Drenched

By Cardigan Broadmoor

Spud Patler was an easy man to hate. Just the thought of his big fat ass stuffed in a diamond-encrusted wheelchair in that climate-controlled penthouse of his was enough to make any man rock-hard for murder. Especially if that man was trudging through a mosquito-infested jungle. Peter Dench was no exception; he had thought a lot about punching Spud in his lopsided face the past couple days. But he also owed Spud a favor. Big time. And a deal is a deal.

So, to make good on his debt, Peter had put his life on hold and flown 8,000 miles across the Pacific Ocean for a day and then some to Borneo. He had sat drenched with sweat and crammed between two other annoyed, sweaty people in a tiny, un-air-conditioned van that puttered its way from Sarawak to Kalimantan, from skyscrapers and highways to rainforests and dirt roads-in-name-only. All because he had to be a man of his word.

“That’s why I called y’all,” Spud told him two days earlier, “Yer the only feller I can trust.”

The crippled old porn mogul had a syrupy-thick West Virginian accent to begin with and a stroke that nearly killed him the week before rendered his speech incomprehensible to most folks.

But Peter still understood him. In some bygone primordial era, they had been like father and son. In the modern age, Peter refused even to take a seat in the Sultan of Smut’s throne room when offered. He just stood there like a statue as Spud gave him his marching orders.

“One of my loggin’ operations in Borneo might’ve found somethin’ I bin lookin’ fer,” said Spud. “I want y’all to go on down there and be my eyes and ears, boy. I’d go myself but, well . . .”

He gestured to the wheelchair.

“I reckon they don’t got many handicap-accessible ramps in the jungle.”

One side of Spud’s lips curled up in a smile while the other side continued to droop down. Neither side of Peter’s face smiled.

“What did they find?” he asked.

Two days after posing the question, Peter found himself in the middle of a long line of Spud’s heavily armed mercenaries trudging towards the answer in the heart of a deep jungle; tripping on gnarled roots, hacking with machetes through thorny vines and leaves the size of full-grown men. Occasionally a gibbon or two swung through the branches of the green canopy high above, or disgruntled hornbills barked flippantly at the intruders. Spud had told Peter on several occasions that his favorite part of the smut-publishing business was not all the naked women and sex, but proofreading. It made him feel like a hunter on the prowl, scouring wild, untamed swaths of text block, hacking and slashing his way through a tangled wilderness of stupid grammar mistakes, sloppy formatting, and boring pap (which was the worst sin of all) with a red felt-tip pen.

Peter would have given anything to see that fat old perv hack and slash his way through this prehistoric hellscape with a red felt-tip pen.

“Hey Drench,” said the sole feminine voice in the entourage, “want some pointers on how to relax your jaw? I have a lot of experience.”

The young woman suddenly trudging right beside Peter pointed at her own face and grinned.

“Can you do this?” she asked.

“Why would I do that?” said Peter. “And I told you not to call me that name anymore.”

Nuri was an extremely short woman whose entire body was covered in tattoos. Her hair hung down in two long burgundy braids past a pair of tan booty shorts. She had been busting Peter’s balls since they worked in the adult film industry together, on and off set.

“Call you what?” she asked.

“You know exactly what,” Peter growled.

“Okie dokie, Drench, but I think you need to, like… release some tension,” said Nuri with a wink before skipping ahead and stroking a mercenary’s bazooka like a giant cock.

Spud told Peter he was only sending his old scene partner along to translate because her parents were Indonesian, but he wondered if the old jackass sent her just to annoy him. He ground his teeth thinking about it.

His whole body was tense. He glanced at the twin tattoos of Jesus Christ that welcomed him with outstretched hands on both his palms. That always made Peter feel the tiniest bit better. He began to marvel at the beauty of God’s creation all around him, at the living, breathing Garden of Eden. Then it started raining like God had gone back on his promise and washed away all of Peter’s optimism.

They had been marching for hours, and would have blindly continued to march, if some of the mercs did not stop and point at the moss-covered boulders that were strewn along the base of the mountain like giant, moldy eggs. Two of these boulders met at their peaks and formed a forty-foot triangular space between them. Set deeper into the space and beneath the rocky overhang was what appeared to be the wooden façade of a house.

“Rudy, are you getting this?” Peter asked the Italian cameraman Spud had also sent along. Rudy nodded like a bobble-head toy as he hoisted the camera onto his shoulder.

“Si, si,” he said.

Peter stepped under the dank overhang and observed the anomalous house. The wood looked old—very old. Two windows (which were portholes) and a simple door adorned the wall.

“How are you so sure it’s his house?” Peter had asked Spud two days before.

“I’ve seen pictures. There’s a sign above the door . . .”

Peter looked above the door and saw the trailboard of a ship with the words Queen Whore’s Orgasm painted in red.

Nuri scampered up behind him.

“So, um . . . is this the place or what?” she asked.

Peter nodded.

“Looks that way.”

Spud had prepped him with an extensive history lesson before sending him to the other side of the world.

In the late 18th century, a relatively minor English baron named Balthazar Lusterfield became notorious for his massive and often violent orgies. Balthazar’s misadventures became increasingly reprehensible until, inevitably, he was run out of England. He then acquired a ship and a stable of prostitutes with whom he traveled to the most exotic and debauched pockets of the world, until finally sailing out of history altogether.

“Queen Whore’s Orgasm was the name of Lusterfield’s brothel ship,” said Peter, “And I think it would be a pretty elaborate forgery for such an obscure mystery.”

Nuri clapped her hands.

“This is so exciting!” she said, “Let’s go in, let’s go in!”

After making sure Rudy had got everything on film and waving the mercs into the cave, Peter pressed the rusted thumb-latch door handle. He pulled it back and the door screeched on its ancient hinges. Rudy flinched like he heard gunfire.

Peter had to duck to get through the door; in fact, everyone had to except Rudy and Nuri. When they turned on their flashlights, they saw it did not look like a house on the other side of the threshold but rather a ship. They were struck first with an all-pervasive moldy odor. Some roots from exceptionally aggressive trees had snaked through the floorboards, which were also splattered with a hodge-podge of feces. Otherwise, the place looked like its inhabitants had only left yesterday.

A dozen hammocks were strung in two rows between worm-eaten beams. Dead lanterns hung from rusty coffin nails. An unfinished chess game awaited its climax on top of a barrel. Rudy zoomed in with his camera and saw that breasts had been carved into the queens and the bishops had been carved to further resemble dicks.

“Remember,” said Peter, “we’re just looking for books.”

“Kami sedang mencari buku!” Nuri translated for the mercs.

Beside every hammock was a seaman’s chest. The mercs cracked opened the lids of these and rifled through their innards. They found clothes, tobacco, dolls and various other trinkets. The closest any of them came to finding a book was a sketchpad filled with crude doodles of deformed people fucking in bizarre configurations.

Nuri groaned in frustration after fruitlessly dissecting one of the chests.

“Hey Drench,” she said pointedly, “You wanna tell us what kind of books we’re looking for or . . .”

Peter took a deep breath and ignored her dig.

“Journals,” he said without any hint of emotion, “Big. Red. Leatherbound.”

Contemporary newspapers of Balthazar’s time dubbed him ‘the Devil of Lusterfield,’ which only managed to inflate his already stratospheric ego and inspire him to chronicle his exploits in a series of journals entitled the Appetitus Diabolis or The Devil’s Appetites.

Spud possessed all extant original copies of these journals in his personal library of historic pornography, right beside the works of De Sade and Casanova. He paid a fortune to acquire them. Ostensibly, his collection was complete. But the mystery of Balthazar’s disappearance left a door open in his mind: was it possible the man had lived to fill more journals that were yet undiscovered? Were there other volumes of the Appetitus Diabolis that he did not own?

He could not rest until he knew for sure.

“What if-a they don’t exist?” asked Rudy while he studied some scandalous pantaloons with his camera.

Peter scrambled to find bookshelves or hidden alcoves, or anything that might adequately hide two-hundred-year-old imperial folios, while trying to ignore that scenario in his head.

“Unfortunately, I do not think Spud will accept that,” he said.

But Peter began to worry that Rudy might be onto something after all. There was nothing here. Nada. And at that moment, he realized he could not accept that fact any more than Spud could. If there were no journals, the old perv might say he still owes him a favor someday. Peter could not allow that to happen.

He shined his flashlight all over the areas he had already covered and then did it again. In a third desperate attempt, he spun the light around in the other direction, and this time noticed something new. Over an obscure corner there was a large piece of cloth hanging on the wall.

The white symbols painted on the tattered, black canvas were instantly recognizable to Peter because Spud had shown them to him in a book about the Devil of Lusterfield. Two long penises, each with two balls at their base, crossed like swords beneath a plump ass resembling a peach. The only difference between this tangible artifact and the theoretical sketches in the book, was that the real thing included little dots of cum spurting out of the tops of the penises.

Nuri snorted when she saw it.

“Oh my god,” she said, “That would be so dope to hang above my bed. What the hell is it?”

“The Jolly Todger,” said Peter, “Balthazar would fly this flag to advertise his services to fellow seamen. And to scare people into thinking he was a pirate. He was a real ball-buster.”

“Heh,” Nuri snorted, “Seamen.”

Sometimes Peter could not believe Nuri was older than him.

“Are those cum-stains on it?” she asked.

As Peter leaned in to check, he noticed the bottom of the flag waver, almost imperceptibly. He pulled down the wall-hanging to reveal a door. This one was metal and locked shut with a key still in the hole. He turned the key and opened the door. A black void greeted him.

“Alright, let’s do it,” he said before pointing at Rudy. “Make sure you get all of this.”

Rudy gave a thumbs up and they both crossed the threshold.

“Di sini, teman-teman!” Nuri shouted over her shoulder to the mercs.

They made sure to let her go ahead of them so they could get a good look at her ass.

The chthonic world beyond the threshold was danker, darker, and deeper than the boat house. A steep, rocky path guided their unsteady footsteps. For fear of cave-ins, they only whispered or said nothing at all. Peter and the mercs once again had to watch their heads to avoid smashing them on occasional stalactites.

“How far we-a go?” asked Rudy. His shoulder needed a break from footing the unwieldly camera.

“Until we find something,” Peter whispered. “Believe me, I do not want to be down here anymore than you do.”

“Whatever, Drench,” Nuri hissed, “You guys suck. This is dope as hell!”

“Don’t call me that!” barked Peter before recalling the need to be quiet and shaking it off.

They clomped along like a pack of hunch-backed troglodytes down that sloped path for miles. Eventually a prick-hole of light appeared in the distant darkness. The light grew and grew and grew until revealing itself to be the sunlight that flooded a vast cavern through a hole in the stony ceiling hundreds of feet above.

The light illuminated an expansive field of lush, green grass encircled by wild forests like the hair on an old monk’s head. Waterfalls gushed out of a dozen vertical slits in the cavern walls, forming subterranean ponds.

“Holy fuck!” shouted Nuri.

“Grandioso . . .” whispered Rudy.

“Those journals have to be down there somewhere,” grumbled Peter.

The group turned off their flashlights and clambered across a small sea of boulders till they reached the perimeter of the field. Some of the mercs raised their guns and pointed to a figure standing at its center. They approached cautiously. Soon it became clear the thing was a statue, then, more specifically, that it was the wooden figurehead for a ship. Her tongue stuck out and her eyes rolled in ecstasy while one hand pinched the nipple of a heavy, exposed breast and the fingers on the other spread open her splintered vagina.

“I’m guessing this went on the front of Lusterfield’s ship?” Nuri asked Peter.

“Mhm.”

One of the mercs tried taking a selfie of himself licking the figurehead’s wooden nipple and yelped when he snagged a splinter in his tongue. When the others burst into a chorus of hyena cackles, Peter noticed movement in some nearby bushes.

He moved closer. Then he saw it again. A pale, white human hand brushing the bushes aside. Behind that, he saw a delicate, female face. He froze and held up his hand.

“Hello,” he said gently.

The thing in the bushes snapped out of sight but returned after a moment of stillness. She crawled out into the open, naked, on her hands and knees. Peter stood his ground even when she wrapped her alabaster arms around his ass and pressed her pale face against the bulge in his crotch.

“Coom?” she begged, “Coom po Seema?”

Although he was a porn star who had literally seen everything, the sight of this angelic creature made Peter blush.

She looked human, except every time she said the word ‘coom,’ hundreds of tiny blowholes puckered all over her body, grasping like the suckers on a squid’s tentacle. She pawed at his crotch and kissed it repeatedly.

“Coom po Seema?” she begged again.

Peter shook his head ‘no’ though he was confused and aroused. Then he looked deeply into the girl’s face. She had the most perfect skin he had ever seen, and her scent was oddly familiar. Not to mention those eyes… they could only belong to an angel. So transfixed was he by the beauty of God’s creation, that he lost track of time, and did not even notice the sun go down or the darkness take hold.

In another corner of the field, closer to the tree line, a wandering merc with a big handlebar mustache found a pink sofa hidden in the tall grass. He looked in all directions, shrugged, then popped a squat on the thing. He sighed as he finally got to rest his weary back and legs. The only problem was the cushion felt hard and lumpy in places. So, the merc lifted his ass up a few inches and pounded the seat with his fist. As he pounded, he heard something that resembled a moan.

He stopped moving. Waited.

When nothing happened, he punched the seat once more but heard the same sound.

“Uhnnnnn,” it went, even louder this time.

There must have been an animal under the sofa.

The merc knew that was it. So, he cocked his gun, braced himself, and kicked the sofa over to reveal: just grass. Nothing more.

But he heard the moaning sound again: “Uhnnnnnnn!”

The merc looked down in time to see the fleshy sofa’s stubby arms and legs gently caressing its plush underbelly as a small flat face at one end of the thing trembled with pleasure and a small nub of flesh at the other dribbled white liquid. It looked like a horny turtle caught on its back.

“Apa-apaan ini!” the merc screamed before unloading his clip into the ejaculating sofa, which moaned even louder as it was filled with hot lead.

Everyone turned their heads towards the gunfire, except the pale figure in front of Peter. When she saw the moon had replaced the sun, she sprung up and grabbed Peter by the wrist. She dragged him with all her strength towards the jungle.

“Ajo!” she cried, “Ajo!”

A discordant symphony of howls shook the cavern walls. The mercs stood back-to-back and readied their guns. But the one who shot the couch had fallen to his knees and begun to blubber.

Behind him, he heard the snap of wood and the crash of thunder coming from the tree line. Then he felt the earth rumble. A herd of creatures, each the size and general shape of an elephant minus the trunk and tusks, lumbered straight for him.

The merc’s mind broke. His body would be just as broken in a matter of seconds. He screamed as one of the moaning elephantine creatures turned around and lowered its enormous ass onto his body. His screams muffled when the ring of the putrid anus slid over his mouth and ultimately devoured his whole head. His shoulders, however, proved much more difficult to engulf.

The creature wrapped a gigantic, webbed hand around the writhing mercenary’s arms and torso, snapping all his ribs in the process; then it bent forward and shoved the body up as hard as it could.

“OooOoo,” moaned the creature.

It yanked the broken body out of its anal cavity with a ‘pop.’ Miraculously, the man was still alive. He could hardly breathe or see through the shit he was drenched in, and his screams were no more than limp gurgles.

The creature grabbed his legs and thrust him back into its ass, further than the first time, and proceeded to fuck itself with him.

Its powerful sphincter muscles stretched like the jaws of a snake consuming its prey.

“OooFUHHH,” brayed the beast when it eventually sprayed its seed all over the moonlit grass.

Then it yanked the shit-covered corpse out of its ass and tossed it on the ground like a used condom. A group of naked, pale girls like Seema crawled out of a pond and started rolling in the puddle of cum left by the big beast and lapping it up with their tongues like dogs.

A legion of other creatures poured out of the trees and the living mercs fired at will.

Peter heard the gunfire in the distance but did not stop running. The fay, pale-skinned creature clutching his wrist would not let him.

She pointed to a little shack in the middle of a shadowy glade. They ran inside and Peter slammed the door behind him, panting. A moment later he felt pounding and heard Nuri’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Drench!” she called. “Let us the fuck in!”

The shack was modest but better than nothing.

A desk covered in dusty, cobwebbed vials, beakers, surgical tools, microscopes and sketches of theoretical sex toys took up most of the room. And above that was a bookshelf lined with red leather imperial folios. Nuri opened one at random and read the title page: Appetitus Diabolis Vol. LXIX.

“Holy shit!” said Nuri, “We found them! Peter, look!”

But Peter no longer cared about his mission. He did not care that he was sitting in Balthazaar Lusterfield’s field laboratory or that he had everything he needed to free himself from Spud Patler’s debt.

He just sat cross-legged on the floor with the pale-skinned girl, pointed at his chest and said, “Peter.”

Then he pointed at the pale girl’s chest.

She hesitated at first but eventually pointed her own finger back at herself.

“Seema,” she whispered.

Peter smiled and nodded.

Seema blushed.

“Peter . . . coom po Seema?”

Now it was Peter’s turn to blush once again as he shook his head ‘no.’

Nuri sat hunched over Lusterfield’s journals like a wise sage studying incantations.

“Hey, you guys, I think you should hear this,” she said.

When no one moved, she grabbed a glass vial and smashed it on the floor. Everybody jumped.

“I think I know what those things are out there,” said Nuri.

Peter was suddenly interested.

“Go on,” he said.

Nuri picked up the book again.

“Well, we know Lusterfield loved Borneo more than anywhere else on earth because there are monkeys here who look like they have dicks for noses.”

Rudy laughed.

“Scuzi?” he said.

“It’s totally true,” said Nuri, “They’re called Orang Belanda or proboscis monkeys. Natives called them “Dutchmen” because their big noses and pot-bellies reminded them of Dutch settlers.”

Peter was impressed.

“Where’d you learn that?” he asked.

Nuri frowned and flipped him off.

“What? Just because I fuck on camera for money you think I’m some bimbo? Porn paid for my biological anthropology degree, I’ll have you know.”

Peter put his hands up.

“My bad. Please continue.”

“Everyone knows Lusterfield vanished, but no one knows why. I do now. He was an intelligent man. He wasn’t just a sex fiend; he was a naturalist and an explorer, too. Kinda relatable. But anyway, according to the few pages I’ve flipped through, he discovered this cave and noticed something was strange about the animals in it; like, multiple, hyper-specific variations within what should have been one species. Through trial and error, he determined that particular diversity was caused by the water in this cavern. Did you notice the purple algae in the ponds, by the way? Well, that algae contain a bacterium that fucks with the genetic code of anything that ingests it. Like, like, it must corrode the Weismann barrier or something.”

“The what?” asked Peter.

“Weismann barrier. It separates somatic cells and germ cells. So, basically, it prevents traits a single organism picked up in its own lifetime from directly being passed down to its kids. Make sense?”

Peter and Rudy did not move a muscle.

“Lusterfield says he tested his hypothesis by experimenting on proboscis monkeys; he took the males and rerouted their urethras to their noses then inserted the noses into the vaginas of the females until the males ejaculated. He says he did this over and over and over again until the first offspring were born from these unions. He claims that their male children had no penis in their crotches and that a small third hole beside the nostrils could be found at the tips of their noses. Once they reached sexual maturity, he claims these apes mated by thrusting their noses into the vaginas of the females.”

Peter stopped listening and closed his eyes a moment to pray to Jesus.

“I’m talking about real-life Lamarckian evolution, guys,” said an amazed Nuri.

Rudy looked lost as usual.

“What is Lamarksia?” he asked.

Nuri groaned in an over-dramatic attempt to make it seem like she did not like showing off.

“Jean-Baptiste Lamarck proposed a theory of evolution before Darwin. He basically said changes occur over time based on environmental factors and the use or disuse of organs and traits. The most famous hypothetical examples are a blacksmith banging his hammer all his life, so his kids come out with big muscles, or an animal trying to stretch its neck up to reach some high leaves and their offspring comes out as a giraffe.”

“So, if a tribe of perverted hedonists that came here to experience their excesses to the max gets exposed to this bacterium . . .” said Peter.

“Then their offspring will reflect those kinks,” finished Nuri. “He brought all his friends here as guinea pigs, to help explore the frontiers of sexuality.”

Peter wondered aloud, “Who did Lusterfield have with him on the manifest?”

“Poop eaters, urine drinkers, guys who loved to be used as furniture, people who loved shoving stuff up their ass, chronic masturbators, pyromaniacs, pretty much every perverted thing you can think of.”

Nuri caught Peter glancing at Seema.

“Oh, and I know exactly where she comes from,” she said.

“Where?” gasped Peter.

“She must be a descendant of Temperance Sunder.”

“What was her deal?” Peter asked.

“She was the scion of an old Nantucket whaling family. Owned several ships. Super rich. And was completely obsessed with semen. When she couldn’t get it from her husband or her servants and crewmen, she would lather herself in sperm whale oil, especially all over her face. Seema has been begging for your cum all night and look at those holes all over her. She must’ve evolved to basically be a cum sponge. I saw a whole gaggle of girls just like her lying in a puddle of cum, soaking it up like their lives depended on it.”

An orgy had begun in the middle of the field, around the wooden figurehead of the Queen Whore’s Orgasm; a single heaving, gyrating mass of flesh glistened with sweat under the moonlight. Some little ape-like creatures sat off to the side on sofa people, furiously masturbating. Tall, thin figures rooted in the ground with arms outstretched allowed dagger-fingered cretins to carve their flesh without complaint. Demonic, imp creatures with exteriors that resembled stone more than flesh stood in the bonfires they lit and danced joyously; descendants of Balto’s twin pyromaniac friends.

“I bet they do this every night,” said Nuri. “When the moon rises, the party starts. We should wait here till they pass out, so we don’t, ya know . . .”

“Get raped to death?” said Peter.

“Exactly.”

They watched two of the elephantine boofers (as Nuri called them) stuff opposite ends of a human corpse in their asses and fuck themselves with it.

Desperate to think about anything other than what they just saw, Nuri said, “You know what’s interesting?”

“Hm?”

“When Rudy and I were running through the jungle, we saw these monkeys swinging through the trees and I thought, huh, those must be gibbons, because they had super long arms. But now that I think about, they were definitely swinging with their dicks. You see, regular monkeys use something called ‘brachiation’—”

“Alright, enough with the biology lesson,” said a voice neither Nuri nor Peter recognized.

Then Peter felt something hard hit his head and everything went black.

When Peter awoke, he saw Rudy squatting by a roaring fire. The little man threw a pile of books into the middle of it, sending thousands of orange and yellow sparks into the air. Peter tried to say something but all that came out of his throat was a weak moan. Rudy looked over at him and smiled.

“Well, hey there, sleepyhead,” said Rudy, “Don’t do anything silly, now!”

He waved a silver .38 Special in Peter’s face for emphasis.

He looked like Rudy, but he did not sound like him; the Italian accent was completely gone.

On the other side of the fire, Peter saw Seema curled up in fear on Nuri’s lap.

Rudy leaned down and grabbed another handful of books from a pile at his feet and dumped them into the fire. The cover of one flipped open and Peter could read the words, Appetitus Diabolis . . .

“Stop,” Peter rasped.

Rudy turned around again and stomped over to him.

“What’s that, bud?” he asked.

“Stop,” Peter repeated, “Don’t . . . do this.”

“Why?” spat Rudy.

It took every ounce of Peter’s strength to say, “I . . . owe . . . Spud . . .”

“Oh, fuck that old perv.”

Peter groaned and dropped his head again.

In one last effort he said, “Rudy . . .”

The little man stoking the fire burst out laughing.

“You idiot!” he yelled, “I’m not Rudy Jacuzzi! I beat that little dweeb to death in an airport bathroom and took his place. I needed a way to infiltrate this little operation and when I saw a picture of the guy I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it: we could’ve been twins!”

He laughed like one of the little dancing imps outside.

“My real name is Cooper, by the way. Nice to officially meet ya,” said the man formerly known as Rudy.

He kicked Peter in the gut with a steel-toed boot and Peter curled into a ball like a pill bug.

“Let me tell you a little story,” droned Cooper. “Once upon a time, I was engaged to the most beautiful woman in the world. Her name was Angela.”

Nuri shot Peter a nervous glance. Cooper did not notice.

“She was the one, man; she was it.”

He sneered as he stoked the fire.

“Then that fat fuckin’ perv, Spud goddamn Patler, rolled in and ruined everything.”

The little man looked deep into Peter’s eyes and sincerely asked, “Would you be shocked if I told you one of Spud’s favorite pastimes is destroying other peoples’ relationships?”

“Not at all,” Peter groaned. “He’s not a good guy.”

“Well, he destroyed mine,” said Cooper. “He convinced Angela to leave me and become one of his porno-sluts. Just for a laugh!”

Nuri’s eyes were practically bugging out of her skull when she shot Peter a glance. But Cooper did not see it.

“And after Spud was all fucking done with her, he had her killed and had it covered up. Poof! Just like that. Now, I can’t prove he did it, but I know he did it. He destroyed the only thing I cared about in this world. So, I vowed to destroy the one thing he cares about: his precious lost volumes of the Appetitus Diabolis.”

Cooper smiled triumphantly into the fire.

He said, “Now, I really do appreciate you helping me achieve my dreams, guys, but you know I can’t have any loose ends…”

Then he patted his .38 Special with a somber smile on his fraudulent face and added, “So who wants to go first?”

“Me,” said Peter, “I’ll tell you how your ex died if you let the girls go.”

Cooper had not expected that.

He stammered, “H-how do you know—”

“Is it a deal?” Peter asked.

Cooper gulped.

“Yes,” he said.

Then he stood up, grabbed Nuri and shoved her out the door.

“One now, one after.” he said. “Proceed.”

Peter closed his eyes.

“I used to be in porn. I have a condition known as ‘hyperspermia’ that makes me produce ten times more semen than average. So cumshots were my big thing; used to glaze girls with a single load. That’s why they called me Drench. One day I was doing a scene with this cougar, and I must have zoned out because when it came time for the cumshot I forgot to take it out of her throat… and she drowned on my cum.”

Peter opened his eyes and looked directly into Cooper’s.

“It was your fiancé, Angela, but I knew her as Angy Ryder. It was an accident. Spud covered the whole thing up so I could live a half-way normal life. I quit the industry, found God, and haven’t cum since.”

He heard Cooper sobbing.

“I’m truly sorry,” said Peter.

The sobbing stopped. Cooper grabbed a surgical knife off Balthazaar’s desk, walked over to Seema, and stabbed her in the stomach.

He turned to Peter once again.

“I appreciate your honesty. Unfortunately, I must make you suffer now. First, I’ll kill your slutty friend, then I’ll let you watch this thing starve to death.”

Then he ran out the door after Nuri.

Nuri ran through the tall grass, the sounds of monstrous sex all around her. Cooper’s voice was getting closer and closer no matter how hard she pumped her legs. If she did miraculously make it out of this alive, she swore that she would do more leg exercises instead of always focusing on perfecting her already perfect ass.

She was under the great opening high up in the rock. The moon felt like a spotlight keeping perfect pace with her. It did not help that she had no idea where she was going.

Approaching gunfire thrust her into a fresh burst of speed. Nuri looked back for an instant and slapped into something gargantuan and meaty. She yelped before she could cover her mouth and thought she heard footsteps accelerating behind her. Even so, she stood perfectly still.

The horizontal crack of a boofer’s gargantuan ass was directly in front of her. Nuri steadied her breathing as well as she could and stood frozen to the spot. After a few seconds she noticed the disgusting elephantine thing was not breathing. She walked around its body and saw its tongue lolling out of its mouth and the whites of its eyes. Bloody holes perforated its bulbous gut. Nuri could tell they had been made from the inside.

Bullet holes! This boofer must have swallowed up one of the mercs! And he must have tried to shoot his way out. On pure impulse, Nuri lifted one of the dead boofer’s ass cheeks and shoved her arm in all the way up to the shoulder.

This was so stupid, she told herself. She could not possibly expect this to work. She wondered if she should just crawl up the creature’s ass and hide there or just keep running. But where? Straight into the orgy death pile? She opted to keep digging.

Come on, come on, she begged.

The running footsteps got closer and closer and closer. Nuri could even see the top fronds of some tall grass giving way to a moving body.

“Come on!” she gasped aloud in frustration as she rooted and dug with her hand, clawing through what she could only assume was shit.

And then she felt metal.

“Yes!” she giggled.

Then she gripped the thing tight and yanked as hard as she could. Half of a long, shit-covered metal tube came sliding out of the boofer butt, along with a putrid stench and several post-mortem farts. Nuri retched but continued to pull. It was a bazooka! The merc must have used a pistol to try escaping when he could not budge this. But it would not budge another inch for her, either.

Cooper was about to breach the clearing.

Nuri found the trigger, which was just past the rectum, and put her finger on it.

At that exact moment, Cooper burst through the tall grass with a triumphant smile on his face and gun at the ready until he saw Nuri and frowned.

“Eat shit!” Nuri screamed as she pulled the trigger.

The shit-covered rocket launched out of the barrel and sped across the mere ten-foot space between the boofer and Cooper, who exploded into red mist and goop.

Cum oozed out of Seema. Her flesh had withered and sunk, revealing her bones under dusty epidermis.

“Hold on, Seema,” Peter croaked, “just hold on.”

A female voice called his name from somewhere out in the darkness.

“Drench?” it hollered.

“Yes!”

It was Nuri. She had picked up Cooper’s .38 Special and run down the path he trampled down. She found Peter lying next to Seema on the floor of the shack.

“She’s lost too much cum,” mumbled Peter, vacant-eyed, “She’s dying.”

Nuri shook her head.

“No,” she said, “I won’t let that happen. She saved our lives. We need to get her an emergency bukkake!”

“But how are we going to get back?”

“The sun should be up in an hour. They’ll be passed out from all that banging. We’ll walk right past them.”

The next morning, Peter, Nuri, and Seema re-emerged on the surface. Peter collapsed and dropped Seema as soon as they were outside the Queen Whore’s Orgasm.

“Membantu!” shouted Nuri, “Membantu! Membantu!”

The mercs stumbled into action, knocking over their coffee cups and poker cards. Nuri filled with rage. Some even still had shaving cream on their slack-jawed faces when they gathered around her.

“You fucking assholes!” she screeched. “We’ve been down there, for like, almost two days and you don’t send anyone to go look for us? Bajingan lo!”

Nuri told them none of that mattered right now because the girl at her feet needed cum immediately; her life depended on it! The mercs looked at each other and burst into confused laughter.

Nuri told them it was not a joke, but they still needed convincing, so she showed them Seema’s blowholes. Many of the man stepped back in disgust while others discovered something new about themselves. The latter contingent pulled out their cocks and began jacking off over the pale, white creature on the ground. When their more reticent compatriots saw this, they joined in as well.

One by one, they unloaded on Seema’s hungry flesh. Nuri took her top off and helped jack them off. As the line dwindled and Seema’s condition did not change for the better, it became apparent that more men would be necessary. Nuri ordered the men who had already finished to go and bring back all the lumberjacks from the nearest worksite as well as any villagers they could find, too. Seema needed all the seed she could get.

For the next hour, an endless procession of horny lumberjacks, confused villagers, and resilient mercs snaked through the jungle to cum on Seema. They came on her body and her face. She moaned weakly as her blowholes devoured every drop of semen.

It was still not enough. Every square inch of Seema’s body had been coated in cum and Nuri was helping rub it in to any spaces that had somehow remained dry, even flipping the fay cum-guzzler on her belly every so often to make sure her behind was not neglected. Seema’s mouth was filled with load after load till white goo cascaded over her lips and she had to swallow and begin again. Her pussy dripped with cum. Her blowholes snapped greedily for more. The only way she could possibly get more semen into her body was if they injected it intravenously but, unfortunately, no one had the necessary tools on hand.

Peter chewed his cuticles till they bled as he watched this futile effort. Every few loads or so Nuri would take a break from scooping jizz into Seema’s mouth and look at Peter beseechingly. She did not need to say anything for him to understand what she was thinking:

Only you can save her, Peter.

The words rolled around and around inside his skull, hitting that familiar lever in his tear ducts over and over again. He knew they were true. He was Seema’s only hope.

Nuri looked up at him again. Her eyes said:

Do it, Drench. You were born for this.

The men were clearly worn out. Even stroking in shifts was becoming impossible. They were all out of juice and the skin of their deflated cocks was bloody raw. Seema’s skin, despite being bombarded with loads for the past hour, was also dangerously dry. Her raspy wheezing between mouthfuls was faint. The little blowholes that covered her epidermis rapidly opened and puckered over and over. She would die if she did not get a lot more cum right then and there.

Peter did not make a conscious decision. His legs simply started walking towards Seema. The exhausted load-givers made way for him; some even collapsed in relief. As he moved closer to the glazed, white body crumpled on the ground, he undid his belt and let his cargo shorts fall. He winced as the soles of his feet stepped in the cum that oozed out like a big gooey carpet around Seema. Then he let his boxers fall, too. He held up his palms and looked once more into the four eyes of his Lord and Savior.

I’m so sorry, Jesus.

Then, as soon as he stood directly over Seema, he began stroking his cock.

The world shrunk. There was only Seema and Peter, her moans as she lay dying and his grunts as he tried with all his might to get it up. Seema’s face looked like a melted candle, but he wondered if she could somehow see him through those thick white globs on her eyes or hear him through the sticky puddles in her ears. He hoped not. He did not want her to see his limp cock. He berated himself:

Why won’t you get hard, fucker?

His balls had not been drained in over five years, they should have exploded at the mere suggestion of unloading! But there was too much pressure, too much guilt, and too much on the line. Plus, that old fear still lingered: what if he killed her? What if his load was the one that drowned her like Angela? He tried to tell himself this was different because Seema was literally designed to take cum, but it did not help. He could not get over the hump in his mind.

So Peter closed his eyes and prayed,

Help me, Jesus, help me, please!

Then suddenly, miraculously, he felt a hand grip the base of his cock and then another begin to stroke the shaft.

Peter gasped.

“Is that you, Jesus?” he said aloud.

Yet when he looked down, he did not see the resplendent face of Jesus Christ, but the slutty bedroom eyes of Nuri Nasty.

“Hah! I knew you preferred guys,” she said with a wink and a smile.

Peter could not help but laugh as Nuri made a wet gurgling sound and hocked a fat wad of spit on the head of his cock. One hand rubbed the saliva up and down the shaft while the other squeezed the base tightly.

It worked! He felt himself get hard as iron as Nuri squeezed and tugged on his balls. When he was completely hard, she throated all eight inches of his cock in under two seconds. Then she looked up at him with her big, blue eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gagged and choked.

After a few moments she backed up and gasped when the python flopped out of her mouth trailing strings of saliva and pre-cum from its tip to her lips.

“Holy fuck,” said Peter. “Just like old times, huh?”

Nuri chuckled as she gargled his balls. She popped them out and slid her tongue up and down his shaft, then she slapped it on her face six times before taking the whole thing into her warm mouth once more, moaning all the while. Peter moaned, too.

Suddenly Seema moaned as well, not in pleasure but in pain. Nuri stopped sucking Peter’s cock and frantically rubbed it on her pieced nipples.

“We’re too late!” she cried, still gasping for air.

“Like hell we are!” shouted Peter.

He grabbed Nuri by her braids, shoved his cock all the way down her throat again, then proceeded to fuck her face like a jackhammer. The world shrank again. Peter began to feel his load surging up from somewhere deep inside. He ripped his cock out of Nuri’s throat and furiously stroked the shaft, ushering his cum to face the light of day. Nuri, still coughing, fell to her knees and held Seema’s head forward to face Peter.

Finally, after five long and painful years, he unleashed his load.

Thick, white ropes of glistening spunk exploded all over Seema, bruising her flesh upon impact. Nuri held the fading creature’s mouth open and scooped handfuls of syrupy cum into it. Peter lost all sensation in every part of his body except his cock. He roared like a grizzly bear even after the last few drops had sputtered out of him. Then he fell, emptied and euphoric, to the cum-covered earth.

As soon as Peter regained consciousness, a very alive and breathing Seema peppered his face with kisses. He could not help but notice how smooth her alabaster skin felt against his own.

Spud landed in Borneo two days later in a private jet that sparkled like a giant, gold vibrator. Nuri and Peter smiled to see Spud come rolling down the ramp in his diamond-encrusted wheelchair, wearing a wide-brimmed safari hat and tan suit with a blanket over his legs and a busty, milf nurse pushing the chair.

“So, was I right, boy?” he asked Peter. “Were there any other journals?”

“Yes. Dozens,” said Peter, “But I’m afraid Cooper burned them all . . .”

Spud looked down, almost like he was going to cry.

“. . . Except one,” said Peter with a grin.

He handed Spud a badly singed leatherbound volume.