Down

This girl under him was sucking Paul dry.

He felt old. Tired. Was this what thirty-nine was supposed to be like?

When he took his mouth off hers, she looked at him with dead eyes. Vacant. Clouded. A corpse's eyes.

He actually felt like crying. Why? Why had the spark, the lively glint faded so fast from her gaze? They were still so new—less than a week together—and already she'd gone cold.

It always seemed to go this way. With every woman, there'd be that heat, that intensity the first time together, that first, fierce, hot fuck. But no matter how good, how wild that first encounter was, within a month or a week or, fuck, a few days, now, it was over.

However hard he tried, no matter what he did, he couldn't inspire that trembling. That look. Like he was her whole world. Her god.

Looking at her now, with her corpse's eyes, it was hard to even remember what it was he'd been so attracted to, that first time in the motel room, not even an hour after they'd met. What had gotten him so hard for her, even before he'd bared her taut, creamy little breasts, even before he'd heard her gasp in her breath and whimper as he sucked her nipples stiff. Now that her eyes were empty, her small, full-lipped mouth didn't spur him, her flawless, pale skin didn't excite him.

As if she'd read his mind, as if she wanted to distract him from those painful truths, Katya coaxed him onto his back, slipped down, and slid her lips over his cock.

***

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, Zach. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"It's Friday. I get to stay up 'til midnight. Remember?"

"In that case, what are you doing home? Why aren't you out with your friends? Or on a date?"

Zach laughed, "I don't know. All those girls calling all the time, demanding attention night and day. It just got to be a hassle."

"Yeah, I know how it is. Sometimes a man's just got to take refuge from all that pressure," he teased back. He wondered if his son was still a virgin, and felt a pang of sympathy for the kid. Fifteen. An awkward age. "Hey. How about tomorrow we go to the game?"

"I'm hanging out with Mom tomorrow. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Right. Meeting the fiancé."

The phone bleated at him from the kitchen, and he'd already started to walk away when Zach called after him, consoling, "But next weekend. That would be cool."

"Hello?"

"Paul?"

"Yeah."

"It's Jennifer. Luc's wife." She sounded stuffed up. Maybe she'd been crying.

"Hey, Jennifer. What's up?"

"Um, hey, I was wondering if you'd seen Luc."

"When do you mean?"

"Today. Or yesterday." Her voice had that high, whiny sound of desperation.

"You haven't seen him since yesterday?"

"No." She was definitely crying. "Not since Wednesday."

"And he didn't," Paul hesitated, "leave a note, or anything?"

"No. No, he just got up like usual, went to work. When he didn't come home for dinner, I figured I forgot about a meeting, or he forgot to tell me. But then he didn't come home at all that night. Or since." She was sobbing, now, choking, wet snot sobbing. "And I thought, I thought, even though you two don't see each other much anymore, I thought maybe you'd know," she dropped off without finishing.

"God, Jen," he said before he remembered she hated that nickname, "I'm sorry. I have no idea. Have you called the police?"

"Yeah. I don't know. They don't seem to be taking it too seriously. Like they assume he just ran out on me or something. I mean, they took a report and looked around a little. But I don't think they're doing anything."

"Well, I'll call you if I hear anything. Is there anything else I can do?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Well, if you think of anything, I'm here, okay Jen?"

"Thanks, Paul."

He heard one more gagging little sob before she broke the connection.

***

Watching Brian climb on top of Katya, so pale and tiny under his flabby, hairy bulk, somehow made Paul harder than he'd been in days. That was one thing you could say for that girl, she was game. Eager to please.

Brian's girl was a little uncertain. Which was weird because there was no ignoring the fact that compared to Brian, Paul was fucking gorgeous. Tall, muscled, lean. Sharp eyes. Strong jaw. Not all round and mushy like his friend.

While they both watched the other two banging away on the bed, Paul pressed Maria's hand over his hard-on, and she obliged him, stroking him through his slacks. He liked drawing it out, enjoying watching Katya, her legs splayed wide, hearing her little grunts before he got his stiff cock out and drew Brian's girl onto his lap, tugged her panties aside, and got inside her. While she rode him, her tank top pulled up, her full tits bouncing, he went on watching the others, going at it doggie-style, now. He just let go and pumped his load into Brian's girl almost right away, because he wanted to come while the show on the bed was still going. Unlike Brian, who never had more than one in him, Paul was good for two, maybe three tonight, so no point in dragging the first one out forever. And he already knew how he wanted round two to go.

As soon as Brian grunted and pumped little Katya full of his junk, Paul took Maria over to the bed and said to Brian, "Have a drink and relax, and we'll put on a little show for you."

About the only thing better than having something good to watch while getting off was having an audience. Brian threw his boxers on—he was always shy, that way—and took up residence on the sofa, a bottle of beer in his fist, still panting hard from his exertions.

When Maria was naked he told her, "Lie back and spread your legs for Katya."

Maria looked fucking delicious, all juicy and caramel-colored, her long black hair cascading in glossy waves over the pillow, her cunt waxed smooth, open and slick from their fucking. And when Katya got in there and started licking those burgundy folds, Paul was already rock hard and ready for round two. Reaching under Katya's chin he drove two fingers deep into Maria's seeping cunt, got a gob of their slick goo and brought it round to Katya's ass. With one hand he grabbed a cheek to spread her nice and wide, then drove one come-lubed finger into her tight pucker, her high little squeal driving a fresh surge of blood into his stiff cock. He'd never had her this way, and he stirred himself up, thinking maybe she was an anal virgin.

"Keep eating that pussy, baby," he coaxed when she went stiff and still as he sank a second finger into her tight little ass.

Gripping his hard-on in his fist, he nudged at her pink-brown clench with the head of his cock, anticipating the feeling of stretching her open, pushing inside, then doing it, her body squeezing him so tight it its effort to keep him out, then swallowing his cock inch by inch.

"God," he sighed, "fuck yeah."

Anal was his absolute favorite, and the added stimulation of Katya lapping at the cunt he'd just shot a load in, and knowing Brian was watching it all made this the best fuck he'd had in months, by a long shot. This one, he wanted to last. For ten or twenty seconds he didn't even pump, he just enjoyed the feeling of that tight ring of muscle clamped around the base of his cock, and the sound of Katya's tongue licking up the sticky wet seeping along Maria's slit. Then he went into a slow rhythm, pumping deep on each stroke, pulling all the way back until Katya's ass gripped at the head of his cock, and sank slowly into her again, over and over.

"That's my good girl, Katya. You taste my come? Lick that little cunt clean, baby."

Katya's flaxen hair and narrow, almost bony shoulders made a striking contrast against the thick, tawny body of Brian's girl. And then he noticed. Brian's girl had that look, her eyes bright, full of life, like he was taking her somewhere new.

"Play with your nipples, Maria. Get them nice and hard. Good girl. You like how Katya's eating you? I want to watch you come."

She had that startled, fretful look, like maybe she was close. At Paul's request, Brian brought over the big, silicone dildo, and Katya worked it into the other girl's cunt and started fucking her while she licked.

"That's right, isn't it?" Paul rasped, feeling his second climax coming on, slowing his fucking, but ramming harder, deeper on each thrust. "Lick that clit, Katya, and fuck her good. Yeah, baby, good girl, like that."

Maria bit her lips and squinted her eyes shut tight and arched her hips up off the bed. Nudging Katya aside, Paul slipped the dildo out of Maria's spasming cunt, ran his thumb over her clit, watched her shudder and writhe as her dripping pussy clenched and unclenched over and over, and fucking hard, fast now, he pumped little Katya's ass until his balls seized and his second, brutal climax tore through him and he shot his load into her.

***

"I got kind of a weird call from Luc's wife last night," Paul told Brian later, when they were on their own at their favorite bar, half way through their second round of whiskey.

"Yeah?"

"She said he hasn't been home since Wednesday. No note, nothing."

"Seriously?"

"You haven't heard from him, have you?"

"No. I don't think I've seen the guy in," Brian took a hit of whiskey, pondering. "Last time I saw him was your divorce party. What was that?"

"Almost a year ago."

"It's been that long? Fuck." Another gulp of whiskey. "So, what? Did she call the cops?"

"Yeah. I guess they opened an investigation. Jen doesn't seem too impressed, though."

"Yeah, well, what you think? A guy in his late thirties doesn't come home to his wife one night. What do you figure? He's been abducted? The guy's probably off having a wild time, or something. He probably saw how you've been living it up since your divorce, and thought he'd break out."

"Yeah. Probably."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Brian laughed and slurped a few last watery drops of whiskey through the melting ice. "Bet your ass Luc and Jennifer don't get up to any shit like we did tonight."

"No."

"So, what are you so down about?"

"I don't know."

"Come on, Paul. What is it?"

"Rachel's engaged."

"No shit?"

"Yeah. The kid went off with them for the weekend to meet the guy."

"So what? You've got the place to yourself. You can bang the shit out of Katya twenty-four seven, all weekend long."

"Yeah."

"What? You'd rather be married to that bitch again?"

"I don't know. No. Just..."

"What?"

"Well, don't you get, I don't know, lonely? I mean, Katya's fun, and hot. And so was Anh. And Lyuda. But, Christ, sometimes, even after a night like tonight, I could just kill myself. It all just feels so fucking sad, sometimes."

"Jeez, Paul." Brian sounds like his friend just stomped his puppy to death.

"Fuck it. Never mind, Brian. I'm just in a mood."

When they left the bar, they got into Brian's car. Which was stupid, because Brian had downed all the beer, back at the motel, and then kept up whiskey for whiskey at the bar. The car was parked around the corner, down a narrow, dark street. Sometimes there were homeless people camped out in doorways. Once, someone had tried to mug Paul on that street, but Paul had punched him hard in the face, and when the guy went down, he'd kicked him a few times in the gut and the nuts to teach him a lesson. So even though Paul knew how to handle himself, he still felt weirdly light and cold every time he turned that corner and stepped into the mean darkness of that crappy little street. He had to work to keep walking at a normal speed, and to be chill so Brian wouldn't see that he was scared.

They got to the car fine, but Brian was taking forever, feeling around for the keys, and then when he managed to fish them out of his jeans, he dropped them in the street. While he stooped to pick them up, Paul took a furtive look around to make sure no one was rushing up at them from the dark. In the thick black everything seemed still, and the only noise was the muffled din seeping through the walls of the bar, fifty feet back. Finally Brian got his key into the lock, and when he'd managed to squeeze himself in behind the steering wheel, he leaned over and unlocked the passenger door. Paul rushed to open the door and slip in, already feeling his body soften in relief, but as he did someone brushed against him, and a cold, violent shudder went through him as he slammed the door shut and slapped the lock down.

And then he laughed. Fuck. It was just some girl, some pale, reedy little thing. No bigger than Katya, with blond hair down to her ass and almost as white as her sheer dress, all floating out behind her as she faded away in the blackness. Funny to have been startled, frightened by a little faerie like that.

What was even weirder was how that fear seemed to cling to him for the whole ride home. Brian hadn't even seen her, and Paul had the nauseating sense he'd been touched by a ghost.

***

Paul sat there, slouched down in his leather armchair rolling a beer cap over and over in his hand, wondering what the fuck was wrong with him. What the hell was he doing there in the quiet dark of his living room, when he could be with Katya?

So Rachel was getting married again. So what? Sure, he'd loved her. But things had been shit between them for years before the divorce. And so Zach was spending the weekend with them, the happy couple. It wasn't like he was going to forget who his dad was. Stop loving him. His son was the one person he trusted to stick by him. To see the good in him, even when it seemed like all anyone else saw were his shortcomings, all anyone ever remembered were the mistakes.

Fuck this. He'd go see Katya. See if he could stir up that flame he'd seen in her eyes their first couple nights together. Or at least lose himself in the heat of her body, if he couldn't light that fire in her gaze.

He tossed the empty beer bottle in the recycling, pulled on his leather jacket, and snatched his keys off the counter. Locked up. Jumped in the convertible. Turned the key in the ignition.

The engine growled, a deep, throaty rumble that hummed under him, like he'd woken a big, loyal animal. Sleek. Beautiful. Powerful.

A wet night. He cruised along the neighborhood streets, like black mirrors reflecting the traffic lights, headlights, street lights, green and red and orange and white, toward the motel.

At a red light he stopped behind a classic Mustang, a sixty-six, cherry red. Perfect chrome and paint. Then something, a thump, a motion, a blotting out, pulled his eyes to the left.

A face framed by two hands pressed to his window. Two dead, black eyes.

Then gone.

A blaring noise.

Paul looked, ahead, back, all around. Nothing. No one.

A loud, long wail. The jerk behind him blasting his horn.

Paul tried to keep his hands steady on the wheel. He was shaking all over. And he felt light, a horrible lightness, like he'd float away. And cold.

That face. No, not a face. A corpse's mask. Gaunt and gray. Waxy.

Familiar.

Another shudder shook him. He gripped the wheel tighter, tried to steady himself. He kept on for the motel, for Katya. He forgot his want, the thought of her lit-up gaze, her warm, smooth body. He just knew she'd be there, and was too afraid, now, to go home to his empty house.

Right away, Katya's face reflected his nauseating fear, like a mirror. Weird, how she was always in tune with him. Maybe more so than Rachel had ever been.

"I feel like I'm going crazy," he whispered when he'd pulled her against him, when he'd wrapped his arms around her, and started to feel less wobbly. "Like I'm seeing things."

If she could have understood him, Paul wouldn't have said anything. But it felt good to tell someone.

"I swear to God, it was Lena," he breathed at Katya's ear. "But there's no way. And she didn't even look human. She looked like a fucking cadaver. And who appears like that, anyway? In the middle of a busy road, peering into your car with eyes like that?"

Paul stopped squeezing Katya in his arms and backed her away from him to look at her eyes. He'd suddenly been terrified it was the other thing in his arms, that he'd look and see two big, black, glossy orbs. No whites at all.

But it was just Katya, that warm flame back in her eyes.

Now he wanted her. Needed to feel her warmth, taste her mouth, touch her soft skin. She stayed quiet and still as he undressed her, then took his own clothes off. When he lied back on the bed and put his arms out, she slipped atop him and took him in her mouth, and when he was hard, she took him inside the close warmth of her cunt.

With her on top of him, riding him, when he pulled her down for a kiss, he almost forgot his nausea, his terror. She was there, warm, bringing his body that pleasure, her slick heat enveloping his cock, her little breasts soft in his hands, her nipples stiff and eager under his fingers. He liked how it felt, licking her lips, then brushing his tongue against hers, biting, sucking one lip, then the other.

"Fuck, you feel good, Katya," he breathed, close to coming.

"No," she breathed back, but in Russian, her voice hollow, rasping, not even like a human voice. "Nyet. Not Katya."

His gut filled with ice. He shoved her back, but it was like she weighed a thousand pounds, and he was pinned under her. A scream filled the room, his scream. The thing on top of him leaned back. Her. The creature, the thing from the road. From the street by the bar. Cold and white and waxen, black-eyed, gaunt, smiling down at him with gray-black lips. He screamed again as she brought her mouth to his ear and hissed, "You know me!"

She sank down on him then, and stuffed her cold, slimy tongue into his mouth. He screamed and thrashed, but in her grip, under her writhing body he was limp. Helpless. The thing went on, thrusting its tongue between his lips, writhing up and down on his cock. His gut lurched, and he flung himself up, wrenching free of her.

Paul grabbed the brass lamp from the night stand and swung. Just in time he pulled back. Katya was curled up, sobbing, arms shielding her head.

The lamp slipped from his grip and thumped to the floor. He barely made it to the toilet in time to heave up the beer and whatever he'd eaten that evening. Shaking so hard he could hardly pick up the key on the counter, he left Katya lying there, naked and crying on the bed, ran out of the room, out of the motel, and sped home.

He was crawling out of his fucking skin. She was there. Somehow. Like that.

"Jesus Christ, man," he growled, "get it fucking together. You're losing your shit!"

It was that fucking bitch Jen's fault. Calling him in the middle of the night, screaming and crying about Luc being gone. That's when all this shit had started. She'd just fucked with his head, talking like that. So he'd started imagining things.

He laughed. Poor Katya. He'd really scared the piss out of her.

God, how dumb was this? Laughing, crying, huddling in a dark corner of your own big house, scared to shit, too afraid to even call Brian, half because he'd laugh his ass off at how stupid you're being, half because you're scared...what? That he'll turn into that goddamned succubus?

***

In the morning, after maybe an hour or two of sleep, Paul woke feeling small. Weak. Even the thud of the newspaper hitting the front door made his heart hammer.

When he remembered that he'd seen Rachel pull up and drop Zach off around eleven, that his son was there, he felt better. Safer. Having someone else to protect did that, somehow.

Paul threw on a pair of jeans and went downstairs. Seeing Zach at the kitchen counter wolfing down a bowl of cereal, the world felt normal again.

"Hey, Zach. How was your weekend?"

"Fine." Zach looked up from his magazine. "Dad," he breathed, "you look like shit."

"Eh, rough weekend."

"Come on, Dad. I've seen you after your rough weekends. This isn't hungover with no sleep. What happened?"