by Edward Lee
–someone locked it from the other side.
Bugged-eyed, June looked through the little round window and saw Kupjack smiling at her.
She bellowed loud as a trumpet: “You drunk old fat perverted piece of dog shit! Unlock the door! What’s going on? What did you do to your crew? I’ll KILL YA when I get out of here!”
She could just hear his voice, muffled as it was, through the door, “You WON’T get out of there, sweetie”–then he cackled a laugh. “Look up at the ceiling.”
The ceiling? June was stifled, her mind a mix of terror and questions. She looked up at the ceiling and saw nothing of note at first; there wasn’t enough light to see anything but the fact that the ceiling was black, or almost black. But as she squinted at an irregularity, her eyes began to acclimate to the low light, and in the corner of her eye, she noticed, right there on a bunk (next to a magazine entitled All Hands On Dick! and a jar of vaseline), a large flashlight.
Fuck yeah! came the cultured thought, and she grabbed the flashlight, snapped it on and pointed the strong beam of light toward the ceiling....
And peed in her shorts again.
The ceiling...was moving.
Think of a 300-pound blob of fresh-made bread dough dropped on the floor, and the way it would slowly spread outward. That’s what this reminded June of, only it wasn’t on the floor, it was on the fucking ceiling, and this wasn’t bread dough, because bread dough wasn’t the color of, well, feces.
Then the blob detached itself from the ceiling and fell right on June.
Holy motherfucking SHIT! she thought, struggling at once with the tent of churning slop that had landed on her. It formed something like a bubble over her, whose confines were very slowly drawing in, and June received the strangest impression that the, the, the thing was doing this on purpose, to lengthen the time of her terror before it had entirely converged on her. She received several more strong impressions as well, and another was that the mass of surf-smelling poop-brown glop had every intention of eating her.
Whatever the thing was, June didn’t care. An alien that had landed in the sea? A secret genetic experiment run amok? Or just some unclassified, previously undiscovered sea-creature?
June didn’t give a flying fuck.
She collapsed down on her back, then stuck her legs out straight–a feeble attempt, at least, to put struts between herself and that ever-lowering mass of sea-blubber, excrescence, reef-slop, or whatever it was. The flashlight remained on, and as the top of that “bubble” sunk around her feet, she pointed the light upwards.
I’m WAY out of my league here, she thought quite dismally, and she peed her pants again, too, by the way. Puckered holes began to emerge from the slop’s inner-surface area, like octopus suckers, and all at once, she deduced what had happened to the crew. Once these suckers made contact with her flesh, they would emit slimy digestive enzymes and then they would, well, they would suck. They would suck all her flesh off her bones. And once she’d been liquified and digested, any moron knew what happened next. What goes in, must come out, right? June would be processed through the creature’s bowels and then excreted through whatever manner of monster-anus this hideous thing had in its butt.
More than that, she would be excreted, not as common poop, but as gold.
It began to occur to her, as her feet struggled against the descending wet mass, that she knew far too much than she had any business knowing. These rapid impressions that fired into her mind had no logical explanation, but still the impressions came, and with them the full gist. This fuckin’ ugly pile of shit is TELEPATHIC! she realized. It’s sending signals to my brain and letting me know all about it!
Ever-so-slowly, it continued to constrict, those suckers throbbing. Using her legs as struts against the top of the “bubble” did no good at all. Just as she knew the mass would collapse on her and begin to chow down, she noticed the strangest thing in the shifting illumination of the flashlight...
A cock and balls.
Or something like a cock and balls: a glistening milk-chocolate-brown sack heavy with two fist-sized lumps semblant of testicles, over which lay what could only be a flaccid, veined, uncircumcised sea-peter.
June’s sentience shifted into a thoughtless, almost automatic mode. She did not consciously think, she merely acted the only way her instincts knew.
She shot her hand out, and began to fondle the bizarre genitals.
Her fingers played with the testicles for a few moments; she could feel them beating from within, and as she did so, she noticed something of significance:
The entirety of the mass of slop which surrounded her stopped descending.
I’ll bet the fucker’s horny, she deduced. Probably hasn’t a piece of sea-slug ass in a long time. Let’s see how he likes a HUMAN piece of ass...
She kneed her way through dripping ichor, and with no hesitation whatsoever she pulled what could only be the thing’s penis into her mouth, all the while maintaining her titillation of its lumpen gonads. The penis did not come erect as a human one would but instead throbbed in her mouth like an animate pile of wet modeling clay. June’s tongue roved over it, feeling the fascinating network of beating veins, and once or twice sliding over the meaty, rimmed aperture which she could only guess was the end of its urethra. An inclination directed her to try pushing her entire tongue into that aperture, and when it dilated enough for her to do so, she knew she’d made the right choice. The creature actually shuddered in pleasure.
And still, the body of the thing did not collapse on her and subsequently consume her. It wants a blowjob, she realized. Gee, why is THAT no surprise? But this thing’s cock was so different from a man’s, she wasn’t sure how to commence. While weighing considerations, she “fucked” the monster’s peehole with her tongue, plunging in and out, and figured the sensation was lengthening her life. The peehole, however, constricted after another minute, and June figured that meant it was time to get down to business. She began to tighten her mouth around the veined wad of flesh but it was too wide for her to rim her lips around as she would a regular dick. But then?
Yowza!
The odd penile mass in her mouth suddenly protracted, narrowing by degrees, and advanced down her throat. This advancement did not abate until it reached her stomach. It was June’s good fortune that she possessed no gag-reflex. The situation could be likened to, say, a girthy snake slithering down from her mouth into her belly.
Here goes nothing...
She began to move her head back and forth, the action of which caused her throat to slide to and fro over every inch of that “snake.” Fuck! she thought. This isn’t deep throat, this is deep stomach! She could feel the thing tensing, and she sensed in a more psychical way that the creature was going ga-ga over her oral ministration. But evidently, dicks were universal: if you suck one, it blows its load, and so was the case with this dick at that very moment.
June’s eyeballs nearly started from her head. The thing came in her stomach as though it were a manual feeding tube. You gotta be shitting me! Was it a pint? A quart? June’s belly filled with hot slop, and when the snake-like penile shaft withdrew from her throat, it was still coming. Quart, be damned–this thing was working on a gallon! Upon full withdrawal, her mouth filled with its cum as well.
What was the creature’s sperm like?
Hot Tapioca pudding? A bucket of shucked raw oysters? A colossal volume of frog eggs? All these similes combined would probably be a just parallel. The amount of it in her stomach was a grim prospect indeed; it seemed to bubble down there, and shift, and percolate. At least I don’t have to worry about buying dinner... Further considerations bewildered her. For one, after being orally pummeled by a sea-monster’s cock, she would expect herself to be repulsed and terrified, not—
Not what?
Horny, she realized.
June was horny, all right, hornier than a nun full of Spanish Fly. Her vagina beat like a angry fist banging against a door. She gave up trying to isolate her
thoughts when she realized that the thing’s thoughts were still seeping into her head, but in no language but that of raw emotion: lust, desire, need, and, yes, love!
This great big plop of monster-slime LOVES ME!
And in a moment more, June—with no conscious forethought whatsoever–physically availed herself to receive the sea-monster’s love. She was out of her shorts, and spread-eagled on her back in less time than it took to say Fuck the shit out of me! It was during these few seconds before physical intercourse would ensue that the same mental/psychic intercourse became more acute. Yeah, this thing loves me, all right, and it’s about to prove that in spades, June thought but, by now she was ready for some love herself, some hard love. Her feminine channel was drenched, her nipples gorged to a size she’d never before experienced, tingling electrically and actually throbbing. Her loins felt like a pot of Sex Stew, bubbling, roiling, cringing to be stirred, and she knew that she was undergoing some serious hormonal or cerbro-chemical change. Was it normal to want to be fucked by a sea-monster? Meanwhile, the sea-monster underwent a change of its own. That massive “bubble”-shape of its body began to turn inside-out and backwards, and when this prolapsation had finished, there stood before June some 300 pounds of brown, mottled, low-tide-smelling porridge which bore the most vague semblance of the human form: i.e.: jointless, digitless arms and legs, an undetailed approximation of a trunk, an eyeless, noseless, mouthless earless lump for a head. Think a monstrous gingerbread man, or a shit-colored Gumby doll...
However, Gumby was not possessed of erection, but this thing was, sticking up like a foot-and-a-half-inch length of veined, pulsing radiator hose. Precum ran like a leaky tap from the puckered slit which crowned the glans. Those same malformed, fist-sized testicles to which June had been previously introduced, constricted in their hideous scrotum even as June stared up, drooling, legs spread painfully apart; and somehow, in the most abstract and introspective insinuation, the monster stared back at her with equal desire in spite of the fact no eyes could be found in its lumpen head.
In a sense of need which could only be likened to insanity, June’s hands plied her gushing sex, the sensations of which she had never felt with such potency. If this thing doesn’t start banging the daylights out of my RIGHT NOW, I’m gonna have to fist myself!
“Come on, pal!” she bellowed. “Let me have it!” She lewdly thrust her splayed groin forward. “Does it look like you need a fucking invitation?”
We need not accompany June through the preambles which led up to the business at hand; it should suffice to say, instead, that in a hackneyed wink of an eye, that man-shaped heap of ocean-slop landed on her with the urgency of a pit bull on a meat wagon. June wanted to get fucked, and fucked she got. The thing made mewling sounds as it lay atop her, humping away, drawing that malleable cock in and out of June’s “love-hole.” Just as it had lengthened and narrowed in order to advance into her belly, it now lengthened and narrowed to advance into deepest depths of her reproductive tract. At the front of her cervix, it seemed to turn semi-solid and then poured farther, farther, deeper, deeper, through the physical limits of the uterus, then impossibly dividing into two squirming tendrils, each of which quivered still deeper up into the fallopian tubes. The spasms of sensation that coursed through June’s body were clearly sensations hitherto unfelt before by any human woman. The thing continued to hump her without relent, all the while those delectable “dick-tendrils” continued to quiver and elicit neural pleasures so intense that all June could do was lie there–drooling, tongue out, limp-limbed–and feel. The sentient part of her brain shut off so that it might focus solely on the waves of orgasms that pulsed through her being. Eventually her musky lover’s orgasm commenced as well, triggered by the release of its pudding-like sperm: gushes of it, which blew against every inner recess of June’s reproductive apparatus. When the thing clumsily began to get up, the unearthly penis continued to pour still more sperm into her, and when that was done, it stood upright and looked sightlessly down at June, whose body just went on spasming in orgasm for at least another half hour.
***
Captain Kupjack sat above deck under the wheelhouse awning, nearly done with his first bottle of Wild Turkey for the day. A smile of robust satisfaction touched the booze-reddened face, and in further satisfaction he even gave his crotch a squeeze. The idea simply tickled him pink: June being consumed, digested, and pushed out of that hideous thing’s butthole. That smartass cunt finally gets what she deserves, his thoughts cackled. She’d sassed him for years, and smirked off every advance, even turned down his offers of good money, while fucking and sucking every cock in town, every cock but poor old Captain Kupjack’s. Too good for me, huh, tramp? Think you’re too high-falutin’for the Captain, huh? Well, how do ya like me now?
Now?
By now that redneck gravyboat is nothing but a pile of solid-gold shit on the floor.
Yes, Kupjack liked that idea very much.
He waited a while longer, idly stroking his beard and giving further errant squeezes to his groin, until the sun pulled off a bit more, and then he got up and creaked his wobbling fat frame down the steps to the lower deck. When he arrived at the engine room door, he smiled into the porthole, looking for the telltale skeleton which would be all that remained of that fickle white-trash sperm depository named June. However–
“Where the hell is she?”
No evidence of June’s remains were to be seen, and only then did the Captain notice that the door was no longer locked and that the deadbolt had been broken outward.
What kind’a monkeyshines goin’ on here? he thought and scratched his Amish-style beard, and then he thought that maybe things had not gone as he’d planned and that maybe he should shag his fat drunken ass the fuck out of there without delay, but–
“Looking for someone?” a snide voice issued behind him.
It took a moment for the implication to register through Kupjack’s whiskey-fogged perceptions as he turned, squinting, and saw none other than June herself standing behind him, buck naked and sheened in perspiration. “Why, ya conniving jizz-head whore! That thing should’a et ya by now!”
“It was going to,” June replied, “until I fucked and sucked it to kingdom come and it fell in love with me.” She looked up to the ceiling. “Honey? Be a sweetheart and come down here. You must be real hungry after all that wonderful lovin’ you gave me. Well, soup’s on!”
Kupjack was already screaming as the sea-slop slithered down the wall and engulfed him. June used a nearby bunk for a ringside seat; the only thing missing was popcorn. The Captain’s pathetic fat form could be seen struggling uselessly within the churning, ravenous pile. She had to credit the old perv at least in his resolve to garble every possible sexist expletive at her for as long as his vocal cords functioned. We need not repeat those expletives here...well, on second thought, maybe we will, just a few, in the interests of completeness:
“Ya dirty white-trash cutthroat fuck-toilet!”
“Low-down tramp, done chugged more cock than I’ve chugged whiskey!”
“Bet you’ve had more dick going into your ass than shit comin’ out! ”
And so on. At any rate, that was the end of Captain Kupjack, and the beginning of a new life for June!
***
A week later, June stretched out in a lounge chair on the sundeck of her brand-new 72-foot Stardust houseboat. No more shitty efficiency apartment for her, and no more minimum-wage jobs busting her tail for asshole sexual-predator bosses. Nope, it was the high-life for June from now on. In the trunk of Kupjack’s Cadillac (which June had ransacked the night of the Captain’s “disappearance”) she’d found several million in gold turds, not to mention the additional gold that the man had been turned into by the sea-slug’s digestive tract. She’d never have to lift a finger again in her life, and she figured she deserved it.
“Rummy, get me another Long Island Iced Tea, will you?” came her languid request from the lounge chair. It was great to
just lay around all day on the boat, soaking up the sun and getting loaded. She’d hired Rummy and Fishy as her crew–why not? They were shiftless alcoholic idiots but she figured they deserved a break. They waited on her hand and foot, cleaned the boat, cooked her meals, etc. June liked the idea of being waited on by men.
“Comin’ right up!” Rummy replied after having just finished peeing over the side. Then he shuffled off to the galley where there was a fully stocked bar. Fishy was down below in the back, scraping barnacles off the prop, and June simply continued to lie there, in her Bill Blass bikini, her Ray-ban sunglasses, and a $300 Tropicana sun hat, and she would be happy to spend the rest of her days just like this. Ah, the good life! she thought.
But one question remained, did it not?
Whatever happened to the sea-slop thing?
Tempted as she was to keep it locked up for use as her personal sex minister, she knew that would be terribly cruel. It was a creature of the wild and an inhabitant of the deep blue sea–what ever the fuck it was–so in the deep blue sea it belonged.
And into the deep blue sea, she released it.
The best piece of male ass I ever had, she lamented, because she would’ve been perfectly content to let it fuck the stuffing out of her every day for the rest of her life. But how fair would that be to...to... it? To the sea-thing, the sea-monster, the...whatever the fuck it was?
This she knew beyond all doubt: no human man would ever be good enough ever again. But there was also something else she knew with equal certainty:
I was the best fuck of that thing’s life.
She gazed out into the endless sea and smiled. See, that abstruse psychic connection she and it had shared never really severed with its departure.And June knew full well that that great big wonderful pile of sea-slop would be stopping by very soon for a booty call.
* * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Edward Lee has authored close to 50 books in the field of horror; he specializes in hardcore fare. His most recent novels are LUCIFER’S LOTTERY and the Lovecraftian THE HAUNTER OF THE THRESHOLD. His movie HEADER was released on DVD by Synapse Film in June, 2009. Lee lives in Largo, Florida.
