The slate gray of this timeline was exactly the reason why HQ sent him here. He had to be Johnny Appleseed. He had to sow seeds of purpose in the nooks and crannies of timelines like this. That was his mission, as an Algorithm Adept. Sometimes being a chaos mage with a marketable libido was a blessing and a curse for the amount of work he had to do. But someone had to do it.
Finding an unmarked back alley in this Wasteland Timeline was easy work. Pressing his back against the crumbling brick wall, he took out his micro-recorder to begin his next transmission.
Click.
The recording light blinked and he stared into the camera, letting his focus dissociate just a bit, so that he could do this. So that he could hit that sweet spot in his mind where free-flow nonsense and free-flow brilliance intersected. He exhaled slowly. He felt himself rise and the tingles along the ASMR zones of his body; he smiled a lazy, libido-infused smile.
“Hello. My name is Randy Boner, and I’m obsessed with porn. I like to think on some level, everyone is. Or else, why would there be so many laws about it and so many laws trying to outlaw it? Think about it. Anything good, some prude out there wants to call it evil. Some people call that repression. Maybe it is, or it's some wanker with a denial play kink trying to express himself. Either way. I am here in Reality 147 on an Appleseed mission. This is an encrypted transmission. Access code: 6, 9, 4, 2.”
He adjusted his grip on the recorder before he continued.
“You see, word on the Quantum Radar is that several timelines are trying to outlaw our beloved art form that is Pornography for good. Don’t worry, though, there is a small, unknown sect of souls trying to prevent that.”
The recorder jostled as he used his free hand to unfasten his pants and shove a trembling hand inside. The long groan as his hand grasped his boner and held it, like he would a lover’s hand. Slowly stroking, he sighed, his lashes fluttering.
“Pornography is key to the survival of humanity. Look at art history alone, and you’ll see that Humanity is fucking obsessed with the vulnerability and beauty of our own naked bodies. For me, though? I like the details. The details most people don't know on a conscious level that they like, but subconsciously it's what brings them back for another hit of that sweet, oxytocin drip.”
His hand was jerking slowly in his jeans, “Oh gods above and below, I've been edging myself Aeons… for th-this, this is important work – hnnghh… gods, you can think what you need to, like I am, right now, to g-g-get you ther---”
He froze at the sound of a patrolling military drone, flying over the area for a routine surveillance sweep.
“Shit, that was close!”
Randy made quick work of clicking the recorder off abruptly, his heart racing in his chest as he then shoved himself back into his pants. He looked at the drizzle of pre on his fingers and grinned. “Perfect,” he whispered as he rubbed it between his fingers; while turning around to draw a sigil on the brick with it.
“Edge point zero activated. Standing by for the next Rendezvous point,” he said into his communicator.
There was a buzz of static patterns and his mind quickly translated the sequence into coordinates of his next edge point location. He pulled his anti-drone hooded mask over his head. It was from well-known drag prince and fashion icon Syr Veillance. He made 'armor' especially for the Algorithm Adepts. His enterprises were completely open source and he considered it a Copy Left Fashion Co-Operation.
No one who worked for the Algorithm was seen without at least one piece of AI-scrambling apparel. It kept you off the grid and enabled operatives to move quickly and discreetly. If any footage did show up on Big Brother's ever-seeing eye, it was obscured. It was the ultimate protection. It enabled operative Randy Boner to get to his next destination as he walked quickly to avoid being seen by the orbiting drones doing flybys every sixteen seconds in this area.
Several blocks later there was a condemned building scheduled for demolition. It was surrounded by treacherous barbed wire and a force field barrier to prevent squatters. This?! This was his next edge point?!
“For the love of Eris, seriously?! C'mon Cuntess!! This can't be my next spot. There is no way to get in!”
Cuntess Clickbait's breath preceded her voice in the comm channel, like a misophonic wind of tympanic turbulence.
“Affirmative, encode and activate the edge point. We're on a tight schedule! Dickwad Blown and Looner21 are already done on the east quadrant. We need you at the CumSortium, but we also can't let them get too far ahead of you, or I'm going to need to activate another sleeper cell of operatives to make up the difference. Figure it out, we're counting on you.”
Radio Silence.
Randy Boner gave an exasperated sigh and tapped the frequency changer on his hood. If he could scan the weak points in the bandwidth of the force field and get close enough to it, he should scramble the signal and shut down the force field, at least in that localized spot, to squeeze through. He had to be fast before the patrol caught and reported it for maintenance and recalibrated it.
Scanning... Scanning... Scanning. Weak Point Sighted!
The Coordinates flashed on the mask of his hood, and he made his way to where they indicated and, with a deep breath, stood really close to the barrier that he was only able to see due to consistent practice of doing this work in so many timelines and the high-quality work of his masked hoodie.
The force field was glitching and frazzling before the bottom left corner of it shut down with just enough space for Randy's twink body to squeeze in.
“Yes!” he hissed triumphantly and went over to the side wall of the building, careful of the pressure mines and the barbed wire strewn around like some sort of thistle garden from hell. “Minesweeper Champion 1998 Wins Again,” he praised himself as he got free to the other side.
“Okay. Here we go...”
Taking out his micro-recorder again and centering his mind with a deep breath, he lowered the mask part of his hood. He stared back at his own hazel eyes and fixed his hair, enjoying the scruffy stubble on his chin.
“Hi, it's your pal, Randy Boner again. Back at it, doing the Lord's work. Cumming where no man has cum before. Or at least not in a very, long, fucking time. It has to be Obsession that drives poor, horny fucks like me to do this work. I mean, can you blame me? I'm just like anyone else out there in the world wanting one small scrap of happiness, even if I have to stroke it out myself.”
His hand went to unbutton his pants again and slip his hand in slowly, rubbing the pubic hair on the base of his cock with a moan and a flutter of his lashes. He bit his lip as his hand slid down to stroke the shaft, quickly hardening into his grip.
“Ah, yess, that's it, good boy. We got hard quick, that time. Just what I needed, a quick rise, quick… quick rise… so I can claim the prize...”
His mouth was ajar for a long, silent moment, as he stroked and stroked and stroked on the camera.
“Save the Porn. Save the World. Save the Porn. Save the World. Save the Porn. Save the World, Save the Porn. Save the World…” Randy chanted while opening his eyes to slits to look at the recorder, knowing he was getting close to that tipping point where he needed to stop or cum for real.
“Trust me, in a world without porn, we aren't as unified as we are in a world with it. We'd be left thinking we are weird and fucked up in the head, without other people in the world - brave exhibitionist pioneers. Getting naked and showing us the truth of our humanity. How deep down, we're all so fu-fucking obsessed with this shit, this art. The way it shows the human experience better than anything else, provides connection, a solidarity of surviving struggle, and in a way it's a sustenance for the soul...”
Randy moaned and dipped his head back, gritting his teeth. “...for me, it's a way to foster empathy, through fantasy, and objectification. I am free to imagine myself as someone else and let myself be used, enjoyed. I can make someone else feel good, like I feel good. And I can be… Hnnnghhh,” he gritted his teeth, holding the Climax back. He took his hand from his pants, again sticky with his pre-ejaculate.
Panting as he clicked the recorder off. Turned to smear another sigil on the brick of the condemned building behind him. The fuzzy near-orgasmic dissocia-haze of his mind elixirifying the sigil he was drawing on autopilot with one hand, while shoving himself back in his pants with a wince from adjusting to get the boner to go down one pant leg over tenting the pants in the center.
“Edge point Zeta-1 activated. Standing by for my next rendezvous point.”
He started back across the Danger Zone to get back to the weak point in the force field – hoping that it hadn't been recalibrated and he'd be stuck here.
The static patterns were on his comms again, and he mentally juggled his focus, trying to decode the sequence while not getting anything snagged on the barbed wire and not stepping on any of the pressure mines underground.
He got to the other side and wiggled through the glitching code of the forcefield before he heard the klaxon alert blaring on the emergency comms in his other ear. He was grateful that it happened just as he got free. The gratitude was short-lived as he ran for it. He didn't have time or brain to figure out the coordinate sequence from the static patterns. He'd have to get somewhere away from this location. And then comm Cuntess, his Handler, directly.
***
Bobbing and weaving, head down, among the gray, nearly soulless bodies downtown, Randy kept glancing up for the patrolling drones flying around to make sure they were just doing patrolling and not actively hunting him down.
“CC, repeat transmission. I didn't receive the next edge point coordinates.”
Static for several seconds and followed by the sound of Cuntess sucking her teeth and clicking her tongue in annoyance before exhaling heavily into the speaker; Randy fought not to wince. He hated when she did that. But she was such a brat that if you told her you were annoyed with something, she did it more just to piss you off. She thought it was funny. It wasn't. Not to Randy.
But no other Handler would work with him. His response time was the slowest of all the Johnnys, and he didn't know how to fix it. He had a harder time getting started without external stimuli like porn images to help him along. His imagination was… not as vivid as other people. Aphantasia had that effect.
“For Fnord's Sake, Randy, return to the CumSortium HQ. I'll leave the window open til you get your narrow ass through the hole. Don't leave me gaped and waiting for long, you hear me?”
“Copy that. I'm on my way.”
The Time Window, affectionately referred to by Randy’s Cell, as Cuntess's Gaping Hole, was a lot easier to get to than the past forty-seven edge points combined. Randy's body was tired and agitated with the need to cum already. He was happy that he didn't have to edge any more coordinates on the Quantum Grid.
Ordered back to HQ could mean only one thing. Circle Jerk Time. Circle Jerks are a long-held tradition for Algorithm Adepts; not only did it clear the cache of the limbic system of the individual, done in unison, it amplified across the collective whole.
And when a bunch of experienced chaos magicians did it, it generated enough gnosis to create an Egregore, or a Memeplex, which was very much needed right now to help combat the Astral Monstrosity aka the Level Fucked!Factorial 20 Meme-Gregore of Fascism that has been terrorizing the Sacred Neutral Spaces of the net to bust a nut in the privacy of one's own home for far too long.
Once he got to the middle of the abandoned parking lot, he looked one way and then the other, and jumped through what looked like thin air but it wasn’t. He pushed his way past the topological labia of the time window to leave this wasteland of a timeline behind him.
Cuntess’s Gaping Hole was a long tunnel of undulating unbirth between the liminal spaces between realities.
It always got his blood running faster, the way the dimensional walls would squeeze and contract around his wiggling body, thrusting and inching deeper inside the lattice work of the time-space continuum. He could feel the ebbs and flows of timelines all around the outer walls of the gaping hole just rubbing, gyrating, rutting off, as he crawled his way deeper and deeper down the voidal vagina of the vulvar vortex. Both sensations, outside and inside the flaps and folds of dimensions, kept the breathing life energy edged and primed for imminent ejaculation at any and all times.
If he wasn't careful, he'd be lost here forever. He had to find the g-spot, because once he did, the vulva-vector-gravity sensors would squeeze and shoot him through the chute of the Cuntess canal right into HQ’s recovery room.
“C'mon, Randy, keep fondling, you'll find it, you'll find the spot, it was right around here last time, I think? No? Dammit, how about here?” He pressed a kiss on a tender spot of the vortex wall. He could sense, smell that he was close. He scooted forward like a worm, kissing his way along that area, until …
Whhhhhoooosssshhhh!!!
Randy screamed his whole way down the slide until he landed with a splat in the Recovery room of HQ.
It looked like an indoor pool of a gymnasium, with several spouts, or water slides that landed in a big abstract pool. He swam out of the prickly static of signal-decaying synaptic jizz, and grabbed a tarp to wipe himself back down to a neutral soul-signal. He stripped off his clothes til he was naked.
There was one of the Higher Level Adepts waiting for him, ThicHimbo19. He looked up at Randy with a big grin of someone who used whitening strips on their teeth almost exclusively over toothbrushes.
“Sup, Randy, it’s time to fap on,” he said with two claps. “And fap hard.” He clapped again. And then chortled a laugh that sounded like the call of a seagull or the bleating sound of a seal.
“Let's go, brother, last one there's a smegma sandwich!” ThicHimbo19 said with another laugh and playfully slapped him on the shoulder before he jogged backward out the double doors that lead out of the recovery room to the CumSortium Conference Pit.
Within the pit was the Ourosboros, a giant circle of adepts jerking off in one giant circle-jerk. Some of these adepts have been here fapping for freedom for years, others merely hours. Randy walked around the outside of the circle before finding his spot, and dick-in-hand, he stepped onto the circle line, joining the circle jerk, stroking himself in harmony with the others in the circle. He could feel the collective energy surge through him from his feet, up his legs to his hard boner.
Now he could jerk until he came.
Finally.
It was a long few years of field work; now he could come home and get that sweet, sweet climactic reward. This was the safe space to let go. Standing shoulder to shoulder next to all of these edge-lords, he let himself stare into the center of the Ourosboros.
It was the aperture of arousal, a rip in the fabric of reality – a glimpse into the raw power of the Collective Unconscious ID of Humanity. Each soul saw their own shadow, their own deepest fantasies inside it. It was the reservoir upon which all Porn was made from. It was the Wicked, Wanton Wellspring of Wet Holes and Hard Poles - The Holy, Puckering, Akashic Asshole.
The vast interconnected web of iconography was spawned from Collective Unconscious ID. It showed everything, anything. It read your libido and reflected what was needed to be fed its offering of cum and squirt to stay alive. And it was the last bastion of Pornography left to the world, where nearly every reality and timeline has it outlawed.
The Meme-Gregore of Fascism was trying to erase joy and happiness from the Multiverse, it was no match to a powerful underground network of porn-obsessed, and sex-starved, lonely, horny people who believed more than anything that every citizen of the world after a hard days' work, or at any bored moment had the unalienable right to fap ferociously to high res images and videos of quality pornographic content.
Whether that content was well-hung jocks in locker rooms, rubber-clad dominatrices in dungeons, busty bimbos dressed in the same shade of pink as the puckering stink slide of the biggest chub pony boy wearing a phase one clone trooper bucket helmet on his head, so his Mandalorian Bear Top BF can hear his whimpering groans in warping vocoder glory....
This was why adepts like Randy Boner, Looner21, Cuntess Clickbait, Puffy Glitteris, SquirtyMILF72, SmutGriot95, Dickwad Blown, Fraulein18, SloppyPoppy69, and so, so many others did the work that they do. It was thankless work, but they did it.
They do it for you, horny souls out there, you may never know their real names, or their real faces, but they are out there as the Algorithm's Secret Task Force to protect and provide the virus-free, neutral spaces of erotic and pornographic beauty.
Fap on! Clap Clap. Fap Hard. Click Clack. Fap off. Clip Clop.
The Algorithm Hears You. That's right. Moan louder. Mmm, good. Very good.
