Dark Impulse

TWENTY

"She doesn't remember us fucking her," Carla said.

"What the hell did you give her?"

Carla chuckled. "Nothing exotic. Just a couple of roofies."

I was wondering what Carla would do if I pulled down the zipper of her green leather dress. I think if we ever did have sex it would be like matter and antimatter colliding.

We were in the lounge-bar on the top of The Towers.

"Her husband wants us to kill her."

"What, has the drug pusher grown tired of her?"

Quite the contrary. The tape I sent him, of us fucking her, must have put him in a masturbatory frenzy. He wants something now that will put him over the top."

"A snuff film."

"Yep. No greater thrill on earth than to kill the one you love."

"People are sick."

"Thankfully, cause they pay well." Carla smiled and took a sip of her martini.

"Did he mention how he wanted it done?"

"He's a business man. Business men have no imagination. He'll leave that part up to us."

I stirred my drink. "I think I have an idea that will send him over the top."

"Of course you do. You're the best. That's why Victor wants you back—once you get this rebellion out of your system. But you'll have to go it alone, I'm afraid. I'm all tied up with another commitment."

I parted from Carla and rode the elevator down alone and drove off in my Mustang when the valet brought it around.

The next day I headed out to Gina's with the top down. I passed a young girl, with backpack, in cut-off jeans walking the opposite way toward town. Nice looking. Blonde with a nice ass. I inhaled deeply. A balmy breeze blew in from the river. There was the heady smell of nature's freshness all about. It was one of those few remaining warm, sunny fall day. The trees were turning their colors and beginning to litter the pavement. I slowed down, turned around in a driveway and headed back toward town.

The cut-off jeans were cut short. I'll bet mama and papa didn't know how short. She had her thumb out hitching. I stopped. She gave me a friendly smile and tossed her backpack in the back seat.

"Didn't you just pass me going the other way?" she said, settling in, wrinkling her nose and squinting against the glare of the sun.

Irrevocable need had taken firm control of me. I smiled. "I was on my way to a friend's when I remembered I'd forgotten something."

She laughed softly. "That good. I thought for a minute you were one of those guys my girlfriends had warned me about when I told them I'd be hitchhiking home."

Then why'd you get in the car, you dumb bitch?

I laughed, "Well, your friends are right. It's not safe to hitchhike. Especially for an attractive girl like yourself. There are a lot of sickos in the world."

I knew when I turned off the highway onto a dirt side road she would become suspicious and ask me why, so to forestall all that crap, I zapped her with my stun gun.

She went spastic then limp; her head fell toward her shoulder.

My cock hammered at my jeans demanding to be set free. I shot down the first dirt road I came to wheeling the car into a clearing then behind some brush that sheltered it from view.

I stared at her for a moment. I felt what a hungry lion must feel when it is ready to pounce upon a helpless gazelle. My hormones raged. I was nature's thrall. My mouth dripped. I dragged her from the car and ripped off her blouse then the rest of her clothes until she was naked.

I had my cock out. I rammed it in her fucking like mad until I felt that blissful surge of release. My body shook as if I'd delirium trimmers. Sweat poured from my face. My t-shirt was soaked. I gathered up her clothes and threw them in the back seat next to her backpack and left her lying on the ground naked.

When I got to Gina's I checked my pants to make sure I didn't have come on them. But my shirt was wringing wet. I threw the hitchhiker's stuff in the trunk.

Gina was reclining in a lounger, by the pool, wearing a skimpy bikini.

"James, it's so good to see you. Did Carla come, too?"

I shook my head. "She had an appointment to keep. I was passing by and thought that since it was such a nice day you might want to go for a ride."

"You've answered my prayers," she said. "I was getting bored." She held up a glass with a finger of whiskey in it and tapped it against the bottle it came from. "Another one of these and I'd be plastered."

"No, problem. Since I'll be driving you can drink all you want."

"Let me go change," she said. She stood up, staggered and fell back onto the lounger. "Oops, I think I've had more than I thought."

I went over to the lounger and handed her the bottle. "You hold on to that, and I'll hold onto you."

I walked her around to the front of the house and opened the car door.

"James, I can't go like this. I'm almost naked." She weaved back on her heels waving the bottle out to her side as if it gave her balance.

"Don't worry, we'll be out in the country, in the car, nobody will notice."

She looked fetching in the bikini. It was made out of thin material. I could see the imprint of her nipples.

She got in holding the bottle between her legs.

"How do you like my bikini," she said, after we got under way.

"Sexy."

"It's the kind the sun's rays can penetrate. That way I get a total tan just like if I was naked."

"Where we're going you can be naked if you want."

"Will you make love to me?"

I looked at her and smiled.

"I liked the way you kissed my back when we were driving coming from Midnight's. I wanted you to make love to me, but your sister was there. That whole night's kinda hazy, though. Did we?"

I smiled.

"I know I'm a married woman and shouldn't talk like this, but..."

I glanced over. She'd passed out. She was a major slut underneath it all. All women are. I wanted to smash her face in with my fist.

Jean was waiting for me when I got to the farm.

"How do you like it?" she said, holding the sides of her head in her hands and tilting it from side to side.

She'd put make up on. The plain face was gone. She actually looked glamorous now.

I nodded approvingly.

"I did it like the stars do it. The whole method was in a magazine by a famous makeup artist.

I handed her the bottle and lifted Gina onto my shoulder. We headed down the path to the abattoir. After I lay her on the table I went back to the car and got my camera equipment out of the trunk. When I returned, Jean was trying on Gina's sandals. She was naked.

I hefted the camera onto my shoulder. The fluorescent lighting sucked, but would lend an even more gritty realism, coupled with my amateurish handling. Reginald would definitely get his nut off on this one. I knew I would.

Gina began to stir. I focused in on her face to get her reaction when she became aware of where she was. Jean took a knife from a peg and cut away her bikini top and bottom. She played the point of the knife around each nipple, down the smooth firm belly to a shaved cunt.

Gina's eyelids flickered then remained open, her eyes unfocused. Her head lolled from side to side as she tried to shake off the woozy effects of alcohol. Then her pretty gray eyes opened wide as reality seeped in. She took it in all in at once: me, Jean, the camera, the instruments, the blood stained walls. No doubt she felt the cold stainless steel table top against her naked flesh.

She screamed. The sound penetrated the block walls to the waiting pigs outside who began squealing with restless anticipation. I sat the camera on its tripod and helped Jean secure her limbs to the legs of the table with metal cuffs.

I climbed on top of her and began fucking. She jerked frantically at the restraints, arching her back and screaming continuously. When I was ready to come, I pulled my dick out and shot gooey strands all over her tits and belly. Jean stuck her head between us lapping it up like a dog while Gina moaned and cried out piteously one moment, then, with the next, cursing and pleading insanely at the restraints that held her captive.

Jean hooked a chain to the pulley then wrapped the other end around Gina's ankles, removed the cuffs then hoisted her up so that she hung upside down, her fingers almost brushing the ground. She placed the blade of the knife against Gina's cunt and brought it down, pulling hard with both hands. A rain of blood and guts splattered her naked body. I put the camera on the tripod again and fucked Jean while Gina's blood dripped upon us.

TWENTY ONE

I had been smoking some opium and having the most marvelous dreams when Beth arrived. She was wearing the green leather dress. The rule was she had to wear it whenever she was with me—and nothing underneath. She complained that men gawked at her when she walked down the streets. But the thought of other men wanting to fuck her turned me on. Strange how it is why some women are so compliant. It can only be because they want to be used. And I suspect knowing that men want to stick their cocks in them must be a real turn on, too.

She sat down at the table.

I told her I had two presents for her, and I put them on the table. One was in a small square box. The other in a long narrow box like a single long stem rose might come in. She opened the small box first. It contained a five carat diamond ring. She bounced in her chair with joy. She slipped it on her finger, kissing me and saying yes, yes, yes. I hate sentimental nonsense, but stupid women demand it. Anyway it was a necessary part of my plan. For every sunny day there must be a cloudy one. She opened the long box and stared at the contents with a puzzled look on her face.

"It's a branding iron," I said.

"But I don't understand," she said.

"I want to brand you."

She was silent. I unzipped her dress and put her on the bed. I heated the branding iron over the flames from a Sterno can. When it was red hot I pressed it to her belly. I rubbed salve on the burns and told her to get dressed.

I drove her to Mama's Café. We took a booth. A couple of women sat at the bar. A drunk was slumped over in a chair. Two black guys were shooting pool, a couple others watching. I saw them watching Beth when we came in. The dress was an invitation to fuck.

I left her to go watch the black guys play. The two who were watching walked past me. They got in the booth with Beth. When the game was over, the loser paid up and joined the other two. I played poorly and lost. My mind wasn't on the game. I walked back to the bar and got a beer. They had unzipped Beth's dress. One was fingering her. Another was squeezing her tits. They put her on the table and the fourth guy began fucking her. The two women, next to me, egged the men on with lewd instructions delivered with lascivious laughter. I watched for awhile then left.

TWENTY TWO

James Joyce once said that, If there is anything there's a hell. And who could disagree? Does anyone really believe that nonsense about there being a Heaven for this deviant human race? We were created by nature, an idiot god, and instilled with an impulse. Some naive persons mistakenly believe this impulse was placed in us for the purpose of continuing some whacky god's wondrous plan. But, no, we are born between piss and shit like any other animal—hardly an entrance for supposedly divinely inspired creatures. Nature is the predicate, the impulse, and has no plan. It is indifferent to us. How we are guided by this impulse, whether to reproduce or to rape, to kill or plunder, is of no consequence. In the end the impulse which brought us into existence will destroy us.

This was a thought that occurred to me, drifting like a leaf in the stream. I always find thoughts like this popping up in my mind unbidden. Really annoying because nothing matters, and so thoughts don't matter. But we have no control over them. We just have to put up with them. If an omnipotent being existed it would have no thoughts. It would not be conscious, for if it were it would not be omnipotent. Consciousness exist only as a coping mechanism to overcome obstacles. An omnipotent being has nothing to overcome.

I fixed myself another bowl of opium and smoked. On my laptop I got the latest news. A young girl had been found wandering along River Road apparently the victim of a rape. Name was being withheld until parents could be notified.

I smiled noticing they had left out the fact that she would have been naked. Of course the little bitch would tell them everything she knew. Which was probably nothing. I doubt she even knew what kind of car I drove. Any bitch dumb enough to hitchhike couldn't know much. I doubt she'll tell them how much she enjoyed my big cock going into her. The little slut.

I relived the moment in my mind. Ripping her clothes off; exposing that sweet young body; sucking those pink soft nipples; then spreading the legs; staring down as my cock slid into her cottony patch of blonde hair. God, I made myself hard all over again thinking about it. What must she have thought while I was doing her? She wasn't a virgin. Some long-dicked boyfriend had had that sweet pussy. I probably should have left her clothes. Then she wouldn't have told anyone she'd been raped. But I wanted to leave her naked to humiliate her. So she couldn't hide the fact that she'd been raped. She would carry the shame of it the rest of her life. But nights will come when she will lie awake remembering it, and her tingling body will become feverish, her breath rapid. Her soft fingers will tweak her swollen nipples and clit and she will come ecstatically, gasping for breath. Lo, I will be with her always, like a phantom, always raping her over and over for the rest of her life.

I was coming down from my high when I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. I peeked out the door and saw a young couple struggling up the stairs with a double-wide mattress to the vacant apartment across from mine. The woman was built. Shoulder length dark-brown hair and brown eyes. The guy was of the nerdy type. Glasses, a burr hair cut, narrow shoulders, baggy pants and a t-shirt with pens clipped to the pocket. I looked out the front window and saw a U-Haul It.

I showered, brushed my teeth and slipped on jeans and a light sweater and went out on the landing.

"Looks like we'll be neighbors," I said, stating the obvious as they came out of the apartment. I offered to help them.

"Boy, we could sure use it," the man said. "This is Kathy, my wife. "I'm Roy Dennis."

We shook hands. "I'm James Vian."

As we went down the stairs I stared at Kathy's nice ass in cutoff jeans. She was wearing a halter top that left her mid section bare. Whatever attracted her to Roy sure wasn't physical.

I grabbed a coffee table, and Roy picked up a computer while Kathy followed with a bundle of clothing. It didn't take long to unload the U-Haul It. In the bedroom, I helped Roy set up the double-wide bed, then we all sat around their dining table drinking coffee. After some idle chit chat—during which I learned Roy was working on his PhD in Physics and that Kathy was going to teach high school as soon as she finished her student teaching—I got up to leave. They promised to invite me over for dinner as soon as they'd got everything in order.

When I was back in my apartment, I snorted some coke and jacked off with Kathy on my mind.

TWENTY THREE

"Your writing is good, James," Sarah Collins, the teaching assistant said, "but I can't read it to the class. It's too obscene."

"Isn't obscenity relative?" I said, trying to sound like I gave an academic shit. "Once Joyce, Lawrence and Miller were considered obscene—not to mention Elvis."

She smiled at the Elvis remark. I knew she would. I wanted her to. She had a nice smile, nice even teeth. As white as milk. Behind pink kissable lips. Her reddish-brown hair was fixed in a swirl, and an oval face glittered with two perfect hazel eyes. She was wearing a waist length jacket over a tan blouse and a knee-length skirt that hugged her figure. As she sat in her swivel chair, with her legs crossed, it had risen half way up her thighs revealing shapely legs narrowing down to delicate ankles and pink nails sticking from open-toed sandals.

The deviant in me pulsed. Her perfume gave me a rush.

"Yes," she said, "but they didn't write explicit scenes of bestial rape, torture and murder."

Beautiful she might be but frightfully conventional.

"And yet," I said, offering up more shit, "governments and corporations, in reality, countenance these acts on a daily basis during war, and even in peace, and few protest. Yet to fantasize about them is forbidden."

"But you seem to be proselytizing, James. It's almost as if you delight in such acts."

I couldn't answer that truthfully, for I was following the dictates of my impulse—we all were, but she was unaware of hers. She lived, as most do, in a smiley face world, and far be it from me to try and enlighten the brain dead. It's always best to avoid stupid people; they're dangerous...and had she been ugly I would have, but she had a body that was like a magnet and mine made of iron.

I knew she was working on her dissertation from previous conversations. And she had talked about how hard it was to scrap together enough money to get by. I had noticed a couple of boxes full of books and papers next to her desk, and I asked her if that was stuff she was working on.

She nodded. "Could you help me lug it out to the car?"

It had begun to sprinkle. Brown leaves, like scraps of rubber, covered the campus sidewalks and lawns. I carried the heavy box. She led the way to the faculty parking lot. I stared at the sensual sway of her hips from side to side, and listened to the click-clack of her heels on the concrete that seem to be saying, 'take me, take me.'

She opened the door of a red gas saver, and I put my box inside. She closed the door and hesitated.

"I probably shouldn't ask this, but in your story your, uh, protagonist is described so well as a porn star, that I..." She paused. "Gosh, here I go...well, I was just wondering if you'd ever done...that kind of thing?"

I nodded. "When I was in Cali."

"And you really made that kind of money?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Four thousand dollars for a few hours work?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Depends on what you do, but pretty much."

"I didn't mean to pry. My lips are sealed."

"It's all right. I don't mind."

TWENTY FOUR

I headed back to the student parking lot, got in the Mustang and lit a cigarette. I sat for awhile watching the rain drops slither down the windshield, seemingly willy-nilly, but their path completely determined by innumerable factors. I was thinking about the way she'd said, 'thousand' Her breath had prolonged the 'thou.' I started the engine and turned on the wipers. What would it take, I wondered?

I drove to Carla's. The elevator was one of those outside jobs. The city spread out in epic proportions the higher I went. Carla had one of the penthouses. I had to punch in a code to reach it. She opened the door wrapped in a yellow towel and another turban style on her head.

"James, you're just in time to get drunk with me." She smelled of expensive bath soaps. Her tits swelled at the edge of the towel holding it up with their firmness. Her alabaster legs were as if sculpted by the hands of a master, and her lips still held a trace of cherry perhaps kissed away by the lips of a devotee. We could have sat on the patio overlooking the city, but the rain was bouncing off the glistening wet tiles now. So I plopped down on a silver, plush, stretch sofa. She fixed me a Scotch, neat, and sat down close enough to me so that I could feel the heat of her body. She drew her legs up, tilting toward me on one hip. She sipped on something pink and frosty with a straw.

She traced my hair line with a red manicured nail. "What brought you out of such a wet stormy day, James?"