Wrath White - Sloppy Seconds

Occasionally, he performed back-alley abortions for the local crackwhores using a wire hanger and a pair of tongs to remove fetuses, piece by piece from the diseased vaginas of their mothers — as late as eight or nine months into their pregnancies, when their bellies had gotten too big even for the perverted johns who liked their whores ready to drop. The babies came out in chunks that looked like red marshmallow melted over a campfire. Sometimes he wouldn't even wait until their mothers weren't looking before he plopped the chewy morsels into his mouth. If they would let him, he'd suck the afterbirth right out of their syphilitic cunts and chew it up in front of them. It was his greatest joy in the world.

Most nights, however, he contented himself with garbage.

The rubbery meat and stringy, sallow fat tissue tasted like veal or raw calamari as he slurped umbilical chords out of the strawberry pulp of afterbirth and amniotic goo like strips of overcooked linguine. He bit through skulls that burst in his mouth like over-ripe fruit and sucked out the jelly-like gray matter. He didn't mind the maggots swimming in the stew of flesh and blood any more than he did the other undulating vermin. He slurped them up as eagerly as he did the various limbs and organs floating in that pulp of blood pudding.

But today, there was something else in there… something moving. He could hear it chewing its way from the bottom of the bio-waste bag even as he ate his way from the top. Something in there was alive. Johnny scooped aside the diminutive body parts until he located one still writhing with the spark of life. It was little more than half a fetus; a torso and a head. Yet it was alive.

It growled and gnashed its teeth at Johnny as he stared in amazement and prepared to pop the mewling creature into his mouth. That's when Johnny noticed the entire bag was moving. Hands, feet, heads, disembodied organs, all undulating with life. He could even feel the half-digested remains he'd devoured crawling within him. He felt tiny teeth, feet, hands, fingers, toes, and parts he shuddered to describe scratching and biting their way back up his esophagus, struggling to be free. They were wriggling in the back of his throat.

He regurgitated coagulating blood and partially digested meat again and again, trying to rid himself of them. But he'd eaten so much. Pounds and pounds of undead fetuses that were now hideously alive.

Alive inside of him.

"In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children" the Lord commanded.

"Damn kids." A great roiling began in his loins. He doubled over with a nauseating agony that twisted in his guts like razors. A spray of fecal matter crawling with living abortions erupted from his asshole and slid down his pants legs. He watched a fingerless hand attached to the shoulders, neck, and head of some mongoloid Down Syndrome baby wave to him as the toothless face grinned up from the puddle of liquid excrement.

"I wouldn't give two shits for a damn kid." He crushed the thing with his boot, enjoying the satisfying pop of its malformed head as it ruptured against his heel like a balloon filled with Jell-O. But he did give a shit, and it would be his last as the rest of his resurrected dinner scampered out of his rectum, dragging along his entire intestinal track.

And just as the Old Testament had prophesized two millennia ago, Johnny screamed in agony and sorrow as he brought forth children.

The worst part about sucking a dead dog's ass is the maggots, and the hair, and the fact that they don't bathe, or use toilet paper, and after they've been dead for a while, they get all bloated and start to leak, especially in this heat. Now I know you're wondering why any motherfucker would want to suck a dog's ass, a dead one at that. mean, it ain't exactly sanitary; the putrescence that leaks out of these things is stupefying, smells like a portable toilet and tastes about as good. Just imagine licking maggots out of a public toilet and you can almost approximate what I was going through.

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.