SickER Bastards: A Novel of Extreme Horror, Sex and Gore

by Matt Shaw

  “Wait a minute.”

  I tried to sit up but had nowhere to go - not with her head in my lap.

  “What?”

  “There are cameras everywhere. Small ones so that they can watch us…”

  “So? Let them watch!”

  She took my cock in her mouth again. Another sigh escaped my lips. Feels so fucking good and - slowly - all other thoughts disappeared from my mind. I slid my hand back to her pussy and inserted two fingers at first and - then - a third… Again, my cock slipped from her mouth as she looked up to my face. I opened my fingers up, stretching her lips as wide as my fingers would permit. She writhed around, pushing herself down onto my digits as she went back to expertly working my shaft with her mouth and tongue. I withdrew my fingers long enough to give them a lick. Current predicament had clearly not affected her libido as they were already coated in a layer of her salty cream. I licked my fingers clean before putting them back inside her - thrusting in and out as though actually fucking her with my hard-on.

  “How many is that?” she asked.

  “Three.”

  “More.”

  She put me back in her mouth.

  I reached further down to make it easier to move about. I pulled out of her sopping vagina slightly in order to reposition my finger and - soon - I had managed to slip a fourth inside her. She moaned as I opened my fingers up and closed them again - repeating the gesture over a dozen times or so (I wasn’t actually counting). A little more repositioning and I struggled to get the thumb inside her too. Not sure whether it’s the angle or whether she is too tight but fisting definitely wasn’t on the cards today. She took hold of my shaft and started to wank it hard and fast as I continued penetrating her with my fingers.

  The look on her face - a completely different woman to the one who’d been weeping less than an hour beforehand. She was more like the woman I’d grown used to living with, back in the other house. The lustful, dirty whore with a strong appetite for flesh and fucks.

  She pulled herself away from my hand and my fingers slid from her pussy. She stood, for a moment, to kick off her leggings and stained knickers, before climbing back onto the sofa (and me), lowering her cunt onto my penis. It slid in with ease as I felt her lips embrace my shaft. A second later, no doubt so she could get used to the sensation, she started to ride me with vigour. Neither of us were saying anything now. Both just going with the motion and sensations running through our bodies. I kept my eyes fixed upon her for every time I closed them I imagined it was sister’s cunt swallowing my cock and a wave of disappointment would wash over me when I remembered it wasn’t.

  “I’m going to cum,” she breathed heavily.

  Her face was flushed as her body started to tremble, whilst she continued to rock it backwards and forwards, up and down. As soon as her orgasm had finished flowing through her body, she slowed to a steady pace. I took a hold of her shoulders and pushed her to the side. My penis slid from her as she fell back to the side of the sofa.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Did you cum too?”

  I didn’t reply. I merely repositioned myself so that I was standing next to where her face was on the sofa; my erection a few inches from her face. I started wanking it furiously. My eyes closed. My thoughts on Sister, the one I loved. My orgasm built fairly quickly as I felt Mother’s hands cup my balls. A tingling in the thighs… Here it cums… I moaned out loud as stream after sticky stream of semen spat from my bell-end over Mother’s waiting (and surprised) face. A sticky end to an already messy situation. I collapsed on the sofa next to her.

  “Holy shit!” she laughed as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Clearly you needed that as much as I did…”

  I didn’t say anything. Once again I found myself in a state of confusion. Sister was dead. Her body most likely still warm, maybe even still twitching. Father has left - gone God only knows where, and worse yet, most likely to be extremely dangerous to those he meets and Mother… Mother has gone from grieving, to hating, to fucking within the space of a couple of hours. Looking at her semen-coated face now there’s no sign of grief in those eyes of hers. There’s nothing but insatiable lust and an obvious hunger.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. No doubt she has seen I’m not smiling, like I usually did after an orgasm. I tried to hide my discontented look but clearly failed. “You didn’t enjoy that?” she continued.

  “It was nice,” I said. Must keep the peace.

  “Nice?”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Great. Jesus. I’m just…”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t understand how we got here,” I said. “Everything seems to have happened fast; one minute we’re heading off to find whatever, the next Father is attacking me, then Sister is being attacked and killed, then Sister is sitting up again and Father is attacking her, you’re weeping and screaming for him to leave and then - boom - we’re fucking. I’m sorry - I had a great time - but it’s a lot to process in such a short time.”

  “You think too much,” Mother said. Words which had been said of my character before now - and not just from Mother. Sister had also told me I think too much. She said that I worried about the little things and turned them into much bigger problems than they really were. I didn’t agree with her at the time but maybe she was right. Sister was dead. That eliminates the question of what happens to ‘us’ when we get out of here and back to the real world and Father has left us which - in turn - eliminates the problem of having to deal with him and the constant clashing. Mother’s change in character? Well I guess I’d sooner have someone wanting sex with me compared to someone needing reassurance that everything is going to be okay - especially when I can make no such promises - and continually crying. Perhaps what happened - for whatever reason - is for the best.

  I got up from the sofa and rearranged my clothes, putting my cock back into my pants and doing my jeans up. Mother also rearranged her state of undress until she was as decent as can be for a woman coated in slowly drying spunk.

  “So what do we do now then?” I asked.

  “You said it was a government experiment. Well - I think now we go and get us some compensation,” she said.

  “And Father?”

  “What about him?”

  “What do we do about him?” I asked.

  He had left - yes - but I didn’t like the idea of him out there by himself. Not because I was worried about him - no - but because I was worried about what he was going to do to those he stumbled across. He - like the rest of us - is damaged beyond repair. Out there in the real world, if he continues behaving the way he has been, he is likely to kill more people than I care to think about. And whilst I don’t necessarily care about the assholes at the compound - I don’t want him walking the streets - the real ones - killing people who have no idea what we have been going through.

  “He left us,” Mother said. A coldness in her tone. “We owe him nothing.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BEFORE

  A Cry for Help

  I was standing in front of a chair in my living room. The noose was tied around my neck. I’m no good at tying knots so I just kept tying them until I was one hundred percent confident the rope wouldn’t come away from my neck once I stepped from the chair. I wanted it to stay tight. I wanted it to choke the air from my lungs and suffocate me. I had read - on the Internet - that there was a kind of knot you could tie, for this very purpose, that when you hang someone, it actually breaks their neck. The Internet did show images of the knot and I did try to follow them, so I too could have a quicker death than choking it out, but I couldn’t figure it out. The whole damned thing was so complicated. In the end I gave up and settled for choking. At the end of the day they both have the same desired effect, right?

  On the floor, next to the chair, was a plain white envelope with the word ‘mum’ written on it. The letter was an apology to her. It wasn’t an apology for me taking my own life.
It was a ‘sorry you’re stuck with him’ type of apology. It also gave details as to the type of funeral I wanted. I wanted a quiet affair with her and a few of my friends (not that I really see them since splitting with my girlfriend). That was the problem with couples having the same friends; when a break-up does happen, they always pick sides. Not sure why they chose to side with her. She was the one who dumped me. I would have thought they would have called her the bitch and been there for me in my hour of need but - no - apparently not. Oh well. Not long left on this planet to give a shit about trivial things like that. Fuck them.

  And fuck him.

  He - dad - wasn’t permitted at my funeral. He didn’t want me in his house, and I respected that, so - in turn - I don’t want him at my funeral. I don’t want him having the chance to say goodbye to me. I especially don’t want him having the opportunity to gloat over my cold corpse. He isn’t allowed anywhere near the service.

  I climbed onto the chair. The other end of the rope was tied to one of the rafters above me - just through the latch, in the loft. The plan was simple; step off the chair and dance the merry jig on the end of the hangman’s rope. Not sure how long it will take exactly. Not sure how much pain will be involved. I’m hoping it’s minimal pain and that I lose consciousness fairly promptly. I should have Googled that too when I Googled the best type of knot to use.

  Pretty high up here, standing on this chair.

  Looking down to where I’m about to start swinging I can already tell it’s going to hurt. Come on. It won’t hurt for long. Just step off. Let the noose do its job. You can do this. One small step and that is it. Game over. Come on, come on, come on… I took a deep breath.

  I closed my eyes.

  I lifted my foot from the chair and positioned it as though about to take a step.

  This is it.

  No more dad.

  No more crappy love-life.

  No more money problems.

  No more feeling of isolation.

  Just blackness.

  And pain.

  And a slow death, swinging around on the end of the rope.

  Fuck.

  I put my foot down on the chair again. Can’t do it. Fucking stupid. I should have just dropped a toaster in the bathtub with me. It would have been easier. Certainly quicker. Damn it. What am I doing? Just get down. Get down from here before you hurt yourself. And mum - imagine if she were the one to find you here… A parent shouldn’t need to see that. Ever.

  I reached up to the knot and started working it - in an effort to undo it. Crap this thing is tight…

  * * * * *

  NOW

  Can’t Go On

  Mother and I were still in the living room of the empty house. We had decided to stay here for the night. I say ‘we’ but it had been my choice. I knew - on foot - we wouldn’t get to where we needed to be before the sun went down. We discussed it briefly but neither of us wanted to be out there at night. Not with the Infected out there.

  I was standing by the window looking out into the world beyond. Mother was sitting on the sofa - having come back from the bathroom where she’d cleaned her face from what could have been my children had they been aimed elsewhere.

  I had been filling her in with everything I knew - both about myself and the experiment the government was conducting. She was more shocked about the life I was leading before putting myself forward for this experiment. The memory of my failed (and embarrassing) suicide attempt had only just come back to me now I was talking about my past life. No wonder I have such strong opinions about taking my own life now. It was something I had tried to do beforehand.

  “Guess I have father issues,” I said - trying to make light of the situation. Crappy relationship with my real father and a dire one with my fake one too.

  “So what happens now then?” she asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Do you think there is a way of getting our memories back? The money you mentioned - do you think that’s real? Think we will get any of it? Like some form of compensation?”

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t really know what to say to her. What I did know - though - was that there was very, very little chance of us getting any money, let alone compensation. There was also little chance of us getting out of here alive. They couldn’t afford to let us go. They couldn’t risk us telling anyone of what we had been through. And there was also the fact that we’d killed people. People whom we then ended up eating… If we were spotted leaving the compound - there was definitely no way they would be letting us go. I didn’t say anything to Mother but I doubt Father has gotten very far.

  “What are you thinking?” Mother asked.

  “Guess I am thinking the same as you,” I said. “Wondering what does happen next…”

  My mind kept thinking about the possibility of them letting us leave this godforsaken shit-hole. The chances of them letting us go about our lives - as though none of this ever happened is extremely remote. I knew that. I wondered whether she knew it, deep down, too. Sure - it looks as though the compound I found was out of action but there would be more people to come and fill the empty offices and there’d be more people to come and run the fucked up tests. They wouldn’t just leave it unmanned. For all I know - it’s already running with a full complement of staff again. I also presume that it is the only way out of here - a way out which would be heavily monitored watching for people such as us leaving. I looked at Mother via the window’s reflection. I can’t leave with her. She will only slow me down. She will only get in the way. I need to do as Father did and break free. If I am to survive it is the best way. I know that now. It’s painfully obvious the more I think about it. It slowly started to dawn on me - what I needed to do.

  “We should try and get some sleep,” I told her.

  She stood up, “Can see what is on offer upstairs. Never know,” she continued as her stomach rumbled, “there might be some food up there that someone stashed…”

  “There’s nothing up there,” I said. “Only death.”

  I had earlier explained that it hadn’t been the first time I had been to this house. I had told her what I found - lying in the bed upstairs. She wasn’t shocked. I think she can’t be shocked anymore. I know I am slowly getting desensitised to things with the more I see and live this nightmare.

  “Our best bet,” I told her, “is to stay in here. Leave the settee against the door just in case anything else finds the house…”

  “You’re expecting more of the Infected?”

  Infected, soldiers, Father… Need to be prepared for anything.

  “I guess it’s going to be a long night,” Mother said.

  “You can take the settee,” I told her. “I’ll take the floor.”

  “There’s probably room for two?”

  “It’s fine.”

  I walked to the corner of the room and squatted onto the floor with my back leaning on the wall. I was watching Mother as she puffed up the padding on the sofa. The way I saw it, I had two options as to how to handle her. One option, I could do as Father did and just leave during the middle of the night. The second option isn’t as pretty… This second option… Part of me felt sick. Part of me felt excited.

  Mother laid down and pushed herself back into the padding. She patted the slim space in front of her. I knew I was skinny but - yeah - there was no way I was going to fit on there.

  “Plenty of room,” she said.

  I shook my head, “It’s fine. I’m good here.”

  “Might get cold. Should cuddle up.”

  She winked at me. I knew what she was insinuating; that look of lust in her eyes again.

  I don’t like the idea of just leaving her here. It doesn’t seem right. Leaving her here - alone - she is as good as dead. If not from starvation but she’ll stumble into one of those things - the infected - and that will be that. She deserves more than that. The second option I am presented with is definitely the fairest.

  * * * * *

  BEFORE


  Breaking Her Heart

  “What have you been saying to your mother?” Dad pushed his way into my flat.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been telling her that you’re not happy here?”

  “I don’t remember. Maybe. I might have said something.”

  “She says you did say something. I have no reason to doubt her. So - question begs to be asked - are you trying to cause trouble? Are you trying to rock the boat?”

  “What? No. Look, I might have said something, if I did… I was just mouthing off. I wasn’t trying to make things awkward for anyone. I wasn’t trying to get her to talk you into letting me back home.” I laughed. “You really think I want to come back to living with you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re an asshole. You did me a favour, kicking me out of the house… Forcing me to this shit-hole. Sure this isn’t the best of places but… I choose this over living under the same roof as you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Now get the fuck out of my flat.”

  Dad smiled. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I had stood up to him? Maybe he actually respected that? Usually I (and other people) do whatever he says. What he says goes. Well enough is enough. He always said I had to listen to him - even respect him - when living under his roof. Well this is my roof now.

  “Let’s not forget who is paying this month’s rent. So - technically - this is my flat.”

  “Just leave.”

  Still smiling he leaned close to me and said, “I’ll do you a deal…”

  “What?”

  “I will get out of your flat. I won’t come back either. Ever. How does that sound? Good?”

  I nodded.

  “In return - you stay out of my house. For good.”

  “You want me to stay away from your house? What if mum invites me round for dinner?”