Mamacita woke up in a haze. She was someplace that she didn’t recognise, that wasn’t unusual for her. Her eyes couldn’t focus on anything, and she was sticky and sweating all over.
She saw the sun from the window, then it was suddenly dark. It was all a blur, a sticky, feverish dream. People came and went, she was sure of it. Somebody spoke to her from the bottom of a very deep well. Somebody wiped her forehead with a cool cloth.
She grabbed that somebody by the throat, pinning him to the wall. The person struggled but she didn’t know if she was in danger or not, and her insides burned. She punched the wall next to his face and made a hole almost all the way through.
Then lightning struck her. Was she outside? Was it a thunderstorm.
Zeus.
That puta of a god had bolted her, she was sure. Or, not. She wasn’t sure, oh, things were a mess in her head. She couldn’t even think, it was like that time she mixed up a bunch of nootropics and uppers and she had forgotten how to put a sentence together.
Pain. Why?
Fever.
Stench.
A mosquito, buzzing in her ear, driving her mad. She waved her arm around, it stopped at some point. There was a chain on it, going all the way under the bed. She was chained. So she was in danger.
A face. A face between her thighs. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but whoever they were, they could eat her pussy well enough.
Orgasm. Oh, yeah. She popped so easy, it must have been days without one. That was unusual for Mamacita.
Someone talking over her. Many someones, their voices piercing, annoying, as if played on a deck overlayed. She covers her ears, screams at them to get out.
The don’t stop.
Day? Night again. It was day once more. She had completely lost track of time. She drank some water a while ago, she remembers that. Someone gave her a straw, she sipped and the cool water was heaven in her throat. She realised she had been vomiting for days.
Oh, that’s what the stench was.
Her throat. Oh, it burned her. She could feel it hoarse, worse than hoarse, as if scratched with… Well, with a dick made of sandpaper shoved down her throat.
Aphrodite. I love you. I love- Why did she keep saying that? Why?
Was that her question or someone else’s?
She didn’t know.
“Okay?” someone asked. They sounded closer now, and she opened her eyes to see a friendly face smiling with worry. A man. He’s rugged, tall dark and handsome. Completely different from the supermodels she usually liked to screw.
Had she slept with him?
No clue.
“Yeah, I’m feeling better,” she said, and her throat didn’t hurt that much. Oh, it was still agony, but a smidge less.
You take the little things and run with them in life, that was her motto.
Or, that was her mother’s. No, Mamacita had been kicked too much around in life to have silly notions like optimism and sunshine.
The world was dark and she was getting fucked every day.
The least she could do was to enjoy the ride.

Get the 3rd book in the Cyberpink Series, Mamacita.

Did You Like This Story? You can support me on Patreon. There is no exclusive content there but that way you can make sure these stories keep on coming. Or, you can get the Spitwrite collections which are easier to read on an e-reader.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: