Bodhissatva Troutwaxer
If you were a normal after X-Day what could be worse than having a subgenius hate you? What if that sub-g was your friend....
The Green Hills of Dallas
"Time for normal wake up!!" said the bright cheery voice on the loudspeakers that reared up like periscopes above the green hills and the brightly colored flowers. A few cute grey bunnies shifted an ear toward the sound; the rest had heard it all before. Down below, in the huge dome shaped huts, screaming could be heard. Jodi had triggered the shock probes exactly three seconds after the wake up call. She didn't want to, in fact she hated hurting her fellow normals, but she had to, the consequences of any disobedience were just too terrible. Not to mention that in the new world shocking her fellow normals was one of the few ways she could get off. The master had programmed the spot next to her ooze and squirt gland to respond to the sound of pinks screaming in pain.
As any normals who had lazed in their cots stood straight up howling in agony, courtesy of several hundred volts, Jodi was fingering herself and screaming in pleasure while the tidal waves of an incredible orgasm pounded through her body. Later the guilt would come - getting off on the sound of her friends and neighbors being shocked and burned always made her want to cry, and she'd certainly weep when she had a few minutes to herself, but she had to follow orders - that, and she'd wanted to get off so badly... The master had made sure of that.
Up in a bright blue sky the grinning, pipe smoking baby sun shrieked with laughter. It was a new day in Dallas and the normals were about to be fed, tortured, then let out for a long day of bumping bellies and running through the flowers. Jodi wished for the thousandth time that she was one of them, and not (she wanted to vomit at the mere thought) the favored glorp pet of Squod Foomish, Lord of Texas.
The first moments with Squod hadn't been so bad, mainly, she thought on reflection, because the hours before that had been so horrible. When the Xist's had landed Jodi and her parents had been at breakfast. Jodi's mother was a college professor, and her end had been mercifully quick. She'd screamed for a few minutes and then her head had exploded in a blast of laser light from one of the saucer ships.
Jodi's father had been a psych nurse at the Home For Yeti Children and his many deaths had each taken hours. The first death had begun with the unravelling of flesh. Jodi's father had looked down at one of his fingers and started screaming as it slowly dissolved, blood, bone and meat spraying across the room. For hours Jodi had tried to help him, screaming herself all the while, getting Band-Aids, tying tourniquets, and finally dragging her dad to the car and trying the emergency room, which had a line of tortured souls that stretched for blocks.
Her father had died nearly a mile from the ER and when Jodi got home after an hour of dodging Xist strafing runs she'd discovered her regenerated father at home howling in agony while a horde of rabid shrews gnawed at his flesh. Jodi came to herself in the street, dully watching the buildings begin to liquify and sink into the blobs of stone that would one day become the green hills of Squod's ranch.
That was when a group of unsaved subgenii, each armed to the teeth, raced around the corner and grabbed her. They'd thrown her down and taken turns with her virgen mouth, cunt and ass. How nice it had been, she thought centuries later, that she'd only had three holes.
As she was picking herself up, bruised and bloody, eyes full of tears, the first rabbit had hopped by. 'Look, a bunny.' she'd thought brightly, 'I like bunnies.' She'd wandered around and watched the grass growing up from the buildings, seen the flowers sprout... Then the cute little domes had begun pushing aside the earth. 'This must be heaven,' her dazed, traumatized back to toddler-hood brain had told her, 'its just like where the tubbies live.' Every once in awhile she'd spot another shell shocked survivor wandering the hills. A pretty little twister of light and colors had blown at her. At first she wanted to run in the whirlwind and then she realized that it had a face and she got very frightened.
"Excuse me," said the self important young man's voice from inside the tornado, "But aren't you Jodi Martin?"
"Uh huh." she'd also nodded her head.
"I remember you. You were the only one who was never mean to me, so I'm going to save you. I will pick you up and raise you from this place. You don't want to be part of what's about to happen." Next thing she knew, Jodi was up in the air, looking down at a great crowd of normals surrounded by subgenii dressed in surplus Yacatizma armor.
"Time for normal-tubbies. Time for normal-tubbies." The whole crowd began to sprout brightly colored fur. Antennas sprouted from their heads and the screams went on and on and on.
Though she had been outwardly nice to him, she had despised Squod Foomish even when he was a small boy. He had been called Hubert Petersen then, and they had been next door neighbors. Sometimes the sounds and smells had drifted from her house to his, provoking nausea and the occasional bad dream. One day when they were in high school, she had peeked through the fence into his back yard and seen him bending over in front of a wildly humping ape. She'd gone back inside with a case of the dry heaves and spent the rest of the day laying down. Years later she'd discovered that the ape in the back yard was a Yeti, and that the sex act she'd witnessed had been the sealing of a diabolical contract which would be fulfilled years later.
"I chose to stay behind." he'd told her proudly, "I made it very clear, sent my thirty dollars to the Church, but told Stang not to issue me a membership card. I assured him again and again that I would get more pleasure torturing farm normals for all eternity than any trip in the pleasure saucers could give me. A few days later the yeti S'bloosh-Fooom Varno emerged from the woods and told me that Dallas would be mine, that I was one of the special chosen ones, and that I would receive certain powers... We fucked, and I walked back inside. My little sister was watching "Teletubbies." Normally, I wouldn't have watched, but I was worn out and I collapsed on the couch. Soon I realized that Teletubbies was not really a show for normal children, but a plan - nay a divine command from Dobbs himself - telling me how normals should be raised, treated, fed, even what they should look like after X-Day. You should consider yourself lucky Jodi, that you were always nice to me, never spat on me or hit me or called me names like my parents or the other children. You could be one of them now." Except he hadn't really said it, he'd made her live it, poured the memories of being him on that fateful day into her aching, spinning head and left them there for years so that she still woke from nightmares of yeti dick up her ass, caressing her large and small intestine, erupting into her stomach, and cumming out of her mouth. Sex with Squod was even worse. He might have saved her, but now he thought she owed him everything. When the tentacles had gone into her for the first time she'd thrown up all over him. She'd expected him to be angry, but he'd just laughed a little too loudly. "Huh ha ha. I guess I forgot to modify your tastes. You probably still like human men.
Suddenly her mind had bent and twisted and she was crazy horny for as many mating tentacles as she could stuff into her orifices.
"That's not me!!" she'd screamed in horror as her first ever orgasm shook her frail body. "I don't like that kind of thing so why do I like it? Its not me!! Its not its not its not!!
"It is now." Squod's mania for body modification was almost as bad. The second time he fucked her he'd been dis-satisfied with her abiliy to please him with her anus and he'd casually rearranged her rectal cavity to include a complete working tongue so that she could lick him as they banged. Unfortunately, that meant she spent all day tasting herself. "Don't bother me with trifles!" was The Master's only comment. This was followed by another mental wrench and suddenly she like shit better than she'd ever liked chocolate - and that was just as bad. "I do this only because you have never been unkind to me," Squod had told her, "don't make me regret my feelings for you. After all, you could be like him." Suddenly they were up in the air watching the tubbies.
"Look down there." the Master had commanded, "Do you remember Thad Wilson?" Thad had been the manager of the corner drug store. "One day after my father had beaten me I went into the pharmacy to try to get some aspirin, 'cause it hurt so much, and he told me I was ugly and smelly and I had to get out. I showed him the bruises and told him but he -" suddenly she just felt more hurt than she ever had imagined she'd feel, but no words, no images. "Look at him!!" Squod chortled, "He's got a funny fuzzy antenna on top of his head now and he's covered with blue fur. His tummy has a MWOWM terminal, which he can never use because he can't talk, and he can only get off by bumping his tummy against another tummy. He eats breakfast carved from my mother and drinks my fathers urine and blood. He can no longer laugh or smile and his only remaining memories are of what he did to me and of his beautiful young wife being eaten alive by Legume and Papa Joe Mama. He weeps constantly, or he would if I allowed him tear ducts, and soon I'll begin a program of making him fuck the surviving members of his own family with a power drill!" Centuries later, Jodi still thought that Thad Wilson was one of the most fortunate people alive on the earth. _Only_ two horrible memories? And what could be worse, she wondered, than serving Squod Foomish's sexual whims on - she broke off her train of thought - Oh my "Bob" I'll be late to feed the glorps!! He'll kill me!!"
Feeding the glorps was absolutely, definitely, not one of her favorite chores. It involved cutting body parts from the still living _thing_ that was Squod's mother. The Master insisted that she hack the normal's portions off of his mother's breasts, which grew back every night. She revved up the chain saw and picked up one of the thousand foot breasts, put it on the butcher block and started cutting. His mother screamed from all of her four thousand mouths (the lips would be served for dinner) and the alpha normal held up his bowl. "There you go Mr President." she said brightly, giving him the same forced smile she had once given a then human Hubert Petersen. She was not actually allowed to have an orgasm while cutting on Squod's mother, but he had trained her to get horny while doing it.
The very first time Squod had made her do this, she had refused. "I have saved you because you were once nice to me," Squod had told her, "but now no normal may refuse a SubGenii's will and go undisciplined. You will relive my childhood over and over again until you share the feelings I have for my parents and want to hurt them as much as I do." That day she had relived every beating, every name he'd ever been called, the times his mother had molested him, the times his father had fucked him, the times he'd been used as a toilet, the times that there were no presents for him, the times he'd been burned with a soldering iron, the conspiracy's "Home For Yeti Children" and worst of all, the hundreds of times angry shaman grandpa and hell priestess grandma had tried to exorcise the sub-g presence from his mind.
Then there had been the daily grind of living at the house, the terror, the hiding, the crying, the lack of food. In the next few days she'd relived it hundreds of times, and finally had gone to a dark bye-bye place in her own mind, from which she'd finally woken up while dry humping one of the mother-things breasts while she tore at it with her teeth, secure in, but also very afraid of the knowledge that she would never disobey again.
"Good normal," the voice in her head had told her, and suddenly there was a chain saw by her feet and a thousand normal-tubbies gathered around her with bowls in their little bloody fury paws. She'd laughed and rubbed herself all over with the blood, one hand wetly caressing one of her nipples and the other three fingers deep into her snatch each time she took a break from the hacking and cutting. She wasn't rubbing herself to get off, but she knew that mother and father would be watching her as she chopped, and she wanted so badly to have them know that she understood what they had been and how much she liked hurting them. "Excellent Normal," said the voice inside her head, and an astral penis lazily caressed the pleasure centers of her mind.
"Watering" the normals was done by someone else, one of the minor, unsaved, subgenii who hadn't sent in his thirty dollars and had no choice but to stay behind. Squod Foomish had made his father quite large, and had increased his capacity to feel pain a thousand fold. Each pink was led to a hose end, and then the sharpened metal tube was punched through several layers of nerve tissue into one of daddy's many testicles. The normals gathered around and drank while daddy's one giant mouth hollered over and over again for his son to please stop he was sorry. At lunch, daddy's one great eye would be punctured and everyone would drink the aqueous vitae, then at dinner each normal would bite off the head of one of daddy's penises and drink the sweet urine inside.
When she was done chopping up mommy, one of the lesser, unsaved, subgenii led her to the altar. The other unsaved took up knives, cattle prods, whips and cudgels. It was time for her to fuck "Bob's" statue while the normals were being tortured. Jodi remembered the first time she had been assigned this duty. "You'll notice," Squod Foomish had told her, "That when the sculptress created this statue, she was thinkind of "Bob" as a truly sexual being, and that she thusly gave "Bob" many more penises than he actually appears to have." Jodi had looked carefully. The fingers and toes of the naked "Bob" were all penises, and penises sprouted forth from his shoulders and knees and elbows. Jodi, well trained in normal ideas about sex, wanted to puke.
Squod Foomish continued, "I will therefore have to modify you for this duty. Behold your new self." Her body had begun to twitch and she felt pieces sliding against each other that didn't slide like that and then she looked at her hand and spotted the vaginas sinking down into the spaces between her fingers, watched the pubic finger hair sprout, knew that the same thing was happening in her armpits and between her toes and half a dozen other places, realized that clits were growing in her nostrils and ear holes and along her lips. Suddenly she was screaming, though she didn't know why... reflex perhaps; Squod was always modifying her form and she always screamed. The unsaved subgenii strapped her to the statue of "Bob" as The Master settled his fractaled, tentacular shapes around the statue of Connie. Then, worst of all, she felt the wrenching, mind as stretch taffy feeling that meant The Master was rewriting the instructions next to her ooze and squirt gland. The "compile" complete, she had stopped screaming as quickly as she'd started, and begun to drip from all her new orfices as she contemplated the wonderful, glorius, magical feeling of how horny she was for this lovely statue of God's chosen salesman, J.R. "Bob" Dobbs. The sex, as if she had a choice, was great, but once it was over, she had wanted very much to wash her brain clean of the feeling of having an all powerful, extremely gross, ex-next-door-neighbor boy causally reach into her mind and modify her deepest urges. She didn't get to do that.
By now it was old hat, sort of a disgusting been used as a toilet and put on her head soon after old hat, but old hat nonetheless. Squod had once offered to let her enjoy the feeling of not liking it, but she had refused, fearing what that would do to the last vestige of the girl who once gotten squirmy at the sight of Leonardo de Caprio. "Let the tortures begin!!" Squod shouted and the statues of "Bob" and Connie came to a gruesome half life. "Bob" penetrated her multiply and Connie began to twitch against the snake shape of Squod Foomish "Long have we waited for these moments." the thing that had been Hubert shouted, and now we are enjoying them forever. The normals are ours and we torture them daily in the name of "Bob" and "Connie." Praise "Bob", and put the "Connie" back in Conspiracy. Normals, your time is over, we rule now. You're Fired!!!"
At this rather adolescent signal, the unsaved subgenii waded into the crowd of normal-tubbies, cutting and flogging, shocking and slapping and even biting. The pinks ran back and forth, involuntarily bumping tummies and moaning in tubbie pleasure, or meeting a weapon and howling in pain, slipping and falling comically in their own blood, rubbing it on their tummies to increase the lubrication. The howls of agony inflamed her and Jodi began to fuck each of "Bob's" stone penises, groaning in pleasure and crying with joy. It was good for her kind to be imprisoned and tortured, wonderful and pleasurable. "Bob" was wise and good. After her hundredth or so orgasm out of thirty or forty clits and vaginas, the voice shouted, "Time for normal playtime!!" and the tortures stopped, her orgasms ceased, and "Bob" was no longer moving against her. She started to choke from the too tight cocks in her mouth and nose, and briefly lost consciousness before being untied. She began to cry - for just a few seconds she'd believed in the new order, taken such pleasure in the tears of her family and friends, known it to be good. A couple of the unsaved subgenii women taking her down from the statue pointed at her tears and laughed. One of them wrapped her fingers in Jodi's hair and dragged her off to a table full of food where several other subgenius women waited. A collar was wrapped around her neck and she was chained to the floor under the table. One of the women grabbed her by the ear, twisting her fragile flesh and shoving Jodi's lips against her vagina. Jodi knew that she could expect to spend the time between now and normal lunchtime serving the varied and twisted needs of the unsaved. At first, Squod Foomish had been unwilling to let her enjoy serving the Subgenii. "You're just a normal," he'd told her, "totally incapable of having any real feelings, and you must obey all Subgenii simply because we are now the Masters and Misstresses of this planet." After a few weeks of daily hysterics, however, he had relented halfway. "You will still only get off at the sound of normal pain, with "Bob's" statue, or with me, but I will allow you to feel worship for the other Subgeniuses, and to believe that these sex acts - if, and only if performed to the full satisfaction of the subgenius who is using you - are powerfully spiritual experiences." So now when Jodi was acting as someone's toilet, or taking her hundredth slap in the face with the red straps, or even just wearing lingerie and spreading her legs for some hot and bothered young buck, she tried really hard, because the reward for doing it right was just like sitting in church and really feeling Jesus loving you all warm and pure while he shined the light of heaven right down into her eyes. Mostly though, it was just one long desperate prayer to an endless stream of vaginas and penises (that's what subgenii had - normals had twats and pricks) while being tied, whipped, covered in honey, dressed in latex, whatever gross kinks the unsaved sub in question might have. According to The Master, all kinks were partial holdovers from the ancient wholeness of yeti love, but it all just felt to her like hearing the same sermon over and over.
The real hurt to it all was learning that all those feeling she had once experienced in church could be programmed into her as if her brain was some kind of equation. Was there anything in her life that had ever mattered? Once she had thought so, but a thousand years after the coming of the Xists, she had learned that everything she actually thought of as her identity was written down in a little 16k subroutine that read itself once every few seconds then called upon her sexual and spiritual centers to reinforce the ideas that someone else had implanted. Squod had proved it to her once when she'd argued for the idea that normals have free will. She'd felt the now familiar wrench and then she'd simply been someone else - answered to another name, liked different colors and food, found women sexually attractive in a quite natural way, and practiced Hinduism. At least Squod believed in keeping a backup copy.
As she was serving her ninth (or was it tenth?) subgenii of the morning and beginning to think from the sound of the panting that she might finally get a blast of nirvana today, the speakers blared again. "Jodi," requested Squod in a sad, old sounding voice, "Come to my office at once!!"
The Master didn't really have an office, he just coiled his fractal pattern of disconnected cells near the top of one hill. Sometimes he looked like a group of triangles or pyramids, sometimes like the glowing shadow of a snake or lizard. There was normal-tubby near the top of the hill. 'Praise Jesus,' thought Jodi, not caring whether someone heard, 'the reprogramming took. That's Pooky Snooky.' Pooky Snooky had once been a boy she'd known, a treacherous social climber named Pete. Over the centuries Jodi had spent many hours with Pete/Pooky Snooky bumping tummies with it and telling Pooky exactly the same story in her own primitive attempt to implant a false memory next to the normal-tubbies ooze and squirt gland. "You were at my house Pooky, remember, I'd just gotten home from Wal-Mart and I picked up my old green phone and dialed the store manager-" Jodi thought of all the times she'd tried to kill herself, the guns that wouldn't fire, the knives that wouldn't cut her, the poisen that just gave her the runs and around all the memories, Squod Foomish's laughter at the antics of his pet. 'If I've done it right,' thought Jodi, 'he'll kill me himself. At worst, he'll bust me down to tubbie. That wouldn't be so bad... The Xists are coming soon and they'll at least grant me oblivion.'
"Jodi," sighed the too calm thing that had once been her neighbor, "Pooky tells me that you're the one who got me fired from the Wal-Mart."
Most people have one thing in their life that they never forgot, some humiliation or hurt that is worse than all the others and despite the centuries that had passed, Squod (Hubert Petersen) Foomish had never forgotten the day the security guard had marched him off the property of his very first workplace in front of his very first girlfriend. Later she'd written him his very first "Dear Squod" letter telling him she needed a boyfriend who smelled better, could act like a normal person, didn't take frop or get fired 'cause she didn't want to get married to a jerk like her dad. Even now he'd rant about it ocassionally, making wild threats to kill whoever had made the anonymous phone call if he ever found them out. Jodi sometimes wondered whether he was so angry because it had really hurt so much, or because it was the one wrong done him for which he'd never be able take vengeance.
"That's right, Squod, I was the one." she sneered, "How you've never known it despite all the time you've spent with your dick between my frontal lobes is something I'll never figure out." She held the image of herself on the old green phone speaking to Wal-Mart's manager carefully in her mind. After all, he just might look. "How like a normal," Squod replied, continuing to display a calm she found much weirder than than any display of temper might have been, "all treachery behind the smiles and kind words I saved you on account of." He sighed, "Actually, the timing seems quite fortuitous to me. You see, the first transport ship for normal souls will be arriving at dawn tomorrow, and I'm going to give you to its captain and explain who and what you are and why I'm mad at you." He gave her a little push, just enough to sit her down hard on the hill. Nothing special except that she couldn't get up. Well, if he wanted special effects that was fine with her. What could be worse than being a pet normal on the conquered earth?
What could be more cruel, even intentionally, than The Master's pathetic attempts at kindness?
A few minutes after nightfall Jodi fell asleep. She was thinking about how nice it would be to finally die, and how calm she was about it all, perhaps because she had hated being alive for so long. She was just beginning to doze when she suddenly found herself walking down the street to her house. The sun was shining and birds were chirping - how long had it been since she'd seen a bird? She'd gone in the door and hugged her mom and dad but it wasn't really mom and dad.
"I'm Bert." said the handsome man in the new slacks and nice sweater, "and this is my wife Stan." Stan (what a funny name for a woman) was a pretty blond wearing a nice skirt and blouse.
"Just for awhile," said Stan, "why don't you be the old you, the one who was going to college and studying social work... Still a virgin, no extra vaginas, no tongues in your ass, only two arms and legs." Stan had her arms around a suddenly weeping Jodi, just let her cry one of those great gushing dream crys, the oceanic sobs not mussing her at all.
Bert said, "But also, look from your safe place here out the window." Normal tubbies were playing in her yard. One of them was bleeding from dozens of welts while a subgenius woman wearing a strap on fucked its ass. "You know, it doesn't have to be like that. By the time the Xists came humans had gained a lot of genetic knowledge, even found the Yeti gene complex." A helix with highlighted molecule groups appeared over the normal tubbies, spinning slowly in the morning light.
"It wouldn't have been hard to create a virus and put the yeti material into every human on earth." Stan told her in a quiet, appropriate contralto. "Just a cold for a few days and then another state of mind entirely. Such work was already being done in rats and mice, not to mention vegatables."
Bert went on: "Even now, a superbeing like Squod Foomish could change every living human into a subgenius with a wave of his hand. It wouldn't be hard."
"It might even be possible," Stan continued, "To reassemble the entire yeti genome, make every person now alive not just into a subgenius, but into a yeti." Outside, the genetic helix resolved into a baby ape, then a tall, proud, furry humanoid. "All it would take would be a few computers, some test tubes and petri dishes and no more than a few years of research."
"Or a wave on one tentacled hand." Stan suggested, "Imagine what a whole planet of yetis could come up with to sell the Xists given a whole thousand years - certainly something better than normal souls." Outside, the yeti and a normal-tubbie were dancing together. "Maybe, just maybe you could tell Squod about what we've said before he sends you away. Tell him Bert and Stan told you. He'll know who-" Jodi was awakened by an unsaved subgenius man stuffing a gag in her mouth. He handcuffed and blindfolded her, rolled her over onto her tummy and fucked her rectally while she screamed and screamed and screamed. Finally it was over and she cried until she was all cried out. She tried to regain her earlier sense of calm, but couldn't. Nonetheless, the thought that it would all be over tomorrow kept her from sinking entirely into despair.
Toward dawn she began to hear noises, and even through the blindfold she could see the light from the Xist ship's main drive. Today she would go away from all her hurt, tell someone about her vision, today she would - "Is this the one?" said a man's voice near her. Something was wrong - terribly wrong!! She recognized that Arkansas rasp.
"Yeah, that's it." Squod replied. All too late, she began to struggle against her bonds. A slap stopped her. Firm hands removed the blindfold from her eyes. She looked up see the hard, cold eyes of one of "Bob's" original apostles staring down at her. Hisd eyes burned with more sickness, hate and pain in a single instant than Squod's eyes would ever show in all the instants of all the incarnations of all his lives. Just looking _at_ his eyes, much less into them, made her feel like there were dead zombie worms gnawing at her brain, shitting parts of her fractured, tortured, half digested self back into her neural net.
"C'mon normal bitch," he said, every vibration of the sound of his voice somehow taking electric form and wound fucking every nerve cell in her body at once, bringing her to a height of agony she'd never known in a thousand years of torture, "You belong to Janor now."
Jodi started to scream, all thoughts of speaking the wonderful ideas Bert and Stan had inspired driven out by the terrible pain, knowing she would never stop screaming again. Down below her, the tubbies were lining up to board Janor's ship.
"Time for normal bye-bye."
Dear Dr. Stang,
Hope you enjoyed the above. I did my best to make it the sickest, most twisted thing anyone had ever written. I also hope the ambiguity at the end doesn't seem too much like a cop-out. Please feel free to post it, publish it, whatever. If you do, just send me a contributor's copy or a URL.
Boddhisatva Troutwaxer
5361 Huntington N. # 4
El Sereno, CA 90032
Your's in Hate,
Troutwaxer
Original file name: Normal Playtime(Xtale byRoston
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