Black Body

by H C Turk

  “Witches have an exceptional capacity to sense via smelling,” I informed him, “so your sex interest I note by odor. But, in a marital inversion whereby we might better comprehend each other, how does the witch smell to sinners?” Then I placed my hand against my vulva, coming away with sex scent on my fingers, which I held before Eric’s face.

  He took my hand with both of his and inhaled as though to overcome all those shallow breaths of the evening. Kiss my palm he did as though needing to eat it, my hand a sex scrap for this carnivorous beast.

  “Here, sir, smell better below and learn of the witch,” I intoned, and pressed his shoulders until the man was on his knees. Then I moved my belly forward, Eric’s face going lower, fingers on my buttocks and squeezing as he immediately began kissing the folds of my sexual area. And his head rolled and his mouth became more alive than ever with mere eating, Eric manipulated the cleft of my buttocks as though dirt to be dug through for treasure. I was moved at the power of my baby slash to so incite a sinner, but only he of those males to have slobbered and sucked on me was a friend. Only this man was my husband; but since the relationship was one of the sinners’ society, I did not cherish the bond, did not love my husband’s lust. All that mouth against me and his tongue so far inside my crevice seemed useless, especially with all of his intensity, as though he dealt with massive masonry needing to be cut and firmly moved in order to construct a cathedral. Though I found no joy in all these coupling lips, I was truly pleased because distraught Eric was being relieved of his anxiety; for in this day and the world of our marriage, Eric had finally found his place.

  Away from him I stepped and to the bedchamber. Upon our new monument of sleeping and sex I reclined, for the first instance in my life imagining myself in the same position taken by Mother at my birth. But no baby vacated my body, for here was only entry, that naked person no child, but Eric nude with his tongue lapping in and around me as though Randolph digging toward the middle of a bone for marrow. I considered Eric’s tasteful organ entering too far, for too great a period, thereafter eaten by me, my sex lips making a meal of his mouth.

  From uncertainty, the man looked up to observe my response. He did not see my face first, but my bosom, and Eric continued viewing that scar. But sensible enough was this sex sinner to understand that superior sights were available, Eric looking toward that adjacent, adequate breast—then to the groin, Eric viewing high and low in a reciprocation to be eventually paralleled sexually, the husband on a holiday in a foreign land with too many exotic sights to see.

  Again he had his hands on me, my belly and vulva, holding his plate so that no person would remove his meal. How base this unsocial male was to be eating with no utensils. And I could only wonder how long he would be supping on me, the vaginal victuals required for his sexual sustenance. Sex, the nourishment of sinners’ marriage, so long neglected in his diet that years of chaste starvation Eric now made to undo. Yet I was the wife here and felt no need—was this due to my bottom’s previous eatings, male meals of a cunt cave no heroic man could enter and quit whole? No, the cause was that I was not quite wed. Only Eric here was truly married.

  Since such concealed flesh is tender even on a witch, I eventually encouraged Eric to apply himself toward my alternate entry with his second, stiffer tongue, that poor beggar below equally red and now drooling. Not enough, however, to provide smooth access to my interior; and how proud I was of this ever-thoughtful lad who had well accepted his tutoring; for there he was attempting to spit upon his vibrating shaft and missing, spitting on the wife instead, on my belly and finally his fingers, transferring the lubricant to his headed tongue and about my tunnel entry, Eric like a boy all concerned with his adult craft, a sensitive aesthetic attempted with a cumbersome paw. And, oh, the fond effort on his face. Finally, his instrument was against me and moving within, and I placed my legs comfortably about the husband as Eric began renewed grasping of one thigh and the single breast, his nervous phallus pacing to and fro inside me, falling out of my dung cave on occasion only to search for the door and reenter, more pacing about my bowels until the dog came.

  Randolph leapt upon the bed, instantly moving to my face to sniff once and thereafter begin his own lapping, as though I were to be shared—and was this a cryptic part of the marriage agreement only now revealed to torment the wife? The wagging tail struck Eric’s face, a gentle but annoying hair whip. The master, however, could not postpone his activity to end that whipping, could only continue with the demon within him by pumping the thing until it expired from the thrashing, Eric holding me with one hand while attempting to press away that flying tail with the other. This target was not stationary, however, but moving around and around to thrash the master again and again, as though a hairy and roundabout imitation of intercourse. Less occupied than Eric, I was the one to move the dog, pulling the beast near till Eric’s face was in clear air. Randolph then reclined, looking at me with a canine smile and an occasional lap, contemplating my situation. Thoughts then came of another dog, one equally friendly though not exactly a friend. Not of the dying I thought, only the dog, praise God I thought only of the dog and not my chasing him, only the lapping; but here it was good, so I laughed and loved it.

  After a look to wonder of the comedy, wonder of being the fool or the victim, deeply occupied Eric occupied with my depths seemed to approach imminent collapse in that he was leaning forward, slack of posture. Therefore, I pressed my legs together, and upon my knees Eric leaned with his shoulders until slumping away and settling beside me.

  With Eric’s nude body now against mine, I received further perceptual details of the species of male sinner. No horror here, for the man’s odor of exerted perspiration was virtually relieving in its naturalness, as though the smell of the wilds, of stagnant water, perhaps; and his breath was of cooked vegetables, not fats turned rancid betwixt the teeth. Randolph, however, was now less interested in me and more in his master, who again was available in his passivity. And though I ignored the man beast, the dog was concerned, clambering upon me to reach his master’s sinning body, specifically that part of the rising odor not quite so firm as before. There the pet began his sniffing and licking only to receive a non-fond push from Eric as the master rolled onto his side, displaying his spine to the family. Randolph then quit the chamber, bored or offended.

  I was uncertain of the procedure to properly follow this act, now that it was legal and non-murderous. Perhaps the husband knew, for although less familiar with sex than I; nevertheless, more of a social creature was he. And correct I was, for the master turned to begin a most social progression even I was familiar with.

  “You’ve yet to kill me, miss,” he noted with a most brilliantly astute observation, and rolled onto his side again.

  “Missus,” I said.

  “Though I appreciate these temporary jaunts near heaven,” he added. “You are allowed, miss—”

  “Missus.”

  “You are allowed to enjoy this process as does the husband,” he submitted, having turned enough to observe the ceiling, settling again after his words.

  I wondered whether Eric were aware of taking his turns in a conversation in which he was the only participant. But when next he lifted his head to proceed with his speech, I produced a better say.

  “I pray I’ve not been too harsh with my….”

  “Do you yet love me, sir, or are you merely satisfied with your lust?”

  With my beginning words, Eric stiffened in parts other than the phallus, his head held suspended to hear me, doubtless with no comfort.

  “I love you no less, Alba, because I am not imaginative enough to love you more. But greater comfort I have with this love the more you relieve my fear.”

  “Greater comfort you would have upon lowering your head to avoid a strained neck. As for relief, do you not in fact mean relief of the great pressure of passion within you released via thrashing?”

  “What I mean, miss, is—”

  “What you mean, m
issus. What I mean, sir, is to ask you to tell me truly, as you would yourself or your God, whether you would wish not to love me. Would you choose to save this emotion for another woman?”

  “You mean one with more numerous breasts?”

  “No, one with fewer murders.”

  Then Eric sternly sighed, rising from the bed, moving to his attire so that he could clothe himself and be gone. With no intent of dressing or allowing his, I erupted from the bed like vomit or a gushing sinner’s prick to rush before him and educate the boy again.

  “Sir, this pitiful sensitivity I suggest you outgrow. My mad humor you shall allow me, and not go pouting off as though a disciplined child when the comedy comes to irritate your tender heart. The distress you feel for having need of such a wife and all her horrors is but a joke compared to my having experienced those horrors. So when you find yourself beside a person with neither blood nor life and find that Satan through your own body has killed that man, then you, sir, be the one to run from the terror.”

  After a brief pause for staring toward me, the husband reacted.

  “Very well, missus, my running away shall be to the bed.” And move there he did, pausing after the first step to point toward my superior breast.

  “By the way, Mrs. Denton, despite my consequential love for you and my glory in living with this,” he spake, then moved his gesture to the scab, “the alternate I find quite grotesque.” And the bed’s surface he regained, lying in the same position as before, settling on the identical side.

  I also returned, same locale, similar position, though not one scrap of skin did I allow against the sinner.

  “Another response, missus, before you fume away your consciousness,” Eric said with lifted head and breaking neck for all I cared. “When again the great pressure of my fluid lust accumulates, oh, within the hour, might you be so connubial as to drain the boil of my passion?” And laugh this foolish sinner did, giggling over his new toy before the mistreated pet could reply. But not one single instance again that night would I be his receptacle, as though a chamber pot. Not once, but twice.

  Chapter 32

  Her Dedicated Hell

  The first day lived in our new home would evidently be our last, for the following dawn we were accosted by criminals so fearless as to beat upon our door and demand entry. Despite the dog’s ferocious audible protection, the beating and murderous shouting outside did not cease. Rape and pillaging were no concern, in that I had become accustomed to the former during the night, and the particular horde would not be absconding with the furniture since she had primarily come to awaken her master lest the fool be late his first day of new employ.

  “Kill!” was my instruction to Randolph upon opening the door, and a good licking he gave the servant, who then set to giggling worse than Eric had after each instance of ravishing me throughout the evening.

  Into the bedchamber went I with the dog, who evidently had slept the night upon me, in that I was covered with his fur. Into the bedchamber to have Randolph leap upon his master’s spine and bark enough to arouse the dead. But Eric was not dead, only drained; and only after I struck his flank with his own boot did the cur consent to awaken, aware then of his dilemma, up and on with his clothes, the wife pleased to see that for once in their married life his man-stick was a twig and not a trunk.

  An astonishing change had transformed this sinner during the night, for hair had appeared on his face. I thought the dog had slept upon Eric as well, all that beast fur against his skin causing a similar growth; and should I therefore expect a coat to arise from my entire person any moment? But, no, male sinners had hair on their faces akin to that of average animals, though godly beasts do not scrape the stuff off each morning. And so did Eric proceed, Elsie down to the common well to retrieve water thereafter heated for the master on our personal wood stove, whose fire was enclosed, praise God, though the entire object was metal, curse the devil. After lathering his face with a fattish smelling soap, Eric nearly killed me. A horrifying knife he began rubbing against a piece of dead animal hide, and then—and then he cut away at his face as though skinning himself or murdering himself or cutting his own breast away. I could not look, though he did, staring into a looking glass to make certain that he slaughtered himself properly. Immediately I searched for a bag wherein I could pack my things and abscond, but since nothing was present I cared for, I would exit alone. But Miss Elsie would not allow this because I was yet in my nightclothes: no running away from the beard until properly dressed. And wait till he’s nicking himself, lass; then you’re truly to be upset.

  So mad was all this humor that I determined to remain, for Eric was departing regardless.

  At least he wore no wig.

  Out the door with him and away from my body. Then to convince the servant that my wedding night had been as joyous as she wished. Now straighten the bed, miss, for this be a servant’s chore despite any connubial horrors you might encounter there.

  Eventually I settled in this day by awakening fully, the poor disposition brought by the criminal horde at my door and the one in my bed dissipating. Unfortunately, it was replaced by a more intrusive emotion, one to have nearly vanquished me before, in an even wilder environ. I envisioned boredom. Was the previous night the measure of my married life to come? Would my existence be one of buttocks so constantly sore that I could only walk obliquely, Elsie thinking that I was lost, when in fact my bottom was simply impossible to guide? This sexual exposure had so entrenched Eric’s gender stench in my own skin’s crevices that the first morning after our marriage’s consummation, I well took to sprinkling myself with a lady’s powdered scent, but only after first applying ground tea, a preferable material that unfortunately would not adhere. Observing this activity, Elsie gained great satisfaction along with enlightenment, understanding that no more was required to make me a lady than a million consecutive butt couplings, and so might society be defined.

  In this manner, my days proceeded. My greatest concern was Rathel’s response to learn that after all her years of devious effort, after planting the killer witch upon her victim’s very man-stick, Eric yet remained alive. This fear of further vengeance was more discomforting than any tribulation of my average married day. Eric awoke each morning with difficulty only to be at his face with a satanic blade, then vanish. After his exit, the dog and I would walk endlessly while Elsie ruined the home by making it spotless, stoking the fire, emptying the chamber pots, washing the laundry and thereby removing my own smell from my own apparel. Toward the day’s end, Eric would return from his accounting. Then we would eat, speak of nothing, and soon the odor in the man would rise, his wife thereafter walking the dog until she could no longer stand, returning home to receive her husband’s smells within her warehouse (rear entry) until she could no longer recline.

  As part of ruining the household, Elsie prepared meals, and I nearly wept to find that my own personal home would not be free of burnt animal flesh. Elsie and Eric insisted that the race of sinners could not live without meat longer than a few days, so a few days after the wedding, fat they did seek. In my foolishness, I believed the traitors until Elsie came home with chops, which immediately I wrested from her and hurled through the open window onto the street, thereafter wiping my hands madly across my hem to remove the death smell; and damned be my spirit if I would allow Randolph out the door to gain the flesh himself. Then I shouted in a sane fury that I would take all of Eric’s flesh infinitely within me and accept Elsie’s having her way throughout the house, but with God as my moral support, no living creature would eat another in my home unless I was killed and eaten first. Thereby did I become mistress of the household.

  From that tirade on, I became known by my own husband as the little Rathel. The Dentons remained vegetarians, however, though the heinous dog was oft found sneaking home with lizards on his breath, but he had an excuse in being only human. Everyone else but me was a sinner. And I was gaining vast power over these people. So much they loved me, I believ
ed, that through my own implacable will and crafty wisdom I would connive them into abandoning London and venturing with me to live in the wilds. But I knew in my heart that the three would kill and eat me first.

  • • •

  In this manner, my weeks proceeded. Since Eric was too poor to afford the opera (praise God) despite his desire to attend this function with me, the husband and servant presumed that a substitute would be church attendance in the very chapel in which all three of us had been wed. They did not understand, however, that my God lived in forests, not the caves of these sinners’ buildings. Not being so foolish as to argue about God and thus be expelled from the household as Lutheran, I did well attend services with my family. There came boredom again, though no desire had I to exchange the church choir for musical theater. More and more, however, I mentioned mountains.

  Eventually I became better at this married life, if only because a quantity of Elsie’s oil for cooking plant life I kept near the bed to dip the husband in too often each evening with no explanation to the servant and none dared sought. Occasionally Miss Elsie slipped over to the Rathel’s to visit the local servant populace. Always did Amanda herself well meet the miss for news of the young marrieds, though no direct query was made as to the quantity of Eric’s phalli. All was bliss according to Elsie, who never conveyed to me any negative response from her former mistress. Then the other raft of relatives became subject in our tenement, for a side of this family existed apart from my (my?) own.

  “Mrs. Denton,” Eric offered one evening before molesting me throughout the night, “I am considering presenting ourselves to my parents in order to demonstrate how excellent a life we have achieved. Upon comprehending my safety and happiness, Father will not refer to you in the wicked manner as before, but well apologize in his goodness.”

  “Bless us all, sir, for your father’s goodness, a mendacity so vast as to cure the world of its unkind emotions. But if you recall, Mr. Edward’s previous characterizations of me were accurate. He might therefore apologize for what? After all, you were the one to steal his dog.”