by Edward Lee
"Is she dead?" Ajax asked.
Dean pressed two fingers to her throat. "No, thank God. She's got a pulse."
Then Dean pushed the wet clots of hair out of her face. He gasped.
"Oh holy Christ," he guttered, his eyes wide as an owl's. "It's Arianne."
CHAPTER TEN
Pasiphae slipped through the teeming night, the cleansing rain running in rivulets down her stygian breasts. More rivulets tickled her underworld pussy, and summoned radiant sensations right up through her subcarnate guts. She passed through the trees, indeed, like smoke, yet any living thing she passed—bugs, tree frogs, small mammals—died in her poisoned wake.
She couldn't help it, her daedelic hand set an elegant finger into the groove of her cunt, and rubbed. Each further supernal step touched off effusive, drooling orgasms as she progressed back toward her son's beautifully foul demense.
Children for my child, she thought. Babies for my baby...
The wares of her orgasms slickened her long black legs. Desire filled her shadow-black tits, and her nipples stood out to delicious pinpoints.
She was winning, wasn't she? She was bringing recompense with a terrible, swift blow. Her eyes burned out into the night, and her smile felt like fire in her mouth.
Pasiphae was ecstatic, for tonight she had seen him.
Tonight she had seen the malefactor.
Oh, yes...
Moments later, she stood pretty and lissome at the gaping black mouth of the labyrinth. Its foulness wafted up strong as Pluto's breath of the excrement of eons. It was a rich perfume in her nostrils, and on her tongue, it tasted sweet as licking the skin of a sweetsop. Beyond the labyrinth's entry, she could hear the fervid grunts of her son in rut. This brought joy to her dead heart, such that she lost control. She sat down promptly in the wet detritus of the woods and masturbated to a frenzy, her black fingers blurring over the tender flesh of her black sex. When she came a final time, the sensations evacuated her. She leaned over and vomited in the same way a man might ejaculate, pumping up a bellyful of wonderful hatred and glorious despair onto the sopping ground. One plume after another, until her gut was empty.
She sighed in bliss.
Now there was room for more. Lots more.
Pashiphae couldn't wait to get her fill.
Yes, the malefactor had returned, the nemesis. And—
Tonight, she decided, I think we'll send him a little welcoming party.
««—»»
"Oh, the poor dear!" Shirley fretted.
"Arianne? Arianne?" Dean gently patted her cheek. "Can you hear me?"
They'd come back to the mansion and lain her across the tea-leaf-tan pleated flounce antique couch that most collectors would kill for. It had taken them two hours to creep back home in the blinding rain. Even now, the rain beat against the house in noisy sheets, and the thunder cracked in the sky. Once back, Dean and Ajax had hustled a very unconscious Arianne in the paneled parlor.
"Shit, maybe we should've taken her to the hospital," Dean suggested.
"In this weather?" Ajax reminded. "We'd crash before we got there."
Outside, the storm cracked and boomed. Dean looked down worriedly. "What do you think's wrong with her?"
"Well, just for starters, let's try severe malnutrition, dehydration, chronic substance withdrawal, and—oh—did I say severe malnutrition?"
"What should we do!" Dean yelled.
"Keep her warm. A warm bath would be good. Hell, I'd be happy to get her in the tub—"
"I'll do that," Dean insisted. "What else?"
"Some sustenance. Solid food would probably be too obstructive. Soup or something."
"I'll go make the poor dear some hot soup," Shirley volunteered and hurried away in her nightgown.
"She's shivering," Dean stammered. "I better go run a bath."
"On second thought," Ajax remembered. "That might not be such a good idea; they say you shouldn't take a bath during a lightning storm. If the lightning hits the house, it could electrocute anyone in the tub. Put a blanket over her for now."
Dean looked around frantically, saw no blankets, then yanked up the Herat 19th Century throw rug off the parlor floor and wrapped it around her. Ajax remarked, "You just wrapped a dirty wet junkie up in a piece of carpet that probably costs fifty grand."
"She's not a junkie! Don't call her that!" Dean objected. "She's a victim of society, taken advantage of by a hostile environment!"
"Whatever... "
"Arianne? Please, be all right!" Dean pleaded with the fates. He patted her cheek some more, hugged her in her new warm cloak of Persian carpet.
Eventually, her smudged eyes fluttered open. They shot wide.
"Dean?" she cried. "No, no, it can't be you. It's just another horrible dream—"
"It's me, I'm here! We're at my father's mansion! You're safe now!"
She exhaled long and hard, her eyes closed in relief. "You'd never believe it," she whispered thinly. "You'd never believe what I saw."
"The smoke-woman," Dean said abruptly. "And something—something... about the cattle."
Her little mouth fell open, as it had no doubt fallen open to admit hundreds—no, thousands—of penises. But there was no penis in wait this time. Dean recognized that she somehow knew what he meant.
"It was... the worst thing I've ever seen," she whimpered.
"What?" Dean begged. "What did you see?"
Her face went blank in the recollection. "A monster... "
"A monster? A monster with horns?"
"Yes... "
"Was it anywhere near the old mine shaft behind Stoddard's Mill?"
"Yes," her voice grated again like stones rubbing.
Big tits wobbling beneath the sheer nightgown, Shirley returned with a steaming bowl of chowder. When she leaned over, Ajax cringed at the sight of her state-of-the-art cleavage. "You should try some of this, honey," she offered to Arianne.
One whiff and Arianne made a face like she'd puke. "Get that shit away from me! It'll make me sick!"
Shirley recoiled. "But, honey, you need some nutrition."
"Fuck food! I need to cop! Somebody get me a piece of rock!"
Dean and Ajax exchanged raised glances. Dean held her hand and implored, "Arianne, you've got to straighten up. You've got to tell me what you saw."
Her small face quivered. She closed her eyes to force remembrance but could only continue to sob in response. At the same time, another crack of thunder exploded in the sky. The mansion shook, then—
"Great, that's just great," Ajax bellyached.
—the lights went out.
"Oh, dear!" Shirley exclaimed.
"Don't worry," Dean said. "The generator will kick on in a second... "
They stood in the dark. After several minutes, Dean said, "Damn it. I'll bet the generator's out of fuel. I better go check."
"Don't leave me alone in the dark!" Arianne pleaded.
"I'll go," Ajax volunteered. "Shirley, would you mind showing me where it is?"
"Oh, I'd be delighted!" Big tits wobbling beneath the sheer nightgown, Shirley retrieved some flashlights from an antique highboy, then she took Ajax' arm. "Right this way, young man," and she led him out of the dark parlor for the basement.
Dean switched on his flashlight, then briefly traversed the room lighting candles. He wanted to make Arianne at ease. She took his hand when he sat beside her on the couch. "Oh, Dean, I've missed you so much... "
Dean wanted to say that he missed her too... but he couldn't. I'm married, he reminded himself. I'm married to a loving woman. "Jesus, Arianne, how could you let yourself go like this?"
"I couldn't help it," she sniffled. "After you left, I had nothing to live for."
"Come on, Arianne. There are plenty of guys in town you could be happy with."
"No there aren't. The only real man in this town was you. The rest are just a bunch of little boys." More sniffles in the dark. "You're the only man to ever make me come."
Dean rai
sed his brow in pride, in spite of himself. "You've got to get yourself straightened out, Arianne. You'll die if you keep this up."
"If I can't have you, I want to die."
"Don't say that—"
She shrugged out of the carpet, tiny and wan in the flashlight beam. "Make love to me, Dean."
"No. I'm married now. I'm in love with someone else."
"Well... then just kiss me."
"No."
She put her hand on his leg. "Let me blow you."
"No."
"I'll suck your balls—"
"No."
"Rim job?"
"No."
"Punch me in the face, then beat off on a Twinkie and make me eat it?"
Dean had to give that one some thought. "No. I told you, I'm happily married. Now stop this—"
She pounced on him, a ravenous little animal, groping, crying, pleading. "But I still love you! Let me prove it!"
Dean struggled at the sudden fury of junkie passion.
"Don't you still care about me at all?" she pleaded. She quickly peeled off the ratty little cut-off shorts. "Baby, please! I know you still care! Fuck me hard like you used to—"
"NO!" Dean shouted, and that was it. He lost control. Next thing he knew he was standing, having grabbed her by the throat with his left hand. Meanwhile, his right hand, balled into a tight fist, slammed into her mouth.
The exchange of inertia caused Arianne to somersault backwards and crash into a spread of Hummel knickknacks arranged on a gold-leaf-trimmed mahogany 18th-Century Demilune table. The table cracked like tinders.
Dean gaped in horror.
This was no Jig-Jag. He'd really done it, he'd struck her, and that was putting it mildly. He'd hit her nearly as hard as if he'd done it with a baseball bat.
Just like the old days.
Nearly in tears, he rushed to her in the candle-lit dark. She was out cold. He carried her back to the couch, touching her face and mumbling incomprehensible apologies.
My God! What's wrong with me! he screamed at himself.
Eventually she came to in his arms—
"Arianne, I'm so so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you—"
Her skinny junkie head leaned up. She smiled, drooling blood, and took his hand. "I knew it," she whispered in a sated contentedness. "I knew you still cared for me... "
««—»»
Big tits wobbling beneath the sheer nightgown, Shirley led Ajax to the basement. Ajax had wood. Sixty years old be damned, he thought. This woman is one hunka-hunka slab of fuck-flesh.
Every so often, the side of a big wobbling tit brushed his arm. Ajax began to leak. Their flashlights bobbed as they descended the wood stairs. "It's right down here, hon. Thank the Lord I've got a man with me. Women don't know about mechanical things and such."
"Leave the generator to me," Ajax assured. "I'll have this place glowing in no time."
"That's not the only thing you've got glowing—"
"What's that?"
"Oh, nothing. The generator's right over there."
Ajax wielded his flashlight with authority. Thank Christ it was dark; the boner in his pants was concealed. He unscrewed the tank lid on the generator and shined the light in. Sure enough, just as Dean had said, the tank was empty.
"There's a can of gasoline on the shelf," Shirley pointed out, her big tits wobbling beneath the sheer nightgown. Ajax' own flash stalled a moment on tremendous bosom. Holy shit! Those tits could put wood on an entire Catholic seminary! But, cognizant as always, he sniffed the open fuel cell. "This generator runs on diesel," he said, "not gas."
"Such a smart young man," Shirley complimented. "I would never have considered that. There are some other cans on the top."
Ajax' flashlight beam lingered a moment more on Shirley's abundant mammalian carriage. Her nipples are as big a round Big Gulp lids! He found a jerry-can of diesel fuel on the shelf and poured it into the generator. All it took after that was one yank on the starting cord, and the generator fired up with a steady rumble. Lights snapped on at once.
"Piece of cake," Ajax bragged. Then he turned back around.
Shirley was sitting up on a work table, her nightgown hiked back, her legs jacked back in the air. Her big hairy seasoned pussy stared at Ajax like a knowing face.
"Hon," she said, "that generator tank ain't the only thing around here in need of a filling."
Ajax gulped. Looks like I'm going to get laid this year after all. He pulled it out, stepped right up, and stuck it in. Fuckin'-A. That big wet pussy felt like a hot peach pie, and Ajax had just broken the crust. He stroked in and out a few times—
"Ooo, honey. Give an old woman a break. Don't bust me all up inside!"
The compliment only brought him closer. Two more strokes, and Ajax' eyes were going crossed. Fuck, my dick hasn't been in her five seconds and I'm ready to spooge.
Fucking her sounded like someone eating spaghetti... loudly. "Aw, shit, Shirley," he guffed. "I'm sorry but I think I'm gonna, I'm think I'm gonna—"
"Don't you worry one bit, you sweet thing," she said and stroked his cheek. She pushed back on his beer gut, easing out his cock. "First one can be quick, that ain't no matter. You can take care'a me with the second."
Ajax's cock throbbed to bust, like nuking a hot dog on high in the microwave. When it slipped out, it made a sound like someone slurping soup. She turned him around, got on her knees.
Her big tits wobbled beneath the sheer nightgown.
With excruciating slowness, she sucked his cock into her mouth. Ajax's face screwed up like Shemp's. Soon she had every whopping inch—all six of them—sheathed in her hot, drooly mouth. She kept sucking forward as if she were about to begin eating his entire groin, but then, just as slowly, she retracted. After a liquid pop, her mouth was off, and Ajax stood cringing on his tiptoes, his dick a glimmering Monte Cristo cigar.
"Just let it all out, baby," she cooed, and then her hand slid rapidly back and forth over the spitty pole. "Go ahead and bust it. Bust it right out. Let me see it all shoot out, sugar—"
Ajax busted it quite promptly. Just a couple of shucks on his spit-wet dick, and he was jettisoning sperm over her shoulder.
"Ah-ah-ah," he moaned at each pump. He could swear he felt his balls shrink with each release. His tongue clogged between his lips as more semen vaulted out of him, each spasm shooting feet over Shirley's shoulder. But even as he came, amidst what was clearly the greatest orgasm of his life, he couldn't help but notice several of his seminal plumes fall directly into still-opened fuel tank on the generator.
"Holy shit, Shirley!" he exclaimed. "You just jacked me off in the generator!"
Dismayed, Shirley glanced behind her, big tits wobbling in the sheer nightgown. Several strings of sperm seemed to hang out of the open fuel egress. "Oh, dear," she remarked. "Do you think that will—"
The generator chugged and sputtered and stopped. Then all the lights went out again.
««—»»
"What the hell happened?" Dean complained when Ajax and Shirley returned to the candle-lit parlor. "The lights came back on for thirty seconds, then they went back out."
"Don't remind me," Ajax muttered.
"What?"
Ajax spoke with more volume. "I think something's clogging your fuel filter. You really need to maintain these things, you know."
"Damn it," Dean cursed.
Shirley's big tits wobbled beneath the sheer nightgown. She noticed Arianne's ratty cut-off shorts on the floor. "I guess it's none of my business." But, next, she noticed the broken Demilune table. "What happened here?"
"None of your business," Dean said. Arianne sat cuddled up next to him on the couch, asleep, the fur of her pubic hair glistening in candle light.
"At least she's calmed down," Shirley observed.
"What a stud!" Ajax made his own conclusion. "You slipped her the high hard one for old time's sake! Stuck it to her to the balls!"
"I did not," Dean countered.
"Oh? Then how com
e she's not wearing anything but halter-top smaller than the average handkerchief?"
"None of your business," Dean murmured, his arm tight about her shoulder. But before any more questions could be asked, or any more insinuations declared, the house shuddered at a loud, heavy—
CRUNK!
Dean, Ajax, and Shirley all jumped in their places.
"The fuck was that?" Ajax shouted.
"Something hit the front of the house!" Shirley exclaimed.
Dean sat rigid. "It sounded like—"
CRUNK!
The house shuddered again. Then—
CRUNK! CRUNK-CRUNK! CRUNK!
It sounded as though the front of the mansion were being assailed by random wrecking balls. Several more impacts ensued, and plaster began to sift from the ceiling.
