Bitten: Dark Erotic Stories (25 page)

As Nick’s eyes locked on this thin strip of flesh, the black men’s cocks pressed this delicate piece of pale anatomy to the width of a pencil. The woman screamed in an artless falsetto. The cocks relaxed again for a moment, and her perineum fattened to a half-inch before, with renewed vigor, her lovers jammed their fat tools into her in a simultaneous poke, and the line between vagina and anus contracted to the width of a single thread.

The screen went dark. Nick sat for a moment and suffered a series of dry heaves. When he had collected himself, he left quickly and raced home. In his living room, he found Peggy, as demure as ever, sitting by the window with a cup of mint tea reading a recipe for chicken Kiev in the “Homes” section of the newspaper.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

Nick sat down. It must have all been a dream, a delusion brought on by too many poppers and too much porn. He excused himself and went to the toilet, washed his face with cold water, and looked at himself in the mirror. A pair of bloodshot eyes looked back at him. On his lip he found a small abrasion, as if he had smoked a roach too close to the end and burned himself.

That night they had the same old vanilla sex, cunnilingus followed by the missionary position. Then, as he listened to the sad slapping of his belly against her thighs, Peggy’s hand moved slowly down her torso to her own vulva. He had always asked her to touch herself while he made love to her, but she categorically refused. Now her manicured forefinger traced a tight circle around her clit and her head tilted backward in sexual bliss. A little cry came out.

She surprised Nick a second time by speaking, something she rarely did during sex.

“Slam it,” she said in a soft whisper. “Slam it ‘til it hurts.”

* * *

From that moment their sex life changed in all respects. Peggy began to assert herself in bed, moving Nick from position to position as if he were a prop in her own personal blue film. She stripped in front of open windows and answered the door for deliverymen wearing nothing but a towel.

Each day was a new, nasty adventure. On Monday, they watched
Interracial Bang Boat 7
together, which Peggy had ordered online on her own volition. On Tuesday, Nick strapped her ass until it turned blue with his leather belt. On Wednesday, he violated her with a carrot stick in the kitchen and then fed it to her in a salad. On Thursday, he stuffed a massive anal dildo into her posterior and led her around the apartment on a dog chain. On Friday, she did the same to him, adding so many chains and locks that he looked like a perverted ghost of Marley. By Saturday she had sucked, drilled, slammed, and squeezed every last drop of life out of Nick, and he suggested a one-night hiatus and a game of Scrabble.

Peggy’s lust grew faster than Nick could find ways of satiating it. She was constantly on the edge of orgasm but rarely achieved it. Nick was awakened at night by her incessant masturbation; she would rub her clitoris until it turned flaming red, sometimes augmenting her onanism with clothes pins fastened to her nipples and roach clips screwed to her vaginal lips.

With her rising libido came an obsession with her appearance. She ate less and took up cycling, which left her fifteen pounds below her usual weight. Her body tightened, and she accentuated the changes with revealing clothes and six-inch heels. Her large, brown eyes were made even larger by the liberal application of eyeliner, and her mouth was permanently stuck in a pouty expression, like a little girl awaiting her parents’ punishment.

Her cunt became a bottomless maw, devouring every imaginable sex toy Nick bought for her, no matter how massive or cruel. The Medieval Invader was vanquished in a single night while the Anal Torture Kit only slowed her down for a few hours. Peggy’s cunt found all the new hardware puerile and expressed its complete disdain by spitting out a pair of Ben-Wah balls one evening with a dismissive
pfff! pfff!
The orbs flew a good three feet, landed on the hardwood floor with a metallic thud, and rolled under the desk leaving shiny parallel trails of Peggy’s vaginal fluid like wagon ruts filled with rainwater.

One night at dinner, Peggy brought up politics. Far from being bored by the subject, Nick was grateful. He noted that her political views had changed; she now ridiculed the senator’s health plan as entirely unworkable. Moreover, she wondered aloud whether poor people really deserved medical care in the first place. Shouldn’t they get a job first and then worry about their health?

She next made a toast to total victory in Iraq before looking Nick straight in the eye and saying, “But instead of expressing my opinions about politics, why don’t I just open my mouth and let you shove your cock down my throat?”

Nick looked down at his plate in silence. He could no longer get it up.

Over the next few weeks, Peggy’s behavior became erratic. Whereas previously she was careful about her money, she now spent lavishly on new shoes and jewelry. Upon checking the balance in their bank account, Nick realized that they did not have enough to pay the rent. He tried to confront her about the problem, but she paid no attention to him. As he spoke at length about the cost of fuel and food and their limited ability to buy either in acceptable quantities if Peggy did not curb her spending, she watched him with a blank stare. Standing up while Nick was in mid-sentence, she put on her coat, mumbled something about walking the dog—their dog had died several years previously—and left the apartment. She left a large wet stain in the place where she’d just been sitting. Nick lowered his face to examine it closely and concluded that Peggy had complemented her financial looseness with actual incontinence.

That night during sex, Peggy inserted her hand into Nick’s anus. He thought it was a mistake at first and brushed her hand away. She insistently returned it to its original position, however, and her finger-tips tapped and tickled him between his buttocks until he squirmed. She drilled her forefinger into his anus, then curved it upward, jiggled it, added a few more digits, and repeated. Soon he was bending over for her daily.

Along with his anal sphincter, whole new worlds of sexual possibility opened up for Nick. He had never fit comfortably inside the confines of heterosexual monogamy and had always secretly wished that he would have a partner who was similarly skeptical about its value. In Peggy’s newfound openness, he saw an opportunity to explore the New York nightlife in a way that he had never done before.

Peggy, however, had different ideas. His attempts to interest her in swinger clubs, online hookups, and the Polyamory Society had little success. Membership with most swinger clubs involved too many rules, Peggy complained. She likened online services to playing a video game, and the Polyamory movement to drinking nonalcoholic beer—the distasteful part of cheating remained—but the fun was gone.

Peggy’s only interest was in old-fashioned adultery. She began spending less time at home and was often out late with an unspecified group of “friends.” The phone rang in the middle of the night and she would leap up to answer it, running to the bathroom for a hushed conversation that lasted for hours. She began to take vacations with old school friends Nick had never heard of before. After this came family reunions Nick was not invited to and extended business conferences in unnamed locations.

Nick lost track of Peggy completely. Months passed by without any communication from her at all. He would’ve filed for divorce but wasn’t sure where to send the papers. And if she never had to sign the papers, never had to come face to face with his discouragement and disapproval, then what, he wondered, was the point?

Sometime later, on a rainy Wednesday morning in the middle of the summer, Nick lay on the sofa watching Ruth Righteous bake an almond meringue dacquoise on
The Aggressive Gourmet
. Ms. Righteous had just finished saying that she considered dacquoise more than just a dessert—it was, she claimed, “a promise that something wonderful was about to happen”—when Nick heard a knock at the door. Answering it, he found Peggy with three tall African men whom she introduced as her business associates. Nick invited them in and made them all lunch, hoping to pull Peggy aside to discuss dividing their assets.

Peggy complained that the kitchen was a mess. “Christalmighty,” she complained, “at least throw your empties out, darling.”

“Peggy,” Nick began, “I think we need to talk …”

But Peggy had no time. Her business associates called for more wine.

“Hurry up with the food, my friend,” said one. “We are hungry.”

“Come all the way from Africa and nothing to eat,” scoffed the tallest one. “What is this dung?”

After dinner Peggy announced an ad hoc business meeting in the bedroom to which Nick was not invited. Peggy closed the door behind them, rolling her eyes at the pathetic expression on her husband’s face.

Nick washed the dishes in a rage. He imagined he could hear Peggy shriek. He raced to the bedroom door before realizing it was a shriek of laughter. He turned back to the kitchen. He finished the load of dishes, then dried and stacked them silently.

By 1:30 he had cleaned everything. He went to the bedroom door but heard nothing. He knocked softly but nobody answered. At 2:30 they were still in there. Nick had to satisfy his curiosity. He walked to the door and knocked again, louder this time, and then, hearing no answer, he shoved the door inward.

Peggy was sprawled on top of the three naked African men, every orifice stuffed. She looked like an odalisque surrendering to the embrace of an ebony octopus. Her face held an expression that said, “May I not lie here and take cock in my mouth, ass, and pussy in front of my husband whom I haven’t written to in six months; is that so bad?”

The men, titillated by Nick’s presence, fucked Peggy harder than ever. The thin strip of white flesh between the anus and the vagina began to flatten, contracting under the unrelenting assault.

“Take it, woman!” the hungry one declared. “You are not done yet!” and he stuffed his cock deeper into her cunt.

Nick saw the flesh between her anus and vagina shrink to the width of a single thread.

“Stop!” he cried.

“What are you saying, my friend?” asked another of Peggy’s lovers. “She loves it.”

“The holes!” said Nick, stepping forward with arms outstretched. “The holes!”

The three Africans laughed in unison. “Yes!” they said. “We like the holes, too!” and they all gave a sharp pelvic thrust just to drive the point home.

The threadlike strip of white flesh between Peggy’s ass and vagina quivered like an untuned piano wire. Peggy’s limbs became unglued. The three Africans were caught off guard by her implosion and found themselves tangled in a confused pile, their limbs and cocks hopelessly entwined.

Peggy’s orifices had merged into a single, sucking Hole with an existence independent of her body. The free-floating anal Abyss hung in the middle of the room, as cum, shit, Peggy’s bits, and the three tall African men all orbited around it, succumbing to its irrepressible force of gravity as it drew their cocks, asses, and limbs into a tightly compacted sphere coalescing around Peggy’s potent genital Gehenna.

The three Africans yelled in English, exhorted in French, and howled in Swahili as their muscular arms and legs strained to separate themselves from the Hole. They looked to Nick for help, but Nick held on to the door frame for dear life. He freed one hand and reached for the cell phone in his pants pocket, intending to call 911 and report that his wife had exploded, that her cunt and asshole had collapsed into a point of absolute gravity, and that all of human society was in danger of being swallowed as a result.

Before he could do so, however, his hand lost its grip on the door frame and he tumbled headfirst into the center of Peggy’s nasty Hole. His limbs flailed in the air as he vainly tried to extract himself. He screamed, but even his words fell into the Hole. A few seconds later, Nick himself disappeared entirely, accompanied by a soft flushing noise.

He awoke still lying on the sofa. Ruth Righteous was removing an almond meringue dacquoise from the oven and smiling at the TV camera. There was no sign of Peggy, the Hole, or the African visitors. The clock by his head read 10
A.M.
Nick lay for a moment and stared at the ceiling and then stood up and looked out the window onto the street twelve stories below. Delivery trucks were pulling up to the curb with crates of apples and meat. At the Punjabi Deli, people were snapping up the latest edition of the
New York Times
for news of the senator’s nation-rocking sex scandal. Up and down the street, students were walking in groups toward summer school, practicing their profanity, and on the asphalt near the alley, one young child drew a hopscotch game in pale blue chalk.

Nick felt unhinged. Although he did not miss Peggy, he realized that the banality of matrimony—the dull nightly rituals, the joyless dinners, the pointless anniversary celebrations—had knit him together psychologically. It seemed impossible that he would fall in love again. Life stretched before him like endless drudgery. The tragedy of existence, he mused, is not that it lasts too short a time but that it lasts too long.

At that moment, he heard a rasping noise behind him. Turning around he saw the strange man from Badlands Video Palace standing in the doorway. Even more massive than Nick remembered him, the man’s bulging belly hung down over his now-withered penis. His eyes still smoldered and his large brown nipples hung off his heavy breasts. He was speaking in his indecipherable language, the words rising and falling in mesmerizing inflection. Nick took a step backward.

The strange man moved toward him, speaking to him in his raspy chant, his eyes burning into Nick’s. Nick’s arms and legs felt leaden and he was unable to speak or resist.

“Turn around,” said the man in English.

Nick turned toward the window.

The strange man unlatched the window and pushed it gently open. Nick felt two large hands on his back, touching him gently at first, then heavier and heavier until they were propelling Nick forward, through the window, into the air, and down to the sidewalk twelve stories below. His last thought before he hit the pavement was of almond meringue dacquoise. Something wonderful, he reflected with a sudden rush of joie de vivre, was about to happen.