The Week Of The Comet Ch 05

Author's Note

:

if I want to stick to 5000-word chapters, not all of them will contain slime/tentacles action. But I'll make sure that none of them are nosex. Anyway if you like futa it'll be fine.

==============

THE WEEK OF THE COMET

or How I Became Teratosexual

*

Chapter V

==============

Three-hundred loads could fill a tub. Question mark?

After Cumageddon you'd think sex would be the last thing on my mind, but I was too hungover for anything else. I had no strength to

form

coherent thoughts and had to put up with the factory settings. Inside my unabashedly slumped form that could be seen sitting last row of the lecture hall, it was just a stream of base contemplations, and not compelling enough to make my muscles google the capacity of the standard bathtub, or focus on Professor Yuen. He was talking about sand dunes stabilization, I think. I was fever-daydreaming of coffee and sex, barely able to groan at the fact that I was out of the former and still sore from the latter.

"Futa night?" the girl next to me asked.

A futa night means a night without any resting quality, often with a sexual connotation. I tend to forget you guys may be from a totally different civilization and won't have Urban Dictionary for context.

"Mhgrbhl..." I replied. It means yes.

I then had the folly to shoot her a glance.

You see, that morning I had woken up from my mere three hours of sleep with the most painful wood ever. I was like, "Ooh, I'm ever eating chili again," and you know what? I did think for the first time of my life I'd be true to my word.

But a glance was enough to notice the girl's golden eyebrows.

And soon flashed upon me the possibility of her blond bush.

Hhhg

It was my white whale. I had yet to fuck a real blonde. To see my dick contrasting with these unique tones.

I wouldn't be spared today. I went back to my coma and got tormented by visions of this girl naked in a tub of black coffee. I guess my futa readers won't understand me there. I didn't want that in my head, I wanted to be left alone. If I had to suffer through a forced chastity of the body, could I at least have a blankness of the mind, please?

But I couldn't do anything. To the point that I was the only student without my phone under my fingertips. So I only saw

theirs

all light up pretty much at the same time. And heard the gasps and the butt ruffle.

Yuen even turned away from the whiteboard to look at us. The TA walked up to him and whispered something in his ear.

Like someone died.

Yep, someone had died.

The news had broken at 11:24 local time on the AP feed. Two minutes later on Reuters. I was among the last people on the planet to learn what was going on.

"Ok, students, please," Yuen said in impeccable English. "You're with me until noon and I'm sure you won't find anything more than untrustworthy headlines on your phones. So, if you please."

And the thing is, he himself had a hard time getting back to his lecture after that.

Howard L. Philips had died in a plane crash.

To you it probably doesn't sound like a big deal. To us it was. Even more than the King in the ICU.

Philips was the head of the Institute of Salvaging Archæology.

Archeology had pulled humanity out of the New Stone Age. Thanks to excavators, who unearthed old computers and stuff, it took us only four centuries to go from striking flints in caves back to the point technology had reached mid-1600, before Butler. That is atomic energy, digital data--in a word: a buncha schmucks hunching over their phones all day. Only those schmucks did it wearing powdered wigs back then. And with three billion people less. And also they liked steam apparently.

Anyway, you can imagine archeologists have been the rockstars of the world ever since. And when they organized, with it came lobbying power. It wasn't even clear anymore what the ISA was actually doing, but among other things it had its own bank, an intelligence agency (allegedly), and headquarters on the right side of the Potomac. So if Philips really was dead, the world was about to stand still until the conclave appointed a new boss.

"What the hell," I heard my new crush whisper.

"Wuzzat?" I mumbled.

"I wanted to see what Graham Hancock had to say about it on his Twitter, but it says Error 451."

She showed me the blocked page on her phone. I had to raise my head.

I said, "His name is filtered in schools, you didn't know?"

"Even in Capparosæ?"

The ISA (the 'is a scam' as more and more people called it) had lost its luster over the last two decades or so. With time and size everything gets corrupt and with just a few scandals and some exposed inconsistencies, the world was waking up to the abnormality of such a bloated grip over information. My generation especially had broken the taboo of looking into pseudo-archeology. Guys like Hancock. Not that he was better than the real scientists, but his bullshit was more entertaining than theirs, so in the end, he won.

"Hey, is the Pope ok?" I asked.

She checked. "You're Catholic?"

I shrugged. "Technically."

"He was water-skiing last week, wanna see--"

A glare from Yuen darted at us across the lecture hall and my new friend put her phone down while I went back to collapsing over my fixed seat.

Eventually noon rang and there was an announcement. Classes were canceled for the day. All faculty members were to attend an extraordinary meeting.

The lecture hall emptied in lines of excited commotion.

The girl tapped my shoulder. "Lucky you, you can go have a nap."

She wasn't wrong. But I was to meet my friends for lunch. And I was freakishly hungry to be honest.

"Grmmbl," I replied.

"I'm Kirsi, by the way." And that's when I identified her Finnish accent. Well, Nordic at least.

"Ester."

"See you around, Ester." She stood up. I stayed put. Boy, she was tall. I looked at her ass. She caught me. I feigned dust on my glasses. She smiled.

* * * * * *

"Are you listening to me?" Olivia said.

My behavior had radically changed the moment I had sat at our table on the cafeteria patio. I was wolfing down my third serving of chicken pasta. My movements were fast, precise, relentless. Still, I couldn't focus on anything, other than the steaming bucket of buffalo wings waiting for me, with a side of coleslaw. Olivia and Micha and his girlfriend Zadie were hardly eating, basking in the sun, playing this game of making up theories for Philips' death. The least tinfoil-hatted one was that he had died in reality a few days ago but the ISA bigwigs had taken the time to delete his browsing history before making the announcement.

And then Olivia was holding her phone in front of my face. It showed a photo of some metal structure engulfed in black smoke.

"What's that?" I said, mouth full.

"The radio telescope in Effelsberg. It burned down."

Took me a second to connect the dots. "That's where Dieter is."

We met Dieter in Reinhardt when Livia and I started learning German. He left to finish his senior year at Bonn.

"Was it a terrorist attack? Is he alright?" I asked.

"He says they won't tell. And the Army will probably kick them out to investigate."

That telescope is the largest in Europe, the second largest in the world. It's literally listening to fucking

space

. Can you hear the

X-Files

theme yet?

"What is going on?" Zadie said, a little freaked out. I lost track of the replies because I was busy downing an entire one-liter bottle of water. I know at some point Micha and Zadie switched back to Hebrew when they started arguing over something. Olivia then spoke to me in Italian because she knew they couldn't understand:

"So where were you all weekend?"

(I guess the AI is hellbent on translating it.)

"Mind your own business," I said. I speak Italian fluently thanks to my grandmother. Olivia only had the basics.

"Ester, seriously, you look like hell."

She watched me cram two chicken wings into my mouth, one in each hand.

I tried to elude. "I think I found some pussy for tonight. There was this blond girl--"

"Kirsikka?"

"You know her?"

"She's right behind you," Olivia said in English and I choked on my food discovering Kirsi standing right there beside me. She had coffee cups in a cardboard holder.

"Here," she said, putting one on the table, under my nose. "I thought you'd need it. Hey, Livie."

"Hi."

"Seeya!"

And she was gone.

"What was that about?" Olivia said.

"Damn..."

I removed the cap and gulped down my coffee totally impervious to the fact that I burned myself from lips to stomach. "How do you know her? You fucked her?" I asked Olivia, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.

"No. But she's in that phase where she realized she's two thousand miles away from home."

Heh. Been there.

"She's flirted with every futa on campus but I haven't heard about any fucking her."

Micha and Zadie never liked futanari locker-room talk but they were listening to us. Micha said to me, "She looks so sweet. If she likes futa so much maybe you could keep a girl for more than a week for a change."

"I dunno," I said.

If only they knew...

"

Come ooon!

" Olivia hollered, soon joined by Micha. "Give her the D! Make us proud!"

I curled up on my chair, arms protecting my head, saying, "Leave me alone, I don't want a girlfriend," while the two fuckers kept chanting, "

Es-ter! Es-ter!

" over me.

Until suddenly the whole place froze. Students, cafeteria employees, and us, everybody, sitting, eating, walking, everybody stopped moving, talking, breathing, even those with headphones on. Eyes rose, widened, frowned. Only stunned silence while actually a deafening din had invaded the air. A sound most of us were familiar with, only not here, not in Capparosæ: jet fighters were flying over, very low and very close.

We could feel them in our chests.

And you know how it's difficult to see them cause they're never where you hear them? When someone finally spotted the three dark shapes zipping through the sky and pointed at them, everyone looked, not just the aviation enthusiasts.

They flew away, taking their roar with them to leave a bunch of questions for us.

Capparosæ had no air force. Whatever country had gotten lost here it was a big fuckup.

I looked at my friends.

Zadie and Micha were holding each other.

* * * * * *

"Limited how?" I asked the librarian, whom I hated already.

"The WiFi has been turned off. And access to the History section is restricted," she explained.

"Is Architecture open?"

"Sure."

Because of Philips' death, academia was in turbo turmoil, it seemed. No one knew how to react. The internet didn't exist the last time the head of ISA died. So now Hermelin, the central library of Reinhardt University, was being a little bitch about it.

I smirked. "Hey, do you have any books by Graham Hancock?"

"Let me check."

I was walking out of the lobby before she could gasp at the results on her terminal, probably even cross herself. What she gonna do? call security? Old bitch. I'm too tired for this shit.

Olivia was right, going home for a nap would just mess with my sleep schedule. So I might as well go study. I actually had an idea to keep myself awake.

On my way to Architecture, I saw for the first time the five gates to the Schliemann wing closed. And I mean locked down. With a signpost that said '

FUCK OFF

!'

Ok, not really.

But as I walked by, I realized one thing: the Religion section was not part of the History section.

So I thought, why not take a look at what's been written on the Basalt religion, see if I can find anything hinting at slime creatures. Suddenly fatigue and testicular ache felt a little lighter.

Honestly, did I really think I could concentrate on bridge-building today?

I course-corrected and went to sit in the usually emptiest section of the library, which today would be mostly empty anyway.

It didn't take me long to learn Basalt hadn't left any sacred text behind and the few things we knew about them came from their opponents. One book in particular,

Against Heresies

. Four hundred pages of exquisitely intricate counter-arguments translated from Latin. It didn't take me long to doze off.

So I decided to activate my emergency plan.

The library was old, austere, the opposite of the really modern, bright and airy architecture we have now like in Birmingham or Warsaw. Here it was a maze of narrow rows and windowless alcoves over five low-ceiling floors. So many places to hide. It didn't take me long to be naked.

There's no way I would fall asleep like this, right?

Right.

I woke up at a table surrounded by piles of open books, drool on my chin. Also, standing in front of me was Kirsi.

"Hi," she giggled.

"Oh, shiiit!" My first reflex was to close the books. Crosses, pentagrams, old symbols, I had even grabbed a few essays about cryptids. I looked like the cat lady who buys crystals at her local esoteric bookshop. In college it was more embarrassing than being caught with your pants down.

I wasn't wearing any pants.

Kirsi could only see my upper body. My big tits.

She sat down across from me, put her notebooks aside on the table, asked, "Are you naked?" all mischievous.

"Yes." I blushed.

"Why are you naked?"

"Becauuuuuse..."

Shit.

"I lost a bet," I said.

"Oh? that sucks. How does it work? You get naked and that's it? Are your friends here?"

"No, I have to send them a selfie for proof, that's all--"

"Did you take it? Do you want me to take it?"

Fuck.

"Yeah, I took it already."

"So why are you still naked?"

Fine, she seemed pretty ok with it, so why not.

I sighed. "Look. I lied. I didn't lose any bet. I'm naked because I'm a nudist, I study better when I'm unclothed."

"Aren't you afraid of getting caught?"

"I've been caught and as you can see I'm pretty cool with it."

She smiled so wide I could almost hear her getting wet. "Ok, well, I'll leave you to it, then."

She stood up and fumbled for her stuff and knocked a manual over.

She squatted down to pick it up and as she did her gaze met my penis under the table.

She sprang up, awkward, surprised, a very good actress. "Oh, I... Haha..." she began, "I didn't know you were a futa."

Of course you did.

"Sorry. Did I freak you out?" I said.

"You kidding? It's like finding cash under the sofa." She sat down again. "So, how is it?"

"How is what?"

"Having a penis."

"It's pretty fuckin' awesome." I heard this question all my life but I can never be mad at it.

Sudden footsteps and voices startled me. We both froze and listened.

Kirsi saw the fear in my eyes, even as danger faded away.

"You seem rather nervous for a nudist," she told me with a more and more grinning ascendancy.

"I don't wanna get expelled. And deported."

"What if I told you you could walk around the entire library naked and get away with it?"

"I'm listening."

* * * * * *

It's best seeing it from the librarian's perspective. Imagine her sitting at her desk in the lobby, sipping on her lukewarm tea, and suddenly there's a girl bursting in from the reading hall, running for the exit, wearing a mask, carrying a bundle of clothes, unstoppable, shoes going

dun dun dun

and the echo just as loud, and then perfectly timed, she's being chased by another girl, top speed, completely naked, screaming, "

She stole my clothes! She stole my clothes! Call the police!

" and not only that but there's a huge cock flapping between her legs.

I was laughing my ass off internally, drunk on drowsiness. I could see the exit, that was it, I had streaked the fucking library!

I was about to cross the security gates when my name came to my ears and this surreal within the surreal almost tripped me up.

"Miss Belisario," said the librarian, in a voice so shallow I could only stop and look back. Another one of my split-second decisions that don't make sense.

The old woman, half-moon glasses falling down her greasy nose, was gawking at me, stupefied, perhaps less by the situation and her own nonsensical reaction than by the fact she was face to face with the biggest flaccid dick she had ever seen.

"Miss Belisario," she repeated. "Here. Your books."

I walked up to the counter and saw three Graham Hancock books.

"Do you have your library card?"

* * * * * *

As planned I found Kirsi in the gazebo just outside the library and we fell into each other's arms, laughing and jigging for the glory of mischief and mayhem.

She saw the books in my hand and asked what it was.

"Long story," I said, putting my clothes back on.

"Hey, Ester?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think we can go to your place and have sex?"

* * * * * *

No futanari had ever been able to settle the debate, whether it was a curse or a blessing that women saw us as free-use dildos.

Men didn't seem to be jealous so I guess it was more of a curse.

It's not really a thing you brood over when you're balls-deep inside a pussy.

I was brooding.

I opened my apartment door for Kirsi and let her in with a little bow.

During the twenty-minute walk to my condo she told me about her life story. Didn't believe a word of it.

I mean, she was nice, and hot, but...I guess I was exhausted, you know? Or perhaps...more like I was more real. Disillusioned. Heck, I don't know.

Normally when I've closed the door and I'm taking off my shoes I'm already unbuttoning my top at the same time, and five seconds later I'm completely naked. There I just hung my keys to the hook and then shuffled to the couch and sat down like I weighed a hundred tons.

Kirsi didn't undress seeing that I had not.

She straddled my lap. She carefully removed my glasses, folded them, put them on the coffee table, and then she kissed me.

It was nice. Why would I be grumpy with her? After all, she could have banged any futa on campus but she chose my stupid ass, so it meant there was some interesting sincerity in her.

She undressed me. My top. My bra. We took our time. She told me I was the cutest. I believed her. It's the height. Did I tell you some futa are ten feet tall?

She told me it would be her first time with a futa and I believed her. She may have embraced her sexuality, I can understand that entering a world where she could get gangbanged just by asking, it could be intimidating.

She slid back from my lap to kneel between my legs. She peeled off my pants, my panties, and finished with my socks, taking delicate care of my feet. She kissed them, caressed my soles.

Fuuck that's so hot. Ester, for fuck's sake, get turned on!

I saw I had missed a little bit of mud under my left big toe nail. Thank God Kirsi didn't seem to notice.

What she did notice was my big softie. But didn't take any affront. She climbed my legs using only her lips.

I couldn't tell her it wasn't her fault.

She made an attempt at dirtytalk.

"I touched myself thinking about this moment. So much. I know you're the right one for my little kittie."

"You said you didn't know I was a futa."

She pouted. "I lied."

She was reaching my balls.

"So what makes me so special, then?" I said.

Alright, alright, I was fishing for compliments, but I was trying to get hard here.

Her answer was the loveliest I ever got: she kissed me slowly, languorously on every part of my body that she liked, meaning from head to toe. She kissed my tits, my fingers, my hair, my eyelids, my feet again. She made me flip over and then she kissed the small of my back, she kissed my asshole, she slid her tongue inside my pussy. Then I was back facing her and she pecked my still unresponsive penis.