by Aven Jayce
Hell, yeah. Give him a good knife fucking, but slow down.
“Take your time,” I urge, wanting her to enjoy her first kill for as long as possible.
Five stabs, six... the bloodstains take on the pattern of the Big Dipper. Seven, eight... she’s gone mad. I’ve never heard such carnal noises bursting from her mouth, not even when I’m eating her pussy. It’s far more than a typical grunt and groan.
“Fucking cocksucker!” she shouts. “Aargh. Uh. Uh. Fuck. I hate you. I hate your fucking guts.”
Bloody guts, I think, taking a step closer to admire the scene.
Eleven stabs... twelve. Damn.
“Calm and steady. You’ve got him, now enjoy it.” She’s not listening. “Jules, you could stab him fifty times and still have to wait for the pinhead to bleed to death. Remember what we’ve discussed, there’re specific kill zones on the body. You have to—”
“Shut,” stab, “the fuck,” stab, “up.”
Is she talking to me, or the sack of shit?
“Back off,” I mutter, bending down to finish the job with a quick slice of his jugular. He grabs his neck and kicks her off, spurting blood onto the floor. “This is a fucking mess.”
I toss her a rag from my workbench so she can clean her blade. “I was doing just fine on my own,” she sniffs, brushing the back of her hand across her wet cheeks. A smudge of blood is left behind, matching her smeared mascara.
“No, you became too emotional. And you fucked up by leaving him alive behind the bar. If he survived, he could’ve given your description to the cops. What the hell happened? Do you know him?” I’m drawn away from her as the guy starts to make the usual end of life gurgling sounds.
“I took off when I heard someone coming, and no, I don’t fucking know him.”
“Hush, I like this part. Let me listen.”
His mouth opens, searching for a breath that never comes. The throaty noise reminds me of a garden hose when it’s first turned on; a quick spurt of water juts out, there’s a loud gush of air, a second spurt, the hose thrashes, then it goes limp and a steady stream of water flows.
“That someone was me. I was the person coming toward you, and this was all too fast,” I criticize. “I didn’t even have a chance to sing my troll song.”
“Sing the damn song now.” She puts her hands on her hips, aggravated that I’m more concerned about my ritualistic killing song than her.
I shake my head in disappointment. “I can’t sing it now, it’d be like singing Happy Birthday after someone blows out the candles—the moment’s over.”
“Well, should I go out and find another guy to attack me?”
“Funny.” I turn, taking her shoe out of the truck bed and tossing it by her feet. “I wanted your first time to be special, better than this, that’s all. And we’re supposed to fuck afterward, but I didn’t get erect like I normally do.”
Her head tilts, still holding her blade in her hand. “We can fuck when you’re ready. Now, sing your song. You’ll lose sleep if you don’t.”
With a deep exhale I watch the pool of blood growing in size. “I’m a troll, fol-de-rol,” I sing quietly, searching for his wallet. There’s nothing of substance inside—just a license, a small amount of cash, a few credit cards, the norm. “Are you hurt?” I question.
“No. I stabbed his dick before he had a chance to use it.”
I nod and hum my song, stopping every so often to inquire about the night. “I’m a troll... you sure you don’t know him?”
“No.”
“Was he with anyone at the bar?”
“Another guy, around his age, but he wasn’t there when I went inside to say goodbye to my friends.”
“You said goodbye with a missing shoe?”
“I said I lost it in a snowdrift, and I felt sick and needed to head home. They understood.”
“You drunk?”
“Maybe.”
I can smell the alcohol on her breath so she better fess up. She’ll get spanked if she was driving drunk, but will get an even harsher ass smack if I catch her in a lie.
“Yes. I had a few drinks. But I’m not wasted.”
I continue to stroll, circle, and hum, observing her emotional state while inspecting the lifeless body. The humming changes to a slow whistle before words float freely from my mouth.
“And I’ll eat... you... for supper.”
I raise an arm, offering an apologetic embrace. She hurries by my side, better now that it’s over. “I’m sorry you had to go through something like this again,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
“It sucks. What are the odds?”
“High, actually. It happens all too often. I used to witness it almost daily in my dad’s company; both physical and verbal assaults were common.” I lift her chin to view her face. “Are you upset that I followed you?”
She shakes her head. “Not this time.”
“Why didn’t you and Angie stick together?”
“Mark...”
“If you thought I was a possessive and controlling ass before, just wait. I’m not letting you out of my sight again. You and me, every damn place we go, side-by-side, hand-in-hand, cock in pussy.”
She finally cracks a smile.
“You laugh, but I’m serious. I’ll even make arrangements for you to be handcuffed to my body and put in my coffin when I die. Next time you’re itching for a girls’ night out, they’re coming here. The three of you can hang out at my bar, swim in my pool, and get a bite to eat in my restaurant. Everything you need’s right here, including me. You’re not leaving the Jameson.”
“The Jameson? Are you referring to your hotel or yourself?”
“Both.”
“I was only alone for two minutes and this isn’t my fault,” she protests, indicating I’m once again taking things to an extreme. “If you didn’t notice, the guy’s twice my size and I still managed to protect myself and take him down.”
Her head’s held in the palm of my hands, unable to turn or look away. “You’re not leaving the Jameson unless I’m by your side. I told you when we started this relationship about my past and you can’t be out on your own. Once you step inside my life, you’re here for good.”
“You know what, Mark? That’s fine, considering you refuse to meet my parents and I’m having dinner with them in a few days. It will be so nice to have you by my side for that one. Sounds great to me.”
She’s so clever. “You always win,” I declare.
“That I do,” she says triumphantly.
I scratch the side of my face and squint. My biggest fear is losing her to a guy like myself, someone who will slice her open and leave her for dead, a former business partner, employee, or porn star seeking revenge. Shit, maybe even my own son. “We’ll discuss this another time. For now, I need to know you’re okay.” I caress her earlobe, getting semi-erect when she leans into my hand. Her teeth nibble at my wrist, wanting to play. She feels it—the rush, the arousal from a blade possessing a body, mirroring a dick being coated in thick, slippery, fluid as it powers inside flesh.
“I’m proud of you. You know that, right?” She nods, enjoying the attention and engrossed in a post-kill buzz. “Your face is glowing the same way it did the first time we fucked. I take it you’re satisfied with the way things played out?”
This time her hand moves over my dick, in sync with her nod. I want her to speak, to tell me how she feels, that this moment is the best she’s ever experienced, but my head’s rapidly changing to thoughts of tits, pussy, and a warm mouth.
I’m unzipped, she drops down, my cock’s out, and my hands are on her head. She sucks, I spread my legs. She sucks, I gaze at the ceiling. Suck, “oh fuck.” A suck, and my mouth tightens... suck, “slow, beautiful,” suck and gulp, “you could ask for anything right now and I’d give it to you.”
Christ, she has so much power over me. Her mouth and tongue are secure and steady, nipping, pulling, and slidi
ng the flesh of my shaft without a single pause.
“You’re gonna get a facial if you don’t slow down. Slow. Uh.” My hands clutch her head, forcing her to stop. I think she’s still crazed from the kill.
Yeah, she’s visibly lost in a rush.
I laugh, being pushed to the wall like I’m her plaything. Her arm is across my chest, holding me in place while she whacks me off. Frenzied, hard, tugs on my cock—sometimes painful, yet sensational. I’m told not to speak, just to watch and enjoy, that she can’t wait to taste my cum.
“Dear fuck, that’s good.”
“Cover my hand in it. I want it to come out so I can use it as lube.”
I pant, bringing her closer for a kiss, but she pushes me away with determination to get me off faster than ever before. “Do it, Mark. You know I love your cum.”
“I’m almost there.” My head drops to her shoulder, looking down at her jackhammering hand. I’m at the point where I want it fast and slow, in her mouth and in her pussy. I want my cum to cover and drip from her lips. I want it all. “Damn it, damn it.” My eyes shut. “Uh, fuck!”
She playfully cuffs my mouth and the room is filled with, “mmph, mmm, mmm,” while I’m detained.
“Look down,” she commands. “The reward you wanted for cleaning up my mess is here.”
I don’t need to watch when I can feel the semen all over my cock. Her hand does such a flawless job spreading it over my flesh as it shoots out then drips down my shaft.
“Mmmph,” I moan. “Mmmph.” It’s so fucking intense when she won’t allow me to speak.
“Good boy, now look. Open your eyes, Mark. Do it.” She drops her hand and I gasp for air.
“Oh, shit,” I exhale. “Fuck.” I stare dizzily, in disbelief that she was able to get me off that fast, especially since I just came four hours ago. I’m still a young stud, whether she wants to admit it or not.
“You’re a goddess,” I huff with blurred vision.
“A princess,” she insists, “and this wasn’t my first kill.”
DISCIPLINE
“DON’T” I JERK AWAY from her while trying to slide into my sport coat and oxfords. “I’m in no mood to talk to you. Start cleaning the mess in the garage and give me some time alone before you find yourself drowning in a tub full of water.” I dash out of our bedroom and down the stairs.
“It’s eleven o’clock,” Jules protests. “You can’t go to work this late. Besides, we need to talk.”
“This is my hotel and I’ll go to work whenever the fuck I want, just like you seem to do whatever the fuck you want without telling me, right?” I slam the door and stride down the corridor to the opposite end of the hotel, needing to make sure my son is okay before I escape to the main office for the night.
The lights seem dimmer than usual, the walls darker, carpet duller, and as I approach the door of his suite, my usual tranquil second floor has been transformed into what sounds like a heavy metal concert. I doubt the little shit can even hear me knocking.
“Jack, open the door.”
I give him plenty of opportunity to let me in on his own, but after multiple fist pounds, I have to resort to using my master key card. Thank fuck Jules didn’t give him the option of using a code with the keypad; otherwise my card would be useless. I knock one last time, then for the sake of my guests, swipe and enter.
Fuck his privacy.
“Hey!” I shout. He’s in the dining room with a room service cart by his side. I shut off the sound system and notice right away that he’s settled in just fine. A wet towel hangs off the arm of the sofa and the television’s on with no sound. He has the window shades closed and the heat turned up to eighty. Jesus. And Jules didn’t clear out the liquor cabinet. I thought she had this suite set up for him, but the cabinets are full... and there’s a space on the shelf where a bottle’s missing.
Jack’s talking to one of his friends online and my presence isn’t acknowledged. I’m completely appalled by all of this. Not the music or being ignored, but the fact that he’s sitting at the table buck-naked. And not only that... no, not only is he video chatting online in the nude, but he’s acting like a king—having ordered a steak dinner, a slice of chocolate cake, and nursing a bottle of vodka. No glass, just the bottle. He takes a sip and frowns at the interruption, waving his knife for me to have a seat.
“Say goodbye to your friend.” I place my hands in my pockets, keeping them away from his scrawny teenage neck. “Now!” My voice is stern, yet has no effect on him whatsoever.
Leaning back, he positions his arm over the top of the chair and sticks out his chest to signal he’s in control. What a little shit. I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to be him right now.
Keep calm. Stay in control. Treat him like he’s a human being. “Trust me, buddy. You don’t want to do this.”
I’m always talking about being a better father, wanting to establish some type of father-son bond with the kid and, at the same time, I don’t want to have anything to do with him. I know nothing about parenting and I’m full of contradictions when it comes to our relationship. What I want and what I’m actually capable of when it comes to being a father are two different things. One minute I regret everything, craving to give him what he wants and needs, and the next minute I want to toss him out the window. And the window is in the front-running right about now.
“Get off the fucking iPad and put on some clothes.”
“Is that your dad?”
“Nope,” Jack responds to the voice with a smirk. “Just some guy pretending to be.”
The iPad’s closed the minute I take my first step forward. This is about to go one of two ways. Either he gets forced into a pair of pants like when he was two, and then gets dragged kicking and screaming to my suite, or I sit at the table and try to have a grown-up conversation with...
“What the fuck is that?” I grab his upper arm and pull him away from the chair to view his back. It’s inked. He’s got a huge tat. “Jesus Christ, who the fuck did that to you?”
He bolts to the opposite side of the table and slicks his wet, blonde hair with his fingers, aggravated that I had the nerve to touch him.
My jaw and hands both clench. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I fuck up your hair? Get the damn towel, cover yourself, and sit back down!”
I’m given a dirty look in protest, but he follows orders.
“When was this? Who did it? And what does it mean?”
The gold Jameson Hotel lettering on the black towel is folded down at his waist when he returns. I grab the vodka from his hand before he can take another swig and point for him to sit.
“I need a drink a hell of a lot more than you do.” I take a swig and slam the bottle down. “Talk.”
“Last year.” He slumps into the chair and clutches the steak knife, rubbing the blade along his jawline. “When I was fifteen and fucking that girl, Maria. Her older brother has his own tattoo parlor... well, he works out of his parent’s garage, but he’s good.”
“Put the knife down. You have no idea the position you’re putting me in and what I could do to you. Put it down!”
He sets it next to his plate and laughs. “Better, Daddy?”
A strand of blonde hair dangles freely, white teeth appear behind split, dehydrated lips, and he starts to crack his knuckles. I should go easy on him, right? His mom died so his attitude’s excusable? Whoever thinks that way is fucked in the head. Jack’s been like this for years and his guilt about stabbing me lasted only a second, now he’s back to being a prick. I’ve been saying for years that I’m not gonna lay a hand on a child, but he’s long past that stage in his life. Even the kindest, most patient, easy-going soul would snap at this moment, and since I’m none of those things, he’s in for more than a snap.
“You wanna act like a man?” I shout with a sudden and firm grip of his precious hair. The table gets cleared with a quick swipe before the side of his face smacks against the wood. He shouts that I’m dead, sw
inging his arms in anger while my blade flicks open.
“Getting tats, drinking booze, fucking women, and stabbing your father?” His lips draw back in a snarl as he watches my silver blade spin and twirl through the air. “You wanna act like a tough guy, like you’re in a gang? If that’s the case, then it’s time to experience getting your ass kicked, because that’s what happens when you disrespect another gang member. And let me tell you something, son, you’re not the boss around here, I am.”
“Fuck! Dad!” My blade pierces his earlobe. It’s a wound that will heal quickly, but hurts like a son of a bitch. “Dad!” he screams in pain, kicking his feet under the table and flailing his arms. I grab his neck and push him into the back of the chair, glide my ass onto the table directly in front of him, and set my feet to either side of his legs, confining him in place. Those years of karate lessons were clearly a waste of time. He’s helpless and weak against me.
“You’re fucked,” I sneer.
Blood trickles down his neck while his chest heaves, fighting to absorb a deep breath. I hold my blade in front of his eyes and grin.
“Why is there so much blood on that thing? Did you cut off my ear?”
“Nope. Not yet.” I wipe the blade on his shoulder. He’s hurt, angry, and still fighting to regain power. “Don’t worry, the blood’s not all yours.”
“You’re crazy! I can’t believe you did this to me! I’m gonna cut your throat tonight when you sleep!”
“Great, I’ll be happy to show you the best way to go about that. I have a guy in my garage we can practice on.” I push my wrist into his neck, demanding silence. “It’s time, Jack. You were born a Jameson and there’s no easy way to explain what that means except to throw you in the deep end to see if you sink, swim, or if you’re gonna be a pussy and call someone for help.”
He continues to whine while struggling to escape. “What the fuck? You’re not listening to me. You tried to kill me!”
“If that’s the case then why don’t you call the cops?” I slam my hand into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. “I wouldn’t mind explaining to them that you stabbed me and the measly scratch on your ear was in self-defense. I can take my stitches out and make my wound look brand spanking new, like it just happened. And, by the way, the cops aren’t going to believe some sixteen-year-old over a prominent business owner.”
