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Week Two


Full Term

By Matthew J. Barbour


She was about ready to burst. Nine months pregnant with twins? I asked myself. She waddled over to me dressed in high heels, tube top and miniskirt. Her blonde hair was greasy and her face was pock marked with sores, acne or something else. I couldn’t tell. The worst was the smell, a mixture of cheap booze and cigarettes. “Hey lover, you want to party?”

A part of me wanted to say no, but the urge was too strong.  I gave her a once over. Her tits weren’t bad, c-cups maybe. Nice round ass on the girl too. I had always been an ass man. I figured as long as I didn’t have to look at her face, it was manageable. “How much?”

She smiled, revealing that she was missing her two front teeth. “How much you got?”

Like I planned to pay her anything, I thought of the switchblade in my pocket. I smiled back. “Fifty? A hundred if I can stick it in your butt.”

“Sounds like fun.” She said. Then, she motioned for me to follow her. It didn’t take me long to realize that she was leading me into an alleyway. Cheap ass whore didn’t even have a hotel room. However, when I thought about it, an alleyway was probably better anyways for what I was planning, as long as we didn’t have company.

She led me to the far recesses of the backstreet, past a dumpster overflowing with black non-descript garbage bags. We were hemmed in by tall brick buildings on either side and only the faintest glow of the streetlights illuminated the area. Perfect, I thought to myself.

The whore stared at me expectantly and opened her hand for payment.  I began reaching for my knife, but then figured I would have my fun first. So, I pulled forth my wallet and paid the bitch in twenties.

She counted it out and then placed it in her tube top. Without another word, she whipped around to face the wall and hiked up her skirt. The whore wasn’t wearing any panties and her cunt looked like it had seen better days. The thing was a mess of sores just like her face.

I probably should have stopped there, and did what I came to do, but at that point my dick just needed release. So, I unzipped my fly and slipped on a condom. It was one of those pre-lubricated kinds, “ribbed for her pleasure.” The thought made me silently chuckle.

I positioned my dick against her sphincter and I pushed inside. It went in with little resistance. If she felt any pain at all, she did make a sound. I eased back. Looking down at my dick, I noticed shit from her ass clinging to the condom. It was a mustard-colored. Obviously the whore was not eating right. Probably consumed a diet of crack and pills, I figured.

I thrust in harder, more viciously. I wanted her to scream, cry out, or grunt. Instead, she spoke in that fake lover tone. “That’s it honey!”

I began to pump into her in earnest. I shoved my dick into her ass as far as it would go. I pumped faster and harder, slamming into her with all of my might. All the while, she just bounced along for the ride.

I reached up with my left hand and grabbed a clump of her hair. I pulled back as hard as I could and then drove her face forward into the brick wall. Her forehead and cheek scraped against the rough surface of the building drawing a trickle of blood. Still, she did not cry out in pain.

The bitch was actually smiling. She called back to me. “God, you’re good!”

If she wanted it hard, I was going to give it to her harder than she’d ever had it before. With my free hand, I reached around and grabbed a nipple. I pulled at the tit with all my might trying to rip it from her body. White viscous material covered my fingers. The bitch was lactating on top of it all.

The fluid caused me to lose my grip and my hand trailed down her belly. I could feel her unborn baby kick. Instinctively, I punched back. The whore moaned, not in pain, but in pleasure.

“Fucking, hit me.” She said.

I obliged, slamming my fist into her swollen belly as if it was a bubble I intended pop. This seemed to get her excited. She thrust back onto my dick with more force than I thought she would be able to muster. I repeated my assault.

The whore began to shudder. To my disbelief, she was having an orgasm. Her body convulsed violently and I felt my jeans becoming wet. At first, I thought she was taking a piss, but the fluid just kept on coming.

I backed off her ass and pulled away. The fluid gushing from between her legs was black or a dark olive green. It was spewing forth from the swollen lips of her cunt. It wasn’t piss. I told myself. Maybe it was embryonic fluid from the pregnancy, but that didn’t seem right either.

Smell of the stuff was like rotten eggs and it was strong. I pride myself for having a strong stomach. You need one if you partake in the kind of things I do, but this made me want to wretch.

As I watched, her lips appeared to be parting further. The liquid continued to spill on the pavement, but it was slowing down to a trickle. Something in my head told me grab the knife and finish the bitch, fuck getting off. By now, my dick was flaccid anyways.

I reached in my pocket. I pulled forth the switchblade and flicked out the edge. My hand was shaking. I managed to stutter. “I’m going to cut you.”

If the whore heard me, I couldn’t tell. She squat down and pushed. A lump of something popped out her cunt. It hit the floor with a dull thud.

Perhaps, it was a baby. It was dark. I couldn’t see real well. It didn’t look like any baby, I had ever seen. Whatever it was, though, it was wriggling. It was alive.

“There you are!” The hooker exclaimed with elation. She scooped the lump off the floor. On her face was the proud smile of a new mother. I dropped the knife and ran.




About the Author: Matthew J. Barbour is a speculative fiction author living with his wife and three children in Bernalillo, New Mexico. When he is not writing fiction, Mr. Barbour manages Jemez Historic Site and contributes to a number of regional newspapers, including the Red Rocks Reporter and the Sandoval Signpost.

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