Taboo Unchained

by C. M. Stunich

My hand lunges from my pocket and wraps around the statuesque beauty of Ms. Holiday's neck, fingers curling on her nape with barely restrained violence. I pull her towards me and press our foreheads together while she gasps and stumbles, hands pressing up against my chest. The surge of energy inside of me is undeniable, the demon roaring to the surface and nipping at the heels of my sanity. But I don't hurt her. I don't hurt any of my clients outside of the bedroom – potential or otherwise – and I generally try to keep my hands off of women. As a whole, they've experienced more violence than any other collective group in history. When I'm like this, when the hole inside of me gapes so large that I can't stop the plunge, can't stop my descent into unfettered madness, I focus my attention on their perpetrators, on people like Mark. I much prefer sex to violence – or at least violent sex to actual violence – but today it's not only preferable but necessary.

  “I am not a prostitute,” I repeat in the calmest voice possible. Audra groans, perfect porcelain skin breaking out in goose bumps, her hot breath wild against my face. My arm muscles cramp with the tension, desperate to keep my hand light on the back of Ms. Holiday's neck. My eyes are open, staring straight into hers, so close we could kiss if that were the sort of thing I was interested in. “I take money in exchange for services rendered. I revel in the taboo and I indulge the darkness.” Audra's breath comes more heavily, feathering against my mouth, teasing me to within an inch of my sanity. Her body radiates heat and desire, her nipples pressing so tight against the nude fabric of her dress that I can just barely make out the redness of her areolas.

  My dick screams inside my pants, and I can feel the pre-ejaculate wetting my slacks. I want to fuck this woman. It's not an emotion I have often. Normally, it's all based on simple need. I do what I have to do to survive, to keep the demon sated. This feels like pure indulgence. I release Audra with a start, enjoying the way she stumbles drunkenly, planting a palm against the side of her yellow house for support. The way her bare toes sink into the dark green grass at our feet sends an erotic flare humming through my bones.

  “I taste the blackness and I fuck out the light. I will teach you to turn the filthy, the nasty, the most putrid parts of your soul into sheer bliss, into an addiction you can't shake instead of a miserable, stilted, blighted existence.” I grit my teeth. I'm used to explaining my services – most people simply don't grasp what I find to be blindingly obvious – but never with this much passion, this intense heat that's blistering my lips and searing my words.

  I take a step away from Audra, afraid of what I might do if I don't.

  “Why are you here?” she manages to choke out, her eyes far away, floating inside her skull like gems. I look up at the partially cracked back door and wonder what Mark's doing in there right now. Audra snaps out of her daze and follows my look in the direction of her house. “What the hell do you want from me?”

  I run my tongue over my lips and slide past Audra, allowing my arm to brush along hers. As soon as I do, I feel her shudder and I know without a doubt that she'll be calling me. They always do. I let myself in the back door, confident that I've disarmed Audra to the point that she won't question me. By the time she recovers from our brief encounter, Mark and I will have escorted ourselves off the premises.

  “Aubrey? That you, baby?”

  And my dear friend Mark can't even get Audra's name right. How delightful. A real catch.

  I unbutton the cuff on my right sleeve and start rolling it up. My footsteps echo loudly on the hardwood floors. What a delicious little house Ms. Holiday has here. Fortunately, my client's playdates almost always take place at their homes; none of them know where I live, and I'd like to keep it that way. If I had the time or leisure, I'd examine the millwork around the doors, the crown molding, the baseboards, but I only have time to absorb the warmth and character of the home before I find Mark, sitting – or rather slumping – on Audra's floral love seat with his bare dick hanging out for the world to see.

  I pause in the entryway to the living room, framed between two built-in bookcases.

  Mark sees me and the leer instantly melts from his sloppy face.

  Me? I smile.

  “What the fuck, man? I knew you were fucking stalking me!” Mark jams his dick back in his threadbare pants which is fine by me. I certainly don't want to see it, and despite the fact that Audra invited him into her house, I don't think she particularly wanted to see it either. “Crazy son of a bitch. I'm getting the hell out of here.”

  I finish rolling up my right sleeve and start in on my left. If Mark had simply risen to his feet and walked out the front door, he'd have gotten a head start. Instead he flails around and stumbles, crashing into yet another built-in that hugs the fireplace. In his own panic, he loses those few extra seconds I would've given him to run.

  My blood, already heated from my encounter with Audra, begins to boil hot in my veins. My head pounds and soon all I can hear is the buzz of the darkness, overwhelming and consuming me. Mark continues to move his lips, but I don't hear a word he says. I'm beyond that point now. I've chosen to sate the howling sins of my soul with blood today, so blood is what I'm going to get.

  I slide around the couch and meet Mark at the doorway. My hand fists in his hair, firm but gentle.

  “This can either hurt a little, or it can hurt a lot. That's your decision to make. If you fuck around, I can make this last a long, long time. My patience has been honed to a fine blade throughout the years.”

  Mark ignores me, thrashing wildly, hands and feet flicking about his person in an absolutely pathetic attempt at self-defense. I see no methods to his madness. Poor, poor Mark.

  “Sick fuck!” he screams as I drag him backwards and force him to his knees with sheer, brute strength. The muscles in my arms tense, pressing taut against my skin, drawing beads of sweat on my flesh. But as if I'm in the throes of sex, I don't make a sound. Not a growl, not a grunt, not even a sigh. My face is stoic, but my insides are a tempest of turmoil, churning and thrashing almost as wildly as Mark himself.

  In his fear and panic, Mark accidentally brushes himself against my erection, the one that Audra left that won't go away until it's been soothed a thousand times over by me or one of my clients.

  “Keep your dick away from me, you fucking homo freak!” I raise the fist of my left hand and hit Mark as hard as I can, enjoying the crack of my knuckles against his skull. In an instant, he goes completely still, sagging against my grip on his hair. The knife is out of my pocket and in my hand before I even realize it. I've had fun trailing Mark, dragging out the satisfaction of release until the last moment, but I can't wait any longer or I'll lose my fucking mind.

  The pocket knife doesn't look like much, a three and a quarter inch bit of wood, polished to perfection, a relic of my father's. It's the only item of his I have, and I use it ironically. While the man who donated little more to my existence than a bit of sperm and a heart full of pain used this knife to be a menace to society, a walking, talking jumble of garbage, I use it to dispatch his type. Each time the stainless steel blade meets flesh, I can feel his ghost crying in the afterlife.

  My fingers tremble and then tighten, squeezing the blade until my knuckles threaten to burst from my flesh. I drop Mark to the floor with a thump and tuck the weapon away. Once again, I've lost myself to the animal inside. That can't happen – not for a minute, not even for a second. I almost killed Mark right here on Audra's floor, spilled gallons of his blood across her dark stained hardwood. I'm not myself today, not thinking like the Lucas Carter I've shaped and molded to perfection over the last decade.

  The knife goes back in my pocket but not before Audra sees it.

  “What are … you doing?” Her voice is still strained, drawn from her throat like broken glass. I don't turn around to look at her. What good will that do me? I don't like to come undone, and apparently this woman does that to me. How else can I explain my behavior at this moment? I'm as sloppy as Mark, the douche bag – and I don't use this term lightly �
� with the stained sweatshirt and the greasy facial hair. Again, I try to convince myself that this woman is not an appropriate client. I pull other dark souls apart at the seams, sew them back together with sinewy thread, not the other way around.

  I keep my eyes on Mark's twitchy back. He'll be awake again soon, so it's best I move him now, find a quiet place for us to finish up. I won't torture him – I don't often have time for that. I'll slit his throat and feel his blood drain over my fingers and then I'll move on, the darkness will be pushed at bay for a short while, and I'll start tomorrow morning off with a rough job, visit some of the women I haven't seen in some time. I'm black as pitch inside my heart, but believe it or not, there are others whose breed of demon disturbs even me. At least I keep my pet on a leash.

  “Assuaging my desires.” I don't know how else to put it. Frankly, I shouldn't even be putting it at all. I should be keeping my mouth shut, grabbing my new friend around the waist and cutting through empty backyards until I reach a silent spot to finish the deed, somewhere that won't alarm the police when they find the limp body of a useless sack of crap like Mark. Cops don't care what happens to rapists, drug addicts, and common criminals. Neither does the world at large, not for the most part. Apparently Audra Holiday doesn't fall into that category.

  “Don't you dare lay a finger on that man.” My head whips up and around, my breath drawn from my lungs. My muscles tighten to a fine point, every inch of my body stretched and swollen and desperate to burst from my skin in a spray of blood and bones.

  “What?” The word snaps off my tongue like a slap. Audra takes a step back, marking up her clean floor with grassy prints. She doesn't look scared of me though. I can't imagine that she should, with all of that wrathfulness whirling behind her dark green eyes. I start to pant, struggling with my own control as I watch Audra's unravel like thread.

  “I said don't fucking touch him!” she screeches at me, taking a few steps back and drawing a knife from the block on her kitchen counter. “Get the hell out of my house and stay away from me.”

  “But I'm exactly what you need,” I whisper, taking solace in her explosion. I don't let myself go like that – I won't. Audra's cheeks are red and her forehead is dotted with beads of sweat. I see her struggle to find some control and watch in morbid fascination as she loses it, throwing the knife as hard as she can. It hits the wall near the front door and sticks there, metal quivering with the force.

  “I won't miss next time,” she promises, her nude dress riding all the way up, flashing me red curls and a brazen sense of nakedness, one that shows me that Audra doesn't care for her body the way she should. It doesn't matter who sees it, who touches it, who revels in the pleasure of it. It might seem hard to believe for some, but when you stop caring about your soul, it's simply common knowledge that the care of your body was gone long before that. It's the price of living with that pain and having no outlet for it. I shouldn't have Audra as a client; she won't be good for me. I could, however, be everything for her. My cock thickens in agreement, begging to differ, and I've long since trusted his judgment. I'm not like most men. A simple black lace teddy or a pair of tits doesn't do it for me. My dick is like an arrow, pointing me in the right direction.

  “You'll kill me then?” I ask, moving back slowly, just enough that I know Audra will have a clear shot of Mark's back, the liquid stain on his pants. The acrid smell of piss wafts in the air around us. He peed himself. What a surprise. “To protect this man?” I point down and do my best to show that I'm not concerned about Audra, not even when she pulls another knife from the block. “This man who tried to rape you?”

  “He wouldn't be the first,” Audra drawls, the slightest hint of a Southern accent peeking into her crisp West Coast. You can always tell when someone is from around here – they pronounce every syllable, every letter, but quickly, almost too quickly. I let Audra's accent curl around my body, tightening my skin as it slithers against the pores. “Why do you care?”

  “Oh, I don't,” I tell her in all honesty. Surprisingly, this seems to soothe some of her ire. God forbid I actually did care about her. “Not about you personally. I simply dislike weak creatures. It's the natural call of the earth to cull their existence.” I pause, my eyes catching on Audra's. She's fading again, her long pale fingers slackening their hold on the knife. “And well, that's not entirely true either.” Some of the color snaps back into her irises, dark green whorls with flecks of gold and brown. “I'm a selfish little monster.” I slide my tongue over my lower lip, making sure Audra's pupils follow the motion. In some ways, she's exactly like all the rest. In other ways, she's completely different. I'm not sure what to make of it.

  “Get out or I'll kill you,” Audra says, voice calm but firm. I don't doubt that she means to try. I could overpower her, knock her senseless, take Mark away as planned, but that sounds like a good way to get caught. I clench my hands tight and suck in a hissing breath through my teeth.

  “You have my number,” I respond succinctly, turning on my heel and exiting the house before I explode into a frenzy of unbridled rage.

  Dr. Lauren Houssard lives in a house that some might call a mansion. Having personally been in the Braxton household, I can say that isn't true with all due confidence. Lauren's house would fit quite comfortably in the Braxton's formal entryway and living room area. This is certainly an upgrade over Pamela's house where each and every scream echoes through her suburban neighborhood of fifties style ranch homes.

  Even though Dr. Houssard is fully embroiled in maniacal screeching, nobody in the neighborhood will be the wiser. I slide my cock from Lauren's tight pussy and slap her ass with every ounce of strength in my arm, drawing another scream for her slender throat.

  “Don't stop,” she whimpers as I grab a handful of her hair and pull her head back. Her brown eyes snap up to my face with desperation. I don't often visit the Houssard home. First off, because Mr. Houssard is clinically insane and were he to find me here, the consequences would be rather dire. Second, because Lauren is vicious. She may not seem it at the moment, but when her demon comes loose, it's hard to satisfy. I consider her my second most dangerous client. I tried to call Margarite Simmons first, but she didn't answer and I was desperate.

  “Don't you dare tell me what to do.” I don't shout, don't scream, simply speak as if I'm asking directions. I release Lauren's hair and watch her struggle against her bonds. Don't judge me please – she specifically asked for them. Everything I do is at the request of my clients. It's all part of setting boundaries and keeping the darkness contained. I smile as Lauren screams in anger, kicking and flailing violently against the leather straps at her wrists and ankles. Currently she's laid out flat, belly down, on a slab in her basement. Originally, it was built for Mr. Houssard to get his kink on. The man enjoys being strapped down and beaten with a cat o' nine tails. Not that I'd know from personal experience, but that's Lauren's explanation for the medieval slab of cement in her basement. Since her tyrannical husband obviously knows about it and doesn't complain, I imagine she must be telling the truth.

  I run my fingers down Lauren's smooth back, her skin like melted chocolate across her muscles. She's a tad leaner than I prefer, but she makes up for it with her lack of rules. The only creed here is don't judge. And I don't. When Lauren lets herself go to a point of no return, I simply walk out and come back later. While there's nothing I can't handle, there are certain things I don't tolerate.

  I drop my hand to my cock and stroke my fingers along my shaft, my mind drifting back to Audra and my failed pursuit of Mark. Fury spirals through me as I relive the morning. Lucas Carter isn't used to failure. I reach down to the belt loops on my slacks and remove the strip of leather, clutching both ends tight in my right hand. Without warning, I snap my wrist up and strike Lauren's ass with the belt. Another scream tears through her throat as I tighten the leather between my hands and bite down on it. I don't let Lauren see me. I can't allow anyone to catch my practiced perfection slipping through my f
ingers. I toss the belt to the floor.

  “You're not even worth the belt, Mrs. Houssard,” I tell her, pretending that my little lapse in control was purposeful. I watch her naked body tighten and listen to the unspoken words in her stiff stance. That's Dr. Houssard. I move back around the table, enjoying the slight discoloration on her bare ass. I see exactly where the belt made contact. How delightful. “Not worth a slap, a spanking, most especially not worth the pleasure of my dick.” I pause near Lauren's face, sliding the head of my still glistening cock against her cheek. When she turns and snaps her teeth in my general direction, I almost lose it. “Oh? Shall I leave then?” I ask, starting to tuck my cock away and watching as her eyes widen in fear. Lucky lucky Lauren. I'd give anything to feel afraid again. Fear proves there's still something in this world that's too valuable to let go of. Otherwise, what's the point?

  “I'm sorry, Lucas. I got … carried away.” Lauren sighs against the table, her hot breath darkening the cement surface. “It's just been so long since you came to see me. I can't take it anymore. I almost killed Pete the other day. Swear to God, Lucas, I almost cut his damn throat. He was chewing his food with his damn mouth hanging wide open, and his face … when we were making love. My God, it was so self-satisfied.” I put my hand on Lauren's hair, skimming my fingers across her scalp and enjoying the way she shivers with pleasure. “And my boss. I want her dead, too. And my fucking nosy ass mother … ”

  “Shush.” I curl my fingers around Lauren's nape, my mind flashing back to Audra Holiday. I don't generally dwell on things; it's not like me at all. The thought is so bothersome that I grab tight, digging my nails into Lauren's flesh. She enjoys the sting of pain just as much as the kiss of pleasure, writhing under my touch. I lean down and whisper against her ear. “We'll feed the demon, my dear. No worries.” I stand up straight, slapping my hand lightly against Lauren's cheek. On the outside, I hope I appear as calm as I don't feel. Inside, I'm about to break.