by David Kempf
***
The smell of alcohol permeated the area. Michael Kinney was the unfortunate gay man who would be put on the televised whipping post now. No one was safe. There was a knot in his stomach and a sense of foreboding. A dominatrix named Nikki, who was a sex fiend, was hired for the paid television event in lieu of the regularly scheduled torturer.
Nikki walked over Michael and whispered in his ear. He was naked per government policy and already traumatized beyond words.
“I honestly didn’t hear you,” he said.
“I have a little gift for the occasion,” she said softly.
“What is it?” he asked sounding slightly bolder.
She put it in his mouth. “Swallow,” she said.
“What?”
“It’s E, I know your type likes it…”
“I never tried any drugs, I…”
“Yeah… right…:
The truth is that he didn’t meet any of the derogatory stereotypes. Michael was in a monogamous relationship with his partner John. He drank on occasion, enjoying a beer now and then but definitely didn’t have a drinking problem. Michael stayed away from drugs completely. He had lost too many friends to travel down that path. Crystal Queens, as they were known in the community. He only picked up a few tricks in his life. Michael was really scared about one positive lover he had. It was especially dangerous behavior for a bottom to have unprotected sex. So he made himself a little deal, perhaps a deal with his higher power. No more dangerous behavior. He enjoyed going to the baths to jerk off and watching drag queens perform. Still, he was an old fashioned guy at heart, sort of. He and John were married merely weeks ago and know he was being tortured and he didn’t know why.
“Stop daydreaming,” whispered Nikki.
He was silent.
“It’s time, my beloved…”
He heard her pull back the whip and hoped in his heart of hearts that the drug would numb the pain. How would he know? The man didn’t do drugs. So now he was waiting for excruciating pain, trying not to let his tied hands fidget.
Slow, quiet footsteps behind him, she wanted to speak again. “I just wanted you to know that I have torture down to an art form,” she said, mildly biting his ear.
Waspish!
Waspish!
The blows came faster than expected. But they kept on coming. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He was losing track of time; the drug obviously had taken effect.
Waspish!
Waspish!
It all happened so quickly that for a moment he thought it was over.
It wasn’t.
Loud footsteps now, she almost ran behind him.
“Please stop,” he said.
“No, you’re a woman trapped in a man’s body, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Sweetheart, I’m going to make you my bitch.” She took the handle end of the rope and shoved it roughly up his anus. “Sorry, no lube, you’re not that kind of girl.” He held back the tears and tried to ignore the pain. E was not all it was cracked up to be. Michael screamed. And then it happened. Some terrible part of him was beginning to enjoy it. She took the other end of the whip and grabbed it. She yanked it out of his ass and grabbed it. Nikki walked back behind him, holding the unsanitary handle.
Waspish!
Waspish!
Michael was suffering and screaming but his cock was still hard as a rock. She walked over to him and started stroking it. He wasn’t embarrassed; they both enjoyed the experience that was beyond shameless. It didn’t take long, his rear and back were so sore. He blew his load all over the ground.
And the crowd cheered.
“Darling, you were amazing, thanks for playing, Michael.”
He was stunned.
“Come now, don’t be like that.”
“Thank God for the drug,” he said softly.
“Michael?”
He nodded, looking at the cum on his feet.
“I have a little secret to tell you, Michael.”
Michael looked at her.
“E takes a little while to work, you still haven’t felt the effects of the drug yet.”
There was a pause.
“Well, Michael?”
“Then why the fuck did you give it to me?”
“Why do you think?”
He shrugged in confusion.
“Because… you will need it now that you are in pain. Call it a professional courtesy.”
He nodded. Those in charge took him off of the whipping post.
“Thanks for being such a good sport. I’m glad you aren’t a cock tease,” she said.
Her victim glanced back at her one more time as he was taken away.
“At least I didn’t put lipstick on you.”
When Michael was taken to the hospital after his flogging, he cried like a baby. He actually had sex with women twice before in the past but not like this, if you could call this sex. It was more like torture and Nikki enjoyed it.
So did Michael…
High ratings were in abundance. The president and everyone under him loved this flogging. Paid television ratings shot through the roof and everyone wanted the DVD. Underground porn websites fought tooth and nail to get it. Even straight men jerked off to it despite the taboo subject matter. Gayness and women with power over them was not like watching college girls flash their tits while they guzzled beer.
Voracious sadism was growing. The genie was out of the bottle and the sleeping giant had awakened. Porn culture, sadism and the internet was only the tip of the iceberg. In time, people turned against this cruel anti-gay crusade but DUI offenders still got the lash. It went like this:
“People are masturbating online to flogging without paying for it. We should do something about it,” Savage said.
“No, it’s already out of hand. No,” said the president.
The terrible experiences of others also made taxes go up a bit. The president still had great power. He was more of a dictator than a president.
“The poor could flog each other. What about starving homeless people fighting each other to death for food?” Savage asked.
The president shook his head. “No.”
Dear reader, this isn’t going to have a happy ending. They kept sinking further into madness. Evil spawned in the darkness of the human heart. Don’t take it personally, its humankind’s honest state of being; it’s your true nature. My little hearts filled with darkness, that’s what you are.
Oh, back to the story—Shirley Jackson wrote some damn fine tales but they should never have been considered as the basis for the justice system. Well, until now. Instead of merely punishing the guilty—well, the guilty in hypocritical America’s greedy eyes—people were randomly flogged. There were exceptions; those who could afford it never seemed to see their number come up. The depths of your depravity never cease to amaze me.
The lottery system only lasted for a week. It was all in fairness an exciting week. All the jealous hate came out. Folks who were jealous of their friends, family and enemies got to watch them suffer. Sadly, these tortures only lasted a few months so that many were left disappointed that the people they wished harm did not suffer.
Then humanity came to its senses briefly. All floggings were banned during a presidential scandal. The exception, of course, was the DUI floggings. Around this time therapists and psychiatrists flourished. They told the victims it was not their fault.
Then flogging showed its ugly face again in the most radical way. The wealthy would hire scapegoats to take the punishment for their crimes.
Now this lasted for quite a while and its corruption eventually ate society and morality alive. The horror of the spectators cheering, TV audience craving for suffering and the revelation of man’s true nature was overwhelming.
***
“I’m home Dad,” said Daniel Cain.
His father didn’t speak yet. He was thinking about how ridiculous DUI laws were and how a quick punishment could remedy t
hat. I should know, I put the idea into his head. The sin of selfish drunkenness became the greed of the corrections racket. Then, with twisted but good intentions Daniel’s father took the first step towards the nightmare.
What more do you want to hear? That the scapegoats grew tired of being victimized and funded terrorists? That these terrorists started a nuclear holocaust?
I know, why don’t I just let you be? You might be wondering how your species can change your obsessions with fear and desire. Truth is I honestly don’t know. No one is safe. My visions seem to have a way of always coming true.
***
I’m the Demon Goddess Lilith, Adam’s first wife; my ways are not your ways. This was not a cautionary tale. I wrote it simply to amuse myself. This wasn’t a warning; I don’t care about you. I’m a troublemaker. Your lives have no more value to me than insects do to you.
Someday humans will end this nightmare of being alive but I will be around until the death of death itself. I guess God just likes me better than you.
Did you really expect a happy ending from me?
Sarah,
The human race lost its marbles long ago. I enjoyed your story; it shows how sick and pathetic human beings really are. The end of the world hasn’t happened yet and people are still here. It will happen though because I know humans better than they know themselves. Well, all good things to those who wait as my mother used to say. I’m joking, I never had a mother but if I did, I would want her to be Lilith. We go way back and I have a great story I will tell you about her one day. I haven’t thought about her in ages. You made me happy when you wrote about her. All I have to say is with stories like that you’re still in the running. I really miss Lilith; I think I’ll give her a call.
Sincerely,
You Know Who
Phallus
By Sarah Nolan
I was sick of my wife calling me a jerk-off and I needed some sexual relief. My name is Rich Schmal and I was always afraid women thought my dick was too short. I was waiting for a lady of the night who would soon be arriving at my apartment. New Rich was lonely, he was separated from his wife and he was on house arrest for his second DUI.
The escort would be arriving soon. I had called almost two hours ago and you could bet the farm I was nervous. My heart was beating, racing and I had to go to the bathroom to take a leak.
Sometimes I refer to myself as New Rich because now I could begin new sexual adventures. New Rich looked at his ankle bracelet, he would not be taking off his pants entirely tonight; he would probably just show his penis to whoever this girl would turn out to be.
I was in my late forties and me and my wife Pearl had not had sex in more than a year. My drinking brought me to rehab and my lawyer Manny Long managed to keep me out of jail for fucking up again by getting in the car while I was loaded. So here I was a desperate and lonely alcoholic writer who was out of work. Now I had to weigh the risk of getting a call girl to come to me. Would it be a police woman in disguise? I looked them up on the internet. Dream Girlz, located outside of the suburbs, in the dark heart of the city.
I summoned my courage and dialed the number after he got an erection from the pictures of the lovely ladies on the website.
“Hello?”
“Yeah,” answered a rough around the edges voice.
“Is this the…. girls?”
“Yeah…”
“I want this girl, Lilly from the photo gallery on the website…”
“No, can do,” the voice answered.
“Wait. What?” I asked.
“There is no Lilly here. Those pictures of the girls are old, you know. We have all new ones. We don’t use real names, anyway. We’ll send you a girl. A real pretty girl and that’s three hundred up front…”
“Three hundred,” I said.
“Yeah.”
This was a conversation that I had about two o’clock in the afternoon. I later called the dispatcher because I wanted to hear the sound of soothing female voice and not a guy that sounded like a pimp who would beat the holy hell out of someone who came up short of cash.
And then there was the guilt thing. I was technically still married and I didn’t blame Pearl for leaving me after watching me self-destruct with alcohol for three years. She made more money than me and never let me forget it for a moment. She wore the pants in the family and I was determined that his would be coming down for a stranger tonight.
And then there was the nerve of this frigid woman to leave him to live with her mother. My books were no longer successful and I was flat broke. When we sold our suburban home, I got half the proceeds that my wife actually begrudged him. I moved into an apartment, preparing for the inevitable house arrest.
And then there was… the law… If I did anything wrong, drank alcohol, got into a domestic disturbance with his wife, failed a urine test, it was straight to jail. Imagine being caught with a prostitute.
Funny thing, I thought. Police women didn’t even have to tell you they were cops if you asked. That was every pervert’s best hope before that turned out to be a myth. She doesn’t have to tell you anything. Perverts did, however, find an excellent loophole in the law. It’s legal to ask a stripper to come to your home, that’s simply adult entertainment. You can ask the lady to do a striptease. If she says no, there is a good chance she is a cop.
New Rich weighed the consequences of ordering a reasonably priced call girl. The legal loophole that escort services offered was simply irresistible. It was after all perfectly legal to pay for a woman’s company and what happens between consenting adults is a private matter. I could always lie to myself and believe maybe me and the young lady would hit it off.
The phone rang and I answered it.
“Hello, is this Rich?” A strange woman asked.
“Yes.”
“My name is Riley, I heard you want some company tonight.”
There was a pause, Rich was nervous and couldn’t believe he was actually going to do this.
“Rich?”
“Yes, I… would like some company… tonight…”
“I have brown hair and green eyes; I’m twenty-five years old.”
“Sounds good,” said the dirty old man, me.
“I’ll follow this GPS; I should be there soon, within the hour…”
I was the man of the hour and I waited nervously. A few thoughts ran through my head. I was wondering if I should ask her to do stuff that my wife never would like give me a blow job. Then I considered that she might have a disease. I was relieved to hear a female voice, I thought about how the transvestite character surprised Tom Cruise in Risky Business. I was going to be getting the real deal. A real woman at least…
I looked down at my ankle bracelet, felt a terrible embarrassment. I would not be showing her that. The fear of disease was sinking in and harassing the natural feeling of sexual tension. I had not had a drink in seven months so he always felt at ease when his house arrest officer came. He was a nice guy and I was never up to anything wrong. I was always sober. New Rich was in Alcoholics Anonymous and was trying to sweep away the wreckage of his past. I even managed to treat his wife with dignity and respect.
I was an alcoholic and frequent porn enthusiast with my own apartment now. Yet I never did anything illegal or immoral since moving in. The horrible way my wife treated me was going to be rectified. When I thought about her asexual nonsense, my mood grew dark and then kind of playful. I would not risk getting an STD. Tonight would be all about a three-hundred-dollar hand job. I thought I could touch her body and receive her jerkin gift without fear of disease. I really wanted to do this. I felt naughty. There was going to be shenanigans here tonight.
All of this was making me a bit nervous. I looked out his glass door window and watched the pouring rain. New Rich had to relax. I lit up a cigarette and smoked it on the back porch. It was invaluable in terms of calming the nerves.
The phone rang again and I answered it.
“Rich, this Riley, we’re almost
here.”
“We?” I asked.
“Sorry, I meant to say me.”
“Good.”
The dirty old man and that would be me laughed out loud. I was happy that I took his shower earlier, wearing a nice new t-shirt and middle age man sweat pants. I anxiously awaited the ringing of the doorbell. I peeked outside through the tall windows of his front door. The usual nonsense was going on for a Saturday night. People pulling in the parking lot, obviously driving drunk, people stumbling around outside and I was the poor dick on house arrest. Then I saw a car pull up, dropping off a mysterious young woman. I was so excited because I didn’t know what she looked like. I was going to let a stranger touch my genitals and jerk me him off.
So the doorbell did its job and I happily answered the door to see what this young lady looked like. I was, after all dying to know.
“Hi, Rich?” asked the mystery girl.
“Hi Riley, please come inside,” I said, closing the door behind her while immediately judging her with my eyes. Riley was pretty but not stunning. She was built cute with nice curves and her breasts were pleasingly large but not too big to be attractive. She could tell right away that I was undressing her with my eyes. She was wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants, too.
“Can I sit down?”
“Please do.”
Her eyes looked immediately across the room to where a stack of twenty-dollar bills was. That was her three hundred dollars.
“It’s all there, Riley.”
“They tell me I have to get it all upfront,” she said.
“Sure.” I walked to the table in his tiny apartment kitchen and took the money off of the table and handed it to her.
“Good,” she said. Then she quickly sent some kind of text on her cellphone.
“So…”
“Well, you’ve been paid, Riley.”
“What do you like to do?” she asked seductively.
“Do me a favor,” I said bravely. “There is a bathrobe in my bedroom, please go inside and put it on and then come back to me.”
“You want me to…”
“Yeah and then I’ll know if you are a cop or not.”
