The following is a chapter from my new novel, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.”
The brute took three steps and slashed at my head with the huge hunting knife. I ducked down and rolled underneath the attack thankful that my head was still attached to my body. At least for the time being.
I jumped up to my feet just as the man spun around. He paused this time to rethink his next attack. I looked on the ground and the closest weapon to me that had fallen off the table was the 6 pound hammer. I scooped up the hammer just as the large man charged at me a second time and swiped the glaring knife at my face. I stepped back and could hear the metal whiff through the air. It missed my nose by an inch.
The man was now off balance, so I swung the hammer like a tennis forehand and connected with the right side of his rib cage. I heard his ribs crack and he grunted. He swung the knife again and the blade bit into my left shoulder. I felt nothing but I knew that the cut was fairly deep.
We both regained our senses and squared off again. I decided to take a diplomatic approach and said, “We don’t have to do this. We can walk out of here. Fuck those guys.”
He held his ribs while he thought it over then said, “I’m just happy they gave me this much of a chance.”
“Wait you dumb fuck, let’s talk about this.” I said, and instead of answering he charged again. He waved the knife back and forth as he closed the distance. I ducked down and swung the heavy weapon towards his left knee. The hammer connected and the man buckled and went down onto all fours.
I moved in for the kill but the sneaky bastard hacked at my leg and sliced into my left shin bone. This time it hurt like a motherfucker. I yelped and stepped back but I stumbled and fell onto my back. I dropped the hammer and it skipped across the concrete floor. The man slithered over to me and got on top. He put all of his weight down and pointed the knife at my eyeball. I put both hands up and was barely able to keep the blade from carving my eye out.
He grunted and spit in my face. My strength was ebbing. I only had a few seconds before his hulking weight sent the knife into my brain. As quickly as possible, I held his knife hand with my left hand and grabbed his larynx with my right and tore at his throat with everything I had. I felt his squishy Adam’s apple break free and the man instinctively dropped the knife by my face. He reached at his throat and started gargling. Blood filled his mouth and began dripping all over my face. Now I know how chicks at bukkake parties feel.
Still holding his throat, I pulled him to my right and rolled over so that I was now on top of him. He thrashed and grabbed at my face. I bit down on his finger and chomped as hard as possible. I heard his finger snap and could taste his salty blood. He tried to scream but it didn’t sound right.
He kept kicking and slapping at my face and I had had enough of this bullshit. I grabbed the knife off of the ground and stabbed down at his face. The blade buried into his cheek and he gurgled another scream and I pulled the knife out and sawed into his throat. The sharp knife cut through effortlessly. He grabbed at his throat again and I clutched the weapon with both hands and brought it down into his chest cavity. The knife went all the way into his heart. I tried to turn the blade but it was stuck in his breast plate. I held the knife there until I saw the light leave his eyes. The last breath he exhaled into my face smelled like blood and vomit.
I rolled off of him and surveyed my own wounds. The shoulder injury wasn’t a big deal but my shin looked terrible. I saw a flap of skin hanging down and thick blood poured down my leg.
I limped over to the door and banged the shit out of it. After 30 seconds the door opened and Julian stood there smiling at me. “Fuck yeah Marshall, I knew you had it in you!”
“Yeah,” was all I could say. Then I threw a huge right hand that landed flush on Julian’s jaw. He went down and wasn’t smiling anymore.
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.
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.
Hitman With a Limp 