Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of fictional mind control, rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, consensually non-consensual (CNC), or non-consensual sex or scenarios.
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(( I'm always on the lookout for fresh, arousing concepts. I'd hate to wear out my current fetishes by over indulging them. I am typically interested in ridiculous fetishes, especially ones involving power imbalances.
This is an insect dub-con story, and I have trouble believing there is actually an audience for a such a disgusting tale. Yet evidence - mostly cheap cartoons of women getting raped by insects - or consenting to fornicate with them, are not difficult to find. I've found only a few text stories so far. Therefore I had to write one.
YOUR mileage will certainly vary. You Have Been WARNED. Burn your computer NOW! ))
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Chapter 1
Pamela Dragen hated walking home after work. It was three blocks to the bus stop, and sometimes the buses wouldn't stop. The neighborhood stank of sewage and garbage. Trash ambled along the sidewalk from gusts of wind, a cold wind which brought little relief from the stink.
The coldest winds blew from the river, through the city's butchering district. She gagged frequently while hurrying to the stop. A black purse dangled from her left shoulder. In her right hand, she carried a bulging plastic, shopping bag.
A rat in her path stopped her. It was big, nearly opossum size. What made her cringe worse than the sight of the fat rodent, was the cockroach it was chewing on. The roach was even larger than the rat! And it wasn't dead. It writhed under the rat's greedy bites, it's chitin crying out piteous squeaks. The rat's swift jaws made slight crunches as it ate the incredible meal as fast as possible.
Bright headlights lit the horrid scene for a second. Pamela was running late. She lurched toward the bus stop, skirting around the grotesque feast and dashing for a graffitied bench with a roof.
There, a curled figure had contorted himself around bench armrests designed to prevent laying along the seats. His body twitched but he was completely unconscious. Successive headlights lit up his worn sneakers and torn army jacket. His jeans were nearly new. A box of Chinese food lay on its side next to his knotted knees. Chow mein spilled out like vomit.
Halfway into the box was another of the fantastic roaches, a tad smaller than the first!
Pamela dropped the white bag she'd been carrying. She screamed when the bus hit its breaks and stopped before her. The stop's only illumination came from the bus's interior lights. The box's shadow hid the rapacious insect.
The door opened slowly. Pamela wanted to pound on them to hurry them up! She ducked to grab her bag and leaped up the stairs, slapping her transit card on the fare charging panel. A big latino woman frowned from the large driver's seat. "You okay, Ma-am?"
"Close the doors! Close'm, please!" Gods, she prayed the bug wouldn't follow her! Pamela darted down the isle, spinning to be sure it hadn't entered the vehicle.
"Crazy night people, one after another." The driver mumbled, closed the doors, and let her foot off the brake.
The frightened Pamela stood halfway down the aisle, clutching a vertical pole. The accelerating bus toppled her into an aisle seat. Pamela's heart raced, but she fought to slow her panic breathing. She looked around the seats. A couple dudes acting very tired or drunk, sat by the windows. In back, a black woman wearing a full length denim jacket stared down the aisle as if hopped up on some drug.
Pamela closed her polyester fill jacket around her throat and began to calm. It was the worst night yet. She hated the city. She hated her job. She looked into the plastic bag she'd carried madly into the bus.
The stuffed opossum inside was for her daughter. It was large enough to fill the bag's width. Pamela breathed a sigh of relief. Now she just had to get home before Adeline threw a fit. She knew she should hire a sitter, but most of them didn't feel comfortable being responsible for a retarded twenty-two year old. Sometimes a social worker could be convinced to allow Pamela to work late, but it cost nearly as much to bribe them, than what she would make from her terrible job during those extra hours.
Pamela worked at a gentleman's club. The manager did a decent job of keeping the place clean, inside and out. He'd hired graffiti artists to 'protect' the building's exterior, and the sexy ladies rendered around the cement block exterior attracted extra business.
Pamela was not a whore. That was the first thing she told people who asked about her work. She was not a stripper or even a lap dancer. She hoped to start tending the bar, but until she got her mixology license, she had to entertain guests in the old fashion way, talking.
Her manager, Dale Sykes, got the idea from watching Japanese Adult Videos. He had hired Pamela and two other women to keep lonely men company, but her real job was to spur the men (and sometimes women) into buying plenty of expensive drinks. Pamela had a degree in theater arts, which gave her a great background for making up shit to appeal to half drunken, middle managers and supervisors.
Her greatest suffrage was the occasional hand exploring where it didn't belong. Pamela could move the hand away but wasn't allowed to complain. If a customer got pushy or rough their bouncer, Michael Brown, patrolled ready and able to stop them. She felt safe enough at work, but she hated being groped while strippers danced on the stage under swirling lights and heavy beat music. In the back rooms, lap dancers accepted big tips for special favors. She didn't condemn those women. She wished people wouldn't think she was one of them.
Still she hated her job, the lying, the lewdness and lasciviousness, the annoying lights and constant thump-thump. Her boss would occasionally hit on her, lightly suggesting a hook-up. So would Michael, but they understood that "No," meant no. Their memory of the "no" least for a few weeks. It was however, bearable, and the money was decent, a couple hundred bucks a night, minimum.
Along her journey home, she had to change buses twice, but those stops were better lit and in better neighborhoods, and the wait times weren't bad, because night traffic rarely slowed the transit system.
Stepping off of the bus, she was in her home's neighborhood. She rented a decent apartment for not too much of her budget. Pamela walked quickly to her home.
"Momma, I was worried." Adeline rushed to her mother and hugged her. Pamela had to drop her gift to return the hug.
"You should be in bed."
"I tried." She looked sorry. "I want to sleep with you."
