Trolley No. 1852 (8 page)

There seemed to be a light
that was not light but some peculiar cast unlike any I’d observed.
This
counter-luminescence
(
somehow foggy yet clarity-sharpening)
made the room and its contents fairly shimmer as if through mist;
and seemed preternaturally magnified via some phantasmal
lens-obscura
, and to
that I must not fail to add…

Two rod-like objects stood upright at either
side of the grand bed. These objects were likely simple wooden
dowels (nothing peculiar there) but what covered the top half of
each was a mass of some unidentifiable substance that seemed to be
partly translucent and rather ill-hued. The only simile I can
summon is to say that these poles looked like bunches of wizened
white grapes on a stick.

“There you are,” issued the unmistakable and
faintly accented voice of Madam Aheb. She immediately stepped into
view from the rightward side of the key-way, and it was the
paste-faced conductor to whom she spoke. The madam’s black hair as
well as the diaphanous, low-cut gown iridesce’d in the bizarre
accentuation of the room’s light.

Her voice turned scolding,
“And it certainly
took
you long enough to get here. You know how I can’t abide to
have this awful
stuff
on me for a minute longer that it need be.”

I could only see the conductor’s back from
this voyeuristic vantage point, yet the capped, heavy-jacketed man
appeared to bow his head at Miss Aheb’s remark of disapproval.

“But of course, I’m aware you and the Thogg
were preparing the trolley for the next ingression…”

My head turned
atilt.
Thogg?
What was
that?
And what did she mean by
ingression?
And what was this ‘awful
stuff’ she’d referred to? What I’d seen thus far assured me there
was nothing at all awful about how she appeared.

“I’m ready now,” Madam Aheb said and sat
eloquently in a spectacular spoke-backed Revolution-era chair.

My view of her was blocked
when the conductor stood in front of the madam and, with a linen
towel, appeared to be wiping off her arms, shoulders, and graceful
legs. “Good, good,” she half-moaned. The conductor’s hands kept
busy in their task but remained a frustrating visual blockage to
exactly
what
was
being done. Nevertheless, he continued to wipe the exposed skin of
his mastress.

What in the name of Pegana
is he wiping off?
I pondered.

Still blocked by the bulk shape, Miss Aheb
stood up from the chair; and it was the movements of the conductor
that led me to believe he was now removing the madam’s gown.

“Ah, there. That’s better. I just so much
prefer to be naked…”

When the silent conductor stepped away, Miss
Aheb stood in full view to my prying eye—

The image forced me to press my hand across
my lips; otherwise the horrific image of what I now saw would’ve
surely caused me to scream quite blood-curdlingly…

I was looking at a
dichotomy of unspeakable magnitude: a collision of
obscene and utter opposites
stripped bare; indeed, the
force
majeure
of physical beauty and physical
horror. I say, Miss Aheb now stood naked, and in her nakedness came
the accentuation of the sum of all her parts: flawless contours and
perfect feminine lines; the sweep of impeccable legs; a sleekness
that was robust and healthily slender simultaneously; and
high-riding, distendedly nippled breasts that existed without
flaw.

The
horror
was in her
complexion.

Any impeccability of Miss
Aheb’s physique was howlingly counter-weighed by what I could only
conceive of as some ghastly epidermal defect or pitiable disease.
Every square inch of her exposed skin was made appalling by a
condition far worse than the pallor, say, of the conductor’s face
but instead by a
skin-tone
that was absolutely revolting. It was not the
strange
un-light
that held dominion in the room: of this I was sure. It was a
physical fact of the woman’s heredity.

Her skin looked like the unpleasant white of
a bullfrog’s belly marbled by swaths of a mucoid green.

The image nearly overpowered me; I nearly
voided my stomach’s contents. It occurred to me now that what the
servile conductor had been wiping off was no doubt some mode of
cosmetic make-up to conceal the madam’s true appearance to this
evening’s guests; what’s more (and I don’t know how I knew this) I
felt all-too-certain that this aberrancy of Miss Aheb’s skin was
her natural condition!

Between her protuberant
yet malignantly toned breasts hung a modest pendant whose elongated
stone reminded me of a common stalactite of chalcedony, nearly
colorless and rather lackluster. Yet from the thin, two-inch-long
stone, after I stared a moment, I took note of the pendant’s
only
un
common
characteristic…

It seemed to, however
irreducibly, generate some aspect of the room’s overall
anti-light.
And as this
registered, my eyes slowly roved upward to the most macabre
chandelier I’ve ever beheld. Uneven elongated crystals hung from
each setting in the same stalactite fashion (
hundreds
of them, each quite similar
to the pendant) inexplicably giving off the light that was not
light.

Miss Aheb grinned to her servant in an
almost vulturine way. “I simply adore you so much,” came a wanton
whisper and with it her gracile hand to the conductor’s crotch.
“Kiss me now…”

The conductor’s gloved hand came to his
chin—

“No, no,” the appalling-skinned madam
interjected. “Keep the mask on—”

So I was right!
I thought. It
was
a mask the conductor wore!

“—I want you
hideous
at first,” she
continued. “I want you
repulsive!
It makes my juices flow all the more
hotly…”

I forced my thoughts to still, and merely
watched—

—as the conductor’s waxen face lowered to
Miss Aheb’s, and their mouths joined.

Minutes passed; the oral contact roused Miss
Aheb noticeably. She stood in a slowly rising craze as the
mouth-hole of the conductor’s abhorrent mask ranged from her lips
and down the slope of her scum-hued throat, then lower to suck into
its lurid parchment aperture each gorged nipple.

“Yes, yes,” panted the raven-haired madam.
“Harder… That’s just… so… lovely…”

The conductor continued
his ministration until a veritable
gloss
of excitement effused from
Miss Aheb’s vulval groove and shined down the insides of her
thighs. Eventually, rapid-breath’d, she pushed her servant’s
counterfeit mouth away and ordered, “Get the thogg. I’m ready
now…”

There’s that strange word
again,
I mused.
Thogg…

While the conductor parted, Madam Aheb lay
back on the high, plush bed and crudely brought her knees to her
face, whereupon her mal-coloured hand began to titillate the furred
pubis. Again, I was in paresis from the dichotomy of her unflawed
curves made monstrous by the mysterious skin disease.

When the conductor returned he brought with
him the equally masked motorman…

No words were spoken then as the demented
procedure began. My stomach quivered, for when the bulky motorman
displayed his hand, I recalled my impressions when I’d glimpsed it
getting off the trolley, dismissing a trick of moonlight as the
cause for my initial alarm.

I now saw the
fact
of the
matter.

It was no real hand that
existed at the end of the motorman’s arm but instead a hideous
facsimile: a cluster of elongations of boneless, jointless flesh.
Just as harrowing, though, was the
hue
of the boneless flesh: the same
grub-white spotted by pond-scum green.

First, these fingers, if one could call them
that, extended, then wriggled; and then they curled inward to form
a parody of a fist which then incredibly swelled in size, then
shrank, swelled, then shrank, as if throbbing with some unearthly
pulse. Miss Aheb seemed delighted by the demonstration, her splayed
legs tensing and buttocks writhing at the sight. Next, her fingers
parted the shining lips of her vulva within the nest of hair—a lewd
invitation.

Without abatement, the motorman contorted
the boneless digits forward and inserted his “hand” into the
teeming, pink purse of Miss Aheb’s vaginal vault…

In and out, then, the
monstrous hand delved, begetting a regular slick, wet sound that
reminded me of one trudging through mud, the digits obscenely
undulating and obviously heightening the pleasure of his (or I
should say
its
)
mastress. Soon the derrick-like penetrations probed deeper, to the
extent that Miss Aheb’s reproductive orifice had swallowed the
motorman’s hand nearly to the point of
mid-forearm…

“Now,” the abyssally-skinned woman panted.
Her pleasures mounted to tighten every muscle and tendon in her
body.

It was to the stoic conductor that the order
was directed, for first he removed his gloves, then woolen
regulation-blue jacket, then the white shirt beneath…

Expression
gaping,
I now beheld the
length of this evil ruse: when the conductor’s clothes were tossed
aside, his nudity revealed him to be no “he” at all, but a woman,
and one with a physique nearly as comely as Madam
Aheb’s.

My shock racked me at my peeper’s post.

But the conductor (or I
should say now the conduc
tress
) even in her stunning beauty,
shared some of the same hideous dichotomy as the madam and this
“thogg”: that nauseous sickly white skin-tone blended with the
mucous-green splotches.

The carnal aberration I bore witness too now
was surely a scene forged in hell…

Butternut hair fell when the regulation cap
was undonned, and then the conductress removed the parchment
mask…

Simultaneously I felt on
the precipice of cardiac failure and a fit of madhouse screaming.
How I was able to stave off both, I know not. But this was
the
coup de grace
of all I’d visually attested to thus far: the revelation of
the conductress’s face, which I suspect the perseverant reader has
already deduced.

It was my sister
Selina’s face
that had
been until now secreted beneath the gruesome mask.

What has that hideous
BITCH done to my sister!
my thoughts
railed. Dangling between Selina’s ample yet similarly discolored
breasts was a pendant like that of Miss Aheb; this I could glimpse
as my either brainwashed or subjugated sibling turned for a moment,
knelt up on the bed, and then lowered her mouth to her superior’s
clitoral nub. All the while the motorman’s unearthly hand plungered
wickedly in and out…

“Yes, yes,” issued the accented hiss. “Lick
it faster, dear, faster.” Dung-brown nipples erected to inflamed
teepees as the order was complied with. Meanwhile, as if by psychic
cue, the dead-faced motorman finally withdrew the marauding forearm
while the madam’s bare foot caressed the thing’s trousered crotch.
A lump hardened there and with the attendant stimulation, this
less-than-human being lowered said trousers—

I nearly fell into a swoon!

—to reveal genitals as monstrous as its
facsimile for a hand.

Indeed, less-than-human was no exaggeration;
I could only thank Selina and Erwin’s God that it retained the
parchment mask, for by now I could not, would not contemplate what
its true face must be.

“What a beautiful cock,” the madam profaned,
eyes enkindled by the throbbing sight.

From the wax-white and
utterly hairless groinal region, an identically waxen
prong
of queer white
flesh stuck out. I estimated the erect pudenda’s length at roughly
eight inches, with perhaps two inches’ girth at the base. It seemed
to lack the sheathing skin as one would typically expect, and
tapered queerly to a fleshy point rather than sporting an
also-expected dome of glans; I could only think absurdly of a
paste-white carrot. Blue traceries of veins ghosted beneath its
dread whiteness as it throbbed; likewise, it shined as if effusing
its own preludial lubrication. The only aspect that made this
vision more hideous was the curious absence of scrotum and, hence,
testes.

Selina’s next instruction didn’t have to be
voiced; she held back her madam’s legs to more effectively part the
groove of the shapely buttocks.

“Now, now,” Miss Aheb seethed—

—and it was into her
nethermost aperture that the motorman—this
thogg
—inserted the macabre phallus
and began to pelvically thrust; all the while, Selina re-tended her
superior’s swollen clitoral
metus.
The sought-after effect took little time; soon
Miss Aheb’s hideously skinned yet voluptuously curved body began to
buck madly on the bed as the obvious crisis of her climax was at
hand. She shrieked, then whinnied as the spasms of release began to
pulse—a sound barely human, while in concurrence the motorman’s
frame stiffened, then began to quiver.