11 comments/ 5857 views/ 6 favorites ePIC By: sublocked Author's Notes: (1) I have no idea where this story was lurking in my subconscious. It's dark and horrible, and maybe it springs from a fear of isolation from love and human contact; I don't know. (2) But for some reason I had fun writing this. And jeez, that's a scary statement. (3) For all you trolls out there, blast away. This one's for you. ***** Jack heard the voices come closer to him out of the wilderness of unconsciousness, an unintelligible cacophony of words and sentences that slowly began to merge and make some sense as the cobwebs cleared. He felt comfortable, and came to the conclusion he was sitting in an upright position, but also that something was wrong, or at the very least, different. His torso, arms, and legs were warm, but there was a coolness to his rear and genital regions, like a breeze was blowing there. "He's coming around. Get Officer Case over here," came one woman's voice out of the fog. He opened his eyes and found himself looking straight ahead at a bare cement wall about twenty feet away. It wasn't a damp, cellar type of wall, but more of an architectural concrete, with vertical fluting. Glancing his eyes upward there were bright lights and a drop-down ceiling just like in a hospital room. People circled him with surgeon's masks on their faces and he felt hands on his neck as something was adjusted under his right ear. He felt a slight pinching there, or a pull or a sting; he couldn't tell what it was, and when he tried to touch it, he found that he couldn't move his hand. Remotely alarmed, he tried his other hand and had the same outcome. When he tried his legs they felt like they were restrained somehow as well; he felt his muscles contract and tighten, but there was no resultant movement. He felt a peculiar wetness against his skin that should have been slippery if he could have moved, but he couldn't. To each side of his face there appeared to be a restriction to his peripheral vision, but he couldn't turn his head to see what it was. An antiseptic smell saturated the room and there was the faint sound of running or moving water. "What's going on? Am I okay?" Jack mumbled, "I can't move. Jesus, was I in an accident or something?" What looked like a male doctor leaned over his face and said, "No, you're absolutely fine Mr. Krepps." "Thirsty," Jack whispered. A female nurse put a straw in his mouth and he sipped water until she pulled it away. "Slowly!" she said, and then gave it back to him. He swallowed the last bit after rinsing it around in his mouth. There were parts of his mouth that seemed resistant to wetting, a persistent dryness no matter how much fluid there was. The room and his awareness of it were improving by the second, so he tried to move something, anything, to shift his position and become an interacting part of the scene rather than just an observer. He could clench muscles but he couldn't move a limb, and even his head seemed anchored in place so that he could only move his facial muscles and his eyes. "Why can't I move?" he asked, "What the hell is going on?" A male police officer with a brush-like moustache, the only one without a surgical mask, leaned over him. He seemed officious and distant, and somewhat pompous as he spoke, "Your memories will come back shortly, but I've been instructed to make you aware of your circumstances." "What is this place? Why can't I move? I don't understand!" Jack's eyes darted around at the masked faces with eyes that held a distant objective glare of detachment. Some even looked like they were filled with hatred. "Why can't I move anything? What is this?" he yelled. Officer Case looked down at him. He looked familiar. "You're in prison Mr. Krepps. As explained during your sentencing, you've been assigned to ePIC as the first inmate in the program. Although we have researched this extensively, there will be issues I'm sure, and we will deal with them as they come up. Since the death penalty has been revoked, it is our responsibility to keep you alive for as long as possible. The new law gives a life sentence for murder and you are here for life. On behalf of the state I welcome you to our facility." Jack stared out at the uniformed police officer. The man's eyes were emotionless, as if he had read the last statements to him. Slowly, the memories of the courtroom came back, the stunned gasps of those who supported him when the sentence was read out. "So, I'm at ePIC now? I was told that I wouldn't be put to death," Jack said, his voice trembling, "but I can't move anything. What have you done to me?" "Mr. Krepps," the officer said with authority, "this is your cell. As explained to you during your sentencing, you were to be assigned to the experimental Permanent Immobilization Cell (ePIC) . In the absence of the death penalty for murder, it has been determined by the wisdom of the state that this shall be a just punishment for the murder that you committed. Surely you remember that this was debated at length in the senate. Those that were against the death penalty wanted to keep you and people like you, in prison for the rest of your life, at enormous cost to the taxpayer. Those that wanted the death penalty just wanted to dispose of you. A compromise was reached so that you will be kept alive, but in a very efficient way, reducing the costs to the taxpayer." He paused for effect, cleared his throat, and then continued, "This is where you will finish your days. We'll feed you and, unfortunately for you I suspect, keep you alive all that time. No TV, no books, no computer, nothing. You're immobilized in a block of special plastic Mr. Krepps. You've been in an induced coma in order to deal with the heat from the curing of the plastic. You're the first one. You are free to urinate and defecate into the trough that is situated below you. Note that your plastic crypt has squared edges so that others like you can be stored beside you efficiently, taking up less room. Feeding will be done by a very minimal staff, and perhaps machines in the future. Failure to eat will not be tolerated as it is our job to ensure that you live. If necessary you will be intubated for sustenance. We'll see; it's still evolving. I don't know if you have the ability to feel it, but your fingers and toes have been removed so that the nails don't continue to grow within your mould. You have no rights other than to be kept alive, and we intend to do that in observance of the criminal code." Jack did try to move his fingers, and his hands did feel strange, like there was nothing to them. But that was the least of his worries. The officer walked briskly around the crypt so that Jack had to follow him with his eyes. His boots clicked on what sounded like a hard tile floor. "You are wired so that electrodes on your skin can be activated regularly to exercise your muscles and keep them toned. This is a well thought out, efficient system of incarceration Mr. Krepps, and we are very proud of it. Would you like to see?" he said proudly. No one waited for his answer. Jack looked into a large mirror that had been wheeled over and angled in front of him. What he saw took his breath away, and he tried to get it back in short gasps of terror. He was encased in a transparent block of plastic which fixed him in a position similar to President Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, except that his hands were closer to his knees. There were dark patches at regular intervals all over his body, with wires extending from them, all coalescing behind his head like a ponytail and traveling off somewhere out of his view. He flexed all his muscles and was unable to move any limb. His hands were reddish stumps. "My God, what have you done? What is this? I didn't understand it would be like this. Nobody does! Nobody told me it would be like this at all! This isn't right! You can't do this!" He was out of breath in shock, and the encasement of his chest also made it difficult to get extra air when needed. The gravity of the situation had finally sunk in. His voice shook as he said, "Please. This can't be true. Please!" The officer said, "The state decides what is right, Mr. Krepps. At least you're alive; the person you murdered of course, is not. You should be grateful. Remember her? Your wife? You killed her. The evidence was overwhelming. The court had the utmost confidence when it convicted and sentenced you." A coldness began to creep into him as it all came back. Sallie. She was on the floor. Her head was in a pool of blood staining the hardwood, and a gun lay beside her. Yes, they had a fight, but they were going to bed. It was make-up sex. She was so pretty. She was so dead. A hand picked up the gun. It was his hand. It had blood on it and he threw it down as he screamed. He picked her up, limp in his arms, pressing her against him. He screamed until the police smashed the door in. Then the memories switched to a courtroom. Gladys, the lady next door said, "Yes, they were screaming at each other and he called her a fucking bitch and that he would kill her. Then I heard crying and sobbing. It was her. I was about to phone 911; then it got quiet and stayed that way for about twenty minutes and I thought it was over, so I put the phone down. Then I heard the shot. That's when I picked up the phone again and called 911. I didn't hear anything else until the police arrived." Jack's eyes were rolling around, the only part of him capable of full movement. "I didn't do it; I told them I didn't do it! It was just an argument...we were going to make up! I went into the hot tub to think things through and came back when I heard the shot!" He started sobbing. "Apparently that's what you said in court too. But there was no one else there with you and your wife. There were no fingerprints, no other DNA, nothing, and your prints were on the gun. You killed her Mr. Krepps. And here we are." "I didn't kill her," he said pathetically but emphatically. "You shot her in the head. That was the transcript of the court as I see it here." He looked down at some paperwork that Jack could not see. Jack called out in near delirium, "No, no, no, please, I didn't. Please, no..." "Your wife's loved ones can see her no more. No one will be allowed to visit you either. Sounds like justice to me." "This can't be happening," Jack screamed, "This just can't be real. This is a dream, a nightmare, right? This is just a nightmare right? Right?" They just ignored him, and Officer Case told a nurse somewhere behind his head to check his vitals to make sure he would be okay. Jack felt hands on his neck. After a few moments of the staff conversing, they all left. The lights went out, and in the pitch black there was the sound of the sewer water below him carrying his effluent away. Off in the distance a pump hummed. He closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up. Instead he went to sleep; there was nothing else to do. Time loses all meaning when there is nothing to judge it by; it just becomes a theoretical thing, like blue sky to a blind man. Initially he tried to keep track of time by counting the feeding periods, making the assumption that there were three a day. After 320 days, he lost track and wondered if it was 3,200 or 32; he couldn't believe his senses and counting any longer. The exercise periods were agony, as his muscles were forced to spasm by the electrodes regularly throughout the day. After many days he allowed himself the luxury of screaming incessantly, and like dogs in a kennel, this spurred the growing number of other inmates to do the same. He wanted to die; he would want to die for a very, very long time. Sometimes the lights were left on. That was worse. They hummed and there was a slight flicker to them and each one took a nanosecond to flicker. He tried to count the flickers until they made him crazy, so that he either screamed or made a high pitched humming sound like the lights themselves. Eventually there were many others, his row now filled up, so that he faced the beginnings of another row opposite him. They stared into each other's eyes with absolute hopelessness, living but dead eyes. But sometimes they chatted about what life used to be like, what it would be like to touch a person again, to be touched. He didn't know how long it was, perhaps years. He sensed he had lost some weight, because his limbs could move slightly within their moulds, this despite the regular workouts from the electrodes. The concrete wall above the inmate opposite him had 823 white, or near white, pebbles in it, and he could see 17 flutes in the concrete in his limited field of view. He was counting the black pebbles now, and was up to 946, the highest yet, when his beard started to itch that impossible itch that could never be scratched. He twitched his face to try to get at it and suddenly a hand, a small female hand with delicate long fingernails, started scratching for him from the side. It was the feeder. "Sallie?" he said, "Is that you?" He was losing his mind, and he knew it, but he didn't care; in fact, it helped. Everything else had been taken; his mind might as well go too, he thought. It would be easier that way. A soft voice answered, "It's Jennie. My name's Jennie. You looked itchy." She continued to scratch. It was the first human touch he had had since...well, some time. Her voice sounded gentle and kind. "Face. Let me see your face Jennie. Please. Need..." "Number one, I'm not supposed to," she said in a whisper, her face looking around in a conspiratorial way as she said it. After that first day, he didn't have a name here; he was "Number One" only, and that number was emblazoned at the head of his crypt. Jack felt he should introduce himself. "My name is..." he whispered, but he couldn't find the rest. He searched his mind and there was nothing. "Sometimes I don't remember my name," he sobbed. She stroked his face. "I didn't kill her," he said, "She was Sally. My name is...it's Jack." "I believe you," she whispered, "I can tell when people tell the truth. I have the touch. I think I can read minds." He wept quietly. She leaned in front of him and he saw an angel's face, much like Sallie's but even more perfect. Her brown hair was short and fine, falling away, framing her face. Her skin was tanned, or was she mulatto? He couldn't tell. He thought of coffee with milk in it. "Latte," he said. "What?" "You remind me of vanilla latte. I used to drink vanilla latte." She smiled. He drank her face in now, mapping every detail, the deep set eyes and high cheek bones. The full lips opened and she spoke, "I've heard you talk to the others. You're kind. I can tell. I have the touch. Do you want me to touch you?" She sounded reassuringly crazy, like him. "You are. You are touching me. You're so beautiful. So beautiful. I wish...I wish I could touch... just one more time, just once." He shut his eyes and they stung. Tears hurt. "No, you don't understand," she said softly, "Do you want me to touch you? There." Like it was a distant place he felt hands at his penis. For his duration here, he had only felt hoses there when they washed him like in a car wash. Now he felt warm hands, gentle hands while she leaned into him, kissing him delicately. Humanity and sanity momentarily flooded over him and he shivered with the onslaught of it. He begged her, "Please, oh please Sallie...Jennie, yes...I, it's been so long..." He didn't last long. He yelled out and cried at the same time that he spurted into a reality outside his vision. Mischievously she put her fingers into his mouth and forced him to clean off his own fluids from her. The saltiness of it seemed to be full of life. He gasped and moaned and cried until his breathing and pulse returned to normal. Then she did it again. When he had settled down once more, she washed him with a warm wet cloth. Then she kissed him longingly and with a sensitivity he had not felt in perhaps years. He ached to reach out to her and touch her flesh, but his muscles flexed in futility within his mould. He felt so helpless, humiliated and ashamed to be at her mercy so. "I have to go," she said, and he heard her hasten away, heels on tile. They became friends, at least for a short time. She listened to him for hours as he explained his own side of the story, how he was innocent and that there was a killer out there who had killed his wife. She believed him and appeared to love him. He fell in love, and with love came jealousy, another thread to sanity to hold him. "The others," he said bashfully one day, "do you, you know, do you, uh, do you touch them too?" She was standing in front of him and she giggled slightly. "I would never do that for a murderer, ever." Then she thought about that for a while and said, "I only do that for you." "Why?" "I don't know." "Yes you do." She looked left and then right twice, and whispered, "I like you, okay? And, I don't like this place. I don't like the concept and I don't like the law. This is cruel beyond any form of reason and justice. There, I said it. I'm one of a few that want some changes made, and (I don't want you to get hopeful) we're meeting secretly. We're going to go to the public soon. It's dangerous, but this has to be stopped. I guess I had to tell you this eventually, but I'm hopeful that I can get you out. Someday." Another human feeling: hope. And it flickered briefly in his mind and then went out. Jack periodically lost all hope and now he looked at her, completely despondent. "Well, good luck with that. But my life is done. It's gone. Even if I got out of here now, I couldn't be the same. I know this place; it's predictable and safe. I know things." He closed his eyes and brought back something from inside. "Did you know there are 823 white pebbles in that wall?" "But the wall is much bigger than what you can see. Don't you want to see more?" Jennie's face suddenly got pensive and she paced outside his view, then came back and said, "I have to tell you something. And you're not going to like it." "You're leaving?" he asked in alarm. "Almost. It's similar. I won't be able to touch you anymore." "Jesus Christ Jennie! Why? You're the only thing that keeps me sane. How? Did they fire you? Did you quit?" She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she spit it out. "You're going to lose all touch with reality at the end of my shift. They want to stop all talking in here, and I think they saw me with your penis too, but I'm not sure. They're going to seal both your face and penis in with the same plastic that covers you everywhere else. It's the new generation of the ePIC unit. You'll have a breathing and feeding tube, and an external catheter will be placed on your penis before it gets sealed up. Goggles will protect your eyes, so unfortunately you'll be able to see everything through the thick plastic. So fucking, unbelievably cruel! " She touched his face as he thought this through. He would lose his mind. He would be alive only in a technical way. "I see," he said, "I see. Everything...they're taking everything away from me." "I haven't told anyone else." "Touch me one more time Jennie. Just once more. Please. I won't survive. I'll lose my mind, you know, like I almost lost it before you came." "Jack, I will get you out of here. I promise. I will," she said, almost desperately. "Look at me Jennie. My mind won't survive it. You know it, I know it. You might get me physically out, but I...there won't be anything left of me. Please touch me..." She stood back out of his sight and squeezed tears out of her eyes. Then she looked at her watch and determined she had an hour before shift change, before Jack's voice would be gone, perhaps forever. She wished she could squeeze her head between the plastic blocks enclosing his thighs and take him into her mouth, but knew she could not. She took him now with her hand slowly and gently, building up and letting down, on and on while she stroked his face with her other hand and kissed him. Epic Erotica I watched her slender, silhouetted outline as she stood in the darkened room. The city lights peered through the window like little, horny voyeurs, watching her, unable to look away. Perhaps she was in a playful mood tonight? I could only hope. She lit a couple of candles on the table in the corner. She held the match between her finger and thumb, watching the flame work its way down the wood of the matchstick, as if in a trance. She felt the increasing heat of the flame as it closed in on her flesh. She parted her lips and blew. The flame flickered and vanished, and smoke twisted up into a small, winding pillar into the darkness. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sulfur, smoky smell. She turned her head toward the bed as she let out her breath with a moan. This was the beginning... She knew I liked to watch. This was her gift to me: Her show, her stage, her epic-erotica. She walked across the room toward the bed. Slowly, her hands reached up and released the single button on her suit coat. Her shoulders rolled as she let it fall off and slip to the floor. She unbuttoned the top 2 buttons of her white, sheer blouse. The peeping lights shone through the material, revealing the curve of her large breasts, held firmly in place. The next 2 buttons revealed her stunning cleavage. The soft light cascaded over her shoulders, funneling down between her breasts, highlighting the compressed flesh within her bra. She set the last 3 buttons free, and her blouse quickly followed the suit coat. Her boobs were held firmly in a thin, nearly see-through bra. It was too dark to see her nipples, but there were hints as her body moved. Closing her eyes, she ran her fingers lightly across her belly, feeling the sensation, the tickle of her own touch. Her hands were symmetrically synchronized, turning perfectly matching concentric circles on her sleek stomach. Her nails crossed her belly button and rode the center line of her abdomen up to her tits. Her head swayed from side to side as she focused on the sensations her skin felt. Her fingertips crossed the thin fabric and wire of her bra and her hands, knuckle to knuckle, traced the center of her cleavage, up and around the top of her breasts and back down to her stomach. She grabbed her hips and squeezed, feeling the pinch of her nails in her skin. He reached over and touched his finger tips to the side of her knee. He ran his hand up the outside of her thigh, feeling the firmness of her thigh through the coarse polyester skirt. His hand traveled down the front of her thigh to the inside of her knee, then worked its way back up the inside of her thigh, under her skirt. He could see her head tilt up as she enjoyed the feel of his wandering hand. He continued up higher, slowly, feeling the warmth of her body heat as he got closer to her core. She took one step sideways as if to offer free passage to his nomadic hands. Her hands ran up her hips to her ribs and cupped her tits. She let a small moan escape as she squeezed them, pressing them to herself. His hand traveled further until, at last, he felt the warm, moist crease where her leg and pelvis met. There were no panties, just the flesh of her outer labia, sensitive and engorging. She seemed to expect him to touch her, to press his fingers against her swelling lips. Instead, he reach between her legs and ran his hand up the back of her round ass, stopping to squeeze. She looked down at him with that smirky smile that says, "so, you want to tease, eh?" She reaches up to her bra and unsnaps it from the front, pulling the cups away to reveal the two most amazing tits he had ever seen in my life. They were full, sweeping down from her clavicles and cresting like two perfect, undulating waves in the ocean. He withdrew his hand from her ass and reached to touch one of her tits, but she stepped back, just out of his grasp. She reached around and he heard the sweet sound of the zipper on her skirt slowly winding down the course from the middle of her back to the top of her perfect ass. She grabbed the sides of her skirt and slowly, worked it off, moving her hips back and forth, until it passed the sweep of her thighs and fell freely to the floor. She stood there for a moment, letting him drink in the perfection that was her body. She turned to the side, and he could see her large plump nipples jutting out from the center of her breasts. He craved the feel of her nipples between his lips, to roll them around with his tongue an feel their hardness. He wanted to flick them, to tease... She took off her glasses last, leaning over to place them on the table next to the bed. Her breasts hung down from her chest like melonous, perky fruit. The street light outside the window was temporarily eclipsed by her pendulous tits, a bright penumbra surrounding the dark outline of the succulent curves. Her long, plump nipples were projecting at right angles from her perfectly shaped tits. He reached up to cup one, but again, she pulled away with a misfit smile. He could feel his dick begin to swell and rise under the solitary sheet that was covering him. She noticed, and with one sweeping motion, ripped the sheet from the bed. He laid there, naked, half-cocked, and surprised. She wasted no time. She quickly jumped on the bed and laid between his legs with her head at crotch level. She grabbed his half limp dick and buried the entire thing in her mouth. She loved the feel of a soft dick, how it rolled around so easily in her mouth. She toyed with it with her tongue, her piercing occasionally flicking him, offering a sort of hard smack in the middle of her soft, rollicking tongue. What she loved more than the feel of his softness, was the sensation as his dick would begin to grow. What was easily bendable now became firm. She went from filling her mouth with his cock to following the length of it with her lips. She would follow it up one side, plunge it deep into her throat and withdraw, then drag her lips down the other side, taking a little nip here and there with her teeth. She took his balls in her hand, massaging them up and down, sucking one into her mouth and twirling it with her tongue. She popped his testicle out of her mouth and sucked and pulled on his sack. Her tongue flicked and tickled the area between his balls and leg. He tensed up from the tickling, as she returned to his dick. She steadied it in her hands and brought her lips to the tip. She opened her mouth just enough to receive it and slide her mouth down just over the head. She tightens her lips and sucking, she slowly pulled her mouth off, her lips matching the contours of the head. She kept the suction strong as she went up and down on the tip of his dick, making it swell with sensitivity. She kept watching him with every pull of her lips, her eyes opening and closing as if giving head was just as good for her as it is for him. She pulled her face away from his cock and gripped the bottom of the shaft, raising herself to allow her tits to hang around his dick like a Newton's Cradle. The soft flesh of her breasts against his tender head felt smooth. She let her tits fall to his abdomen and slowly dragged her nipples along his belly and chest as she moved her body in line with is. She straddled him and pressed her tits into his face. He loved the sensation of her soft boobs pressed against his cheeks, his nose buried in her cleavage. Her scent was euphoric and tantalizing. His dick was throbbing as she rubbed his face with your puffy pillows. She rested her hips over his and slowly started to lightly pass her pussy across his aching shaft. Forward and back, her pussy throbbing with desire as a drop of her sweet nectar ran down her pussy lip and dripped onto his cock. Her pussy lips spread apart as she ground harder and harder against his dick, conforming to the shape of his staff. She wanted him inside her. Now. Deep. She shifted her weight to one side and lifted her leg up, reaching down to grasp his cock and point it up toward her swollen hole. She lowered herself slowly onto his shaft, a small moan escaping her lips as she felt the tip of his dick touch her labia. She rubbed his dick along the line of her pleasure fault-line, her legs quaking as she fought the desire to drive his dick straight into her. She couldn't take it anymore. She lowered her hips and felt his bulging head spread her lips and press the walls of her hole apart. She could feel her lips and hole close around his head and the full size of his tip entered her vagina. She raised herself and allowed the tip of his cock to spread her apart again. In and out, she loved the feeling of his head entering her, the sensation of being opened and filled. She lowered herself again, taking his head into her, lowering herself more as his cock slid easily along the channel of her fleshy hole. She raised and lowered her hips, driving his shaft deeper and deeper until she felt him press against the end of her love channel. She placed her hands on his belly, close together, pressing her tits together between her arms, forcing them out from her chest, round and full, her nipples stretching out, begging to be pulled on. She moved her hips forward and backward, grinding her clit into his pelvis. She could feel the pressure of his cock at full staff against the deepest parts of her. She slid forward and back faster and faster, feeling the erotic pressure build as she bit her lip and stared deeply into his eyes. The fire was lit as she drove herself toward the light. She pressed her legs against his sides as her body ascended and crested the hill of passion. He mind raced and blanked out for a moment as she felt the unbearable pressure of the approaching orgasm. He grabbed her hips as they raced and pounded. She could feel her whole body close in around his swollen cock. She pressed herself down, driving him in deeper, if that were even possible now. Her hips shuddered as she reached the edge and she drove her nails into his stomach. Her body seized as the waves of pleasure released like a broken dam. He pressed deeper into her as he felt the warm moisture of her gushing, swollen pussy pulsate around him, sending fluids cascading down his shaft. She breathed out and her tensed body relaxed. Her shoulders and head dropped, her hair hanging down around her breasts and she collapsed onto him, rolling off and lying next to him. They both were breathing heavy as they recovered. He ran his hands through her hair and caressed her face. She smiled and stared off in a sort of daze. She ran her nails across his chest, playing with his chest hair. Her hands worked their way along his belly toward his rock hard shaft. She ran her fingers along the length of it as it bounced in response. She looked at him and said,"We haven't taken care of you, have we?" He smiled and lied. "I'm good. I don't always need to cum to be satisfied." She looked at him with an incriminating glare and smiled. She sat up and leaned over his cock, taking it into her hand and dropping her mouth onto it, licking the tip around and around. She began to suck and drive her mouth up and down the length of it faster and faster. His cock was sensitive and he tensed up from the increased sensitivity. She did not relent. He felt his body begin to reach the point of no return. His cock hardened as it poised to fire. He could feel the first shot coming. "I'm going to cum!" She did not stop, but drove her mouth faster up and down his dick. The pump of semen released as his cock recoiled. She felt his dick contract and spray his warm, milky cum into her mouth. She stopped moving her head, keeping her lips wrapped around his dick, letting his cum fill her mouth. When his cock stopped spasming, she slowly withdrew her lips, tracing the contour of his dick so as not to lose a single drop of his gift. She sat up and opened her mouth to show him his juice on her tongue. He smiled in a daze, and said, "Swallow it." She smiled, closed her mouth and then it was gone. She dropped to her hands and knees, passing her breasts along his body one last time. The light from the streets cascaded across their bodies, their sweat glistening in the dark. She collapsed again next to him, her naked body wrapped around his, and they slipped away into sleep. Epic Head It's Saturday, 6:00pm. They make excuses to their friends, saying that they haven't really seen each other in many years. Now that they're each married to other people, and now can just be friends, they're gonna catch up over dinner out. No one finds this too odd - after all, many times they've been here together, it's been just as friends. They leave, and head out to her car. But instead of going out for food, they simply drive around back of the building and slip inside to his room. His roommate can probably be counted on to be gone for at least two hours, so they have time. The room is small and cramped, but adequate for their plans. She gingerly sits on his bed, and he joins her. Eventually, he lies back, and she reclines down off to his other side. They keep talking, idly, but the conversation takes a more suggestive edge. He stretches, putting an arm out to the right side. After a moment, she snuggles closer to him, head on his arm, hand on his chest. Her hand starts idly stroking, first just the chest, then down in bigger circular paths to his stomach. Then she reaches lower. First, she just strokes the upper legs, the inside of the thighs, teasing a bit, before crossing to the middle. She feels a hard bump there, and first just passes over it as it was nothing, continuing the wanderings of her hand. But before too long, she moves her hand back to the hard bump, and stays there. Then she begins by lightly but firmly rubbing the spot, slow and steady. As time passes, though, she starts stroking in a more determined fashion, moving up and down along the clearly defined line. The bump grows harder. She slides her hand up and begins unfastening his pants. Seeing she has difficulty, he reaches down to do it for her. She slips her hand in, under the band of his briefs, and begins to climb in. She finds what she's looking for quickly, a soft, smooth head, connected to a turgid shaft. Not yet having complete mobility, she starts by playing with the tip. She strokes it with her fingers, grabbing lightly between her fingertips, and pulls up lightly, as though trying to gently squeeze its juice out of it. She pinches and twists, lightly but firmly, twirling her fingers around the head, curling them under the lip and catching on it as a she pulls up. Eventually, she indicates he should remove his pants, which he does, accompanied by his undergarments. His cock springs free, standing straight up, pointing at the ceiling. He settles back down again, resting on the bed. She reaches over and outright grabs the shaft, first just holding it firmly for a second, feeling its pulsing. Then she starts to slowly move her hand up and down, caressing the shaft, stroking its length. Before too long, her hand is sliding up even further on its way up, lightly pulling her fingers up over the tip. She knows that's quite sensitive, so she stays conscious of his reactions, judging and changing her firmness and speed accordingly. On the downswing, her hand starts brushing over his sack, occasionally giving a gentle squeeze and stroke of the gems wrapped inside. Her hand starts moving more strongly up and down the shaft, attempting to catch extra skin on her way up, so as to rub it, and not her fingers, over the sensitive tip. Every two or three passes, she twirls her fingers around the tip, giving it a gentle tug, but not often enough for the sensitivity to be too much. His breath becomes deeper, steadier, and she judges it's time to change tactics. She removes her hand, climbs onto her knees beside him and, reaching her left hand across his body for support, leans her face down, right hand free. She just looks for a moment at the object of her desire, rediscovering it and reveling in the familiarity of it. She pauses only for that one second, preparing herself, giving him an extra moment of anticipation. Someone who knows what she's doing, who loves what she's doing, who wants nothing more than to feel the fullness of his cock in her mouth, is about to relieve a need he's had for years. He's glad they decided on this, if only for one time. With her lips a fraction of an inch away, she breathes out warmly. She sticks her tongue out and lightly licks over the very tip, tasting the bit of juice that has already escaped. She licks again, still with just the tip of her tongue, but covers a slightly bigger area this time. She licks again, this time using a bit more of her tongue, so more of it is in contact with more of him. She keeps going, each time using a little bit more tongue, and covering a slightly bigger area, yet still just tasting the tip. Her hands are supporting her, one to his side and one between his legs, as she tried to very carefully control where she goes. His cock is loose, and it keeps jumping around in excitement between licks. The jumping around, she decides, is making things more challenging, so she uses her right hand to support the base. Not holding the shaft exactly, but keeping him steady. She continues as she has been. It has gotten to the point that her tongue is now caressing his entire tip, so she just stays there now, and begins to lick more determinedly. She strokes the tip with her tongue, moving up from where it meets the shaft, lapping up to the top and off. She licks first one side, then the other, the top, the bottom. She comes from every direction, and he doesn't know where she'll stroke next. She begins increasing her speed as she does this, moving swifter and swifter. She licks him, strongly, at a fast pace. Pleasure climbs, building up and up, him wanting to feel more of her mouth, more of him inside her. When it starts becoming too much, she swoops down and swallows him all, head and shaft, in her warm, wet mouth. She holds him there, tightly, for a moment. Two. Three. Then she begins to tighten her mouth, squeezing a bit, making her mouth tighter. Then she begins to move. Slowly at first, barely moving, but she starts to suck as she moves her lips, her tongue, and the tight roof of her mouth, up and down in bits and pieces. He can feel his head and shaft squeezed between her firm tongue and the knob in her mouth, the one that makes her mouth so especially suited for giving head, the one that makes her different from everybody else. She begins to move up and down in longer strokes, sucking as she goes. Slowly, she slides further and further up and down, up and down, up and down. She begins dragging up so her lips are coming close to the tip, and as her tongue travels, it sounds around the tip, sucking all the while. Each time she comes up, she either simply flicks the tip with her tongue, or does a full-on swirl. Sometimes she pauses in her firm, steady motion, to take a moment to simply twirl her tongue around the head two times, three times. Otherwise, her motion is very steady, reliable other than the moments that break it up. The pleasure builds, becoming intense when she focuses on the head, then abating after she starts moving steadily. After a time of this, she begins sliding up and down more quickly, accelerating slowly. At first, it just seems to increase the pleasure, but as she moves quicker and quicker, the desire to reach the apex becomes more insistent. He doesn't want her to stop this drive, and he tells her so. She responds be continuing to slide, to suck, to lick, swallowing his whole shaft now and barely slowing down when it's time to massage the head with her tongue. It's starting to just become a strong, wide stroke, not having time to do a full twirl, but it will do. As the pleasure grows, and the desire to release gets stronger, she suddenly slows down, abruptly, and begins to get more deliberate again. His need lessens, but he knows he's still close. The pleasure stays high as she doesn't let go, she just keeps working in his cock, licking it, loving it. She loves this cock and wants it to know it's wanted, desired, and she tries to show without saying that she wants nothing more than to have him explode inside her. She wants to feel his juices squirting the back of her throat, she wants to taste him, taste that sex, a flavor she has not experienced in a long time. She knows, finally, someone will show her how good this feels, how much he wants it, wants her with her abilities and willingness to pleasure him. Some one person in her life, the only one she'd do this for. Her slow sucking stays firm, but starts picking up the pace again. She goes faster and faster, and his need starts to climb again, now quickly this time. Soon she can feel him turn hard as a rock, his head swelling as he gets closer... and again, she backs off, slowing down. The need abates again. She pauses a second so he can catch a breath, then starts back up. This time, she means it, and it shows. She steadily takes all of him into her, swallowing him fully sometimes, his head going practically down her throat. She does this without effort, without gagging, and the increase in tightness is incredible. She starts getting her hand into the action, moving it along his shaft, sliding up the so-slick cock, not going up over the head, but coming close. She loves the feel of the hardness in her hand, and he loves the added simulation. He starts to peak again as she starts going faster and faster, stroking his shaft, licking and sucking the head, and soon she is in a mighty, determined drive. He can tell she won't back off this time, and she doesn't, letting his need for release grow stronger and stronger. He becomes ready, and she can feel it, changing what she's doing slightly, only to accommodate his extra hardness, his heightened sensation. She keeps driving, fast and hard, working to get him there. And with a mighty groan, an explosive peak, an apex reached, he does. He busts into her, stream shooting hard, squirting all of his pent-up seed into her mouth and down her throat. He doesn't know what she's doing, but the orgasm lasts and lasts, sending paroxysms of sensation coursing through his body as he experiences an exquisite pleasure long denied him. She almost cries with joy as he comes, finally fulfilled. The minute he busts, she swallows as much of him as she can and starts squeezing him in her mouth, making it as tight as possible, and she starts to milk him without moving. He comes and comes, seeming he will never drain. She swallows it all readily, willingly, gratefully. He starts to come down from his peak, and she lessens the pressure on his cock. She knows that once he relaxes, he will be hyper-sensitive, and she still has plans, to bring him some last spasms of sensation, without it being too much. He relaxes, his drained cock still deep inside her mouth. She feels it begin to lessen in fullness, drained dry, and totally spent. When he's relaxed, she still waits a few moments before doing anything, knowing whatever she does will be felt and enjoyed, almost uncomfortably so. She relaxes most of her grip on him, and as the state changes, he gasps. Not letting up entirely, still sucking, she starts to slide off his cock, letting it slip out between her lips. He feels this keenly, so she goes slow, trying to drain every last drop from him. As he begins to think it's over, she slips him back inside her mouth, just letting it glide in, but she sucks as it comes back out. Yet on the way out, she pauses at the head, and places her tongue against it. Slowly, ever so slowly, she gives it one, final, twirl. The sensation is great, and she can feel him twitching, so she only moves a fraction every few seconds. After a minute or so, she completes her circuit. She swallows him down one last time, but she knows he's done, and she merely slowly backs back off and lets him slip fully out of her mouth. She pauses for a beat, then, as is her wont, kisses him lightly on his spent member. She lies back down, head on his chest, pleased. So is he. "Thanks." "Thank YOU." They don't rest long, but they soon put themselves back together, preparing to leave. At least they had this, and neither regrets it. ePIC Finally he couldn't stand her denial any longer and was forced to beg. "Please Jennie, please let me come, please..." But she wanted this to be the best ever, so she delayed, almost feeling guilty, but knowing that when he came it would have to last the rest of his life, living somewhere in his memory only. She moved her hand to his anal area and penetrated him there, then back to his penis until he cried out, "Please, oh please, I have to...oh, Jennie, please..." And he groaned and flexed his only free muscle, spurting enormous quantities of semen onto her hand. As he was still coming, she poured some into his mouth so that he had to lick her hand. She cleaned him and couldn't look at him any longer. There was silence between them. He heard a door open somewhere and the chatter of professionals got louder until they surrounded him. He felt the slight sting of a needle in his neck, felt that icy approach of unconsciousness, and woke up in silence an eternity and a minute later. His face was still warm with the congealed plastic and a snorkel-like mouthpiece had been fitted into his mouth. It was soft and he chewed on it in exploration. There was silence but for his breathing and heartbeat. A woman looked into his eyes and her mouth moved as she talked to someone near her. He heard nothing and he tried to scream, but it came out as a whine into his breathing tube. Outside of his crypt, the nurse said, "He's doing well. We'll keep him hydrated for 24 hours through the intravenous in his neck. She fiddled with it and adjusted the drip. Then she looked down at his darting panicky eyes and said, "Serves you right, you wife murderer. Have a good fucking sleep." At this time Jack was still sane. He felt the wiggle of the needle in his neck and knew that this entry into his body was the only one besides his breathing and feeding tube. Even if he wanted to die, he couldn't. His penis felt different too, and he understood what that meant. The cool breeze of the ventilation fans still blew his smells away at his anal area as it remained the only part of him exposed to the world. Jennie came in the next day and the first thing she noticed was the silence in the ward full of inmates. There was no idle talk, no screaming, no crying, just the sound of the ventilation and the sewer drain. They had done them all. Every last one. Blocks of plastic everywhere, with eyes that could see but didn't want to see, eyes that wanted to be dead, but could not be. By the time she looked into Jack's eyes, he was already losing his mind. They darted about like squirrels in a cupboard, with an alarming randomness. She looked into his eyes as long as she could before her eyes filled up. Not wanting him to see, she placed her hand on the now completely cooled plastic several inches above his eyes and turned away quickly in tears. It was the last time he saw her free and loving him. Jennie's job changed. Now she went about simply checking for breath at each crypt and looking for eye activity. Meticulous records had to be kept, all responses catalogued. A year passed. Now they called it the PIC program. The "e" was gone, as it was no longer "experimental". Jennie and the other "feeders" were replaced within a year by an automated system that checked for signs of life and dispensed food from tubes which were inserted into each inmate's feeding tube for prescribed times. A doctor did a sweep daily for blood checks and forced feeding where applicable, or identification of corpses so that the body could be removed from the plastic and the plastic put in recycling units for cleaning and reuse. Jack's mind was gone. There was no use for it. Focus was the first thing to go. He would try to think some intricate problems through to try to keep his sanity, but he would get lost in his train of thought. Eventually it just became too hard, so he gave up and drifted, letting his thoughts fly away like the breeze at his bum. It was better this way. Unconnected things, thoughts, would make him laugh. Bum, what a strange word! Funny word. It felt cold at his bum. Bum was a funny word. Funny was funny. He tried to beckon death. Please die. Please die. Please die. Ha, death was a funny word too. Occasionally he would become lucid and remember Jennie's hand and he would will himself to come. At least he thought he did; it felt like something, possibly an orgasm. Then he would drift away again. Three months after Jennie was let go, he saw the inmate opposite him wheeled away on a dolly. All his wires had been disconnected and a red X had been painted on his crypt. Death. The man was lucky. One month after that the spot was refilled with a female inmate, her strikingly beautiful mulatto body perfectly imprisoned in the plastic crypt, her perfect hands mutilated and imprisoned as stumps. When she was leaned into her final position, he looked into her eyes and silently screamed. So did Jennie. Their eyes locked and flashed their mutual despair and futility. Faint throat sounds escaped their breathing tubes, heard by no one. At first Jack vibrated inside his cocoon with rage and fear, but, as with other feelings he had while in the crypt, he had to let them go and try to cope. Each day they would stare into each other's eyes, and Jack would remember. He remembered her hands, her lips, her voice, and most of all he remembered her compassion. Sometimes he would have an orgasm, and she would know, her eyes flashing with a wink like telepathy. Other times their eyes would just smile at each other, as eyes often do. Jack wished more than anything that Jennie could be allowed to die. He sent her a message, and it was to be a pact, a suicide pact. He stopped eating and extruded all of his food out of his feeding tube at every feeding time. She followed suit and as they stared at one another they gained satisfaction with the pact. They were both intubated the following day. Death was to be denied them at every turn, so they held each other's eyes like they were holding hands and waited. After thirty-three years and three months and four days of incarceration, Jack died. He was 59. There was no announcement, no obituary in the newspaper; he was simply disconnected from his wiring, tilted back onto his dolly and taken to the melting tank. The plastic slowly melted away and revealed his wrinkled middle aged body which floated to the surface. A large wheeled sieve-like device scooped him out and took him to the incinerator where he was vaporized in minutes. The plastic was drained away, sanitized, and stored for future use. Jennie mourned in silence and survived for only two more months. She was 54. Once knowing love, however strange, loneliness kills very quickly. The state disposed of her as well, and the PIC program remained the efficient alternative to the death penalty. But no one understood the trauma of isolation, the loneliness of near death for eternity, no one except those that became sealed within. And they couldn't speak out; they could only watch. And count the pebbles, like time, in the wall. And wait. Epicurean I swear I can smell cunt. I feel like a goddamned dog, or maybe a wolf, yeah, maybe a wolf—downwind of some delicious, vulnerable prey. I don't belong here alone, this wasn't my idea, but here I am, and there is pussy everywhere. I can't get away from it. Little ones, big ones, bald ones, hairy ones—and I'll be damned if I don't want them all. I know there's an off switch in my damned head somewhere, if I could find the thing... What is so compelling about the flesh? It's spread out on the sand in front of me, and I want to roll them all up and take them, keep them, little pigs in their blankets, squealing and squirming and delicious. I've never seen so much skin in one place, masses of bodies, mountains of flesh, rolling titty hills and valleys of cunt. There's no shame or hiding here—there's the wide-bottomed mama and her two toddlers playing in the sand. I can't take my eyes off the way her ass dimples as she sits, and I know her plump, hairy pussy must be kissing the sand as she leans over the rolls of her creamy, full belly, her dark-tipped breasts becoming another roll in the pile as she laughs and pats her daughter's little behind. I want to crawl under her, to be buried under the mountain of her body. The sea of flesh shifts and moves. They remind me of seals in pack, some of them, college girls, sleek and brown, their bodies oiled and rolling together for maximum exposure to the source of their heat. God, it's fucking hot. Sweat is rolling down my lower back and there's not a damned thing to soak it up except the towel under my bare ass, growing damp beneath me. I want to seek that core of heat, and I've got an arrow pointing the way. To hell with the sun, damned dry heat, I want to drown in wet fire! I am the only one hiding here, rolling to my belly to conceal my lust, resting my chin in my hands, my eyes seeking the source of my desire. Wet mounds of flesh, peeking pink, jesus god it should be fucking illegal to tempt a man this much! My cock is an iron bar, uncomfortably hard beneath me, aching to point to the way to one of the sweet treasures laid out in front of me like some luscious buffet. I feel like a dog, but really there is a hungry wolf, an animal in me that simply wants what it wants, and the visual feast of flesh is a cruel reminder of my hunger, my greed. I don't just want one. I want them all. I am no gourmet, some wine taster, sample and spit. I am a gourmand, a glutton, and I would happily devour their flesh beyond the point of satiety—I want to burst with it, explode into everything and nothing with the taste of them all still in my mouth. The tender bald slit, oiled and glistening between the thighs of that coed and her friend, jesus, look at how smooth, like a baby, how her pink inner lips stick out at me like a tongue, a wiggling tease as she shifts, spreads a little, curls her toes. Her friend isn't shaved, just trimmed, the hair curling inward, pointing the way toward heaven, her pink hidden underneath the darkness of her bush and my cock is straining against the damp towel and the soft sand underneath me, playing a constant beat of "want, want, want." There's that big mama again, rolled to her back with a book, her voluminous belly and thighs seeking to hide her treasure, a fat purse that one, meaty and moist, and my cock yanks at its leash like a dog straining toward a bitch in heat when I see that her pubes are a fiery red, a curly, ruddy mass waiting to be spread. I raise my head a little, seeking more tantalizing tidbits, knowing I shouldn't be, I'm not supposed to be looking. Nude beaches are about being natural, relaxing, letting down the pretenses, being yourself. Well, gentlemen of the jury, I have to tell you, I am getting to know myself as I watch these tender morsels roll and stroll, and I am, first and foremost, an animal. My brain has its switch—don't touch, a Pavlovian response—my cock, however, has no such restraint, and nowhere to hide, trapped between my belly and the towel like a twitching, growling beast, coerced into hiding and straining toward freedom. And I can't stop looking. It's compelling, the fascination, the need to see, to take them all in, savory treats, every one. Two women walk by, a black dog leashed between them, leading the way, his nose to the sand. Their bodies are luscious curves and angles, their breasts ripe fruit. One of them is blonde, pale, her nipples fat pink centers almost larger than her breasts, pointing skyward. The other has long, straight brown hair, very long, it swings to the rounded swell of her ass, and her breasts are bottom heavy, pear-shaped, her nipples dragged downward with their weight. My eyes are drawn by the movement of the two college girls in front of me. The hairless cunt is up on her knees, fixing the corner, spreading out the blanket, and my cock jumps as she arches and I can see the puckered hole of her ass, winking at me. It's all a tease, a horrible, exquisite, glorious tease, and I feel full to bursting with the torture. The head of my cock is flowing with pre-cum, sticky on my belly as her pussy parts for a moment when she stretches like a cat, the spread of pink, and oh, fuck, the sight of that little gaping hole where I want to shove my aching cock! What heaven lies there, between those thighs? My cock knows it, can almost taste the yielding of her flesh, how moist and velvety and smooth she would be. Desire doesn't want exposure, the light or the sun. Lust seeks darkness, a deep, secret heat, something buried, a treasure to find. And I want the rush of plundering that sweet booty, all of them, the blonde, hairless gem, the trimmed brunette with the rounded behind, the roll and swell of the red-haired mama and the incredible heat of her riches—I want every slope and mound of flesh scattered down the beach. I can see them all now, spread out on their towels and blankets, my cock eager to find the swollen flesh at the apex of their thighs. I can only satisfy my lust with my eyes, my hips moving every so slightly, imperceptible, rubbing my cock between my belly and the towel. It isn't anywhere near what I want to do, the thrusting frenzy and grind that I long for, to part thighs and cunts with the heat of my lust, the fat, thick head of my aching cock—but it's enough. Just barely enough. I have been feasting for hours and my cock can't stand it anymore. I watch through half-closed eyes, feigning disinterest, even a doze, but my nostrils flare and my ass twitches and beneath me, I am rubbing the head of my cock in the sticky pre-cum dampness, pressing it between my belly and the sand. It's a slow grind, but deliberate, sneaking up on my climax by degrees. The big mama puts her knees up, letting me see the soft swell of her ass, how the slit extends downward, her flesh thick and doughy, her pubes like fire in the sun. My cock aches to find its way through, seeking her center. The couple with the dog walks back by again and I stop, realizing how gradual but effective my movements have been now that I have ceased. My cock is aching for release. When they've passed, I begin again, shifting, a slow rub, my eyes moving to the girls, the brunette on her back, the blonde on her belly. I am lost in the smooth, oiled flesh of their tawny thighs, the bend in a leg, the way the brunette's hair there glistens and shines in the light. I watch her belly rise and fall, see the blonde swing her legs, her feet crossing, uncrossing. They are talking together, laughing, and my cock is twitching and throbbing beneath me. It's hard to control my breathing now, the longing I have to fuck, to keep fucking, to fuck the whole world wide open and reveal it all. Two things send me over—the breeze that catches the edge of my towel, blowing it against my leg, and seeing the red-haired mama, my eyes drawn back to her as she rolls to her belly, laying her head in her hands, her thighs spreading out over her blanket, giving me just a peek of her cunt, lost in the roomy, dimpled swell of her flesh. And then I'm cumming, closing my eyes, clenching my jaw, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from growling and thrusting and grinding into the sand, a sticky wetness flooding beneath me in hot, fast spurts, dampening my towel and sending me reeling. I bury my head in my arms, breathing hard, and when I look up, the two girls are standing, running off toward the surf. My lust is spent, but my desire is not. I can still feel the craving, my predilection for more in the swell and sway of the flesh on the sand. When I'm sure that my cock has waned, I stand, flip my towel over, and lie back down on the sand. My eyes are hunting again, I can't help it. The wolf is always there—whether I have reined him in or not. "Hey, Dad!" I look up, shading my eyes, seeing my daughter and her mother coming toward me across the beach. I smile, wave them over, pat the sand. My daughter is going on about shopping, my wife is talking about lunch, and I take a deep breath, turning my eyes back out to the beckoning world, doing my best to take it all in.