TED: An Extreme Horror SHORT STORY

by Matt Shaw

  “Not sure I understand,” I said. Again, I was trying to be on my best behaviour and remain as polite as possible. For me, that was quite a task.

  “The lady you originally requested phoned in sick so they sent me as a replacement.”

  Hardly a replacement.

  “I’m sorry,” Chantal continued. “They were supposed to phone you and let you know what was happening so you had a choice. To be honest though, most of the time when they do this, the client is fine and…”

  “And I might have been had they sent someone close to what I originally asked for.”

  The hooker stopped talking and looked at me with one eyebrow raised as though she were surprised by my reaction. How could she be surprised? I ordered white bread, I got brown. The two are completely different although - in this instance - it could be argued they’re all pink on the inside but that is by the by. This woman is not what I wanted and - more to the point - she could tell as much by the look on my confused, and irritated, face.

  “Look it was a long journey. Traffic is a nightmare out there. Would you mind if I stopped long enough for a quick drink? We can have a chat whilst I drink it and then, if you’re not happy, I can go and we shall say no more about it.”

  That was all very well for her to say but I was expecting to get my dick wet today and now it was looking very likely that that wouldn’t be the case.

  “What do you say?” she pushed me for an answer.

  I nodded. She can have a drink. A glass of water from the tap for her and a beer for me. Whatever happens, I have a feeling I’ll be needing a drink, or two, tonight. I led her through to the living room.

  3.

  She was sitting there on my sofa, clutching her lukewarm mug of water. I was leaning back against the far wall doing the same to my chilled can of beer.

  “Have you ever been with a black woman before?” she asked straight to the point.

  I shook my head, “Can’t say I have.”

  “Any reason?”

  I wondered the best way of phrasing it to her without being as offensive as I could have been, and was known to be. “You know when you go to a carvery and you have a choice between gammon, beef or turkey?” She nodded. “Well some people have a mixture of all three meats. Some have a couple and then you get people, like me, who only like the turkey. I’m one of those who only eats the white bits of the turkey. You know what I mean?”

  She smiled, “So you’re a racist?”

  I smiled despite being irritated by her assumption. Just because people have a certain preference for one thing, over another, it didn’t automatically make them a racist and it bugged the shit out of me how easily this card was played by people of that community. Sure, on this occasion, she was right but it didn’t mean her assumption applied to all those who preferred their turkey white and - at the back of my mind - all I could think about was the conversation I’d be having with my psychiatrist the following week.

  “How do you know you don’t like something if you haven’t tried it?” she asked. There was a smell of desperation in her tone. At least I think it was in her tone. It could have just been the stink of poverty these people seem to live in, according to the adverts I see on the television begging me to part with my hard-earned cash to support them. Annoying adverts with soppy music telling the viewer how far this child needs to travel for clean water. Just move closer. Problem solved. Don’t come on my television with your sob story. I couldn’t care less. She knows I don’t like her, is she really that desperate for my money that she’d still fuck me? If she thinks so little of herself, how am I expected to think highly of her?

  “Did you want to see my reviews?” she asked. The reviews she spoke of were feedback left from previous punters who’d visited the girl. I didn’t like to read them, not just her reviews but any. I mean some men love it when the woman has hundreds of reviews but, fuck that, it just means she’s had hundreds of cocks inside of her and lashings of sperm coated over her face, tongue and breasts. To me that’s a passion killer for sure.

  Before I had a chance to answer she reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. She flicked the screen, lighting it up and pulling the phone from its sleep mode before loading the Internet site up, making full use of the 4G.

  “Really, I’m fine. I’ll take your word for it. But thank you,” I said wondering if she could hear the sarcasm dripping from my voice. Do blacks do sarcasm?

  I watched as she downed her water. My eyes were transfixed on the mug I’ve given her. It was one of my old chipped ones. Didn’t want to give her the good one as I knew I was to bin it as soon as she’d left. I saw on the News that these folk carry ebola and HIV. Admittedly the newsperson was stating it was in certain areas but clearly they carry the gene for it. Fuck putting that in my mouth. If I were to go through with the appointment I’d wrap my dick in several condoms before sticking it in. Hell, I’d even roll one down my tongue before sticking it into her cunt just to be sure I stay disease free.

  She stood up, “Well thank you for the water and I’m sorry you were messed around by the agency. They don’t always do this but, when they do, their communication isn’t the best. I’m sorry.” She started to walk towards the living room door, back towards the way out. I have to say, for a moment, I was impressed with how polite she was. She almost came across as a real human.

  “Wait…” I called out.

  What the fuck am I doing? Is this my brain or my dick speaking out? The hooker turned back to look at me.

  “What about a discount?” I asked. I don’t usually ask for discounts. Not because I don’t believe I deserve them or because I don’t believe some of the girls’ rates are too high but because they always say no and it adds a bad taste to the appointment. It’s like, as soon as you dared ask for money off, the girls lose interest and only suck you half as good as they could have done. But in this instance I believed I was due one. The agency had clearly pissed me around and this girl was obviously desperate for my money, hence the want to show me the field reports in an effort to make me suddenly lust after her. I do not lust after her. If I go through with this and my friends question me, I shall deny it. I am merely after an orgasm and - sometimes - a self-serviced one just isn’t good enough.

  “A discount?” she asked. Not sure if she is stupid or misheard me.

  “For the inconvenience.”

  “Of having to fuck a black girl?” she retorted. There it was again; the race card.

  “Of being messed around by the agency. Fair is fair, don’t you think?”

  “One hundred and twenty pounds.”

  “One hundred.”

  The appointment was originally one hundred and fifty.

  She shook her head, “Sorry, one hundred and twenty is as low as I will go,” she said.

  I raised my eyebrows, surprised by her lack of movement. Still - any discount was better than no discount and at least it meant I got to ejaculate. Better yet, I had money left over so I could pop to the shop to buy bleach to bathe in afterwards too.

  “Okay,” I said, “but we get to keep the light out.” I reached into my pocket and withdrew a bundle of notes. I took three ten pounds notes out and handed her the rest, sliding the last three back into my back pocket. She dropped the cash into her handbag which was slung over her left shoulder.

  “So… How do you want to do this?” she asked.

  “Bedroom is upstairs, first door on the left.” I told her. She nodded and turned away from me, heading up the stairs leading off from the hallway. I hesitated a moment wondering whether I was really going to go through with this before going after her. This wasn’t how appointments usually worked.

  Normally a girl would come to my place, I prefer it to going to their home as I feel more comfortable here, and we would sit in the living room with a drink each. We would chat, sidled up next to each other, and then they would usually start stroking my leg. Not long after that they’d lean in for a kiss and things would begin getting hot an
d heavy. On more than one occasion I have been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of a blow-job whilst relaxing on my leather sofa. Only then would we start to take things upstairs. Once - and only once - a whole appointment was conducted within the living room.

  By the time I got to the bedroom, Chantal was already stripping down to her underwear; white thong, white bra and white stockings. How ironic, I thought. Credit where credit is due, she does have a good body. There are curves in the right places and - unless it’s just harder to see due to the colour of her skin - very few blemishes. She kicked her clothes to one side and stood there. She cupped a breast with one of her hands and stroked down the pubic mound to her vagina with her other.

  “Do you like what you see?” she asked.

  “I can work with it,” I told her. Here was me thinking this was going to have to be a ‘spank bank’ fuck. One of those times where, although you’re balls deep in snatch, you still need to rely on the mental images of previous encounters from your library in order to get yourself even remotely close to the point of orgasm. There is potential here though, surprisingly. She turned around and ran a hand down her arse cheek.

  “What about that? You like the view from behind?” What is it these people say? Junk in the trunk? Something to slap, that’s for sure. She moved forward and crawled onto the bed so that she was on all fours with her arse pointed towards me. An invitation if ever I saw one. “You just going to stand there or are you going to fuck me?” she asked. Here was a girl who clearly didn’t do foreplay. Not that I minded. Teeth like that, I’m not sure I want my cock in her mouth and I certainly don’t want to be tasting her.

  Taking the invitation, I stripped my clothes off until I was naked. I stroked my cock from flaccid to semi-erect before finally getting it hard with my eyes transfixed to the white panties covering her arse. She pulled a condom from between black breast and bra and used those huge fucking teeth to tear into it. A fear ran through me that she’d nick the rubber too but it was a fear unfounded. The girl was clearly well practised. She changed position so that she was facing me and - with one hand - she grabbed my dick in order to keep it steady and with the other hand, she rolled the condom down its length before sinking her mouth around it. I couldn’t help but sigh, unsure as to whether it was a sigh of pleasure or relief that she didn’t catch the head with her overly large teeth. She started sliding her head up and down the length whilst working the shaft - at the same time - with one hand. Her other hand cupped my balls and added a little pressure. Jesus. The girl has skills. To think, I nearly passed on this. Of course she’d be good at fucking what with the practise these girls get over in their country when they’re continually gang-raped. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to get carried away in the moment whilst my mind pictured the pretty blonde girl who’d failed to turn up for the appointment.

  She released my cock and manoeuvred her body again, pointing that ‘booty’ back at me. I didn’t need an invitation to put my hands on it. I gave her a playful slap before I pulled her white knickers to one side revealing her dark asshole. Jesus, and here was me thinking her skin was black. Now THAT is black, all puckered up and tight. I ran my thumb over it and felt her tense; a sign that anal is off the menu. A pity.

  I looked down to her pussy lips. It wasn’t a neat pussy like I was used to. If anything I’d say it resembled a butchered axe-wound. The lips were also darker but, spreading them with my hands, I could see the inside was indeed pink as I had believed it to be.

  “Fuck me!” she ordered me.

  I was a little taken aback. I thought it was us, the whites, who were the ones who gave the orders. When did this change happen and how come no one thought to mention it to me? Something to bring up with the psychiatrist next week for sure.

  I lined my throbbing cock up against her cunt and pushed in. To my surprise it slipped in with ease. At this point I was used to girls gasping but from her there was nothing. And I know why. She felt different… Loose. Not like the tight girls I was used to fucking. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She’s used to fucking black men and we all know the rumour. She’s more stretched than one of those Mr Stretch action figures you used to get as a child. Regardless I started moving back and fourth, going through the motions of fucking her despite feeling hardly anything. Was it down to the condom being to thick or her cunt being pulled apart my hundreds of other dicks? Hard to tell.

  She was moaning and sighing and groaning and… basically being as vocal as she could to pretend she was enjoying it but I knew deep down she couldn’t feel it either. But then maybe that’s why she was liking it? Must make a welcome change to have a small white cock inside of her compared to the horses’ dicks I’ve heard black men possess.

  “That’s nice, baby!” she sighed, pushing back hard against my dick - an action which did nothing but squash her arse against my body which, to be fair, was a nice sight to behold.

  I glanced over to the clock on the bedside cabinet, next to my bed. Fucking her like this, and feeling what I was feeling, there was no way I was going to get to the point of climax without a little help. It just doesn’t feel sensitive enough.

  Thankfully I have a trick up my sleeve. Something to help make it that little bit better.

  4.

  They call it a ‘donkey punch’. I’m not sure who invented it, or thought of it at least. All I can presume was that it was designed by a wife-beater and his gobby shit of a wife. Maybe they were fucking and she was giving him some grief over something. I don’t know, maybe he needed to pull his weight around the house a bit more? Something like that? So anyway, there she was giving him a mouthful whilst he was banging her from behind and it got to the point where he was like ‘fuck this shit’ and - to quieten her up - gave her a punch in the back of the head. The resulting hit made her vagina - or arse - tighten and, in the process, gave the man an intense orgasm. Impressed with this discovery, he then proceeded to share it among his friends and it soon became a thing of legend. Like I said, I don’t know who invented it or where it came from but if I had to hazard a guess, it would definitely be something along those lines. Think about it, it makes sense.

  There are many different weird and wonderful sex acts that a lot of people have no idea about. The Donkey Punch is but one of them. Slipping and sliding in and out of this bucket-cunt now, in doggie, I am reminded of another practise called the ‘Houdini’. Whilst going for it - at an alarming rate - the man is supposed to suddenly pull out of the woman’s snatch and spit on her back. The woman is fooled into thinking he has shot his load. She turns around and - surprise - the man ejaculates in her face. If one were so inclined they could even follow this up by creating a ‘strawberry shortcake’ whereby - after shooting his load in the girl’s face - he promptly punches her on the nose, causing a nosebleed. The blood mixes with the sperm and - hey presto - the red and white looks just like the icing and filling of a strawberry shortcake. I am yet to do this one. And speaking of ones I am yet to try… ‘The Alabama Hot Pocket’. You separate the girl’s vagina lips and then shit inside. Job done.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” she asked, turning her head back to me.

  Nothing was wrong other than the fact I had momentarily been distracted thinking about weird sexual practises and - of course - I was here, trying to get to the point of climax with a woman the size of a tunnel. I started to increase the rhythm. Actions speak louder than words after all. She buried her head back down into the soft mattress and continued with the fake moans of ‘being paid’. I ignored them and mentally went through my library of hot girls I’d fucked, seen naked, fancied or - finally - wanted to see naked. Images of film stars, prostitutes, the girl next door, a girl working in my local supermarket, more film stars, porn stars and… mum? What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing in my head?

  “I love it when you fuck me,” mum said.

  Jesus Christ. This isn’t happening. Forget about her. Push her to the back and bring forward the now-retired Jenna Jameson. Th
e hot blonde from many of my favourite porn scenes. That girl knew how to take a cock. The way she’d suck on it, using her hand up and down the shaft whilst giving a slight twist of her wrist, first one way and then the other. That broad has skill, far more so than the other girls of today.

  My mind concentrated on one of my favourite scenes; Jenna was with another tasty blonde - a chick named Briana Banks. Jenna was wearing a big black (why black?) strap-on and was lying back on a settee. Briana was sucking on it as though it were a real cock. Skills which weren’t up to Jenna’s but were still decent. The scene would cut and come back to Jenna fucking her from behind. That scene had it all… Two girls… No - two HOT girls… Dildos with which to fuck each other in both vagina and arsehole, various other toys and even gushing. Oh shit… My leg trebled. As the movie plays back in my mind I realise I am pretty close. Had there been a little more grip around my cock, I probably would have shot already. I can fix that.

  I clenched my fist into a tight ball and lashed forward. He head snapped forward and her cunt tightened, gripping my cock tighter than it had done so already. I groaned out loud as it took me over the edge and I fired my load into the end of the rubber suffocating my throbbing cock.

  “Fuuuuuuuck!” I screamed as my dick continued to twitch until it was well and truly drained. “Jesus fucking Christ! Now THAT was intense!” I laughed.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Sorry about the whole hitting thing,” I said - despite not actually being very sorry at all. “It’s just this thing I do. I’ve found it makes the whole thing that little bit more… You know… Woah…”

  Again, she didn’t utter a word. Was she really that upset? It wasn’t as though I hit her hard. Certainly not as hard as I could have done.

  I withdrew my cock, holding the base of the condom in the process to stop it from sliding off, getting left behind in her cunt. Immediately I felt a wetness spraying my balls and inner thighs.