Finally she said, “Okay, that’s good.”
I stood up and stretched.
“Did you, um, do anything?” I asked.
“Do anything?”
“Did you come?”
“A little, I guess. I didn’t have an orgasm if that’s what you meant. No ego boost for widdle Bwad. Sorry.”
“I could keep going.”
“But that was exactly what I wanted.”
“Okay.”
I was a little confused. I’d always assumed most people had sex to get off.
“Did you want me to leave my pants off while you jerk off or can I put them back on?”
My erection had wilted the moment I’d pulled away from her and I felt oddly satisfied so I’d kind of forgotten about jerking off.
“I’m okay,” I said. There was a part of me that felt like I’d regret that decision later.
“Oh,” she said, “you’re definitely jerking off. That’s not the choice. Your choice is whether or not I have my pants on.”
“Can I touch you while I do it?”
“No. Gross.”
“Leave them off them. Can I watch you touch yourself?”
“I don’t do that.”
Dawn was perhaps the first sexually liberated prude I’d ever met. So she would fist another girl, let a practical stranger go down on her, but didn’t masturbate?
I unfastened my pants and pulled them down a little. She kept the phone pointed at me the entire time, capturing my gaze trained between her spread legs. I was hoping she’d break down and play with herself but she didn’t. Just stared into her phone and jostled her legs back and forth and up and down out of boredom. My eyes feasted on her while I stroked myself faster and faster. Something about her complete disinterest was driving me insane. I thought about burying my head back between her legs. I thought about fucking her. I thought about getting her on her knees and ramming myself into her as deeply as I could, my hands on her hips, yanking her back against me, plunging my thumb into her asshole and pulling her hair so hard she couldn’t close her mouth. I wrapped my free hand around the tip of my cock because I’d forgotten to grab a paper towel or anything. I came several hot spurts into my hand.
Dawn stood up and took a couple steps toward me.
“Let’s see it,” she said.
I held out my hand.
“Now drink it.”
“No way.”
“So it’s good enough for Barcie but not for you? I guess I’ve got some pictures I need to send White Power Larry. Sheriff Bando too, for that matter. The longer you wait, the grosser it’s going to be.”
I raised my hand to my mouth, gagged before the semen even touched my lips, and shamefully began licking my hand.
“Yeah!” Dawn said. “Eat that load while it’s still warm!”
The unease in my stomach came back with a vengeance.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked.
“Awww, is widdle Bwadley sick again? Hissum’s got such a finicky stomach.” Her voice returned to the less patronizing one. “No bathroom. Suck it up.”
I dry heaved as covertly as I possibly could. I would have probably thrown up if I hadn’t already done so but managed to keep it all down. I imagined if I had thrown up, Dawn would have filmed the entire thing and then filmed me cleaning it up.
Once I recovered, she took me down to the basement where she showed me video footage on a really big screen of everyone who was in my apartment, along with a young black man wearing the uniform of a local pizza place, urinating on me while I slept in the shower. Also Klint taking a massive dump on my floor. Also a few minutes of Taylor Dream getting ass fucked by Klint while Dawn held her mouth open and Barcie spit into it. Then a few minutes of Klint taking it up the ass from Taylor, a huge strap on affixed to her, while he ate out Barcie’s ass. By the time she turned it off, I felt uneasy and anxious.
“Let’s go to Barcie’s,” she said.
I could have said I wanted to go home but I wasn’t sure I ever really wanted to step foot in there again.
* * *
Dawn drove us to a gravel pit on Route 4. The equipment was set up around the unreal blue lake but none of it was running. Dawn wound around the graveled workspace until it narrowed into something resembling a driveway, and took that until she reached a huge but utilitarian looking house in the front of some woods. The house was newer and landscaped perfectly, but there was still something kind of plain and sad and hurried about it.
“Is Barcie’s last name Danner?” I asked.
“Yeah. How did you guess?”
“So her dad owns all this?”
“Yep. Danner Gravel and Concrete. Pretty cool, huh?”
I didn’t say anything.
We got out of the car and walked up to the house. Dawn didn’t bother knocking. She just walked in. I followed her through the house, upstairs, and down a hall. She swung open the last door in the hallway. Barcie sat on her bed wearing a black sports bra and red underwear, hunched over a dinner plate and snorting something with a straw.
“Do you mind?” Dawn asked.
Barcie offered her the plate and she snorted a long fat line of whatever it was.
They didn’t offer me any.
“Where is everybody?” Dawn said.
“Makin deliveries,” Barcie said. Her eyes were glassy and a trickle of blood ran from one of her nostrils. She snorted and wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Where you guys been?”
Dawn pulled her phone from the waistband of her yoga pants, presumably pulled up the video of me going down on her, and held it in front of Barcie like she couldn’t talk about what had happened or possibly didn’t even remember.
“Looks fun,” Barcie said. “Will you send that to me?”
Dawn retracted the phone, tapped it a couple of times, and said, “Done.”
“Guess I should put on some clothes.” Barcie stood up and looked over at me. “Gimme yours.”
The demand was so bizarre I didn’t really know what she was asking at first. I didn’t even know she was addressing me until she kept looking at me, took a couple of steps toward me.
“Huh?” I said.
“She wants your clothes,” Dawn said.
“No,” I said.
“That word needs to stop coming out of your mouth. At this point, my only debate is whether I hand your friend’s phone over to the police and let you deal with the legal system or whether I go ahead and forward those photos to White Power Larry and let you deal with a more vigilante justice.”
“What am I going to wear?”
Dawn walked to Barcie’s closet, already open, and pulled out a pink and white dress.
“Here.” Dawn tossed the dress onto the floor beside me. “Barcie wore this when she was a little chubbier. Maybe it’ll fit.”
I pulled off my t-shirt and handed it to Barcie. She put it on. She was so skinny she swam in it. I kicked off my shoes and slid my jeans off.
“Underwear too,” Barcie said.
I glanced at Dawn who was, of course, now recording.
I handed my underwear to Barcie. She smelled them before stepping into them.
“You can keep the shoes,” she said.
“Barcie’s real particular about her footwear,” Dawn said.
If I hadn’t had to give up my underwear I probably wouldn’t have fooled with the dress. I picked it up while Barcie slid my jeans up her pale, bruised legs.
“Think I’m going to need a belt,” she said.
“Use this,” Dawn grabbed a length of chain draped over a corner of the bed’s headboard.
I struggled with the dress while Barcie wrapped the chain around her waist, reached into the top drawer of her nightstand, and pulled out a padlock. She cinched the chain tight and locked it.
I tugged the dress down over my hips.
“Let me zip you up,” Barcie said.
She turned me around.
“He’s too fat,” Dawn said. “No way you’re getti
ng that thing zipped.”
As we left Barcie’s room, Dawn said, “When are you getting a new room?”
“Daddy says now that I’m eighteen, he’s gonna have a guest house built out in the woods for me . . . until I decide to move out. Course he wouldn’t mind if I lived there forever.”
“Cool.”
We walked out of the house. The afternoon sunlight was harsh and bright. I liked it. I wished I wasn’t wearing a dress. I wished I was someplace else but I didn’t have anywhere else to be. At least I wasn’t at work doing something I’d done hundreds of times before.
“I need to get something out of my car,” Dawn said.
She opened the back door to her car and pulled out three Donald Trump masks lying on the backseat. I hadn’t noticed them.
We followed Barcie around the house to a bank of what looked like storage sheds at the perimeter of the woods. There were around ten orange metal doors housed in the cinderblock structure. Barcie stopped at the third door from the left. She wore a green bracelet that looked like one of the old stretchy phone cords.
“Put these on,” Dawn said.
I didn’t say no. Didn’t even ask why. It was going to be for some reason that was either stupid or horrible. I put the mask on. Barcie unlocked the padlock at the side of the door with one of the keys on the bracelet. She bent down and lifted up the door.
“Hurry up.” Barcie pushed me inside.
I heard the screams even before the door was all the way down.
* * *
The storage room had gray, egg crate-style foam soundproofing on all the walls, including the inside of the door. It made the screams sound weird. It took the edge off in a way. In another way, it made them even more unnerving. Like listening to the essential nature of a scream. Or a defeated scream, something meant to be heard but muffled and deadened.
The screams were coming from Taylor Dream.
She was strapped into what looked like a vintage electric chair, wearing only her bra and underwear.
I was surprised she wasn’t gagged but guessed it wasn’t really necessary with all the soundproofing. And, for all I knew, Dawn and Barcie liked the sound of her screaming.
“I think you would agree there’s a lot of porn out there.” I didn’t know if Dawn was specifically addressing the general assembly or me so I didn’t answer her. Turns out I didn’t really need to.
“The real question, from an entrepreneurial point of view, is how to get people to pay for it. Obviously you look for attractive actresses that are on the palette of what guys currently like to jerk off to. Then it helps to have some kind of scenario that’s appealing to a lot of people. You want the girl to get fucked by the biggest cock you can find. But it ultimately comes back to the actress. Once you’ve found a winning actress, the question of getting people to pay for it is, again, the real problem. You can provide a teaser video to lure them in. Long enough to generate interest but not too long. You don’t want the guy to be able to satisfy himself. You want to be the first site to feature the actress. And you want her to eventually end up doing everything. But, inevitably, they’re going to ask for more money or go to another company who they think is going to treat them better. Or, God forbid, they’re going to try to do it themselves with whatever lame ass tiny dicked guy they can find. Then, before you know it, they’re all over the internet and people are watching them for free. Suddenly, the little cash cow you worked to build is completely destroyed. So the question is how you can stop them from doing that.
“This is the only thing that works.”
Taylor’s screams had subsided somewhat but now they came back with a raging fury. Since she was the only one in the room not wearing a mask, she seemed exceptionally naked.
“In this scenario everyone wins. People will pay more for this than any of her fuck videos. The premium rises on her existing videos because she’ll never make another one. She’ll be free.”
Barcie used the key ring around her wrist to unlock the padlock enclosing the chain around her waist. My jeans slid off her hips, taking my underwear with them, and she stepped out of them. She pulled my t-shirt over her head. It was so large the mask didn’t pose any problems.
Dawn stood close, filming everything with her camera.
“Want to eat her pussy while we do this?” Dawn said to me.
“No.”
“What did I say about that word?”
“I’m not doing it.”
She paused. I couldn’t read her face. I thought about running but the door was probably locked and I wasn’t really sure how well I’d fare running through our conservative small town wearing only a dress.
“Barcie.” Dawn jerked her big Trump head at me.
Fuck it.
I turned for the door and at least gave it a shot. I was still giving it a shot when the chain came down between my shoulders.
I had never felt pain like that before.
She hit me again and I dropped to the cold concrete floor.
Barcie, a lot stronger than I would have taken her for, dragged me across the floor to Taylor Dream. Dawn fixed her phone to a tiny tripod and pulled Taylor’s hips out to the edge of the chair. Dawn tightened and adjusted some straps.
Barcie yanked off my mask and twisted my face toward the camera. I could feel blood running down my back and it felt like the skin was gouged.
Dawn yanked Taylor’s underwear down to her knees and Barcie shoved my head in between her legs. I would have probably retched again, but I think my body was in some kind of shock. Dawn straddled my back and forced my face against Taylor’s crotch while Barcie started working her face with the chain.
Taylor’s screams grew even louder and more hysterical as I mechanically licked her vagina. I tried to pull away when her bladder let go but Dawn kept my head held there.
In reality it probably didn’t last very long but it felt like the longest few minutes of my life.
This was the exact opposite of the experience I’d had going down on Dawn.
When it was finally over, I couldn’t bring myself to look at Taylor. I was well aware of what she might look like. After the third or fourth time the chain had come down, I’d been licking away blood trickling down her stomach. I collapsed onto the floor in a fetal heap and buried my head in my arm.
Dawn said, “At least you didn’t piss yourself, pussy. Get up. We’re taking this bitch home and going to a party. We’re going to have a lot of fun.”
I felt like what little spirit I had left had been beaten out of me.
I braced myself against the storage door and stood up. My legs felt weak.
Barcie held Taylor around the upper arms as Dawn lifted the door. Taylor whimpered and sobbed, shaking uncontrollably.
When we got to the car Dawn opened the back door and I crawled in. Barcie shoved the girl in the other back door. She still wore only her bra and was covered in blood. I looked away as quickly as possible. I had never witnessed anything more violent than a fistfight in high school and, other than in movies, the sight of blood sent a feeling of nausea swirling through me. Dawn went around to the trunk, opened it, came back around to my door, and set a twelve-pack of beer on my lap. She and Barcie got in the front and we were headed back through the quarry and out to the road.
It hurt for me to sit back so I had to turn and put most of my weight on my arm. I chose to face the window so I wouldn’t even accidentally glance at Taylor.
She was still sobbing. She said, “Can I see?” Her voice sounded weird.
Barcie turned, snapped a picture of her, and turned the phone around so she could see herself. Taylor began crying even harder.
Barcie and Dawn began laughing even harder. I thought maybe even Taylor’s cries turned into laughter but I didn’t see how that could be possible.
Barcie reached back, tore open the twelve-pack, and grabbed two cans.
Looking at her face, I wondered if Dawn had done something like that to her at one point.
Taylor rea
ched over with a shaky hand and grabbed a beer too.
How could she think about drinking at a time like this?
Then I thought it would probably help with the pain, which I currently had plenty of. Might help with the nerves too. The girls had mentioned going to a party and that sent sharp little jolts of anxiety and dread through me.
I grabbed a beer.
I’d managed to put away three of them by the time we reached what I thought was the same house we’d picked Taylor up from the night before. I wasn’t sure if the beer was helping with the anxiety at all, but the pain from my torn up back had receded to a nearly tolerable level.
Dawn pulled into the driveway and began honking the horn.
Klint came to the car wearing only a pair of cargo shorts. He looked mad.
Barcie got out of the car, opened Taylor’s door, and dragged the girl out. She fell into a heap on the ground.
“There you go,” Barcie said.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with her?” Klint said. “She looks like a fucking monster.”
Barcie shrugged and got back into the car.
“Don’t be a so fucking insensitive!” Dawn called to Klint before slamming the car in reverse.
This Town Needs a Monster Page 6