Procreation Pt. 01: Uruk

The routine in his new quarters was the same as before, only this time he didn't need to play mind-games to keep him occupied. He spent most of his waking hours watching and observing the city below him.

A "city" he called it, and a city it was, and he was looking at its heart. They had named it "Uruk", and its Goddess was Inana.

If Diana - whose knowledge extended to ancient history - were there, she could have told him then the ancient Babylonian myth of Gilgamesh and Supreme Goddess Inana, and how with his aid she took over the sky-temple of Eanna and claimed it as her dwelling-place.

He learned a lot by watching the city: He couldn't hear any talking, or any sounds at all from his soundproofed quarters, but he guessed they spoke a language closer to his own than to Bugspit's.

The most obvious and immediate thing he noticed were the differences between the men and the women, which were so marked that they were almost different species. They trotted behind the women like dogs, or severely hen-pecked husbands. They worked mostly at manual maintenance jobs, and seemed to be somewhat ill-treated, like beasts of burden. It was clear that the males were far inferior socially.

He longed to explore the place. He wondered what the scent of all these women in his nostrils would do to him.

His door slid open. A woman stood before him. Her skin was cream-coloured. Her hair was very fair, styled, like Bugspit's own, with a fine pattern of swirling lines. He'd seen her through his window, yesterday, and noticed her, because of her bearing and almost military, purposeful stride. Perhaps she was a high-ranking officer or guard in their army. She was certainly an important person of some sort. But most of all he noticed her because she was very pregnant. It made her look even more elegant. And she smelt classy.

She eyed him keenly, with an almost predatory look. He knew that look, he'd been its recipient many times.

"Come." She took him through a maze of passages, around, down, around again, to a pair of doors. They opened, and he saw that it was an elevator. They entered.

The guard spoke to him. "Go on your knees, and hands. Like a pig." He obeyed, unsure whether she was being abusive or merely descriptive.

The elevator descended; he pretended to examine the beautifully tiled floor. He was excited and burning with curiosity as to what would be revealed when the doors would open. He felt that finally he would meet with Inana face to face. Jonah never feared either pain or death. Yet still he felt fear.

Cocksucker

The elevator doors opened. The guard jabbed his ass with her finger-like big toe.

"Crawl. Slowly. Do not look."

What if he did? Then they'd kill him, and there were still so many unanswered questions.

He crawled onto a cold, white marble floor.

Instantly a strong, mysterious woody/floral scent struck him. It seemed absolutely appropriate at the time: Somehow, it was just right that that precise perfume pervaded his nose at that precise instant. As though it was the correct one for the occasion, like frankincense at a mass.

Still keeping his eyes down, he saw the long, prehensile toes of the guard out of the corner of his eye as she stood by him.

"Stand," said the guard.

He stood. He was near the entrance of a huge, dome-ceilinged circular room like a ballroom. At its centre was a high circular stage, surrounded in a concentric circle of ten steps, like a stack of coins. The stage itself glowed with a bright, cool phosphorescence. At the centre of the stage, the floor of which was higher than his head, sat Inana herself, on a throne, black like obsidian; her blue-white form contrasted starkly with it. The blue of her high wide belt was the only colour in that room.

All around the stage, facing inwards towards her stood tall women, like columns in an ancient temple. They were all alike to each other, cream-coloured and tall, and completely bald: They were her most trusted handmaidens, but they were noblewomen.

The circular wall of the room had eight open arched exits, each guarded on either side by more women; these were her personal guard, but needed no weapons; for all in that City loved and worshipped Her.

"Walk to Me."

He walked towards her, accompanied by the guard, until she checked him sharply by stretching an arm out across his chest. He was a few feet from the stage. He looked up at her, in awe.

"Welcome, Jonah Engineer, to My throne room, where I receive guests of honour. But you are the first guest to visit My palace since I began my rule."

He managed to reply haltingly, "I am... Thank you... Inana."

Jonah felt distinctly like he was an actor performing in a play, and that he had rehearsed and knew not only his lines but also hers. No, far weirder than that: He felt as though he had become fictional, a character in a tale. And that she too was a fictional character, yet at the same time the author of that tale, who could have him killed off, or make him the unlikely hero. She could choose to make the story a comedy, or a tragedy.

She stood, and then gracefully descended the steps of the stage, as though she were taking part in a grand and solemn ceremony. She faced him. She held his chin and forced his head up to look directly into her eyes. Her pupils contracted to pinpoints. He felt as though he were sucked into them, as into a tunnel. Then they released him as they grew again. She smiled inscrutably and murmured, "engineer..."

"Come." She turned from him and walked across the floor. The intricate patterns in her skin flowed and slid like silk netting as she moved. He followed her, entranced, out of the room, through one of the arches, into a richly furnished room, lit by many glittering chandeliers.

"Sit, My engineer." She indicated an ornately brocaded chair, uncomfortably high for him, but suitable for the tall women who usually met with her there. He climbed into it. His feet were off the ground, like a child's. She did not choose to sit, but stood calmly and watched him, her breath rising and falling like rolling waves. He breathed her scent, and was at peace.

"Drink."

Jonah stirred. The pregnant guard stood beside him, holding out a silver goblet. So enraptured had he been that he hadn't noticed her. He took the goblet from the stern and immobile woman, and sipped. It was ice-cold water.

He attempted to thank her, but no words came. Inana smiled at him, almost indulgently.

"In My presence, your mind is weak, and you cannot speak, so Inana alone will speak. You are ever curious; even now you wish to learn more of Me. It is good; it will enable you to serve Me better."

Had Jonah been in command of his tongue, he would have asked her how she expected him to 'serve' her. But he remained silent. In his dreamlike state, he felt that he knew the answer anyway.

She stood right before him. The hemispheres of her breasts were level with his eyes; with their dark, erect nipples they became themselves two, monstrous, unblinking eyes, as of some pale demon, fixing their unblinking gaze upon him. She cupped them in her hands, and ran her white thumbs gently back and forth over her nipples.

"Breathe Me. I will enter you and bind you to Me now."

He breathed her perfume, like a noxious yet sweet-scented smoke, permeating all the air; into him it flowed, inexorably; now it became a trillion writhing microbes, purposeful worms boring and working their way into his lungs, his bloodstream, his brain.

Jonah watched himself from above, disembodied and helpless, while the microbes worked away, busily and efficiently reprogramming his mind, changing his goals, editing his back-story.

"Now, you serve Me, and me alone. Say."

"I serve You, and You alone."

She took a deep breath; she had re-written his life story, altering him from hero in his own tale into an ancillary character in her own.

"Kneel." Inana clasped the back of Jonah's head gently. He fell from the chair to his knees. She pressed her fingers firmly against her groin and held them before his nose.

She ran her wet fingertips from his forehead down to his chin.

She stepped back and proclaimed: "You are now Mine."

The ritual was over. Jonah stood. In some way, she had just turned down the gain on her body scent, and he felt himself regain the capacity for independent thought.

Inana glanced at the guard, who had remained, unnoticed, by the doorway. For a moment, her eyes and those of the guard met. The guard bowed her head, and walked to a little table. It was a console.

"Now, My Engineer. I am ready for you to speak. Tell me of your dwelling, the Artemis."

Jonah told her of his dwelling. He told her its location, its dimensions, the names and number of its occupants, the security codes for the shuttles, and for the hyposleep pods. He told her of the three "muses", Monica, Maisy and Emma, and how Monica ran the Dildo's defence systems, and how to override it.

Inana relentlessly plied him with questions. Some of them he couldn't answer, but she knew that he was withholding nothing from her.

He told her he was there because he was a good engineer, and because the women liked to have sex with him, for fun. He told her of the sperm bank. He told her of his child, which Captain Hussain carried inside her. Inana wanted to know more: Would the child be a boy or a girl? He didn't know; how many children would the women give birth to in their lifetimes? What kind of birth control did they use? Would the dead be jettisoned in space? He didn't know, he didn't know, he didn't know.

Eventually the interrogation ended.

"I see you are tired, and cannot say more now. You have done well."

She glanced again at the guard. The guard bowed, and indicated to Jonah that he should follow her out.

She led him once more through the winding passages to his apartment. Away from Inana, his mind cleared; he felt serenely happy; he'd performed his first task for his Goddess, and she was pleased with him.

The guard lingered at the door. He looked at her, smiling questioningly. "May I know your name?"

"I am Bilulu, daughter of the daughter of Inana."

"So she's your grandmother?"

"Yes."

"You could be sisters. How old is she? Wait: how old are you?" In all his time here he'd never thought to wonder about anybody's age.

She replied, sounding as though she were reciting a piece of holy text: "I was born ninety-five years ago. My mother, Amma, was born in the Cancer Years, when the world was diseased, and the sky was dark. Inana the Immortal was sixty-eight years old when she birthed her."

So their lifespans were increased dramatically, when they mutated. "Fuck," Jonah exclaimed.

That was not a word in Bilulu's vocabulary: "'Fuck'?"

He stared at her, stony-faced: "It's when a man places his pee-pee inside a woman's pee-hole."

She stared back at him, her expression unreadable. "You are not permitted to 'fuck'".

"She didn't say anything about that to me."

"She did not need to. She has forbidden it to me to do that with you. Or to any woman," she added quickly.

But Jonah had another thought: "Tell me, how long is your, I mean, when's your baby due?"

She stepped closer to him. "I have carried it inside me for three years now. So I must wait for two more years." Five year's gestation. Maybe that was connected with their increased lifespan, he thought: Progesterone...

Her scent pervaded his nose. She had turned it up, to seduce him, with her horny hormones, which smelled to him like a mysterious, dripping tropical jungle, full of frogs and birds, and colourful, sickly-sweet exotic fruit. He wondered what he smelled like to her; he asked her.

She laughed: "Like a pleasure-pig, that women enjoy themselves with when they tire of little men!" Then she fell silent and assumed a face of command. Suddenly she reminded him of Captain Hussain, pregnant with his child. He felt a pang of longing for her.

"Lie down, pig."

"Bilulu, it is 'not permitted', remember?"

"We will not 'fuck'. What I desire is permitted. Down, I said."

He backed away. "I refuse. It's not mutual consent. Besides, I'm married. Well, sort of married."

She grew angry: "Bilulu commands it."

"'Commands'? Sorry, but I don't take orders from you. I'm Jonah Da Costa, and I'm damn insubordinate."

Her eyes flared. "And I am Bilulu, Kadin princess, and guardian of Inana!" She turned and strode to the door.

He blew out, relieved, and ran his fingers through his hair. But she'd timed her attack perfectly; she spun suddenly one hundred and eighty degrees and sprung towards him and upwards with her legs forward and spread apart; she sailed impossibly high in the air like a kangaroo, almost clearing the top of his head. But she landed on his shoulders, and her thighs instantly clamped around his ears; he balanced for a moment, with Bilulu perched facing him on his shoulders, then he toppled backwards and they crashed to the floor, ending up lying on their sides, with his head still caught between her thighs. She hooked a foot around her ankle and straightened her legs in a scissor-hold, squeezing his head tight. His crushed cheeks puckered to his nose; all he could see was the smooth curve of her full, round belly. His hands flailed and slipped as he tried to prize apart her merciless thighs. She propped her head up, resting on her elbow, so she could relish the sight of the top half of his ugly, squashed face.

"I will burst your eyes from your pink head, pig."

He wanted to negotiate terms, but couldn't move his jaw to speak.

"I will snap your neck for your insolence."

Her thighs trembled and tightened further; they slipped from his jaw to his neck. She squeezed, crushing and blocking his carotid arteries. He felt himself blacking out; he was unable to breathe; this was serious: She was so enraged, she would kill him, in spite of her ruler's decree.

"Inana..." He managed to say. That did the trick: She relaxed her grip slightly; he gasped for breath.

She unwound her legs, and collapsed back onto the floor, panting. She stretched her legs out, spread-eagled, one heel across his groin and the other stifling his mouth. She wiggled her toes close to his eyes and dug her heel against his teeth. "You see, pig, that I am hot-tempered and prone to anger. I trust you have learned not to defy me."

"Mff."

He held her foot and pushed it up from his mouth. "Yes."

"Good." She shook her foot free and let her heel drop heavily onto his mouth again, smashing his lip against his teeth. His mouth started to bleed.

She rolled onto her front beside him and arched her upper back to raise her head, her arms folded on the floor. She looked at his lips.

"You bleed."

"Yes, I fucking bleed. What did you expect, orange juice?"

"I will taste it..."

She opened her mouth wide and sucked at his lips, noisily, for longer than he expected.

"Okay, don't take it all, I need it to live."

"Mm. You taste... other, and not other. Like a brother, but also a stranger."

"That sums it up pretty well." She looked thoughtful for a moment, then snapped out of her reflective mood and briskly stood up; daintily she stepped over his face and moved her feet close against his ears; he looked straight up at her pussy and the far end of her long legs. She spread her fingers in a Vulcan salute and began to rub herself. Her labia swelled, and glistened with her secretion. Her jungle odour strengthened as she grew aroused, and it aroused him. And then he saw her cock.

Well, it was actually her clitoris, he knew, but it looked disturbingly like the head of a penis. It was a shiny crimson elongated bulb like a plum, with fine bright red blood vessels like those that covered Inana's body.

"Open your mouth, insolent piglet, now you may taste my fruit." She lowered herself onto him and shuffled forward until she knelt. She pulled her labia apart and spread them over his mouth, from his chin to his nose. And then he felt it, her strange, soft, bulbous clit on his tongue. He closed his lips around it and sucked gently. She grunted with pleasure.

He'd never sucked cock before (in spite of a few offers), but he imagined that this must be what it was like. And he could see the attraction. His tongue rolled and spread, flicked and slid around it. He sucked harder. She pushed herself down hard onto him, blocking the air from his nose. But he didn't care. Her scent was in his nose, and it drove him mad. His lips tightened around her clit, and his tongue rolled and prodded.

She let out a deep sigh. His mouth filled with her juice, creamy in texture and meaty tasting. He choked and sputtered.

"Mmm. Drink. Drink my prana, pig..." He gulped. She convulsed, and again his mouth filled. Four or five times he swallowed, and each time his mouth filled to overflowing.

"My prana tastes good, does it not?"

Prana, so that's what she called cunt juice. Much nicer word. His face, chin and neck were soaked. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at it. Her juice was disturbingly like cum in appearance and texture, and smelled... gamey. Yes. Her prana tasted good. It filled him up with liquid desire.

She crawled off him and lay curled in a foetal positon, her face blissful. He raised his head and watched his bobbing hard-on. His fingers curled around it, ready to finish himself off, but she shoved his face with her foot.

"It is not permitted to do that before me."

"Jesus, nothing I want to do round you is permitted." He ran to the bathroom. It had no door, but it seemed like that was far enough away from her for it to be permitted. He jerked off, feverishly. He heard her laughter build as he brought himself to orgasm.

He returned, relieved, and asked her, "so did you enjoy that?"

"You drink prana like a woman."

"Thank you, I'll take that as a complement."

"My juice flows in you, and makes you sleepy. Rest, while I tell you the tale of my family, which we call Kadin."

And while the two of them lay on the soft rugs, Bilulu related this tale:

Inana the Immortal was born in a City under the mountains, which they named Uruk, many lives of Men past, in the post-war times that were called the Cancer Years, when the world was diseased, and the sky was dark.

Many creatures had perished, though the hardy survived, and even thrived. The cockroaches ruled at first, growing both in number and size as they multiplied; but the rats learned to feed on them, and they too spread and soon conquered. The trees, the flowers too, spread and did battle with one another, and their seeds sprouted and grew into strange, twisted forms.

Many monsters were born then that did not long survive: Many children of men were armless, or headless, and died at birth; but some had many legs like spiders, some grew tall and etiolated and weak; others had shells like turtles, or even grew feathers like birds, as though desperate to take flight from the world.

But in the deep underground cities men had built in the days before the great Dying, some men and women hibernated away. There they slept, like unto death, for many years, hiding from the unending winter of the world.

In one such city, which they called Uruk, the men awoke, but none who left their hiding place and ventured above returned alive, for still the air there was poison. They grew hungry and fed on each other, like the rats above, who had grown large and evil. But then some of the men, the strongest and fiercest of them, came to dominate the city, and became the rulers.

They confined the women inside their hibernation chambers, which were like unto coffins, and doomed them to become box-mothers, living incubators. When a woman could no longer birth a child, she was sacrificed and feasted on.