Page 5 of Ox

Flick, dance, spit. Flick, dance, spit. Flick, dance, spit. I liked fire. It called to me. Warmed me in ways people never could. Except Kayla. She’d be different, I just knew it. She’d be the one to make me feel. To make me whole in ways I never was before.

Another girl walked by then. One with a short blonde wig, big tits, and a full ass. She wasn’t anywhere as beautiful as Kayla, but I could make it work. Just for the night.

Standing, I grabbed her by the hand and harshly ordered, “Come with me.”

Smiling, the petite girl laced her fingers through mine as I led her to one of the back rooms for a private dance. And for whatever else I wanted to take from her, whether she was willing to give it or not.

Sitting on the filthy couch which I’m sure had buckets of old cum splashed all over it from the last two decades of clients, I spread my legs and commanded, “Come over here and dance for me.”

A little taken aback by my abruptness, the stripper said, “Okay, what do you like?”

While she had the general “look” of Kayla, her voice was much deeper and was throwing off the whole effect. “I like it when you keep your fucking mouth closed and your legs open. Think you could manage that?” I said, not bothering to hide my disgust for her.

Nodding slowly, the artificial blonde stepped between my legs and began to rotate her hips to the beat of the music. She was a decent dancer, but I wasn’t here for the dancing. I needed something else. Something… darker.

As she swayed back and forth, rubbing her hands up and down her body, I snagged her hips and growled, “Take everything off. Now!”

Stripping artlessly out of her bra, then her panties, I ground my palm against the lead pipe in my jeans. I hated fake tits, but I understood few women possessed the same natural curves that my girl did. Fake or not, though, I’d paint them with my cum before this night was through.

The dancer squeezed her ruddy nipples hard and said, “You like that, baby?”

Glaring at her, I stilled, my rage dangerously close to the surface. “I’d like it more if you shut your fucking trap.” Thestripper glared back at me with loathing, but I ignored her ire and unzipped my jeans to get my hand around my throbbing cock.

“That costs extra,” she warned me, not caring if her talking pissed me off or not.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a wad of cash. “If you do everything like I tell you to, this,” I flashed the cash in her face, “will all be yours. Got me?”

Bobbing her head up and down, she began to play with her tits some more as I stared hard at her pussy. As she did, I thought about how Kayla’s would be such a snug fit, it’d damn near strangle my dick the minute I shoved it deep inside her tight cunt.

“Finger your pussy,” I demanded, wanting to hear the sloppy sounds as I imagined Kayla’s fleshy inner lips would make when I rammed inside and rode her as hard as my fucking bike on a sultry summer’s evening.

At least this stripper didn’t have three inch long nails. I fucking despised that shit more than the fake tits! Kayla never wore her nails like that. And I’d never let her. I liked when women looked more natural. Less made up. Not like dirty little whores, like this one, who wore thick make-up, a cheap wig, and slutted herself out to anyone with a handful of loose bills.

The stripper began to moan and gyrate and I cringed. “Shut the fuck up,” I grunted, jacking my cock so hard it turned bright red and wept tears of precum down the sides. Just like the tears I’d make Kayla cry, when I was jamming it so far down her throat she wouldn’t be able to breathe.

The dancer immediately set herself on mute as she strummed her clit, humping her fingers fast and hard into her open center. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more.

Leaning forward, I spit onto her pussy. She looked disgusted, but I didn’t give a fuck. It’s what I wanted, and if she wanted thecash, she was going to do exactly what I told her to and play by my rules.

“You want your money or not?” I bartered, working myself slower now, savoring my mastery over her like I did all women.

Deciding the money meant more to her than her pride, the woman rubbed my spit noisily between her folds. “That’s good,” I praised, “I can hear it now. I like that. Keep it up.”

I liked the smells and sounds of sex more than anything. They spoke to my inner animal. The one trapped deep inside. A predator of the darkest variety, it reared its ugly head more often than my human one ever did. And, most days, I didn’t do much to stop him from emerging. Because, in the end, me and the beast, we were one. And, truth be told, he was the best part of me. My favorite part.

My dick was painfully hard now. Not because of this gash dancing in front of me, but because I’d held out for far too long waiting for my little princess to spread for me. I needed to dump my load or my body was going to override me and I’d waste it in my sleep. Which, on most nights, eluded me until I drank or smoked myself into a stupor. I hadn’t slept right since going to live at the group home when I was seven. The place where nothing good happened at night. Except one very important thing. It was where I’d learned about the animal inside. The one we all seemed to have, but few were ever brave enough to embrace.

I’d planned on showing Kayla my inner animal tonight. To plant my spunk so deep inside of her sweet pussy, she’d never be able to dig me out. But the plan had changed when my Prez, Maze, had called. He needed me to end some thieving, scumbag drug dealer’s life. But that hadn’t stopped me from giving my girl a brief show of what I was capable of before I carried out his wishes. Both me and my inner beast. The only problem was,once he was unleashed, it was damn near impossible to force him back into his cage.

By the time I’d showed up at the dealer’s house, I was so worked up, I was practically unhinged with the beautiful madness that stole over me whenever I let the demon free. I lost all humanity at that point. All reason. I let him take over. And since I couldn’t have Kayla, the dealer suffered my wrath. I’d torn him apart like a goddamned chicken carcass at Sunday supper! The more he begged, the harder I hit him. The more he pleaded, the more my inner animal feasted and the deeper my blade sliced. Just like the women in my life, I showed him no mercy. No reprieve. And it was glorious. Poetic even.

By the time I was done, I was covered from head to toe in blood and gore. Stripping out of my clothes, I’d taken a shower in the asshole’s disgusting bathroom before changing into an extra set in my saddle bags. On my way out the door, I’d torched the place so no evidence could be left behind. Another reason I loved fire. It was the answer to most of my problems. It was my constant companion. And, in my darkest moments, so illuminating and oddly purifying.

I needed to nut as I thought about Kayla’s fear, the dying man’s tears, and the smell and sound of the stripper’s pussy being stretched open. “Get on your knees,” I demanded, wanting somewhere warm and wet to unload.

The stripper hesitated. “I don’t do that.”

Looking her dead in the eye, I said, “You do tonight.”

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