PUNKIN
BB
finds Paradise
"I
get it," he said.
And the woman
caught his look. She leaned back as if he might snap at her, peering at him,
her forehead
furrowing in powdered wrinkles. She was trying to figure him out. But B.B. was
like a thing
found by chance while leafing through an exhaustive encyclopedia: when the finger
slips, the pages
ruffle pass, and then the huge volume lies open at a place never before seen,
where light
had never shone - at the rare extremes of the alphabet, in the wary W's, the xenophobic
X's, the zany
Z's, and there a strange word beckons beside a bizarre print.
There was no
way to visually understand him.
"Buy me a drink," she said, "and I'll jerk you off !"
His eyes fell to her fingers and slowly glided up her forearms which were thin
like bleached
branches; and slithering under the liver-spotted skin, forking and twisting in
abrupt convolutions,
masses of veins were wormed down to mingle in a grotesque orgy on the backs of
her hands
gleaming bluish from the flowing blood which gave them the appearance of being
frozen.
But her fingernails were beautifully trimmed and defined with a bright red polish.
B.B. wanted to touch them, to lick their meticulously rounded tips.
He had a vision: he saw her standing naked, her white body chipped like old decaying
stone,
with flakes of her flesh laying wrinkled on the ground around her; and her hands
dripped blood
through thin, meandering cracks. Then she furrowed her chalky brows at him and
her face
crumbled into a talcum dust . . .
"Two bourbons straight!" he told the bartender, and as soon as the drinks were
set down, she
snatched one, swallowing it at once. Then she coyly arched her eyebrows at him,
licking her lips.
"Uhh, another one again," B.B. ordered.
She smiled defiantly.
The bartender left it and returned to the end of the bar. B.B. watched him go,
then looked round.
Three shabby men sat at a table over beer and tumblers of whiskey. There was no
one else.
"Turn around! Face the bar!" the woman suddenly ordered, "Sit straight!"
B.B. obeyed - her harsh tone excited him - and unzipping himself, pried his penis,
already stiff,
and colored like mud, out of his white jockey shorts.
She glanced slyly down to it and bit her lip.
"My, you're a young boy, aren't you!" she gasped.
She gulped half her drink, and reached for the tight, glistening muscle; both
of them moaned
at her touch, and B.B. leaned forward slightly, thrusting out his chinless head
as he felt her hand
tremble along his shaft. Eyes dreamily narrowed, she saw and tasted it with her
fingers, shivering
at the silky hardness of the thing that had been transformed in her dreams into
the metaphorical
shadows and lunges of barbed kites in a cloudless sky.
Gulping the rest of her drink, she worked furiously in his lap, and whiskey dribbled
to her chin.
B.B. struggled to prolong the teasing agony tightening his loins, so he stared
at the flickering
television screen. But then the tickle spiraled round his penis like a tongue
of electricity, and he
came. She felt it throb and harden to a final infinity; she opened her mouth,
for the boiling sperm
flooded into her mind; and stiffening in her own orgasm, wanting it never to end,
she grabbed his
testicles to squeeze out every drop.
B.B. screamed and dropped off the stool.
She let go and watched, amazed, as he writhed groaning, bent in pain, the tip
of his penis wiping
sperm in snaky threads on the dusty wooden floor.
the
Mirror on the Wall
Linda was rummaging through a drawer, pulling out net stockings and a dog chain,
when the door
behind her creaked open, and she looked over her shoulder at the older woman who
walked in.
Linda stared, her knees felt weak. The woman seemed to be holding in her breath.
"Oh, my, you look so. . .!" She whispered gently, touching her lips.
Linda could not speak. She thought she had gone mad.
The woman moved closer. Her eyes, which had been soft the moment before, now swept
over
the girl's body with an awful intensity.
"You're better than the last!" She said, " . . Come to me, baby!"
Linda turned to the open drawer, the dog chain trembling from her hand.
"No, no - don't bother to change. What you have on is fine . . . Just fine!"
The woman came to her.
" . . .mama . . .!" Linda mumbled.
And the whimper she uttered was like a helpless doll's mechanical cry.
The woman embraced her, and kissed her hard on the mouth, plunging her tongue
in.
Linda gagged, turned her face to ease the tuberous pressure. The tongue followed,
curling
roughly inside her. Linda shut her eyes, feeling herself falling. Then - it seemed
as if an eternity
had gone by - she began to be amused, as the ball of contradictions within her
suddenly spun
wildly, demolishing all direction. She bent her head away from the woman toward
the ceiling;
the corners of her lips twisted up her like the tails of mating scorpions, brandishing
a cold, ironic
smile.
They fell to the bed, and the woman pushed her up to the soft center. Linda remembered
the oval mirror. On her back, absolutely quiet, she squirmed into position for
the glass.
The woman was lost in kissing, in fondling her hair; then her neck, round her
breasts, slobbering
down to her moist belly, licking her thighs, and muttering endearments.
Linda gazed at the cataracted glass on the wall.
Occasionally, she glanced down to catch the woman's watery eye pondering her belly,
studying
the downy sweep of her loins. Then the tongue swooped into her vagina and her
legs sprang
apart; she twisted her buttocks, gasping when the woman's head churned between
her thighs.
She thrashed about and bit the pillows. At last, the orgasm screamed out of her;
her hips
shuddered in acid convulsions. She thought she would die. But she was just silent
again, and
the woman was simpering at her loins. When the woman got up, her cheeks, her chin,
her nose,
glistened moistly, as though she were alive in a hot, humid jungle. She flushed
and turned round
to the mirror where she stood wiping her face, prodding her hair back into shape,
fixing her
crumpled dress. On the way out, she dropped a dollar bill on the bed by the girl's
ankle.
"For you!" She glanced at her and fled out the door.
Linda lay on the bed staring at the ceiling into the square framed by the red
and blue fluorescent
tubes. There was something so infinitely lonely about that bare colored space.
The nicks in the
wood, the stains, the insects crawling around, all in the nervous flickering light,
seemed to portray
a desolation which utter nothingness could only approach, hinting at a kind of
pure daemonic
universe. She began to laugh and the laugh rose and choked and twisted up again.
She stopped and fell silently into a heatless inner void.
In the quiet, low dog-ike moans came from the oval mirror.
Mama
compliments Womba
When Womba opened the door into the corridor, she saw the woman, then their eyes
met.
The woman paused and seemed to get dizzy. Clutching her throat, she glanced back
at the
other door, then again at Womba's startled face.
"Come back . . . beat me again, hit me, your sinful no-good father!"
She started in horror and ran, footsteps sprinkling the floor.
Womba,
disturbed, went to the toilet across the corridor. When she returned to her room,
the old
man was unconscious
on the bed. He was naked but for yellow bikini panties fringed in white lace.
And Mama stood
beside him.
Seeing Womba, she grinned.
"Why, you look just delectable, honey!" Her nostrils flared like a heated water
buffalo's. " . . Just
rumptious!"
Womba rushed to the bed. Blood trickled from the old man lips.
"Wat'd yuh do ta 'em?!"
Mama laughed.
"When I came in he was squattin' on the bed and in them yellow panties, and his
eyes closed,
screamin' 'Hit me! Hit me!' - guess he thought I was you - so I . . heh,
heh, heh . . . squeezed his
balls and that popped open his eyes - real surprise - I belted 'em, the motherfucker.
Or should I
say, daughterfucker . ."
She slowly approached Womba, buttocks jiggling like immense water-filled bags.
"Yuh cud'ha killed 'em!" Womba said.
"Oh, he's okay, honey. Mama knows just where to tick 'em. I think he came when
I . .," she
clenched, unclenched her huge fist, " . . his jelly beans!"
And the fist reached out fingers like charred carrots, clamping on Womba's shoulder.
Mama, suddenly gentler, moved in closer, while her hand curled downward caressingly
and
mounted the girl's behind; two tapering fingers crept lovingly into her shorts.
At first Womba
was mesmerized by her abruptly adopted maternal expression and by the great jellyish
mass
of her slowly enveloping body, so she was virtually oblivious of the hand. Mama
was mumbling
low incoherent sounds.
Womba recoiled at the sharp thrust up her anus of a fat thumb.
Mama growled in pleasure. Instantly her expression changed, the gentle mask flashed
away;
her ashen eyes burned and her starkly white teeth gleamed through the froth of
saliva churned
to silver by her laughter. Mama galloping after her, Womba reeled along the bed's
edge, and
screamed as the pair of incredible hands drew her - as if she were a feather -
into the cleft of two
mountainous breasts, and the last thing she remembered.
Bye-Bye
When she came to, she was on the bed naked, except for her boots.
The old man was gone, and her clothes were thrown about the room. There was blood
coagulating
on the plastic cover of the bed. The old man's, she remembered. She seemed to
ache all over,
her skin was sticky and reeked; her loins felt as if she'd been wading through
slimy mud.
She shuddered.
"OOhh, shit."
She dressed quickly, then splashed her face with water from the sink in the room.
She was a little dizzy. She took a deep breath and rushed out the door, up the
corridor.
Linda was already in the lobby.
Hole sat on the sofa behind the poinsettias, trying to close the zipper on his
pants.
Mama smiled when Womba appeared.
"I was just gonna go for you, " Linda said, "You finished?"
Womba nodded and headed immediately for the door.
"Hey, let's go!" Linda called to Hole, "You comin' ?"
He looked up from his zipper, pulled it shut, and got up.
He ignored her, but walked over to Mama sitting on the stool behind the desk,
and kissed her
cheek. Then he went to the door.
Linda waited. Womba was gone.
"You kids come visit anytime! You all welcome, you hear!" Mama called, laughing,
the two red
plastic hearts of her earrings dancing happily.
They found B.B. in the bar at a table with an older woman.
They were sitting close together and the woman had one hand around a beveled glass
trembling
with bourbon. B.B. was lost in concentration, but his eyes snapped open when he
heard, then saw
them come through the door.
He sucked in his breath, hissing between his teeth, and stood up fumbling with
the front of his pants.
The woman's hand followed him, but fell away self-consciously as it reached above
the tabletop.
"It's no use, man! I'm all juiced out!"
"Buy me another drink!" She gasped.
"You still got one!"
"Another!" Her eyes blazed through him, burning the wall.
B.B. chuckled.
"Give her one," he dropped coins on the bar.
A quarter rolled on the damp, pitted wood and traced a shiny, tightening spiral
before falling flat
on its side.
He followed them out into the empty street. He worried a bit about what Womba
may have seen,
but she only kept glancing at Linda.
"Where to now?" he asked at the car.
"Just drop me off any place," Hole said.
Linda did not hear him, and Womba was busy wondering about something that happened
back there.
-
End -
feedback
top
literature
directory
hotpiehot's
next dream
© hotpiehot@hotmail.com
