by J. A. Huss
(And is it wrong that I think it’s insanely sexy? Whatever. I do.)
Before I can take another step, she’s cast off her other shoe, tossed her pitchfork down and is going full fuckin’ Ronda Rousey on old boy. The daytime door guy is trying to hold her back, but she’s off the chain.
Holy shit, I’m so fucking hard right now.
I’m hanging back, partially because she’s got this and partially because I’m enjoying the show. The handful of other sad sacks in the joint are hanging back too, but I’m guessing that’s because they’re afraid of getting their dicks kicked in.
Maddie’s yelling, “Fuck you, motherfucker! Fuck you, and fuck Carlos, and fuck all of you bitches!” The door guy is not small, but he’s trying to hold onto an out-of-control wildfire that’s scorching the earth. She shoots out of his hands and is on top of Logan again in a flash, like an escaping lick of flame.
“You tell him that his daughter is the fucking whore who’s responsible for paying him his money back! And tell him that if he thinks he’s gonna stick his rotten cock inside me, he’s living in fantasy land! If he, or you, ever touch me again, I will feed both of you your fucking hearts!”
Jesus. I swear to God, I’m gonna come in my pants. This is the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.
Pete’s on the scene now. One of the girls must’ve gone up to his office to get him because he’s rumbled down the stairs with purpose in his ambling stride.
“Hey!” he shouts. “Hey! Scarlett! Maddie! Knock it off!”
He comes up from behind and as he bends over to reach for her, the short sleeves on his button-down Aloha shirt rise up his biceps enough that I can just make out a faded tattoo. It’s the tip of a spear with a sword inside and three lightning bolts crisscrossing the blade. A Special Forces tattoo. Shit, good old grandfatherly Pete was a Green Beret. I knew I liked the guy.
He wraps Maddie in a bear hug and pulls her off Logan, lifts her up, and holds her in the air, her bare feet still thrashing about untameably.
Red hair sprays across her face with the shaking of her head and Pete grips her tighter as she rips one arm free, points at Logan and bellows, “I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a FUCK! Come at me, motherfucker! Let’s go! Let’s fucking go!”
Yep. A little bit just slipped out of the tip of my dick, I’m pretty sure.
This Logan asshole is bleeding from the nose, mouth, eye, and—I think—ear? Jesus, she covered all the bases. He stumbles to his feet and backwards, spitting blood on the floor.
“Hey!” Pete shouts. “Not on the carpet!”
(In fairness to Logan, it’s a pretty dumb idea to have carpet in a fucking strip club. Like a goddamn Petri dish.)
Logan’s panting in and out heavily, trying to catch his breath. An ass-kicking’ll do that to you. I fade back into the far corner. I’m clearly not needed here, but I don’t wanna duck out yet, just in case.
Unlucky Logan (which is what I’ve decided to call him) is teetering, trying to find his feet against the floor, and I’m just about to laugh when he whips out a gun from his jacket, points it at Maddie, and says, “You’re dead, bitch.”
If you asked me to tell you the story of how I covered the space between me and him and rammed the barrel of the pistol I’m carrying against the side of his temple before he had a chance to pull the trigger on his, there’s no fucking way I could tell it. I have no idea. But it’s what happens.
“Hey, Logan!” I say brightly. “I’ve missed you. How’s things? Eating enough? You look thin.”
His shoulders drop. Because of course they do. Because I don’t know whose fucking nephew or cousin this jackass is, but he is shitty at being a bad guy.
“Tyler?” Maddie shouts, as she allows herself to go a little more still against the broad barrel of Pete’s chest.
“Hey, Maddie. What’s up?” I ask it as casually as I can. Given the present situation, that’s not really all that fucking casual.
“What the fuck?” she yells as Pete releases his hold and lets her stand on the ground. “Why are you here right now?”
“I, um…” I’m not sure how to answer, so I just say, “Hi, Pete.”
“Tyler.” He nods to me.
Maddie starts after Logan again. Or it’s possible she’s coming after me. Either way, both of us flinch before Pete grabs her by the arm and stops her.
“Scarlett?” he says.
“What?” She spins on him and her hair kind of hits him in the face.
“Why don’t you go on and head home?”
“I’m not going fu—”
“It’s not a request, Maddie.”
She stares at Pete. She turns and stares at Logan. Then she stares at me. Then she starts to say something to me. Then she stops. Then she turns away. Then she turns back. Then she starts to speak again. Then she stops. Then she shakes her head. Then she picks up one of her shoes. Then she looks for the other one. Then one of the other girls finds it and hands it to her. Then she picks up her pitchfork. Then she holds her pitchfork in one hand and her shoes in the other and stares at me. Then she starts to say something. Then she stops.
And then she leaves.
“Uh, Pete?” That’s the bartender. “Should I call the cops?”
Pete waves him off. “Nah, nah, don’t worry about it.” He steps over to me and Unlucky Logan. I’ve still got Unlucky’s old gun pressed against his unlucky head when Pete wrenches the gun Unlucky’s currently holding away from his grip. Unlucky (I really like this nickname) looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust.
“You work for Castillo?” Pete asks.
Unlucky doesn’t answer right away so I tap him on the noggin with the barrel.
“Answer Pete. He’s your elder.”
Pete looks at me with a ‘what the fuck are you doing’ glance, but I don’t care. I’m having fun. I shrug.
Logan closes his eyes and bites out, “He’s my uncle.”
“I fuckin’ knew it!” I shout out. (Which I don’t mean to do, but I really did know it.)
“Figures,” says Pete, “Like uncle, like nephew, huh?”
“Fuck does that mean?” asks Unlucky. Which I would’ve asked too. Fuck does that mean?
“OK,” Pete says. “Well, look, I don’t really give two shits what goes on out there.” He nods toward the door. “They’re grownups and what they do out in the world is their responsibility. But in here… these girls are my responsibility. So, if you’ve got some kinda deal you need to sort out with Scarlett, you do it somewhere else. You get me?”
Fucking Pete, man!
Unlucky Logan must feel like pushing his luck a little bit more to see just how unlucky he is, because he squares up and gets in Pete’s face. Which, if I’m being honest, I’m real impressed by. He’s either even dumber than I thought or the guy really does have brass balls. (Or cojones, I guess, since it turns out he must be at least part Mexican. I wonder if it’s his mom or dad that’s Carlos’ sibling. “Logan” is not a terribly Mexican name. I wonder if he’s adopted? Whatever. Not the time. Rambling.)
Unlucky is almost nose to nose with Pete now. He leans in and he whispers, “No. I don’t get you. Is this a shitty, second-rate tit-bar you’re running, or a fucking day care, old man?”
Pete doesn’t say shit. Just stares at him.
“So tell me… What if I decide I do need to come back here again to get what’s ours? What the fuck are you gonna do about it?”
Shit. This is intense. I love it!
Pete still doesn’t blink, and he doesn’t look away. The only thing that might change in his expression at all is that his eyelids may droop a little, giving him a sleepy look that suggests he’s kind of bored by the whole thing and would rather just be back in his office doing… accounting or whatever the fuck. And then, like he’s asking someone to pick up milk at the store, he says…
“I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”
I bow my head slightly, entirely by accident. I have heard some cold-blooded shit in my da
y, spoken by some cold-blooded motherfuckers, but that shit right there was so cold it would make a rattlesnake crawl backwards into its hole.
And that’s clearly how it lands on Unlucky Logan, too, because he gets like an inch shorter all of a sudden.
“Now go on,” Pete says. “Get outta here.”
There’s a filled beat while Unlucky tries to decide how much it’s worth to him to try to save face, but then he concludes wisely that today just ain’t his day.
He backs away from both of us, me and Pete, who are now each holding a gun that used to be his, and I can only guess how much that has to suck for him. But what’re you gonna do? Guy makes bad choices.
As he gets to the exit, he pauses and then he says, “I’ll see you again,” to Pete, and then to me he goes, “You too… Tyler.” He puts a little something extra on my name like I’m supposed to be all impressed or scared or whatever that the dummy knows my first name. It’s like the silliest threat I’ve ever gotten. For less than a second, I have the same feeling I had before, when I fucked up him and his boy in the alley. Like I almost feel bad for him. But then I remember… I don’t.
And with that, he pushes out of the club and into the morning sunshine.
I open my mouth to speak, but before I get any words out, Pete just says, “Go on,” waving me in the direction where Maddie just left and closing his eyes and nodding his head. There’s this instant where I think about asking him if he’ll adopt me. But that’d be weird. As opposed to everything else that’s happening which is completely normal.
I just nod my head in response and hand the gun I’m holding to Pete. I don’t fucking want it. He takes it from me, nods at me in return, and I head towards the back of the club where I saw Maddie exit.
As I get there, just before I push through the door, I turn back to see the few customers take their seats again as some chick takes the stage. (Now HER, I do feel bad for, having to try to get dudes to think about anything other than what just happened—but then again… She has huge tits and they all have dicks, so it probably won’t take long before equilibrium returns.) The song changes to some new thing, and Pete’s wide back and shoulders lumber up the stairs and out of sight.
MADDIE
As I storm out the back door into the alley, the sun hits me in the eyes and I squint. I almost forgot it was daylight out. It’s easy to lose time when you’re inside there.
A homeless guy going through the dumpster to my left sees me, shouts, “Devil!” and runs away.
I stomp over to the car. Annie’s car, which I’m still fucking borrowing. It’s a candy-apple-red Audi S5 convertible. Basically, Annie’s drone. Something she bought because she thought it would give her freedom but has become just another albatross.
I grabbed my bag before walking out, but I’m holding my shoes and pitch-fucking-fork and fumbling in my purse for my keys, which is when I stop paying attention to where the pitchfork is pointing and hear “screeeeeech.” I don’t even need to look to know that I have royally fucked up Annie’s car. But I do.
“FUCK!”
I toss everything in my hands to the ground and the keys spill out. I snatch ’em up, press the button to unlock the door, and am about to jump in, peel away from here and drive into a phone pole on purpose when the scuffed-up door of Pete’s opens and… he… comes running out.
“Maddie,” he calls after me.
“Fuck you, dude. I asked you for one thing. One thing and you can’t give me that?”
“I was trying, but—”
“Shit! I asked you to be there for me seven years ago and you couldn’t do that, now I’m just asking you to stay the hell away and you can’t do that either. What’s it take?”
“Maddie, stop. You’re in trouble and that’s painfully obvious and I’m just trying to be there if you need my help.”
“I don’t need anything from you. Not anymore. Thanks for playing.” I sit down in the driver’s seat and press the starter button, but before I can get away, he yanks the door open and grabs my arm, pulling me out of the car.
“What. The. Fuck. Are you doing?” I spit the words in his face. “If you value anything about your life, you will take your hand off me right the fuck now.”
He does. I bend down, grab up my pitchfork, and press the tines into his chest.
“OK, now…” he says.
“Yeah? What? That hurt?” I ask, pushing it a little harder. “Like there? Around your heart? That feel shitty? ’Cause I know what that’s like.”
“Maddie, stop!” He pushes it away and yanks it from my hand.
“Give it back. It’s mine. I got it at Tractor Supply.”
And then he does the most infuriating thing he can possibly do. He laughs.
“What? What’s so funny?” I spew at him. He laughs harder. “Stop! Stop! Dick!”
I slap him on the chest, then I ball up my fist and strike him, then I ball up the other one and hit him again, and then, next thing I know, I’m wailing on him hard, pounding without restraint, and he’s letting me. He takes it. Every blow I offer. And then I stop.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “Fight back, you pussy.” I hit him again. This time across the face. A hard slap.
He twists his head back to face me. “No,” he says.
So I slap him again. And again. And again. Each time his head snaps and then he turns back to me, allowing me to do it again. I pull back a step to take him in. Because I can’t believe this fucking guy.
And that’s when I notice the massive hard-on he’s got going.
“Really?” I say with astonishment. He shrugs in that fucking way he does.
And I grab a handful of that scraggily-ass beard, pull him face to face with me, look into those stupid blue eyes, say, “Fuck,” and jump up into his arms, my legs around his waist, my mouth pressed against his lips.
“I hate you,” I breathe out in between kisses.
TYLER
Shit. I have so much I want to say and to ask her. I want to know what the hell is going on with this Carlos asshole exactly. I want to explain that I have been trying to stay away and that I’m only here now because I want to make sure she’s okay. Because I owe her. Because I love her. Because I loved her back when she was just a kid and Scotty’s little sister and now I’ve fallen in love with the woman she is.
But her bare ass in my hands, tongue in my mouth, and thighs wrapped around my waist convince me that I can table that shit for a later date.
I walk her back to the trunk of the car and slam her down on it. She throws her legs open and that’s when I notice two things:
One: Her devil costume has a little red devil tail hanging off the back of the panties and it’s dangling down on the trunk of the car between her open thighs. Which is adorable and hot as shit at the same time. And…
Two: The panties themselves have a zipper on the crotch.
And I’m done.
And then I’m undone.
Two zippers go down in quick succession.
I slide her to the edge of the trunk where my cock is waiting to receive her. The morning sunshine creates an incredibly different atmosphere than we had the last time we were back here together. It’s strange. The night we fucked back here we were secret, hidden, protected, glancing furtively to make sure no one saw us.
Now, today, we couldn’t be more exposed, but neither one of us seems to notice or care. And I realize suddenly that the last time we fucked in this very alley, it was also after some drama created by Unlucky Logan. The difference is last time, I kind of stepped in and saved Scarlett, and this time Maddie sure as shit saved herself. And thinking about that again pushes hot, boiling blood into my dick and I thrust myself inside her with the same kind of reckless force that she defended herself with.
“More,” she grunts out, tightening the grip of her calves around my hips and dragging me into her further.
The teeth of the zippers on both her panties and my jeans rub against the skin on my shaft as I pound in and
out, and the scraping, lacerating feeling makes me harder, which causes me to want to fuck her just that much more fiercely. Because I deserve to be punished. I owe her that. I can take it.
I’ve taken worse.
And then I pull out without warning.
“The fuck are you going?” she asks.
I bend down and when I stand back up, I’m holding the pitchfork. I hand it to her.
“Here,” I say, pulling my t-shirt over my head. The look on her face lets me know that it’s one thing to see the scars in the darkened seclusion of a strip club, or the black of an alley at night, or even my place or hers after the sun has taken its rest. It’s an entirely other matter confronting them in the bright light of day.
I force the pitchfork into her hand as I slip my dick back inside her again.
“Use it,” I say.
“Fuck are you talking about?” she says.
“Press it into me. My chest. While I’m inside you,” I say as I begin pumping in and out again.
“I don’t—” she starts. But I know what’s right. What I want. What she needs.
“Just do it,” I wheeze, as I fuck her sweet pussy. I just want to pleasure her. I want to make her feel good.
And I want her to punish me.
Now.
“Do it,” I urge again.
Her eyes narrow and she gets (appropriately) a devilish grin. And then without another word, she rocks her hips back and forth with the thrusting of mine, while at the same time pressing the sharp prongs of the tool into the scarred flesh on my chest. I can feel it ripping and tearing, but I don’t feel pain. Not in a conventional sense. Not even when she drags the edges down to my waist. I just know that she needs to hurt me, and this seems like a good start.
I watch her forearm tense. I can see her trying to stop herself from just fucking impaling me right here, which is what she wants to do. And if she does, she does. But as long as she doesn’t, I’m going to keep sliding this big cock in and out of her until she comes.
And even though I know it’s just my imagination, I could swear that from somewhere I hear a voice yelling, “Watch out, man! She’s a devil!”
