Jagger

by Kristopher Rufty

  JAGGER

  KRISTOPHER RUFTY

  SINISTER GRIN PRESS

  Sinister Grin Press

  Austin, TX

  www.sinistergrinpress.com

  February 2015

  “Jagger” © 2015 Kristopher Rufty

  All characters depicted in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without the publisher’s written consent, except for the purposes of review.

  Cover Art by Frank Walls

  Cover Design by Frank Walls & Kristopher Rufty

  This one’s for Steve Beaver.

  Chapter One

  Standing over the remains of his mangled pit bull, Clayton hocked up a wad of phlegm and spat on it. He wanted to kick the worthless dog, but knew it was a waste of energy. Bruiser was dead. Couldn’t do much more damage to him than that.

  Besides, there wasn’t a great deal of the dog left that he could kick. Bruiser fought a decent battle. He just wasn’t good enough a fighter to survive it.

  And what made it even worse, Clayton actually liked the mutt.

  “Fucking runt,” he muttered.

  He knew Bruiser couldn’t hear him and didn’t care. Still felt good saying it.

  Running a sweaty hand through his shoulder-length hair, he groaned.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  Not only had he convinced himself Bruiser would win this fight, he’d convinced Brock Shuller so much that the wealthy prick had placed a large bet on the dog. Brock was someone who hadn’t earned his income through legal resources. And if Clayton couldn’t whip up a plan to recover Brock’s losses, he’d be in just as bad of shape as Bruiser.

  Just like Ralph.

  He shivered thinking about what had happened to that poor bastard. Brock had lost five grand on Ralph’s German Shepard. And all they found of Ralph a few days later was his head. The skull had been sawed open like a bowl and packed full of dog shit. People said clumpy brown trails had oozed from his nostrils and mouth.

  Ain’t nobody gonna stuff me full of dog shit.

  He looked at the remains of Bruiser again. He felt squirmy inside. Not only had the dog put Clayton’s life in danger, he had to clean this mess up. Luckily, Freddy was here to help. Not too bright of a guy, but Freddy admired Clayton. And more often than not, Clayton used that to his advantage.

  “Freddy! Where you at, man?”

  “Back here!” His voice was not at all manly, more like an elderly woman. Whenever he spoke, the pitch fluctuated like an audio cassette about to be eaten by the tape deck.

  “Get out here, man! I need help cleaning up this shit!”

  There was a bang on the other side of the wooden stall’s wall. Something crashed, a metallic rattling resounded from wherever Freddy was. “But it’s your shit to clean up!”

  Groaning, Clayton turned around, finding a small hole in the wall directly behind him. Had Freddy been watching him all this time? He suddenly felt very bizarre and awkward.

  The short, plump man waddled around the corner. His gait reminded Clayton of penguins he’d seen on the Discovery Channel. The flab on his body jiggled as he shuffled forward. He glanced past him and saw the bloody chunks of fur that remained of Bruiser.

  And grimaced.

  “My God,” Freddy said, his voice traveling upward. “Looks even worse now.”

  “Well, you don’t think he’s going to make himself pretty, do you?”

  “Guess not,” mumbled Freddy. “All that time I spent making him tough, wasted. Bah!” Nose wrinkled, Freddy swiped his hand at the pit bull. “Pathetic.”

  Clayton put his hands on his hips. He stared at the dog. Strips of its fur and flesh were gone, showing a corner of the rack of ribs underneath. The throat had endured the majority of the damage. A wide chunk had been torn out, leaving a tube exposed that dangled like an old sparkplug wire coated in gooey crimson.

  “Brock bet a lot of money on you,” Freddy reminded him.

  “He bet it on the dog.”

  “Yeah, but you know what he does if he loses.”

  Clayton made a face, knowing exactly what he did. An image of Ralph flashed in his mind. He shook it away.

  “And that was just five grand,” continued Freddy.

  “What was the total lost on Bruiser?”

  “Between Brock and his business associates—twelve.”

  Clayton’s legs suddenly felt as if they were filled with warm liquid. He dropped to his knees, splashing in a sticky puddle of dog blood. “I’m fucking dead…”

  “You told him it was a sure thing…”

  Clayton remembered his pitch to Brock. How poised and convincing he’d sounded. And cocky. Arrogant. Bruiser had won three fights in a row, and he’d become convinced his dog was unstoppable.

  Brock might have bet knowing he’d lose, just to prove a point to me for being so full of my own shit.

  Ralph’s head was full of shit…

  Clayton absently rubbed his hand over his scalp. He looked around the old barn as if an answer to all his problems was hidden somewhere around him.

  Freddy had used his parents’ dilapidated barn for all the dog fights. And it was a good spot, too. Tucked far away from civilization. The police had never once been by to investigate, though they must have known of its existence. Clayton had always assumed that was because a guy like Brock had bribed most of them.

  Now he was twelve thousand short and it was Clayton’s fault.

  Bullshit. It was Bruiser’s fault. He was the one killed by a damn half-breed.

  “You got all quiet,” said Freddy.

  He wanted to stand up, grab Freddy by the shoulders, and shake him until he understood why he’d lost the mood for conversation. Instead, he just sighed.

  “Scared of what Brock’s gonna do to ya?” Freddy asked.

  “Duh, shit, fuckwad.”

  “Don’t have to get all bitchy about it.”

  “Why don’t I? I’m probably gonna die, don’t you understand that?”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Really? You got twelve thousand just lying around that we can pay him back with?”

  “No, but he owes me a favor. Maybe I can get him to give you a little time to come up with some money.”

  Hearing that didn’t make Clayton feel any better. That wasn’t a solution, nor was it a plan. All Freddy could do, if he was even telling the truth, was delay the inevitable.

  Drag it out.

  Somehow, the idea of prolonging matters made him feel even worse.

  But it was also more than he could come up with on his own.

  “What kind of favor does he owe you?” asked Clayton.

  Freddy’s thin lip curled, showing a speck of brown teeth. “Don’t worry about that.”

  Clayton, on his knees, looked up at Freddy. “You really think it’ll work?”

  “I can convince him,” said Freddy. “He’ll hold off for a little bit, but he won’t forget.”

  “Good. I just need some time to think. Try and come up with something.”

  Maybe I could ask Teresa?

  Doubtful. She’d kicked him out. He should have known if he was going to bring other women into the bed he shared with his girlfriend, he needed to make sure there were no stains left behind.

  Besides, she didn’t have that kind of money.

  “I do this favor for you,” said Freddy, his breaths turning wheezy. “You have to do a favor for me.”

  Clayton noticed the goofy grin on Freddy’s chubby face, a tight line between two pudgy cheeks. Freddy swallowed hard, as if a rock was in his throat. It was loud, the thick wetness dropping into his stomach.

  “What the fuck you talking about
, Freddy?”

  “If you want me to buy you some time, you’ve gotta do something for me.”

  Clayton felt himself shrink inside. “You’re not getting weird on me, are you?”

  “No, not weird. I just think it’s deserved. I’ve been kissing your ass for so long, I think it’s time you showed me some appreciation. You’re already in the position for it, on your knees.”

  “You want me to kiss your ass?”

  Clayton shook his head. “Not kiss my ass. Kiss me somewhere else. Actually…just put the whole thing in your mouth, leave out the kissing and just do some sucking.”

  An icy flutter clung to Clayton’s spine. He saw where this was going and wanted to tear Freddy’s throat out. But the overwhelming possibility that he may be able to help with Brock kept him on his knees, on the dirt floor.

  He’s lying. Brock doesn’t owe him shit.

  Brock did seem to go easy on Freddy, though. Sometimes Brock took Freddy along to the many strip clubs he owned. Clayton remembered the rumors about Charlie. He’d given Freddy a hard time, punched him in the stomach or something. People said Freddy told Brock about it and he was the reason Charlie was found dead in Dinky’s Pond.

  Clayton held up his hand. “Freddy…”

  “Lick those lips.” He laughed a nasally, weasel-like laugh.

  “You’re not serious.”

  The laughter stopped. His smile dropped. “I am serious.”

  There wasn’t the slightest glimmer of humor anywhere on Freddy’s face. He wasn’t joking. His eyes lowered to Freddy’s crotch, where it jutted in the front like a small tent in the fabric.

  Clayton’s mouth felt awfully dry. “You really think I’m going to…blow you?”

  “You’re goddamn right I do. I’m telling you, I know Brock, and I can probably get him to go easy on you.”

  “What if I do it and he don’t go easy on me?”

  Freddy shrugged. “I ain’t gonna talk to him unless you do it.”

  “I’ve always been nice to you, man, even when all those fucks would give you shit. You really gonna make do this?”

  “You ain’t always been nice to me. You just put up with me. Shee-it. I think you’re cool, and it’s fine with me if you think I’m a shit. But I ain’t helping you unless you help me.”

  Freddy rubbed a thumb over his zipper. Then he flicked the tiny tab. He put both hands on his hips, thrusting his expanding bulge in Clayton’s face.

  I’m really gonna do this. I’m gonna suck a cock. Fuck! FUCK!

  Clayton’s mouth was parched, his lips dry and brittle. So, he did just what Freddy had suggested—he licked them. It helped very little. The inside of his mouth felt like it had been coated in a layer of putty. His tongue felt heavy and dry.

  “Come on,” said Freddy. “We ain’t got all day.”

  “All right, Freddy, just shut the hell up. Don’t talk. You’re making it worse.”

  Grinning, Freddy gave his hips a little shake. Loose change and keys jingled from his pocket.

  Raising his hands to Freddy’s zipper, Clayton’s fingers twitched as they clamped down on the tab. Freddy chuckled above him. Not wanting to look at his ugly face again, he kept his eyes pointed forward.

  And slowly pulled the zipper down.

  An uncircumcised, contorted penis fell out of Freddy’s pants, slapping Clayton across the nose. He jumped back with a gasp.

  Freddy’s penis looked like a pepperoni stick that was still in the shrink-wrap. Warts lined the underbelly down to the hairy scrotum. It was slightly damp and gleamed under the dim lights inside the barn. He could smell the stale odor of sweat and shit.

  Goddamn, does Freddy ever wash himself?

  Freddy took his cock in his hand and tapped Clayton on the lips with it. Knowing he was signaling for him to open wide, he did just that. Slowly, Freddy eased it into his mouth, as if afraid he may do something stupid, like bite. As much as Clayton wanted to, he didn’t dare.

  He’d never sucked a dick before, but he’d watched enough porno and had enjoyed the act enough times himself to know the routine. He wondered if he’d ever be able to enjoy having this done to himself again.

  He thought about it, concluding that nothing could rob him of the pleasure a blow job gave him.

  “Wait,” said Freddy.

  Relief flowed through Clayton. It was a joke. All this time, Freddy had been messing with him.

  Leaning back on his legs, Clayton released a long breath. He started to smile.

  When he saw Freddy tug his cell phone out of his pocket and angle it above his crotch, his smiled fell away.

  “Gonna record this,” said Freddy.

  “Come on, man…”

  “Something for me to remember it by.”

  Clayton’s eyes started to burn. For the first time since he was a kid, he thought he might cry.

  “I’m ready,” said Freddy, holding the phone out so he could see the screen.

  Clayton wanted to protest, but knew it was pointless. He was in a situation that didn’t have any paths that could lead him out. He would have to suffer this humiliation if it meant buying him some time.

  “You better not show the video to anybody,” said Clayton.

  “Think I’m stupid? I don’t want anybody knowing you sucked my cock.”

  Clayton didn’t respond. He formed his lips around the cap of Freddy’s manhood.

  Moaning, Freddy reached behind Clayton’s head and took a handful of his lengthy hair.

  Then Clayton got started.

  Chapter Two

  Something wet dragging across her bare feet tickled Amy awake. She jerked her legs up, swatting at the thin sheet swaddling her body. She felt it flutter back down over her toes.

  Heavy footfalls started at the foot of the bed and made their way around the side. She heard the jingling of metal tags growing louder. “Let me sleep,” she said.

  The sheet skimmed across her skin as it was shoved away. A large head pushed into the gap between her shoulder and neck. She felt a wet nose sniffing the side of her neck.

  Flinching, Amy tilted her head and squirmed away from the edge of the mattress. “Stop!”

  Opening her eyes, she was met with a wide blur of slurping red as it licked a sticky path from her chin to her hairline. She could see the wide nose and jutted maw coming at her face for another lick. Amy dodged the lashing tongue, throwing her arm up and bumping a collar. The tags jangled even louder. As she stirred about, she heard an excited whine of somebody being thrilled she was awake.

  The bed bounced when he leaped onto it, toppling her onto her side. Laughing, Amy rolled onto her back. The sheet had been thrown aside, uncovering her bare chest to the cool air of the room. In nothing but her panties, her skin was tickled by a heavy coat of dog fur as thick legs stood on each side of her.

  “Jagger! I’m awake! I’m awake!”

  He pounced the bed, shaking her. His wide mouth hung open, panting. Dots of drool spattered her breasts. Shivering, she tried to pull the sheet over her, but it was pinned down by his big paws.

  Amy folded her arms under her breasts and smirked. “Getting a nice look?”

  Jagger huffed.

  “If you want me to take you out, you have to let me get up.”

  Knowing this was their every morning routine, Amy still liked to kid around with her dog. Since he was roughly twenty pounds shy of two hundred, it was all she could do. Wrestling was no longer an option. He’d accidentally hurt her more than once and she’d had to put an end to their horseplay. Sometimes he got excited and forgot she was nowhere near as strong as he was, but a squirt from a water bottle reminded him.

  But she still allowed him to cuddle.

  He was very good at that.

  As if to remind her of his abilities, he slowly lowered himself. She opened her arms so his fuzzy chest could settle down on hers. Hugging him, she folded her arms around his wide neck and her legs around his hips. It was almost like a hugging a large hairy man.

&nb
sp; He lowered his head, resting his maw on her pillow, beside her head.

  “Oh, Jagger.” She scratched behind his ear. “You’re all the man I’ll ever need.”

  He huffed through his nose as if agreeing.

  “You know I love you, right?”

  Another sigh, as if he was bored and tired of her constantly reminding him.

  She scratched his large, dangling ear. She felt him tense up, lean his head into the scratching. “Like that?”

  Jagger moaned his appreciation.

  “No wonder they itch. Your hair is curling into your ear!” She laughed. “I must have a fetish for hairy men. What does that say about me?”

  Amy laughed.

  Being a Mastiff mix, Jagger’s hulky body concealed hers underneath a pile of thick, brown and black fur. She imagined he looked as if he’d sprouted a woman’s arms and legs and a head of long lemon-colored hair. Though he could easily crush her, he felt light and soft on top of her.

  His breed was known to be gentle by nature. And Jagger knew when to be delicate, really. Usually he was content with snuggling or being Amy’s footrest whenever she sat on the couch. He rarely did much other than sleep these days unless he was outside or at the park.

  Just don’t get him wound up, things get broken.

  Glasses, picture frames, a chair. She’d lost many things during Jagger’s animated sprints through the house. Her bank account could attest to all the money spent on replacements and repairs.

  Once he’d accidentally run into the bathroom door while trying to follow her inside. She was sitting on the toilet when his head had burst through the cheap wood. With his head lodged there, he seemed to smile as he’d watched her empty her bladder. This ordeal prompted her to replace the doors inside the house with something more durable. So far they’d held up. Only a few bonked noggins over the following months, but he eventually grasped he wasn’t going to get through.

  “Hey. Are you going to let me up?”

  Jagger sighed into the pillow. She moved her scratching fingernails to his side. His hind leg kicked, hitting the mattress like several whacks from a hammer. She felt the bed shake under her back.