“Oh, yeah! Balloon Pussy! Straight up.” Oscar put the bottle and hammer away, then put the mitt back on. He pushed Therese’s ankles back toward her head, where Leon then grabbed them and pulled them back further. Her ass spread; the flesh of her vagina bloomed forward.
Oscar slapped down hard against her bared loins with the mitt’s open palm. Time and time again, as hard as a strong man could. Flood reeled, nauseated, but locked in place by the taunt of an instantaneous erection as turgid and insistent as the one his hand had relieved a minute ago. He squeezed it; it felt hard as a steel-tube covered with skin, lust and blood purpling its dome, the slit inflamed and glazed already.
Oh my God…
Again, that blade severed his humanity. Now Oscar was punching down outright into Therese’s sex, which was blacking and bluing and swelling before his eyes.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
And more.
“Lookit that,” Oscar remarked, subtly impressed by the image of his handiwork. The majoras of Therese’s vagina, indeed, had ballooned with swelling, and with that image the pressure of desire built up similarly in Flood’s penis, backed by further semen straining to be released. Flood thought of a water balloon being slowly squeezed. The idea of calling the police, now, did not exist anywhere in his head. Flood masturbated frenetically, eyes locked below.
Oscar and Leon were chuckling at the image of Therese’s ludicrously swollen sex.
“I can’t help it, man,” Oscar chuckled further, dropping his slacks again. “I’ve just gotta fuck this…”
Oscar banged away, for quite awhile, as Flood nearly jerked the skin off of his own cock. At the moment when he would normally lose everything—when the image of Therese would invert to Felicity—Flood bit down on his lip to stifle the shriek of his pleasure that surely would’ve echoed outside. The first spurt blew against the glass, several more landed in loops on the carpet. This second orgasm of the night felt heroin-like. He stood ridiculously, heart hammering, legs still spread and one arm bracing him against the window frame. Insensible, he looked down and saw an impossibly still-hard penis throbbing. The final string of semen dangled from the piss-slit. When he squeezed his balls, the erection involuntarily flexed, and hook-shotted the remaining sperm in an upward arch where it stuck to his chest like a piece of flung spaghetti.
“Not enough,” Leon said, out of frame. “It’s the tits that bother me now.”
“What about ‘em?” Oscar was pulling his pants up again, while Therese lay with her legs wishboned, her genitals a dark swell. “That’s the best pair of tits in your stable.”
Leon kept the contemplative finger to his lips. “Yeah, and that’s the problem. I paid for them. Let Henry Phipps pay for the next pair.”
“Sounds fair to me,” Oscar chuckled and produced an ice pick.
Flood couldn’t move, paralyzed by the combinant disgust of continuing to watch while his loins still buzzed in post-orgasm.
Oscar had obviously done work like this before. Under each of Therese’s breasts, he quickly shivved the ice pick up several times, puncturing the implants. Then he lifted his leg and stepped on each breast, deflating them. Multiple streams of red-tinted saline sprayed down Therese’s lower body. A minute later, her state-of-the-art breasts were popped bags of skin.
“Much better,” Leon said. “Let Phipps titty-fuck that…”
That was it for Flood. He almost lost his footing then, heels thumping backward until his knees gave out against the edge of the bed. Then he fell over on the mattress.
And lay there perfectly still.
He couldn’t have gotten up again if he’d wanted to. But he could still hear them talking, ghost-voices fluttering around in the dark.
Leon: “Oh, yeah, that’s a good job. This lying bitch is hosed.”
“Lemme get her ready.”
“Right. I’ll go down to the parking garage and bring the van around to the security door. I’ll also have Nick come up and help you get her down the stairs. He’ll lock all the stairwell doors on each floor so you can get her down without anyone seeing.”
“Got’cha. That was fun. Wish we could be there when Phipps takes a look at what’s lyin’ in his driveway in the morning.”
Flood’s heart felt truly dead.
“And it’s a shame, too. Greed is what I mean. And the other one’s worse. Taking a commission on any girl of mine she can swing over to Phipps. I can’t be embarrassed like this, I can’t have it. I can’t have that gold-toothed piece of cracker shit laughing at me.”
“You’re talking about Ann now, ain’t you?”
“Yes. You know what we have to do, right?”
“Sure.”
“You have any problem with that?”
A chuckle. “Me? I groove on it.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow, then. You pound that whore’s face in till she’s dead.”
“Oh, Mr. Flood, our records show that you’re booked for another night,” the lanky hotel clerk observed at the desk.
“Yes,” Flood mumbled. “Something came up; I’ve gotta leave a day early.”
“Oh, okay. I hope you enjoyed your stay at the Rosamilia.” The clerk produced a receipt, then Flood made a quick exit through the revolving door to the sun-lit entrance circle.
He couldn’t leave till tomorrow, but there was no way he’d be staying the last night here. The place disgusted him, because it reminded him of what he’d done—or what he hadn’t done—while Therese was being raped, beaten, and mutilated. It reminded him of what an utterly irredeemable human being he was…
The wheels of his suitcase squealed as he walked over to the next hotel. He knew what he would do, though; he simply hadn’t done it yet and wasn’t quite sure why. Haven’t worked up the nerve, he supposed. A coward all ways… The procrastination, at least, gave him time for some lame rationalization. I couldn’t have called the police last night, because the call could be traced back to my room. Couldn’t call from my cell phone, either—it’s gotta be anonymous. And I couldn’t call security ‘cos that’d be even worse. Leon’s got the hotel security man on his payroll.
It worked a little, at least.
I’ll call the police from a pay phone, blow the whistle on the shit going on in Room 415. I’ll tell the cops about Jinny and Therese. Leon and Oscar will get questioned and spooked, not knowing who ratted on them. Maybe Jinny and Therese will even decide to press charges once the cat’s out of the bag. I’ll call Henry Phipps, too, from the card Carol gave me. The cops’ll put major heat on everybody, and at the very least, Leon and Oscar won’t beat up anymore girls, and they sure as shit won’t be killing this other girl tonight.
Flood sighed.
Then I’ll go back to Seattle and forget I ever came to this awful beach…
He stowed his bags at the new hotel, then made it over to the convention center. Nathans and Farris were exuberant; Flood had his sign-up meetings with a flock of corporate buyers, and deals were sealed. It took the rest of the afternoon but to Flood, with all that guilt sitting on his shoulder, each meeting went by in a fog. By dinnertime, he was done, and when he went back out to the showroom, his associates were high-fiving each other.
“This has to be our biggest haul at a con,” Nathans was rubbing his hands together.
“You might be right,” Flood said.
“We’re making the west coast sales dickheads look like doodly-squat,” Farris added.
“Can’t disagree with that, either,” Flood said. “You guys did great.”