page who wanted to, as he so delicately put it, “Raw-dog her tight ass until she sang ‘Blue Moon of Kentucky.’”
Another Sunday afternoon; she didn’t want to stay in. After texting about, she had a brunch date set up with a Tinder hookup she couldn’t decide whether to shake or take further.
Oh well, he is good for business, and packing real meat in those skinny jeans.
As her thoughts ran to Dwight’s fresh young man rod, a scratching sound at the door to her room caught her attention.
She turned expecting to see Liz in the doorway.
It stopped when the empty hallway greeted her.
Going to Liz’s room, she peaked through the crack in the door. There was Liz passed out naked in the bed entwined in the arms of some negro.
Fucking annoying coal-burning slut. Ain’t going to get anywhere in this town fucking bellhops and busboys, no matter how much Capitol Hill lawyer muff you dive.
The scratching sound was weird, long and drawn out, and plain as the nose on your face.
Cassi was soon walking the streets of D.C. through the multitude of military checkpoints and Capitol police cars manned and parked along the streets.
She went with a nicer sporty get-up, nothing too erotic, nothing too fancy.
Just a message: “We’re sport-fucking, kiddo, so keep it wrapped up and I’ll fuck you hard if you fuck me hard, boy.”
Her and Dwight had coffee, some salad, then back to her place for the main course.
He moved inside her with that eight-inch dong that made her feel tight after last night’s serving of wizened cock and wee little schoolboy prick. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her, wishing she could let him pull off the condom like he always wanted.
Cassi turned to watch their grappling in the mirror, to enjoy the show, get off. If Dwight noticed the bruises on her thighs from last night, he didn’t care.
She watched his muscles rippling as he jokingly shouted, “You will submit!”
It sent a slight tingle through her.
Until she caught sight of the thing under her bed, black form set in the shadows, all except two red-rimmed pale blue eyes.
Hunger and anger there, eyes that watched, then caught her looking.
Then the hunger was gone from the eyes and they narrowed.
Her attention was snapped away when Dwight slapped her in the face. “Pay attention to me, bitch, when I’m fucking you.”
“Yes, daddy,” she half-heartedly squeaked out. “You can choke me as punishment.”
She stole a glance back to the mirror.
It was gone.
When they came, she heard words half-hidden between her yips and Dwight’s grunts, “Noli te noxium aestimare, puella. Nunc te possideo.”
***
In the dark, wrapped up against Dwight’s hairy chest, Cassi dreamt strange things. She was different, heavier, stamping through the muddy lanes of some primitive village, flames licking at the cottages. A strange sensation, pleasurable, swelled between her thighs, so familiar but hard to place.
Cassi wanted to look down and examine herself, but the body didn’t listen to her; another need drove it along with thoughts not her own.
“Helpless, so fucking helpless, so delicious.”
The body launched at the fragile wicker door of a dwelling, knocking it down. A young husband, a farm boy, really stout, strong, tall stood at the ready inside with a staff. His first swing turned the bronze scales of the body’s cuirass.
The sword licked out, severing the fingers that held the hard oak. The body grabbed the farm boy’s neck and wrenched him around. The sword hamstrung the big boy.
The body issued a harsh and guttural exhortation, “Watch this, and learn why farmhands are inferior to warriors.”
The body sauntered over the young wife and screaming children. A meaty, scarred hand slapped the children away and seized the wife’s hair.
It pinioned her to the ground and drove the cruel blade through her abdomen.
Its cock thrust into the dying woman’s asshole.
At that moment, Cassi understood the swelling feeling between her legs, the euphoric high that kept thrumming at her temples.
Her screams woke everyone in the apartment.
***
The work week started; Cassi did her intern thing. Busy days and social evenings kept her mind off the morbid turn creeping into it since Sunday.
And she could ignore shadows she peeked out of the corner of her eye as she went about her business.
The worst thing happened Tuesday mid-morning. Senator Turtleneck had her pinned against the wall, raw dogging “that sweet mountain” pussy in his executive washroom.
As big as some of my cousins’ trailers, Cassi thought.
Senator Turtleneck finished busting his nuts in her cunt, asking, “So you’re sure you took your birth control this morning?”
“Yeah,” she lied and clasped him to her firm bosom.
When, over his shoulder, in the indistinct recesses against the dark wood paneling, she saw a cruel hard face, pale blue eyes gauging her over a leering smile.
Cassi yelped, “Someone else is in here.”
“My, my, you are nervous; ain’t nobody in my offices but my people. And they understand our little private consultations. What’d they look like?”
“I-I-don’t know; mean with very blue eyes,” she said.
“Well, I’ll have Diane talk to the staff about keeping out of my private quarters.”
The dreams were the worst; always different battlefields, cities being sacked. Different eras, from what she could tell.
Always the same: slaughter, violated corpses…
One night, she was a Moorish soldier reaching into the slit chest of a boy, reaching for that beating thing, pulling it free into her mouth, past the lips and teeth it went. Salty, warm, slippery.
One morning, she woke up, hand clamped between her thighs, rubbing down there, slick wetness coating her digits.
***
Cassi’s nerves were frayed when Friday evening rolled around. She drank a lot of wine. She smelt the odor of weed coming from Liz’s room. It annoyed her.
She burst through Liz’s door and opened her mouth and stopped.
“Jesus Christ, Cassi, the fuck do you want!” Liz yelled.
Paused, a thought crossed Cassi’s mind, I want some sooo bad.
“Nothing; could try to smoke less inside, okay. Thanks, Liz,” she said, and a quick about-face brought her back to her room.
Drinking more wine, Cassi read Dwight’s texts:
“let’s get together tonight. no one fucks like you do. all hard woke bitches i have to listen yap”
Dirty tingles ran through her thighs and she said, “Yes.”
Dwight came over.
At the door, Cassi greeted Dwight at the door in her short baby pink robe. Seizing his hand, she dragged him quickly to the bedroom.
Ripping off Dwight’s clothes, he said, surprised, “What’s gotten into you?”
“Something…I-I-don’t know. Just fuck me hard.”
“Not even a kiss?”
She ran up to him and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
“Okay, now, can you be a real man and pound my ass,” she said, “dirty and raw, no rubber. Think you can handle that, big guy?”
“Geez, no need to be a smartass; it’s only the first time I’ve fucked a girl in the ass.”
“Why? You’ve only fucked guys in the ass?”
“Maybe.”
“And you, such a good Christian jock boy.”
She tossed him the Astroglide. “Make it hurt, alpha daddy.”
Without hesitation, Dwight smeared his cock and her asshole before wrenching her hair and jamming.”
She dispelled all thoughts of going the boyfriend route with Dwight ever again. His vanity matched hers too much.
“OH, FUCK! It feels so much bigger.”
He pounded hard, yanking her head back at an uncomfortable, awkward angle.
***
Dwight took short deep and hard breaths to stave off cumming in Cassi’s ass until, at last, he couldn’t stop it and his prostate gave way in deep spasms.
His semen filled her anus.
Then she felt it, the last time she would be master of her body.
A terrific wrench tore through her from the top of her head to her toes. She was ripped out of her body and shoved back in deep, into a hole she could never acknowledge existed.
She went deep. The street lights filtering in her room dimming to a primal blackness. Into the waters of her being, made up of vanity, lust, envy, swam beasts from her past.
The father she scorned every day; it was there.
So was the secret of her older sister’s abortion.
Her high school PE teacher she took video of finger-banging her.
The tests she cheated on.
The schoolmates’ dicks she sucked, fucked, and inch by inch gave her soul to.
They were there.
It was all there.
And they listened to her scream and scream.
***
Dwight relaxed, mounted behind her, eyes closed, savoring the diminishing throbs of his cock in her contracting asshole.
Tightest asshole I’ve fucked since high school when I pounded that freshman twink senior year.
His eyes snapped open when Cassi freed herself, pouncing and choke-slamming him into the wall. All five foot four of her slamming him like an offensive tackle.
His penis went limp.
Cassi growled, “Puer! Tibine se orbis terrarum movit? Clavus tui illic foveam eam arat sic proferre me.”
Dwight clutched his throat, slumping. She stood over him.
For an eon, he crouched there, fighting to let his throat relax until he coughed up, “What?”
She gazed down at him, fists clenched.
He leaned against the wall, hands held up in supplication. “Please, you told me to be rough.”
Her eyes glazed in and out.
She loomed over him, every muscle tense until she said, detached and firm, “Out. Boy,” pointing at the door.
“Okay, let me get dressed.”
Cassi seized his hair and yanked Dwight to his knees. She smacked his shit- and lube-slicked dick, “Out.”
Slow and careful, Dwight gathered his stuff, circling wide of Cassi. Her gaze followed him, studied him, never wavering.
Until at last, Dwight, clothes in hand, bolted for the front door, dropping his underwear, slipping into his jeans.
The bedroom door slammed, rattling the windows outside.
***
Cassi went to her window and opened the blinds. Her hands explored everything, from her long straight blond hair, caressing their way down her breasts, kickboxing honed abdomen, her trimmed trim pussy to her gayly painted toes.
Looking in her full length mirror, Cassi laughed, a rumbling, sick, mirthless laugh.
Proteus Juvenalis, of the Lost Generation, is a cynic and misanthrope orbiting Neptune and contemplating his former home. His stream of consciousness broadcasts can be found on Telegram.
