DIzzIE
20th January 2008, 12:03 PM
The third in a series of flash splatterpunk fables. (Read the other two here (http://forum.rorta.net//showthread.php?t=424) and here (http://forum.rorta.net//showthread.php?t=763)).
Fathers and Sons...and Their Pricks.
I always get hard riding trains. Something about the endless bones crushed on the altar of the rails. You see the loaders standing on the sidelines, tossing in parcels of wee ones on the tracks. Kike baby, nigger baby, honkey baby; all mashed into one pancake baby puree on the tracks slick with blood and machine oil, the throbbing pulse of Progress--cadavera vero innumera! Yeah, that's the shit, uhhh, faster...
"Damn it Sam, I gone told you to stop playin' with your penis!"
"But dad, that's your penis!"
And so, sitting there on the train, dad and I found out we had the same dick. Conjoined twins...of the penis. Concordia salus.
What? Huh? Oh please, I'm no fucking biologist. You expect me to provide a cohesive background that realigns years of reproductive drivel? I just write what I see. And why now? Why the fuck not. They had to notice some time, might as well be this time. This glorious moment of riding the rails, a pleasant day, with the sky a shimmering...well fuck, who knows what color the sky was, my eyes were long gone [see below].
The first reaction was to pull apart. Repel. Feet against feet we ripped back as far as we could, hearing the zipper of the flesh unbinding as our scrotum tore open.
Again!
Uuuuh, sqeueeueeer.
And then
a drop of pre-cum, glistening, reflecting off the teary eyed globes of father and son.
Recoil.
We sat there petting it, sucking off our mutual prick, the conjoined contrectation of father and son, of one and the same.
The father starts to remember.
The soft head of as yet unborn lump of fetal matter bobbing furiously against the forehead of the dead whore on Fifth as the bone shrapnel from her eye sockets tore into his, his son's, shaft. The little head of the unborn son suddenly bobs head-first (ha!) into the head of the dick that's drilling away into the head of the deadened street whore, smashing the dickhead into a particularly wayward orbital shard sticking out of the whore's bludgeoned face, ripping through the cock, piercing into the son's eyes, and finally squeezing out through the soft exterior of the son's own head [op. cit.]. Concordia salus.
The son starts to remember.
Suddenly submerged into the bowl as more and more shift flowed into it, as another daddy came and sat on daddy's shitting lap. As they sat there getting pounded, Sammy boy getting soaked in the excess, the unfelched overflow leaking from the father's ass, down the toilet bowl, into the boy's eyes. Gasping for air, he cums from his eyes, his baby foot furtively trying to wedge itself into daddy's hole to stop the flow; the vomiting upwards into the stranger's face. Yes, by now they were both remembering.
Father and son sat there, rage flowing through the now prominent veins of their engorged cock. Each starts to bite down. In the throes of frenzied blood lust, I start biting faster and faster, spitting the chunks of manmeat soaked in bilious spunk that I can't swallow at those sitting around us. We rip into it, tear through it until we're consuming each other's entrails, and we go on. We eat away, more and more, an engorged ouroboros, foaming at the mouth, tearing away at the monstrous cock that was them both. Suck and grind and spew and roar, vile and gore and spunk galore. And then the train skidded off the tracks, the gears caught up in the amorphous wad of meat and bone intermingled with the sickly spunk of the specious; that is this.
***
On a related note, www.corpsefuck.com 'Stories of the Morbid, Erotic, and Bizarre' is now open for submissions again, check 'em out!
Fathers and Sons...and Their Pricks.
I always get hard riding trains. Something about the endless bones crushed on the altar of the rails. You see the loaders standing on the sidelines, tossing in parcels of wee ones on the tracks. Kike baby, nigger baby, honkey baby; all mashed into one pancake baby puree on the tracks slick with blood and machine oil, the throbbing pulse of Progress--cadavera vero innumera! Yeah, that's the shit, uhhh, faster...
"Damn it Sam, I gone told you to stop playin' with your penis!"
"But dad, that's your penis!"
And so, sitting there on the train, dad and I found out we had the same dick. Conjoined twins...of the penis. Concordia salus.
What? Huh? Oh please, I'm no fucking biologist. You expect me to provide a cohesive background that realigns years of reproductive drivel? I just write what I see. And why now? Why the fuck not. They had to notice some time, might as well be this time. This glorious moment of riding the rails, a pleasant day, with the sky a shimmering...well fuck, who knows what color the sky was, my eyes were long gone [see below].
The first reaction was to pull apart. Repel. Feet against feet we ripped back as far as we could, hearing the zipper of the flesh unbinding as our scrotum tore open.
Again!
Uuuuh, sqeueeueeer.
And then
a drop of pre-cum, glistening, reflecting off the teary eyed globes of father and son.
Recoil.
We sat there petting it, sucking off our mutual prick, the conjoined contrectation of father and son, of one and the same.
The father starts to remember.
The soft head of as yet unborn lump of fetal matter bobbing furiously against the forehead of the dead whore on Fifth as the bone shrapnel from her eye sockets tore into his, his son's, shaft. The little head of the unborn son suddenly bobs head-first (ha!) into the head of the dick that's drilling away into the head of the deadened street whore, smashing the dickhead into a particularly wayward orbital shard sticking out of the whore's bludgeoned face, ripping through the cock, piercing into the son's eyes, and finally squeezing out through the soft exterior of the son's own head [op. cit.]. Concordia salus.
The son starts to remember.
Suddenly submerged into the bowl as more and more shift flowed into it, as another daddy came and sat on daddy's shitting lap. As they sat there getting pounded, Sammy boy getting soaked in the excess, the unfelched overflow leaking from the father's ass, down the toilet bowl, into the boy's eyes. Gasping for air, he cums from his eyes, his baby foot furtively trying to wedge itself into daddy's hole to stop the flow; the vomiting upwards into the stranger's face. Yes, by now they were both remembering.
Father and son sat there, rage flowing through the now prominent veins of their engorged cock. Each starts to bite down. In the throes of frenzied blood lust, I start biting faster and faster, spitting the chunks of manmeat soaked in bilious spunk that I can't swallow at those sitting around us. We rip into it, tear through it until we're consuming each other's entrails, and we go on. We eat away, more and more, an engorged ouroboros, foaming at the mouth, tearing away at the monstrous cock that was them both. Suck and grind and spew and roar, vile and gore and spunk galore. And then the train skidded off the tracks, the gears caught up in the amorphous wad of meat and bone intermingled with the sickly spunk of the specious; that is this.
***
On a related note, www.corpsefuck.com 'Stories of the Morbid, Erotic, and Bizarre' is now open for submissions again, check 'em out!