Wrath James White presents Poisoning Eros I & II Read Online Free Page A

cloud of noxious smoke into her face. His tongue snaked
out of his mouth, extending nearly a full ten inches and coiling
around her gumdrop nipples.
    She looked at his eyes. Bulging, bursting blood
vessels created a kaleidoscope swirl, and the pressure proved to be
too much. His eyes exploded, leaving only bloody craters in his
face. Gloria sobbed and turned away but continued to ride the boy’s
massive cock, still unable to climb off of it. His tongue raped her
face as his cock pulsed within her, scalding her like a white-hot
poker, like drinking gallons of boiling oil, like a rampant fever
turned inward. She was beyond screaming. Smoke billowed out of her
mouth.
    The boy’s nose exploded, one nostril resting on each
side of his face. His smile stretched until the corners of his
mouth tore, his cheeks ripping all the way back to the hinge of his
jaw. His chest split, the ribs cracking and tearing through his
torso, displaying his intestines, his pulsing heart.
    He broke his restraints and grabbed Gloria by her
hips, pushing her onto her back. He thrust harder, deeper, even as
his skin ruptured, even as he literally fell apart, still he fucked
the aging porno queen. His insides poured out onto her body, and
still he fucked as if on remote control, his face an unrecognizable
mash above her own.
    Gloria found her voice again and screamed, over and
over. Bill Vlad was right beside her with the video camera,
grinning like a boy watching his first stag film, taping
everything.
    Something huge tore its way out of Stuart’s body,
finally disengaging Gloria from the boy’s cock, knocking her to the
floor.
    “You’re mine,” she heard Vlad say. “You work only
for me. Understand?”
    She passed out after glimpsing the dark shadowy
thing that was fleeing the room.
     
    *
     
    Back inside her apartment. She woke staring at
another fifty thousand dollars stacked on her nightstand. Her lips
curled into something of a smile, despite the headache—although it
was nothing compared to what she expected to have. She had no
delusions that last night had actually been a dream (nightmare?),
that it had been some extraordinarily bad trip from a dust-laced
hit of whatever the fuck she’d taken. The dull aching in her cunt
was too much of a reminder that last night had been real.
    But real what? She could accept that something had
happened, and all she knew was that she didn’t want to dwell on it.
Heaven and hell were the farthest things from her mind these past
twenty-odd years. The spiritual, and whatever trappings went along
with it, were overshadowed by the poignancy of her everyday
existence. Some part of her believed that the previous night might
have been a supernatural experience, but her pragmatic side refused
to believe it was anything more than a drug-induced
hallucination.
    And he’d call again, she knew. The man who called
himself Vlad—how quaint—wasn’t finished with her. She was sure of
it.
    Gloria fingered the stacks of money, stroked it like
a lover, inhaled its perfume.
    Fifty gees were no longer enough.
    But she also had to admit that she was intrigued on
some level by what Vlad might offer next.
     
    *
     
    The terrible happened. Vlad didn’t call. Not the next
day, nor the day after that. Two weeks passed, and then three,
which eventually morphed into months, and Gloria gave up on ever
hearing from him again.
    Poverty was a strong incentive for desperate moves.
Her landlord had threatened eviction—she was months behind in her
rent now—and she was blowing dealers for dime bags of pot. So she
thought about the geeks and their giraffe and wondered if they’d
hire her again. She couldn’t wait for Vlad any more.
    Their apartment, where they did most their filming
outside of the barn, was a huge loft in the West Village, in an
industrial area where they wouldn’t be disturbed by neighbors or
police. The door was unlocked for her, as always, and she entered
the building.
    “Here’s our star!” Jordan took