Insidious by Aleatha Romig Page B

our friend’s come yesterday afternoon. Let me feel that beautiful mouth on my cock.”
    I fell to my knees as the overwhelming scent of sickness infiltrated my senses. Fighting back the bile that threatened my throat, I reached for his limp cock. It flapped in my grasp. As I tried to direct it toward my lips, revolt spurred in my empty stomach.
    “That’s my girl. So good at following directions.” The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. It was a phrase he used in the warehouse: his idea of praise. In reality, each time he said it, I felt more like a well-trained dog.
    Up and down my head bobbed, my lips chapping as time passed with no result.
    Unabashed, Stewart reached for my hair and pulled my eyes upward. “You’re losing your touch, darling. I think you might need more practice.”
    I reached for his sagging balls in desperation.
    “Oh, yes, I feel it.”
    I was glad he did. I didn’t. Maybe I could convince him of an ejaculation he didn’t really have. I quickened my pace, willing saliva where only dust remained. Dramatically, I changed my pace, gagging with the sound of forced swallowing.
    “That’s it!” he exclaimed as his head wobbled backward and he exhaled an ethereal breath. Pushing me away, he demanded, “Now show me that sexy pussy. It used to be so tight, so wet.”
    I leaned back on my ass, spreading my legs and fingering my lips.
    “You used to be tight.” His eyes gleamed. “I know what’s still tight. We can have some fun with that.”
    My heart raced as I leaned farther back, exposing myself completely.
    “Move my chair to the edge of the bed, and lean over that mattress. I want to fill that tight hole.”
    My feet moved, but just like at the warehouse, my mind went away. When his fingers went inside of me, a hiss left his lips. “What’s wrong with you? Where’s my dripping-wet little whore?”
    I wonder? Maybe you don’t turn me on at all?!
    When I didn’t respond, he continued, “Go get some lubricant. Damn, you’re dryer than the fucking Sahara.”
    No shit, asshole. I would’ve done that earlier if you weren’t such a dick! Of course, I didn’t say that. However, the idea of saying it brought a private smile to my thoughts.
    Once he situated me on the bed, he spread the lube, first fingering my slit and then thrusting into the destination he’d sought. “Oh, yes, darling… that’s what I like. No wonder so many of our friends enjoy pushing their dicks inside your ass. You’ve still got it there.”
    He thrust his finger in and out. As I was getting used to that, he told me to find him the glass plug. Though it was much thicker and longer than his fingers, the smooth surface combined with the lubricant gave little resistance.
    I obeyed, moving appropriately and making the sounds he required. However, the entire time with my eyes closed, I longed for the blindfold of the warehouse, and without the headphones, I had to imagine the Dark Lullaby melody in my head.
    Thankfully, his energy was quickly spent. Slapping my ass, he declared, “We’re done with this. Wheel me into the bathroom. You can continue the show in there: a little shower dancing. I can watch as you suds up that pussy.”
    Like the good wife, I complied, loathing bubbling beneath the surface and a serene smile on my face. After all that he’d done, having him watch as I showered was truly nothing. As the bathroom filled with humid air, I took my time and embraced the warm, cleansing spray. At least I didn’t have the scent of his come to wash away, only the stench of his impending death.
    When I opened the glass door, I found Stewart with his eyes closed, chin on his chest, and slumped in his wheelchair. Though his brow glistened with perspiration, I held out hope as I touched his wrist and prayed.
    Fuck! He still had a pulse.

 
     
     
    DESPITE WHAT HAD happened upstairs, the lower level of our apartment appeared as it always did: perfect. Being only a little after one, the afternoon