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Bow Wad Bowshock (Part 02)

by Made in DNA 3 years ago in fiction

Sex regret in the year 50,000. Brutal crabs and space-time STIs as a pair of lovers do sex-battle among the crust-platform oases of a rent planet. / Sexpunk short in 2 parts.

Image captured by Spitzer. Credit: Spitzer’s 12th Anniversary Space Calendar, NASA. (inverted.)

Never before in his life had he experienced the extra-genital regions of another being's body. It was arousing sexploration on the purest level. Yet, he had to free himself of this mad woman and her space crabs.

Orgasm approached and with it, would come the end of 'him', and the beginning of 'them'. She'd use his own semen against him as a sealant.

He futilely ground his teeth together against it.

Salvation came in the eleventh hour. The seed of an idea in the seed of his loins.

Simultaneously raising the body temperature of his nuts and quickening his pace, he hastened the onset of the mounting jizz bomb. He would give her want she wanted, but would she want it in the form in which he was about to share?

From between their legs, her moaning became more pronounced. She released his hanging, hairy gonads to cry out in ecstasy, squirming almost uncontrollably under the mounting sphere of orgasmic energy in her smooth, goop-smeared belly. With every functioning muscle, she gripped his meat even tighter and ground her teeth in preparation for their event horizon.

The fire amassed in his nuts, warming his sack. The meat in his thighs and abdomen began to redden as his balls grew red-hot.

A questioning moan escaped her lips. But it was too late to cancel copulation; he was engaged full-throttle; her hips in an iron grip; her mind in the impassioned throes of disbelief.

His release was a scalding spasm of jizz that could incinerate a solar system.

Her scream accompanied the sound barrier-splitting launch of her body moments after. Pinballing around the room, she came to a stop only after his spunk dissipated in a steamy ejaculate from her ass.

Her body slumped in a corner. Motionless. Dead.

Silence stifled the room.

He peered into the bathing room. It was littered with rubble and carapace chunks, but the scream of their mistress had broken the spell.

He started at them. Their eyestalks stared back.

Nursing the slag point that had once been his arm, he bolted for the door, still open from the crustacean invasion. Mistakenly, he tried to grip the wall with his missing left hand to round into the hall.

Losing his balance in a wave of nauseating pain, he skid-burned across the dying plush grass carpeting. It cried out in protest, but he had no time to console it. Enraged howls from the room fuel-injected his hyper-arousal systems. He hurtled himself down the long length of the corridor before bursting through a paper-glass portal at the end.

He was airborne for 13.9 seconds before his body gracelessly plowed through the aged wall of an adjacent building.

It did nothing to deter the relentless pursuit of the crabs. Their bodies tumbled from the building–huge bone saucers, end over end, flip-spinning wildly; embedding themselves like monstrous shuriken into the surrounding jury-rigged architecture of the city; burrowing after him with chitinous claws, their asses rocket-powered ablaze.

Stumbling through the maze of interconnected structures deep under the surface of the city, he raced for a safe house in the Buyadeen. Sand and the fine grit of crushed bones of his human ancestors worked between his toes and cut into his feet, forming a jagged sole of blood and bone.

And yet, the envelope of destruction closed on him–the remnants of his long-dead forefathers threatened to engulf him as her agents plowed through the city. The future explosion particles of each room he traversed pelted him mercilessly.

Screams of menace.

Images of death.

And the tinny, tittering giggle; always the giggle. Just behind his ear. Like hot breath. Teasing. Promising.

Bursting through a wall to his right, the moray-crab delivered a crushing blow. He rag-dolled through two apartments, their structures collapsing behind him.

Shaken, he stood to the hum and pressure of raw power. He turned and saw that he had nowhere left to run. The very edge of the crust-platform dropped away thousands of miles to where the Earth's core had once been. In its place, a gravitron to hold the last, piecemeal remnants of the planet together.

He stared out into the twinkling ether before him, but the auroric energy distortion obscured other existing crust-platforms. If he hurtled himself into the void of the generator, it might well be several hundred years before he reached another platform. Possibly thousands before he could return to this one to retrieve his star-vehicle.

He lost the initiative as the moray-head slammed through the rubble, having eaten its way through to him. It screeched–plasti-rebar and papercrete dribbled from its open mouth.

As the body squeeze-clicked its way into the room, he saw opportunity in a weakened portion of the flooring. He sprinted toward the monster, changing direction at the last second. Just as he had hoped, the monstrosity snapped at him, slamming its moray head into rubble. Again and again, he taunted it, lured it, braving its razor-sharp fangs in hopes of a miracle. Doggedly, it followed.

The apartment shook and groaned, complained like an old man with millennium-old aches that were finally going to do him in, yet, the structure held.

He cursed and began his Plan-B run... straight at the monster once more.

When it struck this time, he vaulted over the over-extended limb, rebounded off the wall, and brought his full weight, feet-first down upon the center of the moray's head. Through the barbed wiring, the feel of bone and papercrete giving under his tattered flesh was gratifying. The crab's open mouth leaked both goo and groan.

The eyestalks of the crab bulged in epic proportions, but it uttered not a further sound as the floor shattered and then began to crumble away in symphonic slow motion.

Below them, nothing existed. The crust-plate had been gnawed away to a thin shelf several hundred kilometers wide.

Though he knew it to be a futile act, he leap-frogged his adversary, pushing off the monster in hopes to clear as much of the shelf before he fell into the gravitron's power with it. It might mean the difference of several hours or several millennia of aimless drifting.

He put his entire body into it; every wall, settee, street sign and hologram projector empowered the economic, fluid motion of his fleeing form. He was so 'one' with the environment that he did not realize that he had placed himself, quite literally, in the hands of his enemy.

With all the power that her new form afforded her, she rechanneled his sleek speed into a devastating attack that sent his body rocketing upward through layers of the city.

His plummet was neither graceful nor painless, but it served to rattle his brains. Shakily, he stood to the sound of deafening engines. Punch-drunk, he turned to face this tenacious demon. The upper half of her green-black ichor-stained body was hurtling toward him through the streets on a partially absorbed land vehicle.

Through her transhuman fleshworks and the mutant strain's sockets, the two had become one. The crab's had become a gigantic piecemeal amalgamation of the city, with its mistress lording atop it all.

She tittered as she raced forward to plow into him.

He placed his left foot upon the hood of the STD blob-vehicle in an effort to utilize its forward momentum to push off. A futile attempt; the underside of his left foot was absorbed as the rest of his body was flung several meters until the skin on his left foot would not be stretched any further. It ripped open in a popping spray of fluids.

Motor-cackles rippled through the interlocking canyon-depths of the crust-plate city. And then a whine, "I just wanna fuck." She performed a three-point turn and parked next to his limp body. "What's so wrong with that? The orgasms will be blowtacular. Imagine waking up each system-rise to a burst of femejac in your face as your tongue plays with my clit. Or a blowjob that would take the back of my head out when you shot your wad, warm and salty, into my cranium."

He opened his eyes, weary and yet, still defiant and determined, "But it wouldn't be you. It would be your crabs talkin'. I don't want crabs."

With a sudden burst of speed–the last of his energy–he leaped directly for her head.

Predictably, she reeled backward, but the tool arm of her crab had absorbed lethal ordinance with which it unleashed a storm of yellow-jacketed fury in the form of explosive-tipped hornet enema bomblets. They pounded him mercilessly propelling him beyond the crust and into the upper reaches of the atmosphere. Further and further until he reached the very edges of the gravitron's influence, allowing him to float free.

Below him, she screamed in fury. Her arms lashed outward across the city, followed by her fingers, which each split in two exponentially until they made contact with a portion of the Buyadeen.

The sound of melding anger became the awakening of the once dead city. Nanoconstructs, flesh, and fury. Muslim domes became breasts, pressing minarets into service as pointy nipples; libraries into voluminous pubes; sewers into a circulatory system and on until cityShe lay on her back, her legs wide open to receive him.

He obliged, firing his cock into her city water supply–wet and overflowing with desire to unbirth the world. She exploded in a fire of laser semen, and he smiled as the shockwaves of her orgasm screamed across the universe.



Made in DNA
Made in DNA
Read next: A Night at the Theatre
Made in DNA

The not-yet bestselling, non-award winning author of work you haven't read yet!

Work spans various genres -- scifi, weird, non-fiction, opinion, life in Japan. Adult titles all under "Filthy".

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