by Lee Pletzers
“God isn’t here. He stopped looking after you a long time ago. He gave you to ME! And now, I’m giving you to her…”
Jason felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into blue eyes—eyes he had seen love him so many times before. Jessica wiped his face as she stood him up.
She was as lovely as he’d remembered, for the most part…her flesh was noticeably paler, though, and her perfect breasts lactated blood in dark streams down her naked body. She was more muscular now, her thighs and calves bulging as they tapered down to cloven hooves. Huge, membranous wings grew from her shoulders and wrapped around him as she lifted his face to hers. “I’m sorry, we have to go now.” She led him down into the darkness and heat. The screams of torment filled his ears and shook his soul with dread.
Below him, up to their throats in a sea of boiling, flaming blood…or perhaps magma…was a legion of scorching, screaming sinners, stretching to Hell’s smoking horizons.
Directly below him, he saw Leo, looking up at him in confusion, then realization, then with the raw hatred of betrayal. Brain tissue trickled out from the crack in his skull. His roar of YOU MOTHERFUCKER, YOU PUT US HERE, GET DOWN IN HERE WITH US…was understandably lost in the ‘roar of the crowd’, but Jason could still hear it clearly in his mind…
Mark, glaring up with empty eye sockets filled with broken glass, weeping dark tears of blood, as he would forever…but Jason still knew he could see him, blame him, damn him…
Nate, reaching up out of the magma with both arms—giving Jason the finger with his whole arm, and ostensibly trying to do the same thing with the other, that had been smashed into a pulped, flopping tentacle from the accident…
Psychic agony tore through the remnants of Jason’s mind. He had put them here, he’d grabbed the goddamned wheel and spun his best friends right into the lake of fire…and none of them deserved Hell, they drank and fucked and cursed like everyone else he’d ever known; they weren’t evil, but here they were. He wanted to say I’m sorry, guys, I fucked up, I know…but nothing came out of his throat. Then he remembered saying Real villains don’t feel they’ve done anything wrong…
Jessica smiled at the sight of his fear. “Don’t worry about them, Jason, you’re one of us now. You’ve turned. You’ll be bringing them here. Get used to the screaming.” She then led him through a dark passage and returned him to his life. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t wait forever? Well…this is forever.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the misery he’d barely escaped; the misery he would spend eternity bringing upon others…
…And in the shadows of the tunnel, he caught a glimpse of red hair.
Back to TOC
Sex, as we all know, is the mechanism that puts us all on the planet, it’s proof positive that God wants us to feel something pleasant while we’re here. Having said that…it CAN be a ‘slippery slope’ leading some individuals to a Pandora’s Box of perversions that can destroy any hope for a healthy relationship.
There were two shocking, cult-classic horror tales in a genre all their own: one is “Love Doll” by Joe R. Lansdale, another is “Somebody to Love” by Robert Bloch.
And now, courtesy of Mr. Joseph Pinto, there are three…
Plastic
By Joseph Pinto
He’d only fuck his type.
In actuality, he became quite the fusspot. He desired athletic women. They didn’t have to be sculpted from stone, but they did have to have lean arms, and they did have to have long legs. Pretty feet, too. That was important. Very important. He didn’t think it would be at first, but his tastes had matured. He joked with friends at work (they must’ve believed him to be a real hoot for they laughed an awful lot when he was around; odd he should still be waiting on an invitation to lunch or even happy hour, for that matter) that he was like a fine wine, better with age, blah blah blah, but when asked what he meant, he offered something ambiguous.
He couldn’t tell them the truth. They’d never understand.
Pretty feet. An odd thing. A breathtaking body scored points for sure, but appalling or misshapen feet would kill the deal. Long toes. Crooked toes. Fat toes. Callused toes or even callused heels. Pretty feet. It was important. He was a harsh judge. Now toenail polish he wasn’t such a stickler about, as long as the polish wasn’t flaking off. That skeeved him. Yep, a real deal killer.
He enjoyed tits; all applicants were welcome. Perky tits. Saggy tits. Booty mama go go tits. Whatever. He didn’t do much to them anyway. Sometimes he sucked on them. Occasionally he’d stick his dick between them. Mostly he liked to look at them. Tits were never the deal-killer bad feet could be.
The ass he preferred a bit bubbly but tight. An ironic thing, because his own ass was a pockmarked, lumpy thing. Just a mess. He never worked out. He was the complete opposite of the very women he preferred. He ignored the man in the mirror; the only thing he focused on was the whole fine wine thing, blah blah blah. Back to the ass. Tight. Yes. He usually took his women from behind and needed something to hold onto - a small waist, a wide firm ass. Lovely.
Smooth skin soothed him. Smooth and cool. Cooler the better. He liked to rub the length of his own body against theirs before fucking.
But there was one thing his women couldn’t have.
A head.
Fairly simple. He didn’t need to look at them. He was fucking them, after all. No head. Clean, cut and dry.
He looked his girls over. Monica, Jasmine, Katelyn, Sarah and Bunny all in a row. He knew Bunny wasn’t her name. It was a stage name, but he never questioned her real identity, never pressed the issue. He chose five girls every night from the many that shared the house. How many were there now - fifty, sixty maybe? First floor, second floor. Attic. Basement. Every closet. The girls were there. He’d always find them. They couldn’t leave. Why would they? He took good care of them. Besides, he was a good fuck, if he said so himself.
He took his time. Choosing five girls from the lot was a difficult task. His tastes changed all the time, sometimes several swings over the course of a given day. Choosing one girl from the five was even thornier. Nerve-wracking. He certainly didn’t want to offend anyone. He didn’t want to offend any of the girls, ever. It wasn’t a matter of picking the best, he’d tell them. Just picking the best to accentuate my taste for the day, he’d explain. They knew he had specific tastes anyway. They understood he was like a fine wine.
The girls stood. Motionless. He rubbed his chin. He’d dallied enough. Time to make a decision. Who would it be? He nodded, took one by the hand.
Bunny. It’d be Bunny. He felt like a little role-play.
Bunny was imaginative; she could handle it. He would be a Chippendale, and Bunny his paying customer. She’d want a lap dance. He’d give her the dance of her life.
They were in the basement. He led Bunny to the couch, whispered he’d be right back. He went to the other women and gently swiveled them so they’d face the wall. He had respect. And it wasn’t respectful to make them watch when they weren’t chosen. Tonight wasn’t orgy night. Nor was it threesome or swinger night. He’d pick Bunny. It was Bunny night.
He started slowly, swaying his hips as he thought Chippendales swayed them. Puffed his chest and sucked his stomach in. Best as best he could, anyway. Bunny would be impressed. She seemed to be already. He dragged his hand through his hair and across his head. Down the nape of his neck and then back to his mouth. Suckled his pinky. Real sexy stuff. He realized he’d forgotten to fire up a CD. Nothing to set the mood. Silly. It hardly mattered. Bunny ate it up. He was the mood.
He unbuttoned his shirt. He was a bit clumsy. He tried not to look as he did so, but fumbled at the buttons. Nervous sweat dampened his pits. He only wanted to be as sexy as those Chippendales, but the damn buttons. He glanced at Bunny. Oh yeah, her back arched impatiently. She was ready. Uh-huh. Girlfriend wanted him. She wouldn’t care if he skipped the rest of his dance. Damn you, Chippendales.
He ripped the remainder of the buttons from hi
s shirt. Flipped his shoes off, yanked the belt from around his waist as if his life depended on it, tore at the button of his pants. The belt dangled from his hand; for a moment, he contemplated. It’d been awhile since he last drew it tightly around his neck. But tonight wouldn’t be a night to satisfy fetishes. Tonight would be a night to appease carnal desire. He flung the belt aside and removed his pants and boxers.
His hard-on throbbed like a bee sting. He had to give it to Bunny and give it to her quick. Nights like this were rare—he usually took his time. All the girls loved his foreplay, considered him a master. He liked that. Made him feel special. He knew he wasn’t a selfish lover. He gave as much as he received.
He grabbed Bunny the mannequin and ardently spun her, driving his dick into her, gasping each time he slapped against the cool plastic of her ass. He did nothing to pace himself or find a mutual rhythm, just pumped with vigor. Bunny was one of those girls who appreciated that. She lusted for the occasional sprint.
He ground his teeth, but couldn’t suppress his passion any longer. He threw his head back and snorted like a boar, squeezing his eyes so hard he saw tiny white sparkles. Fingers slick with sweat, he slapped Bunny’s ass with such authority it surprised even him. Then he stumbled forward where they both hit the wall.
If he could trust his friends at work, he’d tell them he fucked Bunny’s ass like never before. Really brutalized the bitch. He liked the sound of that. He drove as deep as he could into Bunny, every thrust rubbing his groin raw, pushing her headless body so hard against the wall he feared she might crack. But he was on the verge of orgasm and couldn’t stop.
He flooded Bunny’s cavity and nearly collapsed, exhausted. Sweat dripped from his nose across her back. He steadied himself against the wall then shoved his hips forward one more time to drain himself of all he was worth. He strained his neck, kissing her between her shoulder blades as he offered sweet whispers of affection.
After he got dressed, he gently cradled Bunny in his arms. Tonight, she’d be sleeping in bed with him. She’d earned that right, after allowing him to take her like that.
As he ascended the basement stairs, he looked sadly over his shoulder. The other girls might get jealous, but they’d get over it eventually.
The house was pitch-black. The light over the kitchen sink wasn’t even on. He didn’t like that. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the dark, no, not at all. He was a grown man. He knew better than to be afraid of the dark. The dark was harmless—it was what hid in it that worried him. But he wasn’t about to reveal his insecurity to Bunny.
He felt his way around the rocking chair, the coffee table and then the corner of the couch.
Finally…up the stairs.
The nightlight he kept in the hall was out, too. He became angry, because now he knew it’d been done on purpose.
He stifled the curse on his lips. He didn’t want Bunny to know his level of aggravation. He didn’t wish to ruin their perfect night. It really had been perfect, hadn’t it? He hoped she felt the same way. They’d grown closer the past few months, something he never thought possible, despite the obvious affection he possessed for all his women.
He entered his bedroom. Stray shafts of moonlight pranced along the carpet. He watched their dance for a moment, hugging Bunny close as he did. She seemed to nestle against him a bit more than usual. He smiled. He couldn’t help himself.
The bedsprings protested as he flipped the corner of the sheets back and bounced into bed, Bunny safe under his arm. He stared at the ceiling, sighed. The moonlight danced there as well, but this time he was too distracted to enjoy it. “The light over the kitchen sink isn’t on,” he said. “I can live with that. Sometimes even I forget to leave it on. But the nightlight in the hall isn’t on. You did that on purpose, and I’m not happy.”
Sheets rustled from across the bed, then pulled taut as the form beneath them drew further away. “I don’t give two shits how you feel.” Was his wife’s icy response.
“You did it on purpose,” he pushed. He didn’t want to argue, especially not with Bunny in bed. But his annoyance couldn’t be contained.
“Go back downstairs,” a sneer from the dark. “Go back down into your basement and fuck your filthy dummies—”
“They are not dummies!”
“—go back down and fuck your filthy whore dummies—”
“They are not filthy whore dummies!”
“—go back down and fuck your filthy whore dummies and then leave this house for good, you sick perverted bastard. Sick perverted bastard piece of shit!”
Then the sobs commenced and the sniffles too, as was always the case every night. The sobs, they just plain annoyed him. But the sniffles—the sound of snot sucked back down into his wife’s throat—made him shiver. Really gross stuff. Not to mention it kept him up half the night. He had work in the morning. You’d think she’d be a bit more considerate. “You only wish you were half the woman they are.”
“What...did...you...say?”
He didn’t want to get into this, not now, but it couldn’t be helped. His wife was looking for a fight, well, she’d found one. “I’m tired of you being a cold fish at my side. Plastic. You can’t handle the fact that I’ve found affection somewhere else. Well… deal with it. Just like I have all these years.” He flipped onto his side, careful not to crush Bunny. “Oh yeah, and I never fuck my women. I make love to them. Sweet love. Not that you know anything about that. But tonight...tonight I brutalized my baby something good. Something you can only dream about.”
He lay grinning in the dark, satisfied, even as the bed shook to the chorus of his wife’s emotional breakdown. Another night of improper rest, but it’d be worth it. He listened to the sobs, listened to the suck of snot back into his wife’s chest for about fifteen minutes, maybe more, until it eventually faded away. He hugged Bunny close.
Something thumped hard against the side of the bed, jerking him awake. He grunted, swatted at the cool trail drool had left along his cheek, eyes fluttering open.
Moonlight had fled the room, and he realized he must’ve fallen asleep quicker than usual. Suddenly his senses cried out. Bunny was gone. As he groped about the bed for her, a labored breath came from the far side of the room.
“Looking for her?” His wife, but something about her sounded odd, a cold edge to her voice he’d never heard before, a cruelty reserved for someone who might torture puppies for fun.
“What have you done?”
A horrible smack against the wall, followed by another, then another and another in maddening succession. He recognized the sound instantly; he’d heard it hundreds of times before. “What have you done?”
“Nothing that hasn’t been done to her already.” Then light ripped through the room.
His wife, standing at the foot of the bed, hands planted upon hips in an arrogant display of defiance. Her hair askew, eyes wild, and crooked mouth gaping. She locked his horrified gaze before flippantly stepping aside.
A naked man beat Bunny against the wall. He pushed to his elbows, legs thrashing against the twist of sheets. He had to save his Bunny. He had to save her from his wife and her henchman. His adrenaline quickly dried; his grasp upon reality crumbled.
Bunny wasn’t being beaten against the wall. She was getting fucked through the wall. The naked man’s savage penetrations dented the sheetrock until Bunny’s headless neck and shoulders lodged into it. One of her breasts had been crushed; the other torn away. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The naked man’s skin appeared sinewy and smooth. Much too smooth. He’d seen that skin before. Hell, that skin had been under his own fingers a hundred times before.
“All those nights you spent fucking your whore dummies…did you think I’d just lay up in this bedroom by myself?” his wife spat, as the naked man cast Bunny, broken and cracked, to the floor. “Didn’t you think I might do you one better? Didn’t you think I might get loving of my own?”
He heard her voice. Problem was, he coul
dn’t listen. How could he? The naked man stood across from him, the naked man with insanely smooth skin. The naked man with an absurdly enormous dick.
“You were so careful to hide all your lovers…but did you ever think to check under the bed for mine?”
The naked man with no head.
“But...but mannequins aren’t alive…” he croaked, promptly soiling himself as his wife’s dummy lover shambled toward him.
Back to TOC
One of the advantages of living in this period in history is if you don’t like some particular feature about your body, you’re not necessarily ‘stuck with it’. Is your nose too long? Chop it. Are your breasts too small? Shove some silicone in there. Don’t like your eye color? Stick in some colored contacts. Build that ‘Perfect Beast’, baby.
