Squirm: virgin captive of the billionaire biker tentacle monster (The Squirm Files)

by Cari Silverwood

  “Oh my.” She blinked. “Why didn’t you ask these to help you in the fight?”

  From one passing crate, he plucked a small multi-colored sculpture and brought it to her. “I like to keep my tenta– my hand in. Being a billionaire can make it too easy.” His smile left his eyes and they seemed to darken as he let his gaze travel down her body. “Easy makes me want to do things the hard way.”

  Clearly he expected her to understand that. She nodded. “Uh huh.” Weird man. “What is that?”

  He hefted the sculpture and held it up for her to see. “A garden gnome. Ming dynasty.”

  She raised an eyebrow, lowered it, and raised it again. A gnome. Thoughts scrambled about the walls of her mind playing ball and catch me if you can. What in the world did he want with garden gnomes? A white powder was leaking from one cracked nostril. Ah-hah. She put her finger out and pressed it to the powder.

  “Are all these crates full of gnomes?” Virginia put her powder-coated finger in her mouth and sucked.

  “Yes. All of them. What was that on your finger?” He looked at the gnome’s face. “Cracked?”

  “Bolivian,” she murmured. “Ninety percent pure. Barely cut at all.” Wow.

  If all these crates were packed with cocaine-filled gnomes this was worth squillions. No wonder the bikers had stolen them.

  “Cracked,” Karl Thulhu repeated. He tossed the gnome at the far back wall of the garage and it smashed, sending up a cloud of powder. “Damn.”

  What? “I thought.” Her voice squeaked. “I thought you wanted these?”

  “I know they’re not worth much. It’s a hobby of mine.” He made tut tutting noises. “But once cracked they’re not collectable.”

  Her mouth was stuck in an O of astonishment. Beyond Karl she saw Dangerous Bob grin and shrug as if to say, what the fuck, I have no fucking idea.

  “Come.” Karl held out his hand for her to take. “We have a small journey to make and you have to make a choice.”

  “I do?”

  He gripped her hand tightly then strolled with her by his side out the garage door and into the night. “I overheard a conversation. Was it true that you are a virgin, and that you have a bear trap in your pussy that chomps on cocks?”

  Oh my frickin god. She blushed so thoroughly her cheeks were probably on fire. “I umm...”

  Something prompted her to be truthful. Probably the part of her that her aunt said should have been committed all those years ago after she ran across the football field naked except for a pair of pom poms and a tube of lube.

  She sucked in a breath. “Yes. I am one. A virgin. But no, there is no bear trap. I made it up. I was sure a monster had hold of me.” And was violating my private parts.

  “Shh. It’s fine. Don’t be embarrassed. I like virgins. The bear trap seemed far-fetched but my brain doesn’t do so well when I shift.”

  Shift. She checked Karl Thulhu out the corner of her eye. Had he moved house recently and what did that have to do with her being a virgin? She should just act intelligent, maybe?

  “Lovely night out –” She halted. “What the hell is that?” An enormous black helicopter was parked in the street, with gun turrets and rockets slung beneath its stubby wing pods.

  “AH-64D Apache Long Bow attack helicopter.” Karl squeezed her hand. “I hate plot conundrums. Deciding how to beat up the Furry Wolves left me too many options – either show my own physical capabilities or show how obscenely rich I am. I decided to show my mean streak.”

  He let go of her hand, wrapped his arm about her waist, and dragged her to him until she had to lean back to avoid ending up face first in his jacket.

  Startled, she let out a squeak.

  The smile that spread across his face was almost demonic and she wondered if she should tell him in case he needed a makeover. No, being scared took precedence. Her heartbeat did a fast tango then fled to another country.

  “I have one important question to ask you before I kiss you.”

  Kiss her? Her eyes had possibly bulged out of their sockets. Not good. “What?”

  “Are you allergic to calamari?”

  “Umm.” She ran her tongue across her upper lip. “No? I think?”

  “Good.” Then he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her so long and hard that by the time they were done she was panting, their tongues were tied in a knot that took them a minute to untangle, and her second almost-orgasm was ready to explode through her veins. She wanted to grind herself on that possibly ten inch plus long schlong, and scream, take me!

  Also, the sun had arisen. One long-ass kiss.

  “That was nice,” she whispered.

  “Yes. And now I know you’re not allergic.”

  Hmm. This man was so curious. Garden gnomes and calamari allergies. Whatever next?

  Chapter 4

  Eye color, that was what was next, she realized, as he half drew and half towed her toward a herd of motor bikes. He had black eyes. Not black from being hit by Dangerous Bob’s piece of four by two, but black irises like the yucky tasting jelly beans. Contact lenses, she decided.

  Dangerous Bob was already astride his bike and he muttered something that sounded like, “Fuck. Fuckitty grumble fuck grrr.” But in her head it came out as, about time. Let’s hit the road before the cops arrive.

  She blinked and he gave her a thumbs up.

  Two girls appeared from nowhere and ran screaming at Dangerous Bob only to be left jogging in his dust as he took off.

  “What was that?”

  Karl appraised her. “He attracts them like flies. You’ve heard of catnip? Bob has girlnip. Whenever he swears women come running.”

  “Really?” Internally, she did a survey. No, no lady bits party. “Not me.”

  “You’ve got a rare immunity.”

  Karl picked her up around the waist and deposited her onto the back of the bike. Her bare wet pussy immediately slurped across then suctioned onto the leather. She dearly hoped he had some good leather cleaner. He sat in front of her, yelled, hang on tight, and started the bike. The three trillion whatever horsepower engine revved, like it was the beginning of a moon mission, the dawn sun glinted off the back of Karl’s black jacket, and she frowned, thinking.

  The whole flock or pack, or whatever the hell you called a collection of bikers, swerved and bumped over the sidewalk and onto the road then screamed forward, full throttle.

  Elderly neighbors leaped out of the way and into the bushes, angrily shaking their crutches and wheelchairs.

  Wow. Virginia raised her brow. Strong old people.

  Wait on. The handlebars of the bike, the glimpse she’d had of them, had been of some immense sparkling. She edged up off the seat, feeling her twat reluctantly release the leather, and spied over his shoulder. Yup. Good guess.

  “Are those diamonds on your bike, Karl?”

  “Yes!” His word was torn away by the wind and the noise of the growling bikes. “I keep the attack helicopter on standby to guard from thieves.”

  Show off.

  Diamond-encrusted bike handles!!!!!!!!

  Swoon time. Her ovaries, that really should know better, got up, chugged down a bottle of tequila, and did a naked tap dance.

  She put her nose to his neck and inhaled. The smell of his sweaty neck had become as divine to her nostrils as the scent of a suitcase of money.

  There was some weird sex appeal to a man who had diamond encrusted handlebars on his bike and a big nasty helicopter at his disposal to blow to smithereens any thief crazy enough to try stealing them. Maybe because it seemed as if he could protect her from all the bad things in life? He could buy his way out of anything, or into anything, like a trip to Paris for the weekend?

  Love unlimited. Luxury unlimited. Yes. And if some bitch stole her place in the queue at Walmart, she could have her turned into duck food. Scary vengeance unlimited.

  Her inner voice gathered courage and whined. That’s not very nice.

  Party pooper, she told it.

&n
bsp; The bike accelerated. Woohoooo.

  After tearing along the streets and highway for nearly an hour, though part of that time was spent buying gnomes at a local market, they arrived before a set of steel gates that were sculpted in the shape of waves. The gates swung open, the bike rolled in, and Virginia leaned out to study the hill the asphalt headed toward.

  On top of the hill perched a dark, turreted castle that rose so high into the sky that clouds caressed the very top blood-red turret. She could barely make out the details of the flag up there. A red octopus clutching a wheel? The same design was on a patch on the back of Karl’s jacket and, of course, on the business card Cyndie had left. Strange shapes like...like big spaghetti sprouted from the base of the castle and wound around and up the brickwork.

  Perhaps Karl was Italian? That would explain his preference for red too. Like tomato sauce or something.

  Seagulls and terns cruised above and she could hear waves washing onto shore. The ocean must be over the horizon.

  As they began to climb the hill road, she stared in awe at the castle. “It’s enormous.”

  “Too big!” he tossed back at her. “The damn cleaners always want overtime.”

  Though Karl was a commanding man, perhaps some small advice would help him.

  “If you explain the circumstances, they might be kind enough to take less pay?”

  He remained silent until they skidded to a halt, in a spray of gravel, beside the front double doors of the castle. The Apache attack helicopter thundered in and landed off to the side, scattering flowers, sucking a lone stupid seagull into its air intake, and swamping the sound of the arrival of the rest of the pack of...swarm of...skulk of, she’d heard that one somewhere, but whatever the hell you termed them, they had arrived too – the other Sea Wolves on their bikes.

  “I tried explaining to the cleaners. I find throwing them off the roof works better.”

  “Mmm?”

  The engine throbbed to a stop and still she hadn’t worked that one out. What else sounded like throwing? Maybe he meant hoe-ing. Stowing? Crap. No.

  Note: get hearing tested.

  As he dismounted, she checked out the black leather gloves he wore with big red spots on the palms. Red, again. Black, red, sometimes gray. But orange and blond hair, at least that was different. The man needed some makeover team to kidnap him. And again with the creepy black and gray giant spaghetti curling over the red doors. A clap of thunder made her jump. Karl grinned and took her hand to help her off the bike. Some fool had a storm theme on loud speaker.

  The rest of the bikers had lined up either side of the path to the doors, as if this was a rite of passage she had to make before she’d be allowed to enter. Some women sneaked out through the doors and wrapped their arms around a couple of the bikers. Karl introduced the bikers as he led her past. Crank. Souleater.

  “Hi,” Souleater growled. “This is Jennifer.” The brown-haired woman peeked from under his arm and nodded, her smile packed with warmth and welcome. Souleater squeezed her in closer until she gasped. “Sorry, sweets.”

  Karl continued. “Heart Surgeon.” My oh my, what a lot of scalpels that man possessed.

  “Daisy.” His sleeve of daisy tattoos commingled with ones of mermaids being toasted on a BBQ grill.

  “Pretty.” She faked approval. Yup. Free ticket to the asylum there.

  Wanderer. Diamond Dick. Tiny. She had to squeeze past his enormous gut. After twenty or so men her head swam with names.

  Their scents assailed her. Leather. Mmm. Beer. Ohmigod. Money. Holy crap.

  She swayed.

  They were all big and burly and in black or brown leather jackets. Any one of them could eat her for breakfast.

  Or all of them. What a vision that conjured. Her naked and lying on her back on the table, wriggling. Them lowering their mouths, licking her toes, pulling apart her legs. Holding her down –

  “This is Horse,” Karl said.

  Horse leered at her so obviously that she stopped. Another large man. A brown tail of hair pulled back by a leather strip.

  She tried to but couldn’t stop herself asking. “Why are you called Horse?”

  “Why do you think, Honey?” He quirked an eyebrow, waggled them both and did a little groin thrust in her direction.

  Leisurely, she roamed her gaze down him, down, downnn, yes further. Crap the man was big. Down. Found it. Hmm.

  She looked some more, sucked in her cheek. Small crotch bulge. She did the arithmetic.

  Bulge volume P minus R thickness of cloth. Square root of I unrolled length of schlong and add C wanking time. Answer equals K.

  Double hmm. No. Do not. But her many years of study of a thousand male appendages through a thousand drilled toilet doors meant she owed it to the world to reveal the stats.

  “Let me guess. Because you’re hung like one?”

  “Yep. Want a trial run?”

  She took a deep breath but the words spilled.

  “The average stallion has a penis that when erect runs to about twenty-two inches long, yours is about seven and a half erect, a Shetland pony would beat you. Oops.” She smiled, knowing she was going red. “Sorry.”

  “What the? How can you...how can you know that? Hey. That’s. That’s just plain wrong!”

  Karl dragged her on by her arm. “He’ll get over it.”

  “That’s a lie! I can prove it!”

  “Hey, Ponyman!” someone yelled, then they laughed. The sounds of a small fight with baseball bats and knuckle dusters, maybe the odd handgun, broke out behind her.

  “Welcome to my dwelling and the club house of the Sea Wolves” Karl said as he pushed through the center of the doors. Beyond seemed only darkness. “We have a dinner date and you need to get ready.” His lips stretched into a menacing smile that made both her ovaries faint and her inner voice get all choked up, for once.

  “Okay,” she squeaked.

  Dangerous Bob was already inside, standing a few feet away at the forward edge of a vast stretch of black marble. A shaft of light illuminated him from above. The hairs on his head were indeed pieces of sticking up wire and tats of tiny black spiders ran across his scalp, filling in the color between the wires. His groin – for once her measurements availed her not at all. Unreadable.

  The ceiling seemed to be up there, somewhere a long way away, as in a forever distance.

  Dangerous Bob’s string of profanity and murmured fucks and fuckitty’s merged into the translation in her head, Welcome, Virginia. I hope you know you won’t be leaving here a virgin.

  Oh myyy.

  Three screaming girls ran in and clutched at him. He patted them all then pulled one up until she jumped and clasped his waist with her legs, then he kissed her.

  Karl chuckled. He tucked Virginia into his side and bit her neck, then he turned her so her back was spooned against his body, trapping her arms under his. At the feel of his hard length pressing into her, heat ran through her body like an Olympic torch carrier being chased by a pack of wild rabid dogs.

  Her ovaries fainted again. Cheapshit ovaries. When she shivered and clutched at his arm so as not to fall, he laughed.

  “That’s Amber, Dangerous Bob’s nemesis. She’s the one who gave him a Kool-Aid hand job, turned his dick blue, and made it fall off. He has an artificial battery powered replacement. That’s why we call him Bob – B. O. B. He vowed never to let her return to the land of reality again.”

  Reality land? Wait. The man had no schlong? Damn. This place was whacky. She so needed to watch her step. Things could go wrong. Like, what the hell, no schlong?

  And what was a BOB?

  “You’re beautiful,” Karl said, murmuring hotly in her ear and kissing her here, there, and anywhere that had a vague link to an erogenous zone. Something as thick as his arm slid across her stomach, below where his arms already held her, and ventured lazily southward. She tensed.

  What. Was. That? Had a snake wandered in?

  “Snake! Python! Or maybe some of that
spaghetti stuff has gotten loose?”

  Virginia tried to look but his grip firmed and she could only see his arms. When she struggled and went to speak, he shushed her, and rocked her side to side, growling a little.

  A man growling in her ear was all fine but the rocking was freaking her out. Plus her arms were maybe going blue from his grip.

  “Snake?” she repeated. “Feral spaghetti?”

  “Neither, Virginia, it is I. You’re mine from now on and you will never ever leave here again.”

  Shit. Oh shit, shit. In an emergency, the part of her brain that she normally devoted to her Quest for the Ten inch Purple-headed Schlong would drag itself out of the gutter and come help her think.

  Think!

  “Wait.” She strained her forearm into view and held up a finger. “You said that I needed to make a choice. So therefore I choose to leave.” It would devastate her to have to leave behind a possible ten plus incher but sacrifices were needed.

  “You made your choice when you got on my bike with me.”

  A small twang of terror joined the twinge of fear she’d already cultivated.

  She scrambled for another excuse. “And I have nothing to wear to dinner?”

  “Pfft. Who said you needed clothes.”

  “Me?” she squeaked. Her heartbeat was thumping away like crazy in her chest. Which was a relief – if it’d been anywhere else in her body she’d have really been in trouble. “Karl. Umm. I’m not the main course, am I?”

  “No. Of course not, my gorgeous captive virgin. You are dessert.”

  Virginia scrambled for a witty comeback but nothing arrived in her mind apart from a whole bunch of high-pitched screams and one of those solo violin efforts where the same horrible note went on and on. Eee! Eee! Eee!

  The tip of the snakelike thing, which somehow was also Karl, had gone even further southward. When it timidly lifted her dress and sneaked underneath to poke around at the juncture of her thighs, she recognized it. This was the same thing that had come close to violating her before. She jammed her thighs together. Not this time, baby. This dessert was off the menu.

  Tentacle! That word again. She’d remember it now, considering the thing had been partway up her twat.