Kill Marguerite and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

from its tentative perch on the tip of his cock. Then she lurches forward to wrap it around the head while grabbing the ends of the fishing line with her hand and tugging, gently, gently, until he comes. He comes five more times as she frees his cock from the fishing line.
    Patty does not come, because Patty’s fantasy is dumb. Mindless SM drivel. Patty can do better.
    She tries again.
    Patty is masturbating. Patty grows a cock and it extends, fully engorged and throbbing with sensation. Patty’s cock extends and extends, quivering in the air it is exposed in, then slowly curves backward and into her cunt. Patty’s cock tentatively probes her cunt beforebeginning to fuck it, first leisurely, then hard, pummeling it in sync with the hard rain outside.
    Patty’s cock and Patty’s cunt come at the same time.
    Patty comes.
    Patty drifts off.
    Patty still has not closed the window.
    Tap, tap. Tap.
    Slug hangs down from the top of the window, suctioning his wet body, his enormous foot, to the exterior pane. There is a loud and sustained squerk as Slug navigates the window pane at his infuriatingly slow pace.
    Patty stirs from her half-sleep.
    Two sets of tentacles probe the glass.
    Tap, tap.
    Tap.
    The incoming air is cold and moist. Patty stirs again, shivers. Her nipples tighten.
    Slug’s tentacles fidget impatiently as they work to gauge the size of the opening. The open window is not wide enough for Slug’s impressive girth, but Slug is both lubricated and stretchy. He begins the process of entering her room.
    Patty blinks.
    Slug is six feet of pure muscle struggling to get through her window. Slug is a rippling lump of skin shimmering with beads of rain on top of a more general wetness. Slug is multicolored, translucent skin, eyeless, faceless, hairless. Slug’s intricate underbelly is lined with undulating muscles that tremble against the pane, excreting stickiness, excreting slime.
    Patty, torn between horror and desire, cannot bring herself to look away.
    By now Slug has pushed a quarter of his body through the window, attaching himself to the other side of the glass. He pulls himself farther forward, inch by thick inch, up the glass until his full length is inside. A pause, a shudder of slick skin, before he continues. He crawls along the wall, staining it with his wet trail as he nears her bed. Hanging down, he fills her nostrils with the smell of fresh soil. His tentacles toy with her hair.
    Slug curves toward her, his back end vertical, attached to the wall, his front end suctioning itself to her shoulder, kneading her skin with his underbelly: like an introduction, like saying hello.
    Patty sucks in her breath.
    Hello.
    He twists toward her head. Soon there is mucous creeping through her hair. His front end gropes her forehead, sticky lubricant oozing into her brows, clumping her eyelashes together, choking her nasal passage with a swamp musk. She opens her mouth to breathe. He enters, gropes around, sucks on her tongue noisily with the front portion of his foot, and pushes forward until her throat closes up and rejects him. He pulls himself out, with reluctance; works his way to her torso. Past her chin, along her neck, he slurps noisily, slowly, taking his time. The bedsprings bark. As he moves forward, he shoves her camisole down, the thin straps breaking, and flattens both breasts with his weight, his belly gripping and releasing her nipples rhythmically. She finds herself making soft gurgling sounds deep in her larynx. Slug gurgles Slug’s reply.
    Then he slugs himself down, less leisurely now, hugging the curves of her abdomen, his tentacles seeking her tunnel. Slowed by an unruly nest of hairs, his lubricant smooths the way, and—at last—he probes her slit, first tentative, then with force. He inches forward, nudging her thighs apart.
    Patty’s hands claw at the sheets. The wind rustles trees outside. The wind enters the room triumphantly, amplifying the scent of