Kink: An Extreme Horror Story Read online

  “Are you alright, mate?” he said, and let himself out of his own gate, in front of his much bigger house, and started to make his way toward me.

  “Oh! There you are, Honey!” said a voice seemingly sweet as Mississippi mud cake, coming from behind me. “Don’t move a muscle!” she commanded

  Why didn’t I scream? Why didn’t I call for help?

  Because I couldn’t.

  I fucking couldn’t.

  I literally fucking couldn’t.

  As soon as she spoke I just collapsed, face planting down onto the path. The last thing I saw was the guy kind of grinning, and staring wide-eyed as my captor came up behind me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said from right behind me, but speaking across the road, “it’s my brother, he’s visiting, and he’s… disabled,” she said in an apologetic tone. “I was just taking a shower, and, well…”

  A soft, warm, strong arm reached under mine and gently drew me to my feet, despite the fact my weight should have been far too great for her to do so.

  “Do you need a hand, love?” said the guy, somewhat hopefully.

  I felt her hot body against mine as she pulled me up. She was clad only in a fluffy white towel and her wet hair nuzzled against my neck.

  “No, I’ve got this. There’s no need to worry about this at all, but thanks though!”

  Her head turned so she could speak directly into my ear.

  “Now, let’s get you back inside. I’ll take you for a walk in your wheelchair later you silly thing.”

  She spoke loud enough so that the neighbor could hear her kind concern for me.

  The last thing I saw out there was the friendly, chubby, fucking gullible neighbor giving a wave as he watched his tiny towel-clad neighbor effortlessly drag her ‘brother’ back inside the house. Every inch she dragged me sent waves of agony pouring through my body as my ruined ankles bounced on the concrete path with each step.

  I don’t think she cared.

  We crossed the threshold back into her home.

  Nest.

  The word suddenly sprung into my head as she effortlessly dragged me inside. She wasn’t human, she couldn’t be. So she didn’t live in a home like a human either. She lived in a nest, not like a bird, but more like an insect.

  We can somewhat understand birds, but insects have something of the other about them. They’re alien. Like this ‘woman’.

  “That was very, very bad,” she whispered in my ear, her voice low and sultry. It sent a wave of revulsion through me. But not just revulsion. Lust. An aching longing for her again, despite what she’d done to me, despite what I knew she would — must — do to me in the future. But I couldn’t help it. She had hooks in me — hooks in my desires, in my brain, in my soul.

  Her voice was hot and her breath was damp in my ear. “Now, you’re going to be good. You are not going to leave this house. You are not going to shout. You are not going to scream.” She twisted me around to peer into my eyes. “Got it?”

  A nod and a whimpering agreement was all I could muster.

  “You haven’t realized yet, have you? You love me.”

  She undid her towel and let it drop to the floor revealing a body even better than I had remembered. I gasped as she pushed a breast into my mouth. I eagerly sucked at it, seeming to forget about my pain.

  “You love me.”

  I nodded and moaned into her breast, feeling myself growing hard yet again.

  “Good.”

  She put two gentle fingers under my chin and lifted my head up. Our eyes met, two pairs of dilated pupils staring into each other’s souls. She smiled softly at me, and then, ever so gently, pushed her lips toward mine. We hovered so close we were breathing each other’s breaths.

  “I’m going to make you like me, Rich. I’m going to turn you. You want that, right?”

  Turn me.

  Make me into… whatever she was.

  Strong like she was.

  Powerful like she was.

  “Yes.”

  “Say it.”

  “I want… I want you to turn me.”

  She pressed her lips firmly against mine. It was the first time we’d kissed on the lips. And it changed everything. Everything. Delicately cupping each other’s heads we pressed our lips eagerly and excitedly together, tongues meeting and intertwining in mutual ecstasy.

  I was drunk.

  Drunk on her.

  And she was drunk on me.

  What the fuck was wrong with me before, trying to leave? What kind of moron would want to leave this?

  She broke off the kiss and smiled at me tenderly.

  “Come on.”

  She resumed dragging me, but not into the bedroom this time, but back toward the little kitchen through which I had first entered a lifetime ago. She paused, one hand still supporting me, the other now wrapped around my hard cock, gently squeezing it.

  “You’re going to be good, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said, compliantly ready for another taste of her lips or mouthful of her breast.

  Releasing my cock but still holding me up with one hand, a gentle smile on her lips, she pulled open the wooden door of what I assumed was a cupboard. It was not. It opened into a tiny wooden staircase, going down into a cellar. A blast of chilled air greeted us.

  I couldn’t see what was down there, my eyes being unable to penetrate into the gloom below. For a moment she held me there at the top of the stairs, and I wondered how she was going to get me down. Carry me on her back? Strong as she was, even the sheer logistics of it would have been just too awkward.

  I needn’t have worried though, she had a much better idea.

  She pushed her electric lips against mine one more time. I took them thirstily until she broke it off again.

  “Good boy.”

  Stepping behind me with one hand under my arm to continue to support me her other hand pressed tenderly into my lower back sending a delightful shiver down my spine.

  Then she pushed, sending me flying head first down the stairs into the waiting blackness.

  I didn’t scream.

  I just sailed through the air, mind still on her lips, her breasts, her mouth, her…

  THUMP

  Head fuzzy, body screaming, I awoke from a bad, unremembered dream into confusion. I was lying on a cold concrete floor, bruised and broken. The pain of my ruined ankles was now joined, but not surpassed, by the agony of a shattered shoulder.

  I tried to smile as the memories flooded back, but the pain made it grim. Cassie.

  I blinked my eyes, trying to clear them of the caked on mixture of dust and what must have been tears. I remembered that when I was at the top of the stairs it had looked like a dark, cavernous place that she was throwing me down into. But my eyes had adjusted while I slept, and I could now see that some light made it down here. I could make out several big shapes across the room, and from the ceiling shards of light pierced through the floorboards above providing some crude illumination.

  Gritting my teeth hard, I used my one good arm, and my knees, to slowly push myself forward across the floor. Inch by agonizing inch I moved myself away from the stairs deeper into the room. There were vague shapes, and shadows ahead of me.

  I couldn't help but be curious as to what exactly she had down here. There must be a reason she put me down here. She’d probably heard some nosy stranger coming to the door, I decided. She’d be back for me soon.

  Smiling happily as I gritted my teeth through the pain I crawled. For a brief moment I wondered if I was crazy. Then I laughed. Of course I wasn’t.

  “Crazy in love, maybe.”

  My voice echoed off the walls and startled me. I decided not to talk again.

  Don’t get me wrong, I recognized that’d she’d hurt me. But that had obviously been for my own good, hadn’t it? She wouldn’t hurt me with no good reason. The way she’d caressed me earlier, the way she’d ridden me while teasing me with cruel whispered words. It was just a game. A game with the most bea
utiful creature I’d ever met.

  When I was about halfway across my epic journey across the cellar floor my ears picked up the fact that it wasn't completely silent down here, in fact there was a dull whine. An electrical whining, and it appeared to be coming from a large rectangular shaped object ahead of me — a deep-freeze.

  Slowly, ever so slightly, I got closer and closer. There were other shapes too, things on the wall, and something on the floor in the corner.

  There wasn't a part of my body that didn't ache, but most of my discomfort was overwhelmed by the dominating pain in my ankles and shoulder. I wished she’d come back to care for me. She’d make me better, I knew it.

  I pushed on, the view of the other side of the room my goal, my destination, the only thing I had to work toward at the moment.

  I don't know how long it took, perhaps five minutes, perhaps twenty. Panting and covered in sweat I finally made it and pushed myself up into a sitting position, to see what I could see.

  First, was the deep-freeze. It was rectangular, and I presume white – though it appeared gray in the dim lighting of the cellar — and I very much doubted it would contain anything that would help me, unless I got hungry, which seemed like a distant possibility at that moment.

  Above it were some shelves lined with an uninteresting and uninspiring collection of household detritus. A hosepipe, a few cans, a tin of paint, a toolbox, a box that appeared to be bizarrely labeled “Ham teeth”, a coil of steel wire cable, and a few other objects too small to be able to identify in the gloom.

  To the right of the deep-freeze was a sturdy looking high-backed wooden chair, which in my current state would not have been a comfortable place to sit, so I paid no further attention to it. No, for me, the floor would be far preferable; at least until Cassie took me back to her bed. A soft sigh of longing breathed over my lips.

  To the left of the deep-freeze, in the darkest corner of the room, there appeared to be something… else. On the wall I could make out some kind of bottle, and a line of string or tubing hanging off it leading down to a pile of rags on the ground. Weird. Since I had nothing better to do, and I judged myself to have taken enough of a break from the screaming agony of movement, I decided to punish myself again by moving closer to the intriguing objects in the corner.

  Just as I was lowering myself down to pull myself along the floor again, something made me stop. A noise, coming from upstairs.

  Ding-dong.

  It was the simple sound of a doorbell, a sound that seemed so alien, so out of place in comparison to the bizarre world I'd been tossed into. It was the standard, cheerful, homely sound of a bell ringing and I could barely believe it.

  I heard the sound of the door opening. She was home still, but had left me alone. She must have been doing something important.

  "Damn, girl," said a voice from upstairs, loud and confident.

  I recognized it in an instant. Rage boiled up through me. What the hell was he doing here? She was my girl, dammit.

  I opened my mouth to shout out a well-deserved motherfucker and a few other choice epitaphs.

  Then I closed it again.

  Now, you’re going to be good. You are not going to leave this house. You are not going to shout. You are not going to scream.

  Her words still rang in my ears. She was right. I wasn’t going to shout or scream. She knew what was best.

  While I’d been thinking things through there had been more talk upstairs, but the voices had been lower and I hadn’t been paying attention. I heard a little shriek and my adrenaline soared, then I heard the woomf and creak of springs of a girl being tossed onto a bed.

  My girl.

  Our bed.

  Fucking Jake.

  Seething, I tried to block out the sounds of them upstairs. I focused on my own pain, the roaring ache of crushed and ruined joints that threatened to take my breath away every time it was brought sharply back into focus.

  Then the pile of rags and junk that had initially captured my interest made a noise. A kind of wheezing, rattling, breathy exhalation.

  Maybe that was why I was down here. I couldn’t do anything about what was going on upstairs, and surely she knew what she was doing. But she must have put me down here for a reason, and this might be it. I resolved to find out what it was.

  I pulled myself the last few inches toward the pile and sat up next to the thing. I reached out a hand and lifted some fabric. It wasn’t a pile of rags, it was a smallish object covered in an old, dirty blanket. I pulled the blanket away and stared.

  The fuck is that?

  It wasn’t an object, but some kind of animal, or at least something vaguely fleshy. Was it an alien? Whatever it was, it didn’t look like it could move. I grabbed a handful of it to pull it closer. Its skin was soft and stretchy and cooler to the touch than a human’s. It let out a high whine of unintelligible whistling noise.

  Staring at it in the feeble light forcing its way in through the cracks in the ceiling, a soft moan escaped from my lips. Something at the bottom of the thing had grown and become recognizable. The thing, the living, breathing, thing, had a cock.

  A cock that had hardened at my touch of its skin. As if I’d adjusted the focus of a pair of binoculars, recognition flitted across my vision and the thing came into sharp relief. The thing I was looking at was no alien, no undiscovered beast. It was the remains of a human. The still living remains of what had once been a man.

  With new recognition, I stared at it again in disgust. At the bottom of the thing was a long, hard, cock. It was the only part of the thing — the man — that was not ruined. Above that was a torso, of sorts. It was covered in lines and lumps of scar tissue, as if almost every piece of it had been lacerated, bitten, ripped off or otherwise destroyed at some point in the past.

  There was nothing identifiable about his trunk that would let you know it was human. Where the legs and arms should have been, there were just flattened cauterized stumps. This thing apparently had no means of self-propulsion.

  At the top of the torso was a neck. This seemed to be the part of the body that had suffered the least trauma. That’s not to say it was undamaged; there were still countless scars visible even in the dim light; but it was at least recognizable.

  Then there was the head.

  The word didn’t seem to fit the thing that was attached to the top of its neck. It seemed a wildly inappropriate label for… that.

  Almost every identifiable part of the head had suffered horrific trauma. There were no eyes, not even empty holes, just two flesh-bottomed pits in the ruin of the face, above a third which must have been where a nose once lay. The side of the head was mostly smooth, except for another couple of fleshy pits which must have been where ears were once attached.

  Below the missing eyes and nose was the only thing that was almost identifiable. A hole. An actual hole which could perhaps still be correctly labelled as a mouth. It had no lips, and there was no sign of any teeth or a tongue. But, nevertheless, just the fact that it was an actual opening in the front of a head was enough to make it somewhat recognizable, in a sick, screwed up way.

  And the thing wasn’t dead. As I pulled myself even closer in fascinated horror I could see the faint rising and falling of the torso, and hear the soft rattling in-out of air going into the ruin that had been a body.

  Upstairs the sex-screams changed. I’d let them fade into the background, consciously blocking them out while I carried out my duty of inspecting the room. But now my hearing had returned.

  “Fuck!” yelled my erstwhile friend.

  There was the crack of hand against flesh, and then a massive thud against the ceiling above me followed by another yell.

  Good. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He was going to get punished for encroaching on my territory.

  Fucking Jake.

  My body convulsed as a chill ran through it and my head cleared for a moment. What the hell was wrong with me?

  I opened my mouth to scream. />
  But nothing came. Nothing came at all.

  I shook my head again. The feeling faded. Why would I want to scream? I just had to wait here.

  She had every right to be angry at me — it was my fault that Jake was here. That was why she got so mad at me before, and hurt me. It wasn’t only because she wanted us to be together, but also to punish me for talking to Jake!

  The sudden comprehension sent a wave of joy through me. That must be why she let Jake fuck her too. To punish me! It was all my fault. I deserved this!

  I had no right to be mad at her.

  It was me I should be mad at.

  Me.

  Smiling contentedly, I listened to Jake getting what he deserved.

  13 Cassie

  After I’d thrown my new cellar-meat downstairs I stood by the front door and waited. I’m very patient; it comes with the territory. Or rather, the chemistry. I once stood for more than forty hours in a man’s closet while I waited for him to return home, not knowing that he was spending the night at his girlfriend’s place. It was the last time he’d ever done that, I can assure you. It wasn’t that I was upset at the waiting itself, but at the waste of my time. You don’t get to my age without realizing how precious time really is.

  It wasn’t until nearly nine that he finally showed. This let me know I was dealing with someone who had some strength of character. The messages I had sent to Rich had been carefully crafted to work on the recipient’s psyche, pushing the buttons that every man has, luring him to me. But then the idiot had shown them — all of them apparently — to Jake. Once he’d read them, there was no escaping for him. He’d be drawn to me as surely as night is drawn after day. Upon reading it, my address would have been hammered into his skull like a spike, and my lust-causing messages would have filled him with a craving for me that could only be satiated by my flesh.

  I waited by the door with something akin to excitement. I was over my earlier peevishness. Sure, the idiot in the cellar had ruined my carefully laid out plans by luring his friend along too, but it gave me an excuse to play.