Sacrifice (16 page)

“Sheila,” Ariana said, bringing her face down close to the woman’s cheek, still sucking and releasing the persis tent erection of Paul. “I want you to listen to me. I know you’re enjoying that lovely piece of meat there; it’s really a sweet piece. But Jeremy and I have discussed this already, and what I’m about to say is what you’re going to do. If you try to get out of this without doing it, I’m going to slit your throat. And believe me, I don’t have a problem with that. But I don’t think you want me to do that.”

Sheila shook her head as Paul’s cock bobbed against the side of her cheek.

“Sheila,” Ariana said. “I want you to bite Paul’s cock off.”

The woman’s eyes went wide, and Paul began to struggle beneath Jeremy when he heard the direction.

Jeremy pushed the barrel of the gun harder against the soft skin beneath Paul’s chin and cautioned, “That will hurt a lot less than this.”

“Be quick and bite hard,” Ariana suggested. “It will hurt you both less.”

Sheila began to pull back from holding Paul’s dick in her mouth and Ariana pressed the knife against her throat. Blood began to flow freely against the blade, dripping on Paul’s thigh.

“Do it now,” she said, and her voice didn’t leave room for argument. “I’m not fuckin’ joking.”

Sheila looked wildly from Ariana’s cold eyes to Jeremy’s back.

“
Now,
Sheila,” Ariana demanded. Her voice was steely as a bear trap.

Sheila closed her eyes, and brought her jaws together as hard as she could. There was resistance, but not as much as she feared. And then her mouth was flooded with the warm taste of iron and she drew back, spitting and gagging at the giant disengaged dick stuck between her teeth and her epiglottis.

Paul screamed, and Jeremy fell on him, holding him down, covering his cries with his chest.

“Nice,” Ariana praised, as a jet of blood spurted from the man’s crotch to dot both hers and Sheila’s faces. The other woman opened her eyes wide at the sight of her bloodied boyfriend and gagged, spitting out both the rubbery shaft of his dick and a burst of vomit on the bed.

“A gag would be good,” Ariana advised, and Jeremy hopped off the bed to pull a pair of nylons from his wife’s dresser. He wrapped them around Paul’s face until the man’s cries had subsided to low gasps. Despite his height and girth, without his penis, Paul shrank to the size of a large child, curling into a wounded fetal position and crying softly to himself.

“Jeremy,” Ariana said. “You were right. Your wife really is a cock eater. You wanna last taste of her before we go?”

Jeremy smiled.

“I think maybe I will. It’s been awhile, after all.”

“Think you can handle it, with her legs tied together and all?”

“She’s wide as a train tunnel, obviously,” Jeremy said, leaving his guard of Paul and unhitching his belt. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Want me to hold her down for you?” Ariana asked, and Jeremy nodded. “Thanks, that’d be nice.”

Ariana dragged Sheila by her hair away from the pile of vomit and bleeding cock on the bedspread, and then pushed her down on the bed with a hand on her forehead. Then she sat on the woman’s neck.

“Enjoy it if you can,” she advised, and then Jeremy was forming a fleshy human triangle with her, holding Ariana’s shoulders as he thrust himself between the tight thighs of his wife and into her hidden caverns, still slippery with her previous exertions.

“It might be awhile before you feel anything like this again,” he said, hugging Ariana’s latex tighter and tighter with his increasing rhythm, until with a gasp, he came inside his wife, one last time.

Ariana slid off the woman and stood beside the bed. “Care for a souvenir?”

Sheila looked dazed and unmoving, while Paul was rocking slowly, curled in a pathetic C at the far edge of the king-size mattress.

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed. “Something to remember her by.”

Ariana reached out and tweaked one of Sheila’s broad nipples between a black-clad thumb and forefinger.

“You liked these, right?”

He nodded. “Definitely suckable.”

She flicked her arm around and with a lightning flash of silver, severed the stretched nipple with her knife, tossing the rubbery, bloodied pink tip to him.

“Enjoy,” she said. Sheila screamed and thrashed on the bed.

“Try the other one yourself,” Jeremy advised, holding his wife by the hair. “They’re probably better when attached.”

“I’ve never sucked tit before,” Ariana said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Never a better time than the present…”

“True,” she agreed, and lowered her face to Sheila’s bounteous still-whole left breast, getting her cheek smeared with blood in the process from the woman’s bloodied right.

Ariana sucked at the nipple, marveling at how it grew harder and more defined in her mouth. And when it got to the point where it felt almost solid—gummy chewy between her teeth—she bit down. Hard.

Ariana pulled back from the woman flopping up and down against the mattress and spit the rosy nipple out onto Sheila’s spastically bucking belly.

“Yeah,” she said, “they’re better attached. You wanna shut her up?”

Jeremy retrieved another set of nylons and gagged his wife, who bit and thrashed as he tied the material around her neck.

“I never used to be mean,” he whispered in her ear, “before I met you.”

“Okay, enough fun. I need to say the words,” Ariana said, leaving the bed. “Cover them.”

Jeremy held the gun on the two, but the threat wasn’t needed. Hog-tied and bleeding from their most private places, neither Paul nor Sheila were trying to escape. Instead, they each had curled into balls and seemed to be hiding their faces, hoping their captors would just go away.

Ariana reached into the pack she’d carried and extracted 16 bones and 21 pebbles and placed them in a circle. Then she knelt in the middle of the floor by the bed and murmured something that sounded to Jeremy like church. Latin maybe. Every now and then he thought he heard her say “Curburide.”

When she rose, the blade glinted evilly.

“It’s time,” she announced. She walked to the side of the bed, and put the blade against Paul’s throat. He looked up finally, eyes stretching to leave his face, disbelief coloring the wrinkles around the nylon that stuffed his mouth.

“You should have stuck to women who were really available,” she said, and slid the blade along the side of his throat. The skin was white as the knife slid away from it, and then it changed to a thin red line.

And then it was an angry, weeping red line.

And then she slid the blade like a credit card across the front of his neck and blood began to fountain across the bed.

Even through the gag, Sheila’s screams of rage were very audible, and Ariana turned to the struggling woman and grinned.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get to you next.”

Paul began to shiver and tried to roll off the bed, but Ariana stopped him, plunging the blade straight into his chest.

“Sometimes the way to a man’s heart is through his ribs,” she advised the observing Sheila, who cried even louder.

“And sometimes,” she continued, moving the knife to a point just above the hair of his groin, “it’s through his stomach.”

Ariana pushed the knife in deep, and drew it upwards, following the line of oily black hair from his crotch to his sternum. When she was finished, she dropped the blade to the ground and reached into Paul’s opened gut with both hands, and withdrew the pink and crimson rope of his intestines for Sheila to see.

Her fingers and wrists were slicked with gore, and Jeremy looked away.

“It all comes down to this,” Ariana warned. She pulled the intestines out of his body, one curl at a time, giving a hard yank when the last bit remained stubbornly connected.

When she had it all out, Ariana draped his guts around his head in a halo, and then reached up inside him, through the rib cage, to yank down his heart using only her fingers and nails.

She came back with a bloody organ, and held it out for Sheila to see.

“Care for a kiss?” she asked. “His heart is yours if you want it.”

Sheila screamed again, and tears flooded her face like a rainstorm. Ariana placed the organ between the fresh corpse’s legs, and then went back to pull out more bits and pieces. She arranged each organ in a circle around Paul’s dead body.

At last, Ariana reached into the pile of red and yellow vomit on the bed, and fished out the white slug of Paul’s penis. Removing his gag and prying open his mouth, she looked into his unblinking blue eyes and cautioned, “This isn’t going to taste good.”

Then she pushed his severed cock into his mouth.

“Curburide,” she intoned, “I call thee. Take this sacrifice to your beds and soil him as you wish. This is my offering. This is my gift.”

She slid away from the body, bent down to pick something off the floor and walked around to the other side of the bed where Jeremy still waited, guarding Sheila. Once there, she handed Jeremy the knife. He discarded the toy gun without blinking.

“Your turn,” she announced. “Your beautiful wife needs some attention.”

Jeremy fingered the blade and held it close to his wife’s face. Blood oozed down from the haft across his fingers, and he smeared it across her cheek and forehead, in a cruel pantomime of cleaning the blade. Her eyes grew so wide, they looked ready to pop. “You treated me like shit for way too long, baby,” he announced. The tip of the steel slid to her throat.

Sheila begged for mercy through the thin restraint of the gag. He couldn’t quite understand anything except the word “please.”

“You made your bed,” he declared, holding the knife to her throat, and brushing the coppery hair away with his hand, delicately, like a lover.

“Now die in it,” he said through gritted teeth, and jabbed the knife in a hard, vicious thrust.

Her screams broke through the gag, but quickly died in a gagging bubble of air.

“That’s it,” Ariana coached.

Jeremy’s hands were buried in his wife’s belly, and he pulled foot by foot of knobby, gnarly strands of fist-thick intestine out of her. His hands slipped on the grisly rope, but he pulled it out anyway, hand over hand, until the last piece clung stubbornly to her insides.

“Here,” Ariana said, and flicked the knife across the last stubborn bit of gut.

“Now arrange them in a circle around her head. And then the heart between her legs, and the other organs around her arms. It’s the pneumatic circle; a powerful statement of intent. When you’re done, we’ll kneel and say the words together.”

Jeremy felt his stomach go queasy as the stench of blood and feces filled the room, and he saw his wife’s blood coating his arms. She’d been a bitch, but he’d never in his wildest dreams thought of reaching up through her still-warm ribs to pull out her heart.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“Later,” Ariana answered. “I promise.”

At last, the circles were complete. Both bodies, side by side, lay disemboweled, their organs decorating the bed like crimson stars. His wife and her lover were surrounded by the bloody constellations of their past.

“Repeat after me,” Ariana insisted, and he knelt at the foot of the bed, side by side with her.

“I have tasted the sweetness of the vine,” she said.

“I have tasted the sweetness of the vine,” he answered.

“I have severed its sugar with my bile.”

“I have severed its sugar with my bile.”

“I have pledged my love to you, Curburide,” she said.

“I have pledged my love to you, Curburide,” he echoed.

“And my body is yours to ride.”

“And my body is yours to ride.”

The prayer went on, offering service and bloodshed for the demonic spirits, if they would only manifest and aid the Callers in their daily quests. Jeremy felt a strange lassitude come over him as they spoke the words, and the blood and gore receded until he felt only the urgent pressure of his engorged cock. It was as if they had slipped into a pornographic dreamworld where the slaughterhouse was erotic, and consummation the prize for perversion. Jeremy felt strangely distant…possessed. The room seemed to whisper around them with sibilant calls to rut.

At the end of the ritual, Ariana bowed her head, and looked up with wickedness in her eye.

“Are you horny?” she asked.

“Um, I’m covered in my wife’s blood, and the room stinks like a slaughterhouse,” he answered. “But I want to fuck.”

“Exactly,” she said, standing up and stripping off the rest of the catsuit. She grimaced in pain as she bent to peel off the long black boots.

“I’ve never had a partner, so I’ve never gotten to fuck right after. But it always makes me so wet. It’s like…I’ve done a good job, ridding the world of another idiot, and orgasm is my reward. Can you feel them?”

“Feel who?”

“The Curburide. They’re all around us. I can feel them.” She rubbed a hand across her groin, and then pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger. “I can almost taste them,” she whispered. “They accept our sacrifice.”

She lay down between the two bodies, her back crushing the flesh of two human kidneys and a liver.

“Mmmm,” she said. “A bed of true love.”

Jeremy shook his head and pulled his shirt off. The room pulsed warm and cold, and a breeze seemed to slip between his legs, urging him forward to take the woman covered in the blood of his wife. The Curburide
were
here. He could feel it. He understood now why she wanted them to come through the door. All the way through. God would they fuck.

“You’re a sick bitch, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, holding her arms out to him. “Fuck me in the same bed as your wife and her dead lover. And do it good.”

Jeremy released his belt and slipped off his underwear, surprised at how hard his cock was. He looked at the raw and bleeding breasts and opened bloody belly of his wife, and the even more gore-streaked remains of Paul. Perversely, his desire rose. Stroking his cock with a blood-slicked hand, he put a knee up on the bed, and crawled forward to meet his new love.

“Whatever you command, mistress,” he said, and pushed his cock into the hot wetness of her. She was excited. More than excited. She was oozing as if she’d already been used.