Carver Pike - Scalp

“Get out,” he tried once more, but the dog was already halfway in the tent when its fur made a strange clicking sound. “Out of the tent, boy… or… girl,” he tried again. A skittering sound competed with the music blasting from the radio speakers, and Kip leaned closer to the dog. He swore he saw its fur move, almost like it was dancing to the music. Some of it leaned one way and then leaned the other.

“Forget the dog,” Rachel whined. “Pay attention to me.”

“Rachel, this thing is—”

His face was too close to the dog. So close he saw the small cloud burst from its fur and come right at him. He closed his eyes and swatted at the air, but it was too late. It rained down on his head.

“Ah, what the fuck?” he cried out.

“Push it out with your foot,” Rachel complained again, lifting her hips and bringing her pussy closer to Kip’s face.

The young man couldn’t concentrate on her. He leaned away from her and threw his hands to his head where he ruffled his hair, scratching at his scalp and trying to shake off whatever had landed on him. It itched at first but that quickly changed to pain as it felt like shattered glass was being jammed into his scalp. Kip cried out and his head fell forward. His hands scraped at his head, which had fallen close to his girlfriend’s trimmed mound.

Kip thrashed and screamed, his face splatting against her wet pussy, and his hands frantically scratching at his bleeding scalp.

Rachel kept herself trimmed, but the hair in her pubic area wasn’t short enough. Some of the lice leaped from Kip’s head and did what they did best. Clenching onto the tiny pieces of hair, they climbed down and into her skin, biting, and tearing their way through the thick flesh at her mound and into every place where a follicle led into her body.

There was no brain there, but the lice didn’t care.

Rachel was in pure ecstasy when Kip was going down on her. She’d only been with a couple of guys in the past, but none of them were as skilled as this one. The way he used his tongue. How he caressed her with it. It was like he’d studied the art of cunnilingus.

Then that damn dog came in. First the park ranger, now this dog. Why did it feel like the universe was against her having an orgasm tonight?

But Kip was a champ. He kept going. He didn’t let the mutt stop him from eating her out. He pushed the dog with his leg. He did all he could while he continued to come back to her.

When Kip started screaming, Rachel didn’t know how to react. She didn’t understand what was going on. Had the dog bitten him? And even if it did, it wasn’t a big dog. What would cause so much pain?

She tried to slide away from him. He was clawing at his head and face, digging into his head. Her screams caught in her throat as she watched him dig into his scalp. Blood ran down his face and he was in so much pain. She fought to get out of the back of the tent, but she couldn’t break through the fabric.

His face fell between her legs where only moments before she’d experienced so much warmth and pleasure. Now, it felt like a handful of thumbtacks were pushed into her skin. Tiny pinpricks that hurt so bad. She screamed so hard she tore her vocal cords.

And she screamed even louder.

Something was wriggling between her legs, fighting to get inside her. A bunch of them. Tiny, vicious things that ate their way into her through the pubic hair above her pussy. She kicked Kip’s face, forcing him away from her, and she swore she heard his neck crack.

The pain.

The pain.

The pain was so fucking immense.

Like microscopic piranhas chomping their way into her body.

Kip moved. He writhed on top of her, still crying out in pain, but his screaming had stopped. Hers grew louder. The agony continued, and now he was sliding over her body, making his way up closer to her.

Both of her hands were between her legs, clawing at whatever was trying to get inside her. Demonic fire ants had mistaken her pussy for their home, and they were ripping into her. She pulled her blood-soaked hands up to try and push Kip away. The way he moved on top of her was like he’d forgotten how to use his body. He slithered over her, and he was too heavy to push off. Every time she tried, her slick hands slipped off his stomach and chest, causing him to land on top of her, each time harder than the time before.

She swung at him with closed fists and clawed at him with curled fingers. She tore at one eye, feeling her fingernails dig into the jelly-like substance. She heard the pop and felt the ooze, but he kept coming. Nothing would stop him.

And his hair. It was moving, shaking.

Lenny and Becky were in the water, splashing around and having a good time. Drunk off watermelon moonshine, the two could barely tread water at this point. Now in the shallower water, he was able to stand, and Becky had her legs wrapped around him. He wanted her so bad. Once the ranger left, they’d both thrown their swimsuits onto the beach.

Now they were naked, and every time she wrapped her legs around him, he felt his cock pressing against her. He’d always thought sex in water would be easy. That it would make everything wet and lubed up, but it was the opposite. It was hard to push himself inside her when they were in the lake.

Plus, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He remembered hearing something a long time ago about the rivers in Vietnam and how soldiers who pissed in it sometimes had parasites swim up their dick hole and then… he wasn’t sure what happened after that, but it was enough to stop him from pissing in lakes and rivers. Pools were still fair game, but any natural body of water?

Nah, fuck that.

“I have to pee,” Becky complained.

“Go in the lake,” he said.

The thought made him laugh. He wasn’t going to do it, but he didn’t care if she did.

You’re such an asshole.

He was. He knew that. He’d been told that his entire life. He was an asshole at birth when he tore his mother open. He was an asshole as a toddler when he pushed Ben Brockner off the monkey bars and broke his collar bone. He was an asshole as a teenager when he knocked up Diana Dunne and talked her into getting an abortion. And he was an asshole now when he wanted Becky to pee and take the chance of getting parasites in her pussy hole.

He was an asshole and he owned it. Chicks who fucked him knew they weren’t getting a boyfriend out of it. He was one of the best-looking guys in Clydesville, he knew that, and any girl who rode his cock knew they were simply getting off. That was all. They’d get one mighty good orgasm and then go tell their friends about him. With a dick the size of his, he could get away with anything. It didn’t matter. He was a straight-up asshole and women were lining up to get a piece.

“I don’t know about pissing in the water,” Becky complained.

“Then don’t,” he replied. “I don’t care. Go piss in the bushes. Go piss on the fuckin’ road. Just don’t piss on me.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re an asshole.”

“It’s my nature, baby. Sorry, not sorry.”

“Fuck you,” she spat as she pulled away from him and swam toward the shore.

She’d be back. She’d howled so loud last night he’d been afraid she’d attract wolves. He’d had to clamp a hand over her mouth as he fucked her. She didn’t know how to shut up. She’d do the same tonight, no matter how mean he was to her.

She had daddy issues and he had mommy issues. His mom left when he was a young boy. She’d told him he was a worthless piece of shit like his father and then stormed out of the house. He’d never seen her since.