Slugs Read online

  Donna shrugged and downed what was left in her glass.

  ‘He’d probably be more annoyed to think we were using his hi-fi,’ she giggled.

  ‘Yeah, I bet he fucking would.’ There was a sharp vehemence in the youth’s words and his hard eyes scanned the sitting room as he spoke. He could just imagine the look on old man Moss’s face if he could see his daughter now, lying across the lap of a boy he hated. Clive had never got on with either of Donna’s parents. Toffee-nosed bastards they were, thought themselves a cut above the rest of the neighbourhood. Just because James Moss was on the town council and Clive’s dad worked on a building site, Moss looked down on his daughter’s boyfriend with ill-disguised contempt. Many times he’d tried to break up their relationship but each time they’d found a way to continue seeing each other. He’d been going out with her for over a year and she had become something of a habit. Maybe he was in love, he didn’t know. Even if he was he’d certainly never let Donna know and if any of his mates should find out he wouldn’t dare show his face. At eighteen, Clive Talbot was at that age when overt concern for the opposite sex was something to be frowned on. As far as his little circle of friends were concerned, girls were good for only one thing.

  That was certainly true of Donna. She was a year younger than Clive but her sexual precocity bordered on nymphomania and that fact further amused the young man when he thought what her father would say if he found out his ‘darling’ daughter had lost her virginity at the age of thirteen. To one of Clive’s mates as a matter of fact.

  Clive himself was an only child and lived with his parents less than half an hour’s walk from where Donna lived. It used to be a ten-minute ride on his Yamaha 250 but some bastard had nicked the fucking thing about a month ago. Clive still fumed inwardly as he thought about it but he’d find out who took it and, when he did, he’d make them sorry. He wouldn’t go to the police. They were bloody useless and, besides, he’d been in trouble with them a couple of times himself. Only minor offences like breaking windows or fighting but, even so, he had no desire to seek their assistance in retrieving his stolen bike.

  It had been an eighteenth birthday present from his parents. All his mates had bikes but most of them had farting little Puch Maxis or puny 150s. Nothing like Clive’s. One or two of them even had jobs. Clive himself hadn’t worked since he left school two years earlier. He’d looked for work sure enough, he never stopped looking, but his father’s often voiced opinions about a Government for the rich by the rich were rapidly beginning to dawn on him. He’d never listened much to what either of his parents said but his father was shop steward for his branch of the Building Workers Union and, during the past two years, Clive had come to realize that his old man’s hatred of the Government was well­ founded. Clive now looked across at the photo of James Moss which stood on the TV and felt the anger rising within him

  ‘When are your parents due back?’ he asked.

  ‘Late,’ Donna said, vaguely.

  ‘Well how late is late?’ he said, irritably.

  ‘About two in the morning,’ she informed him, reaching once more for the Bacardi bottle. But Clive got to it first and lifted it from her clutching grasp.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough,’ he said, putting the bottle out of reach.

  She pouted for a second then reached up and pulled him towards her. ‘Perhaps I can persuade you to give it back.’

  She pressed her mouth to his, her tongue forcing its way past his teeth and he responded with equal enthusiasm. He felt a tingle run through him as one of her hands fell to the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans. Donna ran her hand over his groin, squeezing his erection through the worn material of his denims. Their mouths still locked together, he reached for the buttons on her blouse and skilfully undid them, his fingers brushing against the lace of her bra. With practised movements, he reached round and undid the clasp, pulling the garment free to expose her small, taut breasts.

  She tugged at his belt irritably when it wouldn’t come free and Clive finally had to help her, loosening his own button. Donna giggled softly and plunged her hand down inside his underpants, gripping his swollen shaft. Clive squirmed and thrust it forward into her eager, pumping, hand.

  He reached across and cupped one small breast in his hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the nipple until he felt it stiffen. Donna sighed and, taking hold of his free hand, she thrust it beneath her skirt as if guiding him. But Clive needed no prompting and soon his eager hand was flicking against the flimsy material of her panties. He stroked the silky fabric, feeling the first hint of moisture seeping through it as he pressed harder. Donna gasped and manoeuvred herself so that he could reach her pulsing desire more easily, she felt his probing digits glide through her soft pubic hair to the hardened bud of her clitoris and she felt a comforting warmth envelop her. For her own part, she lowered her head to Clive’s lap, her mouth closing over his swollen penis. He sucked in a shaking breath as he felt the hot wetness gliding up and down his shaft. He continued to move his fingers, plunging deeper until he infiltrated her sleek cleft.

  Donna flicked her tongue over his bulging penis and she felt the unmistakable twitchings as he neared his climax. He stiffened and grunted and it was at that point she withdrew her head and sat up.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ gasped Clive, his face flushed.

  Donna smiled impishly. ‘Upstairs eh?’ she said.

  ‘You are a right cow at times,’ he said, panting.

  ‘But lovely with it,’ she giggled. ‘Do I get my drink now?’

  He gave her the bottle, doing up his trousers with difficulty. Clive looked at her once more his anger and frustration quickly disappearing. He chuckled to himself.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Donna wanted to know.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘If your fucking old man knew what you were like he’d have a stroke.’

  ‘I think mum would like to lock me up in a convent,’ Donna said, giggling.

  Clive shook his head and watched her as she drank. Her blouse was still off, revealing her breasts and her long, brown hair was unkempt and ruffled. It dangled over her shoulders as she shook her head and she ran one hand through it. The perm was starting to grow out and, only at the top and sides. did it still retain curls She wore no make-up, except a little on her eyes and, when she looked at him, those twin blue orbs held him in a hypnotic stare.

  Maybe he really was in love, after all.

  Donna sipped her drink and exhaled deeply. She glanced at the clock on the mantel and it said ten p.m. She knew her parents wouldn’t be back for a good four or five hours. She and Clive had plenty of time. She watched him as he got to his feet to turn the record over then, a second later, the room was shaken once more by a series of drum and guitar blasts which threatened to reach seismic proportions. She motioned to him to turn the volume down a little which he did.

  Donna, unlike Clive, had stayed on at school to study for ‘A’ levels. She knew that her future was already mapped out for her and there seemed little she could do to alter it. After school it would be university then, hopefully, into a job in designing. She was studying Graphic Design at school and intended gaining a degree once she reached university. But, although Donna wanted the career of her own choosing she still felt a kind of unseen manipulation. The university bit was as much for her parents’ sake as her own. She could just hear them at the Rotary club luncheons:

  ‘Oh yes, our daughter is at university.’

  Both were fulfilling their own failings through her and she resented it. Of course she would never do anything to hurt their feelings or to damage her own chances of success but, sometimes, she felt the mad urge to say stuff it and walk out of school right there and then. To hell with everything.

  Clive was the only thing she really cared about and that was another thing which rankled with her parents. She knew how they felt about him but she would not give him up. No matter how many times her father told her she wasn’t to see the young lout (
his favourite description of Clive) she always found some way of being with him. In a different kind of way, she was as trapped in her lifestyle as Clive was in his. Both knew how their futures were going to turn out, he because he was unable to get a job and she because she was fulfilling the aspirations of her parents. There seemed no way out.

  ‘…Not a prisoner, I’m a free man, live my life how I want to. Don’t care, where the past was, I know where I’m going…’

  roared the singer on the record and the words sounded all the more pertinent to Donna. She swallowed what was left in her glass and got to her feet.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, smiling, motioning towards the stairs and, in a second, Clive was behind her.

  Laughing, they made their way up to Donna’s bedroom.

  The first half a dozen of the slugs slithered across the glass top of the large cold frame, their posterior tentacles moving silently in the night air. On the ground nearby were many more of them, a shapeless black blot on the dark earth. They slithered over James Moss’s carefully tended garden all seemingly heading for one spot.

  Moving as quickly as their bloated forms would allow them, the slugs slipped into the drain, crawling up the pipe itself towards the first floor of the house where they eventually emerged in the guttering which ran alongside the windows.

  They filled the pipe, overflowed like thick black rain into the guttering and then, slowly, they slid across the brickwork until they were actually on the window sill of the bedroom which faced the back garden. There were many of them and they slid over the sill, dropping to the floor of the bedroom. The darkness in there was total and it was quiet, only the slight murmur of the night breeze breaking the solitude as it set the curtains gently billowing.

  The slugs continued to flood into the room.

  As Donna and Clive reached the landing they paused, kissing fiercely again, his eager hands searching for her breasts once more but she knocked them away and wagged a reproachful finger at him.

  ‘Wait,’ she giggled.

  Clive crossed the landing towards a door which was firmly closed.

  ‘Wrong room, idiot,’ said Donna, her hand pausing on the knob of her own door.

  ‘I know,’ Clive said. ‘Is this your parents’ bedroom?’

  Donna nodded and crossed to the door, pushing it open. She flicked on the light and walked in. Clive followed her, his heavy shoes making deep indentations on the thick white carpet. The whole room seemed to be white. The walls, the ceiling, the wardrobe unit, the dressing table. Even the bedspread was white. It was liking walking into a blizzard. It smelt of lavender and Clive wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ he said, crossing to the bed where he saw some clothes laying. He laughed and picked up a pair of large knickers.

  ‘Who wears these?’ he said, grinning. ‘Your mum or your bloody old man?’

  Donna laughed, too, and walked across to the wardrobe unit which dominated one side of the large room. It was covered in mirrors and she studied her reflection for long seconds. Clive noticed.

  ‘Mirrors, eh?’ he said. ‘Kinky bastards aren’t they? It’s a wonder they haven’t got them on the ceiling too.’ He made a loud whooping noise and leapt onto the bed, stretching out on it with his arms folded behind his head. ‘This is comfortable. Shall we do it here?’ he asked, grinning.

  Donna giggled. ‘Come on, or they’ll know someone’s been in here.’

  She stepped closer and Clive shot out a hand in an attempt to grab her but Donna stepped back and he missed, overbalanced and fell off the bed. Both of them began laughing and Donna hurried to the door and flicked off the light leaving him in darkness.

  ‘You bitch,’ he chuckled and chased after her.

  He grabbed her just as she reached her own bedroom door and both of them crashed against it laughing like idiots. The door flew open and Donna stepped inside. She flicked at the light switch but nothing happened.

  ‘The bloody bulb must have gone,’ she said, snapping the switch up and down.

  The room was in complete darkness, only the light which flooded in from the landing lighting their way. Clive closed the door behind him and turned the key, locking it.

  ‘Who needs lights?’ he said, and tossed the key away.

  Donna giggled and held him close, relaxing as he lowered her onto the bed. In the blackness, they undressed one another until their naked forms lay side by side on the bed.

  The curtains billowed in the breeze and neither noticed the gobs of slime on the window sill.

  They sought the pleasurable touch of the other’s hands, content in the pitch black to give way to almost invisible caresses. Donna felt Clive’s hands running over her breasts before sliding down to part her legs which she moved willingly. With her own hand she guided his throbbing erection towards her slippery cleft, gasping when he drove it into her. She locked her legs around his back, increasing the depth of penetration. He began to move rhythmically inside her and she thrust her hips up to meet his every movement, raking his back with her nails. Their grunts and cries became louder as the passion within them grew in intensity.

  Neither of them heard the low sucking sounds as the sea of slugs, invisible in the darkness, flowed towards the bed moving almost soundlessly over the carpet.

  The eyes of numerous pop stars watched impassively from posters on the walls as the black hordes swept nearer, the warmth and scent of human flesh attracting them.

  Donna rotated her hips frenziedly as she felt her orgasm approach and she was mildly disappointed when she felt Clive withdraw from her but that disappointment rapidly disappeared when she felt him sliding further down the bed until his head was resting between her thighs. She moaned with pleasure as his tongue began to flick at her clitoris.

  Clive was a tall lad and, in order to position himself correctly, he was forced to allow his feet to drop off the end of the bed. He stretched his legs out behind him, attempting to get a grip on the carpet with his toes.

  He almost shouted aloud when he felt his feet touch something wet and slimy.

  He raised his head, feeling a jellied movement beneath his toes, then, suddenly, he felt pain lancing through his foot as two of the slugs bit into it.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he shouted, pulling his feet back onto the bed.

  Donna looked down. ‘What is it?’ she asked, dreamily.

  ‘Something’s biting me,’ he shrieked.

  Donna sat up, her hand reaching for the bedside lamp. She switched it on and, in that same instant she let loose a scream of terror which seemed to fill the entire house. Clive was struggling to remove the monstrous black things from his foot, blood staining the sheets as the foul creatures bored into the flesh.

  Donna sat transfixed, watching the black mass of slugs seething towards the bed. A number had already begun to climb up the dangling sheets and Donna screamed again when she saw two near her hand.

  With a roar of pain, Clive managed to tear one of the stubborn beasts from his foot. It came away, ripping skin and muscle as it did and he groaned, trying to remove the second. However, the effort made him overbalance and he fell off the bed onto the slippery carpet of slugs. For brief, nauseating seconds he writhed in the slime then the creatures attacked, sinking their sickle shaped teeth into his twisting body. Clive screamed in pain and tried to scramble to his feet.

  ‘Get the fucking door open,’ he yelled at Donna who was crying as she watched him struggling with the black horrors, one of which was eating its way into his back.

  She sat huddled on the bed, rocking back and forth like a child, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

  ‘The door,’ he bellowed, trying to claw the slugs from his back.

  But Donna couldn’t move and, as more of the vile beasts reached the bed, she felt one crawl onto her hand. It bit into her and she shrieked in pain, feeling the blood running freely from the wound. Another struck at her buttocks, boring deep into the flesh and now Donna struggled to her feet but, a third slug slid up the inside
of her thigh and, to her horror, Donna felt it boring into her crutch. She screamed with renewed ferocity as the thick black thing forced its way into her, like some obscene bloated penis. Blood began to flood down the inside of her legs, spraying the carpet and, in a second, the slug had disappeared inside her.

  Donna collapsed. Laying across the bed, she was helpless as more of the slugs slid over her body, feeding on the warm flesh and enjoying the distinctive taste of the flowing blood.

  Clive saw her body, covered by the beasts and he opened his mouth in a silent scream not sure whether to yell or be sick. His own back felt as if it was on fire as a dozen black creatures ate their way into his muscles. Others were gnawing at his feet and calves but he remained upright, throwing himself against the wall in an effort to dislodge the slugs. A mixture of his own blood and the pulped slugs left a reeking imprint on the nearest poster which regarded the scene of carnage with blank eyes. Clive staggered towards the door, one of the slugs eating into his ear lobe.

  He crashed into the bedside lamp and it fell to the floor, plunging the room, once again into impenetrable blackness.

  Gritting his teeth, he struggled on, over the slimy sea of blood lusting slugs. The pain in his back and legs was now almost unbearable and he wanted to scream and scream as they tore into him.

  He reached the door and crashed against it, one bloodied hand grabbing for the knob.

  It was then, through a pain racked brain, he realized he’d locked it. He fumbled for the key, remembering that it lay somewhere in the room.

  He shrieked in agonized panic and knew that he must find the key. Must get out.

  Must…

  The slugs ate through the flesh of his calves and slithered up towards his thighs. He felt the sickness rising inside him and he thought he was going to faint but he punched the door hard, splitting his knuckles. White hot agony lanced up his arm, keeping him conscious. Through eyes filled with tears he saw three or four of the slugs burrowing hungrily into one of Donna’s breasts. Her body was still, offering no resistance as the black monstrosities devoured her.