"Aw, but, Balls... "
"Be a man, goddamn it!" then—
FWUMP!
Balls gave Dicky a hard kick to the pants.
"Awright, awright!" Dicky hurried for the stairs.
"And be quick about it. I'se don't wanna be here all night—"
Dicky, however reluctantly, disappeared up the stairs.
Balls gave the Writer a shove. "Come on, Writer. Let's git more loot loaded up."
Ain't fair, Dicky thought. It should'a been the Writer... His flashlight played over the wall, but then he quickly turned it off when he noticed the wedge of light in the gap of an opened door. That must be it...
Dicky mounted the landing as quietly as a clumsy fat redneck slob could, then edged toward the door.
A clock kept ticking but along with it he heard moaning, or at least he thought he did. Could Cora be right? Was there really a naked woman in there, masturbating? He didn't know what to make of the "painted black" part but—
I'se'll just barge right in there and bust her in the chops, he resolved. Dicky was, for the most part, a monumental coward, but he wanted to make Balls proud. I'll show him I'se got what it takes, too...
But before he could summon the courage to actually do it, a voice seemed to float out of the room, a quiet yet wanton woman's voice...
Come in, young man, and bestow me...
Dicky really didn't know what "bestow" meant, nor was he terribly convinced by the nature of the voice. It was more like words in a dream, not words actually detected by his ears.
How could this be?
Bestow me with your youth... and your surging virility...
Dicky froze against the wall.
I can smell your manfulness, I can smell your sperm...
Dicky didn't realize it but the bizarre flutter of psychic vocalization had put him into a trance. Like a fat zombie, then, he pushed the door open and stepped in.
Lamp light raved, overly bright, like the bulbs burning too hot, and of course it never occurred to Dicky now—in his half-wit trance—that there could be no lamp light in a house with the power shut off.
I am the Night-Mother and the Queen of the Labyrinth, a shadow rising from the bed informed him. My cunt beats with your paltry heart, and your soulless lust and my evil are predestined to fuck...
Kind of an odd thing for a maid to say, but then Dicky saw that it was no maid that rose smokelike from the high, four-poster bed. But it was a woman, all right, as voluptuous a woman as he'd ever seen, even in Hustler. High melon breasts; protruding, poker-chip nipples; a flawless hourglass contour. Long sleek legs rose to a hairless pubis dark and shiny as chocolate icing, and the flat stomach seemed to shiver around the slit-like navel. Yes, like the body of a Hustler centerfold save for one quirk:
She was as black and shiny as newly poured road tar.
Dicky could sense more than see her face; it was more of a symbol—an enigmagram—something that existed in an unglimpsable state. Hair just as black and wet as her skin seemed to radiate that same blackness.
It has been eons since my infernal womb has gulped human seed, the voice flowed.
As she moved gingerly from the bed across the room, the electric lamp on the Edwardian nightstand began to dim, but as this took place, her blackness seemed to glow within itself, as though she were composed not of flesh but electrified darkness.
I need to be filled. A sleek hand that was hot and cold at the same time traced Dicky's fat cheek. He began to blubber like a baby, and with no volition on his part he dropped his dungarees to reveal a thumping, prong-like erection that felt so insanely hard he feared it might split like a hotdog in a microwave.
Give me succor, the voice fluttered in his head. Let my night-cunt be the vessel for your lust, and then Dicky seemed to float backwards to the floor, levitating, until he lay on his back, his erection spiring.
When the black woman sighed, the walls seemed to buckle. The cleft of her pubis parted as if by a specialized musculature until it gaped, and then she sat right down on Dicky's groin. His spectrally hard penis sunk deep.
This otherwordly intercourse generated sensations that Dicky would never have thought possible. To him, a nut was a nut—the old Southern Boy Credo—and they all pretty much felt the same, whether he was raping a hot sixteen-year-old, having a go in a cow's backside, getting fellated by his uncle, or jerking off. But this?
His brain seemed to turn to baby food from the intensity of the sensations: it was like a hundred wet, hot tongue-tips cocooning his penis simultaneously as the cocoon slowly rose up and down. When he looked up bug-eyed at his unlikely lover, he saw that her desire seemed to gorge her breasts even more, pushing the nipples out till their tips leaked a glistening black fluid. All the while more fluids at her groin gushed.
My name is Pasiphae...
Her breast lowered to his chest, then she rolled him over onto her, the black legs spreading wider to invite deeper penetration.
Fill me now, fill me to the brim...
Dicky's body froze up and his jaw locked open. His fat stomach heaved and then his eyes seemed to roll all the way back in their sockets until he was looking at his brain. He gibbered as he came, sperm rocketing up out of his penis as if by a hand-pump. The orgasm did not abate but instead magnified; it was as though he were taking a long hard beer-piss but with sperm instead of urine. His rotund body continued to quiver on top of her as his glands kept kicking his semen down into the hot satchel of her sex. Eventually he caught a glimpse of her eyes but saw only lidded holes through which could be glimpsed an insane, smoking city which smoldered beneath a red sky and black sickle moon, and when her lips parted to release a final blissful sigh, Dicky saw only a sparkling black chasm that went on without end. Black crystalline drool trickled from the corner of her lips, and then a black tongue lolled.
Her soft hands gently pressed up against his fat-cushioned chest, and—
THUNK!
—she shoved him off of her body as though he weighed no more than a straw dummy. He collided with the wall. A painting of a woman named Elizabeth Bathory fell down and hit him in the head. Dazed, he looked on...
Now she lay painfully spread-eagled, her tight buttocks actually arched up off the floor several inches as she masturbated fervently. Wet, slick clicking sounds filled the room as her black fingers plied the sexual fissure. More sighs of desperate pleasure rose up and up, until Dicky thought he could actually see those sighs, like rampant spirits amid the impossible black light...
Good Gawd! Dicky thought.
He scrabbled around on the floor, pants still down, until he found his flashlight and snapped it on. He shined it on the mysterious woman...
The desperate masturbation continued, her hand a blur at her genitals. At a critical moment, then, her pelvis tensed as two fingers V'd open the abominable vagina, then the swollen black vulva puckered like grouper lips and began to spit out foot-long loops of some viscid fluid.