She rolls her pantyhose down, then drops them from her toes. She walks toward me. Her large black-grey bush is inches from my nose. I can see the lips of her vagina. The slow separation of tissues relaxing. She is hanging her hose on the rail above me. She can’t see me while I cling to the details of her hole. My lower half is bunched. Veins an open confusion. I can feel my cock springing to life on a wall. On the ground. She turns and walks to the bed, bending over to pick up her clothes. Light touches her asshole for a second then she stands again. My bottom shatters. I am filling something with something. A spasm. I feel warmth. I must be shitting. I push at it hard. I want to feel it come out. I want to feel my body express itself. I want it out.
She is gone. I stop holding my breath. I smell gas. I haven’t shit. I have farted. A wonderful changing and calming fart.
there is no upside.
I sit in this box for hours. Maybe longer. I hear a car door close outside and a man’s voice. People down below. Must be WasteCorp. They want an account of Beeton. Probably needed to bring in a clean-up crew. I’ve been on them. Different company, different war. The doctor came in once and took something she’d stashed inside her pillow. I see you, Doctor. I know you’re in trouble. SSRIs in the pillowcase. I decide that because I am non-human, a deity of some kind, that I should be able to close my eyes and see great things, visit exotic places. Even if this isn’t true, shouldn’t the mind provide? Can’t I just go completely mad and leave this? Go so far inward that I’m a new thing? I close my eyes and wait. I try to picture simple things. A shoe. A bottle. A tree. I can only manage fleeting lines and shadows.
The door opens. The doctor enters. She is fully clothed. Her bosses are here. She comes over to me and turns the box. I see the yard clearly through my hole. There are two black vans parked up the driveway. So that’s WasteCorp, I guess. Guys dressed like milkmen from another century. Smart blue capos and white piping on the legs. Not tough guys, that’s for sure. Dixon and Y are up by one of the old maples. A bald man in a black suit is showing Dix something on a wide unfolded sheet. Plans have been drawn up. Things are being done differently. Beeton shook them up, bad. The milkmen unroll a wide mesh mat. It reaches all the way to Dix and the tree. Size of a football field. Milkmen attach cables at each corner. No more coaxing folks to toe the line. No more people running off or letting go too soon. They’re going to sit them down for the show, then just burn ’em all where they sit. Y and Dixon are walking the perimeter. I can tell by the way Dixon walks, with a repressed swagger, that he doesn’t like something. He doesn’t like seeing his bosses. Doesn’t like them being here. Don’t fuckin’ tell me how to do my job. Dixon and Y have walked up into the house. The milkmen straighten out any creases in the mat, like old women showing off patchwork at the fall fair.
The doctor turns me around. I see her naked thigh through the hole. I feel my anus drop then pull in. She drags the black bag up. Her tits are fat against the glass. She opens the door. Her breasts smell like change room. I look up and she looks down. I am brought out to the bed. She lies me near the bottom then drops her legs on either side of me. I watch as she pushes against her vagina with three fingers. She pumps it then slides her fingers back and forth quickly. With her other hand she tugs her nipple, lifting her large breast then letting it fall. It is a mesmerizing and mechanical sequence of actions. No hurry. I am to watch this. She wanted an audience. She wants me to stare at her pussy. Her heavy tits. She slides a finger in deeply. A clear fluid runs down her wrist. She makes a sound. She draws her knees up slowly and reaches under. Now she has a finger in her asshole and three in her pussy. She works the two holes at different
She is gone. I stop holding my breath. I smell gas. I haven’t shit. I have farted. A wonderful changing and calming fart.
there is no upside.
I sit in this box for hours. Maybe longer. I hear a car door close outside and a man’s voice. People down below. Must be WasteCorp. They want an account of Beeton. Probably needed to bring in a clean-up crew. I’ve been on them. Different company, different war. The doctor came in once and took something she’d stashed inside her pillow. I see you, Doctor. I know you’re in trouble. SSRIs in the pillowcase. I decide that because I am non-human, a deity of some kind, that I should be able to close my eyes and see great things, visit exotic places. Even if this isn’t true, shouldn’t the mind provide? Can’t I just go completely mad and leave this? Go so far inward that I’m a new thing? I close my eyes and wait. I try to picture simple things. A shoe. A bottle. A tree. I can only manage fleeting lines and shadows.
The door opens. The doctor enters. She is fully clothed. Her bosses are here. She comes over to me and turns the box. I see the yard clearly through my hole. There are two black vans parked up the driveway. So that’s WasteCorp, I guess. Guys dressed like milkmen from another century. Smart blue capos and white piping on the legs. Not tough guys, that’s for sure. Dixon and Y are up by one of the old maples. A bald man in a black suit is showing Dix something on a wide unfolded sheet. Plans have been drawn up. Things are being done differently. Beeton shook them up, bad. The milkmen unroll a wide mesh mat. It reaches all the way to Dix and the tree. Size of a football field. Milkmen attach cables at each corner. No more coaxing folks to toe the line. No more people running off or letting go too soon. They’re going to sit them down for the show, then just burn ’em all where they sit. Y and Dixon are walking the perimeter. I can tell by the way Dixon walks, with a repressed swagger, that he doesn’t like something. He doesn’t like seeing his bosses. Doesn’t like them being here. Don’t fuckin’ tell me how to do my job. Dixon and Y have walked up into the house. The milkmen straighten out any creases in the mat, like old women showing off patchwork at the fall fair.
The doctor turns me around. I see her naked thigh through the hole. I feel my anus drop then pull in. She drags the black bag up. Her tits are fat against the glass. She opens the door. Her breasts smell like change room. I look up and she looks down. I am brought out to the bed. She lies me near the bottom then drops her legs on either side of me. I watch as she pushes against her vagina with three fingers. She pumps it then slides her fingers back and forth quickly. With her other hand she tugs her nipple, lifting her large breast then letting it fall. It is a mesmerizing and mechanical sequence of actions. No hurry. I am to watch this. She wanted an audience. She wants me to stare at her pussy. Her heavy tits. She slides a finger in deeply. A clear fluid runs down her wrist. She makes a sound. She draws her knees up slowly and reaches under. Now she has a finger in her asshole and three in her pussy. She works the two holes at different
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