yummy grotesque

a sharp glass candleabra.

The bonnet, the heat from the engine seeping up, it felt good, it felt comfortable as he rested his face against it, arms out from his body, a sort of reverse crucifixion, nailed to the chrome. the rain…not even that…the light drizzle splattering down was of no consequence, would affect nothing in the long run, save for perhaps washing some of the dust away from the buildings.

He peered through the windshield. She was still in there, of course, unconscious in the back seat. He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do with her so he got back into the car, started the engine, pulled back onto the road. It was late, no other traffic around, and he drove for a while wondering what the hell. From time to time she would moan from the back seat, move a little, her stupid head lolling from one side to the next. He wondered why he had gone to all the trouble, going into the club, meeting her, offering to buy her a drink, sure, she said, get me a tequila sunrise, he spiked the drink, just on an impulse, he didn’t know why, didn’t consider it. He had watched her as she drank and, knowing he didn’t really have a choice in the matter, he had guided her outside, up along the street, into his car. She was out of it by then, totally paralysed, so he had to throw her into the back seat…her skull cracked against the door frame as she tumbled in, but she hadn’t responded to that, only now, an hour later, was she starting to come around.

So he drove on and that was it. Eventually he found himself in an unfamiliar neighborhood, and he considered dumping her there, just rolling the bitch out of the car and into the gutter and driving on, but he changed his mind, the rain was heavier now, perhaps that had something to do with his reasoning. So he drove back to his apartment, parked, got out, hoisted her out of the car, closed the door with his leg, carried her upstairs. After five minutes of fumbling for and with the door key he went in, dumped her on the couch, went to the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge. He opened the beer and drank it very slowly as he stood there and looked at her gradually come around. He rested his hand against the bench top and kept looking at her. Then he felt something tickling the skin of his hand. He looked down…the bench top was completely covered with ants, big ones, they ran around, the rain driving them from their cracks in the walls and floors and ceiling and onto his bench top where it was dry and warm. He brushed the little creatures from his hand, finished the beer, and got an idea.

Fifteen minutes later he had her on the floor, beneath the dining table, her limbs securely tied to the four legs of that table, her clothes in a heap on the couch, that had been the easy part, getting her clothes off. She was awake, barely, and mumbling incoherently. She wasn’t going anywhere. He took the honey and poured a trail of it from the bench to between her legs, and dumped a generous load of it on her vagina, opening her up with the fingers of one hand and letting it ooze inside her. He stood up, placed the jar of honey on the table, returned to the kitchen for another beer. He drank it and watched as the ants found the honey, their little antennae thrashing wildly, they had smelled it or whatever the fuck it is they do, and he got another beer, lit a cigarette, and went into the lounge. He turned on the television, watched the infomercials, this one was for a new type of frying pan that didn’t require the administration of a lubricating substance prior to cooking…it was quite interesting, really, these two people on TV, a man and a woman, getting excited over this new frying pan, the audience was there too, clapping and cheering, and after 20 minutes of this he nearly picked up the phone to order one, but he couldn’t afford that, he shouldn’t really even have his TV on, he owed the electricity company $130. They would cut off his power. He knew it.

Then he remembered the girl. Actually it was the scream that made him remember. He got up and went over to where she was. Sure enough, those ants knew what was good for them, they were crawling all over her cunt, sucking up that honey. He crouched down and looked at her face. She was awake, had stopped making noise, was just looking down at herself, at the ants as they bit her, and then she looked at him for a brief moment, and then back at the ants. Her eyes were glazed, her breath shallow and raspy, but she wasn’t crying or screaming or moaning, only that once, she was just there, looking.

He looked too. The ants were all over the place, they were really working at it. The honey was gone, but her vaginal secretions had driven them wild, they were scurrying about, biting, tearing…the fluid was leaking out and some of the ants were drowning in it, but the other, Christ, there were hundreds of them, thousands, the other ants were biting her labia, her flesh, some moved around inside and bit her there, but she wasn’t squirming, there was no response from her at all. He sat down and kept watching the ants, and wherever they bit her a tiny red mark would appear and begin to swell, and in some places they had broken through the skin and there was blood, tiny rivulets of it, and the blood mixed with her pussy juices and the ants swam in it, they were in a frenzy, driven completely mad. They crawled over her clit and began to bite at that, and her breathing came quicker, she flicked her tongue out over her lips, and he moved in and kissed her and the tongue was still there, it darted in and out of his mouth. He pulled away and looked back down…he brushed his hand lightly over her breasts and then moved it down her body, until he came to It, The Hive, and he pushed two fingers inside her and she began to moan, he moved the fingers in and out, rubbed her clit with his thumb, and the ants were still there, they were angry now, their personal space, their feast, had been intruded upon, and they bit harder and more frequently, injecting more venom, and soon her cunts was just a mass of tearing and blood and black, totally black with ants, and their sheer fury and force of numbers made him take his hand away. But she was moaning louder now, her stomach started to contract, her hips began to roll, the juice flowed out of there, Jesus, she was going to have a fucking orgasm, he was sure of it. He got up off the floor and quickly ran to fetch another beer, took it back and sat down and drank it as she began to thrash wildly, fuck, it was sick, perverse, this creature, this woman was totally insane, and finally she let out a long wail, her lower half bucked high in the air, her ass of the ground and the fluids dripping down into a crimson pool, and then she collapsed, panting, slathered with sweat, she began to get pale. He untied her hands and legs and the ants were still there, dozens had been scrunched when the muscles in her pussy had contracted at the point of orgasm, but they didn’t know this, they weren’t about sex, they weren’t about to give up, they would never stop until she was completely devoured, and she just lay there, chest heaving, the colour slowly draining away.

He got up again from the floor and moved back into the kitchen. He hunted around for what he needed, found it. He shook the can as he returned to the infestation, knelt down, aimed, and fired. Fast knockdown. That should to the trick.