This story originally appeared in the Erotica Readers & Writers Association Story Gallery, November 2013. It was revised with some very helpful feedback from the kind folks there.
Most people pay professionals to fill their evenings with artificial and gratuitous violence, nudity, and bad dialogue. Some people prefer to make their own.
She saved her spreadsheet, shut down the computer, and headed for the exit. Moving across the parking lot a co-worker waved, and asked if she was going out for drinks. She waved back and smiled, but shook her head no. “Can’t! Movie night!” She grinned brightly and bounced across the asphalt to her car, sliding behind the wheel and slamming keys into the ignition. The bright orange toy gun rode along on the floorboard beside her.
He slipped into the elevator just as the doors closed, stepping to the side and putting his back against the wall. After a moment of silence his supervisor asked him if he had plans that night, with the monotone voice of someone who has the same plans every night. He grinned and nodded at his boss. “Movie night!” The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and he strode quickly to his car, taking his tie off and throwing it in the back seat. It landed on a plastic pirate sword.
He came in through the garage, holding the pirate sword at his side and walking into the kitchen. A soundtrack was playing, something with a lot of percussion and brass. Heavy and thudding and designed to create an adrenalin rush. She was already sitting at the small table in the corner, wet hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a bathrobe. She pointed the toy gun at his chest.
They stared at each other, grinning. She slowly stood up, moving away from the table and keeping the gun on him. She licked her lips, and finally spoke. “So…”
He arched an eyebrow, and struck a pose he deemed sufficiently manly. He brought the pirate sword up, and inhaled sharply to inflate his chest. “Bruce Freedom is my name! You’ve probably heard of me, the world’s most famous spy and criminal detective, retired, but back in the game after my former partner was killed two days before his retirement.”
She smirked and answered in an atrociously heavy and thick Russian accent. “Ah, Bruce Freedom, we meet at last American-pig-dog capitalist assassin swine. I assume you are here to attempt to steal my country’s plans for glorious Communist doomsday device, no? Well, Super Agent Pushitin Buttockskis, who is me, shall thwart your plan to save puny planet. I shall kill you, just as I killed your partner.”
“Now lookie here…” His sudden and hideous Texas drawl made his words slow. “Missus Pushitin Buttockskis, that doomsday device cannot be allowed to fall into the godless commie hands, talons, tentacles, or other appendages of your government, with its known penchant for freedom destroying and liberty hating.”
They started to circle the kitchen, slowly, warily, keeping their eyes firmly locked on each other. The microwave clock was the counter on the doomsday device, the blender an elaborate torture instrument.
She snarled at him as she slipped between the table and the wall, still circling. “Miss Pushitin Buttockskis, actually. I turn my husband over to beloved cruel totalitarian dictator for exploiting the proletariat. Traitorous husband offered neighbor boy five dollars to rake leaves. Of course he was decapitated to death, for glorious revolution, as was neighbor boy for listening to offer.”
He stepped around the microwave cart, and doffed an imaginary hat. “My condolences on the passing of your late toolbox of a horrible nightmare regime husband, ma’am. But I’ll still be needing those plans.”
She moved towards him with an exaggerated step. Her knee poked out of the worn green bathrobe before it fell back around her body. “But I have gun and this is totalitarian secret science base. Thousands of KGB guards will pour through door at slightest sound, and even you will not survive, Bruce Freedom. So tell me, how do you think you will take plans from me, who is elitist evilist superist agent of entire evil world government?”
“With this, ma’am.” He dropped his plastic pirate sword, kicked his shoes off and pushed his pants and underwear down in what he hoped was a dramatic motion, then stepped out of them while thrusting his hips forward. “DUN-DA-DUN!” He thrust his hips back and forward again. “The world’s most freedom-loving penis.”
“Hah!” She threw the gun to the floor and her bathrobe followed. She jerked the strapon hanging from her waist up with both hands. “Evil totalitarian regime penis is much superior! Is strong like bull, and sexy like tractor!”
He laughed in spite of himself, then forced his face back to deadly seriousness. “Well, I have to give you credit for commie unpredictability, Miss Buttockskis, I was not expecting to see that kind of tackle on your hips.”
“Really?” She arched a shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Because name is kind of… big hint. You know what I say, like, dude, spoiler alert.”
“I was blinded my love for freedom ma’am, but now I see how diabolical your evil is. I shall have to take your penis from you, to protect lady liberty from unwanted vaginal penetration with a foreign object. Or any other penetration.” He made the last word into at least six syllables, then moved towards her.
She snarled back at him and kicked the bathrobe away. Her arms spread wide she growled, “Come and get at me, imperialist social safety net hating swine bro!”
He grinned at her and grabbed her shoulders, trying to twist her around so he would be behind her, with her bright red cock pointed the other way. She grinned back and clamped her mouth down on his bicep, pushing her teeth together, worrying the muscle with her jaws.
“Fuck!” His drawl forgotten he loosened his grip on her shoulder, trying to move his arm with the jerking motion of her head and lessen the pain.
“Muhahahah.” She let out a cartoon villain laugh, muffled by the mouthful of skin and tissue wrapped around her lips. She jerked her shoulder out of his hand and stepped in closer. She opened her mouth and let him pull his arm free, then punched him in the upper leg one, two, three times, hard.
He winced and stepped back. She followed him across the room, punching him in the same spot on his leg with short, hard jabs until his back slapped the wall.
“On your knees pig.” She kept the accent, punching him between his sharp exhalations and profanities until he held his hands up in surrender and sank to his knees. She spread her legs and positioned herself above him, sneering down. “Now, let us see how you like taste of glorious authoritarian cock.”
He opened his mouth and she shoved the dildo between his lips until he gagged, choking as it hit the back of his throat. She pushed his head back against the kitchen wall, holding it there and fucking his face, reveling in the control. She could distort his face by shoving the cock into a cheek, sawing back and forth and watching his jaw bulge obscenely. She could make him gag by sliding it to the back of his throat, or suffocate him by pushing a little further.
She played his face like a broken orchestra, pulling all the sounds a person makes to indicate wrongness out of his mouth, one at a time, then in combinations. Gags, wet sloppy snorts, coughs, hacking sounds, retching, bile filled gasps, and congested moans.
Drool poured from his mouth, coating the fake cock and running down his chin. It dripped onto the floor beneath them, and left streamers of glistening wetness from his mouth to her cock when she pulled it out. Her breathing was hard and fast, and she slapped him across the jaw with the fake cock, one side of his face and then the other.
“Swine, you give very sloppy blowjob, but glorious revolution saliva is much better.” The accent was less outrageous now, and she forced his head back, making him look up at her as she leaned over. Her spit splattered across his forehead, running down into his eyes. “Open wide, pig whore.” She could have wrapped her fingers around his jaw and forced his mouth open. She wanted him to do it to himself.
He took a deep breath and his jaw fell open. She let the spit dribble out from between her lips, and hang between them, then worked her jaw muscles. It fell into his mouth and she smiled down at him. “Disgusting. Swallow and tell me how superior my spit is.”
He closed his mouth enough to swallow, and she felt his head try to flinch in her grasp. “Your spit is very superior, Miss Pushitin.” His Texas drawl was completely gone.
She dragged him away from the wall by his hair. He followed her on all fours like an animal, his throat sore and his face still wet, liquid running it across it in new directions and dripping as his body changed positions.
She dragged him to the center of the room, and pushed his face down with her foot until it hit the floor. She paused for a second to enjoy the view of him, naked from the waist down, on all fours, back already arched and legs spread and vulnerable. Then she walked around behind his prostrate body.
Her foot kicked his legs a little further apart, just to prove she could, then she lowered her body until the strapon lined up with his ass. She spit on his asshole, and jammed a finger inside of him hard. She was eager now, and hungry to violate him, to see him hanging off her cock like a spitted animal.
They both groaned in anticipation as she pushed the tip of her cock against his ass. His body tensed until he forced himself to relax, to accept the penetration as the plastic slid inside. She felt the pressure building against the outside of her cunt, mashing nerve endings together as her hips slid forward.
Centimeter by centimeter it slid further inside of him, relentless, until he raised his head and moaned. A deep, despairing animal sound that made her pause. “It’s almost all the way in.” Her voice was her own again. She spit on the cock protruding from inside him, and waited for him to take a deep breath. Then she shoved again.
His breath whooshed out, but she felt her hips rubbing against his skin. She held him there, savoring the feeling of control, twitching her hips just enough to remind them both of the pressure between their bodies. She pushed the palms of her hands up his back, then dragged her nails back down.
He moaned at the sensation, trying to ignore the protests of his asshole.
She massaged his back and dragged her nails along his skin until she felt the muscles relax, then started to fuck him. Her cock slid out and back in, pushing against her clit in rhythmic bursts. She could tell when he remembered to try to relax, and when he involuntarily clenched, and it made delicious changes in the sensations washing up to her from her cunt.
Her hips started to thrust faster, blending it into one long, delicious hammering of her clit until she was slamming her body against his, desperately needing to get off. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, and she growled down at his body, determined to use it to satisfy herself. Finally, one leg thrust out behind her and she shoved herself against him, hard, crashing into him and holding herself there. A deep moan poured out of her throat, and she held herself on top of him, resting on his back.
She rode out the orgasm, then slowly slid her cock out of his body. He felt cold air where hard plastic had been seconds before, and flopped down on his side. She lay down on the floor behind him, and wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him close. The linoleum was cool against their skin, and they lay there until their breathing slowed. She kissed the back of his neck, then moved her lips close to his ear. “Well, world is fucked, audience is pissed, and critics hate movie. But there is always chance for sequel, no?”
Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.
3 thoughts on “Heroes and Villians”
I think you had a lot of fun writing this. “Pushitin Buttockis” no less!
I did, I’m kind of a dork sometimes, to tell the truth.
LOL, I read this the first time around, and I JUST got “Pushitin Buttockskis”! *snigger*
Goes off giggling about “world’s most freedom-loving penis” and–worse–“sexy like a tractor”! 😀 😀