Toys

This is a submission for the 2024 Halloween story competition.

'Fuck me harder!'

Johnny, lying on top of the brown-skinned girl, drove into her with more gusto.

She moaned at his deeper thrusts, her arms outstretched, hands grasping the bed sheets. Her face was to one side, her mouth forming a perfect 'o'. She suddenly reached with one hand to grip his wrist and guide his hand to her throat.

This bitch likes it rough, Johnny thought, as he obliged her by squeezing her neck.

She gazed at him with half-closed eyes, a slight curl of a smile on her lips as grunting, he ploughed her hard. She bucked her hips to meet his thrusts and he felt the sharp nails of her hand rake his back marking his body as her conquest. Both their bodies were sheeted in sweat from the animalistic coupling.

She took his wrist from the hand around her throat so she could speak. Her voice was laboured and husky. 'Get one of my toys, Johnny.'

Johnny ceased thrusting into her, slightly frustrated at this request coming just when he was building up to an orgasm but he obeyed anyway. Pulling out of her, he crawled to the edge of the large bed, to where he could reach the section of dildos and vibrators from a cluttered bedside table.

'Which one?'

'Something big.'

He reached for the largest one, a black rabbit vibrator, a brute of a beast. As he picked it up, an empty white oblong box, in among the sex-toys, caught his eye, and for a brief moment he felt a curious pang of discomfort. It seemed completely out of place and disconcerting though he was not sure why. Doubtless it was just a box for one the sex-toys that lay around it and, as he retrieved the black vibrator, he pushed it from his mind.

The girl changed her position so she lay on her side, one leg raised and bent at the knee so her pussy was fully exposed to receive the vibrator. Johnny, understanding how she wanted him, turned on his side so he could insert and control the vibrator, his head near her pussy, his thighs, by her face in a rough sixty-nine position.

Leaning over, she took his cock in her mouth, as he began to push the bulbous head of the vibrator into her slick opening. Even though his cock filled her mouth, he could hear her moan in delight as she felt the head and shaft of sex-toy sink deeper inside her.

She pushed her hips forward wanting more of the monster inside her, and Johnny pushed it deeper then withdrew it, only to thrust it in again. There was a muffed cry of appreciation, and although his cock felt good in her mouth, he knew she would not be able to give her best head with the distraction caused by the sex-toy. Still, the sounds she was making turned him on a lot. He pressed a switch at the base of the vibrator and felt it thrum to life and the girl's moans of ecstasy increased.

He'd soon make this bitch come, and when she did, he was going to finish inside her. They had been fucking for a while now, and he needed to come soon. He twisted the vibrator as he slid it into her pussy and the pitch of her muffled cry, rose. At the same time he reached with his free hand to find her big breasts, kneading and massaging them. He trapped the hardened dark bud of a nipple between two fingers and crushed it cruelly.

She released his cock from her mouth to curse and cry out; 'Oh God, Johnny, I'm close, I'm so fucking close.'

'Then come for me,' he commanded, pushing the vibrator in deep, letting the rabbit protrusion stimulate her clit. He'd wanted to add her name to his 'come for me' command but found he had forgotten it. It didn't matter, a whore's name was unimportant - it was for her to know his name - he was the client, he was paying. And know his name, she certainly did.

'Oh, Johnny, Johnny . . . Johnneeee' she cried, as the orgasm took her. Her whole body tensed, her hips rising off the bed, the vibrator sticking out of her like a dagger plunged into a murder victim.

The powerful orgasm passed and her body relaxed as her taut muscles recovered from the spasm. She pushed a damp lock of hair from her sweaty forehead and drew in deep breaths. Her glazed eyes settled on his as he slid the sex-toy from her, knowing it was no longer needed.

She took his cock in her mouth but only briefly as though she was giving him a quick sloppy thank-you blow job, for making her come. Then, seemingly recovered, she sat up, the fire of lust back in her brown eyes.

'Fuck me from behind, Johnny. Fuck me hard,' she ordered, getting up on her hands and knees and pushing her brown, peach-shaped, delectable ass towards him.

He got up assuming the position behind her. Part of him was not happy that she was taking the lead so much in this fuck session - he was the paying client, he should be in the driving seat and she should be doing the heavy lifting, not him. Still he liked it doggy-style - it was just how this sexy brown bitch needed to be taken, and he could work out some of his frustration at her by giving the bitch a good hard fuck.

She was wet but tight, and his cock slid into her delightfully slick, hot pussy. He gripped her hips for good leverage and began to pound her, enjoying the cushioning feel of her firm fleshy round ass, and the slapping sound of her big breasts as they swayed pendulously with the jarring impact of each thrust. She was loving this - he could tell, for she threw her head back, her mane of black hair lashing her shoulders like a whip.

'That . . . is . . . so . . . fucking . . . good,' she said, each word punctuated by a thrust, her own rump pushing back to meet his hips, as he drove into her each time.

'Pull my hair,' she growled.

He reached with a hand and grabbed a hunk of her long thick hair, twisting it around his hand. He yanked it and her head jerked back. She gave a shout of ecstasy. And he held on to her hair like reins, as he fucked her.

'Harder, Johnny, harder,' she gasped.

He did not know if she meant for him to yank her hair, or to fuck her harder, so he did both.

He was grunting now with every thrust, feeling his own orgasm build. From the sounds she was making, she was close too, but he did not really give a fuck if she came or not. He was the paying customer - his coming was all that mattered. If the whore wanted to get off she could frig herself in her own time. It felt good in this position, fucking her like an animal - being in control, being dominant, as a man in bed should be.

Take - this - you - fucking - bitch! he thought, then shouted as he came, staying deep within her as ejaculated.

She had cried out too, her orgasm meeting his. He waited until his cock finished its spasms, filling her with his semen, then released his grip on her hips and pulled out of her. They both collapsed on the bed, bodies shiny with sweat, breathing heavily as they regained their composure.

Neither spoke, and after a minute, Johnny stretched then swung his legs off the bed, and stood up.

The room felt cooler now but he supposed it was just the sweat cooling on his skin that left that impression. Suddenly feeling slightly giddy, he sat down on the bed again.

A bluish cloud of vape smoke with a sweet scent billowed behind him, irritating him, and he half turned to see the girl lying comfortably on the bed. She lay on her back, her head propped up by two pillows, one leg bent at the knee. She looked abstractedly at the ceiling as she took another draw on her e-cigarette.

Johnny gave a dismissive grunt, and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt woozy, his mind fogged as though he was drunk, except he knew that he wasn't. He shook his head but the fogginess remained. He gazed for a moment at the floor then resolving to act, stood up again. He felt less giddy now but not by much. He looked around the floor for his clothes, but they were nowhere to be seen.

'Where are my clothes?'

'What?' she said.

'My clothes. Where are my clothes?' he looked over his shoulder at her. She shrugged dismissively.

Johnny frowned, and walked around the side of the bed to her side, but there were no sign of his clothes there either. There was a chair however, and he could see her clothes, folded in a neat tidy pile. No sign of his.

He laughed.

'What?' she said.

'It's stupid, but I can't remember where I put my clothes.'

'Always with the clothes,' she said, as if speaking to herself. She drew on her vape, and blew another cloud of blueish sweet-scented smoke.

'What did you say?'

'Nothing.'

He smiled, feeling embarrassed. 'It's funny. I can't remember much of anything.'

She didn't say anything to that.

His smile faded as he tried to collect his thoughts. He could remember them having sex just now, but before that there was just blanks were memories should have been. He must have been pretty drunk. He tried to remember coming into this bedroom, or coming into the apartment, if that's what this was. It didn't look or feel like a motel room, but the memories were not there. He did not even know if it were night or day he realized. The bedroom was windowless. He tried to focus his mind, to remember undressing. If he could remember undressing, he would know where his clothes were.

A thought occurred, and he knelt on the floor and looked under the bed.

'They're not there,' she said, in a tone that suggested she'd told him this a dozen times.

'What did you say?' Johnny asked, scanning the empty space beneath the bed.

'Your elusive clothes,' she sighed. 'They aren't under the bed.'

He looked up at her naked body as she lay languidly on the bed. There was something catlike about her.

'So you know where they are, my clothes?'

'No,' she said, again that dismissive tone that was beginning to irritate him. Then he looked at her, at her face, as a memory resurfaced - just a moment, like two or three second movie clip.

She was sitting at a bar, sipping a cocktail, her eyes lifted, then met his gaze. She smiled.

Then the memory vanished into the fog.

She was aware he was staring at her for a long time and turned her head to meet his.

Her gaze felt uncomfortable but he held it as a name emerged from his memory.

'You're Dominique. That's your name, right?' he said slowly, as though unsure of the words even as he spoke them.

She looked away from him and exhaled a cloud of smoke. 'You're quite the Romeo, aren't you? Remembering a girl's name after screwing her. Very romantic. I'm quite touched.'

'You're a hooker,' he said flatly. 'That's probably not your real name, anyway.'

She shrugged.

His eyes went to a small bedside table. There was a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on it and one glass. One glass - that struck him as odd for some reason, but he could not quite fathom why.

'Did you spike my drink?' he said accusingly.

Dominique, if that was her real name,gave a hollow laugh. 'That would be a first, a girl spiking a man's drink and taking him home for sex - Feminism hasn't reached that milestone yet, I'm afraid. Sure I did then I tossed your 210 pound body over my shoulder and carried you home.'

'Okay, okay,' he conceded the absurdity of the suggestion. 'It's just, my head - I can't seem to remember much of last night, of coming here . . . I can't even remember before we . . .' he looked at the bed.

'Well, you are here, honey.'

'But where is here?' he said slowly. He looked around the room.

His eyes settled on a painting it looked like some sort of some Satanic deity - a man with a goat's head, sitting crossed legged. There were other things he noticed around the room; a statuette of a round naked woman, holding a tree of some sort, another was of a satyr coupling with a horned girl.

'What's with the satanic shit, you a devil worshipper or something,' he nodded at the painting.

'Uh, uh. It's not Satan, its Baphomet, the Horned God. I practise Wicca.'

'Wicca? That's witchcraft isn't it - same shit,' he said.

'Not really, no.'

'It's all crap anyway,' he said, as if this statement decided the matter.

'If you say so,' she said, not wanting to engage with him further on the subject.

He looked again at the Baphomet painting, a frown slowly appearing on his face. 'I've see this before.'

'The artwork - it's a print, so probably.'

'No,' he said, looking at the other objects. 'All this stuff - this room. It's like . . .' he trailed off, trying to focus his muddled thoughts.

'It's like what?' she prompted. Her tone was playful, teasing, as though she knew already.

'I'm not sure. It's like coming back to a place you haven't been to in a long time. Like going back to your old school or the house you grew up in.'

'Is it? Maybe it's just déjà vu,' she said. There was something in her tone again that he didn't like, an ambivalence that rankled with him. He clenched a fist. He had an impulse to tell her to shut the fuck up but he bit his tongue.

He looked down at his nakedness. 'Where are my clothes?'

She groaned. 'You don't need clothes to screw, honey.'

'Well, we've finished screwing. And if I don't find my clothes, particularly my jacket, which has my wallet in, you don't get paid, honey,' he emphasised the last word with sarcasm.

'There's always other ways of paying,' she smiled, patting the bed.

'I'm done with that,' he snapped. His eyes fell on the side table where her vibrators and sex toys lay.

There was that box there. The white box he'd noticed earlier. It was oblong, about twelve inches or so in length. He went over to it, and noticed she was watching him carefully with those catlike eyes of hers. He picked the box up.

There was something familiar about it. He sensed somehow it was important, very important - if he could just remember why. It was plain white with a cellophane widow on one side. It didn't look like a container for any of the sex toys around it. It was rather like those toy boxes you got action men or Barbie figure's in. Like the ones he used to buy his daughters. He froze at this fresh memory.

He had children - daughters.

Their faces resurfaced in his mind's eye - Claire and Katy.

He turned to Dominique, the box in his hand. 'What's this?' he asked harshly.

She looked cooly at him, her gaze unsettling. 'Don't you recognise it, Johnny?'

'No, I . . .' he looked at the box again, turned it over in his hand. There was a word handwritten on the back near the bottom. A name - his name - Johnny.

'It has my name on it,' he said, staring at it.

'Of course it does, honey. It's your box.'

'My box?' A chill suddenly went down his spine. It felt as though the world was somehow collapsing in on him - a feeling of utter dread filled his mind but he did not know why. He gazed at her, wanting to say something, but no words came. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

Her catlike eyes fixed him in a cold stare.

'I think it's time to put you back in your box, Johnny. Play time's over,' she said, ominously.

He looked at the box again, then up at her. Dominique was half sitting up. She was pointing something at him. It looked like a short, pointer stick. She was chanting something, not in English, but in some foreign ancient-sounding tongue.

'No!' he shouted. But it was too late.

The room seemed to suddenly stretch and grow around him, its dimensions elongating. He was hit by a wave of dizziness and staggered. It was like a having a bad acid trip. The box in his hand grew larger and larger, too big and heavy to hold. It fell to the floor. As it did, he realized what was really happening - he was shrinking.

It was only when the expanding room finally stopped growing that he finally remembered what the white box was for, but he realized with alarm, that it was too late - much too late.

Already his whole body was growing stiff and leaden-like as a paralysis spread through him - 'Next time,' he vowed to himself, 'Next time I must remember,' then his mind went completely blank and he felt nothing, not even the impact of the floor as his rigid body fell over onto the cushioning softness of the carpet.

Dominique picked up the resin-like figure off the floor along with the empty white box. She opened the lid and placed Johnny back inside. His eyes stared sightlessly back at her from behind the cellophane window.

'So good in bed, so annoying out of bed,' she said to herself.

She padded over to the cupboard, opened it then placed the box upright beside a number of other similar boxes. She looked over them, at each naked figure in its cellophane-windowed box, and after a few second's deliberation, selected one, and took it with her back to bed.

She opened it and took out a doll-sized pretty white girl with blonde hair. The name on the rear of the box read; Denise. She placed it on the middle of the bed and slowly waved her wand over it chanting the appropriate spell to resize and reanimate the girl.

The girl grew rapidly, and in less a minute later was fully sized. Her eyes were closed, her face tranquil as she breathed again, her chest gently rising and falling.

Dominique trailed a hand over her body lingering on the girl's pert, shapely breasts then, feeling her arousal grow, she climbed up onto the bed,placed one knee either side of the girl's head and lowered her pussy. With one hand she reached down and patted the girl's face. 'Wakey, wakey, honey. Your tongue has work to do.'

The girl stirred in response, her eyes slowly opened and focused on Dominique.

Dominique reached behind her to play with the girl's pussy while she sank down and felt the girl's tongue begin to pleasure her. As she as she did so, she caught a glance at the half open cupboard, and of Johnny in his display box, along with all her other toys.

So many toys.

She smiled then focused on the pretty blonde toy whose face she was grinding her pussy on. Denise gave such good head, Dominique reflected, she was such a good doll.