Bloodbath in a Vegas Firestorm
ONE more fucking cigarette in
an eternal white
filtered head trip of tobacco surreal dreams that is what I am. A genius ex
glamour girl, a gay girl, my IQ is frightening, hovering around 160, real cyber
link interfaced brain politics, Stephen Hawking like. The gimp psycho cerebral
wanderer is my idol as well as violence, my hero, and pain, as much as I can
get it whenever I can get it.
My brain is either-furious or
weeping, happy or
irate, stoned down, or amped up and I revel in the ghetto life. My moniker is
Jane and what kind of glam girl game name is that? A penny for your thought's,
lets rock baby, I am so fucking ready, bring on the rain?
Graduated from a platinum spoon
MBA at 26, Wharton, business freaks and hit man killers rumbling on Wall
Street. You know Bond Traders raping pension funds from pensioners, widows and
orphans eating baby food. Retirees in plaid pants, cringing along golf course
tombs, preconceived death squad communities, just before they die, wasted away
data banks of rotting trash, battle field earth, a golf ball and par their last
pathetic living annuities before they go.
Now me, I'm 28, once a bi-sexual
ginger girl, switcherooed,
some time ago, only girls now, it was in my DNA, I have light white scars on my
white face. I like to rumble with the boys, pretty girls to. I use my beauty as
a tool, what great looking girl doesn’t, I'm just being honest. I never took
what I was born with seriously, beauty is so destructive, so evil, so shallow,
vapid. I can’t take responsibility for my look’s, just use them like I use my
guns, knives and steel toed boots to get the job done, here in degenerate
Put me in a wheel chair in front
of my computer
with a pencil in my mouth, that’s what would make me complete.
I choose Vegas as my sex-capture
the bad guys
patrol, for I am cognizant, know exactly what I want, who I am. I by choice
became a hard edged backhoe of the trash of this human garbage disposal city.
One might call me a PI, a bounty hunter, I work for pay, but that’s just how
fucking Hollywood depicts it. Because I'm smart and have all the bells and
whistles, I decided to opt for fun, danger, so that’s why I got my PI license,
my gun license too. Work for the casinos; find runaways, bail jumpers,
sometimes sneak around catching cheating lovers. You know the whole litany of
sordid stuff people do when they cross over the edge.
Many of my true friends are cops,
love cops, where
would we be without them.
I opted for the hard life, pimps,
degenerates, gamblers, bail jumpers, wife beaters, dog fuckers; kids stuffed in
to the micro waves, drunks, junkies, strippers, perverts, pedophiles, priests
and bent dolphin trainers, all with a price on their heads. Though money means
nothing to me, I'm a thrill girl, a violent girl, a genius girl.
I'm an anemic thug, twine thin,
purged in the
toilet once, vomit blues, no longer though, 5-10, 118, blonde, razor sharp, close
to my scalp, blue eyes, game over, small face, sharp chin, ripped up and full
lips, my hormones are boiling inside of my like chicken soup.
I’m a whippet street fighter,
blond hair cut
butch short, leather because I am very aware of the roll I'm in, image baby,
cut arms, long and lean. We live in a society that cherishes the emptiness of
beauty. For me it’s all about who you are, what is in your heart and soul,
brains turn me on. Again, I have no ego about my looks, they just are, they
mean nothing to me.
I have a coupla black belts in
Judo, Kaaaaa-raaate, choices you see. I'm hard core, tough, sweet, any bad boy,
wayward girl wants to fuck with me they better bring their A game. It has to be
real for me, no bullshit, just honesty
All right, let's crack it, let’s
get real. I’m
a lucky bitch, my society parents were vaporized in a car accident over there
near the South Hamptons. Their death shattered me, but made me realize how
fragile love is.
After, I became a mistress of
about fifteen or
so million bucks. I got these Merle Lynch vampires making me rich day by day
and I had to choose, a life of hanging along the cat walk during Fashion Week,
watching misplaced bulimic train wrecks, waltzing down the Cosmo world, eating
disorders old and young, or choosing this brutal life, of bullets, hand cuffs,
kicked down doors and a criminal world. It was a no brainer for me, because I
was born a silver slut, it’s in my DNA.
I’m not selfish and I really
do care, and have
a soul. Most of the interest from my money, about a million bucks a year goes
to Doctors with out Borders, The World Wild Life Fund, and those valiant
Hebrews at Green Peace. Save the animals, wipe out the human’s that is what I
would do if it were up to me.
“Click, click, click”,
I'm loading my Old
School 357 Smith & Wesson Python Magnum, cause that's the kind of girl I
am. Don't like progress or new stuff, so that’s why I opted for a six in the
chamber, hollow point hand gun and girl pouts, kisses drenched and wet, craven,
lethal, I'm a dreamer, a stylist, a hopeless romantic. I like the feel of
copper and lead between my finger tips, as I like some girls tongue stuffed
between my pouting bitch guava lips.
I slot the iron whore into my
holster, it feels good. I hear Bono in my IPod, U-2 is just the best. I check
my twelve-gauge Mossberg, over and under, its loaded, lead pellets, red
cartridges, copper caps, fuck the Swiss make great scatter guns.
I can be ruthless, manic, cranked,
stumbled truth at times, weep every time I see Breakfast at Tiffany’s, as I
make sure my gun license is in my sleeveless black leather vest. I make sure my
black savage leather hip hop baby crushers are layered tight along my narrow
hips. Plopping my Boston Socks ball cap on my head, into roll play now I
whisper, lets stroll as I purr, I am so demur, I’m ready to create pure and
I'm looking for a bad girl named
Tina Flicks, a
muscled criminal, of Boston trash, migrated to Vegas, dangerous, vile, ultra
butch, a real piece of twisted, violent work. She's a sweetheart heart breaker
of 3 dimensional murder, pushing dope, a hard biker chic and seek and destroy
car jacks, whores and girls of a last resort. She's just a blip, a 6ft,1,
muscled, bout 175 lbs, filthy blond, tattooed, homicidal chic, sexy in that
street crew way.
I'm such a thug as I take two
steps by three's
down the stairs. I live on the top floor of a Chinese laundry, real film noir
PI stuff, all by choice of course, image remember. Great digs, it's really an
artist’s loft conversion I built myself of grief stricken blues.
N. Vegas, It's a bad part of
town, and I'm
street wise as I slide into my 59, 308 V-8 Buick car, turquoise and white, tail
fins and big chrome bumpers, leather seats, I love this ride.
I check my extra 38 stitched
inside the glove
box; slap my hands onto the big round Plexiglas steering wheel, smile and, then
twist the key. The Richard Petty carbs fire up and then the rumbling Detroit
engine of real steel and iron and an American dream of ex real freedom rumbles
in a throaty purr, she's my RPM machine. She was made in a time when a gal
could cruise across a nation that still had a heart, wasn't run by computers, a
time when a girl could be a free bird.
It was a time when smoke belching
chrome pipes meant prosperity. It was a bullet-hole moment in time when the USA
was an amazing nation. Was no political correct corporate palace of a tripped
out country that has lost it cool as it is now from K-Street lobbyists. I dawn
my black leather knee coat, pet my handgun, I am ready to drive, which in this
lovely machine it is, real driving.
It's time to get down to business.
Serious is serious, Tina Flicks
has killed some
men, some girls too so goes her cop jacket, she is dangerous and I have to be
smart. As I cruise down Las Vegas Blvd in my old convertible Buick the summer
wind feels good on my pale skin, chattering along my buzz cut, making me happy
that I am alive, so I began to laugh.
"Wake up Maggie, I think I'm
love with you." Old School Rod Stewart is ripping an octave from his soul,
meandering down the wires from my Apple music machine, into my elfin ears. I
kick a work boot on the dash, slink a little, time for a cigarette. So I slap a
Marlboro between my lips, flick my chrome Zippo, fire it up, inhale and like
I've seen in all of those movies, I mentioned I'm into Image, let it pearl out
of the holes in my Christy Turlington nose.
I'm heading for the "Bent Club"
Vegas, tough turf, graffiti, paint and blood on the stucco walls, Hispanic men
of respect, MS-13's out of Managua City, black bangers, Asians motor cycle
gangs run down here. Even the cops try to avoid it, not me, I love it. None of
those folks at the "Bent", no not there, it's a private club. It has
a completely different clientele, odd and strange and wonderful, if anything is
left wonderful in this twisted and depraved city.
It's also a Blood Bar, people
corners, drinking each others blood, everybody has their thing. I don't judge,
though it's not something I participate in. It's one of those rare places where
nobody ever makes judgment on me for sucking down some young show girls cum,
live and let live, that’s what I say. What happens at the club, like Vegas
says, "stays at the club" including your semen, blood and your life
if your not careful. You better be reborn hard to hang there or some dude or
gal will skull fuck you dead.
The Bent Club is filled with
bi-sexual youngin's, freaks, transvestites, murderers, thieves, dopers,
druggies, queen doctors, sissy lawyers, and dominatrix’s, submissive and girly
men. There are straight power player violent men, society women hitting on
young, stupid platinum body strippers, goofers, stick up guys, and girls like
me, though there is only one of me. It is where I'm hoping to hook up Tina
Flicks. Once she jumped bail, well the sex there, and the smell of sex there,
well she is a hard girl after all, her nick name is Tina “Dildo” Flicks, in her
belt, all the time, like a car tie rod, the girls at least say. The bouncer
there, a mountain black dude named Mike, who I layer from time to time a
C-note, whistled up my cell phone, telling me she's been hangin' there, and I
love that place. It's one of the few places on the planet I feel at home in.
I park the whale, tilt my head,
check my face
in the mirror, I'm so vain. I wear no make up, don't need any, ruffle my short
cut, smile, teeth white as chalk, eyebrows feint. I feel pretty, what a messed
up human being I am. Yet a girl likes to look good just before homicide, or
fucking, or what ever, maybe a good beating, if she’s lucky. They got guys and
gals at The Bent that excel in such things.
I never know what mood will travel
spine and "a go for the gusto kinda a slut girl" I feel kinda
excited, cunt beginning to sewer up.
I walk down the alley, see Mike
at the door,
smack a hundred in his catcher’s mitt of a paw, and get a Kong sexy handsome
smile from him, a kiss on the cheek in return. He's so huge, 6ft 6, I feel like
a noodle just anywhere near him. Man, I can't help but wonder about his
magnificent dick, that will have to wait for another night, a better night, I
am a curious kinda girl, would even opt for Mike, just to you know, see what
that was all about.
Through the iron door I go.
One A.M. just beginning to fire
up, quite an
elegant place, Private Club, I think I mentioned that. No tourists here, just
regulars, kids tired from pumping up the casinos with their life blood. The
place is decked out in all leather, rich woods, chrome and smoked glass,
amazing crystal hanging from the bar racks, back blue lit neon bar, best of
everything here. It's a respite for the loco loyalist locals, love this place,
Lots a black Vegas Cops hang
here, super duper
well styled out in kick back money Armani suits, check their badges and Glocks
and attitudes with Glenda at the coat check cubicle, I do the same. Layering
off my black trench, my shoulder holster, handgun, I slip them to Glenda. She
doesn’t blink, nothing fazes her, what can, she’s seen it all.
She's a Goth Girl, white skin,
everywhere, mascara, tattoos, arms, breasts, neck, stomach, inside her cunt I
imagine. She's topless, black mini skirt, gold rings in her nose, ears,
nipples, studs driven into her forehead, she loves me, whispers of fucking me,
eating me, were tangoing around that idea. I stuff a hundred into her hip
hugging waist band. She kisses me, smiles, two diamonds are inlaid into her
teeth, she’s so young, so Betty Boop stunning, I almost forget why I'm here. I
nudge my memory, remember, wink at her, later for that sweet little sugar cube.
I turn and walk into the neon club.
I make sure my hip huggers are
low, just above my
lasered cunt, every girl likes a little attention. I'm looking good, skin tight
black crew, bare arms, my black heavy stitched work boots on my small feet. I
have gold hoops on my ears, a thin gold chain with a gold cross falling down my
flat chest. I don't believe in God but I love the Latina image of it all.
No Tattoos, avoided that, though
I would have
dug the needle tine of pain. Just sorta of lolly lagging around as I look to my
left, a small dark room, people in the shadows, a private place, that’s where
the blood suckers are, nice people. I don't go there, doesn’t give me the
creeps though, everybody needs somebody to love them, Sinatra crooned that. I
have all of his CD's, I have eclectic tastes in music.
Its early, the booths have a
sitting around. Well dressed women flirting with semi clad, semi naked vixens
constructed of perfect young skin, pouting lips and nothing between the ears.
Everybody is drinking champagne in flutes, martinis in crystal dishes with long
stems, smoking pot, Xing, coking, smiling and laughing as the con is going
down, bargains of cunts and dicks being auctioned off to the highest bidder.
Lots a rich looking older men, expensive suits, hanging with gay boys decked in
leather, road bump abs. Their like the hunnies, perfect bodies, nothing in
their brains, the kinda sweet kids older men adore, pay for, fuck in the ass
and then jettison in the morning before they return back home to the burbs and
the wife and 3 kids waiting for them at their suburban cribs.
The parquet dance floor is semi
Ludicrous on the speakers. A stump of a butch dyke, maybe 250 lbs, crew cut,
Donna Karen black suit, black tie ups, white shirt and red tie, very stylish,
holding a skinny brunette semi naked play toy, maybe 20 or so. The sweetie pie
is tatted, pierced from head to toe, naked except a green g-sting, really a
postage stamp covering her shaved cunt. No body has hair below their eyebrows
anymore, including me, I like that.
The young twist has those small
baby girl tits
dykes love, tats everywhere, a Chinese dragon stenciled down her arms, Japanese
calligraphy on her stomach and breasts, three inch stiletto heels, towering
over her Lesbos protector. The girls are in love, love is a wonderful thing.
As I sidle over to the classic
bar, I lean in.
Sparse crowd, check out two 18 year old strippers, silicone tits, blonds from a
bottle, perfect hard bodies, gym rats I suppose, dancers from the Spearmint
Rhino or one of her cousins I suppose, pressed against each other, swaying to the
bongo drums, kissing, more love at The Bent. It's always that way. Imagine
their runaways, find always, incest survivors, uneducated temporary bleeders of
beauty, until that runs it gamut, then slashers of hash at Denny’s. It's
usually like that, unless an overdose kicks in, and peace finds their once
golden bods, putting them out of their misery finally, once and forever. There
completely naked, except for gold rings stabbed into nipples, ears, noses,
belly buttons, cunt lips, studs in pink tongues. There slender white frags of
skin fabric, high heels on the dance floor, two bull dykes at the bar checking
them out, respectful though, it’s a respectful type of place.
Two politicos, older men, graying
dressed, gold and expensive togs, are dancing with two leather clad boys. Bare
chests, muscles on muscles, slow dancing, mind dancing, kissing, holding, money
buys everything in Vegas, love, sex, an old mans dick in some young studs ass,
or the other way around. Sex and love dispels denial, makes people happy, as
well as miserable. I see no misery with the boys, girls and men and women here.
I just see honesty, happiness, lots a lip playing, eye dancing, lies whispered,
promises broken and kept. Of course all that is usually jettisoned within the first
motel curtain piercing of the morning sun.
Stitched along the black smoked
chrome bar are the usual suspects of decadence and mirth. Semi nude girls, lots
a stiletto heels, piercings, their all bullet proof, leather clad boys too, a
few older men, and I'm getting whispers from two dykes, decked out in men’s
threads. I like the attention, for like I said I’m an ego driven glamour girl.
I smile, then Jerry, my buddy bartender slopes over, asking me how I am. I purr
that I'm cool and how are you? He winks, tells me he's all good, a Grey Goose
up easy I say, no olive would be fine. He winks, turns, racks a stem on the bar
top, gets busy mixing up my silver dream. I feel it now, that wet tinkle,
tinkle in my cunt, the buzz starting to over come me, which means either sex or
violence will soon begin.
My moon beam vodka scream is
smile, sip as Jimmy turns, flirts down the bar and chats it up with two naked
waifish blonds, as my eyes roam everywhere around the stylish haunt. Everyone
is having a good time as moments pass and I am ready to drop the dime.
An hour passes one martini, two,
whores and hitters boogying on the dance floor. Then through the door Tina
Flicks noodles in the club, built like a 6ft 1 car cylinder of iron, black
leather coat, white t-shirt, no make up, dirty blond pony tail, she’s a kinda
pretty broad, black jeans, she looks like a VEE, rock abs, set above Levi hip
She's got those gym small hips,
rippling through her black tank top shirt, sharp cheek bones, about 35, blue,
hard cool eyes, WOW; I'm a lucky slutty frivolous and serious gal. She looks,
like she could be lots a fun. I don’t know her all up close and personal and
such, but I, got her pic right next to my leather wallet with my PI card in my
jacket pocketetes. I giggle thinking how Gollum asked Bilbo. "What’s the
nasty Hobbit's gots in its pocketeses." My brain works that way; I wish I
could just give it a rest. I look at Tina Flicks winding across the club,
moving towards me. I am kinda like a human sex magnet for dykes. She doesn’t
know me, but I am excited that she soon will.
I lean against the bar, both
against it, work boots planted to the floor at the end of my mile long legs,
stretched out long and lean, that’s what I am, I laugh, a tall drink of water
born of acid rain. I'm sipping my martini and counting the ceiling tiles, a
little aloof. She walks up, peeks at my face, smiles; my she's a handsome boy.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she's mine, whenever and how ever I choose the
moment to take her down.
I smile back, that always works.
She edges in,
clicks a nod a Jerry, who sidles down the bar, gang shakes her iron fist as
they chat it up. On her hip is a leather scabbard, and there IT is, a foot long
dildo, and that baby is thick, I begin to dream. I listen to her street chat to
Jerry, you know, yeah, all is good, how about you man. Tina Flicks nods,
assures him shit couldn't be better, orders what ever the blond doll is having
next to her and one for her.
She smiles at me, slips off a
bill from a folded bevy of them, flicks it on the bar making sure I've seen her
big money roll. I raise my white eyebrows, pretending to be impressed.
Finishing my Grey Goose, I thank her and then the mating dance begins.
"Where ya from Doll, ai'nt seen
before" you know the usual crap from a street player. I have to admit she's
damn good looking, weathered face, some eye brow scars, all of it oozing sex
appeal in that street raw filth way and as far as boiler hoods goes, she's a
sharp kid, I assume a panic under the sheets. I can smell the violence exuding from
her skin. She offers me a smoke, I accept, and then slow like, I like the
effect, pour it between my full lips, pout a little, end her life with my blue
She flicks her lighter to flame.
I inhale, let
the smoke all woozy and so drift across my face. Perfect effect, I'm waiting
for her dick to explode out of her Levi pants. Every time she speaks I giggle
or laugh, or nod and purr. I'm an actress, a player like her, as I giggle like
a school girl at some nonsense she babbles, you know to impress me, crap she says,
to make me want to fuck her. I touch a lot, her muscled arm, then her face. You
know, coy teasing stuff bimbos see Brittany do on MTV as my IQ engulfs her
limited brain matter. She's so easy I almost start to laugh, at nothing at all.
Blah, Blah, Blah, back and forth
we go. I doubt
she's ever read a book; I'm really not interested at the moment in her I.Q. My
adrenalines burning off the Vodka as fast as I consume it. My eyes and brain are
focusing, for though this is fun, I am a pro and know exactly how dangerous
this Tina Flicks is. This is not a time to get confused sex thoughts rampaging
through my brain, though my eyes are pin balling all around that huge dildo
strapped to her hip. So, I know, we both know, or she thinks she knows what is
going down here. So, we mate standing there, as I lean in, grab a swatch of her
Blond thick hair, kiss her lips real soft like, back away, almost go Mae West
on her, you know. "Why don't you come up and see me sometime big girl".
I almost giggle, there's that brain again.
But I don't as her hand moves
between my legs,
I don't complain. I'm hoping I'm not leaking through my leather pants. I know
I'm wet, I can't help myself, been some time since a Genie Girl has rubbed this
lamp. Then a new plan short circuits my mind. I lean in and whisper that maybe
we should hit the road, and see what happens. You know, cunt girl meets cock
girl, wrapped in skin and dildos and pussies anywhere but here.
She offer's me a little coke,
I decline, say
maybe later mister man, I have other things on my mind. She nods, says she’s
got to scoot, you know doll, just a little pick me up, a bathroom toot, be
right back. I smile, squeeze her knee, she grins, turns and walks across the
dance floor towards the rest room.
Perfect. I flip a c-note on the
bar, smoke a
kiss towards Jerry at the end of the bar. He winks and flies an air kiss back
to me, perfect again. Now, I can get to Glenda, maybe kiss or two, get my coat
and concealed handgun before stud fella returns.
Glenda is looking good, real
good and I almost
strike a time of girl romance later, but remember business is at hand, as I
feel my magnum pressed against my ribs, very edgy and dangerous stuff. So I
sharpen up for here come’s Tina Flicks. She’s licking her lips, grinding her
jaw from the coke, man I can see that she's totally amped up from the spook
look in those azure dilated eyes. I smile as she gleams her black leather
jacket from Glenda, pushes a twenty into her tattooed hand, she looks a little
jealous. I wrap my arm around her waist as if it always belonged there and
before you know it were out the door, hoping Glenda understands.
I exchange cautious see ya laters
with Mike at
the door. He knows me and what I'm all about, I see caution in his eyes, no
matter. I slip him another hundred dollar bill, get a "be careful little
girl" from his eyes. Turning with my stud fella, I walk down the alley,
just for a little bit.
I seldom mix business with pleasure,
really feeling it. Like I said, I haven’t been laid in dog years, so as we walk
through the filth of the alley, we reach another off shoot of a dumpster world.
I pull her in to the semi darkness, under the single light bulb struck into the
mortar of the bricks.
Slamming her against the red
squares of the
alley wall, I crush into her, feel her dildo pressed against my cunt, she’s
quick, it’s now conveniently strapped around her hips. My, I was right, that is
a huge one, lucky me. I stitch my fingers into her blond shock of hair, rip her
head back and drive my lips into hers as well as my tongue down her throat.
Her pincher vice hands are slapped
tiny no ass, as we detonate kisses, grinding bods together, tearing at each
other, sucking down each others saliva like two dogs in heat. Me, being the
bitch pooch that I am, I need fucking so bad, I forget for a sec what I am
doing and where I am.
This bad ass never heard of Viagra,
she’s built like an iron coffin. Street toughs are like that, girl testosterone
replaces blood in their brains. She could fuck all day and all night no matter
where she was, no matter what she was doing, probably while eating breakfast at
IHOP, or even sleeping. Man, she's strung hard and tight.
I'm heated up, decide to mix
it up. You know,
business and girl pleasure, any mistakes I make getting off, well I can fix
those later, I hope. So I drop to my knees, frantically wrap my thin fingers
around her silicone dick, huge, thick, the girl whispers were right. I’m
crazed, an actress, Emmy later, pretend to suck her off, you know just to get
her amped up and me to get in the mood.
She’s got both cable hands
around the back of
my head. My cheeks are expanding, I have a small mouth as I plunge my mouth
over her dick, lips expanding, cheeks puffing, eyes watering, feeling the tip
of her pretend dick banging against my tonsils as I roam up and down her foot
long cock. I’m enjoying myself, never doubted that I would.
I'm hoping she has a smidgen
of reality in that
good looking skull, and then cause she's a rough boy, she tightens her grip on
my short blond hair, then rams her cock down my throat. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle,
as her hips whip out and in, each time that huge knob going PAALUMP as it
smacks down my throat and I don't want her to stop, for I still need fucking,
badly. So I stand, grab her hair with one hand, smack her against the bricks,
hold her cock in the other. I can multi task, and then smash my lips against
Were not really kissing, more
like lip and
tongue’s smacking down, as we chew at each other like were both red meat and
were caged lions in that Zoo over in N. Las Vegas. The one where they got those
frustrated big fucking cats pacing back and forth on edge, ready to eat some
poor mother fucker who turns his eyes away from them for a sec.
She does not like being controlled,
by some skinny pencil of a bitch blond. She's a control dude; I like that, as then
she violently twists me around and slams me against the wall, my cheek and
forehead violently banging the bricks. I boohoo and get weepy for real, for I
like rough play, and she is my man, and I’m usually the fella, but just for
pretend being the girly girl for the evening. I like the way she handles thin
me as my breathing sweeps out of my lungs. I'm so turned on and needing it, I
feel hot liquids splashing down the inside of my thighs, my cunt is ready and
so am I.
My white unpolished fingernails
the bricks, my back arches as I plant my heavy work boots on the alley concrete
floor. I want to be ready, I want to be solid, I'm ready to mate with this turbo
charged kid, grind us both into dust and she's not gentle. I didn't expect that
she would be, as she rips the snap of my leather hip pants, slashes them down
along my knees and still she hasn't focused on anything above my hips. That's
good as I wave my tiny butt at her like the cute girl that I am, groan and moan
for real. I don't want her just yet to know I am a girl with a gun.
I tweak a peek over my shoulder,
see her jeans
are spooling around her cowboy boots, they all wear them, though there isn't a
fucking horse anywhere near Vegas for lot's a klicks. Then I feel the massive
knob of his dildo at the lips of my cunt, her arm, like one a those geared
"Come along's" you know those wire thingys truck drivers use to
secure their flat bed loads is coiled around my naked tiny tummy. She smashes
her thingy into me, not slow like, but violent like, as far as it can go, even
farther. WOW, she's everything that I ever heard she was.
SWOOSH, a gust of air whacks
out of my lungs, that
banger she carries is bigger than I thought, but I can handle it. I feel the
pain, gulp for air, moan like a bitch, feel more pain, Christ's it’s huge, it’s
every thing I ever wanted, for this moment that is. She begins to cylinder my
like a fucking jack hammer, me going haywire, moaning, ooohing and awing,
groaning, using profanities. You know like, shit, fuck, oh baby, come on, fuck
you, come on, don't stop, don't ever stop.
My back bends, my butt tilts
up, I whip my head
back and forth and then scream as I orgasm and then orgasm again. I rip at the
brick with my hands, trying to claw my way through the wall, as suddenly I feel
something pooling in my boots. I can't be that wet, can I? Expecting her to
stop, she does not. I remember the crank she snorted in The Bent. I know my luck
has held, as she kicks it up a notch.
My entire little 118 flails and
back and forth as she pounds me relentlessly for fuck of a long time. I'm
hoping my little head isn't going to revolve right off of my neck. I scream,
grind my teeth, bite my lips, everything is a blur as again I feel fissures of
orgasm slit my cunt. But then, she whispers that I am a bitch, how does she
know. She's into it now, as she vacuums out of me, finds the entrance to my
rectum, teases the knob against my asshole, as I gulp, smile and coo to myself,
OK, why deny myself anything at this moment.
To make a long story short, and
not going into
the gory details, she sodomized me for those dog years I was jabbering about. Swoosh,
Swoosh, my breath explodes. I'm
groaning, moaning, breathe bellowing, she's holding me hard, way hard. There will
be lovely bruises tomorrow.
Finally, I throw my head back
as I feel a
ripping orgasm. I go rigid, throw my arms into the air, and then go limp, bend
at the waist, my fingers touching the filthy alley floor. I sort of blacked
out, and can only remember my forehead banging against my shins, you know,
“Boing, Boing, Boing.”
I guess she used some kind of
ESP, don’t know,
and I guess finally got tired or bored, don’t know.
I'm a smart girl, so I stand
just because she paid me once that doesn't mean she doesn’t have to pay me
twice. I giggle thinking about that.
She has her palms on her knees.
the fracas she managed to get her jeans back on, so I stand straight, wet my
forefinger tip, and you know, do one of those eyebrow straightening gigs, still
wanting to look casual, look pretty, for I am me. I want to make sure she knows
how lucky she has been, especially after the bad stuff goes down.
Straightening, she stands. I
doesn't want anything else to do with me, for she, as I am sure as is usually the
case for her, gotten just what she wanted, gotten off, yet she is smiling at
me. I'm hoping she's not one of the romantics that wants to take me to Denny’s
and have breakfast after they fuck the light out of your cunt, igniting your
I chit chat her up a little.
She seems relaxed,
and wants to see if we can maybe hang some, and have an encore at her place
later. I pout, smile, I'm a sweet bird, and I say just one more thing baby. I
take her hands, press them against her back, then lean in and kiss her softly
on her beautiful lips. My hand snakes under my coat. I withdraw my short snout
357, raise it, back away and then press it into her mouth, a very different
look in my eyes now, as well as his.
She don't know if it's more sex
play, or I'm
something else. I whisper that she's under arrest, that’s what I do, as I dig
in my jacket pocket, get the arrest warrant, hold it close to her bulging eyes,
just above the black iron tit pressed into her denying mouth.
She's not happy. I'm sure she
thinks this is a
joke. I promise her it's not, and if she does not fuck up, I won't have to hurt
her. "Click" my thump chambers back the hammer, as her eyes dance
around my forefinger exerting pressure on the trigger mechanism.
I could of cuffed her, but where
is the fun in
that? I'm pretty sure she wants to make some move on me, which besides all of
the sex play, is exactly what I want.
After the fucking, the sucking,
like a great
olive topping off a great martini, violence fixes me, primes me, satiates me,
and satisfies me, what ever. Now her blues are ticking to my greens, the cocked
hammer, the pressure on the trigger, my greens, my dripping cunt, the smell of
the oil I use to clean my magnum. Because I'm a big brain, and she’s a little
brain, I read her, and know exactly what she wants and how she sees it going
Never in my blue life would I
be so close, but
I of course want to test it, all of it, so I smile, Christ I'm just a slender
girl, how can she loose. So I let her slap the magnum, and I go Oooops, geeeze.
My hand purposely swings wide and I drop the black iron on the pavement, wide
eyed now, as she leers at me, sadistic payback in her smiling eyes.
She knows, and I know that she
wants it slow now, lots a hurt, lots a pain, lots a madness for me. The way she
is leering at me, smiling at me, tasting the blood from where my hand gun cut
her gums, that it is in her mind and it is going to be fucking beautiful what she
is now going to do to me. I am so thin, cute really, I am wondering if that is
her thinking? Maybe she is considering murdering me as she fucks me, this time
violently rapes me. You know a grocery store plastic bag ground along my head
as she hammers me with her play dick. She has a limited IQ, and I almost laugh
watching the thought ball bearings revolve around her head.
One second, two second, three
She lunges at me, which in a
street fight is a
no no, and because I know exactly what I am doing and what I have been trained
to do and can feel the pressure of my white bunched fists, I do a little bunny
hop to the left. Then, with as much violence that I can conger, and that’s a
lot, I explode my heavy work boot into her knee.
“Pop, Crack, Poppity-pop.”
sickening sound echo's through the canyon of the alley. You know, when you’re
the delivery girl of a well aimed kick, there goes the cartilage as she
screams, twists around and because I'm a thorough girl, I swing my leg around
in a Karate kick, screaming my boot along her cheek, mouth and teeth.
Bang, or something like that
pops through the
night. Her beautiful white teeth tumble on the felt like dice at a craps table,
geeze I liked those pearly whites. Falling to her hands and knees, she's
moaning, bleeding, swearing, wheezing, and then because she’s a tough
character, she lunges out, grabs my legs, all most chewing at my feet.
Because I am a Judo Master, I
bend, smile, want
to kiss the blood from her mouth. I twirl her wrist; bend a little at the knees,
then snap back, breaking her wrist away from her hand as she screams, a
defeated girl. I never thought it would ever be any other way.
She's pinned, but I'm a smart
gal, so I
release, and with full force stint back, and then kick her in the gut with my
steel toe boot. SWOOOSH, grief and woe, she falls to the alley floor. I kinda
feel sorry, remembering the good time that she gave me.
I remember that rumor was is
that she murdered
two 16 year old runaways.
But heck, it's just a job, as
I reach in my
jacket pocket, find my chrome bracelets, slap the cuffs on her wrists, reach
over and slap my magnum back into its cage, stand, think of other things.
It's really a pretty night, so
I dig a smoke
out, do one of those flip things, lucky tonight, my lips catch it in mid air. I
spark my Zippo, light it up, inhale, Christ all Mighty, I love life, this life,
I think of Glenda at the check
booth stand and
Mike at the door, and kinda excited I'm wondering which one tonight I might
choose. Lots o adrenaline still, you know a tryst here and there. I'm never
just happy, contented, I'm so railed up I'm ready for more, bingo, whamo, I am
such a little whore.
Lets see, 2 AM, get Tina back
to Hank at the
bail bond place, fire up the whale, buy some cherry Chap Stick, just love Katy
Perry, return to The Bent and see if Glenda is ready to go.
Just fucking perfect.
is a writer with over 100 credits, and never lists
them. It's simple for j, for it’s never what you have already written, but what
you are going to write next. Contact info: firstname.lastname@example.org