XXIV. THE WEDDING NIGHT
.
OR THE MORNING AFTER
SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS
Kris The Cabbie & Holly The Ho Begin Married Life Together
(Part Twenty-Four; Part One is HERE.)
"So this is marriage," Kris said aloud. Oblivious, Holly slept on, warm and soft in his arms, smelling of girl and soap and more girl. He wanted to eat her, to devour her fresh young flesh, to consume her youth and her beauty. He licked her arm, tasting the sweet skin. Just a little bite, just one. He clamped his teeth over the flesh of her beautiful arm and bit down. The flesh resisted. It would only take a little more pressure to begin feeding.
Holly stirred in her sleep, deeply exhausted, unaware that she was prey in the den of a monster. Kris tightened his grip on her and luxuriated in the feeling of Holly's complete surrender. She was utterly vulnerable, totally helpless. He could do anything he wanted to her, absolutely anything. Her blood throbbed rhythmically through her veins, his teeth could feel the life in her. It was his for the taking. It was exquisite.
He would take his time with this one. He would not rip her apart in a mad frenzy. He would slowly, delicately savour her, every last drop of her, every wave of fear and bolt of pain, every last breath. He might take an hour, a day, a week or a month to finish her. She was too fine a delicacy to waste. For now, he would hold her, pinion her in his strong arms, watching her sleep.
He could keep her, like a young lamb, feeding her and fattening her, currying her and caressing her, cherishing her and delighting in her. Then, one Easter morning, he might slaughter her, stripping the gentle covering of her, gutting her and hanging her upside down to bleed out, washing himself in the blood of the lamb. Bit by savoury bit he would kiss and eat the very meat of her, until all of her was inside of him. The ultimate sacrifice to the demons of love and lust, hunger and desire. A wonderful dream!
Kris drifted off to sleep with his victim in his arms, snoring softly in his ear. He slept peacefully as a ravenous wolf, content in the dreams of his kills. Holly would be his greatest triumph, his work of art, his masterpiece of barbarity and horror. The evil gods would have to recognize him then, make him one of their own. Then no delicious young human female would ever be safe again, until the end of time.
Tens, hundreds, thousands of Holly's awaited him in his dream, spread out against an endless plain like the fleshly rewards of a mad martyr, virgins dedicated to a holy monster by an evil Almighty. They would surround him and caress him until he felt himself exploding like a terrorist on a busload of children. Aaaaahhhhhaaaaaahhh!!!
Kris awoke to find himself humping Holly's pillow, which was now all sticky and wet. He tossed it on the floor and fell back asleep, dreaming more terrible dreams. He slept on well into the night, then opened his eyes to darkness. He felt around the bed, not finding Holly. Had he dreamt her? Had he dreamed up all of the last few days? Did Holly even exist?
There were sheets on his bed. He'd never had any sheets. There on the floor was a pillow in a pillowcase. He didn't own a pillow. The bathroom door was closed but the light was on inside. Kris got out of bed, just a mattress on the floor, and lurched towards the bathroom door. He knocked on it. "Holly?" No answer. He opened the door. The shower was wet and smelled of fruity soap. The towel was wet. No Holly.
Kris pulled on his boxer shorts and jeans, sox and T-shirt. He went into the living room and turned on the light. No Holly. Her boxes were gone. So were the keys to his cab. He got his spare keys from a drawer, slipped on his shoes and went outside. No Holly. He locked the apartment door behind him and went downstairs. No Holly.
Kris went into the carport beneath the building. His car was gone. In it were his secret strongboxes, and their contents, just dug up the night before. He walked out into the street and looked up and down the block. No Holly.
The little whore had stolen his cab, along with his secret.
[ PART TWENTY-FIVE TOMORROW copyright 2008 Cosa Nostradamus.]
.
.
IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM YOUR BLOGGERS:
SUPPORT OUR TROOPS: BRING THEM ALL HOME ALIVE, NOW!
OR THE MORNING AFTER
SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS
Kris The Cabbie & Holly The Ho Begin Married Life Together
(Part Twenty-Four; Part One is HERE.)
"So this is marriage," Kris said aloud. Oblivious, Holly slept on, warm and soft in his arms, smelling of girl and soap and more girl. He wanted to eat her, to devour her fresh young flesh, to consume her youth and her beauty. He licked her arm, tasting the sweet skin. Just a little bite, just one. He clamped his teeth over the flesh of her beautiful arm and bit down. The flesh resisted. It would only take a little more pressure to begin feeding.
Holly stirred in her sleep, deeply exhausted, unaware that she was prey in the den of a monster. Kris tightened his grip on her and luxuriated in the feeling of Holly's complete surrender. She was utterly vulnerable, totally helpless. He could do anything he wanted to her, absolutely anything. Her blood throbbed rhythmically through her veins, his teeth could feel the life in her. It was his for the taking. It was exquisite.
He would take his time with this one. He would not rip her apart in a mad frenzy. He would slowly, delicately savour her, every last drop of her, every wave of fear and bolt of pain, every last breath. He might take an hour, a day, a week or a month to finish her. She was too fine a delicacy to waste. For now, he would hold her, pinion her in his strong arms, watching her sleep.
He could keep her, like a young lamb, feeding her and fattening her, currying her and caressing her, cherishing her and delighting in her. Then, one Easter morning, he might slaughter her, stripping the gentle covering of her, gutting her and hanging her upside down to bleed out, washing himself in the blood of the lamb. Bit by savoury bit he would kiss and eat the very meat of her, until all of her was inside of him. The ultimate sacrifice to the demons of love and lust, hunger and desire. A wonderful dream!
Kris drifted off to sleep with his victim in his arms, snoring softly in his ear. He slept peacefully as a ravenous wolf, content in the dreams of his kills. Holly would be his greatest triumph, his work of art, his masterpiece of barbarity and horror. The evil gods would have to recognize him then, make him one of their own. Then no delicious young human female would ever be safe again, until the end of time.
Tens, hundreds, thousands of Holly's awaited him in his dream, spread out against an endless plain like the fleshly rewards of a mad martyr, virgins dedicated to a holy monster by an evil Almighty. They would surround him and caress him until he felt himself exploding like a terrorist on a busload of children. Aaaaahhhhhaaaaaahhh!!!
Kris awoke to find himself humping Holly's pillow, which was now all sticky and wet. He tossed it on the floor and fell back asleep, dreaming more terrible dreams. He slept on well into the night, then opened his eyes to darkness. He felt around the bed, not finding Holly. Had he dreamt her? Had he dreamed up all of the last few days? Did Holly even exist?
There were sheets on his bed. He'd never had any sheets. There on the floor was a pillow in a pillowcase. He didn't own a pillow. The bathroom door was closed but the light was on inside. Kris got out of bed, just a mattress on the floor, and lurched towards the bathroom door. He knocked on it. "Holly?" No answer. He opened the door. The shower was wet and smelled of fruity soap. The towel was wet. No Holly.
Kris pulled on his boxer shorts and jeans, sox and T-shirt. He went into the living room and turned on the light. No Holly. Her boxes were gone. So were the keys to his cab. He got his spare keys from a drawer, slipped on his shoes and went outside. No Holly. He locked the apartment door behind him and went downstairs. No Holly.
Kris went into the carport beneath the building. His car was gone. In it were his secret strongboxes, and their contents, just dug up the night before. He walked out into the street and looked up and down the block. No Holly.
The little whore had stolen his cab, along with his secret.
[ PART TWENTY-FIVE TOMORROW copyright 2008 Cosa Nostradamus.]
.
.
Labels: addict, blues, Chinatown, christmas, cocaine, crack, downtown, driver, hawaii, ho, holiday, Honolulu, prostitute, story, street, taxi, underage, Waikiki, whore, Xmas
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posted by Cosa Nostradamus @ 1/16/2009 12:02:00 AM
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2 Comments:
I guess it's true, when you don't know someone well, it's best to sleep with one eye open, or not sleep at all. That strongbox is worrying me! Good chapter, Cosa!
.
Or keep a pistol under your pillow.
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