They Say This is Also What Happened to Henry Ford
Flash Fiction, Under 1000 Words.
Terrible decisions are made under the influence of lust, the Pornographier mused.
Yet this truism had provided no obstacle or dissuasion in the pursuit of what hundreds of bored and sexually miswired men (mostly) had previously sought to obtain - and failed, as the bloody battlefields of writhing, mutilated and dismembered rectal cavities could attest to.
Bestiality is a war against the limits of the anus.
"The problem is simple", he explained to his bewildered and horrified, ambiguously-gendered secretary, whilst taking full advantage of the clothing: optional policy of his small online pornography business' office dresscode. "These guys always focus on size in the vids - and blow out their lower intestinal tract with horsedick.
There's only so much you can do with horses. I mean, fuck horses, man...
Except... not... Yes, don't fuck horses.
What this whole genre needs is a re-evaluation."
Still horrified, but surely parking both hands at his crotch to comfort himself, his eunuch secretary asked for clarification from the mercurial man who was indeed, widely considered to be the Steve Jobs of porno "You want to make a different kind of bestiality?"
"I want to reinvent bestiality", the pornographier announced, "Just like Michel Foucault reinvented the fetish dungeon"
"I don't follow", the secretary asked while adjusting the skirt of his sailor school girl outfit.
"...The Panopticon", the pornographier waved his arms maniacally for a few seconds before stopping and holding up a single, crotch-smelling finger "I will be the Michel Foucault of bestiality"
The Pornographier then taped himself being sodomized by a longhorn bull, under the influence of an epic dose of hydrocodone and mechanically assisted by a spanner and three tubes of novelty lubricant from the makers of Doctor Bronner's Magic Naturopathic... Starpuke... Soap or whatever the fuck they call it now.
With the bull deep inside him, he finally managed to achieve that which Mr. Hands and Dr. Face had failed to achieve: internalization of the magical seed of beasts of the field.
As Rocky Mountain Oysters slapped against the Pornographier's undercarriage, the secretions of the beast began to work their bizarre business against his physiology. The Coup De Grace of orgasms burst forth. His unmanscaped body hair grew thick, his nose long and snouty and his toes fused together. In a grand explosion of fluids, the Pornographier had become a minotaur. Horned and hooved, he licked his stud's anus. It tasted of shit and grass - and it smelled like a feedlot. The bull then took an enormous shit on his new mate, sending him into a second orgasm instantly.
Only one more thing to do, to reach the record, thought the Pornographier who was now a minotaur covered in manure.
He and his mate were then corralled by his secretary and led up a ramp which led them to a curious machine that turned whole cattle into edible beef dildoes.
The Pornographier then achieved third orgasm while watching his mate become deconstructed and ground into a meaty mash bound for the cavities of intrepid sexual pioneers and the general public alike. He then leapt-in after him and joined him in ultimate transformation.
The Eunuch, lacking any phallic or vaginal stimulatory receptacle of his own, found the new product rather useful for conducting personal business through his only functioning erogenous cavity.
"Visionary", he said as he took a bite out of the hamburger as orange oils dripped down his chin.