by Tim Waggoner
Aaron didn’t know what he’d expected from Penumbra, but this wasn’t it. He might’ve thought he was in the wrong place — or that Caroline was playing some sort of elaborate practical joke on him. But toward the back of the room, set on either side of a door that had been painted black, was a pair of mattresses. They lay on the floor without box springs, sheets and blankets clumped together in sloppy piles. Each mattress had a number of pillows, most of which didn’t have cases.
Maybe it’s supposed to look like a cheap backroom whorehouse, Aaron thought. A sort of sexual kitsch to add to the fun.
Maybe, but he wasn’t sure he could buy that idea, not even for a dollar.
Caroline and Aaron weren’t the only ones in Penumbra that evening. The place was already full, and the others all turned to look as Caroline closed and locked the fuckle door. There were six — two women and four men. One of those men was Phillip, Caroline’s husband. Of Stripe-Shirt, there was no sign.
Most of Penumbra’s patrons looked at Aaron with a neutral expression, but Phillip grinned, rose from the chair where he’d been sitting, and started toward him, hand outstretched to shake.
“Aaron, glad you could make it!”
Phillip reached Aaron, clasped his hand warmly and gave it a couple of vigorous pumps. To say the least, Aaron felt odd to be shaking hands with the husband of a woman he’d come here to hopefully screw — especially when said woman was standing right next to them both.
Don’t sweat it, kid. Different strokes and all that. Sides, that’s what you came here for, wasn’t it? A little kink-a-kink-a-doo?
Unable to think of anything else to say — Appreciate the opportunity to boff your wife didn’t seem appropriate — Aaron took his hand away from Phillip and simply said, “Thanks.”
Caroline walked over to Phillip and kissed him with lips that had engulfed Aaron’s dick only a few hours earlier, lips that had tasted his cum and found it sweet.
Phillip was a tall man — taller than Aaron by a good five inches. He was thin, with a runner’s build, and he had the same fragile and bony look that serious runners possessed, as if their limbs might snap like twigs in a strong wind. His black hair was silver-gray at the temples, giving him a distinguished, scholarly aspect. Aaron supposed he was handsome in an effete, sterile sort of way, and not for the first time, he wondered what a firebrand like Caroline saw in him. Philip was dressed more simply than his wife, in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled down but the cuffs unbuttoned. The shirt was tucked neatly into jeans that looked so new Aaron wouldn’t have been surprised if Phillip had purchased them earlier in the day.
Caroline took Aaron’s hand. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to everyone while Phillip makes you a drink.” She looked at her husband. “Right, hon?”
“Sure thing. What’ll you have, Aaron?” He continued to speak as he headed for the makeshift bar. “We’ve got beer, wine, some harder stuff …”
Aaron didn’t really feel like anything, but he didn’t want to appear unsociable, so he said, “A shot of vodka will be fine, thanks.” Actually, he could probably have used a double, but he didn’t want to get drunk. He didn’t want to lose control, not so early, anyway.
As Phillip stepped behind the bar and went to work, Caroline led Aaron around the room and made her introductions. Everyone was sitting — in chairs, on the couch — and though all of them seemed happy to meet Aaron, none of them stood or offered to shake his hand. They seemed normal enough at first glance, but a closer look revealed that each was odd in his or her own way.
Wyatt McGlothin was a sturdy broad-shouldered man with a thick bushy mustache. He wore a short-sleeved blue shirt, navy-blue pants and black shoes. There was something about the clothing that put Aaron in mind of a uniform, and he understood why when Caroline said Wyatt was a deputy sheriff. Though handsome enough, Wyatt possessed a facial tic that made his left eye wink erratically, and he had yellowish crusts at the corner of his mouth.
Gillian Russell was a petite bird-thin woman in her early thirties with short strawberry-blond hair and delicate ivory-skinned features. She was barefoot and wore a sheer yellow dress with spaghetti straps that looked more like a nightie. She wore no bra and her stiff nipples — which were so large they seemed to account for half her breast size — pressed against the thin green fabric. There was a shadowy triangle between her legs, and Aaron realized she wasn’t wearing any panties either. Caroline said Gillian was an opthalmologist who had a practice in Ash Creek, which Aaron thought was ironic since half of her right eye was blood-red, as if the capillaries there had burst.
Sitting on the couch were Trevor and Shari St. Pierre, a married couple who also worked together as a dentist and dental hygienist. They were both almost naked, wearing only black thong underwear. Aaron judged them to be in their early fifties, but they were in such good shape that, if you just looked at their bodies, you’d guess they were ten years younger. Trevor had brown hair and wore glasses, and when he smiled, he displayed a mouthful of silver-capped teeth. Shari was a curly-haired blonde whose tresses spilled onto her shoulders. Her full naked breasts defied gravity in a way that told Aaron that they were probably implants, but the nipples were little more than tiny pink nubs of scar tissue. Had the surgeon who’d done her tits botched the job? And if so, why hadn’t Shari sought reconstructive surgery on her nipples?
The last member of Penumbra Aaron was introduced to was a man named Spencer Fielding, an insurance agent whose office was at the far end of the shopping center. Spencer sat on the couch with Trevor and Shari. He was dressed in a gray suit and tie, as if he’d been working late and hadn’t had a chance to go home and change. He was short, with a round face, balding head, salt-and-pepper beard, and a belly that protruded over his waistline, hiding his belt from view. Spencer’s oddity was a slow trickle of blood that flowed from his left nostril, causing him to constantly lick his upper lip like a toddler lapping up snot from a runny nose.
Of everyone assembled, Caroline and Phillip were the only ones completely normal — or who at least appeared to be.
“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Phillip said as he brought Aaron his drink. His tone was pleasant enough, but there was a calculating coldness in his gaze that bothered Aaron. Maybe Phillip knew about Aaron’s afternoon suckfest with Caroline, or perhaps he simply suspected something and was jealous. After all, she had brought Aaron as her “date” tonight. He’d assumed that everyone here, Phillip and Caroline included, were swingers. But if that was true — and so far he’d seen nothing to indicate otherwise — why would Phillip be jealous?
Maybe that’s part of the kink. Maybe Phillip likes feeling jealous of the other men his wife screws.
Maybe, but Aaron sensed it was something different than that, though he had no idea what it might be.
He detected movement out of the corner of his eye, accompanied by a skittering-rustling sound. He turned toward it and saw a small cage sitting on the floor next to the couch, pushed back behind one of the end tables. Inside, huddled in a ball atop a pile of bedding, was a plump brown rabbit.
“I see you’ve spied our friend Peter over there,” Trevor said.
“What do you mean over there?” Shari said, reaching into the front of Trevor’s underwear and grabbing her husband’s cock. “Peter’s right here!”
Wyatt and Spencer laughed, but Gillian rolled her eyes at the terrible joke.
Aaron kept his gaze on the rabbit as he took a sip of his vodka. It stung his mouth and burned pleasantly as it slid down his throat.
“I’ve always considered myself pretty open-minded,” Aaron said. “But I have to warn you all: even though I’m a vet, I draw the line at fucking rabbits.”
For a moment no one said anything, then Caroline burst out laughing. The others joined in, and Aaron grinned as he took another sip of vodka.
Across the street from the Valley View Shopping Center was a Speedy Lube, and sitting in the parking lot — far enough from the fluorescent lights so that it
was hidden in shadow — was a Volkswagen Beetle. Gerald had parked facing the street so he had a good view of Penumbra, and the binoculars he held to his eyes provided him with an even better one. He watched the vet pull into the shopping center’s lot, followed almost immediately by Caroline. He watched them park and get out of their cars, and when Caroline touched the vet, Gerald felt a sharp pang of jealousy. Once, that had been him meeting Caroline in the middle of the night, being touched by her, kissed by her, having her hold his hand as she led him to the gray metal door that opened onto the heaven and hell that was Penumbra.
As he watched Caroline unlock the door and usher the vet in, Gerald wondered for perhaps the thousandth time how different his life would be now if he’d been able to resist Caroline’s charms. And if he had, knowing the dark ecstasy he had experienced behind that door, would he have regretted resisting her, even after everything that had happened? It was a foolish question. To know the touch of the Overshadow was to know pleasure beyond pleasure, pain beyond pain, sensation so intense that it was beyond the limited capabilities of language to describe. He’d do anything to know that touch again. Anything.
A muffled sound like someone trying to speak through a mouthful of cotton came from the VW’s cramped backseat. Gerald put his binoculars down on the passenger seat and turned around. Lying scrunched up in the back, wrists and ankles bound by duct tape, was a young blond woman wearing a white T-shirt, blue shorts, white socks, and running shoes. Her mouth was covered with tape as well, and her eyes were wide open and filled with terror.
“You’re awake,” Gerald said and rubbed his scabby scalp. “That’s good. I’m never sure just how hard to hit. The last girl I took … or was it the next to last?” He let out an apologetic chuckle. “The memory’s the second thing to go.”
The girl’s eyes widened farther, making her look almost comical, as if she were a cartoon character that had stepped out of the TV and into the real world.
“Anyway, one of the last girls I took ended up dying because I hit her way too hard. I used a hammer to knock her out, and though it didn’t look like I hurt her too bad, I must’ve messed up something in her brain because she died less than three hours later. And once she was dead, she wasn’t any fun.” He paused. “Well, not as much fun, anyway.”
The girl — who Gerald had found jogging in the park at dusk — shook her head back and forth in denial, but then she grimaced and stopped moving.
“You’re gonna have a headache for a while. Sorry about that. I’ve been doing this long enough that you’d think I’d be good at it by now, but no matter what I use — hammer, rock, baseball bat — I either hit too hard or not hard enough. But what matters most is that you’re still alive, so I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself, right?”
The girl’s eyes darted right then left, as if she were a terrified animal desperately seeking some avenue of escape. She began making high-pitched whines in her throat, making her seem even more animalistic. From the way she was acting, Aaron wondered if his blow — he’d used the handle from an old croquet mallet this time — had damaged her brain. He mentally shrugged. So what if he had? She was young, in her mid-twenties at the most, and full of life and vitality. In the end, that was all that mattered.
“You just be still and try to get some sleep. It’ll make the time go faster for you. If you make too much noise …” He faced forward, bent down, and picked up the croquet mallet handle from the passenger-side floor. He held it up so the girl could see it.
“If you aren’t quiet, I’ll just have to hit you again.” He slammed the mallet handle down hard on the back of the passenger seat, and the girl jumped at the sound. She also stopped whining.
Aaron smiled and turned back around to face the front, dropped the handle on the floor, picked up the binoculars, and resumed his surveillance. He focused his gaze on the gray metal door, was able to read the word fucl scratched on its surface, so powerful were his binoculars. He could well imagine what was going on behind that door right now, and doing so gave him an erection.
He continued staring through the binoculars at the door, ignoring the soft, snuffling sobs of the girl that was bound and gagged in the backseat of his car.
“Feeling good, lover?”
Aaron wasn’t sure who asked this question. It was a woman’s voice, but he couldn’t tell if it belonged to Caroline, Gillian, or Shari. Considering that he’d screwed all of them in one orifice or another over the last few hours, he supposed it didn’t really matter who spoke.
“You know it.”
Aaron lay naked on one of the mattresses and stared up at the ceiling. From the way it appeared to be rippling like water, he assumed that he was drunk. He had a vague memory of someone — one of the men, he thought — handing him some pills and a bottle of rum to wash them down. Aaron didn’t remember taking the pills or drinking any of the rum, but he figured he must have. So he was drunk and wasted. Shaked and baked.
The woman to his right got to her feet, and Aaron saw it was Caroline. He made a grab for her leg, intending to pull her back down, but she avoided his grasp easily.
“I’m just going to get some water,” Caroline said. “You two thoroughly dehydrated me. I’ll be back in a minute.” She gave Aaron a wink and walked off, putting a little extra sway into her hips for his benefit.
Aaron let his hand flop back down on the mattress. He hadn’t really hoped to stop Caroline. As many times as he’d come tonight, there was no way he could get it up again. Hell, he wasn’t sure he even had a dick anymore. He could’ve worn it down to a nub, like a pencil that had been sharpened one too many times. He imagined the tiny remnant of a number-two pencil sticking out from between his legs, the point rounded and blunt. The image amused him and he chuckled, causing the woman still lying next to him to giggle, as if she’d somehow read his mind and also found the image funny. The woman sat up and Aaron realized it was Gillian, the ophthalmologist with the single blood-red eye.
“You are absolutely yummy, Aaron.” Gillian circled his nipples with her index finger, her voice almost a purr. “Too bad Morgan’s not here. He was AC/DC, you know. He’d have loved to play with a stud like you.” Gillian sighed and her tone became wistful. “He had the most amazing tongue, and he howled like a fucking banshee during orgasm.” She sighed again and shook her head. “It’s a goddamned shame.”
Aaron was tired and drowsy, and though he wasn’t bisexual, he felt too good at the moment for Gillian’s talk about Morgan to bother him. “Where is he?”
Phillip — naked, sweaty, and covered with fresh bruises and scratches — came over and stood next to their mattress.
“Morgan couldn’t make it tonight,” Phillip said. He was smiling but there was no warmth in his eyes. “He has a very demanding schedule and can’t come as often as he’d like.”
Gillian let out a snort that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a sob. “He used to cum plenty when he — ”
“That’s enough, Gillian.”
Phillip glared at Gillian, and she glared right back. The crimson part of her bad eye seemed to glow with angry flame, and her lips pursed in determination. For a moment Aaron thought she might defy Phillip, but then she looked away, ending the staring contest.
Phillip turned to Aaron, his gaze softening. “Sorry to come across like such a hard-ass, but Morgan’s frequent absences are something of a sore point with some of us. We don’t think that he displays the proper commitment to the group.”
“I understand,” Aaron said, though he didn’t.
Caroline returned then, carrying a half-empty bottle of water. She took another swig then spoke to Phillip. “It’s getting late, sweetheart. If we’re going to go in back, we ought to get to it.”
“What about Aaron?” Phillip asked.
“I say he joins us. Provided he’s capable of standing and walking on his own.”
Aaron had no idea what they did “in back,” but considering what they did in front, he was determined not to miss o
ut.
“You know we don’t take first-timers in back,” Phillip said. There was a slight edge to his voice, as if he were beginning to get angry.
“Usually. But Aaron’s different. There’s a real … hunger inside him. I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”
“And just where would those bruises be, my love?” Instead of sounding jealous, Phillip sounded aroused.
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Seriously, I think Aaron can handle it.”
Aaron wanted to say something in his own defense, but as he opened his mouth, Caroline caught his eye and shook her head. The message was clear: let Phillip decide on his own.
“All right,” he said at last, nodding. “Let’s do it.”
Caroline stood on her tip-toes and gave Phillip a quick peck on the lips.
“Thanks, lover.”
Not so long ago those lips had explored every nook and cranny of Aaron’s body. He thought he’d experience a wave of jealousy at seeing Caroline kiss her husband with them, but he didn’t. He felt turned-on, and his exhausted cock actually gave a twitch, as if it might rally for another go-round.
Aaron sat up and Caroline knelt next to him.