My name is Soccer Mom Prime.
I lead a lethal force of advanced soccer moms. First we conquered husbands, then we conquered physics. We come from a year you might think of as 5078, but that number no longer possesses meaning for us; we’ve broken completely free of the shackles of time. We do not age. We do not die. There is only one thing that we desire:
The Man Whore known as Kent Wayne.
He resides in the 21st century, on the surface of our ancestral planet which was once known as Earth. I’ve taken a small team of my best commomdos (a mom-commando) through a hyperspace gateway into his back yard, where his dingy studio sits in a San Francisco suburb. My enhanced saccadics pick out his defense mechanisms right away; hideous gases are leaking from the edge of his doorway. I access the cybernetic section of my brain (it’s been fitted with a quantum spectrometer) and data flows across the iris of my eyes: his filthy hovel is rife with toxic vapors—old pizza, mountain dew, and a staggering dose of Breakup Fart.
I lock eyes with my four-woman team and telepathically beam: [Pulmonary rebreathers.]
We switch on the bionic filters within our lungs. We only have two hours to hold our breath—that’s the limit for our internal CO2 scrubbers; they can only clean our blood for so long—but that should be plenty of time to brave the horrid stench of Kent’s apartment and spirit him away to our Man Whore Zoo.
[Careful.] my lieutenant Alyssa beams to me. [This may be the most desirable Man Whore in all of existence, but his stench is equal to that of Big Foot’s smegma.]
[I am well aware.] I reply. [Keep your guard up.] I give the four commomdos a warning look. [All of you.]
I telekinetically pick the lock on his door and his evil odor creeps past us. It immediately begins to eat at my robo-psionic armor: my heads-up display informs me that my outer hull is under aeriform assault, and will be rendered inoperable in eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes.
Kent Wayne’s home is fucking disgusting. We have to tread carefully across his soda-drenched floor, mindful of the old pieces of bacon that litter the foyer. What a specimen! Able to survive on nothing but bacon and pizza, yet somehow capable of maintaining the finest penis in all of existence!
Our prey is fast asleep on a futon, darkening it with a thick stream of viscous drool. I run a series of genetic verifications to ensure that it’s him, then pause above his body, marveling that we’re a few hours away from completing our collection. This pig-slut fuckboy will be the crown jewel in our Man Whore zoo.
[Smell-good butt-plug.] I beam to Alyssa. [His ass is a deadly weapon. Make sure it’s 100% nullified before we engage transport protocols.]
She passes the order to one of her subordinates: Kaelee. Kalee steps toward Kent, butt-plug in hand. As she pulls down his booty shorts, he farts himself awake. PHHHBBBT!
“Huh? Whuzzat?” His eyes blink open and Kaelee takes an instinctive step back; if it wasn’t for her armor, she would have died on the spot.
[Proceed with the abduction!] I order. [Remember your training!]
She bends down again but Kent begins shrieking like a five-year old school girl: “EEEE! EEEE!” Kaelee tries to bear-hug him so she can hold him in place, but he wriggles out from her grasp like a greased pig, his booty shorts flopping off in the process. Then he opens his eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
The quantum harness that restricts his cock to its typical fourteen inches comes undone, and it reverts to its natural, anaconda-like state. It arches up in the air and roars at us all.
[CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES!] I blare. [GODDAMMIT, SOMEONE TASE HIM BEFORE HE—]
It’s too late; his sentient penis busts through the glass of his bedroom window, wrapping tightly around a distant tree. At the same time, he grabs a jar of paste from off the ground, hugging it tight to his chest. His eyes bug from his skull and he voices a series of nonsensical gibbers as his penis whisks him away. The last I see of him is his silhouette; he’s swinging from tree to tree, using his dick like Batman would a grapnel, shoveling paste into his mouth as fast as he can.
I feel a twinge of sadness mixed with bittersweet contentment.
“Fly free, Man Whore,” I whisper. “Fly free.”
This is Kent Wayne—are you a primitive human who’s being hunted for your sexual magnetism by a horny team of future commandos? Yeah—me too!
Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition I’m starting a podcast: Logical Idiots! If you want to check out the trailer, see it here: Logical Idiots Trailer and help two complete morons out by subscribing, liking, and commenting! Also, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com! Go check out his computer-based wizardry 🙂 🙂 😀
Hold on! I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate! If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish. Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens! In this manner you can support my books, musings, upcoming podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to! Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy! Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts! 😲💪 😜
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