A Resurgent Whore #9
Enter the Glass Cube.
Welcome to chapter nine of an ongoing gritty noir series from ‘Sin Street’ created in partnership between Kate Granger and Sissitrix. Chapters published weekly on Friday’s.
Follow a woman’s desperate tale of humiliation starting in a pit of despair before her rebirth, revenge, and resurgence. This series began in a dark place because it must.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Where are you, Erin?
I’ll meet you back home when I’m done, Max darling.
What are you doing?
Taking care of my next card.
I switched off the phone not wishing to discuss my whereabouts or activities with Max until I was done.
It was past midnight and Bliss was late for our meeting. I smoked a mild joint, wanting to relax but not lose my senses entirely.
I’d chosen a meeting place nobody except junkies would frequent without good reason. Hanging out under a low railway bridge crossing along Courtney Canal was a dark, miserable, filthy place.
But I had important matters that must be attended to.
The canal stench gripped the back of my throat, prompting an infrequent gag response. Diesel, sewage, and dead carcasses pervaded. I figured there were more human corpses rotting away in that black water than live fish eating them.
The canal system was completely ignored, being of no commercial value. Sin Street folk weren’t the sort to venture out on family walks. A specter of death clinging to the water's surface terrorized people who lived outside our boundaries, discouraging day trippers, walkers, and joggers.
I saw a torchlight approaching and cursed Bliss for her obvious indiscretion. She staggered haplessly across a stretch of wasteland to my hiding place looking like a journalist better suited to a press conference.
She stared at me with displeasure that we would discuss later at my convenience and to her detriment.
“You picked a total shithole for this meeting, Erin. What’s this all about?”
“Kill the fucking torch, stupid.”
“Fuck no. There are needles scattered everywhere.”
I grabbed it off her and tossed the offending light into the canal. I felt exasperated and surprised by a naivety she shouldn’t indulge in.
“You’re here to report my story.”
“Yeah, but it’s fucking dangerous hereabouts.”
“Not when you’re with the bogeyman.”
Bliss looked worried but still held out a hand for my joint. I glanced back and forth at both, weighing their value to me, eventually and reluctantly sharing my smoke.
“What’s your plan, Erin?”
“Sorry Bliss. You really are here to report, not collude with me.”
“Okay, but cut the weird shit please.”
I said nothing because it was about to get very weird. We shared my joint until the roach burned, at which point I flicked its smoldering stub into the water.
“Reminds me of Chester. Follow me and watch where you place your feet.”
“Why?”
“There are needles scattered everywhere. Didn’t you know?”
I checked to make sure the safety catch on my Glock 19 with a suppressor was released. There would be little time to fuck around with a pistol I’d hardly fired when its muzzle was inside Steve Pincers’ mouth.
I led, and Bliss followed too carefully, so much that I was forced to slow down occasionally. The ground we trampled across was broken concrete flooring from a warehouse torn down long ago. Overgrowing brambles and clumps of grass were a problem underfoot, but at least I knew where the rough perimeter was from twisted, rusting steel beams and rebar poking out of the ground.
The lights in Steve’s canal boat were on and visible from my hiding place half a mile away and throughout the approach. Nothing stirred inside his floating wreck so I felt confident and gripped the sidearm Max bought and taught me the use of.
I was sufficiently practiced to kill someone, but my weapon-handling skills were far away from managing anything more. Fifty meters from Steve Pincers’ boat I stopped and pointed to a spot on the ground.
“Wait here.”
“You’re fucking joking right?”
“If you make a noise or fuck this up, Pincer will feed you to a bunch of perverts who will fuck you for years before tossing a barely recognizable corpse in the canal.”
“Oh, that’s actually a very good point.”
“At least from here, you can disappear unnoticed if this goes South.”
“What about you, Erin?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
I left her fifty meters away in the shadows of a rusting Dutch barn used to store small boats. She didn’t need to hear the details of my conversation with Steve, and I preferred that to be left out of a news bulletin.
When I stepped onto his boat, rage bubbled inside me at the memory of Steve cruelly exploring my body, searching for a hole to fuck. The stench of petrol was almost overwhelming, choking me like a massive cock pounding deep inside my throat.
I slowly eased the galley hatch open to avoid noise, took each wooden step down into hell carefully, then waited at the bottom, silently retching at the sight and smell of decomposing food covered in rats.
I stepped forwards, glad the lights were on but worried as to why. As I entered the main cabin, pistol first, I saw Steve Pincer, holding a gun, pointing it at me.
“Hi, Erin.”
“Hello, Steve.”
“Did you come back for more cock baby?”
“Chester was full of his own piss when I turned up at his place too Steve.”
Fear flickered momentarily through his face while I fished out a phone from my pocket with one hand. I kept the muzzle of my Glock pointed squarely at Steve’s center of mass, remembering Max’s advice not to aim for the target's head.
When I held the phone up in my palm for him to watch my horror movie, Steve’s eyes were drawn to its screen. Thirty seconds of Chester’s amputation was enough for him to turn white and look sickened.
“You’re a sick cunt, Erin.”
“Says the man fingering my asshole to see if it bled too much for a final fuck before carting me off to my death.”
He grinned smugly almost like I’d pinned a badge of honor on his chest. Steve had all the arrogance of believing he had the power in our situation with no sense to question it. As the atmosphere inside his shitty barge turned icy and my expression remained unchanged, he considered how best to provoke me.
“I heard rumors you were alive.”
“I’m a whisper these days, Pincer. Children spelling my name while skipping believe I’m watching them from a shallow grave. Moms use me to stop their kids staying out too late for fear of pedo wankers like you.”
“Funny Erin. Last time we met you were a screamer.”
“You thought to surprise me tonight and have a little fun, Steve?”
“I knew you’d come for me next. If the rumors about you surviving our gang bang were true, I’d be on your list.”
“And you were right. Top of the fucking list in cunt order actually. Chester was a strategic move, this time, I’ll enjoy it a great deal more darling.”
“If I die, so do you Erin.”
Steve wagged the barrel of his revolver suggestively, confident that he had enough cards to play and that they were of sufficient face value for him to survive my intrusion.
“Possibly yeah, Steve but I’m prepared for that courtesy of your treatment. We’ll both definitely die if you don’t move and get off this boat in three minutes.”
He gawped at me and I watched raw terror ripple furiously through the expression of a man who instinctively knew his control over our situation was ebbing away.
“What did you do whore?”
“I’m no longer anyone's whore Pincer. I’m resurgent these days.”
“Oh, fuck off Erin. Once a whore, always a whore.”
“You’d better put the gun down and do what I say, Steve. Your revolver has no bullets, anyway.”
“What the fuck!”
He pulled the trigger, praying I’d lied but I hadn’t. He tried again, and I laughed hysterically.
“How?”
“This isn’t my first time on your boat, Steve. When you were bombed out of your head last night, I was here and liberated those bullets.”
“Fucking liar.”
“Do you remember a really taboo sexy dream from last night, Steve?”
He thought for a moment and then a malicious grin formed from one ear to the other.
“Did you come here and fuck me last night, Erin?”
“No, but Rose Gables did. I just watched and filmed the whole thing.”
“But Rose is-”
“Franky The Rats favorite girl? Yeah, and he doesn’t share Rose with anyone.”
“I didn’t? You didn’t? Oh Fuck no!”
He was desperately searching through sketchy memories addled by heroin and booze. Somewhere deep in Steve Pincers’ pea-sized brain, an alarm sounded, warning him that he was fucked. His demeanor changed from arrogance to humility, settling finally on fear as he dropped the pistol, held his hands high, and I smiled inwardly.
“Of course, you fucked Rose, and I filmed it in high definition 4K you cunt. Now… get off this shitty boat before it blows up.”
He stumbled forwards, unsure of his future, mumbling like a crazy fool. Steve was mine and it was payback time.
I felt relieved when we stepped off the barge, looking at two petrol jerry cans I’d left onboard hours ago. The puncture holes I made underneath each one slowly leaked petrol.
“You’d better walk fast. We have less than a minute to get clear of the good ship Salmonella before it becomes an inferno.”
He’d smelled the fuel and knew my warning wasn’t a ruse, quickening his pace to a run. When we reached Bliss and turned around, the incendiary device Max had acquired for me that I placed near the emptying fuel cans detonated, and a fireball erupted, consuming Steve’s boat.
“Oh, you fucked up big time Erin.”
“Why? Because Franky loaned you a boat?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s going to believe you torched it while running away because he discovered you fucked his favorite girl.”
Bliss was busy scribbling furiously in her moleskin notepad until I mentioned Franky. She looked up, terrified. Everyone hated the people traffickers responsible for so much misery on Sin Street and Franky was their leader.
“Steve fucked Rose Gables?”
“Yeah. He abducted and raped her to be precise. The whole thing is on video. She’s tied up, and screaming while this cunt defiled her.”
Steve panicked and backed away rapidly waving both hands, stopping when I wafted my 9 mm pistol at him.
“I never raped Rose.”
“Yeah, you did. You filmed it too and sent the video to a couple of friends, bragging about how you fucked Franky’s girl.”
“You’re a lying cunt, Erin. Please don’t do this.”
He blubbered like a child who’d fallen forwards over bicycle handlebars, smashing their face into the concrete. Bliss had become all journalist and was taking in, then writing down every detail I offered.
“Does Franky know about this video Erin?”
“A courier representing an anonymous source… that would be me, delivered my video of last night on a thumb drive to Franky a couple of minutes ago.”
“He’s fucked now, Erin.”
“Yes Bliss, in so many ways, Steve Pincer is truly fucked. Now… please take more notes.”
Steve’s phone rang and I smiled wickedly, nodding to his pocket.
“Don’t answer it, just check caller ID.”
He did, and I saw from Steve’s horrified expression a satisfying confirmation that he was a beaten man. I pointed a forefinger at his head, raising its attached thumb like the hammer on a pistol.
“Gotcha cunt.”
“What next, Erin?”
“Toss the phone.”
He threw it while the phone still rang. Franky would trace its signal and find a dead end, another sign his former loyal dog was running away.
“I have a special place for you to hide out and wait for my next move, Steve.”
I pointed down the canal, back the way Bliss and I had walked.
We set off. more slowly this time because I had to make sure Steve didn’t try anything stupid. Our destination was another half mile past where we’d met, right on the outer border of Sin Street.
I’d secretly acquired an old mansion house. It was a relic from when Sin Street was much smaller and the eighteen-bedroom home was part of a normal, non-criminal, and thriving community.
When we arrived Bliss looked at me with a quizzical expression wanting an explanation.
“Once Sin Street expanded the folks living here ran away. When I called the son who inherited the property, he was only too happy to sell.”
I walked Steve into the house at gunpoint, stopping to switch on all power at a fuse box that looked dangerous. When every room flooded with light because I’d left all switches on in preparation, I pointed the way through doors and along corridors until we arrived at a massive reception room big enough to hold a ball in.
“The windows are very securely boarded in here.”
“What’s going to happen here, Erin?”
“Get inside the glass room.”
I’d had a glass room of four walls, a floor, and a ceiling constructed. There was nothing inside that would distract or comfort Steve.
“The contractors who built this prison cell flew in especially from Hungary by private jet with their own bulletproof glass. They were brought here blindfolded by my security team, completed all construction work in one day, got paid for their silence, then left.”
Steve stepped inside my transparent cuboid prison at gunpoint, reluctantly and looking very sullen. I fired a suppressed shot at the glass from an oblique angle to avoid ricochet, making my point.
“The pipes leading into your prison from top and sides will fill the room with water from the canal in three minutes.”
“Why the fuck don’t you just kill me, Erin?”
“Once you figure that out, we’ll talk again.”
“And in the meantime what am I supposed to do?”
“Sensors around the room and outside are audible and motion activated. Any screaming for help or movement outside your glass cell, even an unfortunate lost soul outside looking for help will activate pumps that will drown you in shit, piss, and dead body parts.”
He looked sufficiently horrified and so did Bliss, but I was pleased she held her tongue in check.
“What’s the wall clock for?”
I’d installed a massive digital countdown timer with big red numbers. It was set to twelve hours.
“If I don’t return to reset that clock, you run out of time and the pumps start.”
He clasped both hands over his mouth to stifle the sobs while sinking to his knees. Steve didn’t doubt my sincerity in describing the manner of his incarceration.
“Not so fucking funny or vulnerable now am I?”
A shower head in the ceiling, out of his reach started when I turned on a tap.
“What the fuck is this?”
“A week of my piss saved up, especially for you. Don’t scream Steve or the sensors will make sure you’ll swim in far worse. That will run out in a few minutes.”
“Why the fuck are you doing this?”
“You enjoyed it when I was covered in piss and shit. I thought you’d like it.”
When I turned off the lights and locked the room door, sealing Steve Pincer’s glass cage in absolute darkness I hoped the isolation and fear of his situation would marinate my avowed enemy.
When we exited the house, Bliss set off ahead at a blistering pace, waving me a fond farewell.
“Thanks, Erin, I’ll get this on the mornings’ front page if I hurry.”
“It’ll be the last time I see you, Bliss.”
She spun around looking angry, walking back wearing a ferocious and accusatory expression.
“What do you mean? You asked me to report fairly on what I saw.”
“Yeah, and if you report what just happened, Franky is coming straight for you to find out where Steve is.”
“You fucking bitch.”
I stepped closer to her. The overgrown garden of an abandoned mansion was an odd place to be turned on, but she definitely was.
“I’m trying to keep you safe, sweetheart. You have the scoop that nobody else will get. Use it to go national when Steve is no longer a threat to either of us.”
“I guess so.”
“Come with me, Bliss.”
I led the young reporter back into the house and upstairs to the only room I’d completely and exquisitely refurbished.
“Why are we in a bedroom?”
“It’s directly above Steve’s glass cage.”
“Why am I here though, Erin?”
“To pay your respects. I’ve been very accommodating of your needs and you’ve been wilful in return.”
I pointed down toward my pussy, making it very obvious what I wanted from her.
“Oh, I see.”
“It’s about time Bliss.”
“You mean for me to get down on my knees and lick your pussy?”
“You’ll feel better afterward.”
“You think so?”
I brushed a few errant locks of hair out of her face, noticing how beautiful Bliss was. She would make an excellent lover and one I’d already cautioned Max I would take.
“Do you want to be Erin’s good girl?”
“Sometimes, yes I do, but I’m no pushover especially if you get out of control.”
“I see your pupils are dilated. Is this one of those times?”
“I think so.”
I reached out, gently tweaking a solid nipple that burst through her snug, tailored-to-fit poly/cotton blend blouse. Bliss wore a standard hack uniform only made glamorous by her beauty.
Her face contorted into pleasure, belying an otherwise calmness. She bit her bottom lip, realized the reveal of her desire, then hid it before wrapping both arms around my neck.
“Is this our love nest Erin?”
“No baby. We’ll use your safe house to fuck in more regularly. Please never come back here again in case someone follows you.”
“You really do care about me, don’t you Erin?”
“Of course baby, now why don’t you kneel down like a good girl and atone for all the anger and sass you’ve directed at me.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“I’m going to take you as a long-term lover, Bliss. You’ll be exclusive to me, but I can’t reciprocate. that loyalty.”
“I’m no pushover, Erin.”
“Good. I’m guessing you want exclusivity on my story, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then grant my exclusivity request and you’ll have yours.”
I unhooked the button on my pants and unzipped the side fly, allowing the garment to fall. When I stepped out, wearing simple panties, Bliss’s eyes bulged out of her head with desire.
I felt all-powerful when she kneeled in front of me with a tongue licking her lips.
She licked my swollen, moist labia, whimpering with delight. I knew she’d get a fresh, thrilling flavor running like a sharp tint through my usual pussy musk and, by the sounds of my reporter, Bliss was enjoying her treat.
She lifted both my ass cheeks high, forcing a cushion underneath. I glanced inquiringly, and Bliss smiled, then pointed at her meal.
“Better access for me.”
“Good girl.”
She prised my ass cheeks apart with both hands, first gently, then forcefully licking my puckered anal whorl. She rimmed around the ridges for a while, then darted her tongue deep inside me, back out, then inside again, gently licking the soft tissue walls inside my rectum.
I bucked around the bed like a bronco, electrified, when she gently thumbed my creamy clitoris, dragging it slowly one way, then the other, pushing its hardness against the soft protective hood above.
“F-fuck, Jesus Bliss, oh my fuck… t-that’s sooo good!”
“Nice?”
“Wonderful, can I taste you, please?”
“It’s not a race to orgasm, babe.”
“I know, but I’m desperate to taste you.”
She raised one leg, scrambling carefully across me, turning fully around while I half sat, eagerly anticipating her pussy’s arrival. Bliss definitely worked out because her upper body strength was immense, demonstrated when she moved like a spider, backing her swollen, drenched pussy inexorably and gently onto my face.
While she lowered her dripping lips onto mine, Bliss sucked my clitoris, engorging me while flicking her tongue almost like a gentle suggestion across the tip of my solid, creamy bean.
I thrashed around wildly in a pre-orgasmic tsunami, burying my face in her pussy, sucking as much juice from both swollen pink petals as I could vacuum up before licking inside her hole, flicking Bliss’s clitoris while she shuddered.
I buried my nose deep inside Bliss’s swollen, pulsating hole, dragging my flattened tongue across her labia, parting them to flick her clitoris gently like a light wind floating across, tickling her.
She tastes wonderful.
When I orgasmed, I knew the bedsheets would need to be changed even though Bliss valiantly swallowed what she could. At her business end, I licked and sucked hard, clamping her ass cheeks to my face, despite her efforts to wriggle free.
We descended from climax ridge together, licking and cleaning until she panted, exhausted as was I. She lay back, caught her breath, then turned around, crawling lovingly into my arms, before cuddling and kissing.
We basked in each other’s warm, loving glow and it felt wonderful to rid myself of the awful stress Sin Street had caused me even if that was a temporary reprieve in the arms of a lover.
Bliss gazed up at me with love and I thought perhaps the poor woman had caught feelings for me.
“Can we play again, Erin?”
“Yes, of course.”
My heart soared. Bagging Bliss and Steve Pincer in one fell swoop felt good. Max would be at home to provide cock to satisfy the itch Bliss couldn’t reach and if he was asleep, there was always Allen to meet my needs in every sense.
Next Chapter:
Resurgent Whore #10
Sissitrix, I'm so thrilled we created this universe and story together. The macabre, noir and brutally raw depictions we've created are a synergy of art and writing. For readers, I hope you love this publication as much as we do. Please like and comment unless it invades your privacy, perhaps, if you can, help get the Sin Street brand spread widely, bringing others to help build our community.
Well, Episode 9, and a highly imaginative one at that!
Kate--a masterful depiction of our devious, depraved anti-heroine, Erin this time out. Some gut-reaction obiter dicta first-off. Are we dealing with Erin-Erin, or Erin-possessed-by-Allen? A key question I think after the "Rise of the Machines" we saw in Episode 8, where the Pods showed their cards and entered the fray as characters in their own right, with their own agencies, but a unified agenda, with a hive-mind ability to strategize and coordinate. We know that Allen's become one with Erin. So if she's acting of her own volition here, Allen's allowed her a longer leash, and the illusion of freedom. The story is from Erin's POV--this is crucial to Allen running in the background; it's as if recent events never took place. I wanted to get that part on the record here, because since last week, I think we can't say with 100% certainty that Erin's totally in control of her actions, so--as in a demonic possession (Allen and the other pods enjoy a power, malice, and expertise at deception analogous to preternatural intelligences, so I feel confident in using the term as a convenient shorthand given the dark realm Sin Street is--there are no good guys, girls, or machines--not even good water--anywhere!), Allen's given Erin the illusory control of her world and her emotions, but it's running the show.
Excellent descriptives to set the scene on the dingy, corrupt environs of Sin Street--as I said above even the goddamn water's corrupt, tainted and poisoned! There are fucking rotting human bodies down there in the depths for Christ's sake! Bosch didn't get that hellish! Truly a River Styx right here--a realm just soaked in death--no vegetation, no potable water. Desolate, demolished buildings. The only businesses to speak of are criminal enterprises. The closest we've come to a bright, happy scene was when Erin and Max were zipping along in the Aston Martin after the pods patched her up in the Adirondacks--where the hell did the Adirondacks go? In fact, are there any other places besides Sin Street in this world? With each Episode, there are hints here and there that Sin Street isn't just a "Street" per se, nor is it a seedy, high crime district of a city, outside of which there may be hope and redemption. There are hints that Sin Street is EVERYWHERE. Every surface, every building, every person, object, idea--whatever--is thoroughly, completely EVIL. Any attempt to eradicate the Evil requires a further descent into greater Evil, resulting in an accumulation of foul, encrusted, bloody, gangrenous, suppurating, weeping wounds of pus--this entire realm is a living, breathing, demonic organism, a type of satanic amoeba, which consumes everything. In my commentary on the story, I often make cinematic references--recently Sissitrix mentioned the 1997 film "The Devil's Advocate" with Al Pacino, where he plays the role of Satan, who's set up shop in New York City as a high-powered attorney with the wonderful name of John Milton--NYC has this "living monster" patina to it in that film--I think that's what we've got going on here with Sin Street. Perhaps the whole vernture is taking place either in Hell itself (Erin is dead , is damned, and we're witnessing her experience of her damnation) or perhaps a "Matrix" like reality, in which the principals are in some sort of suspended animation in the pods, which provide their nervous systems with every experience, detail, and sensation they have and undergo. To be sure, far-out theories, as many of mine are, yet plausible inferences in light of events thus far.
I love the "Glass Cube." Seeing the illustration and reading about the timer, how Steve the Pincer will drown in a deluge of foul aquatic detritus should the clock run out gives me the image of what a classic Houdini-style stage magician's escape trick would look like if the Jigsaw Killer from the "Saw" movies put his interpretation of them on stage! The "Saw" films, though universally considered a form of almost tongue-in-cheek gory horror camp,. But taken as a whole, they tell a story remarkably similar in many ways to Sin Street and similar vengeance-driven vehicles. All of Jigsaw's elaborate schemes to kill his victims involve some form of ostensibly impossible moral choice, which usually one of the two victims must make to save their life and gain freedom--all his victims at some point held life cheap, or worthless, and by surviving, paradoxically, never thought that way again. One survivor even becoming his disciple. They also compose a continuous epic of calculated vigilantism, since most of his victims were either people who wronged him personally, those he loved, acted out of avarice, or were morally flawed or apathetic in some way. I see Erin's dismemberment and torture of Chester and the premeditated construction of the glass cube to torture and (let's face it--kill) Steve the Pincer--as very much within this antiheroic realm of vigilantism.
We knew the sex with Bliss was coming--but there's no way I'm buying the "lover" jive that Erin's tring to sell, and if Bliss is really buying it (not sure is she is, or is just so determined to get the story that she'll do ANYTHING to have the scoop, even if it means acting the lesbian sub to Erin's mistress for a while--it's a realm where there are no innocent cherubs floating around strumming harps, after all!
In closing, just an observation about the off-stage Max. Strange he gives Erin the Glock, and instructs her on its proper use. One of those ambiguous threads which in the noir world can be the thing that leads you out of the Labyrinth, or simply an unusually long strand of dryer lint.
Again, congrats to the both of you for another thought-provoking Episode! On to Chapter 10!