Motor City Gumshoe

Finally, Charon announces, "Stop. Time's up. Please remove your bones and place them on cavern floor." We do, even as the fluids rush out of our genital orifices, coating the floor beneath us.

"Congratulations, you have passed the admission exam, now you may proceed to the main tunnels," Charon says, as he lowers the bridge. As we rush to the drawbridge, Charon grabs the shoulder of the guy on my left. "Not you, Speedy Gonzales. You are going to need more training before you enter our little paradise."

I didn't think we be seeing any more of Speedy. He wasn't going to get a retest and would never graduate. It was a shame, he could have been a contender, he could have been somebody, instead of the bum that he is, let's face it. Now he was going to ride the River Styx to Palookaville, joining the rest of the floaters bobbing up and down on the Detroit River.

As soon as I cross the bridge, I am immediately tackled by the lustful redhead with the giant hooters, the rightmost of our little sextet. She takes me out at the knees, and I spin over on my back, and she plops her cooze right over my mouth and nose. I can't breathe, but that is no biggie given my hormone- and pheromone-induced state of ecstasy and desire.

I feel her breasts as she lowers her stomach onto mine. The smell of her tunnel of joy is intoxicating. I begin to lick her clit and labia as if there were no tomorrow. Her taste is the most heavenly ambrosia imaginable. My tongue explores her delectable walls at a furious pace as she bucks up and down on my mouth and nose. Then she grabs my throbbing, tantalized joystick to use as her saddle horn as she rides me mercilessly into the sunset.

She comes twice in succession, pouring her nectar down my eagerly swallowing hummingbird throat. Her juices flow over my cheeks as she picks up the pace once again, grinding her gash against my face. She begins to post up and down on my thirsty, thirsty mouth. Her hands abandon their viselike grip on my iron schvantz and begin to slip up and down its length, teasing it mercilessly. She then grabs my balls in her left hand as she continues to pump my shaft as if she were milking Elsie, the Borden Milk cow. She gives them a good squeeze as she comes again and again, soaking my face. I must be under some kind of spell, as I somehow manage not to come.

Then she drops her mouth over my throbbing shaft. Her tongue swirls around it as her lips begin to bob up and down its length, squeezing it in the deepest kiss imaginable. I put my hands on both sides of her head as she mouth-fucks me. I hold her head tightly, pulling it down until my cock reaches her throat. She gags a little, but soldiers on and immediately resumes her hoovering of my lucky shaft.

Her head achieves a velocity normally confined to speed bags at your local boxing gym. She comes again, baptizing my face with her juice one more. There hasn't been this much fluid on one face since the Rocky Balboa - Ivan Drago fight.

"I can't see nothing. Gotta open my eye. Cut me, Mick," I say, before I realize where I am. She is now sucking me in the truest sense of the word, pulling a few billion of my half-children from the peaceful resting place of my cojones up the straw of my tortured cazzone and into the insatiable vacuum tube of her devouring mouth.

Her back arches as we both come in an explosion that would even impress the citizens of Nagasaki. I reach up to her to pull her closer to me, but she flies off me like a rat out of Hamlin, and begins running in search of a new victim.

"What, no cuddling? No afterplay?" I think as I raise my head, looking at the host of naked human bodies frantically scurrying about in search of a new temporary release from the Void. I get on my wobbly knees and stand as I try to escape this launching area and make my way deeper into the tunnels. But I am soon knocked off my feet and am carried away by a sea of writhing, fornicating human flesh. I bone, eat, fuck and claw my way through this false ocean. Alas, space considerations and literary decorum preclude a full recounting of these acts in these pages.

My sexed-up brain makes it difficult for me to progress rapidly and I am constantly distracted by the boobs and crotches traveling over my skin. I am also impeded by the hundreds of acts of penetration in which I am forced to participate. My spirit is willing, but my flesh is weak. However, I soon find that I can travel slowly toward the first side tunnel by a form of jet propulsion, so long as I make sure my johnson is pointing away from that tunnel whenever it erupts and discharges its man juice.

Finally, I get clear of the writhing masses, but my desire pulls me back. So I enter a state that is a fusion of kundalini yoga and Zen meditation, hard-learned in the mountains of Tibet and Japan. I become one with the fornicating beings that inhabit these salt caves. I am completed. This state finally enables me to walk away from that mass of undulating flesh.

Suddenly, a stark-naked Lindsay Blowhand emerges from the fourth tunnel on the left and runs into the third tunnel on the right. She is the miscreant and perpetually drunk daughter of the Governor of our fair Wolverine State. She has been missing from the topside for 28 days. Every night, the local news devotes five minutes of air time to the search for her body. If I play this right, it could be a real windfall for me, if not in reward money, at least in extortion.

FINDING TRIXIE

I follow Lindsay into the tunnel. In the second recess to the left, I see Trixie, the original object of this bizarre quest. She is wearing a spiked collar and is strapped onto a wooden table in the prone position with both her arms and legs spread-eagled. She is growling and foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. She is pierced by various organs and implements, including two cocks in her mouth, the shaft of a disproportionally-endowed dwarf in her ass, and the scepter of a pituitary giant in her gash, who is also bouncing the aforementioned dwarf on his lap, not to mention the various rings and studs being implanted in her body even as we speak. Tattoos are being injected into seemingly every square millimeter of her exposed pure flesh, and four anorexic, undoubtedly self-mutilating, and yet sadistic girls are slicing Trixie's arms and thighs with razor blades.

"Safe," she says, and everybody laughs. "Help me! Why won't somebody help me?" she cries.

I jump in and yank the two pituitary anomalies out of her nether passages. I then eject the cocks she is sucking, so she can speak clearly.

"What the fuck! I was just about to come, you fucking beaner! Now I'm going to have to start all over again."

"First," I say proudly, "I'm a dago, not some wetback. Second, Mahrheahah sent me to rescue you. I've come to get you out of here."

"Are you fucking serious? After all the money I paid to get in here? Fuck Mahrheahah," she cries.

I look into the dark dead pools of her eyes. I've seen those eyes before, in a million junkies, winos and crack hos. The same dark circles under them, the same emptiness. There was no hope for this one.

Then she points at me and growls, "Traitor! Seize him!"

The four dislodged men rush at me, only to find themselves with a broken scapula, tibia, ulna, and sacroiliac, respectively. I know this because my training as a medical technologist included skeletal anatomy, and I do a lot of crossword puzzles when things get slow. And things have been slow for quite a while now.

Speaking of skeletons, out of the corner of my eye I notice one of the nutritionally-challenged dames behind me pulling down the alarm bar.

A blare fills these saline caverns, and I hotfoot it out of Trixie's little pleasure dome. The cavern is filled with streakers rushing pell-mell around the tunnels, whether to find me or flee me, I couldn't tell you.

I enter a dark tunnel, hoping to make my getaway. Instead, some broad bushwhacks me, injecting some kind of mickey right into my carotid artery. I immediately doze off. I figure this is going to be the big sleep, the one Raymond Chandler warned us about.

IT'S NOT OVER UNTIL THE FAT LADY SINGS

But I awaken, only to find myself strapped on a table, apparently reprising the role of Trixie Schultz. Mirrors coat all the surfaces of the room I find myself in. Looks like somebody's a narcissist around here. Suddenly, a door opens and in strolls, or more accurately goose-steps, a swell-looking dame wearing nothing but a horned Viking helmet. She has real towhead braids resting on her sizable melons, and her thighs are heavily-muscled and powerful. She carries a shiv in her right hand and an even more alarming fourteen-inch double dildo, no make that a triple dildo, in her left.

"Are those your swords or are you just happy to see me?" I ask her. But she does not appear to be amused and pushes her dagger into the skin of my neck, uncomfortably close to my carotid artery.

"Silence, traitor!" she says. "Do you know the penalty for treason here?"

"A fifty-dollar fine," I guessed. "I'm good for it, I swear."

"The penalty is death," she tells me, which is steeper than I anticipated. What's wrong with a simple lobotomy and release back into the mass fornication? On well, time to face the music.

"My name is Brunhilda," she tells me. At least we are on a first name basis. Well, not quite yet.

"Hi there, Brunhilda. My name is Gambino, Tony Gambino, a capo of some repute myself." I would offer to shake her hand, but mine is currently strapped to the bed.

"Do you know of Brunhilda, worm? I see you do not. She is a Valkyrie, one of the fiercest warriors in Norse mythology."

"Actually, I like to think of myself as a python rather than a worm," I tell her.

She reaches under my crotch to grab my shaft and pulls it 180 degrees downward, so that it points to my feet. "Oh my, that's indeed some bratwurst you got there, my huge and handsome Midgard Serpent." She places her knife near the base of my shaft and drags it across its throbbing skin deeply enough to draw blood. "I am going to enjoy eating this python of yours. But first I am going to amuse myself with your helpless flesh. Then I will broil and eat you slowly, piece by piece, savoring the spices I will place upon this delicious-looking shaft. I'm thinking ginger and jasmine. How does that sound to you?"

With all the aphrodisiacs having their way with my brain, it actually sounds pretty good to me. Plus, I was always partial to Asian food.

"Do not even think about escape. This is a chamber of no return. Here, no one will hear your screams, although they will be music to my ears.

"But first, I must taste your flesh raw and unsullied and must drink your nectar and the pureness of your urine." she tells me.

She begins her torture with my balls, which are fully exposed to her oral pleasures, resting as they are on my throbbing shaft, which aches for release.

"To please me, you must not come too soon, worm. Please me and I will let you live a little longer, until I you no longer amuse me."

She takes my left orb in her mouth, sucking on it painfully, squeezing it in her jaws, harder and harder with each suck. Then she administers the same treatment to my right testicle, all the time running her fingers up and down my aching cock.

Then she takes both heavenly spheres in her mouth, gumming them and squeezing them mercilessly as her tongue travels over them rapidly and bandies them about. Just as I am about to explode, she relinquishes my cojones, and begins sliding her tongue up and down the underside of my shaft (or should I say "topside" given my present predicament). Her hands find my aching balls and squeeze them hard, as her tongue continues to slide up and down my throbbing shaft.

I try to hold out as long as I can, thinking of the half-eaten body lying in the 7-11 parking lot on Woodward Avenue, the girl's head on a pike in the New Center area, and finally the much more pressing image of my own severed cojones bobbing up and down like two tennis balls in the Detroit River.

I keep this mentation going for at least 15 minutes. Brunhilda has taken my shaft in her mouth at this point, running her sucking lips and tongue up and down its length and over my anus and butt crack, her tongue slices its way in and out of this portal to my inner body. I try to hold back as long as possible, but when she plunges her finger deeply inside me and brutally squeezes my sack with her other hand, all my seed pours into her devouring mouth. A second later she pushes upon my bladder and I empty its hot contents down her eagerly nursing throat.

After a few minutes she rises and pats my aching, hungry flesh. Incredibly, my boner rises once more, evidently ready for the Second Coming.

"Not bad, my little capo," the beaming Brunhilda whispers, as she runs her hands around on my abdomen. "I'm impressed. I may keep you around a little longer, so long as you please me. Of course, we both know that there is only one way this session can end."

I picture my eyeballs as bobbing golf balls, joining the fuzzy tennis balls of my cojones as they swim the river to Lake Erie, hellbound for Niagara Falls.

She removes the Viking helmet, and comes around to my head. She runs her hand down my neck and spine and over my crack. I tremble at her touch, which is so soft and yet promises so much pain. She bends to kiss my face and stroke my hair. She stoops to offer her ponderous right breast to my mouth. I tease its nipple, run my tongue around her areola, then nurse at her nipple, gently at first and then harder, sucking in as much of her gargantuan mammary as I can. I suck it harder and harder, until she can no longer stand the pain and pulls away from my thirsty mouth. I taste something. Could it be milk?

Then she offers me the other breast and I give it the same treatment, but harder, to increase her pain, which I know is what she ultimately seeks. Pain and nothingness.

When she can take no more, she pulls her tit roughly from my thirsty mouth. Then she pushes a button on her triple dildo. It begins to vibrate, and some sort of lubricant emerges from its triad of heads and pours down its three shafts. This was not going to be good. After some calibration and manipulation of the three-pronged device, she shoves one of large shafts up her snatch and the thin one up right up her fudge packer. This is not a good sign. I was really hoping for the thin one.

She puts her Viking helmet back on, and she lifts my waist so she can move my ever-throbbing rod into the locked and upright position. Then she crawls up my naked back, licking her way from my cornhole up my spine to my neck. I feel her delightful naked gargantuan Valkyrie hooters against my shoulder blades, and my balls cry out for more. I am going to have to fight this, or I'm a dead man.

She raises the blade to my neck once more. She takes my ear in her mouth. I hope she did not train in the martial arts under Mike Tyson.

"Now you will know what it is like for a girl to be brutally raped by a pig such as you," she tells me, as her tongue traces every convolution of my right ear. She takes the outer ridge between her teeth and runs them over its entire length. She pins my head to the table with a full nelson.

"Now you will see, my little helpless bubala. Don't cry. Tears will gain you nothing but more pain. Make your death as easy as possible. Give your body completely to me."

Here it comes. She shoves the high-tech self-lubricating vibrating mega-dildo three-quarters of the way up my wahzoo.

She reaches around me with her left hand and grabs my cock and balls as she hauls back and buries the full length of the dildo in me. She lowers the shiv to my balls. "Do not come, my little pet," She says, "or I will unman you. Please me, and I will please you. Just know that there is only one outcome here, and that is your death. But if you please me, you will know much pleasure before I send you into the emptiness."

She is shoves the false dick in and of out me as hard as she can, and I feel as though I am being torn apart. Her left hand is squeezing and pumping my rock-hard shaft as hard as it can. She brings the blade back up to my throat.

"I see you like being used, you pathetic little worm. I may keep you as the little girl that you are, a pleasure slave to the Council. Or perhaps as a toilet to be used by all.

"I know you enjoy being used, worm. Let me make you spew for the last time, before I turn you into your true form - a eunuch."

She is pumping me so hard that I don't think I can last much longer. She begins to scream herself. The vibrating triple dildo is working its magic on her as well.

I can't hold out much longer, but she is distracted by her own pleasure. I grimace as I dislocate both thumbs and pull my aching hands through the leather straps. I reach out and pop my thumbs back in place.

My hot seed shoots out of my cyclopes and all over her hand. I push the blade away with my now freed right hand and then reach back to take the Valkyrie by the horns. I could end her life right now with a little twist of the neck. God knows she deserves it. Who knows how many lives she has taken?

Instead, I put her head in a (literally) naked choke between my right bicep and forearm. She taps my arm, perhaps under the delusion than this is some sort of MMA fight with rules. I squeeze her neck until her body goes limp and hold the choke for ten seconds after of that. That ought to put her out for a while.

ESCAPE FROM VALHALLA

I point my feet and easily slip out of the ankle restraints. I pop the door open a crack and listen for the pitter-patter of little pervert feet. I faintly hear the sound of rushing water. I head toward that sound, being careful to travel only in the shadows of darkness. No one doth walk beside me.

I finally make it back to the River Styx. Charon confronts me from the other side, his sword held vertically before him as always.

"What shade dares enter my realm?"

I hear the gears spinning and the drawbridge is lowered. Charon immediately crosses it.

"The name's Gambino, Tony Gambino. I believe we have met before." My mind boggles at the guardian's miniscule short term memory.

"No one passes my sword," he tells me in his usual sonorous voice. "Even if you pass it, all tunnel exits are guarded. You can not make it back to the land of the living dead. Accept your fate and and abide with me. There is nothing for you back there. We offer you a paradise of unbridled lust."

My scepter rises at the thought, but I use Tantric meditation to still my urges. I look at the water, and Charon booms, "Do not even think of it. The Styx passes through narrow rock crevices, and its passages are airless. You would never survive the journey."

The guy seems well-meaning enough, but his vertically-held sword is too tempting an offer. I shatter his kneecap with a single kick. I take a very deep breath and dive into the icy Styx, known as Conner Creek in its halcyon days of its youth.

I hope some of my Navy SEAL training will preserve me. After about a couple of minutes I sense an air pocket above me and emerge from the water and hold onto a rock. I rest, take another deep breath, and plunge back into the frigid water.

This goes on for about half an hour, until I encounter a sinkhole. The good thing about sinkholes is that if you are in one, you can climb out of it, at least in the Big Motor. Detroit's usual response to sinkholes is to put orange traffic cones around them rather than filling them and paving them. I emerge into the night air. I look around and see three landmarks, the Renaissance Center, the bridge to Canada, and Joe Louis Arena. I know where I am now, Samuel L. Jackson Road, not far from my own humble abode.

I look around in the gutter for a one-use toss-away cell phone that still works. I find fifteen of them. Evidently a light night for drug deals in the D. You can always count on the drug wholesalers and human traffickers to provide telephone service when you need it most.