Sixty-Five Stirrup Iron Road

by Keene, Brian

  The dog cried but allowed her to study his leg. There was no blood, no sign of any injury. Probably just old age, Arrianne thought. Arthritis maybe.

  The dog sat on its haunches, licked her hand, his tail kicking up dust as it wagged.

  “You’re just an old sweetheart, aren’t you?” She stood, crossed her arms. “You want to come home with me? Take a bath, get something to eat? I sure could use the company.”

  The dog stood, curled that front leg back up, but stared up at Arrianne with what she could only describe as a smile. He panted happily, spun in a circle, and barked.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, and reached down to pet him on the head again. “Think I’m going to call you Dickey. Does that sound good, boy?”

  She took it slow at first, thinking the dog would be slow-going with his gimp leg, but the dog had mastered running with his limp, and he sprinted ahead of her and toward the house.

  ***

  The door was unlocked and Jake let himself in. He knew Arrianne wasn’t there, though he wasn’t sure why he knew. The fact was just there in his brain, and there was no doubt it was true.

  He shut the door and stood there, taking in the house with his eyes and nose. Sniffing, he picked up on a scent that sent swirls of excitement into his scrotum, up the shaft of his cock. Pussy. No doubt about it. Smelled fresh too.

  She knew I was coming, that’s what. Getting it ready for me.

  Jake took a little stroll around the place, the images of Arrianne’s nude body clearing to make room for his brother. Lee had been so upset when he talked about what happened in that house, and now there Jake was, standing in the middle of it, right in the cream filling. He had never met Sam or Nicci, didn’t even know they had existed until Lee was crying about them, talking about puke and cum. And lots of blood.

  Wonder where all the shit went down.

  His feet carried him through the living room and deeper into the house. He stood in front of a den, what appeared to be some kind of computer room, the monitor only a black screen. The air was electrified there. It felt like invisible spiders were scuttling over his skin, and he rubbed at his arms as he glared inside.

  There was a series of beeps, followed by a humming sound. The little green light in the lower right corner of the screen lit up, and Jake took a step into the den as the computer continued booting up.

  Puke and cum and puke and cum and puke and cum and lots of blood …

  The words popped in his mind like black cats, and his cock responded as he stepped closer and closer to the monitor.

  There was no desktop that popped up on screen. It went straight to a website.

  PETA: Pets Entering That Ass.

  Jake chuckled at the title at the top of the screen, and his smile only grew as the first video played. A woman lay on her stomach, twisting her nipples and screaming through clenched teeth. Though she appeared to be experiencing pleasure, her expression reminded Jake of someone taking a shit. Her face was maroon, veins bulging at her temples and neck.

  The camera moved away from her face and circled to the rear, getting a clear shot of her gaping asshole. It pulsated, opened and closed like a wrinkled, whistling mouth.

  Jake reached down and squeezed his erection as the woman’s anus opened wide, and something dark began to slither out.

  She is taking a shit. Why the fuck am I enjoying this?

  He didn’t know, but he couldn’t look away. As the tube slid out farther, a tongue flicked out of the tip, and then he saw the eyes, the scaly skin. That turd was a fucking python, and as it pushed its way out of the woman’s bowels, inch by fattening inch, the woman moaned and humped the air. A thick, white mucus coated the snake’s skin, and it just kept coming out as if there was no end to its length.

  No time for this. She’s coming home soon.

  He had to hide. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

  He made his way upstairs and didn’t have to look far before he spotted the string hanging from the ceiling. The attic would be perfect. He could wait it out up there, let her get comfortable, and then kick the stairs down and introduce her to his pet python. And he knew exactly where he’d put it first.

  As quickly as he could he yanked the string, ascended the stairs, and pulled them back up. A childish giggle escaped his lips as he sat in the dark. It would have been pitch black if it wasn’t for the LCD screen oozing pink luminescence just a few feet away.

  What the fuck is that?

  He crawled toward it to inspect.

  ***

  “Well, come on, boy. Dickey, what’s the matter?” Arrianne stood just inside the house, but the dog wouldn’t cross the threshold. He sniffed the air and whined, tail tucked between his legs. “Aren’t you hungry? I’ve got some leftover chicken in the fridge. All yours if you come inside.”

  Dickey licked his chops, gave another long whine, and then finally stepped into the house. His tail stayed tucked as he tentatively walked deeper into the home, eyes ping-ponging in every direction as if expecting something to jump out and attack.

  “Believe me, I know the feeling,” Arrianne said as she led Dickey into the kitchen. “But we have each other for company now, right?”

  Dickey panted and smiled but never lost his defensive stance. He wedged himself between Arrianne’s calves as she rummaged through the refrigerator, snatched the Tupperware full of grilled, boneless chicken thighs, and set it on the floor.

  “Bon appetite, buddy. Dig in.”

  Dickey didn’t hesitate. He buried his face in the cold meat, gorging himself. His tail finally unsheathed itself and got to wagging again.

  “There we go. And when you’re done there, I’ll run a bath for you. You won’t like it, I’m sure, but you’ll feel so much better afterward.”

  Dickey made quick work of the chicken, and she tossed the Tupperware into the sink. She then led him up the stairs toward the master bath. The dog had his head lowered, leg curled up to his chest as he hopped along, eyes darting.

  Arrianne ran the water, letting it get nice and warm. She didn’t have any dog shampoo, so she would have to use her Pantene on him. As she waited for the tub to fill up, she sat on the edge, ran her fingers through Dickey’s fur. With only a single parting of his hair, she saw countless fleas and a few ticks attached to his pink skin.

  “Oh, Dickey. These things must be driving you crazy.” She pulled him close and scratched his chin, behind his ears. “I think we need to get you to a vet, let them polish you up, don’t you?”

  Dickey whined, licked her hand.

  “Well, let’s wash you off first, okay?”

  The dog didn’t put up a fight as she lifted him into the tub. His eyes stayed on the open door as Arrianne scrubbed him, lathered him up as best as she could. The surface of the water swam with fleas before long, their tiny legs thrashing as they attempted to swim back to their furry home.

  Arrianne pulled Dickey out of the water, pulled the plug, and watched the bugs swirl down the drain.

  “We’ll see what the vet can do about those ticks, okay, buddy? Maybe we can do something about your leg too.”

  She toweled him off and then led him to the bedroom. Complete exhaustion suddenly took her, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and pass out. The feeling swept over her out of nowhere, and at that moment, a nap seemed like an absolute emergency.

  Her body hit the mattress and bounced, and then she grabbed an extra pillow and tucked it between her thighs. Dickey stood at the edge of the bed by her face and poked his cold, wet snout into her neck.

  “I know, buddy. Just …”—she yawned—“let me rest for a little while, okay? And then after … after we’ll … go and …”

  ***

  Jake stared at the screen, crawled on his knees until he was right in front of it, and held it with both hands. It felt like a gun, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was displayed on the screen as he stared at the image. It looked like some kind of pink, fleshy tunnel, wr
inkled and venous, with some mud on the walls and floor.

  What the fuck is this?

  He crawled closer still, and his knees collided with something. His lids fluttered and he backed up a bit as his sight began to adjust.

  The light floating out of the screen outlined what appeared to be a body. It lay on its stomach, arms and legs spread out like a starfish. The gun-like device with the LCD on it was pressed up against the man’s ass, all the way to the tip. It was then that he realized what he was looking at on the little monitor, and he couldn’t help himself from giggling.

  So this is what Arrianne does to her admirers, huh? I like that.

  A small voice at the back of his head screamed. It was his voice, his real voice. It shrieked, pleaded with Jake, told him this wasn’t him, that he would never do anything like this, wouldn’t even think like this. It told him something was very wrong, that he needed to get the fuck out of that house now.

  But Jake didn’t want to hear that. He grabbed hold of the device, pulled on it. It gave some, slid out of the dead man’s ass. It just kept coming, reminded him of the mucus-coated python from the video as he pulled it out bit by bit. The smell that came with it induced a fit of gags, but he yanked on the slimy cord until he had all of it out and then wiped his hands on the man’s pant leg.

  “Now what were you doing with this up your—”

  Something heavy landed on his back, squashed the air out of him in an instant. The thick scent of decay was just as heavy, nearly made him puke the second it entered his nasal passages. He tried to move but couldn’t, tried to breathe but could only manage enough to catch whiffs of the putrid odor. The voice inside his head screamed again, and he tried to scream with it but couldn’t make the sound come out.

  The weight on his back pushed harder, so hard he thought his spine would snap and his organs would ooze out of his mouth and asshole like purple toothpaste. Jake wanted nothing more than to look back at who was on top of him but couldn’t even will his eyes to turn.

  A hand gripped the back of his head like it was no bigger than a baseball, shoved his face into the floor. His nose crunched, gushed blood into a puddle around his face. His front teeth cracked, broke free from his gums, stabbed into his lips as the hand pushed harder. He would have choked on blood if he could have breathed, but all he could do was concentrate on the pain. The heavy, crushing pain. After a few more seconds, his face was lifted off the floor by his hair, blood pouring and splashing below him.

  The man’s corpse moved then. Jake’s eyes were fixed on it, and, since he had no choice, he watched as it was pulled backward toward his face. The scent of shit and death entered his shattered nose and mouth, and the wet, shredded backside of the dead man pressed hard up against his face.

  Whatever was on top of him gripped the back of his neck, squeezed like it was trying to pop his head off. It shoved forward, pushed the top of Jake’s head against the dead man’s ass until he thought his scalp would split.

  The grip released him. He saw two dark hands—long and almost fin-like—extend past his head and grip the ass by both cheeks. Next came the ripping sound, like fabric being torn, and something cold and wet slapped Jake in the face, stung the open wounds as it oozed into his broken nose, into the craters on his gums where his teeth once sat.

  Then the hand gripped his neck again. Shoved him forward again.

  There wasn’t as much resistance this time. His head entered the wide-open ass all the way up to his shoulders. What little air he was getting through his nose was quickly cut off, and he wanted to thrash his arms and legs in panic as his lungs starved for oxygen.

  Pressure at his rear. Fingers dug in, parted his ass cheeks with a violent rip. Jake wanted nothing more than to scream as his flesh parted and his asshole became a bleeding canyon.

  Then there was a snapping sound. Jake could tell from inside the dead man’s ass that the body was being moved, bent backward maybe. His own head was pulled back, stretching his neck, nearly popping his head free, but his chin caught and held him in his rectal prison.

  More pressure at his rear. Then something entering. Something as big and round as a head. The hair tickled his raw, open flesh, and then teeth scraped across as the head was shoved in.

  That part of his brain that had coaxed him into the house was gone now. It was just him now. Just Jake. And all he knew was pain and torture.

  ***

  “Hck, hck, hck…hhhauck …”

  The warm splashes woke Arrianne from a deep sleep. She woke on her back, but the second her eyes popped open and she tilted her chin toward her chest, she was stuck that way. Her body refused to move anymore, was petrified in its current position on the mattress.

  Dickey stood on three legs above her, his injured foot curled up and shaking. He whined, ribbons of white and pink drool stretching from his panting mouth. His entire body trembled, the muscles in his legs tight and twitching, the veins bulging like worms twisted around his appendages.

  Then his belly heaved, and the noise came again.

  “Hck, hck, hck…hck … hhhauck …”

  Another wave of warmth splashed down on Arrianne’s chest and stomach, ran down her sides and slid into her neck, rode the creases until soaking into the sheets beneath her.

  Body parts.

  It took Arrianne a moment to gather her thoughts and make sense of what she was watching. Hairy, bloody body parts were rushing out of Dickey’s mouth and coating her in bile and sludge. Furry chunks. Splintered bone. Blood and meat.

  Arms, legs, paws … heads.

  If one of the little creatures wasn’t whole, she would have never figured out what kind of animal these parts used to belong to. The creature lay on its side, long black stripes running down its back. It barely had fur, just a thin layer of brown covering the pink skin. It squeaked, wriggled, scraped Arrianne’s belly with its tiny claws.

  It’s a … it’s a baby chipmunk…. Oh, Jesus …

  “Hck, hck … hhhauck …”

  Another pink, red, and yellow waterfall exploded from Dickey’s throat, splashed against her flesh and covered the baby chipmunk in the frothy liquid. It squealed, writhed, crawled its way down Arrianne’s naval.

  The fresh vomit sizzled as the tiny bubbles popped. Dickey coughed, deep and thick, licked his chops and whined. His body continued to shake. Hair fell off like dead pine needles, floated down to Arrianne’s puke-covered torso and stuck there. Tiny fleas scurried across her flesh, swimming in the muck.

  The chipmunk kept squeaking, screaming for its mother. Screaming for a warm place to hide.

  As it crawled farther down her body, it found that place.

  Noooo! Oh God … nononono!

  The baby chipmunk backed into her. She could tell because as it entered her, its frantic squeaking never lost its volume. Its tiny claws bit into her pussy lips as it backed in, having no trouble fitting its tiny body into its new, warm hole.

  The mattress moved, springs screeched. Someone had just sat down behind her. Then a hand was in her hair, petting her, scraping its nails across her scalp.

  None of this could really be happening, she knew that. This wasn’t possible. This kind of thing was only possible in nightmares.

  Please wake up … wake up, wake up, wake up!

  A low, deep grumbling chuckle behind her. The petting became heavier, pulling her hair, pressing down on her scalp so hard her eyes watered. The hand was damp, wetting her hair as it stroked her.

  She wanted to scream, wanted to run as fast as she could. She wanted Chuck.

  The chipmunk burrowed deeper into her, its entire body inside her now. She could still hear the squeaking, but barely. The baby’s claws kept digging in, scraping, scratching.

  Dickey whined again, long and high-pitched. It looked like he wanted to get down off the bed but couldn’t, as if he was being held there by some invisible force.

  And then Arrianne noticed the dark red erection obtruding from between his legs. Threads of matted hair twist
ed from the end, and the goddamn thing just kept growing.

  Dickey hunched his back, repositioned his back paws.

  The baby chipmunk burrowed as deep as it could and then began gnawing on the surrounding walls of flesh.

  The hand was all nails now, clawing away layers of scalp flesh with every swipe.

  Dickey awkwardly began humping. Since Arrianne was on her back, he couldn’t get the right angle to enter her, but the hot, red, hair-ridden member jabbed at her stomach, knocked chunks of furry flesh to plop onto the mattress.

  Dickey began panting as he humped, pumping and pumping, balancing himself on three legs. He never stopped whining. More drool threaded off his mouth and dripped onto Arrianne’s chest.

  The dog repositioned himself again, trying to lower his body. He still couldn’t get the angle to fuck her, but as he thrust at her stomach, now poking her in the belly button, his furry nut-sack swung and slapped against her cunt.

  Slap slap slap slap slap …

  The baby chipmunk responded to the thumping sound by pushing itself deeper, rolling around and clawing. It felt like it had sprouted spines along its body and was spinning in place, shredding her from the inside.

  Then Dickey’s whines became screams and his tongue hung low from his mouth.

  Hot splashes hit her in the belly and chest, some spraying up to her chin and lips. The hand violently caressing her head moved to her mouth, propped her lips and teeth open. Dickey sprayed his seed in hot spurts, globs of it splashing into her mouth, coating her tongue in a salty, biscuit-batter flavor.

  When Dickey finished, his legs shook so bad that he fell off the bed backward, landing with a thud.

  The stew of fluids and chunks congealed on her flesh, clung to it like hardening Jell-O. She wanted to cry, wanted to curl up and die. Hell couldn’t possibly be this bad.

  What did I do to deserve this? Why is this happening to me?

  The baby chipmunk stirred again, and she felt it crawling its way back out. Every step was pure agony. She knew it poked its head out because there was another series of squeaks.