Necro Files: Two Decades of Extreme Horror

Bob chuckled, a dry, lifeless sound, and clapped Tony on the shoulder. “Well, wake up, man.” He turned and lumbered back into his office. But Tony caught his watchful eye staring across the hall at him throughout the rest of the afternoon. And try as he might, the blonde kept nuzzling back into his consciousness. It was embarrassing. He couldn’t leave his desk without first taking several minutes to meditate on bloody images of mutilated animals and abandoned babies to deflate the tent in his pants. First the incredible movie with the goddess and then the bizarre blowjob last night—the two were merging together in his thoughts, a union so powerful his sex was reacting as if he were a male dog surrounded by females in heat. When five o’clock rolled around, he moved like a zombie towards the door, praying nobody was looking at the zipper of his pants. It was bulging, and as he fumbled in his pocket for car keys he suppressed the almost unstoppable urge to grab and go for it, right there in the middle of the office.

Bob watched his trancelike gait from his desk and called across the office just before Tony reached the door.

“Get some sleep tonight, Ton.”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled in reply. He knew what he was going to get tonight.

He threw the Chinese in the microwave when he got home, and this time managed to fork the mess down, though with little enjoyment. Loni called while he was rinsing off his dishes. He let her do most of the talking—she missed him, hoped he was fine. Did he eat the Chinese she left? She got in OK, her sister Angie was waiting on the platform with her husband Dan. They were going to the zoo tomorrow. Tony answered automatically when necessary, while his attention focused on watching the blonde goddess who had somehow materialized in his kitchen. She spread her legs apart on the dinner table, her shockingly pink lips opening and closing with mesmeric rhythm while her mouth whispered: “Come to me, Tony. Cum in me, Tony. Come to me, Tony. Cum in me, Tony.”

“Tony.”

“Huh?”

“Have you heard a word that I just said?”

“Yeah, hon, I just got, um, distracted. There’s some kids running through the backyard.”

“Well, go shag them out. I’ll talk to ya tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you too, hon. Bye.”

He cradled the phone in its receiver. The table was empty but for some delinquent grains of rice. But he could still hear her soft, crystalline voice—pleading like a ponytailed little girl, yet husky like a woman with a bad need for a man, any man.

Then it was nine o’clock and he was walking down the sidewalk towards room 112. He didn’t really recall driving there, he realized, as he knocked on the door again. He didn’t really remember what he’d done since hanging up the phone. But the door swung open with its raspy complaint and his cock was so hard he felt he might burst with anticipation.

The door closed behind him and this time there was no delay before the hands were taking down his pants. It was strange, this silent sex, he thought. There was no sound but his breathing, the beat of his heart, both increasing in tempo and timbre until he cried out in passion. “Yes. Yes. Suck me dry, baby. Take every last drop.”

And with that command, somehow, she did. At the summit of orgasm he suddenly drew a breath of pain as her demand increased. He could feel her pulling him inside her, sucking him out through his penis. His head was spinning, a glittering fireworks display lit up before his eyes.

And then it was over, and he was collapsed on the floor, drained of the power to move. He had never experienced anything so powerful, so pleasurable.

“Who are you?” he whispered, as her hands pushed at his chest. He laid back on the floor as she directed and felt her hair trailing up his thighs to tease his belly. It was just like his daydream, he realized, and as he closed his eyes to imagine the glowing naked skin of the goddess, the woman between his legs began to work on him once more. This time when he reached his peak, he passed out.

It was after 3 a.m. when he crawled into bed, a painfully erect pole between his legs.

At 4 a.m. he was staring at the L.E.D. light on his clock radio, sweat streaming from his forehead, his hands uncontrollably glued to his cock.