A. Lynn Blumer

Crimson & Chrome

White light shot through Hank’s skull like buckshot. He didn’t remember drinking enough to split his very mind apart, but, then again, he didn’t remember much of anything from the night before. He draped an arm over his eyes, relished what he assumed to be the cold bathroom floor against his cheek, and tried to recall what had happened.


The bar seemed off, quiet. He walked across the narrow room and slid onto his regular stool. The bartender came over soon after.

“Hiya, Hank.”

“Hey, Trix. Just beer tonight.”

Triksey gave him a playfully suspicious look. “You sick or something?”

“Naw, just taking a break.”

She chuckled and pulled a brown bottle from a cooler under the bar. The cap clinked onto the floor by her feet and she set the opened bottle in front of him.

Hank closed his eyes, tried to smother the unnerved feeling in his gut, and let the pale ale prickle his throat.

Three beers in without another soul speaking to him, Hank began to wonder if it was him who had set the bar off tonight. The usual amount of patrons were about, but none of them were mingling like they usually do. He looked around at the faces he knew, trying to catch someone’s eye, but everyone seemed content with keeping to themselves.

As he turned his head back to the bar, Hank noticed a woman now standing beside him. She held a beer in each hand, and between those beers were a pair of supple breasts supported by a golden bra under a black tank-top. Her tits swelled ever so slightly from each cup, forming a cleavage you could bury your face in.

A cleavage you could lose your whole head down and die in.

He was pretty sure her hair was brown.

Hank was relatively attractive himself. It was how he got away with being such a drunk asshole, eight-out-of-ten times, and still got laid on the regular. It didn’t hurt that he wasn’t bad in bed either. As a result, he was used to decently hot women buying him drinks now and then, but this bitch was easily a bangin’ ten.

As she extended one of her beers in his direction, he watched the salacious smirk creep across her full, red lips, fuck me beaming from her eyes. No man willing and able could’ve possibly refused her offer, but shortly after he’d accepted it was when things had gotten hazy.


The bitch had drugged him.

Slowly sitting up, Hank grimaced as his eyes adjusted to the blinding light, taking in his surroundings. He wasn’t in a bathroom at all. Fluorescent lights overhead gleamed like knives upon the chrome bars of his cage. The concrete walls were windowless and the floor was covered in black linoleum, still wet from its last wash. A chrome grate, to match his cage, covered a drain in the center of the room.

“What the hell…” he grunted, rising to his feet with effort.

It was then that the room’s sole door swung open soundlessly.

The woman from the bar strutted in with a baleful expression on her face. Her bosom was now bulging out from a black leather corset, and her fishnets were held up by a golden garter belt. As she approached his cage, Hank could see her eight-inch stilettos were actually blades blunted at the end.

This woman was some kind of freak. He had no qualms with freaks and had dealt with his fair share, but this one—this whole situation was a bit unsettling to say the least.

“Look, lady…” Hank began, raising his hands tentatively. “Whatever you’re into, I’m not really feeling it. Please just let me out of here.”

“No,” she replied, cold and flat.

He blinked once, and then his brow furrowed. He took an aggressive step in her direction. “I’m sorry,” he continued, “I should rephrase that: Let me out of this fucking cage, right now!”

“Awww…” she replied, tilting her head as she gave him her best sad-but-sensual look. “But you haven’t even met my pet yet.”

“Your pet?”

Before anything else could be said, Hank heard something else move through doorway behind her. He could see nothing distinct but a slight distortion in the air. The water on the floor clearly dispersed as something big and unseen crawled into the room, heaving deep, bestial breaths.

“What the fuck is that!?”

Maybe his mind had split. If nothing else, it was halfway to Long Gone by now.

The woman said nothing in response, reaching into her cleavage and producing a key.

Hank felt the bottom of his guts drop away, and suddenly there was only one word bouncing back and forth inside his head:

Shit shit shit shit shit shit…

As soon as the cage had been opened, the invisible creature was in there with him.

He was only given one step back before something wrapped around his ankle and yanked him off his feet. Before his head could even bounce off the chrome-plated steel, it had him by the wrists, too. The impact nearly knocked him out, but he quickly recovered as the stench of ammonia and sulfur breeched his senses.

He felt his flesh beginning to melt under the creature’s grip. He screamed and flailed against its might, but the more he moved, the faster his limbs disintegrated. All he could do was lie still—as still as he possibly could, holding down his stomach as it turned over his fervid pain and the vile stench which enveloped him.

His captor’s stilettos clicked upon the floor of his cage as she walked over and came to stand directly over his head, brazenly displaying her bare pudendum. Albeit, his agony was so overwhelming that he didn’t pay her any attention whatsoever.

She didn’t like that one bit.

Lifting one foot, she promptly drove the blade of her heel straight down into his palm. He bellowed and convulsed as a whole new wave of agony threatened to pull him out with the tide, his skin salty wet on this beach of burning napalm.

Hank’s eyes fluttered to indicate he was still marginally present. “You fuc-king cunt…” he stuttered, “you… fuuc-king cunt…”

She squatted down then, so his head was between her thighs.

“Ohh my…” she said, her voice thick with a carnal urge, “I do like a man with a dirty mouth…”

And then, pulling a syringe from her garter belt, she bit off its cap and drove it straight into his neck.

Hank felt his mind detach. The pain fell away instantly. Then everything faded to black.


Hank came to in mid-thrust.

He was naked now and the woman was on top of him, corset gone and tits bouncing. They were on a platform surrounded by a silent audience, a mix of men and women, their gilded accessories glittering like stars in the darkness beyond the stage lights.

All Hank could do was fuck. His wrists and ankles were open vermillion sores, and his wounded palm bled freely upon her hip. Despite his deepest urge to throw the bloodless whore off of him right then and there, he was nothing but a rock-hard cock-puppet about to bust a nut.

And when he did seconds later, the woman grinned with immense glee, and the crowd gave an amiable applause.

She pulled back slowly, letting his limp dick slide out of her and slap against his stomach. And then, sprawling out between his inert legs, she leaned on one elbow, closed her eyes, and slipped a hand down between her legs.

As soon as she started playing with her clit, the crowd fell silent once again.

Lost in a druggy, postcoital haze, Hank could only watch as she brought herself to climax. Her back arched and her legs trembled as the audience grew audible once again, seats squeaking as everyone leaned in for a better view.

Then, something began to emerge from her sex-slicked vulva.

As the head of a large rattlesnake came forth, the woman released a guttural roar from between tightly clenched teeth. She fell onto her back, still panting and pushing vigorously, until finally she lay still and serene.

What the fuck… what the fuck!

Hank was still helpless atop the platform. Whatever was in that syringe kept him her inanimate captive, bound to her every wish.

The snake slid over her thigh and up her belly, leaving a slimy trail of cum across her skin. It slithered between her tits, still glistening with sweat, and eventually came to rest on her shoulder.

Smiling with maternal bliss, she placed a gentle hand upon it, stroking her newborn lovingly. And then, just as quickly as the reptile itself could’ve struck, she took it in her grip, grabbed its thrashing body with her other hand, and sank her teeth deep into its neck.

Dark blood spurted out over her lips, down her chin, and pooled in a lake above her collarbone. With a savage twist, she tore the snake’s head clean off its body, spitting it off to one side.

Hank could see the thing still snapping its fangs in a vain attempt to take something—anything down with it. Its body thrashed as well, but the woman had both hands on it, literally squeezing out its guts all over her naked, writhing form.

When a shiny, black sphere materialized where the snake’s head used to be, floating into mid-air, no one in the audience seemed surprised in any way.

Meanwhile, the woman had discarded the slippery, empty husk of her snake, casting it at Hank’s flaccid dick as she crawled to her feet. And then, without so much as a glance back at him, she promptly descended from the platform.

Horrified and confused, Hank watched as the floating sphere began to grow in size. It seemed to become more translucent as it expanded, yet reflected nothing on its obsidian surface.

Jesus fucking Christ, this can’t be good…

The moment its edge touched his skin, it began to suck him in, slowly shredding his body into a fine, red mist.


Through all of this, his senses remained fully intact. His body lay still and silent, but inside the agony subsumed all else, including his final incoherent thoughts.

The hellish thing consumed him entirely. The crowd was already on their feet. The sphere pulsed three times and then began to shift its shape.

Elongating and concaving upon itself, it morphed into three long spires which spiraled around each other but never touched. Waves rippled across its freshly wrought surface as it solidified into a crimson crystalline statue.

The audience roared with applause. The woman returned to the side of the platform and took a bow.


An auction was held later in the evening over cocktails and morsels. The statue sold for 6.9 billion dollars.

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