Mo & Curio & Old Man Rivers Gimp

She noticed suddenly an old red douche bag hanging from the curtain rod on the tub. The sight of it made her almost gag. It was curiously out of place in modern times, yet in the trailer's semi-rustic restroom, totally vogue.

"Thank God for progress!" She whispered as she shook her head in dismay. Why it took so long for some idiot man to dream up a more demure squirt and toss douche bottle was beyond her. To her shock, the douche bag's hose and nozzle suddenly lifted its nose at her, gliding through the air like Kaa the Python in the Jungle Book movie she loved as a child, beguiling her with a plastic smile rather than the kaleidoscope irises of the cartoon snake.

It sang to her, in Anthony Kiedis' sultry, low voice, the opening lyrics to the song blanketing the trailer.

"Blood sugar sucka fish, in my dish. How many faces do you wish? Step into a heaven where I keep it on the soul-side. Girl please me, be my soul bride. Every woman has a piece of Aphro-dite. Copulate to create a state of sexual light. Kissin' her virginity, my affinity. I mingle with the gods, I mingle with divinity!"

All too aware she was getting muy loco, real fucking fast, Curio Phelonie listened to the song erupt from its slinky slow groove into the raucous refrain, the crawfish pounding their instruments and jumping up and down on their little fanned tails. The one playing the stand-up bass even resembling Flea as he slapped the big bass' strings, in and out of focus as her field of vision began breathing.

"Oh shit! I hear ya! Rock out with your cock out!" The comedy of the trio rocking to the L.A. band was euphoric. She almost cheered and would have thrown a few bills in the tip box, if they had one.

If she was going to go on a trip, she was prepared for it mentally. Given the situation, Curio reasoned getting that messed up that fast meant something high-quality dope. Grinding her teeth, she inhaled deeply and flashed her tits to the band out of respect before blowing them a kiss and throwing a peace sign to the singing douche nozzle. The crawfish playing bass, a hipster sort wearing little black sunglasses, threw a boiled-red claw to its ear mimicking a phone, waved a clandestine antenna at her, and whispered, "Call me!" behind the back of the guitarist in front of him. She nodded in understanding, winked at it and waved goodbye coyly.

She began to feel tingly down her spine as she crept down the hall, shuddering as someone walked over her grave. The old arousal in her shorts was there, "that foxhunt in my coxcunt" as Moses liked to call it. A slight clitoral arousal that never failed to surface when she was on a job. But now her whole body was awash in prickly tingles. Her mouth was numbing by the second. Her leg pain seemed to evaporate every second and that was a positive. But Curio could feel herself getting light in the mind and body. Her mouth numbing by the second, she felt her tongue go pasty, her upper palette chalky and deadened. Those were effects she may have paid damned good money for in an alternate setting. Creeping in someone's house, while they were jamming and fucking, with a gun in her hand and a bullet hole in her duct-taped leg was not a great milieu for a psychedelic experience, however.

She tried to keep her shit together...but, goddamn it was funny!

She stifled a giggle, a little bit of the laugh sputtered on her lips, covered by the doors and the music. It unnerved her, though, sobering her consciousness abruptly as her focus lasered in briefly on the last door on the right. Tiptoeing up to it, she noticed it had a deadbolt lock on the door. Like the other three doors, it had no windows.

Gotta be an outside door. The back door! She used her t-shirt to make sure it was latched. Then savagely she smacked down with her palm to break the key off in the lock. Ain't nobody going in or out of that one. Moses got the back door covered. Let's see who the hell is getting off behind door number three, Bob!

Backing up three deliberate yet wobbly steps, Curio shook her head out a few times, trying to steady herself for the final door.

The hallway was lit by a single florescent fixture that flickered nonstop. The carpet was deepening, the fabric seeming to encase her feet in the substantial shag. She pointed the pistol at the door and tried to grab the handle. It moved on her and she missed with her first attempt. Glaring at the ceiling in disgust, Curio breathed deeply and stared at the handle. Inside, she could hear a mattress protesting whatever was testing its mettle. Moist in her panties, ready for anything, gunshot, suntanned, tits up and armed with a dead Nazi's personal sidearm, she gripped the handle firmly, her t-shirt wrapped around her sweaty palm.

"Aromatic is her flower, she must be moist!" yelled Anthony Kiedis.

"You're goddamned right it is!" She whispered.

Curio turned the handle and when the door opened from its latch, she gave it a barefoot kick and stumbled clumsily. Regaining her balance immediately, she gave her most menacing sneer and glared at the room as she took a step inside.

Abruptly, she halted any attempt to dominate her surroundings, as Moses would have done. Instead, she gaped, her mouth falling open and then trembling into a crippling spate of dreamy giggles that had she not been holding a gun on a lesser foe may have been debilitating to the point of being deadly.

It was a manic few seconds before she could giggle, "Holy shit!"

"Jaisus! Who duh fuck are you!"

The voice was high-pitched, country as grits and cornbread, shocked into a shriek that could have flat-out been mistaken for a woman's had she not been looking at him. The shrieker was naked from the midriff down, sickly-thin. His elbows nearly broke the skin, it seemed. Pasty white skin clashed fiercely with a red leather corset he wore around his pitiful, shaved chest. Not even a hint of farmer's tan, Curio wondered how anyone in the south managed that. His body was devoid of hair, shaved away. He was wearing faded stage make-up. She could tell that immediately. It was heavy on the shadow and the lipstick much too waxy to be mere over-the-counter cosmetic. His hair was shoulder-length, blond as the hay bale he was probably conceived in, coifed flamboyantly in feathered bangs and swept garishly to the rear. A pair of hoop earrings dangled from his ear. His reaction reminded her of some old maid who jumped up on a stool at the sight of a menacing mouse.

And he spoke only after he bolted upright on his knees as he wobbled on the mattress at the foot of the bed, leaving the hard cock of the other guy glistening with fresh spit in the flash of a strobe set to minimum speed.

"Who the fuck is she, Freddy?" The shrieker slapped the hard dick he had only seconds before been so kind to. Curio knew the sign of a woman's jealousy in an instant. She smiled broadly for an instant.

Feel the room...only Moses would never advocate feeling a room when it's spinning like a slow merry go-round.

Curio noted the lone vertically rectangular window was blacked out with aluminum foil. Until she opened the door, there had been no light but the strobe and an orange-lit lava lamp.

Holding the Luger on the shrieker, she stared at the bound man in the solid black leather headpiece with his mouth zipped shut. He was cuffed to the cast iron headboard, a fearsome frame with studs welded all over it. He started mumbling loudly, his voice stifled by the mask, but she could clearly make out, "Fuck you, get out, bitch!" through the leather. He had on a pair of black leather chaps and nothing else. Her eyes noticed some sort of leather biker jacket on the floor at her feet. A pair of black shitkickers lay askew to her left, clearly tossed nonchalantly by the tall armoire on which the blaring jambox sat.

A matching leather ensemble! I'd like to solve the puzzle, Pat. Yes, your Honor, we have gays!

She cocked the Luger and smirked at them as she found a light switch trying to slide away from her down a wall that seemed to be expanding and contracting as if it were a black-lit bellows. The glare of four sixty-watt bulbs in a ceiling fan canceled the strobe effect and allowed her to focus her dilated eyes on the pair.

"I'm gonna say this exactly once, you freaky fucks!" She screamed over the Chili Peppers, "You are easier to deal with as a corpse than a person!" Her voice projected shrilly in her ears, distorted and almost sticky with the cottonmouth caking up her tongue.

The shrieker began stammering incoherently, his hands raised innocently as he stared at the gun. "Shut that shit up!" She ordered. He gulped noticeably, his neck skinny enough to show an Adam's apple that Curio thought morbidly was more like a golf ball. "Hands on the back of your head." He gulped again and locked his fingers nervously behind his hair.

Again, her cognizance failed her. She swooned as a wave of giddy pressure swirled around her mind, driving her sideways into the threshold of the door.

Fucking stupid smoking that, you idiot! She shook her head as she wiped her eyes. Suddenly, her leg hurt again out of nowhere. She swallowed hard, tears running from an eye. Just hold them, Curio. My baby will be here any second. He'll handle this...Woowee! Tits up!

"You okay, ma'am?" The shrieker asked timidly.

"It's best you don't look too much in my direction, sweetness. I've had a real fucking bad day. Turn around and face the wall and maybe you live through this." She sucked at the inside of her cheek and wiped her clammy brow with the back of her free hand. The shrieker whimpered and turned on his knees and faced the wall. The cuffed man just glared at her.

"Eyes right, bro. Nice tool by the way." She waved his face away from her.

A hot rush swept over her from toe tip to scalp skin. Swallowing hard, she grunted loudly as she tried to step over to shut up the radio. Her motor skills were not happening fast. She swooned but caught herself.

"What the fuck did y'all put in that weed?" She pointed the pistol at the masked man, whose eyes widened as he murmured beneath the hood.

"Keta-meen, ain-jool dust and ecstasy." The country queen blubbered.

"PCP? What the hell? You faggots can't just drink wine and blow each other no more? Hell, when does the whore-fuckin' donkey and the gang of Spanish midgets show up?"

The bumpkin shrugged a bit, never unlocking his hands or looking back. "We ain't never used no don-key, may-am." His twang tickled her.

"Joking, sweetheart. Goddamn," she noted the black-light posters and general debauchery of the room she observed through her breathing eyes, "you guys know how to party."

"Ma'am?" The shrieker asked meekly.

"What? I suggest you don't ask or talk too much, sweetie. It comes with that 'you may live through this part' I just told you about."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But you gonna be here a while?"

"I fucking hope not. Why? You got somewhere to be besides sitting here naked with Leatherboy's ball sweat on your tongue. I'm sure you probably do. Trust me, honey, I know what you mean. Anybody else coming out here? Better tell me now cuz if I hear a car I'm shooting you two dead without thinking and my man is cutting down anything that moves near here.

Leatherboy mumbled some more. The shrieker spoke aloud as the song came to an end.

"It's just that...this is kinda embarrassing."

"For us both, sweetie, believe me. I'm all kinda fucked up and this lil scene ain't what I signed up for."

"Ma'am, I kinda gotta little dildo in mah aiis. It's turned on high and sitting up like this, well, truth be told, it kinda hurts me, you know? Can I please have permission to take it out?"

Curio exploded in laughter, covering her mouth as the dryness gave way to a glob of drool flying from her mouth unexpectedly. Leatherboy's dick was now flaccid but it wagged from side-to-side like a metronome to her as the skinny hick squirmed on his knees and made the bed sway.

"Of course, sweetie. Us girls can't take it too damn deep for long, now can we?"

"Lisa!" Moses bellowed from the living room.

Curio saw her prisoners look at each other in terror. There are two of them...

"Clear in here, Joe!" She leaned back and looked at Moses loped down the hall, looking in the two open doors as he came to her. "Baby, I'm fucked up. Hope youuuu didn't hit that joint in there." She slurred and giggled.

The shrieker leaned forward, his hands fumbling at the ass as he groaned in pain.

"What in the hell?" Moses grabbed her chin and looked at her black eyes. Her head lolled on her shoulders, a dreamy gaze and grin on her face. He grabbed her gun and stuck it into a cargo pocket.

"Just having a few words with my Elvis fans in here.

"You alright?" Moses first thought was she was over-dosing on the coke.

"Hey sugar booger!" She draped an arm over his shoulder, smiling vacantly as she stroked his solid arm. "So strong..."

"What in the hell?"

"Kiss me, sexy!" She snickered and flopped onto his chest. "Woo! These fucks know how to make a fuckin primo!"

Moses shook his head, trying to get an idea of what he missed. Apache Rose Peacock began playing as the cd player shuffled its tracks around.

"I wanna be in New Or-leeeans, baby! I wanna suck you in N'awlins! Soon, baby! Promise me!" She seemed drunk, her legs rubbery. He pulled her into the hallway and pressed her against the wall.

"Sit tight, Lisa!" He said the false name sternly. "I'll handle this."

"Handle me, baby!" She wailed giddily and whispered, "I'm so horny right now."

"Fuck." He shook his head in dismay and raised Cletus to his shoulder as he entered the room.

The shrieker had finally dislodged the five-inch silver vibrator from his anus. He flipped it half-heartedly behind him as Moses took a full measure of the scene. His anus was wide-open and glaring at Moses before he sat back upright. The vibrator rolled from the bed and fell to the hardwood floor, buzzing obscenely and spinning itself in little circles a number of times before rolling with a humming purpose against the hollow cast-iron bedpost. It then held firm to the iron, clamoring like an alarm clock that rumbled up the metal post.

Curio laughed at the sight of it running in circles. "Run, Forrest, ruuunnn!"

"Man, I could have gone my whole life without that mental image and died a happy man." He kicked the vibrator away from the post. "Sorry we seemed to caught you two at a bad time." There was something familiar about the leather mask on the man's face. Moses could not quite make out what. With the shaking redneck naked on his knees unarmed and the other guy tied up, at least the threat was minimal.

"All rooms clear, Lisa?" Moses asked aloud, glaring at the masked man. He could see tears in the eyeholes.

"All except this last one. It was locked with a key."

Moses froze. He looked the prone man's body up and down. Mid-thirties, thick, muscular. Had a tattoo of the Guns n Roses emblem on his left bicep and a decent tattoo of Jailhouse Rock Elvis above his left tit. Uncircumcised.

The shrieker was young as well. Early twenties at most. Bony, probably so poor he couldn't get out of sight if it cost him a quarter to see the world. Shuddering violently from fear. Le femme in the relationship, obviously. Moses himself shuddered at the thought of them together before raising up the muzzle and firing a silenced round into the wall in front of him. Plaster erupted. The shrieker shrieked. Leatherboy contorted in his handcuffs.

"What's in the other room? The next bullet's going straight into zippermouth's ear if y'all lie to me." Moses aimed at the masked man. He mumbled wildly under the leather.

"Our other friend is in there, sir." The shrieker stammered.

Panic hit Moses Holliday immediately. His first thought, reflexively, was lessen the number of threats. Cursing Curio in his mind for fucking up the assault on the house, Moses shot the shrieker in the back of the head. A red film and gore sprayed against the wall as the body catapulted forward and tumbled to the floor.

Curio was sitting on her butt and whooped at the sight of the wall turning red as it breathed. The stains looked like fangs coming to consume her. "Woohoo! The horror, baby! The fuckin' horror! I'm still wet back here!"

Moses shook his head and shrugged his embarrassment about her to the bound man. Then he shot him through the left eye and shut the door.

The Chili Peppers kept singing. "Twinkle twinkle, lit-tle star, shining down on my blue car. Drivin' down the boulevard, she was soft and I was hard..."

Curio pounded on the wall behind her with her fist. "Hey! Asshole! You better come outta there right damn now. Me and my man need to use a phone or a car..." She trailed off, "Somethin'." Another thought struck her.

"Hey! Cocksmoker! Open uuuuup!" She knocked on the door wildly. "My man's in the Klan! They hate dem white queers more than dey hate dem blacks and Jews!"

Moses shook his head at her. He was not in the Klan.

Phone! Moses rushed over to the locked door, saw the broken key on the ground. If someone had a phone on the other side of the door, they were finished. Glaring in rage for just a millisecond at Curio, he raised his rifle and bellowed, "Hey asshole! You better open this goddamned door or I'm punching a hole in it and rolling a grenade in it with you! We done killed two in here. Three don't make no difference to a jury!"

Nothing happened. He could not hear a thing through the wooden door.

"Fuck it." He stitched a near-perfect half-moon with .223 bullets around the deadbolt and doorknob. Hot brass showered her. She giggled and dragged one up her thigh, savoring the heat on her skin.

"Tickly."

The magazine empty, he pulled her Luger and his own Army Colt .45 from his cargo pockets and kicked the door open.

"Git 'em, Tex!" Curio clapped her hands and knocked on the wall again. "You in some deep shit now, buddy boy." The thought of gay sex made her laugh and she spoke to the dead men on the other side of the closed door. "Deep shit!" She giggled again.

Moses charged into the room, pistols in each hand, looking around for anyone. There were no targets readily apparent.

What in the hell?

The room was a shrine to sexual deviancy. Walls and ceiling painted black. Posters featuring highly stylized depictions of people having all sorts of fetishes catered to adorned the wall. A promotional poster from Quiet Riot's Mental Health album was framed on a far wall. The manic eyes behind the metal mask peering intently from the picture.

The lone window was boarded in and painted over to match the black wall seamlessly, but Moses could faintly make out the outline of the frame beneath the paint. No one had left from the room unless there was a hatch in the closet or some kind of trap door, which he doubted existed. A red light bulb in the ceiling fixture casting everything in a bloody hue. Moses walked over to the tiny closet and cleared it. Fumbling for a Winston, he found his crushed pack in a front pocket, shook one out, and touched a Zippo to it. Smoke curling up from his fingers, he looked the room over.

A futon couch was pressed against the far wall but it was the only normal furniture in the room. As he stepped into the center of it, he could only marvel at the assortment of sexually-based equipment around him. The centerpiece of room was a stock and irons straight out of the Puritan era. Moses inspected it and it still worked, though he reckoned no one in the 1600's thought to drill a cock hole through the main leg of the contraption.

Mannequins were posed wearing all manner of fetish gear were posed in various surly positions. Someone bolted a set of bindings from the ceiling. One of the mannequins hung from it by its feet upside down, wearing a studded strap-on dildo. Another mannequin standing on the floor had its plastic balls deep in its plastic gullet. Various fetishistic articles of clothing and phallic contraptions hung from nails driven into the walls. There was some method to it, he noted. Almost an art exhibit effect to it.