Lucifer's Children

by Brett Williams

  “Oh, no trouble, isn’t that right, Mandy? I only summoned you for our amusement.”

  Amanda had no idea what Kat had planned. And she really didn’t want to play a part in it. Amanda’s light-headedness turned to nausea at what might happen, but she had a bone to pick with Stacy, and with Kat here, she had backup.

  Amanda said, “I don’t like the fact that you’ve been corrupting Amy. Your bad influence has started to cause problems at home.”

  “So? I can’t control what Amy does.”

  “Wrong answer,” Kat said, slapping the back of Stacy’s head. “This is good, Mandy. On your knees, breeder. Now. Lick my boots, lick them. Kiss her shoes. Grovel for forgiveness.”

  “I’m not going to—”

  Kat retrieved her switchblade knife and ejected its blade.

  “You were saying,” Kat said, “you want your knife back?”

  Stacy, obviously frustrated and fearful, dropped to all fours and ran her tongue up the side of Kat’s boot before pressing her lips to one of Amanda’s polished black shoes. “Happy now?”

  “Do you hear any groveling?”

  “No,” Amanda said, finding amusement in the display.

  “Maybe we should have her lick our pussies.”

  “No. We don’t know where that mouth has been.”

  “Ooh. That only makes it hotter.” Kat stepped closer to Stacy. “Head under skirt, bitch. Now.”

  Stacy did as told. Although Amanda couldn’t see Stacy’s face, she could tell that she was really licking her.

  “Boring,” Amanda said.

  “Maybe for you, not me. Want a turn? I’m sure Stacy can accommodate you.”

  “God, no.”

  “Suit yourself.” Kat, with a handful of Stacy’s platinum hair, ground her crotch into her enemy’s face before pulling it away. “I’ve had better.” Kat spat in Stacy’s face.

  “Is that necessary?” Amanda asked.

  “Aw, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  Stacy wiped spittle from her face.

  “Breeder, I asked you a fucking question.”

  “Answer her,” Amanda said.

  “I’m fine, Kat. Please, let me go. I … I know you don’t like breeders, but …”

  “But what?” Kat said. “But you like cock? Like it better than my sweet fiery pussy, is that it?”

  “I love your pussy, Kat. I could eat it all day. But I’m going to be late for class and I can’t afford detention again.”

  “The fuck do I care? I couldn’t give a shit less. In fact, you don’t even look knocked-up. Are you trying to fool me, cunt? Are you trying to tell me your gash doesn’t bleed anymore, that you’re so god-damned special now?”

  “No. Please, Kat, let me go to class.”

  “Maybe you should let her go,” Amanda said. “I really should head to class myself.”

  “You’re right,” Kat said. “Now that you mention it, I believe I’m missing a test. But we can’t send this bitch off to class looking a mess.”

  “I’m fine. Really,” Stacy said.

  “No, I won’t hear of it,” Kat said. “Grab an arm, let’s get her cleaned up.”

  “No. Please, no!”

  “Grab her goddamn arm,” Kat said, already starting to drag Stacy toward a stall.” Amanda must have hesitated because Kat barked, “Grab her fucking arm, Mandy. Give a friend a hand, will ya?”

  Amanda grabbed Stacy’s upper arm and, with Stacy struggling but not overly so—she obviously didn’t dare prompt Kat to ‘return’ her switchblade knife—allowed herself to be dragged into a stall.

  “No, you fuckers. Don’t you dare. Please, no, I’ll do anything,” Stacy pleaded.

  The pair ignored her pleas and dragged her into the bathroom stall.

  “Get this bitch cleaned up for class,” Kat said over Stacy’s screams.

  Tendons in Kat’s arm stretched taut as she thrust the girl’s head into the toilet bowl, and held her face down in the water.

  “Don’t drown her.”

  Stacy gulped air and sputtered as Kat pulled her head up.

  “Oh, shit. Missed a spot.” Kat dunked her again. “We should flush this piece of shit away.”

  Amanda pushed the handle to flush the toilet which caused great amusement with Kat. Stacy huffed for air, and as the bowl filled with water Amanda shoved Stacy’s face down into it. Held it there, pulled it up by the roots.

  Amanda said, “Okay, this bad influence is as clean as she’s going to get. But I don’t want Amy to hang with you any more. When she shows up to smoke a cigarette, you tell her to beat it.”

  “Sure. No problem. Whatever you say.”

  Kat pulled Stacy back by the hair, until she collapsed on her back outside the stall.

  “I still don’t believe you’re a breeder. And I know for a fact that you’re not so god-damned special.” Amanda flinched as she watched the tattooed teen stomp a Doc Marten into Stacy’s belly. Stomps turned to kicks as Stacy, now crying, turned on her side and tried to curl into a ball.

  “That’s enough,” Amanda said. “You don’t want to kill her.”

  Kat stopped, breathing heavy, and said, “Who says I don’t. I hate her guts. I’ll let her live, but I swear, she’ll never give birth. Not on my watch.”

  “Okay, okay. Just let her go. We all should go before we get into trouble. You’re not going to cause trouble, are you, Stacy?”

  Stacy looked to Kat but said nothing.

  “She won’t say a word. Not if she knows what’s good for her.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Amanda pushed her tray along the track in the cafeteria. The past week, though uneventful, had taken a toll on her. Hunger wrenched her stomach as guilt tugged at her soul. Without Pammy to talk to, Amanda found herself anxious to bump into Kat again. The redhead, however, had made herself scarce again. Most likely skipping school. But Amanda longed to hang with her. Kat treated Amanda with a respect unlike anyone else at school.

  Amanda didn’t dare question that respect. Why should she? Still, she found it confusing. She wished she saw in herself what her occasional friend saw in her.

  Her tray began to fill with an assortment of food. Lately, Amanda had taken to either skipping meals at home or merely picking at her plate. She found it hard to eat when faced with the depravity and molestation so she ate most of her meals at Sugar Plum Grill or in the school cafeteria.

  In her ravenous (and slightly depressed) state, Amanda carried her tray to a vacant table to eat. She had finished a small salad and green beans, nearly half a chicken breast, and was about to eat the dessert when she spotted Pammy, wearing a regular school uniform, searching for a place to sit.

  With a smile on her face, Amanda waved an arm. “Hey, Pammy. Over here.”

  Pammy, apparently not noticing her, sat two tables over.

  Amanda, with tray in hand, went to finish eating lunch with her best friend.

  “Oh, my gosh, Pammy,” Amanda said, sliding onto the bench across from her, “you had your baby. That’s awesome.”

  Pammy gave her a confused look. “Do I know you?”

  “What? That’s not funny, Pammy.”

  “Just so you know, I prefer the name Pamela. Not Pammy.”

  “Well, excuse me.”

  “Do I know you?” Pamela repeated.

  Amanda huffed. “I’m only your best friend. Or at least I thought I was.”

  “Your face looks vaguely familiar but I don’t know your name. And if we were best friends, I’m sure I’d know.”

  Amanda, flabbergasted, said, “My name is Amanda. What happened to you, Pamm—ela? Did you lose a screw when your had your baby?”

  “Listen, bitch, I said I don’t know you. I don’t have any baby, and, in fact, I’d prefer you didn’t sit at this table.”

  “Fine.” Amanda stood up. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t have to put up with it.”

  Amanda returned to the table where she had been eating. She sat so she was fac
ing away; she didn’t want Pamela to see her tears. Amanda didn’t need something like this. Not now. Not with everything else going on in her life. She found she had lost her appetite. What could have gotten into her friend? Baby blues, perhaps? That didn’t seem right. Nothing seemed right.

  After contemplating the situation without any understanding, Amanda gave up and discarded her tray. A final glance in Pammy’s direction offered no clue. The girl simply sat eating, not interested in the least what effect her words might have had on Amanda.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Wind buffeted Amanda’s face as she pedaled her way along the wide concrete path winding its way through campus. She felt as free as ever on this lazy Friday afternoon. Sunshine warming her skin contributed to the sweet sensation. Yesterday she had busted tail, along with Amy and Mrs. Henning, to help prepare Thanksgiving dinner. The entire family had plenty of perverted things to be thankful for, even if they didn’t outright mention them at the dinner table last night.

  “I’m thankful for Daddy. I love him so much.”

  “I’m thankful for you, Amy,” Mr. Henning had replied.

  Sickening.

  At least Mrs. Henning had mentioned being thankful for all the help Amanda provided the family. Amanda had lied when she claimed thankfulness for a loving place to call home. If anything, she was thankful for having a part-time job at Sugar Plum Grill, a place she could escape to several days a week. And Brad. She was very thankful to call him her boyfriend.

  As she coasted down a slight meandering slope, Angela thought, Today I’m thankful for Thanksgiving leftovers.

  Mrs. Henning and Amy had woke early to go Black Friday shopping. It got Amanda out of doing chores and them out of the house, although she fully expected both of them to be home by now. Mr. Plum, expecting Black Friday business, had offered Amanda a 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift. It had been busy and Amanda had worked late, skipping her break and instead opting for a strawberry milkshake after work. It must be close to 3 p.m. now, she assumed, wheeling off the path and cutting across the grass to the shed area of the detached garage.

  She didn’t see Mrs. Henning’s Toyota but did see Mr. Henning’s SUV through a garage window. After pushing her bike into the shed Amanda entered the house via the front door, still hungry. Inside, the house was quiet. She went to the kitchen and began to make herself a plate of leftovers. She stood listening to the buzz of the microwave when the sound of someone descending the staircase met her ears.

  “What’s for dinner?” Amy asked.

  “Leftovers.”

  Amy didn’t appear thrilled by the offering. She plucked at the tight panties riding up between her legs. The tee she wore displayed her navel as it stretched tight around her body. She said, “What time do we eat?”

  “Anytime. Help yourself.”

  “Okay.” Amy reached for the door of the microwave.

  Amanda slapped her wrist. “Hands off.”

  “You said to help myself.”

  “Help yourself to the leftovers in the refrigerator, smarty-pants.”

  “Smarty-pants? You talk like a frigid goody two-shoes who’s never sucked a cock, let alone had one stuck between her legs.”

  “Say what you like, Amy. All you do is lose my sympathy.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind.” Amanda took her plate of warmed food from the microwave and brought it to the breakfast nook. “There is pie, Pepsi, anything you want from yesterday’s dinner. There’s no reason to pick a fight with me.”

  “Maybe I want to pick a fight with you,” Amy said, head buried in the refrigerator. She came out with pie and Pepsi, just as Amanda knew she would. After cutting herself a wedge of pecan, Amy joined Amanda at the table. “Maybe I want to pick a fight with you,” Amy repeated.

  “Why don’t you tell me about the great deals you got today while shopping instead?”

  Amy eyed her foster sister vindictively. “Mommy bought me lubricant, anal grease, and a butt plug.”

  “Sorry I asked. Can’t you see I’m trying to eat?”

  “So? I’m eating. Besides, that’s what you get for telling Stacy I can’t hang with her any more.”

  “She’s a bad influence on you,” Amanda said, although she wondered if the girl could be corrupted any more than she already was.

  “I want all the bad influence I can get.”

  “Okay, fine. You’re a bad girl, I get it. Eat your pie.”

  “I’d rather eat yours.”

  “You’re sickening, you know that? Be as depraved as you want, just please leave me out of it.”

  “What I wanna know is, why does Stacy care what you say about me? I mean, you’re nobody. But she says I can’t hang with her because you asked her not to let me. I really thought Stacy was cool. Tough. A really slick beeyotch, you know? But she threatened to beat my ass if I didn’t leave. Hell, Tara still hangs with her but I can’t. What gives?”

  Amanda leaned across the small table, eyes boring into the little tramp, and said, “What gives? She’s afraid of being seriously hurt if she doesn’t do as I say.”

  Amy searched deep into Amanda’s eyes before laughing. “Yeah, right. You’re full of shit.”

  “Believe what you want, but it’s the truth.” Amanda forked a piece of gravy-smothered turkey into her mouth.

  “You’re a liar and I hate your guts.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  “I’ll be glad when you’re eighteen and leave.”

  “You and me both.”

  “Yeah? What will you do?”

  “Find a truck stop where I can please strange men until one takes me home with him.”

  “Really?”

  “No, Amy. Never.”

  “I would. I don’t care.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed. Now change the topic before I hurl.”

  “Okay, I will. My slumber party. Daddy says you have to attend.”

  “The heck I do.”

  “Yeah, Daddy said so. Mommy, too. I’ll show you.”

  Amy bounded out of her chair and started across the kitchen.

  “No, don’t go,” Amanda said, knowing the girl planned to get her father to back up her story. Hopefully, he would be too busy to cater to his daughter. Apparently, he wasn’t. Amy led him by the hand into the room.

  “Hi, Amanda. How’s it going?”

  “Fine, Mr. Henning. Amy said something about a slumber party.”

  “Yes. I planned to mention it this weekend.”

  “See,” Amy said, and then poked out her tongue.

  Mr. Henning continued: “For Amy’s twelfth birthday party, we’ll be having a slumber party. An all-day event, actually.”

  “Told ya so,” Amy interjected.

  “Okay,” Amanda said. “How do I fit into this?”

  “You fit in as host. Nearly a dozen girls will be spending the night. This is a big deal, isn’t it dear?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” Amy latched onto his arm and leaned against him affectionately. Amanda wanted to puke. She could imagine Mr. Henning with a house full of little girls running around giggling in their pajamas.

  “But that isn’t all. After the slumber party, the next day will be the birthday party. The father of each of Amy’s guests will be there. There will be all sorts of fun and games. And I need you as caterer and hostess for the party. The party is the first Saturday of the holiday break, so you’ll need to ask off from work. Also, no dates the night before. I’ll need you not only to assist but be fully rested and eager to work. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mr. Henning.”

  “Great. Now you two girls get along. I could hear your bickering from the next room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “See?” Amy said. “You’re gonna be working for me on my birthday.”

  “Amy, that will be enough,” Mr. Henning said. “Do you want a spanking?”

  “Yes, please, Daddy.” Amy jutted out her bottom and patted it tauntingly.

  A swift flick
of his wrist elicited a crack.

  Amy jumped. Pouting, she said, “Ouch, that hurt. Kiss it all better?” She tugged down pink polka-dot panties to expose a blushing butt cheek.

  Mr. Henning simply said, “Behave, because you won’t enjoy the next whipping.”

  Mr. Henning left the room while Amy returned to the breakfast nook, dejected. Amanda’s fork clattering against her plate alerted her to her trembling hand. Her appetite had fled.

  She slid the plate toward Amy. “Do you want to eat the rest of this?”

  “Why would I want to eat after you?”

  “Never mind. I thought you were hungry. It’s not like you haven’t put worse things in your mouth.” Amanda stood up with her plate, planning to clear it down the garbage disposal.

  “Okay,” Amy said. “I’ll take it.”

  Amanda left her plate for Amy and rushed to her bedroom, where she propped the chair against the door and sat down on the carpet.

  I hate this place, she thought.

  Hate it, hate it, hate it. I want to leave, leave, leave.

  What’s wrong with these people?

  Sick, sick, sick.

  Disgusting.

  She hugged her knees together and rocked. She thought she might vomit but didn’t.

  She longed to escape this house.

  She wanted to be with Brad.

  She was with Brad.

  At a party

  In a movie theater

  In the parking lot

  Making him hard

  Making him happy

  As was expected

  RECRUITMENT

  Simon Rice popped the tab on another can of beer. What was he going to do? He didn’t know. How could he have allowed his urges to get the better of him? He taught children, for chrissake. Correction: used to teach children. But not anymore.

  He went into the living room and plopped down in a recliner in front of a flat-screen television set. The Kansas City Chiefs were leading the Broncos 14-3 but it was only the first half. With the playoffs on the line, Simon expected the Chiefs to blow their lead. Seemed like they always did. What a bunch of losers. Just like him.

  He slurped from the can as the game cut to a commercial break due to an injury timeout.

  Why did little Suzy Greenfield have to come crying to him after she got hurt on the playground? She had haunted his impure dreams since school began. Simon knew he had a problem, urges he had never acted upon. Urges, in his mind, he still hadn’t acted on. Not really.