Ugly Uglier Things

Neither would have ever admitted, or even thought that they'd invited her back to their place because she was no threat to their true sexuality.

Chapter 2

D'Eric and D'Angelo came to a decision; Sage Smith had nowhere to go, she had no immediate source of income. So they invited the attractive eighteen year old Sage Smith to live with them.

"Um, where I'm sleeping?" she asked, noticing that their apartment was a one bedroom apartment.

"Uh, like we did last night, I would guess," D'Angelo said.

"I uh, God, I don't even remember last night," Sage said.

"Slept right between us," D'Eric said.

"No! Did I, I didn't, did I?" Sage gasped, stomach lurching.

D'Eric had a Toyota Tundra, so after Sage showered, washing the dried semen out of her hair, off of her thighs, out of her pussy, she shrugged into the loose fitting tee shirt again and gave them directions to her mother's apartment.

"Okay, D'Angelo, you stay with the truck," D'Eric said, looking at the crumbling buildings of the Waters Housing Projects.

"No shit," D'Angelo agreed, looking at the few people that were outside.

Many of them seemed to be interested, too interested in the new model truck. A few seemed to be a little too interested in the two white males and one white female.

Amy Smith was still sleeping when Tremonte let his oldest sister in. D'Eric looked askance at the three African-American siblings Sage introduced him to, but quietly helped her lug the three boxes down to the truck.

"Anything else?" he asked, clearly uncomfortable.

"Tremonte, there anything else?" Sage asked.

"Nah, that's it; what kind of truck that is?" the young boy asked.

"Toyota Tundra," D'Eric said proudly.

"Her last old man had him a fine ass Mustang; you ain't got you no Mustang?" the boy asked.

"Bye," D'Eric snapped.

"Bye," Sage told her brother and crawled up in the truck.

At first the trio established a routine. D'Eric and D'Angelo would dance at Conquistadors; Sage would clean the apartment while they were gone. She would do their laundry, fold their clothing, put everything neatly away. She would drive D'Angelo's Nissan, or D'Eric's truck to the grocery store and buy their groceries. D'Eric or D'Angelo would call Sage as their shift was ending. She would then get out of bed and prepare them a delicious dinner, using the recipes Robin's mother, April Boudreaux had taught her. Then after dinner, the three would sit in the living room and smoke one or two bowls of good weed.

Sex slowly became a part of this routine. For the first two weeks, Sage would call Robin's cell phone, call the two dealerships, begging to talk to Robin.

"What?" Robin Boudreaux all but screamed into the telephone the one time he did answer his desk telephone.

"Robin, I, I'm so sorry," Sage sobbed. "Baby, please, please believe me, I am so sorry."

"Fine, you're sorry," Robin barked, then hung up.

Sage gave up any hope of gaining Robin Boudreaux's forgiveness, surrendered that this one bedroom apartment was her foreseeable future.

Marijuana helped the two men unwind after a hard day at work, helped ease away the tensions, the pent-up energy of dancing and gyrating.

Marijuana had the opposite effect on Sage. She would become aroused, amorous, reckless. After smoking a bowl, she'd want to suck cock. After getting a good buzz from the weed, she wanted a cock in her mouth.

She would kneel on the living room floor, between her two lovers' legs. Stroking one hard cock, she would lick and suck the other cock. Then she would switch, sucking the first cock while stroking the second cock. As she sucked a beautiful, hard cock, she would allow some saliva to dribble out of her mouth, down the thick shaft of her lover. This would provide lubrication for her stroking hand.

While she was sucking and stroking, her lovers would pinch and squeeze and tweak her sensitive nipples. They would fondle her heavy breasts. She could tell when one or the other, or both of them were getting close to their release; they attention to her breasts would get a little rougher.

And after tasting their sperm, Sage wanted both of her men to fuck her.

Then the three lovers would crawl into bed and sleep.

In the late morning or early afternoon, whenever they woke up, came to, Sage would fix them breakfast. After their bellies were full, they would return to bed and fuck.

It wasn't making love, it wasn't love for Sage. But she did enjoy getting cock. Her favorite position was on her hands and knees, one cock in her pussy, one in her mouth. Or, they would form a daisy chain. She would suck on a delicious cock while a mouth would be glued to her pussy. The partner whose cock she was sucking would be sucking the cock of his friend, the man whose mouth was licking, sucking, slurping at Sage's sperm filled pussy.

They would also tag team her. One would lay on top of her, slide his hard cock into her wet pussy, then pound her. The other would then enter her and pound her. Then they'd take turns sucking their combined semen from Sage's stretched, splayed pussy.

One day, D'Eric brought home a fifth of rum; Sage had never had rum before. She liked vodka, she was a vodka drinker. But after smoking a bowl of some home grown weed, after two rum and diet colas, Sage was heavily under the influence. She lay on the living room floor, took the sleek bottle of rum, and put on a bit of a show for D'Eric and D'Angelo. The mouth of the bottle slid in and out of her dripping pussy.

Both men were sporting erections watching the lewd show. Sage grunted and thrashed as she worked more and more of the bottle into her pussy, stretching herself.

"Oh God," she groaned, feeling an orgasm welling up in her guts.

"Can you get it up your ass?" D'Angelo asked, voice thick from weed, alcohol, and lust.

Sage barked in orgasm. She shuddered and grunted, then lay, panting and wheezing.

Slowly, she pulled the bottle out of her pussy, then brought the slick mouth of the bottle to her tightly clenched anus.

Sage and Robin had tried anal sex a few times. It had always ended with him gaining a fraction of an inch into her tightly clenched anus and her begging him to stop. But she did love when Robin would work one, then a second finger into her ass while licking and sucking on her pussy. She did like when D'Eric or D'Angelo would finger fuck her ass while she bounced on their cocks or they ate her pussy.

Now, she refused to let her tightly clenched anus keep her from working the bottle's mouth into her ass. Finally, with a strangled cry, she forced the end into her.

D'Angelo bent over, sucked D'Eric's cock for a minute, then got up and squatted over D'Eric's straining cock.

"Ugh! Oh God, how can y'all..." Sage groaned and worked more of the bottle's neck into her protesting bowels.

"Because it hurts so good," D'Angelo groaned as D'Eric's spittle wetted cock slid into his own bowels.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Sage gasped as she twisted and thrust more of the bottle into her anal cavity. "Oh God!"

She had nearly half of the bottle worked into her ass when a curious warmth began spreading through her guts. She twisted and tugged her fat nipples, then screwed up her pretty face, grinding her teeth.

"Aw, God damn, aw shit, oh fuck!" Sage grunted and bounced in her first anal orgasm.

She worked her way up into a half kneeling, half sitting position, and tried to force the rest of the bottle into her rectum. The bottle's end was resting on the carpeted floor of the apartment as she bounced in short jabs. She reached down and gave her splayed pussy a vigorous rub then gave another strangled cry as she orgasmed again.

D'Angelo's cock twitched, then spurted a thick puddle of his semen onto his chest and belly. A moment later, D'Eric's cock twitched and spurted heavily into D'Angelo's intestines.

Sage crawled over, rum bottle slipping out of her rectum, and licked D'Angelo's semen from his chest and belly.

Then the three lovers slept, Sage laying on the floor, D'Eric and D'Angelo entwined on the couch.

"God damn! What the fuck did we do?" Sage was the first to ask as she came to.

Sunlight was streaming in through a gap in the curtain. The room reeked of weed and alcohol and sex, raw, dirty sex. Her pussy ached, a dull ache. The pain in her anus and rectum, however, was a throbbing, raw ache.

The slimy rum bottle sickened her when she glanced at it. Stoically, Sage got to shaky legs and walked into the kitchen.

After washing the nearly empty bottle, Sage first made a pot of coffee. Then she prepared breakfast.

"Y'all work tonight?" Sage asked as they ate.

"Hmm," D'Eric thought. "No, no, today's Sunday, right?"

"Uh, yeah," D'Angelo agreed, checking the date on his cell phone.

"And, aw shit, ain't no place sells rum on Sundays, huh?" Sage asked, looking at the small amount of rum left.

"Like that rum, huh?" D'Eric laughed, kissing Sage.

"Well yeah!" Sage agreed.

"I'll get more next time," D'Eric promised, kissing her again.

"Better," she demanded. "Get one for me, one for y'all."

"Well, yes ma'am," D'Angelo laughed and kissed her.

After she cleaned the kitchen, Sage went into their bedroom. She found the two men coupled. D'Angelo was sliding his cock in and out of D'Eric's tight ass. Sage crawled up onto the bed and took D'Eric's hard cock in her mouth. The force of D'Angelo's thrusts pushed D'Eric's cock in and out of her mouth.

"Oh fuck, fuck yeah baby," D'Eric encouraged both of his lovers.

Chapter 3

Amy Smith gave birth to an adorable little girl. D'Angelo and D'Eric took Sage down to St. Elizabeth Parish Trauma Center, the area local hospital to see her mother, and to see her baby sister.

Amy named the girl Nage Amy Smith. Nage was pronounced Nah JAY, like her sisters Sah JAY, Ah JAY and Lah JAY Amy Smith.

"Nah JAY?" D'Eric whispered to D'Angelo as they stood outside of the maternity ward, peering through the glass at the adorable babies.

He made sure the six foot three inch Duane Jones was not within earshot.

"Sounds Nah ger you ask me," he whispered.

"Shush!" D'Angelo shook his head.

"That ain't right no," Sage snapped, green eyes blazing.

"Sorry," D'Eric said contritely.

The trio swung by Super One Foods grocery store and bought a half-gallon bottle of vodka, and a half-gallon bottle of rum and a three liter bottle of bargain brand diet cola.

The Asian -American cashier, a short plump girl with a bowl hairstyle flirted shamelessly with D'Eric and D'Angelo. The two dancers did look scrumptious, both wearing their long hair loose, both dressed in ribbed tank tops and cut off jean shorts.

"Down, girl, down," D'Eric said, putting his large hand on Sage's shoulder.

"Fucking kill that flat chested slant eyed fat ass chink," Sage shrilled the minute they were safely ensconced in D'Eric's truck.

For a split second, D'Eric and D'Angelo looked at each other, then both men burst out laughing.

"We can't say the 'N' word, but you can call some Asian girl a chink?" D'Angelo hooted.

"Yes, you dago mother fucker," Sage snarled, green eyes flashing with jealousy.

"Dago?" D'Eric laughed.

"Yes, you dumb ass blonde," Sage snapped.

A moment later, all three were laughing hysterically.

"So concludes the racist part of our program," D'Eric said, kissing Sage.

A few days later, D'Eric brought home a surprise for Sage. He sprinkled the contents of a plastic bag onto the kitchen table, then showed Sage how to snort the powder.

If weed and rum made Sage horny and reckless, self-abusive, snorting crystal meth made her nearly insatiable. She actually convinced D'Eric and D'Angelo to both jam their cocks into her pussy at the same time. She squatted over D'Eric's fat cock, then urged D'Angelo to kneel behind her and jam his cock into her.

"Sage, you're bleeding," D'Angelo gasped after he'd managed to work his cock into her stretched pussy.

"Just fucking do it," Sage nearly screamed, grunting in orgasm.

When she'd come down from the high, when she'd come to, semen caked on her chubby thighs, Sage could hardly wobble out of bed to the bathroom.

"Next mother fucker leaves the God damned toilet seat up gets it, you hear?" she screamed.

"God damn, fucking midget," D'Eric complained. "That's it, no more meth for you, hear?"

The dancer that sold D'Eric the meth suggested they try smoking the magic powder. But one look at Sammy's teeth told D'Eric and D'Angelo they did not want to try that. The enamel was worn away, leaving a ravaged looking mouth. It was fortunate for Sammy that the lighting was low and most of the clientele was not looking at his face anyway.

Sammy wore bronzer, to give his sickly pallor a healthy look, and to cover up the tiny scabs that had formed from him constantly scratching at his face.

D'Eric and D'Angelo danced, they wrapped up the night, and D'Angelo called Sage to let her know they were on their way home.

"Y'all get some more of that meth?" was the first thing she asked.

"Yeah, got something better too," D'Angelo laughed.

Sammy's connection had also turned Sammy on to snorting OxyContin, an opioid. It helped to balance out the jittery, manic effects of smoking the meth. D'Eric and D'Angelo thought it would be a good idea to introduce OxyContin to Sage, help curb her drug induced ravenous sexual appetite.

Even though she was demanding the meth from the moment they walked in, D'Eric and D'Angelo ordered her to wait until after they'd eaten. They ate, both men enjoying their meal. Sage however was jumpy, nervous, and shrill.

After the meal, after she'd cleaned the kitchen; D'Eric said she couldn't have any meth until the kitchen was cleaned, they sat on the couch and snorted the meth. Blood trickled freely from Sage's nose, but she waved away D'Angelo's concerns. When he put a damp paper towel to her face, to try and staunch the flow of blood, she slapped him across the face.

Which earned her a slap across her face.

"Mother fucker! You fucking hit me!" Sage screamed, clawing at D'Angelo's eyes.

D'Eric held the struggling, squirming girl, receiving a few kicks for his troubles.

"Sage, quit!" he bellowed directly into her ear. "Fucking quit it or your midget ass is out of here, hear?"

"Don't fucking care!" Sage snarled, trying to twist in his muscled grip, trying to bite him. "Fucking want live with mother fuckers slap me?"

But finally, she did calm down enough for D'Eric to release her. Then they pulled the second small bag out. The OxyContin had been ground down to a crumbly coarse powder. Again, Sage snorted this through a twenty dollar bill D'Angelo had rolled up for her.

She came to, sitting on the living room floor. Both her eyes and her mouth were dry; she'd sat, mouth and eyes open for nearly an hour.

Numbly, she splashed some cold water into her face, blinking against the harsh chlorine. Then she drank and drank for nearly three minutes straight, slurping the running tap water out of her cupped hands.

She crawled into their bed, crawled between D'Eric and D'Angelo's sleeping bodies.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobbed, kissing D'Angelo's face over and over.

She pulled him on top of her and he slid his erection into her. Slowly, gently, they made love. It was the first time they'd made love, not just engaged in sex.

She also apologized tearfully to D'Eric and they too made love. Then the three of them slept.

Reluctantly, Sage agreed, meth made her just too unpredictable. But she would no longer be content with just smoking weed and guzzling rum and diet cola. The OxyContin became a regular addition.

"Sage, the place is a disaster," D'Angelo complained after a few weeks.

"Sweetie, when's last time you ran the vacuum cleaner in here?" D'Eric asked.

"Or washed the sheets?" D'Angelo complained.

"What? I'm the one sleeps in the wet spot," Sage countered.

"Sweetie, maybe the drugs are getting to be a bit much," D'Eric suggested.

"Fuck you too!" Sage protested.

Sammy sold D'Eric some low grade heroin, even showed him how to fix a rig. They came home and found that Sage had cleaned the apartment, had scrubbed the bathroom. And sat at the kitchen table, jerking and twitching, waiting on her fix.

The needle did worry her but she shut her eyes tightly as D'Eric tightened the belt around her forearm.

"And..." D'Eric said and pulled the needle out of her vein.

Then he loosened the belt.

Sage was glad the kitchen chair was padded vinyl, that the floor of the kitchen was linoleum. Shamefaced, she wiggled out of her urine soaked panties. Then she wiped down the chair and mopped the floor. She then got into the shower and washed herself. Then she scrubbed the tub clean.

But for the next few hours, whenever she walked into the kitchen, or the bathroom, Sage swore she could smell urine.

Chapter 4

Conquistadors fired D'Eric and D'Angelo. Well, it was actually a toss-up whether they were fired or quit.

When they had not shown up for their scheduled shift three nights in a row, fired or quitting becomes a gray area.

The Hammer let D'Eric and D'Angelo go for the same reason. The two showed up at The Hammer after Conquistadors let them go, were reliable for a few nights, then didn't show up for their next shift.

They sold everything of value. Clothing, electronics, including cell phones, even furniture. Nothing was sacred, nothing had sentimental value.

They'd borrowed some money from D'Angelo's parents, making up an outlandish story about automobile repairs and rent.

Sage's mother and step-father were not blind to drugs, were not blind to what drugs can do and were not fooled by the outlandish, improbable tale Sage and her two boy toys tried to spin.

"Y'all don't need be coming back, hear?" Amy said.

Duane Jones did not say anything, just glared menacingly at the three addicts.

By now, D'Eric, D'Angelo, and Sage had bypassed Sammy and gone straight to the main line.

"Let y'all have a little bitch gives up a little that white ass," Lynelle suggested.

The first time Lynelle had suggested this, D'Eric had wanted to beat the grinning man to a pulp. But the two pit bulls that lay on the floor and the nine millimeter in Lynelle's waistband kept him from doing it.

The second time Lynelle suggested it, D'Eric told Sage that she had no choice if she wanted her part of their score.

They'd even removed the hot water heater from their apartment, and hocked it, getting only five dollars for the twenty gallon hot water heater.

"Fucking, what was that fat ass queen's name?" D'Angelo asked D'Eric one morning, stomach cramping horribly.

"Queen Elizabeth? Queen Beatrice? Come on man, you ain't making no sense," D'Eric said, straining to move his bowels.

"No, no, little fucking fag, had them parties all the time. Where we met Sage," D'Angelo grunted.

"Oh, oh, fucking Virgil, no, no, Vernon Flahey, yeah, Vernon Flahey. Why?" D'Eric said, giving up the impossible task.

"Mother fucker had him all kind of money," D'Angelo suggested.

"Fuck, even remember where he lives?" D'Eric asked.

Sage whined bitterly when D'Eric woke her up.

"Come on, you got any?" she begged. "Please, you got any?"

"Going get some, come on, God damn fucking midget," D'Angelo snapped, dressing.

"Fuck you; I ain't no fucking midget!" Sage screamed.

The early afternoon sunlight blinded them as they staggered out of their apartment.

The truck was gone. It had been repossessed by the Toyota dealership in Hardington Acres. The Nissan was gone too; they'd traded it for roughly three hundred dollars' worth of low grade heroin. So, fairly blinded, sweating, shaking, the three drug addicts stumbled and staggered along the highway from apartment complex to Vernon's house.

The apartment was in Pinoak and Vernon lived in Kimble so it was more than twenty miles from Point A to Point B.