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Genesis White Mountain
“Fucking monkeys man!” Bill had spent the last fifteen minutes attempting to improve on his personal best at Temple Run. Every time he thought he was putting some distance between him and those cantankerous chimps a cleverly placed tree stump would catch him out. His smart phone was his best friend about the time he had to pay a visit to the latrine as his irritable bowel wrecked havoc and it provided him the partial escape he needed to get the job done. Today’s dump had been a particularly gnarly round of ass-dodgems and he was left cursing not consuming his daily fruit and fibre. For all the intense frustration Temple Run had at least given him a channel for his exasperation. But he still wasn’t any closer to that elusive 10,000m mark.
The toilet paper was totally depleted after what had been a real battle of the bulge. As he scrambled around for some discarded cardboard to clear away any excess debris from his ass wig, he cursed not having his crack waxed as he had intended weeks ago. Finally his damage limitation appeared to have reaped adequate dividends and he pulled up his pants, taking one last look at his personal Chernobyl before pulling the chain. Bill never washed his hands although the grungy sink looked like a water park for Hepatitis A and hadn’t seen so much as a squirt of bathroom mousse in many a year.
This place was a squalid pit the likes of which would make an ideal locale for some grindhouse exploitation movie. The Ritz it may not have been but it was suitably incommunicado, some way off the beaten track and generally only playing host to pesky vermin. There were two levels and the latrine was on the uppermost floor, amidst what looked like they were once offices. Judging by the oversized machinery on the ground floor it suggested this was once an industrial factory of sorts although now it resembled a bomb site. Nevertheless there were plentiful sub-basements and darkened recesses and a solitary light bulb swinging above two large metal seats which he had thoughtfully prepared for his visitors.
Just as he was grabbing his instruments and getting ready to head off down to tonight’s playthings his cell rang in his pocket. He placed his malignant tools down and pulled it from his jacket pocket. It was Tony. ‘Lazy schmuck’ was his primary thought. Seemingly the distance from the car was too vast to consider simply calling out although, given the task he had set his friend, he thought it wise to answer. “Your bunions playing you up pal”. Silence. “Tony I’m coming down now okay. Keep those bitches entertained and I’ll be right with you”. This time there was audio.
“Oh Billy boy” Delilah taunted and he stopped instantly in his tracks. “Tony can’t come to the phone right now. He’s too busy being digested”. Despite the fact that digestion was something of a sore subject right now, Bill was aware that this meant he had underestimated his quarry. “Come down here. Yes. I’m going to shit him onto your lap before pulling out your colon and wrapping it around your exhaust pipe. Then me and my girl are going to drive away…REAL slow like”. “Bring it slags. I’m ready for your skinny asses. You want to mess with me, well I assure you that’s not savvy”. Both girls laughed across the other end of the receiver. “Bill, Bill, Bill. I’m really going to miss our little heart-to-hearts you know that?” Eloise interjected.
He considered hanging up but thought better of it. Moreover, he was finding this cat-and-mouse shenanigans more than a smidgen arousing. His favorite edition of Mad Magazine had been the debut of the Spy vs Spy strip and, as a teen, he’d plundered countless hours playing it on his Commodore 64 when he could get the cassette to load. He knew the rules, there may have been two of them but he was the one holding the firearm and he had loaded his chamber with sharpened silver bullets after learning of their moonlighting exploits. They could come to him, after all, he had all his exits covered and the only way up was via the rickety staircase since the freight elevator had long since given up the ghost.
“I’ve been meaning to ask ladies…how is Syphilis anyway? When your hands and feet get hairy does the chancre irritate?” Whorewolves didn’t fall for such banal taunts and the girls both knew that he was purely buying himself time to launch a surprise assault of his own. “Yeah it itches. Makes me want to scratch…” Delilah responded “…you Bill are gonna be my kitty scratch post”. “Word to the wise harlot, you’re nothing but a mangy mutt and I’m gonna put you back in your doghouse”. This was delicious foreplay and she was getting a real kick from playing with her food. “Big words Bill. Big Bill…is that what they call you? Big bad Bill”.
He couldn’t help but lose his composure at this juncture, not aided by his glance through the upstairs window which revealed Tony’s pulverized pulp by the trees. “Listen to me Skankahontas. You haven’t ever felt pain, not like the pain that’s coming to you. I’m going to make a bum bag from your tits and fill it up with rusty nails”. All of a sudden his cell went dead. He felt a sense of achievement at having clearly won round one but, in reality, there was a different reason why they had chosen to cease communications.
“He’s playing us D” Eloise had fallen in that he was prolonging this not, as they’d suspected, while he prepared his bombardment but because dawn was less than an hour away and they were precariously teetering over transformation back into regular whores. Delilah didn’t need this explained to her and her penny dropped as Ellie leaned back to check the moon’s status outside. “We gotta sort this sugar tits. Whaddaya think, shall we just rush him? Look at us, we’re badass. He can’t deal with this”. Delilah’s game face was on and Ellie could spot it from a mile off despite the fact that she resembled Benji on beta blockers. Beneath that light facial carpet was the determined mug shot of a ferociously committed whorewolf. How far she had come in such a short period. Proud didn’t come close to describing how Ellie was feeling right now.
“Alright I’m ready…” she fully endorsed Delilah’s passionate plea for war paints but couldn’t resist a little wolfy humor just to keep them limber “…although I don’t have anywhere to store my new cell phone. I thought Marsupials were supposed to have pouches for this shit?” “We do Els…it’s called your minge. Where do you think I’m keeping my lipliner?”. Eloise squeezed her tight and whispered into her ear “Love you”. Delilah reciprocated and the pair hugged it out for a minute. They knew this would potentially be their last embrace and were determined to cherish it. “Right then, I’m feeling ready. Thelma & Louise, just like you said. To the end Els”. “To the end sugar tits”.
Their inspirational moment was interrupted at that point by a rather large spanner in the works. The sound of a rowdy rabble approaching suddenly returned their attentions to outside where a group of inebriated frat boys were inbound. These keg heads had picked the wrong location in which to host their post-graduate’s shindig and were blissfully unaware of the party they themselves were about to crash. “Feeling hungry?” Eloise inquired. “Ravenous” was Delilah’s instantaneous rejoinder. Their plans were looking like they would have to be shelved, for the time being at least. Priorities after all, a camper full of cum-filled reprobates just sounded all too delectable.
Whorewolves + Booze-fueled teens = Delicious sin,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014