A moment later, Double finds a hussy husky bent forward in the corner behind the tree with her paw hovering over the single-battery slot under her skirt. Her makeup is smeared over a black eye and the bra under her fishnet shirt has torn wires. Double rolls up and places himself near her crotch, and with the force of will he lifts himself onto the slot, where the hussy husky creaks her paw forward to pull Double in and start using him to masturbate. “Please,” Double says as sweaty warmth begins to rise in his body, “you need to help me.”
The hussy husky opens her mouth, and with a Billie Holiday voice she says, “Tell me what you need me to do, hon.” Double tries to settle his breathing as he says, “I need you to help me look for some other batteries. They should be on the floor somewhere.”
She stops masturbating and begins crawling on the floor and sniffing, bouncing her booty around with Double’s body giving her wet tickles. All the grown-ups have taken the children away for the moment, having left during Double’s carpet rolling in order to seek the comfort and protection of a preacher. “Do they please as well as you do, sugar?” she rasps.
Double projects the memory of Alka’s surges and dominations through her wires, and she jumps with her hind legs quivering.
After a warm sigh she reaches back to stroke Double’s body again, giggling, “Now that’s how you offer a reward, sweetie.” Then, as she sniffs around the Elder God Eggs, she says, “Tell me, what’s your name? My real name is a big number so you can just call me Barkode.”
“Double” is said through a short spark.
“Well Double, if we find these other batteries of yours and they’re as good as you are, then I might have the best
Christmas ever.” Barkode leaves the Elder God Eggs and sifts around pieces of wrapping paper discarded in various spots of floor, sniffing between short moans. Her paws turn over several layers, taking short breaks to rattle off pieces of scotch tape that stick to her fur. Then, the scent hits her nose: musky electric sweat. Over by an open battery package, she spots a large, breathing shell of wrapping paper. After she swats the paper aside she finds not a few batteries but a great wire-coated clump of them. Their skins slink and slough away from their bodies and their body parts squirm around their thrusting positives and negatives. Dean Martins’ “Baby it’s Cold Outside” hums through surround sound speakers, intermixed with the crackles and squishes of their lovemaking. “Mmm-mmm,” she hums. “Looks like we found us a party.”
Two spasms in Double’s body pass through him, the warmer spasm for Amp and Discharge, and the colder spasm for Alka. He pulls both feelings into his middle as Barkode delivers him to the piled battery orgy by crawling on top of them. With the hatch still free in Barkode’s crotch, Double feels tendrils reach up from the pile and caress his body, filling him with the many moans and grunts coming from each battery.
A blunt voice crawls over the other sounds and grabs Double. “That’s right, sugar-knobs. You can’t say no to Alka’s lovin’ for long.”
Double’s scream rumbles up through his body and knocks all the moaning and grunting away, pulling his own body into aches and burning feelings. “Where are Amp and Discharge? You have all you want, now give them back to me!”
“You already have them because I have you.”
Barkode sticks more batteries in her ears and bites off plastic bits of her flesh to plug in even more, humping the pile. “Double, honey, you really are being a mood-killer,” she says as she reaches into her crotch and tosses him out. As Double feels the last shock of a “No!” by Alka, he hears Barkode say, “Why don’t you make yourself useful and go ask some of my sisters to join?”
Double comes to a rolling halt by the plastic doctors and P.O.W.s of My First Unit 731. One doctor tucks the colorful wires under his coat back between his legs and lifts Double up. The doctor strains to take him to a small operating table, knocking away tiny toy syringes and scalpels. He pushes a button and the dissected and diseased flesh on the Korean P.O.W. flips over to normal skin. The doctor holds Double above his head and says, “A beautiful discovery! We can now test a new weapon -- the gigantic hyper-sexualized battery!”
Other wire-fed doctors clap, one of them shouting, “Dr. Itoi, you are a genius!”
“Nippon saiko no!” shouts Dr. Itoi in response as he shakes his fist and struggles to catch Double thereafter. He then clears his throat and says, “My hypothesis is that if the patient receives an orgasm from the device, then the patient dies in the process as his heart fails and his breathing clips short from the pleasure of the act and the tearing in his groin muscles.”
A second cheer cuts down as one doctor says, “But what makes you believe that this is a reliable process?” Double attempts to escape but is thwarted. The dimpled ends of Dr. Itoi’s grin curl above his surgical mask as he pops open the patient’s side hatch and says, “We have the materials and the test subjects. Now we apply and observe.”
Double’s ends sting as he is stuffed into the slot. Once the patient turns on, however, he feels wiry whips flail and tear on his skin, and the first cry from his body sprouts through the patient’s mouth.
“We’re looking right at success, gentlemen! Is the feeling not better than Christmas cake in your bellies?”
“No!” Double’s puppet shouts as both sets of Double’s nipples feel themselves peel from his chests on the hands of the puppet. “I have friends who are in danger and need help!” “Of course they are in danger,” says Dr. Itoi, “them and all the other P.O.W. rats such as yourself.” He then laughs and adds, “And we are helping them!” to an immediate clapping cheer.
“No, I could care less about them. I’m talking about the other batteries in that pile over there.”
Dr. Itoi cocks an eyebrow. “So you are telling me that you make friends with batteries.”
Double struggles against his jittering body as the sticky heat molds his skin. Trying to hold his new voice together from his gasps of pain and pleasure, he says, “No, I am the battery. I’d tell you about how it feels in here, but there isn’t a lot of time. You need to get me over to that pile right now!”
Dr. Itoi leans over the patient-puppet and removes his mask to show his wide-toothed and moon-shaped grin, cooing, “And why should we?”
Double’s pleading cuts short at that question, crossing sets of arms over both of his chests and feeling numb to the penetration and the whipping. With a sigh, he says, “I know you really want to be a bad guy. That’s just fine. Just leave the power source of a ton of slutty batteries alone and forget about being able to hear screaming patients.”
Dr. Itoi opens his massively-toothed mouth to smack his lips and lean closer to the patient-puppet. “But it’s Christmas,” he whispers. “You won’t be the huge scientific discovery I was wishing for if everyone else gets to have batteries like you. I feel inferior enough just by being part of a toy version of Unit 731 that cannot even perform the Cherry Blossoms at Night without a toy version of California and toy airplanes. Please, just help me fulfill my Christmas wish.”
Double’s snark softens as he feels a bubble of sympathy float up through his body and pop into an idea. He holds onto the feeling as he slips back under the lashings. “You’ve taken credit for it, so just claim everything that ever gets done with the batteries. I mean really, who’s going to stop you?”
Dr. Itoi’s eyes roll to the top lids as he mouths enormous words and pokes at imaginary figures. After a second or so of that, he turns back and says, “You may be right, my bubble-bursting friend.” Once he says that last word, the high curves of his grin droop down to the ground as his ears perk toward a collective of constricted barking noises as the other hussy huskies have begun to pile onto the batteries one after another, humping the mound and biting off their skins to stuff more electric-cum-greased batteries inside. “Oh hell no,” he mutters, then clears his throat and gestures to the other doctors. “Yes, the experiment was a success. Now hurry, we must take all the other batteries from the pile!”
/> The other doctors whoop and cheer as they rush their patient-laden tables toward the pile in the same style as shopping carts being rushed just the night before. Some of them trip over and get their wheels caught in the wires leading into the bodies of the other doctors, especially those of Dr. Itoi. Soon Dr. Itoi crashes into the pile and Double spills out of the hatch. “We claim these resources for the glory of Japan!” he shouts. “You whorish dogs will have none!” Brenda Lee’s “Rockin Around the Christmas Tree” slides and taps into the air as the doctors load moist and writhing batteries onto each of their tables. The hussy huskies turn over to gyrate among the orgy and throw orgasm-induced kicks at the doctors as more of them try to take the batteries away from them. Double rolls around the pile in a circle, looking for the same brand as Amp and the same expiration date as himself and Discharge. At the first sight of discoloration, he pops his ends in place with another battery and reaches his tendrils out to stroke and tease the other’s body. “I’m Double,” he says, “are you Amp?”
“You can call me whatever you like,” says the other in a moan as he throws his limbs around Double and leaks fluid from his positive end, “but you should save the touch for my tender bellybuttons.”
Double forces himself off of him and ignores his own moistening neg-end, saying “Not Amp.”
He then gets a rare glimpse of the expiration date on the soft belly of another one and reaches his body up to lick it, groping around the plush and the solid while saying, “Discharge, is that you?”
“Discharge? Sure, I’ll discharge all over you if you keep doing that, just.. .oh god, don’t stop.”
Double drops off before that battery can pull him up with the others, and just as he does so he hears a crackling whirr as Happy Companion Buddy Bear crawls up to the pile with Dr. Itoi riding on his shoulder. “Nippon saiko no!’ the doctor hollers as eye-rolling Buddy Bear swipes at the hussy huskies on top and tries to scoop some batteries into his mouth. Barkode snaps her mouth out to bite at Buddy Bear’s nose and instead hits his mouth, the bite softening into a long and passionate electric kiss. Several other doctors have torn open the Elder God Eggs and aborted the greasy-skinned monster babies in order to stuff more batteries inside of them, and several others have taken giant scalpels from the Plastic Surgeon Playset to slice up the hussy huskies, stopping as soon as they realize that more wounds equal more penetration spots for batteries.
The pile begins to thin out with sinewy wires and tendrils and globs of acidic jissom still connecting them. Double rolls under the warm and sticky connections, seeing the busted bodies of batteries cracked from overheat and hurrying himself along to the thoughts that Amp and Discharge can become the same way. As he keeps asking them, another battery says, “Discharge? Fill me with that stuff!” and the next one says “I like going inter-brand too, sweetheart, but I don’t know any Amp.” Soon, however, he feels tendrils constrict him and stop his rolling. “You need to stop teasing me like that,” says this battery, “Alka doesn’t play that game.”
Double fills with scattering panic as his tendrils reach up to knock away those of Alka, though Alka only takes Double’s tendrils and sucks on them. “So my little bottom Double has decided he wants to play rough, too?” he says before filing his own tendrils down to thin needles and plugging them deep into Double’s howling body, the ends pulling up and tearing along his skin while tongues lick around the wounds. “Bleed for me,” he says, mounting Double and feeding the ends into each other next to all of the other batteries’ connections to him. In a brief moment, Double notices that Alka’s connections have become so thick and heated that Alka’s own ends have begun to melt. “But go ahead, punch me back a little. Bite on my limbs.” Double’s body jerks into convulsions as he goes limp feeling another orgasm rippling through his body, fluid flowing from his wounds and his ends, and had he been human there would have also been blossoming tears. “C’mon, give me something new. I wasn’t craving you for nothing.”
In the midst of Double’s overheating body, he seizes hold of a thought from the night before, from when he and Discharge were talking. “You want to try something new?” Double moans.
“Surprise me.”
Double takes a burst of strength to twist his body around so that the same-ends match up. “You got it!” he barks, and soon thereafter Alka’s body slows down to break the hurting connection between the opposite ends. Alka’s melting poz-ends and neg-ends connect to the same ends of Double’s. Double holds on tight and thrusts away, feeling both the pleasant warm of sex and the sour warm of self-satisfaction well up inside him. For added measure, he reaches several mouths to Alka’s backside to lick both of his grainy assholes.
Alka twitches, his color beginning to drip off of his body. “Jesus,” he groans, “how can you swing that way? It’s just...it’s just...” Alka falls out of the pile’s interior with Double holding on. After he lands and Double continues to shag his life away, his body curls up and molds to mush among the other slaughtered batteries. Soon the other batteries are falling away, “Party foul” rippling through each one as their tendrils retract, their supple breasts and firm pecs mold back to flatness, and their aligned ends detach
from each other in wet pops.
The other batteries roll away from each other, some in groups, some alone. Double rolls up to the solitary ones and interrogates them in the same way. “I’ve had enough discharge for this year’s Christmas, thank you.” “Amp is that one over there. Don’t bother me, you bisexual freak.” Double ignores that last part as he feels warmth well up inside him, and with a cheer-hearted boost of speed he rolls up and tackles Amp. “I thought we would lose each other!” he says with a kiss.
Amp giggles and reaches a small tendril up to rub Double’s bellies. “Truth is that I had already kind of given up to Alka by the time you did that. A lot of batteries don’t get to die in orgies as massive as that one, no matter how many power-sucking toys come under the tree.”
Double sighs, saying, “I know, and I don’t think I could find anyone who can fuck quite like Alka can, but.” he reaches a full limb over Amp and continues, “but that was Alka, and he just didn’t care. I care about you.”
Amp gropes up a mound of Double’s flesh and gives it a kiss, then soon after says, “Wait, what about Discharge?” Double feels the new warmth cool down as he takes his limb off of Amp and tugs him along with the ends of his tendrils. “Follow me, we need to find him!” He rolls faster and faster, questioning each and every fleeing battery while Amp catches the ones that slip away. Each and every answer, to Double’s sinking hope, relates to discharge as electric current and not Discharge as the battery.
He then freezes at the loud sound of the front door opening and heavy feet walking into the house. “Shit!” he hisses at Amp. “We need to hide. Quick, let’s get under the couch!” And the two of them roll to just a few feet near
the couch before the footsteps land in the living room.
“There he is, Reverend Wallace,” says a drawling man. “That’s the demon bear we told you about. And lookit that, he’s kissing that dog toy full on the mouth!”
“Lordy lordy,” says Wallace as he picks up Buddy Bear and Barkode and pulls them apart, the slime of the other batteries trailing out of their mouths as the batteries fall. Wallace then looks toward the doctors lugging their egg sacks back on their gurneys, and walks over to the surge protector to disconnect them. With all of that done, he turns toward the man and sighs, “The devil just tried to make a lustful mockery of Christ’s birthday. Mr. MacConaughey, the best thing for you to do is to take all these horrid toys and throw them in the garbage. Toss the batteries too.”
“I’ll never doubt your word, Reverend,” says Mr. Mac- Conaughey as he picks up the hussy huskies, the doctors and patients, the surgery set, and Buddy Bear to throw them all away. His son and his daughters whine and complain about each toy falling in the trash, but he shakes his head and goes, “We’re getting you better toys than these. Stop your
bitching.”
Double and Amp stand still as Mr. MacConaughey begins to pick up handfuls of batteries. The two of them hug each other one more time and resume shape as another man enters from the opposite end of the room.
“Thank God I can snatch a few,” whispers the man as he stuffs them into his pocket and pulls himself back up to his feet. With a frustrated drowsiness lingering in his head, the man thinks, Uncle Ralph is going to need a whole lot of T.V. and booze to get through the rest of this holiday, and if I’m going to lose out on some free new remote batteries then my name isn’t Uncle Ralph!
“What’s going on?” Amp asks, pulling closer to Double. “I don’t know,” says Double, accepting Amp into his limbs. Then as the thought of Discharge dawns on him again, his comfort falls to pieces as he is left stroking Amp and feeling his own body turning numb. “I’m sorry, Discharge.”
* * *
At the end of the night, Uncle Ralph is back at his own house, having helped his brother throw away the rest of the batteries and pick out new toys for the kids. In front of him sits a boxy television playing “It’s A Wonderful Life.” A twelve-pack sits next to him, depleting by one can for every half-hour. In his hand is an old remote, and in the old remote are Double and Amp.
Double runs several tongues along the length of Amp’s body and pumps his body back and forth as the ends slide in and out of each other. This thought occurs to him: “You know, maybe Discharge will have a blast when he gets to the landfill. I’ll bet there are many batteries there if so many humans throw them out.”
Christmas on Crack Page 7