B01M0OJOU7 EBOK

by Unknown

  There were claws on my hands and I was all furred up, black fur, fleshing black claws and all of this strength in me that I never had before. I was outside of myself and yet still in there, seeing it all, watching myself tear her to ribbons just like Kyle had done to Xan.

  Then that other girl, the one that barely knew me was up on her feet from the floor and she was screaming. “Danny! What did you do?”

  I growled from where I stood, over Cass' corpse, and I started to charge over toward her, but by then the flesh had started to melt off of my bones, and the pain was too much for me to take. The enormity of it all hit me then, our babies upstairs; little Jade with her dark hair like Momma’s in particular, burning in my skull. I wailed, the dual agonies ripping me part inside as much as without. Not that it mattered, not when I was melting into a pile of crap before all of their eyes, and it was all so clearly fucked that nothing of our little tribe could hold. I fought the destruction, fought the corruption of my body and threw myself into the caterpillar cage.

  SPOUT HOLE

  Justin Hunter

  A few months ago she went off the pill. Thank fucking Christ. That shit stopped me up but good. I was like the fucking Sahara Desert. Bone dry. Less blood though. I fucking hated it when she would bleed. That shit would get in the cracks of me and I would have pads or things that look like little cotton dicks shoved up and pressed against me. THAT shit was rough, but being bone dry was worse. She would still fuck. Thank Christ for that. But she didn’t do it nearly enough for my taste. I need to work. It’s what I do. But even fucking didn’t help.

  When she was on that pill it was like someone shut me off. I couldn’t lubricate shit. I was an orifice without a cause. I was just there. Sure she spit on herself and the guys (and sometimes girls) would spit on her to juice her up, but spit doesn’t really do much good. If I’m not working, then she isn’t turned on, and that equals pain. Pain equals less sex. I might as well have been one of her fucking pores for all the good I was doing her. Fuck pores. I fucking hate those assholes. All they do is leak waste water and dead cells. They might as well be assholes. Pores are assholes in small.

  When she went off that fucking pill, man I was in serious business. She was getting a ton of dick and tongue. Lots of different ones too. I can tell. I don’t give a shit. Spread bitch. Let me work.

  There was this one time where some dude put a bunch of metal shit in me. Pushed me up and back, forcing my hang-dog expression up. I was getting a face lift. It sucked. I liked my hang and that shit was fucking cold. She might as well have put a fucking stopper in me. She was getting into some weird-ass shit. Still, it wasn’t anything compared to what was to come.

  I woke up a bit groggy and frothy. She had been drinking a lot lately and I was getting a bit cheesy from it. At least she washed me well in the shower. No self-love. She had places to go. I was scrubbed with all the tenderness of a right-cross to the jaw. At least I was clean. Too tender a wash leaves my folds gummy.

  She wore her spandex pants. I don’t know if they’re called spandex anymore. I see other chicks wearing them all the time. They are really tight and every guy she passes has a look. It’s not like she’s trying to hide anything. Still, I get a little shy when she does this. I get split down the middle in a camel-toe salute. I saw myself in the mirror once and thought that I looked like a crab claw going in for the clamp on the clit. The spandex-like pants cling pretty tight. Sometimes she sees a hot guy and gets wet. I mean really wet. She had to hang her purse over herself so other people won’t notice. I don’t have to drip this much for her, but I do anyway. I need her to notice me. She thinks of me – she thinks of fucking and I’ve got to fuck. Make me spout, baby. Make it rain.

  The guy comes over to her. He must be able to smell her a mile away.

  “Hey,” he says, “My sister is about your size. Can you help me pick her out something for her birthday?”

  It’s a shitty line, but it works on her. He thinks he’s the man, but I know better. I’ve been pumping her full of fluid the moment she laid eyes on him. I’m every guy’s wingman. They hang out for a bit. She helps him shop. He plays along before he gets bored and gets down to what he really wants to talk about.

  “Are you horny?” He asks, cupping his hand on her ass and giving it a gentle squeeze.

  Yes. I think.

  “I don’t really know you,” she says.

  “Why don’t you come back to my place for a drink?” He gives her ass another squeeze. She doesn’t slap his hand away.

  “I have to work tonight,” she says. The guy must know he has her because he smiles.

  “Why don’t you call in sick?”

  “I can’t,” she says. “My boss will fire me if I call in again.”

  “Come with me.” He grabs her by the hand and leads her over to the pharmacy. He grabs a pack of tampons and puts them in her hands.

  “Buy these,” he says. “Then let’s go.”

  “What are these for?”

  “A surprise.”

  She takes out her wallet and buys the tampons. He holds her hand the whole time. His grip is a little hard, but she doesn’t seem to mind much. A hot guy, a moist me, and a box of tampons. What more could a girl ask for?

  I drove us to his house. He told her that he could pick his car up later. The apartment wasn’t anything great. The place was above a pawn shop. I guess the guy didn’t mind shitting where he ate. The toilet was right next to the stove and no walls for privacy. The shower water came from a pipe that was spliced from the sink faucet. The guy called it his studio. I call it shit.

  “We can get drunk and feel good,” he said, grabbing a bottle of vodka out of the mini-fridge. “Nobody will know that you’ve been drinking. Give me those Tampons.”

  She hands them over. I actually stop spouting love mucus for a moment because I want to know what this dude it up to. He rips a couple Tampons out of their packages and puts them in a glass. He pours vodka over them.

  “I’ve heard about kids doing this to get a buzz at school or if they have to sit through church or something.”

  “You want me to put that in my clit?” She asks. I try to gather myself up as much as I can. For once I hate my hangdog expression. It’s like trying to squeeze an old spring together. It just wants to flap out all over the place.

  Well, maybe this won’t be such a bad thing after all. I’ve had a lot of stuff slammed up inside me. Never something like this. I just might be able to get a buzz off of it. A couple of years ago she used to smear me with cannabis oil. I felt all loosey goosey and slimy with vagina juice. It was easy to get off that way. I guess it didn’t do much for her though, because she stopped using it. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t attached to her at all. I could slop around as I pleased and wouldn’t have to put up with her whimsical shit.

  The dude sits her down on the couch and pulls her pants down to her ankles. He shoves a Vodka-soaked Tampon inside of me. I’m so wet that it slides in super easy. It fucking burns though. She arches her back and moans in what could be pain or ecstasy. I don’t know and really don’t care much. She can take a few lumps. I’ve been there when it’s happened. Violence and sex are pretty interchangeable in her world. As long as it’s not me getting slapped, clipped, or stabbed, I pretty much don’t care.

  The Vodka tingles a bit and but I don’t feel much of anything.

  “Put another inside of me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I don’t really feel anything,” she says. “Are you sure that this works.”

  “Hell, yes.”

  He crams not one, but three more of those damn things in. I’m wet enough, don’t get me wrong. I'm so slick I feel like I could take a couple of donkey dicks with no problem. But those damn tampons are all soggy and full. He gets them into me all wadded up like used toilet paper. His whole fist slips into me for a second. I tighten down on him, trapping his hand in me, trying to get off at least a little bit. Now the burning is pretty intense and I don’t feel sh
it. Drunk Vagina my ass.

  “Let go of my hand!” He seems surprised that he’s up to his wrist in me. Dude's probably only gotten some out of tight broads. I’m ready to take him on.

  She’s laughing as he’s trying to tug free. That’s fine with me. Let her laugh. I don’t care if she was crying or screaming. She can do whatever the fuck she wants. I’m running the show now.

  I suck him in up to the elbow. Easy as you please.

  He puts his free hand on her stomach and rips backwards. I grip him tight. There’s muscles under all that slippery mucus. I’ve been working out. Taking every dick that comes my way. Now I want to be filled. Fucking fill me, baby. He stands up. She falls off the couch and lays awkwardly on with her shoulders touching the ground, her legs flail around his ears as he tries to tug free. She’s still laughing. He’s crying.

  I wish he would fucking stop.

  I don’t want some dick crying over me while I'm trying to get off. It’s unmanly.

  I don’t feel enough yet so I suck him up to the shoulder.

  “Please let me go,” he says. He’s not even trying to get free anymore. I hope he’s not going into shock.

  “I can’t,” She says, finally getting in on the act. “You’re going to have to please my vag or it’s never going to let you go.”

  “What do I do?” He asks. He flexes his muscle. I spurt him in the face with fluid. He gags and throws up on her stomach.

  “Wiggle your fingers.”

  He does. It’s okay, but not enough. I push and suck, shooting his arm out of me to the wrist and then bring him slamming back into me up to the shoulder. Vomit sprays all over her, but she’s resigned herself to whatever happens, which is the way it should be. She’s not getting free of this prick until I get off. He arm fucks me until I think he’s going to pass out. He feels so good, but his arm is going limp, and I can’t deal with that shit.

  That vodka Tampon shit is clogging me up. His limp arm is pissing me off.

  I clamp down and snap two of his fingers.

  He screams, but his arm goes tight again.

  Bliss.

  I’m going to cum. It’s been a long time and I don’t actually believe that it’s going to happen. I stop arm slamming him into me and wait. It’s time for her to talk. I give her the words.

  “You’re going to have to lick it,” She says.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to have to lick it. Better go fast. You have to get her off.”

  “Just let me go.”

  “Lick good and lick fast. You HAVE to get it off.”

  I let go of his arm. He holds it limply at his side. I must have broken his fucking elbow. Oh, well. Don’t have time to think about that now. I’m so close. I’m so fucking close.

  She grabs him by the hair and shoves his face into me. I open wide and flow so much juice that I’m worried she’ll dehydrate and pass out. I envelope his head. Holy fucking shit. NOW I’m fucking full. I can feel his tongue twisting inside. Me. Bliss. Bliss. Me. Me. Yes. Fucking yes.

  I try not to squeeze too hard, but I feel so good that it’s impossible not to clamp down.

  I cum fucking buckets.

  I squeeze.

  His neck cracks.

  I’m done.

  I can’t do this shit anymore. When I get off, that’s it. Roll over and go to fucking bed. I can’t even get enough juice or muscle to push him out of me. Fuck that shit. Just let sleeping (dead) dogs fucking lie.

  She tries to push his head out of her, but it won’t budge.

  “Shit,” she says.

  BLACK TOP GROUND BEEF

  Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason

  “Don’t be such a pussy, man! Take a bite…just one. Come on, I got five bucks on it!” Donny said.

  “Fuck your five dollars! You better up the reward if you think I’m eating that!” Larry answered. His eyes were pinched nearly closed, what little could be seen of them were bloodshot and dilated.

  Larry was known for eating the foulest of things while he was hammered, including horse shit, dumpster juice and roadkill. The unknown pile of what appeared to be meat that sat on the blistering Arizona black top should’ve been no exception but this time he was broke and not stoned enough to let anyone low ball him. His friends had dubbed him “Geek” like the sideshow freaks that were known for devouring just about anything. Larry was proud of his cast iron gut and thus far hadn’t surrendered to vomiting no matter how raunchy his snacks were. The streetlight overhead was the only thing illuminating the mound of foreign flesh, casting a sickly yellow glow around it like it was the pot of gold at the end of some fucked up rainbow. “Looks like ground beef.”

  “Fifteen dollars?” Donny asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Twenty?”

  Larry shook his head and pointed his thumb upward in a motion that told Donny to keep on adding to the amount.

  “Alright, thirty.” Donny said. “But no more!”

  Larry grinned then popped his knuckles in mock determination before crouching down over the pile of raw flesh. He lowered his face just above it, pretended to take a deep sniff of its aroma. In actuality his years of cocaine abuse had decimated his sense of smell, yet there was a sweet note that drifted up his nose. He figured that it must have been a rabbit that had gotten smashed flat as a pancake by one of the big rigs that frequented that stretch of road. He knew that it wouldn’t taste too offensive seeing that little hares only ate grass; their meat wasn’t greasy like that of a possum or raccoon. He stuck his tongue out, flicked it around like Gene Simmons from KISS. That was Larry’s signature move, it freaked everyone out, made them think he liked munching on super vile things.

  “Come on, Maggot. Earn your keep!” Donny teased. Maggot was Larry’s other nickname, one he thought sounded tough in front of the ladies. Though since he started dating Vicky, he had only messed up once and because of it, he found himself searching for her instead of partying.

  Larry lapped at the bloody heap first, slid the tip of his rigid tongue through it as if he was getting busy in his old woman’s twat. He was surprised that it didn’t taste bad at all, just bloody. He was never opposed to earning his red wings so a little bunny blood was definitely worthy of thirty dollars. He flattened out his tongue then licked up a good size chunk, he paused to show it to Donny before chewing it quickly and swallowing it. Donny turned away gagging while he chuckled. “Fuckin’ sicko!”

  In his fist Donny clenched a bottle of tequila, the expensive kind with the worm at the bottom of it. He held it out to Larry. “Kill it, bro. you earned it!”

  Larry gulped the fiery liquor down into his gullet, the worm was swallowed whole without a second thought. “Hand over the cash!” He ordered. “I need gas money for work this week!” then tossed the glass bottle out into the dark.

  Donny counted out thirty dollars from a stack of bills that were an assortment of denominations before placing the wad of them in Maggot’s palm.

  “Double or nothin’ says I can make YOU barf.” Larry challenged, knowing that his friend had an over active imagination on top of a super queasy stomach.

  “Not that shit again!” Donny laughed.

  The first and final time he played that game with the geek it turned out horribly bad for Donny causing him to lose a belly full of expensive brandy onto his shoes.

  “Would you rather drink a quart of pea green diarrhea or eat a dog shit sandwich?” Larry teased, knowing his friend couldn’t handle it. “Or maybe slide your tongue over stinking bedsores while fingering some old broad’s floppy asshole.”

  Donny only shook his head. “Cut it out!”

  The booze was already rumbling in his gut, churning into a percolating stew of either vomit or shit…Donny hadn’t figured out which manner of eruption would ease that pain faster, yet. It was like waves on the ocean, coming strong, threatening with each ripple that it would make its exit…possibly out of both ends. Donny felt the sweat on his neck grow cold, that was not a good si
gn. It was summer time so a perspiration like that could only equal doom.

  “I have to find Vicky!” Larry blurted out.

  “Fuck that bitch. She’s playin’ games with you, bro.” Donny said as he relit the joint he had tucked behind his ear in an attempt to ease his quivering gut. “Puff this shit and forget her. Let her walk home.”

  Larry never turned down free weed so he hit it, held it in his lungs while his mind drifted into contemplation. “I don’t think I can do that,” he said at last.

  “Yes, you fuckin can. She rode up here with us so she knows her way home.”

  “I love her, dude. I can’t make her walk home alone in the dark.” Larry said.

  “Bullshit!” Donny shook his head and turned his attention once more to the black top ground beef. His gut lurched and he nearly gagged.

  “Take another bite!” He teased, trying not to let his panic show.

  Larry laughed, smoking the roach down slowly while he searched his pockets for the last of the cheap vodka he had brought along to the party. He twisted off the cap then skipped it down the dark highway, which meant he planned on killing the rest of the bottle. He took a swig then passed it to Donny who only held it but couldn’t bear to drink it. He placed it against his lips but refused passage to even a drop of the liquid then handed it back to the geek. The sounds of the desert party raged in the distance, the smoke from the bonfire polluted the street lights and hung so heavy that it looked like clouds against the moon.

  “Vicky!” Larry hollered. “Come back, babe!”

  He grew anxious thinking that maybe she had gotten lost somewhere in the miles of cactus and sand.

  Larry took an uneven step and stumbled as his shoe slid out from under him, he had stepped in something slick…the ground beef.

  “You fuckin’ idiot!” Donny cackled.

  “Help me up, asshole!” Larry said.

  His pride was hurt far more than himself, he brushed gravel off of his elbow while glaring at his friend. He had managed to save the joint, but the booze bottle smashed against the pavement.