Excessica Anthology BOX SET Winter (51 page)

“Yes,
pills,” Smythe replied. He felt as proud as a champion bodybuilder as he stood
before her.

Jo
hit him on the side of the head with a pillow.

“What
was that for?” Smythe said.

“Men,”
Jo said with mock outrage. “You make all the cool stuff and keep it to
yourselves. Viagra and now this. We’re still shoving plastic balloons in our
tits. When do we get the magic pill?”

They
both laughed. That’s why Smythe enjoyed his sessions with Jo. She was such an
easy girl to get along with.

And
as filthy as a hardened porn star.

“Harder!
C’mon, harder!” she growled back at him and pouted her bee-stung lips.

Smythe
had her bent over the bed and was driving back and forth into her pussy. His
hands gripped the soft flesh of her ass as he pounded her. She felt really
good. Tight.

“More!
Give me more of that big cock!” she snarled, her blue eyes gleaming.

Smythe
obliged, grunting and squeezing the soft flesh of her ass between his hands as
he thrust deeper into her luscious cunt.

“Fuck
yeah. Baby. Ooo.” Jo broke down into incoherent moans, trembling as Smythe’s
flesh slapped up against her with steady thuds.

Perspiration
ran down Smythe’s bared chest. She was really getting into this, Smythe
thought. He liked Jo because she always seemed really genuine. This time was
different. This time she really was genuine.

He
didn’t have long to ponder that. His own release was imminent, crowding out the
other thoughts in his head. Oh, this was going to be a big one, Smythe thought.
He’d left it way too long.

“Yeah
baby, yeah,” Jo moaned into the bedspread.

Oahh!
He was coming. He could feel it. It rose up from his toes and kept rising and
rising. He gave another loud grunt and thrust right into Jo’s luscious depths. His
dick felt like a bomb on the verge of going off. Like a fireman’s hose about to
quench her raging fires with a flood of his cool juices. Like a—

Smythe’s
thoughts broke down. He felt a sudden, strange constriction in his urethra,
like a blockage or some other obstacle, but only for a moment before his orgasm
doubled him over and he blasted it away with a great flood of semen.

Intense.
Smythe felt drained in the aftermath. He also felt a wee bit wibbly as his body
trembled with seismic shakes of pleasure. He was no longer a young man, he
thought as he panted for breath.

That
was odd, Smythe thought, thinking back to that strange feeling before he’d
come. He hadn’t felt anything like that before.

Jo
rested her head on her arms and looked back at him. There was a contented glow
to her face.

“You
know when women tell men the size of their penis doesn’t matter,” she said. “We’re
lying.”

“You
know when men tell women the size of their boobs doesn’t matter,” Smythe
countered. “We’re lying.”

Jo
chuckled dirtily and threw another pillow at him.

Smythe
gripped the ends of his condom carefully as he pulled his penis out of her. That
ejaculation had felt so powerful the rubber johnny must be full to bursting.

Uh
oh.

The
condom had burst. Not from the force of his orgasm—he wasn’t narcissistic
enough to believe that—but the rubber tip was split and the remnants of
his milky semen were dribbling out through the tear.

“Crap,”
Jo said, spotting the ruptured condom.

“Sorry,”
Smythe said.

“Not
your fault,” Jo said. “They split sometimes. Stupid cheap-ass rubber.”

She
took the condom from him and discarded it into a nearby wastebasket.

“Now,
I have a morning after pill for these little accidents, so you don’t have to
worry about any unexpected little baby Smythes appearing on the scene,” Jo
said. “Have you had any unprotected sex recently?”

Smythe
thought about Xie-Mu.

“No,”
he said.

“I’m
about due my regular test anyway,” Jo said. “You should get one too. Just as a
precaution.”

She
laughed at Smythe’s worried expression.

“Don’t
worry,” she said. “Accidents like this happen all the time. Trust me, it’ll be
fine.”

* *
* *

A
week later Jo was dead.

Smythe
only found out when he rang the Tor Noire agency to book another appointment.

“Oh.
Haven’t you heard?” Smythe was surprised when Trish answered. “No you mustn’t
have. I don’t know how to say it. It’s too horrible. Jo’s dead. They found her
body in the park a few days ago. Someone murdered her.”

Smythe
realised he had heard. There was an article in the evening newspaper he’d
skimmed over and a brief segment on the local news he hadn’t paid close
attention to. Local prostitute found murdered. That sort of thing happened all
the time.

He
hadn’t realised it was Jo.

“That
is horrible news,” Smythe said.

“Such
a shame,” Trish said. “She was a lovely lovely girl. They say it was a while
before her body was discovered. Animals got to it first.”

“The
poor girl,” Smythe said.

“My
girls are spooked,” Trish said. “We’re only taking bookings from trusted
regular clients at the moment. Wendy is available this evening. Would you like
to make an appointment?”

“Yes,
yes,” Smythe said.

He
remembered Wendy. He’d booked her before. A busty brunette with an easy-going
personality and a filthy mind.

Jo
dead, Smythe thought. It had only been last week when they’d been having sex
together. Dead. Murdered. What a sick sick world it was sometimes.

* *
* *

Fuck,
he hadn’t remembered Wendy as being as tight as this, Smythe thought as she
rode him reverse cowboy style. Of course, that had been before his enhancement.
Those pills were still working away on his penis. He was a splendid eleven
inches nowadays and felt every silky crevice of Wendy’s pussy as she stretched
to accommodate him.

He
hadn’t remembered her as being as noisy as this before. She grunted and moaned
as she slammed her ass up and down with great gusto. The mattress creaked and
squeaked beneath him as she thudded down on him, driving his sensitised dick
deep up into her stretchy pussy.

“I’m
coming,” he grunted.

“Give
it to me, baby,” Wendy said. Waves ran through her peach of an ass as she
slammed it down faster and faster.

Oahh!
He felt it again, just like when he’d been with Jo, that strange constricted
feeling as if there was a blockage in his penis somewhere. The pressure grew
and grew in his balls, a charge that must be earthed somewhere. Oh fuck. Saving
up for a week had been too long. This felt like it was going to be
enormous—more intense even than the orgasm he’d had with Jo.

Smythe
groaned loudly. What a strange feeling. It felt like something solid was
travelling up the centre of his dick. Then it was free and Smythe sighed with
blissful relief as he erupted in the quivering depths of her pussy.

Ah
yes, that felt so good. He clasped his hands against her soft ass and held her
in place as his throbbing cock pumped a great load of cum up into her tight
pussy.

“Aahhh,”
Smythe groaned in satisfaction as the orgasm started to subside. The stream
dropped to a trickle. He lay back and soaked in pleasure as his jangling nerves
returned to normal.

Wendy
turned her head to look back at him. There was a strange expression on her
face.

“Anything
wrong?” Smythe asked.

“No,”
she said, although her face seemed puzzled. “I thought I felt something.” She
shook her head and was back to sunny smiles as she swung a long leg over his
head and dismounted him. “How was that?” she asked. “It sounded like you really
needed it.”

“Oh
yes,” Smythe said, smiling and nodding his head. Perspiration bubbled up on his
forehead and trickled down onto the pillow beneath his head.

He
looked down at his cock, still standing erect, tall and proud. Like Nelson’s
column. He frowned as he noticed the condom had split again. Copious amounts of
his creamy-white cum were dribbling down the shaft.

“Shit,
I hate it when that happens,” Wendy said. “Must be a shitty batch. Jo said she
had one split on her last week...”

She
paused. Her gaze turned inwards. Smythe could guess what she was thinking
about.

“Horrible
news. About Jo,” he said. “I really hope they catch whoever was responsible
soon.”

“One
of the hazards of this occupation.” Wendy shrugged. “We all learn to live with
it. Life goes on.”

She
brightened up.

“Now
let’s get you cleaned up,” she said.

* *
* *

Two
days later she was dead.

Smythe
saw it on the news. One prostitute’s death wasn’t of much interest, but a
second—and a gory death at that—kicked the tabloids up into a
frenzy. A vicious serial killer was on the prowl and there were newspapers to
sell.

Smythe
looked at the covers and wondered where they’d found such a horrible picture of
Wendy. It barely bore any resemblance to the lovely, vivacious girl he’d had
sex with a couple of days ago.

* *
* *

“Thank
you for coming forward, Mr Smythe,” Detective Inspector Myatt said.

Smythe
sat in the grey little room and tried to remind himself he wasn’t a suspect. He’d
come here of his own accord. Two girls had died in the last two weeks and
Smythe had visited both of them beforehand. As much as he’d like to wish
otherwise, there was a link between him and the girls and it was only a matter
of time before the police uncovered it as well. Smythe didn’t want to make the
classic mistake of making a bad thing look even worse.

“I
thought I’d try and save you some time on fruitless enquiries,” Smythe said,
“and eliminate myself from those same enquiries.”

“That’s
appreciated, Mr Smythe,” DI Wood said. “You’re not the only man to have used
both Ms Hudson and Ms Davies in the past month. Both appear to have been
popular and highly active members of Tor Noire’s roster. We have a substantial
client list to work through.”

“Where
were you on the nights of the 15th and 24th?” DI Myatt asked.

“I
was at the club on the 24th,” Smythe said. “The staff there should be able to
confirm my presence. On the 15th I was engaged in a lengthy conference call
with a potential supplier from the States. I believe records of the
conversation should still be in our system.”

The
two detectives asked Smythe some more questions, all of which he was able to
answer satisfactorily. The two men nodded and took down notes. Finally DI Myatt
finished with a, “Thank you, Mr Smythe. You’ve been most helpful.”

Smythe
smiled. That seemed to have gone well.

* *
* *

“That
was a bloody daft thing you did,” DCS Pete Lynch said to him later while they
were having a drink at the club.

Lynch
was an old school friend. While Smythe had been growing his business, Lynch had
been working up the ranks in the local police force.

“Really?”
Smythe said. “I thought it was the sensible thing to do. Sooner or later
they’re going to uncover the link between me and both of the girls.”

Lynch
sniffed.

“The
young lads have seen too many cop dramas. They have the foolish notion this
might be an elaborate ploy on your part to deflect attention.”

“You
don’t think I…?”

Lynch
didn’t let him finish. “Don’t be soft,” he said with a dry laugh. “I saw you
here myself on the 24th.”

Lynch’s
expression darkened.

“Horrid
business,” he said. “We found Jo in the park. We thought a dog or wild animal
had got at the body at first. Made a right mess of her.”

He
took a drink.

“Then
the other one turned up dead, this time in her own flat and with the front door
locked. Ghastly. Guts all over the place. Worst thing I’ve seen since they
dredged that missing teen out of the canal a couple of years back. One of the
coroners, impressionable young chap, said it looked like something had ripped
its way out from the inside.”

Lynch
shook his head.

“Youngsters
and their bad movies, puts all kinds of foolish notions into their skulls.”

Lynch
stared off into the distance.

“Whoever
was capable of doing that to those girls, you couldn’t sit down and have a
drink with them. You’d sense something was wrong right away. That kind of
badness can’t stay hidden inside. It’d seep out and surround them like a
foul-smelling cloud.”

Ripped
open, Smythe thought. What a sick sick world.

“I
saw Jo once,” Lynch said. “Right after my marriage went to hell and I was
feeling down and lonely. Lovely lass. That picture they’re splashing in all the
papers isn’t her at all. I’d have seen her more, but my promotion came through
soon afterwards and I knew I couldn’t be seen to be messing around with that
kind of thing.”

His
eyes hardened.

“I
want this bastard.”

He
turned to Smythe.

“Give
your ‘hobby’ a break for the time being. I want my boys fully focused on this,
not wasting time chasing down worthless coincidences.”

* *
* *

Smythe
looked at his monstrous cock in the full-length mirror. It was porn-actor-huge
now. A girl would need to be cursed with a cavern between her legs to fail to
be satisfied by it.

He
thought about what Lynch had told him.

Like
something ripped its way out from the inside.

He
looked again at his prodigiously enhanced member.

It
couldn’t be him. Could it?

Nah,
wasn’t possible. Someone in the coroner’s office had been watching too many bad
science fiction movies. It was a sicko. A particularly nasty and brutal sicko,
but still a human being—at least in form if not mental state.

Eh?
What was that?

Smythe
noticed what looked like a flat purple plate, about the same diameter as a
coin, embedded beneath the skin about halfway down his shaft. He prodded it. The
growth, if that’s what it was and that was something Smythe really didn’t want
to think too hard about, was hard—like a crust or shell.