“That just what I’m hoping. Catch you on the flip side, man.”
“Henry, wait.”
But Henry didn’t respond. He had the scent and nothing could get him off the trail.
Butch watched his friend approach the mystery woman. He started forward to intercept him and the woman looked up, straight into his eyes. Her grey-blue gaze, startling against her tawny skin, held him fast.
All ambient sound from the crowded bar faded. Butch felt himself grow hard and the throbbing ached like a wound. His skin itched like it was covered in dirt. He dug his short nails into his arm with ruthless fervor. Angry welts rose up and still he raked his flesh, unable to get rid of the feeling that she was on him, in him, crawling around.
He yelped when his blunt nails broke skin. The mental hold loosened and he was able to move. Without another glance at Henry, Butch pushed through the throng of people and ran from the bar.
The woman was chatting with the bartender as Henry strolled up. “Hey man, give the lady here another one of what she drinking.” He gave her hourglass figure a lingering once-over. “I’m Henry. And you sure is foxy.”
“And you’re a little cocky.”
“You got me wrong.” He took a long pull from his beer then pointed toward her with the bottle. “I’m a big cocky.”
She almost choked on a sip of strawberry daiquiri, but it turned into a spurt of laughter. “I haven’t heard that one before.”
“What’s your name?”
“Does it matter? You’ll only forget it afterwards.”
He leaned closer and her fragrance glided over the smokiness of the bar, a tangy mixture of sea air and citrus fruit. “After what, little mama?”
A coy smile accompanied her words. “After tonight.”
“Now, how you know what gon’ happen tonight? I might decide to take my time and court you.”
She shook her head and chestnut ringlets brushed her bare shoulders. “It’s my last night in town.”
“You got people here?”
“No, it’s a business trip for me.”
“Business? What kinda work you do?”
She ran her tongue over her straight, smooth teeth. “I make people over.”
Henry nodded. “Hair and makeup and stuff. Cool. Cool.” He downed the shot of whisky. “So, this your last night, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That’s a shame. Guess I’m gonna have to work fast.” He slapped a ten down on the counter and stood.
“Not too fast, I hope.”
“You must make some serious bread. This ain’t no cheap motel.” Henry strolled around the expansive suite, whistling at all the extra touches. Fresh flowers stood in crystal a vase on the side table next to an overflowing fruit basket.
“I like to be comfortable when I travel.” She tossed her clutch purse on the bedside table.
“This ain’t comfortable. This is… nice. Real nice.” The sound of a zipper yanked his gaze back to the bed. She stepped out of the purple satin puddle at her feet and stood, clad in only a black strapless bra and panties, in the middle of the room.
“Well, don’t stop now.” He unbuttoned his own shirt and tossed it on the floor as he strode over to her. She nudged him toward the king-sized bed.
“Why don’t you lie down and watch the rest?”
“Oh, yeah. I like that, baby.”
Henry lay down in the middle of the bed and watched her reach behind her back to unhook her bra. Her high breasts sprang free from their confines and he salivated at the sight of her dark, hard nipples. She climbed onto the foot of the bed and crawled up Henry’s body, her grey-blue eyes laughing with challenge.
She straddled his waist and ground herself against his hardness as she brushed her breast over his lips. He opened his mouth and sucked on the stiffened tip. Warm liquid flowed into his mouth and after his initial surprise, he suckled harder. He tried to pull her closer, but his body resisted. It trembled with the vain effort of movement. His eyes widened.
“No, Henry. You don’t get to touch me.” Her silky voice darkened as her milk soured in his mouth. Lumpy curds drained down his cheeks. He gagged, tried to turn his head and spit, but his lips were fused to her slick flesh.
“You asked me what my name was,” she said as her fingers stroked his throat, forcing him to swallow the thick pap. Her swollen nipple popped from his mouth when she leaned back to remove her brief panties. “It’s Eldra.” As the silk slid down her thighs, fat drops of her vaginal fluid fell onto the crotch of the panties, bleaching the fabric a sickly yellow-white.
Eldra draped the ruined underwear over Henry’s face, ignoring his gurgled protests as the caustic fabric burned his skin. “But you may know me better as ‘The Hag’.” She slid down to his crotch, bristly public hair like needles in his groin as her talons ripped through denim and exposed the length of him. She squatted, her legs wide and her nether lips open to expose two rows of glinting silver-white teeth.
His scream bubbled through the lumps in his throat as she lowered herself onto his stiff penis. Eldra shoved her fingers into Henry’s open mouth, turned the panties into a putrid gag as she rode him with demonic wildness while he lay immobile, unable to stop the flesh-rending fuck.
Hours later, Eldra climbed off his limp, wasted body. She gave an impressed grunt. “Ooh, Henry. You’re still hard.” She took the mutilated penis in her palms and gripped it, holding the flayed pieces together. Her salt and citrus scent filled the room as she lowered her acidic mouth again and again.
“We patched him up the best we could, Miz Frieda.” The young nurse said before she opened the door to Henry’s room.
Frieda whispered, “How bad is it?”
The nurse hesitated. “It’s… uh… He’s been asking for you.”
“Frieda? That you?” Henry’s voice was high with panic.
“I’ll be at the desk if you need anything.” The nurse made a hasty exit.
“Frieda, please. I need you.”
She rushed to his beside and pulled back the dividing curtain. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at her disfigured husband, small and shriveled in the middle of the hospital bed. He reached out a shaky hand to her, his eyes wide and white and staring.
Frieda heard him crying out for her as she whirled and fled the room.
“Please! Don’t leave me. Frieda!”
PHANTOM DEPOSIT
Larissa Alloway
The bank lobby was dark, half-hidden in shadows. A winter storm had blown in around three o’clock. It looked like a nice, soft snowfall at first, but, just before closing, it had intensified. I toiled at my desk, rushing to finish closing duties before I got stuck at the bank.
Snow collected rapidly in the corners of the windows, adding an eerie sense of isolation to the lighted island of my desk. I felt jumpy and wished I had all the lights blazing, not just the floor lamp to my left.
The other bank managers hate closing. They find dealing with the tedium of balancing accounts and locking things up for the night boring. For me, the ordered world of the bank—assuring balance and that everything is in its place—provides armor against the chaos of the rest of the world.
