Tatters: Extreme Horror by Ericmore Ash

Author:Ericmore, Ash [Ericmore, Ash]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

Well no thank you.

She lifted herself and looked at him, seemingly surprised that he wasn’t already clown deep in her. “You want the boy here?” she asked. “That’s okay. That’s my jam too.”

Harold drew breath in, and before she could scream for the child to come forth and observe the copulations, he thwhacked his hand over her mouth. She looked at him. The two of them, there, Harold between her legs, being careful not to get Fabio custard on his clown outfit, his hand over the woman’s mouth. She was snorting air in through her nose. Harold realised she was touching herself, apparently leaning into the hand thing and thinking this was some sort of kink. Harold screwed his face up. He was so obnoxiously angry at that point he could have just screamed. He released her face, and she looked a little stumped for a second, before his hand darted up, to her hair, and grabbing a handful of it. Then he yanked. Hard. Spinning her in the liquid on the table. It wasn’t just Fabio juice, you know. Some of it was hers, too. Then he dragged her, by the hair, from the table. Down to the floor.

She landed on her coccyx or something. Let out a scream, a wail, as she landed. Sounded no different to her screams of pleasure, so it shouldn’t bring the boy, although, perhaps it might be an idea to let him watch this one. Cathartic. Harold dragged her to the hall, and across, into the kitchen. “Who are you?” she screamed between wails of pain and fear.

Harold let her go and turned, standing over her, upside down. “I’m Tatters the Clown, bitch,” he said. It had sounded cooler in his head, but it was public now, so Tatters the Clown was the name he was sticking with.

“It a dog’s name.”

Harold glanced to Howdy, sitting on the kitchen counter. He had a chicken drumstick and was nibbling on it.

“Are you going to scare her, like you scared Mr. Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Harold said. His eyes dropping down to Mrs. Cundray. She was looking at Howdy. Maybe.

Then her eyes returned to him. “You can fuck me,” she said.

It threw Harold through a loop. Was this her bargaining for her life? You can fuck me? He could have done that already (gross) should he have wanted to. Did she think she was that? Like all that . That he could be bought of with custardy seconds from that … that … he looked out the window at Fabio. Standing at the poolside, rearranging himself in the front of his jeans.

Harold glanced to Howdy and reached over, swiping the chicken drumstick from him. He held it aloft (like a mighty sword) and plunged, while dropping to his knees. The fat end of the drumstick stabbed into the woman’s whore-mouth and down, passing her non-existent gag-reflex, to her throat. Into her gullet. She muffled out a scream, clawing at Harold in a different way than she had Fabio. She choked and spluttered, spit coming out her nose.

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