Chapter 9 — The Job Interview

Here’s a link to my novel, “HITMAN WITH A LIMP.”

         The next day I called Julian and he told me to go to an Italian restaurant downtown.  I took a shit, showered and shaved.  Might as well look my best, I thought.  I borrowed some of Mason’s nicer clothes and hit the street.  The bright sunlight felt good and so did I.  The world was still full of possibilities I kept telling myself.  And sometimes I actually believed it.

         I took the bus downtown and eye fucked a hot redhead sitting next to me.  She noticed me leering and quickly looked away.  Whatever, she didn’t stack up to Camille anyway but I still promised myself that I’d jack off later thinking about her… slut.

I got off the bus and walked a few blocks until I found the restaurant Julian had told me to go to.  It wasn’t what I expected.  The outside looked like a slaughterhouse that had been shut down long ago due to numerous health code violations.  I decided I wouldn’t be eating my lunch there.

         I tried to open the door but it was locked so I knocked a few times and waited.  After 30 seconds Julian answered. 

         “Hey, you made it, come on in,” Julian said with a cock-eating grin on his face.  I walked in and the décor of the place looked like it hadn’t changed in 40 years.  The restaurant was empty except for an obese man in his 50’s who was sitting at a table eating lunch.  At first I almost didn’t notice him because he was so fat it didn’t seem possible that he was human. He was overdressed for the place but his pinstriped suit was outdated. 

         Julian led me to the table and the human elephant acknowledged my presence.  Julian introduced me, “This is Marshall.  He’s my friend from the joint I was telling you about.” 

The man looked me up and down and said, “Not big enough.  Sorry kid.  Come back when you put on another 20 pounds.”

I glared at Julian and he tried to recover by saying, “The kid’s got skill but he looks, you know, forgettable.  Who’s gonna remember that face huh?”

Fatty looked down at his food then said, “Yeah I already forgot it.  Fuck it, we’ll see how he does.”  Fatty put his fork down, got up and walked towards the back of the restaurant.  We followed.  He led us down a narrow set of stairs and the air smelled dank, like a tomb.  I started feeling uneasy because for all I knew he could have been leading me to a fist fucking party.  My asshole clinched up.

At the end of the stairs there was a thick metal door.  Fatty took out a set of keys and opened it.  Inside there was a man tied to a chair with a burlap sack covering his head.  Fatty and Julian looked at me, judging my reaction.  I stared back at them with vacant eyes.

Next to the chair was a table with a bunch of medieval looking tools on it.  I could see a couple of large hunting knives and an oversized hammer. 

“What the fuck is this?”  I asked both of the men. 

Fatty coughed, spit on the floor.  I looked at Julian who said, “This is your interview.” 

“You want me to torture this guy?”  I asked, not liking where this was going.  I had the urge to bolt out of the room and never look back but I stayed put. 

“No, this is more of a tryout.”  Fatty explained.

“Meaning what?”  I asked. 

“You’ll see.”  Fatty said.  He picked up a knife with a 10-inch blade and walked behind the man who was tied to the chair.  I could see a wet spot on the man’s pants indicating that he had pissed his pants, probably more than once. 

Fatty ripped the bag off of the man’s head and the guy stared at us with terror in his eyes.  I stared back at him and readied myself to do what was necessary.  I didn’t want to torture the guy but I also wouldn’t feel too bad about it. 

Fatty leaned down behind the man and cut him free from the ropes which surprised me.  What the fuck was going on, I wondered. 

Julian walked up to the table with the tools on it and kicked it over.  The knives and hammer clanked and spread out all across the dirty floor.  Both Julian and Fatty headed for the door.  I didn’t move, not knowing what was expected of me. 

Fatty opened the door and the men walked out.  Fatty turned back and said, “Only one of you is getting out of this room alive.  I would say good luck to you but I really don’t give a shit.  Try to take your time so I can finish my lunch in peace.  Knock on the door when it’s over.” 

I stared with my mouth open at Julian, he shrugged and slammed the heavy door closed.  I heard him lock the door but I tried to open it anyway.  When I turned around I saw that the man had stood up and he was much larger than he had appeared earlier.  He had the wild eyes of a desperate man but that didn’t bother me.  What did bother me was that he had already picked up the largest knife on the ground and was waving it back and forth.  He was armed and ready and I was still too stunned to know what to do. 

“Hold on a second,” I said and put my hands up.  The man took a deep breath and charged at me like a bull going after a fresh piece of cow pussy.

CHAPTER 7 — I GET KICKED OUT OF A STRIPCLUB

The following is a chapter from my latest novel, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.”

“Was it good for you?” I asked Raven.  She smiled and even let out a little laugh.  The rays of the strobe lights bounced off of her eyes making them sparkle.  Now that I had squirted all of my lust into my pants, I could focus on her and not just her tits. She had a tough look but with a touch of sadness that I could relate to.  I wanted to know about her life, like how she ended up here and not on the cover of some fashion magazine.  But it was premature for me to ask her such questions.  I didn’t want her to go.  I felt a real connection, more than your average strip club hard-on.  There are only a few people in the world that when you’re near them the world just seems better.  There’s an energy that pulls you in and the idea of not being near them is sickening.  There was also an undeniable desire to have her, to own her, to lock her up in my basement so no one else could have her but me…but in a romantic way.  Maybe it was her tits, or eyes or some kind of pheromone thing.  Or maybe it was just the first piece of ass I’d been close to in two years but something had happened.  I wanted her like a junkie wants a glass pipe full of the finest meth and if that’s not love I don’t know what love is.  I decided that whatever this feeling was, it was worth taking a shot to get to know her, as unlikely as that seemed at the time.  

“We can keep this party going for another 20 bucks.”  She offered and smiled.             

“I’m broke,” I said, “but if you want to throw in an encore for free—“ Raven stopped smiling and jumped off of my crotch like my balls were on fire.  It was clear to her that the job was done and my potentially lucrative desire was extinguished for the moment.  Relationships are not born from the dark, jizz-drenched walls of a strip club; at least not the ones that last longer than twenty bucks.   

I went into the men’s room to clean the spunk out of my underwear.  When I looked in my pants it look like a bottle of conditioner had exploded in there.  I had built up a super nut from my days spent in prison, even if I was spanking off three times a day on average. 

After a quick wipe down I left the men’s room and headed for the bar.  I was going to buy a drink but realized that I had blown, pun intended, all the money Mason had given me.  I desperately needed whiskey but I’d have to wait. 

The bartender was an Asian lady who looked like she had seen it all and she probably had.  I ordered a glass of water.  She replied, “No, you buy drink or go.”

“Relax Mrs. Miyagi.  I just spent a bunch of cash on a very satisfying lap dance.”

“No, buy drink or go.”  She insisted.

“Fuck off, I’ve paid enough.”  As soon as I had uttered the words I realized that a very large black man was standing behind me.  I tried to defuse the situation by saying to him, “Twenty bucks for a lap dance right brown sugar?  But be gentle with me, I’m still sore from the last time.” 

He smiled then said, “All right, another honky motherfucker I get the pleasure of kicking the shit out of.”

Since I didn’t want to be having a black man’s gigantic Nike surgically removed from my ass, I decided to do as he told me.

“Okay,” I said.  “I’m leaving; just let me tell my brother that I’ll be waiting out in the parking lot.”  He thought it over and reluctantly agreed. 

The massive man escorted me into the VIP room where I saw three strippers grinding on Mason.  Evidently he spared no expense on treating himself.  I walked up to him and said, “These cocksuckers are bouncing me, let’s go.” 

Mason motioned to the strippers and said, “Well these cocksuckers are getting ready to go to work.”

“Quit fucking around.  If they’re kicking me out, you’re coming with me.”

“Oh, I’ll be cumming, just not with you.”

“Fuck you, let’s go.” 

“Fine, just let me finish this lap dance, I still have like five minutes,” Mason said, as he buried his face into a pair of tits. 

I left the VIP room and headed out to the parking lot.  The black bouncer followed me out and he said, “Don’t come back less you got some money.”

“Sure thing, what time does your mom’s shift start?”  I said, lighting up a smoke. 

He smiled and said, “Shit, more like my daughter.  And she’s got the finest ass in here.”

“Can you get me a discount?”

The smile left, “Don’t push it motherfucker.”  He said then slammed the door leaving me alone in the parking lot.  I leaned against Mason’s car and smoked.  I could smell the glorious whore-scent of Raven, or whatever her real name was.  I said a silent prayer that there was a girl out there for me; a girl like Raven.  Beautiful, mysterious, perfect tits, and the open mind of a porn star.  And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t even have to pay for it. 

CHAPTER 6 — LAP DANCE ORGASM

This is the latest chapter of my new novel, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.”

All strip clubs smell like cheap perfume and a zillion dead sperm cells.  Mason took me to one of his favorites.  He handed me a little cash and now I was ready.  My penis started growing before we even got in the door.

We went inside and Mason said, “Take your time, I’m gonna mingle.”  He walked away and I looked around the room with a watering mouth and tightening pants.  A short blonde with big thighs was wrapping her set up which meant her well-manicured pussy and winking asshole were on display like two rare butterflies that were fighting over the same banana.  It was comforting and deliciously evil.  The forgiving red lights hid her wrinkles and almost totally concealed the sadness in her eyes. 

Some men get off on the sadness, like it’s better for them when the stripper has no choice but to be there.  Not me, I’m in it for the pleasant shock of seeing a new set of tits and ass no matter what shape they may be in.  Every woman has the goods, but they are all unique, especially the pussy lips.  I prefer a little flesh hanging off as opposed to a neat slit.  The blonde dancer was really flapping in the breeze like some roast beef curtains but I didn’t care.  She could’ve been a double amputee and my cock still would’ve been pointing towards the heavens.

Being fresh out of prison, my libido was influential which means I could fuck a meat grinder then go for seconds.  I sat down and started the methodical process of choosing which girl I would be wasting money on.  This part of it was almost my favorite.  In the moral world, it’s frowned upon to blatantly leer at a woman.  I’ve never understood that.  It seems to me that the only thing worse for a woman who gets stared at all the time by filthy-minded men, is to never be stared at, although many women would probably disagree with this.  I am not a ladies’ man and have never understood the female mind; that’s more Mason’s area of expertise.  I always assumed that woman thought the same way as men but if that was the case, there would be a lot more random fucking going in gas station bathrooms all over the world.   

I set my sights on a tall brunette with big tits and a firm ass; just my type.  I got up and walked over to her with way more confidence that I would’ve had if she wasn’t a stripper who I was going to be paying.  A man with cash in his pockets at a strip club feels like he’s walking around with his cock dragging on the floor.

Just as I approached the brunette, a fat bastard stepped in and took her by the hand.  This was unacceptable, so I put my hand on his shoulder then said, “Sorry Charlie, this one is taken.”

Fat bastard replied, “Go fuck yourself, I got here first.”  The brunette looked amused.

I said, “Number one; I just got out of prison.  Number two; that’s my sister you’re putting your sweaty, fat-fuck fingers on, and number three: one of us has committed multiple homicides and the other one is you.”  

The guy looked me over trying to see if I was bluffing.  I gave him my murder stare and that was all he needed.  He walked away and grumbled something about me sucking on a homeless man’s asshole. 

The stripper took me by the hand and led me to a private couch in the corner of the room.  “What’s your name?”  She asked.

“Marshall, what’s yours?”

“Raven.”  She said, trying not to look bored.

“Come on, what’s your real name?”

“I don’t ever use my real name.”  She said and took off her top revealing a pair of tits that even Jesus Christ would jack off onto. 

“You can rub your pussy on me but you won’t give me your real name?” I asked which seemed like a reasonable question.

“It’s a privacy thing.  It balances out.”  She said as she sat down on my lap.  My cock was forged steel.  “Wow,” she said, noticing my erection. “Someone’s eager.”

“It’s been a while; I wasn’t bullshitting when I told Porky I just got out of prison.” 

“What did you do?” She asked with genuine interest. 

“Got caught fucking a horse.”   

“Did the horse notice?”  She asked which made me laugh.  “So you’re my brother huh? I didn’t know I had one.”

“I hope I’m not, but you never know.  If I am it just makes this hotter.” 

She smiled then said, “And that part about multiple homicides?” 

“Not unless you count being a lady killer.”  I said realizing that holy shit that’s a bad line.  The truth was that I had only killed two people at that time and both of them deserved it so it didn’t even seem wrong to me. 

“Right,” she responded, “that’s why you’re in here.”

“I like to support my local economy.  So do you like being a stripper?” I asked, not sure why I was continuing this conversation when I was only a cash transaction away from having her tits bouncing off my face.

She replied, “We prefer the term “dancers” but to me that’s ridiculous.  No one is paying to see our snappy moves. I think the dancing is more for the girls so they can distract themselves while creepy dudes stare at them.”

“I don’t mind the dancing, but it is nice seeing some quality T and A,” I admitted.  “I’m not such big fan of stretch marks though.”

“Why does that bother you?  A lot of woman have those.”

“When I see the stretch marks it makes me think somewhere there’s a little boy or girl that will one day learn that mommy had to let the beaver out to buy their new school clothes.”

“What’s wrong with a parent doing what they have to do to provide for their children?” She asked as her beautiful eyes darkened.  Her look made me flinch so I went on damage control mode. 

“I don’t blame the women at all but if anyone is getting screwed in this deal, it’s the men.  The strippers who have perfected their craft, can sniff these jerk-offs out then zero in on them and that’s all it takes.  The men have no chance.”

“Men like you?” She asked and sat down on my lap.

“I’m the worst of all, you could take a shit on my chest and I’d invite you home to visit my parents. Well not my parents, they’re dead, but someone’s parents.”

The beautiful stripper, I mean dancer, put both of her hands on my face.  I could smell her inexpensive shampoo and perfume and I marveled at the glitter that sparkled on her face and tits.  To me it was better that she was most likely from the wrong side of town.  I find people with hard upbringings to be much more interesting than others who grew up soft in a womb of comfort and privilege.  But this stripper was different somehow.  I actually wanted to talk to her, well after she rubbed her pussy and tits on my face.  Getting the lap dance was going to be enjoyable so I figured it was time to get down to business and right on cue she rubbed my things and brushed up against my ball sack that had turned hard like a turtle shell.  She was going in for the kill and I didn’t care.  “Twenty bucks gets you 5 minutes.”  She said as if it mattered what it cost.  I would have cut my nose off just to lick her asshole clean after she ate ribs all night. 

I gave her a twenty and she went to work.  When she started doing her thing, I nearly lost consciousness.  She gently grazed my face and mouth with her nipples that were so hard they could’ve smashed diamonds.  She rubbed her pussy on the tip of my dick and I pushed through the pee-hole in my underwear, leaving my penis exposed to a savage, lap dance pounding.  My cock smashed against my jeans and soon chaffed with no buffer between me and the harsh fabric.  It didn’t matter.  I could’ve been grinding my cock to a nub on a belt sander.  She could feel my hard-on and she turned around so her back was facing me.  She spread her ass and let me wiggle in between there, in that magical place between pussy and asshole.  I could feel the intense heat and it was moist.  I wanted to put my face in there, to smell it.  Taste it.  Fucking move into it.  She turned back around and stared into my eyes.  It couldn’t be bullshit; no way could she fake this moment.  I was the God of Cock.  She was dying and the fountain of life only spurted from me.  It all became too much.  I could feel the orgasm start in my toenails then race up through my knees, then stop in my butt cheeks.  I held out as long as I could.  I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in.  Then I let it go.  Electric spunk-blasts rocketed out, splashing against my pants and filling them up with sticky goo.  More and more filth kept coming until it was all out of me.  There was nothing left; a band of horses wouldn’t be able to raise my cock for at least three hours. 

The loud stripper music, that ridiculous orchestra, blared away.  Something special had happened.  Something in my brain would never be the same.  Already, I could feel cum cooling and congealing in my pants and tangling in my pubic hair.  I didn’t care.  Somehow the shame made it that much better.  It was worth soiling my only pair of pants, for the second time that day.