Dark Impulse

"Fuck her," Carla said, her eye glued to the lens of the camera.

I took her clothes off and did so. She was out of it. I guessed Carla had spiked her drink with something. When I was through, Carla gave me the camera to film her doing Gina, then afterwards we both did her.

EIGHT

In the morning when I woke up the light on my answering machine was flashing. "My name's Alice. A friend tells me you can be discreet. I'll be at Mama's Cafe, one o'clock Tuesday. I'll wear a red baseball cap."

I looked at the alarm clock. It was only eight o'clock. I didn't like to get up mornings, but I was awake now. I dressed, had a cup of coffee and headed for the library. "Are you wearing anything underneath?"

"No, you told me not to."

I nodded. I didn't give a shit. I just liked to torment her. "Come over to my place after you get off. I've got something for you."

I headed for the Sub and ate breakfast. The girl behind the cash register was showing thigh. I smoked a cigarette, near the NO SMOKING sign, and waited until there was a lull in the service line then went over to her. She was cute and had nice tits. "I heard you and your boyfriend talking the other day," I said, "when you were on your break, about how he was going to have to drop out of college for lack of funds."

She nodded, with wrinkled brow, pulling her head back. I went on before she could protest.

"Would you like to make a hundred dollars?" I pressed my finger against her lips. "I'll be back tomorrow. You can let me know then if your interested."

Mama's Cafe wasn't crowded, and the booths were secluded. Alice was a good looker with honey blonde hair fixed in a pony tail beneath the red baseball cap. I walked to the farthest booth and sat down opposite her.

"What can I do for you, Alice?"

She smiled nervously, hesitated. "I want to be...trained."

She was afraid. Conventional. Yet wanting what was forbidden. She was breaking bad.

"Okay." I took out a pen and wrote my address on a napkin. "Think it over. When you've got your head on give me a call."

Beth was waiting for me when I got back to my apartment. I opened the door, and we went in.

"What did you have for me?" she asked.

I pressed her back against a wall and started unbuttoning her blouse.

"I think I'm going to like this something."

When I'd removed her blouse and skirt, I ripped them into pieces.

"What will I wear going home?"

"This," I said, going to the closet and bringing out a leather dress identical to the one Carla wore. Beth was hot, but not as much as Carla.

Tears formed in her eyes. "I can't wear that."

I hadn't expected that; opinionated women anger me. "Well, you're going to have to because there's nothing else for you to wear."

"I'll wear it for you," she said, plaintively, "but, please, not in public."

"Tough." I was vexed. I lit a cigarette and stared at her, feeling myself become aroused by her nudity. I grabbed her by the wrist, opened the door and pushed her out on the landing. "When you're ready to do what I tell you, I'll let you back in."

"It wasn't long before she was knocking frantically on the door. Somebody was coming up the steps. I opened it. "You'll do anything I ask from now on?"

"Yes, yes, please let me in."

The steps came closer. Soon, whoever it was, would be on the landing. I waited. She lunged at me wrapping her arms around me. "I'll do anything you want," she whispered desperately.

NINE

"You know, Dr. Doolittle, "that's a bad name for someone who is supposed to 'do' for others."

Doolittle chuckled and pushed his horn rims up on his Gothic nose. A nude picture of his trophy wife hung on the wall behind him. "I love your dry sense of humor, Vian." He tapped his pen on a leather bound notepad and cleared his throat. "Now, to restate, you say you are feeling anger because a woman you're involved with made you feel guilty. Is that right?"

"Well, vexed," I nodded.

"And you wish not to feel...vexed?"

I nodded.

Doolittle placed his finger tips together beneath his chin and gave me one of his impressively piercing looks, no doubt practiced in front of a mirror, then leaned back in his tufted leather chair and scratched the bald spot on the back of his head. "Hmm, feeling guilty, er, vexed, is a pretty common malady, but one that only affects those who have been misguided into believing there is a moral order in the universe and that their feeling of guilt is a result of having violated this supposed moral order for one reason or another."

"You don't believe in morality?"

"Of course not, Vian. It's rubbish. What we call morality is really just a set of beliefs based on mutual need...a sort of social agreement or, if you will, contract. Mutual need is the key. The social contract only works as long as there's mutual need. Once people no longer have a mutual need morality vanishes. That is why people lose their compassion for others if they become rich. They no longer have to depend on others—have no need for others. You, Vian, are under the delusion that you need others. That is why you feel vexed. You are subconsciously afraid that if you don't reciprocate your needs with someone else's needs you will be punished by some universal causality. It's rubbish. To alleviate your dire feelings you must get rid of this childish clinging to mutual need. It's your misunderstanding of the true order of things that makes you weak."

"How?"

"Only you know."

"Like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz?"

Doolittle grinned. "Yes. You already have the means within you to break free of your delusion, but I cannot do it for you. You must do it for yourself."

"And feeling guilty is because--"

"Because you wanted to fuck your mother, but she wouldn't let you. She made you feel guilty. As a result you hated her, but because you also loved her you couldn't take your hatred out on her, so you took it out on other women."

"She teased me."

"Yes, some mothers do that to their sons because they secretly want to be raped by them so that they will not feel guilty for countenancing an incestuous relationship."

"I should have raped my mother?"

"No easy answer there," Doolittle said with a shrug. "Maybe yes, maybe no. Or maybe you should have killed her."

TEN

I was intrigued by what Doolittle had said. So much so that I became preoccupied thinking about raping his wife. Some kind of transference, I suppose. Her nude pose on the painted canvas was provocative. I began stalking her. I followed her to a beauty salon, the theater, shopping--always with the thought of raping her. If I couldn't rape my mother, I could at least rape her and make her someone's mother. And why would Doolittle have a nude picture of his wife on the wall of his office in the first place? He knew what a psycho I was. Having it there was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. All that talk about rape. He wants someone to rape her. Que sera sera.

I drove to campus and sat on a bench just outside the Sub. The cutie pie was with two other girls when she came out. She pretended not to notice me. They stood on the mezzanine making girl talk. The girls were making hand signals for her to come with them, but she looked at her watch and waved bye to them. She waited until they were out of sight then came over to me looking kinda forlorn.

"Did you mean what you said the other day...about, you know, the hundred dollars?"

I nodded.

"Well, uh, what would I have to do...nothing kinky?"

"Do you want the hundred?"

"Yes." Her shoulders sagged slightly with resignation.

After we got to my apt. I lit up a joint laced with opium.

"I can't stay too long," she said. "I have to meet my boyfriend at three when he gets out of class."

"Relax," I said. "Take your clothes off and get on the bed." When she was naked, I handed her the joint. "Take a few hits of that."

She shook her head. "My boyfriend smokes, but I don't like it."

"Hmp, go ahead you'll like this. It's White Widow."

There was a doubtful look of her face. She wasn't wearing any makeup except for a faint eye shadow. Her tits were full and firm with succulent pink nipples. "You're not gonna get me high and do something weird, are you?"

"You worry too much."

She tentatively inhaled, holding her breath then exhaled coughing. "Ugh," she said, shaking her head.

"The second one is the deal maker," I said.

She took another hit, then another, grimacing.

I rolled her nipples between my thumb and forefinger. She handed me the joint, then I handed it back to her. She was mellowing out. She had that hazy-eyed look.

"Aren't you going to take your clothes off?" she asked somewhat dreamily.

"In a minute," I said, getting up and walking to the closet. I took out a camcorder and set it up on a tripod, aiming it at the bed. She had forgotten the joint nestled between her fingers. Her hand was on her belly, the bluish-gray smoke curled up lazily in the air. Ashes flaked off mingling with her pubic hairs. I got the electric razor from the bathroom and began shaving off them off. When I was through, I held its vibrating case against her clit.

"Hmm, that feels good," she murmured from another time zone.

I opened the drawer of the nightstand and took out a needle and syringe that I had previously prepared and tied off her arm with some rubber tubing, the yellow kind still used in rehabs. I tapped a vein and inserted the needle, then lowered the plunger. "Welcome to Junkie Land 101, bitch."

ELEVEN

"Hi, James, this is Alice. Can I see you, please?"

I picked up the phone. "Why not, it's your funeral."

She must've been close by for there was a knock at the door five minutes later. She was wearing the red baseball cap and tight fitting gray sweats.

"You don't have much furniture, do you?"

"What, you wanna be a critic or a submissive?"

"I've never ever done anything like this before," she confessed. "Now that I'm here, I'm scared." Her eyes searched my face as if I were the Delphic Oracle.

"You ought to be. I might kill you."

She shuddered, but I think I saw a spark of excitement flash in her eyes.

I told her to get naked and sat her in a straight-back chair. I took a duffel bag out of the closet and placed it on the bed so she could see it, unzipping it slowly. Her brown eyes widened as I took out a leather whip, handcuffs and ball gag. I cuffed her ankles to the legs of the chair then her wrists to the back braces. I picked up the ball gag and told her to open her mouth. She had even white teeth, no fillings. She must've been hygienic. I liked that. I forced the ball into her mouth and, more roughly than necessary, jerked the straps tightly together.

"You know," I said, flicking open my razor-sharp switchblade, "you should never allow someone to tie you up. It's just not the smart thing to do." I lightly, traced the needle point of the blade around the nipples, occasionally drawing blood. I touched her cunt, which was shaven, and felt its wetness.

I took my clothes off. Crazy thoughts were ricocheting off my brain. A knock at the door probably saved me from a long prison term.

It was Debra, Harold and Jean.

They stared at my erection and gave each other looks.

"Oh, it's not that. I'm not beating off." I stepped back so they could enter. "It's party time."

I stuffed my pipe full of weed and passed it around.

"Who is she?" Debra asked.

"Her name's Alice. She wants to be abused."

Debra touched her cunt. "She's wet."

"Bet she wants to change her mind now," Jean said.

"Too fucking late." Debra said. She leaned over a licked blood off her tit. "Hmm."

"That's not smart," Harold said. "She might have aids."

Harold had his clothes off. His dick was long and curled upward like a banana. He started taking the ball gag off.

"If you scream," Debra said, "We'll cut your nipples off."

Jean was lying on the bed naked, giggling. "She'd scream for sure, if we did that."

I climbed onto the bed behind Jean. She was on her belly watching Harold shoving his cock in Alice's mouth. I spread her legs then her ass cheeks and rubbed spit on my cock. I'm large, so I know it hurt, but Jean wasn't the kind to complain. She was the passive, non assertive type. I suddenly realized I was becoming more enamored of her fashion model body. But something had to be done with the ratty hair.

Harold pumped vigorously into Alice's mouth. He had stamina. I could hump as well as the rest, but I think Harold could have gone on for hours. He would have made a great porn star.

Jean liked to be fucked. I could tell that, for she raised her ass to meet my thrusts and wadded the bed cloth up into her fists making 'mm' sounds each time I slammed against her.

I came then refilled the pipe. Debra sat down on the bed next to us and took off her clothes. We smoked and watched Harold fuck Alice's mouth. Minutes passed then Alice began gagging. Strands of milky come drained from her mouth, over her tits, down her belly to her thighs. It would have made a great money shot, but I'd forgotten to set up my camera.

Harold put the ball gag back into her mouth. Debra lay down next to me so that I was between her and Jean.

"I'll let you fuck me some day," she whispered, "but only when you want me badly enough to rape me."

Jean got up and began licking come off Alice.

I was losing track of reality and time. The grass was potent. Harold lay down on the bed so that Debra was between us. I watched, in a surreal state, as Jean lit a cigarette from my pack. I knew what she was about. I could smell burning flesh as I drifted off into dream land.

When I woke up my cock was hard. Debra was on her side looking at me. I suddenly realized how much she reminded me of my mother: a domineering tease who wouldn't let me fuck her and become a normal man. I felt sudden hatred. I wanted to rape her. I wanted to devour her. Rip out her throat.

Instead, I got up and grabbed Jean by the wrist and dragged her into the bathroom. I filled the bathtub and got into it with her and began shampooing her hair. Afterwards I blow dried it and brushed it until it gleamed. She stood before the mirror staring at it.

Is this the way you like it?" she said. She curled a long blonde strand around her finger.

"Yes."

"Then I'll keep it like this."

TWELVE

"Do you like my hair?" Jean asked Debra, preening before her.

"Fab."

She was lying on her belly, braced up on her elbows, her chin in the palm of her hand.

Harold's cock was as hard as mine. I nodded. Debra saw the look and started to scramble to her feet, but Harold grabbed her wrists and shoved her down on the mattress. I held my hand over her mouth. Jean giggled and handcuffed her, then cuffed her ankles to the corners of the bed. Debra was making furious 'um, um' sounds against my hand. Harold lifted up her hips while Jean shoved two pillows beneath them.

Debra's pretty face was contorted into grimaces as Harold rammed his cock into her. I took my hand away from her mouth. It was wet with spittle and smeared with lipstick. She gasped rhythmically as Harold lay into her. The sound of flesh meeting flesh resounded throughout the room.

When Harold was through, I climbed on top of her. It was almost as good as I imagined it would have been with my mother.

THIRTEEN

Harold and I smoked cigars as we followed Mrs. Doolittle's gray BMW down the parkway toward the downtown area. He had one of my camcorders in his lap.

"How in the hell are we ever gonna grab her. She's always in public."

I had no idea, but I put a smiley face on the matter to reinforce his high opinion of my intelligence. "Things have a way of working out," I said, "on their own, given time. Patience is the key." I had a stun gun in my jacket pocket that would have knocked out an elephant, but we'd have to get to her were there weren't any witnesses. And that was a damn sight harder to do than one might think.

Then Lady Fortune stepped in like a sudden burst of brilliant sunlight through a cloudy sky. Mrs. Doolittle's BMW turned onto the lot of the Imperial Motel and pulled up in front of door 27. She got out dressed in a white mini skirt and red sleeveless blouse. Her Titian hair hung down to the small of her back. She was a looker. Gold sparkled off her wrist as she knocked on the door. A black guy, who looked like he could've played pro ball, opened the door with a smile on his face. He put his arm around her waist, and they disappeared inside.

And Harold had filmed it.

A day later I confronted her coming out of her beauty parlor. I told her what I had, and she suggested we go somewhere for drinks.

"How much do you want?" she said, as I lit a cigarette for her.

"I don't want money, Lisa, I just want to fuck you."

"Honey, you don't have to blackmail me to do that."

"Who was the black guy?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. George, I think. I like anonymous sex."

"That dangerous," I said.

"That's why I like it."

She followed me to my apartment. Alice was chained to the leg of the Victorian bathtub.

"Who's that?" she said.

"Alice. She's my slave."

"Kinky."

"Get naked and get on the bed." I set my camcorder on the tripod. "I like to film things."

"I gather. You've already got enough on me. If Reginald saw me meeting with a black guy he'd kill me. He's a racist, besides being the jealous type."

She had a fabulous body and a shaved cunt. I cuffed her ankles to her wrists.

"You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"I'm not predictable."

"I could scream."

"Not while my dick's in your mouth."

I unchained Alice and let her warm Lisa up. She slurped on her nipples for awhile then moved down her belly to her cunt, making wet sucking sounds. Then I got between her legs and shoved my cock in her. She was wet. Her eyes glistened hotly. I kissed her mouth hard, smearing the lipstick and teased her pink nipples which hardened to my touch. I held my cock in her without moving, but she tighten her cunt muscles around me and I shot off like a cannon.

FOURTEEN

"I need to see Dr. Doolittle," I said.

"Do you have an appointment," his secretary asked.

"It's an emergency."

Doolittle was behind his desk pretending to be absorbed with some papers he was shuffling about. The painting of his wife didn't begin to do her justice. Which stands to reason. Art can never be as good as the real thing. She had to be in her early twenty while he must have been in his late fifties. It was little wonder she fucked around on him.

"Vian," he said. "What's the emergency. Another one of your psychotic episodes?" He looked bored.

"No, life's jolly." I lit a cigarette.

He frowned. "Then why..."

I crossed my legs and gently placed my camcorder on the edge of his rosewood desk with the viewer facing him. "I've heard a rumor that you're a racist."

His dark eyes glanced to his left then back at me—always a sure sign someone is going to lie.

"That's absurd," he replied, irritated.

"Then it wouldn't bother you if you found out your wife was fucking a nigger?"

"Vian, if this is your idea of a joke, it's beyond the pale."

I switched the camcorder on.

The look on his face grew as contorted with vehemence as if Satan had crawled under his skin and taken over. He leaned back in his tufted swivel chair and lowered his face like a bull getting ready to charge.

"Where did you get this, Vian?"

"Not really relevant, is it?" I said, switching off the recorder before the scene of me and Alice fucking his wife came on. "You know how women are. All fucking sluts." My tone was commiserating.

"And with a fucking nigger," he said. The pen in his hand snapped into.

"If she were my wife..." I broke off.

He slowly raised his head and stared at me. "What...what were you about to say?"

I shrugged. "Nothing...it's just that... if it were me I'd teach the bitch a lesson. Of course, that's not possible for a man in your position, with a reputation to uphold, to get involved in something sordid." I paused, tapping my cigarette on an ashtray. "Then again someone could always break into your house, thieves, perhaps, and, you know, find a luscious wife all alone..." My words drifted off like the smoke from my cigarette. The good doctor's face broke into a bitter grin.