Author's Notes

This is the climactic scene from a much longer novella, which introduces many of my key concepts of sexual warfare and negative philosophy. It has been edited in order to bring some of the content in line with the requirements of the Literotica website. The reader is forewarned: this story contains Anti-Semitism, anti-Nipponism, Homophobia, Misogyny, Misanthropy and forcible oral domination.

The story thus far: The Narrator, an unnamed high executive of "Acronym LLC", a ruthless, sinister Hedge Fund, has kidnapped a Japanese lesbian; who is intended to serve as a sacrificial victim in a necro-fiscal rite of magic at the climax of which, the Japanese stock market will be destroyed. No such "snuff" activities are described in this selection from the tale, designed to be palatable to Literotica viewers. As this segment opens, the Narrator has been charged by wizards in the employ of "Acronym LLC" with the task of subjecting the Japanese girl to severe sexual humiliation in order to soften up her soul for transition to the astral plane.

* * * * *

Just The Fellow We Were Looking For

An innocent Hebrew pressed into service at Gunpoint

I pressed the button to open the sunroof as the leader of our kidnapping squad pulled his silenced automatic from a shoulder holster and snapped back the slide, chambering a round. It was time for a bit of improvisation. Head and shoulders through the opening in the ceiling, I called out the first thing that came to mind.

"Hey, buddy! How do you get to the Lincoln Tunnel from here?"

He looked at me over his shoulder and shook his head with a nasty pursed-lipped expression. You have to live in New York to understand these bastards. They walk around in their weird getups with this look of permanent disapproval on their faces, as if all the rest of us were lepers about to contaminate them. But truth be told they are the nastiest, stinkiest bunch of cheap-shoe wearing bath-needing motherfuckers you ever laid eyes upon. Where they get off with this attitude is utterly beyond me, but this night it suited my aims to perfection.

I looked down through the sunroof with raised eyebrow, catching the eagle eye of my gunsel. He gave a curt nod and was out the door in one motion like an uncoiling spring. Before the fabric dealer had a chance to react, my man seized him by the collar, spun him around to face the vehicle, clapped the muzzle of the silencer to the back of his skull, and was pushing him across the sidewalk.

"Get your fat ass over here, motherfucker. Now put your hands on the roof of the vehicle and spread your legs. One wrong move and I'm gonna ventilate that stupid fucking hat with two nine-millimetre air-holes: one in one side and one out the other."

We had him spread-eagled against the vehicle, standing in the open side door. My man kept looking up and down the street, gun screwed firmly into the poor geek's ear. I was standing in the sunroof, cellular telephone out, conferring with the home office as I sized up the situation. The fellow was about 45 or 50, fairly short, and obese. He had a big black hat that maintained its precarious perch high atop his skull only with the assistance of a strap at the back. He was bushily bearded although not sidelocked. He wore a black overcoat, seedy suit and stained white shirt. His shoes were surpassingly cheap, made of some shiny plastic leather-substitute with soles beginning to split away from the uppers. In face, he was ugly, with beady eyes, a fleshy proboscis and a pendulous underlip. He smelled of sweat, garlic, cheap tobacco and unwashed drawers. Best of all was his expression, which said clearly: "I don't know what these animals want-probably to rob me-but their actions confirm everything I know about the goyim. They are pigs, violent dangerous swine."

"Good evening, sir. We require your assistance (I pronounced this word in the French style: 'ah-see-STOHNZE'-sometimes in moments of excitement I do this sort of thing-not sure why) for a minute. Just keep a cool head on your shoulders, do exactly as you're told, and everything will work out for the best."

Into the cellular telephone:

"OK, I think we've got our man here. He's one of those Jews with the big beards and big hats. Fat and stinky as can be. From the look on his mug he doesn't know whether to shit or call down the wrath of Y----H on our heathen heads. What's my next move?"

"You haven't much time. You'll need to create a humiliating, coercive sexual situation right away. Force the Japanese girl to orally service this nauseating wretch, in front of onlookers if possible. It's important that she be the recipient of both his lust and his scorn. At the climactic moment, add a soupcon of erotic pain to the recipe by lashing her bare bottom with an improvised whip, wet towel, or what have you. If you can induce the Jew to utter heartfelt words of hate, lust and contempt, so much the better, although if he is unable, you and your men may have to speak for him."

"OK, gotcha. Stand by in case we need advice."

"Copy."

Back into the limo I conferred with my evil compadres. They leaned forward, intent upon my every word.

"OK, boys. She's going to have to suck this Jew and we don't have much time to make it happen. The black-magic people at Headquarters tell me that she's really got to suffer before we finish her off tonight-something to do with the astrological plane, or the endocrine system and what have you. Humiliation means witnesses-you and you, get me a couple of innocent onlookers, fast. Get that gag mask off of her and let's get busy. It's showtime!"

A Brief Interlude

Courtesy of The Enlightenment

Ahhhhhh…Voltaire, Hobbes, Locke, Descartes…. the noble voice of sweet REASON. Let us stroll through my galleries, arcades and gardens and discuss the joys of black philosophy. Surely the wisdom of bygone ages will calm my troubled mind and lay to rest this filthie SPLEEN that does arise within me…. Why must men commit dark acts? This always is and ever was my theme, though it shall require at least 24 volumes to explicate fully. I have ruined my eyesight, scribbling late… bell, book and candle my only companions…

Jew Humilated

The Israelite suffers Insult

and Injury at the hands of

hard and Dangerous men

Picture if you will a black limousine parked at the curb on a deserted midtown Manhattan street. The entire scenario is illumined by those ghastly orange sodium streetlights, which cast no shadows and give to each participant the complexion of a ghoul. (If this were "Masterpiece Theater", the English actor over-enunciating the voiceover would pronounce that word "comm-PLECK-see-un" rather than the prosaic American "cuhmpleckshinn") The back door on the curbside is open and an unattractive bearded man is standing spraddle-legged with hands flat on the roof, in the position generally reserved for perpetrators undergoing a frisk. A hard-faced hoodlum in an expensive suit stands to one side, looking up and down the street with narrowed eyes, forcing the snout of a silenced automatic into the ear of this unlucky wretch so hard that his head is tilted to the side. Inside the limo, my security director and my merry men wrestle the tall Japanese girl into position. It's crowded in the back and their shoulders jostle together as they roll her onto her stomach and remove the mask. An onlooker outside the vehicle, should the mirrored windows be rolled down, would see only their forward-bent heads and scowls of concentration and might think that a greased pig had escaped and was at large amongst their ankles. I'm standing on the seat, head, shoulders and torso through the sunroof, directing the proceedings. I can see both the hapless Jew and the hindquarters of the sacrificial victim, although to actually see her lips upon him I shall be obligated to either lean forward over the edge of the roof or drop back inside the vehicle.

I shoot my cuff and check my chronometer. We are due back at the office to administer the coup de grace to this lanky cunt, and by magical principle of extension, to the entire Nikkei Index and the Asian economy. Inside the vehicle my men have the girl face down on the floor, one sailor per limb. The security director seizes a handful of her hair and yanks her head up so that she is facing out the open door. She is taking deep shuddering breaths now that the gag mask has been removed.

"Get her up on her knees, boys. We've got a Jew dick to suck and a market to crush."

As they force the girl into the approved position for a fellatrix, I give the nod to my triggerman. He leans in close and snarls in the ear of the Jew:

"Keep your hands flat on the roof at all times, you fat fuck. Don't even fucking look at me."

"Ok, Sergeant. Drop his pantaloons and let's have a look at what we're dealing with"

My man reaches around and gives a hard shake to the belt buckle of our lucky captive and it pops undone. His suit pants drop immediately to his ankles. He's gibbering with fear and shame, eyes rolling frantically towards his tormentor and then away as he remembers his instructions. Saliva flecks appear on his beard, his lips flap like Alan Dershowitz in a rage. His shirttails hang free over his white hairy belly. He's wearing stained white briefs from which arises a sour odor.

"The man-panties will have to go as well, my good fellow."

The briefs join the trousers around his ankles. His legs are short and fat, as is his penis. His skin is dead white and thickly furred. A large belly hangs down, covering the top of his matted pubic hair. It's a disgusting sight. I congratulate myself, silently, as I gesticulate in a circular motion with my cellular telephone like a mad conductor.

"Spin him around and let's have a look at him from all sides."

"You heard the man, Fucko. Hands on top of your head, fingers interlaced."

The poor bastard did as he was told and my man spun him around by the shoulder in a motion that reminded me of blindfolds and piñata parties.

"Whoa, stop right there! Those fat asscheeks are simply preposterous!"

They were foul, saggy and pimply, with whorls of black hair. A sudden inspiration came upon me and I dropped back inside the vehicle. The men scooted aside to make room, but the constraints of space obliged me to kneel on the floor directly behind the Jap bitch, looking out over her shoulder. I now had a cunts-eye- view of the unappetizing middle-aged posterior of our involuntary ritual assistant, filling the doorway. The advice of our freelance wizard went though my mind-"Be sure to issue forth a stream of lewd commentary".

Ritual Humiliation of the Victim

The Narrator discovers a gift for black Eloquence

I pressed myself against the raised ass of the girl, a knee on either side of her knees, a sudden hard-on pounding in my shorts. Her disarrayed hair fell across her face in strands. I reached around and yanked the hem of her dress up over her hips, exposing a high round ass, divided into two cheeks by a black G-string, which had worked its way deeply between them. She suddenly began to squirm desperately as if cognizant of the direction the proceedings were soon to take. With a man holding either arm, however, she was totally powerless.

"Sergeant…if you would be so kind as to assist our guest in touching his nose to his knees…?"

Gun to head, our newer captive performed the maneuver with a squeal of effort, although his belly prevented him from bending more than halfway over. This was quite enough for my purposes, however. I laced my fingers tightly into the hair at the base of that Nipponese cunt's head and got a very tight, painful grip. Her back arched involuntarily as she gasped in pain, pressing her ass against me and a thrill electrified my being. Then, by thrusting my weight against her ass and yanking her head forward I caused her to lean directly into the exposed fundament of the hapless Hebrew. I ground myself into her as I drove her head closer and closer to his buttocks.

"What a lovely spectacle, eh, you stuck-up bitch?"

She twisted her head to the side as hard as she could, despite the pain caused by resisting my grip upon her hair, nose wrinkled in disgust, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

With a final shove I wedged her nose tightly into his ass causing his back to arch involuntarily- whether with embarrassed ecstasy or mortified pleasure, I wasn't sure.

"Hold her there a minute, gentleman, while I don my priestly vestments."

I groped on the floor for the Sergeant's black bag. I was positive that he had a supply of surgical gloves and my confidence was rewarded. I pulled out a pair and drew them on delicately, and then reached back into the bag, where my fingers encountered the thrilling solidity of a revolver handgrip. I tucked it into my waistband at the base of my spine. I was hunched over her kneeling form like a monkey fucking a football

"Turn the bastard around again and let him have a look at her."

No sooner said than done. I craned my neck to look up into the Jew's flushed face and then reached around the girl and took a tit in either hand. Each one made a taut, springy, overflowing handful.

"Look at these big hard fake titties!"

I lifted one, and then the other, and then rotated them in various directions as if familiarizing myself with the gearshift of a sports car of foreign manufacture.

"This is pure silicone rubber, sir, I assure you. There is absolutely no way this cunt was born with these hooters. I've got the devil's own grip on them and I can tell you, they are completely lacking in that saclike sloshing quality that betrays the natural-born tit. These jugs fear no breast-cancer, Rabbi. When they lose their hydrocarbonated springiness they will be traded in like their cousins, the tyres of automobiles. If you don't believe me, fix your eye upon them as I bobble and slap them from side to side!"

With a flourish I suited word to deed, dealing her a vicious smack upon the right tit, which sent it careening into its rubbery twin. An entirely unnatural back-and-forth oscillation was set in motion that persisted for several long-drawn-out moments. I peered up with a long-upper-lipped, raised-eyebrow expression as if to say "How now, Professor, what say you to this final proof of my theories?" and then slapped again from the other side, instigating a contrariwise but no less unnatural bobbling.

 

A Long Digression

Into Cattle Breeding and the Chosen Race,

I looked up at him again and for a moment I thought I discerned in his eye a spark of naked lust. Something about the unnatural quality of this situation sent a sympathetic tremor of pure desire through my body. I felt at that moment an odd kinship with those specialists who extract the seed of prize bulls for use in artificial insemination. Big-league cattle breeders never risk exposing their prize creations to the blind, aggressive act of natural copulation. Instead, the bulls are blindfolded and then hosed with hormones drawn off from the glands of heifers in heat. Their simple minds driven mad with desire by this biochemical trickery, they are led into a narrow paddock containing a set of artificial bovine hindquarters. I'm basing all of this on a PBS documentary that could well be something I dreamt and never actually saw, but I'd swear that these hindquarters were made of durable, transparent Plexiglas. The bull is released into the breeding chamber and immediately falls to with a will, steered by an instinctual knowledge of the proper shape of a cow's ass, which he doth begin to fuck in that resonant, animalistic and highly stimulating position we humans are amused to call "doggy style".

Apparently, although a bull in the throes of lust cares not whether the hindquarters of his mate be bone and hairy flesh or insensitive and unyielding Plexiglas, his cock possesses discernment enough to wither and fall impotent should it encounter anything less than the clasp of a vaginal canal. The breeder is obliged to simulate same by masturbating the thrusting penis with rubber-gloved hands warmed to cow-interior temperature in a bucket of hot water and then coated with petroleum jelly for lubricious slipperiness. A two-handed grip is apparently most efficacious. The documentary glossed over the crucial moment, but I'm sure that, once milked, the sperm was trapped in some sort of appropriate receptacle for its trip to the freezer. My mind can't resist a whimsical fancy here-they catch the falling seed in a fedora hat- the type worn at a jaunty angle by the Notre Dame "Fighting Irish" leprechaun-and immediately suck it up with a turkey-baster and shoot it into the chosen cow. You know, it's those cattle breeders with their bluff, 19^th c. English Isles "All things Bold and Beautiful" attitudes towards reproduction that for some reason lead me inevitably to thoughts of that malevolent homunculus, the "Fighting Irish" gnome…he's a horny little bastard and a man of the soil, I just know it… but I digress most foully.

Wait, I've gotten my blasted hats mixed up again. It's the BOWLER that I'm thinking of. The rounded cuplike shape of its crown bespeaks "receptacle" to me. Yes, bowler, most certainly. And, to boot, the leprechaun sports an Amish/Capt. Ahab/C Everett Koopian jawbeard, the most perverse of facial hairstyles…. To administer a handjob to a leprechaun. There's a fairy story for you. Someday the perversity of the little people will be brought to light, starting with a scholarly monograph upon the psychosexually dominant nature of Rumplestiltskin, but we'll leave that for another time. What I'm trying to get at here, in my roundabout way, is that there is something demonically stimulating about the black act of controlling and channeling the lust of a repressed and frustrated man, for me. Allow me to step outside the story for a moment and sketch an brief outline of my motives, which my authorial weaknesses may have left dim, and with all due apologies to Gordon Lish, Ray Carver and Philip Roth, for letting down the team in such a 19^th c. way, I will baldly state my reasons. I see this Jew as the prototypical frustrated male. The mental byways that have led me here are long and meandering and I could no doubt enlighten you all had I ephedrine enough and time, but let me try and be brief. I IDENTIFY with him, and my humiliations of him are the humiliations to which I subject myself, daily. In short, I AM he, and those of you who have not figured this out yet should read the rest of the tale with that borne firmly in mind.

Why did I pick an Israelite as my puppet and penile proxy? Thinking about how to best answer this, I realize that I was not cut out to be a short-story writer. The quick answer is-"that's what came to mind." Many of those who know me slightly will call me a misogynist, or perhaps a homophobe and an Anti-Semite. I am all of these things, yes, but in my heart of hearts I realize that the Jews are the juiciest, the perviest, the ballsiest of races and I envy them bitterly. My awe in the face of the works of Philip Roth is but the outward sign. Henry Miller, remarking upon the bony, Asiatic cast of feature which fate had bestowed him, said that he was "as ugly as a Jew". Miller wished he was Jewish and I must say that I wish the same for myself. Ah, Christ! The Mossad! Alan Dershowitz! Ron Jeremy! The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion! The Jews invented everything, from the Theory of Relativity to monotheism. They stand behind every radical movement. Free jazz? Black players but Jewish producers and critics. Communism? Jews, Jews and more Jews. Marx, Feud, Darwin, Evel Knievel, Nat Hentoff, David ben-Gurion, Saul Bellow… Iesus of Nazareth, Regem Iudeum…Trotsky, Karpov, Kasparov …Einstein, Murray Gell-Mann, Dr. Robt. Oppenheimer and other leading lights of physics and quantum mechanicks…not to mention Bobby Dylan, Lenny Bruce, Baron Rothschild and the Archangel Gabriel, which means "Blessed Bullcalf of God." The bastards dominate aesthetics, astronomy, sales, psychotherapy, finance, fashion and film. Jews in academia are behind veganism, feminism, deconstructionism, Political Correctness &c. , &c. I could go on and on. How did such a race of inbred weaklings, who as far as I can see marched to the gas chambers without a murmur, come to rule the world from behind the scenes? Well…. we are now poking at the heart of the matter.