Going Out 3

Have you ever seen a woman jogging, wearing only a sports bra and bike shorts, sweat dripping down her tight body, carrying nothing but a pair of earbuds? Her feet hit the path out of sight from the road, and nobody is around as she tries to pass you with a polite, nervous head nod. How young and beautiful, how vulnerable she looks in that moment. She can feel your gaze penetrating what little clothing she's wearing. You know that she's hiding what you desire beneath. A uterus with legs passes you in spandex and panties, urging you to catch her and fuck a baby into her.

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Handsome men don't tarry long

with liquored girls who lust for schlong

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"Hey boss, pour me another one!"

Mark settled back onto his favorite barstool, bourbon freshly in hand, and grinned at his buddy next to him. Mark was a decent-looking man with dark hair and blue eyes, young, and wearing a blue-striped dress shirt and a flush on his cheeks. He enjoyed these nights when he and Harold would hit the bar and get sauced.

Harold, a bit older and more work-worn than Mark, was pacing himself better. Dressed in coarse, but definitely clean, work clothes, he took a wide look around the room with deep, brown eyes. It was busy this time of night, and the liquid courage was flowing. One woman was already passed out, her black minidress disheveled and her face stuck to the bartop, empty glass in hand. A group of friends were attempting a game of pool, girls against guys, and nobody was very good. A blonde in a sparkling dress was making out with her friend: a goth-lite, fishnet-wearing girl who seemed to be not quite drunk enough for it.

"There's lots of cuties out tonight," Harold nudged Mark in the direction of a laughing red-haired girl wearing half-buttoned skinny jeans and a crop top that said "Vibing" in cursive. She was in the middle of trying to take a pool shot, her breasts squished against the wooden table and spilling out of her low-cut V-neck. "You should give her a try, maybe you'll get lucky."

Mark dipped his finger into the bourbon and dabbed it behind his ears before downing the glass of courage. "Wish me luck!" Harold always had an eye for the good ones.

The woman had wandered away from the pool table and was ordering a drink from the bartender in the sky-blue dress shirt. Mark sidled up next to her, honestly nervous. "That was a nice shot you made back there." He gave a grin. "Have one on me."

She took one look at the clean-cut man and flashed him a dimpled smile. "Well gosh, I don't like drinking alone. How's about you join me?" She straddled the bar stool, her thick and muscular thighs creasing where they met with her hips. She smelled like cinnamon sugar and vanilla. Mark swallowed hard.

Back at her apartment, Mark held on for dear life as the woman rode his cock like a rodeo, crashing down again and again, squeezing it for all it's worth. Gorgeous, naked, freckled titties bounced everywhere in front of his face and hot, deep moans came from her chest, all framed by her long, fiery hair.

"God dammit, fucking give it to me, holy shit!" She bottomed out on him and ground her cunt against his rod to the creak of her bed and the slosh of her soaked hole. It was all too much for Mark to handle. With a groan, he grabbed those babymaking hips of hers and sunk her battleship with his high-yield cum load. He could feel her snatch clamp around his launch silo as she arched her back and shrieked, digging her nails into his chest. Mark started seeing stars as every drop he had was wrung out of him. Breathing hard, she flopped on top of him, her breasts pressing against his bare skin.

With hair flowing like crimson silk, her tongue grazed his ear playfully. "Now I'll always have a part of you with me." Her words danced and spun around his dizzy head. Then he found himself pushed out the door, stark naked, bundle of clothes in hand. Thankfully, no one was in the hallway. As he hurried to put his clothes back on, he couldn't help but think. What the fuck was her name?

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Trekking deeper into night

A careless woman takes her flight

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After work the next day, Mark's phone rang. Harold wanted to meet up again. It was a bit odd since Harold usually wasn't up for two nights in a row, but after one like that, Mark's body was ready. At sunset, Mark found Harold waiting outside the bar. He was wearing the same sort of work clothing as before. Was it the same outfit?

"Holy shit, man!" Mark clapped the other man's shoulder. "That girl from last night was wild. I thought I was gonna die."

Harold gave a smile, but he did not move. "I wanted to tell you something. After you left, I wasn't feeling the bar anymore, so I went for a walk. I got a little lost, but let me say it was incredible."

Mark gave a little laugh but stopped when Harold's face turned serious.

"You should go out tonight, really go out. You'll see what I mean."

Harold turned and left, leaving Mark utterly confused. "I thought we were gonna hang tonight?"

"Tomorrow. I got called into work, I have to go." Harold disappeared from view.

Mark stood at the curb alone. Streaks of orange and pink faded in the sky, and a steady stream of people flowed into the bar. Lined up were young men eager to drink the night away with their bros, old-timers, men and women both, with leathery, sallow skin and a weariness like clocking into work, and young, beautiful, virile women who were giggling and ready to party and make mistakes. Why wasn't he with them? Why wasn't Harold here? Mark bit his lip. He hesitated for a long time. Orange and pink turned to gray, which turned to black. The warm glow of light and laughter was all that remained. Mark turned and walked down the shadowy street.

The dark was intense, broken only by the pulsing buzz of lamp posts that dotted the city like amber eyes, lidless, searching for that which could not be seen. Mark's shoes wandered off the concrete and found a paved river trail.

Go out, really go out.

Away from the street lights, Mark sunk into the inky night, lightly stepping to avoid breaking the silence. Only the starlight above, partly blocked by trees, gave him just enough vision to keep moving forward. Black and midnight gray was all that remained as he dipped into the veil of night.

Endless footfalls mixed with the rustle of unseen leaves. Mark could hear the steady flow of water. Asphalt gave way to wood. He stood on a bridge, looking out over the depths at the silhouetted buildings and the orange glow of lamplight in the distance.

Across the way, a shadow rippled, flitting just outside illumination. A woman, a jogger, slipped through the heavy blackness that hung on the path. A slender figure, featureless at this distance, but unmistakably elegant, moved quickly down the path with long, doe-like strides.

Something about her made Mark's heart race. He had to get a better look. Was she heading this way? He wasn't sure if their paths would intersect, but she was moving fast. He broke into a sprint.

He tore down the unlit path, branches whizzing by him. His lungs burned with desperation. In his hurry, he missed a divot in the asphalt and came crashing to the ground, scraped and bleeding, groaning in pain.

As he dragged himself to his feet, swearing at his stupidity, the woman rounded a corner about a hundred yards away. She was coming towards him. He scrambled to get off the path before she noticed.

She was getting closer at a terrifying pace. There was so much power in those delicate legs. Mark crouched frozen in the dark and watched, heart pounding. Blood squeezed through still veins that dared not move. The woman came into crystal detail.

She had long, beautiful, pale, slender legs. Black shorts wrapped around her hips and matched the tank top that clung to her tight and sweaty body. Sleek, platinum blonde hair flowed behind dark, blood-red lips. She ran in black tennis shoes. The soft landing of her feet was the only sound she made as she glided past Mark, unaware of the eyes upon her. Her backside looked as fantastic as the front. She smelled like peaches and girl sweat.

The sweet aroma sunk into his skin and made his head swim. She kept getting farther away. His jaw clenched. Before he knew what he was doing, he had already lept from the bushes and chased her down. He tackled her and clamped his hand over her mouth as they tumbled to the ground. With his other hand, he ripped at her clothes like an animal. Glistening bare skin squirmed under his grip.

In a moment she was exposed, her lithe form writhing against his. An iron cage flickered with azure flame inside her sternum, straddled by her tiny, unrestrained breasts. An inky black snatch oozed beneath her athletic hips and god, it smelled like fuck-me-right-now. Mark howled and plunged his raging cock into her womb.

There were no thoughts in his head as he plowed the girl face-first into the pavement. Her midnight ichor soaked into his ram shaft, her back arching with every squelch. He clawed at her hips, trying to drive it in deeper. She grinned, and her teeth were sharp and black. No hole in the world felt as good as hers. The ichor flowed through Mark's heart, and he swan-dived off the cliffside of ecstasy.

A low moan rose in Mark's chest, turning into a roar, then a shriek as he pumped his load into the girl. Her nightmare womb gorged on every drop and then demanded more. His blood burned black. His testicles ached with effort as they pushed to produce semen in real time for this beautiful creature. Her belly swelled from the sheer weight of his baby batter.

He was utterly drained, beyond exhausted. His heart had stopped beating long ago, and still, his cock gushed with pleasure. He let out a wet gurgle. His insides - where were they? His skin stretched against his ribcage with nothing to hold it back, air pressing against the vacuum in his chest. His cock pulsed one final time, then collapsed on itself.

The man once named Mark fell to the ground, desiccated. The platinum-haired, gorgeous girl stood naked in the darkness like a swollen tick, her cunt dripping black ooze down her legs. The furnace cage in her sternum flared as another soul burned in her azure fire. Unsteady, she wobbled off the path into the brush.

Curled into a ball around her precious cargo, the pale woman laid in the grass under the broken starlight. Her bulging womb began to contract. Before long, she bore a child: a boy, featureless, but with skin like wet clay. It did not cry as it writhed on the ground.

Instead, it began to flail, its arms and legs stretching longer like ropes of putty. Its torso grew, drying and cracking with expansion, the mud flaking away. Dark hair grew on its bald head. Freezing suddenly, the dirty, naked man opened its blue eyes.

She knelt next to it and held the thing in the grass, its head pressed against her bosom. After some time, it stood, and together they returned to the path. The only trace of the man once named Mark was a crumpled heap of clothes and a bit of shriveled skin that was already blowing away. It put on his clothes and dusted itself off. It walked away from the girl toward the home of the man once named Mark.

The following evening, the blue-eyed man met with Howard, who it knew now to be the brown-eyed man. They sat in the bar in their usual spot and drank their usual drinks. The place was as busy as ever. The brown-eyed man nudged the blue-eyed man and pointed in the direction of a group of young women.

"There's lots of cuties out tonight. You should give that one a try." It waved its glass at a girl in particular, a half-drunk, busty blonde in a tight, cream-colored dress and big hoop earrings.

"Wish me luck!" The blue-eyed man grinned.

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Stumbling, born from inky black

The nameless yearn for what they lack

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