by Ashton
A gust of chill air whispers over Ville's bare skin, wakening his senses; the sounds of verse echoing through his mind like a fading dream.
Come to my heart, love cruel and deaf,
Tiger I adore, monster with indolent airs;
I've waited to plunge my fingers
In the thickness of a mane so rough;
In a petticoat filled with your odor
I long to bury my aching head,
And breathe the flower withered and dead,
The sweet, musty smell of spent ardor.
I would sleep! Sleep instead of live!
In a sleep as sweet as death
I would lavish kisses without regret
On your body burnished to the shine copper gives.
Nothing could equal your bed's abyss
Across your mouth oblivion shows
And Lethe flows in your kiss.
My destiny, henceforth, my enjoyment,
To obey what is preordained;
Docile martyr, an innocent condemned,
Whose fervor is stirred into torment.
Groggy and dazed, Ville tries to shift his body, only to realize his limbs are restricted by a heaviness he is unaccustomed to. If he strains his ears, Ville is almost certain he'll hear his joints creak and whine in protest to the slow manipulation of muscle and bone. What the...?
Disoriented.
Everywhere there is darkness, closing in around him like a dense blanket. He blinks his thick-fringed lids, green eyes unable to focus through the gloom. For a moment, Ville questions whether he might still be sleeping...dreaming... If so, he decides it's not a very pleasant dream. He isn't frightened, not yet, but there is a notable sense of unease building in his gut. Hanging in the room's stagnant air. Yes. Panic is close. Moving closer. Unobserved by the eye, but felt in the prickling at the back of Ville's neck. For several long seconds, he lingers still and quiet. Suspended in the great nothingness.
His motions sluggish, Ville raises one large, bony hand and rests it against his chest. The sturdiness of his ribs and the pitter-patter of his heart assuring Ville that he is, indeed, real. Perhaps even awake. But where the hell is he, then? A hotel room, no doubt. But which? And with whom? Like a blind man seeking, he slips his hand off his chest and reaches over, hesitantly touching the empty space beside him on the bed. No one is there. There is only the crisp, smooth sheet beneath his palm, though he cannot shake the eerie sensation that he is not alone in the blackness.
Mutely, Ville scolds himself for being foolish. He tries to chuckle out loud at his paranoia, but his throat is too dry and pasty; tongue like sandpaper, sticking to the roof of his mouth. Something IS wrong. Is he stoned? Drugged? What the fuck did he DO last night? If he's tripping, it's like nothing he's experienced before. He makes a note to himself to ask Mige, when he feels better, what sort of chemicals he ingested so that he can avoid them in the future. Fuck this kind of high. This is shit.
The cracking of a match ruptures the silence in the dusky room, distracting Ville from his self-persecuting thoughts. The scent of sulfur fills his nostrils as a warm glow explodes before his eyes. Once they adjust to the brightness of the flame and the violent red splotches fade, the first thing he notices is her hand; her delicate fingers pinching the matchstick. White as marble, but for the long fingernails tinted deep blue.
She's lighting a candelabra that sits atop the bureau beside his bed. Standing between the two pieces of furniture, she hums to herself a tune unknown to Ville. Her face is shrouded by ebony locks, tendrils so lengthy, they spiral down to the small of her narrow back. Drinking her in greedily, he lowers his gaze further, heat spreading through his stomach at the sight of her smooth rounded ass. Her long, shapely legs. Perfect. In Ville's mind, her body seems perfect.
When the final of three candles is lit, she peers mischievously through her dark veil, with eyes the shade of sin. Her stare is blank, bluish-purple crescents underline her tar-pit orbs. Those eyes, ohgod, those eyes... Ville KNOW this woman. He feels it in the way his heart beat races, when her eyes smile down at him, and in the way his cock is now stirring. Blood flushing it red. And then the recognition hits Ville. He remembers who she is. She is every lyric that Ville has written. A figment of his imagination.
A slow grin splitting across her face, she sits at the edge of the bed, cooing his name hoarsely, "Ville... Oh Ville... I have so much to show you."
Ville attempts to lift his head up off the pillow it rests on, lips struggling to form words - wanting to inquire as to what she means. Still, his mouth is too parched to speak. The noise that escapes from his mouth is little more than a mangled groan.
"Shhh... Shush now, lover. I'm here now..." She presses an ice-cold finger against his lips, then staring inquisitively, if not insanely, traces along the subtle curves of his mouth. And though her flesh is unnaturally cool, Ville relishes this contact. "Pretty...but such an arrogant one you are...so spoiled. You will never understand, until you know. Never know, until you experience."
What the hell is all this talk of understanding and experience? Why is this woman speaking in riddles? Ville can feel his anger, wanting to bubble to the surface, though he knows it might be unwise in his current state. Still, this woman's gibberish was annoying him. Beautiful though she might be, he would order her out of his room if he could. The woman bends her head until it's only centimeters from Ville's, her drab gray tongue darting from her mouth to lick at his dry lips. Wet and slimy it glides as she goes about the task of moistening the plump skin. Her spittle thick and foul-scented, yet sweet as candy. These contradictions are disgusting to Ville, they make his skin crawl, even as his stiffened meat jerks against his belly.
Like a worm, her tongue burrows between his lips, coaxing them apart. Wriggling its way into the warmth of his mouth. Her perseverance pays off and Ville relents, opening up to grant her full access. His own tongue greets hers, shivers racing down his spine as they spar and slither together. Ville raises his hands, twining them in her wild, tangle of hair.. Jesus, he thinks, to taste death like this...to savor the saccharine decay...
Their kiss deepens; Ville can feel himself growing more desperate beneath her. With agile fingers he digs at her scalp, crushing her head down harder against his open mouth. The woman's moist, lunging tongue begins to ease the desert-like dryness of his oral cavity. He feels better, if only for the moment. How could his well being NOT improve, when her milky-white breasts were dangling directly above him? Her erect nipples brushing, to and fro, against his boyish chest?
All pretenses of proper etiquette gone, Ville reaches for one of her full tits. Cupping its weight in his hand, kneading roughly. He think to himself, that she has big nipples. The sort that were made for sucking, which is what he'd really like to do just now. Feeling daring, he gives one hard nub a rough pinch between his fingers. Wanting...ohgod...how he wants her. With his free hand, Ville grabs hold of her slight wrist and tries to force it down toward his aching cock.
Swiftly, the woman pulls away and sits back. Before Ville even realizes that her hand is moving, her fingernails claw the side of his face, leaving bloody tracks in their wake. "Do you think it's that easy?"
"I thought..." He croaks, throat sore. Eyes welling with tears that never fall -- a spontaneous reaction to her unexpected assault. "You lash out at me for touching, like that's not what you've come here for? Uninvited...I might add." Ville rakes at his curly locks with frustration, pushing strands behind his ear as he struggles to sit up. Still somewhat dazed, wan face contorting with anger.
At this, the woman throws her head back and laughs heartily. The cavernous, masculine timbre is a surprise coming from one so slight of build. Hollow. Her laughter is hollow, Ville thinks to himself, watching her tits jiggle in time with the subtle swaying of her body. Vicious cunt.
Cautiously, Ville places his fingertips against his smarting cheek, attempting to survey the damage. It is only a surface wound, nothing that will permanently mar his skin.
"Uninvited you say? Come now, Ville... I`m the only woman you can ever love." Diligently, she scrapes his dead skin from underneath her fingernails, her voice now soothing and pleasant. Playful. She's toying with him. Enjoying his discomfort.
"Who the fuck ARE you?" He demands crossly, though some remote core within Ville already knows the answer. This is just more self-trickery. "No one OWNS me, understand...woman?"
Jade eyes glinting madly, Ville struggles to maintain his composure while apprehension, longing and fury each wrench him in a separate direction, until he feels he might scream.
Murky orbs stare, full of sympathy. "We will see about that, won't we?"
Elegant, skillful hands sweep over his skinny thighs. Their touch feather light before they dig into his muscles. Mauling his flesh, massaging as they work their way upward toward his swollen dick. Fingers frosty as icicles, constricting around his blood-flushed organ. With obvious delight, she goes about the task before her, pumping up and down on his fat prick. Ville lays stunned, his hostility ebbing just a little, as he watches her. The pleasure She administers so expertly overwhelms him, renders him helpless. Faster and rougher she tugs, until his breathing turns ragged and he's writhing beneath her. Then, she releases him abruptly, letting his engorged meat fall against his belly with a slap. Her fingers slide to the underside of his scrawny thighs, fingers flexing, getting a firm grip before she pulls his legs further apart. Stretching him unnaturally wide, until his muscles are burning, pain shooting up through his groin. She eyes the most private parts of his body hungrily, so hungrily that Ville suddenly fears she'll eat him alive. Then, she moves. Slowly. Crawling between his long legs with all the grace of a cat. And for the first time, Ville notices that what lies between her ashen thighs is anything but...feminine... There, jutting from an unruly tangle of coarse hair, bobbing with her slight movement, is a cock of monstrous proportions. Black and blue by it's obscene growth. What the fuck?
Ville wonders how he failed to notice this during the first glimpses he'd had of her body. Could it have been concealed in the shadows? Or had he been so rapt by her perfectly formed breasts, that he'd not been able to tear his eyes away long enough to observe the rest of her? Regardless, it could be no fault of his. Who would have expected...this? This couldn't be real. Ville sniggers at himself, at his own thoughts. Of course it isn't REAL. Females didn't sprout dicks and dead women didn't climb off slabs in the morgue just to pay unsuspecting fools midnight visits?! All Ville knows for certain, is that the pain is real. Even if what lay beside him is an apparition, he cannot deny the fact that his body is miserable.
The she-beast leans in close, knowing what he's seen. Her eyes gleaming psychotically. "Do you want?"
"Want what?"
She giggles. "My cock...in your ass. Do you want it inside you?"
Yes. No. Maybe? "No...nothankyou..."
"Liar, liar." Her sing-song voice teases. "I know alllll your secrets, pretty one. You forget..." The woman seals her lips over his mouth and kisses him with a passion he's never quite known. Wet and deep. Her spittle a poisonous elixir.
Potent enough to leave him feeling intoxicated. She wraps her arms beneath his knees, bending him until his legs are pressing against his chest. His stomach nervous, full of knots, he grumbles in protest. No. This isn't what he wants. The woman is wrong.
Without any preparation, the head of her cock prods against his clenched, virgin hole. Pushing. Trying to force it's way past the tight band of resisting muscle. Cold and clammy, merciless in it's insistence until it finally tears his delicate, pink flesh. He feels his hole open all at once. Too quickly. The pain is incredible. Sharp bursts of agony, like a thousand shards of glass tearing at his intestines, shoot through his abdomen as she sinks inside. The knot in Ville's stomach loosens and his bowels let go. Hot, watery excrement bathes the rod that impales him. A vile stench taints the air in the small room, filling him with undeniable shame, making him gag. Beyond care, he begins to cry. The hot bitter tears rolling down over his cheeks. Streaking them black with makeup.
Snorting and grunting, the woman laps at his tear stained face, thrusting her hips violently against him. Unmindful of the horrid mess that she's caused, she drives into his abused orifice, again and again.
Helpless and chilled to the bone, he whimpers. Balls tightening, drawing up against his body. Despite the humiliation and the damage she's inflicting, Ville feels his own dick pulsing. Waves of pleasure wash over him and for a few moments, he forgets all else. There is just momentary bliss; the bursts of ecstasy she's feeling and the subtle convulsing of his body. He calls out, almost involuntarily. Forgetting that he hates the woman... That he wants to hide from her.
At that same moment, she howls and rips the big, ugly prick from his body. Hovering over him, she grabs her filth coated shaft and jerks. Beneath her furious hand, the stiff-yet-pliant shaft begins to swell. Expanding further and further, as the pressure within continues to build at a steady rate. The flesh of her cock stretches thin, becoming almost translucent. With a guttural howl, she squeezes and out gushes a vomitous stream of greenish liquid. Liquid swarming with maggots - white as rice, but thicker. Fat enough so that they open her pee slit wide as they burst out and splatter over Ville's sunken stomach. So any. Hundreds of them, wiggling on top of his naked skin. At least, Ville thinks they're only wiggling. Until, he sees a parasite burrow down into his flesh. His black ringed eyes widen, growing large as saucers. Ville screams. The sound so shrill, when it comes, that it pains his own ear drums.
Still straddling his narrow hips, her vile explosion of bodily fluid subsiding, the woman laughs herself into hysterics and claps her hands with childlike glee. Watching excitedly as the pearl-white maggots worm their way into his body. His mind teeters on the brink of insanity, insanity as cruel and dark as her dead eyes. Ville clenches his teeth to stifle his screeching. In a frenzy, his long, deft fingers go to work - diving beneath his own puckered flesh after the diligent maggots, plucking them one by one from where they've embedded themselves in his fatty tissue. But it seems to Ville, that for every one he exhumes, three or four more dig down inside. He can feel them squiggling beneath the surface. Itching and tickling as they work their way through his body. With growing despair, he continues to pick them out, though he knows he's losing the battle. In no time at all, his once smooth stomach has turned into a mass of pulpy, yellow fat and raw meat. His innards begin to plump upward, glistening and wet, plainly visible beneath the gouges and trails he's helped the maggots make.
Like an animal himself now, Ville snarls. "Cunt...fuckyou...fuckyou you cunt..." With a sense of resignation, Ville accepts his fate. He's lost and he knows it. However, this doesn't prevent him from trying to inflict damage of his own. Ville decides, that if he is to die at her hand, then he'll give her something to remember him by.
As his once sensuous form is slowly transformed into worm-food, Ville makes a final and desperate attempt to wound the she-beast on top of him. His reaches out with one large hand, clamping his fingers around the woman's dainty neck. Her laughter morphs into a sick gurgle as he crushes the fragile bones that hold up her head. He closes his eyes tightly, shutting out the scene before him. Not wanting to behold the figure of gore that he's become, for one second longer. "Die bitch...fucking die..."
"Ville! VILLE!!"
The voice calling him is familiar. Reassuring. Mige... Ville blinks. Bright light making it near impossible for him to focus, at first. "Mige? Ohgod...Mige..."
Panting, Ville sits upright in his bed, inches away sits Mige - on the edge of his bed, clutching both Ville's wrists. Relief and gratitude swell up inside him.
"You were about to strangle me... What the hell were you dreaming?" Mige's round, unshaven face was a sight for sore eyes. Ville could have kissed the man, and would have too, if his head was not so scrambled.
"No...worse...it was worse than just a nightmare...it was...a fucking horror..." He rubbed at his temples, skull thudding, still rattled by the horrid images that had filled his dreams. So real. They'd seemed so very fucking real.
Mige shook his head, glancing down over at Ville's bare body, tangled in the damp bed sheets. Eyes resting on the book lying, like a tell-tale sign, beside Ville. "I told you before, didn't I? Stop reading this crap before bed. You do this to yourself... You know that, right? I don't feel sorry for you."
His friend stands, taking the slim volume of poetry with him. he tosses the leather bound verse into a small trash container beside the night stand, as he steps toward the door.
Guiltily, Ville averts his gaze. Mige is right, and he knows it.
"Breakfast in ten. Get your ass out of bed, okay?"
Ville nods his agreement.
"And Ville..." Pausing at the door, Mige gives a nod with his head, a queer expression on his face, as his eyes dropped to Ville's exposed lap. "Shower first?"
For the first time, Ville notices the globs of cum splattered over his belly, dribbling down into his sparse pubic hairs. Embarrassed, he mops at the spewage with a piece of the soiled sheet. "Oh shit."
"You're a freak, Ville... You know I love you, but you really are fucked."
You don't know the half of it, Ville thinks. "Yeah...right...whatever...now get out. I'll be down in ten."
As soon as the door shuts, Ville scrambles from his bed to rescue the discarded book from the garbage bin. He stands in the center of the room, holding it reverently in his hands for a moment, lost in thought. Then, he opens it to the poem he's become most fond of. Reading the last stanza silently to himself, though he's already committed the verse to memory.
I will suckle now, to drown my rancor,
Nepenthe and hemlock's promised rest,
At the charming tips of those pointed breasts
That have never taken a heart prisoner.
The decision made, Ville carries the book over to his suitcase and places it safely inside.