by Wol-vriey
CHAPTER 50
Malone
The upper-floor bedroom shut behind him, leaving him with . . . Blubber.
Malone looked on in major dismay.
There was an amorphous orange-flesh mass draped over a monster bed.
Wow, Posh darling, Malone thought. You’ve no idea what I’m going through to get you detoxed.
He walked over to the bed and peered at the ‘woman’ he was supposed to sexually gratify.
***
Blubber was the most obscenely obese person Malone had ever seen.
She looked like the mating of a duvet and a whale.
Malone had no idea where any one part of her began or ended—everything flowed together into one vast rolling expanse of womanity. She had hands and feet, but the rest of her was just rolls of fat that hid the bed from view. Her body hung over the bed’s edges like a sheet.
“Hello,” he said. “My name’s Malone, I hear you’re expecting me.”
There was no reply.
Oddly, Malone found he wasn’t disgusted, wasn’t adverse to the idea of Blubber’s incomprehensible grotesqueness. He recognized this mellowing of his emotions as the result of the ‘BBW’ the barmaid had tricked into him.
Am I really the same person who quibbled for so long over satisfying Yang Yang? he wondered, amazed. And the Snake Lady even looks human.
Blubber didn’t look human, not by a long shot. She looked like a woman-pancake.
What needs be done, needs be done, he decided. Now where is that pussy?
Malone stripped off, dropped his clothes and weapons in a pile on the floor, and climbed onto Blubber.
He crawled over her body, looking for her face, her ears. She wobbled with his motion over her, a woman sea rippling with fat waves.
He found two eyes tucked in fatty clefts four feet apart. A nose. Thatches of long blonde hair planted at far-flung reaches of her.
Finally he located an ear.
He spoke into the ear. “I’m Malone, Frank sent me.”
“I hear you’re good in bed, Malone,” Blubber replied dreamily. Her voice, a stretched moan as though she were drugged, seemed to come from her multitudes of folds. “Frank says you’re fantastic in bed.”
Malone rolled his eyes. “The absolute fucking best.”
“Prove it and I’ll give you a refund, Malone. Deal? All your money back if you’re great in the sack?” Her voice had the slickness of oil. Her body rippled like a pond surface.
“Deal. Where is your vagina?” he asked. “You’re so . . . much . . . woman, baby. It’s a shame to keep you waiting.”
“It’s where it should be—between my legs. Fuck me good, Malone. Fuck me real good.”
Malone did some calculations. Blubber’s left foot projected from a fold draped over the bedside closest to him. Her right foot was ten feet away, right next to an ear.
That would place her vagina at about . . .
He searched midway between her legs, and after a few false stops mistaking skin folds for the real thing, located her sex beneath a thick thatch of blonde hair.
Circling it were two fat hillocks, which, from their darkened peaked crests and bottle cork tops, he suspected were her breasts.
Now this will take some doing, he thought.
Even without spreading her labia, Blubber’s vagina yawned like a sleepy child.
Her vagina was so huge his penis would never fill it.
Out loud, he said: “I’ve found it baby, you’re so beautiful. This was true—her sex had a nauseating loveliness to it.
Blubber’s liquid voice bubbled out of her pussy at him like female ejaculate. “Fuck me good, Malone. Fuck me real good.”
Malone looked down at his penis, already at half-mast and rising steadily. “Easy, boy,” he whispered, “you’re not the man for this job by a long shot.”
He felt no inadequacy—it was simply a fact. Though he longed to plunge into Blubber’s mass and take root like a tree in Mother Earth, it would never do. Frank’s riddle said ‘satisfy Blubber,’ ‘make her cum.’
Her clitoris looked normal enough. He suspected that if he gave her head, she’d orgasm. But she’d requested/demanded/commanded that he fuck her. But how? Her vagina looked like it would conveniently admit a fist.
Malone smiled then. He turned his blood hand over and studied the three zit-disgusting buttons, with their companion inscriptions: Hetero, Gay and Lesbian Fist.
Well, fisting was fucking too. Gay people had made it a socially acceptable form of sexual intercourse.
The question of which button to press was easy to answer. For all her distortions, Blubber was female, he, male.
Placing his right fingertips together, he inserted his blood hand between Blubber’s labia and depressed the ‘Hetero Fist’ button with his left hand.
After that it was a gas.
***
Malone was impressed by the expertise with which his Hetero Fist serviced Blubber.
His blood arm, now swollen to twice-normal thickness, slid in and out of her of its own accord, pulling him after it and pushing him back again.
Occasionally it varied its rhythm, slowing down or speeding up, and once in a while it twisted left and right. Several times, like it was coming up for air, it jerked itself totally out of her body, only to plunge back in immediately, to the accompaniment of immense moans and groans from the fat landscape Malone knelt on.
“Frank was right, Malone. You’re fantastic. You really fuck good. Hold on tight now—I’m gonna cum.”
Blubber came. She came like she was the sea. She rolled in fat waves Malone was forced to surf.
Malone held on tight. He had to, as her rolls and folds became flesh dunes that threatened to buck him up to splat against the ceiling. He gripped the thatch of hair topping her sex with his left hand, while his right now pounded in and out of Blubber like it had a grudge against her cervix and wanted to annihilate it.
Her flesh rose so high above him that he feared it would squash him. Then, as a humongous fat-fold crest descended to smother him, he discovered he had another, larger, worry.
His body was painlessly liquefying—melting and being sucked into itself.
With lightning speed, Malone was liquefied up to his knees, his waist, his chest. Even faster, he worked out what was going on: he was being sucked up into his blood arm, and through it into Blubber.
“Blubber, stop it! Stop what you’re doing!”
“Oh, you fuck real good, Malone. You fuck marvelously.”
Her voice was a satiated dream painted in dripping oils.
Malone’s head dissolved, and with that his consciousness. He flowed down into his chest and out into his red arm.
Once he was all gone, his blood arm rolled itself up like a condom before use, shortening down to itself disappear into Blubber’s supersized super moist vagina.
Blubber moaned as the red appendage vanished from sight inside her. “You get all your money back, Malone, and a sixty-nine percent discount on all future visits. Oooooohhh . . . yeeeah!”
CHAPTER 51
Posh
Posh was naked on her hands and knees between Beth’s legs, lapping cunt like a dog, with Beth’s chopping board on her back.
On Posh’s right, hapless fowls squawked piteously in their bucket. On her left, the remains of previous fowls lay scattered over the plastic sheet protecting the carpet.
Posh herself was covered with chicken blood.
Above her, Beth hacked a chicken into a million pieces. Her hand a blur, she squirmed in pleasure as Posh tongued her clitoris. Her muscular thighs quivered. Her back arched, thrusting her large breasts forward.
Beth groaned. She handed a skinned chicken drumstick down to Posh. “Love me with this immediately, darling!”
Gripping the bleeding chicken leg by its scaly talons, Posh fed it into the shaven vagina.
“Fuuccckkk!” Beth gushed as the drumstick entered her sex. A moment later, she handed down another bloody drumstick
.
“And with this one also!” she gasped. “Double-fuck me quick, honey!”
Posh saw no need to lubricate Beth’s anus. She positioned the drumstick at the little puckered entrance and pushed it in. Slickened with blood, the meat-stick slurped inside Beth.
“Yes!” Beth gasped at the pleasure of the penetration, slamming the cleaver through the chicken’s breast bone with such force that Posh felt it in her own breasts.
Gripping both chicken legs in one fist, Posh double-dildoed Beth with them.
Beth almost went out of her mind from the sensation. She swept the chicken remains off the board with the cleaver, then yanked another live bird from the bucket. She hacked off its head, then raised it so its dying blood squirted on her chest.
Kneading the crimson gush into her breasts, she reached her first orgasm.
***
Posh squealed in pain when Beth’s knees clamped tight on her ears as she came.
“Don’t stop fucking me, bitch!” Beth growled. She spread her thighs again, wide as a gymnast.
“Here’s some lube.” She held the neck of yet another beheaded chicken over her crotch, squirting its blood down onto her cunt.
Posh obliged. She rammed both drumsticks in and out of Beth’s sex holes.
The chicken leg in Beth’s anus was now brown with shit, each re-emergence from her flesh assaulted Posh’s nostrils with the smell.
Damn, Posh thought, won’t she ever finish?
Posh wanted to be out of there—well away from there—as quick as possible. And this fucking time it’s for good. Under no fucking circumstances is anything bringing me to fucking Water Street ever again!
Oh fuck!” Beth groaned, her thighs quivering as she spasmed again. Then she went limp.
Thank goodness, Posh thought. Now to leave here. Beth can keep her fucking money. And on this sordid note, I hereby quit prostitution for good. Even if Malone dumps me, I’ll rather panhandle.
She pushed the chopping board off her back and made to get up.
Beth, however, forced her back down again with a foot on her waist. Posh flopped belly down onto the besmirched drop cloth, coating her breasts and belly in a mess of fowl guts.
“No!” Beth said, “I need a lot more today.”
“I have to go,” Posh pleaded. “I’m meeting my boy—”
“Not yet!” She glared down at Posh.
Posh shivered. Beth’s eyes now had the same insane glint as when she’d forced Herbie to drink his cum out of that chicken.
Beth smiled. She removed her foot from Posh’s back. “Today, we go the extra mile.” She picked the second-to-last chicken out of the bucket. “Now kneel down again and lick my sex, like the good dog you are.”
Posh nodded. She reached for the bloody cutting board.
“Leave it!” Beth said sharply. “This time your back is the board.”
Disbelieving what she’d heard, Posh looked up at her. “What?”
She froze, trembling.
Beth now held her gun. She licked her lips like the air tasted delicious. “Oh yes, honey. You heard me right. Your back is the board.” She smiled lewdly at Posh’s horror. “I’ve wanted to try this forever, but Herbie wouldn’t let me. He said scars would make you less appealing to other customers.”
“You’re going to chop up a chicken on my bare back?”
Beth pointed the gun straight at Posh’s face. “Either on your back or on your corpse’s back. Choose one.”
Seeing refusal meant instant death, Posh got into position—on hands and knees between Beth’s super-toned legs.
God, please help me survive this.
She indicated the drumsticks in Beth’s vagina and anus. “Should I keep on doing you with these?” she asked helplessly.
Beth shook her head. “Just eat me.” She placed the shivering chicken down between Posh’s shoulders and began chopping.
***
The cleaver rose. It fell again, cutting clean through the hen’s neck and embedding itself into Posh’s back.
Posh screamed. The pain belied description. Beth yanked the cleaver out of Posh’s back and hacked again into the bird. This blow broke its spine, but didn’t go all the way through its body, sparing Posh. The force of the blow however, smeared feathers into Posh’s bubbling wound.
Posh’s eyes gaped open in agony. She tried to scuttle away, but was stopped by Beth’s gun muzzle prodding her eye.
“One more move back . . .”
Posh nodded mutely. She scuttled forward again.
“Lick me, bitch!”
Beth resumed hacking the chicken to bits. Posh licked her bloody cunt as the blows fell. She flinched each time the cleaver ripped into her back. Even blunted by its passage through chicken meat before reaching her, the agony of each cut was indescribable. This had to be what being whipped with barbed wire felt like.
Shredded feather quills and fragments of chicken bone dug into the cuts, ripping her already torn skin and flesh apart further.
And the horrendous torment kept on coming, kept increasing.
***
In her ingenuity, her burning desire to cause Posh pain, Beth moved the uncut portions of fowl to undamaged parts of Posh’s back before each new chop.
She regarded each fresh splitting of Posh’s body—each division of her skin and underlying flesh and each new welling of blood—with studious interest, unsure what she expected to see in them other than confirmation of her own sexual superiority to this pathetic female trembling between her legs.
And all the while, she luxuriated in the feelings Posh’s tongue provoked in her loins—cunt-ecstasy raging like a forest fire out of control.
***
Posh’s tongue slid erratically over Beth’s clitoris now, juddering as she surfed the waves of agony she floundered in. She felt she was in Hell. She couldn’t stay where she was—the pain was too great. Yet also, she couldn’t run to save herself—the image of her head blown to bits dangled before her eyes like a donkey’s oversized scrotum.
Blood ran down over her sides, dripped to the floor. And now she knew this wasn’t chicken blood, but hers.
Posh felt herself succumbing to shock. She fought against this culmination of her horror. If she collapsed, there was a good chance Beth might decide to treat her like an actual chicken—chop her up for the hell of it.
So she forced herself to keep licking Beth’s vagina, inserting two fingers into her anus and fucking her with them.
***
The pain wasn’t the worst of it. The more crushing blow was to Posh’s spirit. Beth was making her feel utterly worthless—like she was less than garbage.
For Posh, this horrible experience was much worse than what she’d suffered with Oswald. She accepted that Oswald had been fucked-up in battle. But what was Beth’s excuse—other than sheer nastiness? Posh pondered these questions between each slash of pain.
***
Beth’s legs clenched around Posh’s head again, announcing her orgasm. With a single blow, she chopped the last live chicken completely in two.
The blow buried the cleaver in Posh’s back, deep between her right ribs.
The truncated fowl, separated into a mess of spilling entrails, squawked in piteous confusion as its blood spurted from it over its human chopping board.
Beth left the blade in Posh’s back. She gripped Posh’s head with both hands and ground it into her pussy.
“Fucking lick me, honey! I’m cumming! Oh, Goooodddd, Yeeeeesssss!”
Beth had NEVER come like this before. It was a sexual explosion that blasted her out to space. It seemed to last forever and ever.
She felt she was dissolving, melting into Posh’s tongue, blowing away on the wind like a dust mote. Her legs and arms felt like butter, like wax.
She came down from her come.
Posh looked up at her with pleading numbed eyes. The cleaver had fallen out of her back during Beth’s orgasm.
Beth nodded at her. “Okay, honey. I’m fine
now.”
Posh collapsed onto the just truncated chicken. Its head poked from under her bloody body, its dead eyes as dull as hers.
Beth watched Posh tremble and twitch for a moment. Then, careful to take both gun and cleaver with her, she went to get money to pay her.
***
“Why?” Posh asked. “Why did you do this to me?”
She’d managed to stand up again, but had no strength to dress. Her back felt like a furnace she was carrying around. In addition, she was super-weak from blood loss. Blood was still dribbling from the web of cuts crisscrossing her back. Thin red trails streamed down over her ass and the backs of her legs.
Feathers, chicken meat, and bone fragments were plastered all over her; some imbedded deep in her wounds.
“Why?” Posh repeated.
Beth smiled. “Because I’m stronger than you, honey. What other reason do I need?” She held out the money. “Take it. I’ve included a huge bonus. Go see a doctor. When you’re healed we’ll do this again.”
Posh gaped at her dully. “Again?”
“Yes, again. This bareback fuck was much better than I thought it would be.” She licked her lips. “You’re my bitch now, honey. You’ll do what I tell you to, or I’ll kill you.”
Posh looked at her dully. “You’ll kill me if I don’t fuck you again?”
Beth smiled coldly. “I will.” She held out the money. “Take it and go now. You can come back to visit later if you want. But now, honey, I need to take a nap. Great sex always wears me out.”
She bent forward and kissed Posh full on the lips. Posh shrank back with revulsion.
Beth didn’t notice. She leaned back smiling. “Your mouth stinks of me. Great. Think of it as a high class bitch scenting her territory.”
Posh stared into Beth’s face for a long moment.
Despite teetering on the brink of shock, she was chilled by the disregard for her feelings in the other’s eyes.
