Slither - Edward Lee [13]
I am having one HELL of a good day, Alan thought.
"If you open your eyes, I won't do it."
Alan wouldn't think of it.
Her mouth felt so hot on him. The slick friction of what she was doing wound Alan up like a steel spring. What had she just said? I don't even know what they are ... I feel like I'm coming all the time. What did that mean? The only thing Alan figured was that she must be on drugs, X or Oxycontin or something. Her mouth tended him so precisely that he was climaxing himself a minute later ...
Holy shit ...
He almost fell over. But now that the fun was done, his fears swooped down. Christ! Leona might come out here! She might see!
Alan wouldn't have guessed that this was the least of his fears, when she said, "My turn now," and next thing he knew, they'd traded positions, Alan kneeling before her, his face in her groin, and then he opened his eyes and saw her fingers splaying over the hairless pubis to bare the tip of her sex-and the strange, pus-colored ticks stuck to her clitoris.
Pulsing.
Alan was too revolted to shriek. He tried to pull his face away but couldn't, for her hand clamped to the back of his head, pushing. When she dragged him down and straddled his face, all he could do was squirm beneath her. Her thighs vised his face. Alan could barely breathe.
"Get with it, lover," she cooed.
More horror flowed over him when he managed to glimpse upward. My God, her skin! Her skin!
Carol's skin seemed to be patched with rashes, her suntan ruined by large splotches of the same sickly yellowish white hue of the ticks he'd seen. Worse, somehow, were the red spots speckling the patches. A skin disease or something ... He could see her breasts now, and noticed with heightened disgust that two more of the ticks had fixed themselves to the ends of her nipples.
She twisted his hair till his scalp barked in pain. "Put your tongue in, motherfucker," she insisted, then vised her crotch down tighter, threatening to smother him if he didn't obey.
Alan tremored beneath her, and did as instructed.
He passed out from the sheer revulsion when his tongue slid over still more of the ticks that lined the inside of her vagina ...
CHAPTER THREE
(I)
Big Jaw Swamp, the Everglades
The woman's name didn't matter. Midfifties but holding up well. Blond hair, great tan, and a fitness club bod. A nip and tuck here, a little liposuction there, and a lift or two to buff out some of the wrinkles, she looked like exactly what she was: a rich, Florida divorcee, who, like so many, refused to let go of the vestiges of younger, wilder days.
But the liver wasn't what it used to be, and after a couple of Bloody Marys she was certifiably inebriated. That's when she stumbled and fell off the footbridge, into the swamp.
Don't panic! she panicked. She was a decent swimmer. She splashed around, chin-deep, and finally buoyed herself in a dog paddle. The warm, soupy water did nothing to brace her against the alcohol; if any thing, it worsened the effect. She foundered in the water, seeking some bearings.
God, how could I have gotten so drunk? She'd been walking back to the Flamingo Campgrounds when she'd happened upon the rickety bridge. Drinking all day and now it was getting dark. It's not that deep, she assured herself, tasting brackish water. just swim back to shore .. .
She found quickly that she was too drunk to call upon her experience as a "decent" swimmer. Dog paddle would have to do. When she looked for the shore, the sign looked back at her.
POSTED: NO SWIMMING! WATCH FOR GATORS.
Oh, shit! Now the adrenaline fluxed with the alcohol, disorienting her. She'd been here all weekend and she hadn't seen a single gator. Don't overreact! she screamed at herself. just GET TO THE SHORE!
A splash!
Her eyes tore to the other side of the swamp, where in crisp moonlight she knew she saw an alligator tail disappearing into the water.
Madness now.
Only instinct was left to propel her but, lo, she was just too drunk. Sheer horror and about a .08 blood alcohol content dragged her down,