Fucked Into Hell (Katy Perry)

[HER_ABHORRED_SHEARS]

Note: obviously this stars 2007-2022 Katy Perry, before she skeletonmaxxed herself. Whoever invented Ozempic deserves the electric chair.

This story does not contain any element of mind control, despite the MC's mistaken beliefs about his situation.

Like many works of classic literature, this owes inspiration to a 4chan greentext

>i went to a katy perry concert in dublin a few years ago, you have to idea how much i always wanted to shag her, obviously i didnt and never will, BUT, a bit of my dried cum made contact with katy perry that night, wonder how? i brought a pouch full of skittles covered in my jizz to the concert and just threw them at katy perry one at the time like every couple of minutes, i wasnt too away from the stage but she was always moving around so it was hard to get a good shot but yea i hit her with one and it bounced off her leg it was so hot i almost came

Katy Perry: Fucked Into Hell



Magic.

Black magic.

He grunted obscenely, hunched over double, humping his fist. The air of his dark, foetid flat pulsed with the rhythm of what he was doing, like Poe’s heartbeat.

Fap, fap, fap…

A bag’s worth of skittles lay spread out on the table, tracked by the gunsight of his oozing penis. Rounded, smooth, and shiny, the skittles resembled eggs. Perhaps Katy Perry’s eggs.

The thought of impregnating her didn’t just tip him over the edge, it drove him off in a Formula 1 racer.

Sperm tore through his shaft. His mind detonated, igniting into a crucible of burning, seething noise, a chemical storm that obliterated thought; awareness; consciousness itself. Hard, muscle-numbing spasms thudded through his hips—one desperate surge after another, pain woven against pleasure, a opus magnum symphony of dirt and hate.

He ejaculated with a firehose’s force. Cum-ropes surged and pulsed over the skittles, drenching their vivid candy hues with dead white. Jet after jet of splooge belched from his piss hole until he ran down to empty. Panting, stars spinning through his mind, he reeled, gripped the table’s edge…but didn’t fall. That pleased him. It was good to have some sort of control, as he fell through the void.

His gasps calmed. The thudding in his mind subsided. He glanced at the clock. Fuck. He was running late for the show.

You couldn’t be late. Not on the day of destiny.

He scooped the jizz-coated skittles into a ziplock bag. A stray rope of jizz had nearly hit the other thing on the table: the spellbook he’d stolen from his sister. A WITCH’S GUIDE TO BLACK MAGIC

A funny thing. Stare long enough at the words BLACK MAGIC, and the first fades away, leaving only the second.

Magic. Yes. He wanted magic. And he didn’t give a fuck what color it was.

* * *

Showtime.

He stood in the middle of an endless line that warped and wefted its way to the entrance of Dublin’s O2 Arena. Teenybopper tweens ahead of him, teenybopper tweens behind him, a random smattering of poofters, and him at the center; anonymous, a gray hoodie drawn up over his head, twiddling his thumbs, feeling sick with guilt despite not having done anything yet.

There’s no way this works, right?

In the spellbook were rituals of love and lust. Step-by-step guides detailing how to snare a boy’s heart using a shard of quartz and your menstrual blood (he’d adjusted the recipe to accomodate his own bodily fluids). The trick had been to find something called a correspondence; an item or object spiritually connected with the target you want to fall in love with you.

For Katy Perry, he’d chosen skittles, because it seemed that she was a living skittle. Colorful, delicious, and fake. A pleasure both unhealthy and irresistable.

He’d activated the correspondence with his sperm, and now all that remained was for Katy to touch it.

At the gate, security guards stopped him, metal-wanded him, then allowed him through. They would have had questions about the strange ziplock bag if they’d seen it, but he’d tucked it under the tongue of one of his sneakers.

The enormous amphitheater was standing room only. It blazed with lights and lasers and streamers. The opening sets had already finished, and Katy’s had begun. He was packed shoulder to shoulder with moshing Katykats; they flung and jostled him around, like a bouy tossed in a sexually-confused ocean.

A good six inches taller than most of the crowd, he could easily see her on stage.

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag Drifting through the wind Wanting to start again?

Slowly, carefully, he pushed his way through the crowd. He needed to be close to her. Soon, he was at the edge of the platform. With freezing hands touching the cold metal barricade, he peered up to the stage.

…and a perverted thrill gusted through him like an arctic wind.

Katy Perry. Twenty feet away.

She wore purple thigh-high heel boots. Her voluptous body was poured into a shiny purple rubber latex leotard, which gripped her curves like groping, lustful hands. So goddamn hot. So goddamn fuckable.

Thick legs. Broad hips. A snatched waist. Huge white breasts stuffed into a low-cut neckline, where they billowed like the mainsails of a ship. Several quarts of pale titflesh bounced, swung, and flew maddeningly as she gyrated her hips and shoulders.

She was constantly in motion, sprinting from one end of the stage to the other, exploding through drill-sergeant-choreographed dance moves that set parts of her abundant body jiggling and wobbling. The audience clumsily tried to match her energy, her verve, always trying, always failing. A sea of sad little imitators. Puppets under her spell.

Am I her puppet too? he wondered, hopelessly in lust with the busty pop singer. Then he felt the ziplock bag wedged in his shoe. No. I have my own magic.

Surreptitiously, he reached down.

Maybe a reason why all the doors are closed So you could open one that leads you to the perfect road

The first skittle missed. He hadn’t reckoned on how slippery it would be.

Like a lightning bolt your heart will glow

The next one would have hit her—but a brat bodyslammed into him, sending his aim wide. He snarled and spun, fists up, but they’d already disappeared into the crowd.

And when it’s time you’ll know

The third struck Katy dead on.

The skittle flew from his hand, described a swift red parabola across the stage, and slapped into her thick left thigh. For an instant, he saw a spot of wetness illuminated on her leg, then the glaring stage lights dried his cum into her skin like lotion. He allowed himself a smile.

Cause, baby, you’re a…

She jerked to a halt.

Her sharp-winged eyes went blank beneath the lines of black kohl. They became glasslike, dead orbs.

She stopped singing. And moving. She stood like a mannequin, missing cue after cue. Her backup dancers stared in confusion. The glare of the lights silhouetted her, making her a Rubenesque statue. Her voice still blasted inhumanly loud through the PA—like most pop singers, she performed to a pre-recorded backing track—but her lips remained tightly closed.

Soon, the cheers were punctuated by ripples. Murmurs. Screams of alarm.

“What’s happening?” “Is she okay?” “Oh my God, she’s having a stroke!”

But he just smiled. Wider and wider, the smile twisted apart his skin, like a rotten apple splitting. The spell had worked.

Katy’s death-dull eyes drifted down onto the crowd, settled onto him, and flew wide open. She opened her mouth, and screamed. It was piercing. Inhuman. Demonic. like ice riven through the center of his head. Like a deranged flock of Stymphalian birds, soaring out of chancre-ravaged lungs to claw at his eyes. Her lavalier mic picked up the scream, and amplified it to a deafening hundred and twenty decibels through the PA.

With her shrieks echoing across the amphitheater’s vastness, Katy sprinted for the edge of the stage, directly to where he stood. Her booted foot hit the edge of the barricade, and she vaulted over it, diving down on him.

As Katy plummeted, her overfed left breast spilled out of the latex prison; pale flesh rippling in the wind. He was transfixed by the surreal sight of Katy Perry’s erect nipple rushinig toward his face, like the headlight of a speeding train…closer and closer…

She crashed down like a thunderbolt, her body twisting and folding around his at the point of impact. Her gorgeous long thighs looped around his neck, sending him hurtling to the ground. He heard screams. He thought it was the crowd. Then he felt dirt enter his mouth, and realized the screams were his. I guess I was just part of the crowd…

Katy’s leglock choked out his brain. The thoughts turned red, then turned black, then turned off.

* * *



“…He’s waking up.”

He returned to his body, blinking at details blurring into view. They seemed like icebergs bobbing uncertainly through the dark waters of unconsciousness.

He lay in a hospital bed. A man in a white lab coat—a doctor?—stood at the foot of the bed, alongside another man in a black suit. His confused, oxygen-starved brain interpreted them as a human yin and yang symbol. Antithetic mirrors of each other.

“Anthony?” The one in white leaned forward, peering quizzically into his eyes. “Can you hear us?”

“Yeah…” he groggily sat up in bed, feeling his strength return. “I think so.”

The man in black stepped forward, hands folded contritely.

“You were involved in a…terrible accident at the Dublin show tonight. On behalf of Direct Management—and Miss Katherine Hudson—we extend our sincerest and deepest apologies.”

He felt embarassed. He wasn’t hurt that badly. In fact, he didn’t think he was hurt at all. A little punch-drunk, but he’d had worse hangovers. He held up his hands.

“Hey, look, no big deal. I’m alive. I’m okay. I just passed out for a second.”

“In that case,” a sallow smile effaced the man’s parched-leather face. “We need to discuss your…compensation for this.”

He cut his eyes in the direction of the door, as though he could see someone moving behind the frosted glass.

“I will speak bluntly, Anthony. You are within your rights to sue Katherine Hudson—p/k/a Katy Perry—and her management for what happened tonight. A favorable resolution will take, at minimum, several years, and any settlement you see from us will likely be eclipsed by legal fees. That assumes you win the case, of course. You’ll have the best entertainment lawyers money can buy ensuring you don’t.”

The laywer paused to let his words to take root.

“But if you verbally agree, here and now, to indemnify us from all responsibility…then…perhaps a more pleasant arrangement could be made.”

The door creaked open, pushed by a white-gloved hand.

Magic is real, even if nothing else is.

* * *



Katy Perry stepped into the room, her pumps clicking on the hospital floor tiles.

She was still wearing the skintight latex outfit. Massive tits gushed from her neckline, an explosion barely-contained. Her decolletage was heaped into a mountain of whipped cream by the ribbing in her corset.

She halted at the foot of his bed, and rested her hands upon her hips, swaying gently. Katy’s buttocks were so obscenely large that you could see them from the front of her body. Her big asscheeks appeared and disappeared like half-moons around the sides of her thickly-shifting hips.

“Hey, Anthony!” she gave him an affectionate sailor-wave.

He ogled her body shamelessly. Pathetically. The rubber latex was so tight that he could see the outline of her cunt.

Katy slid toward him. With stunning familiarity, she sat at the foot of his bed, swinging her bare legs onto his. Her eyes regarded his with avidity, and her beautiful smile—a confectioner’s conjuration of genetics, makeup, and unrestrained male fantasy—caused something in him to melt.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you tonight!” she said. “So, so sorry! I’m a klutz. I should have known better than to stage-dive.”

Her kohl-razored eyes narrowed in the direction of the doctor and laywer. “Why are you two still here? Get lost. I’ll handle things from here. I always do.”

Cringing, they beat a hasty retreat, swinging the door shut.

And then they were alone. Her. Him. Sex object. Sex objectifier. He’d beaten off to pictures of her literally thousands of times, but he was unprepared for the reality of Katy Perry, sitting on top of him. She had weight. She was heavy. She existed.

She giggled. “You don’t say much, do you?”

He groped for a repsonse, and found nothing. His imagination, which had fantasized a hundred different scenarios involving her (and sometimes they even started like this—there’s no more suitable milieu for debauchery than a hospital, except perhaps a school) was now a black box. I’m blowing it, just like I always do with girls.

But he hadn’t yet learned the rule: You don’t fuck Katy. Katy fucks you.

She lunged, pouncing on him like a big, lusty housecat. In one tick of the clock her thick latex-sheathed body was all over him, hot and heavy and slippery. He was pinned by her weight.

He gazed forward, into what seemed like miles of pungent, sweaty cleavage. Her enormous tits were on the verge of tumbling out of the leotard and spilling onto his chest. As she breathed, her huge jugs stretched and expanded inside the latex.

Pinned under her arms, he writhed in agony. His pants had seemingly shrunk two sizes. Things itched that he couldn’t scratch. Everything was pressure—the enduring, geologic pressure that crushes coal into diamond. He shifted in anguish, dying beneath the warm, glossy bliss of her body.

Katy decided to increase his discomfort.

Leaning forward—her latex dress shimmering over her curves like a fish’s scales—she plugged her face onto his with a lamprey’s swiftness. Once more, his vision was swallowed by her body, but this time it wasn’t her left breast, but her lips.

She forced her hot mouth against his. The kiss that followed was hard. Lascivious. Lewd. Wet. A dirty thrill suffused him as they swapped spit.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit… Her tongue clubbed his, pinning it to the side of his cheek. The pressure and heat of her lips rolled through him like continental flux. In his mind, valleys becames mountains. Peaks caved away into abysses. The kiss rolled on and on like the tolling of some vast golden bell. It couldn’t end…and then it did.

Her lips pulled away. He suddenly realized he hadn’t breathed in nearly a minute, and had to suddenly gasped for air. Longer might have killed him.

“In payment for your profound suffering,” Katy’s face dimpled with a smile. “How about I blow you?”

Her bluntness was shocking. "How about you…what?

“Were you raised by nuns? It means I suck your cock.” She winked in conspiracy, and glitter in her eyelashes sparkled. “You’d be the first to say no to a blowjob from me. But if that’s not your style, there’s other stuff we can do. These beds are so sturdy. So strong. Wanna stress test them?”

“Katy…we’re in a hospital!” As he protested, she ripped away his bedsheets, tugged, back his clothes, unzipped his pants. “You can’t do this! Someone could walk in at any moment!”

One white-gloved hand pressed an index finger against his mouth. Silencio.

The other gloved hand speared in the opposite direction: toward his cock.

“Stop being a bitch. My people have got it handled.” Katy tittered evilly as she pulled down his boxers. His big pink cock bounced into the air, erect and waving. A trail of precum had already wept down the shaft, pooling inside a wrinkle of his ballsack.

She grasped the voracious shaft and jerked it once, milking a fresh dribble from the glans.

“Nobody will disturb us, Anthony. We have all the time in the world.”

She reared back back, angled his cock so that it lined up with her gullet, and plunged her head down, swallowing him to the balls. It was terrifyingly fast. She moved with the killing speed of an alligator. Her head just snapped down and made his entire seven inch shaft vanish down her throat.

Fucking hell!

Katy slurped and sucked like an industrial vacuum cleaner, bobbing back and forth over his cock, groping squishy handfuls of his testicles with her gloved fingers. He whimpered endlessly as his penis ballooned against her hot tongue. He wasn’t even cumming, yet the pleasure was as intense as any orgasm. He arched his back, seeking to fuck his cock deeper into her ambrosia-lined throat.

Without taking her lips off his cock, Katy humped her body closer, inchworming forward until she was straddling his midsection with her gymnast-thick thighs. Behind her raven-haired head, he watched fleshy hips jostle from side-to-side. She humped her way up his body like a latex-sheathed caterpillar.

The room resounded with sucking and licking and slurping. His cock boiled. His balls pulled up against his shaft. He was about to erupt.

“Ugh! Ughhh! Katy!” he jerked out, as an orgasm clawed the edges of his mind. “NO!”

Her pretty head popped up betwee his spread legs. His cock—perhaps one more touch or lick away from orgasm—flopped from her mouth. A trail of saliva connected it to her lipstick.

“Pardon?” Her beautifully adorkable face crinkled in confusion.

“I don’t want this to stop…”

“Anthony, you’ll have to trust me here. This stopping is not on the list of things you have to worry about. It will never stop.”

He wondered what that meant, though not very hard. His faculty for wonder was somewhat occupied, along with several less abstract body parts.

She clapped her hands, staring with puppy-dog amusement at the cock thrashing and flopping from his groin, desperate for release. “You like my breasts, don’t you? You haven’t taken your eyes off them since I walked in.”

Her hands went to the masses of breastmeat flooding her latex dress to overspilling, and ran a finger across them. The fingertip skidded across a snowdrift of endless white cleavage. She stretched both her arms down across her body, lacing her long fingers together.

Packed between her arms, her boobs exploded outward. Two massive tits strained and surged against the thin layer of vulcanized rubber, escaping by expanding against her chin like bread dough. Her boobs were as pliant and manipulable as two large balloons, conforming to any shape she wanted.

“Want to fuck them?”

The busty pop singer reached behind her back, found the zipper on her skintight leotard, and pulled it down her back’s guitarlike curves. She unpeeled her beautiful body like a banana, the latex falling away and releasing both massive breasts from captivity. They both spelunked straight down, jolting heavily to a stop.

Staring in awe at their size, he watched a nipple swing back and forth at the tip of a tit-globe that dangled pendulously in the cold air.

A drop of sweat rolled down a fourteen-inch slope of hanging breast, collecting on the nipple, and then dripping down onto his cock.

Katy pulled her hips back and shimmied her shoulders back and forth, swinging her dangling fuckjugs from side to side. Her breasts collided with his rampant erection repeatedly; their milky white bulk as heavy as twin wrecking balls. His cock was batted from side to side. Then, she clasped both breasts together together, lifted them up, and dropped them down. His seven inches disappeared again—this time, swallowed by her cleavage.

He squealed like a pig being knifed. A jet of precum squirted out, wetting the tops of her tits.

Katy gripped her massive knockers in both hands. Obscene volumes of breastflesh flooded out between her fingers as she squeezed and cupped them, jerking him off with her breasts. She pumped repetitiously, her orbs gliding back and forth, up and down, smooshing and jiggling against his drooling prick. A steady flow of SCHLUK SCHLUK SCHLUK sounds erupted from the depths of her chest.

“Feels good?” her pink tongue flashed over his shaft as it emerged from the dark trench of cleavage.

“Fuuuuuck…” depraved lust filled his mind. He hip-thrust foward into the weight of her huge sticky white jugs, trying to grind out an orgasm between them. They jiggled as his hips slammed against their mass.

He was so close…so close to cumming…

Without warning, she gripped his balls. Pain twisted through him. He cried, and his cock shrank inside her cleavage, like a hurt snail. “OW! What was that for?”

Her mouth curved in girlish mischief. “I want mine.”

She pulled off the remnants of the skintight outfit. Her naked body gleamed in the hospital halogens. As she tugged it down past the crotch, he saw - and smelled - her wet, hairless pussy. A thrill raced down his spine. Oh God, she was up on stage in front of ten thousand people wearing that thing, and there wasn’t even underwear beneath it!

“Let’s sixty nine!” Katy said. She rocked back onto her heels, then spun her body around, so her ass was planted in his face.

Gigantic, sweaty buttcheeks swallowed his world. Her puckered shithole was pressed against his nose, a pouty ring of flesh swelling from her taint. Katy shook her ass, sending the thick cheeks oscillating from side to side. He nearly drowned under their sheer bulk. Then she lifted her hindquarters high above his face, exposing her shaven pussy slit, hovered it over his face for torturous seconds…then slammed her hips straight down.

SPLOOSH! PLOPP!

He gagged on her fat labial meat. Her cunt was incredibky ripe and pungent. She’d been sweating into latex for hours, and the vulcanized rubber offered no ventilation. The strong taste of her crotch blew his mind, making him barely aware of the fact that she was scooping up her tits, stacking them around his cock again—this time from the other side—and resuming her slippery titfuck.

SHLOPP-PLAPP-SHLOPP-PLAPP

His head between her legs, he attacked her pussy, sucking at her moist cunt, nibbling her clit. She humped his face aggressively, like a bitch in heat. “More! More! MOOORE!”

The air stank of sweat. The room echoed with lewd, obscene sounds. He cunnilinged her twat, she titwanked his cock, the snake ate itself in a perfect loop. Two licentious, sinful beasts, so profoundly damned they’d brought shovels to hell. Wet flesh impacted and squelched against wet flesh, in a terminal pas de deux. It was a race to see who would cum first.

Five minutes later, Katy won. She twisted her head around. Her face was twisted like a Halloween mask with pleasure, and she was sweating her makeup away in rivers.

“Ooohh fuck, I’m about to squirt on your face,” she whispered throatily as he latched on to her clit. He swept his tongue into her oozing cuntal flesh. Her back arched and jerked. Her pretty painted toes spasmed on each side of him.

“Keep sucking. Don’t stop. I need a rhythm. I need a RHYTHMMMM OOOH SHIIIIT I’M CUMMMMING!!!”

Her horny pussy swelled. Her legs clenched around his head, almost cutting off his air.

“BUHHHH! UGH, SHIT! I’M CUMMING! I’M CUMMING!”

Her legs clenched as she blasted. Burst after burst after burst of squirt impacted against his face, hard enough to sting.

As she orgasmed violently, Katy pounded his dick with her massive, doughy tits. The thick, bulbous head that punched out of her cleavage, spewing rivulets of pre-cum into her slippery wet chest, occasionally colliding with the bottom of her chin as she thrashed in ecstasy.

His toes began to curl. A rumbling began in his testicles. This time, it wouldn’t be stopped.

A spasm ripped through his groin like a buzzsaw. Between gusts of pleasure, he glimpsed cum-blasts firing high in the air, arcing over Katy’s head and landing on her back.

“Nnngh…Katy!” he groaned, balls jetting out gooey ropes. “UH!!” He drove his hips forward. The cocktip sheared even deeper into Katy’s smooth tit-tunnel, getting knocked askew, sending more arcs of yellow-white sperm hosing forward across the bed.

The brutal stench of sperm filled the room. Twenty seconds later, his dick was still enthusiastically pumping out wads of semen between her breasts, spitting like a broken faucet over her face and cleavage. He felt seed drip down onto his thighs and angles, after dribbling over the soft hemispheres of her tits.

She writhed and moaned, her own orgasm finally winding down, then lifted her drooling pussy off his face. Cool air washed over him.

He watched a final pulse of girlcum flow down a thick thigh as she stood up, face flushed, heavy breasts bobbing and covered with jizz-ropes like party streamers. He’d done to Katy Perry exacty what he’d done to the pack of skittles.

And with that thought, he collapsed.



* * *

The next hour was a delirious motion blur. None of it seemed grounded in reality.

Katy wiped his cum off her body, showered, re-did her makeup, and dressed. He just lay in the hospital bed, watching her get ready for the street.

A thought pierced the warm, erotic fugue. I should call my family, and let them know where I am.

But when he got out his phone, it was switched off. He powered it on, but the screen flooded with a eerie swirling static. He could not even get to the start menu.

He stared at it in puzzlement. Then Katy swatted the phone out of his hand, and kissed him again.

“Forget about your phone,” she said, attacking him with her lips. “There’s no-one on the other side.”

She escorted him from the hospital—the streets of Dublin were eerily empty—and into a private limo that was waiting for her. The driver asked where she wanted to go, but didn’t look at him at all. He felt completely invisible.

Is this a common thing for her? He wondered as they drove in silence interrupted by the Chainsmokers’ sparse percussion. Am I her latest boytoy?

Katy was quartered on Columbia Records’ dime at the Merrion Hotel, a palatial 5-star establishment a few hundred yards from Trinity College. She had booked out an entire row of suites on the upper floor.

“Mi casa es tu casa,” she said as they stepped through into the lobby, hand-in-hand.

“Katy…” he whispered, awed by neo-Georgian furnishings climbing up around him. The pale rococo plaster, the high-vaulted ceilings, the marble colonnades…how much did this place per night? How much did it cost per second?

“I’m on a down week until I fly back to the states,” Katy said, lacing fingers through his. A bellhop took her bag, while ignoring him. “And you’re spending that week with me. My way of saying sorry.”

The way she just…said that, with the rich-person-arrogance of someone who could just order the stars and planets to obey her will…

He couldn’t just spend a week here with her. He tried to explain that he had to apply for so many jobs a month—jobs he had no intention of working—otherwise he lost his place on the dole lists. But her hands gripped his, seeming to squeeze resistance out of him like juice from a melon.

“It’s no use, Anthony. That stage of your life is over. You have to stay with me now.”

Spoken with that look of fake, plastic charm in her eyes. A predator who had scoped out prey.

“Fine. I’ll stay,” he said at last, dazed. Maybe she can pay my rent.

They dined at the Merrion’s central ballroom that night, surrounded by ferns and onyx busts. Food was brought out to him, but not once did the waiter speak to him, or even take his order. This seemed strange to him. Was this the way things worked at a three Michelin star establishment? If you have to ask for a menu, you don’t deserve it? He wasn’t sure, but the man had taken Katy’s order…

She drank heavily, destroying two full bottles of wine and making inroads into a third, giggling loudly at his stupid jokes, at his Irish craic accent. The night should have been heavenly, but strangely wasn’t. Everything seemed strange, dissolute, indistinct. The world broke apart into smears. He didn’t seem to be connected to anything except her…and only her…

Mounting alarm made him take out his phone, and try to call someone. Again, it wouldn’t work. What’s going on?

He tried to talk to a passing waiter. The man didn’t turn to look at him. He shouted at the man—“hey, over here!”—and was ignored.

Then he was distracted by Katy’s foot, under the table.

With the toes of her open-top sandals, she traced a tingling line up his leg, and began rubbing his crotch. An erection swelled, and he shifted uncomfortably.

With their dishes cleared away, Katy spun on him with manic, alcohol-fueled horniniess.

“Wanna see my bedr…?”

She caught herself mid-sentence, and amended it.

“Wanna use my bedroom?”

* * *



Moving at double-speed, they undressed in the elevator. He gripped her boobs with his hands. She jerked his cock, which thrashed against her thick thigh.

Too soon, the elevator dinged on Katy’s floor, and then they ran together across the hallway, into her private suites, buck-naked.

“This isn’t going to stop,” Katy said as she flung the door closed behind them. She kissed him deeply, swallowing his objections with her famous cherry chapstick lips. “Not even when the week ends.”

He palmed her heavy tits, wondering what was going on. Katy was a celebrity. Her days were sliced and diced by a press agent in fifteen minute blocks, each one bartered and accounted for. Was she cancelling every plan in her diary, just to fuck him? It didn’t make sense.

But that was magic for you.

His cock was pulsing, hungry to be inside her cunt. He started to hump her leg, feeling pathetic, like a dog. He didn’t care that it didn’t make sense. He just wanted the fucking to continue.

Katy half-led, half-dragged him over to her double-king-sized mahogany bed—it was neatly made, although there was a remote control for a TV lying on it—and jumped face-first into the counterpane. Her boobs pancaked beneath her body, bulging out on both sides.

She stuck her ass up in the air, ready for him. He saw beautiful calves flex, and msucular thighs tremble.

“Fuck me,” she hissed. “Blow my back out!” Katy piked her hips back, accentuating the dimples where her meaty buttocks folded into the backs of her thighs. Slowly—tauntingly—she traced a finger slowly down between her overfed asscheeks, aimed at her snatch. It seemed like a pointing arrow. Insert penis here.

A shudder ran through him as she raised her butt into his face.

I’m just a dildo to her.

He gripped her by one shoulder, grabbed the one of her spreadagled boobs like it was a speedbag, and tried to mount her.

I’m just a dildo, full stop.

As he tried to penetrate her cunt, she started fighting him. Kicking her legs, driving him back, foiling his attempts to fuck her over and over and over. Her laughter rang out, first mirthful, then cruel, like she was a child torturing a bug. Lust plus frustration led to fury, and soon he was almost screaming.

“Come on!” she tittered, shimmying her hips away to avoid his thrusts. “Fuck me!”

Almost crying in rage, he pinned her thrashing legs to the bed, and drove his shaft into her slick molten core.

Heat. Pleasure. He was where he belonged. Balls deep in Katy Perry. It was like descending cock-first into a warm, suffocating coffin of velvet, a mausoleum of flesh. Extinction and extinguishment lay inside her depths.

He plunged his hips forward, then back. His slick cock speared her folds apart, then flew out, lubricated by a fresh layer of her cum. In, then out. Under his heavy thrusts, her breasts rolled back and forth on the thousand-thread-count sheets, like half-deflated waterballoons. Her lips parted in a scream.

“Ohhh! Ohhhhh! Oooaaaahgghh!”

His lunges between her legs picked up speed, and her moans and gasps accelerated with them. Moist squelches filled the refulgent air as he stabbed and fucked and hammered and drilled his cock into Katy Perry. No way out but through.

There was a mirror mounted above the mahogany bed. He saw himself in it, mindlessly railing her, hips beating against her snatch like a butter churn. He was an automaton built for sex, pursuing his purpose. Her thighs were splayed wide, quaking with pre-orgasmic soasms.

He watched fluid spray back from the intersection of their slapping crotches, splattering the perfect hotel sheets. He bent down and bucked into her, worshipping her like a heathen converted to her pale, plastic, flesh religion.

She climaxed, screaming curses. Her girlcream flowed out in a gushing river, whipped to froth by his thrusts. He just kept fucking her through her cum, feeling his own orgasm finally rise.

“Katy….I’m OOOOHHHHH!”

He felt his cock retract, like an orator clearing his throat before a speech…then his pisshole yawned open wide.

Endless white ropes pulsed into her, a river of genetic sludge that piled against her womb. He felt rolling bursts of cum shoot through his shaft, splattering her insides in goo.

To keep his grip, he siezed a handful of hotel bedsheets, accidentally hitting the remote control. The TV on the far wall sparked to life.

He heard a newsreader’s comforting voice, yammering bland nonsense. Katy’s gorgeous, thick legs trembling wildly as another brief orgasm rolled through her cunt. She wasn’t a girl, she was a machine-gun.

He slammed his cock into her, jetting the last of his seed out into her concupiscent depths. Her heavy body wobbled as it tanked the thrust.

SLAM!

They finished climaxing like this, grinding their oversexed organs into oblivion, ejaculate commingling and pooling beneath their hips.

And then Katy’s beautiful body relaxed, sagging back into the bed. He’d fucked her into a pile of squirt, sweat, and tangled hair. Her slack pussy released his dick with a wet slurp. It flopped to the the bedsheets, a glistening, defeated worm.

He rolled to one side. Catching his breath, he heard the TV for the first time.

“…We now bring you more information on the tragic death of Anthony McCormick, who suffered a stage diving accident at Dublin’s O3 arena. McCormick’s mother says…”

…and then the screen glitched out into a static haze. The voice vanished.

He froze. Poison seemed to sluice along his veins. He seemed trapped in that screen, caught in an endless static sea.

The utter unreality of it all was bearing down on him with crushing weight. The empty streets. The malfunctioning phone. The fact that nobody except Katy was acknowledging his existence.

Is it true? Am I dead?

He shuddered. He lifted up a hand, turning it over. A dead man’s hand?

It felt warm. Veins throbbed and shuddered. He tightened his fingers into his sweaty palm. Everything seemed as it had been.

And yet…

Katy lifted herself up on one elbow, and regarded him with a small curved smile. The last of her movie-star glamor had fallen away with that third orgasm: here lay a dishevelled drunken bawd of the sort Jack the Ripper had once torn apart in Spitalsfield.

“Again…” she put his hands on her breasts once more.

In twenty seconds, his dick was hard.

In thirty, they were fucking again.

I guess I’m alive enough for some purposes, at least.

But as he ploughed her cum-filled depths, hearing her screams, feeling her beautiful body buck and pitch and orgasm, over and over, the crawling inner dread did not subside. Nor did the sense that he had made a terrible mistake. He remembered her words.

There’s no-one on the other side.

TO BE CONTINUED

Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one — the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.

- CS Lewis