I once thought I could save the world.
That was little eighteen-year-old me, leaving my old country behind on a night of exploding Lunar New Year’s fireworks. Enrolled in a double-degree of Medical Science and English in some posh American university. My family’s pride.
The next five years saw some major fuck-ups. Fuck-ups that led to that rainy day, in which I sat outside a hut that passed for a shady, backwater abortion clinic, listening to a teenage girl’s familiar weeps and whimpers. Old stuff to my ears. Easily drowned out by the downpour. There were few rains like the Southeast Asian rain. Turning soil into a muddy mush that smelled of rotten leaves and whatever little critter that rotted alongside those leaves.
A soft hiss as the girl inhaled, certainly over an anesthetic mask fitted over her face. The clacking of sterilized, stainless steel.
I actually fell into a quick nap. Short enough, it felt like but an eyeblink had passed when the girl came stumbling out of the hunt and a wrinkled left hand shook at my shoulder. Its right counterpart offered up a black plastic bag.
“The dogs are full, so toss it under the garden. Works wonder as fertilizers.” A voice croaked. Grating.
There was little love lost between me and my “employer”, but she was damned efficient at her shady job. And I was just good enough with my dropped-out record to be a glorified janitor.
I went out to the garden as instructed - though garden might be a little too pretty of a word to describe the patch of dirt with edible vegetables and fruiting trees - and dug, just deep enough to not let the smell escape. Giving the untied bag a nudge with the shovel, I watched as its content spilled into the hole.
I tried to imagine it as a pork-colored frog with a too-big and too-round head as I covered it up. The thing’s tiny arms and legs twitched as loose soil struck them, and for a brief moment, before the last shovelful of dirt fell over its disturbingly smooth head, an image of the little fetus digging itself out of the earth with its underdeveloped nubs of ten fingers nipped at my nerves, sending an anxious spark down my spine as I shuddered.
Unable to work up a mood for dinner, I went to bed early that day.
That was when I met her.
Lover. Mother. Goddess.
Saw her breasts. Her tits.
Her large, swaying tits.
The black void of unconsciousness that I slipped into was broken up by a clear dusk sky. I felt the grass beneath my back, softer and more yielding than even the bed at my parent’s house - fuck, no, more than any bed I had ever lay on - as I stared up at the endless purple and light orange above. I felt the too-gentle caresses of soft grass blades on my arms as I turned to look for the pinpricks of stars, wondering if I recognized any of them - wondering if I was still on Earth. I glimpsed the all-too bright Vesper at one corner. My vision was too sharp - my feels too acute - for it to be a dream. Or at least, a common dream.
The earth gently shook beneath me. A mound - squishy, gelatinous - moved against my back, a smooth motion, as if a large subterranean creature was swimming through it like an ocean predator through water. I shivered as it brushed against my buttocks, craning my neck to look down. My toes curled as the mound of earth slid through the space in between my legs. Then the ground parted, inches away from my feet. I gasped.
A humanoid shape rose from the Earth. My vision of a clear purple sky was blocked out by a rotund body of brown earth and leaves broken up by silver and gold patches of glinting metal. Spots of gemstones - blue, red and purple, dotted the arms and legs. I could tell that she was undoubtedly female as my gaze followed their banal masculine instincts and drifted towards her chest, where two breasts drooped. Her form, all in all, looked like a giant version of the Woman of Willendorf, the real-life inspiration made of earth and trees and all that lie within Mother Nature that the sculptor of the prehistoric statuette might have taken inspiration from. Then I looked towards her face.
Her eyes did not glow, as I almost expected of beings belonging in mythology and fantasy novels rather than a hyper-realistic trance. They were with dark green scleras, centered by blue irises. Somewhat humanoid, or at least belonging on a terrestrial vertebrate. The first - and largest - pair, that was. The other pairs, surrounding it, were glistening, insectoid dots, a mingle of too many colors to name. Some were dark, the others bright. Hard, tubular structure grew from between her silken black hair, wrapping around her head like a crown of branches, horns and antlers. That dreadfully regal visage remained, even as her body shifted.
Earth splattered from her body. With my gaze fixed on her, I could only hear slurping sounds from below as they met the grass. She became more slender. Shorter, but still towering over me. One of her pillar-like arms fell away, leaving but a little stump beneath her shoulder. The other disappeared completely. She looked down at herself. Chuckled like a magician pleased at her own magic trick.
Even as I froze in place and my heart thumped in my chest, I had to admit it was a pretty good impression of an armless Venus statue.
She shifted again. Her hair, bunched up in a motion I had not realized had happened, uncoiled like thin, glossy tendrils, falling again over her shoulders in a wild mane. Some of the earth that fell away clambered back up to the body, softening into mud then hardening again as they joined together. But this time, what rotundness there had been was replaced by sinews as she crouched down. Shredded arms and legs were accentuated by the metallic patches wrapped around them. She appeared solid, a predator waiting to spring.
And for a moment, I truly believed I was the prey. Until she dug her hand - tipped with short, hooked claws, I noticed - into the Earth and fished out the little frog I had buried, with a head too round and too large.
She opened her mouth - her humanoid teeth momentarily smooth and white before her jawbones cracked and a sound like serrated metal being worked roughly against leather came as her upper and lower palates ripped open. Serrated teeths glistened and scythe-like mandibles jutted out, like Komodo dragon’s and a mantis’ dentition being slammed upon each other and forced in place. She let out a sharp hiss - likely a normal exhale made more audible by her expanded mouth.
An overkill for the morsel in her hand, which she bit in half and consumed in two bites while I watched with wide eyes.
I tried to pinch myself, knowing that it was likely not going to work by the fact that I could try to pinch myself. But then those jaws that could slice me into a meaty, bloody porridge folded into a human’s mouth and a pair of plump lips like blades on a folding razor, and I allowed myself to sigh in temporary relief.
She crawled towards me. Dozens of eyes met two of mine. A jutting antler gently brushed against my cheek. Human teeth, white and pristine, glinted against the fading light as she grinned.
A fine offering, boy.
My heart still thumping, I managed a curt nod. Let out a whimper. My eyebrows lowered as I tried for a puppy-eyed look.
She giggled, a shrill sound that rumbled through the air around us and the ground beneath my back. Her hand reached down. Claws slicing open the shorts I had slept in in a single motion.
One worthy of a reward.
I take it that at least some of you have experienced disturbing dreams. The kind in which you ripped open your father’s belly and looked at what inside, then fucked your mother so roughly that Oedipus Rex paled in comparison. The sort of thing that you, awake and fully conscious, would never even imagine doing save for brief episodes of intrusive thoughts. What came next in this trance of mine, besides the fact that it happened while I slept, was one of the few things in it that resembled a dream.
I panted as she straddled me. I was still unable to move much, but the reason for such immobility began to change, I realized. I felt tension beneath my legs as the wind below across my exposed flesh. A quick, downward glance confirmed that it was indeed my cock, popping up like a peculiar mushroom. In the same way as some could not help but murder and rape their loved ones in their nightmares, I could not help but to want the terrifying being on top of me. Could not help but to need the terrifying being on top of me. I did not want to move, for the fear that it would offend her. To rob her of the need to use me however she wished. To ravish me.
“Please,” I mewled. All I could manage.
Her sex brushed against mine. Flesh and soil and stone and all that was in between. Something slid down from where a woman’s clitoris would lie, a slender tube, an oversized butterfly’s proboscis the color of amber and glazed with a honey-like substance that coated me as she used it to draw me into her and slammed herself down onto me with a sharp moan. I bit my lips. Watching the relentless motions of her hips as she rode me. Watching as little worms and woodlice and ants slid out from the cracks of her earthen abdomen and congregated around the base of my glazed cock. Little legs scuttled and bodies squirmed against me as they crawled up. I cried out as something slipped beneath my foreskin. Something with legs - little things that danced against my nerve-filled flesh. Another, long and legless, slipped down the hole at my tip, dragging itself against my urethra. Their master, their mother - our master, our mother - moved faster, her composed sighs as she savored me an opposite to my neverending cries and screams of bliss. Something long extended from her rear - a tail and a vine at the same time from the feel of it. Slid in the crack of my ass. Found the hole. Its owner smirked as I bit my lip. Slammed it in hard. My body squirmed in welcomed pain.
Somewhere in that whirlwind, I found myself able to rise up a bit. Meekly. But rose I did. Gazing into her breasts. Her tits. Her large, swaying tits, tipped by nipples of leather and bark and rings of gemstone. I barely managed another Please? when she nodded. Pulled me flush against her chest. Warm liquid - milk, mud, honey, and all that could flow from the body of Earth - filled my tongue as my master hummed.
Long ago, when I was still the beloved son, full of potential, my parents awarded me dinners that could feed others for weeks. Steak from all breeds of high-end cattles you can name. Shark fin soup. I tried some drugs once, convinced by a college friend. Experienced a high that only my then-steely willpower stopped me from trying to experience again due to the fear of what an addiction could do.
Whimpering against her chest, I thought to myself that would rather tear my own flesh off with my teeth for nourishment than ever tasting such scraps again.
Finally, between all that moving and thrusting and sucking, I climaxed. My cock twitching, splattering. Quivering from the critters that slithered and crawled over and inside it. Coating them with my release. Releasing more deep inside her. She looked down at me. Smiled.
“I beg of you, tell me what you are,” I whispered to her. Forgetting any way to speak other than pleading.
All that is above you, came a whispered reply, and all that is under you, besides you, and inside you.
“I… I…” I fumbled in a post-coital haze. A worm, coated in white spunk, slid out of me. A bug - felt other than seen - soon followed, “…can you please explain… Mistress… My Lady…”
In the current English tongue, they call me Mother Earth, I believe, another whisper, or Mother Nature. To everything, I am their Goddess, their God, their Maker. Even to my mistakes, the vermins, I am. Or at least, I was. And, a smirk tugged at her lips, to you, I have been a very commandeering lover.
“Let me know what those vermins are… please. I will get rid of them all. I-I promise,” I stuttered, focusing only on that near-final piece of information. Something was bothering her. She whose form towered over me, who could walk in and out of trances and bite me to shreds. Yet I, a horny loser, longed to jump to her defense, like every stupid, obsessed boy would.
You should know. You were born from them. Were one of them. They exploited me. Trampled on the love I provided them with. A soft hiss. Poisoned me for their own pleasure.
So the Earth is a vengeful mistress.
“Can I help you?” I inhaled sharply, regaining, at last, some composure.
You gave me their unborn, today. I liked that. Stop them from spreading. But I want more. I want them cleared from my skin. Their filthy shoes have trampled on me for long enough. I want them to suffocate in me as I devour them.
“Let me help you, please,” I blurted out, faster than I could think.
Very well. Give me more of them to devour. I know the vermin detests killing their own. Revoked my order. As long as your feet touch my flesh, you have my protection. The vermin shall be blind and deaf, ignorant to your acts. But be careful. I have only recently recovered. My being wanes as I use my powers.
I nodded, and I felt drops of soil roll against my eyelids as she brushed her hand over them.
The black void of unconsciousness returned.
The next morning, I came to fantastically.
No dry, bitter throat. No punishing headaches following a night of exertion. My limbs moved effortlessly, my body lighter than air as I leapt out of bed. The high as I sucked down whatever was flowing from Mother Earth’s bosom lingered. Re-energized me. Powering me in my quest to rid her of her parasites.
The discomfort over burying that dead fetus all but never happened, let alone gone. I had healed her. It proved immensely satisfying in so many ways.
My morning wood prodded against my still-whole shorts as I remembered, the crumbs of honeyed dirt on my tongue further confirmed my previous night’s tryst. I swallowed it down with a soft sigh.
I had failed at most of the things that I did in life. And I made no good killer. But oh, the lengths you would go to for what you love.
I could never forget my first kill. Few killers did, I suppose, knowing what little I know about killers. I want to give up no names here, that is why I will refer to her as Cafe-Bitch. After all, a rundown cafe’s owner was her day job.
It was her night job that earned her most of her living. She had the distinction of having visited the shady little hut I worked at twice.
It was not hard, setting up my little meeting with her. In a secluded place, too, among the thick bushes of the national park that was the only reason why the backwater hole I was at saw any visitor at all. I told her I wanted something scenic. To do it under a famous roaring waterfall.
I arrived early that night. Sweaty back, heavy breathing. From more than the walk. I casted a brief glance over my surroundings. Watching towering trees under the little moonlight that broke through the canopy, their life squeezed out of them by the strangler figs wrapped around their humongous trunks. Far effective killers than I would ever be without my love.
There she comes.
Cafe-Bitch, on all fours. Only business, to her. I looked down. About as aroused as a man looking at steak on a chopping board. Steak he planned to cook for his love.
Let her scream, my love whispered again, the voice in my head as much as it was in the trees around me and the shadows they cast. I would never refuse her. Reaching into my shirt, I grunted as I twisted the cleaver strapped to my belly free. Raised it. Swung down. Metal bit into Cafe-Bitch’s Achilles tendon with a soft thump.
Despite the knowledge that not a soul could hear what I was doing, I still shivered at the scream that Cafe-Bitch gave. She scrambled forward. I swung again. Whoosh went the cleaver as it slammed into her other leg’s hamstring. I ripped it free. The pale moonlight showed me a glimpse of yellow fat and pink muscle from the gaping hole in her leg before red filled it, spurting over the ground that she fell onto. Seeping into the flesh of my love.
Cafe-Bitch shrieked, whimpered then begged as she feebly crawled forward. I went for her arms next. Her forearms went off neatly at the elbow. She went on with her agonized babble.
Now feed me.
There was no way anyone could hear Cafe-Bitch, but she was being too vocal for my taste. A nearby stone solved that problem as I slammed it into her mouth, spilling her teeth down her throat and turned screams into gurgles as she choked on them.
I needed no hole to bury her in. I simply grabbed her and flung her twisting form into the waterfall. Her body crashed against the rocks, cracking and crunching, before dissolving into a pinkish liquid that faded into the rapids.
I lived in a hellish heaven again that night. I watched her shredding a shrieking Cafe-Bitch to fine paste in those teeth before they disappeared down her throat, and my cock, at last, was relieved of its agony wrapped in the embrace of her breasts - of her earthen, swaying tits - as I screamed and groaned.
I like to think our relationship developed following that second night, because she no longer tormented me with a permanent erection as I woke up. In fact, I could not maintain one. Not until I met her again following my next kill, a homeless beggar I drowned in a muddy rice field.
For the next few months, I thrived. Killing, loving after I killed. We conversed as I lay smiling from a belly filled by her nourishing fluid. About the changing world, about the billions of years that she had seen. About a future where she was fully cured of the vermin that walked all over her.
But as I said, I was no good killer. I relied more and more on her. Got sloppy. I could no longer feed her enough to balance out the protection that she exerted. Vermin was alerted to the disappearances I caused. And finally, as men in uniforms went down from the nearby town to patrol the village’s roads at night, I sobbed into her arms following a final kill. A crude murder with me dragging the struggling victim down a dirt road as I stabbed him over and over again.
Her once-toned form was brittle and dried where dirt filled, her golden and silvery patches stained with rust. Gemstones cracked, and I felt pieces of her flesh flaking off of my lips as I suckled on her chest.
“Let me help. One final time. Somehow. Please.”
There is a way.
“Please, tell me. Anything I can do, I will.”
I need a physical form. To enter your world. To freely bend men and women to my will like I did with you. It needs to be fit. Attractive, by the vermin’s standards. Not easy to come by, in these parts.
“How may I do it, my Mistress?”
We are connected through pleasure of the flesh. In here. A soft brush of her hand over my flaccid cock. I feast off of your desire and your victims’ agony, and my presence lingers within you. Within your seed. Get it into my chosen form, and I shall be able to walk the world.
“Are you still able to help me this last time?”
I have about enough left.
And so that brought us here. To this day.
I briefly considered moving to the city. Where girls were more conventionally attractive and would make better hosts for her. But I was wary. There was little of her flesh left where the vermin wounded her the most.
For the last and only time, luck was in my favor.
As I have once touched upon, the national park where we resided near, her seat of power, was a decent-enough tourist spot. The sort who wanted a break from urban life and retreat into nature. Some of those foreigners. Like the group of college students on a trekking trip that arrived earlier today.
I instantly noticed their de facto leader. A brunette, her body tanned and sculpted. Charming, too, from the way she sent the whole bunch of them into laughter with a few words and crouched down to smile at local kids - on the rare occasion that she met them, that was. Local kids were kept inside often following the disappearances.
I struck up a conversation with them. Feigned interest in their love of traveling. Asked where they planned to camp.
The answer was a clearing fringed with ferns, that moments ago I hid under.
Charismatic beauties, of course, were not immune to the call of nature. They needed to shit and piss like everyone else, especially given the amount they drank and ate after hours of walking through the forest. And so, once it turned dark and I spotted her crouching just by where I hid, I pounced.
She splattered onto her own shit as I pushed her down. Her screams, like the screams of all those before her, inaudible to anyone but me as I worked to rip her thick hiking pants loose.
But she was a fighter, this one. I outweighed her by ten pounds and half a head taller. But she was strong, and as her arm slipped free she slammed her fist into my face hard enough to send stars exploding across my vision. I staggered sideways and felt a hand slip down to my crotch.
A man’s balls were not as vulnerable as one might expect. Sure, a blow there will hurt. It will incapacitate, even. But they instinctively shrank against danger, and as she squeezed at me, she caught only one and not both of them.
Still, the pain of having one testicle turned into essentially a scrambled egg in a dirty sack of meat was enough to send me lurching forward with a choked grunt. She kicked herself away. Pushed up. Filled by desperate obsession, I grabbed at her ankle. Yanked. She yelped as she fell forward.
I pulled myself up to grab at her pants. Another yank as it slipped off and exposed her bare ass. Colors swirled in my vision as tanned skin turned into gem-dotted earth and back.
For the first time in months, I was hard outside of my monthly meetings with my love.
I barely felt the pain of my crushed testicle as I mounted her from behind, her legs tangled up in her own pants. I was lucky I still had one of them to spill my spunk, and it was all that mattered as I slammed into her.
After an eternity of backward clawing, crying and death threats twisted into groans of pleasure from the trees and the earth and the bellowing water, I came. And the crying stopped.
The prone girl - no, the prone Goddess smirked at me over her shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of insectoid-eyes dotting that face before human skin knitted itself over them.
“Thank you, lover.” A whisper, no longer coming from the trees but from the once-girl’s lips as she pulled her pants up and looked down at me with a smile.
I could only nod between groans, agony clamping down onto my groin as excitement ebbed away. But still, I found the strength to speak.
“Is it over? Are you satisfied?” I croaked.
“Very, lover,” she sighed, her arms pulling back for a stretch - that similar slurping sound came as the feces and soil staining her was sucked into her skin. “Now instead of just one, I could have so many like you. My protectors. My immune system. My army. I am flawed now, lover. But soon I shall be flawless, as I purge the vermin from me.”
I looked down at my mangled groin. She left it unsaid, perhaps out of gratitude. But I knew I was of little use to her. She no longer needed a walking, half-emasculated failure. Not against the face of her upcoming army, no doubt made up of men far stronger, smarter and more virile than I could ever be, forever bent to her charm, her will. She would cross the oceans and the mountains - the pits and bumps of herself - as she cleared it of the human infection she so hated.
“And I would love to be with you, then. To always be a part of you,” I told her as I stood up and followed the bellowing sounds of a waterfall. The sounds that had so many times been the last thing my victims ever heard.
She nodded. Our lips pressed together. A final, parting kiss.
I sat down at the edge of the waterfall.
I trust that you would not be able to recognize her, to foil her plans. After all, pretty brunettes, from what I knew, were dime a dozen.
That is why I told you this story. One of love. Of how I, in my dark pit of life, managed to find hope. To leave a legacy behind.
I am not stupid. I know what you might be thinking. That I got myself duped by an weird succubus, became her lapdog - a fucking simp - for but the occasional bout of gross copulation. But I trusted her. And I guess that is what falling in love means. To trust one another and to love with all your heart. And because I love her, I regret nothing.
After all, I might have already saved the world. Not the way my young, delusional self imagined it to be, of course. But I have played my part in helping get rid of the deadliest parasite of all - one that kills others so that it can live longer and infect the world as severely as it could. A small part, maybe, but science is all about accumulating small advancements. Little steps to a big goal.
As I finish this and throw myself down this waterfall, let me repeat: That I regret nothing, I am proud of myself, and I truly love her, my Goddess, with all my heart.
And when I melt into the pink juice so many have melted into before, I will forever be a part of her.
Of her body of earth, gemstones, silver and gold, and all that are in between.
Of her huge, swaying tits.