Acid-Flashing in A Cuckoo’s Harem

These are the first few pages of the upcoming fourth chapter in Smith’s saga.

The door clicked, and then expelled a malodorous bouquet with its crawl to open.

A set of light beige drapes parted over a bright pink wall, memory plush, and slippery to the touch.

A covered pink slide opened into the wall just below my waist, and its initial site caused me to shudder, and scratch with memory.

It was a darker shade of pink, polished with fresh lubricant that smelled curiously between cotton candy and feet — or was it popcorn — and with a mouth that looked wide enough to accommodate the girth of a large aquatic mammal.

Eye level to mine stared a bulbous pink button, and at this moment Ken’s voice squeaked overhead “It’s ok, Smith. Give it a squeeze.”

“What’ll happen?” I leaned in prejudiciously, but it was only as it appeared — a bulbous, pink button.

“Let’s just say, it helps it all go down a lot smoother. Okay?

Push it.”

Being a janitor’s stash hole the floor was littered with all sorts of useless shit, at least useless to the janitor.

Rust bled down my fingers after peeling a washer from its neglected space beside the door. I gave it a hard scrape with my nail, just enough to give it a discernible sheen, then leaned inside just before the slip and released it.

It followed the incline for several seconds before toppling flat, continuing another fifty-feet dark, until it twisted from view entirely.

“Smoother for who?”

But he only repeated, “Push it.”

A dark abstraction hit my guts, and I found myself inching backwards while fumbling over a garble of stuttered trepidation.

As I stood there letting my mouth run free of all coherent diction, sobriety barrel rolled my senses beneath a storm of hard truths. Every time I tried to breach another realization kept me in the reel.

Sure I’d been slammed in before.

I caught my first charge in second grade for selling cigarettes outta’ the boy’s room, an’ I’ll tell ya, at a buck a Jack between the faculty and kids, I had college tuition in my sights!

Goddamn right!

After that, hell, it seems like every other month I was picked up for somethin’. Half the shit wasn’t even my fuck up, but try convincing an over/under-worked hard-on with a badge and a gun you’re innocent of anything they’re already gunnin’ you for.

Shit, I’ll even let you have a squeaky-clean record for this deal.

See what I mean? You’re guilty, every time.

But through all that bullshit, there was always the knowledge from previous gigs, assuring me it wasn’t concrete.

Soon I’d be refitted among the spokes to turn the wheel all over again.

But from the looks of that fucking drop, I knew there was no more catch and release, this was it.

I was hooked, scaled, and headed to the fryer.

Welcome to the Pit.

Suddenly my brain snapped into focus as a wave of radical acceptance washed over my mind.

If this was to be the moment of my death after all, then why make it a moment of horror?

With new resolve, I breathed deep to steady my drumming heart, and again, and then squished the bulb between my fore, and middle fingers and thumb with a defiant “AAAAAHHHHH!”


Its plush pushed pleasing between my fingers, slowly inflating outward for another satisfying squeeze, and then another, but each time nothing happened.

And then it did.

A hard dose of what smelled like the guard’s pheromone spray spittled through air vents cornering the ceiling and floor, as a warm euphoria rushed through my senses.

Then another announced itself, and now the room began to vibrate with violent pleasure.


It wasn’t dope, but oh what a relief from the concussed reality of a sober mind! If I had to sit in that attitude any longer, I probably would’ve resorted to flat-lining for relief.

Another spritz filled the room, and the drapes became a pair of waxed lips parting over a moist, pink vagina.

My fingers pinched its clitoral head with the firmness of an infant discovering its sense of grasp, before letting go, and then grabbing it again.

I felt a strong, heavy high now, a perfect euphoria — like trolling — on dope.

But fresh, you know? You couldn’t appreciate this as a junkie, not really.

My eyes couldn’t stop rolling, lost in a series of pleasurable hallucinations, and in everything everywhere I knew it was all alright.

The vagina glistened, sweating fractured beads of light, that slipped between its labia in a brilliant display of lust for my presence.

Then it came, hard, and thick.

A kaleidoscopic mess drooled out the contracting vaginal mouth in sloppy pleasure.

My penis flushed, throbbing to the rhythm of an invisible flow, until its head swelled to the brink of popping.

Another delayed spritz seeped into the air as I started sucking, and then lapping the clit with the sexual appetite of a pubescent boy who’d just walked onto a live porn set.

It had a taste, and texture reminiscent of a ham and cheese sandwich, smeared with a thick rainbow condiment that coated my face with its gross viscosity.

Suddenly an angry babushka claiming to be the spirit of my dead mother appeared in my peripheral.

She was bent, and round, dressed in dark brown coat and pants, with a pink floral handkerchief tied over her head. No doubt she would’ve made someone somewhere a good grandmother, maybe, but her voice was harsh, rasping accusations of immoral behavior in a foreign language.

And because it was all a manifest of my hallucination, I’m certain it would have sounded foreign even to Russians with all the clicks she produced.

As she spoke, the words blend together in a fluent rage, when suddenly her rings struck the back of my head.

Her other hand went to spanking, and tugging on my penis as if she were trying to remove it from my body in a bid to rid my mind of temptation. All the while smacking my head as she continued to berate me in a flurry of gibberish, but these efforts only caused ejaculate to spurt in long, hot shoots of electric iridescence.

During this terrifying ordeal I grabbed at my genitals, flinching, and cowering at her feet before quickly remembering — I had no Russian ancestry.

Before I could turn for a better view, she had gone, and instead of her voice now rose a moan.

A low, short expression that I couldn’t distinguish whether for pleasure, or pain, when a terrible realization rushed my mind, and seized my heart with a clenching force.

What if —

What if this giant woman had been captured long ago, and then forced into some terrible existence of sexual slavery?

Who was she before? I bet she was a good person with a loving family.

Yep, she had a wonderful, loving family who depended on her love, her presence — everything she was, and wasn’t.






Guardian, and entrepreneur.

She was a person with potential, and all the world in her grasp.

One night she goes out for a quick stop, and before she realizes– wrong place, wrong time.

Now she’s reduced to a forced existence.

Stripped of identity, empathy, sympathy, and all together worth beyond hourly molestation.

My heart ached, while my soul raged, and my head reeled with disgust all together.

Rape had always been the single most nauseating fate one could endure, in my mind. Compounded within the idea that I might have been an unwitting associate, and the emotion retched from my twisting guts out my mouth in electric spatters of yellow.

A vibrant vomit washed over the vagina, where it broke into a swarm of canaries all darting away, and then rushing into the orifice as I dropped to my knees, masking my sobs behind my hands, while pleading forgiveness between violent affirmations to never again take such a seeming display for granted.

Then, with the last canary gone a long red tongue writhed up from deep inside, washed, dripping with light, and circled its labia to catch the cum.

It only made it worse, of course, sloppily painting around its mouth before discovering the clitoral bulb, begging through side-split lips, “Mmmm, Smith! I want you inside me!”

It was a soft voice, feminine and deeply sensual, yet artificial.

I wanted to fuck it.

And because I desperately wanted to fuck it, I had no other option than to obey its command.

“Y-You do?”

I asked wiping away a thick smear of snot and tears.

“Oh yes!”

So I rose to my feet, pushed deep inside the tight orifice, and fell head first down the lubricated slide.

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