Satanic Panic- A Homage to 1980's B-Movie Horror

by Daniel P Coughlin

  Brock took a seat on the chair in the corner, lifted his beer can and tapped the lid with his index fingernail in an attempt to settle the carbonation. The crack and hiss drew everyone’s attention.

  “Brianna, you want a beer?” Brock asked. “Lance already has his little sissy drink.”

  “I would like a giant glass of wine and for the time being you’re going to stop antagonizing Lance. I don’t think of you as more masculine when you emasculate Lance. You always do that when you’re nervous. After you get my wine we’re going to sit down and talk about how this experiment is going to go down. I want to know what the rules are and how and when we’re going to ... you know.”

  “Understood.” Head down, Brock took a sip from his beer then stood and marched into the kitchen.

  Brianna looked to Lance who was staring into his cup of tea, clearly attempting to avoid eye contact.

  “You know if we’re going to do this you’re going to have to look at me ... at some point.” Brianna placed her hand on Lance’s leg and squeezed lightly. She could feel the muscles and ligaments tensing beneath his skin. She almost smiled. Holding this much control over her friend was enthralling and empowering. She almost hated that she loved having this level of control. And when she slid her fingers along the inside of Lance’s thigh and he let out a whimper she felt nearly as vulnerable as he did.

  Brock returned from the kitchen with a spotted wine glass filled to the rim. He handed it to Brianna. “For the lady.” His eyes fell to Brianna’s hand, which was still inching its way up Lance’s thigh. “We’re already starting?”

  “No, we’re not,” Brianna stated with authority. “We’re going to talk about the rules and about what we each want to get out of this experience. Lance, we’re going to start with you. What do you want me to do with you?”

  “Why do I have to start?” Lance whispered.

  “Because, if we’re going to do this then you need to be comfortable telling me what you want me to do. Our inhibitions need to cease. You’re going to need to look me in the eyes.” She grabbed his chin and tilted his head toward hers. “And its okay to say things like, ‘Brianna, suck my cock and let me cum on your face.’ Does that make sense?”

  Lance’s face turned bright red.

  Without realizing that he’d done so, Brock adjusted himself.

  Lance sat up and said, “Ye ... ye ... yes, ma’am.”

  “You don’t have to call me ma’am.” Brianna leaned in toward Lance and kissed the corner of his mouth.

  “And now what I want?” Brock stepped toward the couch and took a seat next to Brianna.

  Brianna pushed him away and said, “No, now we’re going to talk about what I want.”

  “What do you want?” Lance leaned forward to the edge of his seat. He licked the dryness from his lips.

  “Whoa, slow down, cowboy. A little too eager,” Brianna laughed.

  Lance’s face turned magenta. He sat back in his chair and sighed.

  “First of all, I want both of you to take your clothes off.”

  “You first,” Brock insisted.

  Brianna stood and walked to the door. Without a word, she twisted the knob and left.

  “What the hell, dude?” Lance barked at Brock while he sprung to his feet and dashed to the door. He twisted the knob, stepped outside, looked from left to right and couldn’t find Brianna. She was gone.

  2

  Both Brock and Lance attempted to call Brianna over the next few hours, but her cell phone went straight to voicemail and, go figure, it was full.

  “You should have let her talk,” Lance fussed.

  “I didn’t know she was gonna leave,” Brock returned.

  “She was trying to make a point. If you think about this, we’re asking more than a lot of her. Just the fact that she entertained this idea is crazy. Now, she’s probably back at her dorm room smacking her head against the wall and asking herself why she’d even considered this.”

  As if on cue, both Lance and Brock’s cell phones chirped with a text message. Coins and a set of keys spilled, jangled, and scattered on the floor as Brock scrambled through his pockets, searching for his iPhone.

  Lance was already checking his messages.

  The text read, Be back at eight o’clock. You will both be naked and sitting on the couch in the living room. I want candles lit and a glass of red wine in a nice, clean wineglass. If the wine is cheap or one of you isn’t naked then I’m leaving. Understood? Answer with a simple yes or a simple no.

  They both answered yes.

  “What should we do now?” Lance had no instinct other than turning to Brock.

  “You should go to the store and buy a fifty dollar bottle of Cabernet. I’ll find some fucking candles and get this pig trough ready for action.”

  “Wow, this is really happening.” He turned in circles and nearly fell on his ass when he tripped over his own shoelace. “Hey Brock?” Lance calmed.

  “Yes?”

  “Promise me she isn’t just another conquest.”

  “Fuck you. I care more about her than you do. It’s not like she isn’t going to enjoy this, dude. Think about how empowered she is already. We’re running around like a bunch of idiots. We’re about to be sitting in the living room with no clothes on waiting for her. We don’t even know that she’s going to sleep with us. Thus far, she’s just making us feel vulnerable while she establishes that she’s in control.”

  “I see your point.”

  “You should, it’s a good one. Now go get that fucking bottle of red.”

  Lance grabbed his wallet from the coffee table and marched out the front door.

  3

  Hands shaking from the excitement of what was to come, Lance strolled down the wine aisle of the local grocery store checking the price tags of each bottle of red wine. Sure, this was a cheap college town grocery store, but they’d likely have a few selections of decent wine. The kind Brianna would enjoy—something smooth, something tart. Brianna enjoyed all things tart: candies, foods, and full-bodied wines. Oddly, he remembered past Halloweens when he, Brock and Brianna would go trick or treating. She’d insisted that he and Brock give her their Sweet Tarts.

  “Watcha lookin’ for?” A young clerk tapped Lance’s shoulder.

  Startled, he twisted and nearly punched her.

  “Sorry, you scared me.”

  “Am I that ugly?” The clerk laughed, her beautiful smile lighting up her face. Even in her work clothes she was a knock out. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her black-rimmed glasses accentuated her sparkling sapphire eyes. Her breasts jutted out from her tight button down. Lance glanced at her shirt where her nametag announced that her name was Natalee.

  Lance took a moment to imagine a cheesy pornographic scenario with Natalee.

  Maybe she’d rip her shirt open and expose her breasts while he freed her hair from the ponytail and she dropped to her knees before begging him to enter her.

  “You certainly are not ugly,” Lance stated, matter-of-factly.

  He could tell that she was interested. Intimidating boys probably came easy to her, but she still enjoyed the sensation of a good ego stroke. Her down-to-earth attitude, which was obviously a façade, was equally attractive. After surviving the intimidation that Brianna had subjected him to, Lance now displayed confidence when speaking with the opposite sex, even a young woman as attractive as Natalee.

  “Well, um, that’s nice of you to say. What kind of wine are you looking for?” she asked.

  “Something expensive, something tart.” Lance made intense eye contact with Natalee and slightly leaned in toward her.

  “Lucky girl,” the store clerk blushed.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “What’s the occasion?” she asked.

  “My friend and I are going to seduce a beautiful woman into fucking both of our brains out at the same time.” Lance couldn’t believe he’d told her the truth. It was empowering to watch Natalee become uneasy, not offended, an
d unavoidably seduced.

  “I, um, wow. I don’t know what kind of wine goes with a three way. How about this?” She retrieved a bottle of semi-cheap wine. Ironically, the brand name was Ménage A Trois.

  She smiled through the awkward silence that followed. She and Lance surveyed the aisle to see that no one was watching and then shared a laugh.

  Lance took the bottle plus another more expensive one just in case, and after he’d paid, Natalee found him on the sidewalk just outside the sliding glass doors and slipped him her phone number on a small piece of notepad paper.

  “Just in case you’re ever looking for a girl to laugh with,” Natalee smiled before she turned and walked back into the grocery store.

  Sexual enlightenment felt like the cure to his lack of confidence. Lance thought of the random store clerk as he walked through the parking lot. He felt as if his skin was glowing. He’d never been hit on by someone so good-looking in the past nor been able to reciprocate with confidence. Her attraction resonated with him. Even in the clutches of embarrassment she’d come up with humor. That was an outstanding quality. She reminded him of Brianna.

  Pulling the bottle of Ménage A Trois from the brown paper bag, he spun it in his hand while naked images of he and Brianna flitted through his mind.

  In this moment he was able to connect with Brock on a level he’d never been able to before. Being the object of attraction was a powerful sensation. He now understood Brock’s addiction to it.

  He returned to his off-campus house. The door was locked. He searched his pockets for the keys and then remembered he’d left them on his bedroom dresser. Peering through the plate glass window, he watched Brock hang a black bed sheet over the entirety of the window facing the side of the house. Brianna would think the cheap black sheet was juvenile, but she’d also know that Brock put it there. Hopefully it wouldn’t turn her off. Placing the pad of his index finger on the doorbell, he pushed. Nothing. Titling his head to the side, Lance remembered that he’d never actually rung his own doorbell before and wasn’t sure if he’d ever locked the front door.

  The things you learn about your immediate surroundings while in preparation for diverse activity.

  Then he pounded his fists into the front door and yelled, “Open up, dick-bag!”

  Next door, Mr. O’Reilly, stepped out onto the porch and yelled, “I have to deal with your shit almost every night. Can you clean up your talk during the day, please?”

  “Hey, Mr. O’Reilly,” Lance returned, respectfully.

  As he turned to continue knocking, Brock answered the door.

  Lance was startled to find Brock naked and sporting half an erection. “What the hell, dude? You ever heard of a towel?” Lance barked and then turned to see that Mr. O’Reilly was shaking his head.

  Brock stepped onto the porch, smiled, and waved to Mr. O’Reilly. “Would you like to stop over for a cup of tea and a blowjob? My girlfriend here—” Brock clapped a strong hand on Lance’s shoulder. “—has a really special mouth. Fat inner cheeks.”

  Mr. O’Reilly shook his head and slammed his door.

  Old man probably had a heart attack.

  “What the fuck, dude?” Lance grabbed Brock’s arm and tossed it off his shoulder.

  “Don’t you dare bruise my perfect arm-skin,” Brock leaned forward, flexed his muscular arms. “This body is the image of male perfection,” Brock informed Lance.

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  “Get in here! Brianna will be here in like an hour.” Brock powered Lance through the front door.

  Once in the house, Lance surveyed the living room and was oddly impressed that Brock had cleaned the place up. Brock had dusted and a faint odor of carpet powder wafted through the living room.

  He’d vacuumed.

  “Jesus, the place has never looked so good, dude. I can’t believe it, but I’m proud of you.”

  “You are proud, aren’t you? There’s a parade for that kind of pride.”

  “Is there anything about you that isn’t offensive?”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Brock stated.

  “Let’s see, you’re sexist, racist, homophobic—”

  “Can’t help who I am. Is that all you got? I think you’re just jealous of my confidence, ” Brock combated.

  Lance was having a hard time concentrating while Brock stood—erect—in front of him. “Can you please cover up? And why do you have a boner? I’m the only one here.”

  “I was thinking that I could warm up on you,” Brock’s face remained intense. There was no joke about this expression and it scared Lance. “You know, like in that movie Something About Mary when the friend tells him to rub one out before he goes on his date. That way he’ll be more relaxed. I figured if I fuck your mouth then I’ll be one nut deep and I’ll last longer when Brianna gets here. It’s not gay if it’s warm-up sex.”

  “What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You? You’d fuck me?”

  “It’s not as bad as you think, dude. Your ass looks like a chick’s ass. Just kind of tuck your cock and balls and bend over the hassock.” Brock stepped toward Lance. “And spread ‘em.” His head cocked to the side and he continued, “Maybe take a shower and shave your asshole first.”

  “I…I…Um…” Lance was convinced that Brock was no longer kidding and so he stepped backward toward the staircase defensively. His friend had had so much pussy that he’d become gay, or bisexual. Vaginal sex wasn’t enough anymore. Lance looked to the front door, ready to flee when Brock broke into laughter. His erection bounced and flopped as he laughed, which was incredibly distracting.

  “Dude, you should see the look on your face. You look like Olaf just got ass hammered by Thor. I’m hard as fuck because I took two Viagra just after you left. I’m not going soft on Brianna. No way. No how.” He glanced at his member and gave it a swat. “I couldn’t get this thing down if I tried.”

  Lance was relieved, but at the same time he still felt awkward to be having such an in-depth conversation with his naked friend. This was incredibly uncomfortable. “Can’t you put a dishtowel over it or something?”

  “I could, but I’m trying to get over the discomfort of being naked in front of you. We’re about to have a threesome with our best chick-friend. There will probably be moments when you’re touching me and I’m touching you ... Not on purpose and not in a homosexual way, but it’s just going to happen. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that we cross swords on accident. So, strip down. We might as well get used to this.”

  Again, Lance hated it when Brock had a point. “You got any extra Viagra?” Lance shook his head while disrobing. “I might get nervous.”

  Chapter 7

  Brianna’s Here

  1

  N aked and sitting on the couch, Brock and Lance remained silent. The situation was awkward. They stared at their iPhones in an attempt to avoid looking at each other.

  When the digital clocks on their phones struck seven o’clock, Brianna rang the doorbell.

  Brock turned to Lance, unavoidably glanced at his nakedness, tried not laugh and said, “You need to work out a little more, but don’t worry—you look good and remember to be confident.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that right before we open the door and possibly have a threesome with our beautiful, best friend. I’m nervous as hell, dude,” Lance quipped.

  Brock was aware that he’d involuntarily ribbed his friend. Thinking about what he’d said—and what it must have done to Lance’s psyche—he realized that he’d been hurtful. Considering how nervous Lance was he may have given him a stigma and aided in diminishing his confidence, if he had any to begin with. But the show had to go on. Naked as the day he was born and fully erect, Brock walked through the living room and answered the door.

  “You’re happy to see me.” Brianna’s gaze immediately dropped to Brock’s erect member.

  “You asked that we be naked.” He looked her over. “We are.” Brock stepped aside so tha
t Brianna could enter the house. He was aware that she would have to brush against his erection in order to get through the door.

  She marched in briskly and reached out a hand to scrape the head of Brock’s penis with a long fingernail before closing the door. He winced.

  A cold gust of wind circled the living room and caused the candle flames to dance. “I like the candles. The atmosphere is nice.” She looked to the kitchen table and stated, “You got the wine.” She picked up the bottle of Ménage A Trois. “This is very clever.” She looked to Lance. “This is you.”

  “I figured—”

  “You figured correctly.” Brianna set the bottle down, turned to Lance then Brock, smiled, and allowed the blue sundress she wore to fall to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her skin was red, slightly burned. It was the middle of winter. Obviously, she’d been to a tanning bed. The fresh tan lines were fairly even and barely visible around her handful-sized breasts. Her quarter-sized nipples were erect. Her fingers lightly shook as she lowered her hand to her hip and strummed the string of her black lace thong. She spun one hundred and eighty degrees so that he and Lance could see each of her perfect curves and contours. Then she bent over, removed her thong and parted her legs. All she wore now were black high heels and a silver necklace with a black heart that rested symmetrically between her breasts. She stood and turned to them, tossing the panties at their feet. Her silky blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail except for a few strands that hung perfectly to the side of her face. Clearly done on purpose. Slowly, she slid the stray strands of hair behind her ear and smiled. The faint, very expensive, perfume she wore intoxicated Brock and triggered lustful thoughts.