Black Body

by H C Turk

  “I’m man enough for more than you can imagine.”

  “Then imagine killing an enemy for me, then mating with me till your phallus falls off, if you are so complete a man.”

  This business arrangement was the same as for the previous creature. The Rathel at this address that evening, her appearance being such, none other harmed. Monkey’s response was similar to his brother beast’s.

  “How do I know you’ll do the bargain once the wench is cut dead?”

  “I presume myself worth the wager,” I replied. “In proof, why not taste my sex muscle and tell yourself you would not kill to exhaustively, ecstatically fuck me.” Then up with the dress, down with the man, around and in with his mouth portions, the male seemingly tearful once my taste had penetrated his coarse sensations. And despite my ambient coolness, he found a local warmth.

  I rapped him with the barrel, which he barely felt, but enough for me to move away, the criminal remaining on the floor, another sinner on his knees as though praying, having worshiped the altar of my baby exit.

  “Ah, your cunt is sweet, bitch, but not to the death. I’ll have a fuck from you first, and another after the killing. Murder is worth more than a suck of your sex juice.”

  “Fool I would be to let you take your payment in advance. I shall let you hold the coin in your pocket, however, by holding your stick in that desired receptacle a time.”

  “And what are you saying, taunter of good cock meat, bitch?”

  “I say this,” I replied, and reclined on my back, legs upward, nude buttocks exposed. “I say you might find my fundament most voluptuous, yet without excessive girth. I say to insert your limb to see whether the fit be acceptable, but no endless rubbing. And prod not my vagina, for it’s as damaged within as my face’s surface. The firearm I’ll keep aimed at your brain, if you please.”

  He was pleased enough to fall before me, spreading his knees so that his buttocks were flat to the floor, and at my arse he went with his pink stick. From Marybelle’s examination, I knew to make loose those tight muscles, but no practice had I, and no gentility this cretin. He rammed his limb into me like a knife, the pain such that I would have shot him had my pistol been primed. Too much pain for him, perhaps, for soon after the initial rubbing, Monkey found that he had made a fire, as though rubbing two pricks together instead of burying one. Therefore, the felon extinguished the heat by spitting on his removed phallus, his fingers coating saliva on the tip and along the length of that fat finger, then again inside me with much smoother rubbing. Here was a cretin who knew his perversion. But as his rubbing continued with force enough to bruise my back, I wondered if he would ever exit, no longer certain that this fecal path was different from my sex hole. So I thrust both feet with utter strength against his shoulders, and the two of us were free of each other.

  “Ah, you near broke my prick off!” he barked, though his damage was no greater than mine.

  “Next instance, your man-stick will fall away from my arse’s love,” I declared. “If you’ll have more of my fecal sex, then kill the woman as I’ve described. Thereafter, l return with no less modesty, but a more enduring arse for you.”

  I ran away, and was not followed by this monkey. Running now was somewhat painful, for my rectal muscle was so sore that I limped. But my greater pain was from Rathel’s bashing, a deep, oppressive ache returned from my exertion.

  Though having successfully withdrawn from a criminal whose sex part had been within me, I felt no relief, only fear. And I continued moving rapidly, for my immediate future was all foreboding and was shaped like an animal. Somewhere near was the unnamed elephant, and would not this last attacker be the one to succeed in taking me wholly, and therefore either kill me or die? The business with Monkey had been for my survival, not for Rathel’s death. But as I ran without being attacked, I saw potential for ensuring her demise; for whereas one of the two criminals might consummate the murder, was not my opportunity for success doubled with my doubling the Rathel’s potential killers? This concept filled me for a moment, the notion literally coming to me that the likelihood of success would be superior when trebled—and did I have a choice? for here came Elephant.

  He ran from a crumbling building—and I ran toward him. Seeing the male approach, I was astonished by another nightmare’s coming true. And I was angered. I ran to him with my pistol drawn, not concerned with citizens who might see. But if other humans were present, none were available to aid either party.

  “Welcome, blackguard, to my sex,” I hissed, words to halt his every move. “You’ll recollect near fucking me before, and here I am again to collect your prick. Will you have it in me or have it shot away?”

  “Ugly girl, you are without thinking,” he responded, thereby denoting the condition of my veil. “Being shot by one incompetent is no wish if instead I’m to be fucking one even if hideous.”

  I gestured for him to return into his building of concealment. Then I revealed myself.

  “This is your notion of ugly, Sir Satan?” I pronounced, and the hirsute view was all beauty to him.

  We proceeded with business. A few crotch hairs in the teeth were not enough for this animal. As though reading the same script as Monkey, the current cretin stated that coupling after the death was not enough to inspire him toward murder. Therefore, I told him a great deal of truth.

  “The baby port is impossible, being damaged inside as is my face, and the arse is too sore from my receiving another animal recently. Therefore, retain your dealings. I, my pistol, and my vagina shall retire.”

  The elephant bid me wait, however, mentioning more of my body.

  “But you’ve another lodging for my prick, woman girl.”

  “Rotter, I’ll not be accepting your limb in my ear.”

  “No, mad bitch, within your mouth I would stick it.”

  “Insane cur you are to suggest I take your urine limb between my lips.”

  “Pissing can’t be done when the stick is set for sex, ignorant slut. And can living flesh be worse than the butchered beef and pork you stuff within your mouth all day?”

  Likely not, I assumed.

  “A fool I’d be to let you crash your phallus throughout my mouth as did the other bastard my buttocks. All my teeth I’d lose plus my tongue.”

  “No, ignorant bitch: the prick I hold still while you move your mouth along it and again.”

  “I nonetheless see no method of applying myself to your man-stick without being in jeopardy of your battering me with your other limbs.”

  “And why would I do so when I’m getting me prick sucked, witch?”

  Witch?

  “And if I arrange this lingual maneuvering, do you then kill the woman?”

  “Dead as my father hanged years before.”

  “The accommodations therefore be these: I shall tie your wrists and ankles as you lie along the length of your spine. Then I will, er, move my mouth along your man-stick enough to prove the function satisfying. More of my mouth’s activity you shall receive when I receive knowledge of the Rathel’s death.”

  “And it’s jeopardy you fear with my prick in your mouth when you’d have me bound hand and foot on me arse?”

  “As well, of course, I shall have the firearm trained against your testicles.”

  “A damned fool I am to such an agreement,” Elephant snapped.

  “At this moment, I have the pistol, cretin. Had I intended to harm you, by now you would be bleeding and dead.”

  “And how do I know in certain that you’ll untie me when done?”

  “Are you not man enough to handle a girl’s bonds? If not, then surely you’re not man enough to handle her cunt.”

  I tied his ankles with his jacket and his wrists with his shirt after Elephant had loosed into the air his own and now firm baby limb. Secured on his back the man lay when I kneeled above his crotch and found his uniqueness. About his short and curly hair, beyond his normal testicles, was a ring of scars on his inner thighs and lower abdomen, as t
hough a crown for his cock. I had no idea why this sinner had been marked so specifically, for I was occupied with my latest nightmare: I would have to smell his sex odor, and this seemed immediately worse than his piss in my mouth. But as I bent over the sinner, I found his smell less than intense. The cause of this mildness, however, was more likely my own perception rather than his lack of stench, for my nose was not fully healed to its former sensitivity. Regardless, I accepted his warm and salty meat into my mouth, as well as his complaints.

  “Ah! hold the teeth, wench! You’re not to be chewing the thing—it ain’t your bleeding breakfast sausage!”

  I thus attempted to apply the movement Elephant had mentioned. Successfully, it seemed, for his further description contained a satisfaction to weaken him.

  “Yes, that’s it: you’re to suck it some and hold it with your lips and inner mouth and—Jesus bless, yes—your tongue and move along it and again, yes, like that, God bless, yes….

  Reasonably, the thing had no taste, in that I was not consuming it. The salty moistness about the stick was no more than sweat, and the small amount of sticky fluid at its end no more than mucus. The sensation was strange, for the flesh of this limb remained stationary while the skin held with my mouth moved against it. And I had no curiosity of God’s making such massage so pleasurable, for in the first moments of the toothless portion of my rubbing, the man went both stiff and weak in his body and had no emotion but sinning ecstasy. My only emotion was relief to find that the man’s meat was no worse than the chicken bits Miss Elsie during my illness had attempted to slip within me, relief because my mouth did not lock upon this stick never to release it; and what a superior receptacle for manifesting the special sex of the white witch.

  More of this meal was coming. I was aware that males eventually deposit a quantity of fluid for making offspring within the female. I imagined a bucket of sex snot rushing within me to bloat my cheeks like a pregnant woman’s belly. I imagined the essence of male sinner sitting in my stomach until a criminal began growing there, and when next I vomited, it would be a sinner babe I puked out, and part mine.

  “Enough demonstration, cur,” I said after spitting his limb away. I then stood, leaving the criminal to his knot work. “If you find the sex of my tongue satisfactory, more shall you receive along with vagina and buttocks or bloody ear, if you so desire, soon after the Rathel dies.”

  “Oh, yes, God bless, yes…,” he promised, and with his moans, my chances were trebled.

  • • •

  Not once was I lost in finding a carriage to convey me to Rathel’s home. The hour was not late upon my return, but into the basement I went to wait and later be found. Then came a thought. Though not expected to be present, perhaps the Rathel had returned and now prepared to entrap me, having posted her sinning servants about the household to view my ingress. Concealing my veil and hat in the basement—retaining my firearm in order to return it posthaste—I moved through the gate again, then around to my side window. Up the wall I clambered, not a sinner on the street to view me, my move surely no more foolish than fucking felons.

  My next decision was to wear gloves when again handling a prick, for the smell was on my fingers, though no taste remained after the spitting I had commenced once away from Penstone, Penistone. Beneath the bed I moved, a place over-cleaned by some servant other than Elsie in my illness as ordered by Rathel, Satan take her soul soon to be made available. With the nasty smell of wood soap and oil around me, I sneered as though a criminal myself, sneered at that Penstone Place too social for Rathel but worthy of me with all my killing deals. Would not Amanda be proud of her daughter’s business? Would not my business eliminate her pride? Would not the world be a safer, less sinful place with Rathel removed to God’s hands? Yes, please, dear Lord, yes. Pray God accept her generously.

  Weary from my divine dealings, I felt the safety of my bed’s bottom, though not of my greater home, for I had never been more damaged than when in the Rathel’s abode. My ideas were so unpleasant that I left them only by leaving awareness, sleeping while afloat in oil as though greased in a pot for cooking until Elsie entered and called for her lass.

  “Alba, child, are you truly not in here yet?”

  “Present I am, miss,” I announced through the bed’s fabric draped to the floor.

  “So, how long are you in here, girl, and are you too ill to be elsewhere?” Elsie called without bothering to bend toward the bed cave.

  “In and out of this room I have been the day, beneath the bed now to be alone for sleeping. Though more weary than usual, I am only ill due to the excess oil, which I absorb like a wick. I suggest you bring no candle near, lest I illuminate all of London.”

  “Ah, and you’re saying my presence is so bad that you’re needing to hide from me? And I thought it was months ago that you’re abandoning this wild state.”

  “Kindly induce me less often into announcing that of all the persons in this household, you alone I would have around me. I thought that during those same months past you had learned that we are friends, and that I am a person with continual regard for both the wilds and for my occasional solitude.”

  “Aye, I’m allowing you this, girl, if only because from my place our speaking is ridiculous, one of us talking as though to an empty chamber, and the other like a dust ball beneath the bed.”

  As she began sighing and turning away, I told her, “Incorrect, miss, for no dust exists beneath this bed, the floor polished as though a surface for eating, and therefore no longer quite a place of my own.”

  Then Elsie spoke again, and most sadly.

  “And it’s correct you are, girl, for all of this locale is the Rathel’s.”

  Then she departed, unable to hear my final phrase.

  “But you and I, miss, are not the Rathel’s for long.”

  • • •

  Two days later was the Friday of my arrangement. That afternoon was not useless for me, for therein I culminated my concern. Around and around my considerations chased me, here another waking dream, one of morality, for I yet regarded myself superior to the criminal creatures who had worshiped me from below. Objectively, however, because of the nature and purpose of my influence, I was inferior to them in God’s sublime eye. This was the emotion that alternated with my throwing a hand against my mouth lest the household hear me cackle, for those sinners sucking me like a treat for kitty were clearly more ludicrous than any human ever seen by a witch, even moreso than that whore sucking the elephant’s prick; for she was the beast master, not he, the trainer in control of the sexual menagerie. But the felons’ foolishness was not their aspect I encouraged. By promoting their continual evil, I positioned myself below them morally as I crammed my desires into their persons to be spit out as murder into the Rathel’s face.

  These conflicting responses were nothing new. From the beginnings of my plan, I had retained my self-revulsion from plotting murder. How holy I was to save my friends from Rathel by emulating Rathel, Satan’s purest sinner. But when the time came for Rathel to die, the time came for me to find God again instead of Satan, whom I had disguised as the Deity. Finally, I came aware that I had been dealing with the devil, not sinning criminals. Sinning me. When Rathel with Lord Andrew departed for the opera, I nearly achieved panic, for I had missed my best opportunity to save the mistress. Therefore, I waited with dread outside the Rathel’s home those following hours with no complex plan, my new business only to warn her of death and have the coachman drive her away upon hearing my screaming to flee for her literal life.

  I positioned myself early in fear of being late, slipping into a neighbor’s privet hedge, hidden from those social folk to pass me, some silent, some with pleasant chatting as though a witch and a doomed boy out on the street at night. I intended to gain Rathel’s carriage as it slowed while turning the nearest corner. And there I was at the proper time when Rathel came home from the opposite direction.

  Though other vehicles were out this evening, not until I heard
one halting behind did I fling myself around to see Rathel’s coach before her home. Too far away and too late to be screaming, I leapt out and ran to the coach, Rathel alone within, Lord Andrew evidently delivered home first, the driver stepping down to the passenger’s door as three exotic animals converged on the mistress.

  From a hedge before me ran Giraffe, who saw Monkey running toward him with wild arms, one swinging a knife. Giraffe’s weapon remained sheathed until he saw the armed man, and clearly each was attacking his alternate, so the operatic scene appeared even to me. Therefore, they met before the coach to call out vicious oaths to each other, then swing uneventfully with their knives before flinging themselves about and away, desperate to avoid the corresponding assassin. This was the true arrangement I had made in the eyes of Elephant, who ran from across the street as I proceeded to Rathel’s vehicle, this last animal hissing that I was a “vengeful witch” and stabbing at me with his own knife, but missing because his greatest effort was in fleeing a scene surely arranged by the lady wench to gain vengeance on three who had attacked her months ago, these being the thoughts I read in some mind, perhaps my own, as four running bodies fled from the static coach, the criminals in three dissimilar directions, the witch slipping into the spot by her neighbor’s kitchen recently vacated by Giraffe, in that she no more than the other criminals desired to be caught making business at night.

  No hopeful prayer did I offer for my safety, in that greater relief had been delivered, the panting, frightened witch praising God for fulfilling her ultimate plan, that of saving evil Rathel.

  “Madam, madam! Are you safe?” the driver called out as he looked everywhere for further flying demons. No knives seen, however, and no animals, the Rathel climbing out on her own and running to her doorway.

  “Off with you before the next attack!” she shouted to the driver, then beat on her door for entry, the house opening as the coachman whipped his horse, which flew past me as though a fleeing criminal; and I wondered what this harnessed creature thought of our theater.