“OH MY GOD!” SARAH CAME hard, soaking Mike’s lap with her cum. When her orgasm subsided, her face once again twisted into a mask of cruelty. She clutched Mike’s throat and squeezed. “I hate you so much right now,” she hissed, her hips already moving on their own again. She released Mike’s throat, allowing him to breathe deeply once more before he came deep inside her.
“Holy shit!” Mike tried to extricate himself, but she was too strong. Then the erotic euphoria took him once again, and he pushed Sarah off him, only to roll her over and take her from behind.
“OH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” Sarah slammed her ass against him, her whole body shuddering. Mike was now in a frenzy, pounding her as fast as he could. The next moment, Sarah crawled away from him, kicking him back, only to fall under the spell of the Mandragora’s powder once more.
“I don’t understand,” Mike said the next time he came, trying to unwrap himself afterward. His legs were going numb, and his lower back was beginning to hurt.
“I’m going to rip off your face,” Sarah informed him, before pushing him back and throwing herself on top of him. In their frantic thrusting, Sarah lifted up too high and Mike’s dick popped free. In his rush to get back inside her, he missed the target and pushed his way into her tight asshole.
“Ow, fuck!” Sarah grabbed his hips and sank all the way down until his balls were squeezed by her ass cheeks. She rode him like this for several minutes, and he came again, filling her ass with his seed. Gasping for breath, he could only lie there in a daze until the powder took over once again, his entire world consumed by the desire to mate, to fuck, to pound her relentlessly.
How long had they been at this? Mike’s whole body hurt, yet his dick was doing all of the talking. Every time the powder took over, he sank even deeper into the euphoria of pure, unadulterated sex.
Sarah’s face twisted up, turning bright red as she experienced a string of orgasm all together. Eyes popping open, she stared down at Mike, opening her mouth to say something. Instead, a line of drool fell from her mouth, and she collapsed on top of Mike, gasping for air. The two of them had just been forced to run a marathon at a sprint, and Mike felt like his heart couldn’t take much more.
“I hate you so much,” Sarah told him, the anger now out of her voice. It had been replaced with acceptance, the realization that neither of them was going to survive.
“I’m not always a fan of myself either,” he informed her, coming again inside her. This time, his dick went soft and stayed that way, and Sarah fell off to the side of him, neither of them able to move.
Several minutes passed. Mike locked eyes with Sarah. She was breathing so hard that her breath had formed a channel in the dirt beneath her face.
“All we wanted was the house,” she told him. “This could have been so easy if you had just sold us the house.”
“I discovered something better than money,” he said, letting out a big sigh. It was hard enough just talking. “They’re my family.”
“They’re not even human.” Sarah tried to push herself away from him, but was unable to. “They’re monsters. Tools at best, ready to be used.”
“If you really believe that, then you are the real monster here.” Mike coughed, his lungs hurting. “This is not how I thought my day would go.”
Sarah laughed, a sound that was closer to a bark. “Me either. The Society thought you had gained some supernatural power here. It turns out you have the devil’s own luck is all.” Sarah was moving slowly away from him. Puzzled, Mike glanced down to see that the creeper vines had found her once more and were tentatively shifting her.
“I’m guessing my luck has run out.” Mike smirked. “But at least the others are safe.”
“To think that I survived two world wars and Salem, only to end up here with you.” Sarah took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “A curse on you, Mike Radley.”
“Time to feed the Mandragora,” Mike muttered as the vines wrapped around his waist and began pulling him across the ground too. His entire body was now numb, his muscles pushed past the point of physical exhaustion. He imagined this was how a marathon runner felt once they had finally run out of gas, dropping where they stood.
Sarah muttered to herself, the exhausted witch dragged toward the pitcher plant nearest them. The large leaves at the base of the plant reached for her and stroked her face gently, assessing its meal. The leaves in the clearing rustled their approval, and Sarah let out a sigh when she was pulled through the opening of the pitcher and down into its depths. With a loud creak, the pitcher lifted into the air, supported by several thick, curly vines. The light penetrated deep enough that Mike could see her silhouette, her limbs moving in slow motion as the pitcher filled with fluid. No matter how high she reached, she couldn’t get to the edge.
It was Mike’s turn. He was pulled closer to the plant, where the leaves stroked his body, first touching his feet, then his head. The plant shifted about, a suitably large pitcher selected to accommodate him. There was no malice in their touch, only instinct. When he was dragged toward the opening of the plant, one of the leaves stroked his cheek gently, like a mother would a child.
The memory came unbidden, from another time and another life. It was something Emily had said.
“Hey there, sweet pea.” The words came on their own, slipping free of him and vanishing on the wind.
All movement stopped. The plant shivered, thousands of leaves rustling all at once. Tiny creeper vines emerged from beneath the larger leaves and touched his face, then stroked his skin where he had been injured.
“I’m not even mad. Okay?” How could he be? The poor thing was starving. “I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you sooner. I’m afraid I made a mess of things.” It was taking serious effort just to keep his eyes open now, the urge to sleep overcoming him. Already, the struggle inside of Sarah’s pitcher had ceased and her silhouette floated eerily in the center, likely to be dissolved over several days.
The pitcher that had been prepared for him was dragged away, and the larger vines released him. The creepers moved over his body, once more touching him gently where he had been cut. His whole body tingled in response. The leaves up above rustled, and a large piece of fruit fell, landing by his face.
“Heh.” Mike wanted to grab it, but lifting his arms was too hard. The Mandragora vines picked up the large, apple-shaped fruit and twisted it, breaking it in half. The first half was pushed against Mike’s mouth, and he greedily sucked at the surface, surprised at how juicy it was. He took small bites, his body flooding with warmth all the way to his toes. Once he’d finished the first half, the second half was promptly fed to him as well.
Then there was more rustling overhead and a coconut was dropped from above and caught before it could hit him. This was cracked open, the liquid poured down his throat.
“Yeah. Thatta girl.” Mike sipped at the coconut, which somehow tasted more like an orange. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the coconut wasn’t perfectly round-it had a tapered point. He couldn’t be bothered to wonder, however, and just kept drinking.
“I guess you’re not going to eat me after all,” Mike said, using his newfound energy to grab one of the larger vines and hug it tightly against his chest like a stuffed toy. The Mandragora lifted him, and built a hammock of vines beneath his tired body. Still holding the plant against his chest, he sighed, relieved that he had survived.
The Mandragora rocked him gently. Eyelids fluttering, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Welcome Home
Mike opened his eyes to waning sunlight through the canopy overhead. The jungle was quiet – a complete lack of animals meant that the only sound Mike could hear was the occasional rippling of the leaves as the wind brushed them against one another.
He lifted his head. He needed to get back. Though his slumber had been restless, he had clearly slept the day away. Groaning, he leaned out of the makeshift hammock and promptly crashed onto the ground, his legs unable to support his weight.
“Ow!” The numb sensation he had experienced earlier had passed. His legs burned as if full of fire ants, and his ankle felt like it had been twisted too far to one side. He checked his surroundings, then scooted around to look at the Mandragora.
Sarah’s pod had ominously sealed shut along the top of the mouth. The whole thing gently convulsed, a dark fluid flowing through its lower stalks and into the main plant body. Mike shivered, realizing that, if not for a memory, that would have been his fate too.
The Mandragora had left him presents. He was surrounded by more food, and another one of the coconut things to drink from. There was also an old branch that was the perfect height and thickness for a hiking staff. He shook his head in disbelief, then ate what little he could, drank the fluid from the hard-shelled fruit, and tried to stand with the staff.
It was slow going. The Mandragora dropped loops of vine for him to hold onto. As he got to his feet, his legs wobbled beneath him. He was in poor shape for walking.
The plant would take care of him, he was sure of that. But what of the others? What had happened to his girls? Was Cecilia okay? What about Abella? Tink was probably worried sick. He wondered if Naia knew that he was still alive and doing okay.
As if sensing his anxiety, thick vines gently stroked his arms, soothing him. The girls would have to figure things out on their own, at least until he could walk. Once that was possible, the next step was to figure out the best way to get home. There was no single path leading away from the Mandragora, which meant he may accidentally wander deeper into the jungle.
He had to try. He could just barely see the cliffs through the gap in the canopy, so he started walking toward them. Slow, clumsy footsteps were soon replaced with ones of strength and confidence. His body was no match for his determination, and once he got moving, it was far easier to stay moving than it was to stop.
After ten minutes of walking, he was already feeling a little better. His stiff muscles had loosened, and the staff kept most of his weight off his bad ankle. His ankle was swollen already, but he needed to keep moving forward. The path he followed was mostly flat, and for that, he was grateful.
Ominous silence accompanied him on his journey. Thick clouds rolled in, gobbling up the remainder of the sun’s light, and as dusk fell on the jungle, Mike was engulfed by the shadow of night. He realized how much trouble he was in when he could no longer discern the edges of the path, often stepping into a cluster of bushes. He clocked himself good on a low hanging tree branch, so he sat down on a nearby log to take a breather.
The silence was broken by the distant peal of thunder.
“Fuck.” Without animals to worry about, he had figured it would be a safe trek. Without any light to see by, and a storm blowing in, it occurred to him that staying with the Mandragora would have been a better idea.
Distant lightning gave him brief glimpses of the path, and he used them to hasten his journey. There was no way he was going to make it to the house this night, and he kept his eye out for any kind of shelter. With no wilderness experience to speak of, he debated his ability to climb a tree and at least get off the ground.
The lightning grew closer, and his eyes were having trouble adjusting to the sudden contrasts in light. The storm’s thunder boomed, a chaotic rhythm that he could feel in his chest. Each tumultuous clap was closer than the last, and his ears rang after some of the louder ones. The humidity in the jungle was increasing, and he wondered how often the area flooded.
As he stumbled around, he heard it—the eerie song of a woman in mourning. It carried across the world, quietly at first, but growing louder. It was a song of loss, peace, and memory, the words foreign to him, but exposing an unfilled gap in his heart. The song was drowned out periodically by the thunder, but he no longer cared about the storm. He traipsed through the wood and brush, shoving his way through to the source.
“Cecilia!” he called, his voice cracking with the effort. “Cecilia, over here!” The wind whipped his words away, the ground beneath his feet quaking as the storm rolled over him. He watched the lightning dance between the clouds, illuminating large birds in the sky who beat their mighty wings, the thunder making his ears ring. He gazed at them in awe, watching them whip up the storm.
Perhaps there was something else out here with him after all.
“Cecilia! Cecilia!” He crawled through the bushes, rapping his staff on logs, rocks, anything he could find to generate a sound louder than his weak voice. Her song was growing louder, and he could make out the sinister glow of her body through the trees up ahead. His throat raw, he no longer formed words, simply screaming at the top of his lungs in the hopes that he could fill the silent spaces of the storm.
She emerged from the trees, her body passing through them like mist. Her hands were clutched to her chest in sadness, her mouth open wide as her song took over the cacophony of the world around him. Mike tripped over a log and fell face first onto the ground.
“Mike!” Her glowing hands took him by the arm and lifted him. Then she pulled at him, guiding him onto a new patch of flat ground.
The storm broke above them, and rain fell. Between Cecilia’s pulling and the aid of the staff, Mike broke into a near jog, his heart pounding, his ears ringing. The landscape was lit by lightning and the fires it had started. Glowing embers carried above the canopy like shooting stars. From the darkness emerged a cluster of rocks, and Cecilia led him to the other side of them. Here, large slabs of stone lay across each other like folded hands, and Mike stumbled after Cecilia up the dirt slope to an opening in the rocks, his feet occasionally slipping out from beneath him.
“Cecilia, thank God.” He pulled the banshee in for an embrace, her presence chilling his body but warming his heart. Cecilia clung to him — her steady presence plus the quieting effect of the cave made the world stabilize around him.
Getting cold, Mike let go. “What about the others, are they okay?”
Cecilia nodded. “We ran into some trouble. By the time we got into the greenhouse, it was too windy for Abella to fly, and Tink may have broken her foot, so she couldn’t come. I’ve never seen her so angry.”
“And you? You got hurt?”
“Aye, I did.” Cecilia pulled down the top of her dress, revealing a scar. “That knife was not of this world.”
“Yeah, well it belongs to the Mandragora now.” Mike sat down, then leaned against the wall. His whole body hurt now, his muscles cramping. “Is Naia okay?”
“Yes. She knew you were still alive, so she wasn’t too worried.” Cecilia stood. “I must report back to the others that you are safe.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
Cecilia smiled. “I shall return, a runsearc.” She blew him a kiss and faded from sight.
In the darkness, Mike waited. There was nothing else to do but sit and listen to the storm that raged outside.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND what your problem is,” his mother told him, weaving the car in and out of traffic. Her breath was dangerous, a mixture of whiskey and cigarettes. What worried him more was the handful of pills he had seen her steal from someone’s medicine cabinet.
“I just want to go the the dance.” He was hoping he would get to see Lucy there, his lab partner from Biology. He felt like there had been something between them, a spark when they worked together at the fume hood. They were both in ninth grade, and he was new to the school, which meant Lucy had no reason to know any of his own personal history.
“And why is this dance so important? I need your help, Michael! How the fuck am I supposed to make things work if you won’t even help me?” She punctuated her words by pointing at him, her cigarette dangling limply from her lips. Her eyes somewhat glassy, she pulled briefly into oncoming traffic to go around a guy on a motorcycle.
“Help you with what?”
“Laundry. Bathrooms. Sweep the garage.” His mother flipped the bird at the guy ahead of her and blared her horn. They were already over the speed limit, but his mother had learned about a ne
w check cashing place that had just opened, which meant the new hires might not figure out that her driver’s license was faked.
“That’s what you’re supposed to do!” Mike shouted. It was the list of things his mother had agreed to upon moving in with her old best friend from high school.
This was how it started. Offers to help out that never came to fruition. Eventually, Mike would be forced to do the work, but someone would catch on. They always caught on.
“You need to help me out!” she shrieked. “I can’t do this without you, Mikey!”
“Don’t call me Mikey!” It was what his father had called him. Now, his mother only used it when she needed something from him.
“It’s a girl, isn’t it? Some little whore wants you to go with her to the dance.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Mike said, his cheeks filling with heat. Lucy was anything but a whore.
“Did she promise to suck your dick?” She flicked her cigarette in his crotch. “To get your wiener wet? Make a man out of you?”
“Stop it!” Though his mother’s driving was terrible, it was the whole world that spun chaotically for Mike. He hated her so much, this shell of a human being.
“It is, isn’t it? Did you tell her about the time you got a hard-on for your mom? How you skunked the bed with me in it? Fucking little pervert.”
Mike covered his ears, but his mother raised her voice.
“Maybe she can borrow one of my bras, and let you beat off to-hey!”
Mike, frustrated, had grabbed the emergency brake of the car and yanked it upward. He had expected the car to come to a stop so that he could jump out, but it swerved dangerously instead, crossing into oncoming traffic. Something clipped the back of the car, causing it to spin. Mike closed his eyes when the car rolled, his face showered in glass and his ears filled with a cacophony of screams and squealing metal. He didn’t know how many times the car rolled, but when it stopped and he opened his eyes, he was upside down.
Radley's Home for Horny Monsters Page 27