I won’t go into the sordid details of how we met. It was pretty sordid, and in retrospect, it all seems inevitable, like the force of gravity acting upon two spheres in a void.

She told me she’d just moved to the city. She told me she’d left an abusive boyfriend in Seattle, driven across the country in a semi-stolen rental car, all her belongings crammed into a duffel bag in the back seat. She told me she’d ditched the car along the side of the turnpike in north Jersey, and taken a bus into Port Authority. She told me she needed a place to stay, just for one night.

I let her sleep on my couch.

I woke up early, with a boner. I remembered that she was there just in time, and fumbled a pair of boxers on, before parading across the tiny, cluttered apartment to the bathroom, my morning wood jutting obnoxiously in the front of my underwear, a testament to the non-subtlety of the male anatomy. She looked beautiful asleep; sweet and vulnerable and at peace as if an enchantment had been laid upon her. Or been lifted off. I pissed, a yellow, dehydrated stream; flushed, and went back to bed. When I woke up a second time, she was gone.

When I got home, she was there. I sure as shit don’t remember giving her my spare set of keys, but she had them. She told me she’d tried to look up a couple old friends who had moved here from Austin, but their address had changed or something, and they were nowhere to be found. She looked kind of haggard and fragile, like a wild flower dipped in liquid nitrogen.

She told me she’d had a baby when she was just a teenager, a little girl who was taken away from her as an infant, and who now lived with her ex-boyfriend’s grandparents in San Francisco.

She asked me if she could spend the night again, and I said ‘Sure’. My motives were not entirely pure. She wore a black long-sleeve leotard, and an intricate black dress down to her ankles that looked like it came from another century; and her breasts were large and round, endearingly oversized for her slight frame. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and a constellation of freckles was scattered across her cheeks. When she smiled, which was a rare event, the corners of her eyes crinkled, making her look older than she said she was.

I picked up a box of red wine, which isn’t nearly the travesty it sounds, and we methodically proceeded to get shit-faced drunk together.

She told me that when she was just a girl, her daddy had raped her. Well, it hadn’t been his fault exactly, she said, she had goaded and teased him into it. From the time she grew breasts, she was always flaunting them, tormenting him with them. She would walk around the house in just a bra, or in an oversized t-shirt with no bra on underneath. She would make her boobies jiggle while he pretended not to watch, and strutted around in front of him, showing off her brand-new cleavage. She would give him big, tight, excessively warm hugs, eating up his discomfort like a young siren. She used to sit on his lap and very deliberately rub her ass up and down and back and forth, feeling his erection grow inside his pants, while her mother watched disapprovingly.

He took her one summer afternoon in their back yard, while she was lying out topless next to the pool. She felt his shadow fall across her naked back, and then he was lying down on top of her, his full weight crushing her, making it hard to breathe. He reached underneath her and fondled her fresh, sensitive breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples, making her squirm and struggle. His hands pulled her bikini bottoms aside, rubbing up and down her young pussy, which was now excruciatingly wet. He slathered her wetness all over his cock. His penis, she said, was not especially long, but it was really thick. Later, he would make her suck it, whenever he felt like it; in the car, or after she’d gone to bed, and he’d always come in her mouth. Now, he pulled her swimsuit all the way off, tossing it into the pool. He pried her butt cheeks apart, exposing her most private parts, and spat right on her asshole. She knew what was coming, but she didn’t scream or even tell him to stop. He took a big fistful of her hair and proceeded to cram his fat cock up her ass. It hurt a lot, that first time, she said. Later, when she knew what to expect, when her body was more used to the invasion, she would enjoy it, even come to crave it.

He always fucked her ass. Or made her suck his cock. That way, she said, he didn’t have to worry about getting her pregnant. Her mom knew, she told me, as she gulped down another paper cup full of cheap wine; her mom knew all about it, but never said anything, but she was jealous and used to find any excuse to punish her.

One time, her mom caught her masturbating. She hauled her downstairs by the hair, struggling and crying, naked from the waist down, where her mom’s friends were all playing cards and drinking Long Island Ice Teas. Her mother forced her to spread her legs in front of all of them, and then spanked her pussy with a ruler until she was weeping uncontrollably. The ladies all laughed at her. She said when her mother was finally finished with her, she slunk shame-faced back up to her room, and finished masturbating her bruised and tender pussy. She said she’d never come so hard in her life.

Her eyelids were getting heavy and her words slished and sloshed together. She poured another paper cup full of wine and went on with her story: her mom threw her out of the house on the morning of her sixteenth birthday, calling her a slut and a whore, her daddy’s semen still bitter in her mouth. She moved to Coeur d’Alene, and moved in with her boyfriend, a guy she’d never actually met, but only knew from the internet. Her story trailed off there as her eyes finally closed and did not open again.

She was asleep, fully dressed and sloppy drunk, a dixie cup half full of Malbec still clutched in her spidery little hand, sprawled out on my ratty and disreputable sofa. I thought about taking advantage of her. I imagined that I was her daddy, and she was fourteen again, and it was me who was violating her virgin asshole.

I jerked off, mere inches from her relaxed, angelic, sleeping face. When I was done, I felt like a scumbag, a pervert who should register himself somewhere. I cleaned up the mess, and slunk off to bed, where I dreamed drunk, confusing dreams, and woke up with a stiff morning woody and a hangover. She was gone.

She was home when I got home. She told me she’d spent the day looking for a job, but her résumé had been on her laptop, which had been stolen in St. Louis. She asked if she could use my computer to look for work, and I said ‘Fine’. She was wearing all black, as usual, a voluminous turtleneck and tight black jeans that somehow made her look both skinnier and curvier than ever.

My place was tiny, even by New York standards. It had been illegally carved out of a dilapidated three-bedroom apartment that had been on the small side to start with. If it had been in Guantanamo, instead of Bed-Sty, I’m sure it would have been in violation of some U.N. convention or other. The place was never meant for two, especially not two people who weren’t actually fucking, and the claustrophobia was getting thick as dense fog. She had eaten the last of my microwave bean burritos, and run me out of milk. We sat on the couch and drank vodka that she had brought home that tasted like paint thinner.

When we were both good and lit, she went on with her story, picking up right where she’d left off.

She moved in with her Idaho boyfriend, who lived with his mom in a mobile home on the wrong side of town. She got pregnant the first time they had sex. She didn’t know how she knew, she told me, but she knew, as soon as he came inside her. It was her first time, she said, her first time with a cock in her pussy. He threw her out, she said, as soon as he found out: broke it off with her and told her to go get an abortion. She moved to Seattle and had the baby there.

She got into real estate, and ended up sleeping with her boss. He was wealthy, she said, and he paid her rent, but he had a mean streak, and he liked to play games.

Sometimes when she was giving him head, he’d grab her by the hair and fuck her face, as if her mouth were a cunt, not caring if she choked or gagged or even if she could breathe. After he’d come, he’d hold her head in place as his cock softened, and then sometimes he’d piss in her mouth.

Sometimes he’d tie her up and leave her there, go to a bar and pick some girl up and bring her home and fuck her, right in front of her.  Once, on a rainy Seattle night, he locked her out of the house, held on to her wallet and keys, and wouldn’t let her back in until she brought a girl home for him to fuck. She ended up slipping some poor baby dyke a couple roofies, and staggering home with this weepy underaged chick on her shoulders. She watched as he fucked the passed-out little waif right there on the carpet, no condom or anything. When he was done, she licked his cock clean, and they hustled the confused and bedraggled semi-conscious young girl out the door and into the dark and drizzling suburban night.

She said the last time they were together, he tied her to the bed, face-down and spread eagled. He told her that he had a jar full of pure sulfuric acid, and that he was going to pour it all over her back. She didn’t believe him, she thought it was just another one of his mind-games, even as he dribbled the liquid up and down her back, from her shoulders down to her buttocks. Then it started to burn. It sizzled and stunk. She could smell her flesh being eaten away. He told her that he had a box of baking soda in his other hand, and he would sprinkle it over her back and neutralize the acid, but not until he came. He slid his cock into her pussy, which was soaking wet, and told her to get fucking.

She fucked him as hard as she could, restrained by the tightly knotted ropes, bucking her pelvis up and down and squeezing him with her cunt, howling and crying as the acid ate away her flesh. He stood perfectly still, letting her milk his cock. She was desperate. The ropes cut into her ankles and wrists, but she didn’t care. She slammed herself up and down on his erection, desperate for him to come. Finally, he shot off into her pussy, and good as his word, he sprinkled the baking soda all over her back. She said the endorphin rush was so intense that she came right away, his wilting cock still inside her, his come leaking out onto the sheets. She said it was the most intense orgasm of her life. She went into shock right after that, and lost consciousness. He dropped her off at the emergency room; she never saw him again.

She was gone again the next morning, and she wasn’t around when I got home from work. I wondered if I’d seen the last of her, but I didn’t think much about it; I had other worries. My ATM card wasn’t working, and my landlord likes for me to pay the rent in cash. He’s not the most reasonable fellow: if he’s not actually a mobster, he sure likes to dress and act like one, which is arguably worse.

I ordered Thai food, and paid the delivery guy with quarters, dimes, and nickels from my change drawer. She showed up just in time to help me finish off the phad thai.

We slept together that night. There was no discussion, she just came to bed with me. We didn’t waste much time on preliminaries: I licked her pussy for a little while, but I did that because I wanted to, not because she wanted it. She tasted nice, a little salty and a little musky, like some sort of exotic fruit.

She told me to fuck her. She told me I didn’t need to wear a condom. I put one on anyway.

We fucked face-to-face, kissing like wildcats. Her big, soft breasts were pressed against my chest. Her pussy was incredibly wet and slippery and hot and hungry for my cock.

I fucked her hard, and I fucked her deep. I felt like Superman. I felt like I was never going to come. Her body was slender and lithe and strong like a weasel or a ferret. Her pussy was neatly trimmed, her legs were long and muscular, and she liked to wrap them around my back and pull me deeper inside. Her tits shook pleasantly while I fucked her pussy.

When she came, she let the whole block know about it. I swear, she set off car alarms. She threw her head back, arched her back, and really let go. I felt like King of the World.  It seemed to go on forever. She told me it was the best orgasm she had ever had.

I asked if I could fuck her in the ass, and she said ‘Sure’, and rolled over onto all fours. Her naked ass was at least as beautiful as it had been wrapped in tight black jeans. We didn’t need any additional lube; her wetness was plenty for both of us. I nudged my cock gently into her tiny little hole, easing the head of my cock past her crinkled anus. She was tight back there, but not impossibly tight. She sighed throatily, and pressed back against me, taking more of my cock up her ass. Finally, I was all the way in, balls deep, her asshole clenching around the base of my cock. Very slowly at first, then gradually faster and faster, I started to fuck her ass.

Her back was smooth and flawless, from her exquisite shoulder blades down to the cleft of her buttocks. The only mark to be seen was a small, slightly fuzzy, generic-looking Celtic knot tattooed at the base of her spine.

She was really into it, huffing and grunting and humping back against my thrusts, playing enthusiastically with her clit while I sodomized her; her tits swinging beneath us like a pair of wrecking balls.

What pushed me over the edge was when she slipped a finger, or maybe more than one, up her pussy. I could feel her fingers rubbing up against my dick from inside her body, and it drove me wild. I shoved her head hard down into the pillows, and crammed my cock all the way up her butt until my hips were pressed hard against her pale ass-cheeks. I came, howling like an orangutan and pumping the condom buried in her ass full of semen.

When I woke up in the morning, she was gone, just like I knew she would be. My bank account was empty, and I was already locked out of my email.

I should have gotten on the phone right away, and started cancelling credit cards, but I took a shower first. I masturbated there, under the tingling cascade of spraying water, savoring the memory of the night before, clutching my dick in one soapy hand and leaning against the cracked and mildewed tiles. After I came, I stood in the shower for a long time, my hand still wrapped around my softening cock, my come congealing in the drain like spilled egg whites, letting the hot cleansing water spill all over my body, letting it wash away her scent, her touch, her memory, every last lingering trace of her.



  1. advizor54 said

    You are, still, my favorite twisted little author. But, I was hoping he would react to the lack fo burn scars from the Sulphuric acid, and how did he feel about her lying to him about the abuse? Did that change things for him, or did her pathological lying just add to the train-wreck attraction?

  2. Ron said

    You are so good. I write, but I no longer feel my worth as a writer. Your stories are so real, so there. Thank you for the work you do…

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