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.

FUUUUCK FUUUUCK FUUUUUHHAAAHHHH

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.

The Owner’s Room

We were drunk. It was stupid but we were drunk. It’s not an excuse. It just is what it is.

We were celebrating Sofia’s acceptance into grad school. We were anticipating having no free time between us once she started, so we decided to do the whole Airbnb thing and rent a vacation home in Arroyo Seco, the mountains in New Mexico.

On our way up, we stopped by a small bar. Thanks to the liquor laws in that state, we could do all our bulk shopping as we sat on barstools and drank cocktail after cocktail.

A bottle of Jack. Two twelve packs of Bud. Fuck it. Make that two bottles of Jack.

The house was beautiful. Heated floors, a gorgeous view of purple mountains, and a fireplace. We dropped our things at the front door.

The owner had wood all set up for us and everything. He’d even left a note:

Welcome to beautiful Arroyo Seco and congratulations to Sofia on grad school! Mi casa es su casa. The hot tub should be heated! Remember to rate us on the Airbnb website! – Gordon

“Gordon,” Sofia said, “that’s a name you don’t hear too often.”

I nodded.

“Let’s get naked,” I said. “The hot tub’s ready.”

We wasted no time at all getting down to our birthday suits. I uncapped the Jack, took a big chug and passed it to Sofia. She did the same and passed it back. I took one of the twelve packs with me as we went outside.

“This place is fucking beautiful,” Sofia said.

“Uh huh,” I said and took another swig.

Fifteen minutes later we were both drunk. We can drink, all right.

An hour was about all we could take in the tub. The water had been heated to 101 degrees. My poor, sagging nutsack couldn’t withstand much more despite all its alcohol-induced numbness.

And I had whiskey dick.

So much for being naked…

By contrast, it was something like twenty degrees outside. The snow was packed in. As soon as I stepped out of the tub, my nipples got hard as rocks, and my previously pendulous scrotum shrivelled up to the size of a coin purse.

“Hu-huh-holeeeeeeeeeeeeey FUUCK it’s cold!”

“Um hum, YEEAH it is!” Sofia giggled. Our words waxed longer with our waning sobriety.

We slop-hopped back into the house, naked and giggling all the way. The good thing about vacationing in the mountains is that there aren’t neighbors to disturb. We could be as drunk and naked as we damn-well pleased and there’d be no one to judge or try stopping us.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Sofia said. “I j-just had the, ummm, fuck… I forgot…”

“Remember it when you tell me,” I said, my eyes crossing as I tried to roll them back into my mind to figure out exactly how drunk I was.

“Oh!” she said. Her feet were clumsy and her ankles wobbled as she shivered into some kind of clarity. “I got it! I had the, ummm, ca-raziest think – thought. I think, what if, wouldn’t it be fucking crazy if the Gordon, if that’s his REAL name, was like whacking off right now watching us on a webcam or something?”

“Pssssht…” my mouth was numb. “Fuck you. He’s propubly, probubbly, probably looking at my fucking dick thinking, Woah, that’m big’m.”

We both busted out laughing because we looked down at my dick at the same time. It was clearly still recovering from the intense cold. Nobody’d think that’m big’m about it right then, if ever.

Sofia wandered away from me and I stumbled around looking for the other bottle of Jack. It was, of course, right where we left it. Right next to the fucking front door, which we’d forgot to even close.

I uncapped the Jack and took a nice, big ol’ swig.

“What? What? What? Larry!” Sofia sounded confused – not confused like she had no capability of understanding what she was confused about, but confused like she was on the verge of understanding but never quite there. “What? What? What? Wow. Woah. Larry!”

“I’m c-coming, I’m c-comin’,” I said, belching loudly as I tried to locate her within the strange house.

“Larry, Luh-luh-lurry!” Sofia’s eyes were only half open by this point, the left one looking upward and the right one drifting rightward. She was absolutely fucking hammered. “Wha-wha-what’s erse ser?”

“Wh-whut?” I asked.

“Whaz erd sare?” She pointed to the placard on the door. It took me a second to quit seeing double, but squinting hard I was able to make it out.

“Oh no room,” I said, “Ohnor’s room, do not enter.”

“Owner’s rum,” she repeated, nodding with profound understanding. “Fuck him! We pained f-f-for therse, we go whern we wantgoer. I, I… I thought we lived in a freedom country??”

I raised my hand for a high five.

“Fuck yeah,” I said, “Fuck him. This is America!” Suddenly I felt the urge to hurl, catching myself just in time. “I almost threw up,” I said, and then I did.

Thick chunks of whiskey-infused vomit sprayed all over the door before us. Looking down, I could see that the large puddle I’d spewn had already begun to flow underneath the door and into the owner’s private room.

Fuuucck…

“He-heeere’s our chance,” I said. “We’s gotsa clean it up now, righ? We’s gotta go up in!” I pointed at the puke for emphasis and Sofia nodded her approval. I nodded back and then winked because I noticed we were both still naked. “Fuck yeah,” I said, pointing down at her freshly trimmed landing strip.

Sofia instinctually grabbed for the doorknob, but it was locked of course.

“Ki-kick it down, you fu-fuckin’ pussy,” she said, pointing at my dick.

“It’s c-c-cold, shu-shut up.”

Determined to prove something to her, I kicked and kicked but never really worked up the kind of drunk strength I expected myself to.

“We needuh SS-SL-AMM inna it…” I said. I made the motion with my shoulder into the door. “Thlee counts,” I said.

One, two, three…

The door came off its hinges and we landed inside.

“I think my buth’s gok sp-splinfers,” Sofia said, picking at her upraised ass. She had a good laugh, too.

But then the laughs wore off – they always do – and we were still splayed upon the floor atop a broken door. I’d landed on my belly while Sofia had landed on her back. I rolled over to look at her.

She looked scared.

“Sh-sh-sh-shit!” Sofia said.

“Whuh..?”

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she just pointed at the ceiling.

I followed her finger to what she was pointing at.

A very fat, pinkish man stared down at us from a hammock made of chicken wire suspended from the ceiling. He was completely naked and covered with hexagonal lacerations where the wires cut into his skin. Hanging before him were a rigged-up water bottle and kibble dispenser – the kind you’d see in hamster cages.

“Shit FUCK duuuuuuude!” I screamed. “We gotta g-guh-get you downer there!”

“No, no, NO-NO-NO!!!” the strange man said, his voice shaking with fear. “He’s watching us…”

Swinging himself toward the kibble dispenser, his tongue lolled out just far enough to collect his prize. As he swung back, a huge metal paddle flew down from the ceiling and spanked him hard on his ass.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene.

“What’s so funny??” the man squealed. “That fucking paddle has NAILS in it!!”

Sure enough, I could see the reddened points on the the paddle where it had returned to the ceiling.

“Every time, every time, EVER GODDAMN TIME I swing for a sip of water or a bit of kibble, every time that goddamn bloody paddle comes down and…”

He could hardly find the words between his welling tears.

“…I don’t even know how to enjoy it anymore!”

“Wha-what?” Sofia asked. “The kibble or the spanking?”

He didn’t answer. He just swung for water and got spanked for it.

“The bastard. The BASTARD!!!! Makes the kibble extra salty, so I can’t help but get thirsty… Two spanks! Two spanks, guaranteed! What kind of monster?!”

Sofia and I looked at each other. We knew we weren’t dreaming or hallucinating, but we couldn’t help thinking that something about our unholy level of intoxication was making this even more bizarre than it already was.

That moment of drunken wonderment between us was cut short by a splash of warm liquid from above.

I looked back up. The fat guy was now pissing on us.

“Woaah, oaah, woaah,” he moaned in agony. “That bastard! The fucking son of a bitch! He’s watching! And he’s loving every minute of it! I KNOW he puts something in the water to make it burn when I pee… He loves this! He LOVE torturing me!”

“Luh-luh-lissen, dude,” Sofia said, stumbling to her feet. “Listen, you know? Like, riight?”

She then promptly slipped in the puddle of piss and fell back down on the floor.

“Ow, man,” she moaned. “That shit’s f-FUH-fucked up!”

“We g-gotta get you DOWN frrem der, man!” I said.

“No! No!” he shouted, wriggling in his rusty metal net. “He’ll find me. He’ll FIND me… He’ll find me and he’ll KILL me! And THEN he’ll kill everyone I’ve ever loved… He promised!”

Ignoring his blubbering, I hopped up and commenced grabbing onto anything I could hold onto in hopes of tugging his ass down. I was too drunk.

I lost interest when I noticed Sofia snoring. I was jealous. I hated when she fell asleep without me.

“You..” I said pointing to the man, “You. What’s your name?”

“Ugh, what’s the point?”

“Fine, dude. Whatever,” I said as I began to lay down next to Sofia. “I’m j-just gonna close my eyes fer a… fur a sec…”

And with that, I passed out almost instantly.

When I finally came to, it felt like someone was swinging a mallet around the inside my head. As my vision gradually came into focus, I saw that Sofia looked to be in even worser shape, dry heaving on her hands and knees beside me.

Like Adam and Eve after eating the forbidden fruit, we were suddenly aware of our nakedness and ashamed before stranger dangling above us. He swung himself in the direction of the kibble dispenser and snagged himself a piece.

As before, his ass was greeted with a savage swat of the paddle.

“OWW!!!”

Sofia looked over at me.

“I’m scared…” she said, wiping the puke from her mouth. “The door is off its hinges. Once Gordon discovers that, we’ll never get our deposit back!”

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my groggy head. “Unless he knows we know something we shouldn’t…”

I pointed up and winked at Sofia. She smiled back, giving me a look like I was the smartest guy in the world and I was the one going to grad school.

Welcome to the Unknown

Delivering pizza on Halloween Night. Well, that wasn’t really the way Roddy would have wanted to spend the cherished holiday. His spirits remained high, however, for he was making a killing on tips and just made a pit stop at the corner store to stock up with three fresh packs of butts.

It was extra dark out with some wind and a slight rainfall to at least set the mood as he drove through the city streets liberally indulging in his surplus of cigarettes. A few late trick-or-treaters had braved the elements with their parents, scurrying about with sacks and pumpkin-shaped pails full of childhood delights. Costumed adults were out too, enduring the precipitation and drunkenly stumbling about to the bars and the local festivities. And wouldn’t you know, as usual, plenty of females displayed plenty of cleavage and ass cheeks despite the wet chill. Roddy would have preferred to be among them, but Halloween was always a busy night in the pizza industry, and tips were his livelihood. Tonight, he’d make the best of things. Maybe something good would happen. Time to light another smoke and turn up the music.

The sounds of death metal blasted from his car stereo. Barely decipherable lyrics filled his mind with pleasant thoughts of decapitation, disembowelment, and cannibalism. During a particular verse that Roddy loved, a verse about devouring a virgin’s entrails, the music lowered as his GPS spoke through his dashboard to inform him his destination was twenty feet ahead to the right.

Before hopping out of his car Roddy gave himself a quick inspection in the rearview mirror. He wasn’t one for conventional fashion; his wardrobe consisted of black t-shirts bearing the logos of metal bands and horror movies. He shaved maybe twice a week, and his hair hung over his eyes in a chin-length flop. But ever the hopeless romantic, he hoped that waiting behind every door he knocked on would be the love of his life – a girl with matching taste in music, movies, and clothing.

Roddy determined that he looked as good as he could hope for and stepped out of his car with the insulated pizza case in hand. He stopped and marveled as he took in the sight of the house; he’d never noticed this one before. Not quite a mansion, but the place was a gothic beauty with wrought iron fencing around the expertly decorated front lawn. Plastic skeletons and ghouls stared him down, welcoming him as he opened the gate and proceeded up the stone stairs to the porch. He was slightly miffed that the owner of the house hadn’t turned any lights on for him, inside or out, but appreciated the genuine eerie affect this delivery had on him.

Almost a minute after he had rung the bell, right when he was about to either ring again or give up, a light came on in the hallway and the door creaked open.

There’s much to be said for a woman who answers the door while smoking a cigarette, thought Roddy.

However, he retracted the sentiment within moments of thinking it. He realized that while working as a pizza delivery guy he’d been greeted at the front doors of many women who were smoking cigarettes. Most left much to be desired. This one in particular just stood out for some reason, and it wasn’t just the cigarette. Maybe it was the way she was smoking it. There was something in her attitude that made the butt hang naturally from her cherry-red lips as if it were a part of her. And it was goddamn sexy.

Still standing at the doorway, looking her up and down, Roddy felt a bond to this beautiful female – certainly a first when delivering pizza. Perhaps there was some clairvoyant skill that had lain dormant in him all his life that suddenly unlocked itself to let him know that there was something special about her. Something deep and mystical. Or was it just that she looked eerily familiar.

Much of her burning cigarette remained to be smoked. Had she lit the cigarette after he rang the bell over a minute ago? Did she actually prep and use the smoke as a prop to greet him with hints of seduction? And goddammit, she reminded him of someone. He’d seen her before.

Elvira!

Of course she was not really Elvira. But her heaving, milky breasts that tested the durability of the black bodice of her gothy dress gown could have been Elvira’s. The same could be said for her hair and makeup: a voluminous, silky-smooth ebony mane contrasting a pale but radiant visage. None of this, however, had the air of a Halloween costume. The image was definitely the person.

The woman was well on in years, possibly in her mid-fifties, or even sixty. But, aside from the minute lines etched on her face, she’d aged gracefully and maintained a high percentage of what Roddy assumed had always been an abundance of sex appeal – more than most women half her age. Below the massive breasts her small waist curved out into plump hips; there was no sag. Her skin was tight and densely filled.

“Come in, young man,” she said, her voice raspy like a phone sex operator, probably from years of smoking. “You can leave the pizza on the coffee table and have a seat on the couch, my dear. I’ll be back in a minute.”

My dear?

“Sure thing. All right if I smoke too?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, handsome. Now go get comfy.”

Roddy lit another butt and did as he was instructed and found himself on a couch he’d hoped wouldn’t be as comfortable as it was. The cushions formed to his body, welcoming him warmly much like his unexpected host. He had more deliveries to make, but it seemed that whatever was about to happen would be worth losing his job over. There were plenty of pizza delivery places in town.

Looking around the room Roddy took great interest in its decorations. He’d walked right into a palace of horror. Framed movie posters of old, obscure fright flicks showed the age and wear to boast authenticity. This lady had some really impeccable taste in cinema. The Gore Gore Girls, Two Thousand Maniacs!,and Color Me Blood Redwere just a few of the wondrous film posters that hung from the walls. Everything else around him was macabre as well: lamp shades posted on top of skulls, a black leather easy chair in the corner with skull-faces on each armrest, and most peculiar – a door, likely to a closet, in the shape of a coffin lid complete with an upside down cross carved into it.

After a minute or two of enjoying the sights, particularly the coffin-shaped door which he felt oddly drawn to, the oddly familiar — and all around odd — woman returned in a change of clothing. Her long black, tight-fitting gown was now a black, tight-fitting dress cut high, just below the crotch, and fishnet stockings that stretched across her shapely thighs and calves. She sat on the easy chair and crossed her legs, showing that her lower parts were just as fine as what she had up above.

“Certainly not a fun night to be out delivering pizza,” she said while giving him a visual examination that was anything but discrete.

“Halloween isn’t a good night to do anything other than have a good time. But money is money.”

“As I look you over I imagine you’re the type who just might share a lot of common interests with me. A Dying Fetus t-shirt. Long black hair. Sexy leather jacket. If I didn’t know any better, I’d peg you for a lover horror movies and death metal.”

“You’re absolutely correct. But nobody’s pegging me. Even you.”

“Oh, young man. Witty with the sass to match. You certainly know how to make this kitten purr.”

“I’m a gentleman beyond my years. Anyways, you like Dying Fetus? You like death metal?”

“I may be getting up there in age, young man, but keep in mind, heavy metal has been a thing longer than you’ve probably been alive.”

“Oh, no.” Roddy gulped, swallowing his awkward misspeak. “I wasn’t implying that you’re-”

“Old?” The woman stopped and bellowed a dramatic laugh. “I know I’m old, toots. I’d prefer to think of myself as classic. But I think I’ve held up well.”

“I’ll say.” Why am I so comfortable with this lady? I’m never this confident with a chick.

“Thank you, my dear. If I can still get the praises of a young stud like yourself, I think I can toot my own horn a little bit. Or yours.”

Did she really just drop that awful of a sexual innuendo on me? I should be turned off but damn, this old broad has really got a spell on me.

The more she spoke, the more Roddy found familiarity. It wasn’t just the Elvira likeness. He swore he’d both seen and heard this woman before. Not recently, however. She was elusive, hidden somewhere deep in the recesses of his memory.

“Speaking of which, you’ve probably figured out that I didn’t really invite you in here just for the pizza.”

“Is that so?” Am I like, really-really being seduced by this insanely hot cougar? I guess my next deliveries can be late, or not happen at all. This is a fantasy I’ve only dreamed of. Banging the queen of all goth chicks! And on Halloween Night, no less! But seriously, where the fuck do I recognize her from? “What for then?”

“Don’t be coy with me, Roddy.”

“You know my name.” It was a statement, not a question. He knew she knew it. But how?

“I know a lot of things, dear.”

“I can’t help but think I know you from somewhere, miss.”

“It’s quite possible you do, Roddy. Welcome to the unknown.”

“Welcome to the unknown,” repeated Roddy. “That’s…” Welcome to the Unknown was a popular phrase spoken by a TV horror movie host Roddy had watched a few times on public access as a child. “The Dark Hour with Mistress Osirah!”

It was her. It had to be. Only much older, but certainly no worse for the wear.

“That’s right, honey,” laughed the woman. “Glad to know someone still remembers me.”

“I watched you when I was a kid!” What could he think of to say next? If he was about to fuck this finely aged chick, the last thing he wanted to do was start fanboying all over her. “I never knew you lived in the same town as me. Meeting you is a true honor.”

Fuck. I fanboyed.

“Thank you, sweetie. But I hope you want to do more than just meet me.”

“Umm…”

“Quit the coy act, boy.” Mistress Osirah lit another cigarette and breathed out her essence with the exhale. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Well, wow… uhh, sure. But, seriously, how do you know my name?”

“How about you don’t ask any more questions, and just do as I say?”

“Fine.” It felt as if his answer was spoken for him, not that it would have been any different had he said it of his own will. “I can do that.”

“Come over here and taste me.” The Mistress uncrossed her legs and parted them wide, displaying the assets of a much younger. “That’d be a good start.”

Through the wide openings of the fishnets Roddy could see she was cleanly shaven with a candy-pink slit and smooth, pale white skin that glowed in the dimly lit room.

Roddy was up off the couch and on his knees in front of the splayed mistress in seconds. With a couple of deep breaths, he took in her sweet woman scent, and put his tongue on her warm opening, gently lapping away through the netting of her stockings as she grew wetter and wetter.

“Rise,” the mistress commanded.

Roddy obeyed and bolted upward. Osirah pulled the front of her dress down, her tits popping out with slingshot force.

“Don’t just look, Roddy. You can play.”

And play Roddy did, caressing and gently kneading her breasts.

The mistress gently undid Roddy’s belt and yanked his stiffening manhood out. “I think you know where to put that, sweetie,” she hissed.

Upon entry into this woman who now had control of Roddy’s every muscle and movement, the air around his head grew slippery, euphoric.

“You okay, young man?” panted Osirah while Roddy thrust rhythmically.

“Fine,” Roddy mumbled. “Just a little woozy.”

“Don’t worry about that,” laughed the mistress.

Roddy did his best to compose himself without breaking from the act, but was distracted by the coffin-shaped closet door that slowly came open.

“I thought we were alone.” Roddy kept pumping his hips, but grew weaker.

“We are, dear. Don’t worry about a thing. Just keep going.”

Though his mind and body had become weak, the feeling in his crotch had not. At that moment Roddy was good for nothing else beyond fucking, and he was okay with it.

“I’m getting close,” he groaned.

“Good. Fill me.”

Her voice remained the same, but her face… purely demonic in design. Skeletal, dark, ashy. Eyes of sick yellow.

Roddy, however, showed no fear and completed the act.

Once he had fully emptied himself into his new master, he slumped to the floor like a sack of meat.

The mistress remained in her leather easy chair before him, splayed out wide, dripping Roddy’s load. Her human face had returned, and was smiling with sheer delight.

Still fully conscious, but feeling pretty much high as fuck, Roddy looked around from his spot on the floor to find himself no longer in a macabrely decorated living room. The walls were naked and the darkest of black. Yet somehow, Roddy and the Mistress were no longer indoors. The night sky hung above them, devoid of stars. Massive, shadowy trees encircled the walls. And the hardwood floor was now bright marble, a checkering of crimson and ebony.

“Come now,” said the mistress, and rose to her feet.

From out of the open coffin-shaped door came a group of frail but comely women, all completely naked except for black, faceless masks. There could have been four or five; Roddy was just too plain fucked up to count. He felt himself rise with the aid of their hands, though he felt nothing pull him up.

Through the deathly doorway came a dark light, pure black. His mistress’s minions escorted him beyond.

The Woman Who Loved Floppy Hats

Loretta Blissful was a very attractive and sexy twenty seven year old and had an untamed and insatiable appetite for the opposite sex. She had been married and divorced nine times; a commitment to just one man was impossible for her.

One man was never enough.

Loretta liked to think of herself as a sexual vampire with an unquenchable thirst for cock. No matter how deeply Loretta’s love for each of her nine husbands, she could simply not resist the urge, the opportunities, the lust to pursue other men for sexual conquests and adventures. She simply could not help herself; her passion was her demon and she loved her demon well.

Loretta naturally knew the type of man she wanted, and this varied according to how she was feeling, but she no longer pursued fat guys; she had experienced a couple of fat guys and on both occasions found the scene to be limited and awkward and damn right uncomfortable, and she had felt nothing but a big fat disappointment.

Loretta had personal standards, too; there were some party-tricks that she would not engage in whatsoever, but there is no reason to go into all that detail right now.

Tonight Loretta was sat alone in one of her regular and most successful of pick-up joints, a seedy club called ‘The Purple Snake’. She cast her eyes around the place, checking what was on the menu. She took a sip of her vodka on ice and set the glass back on her table.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Loretta looked up and was impressed by what she saw. “Yes, it would be my pleasure”

“I’m Duncan Weatherby,” he said, offering an outstretched hand, “pleased to meet you.”

Duncan was a smooth-looking twenty four old who was presently recovering from a treacherous relationship that had broken him to pieces, but his eyes shone bright and his voice was deep and confident.

“I’m Loretta,” she said, taking his hand as Duncan stumbled into her web.

The two struck up some easy and warm conversation. Loretta knew that Duncan found her attractive, and she found him appealing as well. At approximately 10pm, she decided to make her move.

“Duncan, would you like to join me for a nightcap? I don’t live far from here…”

Duncan did not hesitate; he was eager and he was keen and he hadn’t been laid in a long while. He was bursting with excitement and could hardly contain himself or the graphic thoughts that were now streaming through his head.

“Yes, that sounds like a great idea,” he said. “We can get a cab.”

Together they left ‘The Purple Snake’, and ten minutes later they were in Loretta’s apartment. She had fixed some drinks and put some Sibelius on the hi-fi. They sat beside each other on the sofa, both of them wondering who was going to make the first move, but actually there was no question who was going to make the first move; it was Loretta.

“Dunky, would you like to get funky?” Loretta asked, smiling with lust in her eyes.

Duncan said nothing in response, nodding his head vigorously.

“Then Dunky, you follow me…”

Loretta rose from the sofa and walked down the hallway, proceeding to her bedroom with Duncan just a few perspiring steps behind.

As she launched herself onto the bed and began peeling off her clothes, Duncan dived right after, removing his own clothing as well as they kissed and groped one another.

A few moments into the adventure, Loretta cried out, “Dunky, stop! STOP, Dunky!”

Duncan stopped and rolled off of her in shock; things had seemed to be going well. He didn’t know what he had done wrong; he was definitely out of practice, but he still knew a thing or two.

“It’s not you Dunky,” Loretta explained, “it’s me, really it’s me! Something’s just missing…”

“Missing? And what’s that?”

“Would you do something for me, something that would make everything alright..?”

Duncan nodded his head, telling her “I’ll do anything, anything you ask!”

“Okay…” Loretta said. “Behind you, in a row against the wall, are twelve hat stands.

Duncan glanced over his shoulder and noticed her impressive collection of hats for the first time.

“Go to the first hat stand on the left and choose a hat, any hat, just choose one and choose one quickly! GO DUNKY GO!”

Duncan had never seen so may hats in all his life, a dozen hat stands with dozens upon dozens of hats upon each of them. It was quite the sight; hats of all different shapes, styles, sizes, and colours. It was honestly a bit overwhelming, being suddenly forced to choose one.

Then, suddenly, without further hesitation, Duncan lunged in all his nudity for the first hatstand on the left, grabbing a bright blue beret adorned with ridiculous plastic flowers. As he slapped it down onto his head, several of the flowers came loose and fell to the floor.

He leapt back onto the bed and resumed his passionate lovemaking, shedding plastic flowers all over Loretta and her bed as he rammed it home.

He was in mid-stroke when Loretta abruptly cried, “STOP DUNKY IT ISN’T RIGHT, IT’S NOT WORKING FOR ME! STOP! DUNKY! STOP!”

Duncan pulled out and looked at Loretta with wild confusion in his eyes. “What the fuck is it?” he gasped between breaths. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the hat Dunky, it just isn’t the right one; you’ll have to try another. Go to the second hat stand on the left and grab a hat and DO IT NOW, I’M REALLY HOT FOR YOU DUNKY!”

Again, Duncan launched off the bed, this time coming back with a bright red and yellow sunhat with a wide plastic brim. Duncan slammed it down on his head and wasted no time at all jumping back on Loretta.

He hadn’t been going at her very long before she cried out once again, “STOP DUNKY! STOP! IT’S JUST NOT RIGHT! SOMETHING IS NOT WORKING! STOP DUNKY!”

“It’s the fucking hat again, isn’t it?” Duncan said. “WHAT IS IT WITH THESE FUCKING HATS?”

“DUNCAN, I’M HOT AND I NEED YOU INSIDE ME NOW! PLEASE, GO TO THE FIFTH HAT STAND FROM THE LEFT AND GET A HAT! IT’LL WORK THIS TIME, GO DUNKY GO!”

Once again, Duncan scrambled off the bed, grabbing a hat without looking from the designated hat stand. This one was a lustrous leather Australian outback hat with scores of wine corks dangling from its brim. They assaulted his face as he dashed back into bed, but he ignored the annoyance and got back down to business.

Within a few moments Loretta screamed, “NO DUNKY! STOP! YOU MUST STOP DUNKY! IT JUST ISN’T RIGHT!”

Duncan backed off of her, ripped the hat from off his head and threw it across the room.

“FUCKING HATS! FUCKING HATS!” he screamed in frustration. “FUCKING GODDAMN ROTTEN HATS!”

“DUNKY! I HAVE IT! THIS TIME I KNOW IT WILL WORK! DUNKY GO TO THE WARDROBE AND THERE YOU WILL FIND THE SPECIAL HAT THAT IS MAGIC! GO GET IT DUNKY! IN THE WARDROBE! GO DUNKY GO!”

With some reservation this time, Duncan raced over to the wardrobe and threw open its doors. He looked inside and had to take a step back to appreciate the view. It was the biggest fucking hat he had ever seen! A monstrous violet velvet Stetson, which he promptly snatched and heaved up onto his head.

Darkness overtook him as the huge floppy brim swallowed him to his knees. Stumbling towards the bed, he crashed into the nightstand and banged his kneecap on its corner, whereupon he tripped and fell face-first onto the floor. He lay there as he felt the warm ooze of blood begin to trickle from his nose.

All the while, Loretta kept screaming, “DUNKY! DUNKY! OVER HERE! I’M HOT AND WAITING FOR YOU DUNKY! QUICKLY! QUICKLY! HURRY! HURRY DUNKY!”

With the last of his strength and patience, Duncan wrestled himself and the massive hat up onto the bed. Loretta crawled in there with him and together they fucked beneath its floppy brim.

Within a moments, Loretta was writhing in ecstasy.

“OH! OH, DUNKY THIS IS IT! THIS IT IT! DUNKY! I’TS WORKING DUNKY! IT’S WORKING! OH DUNKY MARRY ME! MARRY ME DUNKY!”

Duncan couldn’t see what he was doing in the darkness, he had a mouthful of lint, his nose was bleeding and his knee seemed seriously injured, but one thing he knew for sure:

He was having the ride of his fucking life.

Requiem for an Ass

My girlfriend gets fed up with all the people who are always staring at her ass, so one day she locks herself in the bathroom with a giant kitchen knife and chops off both of her buttocks, just like that. They would’ve sew them back on at the hospital, but she lies and says she lost them.

Actually we keep them in a cardboard box on the top of the wardrobe, and I’m the only one who get to look at them. But one night someone breaks into our house, and I find a stranger sitting on our floor with the box in his lap.

He is staring at its contents.

“Get the fuck out!” I shout at him. “Stop staring my girlfriend’s ass!”

I kick him out of the door and I return the cardboard box to its place on top of the wardrobe. But around midnight, we awake to find that someone has break into our apartment again – there are now two middle-aged men standing in the living room, the open box at their feet, and they are gazing down at the cut-off buttcheeks inside.

“Filthy pigs!” my girlfriend screams.

I chase them out from the house with a broom stick.

Afterwards, we agree that I’ll take her ass up into the attic, which sadly means I’ll have to climb the ladder every time I want to pinch her butt.

So next day, I find four strangers up there, just sitting in a circle around the box. It looks like they are in some kind of deep meditation state, transfixed by twin mounds of ass-meat within.

Before they’ve even noticed me, I grab the box and hurry back down the ladder.

At the moment, we’re keeping the box in a locked drawer. I carry the key on a string around my neck. Every now and then, a stranger sneaks into our home and peeps through the drawer’s keyhole.

My girlfriend’s wounds are healing, but she still looks kind of like an apple someone took a couple bites from. Every time we make love, we take her buttocks out from the drawer.

I put on some latino music, and I tell her: “Shake your ass, baby!” So she begins to shake the cardboard box in her hands – her buttocks bouncing around inside.

With the use of some adhesive tape, we temporarily reattach her butt back onto her, and she gives me a really nice lap dance. The adhesive tape isn’t almighty, however, and she leaves one of her asscheeks in my lap.

It’s a bit awkward, but she smiles just the same, snatching up her asscheek and rubbing me with it like it was a sponge or something. The strangely preserved meat leaves a odd slime all over my skin.

I gaze at the small black dot on the asscheek in her hand – the lovely birthmark that brings back so many fond memories. It is then that a small, wriggling worm squirms out from under it. My girlfriend screams and throws her asscheek to the floor.

We always knew there was something special about that ass, but even an ass that great can’t resist decomposition forever.

After a few days, my girlfriend’s butt ends up in the trash. Now strangers are gathering around the garbage can out front, unable to take their eyes off it for a second. It seems my girlfriend doesn’t care anymore that they are staring at her butt. Instead, she seems to miss it for the first time.

“But there are many things more important than a butt, right?” she asks through welling tears.

“Of course,” I tell her, as they all come to mind.

The morning stretching, for example. Or walking in a forest. The marrow-melting sadness of the snapping of deer antlers. The calmness of long forgotten costumes, the silent swinging of the coat hangers in a dusty old wardrobe. The gold resin drops hanging from wounded trees – my mother used to say they were the honeyed teardrops of angels.

These are all more important than an ass, to be frank.

The wet milk skin of puberty, when adulthood gathers in the corners of your eyes, like morning rose spores. The drying gypsum sculptures of the secret thoughts in your skull. The vanishing pulsation of the stolen body heat after holding hands. All of these are more important than having an ass.

There are many more important things, I tell myself, joining the long line that has formed down the block for a peek at my girlfriend’s butt.