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Eat Me

By: Likes Watching



When I was young, all the other guys seemed to be getting pussy. Not me. I don’t know what it was, but I went without.

I was invited to a party where there was a lot of beer, wine, booze, and some grass. I showed up by myself, had a rum and coke, and wandered around. There were a lot of interesting things to see, and as the evening wore on, it got even better. Eventually people were not just disappearing then coming back later, but actually groping one another on the living room floor. One guy was actually fingering a girl on the couch. She had a dress on, so there was nothing to see except the reaction on her face, but that was plenty.

I went down a hall looking for the bathroom. I found and used it. When I came out I could hear sex sounds just further down the hall coming from a room where they had obviously not gotten the door closed completely. I could not resist the urge to move in the direction of the noise and get a good earful. I was right, the door had not been fully closed and I could see a woman on the bed covered up by the guy on top of her who was obviously just finishing, emptying his load into her. I was totally enthralled by the sight, and did not even consider closing the door and moving away.

After a moment or two, the guy got off her and was replaced by a black guy that I had not noticed earlier. It was obvious that there was no lovemaking going on here. These guys were just fucking her and she seemed to like it just fine. He pumped away on her for some time, and then finally came himself. 

With little fanfare, the two guys dressed and brushed past me as they left, leaving the door wide open. She lay there, totally used, legs open and cum showing from her cunt. It was a sight that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I wanted to run in the room and fuck her like the white and black guy had just done. Some guys may have done just that, but my fear of rebuke was too strong. Remember, I was the guy who couldn’t get laid no matter what I did. My dick was so hard that I would have been happy just to jack off to the sight.

At some point she had taken notice of me standing there. She looked me in the eye and said, “Eat me.” Wow, was my luck was about to change? This was an invitation I was not about to question or turn down. It did not matter to me that this girl had just had two other guys before me, maybe more. I did not know or care. The only thing I knew was that her legs were open and she had said, “Eat me.”

I scuttled into the room, shut the door, and advanced on her open cunt. She watched me with an odd smile on her face. I dove in and immediately started eating my first pussy. I seemed a natural at it because she very quickly started reacting to my tongue. I seemed to know by her movements what she wanted and took action accordingly. In what seemed a very short time she had two orgasms, locking her thighs on my ears and pulling the back of my head into her. It was great. I overlooked the fact that I was obviously licking cum out of her, tasting and swallowing sperm of other guys who did not seem to have any problems getting laid. But if that was the price I had to pay, then lick cum is what I would do.

“You can fuck me now,” were the next words out of her. Again, no hesitation… off with the clothes and into her. She was loose, not much friction. The men before me were either much larger than I or had really stretched and used her hard. I found out later that she did have a thing for big dicks and would seldom turn one down. But it was enough ecstasy for me, and within moments I was shooting my wad into her also.

“Take me out to breakfast and I’ll let you do me again,” she said. Wow, this was the jackpot!

At the all night restaurant I found out her name was Maria, 22, and a clerk for a real estate agent. I figured her to be about 115 pounds and already knew that she had small breasts with large long nipples. I was looking forward to getting a hold of them later. We talked about all sorts of things and seemed to get along well. I actually was starting to like her, but was still keen on getting some more of her. After much talking she seemed relaxed and comfortable with me too. Then she made a comment.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” she said. This came right out of the blue, especially since things were going so well. Well, I had already gotten a lot out of the deal for the small price of some midnight bacon and eggs. I figured she was about to back out of the sex offer she had made.

“Sorry about what?” I said.

“Saying eat me.”

“I like it,” I retorted.

“Yea, I got that impression,” she said, “but still it was mean of me. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Okay, when I saw you watching those other guys use me, then standing there after they left, cum oozing out of me, I figured you were leering at me, looking down on me. So when I said eat me, it was supposed to be an insult, like saying fuck you. It never occurred to me that you would actually do it.”

I thought about this for a moment then said, “I liked going down on you. It was worth it. I would do it again.”

She looked at me very closely, “You would eat cum out of me if I told you to?”

I slowly nodded, kind of embarrassed, but being honest.

“Hmmm, you might be a keeper,” she said, “but let me tell you a little bit about myself. Just listen. When I am finished if you don’t like what you hear you can leave. If you are still interested, we could have some fun together.”

I looked at her, smiled, then listened.

“I like sex. I like it a lot. I especially like guys who have big dicks. Black ones are the best. I get laid as often as I can. I accept invitations to parties where I think there is a chance of getting two or three guys in one night. I also like going to the military base club. It is very easy to get taken out to the parking lot there a couple of times a night and jump in the back seat. I also go to the airport hotel bars and get picked up by businessmen. But what I really like is getting eaten after I have been fucked. Gawd, that is so good. The problem is that guys don’t seem to like it. I have never had a guy go down on me after another guy has come in me. You are the first guy to do that. It was very good. You made me cum really hard. And on top of that, you liked it?”

I nodded.

She was quiet and thoughtful for a time. I did not know what to say and was scared to open my mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing and not getting anymore out of her.

Finally she spoke, “Have I scarred you off yet?”

I shook my head no.

“Maybe we should hookup for awhile. I can’t and won’t promise to be faithful, but if you want, I can probably give you as much sex as you want. You would have to realize that you would be getting seconds most of the time. You would always have to eat me first.”

That was 12 years ago. Linda and I are still together. We kept separate places for a while, but when it became apparent that it was a good relationship for both of us, we ended up getting a place together.

At first she would go out, come home used, then sit on my face while she told me how naughty she had been. After awhile, I would take her places and either be her lookout in the parking lot while she got laid in his backseat, or drive her and some strange guy around while they got it on in our backseat. 

I eventually got used to the taste of cum. Guys would have all sorts of reactions to my being a cuckold. Some were friendly. Some obviously looked down on me. I got smacked around a couple of times, but they were bigger than I. My dick is only average, maybe on the small side. So these guys, these really hung guys, were better men, and gave her better dick than I could. I just gave her better tongue.

I noticed after a time that the more impersonal a guy was with her, the more he used her, the hard he humped her, the more she liked it. I tried it, and it only made her laugh. So I would continue my accepted role, eat her to orgasm, swallow his cum, then get myself off in her used pussy. Funny, but it has actually worked for both of us.

I have grown accustomed to being a cuckold. 

Eat Me, Drink Me



I never decided that I wanted to be a groupie. I've just always wanted to be me. My name is Brian. I'm nineteen years old and really thin. Because I don't frequent tanning beds or the outdoor world, I am very pale. If you hold a piece of white paper up to me, it would probably blend in. My parents always told me that I should eat more and go outside because I looked frail. I never did, and I still retain that look. I'm not the strongest person, but I never strived to be. While some guys were chasing women and bulking up, I was crushing on rock stars and dressing up in girl's clothes. Yeah, that's right, I'm a bisexual cross-dressing fruit... get over it! 

I like the gothic look best. It fits me well because of my build and skin type. And while on the outside I may look like a real party person, I love nothing better than reading or writing. I may look outrageous but I'm really quite quiet and shy. When my best friend Atlas got tickets to my favorite band, Marilyn Manson, however, I was thrilled. I wasn't spending that night at home reading. 

I had my outfit picked out weeks ahead of time. I was going to go dressed to the nines. I bought a new thigh-cut ruffle skirt to go with my sleeved red and black striped shirt. It was quite cute, even Atlas agreed. I borrowed a pair of Atlas' clunky combat boots to go along with it. They went up to my knee. When the day came for the concert, I spiked up my black hair and used colored gel to tip the ends with red. I put on a lovely bright red lipstick and painted my eyelids a trio of vibrant colors. I'm naturally smooth, so I didn't have to worry about shaving. 

As I expected, the crowd at the Manson concert was full of "freaks" and I wasn't singled out. I love being able to dress up like this without being called names. We had a pair of expensive V.I.P. tickets, so we got to jump up to the front of the line. When we got into the auditorium, our spots were close enough for me to nearly touch the stage. I was SO excited that I nearly fainted. Atlas grabbed me just as I toppled. 

When the lights went out, signaling the concert's beginning, I had to grab hold of him for support. Then the stage lights started up, almost dancing around the stage. The roar of the crowd as Manson appeared was deafening. I hardly noticed the other band members take their places, because my eyes were fixed on him. The music seemed to throw itself at us, and before we knew it, we had been sucked into his world. His voice seemed to tease and caress me. I could feel the sound on my skin. I tried to focus on the songs, but kept zeroing in on the man himself. I felt time stand still, and the crowd fall away. My ears heard nothing, only my sight was in play. It was all in my imagination, I'm sure, but I felt as if he were staring at me the entire time. Having been on a stage or two in my days, I knew he probably couldn't even see the crowd due to the spotlights. I couldn't help but hope though. 

The show ended way too soon for me, but we decided to stay after and try to get autographs. Our V.I.P. tickets afforded us backstage passes, and we waited patiently for him to rest a little and freshen up. I'm glad he did, as I absolutely hate sweat and body odor! It took him a long time to come out of his dressing room. So long in fact, that most of the other back-stage visitors had given up and gone home. Atlas kept asking me when we would leave, but I couldn't give up hope. I just HAD to meet him. I finally told Atlas that he could go home. Normally he would have stayed with me, but I think the concert really drained his energy. I gave him a hug and he left after telling me to call him for a ride home. I told him that I would simply get a taxi. He shrugged and went off. 

Feeling uncharacteristically brave, I decided to do what nobody else had gathered the courage to do: knock on the dressing room door. I gulped as my knuckles rappt against the wood. "Come in." certainly wasn't the response I had expected, but it was the one I received. 

I slowly opened the door, stepped cautiously inside, and shut it gently behind me. There was my hero, in the flesh, right before me! I saw his eyes travel over my body with interest. Then he looked into my eyes.

"Yeah?" he questioned.

I felt myself tense up and I tried to will it away. It worked, but only mildly so. 

"Um... hi... uh, my name is Brian... uh, and I was wondering if I could have your autograph?"

A moment passed before he answered, "Yeah, sure. Like your name," he winked, "but not enough to keep it." I smiled politely and tip-toed over to him.

"Where would you like me to sign?" he asked, and I realized that I hadn't brought a pen or anything for him to write on. He seemed to pick up on it though, and showed me that he had a marker with him.

"Pick a body part." he told me.

I responded quickly, automatically and without thinking. "I like every one of yours." Then I heard what I said and nearly cried out in embarrassment. He looked a little shocked too, but merely smiled. I tried to make up for it by yelling out, "Arm!", but that only made me seem even more stupid. He grinned and grabbed my hand. I felt electricity go through me where he touched. He quickly scribbled on me and then did a little bow and left the room. I gathered my composure and left the building, hailing a taxi to make my way home. 

In the back of the cab, I finally looked down at my arm. I expected to see a quickly jotted signature, but instead found written, "Deadwood hotel, room 27." I nearly peed myself. I anxiously redirected the cab driver and then sat back nervously.

When we arrived, I paid hurriedly, and nearly sprinted into the lobby. I found the room quite easily. I knocked and the door cracked open. Stepping inside, I smelled incense and flowers. 

"Hello?" I called out.

"In here." I heard a voice say from the bedroom.

I tried to fight my trembles as I peered around the corner. 

"Hey. Come sit down." he said, patting the cushion of the couch he was sitting on. I shyly joined him. 

"Why me?" I asked softly.

"You're unique. I like that. I'm also tired of spending time with women who play with my emotions just to get to my cash. You seem different.... in a good way." I couldn't help but smile. 

"Also," he went on, "while I may be 99% straight, you have the look that gets that 1% shaken up. I don't have the time nor the energy to romance you though. If you aren't worked up already, you should probably go."

I gasped, "Not worked up! Was he kidding!" I thought to myself. I answered his unspoken question by leaning over and pressing my lips to his. He took a second to respond, but when he did, it was wonderful. He reached his hand up and cupped my jaw while pushing his tongue between our lips. I flicked my tongue against his and he caught it between his teeth, biting down just enough to cause a flare of endorphins. I moaned against his lips, which tickled us both. He laughed huskily. That just made me moan again. 

Suddenly it dawned on me that I hadn't thought to bring condoms. I might be in awe of this man, but I'm not stupid enough to think that I was his first and in no danger should I forgo the wrapper. I tried my best to verbalize the problem, which was made increasingly difficult when his lips found and assaulted the sensitive skin of my neck. I could hardly speak.

"Uh, ummmm...mmmm..... uh, forgot the, uh...." was all I could say. 

He laughed that intoxicating laugh again and then whispered into my ear, "Don't worry baby, I've got everything you could possibly need."

I wasn't sure that we had been thinking of the same items, but decided that if he had EVERYTHING I might need, that would be one of them. I let myself relax and fall into his kisses. He brought his palm up and stroked my hair, curling a strand around his manicured fingers. God this man gets me so hot! 

I grabbed his hand and deposited it at my thigh in indication. He smiled, mid-kiss, and pushed his fingertips under my skirt. The way he touched me made me feel high. 

His head tipped and I felt him run his tongue over my collarbone. I shivered and bit his neck in approval. It was only now that I noticed the music playing in the background: a simple but thumping instrumental. It sounded a lot like his newer music, only without lyrics. I often masturbate while listening to Marilyn Manson music, so this just got my libido roaring.

I moved up off of the cushion and threw my leg over his, settling on his lap with my arms wrapped around his shoulders. I shoved my tongue into his mouth with force, trying to give a hint to the level of my arousal. He got the picture and grabbed hold of my shirt. He bit down at the top of the collar, creating a little rip, and then used his fists to tear it completely off of me, tossing it to the side. I pressed my bare chest to him and hugged him. He probably had no idea, but he was fulfilling my longtime dream. The hug was in thanks. 

I wasn't about to rip open his shirt, as it surely cost a lot more than mine, but I went to work unbuttoning it. I kissed him as I pushed it off and then kissed down his smooth chest. He sighed loudly when I licked his nipple so I nibbled it gently. I think he moaned. I could feel him harden through his pants and I used it to my advantage by grinding against him. 

His mouth fell open in lust. I captured it with my own. He pushed me off of him and took my hand in his, guiding me to his bed. He lifted me up by the hips and laid me down. He unfastened his pants before I could even think of helping him, and I was pleasantly surprised that he wasn't wearing underwear at all. I licked my lips as his cock came into view. Well-endowed was an understatement. I was a little nervous, as I hadn't ever taken anything that big before. He saw the fright in my eyes, and reassured me, telling me, "Don't worry. I won't hurt you, I promise."

I smiled back at him and pulled up the frills of my skirt while pushing off my thong. He surprised me by bending down and nibbling on my inner thigh. My erection was rubbing against his face, and he wrapped his hands around the base of it. I could have fainted at his touch. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming when he pushed my legs up and licked my asshole. I had expected more of a rock star's approach to sex, you know, something more selfish. I stopped thinking clearly when his tongue pushed inside.

"Oh my god!" I exclaimed aloud. 

He took a break from my ass to mutter, "Yeah, tell me I'm your god, it turns me on."

I inhaled deeply and then went off in a string of sex crazed dirty talk. "Fuck yes, you are my god, my savior! Save me! Save my soul! Redeem me!" 

A lusty look spread over his face and I could tell that I had turned him on. He sprang on top of me and pinned my hands down against the mattress, grinding his cock against mine. 

"I'll save you, just get on your knees and pray." he commanded, rolling off of me so that I could position myself between his knees.

Eagerly, I licked the head of his dick, lapping up the liquid that had formed at the slit. He played with my hair as I took him deep into my mouth. His hand clenched when his cock bumped against the back of my throat. He whimpered a little when I pulled off.

"I want you to show me your power, leave me in awe." I begged him. Instantly, he pulled me up from my knees and onto the bed, getting off to grab some condoms and lube from the nightstand, and then joined me. 

"This is probably a stupid question," he began, "but, have you done this before?"

I nodded, adding, "Twice before... with my best friend Atlas." "Oh, okay. If I go too fast or hurt you, please tell me."

I nodded again. He squirted a few drops of lube on my bare belly and dipped his finger in it. I giggled at the sudden coldness. I felt his finger slip up and down my crack and then rub in little circles at my entrance. I sighed expectantly. I couldn't restrain a groan as he pushed inside.

"Uh! Fuck yeah!" I exclaimed.

I was acting like a dog in heat, but I couldn't help it. I was pushing back against his finger, trying to take in his whole hand. He added another digit and started pumping my dick with his other hand while he assaulted my prostate. I was so close to coming, but was trying not to. I didn't want it to end like that.

"Fuck me now!" I screamed at him. 

He growled, maneuvered atop me, and plunged into my depths with one thrust. I felt like I was splitting, even though he had prepared me. I held on to his shoulders to keep him still while I adjusted. His eyes were glossy and he was panting.

"Jesus, you are so fucking tight! You feel so good!" he praised. 

I scratched his shoulders to signal to him he could move. It didn't take long before he was sinking deep into me and pulling out to the head, just to dive back in. Every thrust was making me see sparkles. It was truly a religious experience.

I pushed him off of me and rolled onto my stomach. He grabbed my hips and pushed back inside me almost immediately. Just when I thought that it couldn't get any better, his fist enclosed around my cock and started jacking me. My arms gave out and my head hit the pillow. I heard screaming and realized it was mine. 

"Fuck it! Fuck my cock you little slut!" he yelled at me.

My clouded mind went dark as his words sent me over the edge. I exploded in his hand. I expected him to pull away, but he milked me dry. I collapsed, and he bent more so he could keep fucking me as I sagged upon the bed. 

He wrapped his hands around my wrists and pulled my arms behind my back, yelling out obscenities. "I'm coming, I'm coming, oh fuck...!" he yelled out. 

I thought my arms would break with how far back he was pulling them, but it somehow still felt good, really good. He stayed buried within me for a few minutes after he came. Eventually he went fully soft and pulled out. He curled up next to me and pulled me close while stroking my hair. 

After a while, he spoke, "You know, you can stay the night. It would be nice... to have someone to sleep next to."

I was surprised by his showing of such emotion, but I admitted, to sleep next to him would be a dream come true. I snuggled close and held his hand.

Before we fell asleep, I whispered to him, "You're a great god. I'd worship you any day." He laughed softly and held me tighter.



Eat me, Drink me



As this is the start of a new Decade and also my 60th Sub to Literotica I thought it should be something out of the ordinary. 'Eat me, Drink me' is a short story that I wrote a very long time ago. It has languished in a folder for many moons whispering to me that I ought to type it up and edit it properly. And so I have. 

It is set during the Manchester arc, prior to Underwear but completely unconnected to that storyline. 

For new readers, this is a vampire story so don't read it if bloodsuckers ain't your bag! For those readers used to the usual Rayne adventures, I will also add the warning that this tale contains shameless heterosexual naughtiness, between a man and young lady, and I make no apologies for that.

Enjoy. •

*

Alice was initially drawn to the stranger on the train home by the pale marks on his slender hands and forearms. He had delicate hands, with long white fingers, like a pianist or a painter, and angular wrists that hinted seductively at infinite flexibility. Like a ghostly game of noughts and crosses the scars decorated his forearms and the backs of his hands; an indelible echo of past hurts.

She found herself subconsciously rolling back her purposely long, loose sleeves; wanting him to see the answering badge of lonely courage she wore on her own skin; needing to share that secret pain with him. A complete stranger.

Her parents knew nothing about the razor blade she kept hidden in her jewellery box, in the secret little compartment beneath the ring drawer. The family liked to tease her for her need to wear a long-sleeved shirt, even in the hottest weather. They did not understand, of course. The hurt she bore was not for them to know. Her younger brother would only poke fun. Mum would look at her with that expression of fond tolerance mixed with confusion and despair for all the things Alice did that her own generation could never comprehend. Dad would treat her like she was still a little girl and not just turned eighteen, wanting to mollycoddle the hurt away with tickles and sweets the way he did when she was seven and scraped her knee on the steps at Southport Lido.

The stranger on the train was so beautiful that she could not stop herself stealing glances at him. He was reading a magazine, absorbed in a brilliant Technicolor fantasy on the pages draped across his bony knees whilst the drab, grey, post-industrial reality whistled past the windows unheeded. Alice was standing by the luggage bay near the carriage doors, headphones plugged into her ears, wrapped up in the comforting sounds of her favourite bands. The ancient three-car set lurched wildly across points and rattled through a square-edged forest of suburban housing estates, punctuated by the occasional flash of dirty gold as a yet undeveloped field emerged from the sea of brick and slate; slab and tarmac. She always preferred to stand, even when there were seats free, as there were today. The beautiful man, immersed in his magazine, sat just inside the carriage, occupying four facing seats, though he sat in only one of them. His slim legs were stretched out, booted feet resting on the worn, garishly patterned upholstery of the place diagonally opposite his own.

The deliberately sprawling posture and positioning of his boots said "Go Away! There are other places to sit. Go use them and don't bother me!" He did not move them, even when the train stopped at a busy station and about fifty people seemed to board at once through the sliding doors that faced her own aloof perch. 

The new travellers found their own spaces, melting into other seats, sinking into the depths of the train, shedding their polypropylene outer skins and rustling and crunching in their own small spaces. They were invisible to her, as the train eased out of the world of stone and iron girders, brick and concrete, reaching again for the wider, open spaces. 

The stranger put down his magazine on the empty seat beside him and stretched like a tiger sunning itself. He rested one angular elbow against the window ledge and his long fingers played with the inky fronds of his blue-black hair. Straight, perfect falls of ebony framed his features, like the hair of a wind-blown Chinese warrior in an ancient woodcut she had seen once at the Museum. The stranger was most definitely not an Asian though. His milky skin was pale as the moon and his large, almond-shaped eyes were the colour of new leaves in spring; an impossible green that made her wonder if he was wearing coloured lenses. She could cast discreet glances at his face now that he was staring out of the window. It was a pretty, almost girlish, heart-shaped face. In fact she only knew he was a man and not a woman by his casual pose, which drew the eye to the swell of his long, masculine sex in the crotch of his tight, black jeans. That, and the shadow of a nascent beard beneath the pale skin over his pointed chin and under his tip-tilted, impish nose. 

Though he was very still she sensed restlessness in him like an inner storm or a surging, rain-blasted sea. His feet tapped against the seat cover and his long fingers drummed incessantly on the window frame as if he heard a secret music, something no one else could tune in to. His lips parted, so pale and full, glistening moistly in the watery sunlight that glimmered briefly through the dirty windows. She saw the way that the tip of his small, pink tongue played across his lips then retreated into his mouth like a tiny fish darting for cover. She ached to dart after it, pressing her mouth to his, her own tongue seeking sanctuary between his lips and tangling with his. 

The intensity of that emotion startled Alice. She was not used to such impulsive desires. The boys at her school were, in the main, dreary creatures hardly worthy of her attention at all. Those who dared to try and dazzle were so far removed from Alice's own small, dark world of dreams that she would not even meet their insolent stares, let alone speak to them. She grew wet for them each night in her narrow bed though. 

Now, to her astonishment and mortification, she was moist between her legs again, watching the stranger smile more vividly; perhaps at some witticism on the page before him; perhaps at some fanciful thought; she could not say. His canines were long and curved like a wild beast's and the flash of silver as he ran his tongue against his small, white, perfect incisors told her that it was pierced with a single, tiny stud. Alice felt that hunger again. She longed to feel his tongue in her mouth, to hear the little silver ball click against her teeth as they kissed and to sink beneath him, letting his warm, lean body crush her firm, high breasts against her ribs. She wanted to know the urgent press of his hardness against her soft, pelvic mound.

Idly now she let her mind wander in dreams, where she was as bold as some of the prettier girls at school. Girls like Becca and Linsey, who would shamelessly go with older boys in the park on Friday and Saturday nights; lying down in the long grass with them and giving of themselves as she had never dared to in her waking hours. Alice knew that her eyes were not blue enough; her thick blonde hair too unruly; her chest too flat and her hips too wide to attract boys like the ones in her sticky-fingered nightly fantasies. 

Even the young man sitting by the window in front of her was prettier than she was, she thought irritably. All the same, Alice let her gaze admire his long, elegant hands, taking in the swirls of silver on his index finger and the smallest digit of the left. The third was bereft of ornament though, a small void in his perfection. Could she dare to believe that he was yet unclaimed; so beautiful and so damaged that no woman could have him?

Now her eyes roamed over his scars again, the fine criss-crossing of white lines across the backs of his slim, fair-skinned arms and the puckered, pinkish circles on his hands that were without doubt the spawn of a lighted cigarette. She touched the small, round marks on her own wrists, still raw, mere weeks old some of them - the originals were dry now, hard little knots against her skin. Her fingers played the strings of flesh left by the razor's kiss, not just on her arms and hands, but on the softer meat of her round, white thighs too. 

Alice leaned back, letting the motion of the train rock her like a tempestuous lover. The slight, erotic prickle where she had recently shaved was rubbing up now against the wetness of her black, cotton thong as she swayed with the lurch and roll of the carriage. Last night, lying in the bath, she had sacrificed those virginal blonde curls to the edge of her precious razor before slicing the sharp blade into the creamy softness of her thigh. Briefly she had been a Goddess, lying in the foaming water, watching mesmerised as her blood danced lazy swirls on the surface, staining her shorn tresses scarlet. She itched to cut the plump folds of her vulva too, just to know the pure burn of steel between her legs, but her courage failed her there. Bad enough that she was already the school freak, in her long dark skirts and her dripping sleeves, her eyes and lips painted Pierrot-black. God forbid that any normal boy should deign to pull down her knickers only to laugh in disbelief at her disfigurement. 

But One Day… she promised herself. 

And in any case, if no boy would have her, it did not matter if she wore a single scar between her legs or ten, or a thousand!

She pushed away her dreams and fears to find those preternaturally green eyes fixed on her, wide and unblinking in their quiet contemplation. The look in that silent stare told Alice at once that he was aware of her scrutiny. To her surprise his soft lips twitched in a small, knowing smile. 

And Alice smiled back before she could even censor the reaction. Her mind was still whirling, lost in the dream. For it must be a part of her dream. Boys did not smile at her, and certainly not like that. As if they wanted to lick her up like a spill of cream.

He sat straighter then, scooping up the magazine and tossing it onto the facing seat, indicating the empty place next to him with an abrupt motion of his hand. His fingers dripped elegantly, like willow fronds, from his flexible wrists. Alice shuddered at the idea of them delicately exploring her bare skin. She moved forward on leaden legs into the walk-space between seats. 

"I prefer standing, really."

He pulled a disappointed face at that. 

"But we can't talk if you stand out there," he pointed out. His voice was low and husky; a smoky tenor. Alice had somehow expected him to be a local man but he was not. His accent spoke to her of the distant South, of London and the grey, winding Thames. She longed to run away to London and her heart skipped a little. 

"Where are you from?" 

"Nowhere," he answered ambiguously. "And Everywhere!"

"But where do you live, I mean?" Alice pursed her lips at his evasion, even though it intrigued her. "You must have come from somewhere."

He smiled, showing those long, sharp dog teeth again, and she felt the heat spike in her loins and clenched her pelvic floor muscles determinedly against the wetness that pulsed in her damp knickers. Oh god! She was going to come… standing here like an idiot, unable to think of anything but his mouth between her legs; those sharp, sweet little fangs of his biting down on her hairless snatch whilst his tongue stud explored where only her thrusting fingers had ever gone before. 

Alice sat down hard and fast in the empty seat beside him, breathing deeply to try and quell the explosion inside her. Now her fingers played nervously with the zips on her favourite purple and black panelled bondage skirt, tugging them down to her knees. She had felt dangerous and alluring standing by the door with the zippers undone to mid-thigh. Now she was just painfully conscious of showing too much pale, persistent puppy-fat. Except puppy-fat would have gone by now and this just clung on like zombie flesh, refusing to melt away no matter how hard she starved herself. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting back against the window to give her space. 

Again she was conscious of her broad hips and longed to be whip-thin like him; lean, sexy and confident in his company.

"I'll sit there if you prefer," she ventured, nodding towards the opposite seat where his feet had rested moments earlier.

He shrugged slightly, the disapproval very plain on his pretty face.

"If you'd rather…But if you sit there, I'm afraid, you'll have to unzip your skirt again," he teased her. 

Alice blushed hotly, cursing her pale complexion. She always turned into a clown when she was upset or embarrassed. It was easier to play aloof; or just to ignore all conversation. But she could not ignore him, no matter how he made her cheeks burn. Her cunt was as hot as her face now. 

"I'll stay here then."

He smiled; that too-knowing smile. His beautiful, hypnotic eyes raked her figure. She'd heard girls laugh about men that undressed them with their eyes but he went beyond that. His gaze stripped the skin from her bones and set a fire blazing through her quivering nerves that would not go out.

"That's good," he said, still smiling. "I love what you're wearing, by the way. It's very sexy. You should unzip it a little more though. Pull your skirt zippers right up and… this one down to here…"

He sat forward boldly, tugging the zip fastening on the front of her body-hugging, hooded top right down from her collarbones to just between her breasts. Alice yanked it back up to halfway between the two points at once. 

"Hey! Flash my bra at everyone, why not?"

He looked back smugly at her, a little glint of wickedness in his eyes. 

"You should take the bra off, you don't need it."

"Thanks!" she huffed, utterly humiliated now. "I mean, I know they're small…"

"They're beautiful," he interrupted, more softly, his gaze melting as he saw her hurt. "Small and firm and high, like ripe peaches under your top. You don't need support, is what I mean. They're perfect, Alice."

She blinked at him, shocked. 

"H… How d'you know my name?" At once she retreated, pulling up the zipper to her neck again, staring at his slightly cagey expression. 

"It was a guess," he lied. "You looked like an emo Alice in Wonderland with those long blonde bangs and your black velvet headband and sixteen hole boots. I was calling you Alice in my head whilst you were watching me."

She blushed again at his acknowledgement that he had noticed her staring at him. God, could she possibly have embarrassed herself any more?

"What's your name?" she forced out, both sorry and relieved that the train would be pulling into her station soon. It was already slowing down, the clack of the wheels over the lines now a slower rhythm than the beating of her eager heart. She had a desperate need to run home and throw herself onto her bed, pushing her hand into her knickers so that she could bring herself to a proper climax. 

"Guess," he teased. 

"Don't be stupid. Just tell me. Look…" she stood up defensively. "I'm getting off here. Just tell me who you are, okay?" she demanded, feeling her face get hot again. 

"I guessed yours," he said, sitting back with a sharp little grin. "Tell you what, why don't I get off with you Alice? I'd love to get you off."

Her mouth fell open and the surges of heat inside her redoubled. If he only knew! At this rate she would come before the train stopped and yet he hadn't even touched her skin. 

"I don't know you," she protested, flustered by his calm smile and suggestive look in his feline eyes. 

"Yes you do," he said, holding out his hand and laying it next to her own . "Snap!" he whispered, touching one of the small, raised, round burns on her wrist. "Cigarette butt," he intoned, pointing out several corresponding pale spots on his hands. "This one…" and he touched a pinpoint dimple in his right palm, "…is a compass point. I stuck it through my hand when I was 14."

"Why?" she asked, almost breathless with wonderment. 

"It's what Freaks do, isn't it?" He shrugged artlessly. "Aren't you getting off here?" 

Alice started out of her contemplation of his elegant, scarred hands to realise that the doors were closing and the train was about to pull out of her station. She had not even felt it slide to a halt and her heart leapt fiercely again now as she turned to look back at him.

"Where are you going?" she asked him, sitting down again resolutely. 

"All the way, Alice." He winked at her. "I want to stand by the wild shore and feel the ocean sing to me."

She thought this sounded deliciously romantic but could not resist sarcasm. 

"This train goes to Southport, you'll be lucky if the tide even comes in," she pointed out. "And it's only the Irish Sea, even if it does."

He pouted and let go of her hand. 

"You wound me, Alice. I thought you were a true visionary but you're just a cynic with damages," he declared, dismissively. "And my grandparents were Irish. What's wrong with the Irish Sea?"

It took her a moment to understand that he was still teasing her and when she did they both surrendered to the giggles. 

"If you guess my name, I'll let you kiss me," he told her as they sped on, way beyond her station, no turning back now. She had finally stopped poking and rabbit punching him for being cruel. 

"Who says I want to kiss you?" Alice's cheeks coloured again though and ruined the aloof response straight away. 

"You do," he said, touching a fingertip to the corner of her mouth. "Trust me, Alice. I'm good at these things. What's my name?"

"Rumplestiltskin!" she laughed, remembering the childhood fairy tale. "Now where are my three wishes?"

"Not my name," he chuckled, moving closer. "But I know your desires, Alice in Wonderland. Will you let me give them to you?"

"You think you know!" she laughed again, still blushing as she pushed him away but feeling bold and dangerous all the same; riding way beyond the remit of her cheap day-return; flirting with a gorgeous stranger. This morning she would never have dared but now she was a different creature.

"What did you think of when you looked at me first?" he asked, his features composed into a more solemn mask as he sat back with his arm draped along the window ledge, watching her hungrily. 

Alice thought about it; about the rocking, rolling motion of the train and her longing to have him surge like a tempestuous wave between her young thighs. Her face grew hot again. 

"A storm," she said more decorously. "Is that your name? Storm?"

He shook his head adamantly. 

"Not Storm. What else?"

"The sea," she mused. "Water. A wintry ocean? Wild river? Rolling wave?"

"I'm not a Native American," he grinned. "What else? Your first guess was closer, by the way."

Alice closed her eyes. She saw the storm again, and their bodies locked in urgent union as they sky poured down a torrent upon them, soaking them to the skin. 

"Rain," she whispered. "Wild, endless rain."

"I told you that you would guess it," he answered her, touching his soft mouth to hers so that her eyes flew open in surprise. She had not even sensed that he was close. His lips were as cool as Winter and his hands gentle on her shoulder and breast as his tongue met and tangled with hers in the wetness of her mouth. 

She let Rain kiss her harder and deeper. She did not resist as his fingers pulled down the zipper again, all the way this time. His hand was colder than expected inside the lacy cup of her small, black bra but those deft fingers did wonderful things to her naked breasts. As his lips covered her own and he pinched and twisted her erect, hypersensitive nipples, in full public view of any passenger that wanted to stare, Alice felt herself getting hotter and more aroused for him. 




Eat me, Drink me



He pulled up one of the zippers on her skirt so that his hand could slide down between her legs and his mouth roamed over the creamy skin of her neck making her moan quietly. The backs of his long, cool fingers stroked the swell of her pudenda through the wet, black cotton of her knickers, finding and teasing her clit through the moist cloth. Alice gasped with desire as his thumb-pad slid under the scrap of soaked material to rub her jumping, clenching flesh urgently. 

His mouth covered her cries of pleasure, stifling them with lips and tongue as he brought her to the most blissful orgasm, that surged in powerful waves from the wetness of her virgin cunt, up into her belly and breasts and out into her quivering limbs. She felt the explosion in her fingers and her toes, felt it vibrating in her teeth and the roots of her hair. The whole carriage seemed to lurch and roll with the clenching of her eager pussy. 

"You are wonderful, Alice," he whispered into her slack mouth. She saw need burning in his eyes, the pupils huge and dark as he looked back at her. 

Once again, Alice did not notice the train stopping. She had no recall of rising from her seat and taking his hand, or of letting him lead her through the winter-grey streets of the old town, down towards the sea. The light was beginning to fade as she walked beside him on the promenade, his cold hand in hers, the chill, rough wind whipping his dark mane into a frenzied storm cloud and blowing her long blonde tresses into a spume of foam on the crest of a surging wave. In the distance the coloured lights of the fairground twinkled bravely and beneath them the clink of small boats moored on the lido and the slap of grey water on their wooden flanks was a magical music to her ears. 

She walked with him down beneath the dark, iron arches of the pier where the soft, wet sand yielded to their passing feet and leaned back against one of the ancient supports as he pressed his mouth onto hers again. His hands cupped and caressed her, unzipping her again. Alice had no memory of removing her bra and knickers before they left the train but she must have done so because they were no impediment to his mouth and hands now. 

"You are so beautiful, Alice," he whispered into her open mouth. "I can't wait to give you your three wishes."

"What wishes?" she giggled, almost drunk on the pleasure of his slow kisses and his searching hands. 

He looked down solemnly into her eyes now, a serious little smile playing on his lush lips. 

"You remember? The desires you expressed on the train as you watched me, Alice," he purred huskily, his hands pulling open her top and sliding the sleeves rapidly down her bare arms as he kissed her neck and exposed shoulders and she shivered with more than just the cold. "Surely you remember?"

His teeth were sharp and white as he smiled at her in the gathering gloom, then bent his head to her naked breast, engulfing one puffy pink nipple in his mouth and sucking on it until she gasped with pain and longing. The wetness ran down her pale thighs from the clenching muscles of her vagina. She remembered imagining his sharp little fangs biting down on the shorn flesh of her creamy labia and almost came again at the delicious thought. 

One cool hand groped her neglected breast as Alice leaned back against the pier column and lifted her arms to offer him unimpeded access to her nakedness. 

"Bite me!" she panted as Rain sucked hard on her pale pink, sugar candy nipples. "Bite my tits. I want to watch you drink my blood."

"You are precious!" he sighed, his breath a balmy breeze across her skin. Alice cried out in mingled pain and purest pleasure as she felt those sharp, perfect fangs pierce her smooth flesh and sink deeper into the firm swell of her exposed breast.  

Alice knew she ought to have been afraid but she felt no fear. She rubbed her body against him as the hot blood trickled down her bared torso, her top already discarded on the damp sand. His hands were confidently pulling up the zippers between the panels of her long purple and black skirt, twisting it so that it opened over the junction of her creamy thighs and the sweet flesh of her bared pudenda. Alice stood before him, topless and exposed, her cunt on show, and he shoved a hand between her legs, thrusting surprisingly strong, cold fingers into the wetness between her plump, pale lips. Alice clung to an elegantly wrought iron bolt protruding from the column above her head and arched her back as she rode his intrusive fingers. 

He licked her left breast lasciviously, catching every trickle of her hot blood, then his mouth descended on the other and she bucked and whined with desire as he bit down on her there. Her movements rubbed the softness of her bare cunt against the groping hand at work between her legs. 

"Uuuhhhhh… Ohhh God!" Alice whined, riding his fingers harder as he took her closer and closer to the orgasm she craved. His lips pulled on her aching nipples and she stared down at the small, bloody wounds that still mottled the creamy skin of her tiny breasts. Her swollen, tingling clitoris rubbed eagerly on the heel of his hand as he pumped it between her thighs. Alice threw back her head in orgiastic ecstasy, letting the climax race through her like a flood tide. It tugged on the muscles of her pelvis and burst into her like molten lava, surging through her flesh and bones and leaving her weak and breathless. 

She felt Rain press against her in the gathering darkness and his soft mouth covered her own, swallowing her screams as she came for him again. She could feel his roused, hard sex straining against the light summer denim of his tight jeans as he ground his crotch against her pink, denuded mons. Alice was overwhelmed. He had brought her to two orgasms now, both harder and longer than any she had experienced for her own caressing hand. And yet she was still a virgin.

Her hand strayed down to the swell of his groin and she rubbed him through the black cloth, loving his low growls of pleasure and the way he bucked himself against her hand. His mouth fastened onto her own again, kissing her greedily as she unbuttoned his fly. As his lips moved to her neck and throat, his swollen member eased free of his pants and he guided her fingers around it, showing the inexperienced young woman how to handle a man's sex. Alice was amazed at how thick and long it was. He was a small man, barely taller than her own 5'5" and lean as a greyhound, but his dick was as long her outstretched hand and she could barely close her fingers around its girth. It was as cool as his lips and the rest of his bare skin though.

Rain cried out against her neck, licking her there as she gently handled his cock, letting her rub and stroke him until he could not hold back any more and pulled free of her hand before he spilled his seed. He sank to his knees at Alice's feet now, lifting the panels of her heavy skirt and touching his lips to the raw razor stripes on her naked thighs. His gentle hands outlined the full curves of her milk-white hips and lovingly squeezed and savoured the swell of her naked buttocks. His lips murmured sweetly against her shaven mound and she shivered with pleasure at the soft vibration of his words through the quivering fuck-hungry flesh of her pussy. 

"Oh Alice, you beautiful creature. You want this, don't you?" he crooned low against her thrusting mound. His studded tongue flickered out and tickled her throbbing clit. "You want me to do this so badly, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Ohhh fuck, yes! Eat me!" Alice begged him, spreading her legs eagerly for him now. He buried his pretty face deep between her legs and she whined with a burning, desperate desire. She had not known herself capable of such a passion, until today. 

Rain nuzzled her pudenda, his hands roughly caressing her broad hips and fullness of her cheeks as he inhaled the hot musk of her wet, hungry sex. His tongue slithered greedily into her slit and eased back and forth making her buck and wriggle above him. He showed not a moment's hesitation and her fears that he would find her too dirty, too fat and undesirable once she was exposed to him, melted away with the gentle breeze of his breath on her cunt. 

Alice keened uncontrollably as he plunged his restless tongue deep between her plump, pink labia and began to lick as if he was ravenous and only her juices could feed that hunger. One of her knees came up in an automatic reaction as her sex clenched harder and as she balanced on one leg he eased one shoulder under her raised knee. Alice let her leg curl around his slim torso as he knelt between her thighs. Her hands gripped the moulded bolt above her head as she bucked and ground shamelessly against his mouth. She felt Rain dip one thumb into her juices and slowly begin to rub the wetness over her trembling clitoris. Then to her amazement he fulfilled her next wish, sinking his sharp fangs slow and hard into the soft swell of her vulva and feeding on her as his tongue flickered in and out of her grasping cunt. 

The young girl turned her head and bit down on her bare arm to stop herself screaming with pure lust as the third explosion began, deep in her spastic vagina this time, robbing her of the strength to remain standing. Rain caught her and lowered her gently to the sand as he spread her legs wide and continued with his gentle licking and sucking of her glistening sex, worshipping her pussy with his mouth. She writhed weakly beneath him and whimpered helplessly as wave after wave of the most intense and prolonged orgasm of her sweet young life roared through her like a bush fire, stripping her of the power of speech and movement. 

Her lover knelt up over her as her trembling subsided and her ragged gasping breaths began to slow. He stripped out of his shirt and pushed down his jeans quickly. Eyes like burning, emerald stars looked down on her lush, creamy body, grateful and hungry at the same time. Alice was staring up at him, lost in the depths of those inhuman eyes. Her pale hair was a tangled cloud around her flushed, post-orgasmic face. Tiny breasts rose and fell rapidly above the swell of her milky-pale belly, and her long legs were splayed open, boneless, framing the heat and wetness of her plump, pink, virgin-tight cunt. She knew what he wanted of her and what she also desired of him, more than even her life.

"Are you ready for your third wish, Alice?" he crooned, stroking his hard, upright manhood as he crawled back between her gaping thighs. 

Alice nodded just the once, shuddering with helpless delight as she felt him stroke the leaking head of his hard penis between the hot, wet folds of her quivering labia. His dick was cold, like his searching fingers but she didn't care. She lay back submissively, staring at his beautiful face in the shadows as he gazed down between her legs, his pale eyes filled with desire and wonderment for what he saw there. His lips parted around a little gasp of pleasure that echoed her sharp intake of breath when he slowly eased his glossy cock head into her. Alice moved her hips in a slow arc as he prowled over her, pushing himself forward between her legs, ever so slowly impaling her on his manhood, stretching and opening her wider than ever before. She breathed out hard as he withdrew all but the head of his sex then drove it in again, a little harder and faster than before. 

"Oh Alice!" he panted huskily. "You are so tight. So good!"

He fell on her neck and breasts then, biting and sucking as he began to thrust harder, burying his pulsing shaft inside her. Alice cried out just once as she felt a cramping pain in her loins like when she had her monthly bleed. His lips moved close to her ear then, whispering; "You have your wish, Alice, you're no longer a virgin. Do you want me to stop?"

"N-No," she breathed, curling her arms around his body and pulling him closer. "Please don't stop, Rain. I want you to feel you fucking me. I want to come with your cock inside me, all the way."

He gave her that wish then, driving himself into her deeply, over and over until she could feel the kiss of his firm, smooth balls on the narrow rise between her wet cunt and her anus. His mouth pressed down on hers, kissing her deep and hard, his tongue dancing with her own between their jaws as she lifted her knees and wrapped her legs around him. Her hips moved up in slow, grinding circles, rubbing against his lean nude body as he slammed into her over and over, his thrusting cock scratching a desperate itch in the shy, lonely young woman beneath him. She cried out like a wild thing as he rode her that first time, answering his bucking hips with her own body. 

Alice screamed again as she felt the climax rise in her, tightening her slick wet channel around his shaft so that she gripped him fiercely and milked a response from his aching balls. He sank down onto her with a long low moan of satisfaction as his spill flowed into her twitching, eager cunt. Their naked bodies were slick with sweat and juices and chill winter rain. Alice felt his mouth on her neck as her vampire lover bit down on her again, drinking her greedily, his cock already beginning to stir inside her once more. She felt no little wonderment that she had never though to question what he was, or that he might easily end her life here on the sands, bare moments after it had finally, gloriously begun. 

If that was his desire, she had no will to deny it. The feel of his lips sucking hungrily on her neck and his sex stroking slow and hard inside her would be the last things she knew, for Alice was beyond caring.

Three times he made love to her, down there on the beach, and as they slumped in post orgasmic bliss after the third such urgent coupling, the tickle of cold waves at their feet finally sent them chasing after their spilled clothing before the sea washed it away. Gasping and laughing they scrambled, weak-limbed, up to the safety of the pier and pulled on their wet clothes before walking hand in hand back along the bare, creaking boards in the velvet blackness of the night. 

Alice slept in Rain's slender, scarred arms that night, curled up under a tarpaulin and her coat, in a rocking rowing boat out on the lido. As the morning came, so did Alice, waking with her lover's cock sliding rapidly back and forth in her tight, wet sheath as he suckled like a babe on her bleeding breast. 

They said very little on the slow walk back to the station. It was more like a dream than anything else. Again, Alice remembered nothing more about the journey than his hand in hers and his soft, cool lips against her own. He kissed and caressed her the whole way and before she rose to leave the train, as it neared her station, his lips claimed one last, lingering taste of passion before he let her go. Rain did not say goodbye, nor did he move to alight with her. 

"I'll never see you again, will I?" Alice whispered ruefully, before the doors closed between them and she had to leave wonderland behind her. 

He shrugged casually and flashed her that smile that made her loins ache deep and slow, reminding her of how he had brought her into womanhood on the cold, grey sands. 

"Who knows, Alice? Who knows?"

And then the whistle blew and the doors slid shut and he was gone. She watched the tail light on the final coach until it rounded the bend, out of sight, then heaved a sigh and trudged wearily home to face the wrath of her worried parents. 

Alice never did see Rain again. However, just a week or so after her mysterious liaison with the beautiful vampire, stronger and more self-confident since her night of unstinting pleasure in his arms, she ran, quite literally, into a beautiful blond-haired boy named Warren White from the local college, spilling his coffee. After buying him another to make amends, they talked for most of the afternoon. A few days later, Alice and 'Rabbit' compared scars over a drink after classes and, much later on, as they lay naked together in his bed she taught the shy, eager young buck how to open up the gates to Wonderland. 

:FIN:

"EAT ME, DRINK ME." 

© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2009 



Eat Me, Whispered the Corn Flakes



As a cub reporter for the third largest agricultural newspaper in Tufton Flats, Iowa, I'm trained to keep my eyes open for a story, any story which might enlighten and provoke our readership of six hundred strong. You might even recognize my name if you're a fellow member of the fifth estate—it was I who in 1998 went undercover to penetrate the secret cabal of county fair judges which unethically gave the award for Best Holstein Calf to Artie Sampster three years running in exchange for free annual tune-ups of the head judge's Toyota Camry. I made many enemies the day that sordid tale was printed, but the brush with controversy only encouraged my lust for journalism. I wasn't ready for the big time, though, until last October, when I wandered into Lazy Eyes Grocery and Meats for my usual weekly food run, only to stumble across a story that I knew would soon have one-third of downtown Tufton Flats scrambling for every word I wrote.

I had already carted all the basic supplies necessary to sustain a single gal of twenty-six until her next paycheck—six cans of tomato soup, six cans of Calves-Be-Slim, six cans of wontons—when it struck me that I was almost out of cereal. Cereal to me is like the Koran to Cat Stevens, so I beat feet to the breakfast aisle and surveyed the fall line of offerings. Praisin' My Raisins was too sweet for my taste, Bran Francisco ("the Golden Gate Bridge to good colon health") was too insipid, and Eat Oats Like You Mean It was somehow intimidating. I had just about settled on a super-sized box of ever-dependable Lick-O's when I saw a cereal two feet to the left that riveted my reporter's keen gaze.

It was a very bland, plain rice cereal in an unassuming yellow box. The edible bits were of no particular shape or color. All in all, just another lame offering from some anonymous company committed to middle-of-the-road discount breakfast fare. But the name of the cereal—that was something different. It was called, simply, HOT WET CHOODLE. 

Shell-shocked, I grabbed a box of the stuff and, leaving my cart behind, strode right up to Yimsy, the egg-shaped weekday cashier who occasionally had to be rushed to the hospital in mid-shift for swallowing her gum.

"Yimsy!" I said, thrusting the box in her face. "Did you have any idea this was on the shelf?"

"Well, it's cereal, ain't it?" she replied, a minty yet somehow tomblike odor gushing from her gob. "Where else would it be—up your butt?" She cackled knowingly. 

"Never mind," I said testily. I was about to ask her to page Gus-Gus, the owner of Lazy Eyes, but then it occurred to me that the best thing to do was go straight to my office and make some phone calls. I didn't want anyone else muscling in on my story. 

Now when I say "office", see, the thing is, right now I'm sharing a desk with a few of the guys from Distribution. Some would call them "paper delivery boys", but they're pretty mature for fourteen. Anyway, the phone works fine, and with my box of Hot Wet Choodle (contents sold by weight, not by volume) in hand, I dialed a 1-800 number that connected me with the consumer affairs department of the Profit Pusher General Product Corporation. After wading through various menu options, still staring in disbelief at the name of the cereal contrasted with the cartoon images of two perky elfin creatures hopping about on either side of the bowl depicted on the box, I finally got a customer service representative to pick up.

"Profit Pusher," the man said. "This is..."—he emitted a slight grunt for some reason—"...Curt."

"Hello, my name is Donna McTippit, and I'm a reporter for the Tufton Flats Herald-Newsulationist," I informed Curt. "I'd like to address the name of one of your breakfast cereals." 

There was a slight pause, and I heard Curt shifting in his chair. Then he held the phone away from his mouth for a moment, muttering, "Don't stop now, Snookie, I'm real close!" to someone in the background.  "Hello?" I said. 

"Sorry, yes, ma'am, what is the name of the product in question?" Again he grunted and breathed in sharply. 

"You're marketing a cereal called Hot Wet Choodle!" I said. "Do you realize how offensive that is to a woman like me?!" 

"I'm afraid I don't understand, miss," said Curt before sighing blissfully for some strange reason. "How is that offensive exactly?" 

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know what things are like in Salt Silo, Missouri," I said angrily, "but here in Iowa, you can't just go around referring to a woman's...place... so openly. I think our six hundred readers will be most interested in hearing about this affront!" 

"Could you hold on for juuuuuust one second, Miss?" Curt asked, and before I could respond I heard the phone set down on a tabletop. After that, there came a "Holy JESUS, you can swallow a lot of funfoam!" from Curt, and then he instructed the girl in the room with him to "say the Pledge of Allegiance now....lemme see it spill out the sides of your mouth."  He picked up the phone again. "I've just been talking with our legal department, miss," he lied. 

"You have not!" I exclaimed. "You've been receiving oral sex on the other end of this phone!" 

"Madam, please....if you agree not to run a story criticizing our company, we'll issue an immediate recall notice for the remaining boxes of Hot Wet Choodle." 

"Not good enough," I countered. "This is going into the paper tomorrow."  "Well, then," Curt said as I faintly heard his zipper being drawn upwards, "how about a coupon for three free boxes of StrawWOWberry Toast-B-Qs?"  I paused. He really had me in a bind. This could be a truly huge story for me, and maybe even a chance to impress those pompous bigshots over at the Tufton Tribune and Lottery Watcher. But I had a tragic weakness for all the Toast-B-Q flavors, including BlueBURSTberry and ChocoCHOCOlate.  "All right," I agreed, "but those boxes had better be off the shelf in this state and all other states within a week, and I'll expect that coupon FedExed to me."

"Very good, ma'am. Have an orgasmic day." With that, he hung up the phone. I'm sure he was satisfied in more ways that one, but I was not feeling so complete. Had I sacrificed my journalistic integrity somehow? I wasn't sure. 

 

 

A victim of loneliness and a ravenous hunger for Toast-B-Q's, I went through my free boxes over the course of a long holiday weekend. I had always prided myself on keeping a nice trim figure, and I knew I'd have to start working those pounds off immediately, so I put on a sports bra and bicycle shorts and jogged down to Lazy Eyes for some kelp patties and bottled moisture—which has eighty percent less water than normal water! As usual, I was greeted with prurient stares from all the local single men, who gazed at my jiggling backside like they were watching a total lunar eclipse or the late innings of a Tufton Ticks game. 

I knew I shouldn't have trusted myself to buy only health food, though, because naturally I wound up in the cereal aisle again like a junkie looking for a fix. The boxes of Hot Wet Choodle had been removed, I saw, so everything was back to normal. I took a small box of Four Grains and a Nut of Some Kind and headed for the checkout line. I stopped dead in my tracks when I passed a pyramidal display at the end of the aisle featuring a new, typically bland wheat cereal from Profit Pusher. 

Yeah, bland as a Tufton Tuesday, except that the cereal was inexplicably called SHOVE THAT WANGIE INSIDE ME. The little elfin creatures were back, dancing around the bowl like demented....well, elves. EIGHT ESSENTIAL NUTRIENTS! one shouted in a cartoon balloon. YUM YUM YUMMY! yelled the other. I ran to the nearest pay phone, shrieking at the top of my lungs. 

"Profit Pusher General Product Corporation, this is Helen," answered a pleasant-sounding young woman after I had punched in an interminable sequence of ones, twos, threes, and pound signs. 

"Yes, I need to complain yet again about the name of a new cereal!" I said loudly. "I'm an important reporter and you people have gone over the line!"  "I understand, ma'am," Helen said. "I'll be happy to assist you. To better help in this matter, I'm going to need a bit of information from you, is that okay?"  "Sure sure," I told her. "But then I'm going to need the name of the CEO!"  "Certainly," Helen said soothingly. "Can I have your name please?"

"Donna McLudlow McTippit." 

"And where are you calling from, Ms. McTippit?" 

"Tufton Flats, Iowa, fifty-five miles east of West Lemon City." 

"And what, may I ask, are you wearing?" 

"A sports bra and bicycle shor—wait a second, why do you need to know THAT?" I asked in disbelief. 

"Just for a mental image, sweetie," Helen the Operator told me, in a lower voice than she had started the conversation with. "Mmm, I bet your caboose looks amazing in those shorts. Is the sports bra nice and snug against your bulbs?"

"Why yes it is, Helen, and you're going to see just HOW snug when I fly up there to demand to speak to whoever's in charge of that nuthouse you call a company!" 

"Mmmmmm, I like to see a woman in a tight sports bra. Tell me about your nipples; are they—"

I slammed down the receiver and ran home. Then I made sure the box of Shove That Wangie Inside Me cereal was secured in the grocery basket of my moped and set out for the airport. By the time I returned to work, I hoped to have an exclusive that would shove yesterday's nuclear exchange between India and Pakistan onto page six of the Family Living section—and perhaps finally arouse the hoidy toidy attentions of those stuffed shirts over at The Mid-Central Iowa Farm and Fruit Stand Reader!  I did a little research on the company on the flight to Salt Silo, thanks to the nice man sitting beside me who let me use his computer. It was a lot like the kind the newspaper finally bought last year, which broke immediately. (It was so weird—I was just sitting in front of it, doing nothing for three minutes, and suddenly the screen went dark and it looked like I was soaring through stars in blackest outer space. We've all been afraid to even touch it ever since.) 

Profit Pusher had been founded so recently that they hadn't even issued their first earnings report yet. By all accounts, it seemed to be a perfectly normal establishment which planned to manufacture everything from waffle smoothers to butter shapers to bobblehead dolls of the great vice presidents in history. They had begun with breakfast cereal, and were truly a virgin company asking for bigtime trouble by going overboard so quickly with their perverted ideals. I was infinitely disturbed by the fact that their website was sponsored by six or seven pop-up ads beckoning the web surfer to "CUM SEE THE SLUTTIEST BRAILLISTS WE COULD FIND" or "LOG ON NOW FOR THE HOTTEST AFTER-HOURS MUSEUM SEX EVER"! 

The central office was on the fourth floor of the Van Vangel Building in the snootiest shopping district in all of Salt Silo. I walked into the receptionist's area and was greeted with the shock of my life. Greeting me was not the smiling face of a helpful secretary, but a strange man's naked buttocks as he thrust himself repeatedly into some woman he'd lifted onto the front desk! She was urging him to "give it to me like you did at SeaWorld" when I shrieked at them to stop. 

"What on earth is wrong with you people?!" I yelled. "Have you no sense of decency at all?!"

The man pulled up his pants quickly and, patting down his mussed hair, dashed off down the hallway. The girl ran behind her desk and sat down in a fevered state, smiling at me and asking me if I had an appointment.  "I'm here to do a news story about this sick, sick organization," I told her. "I want to see the president, now."

"Um, okay," said Miss No-Panties, pressing a button on her intercom. "I apologize for the gadoogling, miss, but after all, it IS casual day."

"Great," I said disdainfully. "I'd hate to see the office Christmas party!"  "Mr. Bootingaily, a woman here to see you," the receptionist said over the intercom. 

"A woman, eh?" came the reply. "What's she look like? My type? Ah, it doesn't matter, I'd shnazz almost anything today." 

My eyes widened angrily. 

"This looks like official business, sir," the secretary said nervously. "Shall I send her in?" 

"Sure thing, Sweet Beams," Bootingaily said. "And bring us some coffee if you can. What color is your bra today?"

"No bra at all today, sir." 

"Just the way I like it!" Bootingaily said, and I was already on my speechless way down the hall. On the way to the office, I witnessed yet another horrendous sight. A man and woman in business attire were standing by a water cooler, chatting amicably about an upcoming conference in Boxmop Junction, while the woman absently stroked his jutting wicket through his open fly. I blinked in an effort to make it go away but it was of no use. They smiled at me as I passed, as if nothing was wrong.  A tall man in his late thirties opened the door to a spacious and tastefully decorated interior office. "Hi, I'm Ted Bootingaily. Come in and have a seat. In the chair, on my face, wherever you'd like." 

"Mr. Bootingaily!" I said. "I am Donna McTippit, a star reporter for the Tufton Flats Herald-Newsulationist. And I'm also a woman who is about to report you and this entire company to the highest court in the land for gross sexual harrassment!"

Bootingaily frowned. "Oops. Forget I said that. Please, take the chair, let's discuss this all before you do something drastic." 

I sat opposite him and leveled a serious finger at him. "Your company is marketing cereals with pornographic names, and conducting an aggressive office policy of open coital activity between employees. What can you possibly say in your defense?" 

"Well, Ms. McTippit, we're a very new company. Sometimes you hit a few stumbling blocks before everything gets straightened out." At that moment, 'Sweet Beams' came in with the coffee. Topless. 

"Uh, Snuzzer-pie," Bootingaily said abashedly, "you might want to cover up while Ms. McTippit is here. I'll explain later." 

"Okay," she said, stopping herself in the middle of rubbing Sweet 'n' Low on her nipples, which was apparently meant for her boss to slurp off. "I'll be outside." With that she sashayed out. I felt nauseous. 

"Now then, Ms. McTippit," Bootingaily continued, "what is this 'sexual harrassment' you speak of?" 

"You mean you really don't know?" I asked, dumbfounded. "You don't know the definition of that term?" 

"Um....sorry," he said, looking not at me but at my chest. "That one's new to me." 

"For God's sake, do I have to show it to you in your own employee handbook?" I asked, sitting straight up in my chair so he couldn't get any more cleavage than he'd already sampled. "Do you even HAVE one?"  "Oh yes," he replied, enthused. "Just had it printed last week. Here." He pulled open his top drawer and shoved a forty-page booklet towards me. "Read my introduction. I have a blonde joke in there that will absolutely slay you!" 

I gagged when I saw that the cover of the booklet, entitled WELCOME, CITIZEN, TO PROFIT PUSHER!, bizarrely showed a man engaged in cunnilingus on a woman as she sat on a bench in what appeared to be an orbiting space station. Testily I flipped to the table of contents to point out the chapter that would explain why Profit Pusher should, for moral, ethical, and legal reasons, exert slightly less effort encouraging rampant intercourse and lewd cereal names. 

"My God," I said after a moment's scanning. "You HAVE no sexual harrassment policy at this company!" 

"I told you, we're pretty new," Bootingaily said lamely. "Still crossing the T's and dotting the I's. We haven't even connected the Tivo in the break room yet." 

Suddenly it came to me in a flash, exactly what had happened. This new company, deprived of an official policy prohibiting sexual harrassment in the workplace, had become the worst case scenario of what could happen without one. They'd all gone insane with sex, and it had now spread to an outside world where innocent children could not even pour a bowl of their breakfast cereal without being exposed to Profit Pusher's rampant smut!  "Sales of our new cereal are pretty slow, actually," Bootingaily said, scratching his chin. "Do you think if we had one of those sexual ass-cement policies, we could foster a workplace in which we might thrive?" 

"Sexual HARRASSMENT," I corrected him, "and yes, I think you have no other option but to stop the insanity right now! Call your lawyers and have them crank out something today!" 

"Oh, I will, Miss McTippit, I will," Bootingaily said, repentant. "In the meantime, is there anything I can do to dissuade you from running a negative story about us, just until we institute a sexual harrassment policy?"  "Well..." I said. "I'm not sure...." 

He smiled. "How about I come around this desk and gadoogle your cute midwestern choodle till you pass out?" Then he slapped his head as I leapt to my feet in outrage. "I'm sorry, that just slipped!"

"The story runs tomorrow," I told him, turning away with purpose and determination.  It was then that he hit me with the lowest blow of all, which was an offer to go down to the production floor and pull the giant handle that released the honey coating onto two thousand pounds of soon-to-be Toast-B-Qs. Despite the absurdly obvious symbolism of that act, I couldn 't resist. I was suddenly not just an eater of cereal; I was, for just a moment, a creator of it! In return I offered to give them one last chance. I would come back in two weeks to see if things had become normal around that carnal zoo they called a corporation. 

  Damn those freaks, their perversions were even starting to creep their way into my own mind. Sitting down at home after my flight from Salt Silo to eat the tasty contents of that shiny box of Shove That Wangie Inside Me (waste not, want not), I was seized with a strong urge to change into a bra and panties and watch men's golf on ESPN. But I resisted, and even though my dreams that night were tortured by images of men in bikini briefs, and me on the production floor of Profit Pusher whipping them on to churn out the cereal faster, faster, faster, I was okay by morning, and I'm proud to say that my hands strayed only once into my No-Zone. Meanwhile, I was very interested indeed in what I would find in Salt Silo in two weeks' time.  Only eight days passed before I had to rush back there, my anger roiled as it had never been roiled before. On the Tuesday after I had met Ted Bootingaily for the first time, I received a coupon in the mail for a free box of Profit Pusher's newest banana-flavored cereal. GREETINGS, VALUED CUSTOMER! it read in bold green Century Gothic type (a personal favorite font of mine since childhood, which made what came next even worse somehow). THANKS FOR TAKING THE TIME TO EXPRESS AN INTEREST IN OUR PRODUCTS! HELP YOURSELF TO A FREE SIXTEEN OUNCE BOX OF VAGINALICIOUS PENISPOPS, APPEARING AT A GROCER NEAR YOU NEXT MONTH! A PRIZE IS INCLUDED IN EVERY SPECIALLY MARKED PACKAGE  —WILL YOU GET THE VIBRATOR OR THE FLUORESCENT CONDOM? OPEN IT UP AND FIND OUT! 

Within hours I was walking into the offices of Profit Pusher, pad and pen in hand, and this time nothing could stop me from running the story of the century. Nothing, that is, but the wall of bodies I stumbled into upon pushing open the glass door that led into the reception area.  There must have been fourteen or fifteen people in there, all of them obviously Profit Pusher employees, engaged in every sort of sexual act imaginable. Half-dressed, one-quarter-dressed, and not dressed at all, they copulated with abandon, on the front desk, under the portrait of Martin Luther King on the south wall, and beside the Anne Geddes calendar on the west one. Ties, belts, cufflinks and panty hose lay everywhere. One woman was getting shnazzed from behind while she bent over the copy machine, her fingers working the TRAY SELECT button with admirable, but disgusting, concentration. Another woman was deep-throating a man's foghorn as he sorted through his personal electronic organizer, searching for an elusive phone number. A tall couple, both dressed in the most formal of business attire, were intercoursing on the floor directly in front of me, and as they did so, they discussed the proper formatting for a loss prevention spreadsheet due on someone named Dicky's desk that Friday.




Eat Me, Whispered the Corn Flakes



I screamed and ran past them all toward Bootingaily's office. The sounds of their orgy followed me like the reverberations of an earthquake. In the hall I heard a strangled cry of "Look out below, pilgrims!" and looked up just in time to avoid being hit in the elbow with a stream of sperm from the ceiling above. Two people had been doing it atop a filing cabinet. 

Bootingaily was in his office, thumbing through a copy of Penthouse. His erection strained his blue cotton Dockers.

"What the heck happened here?!" I shouted. "I demand to see the sexual harrassment policy you were supposed to institute last week, and if I don't see it right now, I'm calling my editor from the nearest pay phone, as well as the editors of The New York Times, Le Monde, and This Week in Tufton Flats!" 

"The policy went into effect the day after you left!" Bootingaily protested, putting the Penthouse down but using one finger to hold his place. He shoved the new employee handbook across his desk to me. I flipped to chapter seven, entitled "Sexual Harrassment in the Workplace and Profit Pusher's 'I Care' Program." The chapter was one third of a page long. These are the only words I was greeted with: 

 1) Employees probably shouldn't gadoogle other employees in the middle of business meetings with other companies. Under-the-table stroking should suffice in these situations.

2) Linda in Payroll likes to take it in the wetmelon only on Thursdays and Fridays for some reason. To her it's strictly a "weekend" thing. Whatever. 

3) Doing anything other than groping or finger-yoidling next to the coffee machine can really be dangerous. Remember that thing that happened to Dave. Ouch.

4) Try not to go spungo in a female employee's hair if that employee has a teleconference that day. 

 "THIS IS IT?!" I bellowed. "THIS is what your attorneys came up with?!"  "Well, first of all, it's not quite fair to call them 'attorneys'. They're still in the law school application process. But some of these guys got B's and C's in college, so it's only a matter of time before they're ready." 

I hung my head low. "I give up," I said. "I don't even have the energy to write the silly article anymore. No one would believe me, anyway. I'd be laughed out of my editor's office if I tried to describe what this place was like."  "There, there," Bootingaily said, moving around his desk. "It's not right that an attractive young woman like yourself should suffer all this stress. An attractive young woman whose flowing blonde hair and large, round zoomers should have you thinking about other things in life. I think what you really need is....a bowl of cereal." 

"Yes," I said gratefully. "Please....please, a bowl of cereal." 

Bootingaily went to a side cabinet and opened it. I glimpsed a box of Vaginalicious Penispops and closed my eyes as I heard the peaceful sound of two percent milk splash over a new bowl's contents. When I opened my eyes again, Bootingaily was holding the bowl at kind of an odd angle, sort of pressed below his waist for some reason. I didn't care. All I thought about was the cereal and how soothing it might be to my jangled psyche. I shoveled mouthful after mouthful as Bootingaily held the bowl firmly in front of him. 

"That's a girl," he said, sounding pleased. Well, I thought, at least he had pride in his company's product. "Now, drink down the rest of the milk...."  And I did, and I probably don't have to tell you, the worldly reader, about what horrifyingly popped into my mouth as the milk disappeared, and the evil tricks that an ogre like the CEO of Profit Pusher could conjure involving the cutting of a hole in the bottom of what had truly seemed like a genuine porcelain bowl. At first I thought I had merely gotten hold of an unusually large and firm faux-banana marshmallow, and excited by my good fortune, I began to suck on it heartily. It was Bootingaily's revolting "Ahhhhhhh" sound that clued me in to the truth. My reaction was understandably cataclysmic. 

But when that terrible man, that terrible, strangely polite, and rather attractive man, made me an offer I simply could not refuse, I found myself with that hard sausage in my mouth again. I suppose there are just some men in this world who understand on some innate, primal level that no girl could possibly resist the challenge to design and oversee her own line of nutritious oat cereals, and to be offered a full-time job as a Profit Pusher consultant on all cereal matters in the eastern third of the United States. 

I suppose it may not have been necessary to yoidle Ted right then and there in my girlish delight over that amazing new opportunity, but don't you see that I had just won the Irish Sweepstakes of cereal fantasy and could no longer control myself? That wasn't really me who ripped off my blouse and bra right there in the office, climbed on top of him, and lowered myself onto his throbbing gavel—it was a being I call Cereal Witch, and Lord knows I wish I could control her. I'm sure only another woman can understand the uncontrolled eroticism of breakfast in a bowl. I mean, there's milk, a bowl, and little bits of frosted this-and-that....do I have to draw you a picture? 

"Yeah, shnazz me, sweetie!" I cried as I rolled over and let Ted slide Mister Salty in from behind. "Oh, you bad bad manufacturer of the most important meal of the day!" 

"I think your CHOODLE'S gonna be my most important meal of the day!" came the reply.

"Wow, I'll bet YOU'D stay hard in milk!" I yelled, feeling my orgasm burst through me. The sensation of Ted spilling in my mouth reminded me of more innocent times when I used to swirl a spoonful of Eat-iskies around in there. Oh, the early morning joy! 

That all happened last October. These days I come to work happy and I leave happy, and I've more or less forgotten about my silly dreams of pounding the pavement in search of headlines. After my little erotic incident in Ted's office that day, I was able to comport myself much more calmly at Profit Pusher, but I swear, there are times when I get so excited by the important work I'm doing here that I just can't stop myself from occasionally grabbing someone in the hallways and spreading my legs for nutritious, delicious wangie (or, once in a while, the tongues of a couple of the gals down in Human Resources—hey, being inventive is part of my job!) In the meantime, I'm still in touch occasionally with my old friends at the Herald-Newsulationist, but I've been awfully busy this winter on the plans to launch Profit Pusher's newest cereal, a chex-style offering we call Oh God! Oh God! I'm Gonna Spritz All Over The Good China! You'd think the biggest headache would be fielding the thousands of phone calls from angry consumers about our product names, but really, it's just having to come up with a new game for the kids on the back on every box. Take a look at this seek-a-word for me.....too difficult, maybe?