A quest for the fuck to end all fucks.
“Let go.” I hear the words – and yet I don’t. “Let go. Let go. Let go.” With each thrust, those words, increasing in urgency as the intensity builds. But I barely hear them. My own moans fill my head. Moans… pained groans. I ache, deliciously. And my mind drifts… back over all the conversations that led me here…
“Surrender”, He said, “you have to learn to surrender. You, who you think you are and what you think you feel, none of it’s real. The world, it’s not real. What’s up here…” He tapped my temple with his finger, “…is not real. Nothing is real. Until you learn to let it all go, stop listening to all the static, you’ll never really get it.” I have no idea what he means by ‘get it’. But he’s so compelling when he talks… I get lost in him.
He tells me I have to give up my sense of self. Relax, breathe deeply, stop thinking. Listen. Feel. Meditation – I don’t get it. I can’t shut down, filter out the thoughts. Always, just as I start to slide away, inane nonsense comes into my head – the coffee I forgot to buy, the bookshelves that could really do with a dust, that phone call I should have made. It all feels very real, very important. And then there’s my body. That feels very real too. “Your body is you, but it’s not YOU.” I don’t know what that means either. But every time I try to do what he says – detach myself and let go of my sense of ‘self’, there’s that itch that won’t go away. My hair tickles my nose. Or I get cramp.
Back in the here and now, arms slide under my arms, lifting my body. Someone eases in behind me as hands smother my breasts. Sharp pinches and twists of my nipples make me cry out, produce an answering gush of wetness, one mouth crying to another. And I’m here and I’m here, and it’s so very real!
“Let go!” Almost frantic, that voice now. Gruff. But not pleading. Demanding. I wonder how I can let go with so much going on. The cock that pounds inside of me, wetness on my thighs and hands everywhere. There’s hot breath on my neck, and a hardness pressing between my buttocks. A guiding hand, a probing finger, curled, into my anus. Fingers slide inside my mouth. Sticky fingers, slick with fluids. Whose are they? The fingers, the juices? My head is back, resting on a shoulder. My back arched, and those hands at my breasts aren’t squeezing now, they’re slapping. Tender flesh, red from the hours of abuse I invited, stings. Lifting, swaying. Tears well in my eyes and my mouth gapes in silent sobs. Exhausted. I’ve had orgasm after orgasm.
I open my eyes, but they sting from all the smoke and the incense filling the room. It’s hot, so hot. The air is thick and heavy, burning my lungs with each breath. My body is wet with sweat and oil so that I slip and slide over the chest behind me, the chest in front. Strong hands hold me, grip me, push and pull me… tugging me onto this cock, hips crashing as he thrusts forwards, then pushing me onto that cock, bone grinding into the soft cushion of my rear. I’m full. So full I think I’ll burst.
Despite the candles, it’s still dim. Shadows thrown onto the walls in a grotesque puppet show of body on body on body. Writhing, limbs everywhere, heads dipping, buttocks rising. I don’t know who’s here, or how many, or who it is that’s fucking me. I close my eyes and try to concentrate. Or not concentrate. Concentrate on letting go.
“The greatest fuck of your life… the fuck to end all fucks.” His voice, soft and crooning in my ear. It’s just me and him, Sunday afternoon, bodies damp and breathing heavily. Spent. He traces a finger through the moisture on my breasts, circling my nipple, runs a hand through my red tresses that he loves so much. “It’d blow your mind…” He knows just what to say to get my heart racing!
We met at a club. Some hot and seedy venue where my feet stuck to the floor. I was off my tits, off course. Dancing. He was watching. I performed for him – I love an audience. And then he followed me to the toilets. An uncomfortable screw in a cubicle against the door. But it was so good – even the stink of piss and vomit didn’t spoil it. He could have been one in a long line of meaningless one night stands. But even from such humble beginnings I knew he was different. He took me home and we didn’t come up for air until I left for work on Monday morning. Hair greasy, still smelling of him. But I didn’t care. I was proud to be covered in his scent.
I told him everything. Each and every sordid encounter I had ever had – well, every encounter I could still remember. I don’t doubt I’ve forgotten a fair few. Ten years worth of shagging anyone and everyone who showed the slightest interest. Starting with Mr Wills when I was sweet sixteen, white knickers round my ankles, bent over the desk with the door locked and the blinds closed at lunchtimes, his hand over my mouth to stifle my delighted moans. Kelly’s brother and then Rachel’s dad. Countless others. I used to let the boys from the grammar school feel me up in the alleyway behind the shop. A flash of stockings to the bouncers to get into the local nightspot when I was still underage. Sucking cock after cock in the back seat of many a Ford Ka at the Lookout. And then there was uni. I worked my way round the halls with an almost systematic efficiency. Never had a job where I didn’t fuck one of my colleagues within the first month.
None of them ever amounted to anything. None of them ever sated me. I always wanted more. Always found myself afterwards thinking, was that it? Oh, it’s not like I never came. I did! It just never seemed to hit the spot.
So I took it a step further. Riding crops and ropes. Fetish clubs at first – never really caring who hit me, so long as it was hard and left a nice set of bruises. But even that novelty wore off eventually. I started meeting men online, one night stands with perfect strangers. Anything that got my heart racing and brought on The Fear. But you’d be amazed at how quickly you get blasé about even the most reckless of encounters.
But then there was Him. The only one who ever got my full attention. Left me sated. Oh, I always wanted more. But more of Him. No matter how deep he fucked me, no matter how hard he beat me… I always want more from his hands, his lips.
“The fuck to end all fucks.” And that’s how I wound up here. On my knees, cock in each hole and a third pressing against my lips, into my mouth, my throat. Choking me. Hands all over, stroking, pinching, probing.
Magick. I would have laughed at such an idea before I met him. I’d always been a little seduced by the occult – the rituals, the dark undertones of sex and perversion. Though I never really believed it. But now, I’ve seen him. The way he seems to become a different person. He gets inside my head. It’s real. I know it’s real. He told me about Babylon. His Goddess. The Scarlet Woman. The sacred whore. She who would receive anyone and refuse no one. He said I was His divine whore. In me, he said, he could see the vessel he had been waiting for. The conduit through which he would connect to his Goddess.
Scoff, if you will…. you haven’t heard him talk. And you haven’t felt his hand upon the back of your neck. Electric.
This orgy, the incense, the fucking, the beating, this is all part of the ritual. I just need to let go, let go of my sense of self. Let go of my thoughts, let go of my body… and let her… flow through me. Tonight, I am the sacrificial lamb.
For hours now I have been fucked. One after another they have descended upon me and taken me. Interspersed with beatings, designed, I suppose, to weaken my will. My thighs ache and I am wet, wet, wet. I can barely feel the hands any more. Can barely taste the cock that chokes me.
Whoever it is that stands over me suddenly withdraws, steps away. I’m left with a dribble of saliva on my chin. Salty come on my lips. The one in front withdraws, hands beneath my arms, around my back. I’m lifted. I whimper, breath catching in my throat as the fat cock stuffed in my rear is tugged free. So exhausted, I’m limp, head lolling as I am carried across the room. Unaware of where I am settled, of who it is that holds me upright. Relieved the pounding has stopped. About ready to just… fall… asleep….
CRACK!
The slap to my face snaps my head to the side and a burst of white light clouds my vision, eyes suddenly open. I’m back. Back in my body. Alert. Aware. It’s real again. No slipping away!
CRACK!
In quick succession, a slap to the other cheek. It stings! I can’t breathe.
“What’s your name?”
Takes me a moment of confusion before I realise the question is directed at me. I mumble my name, but before I’ve finished uttering it another slap comes to my already stinging cheeks.
“What’s your name?”
Again, the question. Once more, I answer, and another numbing slap follows. Ringing in my ears. My vision clears long enough to see a crowd of faces gazing at me through the gloom. Men and women, all expectant. A dozen of them, perhaps. And Him. It’s him that slaps me now, demanding my name in that strong voice that’s his, but isn’t his.
Over and over he asks me, my neck hurting as my head snaps back and forth. Closer to me he comes, I see but I don’t see his cock in his hand, guided towards my gaping hole. My thighs spreading to greet him. I feel but I don’t feel as he presses inside of me, starts fucking me hard, driving deeper and deeper with each thrust. Holding himself on his knees, one hand to the small of my back, another body pressing in behind me, keeping me upright. And still the question, still he slaps my face.
“What’s your name? What’s your name? What’s your name?”
When the second cock slides back into my aching arsehole, it’s just too much. I can’t hold onto reality any more. It hurts. I hurt. Tired… so tired. Pulled this way and that, cheeks stinging, breasts heaving. The intensity of it all! I can’t begin to describe! There’s a finger rubbing at my clit. Don’t know whose. I try to squirm away, but where can I go? Forwards onto that thrusting cock? Or drive back down onto the other? I can barely breathe. Over sensitive, my body is now from hours of lust. The merest of touches send shivers through me – and these are no mere touches! Hard, sure. I feel everything and nothing at once.
Voices demanding of me my name… not just his, but all of them. But other noises too. Groans. Moans. Are they fucking as well? Can’t open my eyes to see any more. I let go. Just… let go.
Never knew it was simple. But I’m floating now as the waves of orgasm wash over me, not a thought in my head and blinding white light in my eyes. Can’t hear the room any more. Just one voice, crying out.
“Babylon!”
Over and over that voice, that name:
“Babylon! Babylon! Babylon!”
And I know. I know with a certainty that I have never known before. That it’s my voice. And I speak the truth. I am she. She is me. And we are one….
The fuck to end all fucks.
