Such a short story

The air was saturated with the scent of burning wood. Two small figures moved slowly along the edge of a dirt road, occasionally overgrown with primitive vegetation. Green hills loomed in the distance, naturally obscuring the horizon. The sun was slowly setting. Dusk was approaching.

Netkinson sat comfortably in his armchair, smoking a huge, stinking cigar. He stared curiously at the television screen. "Shitty game," he thought, flicking the ash into a bowl that had recently held salty sticks. "

These fucking assholes will eventually be relegated to the second division," he said under his breath. He didn't hide his anger. He had been a longtime Devils fan and couldn't remember a season this poor. He wanted his team to win. He celebrated every successful ball. He shouted orders as if he were their coach. In short, he was obsessed with the Devils.

And suddenly, for weeks, his team had been losing match after match. She was losing points at an alarming rate, inexorably falling further and further down the list.

Netkinson reached for the remote. With great distaste, he turned off the television.

Terry was shopping in the store. Her slender body moved gracefully between the aisles filled with colorful merchandise. The owner behind the counter, lustfully observing the plump breasts hidden beneath a not-so-tight sweater.

"Nice job," he thought, lowering his gaze to her long, shapely legs wrapped in tight sweatpants. He felt his dormant masculinity awakening with each passing second.

Terry paused for a moment beside the shelves lined with glossy women's magazines. She enjoyed reading made-up stories about abandoned wives, betrayed lovers, and the sexual misadventures of celebrities.

She had no husband or friend. She led a lonely life. Her close circle consisted of her mother, who lived far to the north of the country, a dog with whom she shared her daily worries, and the characters of made-up stories from cheap women's magazines.

Recently, however, she found herself increasingly enjoying watching late-night erotic shows. Until then, she'd only known that men were aroused by the sight of naked couples making love.

About a month ago, while accidentally watching the late-night show "69," she noticed a sudden surge of desire. She stared at the television screen as if hypnotized. Only after a moment did she discover her hand in her panties. From then on, her obsession with erotic spectacles became a pleasant complement to her otherwise dull life.

Standing before shelves of glossy women's magazines, Terry glanced at the shelf next to her. She lacked the courage to officially express her interest in erotic magazines. But something she couldn't identify compelled her to buy her first erotic magazine.

Her heart pounded mercilessly, giving the impression that it would burst from her body at any moment, destroying her breasts along the way and spraying blood everywhere. Her hands became clammy, and her gaze was riveted to one of the covers. She knew the owner behind the counter was watching her every move, and that added spice to the whole situation.

Not today, she thought, I'll come back when I'm braver.

She walked briskly to the door, only to find herself on a street shrouded in darkness.

The two small creatures had finally reached their destination. They slowly descended into the tunnel, lighting their way with small flashlights.

"Alright, we're here," the first one growled through her teeth, standing before an oak door with a metal knocker.

"Finally, we'll begin work," the second echoed, striking the metal knocker three times.

The oak door opened with a slight creak to the underground chamber. The two creatures entered.

Netkinson stepped out onto the street. He was furious. How could they do this to me? he thought. How could they lose another game? He craved a drink, a good, big one. He didn't see the people passing by, the vehicles passing by, the gathering dusk. The echoing of the announcer's words grew louder in his head with each passing second: "Another defeat for the Devils, ladies and gentlemen. Everything points to them not being able to make up for the points they lost. No one knows what's actually happening. Defeat, DEFEAT, DEFEAT AAAAAAAA."

He finally reached the bar. He ordered a large vodka and a pack of cigarettes. He only smoked cigars at home, and especially during games. He drank and lit a cigarette. He felt the vodka slowly spreading through his system. Taking a drag, he scanned the room and the faces of the people sitting at the tables. No friends, he thought, and ordered another round.

"Hi Max," Terry said to the little dog, taking off her shoes and hanging her purse on the coat rack. "I'm here, honey. You won't have to wait forever." She stroked and cuddled his velvety face to her chest. She liked her dog. She knew he loved her more than anything, and that made her feel less lonely. On the television, the weather forecast was being announced, his teeth grinning sheepishly. Terry sat in her armchair, sipping a cold beer, waiting for the midnight movie. They were supposed to be showing "Fever of Passion," one of the stronger offerings from Magnum, a company specializing in so-called hard-core porn shows.

Terry still had plenty of time, so she decided to while away the time with a cold Old Beer.

She had already showered and fed Max, who was sleeping peacefully on the soft carpet.

She also remembered to dress appropriately, which had been a part of their nightly ritual for some time.

The clock above the bar steadily counted down the minutes. Netkinson was finishing his fourth round. He felt a slight sense of relaxation. The problems of the past few hours were slowly fading away. He was slowly regaining his zest for life. He knew he'd wake up in the morning with a massive hangover that would surely drive him crazy. He also knew that all the problems that had plagued him would return with a vengeance. But now he felt good, and he would give anything for the chance to stay like that forever. He lit another cigarette. A woman sitting alone by the window caught his eye. She had long blond hair that cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, its waters constantly pounding the rocky shore. She wore a white T-shirt, beneath which, he thought, she wore no bra. He wondered if she was married, but he couldn't see a wedding ring. Maybe she was waiting for someone, he thought, stubbing out his cigarette. Her face resembled—well, who did she resemble? He found himself unable to place who she reminded him of. He stared at her with growing curiosity. It felt as if everything else had suddenly vanished, time ceased to exist. There was only him and her. Two strangers waiting for their chance in line for the TV show "Blind Date."

Terry strolled around the apartment. The longed-for moment of entering the world of sensual pleasures was slowly approaching. In everyday life, she was a normal, quiet girl, diligently carrying out her duties as a gas inspector. She went from apartment to apartment, reading meters, and writing bills. Despite being in contact with practically everyone in her neighborhood, she spent most of her time at home after work. She had, of course, had several offers from men of all ages to have dinner with them, but she had never made one. She assumed that dinner was just an excuse to go to bed with someone. And so far, she hadn't had the courage to do that. Until recently, the mere thought of intercourse with a man gave her chills. She wasn't a lesbian. She considered sex the fulfillment of marriage. And she wasn't ready for that yet. Her mother always reminded her not to get involved in male-female affairs too early, because in her opinion, it would only bring trouble.

Terry was to marry only someone worthy of this honor, which meant someone wealthy—very wealthy.

And so, year after year, Terry, bombarded with her mother's commandments regarding sex education, slowly fell into an emotional void. She was to work honestly and spend her free time dutifully at home. And so she lived almost twenty-seven years. Almost, because she was exactly one month shy of her twenty-seventh birthday. Missed, because exactly one month ago, she had fallen asleep watching a television series. When she woke up, she noticed that the television was still on, and on the screen were six naked people making love in a very sophisticated way.

For some strange reason, she couldn't ignore it. She felt a strange sensation she'd never experienced before. For the first time, she felt arousal. And today, on her twenty-seventh birthday, she eagerly awaited the next film in her series of erotic encounters.

The room was enormous. Illuminated by hundreds of small lights, it gave the impression of a vast chamber stretching beneath the entire city.

Two small beings bravely strode forward.

"What do you think," the first asked, "did the new selection code work? What if we failed?

" "Don't squawk," the second replied, "the boss would give us a hard time. Everything will be clear in a moment. You can't be so pessimistic about an experiment. After all, it's our job. And the competition isn't strong enough. After all, we've always been better, that is, more cunning."

The measured shuffling echoed hollowly off the massive walls. Beyond him, there was complete silence.

"We're reaching the transmitter," the first woman croaked, placing her distorted hand on a lighted button hovering above the floor.

"Everything will be clear soon," the second woman croaked, staring at the control panel and its three-dimensional screen emerging before them.

The sound of gasps filled the room. On the television screen, four naked young people were passionately making out. Terry was aroused. She sat in an armchair, clad only in a velvet slip. She stroked her breast with her hand, and with the tip of her finger, she touched the hardened nipple. Her heart was pounding with incredible force. She felt a pleasant shiver of excitement spread through her entire body. She knew she had to do it sooner or later. But not yet. She had to stop herself; it felt so good. She slowly spread her legs. She felt her womanhood pulsing with incredible energy. In a moment, she would explode with powerful force. She would drown in infinite pleasure. The world would become nothing, and she would soar far into the expanse of boundless emptiness. If only for a moment, she would be one with God. She would feel the power of infinity. Slowly, her hand lowered. She felt the silk of her petticoat beneath her fingers, which with each passing second became more and more of an obstacle. Finally, she pulled it up. She knew the longed-for moment was approaching. The figures on the screen were becoming more and more daring. Terry felt a familiar lock of hair beneath her fingers. She was very close. A centimetre, maybe two, separated her from the desired bliss. Her breathing became more rapid. Her heart pounded like a powerful turbine. Intensifying contractions shook her body. She was so close. She pressed her entire hand against her womanhood. And suddenly, all the colours of the rainbow filled her mind. Her body, tense to the breaking point, slowly sank into the armchair. She was beyond reality, beyond time, in a world of eternal bliss.

"May I join you?" A slightly hoarse male voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"Oh, yes, you're welcome," she replied timidly, glancing at the portly man in a colorful sweatshirt with the word "Devils" written on it.

"May I introduce myself? Syd Netkinson, Diablo to her friends," the man replied, extending his hand toward the stranger.

"Ann Paterson, Annie to her friends," the woman replied, shaking the man's hand.

Netkinson sat down with unconcealed satisfaction. The woman seemed lonely, but he could be wrong. These days, you can't be sure of anything. You had to carefully assess the situation before making the right decision.

"I can buy you a drink; I'd love to have one myself in pleasant company," she asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

"I'd be happy to, if you'd be so kind," the woman replied, looking down at her long-empty glass. A Scotch with a dash of strawberry juice, please.

Netkinson walked over to the bar. The woman at the table watched him go. Handsome, she thought, lighting a cigarette. The smoke curled around her face like a snake around its prey. She found herself lost in the past again. She couldn't shake the memories that had haunted her for some time. She saw the apartment where she'd once stayed with her boyfriend. Sunny, spacious, and cozy. She thought she'd found what she considered most important in life—love and peace. It never occurred to her that something might be wrong, that the day would come when her whole world would collapse on her.

And yet, one day it did. When she returned from work, she found a situation she didn't know how to react. She'd found her boyfriend in bed with a whore. It was such an unsettling sight that she didn't know whether to scream or cry, stand or run. "Son of a bitch," she thought, gathering the most necessary things. She didn't try to talk. She didn't expect an explanation. After all, they weren't married. She simply left.

"Scotch with strawberry juice, please." The man's voice snapped her out of her thoughts again.

"Thanks," she replied with a faint smile.

Netkinson sat down. He kept wondering how to start a conversation, but nothing sensible came to mind. The alcohol was taking its toll. He was distracted. The only thing he was certain of was that he had to have her. He knew she wasn't wearing a bra, as he could see by the outline of her nipples protruding beneath her shirt. He felt his manhood awakening as he watched her mouth. He had to do something. He had to start a conversation.

"Ann…

" "Yes." She looked at him with an indecisive look. He saw it.

He felt like he might give in if he played this part of the game wisely. Zero was close.

"I wanted to ask you an indiscreet question. If you feel offended, I apologize in advance. I don't want to offend you. I don't have much experience with women, so...

" "Okay," she replied, "I'm not waiting for anyone here."

She felt a growing excitement. She hadn't had a man in a while. Nature was making its presence felt. She thought a little something would do her good. She was tired of being alone.

Netkinson slowly implemented his tactical plan.

"You see," he continued, "I don't have many friends here. I thought maybe nothing would happen if we got to know each other better. Loneliness can be depressing sometimes.

" "Oh yes," she sighed. "He's hitting on me," she thought, breathing deeply. Good God, someone has noticed me. I've been waiting for this for so long." She almost laughed.

"Maybe I could invite you over for a cup of tea or something stronger? I live around the corner."

He waited for an answer. He felt he was close to success. If only she'd gone with him, he'd have what he'd been waiting for. A pretty, shapely blonde in his bed. He could already see heaving breasts, smooth thighs, passionate lips. He was aroused. He waited for the right answer.

"I'd be delighted," she replied, looking him straight in the eye. She finished her drink.

He did the same. They stood and staggered out into the street. It was night.

The apartment was dimly lit. Netkinson quickly cleared the table of what was left after the game. Ann entered hesitantly, discreetly looking around. For a bachelor, she thought, it's quite nice here. She sat down on the couch. Netkinson went to the kitchen.

"Drink?" he called out. "Unfortunately, I don't have a strawberry jump."

"That's okay," she replied. "Scotch on the rocks will do."

After a moment, they sat together on the couch, sipping thoughtfully. Netkinson glanced at her fingers holding the glass. He slowly moved his gaze along her hand, finally meeting her eyes, clouded by the alcohol, beautiful blue eyes. He swallowed hard. His heart was pounding in his chest. He gently touched her cheek. She shuddered. A chill ran down her spine. She closed her eyes. Syd's hand slowly moved down her neck, settling gently on her shoulder. Ann trembled all over, gasping for air. Finally, his hand found its way under her shirt, finally encountering the desired goal of its journey – a firm, pleasantly soft female breast. Ann sighed deeply. His open, passionate lips beckoned for a kiss. She felt her partner's crotch with her hand. She felt its size and readiness for something wonderful. She unzipped it. A moment later, they lay locked in a loving embrace.

The tiny creatures sat comfortably in front of the three-dimensional screen, watching the events unfold.

"And yet, the new code proved a success," the first one croaked.

"Oh yes," the second drawled, "we just have to wait for the grand finale. This is going to be a blast. The boss will be pleased with this turn of events. We're going to have a well-deserved vacation. I'm already excited just thinking about it

. " "Yea

...

But he wouldn't fall for it. He wouldn't let her stay. He wouldn't give her money, he wouldn't let himself be taken advantage of.

Relax, he thought, relax. Had he used a condom? Damn it, had he used protection against sex with that whore? He couldn't remember. Damn it. How could he not remember that?

The sound of water from the bathroom stopped. So it was about to begin, he thought, sitting down in the armchair. He was naked. But that didn't bother him. After all, he was in his apartment.

Ann emerged from the bathroom dressed in Syd's bathrobe. She slowly entered the room, her gaze settling on the figure sitting in the armchair. She smiled slightly, carefully observing the naked man.

"Dear, would you like a little something?" she asked, amused.

She felt quite good, though she had to admit that what they had done that night had exceeded her wildest expectations.

"And what are you staring at?" she heard in reply. "Stop calling me 'teddy bear' and get me something to drink, I have a terrible headache."

Obediently, she went to the kitchen. She found a bottle of scotch and pondered for a moment. She didn't like the tone in which he spoke to her. She had imagined a morning with the man with whom she'd spent such a passionate night differently. Well, not everyone can handle a hangover calmly," she thought, carrying the bottle in one hand and the glasses in the other.

"Here," she said, handing the drink to Syd.

"Thanks," he replied, draining the glass. He smacked his lips, wincing slightly. The pain was relentless. "Damn it," he added . "Do I always have to suffer like this the next day?"

He poured himself another glass. He drank. He seemed to slowly return to reality.

"I'm sorry you're feeling unwell," she said, crouching down beside the chair where he was sitting. “Would Mr. Tough Guy like a few kisses?” she replied, stroking the man’s thighs with her fingers.

Her voice came from afar. Netkinson felt he had to do something. Otherwise, they would find themselves in bed again, and then she would dominate him completely. He was afraid of that. He couldn't allow another person to control his body, or worse, his mind. When he drank, he forgot the danger that lurked. He seemed to assume a different personality, a different shell, more resistant to external influences. He didn't so much forget the impending danger as feel invisible in this state. He could do whatever he wanted without too many consequences. Only when a hangover reminded him to abandon his protective shell did he realize he was once again exposed to public view. Then fear set in. Fear of hidden glances. Fear of an invisible force that wanted to capture him at all costs. Force him into obedience, into slave labor for an alien superior.

Ann didn't expect what was about to happen. She gently stroked the man's testicles, showering kisses over his swelling shaft. She enjoyed watching his member slowly swell. It gave her incredible joy. She felt that by doing so, she was bringing the other person to ecstasy. To a state beyond words. Therefore, what had happened struck her like a bolt from the blue. For a long moment, she couldn't quite comprehend what was happening to her. She felt excruciating pain on her face, the world spinning like a carousel at an amusement park. She couldn't catch her breath, choking.

She opened her eyes. The sight that met her wasn't very optimistic. A powerful man stood over her, a brass figurine in his hand. He was naked, and his member protruded, swollen, between his thighs. He didn't resemble a human being. More like a hideous demon, waiting to devour its victim. She had no strength to move. She couldn't utter a word. She was terrified. Netkinson stood lost in thought. His head was pounding. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a voice that seemed to be saying to him, "You finally got him, old man. He came disguised as a whore to take over your mind, to take over your body. But you recognized him. You struck first. You've scored a coveted point that brings you closer to victory. Go ahead, finish the job. Don't let him regain his strength."

Netkinson listened.

"Yes," he said, "I finally got you. You won't haunt me again. I'll teach you a lesson, once and for all."

He kicked the woman lying on the ground in the stomach. Ann cringed in pain. Another kick traveled to her face. She lost consciousness. Blood flowed from her nose like a torrent. Netkinson ripped off her robe. Grabbing her hands, he lifted the limp body from the floor and placed it on the table. He went to the kitchen. He pulled a rope from a drawer and returned it to her room. Ann slowly regained consciousness. The intense pain paralyzed her senses. After a moment, she realized she couldn't move her arms or legs. With great effort, she opened her eyes. The man standing next to her smiled strangely. He held a knife in his hand.

Netkinson looked at the woman's body with unconcealed satisfaction. It seemed so inconspicuous, so delicate. Who would have thought that the demon that had haunted him for so long lurked within? He looked at her rapidly heaving breasts, her slender belly, and her womb—caverns of pleasure. Only a woman, he thought, could this bastard settle in. He gripped the knife tighter in his hand. He took a few steps and stood before her spread thighs. He couldn't help but think of fucking her again. He knew he had the demon in his grasp. He wanted to please only himself. He'd never before had the opportunity to fuck a victim condemned to death. He looked down. His hard friend was ready to act. He entered her without a hitch.

Ann felt pain in her lower abdomen. She didn't need to look. She knew what had caused it. She wanted to say something, to scream, but her swollen face prevented any attempt at contact. She was being raped. Pain seared her insides, and she couldn't do anything about it. She felt she was about to lose consciousness. She opened her eyes. The flash of the blade blinded her already impaired vision. Pain. A terrible pain ripped through her chest. She screamed with all her might, but no sound reached her ears. She was falling into darkness. After a moment, she felt and saw nothing. She was dead.

Netkinson awoke from his stupor. A gruesome sight met his eyes. Blood was everywhere. He lay on what had once been a woman's body. He slowly rose. Blood, blood everywhere. He was covered in blood. He watched it all with horror. And then, from somewhere in the distance, he heard a voice: "Sorry, man. Our judgment was flawed. He's still alive and very close. Sorry, you can't escape him. You're finished."

Fear returned with the force of an atomic blast. Panic prevented rational thought. The knife clutched in her hand had completed the work of destruction. Netkinson was history.

Terry returned home after work. On the floor in the hallway, she found a delivery notice, meaning the postman had already arrived. The sight of the notice made her heart skip a beat. She ran out of the house, heading for the post office. It was afternoon. She picked up the package and ran home as fast as she could. She couldn't wait to see inside.

A few days ago, while watching an erotic program, she wrote down the company address and product number from an advertisement for the item she intended to buy. It wasn't that expensive, and as she thought, and as the advertising slogan proclaimed, it would enhance the erotic experience. She slammed the door behind her. She entered the room, shedding her outer garment. She placed the package on the table and pulled a beer from the fridge. Her whole body trembled. She couldn't believe she'd made such a purchase. She was happy and knew it would remain her sweet secret. Slowly, she peeled off the top layer of paper. The object of desire, nestled in a plastic box, appeared before her eyes.

She touched the soft material with her finger. It was exactly like the one people used in nighttime performances: large, hard, and thick. And most importantly, it had a power supply and adjustable vibration intensity. She decided to try it. But this required proper preparation. She took a shower. Naked, she entered the room. Dusk was falling. She plugged in the power supply. She held the gift in her hands. She felt a gentle vibration. She lay down on the bed and placed the object of her dreams between her breasts. She trembled with excitement. She slowly moved it across her belly, where it sank inside her like butter. She surrendered to the vibrations, controlling only their intensity. She didn't realize that something might be wrong. She gave in to the pleasure, amplifying the vibrations. She didn't know that the artificial penis she'd purchased had a manufacturing defect. Terry was going crazy. The vibrator inside her was trembling at full speed. Her internal insulation was slowly being destroyed. The moment a scream of pleasure filled the room, the spasms of pleasure morphed into one powerful spasm of pain. Between her legs, a bomb exploded inside her. The flesh there turned black, and her pubic hair was singed. The unpleasant stench of burning flesh permeated the apartment. Terry was left in nothingness. She was dead.

Two little creatures rubbed their hands together in satisfaction. Vacation was near.