The Mongoose

Reminds me a bit of A Short Stay in Hell, I enjoyed the pacing and imagery. You can almost hear the fluorescent light and muffled rattling of the AC.

Classrooms full of tiny skeletons asked why, with voices they didn’t have, to ears that had long been gone. Comfortably all lay in eternal silence, for it was just too uncomfortable to do anything else.

Then, finally came their turn; desperate screams and pleads for mercy met not with compassion but complaints, for their suffering was too unsightly, too disruptive, too uncomfortable. So was the fate of the next, and the next, and the next …

With every move of the goal post, revelation, and overbearing proof of its damage they remained, they remained as if nothing had happened, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal, because deep down they didn’t actually care, it was too uncomfortable to care, it was so much easier to give in to the sleep.

His eyes pierced through her, wanting, longing, like a ravenous beast with sights set on delicious prey. The slick skin between her thighs quivered at his touch, body weak against his strong masculine form. Pushing between her thighs his member felt like hot iron, bulging, throbbing at her gates.

She couldn’t stop herself from gawking, at first what had seemed like a distortion of her periphery had become all the more imposing head on. His thick well endowed member engorged, veinous and all quite frankly too large for any part of her. She trembled, caught between the desire to run or submit.

From an outsider’s perspective it just happened, no description of how or why. One day they were there and then not; you’re brought into this entirely different world, far enough into the reclamation campaign but not far enough that the scars are erased. In the end it doesn’t really matter how.

Offloading your thinking and sense of agency to an ephemeral machine that exists to extract more value from the common person, to water down human experience and creativity is a disservice to yourself and society.

“ai” or rather LLMs is not the same as the advent of the personal computer which assisted or augmented the person by providing a new medium to outlet their natural creativity, to share data and to develop tools to better humanity.

“ai” as it stands is the natural result of the same system that historically has shamelessly stolen everything from the working class. If progress and betterment were the true goals, then art, creativity, and tools for degradation would not have been the targets of automation.

Insanity creeps ever closer – a threatening figure cast of darkness with dagger in hand – towards the most vulnerable and recondite places of my mind. Any last shred of hope or joy endlessly enduring the battering ram of witless husks pushing their uncanny lifeless machines.

Horacio’s whiskers graced his feline face like silver plumage. Expressions of contentment emanating behind beady green eyes. On my floor the reward of his tireless labor, a bowl of petunias shattered and lifeless.

Each wave felt like a fierce current flowing through her body, emptying and filling her, leaving her uncontrollably quivering. Slowly she caught her breath, turning on her side the slick wetness rubbed against her clit bringing gentle after shocks as she tried to close her eyes. [8]

She felt herself pulled open at both ends giving into the pleasure and taste of her sweet fluid. The incessant hand finally giving her the reward she craved, a reward that would only make her hungrier. Her back arched in response, shock after shock of sudden overwhelming pleasure totaled her. [7]

Her panting grew stronger with each curl of the finger inside her throbbing pleasure. She groaned as the hand pressed deeply and then suddenly pulled out, in unison both swapping their duties. Her wet fingers demanding entrance at her lips as she worked her way back inside. [6]

Reaching its delicious target, the hand slid into her mouth, in response she sucked the fingers that caressed her so tenderly. The sweet juice of her merciless toying trickled down her pussy as her fingers found the tight entrance. A sudden gasp, covered fiercely by the hand at her lips. [5]

Another hand finding its way across her breasts found nipples firming, responding to the touch. Soft pulls and pinches made her body tense and stutter. The venturing hand slid up and around her neck, gently squeezing as her held moans fought to escape her soft lips. She panted, wishing, begging. [4]

Her hand slowly slid down past the band of her underwear, finding her silken lips swelled with wet pleasure. She imagined a foreign hand, caressing her passion, tending the fire burning inside her. With each teasingly slow circling of her slick clit, shocks of pleasure coursed through her. [3]

Yet at night when her mind slowly wound down, away from the tendrils of her research, body swaddled by the soft embrace of the bed, she couldn’t help but crave the company of another who shared her needs. Needs she could only handle so far, which demanded release with each throb. [2]

Oddly she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen another human. Her research group had been stationed deep in recesses of the Xzysh galaxy as part of a Sophyarin joint initiative into early life formation on remote worlds. Had it been weeks, months, longer? The work absorbed her entirely. [1]

Her dark amber eyes reflected the nebulous clouds outside the deck window. A universe teeming with life, trillions of stars in millions of galaxies, laid before her like grains of sand on a shore. ‘How silly’ she thought, when mankind believed itself all alone.

Can be found elsewhere

@themongoose@mastodon.social

Caught in and endless cycle, memories of loops before fading and flashing, “I’ve been here before, how have I forgotten?”. With each pass getting closer and closer to the sandy bottom of the dark dreadful abyss, what remained was only one way … up.

A shadow of its former self the collapsed bridge was the only way across. Once a host to an endless flow of cars, now a silent mossy home to lonesome trees and hungry scavengers that made do of its rusted withered bones. A daring leap from the slumping overhang to icy waters was the only obstacle.

Books I’ve read recently

• “Behind the Green Curtain” - Riley LaShea

• “Trauma and Recovery” - Judith Herman, MD

• “Writing With a Purpose” - James McCrimmon

About myself

I write for fun and I enjoy reading assorted material (fiction/non-fiction).
I hope to encounter others who like myself use this site as a micro-journaling tool. If you enjoy a particular excerpt feel free to request more and I’ll try to oblige.

I find hashtags jarring.

The young boy went to the woods looking for trouble. Chasing the birds and pitching stones at all other. Along came the wolf and said “Oh, how supple!”. A tussle and scream, now does mourn the boy’s mother and father.

A blank stare, an empty mind. Emptiness, nothingness, indifference incarnate. What more lay there to be said? It was as if the curtain had closed on an anticlimatic ‘fin’.

Sixteen scintillating sorcerers sought splendorous solutions sans squabble, surely sagacious.

Fanfiction based on “Behind the Green Curtain” by Riley LaShea