Lucifer's Children

by Brett Williams

  “Duh. In back, like always,” Jill said.

  “What’s gotten into you, Amanda?” Mr. Plum asked. “It’s not like you to be late.”

  “Sorry, boss, I plumb forgot.”

  “Well, don’t let it happen again.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.”

  Mr. Plum gave her a strange look. “Put on an apron and clock in.”

  “No problem, except: Where do I find one?”

  “Follow me.”

  Mandy donned the apron and, with the help of Mr. Plum, clocked in. Before she could return to the front, she noticed a long-haired acne-faced boy checking her out. Beef patties popped and sizzled on the grill behind him.

  “Wazzup?” he asked.

  Mandy glanced toward Mr. Plum’s closed door. “Hey, baby, how’s it going?”

  The guy grinned wide. Any wider and pimples would explode.

  “Yo, it’s going sweet. Real sweet, Amanda.”

  Mandy crinkled her nose. “How ‘bout you call me Mandy from now on? I like when guys call me Mandy.”

  “Okay, Mandy.”

  “And your name?”

  A dejected expression crossed his face, as if she had forgot. Had she? She couldn’t recall ever having met him, so how could she know his name? He replied: “Tony. My friends call me T-Bone.”

  “T-Bone, huh?”

  “Yo, I didn’t pick it. I just lives it.”

  Mandy grinned as a buzzer went off on a deep fryer.

  “Just a sec,” Tony said. He removed a basket of fries, hung it to drain. Then he flipped a few beef patties over before dumping the basket of fries into a bin.

  “Hey, T-Bone, I’m so hungry and those fries look so good.”

  “No problemo.” A quick shake of salt, and Tony scooped golden brown fries into a basket lined with wax paper and handed it to her.

  “Thanks. You want ice cream later, I’ll hook you up.”

  “Hey, you wanna—”

  Jill, peering back into the kitchen, interrupted with: “Mandy, Amanda, whatever you’re calling yourself, I need help up front, pronto.”

  “Catch you later, T-Bone.”

  “Yup.” Tony bobbed his head, smiling.

  Behind the ice cream counter, Jill glared at Mandy. Jill said, “I need you to scoop ice cream.”

  Mandy pushed past her. “You scoop, I’ll take the money.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jill said, but Amanda ignored her, instead turning her attention to a couple ready to pay. She bent fries into her mouth until the next couple were ready to pay. A half hour later, business slowed.

  Jill said, “I don’t appreciate the attitude.”

  “I don’t appreciate your interrupting my conversation with Tony.”

  “Tony? What about Brad?”

  “What about Brad?”

  “I thought you two were hot and heavy. Did he finally come to his senses and dump your ass?”

  “Ha. You wish.”

  “He must have another girl on the side.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “Whatever. I’m taking a break.”

  “Take a flying leap, for all I care.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Cunt.”

  Jill left, Mandy tried a sample of Rocky Road, and Tony appeared behind the counter.

  “Wazzup?”

  “I believe we covered that, T-Bone.”

  “You said you’d hook me up with some scoops.”

  Mandy gestured to the display case. “Knock yourself out. I recommend Rocky Road.”

  Tony bobbed his head in appreciation. He stood tall and lean, his ponytail brushing his tight ass as he scooped. He filled a cardboard cup with two scoops. Mandy, bored, tugged his ponytail.

  “Yo, whatchoo doin’?”

  Mandy shrugged. “Guys like to pull mine. Thought I’d turn the tables.”

  “Yeah, I bet they do.”

  “Sometimes I like it, sometimes I don’t.”

  Mandy, playing coy, turned to scoop herself another sample, allowing Tony, as planned, to tug her ponytail.

  She whirled around, as if to slap him, then patted his cheek affectionately. “It’s not the same when you’re clothed,” she said.

  His spoon clattered to the floor.

  “Sorry,” he said, “I’ll take care of that.”

  With a handful of napkins, he bent down to clean up the mess. Mandy stepped closer, so that when he looked up he was staring at her apron-covered crotch.

  “Ah, such a shame. How about another kind of treat?” She lifted the apron to drape it over his head.

  Before Tony could respond, someone burst through the door from the kitchen, and Mandy backed away from Tony.

  “Amanda,” Mr. Plum said, “how is everything going?”

  “Plumb dandy.”

  “Tony, what are you doing down there? We can’t have the cook on his hands and knees, it isn’t sanitary. Stand up, boy, and wash your hands before returning to the kitchen.”

  “T-Bone was just having a treat. Everything will be ship-shape, lickety-split.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you kids tonight. You know what needs to be done—make sure it happens.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.”

  Mr. Plum sighed before disappearing through the door.

  Then Mandy gave Tony’s ponytail another tug. In a poor mockery of Mr. Plum’s voice, she said, “Wash your hands, young man. Who knows where your fingers have been.”

  “Catch ya later, Mandy. Maybe on your break?”

  “Maybe.” Her eyes narrowed. “Go wash your hands.”

  Tony smirked, said “You’re funny,” and left.

  After Jill returned and they hit a lull in business, Mandy announced, “Time for my break.” Damn, did she need a smoke.

  She took her small purse from under the counter and headed into the kitchen, planning to pass through to the alley. As she fished a pack of cigarettes out, she realized she had misplaced her lighter.

  “Goddamn it.”

  “Wazzup?”

  “Is that all you know how to say? Try saying this: ‘Yo, Mandy, I got a lighter.’”

  “Yo, Mandy, I got a lighter.”

  “You better not be shitting me.”

  “I shit you not.” He pulled a plastic yellow disposable from a jean pocket.

  “My savior.” She held out her palm.

  “I’ll join you.”

  “Cool.”

  Outside, in the alley, stench from a nearby Dumpster clung to the cold air. Mandy realized she should have brought her coat, now that night had fallen, but she really wanted the cigarette. She could deal. A weak yellow light above the door illuminated Mr. Plum’s car and a shitty muscle car held together by bondo and rust.

  The cigarette slipped between her lips and Tony flared a wicked flame to light the end. Then he lighted one of his own.

  “That your car?” Mandy asked, starting to shiver.

  “Bitchin’, ain’t it?”

  “I guess.”

  Mandy drew hard on the cigarette, trying to inhale its warmth along with the nicotine. Her chin was beginning to quiver and she knew she couldn’t stay outside for long. Cigarette dangling from her lips, she briskly rubbed her arms to create friction.

  “Damn,” Tony said, “it’s cold as a witch’s tit out here.”

  “Shit, more like a well-digger’s ass.”

  “Which is colder?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  Tony, teeth chattering, said, “You seemed like an expert.”

  “Hm … Ever dug any wells?” Mandy grabbed a buttock and pulled his warm body against her. It felt like a space heater in the frigid air.

  “Ever cast any spells?” A warm hand found a breast.

  “A few.”

  “Eff you?”

  “Damn chattering teeth. It’s f-fucking cold out here. The heat work in your heap?”

  “Hell to the yeah.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  The t
wo dashed through the cold, orange glowing cigarette ash sparking like fireflies, and piled into the front seat. Mandy didn’t know what type of car it was, only that it must be older than she was. Its large rear tires made the car rake the ground so steeply that long bench seat wanted to dump her out.

  The engine grumbled to life. Then the car rocked side-to-side as Tony revved it up.

  “Keep me warm,” Mandy told him.

  He hugged her tight, and they awkwardly embraced each other, still puffing their cigarettes, until finally they were forced to snuff out the butts in an ashtray. By then, the vent blew semi-warm air and Mandy was hesitant to leave the car. As was Tony, for an entirely different reason. He groped a breast and his lips descended upon her neck. Warm breath sent shivers through her body, causing her to squirm. His crotch seemed a perfectly logical place to warm a hand.

  “So this is why they call you T-Bone.”

  “You knows it.”

  T-Bone, though somewhat shy in the kitchen, didn’t waste any time testing Mandy’s boundaries, of which there weren’t many. In no time he guided her hand down his pants and had a hand under her shirt. A moment later, gently pressing the top of her head, moved her face lower.

  She knew what he wanted, and she didn’t mind giving it to him. But it could go no farther.

  Mandy said, “Mouth only. I wanna taste your T-Bone.”

  “Sweet.”

  She slid down between his knees

  on the floorboard

  Out sprang his cock

  She swallowed it down to the root

  He didn’t last long

  She left him in the car with a wilting penis

  And returned to her station

  Without washing her hands

  * * *

  Brad was waiting in his car when Mandy got off from work

  They met with a passionate kiss

  The kiss led to heavy petting

  Petting led to Mandy giving Brad head

  “Oh, god, Mandy, I want you so bad.”

  “Tonight’s your lucky night, baby. I want you too.”

  She shimmied out of her slacks in the backseat

  And fingered her anus

  “I want you deep inside me.”

  VICKY

  What the hell am I doing? Rock wondered as he watched Vicky roll out of bed. The only thing she wore besides her beaming smile was the tattoo he had given her for her thirteenth birthday:

  Kat had a similar tattoo, and he recognized the little girl’s attempt to emulate her one and only female role model. Like Kat, but in an entirely different way, she looked beautiful. To Rock’s knowledge, the girl’s hair had never been cut, and it cascaded long and dark over snow-white shoulders, ran wildly around budding breasts, and draped her back down to the dimples of her ass. Fine sprouts of hair had recently appeared between her legs. He watched as she sashayed into black lace panties. Where she had gotten them, he had no idea. The tattoo, her one and only, was prominently displayed on a hip.

  “I’ll be back in two shakes,” she said, shaking her bottom for effect before strolling out of the bedroom. Kat and Rock’s bedroom. A bedroom they shared with Vicky only occasionally. Less often in the past year. Kat’s request.

  Kat wasn’t stupid. Vicky had developed a crush on him and Kat had recently displayed hints of jealousy since Vicky had begun her journey to becoming a woman, in its earliest and purest form.

  What had started as a kinky, drunken way to appease his even kinkier girlfriend had gradually transcended into … what?

  Vicky strutted into the bedroom and plopped down beside him.

  “Here you go.” Vicky handed him a bottle of Budweiser. “Open mine. Twisty caps hurt my hands.”

  Rock opened the first bottle, and then traded it for the other. Vicky sipped the beer, said Ah, and smacked her lips together like it was the best thing ever. He figured to her it just might be. After all, in bed with a much older man whom she was falling for, sexually satisfied at the dawning of her femininity, and lounging around without a care in the world.

  Exactly what the fuck was he doing with her? Was he crazy? For shit sake, she lived in the same house with him and his girlfriend. She slept directly across the hall and could hear when he fucked her “mother.” While Kat wasn’t her biological mother, she remained the closest thing to one. Ludicrous, yes. To Kat, the girl was nothing but a toy, a pet. Some perverted sexual being to use and abuse as she saw fit. And somehow it fucking worked. However, Rock saw disaster on the horizon.

  This living (and fucking) relationship couldn’t be any sicker. The things he had witnessed Kat do to Vicky (and Vicky to Kat) solidified the fact that he lived with a pedophile. But as macho as he saw himself, he realized that it didn’t make him any better, although he tried to rationalize his actions. He assumed he loved Kat, certainly got along with her far better than he had any other woman he had been in a relationship with. Hell, look at how long they had been together. Kat had moved in (with Vicky) a year after they had met.

  And Kat had used her pet for sexual gratification from day one. Rock, on the other hand, had been led down the dark path of … molestation? When he and Kat included Vicky, Vicky always seemed thrilled to participate. Rock knew, though, that it didn’t make things right. As he tried to justify it in his head, with Vicky snuggled up beside him, holding his hand, drinking a beer, occasionally telling him about things (although she seemed perfectly content to simply sit beside him—and had for years), he wondered how bad a piece of shit he was.

  As far as Kat was concerned, Vicky was disposable. If the urge hit, she’d no doubt discard her pet as quickly as a douche. Her only regret would be, he assumed, having to train another. There was no doubt in his mind she could get another, not with an abundance of these programmed, underage sex slaves to be had. It still blew Rock’s mind to think about it, even though he participated regularly in the ceremonies. Not that he bought into them, but because Kat did. With a little urging, some alcohol or X to fuel his inhibitions, and Rock found himself playing along, laying pipe to the youngest little freaks he had ever fucking seen. All in the name of Lucifer. What a fucking joke, Rock thought. Take any religion and mind-fuck someone, and they’d believe it were true.

  “Rock,” Vicky said, “when is Kat coming home?”

  “Next week,” he said.

  Vicky hugged his arm as she nursed her beer. She said, “Are you hungry? I’m starting to get hungry. I can cook spaghetti, if you want. You like my spaghetti, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I don’t cook the noodles too long, you don’t like that.”

  “You do a great job.”

  Vicky hugged his arm tighter. “I like when it’s just the two of us.”

  Rock didn’t reply. He enjoyed his time with Kat, even enjoyed being with both of them, in and out of bed. He had to agree, though, serenity filled the townhouse when Kat was away on business.

  Rock said, “We could order a pizza, get half Hawaiian like you like.”

  Rock sensed Vicky withdraw minutely. “I thought you liked my spaghetti.”

  “I do. Spaghetti, it is.” He had only offered because, with Kat away, this gave Vicky a brief reprieve from chores. He also made a startling realization that chilled him to the core.

  He genuinely cared for this girl.

  Kat didn’t; nobody did. On occasion, Rock would do something, make a small gesture, to lessen the burden on this neglected little girl whom, for years, had worn little but rags, with the exception of her school uniform—once she had begun attending school, that is. Kat hadn’t wanted her to attend at all, but Rock had convinced her.

  “I could sit here beside you forever,” Vicky said, out of the blue.

  Rock truly didn’t know how to respond to that. A long time passed before he said: “Thank you for the beer.”

  “Do you want another?”

  “No.” A pause. “Maybe one with dinner.”

  “Are you hungry? I can start cooking now.” />
  “I’m fine. Just sit beside me, we’ll have dinner when you like.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  “You are so nasty, Mandy,” Kat said. “I love it.”

  Mandy blew smoke. “I know. You should have seen the expression on Brad’s face when I told him to fuck my ass.”

  Kat toked on the marijuana cigarette and passed it back to Mandy. “You saw it? Wasn’t it late, after dark?”

  “Streetlights. And, yes, I saw it plain as day. Priceless.”

  “Nice.”

  “When is that bitch going to show?” Mandy asked.

  “The bell hasn’t rang yet. She’ll be here.”

  “Shit, I forgot.”

  They had skipped last period, on Kat’s request: “Let’s get high” and “We’ll have fun” she said. Mandy figured Kat had something planned, she just didn’t know what, and didn’t really care. Name it, she was game.

  The bell sounded as Kat puffed the smoldering roach pinched between her fingers.

  “Here we go,” Kat said, pitching the tiny butt. “Put on your game face.”

  Mandy’s idea of a game face involved lighting a thieved Marlboro while scanning campus for cock. Occasionally, Matt or one of his friends were around. But not today. Instead, Stacy and a few of her cronies rounded the corner of the building and spied the interlopers.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Stacy asked. “This is where we smoke.”

  “You’re so fucking cool,” Mandy said, “we thought we’d join your little club.”

  “That’s right,” Kat agreed. “We wanna wear a sexy black dress and get fat. Isn’t that right, Mandy?”

  “Hell yeah. Guys know pregnant chicks put out.”

  “Look,” Stacy said, “we don’t want any trouble. Girls,” she said to her entourage, “let’s find someplace else to smoke.”

  “Hold up,” Kat said. “What, we aren’t good enough? Maybe because we don’t have a bun in the oven, we can’t smoke up with the likes of you, is that it?”

  “No, that’s not it,” Stacy said. “We’re not worthy.”

  “Damn straight,” Mandy said. “Bitch is finally using her brain.”

  “She has it half right,” Kat said. “Those other cunts aren’t worthy, but Stacy, hmm … anyone who can run shit with as many girls as she, well … what do you think, Mandy, think we should give this bitch a chance to hang with us?”