Forlorn and exhausted, it had been a long day for Ruben. He’d got home at precisely eleven thirty at night to find the house in absolute tatters. Ripped clothes were strewn everywhere, and while he’d been out, his housemate had seemingly run the place down to its most primal state. It was humid, and a faint stench of sex lingered in the air. A light waft passed by Ruben’s nose. Alluring as it was, he was simply too tired to entertain the idea of jerking off. He needed a decent rest; a nice, soft, plump bed where he could lie down and forget the trials of the past few hours would do very nicely. His brain felt hollow. It was impossible to conjure thoughts about anything.
Every day in CuCUMba was set aside for nothing other than dick worship. Besides eating, shitting and sleeping, dick was like the holy grail in this place. On this day, Ruben had worshipped a lot of cock, significantly more than he usually would. The citizens, known affectionately as CuCUMbians, were infamous for their sworn dedication to the divine art of bowing to the mighty dick. There was a long, hard history to back up this obsession, too. People from countless other cities had tried to snatch the world record for holding longest dick worship session, but none could ever come close to what the CuCUMbians had achieved.
One of the old folk tales from the city described how the devil would slowly take over CuCUMbians’ senses while they were drifting off to sleep, succumbing them to relive their most intense orgasms again, and again, and again until there was nothing left inside. Pleasure was like a currency in CuCUMba. It was everywhere you’d look, yet citizens were always craving more of the stuff. Higher intensity, longer lasting, sweatier. Whatever it was, someone wanted it. And if you could offer it? Well, you’d better watch your back.
Ruben swept the piles of putrid clothing aside to reveal what remained of his bed. Some parts had been eroded by his housemate’s cum. The mattress was riddled from top to bottom with cum-shaped marks and holes. Why his seed had such an acidic effect, Ruben had no idea, but it had got everywhere. It was a total mess. But the clean-up was a concern for later. Right now, all he wanted to do was lay his head down onto the unsullied crimson pillow and dream about something other than raw, pulsating dick. It would certainly present him with a challenge, but it could be done.
He found a space to nestle right in the middle of the mattress. A deep imprint had been left behind from someone who was of a heavier set nature, probably one of his housemate’s fuck buddies, Harley. That guy was huge, in every sense of the word. Still, the bed was strangely warm and inviting. He turned in and pulled the duvet over himself, letting out a sharp exhale as he felt his eyes close.
Finally, this boy can get some much needed…
The land of dreams claimed him quickly, keen to slip their tendrils of despair into all the crevices of his brain. As he drifted into slumber, a deep humming resounded in his eardrums. A beating drum like thunder. Tinnitus. It was just like those binaural beats that he’d heard were supposed to induce the listener into a state of relaxation. Except this sound wasn’t relaxing at all. If anything, it was innately disturbing. Ruben felt irked to his core, his eyeballs rolling beneath their lids as he tossed in the sheets.
The noise grew louder and the air around him became stale and humid. Before he could blink, his groin pulsed; one that was far too heavy to have been connected to a simple, steady heartbeat. This was different. He wasn’t having any normal wet dream. Instead, he was laying in bed getting turned on in the most peculiar fashion, and there was no doubt in his mind that the sound was doing it to him. Chilled to the bone in a combination of fear and horny energy, and his dick had already grown stiff.
The atmosphere seemed to grip him in a state of paralysis. Impossible, he thought. The air can’t keep me here. It’s weak, and I’m stronger. But as he tried desperately to move his arms, he realised just how wrong he was. It felt as though invisible chains were weighing him down, and the more he fought against that weight, the harder his dick became. His face grew flushed with sweat and it seeped down into the material, creating a puddle of sticky fluid in a halo around his head. Something grabbed him by the throat, teasing his Adam’s Apple as he gulped down the last dregs of saliva he might ever swallow. He flung his head backwards and arched his neck, gasping for breath.
He felt a cramping course through his hands. Something was pushing him to move them downwards, an external force willing him to touch himself. But he resisted. At first, the thought of pleasuring himself was extremely uncomfortable, but a few seconds passed and he was able to relax his body, feeling as though the bed might swallow him whole for his sins.
Who takes care of the small stuff when the thousands of dick worshippers are busy…worshipping dick?
Who watches the Watchmen?
Who worships the dick worshippers?
These were all questions that flooded Ruben’s mind on a regular basis. Yet today, they were especially persistent. More so than usual. He knew damn well he wanted to be worshipped. He craved that overwhelming feeling of someone giving him attention, stroking his hard, throbbing cock until he simply couldn’t contain himself any longer. Sex for personal gratification wasn’t permitted in public spaces though. No, those activities were reserved only for CuCUMbans to worship the sacred dong. Self-flagellation in the form of engaging in indulgent rompage was frowned upon. Anybody who was a law-abiding citizen of CuCUMba would never be able to bring themselves to perform such an act. After all, the official CuCUMban forces were brutal, vile creatures, capable of so much more than simply incarcerating one-time offenders.
As for getting turned on during a dick worshipping session? That was unthinkable. Even the lewdest thoughts needed to be contained, let alone any physical outward manifestation of one’s inner desires. Ruben often wondered whether dick had become little more than a symbol for how the CuCUMbans lived. Not only did they practice daily religious praise of the phallus, the erect penis was really like a metaphor, summarising their tough, ongoing strife. It demonstrated their plight as they continued to search for a better life, one less devoid of personal satisfaction.
Such as it was, Ruben would never come to know the ecstatic pleasures of wanking, but maybe heaven would show him some kindness. Perhaps, that place would give him a way out, lend some meaning to his existence.