Jack Burton - Steamy Screams - Anthology of Erotic Horror

I would like to say that I stopped him, but that would be bullshit. Sometimes, you don’t know what you want, until its tongue is in your mouth. I wanted Bowie to want me. I wanted to feel him between my legs, hot and ready. I came the first time, just feeling the length of him enter me. Bowie told me that he wanted to be everything for me, when I came again and he was still going strong.

“I’ll make you happy,” he promised.

I believed him. We spent the rest of that day in bed, alternating between making love and sleeping. During the latter, Bowie curled into me like a cat. I could see the tattoo on his hip, and a dull rage germinated inside me. It grew every time we kissed, or Bowie came inside me. I tried not to dwell on the dark thoughts, but I was angry.

Fate has a strange way of showing people its approval. If it wasn’t for the local video store going out of business, I wouldn’t have been out of the apartment the day Bowie’s dad came to claim him. I went down alone—Bowie never liked to leave the apartment, let alone the building—intent on picking a few movies up for him. On the way back, I came across a pile of someone’s ‘moving out’ crap on the sidewalk. It wasn’t an unusual sight. Lots of people preferred to abandon personal items and furniture, rather than have to transport it to a new place. Especially if the stuff was junk to begin with.

This wasn’t all junk. There was a bookcase in fairly good condition, a few wastebaskets, and three golf clubs. I didn’t know much about golf, but two of them had skinny heads and one had a big fat one. I took the fat one. I thought maybe I could buy some cheap balls and paper cups to play mini-golf around the apartment.

I noticed the apartment door was slightly open before I got to it. My body tensed, and my pace immediately slowed to cushion my footsteps. When I reached the door, I left the bag of VHS tapes in the hall and turned the golf club around so that the head was pointed up. As much as I wanted to rush in and see if Bowie was all right, I couldn’t be sure who else was in the apartment. They could have guns, which meant I needed to sneak up on them if I didn’t want to get shot.

I heard heavy breathing, the closer I got to the door. I recognized that particular staccato and my jaw clenched.

“Don’t you fucking move,” Bowie’s dad panted. “I’ll break your neck, if you fucking move.”

There was a rip of fabric followed by a heavy thump.

“Did you let anyone else touch you while I was gone?” He demanded. “Did you let anyone else fuck you?”

I was no longer concerned with strategy. I kicked the door open, and entered the apartment with the club drawn back. Bowie was pinned down, in a pile of his own shredded clothes. His father looked up, mouth agape, as I sailed the club into the side of his head. A hunting knife rolled out of his hand, and I quickly picked it up. Bowie’s father didn’t move. My first golf swing ever, and I had knocked the guy out cold.

He woke up in my bathtub, about five minutes later. I had taped his ankles and wrists together, but hadn’t gotten his mouth yet. Bowie’s father gave me a bleary look, which sharpened as soon as he laid eyes on Bowie.

“You fucking bitch,” he hissed at me. “Let me out of here!”

“No.”

I reached for the duct tape, and pulled out a foot or so.

“Did you touch him?” He asked. “Did you put your filthy bitch hands on him?”

“None of your business,” I told him.

Bowie’s father made a gurgling noise and hacked a wad of phlegm at me. I dodged to the left, and it splattered against the side of the toilet bowl.

“Do you know how much I paid for him? I sold my fucking car, and pawned my dead mother’s ring!”

I paused. “Excuse me?”

“Cute little boys don’t come cheap,” the man in the tub sneered.

“I’m not a boy,” Bowie whispered, from where his body was pressed against the bathroom wall.

The man I used to think was his father ran his eyes down Bowie’s body.

“You’ve still got some good years in you,” he told him. “I’ll bet you’re still nice and tight.”

I ripped the last piece of tape free, and slapped it over his mouth. He protested with angry grunts, until I held up the hunting knife.

“Are you going to behave?” I asked. “Are you going to be a good boy?”

He nodded frantically, his eyes wide. I leaned in and pressed a hand against his knee, to keep his leg steady.

“Tough shit,” I told him.

I read in some comic book, a long time ago, that people bled out if you cut their femoral artery. Since I wasn’t exactly sure where that was, I picked a spot on the guy’s thigh and sliced across it. I cut him one more time, for good measure, before I turned the shower on. It helped cover up the noises he was making and washed the blood down the drain before it could stain the tub.

When I turned to Bowie, he had a glazed look in his eyes.

“You don’t have to watch,” I told him, though I knew he would.

He shook under my lips, as I moved them down his body. Bowie was hard by the time I got down on my knees, and he made a grateful noise as I took his cock in my mouth. Muffled shrieks rose from behind me, accompanied by pounding against the sides of the tub. It weakened by degrees, until there was only the sound of water. A moment later I stroked Bowie’s hip, as his cum spilled across the back of my tongue.

Brains. Brains! Braaaaains!

They’re all I can think of. Nothing else satisfies me. Not the air I breathe, nor the soft dirt beneath my tattered, once pedicured feet or the cool, silent nights I wander under. Nothing!

Brains! They’re my only craving, my only desire. The intoxicating smell of the gelatinous organ makes my dead heart and once wet cunt feel alive again.

Alone I’ve been walking under the stars, across this field to only end up with a stomach as barren as the field itself. Nothing in sight, not a hint of… . Wait!

Something in the air, the wind has picked it up. Something sweet yet tangy. Something… . Brains!

Yes, just ahead. A small house, lights blazing in the windows. The aroma is getting stronger. I must reach the brains!

Nothing to see through the first window but an outdated, country kitchen. The second is not much better. The wind is stronger now and with it the smell. They must be along the back of the house.

Yes, yes! The bedroom.

Inside:

The room was aglow with candles. Muse’s Undisclosed Desires played softly in the background. A pale, brunette woman lay sprawled out across the mattress of a queen size bed.

The bathroom door opened and a half naked man came out, hair dripping wet.

“You gonna remove your towel or do I have to do all the work?” the woman asked.

“I was always taught ladies first, so you’re gonna have to wait, Mel” the man grinned.

“Oh, you’re such a tease, Rob. But I do think I like your idea better. Oil me up first?”

“Anything for my baby,” Rob smiled again, taking a generous amount of oil and rubbing it along Mel’s backside. He moved higher and rubbed the knots out of Mel’s shoulders. Rob’s calloused hands never hurt her but enhanced the pleasure of the massages he would give her.

“Can you go a bit lower?” Mel asked.

Rob slid his hands further down her backside. “How’s that?” Rob asked.

“Lower,” Mel cooed.

Rob then moved is hands to her smooth buttock, kneading it like dough.

Mel turned over and gave Rob the sheepish, excited smile that he fell in love with.

“How ‘bout you massage my front now?”

“A little risqué, don’t you think?” Rob chuckled.