The Lawyer’s Fiancee

Note from Verta: This may or may not be a prequel to everybody’s favourite priest story

 

Look. I’m gonna need you to just be still and be patient. Did you hear that? All your screaming into that gag does is get on my nerves and it’s common sense not to piss off a man shaking a gun in your face. Is that what you’re trying for? Nah, I didn’t think so.Now, I know you must be wondering: “Why is this lunatic motherfucker tying me up and gagging me and driving me to the middle of nowhere to point a gun at me?” That’s a good question, one that deserves answering, and I am reasonable enough, so I’ll clarify some things for you, Mr Big Bad Lawyer. Your charming fiancee is my wife and I want her back.

And we’re going to do this, this exchange, and we’re going to be real calm and make it real easy, because there’s no other way this is going to go but the way it’s gotta be. Maybe you’re feeling brave and having thoughts about saving her from her crazy ex, but it’s pointless. She doesn’t need saving- from me or you or God or anybody. Trust me. She’s the devil and she is never going to love you. She barely loves me and I’ve worked on her for ages. Almost forever I’ve been there for her and she’s got no loyalty, no sense of devotion. She’s always gonna do whatever it is she wants to do. Gotta love her for that.

Do you love her? Do you tell her you love her? I told her all the time, whenever I looked at her. She is too damn easy to love. I’m sorry for you. I bet you really love her. I’m not trying to take her from you; it’s not like she’s yours- or mine, for that matter. But what’d she think? That her past wasn’t dark enough to throw a shadow over her future? I mean, what is she thinking? Getting in the papers with you? That is going to make things so ugly for us. Not that she gives a damn.

I’ve watched you for a few weeks. I thought maybe you were a mark, that it was all a trap, but I could see that you were different. Maybe she even wants to love you. She does it so easy, blends in to your classy fucking life, you know how? Because she thinks she deserves it. She gets everything she wants because she believes she deserves it. I didn’t enter this world by myself, dammit. And she’s not going to leave me in it!

Ha. Just look at me. I’m a mess. I’m not usually this verbose, I don’t talk so much, but I’m excited today. So forgive me if I’m getting on your nerves, but I just need you to know. I need you to know who she is. And it’s not like you can go anywhere or contribute to the conversation. You’re my prisoner until she frees you. So just listen. Better than sitting here and staring at each other.

There are too many good stories. I could keep you entertained for weeks. But I’ll just tell you about her before she disappeared on me the last time.

We’d just hit this bank. It’s caused a shitstorm in my life since, but when we got away with all that money, we were riding clouds. So we’re staying in this nice hotel and fucking the sun up and out of the sky and she leaves the hotel one night to get some takeout and comes back to the room empty-handed and with hell in her eyes. See, she never panics. Not so you can tell, anyway. But she gets this look and you can see she’s trying to keep the atmosphere from strangling her.

“What’s wrong?” I got out of bed and ran to her, cock and balls slapping against my thighs. She just pushed me away.

“You’ve been to jail and now you’re going back.” She was so calm.

Of course, I had no fucking idea what she was talking about, so I said as much.

“What the fuck did you touch?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your fingerprints! They found your prints, you fucking asshole.”

I just sat back on the bed. What could I even say? If you had any idea of how much we’d gotten away with before the fucking bank.

She sat next to me and removed her shoes. She said nothing more.

“How?” I asked as she pulled off her shirt.

“You touched something and now your face is all over the news.” She kicked her shorts from her ankles. “You’re going to jail- back to jail, I guess, if they already had your prints.”

I’ve never been to jail, but it didn’t seem the time to be having that conversation. “There’s no way I left prints,” I insisted.

“Then why did I just see your face on TV, reflecting off a store window, like some character in a movie?”

Well, she got me there and we both knew it. She fell back onto the mattress.

“I don’t know what to say,” I said, not knowing what to say.

“How about, ‘Sorry I fucked up again.’?” she suggested. She brought the upper half of her body up to face me, leaning on her elbows. “Will you fuck me so I can think?”

Oh, I can tell by your eyes that you’ve been there. How she’s “in her best headspace” with a cock thumping inside of her.

And she gets what she wants, of course, so I turned over and kissed her. Her lips tasted exactly like sugar cookies, I remember. The flesh of her breasts felt too soft in my rough hands and my tongue left trails of saliva around her nipples. I pushed aside her thighs to fit my own between them and I don’t know if it was the danger of knowing we were close to the end, way before we were ready, or just the smell of her- open and waiting- but, I swear, I had the biggest, hardest stiffy I’ll probably ever see. Below, her lips parted, and I brought my mouth to the pair above as I pierced her. She moaned and turned her head, rubbing her face against the side of a pillow. I traced the outline of her earlobe with my tongue and pressed my palms against her waist and just railed her until her screams triggered something in my taint and my cock twitched as it emptied blanks at her womb. Her legs shook around me. She had her big toe up my ass.

Oh, you don’t like hearing about someone else fucking your soon-to-be wife? Another thing we have in common.

So, we’re lying there breathing into each other’s bodies when she just starts hitting me. And I let her wear herself out, because it’s the best way to handle her rage. Eventually, she let me climb off of her. My toes were digging into the carpet path to the bathroom door when I stopped dead on that fucking trail.

Because she said it.

“We have to get married.”

And I love her, now, and any other day, I would give a testicle to hear those words, but on that day? Didn’t seem the best idea.

“My face is on the news and you want to tie yourself to me now? Starfucker.”

“It’s the only way we can still go through with our plan.”

“I’m not going to turn you in. They don’t know anything about you and it’ll stay that way,” I promised.

“Why am I always the only one who thinks about the future?” She looked at the ceiling. My load dripped out of her and onto the hotel sheets. “Listen. I know a guy that will marry us in a courthouse and by the time any cops get ahold of those records, we’ll be far away from there. Got it? We’ll get married and when you’re in jail, I can visit you. Do you understand?”

I understood, alright. She was always thinking of the bigger picture, of specific, targeted vengeance, not just a general revenge against the world. If I hadn’t wanted her as a wife before that moment, I was her husband then for sure.

So we drove across two states and some man I’d never seen nor heard of married us and we signed some papers and we were husband and wife. Legal names, even. I remember she wore this faded sundress and she was barefoot because her sandal broke and she refused to remove her sunglasses because she had a wicked hangover. But she looked so beautiful and I could not wait to consummate our nuptials, if you catch what I’m tossing to you.

I carried her over the threshold of our motel room and laid her on the bed. She giggled and kicked her feet as I kissed her neck.

“Can you walk to that liquor store we passed and grab some champagne for your wife?” She stared up at me with those big, beautiful eyes.

I lifted her dress and blew against the skin on her stomach. Then I kissed both of her thighs.

“Anything for my wife,” I said. I radiated love down on her and she glowed in it. Then I put the key card in my pocket and blew her a kiss before closing the door behind me.

I know what you’re thinking, pal, and I’m thinking it right now, too. But, back then, I practically ran to that store. It was still open, though I couldn’t tell when I arrived. There was not a single car in that parking lot. Inside, the aisles had practically no light. I couldn’t read the bottles no matter how hard I squinted. Of course they had no champagne, so I grabbed what I hoped was a white wine and walked to the register.

“Como estas?” asked the cashier.

“Pretty good, man,” I replied, feeling pretty good.

The register dinged. “Nueve,” he said. He held up nine fingers. I gave him a twenty dollar bill, grabbed the bottle, and left the store.

I didn’t run back. It was a cool evening and I really did feel better than I can remember ever feeling. You probably remember your first wedding day, all those emotions. It felt good to be walking back to the woman who wanted to marry me.

So you can just picture my shock when I pushed open our door and she was gone. Gone, of course, gone- and replaced by a goddamn naked man, gagged and tied to the bed, eyes staring at some spot on the ceiling; a bullethole in his head and some nice bloody art spread across the wall behind him.

On the bedside table, she’d left a note:

“He turned you in.”

I looked at his face. Beneath the hole, I recognised the only bank teller I’d left alive.

“Goddamn sonofabitch traitorous fucking cunt!” I howled. I cursed her a lot more before realising I should not be in a room alone with a dead man, if you took all the facts into consideration.

So I ran outside.

She’d taken the car.

I have no idea how she did all of it, but I have less of an idea how she pulled it all off without me having any idea.

She left with a good amount of money, but not all of it. I walked for days before I bought a car with a wad of cash. And I just drove. Stayed quiet. Waited.

I didn’t think to look for her. She’s a natural fucking Houdini and she always reappears. But then I see her in the paper with you. And I stay calm- as I said, you were obviously being scammed. You wouldn’t be the first. And I find you and she’s here, living some fairy tale happily-ever-after life with a doting fiance and loyal servants and I could fucking see it- she’s comfortable. Like she belongs here. Like this is her real life.

I see what you think: if I truly love her, why won’t I let her be happy? Nice and naive. We aren’t bound together by happiness. We are together because of Fate. Our destiny is more than this, more than our desires, more than either of us separately. She can’t escape any more than I can.

You don’t want to be married to a psychopath like her, anyway. I’ve looked into you and you couldn’t be straighter. Society dinners and a rich fuck’s idea of justice. You can do be-

SHIT! Jesus, you nearly blew out my eardrum! You couldn’t even say goodbye before killing your loving future husband? You’ve always been cold. Did you pick up that other body? Good girl. Let’s light ’em up. We’ve got a lot to talk about.

The Lawyer’s Fiancee

City Life

Aurelie licked her lips and arched her back against the brick wall. She kicked out one high-heeled foot and eyed the cars that drove by slowly. Her dress strap fell from her shoulder and she let it rest against her arm. The chill in the night gave her goosebumps but the warmth within her prevented her shivering.

She’d positioned herself on the corner so that the streetlamp illuminated just enough of her to leave a tantalising mystery. She knew she wouldn’t wait long for someone to stop, but she could wait forever.

She tried to peer through the windows of the slowing cars, but it was much too dark. She thought about Frank and wondered about the tie when a car parked and a man stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

“Hello, sailor,” she said. She pushed away from the wall and walked into the light. The cold stuck her nipples to the thin fabric of her dress. Naturally, his eyes focused there.

“How much?” he asked.

“Twenty bucks,” she automatically replied. Her lips curled and her tongue ran against them.

“Twenty?” he repeated.

“What’s the matter, sailor? Your pockets not go that deep?”

He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a crisp bill. He held it out to her and grasped her hand tightly as she took it. She stared into his eyes and ripped her hand free.

“Over here,” she said. She motioned for him with her finger and led him into a dark alley. She hid herself behind a large dumpster and pressed her back against it. When he stood in front of her, she unzipped his pants with one hand and freed his cock with the other. In six strokes he was erect. She knelt before him, gravel rolling against her knees, and took a condom out of her panties. She opened it with three fingers, and slipped the condom onto him with her lips. She stood and lifted one leg around his waist and guided him between her legs. He groaned as he penetrated her.

“What is that?” he asked.

“My diaphragm.”

“No, it’s-”

“Shhh,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.” She wrapped her legs around his waist and he held her against the metal of the dumpster. It felt ice cold against her skin. He pushed his hips into her.

She relaxed the muscles of her anus and began to push. She felt something free itself and reached beneath her to catch it.

“Hey sailor,” she said. “You like the way my pussy feels? I bet you want to fill it up. You wanna fill me up, sailor? Blow your load into my tight whore cunt? Tell me you love fucking my little slut pussy. Say you can’t get enough of it.”

“I love your little whore pussy,” he groaned.

She pressed the button against her palm and heard the blade’s release. She reached up with her left hand and held the back of his head as she drove the blade into his neck with her right hand and pulled her arm sideways. The blood squirted into her face and down her own throat and she laughed as he stumbled backwards and held his neck. He tried to get away from her and fell over, still attached to her. She brought her butt to his waist and stabbed into his eyes and mouth. Still laughing, she plunged the knife in and out until he stopped moving. Gravel stuck to her knees as she knelt next to him, pulling off the condom and pushing his body over for his wallet. She shrieked when she opened it.

“You’re trolling corners with only sixty in cash? You fuck.” She took the bills and replaced the wallet, now sticky with bloody fingerprints. She kicked his body and searched for his keys.

“Gotcha.” She raised them in the air in celebration.

In his car, she found nothing of value. She popped the trunk and discovered only a case of beer. She took the beer and slammed the trunk closed. Better than nothing. She walked for half a mile before she saw Frank’s van.

He opened the door for her and she handed him the beer and climbed in after it.

“Jesus, you are fucking unhinged. You just walk around like this?”

She pulled the cash from her crotch and tossed it at him. “Only sixty bucks- including the twenty he gave me, that fuck. Hand me a beer.”

Frank opened the case and gave her a can. “Nothing in the vehicle?”

“Just this.” She popped the tab and emptied the can into her throat. She burped.

“You are fucking nasty.” He grimaced.

“‘s’why you love me. Hey, I could probably do a few more tonight.”

“You’re covered in blood.”

“You say this as though you don’t fuck men and don’t know what they’re like. Give me the wipes.”

Frank pushed himself out of the driver’s seat and knelt down in the back of the van, searching with his hands for the package of baby wipes. When his fingers crumpled the plastic, he picked it up and threw it at the front of the van. It fell from the windshield, bounced off of the dashboard, and landed in her lap.

“Hey, nice throw,” she exclaimed. She flattened the beer can on her bare knee and dragged a wipe across her forehead. Frank returned to his seat and silently watched her clean herself. When she’d discarded half a dozen wipes, she grinned at him. “Am I clean?”

He rolled his eyes. “As good as you’ll get without a shower. We should move on.”

“With sixty dollars? I’m sorry, but fuck that. I can make more tonight. I’m going back out.

“You just want to get caught. I’ll leave your crazy ass behind, I swear I will.”

“I’m not leaving without more money,” she insisted.

“It’s not about the money with you and you know it,” he snapped.

She shrugged. “I’ve heard this all before, Frank, you melodramatic bitch. We both know I’m going to get my way, so what’s the use in scolding me?”

“You’re the bitch.” He lit a cigarette and cranked the handle to lower the window.

“You wanna eat my pussy? I didn’t get to come.”

“Is it covered in blood, too?” He exhaled smoke in her face.

She looked down to her lap, pulled her dress to her neck, and thumbed her panties aside. “Nope!” she answered. “Clean as I’ll ever be.”

He shrugged. “I’m good.”

Her lower lip extended and quivered. “You’re so bad to me.”

He laughed and blew more smoke into her face. “You’ll get over it. Break time’s over. Are you really gonna go out again?”

“Hell yeah. I’m going back.”

“Can you at least change your dress?”

It was her turn to search the back of the van. She threw clothes around and he smoked and watched her. She pulled the bloody dress over her breasts slowly and lay in the mess she created.

“You sure you don’t wanna put your face between my legs right now?” She opened her thighs and ran her right hand slowly down her torso and into her stained cotton underwear. Her left thumb and index finger rolled her nipple. She wet her lips. “Or maybe you can just put it in me.”

“You’re not tempting me, witch. If I want to be mad at you, I will. Get dressed so we can go. You’re worse than a dog back there when this thing’s moving.”

She sat and reached over the seat to grab her knife. She lay back and relaxed her throat and stomach and carefully pushed the handle back into her ass. She sat and pulled another dress over her head and shoulders, then crawled back into the passenger seat, where she crossed her arms over her chest. The van grumbled as he turned the key in the ignition and the engine coughed and roared in response. She uncrossed her arms and reached out to hold his hand. He caressed her fingers then laced his own between them.

Thirty minutes later, he parked. “This is the last one tonight. Alright, Aurelie? Got it? Last one tonight and then we gotta get out of here. Nod like you’re not stupid.”

She nodded and rolled her eyes.

“Good enough. Now move, go. Get out.”

She opened the door, hopped to the ground, and wiggled her fingers at the window as she closed the door.

Her legs carried her west for ten minutes until she found an isolated and dimly-lit corner. A car stopped seconds after her. She looked through the open window.

“Hey, sailor,” she purred. “You think I didn’t notice you following me? ”

“How much?”

“Twenty.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Looks like your lucky night.” She half-smiled.

“Get in the car.”

“No, we do it out here.” She pointed across the street at a dark, empty space between two buildings.

“So your pimp can kick my ass and rob me?”

“You’ve been following me long enough to see I don’t got a pimp, sailor.”

“Maybe you led me here to him.”

“You see anyone else around?”

“He’s probably waiting over there.”

She huffed and looked at both sides of the street. The passenger side door creaked when it opened and she climbed in the backseat. He got out of the driver’s seat and joined her.

“Mmm. You’re a pretty little thing, huh. Spread those legs and lemme see that little pussy.”

She slowly opened her legs and lifted her dress to reveal her panties. He pushed them to the side and rubbed her lips.

“Mmhmm, you’re already wet, you little whore. You wanna make this money, don’t you. Want me to fuck that tight, wet pussy until you cry? Is that what you want?”

“That’s exactly what I want.”

“That’s what you’re going to get, you little slut.” He unzipped his pants and his fingers moved around inside until it came back with his dick. He grabbed the back of her head and pushed it down onto his lap. She tried to reach where the condom fell and he slapped her hands away from her thighs.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he said, forcing her head onto his cock. “This is about me right now. Open your mouth. I said open your fucking mouth right fucking now, whore.” He grabbed the back of her neck tightly as he shoved his cock down her throat. “Choke on it, you fucking bitch.” He groaned and pulled her neck, tossing her and hitting her head against the window. “I don’t want to take my time with you. You don’t fucking deserve it.” He slapped her across the face, then yanked her legs apart and pulled her beneath him. He quickly placed himself between her legs and thrust into her without looking. “Oh, you’re a tight little whore. You must be new, that’s a tight fucking pussy. What’s that up your ass, little slut? A buttplug? Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up there, too. I’m just enjoying this tight wet hole I got right now, but I’ll fuck all of your holes.” She looked up into his eyes and he pressed his palm against her face, turning her head. “Who said you could look at me, whore? You don’t care whose dick is in you, just as long as you get fucked.” He thrust into her hard and she grunted. “You like that?” He thrust harder and she cried out. He shifted and wrapped both hands around her throat. “You wanna die as I come inside you, dirty bitch?” He thrust in faster. “Then I can have you here all night. Fuck that tight little asshole, too. Oh, you’re tightening around me. You like that? You gonna come like the good little slut you are?”

She smiled up at him as he choked her. She relaxed and let the knife slide out of her as he pulled out and shoved his cock into her, his back arched and arms weighing down on her throat. She brought the knife slowly to his side.

“You’re going to come, you little slut. Are you going to squirt? Am I going to make you squirt?”

She released the blade and tried to inhale. His thumb pressed down harder.

“You fucking slut. You’re not even fighting back. You want this, you little whore.”

She quickly swung her arm through the air, sunk the blade into the flesh of his neck, twisted it, jerked her hand to the side, and snatched the blade back. Blood rushed onto her face in a dam burst, fast and wet and warm. He gasped, grabbed his throat in his right hand, and landed his left fist into the right side of her face. She laughed, choking on oxygen, and drove the blade quickly in and out of his side until he hit her again. She twisted beneath him and cut at his dick. He tried to scream and more blood splattered against her skin.

“Just fucking die,” she giggled. She stabbed up at him and let the blade decide where to hit until he fell against the window and stopped fighting. His breathing shallow, he stared at her as his chest struggled to keep him alive. Then his chest stopped moving and his eyes no longer saw her.

She immediately lunged at his body and searched for his wallet. She dropped the cash out of it and quickly recovered it, hastily moving into the light to count. Two hundred. Not bad. She crawled into the front seat, leaving a blood trail on the upholstery. Nothing in the glovebox. She checked the centre console and pulled out a piece of paper.

She inhaled sharply as she held it in the light, then laughed abruptly and loudly.

A completely-intact money order for $5000.

She tried not to smear more blood as she stored it in her panties. She leaned over to the backseat and kissed the man’s dead lips. “I love you, you maniac,” she squealed. Then she took off her shoes, opened the car door, and ran.

She didn’t stop running until she opened Frank’s van door and climbed inside.

He jumped. “Aurelie, you fucking idiot. You did not just run through the streets like that!”

Her face turned to him, the eyes wide. “DRIVE, Frank!”

The car started in complete agreement and Frank slowly drove away.

“What the fuck,” Frank finally managed.

She took the cash from her shoes and laid it in the cupholder. “Two hundred.” She grabbed the wipes and quickly cleaned her hands.

“For this? You look like a fucking horror flick.”

“No, stupid.” She took the paper out of her panties. “For this.”

He glanced at it. “What’s that?”

She laughed. “Five thousand dollars, Frank!”

“Get the fuck out.” He grabbed the paper from her and read it. Then he laughed. “Yeah!” he howled.

“Total fucking freak, but so worth it. God, I love it when they talk. It makes it so much easier.” She leaned over his seat and kissed his cheek. “Let’s burn this shitheap and buy another.”

“That’s a good idea. God, I love you.” He kissed her back.

“I know,” she said. “You think you’ll get as lucky at the next place?”

He chuckled. “I fucking doubt it, but I hope so.”

She smiled and held out her hand. He looked at the stained fingers, at her dirty face, then back at the windshield as he pressed his palm against hers. He entered the freeway, the city lights winking their goodbyes in the rearview mirror.

City Life

The Stage

Hannah raised her eyes and watched the reflection of Elisa’s back in the mirror. Her skin danced as she bent over to step into the dress and lift it over her thighs, her buttocks, and onto her back. Her hands worked at the zipper against her spine, struggling to yank it up.

“Can I get some help?” she asked. She faced the closet, still struggling with the zipper.

Hannah turned around and walked to Elisa. Her fingers effortlessly worked the zipper, closing the dress around Elisa’s back. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want,” Hannah whispered into her neck. She wrapped her arms around Elisa’s waist. “We can stay home and I’ll pop some popcorn and make you feel-” she pressed her lips against her neck, “real-” she kissed the other side, “good.”

Elisa giggled and shook her waist against Hannah’s hips. I want to do this, Hannah. I promise. I’m so happy you told me about it.”

Hannah rubbed her hands up Elisa’s thighs. Her fingers moved beneath the dress. “I love it when you don’t wear any underwear,” she said. The fingers moved between her lips, then pressed them together against her palm. They pulled. Elisa moaned. Hannah pushed her down into a pond of fabric, the colours splashing against her skin. Elisa laughed.

“We’re gonna be late.”

Hannah yanked the bottom of the dress above Elisa’s waist and pushed against her. She slowly worked in two fingers, pressing her thumb against Elisa’s taint, and massaged against the soft, wet inside of Elisa’s pussy with her index and middle fingers. Slowly, she worked in the third finger. Elisa laid her head against a pile of dresses, her back arched. She opened her legs wider. Every deep breath forced her to inhale the scent of rose perfume and every exhale a sigh of joy, held within the bedroom walls, measured and instructing the speed in Hannah’s arm. Slowly faster, then freeing itself to move madly, surprising Elisa when the fourth finger found its way inside. Hannah pulled her thumb into her palm. Her left hand anchored into Elisa, she held onto her butt with her right hand and slipped her thumb into her butthole. Pulling herself upright, Hannah thrust her arm into Elisa; the wrist worked against the perimeter of Elisa’s vaginal opening. Hannah’s breath came out heavy and fast, but Elisa’s breathing was more rapid and erratic, her eyes closed tightly and her hands held fistuls of clothes.

“Oh god, I’m gonna come,” she moaned.

The fluids leaked over Hannah’s wrist and onto the clothes below them. She slowly pulled away her fingers, smiling at the squish, and Elisa gasped and fell panting to the floor.

“What a mess,” Hannah laughed.

“Dammit,” Elisa replied. “Dammit, Hannah.”

“That dress looks better on me, anyway. I’ll find something else you can wear.”

 

The bodies filled the room. Even the people who’d managed to get in early enough to find seats were rubbing their heads against elbows. Idle chatter hummed to the ceilings, the sound of too many radios playing at once- a sort of music without harmony, but a compelling melody, nonetheless.

Hannah stood as close to the stage as the barrier would allow. She held a plastic cup in her hand, a Coke she’d gotten for free and poured her own whiskey into. She sipped and tried to look around, and there was nothing but the undulating shadows of dimly-lit bodies- dozens upon dozens of individual worlds collected in this crowded space, desperately trying to remain separate until the very last second when they’d come together to share an experience each person would internalise and interpret differently.

She scoffed to herself and took another sip. Thought about leaving.

The lights turned off completely and the voices hushed immediately. A single spotlight shined onto the middle of the stage and the sound of highheels clicking in the darkness made everyone squint toward the curtains leading backstage.

Elisa appeared suddenly, washed by light, her eyes focused on nothing at all. Her hips swayed left to right and she appeared hypnotised as her hands worked across her body as though it belonged to someone else, someone she greatly desired. She tore off her dress and fell to her knees. She bent over to kiss the ground, gently at first, then feverishly. The only audible noise was the sound of her lips smacking against the stage floor. No one breathed as Elisa threw back her body, her legs opened wide to the audience. She pressed her palm against her throat as she shoveled four fingers into her pussy, spreading the lips with the outer fingers. She arched her back to reveal more of herself, staying upright by balancing on her tailbone.

“Why am I such a bad girl?” she suddenly cried out. Her thumb moved against her clit and she moaned theatrically as she slipped her thumb into her palm and pushed her fist into her vagina. She released her throat and leaned back into her hand, raising herself from the ground, her body contorted and writhing in pleasure. She took a deep breath and began to chant through her exhales.

“Am I a good girl, now? Am I a good girl, now?”

The spotlight went out and quickly returned, focusing only on her wrist pushing into her vagina, and the panting was so loud and so obviously forced, but then Elisa sprayed fluids everywhere and started to loudly whisper, “Good girl.” She bent over once more and licked up the puddle she’d created. When every drop was gone, she crawled away. Her butt taunting the crowd made Hannah’s stomach leap. The lights went out and the applause thundered so no one could hear the people rushing on stage with bottles and towels, but Hannah saw their silhouettes as they cleaned. The spotlight came back and a different woman stood, already naked and rubbing her breasts, occasionally wetting her fingers in her mouth. When a fully-clothed man joined her in the light, Hannah dumped the rest of her drink down her throat and threw the cup to the ground. She pushed through the bodies and showed her wristband to a bouncer who flashed his light in her eyes. She ascended the stairs to go backstage.

She could hear a man in the bathroom. “Be a good girl for me,” he said. Hannah rolled her eyes and pushed through the curtain to enter the dressing room. Women glanced at her before returning their focus to themselves.

“Anyone see Elisa?” Hannah asked. The women shrugged and shook their heads, not looking up.

Hannah pushed back through the curtain. She walked into the bathroom and heard the sound of Elisa crying.

“Elisa?” she called.

“Hannah,” Elisa sobbed.

Hannah pushed into a stall and saw Elisa fighting a man wth his pants around his ankles. Elisa’s face was wet and dirty with makeup. She was naked and pushed against the toilet.

Hannah growled and grabbed the man’s shoulder, pulling him backward and causing him to collapse to the bathroom floor.

“You don’t fucking touch the things that belong to me.” Hannah’s jaw tightened her teeth together. Before he could rise or speak, Hannah lifted her leg and brought her boot down hard on his face. He tried to cry out and she stomped down onto his mouth. Blood splattered against the linoleum. She lifted her leg again and brought her foor down hard onto his groin multiple times. She slipped and recovered by kicking him in the head again.

“Stop!” Elisa cried. “Please. Stop. He’s unconscious.”

Hannah looked down at the body lying on the white linoleum, surrounded by dark red blood.

“Get your things and meet me in the back staircase. Fast, Elisa.”

Elisa ran. Hannah’s fist clenched. She walked to the bathroom sinks and tried to clean her boots with paper towels. She counted to sixty, then walked from the room. She trailed blood that no one noticed and met Elisa in the stairway.

Elisa stood and gawked at her, eyes wide and wet. “Hannah, that was Darren. That was the owner. That was the owner, Hannah.”

Hannah pushed Elisa toward the stairs. “You’re always fucking ungrateful,” she snarled. She started to descend the stairs. “Let’s go home.”

The Stage

Love

Isaac’s fingers traced the faded flower pattern on the bate mattress as he inhaled the heavy cloud of Tiffany’s perfume. They had no water- it’d been off for a couple of months- and the option to wash in the standing toilet water was gone when Tiffany came home a week ago vomit drunk. The bathroom door stayed shut, now.

“Fucking drink it, Tiff,” he said, watching her back muscles twitch as she struggled into her dress.

“I hate that shit. It’s gross.” She looked at him through a dress strap. He didn’t move to help. She shifted out of the dress and threw it on the floor. It fell onto a pile of cigarette butts.

“I called in an ask to my family and you know how much I hate that shit. Drink it. You’re not working and that’s causing problems for me.” He tossed a small polyurethane bag filled with yellow fluid at her back. It hit with a thwack and fell to the floor with a thud.

“Don’t fucking throw shit at me, Isaac.” She spun to face him, eyes filled with fire, top lip trembling. He said nothing. She lifted the bag and dangled it in front of her face between her index finger and thumb. “It’s not gonna even work.”

“Drink it or get the fuck out.” Isaac’s voice clouded the room as Tiffany’s perfume had- dense and oppressive. She twisted a tube and squeezed the contents of the bag into her mouth. Isaac didn’t look away from the rage in her gaze. “We can’t afford the hormones. And that ain’t my fault. I do the best I can for us. I got you those tits, didn’t I? You know we make more money when you’re on hormones.”

Tiffany pressed her palms against her nipples. “It doesn’t even work like that. And how do you even know it’s the right stuff? Maybe your cousin gave you his own pee. Then what, huh? Then you just paid for me to drink Casey’s pee.”

He held another bag in his palm. She took it, opened it; drained it.

“Ain’t Casey’s piss,” he said, smiling. “Now, look. I’ve been working out out there so I can open up my asshole to a bunch of closet fucks that can’t get over getting their dicks up on their high school quarterbacks. If I’m working, you bet your ass I’m getting you out there, too.”

“Didn’t say I don’t wanna work, Isaac. It just won’t help anything, me drinking this old piss.”

“There’s more in the freezer, you ungrateful bitch.”

“You illiterate donkey.”

They stared at each other, fists clenched and teeth grinding.

Tiffany sighed. “I don’t wanna fight with you,” she moaned. “I drank it. Fuck you.” She bent over and grabbed the dress from the pile of trash, shaking the ash into the air. “Help me get into this.”

He stood behind her as she pulled the dress onto her shoulders. Guiding her arms through the dress, he kissed the side of her neck. As he yanked the dress down, he slapped her ass. She laughed and turned into his arms, arms that wrapped around her in muscle memory, arms that held her like no one ever had.

“I need a line, baby,” she whispered into his chest. “Can you fix me up one while I find my heels?”

Isaac fell back on the mattress, his fingers in his pockets. He extracted a half-full baggie of powder and a $5 bill. “Tiff, where’s that book?”

Tiffany grabbed her shoes and an old science textbook and sat on the bed next to him. She pulled the straps around her ankles and kissed his neck. He separated a mound into two clean, fat lines. She took the rolled $5 and bent over the book. Granules disappeared quickly through the cash until only one line was left. Her body fell, arms over her face.

“Fuck,” she groaned.

Isaac’s nose slowly cleaned the textbook and he tossed it to the floor. He stood and his foot caught a pair of pants. He stopped himself from tripping and kicked them into the wall.

“Can’t you fucking clean this place?”

“Bitch, can’t you?” Tiffany somersaulted in slow motion from the bed and landed standing, now towering over Isaac. “I know what you’re thinking and don’t you dare put another hole in that fucking wall. Tell me I look good and let’s get out of here. Where am I going?”

“The Bun Boy. Guy’s name is Tom. Wait. No, Richard. My guy’s name is Tom.”

“The BB? That’s a long walk, Isaac.”

“So take sneakers. Don’t got money for a cab. I gotta get the water back on.”

“What about you?”

“I’m at the Castle.”

Tiffany’s hand twisted the doorknob, but she didn’t open the door. “Why couldn’t you get me in at the Castle? You always do this.”

“You’re not welcome back at the Castle and you fucking know it. C’mon. Let’s go.”

 

Twenty minutes into the walk, Tiffany regretted not bringing her sneakers. Her nose bled onto the concrete and she shivered in the night’s humidity. She looked up into a streetlamp and stopped walking, the strong yellow light making her feel like she was on a stage, standing over an audience of zero. She could be anything, anyone she pleased, with no one here to witness. Escape, complete her metamorphosis, become this butterfly that formed ages ago in the cocoon of her mind. Flutter away and no one would even notice except Isaac and maybe he’d look for her but probably he would just replace her- but how would he recognise her if he found her? He’d never see her as a butterfly. She could float right by him and forever away.

She kept walking, trying not to limp. How did anyone even take care of a butterfly? What did they eat? Releasing herself from that cocoon would probably kill her.

Inside her bra, she found a lighter and her cigarettes. She lit one cigarette, savouring the nicotine and cheap tobacco flavour, and exhaled her stress. Four months since she last worked at the Bun Boy. So, yeah, she was maybe a bit nervous. And Isaac was working tonight, too. So he wouldn’t be waiting for her. They must be hard up if Isaac was working. She shouldn’t’ve puked in the toilet. Isaac made enough pushing that she didn’t have to hook so much. They could afford their place and most of the utilities. But something was always off and she was always the reason it had to get turned back on. So she’d work tonight and tomorrow they’d have running water again.

She didn’t realise she’d entered the Bun Boy parking lot until she was spotlit once more, this time by headlights. When the lights went off, she limped over to the car and leaned into the window.

“Please say you’re Diamond,” the man implored.

“That’s me, baby,” Tiffany answered. “You must be Tom- no, Richard? Why are you sitting in your car? You know there’s a waiting room.”

“Never been here before.”

“Oh. Well. C’mon, get on. Let’s go inside.”

The car door opened and the man poured out of the driver’s seat, his limbs tangling into themselves as he tried to stand.

“You’re more fucked up than I am,” Tiffany laughed. “You know you’re paying for my time, baby?” She grabbed his arm and he fell onto her, stressing her ankle and breathing tequila up her nostrils. She guided him through the cars to the glass window. “Fra-ank,” she called through the bars, into the mouthpiece. A buzzer sounded inside and she pushed the man through the metal door. “Sober up,” she warned and pushed him away. A wall stopped him from tumbling over.

“Hey, Diamond,” Frank greeted her as she entered the waiting room. “Two-three-seven. You got him?”

She laughed. “I’ve had drunker.”

Tiffany led Richard through the hallways. She pulled his wrist and used the walls to stop him from falling over. The 2 was missing on the door of room 237. Inside the room, everything was brown- the carpet, the bedding, even the walls were tan. Stale cigarette smoke dominated as the room’s primary odour; it barely masked the scent of pussy and cheap cologne.

The immediate sobering effect on Richard was obvious- a slap in the face by an ice cold hand. He sat himself on the bed and removed his shoes.

Tiffany extended her fingers. “Cash first, baby.” She counted the wad he placed in her palm and laid it on the nightstand. “Alright. I’m not taking off this dress. It’s hell to get into. I’ll show my tits, though. That good for you, baby?” She knelt before him and unzipped his pants. Working his flaccid penis out of the prison of white briefs, she inspected it. Satisfied, she gently tugged before placing both his cock and balls into her mouth.

Animated, he pulled away from her. “You’re gonna make me come.”

She chuckled. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“I’m not ready, yet. Lemme see your tits.”

She relocated the items in her bra and yanked at the straps of her dress until her nipples pointed toward her face. She smiled at him, rubbing her breasts, and placed her fingers over Richard’s. He stroked himself, her hands over his, but the moment she placed her lips against the head of his cock, he pulled away again.

“Let’s just fuck, baby.” She tried to hide her agitation. “You wanna feel my tight little asshole hug on this big dick, right?” She pulled his pants over his ankles and lifted her dress to her back. Her waist wiggled, ass in his face, as she dug a condom from her bra. She quickly tore it open and put the rolled-up tube in her mouth, bent over him, and gently slid it onto his dick with her lips and the tip of her tongue. “Mmm. Yeah, let me ride that big dick. I’m starving for you, baby.” She tried to climb on top of him.

He shook his head and pushed her away. “From behind,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes and leaned on her elbows on the brown bedspread. “Alright, baby, any way you want it.” She wondered if she could fake it as she spat onto her fingers and massaged them into her asshole, but he was inside shortly and she moaned and pretended pleasure as best she could.

He put his fingers to her throat and she forced them away with her palm, holding both their bodies up with her other arm. “I don’t do the rough stuff, honey,” she said. He put them back and she hit at them. “Stop it.” She allowed her voice to deepen.

The third time, he tightened his grip and when she hit him, he hit back- hard, in the back of her head. He was still inside her, no longer thrusting. She hit out from under him and he reinforced his grip, still punching at her head.

“Hey, you fuck-” And his fist connected with her eye and the stars were out so bright and she went

 

Back to the brown of the motel room and she could feel the dead weight of a body over her own and smell the cigarettes and vomit of the room- though, as far as she could tell, none on her. She grabbed his cock between her index and middle fingers and slid carefully away from him. The peeling shed pelt of the condom looked cartoonish, strangling the limp dick skin inside. It was intact and- discounting the shriveled penis- empty.

She kicked him. “You dumb fuck!” she screamed. He didn’t move.

One hand took the cash from the nightstand as the other grabbed his pants. Keys, no wallet. Hopefully he’d left it in the car.

She took the back exit and ran around to the front of the motel. No doubt she’d be banned from the Bun Boy now, too.

His wallet rested in the centre console. She looked at herself in his rearview mirror. The black eye was already forming. Though nothing hurt, yet.

So she walked. When she passed the gas station, she stopped and bought water and snacks with Richard’s credit card. The walk felt twice as long and she wished she had her sneakers. When the heels became unbearable, she sat to take them off, shivering and trying to remember where she was going and thinking that she’d somehow missed it and maybe she should turn around.

When she finally made it home, her bare foot slid over a piece of glass in the carpet. She didn’t notice. She collapsed to the floor and the water, plastic bag, and heels fell with her. Isaac turned on the mattress. Seeing her, he sat upright so abruptly, he immediately fell back to the bed.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

She clawed in her bra for the cash, then threw it in his direction. “Fuck you, Isaac!”

He collected the money before crawling over to her. She moved away from him when he touched her face. “Hell, Tiff.” He saw her feet. “You’re fucking bleeding.”

She gestured at the water. “I want a bath.”

“You barely got enough water to brush our teeth.”

“Then get more!” And the tears. “Goddammit. Isaac, I want a bath!”

“Tell me what happened, goddammit.”

“I’m not drinking your cousin’s fucking piss and I’m not doing this anymore, Isaac! I deserve better than this.” A realisation. An epiphany. “I deserve better than this.”

“What don’t I do for you?” Thunder. “I provide for us. I keep you here and you rarely pay a dime. I’m always out of money because of you. And now you think you don’t gotta work? You’re some fucking kept bitch now, huh? Talking about what you deserve.” Lightning.

“I was doing just fine before I met you, you lousy trashcan pimp.”

“I’m a pimp, now?! You want a bath so damn bad, who’s the pimp that’s going to get your water back on? Huh? I ask you to do one thing, Tiffany. And you somehow manage to fuck that up, too. Christ.”

“Fuck you, Isaac!” She tried to stand, but her knee stiffened beneath her and she came back down. “I’m leaving.”

“Where you fucking gonna go?” He leaned over her. “You can’t. I won’t let you. You’re mine.”

She struggled against him. He pinned her down.

“You know I take care of us. I take care of you. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

She cried. He kissed the tears into her cheeks.

“I love you,” he told her. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

When his lips met hers, she could taste the salt of her despair on his tongue, but something else. Something that tasted of truth. Something delicious that filled her with hope.

She kissed him back.

Time sped up, the room spinning around them. He pulled off her dress and tore her bra. He laid on the carpet and kissed her face, her neck, her breasts, her navel, her penis and testicles. She moaned, real pleasure, as he worked his tongue around her foreskin in the way he knew could make her orgasm instantly and she did. Her semen was still in his mouth when he leaned in to kiss her. She played with the thick fluid on her tongue before he put his hand in her mouth and pulled away the saliva and ejaculate, cupping it in his fingers until he could push them up her ass. He followed with his cock, looking into her eyes as he thrust, her testicles rubbing against his stomach. She sighed as he entered her completely and fell in kisses to her shoulders. Her fingers slid against the sweat pouring over the muscles of his arms and neck. She moaned louder with every thrust.

His cock was harder than ever, she was sure of it. She was sure of many things: that she wanted to keep him, that she loved Isaac and he loved her; that he took care of her better than anyone had ever tried.

“Come inside me, baby,” she whispered. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you.”

The force of his ejaculation pushed him into her and, momentarily, she couldn’t feel where he ended and she began and she wanted to keep this moment of the two of them becoming inseparable, so she held him tightly and didn’t breathe.

“I love you, Tiff,” Isaac exhaled into her body.

Somewhere safe, she heard her voice tell Isaac she loved him, too.

Love

Trump

His palm left a wet imprint as he pushed the door. His heart thumped inside his jean jacket. The salty sweat smell of the room greeted him as he entered quickly, squeezing through the slight opening. Someone coughed. On the nearest wall, beneath a variety of letters in many sizes and colours, he read a message, black and bold: I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT, followed by a phone number.

He knew what he wanted, too, and it wasn’t a number.

He stepped into the stall nearest the man who’d coughed. The second the door clicked shut, a hand appeared through the hole, beckoned him closer, and disappeared. Two fingers rested against the duct-taped circumference of the hole and a tongue flickered in and out over the fingers. He recoiled at the gesture, his shoulders back and feet beginning to retreat, but he approached slowly. He couldn’t be scared away.

The sound of his zipper lowering rang in his ears. He pressed the white cotton stretching against his semi-erect penis to the wall, near the hole, and wiggled his hips toward and away from the groping fingers and warm breath until the sigh of frustration on the other side of the wall nearly made his cock tear through the fabric. He was freed, now, and sent to the heavens of a hot, wet mouth, the tongue circling expertly around the head, the lips wet and soft against his hard dick- harder than he’d been since his last visit. Maybe harder, even.

He shuddered as he felt himself being swallowed, his blood-swollen flesh pressing against the softer lining of a throat. He tried to move his hips, his butt thrusting him forward, but the mouth knew what it was doing and fucked him back.

Then the action slowed and the mouth pulled away as fingers gently gripped the base of his dick. And the tongue came back, licking up and down, matching the rhythm of the stroking fingers. He stood still, mesmerised.

This just might be the best blowjob he’d ever gotten.

The movement quickly transitioned from stroking fingers to the inside of the throat and he groaned at the abrupt change of sensation. He felt his cock twitch inside of the mouth, down the phantom neck. His fingers pressed against his palm and he lifted his hand to the wall and rested it there as he began a frenzied thrusting, so quick and arrhythmic that the mouth couldn’t keep up. His mind empty, his testicles full, he fucked into the hole until the base of his spine tingled and he felt the warm, thick fluid of a long-awaited orgasm flow from himself and into the receptacle of this cock-sucking wraith that would cease to exist the moment he exited the room.

The choking brought him back and he pulled himself into his side of the hole and pushed through the door without pulling up his pants.

“What the fuck?” The voice was much deeper than his own. “You couldn’t even give a courtesy tap?”

He stumbled from the room, zipping his pants as he walked, head down, back to his car. He avoided the gaze of a man who raised his eyebrows at him.

They think they know. They always think they know.

He drove away from the truck stop as quickly as he could.

 

That night, he lay in bed next to his wife. As she snored, he considered maybe touching her back, waking her with a kiss on the neck. But his passion for her died shortly after the birth of their third child and the thought of pressing his skin to hers made his stomach hurt.

He turned his body away from her and closed his eyes. For the first night in months, he didn’t fight for sleep.

 

He almost fell out of bed at the sound of his alarm. His wife no longer lay next to him, already awake and making a nearly inedible breakfast he’d spent years training himself not to smell.

He showered and dressed quickly. Once downstairs, seeing his family seated around the table, he fought for the millionth time his urge to run away. To go anywhere else.

He kissed his daughters on the forehead and patted his son on the shoulder.

“Gotta go vote now or I’ll be late,” he said to his wife, blowing a kiss at her before running to the front door and out to his car.

The drive to his polling place took three minutes. There was no line. He stood in the booth, pen in hand, and looked at the names on the ballot.

“I wonder if Donald Trump ever goes to glory holes,” he considered. “No way. He doesn’t have to. Look at his wife!” He pressed the pen against the paper and marked his selection.

“I’d suck Donald Trump’s dick,” he thought.

He barely glanced at the rest of the ballot, the pen flying through his thoughts. He dropped his paper in the box and smiled at the old women working.

He drove away, to the vacation of his job, with his windows rolled down and radio as loud as his car’s speakers could manage.

“Got you in a stranglehold, baby,” he sang along. “You best get outta the way.”

Trump

Daddy’s Girl

I.
Lucia sat on the steps of her home, looking into the street. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and crossed them again. All of her friends were gone to college again: another summer’s end plagued with boredom and loneliness. It wasn’t as though her parents couldn’t afford to send her to college, but Daddy said she wasn’t ready. Just like she wasn’t ready to have a job or a license. Daddy paid for tutors and music and dance lessons to keep her busy, but the most invaluable thing- her freedom- was something he could not afford.

She watched two boys on bicycles ride closer to her house. Their torsos glistened with sweat and their long, thin arms absently guided their bikes as they casually swerved through the street toward her. She waved, though she didn’t recognise them from her neighbourhood. They stopped and walked the bikes onto the sidewalk, approaching her porch. Their legs were covered in mud and they filled the air near her with the scent of river water.

“Hey,” the smaller boy said as the taller of the two lifted his arm to scratch a hairless armpit. “You see the ice cream truck around here lately?”

“Not while I’ve been sitting here,” she answered. She smiled. Neither boy returned her smile.

“You got any cards?” the taller boy asked. “We wanna make our bikes loud.”

“Sorry,” she said. They shrugged and rode away without looking back.

“Who were those boys?”

She jumped and turned around. “Jesus, Daddy. I don’t know. Just some kids.” Her father raised an eyebrow and said nothing. “Daddy!” She looked away from his eyes. “They’re twelve. They wanted ice cream and playing cards.”

“Why don’t you come inside, Luci? It’s hot out.”

“It’s not that hot,” she said. She stood and followed him in.

 

 

II.
The doorbell rang. Lucia lifted the remote to quickly turn off the television in the den before she ran upstairs. She looked in the mirror next to the door and reached up behind her head to tighten her ponytail. As she unlocked the door, she showed all of her teeth in a smile. “Mr Tomas,” she said. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Good evening, Lucia.”

She moved aside to let him into the foyer and closed the door behind him. He stood and looked at her for a few seconds before asking, “Is your father home?”

She laughed. “Oh. I’m sorry, Mr Tomas. My parents went out for dinner. They left maybe half an hour ago. You’re welcome to wait.”

“No, I just needed to drop off some paperwork. I can leave it with you and come back tomorrow to speak with him.”

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” Lucia said, still smiling. He smiled back.

“You’re very beautiful tonight, Lucia. You didn’t want to have dinner with your mother and father?”

“I’d rather watch TV,” she admitted, gesturing into the house.

“No college again this year?”

She shook her head. “Maybe next year,” she answered.

“By the time you’re ready to go back to school, your friends will all have graduated!” he exclaimed. She turned her head away from him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Maybe for the spring semester?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll tell Daddy you were here.” She moved toward the door and he moved with her. As she closed the door behind him, she felt her eyes fill with tears. She wiped at her face with the backs of her hands and sighed. So Daddy was telling his partners it was her choice not to go to University? It wasn’t fair. He wouldn’t even let her apply.

The doorbell rang again. She stared at the door, then walked toward it and opened it slowly. Mr Tomas stood with his hands behind his back.

“You’re a bright girl, Lucia,” he said, smiling into her widened eyes. “Your future will outshine you.” He revealed in both hands a single rose. He’d pulled it from Mrs Grosch’s garden, she could tell. She reached up to grab it and a thorn stabbed her thumb. Putting the finger in her mouth, she lifted her other hand and carefully held the stem of the rose. For a second, he didn’t let go. Then she slowly and gently tugged the rose toward her chest and he dropped his hands. “Goodnight, Lucia. It was wonderful to see you.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head and walked toward his car. She stared after him until the car drove away, then she shut the door.

She realised she was breathing quickly and laughed. Mr Tomas was always so nice. She walked slowly into the kitchen and grabbed a small vase from beneath the sink, then carried the flower to her bedroom. She placed the flower in the vase in the middle of her nightstand and ran downstairs to the den. She collapsed on the couch and reached for the remote. The television coated the room in a soft blue dim. She tried to watch the show but her mind could only focus on Mr Tomas. Had he ever kissed her before? Of course he had. The year his wife died, he’d spent that Christmas with them and she was certain he’d given her a peck on the forehead that evening before her father made her go to bed.

Mr Tomas was old, but he wasn’t as old as Daddy. And Daddy was always telling Mum about Mr Tomas’s girlfriends- not a long series of women since Mrs Tomas died, but a pretty consistent presence. He wasn’t bad-looking. He took good care of himself, she knew.

She lifted her dress and pressed her fingers against her panties. Pushing her hand hard against her crotch, she lied down on the couch, facing the back, and began thrusting her hips into the cushion, pressing hard against herself. She thought of Mr Tomas handing her the rose, of his lips against her hair, of his fingers against her breasts… Her eyelids squeezed together and she bit her lip. She humped harder and her heavy breathing made the couch around her hotter and she suddenly convulsed twice and lay still.

She turned around to face the TV and pulled her dress to her knees. Her eyelids fluttered at the screen. Seconds later, she was asleep.

 

“Honey. Luci, honey.” Her mother’s fingers rubbed her calf. She woke up slowly, her eyes focused on the halo of light above her mother’s head.

“Sorry, I fell asleep,” she said. She sat up. “Did you and Daddy have a good dinner?”

Her mother nodded. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen.” She walked to the TV stand and pushed the button on the side of the set. The screen went black.

They walked upstairs together, slowly, not speaking. Lucia considered saying something, but she couldn’t think of what to say. She could never start a conversation with Mum. Mum never spoke- not much at all to anyone but Daddy.

He waited for her with a small pink box wrapped with a red bow. “Brought you dessert, Luci,” he said.

She squealed. “Thank you, Daddy!” She walked to the kitchen sink and grabbed a fork, then sat at the bar and unwrapped her dessert .

“Did you have dinner?” he asked her.

“I ate a sandwich,” she lied. “How was your dinner? Oh! Mr Tomas stopped by.” She licked cream from the tongs. “I think it was about 7:30. He had paperwork, he said. He’ll stop by at the same time tomorrow.”

“Yes, he called me,” he replied. “He left a voicemail and asked about you going to college.”

She licked the fork again. “Well, you said I wasn’t ready,” she answered.

“And what did you say to Mr Tomas about it?”

“He said maybe I’d be ready for the spring. I agreed.”

Her father walked out of the kitchen silently. She continued to eat the pastry as she watched Mum look in the sink and dishwasher, open a cabinet, and finally follow Daddy out of the room. Would Mr Tomas talk Daddy into letting her go to college? That would be a dream. Maybe he’d fall in love with her and take her out of here. Daddy trusted Mr Tomas enough to share a company with him. Mr Tomas stayed in their guest room on several holidays. She was allowed to speak to Mr Tomas. So Daddy couldn’t distrust him. And he’d said: she was bright. Maybe he could tell she was suffocating here.

She finished her dessert, licking the cream from the gold platter that held it. After putting the fork in the dishwasher, she ran upstairs to her room. In the drawer of her nightstand was a pad and pencil and she lay across the bed on her stomach and began to draw.

She drew for hours, lost in her head, until her father came into the room.

“Your mother and I have told you many times we don’t like you falling asleep in front of the television,” he said, sitting at the end of her mattress.

“I know. I’m sorry, Daddy.” She wiggled until she was on her back, then sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, sitting on top of the pad and pencil.

“Where’d you get that rose?” He gestured toward the nightstand.

“Mrs Grosch’s garden.”

He nodded slowly. “It isn’t right for you to pick the flowers other people worked so hard to blossom. We’ve talked about that, too. It’s very rude and lazy.”

“I won’t do it again.” The sentence came out as one word.

“I know you won’t. And the next time your mother or I catch you sleeping downstairs, you will lose your den privileges. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Daddy.”

“Get ready for bed and I’ll be in shortly to tuck you in.”

When he left the room, she pushed the pad and pencil into the nightstand and went to brush her teeth. After undressing in the bathroom and putting on her nightshirt, she crawled beneath her blankets and waited. Her father came in several minutes later, unplugged her night light, bent over her bed, and kissed her on the cheek. It was a routine they’d had for as long as she could remember. Every night he was home.

“Goodnight, Princess,” he said.

“Goodnight, Daddy.”

Every night was the same.

 

When she awoke the next day- Saturday- she was remarkably restless. Her afternoon piano lesson was interminable. Her teacher rapped her fingers so often, she felt arthritic in the evening. She wore her favourite dress and braided her hair and when the grandfather clock in their living room indicated it was 7 PM, she was sitting on the couch next to her mother, watching her knit and eating a croissant.

“Lucia,” her mother said, looking at her over the needles. “If you get crumbs in that chair, I will see to it you never sit again.”

“I have a napkin, Mum. And I’m not dropping anything.”

Her mother returned to knitting without responding.

“Are you making a scarf?” Her mother shook her head. “Socks? A shawl? A hat? A sweater?” Her mother nodded and held the needles up toward Lucia, but she did not raise her eyes.

Lucia finished her snack and moved to toss the napkin when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” she announced loudly. The napkin still folded against her palm, she met her father at the door.

“Throw that away,” he said as he opened the door to his business associate. Her shoulders sunk and she watched her feet as she walked into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, her lower lip protruded. He never even let her answer the door when he was home. She thought about how much she hated the house as Daddy walked Mr Tomas into the kitchen.

“Lucia, please grab Mr Tomas a beer.”

Lucia moved quickly toward the refrigerator, not meeting either of their gazes. “Do you want one, too, Daddy?” she asked as she grabbed a beer.

“Sure, Princess,” he answered.

She removed two beers from the door and placed them on coasters on the bar in front of her father.

“Good evening.” She smiled up at Mr Tomas as her father set a pile of papers on the counter.

“She is always so polite,” he responded, looking at her father then at her. “Good evening, Lucia. Thank you for the beer.”

“Let’s sit in the living room,” her father suggested, crossing through the hallway without bothering to check if he was being followed. Lucia’s mother stood as they entered the room.

“Oh, Gregg,” she said, grabbing Mr Tomas’ hand. “How nice to see you.”

“Always a pleasure, Helen.”

She sat and resumed knitting. Lucia sat at her feet and pretended to watch her. Daddy and Mr Tomas sat in chairs facing each other and began to talk about business. She watched Mr Tomas from the sides of her eyes, trying to catch him looking at her, but he never did. It was all her stupid imagination, her desperation for freedom. Mr Tomas was just a nice guy. Why would he be interested in her? She was young and she didn’t know anything.

But he’d said she was bright.

Lucia waited until Daddy’d finished his important meeting, then offered to dispose of their beer bottles. She hoped this would work, but she knew it might not. That she could get in a lot of trouble didn’t terrify her enough to deter her. As she grabbed the bottle from Mr Tomas, she slipped a piece of paper into his hand and walked away.

In the kitchen, after rinsing the bottles and noiselessly placing them in the recycling bin, she allowed herself to breathe.

Please don’t tell Daddy.

She counted slowly to 90 and, when not hearing either of her parents calling after her, she returned to the living room and sat next to her mother on the couch. Mr Tomas was standing to leave and her father stood with him. Her mother tried to rise but Mr Tomas motioned for her to stay seated. “Lovely to see you again, Helen. Lucia. Have a good night.” The two men disappeared into a corridor. Lucia stood and went to her room.

 

Gregg Tomas sat in his car and unfolded the sheet of paper Lucia’d handed him. The creases were grey and slightly damp but the paper straightened without tearing.

It was a drawing of him holding out a rose. The detail and artistry made him blink rapidly and he placed the paper on the passenger seat before turning the ignition and driving away.

Lucia watched as well as she could from the window. When the car pulled off, she sat on her bed and started trying to draft a letter. She moved around the room, thinking of what she needed to say and what she wanted him to do.

She went through several dozen drafts before her father walked into the room.

“Your mum says you got croissant crumbs in the chair cushions,” he said.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, the pad open in her lap. She closed it and looked up at him. “I used a napkin, I promise.”

“She asks that you not eat in the living room.”

“I won’t eat in the living room anymore, Daddy.”

“Particularly not when we’re having guests.”

“I understand.”

“Time for bed, Princess.”

She was in and out of the bathroom as quickly as possible. Her father sat waiting for her on her bed when she returned to her bedroom.

“I’ll get the light,” he said. “I love you, sweetheart. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Daddy.”

But it would be impossible for Lucia to sleep.

She knew exactly what to say.

 

Gregg Tomas visited the Venns once a week. He had a partially legitimate reason- they were considering taking on another partner- so he spent a lot of time discussing possible temporary salary decreases as he tried to watch Lucia.

They wrote so many letters. Lucia was passionate, but the risk excited Gregg just as much. It made him feel younger; the nostalgia of a relationship he’d maybe read about- or seen somewhere, anyway- but certainly never had. She’d once pressed against him in a brief, wild embrace and it moved his heart more than his cock, but she was a beautiful young girl. Talented, and with such imagination. Sheltered, for certain. Often too enchanted by her own fantasies.

So it surprised him, though it shouldn’t have, when he came by on a Thursday evening and her parents weren’t home- though he remembered William mentioning the benefit that night- and Lucia threw herself at him. Literally hurled her body into his, her mouth demanding to be kissed, and he submitted. When she took his hands and guided them into the pink oversized sweater she wore, he felt there was nothing beneath, and he yanked her away and looked at her.

She was ready.

He was ready, too. She’d manage to move both his heart and his cock, this time. As one worked to fill the other, he carried her into the kitchen and laid her down on the bar, first placing his head between her legs and she gyrated against his face until the stubble irritated her, and he fucked her there and she was mostly silent, but she bit her lip and stared up at him the whole time. It was too much; he came too fast.

Then she admitted she was a virgin, which was another shocking surprise. And he asked if she came, and she told him she hadn’t. He promised to come back and repay the favour, feeling guilt but also not certain when William and Helen would be home. Then she kissed him again and wrapped her legs around his waist and his fingers were inside of her and she humped against him until the shock of her orgasm went through her and he had to hold her up so they didn’t both fall.

Gregg kept coming back. And any time she was alone, they’d go to the den and make love on the sofa. She tried to learn his body, but she was too inexperienced, and he’d rather his patience go to learning hers.

Their letters got heavier and their meetings wilder. He knew she was falling in love with him and, though he’d anticipated it, he was not quite ready to deal with the repercussions. The outcome, he knew, would damage some relationship. He wasn’t sure which one, yet.

So he tried to delay.

 

William Venn sat on his sofa, flipping through the channels on the television. Trying to get tired enough to sleep. His fingers dug absently in the cushions and he felt a piece of paper. When he realised what he held, he carefully pulled it out. He unfolded the creases and read.

Then he read it again.

He felt nauseous. He recognised the handwriting immediately: it was Gregg’s. But why would he write these things? And why would it be in his house?

William stood. He walked from the den to the garage, got in his car, and drove away.

 

When Gregg Tomas opened his door the next morning, William stood there.

“We need to talk,” William said, pushing his way into the house. Gregg closed the door and followed William into his living room. “Why Helen? Of all the women? Is it because I don’t think you should take a bigger percentage?”

“What are you talking about?” Gregg asked, his forehead wrinkled and arms out, palms up, toward William.

William pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “‘My sweet flower,'” he read. Gregg’s mouth opened and closed. “‘The next time your petals open for me, I will pick your fruit. You will be open to me through all seasons and I will care for you as the treasure you are-‘ Gregg, this is just bullshit. What woman falls for this?”

“Look. William. I can explain.”

“Why my wife, Gregg?” William put the letter back into his pocket and folded his arms.

“I’m not having a relationship with Helen!” Gregg said, his voice only slightly elevated. “It’s Lucia, alright? I’ve been seeing Lucia.”

William stepped back, almost tripping on his own feet. “My baby Luci?”

“Your daughter, yes. Not your wife. Look, I’m sorry-”

“She’s just a child,” William interrupted.

“She’s an adult, William. She’s a young woman.”

“She’s my princess!” William’s eyes grew wider as the context of the letter grew more real to him. “You pig!” He lunged at Gregg suddenly, who struck out and missed. William kneed him in the stomach and punched him in the jaw. His knuckles throbbed the moment they made contact, but he pounded both his fists into Gregg’s back and when Gregg managed to pull him down, William swung his legs away and ended up on top of him. He poked his thumbs into his eyes and tried to press down, but Gregg began kicking wildly and screaming, so William wrapped his hands around his throat and Gregg tried to pull at his wrists but William held on tighter. He felt Gregg’s body go heavy beneath him after what felt like an eternity, but he couldn’t stop holding the throat, spitting onto Gregg’s face in rage.

William finally stood and howled, then drove the heel of his foot repeatedly into Gregg’s crotch until he fell on top of him.

He turned and looked into Gregg’s bloody face and knew he was dead and that didn’t change what Gregg did to his baby girl, to his Princess.  And he walked out of the front door and closed it, looking at the blood on the doorknob. He got in his car and took a deep breath. He drove away, toward the river, and when he got there, he kept driving.

 

Her mother came into her room, her footsteps and breathing preceding her physical presence so that Lucia was already alert, standing, the moment she stepped through the doorway.

“Daddy and Mr Tomas are… they’re… they are-”

“Mum?”

“They’re dead!” The grief escaped the word through Helen Venn like a tornado and she left the room weeping. Lucia stood, her mouth open, knowing what it meant but not understanding.

 

 

III.
Lucia’s mother sent her to college but the very first year, she met Roger and Roger was definitely too quick to marry her- he met her mother for the first time at the wedding- and insisted she drop out. So she did, and she was happy for a while because her life felt almost like it’d gone back to normal and she could really breathe.

And she loved Roger, she still really did. Even though the reason she’d loved him so much initially (he didn’t ask any questions about her life before meeting him) was what drove her mad today. They’d been married four years and she bet he didn’t even know her favourite colour. In fact, she knew he didn’t; she’d mentioned it in this argument and he’d responded with, “That is the dullest thing anyone could possibly know about another person.”

“I just feel like you don’t fucking hear me!” she exploded.

Her eyes grew wide slowly and her mouth dropped open. “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly.

“Lucia Martin, we do not speak that way in this house. Go upstairs and wait for me.”

She ascended the stairway as slowly as she could and walked to the bathroom like a zombie. Once in the bathroom, she undressed, folding each item of clothing as it came off, and bent over with her face on the counter facing the sink.

Roger came in after her, looking at his reflection in the mirror, then hers, then her. As she lay with her face against the counter, she took a deep breath. He turned on the water and lathered up his hands. Then he pressed himself against her and said, “Open.” She opened her mouth and he shoved a soapy hand inside. She tried not to bite him. She’d bitten him the first time and it made him very angry. She tried not to choke and accidentally swallow the soap. She swallowed a lot last time and it made her very sick.

Lucia tasted the soap on his fingers as they moved inside her mouth, trying to rub against every surface. He looked down at her, never glancing away. Behind her, she heard his pants unzip and the tip of his cock- always impossibly rigid- pressed against her pussy and as he slid inside her, she did choke a little and he removed the fingers individually and told her, “Spit,” pushing her head toward the sink. She spat into the large ceramic bowl. He turned on the water, the rhythm of his hips still pushing his dick into her, and lathered his hands with liquid soap once more. He shoved his right hand into her mouth and held her head to the sink with his left, fucking her harder, bringing his dick out of her as far as possible without popping out, and driving it back in with as much force as his body could manage. She moaned against his fingers, her tongue constantly moving to avoid biting him.

He spat on her face. “If you’re going to speak like filth, I will treat you like filth,” he said. Shifting his weight to his left hand, he pushed his right hand into her mouth as far as it could fit and leaned into her, his hips moving faster. She started to choke and he pulled his hand out of her mouth, pushing her face toward the sink where she lay and drooled until he grabbed her hips and began to pull her into him as fast as he could push into her and she couldn’t stay on the sink anymore and she tried to push her ass into him as quickly as he was pulling her waist and she leaned back into him as he came inside her. They took a couple of heavy breaths and he pushed her back onto the sink.

“Lucia,” he said. “I love you. Especially you. I married you. So don’t bother me with this nonsense of calculating it or putting it into categories. And I won’t keep telling you to watch your language in this house.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Take a shower,” he said. He buttoned his pants and walked into the hallway.

She turned on the water and sat on the toilet, rubbing the mark the sink left in her stomach. She tried to wipe the soapy spit from her face, then reached into the tub to feel that the water was warm. She stepped into the stream and put her face beneath it and didn’t breathe for 30 seconds.

She knew he’d have a gift for her tomorrow and wondered what it’d be. This was the true test of how much he paid attention to her. In a way, he did love her just as much as her father had. Why else would she marry him?

Daddy’s Girl

Loverboy

His fingers hovered over the keys as he cupped his flaccid penis in his left hand. As he tried to phrase his next message, he absently pulled against the flesh, rubbing his thumb against the vein as it filled with blood. His fingers moved against the keys and his hand actively stroked.

He stared into the screen. His shoulders leaned over the keyboard. His hand moved faster as he pulled it toward his face. His right finger pushed against his taint. He moved forward until his thighs were supporting his body and lifted his chin to gaze into his laptop. He stared into the nipples of the breasts that gazed back at him. His hips pushed against his hand as he balanced his body against the metal of the desk, still pulling at his now impractically erect penis. The laptop chirped. The message, juxtaposed perfectly beneath a pubic mound, made him moan. His hand worked faster, tightening gently. The pattern of his breathing grew erratic. His right thumb moved backward and up, penetrating his anus as warm white fluid spilled into his left hand.

He looked around for something to clean his hands. Semen clung to his fingers, threatening to drop to the carpet beneath his feet. A t-shirt lay behind him. He could smell the sweat before he’d lifted it. Carefully, he cleaned between his fingers, wrapped the cloth around his thumb, and yanked it as he tossed it back to the floor.

The laptop chirped again. His body turned away from the soiled shirt as he hurried to the office chair.

Fuck. She wanted to meet.

It wasn’t the first time she’d suggested it. They’d talked for months online. She was eager to move forward, to see him in person. They’d spoken on the phone twice, but he was too nervous to maintain a conversation. The chats were brief.

He couldn’t think of another excuse, another reason to hold off on what she felt was an inevitable physical introduction.

And she wanted to meet tomorrow.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. He couldn’t afford to take her out, and he certainly wasn’t ready to explain why he still lived with his mother- a conversation he avoided having even with himself. She was beautiful and young and so far out of his league. He wanted to continue the fantasy. He wanted her to keep her interest in him.

Another chirp. He read the message. Then read it again.

“Just come over.”

Chirp.

“Please.”

He inhaled and began to cough. His hands shaking, he slowly typed an agreement. They said their goodbyes, and he slammed the laptop shut.

He turned off the light and crawled onto his mattress. He wasn’t ready for this. For the disappointment, for her to leave his life. But maybe it wouldn’t end that way. He could clean up well enough; he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. The photos on his dating profile weren’t recent, but they were of him. And he could continue to avoid discussing his personal life, it was a skill he’d mastered. Hopeful, he turned on his side. He was asleep the moment his eyes closed.

 

The next afternoon, he left the house before his mother could ask where he was going. He’d printed directions on her computer, careful to delete her browsing history. In his car- old and rusty, but his- he took a few deep breaths before driving off to meet this girl that felt like his destiny. The panic and self-doubt of the previous night were gone completely. If anyone could understand him, he was sure it would be her. They’d spent so much of the last few months having conversations until sunrise. He felt a connection with her he’d not felt with anyone since high school.

Driving, he rubbed his palm against the denim tightening at his crotch. Why had he waited so long? Here was a sure thing. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d had sex. He remembered the name of the woman, her face, her body- but not her smell, the feel of her skin, what it was like to lie next to her. He needed a woman. Badly.

He glanced at the piece of paper, kicking himself for not being able to afford a phone with a GPS or decent internet access. It would take him an hour and a half to reach her house. He lifted the paper from the passenger seat and tried to memorise the directions as he briefly checked traffic, not wanting to accidentally hit a car and ruin this day completely. Once confident, he tossed the paper back onto the seat and brought both hands to the steering wheel.

He could recall her with his eyes open. He couldn’t wait to smell her, touch her, taste her. His pants felt tight again. His eyes focused on the car ahead of him as he unzipped his jeans and fumbled through the seatbelt to release his erection. He gripped the base in his left hand, pointing the head at the steering wheel. His thumb slowly stroked the vein. He imagined her sitting on his lap, back arched against the steering wheel, her hips pushing as she rode him and looked into his eyes.

He couldn’t wait to be with her.

As he approached her house, the amount of cars sharing the road with him thinned dramatically. He could focus more on what he’d say, what she’d do, without worrying he’d crash. With more practise came increased confidence. He nodded frequently at his own thoughts and intermittently moved his hand to his zipper to adjust himself.

The last turn pulled him off of the road and onto a dirt path. She’d mentioned living in the middle of nowhere, but he had no idea he was meant to take that so seriously. The dirt was well-paved and he hoped it’d stay that way, or his poor old car would never make it. She didn’t live so far out that Mapquest couldn’t find her house. His car should be fine.

He finally arrived. It was a house, not a cabin. The driveway was concrete, and he winced as his car bumped onto the pavement. His eye caught movement in the window. He made himself take a deep breath and count to ten before exiting his vehicle. He smiled as he got out of the car and saw the curtains move once again.

The front door was open. He stepped inside and heard her giggle. Before he could turn around, the full weight of her body against his back almost toppled him over.

“Boo!” she said. She giggled. Lips pressed against his ear, her voice sounded exactly as it had on the phone. He tried to turn his head. Her fingers pulled satin over his eyes. He couldn’t see.

“We’re playing this game?” he asked. His voice sounded too deep. It echoed through him. She’d mentioned wanting to blindfold him many times.

“I’ll take it off when we get to the bedroom, I promise,” she said. She pulled herself to the floor and took his hand. Her fingers felt small and fragile. They slid around in his wet palm.

“Can’t I see you first?”

“Didn’t you see me? Don’t ruin the fun.” He could tell she was pouting. She grabbed his arms and pushed him a little. He tripped backward into her. “Come on. I’ll guide you.” He walked forward slowly. Her fingers gripped his arms, but not tightly. He could hear her breathing. “Stop!” she said suddenly. “We’re at the stairs. Take it slow.”

He lifted his foot onto the first step. “I’ve been waiting so long for this,” she whispered behind him. “I can’t wait to get you upstairs. For you to see me. Take my clothes off. Kiss every inch of my body.” As he slowly ascended, her fingers travelled, touching him everywhere. He felt light-headed and stumbled backward into her, but her arms were at his back. She adjusted his body and he took the next step. She laughed. “We’re almost there. Three more steps.”

At the last step, she helped him onto the landing and turned his body to the right. She grabbed his hand and pulled him as she ran forward. He tripped into a wall and tried to push the blindfold from his eyes.

“No peeking! We’re… there!” She pushed him into a room and closed the door behind them. Her hands exposed his penis before he could get the blindfold off. Her tongue licked the tip as he saw her…

But it wasn’t her.

This wasn’t the right girl.

She was beautiful, her mouth and hands working at his penis. He backed into the wall, still looking at her, as the flesh filled with blood. He looked up.

“What the fuck?!”

The woman that knelt before him quickly stood and started to laugh. She grabbed something from the corner and hid it behind her back. He turned to the door and pulled. It didn’t open. His eyes searched for the lock, forced to settle on a keyhole.

“I’ve got the key and there’s only one way out,” the woman sang.

“This is sick.” He pulled the door harder, then pushed his back against it.

He stared at the woman from all of the photos. The one he thought he’d developed a relationship with. Her wrists and ankles were handcuffed to the bars of a metal headboard and footboard. Her body was spread naked across an uncovered mattress, a ball gag in her mouth. Her eyes stared blankly at him.

“This is fucked up,” he said. “Let me go.”

The woman approached him and pushed her body against his. She yanked his jeans down with one hand. He yanked away from her and tripped. She laughed as he slid on the ground, trying to stand.

“You can go when you fuck my daughter.” She knelt down and climbed on top of him, spitting into her hand. “How long have you thought about it,” she whispered into his ear as she grabbed his cock between her legs and began to massage it. “How many nights have you spent touching yourself to her curves? That’s why you’re here, right? I just want you to get what you came for. It feels like you want it to me.”

“Get the fuck off me!” He pushed her and tried to cover his erection. His fingers grabbed the top of his jeans. She stood above him, her eyes wide, then grinned as she revealed a metal rod from behind her and pressed it into his thigh.

His howl drowned out the sound of the electricity. She smiled at him.

“Please let me go home,” he whimpered.

“When we both have what we’re here for, you can go home. Or I can keep zapping you. Which would you prefer?” She pointed the cattle prod at him. He winced. “Stand up,” she said. She pointed the cattle prod at the bed. His feet caught in the pants legs, he managed to stand. “You’re going to make her feel like you don’t want her. And trust me,” she said as she knelt before him once again, placing the rod between her knees and grabbing his cock and balls in both hands. “I know you do.” She worked her hand up the length of his dick and looked up at him as she opened her mouth and tilted her head to the side. With a slurping noise, she worked both testicles into her jaw and twisted her wrist, moving her hand faster.

“Unhhhhh,” he groaned, trying to pull away from her and closer to her simultaneously.

“Not for me,” she said. She stood, holding the cattle prod, and motioned toward the bed. “Save it for her.”

He shuffled toward the bed. The girl still lay there, unmoving. Her eyes followed his body. The ball gag glistened with saliva. He climbed between her open legs, holding his dick in his hand, and moved to work it into her.

“Take your time.”

The girl on the bed stared up at him as he dragged his fingers slowly between her legs. He moved to her stomach, then her breasts. Her skin felt so soft beneath his damp hands. She didn’t move, but her eyes never stopped looking at him. Between his own legs, his penis twitched. His fingers moved toward her mouth.

“Don’t touch that.”

His hand jerked away, and rested on her breast. He rubbed one nipple, then the other. He thought of the months he’d spent imagining the taste of her and lowered his head to take one in his mouth. His left hand lingered between her legs. He moved his fingers closer slowly, until two were inside of her. He pulled them out. They were wet. He pushed them back into her again, slow. He kissed her armpit, inhaling the smell of her. He’d wanted her- needed her- but not like this. Well, maybe like this. His tongue moved from her side back to her breast. His fingers worked faster inside of her. He thought of the late night messages. The phone calls. The flirting, the revealing. The photos.

Before he realised what he was doing, his hands were on her shoulders and his cock was inside of her. She felt wet and warm and soft and fit around him like there was nowhere else for him to go. He looked down at her and she was staring up at him and her eyes looked as though she loved him and he felt that she was moving with him, pulling him into her. She didn’t blink.

“Fuck… fuck yes.” He moaned. He wrapped his arm around her head and brought his body closer to her, pressing against her as he moved his hips into hers. His movements were quick and desperate. His t-shirt, completely soaked, clung to his torso, and he could feel his jeans wrapped around his ankles. His naked butt tensed with every pump.

“I love you,” he whispered into her ear. “I love you.” He kissed her neck and moved his hands to her hips. He positioned himself to look down at his cock as he drove it in and out of her pussy, then collapsed once more on top of her, unable to support them both, and he could tell the woman was approaching him from behind, but he couldn’t pull away from the tight,wet pussy of this girl he- yes, he felt, truly- loved. A shadow crossed over him and he felt the woman’s wet fingers slowly enter his asshole and he didn’t care about anything else. Burying his face into the girl’s neck, he humped into her furiously until that fury exploded from him and she tightened around him as it did and his butt clenched and, in a spasm, the weight of his body fell onto her.

The woman stepped back and he pulled away from the girl, whose expression hadn’t changed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said to her. His shirt rose and fell with his chest as he stood and turned to the woman smiling behind him. “Please let me go. Please. I didn’t- I just want to go.”

“I lied!” The woman grinned as she pressed the cattle prod into his skin and he fell to the floor, writhing. She zapped him again and his body jerked. She zapped him a few more times until he stopped moving.

Quickly, the woman moved to the side of the bed and pulled a key from her pocket. She freed the wrist closest to her from the handcuffs and handed the girl the keys. The girl moved to free her other wrist, then yanked the ball gag from her head.

“You have the weirdest fucking turn-ons, Marianne,” she said. She bent at the waist to free her ankles. “Get the masks and the bottle; he’s not going to lie there forever.”

Marianne zapped him again and moved toward the closet. She came back with two N95 masks, a hood, and a spray bottle. She tossed one of the masks onto the bed and pulled the other over her head. She zapped the man again as he tried to push himself up.

“Get dressed quick, Reese,” Marianne said. Reese placed the mask over her face. As she grabbed a dress from beneath the bed, clear liquid dripped onto her thigh.

Marianne zapped the man again as she pulled the hood onto his head and pointed the bottle at him. She sprayed feverishly until he went limp, then tossed another key at Reese.

“Open the door. Quick. And the window. Help me undress him.”

 

And he was awake, his arms sore and head heavy. His vision was blurry, but it was dark. A bright flash startled him and he focused his vision only to see he was facing a crowd of people, their cell phones pointed at him.

He knew he was naked before he could look down. He shivered. His arms were above his head and when he tried to lower them, he realised they were tied.

His head ached, but he managed to move it enough to see that he was hanging by his arms and legs to a streetlamp.

“Alright!” cried a police officer. The sea of people parted to let the emergency respond team through.

“One hell of a tie job,” said another officer. He looked closely at the man’s chest. “Loverboy,” he read. “Well, you pissed someone off. Wanna tell us how you got here?”

Loverboy