Shudder (13 page)

The office of the National Patriots still had the look of freshness, which indicated that it had obviously been open no more than two weeks. It was in a prestigious part of the center.

Natalie stopped in front of it and studied the party's logo. It was unimaginative: an eagle surrounded by small white pentagrams, holding shots of wheat in its claws.

She had tried to get some info on the party from the Internet, but its website wasn't functional yet, and they weren't even known well enough to have detractors in the blogosphere.

She entered inside. It looked like a midmarket hotel lobby, with a new green-brown carpet leading off into the interior corridors and modernistic ruby colored chandeliers encircled by golden sunbeams. The walls were painted a wooden brown.

To her left was a plywood desk with inlaid squares, one of which was already missing, uncovering a sandy colored interior. By this desk stood a young man slightly younger than her but in a serious suit and with a serious haircut. To his left lapel was stuck a badge with the National Patriots logo. From his chin up to his ears climbed a constellation of small red pimples, like mutated sideburns.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asked her.

“Yes, hi, I'm Natalie Martorino. I have a meeting with Mister Eberstark.”

The young man studied her for a second. “Please come this way.”

They went, walking along the endless carpet, took a turn to the left, past three open doors, and reached the fourth, on which hung a poster of the party. A plump, more or less young man with a serious mustache was looking into the future, which was obviously somewhere to the right and above the poster, and a hazy eagle loomed behind him.

The young man knocked on the door and opened it, ushering Natalie inside. In the room were the very same plump man with the very same serious mustache, and an attractive woman of a little over fifty. They were sitting on both sides of a heavy oak desk.

“Miss Martorino,” announced the pimply youth gravely. Both the man and the women stood up and smiled at Natalie.

“Hi, I'm Ronald Eberstark, welcome on board,” said the man and pumped Natalie's hand while looking sincerely into her eyes.

This close, he looked older, forty-something, plump in face and in gut, but with the urgent facial expression that cautioned the world that he was capable of exploding into action at any given moment.

Although his suit was expensive, it did not fit him perfectly at the shoulders and his pants were an inch short of his shiny Cabana brown shoes. The shoes were nice, admitted Natalie and felt a sudden impulse to kiss, and maybe even lick them. She quickly filed this impulse away.

“In this together,” concluded Eberstark with a wink. Natalie smiled plastically. He was one of those people who had developed a winking tick from being amiable towards everyone.

She hated amiable winking.

It looked like this hint of general inefficiency infesting the HQ itself—obviously an expensive place to rent, but the possible impressive impact undermined by a cheap looking and tacky interior, just like Eberstark's expensive suit was undermined by the way it sat on him—was indicative of the general disorganization behind the National Patriots movement.

These people really were in need of help. Eberstark looked like such a dear. Annoying, but obviously it was just that no one had taken good enough care of him. He just needed someone better than the people around him, to help him organize his things, and to achieve his full potential.

Again an image flashed, how she sits on his lap while... With a wince, Natalie evaded the thought again.

“Hi, my name is Jane Donovan,” said the mature lady. She slid her warm and adventurously manicured fingers into Natalie's hand. Then she flashed a smile, showing rows of whitened teeth. On her neck there was a tiger-striped, semi-transparent scarf tied into a loose artistic knot. Her lips were in a classy red-brown hue and there were some frivolous tiny stars sparkling just below her eyes. Her wavy blond hair was taut across her scalp and culminated in a formidable ponytail held in shape by a grid of tightly wound leather laces.

“This is the young woman who our friend Blonski said can help us, if anyone can.” Eberstark nodded into Natalie's direction while looking at Jane.

I'm better than that old slut,
Natalie thought and evaded looking at her.

“Please take a seat, can we get you anything?” the old slut took the initiative and Eberstark remembered that he was in fact a host, and added fragments concerning sitting down and having coffee or water. Natalie asked for coffee and water with a smile, and Jane disappeared out of the door, calling for some Pete.

Perhaps he was the coffee boy.

Meanwhile, Eberstark was already proffering Natalie a small pile of various paper products. As she looked through them, she saw that they included a brochure about the National Patriots, their old mission statement, their statement concerning the retirement age and other issues, and a small book whose author was Eberstark himself. It was called,
Time For Patriotism: Now!

During her short career, Natalie had already ghostwritten two similar books and she skimmed through the beginning with a critical eye.
I would have done it much better
, she thought and again glanced at Eberstark's shiny shoes.

Eberstark himself was talking about his party. “We are part of a worldwide surge of national patriotism. Yes, a worldwide surge.”

He clammed up and looked at Natalie and she nodded and scowled mentally. He was yet another of those speakers, who were like schoolteachers: incapable of presenting any coherent message unless someone kept nodding at certain intervals with an expression of understanding and agreement. She would have to wean him off this practice, if he was to have any degree of success during interviews and debates.

After her nod, he continued. “We maintain relations with sister parties all over the world: in France, Britain, Bulgaria, Slovakia, Poland, Hungary, Denmark, Korea, Finland, Brazil, Greece...” Eberstark looked up towards the ceiling for a second, “...and Latvia.”

“And Japan,” said Jane with a charming smile, as she sat down back in her chair.

“And Japan, of course, Japan too,” agreed Eberstark.

Natalie took out her notebook and began scribbling.

* * * *

Hours later, as she went out of the office, she finally allowed herself to grin foolishly. Now that she was free from his spell, she admitted that Eberstark looked like a dunce.

Perhaps this was a disguise and perhaps he was a front for someone else. Dirty money? It didn't matter. She would get to mould an election strategy.

That woman, Jane, obviously was trying to get to know her in order to control her. A morning brainstorm of all things.

Well...why not? She accepted the invitation.

Natalie took a taxi, and opened her mouth to say her home address, then thought better of it.

This day called for a little celebration.

Besides, a lot of specific impulses had piled up inside her. The evening twilight was forming all around the edges of the artificial city lights and she felt something forming on the edges of her conscious self as well.

“To Macedonia square,” she said. The driver grunted affirmatively and they drove off.

Three transvestites had already gathered at the square, just at the entrance of a sex shop. Their young female customer far from surprised them, since in the last decade it was mainly young, plucky career women who were trying to out-compete men on their own turf, that came to abuse them.

Natalie gave them a look-over and pointed at the blond one, who smiled with his pink lips. He looked like a good slut. Natalie went into the shop and bought herself a cheap but formidable strap-on dildo. She went out again with the inconspicuous bag in her hand.

Ten minutes later, they were in the transvestite's seedy room. She gave him the money and strapped on her strap-on.

Ivana fluttered his eyelashes and got down on his knees. He lubed his anus and worked it open with three fingers, while Natalie watched, her nipples hardened, and her tongue quite unconsciously played with her lower lip.

Finally, Natalie commanded Ivana to lick her heels. After that, she used the remaining forty minutes to fuck him hard, straining to somehow merge with the piece of plastic between her legs and feel with it.

As she returned home that night, Natalie was quite happy. She organized herself a solo party, with wine, music, dancing, follow-up masturbating, the whole lot, until abruptly her strength deserted her again and she staggered over to her bed.

As she woke up in the wee hours of the morning, Natalie was quite unhappy. She lay in fearful paralysis, helpless and petrified, and knowing that she did not even deserve the chance to send a prayer to the good Lord.

She had sinned again, she had become too full of herself and it was all her fault for inviting disaster.

The figures were again present in her room and now it felt like there were more than just two of them. As she listened to the dreaded hoofed guest walk around her apartment as if he owned it, suddenly she felt the ghastly touch of one of the night visitors.

Unable to move or speak, all she could do is try to not breathe.

The man whose previous name was Alec, sat behind a curved transparent table in the Black Rose Chillout Place, and sipped his Blue Lightning energy drink cocktail.

His facial features were yet again slightly different. He was cleanly shaven, had two large manly wrinkles running down his cheekbones, and his hair was gelled into a spiky shrub.

He looked either like a man of thirty-something recreating the fashion of his childhood, or like a man of twenty-something, who had enough taste to participate in the small revival of that fashion.

He was in a tight-fitting blue pullover and in light green pants, all of which should be enough to help a prejudiced observer assume that he was closer to twenty than to thirty.

After all, this was what the old slut was pretentious enough to write in her
Take Me Network
profile: ‘Men over twenty-five—don't bother...'

So, he had to be under twenty-five for her. Fine, he could play that role as well as any other.

She was a splendid MILF. Fifty-six, according to her profile info, she had posed in kinky sex-wear and naked too, and as he had looked at her full loose breasts hanging below her attempt at a seductive smile his hands had itched to knead these soft bags of flesh.

It wasn't just that of course, what really made him establish contact was the set of three pictures in which she posed with a leather mask with a zipper on the mouth.

At once a reference to the contemporary pop scene and to possible darker pleasures, it had shown him that she was the one to use to conquer the older women dimension.

He already proved to himself that he could do to the twenty-something-year-olds and the thirty-something-year olds-whatever he wanted to. He only had to drive an older slut over the edge—and he would finally be completely sure of his top-notch quality as a man. If not forevermore, that at least for a whole year.

There she was, a flamboyant figure with heavy curves sailing through the door.

He waved with his leopard glove at once. With stolid dignity, the woman approached him.

Electricity prickled his groin. He controlled himself, of course.

Her blond hair was hanging loose with a suggestive ruffled quality to it and the tips were blue. Below her light brown leather jacket she wore a glittering black blouse, and her long multilayered orange skirt revealed not only corpulent hips, but also, from beneath it, two glittering silver boots. On her substantial bosom hung various metallic and glass trinkets: hearts, butterflies, keys, pens, and spiders. Closer to her neck were fake jewels of the anal beads type.

“Are you Mike?” she asked in luscious tones, her face twitching in a seductive and at the same time self-assertive sneer.

He smiled coldly and nodded.
Yes, for you I'm Mike.

“Susanna,” she said and sat down with an elegant angle to her behind.

Susanna.
He smiled to himself. She used that name in the website as well. Obviously a fantasy name from somewhere. Probably some love novel from like forty years ago.

He was dating someone's alter ego.

With a charming but manful smile, he quickly and confidently fed her some crap about visiting parents and off they went to her place. She drove her blue Volvo and he followed her with his Toyota.

She looked like everything he had fantasized about. His abdomen tightened as he drove, as if he suddenly needed to take a dump, but it just meant that he was very excited. With one gloved hand, he caressed his stomach and sweated with impatience.

Her home was a cozy two-story house. The bedroom was on the second floor, near the bed stood a plastic mannequin in a corset and with the leather mask from the pictures pulled onto its head. Either this suggested that she lived alone, or that the house would be empty of children and spouses for the foreseeable future.

As she looked at him with expectation, Mike thought about her self-assured nervousness. He was well acquainted with this condition in women and knew what it implied.

He knew Susanna was in that middle ground where sexual desire pushes one towards the fantasy of trying out everything exciting and fashionable in carnal play as seen in popular magazines, websites, and love novels, but the personality defenses still resist the more outrageous impulses.

She wanted it, without quite admitting to herself what exactly ‘it' was. She did not quite want the responsibility for going to the places she longed for.

Splendid, this meant that he would have to be the one to push her where she dared not go herself, and this in turn meant that she would want to resolve her internal paradox in the usual way—by letting him tie her up and have his way with her.

Without breaking his mysterious silence, Mike slowly took out his latex suit from the bag. With a gasp of delight, Jane began undressing herself.

Her bra was black and lacy and had zipped up slits, which she unzipped with theatrical grace, and the dough of her breasts unrolled downwards. Her panties were part of a set with the bra, but she did not unzip them—apparently a delight left for him.

She walked over to the mannequin and undressed it. Soon the corset was on her, producing an hourglass effect on her outline, pushing the flesh to bulge outwards from above and below.

Mike felt himself trembling with impatience as she put on her mask and looked at him, eyes glistening expectantly, and in a way defiantly too.

He felt her desire like beams that bounced off his body. “Bouncy, bouncy,” he muttered. She shook her sagging breasts coyly. “You like them?” she inquired from behind the mask. He did not correct the misinterpretation, but stretched his leopard hands, and proceeded to fulfill his fantasy of pulling and kneading.

She moaned. “Do you want me to be your sugar mommy?” she asked in a husky, guttural voice.

“I'll be your cocoa Daddy,” he answered sternly.

* * * *

After breaking the ice with some fondling and pinching, and focusing her attention solely on her mouth by way of tongue, finger, and penis, he finally tied her up. This time though, he went for diversity and tied her wrists to her ankles.

After rocking her awhile like a wheelbarrow with his penis in the lower end of her digestive tract, he noticed how she averted her masked face from his penis, when he only tried to do the preliminary ass-to-mouth.

For a really glorious night, she would have to be a willing participant. This meant that he had to fool her old-fashioned disgust matrix. An easy job for an expert like him.

A wizard like him.

A master like him.

First then—the color barrier. He took a thin chocolate bar from his bag and shoved it into Susana's anal sphincter. Even as his finger still pushed it into her, through the latex he felt the chocolate already beginning to melt from the intense internal heat.

He followed the chocolate bar with his penis and basked in the woman's sniveling for more. Three minutes later, when he took off her mask and placed his cock inside her mouth, she did not turn away. His penis looked brown and dirty, but was sweet and warm and this allowed her to forget where it had been as she strained to slurp up the icing.

Good, color barrier broken. Now—the texture barrier.

Oh, he was ever so excellently prepared. He was the greatest.

As her anus gaped, not fully closing even during the involuntary spasms, the thick slime of the chocolate oozing out of it, Mike took two small bananas from his bag.

He peeled them in front of Susanna's half-glazed eyes and went back to stoop by her ass, hidden from her gaze by the mounds of her breasts and belly.

He pushed one banana slowly into her, listening attentively to her groans, pressing with his finger until it sank completely inside and the sphincter closed over it. He pushed it deeper in with his finger and then pushed his penis through the loosened sphincter.

He felt it encounter the banana lodged in front of it, but as he pushed forward, the fruit proceeded forward up the innards. He pumped for half a minute, holding Susanna's flesh, feeling it stretch as she writhed in her unfolding lust journey.

Having made so pleasurably sure that he had created space for the second banana, he slid it in. After a few inches, some resistance appeared and he thought he felt it crumple against the first one. Still, the sphincter closed over this one was well.

Now he really let himself go.

Even as he slid his penis inside her ass hole, she began a high-pitched wail, interrupted by “Yes”, “No”, and “More” exclamations. At least he assumed that this was the meaning of her warbling.

He pumped away for five minutes, until brown lumpy froth wreathed the back entrance and the base of his penis. He whipped it out, and saw the anus move like the mouth of a gasping fish.

He almost felt like...no. Of course he didn't. He felt like the exact opposite.

“Give it to me. Give it more,” he muttered repetitively, almost melodically, as he pushed at the lower part of her corset. With a coinciding gasp from the faraway mouth, the nearer orifice opened and chocolate covered banana pieces squirmed out onto the bed sheets.

With a soft ringing appearing in his ears now, Mike took a piece and slowly mashed it against Susanna's face.