Wrath James White presents Poisoning Eros I & II Read online

  “What kind of film? If you’re such a big fan, then you must know I’m HIV positive. That’s why I’ve been doing the animal videos. They can’t catch it.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be fucking anything human in my films.”

  *

  Gloria was pretty sure the man with the flaming red hair was insane. Not only had he given her the heroin for free, he’d promised her fifty thousand dollars for her services. All she’d have to do is lie on a bed in a run-down old house and just “go with it”, as he put it. Did he get his kicks from creepy old houses? Gloria once spent a weekend with a guy who could only get it up inside a coffin. Liked to pretend he was a corpse. Maybe a run-down house was a way for this guy to get his rocks off. Whatever his hang-up, he was paying way too much for her to give a shit.

  He’d told her that the house was haunted by the spirit of a convicted serial rapist who’d been stabbed to death in prison, and that he was paying her to have sex with the ghost.

  Gloria smiled. “Whatever.” She slipped the spike into the vein behind her knee and shot herself full of dope.

  Once high, she stripped off her clothing and lay back on the piss-stained mattress. The heroin kicked in, and shortly after she no longer cared about much of anything.

  *

  Gloria slowly woke from a drowsy, semi-conscious state. She felt hands crawling over her skin, kneading her mountainous silicone stuffed breasts, and struggled to open her eyes, to bring her vision into focus. She wanted to know who was attached to those rough hands. He spread her legs and thrust a finger, two, three, until his entire hand was inside her. A mouth clamped down on her left breast, panting heavily, hot steaming breath almost burning the flesh. He bit so hard her nipple bled, and her eyes flew open.

  She was staring at an empty room—empty except for the redheaded pervert behind the video camera. Empty except for whatever was still running its hands and mouth over her body. Some invisible thing, hot misty breath on her inner thighs, licking the flesh there. The invisible thing that was now gnawing at her clitoris even as it punched its fist up inside her. Gloria screamed and tried to push the thing off, surprised when her hands actually encountered substance where her eyes beheld only dead air. Still, even though she could touch it, she couldn’t seem to move it. Whatever the unseen entity was, it was all rock-hard muscle.

  “That’s it, Gloria. Wonderful work. Keep it up, so to speak.”

  Hard, invisible fingers twisted into her hair and jerked her head forward. She could feel the unmistakable push of a rigid cock against her lips, forcing them open to allow it inside. She could smell the musky aroma of pubic sweat. Taste the salty drops of pre-cum as the throbbing erection slid past her tongue and down her throat. Still, she could see nothing. Nothing but an almost empty room.

  Vlad moved in closer with the camera, and Gloria wanted to turn away, repulsed by Vlad, by the invisible thing fucking her raw. Disgusted with herself for allowing this debasement, sick of what she had become.

  Vlad looked up from the camera, grinned, shook his head. “What has it all become, dear, sweet Gloria? ‘Christianity gave Eros poison to drink. He did not die of it but degenerated into vice …’ Nietzsche said that. Apt, I think.”

  Gloria groped, her nails passing over large hairy testicles as her invisible rapist attacked her throat. She felt the cock swell in her throat. Felt it jerk and the warm spray of molten semen fill her mouth. The ghost withdrew and she spit his seed out, felt it dribble down her chin. Still she saw nothing. Even the thing’s cum was invisible.

  Once free, she tried to crawl away but invisible hands threw her back down on the mattress, wrenched her legs apart again.

  His erection felt even longer and thicker than the one she’d had in her throat. It ripped its way inside of her and began pounding into her at a manic pace. Hands clamped down on her throat and began to squeeze. Long callused fingers crushed her windpipe, cutting off the flow of oxygen as the poltergeist continued to assault her slack vaginal walls with its brutal penis. Spots began to dance in front of her eyes and everything started to go black.

  “Fucking slut! Whore! Jezebel! Harlot!”

  The words assaulted her, words spoken from lips she could not see. Gloria began to cry and that seemed to both anger and excite her assailant. A fist collided with her jaw with an audible pop and Gloria’s eyes rolled back in her head.

  Her body bucked and rocked as the ghost rode her hard, flipping her from one position to the next and entering her from every angle. Whenever she failed to moan and squeal appropriately she was smacked or bitten or strangled nearly unconscious. The assault went on all night and the redheaded man behind the camera filmed it all.

  *

  The next morning Gloria was back in her apartment. Fifty thousand dollars in her purse hardly seemed to make up for the countless bruises and bite marks on her breasts, face, thighs, and buttocks.

  She rolled over onto her side, faced the night table, snatched the half-empty pack of smokes and shook one into her mouth. Too much heroin last night. Now her head pounded like someone was keeping time with a sledgehammer.

  The best way to get rid of the headache was to shoot up again. Her thoughts flashed back to the night before and she tried to bring it into focus. Whatever had attacked her, there was no way it could have been a ghost. She was so wasted she must have imagined it. Imagined an invisible rapist. Maybe she’d been blindfolded and just couldn’t remember.

  That little redheaded freak, she thought. He must have drugged me, raped me himself. “I hope that fucker catches AIDS and dies!” Then there was the money. She’d never made that much on a single film, even at the height of her career.

  Her asshole, sore from the donkey’s attack, was turned nearly inside out, inflamed hemorrhoidal tissue bulging out of her anus. It looked like a baboon’s ass. Gloria snubbed out the cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and went back to sleep.

  That night she dreamt of Ryan and her daughter and woke up feeling guilty and ashamed and in desperate need of another fix. Her daughter’s face lingered in her mind; her conscience always wore Angela’s face. That sweet, angelic, dimpled smile telling her what a worthless slut she’d become, what a degenerate junky, screaming at her to stop killing herself. Another hit of H and her conscience slipped back into the coma in which it had so often languished for most of her adult life, until motherhood had awakened it with anguished shrieking. If only she could pull the plug on the damned thing once and for all. But even after years of degradation, drugs and abuse, she still knew right from wrong. The drugs just helped her not care.

  *

  This was not the path Gloria had once dreamed for herself. As a child she’d imagined a world of dancing and painting and marrying into happiness, as little girls are wont to do. When she was older she would envision stardom, rising to fame in movies, appearing on all the talk shows.

  She’d been a beautiful and popular girl in high school. Then she dropped out to hitchhike her way to Hollywood, to become a star. She’d been raped by one truck driver, and offered a choice of being dropped off in the middle of the Nevada desert or giving a blowjob by another. But she’d survived, and in her mind it had been worth it. Almost.

  Gloria knew that she’d never make it through college. Only her long blonde hair, long legs and large breasts kept her from being doomed to minimum wage jobs for the rest of her life. But with her body she soon found that she could make more money than she’d ever imagined … in the porno industry.

  She’d been an instant success. She didn’t mind all the cocks she’d had to suck or pussies she had to lick. She was famous and getting paid to do what her body had been made for. Then came drugs, and age, and the long fall from glory.

  She could have gotten out but she hadn’t saved any of the money she’d earned—so much of it went up her nose or into a vein—and she couldn’t imagine herself as a truck-stop waitress or crawling back to Ryan with her tail tucked between her legs and her red blood cell count plummeting.
So instead, she made her way back east and fucked animals and whatever the hell that thing was she'd been ravaged by the night before. It was a living, and thanks to the heroin she hardly felt the pain in her body or her pride.

  *

  A week passed, and Gloria had managed to put the strange ordeal behind her, for the most part. Her bruises had all but healed, and so had her torn and partially prolapsed anus and vagina. The fifty thousand was almost gone. Converted to hard liquor and hard drugs.

  The two geeks called. “Hey, Gloria! We found a giraffe! We’re trying to figure out how we can rig up a harness underneath it so that you can fuck the thing. Its cock is like three feet long! If you can do it we’ll pay you a thousand dollars a foot!” He apparently found that immensely funny. “But seriously. If you can’t fuck it you can give the thing head for the usual thousand. We’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Gloria hung up, fell back onto the bed in tears. Her life had become a horror show. A giraffe? Those sick fuckers! But she knew she’d do it. Soon she’d be out of money, out of drugs. She was almost broke again and in the last week her habit had doubled. Whereas she previously only made just enough money to keep herself from getting sick, with the fifty gees she’d had enough to actually get high again and so she had, two or three times a day. Those fucking geeks could make her do anything now as long as they could keep her in horse.

  The phone rang again. Gloria rolled over and hesitantly picked it up. “Yes.”

  “Gloria?” His unctuous voice crawled over her skin like a bucket of leeches.

  Gloria shivered. “Who is this?” But she already knew.

  “Bill Vlad. You made a film for me last week. It was sensational! I’ve sold almost a million copies already. You’re a star again!”

  “Are you serious?” Gloria’s vanity reawakened.

  “Absolutely.”

  “How come I haven’t seen it on the shelves in any video stores?’

  “Most of my clientele don’t frequent video stores. They’re clamoring for more, Gloria. How’d you like to make another fifty thousand?”

  The answer was never in question. She called the two geeks back and told them to fuck the giraffe themselves.

  *

  The teenaged boy was lying on a bed, chains wrapped around wrists and ankles. His thin body was covered in welts and bruises, and his breath was a cloud of steam, despite the oppressive heat and humidity of the room.

  “Whoa! What the fuck is this? How old is that kid? I don’t do kiddy porn!” Gloria turned to leave. Bill Vlad stepped in front of her to block her exit, twirling his moustache like some silent film villain.

  “And I don’t do kiddy porn either, my lovely. Stuart’s seventeen. The age of consent in this state is sixteen.”

  Gloria looked at the boy, who was writhing on the bed, growling, tugging at his restraints. “It doesn’t look like he’s consenting to me. Why’s he tied down?”

  Bill Vlad smiled. Gloria noticed that his teeth were filed to points. She shuddered, remembering the invisible thing that had gnawed at her breasts and clitoris.

  “Because he’s possessed.”

  “What?”

  “Stuart there has a rather nasty demon inside him. I want you to have sex with that demon.”

  “My god. You’re crazy.”

  “No. Not at all.” Bill smiled again and pointed at Stuart. “Don’t you want to be a star again?”

  No, she thought. Not like this. It’s not worth it. She was sure Stuart was a child. Even if he was of legal consenting age, this was wrong. It was disturbing and nauseating and probably illegal. She glanced up at Vlad and believed it very unlikely he was going to let her leave without doing what she’d been paid to do. But too much of that new payment had already been promised to her dealers even before she’d touched the money. She couldn’t afford to quit now.

  Gloria pulled her dress over her head, her massive breasts slipping from a bra sized somewhere in the middle of the alphabet. Vlad smiled, wiped the back of his hand across his bottom lip and set up the video camera.

  The bed leapt off the ground nearly a foot and skirted three feet closer to Gloria, sliding across the splintered and warped hardwood floor like a Ouija board planchette. She felt her legs wobble as she stared into young Stuart’s eyes, which had rolled up into his head, revealing only the whites. Those white orbs followed her movements; it was clear that he could still see her.

  She crossed her arms over her bare chest, nipples tickling her skin, her body trembling in cold and fear and excitement. This was new territory; there was no mistaking that. Even if this was some kind of trick, it sure as hell was convincing. Gloria has never been particularly religious—she’d given up on God years ago when it was clear he’d given up on her first—but this was just too …

  Vlad cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. He obviously wanted to give Gloria some time, but she guessed he didn’t mean forever.

  It was time to earn her money. The drugs had kicked in and were earning their worth. Gloria slipped out of her underwear and moved onto the bed. Never mind, she thought. Tricks. All tricks. Fuck this already, I need my money.

  Gloria crawled up the boy’s hairless torso, kissing his flesh along the way. Her saliva boiled wherever it landed on his skin and her tongue began to blister. She moved back down his body. Her face was inches from his cock when it began to elongate, ripping the skin as it swelled to a length nearly that of the donkey she’d fucked little more than a week ago.

  Sallow fat and strawberry-red muscle fiber oozed through the tears in his skin as his cock swelled, now thicker than a wrist and as long as a child’s arm. Blood and semen ran down the sides like lava from an erupting volcano.

  Gloria slid her tongue over the head, and the cum was thick and chunky, like curdled milk. The boy howled and his skin began to tear everywhere, his body leaking blood onto the mattress.

  Gloria jumped up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this! What the hell is wrong with this kid? Does he have some kind of disease or something?”

  “I told you. He’s possessed. Now climb up on his cock and fuck the devil out of him!” Bill Vlad laughed, and licked his razor sharp teeth until his tongue bled.

  Gloria turned back to look at the boy’s enormous suppurating cock, and then at his body, which was now crosshatched with slashes and welts from his forehead to his groin.

  “Jesus,” she muttered, climbing back onto the bed, visions of dollar signs dancing in her head. Disease or no disease, she had to fuck this kid. She straddled his engorged muscle and slowly lowered herself onto it. It burned into the center of her body as it slid deeper and deeper, skewering her. The boy began to convulse, thrusting up into her so hard she could hear bones snapping in his back and pelvis, could feel her own organs shift. Blood trickled from her own mouth as the boy’s cock thrust deeper and deeper. She tried to climb off but was trapped, impaled on the massive organ.

  The boy’s breath reminded her of the time a methamphetamine lab had exploded in her old apartment and the entire place had burned down, with half the tenants still trapped inside. The smell was death, smoke, burned flesh. It was disease and decay, like cancer patients rotting from the inside out. He coughed a cloud of noxious smoke into her face. His tongue snaked out of his mouth, extending nearly a full ten inches and coiling around her gumdrop nipples.

  She looked at his eyes. Bulging, bursting blood vessels created a kaleidoscope swirl, and the pressure proved to be too much. His eyes exploded, leaving only bloody craters in his face. Gloria sobbed and turned away but continued to ride the boy’s massive cock, still unable to climb off of it. His tongue raped her face as his cock pulsed within her, scalding her like a white-hot poker, like drinking gallons of boiling oil, like a rampant fever turned inward. She was beyond screaming. Smoke billowed out of her mouth.

  The boy’s nose exploded, one nostril resting on each side of his face. His smile stretched until the corners of his mouth tore, his cheeks ripping all the way back to the hinge of
his jaw. His chest split, the ribs cracking and tearing through his torso, displaying his intestines, his pulsing heart.

  He broke his restraints and grabbed Gloria by her hips, pushing her onto her back. He thrust harder, deeper, even as his skin ruptured, even as he literally fell apart, still he fucked the aging porno queen. His insides poured out onto her body, and still he fucked as if on remote control, his face an unrecognizable mash above her own.

  Gloria found her voice again and screamed, over and over. Bill Vlad was right beside her with the video camera, grinning like a boy watching his first stag film, taping everything.

  Something huge tore its way out of Stuart’s body, finally disengaging Gloria from the boy’s cock, knocking her to the floor.

  “You’re mine,” she heard Vlad say. “You work only for me. Understand?”

  She passed out after glimpsing the dark shadowy thing that was fleeing the room.

  *

  Back inside her apartment. She woke staring at another fifty thousand dollars stacked on her nightstand. Her lips curled into something of a smile, despite the headache—although it was nothing compared to what she expected to have. She had no delusions that last night had actually been a dream (nightmare?), that it had been some extraordinarily bad trip from a dust-laced hit of whatever the fuck she’d taken. The dull aching in her cunt was too much of a reminder that last night had been real.

  But real what? She could accept that something had happened, and all she knew was that she didn’t want to dwell on it. Heaven and hell were the farthest things from her mind these past twenty-odd years. The spiritual, and whatever trappings went along with it, were overshadowed by the poignancy of her everyday existence. Some part of her believed that the previous night might have been a supernatural experience, but her pragmatic side refused to believe it was anything more than a drug-induced hallucination.