Mae - 3. Dark Recess

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Featured Review on this writing by DampKitten

Acquaintances, casual acquaintances. Vermin. Sniffing each other out. Her body sheened, glossy with perspiration. His torso, fresh meat, basted, dripping, in stinking, stale sweat. Searching for intimacy, satiation, gratification, repletion, then rest, in the stultifying heat,

‘Mae.’


Acquaintances, casual acquaintances. Vermin. Sniffing each other out. Her body sheened, glossy with perspiration. His torso, fresh meat, basted, dripping, in stinking, stale sweat. Searching for intimacy, satiation, gratification, repletion, then rest, in the stultifying heat,

‘Mae.’

She stood, quiescent, by the self-serve ticket machine, staring at the screen: single, return? Her mouth quinsy, tonsils inflamed, her oral tissue, buccal lining in her cheeks, sored by a septic abscess from the graft of holding her virulent tongue behind her teeth. The gastric acid juice from her upset tummy etched her throat as she contemplated her nocturnal feast. Turret. Mae would tease, taste, taunt him, turn in for the night, then take him. In the turret. Her dark recess. Her funereal, four-tier facility. Her tummy rumbled, starved of his flesh, craving his fresh carcass: sex n supper in her carnal house: summerhouse: slaughterhouse: charnel house. Momentarily exhausted by her sensual contemplation, she fell on the gates,

My stomach’s telling my mouth it’s time to eat. What’ll it be, Mae? Roast leg, mint sauce, redcurrant jelly. His sausage fried. Shave him till he’s bald and hairless. Bit in his mouth.

Her prey feasted his eyes on her, slumped all over the ticket barrier, desperate to find her a secluded place, a fag-strewn urinal or littered alcove where the filthy reprobate could grope and kiss his bimbo. Nick casually shuffled up to her side, a clown without a circus,

‘Mae, take my arm.’

I would rather take your leg. Pot roast you, then slice off all your tender, succulent meat.

Mae wrapped her long, slim, bony, fingers round his right elbow, and they left the station. For the first time that night, she felt his intimacy, saturated, matted, hair wetting her hand as she gripped his forearm. Mae couldn’t wait to peel his wet shirt off! Comforted by his manliness, she smiled up at him affectionately, squeezing his flesh, making him feel good.

Where’re we going, darlin?

Mae’s message, her slick massage, seeped into Nick’s sweating pores, her animal musk probing, permeating his skin, a jus, an intoxicating sexual marinade for her willing victim.

‘Thought we’d find ourselves a recess,’ he said aloud.

She shrugged, grinned, baring her teeth, thrilled by the prospect of shattering his defences,

Want my breasts to be love-putty in your rough hands. To feel your nails, scratch my bum.

Her thoughts stuck, sticky-cell platelets to his surrendering mind. Struggling to retain any self-cohesion, Nick led Mae outside onto the new tarmac forecourt. His favourite recess was seconds away, past the blooming buddleia bushes crawling out of cracks in the crazy pavement, past the closed Caff Hut, Balti Hut, Bull & Gate. Save for a clapped-out BMW, locked with a yellow clamp, the car park was empty. They heard an empty train shunt in a siding. Mae’s subliminal expletives callously slaying her flailing prey’s subconscious,

Shunt me! Find a dark recess, then shunt me. Hurry, darlin’. Baby wants to eat you all!

Weakening by the moment, her intended prey tugged Mae round the nearest street corner, The Huts: blacked-out by vandal-smashed streetlights. The Bull & Gate: twinkling fairy lights, violets, pinks, rubies, mauve, illuminated ivy creeping up its façade, a hand-scribed A-stand by the heavy, oaken, front door which read:

Glad to have you back – Bette n Alfie

They reached the recess. There was a gas lamp fitted with a (Nick estimated) LED Classic BC warm white 806 lumen 9-watt equivalent to 60-watt electric light bulb that used 80% less energy. Relieved to see the stark light it cast on her portal Mae let prey lead predator into the dark shadows. They halted just outside. Movement. There was movement, inside the recess. Nick was first to speak, as Mae was tongue-tied,

‘How long are you going to be?’

A puffing, panting, foreign, far eastern sound emanated from deep within, ‘Just finished!’

The Balti phased himself out of the gloom confronting them. He wore a smart black shirt buttoned into his neck, sleeves, neatly folded as far as the elbows, a swarth of furry black hair on his arms. Pressed black trousers. Shiny black shoes. Greasy black hair, dandruff, tied off the face in a ponytail. A pronounced widow’s peak. Flappy ears. Hooter of a nose. And ridged, cocoa brown, shag circles, puffing round his eye sockets. Mae, who had never seen someone so tired, considered breakfast.

He ogled her. Her satin blouse had come unbuttoned. One of her breasts was hanging out.

Blue moon. Creature of the night. Paleskin, dreams. The girl on everyone’s lips. His lips,

‘Mae.’

Baby hair. She had baby hair, hanging loose, draped, touching her breast. Her nose was broken at the bridge, swollen at the tip. Her lips were bloated, pink, split down the middle. Her mouth opened. Gaps in her teeth, unnatural, large gaps. Mae had a tiny caramel mole on her throat. It moved, every time she smiled at him, grinning, stretching, her elastic lips.

‘Very nice,’ he remarked, opening his legs.

She gloated at him, openly taunting him,

You’re next mutton chops.

Realizing what Mae was doing, Nick intervened, shoving the beguiled, flatulent, Balti in the chest, leaving him breathless, out of puff, wind-free, deflated, flat, compressed, in the recess,

‘Take your eyes off of my broad!’ he shouted.

Stunned by the adulterer’s archaic description, The Balti backed off, disappearing in the night’s gloom. Mae smiled smugly to herself, tucking her breast snugly, inside her blouse,

Your broad? You should be so lucky.

Together, they entered the dark recess.



Submitted: June 25, 2021

© Copyright 2021 hjfurl. All rights reserved.

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Comments

DampKitten

Is there another story brewing or are we to use our imagination about the final events before dinner? I was looking forward to the turret attack.

Intensely detailed as always with your classic repetitive phrases sprinkled through the work as emphasis. It keeps building and building....

Thu, July 29th, 2021 1:36am

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Thank you Meg, look out for my / Ruth's / Cherry's audiovisual version on my website, come the Fall

Wed, July 28th, 2021 10:55pm

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