Modern Horror (standard:horror, 2500 words)
Author: Spotlight	Added: Nov 12 2001	Views/Reads: 4731/2707	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A beautiful wife, A good job, A happy Christian family. Undescript, average, he walks by us unnoticed every day. (very graphic psychological horror, read at your own risk, not for weak stomachs)

[[(Warning:  Adult content, violent and sexual thoughts, hence the title
(no swearing though).  If you cannot stomach the first few lines, then 
please do not read further.  If you can, then enjoy and tell me what 
you think.  If you are totally de-sensitized, you may find some of this 
funny, as I know all horror becomes outdated in a few years.  Please 
don't fear all middle-aged men after this story.  Just most of them.)]] 


Modern Horror 

--------by Spotlight 

I think of little boys, dressed in flesh, their pink bodies seductive
and alluring.  I think of one at night, dreaming, one single unknowing 
virgin child, touching me softly, inquisitively, and I think of 
touching his goosebumped skin, hairs on end, my large hands, 
experienced, guiding him into manhood.  I think of sodomy, I think of 
young women, unshaven, I think of girl scout dresses in piles on the 
floor of my office. 

I daydream in this office, when accounting department numbers fly
through my head, from my eyes to my hand, a highway of automatic 
reflexes.  The keyboard clicks constantly with the unconscious 
pattering of fingers, attached but independent. 

Susan sashays in at 11:00, her hair flowing, living color of auburn,
breasts vaguely concealed, contouring her chest, her dress, a 
business-woman's button-down suit, and skirt above the knees, luscious 
thighs covered in sheer pantyhose, a thin run down the right calve, 
ripped like her clothing at night, my tongue inside that crevice, 
kissing along her ankles, slipping her red pumps from her feet.  She 
smiles, her thin red lips curling, cheeks tightening and pulsing. 

"Heres the report, you wanted."  Her slender fingers, the fingernails
long and real, red with blood, ripping at my back, mouth open, pounding 
her deep.  She is into pain, her black leather bikini, the tight garter 
and crotchless panties. 

I glance over the report, "Thank you, very much." 

"I hope you don't mind.  The papers have two reports on each.  I didn't
know if you wanted them cut, renumbered differently?"  She lets the 
words fall from her lips like a moan.  I want her now, across the desk, 
simulated rape, my hand across her nose and mouth, the veins gushing in 
pulses between my knuckels, she likes to be dominated, rough, straight 
sex. 

"No, no, it should be fine.  Basically all the same file.  Thanks, nice
work."  Nice ass.  She turns on her heels, military-like, and I lick my 
lips behind her, pushing the corners, my tongue warming for her.  The 
memory festers even in the empty office, papers in mid-air, swishing, 
her neck sloshing in blood, my teeth marks against the ridges.  She has 
no children, no boyfriend, not pregnant...  a shame.  I could blackmail 
her, send notices to businesses around the county, she'd need me, only 
me, every night, submissive. 

Reluctantly my fingers begin to tap at the keyboard, transferring
numbers, correcting mathematical errors.  It is 11:47 in that room, 
buzzing with flourescent lights and dull romantic music filtered 
through the company system, when Lola strides inside, her arm held by 
the receptionist assistant, John, a handsome, well-dressed, boyfriend.  
My fingers discontinue typing, secretly mimmicking the action of 
scooping John's eyeball from its socket.  She's blemished along the 
face, small scars from an acne-ridden childhood, but her body simply 
exudes a delicate softness that my body responds to inexplicably; a 
lover for the darkness, a cheap motel room love, she leans against the 
man, obviously mislead, a damsel in distress for me to plunder. 

John spoke first, half a smile, half a laugh, "Here, the keys I borrowed
yesterday.  Just one of those days.  Forgot to give em to ya."  There's 
blood coming from his smiling mouth, his face forever etched with the 
same curves, embalmed and stuck in my closet, a hatchet in the back. 

"Oh, thanks, I think I forgot too.  Maybe its the heat."  He hands me
the keys.  She's eyeing me now, studying my body, secretive, her eyes 


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