Friday, June 18, 2010

Orange Candy


Sanitarium in Dripping Springs

“How many hands does it take to pull the wings off a fly?” I looked at him with confusion and apprehension, barely able to shake my head wrapped in the ties he’d bound me with. He leaned in close his greasy face inches from mine. The knife in his hand felt cold and ominous against my skin. “I say two, one to hold the beastie down and one to do the plucking.”

I wanted to argue to kick or scream or something, but it was impossible trussed up like this, with a gag in my mouth. In movies I always wondered why the victim didn’t push the gag out with her tongue. But he’d wedged it in so tight that the skin of my lips cracked from the strain. Maybe I’d have given better head if I’d been able to stretch my mouth like this before.

It made me sad to think that I’d never give head again…or worse…that I’d have to suck on his repulsive prick. Please God, I prayed, don’t let that be the last thing I taste. It’s a crazy thing to think when you’re about to die, but fuck it, it’s my death scene.

I remembered Gary. He tasted like orange cream candy…mmmmm….Too bad he liked to share his candy with all the girls. I thought of opportunities missed, of the sex I could have had, of the lollipops I could have licked. But I declined cuz that’s what good girls do. What good has being good ever done me?

He paced the cabin. I still don’t see how he broke in here, let alone drug my limp body up the decayed incline. I should have known better than to go hiking alone. The world isn’t as innocent as it used to be. It seemed a great idea though…initially.

He pulled my hair back and licked my neck. I choked on bile. He shoved me away. I lay there flat and listless unable to right myself. They kept the Lepers here—way back when. I lay on the floor the Lepers laid on. There was something symbolic about that, but I couldn’t reason what.

He looked out the window and I realized that he was waiting for someone. I thought about his words. …two hands…one to hold the beastie…one to pluck its wings. Am I the beastie? I squirmed trying to sit up, succeeding only in kicking dust in my face.

“Knock it off, girlie. You ain’t goin’ nowheres.” I stopped and looked at him. I wished again that I could talk. The things I’d say to him…disgusting twit! I relished the heat of anger. I savored it as it curled in my tummy and licked along my skin. I felt that I’d need anger to get through this.

I heard the crunch of stones outside. Fear raced, warring with anger. My kidnapper opened the door and a small man walked in. He wasn’t much bigger than my 5’ frame. He came over to me, pulled me upright and stroked my cheek as he brushed my hair over my shoulder. “How are you this lovely evening?” His voice flowed like honey. How am I? Is he serious? How does he think I am hog-tied and kidnapped up in the Organ Mountains? Idiot! I glared at him and he…smiled.

“Ooooh. A feisty one!” He seemed genuinely pleased and turned to the grease-ball, “Well done Carl. I like the feisty ones. You feel their fire fade so much more intensely than the meek ones. Well done.” I looked at the wooden planks of the floor feeling my confidence fall as they congratulated themselves. How many times had they done this before?

I had to think fast if I wanted to get out of this—I needed to focus. My mind kept going back to sex and boys and all the things I’d never done. It was non-productive. I should’ve tried anal. Stop it! I shouted at myself, pay attention stupid girl. I watched them huddle at the far end; they spoke in hushed tones, deciding how to kill me.

There were two pieces of furniture in the cabin--an old wooden table next to me and a steam trunk across from me. It was the sort of thing a ventriloquist would use while playing Vaudeville. I looked at the stamps all over it, wishing I could read all of the places the trunk had been. Undoubtedly it had seen more places than I ever would.

They stopped talking and came over to the steam trunk. Greaseball pulled crisp white linen from it and laid it over the top of the trunk. The little freak opened a bag that I’d somehow missed and started lining up shiny metal objects on the linen. He held one up and looked at it lovingly. He turned to me and showed it to me. It looked like some kind of dental saw. It was immaculate, shining silver in the dim light.

I cringed.

He smiled and stroked my cheek again.

He went back to setting up his workstation and my mind began to reel. I looked at them—no longer seeing them. I thought of happier times. I imagined warm sunlight on tanned skin and laughter. I dreamt of orange candy bursting in my mouth.

My daydream was broken by the freak turning my chin up to him. “Such a pretty girl.” He smiled again and pulled the gag out of my mouth. I worked my jaw and sighed with relief. “That’s better isn’t it?” I looked at him and spat, “They’ll find me, and they’ll catch you, and I will see your ass in hell.”

He chuckled—a most sickening sound. “Maybe so, maybe so.” He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “But not today. Not before we’ve had our fun.” He kissed my cheek and straightened himself. I looked at him with hatred. He liked it. “Oh, that’s good. It makes me hard when you shoot daggers from your eyes.”

I snarled at him, “Fuck you!” He laughed and Greaseball joined in. “All in good time, Precious.” His ands went to his zipper and he freed his erection. “See how stiff you’ve made me? Let’s see if your pretty mouth is as hot as your words.”

I almost fought him. I started to turn away. But he’d get off on the struggle. I decided that if he was going to do this I’d make it as miserable for him as possible. I opened my mouth like an obedient child. Disappointment flickered in his eyes, but he pushed his organ past my lips anyway. I stroked him once…twice…I licked his repulsive shaft.

I heard him moan, heard Greaseball unzip his pants and starting beating himself. I give him one more taste of pleasure and then I bit as hard as I could and ripped his organ with my teeth. I yanked my head to the side with lightening speed. It didn’t separate completely, just squirted blood and hung like limp hamburger. He screamed—had been screaming for a minute. He doubled over and tried to blot the blood.

Greaseball ran to aid him and became enraged at the carnage. He stomped over to me, the veins in his neck popping. “You bitch!” He raised his beefy paw and cracked me across the face.

I saw a bright white light and then darkness.



**This story was inspired by a hike I took on my Birthday, last Saturday, to Dripping Springs in the Organ Mountains. It was an awesome hike, but the photo of the Sanitarium shows why it was also a little eerie. Some happier photos:

A flowering cactus, can't remember the name and the ruins of a ranch...I think...or hotel...or something. It was cool. Lol.

1 comment:

  1. This isn't properly edited, sorry for any errors. I'm sure there's many, lol.

    ReplyDelete