By Gene Stewart writing as Everett Bedford

He came hard just as his cock slipped out of her slicked ass, spattering semen all over the insides of her thighs and onto the dark blue satin sheets. She groaned and said, “You wasted it, I wanted it pumped into me,” and began rubbing her clitoris with frantic little motions that showed how close she was to an orgasm of her own.

Neither knew the other’s secret. Not yet.

He stopped her rubbing and rolled her over, then bent down to lick, to suck, and to bite at her throbbing, swollen clit. It moved in his mouth like a tiny cock, startling him as it strained to accept everything he gave it, every quick nip, every long swirling touch. It was like a little finger or something. He tongued her deep, his chin entering her, the tip of his tongue grazing her cervix, he was sure of it. That metallic taste proved it to him.

It also proved to her symbiont array that he was biochemically compatible; the array increased the urgency.

She rode his face in bucking-bronco abandon, chasing down that instant of release.

Her clenching vaginal muscles almost broke the fingers he dug into her at the last second, and she came with a cry of sheer pleasure, a cry that could probably be heard throughout the neighborhood.

“God you suck good,” she said.

“Hey, I’m inspired,” he told her, already feeling himself hardening again. “How about this time I make sure I come in your ass?”

“Promises, promises.” She smiled and raised her feet until she could grab her own ankles.  “Try it this way,” she said. “It’s a better angle from the front.” He pressed his cockhead against her clit and moved it back and forth a few strokes, then plunged himself into her sopping pussy, where he rocked and rolled for a while in sensuous enjoyment. He let himself build, harden, and when he stiffed out bigger than the first time, he slipped out the back of her pussy and moved the head of his cock down until it found her quivering, eager anus. “Come on,” she urged, demanding now, serious all over again.

He pushed forward slowly, gently, and the head of his cock popped in. He leaned a little back and shoved more of himself into her, watching his shaft disappear into the tight, hot depths. He could not clamp down on a moan that escaped him. “Oh, baby,” he said.

“I’m no baby, you ass-fucking son of a bitch.”

He felt a flutter by his prostate and tried to hold it, but a flood of semen slipped through the tubes and then he was going for a final quick grind, pumping come into her ass, letting her feel it as he filled her up. “Oh, shit,” he said. “I wanted to savor it more.”

At least he’d given them a sample this time, the array thought to itself. “Piss in me,” she whispered, too far gone into her own little world of sexual excess to use her full voice. “Give me a natural enema.”

He hesitated, having never done that before, but she was the hottest woman he’d ever fucked with, so he said, “Sure, quit squirming, let me concentrate.”

It was harder than he thought, but he managed to feel how full his bladder was, then to relax enough to start a flow. Once started, it was easy to keep up, and he was thrilled at how much he gave her, and how much she took, moaning all the while, telling him how marvelous it felt.

He was so excited by it that he was able to start pumping again, and came for a third time, although it hurt a little now. Sure satisfied though, he thought.

“We’ve got to do this more often,” she said.

“Anytime you say.” He lay back now, catching his breath. Suddenly, though, she was on top of him, hugging and kissing. “Now it’s your turn,” she said.

He wasn’t sure what she meant, and wasn’t sure he liked the wild look in her eye, as if she were being controlled by something beyond herself, something with an agenda.

She got up on her haunches over him, her cunt pressed down on his semi-erection, and then she scooted her bush up a few inches, until her anus found his shaft. And then she threw back her head, groaned, and let her ass full of his piss go. And as she shat his own piss onto him, she also let her own bladder empty itself.

He was too stunned to do anything but enjoy the kinky warmth.

“Double golden shower,” she gasped. “It’s the, the best.” She was coming again, and doubled over forward as she came, slipping all over him.

He was messier, and happier, than he’d ever been, and even if he couldn’t quite work up another orgasm just then, let alone another ejaculation, still he was dazzled by her inventiveness and her utterly lewd, completely filthy wildness. “You’re the best,” he told her.

“As advertised. And you owe me.”

He was surprised now in a more mundane way. “You mean pay?  I, uh–”

“Not pay, you jerk. Time. How much of your professional time was all this worth?”

“You mean, my time at work? You want me to do some work for you?”

She smiled and got up, snatched one of the towels she’d laid aside, and began drying off.  “What else?”

He was taken aback. She’d never mentioned anything like this before. Of course, she’d never gone beyond a friendly blowjob before, either. To gain some time to think things over, he said, “You can take a shower if you want.”

“And wash away all this delicious smell?” He pressed the damp towel to her face and inhaled.

He noticed that her nipples hardened.  She was sure one nymphomatic vixen, that was for sure. “Well, okay, but I’m going to grab one, if you don’t mind.” He was lying in a puddle that was fast getting cool and clammy.

“Take your time,” she said, pulling on her jeans and sweater. No underwear, of course.  As she zipped up the fly of her jeans slowly and provocatively, she said, “Now don’t forget, I’ll be wanting your services –” here she paused and leaned down to kiss his now-flaccid penis — “your work services, sometime next week.”

“What exactly for?”

She smiled and wiggled her ass for him as she flounced from the room. “You’ll see.”

When she was gone, he muttered, “Now what the hell would she want a lawyer for?”

She came to him the Tuesday after their Saturday afternoon sex-fest and, during his lunch, took him to a motel room, making sure everyone at the office saw them together, and saw how affectionate they were.

New girlfriend rumors would run rampant, he knew, but what could be done about it? He was young and single, so it wasn’t entirely out-of-character for him.

She used her key, and they walked into the darkened motel room. At once he felt the excitement tingle through him, head to crotch. Another round with her would be one hell of a great lunch hour. He anticipated the best nooner in his history, and hoped some of those dried-up old geezers at the office were even then eating their hearts out picturing him with her.  He began loosening his clothes.

Then she switched on the light and he froze.

He gaped at what he saw, then glanced at her.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she said. “I just got a little carried away while we were making it.”

He could understand how she might, but killing a man during sex was a little extreme even for the likes of her. Suddenly sobered, and anything but aroused, he fixed his clothes and said, “So how’d it happen?” In the back of his mind, he was calculating something that didn’t require numbers. “I was riding his face and, well, I got into a pattern, y’know? Started multiples, and kept riding the waves, and before I knew it he was thrashing all under me fit to bust, and I got even more excited and clamped on harder and, well–”

“You suffocated him.”

She pouted and looked down. “Didn’t mean to.”

Like hell, he thought. You knew you’d need a lawyer a week ago. This was planned. It was murder.

He looked closer at the situation.

The guy lay on a rumpled bed spattered with all sorts of stains, many still glistening and wet. The man himself looked partly eaten; scrapes gleamed with blood, bite marks showed beads of crimson, and his scrotum seemed… distended. Was it writhing? “Jesus, you really destroyed him,” he said, noting fresh bruises all along the guy’s torso and legs.


He was, a little, but wouldn’t admit it to her. In fact, his balls ached, having been disappointed. He decided to help her as quickly as possible and get her out of his life. She was obviously psycho in some way, and big trouble.

He dizzied, gagged. A flush rose to his face, then fell away as he shivered. He felt infected.

Should he just call the cops? But then they’d ask his relationship, and drag him into it. His career would suffer. Sliding her past the rough patch seemed a better option. He could do this, he told himself. He was a lawyer, damn it. He knew how to circumvent the law.

He said, “Okay, what we need to do is remove all traces that you were ever here. Who signed the register?”

“He did. Alone. Said he was a businessman.”

He nodded and took note of a sample case with a company logo on it, lying by the bed. He recognized the company. It sold novelties to gift-shops. The dead guy was probably making rounds, servicing his clients, showing them the new line. He’d sure picked the wrong nookie this time. He wondered if the guy had wife and kids, then decided it would be better not to know.

“Okay, what did you touch in here? Besides him.”

“Myself,” she said, and giggled.

That giggle chilled him. He frowned.

She blinked. “Look, I don’t know, I might have used the toilet. In fact, yeah, I did. But other than that, I wasn’t here for much else, y’know? It’s not like he ordered in a pizza or anything.”

“Okay, settle down.”

Was he speaking more to her, or to himself? He found a towel, dampened it, put soap on it to cut the oils, and wiped down the bathroom and doorway, handles, anything he thought she might have touched. A hasty twice-over would have to do.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, shifting from foot to foot.

“Almost done,” he told her. “How long have you known this guy?”

She looked surprised. Too surprised. It was faked.

“Long time, huh?” he said. ”What, are you his regular rendezvous?”

She played it coy. “Well, a guy’s got to have it regular, or he gets all blue-balled and cranky.” She looked significantly at his crotch and said, “Am I right?”

He ignored her playful tone and said, “You dragged me into a murder scheme. You planned to kill him, then arranged for me to owe you time–”

She became instantly furious. “Asshole, you don’t owe me shit. Don’t give me that hurt tone. It’s guilt. That’s why you’re here. I’m everything you ever wet-dreamed about, and you’re guilty about taking such advantage of me, doing all those dirty little things you’d never take home to mommy or wifey, so you’re here to pretend to pay back the favor, hoping I’ll come over and scrog your brains out all over again in gratitude.”

Actually, he’d followed her cute little ass here hoping to fuck it again, not to do her any favors at all.  He blushed but got defiant. “You set me up. How much did you get from him?”

Her anger deflated and she asked, “What do you mean? About a gallon, as I remember.” There was that sneer again, that saucy nastiness.

“He was carrying a roll of money, wasn’t he? So how much was his life worth to you?”

“Are you worried about getting paid? You fucking lawyers are all the same.”

“I’m just wondering how big the take was, that’s all. Hell, you killed him. If it wasn’t personal, then it had to be business. In fact–”  And suddenly he shut up, because he’d realized that he could more easily have helped her at his office, that there was no reason for her to have dragged him here at all, unless…

“Oh, look,” she said, as if talking to someone else, “Mister Big Balls Lawyer is growing a brain. Right before our very eyes.”

As she spoke, she caressed her crotch. The effect was obscene, like a mockery of all decency.

He tried to swallow. “Now what?” he asked, scared of the answer, but scared not to know, too. He felt outmaneuvered, worst than that time the old country lawyer had handed him his ass in his first big case.

She smiled and said, “If you play it my way, then you and I can have all the great times together you want. If you don’t, well, I’ll bat my eyelashes and tell the big bad cops how you were jealous and how you knocked me off him and held a pillow over his face because you couldn’t stand to see me with another man.”

It outraged him, such effrontery.

He strode to the door, grasped the knob, then froze as footsteps sounded on the walk outside and someone banged on the door. “Police, open up,” came a man’s determined voice.

One of the maids must have noticed something. Or someone had dropped a dime. And he knew who it had probably been, too. “What’s my time worth,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“It’s manslaughter,” she whispered, stalking past him to open the door. “Fit of jealous rage. Play it out and you’ll be fine.”

He knew then there was no way out.

Not for him.

From the moment they snapped the cuffs on him, he numbed. Numb, he walked through everything exactly the way his lawyer told him to, in order to get away with the minimum sentence possible. He was disbarred, or course, but that was par for the course in a case like this.  What counted, he told himself, was being able to walk away from this horrible mess without a death sentence, and without being sentenced to life. His spotless record up to that crime helped.

That he’d been set up simply didn’t play. A smart young attorney, an up-and-comer, a rising star in legal circles, outplayed by a tatty slut whose speech and mannerisms fell just shy of classic Hollywood bimbo? Macho jealousy and rage were far easier to sell, and to buy.

He got fifteen years, but was paroled in three for good behavior because the prisons in that state were overcrowded. While in the can, he learned some things they didn’t teach in law school. His teachers were the hard-core cons he helped with appeals and other legal matters.  As a jail house legal eagle, he was popular and able to offer savvy inside advice. In return, he was schooled in arcane arts only the very worst know.

He looked different once he got out. For one thing, he was pumped up and tattooed, a buff ex-con. For another, his hair was longer, bleached, and cut ragged. He wore denim and leather now, with chains, and his face was much rougher, both in looks and in whiskers. He looked like rough trade and, in truth, he was.

It took a few months for him to find her.

She didn’t recognize him when he finally walked up to her in an upscale bar. He had to bribe his way in, and even then had to act surly when the doorman started to change his mind. He figured it for her kind of place as soon as he walked in. It was a dark, scented lair where the action was well-heeled and could lead to a decent night’s profit.

He’d already been through all the dives.

He spotted her almost right away. Something about the way she moved her perfumed, sexy, soft flesh. She was Pamela Anderson without the improvements, and that was plenty good enough for this crowd. He sauntered up to her and grabbed her ass, bold as brass.

She started to turn, to bitch him out maybe, but he was holding up his money-clip, which was full of hundreds.

She responded like an angel. “Honey, you sure know how to get a gal’s attention,” she said.

He showed her his erection by sweeping the bulge in his pants across her hip, then said, “What a coincidence. I’m at attention, too.”

She didn’t quite laugh.

Pretty soon they agreed that it might be fun to find a room and figure out a way to use up some privacy.

They walked out of the joint as if drunk, but neither was.

He showed her the Harley he’d “found” and she hopped on like an old motorcycle mama from way back. Her tight skirt didn’t hamper her at all; she just hoisted it up to reveal her standard lack of underwear. She straddled the seat as if mounting a helpless submissive.

He drove like a maniac, to give her cheap thrills, and then he vectored to the same motel where his transformation from lawyer to ex-con had begun. His hard-on was for more than her flesh, and this lust for revenge had him breathless.

He signed the register in block letters as MR AND MRS RIGHTNOW, which got a laugh out of her. The bored clerk didn’t even bother reading it, just went back to his TV.

In the room, he pretended to be stunned by her body, as if he’d never seen it before, let alone tasted just about every square inch. And it was stunning, in its way. Great shape, big tits that almost stood up on their own, spectacular ass, long smooth legs, a well-trimmed but not shaved bush, and perfume in every nook and cranny. Long hair, bottle-blonde this time, despite the dark eyebrows and pussy.

The contrast got him churning.

He never noticed how her pussy writhed in anticipation, as if her clit were even then wiggling and straining to reach him.

She pretended to be fascinated by his tattoos, most of which showed violence of one kind or another, from decapitation and evisceration to forcible rape. He was a walking horror comic. She liked, and licked, the pix as if she could taste the blood.

He was hard all along, and she responded greedily, sucking on him as if he contained the water of life. Her wildness increased when he shoved her back onto the bed and jumped on her. She opened her legs wide and pressed up, eager for him to fill her cunt, to ram it into her.

As before, her clit moved like a tiny finger.

He was rough this time, even brutal, and she loved the slamming and banging. She was more excited than she’d been that last time, hotter and wetter, ready for the whole night to unfold in one long chain of orgasms. Her nympho engine purred as it revved to his slaps and grinds.

When he went down on her, he bit harder than usual, and she loved it. “Eat me alive,” she cried, and he did just that, being careful not to leave teeth marks in her milky white thighs, in the slightly saggy flesh on her belly, or along the crown of her mons veneris. The responsive clit had him almost eager to take a chunk out of her, to swallow her flesh.

This time around he’d learned some things, so he rimmed her, knowing how it would tickle and excite her, and once she was fluttering with that sensation, he dug his tongue as far into her anus as possible. He wiggled it like a fish, all the while rubbing her clit between his thumb and forefinger.

She responded like the condemned on the electric chair when the switch was thrown, convulsing and whipping her head back and forth, her inner muscles sparking off tiny spasms of oncoming ecstasy. As before, it was as if she were being controlled by a larger, invisible being.

If only it had been that simple, he would soon, for an instant, think.

When she was on the verge of coming, he backed off and grabbed a toy he’d brought. It was a leather sheath that covered his cock and balls. He said, “Sixy-nine’s what I want,” and she smacked her lips and said, “Gimme, gimme,” looking at his leather-encased hard-on with gleaming eyes. As he’d figured, she was up for anything.

He turned around and straddled her head, plunging his face into her pussy while his protected cock found her mouth. He let her work the toy with tongue, lips, and teeth for awhile, then pulled himself up enough to let him say, “Deep throat me,” and she moaned and opened wide.

He pressed down hard, straining to cram his sheathed cock down her throat entirely. His balls flopped inside the leather shield that pushed on her chin. His weight held her down, and his new muscles kept her legs from becoming dangerous.

She struggled now, and bit, but that only put teeth-marks in the leather. And then he came so hard he nearly passed out.

“Even trade,” he told her, as her struggles weakened.

That was when his world unraveled entirely because that was when her pussy opened, revealing her clit to be a fleshy appendage something like a lobster’s antenna. It wiggled at the top of a spongy mass of fleshy red that changed shape as the thing, on hundreds of tendrils like slithering eels, moved itself out of her hollowed pelvic cavity. The thing had hard shell parts, and air sacs that pulsed and sputtered. It had hairy places, and other spots that seemed raw and seeped pus.

Some of his semen from their sex still glistened in an orifice that resembled a cross between a mouth with no teeth, and an anus with a tongue.

Even as her body lay inert, already beginning to cool, dead as the day she would be autopsied, he sat up in a panic of revulsion, his leather-clad cock still rammed down her throat. He watched the thing crawl and slide and slither from her body, what he’d taken as her pubic hair now revealed as just one of its hairy patches.

He gagged, (his cock had been inside that thing…and his tongue), hyperventilated, (what was happening to him?), and screamed almost silently through a throat constricted with the total terror of instant madness.

It crawled away from her now gaping crotch, slid off the bed to land with a wet thump, and oozed like a snail across the floor to the air vent, where it seemed somehow to melt through the grate before coming together again on the other side.

He tried to explain all this to the police and the doctors, but they all told him monsters didn’t exist outside dreams, and alien life forms didn’t steal body fluids outside paranoid fantasies.

They probably didn’t think women like her existed outside erotica, either.

They’d be wrong, he knew.

///  ///  ///


How to fail by succeeding perhaps too well.

Actual Rejection, 2007:

Thank you for sending us your story, “Even Trade,” for our Best Fantastic Erotica contest.

We are actually quite sorry to reject this story. The beginning was excellent, and by far the raunchiest piece of work we received for the contest.  If we had a special prize to give out just for the hottest sex scene, you’d have earned it right there. We wish we could run off copies of that first scene and send it to al the timid slash fiction writers with a note that says, “Don’t come back until you can write like this.” However, the evil creature living in the woman’s pussy definitely put this story into horror territory.

We hope to hear from you again in future contests.

From the first reader form:

Two Sentence Synopsis: This is a very weird story. I’m not even sure I can explain it.

Author’s Best Quality or Strength: Raunchiest thing I ever read. Really.

Story Needs/Problems/Deficiencies: Harsh ending, a little gross, but wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s horror, but I’m not sure we should hold that against him.

Stewart – page 21   “Even Trade”


Gene Stewart


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