[Fiction] Spuds' Quick & Dirty Fiction House

[iSpuds]

This is where I'll post some crappy fast fiction. It's about the only thing I have the time and attention for, nowadays. R18 for potentially taboo shit.


The Debate

Diana was told to abandon her position. She was told to, and yet, as she stood there at the podium for the 2013 Annual Regional Debate Atop the Hill, she couldn't help but feel washed with confidence. She looked over her bullet points at the sea of heads watching her, nodding at her compelling arguments and clapping softly as she swiftly, gracefully conducted a dissection of the issues with a provocation that penetrated their minds and elicited the occasional, "Yeah! That's right!" from a spirited audience or team member.

She was flawless.

She was brilliant.

Upon a coaster near the edge of the podium, a crystal glass overlooked her small stack of index cards. A stage hand refilled the glass, and she took a sip while listening to her opponent's rebuttal, trained on key words which she knew she could pick apart and fire back at him to his own detriment.

Gerald Peele was his name. Diana recognized him from the small group of ruffians who circled her in the parking lot and threatened to make her life a living hell if their university detected a risk at losing the debate at her soft, slender, perfectly manicured hands.

Diana brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder and stared up into the glare of the spotlight that illuminated the entire stage and drew beads of sweat upon her forehead. At either corner of her eyes she could spot teams of stage hands and contest officials, as well as the auditorium exits - each outfitted with a military-trained guardsman. Honestly, what could possibly happen with so much exposure?

"An excellent point from Greenburg University," said the moderator over a round of applause from the audience. "Now, let's pass the mic back over to Diana."

"Mr. Peele does make a good point." Diana's confidence shone as she prepared to tear down her opponent's structure in an instant. "However bears a crucial flaw in its deliberate disregard to the economic burden it bears on the working class citizens of our society. Consequently..."

And, there, like the gentle brush of a fingertip or the tickle of a stray hair on her thigh, Diana felt a foreign body invade her personal space.

She shrieked and hopped away from the podium, smoothing down her pencil skirt and patting around her ruffled blouse.

"Miss...Miss Connor?" the moderator cleared her throat and tried to quiet down the whispers that filled the room as a result of the spectacle. "Miss Connor, is everything alright?"

Diana flushed red. Creeping behind the podium and trying her best to hide behind a stack of index cards and fact sheets, she coughed into her fist and reassured everyone that all was well.

"I just thought I felt a bug crawl over my foot," she said with a nervous chuckle. It wasn't like her to falter like this, she thought. She had to get through the finishing blow.

"Consequently, the politics of such a proposition would be, um..." Diana tugged at the low-cut neck of her blouse. "Would be..." She was burning up.

There it was again: like a dozen caterpillar legs, she felt the wave of discomfort trace her shivering thighs as she broke into a cold sweat.

"No..." her voice carried through the loud speakers as she held herself defensively.

"What's going on?" she demanded. "What are you doing? Stop it!"

But it was already too late. The tingling sensation had already breached her barriers and had begun violating her body.

This was it, wasn't it, she thought. This was how those bastards had planned to ruin her: by making a fool out of her in front of the entire auditorium. But how? Where were they? What were they? What were they doing?

Diana looked down from whence the tingling sensation came many times. There was no one there. There was nothing There was nothing, except--

She gazed at her bloodshot eyes in the reflection of the crystal glass atop the coaster at the corner of the podium. The water.

"Miss Connor? Miss Connor, do you need help?" The moderator's voice sounded drowned in a pool of water as the swaying sea of audience members began to panic, their faces lit up with their cell phones - some to call for help, and others, to capture the frenzy.

She was surrounded. Swarmed. The caterpillar legs were relentless; they marched about her body, tickling her skin and coating her tongue in their prickly little hairs. They seemed to favor her erogenous zones as they concentrated near her neck and breasts and between her thighs, traveling in circles around her perky pink nipples and in rows down her labia and to her quivering asshole.

"Please," she cried to a crowd of onlookers who'd already decided the girl was crazy, "Get them off..."

But none could understand her through her psychotic sobs as they waited frantically for the medics to arrive.

The caterpillars continued to scurry about, raping her body, coaxing her little clit to swell and throb, and her holes to drool the nectar of arousal right into her clothes. Right there, on stage.

The poison confused her. It corrupted her. The lines between disgust and ecstasy had become all but muddled as her sense of reality began to escape her fragile mind.

Her deep gulps for oxygen had become breathy sighs from quivering lips as she melted onto the stage floor and cradled her tender breasts in her arms.

"Oh, God...God!" she prayed for solace as she savored the feel of her clit's rhythmic throbbing as if sucked into the mouth of a lover. It sucked and flicked her little button, sending a barrage of pleasure signals to her brain and seducing her body far beyond her mind's control. She bucked her hips as she listened to the voice of the moderator demanding for conduct. It was inappropriate behavior, she said. It was lewd, she said.

It was coming. She felt the pleasure turn knots in her belly. "Please, don't!"

She bowed down into the hardwood and cooed in shameful, tortured lust.

Three hundred eyes fixed on her silky, blonde hair,

her ivory skin,

her clear blue eyes,

and her soft, slender, perfectly manicured hands by which she had just almost dominated the competitive debate community.

Mortified, Diana lay like stone in the puddle of ejaculate that spurt from her throbbing pussy and dribbled from her panties. Outside, the whine of sirens could be heard from an ambulance on its way.