This week’s Sunday Story comes to you on…um…Monday! I took a day off yesterday, which you can blame entirely (well, almost) on the Wimbledon men’s final and the Euro 2016 final.
The offering for you this week is a bit of an experiment for me. The original ‘literary’ version of this story was published in 2008 in The Yellow Room, under the title ‘Visitor Beware’ (if you ever come across it, do let me know!). At the time, I felt it verged on the edge of being an erotic story. So I’ve rewritten it-just for you! I hope it works…
Happy reading! x
“For fuck’s sake, woman, come on.”
They were all yelling at her. Carla didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Girls’ nights out, group outings, hen nights—they’d never really been something she was into, and this mindless trail around the city was no exception, especially when she knew that it would have been much nicer if she’d been in bed.
“Last stop!” Vicki was slurring, and her heel disappeared into a grating. Carla was amazed that Vicki still retained two complete shoes as they headed to the door.
“The Zoo,” murmured Carla, her nose twitching up to meet her frown.
“Yeah,” smirked Isabel, “where the animals are out on the prowl, and the visitors had better beware. We thought it was appropriate, what with you working in one!” She giggled. “If we’re lucky, they’ll be like those monkeys you love so much—their tails will all be sticking up!”
Isabel pushed Carla through the door by her very own devil’s tail which stuck out from the skimpy black skirt—that, and her scarlet plunge top were uniform for the night, and as far away from her daily overalls as she could get. She had to admit that it had been good to see her body in the mirror as she dressed for her night out. She’d traced her curves with both palms, her body growing rigid against her hands as she’d watched her lips part and her breath increase in intensity. Her hand found its way over her breasts and up onto her neck, and her eyes closed at the sensation of skin on skin. Thumb on her lips, she ran it over her lipstick, opening up to take her thumb in between her teeth. Her hand had begun a journey down towards the hem of her little skirt and she’d stared hard at the image in the mirror as she’d lifted it to reveal her black lace knickers. Her fingertip had strayed onto the lace, and her chest had flushed a voluminous rose, but she had been jolted back to reality by the sound of texts coming in thick and fast, demanding to know where she was. Well, she was here now.
“Oh, my horns!” Carla tried to grasp at the red and black headdress as Vicki rolled into her, but it fell into the road. Scanning the lamplit ground, she just caught sight of it falling down a grating.
“Don’t worry, love.” Rachel shouted behind her as the noise from the club began to swamp the night air around them, laughing over her shoulder at Carla’s flustered face. “There’ll be enough horn in here for us all.” Rachel turned round to face her, hand disappearing between her legs and taking her little black skirt with it as she rubbed. A pang deep inside Carla radiated waves of throbbing pain outwards to fill her, and she swallowed. She nipped the tops of her thighs together to try and quell the sudden ache that appeared and lodged there. What was the matter with her?
Carla lagged behind, as the others mingled straight into the fluorescent pink lighting and the dry ice that wafted towards her with a strange green glow. She shut her eyes and pictured David watching the TV at home, with the kids safely tucked up in bed, their outfits hanging on the back of the bedroom door, ready for their big day tomorrow. It bothered her that she didn’t know what was going to happen—that David had insisted he wanted to sort it all out and make it a surprise. She really disliked not being in control. Sighing, she threw back her shoulders: she would endure this visit to The Zoo until it was time to leave, and be grateful to get in a taxi.
A group of men in their mid-twenties rampaged through the hen night ensemble, grabbing each other by the neck, thumping one of the group on the back, and telling filthy jokes as they entered the nightclub and herded themselves down the stairs. Carla saved her sympathy, and her empathy, for the tagger-on at the back of the herd, hanging on the perimeter. He looked to be in his thirties, like her. As he glanced at Carla on his way in, she gave him a smile of resignation. He raised his eyebrows, smiled back. His gaze rested on her face and she found her own eyes moving down his body. She appreciated the crisp, open neck orange shirt and the black trousers; it made her think of the big wild cats she loved so much at work. She bit her lip when her gaze came to notice how the front of his trousers began to bulge and pull tight as he looked at her. One more smile, showing her an array of teeth, and he was lost in the crowd.
“Fuck.” She breathed out slowly, and gathered herself to chase up her fellow devil-tailed and still horned creatures.
She needn’t have worried about finding them. They were already heaving over the bar, and Isabel sat on top, waving her devil’s tail in the bartender’s face and letting him feel it. As Isabel stroked the tail up and down, the bouncers, Carla noticed, appeared to be ignoring the scuffle which had broken out in the corner, to concentrate on Isabel’s activities in the main enclosure. Several pillars joined the bar to the ceiling, and she watched Isabel take the bartender’s chin between her finger and thumb, pulling him close to her cleavage, her nails glinting and casting blood red reflections against the empty glasses that hung around them.
Carla leant against the bar, watching the barman lick down into the mounds that Isabel pushed into his face. Isabel nodded at him, and he pulled her up onto the bar. She stood, her legs apart and over his face. “Told you.”
“Sit here. Now.” The bartender slammed his hand on the bar top directly in front of him.
“Not likely. Watch first.” Isabel grabbed onto the pillar, her leg wrapping around it, her skirt lifting as she pressed her upper body against the wood, her long, dark hair falling back to trail on the bar as she doubled herself backwards, spinning round her impromptu pole. A semi-circle of onlookers watched her pussy lips open to reveal her inner, wet pinkness, as she performed her dance. She let go with one hand and undid three buttons on her top, her bare breasts pointing to the ceiling. Carla noticed how hard Isabel’s nipples were. An involuntary moan seeped from her lips, and her own hands roamed her ribs, cupping her breasts as Isabel spun, flashing her entire nakedness as her skirt spun round her waist. Isabel landed open-legged in front of the bartender, who pulled her towards him and shoved his hand down into his groin. Carla caught sight of his rock hard cock, just before he began to fuck Isabel, there on the edge of the bar. She touched her skin; it felt hot and clammy. Everyone was right about this place. It really was aptly named.
The dry ice fumes reached the back of Carla’s throat and made her cough. She sought a chink in the fence of people through which to hurl herself and escape the swirling fumes in favour of a different bartender—and a double vodka. But she was pinned behind a solid block of penguin-like males, their black trousers and white shirts wet from swimming in a sea of drinkers and dancers, high on the music, or on something else.
Carla watched, her eyes opening wider, as she saw how the other girls, the regulars, were breaking through the penguin circle. They stood on the outside, unbuttoning their tops until only the last two buttons held them together. They leant, bent over the bar, performing for one of the row of bartenders, so they could receive their prize. Carla waited, watching, half expecting to see a couple of fish thrown across the counter top, rather than the lager and blacks. Carla looked down at her top, and a strange, overwhelming feeling of disappointment filled her. The crew neck wasn’t going any lower than it was already.
Her eyes turned once more to the smoke that wrapped around ankles, feeling its way up unwitting thighs. Flesh pressed against flesh, mouths eating desperate lips above and below clothing, finger-fucks and two-woman blowjobs on the dance floor. “Fuck”. Why did she keep saying that to herself?
“Have my drink. I’m going to be sick. Think I’m off home.” Carla took the glass from Vicki and stood back as her friend made a long zigzag towards the toilets.
The stage, where the girls danced, was over to Carla’s left. She decide that standing somewhere with more light might be the safest bet with people like Vicki about. The last feeling she wanted was one of a hot stream of puke down her neck without at least having a fighting chance of dodging it. Leaning against the railings, Carla could play voyeur, watching the dancers and the glazed-eyed spectators who sat on the bottom step of the stage. They were mainly male, but with a few females squashed in among them, and they intrigued Carla as they sat, drink in hand, on the very edge, the heels of their hands grinding down into their groins.
Out of the corner of her eye, Carla noticed Vicki, leaning heavily on one of the penguin men, who feasted on her neck as he hoisted her up the steps. As they reached the entrance, the man’s hand reached down inside Vicki’s waistband as he drew out her left breast from her bra and sucked. Carla felt the pang of pins and needles starting up, just below her caesarean scar. She followed them through the entrance with her jealousy, thrusting her backside up the railings until her pussy made contact with the cool metal through the lace of her knickers. It was a shock; but it made her wet. She slid herself against the hardness between her legs, and groaned as the juices that had been gathering in her entrance now paid lip service to the crotch of her knickers. The metal was narrow; she could press it between her pussy lips, make it grind against her clit. Oh.
Four of her hen night friends were at the front of the stage now. When Carla had seen the tiny monkeys at Cleethorpes zoo, long since defunct, one had pressed itself to the front of the cage, baring its frontage in excitable fashion to her grandmother who had laughed uncontrollably. Carla thought of her now, wondering what she would make of the sight in front of her as the girls danced lower, wide-legged, to the upturned red, sweaty faces of the spectators. Carla slugged her drink as Mandy, the bridesmaid, left the stage with the man who’d had his head up her short, short skirt a minute earlier, while the bouncers smirked, and nodded in approval. She turned away from the stage, sick of the sight; sick that she hadn’t got the guts to get up there. Or—maybe she would, but they’d never have asked her to. Did they know her at all? How much did she know herself tonight?
As she spun round, she walked straight into the hands of the lone member of the pack that had charged past her girly crowd on the way in.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Carla gasped, as his pint drenched the entire bottom half of her crew neck top, and her drink skidded across the material of his trousers.
“Are you OK?” the lone hunter asked. Carla eyed his sleek, well-groomed face and hair. He touched her on the arm and her stomach ached suddenly, shivers reverberating up her spine into her neck. And she couldn’t help but notice his eyes glancing over her shoulder to the devil’s tail that stuck out of the back of her little black skirt.
“Hen night,” she said, with a roll of her eyes.
“Say no more,” he replied, and smiled, showing his array of even white teeth once again. Carla bent her head downwards, and looked at him through her eyelashes, and unclipped the tail. Her index finger came up and rested at her mouth, parting her lips.
“No, put the tail back, it suits you.”
She smiled, not quite sure what to say. “What do you do?” She could have bitten off her tongue. What sort of idiotic question was that?
“What do I do?” He gave her a funny look that she didn’t really understand. “Well, I suppose you could say that I make people happy.”
She eyed him with interest, and the more she watched him, the more she saw those grey eyes glowing green against the neon lights, and his orange and black attire, the more it made her insides flip over. “Do you, now…?” Her smile broadened.
He returned her smile, and she found herself parting her lips and brushing the bottom one with her tongue. She followed his eyes as they watched the motion, how his chest lifted harder than before, his muscles pressing tightly against the material before falling back into the shirt.
“I’ll buy you another drink—vodka and lime, is it?” he asked, and turned towards the bar. “Stay there,” he said.
David would probably be polishing his shoes, and the kids’ ones if he remembered, ready for leaving in the morning. And the kids would be cuddled up in their duvets. She was starting to feel flushed and a bit giddy. Maybe it was all the drink over the course of that evening before they’d even reached the club. Maybe not. Perhaps she could get a reprieve from The Zoo’s oppressiveness in the toilets. She turned her head over her shoulder to see the rounded buttocks in those sleek trousers, standing at the bar. And she bit down on her lips, hard.
Feeding time at The Zoo had already begun. Carla walked past the girls, standing in lines up the walls where there were no cameras, popping their pills. She’d cool down alone in here, Carla said to herself—try to stop being so hot, so fucking horny. She’d take off her crew neck top and sponge off the beer. She looked up at the mirror in front of her sink. Through her heavily blinking eyes, a bit sore due to the dry ice, she didn’t look bad. The lacy black camisole that David liked her to wear made quite a slinky top, really.
So she rolled up her beer stained crew neck top into her handbag. When she re-entered the room, the lone hunter was there against the railings, scanning the area for his meat, her drink in his hand. Gasping, her heart pounding, she chose to play the fleeing victim of this caged animal, and sit in the dark on the seats around the edge of the dance floor behind the gigantic pillars. But Carla could find no space to flee the animal. She could do nothing but stand up the pillar, and watch as the mating season hit this darkness. She crept from pillar to pillar, past the couples sitting in long rows on the leather seats and fake pink animal fur, the girls with their skirts hitched up, straddled over the men. She couldn’t help but stare, and feel that throbbing that started in her stomach and worked its way down under her, converging on her clit, as one girl shifted position slightly and Carla glimpsed the long, pink flesh protruding from its master’s jeans’ zip.
A few more drinks inside her, that’s what she needed. And now she was in a position to get her prize, just like all the others, bending over the bar in her black camisole. The bartender smiled appreciatively at the mounds of semi-exposed flesh and poured her a double vodka. In the mirror behind the bartender’s head, Carla was aware of the heated entrapping gaze of the lone hunter, neatly groomed, sharply dressed, needing her black camisole and devil’s tail for the evening. And Carla accepted his vodka and lime, as she stroked her cleavage up and down with her middle finger.
As two o’ clock called time on the drinks, and the lights went out in The Zoo, the visitors who still remained began making their way to the taxis which were waiting to take them back to their own world of cold beds and large mugs of coffee. And the animals who’d had no mating success were released, too, staggering home amid a sea of sick and their new-found alcohol-induced freedom, via the kebab stand.
The girls had all gone. Carla stood there outside, alone, making her decision: the taxi, or the freedom to roam? She made her decision swiftly, as the lone hunter made his, the pounce more desperate still, there on the edge, the boundaries of The Zoo in both of their heads. What else could Carla do, throbbing with the need to find an animal that needed to satiate its instincts as much as she did? And in the dark, with his hands around her devil’s tail, pressing her back to the wall, Carla succumbed to the natural cries of the place. Against the top of her thigh she could feel the wet patch on his slinky trousers where the drink had been spilled as he hoisted her thighs higher to meet him. He slipped his hardness out of his fettering, and she saw it, drenched with pre-cum, thick and desperate, Fucking, biting, her claws scratching through his shirt, his nails digging into her backside as his cock filled her with animalesque desire, and her lust creamed all around him. And there, in the blackness, their moans would rival any creature who had been held captive by those walls.
When the sunlight broke once more over The Zoo, Carla was busy washing away her previous night’s instincts in the shower, or she was trying. The water rushed over her soapy skin and her hands cupped her breast, slipped up over her flesh to her nipple that hardened as the water lashed against it. She leant back against the shower wall, her other hand sliding over her hip and down between her thighs. Moaning as the water filled her mouth and overflowed, running down her body, she teased her soapy clit, and sought out her cunt. Pressing herself against the animal she imagined was mounting her, she thrust two fingers into herself as she pushed back onto the memory of his hard cock, dreaming it slid down between the cheeks of her backside and found her waiting. It rutted her, there, under the water, until the soap and her cum created a pearlescent amalgam that slithered down her legs and into the shower base.
She got ready, dressed herself in a cream dress and veil, so she could say, “I do,” to the man who’d stayed at home the night before to look after the kids, and so that the girls could take her for a trip to The Zoo—and she’d been fair game.
“Where is it we’re going?” she asked, when they drove past the church, past the registry office, and headed to the outskirts. It was all too familiar; she came this way every day of the week. His words clung in the air like the dress around her body, now clammy with droplets of apprehensive sweat: They’ll be getting married where the animals are, the ones she loves to be with every day of the week, maybe more than him, he joked. And he’s arranged for someone to marry them, he said. He’s standing at the gate now, he said.
There he stood, confined by his jacket and tie, looking nervous at the gate—her lone prowler.
They all stood in front of the tiger enclosure, her beautiful wild friends watching from high on their platform in the sunlight, and it should be perfect. So thoughtful, so indulgent. So her—to be with the animals. Watching, waiting, as her fuck tethered her to her mate. Everything had seemed so straightforward, so clear, so—ordinary—until last night. There was nothing ordinary about this.
The reception went off without a hitch in the staff rooms. The old ones dozed with sleepy children on their laps, while Carla watched her husband get ever more drunk. Just as she had expected he would. As dusk burned flame red through the windows, and the onset of night drew the heat from the walls and left her smouldering in her wedding day attire, she made her effort at escape. The back door was open; she could hear the brazen, lust-filled cries of the animals around the enclosure, and she leant up the doorframe, staring into the heat of the night.
Footsteps. She sensed them behind her, and she turned, squarely facing the other doorpost where he leant and undid his tie. Why was he still here?
She watched him roll up the tie and slip it in his pocket. Her hands lifted to his throat, undoing the top button of his shirt and releasing the heat from his skin into the night air. She looked at him straight in the eye. Would the lone hunter, with a taste for her meat, now be circling a cage of his own making, in primeval desperation night after night, waiting for her to make a return visit—needing to be fed? She leaned over, the aroma of her scent floating in the air in front of his face, and whispered against the hair she had locked in her fingers the last time they had sought the night air together:
“I’m hungry. I need to fuck. And, fair or otherwise, I’m still game. Are you…?”
Hunter, and hunted. In the zoo, where the queen of the animals prowls, and the visitor had better beware.