Hypersex in the Hypermart

Oh the look upon her face upon that first penetration. The widening eyes, the parted lips. As for my own sensation, it was like the snug fit of a wet rubber glove, one size too small. For all I knew she was a virgin. No condom, probably no birth control. Complete reckless, irresponsible insanity. Ecstasy is a form of insanity.

So in and out I went. Descriptions now become abstract. There was warmth, there was light, there wasdelight. Or let us try again: I drove the plough like a ruthless donkey. Filthy, crude you say? Only at his greatest moment does man take part in the boundless joy of beasts. The abnegation of all pain, O beastly daughter of Elysium.

Suddenly the queen of green raised her head and put her arms around my neck.

"Do me on the sink." Thus spake the maiden.

Only too pleased to acquiesce, I put my arms around the girl and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around my waist while I, my member still plunged deep inside her, carried her to the sink and sat the girl's bare hips down on the porcelain. Only then did she kick off her flip flops.

I had been restraining myself to prolong the joy, but I had pushed my luck to the brink. This was the time for the highest triumph. I grabbed her thighs and pulled her close so I could penetrate her totally. Sitting on the sink must have been staggeringly uncomfortable for her; I don't know what she was thinking. Women often have strange imaginings about what is pleasurable, which turn disastrous when put into practice. Whips, paddles, toys—they say they want them, but at the first sight of the nine-tailed cat they go a-runnin'.

Teeny was still groaning with pleasure. Whether it was the pleasure of pain I cannot say. Grabbing her face, I put my thumb in her mouth. Then, in an absurd act of faith, I turned both taps to the max, blasting her with water and giving her a veritable anal cleansing while we fucked. The reason for this gesture remains to me entirely mysterious. It must have been the Muse acting through me, the whim of my Inner Goddess.

"You can finish," she said. Not to hurry me, of course. I lifted her wet bottom off the sink and began to thrust as I held her aloft, or rather not so much thrust as masturbate myself with her entire body. I began to groan myself.

"Pull out," she said. Very well. When I had nearly hit my peak I dropped her on the sink. She screamed, the sink broke. The porcelain shattered on the floor with her on top of it. She was cut by the porcelain, bleeding, all around fairly unhappy at this point. The severed pipes began to ejaculate water all over the girl, and me, flooding the room. This was full-on aqueous bukakke.

And that's when it happened: I, cock in hand, discovered a new realm of human experience. My intellect and sensory faculty merged, and I experienced not carnal pleasure, not spiritual rapture, but a resplendent fusion of the two. This was Hypersex. Grand Unified Bliss.

And I came. I came hard. I blasted about half a pint of semen all over this girl's hair and face and tits and stomach and legs—I mean there was cum everywhere. There was cum on the walls, there was cum on the ceiling. Hell there was cum inmyhair. Physicists are still trying to explain it. There was cum and blood and water mixing together all over the place and running in channels through the grout. Our clothes were completely soaked in it. The girl looked at me with unmitigated hatred and disgust.

And then came the deathly triple knock at the door. This was not the sort of inquiring knock to which one can reply "just a moment!" This was the knock of Nazis on a Jew hunt, the midnight knock of the KGB coming to neutralize your family.

"Persephone!" roared an ursine female voice, "What's going on? Is there someone in there with you?"

Here comes the wrath of Demeter, I thought. We were absolutely trapped, there was nothing to be done. But your poor narrator—Theon Chthonius,King of Shades—had not yet seen the worst. Persephone let out a nightmarish scream.

"Help! I'm being raped!"

The unbelievable whore. I knew I was fucked. The only evidence that any of this had been consensual was the pictures on my phone, which was lying in pieces at the bottom of a diarrhea-stained toilet bowl. The mother let out a chilling howl of her own, and began pounding on the door like she was tying to escape from the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. She was just screaming and crying, letting out these unspeakable, unforgettable yowls and shrieks. I was witnessing the very depth of human misery. It was torture listening to it, I frankly pitied the woman.

"Help!" she was screaming, "My daughter is being raped!"

Persephone didn't move. I could hear a terrible commotion outside now, shouts of horror and outrage, carts crashing, Sales Associates running into each other and tripping over fresh fruit.

Attention shoppers: please excuse our mess while one of our Hypermart Associates relocates the rapist in the restroom facilities.

There I was, stark naked with a wilting erection, drenched, covered in my own semen, my feet cut up by shards of porcelain, and standing over a wet, naked, bleeding, cum-drenched 18-year-old who was claiming I'd raped her. My only chance was to hope that the scene was too weird, too elaborate, to have been a rape. Or was there some other way out? I began to eye the frosted window above the toilet. It was small. But was it too small?

The pandemonium outside the door continued to build. Then, out of the chaos, sounded the clarion voice of an African-American woman, whom I took to be the Hypermart manager.

"I'm coming to save you, honey!"

I heard keys jangling just outside the door. It was time for another leap of faith. I grabbed a shoe, stood on top of the toilet, and smashed the frosted window. I wrapped a wet shirt over the jagged base of the frame and squeezed myself out, enduring agony as the broken glass lacerated my entire body.

And yet I was free. Free! And I took to running, running, fairly leaping gazelle-like across the parking lot, leaving great splatters of blood in my wake. I shouted once more with joy as I ran, skipped, and finally leapt straight into the gaping maw of Hell itself.

Dear Reader,

I hope you have enjoyed my retelling of an old Greek myth. I cannot write a story like this in one sitting; in fact, I have poured a really embarrassing and deplorable amount of time and effort into it. As such, if you liked the story, I'd really appreciate it if you would rate it, favorite it, share it, comment on it, nominate it for awards, read it aloud to your Great Aunt Bethany, or whatever you see fit to do to recognize this poor author of unpublishable trash.

From the pit of Hell with love,

DE