Chapter Text
There’s one poster on the wall. I don’t know what it’s for, but it’s the only poster on the wall. Excluding the trash, it’s the only real piece of individuality in the apartment. An alien figure thrusts into frame above a splash of text in a language I can’t read and a script I don’t know. The thing above him looks like a pineapple had unprotected sex with a cockroach. It’s a nice poster.
I take another sip. The drink tastes immensely bitter. The woman who offered it to me slouches out of the kitchen, leaning against her doorframe. Her beautiful red fur covers a moderately chubby frame, wearing very functional underclothing. The conical war-helmet stays on. Two red-tinted lenses, nothing visible behind them. She’s attempting to pose sexily, I think. A bottle of some fermented thing lists in her hand, dangerously close to spilling out. She staggers out of the liminal space between her empty, soulless kitchen and her empty, soulless living room and leans against the couch’s armrest.
“Do you know about the Marrow of God?”
“Wha?”
Her head lists to the side slightly.
“These tunnels. They go down for miles into the skin of this planet. Underneath the Palace, there-there’s a few entrances. They used to toss criminals down there. Sometimes, they still do it. I went down there, with some of my sisters, back when they were trying to map it. Didn’t work out so well.”
She tilts her head back up, looking behind her to the window. The blinds are still closed.
“I asked some of the gearfaces ‘n they told me that it was the slag left behind from Hell. When feelings coalesce into all that brimstone and sin and everything, some of it gets left behind as it digs further into the earth. ‘S the left-behind coagulated **** of the collective consciousness. You’re not drinking.”
“Uh-wha, what?”
I’m not drinking. The beverage tastes like hatred and piss. I can feel her eyes boring through the back of my skull, focusing through the opaque lenses, and decide it’d be best to just keep drinking. Another couple of swigs and she goes back to rambling, waving her carton back and forth through the air.
“It was really ****in’ cold down there. Nice, though. Freezing in someone’s apathy dungeon. All concrete and stone and the occasional big metal door. I never did find out what was on the other side of that. It was so lonely. In a good way. I slipped behind the columns with one of the expedition staff a coupla’times. I miss it.”
I take another sip of my disgusting beverage. It doesn’t make me feel warm. But there’s definitely a sort of numbness and limpness dragging my limbs into the couch. My mind wanders in circles pointlessly. I don’t know why she’s talking about tunnels.
“Anyways. This… it’s, liminal space, y’know. Whatever.”
She leans back and practically throws the drink over her helmet. It splatters against it, staining the silvery metal orange. It drips down her fur. I’m not sure if it’s quite the same as my drink, but the color’s pretty similar. She stares up at the ceiling for a minute. I offhandly wonder what’s happening anymore. But she snaps back to attention, clambering over the armrest until her paws are scraping against my knees before she keeps rambling.
“I miss the ****in’ tunnels. Big whoop. Whaddya think, youuuu… little freak?”
I think, eyes traveling up from her crotch to the little overhang of her tummy up past her tits to the soulless mouthless metal thing staring back at me. She looks beautiful.
“Uhh… was the sex and/or kissing good?”
Nothing changes in the lenses but I can feel her gaze hardening in disbelief.
“What kind of ****in’ question is that? Okay, no, I’m not answering that. Ask me the right one next time.”
I squirm a little, thinking about what she wants from me.
“Uh, how far down did you go?”
“A coupl’a miles.”
She scratches at the metal ridge separating her helmet’s lenses. I guess that’s the closest she can get to her nose.
“Not far enough for Hell, but, y’know. That far down you can feel everything. I mean, like… All the stone and dirt and corpses and feelings pressing down from above like ten thousand tons of choking debris in endless tunnels that all look the same. It’s, it’s the feelings, really.”
She looks out the window again.
“Really, it’s not that different from up here. Just think about, like… how many buildings like this there are. How many apartments like this. How many people. Billions. Compared to that, getting crushed by half a ton of structural concrete is nothing.”
Her hands are waving a little. She’s getting agitated. Despite having dumped its contents on herself, she’s still holding the bottle. I sink further into the couch, and wonder when we’re going to have sex already.
“On some days I think there’s no end to it. I’m going to leave my apartment to go stumble back into the waiting arms of a transit ship but I’m just going to walk past prefab apartments until my legs wear down to dust and my mind snaps like an overstressed tendon. Y’know what I mean?”
I make a vague noise of agreement and sip my drink again.
“See, I knew you’d be like that. Anyways. That’s basically everything I had to say, so, uh, we can get started now.”
I brighten up a little bit. Before my addled mind can work up anything to respond to that with, she slouches off the edge of the couch and wanders back into the kitchen. A little frustrating. Thankfully, she’s back in a matter of seconds. With a considerably sized knife. Some part of my mind offhandly wonders if she’s going to erotically murder me. It determines that that’s probably going to be better compared to going back to work tomorrow. She lurches over, tossing the knife onto the coffee table strewn with empty plastic bags and metal cans, and sits squarely on my crotch to straddle me. I let out one little squeak as she lowers herself down.
One of her hands gently caresses my chin. It feels nice. Her fur is very soft, and her touch gentle. She’s clearly quite practiced at touching women. When she gets tired of that, it works its way down to grope my tits. Both of them feel quite nice in very different ways. I exhausted the drink a few sips ago, but the lingering effects are still in my system. My head feels fuzzy. Whenever I try to move, a weird jolt of static goes through my brain. Better to just stay like this. She’s breathing a little more deeply now. My eyes gravitate downwards again, to her stomach and the way it hangs slightly.
“Pervert.”
“What?”
“I’m calling you a pervert, dumbass. You’re staring at my stomach. I can feel, hgg, this.”
She punctuates her statement by pushing a knee into my bulge. It feels great, and accomplishes its temporary goal of cutting off my princess-like hmpfh before it can leave my lips. The intended defiance fizzles out into more of a moan. I can’t actually see it but I know it makes her smile.
“God. ****ing disgusting little freak. I knew it.”
She pushes herself up, grabbing the armrest my head is leaning on, and shoves her tummy into my face. The world blacks out. I can’t see anything. I squish my face into her fat. My hands travel up the sides of her body to press into her stomach. I am rewarded with a few unidentifiable but cute noises from her. It’s a fitting reward for someone who is admittedly a pervert. I smile a little, buried in her flesh. Her fur tastes bitter. That’s probably the leftover stains of her terrible, terrible drink. I get to play with her stomach for a few more minutes before she gets bored and leans back, staring at me triumphantly through her helmet.
“See? Proved it.”
I giggle. She stares up at the ceiling for just a moment, and then back to me. The knife rises up in her hands. She stands up, a bit unsteadily, and shifts off the couch. I pout at the loss of my weighted blanket. She looks at me with a weight to her stare.
“Are you ready?”
“Well, uh, yeah I’m ready to sta-”
“Yes or no. Are you ready? This is serious.”
My gaze stiffens. I’m starting to get a little tired of her, honestly. If it wasn’t for how delicious her stomach was I’d probably have tried to leave by now.
“Yes.”
“Good. Just, wait there.”
The knife sings through the air, before plunging into one end of her stomach. I flinch a little as the knife goes into her skin. She grunts and wavers, but keeps it on target, slowly carving through her flesh. The blood is almost imperceptible against her crimson fur. Eventually it reaches the other side of her tummy. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and thrusts a hand inside. It rocks back and forth. She grunts periodically. Eventually, slicked with gore, she pulls out some of her guts. I don’t know what they are. They’re red and pulsating and long, stuck together by connective tissue. They’re so wet. She takes a few steps towards me and her arms thrust out, piled with flesh for me.
“I know you want it.”
I’m too distracted by the throbbing organs in front of me to dispute this. They’re glistening with internal fluids. They look so delicious. I look up at her pleading. The old extra-pathetic dyke routine clearly works, or maybe this was just her plan from the start. In any case, she lets me taste them. I gently take one end and place it into my mouth. It tastes meaty and coppery, like I expected. My teeth meet and bite down on it. She moans and shivers. I continue sucking and gnawing on it, and her moans grow just a bit more louder with every vocalization. She has to stagger back down onto the couch. This time, she sits on my legs.
It’s not far enough to rip me from her guts. I reach for a larger bite, before pausing. I stare up at her with expectant eyes. Will she draw a boundary?
“****... god, just do whatever you want **** that feels so good-”
I obey her and bite down harder. A chunk is actually severed this time, and I greedily swallow it. The warm meat going down my throat is one of the best feelings I’ve experienced in ages. Gulping down another morsel, for some reason I feel possessed to say:
“I love my wonderful tranny dyke life.”
Inbetween moans, she mumbles something out too.
“Umfh… i loveyoutoo ****! ****!! That’s… huh, so good….”
I smile like an idiot. It feels so good on my part, too. It’s nice to see what kind of noises I can get her to make. But, eventually, she gets a little tired. She pulls her guts out of my mouth and collapses forwards, pressing her whole body against me. I squirm a little, but only succeed in making our boobs squish against each other more. That’s good enough. I can feel how wet her underclothes are. Even if she didn’t quite cum from it, she was still leaking like a faucet. She’s panting, now. Her fingers frantically scrabble around the helmet, looking for whatever unlocks it, before she finally throws it to the side with a hollow clang. Her face is beautiful. She looks like all those pictures I’ve seen, of her fellow sisters-in-battle, and the mother that produced them all. Her hair is beautiful. She is, in a certain sense, a mass-produced good much like what was in the cans and empty boxes littering her apartment. Just like her apartment itself, even. Her lips are beautiful. She jerks forward with just a bit of manic energy and kisses me. It tastes bitter, just like her miserable drinks. It’s the most beautiful kiss I’ve ever had. My head is still swimming with static. Buried moral instincts in the back of my mind tell me that it’s disgusting and perverse. I think that’s why I like it. I melt into her just as she melts into me, caressing eachother, feeling eachother up in this crummy prefab apartment. Her guts still twitch pressed up against my legs. It’s beautiful.