Exhibitions of Flesh
Page 2
I was conflicted with the idea. For one thing, it seemed extremely disgraceful to the dead in question. Funny I used to be shamed about that, and now the thought of fucking anywhere extreme violence or blood shed has occurred gets me soaking wet. But when he showed me the figures some of these people were making…Jesus Christ. I was barely scraping by as a graphic designer, and Jesse was a musician who, bless his stubborn creative heart, had tried and failed to garner a steady income by finding session work at the various studios around town and playing in a cover band that got paid gigs on the weekends. Between the two of us we could barely keep the lights on at our studio loft apartment on Delmar. Yes, the thought did occur that we could just move since the cities gentrification had caused our rent to sky rocket, but we liked the location. It was the most soulful part of Saint Louis.
We started exploring and shooting videos last year. Since then, we’ve been to over 13 different supposedly haunted sights, from run down schools that were the sight of mass shootings to condemned factories and buildings were horrible grizzly accidents took place…14 if you include the sight of the Dupo Massacre. The one that changed everything. The one that changed Jesse. The one that would result in his death.
The Dupo Massacre came to our attention approximately three months ago. Usually we let our fans send us suggestions for places to check out based on notoriety and the general fucked-upness of the deaths involved. Jesse still got excited at the mention of “A hot bed of paranormal activity” but after 13 trips to places that were all notorious for being supernatural hot spots and barely witnessing any peculiar phenomena other than the warm blood stain at Penhurst, I was thoroughly disillusioned to the idea that spirts and specters even existed.
I didn’t tell Jesse this, I didn’t want him to think I was losing heart or having second thoughts about our little enterprise. I didn’t want him to lose his childlike sense of imagination either. I had a feeling he needed to see something supernatural, to believe that there is life after death. I don’t know much about his past except that he lost both of his parents at a young age, and grew up in a foster care system. It’s something we don’t talk about much, but the way I see his face light up when he reads the harrowing accounts of people experiencing poltergeists and possessed people, I know it’s something he’s practically addicted to.
So when we saw the video someone had posted on our website, one of the more disturbing things we’d been sent(which is saying something considering what we normally deal with) I knew Jesse would be itching to check it out. The video itself showed four people, your typical gang of paranormal investigators, entering an underground chamber somewhere in the middle of the woods at an unknown location. After going down a long flight of stairs, they came to a giant underground domed shaped atrium that was covered in esoteric symbols, some I recognized, some I didn’t.
“This is it, this is the spot where Theron Mobley led forty people from his congregation of Satanists down to be worshipped in something called a chaos ritual.” A shakey male voice said.
“Dude! Check it out!” another male voice said, and the camera panned to one corner of the room. Etched into the wall was what looked like a claw mark from the world’s largest bear. Three blood crusted gashes that were carved deep into the stone wall, obliterating the white painted symbols there. The camera zoomed in on the marks, the jagged rows showing clearly.
“Hey, look, this is the canals where they drained their blood.” This voice, female, called out. The camera swiveled and then pointed to the ground. There were four flash light beams dancing around, but they all focused on the recessed channels that formed in each wall of the room, meeting in the middle. The channels looked to be made out of obsidian stone, their black shiny canals stood out in stark contrast against the sooty concrete floor. In the middle was a circular hole that looked a little larger than the drain in my bath tub. Despite the flash light shining directly into it, there was no evidence of a bottom. Someone took out a penny and dropped it into the hole. For the span of twenty seconds everyone in the video was silent as they waited for the penny to hit bottom. The sound never came.
“Holy shit…” One of the investigators said.
“According to the chaos prayer they were trying to re-enact, they all needed to give their blood to the dark king. King Paimon That’s what the channels are for. That’s what this hole is for. It’s supposed to go…Straight to hell.” The female voice said.
“Oh come on Ash, you know that’s just a bunch of bullshit. The police even proved that Mobley went crazy and killed them all. Along with being part of the sector 5 occultists, they had a huge drug lab on the property. Dude probably got spun out and convinced his loyal followers to murder each other. He killed the survivors, who were at that point tripping too hard to defend themselves. It’s all in his confession.” The camera man said.
“Only one way to find out…” The woman said, and a hand came into view. There was an audible snick as a pocket knife was unfolded.
“Whoa…Ash…What are you…” the cameraman began. I watched in mute fascination as the woman proceeded to prick her finger tip, as well as the finger tips of the two others in the group, the camera man declining. They all held their hands out, tiny droplets of blood dropping into the hole, some of it spattering on the rim. It sizzled like bacon in a frying pan when it hit, bubbling up and smoking.
“What the fuck…” The camera man said. For awhile they all just stood there, lights pointing at the hole, anticipating…something. I realized I was holding my breath during this part, I felt their tension as if I were in the room with them. Then I exhaled and tried to stifle a laugh as I realized I had given into the illusion that this was all real. Whoever directed this was good. Just as I was starting to ease up, there came a low sound, like the long baying of a whale, except pitched down uncountable octaves and accompanied by an eerie dissonance. It was vaguely musical in the worst way.
“Jesus, it’s like a tritone from hell.” Jesse said, wincing. The sound only got louder and louder, distorting the camera’s microphone, and I could see everyone in the atrium clasp their hands to their ears. The camera was dropped, the screen going dark before focusing on one corner of the wall at ground level, where two of the symbols, a strange hexagonal shape, and an eye with a line going through it stood in vivid contrast.
Then there was what I can only describe as… A commotion. The shrieking death siren had abruptly ceased, followed by a bestial roar that sounded like a tiger juxtaposed with a piercing cry of a hawk. There were screams that were abruptly cut off. There was the quick shuffling of feet and the screen went crazy for a second as some unknown survivor picked up the camera and sprinted. Soon the echoing footfalls turned to soft plodding as their feet went from concrete stairs to grass. I was offered a shakey, grainy green nightscape of wilderness, briefly glimpsing what I thought was an old run down farm house and a gate. Then the film ended abruptly.
“Holy fuck.” Jesse breathed. He was visibly shaking. I remember then, trying so fucking hard not to roll my eyes. I managed not to do that, but I couldn’t bite my tongue. I had to let something slip out.
“Man, whoever directed that deserves a fucking Oscar.” I said. “It was like the Blair Witch Project if they had a way better budget. They almost had me fooled for a minute.” I said, and then forced myself to shut up when I saw the look on Jesse’s face. Hurt indignation? Embarrassment? I couldn’t really tell. I immediately felt like shit. But at the same time, I didn’t. These videos were getting absurd. Moving chairs, bottles flying off shelves, supposed exorcisms and possessions. All at spots that didn’t show any sort of extraordinary phenomenon other than the fact they became extraordinarily fucking boring to be at after six hours camped out on sleeping bags trying to witness something…anything.
“When did you become such a damn cynic Liz? Jesus. Haven’t you looked up Dupo? That place is bonkers, it was a whole town founded by a cult. And Mobley? Have you heard about that guy?”
“Yeah, that he
’s fucking insane and Charles Manson on steroids. I could totally see him being strung out on drugs and murdering people. The guy was huge, and have you seen what PCP does to people? I know you’ve seen the video of the guy taking on eight cops while high as a kite on angeldust. Imagine that grizzly bear of a man on some shit like that.”
“But the sector 5 didn’t fuck with PCP. They were strictly acid, shrooms, you know, the stuff we mess with. Clean shit.”
“Whatever, Jesse, that’s not the point. The point is literally every spot we’ve been to was a complete dud. And you know it.” I said. “But I don’t care, okay? We make good money doing this, and it’s fun… and kinda hot. Just… I wish you wouldn’t get so caught up in it. I just… Let’s not argue about this, okay?” I said. It had been a long day of editing videos from the Penhurst place, and I was turned on by watching the up close cameras showing Jesse’s cock pumping his seed into me. There’s a special sort of thrill when you watch your own porn. I can’t really describe it, but those of you who are fresh amateurs in the field know exactly what I’m talking about. I had been waiting for Jesse to get home all day, because I had a surprise for him I knew he’d love, and it involved fucking his brains out. But then he came bursting into the door, freaking out about this video.
“It’s not the same if you don’t believe babe.”
“I do believe. It’s just… Sometimes I get skeptical. But I still wanna do it. Come on, let’s forget I said anything, okay?”
“Okay…Well, still, we have to check that place out. Like soon.”
“Of course. And we need to rehearse. Because I’ve been reading some of our comments, and it seems a lot of folks really wanna see that snake of yours in my back door.” I said, and turned around. He’d been peering over my shoulder watching the video with me, and I pulled him down to kiss me. When I released him he had a pleasantly surprised look on his face.
“An…Anal? Really?” He said, and he swallowed thickly. Just at the very notion of it his cock gave a twitch, I could see it through his tight black jeans, which showed his bulge marvelously. I laughed, knowing this would be his exact reaction.
“Oh yeah.” I said, turning around and grinding my ass against his. I guess I should mention I was only in a thong and one of my pajama shirts, and he quickly ripped this off me.
“You better not be teasing me.” He said, picking me up as if I were a stuffed animal. I wrapped my legs around him.
“Take me to the bedroom and see if I am.” I whispered into his ear.
Chapter 4.
He threw me onto the bed, taking his Ramones T-shirt and tight black jeans off in a flash. His cock was already rock hard by the time his pants were off. I had reached under the bed, where we kept our special box of toys and lubricant. I’d only ever tried anal twice before, once with one of my dipshit exes who thought the whole “drunkenly slip it into the wrong hole” bit would work, and only resulted in some of the worst pain of my life, the other was a one night stand who’d conveniently forgotten his condom and had somehow convinced my drunk self to stick it up my ass with nothing but spit and will power for lubricant. As you can guess, both times were horrible.
I had read the comments on our site, and since then had looked up several erotic instructional videos on how to have successful, pain free (mostly) anal sex, ironically enough most of these tutorials were from gay men…which I guess makes sense. The key point here seemed to be gradual stretching. The anal sphincter was like a muscle, and like any muscle you had to stretch it out and warm it up before really working it.
“How do you want to begin? Like… What should I do?” he asked. I had just gotten out of the shower before he arrived, making sure to scrub that particular area extra well, and giving myself an enema as instructed to clear myself out so there was no unwanted debris upon entering. I pulled out the pink butt plug I had ordered and not told him about, it’s bulbous tapered end just waiting to enter my ass. I waggled it in front of his face.
“How about you come get a taste of the special treat I’m offering, and then we can see about working this in.” I said, tossing him the butt plug and then rolling over onto my elbows and knees, thrusting my pale cheeks out in front of him.
“Oh Liz, honey, I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to eat your ass out.” He said, and was on me like a starving lion on a freshly killed gazelle. He pulled my cheeks apart and his warm slick tongue was rimming me. I broke out in goose bumps at this new novel sensation, sighing with pleasure as the tip of his tongue pried and poked, licked and stroked, first rimming me, then full on penetrating, my sphincter gripping his tongue snuggly. When he had worked me open just a bit with his tongue, he switched to his fingers, uncapping the bottle of Astroglide and liberally coating his fingers in the clear jelly. Slowly, gently, he worked them inside of me, feeling each knuckle as he slid deeper and deeper, while the thumb of his other hand worked slow circles around my clit.
After a few minutes of finger stroking, he slipped the plug in, which hurt just slightly as my walls stretched to accommodate the thick base. I was a little scared at the thought of taking the seven inches of girthy cock that hung between Jesse’s legs, but was also excited. This new fullness added a whole new element to the sex for me, and to feel even fuller with that cock slamming inside of me made my heart race.
Once the plug was in, he flipped me on my back, and proceeded to go to town eating out my clit. I cried out as the tip of his tongue pounded tight little circles into my stiffening bud, feeling something deep within me being stimulated that I hadn’t even felt before. He fucked me with the plug as he did this, the wide base sliding in and out of me until my asshole no longer held it in a death grip, instead letting it slide in and out easily. It didn’t take me long to come, Jesse’s tongue was prolific when it came to pussy eating, and with the plug doing it’s work I reached my first orgasm in no time.
There was a wet squelching sound as the first wave of climax seized me, and both my holes pulsated with it’s force. Jesse increased his strokes, slurping up the small jets of ejaculate that spurted from my vagina as my walls flexed and contracted. Each pulsation brought about a deep tingling pull somewhere in the depths of my loins, something that was only barely being stimulated by the plug. As my legs ceased trembling and the last pulsations tapered off, I grabbed the hand that seized the plug.
“I’m ready for that cock.” I said, looking directly into his eyes as I said this.
“You sure?” He said, gently removing the glistening plug and his eyes widening as he saw the gaping pink hole that winked with invitation. I reached up and grabbed at his cock, pulling him forward as if it were the handle of a suitcase. He laughed as he fell on top of me, and kissed me before hoisting himself back up on his knees, his member jutting out straight in front of him. I grabbed the bottle of Astroglide, and proceeded to pour a generous helping of the lube in my hands. I reached in front of me and slathered his cock with it until his whole member glistened from tip to base. I used the rest to finger myself down there, a strange excitement filling me as a felt my own gaping asshole with my fingers.
“God that’s so hot.” He said, watching as I lifted my legs up so my asshole was elevated off the sheets, using two of my fingers to spread the rim, feeling the tight band of muscle resist my fingers.
“It’s all yours baby. Fill me up and make me gush.” I said. His cock throbbed visibly, and I admired his self control as he forced himself to slowly enter. My breath caught in my throat as I felt his ring and tip pressed against my rim, pushing it open, stretching it even farther.
“Just tell me if it hurts.” He said, entering slowly. His tenderness when off camera always made my heart melt, his rough sadistic tendencies were usually only saved for the grave dicking videos. I gasped as a few small tinges of pain shot up my rectum, but I didn’t tell him to stop. This was a different pain, not the searing, tearing world ending pain I felt when Robert’s dumbass tried to slip it in in full thrust.
“Oh babyyyyy.”
I moaned, gripping the sheets as he entered, that under stimulated part of me now throbbing and causing a pleasant pulsing to radiate from somewhere in my loins. I’d heard about this spot, I read a few blogs from a few female porn stars who did anal not just because the pay was higher, but because they actually enjoyed it. Some of them called it the F spot, a sensitive area behind the vaginal wall that could only be stimulated through anal penetration, similar to a man’s prostate area, but with different organs obviously. Whatever it was, I could feel it being activated as Jesse pushed deeper inside of me.
“Fuck…” He whispered in reverence. He slowly exited, and then entered again, no doubt cherishing the firm pull of my tight little asshole and inner walls hugging him like a glove. Every time I felt the flared tip of his cock slide against that spot, it was like pressing a hot button that forced my brain to shoot out whatever neurochemicals were in charge of my pre-orgasm build up. I started rubbing my clit, which connected with that deep flaring pleasure, synergizing and making it even more intense, and I knew I was in for a doozy of an orgasm. I could feel something powerful building up inside of me, and a wet fullness that indicated I was in for a hell of a mess.
Jesse thrusted faster, being more bold with his strokes, his cock now slamming into me.
“Don’t be afraid to hurt me baby. Harder.” I said in between gasps. He went harder, the muscles on his tattooed arms and back flaring out, bulging and flexing as he did so. I manage to slide my legs up to where my ankles were by his shoulders, and he enfolded me in his arms, squeezing my thighs against his chest and folding me up like a map. This position, the mating press I do believe it was called, allowed for maximum penetration, and I was almost dumbstruck with orgasmic pleasure as he went even deeper, a few tinges of pain surfacing up by only a distant whisper compared to the atomic explosion that this orgasm was shaping up to be.