:: Article

Excerpt: Tokyo Supernova


By Stephen Barber.

Angeliko Slavsko pulled down her swastika-emblazoned panties, went down on her knees and exposed her gorgeous anus, then looked behind her left shoulder as two blood-engorged, foot-long cocks, already dripping a steady stream of semen, moved towards the lubricated opening of her anus. Above those cocks, the earnest faces of the two eighteen-year-old neo-fascists were convulsed in concentration as they manoeuvred their great instruments of fuck towards the pink aperture of Angeliko’s rectum. Both of those pure Aryan boys were wearing tightly-buttoned SS-elite uniforms, though their caps had been discarded, and their blond hair had been greased back from their foreheads. Angeliko herself was wearing a specially-designed version of the jet-black uniform of the Hlinkova-Garda, the Slovakian nazi-collaborationist variant of the SS, legendary for their extreme commitment to nazi genocide, which had led to Slovakia being the only nation occupied by fascist Germany that had actually paid the nazis to transport its Jews to the death camps; the suave uniform jacket had been specially adapted to emphasise the phenomenal shape of her hard-nippled tits, and the peaked cap, embossed with an upside-down cross superimposed over a swastika, held back Angeliko’s waist-length, white-blond hair. She leaned back with both hands and opened her sleek buttocks as far as they would go. What she was attempting was an ultimate challenge, a physical near-impossibility, but the prospect of resuscitating the ghost of Adolf Hitler was at stake, and she spread her anus an extra half-inch as the purple, blood-engorged cockheads neared it.

She had been in training for this moment for the past ten months, since the idea for her new digital art project, ‘If Three Men Come’, had occurred to her as she sat one evening in the café above the Novy Most bridge in her home city of Bratislava. Only twenty-two years old, Angeliko was already one of the most notorious and innovative of the world’s digital artists. Reading an ancient book of Teutonic prophecies, from the time of the Roman-era Battle of the Teutoburg Forest in AD 9, when the Teutonic warriors, led by their general Arminius, had defeated and massacred the Roman legions for the first and only time, she had been fascinated by the enigmatic chant of those victorious warriors: ‘In a time of the future, seventy years on from when our greatest leader has been slain, let three men come, two in the fundament, and one on the tongue, of the fair body of a woman carrying the Great Spear inside her, and that leader will then live again, forever.’ Leafing through a newspaper that same evening, she had come across an article about bizarre happenings at the legendary Wolf’s Lair complex, where Hitler had overseen military operations on the Eastern Front for much of the Second World War, and had survived numerous assassination attempts, including the infamous Von Stauffenberg bomb plot of 1944, whose failure had led to the would-be assassins suffering a horrendous death, hanged naked with piano-wire, with the executions filmed in order to provide entertainment for the Führer. The Wolf’s Lair was no longer part of the Eastern Reich, as it had been at that time of glory, and was now located in an isolated region of north-eastern Poland, far from the urban centres of that consumerism-enslaved country. Angeliko had read that, in the now-ruined, vast subterranean complex where Hitler had spent three years of his life, a group of rare visitors had been terrified to hear the squealings of a dog in one of the rooms that had been abandoned for seventy years. Entering the room, which had once been Hitler’s private office, and illuminating the scene with torches, those visitors had been horrified to discover the semi-transparent ghost of Hitler, methodically sodomising his favourite dog, Blondi, whose death by poison had marginally preceded the Führer’s own death in the Berlin Bunker in 1945. Blondi squealed with loyal pleasure as her master, with a look of fanatical devotion on his face, drove his addled cock into the far reaches of her rear-end. The visitors’ story had been derided as a hallucination brought about by the consumption of excess amounts of Polish Pure Spirit alcohol, but it had intrigued Angeliko sufficiently for her to set in train her new project.

The two neo-fascist SS cadres now positioned themselves at the maximal angle for successful dual anal penetration, one tensed and spreadeagled on the floor, the other crouched over him, bent forward almost double, so that the two fascism-impelled cocks were aligned as closely as possible, as they irresistibly neared Angeliko’s anus. A team of scholars had been sent to every library in the world to gather information on the best sexual position to adopt, and had selected a manoeuvre which had reputedly once been successfully performed by adept boy-prostitutes in the last year of the Babylonian empire, BC 1595. Those two handsome neo-nazi SS cadres had been chosen specially, from the innumerable ranks of German fascistic youth who populated the eastern suburbs of Berlin, for the streamlined shapes of their large penises, and for their unshakable commitment to the re-birth of nazism. Their training had been intensive, often extending to twenty hours a day, and innumerable neo-nazi girls from the suburbs of Lichtenberg and Marzahn had eagerly had their anuses perforated, often with calamitous results, in trial-runs for this moment. Now, the two cockheads both touched the pink opening of Angeliko’s anus at the same time, and everyone in the room began to chant the great Prophecy of the Teutoburg Forest.

On reading the account of the appearance of Hitler’s ghost, ten months earlier, Angeliko had realised that, if it were possible to induce another manifestation of that ghost, then that phantom apparition could be consolidated and transformed into a corporeal image through the intervention of the advanced digital technologies used to generate the forms of digital idols in Japan: the legendary J-idols or idoru. Hitler’s ghost could, through that experiment, be mutated into corporeal form, genetically remixed, in order to fully regain its powers of perception. Then, work on the Fourth Reich could begin. She had seen the innovative results of those digital technologies on her visit to Tokyo, a year earlier, when she had collaborated on an earlier digital art project, ‘Action Rectum Test’, with her beautiful Japanese associate, Junko, whose malleable tongue had often induced exquisite orgasms as it powered its way into her cunt and anus. She immediately hired the site of the Wolf’s Lair complex on a ten-month lease and had her assistants install multiple digital vivo-induction projectors around the room in which Hitler’s ghost had appeared. Then, she contacted the most hard-core neo-nazi groups in Germany, and, once they had established the seriousness of her project, recruited the two cock-wielding young SS cadres who were now about to penetrate her anus. Anal lubricant manufacturers worldwide were set the task of producing the lubricant best adapted to facilitate a successful double anal penetration, and a team of manufacturers in Bangkok had produced the transparent fluid which had now been liberally coated at the opening of Angeliko’s rear-end. Only one problem had remained in the preparations for that night in the Wolf’s Lair: the acquisition of the ‘Great Spear’ that had been referred to in the Teutoburg Prophecy. Once Angeliko had consulted a number of eminent scholars about the exact meaning of the prophecy, it became clear that it was the Spear of Destiny – the Roman soldier’s spear that had been poked into the body of Christ as he neared the end of his crucifixion – that now had to be rammed up her cunt at the same time that the two fascism-driven boys were animatedly sodomising her. Lengthy meetings ensued with the elderly senior curators of the Austrian Imperial Treasury in Vienna, where the Spear of Destiny was conserved, out of public sight in one of its ultra-secret collections. Fortunately, the senior curators, like almost the entirety of the population of Austria, were covert hardcore neo-nazis who wanted nothing more than to see their favourite native son resuscitated. Their only condition was that, as out-and-out adherents to the legacy of fascism, they should be allowed to witness the great event themselves. The Spear of Destiny was promptly delivered to the Wolf’s Lair in a black velvet box on the night when the great revivification of Hitler’s ghost was due to take place.

Now, as the chanting intensified, Angeliko took the Spear out of its box. It was about a foot long, made of numerous pieces of ancient wood, some of them held together with bolts. The exterior pieces of wood had been tacked-on to the Spear at a later date, but the senior curators of the Vienna Imperial Treasury had assured Angeliko that the narrow piece of wood at the core of the Spear had definitely formed the head of the weapon jammed into the body of Christ, and that fragments of the crucifixion cross itself, together with the nails used to attach Christ’s hands and feet to the cross, also formed part of that priceless artefact. Angeliko didn’t hesitate; she now reached under her gorgeous rear-end and, in a flash of the eye, the Spear had been embedded deep in her cunt, so that the pointed tip just touched her cervix. The rhythmic chanting intensified and increased in volume; the digital technicians, the senior curators and the pure Aryan boys all intoned the great Teutonic Chant, while only Angeliko was silent – the neo-nazi SS cadres, each steadying themselves by holding tightly onto one of Angeliko’s shoulders and buttocks, had simultaneously embedded their burning cockheads into her excruciatingly stretched anal aperture, and Angeliko’s mouth was also stretched to the limit in a great O of incipient ecstasy, as she contracted her cunt muscles around the Spear of Destiny embedded deep inside her wet slit. She retained the presence of mind to position a hand behind herself and carefully assess the situation of the Aryan boys’ testicles, weighing them on the palm of her hand and palping them: both sets were bulging at breaking-point with pent-up semen, since the boys had abstained from all fucking for the last month, in order to have the maximum amount of fascistic seed at their disposal. But they would have to wait until the right moment to ram their partly-embedded cocks all of the way into Angeliko’s anus and then fire off their liquid fuck. One of the Aryan boys accidentally dislodged Angeliko’s Hlinkova-Garda cap, and released the waist-length mass of white-blond hair, so that it streamed down her back. She unbuttoned her uniform jacket to reveal her astonishing tits, each surmounted by an inch-long vermilion nipple, stiffened by the cold air and the imminent prospect of swallowing the Führer’s cock.

After twenty minutes of chanting, at precisely midnight, the air in the dank room abruptly begin to sizzle, and gradually, Hitler’s ghost began to materialise, directly in front of Angeliko, who was leaning on the table on which the Führer had drawn up his battle plans. At first, that ghost looked like a set of badly generated pixels, shimmering in and out of focus, and throwing off particles of ectoplasm, but after a few seconds, Hitler’s ghost gradually acquired more substance, and Angeliko gave a hand signal to her technicians in order for them to begin the vivo-digitisation process that would transform that phantom presence into corporeal life. The digital projectors were immediately fired at the ghost, and that phantom presence began to be transmutated by digital simulation-technology into corporeal form; Angeliko knew that it would never be entirely three-dimensional, and the Führer, in his new manifestation, would always be prone to flicker, but even so, he would be more real than the real. Hitler looked haggard and disorientated, with one of his hands uncontrollably shaking. His eyes scanned the room, clearly bewildered at the human forms that had crowded into what had once been his private office. He looked around for Blondi, but the attractive shepherd-dog was nowhere to be seen. Then, Hitler suddenly snapped to obsessive attention when he caught sight of Angeliko’s white-blond hair and the fabulous twin globes of her exposed tits. In his still-befuddled state, Hitler assumed that, with her Baltic-style white-blond hair, Angeliko must be from one of the northern European cities of premium Aryan purity, Riga and Tallinn, which he had bitterly fought over with Stalin in 1940, in order to secure exclusive rights to the legendary cocksucking abilities of Latvian and Estonian women. His ghostly cock instantly hardened, and Angeliko’s fingers worked at the buttons of his trousers to bring it out into the subterranean air. That cock was certainly a dismal specimen, with its single testicle hanging down from the addled rod, but it was the Führer’s cock, and that was all that counted. The plan now was that, once Angeliko had got that cock into her mouth and had it shooting liquid fuck down her throat, the two Aryan boys could slam their foot-long fascist fuck-rods – still only embedded as far as the cockheads – to the very depth of her anus and shoot their grade-A nazi semen into her; at that instant, the vivo-digitisation process would also reach its conclusion, and Hitler would have been brought back to life. Angeliko’s sodden cunt kept the Spear of Destiny tightly gripped, and she held her salivating, already-open mouth ready, as Hitler’s bloodless cock approached it. She stretched out her tongue as far as it would go, and licked the very tip of the Führer’s semen-leaking cockhead.

At that moment, Angeliko suddenly became aware of her cellphone insistently ringing in the breast-pocket of her elegant Hlinkova-Garda uniform. From the special ring-tone – the Japanese national anthem, the ‘Kimi-ga-Yo’ – she knew that it was her friend Junko calling from Tokyo. It was a bad moment to be interrupted, but Angeliko knew she had to take the call. She glanced up at the Führer’s face and noticed a look of doubt and thunderous fury appear on it – firstly, he had begun to suspect that Angeliko wasn’t from pure Baltic stock, with their consummate cocksucking resources, after all, since he had identified the Slovakian Hlinkova-Garda SS-affiliated uniform she was wearing, and had correctly surmised that Angeliko belonged to the sub-human, Slavic races, and secondly, after seventy years, he wanted his cock sucked anyway, right now, by that gorgeous mouth, even if belonged to a sub-human Slovakian, and he was furious at the interruption. Already, Angeliko could see his ghostly presence start to fade slightly.

Angeliko snapped open her cellphone and whispered urgently to the image of Junko’s beautiful, eye-patched face on the high-resolution screen: ‘Junko, I’ll call you back in an hour or so. I’m just about to resuscitate Hitler and change the course of European and world history.’

But Junko wasn’t ready to be put on hold. She hissed: ‘I’ve got an urgent mission for you, Angeliko. I know you’re at the Wolf’s Lair, and I’ve already sent a private jet there to pick you up. You need to be in Tokyo in four hours. This is something very special. And there’s a lot in it for you – I guarantee some colossal ass-fucking will be at your disposal.’

Angeliko’s gorgeous face broke into a frown: ‘I’m not sure I want to come back to Tokyo at the moment, Junko – the last time, I nearly got drowned in a tsunami. And that’s an attractive offer about the colossal ass-fucking at my disposal, but I should mention that, at this very moment, I’ve got two superlative cockheads embedded in my anus, full of liquid fuck and ready to give me a brain-decimating orgasm in the next twenty seconds, so I don’t think I can take more cock than that.’

Junko remained undaunted: ‘This is definitely something you’ll like, Angeliko. You’ll be back in the Wolf’s Lair in forty-eight hours, and I’m sure that, after seventy years, the Führer can wait that long to be resuscitated. By the way, there’s a fee attached to the mission: six hundred and sixty-six billion yen from the Sato Corporation’s assets – a devilishly tempting sum, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

Angeliko didn’t think twice. She said: ‘I’m on my way’ and snapped the cellphone shut. During the cellphone conversation, Hitler’s ghost had almost entirely receded into the shadows, cursing in his native Austrian regional accent, from the area to the west of the city of Linz, about ‘worthless Slavic scum’ and the urgent need to turn their lands into slave states and genocide cauldrons. Angeliko still had the two pure Aryan boys’ incandescent cockheads buried in her rectum, and she reached backwards with both hands and gripped all four testicles of those substantial cocks, then mercilessly squeezed them. Groaning in agony, the neo-nazi SS cadres immediately began to spurt torrents of superpowered liquid fuck; some of it jetted into the wide-open aperture of Angeliko’s pink-mouthed anus, then ran down her cunt-lips and dripped onto the floor. But, once Angeliko had extracted those cocks from her anus with an adept backwards movement of her wrist, the semen started to cascade everywhere around the room, in great fountains, landing like warm rain on the bald heads of the elderly Austrian curators of the Imperial Treasury, and smearing every lens and screen of the digitisation equipment. Finally, Angeliko gripped the Spear of Destiny and pulled it out of her wet cunt. But that fragile weapon had been subjected to so much muscular pressure from Angeliko’s hot slit, and had become so drenched in cuntjuice, that it immediately fell apart into fragments, to the horror of the sperm-lashed curators, and Angeliko was left with just the four crucifixion nails gripped in the palm of her hand. She slipped the nails into her pocket. Then, she hurriedly pulled up her swastika-emblazoned panties, buttoned-up her jet-black Hlinkova-Garda uniform trousers, picked up the leather satchel that contained only her film camera and a tangle of panties and transparent g-strings, and headed out of the room at speed, turning for a moment to announce to the awestruck curators, technicians and pure-Aryan ass-fuckers: ‘Don’t worry – this is just a momentary interruption. I’ll be back in forty-eight hours, and we can resuscitate Hitler then. So just stay where you are.’ She raced out of the Wolf’s Lair and headed through the surrounding woodland for the overgrown airstrip where Count Claus Von Stauffenberg had taken off after his failed 1944 assassination bomb-plot against Hitler. Angeliko’s rectum felt like it was on fire, even though she hadn’t received a full-scale anal pummelling; she could feel the nazi semen that the Aryan boys had fired into the mouth of her anus now steadily seeping out of her asshole and drenching her swastika-emblazoned panties. As she ran, she scooped up her white-blond hair and manoeuvred it back under her jet-black Hlinkova-Garda peaked cap. It was pitch-dark, but Angeliko could make out the shape of the Sato Corporation private jet as it revved on the worn-away tarmac, its nose-cone pointing east. As she reached it, two sets of hands stretched out and pulled her aboard, then the door slammed shut. Within two minutes, the jet had taken off from the air-strip and was heading at full-tilt in the direction of Tokyo.

Tokyo Supernova is the final part of Stephen Barber’s Tokyo Trilogy, published by Creation Books in November 2007.

You can read the first and second parts here and here.

Stephen Barber has been hailed as “the most dangerous man in Britain” by The Independent. The Times has called his work “brilliant, profound and provocative”. He is a noted cultural historian and author of many acclaimed books, including Burning World, the best-selling biography of Edmund White, Tokyo Vertigo, Caligula: Divine Carnage, Projected Cities, Jean Genet, Fragments of the European City and two studies of Antonin Artaud, The Screaming Body and Blows And Bombs. His writing has won many awards and been translated into Japanese, French, German and Italian. Formerly Professor of Digital Media at the University of Tokyo, he is currently Professor of Media Arts at Kingston University.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Sunday, September 16th, 2007.