Hoarder by Armando D. Muñoz Page B

orifices. The tip of Missy’s tongue probed up both of Keith’s bloody nostrils, digging for any tasty treats. Keith could not help but squeal from the violation. The pain he didn’t so much care about. It was the smell of Missy’s tongue that overwhelmed him. It was like a sewer slug trying to bore up into his brain.
    Keith thought of the big dog analogy again, but instead of a dog that wanted to bite, he thought of a dog that wanted to hump his leg. If the dog weighed over twice as much as him and stood a foot taller (on its hind legs), that dog could take him down and have its way with him. He feared Cuj-ette here was really after his bone.
    Missy pulled back from Keith with bloody lips of her own. “There! All better!”
    Keith’s face was cleaned of some of the blood, but was messy with Missy’s saliva. He would have preferred the former, and he was nauseated to see his blood on Missy’s lips. He did not believe her claim that she would not bite. Keith expected Missy could go cannibal on him at any moment. She was all impulse and appetite. He needed to figure his next move with this mad, happy, and hungry woman very carefully.
    Fighting past his fear and revulsion, Keith summoned his best manners and delivered a polite “Thank you.”
    Missy’s eyes lit up. The boy’s red sauce made her want more. Filling her belly was suddenly a priority, and she was happy to share. How often did she get to have a dinner guest? Not often enough. She was as hungry for company as she was for a meal.
    “Oh, I’m hungry! Are you hungry?”
    “No, I have to find…”
    Missy interrupted Keith. “We’ll find your kitty-kitty. But my tummy is rumbly, and we can’t do all that searching until we eat!”
    Missy stood and offered Keith a hand. Keith was overwhelmed with relief to gain a bit of space from her. She had been suffocating him with her close proximity. He took note that he could lure Missy away with a carrot, or chips, or the promise of a yummy-yum. That was good to know. He also suspected that while she really was hungry, she was more famished for friendship.
    Keith took Missy’s hand, and she pulled him effortlessly up onto his feet. Keith’s right shoe stepped onto one of Missy’s plastic potty bags and sank down. He looked away from it, masking his disgust. He did not want Missy to see his bad reaction to her horrible habits.
    “You climb first,” Missy instructed.
    Keith did as he was told, turning toward the side of the nest. He gave one last glance down at Dani, which Missy missed. Dani’s wide, peeking eyeball watched his every move.
    Keith’s hands tried to find a hold on the side of the nest, testing it to find a safe spot. Missy grabbed Keith’s ass and gave him a shove upward. With such hot ham hocks in her hands, she couldn’t help herself, and she squeezed and fondled them excitedly.
    “Coochie-coo!”
    Keith hated that he had to laugh, hated to give her the satisfaction. He scurried up to the top edge of the nest, eager to get his ass out of Missy’s grabby hands. Missy the experienced climber, and groper, followed behind him.
    Keith felt relief once he was out of the hole. He figured Ian was long out by now, and he was leading Missy away and giving Dani a chance to escape the hole unnoticed.  He took his first step away and was jerked to a stop by Missy’s hand around his wrist. It felt like an overly tight handcuff made of toughened flesh and bone.
    “The kitchen’s this way,” Missy informed him.
    Missy jerked Keith into motion, pulling him beside her. He would have easily followed her on his own, but she wouldn’t give him the chance. Keith knew this was what a puppy getting jerked along on a chain must feel like.
    Missy’s familiarity with the hoard made it easier for her to cross over it; she knew just where to step. Keith did not and he kept slipping and getting knocked roughly into things. He couldn’t follow in her footsteps because she kept yanking him off of his feet.
    Keith