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Bloodbath in a Vegas Firestorm-Fiction by J. Brooke
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No Place Like Home
Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

Art by L. A. Barlow 2017

Bloodbath in a Vegas Firestorm

J. Brooke

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 UV, Dartmouth, 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 Vegas.

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, whores, 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 Tai Kwando, 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 Velcro shoulder 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, connived of 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 unequivocal havoc.

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 out twin 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 falling in 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" N. 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 reserving dark 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 queers, dykes, 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 down my 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, let’s go.

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, black 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 few debutants 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 jumping, 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 temples, well 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 glass and 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 delivered. I 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, kids and 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 huggers.

She's got those gym small hips, muscles 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 elbow’s welded 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 hundred dollar 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 ya here 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 eyes.

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, but I'm 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 against my 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, tee hee, 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 hers.

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, especially 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 scratch against 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 shakes, whips 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 remembering that 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. Somewhere in 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 imagine she 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 eyes.

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 down.

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 really, really 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 potatoes 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.”

 A 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, my 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.

j brooke 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: jbrooke2001@yahoo.com

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