Proud

Author's Note and Warning. Graphic sex and violence. Sadism. Offensive language. This dark tale is a purely fictional account of a dangerous, sexually depraved individual. It involves imagined actions all of us struggle to prevent happening to loved ones. While it is 'fantasy,' perhaps it illumine some facet of human nature in the individuals portrayed.

This piece is copyrighted to the author. It is not to be posted or archived to other sites, electronic (internet), or otherwise, or published, reproduced or circulated, in any form, without the express prior written permission of the author.

Thanks to evesdream and quint for insightful comments and support.

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PROUD

By Tail_Teller ©

Does God just make senseless things happen, for some weird reasons we'd never understand? Merissa got me thinking. The Goth girl, barely legal and working in the same office, had been attracted to me, at first. After three or four visits to my apartment, sucking every last drop outta my cock, she decided we should be friends. She read a lot of the book of Job to me—often interrupting with 'dayum ain't that a fuck-up'—where God allows Satan to torture the shit outta some sonovabitch who never did anything bad. Then he dresses Job down for bein' so bold as to question the Great Almighty, who rules the heavens and can loosen the bands of Orion and blah blah blah. God, if he's anywhere, was up there having a good belly laugh listening to Job, "I cry out to You, but You do not answer me"; hearing the pitiful sonovabitch asking "why?"

I was asking myself that same thing since the blowup with Chelsea, the skinny 25-year-old chick down the hall, me walking out on the titless bitch who'd provided a hot, handy fuck for several months so long as I complimented her slutty skills and listened to her 'pussy pointers' as she jokingly called her directions. At the point of leaving, I'd thought of smacking her just to shut off her last questions, then I realized there was something else, strange, boiling up inside me.

What it was, I figured out because Merissa had turned me onto Edgar Allan Poe, the miserable sonovabitch who'd died in the gutter, she said.

Is that gonna happen to me

? I kept wonderin' as the downsizing kept on at the Tribune. Maybe they'd consolidate the pitiful gopher jobs me and Merissa had and keep her at the old rat pen for a bit of color—the black clothes, multiple lip and navel piercings in fine silver. She opened my eyes. OK, Job's Loving Almighty permits some vile shit down below, part of His plan, but how does it happen?

Poe said a person could just be seized by some perverse impulse to commit a pointless act of evil. Such senseless things would simply happen—or one would feel an unconquerable urge to do them—for no good reason. Now I could see the direct cause for many of the cruel pointless acts that so often afflict people. It wasn't just a light in my brain, but a sickening gut knowledge. I'd felt that urge as I was leaving Chelsea's apartment after our final fight.

Tossing in my bed those nights alone, I started thinking of those nonsensical acts of evil that some people do and that other miserable beings must suffer. The faithful cat in one Poe story had its eye cut out in the owner's fit of drunken sadism, then, its eye socket empty and open, had hung around, terrified, until its murder.

Finally, one hot night—it was towards the end of summer—after I was still sleepless at four in the morning, I saw. The senseless had happened to me long enough, thanks—Chelsea's perverse cruelty. I'd make it happen to someone else, pull that person's strings and see what that felt like. Yes, it was a crazy idea; like I'd know how God feels, chuckling up above as His pathetic creatures get fucked by the perverse sonsofbitches—then get to thinking it's the Divine Plan.

First I thought to try something on Chelsea 'caus'a those cocky statements, "I give the best blowjob on the east side!" Bullshit whore's pride. Not worth the effort. But I might like to direct another woman, about her age, for my experiment.

Unloosing these perverse urges won't be a problem

, I thought.

I'll bring some nonsense shit into her life

. Let the proud bitch crash into it and I'd taste that bizarre thrill the Creator—if there was one—must be getting. Tomorrow, in the park, I'd make it happen.

============

At the clack of her platforms I turned and saw brown leather shoes with those leather ties that she'd criss-crossed halfway up her calves. Her off-white blouse was tasteful, loose in the breeze. The woman wasn't advertising; nor was she avoiding attention: The fabric was sheer enough to show the young, full, breasts without support.

In matching leather, her tight dark brown miniskirt barely covered those hard buns. The little coffee brown twat was just asking for it, praying for it. Let the show begin. I said, "You look fine," but I was thinking,

Some booty you got there, babe

.

I gotta couple surprises for that

.

She gave me a look like, stranger, what kind of crack have you crawled outa. "Please go away." Her walk had hardly slowed.

What luck! One of the leather ties came loose at that moment and she had to stop to fix it. As she leaned over, her breasts hung freely, an invitation. Coy, she turned aside her butt so as not to 'present' herself; it was taut, sharply outlined like those female runners' at the starting blocks, but right there for me. Her headband fell off. In the wind, the band blew in my direction, and I picked it up. I went toward her, not too close, maybe six feet away.

"Those straps are a bitch to keep tied, I guess."

Straightening up, she said, "Yeah, thanks. Gotta go."

"Here's your headband Miss, it fell off." I was careful not to move towards her more than a few inches.

"Thanks, mister." She kinda had to say it.

"Hey, I don't want to bother you, but can you please help me get my direction? Where is Third Avenue S. from here?"

"Over there." She turned and pointed the way. The profile of her breasts in the mid-afternoon sun made my breath catch.

"Don't want to hold you up, Miss, but is it far?"

"A couple miles."

"I can't walk very far in this pollution."

I hadn't planned to, but I began to cough, a tight choking asthmatic cough that doubled me over. "Can't breathe." I barely got out the words and almost fell onto the concrete bench by the walkway.

She stopped, and moved a little nearer, seeming to let down her guard a bit. "You got bad asthma, mister. You OK? " She smiled just enough to show the white sparkle against the deep red lipstick. We an unfrequented section of the city park, my favorite spot. At this point on the path, a grove of trees was maybe ten yards away, the end of a strip of woods which then arced away from the path for a couple dozen yards, outlining a grassy area. By now, she was about four feet away; staying on the paved walkway.

"You know about that?"

"Yes, my li'l sister had it real bad, came close t' dyin' while momma carried her to the hospital. The Lord must have decided it wasn't her time. Hey, looks like you're feeling better. I guess I better go."

"You're kind and you deserve a lot from life. You got family and friends; and you look good, healthy."

"Thanks. I'm trim 'cause of my dancing. Look, if you're OK, I should go. Thirty minute brisk walk, you know."

She's taking off

, I thought.

"You can afford to be pretty choosy with guys." My tone was neutral.

"Yeah men notice me; big deal. I'm just as God made me. But they say I got my momma's legs."

Maybe this one'll be different and not try to pull my strings

. My eyes slid lightly over the curve of her breasts, the notch of her waist, the tautness of her covered ass, coming to rest on the sleek bound calves. Smiling, meeting her dark eyes, but without boldness, I set out the bait—though she seemed too sweet to .... "You have a right to be proud."

"I am. I like looking good."

Yep, she's that kind; the sexy chicks think they're so special

. "You can be ultra choosy with guys." I was smiling; there was just an edge in my voice I don't think she picked up.

"Hey I only need one man, the others don't really matter."

We don't matter to you, that's honest at least!

Chelsea bitch's voice was in my head again: what she yelled at my departure: "I don't need you."

"How do you keep in such fine shape?" I said, "besides the dancing. Not an ounce extra." Trying to sound courteous, but I was thinking,

How vain is this one?

"I do what I'm trying to do now." She was looking up the path ahead. "Must go. Gotta go."

"You look--."

She interrupted. "We've talked enough." No smile; a look of annoyance in her face.

"You got that right," I said, "enough." At this time to act, I was filled with dread, as if I'd be taken over by something indescribable. A weird impulse fired my nerves, but I could make only the slightest move to get up. She froze for just a second. Seeing that flicker of fear, I decided to go ahead. "Hey, you're sexy, wait a minute."

Collecting herself, then hurrying ahead, "Fuck off, dude. That's all!"

My body seethed, exploded in a strange ferocity. I sprang towards her real fast and my hand went up into her kinky hair. In my head, the shit words came again, jeering 'what's the matter with you?'

"Bitch," I sneered. I clipped her on the jaw, and in the moments she was stunned and unsteady, dragged her backwards into the near point of the grove of trees. As we reached a spot I'd scouted, a clearing with a leafy floor and tufts of grass, she got her strength back.

Hate and fire came up quick in her eyes as she hissed, "Fuck off asshole. Let go!" which says she got a real attitude there, so I tightened my grip, bending her head back, and she fell backwards—me half supporting her, at the head—onto the spongy ground, but not all the way down, sorta half lying. The blouse stretched across her chest showed big nipples, not like that bitch Chelsea. The little fall had surprised her so she hardly made a sound at first when I quickly kneeled beside her. I pinched one of those large nipples, and kept a hold.

Her struggling told me I was getting to her, but my left hand in her hair gave me control. "Cunt how's this?" With my other hand, I pulled and twisted the rubbery nipple under the silk. As the pain darkened her face, my spirits lit up.

"Ouch, you jerk, stop!" She did just what I'd seen before, reaching toward my hand with both of hers. Perfect!

Letting go the nipple, I thrust my right hand up under the miniskirt and the little thong the bitch was sporting, to grab at her jungly pubes because I wanted to feel her cunt. Dry! She was keeping it from juicing up. "You don't fool me. You want it, cunt." Withdrawing my hand, I ripped off the top fastener of her skirt. That cock-tease red thong tore off real easy. Right quick I rolled it into a ball. Taking my left hand from her hair, I pushed her back, my left hand on her chest. "Yell, an' this'll be in to your tonsils," and I spit on my five fingers and shoved them back under the skirt, this time further back, towards her twathole, and just as she thrashed her hips up for a second, I was in that narrow slit with my wet thumb, and by God she was gooey inside.

So I took her slick goo on my fingers and found that tight asshole, so hungry. Then I was in with two wet fingers, and I had her there in my right hand, ya know how they say, like a bowling ball. She gave a scream, then stayed real quiet; her eyes were darting about; in her pained face, she also seemed puzzled—like, What the fuck was goin' down?

Having total control that way, secure in a kneeling position, I ripped open her flimsy blouse and freed access to those honey melons which I'd soon lay to waste. They were actually about the size of tennis balls, and as firm. The nipples were reacting, and they stood like the last joint of my thumb above the dark areolas, which contrasted with the light coffee-double-cream skin of her breasts. I yanked at each nipple in turn, wanting to perk them up even more, to see them wrinkle and beg to be chewed.

When that happened, I bent over, keeping hold of her pussy, rage-lust going from smolder to open flame. In my teeth, I seized the left nipple, her surprised scream making the music for my little opera. When I'd finished biting at the left, I chewed the right hard enough to make her whimper. And my python had become so desperately crunched. Rising up a bit on my knees, "Unzip me, twat." Tightening the grip in her.

"Don't hurt me, please." Voice controlled. Her eyes were wide open.

"Lookin' scared! You're thinking, 'Maybe he's going to kill me.'" She was quiet, probably trying to keep the hate off her face in the delicate situation. "Listen, bitch, honey, I ain't no sicko psycho. I may let you go home to your momma."

She sorta muttered 'thanks,' and I continued, "It ain't your life I'm gonna fuck with, it's your damn attitude." She didn't understand that I meant, her mind. "Now take out my prick, bitch." She did. Her lips were pursed.

She'd like to have me believe she's disgusted,

but I saw her tongue lick those lips at the thought of suckin' me. "Take my cock and suck, bitch," twisting fingers in her asshole; with my other hand, pulling her torso and tits towards me.

She didn't hesitate long with all that going on in her ass. "Stop, I'll do it. Stop it, please... Lord, I need help." keeping a controlled tone, like she was trying to make her way through the problem, me being the goddamn problem the Almighty would help her to solve. Though I heard nothing from the Almighty, I eased up on the finger action, and she propped herself up to be able to suck me. "I'll suck you."

She believes she's cutting a deal, damn bitch

.

She gives me a treat; I go on my way. Halloween.

"Down all the way on it," I told her, and with my hand now free, I slapped her. My prick craved that suck. Guiding her head, I kept it bouncing up 'n down till my cock shot off in her throat; with me roughing up her clit with my thumb, there was no choice but to swallow, but she kinda choked and som'a the cum spilled out on a patch of grass. "Lick it up, missy," shoving my thumb back in, and this time jamming my fingers deeper in her juicy asshole. No deal, bitch.

"Shit," she mumbled as her head bent to the grass and she took up the glob with her lips, but when she straightened up, her face still showed pride. "Do what you're gonna do."

Yeah, Point A to point B, to point C, moving right along like she's following a goddamn map

.

"You did me pretty good." Since she seemed subdued, I relaxed and seated myself on the small, flattened top of a rock that protruded a couple inches above the floor of the clearing. She came up to a sitting position on the ground.

"Do you got a sister?" she asked.

"Yes. So?"

"I bet she's sweet. D'ya love her?"

"Yes. Haven't seen her for years."

"Is she younger? Did you use' ta protect her?"

"Yes. Of course. There were some real assholes in our neighborhood."

"I bet you never let anything happ'n to her, did ya."

"No."

"You aren't the sorta guy who'd ever hit her, either."

"Right. Maybe you've said enough."

"You were kind to her. Jus' tryin; to understand, not pry." She smiled.

It dazzled me, and I had to get wood back, to fuck her. That was gonna take some doing. "Yeah, kind."

She'd reached a crucial point. My cock was just an old garden hose.

"You wouldn't let anyone beat her up." A softer smile.

"No."

"Or rape her."

A bold move of hers. I acted very neutral. My rage still growled in the depth of my chest. "No."

"'Cuz she's a woman."

"A good girl," I agreed.

"She don't deserve rape."

A transparent remark, but it wasn't this cunt's effort to save herself, that got to me. "She didn't deserve the car being hit from the side when she was fourteen, and her leg broken so that she still has a limp."

"She's OK, though," little honey reminded me, "The Lord shows mercy."

"When He chooses."

"But to everyone who's helpless and..." She'd missed my meaning.

Enough chit-chat

. "Not the whores."

"There was one about to get stoned, and Jesus—"

"One." I said, "and you aren't her." I felt cold. And suddenly ravenous.

"But think about your sis—"

"You aren't her, either. In fact...." I left off the sentence and thought,

This is my choice

. I remembered the Lord Merciful Almighty with his faithful servant, Job. "...in fact, you're a cunt."

She was surprised, then scared, "Please..." She looked at my cock, which was drooping and had cum half dry on it.

"Do what I say--you'll learn about mercy. You gotta clean my cock, baby, make it ready for your hole." Real quiet, but with menace that made her blanche. Since she hadn't moved, I added, "if you want to live."

She licked it up like a hungry dog who's found an ice cream cone; but no iron hardened me.

What'll do the trick?

I was thinking, and I saw her mini bunched up around her waist and her cute pussy; like her twat's suckin' my thumb, still in there to the hilt.

"Here's the deal, honey. I'll take out my fingers and my thumb, and you do the honors. Take off the skirt, and get one, two, and then three fingers, working into your sweet pussy. You're gonna fuck yourself for me." The order brought iron to my weapon.

"They won't fit." In a flat voice; maybe she was trying to

sound

like there was no fight in her. At that moment I jabbed my two slimy fingers way up into her rectum; the agonized shock on her face! So deeply invaded, her body twisted, she screamed, and then calmed herself. "Yes, I'll do it," she said, panting from the shock. "Your deal."

That sight would turn the old python to rock, I knew.

I removed my fingers, and sure enough, when two of her digits disappeared in there, he jerked up to full attention. She saw the pole jutting out of my pants, and her eyes glazed. As if she were trying to sleepwalk through the situation.

"Put your fingers in my mouth for a sec, let me see," I said, and the taste of that funky twat filled my mouth. "Third finger in ya now, bitch."

She's barely tryin'—a slap'll jerk her to attention

.

Whack, looked like it hurt. She quickly shoved the third finger just inside the inner lips. There were more tears.

Yeah this misery thing is really gonna get to me

. I said, "Tell me what you're doing and why, why you're doing it for me."

She hesitated, and I slapped her and raised the two fingers that had been in her ass, and she understood they'd be back in it in a second. "I got my three fingers in here for you honey," she said. "The honey pot's getting juicy. It wants your cock, there, see how juicy I'm getting. My pussy's never been stretched like this, but for you, lover." About as convincing as a three dollar bill sporting Bush's head. She looked calmer; "I know what you want now."

Right

. A whore's mind. "Dip into my honey jar, my lil' garden." Recited like a schoolgirl expecting a goddamn apple.

"Miss Manners, so prim. It is your gash, your cunt, your leaking twat, slimy poon." Repeat. She was ready to erupt, but couldn't seem to find the right words.

"Don't hurt me. I don't know what the hell to do." Eyes downcast.

She defers to me

.

I knew where she'd be going. "Say what you want, Ms. Poon-for-Sale."

"I want you inside me," she began, like we're on Temptation Island or something, and I gave my two fingers a quick lick, and deep into her ass they went. She yelped and looked at me; eyes now tearful. The situation was slipping from her understanding. "Just do me," she said quietly, "if that's what you want." I removed my fingers. "What you after?" Small voice, quite shaken. Still trying to figure where the violence was going.