Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse - Gischler Victor - Страница 19

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Ruth.

Mortimer was suddenly angry. Sweet, naive Ruth shouldn’t be made to sex up a stranger in front of an audience of nutballs. To hell with these women and their wacko society. Ruth didn’t know any better. She could only have been a little girl of nine or ten when the world went boom. She didn’t know how men and women lived.

Still, if it had to happen…well, Ruth would be best. She was shy and innocent and gentle. Under other circumstances it would even be pleasurable.

Ruth stepped aside and ushered in a woman with the biggest ass Mortimer had ever seen. Fat flat lips that looked like they were pushed up against a window. She had short black hair and many chins.

Oh, shit.

Mortimer arched his back, pulled at his restraints until they dug too painfully into his wrists. No use.

He felt the transvestite’s hot breath on his ear again. “You’re not going anywhere until you put out, lover boy. Now get some lead in that pencil.”

The corpulent brood mare approached the table and dropped her white robe. Naked beneath, a wide, thick torso, a thick thatch of hair in each armpit. A big mole at the corner of her mouth sat there like a lost kidney bean. She climbed on the table, hovered over Mortimer.

“Wait,” Mortimer said. “This isn’t a good idea. You don’t want my seed. I have bad DNA.”

She grabbed his cock too roughly and Mortimer winced. The mix of sweat and love juice radiated from her, smacked Mortimer in the face. He had never been more uninterested in sex, hung limp in the woman’s fist.

She looked in confusion at the transvestite. “Mother? He’s not ready to put the seed in me.”

“Get him hard like I showed you,” Mother said.

She nodded, started yanking Mortimer’s prick with hard, sharp jerks.

Mortimer winced, shut his eyes tight and turned away. He opened his eyes briefly and saw Ruth watching, horror and fascination at odds on her childlike face.

“That hurts,” Mortimer said. “For God’s sake, you’re bruising the shit out of me.”

“Stop,” said Mother.

The breeder ceased her sadistic jerk job on Mortimer’s pecker. He sighed relief.

“Clear the operating theater,” Mother said. “His body hasn’t recovered from the stun blast.”

Muttering among the women. They began to file out.

The ogre on top of him slumped in disappointment, slid off him and grabbed her robe. Soon only Mother Lola and Mortimer remained. Mother paced around the operating table, her high-heeled boots echoing off the sterile tile, pouring derision onto him with a vicious expression.

“If you know what’s good for you,” the transvestite said, “you’ll get Mr. Johnson into the ballgame. You take my meaning?”

“I’m not used to doing it as a spectator sport.”

“Tough shit,” said Mother Lola. “You think I’m doing it this way for perverse jollies?”

“Seems like it.”

Mother Lola shrugged. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s more important they all see. This is a very special group of people with special needs. You think it’s easy leading them?” He snorted. “Fat chance. I know you’d rather have privacy, but we can’t have a few privileged breeders while everyone else is left out in the cold. That’s the perfect way to foster discontent. No, they must all be involved, even if it’s only as spectators for many. That’s the sort of unity that keeps our society together. Unity keeps us strong.”

“I thought it was fear,” Mortimer said. “Fear of the world outside the front door of this hospital. What lies have you told them to make them so terrified to leave? That’s how you stay in control, right?”

“And what of the cannibals? Are they a lie?”

Mortimer’s eyes grew wide.

Mother Lola nodded, chuckled softly. “You think I don’t know? I don’t need to make up fairy stories to keep my girls in line. The truth is devil enough.”

“It’s still a lie,” Mortimer said. “Acting as if they have no choice is a lie.”

“They are children and need leadership. But all of this…” She shook her head and tsked. “All this talk is of no concern to you. Your function here is biological, not philosophical.”

“It might be a little easier to make with the semen if the first one up to bat wasn’t some slobbering hog.”

“Yes, I’d forgotten how important arousal is to the process for you men. It’s not enough to know you’re creating a new life. It’s all about getting your rocks off, isn’t it? Fine. If that’s what it takes.” Mother Lola slipped the black dress slowly off one shoulder, then the other.

Ohhhhhhhh no no no…

Mother Lola let the dress drop, stood naked, arching her back in an unfortunate pose.

“Uh, listen,” Mortimer said, a slight tremor of panic in his voice. “You don’t want the other girls to think you’re getting special privileges, remember?”

“They don’t need to know. It’ll be our special moment.”

Mortimer tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t help it. He looked. What he saw made his stomach churn.

Mother Lola was not a transvestite. The oversize breasts were obscenely tight and perky compared to the sagging flesh on the rest of the body. Clearly the work of a surgeon with more ambition than skill. A hairy crater like some abomination against anatomy itself sat where there should have been balls and a schlong.

Mother Lola moved closer, her sweat and musk filling the operating theater.

He/she put a loving hand on Mortimer’s flat stomach, caressed downward.

“Listen,” Mortimer said, his nerves making his voice an embarrassingly high squeak. “I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you bring the other woman back? I’m pretty sure I can fill her up with seed. Seriously, let’s get her back in here.”

“Don’t be shy,” Mother Lola said. “I know you want it.” She brought her fingers to rest in Mortimer’s pubic hair, curled it playfully around her pinkie. She bent in low for a kiss, her breath like greasy meat.

Mortimer convulsed and vomited.

Mother Lola screeched and flung herself backward, the puke barely missing her as it splattered the operating table and floor, running down Mortimer’s chin and chest.

“Asshole,” spat Mother Lola. “You wouldn’t know true beauty if it bit you on the ass. I would have rocked your world.” She grabbed her dress, shimmied back into it, thrust her arms into the sleeves. “Ruth!” she yelled.

Fast footfalls in the hall, the door pushed open quickly. “Mother?”

“Ruth, clean this animal up.” She bent over him, brought her face to within an inch of Mortimer’s. “And you’d better be ready to perform this time,” she growled. “Otherwise you’re no good to anybody.” She turned back to Ruth. “He’s got an hour to rest.” She stalked out of the theater.

Mortimer felt a cool, wet towel on his forehead, looked up into Ruth’s concerned eyes. She dabbed at the puke on his chin, wiped his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Mother Lola is only trying to keep the society safe and strong.”

“Mother Lola is insane. She’s not even a she.”

“She-Mother Lola-she says if you finish with Mona-”

“Who’s Mona?”

“The woman who tried to-she was on top of you before-”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Mother Lola says if you finish with Mona, that I could be, maybe after, I mean…” She wouldn’t meet Mortimer’s eyes, went pink in the cheeks. “I’ve read a book from the hospital library on how to pleasure a man.” The pink went to deep red.

“You’ve got to listen to me, Ruth. This isn’t right. You have to see that keeping me like this is wrong. Unshackle me. Please. You’ve got to show me the way out of here.”

“I don’t think…If Mother Lola…” She bit her bottom lip, shook her head.

Mortimer sighed, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “How old were you when you came to Saint Sebastian’s, Ruth?”

“Nine.”

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t talk to anyone. I was withdrawn.”

“What happened?”

“I saw my parents burn to death in a fire.”

“You’re talking now. You seem okay.”

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