by Jack Bantry
“I understand, Mr Kent. But before I show you what the Kurbee K-10 does, let me just ask what you would be willing to pay for a vacuum that can clean up anything off any surface. Would you be willing to pay one thousand dollars?”
“For a vacuum? Fuck no. I got a Dirt Devil and it was sixty bucks and it works great.”
“Ah, but can it do this.” Ginsu Gary plugs the vacuum into the wall outlet near the couch, steps on the Kurbee power switch and brings the vacuum to life. There is barely a hum. He nods to Mr Kent and then runs the vacuum through a glob of George’s blood, sucking it up and leaving not a single drop in its wake. “Did you see how efficient that is, Mr Kent? Now watch this.” The vacuum runs over the various diced up body parts, sucking them up with a sickening crunch, but startling efficiency. The legs go schlup as they are ingested by the powerful device, the hands go grooch and are gone.
Dropping his Jaw, Mr Kent can do nothing but stare as the cleaner runs the vacuum over every last bone, organ, and collection of gore. Wherever the vacuum goes, the body disappears, bones cracking and sinew twisting, until nothing is left but George’s head, sitting by its lonesome still staring at the baseboards.
“Now what would you say if I told you the Kurbee K-10 is on sale today only for just eight hundred and fifty dollars. Would you say that’s a deal?”
Mr Kent can barely talk, entranced as he is with what he has just witnessed. “Fuck me,” he says.
“Well that’s one way to say it, Mr Kent. The Kurbee K-10 sure is the bee’s knees. But Mr Kent, I repeat, what if I told you this vacuum could be yours for just eight hundred and fifty dollars. Would you say that’s a deal?”
“Fuckin-A,” Mr Kent whispers, nodding at Ginsu Gary. “That’s crazy.”
“Of Course! Of course it is. It’s a crazy good deal! Because I assure you, Mr Kent, the Kurbee K-10 is the only model vacuum you’ll ever need.”
“The head,” says Mr Kent, amazed, wondering if the skull will actually fit up the vacuum.
“Yes, the head. I know what you’re thinking: No way the Kurbee K-10 will pick that up. But watch this.” Gary places the vacuum on the severed head and lets the machine do its work. The top of the skull cracks and the scalp peels off, whipping up into the belly of the vacuum. One eye sucks inside the skull and races out through the cranial opening to join the rest of the body in the vacuum’s belly. Then the entire face caves in, gets sucked up through the open skull, before the skull itself implodes and disappears with crunching sounds into the Kurbee K-10. The blood on the floor follows until there is nothing left but lean hardwood laminate. “Pretty impressive, huh, Mr Kent.”
Kent stares in disbelief, dumbstruck, and somehow invigorated by the show. “That’s the hell of a machine, man. How in the world does it work?”
“The Kurbee K-10 is all handmade, Mr Kent, and comes with a two year warranty. Now I ask you, would you be willing to pay eight hundred and fifty dollars for this kind of craftsmanship?”
“I suppose I would. I mean, if I was in need of a vacuum cleaner to do...that.”
“Tell you what, Mr Kent, for this one time deal, I can drop an additional twenty five dollars if you’re interested.”
“I don’t really need a new vacuum.”
Ginsu Gary motions for Mr Kent to try the machine, ultimately placing the handle in his hands. “Go ahead, just give it a push. It doesn’t bite.”
After a few pushes, Mr Kent gives the handle back to the cleaner. “It moves well, sure. But hey, now that this is done, weirder than I could have fucking imagined, I gotta get to the Boss. Are we good here?”
“Well, that depends. I’d like to show you how the Kurbee K-10 can even wash windows. If you’ll follow me to the windows over here—”
“Look, honestly, I don’t need any more demonstrations, the vacuum is a killer machine. I get it.”
“So what do you say, can I put you down for one?” Ginsu Gary stares at Mr Kent with a toothy grin and bright eyes, refusing to break contact. “It’s the best deal in town. You should really get one. And tell you what. I’ll throw in the Carving Cobra C-100 for only forty dollars. Now would you say that’s a deal? Say yes and I can get it set up right now. I’ve got one of each in my suitcase just looking for a new home. What do you say? Only eight hundred and sixty five dollars.”
It’s obvious the cleaner is going to keep hounding Mr Kent about selling his wares. And in any other normal situation Kent would have told the guy to fuck off and shoved him away. But no use upsetting the Boss anymore. And it is hard to deny the astounding capabilities of both products. He pats his jacket’s inner pocket and knows he’s carry at least three grand in cash. Always cash. Never credit cards or checks. Nothing to connect him to the grid. Even his driver’s license is a fake, which is how the Boss prefers his strong arms to be. Ginsu Gary edges closer, slowly nodding his head as if to make the decision for him. There is something stubborn in his nod, the way it is steady and unwavering. Finally Kent relents and pulls out his wad of cash. “You know, Boss said you were weird and I gotta agree, but considering what I just saw is still blowing my mind, yeah, I’ll take your deal.”
“Perfect!” Ginsu Gary claps his hands, moves to his suitcase and removes the parts for the vacuum as well as the knife. How it all fits in there is a mystery to Mr Kent. Ginsu Gary hands a brand new knife to Mr Kent then quickly assembles the vacuum cleaner. “Mr Kent, I thank you for your business. You won’t regret this.”
As Mr Kent studies the knife’s blade in his hands, the cleaner packs up his stuff, heads to the door, and turns back once to say, “Have a good night, Mr Kent.” With that, he opens the door and leaves.
“Weirdo,” Mr Kent whispers, looking at his new vacuum and the room before him. Not a single bit of evidence betrays the fact that a murder and bodily dismemberment ever took place here. Quite the damn machine, he thinks, wondering just what he will try to vacuum with it first. Perhaps his annoying neighbor’s teenage son who plays his shitty rap music so loud every night. He checks his watch, realizes he is beyond late now, grabs his new Kurbee K-10, and heads for the door as well. Before he can open it a man enters and stands before him.
“Who the hell are you?” Kent asks, feeling the weight of his gun in his shoulder holster.
The man is wearing black rubber gloves and dark sunglasses, carrying a suitcase and a tarp. A mild facial tic makes his nose twitch like a mouse and he squints creepily. “Boss said you had a body here. I’m the cleaner. Sorry I’m late, there was an accident on the highway. You can leave though, I’ll take care of it. Boss told me you need to get back to the office, so I’ll just grab the body and go. Where is it? Hey, you hear me? Are you okay? You look confused. What’s wrong with you? And why are you holding a knife and a vacuum?”
NSFW
by
Nathan Robinson
It came without explanation, derailing her train of thought in single psychotic switch of the tracks.
Moments before, Helen Jenkins had been monotonously inputting figures regarding executive expenses into a spread-sheet. Hotels, meals and flights to far off cities gave fuel to her daydreams of travel. Stewart; her boyfriend and sweetheart since school never took her anywhere. Sure they were attempting to save for a deposit on their first home in a thoroughly unstable economic climate, but that was no excuse to not treat her to a Michelin starred restaurant or a city break once in a while. The initial heat of their romance had started to cool and she often fantasised about ending it with Stewart. Over the past few months she had ummm’d and ahhh’d with the different scenarios that would play out after she’d uttered that infamous sentence that spelt the death knell for many a relationship.
“We need to talk...”
With the receipts of a business trip to Rome spread before her on the cluttered desk, and Helen wondering how nice it would be if Stewart, or anyone for that matter, would take her to Rome for a weekend; her thoughts of this wish ended at the same instant the need to urinate triggered within her. But
it was more than that. It was a tingle all over that made her feel as if a cool, erogenous electricity ran beneath her skin; a sensation she had never experienced before or could fully describe, even as it happened to her. She was suddenly aware of the rub of her bra against her nipples and how they chafed and opposed each other in sweet friction, and how she found the feeling both arousing and constricting at the same time. The electricity continued down her arms, raising the soft hairs where they came into contact with her blouse and down to her hands resting on the keyboard, the keys both smooth and rough, the plastic touch sending delicate, fizzing tingles into her fingertips.
The need to urinate had dissipated as she felt the seat of her panties moisten in a pleasant, though somewhat guilty warmth. But it wasn’t urine she found herself saturated in, as the sudden flush had come from beyond her vulva rather than the fill of her bladder.
She was just a typical girl, whose limited erotic thoughts had gotten as kinky as to whether or not to introduce whipped cream to her overly vanilla love life. So this change of season, this rising within her was unusual and normally she would have questioned such a fluttering. But this was no usual sexual charge. It couldn’t be explained and she didn’t seek to ponder on the why.
And then, in that next moment, blood flooded her body, rushing to her extremities like a bargain hunting crowd at a sale. Her pert 32C breasts swelled, her small, bullet like nipples standing proudly to attention, whilst downstairs she felt a press against the wetness as her sexual organs puffed to capacity. Her cheeks flushed and her pupils pooled larger as if filled with oil. For a moment, her pretty, though plain face slackened as a light-headedness overtook her. She lifted her head, her dumb gaze settling on the figure in the desk opposite hers.
The urge to fuck Steve Bessett’s brains out overtook young Helen Jenkins in a thick, heady rush that seemed to change the chemical makeup of her blood in a shuddering hustle, chilling her and bringing her out in a clinging sweat in the exact same instant. All she knew, all she needed to know, was that she had to act on this sudden, primal impulse. There was no compromise, no hesitation. She couldn’t fight this realisation. Nor did she desire to fight it. If anything, she wanted to jump in with wild abandon and let the river take her to wherever it was flowing.
Her clitoris swelled and throbbed as if it had been hit with a claw hammer, not with any sense of pain, but raw pleasure, as if the element of agony had been flipped, the polarity reversed. Her groin ached, screaming at her with the same pulsing urgency that a sudden pain demanded. She needed to do something about it.
Now.
She needed to fuck, and Steve Bessett was the closest living thing to her. It was simple as that.
The struck dumb look on her co-worker’s face mirrored her own, before their eyes widened in unison, eager smiles spreading across their faces.
Helen uncrossed her legs and stood slowly, sensually, as desire rolled over her, her chair rolling backwards as she expertly removed her ponytail, her hair cascading around her face. She lifted her delicate knees and climbed onto her desk and over the forgotten receipts. Eyes on her prey, she pawed across the desktop cat-like, her perfect round bottom swaying in her tight skirt, a glimpse of her lace panties on show, and onto Steve’s desk which sat adjacent to hers. She knocked over his monitor and trampled his keyboard, before locking lips with her office neighbour.
Steve knew what to do and reciprocated her action, engaging in the tongue wrestle with eager abandon, despite the wedding band that resided on his left hand, placed there by Maggie Bessett, the love of his life for over twenty years and currently residing in the same building, but on a different floor.
Helen was nineteen, lithe and rounded in the right places. In reality, she could’ve had any man (or woman, there were a few that could have been swayed by her feminine charms) in the office. Steve was tubby, balding and rapidly approaching his half century. No one in the office fancied Steve. Even his wife struggled in that department.
Before today, Helen hadn’t even had a single, erotic thought in regards to Steve Bessett in the entire six months she’d worked at the company, though the same couldn’t be said for Steve. He had fantasised about Helen since the day he’d met her. He even thought about her on the rare occasions his wife allowed him conjugal exercises in the bedroom, though that was reserved for birthdays and whenever Maggie was drunk enough to let the mood allow.
Helen continued to kiss Steve eagerly; there was no softness, only raw passion that both hurt and soothed her. Their tongues entwined, darting into one another’s mouth, her hand grasped his short dark hair, pulling him into her. She bit his bottom lip, drawing just a little, sweet, metallic blood, which she lapped up.
Slipping two manicured fingers beneath either side of his middle button, Helen ripped Steve’s shirt open with all the ferociousness of a child opening that first present on Christmas morning. Now partially unwrapped, his grey haired torso exposed, Helen reached down to his bulbous gut, sinking her nails into his flesh with both hands.
Steve winced, crying out in pleasure, then took her weight as she lifted herself forward off his desk and onto his lap, her legs expertly wrapping around Steve’s middle and around the back of his cheap office chair, ripping her skirt in the process.
He grabbed her behind, pulling her closer to him, even through the fabric of his cheap suit, which was now straining against his small, erect cock, he could feel her warm wetness in a pleasurable soak. Her breasts danced before him, as they continued to kiss one another with more fervour, he needed to feel her, to taste her, to devour her.
Helen broke first, her lips moving away from his mouth, round to his neck, pulling his head back sharply, she kissed him, then raked her teeth across his skin. His cock groaned, stretching as far as he could, the desire to fuck her all-encompassing. Her lips moved to his cheek, as she began to nibble, taking nips out of the flesh with eager teeth. She groaned, before taking a tiny piece of his rosy cheek flesh between her incisors. She pressed down, puncturing the skin whilst groaning in pleasure.
Steve jerked his head back in shock, a look of horror slowly replaced with a dark lust, and she quivered as she felt her wetness deepen like an endless well. His pain was her pleasure and vice versa. She kept the nibble of cheek as a souvenir, playing with the morsel with her darting tongue, rolling the bloody lump round her mouth as if it were a sweet treat.
He responded in kind, clumsily nuzzling his open mouth into her neck. He hadn’t much experience fucking young women, or fucking at all really. At first his two day old growth prickled her, but he soon replaced this light pain with a more intense agony as he closed his mouth around the flesh and sucked deep and hard, a circle of hot blood spurted in and around his mouth.
Helen pulled away, before relenting and pushing back into him, letting his teeth grind further into her flesh.
Moving her hands down to his belt, she tugged at it, her slim fingers found the buckle and began to battle, working it loose before ripping the bind of metal away from the leather, tugging so hard, the fly to his trousers ripped open from the action.
She pulled away, blood trailing from the golf ball sized wound, a red, sticky drizzle creeping down her neck, and soaking into her blouse, stark red against the white. The sight excited Steve, his thick hairy fingers moved forward and grabbed the collar of her blouse, returning the favour by ripping it open, popping buttons that joined his on the office floor like spilled sweets.
The blood had already soaked into the top edge of her lacy, white bra, creating a sickly smile that grinned at him from the curve of her pert, rising breast.
He moved in, licking the line of blood down with the underneath of his tongue. She writhed in pleasure on top of him. She slipped his fingers under the bra, and peeled it back, exposing her plump roundness, licking round her pert nipple before slipping it into his mouth, sucking harder and harder. His mouth moved back to the soft fleshiness of her breast, biting into the soft globe with a hard chomp. She gasped, feeling the cr
unch, revelling and shivering from the rush it gave her to feel foreign teeth actually inside her skin.
Steve sucked blood through the faux nipple he’d created, taking his fill into his eager O of a mouth, tonguing the meat beyond. He’d always wanted to bite. He wanted to know what a woman really tasted like. Especially Helen, Helen was his number one. She’d always suspected this, though had done nothing to entice Steve or fuel his fantasies. She had been polite and laughed at his dumb fucking jokes, because she was a nice girl and nice girls laughed at dumb fucking jokes because god forbid, she never ever wanted to offend anyone.
All that carefulness and wearing the right clothes to not give Steve the wrong idea had been for nothing, because here she was, covered in hot blood with her pert, young tits in Steve’s mouth. His dream, not hers, but still she played along, a dumb puppet, controlled by a higher force into making her think that this is what she really wanted.
She pushed Steve off as he groaned in frustration, and then stood up, grabbing his tie, that was still loosely hung round his neck like a noose, pulling it tight so it knotted and spun him in the swivel chair, so his back was to the desk. Reaching down, she adjusted the mechanism, pushing him back as far as the chair would allow. Then she lowered herself back onto him, straddling him, pulling her panties tight to one side to ease his access.
Helen needed his cock inside her like she needed air in her lungs, her vulva almost gasping with the want to be filled and defiled by this relative stranger.
She wet, he hard, they slid together with ease, both groaning from the half sated ache as they locked together, Steve’s bulging (much larger than he ever had been with his wife) penis disappearing balls deep inside Helen, gliding forward like hot knife into butter.
He reached up with both hands, combing his fingers through her hair, twisting the strands around his fingers until it became taut. He tugged hard, pulling her closer and tightening the knot of hair. With their faces touching and lips locked, he pulled harder. Helen, shivering from the hair pulling, smiled and groaned as she kissed the instigator of her pain, pleasure rippling away from her scalp and down her spine as the knotted fistful was uprooted with a quick rip.