Perigee

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TheHotJD
TheHotJD
45 Followers

Hunger twisted inside him, shoving sharp corners into his gut and reminding him of how much he also wanted a hot meal. He yearned to lose himself in another few hours of sleep, but before long his bladder joined his stomach's complaints, and he pulled himself out of bed. His legs ached and burned as he rose.

Afterwards, he stood on the cold tile of the bathroom, still half-expecting someone to leap from the shadows and attack him. He splashed icy water onto his face and regarded himself in the mirror. He still wore the hard look he had seen yesterday just after a long shower and a shave. His fingers rasped over the coarse hair on his face, drawing his gaze down to the tip of his chin and lower to his shoulders -- where he now observed what looked like a burn. The broad red rectangle stretched over his shoulder toward the center of his chest and responded with a deep ache, like a bruise, when he stroked it with his fingertips. He leaned over the sink, closer to the mirror, and discovered that the rectangle was actually three distinct stripes, so close together that they appeared to be a single mark. He stroked them and found that they corresponded almost perfectly to his own fingertips. Then his heart skipped a beat and he began to search for the other marks.

He found six in all, down his arms, across his chest, over his flat stomach, everywhere she had slid her hands over him. A deep furrow appeared between his brows. Apparently, the bracing shower from yesterday had scraped off that top layer of skin and left him vulnerable. He shook his head. It didn't make sense, but he had heard of weirder things. His stomach twisted, and he turned out the bathroom light.

In the doorway, he paused, listening for her. There was only silence for several seconds. He thought he heard something then, a wheeze, or something scraping. He did not think it was his strange benefactor. Thoughts of her wild shrieks and cries made his mouth curl in a smile.

A moment later, he descended the stairs, clad in a pair of jeans that draped from his angular hips. The stairs creaked beneath his bare feet as he made his way to the kitchen. The scratches on his back burned like a brand, and he reached for them awkwardly. They stung beneath his fingertips.

He opened the refrigerator, letting cold air wash over his bare torso. He was surprised to find it all but empty. His stomach grumbled in outrage.

A half-full package of ground beef, already opened, rested in the corner, next to a green bottle with a cork protruding from it. A carton of eggs was tucked away in the door, where his ex-wife had always told him never to put eggs. The remembered sound of her hectoring voice intruded on his thoughts. He reached for the ground beef and the wine and let the refrigerator door snap shut.

He tucked his fingers under the plastic and sniffed the air experimentally. The scent of last night's good hard fucking still clung to him, mingled with the subtle smell of soap, shampoo. The unused smell of the house persisted, dust mixed with just a hint of moisture. The coppery smell of blood rose from the Styrofoam tray, where his hand warmed the meat. He looked around the kitchen, which looked as if it had never been used -- a bone-dry sink, a stovetop so shiny he could see himself in it.

He popped the cork off the bottle with two fingers and raised the bottle to his lips. The wine slid down at a crawl, pooling in his stomach for a slow burn. He wondered if she even had pots and pans. Absently, he tucked two fingers into the beef and shoved a lump into his mouth. He rolled it around there, letting it melt just a bit, the taste of blood and fat filling him before he let it slip down his throat. He had stabbed the lump with his fingers again when he heard that sound. A wheeze. Then a few more. They made a soft, metallic sound in the stillness of the kitchen. He padded over toward it, sucking another ball of meat off his fingers as he did.

The door across from the kitchen wasn't quite closed. He stood with his ear pressed to the doorframe, careful to stand out of the doorway. The occasional wheeze he had heard earlier coalesced into a steady metallic squeaking. Well. That, he recognized.

He backed up into the kitchen, where he made a little more noise than necessary in the effort to find a pan to fry the beef. Before long, there was nothing else in his world but the sound and smell of frying meat and eggs, the soft burn of red wine on an empty stomach.

When he woke up the next time, it was very dark again. The sound of the slamming door awakened him. He hoped it was her going to the grocery store. Most of the beef and three eggs had taken the edge off, but his stomach still twisted with hunger. Needing to move, he swung his legs down from the bed.

At the foot of the stairs again, he stopped. Long, wheezing breaths. Nick peered through the partially open doorway at a welter of blankets on the bed in the corner. Something glittered along one of the legs of the bed. He nudged the door open with his foot, emitting a loud creak. The blankets in the corner shifted and leapt, and he heard a jingling rattle at the foot of the bed. A man's head jerked out of the pile of blankets, a shock of white, sleep-mussed hair standing out in the darkness. As the man scuttled to the head of the bed, Nick could see that the shiny thing at the foot of the bed was a chain.

The room was chilly, despite the hollow hum of a battered electric heater in the corner. He could smell sex here, too, but underneath it, the street's unwashed smell -- sweat, urine, alcohol -- and something more. Something familiar.

"Who's that?" asked a reedy voice.

Nick entered the room, his hulking shadow falling over the bed. White hands, spindly and skeletal, flew up from the darkness.

"Who is it? P-please!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Nick.

The man in the bed cowered further into the corner, the whole bed shivering with him. Moving as slowly as he could, holding his hands in front of him, as if trying to steady an animal, Nick continued to approach.

"She send you? She send you to finish it?"

Nick straightened.

"No, man. I'm not going to kill you."

The old man made a derisive snort that degenerated into a hacking cough. Nick crouched down near the bed.

The face that looked back at him was transfigured by fear. The sunken eyes were bright blue, wide with fear. Hollow cheeks stood out beneath white bristles. Pallor leached the life from tough, leathery skin. But something about those drawn features was familiar.

"Nicky?" asked the wheezing voice.

"Holy Christ. Wayne, I've been looking for you."

"She got you, too?"

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"I don't know." He began to cry, huge sobs racking his body. Nick looked at the floor. Wayne began to catch his breath, his face glistening with tears. "She's doing it somehow. She fuck you yet?"

Nick looked away at the open door.

"Sleep through the day afterwards?"

"I don't know."

Wayne began to cough again. "That's what she does. Tomorrow or the next day, she'll put the chain on you, but she doesn't need it. You'll get more and more tired...but you won't be able to stop." He lifted the blanket away from his ankle, skin and bones surrounded by a bright silver cuff. In the dark, Nick could make out a slender stripe of purple where the metal had bruised him and a criss-crossed mass of little red stripes, some bright and angry and others fading to pink, running up and down the drawn skin.

"How long have you been here?"

"Fuck, I don't know! How long have you been looking?"

Nick's heart sank. In the two weeks Nick had been looking for his friend, Wayne seemed to have aged thirty years.

"I'm getting you out of here," he said.

A mirthless laugh burst from him. "And go where? You gonna take me to a fuckin' hospital?" He shook his head as the laughter decayed into hacking coughs. "We can't go now anyway; she'll be back in a minute."

"I am getting you out of here," Nick said.

"Not tonight. Tomorrow she'll probably go out again. Then we'll be ready."

Nick nodded. "First thing tomorrow." He rose and turned for the door.

"Thanks for coming for me, Nicky," Wayne said, his voice almost inaudible.

Nick turned back toward his friend and managed a smile for the emaciated man chained to the bed. "First thing tomorrow."

Later that night, Nick sat in bed, his back against the hard metal frame. The spartan room filled with shifting shadows as the wind stroked the trees outside. He had heard her come back in and waited for the sound of her footsteps coming up the stairs but heard only soft movement from below. More notable was what he did not hear. He did not hear his friend, or the heavier step of another man. His skin prickled as the hair on the back of his neck rose. He strained his senses to the max, until his ears rang with the absence of sound.

And then he heard it, an eerie wail drifting toward him from far away. Not quite like the raw sound of delight that came from her when she was stuffed full of his dick, but similar to it.

He turned over again, trying to force himself back to sleep. With all its faults, the nest of rusted springs he lay on still felt pretty good. And he had to admit, he didn't really want to think of that unearthly siren riding the worn-out form that was Wayne. Nick knew he could walk out right now. If what Wayne was saying was true, and it made a lot of sense in a very twisted and paranoid way, he probably should leave. But it meant leaving a bed. And food. And the best sex he had had in his life.

And if he walked out right now, he'd have to abandon Wayne. Yes. That was why he had to stay here for now.

That wailing rose up to him again, a long wave of sound that made the blood pool low in his belly, making his cock pulse and swell. His hips shifted as he tried to shut out the sound. The whisper of linen against his groin brought him slowly erect, with exquisite pain. The need to fuck rose up in him, crowding out reason and instinct until only mindless appetite remained.

In the dark, he made his way down the stairs, all but silent on the balls of broad feet. The air was cool on his skin as he went down the stairs. As the darkness there seemed to swallow him whole, the sounds he heard grew louder, swelling in his ears. The wailing was unmistakably female, making his hard-on pulse with each step he took. Something about this almost animal moaning and grunting compelled him, as powerful as a mating call.

The door to the room was ajar, and Nick stood boldly in the doorway, his shadow sweeping across the room.

The spectacle before him was obscene. Nick saw her long legs cradling the bony husk of Wayne's body as he heaved and jolted into her. His breathing was a deep, labored wheeze, dragged from the base of his lungs. Her arms wound around him, shapely and white in the light from the street lamp. Her voice spiraled up and up beneath the frail sound of Wayne's wheezing gasps. Her hands stroked Wayne's sunken, skeletal back as she laughed, making a throaty, utterly sexual sound. She began to speak then, almost to herself. It was a chant, a prayer, a magic spell. She repeated it over and over, that husky laugh separating each repetition.

The muscles of Nick's jaw leapt beneath taut skin as he watched. The shattered remnants of his conscience, his decent mind, knew he should rush to defend his friend. He knew he should try to protect Wayne, perhaps protect the both of them by killing this strange woman. But those thoughts were far, far away, and his only thoughts now involved the satisfaction of his wild sexual craving. The only thing Nick saw from the doorway was that a rival was mounting his woman.

He could make out her form, rounded and lush and enticing beneath this wasted wreck of a man. Heat suffused Nick, and his big cock twitched, aching. She let up a long moan, and her hands reached down, grabbing Wayne's ass and shoving him into her. She brought her hips up to meet his then, grunting and squealing in concert with his gasping wheezes.

"More!" she shrieked. "More!"

Wayne went on fucking her, his frame bucking spasmodically on top of her, as Nick watched. Wayne began to shudder and lurch on top of her. His breath was a choked rattle, lost in his throat.

"More!" she screamed. The sound made Nick's balls stir, ready for her. Without tearing his eyes away, he reached down to stroke his cock. He squeezed the thick shaft until it wept with need.

Finally, Wayne went rigid. A feeble cry erupted from him. A shudder ran through that shell of a body as he made a gagging sound. His head jerked backward suddenly, and a long moan trailed out of his mouth. He jerked forward one last time and then collapsed on her. Her lush limbs wound around Wayne's body, but he was still. He never moved again, even as her hands stroked the bony ridge of his spine, the ribs that stood out in the light. He was dead. She was caressing his corpse and moaning with unearthly pleasure.

All at once, she lifted her head from the pillow, looking over Wayne's shoulder at Nick. Her eyes were aglow with that inhuman amber light, and he was transfixed again, just as he had been on the mall. Her tongue slowly slid over her lips, and another throaty laugh issued from deep within her. She opened her legs, releasing her prey, and she slid her hands onto Wayne's shoulders and chest. With a lustful grunt, she pushed the corpse off her. It struck the wooden floor with a loud thud.

She sat up in the bed then, her legs still spread, and beckoned to Nick again, just as she had on the mall. He was still powerless to resist. He began to cross the room, heat building within him with every step. With every curl of her fingers, Nick's cock swelled and pulsed. He stood at the bedside next to her, looking into those amber eyes. Still staring at him, she reached for his balls, taking them into her hand as if appraising their size and weight. Her touch was like fire, making his cock leap as he stepped over Wayne, entering the embrace of her soft, warm thighs.

He shoved his huge dick into her slippery cunt, so hard he drove the breath from her with the force of it. Her hands grabbed his ass with a smack and held on as he rode her, wanting to fuck her so hard she would taste his cum in the back of her throat. Her pussy was still as tight and hot as before, scorching hot against his dick, driving him to fuck her harder, plowing into her. She began to stroke him again, her palms and fingers leaving traces of heat on his skin. The scratches on his back sang, and she began to chuckle, moaning hungrily.

"Yes," she moaned.

With a growl, he seized her hands, snatching one and then the other before slamming them down onto the thin blanket. He pounded into her, once, twice, filling her, driving deep into the tight heat of her sex. She spread her thighs a little wider, making herself even tighter, and the glorious pressure on his shaft made him suck breath through his teeth on a fierce hiss.

He exploded inside her, his climax so sublime it made circles of darkness dance before his eyes. His body shuddered and jolted inside her, but he felt dizzy and lightheaded. His head swam, and he felt himself falling toward the bed, which suddenly felt very far away.

He came to in the dark, alone in the bed. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Wayne's corpse, staring up sightlessly at the ceiling, his face frozen in a horrible grimace. Nick looked down at his own hand, willing it to move so that he could push himself off the bed. It reminded him of the winter he caught the flu. He could feel deep, achy pain settle in his bones, weighing down his limbs. He closed his burning eyes again, unable to hold them open.

The next time he woke up, his dry mouth tasted foul as he blinked into afternoon sunlight. He turned to look along the side of the bed, where the body still lay, and he tried to turn quickly away, creating a chorus of popping, cracking noises from his neck. He should move. Or do something.

Soon. Soon. His eyes watered with the strain of keeping them open.

He thought his eyes were only closed for a moment, but all at once, he found himself blinking in the darkness again. Faint light came in through the still-open door, and he could see Wayne's limbs locked in place. Nick forced himself up to his elbows again, struggling to a sitting position in the bed.

Memories of what he had seen and done that night before began to rise to the surface of his mind like dead things floating to the top of murky water. He had stepped over his friend's dead body to fuck that stranger. Worse, he would have done anything she had told him to. His conscious mind had simply been switched off in favor of sheer, single-minded lust. He wasn't so different from most men; in other circumstances, he would admit, or even brag, that he wouldn't let anything get between him and some spectacular pussy. But he was shamed by this. And a little afraid. His body stung, and he knew it was criss-crossed with those little red stripes, and instead of revulsion, he felt a tingling shudder of arousal.

As if on cue, a shadow slid across the bed, and he knew it was her without having to look. His cock stirred between his legs, even as his stomach churned with revulsion. Against his will, Nick remembered that voice, the crushing heat of her cunt, and his erection swelled.

She seemed to float across the floor to the bed, neatly sidestepping the corpse. She reached for Nick's hard-on and stroked it, the feather-light touch sending pulses of heat through him. He lifted his hips, wanting more in spite of himself.

She took her hand away. His flesh went cold in its absence.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked.

"I need you." She put her hands on his chest, making his dick leap to attention. "Your strength."

"What happened to him?"

She chuckled, reaching for Nick's shaft. "It will not happen like that to you. For you, it will be good -- as long as you obey."

He moved eagerly toward her, the rich smell of crushed flowers enveloping him, chasing away the faint memory of brilliant pain behind his eyes. "You'll kill me, just like him."

"No." She deftly avoided the touch of his lips. "It will be good for you. Soon you will see." She slipped off the bed and pointed a long, elegant finger at the corpse on the floor. "But you must do as I tell you."

Slick, unwholesome sweat coated Nick's body by the time he got the corpse into the Volvo. It felt like a million years ago that he thought that normal people drove Volvos. He wanted to laugh, but a sad little ripple of breath was all he could manage.

He knew now that it was late at night; the streets were empty and they had the interstate to themselves. He could feel her eyes on him as he drove, probably wondering if he would fall asleep at the wheel. Or maybe she was making her plans for him, too. Figuring out how much longer he would last before she had to find a replacement for him.

She gave him directions as they drove, her long finger pointing at each turn she wanted. Before long, they were in the mountains, and Nick had to navigate with care, mindful of icy patches that were almost invisible in the dark. The road shrank down to a narrow gravel path, pitch black but for the sliver of light made by the Volvo's headlights. As he rounded a curve, a pair of deer bounded from the blackness on the right of the car, just in front of them. Their strides were sure and strong on the icy terrain, and he turned his head to watch them. His stomach turned over again, lurching before settling into a long growl. His eye fell on her, those eyes glowing in the darkness of the car like a cat's, and he had to force himself to pay attention to the road as the rear of the car slewed on the ice.

She pointed out the window at a lone tree, white and bare of leaves in the moonlight. The snow that surrounded it was pristine.

TheHotJD
TheHotJD
45 Followers