He felt at the pit of despair, which is exactly where she wanted him, and where he wanted to be. While she performed her errands of the day to ensure the world’s truth of darkness swam into their hearts, he performed his duty – to catalog her life – for her life, that of despair, was all that mattered. Even though he was the former Super High School Level Writer, he had no hope for the future. He joined Hope’s Peak Academy for his family, sacrificed his time and life to them, only to discover a truth that sent him to her: his life meant nothing to them. He nearly died in a car crash, crawled from his totaled Mercury Sable after a tractor trailer collision and a near explosion. Yes, the letters of “Get well soon” came, but as a writer, he analyzed their “true” meaning behind the fluffy context.
You can write again, right?
Can’t wait for your next story!
I’m glad you didn’t injure your hands.
He was truly alone, or so he thought, until he met true despair. Until he met her. Meaning in meaninglessness suit his empty heart just fine. He even had a fiancée once, one who sent letters to her secret boyfriend in prison behind his back, a woman he appeased solely for his family. But no more. Only she mattered, only despair.
Just then, the beautiful devil walked in. Speak of her, and she will appear. He didn’t smile; there was no need around her, no need to placate. She smiled that Cheshire Cat grin, peered over his shoulder at his handiwork on the computer.
“So, like, is that dreadful composition of moi’s most despairing acts of murder, manipulation, and mayhem finished yet?”
“Horror is my specialty,” he said, “I’ll put everything I have into this. Upon reading this, anyone will be sent into the depths of despair. ‘Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.’”
“That’s great, babe! Just make sure it’s finished by tomorrow.”
“Why? You’re going to win, right?” She forced his chair around, a gun pointed in his face. He sat stonefaced before the barrel. He lost all fear of death since someone found him, gave him purpose.
“Naughty boy, hoping like that.”
“Then you should turn that gun on yourself, because I know you, former Super High School Level Analyst, and that you’re hoping, too.” She put the gun against his skull, cocked it.
“Afraid you got me there, cutie.” She lowered the gun, then kissed him. Neither of them held back, drunk from the saliva they drank from each other’s tongues, eye’s dimming in ecstasy. “My only hope, every night, is you’ll fuck me up.” And so it happened, like most nights. The gun went off as he forced her small yet voluptuous frame to the desk, knocking the computer and his notes to the floor, but neither of them cared: the principal’s office was soundproof, and the backups had backups. He reached under her skirt; pulled her pink and white panties off, pulled down his pants and underwear until his dick pointed directly at her. She immediately started fingering herself with her freehand while holding the gun on him with the other. She spoke with sighing gasps.
“I’m not letting this go,” she said with saliva dripping down her lips. “You’ll have to fuck it from me.” He pulled her close, ripped her black jacket and red bra off, revealing perfect, pink breasts, chunky D cups he sucked hard while she stroked his shaft with her hand soaked from her pussy juice. Every time he twirled her erect nipples with his tongue, she moaned Yes, then screamed. But she soon couldn’t take the foreplay anymore, wouldn’t. She put the gun to his head again.
“Fuck me now, hard!” she said, sounding like the Analyst instead of the Fashionista. “Hurt me, or you’re dead!” It didn’t take much to penetrate the warm wetness begging to eat his manhood. He forced it in; she screamed so loud, one would think she died. But he knew it wasn’t loud enough. If he didn’t hurt her, make despair from bliss, he knew she would kill him. He drove into her so hard, the table rocked, slammed against the wall each time. As she sweated, her makeup ran, making her resemble one crying from rape. He knew she would love the look later, probably take a selfie. He banged her senseless with his ten inch dick, made himself senseless. Her head bobbed mindlessly as she screamed Damn! Shit! Fuck me loser! Fuck me! Spit oozed freely from his gaping mouth.
Damn, she’s so wet! His dick throbbed in her burning cunt; she knew he was about to cum.
“Impregnate me, bitch!” she screamed. “Give me a baby so I can kill it!” He tried pulling back on instinct. Her strong, soft, hairless legs locked around his back as she stuck her tongue in his mouth, drinking his spit.
She’s going to kill my baby? What a bitch! The anger and pleasure mixed as he lifted her by her cotton skirt and plush ass, driving himself into her. On the thrust, he moaned as he spilled his man-seed from his still throbbing dick into her. As his strength elapsed, she dropped the gun, making it go off with a deafening bang, then worked her hips against his oversensitive head.
“I’m going to fuck your cum, you fucking bitch, then make your oversensitive dick scream.” And so his despair began. She forced her weight upon him until he fell to the floor, the fall’s force making him breathless, then rode his drowning dick, screaming in bliss, like a demon. Her Ds flopped before her open blouse, her blonde pigtails whipped like flails, and she yelled a Shit! or Fuck! on each crushing thrust, but he laid lost in bliss, unable to move, lost in his sin.
After twenty minutes, he passed out, and upon awakening failed to remember the length of time, the how, or the why. Was it from the overstimulation, or did she attack him during sex? He never remembered or cared. He woke up, naked beside her completely nude form under sheets on the cold floor. She only wore the Monokumas in her hair she was so fond of. He didn’t smile; she gave him the Cheshire Cat.
“Girl’s got to get her rocks off somehow, right? I swear, it might be my only weakness, beside that annoying Naegi boy,” she said, the last sentence as the Analyst. “But anywaaaayyy!” She got up, started to dress herself. “Don’t forget to finish my story tomorrow, My Super Level High School Level Writer-Sucker.”
“I will, but why tomorrow? Is that when you’ll kill me?”
As she stepped into her panties, she said, “You know, I’m really pregnant, right?” They both sat silent for a while. He honestly didn’t trust her words, only the purpose she needed him for. How could he, considering all she had done. But what if…
“So? You’re just going to kill it.” He counted them down, ten seconds, before she said as the Fashionista, “Right you are, babe! After tomorrow, I’ll meet the ole healthcare, bondage girl and have her suck the thing out. How’s that for despair, huh? Your only extension of immortality will be gone! Aren’t I a sick bitch?” She laughed.
“I don’t hope for despair, Junko, but I do love it,” he said, chuckling. “Therefore, I don’t care what you do with me, or my child, as long as you need me for something, for something only I can do.”
“You know,” she said, “I feel despair over it, too.” With that last line, she went Analyst on him, and that awakened a little in him. “But what’s with all this chit-chat about me getting a parasite by us bumping the nasty! Just finish the book by tomorrow, okay?” After she got dressed, he resumed writing her story, a story of true, ultimate despair. She left the office. As the door closed behind her, she looked back, hand on her belly, and smiled.
“Hey, Writer?” she said right before the gray doors sealed him inside. “Thank you, for giving me the ultimate despair.” The doors shut.
Did she actually thank me? He shook his head. She was definitely going to win. Then, when she finished the book, she’d kill him, but so what? In despair, he finally achieved his dream. Unlike his family, there were no pretenses with her. He was being used, but he still got what he wanted: peace to work, direction in his life, and his lusts sated. In despair, he finally lived. He loved Junko Enoshima. He loved despair.
He couldn’t believe it. He actually finished the book by her deadline. But something more unbelievable happened: she was dead. She lost her game against Hope fighting the surviving class of the 78th, and chose to honor her way of life by playing her own penalty game. He cried. Couldn’t help it. The world lost her cute smile, her devious ways, her masterminding capabilities. He would never again moan helplessly as she sucked his dick after he came, or yank her pigtails as he rammed her dripping pussy from behind, or taste her soft nipples or bubblegum lips and tongue. Hope stole everything of Junko from the world, from him.
He fell into his seat, sobbing, when his computer screen turned on, revealing Junko sitting in his chair. He had to blink twice.
“Hey babe, Junko Enoshima here. I know it’s a little cliché, but if you’re looking at this video, then you must know I’m in the big, great despair castle in the sky… Just kidding! You know I’m in hell, probably getting tortured or gangraped by demons with dongs as big as buses in junk… But I’m probably loving every minute of iiiiit.” He chuckled. “But in any case! I just wanted to let you know, me getting squished and all may not have been part of the plan, but I definitely prepped for it. You think I was naughty with these kids, wait until you see the despair blossom I put in the former principal of Hope’s Peak Academy and that cowardly animator. Grab some popcorn, ‘cause it’s going to make a hell of a third game! And this is where you come in, my sweet, booty-call babe.” He straightened himself, wiped the tears from his eyes. “By the way, love ya for finishing the book! Now, to plant the final seed of my despair orchid, you’re going to send it across the web. I don’t care what you name it: Sharknado: High Five Guys! Despair on a Plane, or The Enoshima Redemption, just make sure it’s read to start this despair train again in…” She looked at a watch she didn’t have. “Five years, give or take. And babe, since I’m not there to do it for you, gunna need you to off yourself. Consider it a mercy killing, because no one is gunna get you out of that room, and the air is going to be toxic because yours truly died. Oh, and in case you’re having second thoughts about biting the dust, I have one last despair to give you before I peace out…” She rubbed her stomach, crying.
She’s actually crying! “Her name… would have been Ciel… Ciel Enoshima.” He gripped his skull, starting sobbing again.
“Oh God…” Even in death, she didn’t lose her touch.
“Goodbye, my other true, ultimate despair.” The recording died.
With oversaturated eyes, he followed her instructions. With his captivating writing style, and by hacking her biography into the pages of thousands of websites, in millions of spam emails, and a bot net army to continue spreading it for years down the road, he ensured her despair would birth more in the future. His task done, he poured a glass of wine beside a bottle of sleeping pills. He said nothing. Within himself, he damned the world for never giving him hope. He downed the pills, then drank to the beautiful despair only he and she shared.