Monday, January 18, 2010

New Sodom, New Gomorrah, Part I

This would be the last series of injections into my penis before the orgy. Watching the three large needles go in I regarded the latest modification to my glans. The head now had an acute alien shape, like an African mask. I felt myself becoming aroused and blanked my mind, withdrawing into meditation, though aware of a heavy velvety sensation in the shaft, as though it were being pumped full of lead or mercury, held up by the penetration of the three needles. Though the room was white and cold, I felt a small sweat break over my naked body.

There were eight locations on my body where poisonous spines had been secreted: the left heel, the right elbow, the shaft of the penis, the urethra, the nape of the neck, the spine, the anus, the roof of the mouth, each tucked in a sheath of engineered smooth muscle that would shoot them out at the moment of orgasm, which I could control wholly at will. The spines were translucent, the poison a blackish purple. The scent was very faint and not unpleasant. It was not lethal: it only caused paralysis. Once the twins were paralyzed I was to begin work.

The Sex Wars were not about sex. Like all wars, they were about power. The Blue Revolution had intended to save industrial civilization by marrying it to an inexhaustible and organic power resource. Orgone radiation, however, had sexualized and perverted most of the earth’s animal population, which now lived in a constant state of preorgasmic arousal. Orgasm, however, was now possible only under the most extreme circumstances and usually led to death. Most cities had large spectacular torture centers in an attempt to channel the near constant outbreaks of sexual violence and orgies that now made daily life almost impossible.

Castration had absolutely no effect. The orgone radiation acted directly on the brain. The most marginally effective treatment combined heavy sedation, sensory reduction and an electroshock collar. People were told the collar was designed to help them redirect their thoughts by administering a corrective shock in response to sexual ideation. In reality, the collars simply shocked randomly; however, since most people could think of little else, people believed in them. X awoke, as always from frightening and violent sexual dreams. He realized, vaguely, that he was crying and playing with himself. The first morning shock brought him to the floor.

Upon recovery he made his way to the bathroom. Brushing his teeth, he recalled the details of his dream and vomited. Collecting himself as best he could, he rezipped his anti-sex suit and anti onan mittens, pouring into his pockets the rattling doses of sedatives he would need for the day, fighting the urge to lube the shaft of his toothpaste tube with toothpaste and shove it in his urethra. He vomited again over breakfast, but this was a normal effect of the drugs. He was glad he lived alone now. Before he would awake to his wife’s clawing kisses.

She would gnaw at him like a sick maddened animal and then rub at him furiously through their heavy padded anti sex suits, crying and screaming obscenities. They would grapple with each other from the moment they came home like trapped animals, finally collapsing in the early morning hours, their heavy wool suits torn and soaked with sweat and streaked with blood. Her face was now always bent in an expression of insane lust, indistinguishable from agony as she battered against him. He realized she had become dangerous when he awoke to find her masturbating with a pair of scissors.

He did not have the courage to report her. He still loved her. Sometimes, when the heavy evening downers were still working, he still loved to hold her tenderly, wrapped in a thick comforter. Her sleeping face was soft and childlike and held all the personality he remembered of the girl he had loved. He would fall asleep listening to her heavy drugged breathing, reminding him of their life together before sex had ruined everything. One day she finally cut herself out of her suit entirely. She stood there naked before him covered in sweat and blood like something just born.

She gave him a single look and then ran away like a fleeing animal into the city. He knew he would never see her again. She would be dead in a few hours. He locked and barred the door and began weeping and masturbating for three days at the end of which he had to go the hospital as he had skinned and bruised his penis beyond recognition. The waiting room at the emergency room was a nightmare. The man next to him needed to have a folding table removed, but could not restrain himself from attempting to pleasure himself with it further, until he disemboweled himself.

The twins were the alpha and the omega of eros. Small children usually could not be restrained from chewing pictures of their faces out of magazines. They nearly identical, with strange subtle differences that were complimentary. They were the faces and figures that had launched a thousand masturbating ships.


  1. Was this story too depraved for even you to continue?

  2. I often creep myself out, but that's no way to win the Prix Sade. This is why I should probably apply to be a writer in residence for a Sex Dungeon: not because it's my thing, but because I would finally not have to worry about offending anybody.

  3. If you're not into all the stuff you write about so well, what are you into?

  4. That's hot ;) And your dirty story prize is...