Beautiful Evil Monster to Master (the Collection)

By B.B. Blaque

I’ll never pretend to be a nice man or a hero in the conventional sense, but I have transformed
I'm a Master and still a Monster
Now, I have control over the monster I once was, but make no mistake, he’s still roaring deep within.
I’ve just found ways to have my cake and beat it too
I’ve broken a lot of women . . . I have no apologies for my thirst
Over time I've learned to find better ways, but the road was flooded with tears
Be prepared to hate to love me . . . they always do

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.B. Blaque
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370028009

B.B. Blaque

I'm a hopeless romantic. Even when I think it's hopeless, it always woos me back . That is the power of hope and with hope anything is possible. I believe in the transforming power of love, even when done wrong, it always leaves its mark on your heart, coloring how you will love in the future. With these things in mind, I write about transformation, acceptance and overcoming--through and with love. I choose to write about Domination and submission and the subtle nuances of these relationships that take them beyond role play. I'm inspired to write by things I see, smell, experience and largely by what I hear. Music and the sound of someone's voice are two of my favorite indulgences. I've written for as long as I can remember and now, I'm truly inspired to do more.

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B.B. BLAQUE

Copyright © 2017 B.B. BLAQUE

All rights reserved.

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer.

Thank you for your support

Photo Credits

Strong Athletic Man-Doodko

konradbak-Art photo of attractive sensual couple

New York City sunset-rabbit75_dep

DEDICATION

To my P.A.s Crafty Minx and Trenta Java, the ladies of my street team, the Diamond Plate Divas, and Beta Beauties—just WOW thank you all for every second of time you’ve spent reading, pimping, giving feedback, putting up with me and my craziness. It’s been a beautifully evil 2017 and I’m grateful for each of you!

Table of Contents

THE MONSTER

Foreward: Words of Warning from the Monster

Chapter 1: Birth of Evil

Chapter 2: Whore

Chapter 3:Cali-Whore-Nia

Chapter 4:Mrs. Diamond

Chapter 5: SNAFU

Chapter 6: Mrs. Diamond

Chapter 7: SNAFU

Chapter 8: Mrs. Diamond

Chapter 9: SNAFU

Chapter 10: Mrs. Diamond

Chapter 11: SNAFU

Chapter 12: Mrs. Diamond

Chapter 13: The Close Call With Destiny

Chapter 14: Mrs. Diamond-End Game

Chapter 15: End Game

Chapter 16: End Game

Chapter 17: End Game

Chapter 18: End Game

Chapter 19: End Game

Chapter 20: End Game

Epilogue 21: End of the Beginning

Table of Contents

SNAFU

Foreword 22: SNAFU’S Warning

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Epilogue 40

Table of Contents

SINFUL 7

Warning 41

Original Sin-42

Vanity-43

Wrath-44

Greed-45

Sloth-46

Envy-47

Gluttony-48

Lust-49

Epilogue-50

51 Prologue

52 Cookie & Pussy Found a Halo

53 Holes

54 Acquisition

55 Face the Music

56 Reflections/Fuckmeat

57 On the Edge

58 Red Roses

59 Needle-less to Say

60 Nightmare

61 Hindsight

62 Beast & the Beauty

63 Epilogue

Note from Author

Playlist

PROLOGUE

It was you who wanted to see deeper inside. Remember, this was asked for. I’m simply obliging your request. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

When asked to recount my story, I realized I’m really the only one who can tell it the way it needs to be told—in my voice, with the honest, dark, and evil truth. If you know the high protocol Master with a strict and fair hand, it’s time to meet the monster who preceded him. I don’t have apologies to offer, even now. I wouldn’t be who I am without the totality of my past experience and I like me, past sins notwithstanding.

Before I start, I’d suggest a blindfold or blanket to cover your eyes when necessary. Gasping, however, will be encouraged, so forget the pesky ball-gag. I want your breath to quicken, and by all means feel free to scream.

This is a peek into the darkest of the dark crevices in my mind and I don’t tell this story often. It’d be much easier to accept if I were a white eyed ethereal creature with pallid skin. However, I would never say I’m just a man. There is no need to lower my standing to a mere anything, but what makes me more terrifying, is I could be any man you know.

What I’ve done and gotten away with is the stuff usually relegated to those otherworldly creatures, but my wickedness would go unnoticed until I was deep inside your head.

Curl up and cuddle a pillow while I tell you the story of the ghost of monsters past.

Last warning…there’s no turning back.

CHAPTER 1

Sure, I've committed atrocities and yes, I am the embodiment of evil—right here in the living, breathing flesh. I don't apologize, I have no conscience saying what I've done is heinous or even awful. It’s purely a fact of life.

Why would I want to change? It's what makes me a good Marine—the best I can possibly be. It's not the stress of combat, the human casualties, or torture that turned me evil—I don’t blame the Corps. My malevolent nature allowed me to systematically do what needed to be done. It's what helped me come out of six tours intact. When so many men are FUBAR, I'm unbroken. If you expected some deep display of emotion, I have none, never have.

Well, that isn’t complete truth. I do recall emotion. It was a long time ago, in a different incarnation of the man I’ve become. No use shedding tears over him. I’ve emerged stronger than before.

My childhood was fucked from the beginning. Growing up in that strict military household was conducive to being in combat but not to being a kid. Training started at the ripe old age of five—five, can you believe that shit? Other children had toy trucks, baseball, and ice cream parties. Their rooms had pictures of puppies and planes; my room was a replica of a military barracks. In my house I had quarters flipping off tight sheets, Reveille, and rifle practice. I was never allowed to have friends in the home. They could’ve tainted the structure he tried to create and distracted from my training. That would’ve been…unacceptable.

It didn’t take long before I was dropping to do push-ups, my small arms buckling under the weight of his boot on my shoulders. While other children ran free in the playground, I ran as far as my little legs could take me and was pushed to do more—while carrying a bag on my back and marching to his cadence calls. Eye contact was expressly forbidden during boot camp—and it never seemed to end.

As I grew, his methods became more brutal, the beatings more frequent. It was like he hated me for not breaking under his intense pressure. Each round with the belt or rod made me stronger, colder. He wanted a soldier. Instead, he developed a weapon that joined the Marines just to spite the wretched old prick.

One day it became abundantly clear that his tactics had backfired. Standing in position, back squared off, face held high, I prepared for the pain. I didn’t mind the closed fists or beatings at his hands. The part that froze my soul was the mental abuse he was so fond of.

He’d caught me jerking off—like all teenage boys do—and acted like it was the infraction of the century. Maybe it somehow interrupted him with my mother—fucking and beating her sniveling ass. Her wailing cries permeated the thin wall between the two bedrooms, becoming the soundtrack for my early, compulsive masturbation. It was the same shit every night—a little beat, fuck, scream over there and a bunch of wrist action and cum on my side. The only difference was that night he caught me actually doing it to the sounds on the other side of the wall. I was just about to pop when he stormed in and caught me—dick in hand, ear to the wall. How could I help it? It wasn’t my choice to be in that room, or to hear those sounds. With my hormones on overdrive—it was just the natural progression. Well, he didn’t seem to understand the psychology of it and decided to turn it into the battle of my young life. I showed him that night just how much I could take.

So you get an idea, I was thirteen at the time, but the years of training had made me stronger than most and my mind was sharp and unyielding. My drill instructor, or whatever he decided to refer to himself as for the day, yoked me up naked from bed and dragged me to his version of the brig. About halfway down the hall, he realized I wasn’t putting up resistance. Nothing would change his mind, but I was going to feed the fire of his rage by doing the opposite of what was expected. He’d taught me to be a hard-ass by example and I decided to give him a peek at his creation.

I gripped the wood on the stocks and found the knothole I always focused on during his punishments. I lifted my face and looked through the window, the reminder that anyone could view my disgrace if they wandered by. My back was solid, ass out, while my fingers rubbed the hole in the wood. He had no idea that the tides were soon to change. With my prick still hard, the first lash of the leather strap landed on my ass. I didn’t move. He cocked back and let it fly again. This time it slammed across my shoulders and wrapped around, licking my arm. I didn’t release a peep. His labored breathing made it evident he was getting infuriated by my lack of response. I chuckled inside.

The leather was alternated with the rod and not a spot of flesh was left untended—including my still hard cock. He stood in front of me and the verbal assault began. Are you like your mother, boy? The rod was brought up between my legs and tapped at the sensitive tip of my dick. He leaned in, whiskey on his hot breath, and whispered, I swear that cow pisses me off just to get beaten. Is that what you like, soldier?

There’d been a time when I would’ve crumbled in the stocks and cried for mercy, but that boy was gone. In his place was an unbendable, unbreakable, son of a helpless crying bitch. I no longer needed to focus on that worn out knothole. I didn’t need to escape in my head to the field in the distance. The assault on my dick continued.

I was unfazed as I looked straight into his bleary eyes and smiled. It wasn’t a cheesy grin, all toothy and light. The look was defiant, closer to a sneer than an authentic smile. I felt the ice in my stare and the hollow where my heart had been. He wouldn’t take a tear or word from me that night or ever again. The remainder of his wrath went unnoticed. He slapped my head, punched my mouth, and spewed an endless stream of silent obscenities I never heard.

When he finally surrendered—to my stubbornness and composure—I was freed. Walking back to my room, all I could think about was finishing what I’d started. A hard-on at that age is difficult to ignore regardless of the situation. I climbed into my bunk, put an ear to the wall and waited. I slowly stroked my cock until I heard his yelling and her begin to cry. It wasn’t long before I finished in my hand to the sound of her tears. It was one of the most insane orgasms I’ve ever had. After that night I was never the same and needed more. At the time, I didn’t know quite what I needed more of, just that I wanted that feeling again.

I hated how she let that fucker do all he did to me and her. Over time, I learned how to elicit his vengeance to feed my ever growing desire to hear that bitch cry. One thing I was certain I needed more of was that sound.

It didn’t take long before I sought out someone my own age to make cry. Damn, my cock is still like a rock when I think of that first one. Stupid girl brought me roses. I bet she hasn’t looked at one since, but I’ll get to her later.

CHAPTER 2

I started with the chicks my age. That continued throughout military school. Needless to say, I wasn’t well liked and didn’t have second dates.

When I had money from my grandparents’ monthly stipend, the hookers began. I’d pay them to do all kinds of things your typical chick wouldn’t want. During this period I started to get an idea of what I really liked. Besides tears, I seemed to get off on inflicting pain and not just listening to it as I had at home. At the time I didn’t know how to classify it, but it turned out humiliation was a big factor in my kink. Most of all was power—ultimate control.

Thinking back on my evolution as a sadist—once I had a degree in psychology—things became clear. Tears were obvious. From listening to my mother cry, during abuse, rough sex—whatever was happening on the other side of the wall—while coming into my own sexually, formed the predilection for tears, and crying. I found there is actually a name—dacryphilia—it even has cry right in the middle. I also found out how much I loved not only listening to or facilitating crying and pain, but thrived when I inflicted it too. Then the power component—damn do I love the fucking power—because I’d had none as a kid and only found freedom when I took it all. A new thing I learned during my psych studies was how to manipulate a mind—I honed that skill and found so much joy in fucking someone’s mind. So, yeah, I’m your basic twisted fuck with a high IQ, education, physical ability to overpower, and the psychological chops to never let you forget how badly you’ve been fucked.

I left military school and headed out west to California and Pepperdine University. I needed to find out more about this driving force I had and psych seemed the perfect major. I ultimately switched to UCLA, attaining a Master’s in psych and linguistics. Both were completed while I was in the Marines, but that’s jumping too far ahead.

On the way to college, I stopped in Las Vegas—Sin City is an understatement—and found they had brothels outside of the strip. I couldn’t help the perverse need to see what they were all about. The little stopover at Caesar’s Palace turned into a full weekend of toying with a specific working girl that lived under a blinking red beacon. Fuck if I can think of her name, but I’d venture a guess she hasn’t forgotten me or what I did to her.

I spent one night getting the lay of the land, watching from the bar as they piled out when the bell rang. They’d all stand in this line and introduce themselves.

Ooo, pick me to use—fucky sucky—cheap meat. It was pathetic to watch them vying for the attention of every dude who walked through the door. Sure, I’d used call-girls, but I never witnessed the competition to be fucked by a stranger. I was captivated.

I played with one of the girls that night, just a quick half and half to establish I was there and as decent as I appeared. It was really difficult without something out of the ordinary, so I didn’t come with her. There was just no way for me to get off like that. The only semblance of a hard dick came from thinking of what I wished to be doing instead.

On the drive back into Vegas I thought of what I could do—you know, something true to my needs—to make it an experience worthy of my lust. I didn’t want it to be just another fling with a hooker. What would a whore like the least?

The next evening I returned with a plan. I took a girl back to play again, but this time would be much different.

When we were in her room to do the negotiations, she patted at the bed for me to sit with her. The baby pink dress barely covered her pussy and big tits spilled out of the top. Rather than adjusting herself to save the goods until a sale was made, she seemed hell bent on showing more.

Hey, I saw you here last night with one of the other ladies. She slid a finger between her legs and instead of adjusting herself, moved the panties aside and flashed her smooth cunt lips.

Excellent, she remembered and assumed I was a done deal.

Do you like what you see? She pulled my hand onto her thigh without taking it all the way to the top. Just close enough to tease. I knew the deal from hookers in the past. The more excited she had me now, the quicker it’d be to get me off and out.

What I see… I slid a bit higher, Is…enticing.

She reached over and rubbed the hard shaft beneath my jeans.

That’s it, baby, get it nice and hard. I needed to be quick and done for now.

She pulled her hand back and started to negotiate the deal. I know you partied last night, so you know how it works.

My cock was already pounding—we needed to get the show on the road.

Oh, yeah…I know how it works. I slid my hand directly to her pussy and gave it a quick swipe, closing the gap between us on the bed. I know exactly how it works—and the trick is supposed to come—your little friend failed.

I was on top of her, hand over her mouth, as I used the other to free my dick. You love being fucked by strange cock. I slid all the way in and held her helpless on the bed. You have an innate need to be used—you deserve it…don’t you…or your pussy wouldn’t be so wet.

My shaft slammed in roughly, You tease men…robbing them of their money and time in your precious cunt. My pace increased and I shoved her legs back. Rub that hard little clit for me…you know you need this…even though you would never tell a soul.

Her fingers stroked her pussy. The bitch was clearly enjoying the degradation.

You’ve waited for me…haven’t you? She shook her head quickly as I continued. I’d assessed the chicks the night before and looked for the one who seemed the most eager, and broken, to fit my needs.

How many cocks have you had in this pussy today—in your mouth—in your hands? I pinched the nipples on those big, bare tits and her body arched toward the pain.

The hand rubbing viciously on her clit motioned the number four and then three. Seven men you short-changed—seven men who came…and used you as a hole.

My dick slammed deeper, I grew nastier, as I thought of her misdeeds. I’m fucking you for free—will keep fucking you for free. The pounding of my cock increased as I watched her near orgasm from being used without warning or a negotiated deal. You will be fucking for me tonight.

I felt that whore’s pussy clenching on my cock—her body arching and her moans stifled beneath my hand. I knew someone would question if we didn’t emerge from the room soon, and I wasn’t about to let the whore come yet.

Oh, no you don’t—not yet…. Pulling out, I jerked off all over her stomach—it was intense and I pulsed hard from the delay the previous night.

You will be fucking for me tonight—anyone who asks, regardless of what they want to pay, will get to use you. I hovered behind her as she fixed her face silently. When that pussy is nice and sore—beat up from being used the way it should be... My hand hadn’t left her denied slit, Then I’ll be back to finish what we started. I wanted her on edge and willing to do anything to feed the burning need I’d left behind. Show me what a good, dirty little whore you can be.

I’d spent the entire night at the bar and in the parlor with my eyes on her. Late that night, when everything was quiet and she’d been with eight more men—it was time.

Grabbing her hand, I pulled her aside. I hope they were all well taken care of, whore. I wasn’t her pimp, but she was acquiescing to my desires as women seemed so prone to do. Maybe it’s the confidence I exude, or fear…or maybe I give them what they secretly desire that no one else will do. I was hard as a desert rock and ready to give her what she seemed to need—to be treated like a piece of meat without feelings.

When she escorted me back to her room, I paid a small fee, as they all had that night. I wanted to spend the time I needed and was willing to pay for that, but not for her. I made the whore play the game with me, as she had before. She needed to see what had gotten her in this position to start with. Even that second time around was thrilling. There’s something a little special about a blitz attack on a whore and taking it for free.

Her cunt would be sore after the friction of being fucked with a condom fifteen times in a day. I didn’t wear one—wouldn’t wear one.

When I shoved her down on the bed, I pressed her legs back toward her tits. I wanted to see them and her used little pussy whenever I chose, but now, I wanted her to hear me. All those men pounding your pussy…making it ache…knowing I was watching... I held my dick inside her slippery folds.

All of them, wearing condoms so they wouldn’t dirty that precious hole… I pulled back just enough to get leverage to bottom out again. You don’t want me to wear one…do you…the pleasure of feeling that raw cunt stroking my cock is your pleasure…isn’t it.

The look in her eyes told me what I wanted to hear before her head shook and nodded. She was afraid of what she needed and thrilled I was forcing this issue without her input.

I bet you pleased them all so well tonight…and my bare cock probably feels like silk next to the latex sheaths the rest wore. I pulled back and pounded in again, Now rub that hungry pussy for me, whore.

I pulled her legs into a ‘V’ and rocked her hips toward the ceiling. Rub that pussy—this time you’ll come for me. My dick started slamming at a frenetic pace. Hard, fast, powerful thrusts came down into that sore little hole. I could see tears filling her eyes as I used her. It’s okay…cry for me, whore…I know this hurts.

She couldn’t bury her face; there was nowhere to hide. You’re just a jerk-off hole—that’s all you are—a sore little cum hole to be used for the pleasure of men.

Her face contorted as she tried to restrain the tears. She was disgusted in the truth and her own need for release. I want to see you cry and come at the same time…Can you give me that happy ending, whore?

The tears started flowing as I intentionally hurt her pussy with my cock, but she didn’t stop playing with that sensitive clit and her pussy started to pulse softly on my shaft. That’s it, whore…let it go…let it all go…you need it. I continued, so close to exploding all over the cunt gripping my dick. You need to be treated like the whore you are…and I’m more than happy to do it.

That was all it took—her contractions grew stronger and milked me. I pulled out of her still coming cunt and stroked off all over her tits, stomach, and bare pussy. It was unbelievably intense.

She didn’t try to move as I leaned in and started rubbing the cum all over her—into her skin and the lips of her fluttering cunt. When I touched her clit, she jumped and released a little squeal.

Don’t move—I’ll see myself out. I was already dressing. Showering could wait until I was back at Caesar’s. When that clit returns to normal, think of me again, and don’t wash it off until tomorrow. I threw on my shirt and hooked a finger under her clit—again she flinched. Think of the man who treated you like what you really are—a slut who gets paid to be the freak she is.

Then I did the unthinkable. I reached over her head, lowered my face, and kissed her deeply. With intense passion she returned the kiss. See…I told you…a slut…not a whore.

I kept going back to see her for a long time. The game was generally the same, until she started to refer me to her friends. Then it became a smorgasbord of sin. For awhile, it was my favorite meal.

When I finally made it to California, I started to really perfect my craft and develop how I’d choose my victims.

CHAPTER 3

Another early one came when I was in college and living in Malibu. I watched this girl for a while. Her body was typical California beach bitch—tanned legs, tight little ass—so many guys' wet dream. I saw only a hypocritical, disingenuous, little cunt. The face she showed the blind world at large was one of sweetness and purity, but I saw the looks she threw. The snarl under pink painted lips masked with a smile as she turned her back. My grades were the kind that threw off the bell curve and I excelled at writing essays and such. It didn't take long for her to approach, requesting my services to write a paper. The notion that I could be bought so easily caused something to snap in my head. Who the fuck did this dimwit think she was talking to?

One of my pet peeves, something I could never stomach, is rule breakers. I know it’s a bizarre twist considering I tend to break some very intense rules, but coupled with her duplicity, I had her in my sight. I was fixated on her tight little tanned ass, undoubtedly emblazoned with the outline of a Playboy Bunny or other nonsense in her tan lines—such typical Cali-whore-nia elitist trash.

While sizing her up, I'd fantasized about having her alone—pinned and crying on my bed—against the wall—rug burns from the coarse carpet of my small bungalow disgracing her artificial perfection. It was time to strike and restraint was nearly impossible.

When she called, I warned her. I always warn them, but they never listen. Are you sure this is what you want? My smile was veiled by the phone, thankfully. I could almost sound sincere. You seem like such an innocent, nice girl. Once you do this, there's no taking it back.

She thought I was talking about cheating in school—clueless cunt.

I knew she'd feel compelled to rise to the challenge—she didn’t disappoint. I only offered the appearance of choice. Things were already in motion and no matter what—I'd take all I wanted. Her lies and vanity ensured her silence—I’d encountered her type before. She’d never want to admit all I’d taken from her, and I took more than I’d initially intended because she cried such incredible tears. She’d clearly be expelled from school if anyone found out and the embarrassment of her parents would be too much to suffer. I had her under my thumb long before I ever touched her.

When I hung up the phone and waited for her to arrive, I was practically salivating. The wolf was awake and adrenaline flooded every synapse of my brain—the blood rushed and engorged my cock. This wasn’t everyone’s idea of foreplay, but the feeling of the hunt was almost as good as the kill. The guest house bungalow was isolated on the backside of the large property and afforded me the exact cover I needed. It was all part of my perverse and idyllic picture. I got off using my prey. Like looking for prized game—I’d stalk, appraise, and conquer. When I was done, they'd forever be changed--damaged goods. Maybe they'd reconsider their indiscretions next time. The fear would remain long after my departure. They’d carry a piece of me inside their heads for eternity.

My dick still rages thinking about her. I suppose I hold a piece of each of them too.

I saw the lights of her car pull into the long driveway and my heart pounded with pure anticipation. It’d been awhile since a hunt and ravenous was a pale comparison to my appetite. I noted the similarity, sometime later, to a vampire. The difference is they seek blood, I mostly seek tears. Although, blood is not off the menu if it happens along. It isn’t the goal or lure, just an occasional by-product of the feeding and nothing more. My favorite appetizers have always been fear, disgust, and their struggle to escape the pain. Tears are the orgasmic main course, but they’re nothing without the earlier snacks. But I digress. It’s difficult not to savor each bite of the memories especially when they’re so delectable.

Of course the paper was a ruse to bait the naughty, deceitful bitch to my place. The couple who owned the main house was away and I could have her all to myself without intrusion. It wasn’t long after she was behind the locked door that terror set in. It was too late to turn around—she had been warned.

I called her to my room to review some details of the paper I’d never written. Her voice is still fresh in my mind, Jordan, like, where are you? You said you had my paper, ya know. Her voice was syrupy sweet Valley girl, like fingernails on chalkboard. The confusion was really quite amusing in retrospect. Like, there’s this band playing at Gazzari’s tonight, ya know, and I can’t be late.

With those words I was behind her, those round California tits pressed into the wall as I forced her legs apart. You’ll be late. My voice was steady as a stream—even—but my breaths increased as I growled into her ear. If…I allow you to leave at all.

Now the game had truly begun. The cat-and-mouse was my time to rip away the layers of her fragile, tanned little psyche. The too-short cotton skirt shredded easily as I tore it up her aerobicized thighs. My cock pressed into her ass, rubbing the rough denim on her soft skin. It was the 80s, so she wore a flimsy pair of French-cut panties that barely covered the small white heart tanned on the outside of her left ass cheek.

I see you were expecting more than a paper. I knew the panties had nothing to do with me. The way she was dressed added to the tools of torment in my arsenal, but as anyone with a brain knows, it has zero to do with the way a woman is dressed and everything to do with a quest for power and I…had to have it all.

The material was ripped and in her mouth faster than her mind could process what I was doing. A breath strangled in her throat as I let my grip linger on the way down her lithe body. Fuck—like this—she was actually hot.

The stiletto heels were a useful accomplice, causing her to stagger as I spread her thighs further. Her warm flesh was like silk in my hands as I pulled those bare mounds apart, slowly drawing my fingertip across the pucker of her asshole.

There was that quick breath again. It was like she’d whispered across my shaft and dropped a few tears. I couldn’t wait to hear the sound when I cupped that pristine little pussy—ah, there it was again—and as trimmed and manicured as the rest of her.

What a dirty little slut you are. My full weight leaned into her back as my long fingers continued to roam at will. Her quivering legs and ass were like a vibrator against my dick and I could change the speed to suit my needs. Duplicitous groupie whore…you act like your hole is diamond encrusted, but I know better. The pace increased and I breathed in the overwhelming scent of her Poison perfume and fear. You even smell like a bitch in heat.

I grasped her elbows backward and hooked them with one forearm, pushed her toward the bed, and shoved her face down onto the comforter. With quick movements I pinned the bitch’s arms above her head and easily had her bound.

You wanted me to do a good deed for you… I hit play on the tape deck next to the bed, and Cry Little Sister from the Lost Boys Soundtrack began throbbing—like her heartbeat—in the background. I continued with a deliberately menacing tone. "I’d