The septagram or seven-pointed star is Aleister Crowley’s Seal of Babalon. It represents “the female sexual impulse and the liberated woman” (Wikipedia). The quotes from the Howard Stern interview are real. Billie claims she was a Christian at one point in her life. Milo and Ilo are characters in an Xbox game. The Astraea/Venus/Lucifer crap is adapted from *The Secret Doctrine* by Helena Petrovna Blavatsky. The other “Billielores” in this chapter are fiction. – Juliette
“Gold-winged angel / Go home, don’t tell / Anyone what you are You’re sacred and they’re starved / And their art is gettin’ dark And there you are to tear apart /Tear apart, tear apart, tear apart”
Dark.
Thirsty.
A heavy, cloud-corroded sky burned above him. He was trapped beneath it, crawling blindly on his hands and knees across a landscape of broken rocks.
Some of the rocks were hard-edged and cut his hands as he crawled. Others were polished smooth, as though a river had run centuries of time over them. Some burned his fingers with scalding heat. Others were colder than chondrites and regmaglypts wrenched from arctic ice floes.
He couldn’t remember who he was. Didn’t give much of a shit. One’s identity was a coin that purchased little here.
He crawled through near-total dark, the landscape beyond his hands a barely-guessed mystery. The wind swirled senselessly over him, screaming anguished notes into the fluted hollows of stones. Lightning burst and cracked, revealing near-identical landscapes above and below. Clouds. Rocks. Both were massed in seas of roiling inky dark, stretching to the horizon line. Storms and stones, both eternally changing and eternally meaningless, facing each other in mirrored unity. Each time he looked, their landscapes seemed totally different. It was as if each burst of lightning rewrote their geography anew.
The sight of the nowhere-wasteland produced a plunge of dismay in his gut—it’s forever, it’s forever, it’s forever—then the light faded, and thunder pounded a sledgehammer through his skull. Once again, he was blind and disoriented.
Where was he going? Probably nowhere. Probably he was crawling in circles. Probably there was nowhere to crawl, anyway, just this for a thousand miles or a thousand light years or beyond eternity.
But when thunder settled and the wind lulled, he could hear a faint burbling.
Like running water.
Water!
Parched beyond thought, he inchwormed up a slope, fingers clutching out spiderlike holds on rocks. He trusted one too much—it subsided, spinning away from him and triggering a landslide. Rumbles of shale cascaded out beneath him.
Scrabbling for a handhold, he laid his palm on a rock that was not a rock.
It squirmed to horrible life under him. Smooth, glasslike tesseracts of scales cut his hand. A rattling hiss scorched the air with rage.
The snake moved under him, as thick as his arm. Its thick reptilian bulk pulled away from beneath his hand, carving a furrow through the rocks. He listened the sound away to silence, then breathed.
There was no time to think of snakes. Or to think.
Water was close.
Scrabbling to the crest of the slope, he grasped a sharp ridge of stone. Panting, he hauled himself up over the edge.
Lightning slashed and thunder pounded.
A half-second of sight revealed wonders to him.
He was crouched at the overlook of a massive caldera lake, seemingly miles wide.
It was like an eye in the wasteland’s storm, peaceful and still. Ripples serried its blind blue eye. The entire crater was full to the brim of water, with the waves cracking the edge of the rim. He felt his clutching knuckles grow wet with spray. A bloodless, wandering harmony knifed across the lake, racing the waves. Singing without any singer.
Leaning down and forward, he drank with his eyes forward.
He’d seen something strange. And when the next lightning bolt knifed a hole in the cloud, he saw it again.
A stone plinth, rising from the center of the lake. A great statue stood huge and white upon it.
He sucked in water, hearing it gurgle through his body’s dark and parched hollows. He had just seen the statue, yet felt like he hadn’t seen it. Its shape had been…confusing to him. He wanted to see it again.
Lightning spat and flared with thudding repetition, painting the statue detail by detail, until finally it stayed in his head when the light faded.
It had a striking plurality of form. It seemed to be many, many body parts—perhaps many, many bodies—melted together, twisting into a single form.
He counted six bodies, woven together like a braid.
Three beautiful faces stared out in a semicircle from its head. They interlocked with such perfect geometry that he knew there were three more behind, facing the far shore of the caldera lake. The statue watched the caldera and the lake with twelve eyes shaped in catlike almonds.
Twelve arms flared upward, saluting the black lightning-fulgurant sky. Twelve hands twisted and forked their fingers in pagan sigils.
The statue was a woman. Or six women. Twelve enormous breasts drooped in pendulous, overfertile sacks. Each enormous mammary hung to its waist, where a nipple pebbled obscenely—like another ring of eyes, no less watchful than the first.
Perhaps the eerie harmony he could hear was six-voiced also. He could not tell.
Under the dangling breasts were six twisted, volcanic cunts, gnawing and knotting hungrily from the stone of its hips. Each vagina was fanged with teeth like jagged blades.
He gulped, swallowing a queer patchwork of hot and cold. Explosive heat, interposed with near-freezing ice. His throat rebelled against it. A coldness headache knifed through the center of his skull.
The lightning over the lake had ceased, it seemed. For a long time, he waited and breathed in the dark, a blind man, listening to the haunting, ethereal song…
…Until a horrific flash rent apart the sky, flaying it to bone from horizon to horizon. The cosmos was slashed apart, its naked guts exposed to him. As voltage smote, he threw himself flat in terror, unable to look, unable to remember. Rocks cut against his face—many coming to squirming life, slithering and scuttling away.
His eyes had witnessed a new and worse terror on the lake.
The plinth was empty.
The great six-bodied statue had disappeared.
Then he heard movement at his back. A low crunch of small rocks, disturbed by footfalls. Many footfalls.
Something terrible was coming for him, as fast as twelve feet could carry it.
* * *
He turned from the lake’s edge, staring into the dark behind him.
Twelve small glints pierced the night, swiftly moving toward him.
Only when they blinked—in unison, all at once—did he perceive them as eyes.
He screamed. The sound echoed over the rocky landscape and the lake, winging away senselessly into the clouds.
Had the statue come to life? Was it stalking him?
No. The statue’s faces had been arranged in a circle, with some facing the back…it wasn’t possible to see all twelve eyes at once…
“What are you…?” he asked the ring of advancing glints.
Nothing human. That was certain.
Its twelve eyes were sideways-slitted. Higher than they were wide.
He heard a strange, wet slobbering. A liquid outpouring splattered onto the stone—drool or poison or runny shit expelled from some slackened orifice. Teeth or mandibles clicked, slippery and wet.
Legs scraped rock with a dry, harsh rasp. It scuttled with the bloodless sound of a thing that has no use for an internal skeleton.
Sick with fear, he prayed that the sky wouldn’t vomit lightning as he died.
Whatever was hunting him, he prayed he wouldn’t be forced to see it as it ripped him apart.
The twelve eyes fanned apart, moving independently. As if they were socketed, not in a face, but on prehensile stalks.
But they seemed naturally grouped into pairs. Six faces. The row of lambent eyes slitted to catlike crescents, before blinking out entirely.
Blind, he smelled a girl.
He smelled her. A scent of hot bubblegum riding a deeper, muskier scent of perfume and sweat like a bridled horse. Billie Eilish’s flesh, breathed in once and remembered forever as she’d slung her thick body across him, filled the strange air.
The creature spoke with its five-and-one mouths.
“You are…” Billie Eilish’s voices overlapped in rolling, broken sound. “…inside me…”
Billie Eilish’s voice galloped his mind, a polyphonic discord. It was silk and softness. It was the teeth of the lightning, ripping through the heavens’ cloud-corrugated flesh. It was a paradox.
“You are…inside we…”
Whenever he tried to fix a definition on her voice, it shifted into a new form, evading classification. It was pure, then it distorted, it was bloodless, then it became all blood…
“…You are inside…the great sleep…”
Lightning flared, blasting six shadows onto the ground before him. Light died before he could perceive what, exactly, was casting them.
Her sixfold speech accelerated, mouths torrenting out language in a drowning of sound. He lost his bearing, was swept away by words.
The place to be all your selves. To become wedded to sickness and depravity, joined to what you most fear. To no longer have to hide from anybody, not even yourself.
He spoke for the first time.
“Am I…?” his voice slid unheard under the babble.
He meant to say dead.
There was no answer. Perhaps even she did not know. Was it better to be dead or alive, in a place such as this?
The jabbering stopped.
Footsteps—a single set this time—swaggered up to him, bold and confident and fearless.
“First, I took your name.” She said.
It starts with a C or a B, I think… he thought…just as Billie Eilish’s strong hand closed on his throat, tightening like a vice.
“Next, I will take your cum.”
She pulled him gasping to his feet. He stood, shivering in the dark. A wind slashed at neck-height, harrowing his hair.
Then Billie Eilish—a singular Billie Eilish—pressed her huge-breasted body to his.
The taking began.
* * *
“Beautiful lover boy…”
Billie’s unseen lips socketed the hollow of his ear, pouring drenching filth into his mind.
“I don’t understand you…why do you doubt, when you’re so strong?”
She said this as she folded him into her heat.
As her obscenely big tits pressed onto his chest, molten, core-quaking lust punched through his chest. The wind’s bite was overmatched by a blazing interior heat, conflagrating in a firestorm from his core. Raging, wrathful lust surged out from his core, from his genitals, from every shameful secret place.
Female arms circled his neck, looping like iron bands. He shivered, groaning in need.
His apocalypse was riding down on horseback.
“Your name is Brandon.” her voice was like smoke made of sound.
Brandon? He didn’t give a shit about the name, or the cascade of memories it produced in his head. Meaningless. Possessions left behind when Billie had taken him into her great sleep. Another man had once been called Brandon, but that man was a stranger.
What mattered was the cock exploding from his hips, swinging out and up like a lunatic crane. His head convulsed with stars as it sucked blood.
As they embraced, Brandon felt himself spiraling into insanity. He was going mad for her body. Mad for Billie Eilish. His essence poured into her until he was a negative—a hole shaped like her hourglass figure.
His prick roared up into a giant blood-filled pillar, hungry to fit and fuck its grooves into her vaginal rugae. His mouth was just a shape formed in counterflex to hers.
Her hands locked on his scapula. Not letting him go. Not even letting him step back. His skin quivered wildly wherever her skin made contact. For a moment, snakescales dug sharply into him. He tightened in alarm. But then the snakelike impression vanished, replaced with sensuous, smooth girlflesh.
“There was no snake, Brandon…” Billie murmured in a dulcet monotone, grinding her body to his. Matching her curves to his hollows. “Or maybe there was. Either way, kiss me.”
But as he obeyed—their heads cracked together with indecent haste, the kiss hot and frantic—he felt a forked tongue vibrate against his.
Only briefly, then it was replaced by Billie Eilish’s warm, human one, twisting wet circles in his mouth. Nevertheless, he remembered.
She moaned, pressing herself close. Her obscene torso planted moist heat onto his chest, huge breasts pillowing. He felt their hot sacks expand, ballooning with the force of her embrace. Her nipples daggered against him, throbbing in counterpoint to his pants and shivers.
Nothing to see but dark. Or to feel but her.
“Do you like being asleep, Brandon?” Billie said.
His pulse quickened its cadence, became a frantic slamming against his skin that terminated at the gaping head of his cock.
Throb. Throb. Throb.
“You’re inside my heart, inside my cunt, inside a place that’s all me.” Billie’s head left his lips, her breath whispering a path down his arm. Fast-cooling vapor, drying in the wind. “Every dream and nightmare, while you sleep. It’s me.”
She lifted a pillar-thick thigh into the fork of his crotch, pressing coolness against his raging genitals. He moaned.
“I am the stones and I am the air.”
Her knee hinged, and she drew her hips back. With agonizing slowness, he felt her leg drag backward over his genitals, sucking him into a blind wind-tunnel of pleasure. His cock quivered dangerously.
“I am the living, and the place where the living ends.”
Lightning fissured, flash-firing their lust-locked bodies in electrified white. He saw radiance dance against the flash of Billie’s wild-tossed hair, turning them into electric filaments.
She laughed, her mouth curving sardonically. She said something, but the sound was swallowed by thunder.
The bleak landscape went dark, and she slid and wriggled her doom-thick body—heavy meaty breasts dragging like slabs of dough, nipples that seemed to carve him apart like razorblades.
“I hold all fears, but I am not fear. I bear all shame, but I am free from shame. I am the disclose of every secret. I am sight, given at the end. Or, if you prefer, the new beginning.”
Billie stripper-flexed her luscious body against him—grinding her pelvis, slithering her torso, folding her abundant meat around him like winter’s warmest coat. He swallowed, his throat making a clicking sound. His penis raged volcanically. It brushed her hips and thigh girdle, each contact spurting pleasure through him, and pulling his groin tight through the ischiocavernosus muscles.
His glans opened, releasing a bubbling strand of wet prostatic fluid. It slid in a line of coolness down his shaft, gathering in a wrinkled hollow of his balls.
As Billie tongue-kissed him, one hand dropped from around his neck. He felt the swish of air as it dropped.
…straight onto his cock.
Her mouth curved a sinistrorse smile that he felt on his face. Then she squelched her bladelike fist over his erection. Four fingers curled in circumflex, and a thumb in contra-circumflex.
Caught.
Snared in her hand, his cockstalk pulsed hot and draconic, its slitted glans quivering as it discharged a strand of pre-cum.
Billie gave his prick a swift slippery pull. He wasn’t ready. The sensation almost stopped his heart, almost burst him through his skin like a hot grape popping. He screamed in ecstasy, pouring sound into her mouth. A rubbery spasm wracked him—ripples of ice then fire then more ice—shockwaving his flesh to jelly.
A second tug pulled at him. Then a third. There were more wrist-strokes—so many his body became a single screaming nerve twisted around itself.
Billie jerked him off relentlessly, her laughter scalding his ears. She seemed amused as his cock jumped and bucked and heaved in her hand. Like she’d closed her hand around a tiger, and had actually trapped it.
Her hand rode up and down on his vein-knotted erection, pulling out crippling pleasure. The moist rasp of friction accelerated. His cock slopped out wet strands of precum, moistening the stones.
Billie’s hand wetly pulverized his shaft, whipping up and down with blurring, rasping speed. Their heads above the handjob, fighting a war of blood and muscle and pounding hormones. Locking together, pushing and pulling and evading, her tongue slipping to the side of his, sending him crazy with desire—even more so than the destruction happening to his cock.
“Cum,” she hissed into his mouth.
Her gripping hand made a racetrack of his prick. She jerked faster and faster, pulling ragged grunts of pleasure from deep inside his chest.
“Cum, right now!”
Her sweet-scented mouth swallowed his groans and bleats and cries, which now seemed to have the force of all the thunder in heaven behind them. She greedily drank from his lips, drinking his moans.
“CUM FOR ME!”
Then she squeezed once, like cracking walnuts.
Orgasm burst.
Brandon exploded, ejaculating in heavy, crushing bursts. Pleasure wrenched his crotch apart in seizures and spasms. Her lips devoured his screams.
His hips lunged blindly forward, jackhammering in a blur against her fist. His balls tensed, quivered, and spat, volleying arcs of semen from her fingers.
He clenched and spurted again and again. Seed scythed out of him in high-pressure gusts, so powerful that each spurt seemed to tear a channel deeper into his flesh.
Quivering, he watched pent-up semen fountain out in wild-spraying gusts and jets, writing thick, ribbonlike cursive over the air. His discharges tumbled to earth, catching fire in the lightning that sparked and flashed.
His toes curled rhythmically as ropes flew and flew and flew, seemingly without end. Only after twelve, fourteen, or sixteen contractions did the pressure drop.
As his cumshot drained out, she mockingly twisted his flagging prick sideways.
His cock began to soften in her fist.
The end had come and gone.
But Billie had said that ends are also beginnings.
A single tug, a single flex of her silken fingertips, and his cock swelled, surging back to life.
He keened like a needy pup, feeling his shaft engorging with painful suddenness. He began to hump her hand again. Pathetically. Witlessly. An animal response.
More! Please! More!
Billie’s cum-slathered hand was motionless. He had to do all the work. Moist sound churned as he busily flung his hips forward, thrusting his slippery prick forward onto her hand. Just a needy vector, plunging forward. Bacteria, ruled by the crudest of stimuli.
So close to cumming again, after a few short minutes…
Brandon panted in berserk fury, fucking and rutting her hand. His slippery cock squelched and slurped and sliced through her gripping fingers. His glans slapped against her flank, painting a glistening brushstroke of wetness.
He was so close, so close, so close he was almost past it already. Moisture sprayed from her fist as his prick blurred through it, his balls tightening…
Just as his sperm was bubbling up again…she took her hand away.
“No.”
Suddenly fucking nothing but wind, he howled in frustration.
She drew back. Her overwhelming kiss was broken off, so hard he could still feel its brokenness in his mouth like clay shards.
“You don’t deserve it.”
Humor had vanished from her laugh. It seemed intended to mock, to wound. She sounded pissed off. Her Janus-faced voice had transmogrified again, becoming a weapon at his throat.
“Passive. Weak. Reactive. Is this who you are, Brandon?”
He didn’t understand her. Couldn’t tell if this was a joke. Either lust had made him stupid, or he was just stupid. He whimpered, trying to comprehend. What had he done, to annoy her thus?
Her hair coiled upon his collarbones. She seemed ten feet tall suddenly, looming over him and holding a scythe.
“I thought I’d brought Brandon Kurzwell into the place of sleep. But instead, I’ve got David Spalser for company. You won’t face who you are. You’re still hiding, even though you’re in a dream! A place you cannot hide! And where there’s no reason to hide!”
She cruelly flicked her fingers against his penis. He jumped.
“That night, you proved you know the cosmic plan. This night, you’re proving that you are too cowardly to follow it.”
He raged inwardly, fearful of her displeasure. What cosmic plan? What did she want?
Then, a door seemed to slide open inside him, letting a little light into this dark place. What did he want? Another handjob? Or did he want more? If so, what?
You are where anything can happen, where unreal becomes real. And you’re settling for a handjob from Billie Eilish?
The fingers of her other hand did a shivering spider-walking trick down the muscles of his deltoids and trapezius.
Her voice was urgent and pleading.
“I’m kissing you, but you’re not kissing me. I’m holding you, when it should be the other way. I’m making all the moves. Why don’t you be a man, Brandon? Why don’t you…”
It was as though a bone was lodged in her throat.
“Why don’t you FUCK me?”
There was no thunder. Silence was so painful that it forced an admission from him.
’I’ve…I’ve never had sex before, Billie.” His voice cracked like a plate. He sounded thirteen instead of twenty three. “I’ve never even kissed a girl.”
“Had you ever saved a girl’s life?” He felt her stare and its challenge like a whip, flicking across his skin. “Had you ever fought a stranger twice your size? What was the real reason you knew that green is my color? There’s a seer and a shaman in you, Brandon. Look inside. Find him. You need him right now, on this night.”
But the doorway had closed in him. His insides had become a place so dark that they made Billie’s rock-strewn sleep realm seem as dazzling brightness.
“I can’t…” Brandon quivered, frozen by his own fear. He was stone.
Over echoes of thunder, he heard the hiss of the snakes, the scuttling of worse things.
“You need to find who you are,” Billie said coldly and finally. “Or I will abandon you here to die.”
Oh.
She tossed her hair. He heard it fall in stark rearrangement on his shoulders.
“I will not take you back to the waking world, Brandon, without a reason. Make me.”
Her breath scorched.
“Force me.”
* * *
For a second, Brandon hung on the precipice of life and death.
He couldn’t move or think. His cock had softened to a noodle. His mind felt like a snail, soft and weak, retreating back into the nautilus coils of a comfortable shell of fear.
A shell so comfortable and familiar that it didn’t matter that it was suspiciously coffin-shaped.
Yes. It might be easier to give up. And give in. Yes, it might be simpler to coil on a rock under this lightning-riven sky and then just die…
A hot gale-force wind from deep inside him, overwhelming this impulse.
No!
Every shard of resentment toward women, every personal inadequacy, every symbol and fantasy this young woman and her ultra-sexual body represented to him…he let it all burst out of him.
Did she want to be taken? Then he’d take her.
Did she want to meet the man who lived inside? Then she’d meet him.
He was done hiding.
Veins and muscles tightened like cords over his face and body. Rage and lust and desperation. The fuel he ran on. His whole life was just unmet need after unmet need—looking at girls, knowing they would never look at him back the same way because he was short and poor and useless—but he’d never so brokenly and totally needed another human being.
“Do you know what you’ve asked for?” He faced her, standing erect. “Do you have the slightest idea what you’ve asked for?”
His hands exploded out. He snatched her, and pulled her close in the dark. His hands clutched at her, possessively, like she was a doll that belonged to him. A thing he could pull to pieces if he liked.
They embraced again. His breath and hers warred at crosswinds.
He felt her haughty manner collapse and crumble beneath him. She was submitting. To him. To his will.
I will not feel shame. This is not wrong. When his raging prick dragged against her meaty flank, he didn’t pull back.
Panting like a tiger, matching his lips and teeth and tongue to hers, he pawed her with his hot, rough hands. She gave a shocked but delighted squeak as his fingers clutched covetous handfuls of her meat. Her breasts ballooned out, expanding like swollen jellyfish as he mashed them flat on his chest. Her nipples pulsed in two hot points, stabbing onto his chest.
Fire and lightning and raging seas lived in him. He could achieve anything.
And he was not surprised in the slightest when the two of them simply floated off the ground, drifting off the surface of this dead earth.
Amused, he supposed. But not surprised.
He felt coldness swirl beneath his toes as they lifted off. The wind grew crueller and harder as they ascended into a sky of blackest pitch.
Billie shuddered inside his clutch, his partner in this unguessed celestial ballet. Wind whipped and tore at them. Her hair was blown across his face, lashing at him.
She started to drift away, lower body first, so he dropped his left arm and looped it commandingly around the small of Billie’s waist. He pulled her busty hourglass figure tight, dragging her back forward. She was alive with excited, girlish spasms—so hot and fragrant and wriggly. He felt her eyelashes shudder out delirious joy against his face. They were like the wings of dragonflies.
They were born again under this starless sky. Born to kiss. Born to fuck. Born to be free.
Born.
Perhaps they were upside down, or ninety degrees from the ground. Perhaps they had transcended spatial orientation entirely. His proprioception had vanished.
He reached a hand down to his floating lover, and inserted a finger inside her cunt.
It sank into a bed of wetness, knuckle deep.
“Tell me your heart,” she hissed as he fingered her.
“No.” Brandon’s finger tugged and spread her moist labial folds. “I will tell you your heart.”
“You want a lover who hurts you when he loves. You want to be exalted like a goddess…debased and smashed in your own temple.”
She shuddered, thrilled. He spat in her face. One set of knuckles dug a trench in her huge left breast, the other defiled her steaming cunt.
“You want bruises and broken skin.” He snarled as she quivered in pleasure. “You want utter domination. You want a man who will tear down heaven, and put a goddess on her knees.”
Her lips flared at his ear.
“Can you break me, Brandon?” her pulse spiked rhythmically through her words. He felt it in the throb of her nipples, hard on his chest. “Put me on my knees?”
He smiled but did not waste words on an answer. His finger tightened its assault, clawing her wetness, triggering an orgasm.
Billie bit her lip and shuddered, cuntal muscles contracting sharply on his finger.
The wind razored higher, keener. They spun above the black world, trapped in wind like a shroud. Impossible to say how high they had floated off the ground. He couldn’t even know if they’d risen or the ground collapsed away.
He pulled his finger out, and clasped the hand on her shoulder.
“Fall, queen.” He twisted the second word sardonically. Unfurled its sound to her like a pirate’s flag.
The hard squeeze instantly stilled her shudders. She whimpered, as she had for David Spalser.
“Get. On. Your. Knees,” he said, applying force.
Billie Eilish’s mouth vocalized mock-outraged shock as she was pushed down before his crotch.
In the dark, he couldn’t tell if her knees were bending in a squat, or if her body was merely drifting below his in the whirling emptiness that was their boudoir.
Her body lowered itself before him. In the dark, he couldn’t see what she was doing. Perhaps her body was now merely floating a bit lower than his. Perhaps she had contrived a way of standing on air.
He was rough with her. Brutal. Exactly how she wanted him to be.
He slapped two hands to the back of her skull, working fingers under coils of black hair. She wriggled, trying for an escape that she knew was not possible.
His erection waved in front of her face.
“This is where you exist now, goddess,” he sneered. “Now suck.”
“Brandon…”
“Suck.”
He grasped her skull like a melon and facefucked her onto his cock.
SPLURK!
Her shocked squeal squelched out as his wet tip burst through her lips. Her eyes flew open wide as she gurgled on his fat, pillaging erection as it slurped into her throat, riding a slick road of precum and saliva. He flexed his pelvic muscles forward, tightening his groin against her throat.
As he brutally throatfucked Billie Eilish, lightning detonated over them. Lines of white fire cracked apart the cloud, seeming to shatter and sew the night back together with a thread of incandescent white.
SQUELCH! SPLATT! SLURP! GLURPP!
Brandon facefucked Billie Eilish, watching the clouds above their depraved act come alive.
Behind the luminous white-fleshed bodies, enormous dark snakes now crawled. They were unfathomably huge, their coils constricting the horizon. Scorpions and spiders lumbered their chitinous hulks across the sky’s quadrants. The constellations had become alive, and literal. The lightning seemed to last for an implausibly long time, showing him heavens that pullulated with urgent, coldblooded life.
Then thunder rolled the moment to pieces, and the white-blue light vanished, and he plunged into a sick, slippery world of sound and sensation.
PLAPP! GLORPP! SLOSHHH! GLUBB!
Billie’s throat flexed, constricting around his piledriving shaft as it plunged and reared up and down and in and out. Saliva was churned to bubbles, then pulled out in splattery strings.
Slurp. Klurrk! Squishhhhhplapp! SQUELLLPPPCHUK!
He felt ropes of saliva unspool from her chin, dragged out of her by vicious suctioning heaves of his hips. Wetness gushed across his balls as it came unstrung from his raging penis, which suddenly seemed multiple inches longer and thicker.
Brandon snarled, and forced her beautiful head deeper onto his vile shaft. Power-drunk and lust-ruled, sating his brutality on her body. So this was her place where secrets were revealed. Fine.
He had vaults of secrets inside him. Perhaps more than Billie could survive.
GLURKKK! BLOCHH! SPLOOOORCHH!
DId she want to hurt? Then he would rip her apart!
Lightning zigzagged. This time, his eyes were focused on the beautiful young woman being broken upon his hips. A frost of sweat gleamed upon her bare flesh, limning the curves of the mighty tit-sacks squashed like meat on his thighs. Her knees quivered and bent while he throatfucked her, hips rolling into her with slippery wet noises.
Billie pounded a panicked fist on his flank. I can’t breathe!
He laughed, tightening his deathgrip on her skull, and rammed her gurgling mouth onto his saliva-splattered shaft.
He counted slowly to three before pulling his cock out. She coughed and spluttered.
“You’re mine,” he said. “Body and soul. Let’s start with your body.”
Sneering, his hands slapped onto her shoulders. He drew her up a little, putting her gigantic breasts in line with his shaft.
Then he scissored his hips into her chest, crashing his cock into her endless gulch of titflesh.
Saliva wet, it spiked with a sucking sound. Breasts folded over his prick, quivering against his balls. He grunted in satisfaction as his cock was surrounded by gallons of soft, warm, blubbery flesh.
He thrust through his hips, pumped his lubed and slippery cock into her breasts, grinding out pleasure for himself inside her cleavage. Billie gurgled as she was flung back and forth like a doll. His hands steered her shoulders, yanking her back and forth on his plunging, pistoning prick.
Billie’s breasts bounced and clapped against his beating pubic bone. They filled his palms, their pungent meat sagging in folds through his fingers.
Brandon flipped her under him, rotating her body he was able to ride her like a horse. He scissored her torso tight between his thighs, still ramming his prick into her chest.
They seemed to spin upside down in the storm-tossed air. He didn’t fall. She wouldn’t let him. Her breasts swung, heavy and pendulous, crashing and cracking wetly as his hips fucked a wet spray right through them.
Somehow, there was light enough to see.
He vaguely glimpsed moons rising over the horizon to cast a pallid lunar glow—how many, he didn’t know. He redoubled his attack on the pistoning, slippery moons spilling pendulously from Billie Eilish’s chest.
“Ugh…” His balls squeezed, contracting like rubber. His penis made a hard rasping pulse as it spiked in and out. He was faintly aware that they were now spinning laterally in space. His stomach twisted and plunged. They were revolving. Pinwheeling. Corkscrewing.
SHLAPP! BLORRPP! SQUISH! SHLURKKK-GLUGG!
He planted his suctioning cock into her chest-chasm with deep slippery explosions of sound and jiggling meat, wondering if they were falling, and were both now about to die.
If so, at least he would enjoy the conclusion of his short and sad life.
“Cumming!” he snarled.
His entire reproductive tract clenched and fired out hot sticky ribbons of semen over her face and hair. His release crashed through him, louder than the thunder had ever been, and his awestruck eyes saw the silver moons rising above them.
All six of them.
He passed out.
* * *
Brandon came awake in the dark.
He sat up. He was naked, sitting on a cold stone floor. Walls loomed all around him.
He scratched his head, trying to stitch together a swirl of thoughts and memories. He felt like he’d woken from a thousand year sleep. His groin buzzed, radiant with a hot, pleasant energy.
He stood, hearing his knees click and pop. He gazed at the near-dark surrounding him,
I’m inside some kind of prison of hers. Billie and her bodyguard had evidently dumped him here after drugging and stripping him.
He refused to think of his strange dream, which was doubtless the product of whatever she’d injected into him. Side effects might continue. He had to be ready for anything.
What had she done with his clothes? No way to know. Had she found the thing in his boot? He hoped not.
His eyes adjusted. He could see faint blue light, echoing a coronal glow around a corner. He had a way out.
Time to go.
He stepped forward, and almost slipped on a cold gelid substance.
He glanced down, and saw an amazing amount of semen splattered over the floor, squelching under his toes. Over twenty strands of sperm fanned out in a starburst ring from where his groin had jetted them out. They glistened like bioluminescent glow worms on the floor of a cave, still faintly wet.
Billie had skinpopped him with aphrodisiacs, it seemed. He’d ejaculated repeatedly in his sleep.
Carefully stepping over puddles of cum, he turned a corner, then another corner, and finally found the source of the blue radiance.
His iPhone lay on the floor like an electrified tarot card, fully charged and switched on.
It bathed a large interior space in light. By its glow, he saw six doors on the far wall, arranged in a straight line.
He examined each door. There was no visible way to open them No handles, no knobs, and no hinges that he could see. If they had locks, they were hidden. If there were keys, he did not have them.
He set his ear against the third of the six doors, and heard an ambiguous churning that he could not identify. It bounced around his ear without finding a home. He thought of the Wisdom Tree rustling in the wind near Cahuenga Peak. He thought of expensive Brazilian Rosewood floorboards creaking under his feet in his aunt’s house. He thought of oceans and windsocks and bedsheets kicked loose by dreaming feet.
But thinking wouldn’t get him out of this predicament.
Six doors. No way through and no way back.
Could he call the police?
He picked up his phone. No signal. Everything on his home screen had been cleared away, replaced with an app he had never seen before. He opened it.
READY TO PLAY? It asked.
Mystified, he tapped YES.
A video started to play.
* * *
The camera lens was so overexposed that it recorded nothing but light.
Then the sensor adjusted. A scene of diseased white fire became a scene of blue with brown highlights swimming randomly through it, then a scene of a rustic woodland. A wicker basket swing moved gently in the breeze. The trees were backdropped by a strange chemical-laced blue that made him think of space nebulas.
A beautiful young woman entered the frame. Her bare feet thudded on unseen wooden floorboards.
Billie Eilish swung to face the camera, and sat down in the swing. The upright staves supporting it creaked as they bent beneath her weight.
She was dressed in high cottagecore style. A demure dress, stitched from jacquard. A galaxy of odd symbols—eyes, swords, wands, hands, —swam across the dress. She’d tapped freckles onto her face with a pencil. She wore no bra, and her breasts hung pendulously. Her nipples jutted against the jacquard, most of the way to her waist. Her black hair fell carelessly, half-braided and half-loose. It hung in sheets of glossy obsidianite, each strand catching blue light.
“Hello, Brandon. I’m Billie. By the time you see this, we’ll have already met. So I don’t know why I said that.”
She smiled a smile of fetching vulnerability.
“You have questions. Answers will come if you deserve them. Let’s start with me asking you a question.”
She crossed her pretty legs, and fixed the camera with a stare of utter seriousness.
“Do you know me?”
There was a pause of about six seconds.
“You are in a room with six doors. Each holds a world of infinite mystery behind its paneling. I have devised each to test, befuddle, and confound. You will need to choose regardless..”
Billie Eilish paused again. A Sphinxlike smile curled contentedly on her freckled face.
“…the six doors will unlock, and you can walk through one, if you wish.”
She leaned in. A shudder of digital distortion warped and broke apart the image, then settled.
“The question is…which is the right door? Which is the door to me? You might think you know. But you might be wrong. And if you chose wrongly, you lose.”
Her fingers laced their nails of poison-toad green.
“If you choose correctly, you win. And if you win, I win, because I have finally found one worthy of me. My mate. But if you choose wrong…”
She half-stood, brushing folds from the jacquard dress.
“I would prefer you not choose wrong, Brandon. I have given this test to many men before you. Most were perceptive and wise and true and kind. Many thought they knew me. A few had spent months or years in my company. One was my brother. They had every possible advantage. But all of them picked the wrong door, and lost me.”
She rose fully from the swingset, eyes glittering. Excitement and danger reared inside them, like two dogs about to tear off their chain.
“Good luck, Brandon. Your time to choose has come.”
* * *
As the video ended, LED backlights blazed to life behind the doors. Brandon stepped back fearfully as the stone chamber exploded to kaleidoscopic life. At the center of each door, a square shape glowed, patterned with an elaborate matrix of black and white.
Magic of a sort, but not a witch’s magic. He’d scanned hundreds of them a day at his old job.
QR Codes.
His phone buzzed in his hand. The strange app he’d opened was now asking to use his phone’s camera. He tapped ACCEPT.
He was supposed to scan the codes. Fine. He’d play ball.
Leftmost door first.
As he stepped up to it, he noticed that all the doors had symbols over them. The leftmost door had a circle, with a down-pointing arrow jutting from its lowest point.
The universal symbol for FEMALE.
He scanned the QR code under the female sign, and a grainy home video played.
* * *
Billie Eilish was so young she was barely recognizable as herself.
She sat cross-legged on carpet, wearing a white dress and mismatched argyle socks and with her hair in ringlets. He tiny legs sank into the walnut-brown jute weave of what looked like a family living room.
She was playing with dolls. Not Bratz or Barbie, but some other make.
“More tea, Miss Ilo?”
Billie jerked the dolls up and down, pantomiming cutesy voices.
“Yes please, Miss Milo. Thank you so much for inviting me to your soiree.” Billie slowly and clumsily pronounced the word. Soy-ree.
“Oh, it’s such a wonderful day, Miss Ilo! Too wonderful to stay indoors! After this, we should go and have a picnic. We should—”
A noise came from out of frame.
Billie’s eyes jerked toward whatever had made the sound. Fear flickered across her young, innocent face. The dolls seemed to sag in her fists.
“I…I have to go,” she said to Miss Ilo and Miss Milo. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back, I pwomise.”
She made Ilo and Milo nod their heads, and chorused “yes Miss Billie.”
She moved quickly and efficiently, packing the dolls inside a PVC dollhouse, closed the lid, latched it up, and hurried away.
* * *
When the video ended, confusion washed over Brandon.
Was this one of her childhood home videos? Why had she wanted him to watch it? What had she seen out of frame? Why had she looked so afraid?
He stepped over to the second of the six doors.
It was marked with a circle, from which a circle pointed diagonally up and right. The symbol for MALE.
He scanned the QR code, and another video played.
* * *
A handheld camcorder filmed Billie on some kind of skate park. The day was bright and sunny. Ramps and a halfpipe wove their curves in the distance.
She belched loudly, and tossed aside a can of Monster energy drink.
“I win! BOOYA!”
This version of Billie was taller than the one that had played with dolls. Older. Maybe fifth or sixth grade. She looked like she’d done a lot of growing in not a lot of time and various parts of her body had not kept up. Her face was bare of makeup, and frosted with acne. Her clothes and skin were dirty.
She wore scuffed kneepads. Ragged black hair sprayed from beneath a skateboarding helmet that wasn’t secured—the buckle dangled unfastened at her chin. Her legs were an amazing patchwork of half-healed scabs. She wore a T-shirt of Calvin pissing.
“You didn’t chug properly,” a male voice whined from behind the lens. The camera shook, and a strand of long blond hair entered the frame. “There was still some left in the can.”
“Was not!” Billie scowled, balling her fists.
“Was too! I heard it when you threw it, Bills. C’mon. Don’t cheat.”
“You’re the one who cheated!” She brayed defiantly. “You shook yours so hard half of it sprayed out!”
“Y’know, fuck it,” Billie said. “Let’s chug another one. You stole an entire case, right? This time, we both drink all of it.”
The boy sounded worried. “You’ve had three Monsters already. That’s a lot of caffeine.”
“Yeah, like I thought.” Billie reached into a backpack, pulled out another can. “You’re chicken.”
“Mom’s gonna ground you if she finds out,” the boy said.
Billie Eilish bared dreamblade teeth and ripped the ringpull lid off the can. A puke-bright spray of red hissed over her Calvin-pissing shirt, as if from a slashed artery.
“CHIIICKEEEEENNNN!” She smirked, raising the can of energy drink to her lips. “BAWK BAWK BAWK!”
* * *
The video ended.
Brandon wondered who the blond boy on the skatepark had been. Finneas?
He kept moving. Third door. This one had a Christian crucifix above it.
He scanned the QR code, and another video played.
* * *
Billie sat alone on a bunk bed in a log cabin.
It was difficult to get a fix on her age. The video was underexposed and blurry, half-burying her face in a sea of black. But she had braces on her teeth. They glinted as she gave a shy-girl smile.
“Dear Youtube, today I became part of the heaven squad! Yay, me!”
She proudly tugged her shirt toward the camera. It had the AWANA logo.
“I talked with Pastor Mike. I told him about some of the stuff I’m going through—the crying, the nightmares about hell, yadda yadda. Anyway…he read some verses and prayed over me, and asked if I was ready to make a decision to give my life to Jesus. I said I was. Then we went to the shores of Silver Lake and he baptized me. So, yeah. That happened.”
She lifted a lank strand of hair to the light. It was visibly wet.
“It was beyond cold—oh my God, my head was underwater for, like, twenty seconds! Then I dried off and we watched VeggieTales with the other Awana campers. It was rad.”
Billie’s bare legs swung back and forth on the bunk bed.
“So…how do I feel, being a born-again Christian? Fine, I think?” She didn’t sound at all certain of this. “To be honest, I expected I’d feel different. Pastor Mike says salvation is a day-by-day process. But he also says the Earth is six thousand years old, and people in the Bible lived with dinosaurs like the Flintstones, and weird shit like that…I mean, weird sugar like that. Can’t swear anymore, or I don’t go to heaven. Ha-ha…”
Suddenly, her eyes darted about the room. They seemed deep and haunted.
“I didn’t tell Pastor Mike about the stars and planets in my skull. Or how I knew Moriah was gonna break her leg five minutes before it happened. Or my dream of the world ending. He would have thought I was…” Her lips mimed ker-ray-zee, and she giggled.
“Ehh…maybe this video’s not for Youtube. Maybe it’s just for me. But…I dunno. There’s just a lot that… I don’t understand. About Christianity, and about who I am. But Jesus believed through his doubts, so I’m gonna do the same. Day by day.”
A sad, hopeful smile appeared on Billie’s face, eerily mirroring the curve of the Awana logo. Reversing it. Opposing it.
“I just want to love God and go to heaven.”
* * *
Brandon frowned as the video ended. Billie Eilish, a born-again Christian?
That didn’t fit. He’d known some Jesus freaks back in high school—they were pretty easy to spot. Billie didn’t have their energy.
He scanned the code on the next door, which bore a five-pointed pentagram.
* * *
“What you reap, you sow.”
Billie Eilish sat crosslegged on a floor of packed dirt, wearing a strappy black sundress. Candles burned on the ground. Overlapping webs of shadows fanned out from her card-dealing hands and her dirt-caked toes.
“I discovered Helena Blavatsky’s texts a year ago. It’s strange, reading a book by a person who died a century ago, who you will never meet…a person who knows you. Knows everything about you. Knows you far better than any of your real life friends. Knows you like she’s inside your head.”
She laughed, and dealt a second card.
“She explained—in a book written a hundred and fifty years ago—who I was. I am Astraea. The Goddess of Justice, and the last of the deities to forsake the dismal gray Earth. I am a cosmic child, destined to ring in the end of the age.
Once again, it was too dark to determine Billie’s age.
“It all made sense. The voices I hear in my head. The dreams. The scars. The missing time. The bits of me being taken away into another place. I am Astraea, the one who has fallen on her head. I am one whose home is not here. I am the one who will bring the deluge that drowns the earth.”
She reached past her dirty toes, dealing tarot cards. Features swam on the cards with the flickering jab and weave of light.
She dealt a third time from the Major Arcana. The Devil? The World? Something with wings, it appeared.
“Satvât Nâsti Paro Dharmah,” Billie Eilish snarled in a voice that suddenly didn’t seem like hers. “There is no religion higher than truth. December Eleven. Silver Lake. That’s the when and where.”
“The Eye of Taurus turns retrograde on the stations, and its stare is death. I am Astraea, I am Venus-Lucifer, I am Billie Eilish, and I am the deluge that will drown the Earth.”
* * *
Brandon did not react, except to nod a little.
He sidestepped right.
Two doors remained.
The fifth and penultimate door had a single circle above it. Brandon tried to puzzle out its meaning—Buddhism? Nihilism?—then gave up and scanned the code.
* * *
“As a woman, I think porn is a disgrace.”
It was a clip from an interview. Billie Eilish sat in front of a mic, with a HS logo swallowing the wall behind her.
“I used to watch a lot of porn, to be honest. I started watching porn when I was like, eleven. I didn’t understand why it was a bad thing. I thought that’s how you learned how to have sex. I used to be the person that would talk about porn all the time.”
Billie was necklaced and wolfcutted and her eyes blazed with rage. A massively thick jacket obscured every bodily detail below her neck. A burqa could hardly have been more modest.
“I’d be like, ‘Oh, it’s so stupid that anybody would think that porn is bad or fucked up,’ you know, ‘I think it’s so cool and it’s great and it’s empowering.’ I was an advocate and I thought I was ‘one of the guys’.
Howard Stern and Robin Quivers nodded sympathetically, probably setting a record for not interrupting a guest.
Billie Eilish, former porn addict? They’d struck ratings gold and they knew it.
“I would talk about it and think I was really cool for not having a problem with it and not seeing why it was bad and… you know. I think it really destroyed my brain. I feel incredibly devastated that I was exposed to so much porn.”
* * *
Brandon stepped back, raised an eyebrow, then stepped right.
The last door rose before him now.
It was adorned by a circle, with eight arrows pointing out, like the arms of an octopus. What did that mean? He didn’t recognize it.
He dutifully scanned the QR code. He was not ready for what he saw.
* * *
Billie Eilish’s wet shaven pussy was splayed out in extreme close-up. It overwhelmed the lens like a vast pink flower. There was almost nothing else to see.
Just her twat, and the thick cock railspiked through it.
An extreme amount of detail was visible. Every fold and wrinkle and muscular contraction glistened in obsessive worship around the plunging pillar of a dick. A single strand of hair she’d missed with a razor twitched back and forth.
Billie grunted, heaving her hips upward. Her pussy lips quivered, gripping the cock planted like a flagpole in her body.
“I’m gonna cum again,” she groaned hoarsely.
The enormous cock pulled out, only to resheath itself. It slowly fucked in and out, blasting out disgustingly vivid belches of sound as it carved her apart like meat.
SCHLUURRPPP!
The thick veiny prick crawled with veins, and dripped in her squirt as it pulled out. Huge dark-brown balls quivered.*
“Dayyuum, this pussy tight.” The man moaned, his hips quivering.
“Hurry up and bust,” someone else said. There was a rumble of male agreement. “I want my turn.”
“Yeah bro, quit hogging the cunt.”
The man rowed hard and fast, pounding his enormous cock-hammer into Billie Eilish. Her legs flew and kicked as he smashed her into a climax.
Finally, the man groaned and ejaculated his disgusting load. His balls quivered, and a squirting sound pulsed out.
After shooting nearly a dozen times, he pulled out his prick with a grunt of satisfaction. It made the sucking noise of a lollipop pulled from a reluctant pair of lips. SPLOKK! Fresh sperm spilled out of her.
The cock disappeared from frame, and another took its place. This time, a black one.
It swung down into view, a thick fuckhammer that shadowed her drooling pussy. The man dropped his hips down onto Billie. He gaped her twat open with his prick, and she groaned orgiastically.
He ground his thick pillar of a cock to the hilt in Billie’s pussy. It plunged wetly, cleaving apart her chubby labia lips. She was split open grotesquely by his fat rooting prick, which squelched and slurped in her cunt like a pig at a trough.
“Are you still filming this?” She whispered as the black man fucked her.
“Yeah, babe,” someone else said. “Got a great view of your guts, live in 4K.”
Her fleshy hip girdle churned with pleasure as the playa deep-dicked her. “Send me a copy when you guys are done. I want to watch it. Ugh! Faster! Harder!”
He was only too happy to oblige.
His cock lunged and speared frantically, causing her big white ass to clap on the floor.
“Hurry up, bro!” Another unseen man yelled.
“Yeah, there’s still five guys in this line…”
Billie roared out another orgasm.
* * *
Brandon gasped, hunched over, white-knuckling his cock. His fist pumped up and down, tugging himself off with frantic need. He shuddered, sick desire exploding through him.
He orgasmed in seconds. Spurts rose and fell over the concrete floor. He wrung out his load in hard, stabbing spurts, then panted for half a minute, the sound thick and wet in the confined space. His cock dangled like a hose, dripping onto the floor.
The image of her naked pussy, splayed like a beautiful flower to be pollinated, wouldn’t leave him. She filled his mind as a corpse fills its coffin. As he dreamed of her, his raw, beaten cock began to swell once again.
His hands shook as he tried to replay the video. The QR code did not work.
Billie Eilish’s secrets were one-watch only.
* * *
Just as he lowered his phone, his screen blared to life, making him jump.
“You have seen six Billie Eilishes, Brandon.” The cottagecore pixie swung back and forth in the wicker swing seat, smiling mysteriously.
“Girl. Boy. Christian. Witch. Virgin. Whore. And now you have a choice to make. Which of these girls is me?”
She raised a finger. Her tone became flint-hard.
“Trust nothing you have seen. Take nothing for granted. I have already tricked you once, and might have done so again.”
She threaded and unthreaded a sunflower stalk through black bands of hair.
“Yes, they might be real videos. Or they might be fake. Staged, with actresses and body doubles. Or they might be AI-generated. You do not know. I do not intend that you know, Brandon.”
“You must rely on your knowledge and intuition. Not on what you have seen in my videos.”
She laced her fingers, and seemed to stare at him as if the screen wasn’t there.
“If you are truly my soulmate, you will not be fooled. That is what I am counting on here, Brandon. I am looking for a dangerous, wonderful, rare man. The person who looks at me and truly sees me.”
The light glowing behind the doors changed from green to red. A shudder of cold starlight ran through Brandon’s stomach.
“Touch a door. Make your choice. Everyone before you has failed this test, Brandon. Will you?”
He heard hard, jarring clicks from behind the doors.
Six locks had disengaged.
“Choose.”
As the video ended, Brandon breathed in and out slowly, considering his options.
Six girls.
High-femme. Tomboy brat. Born-again Christian. The witch whom David Spalser had tried and failed to burn. A prim and proper puriteen. A whore who spread her legs for anyone.
Somewhere in their ranks lurked Billie Eilish, waiting to be recognized.
Brandon did not hesitate. The answer was obvious, wasn’t it?
He stepped up to a door, and made his choice.
To be continued…
* * *
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