House of Holes

  Mindy brought out a long silver microphone. “I don’t think you want to put this piece of equipment inside you,” she said. “It’s a four-hundred-dollar shotgun mike. A Sennheiser.”

  “Mindy, that’s just how much microphone I need to give you a good in-depth cuntpussy interview.”

  “Okay,” said Mindy.

  Dune fished out a condom from his wallet and unrolled it over the end of the microphone. “Now shove it in me and I’ll show you something.”

  Mindy eased the condom-covered microphone into Dune’s pussyhole.

  “Oooh, that’s it, while I whale on this clit,” said Dune. “You like the way my clit sticks straight up like a tiny little dick? It’s amazing you can get this much feeling out of a little pink bean of a thing, but you can, if you work at it. Now let go of the microphone for a second. I’ll show you my muscles. I’ve been exercising them.” Dune clenched himself and said, “Mmm, mmmm, mmmm.” The microphone end wigwagged obscenely.

  “Nice muscles,” said Mindy. “Please go on. What tips did you give Marcela?”

  “I said to her, ‘Sometimes I pull on the nutsack a little and shake the whole package to make it aware of the fact that it’s going to be getting hard soon.’ She said, ‘Like this?’ And she shook my cock, or her cock, whoever’s cock it was, and I said, ‘Yeah, like that.’ Then I said, ‘Marcie, while you do that I wonder if you’d mind if I squeezed on your titties.’ And she was okay with that, so I squeezed her tits my special way, up from below, and a really amazing thing happened, which was that her dick, my own dick, started to lean out into space, and I realized I was making her dick hard by squeezing her tits, and ooooh, shit, that was some nice madness.”

  Mindy put one leg on the bed, nodding.

  “And then she stood up, and she turned herself around,” Dune went on, “and I had a view of her that was like”—he held up his hands. “I looked up at her eyes and her face looking down at me and then these nice heavy, hanging tits and then her big hips and then, look out, there’s my heavy cock on her.”

  “She must have wanted you to jerk her off,” said Mindy.

  “Yes, she said, ‘Now I want you to help me get my dick off.’ I said, ‘Marcie, it’s just as much my dick as it is yours.’ And now, Mindy, that’s all I’m going to say about this unless you promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?” said Mindy.

  “Promise me that when I get my penis back you’ll give some serious thought to fucking me, because you attract me sexually.”

  Mindy said, “I’ll think about it. But right now how about let’s jill off together side by side, and you keep telling me what happened, because I can’t resist playing with myself, Dune, but I also need to get your story.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Mindy, honey—come on and sit next to me,” said Dune, scooting himself back on her bed.

  Mindy adjusted the camera again and pulled off her shirt. “So what did you and Marcela do?”

  “I took both her hands and I said, ‘I want to play with your nipples and hold your legs open while you do your cock,’ and I gently put her hands on the cock bundle. She took it, and she began moving her hand up and down, and it was amazing how quickly she got a feel for it. That dick got harder on her than it had been on me in a long time. I said, ‘That’s the business, honey. You get that dick to do what’s right for you.’ She was getting hot, and she said, ‘It feels so good to jack on it, and I’ll tell you what I want to do, I want to fuck you with it.’ ”

  Mindy had eased her hand into her sweatpants as she listened. “Really?”

  “So I said what the hell,” said Dune. “I flung myself back on the bed like a bride on her wedding day and I said, ‘Go on ahead, Marcie, fuck me like you know how.’ She said, ‘Guide me in you, baby—you know where you want it to go.’ So I circled around my cunny to get the head all juiced and ready and then I said, ‘Shove it on inside, Marcie, I’m ready for a dick pounding.’ ”

  Mindy’s eyes were closed and her hand was moving as she imagined the scene. “How did it feel?” she asked.

  “Well, it was a good feeling, Mindy, a good full feeling. I was a virgin, and Marcie was considerate. She said, ‘I’m going to go slow, Dune,’ and I put my hands on her wonderful full, smooth ass and felt her long, long, deep push, and she started really fucking me in and out, ung, ung, and I said, ‘Oh, lord help my naked soul, I’ve never been fucked by own cock before.’ She said, ‘You’re getting it now.’ I said, ‘Marcie, fuck me, I’m so confused and I love it, fuck me harder, tear up my virgin pussy!” Dune looked over at Mindy. “Mm, twat yourself, Mindy, bat your bug, that’s the way.”

  Mindy’s head was back, and she was biting her tongue. “Don’t stop,” she said.

  “Then Marcie lay down on her back and I saw my cock sticking straight up on her, and she pulled on it, and I said, ‘What do you want, baby?’ She said, ‘I want you to sit right down and rock on this big thick piece of rhubarb.’ So I straddled her, and I let myself sink down, and oh, shoot, was that nice. I started bouncing up and down on it, and it nailed me so good. She said, ‘Now tickle your clit, and you will come.’ So I found my clit, which was, as I say, a tiny little thing but quite sensitive, and I started rubbing and nubbing and scrubbing on it, and meanwhile I was bouncing up and down like a horse thief.”

  “Mmm,” said Mindy, dipping a finger deep and then circling.

  “And I think all the nerve connections were still being sketched in because I had something that I think was a very teeny orgasm, and then another little one, but bigger. And I thought, Shit, that’s it? That’s all? That’s a woman’s pussy orgasm? And then, whoa, my clit screamed out, and this incredible shaky feeling tore like a wrecking ball through my whole body.”

  “Was it mainly in your vagina or your clit?”

  “I don’t know, clit, vagina—it was all over the county, and I held her tits and looked up at her pretty face and let everything just flow through me, huhhh, huhhh.”

  Mindy’s breathing got fast and she said, “I’m going to come, Dune, mercy, I’m going to come!”

  Dune shuttled his finger over his clit, spanking it once, and he lifted himself up and he went, “Ahhhh, errrrrr, aaaahhh!” He frigged himself with the microphone and then he started hip-jouncing on the bed, and after he came he laughed and swore.

  He said, “This is just plain daffy, Mindy. I need my old dick back. Marcela’s going to want her pussy back soon, I know it. Will you go with me to Lila and dip your hands in the blue bowl and be the go-between?”

  “Sure,” said Mindy, “if I can get it on film.”

  Rhumpa Visits the Pornmonster

  A keeper named Harry, who wore short pants and had a little goatee, took Rhumpa to see the pornmonster. They went into the first airlock, and after the pressure equalized there they went into a second. It was darker there. The air was close, if not fetid. The hatch made a sucking sound and opened. They stood on the shore of a large underground lake, now the repository of the distilled contents of all the House of Holes’s pornsucker missions.

  Harry and Rhumpa went up a set of stairs hewn into the rock and stood on a balcony overlooking the lurid water, which glowed and glopped and slopped around the edges of the cavern.

  “It’s not terribly nice in here, is it?” said Rhumpa.

  Harry shook his head despairingly. “The more porn we’ve sucked out of the world, the larger the monster has grown,” he said. “This wasn’t in our forecasts. We thought there might be small anomalies of spontaneous generation, of course. But this—this is a personification of polymorphousness unlike anything the world of human suck-fuckery has ever known. I used to work as a trainer at Ocean Playground. The squid show there was nothing compared to this.”

  At that moment an enormous arm reached out of the oily liquid, and a huge hand grasped at nothing in the air. Five penises hung dangling off the forearm—it looked like a bizarre bagpipe. The hand was made up of half a dozen clustered vaginas.

  “
That’s gross,” said Rhumpa.

  Harry made a little fatalistic laugh. “They’re pumping so much porn in here that it’s just feeding and feeding, and it grows a new appendage every few days. It’s got about ten arms. One’s really long, but a lot of them are smaller.”

  “I can see that it’s not pretty,” Rhumpa said. “But is it good or is it evil?”

  “Nobody knows,” said Harry. “Nobody knows its language.”

  “I’m going to try to talk to it,” said Rhumpa. She put her hands to her mouth. “Hey, longdog!” she called with loud authority. “Jizm! Weeperhole!”

  The pornhand paused for a moment, ceased groping, then subsided under the vermilion waves of mingling smut imagery.

  “You really know languages,” said Harry, impressed.

  Rhumpa knew she could talk to the pornmonster given enough time and quiet. “I can’t engage with it here,” she said. “Do you have a side chamber where we can go?”

  “Sure,” said Harry. “The sluice gate has an overflow tank, and sometimes the monster goes in there to rest.”

  Suddenly, several fountains of what looked like sperm, but orchid and navel orange in color, jetted up from the froth.

  Rhumpa looked at Harry questioningly. “It masturbates constantly,” Harry said. “You’ll have to put on a wetsuit.”

  Rhumpa nodded. They went to the room off the overflow tank. Rhumpa shucked off her shirt and pants and stepped into the suit.

  “Be careful,” said Harry. “Our containment system is only as good as its weakest link.”

  “Do you think it can feel love?” asked Rhumpa.

  “I doubt it,” said Harry. “I was reading Hawking’s book about the first seconds of the universe. I think our monster is as close as I’ll ever come to knowing what that’s like.” Harry hesitated. He looked a little green around the gills. “I’m going to have to leave you on your own here. I’ll be watching on the monitor. Men can’t take pornfumes for very long without fainting. We need breathing equipment. Women seem more immune.” Harry withdrew.

  Rhumpa walked out onto the tiled edge of the ancillary holding tank. She called out, “Hey, pornmonster! Cuntcall! Here it is!” She cupped her crotch through the wetsuit.

  There was a burbling and a different feeling in the air. Rhumpa sensed that the pornmonster had slid into the ancillary tank. She waited.

  “If you’re here,” she called, nervously, “let me see your biggest hand.”

  There was a powerful odor of sexual fluids, and a huge mottled hand appeared. Rhumpa was shocked by how large it was, how freshly formed and strong. It reached and found the bars that separated her from the pornslurry.

  “If you understand my cuntlips talking to you, and if you understand how I like to frig myself silly every morning before I go to work, please hold up your middle finger.”

  The pornmonster flung up his middle finger, and a splash of iridescence surged over Rhumpa in a wave.

  She called on the walkie-talkie back to Harry at the control console. “Harry, unlock the electric gate. I need to go mano a mano.”

  “Can’t do it, for insurance reasons.”

  “Pish-posh,” said Rhumpa. “He needs a friend. He’s been in these tanks too long.”

  Harry made a doubtful sound. “Okay,” he said. The gate clicked open, and Rhumpa stepped out, unprotected—a set of jiggy curves in a wetsuit. She knelt and put her rubber-gloved hand in the liquid. She could feel the energy of warm spiffle juice going up her arm. Under the liquid she flipped out her middle finger. “I’m here to talk about hot, hard holefucking,” she said. “Come on over, you big sexy vulgarian, climb out where I can see you naked.”

  Almost before she’d finished there was a sudden volcanic swirling of the waters. An amalgamation of body parts heaved itself up on the widest part of the ledge and stood dripping. There must have been a hundred penises—some pale pink, some coffee colored—along with breasts and eyes and clits and an enormous mouth at the center. It stood on a mass of arms and legs.

  “There you are,” Rhumpa said, more appalled than she let on. “Take a moment to relax. May I touch you?”

  Seventeen penises nodded yes.

  “Where’s your head?” she asked.

  The hands and feet shook: none.

  “No head? Why not?”

  Then ten hands grabbed ten semi-erect cocks and began stroking them. Another ten hands circled tiny clitlike buttons of flesh in folds of skin.

  “Must you do that right now in front of me?” Rhumpa asked.

  Suddenly a very large hand came thrusting out of the central fleshball and scooped her up.

  “I’m lurid and loveless and lost,” the monster seemed to say. “I need a real person. I’m growing out of control. I’m propagating without guidance.”

  “You need a head,” she said. “If I dance for you, will you develop a head?”

  All the legs and hands said no. No way. No head today. And the big hand gave her a squeeze to say, “Never mind my head, dance for me anyway.”

  “Let go of me, and I’ll dance,” Rhumpa said.

  The hand put her down and smacked the water hard. Another drench of sexual splatterment went over her. It made her tingle everywhere. She felt she was in touch with a giant collaborative moan.

  Climbing the five steps of a metal ladder, she stood on a tall platform that technicians used when they needed to open or close a hydraulic valve that led to a smaller treatment tank. She began singing the Benassi Brothers, swinging her ass: “I love men, money, power, and I love my sex.” She could see the monster turning on its legs, trying clumsily to keep time. On an impulse, she unclamped and unsealed the front of her wetsuit and danced with her breasts on display, her nipples high and pointy in unpuzzled skyward erections. Almost immediately, many monster hands took hold of many penises, and there was a general convulsion of orgasmic fluid release. The monster sat in a puddle of its own secretions.

  Then it revived. Rhumpa spoke: “I will give you good loving if you grow a head.”

  There was silence, and then a bulb formed at the top of the fleshy confusion. There was a huge sucking sound, and a head popped into place. It was a normal head, male, with a mouth and a nose and two eyes, and it blinked at her.

  “Can you hear me now?” she voiced.

  Out of the mouth came a strange amphibious croak: “Aaaa-oooowwwawaooo.”

  “Take a moment to organize your thoughts,” she said. “You are built from other people’s orgasms, and yet you seem to have a soul.”

  “Not much of a soul, but it’s there,” said the pornmonster.

  “And do you wish to be freed from the tank?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you think you would live a normal life if you were free?”

  “No, not normal,” said the pornmonster. “I have way too many sex organs for that. But I could lead a better life. I would like to help in some way. My name is Friggley.”

  In the control room, Harry watched and took notes, squeezing his crotch from time to time. The creature looked like a hedge ball with frondy things hanging off it. It moved rapidly but shufflingly forward, a tumorousness of overstimulated desire. Harry observed as it surrounded Rhumpa and slid her wetsuit completely off. One after another of the penises found and sounded her cervix. Rhumpa seemed, oddly, to be enjoying it—it was a gangbang from a single source. When the fleshly storm had passed, she leapt onto its back and grabbed hold of what looked like two scrotums.

  “Harry, open the main hatch, I’ve got my new friend Friggley by the balls, and I’m going to take him to the Handjob Festival.”

  Harry, in awe, opened the main gate of the tank enclosure, and Friggley shuffled down the road. Then, in a sudden flurry, more drama. The Pearloiner leapt out from a bush with a cackle and tried to snatch away several of Friggley’s clitorises and hide them in her freezing jar. A small tussle ensued, which Friggley easily won by clasping the Pearloiner in several of its wank-strong arms. “Don’t let her go!” said Rh
umpa. She seized the precious clitty jar, remounted Friggley, and the curious trio lurched toward Lila’s office.

  The Pearloiner Says She’s Sorry

  The Pearloiner was sitting on the couch, staring forward remorsefully. She’d been crying. The icy jar of clits was on a side table, shedding a soft gray mist. Zilka and Cheyenne stood on the open pussyrug, stripped down to their bras. Friggley was tied by the balls outside.

  “It was a misguided passion,” the Pearloiner was saying. “There are better things to collect. I see that now. I’m truly sorry for my compulsive thieving.” She fished in the jar, finding the plastic bags with Zilka’s and Cheyenne’s clits in them.

  “Thank you, Madame Pearloiner,” said Lila. “Zilka and Cheyenne will fix your hair and dress you for the Sherry Cobbler and Farewell Handjob Festival. As a first step, we must forgive.”

  The two lovely almost-naked women washed and blow-dried the Pearloiner’s hair and dressed her in a white shirt and a flattering navy-blue linen jacket. They left her naked down below.

  “Now, Madame, you know what you must do,” said Lila. She put the clitorises in the Pearloiner’s open palms. “Cup their pussies and reinstate their joys. Only you can give back what you took away.”

  The Pearloiner cupped the women’s crotches and jiggled her hands rapidly, saying, “By the power and the authority of the federal Transportation Security Administration, Eastern Region, HQ, I hereby give you back your clits and humbly ask your forgiveness for being so greedy to possess them.”

  “Oh, ooochie,” moaned Zilka, feeling her tender stem re-connecting. Moments after, Cheyenne’s clitoris went live. Her face cleared, and she beamed. “Finally!” she said.

  “Now down on the pussyrug, you two,” said Lila. “You must fix the repairs in place by gently grinding your gorgeous twats against each other.”

  Zilka and Cheyenne scissored themselves together and humped and ground, clit to blissfully reanimated clit.