Plying

Mark had sucked and fucked more cock in the last week than he'd sucked and fucked in his entire life. So much so that his throat and cock throbbed with delicious hunger when he thought about it. And craved even more. That was the thing with cock, though: the more you got, the more you wanted.

And he'd made more money in the last week than any time in his life, even when he'd been selling weed with Donte and Delonte - oh, fuck, he'd like their huge cocks about right now - and none of it was even in his paycheck. That was the thing with money, though: the more you got, the more you wanted.

He blinked in the dark cubbyhole that was partitioned off from the now-famous booth 3 in the back of BJ's Videos N Toys as the video screen in the booth blasted on, shooting a laser of dusty blue light through the glory hole. Another minute and an average, familiar cock peeped through the hole, a garden snake sniffing out its surroundings as it bobbed back and forth, up and down. With all the strength in his forearm, Mark tightly curled his middle finger, then flicked the jerky cock under its head. At which it retracted immediately, accompanied by a muffled "Oof" from the other side of the wall.

Mark put his mouth to the hole. "Fifty-" A pair of odd-shaped yet not unfamiliar lips met his in the center of the hole and he recoiled, spitting and wiping his mouth. "Dude-"

"Sorry," said the pair of lips poking through the hole; in the dark, they resembled nothing more than a chicken's asshole. After a pause, in which a tongue darted out and licked the lips and a number of grunts issued forth through the hole, the lips opened again: "What do you mean?"

"Dude, you know the deal. Fifty bucks for a suck."

"Oh, I thought that was just for the first time-"

"You mean, for the first ten times?"

"I'll ask the questions!"

"Because this is, like, the tenth day in a row you've been here. The second time today actually-"

"I've never been here before-"

"Then why did you say-"

"I'll ask the questions!"

Mark sighed. "Dude if you want your dick sucked, it's gonna be fifty bucks. If you want me to ride it, then it's a hundred and fifty."

"Eww. Anal is nasty."

"Whatever floats your boat."

The lips disappeared, and after what seemed like years, a number of bills appeared through the hole. Mark counted it: two twenties, a five, and two ones. "You're three short-"

"I know, I know. Hold on-"

Several more minutes, during which Mark heard about forty grunts and about two hundred coins rap the floor, and he finally cupped his hand under the hole as three hundred pennies were deposited in his hand one at a time. He stashed it in his pocket with the crumbled bills, then swallowed the cock that appeared once more through the hole. Five or ten - or was it one? - full-length strokes down the shaft and three drops of cum dribbled onto his tongue. The cock deflated like a balloon animal in his hand and slowly withdrew. Before he could hear a zip and any more grunts, Mark dashed out the back door of the cubbyhole, along the narrow passageway that led to all the cubbies, and took up his position behind the counter, where he began dusting the new stock of 36-inch dildos that had come in that morning.

He turned around upon hearing the first grunt. The detective was in the 'Chicks with Extremely Tiny Dicks' section, leafing through one after another of the magazines. When the man turned, his hands full of magazines, Mark saw that the ketchup stain on his rumpled tie was almost as big as the cum - or spit or piss or whatever the fuck it was - stain on his pants. Mark smiled as the man laid the magazines on the counter without looking at him and fumbled in all his pockets for his wallet. "Mr. Vinos!" said Mark.

Detective Vinos looked up, a grunt so loud escaping from his throat that it seemed it came directly through his trachea and not through his closed mouth. Mark almost jumped; instead, he laughed, grabbed the magazines, and started ringing them up. "Detective Jorge T. Vinos!" said the man.

"My bad. Detective Jorge T. Vinos!" Mark yelled. "Will this be it?"

"Yes." The detective's affirmation was a mumbled growl.

"You know, if you buy two more today, you can get any of the items on the wall behind me at fifty-percent off." Mark pointed to the rubber pocket pussy that was actually a rubber pocket mouth. "I think this'd be right up your alley."

"No thank you. I'm getting these for, um...the vice squad. They're in the middle of a very important investigation-"

"Really?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mister Dennison!"

"Then go ahead, shoot-"

The detective leaned over the counter and looked side to side before finally targeting Mark with his narrowed eyes, the caterpillars of his eyebrows about to fight one another they were squeezed together so tightly. "Where were you five minutes ago, Mister Dennison?"

"Right here-"

"You're lying. No one was here when I came in five minutes ago-"

"Sorry, I was right here-"

"I can take you in for lying to an officer of the law-"

"Wait a minute. You asked me where I was, and I told you. What's the problem?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mister Dennison!"

Mark sighed. "Okay-"

The detective looked around the store quickly, his neck turning like an owl's left and right. "Listen, Mister Dennison, I know what goes on here. I'll have this place shut down-"

"I know what goes on here, too. We have security cameras everywhere. I mean everywhere." Mark's eyes narrowed as he leaned, smiling, towards the detective. "I can send them to the vice squad, if you'd like me to, Mr. Vinos-"

"Detective Jorge T. Vinos!"

"Detective Jorge T. Vinos!" Mark drew back from the counter. "I can send them the originals or what's backed up permanently on the server-" Mark slipped his hand into his pocket and jangled the three hundred pennies stretching it to his knee.

The detective straightened up and began a search of his pockets again, finally alighting on his wallet in his front right pocket. After a series of tugs accompanied by slight grunts and barks, he handed over his credit card. Mark completed the transaction and bagged the magazines, which he handed to the detective. "Let me ask you something," said Mark.

"I'll ask the questions, Mister Dennison-"

"Okay, let me posit something then. I bet that if somebody sucked somebody's dick and that somebody came in that other somebody's mouth and that other somebody didn't swallow but spit it out and saved it, I bet that other somebody could give that to the state forensics lab and they'd be able to tell whether the semen was that somebody's or that other somebody's-"

"Good day, Mister Dennison-" The detective barked, slipped his wallet into the bag with the magazines, put his head down, and made for the door. "We shall meet again, I assure you."

Mark grabbed the rubber pocket mouth, and as the detective opened the door, yelled after him: "You sure you don't want one of these?"

Non Sequitur

On Mark's desk (side by side): rusty, trusty straight razor; coil of fishing line; surgical sewing needle swiped from the medical supply trash bin outside the local clinic; super glue; a serrated butcher knife from the kitchen; tin-snips.

On Mark's bed (on top of one another): the Dennisons' newly-installed next-door neighbor, not much older than Mark himself, a blonde with a tiny waist and fat-less curves over the rest of her body, who, an hour or so earlier, had stopped by with her infant daughter to introduce herself and was perfunctorily invited in by Mark for tea and a swatch of chloroform, and now lay on her back naked and sleeping, her head propped against the headboard, her hands tied to the headboard, and her legs tied together and spread open by a taut length of rope slipped under the bed and attached to each ankle; said infant daughter, also naked and sleeping on her mother's smooth belly.

Standing by the bed: Mark, fully naked, 4-inch penis so hard that it might actually measure 4 1/8 inches now, the head dripping pre-cum like a stone drain, as he fiddles with the video camera he just bought with the money from the first 10 or 20 cocks he sucked the other day through the glory holes in the back-room video booths at BJ's.

Mark pressed RECORD, then grabbed the butcher knife from the desk and prodded the woman's neck with it. As soon as her eyes popped open, she glanced from Mark to the knife to her daughter and let out a scream that would curdle anyone's blood but didn't curdle Mark's. At this, the infant also awoke and screamed at the top of its little lungs.

"Jesus, shut the fuck up." Mark laid the knife back on his desk. "You're really annoying. You've woken the baby up." He picked up the baby by its neck with one hand and looked into its eyes as its - and its mother's - screams abated into hushed sobs. "It's hungry." Mark looked at the woman. Then her cunt.

"No!"

"Baby's gotta eat." Mark shrugged. Then shoved the infant's face into its mother's cunt, moving its head until its mouth was firmly over the clit and suckling quietly.

The woman writhed, kicking her hips side to side, the baby's head slapping back and forth against her inner thighs. But to no avail - the baby sucked harder, refusing to let go of its new nipple.

"Jesus, woman, you're cruel."

"You're a sick bastard! Let us go. Leave my baby alone!"

Mark watched the baby suckle at its mother's clit and stroked his cock with its pre-cum lube. As his chode tightened a bit, he let go of his cock and slid his wet fingers between the baby's legs. His middle finger slipped inside its tiny vagina, and the baby released the clit from its mouth and howled. Another finger in and the baby screamed as its hymen broke, the blood pooling under it on the plastic sheet covering the bed.

"No!" The woman's wet eyes glared at Mark. "No!"

He slipped his fingers out of the baby, grabbed it, and laid it across the woman's belly. He spread its legs and glared at the woman as he positioned the tip of his cock against the baby's bloody vagina. The woman closed her eyes.

"You need to watch this," said Mark. The woman closed her eyes tighter, creating two wrinkly slits under her fair eyebrows. Mark stepped away from the baby and grabbed the straight razor and the super glue. "Which one's it gonna be? Either I use 'em on you. Or it." The woman's eyes opened wide and she shook her head. And barely struggled as Mark squeezed a thin strip of super glue over each top eyelid, pressing them up with his thumbs until he was sure the woman couldn't blink.

He chucked the glue back onto the table and regained his position behind the baby as it lay whimpering on its mother's stomach. Pushing its legs farther apart where its ass met its thighs, he forced his way into it with several brutal pelvic thrusts until his pubes were flush with its flesh. And continued pumping as he watched the woman watch him fuck her screaming daughter.

"Only a baby could feel that tiny cock," said the woman.

"Oh, she's feeling it all right," said Mark.

"You sick-"

Mark laughed and rabbit-pumped into the child several - hundred? thousand? - times until the baby's screams were the calm exhalations of an unconscious person fucked silly. And almost to death. As the vagina slackened, his dick swelled and pumped what seemed like a gallon of cum into the baby's cunt. He pulled out, grabbed the tip of his dick, and squeezed the rest of the cum onto the baby's ass, where he tried his best to inscribe his initials with the tip of his cock and his cum.

"Just kill her," said the woman. "And me." She sighed, her face dry from crying so much and being unable to blink. "Just kill us."

"Okay-"

Mark grabbed the tin-snips, held up the baby's right hand - "No!" screamed its mother - and quickly clipped off each finger and the thumb. After finishing the left hand, he gathered all ten digits and slowly crammed them into the woman's cunt. He grabbed the super glue once more and traced her labia with thick lines of it. Then held them shut until they could open no more.

He dropped the tin-snips on to the bed and reached behind him for the butcher knife. Turning the infant over, he lined the blade up with the lone line on its neck - "No!" screamed its mother - and drew a perfect parabola from ear to ear. He flipped the the knife over and sawed the baby's vertebrae with the serrated edge until its cold, hardening head fell off into his hand. He wiped the blade on the woman's left breast, pressing it hard enough so that it described a slit through her nipple, then set the baby's ahead atop her head, her hair soaking through with its blood.

He reached behind him, grabbed his straight razor, and very carefully cut a circle of flesh from the woman's shaking shoulder. He threaded the fishing line through the surgical needle, then squashed the baby's head onto the open wound on the woman's shoulder as he straddled her, his asshole resting softly and open against the baby's body under him. With the diligence and dexterity of a brain surgeon - or a cat burglar - he slowly attached the baby's head to its mother, sitting back to admire his craftsmanship when he was finished.

As the woman passed into unconsciousness, Mark grabbed the knife again and set to vivisecting the infant, quartering and dressing it like a wobbly chicken. After much tedious work that used up every millimeter of the fishing line and cramped his fingers at times, he finally tied off the last stitch and jumped up behind the camera, from where he gazed upon his modern-day, Frankensteinian creation, which was really nothing more than a splendid piece of art, in his humble opinion: the dead woman - was it a heart attack or a stroke or just nervous exhaustion? he wondered though he couldn't care less - decorated like a war hero - the infant's head on her shoulders, a double-headed, incestuous marionette; and its limbs scattered about her body, arms jutting from her knees, the tiny, hairless legs protruding from her armpits, its torso rising faintly from her stomach, a beautiful re-birthing no mother could resist, and all rinsed in a thick of coat of blood that was drying black.

He reached for the camera, his finger hovering over the STOP button. And his eyes fell on the 2 1/2 inch screen: PAUSE blinked in the corner. "Well, fuck me running," he laughed.