by David Kempf
“Mr. Roberts?”
“Yes?”
“Try to take care of yourself and be careful….”
Wilbur walked through the front door and towards the elevator. He was truly thankful that there were no Morphs in it. Without warning, the panic started in on him again. Wilbur found himself panting and he could feel his heart racing. The elevator ride would not be long. It would not unfortunately be long at all.
The unhappy man got out of the elevator and walked slowly down the dark hallway. All too soon and he would reach his cubicle. He prayed not be violated by these creatures.
“Oh dear God,” Wilbur whispered to himself.
He looked at all of the jars filled with dead Morph babies on display. The hallway was lined with shelves full of them. These things could not reproduce but they were proud of the abominations that came out of the half vaginas. Morphs would make humanity unable to reproduce itself.
“Disgusting,” he whispered.
The pride of the Morphs was unequaled. Even their failed attempt at producing offspring was met with unmerited pride.
“God, I’m here,” said Wilbur.
The cubicle was empty and he still didn’t see any of them around. That would have been a good thing but there was something about them. He could almost sense when they were around.
They were around.
They were close.
Trying to distract himself.
Wilbur turned on his computer. There was a lot to be done. E-mails were always work related and for some reason the creatures never wrote anything pornographic in e-mail form. Oddly enough, these things did not like sexually arousing imagery in photographs, film or the written word.
It was their belief that humans were reluctant to admit the truth that they secretly wanted to fuck these things that dominated Morph sexual desire.
Wilbur typed away for about an hour or so. He was working diligently, but he had always been a hard worker. His father had taught him that. Wilbur’s father was strict about many things and enforcing a good work ethic was one of them.
The time was passing and his heart rate slowed down a bit. Then to his horror, he knew that his immediate supervisor was breathing down his neck. Perhaps not literally because Wilbur had never heard one of those things breathe before. He was, it seemed, standing behind his subordinate at the moment.
“Wilbur.”
“Mr. Davids.”
“Please, so formal,” said the thing. It paused. “Call me by my first name, Wilbur,” said the inhuman supervisor.
“Trojan.”
“Oh… that’s better….”
Wilbur felt like he was going to be sick already. It was like a grim fairy tale this place; it didn’t seem real to be here.
“Please, say my first name again.”
“Trojan.”
“I feel like I can support you more on the job when we tear down the walls of formality.”
“I see.”
“We could do that after work as well you know…”
“No. I’m married and I have a job to do.”
There was a pause and Wilbur knew that he would have to choose his next words carefully or at least correctly.
“I don’t mean to offend you, Willy…”
“Wilbur.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to, Wilbur. I simply want you to see the reality of your situation.”
“I know, Trojan.”
“It could be worse for you.”
Wilbur nodded.
“You know all about my supervisor.”
“Yes.”
“I was once human like you. He got me. The surprise was that it’s so wonderful once you surrender your will and your….”
“Body?”
“Yes,” it answered.
The thing had a serious strong hold on his nerves. Nausea and fear overwhelmed him. Then it faded. It became anger. There was always a hidden agenda. It was always a sexual one.
“I need to get back to work, Trojan.”
“Very well.”
It would come back later in the day and Wilbur knew it wouldn’t be good news. He could tell from the tone of its voice that it was beginning to really get down to business. Trojan wanted to fuck Wilbur by day’s end.
He had no proof of that but it was a likely scenario.
The boss thing was growing very impatient with him; it had been that way for a while. Trojan was sick of Wilbur playing hard to get.
Another high-ranking Morph worked from the basement of the office building. The other one was worse. He practically ate scorpions for lunch. This thing was a monster when he was human. That thing moved very fast but fortunately, Wilbur was not even close to being his first choice. Wilbur was always grateful for that.
Wilbur got back to work.
Even a hard worker like Wilbur sometimes had a mind that drifted during working hours.
Wilbur’s dad didn’t want any faggots in the family. His son either had to love women or at least love to fuck them. Any other possibility was simply not acceptable in the Roberts tribe.
Mr. Roberts knew that many sons grew up to resent unloving and cold fathers and Mr. Roberts just so happened to be one of those dads.
Wilbur did not have a very loving or encouraging dad.
But he did have a resilient one.
The man knew a certain percentage of sons whose dads fucked them up ended up having sexual orientations that were not traditional. That’s why Mr. Roberts had a plan for young Wilbur that would forever guide the path of his sexual identity.
When Wilbur was fourteen years old, his father gave him a birthday present he would never forget. He treated him to a night at a whore house.
That really changed his life forever and put him on the straight and narrow so to speak. Wilbur fell in love with pussy head over heels the night he lost his virginity and he never looked back.
In his rich fantasy life, he didn’t have to look back.
Wet dreams and going home.
The name of his fantasy gal was Liz.
That’s the fun and short version of the name that is both prim and proper, Elizabeth.
Liz had lovely dark hair and wonderful brown eyes. Her beautiful breasts were ecstasy to the touch. The first time that Wilbur had seen her take her clothes off he almost had orgasm looking at her firm rear end. Her ass was really beautiful. When he got to put his tongue deep down inside the pretty patch of black hair between his legs he was a very happy and satisfied man indeed.
But that was the old Liz; she was dead and gone now.
That girl died in her youth.
Now there was only old frigid Elizabeth, his wife, to take her place….
“You know that I would love to know your love secrets,” said the boss thing. Trojan snuck up behind him while he was daydreaming about the lovely Liz.
“You could do much worse than to have me bust your cherry.”
“Sir…”
“Are you sexually repressed, is that it?”
“No, I’m married…”
“Same thing,” said Trojan Davids. Then he laughed and winked at poor old frightened Wilbur who was terrified of being molested.
“Perhaps,” Wilbur answered.
“I’ve given you something important to think about.”
“Yes.”
Trojan Davids started to walk away from Wilbur. He turned around and gave him a very creepy wink.
“Wilbur?”
“Yes?”
“Like it or not, the battle is over. We are the future of this planet. I want to see a white flag on your desk by day’s end. Surrender your body to me.”
“I…”
“Today’s the day.”
Wilbur felt like he was going to faint.
Nightmares of his father….
The man Wilbur called Father or Dad was a simple man who occasionally said profound things. He always told his son to stick with the big picture and not to judge other men by their individual mistakes, even the really bad on
es.
“All men are capable of erring,” said his father’s voice in his head.
“I know, Dad, these things are evil…”
“Evil? What an idea. I merely want to put you on the path to self-preservation and away from the path of destruction.”
“I see.”
“This is Liz, marry her. She’s the best thing in your life since I gave you a birthday present some have called me insane for giving.”
“Dad…”
Despite Wilbur’s fear: This “assignation” with Trojan Davids never happened. The boss thing, the really foul one, called Davids into its office. Davids was never heard from that day again.
The next morning, as Wilbur lay in bed after waking, he could not help muttering to himself. “My God, I’m lucky.”
“What was that?” asked his wife.
“Nothing,” Wilbur answered cheerfully.
He smiled at her and got out of bed to take a shower. It had been months since they had fucked. Wilbur jerked off in the shower, often thinking about what her young body used to look like.
She went downstairs to make him breakfast but the ugly part of him, the selfish and cynical part, knew her lazy ass would return to bed as soon as he was out the door to go to work. While he was facing uncertainty and chaos, she would sleep and dream. She was going to bed and he was going to Hell.
There was a strange uncertainty surrounding Wilbur’s day on the job. There was an almost ghost like silence from a bad horror movie. In typical cliché fashion, he even saw it was beginning to rain hard outside. There was even some thunder and lightning in this suspenseful psychosexual drama. He could see all of this in the ceiling window above him.
The phone rang.
Wilbur’s phone rang and he reluctantly answered it.
“Mr. Roberts?”
“Yes.”
A terrible feeling of dread and vulnerability came over him and he feared his luck had just run out.
“Mr. Roberts?” the voice repeated.
Wilbur still couldn’t speak. Wilbur Roberts looked around and knew that he was alone in the cubicles. There was no one else, human or monster around him.
Alone and frightened and the voice…
“Mr. Roberts!”
“Yes, sorry, yes…”
“Do you know who this is?”
“No.” He swallowed hard.
“Mr. Cummings?” The big boss, Davids’ boss.
“Yes.”
“Thornton Cummings, the head of it all.”
“What can I do for you, sir?” Wilbur asked nervously.
“Wilbur, I need you to come up to my office. Davids and I want to see you.”
“See me?” Wilbur asked.
“Yes, and please come alone.”
Wilbur looked all around his work area when he arrived.
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone,” said the thing upstairs.
There was no escape this time and Wilbur knew it. He only hoped that being raped would be like taking a shit or a piss. It would certainly be disgusting, he damned well knew that.
There was no escape now. His time had come.
“Dear God, please just let it kill me…”
There was no answer from above.
“I’m an atheist and I don’t pray,” he said aloud in the empty cubicle farm. “If you do exist, God, now is the time to do me some favors.”
No one answered.
“Thanks a lot,” said Wilbur.
He began the long and terrible walk to the dreaded elevator. He knew he was in deep shit. The man had his pride. All of the fucking perverts who asked him if he wanted a blow job in the men’s room or the other dirt bags who hit on him never got their way yet.
They got shot down but then again, they didn’t have the government’s permission to shoot him. This was quite often on the flimsiest of evidence. He thought long and hard about this. Wilbur Roberts was scared. He wasn’t just unhappy now, he was terrified. He did not know what was ahead of him.
He walked into the elevator and got out. Then he approached, slowly now, the infamous office known as room 101.
“Welcome,” said the thing behind the door.
Wilbur paused.
“Come on in….”
Another pause, he was frozen in his tracks.
“Come on in. Now.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” Wilbur answered.
He stood still, trying to imagine what was on the other side of the door.
“I’m waiting for you here… in the… orifice….”
The door flew open. The Cummings thing was naked and strong, horribly strong. It grabbed him and pulled him into the dreaded room 101. This was no accident. Cummings picked this room number to be his office since he knew it was the torture room in Orwell’s 1984.
“Oh God,” Wilbur groaned.
Sitting tied up in front of him on a chair was Trojan Davids, the filthy thing, in a masochistic sexual situation.
“Trojan is the hors d’oeuvre this fine afternoon,” Cummings said, grinning.
“What?”
“You’re the main meal, Wilbur. I know how you’ve avoided such delightful, rough intimacies in the past.”
“Y-yes.”
“I know you thought that it was an insult to your masculinity, but you must learn to compartmentalize.”
“What?” Wilbur asked.
“I know that you find me, us, our kind disgusting beyond words. I know this. You need to realize two things.”
“What two things?”
“One—We are the future. You need to see the big picture.”
“I don’t want to become….”
“Two,” it cut him off. “Two—You’re my bitch now so, shut the fuck up!”
Wilbur struggled so that he could feel disconnected from all of this chaos and fear. There were real monsters in the real world and they lived among regular humans. The evil things were called….
“Morphs, we are beautiful, right now you are too ugly to see…”
Wilbur had heard Morphs could read minds but he had always prayed that wasn’t true.
“Please….”
Wilbur gave a long, hard look at the monster. God, they resembled octopuses. The thing took its long arm, the one that seemed to come out right behind its hideous penis slash vagina and threw Wilbur against the wall.
“The handcuffs are on the coat rack, it said. Now put them on…”
“I…”
“Now, my little friend…”
Wilbur did just as he was told without pause, for the first time in his life. He lived a very quiet life of rebellion, well, at least in his private thoughts. For a man with the first name Wilbur he was the biggest rebel around if only in his dreams.
“Fuck me, baby!” Cummings said.
The Cummings thing fucked the Davids thing; Wilbur couldn’t tell how he was doing it but he knew the handcuffs hurt Davids’ arms.
“Yeah, baby…”
“Please, the pain,” whimpered Trojan.
“Trojan, honey, I need to ask you something…”
“What?” Trojan asked.
“Do you mind I’m not using a rubber?”
There was no answer, Trojan was horrified and so was Wilbur who waited his turn. He knew he was next.
“If you have a devil may care attitude, this can be an interesting ride,” said Cummings.
The expression was not one of lustful bliss on Davids face. It was a look of sheer terror and it made the anticipation of the experience that much darker for Wilbur.
“God,” Wilbur said.
“Love god,” Cummings said.
“Please just kill me,” whispered Davids.
“I will after I get off.”
Wilbur closed his eyes.
“Open your eyes,” Cummings snarled.
“What?”
“Open your fucking eyes,” shouted Cummings.
Wilbur opened his eyes.
“Good, bitch.”
&nbs
p; Cummings fucked Davids so hard with his half cock (it was still much larger than a humans) that his head was pounding into the wall.
“Good ride,” shouted Cummings.
“Please stop this,” said Davids with a pathetic whimper.
And for a while Cummings did.
“Dear God,” Wilbur said.
The thing ripped Davids’ head off with something Wilbur had never seen before. Prior to this nightmare, he had not known of its existence.
“Yes,” Cummings said.
The Cummings thing had a tentacle that came out of its neck. It was seemingly handy for decapitations.
“I’ll take care of those cuffs now,” Cummings said. He took the cuffs off Wilbur with his tentacle then.
Wilbur watched in horror as Cummings used his tentacle to masturbate. The thing’s big cock was getting harder and to Wilbur that was very bad.
“As far as I know I’m the only one blessed with this gift,” said Cummings, stroking himself. “You’ll see; it has many uses…”
“Please I just want to die…”
“Oh, you don’t mean that,” said Cummings.
“Yes, I do.”
All Wilbur could think this nightmare was like a Western, a High Noon shoot out. The man and the thing were staring each other down.
“Then do it,” said the Cummings thing with its erection and a monster tentacle.
“What?”
“I think you know what I mean, human.”
“Yes, I think I will.” Wilbur pulled the hideous tentacle towards himself.
The long tentacle, Wilbur now saw, had little holes on the base of it. One or two of then looked like the beautiful shape of his wife’s vagina. The younger version of it, he thought. Something, some liquid sprayed out of those lovely orifices, drenching Wilbur. He immediately felt dizzy. He was being covered with what must be the Cummings equivalent of a date rape drug.
“Sweet dreams, bitch!”
Wilbur felt himself to be sinking into the lovely dark waters of an ocean. He had no wish to stay afloat. He wanted to be seduced by them. The deep night waters were what his heart desired. The deeper he sank, the freer he felt.
What makes the human mind work?
Sweet dreams…. love…
As Wilbur continued on his descent into bottomless darkness, he seemed to hear a voice. It was like an angel. It must have been in his head because there were no angels in the deepest and darkest parts of the ocean.
Such nonsense….
Sweet nonsense….