Woom: An extreme horror Page 3

  She pulled her panties down past her skinned knees, and stood there in nothing but a T-shirt and her socks. She hadn't shaved in the weeks since they'd stopped fooling around, and her dark bush was a stark contrast to her chalk-white skin and straggly blonde hair. Jenny stood there for a second, as if awaiting his next command, so Johnny said, "Go ahead and lay down."

  "You're an asshole, Johnny," she said. "When this is over—"

  "I never want to see you again," he finished for her. "Good to see we're on the same page."

  Jenny laid back against the bed with her knees together. He came back with his hands full of baggies, and he set them down between her socked feet.

  "You want me to do it, or…?"

  "You wish. You're never gonna touch my pussy again," Jenny said, her eyes darker than he'd ever seen them. But that twinkle was back, he noticed. Too little too late.

  Jenny plucked up the first of the baggies, hesitating with it held near her pink slit. She told him to turn around, she couldn't do it with him watching. Johnny did as he was told, but he promised himself it was the last time he'd let her tell him what to do.

  A moment later he heard her grunting. "Don't push too hard and break it," he told her.

  "You think I don't know what I'm doing? It's my body."

  "I'm just saying—"

  "Well just say it to yourself," she mumbled. "If I get a goddamn yeast infection from these things, I swear I'm gonna kill you."

  Johnny heard the first baggie squish into her wet hole. Curious, he peeked over his shoulder.

  "Where'd you get that lube?"

  "From my purse," she said.

  "Why are you carrying around lube in your purse when I haven't touched you in over a month, Jenny?"

  She gave him a really hard look, and said, "Is that any of your business anymore?"

  She was right. He thought about it and he found he couldn't even muster up the energy to care. Whether she was just fucking Juicy to get smack or random strangers, it didn't matter anymore. They were through.

  "Okay," she said, and he heard her grunt as she stood up to put her clothes back on. "It's done. Let's fucking do this."

  Johnny turned to find her pulling up her panties. Her belt jingled as she stepped into her jeans. Her belly bulged a bit where the twenty-seven bags of heroin sat in her vagina but once she got her jeans zipped up he barely even noticed the difference.

  "You got some makeup in there?" he asked her, pointing at her purse as she put the lube back.

  "I need some?"

  "You haven't had a shower in three days and you've been shooting up for a month. What do you think?"

  Grumbling, Jenny made her way past him to the bathroom. From her expression in the mirror, he'd given her a sobering reality check. "You're right, I look like shit."

  She started putting on blush, and somewhere during this Johnny pulled his attention away from the rich housewives fighting on the TV and caught her eye.

  "I'm sorry, Johnny," she said, one eye closed to apply eye shadow. "This all got way out of hand. I just wanted us to have some fun, is all."

  "We had some fun," he admitted.

  "We did, didn't we?" She closed the other eye and applied makeup. "It wasn't all bad."

  He agreed with a solemn nod, approaching the bathroom door.

  Jenny smiled, but her smile turned into a wince. "Ow," she said. She said it again, only this time she dropped the makeup applicator in the sink and grabbed her abdomen.

  "What? What is it?"

  "Cramps," she moaned. "Oh God, it's real bad, Johnny."

  She doubled over and stumbled out of the bathroom, then sat down on the bed and started breathing like they teach you in Lamaze class, like she's about to give birth. After what he'd just been through on the toilet, he could sympathize. He sat down beside her, worried for a second that she'd try to push him away again, but then she let out a pained, pitiful moan, like an animal dying in the woods, and Johnny knew she was beyond fighting.

  "I'm gonna call an ambulance," he said, getting up for the rotary dial phone, but Jenny reached out blindly, begging him not to.

  "I'll be… fine," she said, and then she groaned, "Oh God!" like she used to when she rode him cowgirl, the only way he could get her off, and her eyes rolled back, only the rest of her went back with them, falling onto the bedspread.

  Johnny sat beside her, slapping her cheek to wake her up. Her eyelids fluttered but she didn't move, didn't make a sound. He pulled open one of her eyes. The pupil was huge, nearly as wide as the iris.

  Panicked, Johnny put his mouth over hers and blew into it. Her lips were dry, and he couldn't feel her breath when he cupped his palm over them. He didn't know what to do. All those times he'd found her on the bed curled up like a baby it never once occurred to him to look up medical procedures for an overdose. He'd never even taken a single CPR class. Now she was dying, and even though he'd willed her to die a dozen times or more in the past month he couldn't just let it happen now.

  Johnny unzipped her jeans and tugged them down over her knees. He pulled down her panties, still damp and smelling like the chemical strawberry flavor of the lube and the tang of her unwashed pussy. Her dull eyes stared at the ceiling as he pushed through a tangle of pubic hair and stuck a finger inside of her, then two.

  Without the lube, retrieving the bags would have likely been impossible. He thought if he could manage to get the bags out before more of them broke from her cramping and the heroin all seeped into her bloodstream, he might be able to save her life.

  "Come on, Jenny, don't die, not now," he prayed.

  Curling his hand into a beak shape, he pushed it in, his knuckles grazing against her pubic bone from the inside, the tight lip of flesh slipping over his thumb as he slid in up to the wrist. Once inside, he stretched his fingers to the outer edges of her hot fleshy canal, the dark pucker below widening and clenching under the pressure of his wrist. His fingers found one, feeling around blindly in the wet spongy tissue, then a second, and he pulled them out gingerly with a sucking sound, her hole remaining open like a look of surprise before closing to its normal size.

  He put the baggies on the mattress and went back in for the others.

  By the time he'd removed the second to last bag, her insides had started to cool, and the lube and natural lubricant her body had produced had thickened to a sticky white froth so it felt like stuffing a turkey. He couldn't find the broken bag, the one that had killed her. She might have pushed it up so far it broke from the pressure against her cervix. Or one of her fingernails had done it. He supposed he'd never know.

  His fingers found something small and fleshy. He slipped it into his palm, holding it there with his thumb, and worked his hand back out.

  Johnny's stomach rebelled when he opened his fist. He fell back on his ass, and the squishy, purplish thing plopped down wetly on the carpet.

  Johnny shook his head.

  It looked like a giblet, like something you might find in an egg yolk, only about an inch long. He couldn't tell if it was alive or dead. Who's was it? he wondered. Too mature to be Juicy's. It must have been at least eight weeks old from the length of it, and Johnny was pretty certain Jenny hadn't met the dealer until after she'd met Johnny.

  Who's baby was it?

  He didn't know. All he knew for sure was it wasn't his.

  He thought about fate, and choices, and of all the places in all the world, Juicy had to go and pick this goddamn room to meet.

  According to the clock on the bed, Johnny had an hour and a half until the flight. He'd have to get there soon if he wanted to make it. And after all he'd been through, he realized he wanted to finish the job. He needed something to hold on to, something to take his mind off what had happened today, and everything that had lead up to it.

  He'd never felt more empty than he did right now.

  Best to finish packing.

  Johnny swallowed the first white-crusted bag dry while the corpse of the woman he'd once loved stiffened
beside him on the mattress, and her unborn child shriveled on the carpet.

  Wash, rinse, repeat.

  PRO(LAPSE)

  SHYLA HAD SHIFTED uncomfortably further up on the bed so she was leaning up against the headboard, and was looking past him toward the bathroom. "Yuck," she said. "Well, I'd hate to talk about being dry after that story, but I could really use a glass of water."

  Angel got up from his chair, went to the bathroom, removed the plastic cup from its paper covering, and filled it in the sink. He handed the cup to Shyla. She drank it greedily, and wiped her lips on her freckled forearm.

  "Better?"

  Nodding, she placed the emptied cup on the bedside table. "Better," she swallowed again. "What happened to Johnny? Did Juicy kill him, or did he deliver the package?"

  "He delivered it. Juicy cleared the debt when Johnny got back to the States, and gave him an extra 'ten large' for what had happened to Jenny. I guess he felt guilty."

  "That's good. Nobody deserves to die like that. I mean, she was a bitch, but I kind of sympathize. When a relationship is one-sided like that…"

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah," Shyla said. "I mean, maybe it wasn't like this with them, but when the love is unbalanced, when someone loves the other one more… that puts a lot of pressure on the one holding the power."

  The thought hadn't occurred to Angel. He'd always suspected Jenny had started shooting up because Johnny hadn't been able to satisfy her needs. He liked Shyla's theory better, not that it would alleviate much of Johnny's guilt, nor lessen his pain. "So, you're saying Johnny put strain on their relationship because he asked too much of her?" he said. "That she started doing drugs because she couldn't give Johnny back the love he thought he needed?"

  "It could be that," Shyla said. "I mean, it could be anything. Men and women, they act very different in their relationships, especially when it comes to sex. Men tend to blame the woman for all of their sexual problems, but a lot of the time, women blame themselves. I'm not saying that's how it was with Jenny and Johnny. Obviously she was a bit of a selfish bitch to put him through all that. But I like to look at things from all sides."

  Angel nodded. "I wonder… do you think she knew she was pregnant?" He gave her a penetrating look. "Did she… have a sense of the baby inside her, or was it like luggage? Like the lube in her purse?"

  Shyla appeared to give this some thought. "Well, I've never been pregnant, but I think mothers know." She fumbled in her purse for another cigarette. "I think they do."

  Angel nodded, hunkering down to unzip the backpack.

  "Was Johnny a friend of yours or something?" she asked, lighting the smoke between her cherry red lips.

  "Or something," Angel said, removing a large bottle of Slippin' Slide lubricant, the kind with a push top, and placed it behind him on the dresser.

  The mattress squeaked as Shyla shifted again. "You don't have drugs in there, do you?" she asked with a grin.

  "No drugs." He removed a small purple dildo from the bag and placed it beside the lube.

  "You're gonna need a lot bigger than that to get me off, sweetie," Shyla scoffed.

  "Do you have any piercings, Shyla?"

  She ran the tongue stud over her teeth. "Just this. Have you ever had a blowjob from a girl with a tongue ring?"

  Angel ignored the question, removing a floppy pink rubber fist from the bag by the forearm. He placed it on the table beside the dildo.

  "That's a bit more like it," Shyla remarked with a grin. "How come you asked about piercings? Is that your thing?"

  "Not exactly." He brought out a large black rubber cone and put it with the others.

  "Now we're getting serious."

  Angel stood up, looking over the sex toys on the dresser. "Do you know how they stretch a piercing?"

  "Never really looked into it, no."

  "They use a thing called a taper. The gauges, or sizes, go down in number the bigger they get. 20 gauge, 10 gauge, 5 gauge, etcetera. You have to let the wound semi-heal, then move up to the larger size, let it semi-heal again, move up to the larger size."

  "Wash rinse repeat?" Shyla grinned.

  "Wash rinse repeat." He nodded.

  "So, are you saying you're going to try and stretch me?"

  "If you're okay with that."

  "I mean…" She seemed to consider it. "I do like to feel full."

  "I'm glad to hear that," he said.

  Her gaze fell to the crotch of his pants. "It doesn't look that big to me," she smiled, "but maybe you're a grower, not a shower."

  Angel grinned. "I suppose we can skip the purple one." He pumped two squirts of lube into the palm of his hand, and lathered the rubber fist. "Take off your underwear, please," he said as he approached the bed with the now glistening sex toy.

  Shyla did as directed, making a show of it as she raised her ass and reached under the mini dress to peel off her black G-string. She slipped the silky thing over her heavy hips and down her thick dimpled thighs, raising her legs and twiddling her toes as she wrestled them free. Instead of tossing them aside or laying them on the bedside table, she crumpled them into a ball and brought them to her face, smothering her nose and mouth with the lacy fabric and breathing in deeply, closing her eyes in delight, and Angel wondered if her panties were wet as the phantom itch in his groin resurfaced.

  "Is it weird I love the smell of my own pussy?" she said, holding the panties out toward Angel. "Want some?"

  "I gave up sniffing panties after prom."

  "Your loss."

  As Shyla tossed the bunched panties aside, Angel got down on the bed on his knees. She spread for him.

  "Smooth as a baby's butt, isn't it?"

  Aside from some cellulite her inner thighs were incredibly smooth, her labia and clit enclosed between two thick folds of slightly pinker flesh, already dewy with moisture. Angel agreed with a nod.

  Shyla grasped the end of the fist, wiped off some lube into her hand, and spread it around her hole. Then she drew Angel's hand closer, until the end of the rubber fist pressed between her folds, widening them. The forearm bent as he pushed the toy inside her. She moaned as her pussy accepted the rubber arm up to the wrist.

  "That feels fucking good," she breathed.

  "Johnny did get back at Juicy, just so you know," Angel said, working the toy in and out with little enthusiasm, like a drill press operator on the night shift. "In case you were curious."

  "Oh—" she groaned, "—yyyeah?"

  "Mm-hmm. A couple of months later, in this same hotel room—"

  JUICY STEPPED INTO Room 6 of the Lonely Motel, and kicked off his shoes by the door before turning to Chuck P., Johnny's porn director friend, who was screwing a video camera onto a tripod.

  "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille," he said, and giggled like a schoolgirl.

  The room was already filled with guys, shirts and socks still on while they tugged on their dicks. Johnny had made sure Juicy wouldn't know anybody here except by their reputation on camera.

  "Shit, Chuck-a-luck, you didn't tell me this was gon' be a sausage party," he said loud enough for the guys to hear, sidling close to where Chuck had set up the camera.

  "It's a porn shoot," Chuck P. reminded him. "What did you expect?"

  "Shit, man, I thought it was gon' be just me and the girl. You too, at most."

  "What part of 'gangbang' did you not get?" Chuck P. asked, and Juicy put on his patented ice-cold look, but he knew Chuck P. had the upper hand since he could kick him out at any point, if he chose to.

  "Okay," Juicy said, rubbing his palms together enthusiastically, "a'ight. Long as none of these dudes is a faggot, we cool."

  "These are all professional actors," Chuck P. assured him. "If any one of them happened to be gay, he wouldn't touch you in a straight gangbang."

  "Best not," Juicy said, and slapped an elbow into his fist.

  "Look, if you don't want to be here…"

  Juicy caught sight of the girl on the bed then, in between the guys p
ulling their puds. She was slim and black with big tits and a large booty, the way Johnny knew Juicy liked them. "I'll behave," he said, his eyes just about popping out of his head. "I'm a pro."

  "No, you're not," Chuck P. told him. "You may know how to fuck, but in this business, you're an amateur. You've got a good stage name, though. That's a start."

  Juicy sucked his teeth. "You know why they call me that, right? Because I make them bitches squirt, you know'm sayin'?"

  The girl on the bed snorted laughter. Chuck P. just grinned and said, "We'll see about that."

  See, Johnny knew Chuck P. from high school, and Chuck knew the girl on the bed well. He'd met her in a strip bar near the airport called The Canadian Ballet, an exclusive place catering to businessmen on layovers. A sex club, really, all word-of-mouth clientele, where this girl who called herself Candy Rains was like a human piñata some nights, and a lawn sprinkler on others. They used to hand out ponchos on those nights, but Juicy wouldn't be wearing a poncho, and the other guys were used to making fake female ejaculation videos, where the girl drinks a whole lot of wine coolers and masturbates, squeezing out pee in small bursts with her well-developed PC muscle as she cries out in ecstasy.

  Johnny had something planned for Juicy that would make Poncho Night at The Canadian look like a honeymoon in Niagara Falls. Candy was game, as she'd participated in several of Chuck's previous films, and Johnny had paid for the shoot and the actors out of the money Juicy had given him when Jenny died. See, he didn't think what had happened was water under the bridge like Juicy seemed to. He made sure Chuck P. told the other guys what was up, but Juicy had no idea he was about to be voted King of Carrie's anal prom night—Chuck thought that was a pretty good title, if Juicy forced him to release it.

  He set the camera rolling, and slapped Juicy on the back. "You better get in there before these other guys tear her ass apart," the director told him, aware of Juicy's anal fetish. It was what got Juicy asking Johnny about being in one of Chuck's movies in the first place, when he found Ass Force 5 on Skinemax and recognized Chuck P.'s name.