DOA III

by Bentley Little

  He howled aloud now. At the first sign of an erection, he gibbered and even prayed. He burst into tears without ever realizing that he was crying. One more ejaculation and he feared he would die.

  Midnight came around again and the thing hanging in chains hardly looked human any more. All thoughts of vengeance, of retribution, of restoring dignity to his offended ego were gone. He stumbled around the room, searching for a knife so he could end things, though if he found it, he wouldn’t have been able to say whether the throat he intended to slit was Adam’s—or his own.

  Sometime close to the following dawn, the fog over his mind lifted and Joel realized that, for the past several hours, he’d been clutching the bedpost to keep himself upright while his free hand listlessly poked at Adam’s flesh with a barbeque skewer without paying attention to what he was doing. His cock, of course, had stayed rock hard throughout, pulsating with need. He seized those few moments of mental clarity to plunge beneath a frigid shower, not to clean himself, but in a fruitless attempt to cool the sexual fire that consumed him. A freezing jet of water from the shower wand made his balls shrivel, but Joel’s relief was palpable: the tumescence finally eased.

  Unfortunately, the respite lasted barely moments. When he stepped out of the bathroom and caught sight of Adam’s ravaged figure once again, his penis surged to full attention as if it yearned to detach from his groin. To his horror, he felt yet another involuntary orgasm building. Shudders racked his body when he came, shooting complete blanks with pain as razor sharp as if he’d plunged the barbeque skewer into his own urethra. His knees gave way and he sank to the floor.

  He barely managed to crawl across the room, there to cringe on the befouled plastic sheeting at Adam’s feet. He wrapped his arms around his knees in a fetal position and slowly rocked back and forth. His mind was no longer capable of focusing on the pool of congealed blood, the clots of ichor, or the puddles of piss and shit in which he huddled.

  He wept openly now, and without pause. He could no longer control the spasms in his fingers, now incapable of wielding a hammer or holding a pair of garden shears. Atrophy seemed to have attacked his forearms and biceps. Far too weak to rise and inspect himself in the mirror, it wouldn’t have mattered if he could. His robust tan had faded to an unhealthy yellow. Even as he watched, he saw the jaundice on his arms replaced by patches of sickly, deathly grey pallor.

  He moaned and the sound grated in his throat. Joel was parched but it was not water he craved. His agonized balls contracted and pumped uselessly. His staff bobbed and twitched, mocking his pain with its friskiness. Joel prayed for release; anything, anything to relieve the torment.

  His entire body felt strange, lighter somehow. He fancied he’d lost as much weight as a starvation victim. But the impression was fleeting against the pulsing demand from his groin. With his strength ebbing, he could not stop himself from gripping his penis for the umpteenth time, even though he dreaded his own touch.

  The skin along the shaft was unusually dry and Joel was too exhausted by his ordeal even to gape in horror when a bloodless fissure opened from foreskin to groin. Horrified, he watched desiccated flakes slough away, dancing upon the sweat and exertion-heated air of his apartment. From Joel’s lips came a brief rattle, then a sigh and then... nothing.

  Joel need never again fear being rebuffed. The apartment was silent for a very long time.

  Eventually, the chains rattled and Adam coughed. His cheeks were flushed as if he had a fever, and his eyes were glassy. This time, when he moaned, it was a sound of surfeit, not of pain, as if he’d just pushed back from a table after a feast. Though his spread-eagled body was still streaked with blood and pus and even a little char, his skin was miraculously unblemished; he was filthy but whole.

  The chains clanked against the wood again. He grimaced and tugged anew.

  “Shit,” he said.

  The word was slurred, as if he had been drinking heavily. His smile held self-deprecating humor and he said aloud, with wry chagrin, “Well, this is certainly inconvenient.”

  He hung limply and rested for awhile; he might even have dozed off. When he raised his head several hours later, the irises of his eyes burned a deep scarlet. With a shrug of his shoulders and a muttered word, the chains fell from his wrists and ankles; a faint trail of sulfurous smoke drifted upwards from the opened clasps.

  “You,” he addressed the rapidly cooling corpse, “were great. Seriously. One of the best fucks I’ve ever had. And that’s saying something.”

  Gracefully, he sank into a lotus position on the floor next to Joel’s body.

  “I understand if you don’t want to see me again,” he said, with mock sorrow. “I don’t know why but I can never seem to keep a guy interested past the first date.”

  He grinned, impressed with his own humor. “A kiss goodbye then?”

  Adam lifted Joel’s head and kissed the cracked, dead lips.

  “Aww,” he whined and pretended disappointment. “No tongue?”

  He shrugged and climbed to his feet. Humming to himself, he made a beeline for the bathroom and, turning on the water as hot as it would go, he took a quick shower to rid himself of the accumulated filth. When he finished toweling dry his hair, he stood in front of the mirror, nude, admiring himself.

  In the bar, Adam had been attractive; now, he was painfully handsome. Ethereally stunning. He oozed an irresistible and raw sensuality that was almost palpable. Anyone who saw him would be astounded by the discovery that such a paragon of male beauty could exist. Naked, he could have modeled for Praxiteles, been a muse to Michelangelo, or first inspired Bianchi or Weber to pick up a camera.

  And he knew it.

  He posed and flexed, blew kisses at the glass, and licked his lips with a sultry gaze that would have put many of history’s most famous harlots, both male and female, to shame. When he was finished posturing, he sensuously licked his lips again and addressed his reflection.

  “So much for abstinence, eh? What a meal! Blew my diet all to hell, didn’t I? I should be stuffed to the tits. And yet…”

  Adam assumed a pensive, serious expression as if he was pondering some weighty matter. Slowly, it gave way to a devilish grin.

  “And yet,” he repeated with a wink at his mirrored image, “I can’t help wondering... what about dessert?”

  Hal Bodner is a Bram Stoker Award nominated author. While best known for his gay satire/comedies, he often writes in the horror genre. His freshman vampire novel, Bite Club, made him one of the top-selling LGBT authors in the country at the time of its publication. Thereafter, he spent several years writing erotic paranormal romances, which he jokingly refers to as “supernatural smut.” He is currently working on a series of thrillers which paint classic “noir” with a decidedly lavender glaze. Hal is married to a wonderful man, half his age, who never knew that Liza Minnelli was Judy Garland’s daughter.

  PROUD PAPA by Adrian Ludens

  ADRIAN LUDENS

  Jake looked on in breathless wonder, watching his newborn son grow. He found an undercurrent of tragic beauty in the realization that his offspring would be dead within minutes. But that was how the magick worked.

  The sun hung low in the sky, casting soft reddish light into the bedroom of the snuggling couple.

  Hannah favored Jake with an impish grin. “How was work today, love?”

  Jake kissed Hannah’s neck and earlobe. His warm breath induced goose bumps on her skin. “You were all I could think about at work. I’m so glad you could make it over tonight.” His hands cupped her breasts through the fabric of her satin blouse.

  “Me too.” Hannah’s face crinkled into an enchanting mosaic of eyelashes, dimples, and cheekbone curves as she smiled. “Between you working doubles at the hospital and me finishing school we never get to see each other. That drives me crazy.”

  “Same here. I care about you, Hannah—more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.” Jake waited a beat and then asked: “Condom again, right?”

 
“Yes, please.” She sat up, slid off her blouse, then unhooked her bra and cast it aside with a flourish.

  Jake rolled over and slid open the night stand drawer. Amid the scalpel, washcloths, and latex gloves, he found a condom. “You ever think about children?”

  She scrunched her nose. “I know you get on this baby kick every once and a while, but now?”

  “I think you’d be a good mom.”

  “Someday, maybe. But not anytime soon. We’re seven months strong, but I’m not falling into the trap of being an unwed mother—besides, I think I’d rather be a cool aunt than a mom.”

  “Of course.” Jake peeled off his t-shirt. “Taking a kid for a few hours, having fun, enjoying the moment, spoiling them, and then dropping them back off with their folks sounds great to me too.”

  Hannah giggled. “Exactly. But smelly diapers, temper tantrums, homework... it’s like, ‘no thanks.’”

  Jake smiled. His hands roved, caressing her skin, and she moaned in delight as he worked his way down to her jeans. Over the unzipping metal he asked, “Did you ever read that story about the planet where they had only one day of sunny weather in a year? And the girl who appreciated it the most missed it because they locked her in a closet?”

  Hannah gazed at him, looking bemused. Her blond curls nearly hid the pillow under her head. “What does that have to do with anything?” “When everything finally goes right, I won’t have to answer that.” Jake slid off her jeans and panties, and then reached up and gently tweaked her nipples the way she liked.

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. Everything.” Jake shifted and lay down beside her. “I’m thinking about the cycle of life. The most beautiful thing in the world. A couple has a child. They get busy with work, paying the bills, keeping house. They get caught up in the monotony of day-to-day existence and then one day look around only to find the child has grown, moved away, and they’ve missed it all. It’s ugly and tragic. Don’t you think? But what if—”

  “You’re quite a deep thinker, love, but as hot as that is, let’s not get carried away. I just wanna have fun tonight.” Hannah rolled into him and began nuzzling his neck, playfully biting.

  Jake didn’t respond, instead, he asked, “Have you heard this riddle? What has four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?”

  Hannah pulled back from his neck; her facial expression told him she wasn’t going to respond.

  “Sorry, maybe now’s not the time.” Jake reached down to trace a horizontal infinity symbol around his partner’s clit. “It’s just that lovemaking, birth, death—it’s all so incredible to me. And watching as a boy grows up to become a man, or as a girl grows into a woman, feels miraculous and beautiful and tragic all at the same time.”

  Hannah fell silent and closed her eyes. Jake was sure she was trying to focus on his hand massaging her vulva. He knew he was killing the mood, but how could he not speak what was on his mind? “Yes, it’s all very beautiful and tragic at the same time,” she finally said. “But deep discussions later. Right now, just keeping doing that.” She rocked her hips against his fingers until he was cupping her pussy.

  Jake smiled. Yes, tonight was going to be the night. And now at least he knew for sure that she would understand the magical gift he had spent years perfecting. He planted kisses between her breasts then down to her pelvis. Hannah squirmed with pleasure and Jake knew that each pulsating twist brought her back into the moment. He reached under the pillow on his side of the bed and his fingers found the pink fuzzy handcuffs he’d stashed there. He dangled the cuffs over Hannah and met her gaze.

  “I’d like you to wear these.”

  Hannah’s eyes gleamed. She reached up until each hand grasped one of the metal bed frame’s vertical bars. “Yes, sir,” she cooed.

  He clicked a gaudy fabric-covered metal loop around one wrist, strung the short chain behind one of the bars, and then cuffed her other wrist. He knelt and withdrew two ten-foot lengths of nylon rope he’d secreted beneath the bed.

  “Oh my God!” Hannah said. “When you decide to get kinky, you go all out.”

  Jake grinned. “Well, the last few times you did say you wanted to experiment more.”

  “Fuck yeah,” she said, her voice husky. “I know I’m safe with you.”

  He secured her ankles to the legs of the bed frame with a few well-practiced motions.

  “I bet you didn’t learn that in Boy Scouts.”

  He caught her eye, winked, and then studied her pussy. The cleft between her waxed labia glistened and Jake felt pleased seeing her wetness. Jake watched her wriggle her hips in anticipation. She seemed to enjoy being bound. All the better, he thought. He made a show of rolling a condom onto his erection and climbed onto the bed.

  Jake crouched between Hannah’s legs and probed the folds of her slit with his tongue.

  With one hand, he slid the condom back off and dropped it off the edge of the bed. Hannah didn’t appear to notice. He rose and entered her with a single thrust.

  Hannah’s eyes widened and she gasped. “Oh god, yes.”

  Jake thrust into her bound body, rocking the entire bed, but ignoring her cries of passion, focusing instead on the task at hand. Just get this part done, he thought. Everything will work out fine this time. He kept his mind focused on the moment of conception, willing the magick that would follow.

  “Don’t stop, baby.” Hannah gritted her teeth and met his thrusts the best she could against her bondage, continuing to offer unabashed encouragement. He pushed aside his irritation. This was far more than just a few minutes of pleasure to him.

  He saw bittersweet magnificence in everything, felt emotions more keenly, and was uniquely-equipped to fully appreciate life in all its stages. He once again found himself in an exceptional position, on the cusp of unrealized potential. He’d been close before, but something had always gone wrong. This time it would work. Hannah was the one.

  Jake had no desire to make Hannah suffer, but some measure of pain couldn’t be avoided. He’d considered offering her painkillers, but had decided against it. He felt sure she’d want to be conscious, aware of and invested in what came next. If he experienced the miracle of life and she did not, he would have cheated her. Besides, many women opted for natural childbirth every day.

  Envisioning those babies emerging from their mothers overwhelmed him and he ejaculated inside his partner. Jake grunted his way through the so-called little death that he knew would lead to the creation of life. Afterward, he withdrew and slipped back into his boxers, his mind racing. He mentally went over the next few steps. When he glanced down at Hannah, he’d hoped for understanding but saw only confusion.

  “Could you unlock these before you finish getting dressed?” Her features betrayed irritation, but Jake knew the feeling wouldn’t last. Soon she’d bear the fruits of their labors—and be amazed.

  “The restraints need to stay on for a few minutes longer,” Jake said. “It’s for your own safety.” He grabbed a towel from the drawer and slid it under her buttocks. Then he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and glanced at the clock on the wall above the dresser.

  Hannah tried to smile but it faltered and fell away. “Jake, what the hell are you doing?”

  “If you’ve conceived you’ll start to show in about fifteen seconds.” Hannah gaped at him in disbelief. “What the fuck! You were supposed to wear a condom! And I’m not pregnant already.” She grimaced and twisted against her bonds. “I can’t be…”

  Jake noted her increased respiration. The telltale yellow liquid soaking into the towel he’d placed beneath her was all the proof he needed that her expanding uterus was putting undue pressure on her bladder. Something challenging enough to accommodate in the span of nine months was forced upon her body in less than three minutes. Hannah loosed an agonized cry as her abdominal muscles stretched until they tore.

  “It’s coming to term, just like I knew it would!” Jake said, jubil
ant. “Listen, I realize you’re in a great deal of pain and I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. You’re not dilated yet so I’m going to help you with that.”

  He grabbed the scalpel from the dresser drawer and knelt on the edge of the bed. Hannah saw what he held and began to scream so loud it made Jake’s ears ring.

  “Calm down!” he shouted. “It’s just an episiotomy. Women get them all the time. You gotta trust me; I know what I’m doing.”

  Hannah continued to writhe on the bed. Knowing the timing was crucial, Jake drove his knees into her quadriceps and pinned her to the mattress. He plunged the blade through her flesh at a downward angle, careful not to get too close to the rapidly-developing baby. Rivulets of burgundy followed the blade’s path. Hannah fell silent—or perhaps she’d fainted.

  Jake spoke to her anyway. He wanted to keep the lines of communication open. “I’m going to reach in and pull the baby out, okay? It’s going to be painful but he—or she—is growing too fast to wait for your body to try to start contractions. Neither of you would make it.”

  Hannah roused and cried out again, but she seemed to have lost the will to fight. Jake focused on the essential task facing him. Timing was imperative. Already her belly looked alarmingly distended and he wasn’t sure he had enough experience using a scalpel to perform an emergency C-section.

  Jake pushed both hands inside the birth canal, exerting more force than he had expected necessary, and tearing her open further. Hannah, he saw, glared at the ceiling, eyes bloodshot, face tear-stained. Her hands, still shackled, clenched together behind the bar as if praying for an end to her suffering. Her breathing came hard and fast. Jake admired her fortitude but felt a pang of guilt. “This will all be over soon,” he said. “And you’ll see it’ll all be worth it.”

  Hannah let loose another agonized scream followed by a hoarse question: “What the fuck did you do to me, you goddamned freak?”