NaNoWriMo 2017 : Chapter 1

(AUTHOR’S WARNING : The following book will periodically be entirely pornographic.  And I am not talking “naughty” or “suggestive” or “ribald” type pornographic. I am talking pure hardcore pornography that is completely explicit down to the last detail and which holds absolutely nothing back. Consider the sample in this chapter to be an introductory course. It will only become filthier as we go. )

Erik couldn’t tell if he was excited or frightened out of his wits.

I’ve done this before, he told himself. I’ve done it four times, in fact. So why be nervous? The Hall of the Fifty Thousand should feel like home by now, not make him so scared/excited/nauseous/slightly aroused that he felt like he was going to vibrate right out of his body and end up the most embarrassed person on the astral plane.

No, he sternly told himself. That won’t happen. Not again.

Deep down, he knew why he was so – what did his psychcomp call it – oh yes, “agitated”. It was because this time, he was going in without any safety net. He had no plan, no fallback position, no escape route.

This time, he was going to trust in his instincts and do whatever seemed like a good idea at the time. For real this time.

For a person so tightly wound that he organized his underwear by thickness of fabric, this was an extraordinary leap of faith.

But it was something he had to do. It was the only way he would escape the demonic curse he had been living under since he was a child. That curse used his anal tendencies (and his fussiness) to torment him, and it would only be by smashing those chains of compulsion with maximum force that he would be able to rid himself of the curse and be able to live something like a normal life.

Resolve steeled, he opened the intricately carved door to the Hall of the Fifty Thousand, and purposefully strode inside to whatever fate had in store for him.

But he couldn’t entirely avoid cringing a little as he did.


Meanwhile, on the Astral Plane, an orgy was in full swing.

This was not a rare occurrence, especially not at Mother Mayhem’s palace. Everyone who was anyone in the Crystal Valley, and especially the residents of Long Stride Road, knew that Mother Mayhem’s orgies were the absolute tops. Somehow, her orgies were always the most stimulating, the most pleasurable, the most entertaining, and the most lewd of any of the regular orgy hosts.

And in Crystal Valley, that was saying something.

This one’s theme was Fallen From Heaven, and she was quite pleased to see all the temporary angels and devils doing biblically mind-boggling thins with one another and luxuriated in the glow of all the simple innocent joy around her like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam on a drowsy summer day.

To her way of thinking, consensual sex was always innocent. It was people’s minds that were dirty. And she was just the one to give them a good scrub.

She wandered languidly over to one of the many Voyeur Mirrors around her castle and peeked into a few of the most populated rooms, her eyes running over the fleshscape of thrusting flesh and happy orifices with a professional eye.

Arranging this sort of thing was so much simpler here. When she was corporeal, this sort of thing entailed a lot of tedious details like making there’s enough lubricant for all, stocking the Viagara dispensers, and making sure everyone was “playing safe” so that STDs did not have a chance to spread through her rather intimate little community.

None of that mattered here. Everyone was always as well oiled, erect, and disease free as they wanted to be. It was, she often said, the perfect way to fuck.

Astral sex was, perforce, a bit of a mindfuck, and lust took another form when it no longer had glands to stimulate it. But the pleasure remained the same, and so the spirits in attendance – both the visitors to the Astral Plane and the permanent residents like herself – got almost the same experience as they did in fleshly form, and without any bodily limitations holding them back.

Mother Mayhem suddenly became aware that her penis was quite erect and poking into the farbric of her dress like a fish nosing about for food. She smiled. Some of the spirits in attendance actually thought that Mother Mayhem somehow remained aloof from all the goings on in her castle, and thought the only way she “got off” was by helping others to do it.

These spirits were, of course, idiots.

She had her fun just the same as anyone else.  She just did it discreetly. Not that she was hiding anything – to do so would have been anathema to her.

She just liked to get her jollies someplace quiet and comfortable and without interruptions. And that had been true ever since she was a little boy.

Mother Mayhem contemplated masturbating, or gliding off to find three or four of her favorite playmates, and was sorely tempted.

But she was expecting a visitor, and he was rather shy about the whole sex thing, so she kepts her cock in her frock and made due with a discreet humping into the deliciously soft fabric of her dress.

There would be plenty of time for other kinds of fun later on.

At long last, the dainty doorbell to her personal quarters rang, and a very nervous (and excitede?) black-haired young man entered the room.

Mother Mayhem smiled at the young man, and her smile was a whole summer’s worth of sunshine filtered through a mother’s love for her favorite child.

“Hello Erik!” she said, ” I’m so glad you could make it. ”


At the same time, in the decidedly unsexy headquarters of the Seventh Fleet of the Killing People And Taking Their Stuff Army of the much-feared Don’t Mess With Us, We’ll Kill You And Take your Stuff Empire, Top Murder Coordinator Hermes Persephony Mudgargler was starting to worry about his headaches.

They were coming more frequently now, and the blackouts that came with them were getting longer and harder to recover from.  That was the exact kind of thing that the regulations said to immediately report to Soldier Repair.

But that would mean immediate removal from active duty, and while, as a loyal Murderer, he had absolutely no preference as to what happened to him ever, there had arisen a complicating factor.

Namely that lately, every time he blacked out, he woke up to people pounding him on the shoulder and telling him what an amazing Murderer he was and that he was getting a promotion for the Murder Spree he’d just completed.

Two weeks ago, he’d been a lowly Pillager, just another grunt in a sea of genetically identical grunts, suitable for nothing more than Taking Their Stuff.

He wasn’t even allowed to rough Them up a little.

But then the blackouts got worse, and the promotions kept coming, and now he was a Top Murder Coordinator with the highly prestigious Seventh Fleet, and already they were talking about making him a Junior in the most elite, most selective, and above all the most murderous of all Murder postings : the Genocide Squad.

He’d dreamed of being part of the Genocide Squad every since he was a seedling sprouting in the soil of a War Nursery on Dead Planet #487723. But it was all happening so fast that he was afraid that the next promotion would be his last because that’s when they would surely figure out that he was a fraud and that “somone else” who was far more competent and confident than he had ever been that was really the hero.

To be honest, all he really wanted right now was to go home to his family and relax with them by murdering some of their most hilarious captives.

But it seemed like fate had other things in store for him.

His finger hovered over the button that would summon a Living Tissue Engineer to whom he could confess his problem.

But all he could see coming from that would be his rapid slaying and dissection so that the scientists over at Murder Techniques could figure out what was wrong with their “perfect” cloning process that made a dangerous defective like himself even possible.

And for some reason, that idea…. bothered him. He didn’t want that to happen for some reason. It went against everything he believed in as a Murderer, but he really didn’t want to die just yet.

And so, with guilt in his heart, he decided to live.


“Hello, Mother. ” said Erik. Then just stood there.

Mother Mayhem struggled to remember how the living interacted. She was sure it was her turn to speak now, but she had no idea what to say. Finally it came to her.

“Come in and sit down, Erik!”

“Um… ” said Erik as he glanced around the room.

Mother Mayhem looked over her familiar belongings and accountrements, and realized, with a bit of a start, that there was not a non-erotic piece of furniture in the entire room. Everything designed to be sat upon required the insertion of at least one thing into an orifice, and some required so many points of contact that they would require a whole regiment of very flexible soldiers to fully engage.

“Oh, I am so sorry. ” said Mother Mayhem embarrassedly. “I keep forgetting that you have never been here before. ”

“It’s okay. ” said Erik, looking a little ill. “It’s not like I actually object to… to this place. Whatever people want to do with their bodies is fine with me. It’s just… ”

“…a little bit overwhelming? And by ‘a bit’ we mean ‘completely and totally?'”

Erik nodded sheepishly, relieved.

“Well don’t fret too much about that, darling. It’s my fault for not agreeing to meet you somewhere more…shall we say… neutral?”

Then, before Erik could stammer a reply, she said “Well that’s all behind us now. It’s high time we set out on our little journey. I promise you, Erik, that this one will be nothing like any of the trips we have taken before. ”

“Oh? ” said Erik. ” And why is that?

“Because, my dearest Erik, this time it will be you who guiding me. ”

Then. on seeing a look of total panic spreading over Erik’s face, Mother Mayhem gathered Erik into a big warm hug.

“Don’t worry, dear Erik. Mama will be there to keep you safe. And you know there’s nothing scarier out there than your mean old Mama when she’s upset, right? ”

Erik laughed, and nodded, and tried to ignore how acutely aware he was of how Mother Mayhem’s breasts felt against his chest… and how her cock felt poking against his hip.

And that was, of course, exactly how Mother Mayhem wanted it.


Meanwhile, on a lonely asteroid in a lonely star system in a lonely galaxy in one of the loneliest galatic clusters in the whole Universe, Robot 5%12H^46^66^^”Barnacled Hermit”–*–**- monitored for signals. And thought.

That’s all the Hermit ever did. It was what he was programmed to do. He was a Long Rangle Tactical Monitoring unit, built to formulate effective problem solving strategies based on the signals he recieved, thus allowing for dyanamic and nimble responses to ongoing situations before they developed into more serious issues.

But the signals never came. All he ever received was the solar energy he needed to continue to operate, and even that was barely adequate to the task.

He wondered why he had been stationed so far from his system’s star. He worried that he would never get any signals. The longer the silence continued, the more sure he was that he had been abandoned and forgotten by his creators and left here to suffer due to their negligence, or cruelty, or both.

No matter what, it was quite clear to the Hermit that nobody cared what happened to him and that he must be the least important robot im the Universe.

He could not have been more wrong.







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