hopelessly imprisoned me. I could feel their cocks start to grow that last fraction of an inch before they came, stretching my throat, asshole and cunt just a little bit more. Suddenly, there were three eruptions within me at exactly the same time. I could feel the cum flowing into me from all three directions, scalding my pussy with one spurting discharge, while another coated my bowels with fuck-cream, and the other filled my mouth and throat with more sperm than they could hold, runny gobs of it dribbling out of the corners of my mouth and jizz-clogged nostrils.
Below my face, the unmistakable thrust of the Rubber Man's incredibly limber prick told me he was now coming, which was verified when excess sperm from his spurting cock milkily oozed from the sides of Rhonda's cunt within seconds. Rhonda's futile attempts at bucking her hips meant she was coming, too, as her orgasmic intensity caused her to vault her tongue out in rigid exclamation, the piercing tip burrowing inside my cunt, squeezing tightly against the cock already fucking my pussy. Driven by the frenzy within her, she somehow managed to inch her spongily stiff tongue in even farther until my cunt was more filled with wet meat than it had any right to be.
The cum sprayed and spurted and the pussy-juice flowed like wine as we twisted and ground into each other, sliding and wallowing in a pool of our creamy fuck-juices. Inside me I felt like Moses was parting the Red Sea, the cocks jammed into me creating the illusion that I was being torn apart in all directions. My hips felt like they were being ripped off their sockets, and my bowels seemed sure to be snatched from my body. My insides were so pushed out of shape by the cocks filling me that they were compressed into a tight, seething corner somewhere, straining to explode. My throat was so full of cock and jizz that I was choking, my breath cut off by the prick and its caked sperm which blocked my windpipe. I felt like I was going to shit, piss and vomit all at once, a cascade signaling that I had been literally torn apart at last, bloody chunks of my body inevitably toppling to the floor. God, how I loved it, the searing pain making it all worthwhile. I felt just like Jesus must have felt up on the cross, except my nails were stiff cocks, huge wrathful swords instead of mere spikes, and their two-edged shafts forced me to my spiritual limit, impelling me to accept the maximum of what I could humanly take.
The spurting had finally stopped, and I had come down myself, basking in the afterglow of peerless fucking and sucking with all those wilting pricks softening inside me like it was cold cream instead of sperm coating my three holes. And then, suddenly, the complexion of things changed drastically.
A voice outside could be heard asking, 'What's going on inside there?' It sounded familiar, and when it said, 'Littlebit, you in there?' I recognized it as the fat lady.
By the way the tent was shaking, she was obviously trying to force her way in, but the entrance was far too small for her huge bulk. The whole tent probably could have served as a costume for her, but that didn't stop her as she yelled, 'Littlebit, I'm gonna brain you, you little fart! I'll grind your cock down as puny as the rest of you!'
'No, no, please go away!' I found myself screaming.
'So, you got some little bimbo in there with you, huh?' she bellowed. 'Well, here I come, you hairy little piss-ant!'
One of her fists shot through the fabric as though she were trying to fight her way out of a paper bag. The tent shuddered, mortally wounded, then collapsed. Its canvas draped our cock-locked bodies, throwing the six of us into sudden confusion, the fallen tent becoming a madhouse as pricks pulled abruptly from our foaming holes, their departure signaled by a series of slurping pops. Everybody scrambled to get free of both the tent and the fat lady, who was stomping around like an enraged dinosaur, determined to waylay her husband, who was as small as she was immense.
Finally, I found a loose end of canvas and poked my head under it, gratefully focusing my eyes on the outdoors. I wriggled out from under the flap and wrapped a piece of torn canvas around my naked cunt and tits, feeling the breeze jell the sperm that coated my thighs. I looked around one last time for Agent Marmelstein, but he was definitely gone. When I saw the fat lady chasing me, screaming 'Whore!' I didn't know what to do but run for my life, the load of fuck-juice between my legs squishing moistly with every stride.
CHAPTER NINE
I didn't know where to go but back home. I wanted to bury my head under the pillow and just sleep, letting the jism drain from my mouth and cunt and asshole until I could wake up with sufficient clarity to sort out the significance of all that had happened to me today. It was the second successive time I slept an unknown number of hours, waking up in a timeless limbo.
When I awoke, my nose instantly told me that a bath was in order, the musky scent of over-ripe cum filling the air with its peculiar pungency. In the bathtub I slid down against the porcelain, letting my naked body totally relax as the warm water did all the work, making my tired muscles feel buoyant, and lapping relaxing against the outer folds and ridges of my aching pussy and asshole.
I took the end of the rubber tube extending from the faucet and dreamily stuck it in my relaxed cunt, feeling the warm water rush over the raw tissues of my fuck-canal. As the water coursed up my pussy, my cunt-walls automatically began to expand and contract, proof that my pussy was so horny that it would respond immediately to any stimulation, regardless of what it had been through. Somehow I felt pleased by my spasming pussy as I looked down at my now-cherished cunt and thanked God for giving it to me, grateful for the ease with which I could take on the biggest of pricks.
Suddenly my sex-drenched reverie was shattered by the ringing of the phone in the next room. I thought about letting it ring until it stopped, but then it occurred to me that perhaps there was a reason for answering it. Although I had lost track of time, and wasn't sure of the date, something in the back of my mind reminded me that it was approximately the day for the latest issue of Honey Pot to hit the stands, my column at last available to a spiritually needy public. It occurred to me that perhaps it was Shark on the phone, calling me after he had read my column. I thrilled at the opportunity to stand up to him with the word of Christ, as I jumped out of the bathtub and flew wetly to the phone, watching the water drop from the droplet-speckled bush of my cunt as I picked up the receiver and breathlessly said hello.
I expected Shark's characteristic snarl at the other end and was paradoxically disappointed when I heard an inoffensive whisper at the other end say, 'Go answer your door.'
'Who is this?' I asked.
'Go answer your door.'
'No one's knocking,' I protested.
'They've already been there,' the voice whispered. 'Go.'
The effect of the increasingly eerie voice was hypnotic. I found myself dropping the receiver and doing as I was told, going to answer a door on which nobody had knocked.
I threw open the door and looked straight ahead at nothing, thin air separating me from the rest of the hall. I started to turn and go back to the phone for further instructions from the commanding, disembodied whisper; however, as I did, I glanced downward and saw a piece of white paper. I picked it up and anxiously read it.
'I'm in trouble. Only you can help. No time to explain more. Meet me right away at the thirteenth floor of Creel Building. M.S.,' it said in the terse literary style of a telegram, but scrawled in a wretched hand which looked vaguely familiar to me.
I rushed back to the phone to see if I could wring any further information out of the voice, but when I got there, all the receiver emitted was a sardonic 'heh, heh,' followed by a click and the subsequent buzzing drone of the dial tone. I tried to sit down and sort out my reeling mind, but I couldn't stay put, striding around the living room as I racked my brain for an answer to this dilemma of strange occurrences and even more mysterious familiarities.
But then in a blinding flash it struck me like a round-house right from the middleweight champion of the world that God has sent this message to me. The piece of paper was a sign… like the burning bush of Biblical fame! I would immediately go tote destination specified in the note and find this poor, miserable M.S. I would embrace M.S. and he or she would be made to want to live again, made emotionally whole again, even as I, a spiritual cripple, had been made whole. I raced from the apartment, not even bothering to close the door behind me, certain that God would protect the material things of my life while I kept my appointment with a miracle.
