Sloppy Seconds (3 page)

But you'd understand if the soul of your dead wife was trapped inside the rotting corpse of a Great Dane, and the only way you could set her spirit free was to suck it out through its ass.

Okay, I'm not sure that's true. That's what the voodoo priestess said, but she could have been fucking with me. The thing is, my wife always had a thing for getting her asshole eaten out and now that she's dead, it's only gotten worse. Man, she's insatiable! How'd she wind up with her soul stuck in a dead dog? It's a long story involving a voodoo priestess with a thing for getting gang-raped by Great Danes. None of my business normally, but she was also bi-sexual - tried to seduce the wife and family pet. I got pissed off and kicked a little ass. My dog wound up dead and my wife trapped in her body. I don't even want to talk about it. It's still a sensitive issue for me.

Thing is, she's no less sexually demanding now that she's roadkill than when she was a three hundred and fifty pound nymphomaniac with an addiction for the soul pole.

And I have to admit. I do miss my dog.

So what it amounts to is me with my lips pressed against Queenie's puckered anus while it oozes liquid feces, farts putrescent gases, and seethes with maggots wriggling across my tongue and into my moustache like a scene from
Night of the Living Dead
... only with house pets. Dingleberries of dried excrement dreadlock the matted hairs lining her furry buttocks. Festering bedsores and herpes blisters pockmarked her ass cheeks, the latter from a prostitute I'd hired who wasn't entirely candid about her sexual history.

From within her rectum, a hideous infestation of pinworms boil out of her asshole like a pot of overcooked rice... as I first discovered while thrusting balls deep into her bleeding anus, plundering her bowels. I have to have a little fun too, don't I? It isn't all about her needs.

Blood trickles from the torn mucus membranes lining her colon where I dug a tunnel through her, ripping her wide until rectum and vagina merged into one ragged hole, crawling with legions of worms - the same hole I am now licking like a bowl of cake batter.

Queenie did not make a sound, didn't so much as wag her tail as I plunged my tongue deeper into her bleeding, maggot-ridden anus. I rose for air and once again replaced my tongue with my turgid flesh, throbbing with an urgent erection. I know; it seems a bit weird that this shit turns me on. But I haven't fucked a single bitch since my wife's interment in this canine carcass and I was horny as hell.

I itched and squirmed as the riotous swarm of vermin migrated up my shaft, across my wrinkled scrotum, and into the dank moistness of my own ill-washed anus. Their corybantic undulations through my feces-flecked hemorrhoids sent shivers up my spine that drove me to the most violent orgasm I'd had in months.

I withdrew my exhausted organ from my inamorata's nether regions and stared in horrified awe at the sea of maggot-like parasites swimming through my semen as it spilled from her dilated asshole in thick custard-like dollops - squirming, squiggling life that dribbled down her ass-crack and plopped onto the floor.

"How much do I love her?" I grasped Queenie's tail once again and lifted it to reveal her anus, still slimed with gobs of coagulating man-juice and alive with a feverish colony of writhing pinworms.

"How far would I go for love?" I wondered.

Then, without another thought, I buried my face into her buttocks and wriggled my tongue into that unctuous, suppurating hole. And with a loud wet
"SLUUUUUURP!"
sucked her asshole clean worms, semen, blood and all.

I loved her that much. Dead or alive, she was still man's best friend.

Gigolo Crackwhore

Second Place - 2008 Gross-Out Contest, Salt Lake City

Antoine was a ninety-two-pound anorexic masochist... and the most popular crackwhore in the leper colony. His asshole had been stretched wide enough to pitch a baseball through by his long list of clients with cocks fattened by growths and lesions.

An overzealous back-alley proctologist had widened it further in an attempt to surgically remove his hemorrhoids that involved an apple corer and a filet knife, leaving his anus gouged out - raw and pink - like a half-eaten ruby-red grapefruit. The only plus was that the constant irritation of a prolapsed anus was now all but a memory. He could now take two cocks in the same hole without so much as a grunt. D.P. in a leper colony was no small feat.

Now, sex with Antoine was like stirring a bowl of chili with a toothpick. However, the sluggish, steady leak of excrement and semen from his distended, vandalized anus like a river of melted s'mores did little to detract from his charms.

"Come on, baby. Let's get to fuckin'!"

Antoine rolled his eyes and joined his septuagenarian trick on the bed.

His client, Mikey, was one of the oldest fuckers in the colony. At seventy-six, he had so much nerve damage from decades of leprosy, infected appendages that had been rotting for months with gangrene literally dropped off of him during sex. Luckily, Antoine was used to it.

Mikey popped two Viagaras and a heart pill and began stroking his misshapen cock to an erection. There was a wet chafing sound as sores and blisters ruptured, leaking blood and pus between his fingers while his palsied hand busied itself trying to raise the dead. Finally, his withered cock - which resembled some sort of wounded sea slug - began to stiffen and elongate in the old man's hand.

"Come on now, youngin,' suck my cock! Suck it like you love me!"

The ancient john's bulbous dick was festering with an advanced case of syphilis and the length of his member was pockmarked with raw, bleeding sores, blossoming like infected bullet holes and leaking a stream of clear liquid that smelled like last season's still-hidden Easter eggs. Syphilis had likewise rotted his nose off, leaving a ragged crater oozing snot over his mouth.

Mikey's eyelids blistered with a cranberry cluster of herpes sores, as did his anus and scrotum - resembling the inside of a pomegranate and swollen to the size of naval oranges. His mouth was so full of herpes that he could barely speak, and his tongue looked like some kind of pork rind. The few teeth that remained in his rotting maw were black with tartar and cratered with cavities from smoking meth and eating Twinkies. His breath smelled like he flossed with roadkill.

Antoine felt as if he were about to fuck something from a Brian Keene novel or a George Romero film. Mikey looked like he missed his own funeral, wandering around with his gangrenous erection and waiting for someone to take enough pity to cremate him.

Such was the state of politics in the colony that this old, perverted corpse was both the town mayor and the church's most respected member. Antoine had once given the diseased fossil a blowjob in the confessional booth. Afterward, he promptly washed his mouth out with holy water while stammering his "Our Fathers" and "Hail Marys."

Mikey had once been over six hundred pounds and, though he'd lost the weight, folds of loose, wrinkled skin hung in long, billowy sheets from his body, turning his arms into bat wings and his torso into a sagging avalanche of flesh. In order to get to the man's penis, Antoine had to lift the long flap of skin draping from Mikey's belly down to mid-thigh and duck under it like he was crawling beneath a blanket. The skin enveloped his head as if it had been submerged in a vat of flesh-toned taffy.

Antoine hyperventilated as the meaty perspiration and body heat created a stifling sauna, choking him with body odor and humidity. He struggled beneath the hood of skin, trying to move it aside, while gasping for air and growing more claustrophobic by the second. Finally, he tossed the skin to the side and sucked in a huge breath like a drowning man rising from the water, exposing the man's deformed organ to the light of day.

Antoine slid his mouth over the old leper's cock and felt herpes pustules exploding in his mouth like bloody zits. The organ unsheathed as he went down on it, the skin sloughing off like a used condom and gathering by the man's scrotum. As his mouth traveled back up the cock, the skin went with him, disengaging from the penis and slipping down Antoine's throat like a raw oyster.

Antoine had but three choices: spit, swallow, or gag. The fetid remainder of foreskin was usually not the substance in question when those alternatives arose.

He swallowed the lumps of flesh, trying to convince himself that it was some foreign delicacy that a millionaire would pay thousands of dollars to consume like caviar or blowfish. It
did
have the texture of raw calamari.

He continued fellating the man's swollen flesh, which was now naked of all skin and glistening an angry red - slickened with blood and saliva. His lips and tongue bounced over the herpes blisters and leprosy lesions as he took the decaying meat down his throat, sliding it past his tonsils with the practiced ease of a sword swallower.

The old fucker was now sitting up in bed, hunched over Antoine, hissing and wheezing as if on the verge of cardiac arrest and drooling on the top of Antoine's head as he tried to work. The man's lips had rotted off long ago, so he couldn't help the drooling or that perpetual idiotic grin. The ragged void where his nose had been was leaking dollops of snot that plopped out of his nasal cavity and onto Antoine's head, dribbling down his face as he continued his vain attempt to bring the nerve-damaged cock to orgasm.

Leprosy had deformed it with large tumors, giving it the look of a megalomorphic summer squash and making it feel like some sort of medieval French tickler as it thrust in and out of Antoine's throat. Antoine was trying hard to keep his mind on business when Mikey's left eye popped out of his skull and slid down Antoine's forehead.

A violent orgasm ripped through the geriatric leper, shooting a tacky, viscous stream of semen - thick and curdled like warm yogurt and seething with a cocktail of STDs and microscopic parasites - down Antoine's throat along with the misshapen gland of his cock, which popped off like a mushroom cap and lodged in Antoine's throat, clogging his air passage.

Mikey was quick, jumping up as Antoine began to turn blue, and clasping his hands around his waist from the back. He dug both fists into Antoine's stomach in a desperate Heimlich maneuver. Antoine had almost lost consciousness when several quick thrusts dislodged the head of Mikey's cock from his throat and shot it across the room in a spray of blood, saliva, and dick snot.

Mikey picked the head up off the floor. The thing was infected so badly with herpes, syphilis and gangrene that it was black and purple and smelled like a used diaper. He tossed it onto the bed next to Antoine, who was still trying to catch his breath, along with a twenty dollar bill.

"Keep the tip," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Antoine glared back and then stuck out his tongue which fell out of his mouth onto the bedspread.

Hurting Him

I'd dreamt of hurting that fucker for over a decade. I knew now that he had a wife and child, a good job, house, car, and a dog. His happiness burned the lining of my stomach like lactic acid on a bleeding ulcer. It made me want to scream.

I wanted to cause him so much pain that he would curse the moment of his birth and the day the universe itself was authored. I wanted to see all the joys of life die in his eyes; the chords stand out in his neck as he expelled his agonized spirit into the void in a nerve-rending shriek. I wanted to drink deep of his suffering and grow fat off his misery.

Many nights I masturbated to the fantasy of his tortured flesh laid open beneath my blade, his bloated purple intestines boiling up out of the wound like a nest of eels, his blood splashing over my feet and squishing between my toes as it sprayed from a dozen lacerations. I'd shiver with orgasm as I imagined raping his pretty wife in front of him, and then I'd wipe my lonely seed from the hollow of my navel and imagine that it was the last drop of his life's blood.

I planned it all out in my head in lavish detail as I whipped my flesh into a frenzy. I imagined capturing him, chaining him up in my basement, and giving him a shot of morphine to slow his pulse so he wouldn't bleed out before I was done with him, to numb the pain just enough so he'd remain conscious while I introduced him to the death of a thousand cuts. Cauterizing each gouge, avulsion, or severed appendage with a Bunsen burner. I imagined keeping him alive for hours, hacking and sawing away at him. But then what?

Eventually, he'd be dead and my own pain would continue. What he'd done to me was impossible to avenge. He didn't just steal my girlfriend - my first love - use and discard her like a condom after he'd pumped it full of semen and wiped his ass with it. He stole my capacity to love and trust. He made me a monster. Love no longer meant joy to me. It meant inevitable loss and the unbearable pain that would follow. He stole the very beauty of life from me.

I needed to find a way to keep him alive and in misery for as long as I lived and suffered. I went online and scoured the dark sorcery and necro-sex sites.

There was no doubt that I'd find what I needed. There was a market for every perversion. Sure enough, on one site that featured graphic pictures of hairy, overweight men gang-raping corpses, I found the thing I needed to ensure that Paul would outlive my hatred.

It's amazing the things you can find on the Internet these days.

I took his wife first, in front of him. I let him watch her scream as I broke a 40 oz. bottle of Colt .45 off in her asshole. I shattered the end of it with a baseball bat after I'd shoved it in deep, lubricated with the blood from her savaged vagina. Jagged shards stuck out of her hemorrhoidal tissue, leaking blood down her thighs. Once she'd stopped screaming, I rammed the bat up there too, grinding the glass in deeper and bringing a fresh volley of screams. It was still nothing like what I'd done to her vagina. I'd gotten real creative there.

Paul had screamed, begged, cursed, and threatened as I lit the tiki torch and fucked his beautiful, redheaded, doe-eyed wife with it. I could barely hear his pathetic yammering over her wails.

"Aaaiiiieeee! God No! No! Noooooo! Don't! Heeeeeelp!!! Aaaaaargh!!!"