On the way to the pimp room we took a deviation into a side hall to go shopping. It was very considerate of the Dev-iurges to put a bunch of stores just before the final fight of the dungeon. That, and I guess succubi needed a place to go grocery shopping. The souls of the degenerates may be nutritious but they cannot, by themselves, provide a balanced diet.
We entered the lot of the SuckerMarket and I grabbed a shopping cart dressed in kinky leather lingerie. Slapped the backside of the cart. It didn’t moan. It didn’t go “harder, daddy”. What a half-assed commitment.
The floor inside hosted pink tiles, instead of white. The light was provided by brothel signs hanging above. I remember thinking that Succubi better had preternatural eyesight, or else they would be victims of all sort of ailments related to tired eyes.
“So, where do we head first? I said, still standing in the parking lot, among the bed-mobiles so mediocrely parked by the demons.
“I shall consume the flesh of mortals,” somberly stated Mariana.
“Butcher shop, okay. I want a sausage myself,” said Sabrina.
“To eat or to deepthroat?” The question came to me as naturally as breathing.
I got slapped like the shopping cart barred bottom had been moments prior.
“I want steaks, I need protein. I feel myself waning.” Added Florencia.
“Walter, Flor is hungry!” Cornelio hurried me, snapping his fingers repeatedly.
“Jump in the fucking grill and feed her with your fucking flesh if you are so much in a rush. That said, we need to steal a shopping cart to make a grill.”
Mariana began licking Cornelio’s hand. “Yep, he’s yummy enough,” the meat connoisseur sentenced after the third lick.
“I don’t want to be grilled…” Cornelio complained.
I followed the line of thinking until I found the question to ask. “So, I take you have no qualms with being cannibalized raw?”
Cornelio stared blankly at me. A deer in headlights, blinded by the stupidity of my reasoning. “Let’s leave it here, lest I answer honestly and it leads us into an endless spiral of annoying questions.”
I changed subject. “Canaver, do you want something from the super?”
After a few moments, the ball of rotting dogs inside my inventory spoke “Toddlers.”
“I highly doubt there is a daycare in… You know what, no, I don’t doubt there will be a terrible daycare somewhere down here. If I find it, you shall have your toddlers.”
I advanced, pushing the slutty shopping cart, wondering what the mechanism behind the automated door was. Did it use normal cogs? Or did it use texturized sex toys to do the work? Questions that I regret having left for later.
The market was expansive. Uncountable neon-lit aisles suggested a variety of goods and brands resting over its shelves. Loud snoring came from our right. The cashier succubus was sleeping on company time, drooling over the conveyor belt.
Cries came from our left. There, at the far end, a motherfucking daycare.
“Well that was fast.” I admitted, and hurried down that exposition hall of sales that had suspicious amounts of toilet paper featured as if it were the most necessary item in existence. “Do you think succubi use bidets?” I wondered out loud. The sisters looked at each other. Cornelio sighed. Mariana got pensive.
As we approached, a yellow-skinned succubus slinked up to us. “Hewwo and wewcome to ouw wocaw daycawe,” she said, you know in exactly what tone.
I thought about promoting her from a three-holed succubus to a four-holed succubus, via means of dog-shotgun to the chest.
“Do you accept children with special needs among your…” I looked over her shoulder, at the rabid pack of small incubi and succubi that tried to honor their title as demons on the back. “Dear lord that is a lot of defective condoms.”
“Ouw giwws and theiw pwey awe not keen on using biwth contwow.” She admitted. “Just fouwty gold an houw to take cawe of a chiwd of youw choice.” She offered, smiling.
“Could you stop talking like that?”
She lowered her gaze and sniffed. “No, I suwvived seven muwdew attempts whiwe I was inside mommy’s bewwy.”
I was confused. What was more of a cunt position to take in this instance? Pro-life? Pro-choice? This was a challenge: I needed to appear supportive while delivering an obliterating blow to her psyche. It was clear the bloodline of anybody who botched seven abortion attempts in a row deserved to be ended, if only out of mercy. After a few seconds of pensive silence that I passed off as shock, I placed my hand in her shoulder.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“I am so sorry. “I began delivering my faux-heartfelt speech. “I consider what your mother did was horrible, but you look like a strong girl: I am sure you could have survived eight attemps with no problem. Even nine.”
First, she smiled, then frowned, and began whimpering out of anguish.
I turned my head to look at Florencia. She was visibly disgusted. I gave her a wink and she cringed.
The succubus caretaker collapsed to the floor, a sobbing yellow mass of brain damage. I took the ball of Canaver out of my inventory, briefly blindfolded Mariana with a belt so she wouldn’t fetch it, and then threw him inside the daycare. “Have fun, cancan!”
I turned down the nearest aisle as the horrified scream of the demon children filled the market. I walked fast, the smell of demon blood and innards wasn’t kind on my nostrils, and, besides, I needed to arrive to the butcher store, that seemed to be at the far end of the suckermarket.
As we approached, the smell of fresh meat began rendering Mariana into a feral entity. I had to hold her from her choke collar to avoid her breaking loose. “I wanna eat, eeeeaaaatttt!” she cried. “Fooooood!” she howled.
In front of the butcheries fridge, I began looking at the cuts through the glass as Mariana tried to lick a hole into the thing.
“What are we going to buy?” Florencia asked, drooling just a little bit less than Mariana. I noticed Cornelio as he took a dissimulate step away from her.
“I want a choripan now, so Walter cannot make dick jokes without thinking of splitting them in half,” Sabrina commented.
“That’s too greasy! I need something more meagre… chicken breasts will do.”
“Everything…” Mariana whistled as she trembled. “Every last piece.”
Eventually, a red succubus came out of a door behind the counter, and addressed us. “How can I serve you?”
I cleared my throat. My time to shine had finally come. I sauntered up to her and put up my most gallant and seductive voice. “I want a kilogram of ball of back, a kilogram of void, and a kilogram and a half of lil’ whipping. Also cut me some steer caboose. Five or six slices.”
She stood there silently. After some long seconds, she spoke “I fucking hate Argies. Wait here, I will call Vera. She is the resident Messiaboo.”
“Vera is my favorite female name.” I looked back at my party to see their judging stares. “For reasons.”
The red succubus went through the door behind the counter and called out loud. “Vera! Come here! Your particular brand of conehead wants some meat!” She then returned with a soft smile. “She will be with you soon,” she said with a servile and polite tone.
“I… heard that.”
“I know you did. You are her problem now.” She informed before disappearing through the door again.
Then I heard the red succubus hop away as a known tune began sounding in the distance. An ominous aura of misery and hopelessness approached. The price tags around us began shifting, Ones turning into twos, twos into threes, and so on.
“Hyperinflation.” I muttered as I heard the steps of a beast approach the door.
A thin succubus with auburn hair, straight and at hips length, crossed the door. She was wearing a sky-blue and white football shirt, skinny jeans and sneakers. She carried a football ball under her arm. “¿Todo viento por acá?” she greeted us.
As she got closer to the counter, I could make out the sound her body exuded: it was Cacho Castaña’s biggest hits.
“Oh my God, it’s Vera la Súcubo Botinera.” I whispered, dumbfounded by the sheer audacity of such a play on words.
“What do you need? quick quick,” She said with botched English.
“Ball of back, one kilo. Cow puppy ass, six slices. Void, one kilo. Itty-bitty lashing, a kilo and a half.” I pointed at Florencia, “I also need a pair of breasts for the pair of breasts,” And then at Sabrina, “and a couple choris for the resident engineer,” and then at Mariana, “And two kilograms of Big-Ass Thorn.”
“Un kilo ‘e bola ‘e lomo, uno ‘e vacío, uno y medio ‘e azotillo, seis milangas ‘e nalga ‘e ternera, do’ kilo’ ‘e espinazo, do’ choris, y do’ supremas. ¿Tamo’?”
I gave her a shy thumbs-up, overwhelmed by nostalgia. This hellbound slut in a videogame world was almost a fellow countrywoman.
She worked deftly as she did keepy-uppies with the ball, slicing the meat cuts with her hands and some sharp tools while the rest of her body kept the ball in the air. It looked like a good recipe to deprive oneself of several fingers.
After a while, she handed us the meat in bags and the receipt. “Listo, nene. ¡Pásenla bomba con el asadito!”
“Que las pijas futboleras que chupes estén libres de herpes y violencia de género, ser superior.” I wished her farewell and grabbed the bags. It meant something like “May tomorrow bring you blessings and preserve you from football-related evils.”
We walked away swiftly, Mariana leaving a trail of scratches on the pink tiles, her skin creasing until she looked like a chow chow compacted against her collar. I dragged my party around to the bread aisle and got a pair of baguettes for the sacrosanct crafting of Sabrina’s choripanes. Then we wandered until finding a bottle of blessed chimichurri to season all of our spoils. We grabbed a box of grilling salt, loaded a bag of carbon on the shopping cart.
Finally, and tired from traversing that nightmarish egregor of porno corporatocracy, we made a beeline for the check-out. Just before we arrived, the loudspeakers began sounding. Canaver’s voice started coming from them. He was… singing...
“I were good, I were a boy,
kinda pup that can’t be tamed,
I was right till I wasn’t,
Shook a poodle and put it down.
I didn’t want to go to the pound
I didn’t want to die
Started to whine but then I remembered I…
I can fix myself toddlers!
Maul your grandma offhand.
Entertain myself for hours.
Cause wounds docs don’t understand.
I can take myself walking
And I can bite even the Han
Woof, I can fight them better than your can…” he sang and sang … I applauded. He had a voice like a choir of angels. Fallen, but angels all the same.
After he finished his number of a parody of Miley Cyrus’ “Flowers” (a song that didn’t exist back in 2021…), we proceeded to the register, and I spat on the succubus there to wake her up. She was the owner of a nice rack. It even had oregano and paprika.
She also had nice tits, btw.
We put the items in the conveyor belt, and I handed her the receipt of the butcher’s. She squinted at it.
“Beep,” she sentenced after a second. Then she squinted at the barcodes of the groceries and repeated the process. “Beep.”
After several more Beeps, she produced a receipt from her cleavage. “Ah, so that’s why they are that size.”
After that, Mariana paid, we exited the market, toppled a shopping cart on its side, and began cooking the asado. Inside the brothel dungeon. Yes.