Hot Glue Gun Sex
Fueled by gin and several cans of Red Bull (TM), Floyd Yednock worked late into the
night on the float for the Easter parade, laying down row after row of hot
glue on the smooth surfaces of the giant faux-Fabergé Easter eggs, then
carefully positioning sequin after sequin after countless sequin. It was
having a hypnotic effect on him and the colors, now pastel pinks and yellows,
now neon greens and magentas were beginning to swirl at the periphery of his
vision field.
Floyd cleared his throat and the sound echoed in the rafters of the warehouse,
empty but for him. He loaded more glue and waited for it to warm, its acrid
smell growing stronger as its temperature rose. The empty, cavernous space
gave him the creeps and it was a relief when the red "hot" light
came on and he could once again concentrate on the job at hand, immerse
himself into the trance state only the most tedious, repetitive work can
induce.
He traced another line of hot glue along the pattern sketched out on the large
cardboard egg, then set down the glue gun and picked up a handful of sequins
and started placing them carefully along the surface. When that line was
finished, he repeated the process. Floyd watched slack-faced as the tip of the
gun extruded its hot, sticky contents along the smooth, flawless, concave
surface. Then more sequins.
It was a big job and for this reason the gun was specially equipped with an
industrial size glue tank. He had fitted the gaskets himself, and trusting his
work had not checked them again tonight, which was his undoing. Squeezing,
squeezing the trigger rhythmically he formed another line of the pattern with
the hot sticky goo. The job had him in its clutches again, hypnotized,
entranced and bewitched. Ensnared in this alpha state, he did not notice that
the gasket had ruptured and erupted glue, covering his legs.
The warmth communicated itself through Floyd's clothing, however, and without
looking he reached down to his thigh and his hand came up dripping with the
hot gluey mess. Sequins adhered to his fingers when he reached over for
another handful; covering his hand like a mitten and making him clumsy so he
upset the box spilling them all over himself; gathering on his tacky clothes,
until he looked like a schizoid Las Vegas showgirl.
More glue erupted hotly across his belly, down his shaking legs until it was
indistinguishable where man ended and faux-Fabergé Easter egg began.
Attempting groggily to continue with his work, he ran his glue-covered hands
across the surface of the egg, spreading glue and sequins madly. The smooth,
cool surface vibrated sympathetically, it was a living thing now, greedily
sucking the hot gobs of adhesive paste from his shaking hands. The bare skin
of the egg began to undulate, shifted into a glistening opening that grasped
at his hands and migrated hungrily along his arms and down his body, fumbling
impatiently with the snaps and zippers of his work clothes. From somewhere
deep inside his mind a voice, the faint voice of his dwindling reason cried,
"an egg, it's only a large cardboard egg!" but the buzzing of a
billion bees, the humming of a pint of gin and four cans of Red Bull, drowned
it out as his turgid member, larger by half than he'd ever seen it, leapt free
of his boxers into the hungry, humming sticky orifice of the egg that
proceeded to swallow him whole, manhood first, until he and the egg became one
and he swam in the hot, viscous desire that filled it, breathing this sticky
gel into his lungs and into his pulsating mind. The humming was all around him
now and had increased in pitch and volume to a noise, an aggressive red noise
he found unbearable, but couldn't escape. Even then, the egg was not
satisfied; its hunger continued to grow, the pressure grew stronger
threatening to burst his eardrums as the gelatinous mess was forced into his
every orifice, and the hungry orb devoured him, pulsating at a fever pitch.
The explosion knocked him out, and when he awoke he lay cold and naked but for
the clammy glutinous film covering him and the sequins stuck to it like the
riotous feathers of a hummingbird. He cleaned his hands as best he could and
got back to work, this time on the cardboard rabbit.
thanks, eeth
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