This is a sample chapter for a book that I wrote some time in 2002. If it ever gets published may God have mercy on my soul. I am going to look into self publication after I attempt to go through legitimate publishing houses (due to someone's insistence).

This book began as an exercise in written pornography and ended as psychological diarrhea Everything I see in people and all of the motivations that they have, as they have become clear to me, are angrily portrayed in this book. No thought was given as to whether or not this material would hurt or offend anyone. Therefor take heed. I discovered the blackest parts of my soul and let the demon be my muse.

****WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER IS ONLY INTENDED FOR ADULTS THAT ARE NOT OFFENDED BY VIOLENT, SEXUAL, AND PSYCHOLOGICALLY IMMORAL CONTENT. IF SUCH MATERIAL OFFENDS YOU, OR IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE LEAVE NOW****

--PART TWO-The Zelator

They'd been driving for well over an hour, although it had taken Beth all of ten minutes to relate the events of the evening. The rest of the time had been spent in silence. Jen drove as if she were distracted, even after Beth had finished her story. But she had listened patiently while Beth had been crying and sobbing, passively absorbing the indignities that her friend was made to suffer and trying to watch the road. Beth was now leaned back against the door, looking out the window. The only sound she heard above the road noise was Jen's angry curses when she made a wrong turn or missed an exit, and she began to wonder if her story had really had that detrimental an effect on her friend.

Beth sat placidly, in a state of emotional exhaustion, trying to ignore Jen's muttering and place the howl of the night wind in her ears to extinguish it. The sounds were a comfortable distraction, also, from both the silence that soaked up most of the trip, and from the equally discomforting possibility of conversation. More than anything, she wanted to sleep, and couldn't wait to get on Jen's couch and dream the whole terrible night into oblivion.

It had stopped drizzling now, and she focused on the clear void of the night sky with a blank mind and an empty soul, trying to fill that space that the departure of her rage had left with the beauty of the darkened treetops racing out of her view. Her head was held back far enough to avoid a visual confrontation with the world on the ground, contented to stare at the beautiful unattainable. She didn't want to see houses, people, or men. Her mind echoed the infinite night and the steady rhythm of forward motion. The clouds had receded and left patches of uncovered sky, and she could see the distant stars peering down.

Their presence seemed benevolent, so unlike the homes up on the hills on her street that housed her petty neighbors. They'd seemed to have come crawling out of their caves like morally superior cockroaches, all wanting to get a piece of the action and absorbed her violent emotion that was so out of place in a scene where nothing ever happens and nothing is ever admitted as having happened. That is, unless of course, it happens to someone else.

Beth wrestled the memory out of her mind. She didn't want to remember the embarrassment of unwittingly performing on her front lawn, she wanted to remember kicking her heel into Jacob's face. She found herself disappointed with the play back in her mind's eye, disappointed that she didn't remember seeing blood.

She left the realm of her mind and went back to the world, looking through her eyes. She noticed a sense of dislocation, as if she could no longer feel the movement of the car. There were no more trees. She glanced up at the stars and they seemed to have been robbed of their luster, competing with lights from the Earth below.

Beth, for a moment, imagined that they were tears - tears of a beautiful maiden whose gallant suitor had been lost in battle. She wondered, what did the warrior look like? Was he tall? Firm? Proud? She pictured the God, His hair curled in the old Roman style and bearing a face of resolute determination. She glanced down toward the street, as if this vision had given her the strength, and caught a glimpse of a paunchy, balding man in a stained T-shirt smiling broadly in bewildered stupidity. She closed her eyes tightly as if in pain before he sped away behind them.

Beth sat up with a jerk. "Jen, where are we?" she asked.

"We're on the West side of town. Relax, we're almost there."

"You're going to the bar?"

Jen stared at her blankly before returning her eyes to the road. "Yeah." She answered matter-of-factly, "That was the plan, right?"

Beth looked over her friend. Her dyed black and blue hair hanged over her shoulders in neatly planned pleats. She was wearing a tight black top, clinging to her petite frame and accented by an oversized purple cross on a silver chain she always wore over her breast. Her ass was sheathed by a too short black skirt exposing bright red garters at its edge. "She's completely rocked-out and ready to go," Beth thought. Then she pulled down the sun visor to look herself over in the vanity mirror. She looked horrific, as she had expected, and a far cry from the vision of sexual perfection she had viewed in her own mirror earlier. Her dark mascara streaked down her face in violent contrast with her powder-white complexion, and her lip-gloss was all but gone. Her hair was disheveled and only one pick tail had held up at all. She was shocked. All of a sudden, Jen's patient understanding had transformed into disturbing indifference.

Beth pleaded, "Jen, I can't go in there like this! What did you expect me to do? What are you thinking?"

Jen glanced over at her. "Oh. Um… we can stop at a gas station if you want."

"Jen, couldn't we just go to your place tonight? Please? I'm so fucking tired, and I look like shit…"

"Nah, you don't want to do that. I know what you need. We gotta' find you a real man." Jen was smiling.

Beth started to panic. Being seen by anyone that she didn't know was the last thing she wanted to happen at this moment, let alone walking into the meat-market as if she were putting herself on display as available goods. She was hoping that Jen was joking. She couldn't be serious. "Jen, please? Please let me spend the night at your place?"

The car jerked to a halt. "Sure you can, but first we're going to the bar." Jen sensed her friend's growing agitation. "Come on, Beth. It'll be good for you. Trust me." A smile. A wink.

Beth looked around them. They had stopped at a gas station. She was so certain that this was a cruel joke that she laughed out loud, but Jen did not respond. She only stared, trying to look confused at her friend's odd behavior. Then Beth knew that Jen was serious for certain, and it terrified her. But what terrified her more than her best friend's apathy toward her pain was the fact that Beth realized she had no one else to go to. An almost uncontrollable anger welled up in her, but she reasoned with herself that she was being selfish. She had told Jen that they'd go out tonight, and now she was letting her down. She refused to let the injustice settle in her mind, struggling to convince herself that it was irrational. She had nowhere else to go.

"Maybe you're right," Beth sighed, not believing her own words, "I'll be right back." She stepped out of the small foreign compact, so unlike the spacious car that she owned. Jacob had bought it for her on their wedding day. She tried to recall that day as she walked to the dingy public restroom. She recalled how beautiful and grand it was - out of doors with a white pavilion. The ceremony was flawless. After it was over Jacob had led her around the large manor of the property as all of the guests followed. Everybody knew but her. There she found her car. It was a luxury sedan, topped with a large novelty bow and detailed with vanity plates bearing her name. She remembered that she had cried when she saw it. Jacob had always made her feel like a princess.

She carried on in the memory of that day. She remembered how her wealthy parents enjoyed themselves with the free cocktails. Jacob had put the whole affair together himself. He had simply refused to accept any donation of any kind from her parents. She recalled how her drunken father had wrapped his arm around Jacob. "I'm proud to have you as my son," he'd spat.

Beth recalled how Jacob's friends had joked that she would have to drink non-alcoholic champagne for the toast. She remembered how pleasant all of his friends were and she was so excited and so certain that all this was right. She knew she was starting a new life with her new husband and it was going to be perfect. She recalled with sensual clarity their first dance together. The manor had a flawless tile floor amidst the lights, faces, and music. And for a moment there was no one else in the room…

"Hey! I'm in here!" came a gruff shout from behind the greasy door she had started to open.

"Oh… sorry," Beth excused herself. She looked back at Jen giggling at her from the car, and she went back to fixing her lipstick in the rear view mirror. Beth felt a push from the side.

"Fucking knock first!" the angry old man shouted as he shoved past her. "Stupid, fucking kids!" Jen was laughing from the car. "What are you laughing at, ya' little cunt?"

"Fuck you, old man!" Jen laughed and flicked him the bird. She laughed with increasing volume as he hobbled away grumbling to himself.

Beth entered the dank smelling chamber. The paint was peeling off of the cardboard walls and the grout between the tiles was stained almost black. The old man hadn't flushed and she covered her mouth to choke down her gag reflex. "There is no way I'm sitting on that!" she thought. But the toilet wouldn't flush at all and she had to go, so she did, using one of those tricks young ladies learn but never admit to using.

She looked through the grime on the mirror at her reflection and laughed. "I look like a fucking Goth-kid." She dispensed some green gel that was supposed to be hand-soap, but more resembled floor cleaner, and scrubbed away the evidence of all the pain she wanted to hide. She realized that she also wanted to hide it from Jen, and then she became angry again. It wasn't exactly at Jen, but more at herself for trusting Jen so thoroughly. She felt like she had betrayed herself the same way that she had in her lawn with her neighbors, and she felt apprehensive about going back to the car.

When she stepped out of the bathroom from Hell, finally driven out of the door by the smell, she felt the cool night wind play refreshingly on her moist face. She exhaled and took a deep breath, realizing that she had been holding it in.

It was a short remaining drive to their haunt. Beth kept quiet, sulking for herself that she had to go out in public and throw herself to the wolves. Jen just kept laughing about the old man and making up things that she would do if she ever saw him again. "But then again," she said, "all old people look the same to me."

They parked outside the bar and Jen once again checked her makeup. "You ready?" she asked.

Beth looked out the window at the hazy neon lights. Some of the crowd had spilled out onto the sidewalk displaying their lewd mating dance. "Could we wait here a while?"

"Should we? Is that what you want?" Jen stared with empty eyes. "Look Beth, when you get thrown off the buck, you gotta' jump back on… right away. There's no point moping around…"

That sense of indignant anger rose up again, and Beth felt a violent urge to kick her friend out of the car and drive off by herself. She punched the dashboard instead. "Jesus Jen! I just lost my fucking husband tonight! Is there one sympathetic bone in your fucking body? Fuck!" She began to cry and slumped over onto her knees. "All I want to do is go to sleep." She spotted her four-inch pumps through her blurred vision and remembered how empowered she had felt when she had first put them on. She was a woman! Now they were a cruel reminder of that fact. "All I want to do is go to sleep and let this horrible night go away." And then reality struck her in a flash with a single, terrible thought. "But I don't even have a bed. He's asleep in his bed right now, in his big warm house and his soft silk blankets. And me? I have no bed. I have nothing."

She wished that she would control herself in front of Jen but wished harder that she was with her parents. She knew they would take care of her. But they lived on the other side of the country, as did most of her family and friends. She had met Jacob while he was on a business trip and she'd moved into his home after they had been married. She remembered how often he would fly out to see her in those four short months they had known each other before he'd proposed. Now her family's home seemed far away, slumbering indifferently across a great distance. She knew she could have them wire money for a plane tomorrow, but there was no point in calling them now. They were away until tomorrow. If she could just make it through this one night, she thought, she could get a plane tomorrow and go home and never look back. She just had to make it through tonight.

She looked up at Jen with tears in her eyes, not consciously trying to appeal to her pity but guessing that it couldn't hurt, she sobbed again, "I'm lost, tired, and homeless. I have nothing without him. I am nothing without him."

"Beth, you can stay at my place as long as you need to." Jen gave her no comfort and shot an impatient glance out the window, "Are you ready?"

Beth just shook her head. She was now certain that her friend was less than human. But she had no where else to go, so once again the sentiment and knowledge of injustice was pushed out of her mind and she focused the blame on herself. She thought of how strong Jen was, how she never needed anybody, never came to anybody with any problems, and never displayed any sign of weakness what so ever. Beth told herself that she should be that strong. That she should be able to go ahead with her plans, if for no other reason, than just in spite of Jacob. Why should Jacob still be able to exercise any type of control over her now when he was fifty miles away? A sense of rage filled her, but it didn't cripple her with helplessness, it empowered her.

She looked back out of the car window at the sleazy bar across the street. The aging building itself, regardless of the patrons on the sidewalk, seemed to be struggling under the weight of its own decadence. The structure looked like a head with boarded over eyes and a large, gaping mouth of an entrance that begged for something fresh to enter it, to be devoured and sacrificed in order to give it a new breath of life. For nothing virtuous could heal it, it would simply slow the decay.

The overflow of people that littered the doorway represented all of the filth and degradation that the city streets had to offer, and it continued its shameless mating dance before her. She imagined the words, trying to fill in the conversations that she couldn't hear. The cheap, shop-worn tricks of the males of the species, and the equally disgusting receptivity of the females rang through her mind.

Beth remembered the fireflies. "I think I'm gonna' be sick."

Jen saw that Beth had made some effort and had become discouraged. She saw a chance and tried to think fast. Beth was beginning to crumble in on herself. She saw tears, once again, trickling down her cheeks. Jen had made it known to Beth plenty of times that she didn't like Jacob, and now this pussy had completely devastated her date for the night. And damn it, she really wanted to go out! She tried to imagine herself in Beth's situation. Being in anguish, disillusioned, and weak. It was hard for her to imagine being weak like Beth because she… well, she just wasn't. But if she were, what would she say to gain strength and empower herself? What could she say now to empower her meek friend?

"Fuck him Beth!" It was all she could muster, but she went wit it. "Jacob's a fucking pussy! He would have been the death of you! He's nothing but a rich worm who had you walled up in that four hundred thousand-dollar prison! God damn it!" Beth smiled; amused to hear her own words coming from Jen in order to stir her on to an action she simply didn't want to take. But Jen was on a roll and getting steamed up, "That fucking prison should be yours," she continued, "That should be your fucking castle! That's your Goddamn bed that back stabbing piece of shit is sleeping in right now! Probably sleeping soundly, I might add. For fuck's sake Beth, he should be the homeless one. Look at you." Beth looked up at Jen. "How can you just roll with the punches? Fucking stand up for yourself!"

Jen paused suddenly, and Beth noticed a dangerous light flicker into life behind her eyes. "Wait… Beth!" Jen said with uncontrolled excitement. She was looking at an idea in her mind, her eyes gazing straight through Beth with an icy fire. Beth shuddered. "Beth, that's it!"

"What? What's it?"

"Tomorrow… ok, you're not gonna' like this but hear me out, ok? Tomorrow… trust me… we'll go to the constable's office, and…" she chose her words deliberately, "we'll go… and get Jacob thrown out of your house!"

"But it's not my house, Jen," Beth said softly, almost amused, "They're not going to kick him out of a house that he owns outright just because I'm pissed off." Beth's statement was less a statement and more like a plea, her eyes begging Jen to convince her not only of the possibility, but that it would be right to do.

"Well…" Jen spoke slowly, drawing back for the punch, "they would… if…"

"If?"

"… if he hit you."

"But he didn't."

"Didn't he?" Jen raised an eyebrow, the faint trace of a smile on her lips. Beth looked down and shook her head. "It's not wrong," Jen tried to assure her, "you're the victim here, girl. Make him pay out the ass for what he did to you. And Beth?" She looked back at Jen. "He's got a lot to pay for, and he's got a lot to pay with." Jen leaned back into her seat casually and shrugged, confidant in the force of her pitch.

Beth felt disgusted for a moment, and turned back to the window hoping to conveniently lose herself in the gross display before her for as long as Jen would allow. But she felt cold and indifferent. A certain kind of apathy was all she felt for the ape-like creatures before her, the kind of apathy one feels for performers in a play - to appreciate the spectacle without caring for the individuals themselves. Beth raised her chin in defiance and looked down her nose at them, these oversized moths drawn to the neon lights of the meat-market. Suddenly the thought of stealing every last penny from that bastard she'd left behind, and knowing that she could not only do it, but get away with it, seemed to breath new life into her. Perhaps, she thought, she wasn't the victim after all. Perhaps she was more like the benefactor of the worms' weakness and cowardice

She noticed them again. One rather large man was laughing as he puffed on his cigar. All greasy, hairy, beasts, she thought, and Jacob was just one in disguise. He was simply one that tricked her into an illusion that he was a man. She looked at the patrons and hated them. She saw Jacob. She now felt like she had power over Jacob, and felt a certain gratitude toward Jen. She thought that perhaps Jen really did know what was best for her. Maybe she should go in there and face them all - her pawns. Her toys. Her Jacobs.

"I'm ready to go," Beth said suddenly and held out her hand, "May I borrow your pallet, my love?"

"Certainly. My pleasure dah'ling."

When Beth was ready, they got out of the car simultaneously and sauntered to the bar with cat-like motion, their heels clicking on the wet pavement in announcement of their arrival. The eyes of the wolves fell upon them - fresh meat - and they prepared to rehash their overused tricks. But Jen and Beth cut through the small crowd like water, coolly not noticing the molesting eyes upon them. Eyes struggling down their tops and inching their ways up their skirts.

The bar was loud and crowded. Everybody was on and off the dance floor showing off their spontaneous moves to the friends that they assumed were paying attention to their drunken glory. The jukebox played harsh music that echoed poorly through the small sweatbox of a room. All the space was filled with hot bodies, and the spaces that weren't were filled with humid smoke. Beth noticed a tacky plastic disco-ball-thing hanging from the ceiling over the concealed dance floor, shining colored lights that vanished into the dark movement of the crowd that was hopelessly and violently taken up in the rhythm of the noise - the sole sustainer of life in this room. Fat, sweat, hair - humanity.

Beth looked about her and realized that she'd already lost Jen. She decided to take refuge from looking alone at the jukebox. She inched her way through the room, brushing up against the "accidental" hands and hips of the male patrons. She felt that all the eyes of the room were upon her, as, doubtless, everybody else did. But for a moment she felt naked inside her too tight dress that made such a display of her body, like it was offering her up to these lusting, brutal animals. And she loved every moment of it. "That's as it should be." She thought, and pushed a certain, painful memory off the border of her mind.

She posed at the jukebox and let her heat waft through the crowded pub, feeling that moisture that is other than sweat beginning to collect between her thighs. "I've never seen it this crowded before," she said to herself in order to hear her own thoughts. But her voice was lost in the barrage of techno, clinking glasses, and attempted conversations. For a moment it was too much, and with all the over stimulation she felt as if she were in a sensory depravation tank of some kind. A sensation of losing awareness within the atmosphere began to overcome her. She shook it off but allowed herself the indulgence of losing herself in the light blanketed void of letters and numbers on the display, waiting patiently for her tab to arrive. She didn't have to wait long.

"Hey sweetie, need a quarter?" He must have been shouting right in her ear but it sounded like normal speech. Beth could smell his sterilized breath. He had definitely been there for a while.

"No. I need a drink," she shouted back, holding her sight on the meaningless music listing.

"What would ya' like?"

She turned to greet him with a smile. He was a man of medium build and about her husband's age, but trying to look a decade younger. His face had a soft quality in its expressions that went beyond that of a drunk, it told the story of a loafer - a man who never had a sorrow or a care in his life, not because he was a winner, but because he never cared enough to give a damn.

She knew she had found her tab. "Whatever you're drinkin's fine. Smells good to me."

He shot her a sarcastic smirk and, obviously tipsy, rudely grabbed at her hand. Beth did not resist. She was more amused than anything else. She offered him the hand, tempted to pull it back at the last second but refraining from that level of immaturity. He finally locked it in his grasp and firmly led her to the bar, but not without the customary "playa'" wink.
"Two double-whiskeys!" he gruffly shouted. He sat Beth on the stool next to his and they waited for the bar tender to die of a heart attack.

Beth spotted Jen across the noise and smoke filled void. She was with a boy who looked too young to drink, slumped over his glass with his long, brown, greasy locks nearly falling in. To Beth's mind, Jen looked like she was an actor in one of those old movies where everybody moves unnaturally fast, and the boy seemed embarrassed by her bravado.
"He'll never be understood," Beth laughed to herself, "feel his pain if you can!"

"Waso' funny?" asked the tab. She'd almost forgotten about him already.

"Nothing, babe," she chided, "Just having a good time."

"Well good! Can I have some of that too?" and he boomed with laughter, having obviously amused himself. Beth giggled politely.

"Any time, hun.'" Jen was still jumping up and down, as if she were dancing through a ritual designed to arouse 'The Somber One'.

Finally their drinks arrived and the tab produced a wad of bills and tossed a ten off the top. "Probably all singles," Beth mused to herself, and said, "Wow, that was a lot of money you have there, mister!" She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and sipped on her drink. "Are you famous or rich or somethin'?"

The tab was eager to talk about himself, "Well, I do alright for myself, I guess. I made a couple o' bucks in the market, ya' know," Beth shook her head, "and I'm pretty smart about it," Beth nodded enthusiastically. He jabbed his temple with his index finger. "I know how ta' hold on to it… I mean, that's do' toughest thin' of them all! Not makin' it! Fuckin' keepin' it!" Beth could feel his 100 proof saliva spray on her face with the "fuckin'" part of the speech. She brought a napkin up to her face. "You hot or somethin'?"

"Always," she answered sarcastically. She was sure that he wouldn't pick up on it.

Beth finally reached the end of her glass and it was instantly refilled. Her tab got to show off his wad again. Eventually, she lost track of the entire conversation. Was he talking about football, or beer, or right-wing politicians being fascists, or God only knows what? She was sure of her abilities to respond with the proper phrase at the proper time, but what frightened her was that the more she'd drink the more he seemed to make sense and she became convinced that she couldn't keep up because the dialogue was above her. Unfortunately he didn't get any better looking no matter how many glasses she'd drain, and she lost track of the number that she'd had. Time seemed to be moving too fast for her and she was lost in the din of noise and the movements of the patrons trying to do dances that were decades out of date. The atmosphere choked away coherent thought, it left no moment unfilled and all of the senses were constantly on top alert in order to be amused by the full spectacle. The music, movements and the lost attempted conversations that were not meant for her ears washed over her in a blanket of nothingness. Meaningless prattle: all.

Eventually she realized she was very drunk, which was out of character. Her great joy of coming to this place had never been to drink, but to get some creep's hopes up, squeeze him for the tab, and leave him high and dry. She was not one to readily relinquish control of her senses. But she no longer had the sense to notice it.

She caught sight of Jen again. Her victim now had braids in his long hair and was smiling dumbly. Jen, of course, was still endowed with some sort of endless cosmic energy, but seemed to Beth to be more severe now, at least filtered through her precarious consciousness. She no longer looked at Jen hopping about madly and thought of her as a happy little elf, but as a fierce black widow luring her meal into her trap. Beth shuddered.

"You know what I like about you?" came her tab's garbled voice, but she'd stopped paying attention a while back. All she could see was Jen's boy-toy; the 'misunderstood art student' holding his braids in his hands and doing some sort of bizarre jig for everybody's amusement. She laughed out loud. "Waso' funny now?"

"Oh, nothing," she drunkenly assured him, "I was just imagining the face you'd make if I … offered to suck you off." It probably would have looked a lot like the face he made then.

Beth was very amused with herself and determined to have as much fun as Jen seemed to be having. But her quarry recovered uncommonly quickly and put his hand on her knee with a smile. She could feel his calluses clinging to her white nylons as he gave her a little squeeze. "Well, I can't imagine how I'd react, but I do know that you'd look awfully good suckin' it." Again he boomed with laughter.

He had a wild look in his eyes and Beth was instantly disgusted and wanted his hand off of her leg. His teeth were brown with nicotine and his heavy, drunken eyelids gave him the appearance of being retarded. But somehow, in her drunken state, Beth took the situation as a challenge. A battle of the sexes, as two different methods of mind-control duked it out for an unknown prize. It was a challenge to her very womanhood, and she became determined to play her cards out of the confrontation, and get at least a hundred more drinks out of the asshole… or die in a puddle of vomit. Whichever came first.

"Ya' know, I never even got yer' name," he stammered.

"Violet."

The brute chuckled, "Well, what're ya' in pink fer', Violet?"

Beth's mind raced, making more out of the 'mistake' than there really was. "Shit! That was pretty stupid. I must be drunk." She slurred, "Just to throw all you dogs off track."

"Well, I think it suites ya' anyway." His hand was on her thigh, his fingers under the hem of her skirt.

Beth didn't want to be so obvious as to move the offending hand because, as she saw it, that would mean the loss of the game. And she'd just excused herself to the bathroom a moment before - somewhere between his discourse on why Budweiser is the king of all beers and his thoughts on why women are all bi-sexual.

He was messaging the bulge of flesh above her white garter. "It'd suite ya' better if ya' got out of them pink cloths, though."

"Don't you wish!" she almost spat, but kept herself in check and decided rather to go with, "I'm pink beneath my cloths too."

"Oh, I've no doubt about that."

His disgusting smile broadened and she felt his filthy fingers pry their way behind her panties. Instantly, her body shut down the reflex to run and scream. She was paralyzed with indecision and a forcibly unacknowledged excitement. Her clitoris was easily found. She was, much to her surprise, fully aroused.

"You wanna' git' outa' here?" he asked.

"Wh… where do you want to go?" she choked.

Beth couldn't understand what was happening to her. She was completely disgusted, but she was wet. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't carry her. She wanted to stop him and pull him away, but her hands remained firmly clasped to her drink. She looked down at her drink and took the last remaining sip in a greedy gulp. She needed it, and, she thought to herself, she deserved it for all she'd been through. His callused fingers were tickling her most private areas, places her husband would never even reach with his hands, and, to her dismay, her body was responding to it. "Husband!" The word echoed across the chasm of her mind and she noticed her ring, sitting splendidly on one of the fingers that was wrapped tightly around her glass. She had forgotten to take it off, but if the tab had noticed he gave no sign of caring.

The tab pulled his hand out from under her skirt and brought two of his fingers to her mouth in disgusting presumptuousness. She could smell herself on them as her lips parted, seeming to her that her body was acting as an independent entity. As what was left of her mind recoiled in horror, her tongue licked his fingers all the way around, making sure that they were lubed for the now inevitable entry. They left the taste of grit and tobacco behind for her to savor along with that of her own flesh.

He discreetly clawed his way back up her short, pink skirt and behind her panties. She felt her own spit on his fingers running down her silky, cleanly shaven skin. "Jesus," she thought in some sort of frantic but semi-retarded mental state, "what the hell am I doing? I don't even want to know where those fucking fingers have been! Probably in some dirty whore's cun…" Beth felt herself spread open and she clutched the edge of the bar, fighting the tears that were trying to overwhelm her resolve. "Jesus, how many fingers is he using?" She was too afraid to look down at her penetration. In a stab of pain, she felt him add another. He was inserting his digits with no regard to what she would feel in any way, unconscious of fingernails or of pushing too hard. His motive was simply to insert as many as possible, and her treacherous womb obeyed, and not only that, but it was leaking all over his dirty hand. She could smell her unique scent waft up from under the bar.

When it was over, Beth cautiously opened her eyes. Her vision seemed to vibrate with her heightened pulse, and although she'd resisted tears, the room was blurred with her struggle. Down the bar she spotted a few handsome strangers who were obviously regarding her with great interest. She felt herself blush. One particularly good-looking lush blew her a knowing kiss.

She couldn't stand it any longer. She wanted to leave, but she no longer seemed able to move of her own volition. She sat at her empty glass, paralyzed with the fear of moving, and equally dreading what would happen if she didn't. Luckily, the street urchin, whose name she had yet to have the pleasure to receive, grabbed her wrist and led her away. She took a final look back and saw that the handsome one had been on his way over to greet her, and now watched her fly away with a look of resenting disgust. Then, as if he knew some secret she could not be privy to, he smiled and briefly nodded. She turned back to see where she was going, and to her surprise, the tab was looking back at the man and shot him a wink. It all seemed like some sort of bizarre sign language to Beth. She was hopelessly lost.

The cretin aiding her escape brought her out a back door and let her out ahead of himself. She heard him shout something back to the congregants in the bar followed by a din of laughter that was extinguished by the slam of the heavy iron door. He had been less than a gentleman leading her here. Her wrist hurt with the release of his forceful restraint.

Beth looked at her surroundings through the vision she was fighting to steady. They were in a back alley. The air was the pure odor of piss and vomit. There was no clean air to aid in clearing her head. Some of the bricks that lined the walls around them were busted loose or cracked on the asphalt among the smashed bottles and heaped trash bags, long past due to be moved to the city dump. She thought that it was probably the worse damn alley in the whole God forsaken city, and suppressed her gag reflex at the stench.

He was pushing her again from behind, across the narrow path to a short brick ledge, about waist high. His hands were on her shoulders, drunk and dominating.

Beth became uneasy in the sudden cessation of all sound and asked innocently, "Is this where you wanted to go?"

No answer.

She made a move to sit up on the platform, but his hands held her down on her heels. The smell was painful. He would not let her turn around to face him, and she could feel his eyes piercing the back of her head with their lethargic gaze. She could hear his breath over the muted chatter and music of the bar and the senseless noise of the overflow-patrons from the street outside.

She looked to her right, in the direction of the drunken voices and saw that they were only about a hundred feet from the road, which made the poignant smell seem dangerous as a simple matter of fact. To her left the alley walls ended in darkness with no vanishing point in sight. Nothing but the debris and trash bags with which to judge distance. Beth wondered if the distant shadow against a far wall was a heap of garbage, a bum, or a patron of the bar who had to escape the noise and came out here to crash. Or maybe, she thought, the poisonous air choked the life out of him.

The sound of the loiterers from the street brought her back to the present. She could hear the men shouting their pick up lines, assuming that their prey was as drunk and deaf as themselves. One man was laughing riotously. She wondered if it was the man she'd seen with the cigar.

"No!" she thought, and forced her mind back to the alley. She knew that it was dangerous to lose this moment. She wished that she was sober, but took mental inventory as best as she could. She knew that she was in an alley, and a brute of a man had led her there. And she knew that previous to this she'd let this beast violate her with out so much as a single protest. "Concentrate Beth." What she knew she needed to learn in order to survive and to act was his motivation, but he wouldn't say a thing. The silence seemed to want to choke the will out of her. Her uneasiness was quickly escalating to fear. She could feel her knees quiver and a gush of heat between them. "I must be sick!" she mumbled. A soft chuckle came from behind her, but he couldn't have heard that, could he? She went to turn and he forced her in place again. Her mind wandered off to a discarded candy wrapper stuck to the ledge by an unknown muck. She tried to read it but couldn't.

"No!" her mind shouted at her, "Concentrate! Where are his hands?" They were still on her shoulders, but she could feel the warmth of his calloused, sweaty palms. She deduced that he must have pulled her top off of her shoulders. She got up the courage to look down at herself. She was relieved to find that she was still covered. Her dress was too tight around her ample breasts for him to pull down any further.

His breath began to grow harsher. She wanted to run, she knew she did, but her legs would not carry her. She couldn't understand why she was doing this. The creep behind her completely disgusted her, but here she was, his willing victim. Hot, horney, and ready to go. Her brain cried mutiny at her body in its only logical response to her pressing questions.
Beth's thoughts turned involuntarily to Jacob. She recalled how he'd looked at her when she'd made her advance earlier that night. He was ashamed of himself, ashamed of her. He wouldn't take her, or even let it be known that he wanted to. He'd looked trapped. Was he trapped, she wondered, by temptation, or being expected to act tempted by that for which he felt no desire? The thought brought tears to her eyes.

"Ashamed?" she thought, "If only you could see me now, you fuck!"

Her knees almost buckled under the force of a sharp tug. She heard the sound of fabric tearing and felt the cool wind on her breasts. She looked down and saw that her top and bra were around her waist, and the seam down the center of the garment was torn. Her flesh looked unnaturally white against the filthy amber light of the alley. Her nipples stood erect in the moist night air. For a moment, her head swimming, she thought they looked beautiful and made a move to reach up and touch them. Then a shock of terror went through her body with her own struggling gasp. Her arms would not move. She was bound in her top, wrapped tightly around her. She felt helpless, and her mind panicked sluggishly to find a solution as it also fought to keep her body still and not let him know that she was panicking.

Her intoxicated brain came to its conclusion: you are helpless. But with that knowledge was not borne in her any sense of dread and no further panic. If she was helpless, her mind told her, there could be no use in panicking. She felt her heat again at the thought and wondered if her body had not bribed her brain. But what she did feel being born in her with her honesty was a resolve - an unwavering dedication to keep from running, screaming, or hiding. She knew with absolute certainty that this scumbag, if she screamed or ran, was fully capable of holding her down and silencing her. She knew that she had already relinquished control. She relinquished control when she'd let him touch her skin with out even so much as a single protest, and she'd relinquished her chance for escape when she'd allowed him to lead her away from people. Now this cockroach was going to fuck her brains out and she was going to let him do it.

"Take this, asshole!" she muttered to Jacob.

But Jacob wasn't there. There was only a hand holding her in place by the bondage of her clothing, and another pushing her bare back to force the favorite position of sexual submission. She slipped on her high heels and felt the brick ledge slap against her breasts. The concrete and brick felt a lot like his hands, she thought, only colder.

She turned her head to the right, realizing the precariousness of her situation and beginning to weigh the possibility of long term consequences, she hoped to see somebody walk by the alley that she could call to for help. There was nobody. Once again she became aware of her body, and in that moment wondered honestly to herself if she'd really care if a whole swarm of these fucks were lined up down the alley, each salivating in anticipation of his turn to cum in her fragile pink flesh.
A giggling couple, probably hooked up all of ten minutes, stumbled past the opening to her alley and took no notice. Beth remembered them from the entranceway when she was indignantly looking down upon them from the safety of Jen's car. She remained silent, simply looking down into the street with a glassy stare.

She felt him holding her wrists hostage with one enormous hand, and the other was being used to push up her skirt to join her top and bra around her stomach. The cool breeze that stunk of the filth of the place confided to her just how much of her naked flesh was exposed.

She heard his zipper.

He started working faster, bending down and dragging her panties to her ankles. Beth felt his calloused hand on her ass, pulling its contour aside. Prickling, hot, and slimy, his tongue rode up along the shape of the cheek he was squeezing and eventually invaded her. His lips closed around her flesh. She felt the erotic suction of the stubbled lips drinking up her juices. She closed her eyes to force her mind not to be side tracked. The oddest sensation of all, she thought, was his long nose pressed against her asshole.

She opened her eyes again, now hoping she could be sidetracked and tried to see Jacob standing there. Poor Jacob, furious as he watched, gnashing his teeth but unable to stop it. Pleading for the forgiveness that her indifference refused him. Offering to love her better in a way she knew he never could. Jacob, on his knees and pleading. And on his knees, insanely trying to burrow into the asphalt in escape.

The tongue was pushing into her ass. She opened her eyes with a start, not realizing that her mind had sent her dreaming so that her body could properly enjoy the sensations riding through it in waves. She struggled to get up, what he was doing now was too much. No man had ever done that to her. But her suitor was too strong for her. She heaved for breath as he forcibly pushed her against the ledge, squeezing the life out of her body with the strength of a single arm against her back. He did not relent until she gave up and he felt her body end its strain to escape, and even to breathe. His tongue was back on her in a second.

This is what he was telling her, she thought: He was telling her that she'd better co-operate. That she had already relinquished control of her body to him, and it was too late to take it back. It was now his and he would not return it until he had used it. But if she tried to take it back prematurely, she may not get it back at all. To get out of this alive was his gift that he didn't have to give her in any case. He was telling her that he could play with the toy she'd given him, of her own free will, and then break it if he wanted to. But the fact that she wasn't out cold already, or restrained in any proper sense, was to tell her that he would return the gift to her, but only if she did not try to take it back.

Beth was crying, now. He must have heard, she thought, but he paid no attention. He went furiously about his work. She clenched her eyes closed and tried to black out, to escape into herself. She didn't really want to know what that filthy tongue was doing, but she kept her vision of Jacob strong, and forced herself to know what was being done to her in order that the specter would know it. She wanted Jacob to see, as she allowed herself to be violated by a brute of a man. By a smelly, drunk, one-step-up-from-the-gutter pseudo-vagrant, who was still twice the man he could ever be, simply dictated by her own choice to give in to him completely. She tried to imagine his pain. She wanted to impose her helplessness on him. But the foul odor of a sudden breeze brought her unwillingly back to the now. She felt the tongue leave her, and the wind felt colder against the spit he'd left behind.

She could sense him standing over her. She felt exposed. Ashamed. She knew that he could see all of her and that he was indulging in his moment of anticipation at the expense of her being forced to experience her own. Her anticipation was the feeling of shame and fear mingled with the tears that fell from her weeping womb.

"This is it," she sobbed even in her mind, "This is it and I'm not going to do a damn thing about it! Can you see me Jacob? Can you see me you fu…"

He was in her.

She let out a yell and immediately felt him grab her by the hair. He ground her face down into the sharp brick. She understood that this meant to be quiet. She did her best to comply but he was endowed a bit better than she'd been accustomed to. It hurt, despite that fact that her treacherous cleft was primed and ready, and she felt that she was now filled to capacity. It hurt more than the fingernails of however many fingers he'd used in the bar. It was a different pain, but it was worse.

He released her hair and took his hands off of her completely. She spread for him, inching her feet farther apart against the pull of her panties, trying to regain a semblance of comfort in her position, but it was impossible. He was just too big.
"Jesus," she thought, the words audible in her mind, "I can't believe this filthy fucker has his dick in me!" She thought she could feel his testicles dangling against her swollen clit.

Beth looked again at her odd view down the top of the ledge and out into the street. He had only penetrated her, and now he stood over her with his hands at his sides. She felt him watching her and listened to his heavy breath. She thought of escape once again. The pain of the violation brought her back to the reality and seriousness of the situation. She gently tried to move out from under his control but was held in place by the simple force of his dick.

"Are… are you… done?" Her voice seemed small and distant.

No answer.

She could feel his pulse inside of her. The couple she'd seen before stumbled by her alley, on there way back to the bar, giggling stupidly.

"Fuck it!" she said out loud. Her tone carried the notes of sadness and resignation. She turned her head and faced down the darkness of the alley to her left, with no end in sight. She reached down with her hands, grabbed the cheeks of her ass, bit her lip, and stretched herself open, giving the cretin access to whatever he desired.

She heard him chuckle softly as if to say, "I wasn't looking for your ok, but thanks just the same." He lightly held her hips and pulled his length out of her. She sighed with the release of the pressure, knowing nothing but that moment, and trying not to consider the next.

And then he plunged back into her, ruthlessly, and he didn't stop the repetition of the motion. He invaded her over and over again. It hurt, but she was still oozing, no longer to her surprise. She thought that her cunt must be an entity all to itself to be enjoying this. But she just cried and cried, trying to keep it quiet, and held herself open in aid of his violation. She just didn't know anything else to do with her hands. She found herself wishing that he'd bind her by her wrists again.

Beth felt him remove a hand from one of her hips, and with a sharp shot of pain, realized that a finger was prying into her ass. She could feel the jagged nail burning inside her and let out a sob despite her want to remain quiet and avoid further punishment. Then he placed both of his hands over her own and pushed both thumbs into her almost impossible orifice, cruelly fucking her all the while. She squirmed in pain, bucking her body against the cold hardness of the ledge, but she firmly held her ass open for him. She wasn't trying to get away this time.

She let out a loud regrettable moan, and in a second her face was smothered in the brick. She felt her nose bent under the pressure and her cheeks burning but numb. She was cuming, but she refused to believe it. She cried and tried to breath. "You fucking bastard!" she panted, and lubed his monstrous dick in her juices.

He pulled out. Beth felt her whole body quivering. She was in denial of her body's disappointment at his exit. Her hips bucked involuntarily, begging him to return as her orgasm receded.

He was no longer touching her at all. She knew that she could escape in that moment, that he wouldn't chase her, but her body remained still, shivering in the cold breeze that played against her skin, and holding herself open; both orifices inviting the swine back to finish.

She heard him spit, and then his head was against her. He had chosen the orifice not originally intended for entry. Beth gave no resistance. She felt overcome as a baby is overcome when it's hurt, simply crying and waiting for somebody to help it, without concept of how to help itself, or want or need to know how. There was a guilty pleasure in relinquishing control that she refused to admit in that moment. But it was undeniably there, a pleasure that she had let go, and that even her willingness to face the consequences was not an issue. There simply was no willingness, no will at all.

The tab quickly pushed his entire length into her ass and she shrieked in pain. Reflexively, she tried to push herself off of the wall, but his hand had grabbed a hold of her short blond hair and he was pulling back on it angrily, assuring her of her helplessness. He leaned forward with the free hand and groped her breast, the way one palms a softball - unlovingly and for the sole fact that one must hold it.

She returned her hands to spreading herself for him, wishing and praying that he'd cum quickly and this would all be done. He was humping her fast, with no thought to the torture that his pleasure was creating, but with his pleasure as the only goal in sight. As he slipped in and out of her torn, raw opening, he felt for her erect nipple and tugged on it violently. Then he let her go all at once and she hit the brick ledge with a painful thud.

Beth just wished it to end, for him to come or for some act of God to render him impotent. No man had ever done this to her before. This was a new kind of pain, and a different sense of violation than she'd loved all of her adult life. This was not the subtle shame that tickled the senses when a man was in her womb and the motion of his thrust was used to pleasure them both. This was a sacrifice, and she was the object of it. She relinquished her control and gave in to endless pain for the simple pleasure of the one to cause it, and the more she hurt, the better he felt.

As if to apologize for the solitary nature of the pleasure he reached around her and held the hairless lips of her pussy in his fingers, stopping short of giving her swollen organ a caressing touch. And then, deciding rather to make the violation complete, he violently pushed the fingers in.

She cried and cried. There was nothing else to do. She felt as if she would break in half and hoped in a way that she would. Revenge could be obtained by leaving him high and dry with a corpse for his only amusement. And then it struck her in a flash of horror that went ripping through her mind the way that he was ripping through her body. She knew that he would be content with a corpse. It would still be warm by the time he was finished.

She forced herself away from the mind and back to the realm of physical sensation. She focused on the pain to lose her thoughts. She could feel the slap of his stomach against her hands, engraving the motion in her mind. But then she realized that she could no longer trust her body. It hurt and burned, but she couldn't be sure that she didn't cum again on his fingers. Had she been cuming the whole time? She couldn't know. The signals of pain and those of pleasure were jumbled together and tied in knots within her mind that refused to believe in the pleasure and knew the pain was intolerable, but refused to devise a plan to escape it.

Then he was pulling her hair again and moaning loudly. Her chest lifted off of the wall. Her breasts were numb. She felt one mighty thrust and then he released her. She hit the brick for the third time, her body lifeless. A few more thrusts. He was moaning loudly, definitely louder than she had been punished for. She felt a warm liquid oozing down to her pussy. The invasion was over, and she felt his still rock hard member slide out of her.

She was crying, sobbing like a child. She remained in her position just in case he was not satisfied, offering him seconds. She could feel him dripping down the insides of her thighs. She heard his zipper. She heard the groan of the steel door and saw the light of the bar inside play faintly against the backs of her eyelids. And then darkness and the odor of her sex, her shit, and the garbage remained.

She lay motionless; somehow afraid to move out of the pose she'd been forced to endure for so long, as if her body would snap with fragility with any movement of its own. She focused on her pained breath and broken sobs over the muffled sound of the bar and the clearer din of street filth in front of it. She held her eyes closed and saw Jacob mounting some anonymous whore who held her own ass in anticipation - in anticipation of the dick that she was married to. She locked eyes with him over the chasm of her mind. She watched him as he fucked this faceless woman. Beth wondered what her name was.

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