Blood Moon

Cara Rourke flipped her long black hair as she strode with great energy up to the steps of the house. Once a stately suburban home, it now housed a fraternity at the University of Texas at Austin, with jagged Greek letters above the doorway. Loud music pounded inside, reverberating through the glass of the many windows in the red brick building. On the doorstep, Cara paused and took out her phone.

She sighed deeply. She knew her soul was going to Hell for what she was about to do, which was to shatter a heart. A sweet, gentle and intelligent heart. It belonged to her high school boyfriend, Bradley, the valedictorian of their class who had seen past her hand-me-down clothes, bowl-cut hair, and thick glasses to see the thoughtful and sensitive girl inside. He loved her, she knew, but he could not offer her what she really craved.

Her fingers played over the surface, loading up the draft that she had copied from a Literotica story:

 

My darling,

All things must pass, even all good things. We were destined to go separate ways in life, and so we must romantically, as well. I have changed — no, I have become more of what I always wanted to be. I cannot be caged by your expectations any longer. Let this little bird free. Thank you for three wonderful years, and I will always think gratefully of you and your kind affectionate ways, but we must no longer be boyfriend and girlfriend. My new life awaits, and I know that you will celebrate me finding who I am, and flowering into the woman I was born to be.

Affectionately,
Cara

 

Impatiently, she waited for it to load, then hit the SEND button and walked inside. Waiting for her ID check, she remembered how things had been.

“I’ll just drive down every other weekend,” he had said. Bradley was at Rice in the big flat swamp of a city to the southeast, doing some kind of research in cell biology. He had placed out of a year of classes and gone straight into the lab, and was looking forward to a promising career. Her parents, friends, sister, and grandmother all loved him. On paper, Bradley was perfect. He took her out to nice but sensible places, made love to her like he was handling precious jewels, and was utterly faithful to her.

It felt suffocating to Cara. It was like someone had entrusted her with a priceless antique, knowing that she would drop it. The stress of it got to her, Cara decided. She recalled the moment everything had changed: she had left her last class of the day, and was standing by a tree, wearing a sensible dress with her hair in a practical cut. But then, she looked around. Saw kids barely out of high school, just being kids. Drinking beer, having sex, smoking cigarettes, dancing, running around, smoking weed, and giving the finger to Authority.

Cara sighed. Her conscience yanked her out of that bright vision back to her future: more studying, a degree, marriage, family, and being a trophy wife for Bradley as he traveled the world promoting whatever brilliant technology he was certain to invent. She turned, orienting her feet and feelings toward her lonely dorm room, when suddenly…

ZOT!

She remembered a bright light all around her as she fell, then lying back looking up at the sky. A cluster of red, green, and blue lights hovered for a moment, then ascended and picked up speed, headed toward the red dot in the far starfield. I just got zapped by Martians, she thought, and then the thought flew from her head as she felt a pulsing in her groin. She flushed with heat. Thoughts of penises — pink, tan, black, and brown — flew through her head. They grew to enormous size, delectable as an ice cream cone. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Are you okay?” said a voice.

Cara looked up. A girl — one of those girls: platinum bottle-blonde, a hundred pounds soaking wet, huge breasts barely constrained by her football jersey, dangle earrings, lip gloss — leaned over and touched her.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Cara. “I just got zapped by something.”

“Oh! It’s your first time? I’m Mandy. You just hit by the Martian slut ray! That’s so hot! Just kidding! Listen, we’re doing a mixer at Kappa Alpha tonight, and…”

And so it began. First, the makeover back at the sorority house. Next, her first taste of a mixed drink, and a joint floating around the room. After that, loud pulsing music with an ancient beat, and a room full of people, including boy– men! Men with washboard abs and huge pecs. Large hands, which meant (how did she know this? it was embedded in her mind somehow) they had giant, drooping penises which would awaken if she made the right noises. Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. Cara was on the hunt.

The next morning, she woke up in a strange room. A large man slumbered next to her with ginger hair and a a beard. Football gear covered half of the room. Another girl was passed out in a chair, still holding a bottle of champagne, and on the small coffee table, there were still a couple of lines of coke. She took a bump, not sure where she’d learned to do this so well, and then shrugged. Shouldn’t let the other one go to waste. She did that one too, and stood up.

Lingerie hung from the lamps and doorknobs. A few condoms, bulging, lay on the ground like overripe fruit. The smell of beer and sex hit her like a humid wall, so she removed some cum-soaked hot pants from the vent and let the cool air from the central system blow out the stench. A half-smoked joint was in the ashtray, so she lit it, drawing in the fragrant herbal smoke and blowing it in an arcing plume across the room. She kicked a sperm-riddled teddy off the ground, only to see it was covered a large pile of feces with semen leaking out from under it.

Empty beer bottles seemed to have rolled around the room. She pried the champagne from the arms of the girl across the way. It was flat, so she foraged in the fridge and got a beer. Popping the top and taking a swig, she finally felt herself again, like she had come home. Combing her hair, and giving herself a quick squirt of minty fresh breath spray, she gave out a little giggle and say loudly, “I’ll call you!”

The male figure waved from the bed, semi-conscious and, she believed, hung over like a 70s rerun. Sprinting from the room, she went back to her dorm.

Her roommates greeted her with shock from their positions huddled around a table over physics homework. “What happened to you?” said Eleanor, her lab partner. “You look like you got hit by…a Martian slut ray or something.”

She exchanged looks with the other two nerds at the table, and Cara laughed. They shrugged. Swigging her beer, Cara stumbled into her room and passed out in exhaustion. When she woke, she found that she had missed calls from Mandy, …and Bradley. She called Mandy back and soon they were chattering away. She couldn’t bear to call him, but Mandy had done this before, and pointed her to a web site where she found all the information she would need.

Then, on Mandy’s advice, she got herself some Ben-Gay for her aching calves and Preparation H for her throbbing anus. She douched and took a Z-pak in case anyone had, you know, a party disease. Then she hopped out the door, saying, “Bye, nerds!” to her confused lab team. Eleanor shook her head.

WHOMP!

Someone crashed into the wall next to her. “Uh, sorry, hey, what’s your number?” said the large male, before his eyes crossed and he passed out in a fog of alcohol, sex, and pizza.

“ID?” said the bored student worker checking. Cara slipped over the new fake she had acquired with Mandy from a friend down at the reprographics lab. The student worker handed over a wristband, and Cara paid the ten bucks entrance fee, then began to mingle with the guests. She was dressed as a slutty Virgin Mary, wearing the wimple over a bustier with a rosary around it, like a Madonna video where no one said “no” or mentioned being tasteful.

She drank from her red plastic SOLO cup, some mixture of random fruit, berry, and mint flavor with a lot of Everclear in it. Within an hour she was out of control, and had been raided in all three of her holes (not to mention an ill-timed blow job that ended up with a linebacker ejaculating in her ear). She reached under her tiny skirt and flung her ruined panties into the bushes outside a window, then cheering with the others pranced onto the dance floor.

Then she saw him… her next conquest. Doe-eyed and muscular, with sharply-angled features and dark wavy hair hanging lank in front of his light brown eyes, he stood slightly awkwardly on the edge of the dance floor, but to her slut-radar, he was the only mountain in the room worth climbing. His manslutty Satan costume was elaborate, she thought: a sweeping red cape, goat horns, and a nine angles pendant. She gyrated and sidled her way over to him and said, “Hello, handsome. Want to dance?”

He smiled then, and she thought she saw first a golden and then a red light behind the eyes, but he seized her hands and as if reading her mind, fit into her limited repertoire of dance moves like a shadow on her skin. He felt like her, like a masculine mirror of whatever occupied the mostly-empty room of her soul, and she swelled with a mixture of narcissism and lust in his presence. She could feel his dense, heavy, and thick tool stiffening in his pants leg, so she chucked the plastic drink cup and said, “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

She tried a few doors, most of which had socks or an unidentifiable sticky fluid on them, before busting in to a laundry room on the second floor. As he kissed her, his serpentine tongue plunging nearly all the way down her throat, Cara felt her will and energy weaken. Soon she was slipping away, like falling asleep, but fully awake, and paralyzed, lay on the floor. At that point, he removed his shoes, revealing cloven hooves, and his corset, popping free a 38DD set of breasts, and his pants, showcasing a foot-long penis as wide around as a Red Bull can.

“Oh, Jesus…” said Cara, backing away, but feeling as if she were swimming through jello as her brain lagged in exhaustion.

“He cannot help you here,” said the creature before her, which she recognized from an old drawing by Eliphas Levy in one of her textbooks as a Baphomet, with the head of a goat, a massive gnarled penis, huge tits, and a dark stare of infinity in its fiery eyes. “He has been dethroned, forgotten, and sodomized by caco-daemons in Hell,” said this strange creature.

Cara shrieked and giggled as the mysterious man tossed her backward onto a front-loading laundry machine. Her eyes rolled back into her head as his muscular tongue flicked over her clitoris rhythmically, driving her to a quick orgasm that melted away the world around her like some kind of sexual napalm. Then he pushed her back and, as if by magic, his pants fell away, revealing a twelve-inch penis with the thickness of a Starbucks Frappucino bottle.

Darker in color, it swayed hypnotically, and Cara pulled back after she noticed she was following it like a cobra seduced by a snake charmer. Then, she saw it become steely, and braced herself for the assault. He was inside her before she saw him move, bottoming out at her cervix, which was rearranged temporarily by the thick-headed shaft. He mashed down on her pubic bone, causing her to spasm uncontrollably, then began a slow piston that accelerated as her eyes became muted with a smoldering desire.

With an almost preternatural ability to read her progress, he took her to the edge of orgasm not once, but a dozen times, thrusting with a slow rhythm but heavy force, then speeding up, then tending to her sensitive nub and nipples with fingers, tongues, and the soft glans of his meaty, animalistic cock. Finally he gazed at her with a twinkle in his light brown, almost golden eyes, and picked up the pace like wild horse scrambling to a gallop. Her hands slapped hard against the metal of the washing machine, her mouth contorted, and her eyes became unfocused.

Cara bit into his shoulder to keep from howling as she felt a torrent of warm, wet seed shooting past the entrance to her cervix which had been nudged, battered, and coaxed into gaping acceptance. It seemed to on forever, but she was barely able to breathe with regularity, much less stop the flood of obscenities which exploded out of her mouth. “Goddamnit, fuck me like an animal! Fuck me harder! Fuck me forever!”

They relaxed, spent. He stretched a warm arm around her chest and brought her close to him, then kissed her deeply. His other hand massaged her buttocks and thighs with a gentle but firm, insistent force. The slid down to kneel before him, thinking how much it looked like prayer, with her labia gapping and swollen, leaking his semen in a small pool between her knees as she took the massive tool into her mouth. Her jaw protested at first, but then seemed to unhook itself like that of a snake, and she took the whole member into her throat.

There it swelled. At first Cara thought she would suffocate, but then just enough air got through that she could breathlessly work the head with her tongue and pulse the rest with her throat, feeling it grow thicker and larger. She pulled back. “Are you… ready again?”

He laughed, a solid baritone sound. She looked at his flawless pecs and abs, his muscular thighs and giant swollen balls. “Are you?” he chuckled.

The last thing she remembered was looking at that penis and thinking, mmm, tasty, just as he flipped her over and without preamble plunged deep into her rectum.

“Ugh, oh God, urrgh, whaa…”

Cara came to while she was talking. She became aware immediately of pain: her asshole ached, her vagina throbbed, and her jaw pulsed. She couldn’t stop thinking about that Satanic penis however, and how under the pendulous undulating breasts it entered her like an tentacle, as if moving of its own volition, probing deep in her like a snake or eel would dig into the mud at the edge of a river. Her anus glowed like a ring of fire at the very mention, and her labia dripped with moisture.

For just once in her short promiscuous life, Cara found herself fixated on one specific penis, but knew she would never see it again. She never even got his name. Confused, she slipped back into her new identity as a frat bunny and tossed her platinum bleached-blonde hair and emitted a single giggle.

The next day, she sat in another boring history class while the professor droned on about “The Enlightenment.” She looked around to see if there were any cute guys she hadn’t slept with, but nooo, she’d already bedded all four. Perhaps “bedded” was not the right word for coupling that occurred doggy-style against the wall of a frat house, in a bar toilet, in the bed of a custom pickup truck with an extended cab, and in the trash room at her dorm. She had to act when the inspiration struck her!

“The Enlightenment was a time of great upheaval, although it took — and this is the norm, as you’ll see in this class — centuries for the full effects to be seen. The Enlightenment cast aside the old ways, in which people tried to fit into a ‘natural order’ or a ‘tradition,’ specifically the emulation of the old Greco-Roman order. Instead, The Enlightenment saw a revival of the ideas of Athens and democratic Rome, in which the individual — not tradition, not ‘natural order,’ and most of all not the Catholic church — made his own choices for his own happiness and nothing else.”

He went on. “As Elizabeth Bennet, an archetypal heroine of the Enlightenment, said, ‘I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.’ The individual person became more important than society, religion, culture, or ‘natural law.’ This entirely reversed European thinking, and led to a great flowering of art, poetry, science, and social progress.”

Cara tilted her head to the side and applied more lip gloss. Why, they could be discussing her here! The old ways meant Bradley, working hard for grades in subjects like this that she didn’t care about, and having a career. The new way was to be a slut, to be free, and to explore all of the possibilities of her own happiness. When she left the class, Cara had become convinced that not only was she doing what was right for her, but that she was a shining beacon, nay, a new prophet, of human freedom.

She quickly settled into the life of a football bunny at UT. She went to church on Sundays, but with her fellow sluts, and volunteered three times a week at a soup kitchen. The rest of the time she dozed in class, focused on her hair, makeup, nails, and Kegels, and then got drunk, got high, and banged hot dudes from the football team and fraternities. She already had a life plan: find some civil rights oriented Young Republican to marry, have some kids, feed him semen from her lovers, then divorce him and live on the alimony while she banged celebrities.

Cara made some executive decisions. Being both liberated and market-savvy, she realized that what she gave away free to the football team and frats could earn her some points. When Dr. Melphasian asked her to come to his office for tutoring, she made sure they got “in depth” with the subject matter. Soon she had a top notch internship at a major pharmaceutical firm, and a week later, when the CEO asked if he could give her a tour, she made a quick conquest by blowing him in the server room. Within a few days, she had a highly paid job to add on to her course load and promiscuity agenda.

She considered herself absolutely brilliant and now, she saw herself in a Christ-like light, leading her sexually enslaved femme comrades out of the dark primitive past into a new age of Enlightenment! And ten-inch cocks, of course. There’s always that. But in any case, she was on track to be retired before thirty as a wealthy woman, and she felt that her liberation had enabled her to take this path.

“Whatcha gonna do tonight?” Mandy asked her a week later and they served bologna on white bread to the homeless, who shuffled through in an alcoholic stupor mumbling incoherent mantras.

“I dunno,” said Cara, but suddenly doubled over and vomited directly into the large industrial trash can next to her.

“Damn, that’s some green vomit,” said Mandy. “You really are eating only salads, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Cara, wiping her mouth. “But I could go for a bacon double cheeseburger now.”

The next day, she got up and as she always did, checked herself in the mirror. To her horror, she saw that her stomach was growing. Worse, she was ravenous, but unlike the other girls who binged, she didn’t crave cookies and cake. She wanted meat. Half an hour later, she was seated at a Whataburger, the discarded buns of a half-dozen double bacon cheeseburgers in front of her. She burped contentedly, but then the hunger started up again.

“Aw, bish,” said Mandy. “You’ve been using protection, right?”

“Yeah, I’m on the pill,” said Cara. “And I ask the real man-sluts to use condoms… well, when I’m not too wasted. Oh no! I forgot about the guy at the party. We didn’t use anything!”

“Shit, honey, you’re preggers,” said Mandy. “I seen a Planned Parenthood brochure back at the sorority house. Let’s go get it taken care of before the big party tonight.”

But at Planned Parenthood, the nurse practitioner shook her head. “You’re too far along honey,” she said sadly. “Looks like four months. This one’s going to be a welfare deadbeat criminal for life. I mean, welcome to motherhood.”

She gobbled bacon doubles and pondered her situation. Four months? But she hadn’t seen it until yesterday. She could run to Bradley and tell him it was his, then get him to support her. Well… except after that text message. No, she was all alone. Cara cried, but only for herself, and after consuming a pound of lightly cooked steak from the fridge, passed out in a sweaty heap of misery.