Give Birth to the World

[All characters 18 and above.]

- 1 -

A woman was just leaving a luxury department store; she was very pale, with dark hair. The weather had not gotten very cold yet, but she was already sporting an expensive fur coat, which was paired with matte stockings and long leather boots, both black as well. She appeared quite satisfied with her findings of the day and was on her way back home, when she was suddenly approached by some youth, the type that tended to loiter around the city unsupervised.

"G'day, m'am, would you like to try some mating press?"

She thought he was trying to sell her something and waved no. She tried to move on; he wouldn't let her.

"Okay, what is it, what do you from me now, kid?"

"Mating press. Would you like to try it with me?"

"And just what do you mean by that?"

The youth explained it as best as he could without evoking obscenity.

"Absolutely not! And get away from me you little scoundrel--"

With a flush of anger she pushed him away, too forcefully: he fell on the pavement in a heavy slump on his head.

Christ, she thought, what have I done? She started to panic thinking she just murdered someone in broad daylight. After a second of two of not knowing what to do she came forward to check on the youth. He seemed hurt but appeared to be alive. And not visually angry; in fact, quite the opposite: he seemed thrilled somehow, lying flat, starring at something below and smiling like an idiot savant. She realized it was her boots.

"Jesus, are you alright? Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No, m'am. No need for the hospitality. Just a little concussion. I felt good, reborn, almost."

She noticed something and took off her sunglasses, her pale blue eyes opened wide: there was a sizable bulge in his pants. What is wrong with this kid? It was a serious fall and she even felt the ground trembling a little, and he grew a hard-on instead?

"You know, I can cover whatever fees they'll charge you for the ride and the check, if that's what you're worried about - I just don't want to leave you with an undiagnosed internal hemorrhage that'll turn you into a plant in three days."

The kid shook his shaved head. Textbook late-adolescent teen. He and her niece would get along real good.

"Fine. I see that I can't convince you. Then at least let's get you on your feet again and see if you can still walk properly." She reached out to him. The kid lay on the street, immobile, saved for his grin.

"Thanks m'am. You needn't worry about me. It's good down here. I feel quite at home." It was getting a little awkward; they were visually interrupting the busy pedestrian traffic. The kid seemed to be thinking. After a pause he came back to her:

"M'am, maybe you've changed your mind and become interested in the mating press?"

"No - please don't ask me again about that subject -"

"Then perhaps I can take a peek under your dress, m'am?"

"No -"

"But you can at least allow me to lick your boots, m'am?"

"Good lord - no! I will not - you can't just ask people for that sort of things! Have your parents not taught you any decency and self-respect?"

"They both died when I was young, m'am. I look after myself mostly."

"Heavens! I'm sorry."

The kid had gotten up and was sitting with legs folded like a buddha. There he suddenly started to sob. She was startled and asked him why.

"It's nothing, m'am, just that I've remembered I have nowhere to sleep tonight, and I haven't found anything to eat also."

Christ! That must be why he faltered so easily when she gave him the push. Somewhere in her lower gut she felt a sudden pinch: here she was, indulging her luxury livings, while some kid was literally starving to oblivion. Her long-latent maternal instinct was awakened. She made up her mind to do the right thing.

"Let me take you to my place and get you something to eat first.

And please don't 'm'am' me anymore! You're killing me with that formality."

- 2 -

The kid had taken a shower in her bathroom and was now wolfing down the roast chicken left over from last evening. She took the dirty clothes to the laundry and gave him something of her husband's. They were too large on him and made the kid look like Charlie Chaplin. She studied him from across the table with an intense curiosity. What sort of a kid would be empty-stomached for a whole day yet prioritize wandering around the blocks soliciting sex from grown women twice his age?

"You have a beautiful house, m'am."

"It is, isn't it? Just a little empty at times."

"Where is your husband?"

"Abroad. Work. Do me a favor and don't marry someone if you intend to be a workaholic."

He didn't seem to catch the jest.

"Where are your children?"

"Never had one. Can't. My husband thinks it's my problem. I think it's him. Perhaps it's both."

The kid looked at her in silence while chewing a mouthful of dry chicken meat.

"How's your sex life, m'am?"

She barely understood what he was saying.

"Have you ever had an orgasm in your life, m'am?"

This time she heard clearly and was at a loss for words; she took a deep breath instead.

"Alright, enough about me. Let's talk about you! For starters - where are you from, what were you doing in the streets?"

The kid seemed lost in thoughts, struggling for words. She waited for the fog on his face to clear but the moment never came. At length she gave up.

"Fine, those are personal questions and you have every right not to answer them. That chicken is quite dry, you want a glass of milk?"

The kid nodded.

She watched the white liquid empty from the long cylindrical glass, the Adam's apple moving up and down in his throat as he swallowed. Afterwards he licked the brim clean as well. She felt something warm and naughty arose within her.

"Okay. Now that we have a chance, let's talk about the thing you were asking me for this afternoon, what is it called again?"

"Excuse me, m'am?"

"The thing! Some sort of a press you said? Surely you still remember it, I mean, after the fall?"

"Oh right, the mating press. Would you like to try it with me, m'am?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions here. Tell me again how it works."

"It's simple, m'am. You lie on your back and I get atop you. Then we have sex."

"But wouldn't that just be the good old missionary?"

"No, m'am, it's not. Mating press is all about 'mating' and 'press.'"

"What does that mean?"

"It means, m'am, that it's a far more superior form of sex position, almost to all others in my opinion, except maybe for the half-nelson."

"And what might that be? Are you actively making up these terms as we speak?"

"No, m'am, I speak only in the realm of rational positions; the irrational, imaginary, and other parapsychological constructs are outside the purview of this discussion."

The kid was looking for napkins. She handed him one.

"But unfortunately, we can't try half-nelson, m'am, for you are too tall, even for the anal version."

"Anal? Are you crazy? It's so...dirty up there, and wouldn't it hurt a lot?"

The kid judged her in silence. He appeared to be affronted by her response, but just a little.

"You haven't really answered my question earlier. How does your 'mating press' differ from missionary?"

"It's hard to put it precisely into words, m'am."

Uneasy silence ensued. The kid had finished his meal and was staring at the empty porcelain plate. She tapped her fingers on the table. The sound of clocks ticking and the wash machine rolling.

Finally the hostess cleared her throat.

"Okay. If you don't mind, maybe you can demonstrate this 'thing' with me. In my bedroom." The last words landed as light as a hummingbird's feathers.

At this the kid's eyes lit up instantly.

"And I don't have any condom in my house. Thought we didn't need it, you know."

The kid was already up and ready.

"No problem, m'am. It wouldn't be a proper mating press if there are condoms involved."

- 3 -

They both got undressed, warm clothings pooled into a single pile. She left the hosiery on for some reason. He felt both of her breasts and got an ungodly long erection. She got on the bed and tried to make herself comfortable on the sheet; its wrinkled folds around the couture of her body had never been so distracting before.

The kid climbed onto her, his manhood hanging against her stomach. His body seemed thrilled at beholding hers, yet the expression on his face was oddly peaceful.

She inhaled deeply, her mind still not fully processing she was doing this thing with a stranger who could have been her son.

"No foreplay?"

"No, m'am, a mating press is a pure act by itself, and nothing else."

"Okay...what happens now?"

"Open your legs, m'am."

"Like this?"

"Wider, more...that's it m'am."

"What's next?"

"Now raise your hips up a little. You want to use your hands to support your waist a little."

"That wasn't too hard, I suppose. Now what?"

"Now close your eyes, m'am."

Her world faded into a warm-colored dimness. It was late afternoon, and cool wind breezed in from an opened window and tiptoed through her opened crotch. He said something; she didn't know she was being hypnotized.

"Now, imagine a distant kingdom that had very different customs than our world. Its people believed in fertility worship, that one lives in order to procreate, and the act of procreation is at once a pleasure and a necessity."

The kid's voice sounded different, almost possessed by some strange pagan deity. An imagery was taking shape in her mind, its images unstable and tantalizing.

"Now, you are one of many priestesses in this kingdom who are tasked with performing the annual ritual. The ritual is a reanimation of an ancient saga: at the very beginning of our time, the Semen God saved the First Virgin from the Primordial Evil, and mated with her, giving birth to our universe."

An epic battle unfolded before her closed eyes, worlds destroyed in a blink of time and then reborn.

"The day of the ritual has come. The sky is clear and the sun strong in its vigor. The priestesses are disrobed and lie upon the altar. You are one of them. Legs opened, hands supporting your waists, bodies well-oiled, you wait for the arrival of the Semen God. He is here now, the king wearing his golden mask, white blood of the Primordial Evil on his body. What do you see between his thighs?"

He whispered the answer into her ears.

"I...I see his male organ, hard as stone...gleaming in blackness. Its-its serpentine head beckons..."

"The God looked at you - all of you. What does he see?"

"Trophies of his heroic deeds, my - our - bodies, soft as clouds, pale as snow, wet as rain, and fragile as ice. Our gates are half-closed, the castles - waiting to fly his flag."

"Good. The Semen God inspects each of the priestesses. At last he stops in front of your opened thighs. What does he want to do to you?"

"To unseal my virginhood, and delight my maiden heart."

As words left her mouth she felt something pushing apart her folded lips below and lodging ever deeper inside her. The penetration went smoothly because she was already very wet.

"The other priestesses disappear, and the world crumbles until it exists just around you two, like when the universe first began: the God atop of the Virgin, his thighs upon her loins, his big snake in her small bird nest."

It was all in. The rough skin of his ballsack pressed against her moist anus. Her hands were no longer at waist but moved to hold her own legs down around the back of her knees.

"The pace quickens: around the heavenly pair, clouds gather and disperse, winds strengthen to uproot trees, drizzles turn into a downpour; afar, you see the eye of the storm coming into shape and approaching fast."

"No, no...we'll drown..."

"In a little boat adrift on the story seascape of lust, the Semen God, oblivious of his surroundings, copulates with the Virgin, her cheeks fully reddened by the taste of the First Love. The skirmish has ended and the real feat is just beginning. He demands her to yield completely to his phallic glory. Will you yield?"

"I yield, I yield..."

Her hands let go her thighs and laid idly on the bedsheet. He took full control of her; above his shoulder her stockinged feet dangled helplessly.

"The God begins anew, making love to the Virgin with a vengeance."

The king-sized bed shook and creaked violently; her moans filled the entire house.

"The great storm is almost here. The Virgin grows desperate, her pleasure mixed with dread. She is afraid of the drowning, of her imminent death."

She ground her teeth, preparing to receive the next blow upon her naked groins, all but in vain.

"Storms on every end, closing in on them. The all-knowing Semen God instructs his young lover with secrets of carnality. For the first time she knows how to survive the drowning and reach the other shore."

"I'm ready...."

She was beneath him, breathless, faceless, only her buttocks and groins existed, and they belonged to him.

"Everything suddenly dies down. They are in the eye. An odd stillness reigns within, leaving the sea without a single wave and smooth as a mirror. But it is just the last quiet, before the plunge, the temporary yet terrifying death..."

"I...I can't hold on any longer..."

"You must."

"No..no...I..." Her eyes were rolled back, the nervous system loosing control over her facial expression.

She was reduced to a pair of soft pale buttocks crushed and flattened under, the skin around the triangular genital-anal area stretched out, fat lips gripping, pre-cum fluid and vaginal discharge turned into sticky white foam and was flowing down her cleft. I am a helpless piece of white meat. Punish me! Punish me! Use my slutty holes.

The thrust stopped; the head of his shaft was right up and pushing against her cervix. He started to unload his hot, earnest gift in her.

"Bear my child and give birth to the world again."