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Subject: {ASSM} The Sinister Sister by Silvio Stoker
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M/fff, rom, rough, caution
Copyright (c) 1998, Silvio Stoker. ALL Rights Reserved
Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Saturday AM, December 12, 1998
Without the written permission of the author and during 120 days after
the above mentioned date of first publication this story may be downloaded
uniquely for your private use. After the limit date mentioned, the story
may be freely distributed on condition that this notice remains attached,
but not for profit, and providing the usual precautions have been taken to
prevent it being read by unauthorized persons, especially underage
children, or by people who might be offended by its contents. The author
may be contacted at silviostoker@mrdouble.com or mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.
Many more stories by Silvio Stoker are available at
http://www.mrdouble.com
(http://www.mrdouble.com/htm/authors/silviostoker.htm)
The Sinister Sister by Silvio Stoker
I
We arrived by night, but I knew I wanted to move there even before I
first saw the valley. The mountains when I finally did see them loomed
gloomy but picturesque, the peaks all of the same height, probably meaning
that the range was an eroded plateau. The massive was shrouded in fog.
The river was still salty -- an estuary, even this far from the sea.
There were large estates on the bluffs overlooking the tidal current of
the river, but most of these grand houses looked pretty decrepit -- I liked
to imagine the female descendants of the industrialists who built them
holed up in there, living out their miserable lives in haughty and depraved
penury.
I move around a lot. It's my nature. I get involved with a woman, move
in with her, get bored, move on. It's got to be something to do with my
mother or my toilet training. I never marry them and I never make them
pregnant -- well, once, with Lori, way back. It was off to Planned
Parenthood as quick as a panther can wink its eye. I am thirty-six years
old and have lived with ten women and rented almost a hundred apartments,
rooms and houses.
They live off me, I live off them, I love them, they love me, I play
househusband, I cook fancy meals in our provisional love nests and teach
them crazy things. At first they think I'm really cool, a smart cookie, a
romantic. Something always goes wrong. When I first fall in love it's
like I'm flying. After a while, it gets harder and harder to take off.
Splat.
Melusina and I were having breakfast at the diner on Saturday morning
when she asked what I wanted to do for the weekend. It was almost to the
splat stage between us. I ate my corned beef hash and drank cup after cup
of the disgustingly weak coffee.
"Let's go to Kingsport," I said.
I'd been telling her about the quaint little fishing villages around
there. That's part of the romance phase -- talking about places. I've
been to so many, and I've romanticized them all. I'm a painter, though I
left my last painting unfinished three years, four months and twenty-two
days ago, when Lori, disturbed in her little Catholic heart by the
destruction of our fetus, set fire to the two-room apartment we shared.
Large splat.
Kingsport was a long drive, a full day at least, and Melusina had to be
at the furniture store Monday morning, but I always get irresponsible as
the splat stage approaches. We finished our breakfast, went back to the
messy apartment, grabbed a change of clothes, got into her old green
Cutlass and took off.
Melusina had just turned sixteen. She looked like a Vermeer. She was
really very smart but hadn't figured out what to do with her life when she
met me, about a year ago. She'd run away from home and was living with a
mindless pothead who would drink with me at Bruno's. The guy was innocuous
enough, a flaky, washed-up ex-hippie who read a lot of books about yoga but
spent every night getting addled at Bruno's. I would drop in there now and
then when I got tired of being alone. Their shots were the size of the
triples at Henry's and the beer backs were free.
The pothead's name was Larry. ne night, almost a year ago, I stopped
into Bruno's for a couple of shots of bourbon and met Melusina. It's too
bad we don't recognize our fate as soon as it strikes.
They never carded there, not then, though lately there's a crackdown, I
guess. There was no way anybody would have figured her for an adult. I
slid into the booth across from them. Terry, the week night bartender,
looking hung over as always, brought me a huge shot of Old Grand-dad and a
beer back. Old Style.
Larry looked stoned and was doing tequila. He introduced me to the girl
and I'd hardly finished my drink before I felt her foot against my ankle.
Melusina had dark brown hair, bangs, weird blue eyes the color of
depression glass and pale skin that looked sensationally soft. She was
wearing a black t-shirt and no jewelry except for a little silver ring
through her left nostril.
She talked about astrology, mostly, while Larry talked about drugs,
which was really all he ever talked about. I don't know why I drank with
him -- I guess because at least I knew what to expect. If I sat alone, any
of the other freaks and stoners and drunks and rednecks that drank there
would probably sit down and try to engage me in conversation. I hate that.
Larry shut up when I asked him to in exchange for half an ear when I was in
a good mood.
I am rarely in a good mood. I tried Prozac, but gave it up in favor of
bourbon.
It turned out that Melusina and I were both born on the same day, only I
was probably twenty years older. I didn't ask her what year she was born
because I had a premonition, I guess, and figured it best not to know. She
got up to go pee and looked back at me over her shoulder. I watched her
little butt wiggle away to the bathroom in her tight denim cut-offs.
"She's pretty," I said. "Seems nice."
"You can have her," Larry slurred. "She's an annoying little bitch." He
tossed back his cheap tequila and got up right then and there. "Hasta la
vista," he said, and staggered out of the bar.
I had half a mind to leave myself, but I was horny, recently celibate,
and the young girl's foot against my ankle had given me a raging hard-on.
Terry brought me more bourbon. "What happened to him?"
"Got pissed off, I guess."
I liked Terry. It was always a good show when she threw people out of
the bar. She could handle five guys with ease.
Melusina came back from the bathroom and sat down next to me. Or all
over me, to be more exact. "Did Larry go home?"
"Yeah." She took a sip off my bourbon and kissed me. Her lips were soft
and sweet but she moved her tongue like Robocop. I copped a feel of her
breasts through her t-shirt and bra. They were small and firm. My taste,
precisely.
"I guess I better go find him," she said, a tinge of hard hurt in her
eyes. "Unless..."
"You can stay with me, if you want," I said.
"Okay! I'm your star-sister, anyway," she said. "Scorpio man." I put
my hand on her thigh.
I finished my bourbon, flagged down Terry, and paid. "Don't do anything
I wouldn't do," Terry said, winking.
It was snowing heavily, almost a blizzard. Melusina looked silly with
her bare legs, rubber boots and fake fur coat. I lived in a rooming house,
a true rat-trap, on Spring Street. The neighbors were all fugitives, or at
least disappeared whenever they heard the door.
She took off her coat and boots and sat down on the floor by the space
heater. I got a pint of Jack from the closet and sat down next to her.
"So, tell me about yourself."
She smiled sadly, took off her t-shirt, touched her pert little breasts
through the sheer black bra and licked her lips.
"How old are you?"
She didn't answer, took off the bra, stood up and slipped out of her
cut-offs. She wasn't wearing anything under them. Her pubis was shaven.
She looked really young and I was starting to get scared.
"Hey, talk to me."
"Do you have any pot?"
"No... how old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"The fuck you are. Talk to me or leave, come on."
"You make me feel like such a slut, John," she whispered. "You make my
cunt wet." She played with a tumescent, sepia nipple and ran the middle
finger of her right hand along her slit, then lifted it -- it glistened --
and put it in her mouth. "Take care of me."
I stood up and slapped her lightly on the butt. "I asked you how old
you are."
"Uh-huh, spank me," she said, turning her ass toward me. "I deserve
it..."
I picked her up, threw her on the lumpy, unmade bed, and took my clothes
off.
She was truly lovely -- her skin was pale, so pale you could see a vein
in her forehead. She was lying on her side, her legs drawn up a little.
Her shaven cunnus was wet and the color of fire trout. She had beautiful
feet -- classically proportioned, with neatly trimmed, pink toenails. Her
nipples were half the size of her firm breasts. She had piano fingers and
small, muscular buttocks. Her legs looked like a ballerina's.
I climbed into bed and ran my hand along her taut tummy and ribs. She
shivered, turned on her back and spread her legs. I licked her left
nipple, then kissed her large, sensual, almost violet lips. She flared her
nostrils and took my erection loosely in her refined hand.
"What do you like, baby," she whispered. "What do you want your little
slut to do for you?"
She shuddered when I ran my fingertips along her soft, ivory thigh.
"What do you like, Melusina?"
"I like to be licked," she said, almost inaudibly. "But I didn't clean
myself."
I shimmied down the bed and kissed her feet. They were damp and cold
and slightly dirty between the toes. She moaned and touched herself
between the legs. I took her hand away and put it on her little left
breast, caressing and licking her thighs. The girl stared at me, her mouth
open, and ran her fingers gently across her dark nipples.
"Kiss my pussy," she whispered, "kiss my dirty pussy."
I grazed her slick, almost orange slit with the tip of my tongue. She
smelled like sex -- of her own juices and semen and slightly of urine. I
drooled on her, dipped my tongue into the hole and lapped at her snatch.
Underneath the rank and salty taste of semen was the delicious, shrimpy
savor of her arousal. When I teased her anus with my little finger, she
drew her legs up and spread her cheeks.
"Lick me there... please... it's so dirty... please..."
Larry had been having anal sex with her. The little hole was red and a
little glob of come glimmered at the center when she spread her butt.
I licked in circles around the sore opening and stabbed at it with my
tongue. Melusina rocked her hips and moaned loudly. "Yeah... oh, baby...
ummmmm... it's beautiful... baby... beautiful..."
I slurped at her and stuck my tongue into her cunthole, fingering her
asshole. She gave me a raunchy look and slid her middle finger into her
butt. "Ummmm... uh-huh... so dirty... look... ummm... oh, look...
look at how dirty I am..." She withdrew the finger and sucked it, gazing at
me with her glassy eyes.
I took her by the wrist, licked and sucked the finger, and brought it to
her butt again. She plunged it back into her anus and I tongued the hand
and her nether hole, getting my tongue past her sphincter when she
retracted it, moaning myself now.
"Oh, fuck... oh... god..." I licked her erect, small clitoris and she
pushed two fingers into her asshole. I slid a digit into her dripping
pussy and felt her fingers through the membrane between her anus and
vagina. When I tongued her clit she came, suddenly, pushing my head away
and tensing her ballerina's body.
I embraced her and kissed her mouth. Her tongue was less insistent now,
and I felt her filthy hand on my penis. I took it away and covered her
with a rumpled sheet. "Dontcha wanna fuck me," she said in a hurt little
voice.
"Not tonight, Melusina... I liked making you come. Okay?"
She hugged me, then gave me a cooler stare. "Can I stay here?"
"Yeah... of course."
"How long can I stay here?"
"We'll see... don't worry, I'm not going to throw you out."
She kissed me, not using her tongue. I got up, tucked her in, took a
swig of Jack from the bottle, and turned out the light. Melusina was
asleep before I crawled under the blankets.
II
Now almost a year had passed. We were close, maybe too close. It
turned out that she was still able to get her high school diploma if she
took courses at night school -- she wanted to get her G.E.D. instead, but
I talked her into taking the courses; it didn't take me very long to
realize that she was like one of those burrs that cling to you when you
walk through brambles, and the more time I could get her out of the squalid
rooming house, the better.
I went through the little inheritance that my uncle split between the
entire family pretty quickly, and ended up working as a telemarketer. Four
hours a day of selling old women cemetery plots was enough to pay the rent
and buy groceries, including a pint of decent liquor a day.
Eventually, just after her sixteenth birthday, I persuaded Melusina to
get the job at the Wagner's furniture store. They didn't want to hire her
because of the nose ring, but she found some friends of hers to lie about
her experience and some friends of her parents' who shopped at the store a
lot to call Roger Wagner and ooze about what a nice girl she was and how
much they wanted that bedroom set.
I actually met her father, only a few days after she moved in with me,
at the Safeway with Melusina's little sister. Her sister smiled at me.
She looked like a little copy of Melusina, maybe ten years old. Her dad
snarled at his disowned daughter, called her a disgraceful slut, and told
me I was a sick fuck and a pedophile. He was a pretty big guy and didn't
seem too averse to violence, so I was glad when he spat at her, grabbed his
astonished, fearful remaining daughter, and walked off.
That night Melusina cried and told me her story. Her mother had run off
with a salesman and left her and her sister with the big, stupid gym
teacher. He ignored Melusina until he caught her cutting school and making
out with a burnout from eleventh grade when he came home early one day. He
scared the shit out of the kid and sent him running, then raped his
daughter in the ass. She ran away that night and ended up at the old,
boarded-up freight terminal on Water Street, fucking and sucking the winos
who lived there. One of them took her cherry.
A few weeks later she met Larry, moved in with him even though he didn't
want her to, and had been with him for four days when he walked out on her
and she seduced me.
We lived a pretty uneventful life. We saved money and indulged in
cheap, simple pleasures. We breakfasted together at the diner, but ate
dinner together in the seedy rooming house. I would cook pretty nice
Italian meals in the kitchenette and she would practice ballet.
After a couple of months of living with me, Melusina started to seem
happier, if security is happiness. The furniture store was okay, except
for Roger Wagner's passes, and school would be over by summer, and we
enrolled her in ballet class at the recreation center.
I didn't penetrate her or let her perform fellatio. Every night I would
lick her and finger her until she came, then tuck her in. I just had a
strong feeling that it would be better that way for a time. Her
experiences had been traumatic, and I hoped to heal her by cunnilingus and
kindness.
With both of us working, we were able to afford a five hundred dollar
car for her. I had lost my license driving drunk.
After we had been together about six months, she started fucking around.
I knew from the taste of her pussy and the state of the room after an
absence. I didn't say anything until I could tell that Melusina felt
horribly guilty.
"I don't care if you see other guys," I said.
She cried and begged me to forgive her. I told her I really didn't mind
-- that what mattered to me was sleeping with her, making love to her,
having dinner together, talking.
"You don't love me," she cried.
"Yeah I do. I love you enough where it doesn't matter, okay? I'm not
into jealousy."
Melusina pulled me on top of her and grabbed my cock. "I'm such a
slut... fuck me, John... fuck me till it hurts!"
I went down on her, lapping at her snatch and her butthole. She rammed
three fingers in and out of her butt and wailed. "Fuck me, John... fuck
my ass... come on... fuck it till I bleed... everybody does... come on,
John... shove your dick in me... fuck your little slut up the ass..."
I slapped her across the face. She looked stunned, then started wailing
again. "Come on, yeah... beat me up... beat me up and come in my
asshole..."
I got up, dressed, and walked out. I felt confused, worried, a little
scared. I went to Bruno's, sat down across from Larry, ordered a bourbon
with a beer back and bummed one of his American Spirits.
"How's the little bitch," he asked, sipping on shot of Southern Comfort.
"She's fine," I answered. "Listen, I don't really feel like talking.
Sorry."
Terry brought me shot after shot, comping every third one, and I went
out into the sweltering heat of midsummer with an unsteady gait and my head
spinning thickly like potatoes in a blender.
I picked up half a pint of Wild Turkey at the convenience store on
Cherry Street, got a room at the Shady Grove Motel, drank it, and fell
asleep.
The next morning was rainy and the temperature was well below normal. I
had a debilitating hangover.
Melusina was alone in the diner, eating eggs, grits, and crappy sausage.
I got a tall glass of grapefruit juice and coffee. I wasn't hungry.
"Do you want me to leave," she asked, flatly, not looking up.
"No," I said. "I missed you. Look, I mean what I said. I mean, I
don't care what you do when I'm at work or whatever. I just don't want to
hurt you. I missed you. I like being around you. I love you, Melusina. I
love watching you dance and I love cooking for you and watching you and
listening to you think. I guess I just need to be alone more. If you
wanna run around, it's okay. You're a lot younger than I am. It's
experimenting, maybe. Maybe it's being a slut, maybe you want to be a
slut. It doesn't bother me."
"But sometimes I want you to hurt me." Her eyes were the color of
aquamarine. She really had very disturbing eyes.
"Sometimes I wanna hurt you. I did last night. But if I do that, I
don't know if we'll ever... if we'll ever get back to how it was... you
liked being... tender, didn't you?"
"Uh-huh." She started to cry.
I got on her side of the booth and we hugged.
Carla brought the check and poured me more coffee. Melusina kissed me,
still crying, and ran off to Wagner's Furniture Showroom.
III
It was then that we started to torture each other. We would have
breakfast at the diner, Melusina would go off to work, I would read at the
library or hang out drinking coffee or take long walks until it was time to
sell cemetery plots by phone. That brought sunset, and when I would get
home the sounds of brutal fucking emanated from the sordid room, or
Melusina would be gone and there would be a pair of semen-soaked panties on
the bed, or used condoms, or, once, a sheaf of polaroids that showed her
refined, intelligent face covered with come.
She would come home late, filthy and shagged out, and I would eat her
while she begged me to hurt her. Then we would cuddle and sleep.
We hardly talked anymore. If I heard sounds in the room when I got
back, I'd return to the library or go to Bruno's.
I kept hoping she would decide to leave, but it was clear after a while
that she wasn't planning on it. I was a sort of substitute father who
wouldn't screw her in the ass.
A few days before we took the fateful trip to Kingsport, I got out of
work quite happy, having sold a hideously expensive shelf in Memory Acres
Mausoleum to a fiftyish spinster, went home and forgot to listen at the
door.
A sweaty man in a shirt and tie but naked below the waist was pissing in
her mouth on the patch of linoleum in the kitchenette. My rolling pin was
stuffed halfway up her ass, and Melusina was smeared with shit. The man
gave a yelp, grabbed his pants and ran out past me like a frightened
racoon.
"Pull it out of me... please... help me..." There was an awful popping
sound when I pulled out the lubricated rolling pin. Her anus didn't close,
and she was obviously in terrible pain. "Look at what he did to me... oh,
God... take care of me..." Her hair was wet with urine and her face was
covered with feces.
We didn't have a washroom; there was a bathroom down the hall. I
carried her there, getting shit on my clothes, turned on the water, took
off my shirt, and put her in the tub.
I was horribly aroused. I stroked her filthy cheek and put my thumb in
her mouth. She sucked it as if it was a cock about to come. I didn't stop
her when she undid my pants, and in a very few seconds my cock was in her
warm, defiled mouth for the first time.
"Mmhhh... mmhhh, mmhhhh..." She sucked me deep, then licked down the
shaft to my balls. "Oh... oh god yeah... fuck my mouth... baby... fuck
my slutty mouth..."
She was coming. Her fingers fluttered at her snatch, and every few
minutes she would pause, shiver, and wet her hand, sighing.
I grabbed her head and thrust into the wetness of her mouth. When she
gagged, I pushed her into the tub, climbed in, flipped her over, grabbed
her hair and shoved my cock into her open ass. "Uhhh... ummmnnn.... oh,
John... oh, John... oh, God... oh God yeah... give it to me..."
I grabbed her hips and slam-fucked the loose hole, then pulled out and
jammed my cock into her slick pussy, holding her trembling body. She
looked back at me over her shoulder, gasping and whimpering. I spat on my
fingers and forced them into her anus, buried my dick in her tight cunt,
pushed my entire hand into her shithole and came, hard, screaming as a
year's worth of sperm gushed into her womb.
I pulled my cock out but dug my hand deeper into her rectum, grasped
some shit and yanked it out, grabbing her hair and pushing my fingers into
her mouth.
"Eat it, you whore... you dirty little whore..." She licked and sucked
my fingers, her eyes dilated as if she was on acid. "Play with yourself,
you slut. Play with yourself while I piss in your filthy mouth."
She rubbed her pussy frantically and opened her mouth wide. I let loose
a stream of urine, splashing the back of her throat. She swallowed and
choked. I sprayed her face and her hard little tits, slapping her face.
"Slut! Slut! Make yourself come, you slut!" I grabbed her by the ears and
fucked her mouth, took hold of her hair, shoved my shaft into her tight
throat and came again.
Then I collapsed and burst into tears. She hugged me. "Oh, baby...
oh, baby, shhhh... I've never come like that, John... I've been wanting
you to do that for so long... oh, John..."
We lay together in the tub for a very long time, speechless, then
washed, dried ourselves and crawled off to bed. We fell asleep with her
hand around my penis.
IV
I avoided her for the next two days, and she must have understood,
because she didn't try to touch me or ask me to touch her.
On Saturday we breakfasted and set out for Kingsport.
There was little traffic and by mid-afternoon we were skirting the
southern foothills. We pulled into a truck stop for coffee and a snack.
Everybody stared, and it crossed my mind for the first time in many
months that she was underage and I could get into serious trouble.
Melusina looked younger than her age when she wasn't screwing -- people
mistook her for thirteen or fourteen. In our hometown it hadn't mattered
-- the kinds of people who complained about that sort of thing hardly ever
ventured past Harvest Street, and folks like Terry or Carla either didn't
care or figured it was better for someone like Melusina to be with me
instead of on Water Street with the winos.
She was wearing slutty clothes, too -- a chartreuse halter top, the torn
cut-offs I had met her in, and two-inch heels. We slugged down our
coffees, left most of our fries, and went to the convenience store. I
bought her a bunch of make-up and waited while she went into the restroom
to transform herself. It helped a little.
Another hour down the road found us in a shopping mall. I bought her a
couple of dresses, a plain black linen one and a somewhat sexy
spaghetti-strap dark blue one out of some unidentifiable synthetic. The
blue dress worked with the make-up and allayed the suspicions of concerned,
upstanding citizens.
I drove for a time. It felt good to be behind the wheel again. Just
after dusk we reached the coast and turned north, toward the mountains.
"How's your butthole? Is it okay?" I asked.
"Horny," she said.
I put my hand on her thigh. I felt good again, for the first time in a
long time. There's nothing like travel to fix me up, perk, make me keen.
We were about three or four hours from Kingsport and the highway had
veered inland. I was getting sleepy and was on the lookout for a cheap
motel when we entered the valley. It was too dark to see anything, but I
felt a presence all of a sudden. The hand of fate, somehow.
FARMINGTON NEXT EXIT
I took the ramp. As soon as we were off the highway the full delight of
being away washed over me.
Farmington turned out to be two gas stations, two bars, a clapboard
church turned into a liquor store, three actual churches, three schools, a
few insurance agencies, realtors, lawyers, farm equipment dealerships,
antique shops, a deli, a supermarket, a convenience store that closed at
midnight, the Oriental Spa, a trailer park, ten or fifteen residential
streets, a dilapidated town hall, a restored forties' diner, a cute little
library, and the Mountain Top Motor Hotel.
The manager or owner was Indian or Pakistani. He wore a wine-red
polyester jacket with a name tag that said D. Patel. I showed him my
passport, since I didn't have a license and didn't want him to see the
birth date on Melusina's. I filled out the registration card and paid him
thirty-two dollars and sixty cents, got the key to Room 42 and bid him
goodnight.
There was an empty, dirty pool surrounded by a chain-link fence, some
nice elms and a catalpa, a very loud ice machine and a soft drink machine.
Room 42 had a king size bed, a broken t.v., a low-watt lightbulb in a
pinkish fixture dark with dead flies, a bathroom with silverfish and
sanitized glasses (getting harder to find real glass), a Gideons' Bible
with some pages torn out and the word FUCK in lipstick on the second page
of Genesis, a throwaway newsprint "magazine" called WHAT'S UP IN DOWNS
VALLEY, a phone book, and the strong smell of mothballs. I opened the
window and tried to turn on the ventilation, but it didn't work.
Thirty-two dollars and sixty cents.
"You know... Melusina..."
She sat on the bed and slipped a strap from her shoulder. It hurt me to
look at her. I had been so in love with that body, with the iridescent
soul that flooded her eyes when she performed a little act, lifting a fork
with a smidgen of pale yellow egg, turning the pages of a book. Now that I
had hurt her, I felt that I was the scum who invaded her, the insensate,
evil stalk of the world-flower tearing through her to emerge above her high
forehead, at the crown of her head, the sahasrarachakra in a pulpit of
death.
She stroked her nipples for show, looking at me, her lips parted.
"In eleven days we'll have been living together for a whole year."
"Last winter was cold," she said, taking off the dress.
Melusina had the most beautiful cunnus I have ever seen, the color of a
stylized flame. Whenever I saw it there were glimmering droplets of desire
in it.
"I don't feel like I even know you."
She lay back on the rough, puce fabric of the bedspread, spread her legs
and stroked her pale feet. "Did you know that people used to think that if
you were really beautiful, it meant you had a beautiful soul."
The word "soul" sounded like a soul when she said it.
"You have feet like a classical statue," I said.
Watching her touch herself was upsetting -- like seeing a statue of
Aphrodite come to life. I watched her run her long middle finger along her
glistening slit and felt my arousal change me, creeping from the back of my
head and the pit of my stomach into my erect member.
"Make love to me," she whispered. I undressed and knelt at the edge of
the bed, kissing her exquisite, soft feet and watching her masturbate.
After some time she drew her legs up, exposing her closed anus. It was
encrusted with dried blood. "Make love to my butthole, John... please..."
I was in a kind of trance. I kissed her flawless, muscular buttocks,
then licked her asshole, fervently. Melusina fingered her clitoris and
came, pushing my head away. "John... John, John, John... fuck me slow...
I need you inside of me..."
I stood and bent over her, rubbing my glans along the wet slit. "Oh...
yes... touch it to my butthole, John... please... put it in my wet
little butthole..."
I rubbed my cockhead against her bloody, beautiful anus. She moaned,
her eyes like the water of an alpine lake under her newly shadowed eyelids,
and spread her cheeks.
"Uhhhh... oh... darling... put it in... put it in and make me come,
John... oh..."
I ran my cock along her slit again, rubbing the head on her clit.
"No... John... in my asshole... I need it in my asshole... I need your
cock in my tight, filthy asshole..."
She licked the fingers of her left hand, then slid two into the wounded
hole.
I took her hand away and stood, pulling her up and caressing her head,
offering my cock to her dark mouth. She licked the head and fondled my
balls, looking up at me, then closed her eyes and sucked me while I
fingered her shoulders and erect nipples.
On the verge of coming in her mouth, I lifted her to her feet and kissed
her, feeling her piano fingers on my back and tasting my penis in her
mouth. She ran her hands along my cock, the head against her lower belly,
and tongued my mouth. "Mmmm... John... do I suck you good? Am I a good
little cocksucker?"
I stroked her snatch. "You're so hard..." I was almost coming in her
hands. "You're so hard from my dirty little mouth." She climbed backwards
onto the bed and pulled me toward her.
I climbed on top of her and licked her throat and the hard brown nipples
on her small, firm breasts. She grasped my cock and put the head against
her bloody anal opening.
"Hmm-hmmm... hmm-hmmm... mhhh..." I pushed the head into her anus and
withdrew. "Mmhh... mmhhh... aah..." Again. Again. Again again. She
rubbed her clit and stared at me, her eyes like a little girl's at a
fireworks display.
I withdrew and licked the opened hole, drooling into it, then lapped at
her snatch again, drinking her fragrant juices. "Oh... uhhh... John...
please... fuck my ass..."
I slid my cock into her snatch. "Uh... uh-uh... John... no... no...
please... please in my ass.." I fucked her cunt slowly and deeply, feeling
her soft legs wrap around me, squeezing her nipples. "John... no... I'm
a whore... please... please..."
She wriggled out from under me and writhed on her side, shoving four dry
fingers into her bleeding back hole. "God I want your cock in it...
John... fuck my tight little teeny whore-hole... fuck it..."
I licked her there again, spitting on her long fingers as she tortured
the opening, then grabbed her hand away and shoved my dick into her rectum.
She was dry as bone. "Ungh... ungh... yeah... harder... fuck it...
ungh..." When I pulled out a little she stuffed two fingers in next to my
cock, grunting.
"Yeah... Melusina... open it... open it for me..." I withdrew my dick
and she jammed four fingers back in. I forced my cock in with them and
slammed into her again and again, scratching myself a little on her
fingernails. She was white as a sheet. I rammed into her forcefully,
rhythmically, groping her cunt, and came, screaming her name.
I pulled out and Melusina pushed her entire hand into the orifice.
"Yessss... John... oh... spread me open... hurts so good... it hurts
so good, darling..." She pulled the hand out, covered with my semen and her
shit, and sucked the fingers, then stuffed it back into the gaping hole.
"I wish I could get it deeper, John... do it for me, John... put your
hand in me... put your hand in as far as it'll go... stick your big,
strong hand inside me..."
She withdrew the hand again, wiggled like a newt, and splurted a clump
of soft, yellowish shit. Her face contorted and she started to sob.
"Ehhuh... daddy... ehhuh... I'm sorry... ehhuh... ennhuh... I
messed... ehhuh... I messed the bed... oh..." Crying, she picked up the
shit and staggered to the bathroom.
I wanted a drink really badly. I lay on the bed, suspended in a fog of
despair and orgasm.
"Daaaaaady! Daddy! Help me!" Her voice curdled my blood.
I ran to the bathroom, my heart beating like a rabbit's. She was
crouched over the toilet, peeing on the floor, her mouth smeared with the
shit, a toilet plunger stuck halfway up her rectum. "Please... help me...
stick it in me... please... I'm coming... stick it all the way in me...
dada... please..."
Melusina crawled epileptically sideways and around into the nook next to
the toilet until the protruding plunger hit the wall. Screaming, she
gripped the rim of the toilet and impaled herself on the handle, going
limp, falling silent, falling forward, gone.
I dragged her from the nook and pulled out the toilet plunger. Blood
gushed from her anus.
I carried her to the bed and called the front desk for an ambulance.
There was no emotion in Mr. D. Patel's high voice.
I looked at her unconscious, bleeding, underage body and the waste
smeared on her chin, grabbed my bag, got in the car and sped downriver
towards Kingsport. I was scared shitless. The motel man had my passport
number, the plates and make of the car, my name, and our address back home.
I decided that I would get into the city, ditch the car, and get a
Greyhound out. There were about a thousand dollars divided up between my
pockets and the bag, and really I owned nothing else. A grand is enough to
start a new life.
Calling Kingsport a city is something of an overstatement. For some
time it was quite prosperous from fishing and making fish patties, a
foundry, not too distant quarries, manufacturing various cement things
(fenceposts, utility poles), and a few other industries that were now
dying. The tourists never came -- there was a plethora of aesthetic
pleasures, architecture, a fishing museum, etc. -- but the overall
reputation and impression was of a decaying, rusty, working class town that
was in permanent decline.
You can always convince yourself of the decline of such a place by
measuring the sullen alcoholics, drudges and twisted youths in the shabby
bars. Kingsport's nightlife looked lurid, incessant, cheesily decadent.
The thought of liquor made me switch to Plan B -- ditch the car, get a
room, get drunk and take a Greyhound in the morning; there probably weren't
any buses this late anyhow. I found a street with a couple of
tawdry-looking dance clubs, a series of rough-looking saloons, a stripper
bar very creatively christened the Mermaid Lounge and two really dreary
hotels-slash-transient-hotels.
The Cavalier had a steep staircase and a little window of bulletproof
glass. A creepy guy with a toupee. Rooms were twenty-five bucks a night
and no space heaters or hot plates allowed. I forked over the money and my
passport.
"Got I.D.?"
"I don't drive... it's a passport."
"I need a license or a state I.D."
He shoved my money and passport back through the swivel-tray and stalked
off into the depths of the Cavalier.
I spent the next hours in a kind of mental and emotional betweenness.
Sleet fell diagonally in the mercury vapor light. I passed a couple of
raunchy-looking hookers and went into the Carfax Arms.
This place had an actual lobby. Very high ceilings, a chandelier that
was falling apart, threadbare carpet and a couple of sofas permanently
occupied by a group of old people watching the news on a barely functioning
console television. A friendly young Portuguese man behind a counter with
plastic roses and a sign: NO CREDIT.
"Do you have any rooms?"
"Week or month?"
"Just for tonight."
"A week is a hundred ten dollars. We don't do no one night. Costs
money to wash the sheets."
"Okay... I don't have a driver's license. Is a passport okay?"
"No problem, man."
I paid and went up to the room. It was in some ways more pleasant than
the motel had been, or at least had more character. Faded wallpaper with
water lilies, lilypads. A big old desk with no handles on the drawers. An
iron bed with a bedspread the color of bloody puke. Above the bed was a
reproduction of Duchamp's "Nude Descending a Staircase." There was even a
bathroom with big, dirty, claw-foot tub.
I hid most of my money under the mattress -- lame, but better than
nothing -- and climbed down the worn wooden stairs. The Portuguese guy
nodded and smiled.
I was starting to feel better. The proximity of drink, probably.
The sleet was turning to snow.
"Goin' out?" The hooker was a truly hideous specimen, instant disease. I
gave a polite "no" and walked into the first bar I came to. I was too deep
inside it before I realized that it was the strip joint. I have an
irrational fear of walking out of a place once I'm in.
No one was stripping. There were only four customers, a biker type and
three dejected dopes who looked like car salesmen, sitting together.
There were two women at the bar, one behind it, a former stripper with
the look of a lush who has not quite lost her beauty, and one on my side,
the stripper, I supposed. She was maybe nineteen, with straight medium
blond hair and heavy mascara. She was pretty, though -- she had a
gymnast's body, and smaller breasts than I expected at a Mermaid Lounge. I
am no fan of tits.
I ordered the bar bourbon. Lush made a friendly face and addressed me
in conspiratorial tones. "They're all the same price, you know. Nine
dollars. Two drink minimum."
"Okay... well, do you have any single batch stuff?"
"Knob Creek."
"Great! Straight up."
She brought me the formidable, fine, sipping whiskey in a goddamned shot
glass. Not only was it a shot, it was one of those glasses that thicken
toward the bottom so that you only get about a thimbleful.
"Could you pour it into a decent glass? This stuff's too good to drink
like this."
The stripper smiled at me as Lush poured the shot into a snifter. The
mellow liquid barely covered the bottom. "Would you like to buy the lady a
drink?" Lush looked at me with crafty, dissolute, myopic eyes.
"Sure," I said. Always buy a lady a drink, even if they do give her
watered down stuff and are trying to take you for everything you've got.
"Hi, I'm Jasmine," the stripper said, sitting down on the stool next to
mine. "You're not from here." She smelled like 4711. It had an odd effect
on me -- I hadn't caught that scent since my sisters and mother.
"I'm John," I answered, not volunteering anything more, thinking about
the paramedics walking into the room, taking Melusina's ravaged body to the
hospital... I suddenly realized that there hadn't been a hospital in
Farmington and Melusina was probably here, maybe a few blocks away, talking
to a cop.
Lush brought Jasmine a thing that looks like a Singapore Sling. Little
paper parasol. Jasmine put a hand on my thigh. Long red fingernails.
I am no fan of fingernails. I took her hand from my thigh. Jasmine
giggled.
"Twenty-two fifty," Lush said. I gave her twenty-five and some change,
knocked back the paltry measure of whiskey and got up.
"Don't you want me to dance?"
"No... no, I have to go." I felt weak-kneed, ruined, embarrassed.
"There's a two-drink minimum," Jasmine insisted. Any attractiveness I
had imagined went out of her like air from a balloon trapped in a bare,
thorny tree.
"There hasn't been a show," I said.
"I'll call the police," said Lush.
I felt like I did before I turned eighteen, going into a bar and hoping
they wouldn't card me. They could see it. They could see that I was a
disturbed, fragile person, not on my turf, afraid, discombobulated.
"I did but two drinks. I bought one for her... look, I came in here by
mistake. I'm leaving now."
The biker type laughed at me. Jasmine went over to the dopes' table. I
went out.
It was very late. One of the dance clubs was closing, and a herd of
punked out young girls and self-consciously tough boys spilled out the
doors into the wet, intermittent snow.
I walked slowly up to an all-night newsstand to buy a pack of
cigarettes.
OUT OF TOWN PAPERS SUNDRIES MAGAZINES
After the Knob Creek I wanted something good, and was momentarily
delighted to see Player's Navy Cut.
O Hero, o crepuscular hero, god of the lungs, sea-cat. Any delight
fizzled and died. Jasmine had made me remember what it was like to be
without a woman, even if it turned out to be only between women, to hang
out in bars eyeing strangers, maybe even talking to them, maybe unable to
seduce them even then, too disgusted by them, disgusted with the world,
with the desperate falsetto gaminess of the words we use to get to know
each other, with my own benevolent and malevolent manipulations.
I'm a loner, I said to myself. I'm a loner and I'm alone again.
Another bar just past the newsstand, and it looked like it was still
open.
JOE'S TAP
There was a sudden gust of icy wind and suddenly the snow came down
thickly in huge, soft, heavy flakes. It wasn't sticking yet, not even to
the scraggly grass. I remembered learning in grammar school that no two
snowflakes are exactly alike.
Oh yes they are. They are alike, they fall and interlock and drift and
make the city quiet for a while, quiet and pure.
Snow-white Melusina was in the hospital, her guts torn, playing with the
bed, raising the foot, lowering the head, raising the head, lowering both,
while men in dark blue jackets with shiny stars and crackling radios and
wagging nightsticks and big, fat guns stood with the men in white coats,
their faces concerned, compassionate, sparkling with intelligence.
I walked into Joe's Tap. Seven senior citizens, men, half-men, sipping
from brimming glasses of whatever and ice, hypnotized by a weird column
full of incandescent water and a team of plastic Clydesdales , a bartender
like Methuselah and a clock with a pink neon aureole.
"How ya doin'?" Methuselah's voice had a slight Scottish brogue and
sounded like a miniature factory chimney. I stared at the Clydesdales and
asked for a double of the best whiskey.
"Laphroiag?"
"Yeah! How much you charge for it?"
"Four dollars and fifty cents."
"A double."
"On the rocks?"
"No... no... straight."
"That's how I drink it."
He even warmed the glass, and served a remarkably generous portion. I
gave him a ten and told him to keep the change, sniffing the peaty, potent
bouquet of the slightly greenish liquor.
I sipped it and was slowly returned to serenity, listening to the gab of
the geezers. Is it any wonder we worship a maiden when we are surrounded
by dying, dissatisfied, bitter, beefy men who run the world like a bottle
from which the genie has fled, working with their hollow wives.
When the glorious Laphroaig was gone, I ordered another. Methuselah
poured with even more enthusiasm, and a drop for himself.
"Are you Joe," I asked, clinking glasses. "I'm John."
"Naw, Joe died. I'm Bill MacGregor. Don't meet too many people who
like this stuff."
The seven senior citizens talked about the weather. The snow had turned
into a blizzard, beautiful in the bluish glare of the streetlamp, and
passing cars hardly made a noise.
I downed a third glass of the sublime stuff when Methuselah croaked
"last call for alcohol" and walked out into fairyland, the hookers huddling
in doorways, the neon going out at the last club, clusters of punkettes and
skinheads dawdling in front of them, the seedy world shimmering with snow.
I felt like snow falling on a bog in the highlands, I did. The day had
gone into the meat grinder - Melusina was gone, I was going nowhere, I
didn't want anything except sleep.
Just as I reached the door of my sleazy hotel, the sylph stepped in
front of me. She looked like something out of an expressionist movie -- a
perverse little somnambulist. Her anemic, enigmatic face, framed with
short black hair, had a greenish tint, unless it was the light or the
whiskey. She had on black lipstick and was dressed in a short coat of dark
fur and short boots. Her legs were bare, pallid and skinny. Her shoulders
were decorated with branches and she wore a rubber snake around her neck.
"Could I have a cigarette? Please?" I could see the flash of her braces
when she spoke in a plaintive, little-girl voice.
I gave her a Navy Cut and lit it for her. Both of us were trembling.
She looked at me as I lit it for her, the flame reflecting in her inky,
precocious eyes.
"Thanks," she said, holding the cigarette like a joint. "Where ya
going?"
"Um... I don't know..."
"Do you want company?" I gasped as I felt her childish hand on my
crotch. "Do you want a blow job?" Her whisper was tremulous, scared.
"Uh... no... sorry..." I pushed her gently away.
She smoked awkwardly and stared at the ground. "What's your name," I
asked, stamping my feet to get the snow off.
"Raven," she answered, watching me again.
"I'm John," I said.
"You wanna get some food? I'm starving."
"Where at?"
"There's a diner around the corner... okay?"
She took me by the hand and we walked through the sordid winter
wonderland, turned the corner, and went a few blocks. The streets were
deserted.
I saw the big well-lit old building long before I read the sign.
KINGSPORT COUNTY HOSPITAL
Fear seeped through my body. Here I was, almost in bed with a
baby-faced hooker, while the girl who considered me her man probably looked
out the window through her tears, at the snow and the diminutive figure
walking next to her departed lover's slouched, parka-clad form.
The diner was across the street, a clapboard building with small, greasy
windows and a sign that said COZY KITCHEN with a picture of a coffee cup
and a pan with two eggs sunny side up.
The joint was packed with drunks trying to sober up, a few
normal-looking people who looked like they were coming from a party, and
kids from the dance clubs.
We waited for a booth and were finally led to the corner by a gigantic
woman with a bouffant and chartreuse eyeshadow. MARGIE, her name tag said.
I was brutally nervous, lighting cigarette after cigarette while Margie
brought tasteless coffee, water redolent of chlorine, and dirty silverware
to our table.
Raven looked about twelve years old, and her face was even more greenish
in the fluorescent light. She took off the fur coat with the branches and
played with her rubber snake. I was a little relieved to see that she had
breasts. She was dressed in only a dark blue velvet vest, a black bra, and
a short, leather skirt. She had a birthmark on her left cheek, a delicate,
upturned nose and large, melancholy eyes.
"Where you from," she asked, taking a cigarette from my pack without
asking.
"Farmington," I lied.
"You are not," she said, matter-of-factly, and waited for me to give her
a light. She touched my hand when I held the lighter for her. Her hands
were small and still trembling.
"How old are you?"
"It's not polite to ask a lady her age," she said, grinning, her braces
glistening.
No one stared at us, and the waitress treated us as if it was not
unusual for middle-aged men to have breakfast with slutty twelve-year-olds
at three in the morning.
We ate -- eggs, inspired by the sign, with home fries (frozen) and white
toast. I paid the check and we went out. The hospital gleamed across the
street.
"I'll pay for a taxi if you want," I said, half-heartedly, already
certain that I would sleep with her.
She looked like she would start crying. I put my arms around her and
kissed her. She kissed like a woman, except for the braces. Her hair
smelled like winter.
"Are you staying at the Cavalier or the Carfax Arms?"
"Carfax Arms..."
"Great! Netto will let me in."
I didn't say anything, and we walked hand in hand to the hotel. The
lights were out. I rang the bell and the young Portuguese shuffled to the
door. Netto unlocked it and admitted us to the darkened lobby. An old man
was watching reruns, head lolling.
"This isn't a whorehouse, man." He whirled Raven around, deftly lifted
her coat and skirt and pulled aside her shiny black panties. Her pale,
tiny butt was covered with pimples. "You gonna be nice to Mr. Netto when
you're done, little girl?" He probed her crack. "Shit, don't you wipe
yourself?" He withdrew his fingers. "You better clean yourself good before
you come downstairs, cunt." He slapped her ass and let go of her. "I'd
wear a rubber, man. You never know what this bitch's got."
The room was cold. I took off my parka and she took off her coat. She
looked tense, paralyzed. "You're a pretty girl," I said, kissing her
lightly. "How old are you, really?"
"It's fifty bucks... seventy-five if you wanna fuck me in the ass," she
said, her lips trembling. "And a hundred if you don't wanna use a condom.
Pay me, okay?"
I kissed her hard, picked her up and carried her to the bed. "Don't
worry about it, I'll pay you later." I pulled her boots off. Her feet were
little like her hands, the toenails painted black. I climbed on top of her
and forced my tongue into her mouth.
Her bra was stuffed with cloths. I ripped it off and saw that she had
hardly any tits at all, just tiny swellings with pale, soft, childish
nipples. I licked and sucked them while she undid her dress. I pulled
down her dirty panties and she spread her legs like a mechanical toy,
revealing her peachfuzz cunt.
She smelled bad, and I realized it was because her ass was leaking. I
licked her bitter cunt a little, freeing my dick, flipped her over, and
fucked her loose, slimy pussy.
Raven pretended to like it, faking moans and wiggling her butt. I
pulled out, turned her on her back and climbed on her chest, rubbing my
cock on her tiny titties, reaching back to finger her slimehole.
I squatted above her mouth, making her lick my asshole and pulling on
her pale, soft nipples, then turned around and came all over her face. I
slapped her hard and shoved my fingers into her mouth, then told her to go
wash up and get out.
I listened to her sobbing, heard her turn on the water, extracted a
hundred from under the mattress, and lit a smoke. She emerged from the
bathroom, the lipstick gone, her mouth as pale as her nipples, and got
dressed.
I gave her the hundred and she left without a word. It had stopped
snowing. I threw the end of the Navy Cut out the window, closed it,
crawled between the sheets and cried myself to sleep.
V
By morning I was wondering if I should run or not. The police would be
looking for me back at the rooming house (where our few possessions were
losing our scent, turning into detritus, the inside of a dead addict's
suitcase, stinking emptiness), I figured, and if I could get rid of the
car, no one would find me here.
I tromped through the slush back to the COZY KITCHEN. It was already
lunchtime. The waitress, MILDRED, looked like she'd had a rough night. A
fiery perm and the same chartreuse eyeshadow of our waitress the night
before.
Scrambled eggs and chili. Home fries. Wheat toast. I like breakfast,
I like to have breakfast even in the afternoon -- it makes me feel like the
day is just beginning, hope and chance ahead.
I drank four cups of coffee, devoured the mound of greasy food, and
smoked. I was happy once. It wasn't much different than this. Eggs and
toast, the pleasures of whiskey and flesh. I was thirty-six, but I could
already hear death asking me to dance, an old, slow dance at the Mermaid
Lounge.
The smell of 4711 is precisely that of Goetterdaemmerung. The world is
a flabby female despot with a helmet and horns, counting out our hours on
an abacus.
Mildred brought me the check. "Were you in here last night, with
Raven?"
Her question didn't scare me -- apparently the denizens of Kingsport
thought that twelve-year-old whores were A-OK.
"Yeah, why?"
"She's looking for you... she said there's somebody wants to talk to
you."
"Why didn't she just come to the hotel?"
The eyes under the abominable red perm refocused, hardened. "Maybe she
wants to meet you in a public place. Maybe she's scared of you, honey."
"Well, where can I find her?"
"She said to meet her at the Mermaid when they open."
"When's that?"
"Around four... whenever they get there."
"Okay, thanks."
I drank another cup of coffee, paid, and trudged through the brown slush
to Joe's Tap. Bill got the Laphroaig from the shelf as soon as he saw me
walk in.
Why did she want to see me? Who wanted to meet me? Was the choice of
the Mermaid a coincidence, or was I being watched? My loneliness felt even
worse, under hostile eyes.
I drank two whiskies slowly, thinking about nothing at all, until the
clock rimmed in neon said four-thirty. I thanked Bill and walked over to
the Mermaid Lounge.
I very nearly turned around and ran away. Lush was behind the bar,
wiping glasses. Melusina was wearing the dark blue spaghetti-strap dress I
had bought her, sipping something that steamed, looking at me with her
glassy eyes, dark circles under them. Jasmine was in a g-string, Raven
idly fondling her pert breasts. I could see the gooseflesh. Jasmine had a
snake tattoo that ran from below to her belly button. Raven was wearing
the same leather skirt and velvet vest, and sucked on one of the stripper's
big, dark nipples, giving me a sidelong glance.
"Melusina -- you okay?" It was absurd and echoed weakly in the cavernous
bar.
She started to cry. I put my arms around her. "I... I had to look for
you... I had..."
"I got scared." There was nothing to say. "Come on, let's go."
"There's a two drink minimum," Lush said.
"Fuck you!"
Melusina put on her fake fur and we went out into the squalid, slushy,
darkening street, crossed to the hotel -- Netto gave a gold-toothed grin --
and climbed the worn wooden stairs.
The radiator hissed. I ran a bath and hugged the girl I had betrayed.
Melusina looked older, sadder, cold.
"I'm gonna go get some booze, okay?"
"John... don't leave me..."
"I won't... I wouldn't have. I would have called you," I lied.
Bill MacGregor sold me a bottle of Chivas for thirty bucks -- he wasn't
allowed to do package liquor, and I didn't want to pay for Laphroiag. The
world had started moving again, and I had to think about the future.
Melusina was in the claw-foot tub. It was like seeing her body for the
first time -- her long white neck, piano fingers, dancer's build, little
breasts with sepia nipples... I unwrapped a plastic cup by the sink,
filled it with whiskey, undressed and climbed into the bath with her.
"I'm sorry, Melusina. I know it sounds lame, but I'm sorry. I didn't
think about you."
"You would just... just give up on me?"
"Look, Melusina -- I didn't think you were happy anymore anyhow."
She wasn't crying anymore. "John... I love you. I fucking love you.
It's just... it's just that I want you both ways... I want you to... to
lick me and make love to me and take care of me like you do... but I want
you to hurt me, too. I need you to. I need you to use me like my daddy
did."
"Why?"
"Because I love you, John... I want you to be everything to me."
"Melusina, maybe... maybe you could see a psychiatrist..."
She giggled suddenly, and splashed me. "Fuck you, John... why don't
you see a psychiatrist? Why don't you get therapy for being a drunk
painter who never paints and likes to rape little girls between drinks?"
"You got a point there, princess." I kissed her sweet mouth, receiving
her warm, wet tongue. "What happened? Are you alright?"
"Translation: are the cops after you?" She put her fingers around my
hardening penis. "You put this in that little girl, didn't you? You put
your big daddy-cock in that pretty little whore..."
She bent forward and licked my cockhead, looking up at me with her
weird, sky blue eyes. "I'm okay... they did some stuff to me and told me
to ahem, not engage in anal penetration for some period of time, Miss
Lewis.'" She giggled. " Such behavior can cause severe rectal damage,
especially in... a young woman like yourself.'"
"Did you talk to the cops?"
"They never called them... they didn't even make me show them my I.D.
-- I think they thought I was a hooker."
"How did you find me?"
"Looked in the bars -- I must've just kept missing you. Then this
morning I met Raven. She told me some john had hit her, and I thought,
John!'"
Melusina kissed the head of my cock and stroked it. Her eyes looked
like a cloudless summer sky in Savannah. "Did she suck you good? She said
you came all over her pretty little babyface." Melusina fingered my balls
and sucked the head a little. I caressed her cheek.
"She's only a little older than my sister... she stuffs her bra! You
liked that, didn't you. You'd like to stick your big daddy-dick in my
little sister's poophole, wouldn't you?"
Melusina went down on me and played with herself, moaning quietly, then
kissed my lips and lowered her slick sheath onto my cock, fingering her
clit. I put one hand on her taut ass and slipped two fingers into her
mouth. She rode me slowly, the water splashing out of the tub, clutching
the sides, sucking my fingers, and came, getting even paler than she was.
"Come in me, Johnny," she whispered, reaching back and fondling my
balls. "Come in my pussy." I kneaded her little breasts. "Yeah...
daddy... come in my pussy..."
She started to ride me again. I held her hips and thrust up at her. "I
wanna come... in your mouth... Melusina..."
"Johnny... buttfuck me... buttfuck your little baby..." She lifted
herself off of me and grabbed my cock, but I stood up and pushed her down.
"Suck me, you little whore... suck my cock..."
"Mmm-hmmm... daddy... can I play with my poophole, daddy?" She slid a
long finger into her anus and slurped at my cock. "Jack off on me,
daddy... do me like you did that little baby whore... jack off in my dirty
little mouth..."
I leaned against the wall, almost felling, and jerked my shaft. "Play
with your pussy, Melusina... play with your pretty little pussy..."
"Yes, Daddy... jerk off on me while I finger my fuckhole... come in my
mouth, okay?" Her face was a twisted, eager little girl's. She opened her
mouth and stuck out her long, pink tongue.
I touched a tumescent, sepia nipple with my left hand and came on her
face as she reached between her legs, sliding back down into the tub,
drained.
Melusina used her fingers to clean the come, sucking them. I kissed her
and licked her face. She stroked my cock and moaned. "You're still hard,
daddy... you're still hard for your little girl... do you want to use my
poophole, daddy?"
"No, Melusina, cut it out. Cut it out or else."
She kept jerking my cock and played with her firm, small breasts. "Are
they too big for you, daddy? Did you buttfuck that brat, daddy? Did you
make her take your dick in her dirty little ass?"
I picked her up and carried her dripping to the bed, climbed on top of
her and thrust into her tight, slippery cunt, licking her feet. She
squeezed her titties and looked up at me, her face contorted with desire.
"You'd like to fuck my titless little sister, wouldn't you, Johnny?
You'd like it if I held her legs open while you got daddy-come up her
cunny... oh... ohhh... buttfuck me... please, please buttfuck me..."
I felt her stick her fingers in her ass while I slam-fucked her cunt,
holding her ankles. "I need it in my butt, daddy... I need it in my butt
like a whore..."
I yanked my cock from her pussy and shoved it into the bloody hole next
to her fingers, thrusting deep into her hot, dry anus. She screamed but
dug her fingers deeper, scratching me, and came when I fucked her,
shuddering. I came, too, and a little glob of shit came out of her when I
withdrew. I wiped her with the bedspread.
We crawled under the blankets, caressing each other.
"I love you, Melusina," I said. If I'd ever said it before, I hadn't
meant it.
"The doctor made me suck him... he called me toiletmouth and made me
suck his little dick until he came." She grasped my flaccid penis. "Raven
said he does her, too. Raven said the doctor busted her cherry when she
was ten. He made me feel so dirty, John. He gave me some enema and I
played with my pussy for him. He was really old and kept calling me a
tart.' I begged him to fuck me and you know what he did?" My prick grew
hard again. "He put some kind of stuff on his asshole and asked me to fuck
him. He wiggled his butt like a girl. I stuck my whole hand up his ass.
He smelled like formaldehyde."
"Did you like that, baby?"
"Uh-huh... I frigged my little pussy while he called me a no-good tart'
and a toiletmouth. I frigged my dirty little pussy and came. When I
pooped out the enema, he made me hold my poophole open and peed in me. He
said, that's all you're good for, you little shithole," and stuck something
in my pussy while I played with my butthole."
I fingered Melusina's slit. "The nurse said I was useless scum, daddy.
She said I'd get AIDS and die in the gutter."
I got between her legs and licked her, rimming her scarred, open anus.
"Put your hand in me... I want to feel you deep... John... John I have
to go... oh..."
She gushed watery, stinking shit into my mouth. I bunched my fingers
together and slid my hand into her unlubricated guts. "Oh... yeah... go
all the way in, daddy... put your hand in my tummy..."
I slowly slid my arm into her bowels and licked her snatch. "Oh... oh
God... deeper... aaaaaah! Aaaaargh! Aaaaaah! Oh fuck... fuck me...
Aaaaaa! Use... aaaa... use your fist... oh God..."
I sucked and nibbled at her clit, forced my entire forearm into her and
Melusina came, screaming.
My arm was slick with blood and feces.
She sucked the scum from my hand, whimpering. I licked the loose ring
of her filthy shithole, got up, and went to pour myself some scotch. I had
one player left and smoked it at the window, watching people arrive at the
dance clubs, the scum drying on my arm. There was a big, yellow moon. I
crawled back into bed with Melusina and we both fell asleep, whispering
things I cannot remember.
VI
I dreamt about Farmington. I woke not forgetting exactly what I dreamt
-- Mr. D. Patel, the motel, the eerie feeling of the mountains brooding
in the darkness -- I woke annoyed, disturbed, and rushed to administer the
hair of the dog. My mouth was stale and the whiskey burned. Melusina was
in the tub, her perfectly formed foot up on the rim, playing with herself,
eyes closed. I kissed her toes. "Mmmm... I'm thinking about you and my
sister... did you think she was pretty?"
I climbed into the tub and we washed each other. "We used to take baths
together, when dad wasn't home. Did you like her?" I got out, dried
myself, and had another snort. I toweled Melusina and we dressed.
It was warmer, and the streets were almost dry. It was early morning,
and the Cozy Kitchen was full of people getting coffee or breakfast on
their way to work. Mildred brought us coffee without asking, and we both
ordered breakfast specials over easy with wheat toast and bacon.
We both sat on the same side of the booth. I put my hand on her bare
thigh. "You look so beautiful in that dress, Melusina," I whispered. "I
want to fuck you so much... I want to fuck you more than ever."
She moved my hand to her bare, stubbled cunt. I fingered her slit for a
second, then took my hand away. "Oh... John... oh, John, I love you."
Mildred brought our order and we ate. I drank coffee like crazy. I
couldn't believe we had lived together for a year without getting to know
each other, and I couldn't believe I had ever thought of leaving her.
"Melusina, did you like Farmington?"
"We were only there long enough to wreck my ass, baby."
"I... I just have a feeling about the place. Like I want to live
there. Like we could get a little house or something."
"I'm game, John."
"We... we could start all over."
I hadn't seen Raven and Jasmine come in. They slipped into the booth
opposite us, uninvited. The stripper took off her coat to reveal a
strapless dress the color of cheddar cheese. Raven was in a worn black
leather jacket and her usual. Instead of the rubber snake, she was wearing
a dog collar. They ordered coffee, and the little hooker took off her
boots.
"You remind me of my sister," Melusina said. "How old are you?"
"Thirteen," Raven answered. I felt her foot rub against my leg and
kicked it away.
"You look littler." Melusina clutched the edge of the table and gave a
little cry. "Aeeeh... oh, God."
"Are you okay?"
She was beet red. She leaned towards me and whispered. "I... I pooped
my dress... it just comes out... give me some napkins."
Mildred came by to refill the coffee and smelled it. "Get your
disgusting asses out of here," she snapped. "Don't you ever come in here
while I'm working again."
Melusina tried to clean herself, sobbing and squirming. "Help me...
please..." She lifted her dress and I wiped her butt as best I could,
wetting napkins from the water glass. I got an erection.
We said goodbye to the two revolted girls, put on our coats, paid and
went out. We walked back to the hotel, my arm around her, blood and poop
running down her girlish, dancer's legs.
The old people watching soap operas stared at her, and Netto blocked our
way. "This some sick shit, man," he said. "Where'd you find her?"
He pulled her towards him and lifted her coat and dress, pawed her
perfect, alabaster bottom, and shoved his fingers into her repulsive anus.
An old man applauded and several laughed. Netto stuffed the filthy fingers
into her mouth.
To my horror, she sucked them with mock eagerness and lifted her dress,
exposing her fiery slit framed in her open, fake fur. She was dripping.
He let her go and Melusina slipped off the coat and held the bottom of the
dark blue dress to her taut belly with her left hand, her piano fingers
fluttering at her exposed, milky snatch. It's the color of a tea rose, I
thought, my cock straining against my pants.
"Take your dress off, you sick bitch," Netto growled, taking off his
pants and boxers. His penis was very pretty, slender, the color of cafe au
lait, with a rubeate, glistening, circumcised head, about five inches long
and hard as stone.
Melusina walked towards the old, drooling men and removed the dress,
spinning slowly around and thrusting her firm little butt at the audience,
running a slender hand down the tight, slimy, muddy crack, touching her
leaky, stinking hole with her long fingers.
She wiggled her tight, white ass and scooped a smidgen of waste from the
open shithole, did a little pirouette and posed, cupping one of her little
titties in her clean hand, the swollen, sepia nipple protruding between her
pale fingers. She put the glob of shit in her mouth, moaned, and
swallowed, giggled, and slid the filthy fingers in and out of her mouth.
Netto wandered behind the counter, his prick bobbing, and came back with
a small bottle of Absolut. He poured some into her open mouth and forced
her choking body to the floor.
Melusina whimpered and lifted her ballerina's butt into the air,
stroking her slick slit. She looked really young, the goose pimples on her
soft, arched body, naked except for her black rubber boots.
Netto showered her trembling ass with vodka. She screamed as the
alcohol stung her wounded anus. The Portuguese shoved his thumb into her
cunt, lifted her and jammed the neck of the bottle into her bleeding
shithole. She screamed as if she was being slaughtered as the vodka
glub-glubbed into her traumatized rectum.
"Shut up, bitch," Netto roared. "I show you how to dance." He lifted
her to her feet, grabbed her throat and rammed his prick into her bowels.
"You like that, cunt?"
"Aaaaaaaaaargh... aaaaaaargh! Yeeeeeeeeeeees! Yeeeeeeeeees!"
She bucked back against him, screaming, until he tightened his grip on
her throat. The old man who had been applauding got up and shambled
towards her, waving a shriveled, half hard cock.
Netto grasped her narrow hips and slam-fucked her shithole as the old
man took hold of her head and stuffed his failing penis into her mouth.
Netto grunted, came in her ass and dropped her, her knees thudding on the
floor.
Panting, she rubbed her tiny titties against the old guy's limp dick.
"Get... hard... for... me... get... hard... for... me..."
The old man grabbed her hair and urinated into her open mouth, the piss
running down her pale, shivering body. "Drink it," he wheezed. "Drink it,
you slut."
Melusina swallowed his rank pee, her fingers flickering frantically at
her bare slit. "Lick it up, slut. Lick it all up."
She slithered on the dirty floor lapping up urine, dredging her foul
hole with her slender, pissy fingers. She found the empty bottle, turned
on her side and stuck the neck into her rectum. The old man started to
jerk off.
Melusina popped the bottle out and sucked the neck like a dick, drooling
and staring at the man like a craven whore, stroking her bare pussy. She
writhed on her back in the puddle of urine, her pale legs and cute black
boots waving in the air.
"Fuck my pussy, mister. Fuck my little pussy."
Netto trickled piss into her mouth, lifting her legs. Melusina held the
bottle by the neck and stuffed it into her cavernous little bottom.
The old man knelt between her raised legs, choking the chicken, and
pushed the bottle into her wrecked chute. Gasping, Melusina clawed at her
cunt and came, flopping on the wet floor.
Dead semen dribbled from the old guy's dick and he pulled out the
bottle. A clump of wet shit splurted out after it.
"Hhhh... ehhhehh... heeehhh... ohhh..." She went incoherent.
Netto relieved himself, splattering her doomed body with piss. "No...
nooooo... no..."
He stepped out of my way. I covered her with the dress and carried her
polluted body upstairs. I took off her boots, put her in the tub and
adjusted the water, took a swig of Chivas and craved a smoke.
"It... hurts... it... hurts... hospital," she bawled, shuddering.
The bathwater turned maroon. "Get me to the hospital..."
I washed her, dried her, dressed her in the cleanest dingy white
underwear I could find in her suitcase, put on the other dress we had
bought, charcoal linen. I kissed her feet, slipped on her scuffed black
pumps, and carried her downstairs.
The old men and Netto were sitting around the T.V., drinking vodka and
sniggering. "Hey shitface, I gotta take a leak," one of them yelled.
It was getting colder, overcast, and smelled like the dead of winter.
It was the dead of winter. Everybody gave us dirty looks as I carried her
to the hospital.
"What was the name of your doctor?"
"Ff... foster," she sobbed.
I didn't go to emergency. The pretty, stern young nurse at Admissions
asked us for proof of insurance. I told her to call Dr. Foster.
We sat in the waiting room, soaking up the hospital smell. I held
Melusina in my lap. A fat couple with a scrawny, sick child glared at us.
Dr. Foster emerged after maybe half an hour. He looked too old to
drive, let alone practice medicine. He recognized his patient and a look
of canny fear spread across his bulbous face. He had a slim, rickety body
and a huge bald head.
"Miss... Miss Lewis. And you must be Mr. Lewis," he said, extending
his hand.
"Listen," I said, staring him down. "She got in trouble... we don't
have I.D."
Dr. Foster looked perplexed. "I'm sorry, I..."
"Look, shut up and do something or I'll tell these people over here what
you do to little girls," I hissed.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," he said, growing pale.
"Of course, let's take care of Miss Lewis."
He stalked off and two nurses came for her with a gurney. I kissed her
on the forehead and said I'd call in a couple of hours. She gave me a weak
smile and they wheeled her off.
VII
I drove up to Farmington. It was snowing up there, and the mountain air
was exhilerating. I stopped for cigarettes and bought a pint of cheap
brandy as an afterthought. I smoked the Chesterfields and sipped from the
bottle, driving carefully in the blinding snow.
The town looked different by day, even obscured by the storm. When we'd
sleepily driven in and I tore out of there, I hadn't see the mansions.
They were all on a road above the gorge of the river. At the very end of
the road was a delightful, rocky little park with a stone gazebo. I parked
the car, trudged through the snow and sat in it, quaffing the brandy and
smoking, looking at the snow in the pine-covered, haunting mountains.
I got quite a buzz and shuffled back to the car. I drove to the little
library, skidded into the parking lot, and went in.
There was no one there except a nervous young woman who looked like she
was still in high school. She had a fair face and long, straight,
yellow-blond hair. She wore a frilly white blouse and horn-rimmed glasses
that magnified her light gray eyes, but her mouth was outlandishly sensual.
"H-hi," she said, looking scared. "May I help you?" Her voice sounded
like sap trickling down a birch tree. A cameo hung between her upturned,
succulent breasts and I could see her hard pink nipples through the blouse.
Her hands were thin but oddly large, manicured, her nails short and
unpolished. She fiddled with a red ball point and I noticed that her
fingers were wet.
I smiled. "Lonely in here, huh?"
She blushed crimson and shifted in her chair, looking down.
"Is there a local paper or anything?"
"Y-yes," she stammered. "The Gazette... it's... it's over there." She
nodded to the end of the counter, avoiding my eyes. "Excuse me..." She got
up unsteadily and walked awkwardly into the office, shutting the door
behind her.
I thumbed through the last couple issues of the Downs Valley Gazette.
There weren't too many apartments listed, and almost no jobs. The rents
were very low, though -- a one-bedroom ran about two hundred a month.
The embarassed young woman came out of the office. She had put on a bra
and tied her hair back. I looked down at her white stockings. She wasn't
wearing shoes, and I could see that her feet were narrow and long, out of
proportion even if she was tall. She looked down and blushed again.
"I... I... my shoes hurt," she said.
"What's your name? I'm John."
"F... Freya." She gripped the back of the chair and stood behind it,
trembling.
"Are you from around here?"
Her knuckles were white and she looked like she was going to wet
herself. "Y-y-yes..."
"I'm thinking of moving here... do you know if there are any jobs here
at all?"
"They... sometimes the... sometimes at the diner, or... what kind of
work?"
"I'm a painter," I said. "I'm a painter, but I do other things to
support myself."
"That's... that's neat... you could talk to Mrs. Walters... at the
art center."
I was very aroused by this weird, vulnerable girl. "Listen, Freya, you
look like you could use a little brandy -- I've got some in my car."
"N-no... no, thanks."
"Okay. Where do I find Mrs. Walters?"
"At town hall."
"Thanks a lot!" I turned and walked toward the doors.
"W-wait..." She looked perverse, wringing her hands and standing with
her toes pointed inward. "Maybe some brandy..."
I smiled and went to fetch it. When I got back into the library she had
composed herself, gotten two plastic cups, and sat nervously at a
book-strewn table in the office. She took off her glasses.
The office was ever so slightly scented with her secretions. I poured
the brandy and raised my glass. "Sante," I said.
She sipped a little and coughed. "Strong..."
"You smell good, Freya," I whispered. "Between your legs."
She swallowed the rest of the brandy with bleak determination and
straightened her navy blue skirt, staring at me, her wanton gray eyes full
of fear and shame.
"I'm... only seventeen, I..." She cringed, crossed her legs, uncrossed
them. "Do you want to kiss me?"
I walked over to her. She closed her eyes and parted her lips. Her
breath was thick with brandy. I kissed her deeply and gently touched her
breasts. They were the size of pears.
"Do you want me to kiss you between your legs?"
She moaned, lifted her skirt, and draped her legs across the arms of the
chair. She wore a light blue silk garter belt. Her sheer panties were
soaked. I kissed her inner thighs and pulled the panties aside. Her twat
was the color of the inside of a conch, covered with silken, golden hair.
She jumped when I touched my lips to her ruby clitoris. "Are you a
virgin, baby?"
"Yeah... I... someone could come in..."
She tasted fresh, astringent. I licked her slit and probed her wet hole
with my tongue, teasing her tight, pink anus with my little finger.
"Take off your blouse, Freya."
"Someone... someone could come in..." She slipped off the blouse and
removed her bra with trembling fingers. Her puffy nipples were the color
of unripe watermelon. I tongued them and put her hand between her legs.
She played with herself, moaning.
I sucked her titties and penetrated her bunghole with my wet little
finger. "Waaaaaa... waaaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaahhhh..." I wiggled my pinkie
in the tight little hole as Freya brought herself off, shaking.
She fixed her drenched panties, pulled down her skirt, and put her
blouse back on, forgetting the bra. She looked humiliated, ashamed.
"Would you... I want you to go away," she said, looking at me
spitefully.
"I'm sorry," I said. Lame. It was late afternoon. Wintry light
filtered into the blank fluorescence of the library. The smell of books
mingled with her virginal juices.
It was too late to go see Mrs. Walters. I walked out of the office and
examined the shelf that said "new books."
"Don't forget your brandy," she said in a quiet, miserable voice,
putting the bottle on the counter.
"Don't you want another?"
"N-no. I... I'm sorry..." She burst into tears. I went behind the
counter, removed her glasses and took her in my arms, and kissed her
eyelids.
"Shhhhh. Shhhhh, baby... I didn't mean..."
"I hate it here! I mean... I like the library... but..."
Our lips met and she slipped her tongue into my mouth. I kneaded her
opulent butt, then slipped my hand into her blouse, sucking her tongue and
fondling a succulent breast. I kissed her soft throat.
"Mmmm... yes..." I squeezed the pear-shaped titty. "Oh... you make me
feel like a tramp," she whispered. "You make me feel like a lousy tramp."
"Does that turn you on, baby?"
"Y-yes... yes... yes... touch me down there... please... frig
me..." I mauled her little breast, slipped my hand under her skirt, pulled
the panties aside and masturbated her.
"You horny little slut," I whispered into her ear. "You play with
yourself all the time, don't you?"
"Yeeesss... I do.. yes... make me come..."
"Play with your titties, Freya..." She tore open her blouse and pulled
on her engorged nipples, throwing her head back and moaning. She looked
radiant, wanton, free.
The door swung open, met with the tinkle of a little bell, and Freya
jerked like an electrocuted turkey, trying to cover herself.
It was a petite, proper woman with gray hair and wire-rimmed bifocals,
her dark coat and little ochre hat dusted with snow.
I felt warm pee squirt against my palm. Freya was stammering
incoherently. "Uh I... I... uh I... no..." Her hands were shaking so
hard she couldn't button her blouse.
The woman rushed behind the counter like a harpy. "You... you filthy
tramp! This is what you do when I'm not here? I've been watching you,
you... you little harlot. You think I don't know what you do in the
bathroom all day? And this? Get out of my library, you despicable
pervert... I'm calling the police..."
"Fuck you, bitch," Freya screamed. It sounded so odd coming out of her.
"Fuck yourself with a broken bottle. If you say one word I'll tell on your
fucking husband."
The woman was scarlet with fury. She lunged at the girl, but Freya
leapt out of the way, transformed by hatred, and knocked the old librarian
down. "I'll kill you... I'll fucking kill you..." She kicked the
screaming woman.
I pulled her away. "Come on... cool it... let's go..."
Freya froze, looked at me, looked at the breathless, crumpled old woman,
and burst into laughter. "I... okay... yes... let's..."
She grabbed her coat, put on a pair of patent leather shoes, got her
purse and glasses and spat loudly at the librarian. "I mean it, you bitch.
If you tell anybody I'll turn your husband in."
I snatched the rest of the brandy and ushered her out. It was snowing
steadily. I opened the door for her and she stepped gracefully into the
car, smiling.
I got behind the wheel and warmed up the engine. She untied her hair
and shook her head. She looked willful, lusty, grown up.
"Where are we going?"
I sighed. "Freya... I... I'm involved with somebody."
She wilted. Her lower lip trembled. I touched her cheek. "Listen,
she... she might like you... I..."
The girl snarled and scratched me like a lynx. "You... fuck...
you..." I grabbed her wrists. She spat a big wad of saliva in my face.
I pushed her against the door, lifted her skirt, and shoved two fingers
into her pissy hole, stretching her hymen. She kicked and screamed.
I pulled out the fingers and slapped her shapely ass. She looked
confused, horny, defiant. I put the car in gear and backed out of the
snowy parking lot.
Freya pulled her ruined panties down around her wet thighs to the tops
of her soaked stockings and masturbated, whimpering. I drove to Patel's
motel. My brain felt like milk poured slowly into a cup of red tea.
I pulled in front of the office and looked at her. She was sucking her
thumb, her eyes flickering behind closed, pink eyelids, rubbing her virgin
cunt raw. I slid my middle finger into the slippery cunthole. She opened
her eyes and looked at me like I was going to chop her head off.
I touched her tiny, puckered anus with the moistened finger. She stared
at me and sucked on her hand. "Get yourself off, baby... make yourself
come..."
I slid the finger into her pristine asshole and Freya came, screaming
obscenities and tearing open her frilly blouse. I held the finger still as
she convulsed, her sphincter squeezing it, then slid it in and out of her.
"Come, baby... come more... come some more..."
She rubbed her clitty and bellowed. "Yeeeesss... yeeesssssss... make
me..." I pulled out my finger and spanked her. She held her butt open,
begging. "No... please... put it back... please..."
I stuffed the musky finger into her mouth, added another, and pushed
them back into her mossy rectum. "I'm gonna come like this... yes...
fuck me there... oh..." I jabbed the fingers in and out of the tight, pink
hole. She stared at me, sticking out her tongue, bucking against my
fingers, clutching the seat.
"Do you like it in your asshole, you slut? Lick my fingers, you little
slut."
I made her suck the soiled fingers, then stabbed them back into her
butt. "Waaaaa... huhhhh... yes... yesssss... use... use more
fingers... spread me wide... oh... fuck... fuck it..."
I jammed a third finger into the stretched hole and fucked her like
that, coming up against a dense turd. Freya shuddered, closed her eyes,
and screamed.
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" I shoved the fingers all the way in,
pressing into her hard shit, and watched a tiny spurt of come spray from
her cunthole.
I sucked the feces from my fingers and ran my hand along her hip.
Mr. D. Patel was peering through the window, trying to see into our
car.
"We're at a motel," I said.
She straightened up, looking like a cross between a newborn calf and an
arsonist. "Is... is your woman here?"
"No... I..."
She looked troubled. "You want to fuck me?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
She stared at Mr. Patel, then straight ahead at the snow. The street
lamps came on. "I want you to," she said.
Mr. Patel went behind the desk as I walked into the office. "You
again... you make trouble, I don't know."
"No trouble. I promise."
He looked at me with hatred in his eyes, but handed me a form. I paid
him and got the key -- he gave me the same room, 42. "You make trouble, I
call police."
Freya looked like a terrified little girl. I pulled up in front of the
room and we got out. Visions of Melusina impaled on the plunger drifted
through my head. The room still smelled of camphor.
"Listen, Freya, we don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"I want to... I really want to."
She went into the bathroom, leaving the door open, pulled down her
panties, bunched up her skirt and squatted on the toilet, her back to me.
She grunted and squirmed. "Ungh... it... it won't come out..."
I went in behind her and took off her shoes while she strained to
defecate. She groaned and wiggled, clutching her sinuous buttocks.
"I'm... I'm so constipated..."
I unhooked her stockings from the light blue garter and undressed her
right leg. Her foot was freakishly beautiful, longer than mine, narrow,
with toes that looked almost like fingers. I took off her left stocking
and reached around her, unbuttoning her blouse.
"You're beautiful," I whispered, "utterly beautiful."
"Touch my asshole," she whispered back. "Frig me there... please..."
I licked her butt and forced spit into the pretty, constricted hole,
spreading her open and trying to get my tongue inside. I rimmed her,
stroking her strange feet. She jiggled her butt and started to diddle her
slit again, grunting.
I wet a finger in her cunthole, circled the tight hole, and pushed it
into the dense mass of her feces. "Unghh... unghh... more... please...
I'm gonna come... I'm gonna come like this... it's so... unnnngh...
ungh..." She pushed her tense fingers into her pussy and came, sighing,
droplets of cunt milk landing in the toilet bowl.
She held her cheeks open and begged, "More... yes... do it... use
more fingers... please..."
I licked my fingers and pushed two, then three into her constipated
bowels. "Yes... baby... do it... unngh... in... I'm so... full...
unnngh... please... it's so hard... please..."
I took my fingers out and licked them. She tasted like rot. I forced
four fingers into the thick, hard shit, stretching her vise-like sphincter.
"Unngh... yes... dig it out... dig it out of me... unngh yes...
push... oww... ow... unngh yes... aaaargh! Aaaaaah! Do it! Oh, oh, oh
it hurts... oh it hurts... baby... yes... yes... waaaaaaaah-huh...
yes... frig me... frig me, baby... fuck it in and out... oh! Oh, oh,
oh!"
I jammed my thumb into her shitter and forced my hand past her sphincter
into the compacted feces. "Waaaaaaaah! Oh, God! Oh God yeah... oh my
fucking God... ow! Owww! Oh!"
I pulled my hand out slowly and opened her anus with three fingers from
each hand, holding her above the toilet. She grunted, gurgled and screamed
as an immense, dark, dense log of excrement tore out of her shuddering body
and splashed into the toilet. She let loose a stream of yellow piss and
shivered, moaning.
"Oh... oh it hurts... oh, baby..." I carried her to the bed and licked
her clean. The puckered, pink hole had closed tightly again, sealed
against the tip of my tongue.
We crawled under the covers and kissed. It was very odd -- I felt
infinitely intimate with her, instantly, closer than I felt to Melusina. I
held my dirty hand to her sensual mouth and she licked it, delicately,
staring into my eyes. I kissed her bitter, putrid mouth.
"Do you... do you like the way I taste?"
I ran my fingers through her damp pubic hair. "Yes... God yes."
"I... I always fantasized about... about what we did... oh... touch
my clitty..." I played with her slit. "Oh... yes... pull on my clitty,
baby..."
It was almost an inch long -- I took it between my fingers and gently
stroked it. She fumbled with my pants and I felt her long, strong fingers
around the base of my cock.
"Baby... can I ask you something?" Her eyes were murky with
trepidation.
"What, darling?"
"I like it when you call me darling... call me that."
"What did you want to ask me?"
"If we could... if you could just do it in my ass."
"Why?" Another absurd word.
"I... I... it's stupid."
"What is it, darling?"
"Part of my fantasy... you'll think it's really stupid."
"How do you know what I'll think?"
She kissed my lips, gingerly stroking my cock. "I've never touched a...
penis... before."
"You want to stay virgin?"
"I... until I... oh..." She let go of my dick and turned on her back,
staring at the ceiling. "I feel... I want you. I want you a lot. I just
always... imagined... I always thought I'd meet somebody and get swept
off my feet and... and fly away, you know? Forever..."
"I want you, too. I almost feel... I'm almost in love with you."
Her eyes dilated "Who is she?"
"I live with her. I've been living with her for a year."
"Do you love her?"
"Yeah... it hasn't all been... that great, you know?"
Freya licked my ear and whispered. "If you had me it would be...
great. I know it would. Happily ever after."
"I need a drink." I got out of bed and zipped my pants. "Is there any
place to buy something?"
She looked at me with a steady, mysterious gaze. "You're not running
away?"
"No, Freya. I couldn't. I really couldn't leave you."
"The old church. They're open till nine."
"Okay... I'll be right back... do you want anything?"
"I'd... I'd like to drink wine with you. Red wine. Good red wine."
I smiled. "Yeah. That sounds terrific." I kissed her, took the keys
and went out.
The snow had stopped and it felt twenty degrees colder. There was no
one else staying at the Mountain Top. I cleaned the windows, got into the
car, changed my mind and walked the few blocks to the desecrated church.
I don't know what it was that so drew me to this town. It felt
immeasurably old and oddly solid, as if it was cut in bedrock. I found a
pay phone, dialed information and fed it two quarters.
The clear, cold voice of a nurse informed me that Miss Lewis was in
surgery.
A bevy of drunks hung out sipping screw-top wine in front of the
church-cum-liquor-store. I gave them a buck when asked and went in.
There was something palpably sinister about this place -- some of the
old ecclesiastical things were stacked in the corners, as if the
congregation had hurriedly abandoned it. Mitres, missals, even a crozier.
The alcohol selection was very poor, heavily tilted towards cheap rotgut. I
was going to give up on the wine idea, looking at the Thunderbird and Night
Train and Mad Dog, and pick some hard stuff, when I noticed that there were
some good-looking bottles behind the register. The clerk was a teratism --
the tallest man I had ever seen, with a wicked, unshaven, deathly pale
face, long, uncombed hair and a tophat.
I saw a St.-Emilion Grand Cru and asked for it. "Only one?"
I looked into his eyes and realized that the right was glass. "No,
okay, two."
He leered at me and rang up forty dollars. "Where you from?"
"Um, Kingsport, right now."
"You don't say."
"Right now... thinking of moving here."
He gave an evil laugh and grinned at me. "Here? Here or Kingsport?"
"Farmington, maybe."
"You don't say. Need a job?"
I felt a chill. "Um, yeah... yeah, I'm looking."
"Well, I'm hiring."
"Okay... I... I need to find a place."
"I'm renting, too."
"Okay... I'm John. John Crane."
The awesomely tall man came around from behind the register and shook my
hand. "Name's Cole, Martin Cole. People round here call me the Count,
though, and I don't discourage it. What kind of place you looking for?
You're an artist, aren't you?"
This man scared me. "Yes.. Well, I used to paint."
"I own an old house on the Gorge Road. Old lady died and I picked it up
cheap. I cut it up into apartments. Rent you two rooms -- nice ones, view
of the river -- three hundred. You work here four days a week I'll pay you
five hundred a month."
"That... sounds good. I... I live with a woman."
The Count laughed like a hyena. "I seen you... I seen you with the
library girl. She's a trip. Plays stinkfinger all day and thinks nobody
notices. She's so zoned out you could bomb the place and she wouldn't take
her hand out of her panties."
"Not her... I..."
"Listen, mister, I don't give a shit how much pussy lives with you,
okay? They's your rooms. Deal?"
"Can I see the place?"
"After I close up. Or do you need to go pork little Freya? How about
tomorrow morning you meet me at the diner? Nine sharp?"
"Okay... okay, it sounds great!"
"Great it ain't, mister. But you won't find too many jobs up here. And
you wanna live here, don't you, Crane?" He cackled again. "You wanna set
your ass in Farmington. I'll be damned."
I thanked him again, handed him the forty bucks, took my wine and went
out. The mercury was dropping through the bottom of the world. I walked
swiftly back to the Mountain Top Motor Inn, saw Patel glaring at me through
the fogged window, and let myself back into 42.
Freya was masturbating, dazed, sucking her long, finger-like toes and
stroking her erect, penile clit. I used the corkscrew of my pocketknife,
unwrapped the two sanitized glasses in the bathroom and poured the Grand
Cru. I put the wine on the nightstand and stripped.
She sucked her big toe like a cock and circled her anal opening with a
wet fingertip. I filled my mouth with wine, took away her foot and drooled
the St.-Emilion into her mouth. She swallowed, looked at my hard-on and
slid a finger into her butthole.
"Do you know the Count?"
She was in a trance, licking her obscene toes, bewitched by her own
voluptuousness. I toyed with her dripping snatch and licked her nipples,
eliciting a series of low moans.
"Do you need to play with yourself, baby?"
"Mmm... yes... yes..."
"Suck your foot, darling... suck your pretty foot."
Freya sucked her toes, noisily, sliding her middle finger in and out of
her butt. She seemed so strangely self-contained, as if all she needed of
me was my gaze.
I fondled a pear-shaped breast and slipped two fingers into her
cunthole, feeling her hymen, then started to lick the toes of the foot she
wasn't sucking. "Mmmm... mmm-mm... masturbate with me... show me...
show me how you jerk off... come on..."
An opalescent liquor came out of her pussy. She drew her finger from
her butthole and frantically rubbed her slimehole, moaning. I squatted on
her chest and stroked my shaft.
"I'm... I'm going to come... mmm... mmm-mm... I'm gonna make myself
come, baby... I look so dirty... baby... aaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaaaah!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
She thrashed around under me, fell still, and brought her slick fingers
to my mouth. I licked them and climbed off of her.
Her trance was addictive. I wanted to fuck her, but mostly I wanted to
keep her masturbating her beautiful body and coming.
"Do I taste good?"
I kissed her mouth, sharing the cunt-milk. "You... you're lovely,
Freya... you know you taste good, don't you? You like to taste yourself,
don't you?"
"Yeeeessssss."
"That's what you were doing in the library when I walked in, wasn't it?"
"Yeeeessssss." Her hand drifted back between her legs.
"You tasted your poop before, too, didn't you?"
"Yeeeessssss." She stroked her long clit.
"You're in love with your own dirty little body, aren't you?"
"Yeeeessssss! Yeeeessssss! Yeeeessssss!"
"Is it good, baby?" I put my hand on hers, diddling her cunt. "Does
your little pussy feel good?"
"Yeeeessssss!!!"
She came again, her strange, acrid, masturbatory body jerking
spasmodically.
I poured more wine. "Put it in my mouth... please..." I kissed her,
passing the dark, rich fluid, then drank some myself.
I dialed the hospital. The antiseptic voice of the nurse asked me to
hold. After maybe five minutes I heard Melusina's tragic little voice.
"Hi?"
"Hi, baby, how are you?"
"I'm okay... they gave me drugs. Where are you?"
"I'm in Farmington... I got a job... and an apartment!"
"Are you with somebody?" Women always know.
"No."
"Are you with that little whore?"
"No."
"I don't care if you are... I fucked around on you."
"I'm not... I'm with somebody else. A friend." There was a long pause.
"How old is she?"
"Seventeen... how long are you going to be in the hospital?" She was
crying.
"I love you, John. Please don't leave me."
"I love you, too. When do you get out?"
"Two or three days... he makes me do him, Johnny. Dr. Foster. He
hurts me."
"I have to go."
"Bye, then."
"I love you, Melusina. Bye."
Freya had covered herself and curled up into a ball, hyperventilating.
"I -- I -- it's not -- fair. It's... not... fair."
I got under the covers and massaged her back. "I know. I'm sorry."
"I need you, John. I waited... I always wanted... what... what you
do to me. Always."
"Listen, Freya... can we try? I mean, you meet her? She... she has
other men."
"You want to turn me into a whore," she said quietly. "You want to turn
me into a little cunt for your harem, is that what you want?"
There was something coldly imperious about her. I guessed she grew up
rich, sheltered. "No... I... I don't love her like I... I love you,
Freya. Being with you... watching you get yourself off is like having an
orgasm without a... body. It's like an out-of-body experience or
something."
She started to kiss my neck and chest, desperately, sucking my nipples
and licking my throat. "John... John... John... fuck me, John... fuck
my pussy..."
I held her tightly. "You do it, Freya. You fuck me." I stretched out
and she kissed a penis for the first time, studying it, stroking it.
She wetted it with saliva and squatted over me, shaking. "Jerk off on
me, darling... frig yourself with it..."
She moaned yearningly and stroked her slit with the head of my cock. I
held her hips and watched her come, pressing the glans to her erect clit.
"Ohhh... ohhhh... ohhh..." She held my shaft still and moved her slit
against it. Her grey eyes were like maelstroms, vortices of deathly
pleasure.
"I'm gonna put it in, baby," she said in an alien voice, as if she was
calling across some spooky threshold. "I'm gonna put it in my... hole."
I almost came when I felt my cockhead enter her virgin vagina and press
against her hymen. She fell utterly silent and moved the head in and out
of her tight, wet hole. She grasped my shaft firmly and squatted down.
She made no sound as I tore through her hymen -- we could hear it rip. She
took me all the way inside her and ululated like a professional mourner,
shaking like a streamer tied to a fan.
I could smell the blood as she raised herself from my cock. Freya's
slit slid against it again. Her face was slack, her eyes suffused with
hypnogogic pleasure, as if she had smoked opium. She reached behind her
sinuous, undulating body, gripped my shaft, and touched the head to her
wet, sealed, tiny anus.
Drool dripped from her slack, sensual lips as she lowered herself slowly
onto my penis. She winced when it popped past her sphincter and stared at
me with stark terror written all over her face.
I pulled her down onto me, my raging cock penetrating her tight rectum.
She was limp as a rag doll, her hands hanging at her sides, her legs
splayed, her odd feet dangling in the bed.
"Frig yourself, Freya. Frig yourself," I whispered.
She moaned and fell forward. I gripped her buttocks, thrust into her
bowels, and came, flooding her with sperm. I felt tiny droplets of
moisture spray from her deflowered cunnus, exhaled, and passed out.
VIII
The nightmare was the worst I ever remember having.
I lived in a huge, carved-up manor above the river. Schools of salmon
leapt up the cataracts of a little stream that ran through the middle of
the grotesque house. My bedrooms was darkened by a giant willow.
I was painting. There were hundreds of paintings stacked against the
tree and the walls, but all of them had a single subject -- Melusina's
little sister. Her name was Nicole, and it really scared me to realize
that Melusina had never told me her name.
The paintings looked insanely cheerful -- bright, gaudy colors, a lot of
light -- but the little girl was doing horrible things: Nicole pulling the
wings off flies, Nicole tearing the heads of birds, smiling as if she was
opening a can of soda, Nicole carving designs in Melusina's chest with a
razor, Nicole stomping on her dead father, triumph addling her little-girl
face...
She was always portrayed naked, fingering her prepubescent cunny,
caressing her undeveloped breasts.
In the painting I was working on, Nicole had dismembered her older
sister in a field of bright red poppies. She squatted over Melusina's
severed head, smiling at me over her shoulder, and sprayed her sister's
rigid, sad face with wet stool.
I looked up from the painting and saw Nicole, posing for me. The Count
was lying on the floor, his neck broken, still wearing his tophat. Nicole
had cut off his dick and held it up proudly, her tiny face contorted with
fierce passion, her dark blue eyes lucid and...
And I woke up, screaming. Freya called out from the bathroom.
"Darling?"
"It's okay... a nightmare..." I stretched and groaned, got up, and went
to the bathroom. Freya looked radiant again, lyncian, her opulent body
stretched out in the tub, a strange long foot on the edge of it.
"What time is it?"
"I don't know... it feels early. Six or seven?" I kissed her foot.
"You don't think my feet are weird?"
"They're weird, Freya... they're the weirdest looking feet I've ever
seen. They turn me on... they turn me on like you wouldn't believe. I
thought I would die when you sucked them."
"I can't get shoes that fit right," she said, slinking back and making
room for me. I climbed into the warm water and caressed her foot.
"Don't... don't make me horny right now... okay? I have to talk to
you." She took her foot away.
"Is that what it's like, Freya? You get that turned on?"
"Yes," she said softly. "If I... if anybody looks at me, or even if I
see myself in the mirror... oh, God. Even when I was little. They kept
me in sixth grade because I missed so much school... everybody made fun of
me. My mom sent me to a shrink when I was seven."
"Do you live with your parents?"
"With my stepdad. He hates me."
"Does he... do things to you?"
"No!" She laughed. "God, no. He's a minister."
"Doesn't mean anything," I said.
"Naw, he's fire and brimstone. I think he gets off thumbing the Bible."
"Is he going to worry about you?"
"Prob'ly take him a month to notice I'm gone." She giggled. "I frigged
myself in church, once."
"What do you think of the Count?"
"Is that who's giving you a job?"
"Yeah."
"He's... he's okay. He owns the house next to ours, on Gorge Road.
Rents it out to the winos who hang out at his store. I think he does that
kind of thing on purpose. I think he bought the house just to freak my
stepfather out. I know that's why he bought the church."
"Interesting. What's he about?"
"I'm not sure. He used to make fun of me at the library. He called me
Onania and stuff. Never in front of the hag, though. He'd come in when I
was alone and talk dirty to me until my panties got wet. I don't think he
wanted... you know, to fuck me; I think he just amuses himself that way."
"What do you have on the hag's' husband?"
She looked at me insolently. "The hag is my mother."
"What???"
"My real dad -- her husband -- caught me playing with myself. He didn't
do anything, he just took pictures of me. She found them when I was nine."
"What did she do?"
"She called me a tramp and kicked me out. Her first husband is my
stepdad."
"Wow."
I caressed her inner thigh and licked her foot. She moaned. "Mmmm...
don't... please..."
"You little fuckrat," I whispered. "You dirty little fuckrat."
"I... I ate your come, baby... I woke up and pooped your come." She
looked dreamy. Her fingers snaked to her slit.
"Suck me, darling. Suck my cock."
"Teach me," she said, taking it in her hand.
"There's... nothing to teach... do it like you do your foot."
"Mmmm... will you come in my mouth?" Her pink tongue flicked at my
glans.
"Do you want me to, darling?"
She stroked my shaft in her hand and looked at me with her gray, cunning
eyes. "I want you to use my ass and fuck my mouth. I want you to shove
your dirty dick in my mouth and make me eat my shit."
Freya frigged herself madly and came, falling on top of me, writhing.
"Do it, baby. Use my body," she moaned, pushing my cockhead against her
tight sphincter. "Use my shithole."
I climbed from the tub, grabbed her ankles, and draped her quivering
body over the edge, her pear-shaped, aroused breasts pressed against the
rim, spread her cheeks and spat on her bunghole.
"Shove it in... ohhh... come on... fuck the shit out of me..." I
twisted her head and forced her foot to her mouth. She sucked it,
gurgling, as I thrust two fingers into her freshly fucked cunt and pushed
spit into her butt with my thumb.
I let go of her foot and her legs flopped on the floor. I took hold of
her pointy hips and lapped at the closed, pink bud of her ass, fingering
her fuckhole.
"Mmmmmmm... mmmmmmmmm.... mmmmmmmmm yes..."
I sucked her clit, stabbed at her cunthole with my tongue, and entered
her girlishly tight twat with my prick.
"Mmmmm-hmmmm...baby, don't... don't come in me... I don't use
anything."
She clutched the edge of the bathtub and fucked back at me. I held onto
the sink and stood still, watching her wet white body buck against my
glistening shaft. I slipped my thumb into her asshole and strained against
orgasm.
"Fuck me, Freya... fuck me... knock yourself up... knock yourself up,
you slut..."
"Yes! Yes! Come in me! Come in my pussy! Ohh... ohhh... ohhhh..."
She gripped the edge of the tub with one hand, rubbed her clitty, and
came, her muscles milking her cock. I felt I would explode and pulled out,
grabbed her, and shoved my straining prick into the dry, tight furnace of
her rectum. Freya screamed.
I picked her up, buried in her anus, and held her up to the mirror.
"Look at yourself. Look at yourself, you whore."
Her feverish eyes stared back at her in the dripping mirror. I carried
her out of the bathroom, put her down on all fours and ravished her
asshole.
"Frig yourself. Play with your fuckhole."
She held a trembling hand to her slit. "Ungh... ungh... ungh...
ungh... ungh... ungh... ungh... ungh... ungh..."
I slipped my slimy shaft from her shithole and stood up. "Suck me,
Freya. Suck my cock."
She whirled around and took my dirty dick in her mouth, masturbating,
coming, gagging. I pushed her away, took her by the ankles, buried my cock
in her raw pussy and came in her womb, shuddering. The girl fondled her
breasts and sighed.
I stayed inside her and kissed her shit-smeared lips. She giggled.
"Get it out of me before you make me horny again."
I withdrew from the warm, wet hole and hopped back into the tub. She
ran in after me and splashed in. We were as happy as little kids on the
first day of summer vacation.
"Whatcha gonna do if I do get pregnant?"
I didn't know. I had never wanted to make anybody pregnant before.
IX
Melusina didn't get out of the hospital until the following week. It
was the middle of January. I'd rented the rooms from the Count -- even
though they were very disturbingly similar to the rooms in my nightmare --
from February first and arranged not to start work until then. He was more
subdued when he showed me the house, but it felt strained, as if the only
reason he acted normal was not to scare me.
Freya and I sat in the Cozy Kitchen drinking coffee; I decided to risk
violating the ban because Mildred was nowhere to be seen. Margie, my
waitress from the first night there (that awful, despairing night between
women, when I had met the sick little sylph), was on duty.
Freya and I had spent the week fucking our brains out. I kept coming in
her unprotected cunt, strangely desperate to impregnate the girl.
She wasn't worried about meeting my "old lady" anymore, for the simple
reason that she knew I couldn't live without her.
Before driving into Kingsport to pick up Melusina, Freya made me meet
her father. I think it was perverse amusement on her part, what she
attributed to the Count. Pastor Eriksson was a squat, piebald, red-faced
man with a booming voice. It seemed he was incapable of speech except in
tangled, biblical phrases. He said he would disinherit "my prodigal child"
unless we were "bound in holy matrimony," and offered to marry us. His
bloodshot, rodent-like eyes watched me as if I was a spider. It was like
watching and listening to something from another century.
It was then that I realized that I did indeed want to be so joined to
this prodigal child. It was the first time in my life that marriage even
crossed my mind, except when Lori pestered me about it before burning down
my studio. As we drove down the icy valley to Kingsport, the words
"through sickness and in health" spun in my head like a prayer wheel. "You
may now kiss the bride." Kiss her all over, kiss her inside and out.
Margie poured more coffee and I took Freya's hand. "You're going to ask
me to marry you, aren't you?" She looked grave, haughty... like a library
clerk in a story.
"Will you marry me, my love?"
"Yes. I'll marry you, my love. I'll do anything for you. Anything,
always." She had tears in her eyes. "You may now kiss the bride."
We leaned across the table and kissed. I think this was the most
perfect moment in my life. My heavy heart sprouted wings again.
The only think that troubled me was the nightmare. It came again and
again like a hideous orgasm. Only the paintings changed: Nicole entwined
with a sea serpent, her miniature piano fingers, a little replica of
Melusina's hand, stuffed into her pouting, bald, puffy cunt. Nicole
beaming like a tiny valedictorian, thrusting a carving knife into her big
sister's rectum. Nicole strangling Freya, stuffing the Count's rotted,
castrated penis into her mouth. I would wake up choking, sweating, my
whole body plunged into the Acheron.
My lovely companion -- I started calling her Onania when we made love --
would caress my forehead, lick me, mount me, and the dream would dissipate.
Margie brought us our Western omelettes and we moved to the same side of
the booth. Like clockwork, as soon as we did, Raven came into the diner
and slid into the seat across from us.
She was black and blue. Her face had been beaten to a pulp, and she or
someone had tried to slash her wrists. There were dark bruises around her
neck.
"Oh, Raven..." Freya slid next to her and showered her with kisses.
"Raven, baby... what happened to you?"
The mangled little prostitute stared at Freya, blankly, and burst into
tears. "You know her?"
"She used to come into the library... she's from Gorge Road." Freya
licked the little girl's neck and face. I felt sick, like I did when I
came out of the recurring dream.
Margie came over with more coffee. "Serves her right," she said,
refilling our cups and setting one in front of the miserable child.
"Sooner or later it'll happen to all of you. Unless you repent. Repent
and accept Jesus as your personal savior."
I looked up at the bouffant and the beady little eyes under the
chartreuse lids. "God," I said.
"That's right, God. Jesus loves you." She walked away.
I drank my coffee, then Freya's, as my beautiful fiancee kiss-fed the
tortured prostitute the warm, bitter brew.
"Do you want to lie down in the car?" Freya held her like a mother.
I paid the check and carried Raven out to the car, Freya at my heels.
We put her in the back seat and I covered her with my coat.
Freya and I crossed the street and entered the hospital. "Bet you
didn't know I was compassionate," she said. There was an odd gleam in her
eye.
I was feeling dizzy. There was something very wrong, very wrong with
everything. I felt like an antihero in science fiction. Tesseract, watch
out.
We walked into the waiting room and my heart stopped. Dr. Foster was
chewing on an unlit cigar, his hand on Melusina's bare thigh.
Melusina's little sister sat cross-legged on the floor, looking up at me
with the most evil expression I have ever seen in a child's eyes. She was
wearing dingy white tights, her bony, ivory ankles visible above her red
sneakers. Her paisley t-shirt had ridden up, revealing a taut, bone-white
belly with a fantastic outtie navel. Her hands looked more like miniature
adult hands than a child's, and rested on her knees. She had a fat lip.
"John, this is my sister, Nicole." I heard the name and felt a bead of
cold sweat run down my chest. I was scared out of my mind, and put my arm
around Freya. Under my horror I felt my lower body electrified... there
was a strong surge in my cock -- I came in my pants.
"I'm Freya," Freya said, stepping forward and offering Melusina her
hand. "Enchantee." Melusina stared at my new love, murderous hatred leaping
into her unwell eyes.
I teetered. The two enemies shook hands. Dr. Foster looked Freya up
and down like a man inspecting a racehorse.
The doctor came up to me, glaring. His own face was crafty, deceitful,
vile. "Well then, let me know if I can be of any further assistance to
you, sir. And be careful with Miss Lewis, yes? Be very careful or she
will die. Is that clear?"
I shook his hand. I felt faint. The monstrous little girl -- and I was
sure she was a monster now, a teratoma who invaded my dreams -- stood up,
still fixing me with her terrible, dark blue eyes. She put on a red parka
with a hood and Melusina put on her ratty coat.
The nurses saw the troika of paraphiliacs and gave me the evil eye.
Freya walked proudly ahead of us, her golden hair like a great halo, while
Melusina limped angrily behind her, pulling her little sister by the hand.
I hung back, struggling against the impulse to run for my life.
It had begun to snow again, slow, heavy, vertical confetti from the
idiot god. The sky was wan and visibility was almost nil.
We got to the car. Melusina climbed into the back, crying out at the
sight of Raven. Freya got the snow brush and cleaned the windows.
Nicole gave me an icy smile. I froze, my heart pounding. The
diminutive, freaky little girl wrapped her fingers around my thumb. Her
touch was queer, somehow repulsive. She stroked my thumb with her clammy
fingers. "Enhh... enhh..." I almost swooned. I felt a repugnant,
mysterious arousal. I could see the outline of her cunny through the white
tights. "Enhh, enhh..." She lifted my hand and put the thumb in her mouth,
fondling my fingers. Her cold blue eyes never left me. She sucked my
thumb, slipping her miniaturized piano fingers under the elastic...
I blacked out. I imploded.
Freya was rubbing snow in my face, smiling. "I guess we better get you
a drink." I looked into the leaden sky. She helped me up and offered to
drive. I gave her the keys and climbed into the back with Melusina and the
whore. The sinister sister sat in front. Freya drove overcautiously.
"My father died," Melusina said. "We need to go to the funeral."
We pulled up in front of Joe's Tap. "They won't let the kid in," Freya
said. "Would you watch her, Raven?"
The victim murmured her assent. Nicole turned around and looked at her,
then at me. She licked her lips.
The rest of us got out and went into the bar. Bill MacGregor reached
for the Laphroiag. "You all old enough," he muttered rhetorically, looking
at the teenaged girls. "What'll it be, ladies?"
Melusina asked for what I was having and Freya ordered a Pink Squirrel.
"A Pink Squirrel?"
"It goes with my hair," Freya said, smiling. She was purposefully
annoying Melusina.
"My father died," Melusina said.
"What happened?"
"He had a heart attack. They found him tied up in bed."
I had a really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and gulped the
whiskey. Freya was right -- she looked like a beautiful, slutty preppie,
sipping on the pink drink.
"So what's going to happen?"
"I'm an emancipated minor, and I'm going to take care of my sister. Do
you like her?"
"When is the funeral?"
"Day after tomorrow. No one's gonna come except my grandparents."
"I... I got an apartment in Farmington, for two weeks from now."
"With her?"
Freya smiled and sipped her ridiculous drink. Bill poured me another
whiskey, filling the glass. "Yes... with you, too, if you want."
"So I can be your mercy fuck?"
Freya put her hand on Melusina's shoulder. "Listen, Melusina, he..."
Melusina spun around and hit her. "You fuck... you fucking fuck..." I
grabbed her arms and held her kicking, frenzied body. Freya grinned and
sipped the Pink Squirrel.
"Hey, now, hey now, no trouble," Bill said, gruffly. A Slavic-looking
old woman sleeping on the bar lifted her head.
Melusina spat at Freya. Freya wiped the spit from her face with a
napkin, still smiling. "Fuck her," Freya said. "Fuck her in the ass." She
stood up and forced a kiss on the furious, degraded girl. I had a hard-on.
Bill MacGregor looked perplexed. He moved the drinks from the edge of the
bar, shook his head, and shuffled away.
Freya kissed the whimpering girl on the mouth. "You little whore. You
dirty little pervert." Freya took off her coat and lifted her skirt.
"Touch me. Touch my pussy."
The Russian woman muttered a curse and staggered out of the bar. Freya
shifted her panties to one side. There was a trickle of opalescent fluid
down the inside of her sinuous thigh. "Touch me, baby... touch my little
pussy."
I let go of her. Sobbing, Melusina masturbated her enemy. Freya moved
our drinks and hopped onto the bar. "Lick me, you whore. Lick my pussy."
Melusina took off her ratty fake fur and ate Freya out, lifting her
dress and rubbing her mound against a bar stool. "Mmmmmm... mmmmmm...
fuck... her..." Freya came, pulling the humiliated girl's hair, and pushed
her away.
"Do you like my pussy, slut?" Melusina was rubbing herself against the
bar stool through her wet underwear. "Like it?"
"Yes..." Melusina's voice was tiny.
"Say it, slut."
"I... I like your... pussy."
"What?"
"I like your pussy!"
"Pull down your panties for me."
Melusina obeyed. Her shaven cunnus glistened in the weak light of the
Clydesdale lamp.
"Do you want me to touch you?"
Melusina was bawling. "Yesssss... yessss..."
Freya stroked her flawless, muscular buttocks. "You have a pretty ass,
girl." She kissed it. "Do you want me to touch your cunt?"
"Yes!"
"What?"
"I want you to... touch my cunt."
"Ask nicely."
"Please... please make me come... please..."
Freya stuck two fingers into the glistening hole. "Yessss! Yes...
more... fuck me..."
"You... hole... you stupid hole..." Freya lifted her dress, looked at
me pleadingly, and forced more fingers into Melusina, finally stuffing her
entire hand into the cunt. "You like that? You like that? Is this what
you want to turn your baby sister into?"
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Fuck my... ass... please... I want you to..."
Freya popped her dripping hand from the fuckhole, came up to me,
trembling, and removed my belt. She caressed Melusina's pale buttocks,
cooing.
"You're so pretty... you're like a little ballerina..." Freya took off
her skirt. "Take off your dress and get on the floor," she whispered in a
dreamy voice. Bawling, Melusina did as she was told, crouching down on the
sticky floor.
"Play with your asshole for me. Put your fingers in it."
Moaning, the desperate girl obeyed, licking her hand and pushing three
fingers into her incontinent anus.
Freya whipped her, frigging her own cunt with her left hand. "You...
slut... you... slut... you... slut..." Melusina howled in pain, jamming
her long, pallid fingers in and out of her repulsive shithole as my fiancee
frigged herself and lashed the creamy, arched back with my belt.
"Put... your... whole... hand... in..." Freya watched in depraved
fascination as the graceful, stunning girl forced her entire hand into her
filthy butthole, dropped the whip and fingered her own asshole, frantically
frigging her blonde cunt. "I... can't... I... fuck her! Fuck her!"
Freya collapsed in a masturbatory heap, coming like crazy, gasping.
Enchanted, I unzipped and got behind Melusina, took her by the hips and
rammed my shaft into her loose cunthole, feeling her hand through the
membrane. "Oh... John... ohhhhh... ow! Owww!" I pounded her parorexic
pussy like a soulless piston, staring at the welts on her alabaster back,
until I felt her come, weakly.
I slid out of her and stood above my strange new lover. Freya put her
big hands on my ass and deep-throated me. I closed my eyes and suddenly
suffered a vision, as if I had walked into a movie theater. I saw Nicole's
pale little lips around my cock, her dark blue eyes looking up at me...
I opened my eyes and touched Freya's breasts through her blouse,
groaned, and ejaculated into her sensual mouth. Melusina crawled over to
us, her bright face stained with tears.
Bill MacGregor spat.
Freya lifted her conquest from the floor and kissed her. I demanded
another scotch. He poured one, grudgingly.
"And for the ladies," I said, smirking.
The Scotsman made another ludicrous pink drink and poured another shot
of whiskey. Melusina looked like a zombie. Feces dribbled from her open,
purple ass.
Freya -- Onania -- her skirt restored, looking every inch the secretly
gorgeous high school oddity, got Bill's washrag and wiped Melusina's white,
athletic legs and butt. She helped the dirty girl into her panties and
stuffed them with napkins. Melusina kissed her passionately.
Freya got behind her, rubbed her pubis against Melusina's muscular
buttocks and squeezed her tiny breasts.
"Look at her, John." Melusina stared at the ground, cowed, as Freya
kneaded her titties. "You're gonna be our pretty little slave, aren't you,
baby? You and your titless little sister."
"Uh-huh," Melusina said, almost inaudibly.
A hunchbacked, stinking drunk shambled into the bar, looked at us like a
cornered rat and scurried toward the back. Bill went to serve him.
Melusina was shaking with humiliation and desire. She turned her head
and tongue-kissed her tormentor.
"Mmmmm... you love me, don't you, toilet slave?"
"Uh-huh."
"What, baby?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"I love you. I'm your toilet slave." Tears were streaming down her
aristocratic face.
Freya tweaked her erect, sepia nipples. "Do you want to touch
yourself?"
"Uh-huh... yes, I wanna touch myself."
Freya guided her long fingers into the napkin-stuffed panties. Melusina
sobbed and diddled herself.
"Yessss... frig yourself, baby... your fingers are so pretty... so
pretty..." Freya pushed the delirious girl's head down on the bar, spilling
the pink fluid. "You're so pretty... I... I'm gonna come... just...
watching... you..." She pulled down Melusina's motheaten panties and slid
her fingers down the crying, masturbating girl's crack.
She pulled off the napkins that had stuck to Melusina's excrement and
lapped the abominable shithole. The freshly vetted slave stopped crying
and moaned, finger-fucking herself.
"Ohhhh... yessss... fuck me, Freya... fuck me in the ass..."
My bride looked like a maniac, moving as if she had muscular dystrophy.
"Play... with... yourself... pretty... baby... play... with...
your... pretty... orange... pussy..."
I sipped my greenish, remarkable drink and watched them, amazed that the
barman didn't do anything, neither jacking off nor calling the cops.
Freya rolled up her sleeve and slid her fair fingers into the noxious
hole. "Hmmm... mhhhh... fist me... fist me... Freya... ohhhhh...
fist me... fist my whore-hole..."
"Don't... Freya... she's sick..."
She ignored me, panting, and shoved her hand in. Melusina yowled.
"Play with yourself, baby... play with your pretty pussy..."
"Hhhhh... hhhhh... hhhhhh... you're hurting me... hhh-hhh-hhh..."
Freya's skirt dropped to the floor. She took her clit in her fingers
like a tiny penis and forced her hand deeper into Melusina's sick cavity.
"Hhhhh... hhhhh... hhh-hhh-hhh-harder... harder... fist... me..."
The door swung open. "Hey, no kids in here," Bill yelled. "Get out!"
I whirled around. Nicole stood in the doorway, transfixed by the sight
of Freya and her mutilated sister.
"Get out... get out or I'll call the police... all of you!"
I pushed Nicole into the street. "Go... go back to the car..."
She looked at me like a porcelain doll full of venom, smiled, and
skipped back to the car. I wandered over to the newsstand, acquired a pack
of Navy Cuts, lit one, realized that the two madwomen didn't have any
money, and walked back to the bar. I had ceased thinking entirely.
Melusina howled with pain as Freya dressed her. The latter still looked
like a cool, entertained preppie. She winked at the irate barman and
sipped her Squirrel. knocked back the remaining whiskey, kiss-fed some to
the brutalized girl, and paid him.
Supporting Melusina between us, we returned to the jalopy and the two
freaky little girls who waited within.
The Sinister Sister Ch 10-11
Written by Silvio Stoker
[AUTHOR'S NOTE:]
CAVEAT LECTOR! This segment of the story contains some very graphic,
eroticized violence -- mostly consensual. (How does a cannibalistic
necrophile get consent from supper? Ask it to sign a prenup?) Seriously,
if descriptions of sexual excess offend you, please do not read these
chapters -- hey, writing them deeply disturbed _me_... It is my belief,
however, that disturbance is an essential element of erotica and, indeed,
literature.
X
The so-called Count allowed us to move in ten days early. I am not sure
why he was so generous with us. I didn't want to think about it -- I
feared him because he seemed to know what I wanted, and I didn't -- I
didn't know, I didn't know, at the time I didn't know at all.
We all moved in together -- Freya, my beloved, who liked to be called
Onania and seemed to grow lovelier with each hour, as if coitus added to
her beauty (in some it subtracts... or is it that I adored the loneliness
of her loveliness and wanted to keep her addicted to herself, obsessed,
incurable?); Melusina, my lover (was she still my lover? What is a
lover?), who joined us after a third stay at the hospital and an unpleasant
discourse with the evil doctor -- she missed her father's funeral; Raven,
the pretty, empty, victimized child prostitute, who slowly recovered from
her wounds (it was Freya who insisted that we take her in until she healed)
-- and little Nicole.
Nicole had turned eleven in November. Melusina told me.
If I was afraid of the Count, I was in stark terror of the stunningly
beautiful, minuscule temptress. I did everything I could to avoid her,
especially to avoid being left alone with her. No easy task, considering
that we only had two rooms and the brat did what she could to corner me.
The bathroom was down the hall -- a huge, opulent room with a sunken,
old, oval tub, a bidet, a toilet stall with a frosted glass wall etched
with art nouveau lilies and an immense vanity lit with flame-shaped bulbs
in sconces -- and I soon learned that I had to make sure Nicole was in the
apartment before going to it, and lock it when I did.
On our first night in the grand, dilapidated house, I went to take a
leak, already unzipping my pants. I opened the door...
The gorgeous runt was standing in the center of the fantastic bathroom,
naked. She looked like a ghost. Her large, dark blue eyes fixed me to the
floor.
She stood with her feet slightly apart, her little piano fingers on her
pale, skinny thighs. I swallowed, enraptured by her tiny, translucent
body.
Her dark hair flowed like ink over her narrow bony shoulders and hung
across her protuberant ribs, falling like a sumptuous curtain across her
utterly flat chest on either side of soft, immature nipples that looked
like drops of pink lemonade. Her arms were almost as thin as emergency
candles. Her fabulous navel was like a white bow on her taut stomach. Her
skin was the color of semen.
Her cunny was not what I dreamt -- it was a narrow, virginal slit,
widening into a slight pout at the entrance to her maidenhood, the color of
lox.
When she spoke, her voice was not childish at all. It sounded like a
malefic spell cast in some luminous grotto, like clear, cold, moonlit water
poured into a wound.
Penetrating me with her gelid, hypnotic gaze, she stepped toward me with
the grace of a nymphadidic dancer, brushed her black hair behind her bony
shoulders, and slowly ran her fingertips down the front of her delicate,
unnatural body.
My underwear tented through my unzipped pants. Nicole parted her outer
labia and extended her lilac tongue. I stared into her wet mouth, then
down at the glistening cunny she held open with her slender fingers.
There were several nasty sores in her little scarlet vestibule and a
blister on the prepuce of her little clitty. Her inflamed urethra was
abnormally wide, the diameter of the pencils used in kindergarten. A
yellowish discharge leaked from her tiny, scarred fuckhole.
The freak traced her moist slit with her ring finger, her other fingers
curved outward, and gave a quiet moan, as if she were nubile, moving her
pale hands to her flat tummy. Her wrists were as skinny as saplings.
She made what looked like a mudra on her lower belly -- a
downward-pointing triangle, her forefingers on her bare mons.
I kissed her, reaching down and laying my hands on her strangely wide,
bony hips. Her lips were cold. I probed her tiny, wet mouth with the tip
of my tongue.
Nicole sighed. She opened my underwear without touching me. Silently,
she slid to the white tile floor and grazed the shaft with her soft, clammy
fingers, catching a droplet of pre-cum with her tongue. She stared up at
me with her disturbing, dark blue eyes and whispered.
"Make love to me."
I swooned and the emaciated lunatic licked my glans, looking up at me.
I gripped the door frame and felt her gently grasp my scrotum. She put
her violet lips around my drooling cockhead and I came, flooding her little
mouth with sperm.
The girl swallowed, stroking her white throat as she drank my seed,
still staring at me. Then she stood and turned around, caressing her firm,
tiny buttocks.
She bent forward and touched the small, damp opening of her sore,
prepubescent cunny with the tip of her index finger, looking at me over her
shoulder.
Her anus was the color of her nipples. She licked her pinkie and
touched herself there, circling the bud of her rectum. "Make love to me."
We both gasped as the wet little finger slid into her anus. I touched
her hip.
Nicole spun slowly around and pulled my lips to her mouth. It tasted
dank. Her tongue darted into me and she started to loosely stroke my cock
towards her with both hands. She was only as tall as my sternum, and for a
split second I felt like the figure of death bent low over her lithe body.
A pearly drop of moisture appeared at the bottom of her slit.
"Kiss me... kiss my body."
I tongued her long neck, caressing her rudimentary breasts. She circled
my glans with her thumb, panting like a frightened animal.
"Kiss my cunny."
I was bewitched, entranced, lost. The insane child clasped my cock and
rubbed the slick head against the bottom of her ribcage, then touched it to
the knot of her navel.
"We... we can't do this."
Nicole moaned and gripped my arms, urging me down. I fell to my knees
and kissed her hips, prostrated myself and licked her fragrant feet and
ankles.
She held her diseased little cunny open.
I fondled her bottom and tongued her skinny thighs, whimpering with
desire...
There was a horrific crash and a sudden searing pain down the side of my
face.
In a blur I saw Raven's distorted, bruised visage. She slashed at me
with a box cutter, screaming incoherently. I leapt back and tried to grab
her hand. She cut across my knuckles. I fell backwards through the
doorway and glimpsed Nicole's pale form streaking down the hall. Raven
stabbed at me and I caught her wrist, wrestled her on top of me and
disarmed her. Blood was dripping down my face.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"You scum," she said, spitting. "Don't you fucking touch her!"
"Why?"
"She's eleven years old!"
I touched my slashed cheek. It didn't feel like I would need stitches.
"Raven, _you're_ thirteen, for God's sake!"
"I was raped, you asshole. I was raped... look at me! It ruined my
life... you scum..." She started to cry, hysterically, quivering like
blue-black Jell-O.
I got up and looked at my bloody, drunken face in the massive mirror. I
looked into the mirror for a very long time.
Thus the vacuous little whore became the unlikely defender of Nicole's
innocence, watching me warily, threatening Melusina, keeping Freya at bay.
Nicole delighted in teasing me, striking lascivious poses when Raven wasn't
looking, sucking her thumb and staring at me, playing with her perfect
little feet.
Freya and I lived like man and wife in the inner room, the three other
girls in the larger outer room. I didn't think of it as a harem; Nicole
was off limits, Raven was unwanted, and Melusina became Freya's abject,
degraded, simpering slave.
The more Freya abused her, the more Melusina seemed to want her.
Eerily, quickly, almost imperceptibly, I found myself falling out of
love with Freya-Onania and trapped in desperate desire for little Nicole.
It was as if the sick, seductive child that I couldn't have drained my
feelings away from any object except herself, sucking my thoughts, holding
sway in my subtle body.
We slowly realized that most of the house was empty. Our rooms were on
the second floor, but the downstairs seemed unoccupied. A tall, gaunt,
unwashed, fortyish man who might have been the Count's brother lived in the
attic, but he was rarely seen and never spoke to us. We would all eat
together. I would cook and Nicole would set the table, taking the
opportunity to brush against me in the kitchen (which was also down the
hall, a gloomy room with no windows and a bare, low-watt bulb).
The night before I was to begin work for the Count I made asparagus
soup, filet mignon, and fried green tomatoes. I like to cook -- I think it
is my sole domestic habit. It makes me sheltered, needed, wanted, human.
I was trimming the steaks when I felt Nicole's hand on my ass. I didn't
turn around.
"I give you a boner, don't I," she whispered in her mellifluous,
sinister, adult voice. "You're so big, John. As big as my arm, John.
It's like your dick is going to go into my lungs when you fuck me."
"Go away."
"I got my period, John. I want you to make me pregnant. I want you to
make a baby in me."
"Nicole, if you don't cut it out, you and your sister will have to
leave."
"No we won't, John. Because you need me. You dream about me, don't
you? You dream about being alone with me, about going to bed with me."
I moved away and stirred the soup, breathing hard.
"I dream about you, John. I dream about getting your boner in my wet
little cunny. I dreamt about you before I met you."
I fried the tomatoes, shaking.
"We're going to go away, John. We're going to go away together."
"Nicole... you arouse me, that's all."
"Really, John? Look at me. Look at me, John."
She lifted her lavender t-shirt, exposing her flat white chest and the
droplets of pink lemonade that formed her nipples. Circling her navel
slowly with a finger, she sighed and slipped her hand under the elastic of
her tights. I was transfixed.
"Come here, John."
I went to her. She parted her lips. I kissed her, taking her tiny,
flickering tongue into my mouth.
Nicole stepped back and lifted the hand from her cunny. It was slick
with menses. I licked the chalybeate blood from her long little fingers.
She fed me more, moaning softly, dipping her hand into her childish,
menstruating hole and offering me the darkly bright, aromatic effluvia,
sucking her own fingers.
"Touch me, John... touch my cunny."
Raven stalked into the room. I grabbed a knife and the whore froze, her
eyes darting around the room, looking for a weapon.
"Do you want some, Raven?" Nicole faced the furious prostitute and held
up her dripping hand. Raven backed away.
"Don't you want any, baby? It's my first period, Raven."
Nicole stood between us, lewdly lapping up her own blood.
"When you had your first period, you were already a whore, weren't you,
Raven? You were already taking things up your dirty little cunt, right?
Is that why you want to protect me? Because you're a useless, ugly hole,
Raven. Because you can't imagine a little girl wanting a cock inside her."
Raven sputtered and lunged at Nicole, but the agile child danced out of
the way, laughing.
"Stab her, John. Slice her up."
Nicole picked up a knife and Raven ran out of the room, screaming.
The little lunatic put her hand on my crotch. Her wicked, azure eyes
were bright with laughter. She stroked my hard-on through my pants and her
expression slowly changed to a dreamy, faraway look.
"Promise you'll make me pregnant."
"Nicole..."
"Promise."
I caressed her titless chest through her t-shirt and gazed at her tiny,
sickeningly desirous body. She lifted the lavender shirt and fondled her
soft little nipples.
"Kiss them, John... kiss them and I'll come."
I got on my knees and licked her chest and underarms, savoring the
strong odor of her catamenia. She moaned like a woman and pulled down her
tights. There was a neatly folded triangle of toilet paper against her
bare pudendum, soaked with blood.
"Masturbate me," she whispered. "Suck my titties and masturbate me."
I peeled off the toilet paper and touched her, stroking the tender,
diseased slit with the tip of my index finger.
"Put it inside me, John."
She grasped the finger and guided it to her bloody little hole.
"Listen to me, John. Put it inside."
We slid my middle finger into the tight orifice.
There was no barrier, no hymen. My finger slid deep. She gasped and
mewled as I tongued her baby-soft nipples and finger-fucked her hairless,
barely pubescent vagina, holding a firm buttock no bigger than my hand.
She bucked against me, fingering her tiny clit, and came, shivering,
whining, stroking my hair.
I put my lips to the little hole and retracted my finger, lapping up the
thick, pungent blood, and got on the floor, licking her delicate white
toes.
She lifted her foot and I sucked it. She moved her toes in out of my
mouth, moaning in an alien baritone, stroking her bald pubis. I drooled
and sucked her pristine little foot, rolled onto my back like a dog and
came in my pants, gasping.
Nicole pulled up her tights, unzipped me, lowered my underpants and
licked up my semen, stroking my still-hard cock. It looked huge in her
hands.
The tomatoes were burning.
"Enhhh... enhh... enhh..." She licked up and down the shaft, fondling
my balls, and slipped the glans into her wet little mouth. She slurped at
the head of my cock and slid her wet hands along the column. I had the
unmistakable sense that she had done this before.
She flicked her tongue against the urethral opening, stretching out on
me, moving a skinny leg so that her foot dangled near my mouth, and slipped
her lips around the cockhead. I licked between her toes -- her big toe was
the size of the first two joints of my index finger.
"Mmhhh... mhh... mhh..." She was forcing about a third of my shaft
into her tight mouth. I rubbed the blood-soaked crotch of her tights.
Still sucking me, Nicole slid the tights down. I pulled them off and
caressed her inner thighs. I am not very muscular, but her thighs were
barely the width of my upper arms.
I wished I could lick her cunny, but she was too short. Drooling on my
penis, she reached back and spread her exquisite round buttocks. I stroked
her gash with my thumb and carefully inserted it into her hole, touching
her tiny anus with my little finger.
Her cunny was so tight around my thumb that I couldn't imagine ever
getting my dick inside her. Moaning madly, the child let go of her little
butt and lifted a leg. She stroked my saliva-slick shaft with one hand and
caressed her cheeks with the other, then slipped a finger into her rectum.
I diddled her clitty and fucked her with my thumb as Nicole stuffed
another finger into her tiny, pink anus. I sucked her pretty foot halfway
into my mouth and retracted my thumb, pushing two fingers into the bloody
orifice.
The little girl stabbed three fingers into her butthole and came, my
fingers deep in her spastic cunny.
I ejaculated again and Nicole sucked me dry, drinking my seed. She
licked up the blood that had pooled on my chest and squatted on me, sucking
my slimy fingers and offering me her hand.
She looked like a succubus, crouched on my chest. I licked the feces
from her slender fingers. She lay down on me and kissed me, closing her
eyes.
I fondled her butt and thighs, stuffing my tongue into her mouth.
Nicole broke the embrace, rose, and touched my soft penis to her slit
for a moment, staring at me mysteriously. If it had been any longer I
would have hardened again.
"Promise me," she said.
"I think we better go back to..."
"Promise to make me pregnant," she said quietly, holding my flaccid
prick and sliding her smooth, narrow slit along the glans.
"Nicole..."
She held the head to her slimy, dilating hole. I started to get hard.
"I'm going to have your baby," she whispered. Her wrists and part of
her tapered forearm were thinner than my penis. "Enhhh... eennnhhhh..."
She rubbed her sick cunny against the head of my cock and gently stroked my
growing erection.
"Nicole... don't..."
"Enhh... promise... me..."
"I promise! I promise!"
The delicate creature threw her head back and wailed, stroking her
throat, as my shaft plunged into her narrow, bloody tube. She lifted her
shirt and fingered her nipples, wailing as my cock slid in and out of her
slippery cunny almost as if neither of us was moving.
"Oh, God," I screamed, "ohhhhhhh..."
She looked like she was going to lose her mind and we both came, crying
in tongues. I very nearly passed out. Nicole gracefully lifted herself
off of me and straddled my head, pressing her raw, childish hole to my
mouth and working her vaginal muscles so that the mingled syrups of blood
and semen splurted onto my tongue. I held her bony hips and lapped it up.
She quickly cleaned my penis with her flickering tongue, stood, and
pulled on her bloodstained tights. I got to my feet, dizzily, and fixed my
pants.
"You promised," she said, and left the kitchen.
XI
The tomatoes were charcoal and the soup was ruined. I sliced more
tomatoes and prepared them, grilled the filet mignon and took slugs from a
bottle of mediocre wine.
I felt as if I had stumbled into my own bad dream. Even after coming
thrice in succession like a young man, the slightest thought of Nicole's
body went immediately to my penis, flowering from there into my head.
In my head it was not pretty. I could have dismissed the dark dreams if
they hadn't given me her name. But they did, didn't they? And she, too,
had dreamt about us.
I arranged the food on a platter and carried it down the hall.
Tall tapers and cheap votive candles illuminated the scene. The girls
had put a CD of Ravel's "La Valse" on the boom box and Melusina danced with
Nicole to the grotesque, fatalistic parody of a Viennese waltz.
Melusina, in a black leotard, did less of the dancing, still in obvious
pain.
Nicole, in a cobalt blue leotard that set off her eyes -- a wad of
toilet paper peeking from the edges at her crotch -- danced as if she was
at a witches' sabbath, her little feet in worn ballet shoes.
Raven, looking defeated but refusing to cry, sat at the table in a halo
of gloom.
Freya was stretched out on one of the weird pieces of furniture that the
Count had loaned us, a purple chaise longue, dressed in a luscious moss
green velvet dress and white silk stockings. I sat down at Freya's feet.
She hiked up the dress and touched her naked blond pussy, gingerly, her
eyes glued to Nicole's tiny, inconceivably beautiful body.
The music entered its crashing, apocalyptic crescendo and climaxed. The
only sounds were the heavy breathing of the ballerinas and Freya's muted
moans.
The stunning runt danced over to me, pressing her overheated little body
to mine. I stroked her sweat-slick upper arms, my fingers very nearly
fitting around them. Possessed, I licked her underarms and thighs.
Melusina sat down next to Raven. The prostitute shifted away.
"I can keep you hard all the time, John," Nicole said quietly, her voice
a tenebrous siren song. "You're going to get addicted to me. You're going
to get as addicted to me as Onania is to herself, aren't you?"
A filmy fear blurred my vision -- how did she know the name "Onania?"
Freya never called herself that except when we were making love. I slowly
realized that she must not have meant Freya and was speaking in the
abstract.
Freya was staring at Nicole as if she wanted to devour her, frigging
herself with abandon. Nicole put her translucent hand on Freya's knee.
Onania came, pulling the delicious girl between her long, white-stockinged
legs.
Nicole gently stroked the blonde's raw snatch. "Do you like little
girls?" Nicole's voice was deep, sickly-sweet, cold. "I turn you on, don't
I?"
"Y-y-yes..."
Nicole teased Freya's long, engorged clitoris. "Do you want me to show
you something?"
"Y-yes."
"I'll be right back -- don't masturbate, okay?" Nicole danced off down
the hall.
I served the women. Raven wouldn't look at me.
Melusina's sweat dried into salt stains on her black leotard. "Did you
fuck my sister?"
I nodded. "She... she made me..." It sounded utterly absurd.
Melusina took my hand. "I've... I've always wanted her." Raven shifted
uncomfortably and started to eat. "I want to watch you," Melusina said.
I took a plate to the chaise longue, cut some steak and fed Freya.
Nicole came bounding back into the room with a jar of Vaseline and a little
box the size of a cigarillo.
"Take off your dress, Onania," she whispered. A chill ran down my spine
as it sank in that she had indeed known Freya's nickname.
Onania removed the lovely dress. Her small, pear-shaped breasts were
nestled in a transparent bra. "You're gorgeous," Nicole whispered, tracing
the puffy nipples. "Do you like little girls?"
"Y-yes."
"Do you want to play with yourself?"
"Y-yes."
"I'm going to play with you instead, baby, okay?" Nicole's voice was
like a verdant wind pushed before a warm, driving rain. Onania nodded.
"Stand up and take off your stockings."
Freya got unsteadily to her feet, supporting herself on my shoulder, and
removed her lacy white garter belt and silk stockings while Nicole unhooked
her filmy bra. Melusina and even Raven stared at the vulnerable,
masturbatory blonde and her little attendant, open-mouthed.
Onania's small, puffy breasts looked big in Nicole's hands.
"Come here, sis."
Melusina approached like the victim of a wicked hypnotist.
"Get naked and get on the floor, sis."
Melusina stripped off her leotard and crouched on the parquet floor.
Her anus was dark and swollen and the welts from her beating criss-crossed
her creamy back. Nicole cut a long strip of meat and threw it at her
sister.
"Grease yourself up, sis. Grease your little whore-hole and stick the
steak in it."
Melusina crawled over to us, took the vaseline and crouched down,
lubricating her shameful rectum and whimpering.
"Lie down, Onania." Freya lay back on the chaise longue, lifted her
spread legs and touched her succulent pudendum.
"Don't, baby," Nicole whispered, gently taking away Freya's hand. "I'm
gonna make you feel real good." She fondled Freya's bizarre long toes,
sucked one, and touched the erect, ruby-red clit. "You're clit's like a
baby cock." She wet her fingers in Onania's dripping snatch and pulled on
it.
The autoerotic blonde moaned. "Nicole... sweetheart... take off your
clothes..."
The diminutive ballerina's fingers slithered on the aroused clitoris.
Nicole looked at me and slid a strap of the cobalt blue leotard over her
narrow shoulder. I took off the sweat-soaked garment and the little girl
removed the triangle of toilet paper. A little blood trickled down her
leg. I bent and licked it off. Onania gasped and frigged herself, staring
at the uncannily lovely eleven-year-old.
"Please don't, baby... let me do you... you can play with your boobs
if you want."
Freya, almost in tears, obeyed, fondling her pear-shaped breasts, her
gray eyes wanton, foggy.
Nicole opened the box she had brought from the bathroom. It contained
an oral thermometer.
"You look so dirty, baby." Freya kneaded her titties and stared at the
translucent, delicate little girl squatting between her long legs.
Raven was squirming, biting on her lip. Melusina masturbated her
wounded anus with the strip of grilled meat, staring at her sister. The
room reeked of seared animal flesh, Nicole's period, female arousal and
candle wax.
I touched Nicole's ass but she pushed my hand away. "Don't, John... I
only want you when we're alone... okay?"
I nodded and Nicole turned back to Onania.
"Nicole... please... frig me..." Freya moaned, squeezing her nipples.
The little girl sucked on the young woman's freaky toes and combed her
wet pubic hair. "You're beautiful, Onania. No wonder you love yourself,"
she whispered. Nicole fingered the nearly delirious girl's dilated
opening. "Sweet little fuckhole..." She slimed her fingers and stroked
Freya's anus. "Are you horny in your poophole, too, baby?"
"Yeeeesssss... yeeeesssss..."
Nicole probed the tight, perverted hole. "You hold your poop in, don't
you, baby?"
"Yeesss..."
"You're nasty, Onania. You're a nasty, dirty, beautiful slut." Freya
grabbed her foot and sucked her finger-like big toe. "Yeah, suck
yourself... suck your dirty, deformed foot, you nasty pervert."
Raven groaned, watching this, and got on the floor, lifting her leather
skirt and jamming her fingers into her bruised cunny.
Melusina stuffed the steak into her bunghole and rubbed her shaven
pussy, whimpering, staring at her sister.
Nicole extracted her fingers from Freya's butt, teased her urethra and
pushed three fingers into the writhing, moaning blonde's slick gash.
"Mmmmh... mmmmh... yessssss... yessssss..."
"Suck yourself, baby... sweet, sweet fuckhole... do you let John come
in here? Do you let John come in your dirty pussy?"
"Waaaaaaaaah... huuuuuhhhh... yes... yessssss..."
"Do you want him to knock you up, Onania?"
"Yeeesssssss!"
"Do you know what I'll do if he does, baby?"
"Mmmmmh... mmmmmh... fuck me... oh, God..."
Nicole finger-fucked her wet hole and stroked her belly. "I'll kick you
so hard it dies, slut. I'll kill it." I shivered.
She pulled her slimy fingers from Freya's cunt and stabbed them into her
crammed rectum. Freya was delirious.
Raven crawled towards me, crying, stripping off her vest. I took her in
my arms and kissed her bruised, childish breasts. She removed the worn
leather skirt, spread her legs and looked up at me pleadingly. I spat on
my fingers and gently stroked her brutalized slit.
Nicole ass-fucked Onania with her fingers, digging out lumps of
compacted feces. It was hard to remember the girl in the library as Freya
writhed wantonly, sucking her long big toe.
The pallid, tiny girl stuffed her left hand into the cramped rectum and
Freya let go of her foot, gasping.
"Spread your pee-pee for me," Nicole said, almost inaudibly, "I'm gonna
put something in your peehole."
Onania parted her labia and Nicole slid the thermometer into her
urethra. Her splayed body tensed as the glass stick penetrated her.
I pushed a finger into Raven's hole and the whore came, convulsively,
bouncing in my lap.
"Is it good in your pee-pee, baby?" Nicole fucked the narrow passage
with the thermometer and tongued the delirious girl's clitoris, sucking it
into her mouth.
Freya opened her eyes wide, took Nicole's fist in her constipated butt
and came, screaming, trembling, pushing her bottom against the little
girl's thin, invading arm. Her secretions sprinkled from her cunt and the
glass stick flew from her peehole as warm yellow urine jetted out of her,
splashing against Nicole's flat chest, soaking the purple velvet chaise.
Raven wiggled and diddled herself, watching the eleven-year-old fist
Onania's rectum. I stroked the whore's loose anus and fondled her almost
non-existent breasts.
"Hold your ankles, pretty baby," Nicole said to Freya, "I'm going to
poop you."
Freya lifted her shapely ass and grasped her ankles. Nicole retracted
her emaciated arm from the packed bowels, and twisted her hand. Freya
screamed.
"Bring me the vaseline, sis."
Melusina slithered over, the meat protruding from her repulsive, swollen
anus, and handed her sister the jar of petroleum jelly.
Nicole caressed Freya's thigh. "Hold your poop, baby... I'm gonna pull
out my hand."
She extracted her hand. A clump of hard excrement plopped out and Freya
contracted her anus, shuddering. Nicole slathered her hands with vaseline
and returned her fist to the to the tortured butthole.
"You're... hurting... me... please don't..."
"Frig yourself, Onania... play with your pretty little cock."
The weeping girl let go of one of her malformed feet and stroked her
clitoris as Nicole fisted her constipated hole.
I flipped Raven's squirming little body over, caressed her pimply butt
and frigged her loose shithole.
Freya's fair body tensed as Nicole forced her anus open with both hands.
She wailed like a woman in labor as the little girl stretched her bottom,
grunting, shaking, and screaming as her bowels emptied onto the chaise, a
hard black stool as long and thick as my forearm sliding from her stinking
hole.
Nicole let go of her damaged shithole and petted her drenched pudendum,
fingering her urethra. Freya kicked and sobbed. "You're so pretty when
you come... did you like it in your peehole, baby?"
"Yes... yes, yes..."
Nicole teased the tiny opening with her little finger. "Do you want me
to do it some more?"
"Yeeesssss... yeeesssss... Ni... Nicole..."
The little girl reintroduced the thermometer to Freya's urethra and
kissed her clit.
"Ss-suck me... suck my clit..."
Melusina touched her little sister's thigh. Nicole spun around and
glared at her. Melusina squatted next to the chaise, frigging herself.
The depraved eleven-year-old broke off a piece of Onania's turd and
offered it to her weeping sister. "Here, sis."
"No!" The older girl shrank back, pushing Nicole's arm away. Nicole
shifted Raven roughly and unbuckled my belt.
"Nicole... no," I said.
"Give it to me. My cunt sister needs it. Don't you, Mel?"
"Noooo! Nicky, you're my sister..."
"So what, Mel? What do you care who beats the shit out of you? You're
the one who wants my cunny... don't you, sis?"
"I... I love you..."
I pushed Nicole away. She looked at me fiercely, got up, and ran into
the other room. Raven crawled over to Freya and started sucking her long
clit, sliding the thermometer in and out of her urethra.
Nicole came back with another one of my belts and stood over her
cowering sister. "Lie down on your back, sis."
"N-no," Melusina whimpered, defiantly.
The tiny, translucent girl brought the whip down across her sister's
face. Melusina screamed and lay down on her back. Nicole lashed her
titties and the screaming girl tried to crawl away. Her little sister
whipped her back and ass with all her might until the limp piece of steak
plopped out of her and she shit herself.
"Eat it, cunt. Eat it or I'll beat you till you pass out."
Sobbing hysterically, the defeated girl chewed on the vile meat.
"Taste good, sis?"
"Wh-why... why are you doing this to me?"
"Because of what you wanted to do to me, you whore. You're lucky I
don't kick you to death, cunt. But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You and
this other whore," she hissed, glaring at Raven, who had stopped eating
Onania. "You've got five years on me, sis. Five years on me and you
haven't learned shit."
"I... I... what do you mean, Nicky?"
"What do I mean? You're... you could be like me, Melusina. You're
destroying yourself. You don't pay attention to what's happening to you."
Nicole put down the belt, wandered over to the table and poured herself
a glass of wine. She sat down and served herself a steak and a mound of
fried tomatoes.
I stood up, buckled my belt, sauntered over to the table and poured
myself a goblet of the Ravenswood Zinfandel. It is a remarkable wine with
an equally remarkable label, almost like a sigil: three ravens in a circle.
I also made myself a plate of cold food and ate, famished.
"I'm sorry, John," Nicole said dully.
I smiled at her. "C'est la vie," I said.
She looked at me with her piercing, venomous eyes for a moment, stared
at the wreck of her sister, the compulsively masturbating Onania, and the
sexually rekindled, bruised child prostitute. She burst into laughter and
we all joined her, with the exception of Melusina.
"C'mere, sis," she said, quietly.
Melusina struggled to her feet and joined us at the table. It must have
been near midnight. Farmington was quiet as a corpse.
Her little sister fed her. After a while Raven and Freya slunk over to
the table. The five of us ate and drank wine, naked, lost, caught in a
kind of love, gone from the world.
"I killed daddy, sis." We all stared at Nicole. She gazed into a candle
flame, her voice distant, removed. "I poisoned his din-din and seduced
him. He was in my cunny when he croaked."
The eleven-year-old guzzled wine and gazed at me. The news did not move
me as it should have -- it's not that I disbelieved her, it's... there was
something alien about this child, as if ordinary rules did not apply to
her, as if she could defy not only human behavior, but even natural law.
When she danced, it was as if she might order gravity to go away and soar
towards the ceiling.
"John's going to marry me," Freya said, out of the blue.
"Do you think so, Onania?" Nicole looked wickedly bemused. She fondled
the pathetically self-absorbed young woman's pear-shaped breast. Freya
spread her legs and moaned. Barely touching her, Nicole ushered Onania
from the chair and got her to bend forward over the table, whimpering. She
pushed the chair aside and stood behind her, caressing her buttocks and
stroking her labia.
"You're so wet, baby... you pretty little slut..."
"Ohhhh... frig me... please... frig me..."
Freya drooled, her eyelids fluttering, the saliva glistening in the
candlelight. "Sweet, sweet fuckhole." Nicole teased the blonde's erect
clitoris and played with her dirty anus. "Come here, sis. Lick her
poophole."
Melusina limped over to the squirming Freya, spread her shapely ass and
lapped at the filthy butt. Nicole ran her fingers across her sister's
cheeks and fingered her leaking shithole.
"Nicky... oh, God... oh, God, Nicky..." Licking Freya's ass, Melusina
reached back and spread her cheeks for her little sister. Her hole was the
size of the entrance to a birdhouse, encrusted with shit.
Raven crawled into my lap and masturbated, wiggling like a worm.
Nicole stroked her sister's slit and slurped at the noxious cavity.
Melusina clung to Freya's hips and lay her head against the small of the
blonde's back, moaning, while Onania frigged herself, trying to see behind
her.
"Hmmmm... uhhhhh... fuck me, sis... fuck me in the ass..."
Nicole tongued her sister's rear as if it was a mouth.
I fondled Raven's childish breasts. The sylph leaned her head back and
opened her mouth, her braces glinting in the soft light. I kissed her and
we both stroked her puffy little cunt, my hard-on straining in my pants
until the whore reached under her and undid my fly. I lifted her and
pulled out my dick, turning her around, squeezing her pimply buttocks,
sticking my tongue in her mouth. "Rub it against your slit, Raven," I
whispered. "Don't put it in... just masturbate yourself."
Onania was coming, bent over the table, stroking her clit with three
fingers, finger-fucking her glistening, conch-pink anus.
Melusina was on the floor, her tight butt in the air, holding her
malodorous shithole open while her little sister frigged her shaven vagina,
coming, crying like a child.
Nicole skipped over to the chaise longue and got the jar of Vaseline.
She lubricated Melusina's ass, sliding her entire hand into the licked-out,
gaping hole.
"Oh, God... Nicky... deeper... fuck me deep, sis... oh, Nicky..."
Onania turned around to watch, mesmerized, languidly stroking her
drooling fuckhole, her fair, statuesque body leaning against the dining
table.
Nicole pranced over to the boom box and started the music again, the
almost inaudible hint of the cacophonous waltz to come swelling in the
pregnant silence. The unbearably beautiful child danced for us while her
whimpering sister masturbated her filthy, lubricated rectum. Freya, Raven
and I were perfectly still, awestruck, watching the little girl whirl like
a pale, hypnotic, delicate dervish. I imagined the sleazy gym teacher
entering his divine daughter, her dark blue eyes studying him as he died.
The waltz grew louder and it seemed that Nicole would fly, her lovely body
leaping into the air, shimmering with sweat.
Melusina stuffed her piano fingers into her slick anus, desperate. At
last her little sister danced up to her, giving us a little bow. She took
off her dusty shoes and bent down.
Her sister spread her cheeks again, begging. "Nicky... I need you...
please...make love to me... fist-fuck me, baby..."
Nicole gazed at me, her eyes the color of antifreeze. A wave of nausea
washed over me as the paralyzingly beautiful, emaciated child placed her
tender little foot on her sister's rump and slimed it with Vaseline. I
tried to speak but it was like trying to scream in a nightmare.
Still gazing at me, Nicole teased her sister's ghastly shitter with her
tiny, porcelain toes. Her voice sounded like the cry of a mermaid in the
center of the Dead Sea. "Masturbate yourself, sis. Frig your pretty
cunny."
She slid her little foot into Melusina. "Frig yourself, sis. I want
you to come while I... while I destroy you."
Melusina wailed and rubbed her clit as Nicole forced her heel into the
tortured hole. "Oh, Nicky... oh, God... uhhhhh... uhhhhhhh... oh, my
baby..." She clawed at the floor as her sister's skinny calf slid deeper.
Nicole gave a high-pitched whine and raised her arms like some barbarous
supplicant, fucking part of her leg in and out of the lubricated orifice.
I felt Raven's loose bunghole rub against my thigh. Freya was
masturbating, her face contorted in a leer of supernatural ecstasy.
"Ohhhhh... uhhhhhh... baby... I'm coming... Nicky..." She bucked
against the slim, glistening leg, squealing.
"Yes, baby, yes... frig yourself, sis... frig yourself... frig your
cunny..."
"Uhhhhh... uh-uh... uh-uh... Nicky... take it out... aaaaaah...
ow... oh please... take it out..."
Nicole twisted her leg, jerked her hands to her bony chest, drove her
translucent leg into her sister's guts past the knee and withdrew it.
Melusina slid to the floor, unconscious. Her calf was coated with blood
and feces.
Raven urinated in my lap. I couldn't breathe.
The music ended and the pale little pervert danced over to the table,
grabbed a knife, lifted her sister by the hair and slit her throat.
I watched as if they were actors, as if her sister would rise and
curtsey. Her sister was dead.
Onania came, thin, milky nectar trickling down her sinuous thigh.
Nicole came up to me, holding the bloody knife. I shit myself. She
fondled the wounded whore's budding breasts and touched her lips. Raven
licked her fingers, sucking the sum and lubricant.
"Do you want me?"
Raven nodded, trembling. She took the prostitute by the hand and led
her to the chaise longue. Raven climbed onto it and Nicole tongued her
behind, fingering her bruised pubis.
I stared at Freya. The miserably aroused girl crouched in the pool of
blood around Melusina and grasped the corpse's wrist, rubbing the limp
piano fingers against her raw fuckhole. Mumbling, Onania got two long,
stained fingers into her hole and humped them. She lay down on her back in
the mess, bunched the lifeless fingers together and pulled them into her
pussy, slithering in the blood like some mythical serpent, sucking her
dripping, scarlet toes.
Raven was coming, undulating, fingering her abused anus as Nicole
stabbed her cunthole with three fingers. The demented child stuffed her
blue leotard into the little whore's mouth and rammed something into her
shithole. Raven tried to escape but Nicole gripped her ankle and thrust
her arm into the shaking girl's rectum.
I was totally paralyzed, watching Onania defile the corpse as Nicole
raped Raven's bowels. The little whore suddenly went limp. Nicole's thin,
slimy arm kept moving in and out of Raven's rectum.
Freya shuddered in continuous orgasm, fucking herself with the
stiffening fingers.
Nicole squealed and retracted her arm from Raven's wrecked hole. I saw
what was in her hand - the box cutter. She had shoved it in and opened it.
Moaning, Nicole slit the dead whore's perineum and gutted her, scooping her
insides out.
My cock was as hard as a stave, a cudgel, a bough. Onania squatted over
Melusina's corpse, working three stiff fingers into her butthole and
diddling herself, gaping at the graceful, depraved waif as she spilled
Raven's guts on the floor.
The ballerina walked over to her and helped her to her feet. She
wouldn't stop masturbating, mewling, frigging her poophole. Nicole lead
her back to the table. Her back and ass were dripping with blood. She was
coming constantly, panting like an exhausted puppy.
Nicole went back to Raven's gutted body, picked up two handfuls of
entrails and threw them on the table.
The child's voice was like a weak west wind in Ultima Thule. "You're so
horny, sweetie... so, so horny..."
Freya lapped at the warm slop, her gray eyes staring insatiably at
nothing, wiggling her messy ass and fingering her tight anus as Nicole
masturbated her, licking her clit and teasing her peehole.
She screamed as Nicole poked her little finger into the urethra, jerking
away. "Shhhhhh... shhhhhhh... let me play with your pee-pee, honey...
frig yourself, baby... come for me, pretty baby..."
Freya sucked on what looked like Raven's cervix and masturbated her
shithole. Nicole withdrew her pinkie and pink urine squirted into her
mouth. Nicole gulped it and licked Freya's hand as the obsessed girl
fucked it into her ass.
Nicole lapped at the bleeding peehole, slurped at her snatch and stabbed
her middle finger into Freya's urethra. Freya screeched as the little girl
tore the tiny opening.
Nicole retracted her finger and kissed Onania on the lips. Trembling
and whimpering in pain, she nonetheless returned her kiss. Nicole caressed
her blood-smeared shoulders and held her dirty hand to her mouth. Freya
sucked her fingers.
The sinister eleven-year-old fondled a steak knife and fucked Onania's
mouth with her little hand. Nicole grabbed her tongue, the steak knife
flashed, and Freya fell to the floor, writhing uncontrollably, blood
pouring from her mouth.
"Uuuueeeeeeehhhhh... uuuueeeeeeehhhh..."
Nicole faced me. I sat rigid in the chair, gripping the sides, my
erection throbbing. Her little body was covered with waste and blood. She
still wore one shoe. Staring at my erection, she touched the hilt of the
knife to her clitty, moaned, and slid it into her hole, holding it by the
blade. Fingering her navel and her flat, soiled chest, she fucked her
menstruating cunny and came, shivering.
Onania watched her, rubbing her bottom on the dead sister's face,
gurgling, kneading her pear-shaped titties and wetting herself. Melusina's
hand was vertical in rigor mortis, the fingers bunched together, dark with
Freya's feces.
Nicole sipped some Ravenswood and turned on the Ravel once more. She
stood before me, stroking her crimson body, white foam at the corners of
her sensual mouth. She turned around, caressed her tiny, bloody buttocks
and slid the hilt of the knife into her little butt.
Freya convulsed in orgasm and collapsed on the dead girl.
Nicole stroked her childish ass, looking at me over her shoulder, the
hilt buried in her tight hole, only the jagged blade protruding. "John...
please... do it for me... gentle..."
I grasped the blade and moved the wet, wooden hilt in and out of her
little butthole until she came, clenching her cheeks. She pressed her
little mouth to my lips. I lapped up the thick foam and kissed her deeply,
fondling her.
"I love you, John," she whispered.
She pulled the knife out and danced wildly across the room. Freya was
on all fours, sucking her crap from the corpse's hand. The room stank like
the lavatory of an abattoir.
Laughing gaily, the child waltzed around with a broom, playfully
whacking Onania with the bristles. Freya slurped at the dead hand,
frigging herself still, blood from her severed tongue dripping down the
corpse's arm.
Nicole put the broom down and teased the young blonde's peehole with the
butt of the knife. "You're gonna die now, Onania."
Freya clasped Melusina's rigid arm and took the frozen hand into her
mouth.
Masturbating, Nicole forced the hilt of the knife into the urethra.
Freya gripped the arm and shifted her knees forward, writhing in pain.
The bloody ballerina wiggled the knife, withdrew it, and slid the blade
into the tiny hole. Freya gagged and her weird feet splayed as Nicole used
her fingers to push the knife all the way in.
"La Valse" swelled and Freya clung to the arm, her legs drawn under her,
her head on the floor, making horrible sounds like some amphibious creature
abandoned in the desert.
Nicole stabbed the broom into the dying girl's urethra, pushing the
knife into her bladder. Freya was still conscious, lying on her side.
Stroking her cunny and emitting low, womanly moans, the eleven-year-old
put down the broom and stumbled to the cardboard box containing her
possessions. She returned to her victim with a long-handled, round mirror.
She had to peel Freya's hand from her dead sister's arm. Onania's
fingers clamped automatically around the handle of the mirror like a claw.
Her bloody, desperate face appeared to her and she came, come trickling
from her spastic cunnus.
Nicole thrust the broom handle back into Onania's ripped urethra. She
stared at her reflection and thrust involuntarily back at the broom, the
miserable, gurgling sounds emanating from her bleeding mouth.
She came again, scum gushing from her cunthole, and blacked out forever.
Nicole rubbed her little cunny on the handle and plunged it through the
bladder of her beautiful sacrifice, moaning hysterically.
"Mmmmeeehhhheh... mmmenhh... mmeennnhhh... huhhhhh..."
The insane waltz throbbed and died. The only noise now was the broom
penetrating Freya's bladder and squishing through her uterus, and the
sloppy little lapping sound of Nicole's tiny inner labia as she masturbated
herself.
The freshly killed girl was still beautiful, her fair face a mask of
self-love and deathly desire, her sinuous leg draped across Melusina's
hard, ivory corpse.
Nicole pulled out the pole and put her lips to the peehole, drinking the
blood that spurted into her mouth, fingering her immature cunny.
"Plennh... pleh... enhh... mmmm... John... John... make love to me...
John..."
I staggered over to her. She lay spread eagled across her two kills,
incarnadine, desirous, out of her mind with need, probing the torn urethra.
"Ennh... ennh... make... love... to... me... ennh..."
I went down on her, tasting blood, pus and hysterical arousal, pushing
my tongue into her diseased cunny and lapping at her dirty little anus.
She came in my mouth, squealing, ejaculating a strange distillate redolent
of nightmares.
I kissed her filthy lips, her tiny body writhing underneath me, and ran
my tongue in circles around her soft nipples. "John... lover... lover...
I want you inside of me... please..."
I took off her remaining shoe and kissed the dainty white foot, grasped
her ankles, lifted her legs and touched my glans to her wet little hole.
Nicole moved the head against her slippery cunny, shivering. She placed
it against the opening and I slipped into her. "Easy... easy, you're
huge... go easy... yes... ennh... deeper, go deeper... slow... slow,
baby... yes... fuck me..."
I slid slowly two thirds of the way into her before I felt her cervix.
She shuddered and I withdrew, leaving only the head in her, and slid back
in. "Ennh... yes... ohhhh... fuck me... oh, yes... enhh... don't
come... please don't come... ennhhh... lyeh-lyeh... lyelyelyehh...
lyeh-lyeh... lyeh-lyeh..." She stared into my eyes, her face contorted in
inhuman ecstasy, drooling, stroking the strange bulge my cock made in her
skinny, blood-smeared belly as I screwed her. "Deeper, darling... ennh...
please... get it in my... ennh... womb..."
I pushed against her cervix. She jerked spasmodically and my cock
slipped into her uterus. "Heh-ennnhhh... ennh... ennh... don't...
come... ennh... get it... in... get it... in... ennh... innnn...
get..." I forced my shaft into her womb, straining not to come.
"Ennnnghh... ennh... ennh... ennh... ennh... lyeh... ennh... lyeh
lyeh lyeh... lyeh lyeh lyeh... plyeh... lyeleyelyehhh lyelllehhh..." I
felt her little hands on me, tugging me rhythmically against her until she
came, a flood of saliva streaming from her mouth. Her head lolled like a
baby's. I held my breath and semen, shuddering, and withdrew.
I took her in my arms and tongued her freaky, polluted body, lapping up
the saliva dripping down her chin, licking her flat, filthy chest, sucking
her umbilicus -- it protruded from her taut tummy like a flowerbud made of
pale, hard rubber -- and pressing my tongue against her nipples. She
squirmed and wiggled her bottom, cooing, stroked her bloody throat, licked
her soiled fingers, looked at me like a rabid mermaid and fucked her little
mouth with her hand.
I lay her down on her sister's cold, unyielding midriff and heard a
horrifying squishing noise as my weight pressed against Freya's stomach. I
drew back and Nicole leapt onto the soft belly and squatted like a
gargoyle, opalescent drool dribbling from her gash. Blood squirted from
the corpse's crotch. I was kneeling between its outstretched legs. My
penis brushed against the pubic hair.
Nicole fingered her slit, sucked the scum from her fingers and came,
tormenting her urethra with the tip of her pinkie as fuck drizzled from her
raw, obscenely dilated pubis.
Moaning, she fell back and lifted her legs, teasing her shithole and
sucking her thumb, her dirty little feet waving in the air. She circled
the wet, pink hole with her middle finger and thrust her foot at my mouth.
Gasping, Nicole spread her taut cheeks and defecated, foul, grayish
brown liquid spurting from her tiny anus. Hissing, she wormed her little
finger into her perverted urethra and came again, grunting as cloudy
effluent drooled from her fuckhole and a soft black turd splurted from
rectum.
Torturing her sick peehole with her little finger and sucking her slimy
toes, rolling her eyes back into her head and shivering, she muttered my
name. Retracting her finger and letting go of her foot, she lay like a
weird starfish, piss gushing from her red, open urethra.
Still shivering, sighing, Nicole sat up and had another fit of diarrhea,
farting water.
She crawled to me, masturbating her immature, gaping vulva and fondling
her excrement. A mischievous, wanton glint in her dazzling, sapphire eyes,
the little girl brought her waste to her mouth and smeared it across her
face and throat, stroking her long neck and fingering her flat chest.
Frigging her cunny, she reached for my penis and touched it softly. She
licked her fingers and tenderly stroked my glans.
"Fuck... her... John... please... for me... fuck her."
I stared at her refined, beautiful, infinitely hungry face. She rubbed
my cock gently with her small, dirty hands and looked up at me pleadingly.
"Lift her legs... please, John... do it for me..."
I don't know if it excited her or was some sort of test. I grasped the
corpse's ankles and lifted the limp, heavy, stiffening legs. The inhuman
eleven-year-old stroked my shaft and touched my glans to the congealed
blood at the mouth of Freya's demolished urethra.
"Fuck... her... fuck her pee-pee..."
I thrust into the ragged, soggy hole and Nicole caressed my hips and
nipples, rolling her eyes and sucking on her shit.
"Dtheh... mlyeh... dtheh-dtheh... enhh..." She swallowed her feces,
stroking her throat, lay back, lifted her little butt and masturbated her
shithole.
"John... lover... you can fuck my ass... use the Vaseline...
please..."
I withdrew from the dead urethra, searched for the jar and fumbled with
the lid. She held her tiny anus open, trembling.
I worked a gob of Vaseline into the tight hole and pushed my middle
finger into her rectum.
"Yes... use your fingers, lover... I'm... I've never had anybody in
there... oh, God... unhhh... more... please... unhh... do more..."
I inserted two fingers, stretching her, withdrew them, and stuffed
Vaseline into her anus, licking her foot. I lubricated my penis and rubbed
my glans against her sphincter.
"Be careful... don't hurt me..." She held her ankles and I pushed
slowly, steadily against the tight muscle. The head of my cock popped in
and Nicole screamed. I held still until she relaxed a little, then slid
deeper as gently as I could.
"Ohhh yes... I'm so little... it feels so dirty... deeper, my love...
deeper... fill me..."
I grasped her feet and she moved her hands to her chest, stroked her
ribs and fingered her nipples.
"Unnnh... it feels... wild... deeper, darling... ennh... ungh...
deep... fuck me... fuck me, lover... fuck my virgin asshole...
unnngh... God..."
I stared at her absurdly thin arms and sleek, fragile body. Only the
whites of her eyes were visible. She fingered her navel and stroked her
throat.
My swollen cock filled her anal canal, the glans against the curve in
her intestine. She foamed at the mouth and shuddered, squealing.
I started to fuck her with long, slow, steady, strokes. The child
moaned like an evil spirit summoned to a seance.
Lightly caressing her tiny buttocks, I slammed into her and fucked her
hard. Grunting, she thrust back at me, her legs waving in the air. I
pounded her with short, deep strokes. She screamed and we came together,
my jism flooding her empty bowels, an opalescent discharge splurting from
her inflamed fuckhole.
I slid from her bottom and fingered the gaping hole. Nicole moaned and
closed her legs, sat up and pulled me to her. Her mouth was musky with
feces. I stroked her emaciated, slimy arms, filled her mouth with my
tongue and masturbated her little cunny until she came again, moaning
weakly.
She staggered to the table, took a swig from the bottle and ate steak
with her hands, trembling like an adolescent speed freak. I watched her
ravenous, unnatural feeding. She finished all the meat on the table and
chewed on Raven's guts, scarfed down the tomatoes and guzzled wine.
She put the music back on and danced desperately around the room,
holding her stomach, doubled over, stuck her fingers down her throat and
vomited, shaking.
I went over to her and caressed her cold, sweating little body.
"Nicole -- are you okay?"
She puked, shivered, and touched my hand to her dilated anus.
"Yeah..."
"Are you sick?"
"I... I always do this..."
"You're... bulimic?"
"Yeah... I... get me some water, please..."
I walked to the kitchen, my bones like lead, and fetched a glass of tap
water. When I got back Nicole was in the other room, under the covers.
She gulped the water and I crawled into bed with her.
"I'm your wife now," she said.
I kissed her and drifted off, fleeting figments turning into dreams,
dreams turning into darkness, the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the City
of Dreadful Night.
The Sinister Sister Ch 12-13
Written by Silvio Stoker
XII
A songbird twittered beyond the lattice in the icy morning light, a
displaced bird singing in the dead of winter. My child-wife lay beside me,
staring out the window at the little yellow-breasted bird as it flitted
from branch to branch in the slippery elm that stretched its bare branches
toward the tall, narrow windows of our bedroom.
It was the first time I had seen her nude by daylight. She was
stretched out like an erotic starfish, her unnaturally beautiful body the
color of some exclusively nocturnal creature, almost without pigmentation,
where I had licked her, elsewhere stained with dried blood, feces, come,
saliva, menses and urine. She probed her freakish urethra with the slender
middle finger of her left hand. Her defects -- the nasty, vermilion sores
on her hairless vulva (there were seven that I could see), her abnormally
dilated peehole, the scars from premature intercourse in her pubescent
cunny, her eating disorder, the emaciated body, the almost grotesque
thinness of her arms, the sick smell of her breath, her small stature --
only heightened her frightening beauty.
The stench from my dead lovers in the other room filled my nostrils.
Nicole was in a trance, breathing heavily, staring at the bird and the gray
sky above the river, tormenting her urethra. I put my hand on her thigh.
She groaned, forced her finger into her peehole and raised her legs.
"Enhh... John... my butt... please... please lick it... please..."
She lifted her ass. There was a slight bruise around pink, puckered
anus. I licked her as she fucked her middle finger into her urethra.
"John! Masturbate it... your fingers... now..."
I gently touched the tiny, pink asshole. Nicole stabbed her finger into
her peehole and a fountain of evil-smelling, dark liquid spurted from her
ass, splashing against my thighs. I spread her cheeks and clamped my mouth
to her shithole, drinking her -- I wanted everything that came from her, no
matter what it was.
"Enhhh... yessss... oh, John..." She started to cry, sliding the
finger from her crimson urethra, acrid urine spraying my face. I sucked
her clenched, tender anus and lapped at her diseased cunny, teasing her wet
peehole with my tongue. She spread her labia and grunted.
"Uggh... yes my pee-pee... yes my pee-pee... yes yes yes..."
I tongued the tortured, bright red hole, her little feet knocking
against my shoulders. I pushed the tip of my tongue against her urethral
opening and Nicole came, a glob of snot splurting from her fuckhole. It
was bitter, putrid.
I fingered her tiny clitty, kissing her adorable feet. The little girl
was lost in ecstasy, drooling, rubbing her nipples.
"Lyeh... lyeh-lyeh... pee-pee... lyeh... play with my pee-pee..."
I caressed the raw little opening. Her head thrashed from side to side,
her little body rigid.
"Lyeh... stick it in... please..."
I pushed the first joint of my little finger into the dilated hole.
Nicole shuddered, squealed, and pulled on her nipples. Slightly yellowish,
opalescent fluid spewed from her cunny. I retracted my finger and a little
trickle of pink urine ran down her crotch.
I embraced her, kissing her armpit and fondling her ass.
"John?"
Her eyes were troubled. I kissed her little mouth.
"John, I'm sick."
"I know. Do you know what it is?"
"I don't know... you know... VD..."
"Have you been to the doctor?"
"No."
"I... I know a doctor..."
"Will you go with me?"
She was suddenly like a little girl instead of an alluring monster. I
kissed her nipples and ran my fingers along her ribs. "Yes... Nicole...
Nicole, how long have you been... having sex?"
"About a year."
"Your father?"
"No... not until... not until the night I killed him. Other people."
"Your... your urethra..."
"I did that. I started with a thermometer... I... I like it. Do you
think it's ugly?"
"No, but..."
"I've been frigging myself since I was seven. I do all kinds of things
to myself. I stick things in my cunny, too."
"How long... how long have you been making yourself throw up?"
"Since I started fucking, I guess. I don't just do that. I... I use
laxative, too."
"You can't do that to yourself, baby."
"I know."
"If you know, why don't you stop... Nicole, we can get help... the
doctor and..."
She put her filthy fingers to my lips. "Maybe you shouldn't start
planning my future while there's murdered people in the living room,
honey."
I had been blocking it out of my mind, expecting an avalanche of guilt,
fear and despair to crush me at any moment. It did not. All I cared about
was this little girl. She erased the rest of the world, snuffed it out
like a campfire left burning in a virgin forest. I didn't care if she
destroyed the universe -- I only worried that she would destroy herself.
Her bulimia was of much greater concern to me than her crimes. Her crimes
horrified me, but they also aroused me. Only her beauty, her grace, her
orgasm mattered to me.
"What are we going to do?" I wanted to get practical matters out of the
way and sink into the Night of Love.
She touched my foreskin, drawing it back. My penis hardened instantly.
"If you ever get scared, all I have to do is touch your boner."
"I know."
"I know you know."
I felt like Tristan in the Liebestod, stridently proclaiming to his
beloved: "You -- Tristan, I - Isolde!" The final interchange of tinctures.
Nicole sat up and crossed her legs. She looked like a child -- a
perverse, intellectual, damaged child.
"Freya's father lives next door."
"I know... don't worry about him."
"You don't understand -- he met me... he knows she lives here."
"He won't say anything."
"You -- you killed him?"
"No... I fucked him." She giggled. "It was hard, too -- I think he's a
faggot."
The wan sky darkened and tiny flakes of hard, icy snow blew against the
windows. The little, yellow-breasted bird perched on the window sill,
tapping its beak against the glass. Nicole rose and opened the window.
The bird fluttered away and a freezing gust swept into the room, dispersing
the stench for a moment. She stood in the gelid wind, her eyes closed,
breathing deeply.
I went and put my arms around her. She pressed her head against my
chest and smiled.
Leaving the window open, we went into the other room. Freya's body and
her sister's corpse lay next to each other, head to foot. Her sister's arm
was still upraised, rigid. The disemboweled mess that had been Raven was
draped stiffly across the purple chaise longue.
We went to the magnificent bathroom and filled the sunken tub, embracing
as the water splashed against the ashen marble.
"We're alone now," Nicole said softly.
"I love you."
"I know."
Water is a wonderful substance, sweetest of the elements. If you pray
to it, bathing, it will purify your heart as well. Soaking the scum off
our bodies, washing one another, splashing about like naughty children, we
restored ourselves and one another. I felt rejuvenated, keen, alive.
Nicole's strangely melancholy precociousness disappeared into the warm,
murky water. We drained the bathtub and filled it again, washed each
other's hair, climbed from the basin and wrapped ourselves in soft, white
towels.
I went back into the mortuary room and gazed at my slaughtered lovers,
wishing that the deluge would come again, torrential waters tearing through
this room, this valley, this world, cold currents sweeping us away, my arms
around the lithe, white body of my child-wife... with no Noah this time,
no one, no wife to rescue the vine, no pairs of sullen animals goaded into
a black ark -- just swirling, annihilating waters, a whirlpool of sweet,
somnolent extinction.
"Fire," Nicole said. Her eyes were limpid, the color of my vision.
"What?"
"It's a beautiful dream... but there won't be a flood."
"How..."
"I can see you sometimes... your world, I mean. It's like... like...
what is it, ectoplasm?"
"I thought that was skin that, well, shows up at a seance."
"No, then. It's like... like a sort of jellyfish. When you look into
my eyes and you get dreamy."
"Jellyfish are Medusas' in French."
She grasped my cock. "I only want to turn a little part of you to
stone."
"What should we do?"
"I like it that... that you treat me like a grown-up."
"You... in some weird way you are."
Nicole smiled, her eyes slowly letting go of me. "I'll take care of
it... don't you have to go to work?"
I looked at the clock. It was 11:30. I had to be at the liquor store
at noon. "You don't think we should run away?"
"No."
"What if the guy upstairs saw us? I mean, he must have heard us."
We dressed. Her entire wardrobe seemed to consist of t-shirts,
sweatshirts and tights. I put on a pair of jeans, a gray flannel shirt and
a black sweater. I had no time for coffee.
"Don't worry about it."
"You fucked him, too?"
"Jealous?" She put on a pair of pink ballet shoes and did a little
pirouette, ending in my arms. "No darling, his brother maybe. I didn't
fuck him. I talked to the Count."
"Nicole, most people you chat with might not be so friendly if they knew
you got off impaling little girls."
"Really?" She sucked her thumb. "That's most people. You're not most
people. The Count is not most people. I don't think him or his brother
will mind."
"What do you mean?"
"He's into the same stuff I'm into."
"I'm afraid to ask -- what's that?"
"Occult stuff."
"What kind?"
"You're going to be late for work, my love. Ask him, maybe he'll tell
you." She gave me a quick, chaste kiss. "And don't worry, the house will
be spic and span when you come home."
I kissed her forehead, put on my parka, and trudged off to the
desecrated church.
XIII
My first day in the employ of the obscenely tall, apparently malignant
creature went very well. The blizzard winnowed our customer base, and only
alcoholics came in -- the furtive, secret drunks acquiring half pints of
Johnnie Walker or Jack to tipple over lunch, the geezers buying cheap gin
and vodka, and the winos I had seen outside the church when I first entered
the store. The Count actually gave them credit, but he would not let them
loiter inside, sending them out into the drifting snow with their swill.
The lack of custom allowed him to show me around and train me. There
was really not much to do -- I knew how to run a register, and deliveries
came only once a week, Mondays.
He kept a pistol in the drawer behind the counter. "Don't take no shit,
okay? Anybody gives you any trouble, blow em away and call me. You want
some coffee?"
He poured two mugs of inky brew from a thermos and splashed a liberal
dose of Southern Comfort into each.
"Don't you need to be threatened... to shoot somebody?"
"You probin', boy?" The Count cackled. "Got some dead pussy to dispose
of?"
I stammered some meaningless syllables and gulped the spiked coffee.
"Wh-what if I did," I finally stuttered.
He patted me on the back with his huge, thin hand. "Good, buddy.
Always be honest with me. That's part of why I hired you. I got other
stuff do, and I know you won't be whining if you see some things woulda
made Otis jumpy."
"Otis?"
"My bro. Lives in your attic. He called me last night and told me my
new tenants were throwing a little massacre."
"I... I thought... okay..."
"Thought my crystal ball told me? Woo-ooo-ooo!" He chortled, finished
his coffee and sloshed straight Comfort into his mug. "He'll help your
little wifey clean up, if you want."
The Count picked up the phone and called his brother. Their
conversation was mostly "uh-huhs" and grunts. "Looks like the little woman
already found some help. I'm gonna go in the back now, buddy... and I
guess that's the main rule around here: don't ever, under any
circumstances, come in the back. You hear?"
I nodded agreement, sat down on the barstool behind the register, and
sipped my java.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Every half hour or so a drunk would
show up and buy a bottle. The storm continued unabated beyond the leaded
glass of the narrow windows.
Now and then mysterious, disturbing sounds seeped from the back room --
a thud, a metallic sound, a muffled moan. I assumed he had a woman in
there. Every sound that emanated from the back made me think of Nicole.
The snow made me think of her skin, the wind reminded me of her voice, the
liquor in the slovenly rows of dusty bottles made me dream of her
chemistry.
At six the Count emerged from the back room, sweaty and disheveled,
bearing a tray with two sandwiches. I couldn't see beyond him into the
dark space. He handed me a sandwich, roast beef, uncorked a bottle of
Beaujolais and filled our coffee mugs with the purple wine.
"How's it going?"
"It's fine, fine... hunkydory."
"You can bring stuff to read if you want."
I scarfed down the sandwich and quaffed the Beaujolais, thinking of
Nicole's juices. "Where are you from?"
"Down South. Came here about ten years ago. Same as you -- saw the
place and knew I had to live here. Actually worked in real estate for a
while, long enough to buy the place you live in and this joint."
"Did you figure out why you had to live here?"
"Oh yeah. Oh yeah. All in good time, buddy. I gots to go." He drained
his mug and grabbed his tophat and an old camel-hair overcoat. "Back
room's off limits... curiosity killed the cat." He handed me the keys,
told me to lock up at nine sharp, and stepped out into the swirling snow.
Just before nine a twentyish wino with tangled, flame-red hair and a
bushy beard came in and bought a bottle of Richard's Wild Irish Rose.
"You the guy in the house, huh?"
"Yes," I said, my hand dangling near the gun drawer -- there was
something about this dude that put me on my guard.
"I used to live there. A whole bunch of us. Moved out."
I made change and bagged his rotgut. He looked undecided, jumpy.
"Why'd you move out?"
The redhead unscrewed his bottle and took a swig. "He's Satan, man. If
I was you I'd get out while you can."
"No drinking in here."
He glared at me, stuffed the bottle into his smelly jacket, and
staggered out into the storm.
I finished the Beaujolais, cleaned up, paid for a bottle of cognac,
waited for the stroke of nine and locked up.
I walked down the middle of the unplowed streets. The snow came almost
to my knees and the fierce wind whipped it against my face. In places I
had to skirt mountainous drifts, an imperiled explorer, the tremulous
needle of my soul pointing me home to the creature I adored. Home, I said
to myself, home.
In front of Pastor Eriksson's was a high, wide snowdrift. I cut across
his lawn and noticed that his door was wide open, wind driven snow snaking
into the entrance hall of the brightly lit mock Tudor house. I crept up
the steps and peered inside.
Freya's father's body hung in the stairwell from a long rope, swaying.
He was dressed in a cassock. I stared at him, wondering, fearing, retraced
my steps and continued across the snowy lawn. "Dreaming dreams no mortal
ever dared to dream before..."
Our apartment was spotless. There were fresh flowers on the table,
white tulips, and a Casablanca lily in the bedroom that filled the house
with a sweet, fecund scent.
When I didn't see Nicole a little claw of panic gripped my throat. I
searched for her in the bathroom and ran to the kitchen.
The kitchen table was laden with food, the packages viciously torn, as
if a wild animal had gnawed them open. The naked child sprawled on the
floor in her own vomit. She clutched a glass of mustard and water, her
breath coming in fierce, dry sobs.
"Ehhh... enhh... John... fuck me... ehhh... fuck my ass..."
She lay on her side, drew her legs up, and smeared her pale butt with
puke, fingering her anus.
I took her in my arms and kissed her, caressing her chest. She wet
herself, soaking my jeans, and feverishly pulled at my zipper. I undid my
pants and Nicole slimed my cock with vomit, panting, turned around and
crouched on the slick floor, offering me her ass.
I licked her pissy cunny, spread her cheeks and lapped at the bruised
butthole. She slid her middle finger into her urethra and came, love and
yellowish effluent seeping from her fuckhole.
"Unhh... eh-heh... unghh... enhh... enhh... enhh-enhh..."
I masturbated her tight anus and Nicole bucked against my finger, her
hands sliding in the puke, urine trickling from her scarlet peehole. She
crawled forward, clutched her buttocks, and squealed. Grayish water spewed
from her shithole.
"Oh God... oh God... ehh... buttfuck me... please please buttfuck
me..."
I lubricated my shaft with salad oil, turned her on her side, fondled
her nipples and rubbed my glans against her diseased cunny.
"John... oh, John... I waited... for you..." She grasped my penis and
pulled the head against her raw urethra, trembling. I pushed the head
against her crimson peehole and Nicole came again, the discharge oozing
from her snatch, wailing.
I thrust two fingers into her butt and poured salad oil down the crevice
between them, put my cock against her anus and penetrated her, holding her
foot, licking between the toes, fondling her umbilicus.
"Nghh... nghh... fuck... nghh... enhh... nghh..."
Her rectum was feverishly hot, like an oily, rubbery radiator tube.
"Enhh... frig my pee-pee... John..."
I fucked her ass and diddled her inflamed urethra with my thumb, holding
her skinny ankle. She grasped my middle finger like a dick and pressed the
tip to her dilated peehole.
"Fuck my pee-pee... yessss... yes..."
I thrust all the way into her bowels and gently forced my finger into
the narrow entrance to her bladder.
Nicole screeched in pain and thrust back at my cock, pulling my finger
into her tight, sick peehole.
"Aaaaaaaaaargh... thhhhh... th-th... aaaaah... fuck it... oh God
fuck my pee-pee..."
I sucked her foot and slammed her rectum. She bit her lip, convulsed,
and slithered away, her little white body jerking spasmodically, my cock
slipping from her shithole, water spraying from her mangled urethra, a glob
of scum splurting from her pubescent vagina.
I kissed her crotch, her tummy, her nipples, her mouth, and carried her
to the bathroom, fingering her slimy, open butt.
While the water sloshed into the marble tub, Nicole stripped me and
caressed my hard-on.
"I thought about you constantly," she whispered. "If I don't watch it
I'm gonna turn into Onania and have to play with myself all day."
"What did you do with them?"
She dove into the tub. It looked like an expensive kiddie pool with her
cavorting in it, a pallid, sinister mermaid. She rested her arms on the
edge, her face a monstrance of narcissistic desire and enigmatic need.
"Pee in my mouth."
"Nicole..."
"Please, darling..."
I knelt above her and urinated into her mouth. Nicole drank it, closing
her eyes, trying to swallow it all, cupping her pretty hands below her
chin. She grabbed my ankles and climbed from the marble tub, squatted in
front of me and licked her feces from my penis, looking up at me with the
dark sapphires of her smutty, adoring eyes. She put her lips around my
glans, but suddenly shivered and doubled over at my feet, vomiting my piss,
shaking.
"Nicole... baby... do you want to got to the hospital?"
"No... no... I'm okay. Hold me, John."
I picked her up and climbed into the tub. She was cold, weak. I rocked
her and kissed her forehead.
I washed her and cleaned myself, carried her to the bedroom and tucked
her in. She looked innocent, ill, miserable. I kissed her goodnight.
"Don't leave me alone, please."
I crawled into bed with her and caressed her. She grasped my penis and
licked my ear, whispering. "If you were smaller you could get it in my
pee-pee. Would you like that? Would you like to stick your cock in my
dirty little pee-pee?"
"Baby... you need to rest..."
Nicole sucked my earlobe, her soft hands stroking my shaft. "Talk dirty
to me, darling... talk dirty and do me rough... did you like pissing in
me? Did you like squirting your little whore full of piss? John?"
She licked my hard-on, trying to get it into her mouth. "You're so big,
darling. So big. Fuck me in my mouth, John. Rape my dirty mouth with
your big cock."
I climbed on top of her and rubbed my cock against her titties. Nicole
squirmed and brought my hands to her slender throat. "Fuck my pee-pee,
baby. Shove your big, hard cock in my pisshole."
"Shut up, Nicole."
"Rip my peehole open with your cock, John. Rip me open."
My fingers tightened around her throat and she came, choking, undulating
like a blindworm. "Hhhh... mww... enhh... squeeze... my neck..."
I spat on her pale, flat chest and rubbed my dick against her. Nicole
gurgled, strangling herself, my cock sliding against her hard chest. I
grabbed her wrists and held her, humping her skinny little body.
"Enhh... enhhh... fuck my mouth... fuck my potty mouth..."
I squeezed her soft nipples violently, seized her head and thrust my
penis into her mouth, forcing over an inch into the snug wetness. I
grunted, shuddered and ejaculated, filling her little mouth with spunk.
Nicole teased my anus with her finger. "Do you like that?"
"Yes... Nicole..."
She looked fascinated, excited. "Do you want me to lick you there?"
I moved off of her and got on all fours. The little girl tongued my
crack, fondling my balls. She spread my cheeks and kissed my bunghole. I
groaned as her tongue flickered at the hole. She moaned and pushed it in.
Nicole slurped at my ass for what must have been an hour, circling it,
tongue-fucking it, caressing my scrotum, spitting into my bum and sucking
it out. Whimpering, she fingered the hole.
"Do you want me to fuck you?"
"Y-yes..."
She gently pushed what must have been her middle finger into my ass. It
felt strange -- very arousing, but I lost my erection. I felt her dripping
cunny against my heel.
She added another finger and rubbed her little slit against my heel,
moaning. Her fingers pressed against my shit.
"Nicole..."
Her voice was throaty, hoarse. "I can feel your poop, John... I can
feel your poop..."
She retracted her fingers and pressed her wet lips to my anus, spitting
and sucking, her oozing gash pressing against my foot. Groaning, I shit
her little mouth. Choking, Nicole crawled under me and I climbed on top of
her.
She held my turd in her mouth like a dildo, her pupils dilated as if she
was drugged.
I turned her on her side and penetrated her slimy, sick little snatch,
sliding past her cervix, filling her. Nicole fucked her mouth with my
excrement and masturbated her bright red urethra. I licked my thumb and
pushed it into her anus, feeling it through her vaginal membrane. Her
depraved body shuddered and I felt her cunny contract. I pounded the
tight, slick hole and we both came, blood rushing to her pale face, my seed
spewing into her little womb.
The girl was barely conscious. I pulled out of her, took her hand from
her peehole and took the feces away. I kissed her soiled mouth, pulled the
blankets over us and held her loosely, inattentive to the carapace of
dreamless sleep that soon surrounded us both.
The Sinister Sister Ch 14-15 Written by Silvio Stoker
XIV
A ray of winter sun anointed Nicole's narrow, white, bony hips as I
opened my eyes. She was lying on her back, her thin legs drawn up, eating
my feces and sliding a pencil in and out of her tortured urethra. I
touched her emaciated arm and she gave a little masochistic moan of
pleasure. I straddled her and molested her tiny breasts. I put my penis
to her lips and urinated into her mouth. Nicole caressed my hips and
drank.
I turned her around and held her by the hips. Only the eraser of the
yellow pencil protruded from her peehole. I pushed my swollen cock into
her childish pussy and screwed her hard, spanking her and stabbing my
fingers into her leaking anus. She clutched the pillow like a child.
I yanked my cock from her snatch, pulled out the pencil and banged my
dick against her perverted urethra, slapping her taut, creamy buttocks.
She was incoherent, babbling and masturbating her dilated poophole.
I pressed my glans to her tiny, hard clitty, then rubbed her open
urethra, jerked off, moistened my middle finger and slid it into her
peehole. Nicole screamed in ecstatic pain, digging four fingers into her
rectum.
I wiggled the finger, withdrew it, pushed my cock against the raw hole
and ejaculated into the narrow, sore tube that led to her bladder. She was
coming, her hand buried in her ass, chewing on the pillow and shuddering as
cloudy liquid spewed from her cunny. I lapped at her slit and embraced
her.
It was eight o'clock. Nicole leaned over the edge of the bed, shaking
with nausea, and puked, my regurgitated wastes splashing against the floor.
I carried my depraved little bride to the bathroom and put her in the tub,
adjusted the water and went to make breakfast.
She had to eat and keep it down, or she would die. I boiled eggs and
toasted some rolls. It was cold and sunny outside.
She looked like a naiad, her pallid body delighting in the bath. She
came to the edge and I spoon-fed her a soft-boiled egg. I made her eat
some toast and drink a glass of milk.
She gave me a voracious look and started to wolf down the rolls. I took
them away.
"I'm hungry... John..."
"Nicole, I want you to eat decently. Period."
I joined her in the tub. We washed one another and kissed, climbed out,
dried ourselves, brushed our teeth, combed our hair, and studied our odd
pairing in the large mirror -- my weathered, slouched, nearly middle-aged
form beside the skinny, milk-white eleven-year-old ballerina. She looked
almost like a normal little girl now except for the dirty traces of
debauched, orgasmic darkness that mixed with girlish awe in her sapphire
eyes. There was an impish lewdness in her childish face, and to see her
immature body naked while not making love to it was deeply unsettling.
Her scabrous prepuce hid a swollen, raw clitty. Open sores glistened
with pus around her scarlet, dilated, oozing cunny, and her urethra looked
like a second, tiny cunt, dribbling urine and sperm. Wet, grayish stool
leaked from her abused rectum. Her mouth was acrid, rotten from constant
vomiting.
This must come to an end, I thought, this mirrored, mirroring head
unknowing this troubled soul, the snake of despair and death coiled around
the distant, pallid body. I drank as if I had a hole in my being.
Baudelaire said of Poe that "he drank as if he wanted to kill something
inside him, a worm that refused to die." I had externalized the worm in the
apple of my heart, and the sinuous creature crept about the bathroom, using
me to provoke its masochistic ecstasies, the apple of my eye. I figured I
had time to take her down to Kingsport to see Dr. Foster and still be on
time at the liquor store. I put on jeans and an Icelandic sweater, dressed
the shagged out, nearly delirious girl and we went to the car and drove
through the icy streets.
"So what did you do with the bodies?" She looked like a little girl
being driven to school, and I hoped people would assume she was my
daughter.
"I ate some and went to Pastor Eriksson's. We sank them. I made him
help me get them down the riverbank. We went out to the edge of the ice
and sank them with stones. I made him tie bags of stones to them and push
them into the current."
And the good pastor had returned to his nightmarish Tudor home and hung
himself. I dimly remembered the blue strobe of a police car shining into
my dream and hearing the wail of an ambulance.
Ophelia, I thought, your name should be Ophelia. She looked like a
child in her blue parka. The crotch of her dingy white tights was stained
with urine and she smelled like a cocksucking whore from a train station
washroom.
We made good time and I pulled into the parking lot of the County
Hospital.
"I don't wanna go to the doctor." She pouted.
"You're going, Nicole. Come on."
She started to cry. "Come on, baby." I kissed her eyelids. "I'll stay
with you."
"Noooo.... I don't wanna." She reached into her tights, scratched her
diseased cunny and sobbed.
"Nicole -- I thought... I thought you wanted a baby. You can't have a
baby if you're sick."
"I don't want a baby, I wanna be pregnant... I wanna feel it fill me
up."
"Nicole, you're going to the doctor whether you like it or not. Come
on, I'll buy you some new clothes afterwards."
She brightened. "Promise?"
"Promise... come on."
I goaded her into the waiting room. The nurses looked at us in horror.
The same stern young woman who had admitted Melusina was at the desk.
"Could we see Dr. Foster?"
She was going to call the police. The certainty of that sparkled
resolutely in her shocked, vengeful eyes. My knees felt weak.
Nicole stared across the counter, looking like a tiny fury, and stared
down the stern, revolted woman. TANYA HOWARD, R.N. -- ADMISSIONS, it said
on her tag.
The woman's expression slowly turned to one of fear.
"I wouldn't if I were you," Nicole hissed. "You call the cops and your
little kid is gonna get hurt real bad."
Tanya Howard, R.N., clutched her throat and let out a pitiful little
wail, terror suffusing her body.
Only then did I notice that there was a photograph of Nurse Howard, a
yuppie-looking guy, a spaniel and a little boy on the shelf behind her.
Nicole was using her sinister mind, not any occult powers, except for her
venomous, frightening eyes.
"Call the Doctor."
The nurse paged Dr. Foster. We sat down. The waiting patients, the
worried parents and the sick children stared at us with hatred, revulsion
and a smidgen of fear.
The evil Doctor came out of his lair after perhaps ten minutes. He
looked flustered for a moment, then set his jaw in a grimace of angry
panic.
"Come with me," he snapped. We followed him down a corridor and into an
operating room.
"Are you crazy?" His voice was a high-pitched snarl. "They'll --
they'll think I run a pedo ring!"
"No choice, Doc," I said slowly. "Examine her -- she's sick. If you
try anything... if you try anything, you go down with me."
Murderous hatred flashed in his corrupt eyes. Nicole disrobed and lay
down on the padded, sterilized table. I didn't -- I couldn't watch this,
couldn't bear to see the dignified pedophile inspecting her abused
genitals, knowing that I had done this to her. He probably thought I had
given her VD as well.
He messed around with a speculum and various other instruments while I
paced the brightly lit room abominating hospital-stink. He drew blood and
measured her blood pressure, tapped her chest and stuck her with needles.
After perhaps an hour he ordered her to get dressed.
"To begin with, anorexia nervosa, bulimia, severe trauma to the anus,
vagina and especially the urethra, gonorrhea, syphilis, urethritis.
Trichomoniasis, though the symptoms are unusual, and, possibly,
tuberculosis. There are several indications that she may also have AIDS.
She needs to be hospitalized... no, she needs to be institutionalized.
And that means, Mr.... Mr. Lewis -- we're calling you her father, so call
her your daughter when you speak with Tanya on the way out - that means you
get her away from me, got that? This is as far as I am going. Don't ever
bring her here, ever -- or, as you say, you go down with me. I'll take you
down."
"You took blood."
"I'll run the tests to see if she has AIDS. That way, the rest of it
doesn't matter, does it? I'll write you a prescription for penicillin,
metronidazole, a couple of salves. And I'll never set eyes on you again,
got that? I'm afraid Tanya will call the police."
"She won't," Nicole said. "And you better not, either."
He slapped her. "How dare you?"
"Fuck you, you bastard," she said quietly, her voice syrupy with poison.
"You just think about the big black dongs ripping open your ugly ass."
He wilted, scribbled the prescriptions, and ushered us out. Nurse
Howard handed me a form and I filled it out as "Mr. Lewis."
We crossed the street to the Cozy Kitchen. I held her hand.
Margie was wearing a gold crucifix. She stared at the teary-eyed waif
and looked at me with horror flooding her porcine eyes. She poured our
coffee.
Nicole gazed mournfully into me, her voice mature, precise. "Will you
die with me?"
"Yes," I answered, without hesitation. "Yes, my love."
"I know you will," she whispered.
I ordered strawberry waffles a la mode for myself and the fruit and
cottage cheese plate for Nicole.
"Stop treating me like a kid," she said.
"You are a kid, Nicole. You have the brain of a college student, but
you're a kid, and if you're going to do stupid things, I'm going to tell
you what to do a little. After all, you tell me what to do."
She sipped black coffee and a luminous, precocious glint returned to her
deep blue eyes. "My brain's a lot better than a college graduate's and my
cunny's smarter, too."
Margie brought our food, staring at the little girl's pissy crotch.
Some men who looked like marksmen returning from a disappointing hunt came
into the diner and sat down in the empty booth next to ours. One of them
pulled out a bottle of Jim Beam and they all toasted the oddly elusive
white-tailed deer. "Rats with hooves," Margie commented. Conviviality
spread through their faces as the whiskey dampened their keen, clear,
brutish brains.
An insidious, paralyzing craving for alcohol suddenly coursed through my
body and head. I couldn't miss my second day of work, though -- or could
I?
"The Count is cool, John. Call him."
"How do you know what I'm thinking?" I was annoyed and blurted it out
like an inquisitor whipping a seductive witch. "I know you saw the picture
of that nurse's son... that's how you figured out what to threaten her
with..."
Nicole stuffed her face with cottage cheese and honeydew melon. The
little mound of wet curds was not much whiter than she was. You are like
mozzarella, I thought, a lump of mozzarella floating in murky water.
"I warned her with my eyes more than anything," Nicole said, devouring
her LADIES' DIET SPECIAL SUPREME SURPRISE and begging for a portion of my
waffles. The azo yellow, cardboardy things were drenched with red dye and
the strawberries still had ice in them. The dollop of frozen dessert was
cheap ice milk.
"Anyway, anybody can see, you've got booze written all of your face."
I went to the pay phone next to the restrooms and called the Count. "My
-- my girl is sick," I said when I heard his wheezing, insect-like voice on
the other end of the line, imagining the telephone wires stretching up into
the gloomy valley above us. When I thought of home, Kingsport seemed a
veritable metropolis. "I'm at the hospital."
"You don't say," the count sniggered. "Give my best to Old Bill
MacGregor."
"I -- I'm sorry... she really is sick. It's bad." I felt as if I was
talking to my long-dead father after dipping into the liquor cabinet.
"No prob, buddy. I was thinkin' of asking you to work an extra day,
anyhow. We'll just switch."
"Thanks... Count."
"Don't mention it, buddy. I ain't got no issues with you taking a day
off when you need one. I'm sure the little lady needs her pussy fixed.
Have a scotch for me."
"Thanks, man."
"Later, buddy."
I walked back into the restaurant, did a double take, and froze to the
floor like a strand of vermicelli glued to a pot. Two cops were talking to
Nicole, their radios crackling. One was a young, dazed crusader, the kind
of guy who wonders what his mother would think every time he fucks a girl.
The other was a pot-bellied, graying man with a face the color of marinara.
I inhaled and went back to our table. Nicole's eyes were like beach
glass in oil.
"Is there a problem?" I felt like a pile of smoldering leaves. Marinara
stared at me with shrewd, deadly eyes.
"Is this your daughter?"
"Yes," I said. Fire ants were burrowing into my pores.
Their radios coughed a series of numbers and an address.
"I told them I was raped, but they won't believe me," Nicole said.
"They won't leave me alone, daddy."
Our waitress was talking to a group of friends in tasteless outfits,
hues like Midwestern rust and spitball white, gabardine, sharp nails
painted like fresh stage blood. Margie glowered at us and I knew it was
her who had called the cops.
"Can I see some ID?" The young one fingered his holster of mace and
touched the shiny butt of his chrome-plated gun.
"Sure," I said, my voice a shaky castrato. I handed him my passport.
"Can I see your license?"
"I -- I don't have it with me, Officer -- my daughter was raped and... I
borrowed the neighbor's car."
"You sure she's your daughter?" He stared at Nicole's urine-soaked
tights. "That's your Cutlass? Run the plates, Dick." The pot-bellied cop
with the beet-colored face left the diner for their cruiser.
We plunged into strange silence, Margie washing dishes and looking at us
with disdain, her friends whispering.
"Do you have any ID, young lady?"
"No, Officer... I got hurt and sick and my daddy took me to the
hospital..."
"She was hurt, Officer. Why don't you call Dr. Foster," I said. "Call
Dr. Foster and he'll tell you..."
The beet-colored older cop returned. "Nothing on the car, it's
registered to a Melusina Lewis in Greenville. I thought it was your
neighbor's car?"
"How should I know who their car is registered to? Why don't you call
Dr. Foster?"
"She a patient of his?"
"Yeah... for a long time now."
The young cop went to the pay phone. The fat, red cop ate sweet rolls.
"What's your address?"
I added a hundred to the address of the Count's liquor store. Beet-face
wrote it down. The young cop came back from the phone and shrugged his
shoulders. "Checks out with the girl -- he's treating her. But the name's
Lewis, same as on the car."
"Listen, Officer, okay... it's my wife's car... and..."
Beet-face lit a mentholated cigarette. "Do us a favor. I don't really
give a shit about you or your brat. Get the fuck out of here, okay? And
if we ever see your car again, I'm taking you and your fucked-up kid to
jail. Okay?"
I had been expecting catastrophe, visualizing perpetual imprisonment.
The young cop tugged at his belt.
"Think so, Dick? There's something not right about these folks."
"You got that right," Beet-face answered, drawing on his Kool and
coughing. "Farmington folks, Jack. Fucking bunch of motherfucking inbred
pricks. I'll call Captain Harper and have him check em out. C'mon...
kid's raped or sick, he took her to the hospital."
The young one looked at Nicole like a dentist offering a lollipop. "You
sure you're okay, little girl?"
"My daddy's gonna take care of me," Nicole answered, smiling like a
poster child.
"Okay, Jack, let's go." Beet-face patted his belly and snuffed out the
Kool. "You go back to your inbred shithole. See ya, Marge."
They swaggered out and drove away. I paid, avoiding Margie's eyes, and
we walked out into the sunlit cold.
I had no sense of release or reprieve -- I felt like the man sentenced
to hang in Ambrose Bierce's story, "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge," in
a kind of dreamy afterworld of melodramatic asphyxia. It could only get
worse. The Farmington Police would be looking for me. Nicole was going to
die. And I would die with her, yes.
We drove in silence and Nicole scratched her cunny. Under my nauseating
fear, I still felt desire, watching her hand fiddle in the crotch of her
dingy tights.
There was a mall off the highway at the end of town. We went to the
Walgreen's first. I filled the prescription and Nicole bought a box of
extra small adult diapers. The mall was strangely deserted.
"I have to go potty," she whispered. I found the restrooms and sipped
from the water fountain. Nicole went into the bathroom and reappeared
thirty seconds later, her childish face contorted with sick desire.
"There's nobody in here... come help me."
"No," I said. "Come on, baby, cut it out."
"Please... please poop me, daddy." She sucked her thumb and fixed me
with her alluring, smutty eyes.
I went into a stall with her and pulled down her tights. The crotch was
soaked with wet feces, urine, and the discharge from her cunny. I held her
over the toilet and stinking, runny, black shit squirted from her bruised
anus.
"Mmmm... enhh... fuck my poophole..."
I held her with one arm, pulled out my cock, stuffed it in her tight,
filthy hole and buttfucked her, my arms around her skinny thighs. Nicole
grunted, masturbating her urethra.
"Oh God, Nicole... come... come, you little slut..."
I pumped her little rectum as she fucked her peehole. She started to
drool, her sphincter milking my shaft.
"Lyeh... enhh... lyeh-lyeh... come... enhh... come in my mouth..."
I put her down on the toilet, turned her around, and straddled her, my
dirty penis at her salivating, sensual mouth, her dark blue eyes maddened,
wanton. There was slimy feces at the rim of my glans. I forced the head
into her tiny mouth.
"Frig yourself, you slut... frig your sick little cunt."
Nicole licked and sucked my dick, her soft fingers pleasuring my
asshole, and frigged her oozing snatch.
"Mmww-ww... mww... mmmm..."
I jacked off and watched her make herself come, her tongue flickering
against my glans.
"Yes... jack off on me... come on my face, John... come, baby..."
Her wet finger slid into my anus and I came, semen splashing her nose,
her pale lips, and her chin.
She licked her lips and gathered my jism with her fingers. I lapped at
her lovely face and kissed her.
"Turn around, baby."
She faced the wall, her slender legs straddling the toilet. I rammed my
still hard shaft into her poophole and relieved my bladder, filling her
bowels with piss.
"Oh... God... I... unhhh..."
Nicole stroked her clitty and came, hugging the cold tank of the toilet.
I pulled out my cock and held her tiny butt above the bowl. She groaned
and my urine flowed from her sore, open hole. I wet a bunch of paper
towels and cleaned her bottom. She put on a pair of the diapers and pulled
up her messy tights. She was barely able to walk, pressing her waifish
body to me.
We headed slowly for the Marshall's. Whoever saw us was transformed by
horror and revulsion. We did not look like father and daughter. Nicole
looked like a lurid, atavistic harlot from a fairy tale gone terribly
wrong.
Marshall's was staffed by vacuous, fearful kids just out of high school
and a couch potato manager with tinted glasses.
Strangely, the more aroused I am, the more I am drawn into the dewy,
tenebrous embraces of a perverted woman -- and there was much of Nicole
that was a woman, not a girl; the depth of her orgasms, the abysmal,
primeval alienage of her sensuality -- the more I am drawn down into sweet
delight, the more others arouse me. I was utterly enraptured by my
strange, murderous child-wife, but the sense of being delicately turned
inside out, the sense that my entire body had become an erogenous zone,
made me more sensitive to the beauty of others.
The petite, bird-like girl who came up to us with a nervous "can I help
you" drew my lower body like a damp magnetic field. She had short, auburn
hair and skin the color of dishwater. She wore a tasteless silver dress,
black pantyhose and low pumps. Her bored mouth glistened with lip gloss.
She didn't have a bra on and I wondered how they let her get away with
that. The nipples of her high, conical breasts were starkly visible through
the shiny fabric. She had a lazy, starved body, no ass, and bit her
fingernails. The foxy scent of patchouli mixed with sweat gave me a
hard-on. She looked high and her whole being cried out, "get me out of
this place." Her name tag said SYLVIA.
We chose a variety of clothes -- a black velvet dress, some diaphanous,
gauzy skirts, silk tops in earth tones, this and that, mostly to my taste.
I had the despairing notion of trying to make Nicole look respectable.
We went back to the fitting rooms. Nicole took off her parka and Sylvia
gasped, staring at her wet, stained tights. She blushed and said, "I'm
sorry -- did you have an accident?"
Nicole gazed at the salesgirl's pointy A-cups and smiled. I looked into
her drugged, hazel eyes and caught the unmistakable darkness of a chronic
masturbator and the smoldering, submissive, insatiable craving of a
masochist.
Sylvia's lips parted and she swallowed. Her nipples were erect. She
looked like she would either die of shame or collapse on the floor and frig
herself.
Nicole disappeared into a fitting room with her new wardrobe and I was
left face to face with the mortified, horny teenager.
"Is... is she your daughter?"
"No."
Nicole emerged in an insanely short, tight, forest green skirt and a
black halter. Her little white feet were bare and urine was trickling down
her leg. Her eyes were ravenous.
She did a graceful pirouette. Sylvia bit her lip. She looked like she
was going to cry.
Nicole sucked her thumb, smiling at us lasciviously. "Do you want me to
leave the door open?"
The salesgirl nodded, her arms folded across her high breasts, gripping
her shoulders, her knuckles white. Nicole took off the clothes and posed,
running her hands over her pale, emaciated, eleven-year-old body.
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
Sylvia squirmed. Nicole put on a gossamer skirt and a silk top the
color of her eyes. She preened in front of the mirror, undressed, wiggled
her little butt and tried on the black velvet dress. It made her look like
a cloistered, secretly slutty fin-de-siecle child.
She slithered out of the dress and put one foot on the bench, spreading
her labia, displaying her diseased, snotty genitals. Her voice was tinged
with appalling wickedness. "Do you like it when little girls show you
their fuckholes, Sylvia?"
I pressed my erection against the trembling salesgirl's skinny behind,
kissed her long, patchouli-scented neck and cupped her pretty little
breasts.
"You smell like a whore," I whispered. Sylvia stared in horrified
fascination at Nicole's obscene cunny, rubbed her ass against my bulge and
came, closing her eyes and moaning.
I kissed her roughly -- there was a stud in her tongue -- and reached
under her dress. Her crotch was soaked. Her labia were pierced with thick
rings. I tore a hole in her pantyhose and stroked her shaven, drooling
slit. Sylvia watched Nicole's lithe movements as she danced around the
booth trying on clothes.
Panting, the salesgirl held her silver dress up and I finger-fucked her.
Nicole held her soiled diapers to the girl's face, Sylvia rubbed her erect
clit, I probed her tight anus with my finger and the girl came, gasping.
I straightened her dress and kissed her deeply. Nicole selected her
garments, put on a pair of diapers, the black velvet dress and white
pantyhose, slipped into a new pair of patent leather shoes and we went to
the register, the salesgirl trailing behind us like a sleepwalker.
The bleached blonde at the register stared at us with revulsion,
sneering at Sylvia. Nicole touched Sylvia's arm and grinned at the
shocked, trashy blonde teen who was ringing up our purchases. "Sylvia, you
wanna come with us and have an orgy?"
The cashier's jaw dropped. Sylvia blushed, fidgeted, looked at me with
freaked out, smoky eyes, glanced at her astonished, fumbling co-worker and
smiled. "Sure," she said. "Lemme get my things."
The manager's whiny voice droned in the office and Sylvia joined us,
practically skipping, clad in a trench coat and carrying a fishnet bag full
of cosmetics.
We took the bags containing Nicole's new wardrobe and waltzed out of the
mall. A dumpy security guard glared at us at the exit. I wanted out of
Kingsport fast, before Beet-face and Momma's-boy caught sight of us again.
XV
"You guys make me so horny," Sylvia said. I looked at her in the rear
view mirror. Nicole sat beside me, looking spectacular in the short black
velvet dress with buttons down the front. I drove carefully along the icy,
winding two-lane, every bone in my body craving a drink. My nerves were
addled by constant arousal.
Midway between Kingsport and Farmington was a roadside bar, WILD
WILLIE'S WATERING HOLE. I pulled into the parking lot between two pick-ups
and asked the girls to wait, devastatingly certain that they would find a
way to amuse themselves.
Not my type of place. They were playing Roy Orbison, though. I liked
that. Sullen rednecks guzzling Bud.
"Gimme a shot of Cuervo, please." I always try to sound more, uh, manly
when in a less, uh, refined saloon.
"Lime, salt, all that stuff?" The bartender was an older woman with
biceps and bifocals.
"Please."
I slugged down the shot. The woman sized me up and stood waiting to
pour another. I drank four shots in succession, chomping on quarters of
lime, licking salt from the back of my hand, paid her sixteen bucks, tipped
her two, and staggered outside.
The windows were already fogged. I got behind the wheel and looked in
the back. Sylvia's hands were tied to the handle of the door with rope
they had found. She was naked except for her ripped black pantyhose,
gagged with the filthy tights, tears streaming from her terrified eyes.
Nicole had stuck pins through her violet nipples and her little breasts
were smeared with blood. There was a dirty popsicle stick that my
beautiful demon had probably found on the floor stuck into her bleeding
urethra. Nicole had buried her hand in the girl's cunt and was violating
her rectum with the nozzle of a plastic bottle of motor oil.
I drove to Farmington as Nicole masturbated, torturing her new friend.
The early winter darkness was fast approaching by the time I pulled up in
front of our house. Sylvia had passed out and Nicole was nearly delirious,
her velvet dress unbuttoned, her white pantyhose around her thighs, maroon
and yellow and wet from her shameful genitals and ass, her diapers stuffed
into the salesgirl's pierced cunt.
I untied her wrists and the gag, pulled out the diapers and the popsicle
stick and carried Sylvia's limp body upstairs, Nicole limping behind. I
put her in the bathtub and ran warm water, extracting the pins from her
bleeding nipples. Nicole took off her dress and her ruined pantyhose and
stepped into the sunken marble oval, frigging herself and mewling.
Sighing, I left them there and walked through the gloaming to the
Count's store for booze. The icy air felt good.
"Hey, buddy, back so soon?"
"Ran into some trouble."
"Yup. Captain Harper came by."
My heart sank. "Well..."
"You don't need to worry. Harper's a buddy of mine, and he ain't too
bright. Maybe you could cut back on the dead babes, though."
I grinned. "What did he say to you?"
"He's seen you around, he wanted to know if the little lady is really
your kid, he asked about the pastor... your lady do that?"
"She -- she made him get rid of the bodies, and I guess he killed
himself."
The Count smiled like a warlock. "I like your old lady, buddy. What'll
it be?"
I bought three bottles of good wine and strolled back to Gorge Road. I
was spending way too much money, but I felt as if I was on a sort of
vacation, a vacation from my senses, a sojourn in my senses that made no
sense.
Sylvia was on the bathroom floor, writhing in orgasm, her skinny butt
hanging over the bath, her black hose stuffed into her mouth, her hands
tied behind her back. Nicole was in the tub, fisting Sylvia's rectum,
sawing into her with her entire forearm, molesting her own raw urethra.
"Nicole, knock it off." The words sounded hollow.
I picked up Sylvia, pulling her off Nicole's thin arm. Excrement gushed
from her open hole. I carried her to the bed, the bed still stained and
stinking from our nightly exertions. I untied her wrists and pulled the
pantyhose from her mouth. Her toenails were painted red. She was crying
hysterically, clutching her bloody, conical breasts.
I got Vaseline and smeared it on her wrecked asshole. Her legs spread
automatically when I smeared the stuff on her cunt. Blood trickled from
her peehole.
She was very beautiful, like a sacrificial virgin. I licked her
bleeding urethra and pressed my tongue against her clit.
"Oh... God... oh God it hurts... so much... she... she hurt me so
bad..."
She held her gaping anus and writhed in pain. I climbed on top of her
and kissed her wounded nipples, my cock flat against her shaven mons.
The traumatized girl fed me her little breast, whimpering. I sucked the
tortured nipple and Sylvia moaned. I took her entire breast in my mouth.
"Ohmmm...mmmm... yes... harder... hurt me..." I bit her bleeding
nipples. "Oh... oh God yes... harder... make me hurt... make me hurt
good..." I slapped her breasts and Sylvia came, jamming her fingers into
her torn anus.
"Huhhh... huhhh... yes... yes..."
I shoved my cock into her open shithole and fucked her hard, holding her
ankles. She screamed and heaved. I rubbed her clitoris and the thin gray
girl grunted rhythmically. She screeched when I touched her urethra and
came, her fingers balled into tight fists. I pulled out of her, grabbed
the back of her head and rammed my cock down her throat, spewing come into
her convulsing, half ecstatic, half miserable body.
I was evil. The reality of the changes in me since Melusina and I first
saw the exit to Farmington enveloped me in a gaseous pall of dread and
self-hatred.
A sudden burst of music came from the other room. It was from Strauss'
Salome, the insidious, erotic tones of a swollen turn-of-the-century
orchestra.
I left the crumpled salesgirl to her dry, plaintive sobs and went into
what I guess had become our parlor. Nicole was dancing, nude. I opened a
bottle of Nuits-Saint-Georges and did not wait for it to breathe. I nursed
the wine and watched my child-wife leap and whirl about the room.
It was then that the solution blossomed in my head. Painting. I would
start painting again. I would paint Nicole. I would paint this exquisite
bloom of sensual, demonic chaos. I would work again, I would work hard...
The beautiful dakini shut off the music and landed her sweaty, alabaster
body in my lap. I kissed her and licked her salty skin.
Nicole squatted with her little feet on my thighs, her back to me, her
Kandos on my knees. Again I was struck by how small she was. I slid my
glans against her cunny and she lowered herself onto my shaft.
"My baby," I whispered. "Fuck me, baby."
I stroked her sweaty feet and Nicole rode me, moaning like an adult.
"Aaaaaah... ahhhhmmm.... ah-aaaaahhh..." She lifted her butt and slid
off of me, holding my cock and rubbing it against her urethra. "John...
please... please get it in my pee-pee... please..."
I picked her up and pressed her to me, my hands on her tiny, pale butt..
"No, Nicole. I want you to get well. No way."
"Play with it then. Play with it."
I spat on my fingers and diddled the hurt little hole. "It's pretty,
baby," I whispered. "You're so pretty... do you like what I'm doing,
baby?"
She had an orgasm, squirming with pain and delight. "Please... please
fuck it... I can take it... I promise... please..."
I stuck my tongue in her mouth and slid my middle finger into her
urethra. She trembled, come and snot dripping from her fuckhole like
yellow molasses.
I took out my finger and carried her to the chaise longue. Her pallor
was exquisite against the purple velvet. I licked the crimson, cunt-like
opening of her peehole and lapped up the bitter ooze from her sick cunny.
She held her urethra open and looked at me, her eyes burning with awe
and inhuman need.
I got the Vaseline and a white, tapered candle. She stared at it with
perverted fascination. I lubricated her peehole and the taper. Nicole
squealed as I slid the candle into her bladder, shuddering uncontrollably.
I pulled it out, put my glans against the brutalized hole, and entered
her urethra. She clawed at her flat chest, screaming. As soon as the head
slipped inside her I came, my cock less than inch deep, and withdrew.
Gray, viscous juice spewed from her barely pubescent cunny. The mangled
peehole looked bigger than her vagina.
I slurped at her diseased fuckhole and licked her leaking, dilated anus
as her body jerked violently on the purple velvet, clutching the chaise,
screaming like an animal being dismembered.
I sucked my come from her urethra and carried her quivering body to the
bedroom.
Sylvia squatted at the head of the disgustingly soiled bed, crying like
a baby.
"Wha-wha -- what're you gonna do with me?"
Nicole revived, roughly fingering the former salesgirl's genitals. She
glared at the miserable girl and jabbed her fingers into the girl's anus.
"What would you like, Sylvia?"
"M-my... my parents..."
"Shut up." She stroked the girl's swollen clit. Sylvia whimpered and
spread her legs. "Do you like that, slut?"
"N-no... I wanna go home!"
Nicole expertly masturbated the confused girl. "Did my husband fuck
your asshole, Sylvia?"
"Leave me alone... please..." She whined pitifully, but scooted down in
the bed and spread her legs further apart.
Even though Sylvia was petite, Nicole looked tiny compared to her.
"You're getting wet, you little whore," Nicole whispered, circling her
dirty, gaping butt with her fingertips. "Did it feel good to take my
husband up your asshole?"
Sylvia's hands went to her small, wounded breasts. She stared at Nicole
with a mixture of fear, hatred and desire in her hazel eyes. "Please," she
said, "please leave me alone." Her voice was that of a lost child.
Nicole sucked her clit and the girl began to moan, quietly, uncertainly.
Nicole looked up and stroked Sylvia's thighs. "Do you want me to leave you
alone, you little whore?"
She pushed Nicole's hand to her crotch. Nicole backed away. "Please,"
Sylvia whispered. "Please... please touch me."
Nicole leapt on top of the defeated girl and kissed her mouth. Nicole's
voice was like fragrant steam rising through a hole in a pack of ice. "Do
you want to stay here?"
Sylvia looked at me, perplexed, wanton, still upset. "I -- I don't
know. Sort of."
Nicole squatted on the teenager's chest. Sylvia looked up at her
stained, appallingly lovely little body. "I want you to. Are you scared?"
"Yeah." She tentatively touched Nicole's hairless, slimy pubis. Nicole
straddled her face and Sylvia licked her, gingerly at first, then with
growing abandon.
I lowered my lips to Sylvia's bloody vulva and ate her out as she
tongue-lashed my beloved. They both came, moaning like a fierce warm wind,
Sylvia's sweet serum flooding my mouth. Honeysuckle.
I got the wine and glasses and the three of us lay together in the
stinking, messy bed, drinking, kissing, caressing, sinking into troubled,
broken sleep as the barren moon rose above Downs Valley, casting its cold
eye on tiny Farmington, my fated Village of Dreadful Night.
The Sinister Sister Ch 16-20 Written by Silvio Stoker
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again, Caveat Lector! This is another section containing
scenes that turned my own beady little stomach (whilst arousing me in a
poetic manner...) -- if you are in the least bit squeamish, read no further
-- and don't try this at home! It is, as they all say, a story, and
produces effects, some intended, some not. Activities occurring herein are
for the Mind, not the Body. If you despise this story, or like it, and
would like it to continue, please send me an e-mail.
XVI
When I opened my eyes Sylvia was gone. Nicole was sobbing quietly, her
side of the bed soaked with urine, her little piano fingers draped over her
hurt crotch. I kissed her soft, pink nipples and her adorable navel.
"Oh, John... it hurts... it hurts so much... when I pee."
I put my tongue in her mouth and Nicole pooped in the bed, moaning and
slowly bicycling her pale legs. I carried her to the bath. She looked
pitiful, her gaping urethra caked with dried blood, the discharge from her
cunny like a greenish marmalade, her filthy anus surrounded by an indigo
bruise, yellow at the edges.
I went into the kitchen and prepared breakfast -- an omelette aux fines
herbes, toast, slices of cantaloupe, strawberries in milk.
I spoon-fed her, stroking her emaciated arms, gave her the various
medicines, washed her, bathed, and stood before the mirror with her,
dripping. I rubbed her with a towel, gently dried her genitals and anus,
and applied the salves Foster had prescribed.
We lay on the purple chaise longue together, listening to Debussy's "La
Mer." The wordless female chorus.
"Do you know what happened to Sylvia?"
"She ran away... it was still dark. She stood a long time in the door
trying to make up her mind. I pretended to be asleep. If she comes back,
I'll kill her."
"No you won't. You won't do that anymore."
She smiled a tiny, cruel smile. "You like it."
"Look -- the cops are watching us."
"I'm gonna die anyhow. You promised you'd die with me."
I caressed her lovely body, staring into the blue depths of her sensual
eyes. "I want to see if we can cure you, Nicole."
"Are you scared?"
"I... I know I don't want to live without you."
She kissed me like a lamprey, her hand going to my half-hard cock. It
was ten o'clock. "So who did you have sex with, Nicole?"
"Some guy."
"Will you tell me about it?"
"Why?" She stroked my erection, softly. "Does it turn you on?"
"I just want to know."
"When I was nine, one of my dad's friends. I left the door open when I
was playing with myself. He came in and jacked off on me. He did it all
the time. He called me names and he peed on me." She wet her fingers in
her slimy cunny and played with my glans. "After that, everybody. I hung
out at the bus station after school. I never let anybody touch me, though,
I just sucked them off. I got beat up a lot. Then, like a year ago, this
old guy took me home. He couldn't get a boner but he tied me up and put a
dildo in me. After that, I got fucked a lot. I followed guys into the
washrooms in the park."
"Didn't... didn't you ever go to a doctor? For school?"
"Not since before I got fucked... I seduced the nurse at school. And
my ballet teacher. My ballet teacher killed herself." Nicole kissed my ear
and moaned. "Fuck my pee-pee, John," she whispered. "Fuck it... fuck it
all the way..."
"Baby, no, no more... no more, okay?"
Nicole arched her back, sucked her thumb, wet her fingers and slid two
into her mangled urethra, hissing from the pain.
"Sssss... yesssss.... John... look..."
"No!" I slapped her. She sighed, gave me a little-girl look and turned
on her side, running her hands over her little white ass.
"Yes, John... fuck me... stick your dick in my peehole..." I slapped
her butt. Nicole crouched on all fours, her pale ass in the air. I
started to spank her and Nicole wiggled her butt, whimpering. "Yesss...
harder... beat me till I come... beat your little whore... beat the shit
out of me..."
She groped for the taper we had used last night as I spanked her, rolled
onto her back and slid it into her asshole, squealing. I slapped her tiny
breasts, sucked her umbilicus and rubbed her clit. Nicole's thin body
thrashed around on the chaise longue, the candle buried in her rectum,
panting. I bit her nipples and she came, whining and fingering her raw
pisshole.
We kissed and embraced each other. "John... how do you want to die?"
"Nicole..."
"I think I'd want to drown... if it was like that, like turning into
water... oh... oh God... oh my God... help me... John..." She drew her
legs up and sodomized herself with the candle, suddenly slick with bitter
sweat, shuddering. I pried her fingers from the taper and slid it from her
anus. Dark wet shit spurted forcefully from the hole. She held her cheeks
apart and gushed feces again and again, convulsing.
I led her back to the bathroom. "Did you take laxatives?"
"Yeah."
I slapped her across the face. "Give them to me."
"Hurt me, John. Hurt my pee-pee."
She winced, touching her urethra, and urine trickled down her skinny
leg. I walked out of the room, dressed, grabbed my coat, and stormed out of
the house. There was a thaw. The sweet sound of dripping water from the
roof.
The little girl came running out after me, naked and dripping.
"Get back in the house, Nicole."
"No... fuck me... fuck me, John... fill me with your baby... fuck
me... fuck my cunny..." Her breath, her effluvia, her body, steaming. I
knocked her down into the deep snow, pulled out my cock and mounted her
shivering body. Her urine stained the ice crystals pink.
She wriggled out from under me and crawled towards the house through the
snow like some wet, pathetically aroused animal in winter camouflage,
picked up a fallen icicle and plunged it into her pisshole, gasping and
shaking.
I pushed her onto her side and thrust my shaft into her womb.
"Ennnnhhh... enhh... enhh... ennnnhhh... yessss... take me... take
me... enhh... yessss..."
Steaming drool flowing from her mouth, her saliva and wet feces making
little tunnels in the snow, gurgling, Nicole slid the icicle all the way
into her urethra and rocked her narrow hips. I forced my cock into her
uterus and Nicole came, grunting, pulling on her nipples. I masturbated
her shithole and sucked a soft foot as she pushed the icicle into her
bladder with her fingers, rolled her eyes, exhaled, and passed out, farting
grayish crap into the snow.
Clasping her bony hips, I fucked her limp body like a madman, pulled
out, flipped her over and drove my penis into her slimy bottom until I
came, flooding her empty bowels.
I almost blacked out with her. One day I will black out with you, my
love, I thought. One of the functioning churches struck the hour --
eleven. I listened to the heavy bell and the dripping icicles, picked up
her drained body, and carried her upstairs.
Ruddy water dripped from her pisshole. I rubbed her with a towel and
ran the bath. She regained consciousness, moaning and twitching.
"Uhhhhhhh... fuck... me..."
I draped her over the edge of the sunken tub, her flat chest against the
mosaic floor of the room, her ballerina's legs dangling in the swirling
water, spread her taut white cheeks and sucked my come from her bruised
butthole.
I slid my half-hard penis into her scarlet vagina, paused, and flooded
her cunny with urine. She groaned weakly in orgasm.
I pulled her gently into my arms, washed her yet again, piss gushing
from her cunt, dried her, carried her to the chaise, found clean sheets and
a blanket, kissed her on the forehead and went off to work.
XVII
The Count was already in the back room when I unlocked the liquor store
-- I could hear the muffled sounds of a gagged girl and the clear crack of
a whip. Business was brisk, all kinds, realtors and ladies in chartreuse
polyester and kids cutting school (I didn't card) and a steady stream of
winos -- half of Farmington must have consisted of drunks.
Around sunset the tall teratism emerged from his den with cold chicken,
cracked open a bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse and dined with me. We didn't talk.
I noticed bloodstains on his worn, unwashed, black wool pants. He gnawed
his chicken, guzzled his wine, and retreated to the back room.
An hour before closing he took his leave. I could still hear the
muffled sobs of the woman he had back there.
Enter the wino with the red beard, come to buy his Wild Irish Rose. He
had a little girl with him -- I guessed that she was his niece. She had
the same flaming hair and pasty skin. Her sea-green eyes were bottomless
repositories of infinite sadness. She looked about ten years old.
I sold him his bottle. He unscrewed the top and gave it to the tense,
unhappy child. "Drink it, cunt."
The girl drank, coughed. To my horror, I felt a snake slither from the
base of my spine into my phallus. He held out his filthy thumb.
Whimpering, the girl stroked his calloused hand and sucked it, looking at
me with her sad eyes. The man took a snort of the wine and leered at me.
"Like her?"
The bearded bastard opened her coat. She lifted her t-shirt -- it said
VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS -- she had no tits, but her nipples, the color of
erasers, were pierced with thick silver rings. The girl forced a smile.
"Fifty bucks and she's yours till tomorrow."
The door swung open and an elderly woman with bifocals came in and
stopped dead in her tracks. It took me a moment to place her -- it was the
hag, the librarian, Freya's mother. Her face turned the color of maple
leaves in a dry autumn.
I inhaled. "How may I help you, ma'am?"
She stood stock still for several minutes. The wino looked as if he
expected to be executed. The little girl looked at the floor, still
holding the hem of her t-shirt above her pierced nipples.
Shaking, the hag acquired a bottle of Bombay Sapphire and some vermouth.
"You have good taste, ma'am. How's your husband?"
She was livid. I bagged her purchase and she left.
"I'll pay you tomorrow," I said, staring at the zero, zero-zero on the
register.
The wino coughed, grinned, and pulled on one of the little girl's nipple
rings. She squirmed, staring at the ground. "Okay, man... use a rubber,
especially when you fuck her ass, okay? She's got a lot of good years left
in her, huh?"
Smiling, he took another swig from his bottle and strode out.
"What's your name?"
She didn't look up. "Lucy."
"I'm John."
I went around the counter and caressed her slightly freckled face. She
smelled bad, like sour cream potato chips, cheap wine and semen. I kissed
her neck. She started to unbutton her rust-colored corduroys.
"No, baby... I'm gonna take you to my house, okay? You don't have to
do anything you don't want to, Lucy." It was another of those phrases that
plopped absurdly into a dark vacuum.
"You're not gonna hurt me?"
I fixed her t-shirt and buttoned her coat. "No, baby."
"You gonna put stuff on my butt before you do it?" She looked at me with
a mixture of suspicion and pleading.
"Sweetie, I'm not gonna do anything if you don't want me to... you can
just... just read or something, okay?"
She put her little hand on the bulge in my pants. "Don't you like me?"
I lifted her up and kissed her mouth. Her tongue came out immediately.
"You're pretty, Lucy."
"Will you lick me?"
I put her down. "Yeah, baby... if that's what you want."
She smiled, a real smile this time, as if casting a tiny, viable seed
into in a black and blue pasture. It was closing time. I put on my coat,
locked the store, took her hand and led her to Gorge Road. The thaw had
deepened.
XVIII
Lucy, light-bearer. A soggy paper match that nonetheless caught,
flared, set fire to what would become our hearth, our omphalos, I hoped.
Nicole had cleaned the house, somehow purifying the chaise, the rank
bed, the opulent bathroom. She looked much older than her years, dressed
in a diaphanous skirt the color of fog, her soft nipples lavender through
loose, smoky gossamer.
She squealed when she saw Lucy and ran her fingers through the lambent
flames of hair. "Oh, John, she's a little goddess... can I take your
clothes off, sweetheart?"
Lucy nodded and Nicole undressed the kid. Her prepubescent cunt stank
like an adult theater on the shores of Lake Erie. It was the color of a
gutted fish.
"She's just a baby..." Nicole flicked her nipple rings and touched the
little girl's fuckhole. "Let's go wash your pee-pee, okay, sweetie?"
Lucy nodded again and marched her off to the bathroom while I opened a
bottle of Nuits-Saint-Georges and prepared dinner -- asparagus, walnut
cones with bechamel sauce, salad with almonds and raspberry vinaigrette.
When I went to take a leak, the kid was lying on the floor giggling
while Nicole sucked her tiny toes and slid the thermometer in and out of
Lucy's urethra, twisting a lubricated finger in the girl's abused anus.
Although Lucy looked younger than my bride, Nicole was much skinnier,
skeletal.
"Can you come, baby?"
"Hee... mmm... yeah..."
"I want you to. I want you to come, little Lucy... do you want John to
fuck you?"
"Mmm... yeah..."
I pissed -- in the toilet. "Nicole, do you think we could have a nice
dinner tonight?"
The translucent pervert masturbated the chalky redhead, ignoring me.
"Fuck her, John."
"Dinner is almost ready. Set the table."
I returned to the kitchen and poured wine on the walnut cones and down
my throat. I felt on edge -- afraid to fall out of love with my lunatic
wife, yes, afraid of the beginning of the end I longed for, the night she
would twist away from me, the moment when I would not any longer be able to
follow her...
But Nicole knew me. She braided Lucy's hair and dressed her in a black
leotard, set the table, lit candles, poured herself a ballon of
Nuits-Saint-Georges and gave the child a glass of milk. She even ate
properly, restraining herself.
"Where do you live, Lucy?" I felt tired, jaded, a little lost.
"With my daddy."
"Who were you with tonight?"
"My uncle Bob."
"Does your daddy know what Uncle Bob does to you?" Why was I asking
this? Of course he knew.
"Uh-huh."
Nicole took the girl in her bony lap. They were beautiful together --
the pallid, dark-haired ballerina and the ruined child whose hair looked as
if you could wring aureate blood from it. Nicole fed her salad with a
silver fork I had bought in a thrift store. Lucy's nipple rings protruded
through the tight leotard.
Why don't we talk, I thought. Does this child know where she will end
up? "Nothing you don't want." What could she want? Her father's fingers
had snaked into her will before it was born.
Most of what Nicole said was lubricant, urethral phrases to arouse
herself and me... she knew - it was in her eyes that she knew -- she knew
where we were going. But it was taboo, to discuss this. Icicles in the
bladder, warm piss dripping from the womb, even a fetus (a girl, I thought,
she's going to get pregnant with a girl) were _licit_, asking about suicide
methods in conversation was licit... but the actual death Nicole wanted,
demanded, and would certainly find -- _that_ was _illicit_, that was
forbidden territory as of yet, the dark side of the moon.
Nicole gazed at me, her blue eyes flashing, caressing the suddenly
serene child. "Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
"Voltaire... Candide?"
"I think so."
"How do you know all this stuff?" I recalled her chastising her sister
for not paying attention, before killing her. Wasn't she sinking into the
same uterine blur?
"I read... I read while I play with my pee-pee." She touched Lucy's
crotch. "Do you like to play with your cunny, sweetie?"
"Uh-huh."
"Do you wanna play with your cunny for us?" She slid the girl from her
lap and took her to the chaise. Lucy giggled, took off her leotard, and
lay down on the purple velvet, fingering her little fuckhole.
Nicole closed her eyes and we heard a wet fart. She stroked her pale
neck, squirmed, and shit herself. I picked her up and carried her to the
bathroom, leaving Lucy writhing contentedly on the chaise.
"I want you to give me the laxatives, Nicole." She stood at the mirror
in her soiled diapers, sucking her thumb. I took off the diapers and
cleaned her with a washrag.
She kissed me, her pink tongue flickering in my mouth. "I love you so
much, John."
"I love you, too."
"Do you want me to dance for you?"
"Yes."
She pranced back to the parlor and put on Stravinsky's "Le Sacre du
Printemps." I took the masturbating child in my arms and we both lay on the
chaise longue, staring open-mouthed as the translucent ballerina defied
gravity, leaping and whirling madly to the wild Rites of Spring.
Exhausted, she staggered over to us when the music ended. She was
getting dangerously thin. Lucy looked like a different person, almost
happy.
"Let's take a bath together," I said, to preempt Nicole's making
fiendish love to the redhead.
We soaked in the sunken tub by candlelight, Lucy getting bleary from the
wine. I caressed Nicole's ribs.
"Promise to give me the laxatives, okay?"
"Okay... okay."
We stayed in the water for a long time, climbed out, dried ourselves and
crawled into bed together. Nicole and I both licked Lucy, making her come,
and the three of us drifted off to sleep, entwined.
XIX
The yellow-breasted songbird was outside the window again. The sound of
dripping water, drip drop, drop, dawn, dawn light, the sweet smell of the
girls' sweat. Nicole still slept. Lucy was weeping, but when she saw that
I was awake, she climbed on top of me and tried to get my penis inside her.
I seized her and kissed her eyelids.
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Don't you like me?"
"Lucy, yes -- of course I do... a lot!"
"Why won't you do me?" Tears streamed down her chalk white face.
"Because... I want you... to want to..."
"I wanna stay here!"
"I want you to stay here, too, honey... let's figure it out, okay?"
"You do?!?"
I kissed her dirty little mouth. "Yes, baby."
She grasped my cock and gazed happily into my eyes. "You can put it in
my poophole if you want."
Nicole opened her eyes, squirmed, and had a fit of diarrhea. Lucy
looked scared.
"Is she sick?"
"Yeah, honey."
"What's wrong with her?"
Nicole's eyes glistened with illness. I disentangled the pretty child
and went to make breakfast.
Outside, the snow had melted in places, leaving patches of yellow grass,
blotches of green. I opened some windows. The scent was lusty, fecund. I
poached eggs and made french toast as the sun rose in clouds the color of
heather and murder.
Nicole was scratching her sores and wetting the bed while Lucy watched
her, frightened.
"She's got pimples on her cunny."
I fed them both, caressing Nicole's emaciated body and kissing Lucy's
slightly freckled shoulders. The little girl giggled and spread her legs.
Nicole sat up and whispered in my ear. "Fuck her, John, okay?"
Lucy lay back and fingered her prepubescent slit. Nicole went down on
her and Lucy surrendered to atonal, desperate moans until she felt Nicole's
little finger on her tiny urethra.
"Noooo!"
"Baby..."
I pulled Nicole away and Lucy slithered backwards, away. "Don't touch
me there, you... you freak!"
My child-wife burst into tears. Lucy jumped up and hugged her. "I'm
sorry... I'm sorry... I didn't mean it... I'm sorry..." She touched
Nicole's crimson peehole. "I like yours... I didn't mean..."
Nicole whimpered and pressed Lucy's hand against her raw genitals.
"Please..."
Lucy masturbated her and probed the trickling opening. "I like touching
it... I like it..." Nicole kissed her deeply and they stretched out,
masturbating each other. Nicole tried to crawl into a sixty-nine but Lucy
pulled away.
"Nooo... I don't wanna..."
I kept expecting Nicole to fly into a murderous rage, but she didn't,
she just looked terribly sad and ate out the little girl as Lucy fingered
her snatch.
"Lucy... my pee-pee... please... play with my pee-pee..."
The redhead rubbed the tortured hole and lifted her butt. "Do you wanna
lick my poophole?"
"Yeah... Lucy... put your fingers in..."
"You're a potty mouth... you're gross!" Nicole whimpered and rimmed the
child's anus while Lucy stuck her middle finger in the peehole. Nicole
shuddered. "Is that good?"
"Yessss... yes... Lucy..."
"You have boogers in your cunny... you're so gross!" She slid her
finger in and out of the urethra and Nicole came, shaking, yellowish
discharge oozing from her cunt. "Ewwww!" Lucy withdrew her finger and
pushed her away. "You're disgusting!"
Nicole sobbed, digging her little piano fingers into the sick vagina. I
took her in my arms and received her lamprey-kisses.
"You like her better than me?" Lucy displayed her vulva. "She's ugly!"
"She's beautiful," I said. "I love her."
"She's not normal."
Nicole looked at the girl, her blue eyes dark with misery. "You didn't
like my dance?"
"Yeah... but you're a toilet mouth and your cunny's disgusting!"
Nicole closed her eyes, groaned, shifted her butt and shit herself,
spewing wet feces into my lap. Lucy leapt from the bed and gaped at us.
"You retard! You're both retards!"
"Get out of here," I said. "Go home!"
She paused in bleak confusion, snarled, and went to get her things.
Nicole stared at me, her eyes plaintive, wounded. The door slammed.
"I... enhh... I wanted her to... to live with us..."
"Shhh, baby... I want to be alone with you." I kissed her nipples.
"Do you think I'm... disgusting?"
"I think you're the most beautiful creature that ever lived."
"I don't feel good." She put my hand between her legs. "Frig me?"
I gently stroked her wet slit. She drew her legs up and moaned. I
caressed her messy little butt, put her down on her stomach and licked her
leaking anus until she came, making noises that were almost mournful.
"I want you to stay in bed today, okay?"
"Will you stay home with me?"
"I can't, darling... I can't miss two days in my first week."
"John... fuck me..." She wiggled her ass. "I need your dick in me..."
I teased her butt with my fingers and whispered in her ear. "Do you
need cock, little baby?"
"Yessss..." I slid a finger into the slick hole.
"You're a little whore," I whispered.
"Mnnnn... uh-huh... fuck me... fuck your dirty whore..." She thrashed
against the bed.
"Did you like it in the park, Nicole? Did you like spreading your
little legs in the toilet?"
"Yessss... yes, I liked it... I loved it... fuck me... fuck me in
the ass... fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"
"Play with your asshole, Nicole... play with your dirty hole."
She moaned and masturbated her anus while I fetched the Vaseline and a
candle. I lubricated her and my shaft and pulled her into my lap, leaning
against the wall. She squatted up, squealed, and took me into her rectum,
hard. I handed her the candle, reached under her arms and fingered her
soft nipples.
"Suck the candle, Nicole. Suck it deep."
She fucked her mouth with it. I slid down flat in the bed and raised
her skinny white thighs, teasing her urethra. She rocked her narrow hips.
"Mm... mm... mm... mm... mm... mm..."
"Do you like it in your asshole? Is it good, baby?"
"Mmmm-hm... hm... mm... mm..."
I put my hand under her chin and pulled her head back, stroked her
throat, and moved the candle to the back of her mouth. She gagged.
"You fuck like a whore, Nicole. Touch your cunny. Touch your dirty
cunny."
She rubbed her clitty and thrust her butt against my invading shaft,
coming, scum oozing from her cunt.
"Yes Nicole... yes... deeper... take me deeper... deeper... fuck
me..."
She rocked her pelvis and I felt her rectal wall with my glans. I held
her neck, slid the candle into her throat and bucked against her bottom.
"Come, Nicole... come... come... come..."
I forced my index finger into her urethra as she frantically stroked her
clit. I came convulsively, pulled the candle from her throat and held her
trembling body as another orgasm washed through it, her thin arms and legs
jerking spasmodically.
"Ohhhh... ohhhh... unhhh... John..."
I lifted her leg, still buried in her bowels, and brought her beautiful
foot to her mouth. "Suck it, you whore. Suck your pretty foot."
She slurped at her toes while I greased the candle and slid it into her
vagina.
"Suck your foot... I want you to come, Nicole. I want you to come
more. Come."
"Mm-hhh... lyeh... lyeh-lyeh... uhhhhhhh... lyeh..."
She started to shudder when the butt of the candle touched her cervix. I
pulled it out and pushed the narrow end into her sick peehole.
She dropped her foot and screamed maniacally as the taper slid into her
bladder. I pissed into her rectum and Nicole came, like an epileptic,
farting snot from her fuckhole and howling.
I took the taper from her urethra, rolled her off of me and slammed into
her piss-filled bowels.
"Come... come, you dirty slut... come..."
She yelped in pain, foamed at the mouth and went limp. I slipped from
her ass and dove to catch a mouthful of the urine that gushed from it,
climbed atop her, turned her head and spat it into her mouth, driving my
penis into her diseased cunthole until I spent myself again. She choked
and spat, clutching my arms.
I stared into the frantic sapphires of her eyes. "We could fuck each
other to death, Nicole. That's how I want to die. With you."
She smiled.
XX
The Count offered me coffee laced with Remy. "Got little Lucy, huh?"
"How did you know?"
"The library bitch called me... threatened to run me out of town. I
guess you got something on her, though? Shook her up real bad, buddy."
The thaw increased our business and I sold three hundred dollars' worth
of booze by five o'clock, when the redhead came in with his niece in tow.
Lucy stared at the floor. I gave him his fifty bucks and he bought two
bottles of Mad Dog.
"Let her go early, huh? She give you trouble?"
"No," I said, dusting the wines behind the counter.
"Anytime, lemme know... she's best when you dry hole her. Squeals like
a piglet. Ain't that right, Lucy?"
He popped the wine and made her drink. "Get the fuck out of here."
"Ain't doin' nothin'. Could demonstrate her for your customers, huh?
Sandwich sale."
I reached for the gun drawer, but at that moment the Count came out of
the back room, pulling up his dirty trousers.
"Hey shit-for-brains," he grunted at the wino. "How's your little
niece?"
Lucy hid behind her uncle, cowering. The two moved to go, but the Count
blocked their way.
"How much she going for these days?"
"Just let us go, sir," the wino said. He was scared.
"Give you five hundred for her."
"She ain't for sale."
"Sure she is. A grand, Bozo. My final offer."
The wino stared at the terrified girl, then back at the Count. He
coughed. "Two?"
Lucy screamed and tried to run away. The Count caught her by the arm.
"A grand, buddy."
"No... no... he'll kill me! Uncle Bob! Please! Noooo!"
The wino nodded. Lucy wet her pants. Her uncle held her while the
Count went to get the cashbox, covering her mouth and sticking his hand
down her cords. She clawed at him until he choked her, his fingers digging
into her little hole. "Shut up or I'll strangle you, you dumb cunt."
My hand was still on the knob of the gun drawer. I ran it through my
head for a moment - pulling the gun, letting her run. And the Count?
The Count came back with ten dirty hundreds, gave them to the wino and
took the screaming, kicking girl by the arms. "Pleeeease! Help me!
Heeeelp! Help me..." He dragged her into the back. Whatever was in there
silenced her with a paralyzed silence that chilled me to the bone. The
door shut with a click.
The wino bought a bottle of Wild Turkey. Self-hatred made his eyes look
like the desolate moons of some utterly cold planet.
"What -- what is he going to do to her?" I felt like I was drowning.
The wino didn't answer, unscrewed the bourbon, drank some, offered it to
me.
"Get the fuck out of here," I said, quietly. "I don't ever want to see
your face again."
"Hypocrite son of a bitch," he muttered, opening the door on the almost
vernal wind and stepping out, his lunar eyes blazing hideously as he looked
back at me over his shoulder.
I tried to listen for noises from the back, but after a lull the steady
stream of customers resumed. The Count did not emerge that night. At nine
I locked up and headed home.
It was insanely warm. I walked slowly, taking a detour to the
convenience store to buy smokes. I realized I had forgotten to get more
alcohol and picked up a fifth of tequila as well. My heart was as dark as
a pygmy's belly.
Panic gripped me when I saw Nicole. I thought she was dead. She was
lying on the chaise, a long white taper in her bladder, blood dripping from
her chin, her eyes open, empty, her arms dangling. When I touched her she
moaned, shivered, languidly raised a thin arm and pushed the candle deeper.
"Uhhhhhh... baby... stick it deep..."
I pulled it out of her and Nicole grasped my hand weakly, turned, and
coughed. She was coughing blood.
I kissed her salty mouth and took her in my arms. "John... baby...
put it back in... please..."
"We have to get you to the hospital, darling."
"Doctor... Foster... called..." I opened the tequila, took a swig, and
transferred some to her mouth. "I have AIDS... John... John... I want
your cock in my pee-pee..."
"That's not why you're coughing... we have to take you to him, baby..."
"No... I won't go. I'm gonna die, John."
"Nicole..."
"You promised, darling. Don't leave me. You promised."
"I won't ever leave you. I love you."
The windows were open and wet gusts of warm air blew into the apartment.
I got sheets and a blanket and covered her. "I'll make dinner, okay?
Soup?"
Her eyes glowed with fever.
I simmered Campbell's tomato soup with some fresh basil and brought it
to her. She was in a trance, her translucent, emaciated body wracked with
pain, the candle buried in her urethra, fingering her slimy, open anus with
trembling fingers.
The world was a collapsed thing, the warm wind through the windows
making me aware of how cold it was inside me. I wished I had shot Lucy's
uncle... and killed the Count as well. I put down the soup.
I licked her nipples and moved the taper in and out of her peehole. She
clutched the sides of the purple chaise, gurgling, almost passing out from
the pain.
"Ghh... ghll... yesss... ghh..."
I slid it from her bleeding pisshole, kissed it lightly, and sucked the
scum from her cunny.
"Unhhh... put... it back... put it back, put it back..."
"Shhhh, baby," I whispered, licking her filthy fingers and handing her
the smeared taper. "Suck the candle, baby. Suck the candle and play with
your poophole... frig your dirty poophole for me." I pushed her fingers to
her ass and Nicole slid three inside.
"Mleyh... nghhh... tell... me... mghhh... tell me what to do..."
I stroked her neck. "Use the candle like a cock, Nicole." She leaned
her head back and took the candle down her throat, gagged, removed it and
went into a violent fit of coughing. I sat her up and stroked her back.
Phlegm and blood spewed from her mouth and ran down her flat, white chest.
I kissed her, tasting her sickness, and fondled her nipples.
"Your little titties are getting hard," I whispered, and fingered her
taut, slimy belly, stroking her navel. "You're a big girl, Nicole, and I'm
going to make a baby in you."
"Uh-huh... I want you to," she whispered back.
I got the soup and fed her. "You're going to have a little girl in your
tummy... everybody will see that you're a dirty whore, Nicole."
She giggled happily. I got her to finish the soup and had her lie back
down.
"I'll be right back, baby."
"Don't leave me!"
"I'm just going to get something... I'll be back in a minute."
I fetched a bottle of olive oil and some twine from the kitchen. The
moon was rising, the color of her skin.
"Hold your cunny open for me." She held her labia open. The nasty sores
had multiplied and covered her vestibule. The pustule on the skin over her
clitty had a white head. I gently stroked it, teased her urethra, fitted
the bottle to her inflamed vagina and poured oil into the passage.
"Now your pretty little butt -- hold it open." She moaned and spread her
cheeks. She grunted when I pushed the neck of the bottle into her bruised
anus and some oil gurgled into her rectum.
"Unngh... uh-huh... put it in me..."
"Shhhh, baby... I'm going to tie your hands, okay?"
"How come?"
"I'm going to hurt you a little."
She offered me her thin wrists. I stretched her out on the velvet and
tied her hands to the legs of the chaise. She looked more eager than I had
ever seen her, rapt, awed, aroused, but at the same time vulnerable,
childish.
I licked the blood and mucous from her torso, stroking her skinny thigh.
I kissed her, transferring wine to her hot, stinking mouth. She kissed me
avidly. I sucked and kneaded her tiny, immature titties.
"You're going to get all milky, you little whore."
I lit a cigarette, put my hand firmly on her mons, took a long drag and
held the glowing tip near a pink, half-hard nipple. She gave a drawn out,
guttural moan. She did not scream. I slid two fingers into her vagina.
"You beautiful, titless little whore."
I stubbed out the cigarette on her other nipple. She jerked and gasped,
but still did not scream. Her cunny spasmed around my fingers.
"Lift your legs."
She raised her thin, pale legs, trembling. I disrobed.
I oiled my hands and stabbed my middle finger into her pubescent cunt,
hooked it around and pushed it out her anus, softly fingering the membrane
that protruded like a sick vermilion flower from her ass. Nicole's body
jerked spasmodically. I leaned over the velvet chaise and forced four
fingers into her cunny.
"Ennnh! Ehhh... unnnh... unh-unh..."
I sucked her toes, pressed my thumb against my palm and slowly twisted
my entire hand into her stretched hole. I held it still while she
screamed, gently stroking her thigh. When the screams subsided, I forced
my hand deeper into her tight vagina until I felt her cervix. Her eyes
were wide open and drool gushed from her mouth. My arm made a huge bulge
in her saliva-slick tummy. She strained at the ropes.
I tried to get my hand into her fornix, but my forearm would not go any
further without breaking her. I fondled her cervix, rubbing her clitoris
with the thumb of my other hand.
After a while she started to moan. I stroked her cervix and slid my
fingers in and out of the opening of her uterus. Her eyes showed white and
froth dribbled down her chin. She was panting.
I gently fingered the cervix again and Nicole came, undulating and
flopping, spit spraying from her mouth.
I slowly pulled my hand from her womb and untied her. She melted into
my arms. I gave her the candle and Nicole slid it into her throat without
gagging while I tweaked her burnt nipple.
"Turn around, Nicole." She turned and took the taper from her mouth.
"Suck the candle, Nicole."
My heart felt like a prune, my cock like a caduceus. I oiled my hand
again and pushed three fingers into her shithole. It was much easier for
her anally than taking my hand in her vagina had been. She thrust back at
me, deep throating the candle.
I got my entire hand into her rectum and fucked her, the moon coming
into my line of vision through the high, narrow window. She took half my
forearm and came like a pterodactyl swooping in through a milky fog,
hitting the water.
I pulled my hand from her bowels and held her weak, white body to mine.
Her mouth tasted like the Puerto Rico Trench, the deepest place on earth.
In an hour the moon passed the lattice. We sank down into the purple
velvet, drifted through the innumerable empty rooms of the grand house,
scin-laeca, swept through the overgrown, dripping gardens as the last snow
saturated the thawed soil, swirled around Lucy's dismembered body in the
shuttered church, curled against the flame-haired uncle's barren ear,
flowed downriver toward Kingsport, and were gone, gone like a lost time
capsule in the rubble of a collapsed ministry, gone, gone like a glass of
water poured into the sea.
The Sinister Sister Ch 21-23 Written by Silvio Stoker
XXI
The temperature must have fallen by thirty degrees in our few hours of
sweet, aqueous sleep. Despite this, the fertile smell released by the
thawed soil was somehow stronger than it was when I had my hand inside her,
my fingers extended into her pubescent womb.
I thought I woke because of the icy wind blowing through the open
windows, but as I traipsed through the huge, cold rooms, naked, shivering,
neither awake nor asleep but in a sort of hypnogogic twilight, as if
someone had slipped me morphine, I remembered the hideous nightmare.
I was on the floor, trying to put together a shattered mirror -- the
shards were thick, heavy, expensive, antique glass -- the broken mirror was
from the turn of the century, when such glass was made at a small workshop
in Venice and shipped from there to St. Petersburg, catching the glow in
Rasputin's eyes and the budding breasts of a courtesan's hemophiliac
daughter. To Vienna, where a languid, masturbatory, deathly young daughter
of Jewish violinist admired her own melancholy body, her dewy slit hidden
under silken, long, black hairs, damp at the roots. To Cape Town, where a
sassy Afrikaner girl with hard nipples on her washboard chest, eyes the
color of diesel fumes and skin the hue of cream cheese begged a beautiful
Zulu to thrust his long, glistening cock into the slick rose quartz of her
open anus, his slender, pitch black fingers, shiny with scented oil,
burrowing into her rectum, an opalescent drop of precum at the tip of his
thick glans. To New York, where the prepubescent daughter of a prominent
banker tore her hymen with a thin, dirty carrot, studying her own snotty
mouth in the watery silver of the looking glass, teasing the pimple of her
sealed anus with a blonde finger, her violated cunny smelling like ceviche,
safety pins threaded through the ripe mulberries of her titties, the blood
flowing down her lanky body in salty rivulets.
In the dream I had no clothes on and concentrated on my project -- half
of the mirror was reassembled, my alcoholic irises reflecting in each
sliver of silver glass. I was crouched over the reflections of my eye, my
feet and hands bleeding warmly where the jagged pieces of mirror had cut
them. I could not see myself, except for the multiplied, evil eye. .
Lucy, nude, was walking towards me, softly, as though stepping through a
field of flowers. She was chanting in a wet whisper: "Humpty Dumpty sat on
a wall... Humpty Dumpty had a great fall...all the king's horses and all
the king's men... couldn't put Humpty together again..."
As she got closer, I could see that her fair skin was broken, traced
with shallow razor cuts. She picked up a dagger-shaped shard of mirror,
fingered her chalk white prepuce and touched the jagged point of the glass
to her tiny clitoris.
I saw my eyes reflected in the rest of the gleaming fragments and looked
down at my body -- but it was not mine, it was Nicole's eleven-year-old,
athletic, anorexic, girlish beauty.
I crawled around on the broken mirror, each sliver reflecting the
wine-dark eye of John Crane, moaning, masturbating, penetrating my wet,
ravenous holes with pieces of glass.
I slithered into a pantry and pulled piles of dripping ground lamb from
the shelves, sucking them into me without chewing, writhing on my bony back
and stroking my slimy, scarlet slit.
Whimpering, I stuffed clumps of raw lamb into my sickly, frantically
aroused cunny. The only feeling in my perverted little body was a
continuous orgasm and a desperate yearning. It was like stuffing a pale,
refrigerated bird, a carcass that wanted to come. I still held a long
shard of mirror. My lewd lover's eyes still glowed like holograms, and
suddenly my real body -- John's body -- rose from the shattered mirror like
lurid smoke.
I smiled at him -- me -- took the glass, slit my white belly, reached in
and fondled my steaming guts. I cut myself open and masturbated my cervix,
clutching my throat and coming like the figurine of a mystically pleasured
street urchin, sucked the glass down my throat and blacked out...
Or came to, shivering, staggering through the apartment and closing the
windows, shuddering at this new dream.
When I went back to the bedroom, Nicole was gone. I scurried to the
kitchen.
She was crawling around on the floor, devouring everything she had
pulled from the fridge -- a family pack of pork chops, uncooked -- raw
fish, cauliflower -- and handfuls of sugar. Her tummy bulged.
I dragged her to the bathroom and threw her in the tub, straddled her,
and pissed into her mouth. Nicole swallowed my urine, staring at me with
her feverish eyes, and started to vomit, thrashing against the marble.
Under the stench was the unmistakable scent of fertility. I kissed her
sour mouth and caressed her bulging, slimy belly.
"You're ovulating, aren't you, little baby?"
"Yes... fuck me... make me pregnant... aennnh... aennnnngh..." I
held her, my cock pressing against her slick slit, while she threw up.
I fed her the bitter puke with my fingers. "Do you want me to knock you
up, little baby?"
"Yessss! Please..." She sobbed and squirmed, trying to get my cock
inside her. I slid a candle down her throat and fingered her burnt nipple.
She guided me into her fetid cunny. I slapped her titties and pumped
her hard, forced her to vomit again and came into her waiting womb. She
shook and passed out.
I held her insane body, carried her to bed and slid back down into the
mysterious nightmare, the little yellow-breasted bird tapping its beak
against the cold windowpane.
XXII
It was eleven o'clock when a sword of hard sunlight struck my sleeping
eye and I woke. Nicole was moaning in her sleep. I washed her lumpy vomit
from the tub and ran a bath, went back to the bedroom, spread her skinny,
polluted legs and fucked her awake, carrying her to the water with my shaft
inside her.
I fed her a poached egg and toast but she couldn't keep it down,
flailing in the water and vomiting. I took her to the chaise longue and
kissed a glass of milk into her mouth, dressed, and ran off to work.
The temperature was steadily, swiftly, inexorably dropping. It must
have been well below zero.
The flame-haired wino was in front of the locked clapboard church with a
little girl. So Lucy had a younger sister, a child of eight or nine. She
was prettier than Lucy, with deep-set eyes the color of new leaves and skin
like Liquid Paper.
I unlocked the door and the three of us entered. The Count was pouring
coffee from his thermos, addling it with tequila. He whistled.
"Look what we've got here," he said, getting up and pawing the waif's
face. "What's your name, little girl?"
"Mary," she said, opening her gray coat like a zombie and lifting her
dirty white t-shirt. Her nipples were nothing but scabs.
"Why didn't you bring her by with her sister?"
The wino shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Fifteen hundred, sir?"
The Count laughed. "Grand go so quick, Bobby? Show me your cunt,
Mary."
The waif made a mature expression of grief and forced seductiveness and
unbuttoned her midnight blue cords, unzipped, and slid them down. She
wasn't wearing any underwear. Her cunny was a long, thin, tightly closed
slit.
"She's only had it up her ass," the wino said. The Count turned her
around and spread her tiny round buttocks. A thick glob of semen dripped
from her sore, open anus.
"That right?"
"Fifteen hundred?"
I took a large swig from the bottle of Herradurra, opened the gun
drawer, pulled out the pistol and fired at the Count. I missed.
He lunged towards me as I got off another shot. His head broke apart
like a rotten pomegranate. I fired twice more, hitting the wino in the
back. The girl was screaming hysterically. Her uncle was still twitching
on the bloody floor.
I kissed Mary's tiny mouth and zipped up her tight cords, fixed her
t-shirt and buttoned her coat. She returned my kiss like an anxious
parasite.
I fumbled for the light switch in the back room.
Lucy's body was on a sawhorse. There was an aluminum baseball bat
stuffed inside her and strange designs carved in her back with a razor.
Her legs and arms were broken. She was still breathing.
There was another gun near the door. I pocketed it, cleaned out the
cashbox, switched off the light, shut the door, emptied the register,
grabbed Mary and dragged her to Gorge Road, leaving the store wide open.
My heart beat wildly. Mary couldn't walk fast enough, so I picked her
up and carried her.
I didn't see the cruiser until I reached the dead pastor's house.
KINGSPORT POLICE, it said, "Protect and Serve."
"Mary... you want to help me?"
The pathetic waif smiled sadly and started to undo her pants.
"No... Mary... my... my little girl is in there... with the police."
"How come?"
"We have to get her out, Mary. I'm going to give you a gun, and we'll
go in real quiet, okay?"
"Okay!"
The strident strains of "Le Sacre du Printemps" wafted through the
grand, dilapidated corridors. All of the doors were open.
"I want you to shoot the policemen, Mary... do you think you can
shoot?"
"I shoot with my daddy!" We tiptoed to the door of our rooms.
Their uniforms -- and their guns -- were on the dining table. Mama's
boy was on his back on the chaise longue, Nicole's little body against his.
The corpulent, beet-faced cop was raping her behind. He was at least three
times her size, and sounded like a horse with pneumonia. She was limp,
barely conscious.
"It's okay, Mary... I'll do it."
Shaking, I walked between them and their guns. They were so engrossed
in their sandwich that they didn't become aware of me until I blew the
beet-faced head off. Mama's boy was buried under them. I put the gun to
his temple and fired.
The bottom cop had been fucking her in the urethra. I pulled Nicole
forward between them. Blood trickled from the ravaged pisshole. I rolled
the fat one off of her and took her in my arms. She was half dead.
Mary was masturbating, her eyes blank, her blue cords down around her
childish thighs. I packed a two suitcases, dressed Nicole in diapers,
white stockings, the black velvet dress and a pea-coat, made Mary get ready
and carried my miserable child-wife to the Cutlass.
I had the girls get down on the floor in the back and covered them with
a blanket, drove to the gas station, filled the tank and hurtled down the
two-lane to Kingsport.
Time seemed twisted, a chaos of cold sweat and weepy moans. I parked
the car behind one of the dance halls and shepherded my charges to the
Carfax Arms, my arm around Nicole.
The Portuguese was drunk. He staggered out from behind the desk and
stood swaying over the little redhead. Mary giggled and dropped her pants.
I was tired, scared, cold, dying for a drink. "Give me a room, okay?"
He bent down and touched Mary's snatch. "Unh-unh, mister, I only do it
in my poophole, okay?"
"You do?" He talked in a grotesque baby voice. "You don't want Uncle
Netto play with you?"
"You can play with it! You can play with it and make me suck your
boner, uh-huh... but my daddy said I can only fuck in my poophole, cause
the doctor."
Netto laughed and slapped her tiny butt.
"C'mon, man, gimme a room."
"I give you room... I give you room free, but I keep girl tonight,
okay?"
I sighed and nodded. Netto handed me the key for 42 and carried Nicole
to the broken elevator, then to the stairs, without looking back. I heard
the geezers salivating in front of the broken TV.
42 was a garret, sloping ceiling, only slightly bigger than the bed,
which was covered with the same blood-puke bedspread as the room I had
taken when I met Raven. That seemed aeons ago, as in a previous phase of
evolution.
I tucked Nicole in and went down to get our bags. Mary was on the floor
in front of the console television, sucking the limp dick of the old man
who had pissed on Melusina, while Netto sodomized her. Her little butt
glistened -- at least he had lubricated her. She squealed and wiggled her
ass.
I bought a pack of Navy Cuts at the newsstand and went into Joe's Tap.
Bill MacGregor got down the Laphroaig, old grudges forgotten. I drank it
quickly and got him to sell me a bottle for fifty bucks.
I fetched the suitcases and walked back to the Carfax Arms. Mary was
slick with semen, sucking Netto's slender, shit-smeared cock.
I climbed the worn stairs. Nicole was awake. She had taken off her
diapers and lay on the bed clutching her wounded genitals, crying quietly.
Her anus was the diameter of a dime, drooling feces.
I unpacked the salves and her pajamas, stroked her thighs and licked her
crotch clean. Her ravished urethra was as wide as my thumb. She screeched
when I applied the medicines to her bleeding holes. I put on her flowery
pj's and held her until she fell asleep, smoked and drank the whiskey from
the bottle, ashing on the floor.
The money from the cashbox and register came to six thousand and thirty
dollars. Apparently the Count hadn't believed in banks.
I tried to think rationally. Sooner or later we'd be found -- probably
sooner. Cop killers tend to get priority. They'd have found Lucy, her
Uncle Bob and the Count by now. They'd find Beet-Face and Mama's Boy also,
and when it made the news the waitress at the Cozy Kitchen would get on the
horn in a jiffy. So we couldn't be seen and had better get out.
Greyhound? The train? We were as conspicuous as a nun in hell, but I
couldn't think of any other way -- Beet-Face had checked the car's
registration. I drained a quarter of the Laphroaig and stumbled
downstairs.
Someone had gone out for a disposable camera and was taking pictures of
Mary getting it up the ass and holding two shriveled dicks in her tiny
hands. They had torn the scabs from her nipples. She was sticking out her
tongue and bouncing up and down on Netto's thin, greased cock.
I went to the Amtrak station first, a fluorescent rectangle of cinder
blocks and glass, filled with homeless people. There was a train to
Chicago in the middle of the night. I stood in line behind an obese black
woman and her wiry, jittery husband, bought two tickets, thought a moment,
and asked for a sleeping car. It was expensive. It was our only chance.
It seemed that it would just keep getting colder until the world froze
over. There was no one in the streets.
Netto was taking Mary's cherry while the little zombie displayed her
dripping asshole and stared over her shoulder at the flashing camera, a
stiff, hard smile on her come-stained face.
Nicole looked her age, sleeping, abused and devastated, but still a
child. I smoked cigarette after cigarette, sipped the Laphroaig, brooded
drunkenly, and woke her an hour shy of departure time, cursing as I
realized that I couldn't manage her and the suitcases.
"Where are we going?"
"Chicago... on the train."
"I've never taken a train before!"
"It'll be fun, baby... I got us a sleeper."
"Will tie me up?" She extended a skinny white leg from under the
blanket. "Are you gonna fuck your pregnant little girl on the train?"
I kissed her thigh and told her to put on some make-up while I repacked
our stuff. I whittled our belongings down to the essentials.
She looked like a ravishing, powder white thirteen-year-old, demure in
her velvet dress, white stockings, and patent leather shoes. I put on her
coat, asked if she could walk. I grabbed the suitcase and we made our way
downstairs.
I heard the static of police radios and shouting from the second floor,
motioned for Nicole to wait, and crept lower. There were four cops,
cuffing the geezers and shoving Netto around. Mary, drenched with semen
and what seemed to be urine, was on the couch. I could see the blood on
her bare, deflowered vagina.
I climbed back up to Nicole, abandoned the suitcase and pulled her down
the second floor hall, my heart pounding. There was no other staircase,
but I finally saw the glow of an exit sign above the window at the end of
the corridor. I opened it on the fierce cold, my child-wife stepped out
onto the fire escape, I climbed out after her, the counter weighted stairs
dropped with a clatter as we descended, and Nicole and I walked briskly
through the icy streets to the station.
There was no one at the locked, pathetic depot. I lit a cigarette and
put my arm around the shivering girl. She put her hand on my crotch and
whispered.
"Remember, I told you all I had to do was touch your hard-on if you got
scared."
We kissed deeply until we heard our train approach. The whistle blew
and it hissed and rumbled to a stop, the diesel throbbing. Only one door
was opened and we had to walk through the entire train, but most people
were asleep. There were some passengers smoking in the bar car, but I
detected no suspicion in their faces; I realized that except for her
awkward, painful walk, she looked like an excited little girl. The porter
in the sleeping car was an older black man with ashen hair.
"Ain't got no luggage?"
"No, we checked it."
"Well, now, how'd you go and do that? We don't check no luggage in
Kingsport."
"I mean we sent it on ahead... we're going up to Wisconsin when we get
to Chicago, and I didn't want the hassle, with my daughter and all." I
immediately wondered if I had said too much to be believable.
He opened the door of our compartment and we went in. "Wisconsin!
That's where I'm from! Whereabouts you headed?"
"Milwaukee."
"I'll be! Where at?"
"I don't know, exactly -- my wife -- her mother lives there now." I
pulled out a five and tipped him.
"Took the liberty of making your beds up for you all... thank you,
thank you." He disappeared at last.
I grabbed Nicole and stuck my tongue in her mouth. She fumbled with my
pants and was soon gently stroking me with her soft hands. I stripped,
removed her coat and dress, picked her up, put her in the bunk and took of
her diapers. Her urethra was caked with dried blood and the yellowish
discharge oozed from her cunny. I wondered how the cops had dared to fuck
her, but imagined her seducing them.
The sound of the train was comforting and arousing. I tongued her mouth
again and felt her caress my cock with her stockinged foot.
"Tie me up," she whispered. "Tie me up and do stuff to me."
"No, baby... I want to make love to you."
"He made it so I can take you in my pee-pee." She wriggled under me and
touched my glans to the crust of the torn opening. "I won't scream, I
promise."
I grabbed her under the arms and pulled her up. "No, baby. Listen to
me. I won't do that to you." She kissed me with her flickering tongue and
I felt both her feet sliding on my shaft.
"I want you to so much, John. I want you to hurt me that way. I want
to feel you every way I can. Please." Her voice was mature, throaty.
"Baby, in Chicago, then... when we have some oil."
"Use your spit. Please."
"No, Nicole. I promise... in Chicago."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
She slithered down to my cock and pulled herself onto it with both
hands. I slipped into her wet cunny and fucked her with infinite
tenderness, grasping her ankles gently. After a long time I lifted her and
held her so that she could take me in her mouth.
"Suck me, baby... suck my cock, little baby..." I touched her
emaciated, powder white eleven-year-old body as she drooled on me and
worked it with her lips and hand. "I'm gonna come... Nicole... baby..."
I pushed her head down and ejaculated. Her little body undulated and
she rolled onto her back, swallowing my seed.
I embraced her, shaking with pleasure and fear and swaying of the train
hurtling toward the cold, unknown city.
"I can come... just sucking you... I came when you did," she
whispered. "I love you."
"I love you, Nicole. I love you... beyond belief."
We pulled into some desolate station and before the train started again
we were fast asleep, the weird fulfillment of love seeping through my
anxieties, her powdered skin against me.
XXIII
We were traversing frozen fields of stubble when we woke, the sun a red
bauble over a distant line of bare trees. I kissed her sickly mouth and
immediately felt her fingers on my flaccid penis. She moaned and I felt
warm, wet feces gush against my leg.
"Baby... don't get your stockings dirty... we don't have any other
clothes."
"I'll wash them in the sink," she whispered, turned, and slid her crack
against my cock. "They make me feel sexy." She grasped my dick and slid it
into her filthy, open asshole, grunting with pain.
"Nicole..."
"Unngh... fuck me... hhhunngh... hard, John... ungh..." She thrust
against me in a desperate frenzy, jamming her fingers into her mangled
peehole. I held her still with one arm, removed a stained white stocking
and stuffed it into her mouth.
Buried in her rectum, I picked her up and held her in front of the
mirror on the inside of the door, got my arms around her thin thighs and
pumped her slimy ass while she watched her reflection, her eyes dark with
longing. The train swayed and I pushed her against the mirror. I grabbed
her ankles and made her fuck me like that until I was afraid she would
choke on her own drool, put her on the floor and pulled the stocking from
her mouth. She was coughing blood.
I embraced her but she wriggled free and thrust her butt into the air,
holding it open.
"Don't... hhhyechh... hhhhh... don't stop... hard..."
"Lick it up, slut."
Gasping, Nicole licked the scarlet phlegm while I plowed into her
bowels, slapping her butt. After what seemed like an eternity she shrieked
and came, collapsing on the floor, watery shit splurting from her wide-open
ass.
"Suck me, baby... suck me... please..."
Whimpering, she took my glans into her bloodstained mouth and stroked me
with her dirty hands, caressing my balls and sliding a slick finger into my
anus.
"Ohhhh... Nicole... yesss... ohhh... suck me... use your spit..."
She drooled on me and pumped me with her little hand, looking up at me
with feverish eyes and sticking out her tongue.
I pushed her onto the floor and rubbed my glans against the bleeding
opening of her urethra. She was delirious, groaning loudly and pounding
the floor of the train with her fists. I stuffed her dirty stocking into
her mouth and pushed my penis into her pisshole. The whites of her eyes
glistened in the cold light. I pried open her fist and put her hand on her
mons.
"Rub your clitty, baby... Nicole... rub your clitty..."
But she was beyond hearing. She clutched her throat and I pulled the
stocking from her mouth. She gasped hoarsely as I forced my cock into her
peehole. It was not elastic at all; it was like pushing into a narrow,
fluted rubber hose.
"Rub your clitty... Nicole..."
I pinched her nipples and pushed deeper. She hissed and suddenly began
to molest her tiny clitoris, panting and moaning.
"Naaaeeeeeeeehhhhh.... hhheeeennngh... uhhh..."
I grasped her limp wrists, stared into her deranged eyes and slowly
started to fuck it, really only rocking my hips, about two inches inside
the tight tube. Pink flecks of foam formed at the corners of her mouth as
I thrust another half an inch into it, grunted, and came.
I let her arms drop, held her hips and pushed a little deeper. Her lips
were white, her eyes wild with unbearable pain. I stroked her skinny thigh
softly, squeezed her nipples, and pissed. Nicole shrieked as I forced
urine into her bladder, pink froth dribbling down her cheeks.
I pulled out of her, urine gushing from the traumatized hole, and lay
down in the mess beside her. She was in a sort of suspended hysteria, her
lips trembling, her limbs jerking, a far-off, ghostly expression in her
eyes. I waited for this to subside a little and put her in the bunk. We
pulled into some rusty, vacant town. I covered her with clean sheets from
the other bunk, washed myself with wet towels, dressed and went to the
snack bar.
Amtrak seems to want to be an airline. The food offerings were crappy,
meager and expensive. I adore trains, but they are indeed in a drawn-out
death rattle except on the East Coast, and even there they lack the romance
of old. I bought some Egg McMuffin imitations, coffee, juice and milk. As
an afterthought, I got two tiny bottles of Courvoisier. That, at least,
they did have.
Nicole was in delirium, chewing on the pillowcase and clutching a bloody
sheet to her crotch. I trickled cognac from my lips into her mouth and
held her, realizing that I was more aroused by her madness than ever.
I wrested the sheet from between her legs and lapped at the yellowish
effluvia from her cunny, the maroon leakage from her open ass, and finally
licked softly around the ragged, bloody urethra. She slowly shifted from
the throes of pain and migrated back to the shadowy realm of need.
I hurt her tiny titties and spat in her face. Her eyes were wanton,
perverse. She rocked her hips and stroked her ruined holes.
"Suck me, you little whore. You pregnant little whore."
There was no doubt that I had knocked her up -- in the sinister
ambiguity of our love there was an uncanny certainty that spoke with the
authority of a sibyl. I helped her into a squat and fed her the head of my
penis.
She drooled, sucked, swooned and collapsed on her stomach, whimpering. I
put her on the floor and got my belt.
"Sit up, slut. Sit up and play with your pussy."
Her face was contorted in a fierce grimace of deathly desire. She
arched her back and I brought the belt down across her flat chest. She
fell back but did not try to cover her titties. I whipped her half-hard
nipples while she brought herself to orgasm, snot splurting from her
scarlet fuckhole.
"Get up."
She struggled back into a kneeling position, her clammy little hands on
my thighs. I spat in her face again and jacked off while she licked my
glans. I slapped her tear-stained face with my cock, shoved her against
the bunk and slid into her cunny from behind, taking her wrist and moving
her hand to her bloody anus. She mewled and masturbated her shithole. I
bunched her fingers together and forced her hand into her rectum.
"Fuck it, Nicole. Fuck your dirty little ass."
I could feel her fingers through the membrane, withdrew from her cunny
and rubbed my glans against her pisshole. She spread her legs wider and I
pushed my snotty penis into her magenta urethra, briskly but softly
stroking her taut little butt. She held her breath as I very slowly
penetrated her, half my shaft inside the tight, raw hole. I pressed the
blanket against her lips and she bit down on it. Her eyes were open,
unfocused. I fucked my way deeper as spasms of awful pain gripped her
emaciated body. She jerked like an electrocuted frog. My glans pierced
her internal urethral sphincter. The head of my cock was in her bladder.
Nicole was cold as a corpse and slick with sweat. The hand she held in
her rectum was as tense as a statue's. I touched her hips, moved in and
out of her by a fraction an inch, bellowed, and came.
Stroking her sides, I slowly retracted my penis and kissed the end of
her pissy, salty, brutalized tube. I pulled her flaccid hand from her anus
and took her twitching body in my arms, licking the feces from her
trembling fingers. She moaned like a dying girl.
I returned her to the bunk and transferred milk laced with cognac from
my mouth to hers. We pulled into another dismal city, a catafalque of
rust, slag heaps and neon signs shrouded in icy drizzle.
I procured another couple of tiny bottles of Courvoisier and kissed the
mellow liquid into her little mouth.
"How far... are we?"
"A few hours, I guess."
"We... we have to get out before... we get there... if they're
looking for us..."
It wouldn't have occurred to me. Even in this state, her mind was a
steel trap. I licked her sore nipples. A lake the color of her eyes
stretched into infinity beyond the Plexiglas window.
I wet some towels, cleaned us, dressed myself, and put on her filthy
diapers. The one stocking was ruined, so I removed the other. I helped
her into the black velvet dress and slipped on her shoes.
I fed her the ham from the muffins. She looked okay, then slumped
forward and puked, trembling, coughing blood. I lifted her dress, slid my
hand into her soaked diapers, ran my fingers down her slimy crack and
masturbated her anus. Moaning, she responded after a while, rocking. I
slipped two fingers in and out of her rectum until her labored breathing
quickened and she came.
"Water..."
I held a glass of water to her lips. Nicole drank. She lay down while
I found the porter and told him that my daughter was sick and we were
getting off the train at the next stop.
He had a shrewd, cunning, slightly frightened look in his eye. What if
they had learned of my ticket purchase and let the train crew know? I felt
weights drop in my stomach, like the heavy pine cones of a cuckoo clock.
We were moving slowly through a desolate are of abandoned mills and
shabby bungalows painted pink and pale green and gray, the blue expanse of
the lake to the other side.
I went back to our compartment, told Nicole to put on her coat, grabbed
mine, felt the second gun I had taken, and hunted down the porter, pulling
the molested, whimpering girl with me. He was on the radio. I didn't hear
what he said, but he looked very afraid now. Afraid and determined.
"Stop the train."
He didn't protest and pulled the emergency brake. The thing took
forever to come to a stop, even at our slow speed.
"Open the door."
I gave Nicole the gun, took her in my arms and jumped, miraculously
landing on my feet. Then we went down -- the porter had leapt on top of
us. Nicole sprang from my embrace like a phantom monkey as we fell, spun
her dancer's body and fired. I got up, pain shooting through my knees as
she got off another shot at the porter. She winced, her own pain catching
her like a ricochet, and the two of us limped and stumbled down a stony
embankment to a cracked, gray street.
There were already sirens wailing in the drizzly distance. A small of
young, handsome black men were sitting on the steps of a turquoise
bungalow, gaping at us. We struggled towards them. Two ran into the
house. I took the pistol from Nicole. My pants were torn at the knees. I
felt blood dripping down my leg. Adrenalin surged through my body.
"Hey... give us a ride... man... a thousand bucks... or I'll kill
you... man," I shouted in a hoarse voice.
"Don't got no car."
Just then an old lady pulled up in a battered ochre LeSabre. Everything
was in slow motion. I waved the pistol at her and she got out, looking
angry rather than frightened. She was dressed as if she was coming from
church. I reached into my pocket and threw a wad of cash onto the sepia
ice. "You'll get the car back -- move!"
She staggered out of the way and we dove into the car. I almost skidded
out of control and tore down the street parallel to the tracks.
Nicole's voice was calm and cold, like a steady stream of tapwater.
"Stay by the tracks... there's got to be a station... find a taxi...
slow down... drive normal..."
I slowed and two squad cars whizzed past us towards the train. There
was an elaborate courthouse with a clock tower and something like a park,
but treeless... and a peeling wooden train station with a black and white
cab in front of it.
"Park normal, darling... park in the lot and walk slow."
I did as she said and we tried to look as decent as possible as we
approached the taxi. The driver was a chubby Mexican.
"Sorry I on call," he said when I opened the door.
Nicole slid into the black seat repaired with duct tape and spoke to
him, enunciating clearly, as I got in. "Five hundred dollars, you take us
to Chicago."
He stared into the rear view mirror, assessing us. He put the thing in
drive and fishtailed into a wide street lined with abandoned buildings, the
monotony broken only by the occasional liquor store or Pentecostal church.
"We take my friend's car, okay, amigo? You run from police?"
"Yes," I said. "Gracias."
We turned into a trailer park, stopped, and waited for him to go get his
friend. Nicole put her hand on my crotch. "It'll be okay, John."
The Mexican emerged from a miserable trailer and motioned for us to get
out. I gave him his five hundred dollars. We climbed into the back of an
old van -- burgundy shag, fuzzy dice, the whole bit. Nicole smiled. In a
minute we were on our way.
"How far are we?"
"Where you go?"
"I don't know... a motel, I guess."
"Someplace cool," Nicole piped in. "Someplace with lots of kids...
like, you know, music clubs and stuff... head shops..."
She looked as if she had completely recovered. Her eyes were like the
blue flame of a gas range. We drove over what seemed to be a massive
bridge, looking down at rows of dingy, lower class suburban houses.
"Okay... I know... maybe... si, I know, but I not know if motel...
but okay."
I kissed Nicole. "You're amazing."
"So are you, baby... I never thought I'd have so much fun killing
myself."
"I killed the Count," I whispered. My dark, pubescent confessional.
"The Count and Lucy's uncle."
"I know," she murmured softly, pressing her hand to my crotch. Her eyes
deepened and her tongue flickered across her lips. "Did you have a good
dream last night, darling?"
She looked wicked and oddly womanly, as if she was slithering out of
another age, a pallid, alluring monstrosity emerging from an old piano like
a charmed snake. I was immobilized by the wet sapphire of her hypnotic
eyes. She moaned continuously and released my aching cock, running a
fingertip along the vein. The scent of her arousal penetrated the stench
of her illness and filth.
"Mmmmmmm... yessssss... mmmmmmm... " I was paralyzed. "Mmmmmmmm...
baby... mmmmmmm... come... mmmm... come for me... yesss... come in my
hand..." I gasped as she ran her finger along the vein. I moaned and felt
Nicole grasp my rigid shaft and cup her palm to the glans. I spewed semen
as if drained. Drained.
She lifted the hand to her mouth and lapped it up. She looked like a
vampire, her lips slick with sperm, her dark eyes flashing. She probed my
mouth with her tongue, put away my dick, and crawled into my lap.
Downtown Chicago loomed ahead of us like a nameless, Lovecraftian city,
a dense temple-complex on the Plateau of Leng, the black towers of
cold-blooded sorcerers. We drove down some streets like canyons, deserted
of a Sunday, and rumbled northward across a green, evil-looking river along
a boulevard lined with luxury stores, past a white clock tower and an odd,
tall, gothic building, dipped through a short tunnel and sped up a road
that ran along the lake - it was gray now, like the sea. He soon found an
exit and we drove west down a busy street that seemed to run through a
neighborhood like Nicole had described -- young people, goths, a mural of
spitting gargoyles, a dirty station for an elevated train line,
restaurants, cigar stores, bars.
This soon thinned, however, and the street became more ordinary --
corner stores, a little strip mall, Mexican restaurants. He turned right
onto a wide street that ran on a diagonal -- German delis, bars -- and we
drove under some elevated tracks again.
"I don't know motel," our driver said, and doubled back, returning along
the street we had come off the lake by. He made a few more turns, dizzying
me in a grid of bleak, slushy streets choked with traffic.
At last we spotted a sign that said E ONOMY M TEL WATERBED BREAK AST IDS
STAY FREE and blinking red neon informing us of a VACANCY. It looked
pretty vacant indeed.
"Okay, amigo?"
We thanked him profusely and got out, Nicole's skinny, naked legs
shivering with gooseflesh. She waited in front of a Greek restaurant while
I went into the office, praying that they would not ask for a driver's
license.
There was a young woman behind the desk, a mousy dishwater blonde with a
thick accent. A little sign said MOWIMY PO POLSKU. She didn't even ask
for ID. I filled out a card, paid her ninety dollars and eighty cents for
two nights, and got a key to a room on the first floor.
I went outside -- it wasn't bad, really, from what I'd heard about the
Windy City... perhaps another thaw, perhaps our thaw, here now -- waved to
Nicole and waited for her to cross the street. I felt a curious
nervousness -- after all we had been through -- cross safely, I said under
my breath. Look both ways.
Room 18 was pig-pink. Shiny pink bedspread with fuzzy nipples. No
waterbed, but there was a mirror on the ceiling. Stylized roses on the
wallpaper. The reproduction was of a huge fountain lit with colored
lights. Acrid smell, made me want to smoke. Out of cigarettes. Small
bathroom, pink tile, shallow bath, pink. Another wall had an old travel
poster WARSZAWA LOT POLISH AIRLINES.
Nicole and I in the mirror. Wounded waif, unshaven alcoholic. Crucifix
on the inside of the door.
Sudden darkness, darkness impregnable, not dispelled by opening the
drapes (pink). Her mouth was vomitous but her teeth were still sharp
pearls. Tongue.
Gideon's Bible. Thick phone book.
Alberto's Pizzeria We Deliver Try Our White Pizza Try Our Pesto Pizza
Try Our Calzones!!! Garlic Bread Free With Orders Over $10!!! Free
Delivery!!! Yes We Will Deliver Beer Or Wine!!!
Snake eyes. Anthropomorphic fog seeping from the womb.
Naked Nicole slipping under the pink covers in her soiled diapers.
Melusina, Freya, Raven, the Count, Uncle Bob, Beet-Face, Mama's Boy,
Lucy... or did Lucy live? Was Lucy under a lamp, under Dr. Foster? The
porter, maybe... but he would pull through, wouldn't he? What were they
doing with Mary? Netto and the impotent old man in the Downs County Jail,
separately of course. Would Netto be raped by now?
Darkness palpable. Nicole's left arm white against the bedspread. The
left arm, the negative, the receptive. She was sound asleep. I kissed her
on the forehead and went out.
It was just getting dark, really, it was not night at all. Though it
was Sunday, there were plenty of open stores. Land of the Free. I
navigated by obliquity, inkling, smell, bitter wind off the lake, it could
not be far. I was trying to find the street with a smattering of young
drifters. I reached it in perhaps ten minutes by listening for the screech
of the elevated trains. Seven dead, plus Lucy and the porter. I felt
guilty for leaving Nicole alone. As if I could never be apart from her.
Some clothing chain was still open. I had all of our money on me -- there
were still around three thousand dollars, after throwing cash at the church
lady and the Mexican who rescued us and what I had spent on tickets and
such. Nicole's sizes in memory. My penis erect whenever I envisioned her,
sleeping, eating, drinking, vomiting, reading, making love, killing.
I bought a heap of clothes, gauzy things, the sexiest attire available
in the Junior Miss section, jeans and a black turtleneck for myself.
Towards the crystalline breath of the Great Lake.
I did not like this place, yet slowly developed a sort of gnawing
affection for it... there was something about Chicago that reminded me of
a brawny town bloated and awry -- a town with a fundamental _decency_. The
sobriquets, Shy Town, the City of Big Shoulders. I remembered reading that
the Windy City referred not to the lake wind but to the propensity for
boastfulness.
It did not look as if people meant to _live_ here -- it looked like they
meant to make money here and go away. But then much of America looks like
that, especially Her cities.
But, of course, seediness. I wondered whether Nicole wanted a
neighborhood crawling with runaways, druggies and other marginalia because
she thought we would go unnoticed or because it was fecund, because this is
what bred here, because it was the only kind of life in this city.
Paradoxical, parasitical, deathly life.
Belmont was _seedy_, speckled with nice-looking, affordable Italian
restaurants, three Indian buffets, a head shop, cool places, a tattoo
parlor that looked like it was there before the piercing vogue, sleazy
hotels, pleasant cafes... but a pall of interior destitution hung over the
street.
My own? Why did I feel so warmed by whatever seemed like basic decency?
Against what, exactly? Evil? The sinister? My lover's pale, emaciated
arm on the pink bedspread? What had _I_ become?
The dignified face of the gray-haired black porter congealed in my
mind's eye, and I realized that he was the key to the horror that was upon
me. Melusina had sought death -- it was perhaps not our right to act as
death's agents, but her murder had not been an unwanted thing. Raven was
doomed. Freya left this world voluntarily, on the wings of orgasm. It was
fun to detonate the cops' heads like pumpkins. Liquidating Uncle Bob gave
me pleasure.
The Count was another matter. I must ask Nicole what he was up to, I
thought. Nicole, I thought, and my penis stiffened. I crossed a thin,
ephemeral, ambiguous border when I shot him. I felt my erection against my
leg, the lake wind through my torn pants, and thought: is _this_ my head?
In Texas they have a saying: "he thinks with his dick."
And I had killed another man who did this. What had the Count done that
so horrified me, exactly? Offered to buy a girl destroyed, who would have
been annihilated anyhow?
But we don't know, do we. Perhaps Mary would slither through the foster
care system...
I killed the Count because the Count was me, or who I might have been?
The el train screeched and rumbled above. There were the black glass
windows of a bar, BERLIN, a punky goth kind of place. Urchins. A crowd of
babushkas and thin men and security guards and a beautiful woman and Joe
Blow waiting intently for a bus.
1000 LIQUORS. Dark men on a raised platform dispensing poison.
Specials on obscure herbal infusions from the former Yugoslavia. Sickening
rose.
I was careening downward, a spiral of sweet, dense selfhood that could
not find a funnel.
The porter -- he had not wanted death, had he? Why had he tried to
tackle us? The goddamned hero.
Beyond, beyond. Here the street normalized. A DOZEN ROSES $8. THE
DESERT OASIS FALAFEL PLATE $3.95 TAQUERIA PANCHO VILLA CARNE ASADA. TACOS
DE SESOS. MENUDO. BOECKLIN'S FUNERAL PARLOR, understated, the middle of
nowhere.
I was going away from the lake, and there was the distinct sense of
heading nowhere, flatlands from here to Colorado, dingy with ice and
vacuity. A DOZEN ROSES $8.
The diagonal street the Mexican had driven us down was called Lincoln
Ave. I turned right, northwards. What looked like an old department
store, turned into condos. A German store, the window laden with
delicacies, looked out of place. I imagined the descendants of the old
shoppers driving in from distant suburbs to buy what they ate in childhood.
I thought of Nicole and turned back, increasingly obsessed with taking
her, until I suddenly felt that my cock was inside her -- it was a strange,
mysterious feeling, physical.
I came across a shop that sold leather and sexual devices. The vapid
beauty behind the counter had a cloying smile. I purchased a long,
transparent dildo, a leather collar, various silver rings, a leash and two
anklets.
The street was full of lost-looking girls and boys in black. I stopped
at a drugstore, bought diapers, KY jelly, a douche, an enema kit, needles,
several bottles of carb-protein drink, rubbing alcohol and cigarettes. As
an afterthought, I asked the disgusted middle-aged cashier for a polaroid
camera.
I picked up a huge bottle of Stolichnaya and walked quickly to the
motel, laden with this stuff.
Nicole was on the bathroom floor, doubled over, crying. She had washed
and smelled of cheap soap. The tub was a mess.
"Don't... don't ever leave... me... me alone..."
I carried her to the pink bed, turned down the sheets, and kissed her
all over. "Close your eyes, baby." I licked her eyelids. "Keep your eyes
closed."
I unpacked my presents, put the collar and anklets on her and put the
clear dildo in her little white hands. "Okay... open your eyes."
She was transmogrified by delight, staring at herself in the mirror
above the bed. I stripped and took pictures of her while she posed
impishly, attaching the leash and sucking the dildo. I gave her a carbo
drink and she sipped it while I lubricated her.
We studied the Polaroids. The room filled with her musk. She lay back
on the bed and ran the dildo in a line from her pudendum to her sternum,
looking at me whorishly.
I covered my cock with KY and slid into her cunt to the cervix. Nicole
sucked the dildo as I fucked her like there was no tomorrow.
"Deeper, whore. Shove it down your throat."
She craned her neck, leaned her head back, and forced it into her
esophagus. I lifted her, took the dildo out and pulled her on top of me. I
greased it while she fucked me, moaning, teased her crack and plunged it
into her rectum. Nicole wailed.
"Fuck me, you whore. You dirty little whore."
She whimpered as I reamed her little ass. I yanked it out and made her
suck it clean, forced her into a squat and made her ride me. She fucked
her throat with the dildo and squat-fucked me until she came, flushed, her
cunny spastic.
I lifted her off of me, sterilized the dildo with rubbing alcohol and
got the needles and thick little silver rings. I kissed vodka into her
mouth and had her lie on her back atop me.
"I'm going to hurt you, Nicole."
"Yesss," she whispered. "Hurt me."
"Take me in your ass."
She slid down and pulled my cock into her loose, greasy anus. I smeared
the dildo with KY and gave it to her. I did not need to tell her what to
do. She pushed it slowly into her destroyed urethra, grunting and arching
her back as I massaged her tiny breasts.
I drank her spectral moans, sterilized a thick needle, and pierced her
nipple. She screamed and trembled, gripping the dildo deep in her pisshole
with both hands, staring at herself in the mirror, wide-eyed. I put on a
silver ring. She was foaming at the mouth, the clear phallus in her
bladder. I pierced her other nipple and she passed out.
I lifted her off my cock, removed the dildo -- her peehole was not
bleeding, which relieved me - and took her to the bathroom. I filled the
pink tub. She regained consciousness in the lukewarm water. The bath was
too small for both of us. I missed the sunken oval in the terrible
village.
I helped her onto the edge, getting her to lie down with her back on the
rim. I kissed her feet and the thin, pale arm that dangled on the tile
floor.
"Spread your legs and hold my arm."
I lanced the pustule on her prepuce. The pus stank like a festering
corpse. I sterilized the needle and pierced her there. She sobbed and
nearly fell. I attached a thick ring and kissed her umbilicus.
We embraced, swooning, and I took her back to the bed. We drank vodka.
Her light body got drunk quickly. She stared drunkenly at her reflection.
The darkness had dispersed. I felt nothing but love and need, desire
and her, her essence, her perverted want as if it circulated, as if I was
given a transfusion... "the nightmare life-in-deathe is she."
The Sinister Sister Ch 24 Written by Silvio Stoker
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, reader beware! Things start to spiral off to
the only place they can logically go... so, if sexual violence isn't your
literary speed, skip this. Needless to say, this is a story. Nicole does
not exist, and (hopefully) no one bears any resemblance to her whatsoever.
XXIV
Late spring, the dank odor of the old grammar school thinned by the
aroma of diverse blossoms from beyond the darkened windows. 38 DAYS LEFT
scrawled on the blackboard. Warm, feverish wind against the yellowed
blinds. The painful fluorescent tubes were shut off to show the
documentary. I watched the dust floating in the beam of flickering light.
The movie showed the inside of my body. MY NAME IS MR. HEMO GLOBIN,
boomed the narrator in a sterile baritone.
The heart-shaped lips of the young, pasty-faced teacher were painted a
deep red. When the movie was finished, the end of the film slapped against
the spool of the projector for several minutes until Miss Heart turned it
off. A boy got up to open the blinds, his penis like one of those little
smoked sausages, but Miss Heart interposed her lanky body. "You sit down,
Billy."
HOW IMPORTANT IS MR. HEMO GLOBIN TO YOU? The sluggish, blossomy air
felt good on my cunny. I looked down and realized that I, too, was naked.
Miss Heart was staring at my immature breasts.
The teacher sat down on the desk, her black pumps tapping against the
scarred oak. Her shaven vulva was the color of grape Kool-Aid.
"How come you don't have any hair down there, Miss Heart?"
The teacher spread her legs. A strong gust of wind blew the blinds
inward and vernal light dappled my naked classmates. MR. HEMO GLOBIN
CARRIES OXYGEN TO YOUR BLOOD CELLS AND IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE RED COLOR OF
BLOOD.
The bell rang and the other children ran laughing from the room. Miss
Heart and I watched their round buttocks bounce away.
"Do you have to go home, little girl?"
"Yes, Miss," I said, standing up and looking down at my shadowy, eager
body.
"Do you have to go home and play with your cunny?"
"Uh-huh," I answered, touching my glabrous mons.
"Okay, then, run along now. You go straight home to your pretty little
cunny. I'll stay here and think about you. Okay?"
"Yes, Miss!"
MR. HEMO GLOBIN LOVES YOU. I grinned and ran out into the muted
daylight. Instead of streets, Farmington consisted of avenues of tall,
soft grass and wildflowers. There were black-eyed susans, queen anne's
lace, goldenrod, daisies. I played he loves me, he loves me not, and lost.
A rotund man in a seersucker suit stood in the middle of the
meadow-avenue.
"Hello, little girl! I'm selling all of these houses! Would you like
one?"
"No, thank you, I have to go home and play with my cunny."
"Okay, little girl. Run along then."
The houses were all out of place, no longer running in straight lines at
all but in strange curlicues, arabesques, knotted cul-de-sacs. The pastel
houses were blocking the fragrant streets in places.
MR. HEMOGLOBIN HAS AN ENEMY, ANEMIA.
My house was not there. Gorge Road was a stand of copper beeches. I
rubbed my crotch against a young tree. When I came, I realized that the
tree was leaning precariously over the meandering course of the river.
But the river was dry as bone -- except around my house, which was in
the very middle of a stretch of black mud.
The bank was overgrown with birches. I swung from tree to tree, reached
the cracked, warm dirt of the riverbed and ran home.
The round man who sold houses was in the bathroom. He beamed when he
saw me.
"Hello, little girl. I'm selling this house. Would you like it?"
"How much is it," I asked, unzipped his pants and pulled out his priapic
member. It was like a cudgel.
"Well, little girl, if you can take my cock down your throat, I will
give it to you!"
"It won't make me pregnant, will it?"
"What's the matter, little girl, don't you want babies?" He slid his
weapon into my mouth and raped my throat like a cunny. I diddled my
poophole until the nice man squirted his sperm into my tummy.
He slammed me against the wall, held me by the throat and tore my pretty
little pussy open with his fingers. It hurt a lot and I was really scared.
I shit myself and the big man threw me into the tub.
He fisted my virgin ass while I had his babies. They were plump little
things that reminded me of my hamster, in tiny, pressed seersucker suits.
"You did good, little girl! They're all going into the real estate
business -- have a cigar!"
The nice man stuck the cigar in my dripping fuckhole. He broke my arms
and pushed me out of the house into the mud. I scampered up the bank,
climbed the bluff, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides, and ran to the
Count's church.
The black porter was standing in the doorway, stroking his long, ebony
cock. He pulled the bloody cigar out of my cunny, lit it, and raped me
really good.
Sometimes a cigar is a Freudian slip. The handsome black man tied me to
a sawhorse, played with my broken arms, and burned me all over with the
stogie. He stubbed it out on my clitty and made me come really hard.
He jacked off on my face and hit me until he knocked out one of my
teeth. Blood trickled into my nostrils.
He brought me a gin and tonic and splashed it into my mouth. I spat it
out.
"Yuck, it's got quinine in it!"
"You don't be wantin' to get malaria, do you, little lady?"
NEONATAL JAUNDICE IS USUALLY TREATED BY EXPOSING THE INFANT TO BLUE
LIGHT. He forced me to drink the stuff.
I had another orgasm and looked at him. "I don't wanna kill people
anymore," I whispered.
"It's a little late for that now, isn't it, little lady?"
"I don't wanna! I don't wanna! I don't wanna!"
"Well now, there's just one more person you gots to kill."
"John?"
He gave me a warm smile and broke my neck. The dream left me like a
cloudy, voluptuous woman.
I was coming -- Nicole was lying on her back, taking my cock down her
throat, undulating in orgasm as she fucked her miserable pisshole with
three fingers and my semen squirted into her esophagus. I forced my cock
deeper into her tight throat and urinated, stroking her pale, slender neck,
slapped her flat, pierced chest and withdrew my shaft. She moaned as
nausea swept through her starved little body. I fetched the ice bucket and
puked her, holding her over the edge of the bed by her hair as citrine
urine and congealed droplets of sperm gushed from her mouth. Her stomach
empty, the beautiful, tragic girl broke into dry sobs and retched
painfully, her white skin cold and wet with bitter perspiration. I gave
her water but Nicole threw up again and started to cough blood.
"Enhh... hurt me... please..."
I got the KY but Nicole slithered away, whimpering.
"Un-unh... do me dry..." She spread her cheeks and looked at me
pleadingly. "Do my butt... hurt me... beat me up..."
"No. Get it together, Nicole."
She moaned and jammed her fingers into the bruised opening.
"Pleeease... I want you to... rape me... hard... enhh..."
I took her clammy body in my arms and Nicole shit herself, shivering. I
touched her dirty cunny and my fingers slid inside her. Her voice was a
hypnotic whisper, like cool, malodorous air rising through a heap of bones.
"Yeah... use more fingers... yesss... put your hand up me, lover...
punish me... yessss..."
I stroked her agile hand, lubricating it with the snot from her vagina,
and moved it to her ass. She gasped and shoved her fingers into her filthy
rectum while I frigged her.
"Ohhh... enhh... please... rape me so it hurts... please... please
do it to me..."
I threw her to the floor, her unnaturally thin arms and legs akimbo.
She whimpered and looked at me expectantly, holding her ass open.
"Get up."
She struggled to her feet, shaking like a newborn animal.
"Dance."
She took a few weak steps and fell. "Uhhh... I... can't... hurt
me..." I realized how thin she had become.
"Dance, Nicole."
She was barely able to get up, tried to execute some move, and fell
again, hurting herself, sobbing.
"Kneel."
The wanton sickness still visible in her naked misery excited me. I
felt as inhuman as she. She crouched on the floor, tears streaming down
her face. I stood over her and put my penis in her dehydrated mouth,
letting her suck me.
"Use your hands, little girl."
She lost her balance and sprawled on the floor, crying.
"Sit up."
She couldn't. "Haennnhh... hennnhh... help... me..."
I got the ice bucket, arranged her Indian style on the floor and made
her drink the pissy vomit. The little pervert drained it, staring at me
with her ghoulish, sapphire eyes. I pulled her into my lap and tugged at
her nipple rings while she molested her distended, dripping urethra, then
held her and the bucket as she puked again. I loved the smell of her even
when she was sick.
I draped her over the edge of the bed, moved her knees apart and slapped
her ass, then her infected genitals. She howled and shuddered. I took the
corner of the sheet that was smeared with her feces and stuffed it into her
mouth, caressing her back and taut butt, got my belt and flicked it lightly
against her slit. She moved her knees farther apart and wiggled her ass. I
whipped her cruelly, lashing her pale, bony back, her buttocks, and even
her gash until wet feces gurgled from her nasty anus.
I slimed her raw pisshole with shit and snot from her cunny, slid two
fingers into it and spat on her ass. She tore the sheet from her mouth and
moaned in pain and awful yearning, frantically masturbating her gaping
shithole.
"Ohhhh... uhhhhh... unhhh... yessss..."
I thrust a third finger into her urethra. Nicole screeched and bit the
sheet.
"Do you need your toy, little baby?"
"Mnn-hmm... aahhhh... enhh... hurt... aaaah... owww... sssss...
yessss... owwwwww! Haeeeeee..."
I flipped her onto her striped back, shoved the stained sheet back into
her mouth, lubricated the transparent dildo and ran the head along her
body, circling her navel and teasing her slit before plunging it into her
ruined urethra. She gripped the edge of the bed with her little piano
fingers as I pushed it into her bladder, grabbed her skinny ankles and
rammed my cock into her wounded rectum.
She stared at me, her eyes depraved, dark blue zeros, as I hammered her
back door without mercy, gripping her ankles while she clutched at her
throat. I pulled out of her, yanked the sheet from her mouth, and put my
dirty cock to her lips.
Her mouth was as her hand had felt back in the van, supernaturally
ravenous, until I forced the dildo deeper into her pisshole and the pain
sent her into an inhuman orgasm. I stabbed the dildo into her bladder.
Nicole gave a drawn-out, bestial wail.
I was possessed. I could have killed her. I pulled the thing out and
hit her with it, across her pierced titties. She spread her legs. I
dropped the dildo and slapped her pubis, hard, several times. She did not
close her legs. She clung to consciousness by a thread, her trembling lips
coated with a strange white slime, the consistency of aloes.
I picked her up, kissed her, and entered her snotty cunny. It was like
fucking a limp doll, except for her stinking fluids and faint breath. I
held her cold body to mine and thrust up into her, her thin white legs
splayed, twisted, her pretty feet against the filthy bedsheet.
"Nicole?"
"Don't... stop... ... ... Hurt me," she murmured, almost inaudibly,
"use my pee-pee... please... hurt me bad..."
I laid her on her back and penetrated her bloody pisshole. There was
very little friction left, only at the internal urethral sphincter. Her
eyes rolled upward and her emaciated body flopped like a slender albino
fish on the verge of extinction as I held her bony hips and pushed into her
bladder. It felt like entering a deflated balloon.
She glistened with sweat. I put my hands around her throat and fucked
her, my penis slipping against the rugae. I had almost strangled her when
I felt the inner sphincter tear and my cock plunged all the way into her,
the head in one of the folds of her mucosae. She made a pitiful,
crepuscular sound.
I kept fucking it, thrusting deep into the ruined hole with long, slow
strokes and rubbing her clitty. She didn't lose consciousness -- when I
pulled out she seemed to be in a lucid trance.
I cradled her head and Nicole took my bloody penis into her soft mouth,
sucking and circling the glans with her tongue.
She was bleeding very badly. I think she had become inured to the pain.
I stroked her bruised, sweat-slick body and lapped at her crotch.
Pulling the ring I had put through her prepuce, I saw the chancre for
the first time. It was under the hood of her clitoris, a horrible thing,
as though a worm had eaten a hole in her. I licked it.
I sucked her clitty and slid my fingers into her diseased fuckhole. I
wanted to eat her, I wanted to devour and be devoured like the twin heads
of the terrible cell of the Qliphoth on the nightside of Kether.
I squeezed jelly into her vagina, lubricated my hand and forced it up
her. She held her ankles and grunted. I licked her thigh and forced my
arm inside. She moaned when I touched her cervix. I fondled it, retracted
my arm, made a fist, and shoved it back into the passage. Nicole shrieked.
"Suck your foot, pretty baby."
I put my other hand under the small of her back and brutally fisted her
until she finally passed out.
I carried her to the bathroom and ran the shower cold. Her eyes when
she revived were insane, abysmal, yet still desirous. I slammed her
against the wall and stabbed my cock into her ass, the ice cold water
maddening us. I pushed her down into the tub and sodomized her.
"Fuck... back... Nicole..." I grunted.
"I... can't..."
Hissing, I slapped her butt and held her hair like reins, forcing her to
thrust back against me. She groaned hideously.
I pulled out and made her give me a blow job, holding her underarms, and
shot off in her gullet, swooning. I dropped her into the cold water and
went to get the ice bucket and belt.
She was masturbating in the bath, the water already red from her blood.
I turned off the shower and brought the belt down across her immature
chest. Her hands instinctively covered her pierced nipples. Her teeth were
chattering.
"Put your hands down."
"Please... don't."
"Put your hands down."
She put her hands under her thighs and started to cry. I whipped her.
She screamed, convulsed and slithered against the edge of the tub. And
then she started to come, gasping, stroking herself, farting snot from her
sick cunny.
I took her by the hair, dragged her from the tub, and fed her the vomit.
"Play with your clitty, Nicole."
She lay on her side, frigging herself and fingering her poophole. I
beat her with the buckle of the belt until she came, crying out, shaking,
and puking, violently, then blacking out again.
I took her in my arms and kissed some vodka into her mouth. She made a
noise like the living dead. I took her back to bed and held her, my
hardened heart squinting into a cathedral of the damned, my brain tenebrous
and exhausted, my organ of generation sighting down nothingness as new life
formed in my love's beaten, bulimic body.
I slid back into her loose, slimy anus and helped her stroke her mangled
crotch until we both fell into fitful, dreamy sleep, swathed in remorse.
At mid-morning I half woke when I felt my cock slip out of her -- Nicole
was half asleep, brushing my lightly, arousingly with her hand, returning
me to hardness. I slid back into her rectum. It felt like entering a
narrow, greased wineskin.
I opened my eyes again at noon. Nicole was pressing against me,
grunting, tugging at her nipple rings, my erection buried in her bowels.
I fingered her cruddy, torn pisshole.
"Ungh... ungh.. ungh... yes... yes my pee-pee... ungh... ungh...
aaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaaah!"
She ground her ass down on my shaft, squealing, until an orgasm tore
through her abused body.
I carried her to the bathroom, my cock still in her ass, and held her in
front of the mirror, her feet on the sink, showing her the bruises. Her
expression held nothing but fascination, pride, and sensuality. I pulled
my cock from her anus, above the toilet, wet, grayish feces trickling from
the open hole.
She couldn't stand up, and from the way she held her body I could see
that she was in terrible pain. I bathed her, took her back to bed, and put
KY on her distended vagina, masturbating her and giving her my thumb to
suck. I greased her ravaged asshole and squeezed lube onto her destroyed
urethra. Nicole pushed her fingers into her pisshole and gave a series of
muffled, desirous moans. She fucked the ripped tube with four fingers and
came yet again, heaving and trying to pull me on top of her. I spat in her
face and bunched her fingers together. Gurgling like a demonic baby,
Nicole forced her entire hand into her ruptured pee-pee while I played with
her runny little fuckhole and spanked her.
I emerged from my bewitchment like a swimmer searching for the surface.
There was a meek but insistent rat-a-tat-tat on the plywood door. Nicole
was delirious, panting, writhing, and molesting the bloody hole.
"Who is it?"
I got up, my cock fully erect, and looked through the peephole in the
shoddy door.
"Katya... you want I come back?"
Her greasy brown hair was tied back. The maid's uniform was too small
for her tall, thin, angular body. She looked like she should be in high
school.
"No, you don't need to... we're staying another night."
"Shto? Pardon?"
"No, no clean."
"Okay." She went away almost reluctantly. There was no way she couldn't
have heard us.
Nicole was delirious, chewing on a corner of the pillow and brutalizing
her wrecked pisshole, the beautiful long fingers of her little hands slick
with blood and lubricant.
I lit a cigarette and loomed over her. I felt saturnine, as if my blood
was molten lead. I took a drag and touched it to her perinium. She jerked
away, screaming.
I pinned Nicole to the bed and stuck three fingers into her urethra.
Her eyes were wide with fear, her lips caked with mucous. She stuck out
her pale tongue. I put my bloody fingers in her mouth and touched the
cigarette to her sunken sacrum. Her eyes blurred. I stubbed out the
cigarette on the hood of her clitoris. She was coming, a weak moan rising
from her tortured body, swelling like a nineteenth century overture.
I got up, had a snort of vodka, and watched her writhe in ecstatic
agony. I heard a little gasp outside and flung open the curtain.
Katya froze for a bare instant, flushed, and ran off. Nicole was still.
"I'm gonna go out for a while, okay?" I tucked her in.
"Don't... don't leave me alone... please..."
"I'll bring you more presents."
"Do you still love me?"
"Yes," I said, without hesitation. "Yes."
She put my hand on her crotch and stared at me through her tears,
pleading. "Can I go with you?"
"No, baby... come on, you know why."
Nicole moaned and pulled two of my fingers into her urethra. "Do you
wanna tie me up?"
"When I get back, maybe."
"Promise. Promise to tie me up and hurt me."
"Nicole..."
She thrust weakly against the two fingers in her pisshole and begged.
"Tell me what you wanna do to me... please... tell me how you wanna use
your toilet whore... please... hurt my pee-pee and tell me... please...
tell your pretty little toilet whore... tell me..." She lifted her legs.
Viscous scum was dripping from her anus. "Am I dirty? Am I a nasty little
girl? Ohhhh... Enhh... Ohhhhhhhh..."
She came, drooling snot and shivering. I covered her, kissed her on the
forehead, and went out into the blighted day.
The Sinister Sister Ch 25-27 (Conclusion) Written by Silvio Stoker
XXV
I passed Katya near the motel's office. She blushed and turned away,
unlocking the door of a guest room. I could see that she had an eating
disorder -- the kid was unbelievably scrawny. Her hips were unusually
wide, though, and her skin looked lovely and soft. Her uniform was far too
short for her and I could actually see her dirty gray panties -- the crotch
hung loosely between her anorexic buttocks. She gave me a look of arousal,
defiance and fear and pulled her dress down. Her fingers were long, and I
had a distinct vision of how they would look clutching the bedspread and
diddling Nicole's childish cunny. I smiled at her. Katya blushed, forced
a thin smile as tears welled up in her eyes, and shut the door of the room.
I rode the El north, "TO HOWARD." It was a strange experience, rattling
above the cold, gray city, looking out onto the backs of sordid apartment
buildings, the lake visible here and there. I got out at Loyola University
and walked around the campus, ending up in front of a church that strangely
enough had doors opening onto the lake, as if the congregation would one
day emerge and drown itself. It was called "Madonna della Strada," and I
surmised that it had once been planned to front a road built on landfill.
The lake was beautiful. There were fantastic grotesques formed by the
action of the waves, caves, pores, upthrust phalloi of glistening ice. In
the distance, the color of the water was Nicole in pain.
I wandered around what seemed a pleasant if somewhat impoverished
neighborhood, ate lunch at a very nice health food restaurant that served
Bustelo coffee, washed down a large salad with several shots of Haitian rum
and decided to walk all the way back down to Belmont, choosing a repulsive
street called Ashland, car dealerships, billboards, a seedy transient
hotel, an all night chili shop... it took me several hours.
I ensconced myself at a strange cafe that served vegetarian food and
cheap martinis. The waitress was a very beautiful Goth girl with pierced
lips. She looked like a trout and seemed to be on speed. The place made
me think of that elusive thing called the future, a swirl of rootless
creatures pursuing the cold intricacy of their own sexuality.
Martini after martini. The Goth gave me vapid smiles. I had downed
probably seven martinis when the streetlamps came on in the cold aquarium
of a winter evening beyond the dripping windows. The door swung open and
Nicole staggered in.
She didn't look like a girl, she looked like a B-movie rendition of a
bacchante overlaid with the victim toward the climax of a snuff film. She
wore a frozen smile and a torn dress. A couple of her pearly teeth had
been knocked out. The suicidal, eleven-year-old pervert smelled like a
crack whore in a slaughterhouse bathroom. Her bare feet were scratched and
bruised, and the nipple rings had been torn from her tiny breasts. At the
same time, in sinister counterpoint, Nicole's eyes smoldered with the
mingled lust of a maenad and a submissive. Her face, body and long, dark
hair were defiled by feces, blood, and semen. There were traces of cocaine
around her nostrils. Worst of all, the insatiable sapphire eyes made her
look still beautiful, and even as I heard the waitress gasp, I stared at
Nicole's slender, bony hips through the blood-soaked dress and wanted to
seize them, wanted to fuck her, buttfuck her, hurt her, even as I buried
myself inside her, my self, the nauseating ruined thing that needed her,
needed to see her come, needed to come inside her, was nothing without her,
nada. Needed nada.
I pushed her out the door as the waitress ran for the telephone, dragged
her into an alley, and slapped her, hard. She was shivering, half-naked in
the wet, bitter cold. Nicole moaned, stuck out her tongue, leaned back
against a heap of garbage from the cafe, opened her dress, spread her
skinny legs, exposing her bruised, sanguine, hairless slit. Her voice had
the bittersweet, perilous, imperiled chrome of a siren in orgasm, and her
sad, sinuous, abused body undulated like a snake's.
"Yes... John... I missed you..."
"Nicole..." I lifted her light body, my hands on her prominent ribs, and
sucked her torn nipples, put her down and licked her diseased, soiled
crotch. Her pretty little cunny had been stuffed with excrement, and her
open pee-pee was slick with blood and sperm. I licked her infected, erect
clitoris and molested her distended, oiled anus. When Nicole's wailings
grew strident, I forced my hand into her rectum and slapped her filthy flat
chest. I fisted her butt, stood, undid my pants, picked her up and slid my
penis into her mangled urethra, driving my fingers into her raw asshole and
flooding her sick bladder with come as Nicole ejaculated, the slimy shit
spurting from her spastic, snotty cunny.
I threw her down on the garbage bags, spanked her, and raped her throat,
slapping her ripped titties and stroking her long, pale, violated neck. I
came again, squirting warm fuck down her throat.
I dragged her naked through the alley, carrying her when I could see
that she was in mortal pain, and using the queer, uncanny sense of
direction I seem to possess when drunk out of my mind, somehow found our
way to the backside of the Economy Motel.
The waif who ought to have been sent to some wrathful sect of renegade
tantrics for anal communion with some vengeful demon squirmed in my arms,
alternately weeping and playing with herself.
I felt my body fall into a pool of relief as we neared the dismal motel,
slipped through the chain link gate that led from the alley and approached
our room.
Katya, recognizable even in the darkness by her anorexic silhouette, was
trying to peek into our unlit room, uncertainly. She heard my feet crunch
in the snow, turned, and stood as though paralyzed, her ill-fitting uniform
bunched up around her wide, bony hips, her long fingers snaking into her
loose, dingy underwear. I put down the horrifically damaged child and the
scrawny maid shuddered with fear and anxious desire, gasped, pissed
herself, started to cry and made as if to run away. I grabbed her. Katya
whimpered as I stroked her skinny, trembling thighs and slid my fingers
under the wet crotch of her thin, baggy briefs.
"Nyet... please... no..."
Nicole leaned against the yellow brick building, masturbating and
sighing. I put my arm around Katya's emaciated torso and unlocked the
door. Nicole limped into the room. Katya struggled. I threw her on the
bed and locked the door.
"It's okay... we won't hurt you," Nicole said, her voice like a white
fox leaping from a frozen hole in the ground. She climbed into bed. Katya
gave a piercing scream and pushed Nicole away. The sick pixie moaned and
parted her filthy legs.
Katya punched the little girl in the cunt. Nicole screeched and curled
up into a shivering ball. I watched in shock as the anorexic maid went
into a violent frenzy, forcing her bony hand into Nicole's gaping pisshole
as the child begged her to stop.
Katya gurgled something in what sounded like Russian, licked the scum
from her long fingers, ripped off her uniform and collapsed into a
simpering heap, frigging herself and sobbing. Nicole had blacked out.
The maid's body was scarily lovely. Her high little breasts were very
strange -- one sagged like a soft, long udder, ending in a swollen, almost
purple nipple. The other was a tiny, upturned, violet nipple. Her large,
oval navel was very low on her taut tummy, and her dripping slit was the
color of cranberries. The labia of her shaven cunt were long and lavender,
and hemorrhoids budded like an obscene flower from her tight, quivering
ass.
She squealed when she came, jerked spasmodically, cried out and tried to
cover herself. When I touched her she froze and grimaced like a molested
girl. I fingered her sausage-like long breast and kissed the little one.
"Please... don't..." Her tremulous, tiny voice was redolent of
resignation and hurt, every word heavily accented.
I stroked her hair. "Okay... Katya... do you... do you want some
vodka?"
"Nyet... let go... pazhelusta..."
"You can get dressed and I'll get some vodka, okay? I won't touch
you... we'll just... talk."
"Ya... I... I don't speak English," she said, relaxing just a little.
"Please, I go."
"Please stay a little. I promise I won't touch you."
She stared at me, her dirty gray eyes softened, and she nodded meekly. I
ran a cold bath and poured two glasses of vodka. Katya covered herself
with a sheet, put on her torn uniform, and burst into tears again.
"I... I can get you a new uniform," I said, sipping my vodka and giving
her a drink.
Katya took some in her mouth and spat it at me. "I not prostitute," she
said, indignant.
"I know, Katya," I answered, caressing her long, anorexic thigh. "You
like to hurt little girls, though, don't you?"
She looked at Nicole's limp, ravaged body, pushed my hand away, and took
the unconscious child in her arms, sobbing.
"Do you want to help me wash her?"
Katya nodded, tears streaming down her gaunt cheeks. I carried Nicole
to the bath and put her in the cold water. She revived, moaning and
shivering. The disheveled young maid stood in the doorway, fighting her
obvious arousal. I draped the miserable little girl over the edge of the
tub and led the nervous, shameful foreign teenager into the room.
"Do you want to hurt her some more?" I whispered in her ear, fondling
her undeveloped breast.
"No," Nicole whimpered,"I... I can't... take it..."
"Hurt her, Katya. Hurt her dirty little body."
Katya almost fainted, steadied herself, sighed, and pushed Nicole into
the pink tub with surprising force. Panting and masturbating, Katya held
Nicole by the hair and dunked her. Thrusting her long, bony fingers into
her own magenta hole, Katya held Nicole's head underwater and came.
I pulled Nicole out and added warm water to the bath. Sputtering and
choking, Nicole stayed conscious. Silently, Katya and I washed the
tortured girl, cleaning the excrement from her vagina and covering her
holes with KY.
We took her back to bed, where she passed out. Katya looked terrified
and confused. I unpinned her hair and kissed her lips. She responded
tentatively, slowly, and then I felt her tongue.
"Do not... hurt me... please..."
I stroked her deformed, elongated little titty. "You're so pretty,
Katya. Very pretty."
She smiled nervously. "I... I... Please do not hurt me," she
whispered. "Please?"
"I don't want to hurt you, Katya. I want to make love to you."
She stared back at me through her tears. "Yes," she said finally.
"Yes."
XXVI
We ended up living near the lake in an impoverished neighborhood not far
from the city's northern border. It turned out that Katya was a painter
also -- we grew oddly close to each other, despite her cold distance in bed
(she was a virgin, and insisted on limiting us to oral and anal sex). Her
work consisted of bizarre, otherworldly landscapes, ashes blowing across
desolate, lunar plains. Nicole grew thinner and weaker as her belly
swelled. Katya turned her into a sullen, silent disaster. The pregnant
child spent a third of her waking hours masturbating, another third crying,
and her evenings being abused by Katya. The Ukrainian girl delighted in
torturing Nicole, sewing her cunny shut, nearly killing her by shitting
down her throat and forcing it in with the dildo, piercing her tongue and
threading a ring from the shower curtain through it, feeding her dog food
or even worms and whipping her when she puked. The sadistic beauty double
fisted her, stuffed her holes with ice, broke three of her fingers, and cut
her with a razor. She burned her with cigarettes until Nicole lost the use
of her left arm.
The eleven-year-old looked like a knocked up concentration camp inmate.
Katya would force her to dance, sodomizing her when she fell with a
slender, dark blue bottle that had once held Moselbluemchen. I kept
expecting Nicole to have a miscarriage, but she stayed pregnant and grew
protective, trying to fall so that she wouldn't hurt the fetus, bruising
her knees. Katya would lead her around with a chain attached to the tongue
ring and whisper what she was going to do to the baby, forcing her hand up
the child's vagina and touching the sealed entrance to her womb while
Nicole sobbed.
Nicole stopped coming when Katya abused her. She spent most of her time
on the bathroom floor, weeping and frigging her infected, deformed urethra.
I would still make love to her now and then, licking her and feeding her
protein drinks and talk to her in baby talk. She even wept during her
orgasms. After I brought her off, Katya would punch her swollen belly
while I fucked her tight throat and abused her starved, broken body.
Nicole would beg me to come in her, whimpering, until Katya kicked her
unconscious and sucked me to orgasm.
In her seventh month, Nicole began to lose sight in one eye. Katya's
abuse worsened. She would make Nicole crouch in a tub of ice water, dunk
her, and tell her how she was going to drown the baby. Every evening would
end with Nicole's passing out.
The more pain she inflicted on the starving girl, the more aroused Katya
became. The scent of her lubricating gash was perceptible through Nicole's
odor. One night, whipping her victim's swollen little titties and kicking
her cunny, Katya gasped, lifted her dress and brought herself off, but
usually she would wait until Nicole lost consciousness to strip and go off
with me.
The Ukrainian girl became especially amorous if Nicole came to and
crawled into the bedroom. Taunting her, Katya made Nicole watch the
gentleness with which she insisted I make love to her, taking hours to lick
her ass and stretch it with my fingers before I did her there, buttfucking
her slowly and tenderly. Nicole would cry and beg and masturbate with her
good hand until Katya attacked her again.
The more Nicole suffered, the harder Katya came; the harder Katya came,
the more she hurt the girl afterwards. I realized that Katya's orgasms
were instantly followed by bouts of self-hatred.
She especially liked to force Nicole to hurt herself, making her use the
worn dildo as a pestle in the mortar of her noxious urethra, burn herself
and rub salt into her wounds.
Nicole went into labor two months prematurely. Katya tied Nicole's
hands behind her back and put her in a cool bath, gagged her and poured
herself a large glass of cold vodka. She put a chair next to the tub and
sat there, smoking, sipping the alcohol and looking insanely aroused as
Nicole screamed into the gag.
When the baby was finally born, Katya made a gurgling sound, raised the
hem of her dress and masturbated frantically, watching the girl she had
destroyed writhe and splash, trying to save her tiny, newborn child.
She dragged Nicole from the tub, drowned the baby and pushed the dark
blue wine bottle into Nicole's gaping vulva. Wailing, Katya frigged
herself through her dirty gray panties and kicked Nicole's empty, distended
belly, threatening to break the bottle inside her. Nicole was choking on
her own vomit. Katya flipped her over, fisted her rectum, and banged her
against the tile floor. Stroking her wet slit, her hand in her soaked
panties, and moaning in continuous orgasm, Katya turned the dying girl
over, stomped on her until the bottle broke, and watched her die.
She held the cadaver like a doll and sucked milk from its titties. I
got drunk. After a while, Katya carried Nicole's body to her bedroom and
closed the door. I got drunker, listening to Katya defile the corpse, and
went in.
She was oblivious to my entrance, whispering to the dead girl and using
its cold, stiffening hand to masturbate herself.
I stripped and climbed into bed with her. Her underarms smelled like
vanilla oil.
"Nyet... no... please no..."
"Kiss her, Katya."
She whimpered, wavered, and finally put her wet lips to the cadaver's
bloody mouth. Moaning, she pulled the corpse on top of her and frenched
its mouth. I stroked Katya's slit.
"No... please..."
I spread Nicole's legs and slid my cock into the cunny. It was still
warm inside. "Touch yourself, Katya. Touch your pretty slit." She groaned
and masturbated while I fucked the little corpse on top of her thin,
writhing body. "Is it good, Katya? Are you going to come?"
Katya squealed as her body jerked in orgasm. I pulled out of Nicole,
grabbed Katya's skinny ankles, and drove my cock into her dry, hot anus.
Katya screeched and struggled as I raped her unlubricated rectum. Tears
streamed down her face. She clutched the corpse tightly.
I withdrew from her bleeding ass and pushed my penis into her vagina.
"Noooooo! Nooooooooooooooo! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
I rammed my filthy shaft through her hymen, thrust all the way into her,
and came. I felt sick. I went into the studio and poured myself a large
glass of the now warm vodka, downed it, and sat glumly in front of one of
Katya's savage landscapes until I couldn't stand her crying anymore,
dressed, and went out.
XXVII
The murderess grew morose. Soliloquy of sameness, that is heaven. How
a text takes you. Look at me, this flow, this flower. Verily it takes you
in, like Kali swallowing and shitting. Yet Nicole suicided herself, it was
Katya that was Kali. But, were Katya Kali, why am I, your morally
ambiguous, nay, your paramoral protagonist, still present?
Come, come, the cask of Amontillado is this way.
When I returned, staggering drunk, nearly mindless after a series of
mescalitos in a place called PULQUERIA EL CABRON, Katya lunged at me with a
knife. Her eyes were pink from weeping. She was dressed in her usual
cheap, ill-fitting clothes -- black gabardene pants and a polyester top.
I easily disarmed her, disrobed her, and dragged her delicate, defiant
body to the corpse. Katya climbed onto Nicole's cold, stiff form and
wiggled her angular, anorexic figure, rubbing her deflowered pudendum
against Nicole's feet, whimpering, gurgling, stroking the cadaver's pubis
and making faces at me, masturbating frantically and moving like a scrawny
model on jimson weed.
When I climbed into bed she sucked her fingers, crouched low with her
ass towards me, and spread spit on her sore, hemorrhoidal anus. I stroked
her wet snatch with my thumb. Katya fingered her nasty butt and stared
back at me, her face a grotesque parody of lust.
"Use me... John... use my asshole," she whispered, swiveling her wide,
bony hips. I bent and licked her raw shitter, but Katya slithered away and
spread her taut buttocks. "No... your... penis... I want... I want
it."
I removed my clothes and lay down, pulling her on top of me. I knew she
didn't want that, didn't want to fuck me -- it would make her appear to
need it, and that maddened the proud, fragile girl.
"No... John... take me..."
"Fuck me, you whore. Fuck me." I touched her swollen clit as her eyes
filled with tears, then embraced her. "Use me to masturbate."
Katya took me into her tight, slippery cunt. When I was all the way in
her I pulled her close and guided her hand to her anus. Taking me deep,
rutting against me, Katya frigged her asshole and came in menacing waves,
Elohim brooding above the waters.
I held her until calm returned, caressing her soft, skinny body. After
a long time, the Ukrainian stared into me with her gray, dirty eyes, held
me in her hard stare, and pressed her lips to mine.
"I love you," she said.
Almost wordlessly, in a telepathic union more profound than Nicole's
strange scrawls and geomantic intelligences, Katya and I dressed, packed
some things and went out into what was now a sweltering Chicago August, the
intolerable torpor relieved only by an occasional breeze from the dark
green lake. We caught a cab down Sheridan Road and sped along Lake Shore
Drive into the core of the city, got out at Union Station, bought tickets
to Kingsport and spent the night walking through the empty canyons of the
Loop, sitting by the river, strolling to Halsted for a breakfast of feta
omelette and ouzo. Morning found us in the Art Institute, admiring
Picasso's blue guitarist and the massive Seurat, the tiny dots of paint
that mingled and bred with the light to create a luminous afternoon on the
jetty.
By evening we were clickety-clacking eastward. There were less
particulars between us. If Nicole was a cold, alien hole in interstellar
space, Katya was simply empty, like a discarded soft drink can in a pissy
alley, her pride and brilliance hidden under the thick wet hides of what
had probably been a traumatic childhood, something she would not talk
about. We sank into the berth of the sleeper and made love with an eerie
tenderness as the train sped towards the Downs Valley, taking me backwards
to the place where my karma had matured and rotted and finally fallen from
the tree, a shriveled thing.
I do not know why I felt an overpowering need to return to Farmington.
In my dreams -- or were they nightmares? -- I was back in the Count's
sprawling, decaying house, and everything was as it was then -- before --
before. Nicole was there, and Freya, and even Melusina. Only I had
changed. I had the memory of what would become of them.
I knew not only these seven months of Nicole's pregnancy and
destruction, I also received intimations of the future. I intuited that
Katya's cunt would only be contented by killing. I loved her -- loved the
desperation of her scrawny body, loved making her want it -- but I knew
that her desire was only stimulated if she could torture a simulacrum of
self, suicide by proxy.
I figured that the sinister sleepiness of Kingsport would protect us
from any memory of my murders, and I was right. The new clerk at Netto's
transient hotel showed no recognition, the crimes had been forgotten, and
we had only to avoid the diner and Joe's Tap. Anyhow, I had come to savor
the peril. I was addicted to the furtive, sensual movements of the
fugitive, as addicted as I was to everything else that pleased my senses.
That got to them. In the end, I think Katya and I connected because our
senses were so inaccessible to us. With Nicole, every gesture -- the way
she held the transparent dildo, the way her hand flickered over her dark
blue and yellowish green bruises -- was an epiphany. Under Katya, whole
weeks would pass without a word, without a sensuous moment except for bouts
of strident lovemaking redolent of bitterness and shame.
So we lived for several months, basically hiding out in the seedy hotel,
drinking, fucking, staring at the walls. I procured some newspapers from
the library that told of the events last winter, when Beet-Face and
Momma's-Boy were found dead -- the local paper eulogized the two officers,
hinting that they had been forced into sexual acts against their will. The
Count was barely mentioned. Netto had been sentenced to a long prison term
for the rape of a minor and one of the old men arrested with him had
committed suicide in jail. The police of course saw a link between the
parson's disappearance and what was referred to as the "Farmington
Massacre." Nicole and I were referred to as "father and daughter." They had
learned of Melusina's vanishing and suspected a connection to the "missing
teenaged girl who was known to many as the helpful clerk at the Farmington
Public Library." The liquor store had been reconsecrated as a church again.
There was no information on the fate of the two redheaded sisters, and
their uncle was also not mentioned.
Autumn came, and the long dark evenings were filled with perverted sex
and my dread of making the trip up the valley and seeing the house again.
We took walks, sometimes, during the day, avoiding the main streets.
Whenever we passed a young girl, I could see Katya literally ooze with
murderous desire.
The only way to arouse her now was to whisper details of what she had
done to my child-wife or tell her what the Count had done to the little
girl.
One day, walking near the high school on Prospect Street, we were
confronted by a teenaged girl who looked like she was on an acid trip. The
waif asked us for money, and Katya hovered around the innocent blonde like
a predatory bird.
"You want drink?" Katya's voice was a viscous elixir laced with poison.
It made me shiver, but the girl did not detect the threat. Within minutes,
Katya was leading the trusting girl back to our hotel, commenting on her
sweet, denim-clad ass and pretty hair.
We walked past the new porter, another Portuguese, and I saw immediately
that he realized who I was. We climbed the stairs and I raced for our
room, checked the gun, and hissed at Katya.. "Come on... he recognized
us!"
The dreamy girl was kissing the blonde's neck. The girl was too high to
figure out what my words might have meant, and was shyly and unconvincingly
resisting Katya's advances.
"Come on," I roared, "let's get out of here!"
Katya tongue-kissed the waif and the blonde returned her kiss, moaning
softly. "Do you want to come with us," she whispered, "do you want to come
with us and make love?"
I grabbed Katya's arm and pulled her toward the door. The young,
flustered druggie stared at both of us with a sloppy, confused smile on her
face.
"Come on then," Katya said, and the three of us bounded down the stairs.
The porter was dumbstruck with fear. We ran out into the street. I hailed
a passing cab. Now or never.
"Farmington," I said. The old, wiry, chain-smoking driver headed up the
haunting, familiar road. The trees were already bare and evening fell as
the car climbed the hairpin curves that preceded my Village of Dreadful
Night. I was returning at last.
Katya licked and sucked the blonde burnout's supple neck and stroked her
sinuous thighs through her threadbare jeans.
I asked the driver to stop at the convenience store. I was by now a
creature of Bacchus, devoid of will, spineless, insensate... ugly. The
high school girl working the register was new, didn't recognize me. I got
a couple of pints of Martell, the best thing they had, and was a dime
short. Period. There was no more money. All during Nicole's pregnancy we
had skimped and saved, basically managing to live off Katya's meager income
at the Polish motel, but eroding the stash of stolen money each time we
required extravagance.
The cashier, a girl whose inbred, uncanny beauty was marred by acne,
told me to forget about the ten cents.
"Have you ever tried it," I asked her, unscrewing the cognac.
"Haehhh... no," she said, squirming and blushing. "I don't think..."
Bang. Bang bang. Talk dirty to me. I was coming apart. I seduced
automatically, and for some sinister reason the machinery of seduction
continued to operate like a well-oiled iron maiden. There was as much
revulsion in my system as there was a need for a drink. Talk sweet to me.
I took a long swig from the bottle and handed it to the odd-looking girl.
She sipped some, smiled, and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
That I kept coming across such creatures, why was that? I suffered a
sudden onslaught of alcoholic paranoia. Perhaps Nicole had somehow
transferred herself, escaped her tortured body and seeped into my brain.
"Do you believe in the transmigration of souls?" The teenager's voice
was earnest, sexual, and disturbingly bizarre, with a buzzing undertone, as
if she was in one of those movies shown in a high school health class, the
Woman with the Hole in Her Throat, scary stuff, kiddies, stay away from
cigarettes. Just say no.
"Are you some sort of religious nut?" No more beating around the bush. I
guzzled the smooth Martell and touched the cashier's cheek. The girl
recoiled.
"I... I... you'd better go."
I liked the "d" on the "you'd" -- I would have expected her to say
"you." Divine you are, girl, I said to myself. Dakini. I'm not a man
anymore, I'm a means of destruction, a congeries of chutes and ladders,
mostly chutes.
"Do you live around here?"
The awkward girl was frightened, but I detected a very slight sense of
intrigue, intrigue turning to desire, scudding cloud, exit. Proceed to the
exit. Because I am not a man, I do not know if the ill-fated cashier was
in desire. I could smell her fear, and I assumed that anyone who looked
like her and spent her evenings dispensing liquor and tobacco to the
denizens of Dreadful Night must be seeking an exit, an ogive, a damp
passage to the afterworld.
My passage -- where was my passage? I had come to this place hunting my
own... reflection? And when the Door I had always sought had opened for
me... I turned away...
Regret is an emotion most vile, worse even than watching the damozels I
had drawn into my orbit torture and kill. Regret is a stagnant pool,
bottomless.
In regret, we lose our sense of self. We lie, eventually lying to
ourselves, and... and we lose our Word, the only thing we can be sure of.
I promise to love you forever and ever. I swear I will wake up in the
morning, urinate, eat a soft-boiled egg and fuck my wife. Later I will
walk to a certain elm tree in the park and put my chapped lips to its
slippery bark. I will do this because I know who I am.
So it was at that moment, confronting the frightened cashier in the
convenience store, that I determined to keep my Word and follow Nicole into
death.
"Do you live around here?"
"Uh-huh," she answered, her knees weak.
"What's your name?"
"Judith... Judy."
"Do you live with your parents?"
"No... I share an apartment with... I think you'd better go."
"Judy, my wife and her friend are in a taxi, and... we need a place to
stay. Do you think you could put us up?"
"I... no... I... please go away."
I touched her soft throat. The girl was transfixed, and looked like she
would piss in her pants.
"Just for one night, Judy. What time do you get off?"
"Eleven... I..."
"Please." I put my thumb to her lower lip. She closed her eyes and I
moved it lewdly in and out of her open mouth. "You're pretty, Judy. Suck
it, honey. Suck my finger." She put her hand around mine and sucked my
thumb, looking at me with humiliated, dazed eyes. "Sweet little
cocksucker. Pretty little cocksucker." Swooning, the sad girl stood, her
eyes moist, and sighed.
"Please... I... I don't want to."
"We'll wait in the cab."
I went back out. The dark mountains rising against the cold, milky
moonlight of heavy clouds. The cabbie accepted my offer of some cognac and
agreed to wait for fifty bucks. I had no money, but the dope didn't ask
for it right away. O rock, rock and hard place. I fingered the gun in my
pocket and watched the drugged waif succumb to Katya's sapphic
ministrations as the taxi driver stared lustily at their half-naked
writhings in the rear view mirror and drank the Martell.
The little blonde's breasts were round and full, with huge, pink
nipples. Katya sucked them and took the waif's jeans off. The smell of her
teenaged vagina filled the car. The cabbie was jerking off. Katya pulled
off the squealing girl's panties and stuffed them into her mouth. The
first trace of doubt and fear crossed the blonde's face.
Katya stroked the waif's hairy, dripping pussy, put a hand on her
throat, took a nipple into her mouth and bit. The blonde jerked violently
and screamed into her gag. The taxi driver jumped, hitting his head on the
roof. I pulled out the gun, held it inches from his face, and blew his
head off. Katya spat out the nipple and strangled the girl, quivering when
she ceased to struggle.
I rubbed Katya's crotch through the thin gabardene of her pants and
kissed her bloody mouth. She was coming in spasms, clutching her own
throat and wetting herself. I ripped her shirt open and fondled her
sausage-like titty as she wriggled out of her pants.
I caught a glimpse of the cashier's horrified face in the window of the
convenience store. Katya was lost, her voice a perpetual, desirous moan,
sucking at the dead girl's bleeding nipple and shaking uncontrollably as
orgasm after orgasm ripped through her anorexic body. I flipped her over,
spread her legs and slapped her pussy. Katya squealed and began to eat the
tit as the wail of sirens grew louder. I pulled out my pocketknife, opened
the corkscrew, and handed it to her. Katya stabbed it into the dead
blonde's tummy, and again, and again, shrieking like a hungry ghost.
I stepped from the taxi and lit a Camel. The approach of the squad car
seemed to take forever. I looked up at the dark glow of the ridge and
walked toward the Count's church, Katya's noises still audible for several
desolate blocks. The virgin snow crunched under the thin leather soles of
my shoes. I thought of the prayer in Hemingway's "A Clean, Well Lighted
Place": "Our nada, who art in nada..."
The church was dark and empty, of course. A sign announced that it was
now THE ASSEMBLY OF GOD. The police siren was intolerably loud. You are
intolerably loud, sir, I said to myself.
I looked up at the spire. It seemed to be falling, because of the
motion of the clouds. A tower is a simple thing. A man penetrates the
sky.
There is a movie called _Every Man for Himself and God Against All_, in
which Herzog has Kaspar Hauser explain that his room is larger than a
tower, since if he turns away from the tower, it is not there anymore. Not
so the inside of a room.
I stood under the pointed arch of the entrance, turned towards the sound
of approaching boots, saw the gibbous moon rising -- was that where the
river was? -- stubbed out my cigarette against the door, put the gun in my
mouth and, easily mustering what seemed like one final spasm of Free Will,
pulled the trigger.
--------------
Many more stories by Silvio Stoker are available at Mr. Double's site --
http://www.mrdouble.com/htm/authors/silviostoker.htm
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