FEEDING THE CITY
by David Barton
(owned,
written, and copyrighted by David Barton, used by permission)
Peter Fletcher hadn’t been in the city long. He had however already visited
its dens of sin, its places of fun, its strip joints. He’d tried
everything. There was nothing left to explore, no pleasures left to taste,
no avenues of flesh bars he hadn’t pursued, no streets of shame he hadn’t
shamed some more.
Fletcher had thought that this would be the one, the city where he’d finally
find that special something he’d been looking for, that new kick, that new
experience. But, to put it bluntly, this city was just as dull as the other
cities he‘d visited; in fact, it was probably the “pits” of all the cities
he’d encountered so far. It was, to put it mildly, a dive.
That was, until he encountered Miranda.
She just seemed to appear, in one of the darkened streets he’d traveled down
one night in search of that unobtainable something he was so desperate to
find.
‘Looking for pleasure?’ she asked him. Had she read his mind? It certainly
appeared that way. There was something about her eyes, something that said
that maybe he’d finally found what he’d been looking for. The ultimate
experience!
‘I knew you’d find us, eventually.’
Had she, they, whatever she meant by us, been expecting him?
‘Us?’ he asked.
She merely smiled. ‘You’ve just entered the pleasure zone.’
He indulged himself in another scan over her; she was beautiful. Not the
usual type of whore you came across. Blonde, with sea blue eyes, twin
oceans that seemed to offer so much in them. And the kind of figure that
men would very often die for, just to experience it, just once in a
lifetime. Full breasts, and curves that could have been put together by
studying the mathematics and dimensions of womanhood to produce the prefect
specimen. You could lose yourself in this creature. ‘You know, I think I
have,’ he said.
‘And you won’t be disappointed, even though you may doubt it.’
Peter scanned her again and his eyes widened in awe. ‘I don’t doubt it.’
She smiled again. ‘You think you’ve found what you’re looking for?’
‘I believe I have.’
‘Of course, it doesn’t come without a price.’
The whores were always keen to introduce the subject of money sooner or
later he‘d learned. But Fletcher didn’t care; this babe was worth a
million, if she could offer him what he believed she could. ‘Name your
price, anything.’
‘Anything?’
‘Anything.’ He produced a bundle of notes for the inside pocket of
his jacket secured together with an elastic band, and held it towards her.
‘There’s ten thousand pounds there, it‘s all the money I have left.’
‘It is not money that is used as payment,’ she told him.
He withdrew the money from her, and a frown etched itself on his forehead.
‘Not money? What then?’
‘That doesn’t immediately concern you, all will become apparent.’
She led him by the hand, he didn’t remember much of the journey they took,
the streets they travelled down, the people they passed, it all became a
blur. Like a dream state, where merely Miranda and he existed.
Once he’d taken her hand the world seemed different that it had appeared
before. Entrances to buildings seemed to be giant female orifices. Hole to
be had, every one of them, and with the promise of a million wonders
within.
This much he did take in on the journey, like some bizarre LSD trip. He had
experienced drugs as a youth, at university, but nothing had compared to the
sights he was seeing now. Inside the blur of his journey, the architecture
surrounding him, the buildings, seemed to have been constructed from female
flesh. And they were alive and beckoning him, exciting him. Some of the
open windows resembled mouths, wearing bright scarlet lipstick and with
tongues poking out of them, licking those luscious lips. Domes atop of
buildings appeared to be breasts, with erect swollen dark nipples every
one. The city had suddenly become wanton flesh to be caressed and
explored.
The room was not that impressive, but he’d witnessed much worse. Some of
the whores he’d used the services of, had inhabited far inferior dives than
the one he had just entered.
She started removing her clothes immediately, then lay on the bed and
spread her legs. ‘Not undressed already?’ she asked him, wearing a wry
look. ‘I thought you would have been more keen.’
As soon as she said this, he started tearing off his clothes, almost
literally, as he struggled to undress in haste, in eagerness for what was
waiting, offered on a plate before him. She
–
unlike the room –
certainly looked impressive. Yes, she was a babe all right. But could she
deliver what she promised? He definitely thought so.
It was like plunging into a deep ocean. Swimming with her, making love in
her seas, for there were many. She was a world, a world to explore its
continents, its countries, its people.
Every sensation was heightened. Every pleasure that he’d experienced a
hundred or even a thousand times before, the ecstasy multiplied tenfold, and
then some.
Her flesh seemed to go on forever, it was like she was more than one person,
she seemed to be an entire city of people, all eager to please him at the
same time.
A million Miranda’s surrounded him, like reflections in a hall of mirrors at
the funfair. He was one with all of them. Their tongues licked him, their
mouths enveloped every inch of his flesh, their hands caressed him, their
arms entwined around him.
At the end of their lovemaking, which seemed to last an age, all the
Miranda’s became one again and he was back in her unimpressive room again.
He rolled off her exhausted, feeling drained of all his energy. He was sure
that afterwards Miranda leaned over him and that many voices had spoken to
him. Like it was not just her who had been speaking. ‘You have fed us,’ he
was sure she’d said, and then kissed him on the forehead, before he drifted
off to sleep.
Next day a city had never appeared so sensual, every brick, every building
and every person he passed on every street. The clock tower in the centre
of town now resembled a huge erect penis. The archway that led to the
open-air market, a vagina. At least to his mind’s eye they did. On the
surface, they still appeared as normal. But he had been injected with some
kind of sensuality that gave him a hard-on merely looking at a fountain, or
listening to a horny song on the radio.
As he walked hand in hand with Miranda under the vagina-arch towards the
market, he thought back to the previous night’s experience with her. A
snatch of memory of which entered as he was directly under it. He closed
his eyes and was immediately transported back. He was in between Miranda’s
legs with her bottomless well of a vagina that could give him
infinite pleasures, which if he lived to be a hundred he would never fully
experience. It was like the whole of him had entered her, swam in her, been
engulfed by her. In fact, as he had thought at the time, he hadn’t just
merely entered her; it had felt like he’d entered the entire female
population of the city.
At one market stall was a woman selling paintings, the most sensual
paintings of copulating couples he’d ever seen. The artist too, was indeed
a creature of such erotic promise. Long curled auburn tresses and large
almond eyes that gave him the same glimpse of wonder that Miranda’s had done
when he’d first met her. Her body too was as perfect as his previous lover.
Miranda and the woman exchanged knowing glances as his attention centered on
a depiction of a threesome, two women and a man. The resemblance of the
three participants, where so close to him, Miranda and the artist, that his
jaw hit the floor.
That night the painting became a reality. He had never had a threesome like
this before. If the previous evening had been like fucking an entire city,
then this was like making love to ten such cities! Celine, the artist,
turned out to be an equally sensual and exciting lover to that which Miranda
had been.
Fletcher continued to enjoy the city, this newly discovered pleasure
palace. Where everything and everyone seemed to be united in one goal, to
give him and their selves the ultimate sexual thrill. But with each
experience he seemed to be getting weaker.
When Miranda had suggested they made love on the roof of the tallest
building in the city one night, he had not been able to pleasure her, and
lay at her side exhausted.
‘The city takes it out of you,’ she said. ‘The constant need to satisfy it,
participate in and experience the most sensual pleasures ever known.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘The city feeds off the desires executed inside its domain.’
‘Feeds?’
‘We all feed.’
‘All?’
‘Haven’t you worked it out yet? I am part of it. I feed off you, we all
feed off you.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Isn’t it a small price to pay to experience the ultimate pleasures?’
He could barely keep his eyes open, he felt so drained. ‘Pleasures?’
She looked at him and Fletcher saw through eyes he was finding it
increasingly difficult to stop the lids from drooping, that she looked old,
and was becoming even older as he continued to look at her. Then the flesh
of her face began to decay, until he could see the skull beneath. Her whole
body had rotted before his eyes.
Then, as he watched further, the flesh slowly began to grow again, and as it
did, and she became the old woman again, and then the young woman he’d known
her as before, he became weaker and weaker.
He knew then that she’d been telling the truth, that she, and the others,
and the city itself, were feeding off him. And as he gazed at her beauty
and thought about the pleasure he’d had with this angel, this giver of
dreams, he knew that it had been worth it.
END
