12 Eggs, Garlic Bread, and a Bale of Hay: An Erotic Encounter
The nights in Chicago were getting colder and growing unforgiving as Autumn gave way to a harsh Winter. Fritz had been alright on the streets until tonight, needing only his trusty bale of hay for comfort, but having eaten most of it these last few penniless weeks he had nowhere left to sleep. He stared up at a full moon and his stomach howled as he imagined plucking it out of the sky, cracking it on the sidewalk, and slurping up its lunar yolk.
“Fritz!”, a familiar voice exclaimed. “What are you Mont-ing out here? It’s below freezing.”
“Monte? Is that you?”, Fritz replied. He couldn’t make out his old friend through the unkempt tangles of hair covering his face.
“Yes, it’s me. C’mon buddy. You’re going home with me.”
Fritz and Monte walked close together, Monte’s enormous weight keeping them both warm. They waddled through the streets of Chicago until they arrived at a combination Taco Bell/Pizza Hut.
“I live in the basement here”, Monte said as he gestured to a padlocked door leading underground. “The smells here are the only thing that can stop my… urges.”
Fritz didn’t understand what this meant, but would do anything for a warm place to stay. He nodded, with apprehension, and followed the Mont Man down into the bowels of Chicago.
Monte’s home had a lot in common with Fritz in that they were both filled with garbage and smelled of a grandmother’s couch. Naturally, Fritz felt a sense of comfort for the first time since coming to the big city. He remembered the warm stink of a Kentucky pasture. The thick air of a barn. The lick of a thousand roaches running over his bare feet.
Monte collapsed onto his bed and asked Fritz to join him. There was nowhere else to sit so Fritz reluctantly obliged.
“How long have you been out there buddy?”, Monte asked.
Fritz had never learned to count, it was his greatest shame in life. He held up eight fingers to Monte, hoping that this gesture indicated a number of some kind.
Monte’s face filled with sadness seeing his old friend like this. “How about some food?” You look hungry.”
Fritz felt a tiny amount of blood rush into his manhood at the mention of food. Monte could smell the growing erection.
“I have just the thing”, Monte said as he began removing his clothes. “I just had some garlic bread that you’d die for”. He put a hand near his mouth as he slowly regurgitated an unchewed piece of bread, slowly pulling it away from his grease stained lips.
“Here, eat!” Monte moved the slimy bread toward Fritz’s mouth while making the airplane noise that a mother would use for a child. Fritz reluctantly accepted his first human food in over three weeks. Eating anything other than hay was a godsend.
Monte smiled as he watched his prey eat. He had Fritz where he wanted him.
“How about some eggs?”, Monte asked with the grin of a rapist filling his face.
“I think I’ve had enough. I… I’d like to get to sleep now”, Fritz nervously replied to the nude, unshorn Monte.
“No, no, no! That just won’t do! You can’t go to bed without your eggs!” Monte shouted these words at Fritz as he crossed the room to the refrigerator, its low hum issuing a threat to Fritz’s safety. As the door opened he stared in horror at a completely barren fridge; save for twelve perfect eggs resting on a satin pillow. The shell of each egg had been carefully polished and each had “Monte-licious” embossed in black ink around their circumference. These were special eggs.
Monte lifted the pillow and brought it over to Fritz, still sitting on the bed. The bed squeaked as Monte climbed on top of Fritz, forcing him to lay back; this Mont-tastic pile of flabs and folds nearly crushing Fritz’s pelvis. Monte laid the pillow on Fritz chest and picked up a single egg. The light of the single incandescent bulb, swinging back and forth from an exposed cord, gleamed off of the egg in an almost hypnotic fashion. Fritz felt the cold shell touch is lips. He refuse to open up as Monte applied more and more pressure, careful not to crack the impeccable specimen.
Fritz felt a growl in his stomach and could no longer resist. His lips slowly parted and the ovum pushed into his mouth, mimicking the slow way the egg must have left its mother. As it reached the back of his throat Fritz relaxed, allowing the entire thing, shell and all, to enter him.
Monte wrapped a hand around Fritz’s throat and squeezed. A soft cracking was barely audible and Fritz began to cry as yolk oozed from his mouth. “There’s still eleven more”, Monte threatened.
Each egg seemed slightly wider than the last, but each somehow found its way into Fritz’s throat where Monte would inevitably crack it. Sometimes he waited, watching Fritz struggle for air, as his penis swelled from the sight of Fritz’s yolk stained T-shirt and beard full of shell shards.
Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. The torture seemed like it would never end. As Fritz struggled, Monte’s penis reached its full three and a quarter inches; a sight which caused Fritz to cry out, “Why are you doing this to me?”
Monte just smiled as he forced the eleventh egg into Fritz’s mouth. Fritz could resist, but he knew that the Mont Man had just been released from jail following his infamous Texas Coleslaw Massacre, in which Monte ate the eyes out of a screaming KFC employee in Austin. Fritz couldn’t risk death. He had too much to live for: his family that thought he was gay, the local kids that jumped their skateboards over him, the farmer that used him to keep crows out of the corn field, and, most importantly, his girlfriend/pet manatee Mandy. He endured.
The twelfth egg was the worst. It was an ostrich egg that could not possibly fit into Fritz’s mouth. Unbeknownst to Fritz, Monte had different plans for this egg.
With a terrible speed Monte slammed the enormous egg onto his comical penis and viciously thrust into it like a teenage boy making sex into a couch. Fritz wept and coughed up more egg pieces and blood as he watched this terrible sight; the terrible smacking sound of shell against fat was deafening.
Finally Monte cried out, “Oh no! A Mont-gasm!”. He pulled out and a torrent of dark brown semen oozed out of his every pore, mixing with the tears and albumen that had pooled on Fritz’s face and torso, coagulating instantly as they met. Monte collapsed onto Fritz, slowly suffocating him. The rancid concoction of egg, and tears, and blood, and cum fusing them together as it hardened.
From the lone window that looked into Monte’s dungeon a young boy began trembling violently, having witnessed the foul acts that had been allowed to transpire on this frightful night. The boy stood up and staggered backwards into the street as a crazed madman being chased by a taxi ran near. “I ain’t payin’ no fare!”, the man yelled as he ran around the boy, the yellow cab continuing its pursuit.
The boy felt relief. He closed his eyes and smiled as the purifying force of the taxi erased the horrible pain of seeing Monte feed Fritz. His body exploded on impact, showering bystanders in his young blood. This night was finally over.