Tevun-Krus #69 - Erotic SF

Gladys Givithard, Good Girl - A Short Story by @PhonerionBallznevsky

The taxi pulled up to Gargantuwang Industries, a twisted spire that reached the sky like the veiny shaft of God, or maybe a well-hung porn stud. Gladys Gulia Givithard pondered such Freudian things while her puke-green orbs took in the wondrous, mouth-watering sight. She didn't know much about Gordon Gargantuwang, other than he was totes hot, with abs that had abs of their own. She'd read that Gargantuwang Industries had a monopoly on male-enhancement products—especially after the takeover of Pfizer, the company responsible for the sexy-time game-changer known as Viagra.

The taxi driver, a smelly android with brown opium-rotted teeth, rotated his head backwards and squinted evilly. His right arm rested on the empty passenger seat, like he was trying to comfort an android hooker. "Give money, lady. Thirteen thirty-five. Give money now, or I call police."

Gladys wasn't listening. She absentmindedly lifted her shirt, showing off her tits for a few good moments—enough for the taxi-bot to establish an accurate mental picture for his own later enjoyment; suitable payment, she felt—and then vacated the vehicle. She had an interview with Gordon Gargantuwang himself. She hoped to do him—hard—which was why she'd douched herself, performed a few anticipatory enemas, and spent the last few weeks practice-sucking a mutated zucchini.

The lobby was spacious and full of illegal androids trying to probe the secretary, who was shaking her head and telling them she was already probing herself, thank you very much. Gladys stopped in front of the desk, cleared her throat and hawked a green loogie into the nearby flower pot.

"Can I help you, miss?" asked the secretary, Georgia Grendelsen.

"Yes, I'm here for the job interview," Gladys replied.

"Which position were you hoping to perform?"

"Uh, all of them...? Doggystyle, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, missionary, ride the pony, the spider, sultry saddle, Russian ballerina, Greek Olympian, Roman gladiator, the piledriver, special agent, gingersnap cookie, the gut-rattler—"

"Enough, enough!" Georgia sighed and muttered something under her breath. "I meant which job position were you applying for?"

"Oh, right. Gordon Gargantuwang's Good Girl," Gladys said, smiling and dreaming about how big Gordon's package was. She bet it could break mountains into two pieces. She bet he was a Greek god.

"And your name?"

"Gladys Givithard," she said, without missing a beat.

Georgia crossed something out in a notebook sitting on her desk. She pushed the big red button on her intercom and said, "Mr. Gargantuwang, sir. Miss Givithard is here for the interview. Shall I send her up?"

A deep and sexy voice answered back: "Yes, yes, Georgia. Has she been lubricated?"

Georgia's eyes met Gladys' for a moment. "Yes, I believe she has, sir."

"Perfect. Send her up."

Georgia pointed off to the left, to the elevator at the end of a narrow hall decorated with pictures of Gordon Gargantuwang posing. Some showed him flexing his muscles, others showed him stroking his freakish-looking erection.

Gladys took her time, admiring the photos and storing them in her mental vault, and then went into the elevator. At first she wasn't sure which floor she was supposed to go to, but then she saw that there was only one floor to go to. So she pushed the top button—G—and the elevator whooshed upward.

She exited when the doors came open, and emerged inside a huge, one-room penthouse loft. There was a golden urinal to her immediate right, with a picture of Gordon winking down at the urinator. Spread out around the loft were a few marble wang statues, with their dates of erection chiselled into the heads. The view of the city—seen through one giant window lining the entire circumference of the circular room—was spectacular. That was when she saw Gordon Gargantuwang himself, relaxing on a couch behind her.

Gordon stood up, smiling at her. "Gladys Givithard, I take it? Aren't you a fine specimen."

Specimen. She'd never been called that before. Such a compliment, she thought, beaming up at him. He was so tall and dreamy, with his orange skin and dimpled chin and his spray-on stubble. "Thank you, Mr. Gargantuwang."

"Please, call me Gordon. All my Good Girls do."

"Gordon, then."

"So, Gladys, what can you do for me? You think you have what it takes to be a Good Girl?"

Gladys got down on her knees and looked up at Gordon. "Don't I do this well?"

"Yes, you do. But how well can you do this?" He took a dog collar off his desk and put it around Gladys' neck. "Bark for me, doggy."

Gladys barked.

"Good, good! Now, go take a pee on that couch."

Gladys awkwardly walked on hands and knees to the couch, lifted a leg and pretended to pee.

"Great!" Gordon said, seeming to be satisfied. He came and removed the collar, helping Gladys stand up. "We'll work on command pissing tomorrow, I think."

"Um, do I get to do you now?" she asked, her eyebrows cocked in a questioning manner.

"Oh no. I'm impotent," Gordon said, nonchalantly waving the question away as if the answer were obvious.

Her eyebrow went down. "But, um, you own the largest male-enhancement company the world's ever seen!"

"Yes, but drug dealers who get high on their own supply are never successful," he said, nodding as if this comparison made perfect sense. "You do, however, get to do my twin brother, Garth."

Gladys' eyebrow went back up. Twin!? Who cared if he wasn't Gordon—a twin was just as good! "Yay!" she screamed, clapping and dancing from foot to foot.

"But he was horribly disfigured in an accident," Gordon added gravely. "Chainsaw-tossing, a truly noble sport. Garth! Come on out, bro! The new Good Girl is here!"

Garth came limping out, lugging his massive member over one shoulder like it was a bag of concrete mix. His face looked like it had been hacked off and then carelessly stapled back on—his forehead was on his chin, his nose was somewhere (though she wasn't sure where exactly), and his teeth sparkled up where his forehead would've normally been.

"Garth is my number-one customer," Gordon noted, winking at his twin, whose forehead grinned.

Gladys couldn't shriek. She couldn't even run. All she could seem to do was rip off her own clothes and put her practice on the zucchini to good use.

She learned many things that day, that night, and the days and nights that followed. For one she learned she was an android, programmed for the sole purpose of fucking Garth Gargantuwang. She also learned she could fit a surprisingly large amount of deformed dick in all of her holes.

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Love that story? Want some more? The even-funnier sequel—Gordon Getithard, Good Guy—can be found in Tevun-Krus #73: Best of '19. Click the external link below!