by Jeff Strand
"Working out."
"I can see that."
"Just showing my brother my new equipment."
James’ brother stepped into the living room, also shirtless and covered with sweat. "Well, hello," he said.
Melissa tried not to lose her balance. "I didn’t know you had a twin."
"Yeah, Mike’s in town for the weekend."
Mike took her hand and gently kissed it. "And what can we do for you, sexy lady?"
««—»»
Four-and-a-half hours later, an exhausted Melissa staggered out of James’ house, doing a mental inventory of all the possessions she was going to sell to get more of the potion. She hardly ever used the toaster, and she could always get a smaller TV, and the refrigerator was more of a luxury item anyway…
««—»»
Harold finished cleaning up after his Cleansing and walked out of the house. He inhaled deeply; the air always seemed fresher after a good murder. One bitch down, many more to—
He gaped at the woman who was walking on the other side of the street.
She was a filthy, disease-ridden skank, but she was the most beautiful filthy disease-ridden skank he’d ever laid eyes on. Dear God, the wretched whore was absolutely gorgeous.
He wanted her.
Not to kill, but to ravish. To make sweet love to her syphilis-infected body. To throw her onto his bed and thrust his—
Damn. He didn’t have that anymore, and if he drove home to get the jar, he’d lose her.
Who was she? Where had she come from? If he were to caress her breasts, would he see the handprints of many a drunken miscreant? If he were to kiss her lips, would blisters on the inside burst, spewing forth a delicious concoction?
She would be his.
He would love her, worship her, erect a shrine to her glory. He would kill for her. In fact, he had killed for her, retroactively. He would follow her home and show her his true devotion. They would be together forever, in this life and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next…
««—»»
Does doing two guys at once make me a slut? Melissa wondered as she walked up onto her front porch. She was pretty sure it did. She tried to feel bad about it. That didn’t work. She gave up.
Maybe she didn’t need any more of the potion. Maybe having those incredibly hot twins worship her body (which they had done, literally, with James even making up a hymn on the spot) was just the boost of self-confidence she needed.
Maybe the potion didn’t work, and she was just one damn hot babe. Maybe the drool stains on her back had nothing to do with any shriveled old Gypsy woman.
Or maybe she was going to stick with the original plan of selling off all her possessions.
She reached her house, went inside, and happily collapsed upon the couch.
««—»»
Harold walked up to the slut goddess’ front door. Knock or break a window? He decided to knock.
The front door opened and it was all he could do to resist leaping upon her.
"May I, uh, help you?" she asked.
"I want our bodies to join as one," Harold informed her.
She suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Oh, shit, I’m sorry. There’s been a misunderstanding. It’s all my fault."
"I wish to ravish your body as a canine ravishes another canine."
"I’m going to have to ask you to leave."
Harold considered that, then punched her in the face, knocking her to the floor. He stepped into her home and shut the door behind him.
««—»»
When Melissa woke up, she was lying on her bed, spread-eagle, with her wrists and ankles cuffed to the bedposts. He’d found the fur-lined handcuffs in her bottom drawer, the ones her ex-boyfriend Geoff had bought her three years ago and they’d only used once (and with minimal success).
She tugged as hard as she could, yanking until it felt like her arms were going to pop out of their sockets, but the fuzzy cuffs held.
She’d been gagged with a couple of tube socks but tried to scream anyway. No good.
The threesome with hot twins was so not worth it.
She heard her front door open, and then close again. A moment later, the creepy guy walked into her bedroom, with a jar tucked under his arm. He was breathing heavily.
"I love you," he said, gazing at her.
She shook her head violently. How could she have been so…?
She noticed the clock. 8:24. She’d taken the potion around 2:30. So it only had about six minutes left. If she could keep this creepy guy from expressing his love for six minutes, he’d realize his mistake and leave.
He unscrewed the lid of the jar. Something was floating in the cloudy liquid.
"This is no longer part of me," he said, reaching into the jar and fishing around. The object was slippery and he seemed to be having trouble getting a good grip. "Now it will be part of you."
He proudly held up the item.
Hell no. No way. Absolutely not. Not a chance. Not gonna happen. Nope. Uh-huh. Not in this or any other universe. There was no possible way Melissa was going to let herself be raped by a severed dick.
The man grinned.
The penis popped out of his hand and landed on the floor. The man cursed and bent down to retrieve it, as Melissa let out muffled scream after muffled scream after muffled scream.
He stood up and wiped it off on his shirt.
I’ll be okay, Melissa thought. There’s no way he’ll get that floppy thing inside me. Still, the thought of being prodded with it was one of the less appealing mental pictures she’d experienced during her lifetime. And who knew what that liquid was in the jar?
She shouted at him to leave her alone.
He tilted his head, confused.
She repeated the request.
He walked over to the side of the bed and removed her gag. "Don’t scream," he warned her. "I can still do this if you’re dead."
"Please, just let me go," she pleaded. "This is all a mistake. It’s not really you doing this."
"It’s not?"
"No, it’s not." Just keep him talking for another three minutes. "It’s Sex Potion #147. I took it, and it turns men crazy." She was pretty sure that it didn’t cause them to store genitalia in mason jars, but she’d worry about that later.
The man’s face darkened with rage. "Are you calling me crazy?"
"No, I meant—"
The man clenched his fists, and the penis popped out of his hand again. This time he didn’t retrieve it. "How dare you say that I’m crazy? If you weren’t my soul mate, I’d turn your skull into a bloody splintered mess!"
"I take back my comment."
"I am not crazy!" He raised his fist as if to punch her again.
"I know you’re not!"
"I don’t believe you!"
"Shouldn’t you pick up your appendage?"
"It’ll be fine."
"I’ve got cats."
The man frowned and bent down. Melissa struggled some more with the cuffs, hoping that they’d notice just how dire her situation was and let her break free.
"Damn, it rolled under the bed," the man said.
The fuzzy cuffs refused to break.
The man stood back up…and then gasped. His lip curled up with disgust. "You…you diseased tramp! What did you do to me?"
"I’m sorry! It was the potion!"
"I can see the viruses squirming all over your rotting flesh! They’re circling in the air all around you! Whore! Unwashed whore! I left something in your living room!"
The man hurried out of the bedroom, still clutching the privates. Melissa screamed for help, figuring that the whole "I can still do this if you’re dead" threat was pretty much a moot point at this time.
The man entered, holding a claw hammer.
Melissa said "fuck."
Several times.
"That’s right, bitch," said the man. "A dozen blows for you. Each strike of my hammer will Cleanse your soul."
Psychology, Me
lissa thought. There’s gotta be some kind of psychology you can use on him.
"I’m your mother!" she shouted.
The man stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"I’m, uh, your mother."
"No, you’re not. My mom lives in Schaumburg. I talked to her this morning. What are you babbling about?"
"Nothing. Sorry."
The man raised the claw hammer. "Die, bitch!" he said, slamming the blunt end against her head.
The pain was so intense that Melissa thought her eyes were going to burst out of their sockets. She’d turned her head at the last instant, so the hammer didn’t break through her skull, but she’d taken a hard hit on the side of her temple, and she could already feel blood trickling from the gash.
He turned the hammer around, claw side down.
Melissa screamed again, desperately wishing that her neighbors weren’t so respectful of her privacy.
He slammed the claw hammer toward her. Again she twisted her head out of the way, and the claw slashed across her cheek. She cried out from the stinging pain.
"Keep moving, bitch," said the man. "I’ve got another ten hits to kill you with."
Her vision was starting to blur, but not enough that she wasn’t perfectly aware that the man was raising the claw hammer high over his head.
"There’s a wart on the dick," she said.
The man turned his attention to the penis, which again popped out of his hand.
"You there! Help me!" she shrieked as loud as she could.
The man quickly turned around to face her non-existent savior. He slipped on something—Melissa had a pretty good idea what—and fell to the floor.
He let out a moan.
Melissa screamed yet again as he reached up and grabbed the mattress. He pulled himself up.
The claw hammer was imbedded in his chest.
He wrenched it out.
Raised it over his head.
Then fell back down.
He didn’t get back up.
««—»»
Somebody finally came to investigate her screams ten minutes later. Melissa tried to explain the situation to elderly Mrs. Graham, but quickly gave up and just asked her to call the police.
This was my comeuppance, she realized. Using the Gypsy’s potion had been wrong. Even though James and his brother had seemed to enjoy themselves immensely, it was wrong to rob somebody of their free will. If she had to suffer another sexual dry spell, she’d do it without complaint. She’d almost died tonight, and let it never be said that Melissa was not a woman who learned from her mistakes.
««—»»
Melissa crouched on James’ bed, trying to keep her balance. His brother was no longer in town, but that was okay, Melissa didn’t need twins to be satisfied. Not when James’ cute friend Gary was around, anyway.
The goddamn Gypsy woman had raised the price to two thousand dollars, but Melissa had paid it. Happily.
She was a woman who learned from her mistakes, but the real mistake was not robbing innocent men of their free will. The mistake was leaving James’ house with a full two hours left, so that some whacko on the street could be affected by the potion.
She had three hours left in this session.
She was going to enjoy them.
The Three Little Pigs
Once upon a time there lived three little pigs. Oh, these pigs had a merry life! They sang and played games and danced around the meadow and took six naps a day. But for all little pigs there comes a time when they must set out on their own, and so one day the pigs kissed their mother goodbye and ventured out into the big, beautiful world.
The nights were cold and the three little pigs knew they needed shelter soon. As they walked, they passed a vendor who was selling straw. The second little pig and the third little pig laughed and went on their merry way. But the first little pig, who was the laziest of the three pigs, stopped.
"If I purchase this straw, I could have a house built within an hour," said the pig. "Then I’ll have plenty of time for singing and games and dancing and naps!"
And that’s exactly what the little pig did!
But as the little pig napped in his new straw house, the Big Bad Wolf was watching. Waiting. His stomach rumbled with a torturous ancient famishment, and vile black saliva bubbled in his throat as he fantasized about sweet, succulent pig flesh. His ravenous hunger had gone unsatisfied for far too long, and there would be much bloodshed this day.
Oh yes. Yes indeed.
The Big Bad Wolf silently approached the straw house, licking his lips in anticipation of the grisly feast. He could barely control his giddy laughter as he crawled over to the front door, which was barely a door at all, and breathed deeply of the porcine scent inside.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in," he said, the words stinging his parched throat.
"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!" cried the pig.
The pig’s mockery amused the wolf. The spectre of Death was scratching at its door, and this feeble attempt at ridicule would not save it. The Big Bad Wolf narrowed his eyes, and then he huffed.
And then he puffed.
And then he blew the house in.
The pig squealed in surprise and terror as his straw shelter scattered into the foul wind, leaving him naked and vulnerable. The little pig tried to flee, but the Big Bad Wolf was upon him instantly, pinning the pig against the hard ground with his oversized paws. Sharp claws dug deep into the pig’s flesh, and suddenly nothing existed for the little pig except a dark, twisted universe of fear and pain.
Pain that had only just begun.
The Big Bad Wolf drooled and gnashed his teeth, savoring his glorious victory. The pig struggled beneath him, sobbing and begging to be released, but the pig’s mockery still echoed in the wolf’s ears, and there would be no mercy.
The wolf opened his jaws wide and then tore a long strip of flesh from the little pig’s shoulder. Blood spattered against some remnants of straw on the ground as the pig shrieked. The wolf licked the glistening wound, inhaling deeply of its coppery scent, and then ripped a second strip from the same shoulder, exposing bone.
"No! Dear God, no!" the pig screamed.
The wolf’s hunger became too much to bear, and he clamped his jaws over what remained of the pig’s ruined shoulder. He bit down, severing the pig’s entire front leg and swallowing it whole.
The pig stopped struggling. "Please…" he whispered. "Please kill me."
In response, the wolf bit off the pig’s other front leg, catching a delicious spurt of blood on the edge of his tongue. He could feel his strength returning. His life returning.
The Big Bad Wolf stood up on his hind legs and howled.
The little pig tried to crawl away on his gory stumps. This amused the wolf even more than the "not by the hair of my chinny chin chin" taunt, so he watched as the pig continued his feeble attempt at escape, painting twin lines of crimson upon the ground.
The wolf’s stomach rumbled.
And then he dove upon his prey and gobbled the little pig right up.
««—»»
As the second little pig and the third little pig made their way through the big, beautiful world, they passed a vendor who was selling wood. The third little pig was momentarily intrigued but quickly decided against it, while the second little pig looked more closely.
"If I purchase this wood, I could have a house built before night falls," said the pig. "Then I’ll have plenty of time tomorrow for singing and games and dancing and naps!"
And that’s exactly what the little pig did!
But as the pig slumbered, the Big Bad Wolf crawled through the night air, lit only by the full moon. His muzzle was still stained with the blood of his previous kill, but his hunger remained. With great stealth, he approached the house of wood, absent-mindedly playing with the new necklace he wore…a necklace made from the first little pig’s ears and teeth.
He could still taste the pig’s curly little tail.
The
wolf knocked on the door. "Little pig, little pig, let me in!"
"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!"
The wolf frowned. He’d expected mockery, in fact he’d hoped for it, but he hadn’t expected identical mockery. Had the pigs been plotting against him? Toying with him?
It didn’t matter. The pig was doomed.
The wolf huffed…and puffed…and blew the wooden house in.
The little pig’s eyes shone in the moonlight, wide with fright. Didn’t he realize that there could be no sanctuary from the Big Bad Wolf?
This pig was not going to receive the quick, merciful death that his brother had been granted. This pig was going to suffer. This pig was going to learn the true nature of agony.
Before the pig could flee, the wolf picked up a jagged strip of wood. With his astounding wolfish strength he slammed it all the way through one of the pig’s legs and deep into the ground underneath, pinning him there. The pig screamed and frantically tried to pull himself free, but his efforts were for naught.
The wolf traced a single claw through the bloody wound and then held it to the pig’s snout. "Breathe in deeply," he snarled. "This is the scent of your demise."
"Please…" the little pig begged, "…you don’t have to do this…"
"Don’t I?"