nap.”
“Will do. Anything else, Gerald?”
“Not now. Just the nap.” Gerald let his head rest on the desktop and shut his eyes. Matilda was a good secretary. Perhaps a bit more familiar with him than tradition would dictate, but good nonetheless. Gerald drifted off to sleep with images of Mr. Holman’s head popping up from a Whack-A-Mole game and Gerald smacking him with a mallet running rampant through his mind.
Chapter 2
“Fuck my ass like I’m your whore!” Matilda screamed. Gerald thrust against her, his cock pounding in and out of her ass. He could feel his balls smack against her wet vulva. She squealed, pressing against his thrusts. He reached around her, slid his fingers from between her legs and up her body, stopping at her double D-sized breasts. He cupped the flesh, but felt it lose consistency.
The breasts became writhing masses of tentacles, each one seeming to have a mind of its own. Rather than cupping them, Gerald’s fingers were entwined in the tentacles. He felt his orgasm approaching. He thrust harder and harder. Just as he came, a white hot pain seared through his hand. He screamed, ripped his hand from the tentacles, and saw five bloody stumps where his fingers had been. He tried to pull away from her, but felt her ass clamp onto his cock in a death grip. He looked down at where they met and saw blood flowing. He looked back up. Matilda turned her head toward him, her face replaced by that of some hideous alligator beast. Gerald screamed and flung himself from her. He felt a tearing, and blood spurted from the now-empty space above his balls. He looked up in time to see his severed penis slide from the Matilda-creature’s ass. Gerald looked down at his bloody crotch again, and—
—snapped his head up from the desk, a string of drool connecting him to it.
“Jesus Christ . . .” he slurred incomprehensibly. His hands shot down to his crotch, feeling his still intact penis. He sighed in relief, but still hit the intercom button for Matilda.
“You’re up early,” she replied. The clock indicated that only twenty-six minutes had passed.
“Had a weird dream. Nightmare, I guess.” He shook his head, but couldn’t rid himself of the monstrous imagery. “Everything okay out there?”
“Yup. Nobody’s even arrived yet.”
Gerald couldn’t shake the imagery from his dream. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and put his head back down on the desk. “Buzz me for the 3:00.”
Chapter 3
Gerald locked the door to his office at five-fifteen. He dropped the key in his pocket and walked out through the lobby, past Matilda’s vacant desk. He stopped to look at a picture of Matilda and her husband. What the hell was his name? Steve? Jim? She had worked with Gerald for three years, so he really ought to know this. He rolled his eyes at his ignorance and put the picture back on the desk.
He exited the lobby and got into his car. He turned on the local public radio station and pulled out of the lot. On the radio, reporters were talking about concurrent natural disasters in Indonesia, Turkey, Australia, Mexico, Canada, Ireland, and Nigeria. “That’s some cheery shit,” he said, switching off the radio. He could only take so much news about fires, earthquakes, landslides, typhoons, and cattle stampedes. He wasn’t really certain a cattle stampede should be included as a natural disaster, but since there had been five deaths, he didn’t see any reason to split hairs.
He chose to take the long way home, still rattled by his dream. It wasn’t just because of the disturbing nature of the dream. Any type of sex dream shook him up, left him guilt ridden. Rather than spend the rest of the evening feeling creepy, he stopped at a gas station for beer. He picked up a six-pack of Sam Adams and, against his better judgment, two packs of Camels. He’d quit smoking almost three weeks before, but his
“Will do. Anything else, Gerald?”
“Not now. Just the nap.” Gerald let his head rest on the desktop and shut his eyes. Matilda was a good secretary. Perhaps a bit more familiar with him than tradition would dictate, but good nonetheless. Gerald drifted off to sleep with images of Mr. Holman’s head popping up from a Whack-A-Mole game and Gerald smacking him with a mallet running rampant through his mind.
Chapter 2
“Fuck my ass like I’m your whore!” Matilda screamed. Gerald thrust against her, his cock pounding in and out of her ass. He could feel his balls smack against her wet vulva. She squealed, pressing against his thrusts. He reached around her, slid his fingers from between her legs and up her body, stopping at her double D-sized breasts. He cupped the flesh, but felt it lose consistency.
The breasts became writhing masses of tentacles, each one seeming to have a mind of its own. Rather than cupping them, Gerald’s fingers were entwined in the tentacles. He felt his orgasm approaching. He thrust harder and harder. Just as he came, a white hot pain seared through his hand. He screamed, ripped his hand from the tentacles, and saw five bloody stumps where his fingers had been. He tried to pull away from her, but felt her ass clamp onto his cock in a death grip. He looked down at where they met and saw blood flowing. He looked back up. Matilda turned her head toward him, her face replaced by that of some hideous alligator beast. Gerald screamed and flung himself from her. He felt a tearing, and blood spurted from the now-empty space above his balls. He looked up in time to see his severed penis slide from the Matilda-creature’s ass. Gerald looked down at his bloody crotch again, and—
—snapped his head up from the desk, a string of drool connecting him to it.
“Jesus Christ . . .” he slurred incomprehensibly. His hands shot down to his crotch, feeling his still intact penis. He sighed in relief, but still hit the intercom button for Matilda.
“You’re up early,” she replied. The clock indicated that only twenty-six minutes had passed.
“Had a weird dream. Nightmare, I guess.” He shook his head, but couldn’t rid himself of the monstrous imagery. “Everything okay out there?”
“Yup. Nobody’s even arrived yet.”
Gerald couldn’t shake the imagery from his dream. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and put his head back down on the desk. “Buzz me for the 3:00.”
Chapter 3
Gerald locked the door to his office at five-fifteen. He dropped the key in his pocket and walked out through the lobby, past Matilda’s vacant desk. He stopped to look at a picture of Matilda and her husband. What the hell was his name? Steve? Jim? She had worked with Gerald for three years, so he really ought to know this. He rolled his eyes at his ignorance and put the picture back on the desk.
He exited the lobby and got into his car. He turned on the local public radio station and pulled out of the lot. On the radio, reporters were talking about concurrent natural disasters in Indonesia, Turkey, Australia, Mexico, Canada, Ireland, and Nigeria. “That’s some cheery shit,” he said, switching off the radio. He could only take so much news about fires, earthquakes, landslides, typhoons, and cattle stampedes. He wasn’t really certain a cattle stampede should be included as a natural disaster, but since there had been five deaths, he didn’t see any reason to split hairs.
He chose to take the long way home, still rattled by his dream. It wasn’t just because of the disturbing nature of the dream. Any type of sex dream shook him up, left him guilt ridden. Rather than spend the rest of the evening feeling creepy, he stopped at a gas station for beer. He picked up a six-pack of Sam Adams and, against his better judgment, two packs of Camels. He’d quit smoking almost three weeks before, but his
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