Good evening readers! Thank you for joining me as we begin the Wicked Wednesdays with Tess series.
This is a deliciously sinful yarn spun by the intriguing erotica writer, Eon. I hope you enjoy it as much I do.
Make sure you check out his blog: http://www.eonserotica.wordpress.com
Wrong Way In
Jessica smiled at my offer.
“Really? You would do that?”
She stood on her tip-toes to kiss my cheek. Her small warm hand squeezed my bicep. Feeling my muscles? Or just expressing gratitude? God, I could never tell with her. Everything she did seemed to mean two things.
“You’re such a sweetheart.”
You see what I mean. Friend zone? Or hint?
She began to gather her things. I held up her jacket. When she looked up to find it waiting for her to step into, she beamed at me.
“You really are. Thank you again, Jeff. I can’t handle him when he gets like this. Remember, once you get him sobered up, he’s supposed to meet me at the haunted house at midnight. His costume is in the trunk. You’ll be able to find it?”
She passed me the keys to his car, then turned to go. Pausing, she glanced back over her shoulder. Our eyes met over the keys still held up in my palm, like an offering. She shook her head, then stepped in quickly and gave me a quick peck on the lips.
“Get a move on, you big dummy.”
Then she was gone.
My free hand touched my lips where hers had pressed so briefly. I looked over at Max, Jessica’s fiancee. Like her, a lifelong friend. Unlike her, who had had only a single glass of white wine, he was half comatose with drink, mostly rum, mumbling to himself as he slowly slipped lower in the booth where he sat. I heaved a sigh. Struggling this brawny bastard into his car was going to be a helluva chore. It was a good thing we were of a size. Always had been. I can remember people getting us mixed up as kids. We’d always thought it was hilarious, and used it to our advantage when we could.
Now, that size was a definite advantage. I left a generous amount of money on the table. He’d been increasingly boorish as his drunkeness progressed, and I felt bad for the waitress. Then I heaved him into a fireman’s carry and made my way out to the parking lot. Bastard better not puke on my good suit.
A lot was going through my head, and not all of it was pleasant. Lifelong friends look out for each other, sure. But lately it was feeling very one sided. I was worried about Max’s drinking. I was even more worried for Jessica’s safety. I’d known Max a long time, and he was an agressive drunk until he reached the blackout stage. He’d done some things when we were in our teens, and she was such a tiny little thing. Five foot tall in heels, if that, hardly more than 110 pounds. I pictured lifting her up, her lithe little legs wrapped around my waist…
No, stop that. Get this drunken fucker home and figure out what to do about the situation. Odds were he wouldn’t be even halfway funcitonal by the time midnight rolled around. Not the way he’d been slamming it back. Sure, he was big, but I knew him. He was teetering on the edge of blackout, and if that happened, there’d be no waking him for twelve hours.
Mumble, mumble. Twitch and drool. Cuss at me for driving too fast, making him feel sick. Fuck you, Max. You’re sick? I’m fucking sick, too. Of all of it.
Drag the guy out of the car, chivvy him up the stairs, half pushing, half dragging. Get him inside. He flops on the couch. Well, at least he’s moving. Maybe I can salvage the night after all. I think about Jessica, that smile, that sudden unexpected kiss. Yeah, okay. I can do this. For her, I can do this.
Put the coffee on. Use the washroom. Dig through Max’s CDs, find some good heavy metal, get the stereo cranked up. Back into the living room.
“What the fuck, Max! No, man, you’re done.”
He’s found the energy to get up and grab the whiskey from the liquor cabinet. He hasn’t even bothered with a glass. I move to take the bottle and he gives me a shove. Roars at me, guttural, a beast. I can see in his eyes that this won’t go the easy way.
So I raise my hands, placating, back away a few steps.
“Okay, okay. You’ve made your point. Fuck.”
He drops back onto the couch and takes a big swig. I cringe. Sit on the armchair opposite and watch him drink, listening to the savage scream of Sylosis’ vocalist echo demonically through the room… where the wolves come to die… before that brutally heavy guitar groove segues into the next track, Victims and Pawns.
So which am I? Victim? Pawn? Which is he? I’ve never seen him hit the bottle so hard. It’s frightening to watch. And which is she? I know I should stop him. For him, for her. But what about me? I don’t want to get into a scrap with a fucking gorilla who’s already numb to pain and reason. And I’m beginning to think there are possibilities here, a way to take a little back for all I’ve given this asshole lately.
So I let him drink until he passes out. Eventually. It takes more than I expected. But now he’s done, and it’s 23:00.
I go down to the car, grab the costume.
Ha. Perfect. Frankenstein. A mask to cover the upper half of my face and everything. I go back into the house to try it on. Yeah, it’ll do. We’re of a size. I steal his boots and put them on. Do my hands and neck and lower face up corpsey grey-green. Only my eyes give me away, staring out of the Frankenstein mask, green as grass. Max has brown eyes. But it will be dark where I’m going, or dimly lit.
I arrive early at the haunted house, park Max’s car a ways down the street. Walking through the dark, I’m greeted by goblins, ghosts, and witches as they flit out of the late night fog and make their way towards the abandoned mansion at the end of the street.
The house party held here every year is always nuts. Last year a group purchased the estate, fixed it up, and began making the yearly bash an official Halloween event, selling tickets and everything. Max’s ticket had been with his costume, and was now in my pocket. Tradition dictated that everyone arrived alone, without telling anyone in advance what their costume would be. I knew my size would give me away, and likewise, Jessica’s slight stature would let me spot her easily. But I had no way of knowing who anyone else was. That was sort of the point. This was a party where anything goes. Let the demons out into the night, in true Bacchanalian style. In the morning, when the sun came up, the costumes would come off and we would all be divested of sin along with the getups. Reborn.
I spotted Jessica right away, but didn’t approach. Better to play up the Max role a bit; I went straight for the punch. It looked like eyeballs floating in something greenish brown. What the fuck are those? Peeled grapes? I popped one into my mouth. Yup. Grapes. I down a full glass of the punch and then ladle out another.
Whew! Strong stuff. I wander off to check out the mansion. I figure she’s had plenty of time to spot me by now, and she’ll follow along if she’s interested. I have a sneaking suspicion she’s not too impressed with Max, and so she might avoid me for the night, but I can always find her later.
The place is huge, of course, and every room has been done up in a different theme. Dracula’s castle is already in full swing, the lord of vampires himself presiding over a bevy of sultry vamps in various states of dishevelment. I wonder briefly if he needs to suck blood in order to get it up. Whatever. The two vampires hungrily sharing his meat don’t seem inclined to complain how it got hard. Those teeth, though! Laughing, I move on.
There’s a dancehall, with a fog machine, eerie lights, and all the spooky Halloween favorites. Gotta be fifty or sixty monsters gyrating out there. The total abandon is a thing to see. Something about a costume and a mask that gives a person complete license to indulge. I can feel it working on me, too, eyeing up the scantily clad witches, the linen wrapped girl with the dancer’s body, a yummy mummy if I ever saw one. I’m being checked out, too. My size alone gets me a lot of attention, but there’s a reason people are here, and one monster is as good as another if you haven’t found a partner (or two or three) by the time the hour gets late.
Upstairs the game room is done up like a dungeon. Some werewolves are shooting pool with a ghost. A couple of zombies are playing strip poker and laughing at all the rotten flesh revealed. I finish my second drink and find a third. A blonde witch who is far too beautiful to play the role pulls me into a closet for a brief fumble at my zipper, but she can’t fit my cock in her mouth, and declines to try it elsewhere. As we emerge the look on her face is one of stunned awe, and I enjoy the looks from the others in the room as I step out of the closet, slowly putting my length back into my trousers. The werewolves howl and a mad scientist runs by, cackling madly, his lab assistant thrashing at him with a whip.
Jessica finds me one of the bedrooms. It looks like the chamber of a voodoo priestess, perhaps, or a caveman shaman, all animal skins and dangling bones. A nun is on the bed, being ravished by Jesus.
I turn at the sound of her voice. I can only stare.
Black stiletto heels, buckled and strapped to the top of her shapely calves. Fishnets, a tantalizing glimpse of white skin. Clining black miniskirt, shockingly pink panties peaking out from under the scandalously high hemline. Black corset, leather and lace, small firm breasts pushed up invitingly. Black gloves past her elbows. Slutty black and red makeup, incredibly luscious lips pouting below gigantic innocent little girl eyes. Fuck me, she’s so tiny and perfect. I can’t breathe. I’ve never wanted her so badly as I do now. And right here, right now, I could have her, and she would forgive me for taking advantage of the situation, wearing the mask, pretending to be Max. In the morning, she will understand. I had to have her.
She approaches. Her wings are large and black, feathered thickly. They move when she does, an impressive illusion. I notice her devil’s tail swishing behind her as she walks, hips swaying seductively.
“Max, are you avoiding me?”
I don’t answer. I toss back my third drink, feeling the buzz creeping through my veins.
Our eyes lock. The last of my inhibitions fall away. Lifting her easily, I carry her into the next room, another bedroom, this one empty and dark. Placing her gently on the bed, I push her onto her back and lean in, framing her with my arms. She raises her face to my kiss and I taste her for the first time. Her tongue meets mine. She is wanton, hungry. She lifts her hips and rubs her crotch against my stomach. Sensation surges through me. My erection suddenly strains at my slacks. My mind stops spinning and I am completely, blissfully immersed in the sweet strain of the moment.
My hands are massive, engulfing hers. I press my palm against her pubic mound and she grinds against it. I feel her heat, her dampness, soaking through her pretty pink panties. She gasps as I curl my thick fingers and deftly slide first one, then another, around the edge of the fabric. She is slick and tight. My fingers force their way inside, and she moans.
“No, no, don’t make me wait, I don’t want fingers, I want you.”
She is a fallen angel in truth, now, as she frees the serpent and succumbs to sinful urges. Holding her panties aside, she guides me to the gates.
“Here,” she says, “here is where I fell from,” and I’m sliding inside her, her muscles stretching to accomodate my girth, her teeth gripping her lower lip as she struggles not to cry out in pain, and then the slippery fluids are working, and I’m halfway inside her, and then mostly inside, and then I’ve forced the whole length of my cock into the depths of her straining pussy and she’s gasping, “Yes, yes Max, oh God, I love you…”
And I can’t do it. I’m not Max. I can’t rape this woman. That’s what’s happening here. I’m raping my friend’s fiancee. I’m raping my own best friend.
Horrified, I leap away. I choke on a sob and stumble, sit heavily on the floor. I shudder and a sound escapes me, a high keening. I am a monster, in truth. My heavy cock falls limp between my legs.
“Oh, God, Jess, what have I done?”
She’s in my lap, no hesitation, her small warm hands on my face, her mouth on mine.
“What? What is it?”
“I’m… I’m not…”
“Shh…” she presses close. “Shh… I know…”
I freeze. I raise my eyes to hers. But the look she is giving me isn’t meant for me. It’s meant for Max. She can’t see the color of my eyes in the dim light from the next room. Did she see it when our eyes met back there? I thought she had. I thought maybe…
But I’m a fool. A monster. I can’t do this.
“I know,” she whispers. “It’s okay. Take your time. I understand…” She is kissing me again, reassuring. What does she think is happening here? Has her drunken lout of a fiancee fallen victim to erectile dysfunction? Has this happened to them before? Does she believe patience and compassion will fix this?
Slowly, heavily, like in a dream, my hand rises. The mask comes away.
I feel her breasts press against my chest with the sharp intake of her breath. For some reason I’m compelled to tighten my arm about her waist. Holding her close. No escape. Confront it. See the truth.
Look the monster in the eyes.
Her voice is barely there, a meek breath, an incredulous whisper.
I take my arms from around her waist. Shaking, she rises, steps back from me.
I’m not prepared for the viciousness of her sudden stomp. Fire shoots up through my guts. I double over in agony, seeing stars, nausea rising in a sparkling wave. I barely register the sound of her footsteps as she flees. Gurgling, I curl around my self-disgust and weep silently.
Jesus and the nun look in on me. They watch for a moment. Then, without a word, they turn their backs.
The door snicks shut, cutting off all light.