by Tobias Wade
Despite the odds being stacked against any breathing thing with a penis, hook-ups still do happen on occasion. Maybe the girl is going through a rough break-up and needs a rebound. That woman over there hasn't been fucked in two years and is simply too shy to approach a guy about having casual sex. Another one might just like to fuck as many guys as she can. She gets bored with the same guy and his same bedroom routine that gives him a false sense of pride. She craves adventure like an Everest climber craves warmth.
I found one of those.
Out of the blue, a friend that I hadn't heard from in years shot me a message over social media . He asked me to come out with him on the Saturday following New Year's Day. I obliged. We exchanged numbers and that was that. I didn't hear from him for another week and presumed that he had forgotten about me. It didn't seem too far-fetched given that the last time I talked to him we had a different president.
Saturday came and went without a peep from him. I had all but forgotten our plans until I received a text at 10pm sharp:
Meet you at Riverwood in 20.
Strange. A little vague, but I had nothing else going on, and it was Saturday. Why not at least get a few drinks in me?
I responded in the affirmative, threw on a shirt that didn't smell, and drove down the street to the bar.
My friend was waiting outside the bar for me, which was a bit odd given the frigid northeast Ohio weather during that time of year. Most people avoid the outdoors like a divorced aunt with an alcohol problem.
“Chris! What's up, man?” The short, ginger-bearded man called as he walked towards me. I could tell that his beard was hiding a newly formed double chin.
“Looking a little heavy there, aren't ya?” I teased, going in for a hug. “Drinks on you? Clearly you've got enough money to spend on food...or is that just desserts?”
We shared a laugh and a couple of hard back pats as we walked inside the bar.
There she was. Stunning. Short brown hair with a few strands of blonde. Light brown skin. Thick thighs you couldn't wrap your hands around. Lips that could show you things you didn't know and eyes that could steal your entire being.
I couldn't help but stare.
“You gonna go for it?” My friend brought me out of my trance.
“Oh. No, man. No. I just didn't expect to see that here of all places!”
He got us a round and two doubles to knock back as a kick-off. I felt her watching us. Watching me.
I spent the entire night at that bar one-handed until my half-full pint glass was gently taken away from me by a slender, tan hand with white acrylic nails.
“Fuck me.”
I coughed. “Excuse me?”
Before me stood that stunning, voluptuous woman who I had my eyes on since we came to the Riverwood. I felt mom's spaghetti coming up.
“Did-did you just ask me to fuck you?” I stammered.
“No,” she grinned, “I told you to fuck me.”
“Alright.” I didn't know what else to say, and I couldn't resist.
I walked over to my friend to let him know I was heading out, but as I walked up to the bar he already had a target on the girl behind the bar, so I just left.
Cynthia, as I later found out was her name, lived above the bar in a spacious wannabe penthouse apartment with a 1970s stepdown from the dining room to the living room.
“There's something about you, you know? Like jus-”
Cynthia put her finger up to my lips.
“I'm not here to talk. I'm here to get my pussy wet, let you inside, and shove you out the door. Understand?”
I nodded. The dominatrix style she was putting off was turning me on, I can't lie.
“The bedroom is over there behind that gray door. Go in, take off your clothes, and get your cock hard. I'll be in in five.” She commanded.
The room I went into was immediately off-putting, but not because it was some sex dungeon or full of paintings of Vlad the Impaler. Hell, I would've been more okay with that than what I actually saw. The bedroom, if you can call it that, was painted a pale yellow on every surface. Like Homer Simpson with a stomach virus yellow. There was no furniture. No decor. No clothes. Nothing except for a large mattress with a blue sheet laying haphazardly on the floor, and a single Edison lightbulb illuminating the room. I couldn't wrap my mind around why a woman who made such an effort to get a penthouse vibe to her apartment would completely give up on her bedroom. Had it not been for the alcohol I might have hesitated, but that five minutes was going to come up quick.
I undressed, tossed my clothes into a corner and began stroking my dick slowly and firmly. I wanted to be at full attention when she came into the room. If Cynthia just wanted a good fuck, I wasn't about to let her down. Besides, those thick, juicy thighs being wrapped around my waist was something I could only dream about having. I was erect in no time.
Cynthia walked in completely nude, carrying a large mirror. She hung it up in the middle of one of the yellow walls, just low enough so I could see myself laying on the bed.
“Interesting piece, where'd you get it?”
She sighed, “Pine Grove Mall. Nice cock. Lay down.”
Cynthia walked over to the bed, got down on her knees and took my entire manhood into her mouth all at once. My eyes rolled back in instant ecstasy. I had been deepthroated before but nothing nearly this good. Her mouth kept going and going. The gagging sounds were almost a bigger turn on than the actual act itself. As I considered finishing in her mouth and going again, she pulled back.
“Eat my asshole.” She ordered.
“What? Uh. No. No thanks. I'm good.” I objected instantly.
“I didn't give you a choice.” She got on all fours in front of me. This was my night now. I will admit, she looked incredible bent over like that.
I positioned myself behind her and slid my tongue into her. She moaned loud and deep. She loved it. Knowing that made it more bearable for me. I kept licking up and down, throwing in the occasional perimeter move for good measure. Her body was writhing in a way I've never been able to make a woman move before.
I felt my tongue slide inside of her.
I went to pull it out but... it was stuck. I tapped her on the cheek aggressively but Cynthia kept moaning louder and began rubbing her clit.
“Fuck!” She shouted.
At that moment a piercing pain shot through the tip on my tongue. A scream made its way out of my throat but it was stifled by my protruding tongue. Tears rolled down my face as I kept slapping her ass and legs, trying to stop this sick game and free myself.
“Oh god!” She moaned, “I'm so close. Just twenty-six seconds darling. I'm almost there!”
The pain in my tongue intensified, but there was nothing I could do. I started seeing spots and white flashes.
Why the fuck did I do this?
Cynthia's entire body convulsed in one strong movement and I yanked myself away as hard as I could, falling back to the floor. I grabbed my mouth in agony, but I tasted no blood. I check my hands. Nothing.
As I lay there discombobulated, Cynthia walked over to me and bent down.
“Your turn. Go find yourself a nice girl. Have her suck the juice out of your little cock.”
I grabbed my clothes and ran out. I ran to my car. I drove home naked. At that point it didn't matter who saw me or what happened. I needed to getaway.
Safe.
A couple of days later I went and got myself checked for STDs and explained an abridged account of my night to the doctor. He assured me that my tongue must have just cramped due to nerves and all of the motions. I was willing to live with that.
A couple more weeks went by. My tests all came back negative. That calmed me, but at that point it was the least of my concerns. I hadn't heard from my friend since that night. According to the girl he was hitting on at the bar, he went home with some “sleek, feminine” guy shortly after I left. He was always the biggest homophobe I knew, so honestly
him being in the closet didn't surprise me in the slightest. What did concern me, however, was my sex drive. My dick was constantly getting hard any time I was near an even remotely attractive female. I felt like an eleven-year old boy who just discovered breasts.
After a few days spent masturbating way too much, I managed to convince the server from Riverwood, Olivia, to come home with me after bar close one night.
Once we worked past the kissing and boring formalities, we both stood in front of each other naked and ready to become partners in sin.
“Suck my dick.” I told her.
“Ooh, I like a bossy guy.” She squealed a little. “I'll suck it so good, daddy.”
Olivia got on her knees and took me into her mouth. She couldn't get it all the way in, but she could take enough to scratch my itch. It was good. Not Cynthia good, but enjoyable. I felt her try to pull her head away as I felt my cum getting ready to burst out, but she couldn't. I could see the fear in her eyes as she looked up at me.
“Try to relax. Twenty-six seconds, then it'll all be over.”
S is for Sable
Noah Rex
When driving down Elmer's Street sometimes you'll be able to make out a turn, hidden expertly behind thorn bushes. I urge you to never take that path. Now simple urging won't convince you, I assume, so I'll just tell you the story of Sable Lane.
It started off fine. I had stopped in Pinewood. I filled up my tank, bought myself some coffee and a cupcake for a snack. I had walked around the gas station, subtly asking about abandoned places nearby. After getting a lead, I made a quick trip to the trucker's room, cleaning up the slight stubble I had been growing over the last few days on the road. After fixing myself up enough to not look homeless (which I was) I walked to the address I had gotten: Pine Grove Mall.
I did this from town to town, claiming that wherever I was had been such a bustling place when I was younger, and that I wondered how so much had changed. Usually, people would mention some abandoned place during the conversation. The girl at the counter was easy enough to charm, as I smiled carefully, asking her about her day and about the town. She seemed glad that I was interested in the area. I took down her directions to various places and then thanked her. It was easy enough to find Pine Grove by asking her what was nearby, acting like I had simply forgotten the shop names. Abandoned malls were good, depending of course on the reason why it was abandoned. Some had forgotten clothes in them, and maybe I could find two clean shirts and a jacket. I arrived at the mall and looked around, noticing that the main door was padlocked. I clicked my tongue, crouching around and trying to find a broken window or some other entrance. There was a small opening between two parts of a wall that I could squeeze through. I slipped in and stopped; I wasn't alone.
I could hear the undertones of a monotonous voice talking, and then several responses from a younger guy (their words weren’t clear from where I stood). The smell of mold was almost overpowering, but it was also mixed with burning chemicals. I groaned softly, bringing a hand up to my nose as I shifted forward from under the crawlspace I had used to get in. Thick smoke was curling out from what looked like the basement. I silently walked down the stairs, and the smoke thickened. As I approached the door to the basement, I could see the outlines of a fire through a crack in the door. This was either meth-heads or something worse. I watched from a hole in the wall as a few people stood around a fresh fire. They were all wearing black-hooded jackets, black pants, and masks out of the movie ‘Scream.’ One of them was bending down and stoking the fire as the others watched. Two of them were talking:
“-- so the fire is ready now,” said one. The other nodded.
“I want no interruptions this time,” he said. His voice strangely monotonous. I stepped back unconsciously. “Are you sure there are no scheduled rounds today?”
“Yes,” said the younger one. “I checked the Sheriff’s office. No rounds in the register.” They had contacts in the police department - this seemed bad. I made my way back up the stairs, sticking to the shadows. I drove away as fast as I could, chain smoking cigarettes to calm my racing heart.
My car seemingly slowed down right after the rusted, crooked sign that once used to guide people to Sable Lane. In fact, it seemed like everything was slowed down relative to me. My eyes follow the faded yellow stripes going left and I was unsure as to whether it would be a bad idea. Some part of my young self wanted validation; one look at my 1913 gold plated watch told it was an hour before midnight. I clicked my tongue, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and blew out smoke rings as I went over what I had seen. Should I call the cops to the mall?
I had just stopped at a bar where some chick in a tight skirt kept flirting with the guy next to me. I thought I looked better than him. She talked to him for an hour while I sat there with my fifth shot, nursing it slowly. I had just run away from home due to...certain circumstances. My therapist, Raymond, will probably be heartbroken. But I couldn't have stayed there for much longer. It was hell being in that house. The road suited me much better.
I ended up taking the turn. I kept driving for a few minutes before a cement barrier blocked the road and I knew somewhere deep down that it was my last chance to turn back. I sat there for a few minutes before lighting another cigarette, debating whether I should leave the car there or turn back. I eventually decided to stay in the car as I drove off the road to pass the blockade. After a few more minutes of driving, houses began to emerge on both sides, and I started to feel like I'd made a mistake. Each one was in the exact same state of despair. With the same graffiti markings, in the same locations, and the same amount of spray paint too. My hand twitched as I debated turning back, yet again. The houses could've once been beautiful, with their white-washed walls and perfect slanting red roofs, but now every window was blocked with wood. Such finesse - each board was stacked above the next at perfect angles, not ninety degrees. The whole street looked like an orchestrated mess. Like every leaf was put into place with thought. The first out-of-place thing I saw was a black shining arrow on the ground, darker than the night sky, as if the asphalt had faded under it and it fell directly to hell.
I think of the mall. I don't want to go there again, it was easy but not worth it. Sable Lane had me like a fly trapped in sticky sheets then, it called to me almost like a lover opening their arms and whispering my name. My head spun as I got closer to the houses, the underside of my tongue felt numb as I drove closer. Every traumatic memory surfaced as my eyes start tearing up. I just wanted to crash into my lover's arms and cry my heart out. Never to return to the world again, as I fall apart in their embrace. My car skidded on the black ink precisely as I took a shaky breath, unsure why there was a brick sitting on my chest. I stopped the car when a loud pop broke my line of thought: a punctured tire. My breathing was hot and heavy as I clenched my hands on the steering wheel. It's then that I saw the difference: in the house closest to me, two separate wooden bars had been removed to give a view of the living room. There was some movement inside, so I ruffled through the bag lying next to me and pulled out a gun. A Deagle, illegal, probably the last thing I ever want to get caught with. I keep telling myself that I bought it for protection, but late nights seduce me into putting it against my head.
I stepped out, tucking the gun into my waistband like all those 5:00 A. M. cop shows. I tried to imitate their walk as I approached the house in a crouch. The room was bright but the light didn't spill outside like it should. I didn't care in that moment as I stood up straight. I knew what I was looking at. A memory. My father holding a wooden stick, looking down at me curled up into a ball, my frame much smaller than it is now. My curled hands raised, fear dancing in my eyes. My fingers unconsciously curled around my forearm where I still have a scar, my nails digging into skin as an odd sort of longing set in. I wanted to save myself because no one else ever did. I saw myself getting hit and flinched, the screams filling my ears as I stepped back, trying to focus on anything but the begging. My watery eyes l
ooked away from the window as I bit my lip, regretting the decision to come here.
The next house was similar, the spray paint forming 'His name is Sable,' the ivy growing along the east wall as I stood close to it peering into the window. I was high, paranoid and curled up on the sofa. I stepped back, tears rolling freely because I didn't even want to see that memory. Panic seized me as I walked back to my car. No amount of kicking could fix the tire as I dropped to my knees.
The sound of footsteps filled my ears and I turned towards, it holding the bonnet of the car, eyes filled with apprehension. This is when I got to know that Sable Lane was alive, as something breathed down my collar. My bloodshot eyes widened at the feeling of warm breath caressing my neck and I started to run without turning back. My feet slammed down and then there was another sound, wet crunches on asphalt. I knew looking back would slow me down so I didn't. That's when I saw another arrow pointing in a different direction. I followed it thoughtlessly. It was a better decision than my mind was capable of making. The black sticky liquid clung to my shoes for a few terrifying seconds but then I was running off the road. The creature’s walk hadn’t sounded human, but it couldn't be heard anymore. I ran into the shallow shrubs towards the thicker tree line. There was a handprint on one of the trees. I couldn't tell if it was black or red in the dim light of the setting sun, but I told myself it was black. Uncertainty seemed better than certainty. This was when I remembered that my phone was in my pocket. I took it out and the low signal bars felt like a twisting knife.
9-1-1
Ring.
“Please pick up,” I whispered.
I was still running and I could hear something behind me again. I chanced a glance backwards and my breath hitched in my throat with fear. My adrenaline levels peaked as I focused more on the trees.
