Zola : An extreme horror novella, with cheese. by D E McCluskey

Author:D E McCluskey [McCluskey, D E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dammaged Productions
Published: 2021-11-25T04:00:00+00:00

2.

MORE YEARS PASSED this way, and Gordon got bigger. He was now a grown man. I reality, he was more than a grown man, he was almost as big as two grown men. Obese was not a word he knew, he only knew the ones his mother had taught him, but that was what he was. He was flabby, scabby, pasty, and pale. He was also very hairy.

His long hair hung down his back in knotted, greasy rattails. His face was covered in a thick, filthy beard. There were clumps of food and other things hiding in there, some of them were alive, others were not. He enjoyed the alive ones tickling him as they crawled, ate, burrowed, fucked, and laid their eggs. There were generations of creatures living on him. His huge, pink body was pale in places, red in others, and white and flaking everywhere else. Devoid of the sun, and mostly devoid of soap, he would rake at his skin, eating what he found underneath his fingernails, no matter what part of his body he scratched.

He had aged, as had his mother.

The gentlemen callers were now few and far between. They would come, however. They would gag and retch as they entered the house, but she was always there with a thick iron bar she kept behind the door. She would whack them over the head, and he watched them fall. He enjoyed seeing the red liquid, and the other stuff, ooze from their heads and spatter over the walls.

As she got older, she needed his help to get the men into the kitchen. ‘I’m not as young as I used to be,’ she’d complain, rubbing the small of her flabby back. ‘Would you rub my back for me?’ she’d ask.

He was always more than happy to do this.

He loved the feel of her back. The warm, moist layers of flab felt incredible beneath his grubby fingers. He would push them deep into the flesh, enjoying the way the soft pink skin absorbed them, sucking them in. The smell of her always made him hungry and doing this never failed to make his thingus stiff. When he was done, when she was asleep, he would retire to his bedroom and rub something of his own, something that wasn’t anywhere near as flabby as his mother’s back. He would sniff his hands as he did this, enjoying the smell of his mother mixed with the cheesy stink of his thingus. He would do this until his feet began to tingle. He knew when this happened, it would lead to his head swimming and then the white stuff would come.

He loved it when the white stuff came best of all.

Once, he had caught it in his hands and rushed to show her it, but she had told him to wash his hands and never show her anything like that again. He had been saddened by this, but it didn’t stop him from doing it.

He would keep his white stuff in a jar, secured underneath his bed where she couldn’t find it.

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