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Jason Ridler has published over 30 short stories in venues such as Brain Harvest, Not One of Us, Big Pulp, Crossed Genres, Chilling Tales, Tesseracts Thirteen, and more. His non-fiction has appeared in Clarkesworld, Dark Scribe, and the Internet Review of Science Fiction. A former punk rock musician and cemetery groundskeeper, Mr. Ridler is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop and holds a Ph.D. in War Studies from the Royal Military College of Canada. Visit him at his writing blog, Ridlerville, Facebook, and on Twitter.

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Beauty and the Punchline
(continued)

“And, finally, our last scrap of talent for tonight, we have…The Human Punchline!”

Hank swaggered through a handful of boos and a few screams and grabbed the mic. “Ok, ok, you cock jockeys, simmer down. I know you don’t give a wet shit about midgets and cock swallowers and sad fucking magicians. I know I don’t. Not when a few dozen examples of natural beauty are lying behind this curtain. Can I get a fuck yeah!”

“Fuck Yeah!”

“So, I’ll make you a deal. Vote for me and I will get the fuck off this stage right now. If we got a deal, say fuck yeah!”

“Fuck yeah!”

Gary’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Hey, hey now, boys. Our ladies still need a minute to freshen up and give you what you want to see.”

“How long does it take to get naked?” Hank said, and stole some laughs.

“This is a talent show. So I’m afraid that the Human Punchline will put up or shut up.”

Normally, Hank would feed Gary his teeth, but his balls were in a vice. “Ok, ok. Sorry, guys, I tried. Afraid I’m going to have to finish this fucker off.”

He gulped. Let’s see if Plan B works.

“Guys, we all love pussy. Right?”

Cheers.

“We can’t get enough of it. We’d cross deserts, fight wars, and even act like a gentleman if we knew it would score us some bragging rights with a first class natural fuck. Right? None of that surgical cheating, but grade A natural beauty like God and Darwin intended, am I right?”

Mad cheers.

“Man, I wish I was as handsome as all you bastards. I bet your smiles would have these ladies draining your balls like hoovers, right?” Cheers. “Bet the first time you enter a chick is the last time she can think about anyone else during sex, right?” Hoots. “They’d pay for the privilege of eating out of your ass, just so they’d have some bragging rights, can I get an Amen?”

Amen!

“Damn, it must be good to be you. Now me? I’m a sad fucker. Face like shredded cheese stuffed in an ugly box.” Laughs. “Best I can nail are fat goth chicks with a corpse fetish. I’m the Mummy you don’t want to fuck!”

Howls.

“The best I can hope for is a pity fuck from an ugly duck. Maybe I should be slumming in hospitals, pretending to be the dead husbands of hot grieving DUI widows, telling them I’m the ghost of good cocks past, ready for one more ride before heading to see the man upstairs.”

Hars.

“Better yet. Order me up some prime whore and make sure she comes blindfolded. Have her suck me off until I pop, and then that’s when I drop her blind fold. She’ll defy physics by being able to spit and swallow at the same time!”

Cackles.

“Ok, boys, red light is flashing. I’m almost gone. But, hey, admit it. You could vote for the most talented fucker here. But don’t you think the sickest joke that could be pulled tonight is giving Aurora Blaze the pleasure of my company, every fucking night? If you think so, give me a fuck yeah!”

They roared!

“Vote for the Human Punchline and I’ll fuck her for all of you!”

The place was a madhouse. Beers in the air like swords before a Roman triumph. Gary pumped the music and Hank got off stage to a thousand pats on the back and offers for drinks that he waved off until Gary’s voice boomed. “Alright, boys, time to vote. Please fill out the score cards on the tables and drop them off to our lovely cocktail waitresses. One we’re tallied, you get your main events!” The manly friendship vanished as the assorted losers went to fill in the cards.

Hank sat at the bar, hoping to hell plan B worked because he had no plan C. He popped another Vicodin.

“I hear those pain pills make you impotent” said a harsh voice behind him.

“And I hear the best medical advice doesn’t come from behind a bar.”

The bartender wore a Mexican wrestling mask, but was paler than a dead goat. “Think you got a chance with Aurora, huh?” No, Hank thought, I’ve got a second chance, and no one will ruin it. “You’re dreaming with your dick, hombre.”

“Can I pay you to not talk to me, hombre?”

“Like all natural beauties, she’s picky about who she fucks.”

So was I, once upon a time. Hank plucked one of Whisper’s pubes out of his teeth. “So I didn’t get your vote?”

“Nope. The puking magician. I love to see that spic with the crew cut clean up the stage.”

Hank bristled. “Just get me a rye and ginger?”

The bartender snorted, got the drink, and by the time Hank slugged it back Gary’s voice was booming through the air. “Boys, we’ve got your cards and done a count and checked it twice. Now, to announce the winner, give it up for our own show stopping main event. The Alaska Spitfire herself, Aurora Blaze!”

The curtain parted.

And a hundred cocks ached.

Skin like crushed cinnamon and bronze, legs thick and strong and strutting in black and painfully high heels. Razor thin bikini bottom barely hid her sacred slit. Her breasts were just huge enough to be lust magnets but not cyber-big and comical. But for Hank, all of that was a sideshow compared to the raw beauty of her face.

A natural red head. Didn’t colour anything. Ruby lips large and inviting on a whiplash smile that men dreamed would one day drain their every wet dream dry. Doe eyes and sharp eyebrows, mean and sweet. All topped off with a big, bountiful trail of raging red hair that feathered down her back like a blanket she was used to fucking on.

In one long nailed hand was a card. The other a mic.

“And the lucky boy is…” Her voice a deep siren song.

Hank gripped his glass till it shook.

“The Human Punchline!”

Everyone roared. Hank scanned for anyone and anything. But they pulled him to the stage as Aurora sang. “Come on, handsome. We have a date to plan!” He was on stage. She gazed at him like a wild boar over a slain vermin. “Freaky. I like freaky.”

Speechless, he nodded. She took his hand and walked to the curtain, perfect ass bouncing to The Strip as all the gang screamed “Fuck her good!” in chorus.

Sweat unravelled the bandages as she led him past the dressing rooms that stank of bronze tanner, hair spray, and chemical glitter. All the shit Aurora didn’t need. She strutted up the black stairs to her private dressing room and apartment. He’d fucked most of those second raters against this wall, just so she could hear how goddamn good he was.

Now she was leading him up the stairs.

He shot a look back, but only one. Good god, he’d fuck that ass raw given half a chance.

Easy, easy, he told himself. Then popped a Vicodin.

She led him inside a incense laced room of a hundred spices, all doing murder on his skin. He itched, but only adjusted his sweaty bandages. She closed the door then strutted to her make up table, and sat on her stool. “You’re a funny man.”

“I aim to please.”

“Someone else used to say that a lot. A former bouncer here.”

“Excuse me?”

She hit the light on her mirror, adjusted it so he could see his face. Then her reflection smiled. “Howdy, Hank.” She licked her lip. “How you feeling?”

He gulped a Vicodin. “Peachy keen, Aurora.”

“Sorry we had to cancel our date.”

He focused on her and not his blood and sweat soaked rags. “No biggie. Was pretty busy fighting a coma.”

She pouted. “Awful, just awful. But you really fought back, didn’t you?”

No, focus on that rotten face of yours. You can cream your pants in a minute. He took in his ragged, torn lips, the scorched earth policy under his eyes, the bandage around his head that kept falling down like a comb over. “I need to know who did this to me, Aurora.”

“You fought back to be with me. To go on our date. I tell you, I had you all wrong.”

“I’m betting it was one of your admirers. Maybe even someone on staff.”

She sprinkled perfume on. “You’re not just a pretty face who talks shits about girls who augment themselves.”

“Not anymore, I’m not. Some shitheel tossed acid in my face. Someone stole the best of me, someone stinking of lilacs, something sickly sweet, before I could come here I got to your house—”

She stood, turned flawlessly, and smiled. “Poor Mummy. Let’s see what the bad person did.”

She stalked closer and he moved back until his back jabbed the doorknob. “Look, do you have any female fans? Jealous lesbians can be nightmares.” The bandage fell down, across his right eye.

“Just those with eyes, my sweet.” She lifted the bandage. “You’re like a present. Is it Christmas for me, Hank?” She began to unwrap.

He gripped her wrist.

“Let go,” she said, firm and strong.

He did. “Why? Why the fuck do you want to see—” He breathed in.

Sweetness. Jasmine.

“Shh.” She put a finger across his ruined lips. “It’s Christmas morning and everyone else is asleep, but I’m allowed to unwrap one present, just one, before the day explodes.”

He dropped his arms as the bandages pulled at his gummy, new skin and meat with a sickly tug. Be breathed in harder. “You—”

“Almost done, almost got my present.”

The bandage dropped across his chest, rolling down past his hand to the floor. Her doe eyes went wide and wild as she covered her mouth. “Oh god, you are a masterpiece. A real keeper.”

“You did this?” he whispered. He tried to turn his hands to fists.

“You’re so, so…”

“You did this to me?”

“Beautiful.”

She kissed him, thick lips burning against his ruined flesh, tongue licking and teeth gnashing as she smiled. “And you taste like sweet ruin.” She dove in again and his hands flexed at the sides. She did it. She fucking did this to me. She killed all my girl action for ever, killed every bragging right I would ever have, turned me into a fucking joke on stage—

She gripped his cock, an iron rod against his will. “I’m going to drain you like a fucking hoover.”

No. I can’t. She did this to me, the bitch turned me into a freak. She doesn’t deserve to lick the come off your stalk. Be a fucking man about it…

But she was a perfect ten. A natural. A creature out of fairy tales. Wildness danced in her eyes.

And he heard the echo of the boys downstairs. The losers. The pathetic shits. The trenchcoaters and fat fucks who would never ever get a taste of this…

This is my last chance.

He gripped the back of her neck and mashed her into his face as all the Vicodin drained from his system. An agony kiss that sent sick waves of pain through his body—

But he was still harder than tempered steel.

He plucked off her gee string. She gasped. “You want it, my masterpiece? Fucking take it. Just let me see your face.”

He tore off his pants, gripped her ass, and spun so he could drill her against her door. Downstairs, the thumping dance music of Keisha’s entrance tunes blared.

Aurora hissed. “Yesss, get in me.”

He did. For him. For every one of those pathetic fucks down there. He slid every inch into her and she hissed even louder. Her legs synched around him like pythons, heels still on and pointing toward heaven. “Come on, baby. Hurt me.”

It was a masterpiece performance of grinding and power, of alpha dog rutting. He didn’t let her come, he made her come, wet and sloppy as she screamed, mouth contorted in wild pleasure, eyes locked on his horror show face. Once, twice, until he was only three strokes from bursting.

He pulled out and dropped her on her knees. “Now suck it dry.”

Panting, eyes still on his face, she licked her lips and smiled. “As you wish.”

She glared at him. He scowled in pleasure as she worked him over like a master. He looked at himself in the mirror to keep him from coming too fast when the sound coming out of her was more than pleasure, more than sex, something primal and raw

Her eyes glassed, her face elongated into a serpentine form, but still sucked. A sweet aroma filled the air.

She was augmented. A snake job. Oh god, Aurora, not you…

Pleasure took over and he fucked her head until a dirty burst rang from his cock and his asshole puckered tight. As he came in her mouth, pain gave way to a singular burning. A sweet acidity as she spat out his cock and hissed with a forked tongue.

Soon, his cock burned so bad he dropped to his knees.

Aurora got up and strutted back to her chair as he took the fetal position, something wet and sore pulsing out of his crotch. “Now, you’re perfect.” She put on her make up, looking more beautiful than ever, and sprayed perfume in the room until the world was stained with jasmine. “When that heals up, you come back and see me. My masterpiece.”

She strutted over him as pain ate through the pills, and the beautiful world dissolved into ugly before going red and black.

 

Beauty and the Punchline by Jason Ridler 1 2
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