The Haunter of the Threshold (26 page)

Hazel flicked her eyes to the right—
What’s he doing?
—but all she saw, very briefly, was Shot Glass take another swig of beer and smack his lips. Then he disappeared from the edges of her vision.

“Ee-yuh, this’ll likely put some zing in her day...”

Hazel clenched at the loud, abrupt sound: the scream of the vacuum pump being turned back on. Clayton’s hand slapped across her mouth, then her eyes shot wide when Shot Glass reappeared holding the long clear nozzle at the end of the vacuum’s hose.

“Let’s see what this does ta her nipples, eh?”

Hazel’s back arched when the nozzle was applied to her right areola. The instant contact was made, the nozzle’s rim sealed against her flesh and the motor’s whine doubled from the resistance. She watched half in terror and half in fascination as the clear tube sucked her areola out an inch, then an inch and a half. When it seemed that the motor would burn up from resistance, Shot Glass took to turning it on and off, on and off, over and over, the pressure sucking the nipple out, then releasing. Hazel squirmed in the bed from the delicious pain.

“Hot damn! Would ya look-it that?” Clayton yelled.

“Ee-yuh siree,” Shot Glass commented after turning the machine off. “En’t thet dandy ta look et?” He removed the nozzle to reveal Hazel’s molested nipple, which had now been sucked out to something the size of an unshelled walnut, only raging pink. “Yew could hang yew’re hat’n coat on it,” and then the machine’s deafening whine resounded and the process was repeated on her left nipple, on and off, on and off, over and over.

Now both nipples stuck out similarly, gorged with blood.

“Do her pussy now,” Clayton suggested.

“Wait a minute, time out,” Hazel roused enough from her sick daze to object. “That’s a bit much, I’m afraid.”

Crack!

The impact of Shot Glass’s hand across her face slapped half of her consciousness out of her.

“Yew said
anything,
” he reminded, and then once again the vacuum was turned back on. Now Clayton pulled her knees back to her shoulders, to protrude her vulva. All that filled Hazel’s head was that mad, deafening sound...

The nozzle’s rim sucked right up tight against the opening of her sex. At once the pink labia was pulled taffy-like into the tube. Both men stared in glee at her crotch. All that nerve-charged, hypersensitive flesh seemed to fill the first inch of the nozzle as though the suction were drawing her vagina inside-out up into the tube. On and off, the switch went amid Clayton and Shot Glass’s dark laughter. On and off, on and off...

After several minutes of this Hazel was nearly convulsing—two inches of her vaginal flesh—the vaginal
metus,
might be the proper term—had been sucked up into the tube. The machine’s insane whine rose and rose as more and more resistance was met, and again Hazel began to climax, this time via the most perverse means of her life. When three inches of metus had been drawn out, Shot Glass shut the machine off.

“Dang!” Clayton exclaimed of the visual effect. “That plumped her pussy up fierce, it did!”

“Ee-yuh, shuh did.”

Gog-eyed, Hazel looked between her legs; her labia appeared swollen, like the lips of a boxer who’d just lost the fight. The demented activity had trebled the blood supply to this tender area, leaving it to throb in a viscous tingle.

Shot Glass chugged more beer. “Heh, heh, heh. ‘S’one tough cooze
this
tramp’s got.”

Clayton twisted the still-protruding nipples till Hazel yelped. Then he ran fat fingers through her deep-red pubic hair till they found the marauded labia and began to diddle with it.

“Shore is fun fuckin’ with gals.”

‘’Specially sick pups like this ‘un heer,” Shot Glass added, unbuckling his trousers. He manipulated several pillows beneath her rump, while Clayton remained sitting behind her. Her cross lay stuck between her breasts by semen and mucous.

Shot Glass knelt between her legs. “Ee-yuh, only one thing a fella can dew with a pussy plumped up like this’n that’s
fuck
it.”

The erection looked a good eight inches, uncircumcised. He peeled the abundant foreskin back, then ran the dome up and down the folium of her sex. “Shit, the bilge pump got this sick bitch so horny she’s leakin’ like a sieve,” he said.

You can say that again,
came the panting thought.
Now stop
toying with me and FUCK me...

He banged his cock in hard to the balls, then began to hump her with vigor. Hazel’s vagina felt effervescent from the previous suction, as though the pump had generated new webs of nerves. Shot Glass pulled his cock all the way out, then banged it all the way back in, over and over and over, until the bed was rocking so violently it must’ve been close to collapsing. Incredulously, though, the man maintained his fornication with one hand on his hip, and he swigged beer from the can in his other hand.

Joggling, Hazel winced up. She had to ask, “If all you drink is beer, why is your nickname
Shot Glass?
Seems to me you’d drink shots...”

His face was twisting up as orgasm impended. “Eh?” Balls slapped the bottom of her elevated ass. “Waal, yew’ll see.” He winked at Clayton. “Choke the hose-bag up some—git some spark in her. Just be keerful ya durn’t kill her—”

Hazel gagged when both of Clayton’s meaty hands clamped her throat and squeezed.
This again,
she thought in the most despairing delight. At once she grew dizzy and dim-visioned. The cock continued to bang in and out. Each time Hazel’s consciousness began to blacken, Clayton’s grip released enough to bring her back a moment. Her head lolled and her tongue stuck out through a droopy smile. Her sex was being plundered now; it was squirming around the piston-rod of resilient flesh. All the while, the higher and higher she got, the combination of rising sexual sensations merged with the effect of decreased oxygen to the brain producing a heroin-like euphoria. For the third time, she began to climax hard...

Her consciousness fell into dead space; the black-out seized her, lingering. Through cracks in the lightless curtain of her soul, she saw her father peering at her, in tears...

She revived as if rising from a tar pit. When her eyes reopened she saw nothing at first. Her heart was missing beats but eventually corrected itself. When her vision finally focused...

What’s he...doing...now?

The scene formed in front of her. She remained on the bed, her ass propped and legs spread wide. Shot Glass remained kneeling between them, though he’d withdrawn his erection and was now frenetically masturbating...

“Aw, fuck, theer! Theer she goes!”

Clayton giggled manically behind her.

Shot Glass did not spend himself on her belly as she thought he would. Instead—

Oh my God...

—he was carefully masturbating into the object of his namesake: a shot glass. Hazel watched with incredulity at each white spurt that fired into the tiny glass.

“Uuuuuuuuuh...Ee-yuh...”

When he’d finished, his cock fell away limp. He held the shot glass up for her to examine.

Clayton giggled slobberingly into her ear. “See? That there’s why they call him ‘Shot Glass...’”

“I’m like thet coffee, yew know? Chock Full’a
Nut.
”

The shot glass was almost full to the top with sperm.

“Heer ya go, reddy-head. Open up.”

Hazel’s eyes crossed at the prospect. “No way. That’s ridiculous. You can’t possibly expect me to swallow that much cum.”

Whap!

All of the air in Hazel’s lungs vaulted out. Shot Glass had pile-driven his fist straight down into her solar plexus. At the same time, Clayton had reapplied his asphyxiating grip to her throat.

She flopped fishlike on the bed, face bluing. It had been fun before but now it was excruciating. She couldn’t breathe.

Shot Glass’s voice sounded as though it was coming from the end of a long echoic tunnel. “Curn’t believe the sass’a this ‘un, eh?”

“Dag straight. Ya do a bitch a favor, then she talks shitty to ya.”

“Curn’t have that, new-sir.”

Clayton released the grip; Hazel turned limp as wet rags on the bed, wheezing.

“Naow,” Shot Glass addressed her. He held the shot glass forward. “Yew were sayin’?”

Aw, jeeeeeze...
Hazel craned her head back and opened her mouth. Both men chuckled as the shot glass was tipped, and nearly an entire ounce of semen was poured into her mouth. Nauseated, she let it sit there, dreading the inevitable, then she counted to three in her mind and swallowed.

“Yew’re welcome,” Shot Glass sniggered.

“Look at it this way, red. Ya just got free lunch.”

Both men climbed off the bed.

Exhausted and still out of breath, Hazel could only remain sitting up in the filthy bed, staring at them. Shot Glass, limp dick dangling, went to the refrigerator for still more beer. Clayton looked all the more ludicrous: fat, dirty, and without pants. He thunked toward the back door. “Be’s right back. I gots ta pee.”

“Me tew,” Shot Glass said and for a moment moved toward the door as well. But then he stopped on a dime.

“Wait a sec’, Clayton. What’re we thinkin’? Why we goin’ aoutside when the toilet’s right
heer?
”

He pronounced
toilet
as “tur-let.”

Hazel’s face seemed to wither, and by now, she didn’t even have the energy to object. Shot Glass knelt up to her on the mangy bed. He slipped the flaccid cock right into her mouth. Hazel squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for his void, but instead, he held off, and called out, “What jew doin’, Clayton? Come on.”

“Huh?”

Shot Glass waved him toward the bed. “Get right up heer next ta me’n get yew’re willy in her yap. Let’s
double-fill
the bitch. Both the same time.”

Fat, stupid, and pantsless, Clayton hesitated. “Aw, shee-it, Shot Glass. I don’t know. My dick stuck in there right next ta yers? Sounds kind’a queer, don’t it?”

Shot Glass frowned. “En’t queer if’n it’s a
gal’s
maouth we’re pissin’ in!”

Clayton shrugged, gut roll hanging. “Guess yer right,” and then he knelt right up next to his partner and slid his penis into Hazel’s already burdened mouth. Both men began to giggle as the whizzing commenced.

Dual hot jets fired into the back of her throat. Hazel put the whys and wherefores out of mind, to solely concentrate on her task. Her throat worked desperately, machinelike, to swallow the urine in enough time to make room for more. She strained forward, not daring to think what might happen if she regurgitated, or simply hacked on them.

“Theer, ya go, theer ya go,” Shot Glass kept saying, fist to hip, pissing away. “Seems a waste ta piss in the lake when we’se got a perfectly good gal’s breadbasket ta pee in.”

“I hear that!” railed Clayton.

They pissed for several minutes more, Hazel managing to swallow almost all of it. Yesterday had been
nothing
compared to this. Just how much in liquid volume could they possibly
put
in her? And worse, exactly how much
piss
could a 105-pound woman drink before her stomach burst?

When she thought she would die, the dual jets abated. The men withdrew, chortling, leaving Hazel to sit spread-legged, pot-bellied, and filled to rupturing with atrocious, sloshing heat.

“Tune ya up enough, did we?” Shot Glass asked, grinning as he reached for yet another can of beer.

Fuck,
Hazel thought.

“Now do our laundry’n git this placed cleaned up,” Clayton yapped, then both of them roared laughter.

Why on earth did I ever come here?
she asked herself, then plodded off the bed. Her stomach did indeed audibly slosh as she trudged back to the “kitchen” and dazedly put her shirt and shorts back on.
I’m out of here and I’m never coming back...

“Have a nice day, sweetie!” Clayton bid, yuckling. “‘Member ta put on a happy face!”

“Shuh ya durn’t wanna stick araound?” Shot Glass blared. “Yew know. We could cuddle some, hold hands’n read poetry.”

The shack nearly rocked from their laughter. Hazel staggered toward the door, stupefied. It was some inner-sense, however, that halted her at the entry. She coughed, blinked, took a deep breath.
I need to get all this piss out of me,
her mind wandered but at the same time her eyes had roamed to the can-littered table. Next to an opened bag of potato chips rested a travel book,
New York City for
Dummies.
Also, in the dip of a corroded couch cushion was another book,
Fodor’s Guide to Mexico City.