The Orgy of the Pink Flesh

Starvation and disaster had long devastated the world. No catastrophe had ever been so thorough, or so final. Slow and stealthy, like a stalking lion, it had crept up on the human race, hidden in the long grass of denial, tensing muscles of complacency, before finally pouncing to tear its prey apart with the teeth of climate change. There were floods, and sudden droughts, and then drastic food shortages, with resulting war. Famine and plague spread their long shadows over the land, ushering in the demise of civilisation as governments, corporations and financial markets alike fell apart under the sheer weight of suffering humanity. And the whole collapse, from the first unseasonal storms to the wholesale flooding of coastal regions, were the incidents of half a decade.

Edgar thought it was all fucking hilarious. Oh they'd been so earnest—the yummy mummies with their Tarquins and Jemimas; the bearded bores reciting by rote scientific papers they didn't really understand; the wannabe student anarchists filling in time before they took up their high paid jobs in the city.

"Save the Planet!" they all cried, before fucking off to the Alps for their skiing holidays same as always.

Save the planet. What a laugh. All that handwringing and what they really meant was save our flatscreen TVs, Chelsea tractors and supermarkets filled with row after row of shrink-wrapped shit. The planet was big enough to look after itself. But the ordinary man, well he was completely fucked. Famine, plague and war; the planet knew exactly how to deal with an infestation of human beings.

Fuck the ordinary man. Who gave a toss about those ants anyway.

Edgar was watching them right now. He sat back in a soft leather armchair and watched their pitiful struggles on a television screen almost as big as the wall while a Colombian beauty sucked his cock. All the TV stations had long since ceased transmission, but a pair of enterprising media barons had found ways to generate some entertainment. Currently they were flying over the drowned ruins of London in a helicopter. The sound of the rotors brought out survivors like worms in a downpour. The helicopter came close enough for the camera to pick out the filthy remnants of their shellsuits and Burberry shirts, close enough to zoom in on their gap-toothed smiles of relief.

Close enough to show a face burst like a ripe tomato as a high velocity bullet smashed through it.

It was the expressions of the other worms that always cracked Edgar up. It was fucking funny to see them go from relief to confusion and then finally terror. Even then they reacted with bovine slowness, as if they couldn't let go of the hope, even though the blood and teeth splattered on their faces told them the helicopter brought nothing but death.

A second bullet went through the back of a man's head as he turned to run with the speed of a slow motion action scene. The third bullet went right through the ass of the last man and left him shivering and puking in a spreading puddle of his own blood and faeces.

"Now that's what I call a crack shot!" the pilot joked as he took the helicopter back up into the sky in search of other prey.

Crack shot. Fucking brilliant.

Edgar sucked in a breath as he felt Francesca DeVasquez do that special thing she did with her teeth. Her head bobbed up and down in his lap as she noisily sucked his dick. Lips like silk cushions and a mouth like a vacuum cleaner, DeVasquez gave fucking awesome head.

"That's it, baby," he sighed.

He felt a familiar stirring in his balls and grabbed the back of DeVasquez's head, his fingers brushing through her silky black hair. He held her in place and thrust his hips against her, smiling at the gagging sounds she made as he forced her to deepthroat him.

"Fuck yeah," he groaned as the orgasm washed over him and he sprayed his hot cum down her gullet.

DeVasquez was a good girl, well trained. She swallowed every last drop.

"Now go fetch me a cold beer, luv," Edgar said. He admired the tanned brown swell of her ass as she walked out of the room.

All that so-called rational debate between the scientists and politicians was so much hot air. There was only ever going to be one winner, and that was money. Money won everything.

Edgar was filthy stinking rich. While the sheep had either stuck their heads in the sand or bleated about how sacrifices needed to be made without making any themselves, Edgar had made his own plans. Like all the other filthy stinking rich people he'd invested in a nice little pad somewhere high and dry with a big fucking fence, its own private army and enough supplies to see out half a century. And guns. Lots and lots of guns.

End of the world? Not for Edgar Price, baby!

DeVasquez returned with a can of beer. Edgar popped the tab, took a sip and then hurled the drink at DeVasquez in disgust.

"I said a cold beer, bitch!" he yelled at her. Stupid puta.

She ducked out of the way, but Edgar caught a brief flash of sullen anger in her eyes. Bitch was getting a little above herself, Edgar thought. Maybe it was time he passed her down to the troops and upgraded to some fresh meat. Shame, she gave fucking awesome head.

Edgar tapped some buttons on the console next to the sofa and the television screen was filled with the face of an elderly Chinese man.

"Oi, Lun Po. Where're my girls?" he said to the screen.

"They are in transit, Mr Price." The Chinaman's voice was as unctuous as ever. "They will arrive at your compound shortly before six this evening."

Good, that left plenty of time before the guests started to arrive.

"And you've sent me the best?" Edgar asked. "No old bangers."

"Mr Price, would I do such a thing?" Po said, putting on an expression of mock outrage. "These are the finest blooms of my latest crop. Each has been sculpted by my surgeons into a walking work of art and trained to attend faithfully to your guests' every wish and desire."

"Lovely jubbly," Edgar said, rubbing his hands together. As good as DeVasquez was, he was looking forward to getting his hands on some fresh, nubile flesh. Tonight was going to be immense.

Po was as good as his word. The girls arrived just before six o'clock. They stood, completely naked, in Edgar's entrance hall, the group flanked on either side by guards armed with Kalashnikov rifles. Very tasty, Edgar thought as he checked out the curves of their hips and breasts. The wily old Chinaman certainly had a keen eye when it came to picking out the talent.

The girls' reactions when they first arrived at the house always interested Edgar. You could tell a lot about a girl in those first moments.

There were the shy types. They were easy to spot. They tried to cover up their nakedness and stared straight at the floor.

Then there were the nervous types. Those were the girls trying so hard to hold back the tears as they stared around them with wide, scared eyes. As if they expected a gang rape squad to burst in at any moment.

Finally there were the pros. They thrust their tits out and pouted full lips at him, trying to attract his attention. They knew exactly what was expected of them and they accepted it because they were smart enough to know doing exactly what he wanted meant they'd have food, water and a place to stay, which was far better than the hell ninety-odd percent of the rest of the human race was going through. Edgar liked those girls; they were always pure filth in the bedroom.

Then Edgar saw something he hadn't seen before. There was a girl at the back with long red hair and fair skin that wasn't behaving in any of those ways. She didn't appear to be shy or nervous and she wasn't aggressively jockeying for position to be one of his favourites either. Instead she looked calm. Calm and composed.

Edgar thought Po had slipped in a headcase to make up the numbers and doped her up to the eyeballs so they wouldn't notice. The girl seemed too aware for that though. She knew where she was and why she was here, but had found some inner peace to enable her to cope.

Inner peace, yeah, that was the right term, Edgar thought.

Not really sexy though. Hopefully she'd be more up for it later tonight and if not...well his troops would be up for the extra entertainment. Be a shame though, that was a damn fine rack she was sporting there.

"Take them down to the green room and have housekeeping get them ready for tonight," he ordered.

The girls moved away in a nervous huddle. As they did the calm girl turned her head and stared at Edgar with unfathomable brown eyes.

Spooky, he thought with a shiver. The men could have her.

The guests started arriving a few hours later. These were the men that had run the world before the crisis—Russian oligarchs, Indian steel magnates, African dictators, Banking CEO's, Texan oil barons, high ranking Chinese party officials—and would continue to run it afterwards.

"Gentleman," Edgar said, once the last of his guests had arrived. "Let's party like it's the end of the world!"

That was the cue for the girls to enter the room. Each was dressed identically in high heels, a tiny little cocktail dress and a tight-fitting crimson bra designed to show off the work of Lun Po's incomparable surgeons. They also wore elegant crimson masks. That was Edgar. He found the masks were good at getting the newer, more nervous girls over their inhibitions.

Not that any of the new girls seemed to need it, which surprised Edgar as he was sure he'd seen a few snifflers in the group when they'd first got here. Maybe Lun Po's training was getting better. His tastes were certainly as impeccable as ever. The girls flowed into the room in waves of luscious, nubile flesh. They looked flawless, composed and elegant; like catwalk models.

A little too composed. Edgar wondered if he was looking at warm, living human flesh or ranks of cold, perfect mannequins.

Calm. Completely calm. Just like the girl from earlier, only now every girl was like that.

They'd better not stay like that. Edgar liked his girls to flaunt a bit of raunch. Nothing put the oomph in an orgy like a filthy, uninhibited whore. This wasn't a church social he was running here.

His worries were unfounded. The girls mingled amongst his guests and it wasn't long before they were naked and gobbling dicks with a gusto that took even some of his more depraved guests by surprise.

Edgar looked over the degenerating party and smiled. Lun Po, my man, you are a master, he thought. He picked up a glass of champagne and walked down to be with his guests.

"It may only take a decade for the population to starve down to a stable level," the white-haired man said. His name was Vincent Allan and before the crash he'd been the eighth richest man on the planet.

The ninth, Roger Yuzna, sat opposite. "Good, good. Then we'll be able to secure the last prime tracts of arable land not already under our control. There shouldn't be too much resistance. If anything, the people will be grateful for our leadership."

"A lot of land has been lost to the rising sea level. This is regrettable, but I anticipate there will still be enough territory left over to divide between us in a way that's amicable to all concerned," Vincent said.

"For now," Yuzna added.

"How does King of England sound to you, Edgar?" Vincent asked him, his blue eyes twinkling.

"That lump of shite? No thanks!" Edgar laughed. "I'm staying down here where the scenery's nicer." He put his arm around the dusky South American girl sitting next to him and jiggled her heavy round breast in his hand.

The other men laughed. Vincent suddenly closed his eyes and sucked in his cheeks. A look of pleasurable relief passed across his face. He turned to Edgar with a broad smile on his face.

"She's very talented," he said, referring to the sexy little Asian girl currently crouched between his legs. "Where do you get them?"

"Trade secret," Edgar said, tapping the side of his nose. He stood up and moved on.

All around the room his girls were enthusiastically catering to the desires of his guests. The chairs, sofas and tables played host to an orgy of ripe bobbing boobs and luscious butts squelching down on oozing cocks. Edgar was keen to join the fun, but not just yet. First he had intelligence to gather, plans to hatch, alliances to forge.

He was not so impressed when DeVasquez latched onto his arm and pulled him away from the main room. Bitch had gone so far above herself they'd need forceps to pick up the pieces when she finally crashed back down to Earth.

"These new girls, they scare me," she said. "They're...not right."

Edgar looked at her earnest expression and laughed. He knew exactly what she was afraid of.

"What's the matter, luv?" he said. "Worried you're about to be replaced?"

DeVasquez said nothing, stared at the floor.

"I know, why don't think up something really special you can do to please me tonight. I expect something extra creative." He flashed her a wink before turning away and walking back into the room.

Not right. That was a good one. The room was filled with sighs, groans and heaving pink flesh. Seemed damn perfect to Edgar. He reckoned Caligula himself would be envious of this bash. That crafty old Chinaman sure knew how to take a girl and turn her into a prime fucking machine.

Well, most of them. One of the girls stood apart and drifted around the peripheries of the room as if she was in a daydream. That wouldn't do. Edgar had paid for participants, not fucking observers. Everyone got good and dirty. That was the rule.

He strode across the room, intending to remind her of her duties, but his path was suddenly blocked as Miroslav Polzin stepped in front of them. The Russian had his arm around two naked and extremely busty young ladies.

"These are very fine boobies," the Russian slurred. "I take them back home with me, okay?"

Polzin had inherited most of the vast Russian gas reserves his father had hoodwinked from the Russian state. He was a man you didn't say no to.

"Trade you one of last crates of finest Beluga caviar. Good, da?" Polzin offered.

A box of slimy fish eggs held little appeal to Edgar, but he knew there were plenty that would get a massive hardon over the thought of eating the last spawn of an extinct species and—more importantly—would pay handsomely for the privilege.

"Sure thing, Miro," Edgar laughed. "Go have yourself a good grope, pal." He winked.

The Russian bent over and ran a moist tongue along the underside of a lovely round breast. Edgar left him sucking on a big pink titty.

Now where had that little party pooper got to? Little bitch was going to end up over his knee if she didn't get with the program.

He caught a glimpse of her as she drifted out of the room and into the blue room. Edgar followed her into his water-themed romper room. Rippling lights shone through aquariums lining the walls. The Chinese delegation looked to be enjoying themselves immensely on the giant sunken waterbed in the centre of the room. Edgar thought he saw an American oil baron in there as well, but it was hard to distinguish who was who amongst the pile of writhing limbs undulating up and down with the motions of the bed.

Lovely jubbly, Edgar thought. Once he'd disciplined this errant airhead he might join in. She was just ahead of him, still floating on a cloud of whatever brain candy she'd managed to smuggle in with her.

"Oi luv! This ain't no museum," Edgar called after her.

The girl ignored him and moved on into the white room. This was Edgar's entertainment centre, the same room he'd been sitting in earlier. Edgar had left an explicit snuff film playing on the massive monitor. On the screen two big masked men were currently buggering a skinny little slut up the ass with a spiked club.

The girl—Edgar wasn't surprised at all to see it was the calm redhead that had spooked him earlier—wasn't fazed by the scenes of torture on the screen or the screams. She seemed oblivious to everything as she twirled across the room as light as a ballerina. Her every motion sang with grace and beauty.

Edgar was not moved.

"Oi, twinkle-toes. No one asked for Swan Lake. Do I look like a fairy?"

The girl span right into Edgar's arms. Caught by surprise, he stuck an arm out to catch her, more out of instinct than anything. The girl bent backwards over his arm, her body supple enough for the back of her head to arch back far enough to almost touch her rump. Edgar caught a glimpse of her lovely outthrust breasts before she whipped back upright and pirouetted away from him.

Fucking off her rocker.

"Look luv. I like a bit of kookiness as much as the next man, but if you don't get here right now and suck my fucking dick, that's—" he pointed to the screen behind her where torrents of blood were running down the skinny slut's inner thighs "—going to happen to you."

The girl stopped dancing and stood motionless in the centre of the room.

That's more like—

The screen flickered with an audible crackle. The snuff film vanished. In its place the screen started showing artsy-farty shots of nature—spring meadows, forest glades, sparkling waterfalls.

What the fuck? Who'd put the fucking Discovery channel on?

But there were no channels, not anymore, and Edgar certainly didn't have any of this crap recorded anywhere.

So where was it coming from?

Edgar felt the room temperature drop a couple of degrees. The girl stood in the midst of it all, radiating serenity.

"Who are you?" he demanded, although the authority had slipped from his voice.

He stepped forward and ripped the scarlet mask from the girl's face.

Fuck.

Edgar backed away in horror. She had no eyes. There were no eyes behind the mask. His mind tried to rationalise, tell him what he saw was sitting over her real eyes, but his own eyes couldn't lie. Her eyes were a pair of live butterflies. Their wings fluttered back and forth over the shallow depressions where her eye sockets should be. Eyes were painted on the back of the wings. Whenever the wings stopped fluttering and were fully open it looked like she was staring at him.

"I am Demeterbadb, spirit of rebirth and regeneration," the girl—who wasn't—said.

The butterfly wings started fluttering again. Demeterbadb opened her arms wide. Flesh stirred and moved beneath her skin like clots of molten wax. Edgar watched as she grew taller and her legs and feet swelled and shifted into new forms. When he saw writhing pink tendrils emerge from her feet and slither across the floor towards him he decided he'd seen enough. He scrambled back into the blue room.

Fuck. What the fuck?

Back in the blue room the orgy continued on the giant waterbed as if nothing was untoward. At least Edgar thought so. There was something wrong with the scene, but it was only when he looked closer did Edgar realise what it was. He couldn't distinguish who was who amongst the pile of writhing limbs because there was no longer any physical way to tell where one body part ended and another began. Flesh and skin flowed together like molten wax. The bodies had all melted together.

Whatever had possessed the dancing girl had spread to the other girls and was now consuming his guests. The worst was that the whole mass continued to grunt and groan and thrust together in mindless orgy. The giant waterbed rocked and swayed beneath a shapeless mass of pink writhing flesh.

Edgar watched as a Chinese dignitary, his face frozen somewhere between surprise and terror, struggled to free himself from the growing mass. The lush swell of a sumptuous ass still bounced up and down on the man's crotch. It was hard to say which girl it belonged to as the upper body was stretched and contorted to an impossible degree as it curved round and disappeared into the fleshy pile. Maybe it belonged to the girl sucking on each of the man's fingers in turn with bee-stung lips, or it could be the other one playfully tonguing his ear. Normal bodily proportions no longer seemed to make sense, as if a group of contortionists had fallen together in a twisted pile.