ParaVice: Chapter 2
This story features mature content and disturbing artwork not suitable for all ages. Read at your own risk!
What’s in the box:
When a man sells his soul to feed the all-consuming ego of his peers, an empty shell craves something to fill the hole inside. He has a sweet tooth. He hunger’s for flesh, he hungers for Candy... And she hungers for him.
The forsaken. The under trodden. The deplorables. They were all there. An infamous televangelist turned ignoble demagogue called them, and they gathered. Where all the others looked passed them, and disparaged them, he commiserated as best a man of his immense wealth and prominence could do. It didn’t take much to turn them. Their own fears, and prejudice elevated him. Now he was their king without a crown, and he used their woes and misfortunes to craft his throne.
All of the universities, and local auditoriums where political rallies were normally held had rejected his requests for reservations. But that would not stop him. ParaVice has had a football team that hasn’t won a game in ages, and in their possession was a struggling stadium which desperately needed the money. An affluent senator was eager to provide. Now the stadium was packed. Every seat in the house filled with screaming raving fans. Some of them brandishing hand-made signs claiming perceived injustices that the current government as it stands has done them. Others stood shirtless, wearing beer hats upon their heads, sporting a black letter painted on their protruding bellies. With their friends together, singing in drunken unison the national anthem of Neuterra, their paunches read out his name with bold pride. The stadium hasn’t been this electric since the eighties, back when the Tikawacha (pronounced Tie-ka-waka) Spears were still winning games. That much Trey Oswald was sure. Seeing the stadium swell with jeers and cheers again was a breathtaking thing to behold.
His brazenly Caucasian buddies surrounding him were hooting, swearing and chanting. The energy swept him away, and the young man raised assent with them. He echoed cries he didn’t wholly agree with or even understand. But the drug was in, and logic was out.
Their drug dealer at last stepped to the podium before a thunderous applause. He was corpulently fat, with heavy jowls that jiggled when he spoke, but none of his worshippers could see any of that. A mortal man in fragile flesh, but a God in the eyes of his subjects. They were taken by his magic. From where they stood, he was perfect. He was the symbol of strength, and the answer to their woes. His oversized suit rippled in the breeze. His long dark blue tie flipped and flapped obscenely from his neck like a pennon flag. His over-comb threatened to part but stayed in place by some farcical wizardry. And when he began his soliloquy, the stereo speakers boomed with xenophobia, and a sort of hatred that would rival even some of the worst dictators in the world. He prattled on for hours, but all of it could have been summed up in one sentence: “Everyone out there is trying to take everything we have in here, so let’s fuck’em up!”
Trey only heard the sweet charismatic bird song of a god-sent saint, wanting to free the world from tyranny. Trey deciphered poetry from the incantation of a dragon’s tongue.
After their buffet of madness had at last concluded they were bustled out to a parking lot filled with angry protestors waiting eagerly to give them a piece of their enlightened minds. They lashed out at the Icon’s supporters like they were enemies of the state, forgetting that they were only simple people tangled up in a spider’s sinister web. The protestors swarmed them like flies on shit. They bewailed half-digested knowledge they had swiped from some college hipster’s Left-media article about how this Icon was crucifying the Neuterra dream. Weaponized trigger words were thrown back and forth between the two divisive parties like invisible bullets. They accused each other of the same conspiracies against the nation. They drank from the same chalice of mayhem and spit its bitter contents at their opponent. Trey joined his friends in a bicker-battle with the counter protestors that they have not-so-cleverly designated as Feather Pillows.
That was fun, but there were things to do. There were victory laps to embark.
Trey headed back to his car. He passed a supporter brandishing a sign high and proud that read, “Send them all back to their shit cuntries!” spelling country wrong in weeping red ink.
He didn’t quite agree with this statement, but he held his tongue. Conscientious rationality inside of a cult was suicide. Obsequious obedience was the life blood in a tribe, and he would not stray.
He found another supporter yelling out something about how a certain derogatory name for a specific group of minorities need to “get ready, because Senator Moor is coming for you all!”
Trey didn’t like that sentiment either, but he ignored it. Their passions were high. They were drunk, that’s all it was. Ma’ma always told him that complicity was the devil’s silent helper. But much good is wisdom that can touch a mind even as poisonous as was mother’s.
Trey believed in his heart that his peers were just riled up by the recession, and their many ongoing grievances. But still he knew what they were saying, and what some of them were doing was evil. He said nothing to correct the unruly man because… well, what if he was wrong. What if they were just a bad bunch? He might be wrong about all of them including Senator Moor. He might have thrown away most of his friends and family over this contentious matter for nothing. That truth wouldn’t sit well with his bleeding conscience either. Trey might be a pro gamer, an expert mechanic, and a conflicted loner but morality was always an arbitrary thing in his opinion. Nobody knows one man’s struggle and trials until they can be in their shoes. He just wanted the path toward globalism to stop. He wanted opportunists to quit alienating his countrymen for their own greed. He wanted the Neuterra he knew as a kid to come back. He wanted his fucking job back. When they pushed him out to hire a Canian who could do his work for much smaller pay, that was his final breaking point. The Icon was the only one in the pony show who was offering him a shot at redemption. Even if it was all smoke and mirrors. Even if so, he would drink up the illusion like a thirsty drifter lost on a desert.
When he got to his car his friend remarked how beautiful the machine was.
“Whoa,” the skinny kid exclaimed. “Nice Whip!”
Trey flushed a little. He knew he owned an impressive vehicle because it cost him nearly every penny he had, when he had pennies to give. But it always tickled his ego to hear praise from the people he admired. They wanted to party with him, but Trey had other plans. He had him a sweet-tooth and was hankering for some candy. But where he was going to get that candy, and the only one who could give it to him… they wouldn’t understand. If they knew, he would be exiled. no, his friends could not know about that. Not these friends.
When they parted ways, and he was alone sitting behind the steering wheel of his car, he brought up his smart watch and logged in onto his favorite social media site… It was everybody’s favorite site: Instapic. He scrolled over to his groups list, pressing his fingertip down on the sexy emblem for “@Bassys_Girls.” In there was a treasure trove of gorgeous women taking to their face-cams with duckmouth poses, carefully cropped photos that focused primarily on their cleavage. He swiped past a number of half exposed seductresses until he found the one, he was looking for. His favorite girl. A long, supple, vivacious woman with dark skin, full red lips, a perfectly rounded, robust afro, and eyes that could suck the soul right out of a man’s heart.
Her last post showed off an exotic attire for her coming shift. She selfied like a pro, with rheumy eyes pretending only to just notice an approaching admirer from the corner that was her own camera lens. The caption read, “Come on over, baby. Candy’s got some sugar for you.”
Like every man enslaved to the gluttonous desires of their loins, Trey sensed she was talking directly to him.
He selected her profile and smiled when he found that she was indeed listed in the schedule for the evening. He started the growling engine and stroked the fuzzy rabbits foot dangling from his key chain for good luck; with how low his funds were as of late he was going to need it. Then he peeled out of the stadium parking lot leaving a trail of purple smoke for his indecorous peers to envy, and his enemies to despise.
She was gazing long and hard at her exhausted, melancholic expression in the mirror as she was putting on her makeup. She had smooth, silky dark brown skin, dark chocolate eyes, and a full head of black curls that all of her gentlemen clientele would kill to touch. She has broken many fingers of men whom have tried. The minutes slipped by in seconds. She was remembering her old friend. How she was when she was alive. How she was when they were young, and their line was full and prosperous. They hunted together. They ate together… They made love. She was the one that found her, back when Candy had no home and no tribe. Back when she was lost. Now she was gone. The Blight had got into her quick and silently like it done the others. The horrid images were still so fresh on her mind they burned through her eyes. And though she was staring at herself in the mirror she was really seeing her friend dying in Madam Bassy’s arms. Her hand trembled as she tried to apply her lipstick. She saw her flawless complexion turning white and withering like burnt up paper. She saw her begin to writhe and choke up foamy spit. A distraught Bassy screamed for them to lay her on her side before she chokes on her lashing tongue. It was too late. She saw her glowing eyes, (once an enticing feature about her that everyone thought were designer contacts) fade into ashen grey. Then Aurora was gone. Her light fading from the canvas of the world. The Sisters gathered despondently around her spent corps nonplussed, and haunted. Bassy was afraid. Candy never saw Bassy afraid. That scared her the most.
The nock at her dressing room door tore her away from the reverie. She gasped. Annoyed, she slammed her makeup kit closed. She answered. A sulky young pink woman with red hair and burning bright freckles was standing there with her arms folded over her bust. Most of her was on display. The rest of her covered only by a tiny corset that squeezed her goods to a point that threatened to snap the strings.
She was chewing gum loudly. Candy hated when she did that. She said with a bit of sass on her words, “Better live up, you got a caller.”
“Who is it,” Candy spat sourly.
Freckles blew a bubble, popped it obnoxiously in Candy’s face and said, “Who else would be so important that I gotta come back here and get you? Its lover-boy.” Then she whirled on her heel and marched out into a base thumping club on the other side beyond the curtains.
The news left Candy momentarily bewildered. But then she ignited with a newfound alacrity in her stride. Life returned to her. She hurried back to her vanity and finished putting on her face. She was excited. Trey was always a nice treat, and she desperately needed the distraction.
Trey waited by the bar, anxious as a teenager on his first date. He always got like that with her. There were ladies in high heels and little else serving hungry appetites all around him, as men clamored up against the main stage to toss money on a dancer who was nearing the close of her act. Everywhere he could turn there was a voluptuous creature waiting to empty some sucker’s bank account. But Trey only had eyes for one: his dark mistress.
A beautiful young woman covered from her neck and beyond with tattoos approached him. She was white but with a natural bronze tone in her skin, and narrow eyes that hinted to some kind of eastern heritage, which he couldn’t quite place. She swung the long rainbow dyed braids out of her eye to show him a bright dangerous smile. Her green, heavy lidded eyes devouring him. Trey was quite a strapping young man, but he was without a doubt for a special taste. The woman with the long braids could smell who he really was—not quite evil, but not quite good… not ready. But D wasn’t looking for a full climax either. At the end of the day, not every lamb in the house was for the slaughter, and she still needed to collect a paycheck.
“Hey pretty boy,” she purred, playing her fingers on the back of his neck. He looked at her, startled, and blushing.
There’s that innocence that is keeping you in your skin, she thought morbidly. “How bout a dance, sweetie?”
He looked at his beer expectantly like it was some magical doorway that could swift him to another part of the room. “No, I’m sorry… I’m waiting for someone.”
“Oh,” she slid in and planted her impeccably sculpted butt on his lap. There was just enough padding mingled with her muscles to form a perfect roundness that almost swaddled his stiffening manhood. She brought her lips close to his and coaxed, “Maybe I can keep you company while you wait for her.”
Her slanted eyes were trying to bore into his soul. But they did not work on him the way Candy’s did. Like lovers, every prey has a kindred predator. D was not his match. Trey had just enough strength left in him to ward off her power. He lifted his bottle so it was between them, took a swig from it and said, “I don’t think she would like that.”
Aggrieved, she grimaced darkly at the bottle in his hand and said, “Who, dare I ask?”
Then Candy appeared behind her in all of her stunning glory. She said with a commanding voice, “Me, my darling, D.”
Like an unsuspecting cat D leapt from his lap, and cowered away, though she placed defiant eyes on Candy as she went.
“Forgive me, Love,” She bowed her head. Then, stealing one last glance at a confused Tray she remarked, “He does look scrumptious, I just couldn’t help myself.” Then she vanished into the dark like a ghost that was never really there.
Before long Trey was ensorcelled by Candy’s bewitching routine. Her intense gaze made his heart flutter in his chest. She wore for him a very small, very revealing slashed leather skirt made with raged strips loosely sewn together, and with rusted steel buttons that ran around her shapely hips. Her bedazzled leopard spotted bikini top dazzled under the light, fastened tight to her chest with crisscrossing straps. Hung around her neck, falling to the cleft of her considerable bosom was a hempen rope neckless lined with plastic tiger teeth and claws. The narrow-minded white boys with their indecorous and demeaning ideas of what it was to be black loved her tribal-themed apparel. Candy didn’t mind. She enjoyed playing with their fantasies. Afterall, what is a gentlemen’s club in a place where there isn’t a gentleman in sight without a little salacious parody?
She capered with him on archy bare feet to keep with the primal theme of her attire. The lasers in the club streamed across their bodies as they became one in her exotic dance. She had him against the wall at a vacant end of the dance floor, all to herself. She was working her animated thighs into the knot in his pants, gyrating up and down until she could feel it growing. He put his hands on her. She allowed that, she welcomed it. He pushed into her backside. Candy liked that a lot. She grinned wickedly at him and then arched her spine, connecting her shoulders with his broad chest. She reached up to caress the side of his face with one hand, as the other went exploring low. Looking back at him she whispered, “Is this what you want, a Fantasy?”
“No,” he said dreamily. “I want the real thing.”
Her fingernails found his bulge poised to burst out through the fabric of his sweatpants. She drummed them against it.
Smiling, she said, “Well then my dear, let us play.” She gripped him through his pants and began vigorously massaging him, concealing her risqué hand work from wandering eyes by pressing her back into him. His jaw unhinged, and his thoughts were swept away in a gust of euphoria. “Come now, baby,” Candy said. “Let’s have some real fun.”
Trey thought he had suddenly become the luckiest man on the planet.
She took him to a shadowy corridor. He could hear her naked feet patting on the floor as the music began to distance. Into a private chamber far in the back where no one could see them is where they went next. Ordinarily a guard would stand nearby in case a performer would need their assistance, but not this time. Candy told the one on watch to leave them some privacy. The blacklight in the room hurt Trey’s eyes, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was her. She pushed him back into a swivel chair made for the art of foreplay. Trey noticed that there were hard tiles on the floor like one might find in a shower room and woven at the center of it was a circular drain. That seemed odd enough, but Trey was too high on ecstasy to ponder it much further.
In the dark Candy took advantage. She swam adroitly out of her skirt, swinging her healthy thighs into his view in the process. Her leopard spotted thong stuck in place as she drew the strings down her long legs slowly. She bent over and it snapped away. In that brief moment he could see every detail of her sopping wet womanhood like a dewy dark chocolate flower in fool bloom. Then she spun around and pounced on him eagerly, causing the spine of the chair to whine in protest. The young man was almost startled as she straddled him, tasting him. Oh, how she loved his taste. They kissed each other ravenously. This was of course against the rules of the club, but at Bassy’s the ladies make the rules. Candy raked her long nails into the softness of his back as he tore at her starry top with frantic hands. She reached around and grabbed them in a strong clutch. She ran her moist lips down across his forehead, and lightly kissed his nose. Never breaking touch from his face, she murmured, “Gentle. That top costs more than your neck, my love.”
He stammered an apology, but before the words could fully take shape, she plucked the knot loose in the strings with two fingers and drew the sparkling top off. Her heavy breasts spilled out before him. Trey took a plump nipple into his mouth like an apple and sucked deep and thirstily, savoring it. Candy crooned lovingly, cradling his skull like a babe in her arms. She glared up at the black ceiling, where the lights were glowing hazily. Her eyes were full of liquid lust. She bared her teeth at the heavens.
Then she pressed her lips against his ear, nibbled on the lobe, pecked at his jaw, and then she said in a soft voice, “Take me, boy! Take me and don’t you ever fucking stop.”
“But what if…”
She grabbed his head with both hands. Her swirling black eyes were pouring into his. He felt as though he was being sucked in. He was mesmerized, hypnotized, he was in love. She said, “I am the Goddess. You do not disobey a Goddess.”
He wasted no more words and no more time. He thrust his engorged piece between her wanting thighs. She let him in with ease and invited him to pump into her as vigorously as he could want. He did not disappoint her. Candy moaned and sighed. She clung onto him and she wrapped her legs around him and the chair, locking in her feet at the ankles. She said, “Yes! Like that, baby. Just like that!”
Her head was hanging over his shoulder as he planted his feet on the ground to gain purchase. Candy could feel his youthful stomach muscles rolling against her womb, and his considerable member throbbing inside of her. She snaked her hand up his spine from underneath his bulging bicep and ran her fingers into his sodden wet hair. Trey was a big boy, tall and muscled, with a little plump fat to hold it all together. And even as lengthy as Candy was, she was small and lissome next to his will… at least in her human cloak she was. Candy loved it when men could use that natural written strength in their bodies for love making. Though it was all just a game she liked to play with them. She was the fragile, thin and supple damsel, wanting to be overpowered by a beast. And that is exactly how she invited them to see her. When there was hardly a force strong enough in the world to stop you, sometimes the greatest delicacies for such a creature was to sample mortality, even if it was only an act. But this act felt good… very good.
Suddenly a gash opened at the center of her bottom lip. It parted to the point of her jaw and her teeth shifted. A new set of pointed forks rose up from behind her gums. She grabbed a fist full of the hair on the back of his head. It was a vice-like grab that yanked his skull and caught Trey by surprise. His feet slipped on a greasy film that coated the drain cover underneath them. He collapsed back into his seat, with her weight falling on top of him bending his rod. He winced in pain. And then… Candy went limp on his shoulder and was weeping.
Trey froze, confused, his lover writhing on his lap. He held her close panting, and sweating. She was sobbing into his neck, her bottom jaw threaded back to normal before he could see the transformation.
Not knowing what else he could do, Trey gave her a warm hug and said only, “It’s okay… Everything’s gonna be fine.”
“No,” she said plaintively. “No, it’s not, Trey. Everything is wrong. The world is wrong.”