Wrath James White presents Poisoning Eros I & II

by Monica J. O'Rourke

  Vlad nodded, and Ryan pushed his hysterical daughter to the floor. Gloria turned away, away from the noises of zippers and tearing clothes and sex-grunts from her daughter’s muffled cries from beneath a hand over her mouth. Then Ryan was moaning, breathing hard. And Angela was sobbing.

  “We can do this all night,” Vlad said to Gloria. “And after we fuck her a while, then the real fun will begin. Can’t you see yet? You can’t win.”

  Gloria sobbed, pressed the towel against her eye. The pain was excruciating but she would go through it again if Angela didn’t have to suffer like this.

  Vlad handed Ryan the knife as Ryan stood and then replaced Ryan between Angela’s thighs.

  “No!” Angela shrieked, and Vlad was inside her, slamming hard, moving her along on the floor with his thrusts. He reached up and viciously squeezed her breasts.

  Gloria couldn’t feel her legs anymore and slumped to the floor.

  Vlad finished even faster than Ryan had. He pulled away from the girl and stood beside Ryan. “You ready for another go yet?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Okay then. We’ll have to do something else.”

  Gloria looked up, shook her head. “No more. Please, no more.”

  “We’re just getting started,” Vlad said. He went back over to Angela and dragged her across the floor by her hair. The sobbing girl was dumped by Gloria’s feet.

  Gloria reached down and stroked Angela’s hair, wanting to comfort the child.

  Angela cocked her head until she was facing her mother, and said through hitching breaths, “Maybe you should do it … I don’t think I can take any more of this.”

  Gloria nodded. “I understand, believe me. But we can’t kill the baby. We can’t!”

  Angela cried even harder and wiped tears from her cheeks.

  “I think you’re ready for another round,” Vlad said, standing over them. He had retrieved an item that he was now hiding behind his back. He grabbed Angela’s thigh and pulled her toward him, put the object on the floor so he could flip her around.

  In Gloria’s line of work, she had seen thousands of sex toys, including some custom made, some homemade, but she’d never seen anything like this. An oversized dildo, at least twenty-two inches in length and half a foot in circumference with thick veins that appeared to be coursing with blood. Studded up and down the shaft with small thorns that seemed to be growing out of it rather than grafted on. It pulsed like it was alive, breathing, in apparent synchronicity with Vlad’s own panting breaths.

  “See, Gloria? We’ve got things much worse than donkeys and giraffes in hell. Those worms were nothing compared to what’s waiting for you. They’re the lowest life forms. What most of your kind become when they pass into inferno. But some become other things. Bigger, nastier things.”

  Gloria remembered the worms screaming as she tore them apart, how she’d thought their cries sounded almost like words. She’d attributed it to the drugs. Now she knew better. Still, she felt no remorse for them. They must have been real scum to wind up as giant maggots in hell. If only she was so lucky. Whatever her destiny in the afterlife, it was bound to be far worse. She looked back over at the dildo as it seemed to swell even larger, growing more erect with anticipation.

  She shook her head, couldn’t pull her attention away from the huge phallus in Vlad’s fist. “You can’t do this,” she whispered. “Oh god, you can’t do this.”

  “Me?” Vlad laughed. “No, not me. You.” He lifted it higher, and the strap-on harness dangled below his wrist. “If you don’t do it, then this thing goes up her ass and then down her throat. Am I clear?”

  He tossed the dildo into Gloria’s lap. “Get going.”

  Angela shut her eyes and turned away her head, but she didn’t protest, didn’t squeeze her legs tighter together.

  Gloria tossed it away. “I’ll do what you want,” she said. “I won’t do that to Angela. I can’t hurt her.”

  “You’d rather kill the baby?” Vlad asked, sounding suspicious.

  “I’d rather do neither,” Gloria said icily. “But you’re not leaving me with much of a choice. I know you won’t stop torturing her. And I can’t watch you do this to her any more. I won’t.”

  “Do it then. If you fail me again—”

  “I won’t fail you.” She took the knife from him after standing, and moved to the baby. Crying so hard she could barely get in enough air.

  She raised the knife over her head with both hands. The towel fell to the floor, and the air hitting the wound brought a fresh bout of pain.

  “Do it!” Vlad shrieked. “Do it now! I won’t accept deception one more time.”

  Gloria tilted back her head, starting at the ceiling. “God forgive me for what I am about to do … I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She brought her head down again and looked at her daughter. “Please forgive me for this. I’m too weak.”

  “Mom, please—” Angela stretched out her arm, but Vlad wouldn’t let her move from where she was standing.

  Gloria brought the knife down, hard. Blood sprayed from the wound, covering the table, the baby, her. She slumped forward, her head resting against the baby’s chest, and dug the knife in deeper.

  “No!” Vlad screamed, rushing toward Gloria.

  “Mom!” Angela cried, grabbing Vlad’s arm, trying to keep him away from her mother.

  Gloria collapsed, leaning against the table leg to keep her upright.

  The knife still protruded from her stomach.

  Vlad slapped her hard across the face, and she tumbled onto her side. He kicked her in the ribs, kicked her again. “Bitch!” He started pacing, muttering unintelligible words, throwing his hands up in the air.

  Angela slid across the floor until she was beside Gloria. She took her mother’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. “I’m sorry, Mom.” She looked up at Vlad, at Ryan. “Did I do okay?”

  “You were wonderful, sweetheart,” Ryan said.

  “What?” Gloria strained to ask.

  “Same deal as before,” Vlad said. “Only we didn’t think you’d actually kill the kid, so we came up with an alternative to the original plan. Suicide works as well as murder, Gloria. If it’s any consolation, you really did save Angela from hell. But at this rate …” He chucked Angela’s chin. “She’ll be spending lots of time with you. It’ll be quite a family reunion.”

  “Go to hell …” Gloria said.

  “After you, my dear.”

  Angela retrieved the grotesque dildo from the floor and handed it to Ryan. “You promised we could try this out.”

  Ryan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her from the room.

  Gloria felt her heartbeat slowing, had given up trying to cease the flow of blood from her wounds. The chilly room suddenly became a comfortable warmth, like a favorite blanket.

  Gloria closed her eyes and her face settled into an expression of serenity and peace … even as her immortal soul began to scream.

  Part II

  Nothing begins and nothing ends that is not paid in moan; for we are born in others’ pain, and perish in our own.

  Francis Thompson, “Daisy”

  Today is bad, and day by day it will get worse—until at last the worst of all arrives.

  Arthur Schopenhauer, On the Suffering of the World

  Gloria’s knees shook. The pain in her thighs wound tighter and tighter, cramping, burning with lactic acid, melding with the pain in her lower back, her neck, shoulders, and calves into an absolute agony that washed away all other conscious thought. Her world was only pain and confusion.

  She knew where she was. The agonized screams that echoed endlessly from all directions and her own ceaseless torment told her all she needed to know about her surroundings. Even though she could not see, Gloria knew she was in hell.

  She was imprisoned in some sort of cage. A small iron cell into which her body had been tightly packed; squeezed into in an uncomfortable squatting position, sitting almost on her heels, her knees press
ed up tight to her chest, breasts squashed flat against her. The confines of her prison were too cramped to allow her to shift positions and take some of the pressure off her calves. The muscles burned, the tendons strained beneath the weight of her body. Her body shivered and shook. Perspiration trickled down her skin in a steady stream as she bit her lip against the pain.

  “Help. Help me. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I want to go home. I’ll do anything, just let me go home.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. She’d been repeating the same prayers for days, screaming them first at the listless walls and her hostile tormentors until her vocal chords failed and she was reduced to a hoarse squeak.

  The bars of the cell were hot. Bits of her skin stuck to it, sizzling and blackening from where she’d leaned against it in exhaustion. She wasn’t allowed to sleep; perpetual exhaustion was part of her torment. Sleep was a luxury of the blessed. Gloria was damned.

  Gloria’s head hung down between her knees from both the pressure of the scalding hot cage lid pressing down onto her cervical vertebrae branding stripes into the back of her neck and the weight of the ghastly necklace locked around her throat.

  It was a thick iron collar hung with tiny putrefying corpses … fetuses. Another insult. Six in all. Each a different size representing the trimester in which they’d been aborted. Unwanted pregnancies had been an unfortunate occupational hazard. Gloria could smell the fetid reek of their decomposing flesh but could also feel their heartbeat fluttering against her chest. Their tiny hands and mouths groped for her nipples, starving for sustenance. Somehow they were alive, even while clearly rotting away. Their touch was an abomination that made Gloria’s skin crawl.

  She had no idea how long she’d been in her cell. It seemed like days. Her head was covered in some type of animal-skin sack cinched tight around her throat with twine. In its sweaty animal musk, she could smell the pain and fear the animal had died in. If it had died. Perhaps in this place animals lived on without their skin; raw muscle, and nerves exposed to the cruelties of hell. Just as her own soul lay naked and exposed.

  When she’d awakened in the darkness with the sack on her head and her body folded nearly in half, she’d screamed in terror, believing she would suffocate. She imagined that she could feel her own breath steaming back in her face. But Gloria wasn’t breathing. She was dead. And where she was there would not have been enough oxygen to breathe even without the sack on her head. The flames consumed the oxygen breathing nothing but carbon dioxide back into the thin polluted atmosphere. Gloria’s lungs expanded and contracted out of habit. She no longer needed oxygen to fuel her body.

  Gloria’s eyelids were pasted shut with tears; still she was awake. Not once since she’d woken in her cage had she been allowed to sleep. Whenever she dozed, she was cracked with a whip or poked with hot metal. The harsh voice of her demon lover barked orders at her, spittle flying from his lips and coating her in its vile spray. Sometimes he cooed softly and seductively and then would slide his enormous cock between the bars of the cage and masturbate on her. Sometimes he would urinate or defecate on her. The thick toxic sludge of his excrement coated her skin in a crusty shell. She was grateful for the sack over her head. It at least offered her face some measure of protection.

  Gloria could not remember how long she’d been left to rot in that cage before the sack was finally removed from her head. How long it was before the day the demon released her from the cage in order to rape her. How her relief at being able to stretch her stiff tortured joints had turned to horror as the thing had assaulted her, tearing up her insides, fucking her for hours at a time until her body broke and bled. Then tossing her back into the cage to wait for her to heal so that he could break her again. Once it had begun, it seemed to go on forever. She could no longer distinguish the monster’s first thrust into her torn and lacerated vagina from the last.

  She knew that she was no longer flesh, yet still she bruised and bled, organs ruptured, and bones snapped and burst through the surface of her skin. The spirit was not at all what Gloria had expected it to be. It was not some ghostly wisp of ectoplasmic energy. It had substance and weight. Lighter than her flesh had been but still not the ghost she had imagined she would be. Her soul remained in the shape of her body and seemed to have all the vulnerabilities of flesh. She felt fatigue, nausea, anguish. Everything seemed to bring pain. Matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed but merely changed from one form to another. This soul could not die.

  After every assault, her spirit body gradually resolved itself back into its original shape. Sometimes it took hours or even days but eventually, regardless of the severity of the injury, her body would reshape itself. Open wounds and shattered bone knitted back together. Severed appendages reattached or were regrown. Everything healed except the mind, which forever screamed in anguish.

  Gloria’s astral body seemed to feel pain so much more intensely than her flesh ever had. This she hadn’t expected. No nerves, no skin, no muscle, yet still pain. All her senses in fact seemed to be heightened in this place. The smell of burning souls scalded her nostrils. The screams and prayers and curses were almost deafening. The taste of demon sweat and semen made her retch. And her own agony and fatigue was like nothing she’d ever experienced on earth.

  It was as if her flesh had formed a protective cushion around her, dulling her perceptions and now, without it, she was exposed and vulnerable, a raw naked nerve screaming out beneath the assault of myriad sensations. The sensation of that yard long cock drilling up inside her, piercing and tearing deep into her soul. The sensation of the monster’s acidic breath and saliva steaming in her face, sizzling on her skin as it slathered her face and body in thick pus-like saliva, tasting her terror. Gloria had been screaming for what seemed like years. The thing never seemed to stop fucking her, and no matter how many cocks she’d taken in life, not one of them had ever burrowed deep enough inside of her to touch her immortal spirit. No matter how much she’d thought she’d loved Ryan, he hadn’t touched her soul. Her spirit had been a virgin when she’d come spinning into hell. It had been pure and untouched when the demon had split it wide with its enormous cock. Now it was completely tainted. Its light, soiled and muddied, tacky with the monster’s semen.

  There were souls burning in the lake of fire that still believed they had a chance for forgiveness, that they might one day enter heaven. Gloria had no such delusions. She looked at herself in the mirror through a dripping mask of black demon seed and knew that no God would ever take her now. She was a slut straight through to her eternal soul.

  The demon was waking again. She could tell because his cock was stiffening even before his eyes fluttered open. Its urethra yawned wide like the mouth of a sleeping baby. Gloria began to whimper at the very sight of it. The pain was about to start again.

  “No. Oh God, please don’t hurt me again.”

  The soul did not acquire a tolerance for suffering the way the flesh could. Physical pain was something the spirit had never been meant to experience. Once liberated from the body, the spirit was supposed to ascend to paradise where all pain would forever be forgotten. The agonies of hell had not been incorporated into its design.

  This fragility was the very thing that made eternal torment possible. Each new intrusion of the demon’s megalomorphic penis into one of Gloria’s bleeding orifices was like the first time for her. The rape of a near virgin. Like a donkey fucking a ten-year-old … or a giraffe for that matter. Gloria grimaced. That was her one regret in life: not fucking that giraffe. If she had just fucked the animal, none of this would have happened. But then again, if she had never taken that first snort of cocaine or that first shot of heroin…. If she’d never taken that first job when they’d said all she’d have to do is have sex with this gorgeous man that she’d have probably dropped her panties for anyway if she had just met him in a nightclub or a bar somewhere only this would be on camera and she would be getting paid. If she had never moved to Hollywood in the first place. If she had just st
ayed in her little town flipping burgers and sucking off the occasional truck driver in the hopes that he’d stay and marry her, none of this would have happened. But now the demon was rising and his cock looked more threatening and more lethal than the twin barrels of a shotgun.

  The already massive organ swelled as the demon stroked itself. It gave the iron ring pierced through its urethra a tug, and it shivered in some sensation between pain and ecstasy. Its cock gleamed with steel and iron, like a piece of battlefield artillery.

  “Please, don’t. Don’t hurt me again. I can’t take anymore. Please, no more.” Gloria sobbed, her eyes fixed on its hideous phallus.

  The pierced, perforated, surgically altered and tattooed penis was as long as the arm of a basketball player. The head of its cock was as fat as a child’s skull and encircled just beneath the mushroom cap with sharp barbs, so that once inserted, withdrawing it resulted in shredded tissue. Iron rings hung from the underside, and a chain ran through it down to a steel rod pierced through the demon’s perineum. At the base of the shaft, two more rods had been run clean through at an angle so that they criss-crossed in the shape of an X. It was lumpy with little iron balls that had been inserted beneath the skin. Gloria had never seen anything so ghastly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as he approached and prayed that all her tormentor wanted was a simple blowjob. She could manipulate her mouth to avoid the barbs as long as he didn’t thrust too deeply into her throat. However, the taste of his molten black seed was worse than the taste of worm semen, and it burned like battery acid as it went down or splattered her face and breasts.

  The barbs at the end of the thing’s cock and the sharp horn-like protuberances of bone that lined the length of the shaft like a French tickler had shredded her lips and tongue like fajita meat as the beast had raped her throat just hours ago. She could still feel the thick caustic sperm boiling in the pit of her stomach, causing her intestines to cramp. She had swallowed as ordered, chugging half a gallon of the vile ebon effluence as it spurted into her gullet. To spit it out would have meant a severe beating, and if she dared to regurgitate she’d only be forced to lick it up off the cave floor.