Chapter 5
James awoke that afternoon irritable and grumpy. That girl Marci had had a hot little cunt, all right, and she had sighed and squealed at all the right moments, but she had just been too fucking eager for it. And he hated it when the cunts were too fucking eager.
Far better, he smiled, to have to fight them all the way, to have to beat them down. The difference between love and rape had never been clear to him. Sex was something that needed to be taken, ripped out of people. You had to amaze them, astonish them. Not give them what they want or expect. Who the fuck wanted to go to bed and get what they expected? What they thought they wanted? Because who they fuck were they to know what they really wanted.
Rape, in fact, was an absurd concept to James. The best sex was always astonishing, unsuspecting, unwilling even. He certainly loved being surprised, taken unawares—and by almost anyone. At times the homeliest, the oldest, the fattest women could absolutely overwhelm him-and he loved that.
But like most really hot seducers, James preferred giving to receiving. He liked to be the one who surprised, the one who "raped," the one who was on top.
And that cunt Marci, she was just a little too hot, just a little too ready, and little too eager. He was lucky to have come at all.
The reason he had come, in fact, is that he'd gotten into this whole beautiful fantasy trip about the other bitch she was here with—that hot-cold slut friend of hers, with the snot-nose look and the long red hair. Now that he would really like to get into, that he would really like to tie up and beat the shit out of.
He'd beat her until she begged him for it, and begged, and begged, and begged.
According to what Marci had let slip, the cunt was really dying for it, too. Evidently she hadn't come in weeks. Well, he'd make her wait even longer, and she'd love every minute of it.
Sitting across the table from him and watching him scowl, Abigail Crimpton-John knew better than to question him about the scene last night. She assumed it hadn't been much, for he hadn't even invited she and Elmer to watch. And she knew James never really got off sexually unless she were watching. Or someone.
It was most likely just a quick come, a fast fuck, a bit of the old in-and-out, she smiled. Still, that little butterball was a nice looking little pussy, she smiled (Abby loved using dirty words, even when talking to herself). A real lickity-split wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am type.
Over the years, James had fooled his mother many times about the type of women he'd pick. Some were ugly as sin—or at least so Abigail thought. She could swear that some of them were every bit as old as she was herself. And some were fat, or homely, or even—she still had to shudder at this one-deformed.
One woman she remembered in particular had only one leg. She was not especially homely-almost pretty, in fact, in the face. But her personality was as warped as her physique. There was something missing in her-some void, some hollow space-and she had filled it with bitterness and hate. That cunt could give a new meaning to the word bitch, Abigail smiled to herself. But James had loved that one-legged tramp, Abigail recalled. He had kept after her for weeks-far longer than the time limit he put on most conquests. Indeed, few women could resist him longer than three or four days, five days at the most, that is only when he really set his heart to it, but this cunt he had chased for well over a month. And once he had gotten her strung up, the battle wasn't over.
And even more surprising was the fact that even after the bitch began to beg for it-to chase him-James stayed interested in her. And Abigail was absolutely convinced that it had something to do with her stump. She could see him, even now, pressing a lighted cigarette butt into the tip of that stump and climaxing enormously to the sound of the girl's screams. But she would never understand it. Never.
One thing was certain. The playroom had been vacant far too long. James needed a new plaything, a new obsession. He was getting bored. And when James got too bored, all hell could break loose. It was time. It was most definitely time.
Elmer was in his room cutting out pictures from magazines and books. Three walls of the room were now a giant collage, and he was eager to spread his masterpiece to the fourth wall. But not too quickly, of course. He was most definitely picky about the pictures he chose. Very picky indeed.
The stack of Blueboys, Drummers, Playboys and Hustlers lay on the floor, right next to the other, far-more-expensive volumes that his sister had ordered for him from antiquarian bookstores around the world. Books on satanism and witchcraft were expensive, he knew-especially the ones with filthy illustrations. But Abigail could afford it. She definitely could afford it.
The collage was a real marvel to behold. Pornographic idols of both sexes cavorting with devils and high priestesses of black magic. Men fucking men, women fucking women, devils fucking both, devils fucking devils. Elmer let out a low cackle. His art delighted him tremendously. Not only did he pick the beauties that were displayed-and he picked only the loveliest and handsomest, the women with the biggest tits and the juiciest looking asses, as well as the men with the sexiest physiques and the biggest and best cocks-but he (and this was far more important) put them together. He combined them, artistically and sexually. He made them his creation. Perverse as they might be standing naked on a page of Gallery or In Touch, they became grotesquely, grossly a hundred times more deliciously perverted when he put scissors and glue to their slits and protrusions.
After an hour or so, which was always about as long as Elmer could stand working on his masterpiece (not because he became bored, but because he became far too excited), he felt one of his "seizures" coming on and quickly switched off the regular lights in the room, flicking on the complicated system of strobes and black lights instead. Like an early Sixties hippie pad, the room now came alive with phosphorescence. Elmer's hands trembled as he put Donna Summer's "Love to Love You, Baby" on the turntable. It was almost time.
Fumbling in the drawer of the little table beside his water bed, Elmer grabbed his inhaler and raised it to his nose. Real amyl nitrate gushed up his nostrils (none of that cheap butyl imitation shit for him, Abigail saw to that), and the top of his head began to pop off. He always thought of Alice falling down the rabbit hole at this minute, and wondered if she'd been playing with her little pussy as she fell, the way he was pulling at his weenie right now.
Elmer's eyes zipped from image to image on the wall that surrounded him. All of them turned him on, both individually and collectively—the witches, the devils, the studs, the cunts. He snorted heavily at the inhaler and his tiny cock hardened momentarily before gushing wetly all over his pumping hand.
Peacefully Elmer fell into a deep sleep.
James arrived at the bar early, itching to get his eyes on that cold bitch again. Maybe she'd come in for a cocktail before dinner, he thought. I'd like to slip a cock in her tail, he laughed to himself—and I don't mean her cunt.
He wondered how much the bitch was into, deciding not much, probably. That was all the better. He liked to be the one who initiated bitches like that into the rites. Though occasionally one who already knew the ropes was a bit of fun.
With the lights all the way up, the bar didn't look nearly as ominous as Janet had found it the night before. The room was about thirty feet long by fifteen feet wide. The bar ran the whole length of one of the fifteen-foot sides, with the fireplace centered on the other fifteen-foot wall. The entrance was two-thirds of the way down one of the thirty-foot walls, and the other wall was almost all windows, looking out on the slopes beyond.
James didn't have to be until eight at night, but occasionally he came in to give Jake, the night watchman who doubled as the afternoon bartender, some extra time off. Poor guy had five kids at home to support, and he could use a couple of hours of shut-eye in one of the rooms upstairs. From what he said, James also surmised that the guy's wife was a real shrew.
Today Jake was looking a little sleepier than usual. There wasn't much business in the afternoons—usually just the boss's wife drinking her gin-and-tonics—but just putting in the time was enough of a drain.
"Hey, superstud," Jake grinned broadly. "Hear you got yourself a hot piece of pussy last night."
James grinned cordially, though he never really liked talking about his conquests or being questioned about them. "Well, Mister Night watchman," he laughed. "Just how did you know that?"
"Little bird told me," Jake said. "Red-headed one. If she hadn't been so hot to trot, I think she might actually have been worried about you fucking her roommate."
Suddenly the story began to interest James. "Hot to trot, huh?" he asked, feigning mild indifference. "So you took care of the redhead while I banged her roomie, huh?"
"Well, not exactly," Jake blushed. He paused for a second, then shrugged. "Shit, I might as well confess. She got me so turned on I shot my load as soon as I pulled down my pants. She didn't get a drop of it."
Old Jake was nothing if not honest, James thought, with a perverse smile. "Well," he grinned still pumping for information. "I guess at least you took care of her after that, with that big tongue of yours."
This time Jake really blushed. "Shit, Jimmy," he said gawkingly. "You know I'm not into that. I'm Catholic."
James clapped him on the back and sent him off to get some sleep before his night shift started. So far so good.
Vito called James about eleven-thirty. It had been a slow evening, and James was increasingly irritated because the redhead and her fat pussied friend hadn't shown up in the bar yet that night
"Just had a pair of 'em," Vito teased over the phone. "And, baby, believe me they were hot."
James waited. He knew that there was more coming. Vito never called just to brag.
"It sure was hot, old buddy," Vito went on. "One on my face and one on my dick."
"Ass or cunt?" James queried, still trying to sound nonchalant. "The one on your cock, I mean."
"Cunt," Vito laughed. "But it was the one on my face who just wouldn't stop. She must have come ten times at least. And then I fucked the holy shit out of her. Christ, I wish you could have seen it. Those big firm tits flopping back and forth as I ate her pussy up one side and down the other. And the other one pumping like mad on my cock, trying to get me to shoot. Shit, baby, it was fucking fantastic. I could've eaten that little bitch's twat all night long. But the funniest part was the other one, that little red-headed slut."
Vito paused, and James knew that this was what he had really called about, what the whole conversation had been leading up to.
"I've never seen a bitch try harder to come, or to make me come," Vito laughed. "Shit, man, she was absolutely frantic. And I do mean frantic."
There was a slight pause, as if Vito were listening to see if James was breathing hard at the other end of the line.
"They're headed back your way, big boy," Vito laughed. "Why not have one on me? Don't forget, I got her worked up for you. You got to return the favor some day."
"Thanks," James laughed. Vito was a friend indeed. While getting off himself (the silly cuntlapper), he was setting his buddy up for what James hoped would be the hottest night he had had in months.
James had no sooner hung up the phone than the two women walked in the door of the bar.
Even if James had not just talked to Vito, he might have been able to guess what had been going on just by looking at the two women's faces. Marci was incredibly satisfied, that was apparent And James had seldom seen anyone look as overwhelmingly frustrated as Janet looked at that moment.
The two women walked straight towards the bar.
"Hi, Jimmy," Marci giggled. "How's tricks?"
James hated it when anyone called him Jimmy. "According to Vito," he said, by way of getting even, "tricks are just fine." He paused slightly. "If you like pussy in your face, that is."
Marci giggled sillily. Janet wanted to slap her off the stool.
James turned his eyes to the redhead, undressing her with his eyes. "Personally, I'm not much into pussy-eating myself," he smiled wickedly. "Are you?"
"Don't start, prick," Janet hissed.
"Best prick you've seen in quite some time, I'll bet," James snapped back. "If not the only one."
Janet's lower lip trembled, and James thought for a moment she was going to burst into tears.
"You cocksucking bastard-" she growled.
"Wrong on both counts," James parried. "In fact, I'd like to show you just how wrong you are about the first part, you white bitch, you."
Hearing him call her white sent shivers down Janet's backbone and deep into her cunt, reminding her of the one fantastic night she had spent with a black man, a jazz musician hung like the proverbial buck stallion.
"Yeah, baby," James snarled, really nastily. "You are so fucking white I can barely stand it."
"And what do you intend to do about it?" Janet snapped, surprising herself with her own intensity.
"Well, I might try spanking it out of you," James snapped. "For starters. But keep in mind that that's just for starters."
"Oh, yeah?" Janet came back with mock flippancy. She was really beginning to get hot from all this talk. "And how do you plan to-uh-finish? Some folks I know have a lot of trouble finishing, even though they may be real great at starting."
"From what I hear, cunt," James kept at it, opening wound after wound, "it's you that has all the trouble finishing. Everybody else seems to be getting off real good."
Janet staggered to her feet and tried to slap James across the bar. Instead she went sailing into a row of unoccupied chairs and ended up flat on her back on the floor.
James was around the bar and towering over her in a flash. He was wearing levis tonight and they clung tight to his cock and balls. Standing above her, he reached down and straightened himself, tugging hard at his meat which was fast beginning to harden and thicken.
"You'd love a taste of that, wouldn't you cunt?" he whispered, making his voice private and personal for the first time during the conversation. "How badly would you like a taste of this big dick, baby? Answer me!"
Janet was shaking all over. Tears gushed from her eyes at last.
"Leave me alone, you—you—brute-you—" she cried.
"You love it, don't you, cunt? You're dying to have this big dick rip you apart, rip your fucking guts out, aren't you? You want it bigger than you've ever had, don't you, bigger and harder and rougher and faster and meaner. That's the only way you can come, isn't it, you worthless, ugly, despicable cunt? Answer me!"
James raised his hand and for one long second Janet thought he was going to bring it down hard across her face, so hard that maybe it would crush her skull, sending her into a new kind of unheard of ecstasy.
But James stopped short. Instead of hitting her, he offered Janet his hand, helping her to her feet. Once he had her back on her stool, he turned his back on her and walked away.
For several minutes, he ignored her completely, taking care of all his other customers instead, then busying himself with all sorts of busy work, like cutting up limes or going to the ice machine for more ice. Each time he walked past her, Janet yearned for him to touch her, to hit her or ridicule her, to acknowledge her in any way.
God, she thought to herself desperately. This is sick. I'm changing. Something's happening to me. Something terrible. This is really, really sick.
But the more she tried to convince herself, the stronger her desire became to be with James, to be degraded and overpowered by him. It was as if no other man existed any longer, as if nothing else mattered in her life. The ache in her cunt grew and grew, until it was almost unbearable. He had to fulfill her, and soon, or she was convinced she would die of agony.
For over an hour he ignored her. She sat on the bar stool watching his every move, drooling over him. At last he walked over to her and shrugged. "Listen, kid," he said plainly, no longer game-playing. "I was pretty hot for you at first, but now I've lost interest. Forget it. I don't think I could cut it with you. I thought you were my type, but I guess I must have made a mistake. Let's just forget it, huh? Let by-gones be by-gones? Besides, you're pretty drunk right now. Why don't you just let your friend help you up to your room?"
The whole world collapsed for Janet. She fell from the stool, and her dream fell with her.
As they carried her down, James smiled happily to himself. She was almost ready, he could tell that.
Just give her about one more day and surely she would be ripe for the plucking. Waiting one more day for that didn't bother him a bit. Not one little bit. Some things were worth waiting for, and he was pretty well convinced this was one of them.
He wasn't totally sure that he liked the change in her coming so soon. The way she had looked at him with that lovesick puppy dog look had turned him off-he hadn't been kidding about that. But then he was convinced she would be back to her old self, hating the sight of him, by the next morning. It was just the booze, he was almost sure of that. Booze letting her subconscious gallop to the surface. Before he was ready for it. Long before he was ready for it. Yes, sir, a whole hell of a long time before he was ready for her to go down begging and groveling. There were several acts of this play to go before he was ready for that. Otherwise it was just too easy. Just too fucking easy. He hated it when it was too easy. Hated it
Being born rich and handsome and hung like a stallion did have its disadvantages. He just hoped she wouldn't fuck it up for him-for them. For as good as it could be for him, James knew, it could be just as good for her.
Marci and a middle-aged couple who had been drinking down the bar managed to get Janet to the elevator, but not without difficulty. From across the lobby, Jake the night watchman noticed them and moved in to help.
Five kids at home or not, he was immediately turned on by the little butterball who was helping the redhead from last night into the elevator.
"Might I help you, miss?" he said.
Marci blushed. My goodness, she thought. For a place that doesn't have many men, this one certainly has some nice ones among the few that it does offer.
The middle-aged couple got off on the second floor, but Jake stayed with Marci, helping her get Janet to the room. It seemed curious to him to be entering the same room that he had come to the night before, but then Marci didn't know that, most likely, and Janet was certainly too far gone to notice.
"Do you think she should go into the shower?" Jake asked.
"Not really," said Marci. "When she's like this the best thing to do is to just let her sleep it off."
They lugged Janet over to her double bed and undressed her. Her tits flopped loosely against her body, and Jake noticed again that she had a nice juicey-looking cunt. He blushed deeply when he noticed Marci was watching him look Janet's naked body up and down. He wondered if she realized that the fantasy had just crossed his mind as to how it might be nice to fuck Janet while she was passed out. After all, she did owe him one after last night.
"Have you ever tried that?" Marci asked innocently.
"Tried what?" Jake blushed again.
"Fucking someone when they're out," Marci said nonchalantly.
"No," Jake said, both confused and pleased that she had read his mind. "Never. Don't think it would exactly be my thing." He paused briefly. "The only time I was ever with a gal who passed out on me, I got her into the shower and that woke her up pretty good. Good enough to go to it at least."
Marci stood staring at him sheepishly. Neither of them spoke for a long minute.
"I'm pretty drunk myself," she giggled sexily. "Do you think a shower would sober me up."
"Well, hell, honey," Jake said, finding it increasingly difficult to talk at the moment. He felt his cock grow hard inside his uniform-far harder than it had grown the night before and far harder than it had gotten just moments before when he was thinking about fucking Janet stiff.
Marci stumbled across the rug and into his arms. Her kisses were warm and sloppy, and he liked the smell of her cheap perfume. "Oh, sugar," she cooed up at him. "You're so big and strong."
Jake lifted her off her feet and carried her gently to the bathroom. The clothes fell from her body easily and he hastened to carefully remove his own. No more accidents like last night, Jake promised himself with a smile.
They stepped gently into the shower and turned on the water. Gently, so that the fine spray stung excitingly over their flushed bodies.
"Oh, you are big and strong," Marci giggling, enveloping his stiff cock in the tiny palm of her soft hand. "That's a real nice piece of equipment you've got there, night watchman."
Jake took her tightly in his arms and felt her ample tits press warmly into his chest. God, he loved them stacked like this. His hands moved to cup them and his chin slipped down until he could toy with the her naked body and found the V between her legs.
"Oh, oh, yes, yes, yes," Marci squealed as he slipped two fingers inside her. "Touch me like that. Touch me, touch me, touch me."
He felt the hot young girl come on his hand, letting out a long low moan, sounding a bit like a baby pig back on his grandfather's farm in Kentucky.
"Oh, sugar, are you finished already?" he asked, surprised that she had come so fast.
"Finished?" Marci moaned with pleasure. "No, Mister Night watchman. Little Marci is just beginning."
With that she dropped to her knees on the floor of the bathtub and took Jake's throbbing piece into her warm, moist mouth. Christ, what a cocksucker she was, he thought to himself as she toyed with the tip of his dick, then slipped the whole rod deeply into her throat for a plunge or two, then retreated hastily to the tip so that he wouldn't come too quickly.
When Jake was almost sure that he could stand it no longer without exploding in Marci's mouth, he yanked her head off the end of his rod and lifted her up to him once more. His fingers again found her cunt, which was still moist, as if welcoming a second invasion.
"Work me, baby, work me," the girl cried, going more and more frantic as he ran his fingers around her lips and then slipped them deeper and deeper inside. She let out a long, low squeal (like a whole pen full of piglets, Jake couldn't help but think), and her cunt contracted on his fingers as she exploded in a long volley of climaxes.
With that the young blond went limp against him.
Jake realized he was about to get a chance to cold-cock a gal after all. Marci was definitely out like a light, her warm body leaning limply against him.
Reaching for the soap, Jake lathered up his excited dick, then gently turned Marci around and began lubricating her bunghole. For all his protestation earlier that afternoon about being a good Catholic, he got more and more excited at the prospect of taking Marci "by the backdoor" (as they used to say on the farm), and the excitement made his cock harder and more excited than he could ever recall it having been before.
"Oh, shit," he gasped. "This is it, baby!"
He drove his red meat deep into Marci's ass once, twice, again and again. The limp form moaned slightly, but Marci didn't really come to. As he plunged, however, Jake was positive that he could feel the girl's muscles contracting around his thrusting cock, coaxing him towards the come he wanted to delay as long as possible.
"Mother of god!" he screamed, feeling his whole being well up and explode into Marci's limp but hungry asshole.
At just that second, Janet jerked the shower curtain open and stood staring at her premature-climax trick from the night before pumping hot come into her roommate-competitor's ass.
"Well, I'll be God-damned," she muttered, staggering to the toilet and barfing out the most god-awful assortment of booze she had ever put into her stomach at one time before. As darkness closed in on her once more, she swore she could see that smart-ass bartender standing above her, giant cock in hand, laughing and urinating all over her in an endless disgusting, thrilling shower of golden ecstasy.