Afrodesium: One Hundred And Fifty Pumps

By N. L. Bright

Embark on a journey through the delightfully absurd and satirical world of "Afrodesium: Chronicles from H. Shitheadis." This unique and captivating book invites readers to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Knappy Apps Publishing
• Release date: Jun 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798330215874

N. L. Bright

N.L. Bright, a distinguished author hailing from the vibrant city of Compton, California, is a true literary maverick. With a pen that knows no boundaries, N.L. Bright effortlessly weaves together the realms of literary fiction, hard science fiction, and satire, creating a unique tapestry of words that captivates readers from all walks of life. Drawing inspiration from the diverse and dynamic energy of her hometown, N.L. Bright's writing delves deep into the human psyche, exploring complex themes with wit, intelligence, and a touch of irreverence. Her works are a testament to her boundless creativity and her unwavering commitment to pushing the boundaries of storytelling. With a dedicated and adoring fan base, N.L. Bright is a literary force to be reckoned with, leaving readers eagerly awaiting her next groundbreaking masterpiece.

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Afrodesium

One Hundred And Fifty Pumps

N.  L. Bright

KnappyApps Publishing

Copyright © 2024 DMB

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9781234567890

ISBN-10: 1477123456

Cover design by: Art Painter

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

Printed in the United States of America

Man’s (and presumably woman's too) single most urge is not procreation, but the pursuit of cheap sexual gratification.

A Balding and ill-tempered World renowned T.V. Psychologist’s testimony before Congress, 2029

one. A Cocksman

G et it together Harry Peacock junior. You’re on the verge of spontaneous eruption.

Harry did his best to ignore the relentless jabbering inside his thick (according to his own grandiose claims) skull, but oh, that voice! It slithered with a tantalizingly annoying allure, like a thousand tiny nails on a chalkboard, scraping against the fragile edges of his pitiful soul.

One hundred and twenty-one…one hundred and twenty-two… his ASS sounded off like a hyperactive metronome.

The no longer supported Automated Secretary System, or ASS for short(yes, pronounced just like that), served as Harry's digital sidekick, directly linked to his subdural cell phone. In a twist of fate, what started as a buggy professional assistant app had transformed into an all-knowing, all-pervading force in Harry's life. While officially property of The Cocksman Group, this sassy and now obsolete ASS had somehow developed a knack for going above and beyond her programming, infiltrating every nook and cranny of, well, his ass.

From important work-related matters to the most mundane personal tasks, This cheeky ASS knew no bounds, continuously meddling in every aspect of his daily affairs, whether he liked it or not. This left poor Harry to ponder if he was the boss or if his ASS was pulling the strings.

One hundred twenty-seven. You know you can last much longer.

There was a distinct sneer in his ASS’s tone that Harry didn’t appreciate. But desperately clinging to the task at hand, he attempted to drown out the persistent chatter by imagining himself in a serene meadow, frolicking with unicorns and munching on marshmallows.

Suddenly warning-ding went off in his head. Harry, what the hell are you doing? You’re losing pace and vigor and your biometrics are all over the place. You better not be thinking about imaginary animals again!

But I like unicorns, He chided himself.

Unicorns? she queried from underneath him, nude and barely awake.

Harry chided himself again for speaking out loud.

I love unicorns. With that she wrapped her legs around his hips and gyrated with renewed energy.

Claxons rang in Harry’s head, which felt like an impromptu concert venue for the world's most obnoxious sounds.

Harry, I suggest you hold on and buckle up. I think she’s making her move. his ASS warned, in a staticky panic.

Feeling a sudden surge of impending chaos, Harry scrambled to find a metaphorical seatbelt and fastened it securely. But that wasn’t nearly enough. When her naked body started to buck, Harry failed about like a blowup-doll strapped to a mechanical bull.

Buckle up? Harry thought, talking directly through the neuro-link interface. Well, that's a fine suggestion… He bounced around in a frantic frenzy, his body glistening with sweat, gasping for breath as if he had just sprinted a marathon. …except for one tiny detail—I'm as naked as a jaybird! he fumed, his frustration reaching a climax.

Calm down. It was just a figure of speech, Harry Peacock. But according to your metric you are about to…

Oh…no, Harry groaned as shards of sensation pierced his skin. The claxon’s in his head blared louder; sounding as if a parade of marching bands had decided to set up camp right between his ears.

Orgasm imminent, his ASS announced above it all.

Summoning his wits amidst the cacophony of bells, horns and sensations, Harry racked his brain for a solution. It wasn’t time, negotiations hadn't even begun yet. He told himself as searing pleasure crept up penis.

Whew! she exclaimed, a glimmer of steely determination sparkling in her wild bedroom eyes. Enough of the foreplay. I’m ready to get down to business, she declared as her taut dessert-cup breasts jiggled with a pink cherry nipple on top.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Damn it, Harry, Keep it together Harry, she’s losing respect for you.

Harry knew his ASS was right. But what could he do? He considered her hips, then her breasts searched frantically for something to fondle, lick or pinch.

One hundred thirty-three, One hundred thirty-four…

In the throes of lust, dripping with sweat Harry groaned, Tha…tha… that’s been my deepest desire…

Cut the shit, Harry.

His ASS was right. For they both knew his deepest and strongest desire was to give that cleverly acronymed contraption, the Automated Secretarial System (or ASS for short), a good old-fashioned mute button. Oh, how he longed for some peace and quiet! But alas, duty beckoned, and he found himself ass-deep in the quirky quagmire of corporate negotiations.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling closer. Did you get our latest bid? She asked, her upward thrusts quickening against his pelvis. Her warm vagina drooled.

Yyyeesss. But if I’m not mistaken. It’s ten percent less than your last bid.

She rubbed her breasts against his chest. Yessss!

The shards of sensations felt like knives of pleasure. "Yyoouu are negotiating down?"

Yesss! Yes! She declared as her hips plunged him with reckless abandon.

With hot needles of eroticism coursing through his veins, Harry brainstormed ideas at lightning speed. That’s wholly unacceptable but…

With her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms firmly around his neck, she pressed his body tightly against hers. Do we have a deal, Harry? She ran her tongue along his neck. Suddenly, her pelvis moved with a deliberate slowness, each stroke calculated and precise. Say it Harry. Do we have a deal?

You better not, Harry, you’ll lose your commission. In fact, you’ll lose more than that. You’ll owe the company money! His ASS warned.

No longer fully aware of the voice in his head, Harry’s whole punk-ass body quaked. But through the rising surge of euphoric sensations, Harry thought he sensed an opportunity. I…I…I…, He stammered as she ran her hands down his back until they settled on his firm gluteus maximus.

Say it Harry, she cooed softly in his ear.

Again Harry tried to say something, but his mouth could only produce a deep guttural groan.

They grinded together, mesmerized by their sensual movements. The air around them became infused with an intoxicating blend of aromas. To him it smelled like a delicate lilac and to her like salted caramel.

It's your turn, Harry. It's time for you to make your move !

In the midst of intoxicating strokes, Harry locked his hips. I was thinking about five percent above the margin.

She squirmed, trying to get started again. Screw you.

But Harry had already seized the rhythm, impaling her with a flurry of shallow rabbit strokes. Sensing the tide was turning in his favor, and he couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in his chest. Ten percent above the margin sounds even better.

Oooohhhhh, she moaned, seeming giving in to pugilistic pelvis.

There you go Harry, give it to her. His ASS cheered.

But the pleasure was getting to him too. Caught between fascination and financial ruin, Harry found himself spellbound by the combination of her rhythmic grace and the captivating fear of losing his job again. It was a sensory symphony, where each stroke and every breath harmonized to create a sensual near-broke experience.

And that was all she needed. She caught up with the pace of his hips and through a feat of acrobatic alchemy, she flipped him over and was now riding him like a two-dollar mule(or unicorn). She yanked at his legs and twisted her hips until she settled on what felt like an aggressive form of the inverted pommel horse style. 

Whew! She rhythmically drove her kitten-mitten up and down and all around as he lay on his head and shoulders propping his back up on his hands and elbows while his legs dangled uselessly in the air. Ten percent below the margin.

Say something, Harry! This is a negotiation.

Harry wanted to protest, not because he felt violated or anything, but simply because his hips started to gyrate involuntarily as she quickened the pace. With each passing moment, she went faster and faster, demanding all of his concentration to resist the urge to send her soaring to the moon.

Then abruptly she stopped, twat-squatting on his cooch-pooch throbbing inside her. Give me a ten percent cost reduction annually for the next seven quarters, She cooed as she started to plunge down on him, slow and hard.

We cannot accept that Harry. The sultry but metallic voice spoke in a snort that sounded distinctly like a scorned lover. Come on man you’re getting us both screwed.

She quickened the pace again, this time going higher and pouncing harder. Come on, you know you want to.

Harry hated his ASS, but he knew she was right. This was a negotiation and he was losing ground. He twisted his head around so he could get a good look at her, but all he could see was her gelatinous booty shaking at full throttle, while her milky white titties bounced to a gravity of their own.

What else could he do? He’d done doggy style, cowgirl, missionary, inverted backstroke, banana split, the double dribble, and even the kitty-kitty bang bang. As the familiar sensation of devastating cock-rot crept into his consciousness he could feel his erection beginning to crescendo. Panic choked him and his body seized.

Hell no! He cringed fighting down the urge to pull out. The last thing he needed was to ejaculate or even worse not to ejaculate. But she was good at her job, perhaps too good for him.

Yes…Oh yes, she demanded adding a pelvic swirl to the mix. You are going to give me ev..er..y…ttthing….ohhhhh shiiittt. Without realizing it she’d drifted from inverted pommel horse to the Turkish mechanical bull. Tingles of radiant sensation washed over her in waves, increasing in intensity with each stroke. What’s worse her hips were on runaway, her body bucked back and forth. She couldn’t stop now, even if she wanted to.

In that split second Harry realized she’d gone too far. It was common knowledge among professional screwers that you never go from any of the equine techniques to a bovine position or vice versa.

One hundred and twenty-six, One hundred and twenty-seven…

With one smooth and deft stroke, he maneuvered his body to shift his weight backward. Gently and smoothly she rolled down and off the bed. His body followed without sacrificing their embrace and he was now on top of her straddling her hips. He grabbed each of her legs, holding them between his legs as her head dug into the plush carpet. It was just the advantage he needed. With the snap of his pelvis, it began, his signature technique: the modified reverse jackhammer (patent pending).

The jackhammer style in and of itself was a volatile position capable of eliciting pleasure many orders of magnitude greater than the original jackhammer style, which was once widely considered the greatest sexual position two people could experience. But therein lies the root problem. The pleasure for both the penetrator and the pentratee was simultaneous and intense. In fact, neither the penetrator nor the pentratee could tell if he or she was coming or going, literally. The excruciating pleasure usually ended in a warm mess of body fluids; not at all good for business. The reverse jackhammer was no better, with all its screaming and panting and genitalic seizures. The convoluted agreements coming out of these unions usually benefited no one. And that’s only if they were able to hammer out an agreement at all.

By Harry’s estimation, his modified reverse jackhammer gave him an advantage by temporarily shifting nearly a third of the pleasure factor of the penetrator to the penetratee. Though this only lasted a few precious seconds, it was sometimes enough to cause delirium, hallucinations, or in at least one odd case, dopplebanger.

A Dopplebanger is a mostly mythical out-of-body experience where multiple versions of one’s self somehow turn a two-way into a threesome, a fivesome, or any other odd-number-some.

Harry crashed against her drooling flesh determined to pound out an agreement. We can offer you a three percent return on the backend depending on market conditions. He said, smacking her bum.

She flopped and flailed about as he pulled her off the carpet with each upstroke and drove her back down on the downward thrust. Ohhh no that’s not enough, I want more!. She knew she was losing leverage but wasn’t done yet. She contracted her pelvis on every upward stroke and the walls of her pole-hole collapsed on his knob-hopper, pulling then letting go.

One hundred fifty-three, One hundred fifty-four. You are running out of time, Harry Peacock junior.

As his poon-dagger slid in and out of her, suddenly he felt her pulsating walls clamp against his wrought iron flesh.A shock wave of pleasure knocked him off his stroke. She’s kagel-bagelling me! He shouted in his head.

Focus. And for heaven's sake don’t bust now. You have her where you want her, Now stick it to her.

Th… th… three percent on the back end. Using his body as a lasso he whipped his pelvis harder and faster. The jackhammer was at full power.

Oh, Nooooo way Mr. Gooonads… She doubled up, catching him on both his up and down stroke.

Ohh!

Stay in control. You’ve been kegel-bagelled by the best of them--

Now it’s a double Kagel-bagel….wi…wi…with cream. He cooed.

With that ASS was silent.

Shocked by shards of a million volts of electrical pleasure racing from the tip of his Bangkok to his pelvis, his body twitched uncontrollably.  Three percent Miss… Harry pleaded.

Na…na…no way. We’d barely ba…ba…break even. Her head and titties flopped against the plush carpet. Her pelvic contractions were now involuntary convulsions.

Overcome by the throes of eroticism, the two of them could no longer use intelligible language. Instead, they spoke in the form of grunts and moans, a longtime professional shorthand, which was both legal and binding. To the uninitiated, it may have sounded like just two horny people going at each other really hard, but the translation went exactly like this:

If the market trajectory holds true our companies will make way like ba ba bandits.

I can’t trust a fickle market.

You can trust me. Three percent is my final offer.

What a minute Harry, we need this account.

Shut up, he thought. I know what I am doing.

Well, I am sorry…we just.

Four percent.

nine percent.

five percent.

Eight…

Six.

Seven

Seven? Ohh Mister Gnands. Yes, yes, yes!

As the agreement was consummated A rush of euphoric bliss erupted from deep inside her. Her body quivered as Harry’s hammer jacked with reckless abandon.Pleasure raced to the tip of his poon-dagger and his body lost all control. His thrust was much faster than he felt he could