Sixty-Five Stirrup Iron Road

by Keene, Brian

  And then a low growl.

  The chipmunk quickly backed its way into her again, screaming and clawing.

  Dickey thrust his snout forward, penetrated Arrianne, and chewed his way deeper and deeper, desperate to get to the furry treat inside.

  The hand was back on her head, petting. When another chuckle rattled out, Arrianne thought she felt her sanity snap clean in half.

  Chapter Ten - Shane McKenzie and Wrath James White

  Chuck pulled into the driveway and shook his head. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to chew down the guilt that had been building strength the entire drive home. The whole Flavia escapade had been such childish bullshit, and now that his mind wasn’t muddled with sperm back up, he could see that clearly.

  I’m a complete jackass.

  Flavia’s words wouldn’t stop ringing in his head. I’ll be seeing you. And if I don’t? You’ll be seeing me.

  He knew that crazy bitch would go through with some psycho shit like that. If she showed up at his home, he just might kill her.

  “Well, are you ready to check out your new digs?” He looked over at the puppy curled into a ball in the passenger seat. It had been an impulse buy. A Mexican couple in a beat-up old pickup were selling them on the side of the road. The man held a cardboard sign with the misspelled words PUPYS FOR SELL.

  The man had told Chuck the dogs were golden retrievers, but he very much doubted they were purebred. Not that it mattered. The little bastard was cute as a button, and Chuck just knew Arrianne would fall in love with it the moment she laid eyes on it.

  The puppy whined, hiding its face behind its tiny paws.

  “Come here, little guy. Let’s introduce you to the missus.” Chuck climbed out of his car with the puppy tucked under his arm, his injured hand hanging uselessly, holding his briefcase with the other. He hoped he didn’t look too guilty. Every excuse he had come up with on the drive sounded guilty as hell to him.

  God, please get me out of this shit. If you do, I’ll never look at another piece of ass again.

  He just stood there, staring at his door. The butterflies in his stomach felt more like a tornado.

  Here goes nothing.

  The second the door opened, something pounded from the second floor.

  “Arrianne!” He dropped his briefcase and sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The puppy nearly flew from his grasp as he stormed toward the bedroom, but he held on, his heart hammering away at his ribcage.

  When he entered the bedroom, he did drop the puppy. It landed awkwardly on its feet, let out a sharp yelp, and then scurried across the floor toward the corner.

  Arrianne lay on her back on the bed, completely naked and covered in a glistening layer of sweat. Her head was tilted back, mouth stretched as wide as it would go. Her hands were claws, scraping across her chest and stomach as her feet kicked.

  A dog sat by the edge of the bed. It looked old, injured. It held its paw up by its chest and stared at Arrianne with a tilted head. It looked up at Chuck and began panting, smiling up at him.

  “Arrianne … what … what the hell is going on?”

  Arrianne lay on the bed, convulsing, mouth open, gagging. She almost looked like she did when she was … Chuck pushed the thought from his mind, chiding himself. It was just his penis talking. He’d been thinking about making love to his beautiful wife all day, and now, seeing her naked, sweating, undulating in some bizarre parody of ecstasy, his mind could not separate her obvious distress from the sexual tension that had been building in him for hours.

  He rushed to the bed and seized Arrianne by the shoulders. He snatched her up and shook her. “Arrianne! Wake up! Wake up!”

  Arrianne’s eyes fluttered open. Her pupils swam around in her head, unfocused, before fixing on some point just over Chuck’s shoulder. That’s when she began to scream. The sound pealed out of her, increasing in intensity until it felt like it would shatter his eardrums. Then it stopped. Her eyes finally found his. She touched him—his face, chest, arms. Then she ran her hands over her own chest and belly, looking around, her expression twisted, eyebrows furrowed, nostrils flared, scowling like she’d just tasted something repulsive and was trying to hold down her bile … and failing.

  Like the scream that had proceeded it, the vomit exploded from her mouth and seemed to go on forever. An endless deluge of half-digested food in yellow and orange chunks coated Chuck’s lap faster than he could retreat. He sprang from the bed like it was on fire.

  “Jesus Christ! Are you sick or something? What the hell have you been eating?”

  She looked stricken. “It … it wasn’t me. The dog! Dickey, he vomited all over me! It ate the chipmunks and threw up all over me! Then he … he came in my mouth!”

  Chuck was already in the bathroom peeling off his vomit-soaked pants and shirt. “He what? Did you just say you sucked off that mutt?”

  “No! I couldn’t move. I felt like I was paralyzed or something, and Dickey was humping the air right near my face and my mouth was open. He ejaculated in my mouth!”

  “You were just dreaming, Arrianne. That dog was cringing in the corner, scared out of his wits. Where the hell did he come from anyway? I thought we agreed on a golden retriever?”

  In the other room, still sitting on the bed, Arrianne was breathing hard, eyes open wide, trembling.

  “Are you okay? Maybe you are sick. Do you have the flu?”

  “No! There’s something wrong. Something is wrong with this house. That wasn’t just a dream. I never have dreams like that!”

  Chuck wet a washcloth and washed his chest, legs, and stomach. The foul-smelling yellow effluence had soaked through his underwear. He shook his head and walked over to run the shower, slipping out of his underwear, relieved to have an excuse to wash off Flavia’s smell. After spending time with her, he was always paranoid that Arrianne could smell the other woman’s sweat and vaginal musk on his skin. Not that it was an issue this time, he realized, since he’d only gotten a blowjob.

  “It could be food poisoning,” he offered. “People have crazy dreams when they have food poisoning. And you did throw up.”

  “It wasn’t fucking food poisoning!”

  “Okay. Okay. Don’t get so worked up.”

  Arrianne got up and stripped the sheets from the bed. Chuck stepped into the shower. He could still hear Arrianne trying to talk to him as she gathered the laundry, telling him how the house made her feel like she wasn’t herself, like she was possessed by some nymphomaniac, and how she kept seeing things on the Internet and on her smartphone with the repeated themes of perverse sex and regurgitation and now she was dreaming about it and she was vomiting and there were gerbils or chipmunks or something inside her pussy and the dog had tried to chew them out of her and blah blah.

  He leaned his head under the showerhead. The spray drowned out the sound of his wife’s hysterical voice. For a long moment, he just stood there, under the showerhead, grateful for a moment of peace, an escape from Arrianne’s vomit-phobic ramblings. He wondered if she were losing her fucking mind.

  Being stuck with some lunatic was one of Chuck’s worst fears. Women were crazy enough by his estimation. All that estrogen fucked up their minds and made them irrational. Trying to speak logically to a woman was like trying to speak Portuguese to a goldfish or a rabid shark. There was just no reasoning with them even on their best days. The idea of his wife losing even that tenuous grasp on reality she normally maintained was terrifying. He liked to think he’d be the loyal and dutiful husband who stayed by her side and made sure she took her medications and spoon-fed her lukewarm porridge and pureed veggies or whatever they feed nut jobs in the nuthouse and wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth and told her love stories and poems and waited patiently for her sanity to return. But Chuck knew himself too well. He wasn’t loyal to Arrianne when she was sane. The idea of playing nursemaid to a drooling madwoman terrified him.

  As much as he wanted to be a good man, a good husband, Chu
ck knew he was a fucking asshole when it came right down to it. He was good at rationalizing his indiscretions to himself and concealing them from his wife and others, but the fact remained that he was far from husband of the year. He had just left his mistress’s bed, for fuck’s sake. He bought his wife flowers and jewelry out of guilt. He acquiesced to most of her wishes for the same reasons and let her win most of their arguments, apologizing even when he didn’t know what he was apologizing for. He kept the peace at home and let out his frustrations in Flavia’s tight little pussy or her toned, perfectly sculpted ass or between her big, perky tits or down her bottomless throat. After a few hours of sexual gymnastics with Flavia, he was agreeable to just about anything. It was all an act and it had everyone fooled, but Chuck couldn’t fool himself. If Arrianne went loony, he’d be out of there like the fat kid in dodge ball. He hoped it would never come to that.

  Hopefully it was just stress and food poisoning. He’d pick up Ipecac and some Xanax and everything would go back to some semblance of normal. He imagined her getting her stomach pumped at the emergency ward, forced to projectile vomit into a pail, and he thought again about how puke had suddenly become a major theme in their lives. Maybe Arrianne had a point. Things had definitely gotten strange since they’d moved into this house.

  Chuck slowly scrubbed himself, in no hurry to step back out into whatever madness was going on in his bedroom. As soon as he touched his penis, it hardened and lengthened in his hand, an urgent, painful tumescence that Chuck assumed would be wasted. He couldn’t believe he’d pulled out of Flavia’s mouth to come home to this circus. It served him right. He wondered if it was too late to go back and beg forgiveness. If he took Arrianne to the hospital and talked the doctors into giving her a sedative and letting her stay the night, maybe even keeping her for a few days for psychological evaluation, he’d have all the time in the world to apologize to Flavia.

  Then the shower door opened and Arrianne stepped in with lust shining in her eyes like stars and Chuck forgot all about his ex-mistress.

  Arrianne still had flecks of vomit on her. Watching her wash it off was oddly erotic, and that was fucking weird. Chuck wasted a few moments considering whether he was the one losing his mind before he began stroking his engorged cock, staring at Arrianne like a kid watching his first porno as she cleaned the yellow and orange streaks from between her breasts. He wasn’t doing it for long before she replaced his hand with hers, soaping up his cock and rubbing the head with her slippery fingers. She gripped the base of his cock with one hand and worked it up and down the shaft, jacking him off while rubbing the head faster and faster, bringing him close to orgasm and then slowing down just before he was about to cum, keeping him trembling on the edge of ecstasy.

  “I love you, Arrianne,” Chuck said as his wife reached up and pinched his nipple hard before taking his cock between her lips, gagging and choking as she slid it farther and farther down her throat, past her tonsils, burying her lips in his pubic hair. He felt his cock throbbing, sheathed in the moist warmth of her esophagus. She grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled him forward, urging him to fuck her throat and Chuck happily obliged. Tears wept from Arrianne’s eyes as she gagged on his turgid flesh.

  Even as his penis filled his wife’s throat, Chuck knew this was not the woman he married. Arrianne had never been a prude, but she’d never been this sexually adventurous, this wanton, this insatiable. The woman gagging on his cock now rivaled Flavia in her oral talents. Whereas just weeks ago, getting head from his wife had felt like an act of mercy, something Arrianne did solely for his benefit, deriving no pleasure from the act and being slightly (though noticeably) disgusted by it. Now she sucked his cock like his semen held the cure for cancer.

  There was no way he could ever go back to Flavia. He had no more rationalizations for his infidelity. His wife was now the proverbial whore in the bedroom, lady in company. He had everything he’d ever wanted from a woman. Except she was also probably insane. Right now, with his cock halfway down her throat, her sanity was the furthest thing from his mind. Chuck knew he was an asshole for thinking it, but if insanity made her fuck like this, he wished she’d gone nuts sooner. It was the same way he felt about women who’d been sexually abused as kids. They were always less inhibited in bed, and even while enjoying it, he always felt bad about it, but not bad enough to stop.

  For only the second time in their marriage, Arrianne offered her ass to Chuck. He almost climaxed right then just remembering how it had felt the last time, the first time. Tight. Virgin. When she turned around and grabbed her ankles, and then licked her fingers and reached back to insert two of them in her anus, readying it for him, Chuck almost wasted his seed upon the cold ceramic shower tiles instead of his wife’s warm, receptive loins.

  It didn’t take long for Chuck to forget about the strange dog in their bedroom or the even stranger scene of his wife undulating naked and sweating on the bed, gagging while in the midst of some bizarre somnolent pantomime of oral copulation. All he could do was stare in awe at the well-rounded globes of her ass cheeks as he slowly slid his erection in and out of her puckered anus. Arrianne turned her head and looked back at him with eyes smoldering with lust. Impossibly, Chuck felt his erection swell even larger, threatening to tear through his skin.

  Then Arrianne eased his cock out of her ass, turned around, and dropped to her knees. She licked the engorged tip of his throbbing erection and smiled up at him. Then she reached back and turned off the shower. “Piss on me, Daddy.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to pee all over me!” She was smiling, having the time of her life, as she begged her husband to urinate on her.

  Chuck didn’t know what to do. Not only had Arrianne never called him Daddy before, she’d never been into “water sports,” golden showers, or whatever the new cool term for urophilia was.

  “I—I can’t.”

  “Do it, Daddy. Piss all over me!”

  And then it came. A golden stream issuing forth from his swollen cock and spraying Arrianne’s face. They were in a shower, she could clean herself up in no time, but that wasn’t the point. He was urinating on his beloved wife’s beautiful face and was enjoying it. It was turning him on. Arrianne ran her hands over her face, neck, and breasts, washing her flawless alabaster skin in Chuck’s urine.

  A steady stream of yellow spiraled down the drain. When Chuck finished emptying his bladder, she took his manhood in hand and eased its throbbing length between her lips once again. She stroked and sucked him until he exploded in her mouth. His seed spilled from her lips and dribbled off her chin. Then she pulled him out of her mouth as he continued to cum, coating her face and breasts in a geyser of warm semen. Chuck’s legs felt weak as he watched her lick his semen from her lips and use her fingers to scoop it from her chin into her mouth. He had to hold on to the shower door to keep from falling.

  “My God! What the hell was that?”

  Arrianne didn’t respond. She was busy licking Chuck’s cum from her fingertips like some extravagant confection, sucking each digit clean while furiously fingering herself with the other hand.

  “Vomit on me. Throw up all over me!”

  “What? No! I can’t do that! That’s disgusting!”

  Peeing in his wife’s face. That was okay, kind of sexy even, but a Roman shower? That was too much. A guy had to draw the line. What was next? Scat?

  Arrianne looked wounded. She quickly leapt to her feet and ran out of the shower, snatching a towel on her way out of the bathroom. When Chuck had steadied the quiver in his legs enough to follow, he found his wife back in bed. There were new sheets on the bed and she was cuddling with the old mutt she’d called Dickey and the retriever puppy he’d brought home to surprise her. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Tears glistened in her lashes and leaked from the corners of her eyes, leaving wet trails down her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled.

  “That wasn’t me.”

  Chuck stood in the doorway, not knowing what to say.

>   “That wasn’t me. You know that right? That wasn’t me!”

  No. The woman who’d asked him to pee on her and then tried to get him to vomit on her bore little resemblance to the demure young lady he’d married. But Chuck liked this woman. She fucked like a porn star, made all his deepest sexual fantasies seem mundane. She put Flavia to shame. He didn’t want her to be exorcised or psychoanalyzed away. He liked this wife. He liked her a lot.

  Chapter Eleven - Wrath James White

  Arrianne woke slowly to the sound of the new puppy whining to be fed. It was time to walk the dogs. The thought was so normal, something that had been lacking from their lives these last few days. Chuck had been right. They had needed a dog and now they had two.

  Dickey walked over and licked her hand. He was putting weight on his injured paw now, though gingerly, lightly testing it for its sturdiness, still not entirely trusting of the wounded limb. Arrianne ruffled his scruffy fur, and Dickey enthusiastically wagged his tail. The puppy scratched at the foot of the bed, jealous.

  “Okay, okay. I’m coming.”

  It was good to have things that needed and relied on her. Chuck was so independent, she sometimes wondered why he even had a wife. He certainly didn’t need her—except for sex. In that regard, his need was absolutely voracious. Until recently, she’d had a hard time keeping up with him. Now she wanted to fuck him every time she looked at him. She felt the moistness spread between her thighs as she recalled the feel of Chuck’s cock inside her. But Chuck had already left for work. It was just her and the dogs.

  “Come on! Time for a walk!”

  She pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, put on a pair of Chuck’s tube socks and her running shoes, and then scooped the puppy up in her arms. It took her a moment to find the puppy’s leash and put it on. Then she carried it out the front door with Dickey following along at her heels. The second she put the puppy on the ground it began to pee, right on the walkway leading up to the front porch.