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26 April 2009 @ 08:24 am
Slug Orgy  
©2009, Made in DNA

It was the year I turned seventeen; late summer, sometime at the end of August. The night air under a moonlit sky had that heavy, intoxicating smell of festivals, high spirits and the onset of fall. Officially the obon season was finished and school activities had begun once again, yet there was a pervasive recklessness in the season that would not be contained and regulated to next year; as if our ancestors were still drunk from all the sake offerings left at family alters and gravesides.

Being a weeknight, I was on my way home from cram school, still dressed in my summer school attire, one of the retro sailor uniforms in powder blue and white so popular until near the end of the century when blazers came into fashion. In a fit of youthful flirtatiousness and rebellion, I had rolled the waist of my skirt up into several folds so that the hem of my skirt teased my slender, fair thighs and more than a few of the boys practicing baseball on the school fields earlier that day.

I walked through the dead of the business district to a large park, where upon reaching the opposite side, I would catch a bus home. The city was quiet as I approached the park and the interior still quieter. I often enjoyed my silent walks through the park despite my mother’s worried warnings of perverts. It was true that there had been an incident or two every year, but volunteer patrols of older men in the neighborhood had reportedly brought those numbers down. I was hardly worried.

With plenty of time before my bus, I walked along one of the many whimsically winding, narrow concrete paths through the tree-laden park. Despite the heavy presence of their sprawling limbs, the moonlight through the branches was as bright as any of the thinly scattered lamps along the path. It would have created a very stirring effect for lovers. I walked on in the calm of the evening relaxing me after two hours of cram study.

With the entrance to the park well behind me, streets and tall buildings around me obscured, I spied, some meters ahead, a shimmering stream of silver. It lay across the path, with a width almost that of the walkway itself, and disappeared into the tall grass hemming the trees on the other side.

Curious, I stepped closer to inspect it. Two steps, three. Nothing; I still could not make it out. The shimmering, which I could see now was an effect, distorted something almost intangible below. Four, five, six—I felt like a little girl playing hopscotch, my steps becoming great bounds. Until then… a great gust blew through the park forcing me to close tight my eyes and hold down the front of my skirt and blouse; a feat not easily accomplished.

When it had passed, I dusted myself off, stopped at the edge of the stream—the tips of my sneakers dipping into the waters—and squat down to examine it. Behind my fashion glasses my eyes widened, and an amazed gasp softly voiced that which only can be described in a gasp… slugs. Hundreds, no, thousands! of slugs sliming their way across the park path. Where on earth had so many come from? And where were they all going? Were slugs migratory, and did they migrate in such numbers? It seemed that the only answer was undulating across the path in front of me.

To say that I had never been a fan of any kind of insect in my life was an understatement. By all normal accounts, I should have leapt up right then and there and screamed the girlish, scatterbrained, bloodcurdling epitaph any young woman had right to. But I did not. No. I wanted those slugs. Wanted? Yes… wanted.

I am positive as to what possessed me now, however at the time, it was not even an inkling in my mind; I was simply quite satisfied to be engaged by the stream of slugs. So much that, in fact, I straddled it and reached out to touch the wriggling little creatures in their struggle to cross what must have been a vast cement expanse of lifelessness for them.

Their sluggish skin was transparent yet would have been course if it had not been for the thick excretion pouring out of their bodies enabling their mode of transportation. I did not see the silver-metal reflective touch that had drawn me to them initially. Rather, since I was now blocking the light of the moon above, I could see within them bizarre skeins of red, blue, and green like threaded needlework set afire. I held my breath in excited fear, as if the sound of my breathing might frighten them away.

As they wriggled under my poised fingertips, they gave off a great warmth!—a bath warmth, or the heat of a lover’s skin after sex. Delightful! I swept my hand over them again and again desperate for the sensation of them on my flesh.

Pressing my hands down upon them against the cement, a shudder ran through my spine as they squished and popped under my weight. I grabbed a handful and the goo ejected from between my long fingers like dollops of gel. Undeterred, more slugs took the place of their mashed comrades as the silver river continued its mad race to places unknown.

Under me, despite the loss of direct moonlight, their glow returned and strengthened a hundred fold until they illuminated all from the sweet flesh of my thighs up to the curves of my vulva—which had become swollen and now threatened to burst from the light cotton panties I wore. The heated curves of the entrance to my pussy begged to be free, their outline clear in the silvery glow.

Slamming my hands down again, I squashed more and more slugs, pounding against the ground like a petulant child who knows she cannot have her way. In response, the illumination intensified and a heat rose up from them.

My head began to spin as the heat consumed me. Yet though I felt faint, my balance was rock-steady. I closed my eyes and raised my head slightly to soak it in. The heat rippled up my legs to my thighs and finally to my pussy where it redoubled. Sexually agitated, I feel back onto my firm ass splattering more slugs, staining and wetting my buttocks in a creamy flow. I wriggled my ass in quick, short bursts that made me laugh.

When I could stand it no longer, I reached down with my slime-encrusted hand to masturbate myself to oblivion when I discovered the truth of the intense heat and pleasure. The slugs had made their way up and now covered the whole of my lower body; wriggling and sliming over me as if I were part of the natural course of their former path.

My hand plunged into my school bag and pulled out the pair of scissors. They slashed my panties, shredding them along with several more slugs which popped over my hands and face. They had completely engulfed my pussy and were working a magic that was indescribably orgasmic. Instead of aiding them, instinct tossed my hands and head back behind me to enjoy their lecherous intentions.

My breathing increased until it was a frenzied panic on the edge of destroying my sanity when the visage of a large silvery outline the size of a large dog began to take form in the trees in front of me. My very breath strengthened its form with each desperate pant until it was as solid as the oaks behind it.

The slugs had incensed my engorged, pink clitoris to an insensitive level from which there was neither relief of orgasm or anticlimax of falter. Quite literally my hips and abdomen quivered in a permanently agitated state. Could I have ended it myself, with the flip of a switch, either way, I do not know that I would have; I would have happily spent eternity in pre-orgasmic limbo.

But my fate was not to be such as the form slithered out of the darkness and over the river of its children, revealed as the god of slugs. This knowledge came to me via the orgasmic rhythm channeling through my body, which connected me to a non-space beyond dimension, a realm of gods and devils, ghosts, goblins and saviors. By straddling the river, I had crossed a boundary that humans are not allowed to do so without consequence. Such were the things that the slug-god whispered in my mind along with sweet desires, ideas and understandings.

I resisted not as it slimed up my body, its weight heavy, yet not impeding or unpleasant. It was a weight that spoke of ability and intension. I blushed with the recognition of our intertwined desires.

The buttons on my blouse burst and my bra too was negated from the equation as if it had never existed. Its heat raced up my torso and lit fires in my petite breasts, to which my nipples flared like beacons to lost ships lost on the sea of lust. Bullet hard, they became the slug-god’s toys as it finished mounting me, reaching out with tentacle extensions of its body to play with them. Likewise it slithered a tentacle into my mouth and another under my head to cradle it.

Slipping under my firm buttocks it began to knead them with expert attention. My mouth filled, I could barely voice my pleasure, or eschewed a scream if I had needed. The slug-god held complete power over me. Had it wanted to destroy me, I could not have resisted. So I rode the wave of slime which poured over and in me, filling my mouth until it overflowed and dripped off my cheeks where it spit and sizzled like cold water splattered on a hot surface.

Then, finally, nay, expectantly, it favored me with a hot, firm tentacle that shot straight into my aching pussy with a controlled force no man could dream of. My body convulsed tautly upward like the bows we practice with in archery club. A muffled mewling was all I could manage. Tears of ecstasy mingled with the rhythm of its rock-hard, pulsating member.

I exploded.

…and would have fainted from the sensation, if not for slug-god’s channeled energy through the gel-slime it excreted into my mouth. It undulated ocean-like over me, fornicating with both my body and mind. It followed me soon after; shooting its first load deep inside me, the resulting smack of its wad bombarding my womb, sending me into retaliatory clutchgasms. We synchronized; slipped in and out of time and that non-space until I was integrated into the silver aura which was realm to that which humans cannot understand.

Somewhere in that tangible light, consciousness was lost to me.

I awoke cradled in deep, soft grass just the other side of the light woods off the path where I had discovered the river of slugs. There was no testament to the existence of the god or its children save for a faint silver glow along the path. It was dark and very late. I remembered my bus and panic-stricken, wiped my dripping pussy with a pack of pocket tissues, removed and stuffed my scissored panties away into my school bag, and straightened my clothes as best as possible.

An anxious glance at my watch revealed I still had six minutes to make the last bus. With a sigh of relief, I started off toward the stop with all due haste.

If this had been the end of my sexploitatious adventure, perhaps I would have never chronicled it, relegating it to the tricks gods play. But I hadn’t made it very far when a squeal pierced the cooling night air. Instinctively I slipped behind a thick tree directing the flow of concrete around its great trunk.

Human voices. Peeking out from behind cover, I spied a couple just barely visible in the shadows speaking in hushed, excited tones. I smiled at myself for being so silly. However my relief was short lived, as I froze in the next instant as the woman began to moan. Straining my eyes to see them, their silhouettes came into focus against the remaining moonlight. The larger male leaned over his receptive woman, his hand sliding lasciviously up her dress. She murmured a half-hearted admonishment decidedly meant to encourage his lecherous behavior.

My legs quivered as a phantorgasm of the slug-god’s memory clutched my groin. Deep within me an ache built once more as I watched them work themselves into a slow, yet passionate liaison.

If I could only just reach out my hand to touch myself…

There was a shiver of heat still radiating from my youthful mound of flesh as my fingers teased just the curve of it. Ready to engage in pleasing myself in the couple’s pleasure, I slid a finger between the folds of my labia, working the sweet wetness I found there over every part of my pussy. Yet in doing so, I was suddenly struck with the unreasonable, yet overwhelming sensation that if I continued, I would cease to be; exploding into the air like pollen blown from a spring cedar.

Trying to pull my hand away, I found I could not. A force I cannot describe kept it there, furthermore enlisting it in betraying me! In panicked desperation, I strained to restrain myself, but my hand continued unabated and I whimpered in horrified desire that threatened to turn into a fit of giggling. Giggling!? Was I going insane!?

On the other side of the tree, the couple was well into foreplay and the woman’s lusty breathing whored its devices in my mind. My breathing increased as I snuck a peek at them. My knees buckled and they took on a sinister aura faintly familiar, yet not, as if it had been corrupted. And though I could not possibly have seen it from that distance, I shivered under the man’s piercing gaze—a butterfly in his pinned and mounted collection of specimens—as his hands found purchase between his lover’s legs.

No, I can’t let them; I mustn’t allow them; They cannot do this to me, fevered, my brain cried. I threw the tree between us, desperate to escape them. No use; deep inside I could feel a power that was and was not my orgasm intensifying; leeching onto my rhythm like a parasite. Faster and faster I rubbed myself. An image of the slug-god keened through my mind like an ear-piercing bolt of lightening. It called me, pulling me into its world, desiring me to do its unfathomable bidding. It has impregnated me with the seeds of my own destruction. But why!? Why love and then destroy me?

Behind me, the woman’s moans grew louder, synchronizing with mine like in an orchestra of death. My index and middle fingers slid inside me. I tittered uncontrollably and with increased madness. Tears streaked my face as I pushed a third finger in and a fourth. The end would come with my fist, for I would then be sucked into myself until the vortex of the spell the crossing over into the non-space had spun within me, had expended me, scattering my physical atoms over space and time.

My fifth finger… my fist—

“Hey! You two over there! What are you doing?” There was a painful snap in my brain and I pitched violently forward on the cement scraping the palm of my left hand which I managed to thrust forward at the last second to brake my fall. I don’t recall how long I lay there, too frightened to move, but the next sensation I felt was that of someone picking me up.

He was a young man with a serious sense of duty that only comes with being fresh out of the police academy. He took me to his police box where he called my parents to come retrieve me. I was in tears the whole time and spoke not a word I could remember. He cleaned and bound my scraped palm, placed a blanket around my shoulders, and prepared tea for me to calm my nerves. All the while, he spoke in soothing tones, yet I could not return the words of gratitude I had for him.

When my parents arrived, he asked them not to scold me for I had done nothing wrong. He explained that he believed I had been the victim of proxy sexual harassment. He considered it a serious crime and would gladly conduct an investigation if my parents wanted to press charges against the couple, whom, while had fled, he had seen the faces of and would easily recognize if met again.

My parents refused, more embarrassed by the situation than anything else. They hurriedly thanked the officer for his assistance and bundled me off into the family car. Dutiful to the last, the officer followed us out, bowed to my parents and spoke a few last soothing words to me through the semi-open backseat window.

And as we drove off, he bowed and stood dutifully, watching us leave. Stepping into the darkness outside the pool of light that lit the front of his small station of calm in the turbulent night, his form took on an unmistakable silver aura.

More fiction @ JunkDNA Fiction.

(no subject) - yoteleak on April 14th, 2011 11:48 pm (UTC) (Expand)
krebsyni on November 3rd, 2011 03:23 pm (UTC)
excellent articles, useful for me. keep writing and happy blogging.