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The Sin Eaters

By: Turbidus



I have received a few complaints about how I categorize stories. I have a great deal of sympathy with those complaints. I find the categories a bit restraining, though I understand the need for them. 

This is foremost a tale of the supernatural. For that reason I put it in the "Erotic Horror" category. Given the glut of vampire shit in the world I was surprised as anyone to discover this story lurking inside my head. Of course, it's derivative, what isn't? There are echoes of Rice, King, Cronin, and others. 

I am not in a rush to get to the erotica. There is erotica and if this unfolds as I hope, there will be more to come (pun definitely intended). 

There is also graphic violence. And, of course, lots of blood. I absolutely do NOT want it to come off as some sort of sick snuff story. None of the primary characters are aroused by violence. 

There is no sex between characters younger than 21. 

There is non-consensual sex, including non-consensual gay sex. There will be hetero sex and bisex and more gay sex. I know, I know. I can see the comments already. "It should be under 'NonConset/Reluctance'." "It should be under 'Gay Male'." It will have aspect of all those categories but it is primarily a horror story with erotica. So, if none of the above gets your rocks off, go in peace. 

Thanks to LarryInSeattle for his help with editing. Any errors that remain are my own. 

I hope you enjoy. If you don't and you can tell me why in non-trollish fashion I'm all ears. 

=========== 

It's funny in a way, that I, one who tried in life to shun meat, now live on rotten flesh. I do not mean the flesh itself. Also funny, in a fashion, since unlike in life, in death I eat no meat at all. What I mean when I say I eat only rotten flesh is that I only drink from the corrupted. The source of my existence springs from their corrupted flesh. 

In life, I often had to eat meat. The Buddha was quite clear on this. As long as the meat was not killed specifically for me, and was not forbidden meat -snake, tiger, elephant, among others - meat placed in my alms bowl, was to be eaten with gratitude. We were to eat what was offered and do so humbly and with thanks in our hearts. 

Once, a long time ago, I tried to determine the year of my birth but failed. I could not get the dates from the history texts to match my memory. I trust my memory more than the texts. I had left my wife and my children and set off to find enlightenment, and to, perhaps, help others to seek the path as well. I encountered many wonders and not a few horrors. The world has never ceased to be an ugly place. It was from that observation that my desire for enlightenment sprang. The only cure for this world is for it to cease to have meaning. I saw the roof of the world, stood at its foot and struggled to breathe the cold air that held no life. I saw mangroves, flat fields that extend beyond the limits of my vision, rains, heat that wrenched the rains from the earth, skies filled with stars, and skies filled with the smoke and ashes of human beings. 

I made it to the ocean and began to walk north. The soldiers of Alexandros had no interest in enlightenment. They were content to gorge on the pleasures of the flesh, including my own. No, they were not cannibals, though I have since heard tales suggesting otherwise. They were strange men. Men who seemed as happy to rut with male as female. They pissed in my alms bowl, beat me, had their fill of my body, and left me to die. 

I should have died. It would have been better, in all likelihood, if I had. I did not. She came as soon as the shadow of the sun's death draped itself over my broken body. I believe she simply meant to feed on what was left of me. She would never tell me, never answer whether it was mercy or cruelty she intended. She may not have known herself. 

She did feed. I felt the little life left within me flow into her. Feeding is a most, perhaps the most, intimate act. The dying share the memories of the already dead. When she allowed my almost lifeless body to fall into the dust, I knew as much about her as she about me. She had no secrets. I had no secrets. Not even from myself. 

And that, as is said nowadays, was the rub. I saw in myself all I had hidden from myself. Enlightenment? What enlightenment would demand abandoning those I was responsible for? I fled my life, my family because it was easier than staying. Her gift has provided me with two and a half millennia of guilt. Was it a cruel gift? Was it a kindness? Have I made any progress toward enlightenment? In all that time all I've learned is that I cannot answer those questions. 

She had stared at me lying in the dust, neither smiling nor frowning. She stepped across my body, facing my feet, then lowered herself. I was naked. The soldiers had taken my worn robe telling me they would remember me by wiping their asses on it. She knelt. She wore no clothing. She took my linga in her mouth. You have so many words for linga - penis, cock, prick, dick, Johnson (that one I have never understood). As close to death as I was, as drained of blood as I was, there was something in her touch that woke my linga. 

She pressed her yoni, her pussy, against my mouth. The Kama Sutra would not be penned for centuries but already in what would become India we were quite enlightened, if you'll pardon the blasphemy, when it came to the body. I knew what she wanted. I could see no good reason not to die in such a fashion. I summoned my dwindling strength and stretched out my tongue. 

Her flesh moved aside and I found her essence. I did not have the strength to raise my head. She lowered herself and my lips were able to aid my tongue in its task. Around my linga she growled her pleasure. I had been trying to live up to the Buddha's teachings for almost two years, ignoring the pleasures of the body as well as those of the world. I could feel my eruption gathering force. I tried to force her away, warn her, my wife had made no secret of her dislike of having my seed anywhere other than inside her yoni. The dark woman was as immovable as stone. It was not my weakness, so much as her strength that mocked my efforts. 

She reached between her legs. I felt her sharp nails along my cheek. She moved a single finger to her sex, to the full dark lips that guarded her entrance. With a jerk and a hiss, she stabbed herself with a single long nail. Darkness poured from the wound and into my mouth. I tried to spit but her blood flowed in too great a torrent. I swallowed. My body burned. My seed erupted from my manhood, scalding hot. The dark woman hissed again. She sucked and lapped. 

She rose, long tongue licking her lips. My body was an agony to me. It burned. I could feel the broken bones in my hands and leg shifting, grinding, re-uniting. Pain seared my insides as what the soldiers had broken and pierced was made whole again. 

"If you prefer death. Let the sun find you here," the dark woman spoke. It wasn't Hindi but I understood her words. "If you prefer to go on, rise, feed, and shelter. Pay attention. You'll feel the approach of the sun with adequate time to shelter, if that is what you desire. When you wake, if you wake, leave this place. This is my place. We don't willingly share. I will kill you if you're still here in two nights. I'm not going to say 'farewell' that would be too cruel a taunt even for me. So long." 

And she was gone. Even lost in the agony of what was happening to my body, my new eyes were able to track her for a moment but no more than that. I had much to learn. 

The contortions of my body continued. I screamed, begged for mercy, begged the dark woman to return and take my life. No one came. No one heard. If they did, they paid no heed. Death was too common and too easily found to excite much interest. 

The pain ebbed, slowly, but it ebbed. I clambered to my hands and knees and vomited great gouts of black ichor. The dust around me turned to mud and my hands sunk to the wrists. Still I vomited. My bowels twisted and my shit equaled or exceeded the blood that spewed from my yawning jaws. When it stopped, I felt empty. I rose unsteadily to my feet. My legs held. I clenched my fists and blood soaked mud oozed from between my fingers. My hands worked. They were no longer twisted broken parodies of hands. 

I was thirsty. I staggered to a stream, more a trickle than a stream, which lay a short walk from the hardpan road. The water reeked of animal dung and dead things. I plunged my face into the muck and slurped. I imagined the pain I had felt as my body repaired itself could not be exceeded. I was wrong. I do not know how long I screamed between retches but the first sensible thing I can recall is my ears ringing from the sound of my own screams. I crawled away from the stream, staggered to my feet, and ran. 

I was too lost in pain and confusion to understand the speed at which I was traveling. My pace would have made the fastest horse appear to be standing still. I didn't know where I was running. I simply ran. I could see without difficulty. The moon had set but even by starlight, I could see as well as at midday. A village, a cluster of huts more than a true village, huddled beside the road. I ran toward the nearest mud and straw hut. 

Grandmother, father, mother, two children, even the dog that attempted to protect them fell to my hunger. Still, I thirsted. Inside the windowless hut I felt warmth on my shoulders. The sun. 

I fled the hut. Not far from the village the bank of the stream, a more respectable size now, had been quarried for clay. I dug and clawed and pulled myself deep into the earth, past the clay until I encountered rock. My eyes, mouth, nose were packed with mud. I didn't notice. I turned and collapsed the tunnel behind me. 

I did not sleep nor did I dream. I remembered. I remembered the sound of the grandmother's neck as it snapped beneath my fingers. The father, her son, ran at me. I crushed his skull. Bone and hair and pinkish white globs squished between my fingers, just as the bloody mud had. The dog did its best to sink its teeth into my leg. I stamped on its head and blood and brains sprayed outward, an expanding cone of gore. The mother pushed the children behind her back, unable to even scream. The grandmother's body hung limply from one hand. I dropped her. I reached around the woman, found the two small heads, her fists batted, unfelt, at my chest and face. I twisted my wrists. Their necks were much quieter than the grandmother's. I let them fall to the dirt floor.  

I ripped the linen shift from her body. Her breast were full, the youngest still suckled. An overwhelming hunger wracked my body. I lowered my head and drank. I fed on the other breast. I hoisted her in the air and shoved my mouth over her yoni. Again, I suckled. It had been her time of the month. As her woman's blood filled my mouth. She began to cry out. In the modern vernacular, she was cumming, over and over again as I sucked at her yoni. She died, arching backwards in my clutching hands, cumming, with her dead eyes gazing on the small bodies beneath us. 

I was not sated. The father, grandmother, dog, I drank their still warm blood as well. Then the children. 

Lying, encased in clay and sand and rock I tried to cry but failed. I tried to burrow my way out, out into the sun that would erase me from the world but though such thoughts formed in my mind, my body would not obey. 

------- 

I waited. I could hear the sounds of clay being scraped from the wooden blades that harvested the valuable mud. I was hungry. I did not fear the men laboring a few feet from my grave, for that is what it was, but I had no desire for confrontation. The dark woman's blood had instilled the need to remain hidden. Last night's indiscretion was greatly frowned upon. Talk of demons was not to be encouraged. 

I emerged into the night air. I shook my body and the dirt and mud flew away. Even the gore beneath my fingers fell to the ground. I was as clean as if bathed by a hundred virgins. My body anyway, my soul was a different matter. I still imagined I had a soul back then, a soul that, if I could only learn to cast away earthly encumbrances, would find peace in Nirvana. Far from being able to discard the earth, I was learning it was now my true home. 

I ignored my thirst. I could smell the blood of the villagers. I could hear it course through their veins, hear the thuds of their hearts. My manhood arched toward the moon as my mind touched a young man, only a few weeks married, his wife fondling his linga with her mouth. I fled to the east, toward the sun, toward my home. 

I became aware of the dark woman following me. She was not close enough to see yet I knew she was there and I knew she was making sure I left her lands. If I fed here again she would destroy me. She was not pleased at the slaughter I had left behind. I sensed it was only her guilt at creating me, and perhaps my inexperience, that stayed her hand. 

She fell behind and then was gone. I searched with my thoughts, probing for the presence of anyone else such as what I had become in the area. I felt no one. I would cover a quarter of the distance to my home that night, a quarter of the distance from one ocean to the next. I fed on a hog. It was covered in mud and shit and even that seemed too good for me. I held it by the neck and hips. Its feet flailed without effect as my thumbnail opened the artery that throbbed and called to me from its neck. Blood covered my face and chest. As it flowed over my manhood, my seed flew to defile the pig shit under my feet. Drained, I ripped the hog's throat open, and tore off great handfuls of meat and one of the haunches. The meat I threw into the jungle. I had no need of it. Tomorrow the village men would debate hunting for the tiger that preyed on their livestock. They would not debate hunting for a demon. 

I burrowed under the shit and mud and slept. 

The following night, long leagues from the sty, I killed a tiger. A glorious beast, I interrupted him as he finished a dinner of fresh ox. I held him at arm's length. His claws gouged my flesh, flesh that healed as soon as the claw moved on. The pain was exquisite. My manhood throbbed and ejaculated at every swipe. I no longer had any seed to offer a woman. What flew from my manhood was blood. What flowed from my eyes was blood. As with the pig, I opened his neck with a nail and bathed in hot animal blood. As I drank, I felt a bit of his spirit enter me, his pride, strength, and stealth became part of me. I did not drop the tiger. I buried him, as I had not done for the family. I knew where the tiger slept. I knew everything about him. I knew the scent of his mother. I knew how many times he mated. I did not know about his offspring. After mating he wandered away. I curled up in his den and pulled piles of brush and leaves over my body. 

I arrived at my village the following night. I had played a dangerous game. The edge of the world was beginning to glow as I dug a grave in an abandoned field. It had been two years since I had left. I wondered what had become of my son, my daughters, my wife. I tried to dissuade myself from making myself known to them. In the star-lit pools of the river, my reflection seemed to be my own. Yes, I have a reflection, more about that later perhaps. But though I wore my wife's husband's face I was not truly her husband any longer. What good could come of this? 

None. Life without a husband is difficult at best. My wife had found a new husband. He wanted his own family. He told my wife he had found my son an apprenticeship with his uncle. He had sent him to his uncle who sold him in the market. My daughters did not even rated a lie. They had been sold outright. This I learn as I drank his blood, his body in one hand, his head hanging from the other. My wife had been found for me by my parents. Even so, I had grown fond of her. She had done what she needed to do to survive. Her crimes did not approach my own. I could have let her live. I did not. I could see her hatred in her eyes. As I drank I understood her at last. She had never grown to love me. In life, she had found me moody, childish. Her hatred for me gave her blood a vigor the man's had lacked. She was a strong woman. 

I found my children, probed them, the girls were as happy as girls in that age could be. Their master came to them in the night, of course, but he treated them with as much kindness as his did his pet monkey. They were content. I did not show myself to them. 

My son burned with anger for me, for the man who had taken his place but most of all for the man who worked and beat him. I considered offering him my blood. The thought had no sooner formed in my mind than a chorus of "no's" knocked me to my feet. If I dared do such a thing, I'd be destroyed, as would my son. I freed him. I freed him and handed him a knife. I'm not sure if he recognized me. It does not matter. His master tried to defend himself. I allowed it for a while, luxuriating in the senselessness of his struggles. Tired of the silliness, I snatched the man's small sword away and crumpled it into a ball. I rendered him incapable of resisting. Doing so in a manner that would have horrified the living me. My son stared at the man for a moment, raised the blade. His hand shook. I could read the emotion in his eyes - hatred, vengance, pity, sorrow - all played in rapid succession over his face. Pity and sorrow triumphed. He drop the knife and ran out of his master's room. I had shat pity and sorrow into the mud. I tore open the throat of the man who had enslaved my son and drank my fill. 

The night grew short. I found my son weeping near the wall of his now former master. Not knowing why, I put my hand over his face. He fell into a deep sleep. I picked him up, leapt over the wall and began to run through the night. As I ran, I sorted through his memories and discovered he was very much as I had wished myself to be. He was not childish, not moody. His heart was large. A bee's struggle to free itself from the doom of a spider's web would trouble him. A broken-winged bird would lead to tears. This, this gentleness, was what the man had robbed from my son. How I yearned to return life to the bastard's body and peel him alive with my fingernails. 

As rage engulfed my mind, my son moaned. I was hurting him. My anger, my wish for violence, caused him physical pain. I stilled myself for him. I had little time. I could not hide my son with me. I did not trust myself to control my thirst. Besides, my son remained a creature of sun and air. He could not lie with me in the dirt. As I fled, I eased his mind. I ferreted out the worst that the man had done to him and let those memories fall from him. I left him with memories of his mother, who had loved him as much as she had hated me, and his sisters. I offered him the illusion that he had traveled, been set upon, recovered and sought shelter in the company of holy men. 

I scaled the high wall of a monastery, easily cradling my son against my body with one arm. I swept my mind over the men who slept there. They were not saints. The Buddha did not dwell here, but he was known here. I impressed upon them the gentleness of my son. I made them aware of his potential to bring a small portion of, if not joy, then at least contentment to those he would meet. I also lodged in their minds the wrath I would visit upon them should they harm him. 

I left him on the stones of the courtyard. I could not bring myself to kiss his cheek. I touched it with one finger, asked for his forgiveness, and disappeared into the night. 

------ 

I fled into the mountains and hid myself deep in the snow. I woke, if that is the right word, wracked with craving. My body twisted, as it had after the dark lady had fed me the first time. I dug deeper, pulled rocks over my body until it was too late to feed. Buried as I was, I felt the sun as it rose. It's cleansing light seeking a way through snow and rock to rid the world of my stain. 


The Sin Eaters Ch. 02



The newbie learns more about Scooter and Scooter's world. He also continues his transformation. 

All the characters are over 18. 

This chapter has MM and MMF sex. If that is a problem for you please look elsewhere. 

The horror in this chapter is not particularly horrific, unless the idea of a vampire relating a bit of his back story is horrifying. 

Thanks to LarryInSeattle. 

=========== 

In my mind I saw the sun. It rode high in the sky but had yet to complete half its journey toward night. Scooter lay, still as death, at my side. His head impossibly warm against my arm. He breathed no more than I did but I grew certain that if he did, it would carry the warmth of life, a warmth that should not be. I felt my body draw strength from his blood. It was impossible for him to reclaim all that his body had deposited in my own. 

Though the sun shone bright in the world above the mountain, I could move my arms now. I did not move the left, the one the defiler of my body now rested upon. I moved only my right. I clenched and unclenched my fist. I examined the sharp nails that glinted before my eyes though my world was devoid of light. I wonder if I could rip his throat open and drink enough of his strength to have a chance of prevailing over him. 

"Not a chance, newbie." His voice was amused. He did not move. He spoke inside my head. 

"Why did your blood carry nothing of you, nothing besides your strength?" I asked, silently. "With the others, their blood was laced with their memories. I drank their lives as fully as I drank their blood. With you there was nothing except heat and power." 

"Bitch, fuck you. Did I give you the impression I had hocked my balls? You think wanting to suck on that brown dick of yours made me go all pussy in the knees, made me want to spill the Lifetime biodrama of my life to you? Fuck dude, I got more gravitas than that in my farts, not that I fart anymore. I fucking miss that sometimes. A fucking fart is always a good way to dispense with too much heavy shit, right? 'Excuse me, Mr. Taylor, but the board really must insist that you..' and I raised up on one cheek and let a fucking pants ripper go, stinky mother fucker, too - a goddamn beer, Cheez-It and Hershey bar fart, bitch it even made me gag. Anyway, all it took was one fart to avoid answering the CEO of daddy's little conglomerate. 

I should have kill that little fuckwad but that's all he was, a little fuckwad turd of a man. He was a true believer that the world was better off with more forms, more rules, and more meetings. He wasn't evil, just fucking boring. He was duller than Vanilla Ice, if you can believe that shit." 

I snarled in frustration. I knew what a fart was. I knew at one time he had been 'Mr. Taylor'. The rest was so much gibberish. 

"Relax, mother fucker. Relax," Scooter snarled back but I felt no anger in his retort. "Shut the fuck up for five fucking minutes. I'll endeavor to enlighten your pretty little brown ass. Open up bitch, here it comes." 

My body stiffened. My back arched off the stony ground. My mind was filled with images I could not understand. 

"Relax, dude. Relax. Don't fight it. Let it be, dude. Let it be. Great fucking tune but that's a story for another day. Quit fighting. Practice breathing through your third eye or you dick or something but chill the fuck out." 

"I no longer breathe air." I hissed between gritted teeth. "Mother bitch," I added in frustration. Scooter chuckled. 

"You got spirit even if you got no breath, 'Bitch' or 'mother fucker' or 'bitch ass mother fucker' or even 'mother fucking bitch' are all acceptable newbie but 'mother bitch' won't cut warm shit, dude. If you did breathe, slow it down, in one nostril and out the other, ain't that the way it works?" 

I did not deem his jest worthy of a reply but I did pretend to breathe. It worked, after a fashion. 

"Now, this is where I'm from." 

I saw an ocean. It looked much like the oceans I had seen. Beyond that, all was confusion. There were people. People such as Scooter. Many were as brown as me, some darker still, almost black. I had seen such men on the far ocean, traders darker than even the southrons of my home. Though the people of Scooter's home were close in color to my own, like him many had pale hair and blue eyes. The women were indecent. It was apparent that Scooter's world was as sun baked as my own. The men wore loincloths but ones that gathered between the legs and appeared uncomfortable in the extreme. The woman were barely clothed. They wore scant patches of fabric over their yonis, bums, and breasts. Their nipples were plainly visible. Even caught in the sun sleep, my linga grew hard. 

"Damn right, dude, chicks on that beach were always fucking smoking hot." Scooter's thoughts interrupted my outrage. "Newbie, do me a favor huh? Save the commentary and outrage until the end of the film. Until then, shut the fuck up already. That's Roatan. An island in a country called Honduras. Fucking one of the best places to dive, back then anyway." Scooter's thoughts were soft and wreathed in a wistful sadness for what had been. 

"That's where it started. Well, for me anyway." 

--- 

I did not hear Scooter's voice in my ears. I heard him in my mind. Along with his words came visions, some I understood, some I understood only fragments and others, too many, were mysteries. I saw Scooter descend from a long gleaming body with a gaping hole in its side. It screamed but remained motionless. Scooter was garbed in one of the strange loincloths and a blue smock... 

That's not a fucking smock newbie. It's a Bob Marley tee shirt. I'm not wearing a loincloth, those are board shorts. The gleaming body is a jet, daddy's private jet and it ain't screaming, those are the engines. I'll save you time and worry. The dark coverings over my eyes are sunglasses, shades, and even humans have trouble with bright lights. Behind me is Mick. Most of the time we called him Empty not Mick. Empty and I borrowed daddy's G4 to do some diving in Roatan. 

Believe it or not, we tried to blend in, hard to do when you arrive in a G4 but we took a regular taxi into town. The hotel we crashed at was a cheap seedy dump favored by divers. The owners looked the other way at what went on in the rooms. They didn't care how much you fucked or smoked or drank in your room. They weren't doing any fucking laundry. You stay there a month and wanted clean sheets, well fuck you, bitch, the Laundromat is across the street. Neither Empty nor I was carrying. One of the crew would bring the ganja to the hotel later. Daddy had the cash and the clout to spring us out of almost any joint this side of Iran but I had no fucking desire to check out the inside of a Honduran prison for even a few hours. Once the shit was in the hotel we were copacetic. 

It was hotter than shit and we were still hungover from the night before. We dropped our shit on the floor, flipped the sheets to make sure there were no centipedes or any of those fucking little sand lizards in the bed, and crashed. I woke up to dried blood on the pillow and the side of my face. 

Empty asked if I had called a fucking doctor about the nose bleeds yet. Fuck no I told him. The fucker did tits and faces. He wasn't a fucking doctor, not really. We had planned to dive the Labyrinth but I felt like shit. I told Empty to go on. I really wanted to dive the Odyssey wreck. I planned to chill and save some kilocals for the Odyssey dive. Empty shrugged. I told him to fuck off and to try not to fucking drown and ruin my vacation. 

I went back to sleep. When I woke, the clock said it was almost two in the afternoon. I sniffed the Marley I had been wearing. It would do for another day. I only brought two, one to wear and one to wash. I waited for the silverfish to crawl out of the sink and splashed cold water on my face. My fucking hair looked like Edward Scissorhands on a bad day. I jerked out the worst of the tangles with my fingers, stashed the ganja in the base of the lamp, and went to get something to eat. 

After a quick stop at the closest bar on the beach, I carried my plate of fish tacos. I loved to order fish tacos, always sounded like I was ordering up pussy. Right? They were shrimp tacos anyway. I carried them and a bucket of Coronas out to the beach and flopped my ass down under a palm tree. I drained a Corona, wolfed a couple of the tacos, convinced my stomach to not barf, and had another Corona, a little more slowly the second time. I finished the last taco and was licking the hot sauce off my fingers when they approached. 

I noticed the woman first. She was tanned with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her tits were full and rode high on her chest, nips showing through the bikini top. She smiled, white teeth, the bottom ones crooked, not a lot but enough it wasn't hard to see. That meant she wasn't rich. Rich people always have perfect teeth. They might wander around dressed like the homeless but when they open their mouths you can tell if they had money or not. 

The dude looked to be an inch or two shorter than me. He was cut, nice ab definition, buzzed hair. He didn't smile. He eyed me. It wasn't a pissing contest stare. It was a curiosity stare, but it was a stare. 

"May we share your shade?" 

She had an accent, Russian I supposed. She sounded like Natasha from the Rocky and Bullwinkle show. 

I shrugged and continued licking my fingers. They sat down on my left. 

"I'm Alexis and this," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the dude, "is my fiancé, Mikhail." He nodded but did not speak. Too bad, I wanted to hear if he sounded like Boris. I pondered asking her to say, "Look Boss, it's moose and squirrel" but I didn't feel like being a fucking douche bag at the moment. 

"Beer?" I offered twisting a top off one of the four remaining brews. I kicked myself for not saying "brewski". I still wasn't feeling all that great and the two beers had dulled my normally rapier repartee. 

"Da," the dude said reaching around Alexis to grab the beer. I opened one for her and a third for myself and stretched back to lie in the sand. The palm fronds waved in the ocean breeze and patterns of red and black played over my eyelids. I didn't stay on my back for long. If there is sand there are sand fleas, count on it, newbie. I sat up cussing and began to scratch at my back. 

"Let me help please." 

Alexis started brushing the sand away from my shoulders and back with her fingers. Her hands felt cool on my skin. When she was finished brushing away the sand, she began to draw her nails lightly over my skin. I've always fucking love that. I could fucking feel my eyelids start to slide down at the first fucking touch, I'm not shitting you, bitch, first fucking swipe and I was half asleep. 

I dropped my head onto my chest, rounded my shoulders and let her go. If she wanted to scratch my back with her fiancé sitting right there it wasn't any skin off my fucking ass. Right? 

"Ah, what is your name my friend?" she asked in a silky voice. The fucking accent was growing on me. I felt like I was in a Bond movie or something. 

"Scooter, not my real name but it'll do," I replied. 

"Is funny name, Scooter." 

"Yup, funny name," I agreed. 

"Scooter, Mikhail and I were looking for someone cool, someone who would maybe like to party. Yes?" 

I rolled my head enough to look at her. She smiled. Beside her, Mikhail had his shorts pushed below his balls and was stroking his cock. Fuckers preferred a direct approach, that's for sure. 

I reached and put my right hand on the back of her head and pulled her toward me. I shoved my tongue into her mouth, tasted Corona and tobacco. When I released her, Mikhail's face wore a little smirk. His cock was still out. It was a nice enough cock but nothing to write home about. 

"Party yes," I replied to Alexis, stood, and pulled her to her feet. I offered my other hand and pulled her fiancé to his feet. I wasn't totally clear on the fucking rules. To clarify, I step in front of him and kissed him. He pushed his tongue into my mouth. Okay. Now I knew the rules. 

I turned and walked toward the hotel, not bothering to see if they followed. I stopped and got another bucket of Coronas. Back inside the room, I saw no reason for reticence. I sat the beer down on the table, kicked my thongs off, shucked my shorts and my Marley and climbed into bed. Mikhail stripped. He twisted the top off a beer and chugged it while Alexis began to suck his cock. 

I swung around, laid on my back, and let my head hang over the side of the bed. I pulled Alexis around with my hands and then tugged her bikini bottom to one side. She was facing away from me, bent at the waist sucking on Mikhail's cock. I put my hands on her hips and pulled her down to my mouth. She was smooth, too smooth to have been a shave job, money or not, her snatch had been waxed. She had a big ole clit, the kind I love to suck on. It's a little cock hiding in a women's cunt. 

I ran my tongue up and down her girl shaft, flicking the tip with my tongue. She started bouncing up and down on my face, moaning around the cock in her mouth. I love the sound of a chick moaning when you're burying your face in her cunt. I stepped up my game and went downtown on that pussy newbie. I slurped her rock hard pussy nub into my mouth and lashed it with my tongue. I sucked it into my mouth and flicked the tip with my tongue. When I felt her tensing up, I'd stop, tilt my head a little further back, and drive my tongue deep into her twat. 

I was fucking drowning in her juice. My cheeks were slick. Pussy juice bubbled in and out of my right nostril as I breathed. I don't know if she was what people call a squirter or not but she was running like hot water over my face. 

I pushed her off my face. She groaned in protest. I told her to turn around. She did and I pulled her back onto my waiting mouth. I didn't need to beckon Mikhail. He stepped behind her and his cock slid into her pussy at the same time my tongue started doing a jig on her clit. I let him get his cock nice and slicked up before I tilted a little further and started tonguing it. I pressed my tongue on the underside of his meat and felt Alexis' cunt juice roll down my tongue. 

We got into a rhythm. He'd fuck her for a few strokes then pull out and fuck my mouth for a few strokes. In the position I was in, neck stretched out like that, I could have swallowed a cock twice as long as his. 

When he didn't pull out I knew he was close. I turned my head and got as much of my mouth over her pussy and his pounding cock as I could without interfering too much with the fucking he was giving her. Damn, newbie, he was slamming into her cunt like a fucking psycho. She was howling. I swear to fucking God the walls were vibrating from all the reverb coming off the sound of him smacking into her pussy. 

Unlike most dudes he didn't stop fucking as he came. He added his grunts to her wailing and I began to taste jizz in my mouth as he kept pounding her with his cock. Finally, he pulled out and I moved in. I clamped my mouth over her cunt and shoved my tongue as far into her cum hole as I could. I licked and sucked his jizz and her juices, all the while he was rubbing the slick head of his cock on my forehead. When I had drained as much from her pussy as I could manage, I opened my mouth for his cock. He stuffed his slowly softening rod deep into my throat and I sucked him clean. 

Alexis was fingering her clit while I did this. I couldn't believe she hadn't cum yet. I let go of Mikhail's cock and redoubled by efforts on her clit. I spread her with one hand and buried the fingers of the other inside her twat. Between the working of my fingers, my tongue, and my lips, she began to bounce and shimmy across my face. Her legs tightened on my head and she let loose with a staccato series of high pitched whines. She sounded a little too much like nails on a chalkboard for my taste but what the fuck, who doesn't sound fucking ridiculous when they cum? Right? 

She collapsed beside me, out of the game for now. I rolled onto my stomach and climbed to my knees. Mikhail wasn't even breathing hard. His uncut cock was caught somewhere between limp and full on boner. I reached for his hand and pulled him onto the bed. I rolled him on his back and looked at his body. 

He was as smooth as Alexis. No armpit hair, no chest hair, no pubes, and no hair on the legs, just the stubble of his buzzed scalp. 

I pushed his knees to his chest and sucked one of his balls into my mouth. As with his fiancé, I felt no stubble on my tongue. His balls were heavy, despite the load he'd just deposited in Alexis' cunt. I let go of that one and suck the other into my mouth. At the touch of my wet mouth, his nut sack tightened. I tugged gently, not sure with my new friend where the line between hot and hurt lie. 

I moved lower, wedging my pussy-slick cheeks between his. My tongue began to caress his asshole. I felt it twitching beneath my tongue. I nipped along the sides of his crack. I slobbered all over his hole, pulled back, made a ramrod of my tongue, and penetrated him. It was his turn to moan. His hips began to rock. I pulled his ass cheeks apart with my hands and drove my tongue deeper. 

I savored the bitter earthy tang on my tongue. Beside us, Alexis wiggled closer and began to kiss her fiancé. I could catch glimpses of her between his ball sack, cock, and thigh. She had one eye on me as well. His cock was no longer undecided. It was hard and shiny, precum dangling from the head, or maybe in this case post cum. 

I pulled my mouth away from him. His asshole winked. I stood on the bed and squatted, rubbing spit over my cock as I pushed it down. He did not protest. He reached up and hooked his arms behind his knees. I lowered myself, pressing my cock against his pucker. There was a moment of resistance and then I was inside him. I continued to lower my squat until my balls were smashed between his ass and my body. 

I pulled out slowly. I let my cock slip out of his ass, then re-entered him. I popped the head of my cock in and out of his ass a few times before going deep again. Once I was sure he was loose enough, that my cock was wet enough, I fucked him. 

I fucked him like he had fucked Alexis, hard. I spent hours a day most days squatting on a surfboard. When I wasn't surfing I worked out. I was rich baby. Being on time was not on my list of shit to deal with. I had no trouble doing squat thrusts on his ass. For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel tired. I felt fully alive. I was balls deep in a hot dude's ass and I wanted to fuck. 

I filled his ass, newbie, fucking filled it. He was shitting my cum for a week, don't doubt it, bitch, don't doubt it. I pulled out and collapsed beside him. Alexis was still kissing him. Suddenly, I was as tired as I had ever been. I was breathing like I'd just finished the Badwater ultramarathon. My heart was pounding and my head was spinning. I don't think I could have stood up. 

I was laying there wondering if I had just fucked myself to death when the door opened. 

"Fucking hell, Scooter what the fuck you fucking in my bed for?! Fucking son of a bitch goddamn cock sucking asshole! Fuck!" 

Even as light-headed as I was, Empty's outrage made me giggle. 

--- 

The dark cavern echoed with Scooter's laughter, real laughter, not a ghost laugh inside my mind. 

I made introductions, not that Empty was in the mood to say hi to my new friends. I invited them to go diving. They said no thanks and we made plans to meet the next night after we got back from diving the Odyssey wreck. To make it up to Empty, I phoned our co-pilot, Roger, and asked him if he'd mind bringing us some brews and pizza, get himself some too. It was no problem of course. After my Russian friends left, we left the door open to get some air. There was no AC in that dump. The room reeked of pussy and cum. I wasn't surprised when Roger elected not to stay and join us for dinner. I only ate half a slice and I didn't have any beer. I gulped down two liter bottles of water over the next hour and fell asleep amid the wreckage of Empty's bed. He slept in mine so I don't know what he was pissed about. 




The Sin Eaters Ch. 02



-- 

"Yo, Scoot, wait the fuck up." 

I ignored Empty. I wanted to stow my gear, shower and get back to the beach, find a quiet spot and blaze a spliff. 

Empty was a fat fuck, not to be cold or anything, but he was. As beat as I was, how the fuck could he not keep up with me? I felt like I could barely put one foot in front of the other. How the hell he got laid so much was a totally fucking mystery to me. I'm not talking fat chicks. Fucking babes. He'd light up the whitest teeth Hollywood could buy, start laying a total load of horse shit on them and end up with one, or two, of the bitches in his bed while I was trying to sleep. He wasn't totally hideous or anything. He had a fucking great tan, which I fucking hated him for, sun bleached hair and that fucking smile. He told me chicks, the smart ones anyway, knew to avoid the studs. Studs got fucked, regardless. Dudes like him had to work at it. From the fucking noise that came from his bed, I was forced to deduce he knew more than a little about getting a chick off. The fat fuck would never spill. If I asked he'd give the same 'a gentleman does not eat pussy and tell' shit. 

"Seriously dude, fucking wait up." 

I stopped near the end of the dock and looked back, making sure Mick could see I was totally not in the mood for any shit. The view over the water was, dude it like dropped me in my tracks. Fuck man, I lived in California. I'd seen sunsets out my fucking ass. This was different. It was what my mom use to call a Kodak moment. Kodak? It's a fucking camera. Now you know what the fuck I'm talking about? 

Strangely, I did. As Scooter 'spoke' I saw a strange basket or box a woman held to her face. Then I saw Scooter's face on a piece of skin or cloth. I knew it was a 'photograph' and the basket was a 'camera'. 

The sun had just touched the horizon and set the water on fire. Orange and red and yellow flickered across the waves, racing toward the dock. The sun was wreathed with clouds as if the ocean was boiling and billowing steam. The clouds themselves went from white to pink to orange and at the highest point, purple. After all this time I know the answer is "no" but I used to wonder if God, or the Universe, had granted me a gift. That was the last time I was able to look at the sun without pain. 

Mick, finally caught up with me and in typical Empty fashion, shit on the moment. He smacked me in the back of the head and asked me if I was having a stroke or a seizure or something. If I had known he would be dead in a few hours I wouldn't have given him a titty twister. Maybe I would have, I don't know. He had been getting on my nerves. It was like having my mom on vacation with me. Dude, you okay? Dude, your tanks left bruises on your hips and shoulders, what's up with that? Fuck man, your nose bleeding again? He kept bugging me and bugging me about shit I didn't want to think about. He was fucking driving me nuts. So, I gave his right tit a twister. I wasn't a dudes fucking around twister. It was a fucking vicious-dick-head-jock-picking-on-a-freshman-nerd kind of titty twister. It fucking made him cry. Mick wasn't no pussy. He didn't make a sound but I could see his eyes fill up. You know? Fucking stupid. I shouldn't have done it. 

Scooter was quiet. I felt something warm splash on my arm. 

I tried to say I was sorry by letting him have the shower first. He shrugged. Fuck, dude, you have no fucking clue how many years I've had to ponder whether Empty knew that was my way of saying I was sorry. I fucking hope he did. 

He was waiting on me when I got out of the shower. He probably figured I was in their stroking one out, preparing for the festivities but I wasn't. I had another fucking nose bleed. They were happening damn near every day. I knew some kind of shit was seriously out of whack but I wasn't heading back to LA until I was ready. 

I put on the cleanest of the Marleys and we headed out. We didn't say much. We noshed on some nachos, probably dog and not chicken but I didn't care. Alexis and Mikhail were nowhere to be seen. Mick started working a couple of smokin' hot Asian chicks with two of the best pairs of small titties I have seen in multiple fucking lifetimes. At least Mick got some time with some prime titties before the end. He got time with more than titties, at least from what I could read out of the ridiculous shit eating grin on his face when he came back for the bathroom. The chicks were grinning. Bitch, I have to show you. Gander a spell on the look on their faces. 

My mind was filled with a vision of two young woman, barely clothed, staring into space. 

Mark that look, mother fucker. That my, brown dick newbie, is a look that tells the world: "I have just been well and totally fucked." 

That was Empty, a goddamn sex god wrapped up in a little too much adipose. 

Once more, I saw Mick in my mind. I was shocked. He was not fat. He did not have the look of a man newly risen from sickness but he was not fat. Please understand, I am not a man who notices other men but this man Mick was not unpleasing to the eye. 

No, man, you're right. I already gave you the 411. Mick wasn't hideous. I guess he wasn't totally a fat fuck but for our crowd he was definitely on the tubby side. Bitch, there wasn't one of the dudes, chicks neither, we hung with you couldn't have washed your clothes on their abs. We were rich, mother fucker, not orthodontist rich or plastic surgeon rich, no, fucker we were rich rich, Hollywood producer rich, catered picnics on the Malibu fucking beach rich. Fuck, I already told you we took daddy's G4 to Roatan. We partied, worked out, surfed, scuba, fucked, and worked out, not always in that order. We had perfect bodies, perfect tans, perfect teeth, and chauffeured cars. So did Empty of course, he simply rejected his destiny, other than the surfing and scuba and fucking parts anyway. 

Fuck man, remind me some decade, assuming I don't destroy your ass on principle, to show you the look on the face of the crowd waiting to get into the latest got-to-be-seen-at club. I would stand outside just to fucking watch. Mick would pull up in his rusting out VW bug, hand the keys to the valet and saunter past the crowd, unwashed hair, rip tee and nod to the bouncer holding the rope open for him and enter. The crowd on the other side of the rope could not fucking believe it. Most of them had dropped at least a couple bills on the bouncer just hoping to get in and here this undressed dude hops out of a piece of shit jalopy even their gardeners wouldn't be caught driving and waltzes straight in. God, Empty was funny. 

Any fuck, while Empty was occupied with the Asian chicks, Alexis and Mikhail showed up. She was already eye fucking me. She had on a tight, tight, TIGHT red dress, so short if she had pubes they would have curled from underneath it. She wore bright red lipstick she kept wetting with her tongue. Her hair was down, a black cascade over her shoulders that caught the light like a mirror. She was walking heat, dude. Seriously walking heat. I swear I could smell her pussy over the smell of spilt beer, piss, and damp ashtrays. 

"This place is for the dead," Alexis whispered. I fucking swear to you she whispered but I heard her over the over amped reggae pounding from the speakers above the dance floor. "Come. I'll show you a real party and the best dope in the Carib." 

To my utter and complete fucking irritation, Empty tells her, "Cool. Thanks but we got an early dive tomorrow. Plus Scooter here is still getting his period. He needs his rest." 

I was vexed, dude, extremely vexed. I was tired, tired as a back alley ho working to pay off her pimp before he busts her knees. More than tired though, I was vexed. Fucking Empty had already had himself two servings of triple grade "A" Asian poontang. What the fuck was he trying to pull, calling it a night before I had so much as dipped a finger in the well of feminine nectar? I told him to fuck off. I was escorting the very lovely Alexis and her fiancé to the party. 

"Mick, I think that's a bad idea bro. Let's go back to the hotel." 

He was totally serious, no trace of bullshit to be found in his face. I tell myself it wouldn't have mattered. It probably wouldn't have but who knows maybe if we'd stuck together... I turned to go. Empty put his hand on my arm. I shook it off, shoved him and told him to fucking quit fucking pawing me and get lost. 

Scooter grew quiet. He said no more. I heard no more until the sun had begun its descent into night. 

That was the last thing I ever said to my brother, get lost. How fucked up is that? Fucking asshole had shared a womb with me. We weren't identical. What the fuck you call it? We were fraternity twins. My little brother, by about fifteen minutes, and the best fucking friend I ever had and the last thing he heard me say was get lost. Talk about your fucking karma newbie. 

I could feel his eyes on me as I followed that skin tight red dress ass out of the club. She opened the door of the van and climbed in. I thought we were going to fuck first or something. I followed. I figured Mikhail was going to drive. I started to say something cool and sexy, I don't remember what, and then Mikhail grabbed my arms. Alexis leaned forward and pushed a plastic bag with a rag in the bottom of it over my face. She never blinked, never smiled, never even fucking smirked. 

--- 

Scooter rose. "Come," was all he said and began to walk away. A full half of the sun clung to the horizon. I struggled to rise. I was stronger, much stronger now but I could do no more than roll helplessly from side to side. Scooter said nothing. He simply walked to my side, pricked a finger with one of his nails and squeezed a half dozen drops of blood into my mouth. 

My back arched and the world roared inside my head. Warmth coursed through my body. I had already forgotten what it felt like to be warm. I had no time to savor the gift. 

"Come." 

This time when I willed my body to rise it obeyed. I followed. Whether my memory of the journey to the cave was sharper than I had imagined or whether it was the power in Scooter's blood, I knew the way. I was careful to not lose sight of Scooter's back but I knew the way. I convinced myself that it was fear of becoming lost that kept my eyes on Scooter's back, not the hard lines of his muscles or the way one side after another of his bottom dimpled as he walked in front of me. My cock had absorbed the power of his blood. It was that, and only that, which caused it to stand hard away from my body. It did not throb. My heart no longer beat. No part of my body, except possibly my brain, was capable of throbbing any longer. 

"Are you planning to turn yourself into hamburger again to get out of here?" Scooter inquired as we stood before the narrow crack in the rock wall. 

I claim no insight or praise for myself. Left to myself I would have starved, if that were possible, trapped inside the mountain. I had not been left to myself. I had supped on my companion's ancient strength. His blood, not my brilliance, supplied the answer. 

I emptied my thoughts of all but hazy red smoke and my body dissolved but not my will. I willed the mist of my body to waft itself through the crack. Any pride I felt disappeared at the sight of my master standing on the narrow crag as if he'd been waiting hours. 

"Not great but not pathetic, newbie." His voice was cold as the night air. "You don't need to imagine your body as smoke, newbie. Your body, my body, the rock we stand on is mostly empty space. Imagination is not required, simple acknowledgement of the fact will do." 

As he spoke, he sank into the stone at his feet. The stone appeared to move as he spoke then it ceased. I felt him course beneath my feet and spun around. He stood there as solid as before. 

"Do yourself a favor. Don't try that. You'll get fucking stuck in the rock. Not a fucking thing I can do about that. You'll stay stuck screaming your way into madness or stay stuck until you attain enough acceptance to escape, assuming you get stuck deep enough into the stone that the sun doesn't vaporize your ass." 

He disappeared. I turned, He stood atop a boulder a dozen paces away. He disappear only to reappear standing beside me. 

"You don't have to run, newbie. Well, you do because you won't be able to accept the fact you don't have to run until you have a few hundred millennia under your belt. No iteration so far has lasted long enough to produce another Einstein. In my time he showed that matter and energy are different forms of the same primordial shit. I don't need to move my matter all over the fucking place. That's totally fucking inefficient. Not so with energy. Energy moves and moves fast. I don't need to run or fly. I just project the energy that is currently in the form of my mass to a different spot. Want to really fucking fry your gourd, you cute little piece of brown ass? I keep tripping on the same quandary McCoy on Star Trek tripped on. If I turn my matter to energy and back again do I take my soul with me? That'll make your 'what's the sound of one hand clapping' bullshit seem kind of pathetic, huh?" 

As he spoke, he hovered in the air, moving slowly around me. I resisted the urge to fall to my knees. He was not a man. In my poor judgment he seemed not to have achieved Nirvana, though he had earlier spoken the name, but was he not a god? 

I was slammed against the face of the cliff. The heat from his gaze peeled the skin off my face. I could feel my skull crushed flat against the rock. I felt joy, for a moment, simple pure joy. I was dying. And I was grateful. 

"I'm not a fucking god you fucking imbecilic stone-age fuck!" His face was twisted in rage. His eyes, quite literally blazing in fury. "I'm nothing. I'm not even a fucking man. I'm not a fucking god. A fucking god could end this shit. I'm just an undying monster. I can't die and I can't help learning everything except how to stop God, or whoever, from continuing to punish me. If I was a god why would I be in hell?" 

I had no answer. I could feel my body trying to heal itself. I could feel bone fragments seeking their mates, feel my brain trying to re-assemble itself but it was losing the race. I was too damaged to repair. Whatever had been done to me was too weak to win this race. I was happy. I hoped to meet the souls of the family I had slain and that of my wife. I would ask their pardon while not expecting to receive it. 

I believe it was that wish that undid me. I believe Scooter would have been content to let me die there on the mountain and let the next sun turn my remains to ash if I had not wished for forgiveness. He flew to my side. He slashed one wrist with his teeth and held it too my mouth. 

"Not a fucking chance newbie, not a fucking chance. You haven't paid your dues yet. What you did was no less a crime than any of my own. You ain't skipping away to fah lah land so fast." 

I tried to spit his blood out. I did not desire it. My mind wanted release. My body wanted life, or if not life, existence. My body gulped one, two mouthfuls of his blood before he jerked away. My body rippled against the rock as it healed itself. There was pain but it was gone so quickly it hardly registered. 

I hit him. I hit him as hard and as fast as I could. I was able to land the blow but if it affected him it did not show. Perhaps I had shattered his skull and with his ancient strength, he healed before I was able to perceive the injury. Perhaps he was simply too strong for me to injure. 

I hit him a dozen more times. The bones in my hands would shatter and reknit before the next blow shattered them again. He grew bored and stopped me by fastening his hands around my wrists. 

The rage had left his face. I saw no anger there, no pity, no joy. His face and eyes were as flat as the sea on a windless night. 

He kissed me. He had done so early. I had tried to fight him. I tried again and I was more capable now. He was still beyond my ability to hurt but I tried. He let me this time. He did not fight back. I pushed and clawed. I bit. I bit his tongue off. Before I could swallow it another replaced it. Once more I fed on a fraction of his blood. I tried to bite again. Nothing. My teeth could not penetrate his tongue or his lip. 

He let me fight until I was exhausted. He did nothing more than hold me and gently move his lips over my mine and caress my tongue with his own. One hand still held one of my wrist. The other stroked my back, his razor sharp nails drew lines of blood across my back and ass. He wiped the blood off my skin, held his fingers in front of my face and licked them clean. 

My cock ached. His mouth and tongue glistened red in the moonlight, moonlight that to my eyes, still held colors. I longed for his mouth, to taste my blood on his lips. I could no longer deny the desire that flamed inside my dead heart. 

He waited. I had tried to reject him. If I wanted him, I would have to declare myself. He would not offer me the gift of himself, unasked, any longer. 

I leaned my head toward his. He did not move. My lips touched his. He did not move. I offered him my tongue. He did not move. 

"Please," I whimpered. 

His lips parted and his hands cupped my cheeks. The vestiges of my old life vanished inside the taste of my blood in his mouth. 

--- 

I had kissed my wife many times. I had found her a very satisfactory companion, though I had learned after my death that she had always hated me. Nonetheless, in spite of my ignorance, I loved the feel of her lips and the taste of her mouth. I would have scoffed at the suggestion that there was a better way to kiss another or to be kissed by another. 

I was wrong. I cannot explain. I do not understand how it was that kissing Scooter was so different than kissing my wife. Was it the sweetness of that which is forbidden? I no longer lived. If death itself was forbidden, what joy could forbidden yet cling to? His kisses were both gentler and stronger than a woman's. Rather, they shifted from soft to firm in a manner radically different than would a woman's. A woman's kiss would not be accompanied by the feel of his rigid maleness against my thigh and belly. So? A woman's kiss could be accompanied by the feel of her welcoming wetness and heat on my thigh. Why his kisses were so different I cannot say. All I can say is that they were. 

I caught my mind drifting from the question of how his kisses differed to whether his kisses were superior to a woman's. I strove to recall, in intimate detail, the feel and taste of my wife's lips. My master pulled his mouth from mine and nipped at my ear. From this, I gathered he was not pleased to discover my thoughts wandering such paths. 

I was so much stronger now. He had shared his blood with me, more than he intended I imagined. Was I strong enough to hide my thoughts from him? As my tongue continued its dance inside my master's mouth, I pictured myself meditating in the small hut I had my servants build at the back of my property. I pictured myself, sitting, inside the darkness, under the shade of the hollong trees that bordered my land, the breeze that evaporated the heat from my body, heat I now longed to feel. 

"Newbie, what the fucking you hiding from? Me? Why?" I heard no anger in his voice, saw none in his eyes. 

"Only to see if I were capable of doing so," I answered honestly. "To see if any of myself was yet my own." 

"Dude, I thought you spent the last couple years begging scraps and sleeping in the cold and mud trying to rid yourself of yourself. Now all of a sudden you're worried about hanging on to yourself? Great fucking Bowie tune, by the way. Sometime, if I don't decide to destroy you on principle, you got to hear 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars'. It's un-fucking believable. I've kicked my ass innumerable times for not getting inside Bowie's head. Fuck me what a trip that would have been. Shit. No world other than my own makes it as far as rock music either. No Einstein. No Beatles. No Bowie. Fuck." 




The Sin Eaters Ch. 02



I did not answer. It was my pride, and pride was a great barrier to enlightenment. I needed... 

"Oh for Pete's fucking sake stop with the enlightenment bullshit. I have crawled all over this shitty orb for longer than you can begin to imagine. There is no enlightenment, no Nirvana. You can learn things, sure. You can grow powerful, sure. But none of that brings enlightenment. Be proud. I fucking hate, hate brown nosers. Go ahead and fight me. You can't win but that doesn't mean you have to grovel, bitch." 

No? So be it. It may be that I remained as open to him as the world on a bright dawn but I let the curtain fall over the door of the little hut beneath the giant trees in which I sat. When his mouth again sought mine I offered it. 

Having leapt into the abyss I savored the sensation of soaring. I loved the feel of his lips on mine but I hungered for more. I kissed his neck and he let me. I kissed the strong arches of his collar bones and he let me. I kissed my way down the center of his chest and he let me. When I kissed my way to his right nipple, his hand found the back of my head. 

"Fuck yeah, newbie, that's right." 

I tugged at his nipple, flicking it with my tongue as his fingers clenched in my hair. I bit him, but not hard enough to draw blood. I feared losing his trust should he imagine I was trying to taste his power. I buried my nose in the soft hair under his arm. Like me, he had no musk no scent. A pang of regret lanced my thoughts. I had loved the clean scent of my wife. It saddened me I would never know what my master smelled like. 

"Here," he whispered. 

My mind filled with a vision of Scooter lying on his bed. It was a bed fit for a harem. He was naked. His fist pounded away at his cock. His head was turned, his nose as close to his armpit as he could manage. He inhaled. He inhaled and I smelled his scent. It was overwhelming. He smelled of strange worlds and foods but under it was his own scent. I clutched at him them, rubbing my face into his armpit and enjoying the sound of his sighs. 

I fell to my knees. I worshipped but I didn't grovel. I begged him to supply my mind with its desire as I pressed my face into the dark curls above his cock. I have heard it said that some yoga masters can suck their own cocks, though to do such a thing would be a sacrilege. Scooter had not been a yoga master but he had played with his cock and balls and sniffed his fingers. He had fingered below his ball and teased his asshole and absorbed the smell from his fingers. He shared those memories with me as I took his cock into my mouth without hesitation. 

To me it seemed an enormous thing, his cock. I had never seen a man of such endowment in my travels. 

"In my world, I was considered well hung, newbie, but I was far from huge." 

No matter, I recall the vision of Scooter taking the foreign man's cock into his throat. He had thought the words "deep throat" as he had done so. I understood that. I search the power of my master's blood. I knew he hid his memories from me but I searched nonetheless. Whether I found such knowledge or my own efforts were reward was not relevant. What was relevant was I had Scooter's cock deep in my mouth and throat. My nose was tickled by his man hair. I began to move my mouth over his cock as I had seen him do in his memory. I tugged at his foreskin with my lips. I bathed the crown of his manhood with my tongue. I stroked him with both hands as I bobbed my mouth over the head. 

When his hands found my head, I did not object. I no longer wished to fight. As his cock slid in and out of my mouth, I fondled his balls, felt then roil and contract in my palm. When he filled my mouth, I did not gag or sputter. I swallowed. He pushed deep into my throat, to the point swallowing was not necessary. He filled my gullet with his hot cum, his blood and once again I felt heat flood my body. 

I rested there on my knees, mouth full of his cock, body feasting on his essence. I was content. 

"Hello Cass, what the fuck up, girl?" 

As I heard my master's voice I turned in surprised. His cock rested against my cheek. My maker stood atop the rock that hid the entrance to Scooter's lair. I had been too near death to appreciate her beauty when she had made me. My body recalled the taste of her sex and my linga grew so tight it hurt. 

"What's up? Not your IQ you dumb shit. How much have you fed him? You cum in his mouth? Have you lost your fucking mind, Zachary Taylor?" 

She flew to stand in front of him. As her surprisingly dainty feet touched the cold stone, she swung the back of her hand at my head. 

No thought guided me. I found myself behind her, one hand pulling her head back, the other held as a claw around her throat. She attempted to spin away, reached back and clawed at my face. I found myself atop her. She was face down in the dirt. I held both wrists, pulling her arms back and above her body. I felt, and heard, the long bone in her left arm snap. She stifled a cry. 

I jumped back, appalled. I had had not thought to hurt her. 

My hands shook as she rose, her face a mixture of anger, fear, and shock. 

I fell to the ground and touched my forehead to her foot. 

"Forgive me. I have no wish to harm or offend you." 

"Oh goddamn mother fucking hell! Knock off the fucking groveling shit, asshole! You are fucking killing me here Smalls, fucking killing me." 

Scooter reached down, grabbed the back of my neck and with no appreciable effort jerked me to my feet. 

"I hurt her. I hurt the one who kept me from dying." 

"I didn't keep you from dying, dipshit. You're as dead as the rest of us. And you didn't fucking hurt me. See." 

She was waving her arm around. She was lying. I had heard her pain. I had felt her pain, not as pain but as an awareness of what was happening in her body. She knew this. What I knew was that she needed this subterfuge. 

"Nonetheless, I crave your pardon Mistress Cassie." 

Scooter howled and the rocks trembled. 

"Mistress Cassie? Holy fucking shit. Now I really truly have heard every fucking thing under the sun." 

"Fuck you ZT," Cassie hissed but she smiled as she said it.



The Sin Eaters



I did not feed the following night or the next. I remained in my hoar frosted tomb for days. I dwindled. Pain ravaged my body, twisting it into shapes impossible for a mortal man. I wondered if I would die. Could I die in this fashion? Starved? Or would I have to pray for the sun to melt away the snow and find the crevices between the stones to finish me? I passed beyond thought, only knowing I yet existed through my pain. 

Without conscious thought, I began to claw at the rock and snow that pressed against my face. I crammed handfuls of snow into my mouth. It burned, as the waters of the stream had but it also restored my strength. Blood soaked its way into the snow. It was not much, only enough to turn my hunger into madness beyond my control. I burst from beneath the snow. 

A man, or what was once a man, stood there. He was a being such as myself. That is not true, rather I was a being, a poor imitation of a being, such as he. He was old, ancient beyond reckoning and powerful. His left hand was clenched into a fist. Blood dripped from between his fingers. It was his blood that had awakened me from my stupor. I could feel his power through the drops of his blood I had gleaned from the snow. I dared not touch him. I lay prostrate at his feet and sucked his blood from the ground. After a moment, he kicked me away. I felt the side of my chest cave in from the blow. It restored itself as I flew through the air. My body broke when it hit the stony face of the mountain. I was whole before I fell to the ground. 

He was no taller than I yet he seemed to tower over me. His body gleamed like stone. He was a living, or if not living, animate, statue. He was a god. I fell to my knees. 

"Oh for fuck's sake do not start that shit again. Stand the fuck up you fucking pussy. You still hungry? Lookit what I brought you?" 

I looked at him. I had not noticed, or in some fashion he had hid from me, the fact that in his right hand he held a woman's arm. She was not a child but not old. As my eyes swept over her she quivered in terror. My thirst raged. I took a step toward her and she tried to cry out but faster than thought the living statue covered her mouth. 

"What are you waiting for? Aren't you hungry?" He drew a thumbnail across the back of her hand and blood began to flow as her eyes bulged. I took another step. She was with child. 

Her free hand was pressed to her belly, as if that was capable of protecting her child from the likes of us. 

"Mother fucker, fucking eat, already. I'm bored out of my tits. Feed already." 

The woman shook her head. The blood soaking into the snow beneath her hand called to me. The rush of blood through her body called to me. Worse, the rush of blood from her womb called to me. I raced toward her as she shook her head. As I grasped at her body, her eyes meet mine. They were dark with terror and grief. A vision of my son's face filled my mind. The gentleness I had felt in his heart tried to fill my own dead and still heart. I turned and fled. 

He, and the woman appeared in front of me. Unlike the dark lady, my eyes were not able to track his movements. 

"Feed," he demand. My eyes pled with him. "If you don't. I'll fucking rip the little rug rat from her belly and toss your ass into the sun. Feed." 

I had no reason to doubt what he said. I did not wish to see the woman and her child die. If he sent me to the sun I would die blessing him. I fell to the ground and covered my ears with my hands, hoping to escape the sounds of their deaths. 

The ground shook and I tensed. 

"Get up you fucking pussy. What the fuck is with you and all this unseemly groveling shit anyway?" 

I tilted my head to look at him. He stood where he had when I fell to my knees. The woman was gone. My eyes widened. 

"I didn't kill her or the baby. What the fuck dude? She's tucked back in bed, next to the most unappetizing smarmy little douche bag I've seen in, I don't know, fucking millions of years. How the fuck she puts up with him is fucking beyond me." He chuckled, an amazingly childlike sound that echoed strangely among the rocks around us. "I did a Total Recall on her ass, great fucking movie, the original not the remake. She won't remember any of this. But I didn't just wipe that shit. Bitch let me tell you, I upgrade her OS to don't-take-no-fucking-shit-from-no-limp-dick-fucktard-no-more 2.0. I don't know if they've invented strap-ons yet but if they have, she'll be pegging his weenie fucking ass before junior pops out." He shook his head, frowning. "Man, I fucking hope the kid isn't his. That is one set of deoxyribonucleic acid base pairs that most definitely does not need to be handed down. 

"I wouldn't have let you off her either. It was a test. I had to know if what you did to that family was newbie terror and hunger or if you really were a twisted sick mother fucker. We got enough of those already. If you had touched her I would have destroyed you." 

I heard his words. He wasn't speaking Hindi but, as had happened with the dark woman, I knew what he was saying. In this case it didn't help very much. I understood very little of what he said. I gathered I had passed some sort of test but the rest was gibberish. 

I couldn't understand the man on the ground either but that didn't bother me. The man on the ground wasn't speaking. He was screaming. The living statue... 

"Okay dude, I know you're all weirded out and shit. And I'm sorry to fuck with your story but man I fucking got no choice here. I'm going to like totally mind fuck the narrative flow. I am not a living fucking statue bitch. I'm Scooter, or Scoot. My real name is Zachary Taylor, fucking one of the most forgettable presidents ever, but you wouldn't know that. I was always Zach as a kid. Hated it. I was ZT in high school at least until I tumbled to the totally shit realization that ZT, or ziti, was also fucking pasta. No fucking way I was dragging around a moniker half a fucking step away from limp noodle. There's always one douche bag that just can't let it go. In this case that'd be Mick. I finally had to lay his bleeding ass out on the sand before he dropped the ZT shit. Karma's a fucking bitch dude. He's the one tagged me with Scooter. I was totally flying, baby, some really mellow ass weed and a couple tabs of X and I was totally fucking flying. You better believe it, you brown dick little fucker, fucking "Smells Like Teen Spirit" sounded like a soft fuzzy little kitten of a tune, that's how fucking high I was. Yeah, yeah, yeah bitch. I'm reading your confusion. What does grooving on a totally X-high warped Nirvana song have to do with Mick tagging me as 'Scooter' anyway? Just this: I managed to park my ass on the only fire ant hill in fucking Baja. I was so fucking wasted they had crawled up my shorts and practically fried my nuts off before my totally mellow and grooving brain woke up and started screaming. I jumped up, ran a few feet, yanked my jams off and started dragging my ass through the sand. That didn't do diddly fuck so I did a perfect 10 belly flop into a wave. By the time I crawled out of the surf, I was and have henceforth been: 'Scooter'. 

"Anyway dude, sorry to fuck with your narrative but I'm Scooter. The 'dark lady' is Cassie. That bitch be crazy but holy shit can she fuck. Don't get any ideas. You took about a zillion leap frogs by drinking my blood but it would be a close fight. If she comes to you, you're golden, go ahead and fuck her brains out or let her fuck your brains out. She can compress a handful of sand into a fucking diamond dildo for you if that's how you get your jollies, don't fret about that. Any fuck, the names are Scooter and Cassie. There's no more than a couple dozen of us. You can continue to be the mysterious omniscient nameless narrator if that puts the stick in your dick but one more 'living statue this' or 'dark lady that' I'll rip your fucking head off your shoulders. Capisce? Dude I've got the munchies fucking big time. Let's eat." 

Scooter took his foot off the screaming man's hand. It was a mass of white and red and dripped blood. He grabbed the man by the back of the neck. When he spoke, his voice had lost its soft bantering tone. It was icy with rage and disgust. 

"No need to be squeamish with this one. Take a look." 

He had not needed to explain himself. I looked into the man's eyes. His mind was fouler than the pig shit I had slept in not so many nights past. 

He lived alone, a day's walk from the closest village. He lived near the path that lead from the foothills away toward the lowlands, where the villages were larger and more frequent. To call him an innkeeper would grant him too great an honor. For travelers in groups, he did no more than replenish their water bottles and supplies in exchange for a few copper coins. He offered crude shelter from the cold winds that settled off the mountains during the night. Travelers of substance, those who were likely to search for missing family, these, too he left alone, even if they traveled alone. The poor, who no one would miss, they were his targets. Above all else, he was a coward. 

The latest had been a couple, barely as old as the woman Scooter had tempted me with. I took their story from his mind. I watched as he clucked and nodded in sympathy. The young man's parents did not approve of the marriage. Neither had the young lady's. His mother, a woman of exceptional wisdom, gave them a note to carry to her cousin. It would be a long, tiring journey but her cousin would shelter them until her son, a maker of small pots, could set up a business. It would have been a long journey had they but declined this man's offer of shelter. 

He fed them, oh he was generous enough when there was pleasure to be had. The lentil stew was heavy with turmeric. It hid the bitter bite of opium. Opium works much better when smoked, but even ingested it was enough to send the tired travelers into a deep sleep. 

Bimla, the young wife, woke manacled to a post. She had been stripped. Her eyes scanned the small hut. Her husband, Hitesh, was bounded to a similar post. In his eyes she saw no fear, only a plea that she forgive him for failing to keep her safe. The coward stood beside her husband, grinning. He waited until he was sure Bimla's eyes were fixed on her husband before bringing the bright cruel blade from behind his back. 

Hitesh saw the blade. He smiled at his wife. "Farewell, bright star. We will find each other again." 

Bimla returned her husband's smile. Her eyes gleamed with forgiveness and pride. "Farewell, my husband. You are the earth I stand upon. Rest now so that you shall be strong when we meet once more." 

The blade flashed in the dim candle light. 

After that the memories I stole from his eyes were drenched in red. All this and more. There had been many others before Bimla and Hitesh, many. I retched but there was nothing in my stomach. I wanted to tear my skull apart with my bare hands and wait for the sun to cleanse the world of the filth it had absorbed from this man, this cowardly predator who preyed on the defenseless. 

Scooter's face was devoid of expression. His voice was grim and as cold as the snow that covered our feet. 

"It is time to feed." 

My eyes could not follow the movement of Scooter's hands. One minute the sick beast who looked like a man was standing before me. I blinked. When my eyes opened Scooter was drinking from the man's neck. He handed the man to me. I already had the creature's twisted memories. I fed without remorse for the first time. This was not a man. This was not even a creature as noble as a hog. I would fed on a hundred such as he before slaying another tiger to slack my thirst. 

------ 

That is how I learned to survive on corrupted flesh. 

An image of the sun began to burn in my mind. "Come," Scooter commanded as he tossed the man's body into the rocks. He put an arm around my waist and we were flying. As he rose, a yellow hot sliver of sun glowed on the horizon. The light touched the back of my legs. The pain was sudden and immense. It overwhelmed my senses. Then we were racing to the west, outpacing the sun. It slipped below the horizon. 

I focused on the stars before me, wondering which one was Bimla and which was Hitesh. The pain was worse when it subsided enough to be comprehended. Scooter offered no words of comfort and I realized he had done this deliberately. He was punishing me for killing the family. 

"Yes." He intoned and was again silent. He lit upon a crag of crumbling stone, as lightly as the kiss of moonlight. He beckoned me with one hand and disappeared behind a large stone. I followed. He was gone. Behind the stone lay a crack in the face of the mountain, no wider than my hand. I looked up and around me. I knew I could not follow Scooter with my eyes but still I looked. 

"Fucking hell, dude. I'm down here. You really that fucking lame you can't sense me?" 

His taunt angered me but in my anger, I found him. He was behind the rock, deep inside the mountain. But how had he gotten there? The crack? Impossible. He was silent and I knew I could not expect any help. I looked around. I stood on solid rock, the very backbone of the mountains. I could not dig rock, not quickly enough anyway. There were not enough stones to cover myself with. I looked down the mountain. The face fell vertically away into the night mist that filled the valley. With my new found strength I could climb down but it would take time and I did not have time. Scooter had taken us high into the sky but not far. The sun lurked just below the hills at my back. 

I stuck my fingers into the crack and pulled. I was stronger than a dozen men but the granite laughed at my efforts. What was I to do? I scanned the face of the rock wall but saw no other openings. I stopped looking with my eyes and looked with my mind. Nothing. I tried to look into Scooter's mind for the answer. He didn't even deign to become annoyed. He flicked me away as casually as a bit of dirt he might have spotted on his sleeve, if he had a sleeve that is. 

I pushed my arm into the crack until it was wedged, then I pushed hard. I could feel the muscle and skin pull away from the bone and then the snap and pain of the bones breaking. Still, I pulled, redoubling my efforts. My body broke and deformed as I pulled it through the crack. The sensation of my eyes popping from my flattening skull, while not the most painful, was the most disconcerting. My left foot was still outside when the sun leapt over the last ridge. At the sear of pain I jerked my foot through and collapsed, although oozed might be more accurate, onto the sandy rock floor. 

Scoot clapped, slowly, derisively as he chanted, "Bravo", clearly not meaning it. My foot, touched by the sun was broadcasting waves of pain through my body. That at least distracted me from the pain of my body re-assembling itself. I glared at Scooter, which made him smile. 

He continued to smile as I laid on the stone floor, recovering my strength. A pinpoint of light made it through the crack in the rock wall and drilled a smoking hole through my cheek. At the touch of the light, one tooth exploded. I fell back, across the beam of light and the fingers of my right hand dropped to the floor. The index finger was barely touched but the beam had angled across my hand. My little finger and a chunk of my palm was missing. 

I curled up against the wall and whimpered. I watched in horror as bone and muscle and strands of tissue sprout from the stumps and began to reform my fingers. The loss of them pained me less than this process of regrowth. Scooter watched as stony faced as if he were in fact a statue. He carefully stepped around the bright line of white. He raised me as easily as if I were a ghost. The touch of the stone on my left foot, the one the sun had touched, caused me to cry out loud. He lifted me into his arms. I offered no protest. I rested my face against his chest and cried my blood tears. 

In the world beyond these rock walls, the sun rose higher. I felt my strength fading, as it always did with the rising of the sun. I no longer slept but during the day, I was incapable of movement. I would lie wrapped in whatever type of darkness I had fashioned for my grave, still as death while my mind offered up judgments as memories of my previous life drift through my thoughts. Scooter did not appear to be affected by the sun paralysis. He continue to walk deeper into the mountain. The path twisted and turned at random, with frequent passages leading away from the main tunnel. Many seemed larger than the one through which we were passing. I was not sure I was capable of finding my way back to the crack. If I did manage to do so, I was far from certain I could deform and crush my body to get out. My tears stopped. Scooter's chest was streaked with cracked streams of dried, rusty, brown blood. 

We entered a large cavern. Even in the total absence of light I was able to see, though dimly as on a cloudy night. I was no longer capable of moving. Scooter laid me on the floor. He stood looking at me. His linga stood proudly above his belly. Between my legs my own began to lengthen along my leg, apparently immune to the effects of the sun. If I had been capable of shrugging I would have done so. Why should I be surprised? It often throbbed and ached when I had slept as a living man. 

Scooter's hand found his erection and began to pull and stroke. I could not do the same, even had I wished to do so. And I did not wish to do so. Brahma had fled the sex-crazed demons who demanded to satisfy themselves with him. However, my linga, my cock, might respond, my mind rebelled at the thought of touching or being touched by another man. 

I imagined that Scooter offered a wry smile of apology as he knelt beside my body. His tongue was hot when it touched my chest. His body had been warm as he had carried me. I did not understand how that could be. My own body was as cold as death. My traitorous cock twitched as his tongue found my nipple. The heat from his tongue warmed my body. I almost felt alive again. Even the heart that lay silently inside my chest felt as if were about to beat. 

His hand found my cock. I struggle to roll away, struggle to wake my body. I knew it was beyond my power to fight but I would try. His hand was as warm as his tongue. I railed at myself for acknowledging that his hand felt good. That was where the danger lie, the succumbing to pleasure. The body was designed for pleasure but that was in order to strengthen the bond between man and wife. To seek that pleasure outside the context of marriage was a great sin. 

He bit me. Sharp, exquisite pain arced from my nipple to every corner of my body. My cock swelled in the warm tunnel of his hand. I could feel my cold blood running down my side. He lowered his head and caught the stream of blood with the tip of his tongue and lapped it off my side, following it to the source. His lips closed around my nipple. He suckled at my breast, drinking my blood as my cock throbbed. His hand began to move over my cock. It was wet, as if I were back in my life, readying myself to enjoy the warmth of my wife. I could not tell with my dimmed vision but I did not believe this was the slick fluid that would ease our coupling. It was blood. Blood was the only thing my body had to offer. 

Scooter moved closer. I could feel the hot hard length of his cock against my cold side. He raised up on one arm. He brought the other hand to his mouth and pierced the tip of one finger with a tooth. No, we do not have fangs but as we did in life we have dog teeth. He pressed with his thumb on the injured finger and a drop of blood gathered. He rubbed it over my lips. His blood was warm and powerful beyond my reckoning. My body greedily absorbed the proffered gift. Its heat coursed through my veins like the potent cholai popular among some of my neighbors in life. I felt warm for the first time since my death. That frightened me more than the feel of his hand on my cock. To be able to imagine I yet lived was a powerful temptation. 




The Sin Eaters



"No." The sound of my voice surprised both of us. 

"Fuck me, dude. You're full of surprises, aren't you? You're either stronger than I guessed or you managed to suck more of my man juice out of the snow than I anticipated." I could see him smirk. "You know that blood in the snow was what passes for my jizz these days, right? I mean mostly that's what it was. So, you might want to meditate on that a bit. I know that you've been tensing up, getting all 'this is blasphemy' on my ass and shit. Sorry, but that's bullshit. Bullshit you might as well start ridding yourself of sooner rather than later. Now, I've never been one for necrophilia, though I suppose technically since we're dead that's what it is, but I prefer the person I'm laying not to just lie there. Fuck me, is that a pun?" 

He kissed me! I struggled to turn my head. I had managed to speak could I not at least move just a bit? I could not turn my head. My fingers flexed uselessly in the dirt. His tongue enter my mouth. Damn him. Damn his perversion. I had loved the feel and taste of my wife's tongue in my mouth. Not this, the feel of his stubbly whiskers against my cheek as his tongue played with mine appalled me. It wasn't fetid breath that appalled me. Scooter's breath was not fetid, neither was mine. That is another myth, like not having a reflection. Our breath does not smell of carrion and decay. It was his tongue being in my mouth, nothing else that revolted me. 

I sensed his amusement and it angered me. I managed to close my teeth on his tongue. I smirked in triumph as I heard him scream. Except, he was not screaming, except with laughter. He pressed with his tongue and dislocated my jaw. 

"Fuck you think you're doing bitch? Don't make me reconsider you, mother fucker. I'll rip you into pieces too small to do anything except lie scattered in the dirt and suffer. You like biting huh? Me too." 

He sat astride my body. Our cocks pressed together. He leaned over my chest and his teeth closed around my other nipple. He began to suckle at my bleeding breast. He rubbed his cock against mine. Warmth flowed from his mouth into my body, my blood for his heat. 

He sat up and slid back, resting his ass on my thighs now. He shook his head. 

"I'm too old to let some candy ass trick like that piss me off. You fucking irritate me, man. You're totally jimmying up my groove, asshole. Christ. What did Cass see in you worth all this trouble?" He shook his head as he sat atop my legs, playing with both of our cocks. 

He pushed my legs apart and pulled his own legs under him so that he knelt between my legs. He bent forward, tilted his head, and put his mouth over my cock. I tried to focus, tried to picture my father, a more hateful, ugly man was rarely seen. Even the memory of his scowling face could not quench the heat coming from my cock. I struggled and managed to raise my hands off the floor. I dropped them on his head, trying to force his mouth away. 

"That's right mother fucker, that's right, get in to it, bitch. Pull my fucking hair, that'd be hot." 

I tried to tell him "no" but could not find the strength to make my lips move again. 

"I can hear you, bitch. I hear you loud and clear. I hear you but what I see is your rock hard cock and what I taste is your excitement, so your brain can pout and whine all it wants, what your cock is saying is "fuck yeah, suck me". So that is what I'm doing to do." 

He took my cock back into his mouth and began to move his head up and down, caressing my cock with his lips and tongue. He was a vast improvement over my dead wife. What he was doing felt wonderful but that only shamed me further, to enjoy his debasement of my body was disgusting. Then he did something my wife had never attempted. He swallowed my whole cock. I felt the head lodge deep in his throat, his chin pressed against my ball sack. I moaned and I felt him smile around my cock. 

He took his mouth away. I tried to feel only relief but under the relief was a feeling of loss. 

Scooter did not leave me as I had expected. He put his arms under my knees and lift. My mind froze in horror. Surely, he did not contemplate the act I feared he might! His hot tongue laved my asshole. I struggled to lower my legs. They moved, but feebly. Even in the comfort of the sunless night I would not have been able to force him away. He was too strong. 

His tongue, rigid as stone, hot as a burning coal pierced my ass and I tried to scream. A scream of rage and a scream of shame. Shame at not being able to resist and shame at enjoying the sensation of his tongue moving in my ass. I did not scream in pain for it did not hurt. He licked from my ass to my balls, tipped my cock with his hand and bobbed his mouth over it several times before returning to my ass. I could no longer hide the pleasure I felt. I bit my tongue, determined to at the least avoid voicing my pleasure. 

He straightened and moved closer. He bit the web between his thumb and finger and rubbed the warm blood over his cock before rubbing his life's blood over my asshole. My ass rested on his legs. His hand found his cock. I felt the heat of its mushroom head against my ass. I tried to pull away but my body barely worked. He pushed. The pressure was intense. Pain pulsed, spiked as he bulled his cock into my ass and then subsided as I relaxed around his penetration. 

Despite the pain, this felt better than his tongue and my shame deepened. He began to move his cock in and out of my ass. He bit his other hand and began to stroke my cock with his reddened palm. Inside, inside my ass, I could feel my body absorb the blood from his cock. It gave me strength. I was able to move. I told myself I was trying to push him away but the resulting movement of my body fell into time with his thrusts. 

I felt my balls contract and then hot blood gushed from my cock. It splashed over my belly and chest, landed on my face and lips where my tongue darted out to collect it. It was not blood but it was not seed either but some combination. It was watery and clearer than the red black blood that oozed from my veins. 

"You like that don't you, bitch? You like getting your ass fucked don't you? I knew you would. You feel my cock in your ass? Mother fucker, I could rip you open with my cock, know that? Um, fuck, I'm going to cum. I'm going to unload deep in your ass. I haven't busted a nut in, fuck, a decade? I'm going to fill your ass. When you walk tonight, my jizz will still be running down the backs of your legs." 

He began to pound into my ass with more vigor. I began to fear he really would rip me open. His hips jerked faster and faster. The rocky tomb echoed with the sounds of his rutting. He was still. I waited and then I felt him empty himself into my ass. My body craved his strength. I felt his strength flowing into me. I began to move, really move. 

Scooter became aware of what was happening. He shook his head and smiled. "I'm going to have to keep an eye on you aren't I, you fucking newbie bitch." 

He knelt and clamped his mouth over my ass. He sucked and lapped, denying me the chance to share anymore of his strength. 

When he finished, he crawled up my chest, eating my own emissions off my body before lying down beside me with his head on my shoulder. Unseen, but still present, the sun continued its journey across the sky while our lifeless bodies mocked the sleep of the living.