Sacrificing Virgins (9 page)

“What's your point?” the dwarf laughed. He was giving her a gynecological examination. He looked up, still grinning and announced, “She's still a virgin.”

“She's full of maggots!” Tony cried.

“You think
that's
bad? Wait 'til you see what the boss has got waiting for you below.”

“That's not fair,” Tony pleaded. “The contract didn't say anything about them being dead.”

“Yeah, well, it didn't specify nothin' about them being alive neither,” Rumpelstiltskin cackled. “And anyway, they all die pretty quick once you're done with 'em anyway.”

“Die?”

“Sure.” The dwarf grinned, wrinkles nearly swallowing his beaming emerald eyes into the folds of his leathery face. “Lots of 'em slit their wrists, especially after they pump out some kind of six-armed monstrosity. Others just kind of corrode away. Boss figures they're either fertile fer his kids or ought to be fertilizer for someone else's.”

“His kids?” Tony frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Talking about the Boss's seed,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “You carry it inside you. Been carrying it to women all over the world for years. And the Boss's seed don't plant any happiness, let me tell you! You think he's been having you sacrificing virgins just for your own fun? But you can see for yourself; Boss'll have what's left of those girls waiting for you down below.”

The dwarf looked at the clock, which now read 12:03.

“How would you like to shuffle off? Something memorable, I imagine. 'S a shame when rock stars just slip away in their sleep. No headlines there. Wanna slit your wrists and write a goodbye message in your blood? Maybe OD on some choice heroin? How about drink yourself out—choke on your own vomit?”

The dwarf tapped a long gnarled finger to his lips.

“Naw, I'm getting too habitual about this, we've done all those. How about…”

Tony bolted from the room, without even slowing to pick up his pants. The dwarf followed at a more leisurely pace, pointing his finger “up” when Tony reached the stairs the groupie had fallen down. Instead of following her path, the singer's feet suddenly turned and took the stairs towards the roof.

The Messenger hopped happily up the granite steps and a smile cracked his hide from ear to ear as in the theater attic, Tony tried to dig his feet in but found himself unable to stop from running headlong toward the giant air circulation fan.

“Yes,” the dwarf said to himself. “Decapitation is a nice choice. Haven't done one of those in…literally…ages.”

As Tony's head punched through the barrier screen to meet the slicing blades, the Messenger winked out to meet him on the other side. He had lots of new girls for Tony to meet.

And none of them were pretty—or virgins—anymore.

Whatever You Want

It was the shiny metal of her belt that first drew my eye. They say it's women who are entranced by things that glitter, but don't fool yourself. Guys have eyes too. And the silver jiggle of her hips as she walked back and forth in front of me all night served as a homing beacon. I couldn't
not
look. I couldn't
not
see the delicate tendrils of the tattoo that rose in a sensual tease from beneath the back of her skirt. I couldn't
not
see the black shadow around her eyes that pronounced her a “dark soul” and I couldn't
not
see the way her black T-shirt crept up above her hips as she walked, sometimes showing just the faintest hint of winter-white skin and other times fully revealing the dark pit of a bellybutton. I stayed at the bar a long time; I took a lot in. And no matter what I asked for; she only smiled, her eyes creasing almost closed as she answered, “Whatever you want.”

I knew she was curious about me before midnight; she came to my table more than those of any of her other customers, and her eyes glinted white as she laughed at my painful jokes and made a point to stare at me deeply, attentively, slavishly. Sometime around my fourth or fifth beer I asked her to sit down with me.

“Whatever you want,” she said, and slid into the booth with me. I put my arm around her thin shoulders and asked, “You won't get into trouble with your boss, will you?”

I could feel her shrug. “I was just taking care of a customer,” she said innocently.

“Makes me wish there was more on the menu,” I said.

“
You
can order off-menu,” she answered. She turned her head towards mine, clearly inclining for a kiss. I bent to give her one, and she licked her tongue across my lips like a cat and pulled back before I could meet her.

“May I take your order, sir?”

“I'll take the public hand job with a French kiss,” I laughed. She didn't.

A cool palm slipped against my belly and down below my belt. Warm lips brushed across my ear, moving to my mouth, as her voice promised everything. “Whatever you want,” she said.

I took her home when she got off work. I don't even think we said a word to each other after I shut the door to my apartment before she had completely shed her clothes on my living room floor.

“I'm not sure I tipped well enough for this,” I murmured as her lips slid from my nipples to my groin. Her hands worked my belt loose and then freed the rest. The warmth of her lust engulfed me and I moaned.

“What would you like, baby?” she asked. Her voice sounded too young for her actions.

“I'd like to bend you over the daybed,” I gasped, “and take you from behind.”

“Whatever you want,” she promised again, and stood up. In moments, I was treated to an easy study of the ornate bat-like tendrils of that tattoo above her ass, and my fingers roamed freely across the cool naked skin of her backside. I could feel every hair on her body, every pore. And more surprisingly, every scar. Her back was a mess of them. Faint, most were, but as I pressed myself tight against her, cleaving to her, I could see a lattice of her past.

A violent past, from the look of it. I had a vision of her tied against basement walls, a leather-clad man with a whip poised behind her. With every lash he created new scars.

They made me inexplicably excited and my intensity increased. It wasn't long before we had both collapsed atop each other on the daybed. I slid my fingers through the tangled black hair over her ear and whispered, “Stay here with me tonight?”

In the morning, she still looked good. But now the romantic shadows that had hid the intensity of her scars was gone. She slept next to me, still nude, the curve of her ass slipped out of the sheets as I shifted, and I studied the crisscross of jagged white lines that led from above her shoulder blades down past her waist to twist like barbed wire around the globes of her warm and very willing ass. I slipped a hand across her chest to feel the warmth of a breast, and she answered with a faint groan, rolling back towards me, delivering herself into my touch. The roadmap of scars continued across her middle, and now I saw that some of them were deeper below the lines of her nipples. Her belly remained mostly unmarked, but her ribs might have had fishhooks pulled across them at one time.

“What happened?” I asked, trailing a finger across the faint indentation of one deep scar.

“He loved me,” she said simply.

I didn't know what to say to that. So I didn't say anything.

Her name was Kerstin. I didn't know that until I went to drive her home. But I got to know the sound of it a lot better over the next few weeks. She spent a lot of time at my place, and after her Friday night shift, she even spent the rest of the weekend.

It was probably our third full weekend together when my neighbor decided to make good on his threat to build a bookcase for his living room wall. The hammering woke me up, but it was the high-pitched whir of the circular saw that made Kerstin's eyes go wide.

I thought she was frightened of the sound at first, and then her lips were covering mine. The saw next door oscillated through the wall, growling high and hungry as it slipped through whatever wood Mike was repetitively slicing. Probably making the shelves for his case, I thought. The sound vibrated in my bedroom, which was on the other side of his main room wall. Kerstin's tongue pressed hard in my mouth, and then she rolled and I felt the warmth of her engulf my cock. She was already dripping with excitement, and she'd only just woken up.

Afterwards she grinned sheepishly. “The sound of a saw just gets me going,” she said. “Don't ask me why. But if you ever want to get me hot…just rev up a blade for a minute. I know, it's weird.”

She rolled her eyes and I could tell she was embarrassed and afraid of what I'd say. Then she turned the tables and asked me, “Is there anything weird that gets you off? Anything you've always wanted to do but were afraid to try?”

I thought of the whir of a saw and the splash of blood as it bit into flesh instead of wood and shivered.

I shrugged. “I don't know,” I said. “I guess I've always thought it would be hot to do it in public, in an elevator, or in the back booth of a bar or something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A little exhibitionist, eh?” Then she put her hands on my chest and pushed me back to the bed. Rising above me, snowy-white breasts inches from my face, she bent down until her nipples brushed against the hair of my chest. “You can do better than that,” she whispered.

“A threesome would be hot,” I began, and her lips twisted.

“Vanilla,” she said. Her mouth leaned close enough to mine for me to feel her breath. “What really turns you on when you're all alone?” she said. “What gets you hard that you'd never admit to your best friend?”

I thought of my old girlfriend's accident, and blinked it away.

“Well, why would I admit that to you?” I grinned.

“Because I'm not your friend,” she whispered. “I'm your sex toy.”

I felt my cock stir at the same time as my stomach twisted. She
was
my friend. I really had begun to care about her. I had…

“Whatever you want,” she interrupted my thoughts. “You'll never have this chance with anybody else. Just tell me. Do you want to beat the woman you fuck? Do you want to piss on her face before you make her suck you off? Or maybe you need the other side of the play… Do you want to lie down in the middle of a circle jerk and feel the rain? Would that make your cock shake? Do you want me to fuck all of them before I let you inside me? Do you want to find yourself a sixteen-year-old Lolita and plow her evil young pussy while I hold her down for you? Do you want to wear panties? Do you want to be tied up? Do you want to shave a woman clean? Do you want to cut her before you cum? Do you want to get it on with a dead girl?”

I don't know what made me say it. Maybe I just wanted to stop the stream of embarrassing perversions that dripped from her lip like cum. Tantalizing and wicked. Maybe it was the dead girl thing and I just jumped on what I thought would be an innocuous weirdness.

“I would love to fuck a goth girl in a coffin,” I breathed.

“Now you're getting the idea,” she said.

The next night, Kerstin picked me up and drove me across town in the dark. She didn't say anything, and refused to answer when I asked where we were going. She wore a short black skirt and a black satin blouse opened three buttons down to show the creamy swell of her breasts against a black silk bra. I knew why when we pulled into the parking lot of a Funeral Home and around the back.

“You can't be serious,” I said as she pulled up to the back door.

“It's after-hours and I know someone who works here,” she said, holding up a key. “I can make your dreams come true.”

“No way,” I resisted. “I was only joking…”

“Come with me,” she said, and got out of the car. I followed her, still protesting, but she ignored me.

Kerstin led me through the back entry of the funeral home into the heavy silence of thick carpet and sob-absorbing wall hangings. This was a place that could absorb any noise, from a scream to a furtive cry. It certainly had plenty of opportunities to mask pain.

She led me away from the viewing rooms down a flight of stairs. Then we entered a doorway at the end of the hall, and she turned on a wall switch to illuminate the room. Several coffins were displayed in-line, from high-grade metal bronze boxes to ornate varnished wooden ones, with red velvet lining the insides.

Kerstin walked between the staged boxes, leading me to the end of the line, a wooden coffin with its lid propped up.

“My friend left this for you.”

In the coffin lay a naked girl. A naked dead girl. She was dark-haired and young and pale. Her eyes were rouged black. Her breasts looked strangely cold and yet…enticing. I wasn't sure if it was due to the attentions of her embalmer, or her own hygiene, but her pubes were shaved clean. She looked plastic and fuckable at the same time.

“Her funeral is tomorrow,” Kerstin offered.

“No,” I said, backing away from the dead girl. “I didn't say I wanted necrophilia.” I turned to look at Kirstin, panicked. “I said I thought it would be kinky to fuck in a coffin, but not to fuck a dead girl, no way, I'm not into that, I mean, that's just fuckin' twisted and now someone you know thinks that I want…”

“Shhhhhh.” She pressed a finger to my lips. “Come here.”

She pulled me away from the dead body and led me to an empty coffin. Its lid was also lifted, and the silky white cushions inside looked decadently rich. Kirstin pulled my shirt over my head and unbuckled my pants before I could think twice. And then as she stripped herself, she told me to climb inside. There was a stepping stool already in place, and I did what she commanded, my heart beating in a mix of fear and excitement.

The silk felt cool against my skin, and when Kirstin rose above me, and slid in atop me, it suddenly felt warm in an electric ice against fire way.

Then she reached up and pulled the lid closed and sealed us in the black of a portable crypt. My skin chilled, even with her flesh breathing against my pores.

“Whoa, girl,” I whispered. “I don't know…”

“It's just you and me,” Kirstin said, spreading her legs to encompass mine. She whispered in my ear, trying to set a mood, “You are deep in the grave in a cemetery at night…buried alive…there is only me to fuck. For eternity. The dead are all around us. Can you get it up?”

She laughed wickedly, and it wasn't her scenario, but rather something in her pitch got me excited. In minutes we were both breathless and sweating… The heat of our tomb only beaded more water on our skin and we slid against each other in a twisted scene that was as wrong as it was hot.

When it was over, Kirstin nuzzled against my ear and whispered, “You fucked me in a coffin…but I know you wanted more.”

There were images in my mind, and a pang of fear, and then she just held me, and we didn't speak for a while. When she raised the lid, and helped me out of the humid coffin, she didn't give up.

Kirstin took my hand and led me to the coffin of the goth girl corpse. “I know this is what you wanted, even if you thought you were joking, even if you thought this wasn't at all what you meant…this is what you wanted. And I'm here to give it to you.”

“No,” I said, my heart pounding. The girl's lips were blue, and my lover was here with me, warm…pink…insistent…

“Get in the coffin with her,” Kirstin said. “That's all I ask. Do that much for me. If you don't want to do anything else, you don't have to. But let me see you lying with a dead girl. How many times do you have a chance like that?”

I can't tell you why I did it. Actually I can, but I won't admit it. I climbed, naked, into a coffin with a dead, pretty, cold, young girl.

“Hug her,” Kirstin urged.

And I did.

“Kiss her,” Kirstin whispered. I could see my girlfriend's nipples were erect. She was getting off on this.

“Press yourself between her thighs,” Kirstin urged, and I halfheartedly said, “No.” But I did it anyway. Her skin felt cool and almost rubbery as I pushed an insanely hard hard-on up towards that shaven delta. After what I'd just done with Kirstin, I didn't see how I could even get it up again. From behind me, I heard Kirstin whimper in excitement. “This might help,” she said in my ear, and then her hand, dripping with some kind of lubricant, slid between my groin and the belly of the dead girl. She stroked me until I was slick, and then stepped back to watch.

It was a while before we left the funeral parlor.

It was only after that when Kirstin finally invited me to her place. I was still feeling a little nauseous about the night before when she picked me up and asked me if I liked girls with scars.