tagErotic HorrorFlesh Pitchers of Prague

Flesh Pitchers of Prague

bymanyeyedhydra©

When Joe Miller threw the midget hooker over the table James Fowler thought it was a good time to leave. She was fucking ugly and she was fucking annoying and no, they didn't want to fuck her up the ass no matter how cheap the price was. Fowler just wished Miller hadn't resorted to such a physical means of registering his disapproval, or had at least waited until Fowler had had an opportunity to go upstairs with that well-stacked blonde he'd had his eyes on all night.

She was up on stage. Until approximately five seconds ago Fowler had been admiring the curves of her tanned figure, the swell of her full breasts and her long silky blonde hair as she twirled around a pole. Now she was staring up at their table in open-mouthed shock, same as everyone else in the club.

Drinks cascaded off the table in a spray of wasted alcohol. The midget rolled up against a counter and lay upside down with her short stubby legs kicking up in the air. Her child-sized dress fell over the rest of her body like a poncho. She wasn't wearing any underwear and her hairy bush was on display to the entire club.

Miller of course thought this was the funniest thing in the world ever as he pointed at her and laughed like a loon. He was completely oblivious to the three bouncers converging on their position like sharks around chum.

Fowler gave the blonde on stage one last wistful look and mentally kissed her goodbye.

Miller you twat, he thought.

The three bouncers were rugby-prop large and had the shaven heads and demeanour of men who knew how to inflict gratuitous violence and relished the opportunity to put that knowledge into practise.

Fowler stood up to intercept them. He held out a fan of bank notes like a shield. He hoped their East European pragmatism would override their natural desire to kick the shit out of yet another drunken British stag party. Otherwise, well this was probably going to hurt. A lot.

"My apologies for the commotion," Fowler said. "My friend has had a little too much to drink and we'll be only too happy to remove him from your establishment. I hope this covers any damages to both property and feelings."

The lead bouncer, a six and a half foot ogre, took the notes and counted them.

Fowler waited nervously. It was probably enough, but you never knew. He hoped they weren't locals. The locals utterly despised young British males, especially the ones that were obviously over for the sex industry. Fowler could kind of see their perspective. The Brits came over on stag parties, drank too much, behaved like twats and then spent the night pawing the best local flesh their imported pounds could buy. No wonder the local lads fucking despised them.

Yeah, Fowler hoped the bouncers weren't local. If they were part of that crowd they might just kick the crap out of them for shits and giggles.

The bouncer counted the notes and nodded his head. He divvied up a share to his two pals and then motioned to the exit.

Fowler mentally breathed a sigh of relief. The pressures of their city jobs meant they could only come over for a single night. He'd promised Terry he'd fix him up for one last blast of hedonism and that was going to be fucking well difficult if they ended the night sucking up carrot juice through a straw in some god-awful East European A and E.

"Nice one," Chris Lamsley said, slapping him on the back as they walked out unscathed into the Prague night. "I thought they were going to kick the shit out of us for sure."

"We could have taken them," Miller slurred.

"Don't be a fucking muppet," Terry said. "Did you see the fucking size of them?"

Terry Lane was the groom-to-be, looking forward to one last night of freedom before the ball and chain went on next week. In his case he really needed it in Fowler's opinion. All the gossip Fowler had heard painted Terry's future bride-to-be as a complete frigid bitch. She had money though and Terry seemed to be besotted with her for some reason. Fowler wanted this night to be fucking top as he doubted he'd be seeing much of his friend once the ice maiden got her claws in him.

"What now?" Chris asked.

The four of them stood on a cold Prague street at midnight.

For once Fowler was at a little bit of a loss. He hadn't expected every single one of his contingency plans to get knocked out.

Of course, he hadn't really counted on Miller being such a stupid drunken twat.

It was bad enough that his first choice, the C5, had been completely booked out by a Japanese business party and there really wasn't much he could do after finding out the Aphrodite club was closed for refurbishment. That left choices three and four, and they'd been fine enough until Miller had got them thrown out by being a stupid drunken twat.

The knowledge that he wasn't going to be spending the night with that blonde's legs wrapped around his body was a definite source of pain to Fowler.

That left choice five. Except there wasn't a choice five as why the hell would you need a choice five in Prague for fuck's sake!

"I guess we look for the nearest strip club or a taxi to take us to the nearest strip club," Fowler said.

"Strip club?" Miller said. "I don' wanna just look, I wanna fook."

"It's Prague," Fowler replied icily. "It's all on the menu."

"So anyone want to pick a direction?" Terry said.

"And you," Fowler said, grabbing Miller by the collar and shoving him up against the wall. "Get your fucking shit together or I'll personally throw you off the Charles Bridge."

"Hey man, I'm jus' having a good time," Miller whined.

"And you're fucking it up for the rest of us," Fowler snarled. "This is Terry's party. Don't forget that and don't screw it up for him."

"Hey guys, I found a taxi," Chris called out.

It was an old beaten up Skoda Octavia, just like many of the taxis in Prague. The driver poked his head out of the window. His face was thin and gaunt and framed with long greasy brown hair.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Girls!" Miller said.

"You want girls?" the taxi driver smiled. His teeth were yellowed and he was missing a few. He looked a bit like you'd expect the greasy owner of a seedy video store to look.

"Yeah, we're not having much luck with the strip clubs tonight," Fowler said, getting in the front. "C5's booked out, Aphrodite isn't open and we've just left Cabaret X and Silverfingers. Got any recommendations?"

The other three climbed in the back.

"Yes," the taxi driver said. "I know a place. It's a very special place. I'll take you there."

Fowler suspected it would be some shit-hole the guy had a commission deal with, but they were running out of options now.

"Special?" he queried.

"I'll make a deal with you," the taxi driver said. Fowler was surprised at how good his English was. "A lot of the drivers aren't honest. They take you to bad clubs with ugly women and expensive drinks. They make me feel ashamed to drive a taxi in this beautiful city. So I make the same deal with all my passengers. I'll take you to this place and take you in. If you stay, you pay me. If not, I'll take you somewhere else. No meter."

"You that confident we'll stay?" Fowler asked. "I've got very high standards."

"Are the girls that good?" Terry asked.

"The finest in Prague," the taxi driver laughed.

"Then what are we waiting for," Miller said. "Mush mush mush."

The journey took a little longer than Fowler expected as the driver took them out of the city centre and into an anonymous looking industrial quarter. The building he pulled up outside was just another of the many grey warehouses that peppered the area.

It didn't look like a strip club.

"This it?" Fowler asked.

"It's a private place," the taxi driver replied. "Few people know about it. I'll come in and vouch for you."

The taxi driver got out and stalked off towards the building with an odd, hunched gait.

"Follow me," he waved back at them with a smile.

"What do you think?" Fowler said.

"Let's go get some tail!" Miller whooped, getting out of the car and rushing after the taxi driver.

"I swear I'm going to kill that fucking moron," Fowler said.

"We may as well go and see what it's like," Chris said, getting out after Miller.

"I don't think this place will even pretend to be a strip club. It's probably going to be a full-on brothel," Terry said. "You going to be okay with that Chris?"

The other guys had no illusions about why they were here. At some point they were going to bang the shit out of some East European tart. Chris was the choir boy of the party. He had a long time girlfriend back home and while he was happy to spend an evening ogling naked female flesh, he'd been vacillating about how far he'd go.

Fowler reckoned that wasn't going to be very far at all, but each to their own as far as he was concerned.

"Sure, it'll be fine," Chris said. "I'll have some drinks at the bar and wait while you guys have some fun. I might even find one I can't resist."

Or end up saying yes to the ugliest old banger just because he didn't have the guts to say no, Fowler thought with a smile.

The four of them followed the stringy taxi driver as he took them through an anonymous side door and into a small entrance corridor.

They really did have a thing about privacy, Fowler thought. He could understand there being no signs on the outside of the building, but nothing in the entrance corridor as well was really fucking paranoid.

The taxi driver led them to an old lift and pulled the doors across. It rattled up two floors and opened out into another featureless corridor with a plain door at the end of it.

"This is a special place," the taxi driver said. He sounded almost awed. "Can you feel it?"

There was an odd feeling to the place, Fowler thought. His hairs were standing on end as if he'd just walked into a field of static electricity. It was a little weird. He was also surprised to find he felt a little turned on as well. Maybe the excitement was getting to him. Maybe he needed to get laid more than he'd originally thought.

The taxi driver opened the door at the end of the corridor and the first thing that struck Fowler was the heat. It was very hot inside and humid, like a hothouse, yet the room on the other side of the door was dark and vast. They went through the door and found themselves standing on a metal platform staring out at formless darkness both ahead, above and below them. The room was so large and dark they couldn't see any of the other walls.

"Where are the girls?" Miller asked.

"Wait," the taxi driver said, "here they come."

Fowler heard a sigh, but the acoustics were strange. It was like an echo, but from so far off it didn't even sound like it came from this world.

Forms descended down out of the darkness. They were female. At least partly.

The upper part of their bodies was definitely recognisable as female. They were naked and beautiful beyond description. All had the delicate high cheekbones, perfectly rounded breasts and large soft eyes of top models.

No, their beauty was beyond that. They were an ideal of feminine beauty. Any could have displaced the latest model sensation from the cover of a fashion magazine with ease.

At least until you looked at the bottom half of their bodies. At first it looked like they were each sitting on a bulbous green sac, nearly big enough to hold a person. Then you looked closely at the waists and saw how the pale white flesh of what should have been their legs formed an unbroken hoop of flesh around the opening to the sac. Currently the hoop was tightly closed.

The sac beneath them was bulbous, green and shaped a little like a vase. It looked like it might be part of a plant.

Definitely part of a plant, Fowler thought. The sac curled round and upwards into a thick green vine that stretched up into the darkness above them. A separate thick stalk ran out of the back of sac, just below the girl's waist and entwined upwards around the other vine.

"What are they?" Fowler asked.

And why did they make him feel so horny?

"Souls of former whores, sprouting up from the shores of hell itself," the taxi driver said. "During the second world war Prague was occupied by Nazi Germany. They used to bring pretty local girls here to 'entertain' the soldiers. It was bad enough normally, but in 1945, with the Soviet tanks poised to take the city, the soldiers went far beyond even those levels of depravity. What they did to the women was so monstrous it tore a fracture in the wall that separates our existence from that parallel dimension we refer to as hell. These precious blooms are all that remain of the souls of those poor girls."

"They look like someone crossed a stripper with a pitcher plant," Chris said. "Are they dangerous?"

"They are souls in torment," the taxi driver said. "Life was unkind to them and so in their afterlife they crave the embrace of a warm, living body."

"Pitcher plants are carnivorous," Chris pointed out.

"You've got nothing to fear from these," the taxi driver said. "All that remains of their wretched souls is an unquenchable desire to provide pleasure. Don't feel that you're taking advantage of them. They need to please as much as you want to be pleased."

"This is a bit fucking weird if you don't mind me saying," Fowler said.

The plant-like features extended into the girl's upper bodies. Their pale skin was flecked with green and long tresses of leafy vines cascaded down onto pale shoulders instead of hair.

"Yes, but you won't find pleasure like it anywhere in this reality," the taxi driver said with a knowing smile.

The girls held their arms out to them. As one they sighed and the mouths of their bulbous pitchers fell open. The air was flooded with a sickly sweet scent. The thick aroma left Fowler feeling a little foggy. He was aware of a sudden tightness in his trousers as his cock strained against the material. It was difficult to think. He had the sudden overwhelming urge to fuck something, right now.

"How do we fuck them?" Miller asked.

A girl descended right down so that the opening to her pitcher was just below the level of the platform.

"Take off your clothes and slide in," the taxi driver said. "Then relax and leave everything to her. She'll show you pleasures you never even dreamed existed."

Fowler was already ripping off his shoes and socks. On the other side of him Terry was tearing off his shirt like a man possessed.

"I'll come back in a couple of hours after you've finished," the taxi driver said, shambling off. Fowler barely heard him.

"Uh guys, are we sure this is a good idea?" Only Chris seemed reluctant.

Fowler had kicked off his trousers and was removing his shirt when he thought, whoa, what are you doing here? This was all a bit damn fucking weird when you thought about it.

At the edge of the platform a girl waited for him. Her pitcher gaped open, the pink interior inviting him to enter.

"I mean they aren't even human," Chris continued.

Fowler shook his head, trying to clear away the clouds of lust. What the fuck was he about to do again?

He looked back at the girl. She was smiling at him, but there was ivy growing out of the back of her head. Fucking ivy!

The opening of her pitcher twitched and the air was thick again with that sickly sweet scent. It pervaded Fowler's lungs and roared through his blood like fizzing magma.

Fuck it!

He tore off his last item of clothing.

"Guys I'm sorry, but this is just too... freaky for me." Chris's voice barely registered. "I'm going to go wait with the driver."

On either side of him Fowler saw Miller and Terry carried up and away in the embrace of two of the plant girls. His girl waited for him, arms outstretched, at the edge of the platform.

"Climb in," the girl said in voice that seemed to be both there and simultaneously an echo from a great distance away.

Fowler scooted to the edge of the platform on his butt and sat with his legs over the edge. He looked like someone about to enter a swimming pool but trying to delay that shock of actually entering the cold water.

His naked foot rested on the fleshy hoop of the opening. He dropped his other foot over the rim. The inside of the pitcher felt warm and moist.

"Yes, a little closer," the girl pleaded. "My soft embrace waits for you."

His second foot slipped over the rim.

Fuck it.

Fowler pushed himself off the platform's edge and fell forward into her embrace. His feet slid down the inside of her pitcher until they came to rest on a spongy material at the bottom. It felt like two legs wrapping around him as the opening to the pitcher closed around his midriff. Her arms wrapped around his upper body and drew him tight to her body. He felt her soft breasts against his chest.

A hand moved up his back, gripped the back of his head and pushed him forward into a kiss that flooded his body with the scent of a meadow on a warm summer morning. Fowler didn't even notice as the girl took him up and away from the platform edge.

"That was... wonderful," Fowler said after she finally broke off the kiss. "What's your name?"

The girl looked puzzled at the question, as if the concept of name might have meant something to her in the past, but now no longer held any meaning.

Fowler tried again.

"I'm James and you are?"

"Your pleasure," the girl replied. She gripped his shoulders and began to massage them while rubbing her breasts against his chest in circular movements.

That she certainly was, Fowler thought. Those hands were expert, finding and kneading out every little knot in the muscles of his neck and back. And those breasts... fuck names when she was doing this to him.

There was still something not right, and it involved Fowler's cock. Currently it was as hard as an iron bar and lying flat against his belly. So how exactly was he supposed to fuck her?

"Um, this is lovely," Fowler said. "But how do I make love to you?"

The girl put her hands on his shoulders, looked into his eyes and smiled. She relaxed the opening of the pitcher, letting Fowler fall back a little. She reached in and put a hand around Fowler's erect cock. Then she contracted the opening, pulling Fowler forward. As she pulled him closer she guided the head of his cock into a tight channel filled with thick syrupy liquid just beneath the opening to her pitcher.

Fuck, that felt good, Fowler thought.

He flexed his buttocks and began to thrust into the honey-filled hole. Thick syrup oozed out and dribbled onto his legs. He felt a tightness across his buttocks and realised she had closed the opening around him and was helping him thrust into her.

Fuck, that felt fucking good.

The cushioned hoop of the opening felt like strong legs wrapped around his buttocks, driving him on. She wrapped her arms around his upper body and drew him close for another passionate kiss. Her midriff moved sinuously against his as he thrust in and out of the honeyed well in her inner wall.

He was still kissing her when he opened one eye and saw the tangle of vines that suspended her were trembling with some kind of internal tension. He watched as the walls of the vine swelled and the swelling passed downwards. A warm sticky liquid welled up between his toes and lapped at the top of his feet.

"What's this?" Fowler asked, apprehensive. Chris's comments about carnivorous plants and the unwelcome image of his legs being eaten away by acid entered his mind.

"You're making me wet," the girl said. "My juices will heighten your pleasure."

More bulges ran down the vine as she pumped more liquid into her pitcher. It rose up past Fowler's calves and then above his knees.

"I hope you're not trying to digest me," he said, smiling as he put his arms around her body.

He didn't feel worried. If it was acid he'd feel pain or a loss of feeling. Instead the liquid seemed to magnify his sense of touch as it bathed his skin.

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