Stiff Things: The Splatterporn Anthology

Stiff Things: The Splatterporn Anthology

Kristopher Triana et al.

Published by Red Room Press, 2020.

First Red Room Press Electronic Edition August 2016

Stiff Things: The Splatterporn Anthology copyright © 2016 by Randy Chandler and Cheryl Mullenax All Rights Reserved.

This edition copyright © 2016 by Red Room All Rights Reserved.

Cover and interior by Inkubus Design www.inkubusdesign.com

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-936964-61-1

Red Room Press is an imprint of Comet Press

Visit Red Room Press on the web at:

redroompress.com

facebook.com/redroompress

twitter.com/redroombooks

Modern Celebrity © 2016 by Brandon Ford

Suckers © 2016 by Cori Vidae and Brian Rosenberger

One Ear, Always To the Land of the Dead © 2016 by Olive Whittier

Godfucked © 2016 by Tanker Ray

The Solution © 2016 by Kristopher Triana

Hunter’s Moon © 2016 by S.C. Hayden

If My Face Were Transparent, You’d See the Devil © 2016 by Eric LaRocca

Charlotte the Harlot © 2016 by Shequila Rayne

The Penis of the Marquis de Sade © 2016 by Andrew Darlington

The Extra Mile © 2016 by Paul Allih

TABLE OF CONTENTS

MODERN CELEBRITY by Brandon Ford

SUCKERS by Cori Vidae and Brian Rosenberger

ONE EAR, ALWAYS TO THE LAND OF THE DEAD by Olive Whittier

GODFUCKED by Tanker Ray

THE SOLUTION by Kristopher Triana

HUNTER'S MOON by S.C. Hayden

IF MY FACE WERE TRANSPARENT, YOU'D SEE THE DEVIL by Eric LaRocca

CHARLOTTE THE HARLOT by Shequila Rayne

THE PENIS OF THE MARQUIS DE SADE by Andrew Darlington

THE EXTRA MILE by Paul Allih

About the Authors

MODERN CELEBRITY

Brandon Ford

Not far from the endless stretch of desert and the sea of flashing lights along the Vegas Strip, a cherry red Range Rover pulled to a park outside a sleazy dive bar buzzing with activity. Behind the wheel, Cesar turned to his right and motioned toward the dimly lit entrance with the lift of a strong, square jaw. Tonight, he wore a faded black muscle tank so oversized its thin fabric did nothing to conceal his massive, bodybuilder physique. A cool wind entered the open window, sailing across his pectoral muscles and stiffening his pink nipples. How ‘bout in there? he said, his voice as deep and commanding as that of an intolerant drill sergeant. While the engine idled, he seized the opportunity to adjust the pulsing erection burning hot against his upper thigh.

Platinum blond hair falling over her left shoulder, Cookie turned to regard the seedy tavern, painted lips frowning. She seemed tired, wearied, more than three hours careening the same streets taking its toll. That didn’t stop her, however, from lifting the hem of her black slip to tease her oh so hungry hole. She squinted, blinked. Didn’t we give that place a go at the start of the summer? she said, free hand pulling a spaghetti strap aside to unleash an augmented breast.

Distracted, Cesar watched one hand tug at a silver dollar nipple. Watched the other disappear deeper and deeper inside her moistened opening. Cookie had been raring to go long before they began the night’s venture, her immutable hunger reaching greater heights with every passing mile. He wondered why she insisted on being so damned selective when it was clear her desires needed satisfying now.

He pulled at his zipper, leaving just enough room to slide a finger inside and graze the hard flesh beneath. What does it matter? he said, watching as two middle-aged clams in skinny jeans made their way inside. You never know what we’ll find. Let’s at least have a look.

In all actuality, he was itching to go as much as she, having abstained from all sexual activity in preparation for this night. A full seven days without blowing one. It sure as hell wasn’t getting any easier. But Cookie insisted on saving it for the cameras. And sweet holy mother, the cameras would see an explosion worthy of Guinness, especially if she kept teasing him this way.

Knowing full well how closely he watched and how insane her behavior drove him, she spread her thighs and lifted the slip’s hem all the way, revealing her dripping orifice and the four fingers buried inside. She adjusted, giving him full view of the growing puddle along the leather upholstery. Fuck, she moaned and chewed her bottom lip, more than likely having what would surely be her first of many orgasms. She relaxed a bit. Caught her breath. Remembered where they were. "I don’t want just anyone … Especially not one of those beer-bellied bozos. I want something … different."

Different how? Cesar could feel a thick trail of pre-cum slide along the swirling veins and damped the tuft of neatly trimmed pubic hair.

Ignoring him, Cookie moaned, gasped. She may have already come, but her appetite was far from satisfied. Unable to catch her breath, her hips gyrated as she continued to move her fingers in and out, in and out, as if ringing four doorbells at once. There was no one home, but that sure as hell wasn’t stopping her from trying. She gave a long, loud moan and threw her head back, attracting the attention of an elderly passerby walking a pole-sniffing beagle. Brow lined with concern, he gave the Range Rover an odd look and hustled along, the dog barking and hurrying to keep up.

Finally at peace, if only temporarily, Cookie pulled her hand free and lifted the gleaming fingers to her lips. While she relished the taste of her own juices, Cesar inhaled through his nostrils, taking in that sweet, sweet scent.

I … she breathed, her eyes as vacant as the desert sky. "I dunno, I … Fuck, I can’t think …"

Cesar gave a crooked smirk. Scrambled your circuits again?

Seems that way. Cookie pulled the slip over her thighs and tucked away her breast. I’ll be ready to go again in a second. She flipped the sun visor’s mirror and began touching up her lipstick. I always am.

He would’ve given his left nut to dampen the seats with his own mighty fluids, especially after that incredible display, but Cesar pulled his hand from his open fly and wrapped it around the wheel. For a long moment, he watched her, listened to the purr of the engine. How ‘bout him? he said, pointing toward a dark-haired, college-age kid advancing along the sidewalk, backpack slung over one shoulder. He was small in stature. Skinny, pale, weak. But often times guys like that came with a surprise or two, whether it was impressive size or incomparable stamina.

Cookie’s false lashes lowered as she glimpsed past the windshield. With a huff, she flipped the visor toward the ceiling. How many times do I have to tell you? she said, irritable. I ain’t into Chinese guys. It was amazing how her mood shifted after she blew one. Or in this case, two.

Hey, a dick’s a dick, Cesar said.

I doubt that kid’s packin’ much more than a gherkin.

Looks can be deceiving.

Sometimes not.

C’mon, you promised you’d ignore those kinds of stereotypes when we started this thing, he said. Open mind, open cunt. Remember?

She gave an indifferent shrug, folded her arms, and crossed one smooth, milky leg over the other. Is it really a stereotype if it’s true? she said, cocking her head and raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

To that Cesar said nothing. He shifted and pulled away from the bar just as the kid disappeared inside. Driving along the blacktop, he watched every street, glimpsed every corner, studied every parking lot. Why don’t we just hit up one of the casinos? he offered, the blood below his waist circulating elsewhere now that his focus had been averted.

You say that every goddamn week, Cookie whined, her painted fingers fumbling with the radio controls. "The casinos are filled with nothing but bloated businessmen who think I’m a whore. All they wanna do is get me up to their suites. They ain’t interested in takin’ a drive, especially not with you behind the wheel."

"What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

Baby, your physical presence is more than a little intimidating. She reached over to squeeze an impressive bicep. They probably assume we’re just in it to lure them out to the parking lot, where you’ll knock ‘em over the head and nab their winnings.

Then maybe we should consider doing the online thing, he said. Craigslist or one of those fuck-me-quick apps.

I prefer it this way. Least we know that what we’re seeing is what we’re getting. None of that posting-old-pictures nonsense or God forbid Photoshopped. Wouldn’t surprise me if some of those dipshits used that stupid program to make their dicks look bigger.

As she melted into her seat, Cesar lowered his gaze to the dashboard clock. A few minutes to eleven. Well, if this is the way you wanna play it, you’d better hurry up and pick somebody fast, he warned, sneering as Katy Perry screeched one of her ridiculous anthems. "We go live in an hour and you know that if we’re even two minutes late, people’ll start bitching about refunds and shit."

"Have I disappointed our fans even once over the past two years? She rolled her eyes toward him, glowering as though pursuing the subject couldn’t have been more superfluous. No. Hell no. And I don’t intend on starting now. So just relax your shit. We’ll find somebody."

Cesar exhaled and rolled into a Texaco. Whatever, he said. We need gas. You want anything?

Her long, curling eyelashes fluttered toward the sky as she gave it serious thought. I feel like something sweet, she said, agitation lifting from her voice. How ‘bout some Twizzlers?

I’ll see what I can do. Cesar parked by a pump, killed the engine, and swung the door. With precision and ease, he leapt from his seat and headed for the entrance, camel-colored Tims crunching dirt along the way. Inside, he turned down an aisle and headed for the bank of glowing refrigerators. Overhead, scattered speakers blared the very same Katy Perry track he’d just escaped. Wincing, he pulled for a six-pack of Deer Park. Flexing a muscled arm, he could feel eyes burning into his rippled flesh from every angle. Men who so often leered at him with an uncontrollable bitterness and envy. Women with sopping wet cunts who would’ve done just about anything to wrap their legs around his close-cropped head. He would’ve ignored them and continued on, but tonight was special. Tonight, they needed a willing participant. A guest star. And opportunities were everywhere.

Cesar took a step back, allowing the glass door to slip from behind his broad shoulders. As he made for the candy aisle, he peered over the neck-high displays. Found a haggard nobody of about seventy fixing himself a coffee over by the pots. A tall black man withdrawing cash from the ATM. In the potato chip aisle, a pot-bellied Mexican loading more junk food than his meaty arms could carry. Near the entrance, a pair of over-anxious adolescents huddled by the claw machine.

Dismayed, Cesar reached for three packs of Twizzlers and grabbed a few chocolate bars for himself. As he crossed toward the checkout, an electronic alert sounded as the door swung. In walked a vision of about fifteen, tall and buxom, with sandy blond hair and nipple rings clearly visible through a slinky white camisole. When their eyes met, she stopped, offered a full-lipped smile, and took a moment to admire his shredded torso. Returning the smile, Cesar placed his merchandise on the counter. He could feel his dick stiffen, moist head pressing against the zipper. Wondered if she noticed, wished to hell she could. She strolled past as the cashier rang up his items with a handheld scanner.

Anything else, sir?

Yeah, gimme forty on three. Reaching for his wallet, he turned to watch the girl pull for a cranberry juice, her eyes watching him from behind the refrigerator’s frosted glass door. He swiped his VISA and signed the electronic pad as the cashier bagged his goods. A burgeoning hunger began at his groin and spread throughout his body as he thought of inviting the girl back to their playpen. But Cookie wouldn’t have gone for it. She enjoyed the hole as much as the pole—if not more— but when it came to their weekly broadcast, she refused to share the spotlight with another clam. If they weren’t on-air tonight, Cesar would’ve for damn sure made his approach, but now was all about finding Cookie another rod to ride, preferably one that didn’t exceed his own in length or girth.

The moment he stepped back into the sultry night, he heard the buzzing. Stepping off the curb and slowly advancing across the lot, he craned his neck to glimpse overhead light fixtures, certain a horde of insects nested close by. But as he neared the Range Rover, he realized the sound came from within the cab. Leaning into the driver’s side window, he dropped his purchases onto the seat and lowered his gaze to watch the mini vibrator darting in and out of Cookie. Legs spread, slip lifted, tits exposed, she threw her head back and roared with orgasm. He watched, enjoyed the show, throbbing dick pressed to the door.

Cookie panted as her shoulders fell slack with deep, deep satisfaction. Slowly, she turned toward him, dreamy-eyed and blissed-out, lipstick smeared along the corners of her mouth. She may have finished, but made no move to pull the buzzing vibrator free from her dripping hole, or even turn it off. Panting, she blinked to focus, looked at him and breathed, Did … did you … get the Twizzlers?

Cesar smiled and opened the bag. Help yourself, babe, he said, dropping three packs of licorice into the steaming puddle between her legs. Rounding the car, he went for the pump and filled the tank. Eyes wandered as he scanned the lot not only for potential guest stars, but for strangers who may have watched and enjoyed Cookie’s front-seat solo.

No one.

Damn.

Cesar dropped behind the wheel and started the engine, exiting the parking lot. You thirsty? One hand on the wheel, Cesar pulled a plastic bottle from the six-pack and tossed it over.

"I’m always thirsty, baby. I figured you’d know by now." Cookie twisted the cap and poured a thin trail of water over her bountiful breast and across a smooth, pink nipple. Pinching, tugging, she used her free hand to tickle the inside of her thigh with the trickle of her fingernails.

Her insatiable appetite drove Cesar crazy in more ways than one. A steady flow of blood rushed south as he tore his eyes from the road to watch her. The dashboard’s ticking clock forced him, however, to ignore his own growing urges. With a huff, he readjusted in his seat, clenched the wheel tighter, and said, I hope you know we’re on a race against the clock here.

Cookie sighed breezily and turned toward the window, fingers rolling against the wind. Maybe we should just phone it in tonight, she said, seeing but not watching the passing streets. Just go home and fuck our brains out.

We can’t risk losing any subscribers, Cookie, he barked, anger blending with his sexual arousal as she lifted the slip around her waist to fully expose her freshly waxed cunt. "We need the money. The car ain’t paid off and neither