Chapter 5: Next day next target
The first thing Kyle heard was a soft, wet sputtering sound. Like a sink draining.
He peeled his face from a pillowcase that smelled like sweat, glitter, and his mom’s vanilla perfume. The light was different—greyer, later. He’d slept through the whole day.
The sputtering came again. He turned his head.
Brenda was sprawled on her back beside him, still deep in sleep, her blonde hair fanned out like a halo. Her tiny crop top was rucked up under her armpits, her enormous breasts rising and falling with each snore. And with each exhale, a little puff of air escaped from between her thighs, followed by a trickle of milky-white fluid that seeped out onto the already-ruined sheet.
Queefing cum. The phrase landed in his brain with the weight of a scientific fact. He stared, hypnotized and horrified, as another small, bubbly release followed. She smiled in her sleep, mumbling something about double-chocolate chip.
Kyle’s own body felt like it had been run over by a truck then put back together by a drunk mechanic. Every muscle ached. His dick, soft for the first time in what felt like days, was a sore, heavy thing nestled against his thigh. He carefully extracted himself from the bed, trying not to wake her. The cool air of the room hit the damp spots on his skin, making him shiver.
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants that were stiff in places. The scent of grass and cheeseburger was fainter now, a low note under the overwhelming musk of sex and sleep. His stomach growled, a raw, human need cutting through the supernatural hangover.
The kitchen was a sanctuary of normalcy. The chrome of the toaster, the cheery magnets on the fridge. He poured a bowl of cereal, the snap-crackle-pop a comforting, familiar rhythm. He stood at the counter, shoveling sugary puffs into his mouth, staring at the backyard through the window over the sink. The grey afternoon. A squirrel. Peace.
It lasted about three minutes.
The air behind him thickened, grew sweet and electric. He didn’t need to turn around.
“Snack time’s over, stud muffin.”
The Bimbo Spirit Queen was leaning against the refrigerator, one glittery hip cocked. She looked more real than before. The glitter seemed embedded in her skin, which had a warm, peach-fuzz glow. Her curves strained against her tiny outfit. A strand of silver drool dangled from her chin, dripping onto the linoleum with a tiny plink.
“You… you’re still here,” Kyle mumbled, milk dribbling down his chin.
“I’m a tenant now, baby. And the rent’s due.” She pushed off the fridge and floated toward him. She smelled like a candy store after a rainstorm. “You think one mom is enough? This is a neighborhood, Kyle. A community.” Her eyes sparkled with malicious glee. “Time for some outreach.”
Before he could protest, her cool, solid-feeling hands were on his chest. She shoved him, not toward his bedroom, but toward the front door. His back hit the wall beside the entryway.
“What are you—“
“Shhh. Showtime.”
Through the sidelight window, he saw her. Mrs. Hendricks from two doors down. She was jogging, or attempting to. Her sports bra was a neon-green vise straining to contain breasts that made Brenda’s look modest. They heaved and wobbled with each step, a chaotic physics experiment. Her leggings were painted onto an ass so prodigious it had its own gravitational field. Her blonde ponytail swung with a manic, cheerful energy.
“Perfect,” the spirit hissed in his ear. Her breath was cold. “Hyper-fertile. Eager to please. Probably votes.”
The spirit’s hand yanked the drawstring of Kyle’s sweatpants. They pooled at his ankles. The cool air of the foyer, combined with the sudden proximity of the spirit and the sight of the jogging woman, made his body react instantly. It swelled, thick and fast, the veined weight of it rising to slap against his stomach. The scent bloomed—fresh-cut lawn, sizzling bacon, primal intent.
Mrs. Hendricks was about to pass the house.
Her head snapped toward the window as if yanked by a wire. Her jog slowed to a stumbling walk. She stopped directly in front of their porch, her chest heaving. She tilted her head, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. Her cheerful, sun-lined face went blank, then curious, then intensely focused.
She climbed the three porch steps in a daze. She pressed her face against the glass of the front door, her breath fogging it. Her eyes, wide and glassy, locked onto Kyle’s naked form, illuminated by the hallway light.
“Kyle?” she called, her voice muffled but singsong. “Is that you, hon? I was just… out for my… my jog.” Her hand found the doorknob. It was unlocked. She turned it and shouldered her way inside.
She stood in the doorway, jogging in place, her enormous sneakers squeaking on the welcome mat. Squeak-squeak-squeak. Her gaze was glued to his crotch. “My, my. You’ve… grown.” A thick strand of spit escaped the corner of her smile. “What is that smell? It’s like… the county fair and my first boyfriend’s pickup truck all at once. It’s making my head feel all fizzy.”
The Spirit Queen, invisible to Mrs. Hendricks, floated behind Kyle, kneading his shoulders. “Tell her you have a new protein shake,” she whispered.
“I, uh, new protein?” Kyle stammered.
“I love protein,” Mrs. Hendricks breathed. She stopped jogging. Her hand reached out, not for him, but to close the front door behind her with a soft, final click. The hallway was suddenly very small, very warm. “I’m just parched from my run, Kyle. Do you have anything… fortifying to drink?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She took two steps forward, her eyes glazed over, and sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. The thump of her knees was solid, real. She leaned forward, her nose brushing against the throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft. She inhaled deeply, a shudder wracking her entire body.
“Oh, thank God,” she moaned, and opened her mouth.
She wasn’t gentle. She was starving. She took as much of him as she could, which was about a third, gagging immediately but pushing through it, her throat convulsing around him. Her hands clutched at his hips, her nails digging in. Tears streamed from her squeezed-shut eyes, cutting tracks through her sweat. Glorp. Gag. Schlick.
Kyle gasped, his head thumping back against the wall. The Spirit Queen giggled, her cool, ethereal hands guiding Mrs. Hendricks’ head, pushing her deeper. “That’s it, Brenda Two: Electric Boobaloo. Get your vitamins.”
After a minute of frantic, sloppy face-fucking, Mrs. Hendricks pulled off, gasping, ropes of spit and pre-cum connecting her ruined lipstick to his glistening head. “I need… more,” she panted. She scrambled around, getting on all fours on the hallway floor, presenting her massive, leggings-clad rear to him. “Please. It’s for… for cardio. Helps the heart.”
The spirit guided Kyle forward. “Do the neighborly thing.”
He fumbled with the waistband of her leggings, pulling them and her damp thong down to her knees. He positioned himself. The entry was tight, desperate, but yielded with a wet, ripping sound that was neither human nor kind.Mrs. Hendricks screamed, a raw, grateful sound, and shoved herself back onto him, taking him to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
He fucked her on the floor of his foyer. It was a brutal, driving pace, his balls slapping against her dripping flesh. Her cheer evaporated into guttural, animal grunts. Her perfectly manicured hands scrambled for purchase on the polished wood. Her breasts swung wildly beneath her, smacking together with each thrust.
“Yes! Yes! Community watch!” she shrieked. “Oh god, I’m gonna—the HOA will—KYYYYLE!”
Her body clenched around him like a vice, milking him instantly. He saw stars, his own release triggered by hers. He slammed home and let go.
It wasn’t a gentle fill. It was a geyser. He felt the hot, pressurized jets pump into her, overfilling her in seconds. A visible swell distended her lower belly. When he finally, weakly, pulled out, the result was immediate and catastrophic.
A torrent of white, mixed with her own fluids, gushed out of her onto the floor, splattering the baseboard and the welcome mat that said ‘Bless This Mess.’ It pooled rapidly, a shocking amount, spreading in a slick, pearlescent puddle.
Mrs. Hendricks collapsed face-first into it, not caring. She rolled onto her side, giggling hysterically, her hand on her bloated stomach. “I haven’t… I haven’t felt that since… Jazzercise was new…”
Kyle stumbled back, his legs trembling. The Spirit Queen materialized fully, crouching by the puddle. She dipped a glittering finger in, brought it to her lips, and sighed with pleasure. “Mmm. Subtle notes of Zumba and repressed desire. Delicious.”
She stood, looking down at the blissed-out neighbor. “She’ll sleep for a while. Then she’ll come back. They always come back.” She turned her luminous eyes to Kyle, who was struggling to pull up his sweatpants over his still-dripping cock. “You did good. But this is just one house on the block, baby.”
She faded, her laughter lingering in the scent-filled air.
Kyle looked from the destroyed, moaning woman on his floor, to the puddle seeping into the grout lines, to his cereal bowl, still half-full of soggy puffs on the kitchen counter. The squirrel was still in the backyard. The grey sky hadn’t changed.
He heard a queef from down the hall, followed by his mother’s sleepy voice calling, “Kyle? Honey, are you making pancakes?”
He didn’t answer. He just stared at the front door, wondering who would jog by next.