Gadarene

"Swivel her around on the pallet," Jack ordered. Taggert looked across at him with a sour expression, a man who hated fish being forced to clean the catch of the day. Dutifully, Taggert lifted Pam's ankles into the air, hefting her half off the splintered wood as he pivoted her in place. Somehow, through the arc of movement, she kept her grip on Jimbo, and he dog-trotted along beside her, leashed by his enormous member.

Jack walked up to the pallets and looked down into her face. Here, submerged in the EXIT light, she seemed a deep sea creature, dredged up in their net and drowning in the surface atmosphere. Her eyes were huge, pupils expanded to gather in the darkness. The creamy flesh of her shoulder rippled as she pumped her fist up and down Jimbo's shaft. Jack leaned down into her face, stopping just shy of where his eyes lost the ability to focus on the narrowed bands of her green irises.

"You sure you want this?"

Her upside down smile seemed a grimace to him, full of hungry teeth.

"Time to get fucked," he whispered, caressing his hand over her forehead. He straightened, knitting his fingers in the overhang of her bangs. He stepped back and pushed his hand downward, tilting her head off the edge of the pallet, aiming her open mouth like a rifle.

"Jimbo."

The big man slowly pivoted his head and looked over at Jack, then followed Jack's arm down to the round circle of Pam's mouth. Her hand slowed its motion, slipped loosely from his cock. Gingerly, the big man stepped in front of her. Closer than he'd ever been, Jack could see the sheer size of Jimbo's cock. It was the sort of thing that only made sense in a porn movie, attached to some chiseled, buffed-out Cali-boy. Not to Jimbo, the man that lubed his bike when he brought it into the shop and wailed Led Zeppelin when he was plastered.

But it was there, nonetheless, and it was nosing its way into Pam's open mouth. Jack kept his hand in her hair, holding her throat open as the shaft disappeared between her lips, as Jimbo's open fly approached her chin. Pam made a protracted noise half-way between a groan and a cough and Jimbo hesitated. He needn't have bothered. Pam's arms rose up, one reaching around Jimbo's side, the other sliding up between his legs. With one steady motion, she pulled the biker forward, sweeping his hips into her face, his cock down her throat.

Jack released her hair and stepped back as Jimbo loomed over her.

Taggert still held her ankles. Her thighs clenched and released on the rough surface of the pallet, the edges of her nurse's shoes gouging out tiny splinters of wood as her heels sought for purchase. The three of them stood there in the dark stinking alley, Pam stretched between Taggert and Jimbo like a pulsating bridge of flesh, Jack tucked to the side, witnessing what was being done to her.

The alley echoed with wet, half-strangled sounds. A dark part of Jack responded, the part he'd always known was inside of him, but locked away. Until tonight. Taggert seemed to be fighting his own losing battle with what was happening on the pallet in front of him. His fingers were clenched over her ankles so tightly that the wool of her socks came up between his fingers like risen bread.

Jimbo stared up towards the sky, head tilted back, mouth open. He looked as though he was the impaled, not the impaler. The air had gained humidity, and tiny sand grains of ice drifted down the alley like gnats alighting on the steaming slab of Jimbo's tongue.

The sound of Taggert's zipper was ripping sheet metal against Jack's over-sensitized tympanum. Once, he'd had to fire a magnum inside the confines of a truck cab, and the ringing disorientation of those first few moments after the explosion of gas from the barrel approached the dislocation that he was now experiencing. Approached, but did meet.

The old man's cock swung like a strangled turkey as he dug it out from his jeans. Whatever black emotion burned inside him hadn't warmed the meat between his legs, and he stood there pulling on his foreskin as Pam, legs released, drummed her heels against the pallet.

"Jimbo, pull back." Jack could only speak by forcing himself. His vocal cords were stiffened by what he was seeing in front of him. "Give her air."

Jimbo took two steps back, but Pam used her heels to propel herself after him, pushing her mouth back onto his cock. Jimbo reached down and grabbed the woman's head between his hands, forcing her off of him. She came away gasping, coughing, cursing.

"Fucker," she choked out. Her hand reached up and snagged hold of his cock, fisted around it so tightly that the head of Jimbo's cock turned an instant purple. "I didn't tell you to stop."

"Or are you as fuckless as the old man?"

Taggert snarled at her, reached down and grabbed her hips, throwing her to her side, then tumbling her over on her stomach. With an explosion of air, Pam sprawled on the pallet, finally releasing her hold on Jimbo.

Taggert was behind her now, and her ass lifted up, whether from Taggert's unseen hands or her own will, Jack couldn't tell. Taggert rammed up against her, forcing his half-hardened cock into her. Pam laughed, her vocal cords still raw from the bludgeoning of Jimbo's cock, and began to buck herself against him. If Taggert had meant to take her, he became the taken, as she rammed herself against him in a rhythm that threatened to topple the pallets.

Again and again, and Taggert's breath was rasping out his throat, his visible expiration floating out over Pam's back like a snow machine powdering an Autumn ski slope. Her hair, once wet with sweat, now sprawled over her back in tight curls, stiff with frost.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." She chanted with every thrust backwards. Jack stared as she jack-hammered her ass into Taggert, the thick flesh of her rump rippling with every collision of skin and denim.

And then Jimbo was in front of her again, his cock dancing in front of her face. For a second, Jack wasn't sure she was even aware of it. Her face was staring down at the barred wood, her shoulders hunched with the effort of propelling herself backward, again and again.

"More," she panted, words syncopating each meaty slap, voice dripping with vibrato. "Is this my fuck, Jack? Is this it?"

Jimbo ran his hand over his face, a little boy trying to wipe away the horror movie playing on the screen in front of him. Taggert was holding on to her hips, meeting every backward thrust with a bone-jarring whip forward that shook his scrawny frame. Red blotches lit his cheeks. His eyes were squeezed shut.

Jack walked up to her.

With the three of them around her, she seemed a small thing, a tiny creature trapped between them. But he knew now she wasn't trapped, had never been. She was throwing herself against them, a cat rending its scratching post, a doe stripping the bark from a sapling. In between the walls of their bodies, her nude body seemed an already dead thing, a bit of death writhing between the tombstone slabs of their bodies.

And death had them all in her grip.

She turned her head and looked at him. In the darkness of the moment, when the blossom of their act clouded out the stars and the green EXIT light became a hellish sunrise, he could suddenly see her face and her features as though he were studying her in the stark light of a coroner's fluorescent.

Whether it was onset hypothermia, or whether it was the stench of the alley, or whether it was the stranger's bodies inside of her, Pam was no longer recognizable. Or, rather, the real Pam was finally recognized. He had glimpsed the stranger in the bar, serving him drinks. He had ogled the potential fuck, batting innuendos at him like pop flies over a summer meadow. But now, with all of that assumed pretence stripped away, he locked eyes with reality.

He saw her need, felt her hunger, that void inside of her that she'd sought to fill with his body, then, wonder of wonders, with those of his men. He saw the darkness and the stench and the filth of the alley pouring inside her consciousness, her skull an alembic fusing it all together, trying to transmogrify the lead into gold.

And he understood, or believed he did, the hunger that drove her, the sheer fury of the lust that admitted no limits, that burned and battered and consumed her flesh from the inside out. What they did to her body was nothing but a pale mimicry of the madness that lapped behind those jaded green eyes.

As Jimbo's cock reached her mouth, her eyes broke away from him. There was no laughter now. The time for that was over. Now, she stretched her mouth over Jimbo's impossible girth and forced her teeth apart, fought down gag reflex as she swallowed his cock. Jack reached down and put his hand on the back of her head, nestled his fingers into the stiff, cold, ringlets. Steadily, slowly, he pulled and pushed her head back and forth on the invading member, fucking her throat on the other man's cock.

Pam's fingers found his own. They were five flaming embers wrapped around him. He had been half hard through all of this, but from the moment that their eyes had locked, the frisson had sparked through his blood, stiffening him. She stroked, she squeezed, she scratched, and his hips flew to meet her, pounded his aching muscle into her clenched fist.

Taggert was groaning now, shoulders hunched in on themselves. The still rational part of Jack's mind noted the flushed skin, the rattled breathing, the rictus contorting the old man's face. In any competent ER in the country, he'd have been poured into a bed and webbed with wires. But here, in the alley, a different triage was in effect. He would fuck until he dropped, one way or the other.

Jimbo reached down and buried his hand in Pam's hair, beside Jack's already clenched fingers. Across the no-man's-land of her scalp, Jack could feel the fever of the other man. And in that instant, he felt a fusion of flesh, a shift in perspective. The three of them, three in one, pounding and thrusting into Pam, filling her -- they lost their identity and became accessorized to her lust. One multi-cocked organism assembled by Pam for her pleasure, for her degradation, for lifting her wherever she needed to be carried.

Synchronous now, Jimbo-Jack thrust her head forward, pulled it back. On every backward pull, her lips slipped loose from Jimbo and the air that gasped through her mouth sounded like wind tortured through a cracked window pane. Then, the slow gurgle forward as meat filled her mouth and crushed down her tongue. As Jimbo's pelvis ground into her face, a syrupy gagging slipped from her throat as muscle surrendered to intruding flesh.

Again and again.

Taggert was shivering over her body now, his torso shaking like an epileptic in mid-seizure. All movement of his hips had ended, and it was Pam fucking herself on him. Suddenly, with a coughing, strangled lurch, he fell back, his cock bounding up and down like a dive board after the departure of its diver. Cum shot out from him, spraying the cheeks of her ass, as he fell back against the brickwork, hand pumping furiously over his cock.

The brined scent of cum split the air like a razor.

As Taggert slumped backward, Jimbo whipped forward and slammed himself against Pam's face, his fingers twisting so tightly in her hair that his hand was suddenly against Jack's, squirming over it as his palm tried to grip the entirety of her skull, sealing her face tight against him.

Their earlier synchronization was lost. In a jumble of fingers, Jack and Jimbo fought, the one pulling back, the other grinding forward. And through it all, as Jimbo's pelvis ground and Jack's hand pulled, Pam sagged limply back and forth, corduroy coat rasping over the wooden boards like waves hissing over a moonless beach.

How long does it take to cum?

Jack had never considered the question. It was a switchback Rocky Mountain road, something to gun the engine into, roaring up the ascent, a floating-belly idle at the crest, then the sluiced descent down, boulders and signposts flashing past as throttle coasted loose under his hand. Time dilated around that moment and minutes could become hours, seconds swallow eternity.

How long does it take to die?

The question could not be answered, Jack would later think. It partook of that same internal dilation, a warping of time inside the skull. But from the outside, in that moment with the half-frozen filth of the alley lapping at his ankles, it seemed to Jack a thing approaching quickly. Arms that lifted chrome and steel, now strained over a different weight, so very much more fragile then anything that rolled off the assembly line at Detroit.

Jack hammered, he pounded, he twisted his fingers between Jimbo's ape-like hands, but crotch and face were one thing now. Pam's body bucked over the wood, her nurse's shoes dancing to some medieval tune, evoking half-remembered doggerel in Jack's head.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

Then Jimbo's mouth opened and he howled silently to an unseen moon, face tilted up and moon-mad eyes catching grains of the still falling ice-sand that drifted down. A bellows-full of air blew out his throat and his legs shook, faltered, then failed, dropping the giant down beside the pallet. As he fell, his ape-fists trailed Sargasso strands of Pam's hair like the fluttering black pennants of a sinking galleon.

And Pam was on her knees, gasping, holding her throat in her hands, swallowing convulsively. Ropes of semen-saliva pendulumed from her gaping mouth. She lurched forward and Jack was there to catch her. She convulsed against him, arms flailing out to either side like a broken-winged bird testing the wind.

From beneath them, Jack heard Jimbo rolling away, grunting like a pig in slop. Across from them, Taggert was wheezing and stumbling sideways, away from the pallet and what he had done there.

Jack stroked the back of Pam's hair, cradled the bruised creature of flesh and lust. In time, her breathing stabilized, and she stirred, as though waking from some frigid nightmare. The face that pulled back from his was reddened, as though it had been slapped repeatedly. Frozen tears glistened on her cheeks. But from beneath the matted hair and from within the smeared mascara, those voracious eyes were waiting for him, ambushing his concern.

With one smooth leap, she was on him, legs wrapping round as she clambered onto him. His cock, rock hard from adrenaline or from darker secretions, dove into the sea of her heat. He sank deeper and deeper, then felt the textured boundary where his jeans pressed up against her, blocking the touch of her skin against his. He released her and jerked his ass backwards, plunging from summer back to winter, and used both hands to throw his pants down, the cold air slathering his exposed ass and thighs with scrim.

And as she locked those raw, famished eyes on him, he pushed forward and entered her, pushed forward until the skin of his hips pressed into the clenching heat of her.

What Taggert and Jimbo were doing, or not doing, he didn't know. He might have heard shocks rock as the men threw themselves into the passenger compartment of the van, but it could have been his ears assembling random sounds into meaning. Every ounce of his awareness funneled down into the eyes inches from his. Even the pounding of the flesh below, the sensations slipping up the length of his cock and into the core of his sex, were all secondary to the dark spirit that beckoned to him from those maddened green eyes.

Never before and, perhaps, never again, would such immediacy sweep over him, the palpable awareness of the beast ravening in another's skull. He tasted her hunger then, felt her yearning as though it flitted through his own cerebral cortex, sparked across his own synapses, an ancient lust that thundered through his mind on sharp, cloven hooves. He wanted only to fuck and to be fucked. He wanted to pluck the lust from her mind and devour it like some cave cannibal digesting the spirit of his dead from a spitted haunch.

But though they pounded and they stared, they still labored in different bodies. And the more he thrust and the closer his orgasm came, the further he fell from wherever Pam was being carried. It could have been oxygen starvation. It could have been the onset of hypothermia. It could have been the touch of whatever spirit swept down frozen alleys under the dark of the moon. But as her eyes rolled to white and her cunt spasmed around him, he knew that she had slipped into a darkness where he could not follow.

And he was exploding in her and losing her, shattering the flawed communion of their eyes. Frantically, he pressed his mouth to hers and sucked her limp tongue into his mouth as he spurted inside her. And the salty, tobacco-tainted saliva bled into his mouth like a carnal sacrament.

#

On the long drive to Cleveland, after they had dropped Pam at her house -- Astro minivan in the gravel drive, trio of bicycles leaning against the vinyl siding -- none of them spoke. Some rites were best left buried in the past, though Jack doubted that the ceremony tonight shared any features with the beer-swilling rituals that the geezers reminisced over when strippers and porn had dredged young lusts to the surface of old minds.

No, tonight wouldn't become another club story. It would fade and die between the three of them. Jack didn't think he'd be spending much time with Jimbo or Taggert for a while. There was enough work in the club to keep them separately occupied until time faded this night, their acts.

He thought it would fade, at least for them. But he knew it would never go away for him. As he sat in the back seat, sandwiched between the smell of axle grease and the furnace-blast of the heater, he still stood in the alley, shin deep in filth, slowly making sense of the stream of noise that poured out of Pam, head lolling on his shoulder as strangers' cum froze over the lips of her cunt.

At first, an unintelligible murmur slipping from a throat bruised by cock. Then, a stream of babble resolving itself into words, eventually clarifying as the same word, repeated over and over. Finally, two recognized syllables coughing out of her, fucking their way out of her throat and into his ear, penetrating his mind.

"Almost. Almost. Almost."

And in the heat of the van, Jack shivered as the darkness awoke inside him.