Posted by Sawney Beane on August 03, 2007 at 14:57:02:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #127
GIVE A FEW INCHES
by Sawney Beane
3,7 December 2005
1,055 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of semi-consensual snuff and androphagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Turnabout is fair play.
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Stan's visit to his girlfriend took a dramatic turn for the worse when she announced in a slightly nervous but hopeful tone those two words every man dreads hearing. "I'm pregnant," Laura said, smiling sweetly and running her hands through the long silky strands of her hair.
Stan's face went pale. Not good news; not now; not ever. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, dear," she smiled sweetly again.
"Is it mine?" Stan asked tactlessly.
She frowned at him, "You know it is, Stan!"
"Sorry," he said. "But weren't we using birth control?"
"Yes, of course, but these things are not foolproof."
"Oh."
Stan's mother had warned him about these dangers, and had gone so far as to suggest that he never allow himself to even consider having sex with a woman at all. But that was not realistic, and even she knew it. Stan was not a homosexual, although at times like these he wished he was; too bad it wasn't something you could just fake. He did not have the dedication and willpower to be a priest; the lure of the female was just too strong.
And really how can a man be expected to resist the charms of a woman anyway, especially one as attractive as his Laura. She really was a knockout, and she looked better than ever today; perhaps it was the glow of motherhood descending upon her already. Stan hugged her finally, and she cried tears of joy that her lover seemed to be becoming more supportive.
Still, Stan was thinking of the rare lucky bastards who were sterile. A man like that could be a Casanova making glorious love to any woman he pleased without risk of pregnancy. It was quite a life, but then again, when you're old and lonely with nothing to say for yourself, perhaps it is not so wonderful.
Laura through her tears asked Stan what they should name the children. He thought for just a moment before replying: Stan, Jr., Nicolas, and Jessica. Laura smiled in agreement. Most pregnancies resulted in triplets-two male and one female. The father usually had the privilege of naming the children. The surname was, of course, contributed by the mother.
Laura ran her hands across Stan's shoulders, and he felt the familiar tingling. He tried to resist this time, but she was irresistible. Soon he felt her tongue probing his mouth. And he didn't mind. When she looked into his eyes with that hypnotic stare of her pale blue eyes, he was charmed beyond hope of reprieve. In this all-too-familiar state, he could not resist any request she might have.
Somehow she seemed even more enthusiastic in her lovemaking than usual. Stan had never been disappointed in Laura, but today, she ripped off his clothing and tossed him onto the bed like a rag doll. She was passionate and hot, not the good little girl she usually seemed. Today she was far more dominant, taking charge of their love and making him hers. There seemed to be a fierce desperation in her need for him. He allowed her to carry him along for the ride.
Stan, for his part, tried to delay his gratification. He lasted nearly an unprecedented hour before he finally felt the glorious release and felt her welcoming his useless seed into an already planted garden.
And at that very moment of utmost passion he felt her mouth clamping down on the right side of his neck. He felt the teeth, especially those special teeth which only women have, ripping through skin and flesh. In an instant, his ecstasy merged into excruciating pain in an almost seamless transition, which left some doubt as to whether or not there was a difference. But the hot blood, Stan's blood, running down the chin and breasts of his beautiful lover was alarming to say the least.
He was a true gentleman to the end. He did not resist as some men do. Not that it would have mattered. A woman in this state can easily overpower a man. She needed him, and she would have him. After all, she was eating for four.
The red tingling sensation was overtaking his vision when his thoughts turned to Ralph the butcher, a friend he'd had since his school days. Ralph was a nice chap, but it was always awkward socializing with a man who might someday be carving your body into meal-sized chunks. Stan wondered if Laura would take his corpse to Ralph and, if so, what Ralph would think-probably just another day at the shop. Come to think of it, Ralph was about the only guy Stan knew who did not consort with the ladies-no doubt his job gave him a more vivid perspective on the dangers of sex that most men found easier to forget when confronted with a sultry siren.
He found himself worrying about things that were no longer of any concern to him. He worried about how his absence would be perceived at work. No doubt his boss would be irked at having to replace him, but of course she knew that you gave any jobs that required real skill or training to women or homosexuals. Stan and every other heterosexual man in the firm were necessarily eminently replaceable. So why bother feeling guilty about the work he would miss?
Stan wondered at the very end how long through the pregnancy he would last. He was a big guy, so perhaps he had a chance, but on the other hand, a pregnant woman could consume a lot of flesh in nine months. It was a toss up. In any case, he knew he would do his part.
Red tingling was giving way to inky blackness. Stan knew this was the end. He could no longer see Laura, but he knew she was there, could hear her slurping his blood. He wondered if he loved her. Probably too late now to debate that point, but he hoped so. After all, she was the mother of his children.
Thought was becoming more and more hopeless. The blackness expanded until it consumed his mind. The last thing he remembered before everything went black was his mother's stern warning to him: "My son, if you give a woman a few inches, she will take it all."