The Teratologist (5 page)

The angels had been conjoined hip to hip right up until their twelfth birthday when they were surgically separated, not at birth but at puberty, right when they had needed each other the most. The arm that they had shared was left on the operating table and a scar zigzagged from hip to shoulder as a memento of the union they once shared. They never spoke and rarely even acknowledged the existence of other human beings. They lived in their own world where they were the sole citizenries. Any attempt to enter their reality was aggressively, violently repelled. John had been trying for years.

He crept up to their door and was both excited and disappointed to hear the sounds of passion emanating from within. He slipped the key into the lock and ducked into the poshly decorated suite where he kept his lovely angels caged. The moans and sighs and musky sent of lovemaking came from the living room and John tip-toed over to peer across the couch where Enoch and Hosea lay opposite each other, one’s head meeting the other’s feet, so that their confusion of sex organs lined up perfectly, vagina to penis, allowing them both to fuck even while being fucked.

Farrington watched the twin angel’s impossibly long cocks, both at least 14 inches in length, slide in and out of the hairy pink apertures that lay tucked between their marble thighs. They sucked on one other’s yard-long toes and moaned and shivered as they copulated in long salacious strokes. The billionaire ran his eyes over them in envy as his angels rode rippling waves of mutual ecstasy to a heaven that he could only dream of.

Enoch and Hosea sped up their rhythm until their enormous members were pounding in and out of each other’s sopping wet vaginas with violent enthusiasm. Their eyes betrayed an almost religious rapture, as they were simultaneously impaled on the long, venous, blood-gorged cocks. They began to shriek in agony/ecstasy, as a convulsive orgasm ripped through them, wracking their bodies with spasms so intense that it seemed it would break them apart.

They detached from one another. John watched in shocked delight as Enoch slid down his sibling’s body until Hosea’s genitals were pressed against his pale lips and Enoch’s pulsating cock slipped down his brother’s throat. Farrington shuddered and grabbed hold of his throbbing erection as Enoch began licking his own vaginal juices from his brother’s cock then slid his tongue up inside his brother’s wet silken crevice to lap his own semen from its sweet slippery folds. Farrington began vigorously masturbating, watching this bizarre and sensuous dance of flesh and fluid. Farrington’s own cock looked weak and pathetic in comparison to the magnificent organs wielded by the megalomorphic twins.

The incestuous angels sucked and licked each other back to full erections and then to yet another shuddersome orgasm, which they both eagerly swallowed, drinking down their identical DNA in great gulps as if to spill any of it would have been to lose something of themselves. They rose from the couch with their faces glazed with semen and vaginal fluids just as Farrington ejaculated onto the couch where they had lain. Their eyes met and the angels charged in a frenzy of rage. Farrington was just fast enough to reach the door and lock it behind him before the angels could seize him and tear him apart. He leaned against the heavy steel door breathing hard as the twin hermaphrodites raged on the other side. If they had caught him they would’ve killed him for what he had witnessed, for interrupting their tender moment, but Farrington would not give them the chance… not yet.

Farrington was still aroused. His cock bulged out in front of him looking swollen and furious. His own mounting temper trembled through him, making his entire body shake. He did everything for them but still the angels rebuked him.

A sob caught in his throat and three angry tears squeezed out from the corners of his eyes, leaving warm salty trails down his cheeks as they slid down to moisten his lips. He looked like a spoiled child. The billionaire strode down the hall and wrenched open the monster’s door. Mother Angelina was still there in Billy’s room, now gagging on his monstrous hog-leg thick organ.

There was a pole draped across her shoulders to which her wrists had been handcuffed. She was on her knees staring up at the hideous abomination with the mastodon head as he vigorously raped her esophagus. Billy turned and smiled. All two hundred plus teeth—an affliction called excessive dentition—beamed gleefully at the perverse billionaire as he stepped into the room with his erection leading the way.

Farrington walked up behind Billy and began caressing the massive protrusions of bone and flesh that bulged from his warped spine. He slathered a finger in saliva and slipped it into the monster’s rectum then began sliding it in and out. He spit into his other palm and then lubricated his cock. Billy shuddered in ecstasy and sped up the rhythm of his cock in the sainted mother’s throat as the billionaire squeezed his erection into the monster’s anus.

Taking out his vexations on Billy’s asshole, he leaned over the monster’s shoulder to look down at Mother Angelina. In spite of the obvious torment, her eyes looked greedy in perverse desire as her mouth stretched wide to accommodate the unnatural girth of Billy’s freakish sex organ.

“
I bet you think you’re in hell,” Farrington said as he thrust his cock deep into Billy’s asshole, which simultaneously forced Billy’s cock deeper into Mother Angelina’s throat.

“
But of course this isn’t hell. This is earth, the earth your god created, and this demon is one of God’s creatures. Show us your altruism now. Let’s see God’s little whore demonstrate her humanitarianism on my beautiful monster’s cock…”

Farrington fucked Billy harder and soon the monster was cumming hard in the nun’s vandalized throat. It bubbled up out of her mouth and spilled down her chin and between her massive breasts. Farrington removed his cock from Billy’s rectum as the monster squeezed out the last of his vile seed onto the nun’s wrinkled forehead. Taking his shit-slickened erection in hand he seized the nun’s head and forced it between her lips. It took only a few strokes before he ejaculated as well. He withdrew his cock from her mouth as the first tremors of orgasm ripped through him, leaving a trail of the monster’s fecal matter smeared across her lips. He then aimed his cock between her eyes and bathed her face with his semen.

“
This is my body! This is my blood!” he shrieked as his penis spurted out streams of warm semen onto her cheeks and eyelashes. Then he and Billy began urinating all over her. Their golden shower rained down over her like baptismal waters. Billy reached out one of his massive hands and seized Mother Angelina’s jaw, forcing it open wider so that Farrington could piss down her throat.

“
Show yourself! Show yourself to me! How many of your slaves do I have to humiliate before you will face me?” The billionaire screamed at the empty air as he drowned the old nun in urine. He didn’t notice Michaels creep in behind him until he felt the man’s rough hands on his shoulders.

“
Your guests have arrived.”

“
What? Oh, the journalists…”

“
Yes. We have to clean you up and get you ready.”

Michaels leaned down and licked the remaining semen and feces from his employer’s cock. Not to be outdone, Billy reached down and yanked the nun’s over-sized breasts out of their latex bustier, squeezing them so tightly in his hands that they began turning purple, and lifted her off the floor by them, nearly ripping her tremendous mammary glands right off her chest. He then licked the semen, feces, and urine off her face with a tongue as long and thick as a sea slug. Michaels looked at the hideous freak that was now grinning at Farrington as if awaiting his approval for his little show of affection and shook his head in disgust. He then turned and led his demented employer out of the room and down the hall.

“
I just don’t understand you, sir. What is it you see in these monsters? And why this obsession with God? What do the two have to do with each other?” Michaels was clearly disturbed by what he had seen.

“
The freaks are but a means to an end, Michaels.”

“
But to what end? Just so you can humiliate the church?”

“
Don’t you see? I want to understand God, to usurp his power. I’m not the first person to assert that the only way to know God is through his works, his creations. Buddhists contemplate nature’s wonders, streams and flowers. Scientists study natural disasters and the vast expanses of inner and outer space. They study the most awe-inspiring aspect of creation. I’ve studied it as well. Everything from nucleotides to quasars. I’ve spent hours in Tibetan monasteries watching snowflakes accumulate on a hillside. And yes, I have been awed by it all. Like all of them, awed stupid. But I have come to no greater understanding of perfection. So now I study not God’s perfection but his flaws. I study his mistakes.” He gestured toward Betty who was just leaving the pool house, undulating her gelatinous form down the hallway toward her room. Her hideously obese body a riot of ripples and waves as she moved by the momentum of her own corpulent rolls flopping in a worm-like crawl.

“
And what better way to know God’s creations than in the biblical sense?”

“
I get that part. I think. But what about the priests and nuns?”

“
Oh, that you will understand soon enough.”

They walked past the angel’s suite and John Farrington stopped, staring at the door.

“
Sir, we have guests. We can’t keep them waiting.”

Farrington’s voice sounded very far away. Was there a tear in his eye? “Why don’t they love me Michaels? Why?”

(III)

James Bryant and Richard Westmore sat on a leather couch longer than either of their apartments and soft as foreskin. They stared at the travertine marble floors that shined like glass, the faux finished walls trimmed in mahogany, the huge round stained glass skylight, and the solid granite, stainless steel, tumbled marble, and oak, cherry and rose wood furniture that all seemed to have come from an art gallery rather than a furniture showroom. Everything in the room was brand new and expensive. Bryant noticed right away that there was not a single picture or personal artifact in the room. He’d been expecting to see the obligatory self-portrait over the mantle but this room was completely depersonalized. Anyone could have lived here. Anyone with a nine figure financial portfolio.

“
I guess this guy isn’t into antiques huh?” Westmore said as he began snapping pictures of the room.

“
If I didn’t know better I’d think he just bought all this furniture before we arrived. It even smells new.” Bryant replied.

“
And it’s uncomfortable as hell!” Westmore grumbled nearly falling out of a hand-carved marble chair with no seat cushion and a back that rose higher than a man’s head.

Bryant was about to speak again when his ears caught a commotion out in the hallway.

Westmore and Bryant turned to look out into the main foyer where Michaels was wrestling a tall well-built and naked gentleman up the stairs. The man was obviously distraught and kept crying out—something about angels. It sounded like “Why don’t the angels love me?” Finally the naked lunatic collapsed into Michaels arms in tears and allowed himself to be led upstairs and into one of the many second floor bedrooms.

Westmore began, “You don’t think that’s—”

“
It better not be,” Bryant offered, shaking his head in incredulity. “If that was Farrington, we’ve got a major basket case on our hands.”

“
Thank God you’re the one doing the writing.” Westmore frowned around the room until he noticed an ashtray on a side table. “I think my karma’s kicking in again. We haven’t been here twenty minutes, and things are already fucked up. And I can tell you right now; this is going to take longer than we thought. I’m gonna miss the fuckin’ Yankees’ game.”

“
We don’t get paid by the hour. What happened to your work ethic?”

Westmore tapped an ash. “What work ethic? And where’s the British guy? We’re in a billionaire’s house. You’d think the Brit would at least offer us a drink.”

Bryant walked around the spacious room, jotting down descriptive notes. “You’ve had enough to drink. Why don’t you just chill and take some pictures. You’re griping like some woman on the rag.”

“
Gimme a break. The cramps are really bad today, makes me bitchy.” But he knew he really should get more shots of the interior. He walked to the plate-glass window overlooking n elaborate garden. He touched the glass.

“
This isn’t glass.”

“
What?” Bryant said, seeming annoyed.

“
It’s Lexan or something, something polycarbonate. Stuff they use in banks ’cos it’s bulletproof. Won’t break.”

“
I’ll remind you that the owner is a billionaire. He can afford security measures like that.”

Now Westmore tested the knobs on the French doors. They were key-locked. He came back and crushed his cigarette out but suddenly found his hands shaking. “Fuck.”