Boston Posh

by Wol-vriey

  I’ll handle my business myself, she thought. Time I stand up for me.

  The memory flooded into her mind of how Beth had used her like she was nothing—trash.

  Posh had finally been shit on one time too many.

  She picked out the bottle of dragonreich from the cabinet and opened it.

  She momentarily considered Ma’s severed head. With a twinge of conscience she once again remembered exactly how Jade’s mother had ended up shelved.

  Do I really want to do this? she asked herself. Do I really?

  Then images of Beth abusing her filled her mind and her anger returned magnified. She looked away from Ma. Oh fucking yes, I do. I’m teaching that ex-prison cunt a lesson she’ll never forget.

  She poured a huge heap of reich into her palm.

  Whilst snorting it up, half her mind wondered: What’s keeping Jade?

  ***

  Jade sat on Ma’s bed, heavily conflicted. She stared at the paper-lock she held, wondering which use to put it to.

  She could either stop Posh’s bleeding with it, or. . .

  All she need do was wrap it around Posh’s neck on some pretext to immobilize her, then saw off Posh’s head, and bam!—Ma had a new body. A great, sexy toned one too, so she could fuck all she wanted.

  Jade scowled. It wouldn’t be any loss either, all Posh would do once cured was begin eating people again. Shit.

  The problem was . . . Well firstly, Posh was a friend of hers, and one didn’t just kill one’s friends.

  She quashed that twinge of conscience. Oh, no, Posh was fucking dangerous. Worse than a rabid animal. The girl needed to be put down.

  But, Malone . . . was the second problem.

  Jade knew Malone would never forgive her if she killed Posh. He’d never forgive Ma even.

  But Malone hasn’t turned up today to screw the goddess, so possibly he doesn’t mind Posh killing people anyway. No, Malone isn’t that kind of person. Something’s kept him . . .

  Shit! This is damn hard!

  Then she heard the loud crashing from the living room. Loud like a monster had gotten into the house.

  Her eyes widened as she realized what had happened. Oh, God, no! Posh has gotten into the dragonreich!

  ***

  Posh-dragon was no longer wounded. Her gleaming porcelain form was perfect and whole. Her wings beat with frustrated power. She was eager to be out of this confined space, this room that felt like a cage to her.

  Her mind ravening like a wolf’s, bloodlust and fire-rage pouring through her veins, Posh-dragon looked out of the pagoda window.

  Her miniscule lizard mind focused on one point of hate.

  North.

  North was where the human Beth lived. Death, fire, roasting—

  ***

  Jade peered carefully out of the bedroom.

  Posh’s tail was just disappearing through the window.

  Jade’s heart pounded furiously in her breast as she watched the last inch of flower-patterned tail clear the ledge and drift up into the sky after the porcelain dragon.

  She slumped against the door jamb. Her thoughts were conflicted. On one hand, she was relieved not to have to choose between murdering Posh or not. On the other hand, she was worried at what damage the dragon would do. She could hear scared yelps from the prostitutes outside.

  She rushed to the window and peered out.

  No, the dragon wasn’t attacking the prostitutes. It was headed north.

  Relieved, Jade turned away from the window toward the cabinet.

  Then she stared at the cabinet in shock.

  She gaped at it in horror, her thoughts freezing in her mind like winter.

  Ma’s head was gone.

  Fuck! Jade thought, running back to the window and gaping at Posh-dragon, now a mere distant speck. The stupid bitch has eaten my mother’s head!

  Jade calmed her alarm. This is serious. A dragon’s digestive juices were stronger than a crocodile’s, which could dissolve nails.

  Jade considered: The paper-lock will protect Ma—Posh wouldn’t be able to bite through her head, she’d have to have swallowed it whole. But the lock won’t keep Ma from being digested for long.

  She calculated that she had forty-five minutes at most to get Ma back.

  With a grim frown, she got down the Dead God’s Sword from the wall. Sorry, Posh, darling. This time I’m butchering you good.

  But where was the fucking dragon headed?

  Only one way to find out.

  Jade pulled Yang Yang to the middle of the room.

  She picked up the crystal lancet.

  No time for fucking bowls now.

  She slashed her palm, then cupped her pooling blood to the goddess’s perfect white lips and began chanting.

  She chanted a long time, building up sufficient magical charge so the goddess wouldn’t shut down halfway through their conversation.

  ***

  Yang Yang opened her eyes.

  “Malone?” she said dreamily. “He here for me?” The snake goddess spoke an obscure hinterland dialect that Jade found as hard to understand as Ma’s English.

  “He’ll be here later,” Jade replied in Mandarin.

  The goddess lifted her mouth from Jade’s blood and frowned. “If stand me up, I curse—manhood break into four pieces.”

  Jade scowled. Lady, I so do not have time for your pussy palaver now.

  “Malone will be here later,” she lied. “Now though, his stupid ‘dragon cunt’ girlfriend has just eaten Ma’s head and flown off somewhere. Where is she?”

  Yang Yang’s eyes widened. “Dragon Cunt here before? I check, see.” She shut her eyes a moment, then opened them again. “Not far; she in Central Boston.” She gripped Jade’s hand with both of hers and took a deep slurp of blood.

  Jade winced as the goddess’s stone tongue chafed her palm cut. “Send me after her.”

  Yang Yang raised her head and smiled bloody lips. “I send you. You have Dead Sword, want kill too. Good. I teach how. Dragon Cunt strength greater weakness.”

  Jade gaped at her blankly. “Huh?”

  The snake goddess nodded. “Sickness cure sickness.” She giggled. “I teach. But only if promise not tell Malone hero until after fucking. Yes?”

  Jade nodded. “Whatever you say. But I’m running out of time.”

  Yang Yang shook her head. “I goddess. Time not problem. I drink fill of hand blood first.”

  She pulled Jade’s hand to her lips and began sucking voraciously.

  CHAPTER 60

  Malone

  With sufficient distance between them and Traven, Malone and Glass Horse turned back to look at the beetle.

  “That has to be the largest skyscraper that ever became an insect in existence,” Malone said.

  “Yes,” the see-thru horse agreed. “It is monstrous.”

  Malone had greatly misjudged Traven’s size whilst inside its train limb. The beetle was a mammoth intrusion on the heavens and the senses, a black mass extending right, left, and downwards.

  A massive red neon sign lit up the beetle’s thorax like it was a nightclub:

  ‘Afterwife Traven Hilton.

  Your Sissy Ass Is Forever Ours, Boy.’

  There was a sudden bright burst of light in the train carriage Malone had recently vacated.

  Like in a movie, the metal limb separated from the beetle. It began a slow end-over-end fall to earth.

  “I think the dragon just angered the Traven Police,” Malone said dryly. “Horse, let’s get out of here.”

  “Which way?”

  “I’m not sure. You seem to know your way around the Afterwife. How’d you get here anyway?”

  “Through an OD.”

  “Can we leave by it?”

  “It’s no longer there.”

  Malone nodded. The horse’s explanation made as much sense as himself being sucked here through Blubber’s vagina. And he’d no idea how to reverse that transition, either.

  “Get us well away f
rom Traven for a start,” he told Glass Horse. Just in case the trangels feel like pursuing. We’ll find our way home later.”

  “The Traven border is nearby, I’ll head for it.” With that, Glass Horse spun around in midair and dashed off.

  Malone sighed in relief as the Traven Hilton dwindled in the distance. If he didn’t know where he was headed, he certainly knew where he didn’t want to be.

  ***

  An hour later they reached the border.

  A cloud-suspended green neon sign proclaimed:

  ‘You Are Now Exiting Traven Territory,

  We Hope Your Asshole Enjoyed Your Stay Here, Asshole.

  Please CUM Again Soonest.’

  Malone muttered moodily.

  ***

  They flew for a long stretch over Shitland, a desert of erotically quivering buttock dunes traversed by rivers of excrement in which swam moby dicks—mammoth penis-whales with vagina eyes and mouth blowholes.

  The butt-dune clefts erupted shit like they all suffered acute dysentery.

  “Fuck! Fuck!” the mobies shrieked to each other as they made their torpid progress through the shit rivers, aimlessly navigating the maze of butt-hillocks.

  The smell made Malone retch. He leant sideways and let his stomach empty itself.

  Afterwards, he felt much better—the stench had nothing to work on anymore.

  He saw some puke had smeared on Glass Horse’s flank. “Sorry, horse, I couldn’t help it.”

  “Shit stinks,” the horse replied.

  Malone nodded.

  His attention turned elsewhere. He’d just noticed that the ‘Hetero Fist’ inscription and button on the rear of his right hand had vanished.

  ***

  The landscape changed shortly after this. The feces rivers were replaced by expanses of creamy white.

  “See, Malone—I wasn’t lying earlier. This is the Breast Milk Sea.”

  Malone gazed out over the seemingly endless white expanse. “No shit.”

  “None at all. Just Milk, and we’ll soon reach the breast hills.”

  A few minutes later, the first breast hills came into view, bobbing in the white liquid like a rafted horizon.

  They flew closer.

  The breast hills were HUGE humanlike breasts of differing colors. Perfectly sculpted hemispherical expanses of female flesh with gorgeous rocket-sized nipples poking from areola the size of basketball courts. The black and dark brown breast hills were the largest, the smallest the mid-toned yellows. The hills were arranged both singly and in pairs like camel humps, with short flesh bridges forming the cleavage between those paired.

  They reached the first breast hills. Milk squirted up from turgid nipples towards the fliers. Looping cream streams of immense force.

  “Look out, horse!” Malone yelled.

  “I’m looking!” Glass Horse swerved, keeping now to the portions of milk between neighboring breasts. “They can prove dangerous, knock us out of the air.”

  Malone found the breast hills incredibly erotic. He got an erection that subsided immediately once he noticed they were dropping lower in the sky.

  “Horse, what’s going on?”

  “I’m tiring. I’ve flown too far and too fast. I’ll land us and we’ll walk. We’re no longer in danger.”

  “There’s nowhere to land except on one of the breast hills.” The thought of being stranded next to a milk-squirting nipple didn’t appeal to Malone in the least. All Afterwife legends agreed that breast hills were carnivorous. If you got too close to one, that was it. Its areole would split apart and eat you.

  “Untrue, Malone. We’ve almost reached land. I’ll make it there for sure, then . . . but stop talking—replying just tires me further.”

  ***

  They made it to land, a narrow peninsula that stabbed into the Milk Sea like a knife

  By the time it landed them, Glass Horse was juddering in mid-air with its body dissolving and reconstituting itself at random. Malone seriously thought the horse wouldn’t make it down in one piece, and they’d wind up adrift in milk.

  Malone dismounted.

  He patted Glass Horse on the back. “You did great, horse.” He looked along the strip of land they stood on. “Where is this place?

  “This is the Cleavage.”

  Malone mused this over. The name makes sense—We’re surrounded by humongous mammaries.

  “The Cleavage is home to the North Pole.” Glass Horse paused to breathe. It wheezed, blinking colorless eyes at Malone. Then it pointed across the whiteness with a see-thru hoof: “Over the sea there is the North Pole. This land bridge curves to meet it.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Malone said.

  Glass Horse dissolved into a transparent puddle that expanded and contracted rhythmically.

  ***

  It was six hours before Glass Horse reconstituted itself again.

  Malone dozed thrice during that period. Each time he jerked awake to the sound of milk spattering the white sea. Each time he fell asleep again wishing his mouth was big enough to suck on one of the huge nipples all around.

  Finally, Glass Horse felt strong enough to walk. They set off, with Malone walking beside it.

  ***

  While trudging, Malone thought about Posh.

  He wondered what she was up to.

  He was sure it could only be bad—very bad indeed.

  Damn, I forgot to have the Forks restrain her. With me gone, nothing stops her going on a fresh dragonreich rampage. Oh, my girlfriend the carnivore.

  He considered the flip side of the coin. If someone had the presence of mind to shoot Posh with a projectile weapon while she was a porcelain dragon, or hit her with something heavy, preferably metallic. . .

  That would be it for Posh. For good. All that would be left behind would be a million fragments of romantic memory.

  He pushed the thoughts from his mind.

  I love Posh, he reminded himself. That’s why I’m here, running this madman’s errand. Heaven help anyone who dares kill her.

  CHAPTER 61

  Beth

  Beth Riggs luxuriated in bed in afterglow relaxation.

  Her vagina felt paved with soft downy feathers. She floated in and out of a doze, her mind full of images of barnyards filled with fluffy squawking birds.

  Beth had grown up on her dad’s poultry farm in Muscatine, Iowa. Her earliest memory was of crying when a rooster pecked her foot.

  Her love of chickens had grown and grown, and become entangled with her sexual identity.

  She LOVED chickens.

  Beth grinned. The sex with Posh had been utterly fantastic.

  Yeah, Posh is the absolutely best fuck in the world. Beth loved the terrified look in the little slut’s eyes whenever she saw the chopping blade. Loved the way she trembled even with the board separating her from harm.

  And today was . . . She shuddered deliciously with the memory . . . aaaah!

  The problem with other people Beth had ‘chickened’ was that they weren’t scared enough of her. Her orgasms suffered as a result. Sometimes she didn’t cum at all, no matter how many fowls she chopped up. Beth needed fear, not just friction, to get her rocks off.

  And yes, bareback was definitely better. A more direct connection between the chicken’s death and the body of the cunnilingus provider.

  But . . .

  The sheer intensity of her passion on seeing each chicken spread in pieces on Posh’s bloody skin had scared Beth. It had taken all her self-control not to hack much deeper into the woman’s exposed back, smashing through her spine; opening her red meat to the air alongside the chicken’s white.

  Beth giggled. Yes, it’s bareback for me from now on. Sure it’s messy, but it’s supposed to be messy. She shrugged. I nicked Posh up quite a bit, but she’ll be okay. It’s necessary to be hard with these girls. A few cuts here and there never killed anyone—nothing a doctor can’t fix.

  She trailed fingers over her clitoris. The sex bud tingled with h
er ministrations. Like flowing syrup, pleasure slowly drained into her thighs. Yes, she’d cum once more, it would knock her properly to sleep. She ran her free hand over her breasts, squeezing the vein-marbled flesh, teasing her nipples. She filled her mind with images of chickens.

  Yes, she thought as her pleasure fluttered up again, Posh is my fucking bitch now. When I say jump, she’d better jump or I’ll kick her—

  She stiffened as the sound of beating wings reached her. Shit. That sounds like outside my living room. Pterodactyl attack?

  ***

  Her body still afire with desire, Beth leapt out of bed and grabbed her gun off her dresser. Then she dashed into her living room.

  With pterodactyls, the most important thing was to prevent them breaking in, a few gunshots would send this—

  She stopped dead in her tracks and gaped at the white dragon forcing its way through her shattered window frame.

  Beth was uncertain what surprised her more. That the creature’s body was glazed like crockery, or that the seeming crockery was covered with painted-on roses.

  Beth saw the dragon was inhaling. That meant only one thing.

  Hell, no, she thought. She flung herself across the room, over the rear of her sofa, as the air filled with fire.

  She landed hard. The impact jarred her gun from her palm. The weapon slewed away out of sight.

  Beth peeked over the top of the sofa. The porcelain dragon was staring at her oddly. It growled like thunder, but didn’t spit fire at her again. She was amazed at how big it was. How the hell did it fit itself through my fucking window?

  The monster was between her and the bedroom. No way out there. Expecting to feel her back burning at any moment, Beth leapt off the sofa and ran for her front door.

  She slipped and skidded on the strewn chunks of chicken from her and Posh’s earlier lovemaking, but managed to keep her feet and keep going.