Your Taboo Isnt My Taboo

They clipped their work IDs to their lab coats, which were white as clouds except for the smeared blood and banana baby food on Jourdan’s lapel. She painted her lips red, extending the stick to resemble a dog’s hard on. Her fingers combed her night-coloured hair into a knot atop her dome. The décolleté on her pastel blue blouse revealed an overflowing brassière. She licked her lips and said, “Did you remember to tell the nanny bedtime is at nine?”

“Yeah.” Durmont offered her a dollop of hand sanitizer and they both rubbed the clear liquid into their hands before entering through the grey doors. They turned their cellphones to vibrate then Jourdan pressed play on the iPod attached to the sound system. Joan Osborne’s What if God was one of us pleasantly penetrated the steel filled room.

“Ready?” asked Jourdan from behind a table.

“There are no gloves,” Durmont said, barely eyeing the tray of instruments next to his table.

“Fuck it.”

They ripped the white sheets off, exposing the naked corpses.

“Wach ya get?”

Durmont’s eyes examined the chart that rested on the cold iron bed.

“Double suicide. You got her. I got him.” His eyes widened and his smile matched Jourdan’s.

“Oh fun!” Jourdan began to unbutton her shirt, allowing the chilled air to caress her chest cupped in black lace.

Durmont loosened his tie, bringing it over his head and dropping it to the floor. Jourdan was clad in a pair of panties that disguised the scar on her right hip and the front of her stiletto pumps came to a dangerous point. She hopped onto the table and moved like a feline from limp ankles to straddle the woman’s stomach. Durmont, in a pair of...

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...lvis, at times the bloodless baloney pony slipped between Durmont’s crack, causing an exhale of enchanted elation. Jourdan noticed his excitement and used her claw like phalanges to rapidly penetrate Durmont, alternating between middle and pointer finger. His smile told her she was doing right by him. She bucked him harder like an uncontrollable bull as his facial expression started to look like a baby who was constipated. He came. She lifted herself and the snail trail ran away from the lips between her legs.

Durmont slammed her forward onto the table and her mouth kidnapped the lifeless pecker while Durmont jammed himself into her. She was being spit-roasted, moaning as Durmont roughly ravaged her until they both climaxed. They kissed.

“If he weren’t dead there might have been an angry dragon situation and I wouldn’t have mind tasting him.”