Wednesday, December 10, 2014

sweaty. pink. horrible.

Things would be easier, really, if he would just lose the extra weight. Everything wouldn’t be such a burden.

Jonathon huffed and puffed making the short trek from his well-appointed room to the dining car. His great paunch barely let him squeeze into the table. Then, of course, his velvet draped belly drug across and caught hold of the damasked table linens. The serving man quickly cleared away the dropped silverware and china.

The small window reflected Jonathon Bright’s sweaty, pink face. Beyond that, the great flat grasslands rolled by, punctuated only by the occasional black lump of a buffalo. He rolled his eyes and snorted at the servant’s apologies for the abhorrently cramped conditions.

Mr. Bright limited himself to only three servings that evening. He did, after all, have dessert waiting for him in his private car.

She was still tied to his bed when returned.

It felt so good to get out his clothes and to let the great bulk of his midsection hang loose. Both glistening pink tentacles unwound from his waist, allowing in the relief of the cool night air. He sighed in relief as they unfurled before him.

“Muuuuch better,” he hissed.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew something was wrong, but the horrible eel-like heads were already screaming for blood. She didn’t seem to be afraid for one thing, and there was something curious about the twisted snake and owl pendant she still wore. He ponderously approached the ample young woman, nevertheless.

Her hand was so quick and the razor so sharp and the eels so insistent that all he really felt was a warm spurt of blood down his thighs.

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