It's My Party

"Yeah, yeah, okay, no problem," answered Gilberto nonchalantly as he surveyed the area. Neto and Pancho were the only two people who had made this trip before, so they deserved some attention. But the walkway didn't look that bad. Gilberto took a few practice steps. Actually, it was kind of nasty to walk across the bumps, all sorts of irregular angles. Running would be out of the question, a twisted ankle for sure. But, they'd just take it easy, plant a foot, find the balance, and then swing the other leg for a step. It would take a little time, but what the fuck? Their prey had done it. No problem.

Unknown to everybody except Neto and Pancho, the two would-be explorers had never actually done the exploration they said they had. Weeks ago, the rippling ivy had looked insanely dangerous, and they had both frozen five meters past the end of the red cobblestones. Unable to go further, they had retreated and completed the last of their inspection with binoculars, swearing each other to secrecy on how they had completed the exploration of the chamber. They had traced the walkways with their eyes and binoculars, all the way back to the double helix stairwell, and had stated to Uno that the mall-sized door in the second segment of the stairwell could not be opened. But they really didn't know.

Pancho and Neto had been fretting about this for the last twenty minutes, and as their two parties met up, they had given each other uneasy glances and wondered what their excuse would be if the posse found the door open and their prey gone. They could of course claim that just because the door was locked when they tested it didn't mean it had to stay locked. But seeing Frida and Toshi bagged and ripe for humping had brought a tremendous feeling of relief to both of them. The door really was locked. And with their relief came a rush of sexual desire and anticipation.

A few minutes ago, while Pancho and Gilberto and Berto were starting to display their penises to the trapped women, Neto had walked out ahead onto the cobblestones, and Tiffany had drifted out right behind him. Neto's hips were making little jerks back and forth dreaming about what he was about to do for real.

And all he had to do first was walk across the horrible cobblestone walkway. Well, at least he wouldn't have to lead. And if the two bitches bagged in the stairwell had just done it, then it was sure to be safe for him too. Neto tried to keep his shivering under control as the rest of the posse teased and frightened the bitches. He clutched his gun for a moment, checking to make sure a round was chambered and the safety on, and then he felt between his legs, catching a cagey smile from Tiffany as he did. In spite of his fear, he was fully erect in anticipation of having fun with Toshi and Frida, and Tiffany knew it.

Tiffany walked and stopped right in front of Neto, her left side almost touching him. She was shielding him with her body from the view of the others if they happened to look from the stairwell. And when she glanced and saw that no one was watching, she moved her arm slightly. Her hand came over and squeezed his erection. "My, what have we here?" she whispered.

"What to think it is Tiff?" Neto said with a grin. She did not let go, but kept pinching his penis in various spots until he blinked. "You know Tiff, some night you want to play with what you're fooling with now, just let me know."

"Aw, is somebody getting the hots for Tiffany?" she asked coyly, and then got serious. "Do me a favor Neto. Save your load for Toshi. I want to see it dripping out of her cunt when we march her back."

Neto kept grinning as she worked his erection, hugely relieved that her boyfriend Alfredo wasn't around to see this. He said teasingly, "I don't know Tiff. I was thinking of banging Frida."

"Toshi."

"Aw, Tiff…"

"Neto, Gilberto will take Frida first, right? You know what that means. She won't be much use to anybody after her butt fuck. I'll be surprised if she's even moving. Maybe we'll just toss her into the plants. Do Toshi instead. Make her squeal. Make her drip. Make her stumble."

"Whoa Tiff. You really hate Toshi? That much? Just because Alfredo humped her a few nights?"

"Toshi," she whispered angrily in reply. Her hand moved, jerking the shaft of his penis, and then she pinched the sensitive tip between her thumb and index finger. "Give it to her Neto. I'll reward you if you do."

"Oh yeah? When?"

"Whenever you like. How does tomorrow night sound? That'll give your nut sac a chance to reload." She paused and added. "Alfredo's been hot to get into Whitney's pants. You heard how Uno was talking. Whitney is about to be turned into hoof pussy. I can set it up. I can handle everything. Alfredo will rut on Whitney, and you can rut on me."

Neto face broke into a lecherous grin. "Now that's what I was waiting to hear. You willing to butt fuck?"

A coy smile and another pinch, slower this time, more sensuous and teasing, the tight fingers running up and down the length of his cock. Neto tried to hide how easily Tiffany was driving him, and he failed miserably. He let out a soft whimper and started to rock his hips in rhythm with Tiffany's strokes.

Tiffany stopped the stimulation and laughed at how easily Neto had been manipulated. Then she licked her lips, wiggled her tongue at Neto and said, "I'll play any role you want, let you take me any which way you want, as long as I'm satisfied with your performance tonight."

"Oh yeah? Deal! I'm gonna hold you to that promise Tiff, so keep your ears open. Toshi's gonna grunt and squeal like a stuck pig."

Tiffany grinned in evil delight. "Just remember, the louder the squeals, the bigger your reward!" With a sensuous bump of her butt Tiffany turned and walked away, just as the rest of the group was exiting the stairwell. Neto panted to clear his head of the teasing and sexual denial that Tiffany had put him through, and then he blinked as he saw Pancho and Gilberto finish putting their stiff cocks back inside their pants.

Tiffany eyed Neto quietly a few meters away. She thought she had tweaked his frustration perfectly. When he finally got his turn to mount Toshi, he would enter and ride her with a vengeance.

A few moments later Gilberto organized his group into a single file and they began to walk the horrible path across the ivy. They walked quietly, not so much from caution but from imagining the pleasure of what they were about to do. Gilberto's erection was almost painfully rigid from the anticipation. He started to pant from his thoughts of forcing a rectal mount upon a helpless Frida.

"Right up her virgin butt tunnel, yeah… I'll mount her doggy first, ride up high on her ass and stroke straight down into her tiny brown shithole. And she won't be able to do a thing about it. She's gonna be pinned, and her butthole's gonna burn and turn pink and frothy, full blow out, yeah… Then maybe I'll have Nadine and Tiffany turn her over, have them both spit in Frida's face when I unload in her shitbox. Oh yeah. I'm gonna plow her full bore, ram her brown Frida shit right back up and into her stomach!"

Mark watched the posse from above on the center of the western walkway. He was waiting until they were directly opposite him, at a spot eighty-four meters to the west of him and ten meters below. He had the precise spot locked in his mind. Mark hated what he was about to do. It was nothing less than mass murder.

Six people were about to die if Mark's suspicions were correct. And he saw them not only as the six hardened adversaries they were now, but as six young people who were barely out of their childhood. He saw them not only now, adults at the end of their lives, but as the children they had grown up from. He imagined their whole lives, infants, toddlers, young boys and girls growing up and exploring the wonders of the world around them. What frustrations and fears, Mark wondered, had enticed them to become such a horrible gang?

Mark felt like spitting. There was such a sour taste in his mouth. But what other choice did he have? Could he possibly kill Toshi? The woman's heart was impossibly sweet and kind, and in the bare white light of this group closing in on them, her plea for death by his hands was reasonable. But could he ever possibly do such a thing?! No! Sometimes, he thought with a grimace, life hands you really lousy choices. Mark took a slow deep breath and hardened himself for what he had to do next.

Mark waited until the two middle people, Nadine and Tiffany, were directly in front of him, precisely halfway along the wickedly sharp cobblestone path. His plan was a variation from an old Star Trek episode. He couldn't recall all the details, but he did remember an alien sacrificing his life by drawing enemy fire, doing what Mark was about to do. Mark had his four spikes wrapped tightly together with the wire from his phone charger, and he hoped at a distance the shining black metal rods would appear to be a pistol barrel. That's what he hoped.

The enemy group reached the precise middle of the black walkway. Mark leaped up and into a jumping-jack split, fully extending his body into a giant-X with his "pistol" clearly visible in his right hand. "Klingon!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. As six heads turned and gaped at him, Mark dropped prone onto the three-meter shelf and into a firing position, his "pistol" poking out over the ledge and pointing down at the party on the cobblestones.

"Holy shit!" yelled Gilberto as Nadine and Tiffany started to scream. Gilberto's mind went from blissful sexual fantasy to both panic at the mortal danger and fury over the interruption of his dream of ram packing Frida's shit back up her bowels. He howled as he forced his mind to abandon the enticing daydream and pay attention to the current threat.

In a burst of horror, Gilberto realized they were sitting ducks on the exposed walkway. One concealed gunman on the ledge could slaughter them all. Their only hope was a covering fire until they could get off these damned awful cobblestones. Gilberto brought up his gun in one fluid motion and tried to plant his feet for firing, but he tripped on the ragged edges underfoot and fell heavily on the black stones. He felt himself being cut by the sharp rocks.

"Shit!" he shouted, but he was under such a rush of adrenaline, the pain didn't seem too bad. He managed to roll to a prone position, ignoring the new cuts he suffered as he did. He raised his gun just past the edge of the black walkway and started firing wildly, thinking getting off a few quick shots was more important than accurate fire.

It was Pancho the last in line who was the first to die. He had no idea how deep the vegetation was but he thought it would be suicidal to stay exposed on the black cobblestones. And it was impossible to run on such an awful surface. With his erection still stiff in his pants, he leaped and fired, hoping that his fear of the thorny ivy was unfounded. He threw his body into the dense foliage and prayed it would be deep enough to cover him.

The last wish of his life was granted far more fully than he ever imagined. In midair he fired a second wild shot at the walkway beyond, and then his body plunged into the ivy feet first and the ivy swallowed him. Tiffany had been watching Pancho and gasped in disbelief. She realized that his body had disappeared so quickly and deeply, the ivy must be several meters thick at least, far thicker than any of them had realized. In a more quiet setting, the remaining five people might have also heard Pancho's last vocalizations, a short burst of agonizing screams, but the walkway was alive with the sound of gunfire from the three remaining compadres.

Gilberto was lying prone and firing rapidly, his panicking mind trying to count his shots. He had his gun and hands projected directly over the ivy as he lay, and at the sound of his fourth shot, a host of green threadlike vines shot out of the foliage and enveloped his hands, threading their ways and wrapping tightly around his fingers.

Gilberto screamed in agony. The vines were worse than fire ants! They had tiny hollow needlelike thorns that were pumping something into him that was worse than formaldehyde. Gilberto tried to drag his hands away from the ivy, willing to have the thorns shred his skin in order to free himself from the intense and burning pain.

But the tiny tendrils proved impossible to break. Unknown to Gilberto, the threads were stronger than dental floss. Gilberto screamed again as the vines coiled and spun and quickly sank below skin level. In a sudden shock of horror, he realized that if they kept going, they would amputate his fingers. In his agony and fury he pointed his gun into the foliage and tried to fire again.

But the poison was beginning to send his nervous system into toxic shock. The muscles in his lower arms and hands were already affected and would not respond, and then the tendons in his fingers were cut and for a moment the gun rattled loosely between his limp and bloody hands. Meanwhile thicker tendrils were emerging and seeking to entwine his legs and torso.

Gilberto screamed as his first finger fell into the foliage. The vines were cutting so fast! He screamed again at the thought of living the rest of his life without his fingers, without his hands. His screams allowed the vines to home in on his position. Before he could react, two much thicker vines circled his waist from opposite directions and squeezed and coiled, hooking across his stomach and sides and then extending hundreds of curved thorns. The vines began spinning in opposite directions, the rows of curved thorns acting like hundreds of surgical scissors against each other and slicing into the area around his stomach just below his ribs. Gilberto gave an explosive gasp at the pain and horror. His body was in mortal danger of being sawed in half.

Berto's death was swift and violent. A single thick tendril had found his head, wrapping around it and using its thorns to shred his eyes. Berto was blind and screaming at the burning fire in his eye sockets, and then the tendril completed a second loop around his neck and pulled tight, slicing into his windpipe and jerking Berto's unbalanced body head first off the walkway. Berto made a faint gurgling hiss and was gone.

Tiffany and Neto meanwhile were both trying to dance away from the tendrils that were covering the black area of the cobblestones, but it was hopeless task. It was only Neto who had a dim idea of the colossal mistake they had made. He had noticed how the vines had pulsed and rippled at the sounds of the shots and screams and was desperately trying to keep his mouth shut.

But it was too late. A thick spiraling vine was hovering in midair, and as Neto stepped on a thin vine, the thick vine shot forward between his legs and then spiraled upward and wrapped itself around his hip and crotch. Neto howled as a dense bundle of thorny needles injected their fire-poison into his upper thigh and testicles. At the sound of the howl, the thorny needles raked across his crotch and thigh, amputating his sac. Neto gasped at the pain and the blood gushing from his groin. Then the burrowing thorns cut the femoral artery in his leg. Neto howled some more and started to fall over.

Tiffany couldn't stand the sight of the pulsing vines curling around her ankles from both sides of the walkway. She tried to jerk away, even though a small part of her mind was screaming at her that that was a really bad idea. The vines snapped shut and then began working their way up her boots like coiling snakes.

The vines cut through the soft leather around her ankles before they reached the top of the boots near her knees. Tiffany screamed in terror and at the agony of the burning thorns, many times worse than the cruel chaffing she had herself inflicted on her slaves with overly tight ankle cuffs. Tiffany kicked in one direction and then the other, trying to dislodge the vines, and then she lost her balance as her feet went both numb and on fire from the burning poison. She landed heavily and cut the side of her face on the sharp jagged edges of the black stones. "Shit," she screamed.

In a seeming act of divine justice, the vines on both the east and west sides of the walkway got into a tug-of-war with Tiffany's legs. The power was incredible, stretching Tiffany's legs out into an absolutely straight 180 degree full split. And then the vines pulled some more, far more stress than Toshi ever had to endure. Tiffany was aware of the major tendons and muscles in her thighs and crotch popping and tearing under the overpowering load. Mercifully she passed out just as the vines on her left and right legs met near her vagina. After a second of caressing contact, the vines to the west seemed to realize they were competing with the vines on the east for their prize and they let go as a courtesy. Tiffany's unconscious body shot off the walkway to the east and slipped into the foliage with a whoosh.

Gilberto's body followed soon after. The great vines that had encircled his waist had been spinning back and forth like a rotating saw, slicing through Gilberto's midsection just below his ribs with lethal speed and power. The only things connecting the upper and lower halves of his body now were the bones of his spinal column. The vines coiled and pulled, cracking the last connecting bones and jerking the two halves of the bloody corpse off the cobblestones.

Neto lay screaming on the stones. The thick vine holding his hip created a huge coil and then snapped like a whip, arching Neto high in the air and far off the walkway. Realizing his fate, Neto swallowed the barrel of his pistol in mid-flight and pulled the trigger, sparing himself the final agony that was awaiting him in the ivy. His pistol tumbled through the air and then landed and became wedged in the cobblestones, the black metal almost invisible in the ragged, shiny black rocks. The vines probed the gun for a second and then ignored it.

That left only Nadine on the walkway. Since her initial scream at the beginning of the battle, she had remained as frozen as a statue, and numerous green threads were all over her high boots half way up to her calves. The boots were a present from Gilberto two months ago, and he would often refer to them as Nadine's "fuck-me" boots. He used to think she looked so sexy in them. Nadine had gotten into a habit of wearing them whenever she wanted Gilberto to mount her.

But the boots didn't look sexy at all now. They were covered with patterns of shifting threads of green, but so far none of them had cut into the leather or tightened into a noose.

Mark was panting heavily on the ledge. He had just watched five people die horribly, and the waves of distorted guilt were so intense he knew he should not stand up lest he stumble and fall off the walkway and into the pulsing ivy below. He turned his head and saw that Toshi and Frida had come out of the stairwell and were on his level. They were standing motionless at the end of the walkway at the southern vertex, staring silently at Nadine.

Mark's gaze was torn back to Nadine. His heart was breaking. No one deserved to die like this, no one, no matter what the crime, absolutely no matter what. The vines were well above her boots now, sliding across the bare skin of her thighs. But the thorns had retracted, as least for the moment. In a small rational corner of Nadine's mind, the sensations on her legs were the ones of a lover, Gilberto prepping her for a fuck. And then she felt the first tendril probing her labia and wiggling up into her vagina. She couldn't take the horror. Her eyes defocused and last corner of her sanity collapsed.