by Kirk Alex
Marvin nodded his head. Entered the garage. Soon enough they were inside the tunnel freeing the semi-conscious Lana Sepulveda from the bear trap and carrying her to the Fun Room. She was placed on the workbench that resembled a modified butcher’s block. Biggs had her legs spread apart and strapped the ankles down to opposite corners at that end; strapped the wrists down at her sides. He reached for the vanity case and began applying makeup to her face: dark pencil for the arched brows, eyeliner; blush-on for the cheeks. Heavy on the cherry-red lipstick for the mouth.
“Go get Snaggletooth.”
“Why him? Why my favorite? Why not the other one?”
“Because he’s the largest—and the toughest.”
“What if he bite’ the dust? What then?”
“We’ll go back to the pet shop and buy more.”
“He don’t be the kind you can replace. Had him from the beginning; day one. Had him from the time I was hangin’ on Hollywood Boulevard. Me and him go back.”
“You said. I’m all broken up about it.”
“Look it.”
“Go get the ugly fucker.”
“No, man. You ain’t gonna do to MC Snagglepuss what you done to them other.”
“Get the rat.”
Biggs glared at him.
“What for? What chu gonna do?”
“You’ll find out.”
“Yo, you don’t be givin’ a fart ’bout nothin’. Didn’t like it when your daddy took your hog an’ dog out, but it be cool to do to my own.”
“You have a point. I’ll give you that much, even though I paid for all but the one. I’ll do my best not to hurt Snaggletooth. How’s that?”
“‘Snagglepuss’ be the name I give him.”
Marvin cursed under his breath. Wiped his eyes and left to get the pet. Biggs shook his head: he was surrounded by halfwits and idiots.
He saw to it that the small curtain that hung over the Judas window was drawn so that the defectives wouldn’t be able to get an eyeful of what was about to unfold inside the Fun Room. It wasn’t that it mattered all that much to the bishop; it came down to him simply preferring to handle the situation in this manner. The geeks had enough to cope with as it was, why expose them to visuals that might cause further anxiety and/or excitement?
It occurred to him that there was one individual he felt should be here to witness this. Put her through it. See how she holds up. If she fails the test, at least her presence would only enhance the overall experience for him.
CHAPTER 212
He stepped out to the Mattress Room across the way, and a moment later returned with the somewhat disorientated and still trembling Pearleen Bell. Her ankles were in shackles. He let her sit in a metal folding chair facing the butcher’s block.
“I suggest you stay alert for this. Keep your eyes open. Don’t turn away. I make myself clear?”
“Quite.”
“We’ll see. Brought this on yourself. Like to party? No problem. We’re going to party—my way.”
“Why do I need to see this? I don’t need to see this.”
“You don’t ask here—you do.”
He cut at Lana “Da Bottom’s” clothing with his switchblade until he had it all off. A bucket of water was dumped on her to wash off grime and the like. Her wounds and lacerations were tended to with Band-Aids and a kerchief to prevent further loss of blood. Blood would be spilled, of course, but at his convenience and say-so. The rest of her was strapped down to the workbench: torso, hips, knees. Her head was lifted and a folded towel slid under to make her nice and comfy.
An oblong-shaped, crudely-constructed cage made from chicken wire had been fastened to the victim’s upper thighs and crotch. The cage had been designed so that it contained a gate at each end. The gate that was pressed against her vagina had been created so that one could pull up on it to allow easy egress —as well as reentry. While the gate at the other end made these very same functions readily possible: entry and exit; it was the type that swung out.
Biggs went over the leather straps again that he had secured the woman to the butcher’s block with to make sure there was no slack that would allow her to jerk her waist or pelvis and thighs in any way. The legs had been spread apart wide enough, the straps on the ankles good and tight.
The bishop also had an adjustable angle mirror present: twenty inches by sixty inches. On a chrome stand with casters. About a foot to the right of her right ankle, so that she would have access to a perfect view of what was being done to her down there between her legs, should she be interested—once she came to.
Marvin was back with his favorite pal MC Snagglepuss. The gate at the opposite end of the stripper’s pelvis was opened, and the rat was transferred inside and the gate closed. Latch flipped in place.
“Make sure you got film in the Polaroid.”
Marvin did that. Nodded his head. He did look concerned, not liking what Snagglepuss was about to be put through. No, he didn’t like what was about to be done to the ho neither, although his primary concern was with his homie the rat and what the mental toll would be on him. Didn’t like doin’ this to his pet’. No way. None of it made him happy. Cecil be the one callin’ him rapo and all that. He could live wiff it. ’Cause maybe he was. Rapin’ them hoe’ every chance he got. Only hurtin’ his homie’ be way out of line.
Biggs turned the volume up on the police scanner. Cracked a vial of smelling salts in half. Waved it under Da Bottom’s nose. He pulled the goggles down over his eyes and reached for a chopstick. Marvin saw it and cursed.
“Watch your aim. I expect some great Before and After shots of this.”
Marvin grumbled and shook his head. He was about to start weeping again.
“Are you a man or a crybaby? What the fuck is this? How will you be able to keep your hands steady to give me some good stills if you’re bawling like a baby?”
“If you hurt him, I swear I’ll never forgive you, Cecil. I swear it, home’. . . .”
CHAPTER 213
As Lana came to, she thought she heard or felt what sounded like a small cage being handled or fussed with somewhere below her waist. Some kind of wire contraption had been fastened to her crotch. She couldn’t tell what it was. What were they doing to her now? Where was she?
It took her a moment. She realized it soon enough: she was not dreaming it; it was not a dream, bad or otherwise, but actually happening. She noticed the mirror at this point, some kind of contraption, like an oblong-shaped birdcage, had been attached to her lower region. Saw exactly what the hairy creature with its long, thin tail was: a rat.
Biggs was grinning. Raised the gate at the vagina end. Prodded at the rat with the chopstick. He kept prodding and poking at it until the rodent found itself at the woman’s vagina and began nibbling with its sharp teeth.
Lana’s panic increased with each nanosecond. Shifted into full blown hysteria soon enough. The high yellow did her own share of wailing. Pearleen’s tears surfaced, then flowed down either side of her nose. There was gasping and screaming—and then the rest of it: gagging and vomiting. Had her mouth leaning over her right shoulder and puked her guts out.
Biggs didn’t care for it; didn’t care for any of it: the way she carried on, nor the puke. She was failing him. Granted, it was entertaining to witness, and added to the thrill, but all in all he had hoped for something else: less emotion, and/or revulsion.
“That’s enough now. You’re overdoing it.”
Pearleen was retching. Unable to stop. Her body quaked in the seat. Finally, the shakes were so bad that she fell over on the side the vomit was on: slipped off the chair and dropped into her own pool of vomit.
“Look what you’ve gone and done. I didn’t expect this. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Not from a tough-as-nails ballbuster like yourself.”
Muck took a shot of her lying in the bile. Bishop did a hand gesture that said it was nothing more than a waste of film.
“Concentrate on the other one.” His eyes
were on Pearleen. “Like using me for my money and dope? Like fucking with my gender?”
Pearleen remained on her side, sobbing her heart out. Unable to stop.
“Knock it off. You’re worse than Marvin. At least when he blubbers he has a legit reason: those rats are his ‘homies.’ In your case: I don’t see how you can justify your display of emotion. You never could stand Da Bottom, and she never gave two shits for you, either.”
CHAPTER 214
Marvin took his pictures, while Biggs guided the creature. There was no other way to make the rat do what he needed it to: and that was to enter the cunt’s cunt.
“You bet. Get inside, motherfucker. Eat the bitch’s snatch.”
The rat was reluctant to go in. Paused there at the opening. Began to nibble at her anus.
“Chew her asshole. Eat her shit-hole; and then, my furry friend, want you to crawl inside her pee-hole and do some more devouring.”
Lana was all out screaming. The more she howled, the better Biggs liked it. No denying he was disappointed in Pearleen’s reaction to the drama, although Sepulveda’s histrionics more than compensated.
Lana may have been justified, in that she felt the sharp teeth of the rat chew bits of her anus and labia lips. Her privates were being consumed by the hungry creature. It liked blood, too. Lapped it up.
Biggs glanced at Marvin.
“Get me some close-ups of her face.”
Marvin took a couple. Lowered the camera.
“You sure, home’? Film be costin’ coin.”
“That’s why I watch the overhead—to have money for stuff like this.”
Marvin moved around for a different angle. Biggs had eased up on the poking now that the rat had entered the wailing, jerking captive. She was able to twist her body to some extent, but not enough to shake the slimy, beastly thing out, not enough to prevent what was happening.
“I like the look on her face. Sheer panic. The beauty of it. Lookit the ballbuster. Who’s got the power now, bitch?” Faced Pearleen. “See what you twats are made of finally? See what it comes down to? Yelps and fainting spells.”
Marvin took a couple of shots of the expression on Lana’s face: fear and panic. Madness; she was on the verge of slipping into madness.
Biggs enjoyed it for what it was worth. The rat had buried its way inside. Biggs let up on the prodding. There was no need to continue with it, no use for it at this point.
Somehow Snagglepuss had managed to make a full turnaround inside the woman and was now poking his head out, wondering if it was safe enough to re-emerge.
Biggs clouted it with the chopstick, not to hurt it in any way, but to ensure that the rat got the message: he wanted it inside the stripper’s vagina; he wanted it in there to do as much damage as possible. The rat chewed away at the loose bits of flesh and blood, lapping it up.
The adjustable angle mirror was to Cecil’s left, Lana’s lower right. He looked at it. Repositioned it to make certain Lana was getting a good view of what was going on, what the ravenous animal was doing to her.
She felt the pain, to be sure, that was plain, but he also wanted her to get the full effect of the visual. Her face was a shade of deep crimson from all the screaming and shaking of her head. She was close to hoarse now and about to go out. Biggs didn’t want that. The smelling salts helped, and he cracked another vial under her nose, then tossed a couple of keys to Marvin, and ordered him to pick up a bucket.
“Fill it with ice from the freezer in the walk-in cooler. Lock them both up when you’re done. Bring the bucket back here. Don’t forget to give up the keys when you get back. Don’t forget to stay clear of the sodas and Twinkies; Ding Dongs.”
“Why you always got to say shit like that? Know how that make’ me feel?”
“Do it.”
Marvin put the camera down. Left the room with his bucket.
Biggs continued to wave the smelling salts under the victim’s nose for full effect.
“Stay awake, bitch. Don’t want you to miss out on any of the action. Stay awake. Keep your eyes open.”
CHAPTER 215
Marvin had returned. Was about to hand Cecil the bucket. Biggs wanted the keys instead. Both of the keys were handed over and Cecil slipped them back onto the carabiner. He had Marvin raise his arms and turn around, while giving him a cursory search. Didn’t see his pockets bulging with Twinkies or anything else: no sodas or Ding Dongs.
“What chu be lookin’ for?”
Biggs told him to stick the bucket in the tub and fill it with cold water. Marvin did that and handed the bucket back.
Cecil poured some of the ice cold water on the vic’s face. Grabbed a chunk of ice and rubbed it over her eyes and temples.
“Don’t go to sleep. This is no time to be taking a nap. . . .”
Marvin leaned in to see what he could make out of his buddy MC Snagglepuss. Lookit what Omar was makin’ him do. Fuckin’ tight-ass Omar don’t care ’bout nothin’. Why come you be puttin’ up wiff it? He gonna do to Snagglepuss what he done to them other’. You watch.
“Pick up the Polaroid.”
“Ain’t got to tell me twiced.”
“I didn’t.”
Biggs placed the half-empty bucket under the butcher’s block. Lana, sufficiently alert by now, was freaking at what the insatiable beast continued to do to her at the other end. What blood appeared at her vagina and anus the rat gobbled up quickly, chewed some more flesh surrounding Lana Sepulveda’s vagina and was back to nibbling at the labia. The razor sharp teeth tore away at the loose flesh, ripped it out with uncanny skillfulness. Meanwhile, Biggs had unzipped his fly and forced his erection inside Lana’s mouth.
“If you want me to let Snaggletooth out, baby, you’ll have to give the best head of your life. Get some shots of this, Marvin. Better yet, give me the Impulse. I’ll do it myself.”
Lana did what she could, moved her mouth frantically, anything to get the animal out of her body and to stay alive.
Biggs took three or four pictures of the woman sucking his cock. His groin was so sensitive and his pleasure heightened to such a degree that he found himself unable to concentrate long enough to keep shooting. Besides, the steam inside his goggles had collected to such a degree that it made it impossible for him to see clearly.
He shoved the goggles back to the top of the hard hat. Handed the camera back to Marvin. Slid his groin in and out of Da Bottom’s desperate mouth. It would be another considerable load—and it was.
He withdrew. Shot cum down in her throat, and then plenty as well over her lips, nose, and eyes. Biggs grunted, cursing. The climax had been one of the more intense for him.
It was all finally too much for the victim. She fainted on him again. Biggs decided to let her stay out this time.
He looked at Muck.
“That’s enough, Base. Don’t waste anymore film on this cunt. Shit’s expensive. Ten bucks a pack.”
CHAPTER 216
Muck did not need to be told a second time. Returned the camera to the cabinet. He wanted to rescue his rat. Biggs sat in the folding chair. A break was in order. Nodded his head.
“Get Snaggletooth out of here. He did good. Real good.”
Marvin unfastened the chicken wire cage. MC Snagglepuss was swathed in blood. Marvin scooped him out, nearly choking back tears at the condition his pal was in. He held him under the spout in the tub. Washed the blood and bits of flesh off. Dried him by wiping him down carefully with a dry cloth, and returned him to the birdcage and carried him out of the room.
Cecil stayed put in the chair, head tilted back, grinning. Didn’t make sense to him at the way Marvin carried on over the creatures, at the way people in general got attached to things, to other people, animals, things. Made no sense at all.
He reached for his switchblade, a silver chalice. Even though blood swirled out of Lana Da Bottom where the rat had been (he didn’t want that, no matter that Muck’s meat-eaters were clean enough and there was no fear of contamination) and mad
e, instead, an incision in the unconscious woman’s forearm, and held the chalice so that the blood flowed into it.
About the only thing that made sense. Blood. Fresh blood kept you happy, healthy, and wise. Dracula was right. The healing elixir. Drink of the gods. Only I piss and shit on all the gods, as they do not exist, never did exist. The only thing that ever came close to the power, the feeling of being god-like, for a human, was when you had them chained up, at your mercy. The one who had the power over others was “god,” the only “god.” With a lower case “g.” Even at that.
He taped down the incision to cut off the flow, keep it from being wasted, and emptied the chalice down his throat. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
What a blow job. Well, sure, it was the look in her eyes. All that desperation, panic, fear; the hysterics. The mania. Cunt had a rat in her cunt and it freaked her into a state of absolute hysteria. Madness. Bitch was nutty to begin with; they all are, but certainly, it was safe to assume, was insane by now. Pushed over the edge.
Speaking of madness, Miss Betty could be heard delivering passages from the Bible outside the Fun Room door. She knew well enough to keep out unless given permission to enter.
“Their deeds will not allow them to return to their God, for a spirit of harlotry is within them, And they do not know the Lord.”
“Amen, Sister Betty Lou.” Biggs made it a point to be loud enough for the elderly woman to hear through the closed Fun Room door. He wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
“Trying to force Satan out of sinners is hard work.”
“Nobody said it was going to be easy, Bishop Biggs. Let me in and I shall help.”
“In a minute.”
Biggs pulled the goggles down over his eyes. Marvin had returned with his four-legged frer. The deacon looked like he’d been shedding a few teardrops.
