SHYLA HAD SHIFTED uncomfortably further up on the bed so she was leaning up against the headboard, and was looking past him toward the bathroom. ‘Yuck,’ she said. ‘Well, I’d hate to talk about being dry after that story, but I could really use a glass of water.’
Angel got up from his chair, went to the bathroom, removed the plastic cup from its paper covering, and filled it in the sink. He handed the cup to Shyla. She drank it greedily, and wiped her lips on her freckled forearm.
‘Better?’
Nodding, she placed the emptied cup on the bedside table. ‘Better,’ she swallowed again. ‘What happened to Johnny? Did Juicy kill him, or did he deliver the package?’
‘He delivered it. Juicy cleared the debt when Johnny got back to the States, and gave him an extra ‘ten large’ for what had happened to Jenny. I guess he felt guilty.’
‘That’s good. Nobody deserves to die like that. I mean, she was a bitch, but I kind of sympathize. When a relationship is one-sided like that…’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah,’ Shyla said. ‘I mean, maybe it wasn’t like this with them, but when the love is unbalanced, when someone loves the other one more… that puts a lot of pressure on the one holding the power.’
The thought hadn’t occurred to Angel. He’d always suspected Jenny had started shooting up because Johnny hadn’t been able to satisfy her needs. He liked Shyla’s theory better, not that it would alleviate much of Johnny’s guilt, nor lessen his pain. ‘So, you’re saying Johnny put strain on their relationship because he asked too much of her?’ he said. ‘That she started doing drugs because she couldn’t give Johnny back the love he thought he needed?’
‘It could be that,’ Shyla said. ‘I mean, it could be anything. Men and women, they act very different in their relationships, especially when it comes to sex. Men tend to blame the woman for all of their sexual problems, but a lot of the time, women blame themselves. I’m not saying that’s how it was with Jenny and Johnny. Obviously she was a bit of a selfish bitch to put him through all that. But I like to look at things from all sides.’
Angel nodded. ‘I wonder… do you think she knew she was pregnant?’ He gave her a penetrating look. ‘Did she… have a sense of the baby inside her, or was it like luggage? Like the lube in her purse?’
Shyla appeared to give this some thought. ‘Well, I’ve never been pregnant, but I think mothers know.’ She fumbled in her purse for another cigarette. ‘I think they do.’
Angel nodded, hunkering down to unzip the backpack.
‘Was Johnny a friend of yours or something?’ she asked, lighting the smoke between her cherry red lips.
‘Or something,’ Angel said, removing a large bottle of Slippin’ Slide lubricant, the kind with a push top, and placed it behind him on the dresser.
The mattress squeaked as Shyla shifted again. ‘You don’t have drugs in there, do you?’ she asked with a grin.
‘No drugs.’ He removed a small purple dildo from the bag and placed it beside the lube.
‘You’re gonna need a lot bigger than that to get me off, sweetie,’ Shyla scoffed.
‘Do you have any piercings, Shyla?’
She ran the tongue stud over her teeth. ‘Just this. Have you ever had a blowjob from a girl with a tongue ring?’
Angel ignored the question, removing a floppy pink rubber fist from the bag by the forearm. He placed it on the table beside the dildo.
‘That’s a bit more like it,’ Shyla remarked with a grin. ‘How come you asked about piercings? Is that your thing?’
‘Not exactly.’ He brought out a large black rubber cone and put it with the others.
‘Now we’re getting serious.’
Angel stood up, looking over the sex toys on the dresser. ‘Do you know how they stretch a piercing?’
‘Never really looked into it, no.’
‘They use a thing called a taper. The gauges, or sizes, go down in number the bigger they get. 20 gauge, 10 gauge, 5 gauge, etcetera. You have to let the wound semi-heal, then move up to the larger size, let it semi-heal again, move up to the larger size.’
‘Wash rinse repeat?’ Shyla grinned.
‘Wash rinse repeat.’ He nodded.
‘So, are you saying you’re going to try and stretch me?’
‘If you’re okay with that.’
‘I mean…’ She seemed to consider it. ‘I do like to feel full.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ he said.
Her gaze fell to the crotch of his pants. ‘It doesn’t look that big to me,’ she smiled, ‘but maybe you’re a grower, not a shower.’
Angel grinned. ‘I suppose we can skip the purple one.’ He pumped two squirts of lube into the palm of his hand, and lathered the rubber fist. ‘Take off your underwear, please,’ he said as he approached the bed with the now glistening sex toy.
Shyla did as directed, making a show of it as she raised her ass and reached under the mini dress to peel off her black G-string. She slipped the silky thing over her heavy hips and down her thick dimpled thighs, raising her legs and twiddling her toes as she wrestled them free. Instead of tossing them aside or laying them on the bedside table, she crumpled them into a ball and brought them to her face, smothering her nose and mouth with the lacy fabric and breathing in deeply, closing her eyes in delight, and Angel wondered if her panties were wet as the phantom itch in his groin resurfaced.
‘Is it weird I love the smell of my own pussy?’ she said, holding the panties out toward Angel. ‘Want some?’
‘I gave up sniffing panties after prom.’
‘Your loss.’
As Shyla tossed the bunched panties aside, Angel got down on the bed on his knees. She spread for him.
‘Smooth as a baby’s butt, isn’t it?’
Aside from some cellulite her inner thighs were incredibly smooth, her labia and clit enclosed between two thick folds of slightly pinker flesh, already dewy with moisture. Angel agreed with a nod.
Shyla grasped the end of the fist, wiped off some lube into her hand, and spread it around her hole. Then she drew Angel’s hand closer, until the end of the rubber fist pressed between her folds, widening them. The forearm bent as he pushed the toy inside her. She moaned as her pussy accepted the rubber arm up to the wrist.
‘That feels fucking good,’ she breathed.
‘Johnny did get back at Juicy, just so you know,’ Angel said, working the toy in and out with little enthusiasm, like a drill press operator on the night shift. ‘In case you were curious.’
‘Oh—’ she groaned, ‘—yyyeah?‘
‘Mm-hmm. A couple of months later, in this same hotel room—’
JUICY STEPPED INTO Room 6 of the Lonely Motel, and kicked off his shoes by the door before turning to Chuck P., Johnny’s porn director friend, who was screwing a video camera onto a tripod.
‘I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille,’ he said, and giggled like a schoolgirl.
The room was already filled with guys, shirts and socks still on while they tugged on their dicks. Johnny had made sure Juicy wouldn’t know anybody here except by their reputation on camera.
‘Shit, Chuck-a-luck, you didn’t tell me this was gon’ be a sausage party,’ he said loud enough for the guys to hear, sidling close to where Chuck had set up the camera.
‘It’s a porn shoot,’ Chuck P. reminded him. ‘What did you expect?’
‘Shit, man, I thought it was gon’ be just me and the girl. You too, at most.’
‘What part of ‘gangbang’ did you not get?’ Chuck P. asked, and Juicy put on his patented ice-cold look, but he knew Chuck P. had the upper hand since he could kick him out at any point, if he chose to.
‘Okay,’ Juicy said, rubbing his palms together enthusiastically, ‘a’ight. Long as none of these dudes is a faggot, we cool.’
‘These are all professional actors,’ Chuck P. assured him. ‘If any one of them happened to be gay, he wouldn’t touch you in a straight gangbang.’
‘Best not,’ Juicy said, and slapped an elbow into his fist.
‘Look, if you don’t want to be here…’
Juicy caught sight of the girl on the bed then, in between the guys pulling their puds. She was slim and black with big tits and a large booty, the way Johnny knew Juicy liked them. ‘I’ll behave,’ he said, his eyes just about popping out of his head. ‘I’m a pro.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Chuck P. told him. ‘You may know how to fuck, but in this business, you’re an amateur. You’ve got a good stage name, though. That’s a start.’
Juicy sucked his teeth. ‘You know why they call me that, right? Because I make them bitches squirt, you know’m sayin’?’
The girl on the bed snorted laughter. Chuck P. just grinned and said, ‘We’ll see about that.’
See, Johnny knew Chuck P. from high school, and Chuck knew the girl on the bed well. He’d met her in a strip bar near the airport called The Canadian Ballet, an exclusive place catering to businessmen on layovers. A sex club, really, all word-of-mouth clientele, where this girl who called herself Candy Rains was like a human piñata some nights, and a lawn sprinkler on others. They used to hand out ponchos on those nights, but Juicy wouldn’t be wearing a poncho, and the other guys were used to making fake female ejaculation videos, where the girl drinks a whole lot of wine coolers and masturbates, squeezing out pee in small bursts with her well-developed PC muscle as she cries out in ecstasy.
Johnny had something planned for Juicy that would make Poncho Night at The Canadian look like a honeymoon in Niagara Falls. Candy was game, as she’d participated in several of Chuck’s previous films, and Johnny had paid for the shoot and the actors out of the money Juicy had given him when Jenny died. See, he didn’t think what had happened was water under the bridge like Juicy seemed to. He made sure Chuck P. told the other guys what was up, but Juicy had no idea he was about to be voted King of Carrie’s anal prom night—Chuck thought that was a pretty good title, if Juicy forced him to release it.
He set the camera rolling, and slapped Juicy on the back. ‘You better get in there before these other guys tear her ass apart,’ the director told him, aware of Juicy’s anal fetish. It was what got Juicy asking Johnny about being in one of Chuck’s movies in the first place, when he found Ass Force 5 on Skinemax and recognized Chuck P.’s name.
Juicy rubbed his hands together with a papery sound that had gotten on Chuck P.’s nerves since they first met, and he stepped out of his track pants as he headed for the girl on the bed. She was playing with herself, using the same come here gesture she directed at Juicy on her g-spot with her other hand.
Juicy flipped her over on her stomach just like Johnny told Chuck P. he would, and hoisted her ass up in the air so she was resting on her knees with her tits pressed against the mattress. He spat into his hand, worked some onto his dick, then pushed a finger into her asshole.
Candy winced a little, not expecting him to dive right in, but she kept quiet. Chuck assumed she worried she might laugh if she said anything. Now that they were so close to launch, he had to bite his lip not to laugh himself.
He’d made sure to mix the red dye into corn starch and water nice and thick so it looked dark and ran sticky off the wooden spoon like blood. Some of it had spilled out of her asshole and dribbled down the inside of her thigh as he’d squirted it into her colon, but she’d wiped herself down well afterward, and had left no traces.
Her trick, which she performed twice weekly at The Canadian, was to give herself an enema before loading herself up with water and glitter, or milk, or whatever she’d decided would make the biggest splash, so to speak. Usually she would hold the liquids in her ass and solid objects in her pussy—like candy, or fruit, or ping pong balls—which was what had first caught Johnny’s eye for obvious reasons. If he’d been blessed with such a strong sphincter as hers, he might have saved three lives that day in Room 6 instead of just his own.
So, Juicy rubbed the head of his cock up against Candy’s asshole, using the paintbrush technique—wax on, wax off—and then he got so eager he pushed it right in there. Candy, being the pro she was, just moaned and kept holding it in. Juicy closed his eyes and started licking and biting his lips, his pale, skinny ass cheeks flexing as he thrust his dick in and out of her dark, wet pucker.
The other guys crowded around squeezing their tools, less into the sex than awaiting the inevitable explosion. Chuck P. had asked them to wear white T-shirts and socks so the fake blood would show up nice and red for Juicy to see.
The man himself had lost himself in the fucking, which was a real treat for Chuck P. (and later for Johnny, watching on Chuck’s brand-new HD television). Juicy gave her ass a good smack, watching it ripple, saying things like, ‘Yeah, girl,’ and ‘Take it, take that dick, take all of that white dick,’ as if it was the biggest, whitest thing she’d ever experienced, even though compared most of the other guys in the room, all professional porn actors and most of them white guys themselves, it was relatively average. Still, as far as acting went, he was a natural.
Candy opened the one eye that wasn’t squished against the bedspread and looked at Chuck P., who cued her with a finger: Ground Control to Major Torrent. She clenched her jaw as she bore down, letting loose a huge blast around Juicy’s wet dick like he’d pressed his thumb on the end of a hose, making the fake blood spray out in a thick, wide jet, covering Juicy from head to toe, dousing the guys standing around jerking their limp noodles, even splashing on Chuck’s shoes from ten feet away.
There was a reason her stage name was Candy Rains—and now Juicy, dripping with glistening, sticky red liquid he definitely thought was blood, had a reason for his.
His eyes bugged out of his sticky red face and he started screaming, and some of the guys started backing away, looking like they were about to puke. Chuck saw what they were seeing, and nearly gagged himself: Candy’s cherry red insides had oozed out of her, and as Juicy pulled out his dick they unrolled like an inside-out sock.
She’d prolapsed.
Juicy kept screaming. He stumbled off the bed, tripping over his own feet and grabbing up his drenched track pants on the way to the door, screaming, ‘Oh shit, oh shit,’ in a high-pitched squeal while he dripped and left bloody footprints all over the carpet. One of the actors actually puked, a guy who hadn’t done many fetish videos before. That was a freebie for Johnny and Chuck P., and Juicy held back his own vomit with a hand as he scrabbled at the door handle, and ran out naked into the parking lot.
‘YOU KNOW, ALL of these stories are really getting me hot,’ Shyla wisecracked.
‘I can tell,’ Angel said, her vagina making sticky sounds as he pistoned the fist-shaped dildo in and out of her. ‘Think you’re ready to move up a size?’
She shrugged. ‘I think maybe I could handle it.’
She groaned as the fist came out of her with a wet pop. He brought it with him to the bathroom, where he rinsed it in the sink, and returned it to the backpack. He came back with the large black cone, the narrow end moistened with lube.
‘Johnny blackmailed Juicy for fifty large not to release that video. Since he thought it would damage his reputation, especially the part where he screamed ‘like a little bitch,’ as Chuck put it, Juicy paid out, and Johnny never saw him again.’
‘So what happened to Candy?’ Shyla wondered. ‘I gotta say, I feel a kind of kinship with her. With those pussy superpowers of hers, she sounds like a true icon.’
‘She was, in her own way. At the time, Candy didn’t even realize her colon was hanging out of her like a giant pink larva until Chuck P. pointed it out to her,’ Angel said. ‘And when he did, all she said is, ‘Oh, not again,’ like it happened all the time, and sucked it right back into herself.’
Shyla grimaced. ‘Honestly? That’s one thing I don’t get about porno these days. How do they have a whole genre based on a woman’s asshole popping out? We sure have come a long way, baby.’
Focused on the task at hand, Angel didn’t respond as he knelt on the mattress.
‘Jesus, that thing must be as big as your head,’ Shyla said.
Angel regarded the dildo, like a small parking cone dipped in black latex, with fourteen raised rings, each an inch wide, in addition to the rounded tip, an inch in width and length. ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘Is it too big?’
‘I think we could try it.’
Angel pressed it against her sticky cunt. Her labia parted around it, accepting two inches, then three as the rubber widened.
‘How do you know all these stories?’ Shyla groaned, wincing as he pushed the dildo in deeper. ‘Do you work here or something?’
‘We’re old friends,’ Angel said.
‘You and Johnny?’
‘The motel and I,’ Angel said, deadpan.
‘You’re friends with a motel.’
‘You’ve never been friends with an inanimate object? A stuffed animal? A binkie?’
‘I mean, I call my vibrator my ‘special friend,’ but we don’t go see movies together, or gossip about hot boys.’
Angel shrugged. ‘This Motel and I, we’ve both suffered great loss. This room in particular.’
‘Like the Whale lost Jonah?’
‘Exactly like that.’
‘You know, I knew you were weird when I first met you, but this is like… if Weird was a serial killer, this right here would be his creepy basement.’
Angel grinned and eased the dildo in another notch, making Shyla grunt. It was advertised to widen by a half an inch in diameter per ring, so that at its base it was an impressive eight inches wide. He found no pleasure in the experience; this was not for her pleasure or his own. If she enjoyed it, he supposed it was to his benefit. The more natural lubrication her body produced—the more of this toy she was able to accept—the better.
‘I guess as far as sexual preferences go,’ Shyla said, ‘you telling a bunch of stories while you fuck me with dildos isn’t that bad. Some guys like to choke. I hate that. And this one guy had me piss into a wine glass so he could drink it. Then he wanted me to toast him with my own glass of piss, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I had to call my manager, Lars, to come and fuck the guy up.’
‘I’m sure you’ve got a lot of stories you could tell,’ Angel said.
‘Oh, I could tell you some crazy ones. I’ve actually been thinking about writing them all down some day.’ She smiled. ‘The Curvy Hooker. You know, a play on the Xavier Hollander book? Or Memoirs of a Full-Figured Geisha.’
‘I’m all ears,’ Angel said.
‘They’re pretty small, actually.’ When Angel gave her a quizzical look, Shyla said, ‘Your ears.’
‘Ah.’ Angel grinned. ‘If you’re not in the mood to tell a story of your own, do you mind if I tell you another, while we play?’
Shyla shrugged. ‘Sure, why not? No more poop and prolapses, though, okay? I had a beef on weck for lunch, and it isn’t sittin’ all that well after Johnny’s trip to the toilet.’
‘Fair enough,’ Angel said, and began his story.
