Home Is Where the Horror Is

by C. V. Hunt

  The screen door of Lloyd’s cabin was dark and the station wagon was gone. A state of panic set in when I realized Lloyd wasn’t aware his daughter was in my cabin. There was an urgency to placate Tryphena by showing her the photos—pictures with content that could possibly make her take umbrage with me—as quickly as possible and get her out of my house.

  I wanted to know if the correct personnel had become involved with her and Lloyd’s situation and, if they had investigated the two, why she was still living with him. But I also didn’t want to become involved. If the authorities hadn’t been to their house yet I didn’t want to tip them off I knew what was happening and the law was probably going to be involved soon.

  16

  I was perplexed by my persistent hard on and did my damnedest to will it away as I descended the stairs to the cabin. It was difficult to think of anything other than Rachel and the thousands of different possibilities and scenarios tomorrow could potentially bring.

  My mind cleared quickly of Rachel and filled with anxiety when I entered the cabin and found Tryphena fondling my camera by the bed. There was something about the girl that filled me with a foreboding sense of dread every time I saw her. It was as if guile oozed from her pores and I sensed whatever she was conniving to do would destroy whoever got caught up in her crosshairs.

  “Please don’t touch that,” I said a tad too abrasively.

  “Okay,” she said.

  She gave me a snarky smile and held the camera out to me in a haphazardly fashion. I had a glimpse of her dropping the camera on purpose and it shattering into a million unfixable pieces on the floor. I crossed the cabin and took the camera from her.

  “Sorry,” I said and set the camera on the dresser. “It’s an expensive piece of equipment and my livelihood. I can’t afford for anything to happen to it.”

  Tryphena ignored my concern for the camera’s safety and looked around the cabin. She said, “Where are the photos?”

  “I keep them in the garage.”

  She lifted her hands to clear a strand of her long hair from her face. She gathered her hair into a ponytail and pulled it off the back of her neck briefly before letting it all fall down her back, making the scar on her neck more visible. Her nipples threatened to slip free of her tank top when she lifted her arms. I turned my attention to the backdrop and tried to think of anything other than my engorged cock and its unyielding nagging to be released.

  “Can I see them?” she said.

  I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to tell her maybe she should come back with her father. But I knew Lloyd frightened and chilled me to the bone in a way that made me never want to be within eyesight of the man ever again. I didn’t want him in my house any more than I wanted Tryphena here at the moment. How was I going to explain the photos to her? Should I explain them at all or let her interpret them for herself? Her presence made me extremely uncomfortable and even more so in my continuous and unyielding state of arousal. She was a budding young woman busting out of her clothes and I was a horny tricenarian who would’ve sworn up to this moment my morals were more impeccable than the deplorable thoughts racing through my brain.

  “Sure,” I said, “you can look. Well . . . maybe not all of them. Some of the photos have—”

  “Nudity?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Uh, yes. So is the nature of art.” I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. “And you’re underage.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not like I haven’t seen a cock before.”

  The nonchalant way she said the word ‘cock’ was pornographic and filthy coming from such a young girl’s mouth. Her uncouth language sparked something within me and became the big sparkling bow on a package labeled taboo.

  “I don’t want to piss off your dad.”

  With a touch of salaciousness she said, “He doesn’t have to know. There are a lot of things about me he doesn’t know.”

  I ignored whatever it was she was implying and agreed she could see the photos. She followed me out of the cabin and down the stairs to the garage. I decided the best course of action was to allow her to hurriedly take a look and then tell her I had an appointment or a phone call to make to get her to leave before her father came home. And then I could have some time to myself to think about Rachel and to liberate myself of all the pent up sexual energy.

  I stopped before opening the door and said, “Before you see them I need to explain the subject matter.” I paused and avoided looking directly at her scar. “I specialize in taking photos of human malformations, amputations, deformities, and . . .” I was reluctant to say the last word. “Scars.”

  There was a nearly imperceptible drop in her demeanor. “Cool!” she said with a false enthusiasm.

  “Are you sure?”

  “You promised I could see them. Stop stalling.”

  I nodded, opened the overhead door, and turned on the light. I leaned against the dryer as she approached the framed photos stacked carefully against the wall. The photos weren’t shamed the way they were at Phillip’s and they were facing out. She ran her fingers along the frame containing a photo of a man with two child-sized legs and one malformed arm of his parasitic twin protruding from his chest. The photo was in black and white and the shot was of the man’s naked torso and face. Normally I didn’t include the model’s face but the man’s expression struck me as an important inclusion when I began editing. The subject stared at the viewer with a haunted expression. Tryphena stared at the photograph for a few seconds before tipping the frame forward to view the one behind it.

  She slowly shuffled through my inventory—taking time to process and observe each one—with a neutral expression. I stood by anxiously, afraid she might damage a frame, and listened carefully for the sound of Lloyd returning. A shadow moved in my peripheral. I turned my attention to the trees and spotted the cat. He eyed the two of us dubiously and skittered along the tree line before disappearing around the side of the cabin. There was a sudden shift in air pressure that caused my ears to ring and for a few seconds it was all I could hear. I pushed the tender indentation behind one of my ears with my index finger and opened and closed my jaw, trying to relieve the discomfort. Vertigo hit me for a brief moment and I got an overwhelming sensation I was being watched. I scanned the trees for any movement and my hearing finally returned.

  “I like them,” Tryphena said.

  I turned my attention back to her. She stood with her hands tucked into her back pockets, facing me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She took a few steps toward me. “Do you want to take my picture?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, come on.” She removed one hand from her pocket and touched the scar on her neck. “Isn’t this why you invited me down here?”

  I tried to come up with a sensible excuse. It was true. Originally, upon meeting them, I did want to take her and Lloyd’s photo. But I’d always been sensitive to people who struck me as odd and I viewed craziness and catastrophe as highly contagious diseases and the two of them seemed to be constructed of the stuff. The more you tried to help someone who was out of control or in need of help, and the more you allowed them into your life, the more likely you would be sucked into whatever madness they viewed as normal.

  “No,” I responded. “You seemed interested in photography when we spoke and I thought you might be interested in them.”

  An unruly strand of her hair fell in her face and she flipped her head to shake it away. She took a couple more steps toward me. She stopped a foot in front of me and tilted her head slightly to make the scar more prominent. Her proximity made me uncomfortable and overtly aware I was still aroused. The amount of naked flesh forming her cleavage, but barely stopping short of exposing her nipples, was distracting.

  “Touch it,” she said.

  Her command confused me. “No. That’s okay.”

  “You want to know the story behind it?”

  “I don’t ask. If the model wants to tell me,
I listen. But I never prompt the subject. Sometimes the emotional scars are deeper than the physical ones.”

  She gave a dry chuckle. “Your photos kinda show there’s beauty in tragedy, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “But I don’t think you get the people,” she said. “You don’t feel their pain. You don’t have any scars.”

  Her statement angered me. “I have plenty of scars. I’m not perfect. No one is,” I snapped. My thoughts flashed to the scarred symbol on my chest. “Like I said, not everyone’s scars are visible. Some people are more damaged on the inside than anything I’ve photographed.” I flicked my wrist at the pictures to insinuate them.

  “Do you ever get the feeling some people hurt themselves to feel something . . . or to feed something bigger than their own selfish misery?”

  “Is that what you did?” I nodded toward her neck.

  She smiled coyly at me but didn’t respond.

  “You’re a strange kid. I think you should probably head back home.”

  “I’m not a kid,” she said angrily. She quickly regained her smile. “Do you want to take my photo?”

  “You already asked me that. You’re underage. I would need your dad to sign a consent form.”

  “Age is a number.”

  She laid her hand on my hard on and rubbed it through the material of my jeans. I grabbed her wrist roughly, twisted it, and pulled her hand away. She gasped and looked equal parts shocked and amused.

  “What the fuck are you doing?!”

  I held her wrist too tightly and it felt thin and fragile, as though it might break were I to apply any more pressure..

  “Come on,” she said. “You’ve had a boner since I arrived. I know you want me.” Lightning fast, she slipped her other hand under the bottom of my shirt and unfastened my jeans.

  I grabbed her other wrist and yanked it away before she could do anything further. While holding both of her wrists I gave her a small shove, not wanting to hurt her. She stumbled back a couple of steps. I refastened my pants.

  “I think it’s time for you to leave,” I said.

  She stared at me incredulously.

  “Now,” I said.

  She gave me a furious stare before she pounced on me. She rubbed her body against mine and I fell back against the dryer. She grabbed the back of my neck and tried to pull me into a kiss. I leaned away from her and tried to push her away but she clung to me like glue. She stood on her tiptoes and hopped up and tried to plant her mouth on mine. Her other hand slid down my pants and she began to stroke my cock.

  I shouted, “Stop it! Get off me!”

  She let go of the back of my neck but kept all of her weight on me and still held my dick. She said, “I’m so fucking horny. Give me what I want and I won’t tell my papa you raped me.”

  “What!? I’m not raping you! Let go!”

  I grabbed at her wrist to pull her hand off my cock. She gripped my penis hard and grabbed my balls through the material of my pants with her other hand. She gave my balls a firm squeeze and a pain shot into my stomach. The sensation made me feel like I needed to either vomit or take a shit. I was bent backward over the dryer as she pressed against me. Her face was inches from mine and I could smell some type of sweet gum or candy mixed with cigarette smoke on her breath.

  She said, “I’ll tell him you did something worse.”

  “That’s blackmail. I’ll go to jail for statutory rape.”

  “I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

  She let go of my balls and eased her grip from my cock. I was desperately trying to will away the erection and thought the pain would have staunched it but my body was having nothing to do with rationality. She pushed off of me slightly and moved her hand from my cock to unfasten and unzip my pants. I noticed during our struggle her nipples had finally sprung free from her tank top and suddenly all of my attempts to go limp were in vain. She quickly pulled my underwear and pants down. She lowered her head, pulled her hair over one shoulder, held the top my cock in one hand, and ran her tongue slowly from my balls to the tip of my dick, glistening with precome. She kept her eyes locked on mine through the whole act.

  I groaned, “I’m going to burn in hell.”

  “Be quiet,” she whispered.

  She took the tip of my cock in her mouth and stroked me slowly a couple of times, her eyes never leaving mine. I shut my eyes and could feel something sacred and unreplaceable within me shatter. I tried to think of anything else than what was happening. I tried to conjure vile images to force myself to go soft. After a minute of her slowly manipulating me her warm mouth and hand left my dick. I realized how sore my back was from being bent backward. I opened my eyes and stood up straight and hoped what had happened was all she wanted. Instead she pulled her tank top down to her waist and slipped out of her sandals simultaneously. She unbuttoned her shorts and pushed all of her clothing down her legs in one fluid motion and stacked her clothes on top of the sandals. She had a small and sparse patch of pubic hair.

  I groaned again and began to reach for my pants and underwear but she chastised me and warned me again to do what she wanted or face jail. She kicked the pile of clothes closer to me before dropping to her knees, using her discarded clothing as a cushion. She placed her hands on my hips and took my whole cock into her mouth slowly and gagged when the tip of my dick touched the back of her throat. The spasm in her throat caused the back of her tongue to bounce against the sensitive part on the underside of the head and the urge to thrust was strong. She wrapped her lips over her teeth and began to slowly give me head. I felt the orgasm build quickly.

  I gripped the top of the dryer behind me and said, “If you don’t stop I’m going to come.”

  She hummed an agreeable sound and sped up.

  I reached forward to grab the back of her head but rethought my action. I didn’t know if she would have an issue with me holding her head. Naomi didn’t mind it but some women hated it. And I definitely didn’t want to do anything that could be construed as me forcing myself on this girl. I wasn’t going to last much longer. It had been so long since I’d felt the heat of another person during sex and my brain was screaming at me I was going to burn in hell and it was taboo and exciting and new and I was suddenly reminded of being sixteen and losing my virginity to a girl I dated briefly one summer named Jennifer who’d already lost her virginity and during the initial act I’d gotten so fucking nervous I lost my hard on and she blamed herself and questioned her appeal to me and I tried to explain to her it wasn’t her as she tried to prime my soft penis into something fuckable. Our second attempt was more successful.

  I was pulled from my reverie by the building orgasm. I grabbed Trypena’s shoulder and said, “I’m going to come.”

  She hummed another agreeable sound and continued.

  With a sense of urgency I tapped her shoulder. “I’m going to come in your mouth.”

  Again, the agreeable sound.

  “All right.”

  My body tensed as I orgasmed hard. The sensation ran deep into my belly and I held the dryer to keep from falling. Tryphena continued to suck me as my orgasm subsided. She pulled her mouth from my cock, sucking and flicking her tongue on the underside as she did so. She sucked on the extra sensitive tip, nearly causing me pain, before removing her mouth and swallowing my come. She giggled and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. I quickly pulled my pants up, tucked my softening cock back into my underwear, and refastened my pants.

  With my pent up sexual energy drained I was filled with guilt and panic and nauseated and near the brink of tears. I wanted the girl to leave but I’d somehow become mute when I tried to open my mouth to speak. I felt like vomiting.

  Tryphena stood and hopped up on the washer. She situated herself so she was sitting on the edge, spread her legs, and began fingering herself. “Time to return the favor,” she said. She removed her glistening fingers from her pussy and sucked on them. With her free hand she pinched the nipple of one of her b
reasts. She removed her fingers from her mouth, lifted the breast she was fondling, and bowed her head to flick the nipple with her tongue. She repeated the action to her other breast before pinching both nipples hard and moaning.

  I was finally able to choke out, “This is fucking awful.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth the dizzy spell returned and I sensed something clinging to my backside like a wet silicone blanket. It was clammy and sticky and cold and it forcefully pushed me toward the girl. It was an entity composed of dread and fear and evil and it pressed up against me and held my wrists to direct my arms and slid its feet under my own and took each step for me. The compulsion to bawl was strong but the thing whispered in my ear about my destiny and great pleasures and to give and to receive and the reward would be beyond anything I could imagine if I would do its bidding.

  I approached Tryphena. She leaned back on her elbows, unable to lie flat because of the protruding dial board on the back of the machine. I let the presence guide my hands. I slid my hands up her smooth toned thighs. Normally I preferred to give oral to a shaved pussy so I could take my time and tease the exposed skin around the clit. The girl’s pubic hair was sparse and once I’d slid my hands up her thighs I parted her with my thumbs. She arched her back and tried to grind against my hands. I slid one hand under and around one thigh and gripped her hip. I inserted two fingers of my other hand inside her. She was extremely wet and cooed as I fingered her in a gentle come-hither gesture to prime her g-spot. She smelled sweet and slightly musky. She squirmed on my fingers and moaned. I let go of her hip and spread her pussy with my thumb and index finger and slowly swirled my tongue around her pink clit before lapping at it. Her come had a bitter taste I recognized as the taste of a girl who smoked. I stole a look up at her as I licked and fingered her. Her head was thrown back and she returned to pinching one of her nipples. I latched onto her clitoris with my mouth and began sucking and flicking it with my tongue. She moaned louder and encouraged me to keep going. I slipped the hand not inside her back under her thigh and up over her stomach and grabbed the breast she wasn’t manipulating herself.