10. Ian
Ian
I ’m still unused to the modern way of living. The clothes are scratchy and too stiff; the pants confine me and my parts more than I want them to.
But it’s the constant buzzing of electricity that’s overwhelming. The things I’ve seen on the box mounted to the wall, the things people say and do…
A shudder leaves me as I remember the short, stout man with no neck scream at the thin woman across the table from him.
People in this time are repulsive. But then I glance over at my sugarplum and all the fear and disgust from this world melts away. She’s perfect. She’s beautiful. She’s otherworldly. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a mate. I don’t know how I got so incredibly lucky.
Slurping the thick, pale banana smoothie, Lyric’s eyes meet mine and a shiver races through my body. Intimate memories of our shared splooge smoothie floods my mind, and my love sword goes impossibly hard. Her gaze drops to it, a bit of the smoothie crusted on her full lips.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you with that,” she coos, using her chin to point at the erect bulge. “I have to go see Story.” I push myself to my feet, ready to go with her, but she waves me off. “You have to stay here, pretty boy. I have to figure out how to save you.”
My eyes widen. “Save me?”
She looks reluctant as she whispers, “You’re disappearing.”
I go completely still. Disappearing? How is that possible? I glance down at myself, seeing my body whole. “I’m not.” I shake my head, refusing to believe it.
“You are.” She hesitates a step forward and reaches for me. “You’re…see-through.” I shake my head again, still staring at myself. I’m not.
But when I look back at her, ready to argue, my words die on my lips. She’s disappearing. “Lass!” I cry, jolting forward. My hands rest on either side of her face, my heart thundering in my chest. “You’re see-through! Like a ghost!”
Tears fill her eyes as she stares up at me. “You’re going to go back into your book if I don’t figure out how to save you,” she rasps. I shake my head as she speaks, my eyes squeezing shut.
“I canna lose you.”
She wraps her hands around the back of my neck, gently tugging me down until our lips crash together. Our kiss is hot and hard, like we’re eating each other’s faces. Lips, teeth, tongues clash against one another, as if we’re trying to absorb the other.
“You won’t lose me, and I won’t lose you,” she vows. “But I have to go right now. I’ll be back soon.” She chews on her bottom lip as she glances at the box on the table. “There’s something you need to do while I’m gone, though.”
“Anything,” I tell her vehemently. “Anything at all.”
Lyric dips and grabs the box, pulling one end off. She gives me a shy smile as she tips and shakes it, letting a large cylindrical thing fall out. My brows crease as she turns it around in her hands, showing me the item from every angle.
“What is it?” I ask, and her smile grows.
“See this?” She turns the rounded side toward me, showing me something that looks like—I gasp.
“Is that a honeypot?” I stumble back a step, my curiosity gone. “A honeypot! Whose is it?!”
“Yours.” She shrugs, a small giggle leaving her. I press my hand to my chest as my mouth opens, ready to protest that I most certainly do not have a honeypot. “It’s a pussy-pocket. You use it to…you know. Spank the monkey.”
I look around the room. “What monkey?”
“Beat your meat. Fire off some knuckle kids. Milk the cow.” I shake my head with every word, and she lets out a long sigh. “Play tug-of-war with the cyclops? Tickle your pickle? Butter your corn?”
“I dinna ken what you’re saying to me.”
“Choke the chicken! Crown the king! One gun salute!” I scratch my head, watching her tap her finger against her chin. “I can’t think of any more.” When I say nothing, her shoulders fall. “It’s to jack off. You use it to masturbate.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks, and I look away from her. “I dinna—I canna?—”
“Please. I know you do it. It’s fine. I need you to use this all day and empty your seed into this.” She taps the large glass jar on the table. “And don’t forget to use the lube. Oh, and you can watch this to really get you goin’.” She waggles her eyebrows before she crouches and opens her laptop—she showed me the witch-contraption earlier—and taps on the little square pegs. “There. This should be good.”
My eyes widen as I stare at the moving paintings—the videos—on the little box. A man has his long hog spearing a woman’s anus, his rod stretching her impossibly wide.
Blood rushes to my cock, engorging it. Mindlessly, I reach down, gripping it over my pants. It throbs in my palm, and I squeeze tighter.
“Just use your finger to move it around and choose what you’d like to watch,” she says, showing me what to do. I nod as I slump onto the couch. “Now, what did Mommy tell you to do?” She turns toward me, her hands on her hips.
“Jerk myself and pour my nectar into that jar.”
“Good boy.” She ruffles my hair, and I smile proudly up at her. “Fill that jar up.” Gathering her stuff, she hurries across the house. “I’ll be back soon.” She shoots me an air kiss before disappearing, and I turn my attention toward her laptop.
Hesitantly, I reach out and slide my finger over the smooth surface. My eyes widen as I scroll through the videos, stopping on one that has my heart shooting into my throat.
I glance at the door, suddenly worried about being caught, then back at the screen of the witch-box. A group of men surround a kneeling woman, their hard pricks in her face as they stroke themselves. She smiles up at them, licking and kissing their tips, coaxing them to give her their sweet cream.
I click on the video, and her soft sounds immediately fill the room. My cock hardens further, almost painfully, and I reach down, dragging my pants down enough to let it free.
Grabbing the faux honeypot and lube, I pour some of the slimy liquid over my prick. There’s a beat of hesitation before I press it against my tip. The feeling is odd—the mix of the cool, slimy liquid encasing my warm flesh as the slit parts and stretches around my thick cock.
Slowly, I begin stroking myself, my eyes nearly rolling back in my head. The ridges and flexible yet firm texture inside the contraption are unlike anything I’ve ever felt before—it’s unlike anything I’ve ever dreamed of.
As I watch the unfathomable display before me, a mix of fascination and arousal fills me. The woman moans and arches her back, smiling up at the men stroking themselves just inches from her face. Her mouth opens, and she engulfs one of their red rockets. My hand moves faster, matching her rhythm as she eagerly bobs and slobbers all over them.
A tingling builds low in my dangly bits as the fake mimsy glides over my hard length. I need both hands to move it at the speed I need, and my thighs begin trembling. The video seems to go on forever, and my heart begins racing as I try to keep up with the desperate need my body has to empty my seed into this pocket, and the want to watch this video forever.
Suddenly, a hot gush of fluid fills the sculpted channel, and a loud cry erupts from my throat. My fingers squeeze the unforgiving object until my spawn stops spurting. I stare down at the thing, feeling the warm wetness wrap around my cock.
When I catch my breath, I turn back to the witch-box, the video still playing. My tally-whacker begins hardening again, but I have to empty the nectar out for Lyric, as instructed. With shaking hands, I pull it slowly off and watch as it dribbles from the opening. My prick is raging hard again, so I get as much as I can out before I put it back on, find another video, and get back to work.