Coital
by Alex Davis

   The throbbing of the penis continues to amuse and arouse her. She runs her hand along its considerable length, and it responds with a slight pulsing. Delightedly she runs her nail along it before kneeling to it and slowly playing her tongue across its sensitive end. Pleased with these results, she leaves the organ to retract into itself, shrinking threefold.

   On the television a man enthusiastically buries his heads into a woman’s crotch. She watches this with a smile, placing a hand between her legs, sliding a finger into her gradually moistening entrance. The strength of its unwashed smell does not perturb her. The pretty brunette on screen moans exaggeratedly, licking her lips, rolling her eyes in feigned ecstasy. The room smells heavily of dead meat and sweat. She enjoys her viewing for a while before reaching down to the floor and lifting a dismembered head from the floor. The severed object is connected to a long set of wires, ranging in colours and sizes. They appear to bore deeply into the brain of the skull, and, never taking her eyes off of the screen, reaching a hand into the centre of the head. Suddenly the tongue protrudes awkwardly out and begins to flap excitedly. She now pushes the heavy thing into her lap, its action causing her to writhe a little in absurd pleasure. As the seemingly living Her moans are synchronised with the video, an echo of base desire.

   The video screen begins to be interspersed with lines of static, the over-watched tape slowing down the sight of his wide penis entering her. The voices become distorted and its viewer, frustrated, tosses the head aside, where it crashes into a cabinet with a dull impact. Desperately she pushes her fingers into herself, trying to hold onto her empty pleasure, but swears loudly as the moment passes. She gets up, a little liquid dripping from her vagina onto the stained carpet, stumbling towards the back room.

   The penis has gone limp since her last visit, its form hanging prone from the bizarre silver frame. The complexity of the set up necessitates its position some way from the floor. An improvised connection is made at the root which splits into three. One is a clear plastic tube that leads to a drip full of blood which hangs from above the lonely member. Another leads down towards the floor where a large pot of sperm sits, somewhat solidified but still enough to serve her purpose. In a third direction heads a tightly tied set of wires, perhaps ten or fifteen, connected to a small generator that sits upon a table. Excitedly she kneels down to the penis and enthusiastically begins to work its length in and out of her mouth, its size growing with each moment inside her warm lips, expanding willingly to over a foot in length. The blood drains swiftly from the suspended drip, the tube moving a little with its eager flow. No longer in a mood to tease herself she turns from the thing and leans over, placing her moistened opening around the swelled erection. She gives a little moan as she first pushes herself against it but soon works her body furiously with the detached organ, her cries increasing in pitch and volume as she bucks herself towards orgasm. Pausing for a moment, oddly dissatisfied with this, she moves over towards the table. From underneath it she pulls a cassette player. She presses a button and sounds of enthusiastic copulation burst from it, a deep male voice groaning throatily. She proceeds to turn a dial on the generator at which he blood-infused penis shifts slightly, reaching out as if towards some unseen attraction. She adjusts the dial position a little more before returning to the twitching manhood. She now kneels before it and once again proceeds to perform oral, expertly allowing the most of its length into her throat. In a few minutes she leans away from it slightly, sliding it from between her teeth, frantically rubbing its shaft until large volumes of the lifeless sperm begins to be sucked from the container beneath, gradually crawling its way up the tubing before bursting forth from the desperate member, exploding onto her face in a shower of white. Some of the stodgy substance finds its way into her mouth and she swallows it gratefully. She laughs, somehow inappropriately, delighted at her new creation. She spends a few minutes, fascinated watching the grotesque sex toy contract, spreading the smegma across her face, working some into her hair excitedly.

   She returns to the main room of the flat, where the tape still runs as best it is able. She has decided not to wash her face and the near-solid sperm is still congealed upon her lower face. On the aged television the coital acts are still distorted slightly by the creeping lines of static, but the sight of the controlling male placing his penis into the anus of his partner can be made out. He seems to know no sensitivity and proceeds to roughly force his length into her, producing a little squeal from the female that lays somewhere between pleasure and discomfort. The camera closes in on his face, ugly, contorted into an expression bordering between rage and lust. The similarity of these emotions strikes her once more. She moves towards the kitchen and lifts the head from the floor, watching its tongue continue to twitch exaggeratedly, a few globules of white liquid dropping from her face into its distended mouth.

   The film runs on and she watches boredly, looking around the room at the many coloured marks upon the walls. She tries to recall how they got there, which little-held lover they are a remnant of. The stains are all dried out against the dirtied white of her flat. Somehow she is unable to attribute the sexualised marks to her own life. The female moans emanating from the television become increasingly desperate, the pleasure draining limply from it. There are now two men on the screen, each roughly shoving their penises into her mouth, gagging her a little. One of them laughs as he pulls roughly on her hair and her eyes catch he camera just for a moment, looking close to tears as her discomfort grows. This moment touches her viewer in a way, some empathy coursing through her for this brutalised young female.

   The back room is now dimmer, the lights lowered. Intently she toys with the dial of the generator, turning it towards its highest setting, causing the neo-mechanised penis to extend over-excitedly, straining outwards without even being touched, as though driven desperately by some non-present sexuality. Now she changes the cassette and presses the play button once more. The sounds this time are not of pleasure but from the small speakers comes an uncontrolled screaming, a male voice uttered at its most fraught. She now rises from beneath the table, a heavy leather whip in her hands. Smiling wryly in the near-dark she runs its end along the disembodied erection which spasms at its teasing touch. Now she brings the whip back and cracks it against the elongated organ, which is cut slightly by the whip’s hefty cord. It does not however retreat from this, unable to control its own responses, but stays as hard as before. Gleefully now she begins to flay the phallus, rapidly and harshly striking it with the whip, laughing uncontrollably as she does so. All the while the agonised screams continue, a counter to all her distant pain, her obsolete gratification.

©2004 Alex Davis