by Aven Jayce
Did I say that out loud? Shit, I can’t stop now. “Fuck.” I draw out, watching the cum seep from her pussy and my cock. “Jules,” I pant, opening her wide to watch more flow out. “That’s superb.”
“Don’t,” she warns, closing her legs and sliding away. “I can’t believe you just said that. Thanks for ruining our post-orgasm embrace, asshole.”
She’s angry. I always fuck up my words during my orgasms and now she doesn’t know what to think.
“I say stupid things when I cum. That’s not what happened.”
“For fuck’s sake, then why say it? Especially when we’re in our best moment.”
“I just told you...”
“Oh, I forgot, because you become a blithering idiot when all of your brains spurt out your dick. I get it.” She dresses and stomps out of the room, annoyed by my... by what?
“What the fuck’s your problem?” I call out after her.
I hear a bottle open and a glass slam on the counter after she tosses back a shot. She rushes upstairs and stands next to the bed, her arms crossed, foot tapping, brows furrowed like an evil witch.
“What?” I grin, lying back on the bed. “I only watched. She wanted to make sure no one found her before she was dead. She said her parents and Jack would’ve called 911 and her friends would’ve never agreed to stay by her side while she died.”
“And she trusted you?”
“Yeah. That’s one thing my ex trusted me with—death.”
“Are you sure that’s all you did?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters if the person examining the body finds something else.”
“They won’t.”
“No?”
I grab her legs and pull her to the bed, needing to smack her ass.
“Ouch! Stop it!” She lets out a yelp, kicking her legs like a frenzied cat held over water. “I want to make sure nothing bad will come of this.”
“Thanks, but I’m invincible. Besides, I’m telling you the truth. I took the situation very seriously. She called to ask if I knew anything about assisted suicide, but got an earful for mentioning it over the phone. Her next call said she needed me to come out to help her with a few end-of-life decisions. I knew what she was asking based on the previous conversation. All I did was help her pick the right pills then stayed around until it was over. Nothing more.”
“Who found her?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Let me guess, you left and let your son come across the body? Jesus, Mark. That’s low, even for you. You certainly don’t treat him well.”
“Hey, I wasn’t going to stick around and call it in, that’s too suspicious.”
“And Jack doesn’t know you were there?”
“Of course not. And just so you know, I helped her die in a humane way and with dignity, no pain, that’s it. It was her decision... if you had seen the state she was in, you’d understand. I’m sorry I ever mentioned it. Maybe it upset me more than I realized... just forget about it. It’s over.”
“I think we need to discuss things like this.”
“Fucking let it go.”
“You’re impossible sometimes.” She stands and opens our closet door, bringing out her tightest black dress and a pair of heels.
“Where are you going?”
“I told you two weeks ago I have a birthday celebration tonight.”
“But I just got home.” I scratch my nuts and sigh. “With Angie and Michelle?”
“Yep.”
“Can I go?”
“Nope, ladies night.”
“Can I be your stalker?”
She frowns, aware that I’m not kidding. “Don’t embarrass me like last time. Why don’t you find some friends to hang out with? You could watch porn with them, or football, or something.”
“Oh, that sounds like a good idea... no, really guys, that’s not me fucking on that porn site.”
She laughs and slips into the dress, pulls her hair back, and rolls on some deodorant. “I hope I don’t smell like sex.”
“Going to Miller’s Pub again?”
“Don’t follow me, Mark. I’m serious.”
“I won’t.” I sure as fuck will.
She heads for the bathroom to put on a fresh coat of makeup, something I’ll never understand. If I’m not invited, why does she have to look so damn hot? I’m sure Angie and Michelle won’t be disappointed if she shows up without the mascara and lipstick.
“Why don’t you throw on a sweater over that dress?”
I’m ignored.
“It’s cold and snowy, I suggest you wear those heavy duty ski pants and some snow boots.”
Still ignored.
“You sure I can’t tag along?”
“You’re pathetic.” She exits the bathroom and walks over to the bed, planting a kiss on my cheek. My hand drifts under her dress, making sure she’s wearing... fuck, she put on a thong.
“See ya, hot stuff.”
“Remember, I own you!” I shout, watching her leave the room. “I’m Mark Jame—”
“I know, I know. I’ve heard it a million fucking times. I’m Mark Jameson, welcome to my hotel,” she mocks. “You’re an arrogant control freak, Mark. But I love you!”
“Don’t steal my line!” I yell, left alone to gaze into the mirrored ceiling with my hands behind my head, a smirk on my face, and a bead of cum lingering on the tip of my dick.
“I’m Mark Jameson, and yeah, I love you to death, Jules... don’t you ever fucking forget it.”
LURKING
I CAN BE GOOD... sometimes.
In all honesty, no, no I can’t.
The last girls’ night out was a disaster. Jules had just moved into my suite, things were great, and then I made the mistake of following her to the bar and sitting at the table directly behind her and her friends. They don’t know me and she wants to keep it that way—says she’s embarrassed by the age difference. Fuck, at least she wasn’t serious. And it’s not like I look old or anything, I still have the young, handsome face of a twenty-five- year-old.
Anyway, she noticed I was there and by her tight lips, damn, I knew she was going to beat my ass when she got home. Only she didn’t... instead she packed her things and went back to her own suite. Took me an entire month to convince her to move back in.
I guess it didn’t help much when I flirted with one of her friends at the bar—just as a joke—nothing would’ve happened. I’d be a fool to cheat on such an ideal woman. I was only trying to blend in with all the other assholes in the place, make it seem like Jules and I had never met, but I ended up pissing her off even more.
So here I sit, in my truck, in the lot behind the bar, waiting for a glimpse of my princess.
“Fweeeee. Phweeeep, phweep,” I whistle, tapping the steering wheel. “Fuuuiit, fweee... uh, this is so fucking boring.” I take out my cell in need of company, having a love-hate relationship with myself when I’m alone. I tap the screen, lean back, and wait...
“I’m busy, Mark. This better be important,” Cove answers.
“Appease me just once by saying hello instead of ‘I’m busy.’”
“Oh, did that piss you off?” he says sarcastically and hangs up.
“That won’t do, Mr. Everton.” I call him back.
“Fine. I’m listening. You’ve got one minute before Sophia hauls my ass out of the office and to the bar to greet our customers.” He mumbles something about getting his number changed.
“I have a terribly important question.”
“What?”
“I’m wondering why so many children’s books are crude and disturbing?”
“Is there a reference to you in that remark?” he asks.
“Yep, knew you were going to say that. But seriously, think about Watership Down and Billy Goats Gruff.”
“Speed it along. I’m at work.”
“Another favorite of mine is about a d
og trying to seduce a pussy. I can remember bits and pieces of the story from my childhood and how erotic it sounded.”
“And this just happened to pop into your head, why?”
“I’m thinking about using a line from the story on Jules... tell me what you think.”
“What? Are you seriously wasting my time with this shit?”
“Listen...”
In my bed sits Pussy Cat Puss, sunning herself today.
I’m the Gingerbread Doggy who comes prancing along. And with my Pussy I want to play.
The line deadens. I wonder if he hung up or just put down his cell.
Pussy says, “No, please go away,” and slides further up on the bed.
I bark and I bite then lick my sweet Puss, saying, “Spread your twat for my big head to slay.”
There’s laughter from my end, but a feminine moan from the other.
“What are you talking about, Mark?” Sophia questions.
“Hey, sis. Children’s books.”
“A children’s book would never be so vulgar. Spread your twat? Pussy? I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I made the last line up, but the rest is real.”
“Cove’s busy tonight, we have two private parties. You want to talk to me instead? Is Jack okay?”
“Ja...” Oh, shit. I forgot my son’s at the hotel. “Yeah, he’s fine. He’s settling into the guest suite, but the little prick knifed me.”
“You probably deserved it.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I look up and see Jules’ friend, Angie, taking a piss behind the bar. Snow lands on her head and a single light over the back door illuminates her face.
The lines for the women’s restroom are always long at this place, and it’s the norm for the bladder bursting, drunk chicks to end up behind the bar. Squatting in a parking lot, even on a cold, wintery night, is better than pissing oneself while waiting in line. And here she comes... my girl. Why must women piss in pairs? And how can they talk to one another when they’re in full stream? It’s so bizarre, something I can’t help but watch.
“You there?”
“Sorry, yeah. All is well. You guys okay?”
“Well, Daxton fell off his bunk bed yesterday and...”
Most people would say, yes, we’re good, but not my sister. She has to break into some drawn out story recounting every hour since we last spoke.
Angie fixes her skirt and rubs her crotch in an attempt to soak up the remaining urine dribbles before she kicks through the snow on her way back inside. I notice Jules copies the same maneuver after her friend disappears. Trying to keep her balance through the white, powdery drifts.
“...and then Cove bought me a fantastic new dinnerware set for the holidays. You should see it. Oh my god, the plates are scarlet red and our names are inlaid in gold lettering...”
“Fuck.”
“That’s what I said. Fuck, it’s dazzling...”
The dinnerware set has nothing to do with my vulgarity. It’s the scene behind the bar. A full-bodied brute, twice Jules’ size, is blocking the door. I can tell by her body language that she’s not only uncomfortable, but also irritated. The fool better watch out, she can pack a punch.
“... and you should see our Christmas tree this year. The boys picked it out from a tree farm and they helped cut it down and decorate it. I have photos. I’ll send...”
“Shit.”
“... yep, holy shit, right? It’s so pretty, Mark! Just wait ‘til you...”
I toss my cell and race out of my truck as Jules arm is grabbed. She’s hauled away from the door and into the darkness, losing a heel along the way.
“What the fuck?” I growl, cradling my blade as my heart pumps wildly.
The icy pavement under the snow makes it impossible to attain a solid foothold and I can’t run without falling on my ass. Damn. Damn. Slow and steady. Don’t slip, keep the pace, you’ll get to her.
I don’t see her.
Must find her. Protect her. I’m gonna kill him. “Jules!”
I hear a muffled noise then, “Bitch, you’re dead,” before a low distressing bellow. That wasn’t her. Sounded like... like a monstrous end to a shithead’s foul life.
Only the fucker’s not dead. I follow the groans and find him in the snow, holding his dick and pining for help with a soprano wail. There’s blood on his hands from an obvious stab wound and his pants are partway down. Asshole was getting ready to attack her.
“Help,” he yelps like a seal. “Help me.”
A gust of wind swirls the snow, dispersing our footprints. She’s gone, and with the snow tumbling down and the moon blocked by thick clouds, there’s no-way to tell which direction she took.
“Please, help me.”
“Crap, buddy, what happened? Can you get up?”
“No,” he pants. “Call... help.”
“Hold tight. I’ll get my truck and take you to the hospital.”
I pretend to hurry away, slowing down once I’m out of view. I rub my hands, excited for a kill. Get the bastard into my truck; take him home, and play.
Jules made a critical mistake by leaving him alive, and we’ll have to discuss that later, but I’ll also thank her for making my night. I think I’ll even be able to fuck again after I witness some well-deserved suffering. That’s a sure erection-producing scene.
I drive down the alley, stopping a few feet from his curled up body.
“See if you can step up.” I lift him toward the passenger side, guiding him into the seat. He flops forward, resting his head on his knees. “That’s good, buddy, stay down. Get comfortable. You’ll be feeling better in no time.” I shut the door and smirk, taking a shovel out of the truck bed to remove the bloody snow off the ground. I pile it in the back then drive to the spot where Angie and Jules took a piss, hauling the yellow snow into the bed along with the heel that she lost. No evidence. No fluids. My father taught me that. Never leave behind any fluids that can be traced back to yourself or the victim.
A CR-V pulls into the lot and drives down the alley, replacing my truck tracks with its own. Perfect. Finished just in time. And when the bar closes and people pile out, there’ll be no sign of my tire tracks over the numerous cars and footprints in the snow. If this is the last place this guy was seen, it will be a jumbled mess for the cops.
I start to drive toward the hotel with the guy falling in and out of consciousness. When he’s awake, he repeats over and over how he’s going to kill the bitch, and when he’s passed out, I’m able to call Jules. She doesn’t pick up, forcing me to leave a message.
“Hey. You didn’t finish what you started. What gives? You okay? Bet you’re angry I was there, but I’m taking care of your mess, so I better be rewarded. Get your ass home so we can talk.”
And then I text her multiple times...
Worried. You okay?
Where are you?
Everything’s good. Heading home.
Got your shoe.
Don’t be scared.
I wonder if she freaked out. This is the first time she’s used her blade, and when she felt the puncture or saw the blood, she may have been panic-stricken, just like my son. It doesn’t come naturally to everyone, only the best of us.
“There yet?” he gasps. “Pain. Help,” the bastard moans.
“What’s your name, buddy?”
“Lucky.”
How ironic. I try not to laugh, but shit, Lucky? “I’m going to take good care of you, Lucky.” I hit the remote for the garage and see Jules standing next to my workbench. With crossed arms, she embraces herself. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen such a glum face on my woman. I recall this same expression of sadness when she told me the story of being attacked by that piece-of-shit, Roland.
She waits for the truck to come to a complete stop before walking cautiously to the passenger side. Our eyes meet through the window and I notice a tear on her cheek. Fuck, this has really af
fected her, probably stirred up a bunch of bad memories. I’ve only seen her cry twice in the past year.
Now I’m pissed. Men like this guy are the scum of the earth and should have a catheter shoved up their dicks, gasoline injected inside, and their junk set on fire.
I nod toward the moron bent over in the front seat, but she refuses to look. The downhearted stare... I can’t stand to see her like this. I rush out, set to kill. Fuck this asshole for doing this to her.
Dragging the wounded hulk out of the truck and to the ground by his hair, I push his face into the concrete, flick open my blade, then pierce the back of his neck in a forceful drive. He swings one arm back, striking my abdomen, while his other hand claws at the concrete. A deep red appears and unites with his brown hair... brilliant. And I love it when they squirm.
I swear, a man who wastes his money taking a woman out for a fancy dinner doesn’t know shit. This is free. It’s stimulating. Sometimes it makes you laugh. And killing a man who fucked with your woman will get you laid faster than buying the lobster special at Sea Food Chalet.
“Scream like a baby.” I spit and grin, watching him strain frantically for the back of his neck. A second later he feels his mutilated groin and sets his bloody hands back over his dick.
“Stop!”
And so it begins. My pal Lucky enters the great land of ‘piss and panic.’ I imagine urine flowing through a sliced cock can’t be very pleasant, but I don’t feel bad for the guy, after all, this is a torture session. Let’s see... how much pain do I feel like inflicting before he takes his last breath?
I turn to Jules for my answer. When she emerges from gloom and smiles again, I’ll know it’s enough.
Whoa, hello.
Her blade is clasped between her front teeth as she frantically wiggles her arms free from her winter coat. It’s off, in a heap on the ground, and she’s pushing me out of the way, moving in for an attack. The blade flickers in the fluorescent light as she impales his ass. Deliberately, she stabs the guy in the ass.
“Bitch!” He tries to roll, but it’s too late. She’s on his back, sending deep piercing thrusts into his flesh. Plunge in—pull out. Plunge in—pull out. “No! Oww!”