All the while, the island moved and shifted. The lake roiled, the water slapping the shore with boiling waves as the ground quaked. Giant boulders and razor-sharp rocks burst forth from the shoreline, surrounding Buster and his sticky sweetheart in a sweeping arc. Then the island rose! Up, up, up into the sky it took Buster, lifting him into a hover over the lake itself. Above him, there fell a dark and chilling shadow. Something the exact shape and size of the island was dropping over him and closing fast! And that’s when Buster knew. His mind tried to warn him, but his cock wouldn’t listen. When he first got to his knees and touched the ground, he knew it wasn’t just rough with sand.
It was rough just like a tongue.
Buster stopped struggling and laughed aloud when he realized that after years of despising the act of fishing, after years of working his lines, trolling the shores and reeling in his catches, he had finally fallen for someone else’s bait. His mystery woman had lured him onto the tongue of some great beast. Hell! She was the tongue of some great beast! And there he was, stuck to the bait, ready to slide down the thing’s gullet and into the oblivion beyond. His last thought, before whatever the hell it was swallowing him did indeed swallow him, was this:
Buster fucking hated fishing.
PINS AND NEEDLES
Jacquelyn Summerset
“Which path will you take?” the bzou asked. “The Path of Needles or the Path of Pins?”
“I’ll take the Path of Needles,” said the girl.
“Why then, I’ll take the Path of Pins, and we’ll see who gets there first.”
She gathered many needles on her way to her grandmother’s house. Her arm was full of the track marks that proved it. And here she was in her own little world yet again. She couldn’t find the wolf this time, though she was looking for him. She never found him when she was looking for him. She picked up the red coat she left draped on the back of the chair and stumbled out the door. The cottage seemed to shift and bend till it resembled a rundown apartment building. She didn’t know what was real anymore, but she knew she wanted the wolf. He made her feel good; made her feel warm and safe. Not like her grandmother, she never felt safe there. She was a tool to make money… locked in a dark room made to service the woodsmen whenever they pleased. She closed the coat (cloak) around her and continued to walk on, pushing her dark red hair out of her face. The moon hung full over the concrete forest throwing a surreal light over everything. She pulled her purse (basket) close to her side as she walked and sung. Her eyes dark with eye shadow were over bright and she looked about her.
“What’s going on, Red?” a familiar voice called. Yellow eyes gleamed in the dark… her wolf… She smiled and approached him slowly. His lips, moist with booze, brushed her face gently. “Where are you going, Red?” he asked gently.
“I’m going home…” she whispered. He frowned. That beautiful muzzle pulled downward in a snarl and he looked up at the moon.
“You’re cold… ” he said darkly.
“That’s why I’m going home where it’s warm.” She kissed his cold nose and ran her hand through his shaggy brown mane. “Why don’t you walk me home, Wolfie?” He looked away again and smiled slyly.
“I have something else to do tonight.” He stepped back into the shadow of the stone trees. “I’ll catch up with you later, Red.” She frowned wanting to hold on to him, but the opium night took him away.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I am, Grandmother.”
“Then cook the meat that you’ll find on the shelf. Are you thirsty?”
“Yes, I am, Grandmother.”
“Then drink the bottle of wine you’ll find on the shelf beside it, child.”
It was late when she reached the door to her home. Her grandmother lay on the couch unmoving. She seemed splotchy, swollen. Her old gown seemed torn and dirty. Her eyes stared up in terrified passion. The couch seemed to shift to a rock in a field and back again. There was a chuckle behind the couch almost a growl of joy. As she moved closer, her wolf stood up towering over her.
“Isn’t it time, Red? Don’t you want to be free?” he asked her. His muzzle and chest were wrong. They seemed sticky and red. A glint of metal in his hand made her shiver; was it fear or was it anticipation? When he smiled, she felt like she would be gobbled up. “Give your wolf a kiss…” he whispered. She walked over to him and let him wrap his arms around her. She could taste blood.
While she was eating, a little cat that was there said,
“For shame! A slut is she who eats her grandmother’s flesh and drinks her grandmother’s blood.”
When she finished her meal, the bzou said, “Are you tired from your journey, child?
Then take off your clothes, come to bed, and I shall warm you up.”
His hand roamed over her, ripping her cloak open as he kissed her throat and nibbled her chin. She could feel his nails dig into her arms as he pulled her closer. Her clothes became less and less and she could feel his want. She ran her hands through his fur and pulled him closer. He wanted to devour her, and she wanted to let him. She was riding the needles and she didn’t want to ride alone anymore. He pulled her down to the floor behind the couch and stood over her. He placed something long and metal on the couch and removed his clothes slowly; exposing the animal he was; a wolf wearing man’s clothes. He knelt down and slipped her shell-pink panties down over her shapely thighs; with his long tongue he began to taste her, to clean her of the foulness of the woodsmen. He raked his nails across her thighs as he ate her; his tongue trailing up her belly to her breasts. Her basket lay on the grass forgotten. She wanted him, she wanted what he promised; animal passion.
She says to him, “Grandmother, how hairy you are!”
“The better to keep you warm, my child,”
“Grandmother, what big arms you have!”
“The better to hold you close, my child.”
“Wolves mate for life, Red. Did you know that?” For life… She could do that, she could get lost in this place. He spread her thighs apart with his knee and speared her. His thrusts screamed of need and purpose. She rocked back and forth against him; he was her true high. The worlds seemed to collide in her mind, he was the wolf; he was the man. She moaned gripping his mane as he bit her throat hard enough to hurt. He rose to his knees pulling her with him and just like that she was riding him. He pinned her arms behind her back grinding against her, while he bit at her nipples playfully. She could smell torn flesh and gunpowder; she could smell their sex spilling onto the blue shag rug. She rode him harder and harder, squeezing her walls around him. Her wolf… come to save her from the open world and take her into the woods with him. She cried out again and again never wanting it to end. He pulled her hair hard, thrusting upwards with finality. The acid moon poured over them in the clearing as he pumped her full. She collapsed backwards in his arms getting her fix, coated in sweat and blood. He pulled her close and kissed her full red lips.