Inspired by the Open Bar thread and NaNoWriMo-procastination. Probably NSFW.
In the bar, you thought it was sexy, how she kept her shades on, peering at you now and again over the rims. Giving you the tiniest glimpses of her dark eyes. Contacts, you thought, and admired how the eyes and sunglasses set off the cascade of honey brown curls falling even with the end of her sternum.
You really wanted to touch that hair, back in the bar. It looked so soft, and shone with gold highlights. It almost seemed to have a life of its own as the coils spilled over one another when she turned to take delicate sips of her drink, demurely facing away from you as she did so.
And though she wore gloves, feminine and delicate; closing with a pearl button just where her hand met the wrist, you could feel the heat of her skin when she laid her hand on your arm. You could see the same heat in the curve of her body towards yours when she gave you her full attention as you spoke.
So now you find yourself in her house. Watching her sway around the perimeter of the room, lighting candles set on bookshelves, wall sconces, and the mantle over the dimly glowing fireplace.
She throws you a smile over her shoulder and your heart jumps into your throat.
“I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home. Just slipping into something more comfortable.”
“S-sure!”
And you can barely decide what to do with yourself while you wait. Sit down, stand up, take off your jacket and unbutton your polo shirt. Sit back down and fidget impatiently.
When she emerges from some other room, she’s wearing a semi-sheer robe. And nothing else. You notice how her skin is just as soft-looking as her hair. And how she smiles, showing you a dazzling set of teeth beneath those luscious red lips.
She holds her hands out and turns, showing you everything, almost.
“What do you think?”
You know the answer to this one, you’re not an idiot. “You’re beautiful. A goddess come to earth.”
This makes her laugh. She throws her head back and you watch her throat move in time with the sweet sound she makes.
Then you notice her hands, folded over her stomach while she laughs. And her fingertips are black, somewhat stubby, though her fingers are still elegant, for they filled the gloves perfectly, didn’t they?
Her head lowers and she looks at you. In the candle light you can see, behind her black eyes, two glowing red flecks in each one.
“I don’t get out much,” she says, slinking over to your chair and sinking side-ways into your lap, wrapping her arms around your neck. “I was so happy to meet you. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
Less sure of things than you were a minute ago, you reply anyway. “S-sure! Sure am.”
“Such a sweetheart.”
Her fingers trail down your cheek and you realize they’re leaving a trail of char. And you realize her breasts, full and lovely, are also blackened where the nipples should be. Her toes, one foot caressing your calf, are black. Her earlobes.
As she leans in to kiss you, you see past the gates of her teeth for the first time. And her tongue is not charred. Twin heads extend from the tip of that delicate tongue, twining their necks together as she parts your lips and kisses you.
Those heads enter your mouth, pulling the tongue along behind them like a straining tether. The tiny mouths open and clamp on to the insides of your cheeks. Quicker than you can scream, you are numb and drowsy. Eager, with such a lovely creature in your lap.
She ends the kiss and pulls back, shrugging the robe off at the shoulders, though it’s still wrapped tightly around her hips and thighs. Her breasts slip free and their singed tips leave spots of ash on your shirt.
“I did try,” she says, resting her forehead against yours, letting the creatures behind her eyes stare deep into your skull. Her eyes are merely dark tinted glass, clear as beer bottles. “Steel and fire. But they just kept coming back.”
She sighs, wriggling closer against your body. Automatically you put your arms around her, your hands on that skin. Beneath it, serpentine shapes roll like muscles and she stretches in your grip, shifting her body to allow the inhabitants easier access to where they want to go.
“They get so restless when I bring a friend home,” she says, her speech taking on a faint lisp. “Usually, it’s because they’re hungry. It’s hard to digest food with a belly full of these things.”
“Huu-huu-how?” You manage, cringing inside your head at the roiling flesh you can’t let go of.
“So sweet of you to ask,” she coos, laying her head on your shoulder and kissing your cheek, just a quick peck. She wraps her arms around you again and settles in.
“At first we thought it was cancer. Then some parasite I picked up on a trip to Greece. I had two surgeries. A hysterectomy to remove a mass that couldn’t be biopsied. And brain surgery to remove another tumor from between my eyes. They went in from the top of my head so there wouldn’t be a scar. You can’t even see it now.”
She sighs, drooping in your arms. “Maybe if they’d cauterized the tissue surrounding the affected areas more thoroughly this wouldn’t have happened. I just don’t know. My little friends just kept growing back, more insistent. Aggressive really, every time. They whispered to me no matter how I drugged myself or hurt them. Begging me to accept my fate, to let them in. Even in my sleep. Every waking moment. Until I finally gave up. But we’re so lonely. That’s where you come in.”
Sliding out of your lap, she kneels, undoing your pants and pulling them off. She keeps one hand planted on your chest to keep you from sliding out of the chair as she tugs. Pinning you in place, as if you could move, which you can’t.
Then she stands and sheds the robe. Two heads on slender necks peep out shyly from between her thighs.
“Don’t be afraid. And don’t struggle. You don’t want to excite them too much, darling.”
As she sits in your lap again, you wish you could scream.
