Wrath James White presents Poisoning Eros I & II Read online

  Poisoning Eros Part I & II

  Sometimes life is unfair. Sometimes life just plain sucks. You do what you can to get by, but sometimes even that isn’t enough.

  Meet Gloria, aging porno star, drug addict, failed wife and mother—seduced into a monstrous world of depraved sex and violent deceit, battling to save her immortal soul and that of her only daughter from Inferno … and you thought your life was hell.

  Copyright Page

  Poisoning Eros I & II

  Published by Monica J. O’Rourke at Smashwords

  Copyright 2013 Wrath James White and Monica J. O’Rourke

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Wrath James White: To Mom

  Monica J. O'Rourke: For Mom--sorry!

  Table of Contents

  Poisoning Eros I

  Introduction

  Part I

  Part II

  Part III

  Poisoning Eros II

  Part IV

  Part V

  Part VI

  Part VII

  Part VIII

  Part IX

  About the Authors

  Books By Monica J O’Rourke

  Poisoning Eros I

  Wrath James White and Monica J. O’Rourke

  Introduction

  There's a path we take through life. It winds, climbs, dips and splits.

  We make choices, doing our best or not, getting to road's end.

  Supposedly, there’s a road to hell, and one to heaven. You’ll see how that choice turns out by the end of this tale.

  Some stay to the straight and narrow, others meander, wander off, flee. Judgments are made, each path upon the other. There's a right path, and a wrong one. Judgments change with time, perspective.

  Pig candy.

  This is a choice.

  You can buy it in the Essex Street Market, Lower East Side, NYC. Or at www.roni-sue.com. Bacon. Covered in chocolate.

  Dark, and milk.

  There's something seriously wrong with the concept of pig candy. It disturbs the order of things: meat on one side of the dish, vegetables on the other, desert afterwards.

  An offense to some. An epicurean transgression. A break from the consensual contract of what is good. The chain stores don't carry it. It isn't right.

  And yet, for others, it is a delicious revelation. Enticing. Seductive. Smoky and sweet.

  The path to wrongness can start with the most innocent of choices.

  Pig candy. A step on to a slippery slope.

  Here are a few more: listening to music, reading books, watching movies, experiencing expressive works that stray from the right path, the path of consensus, where everyone knows what is right and what is wrong.

  These are all choices.

  If you bought this book, you made a choice.

  People choose the right path because it’s safe. Boundaries are clear. Signs and signals proclaim danger. There is a sense of well being in the security of definitions, the protection of expectations.

  On the safe path, the right one, everybody knows who they are, what everyone else is. Appetites are channeled, and then satisfied by processed and packaged goods and services. The right path is civilized. Nature is ruled by law and logic.

  Definitions change. Expectations are circumvented. Inconvenient facts erupt.

  Appetites break their bindings.

  The right path, as happens so often, turns out to be wrong. Ruins and desolate places tell us so. Of course. Because, in the end, it is only people who travel that path. They're the ones who named it right.

  So where does that leave the path of wrongness?

  It depends, I suppose, on the person making the choices.

  The wrong path, sometimes, serves to warn. Perhaps not everything on that right path is what it seems. It may be there are serious flaws in that consensual reality, cracks in the boundaries everyone is agreeing to ignore. Not all is as safe and controlled as one might wish.

  The wrong path can offer commentary on the nature of those deciding what is right and wrong. Provides a reminder that staring desperately into the light we hope holds truth can blind us to what we seek.

  Sometimes, in the darkness, in the wrongness, there are truths in whose presence we should not, as those wiser than I have noted, flinch. We might miss something.

  And then how can we count the cost of being right and being wrong?

  *

  You hold in your hands a book that is wrong. It is a transgression against what many hold as a consensual agreement on that path of rightness. Part of that wrongness hits you right between the eyes at the beginning, but there are darker, deeper turns on the path.

  But wrongness is not a judgment. It's only a sign pointing to a destination or, in the case of Poisoning Eros, a declaration of the city limits to a place you've never been to, population you.

  Boundaries aren't going to protect you. The lines have been erased. You saw the cover, you recognized the names of the authors, you read blurbs or reviews. You heard the knocking on the door. You've come to see what's on the other side, and what it means to the people living over there.

  You made a choice to stray on to the path of wrongness.

  Maybe you're going to see just how messed up, sometimes, in certain places, things can become between people and what else there is in the world they live in.

  The work might make you wonder about lonely nights under the stars, in the hills and on the prairie, with the livestock nearby, and just what kind of blood runs down to you from those distant ancestors.

  You might even taken a second look at certain individuals or family members in your life, or reevaluate your web browsing habits, or change your party affiliation next time you go out and vote on what kind of consensual reality you're looking for.

  If Monica and Wrath manage to make your stomach turn, your blood run a cold, if you have to think a little about what love means and how much sacrifice it takes, and then maybe you've taken a walk on the wrong path along with them.

  Look around. Take a deep breath. Hurl. Laugh. Discover a still and dark place in your heart. Or do all of it.

  And have some pig candy while you're at it. Sweet, smoky, salty. Meaty, creamy, crunchy. Goes down smooth, leaves little chunks between your teeth so the aftertaste lingers.

  You've come this far. Why not take another little step?

  —Gerard Houarner, author of Road to Hell, Road from Hell, and A Blood of Killers

  March 1, 2009

  Part I

  Gloria remembered the days when guys would line up two-hundred deep at the conventions to sign plastic casts of her clean-shaven vagina, or copies of her “suck, swallow, and smile” movies, or just to have their pictures taken with her.

  She thought back to the days when some of the best-looking and well-hung men in the business were clamoring to work with her. When some of the most sought-after actresses were hitting on her in the dressing rooms, and keeping their faces between her thighs for several minutes after the director yelled cut just to taste a bit more.

  She’d been a star then—the hottest adult film star around. She thought of all the money she’d made; the expensive cars, the semi-custom house on the golf course with the Olympic-sized negative edge pool, all the coke she’d
snorted and pills she’d popped, all that good weed she’d smoked, and bottle after bottle of Moet, Crystal, and Dom dumped down her amazingly deep and wide throat.

  She relived all the moments from her glory days as she gagged on twenty-four inches of donkey dick, and winced at the Great Dane’s claws digging into her love handles as it thrust its hairy cock into her distended snatch. Lately, the business just hadn’t been very kind to her.

  The donkey fucked her face as the internet geeks filmed her live, the digital video camera plugged directly into their website for all the other internet geeks who paid five dollars a minute just to watch these bestiality gang bang videos. The animal’s cock disappeared further and further until a full twelve inches of it found its way down her gullet. Gloria would have shamed a sword-swallower. Like her dignity, her gag reflex had disappeared after she’d sucked her thousandth or so cock many years ago.

  The beast thrust deeper, speeding the rhythm of its hips. Gloria tried to retract the enormous mule-cock from her throat but was too slow, and what seemed like a gallon of donkey semen erupted into her throat, filling her stomach. Copious amounts of thick salty white ejaculate continued to spill as she withdrew it from her mouth. Her belly and mouth were full and the beast was still cumming. The computer geeks zoomed in to show what seemed like another half-gallon wash over her face, down her neck and between her impossibly large, surgically enhanced breasts. Gloria began to regurgitate and they filmed that too as a bucket-load of cum worked its way back up her esophagus and onto the barnyard floor.

  No sooner had the donkey shot its load then the massive canine followed suit. Again it happened so suddenly that she didn’t have time to pull away, and the Great Dane ejaculated inside of her. The geeks zoomed in to show the doggy semen drip out of her swollen red gash and run down her inner thighs.

  The Great Dane withdrew its cock and began licking its own semen from Gloria’s snatch. Gloria started to pull away.

  “No, no! This is great! Stay right there!” She allowed the dog to perform cunnilingus on her and was surprised when she started to get aroused. She was close to orgasm when the stupid dog stopped licking and stooped to lap the donkey semen by her feet.

  “That’s perfect! You get down there too.”

  “What?”

  “Get down there with the dog and lick the cum off the floor! Don’t worry, we’ll pay you for it.”

  Gloria knelt nose to nose with the Great Dane and lapped up the lukewarm donkey semen from the barnyard floor—which was already covered in horse and chicken shit—as the camera rolled.

  “That was fucking awesome!” The geeks cheered as they high-fived over her back. “We can run this clip for a week. Word of mouth alone should get us like twenty or thirty thousand hits.”

  The two geeks were going to make hundreds of thousands on this film. For her part, Gloria made a thousand dollars, about a twentieth of what she’d commanded in her prime. But Gloria was not in her prime. She was in her late forties—fat, drug addicted, AIDS infected. Doing the doggy and donkey shows was about the closest she’d ever get to real work again.

  When she’d first begun her downward slide there had still been plenty of work, even if it paid less. After she’d been kicked off a film shoot for nodding off with a cock in her mouth, and then the following week went into convulsions during an anal scene and had to be rushed to the hospital after overdosing on a speedball of cocaine and heroin, she’d found herself not only thrown off another set but out of the elite class of porno actresses. She’d slipped from the A class down to the B level where anal scenes and gangbangs were the only way to get work.

  Somewhere during this time she’d managed to meet a man and even to have a child. But she had been so determined to fuck her way back to the top of the porno industry, even convincing herself that she might have a career in straight films, that she had abandoned both her daughter and the father of her child to throw her legs up for strangers while cameras absorbed her soul from every angle. Sometimes she still thought about the life she might have had with Ryan and their daughter Angela in their Park Avenue apartment. It was usually at times like these when she found herself on all fours gargling the semen of some barnyard animal.

  After leaving her family for drugs and sex, she’d continued to snort and shoot up most of her profits, and soon even the B producers wouldn’t touch her. Doped up on a cocktail of street level pharmaceuticals, she broke one gangbang record after another, trying to drown the memory of her lost family in cocaine and cum, until people grew tired of seeing how many cocks she could stuff into her various orifices, and she was dumped by one producer after another. Then she’d found herself doing S&M and bondage films, fake snuff and fetish videos, and then finally she’d been diagnosed with the HIV and her career in legitimate porn was over. Now at age forty-six—twenty-seven years after starting in the business—she found herself doing zoo and farm sex videos.

  Gloria packed herself with ice cubes and prepared for the next take.

  “Can you really take this thing’s cock in your ass? I mean, we don’t want nobody dying on the set,” Jordan asked.

  Jordan was the money behind ZoologicalPorn.com. He looked like Buddy Holly on crack. Glasses as thick as bulletproof glass, and you could see all the bones in his face, as if he’d had one too many liposuctions or snorted one too many lines of coke. He and his portly longhaired partner Colin filmed all the movies for their website.

  “Trust me. I’ve had bigger cocks than this in my ass. In ‘Stuffed’ I took the business end of a baseball bat and a stuffed elephant penis. Just get that donkey over here and start rolling.”

  “You’ll have to get him up again.”

  “No problem.”

  Gloria knelt between the donkey’s legs and took the thing’s massive organ into her mouth, and within seconds it had achieved the desired length and rigidity. She shot half a tub of AstroGlide into her ass and slathered the donkey’s penis in it, and then she bent over and spread her ass cheeks, revealing an asshole big enough to toss a baseball through.

  “Roll camera!”

  It hurt like hell. But Jordan had promised her another thousand bucks if she could do it. The ice helped but still it felt like she was being split in half as she eased the thing’s massive cock into her anus. Having the harness break, and the thing’s full weight coming down on her back was more of a concern than having the donkey’s dick ripping through her distended rectum. She was so high that she was practically numb.

  The donkey thrust three of four times into her asshole, stretching her wide and causing her stomach to cramp. Then it shot another geyser of cum into her asshole. The fit of its cock in her asshole was so tight that semen sprayed out like an open fire hydrant. The two geeks zoomed in to catch the mule semen erupting from her vandalized anus.

  “You’re a fucking star, Gloria!” The geeks high-fived again and then took out their own cocks so that Gloria could fulfill the rest of her contract. After the donkey it was almost a relief for Gloria suck on something so small, something that she didn’t have to pick hair out of her teeth when it was over. She sucked them both off, and when they finished jacking off on her face, they paid her.

  “Good job, baby. We’ll see you again next week.” The geeks left, gibbering about the possibilities of getting a hold of something bigger for Gloria to fuck, like an elephant or a giraffe.

  “We don’t want to kill her, though,” Colin reminded his partner.

  “Did you see her take that donkey’s cock in her ass? She barely batted a fucking eye. An elephant couldn’t be much worse. She said she already had a stuffed elephant cock in her ass. How much worse could a live one be?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an elephant’s cock, really. How big are they?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe we should go to the zoo and check it out.”

  Then they were gone. Gloria shrugged back into her dress and, still covered with cum and blood, AstroGlide and donkey semen leaking from her ass, she stumbled
out to her car.

  *

  Gloria showered as soon as she got home. After she dressed, she went to the corner and waited beside a trash container to score some heroin from one of the local dealers. She couldn’t find heroin though—everyone was selling crack, meth, and xstasy. She didn’t want to be up though; she wanted to crash, to forget about her sick and diseased life.

  She turned the corner. A fleshy little man in an obviously expensive suit surprised her by offering her heroin out of the blue, before she’d even asked. Not that she’d been intending to ask. The guy looked like a child molester. There was something disconcerting about his smile. It looked too confident to be coming from a face so homely.

  The man’s skin was the color of raw calamari; thin blue and green veins crawled beneath the surface. The ends of his handlebar moustache curled up like ram’s horns. Thick, curly hair surrounded a splotchy bald spot in the center of his head. With all that red hair, she’d expected his eyes to be green but noticed that they were as black as a starless sky.

  “What are you, a fucking cop?”

  “No. I’m a fan, Gloria.”

  I’m not a prostitute. I’m an actress. So whatever you’ve got planned, forget it.” She started to turn away but he reached into his pocket and pulled out three small balloons filled with heroin. Gloria’s gaze latched onto them, and she began to sweat. Saliva trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Actress. That’s exactly what I’m looking for, Gloria. An actress to star in my next film.” He smiled, a repulsive contortion of facial muscles that she assumed were meant to be comforting but instead made her flesh crawl.