Neurofucker Ch. 04

At the counter I managed to attract the attention of the octopus serving there. I ordered a Fast Boisterous Screw for Mary and a Harvey Buttfucker for myself. As I waited I moved my body in time to the skunge music and I admired my extraordinary surroundings some more. Sat a few feet away was a stick insect thin woman with a bong apparently made from the shell of a giant turtle. A long, thin, glass spout twisted a myriad times around her tall head before entering her mouth. She sucked on it laconically, then blew a thin tendril of smoke from her magenta lips. I caught her gazing at me in the mirror behind the row of bottles. I felt slightly self conscious with no shirt but then, as I had observed, there was no dress code here.

Nearby there was a stage, with an illuminated floor and with two poles stretching up into the clouds. There was a man in a fluorescent, winged jock strap and sharp toed stilletto heel black boots dancing around one of the poles in time to the pounding music. His audience of business men were hooting and slapping the stage. The tops of the dancer's boots were brimming with paper money. He spun his lithe body around the pole and squeezed it between his thighs so that he hung there for an age, gyrating his hips. He slowly worked his way down and rubbed his crotch against it. When he reached the floor he climaxed, blowing his jock strap high into the air in a geyser of sexual pleasure and showering his audience with jism. One man caught the strap and screamed with joy like a girl, twirling it around his head and spattering people far and wide with the dancer's cum.

Someone jostled me and I turned back to the octopus to pay for my drinks. A woman was standing next to me on tip toe and leaning across the counter to whisper at the octopus. I accepted my drinks from two of its unoccupied tentacles and looked my neighbor up and down. Her voluptuous form was coated in glitter from head to toe and this was her only clothing. Long, thick, dark hair fell down her back and over her shoulders. On the counter lay two gigantic lumps I had assumed were glitter covered water filled balloons until I realised they were attached to the woman's chest. The octopus nodded its bulbous head and produced an unlabelled bottle from under the counter. The woman did not pay and accepted the drink from the bartender's tentacle with a disarming, sweet, broad smile on her glittering Arabian princess features. This she then turned on me for a fleeting moment before she headed for the stage the male dancer was just vacating.

My eyes were helplessly chained to her massive mammaries. They were far larger than her head, in fact, they were the largest breasts I had ever seen, yet they stood as pert and erect as pubescent buds. They floated before her, defying gravity, wobbling only slightly, but still apparently natural in their bouncy softness. I gaped as she jumped with one bound onto the stage. She downed her illicit drink in one, slung the bottle into the clouds, from where it mysteriously failed to return, and began to jiggle her curves around the pole in the most provocative of ways.

A large audience gathered to sling coins and notes about her feet. She hugged the pole, licked it and made love to it, wrapped herself around it and kissed it up and down as if it were a hugely distended cock. She hooked a leg around it and hung almost upside down, waving her hands gracefully like the fluttering wings of a bird. Despite her top heavy form her sense of balance was peerless. She fondled herself in a most sensual way, particularly around her fanny where her coat of glitter was at its thickest. She fingered and frigged herself in time to the music. Everyone in the vicinity was whooping and clapping. With her poised on the brink of orgasm, a software glitch caused one of her movements to repeat many times swiftly in a loop, prolonging the suspense.

As she came, grinding and screaming, something shot from her into the crowd. She was bent over, her head between her knees, her fanny open and shining wetly in the spotlight. Another small round object blasted from her fundament, followed by copious girlcum. Her closest admirers were soon covered in her juices and two proudly held aloft the objects that had propelled from her. With each orgasmic convulsion something bulleted from her to be caught by a lucky fan. One smashed into the bottles behind me, causing the octopus to go into an apoplectic fit of rage as it shook its tentacles at her. I reached over and picked up the missile. It was a spherical, wooden, netsuke carving of a foetus with the words 'Babies and rabies! xx, Rosie' engraved on its back.

I was stunned by her ability to control her body whilst in the throws of orgasm. She spun around, firing more carvings all over the lounge, cumming while dancing in a delightful dervish of Dionysian debauchery. With one last twist of her supple body, accompanied by a squirt and a moan, her climax ended, as did those of many in the audience who had been pleasuring themselves unashamedly during the show. She straitened up and smiled to us as if she had done nothing but an innocent gogo dance, waved and soaked up the deafening applause. She collected up the money on the stage, put it into her mouth, swallowed, then nimbly tiptoed around the puddles of cum and leaped onto the floor, just a pace from where I was standing.

My mouth was wide open. Her smile was so broad, her face so beautiful, I was afraid of going blind just from looking at her. Yet I continued staring speechlessly as she grabbed the Harvey Buttfucker from my hand and headed for a door, sucking on the bottle as she walked.

"Thanks, mate," she said, raising the bottle.

She gasped, wiped her mouth with the back of hand and eructed loudly.

"You enjoy that then?"

Her accent was British and unrefined, Earthy, I decided, and softened with a cute Irish twang.

"Fuck yeah!" I gasped.

She giggled and wiggled her stunning ass at me as she strode ahead, her body several steps behind her nipples. A crowd had been following us with pens and notebooks. They were having to run as many of them were short and Rose's long legs were carrying her swiftly. Sprinting madly they managed to overtake her and block her way, forcing her to stop. She politely signed her name for all of them and kissed most of them.

"Akira," she said to one. "You again, eh? How many times do you need my autograph?"

"Thank you, Miss Losie," said Akira, bowing graciously.

Eventually she was able to pull away from her fans, but some grabbed her again and pleaded with her for more kisses and autographs. One received a punch on the jaw and another a knee to the groin.

When she finally reached the door to the room she had been making for, the human female restroom, she turned to me and said, grinning, "One thing I can't stand is people who take the piss when I need to have one. 'Scuse me, love."

I was left holding the empty bottle and staring at the animated holographic image on the door of a woman squatting and defecating, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Mary standing there in my wet shirt that hardly covered her broad buttocks. She seemed upset about something so I gave her the Fast Frenzied Screw she had asked me for an age ago. She took it but still seemed agitated.

"Beau est sub tentatio!" she said and, though I failed to understand, it was clear she wanted my help with something.

Behind her, from within the thick crowd of Rosie's fan club, I heard querulous protestations in a high voice.

"Not now! Not now!"

There also came a series of squeaks of an altogether bestial nature from inside the scrum. A face emerged from the crowd, furry, grey, long eared and long toothed. It snickered at Mary and I, then disappeared for a moment. Suddenly a crowd of bipedal rabbit like creatures were filling the floor all around us. They stood on long legs at no taller than five foot including their ears. They had short fur coats, long whiskers and wore bow ties. The startling thing, not to say disturbing thing about them, was their potent sexual attraction. As they rubbed themselves against Mary and I like affectionate cats I found, to my chagrin, that I was becoming aroused. Then an elfin girl appeared, her head and shoulders an island in a sea of these strange animals, apparently attempting, and failing, to fight them off. Then I saw it was Beau, back to his original avatar, looking as sexy as ever, though flustered from fighting with the rabbits.

"Please leave me alone!" he commanded them, but they clung to him still.

"Fucky fucky!" they squeaked needfully. "We fuck bunnies! We fuck you nicely!"

The rabbits each had long, curvaceous legs, their chests and bottoms bulged erotically and their white tails were irresistibly cute. One in particular regarded me with wide, 'come to bed' eyes. Something strange seemed to be happening to my libido. I had never been attracted to rabbits before. What the fuck was wrong with me? Mary and I endured this as calmly as we could, but Beau, being no taller than they, was engaged in a losing battle.

Beau's protestations were nearing fever pitch when suddenly the skunge music was hijacked by a fanfare, followed by a woman's voice that boomed across the hall.

"Males and females, hermaphrodites and cosmosexuals, ailurophiles, arachnophiles, ichthyophiles and dendrophiles, please all of you give now your best attention to the Supreme Governor of Uranus, fashion guru, cyberstar, intergalactic playboy, immortal haemomaniac love god, the one, the only, Lord Royce Tyranny!"

Some of this announcement had been obscured by the demented squeaking of the fuck bunnies. For this they were quickly reprimanded by the octopus whose tentacles had a remarkably long reach. Mary, Beau and I had looked around for the source of the voice and found a spotlit stage in a far corner of the hall. The announcer stretched out her arm in a welcoming gesture while her white diaphanous dress wafted with the smoke and her vast frothy pile of hair wobbled precariously.

The spotlight moved away to the left and settled on one of the arched openings to the rooms beyond. Figures insectoid in their thinness emerged from the shadows, their bodies stiff as skeletons and straight as poplars. Striped Balaclava helmets obscured their thin features. Their eyes pierced coldly the souls of all whose misfortune it was to be caught in their gaze. With much ostentatation they took the stage and, after lifting the tails of their elaborate long coats, seated themselves, some on the floor, some on steps or stools, around a large jade throne. The men stared into the crowd with an infinite malice. Everyone, including the bunnies, had stopped shouting, dancing and drinking and a fear filled silence had smothered everyone like a blanket of snow.

A lone figure even taller that these appeared in the archway, blinking slightly in the spot light, and following in his acolytes' footsteps. At last the silence was broken by nervous applause which he acknowledged with a raised thin white hand, curiously elongated by fingernails the length and sharpness of a tiger's fangs. He was dressed in a shining black leather frock coat with pleated skirt and tight black leather pants. His shoes were outrageously tall and accounted somewhat for his extraordinary height. The tops of them curled back to reveal blood red lining, giving one the impression from a distance that his skin was peeling off. His chest was bare, his cruelly chiselled face was clean shaven and his platinum blond hair was long, brushed back and spiked. A red streak parted the hair from crown to nape.

The fanfare struck up again, this time accompanied by an irresistibly groovy beat, and the tall man broke into a wild dance. His limbs jerked spastically as if being pulled by a petulant puppeteer. His spiky form leaped about the stage while his retinue of humourless mannequins looked on.

I felt a gentle nudge and turned to see Beau looking up at me anxiously from beneath the brim of his straw hat. He wore a white sleeveless shirt and a tie, matching denim hotpants and white, nylon, opaque pantyhose. White high heeled lace up boots completed this rather fetching ensemble that made me want to ravish him there and then. I bent and kissed him passionately, so pleased was I to find him back to his proper shape.

He broke the kiss and shouted, "Listen! This chap's a right big knob 'round here!"

Suddenly the music stopped, but the man continued to jerk about the stage in silence to music only he could hear.

"So I gathered," I whispered back to Beau. "So where did Beau McGrumpy go?"

"Mary thought of a new prayer," he said impatiently. "It doesn't matter. The point is, this bloke might be able to help us, you know, get out of here."

"You think we should talk to him?"

"Mm hm."

Someone shushed us and we gave our full attention to the stage where the Supreme Governor of Uranus, Lord Royce Tyrrany, had stopped dancing, or whatever it was he had been doing, and was now preparing to make his speech. He grabbed the mike and his long gaze attempted to take in everyone in the hall. When he opened the thin crimson cut of his lips frighteningly sharp gold teeth flashed.

Then he raised both his hands, one of which wore a black, diamond studded glove, and in a refined English accent ordered everyone to, "Dance, you motherfuckers!"

After a suspenseful pause, during which it seemed pretty much anything could happen, the hall erupted with a deafening whoop. The music resumed and everyone seemed to relax. I turned to Mary and Beau who shrugged in unison. We started weaving our way through the gyrating bodies towards the man we hoped could be our salvation, but something told me I was wrong to trust Beau's instinct in this. I had never observed such a pompous individual as Royce Tyranny.

And those awful shoes!

Irma Cerrutti @ Irma Cerrutti 2010