This is a print version of story The Holy Man Cometh by dickgod from xHamster.com
The Holy Man Cometh
Maria Whitehall and her closest friend Tiffany were coming home from a popular car dealership in Hillside Illinois, a suburb about 25 minutes west of Chicago. Maria just bought a brand new 2003 sapphire Durango and was in a state of total elation. She’d been skimming off the top of her boyfriend Paul’s lottery grift he read about one day on the Internet. A not all complicated confidence scam run on elderly people.
He’d have her call names from a list he stole from the Social Security database and tell them they’d won some lottery overseas. If they fronted six thousand dollars for shipping and custom fees, they’d get their checks or bundle of cash two weeks later. Usually a ridiculous amount of two million to five million-depending on whether or not Maria liked their voices. Paul set the payoff amount at five thousand dollars but she related the extra thousand for herself. Surprisingly, 48 out of 215 old folks agreed and sent in money. Coming to a total of two hundred eighty eight thousand dollars, save for forty eight thousand that was hers. Three days prior to her buying the truck, she and Paul went to the P.O. box they rented in Detroit and emptied the money orders and cash out, returned the key and closed the address. She handled and counted everything minus her “fee” and made love to him like an a****l on the living room rug of his mother’s apartment. After carefully selecting her vehicle she was ready to roll.
Now with the elderly suckers farthest from her mind and tonight’s plans of lobster and wine closest, she admitted to the easiness and fulfillment of Paul’s masterful little joie de vivre. “Maria,” Tiffany said, “what happens if you guys are caught? I mean this is some serious shit!”
“Relax,” said Maria. Always the cool one. “The crazy old kajos don’t know what’s what. Even if they do, most of them are either afraid to admit that they’ve been had or have no f****y to admit it to.”
They were driving east on Washington Boulevard just passing the Bellwood police station. Tiffany waved at a young man she knew from the library. He was shoveling snow from the Turtle Park walkway across the street.
“Besides, there’s no way they could ever trace anything back to us.”
“Look, I just don’t want to see you wearing an orange jumpsuit eating everything with a spoon.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Sure. Take off your pants.”
“Not tonight. I’ve got a headache.”
It was 6:18p.m and Maria needed to get home and ready for more celebration with Paul. Their first flim-flam together and it was a complete success. Love is grand after all. Tiffany’s house was just on the next block from the corner gas station on St. Charles Road. There had recently been neighborhood gossip concerning whether or not there were any parents living on the property. Granted Tiffany was sixteen, Maria’s junior by five years, and almost in no use of parental supervision but it just seemed odd to the people of the block. There were always teenagers and the like coming in and out of the house but never an adult with any visible means of support. No adult to handle cable and phone repairmen or to shovel snow and mow lawns. Just c***dren. The simple fact was that dear mother only had two offspring, Tiffany and her older b*****r Chronos. As an unfortunate side effect of a heroine addiction, dear mother died and now Chronos, twenty-two, makes a living purchasing and selling the very thing that delivered his dear mother, among other choice items. The other c***dren people often mistake for cousins are k**s who skip school and hang out there or they work for him. They range from twenty years old to the delicate age of twelve. The house and bills are now in his name.
Tiffany’s key broke earlier that week so Maria drove through the alley to drop her off in back. They kept that door unlocked for a speedy escape in case there was ever any trouble. Any one foolish enough to enter without consent would be met with the business end of a bright nickel-plated Desert Eagle.
“Call me tomorrow night if you and the matchstick man aren’t pulling any forfeitures. The Dragon Room is having a special ladies night.”
“Sounds good. Sweet dreams Tif.”
As her friend got out and walked to the house, Maria sat and pondered for a moment Tiffany’s remarks on the senior citizens. Money for groceries and bills, pieces of inheritances and trusts were taken for no other reason than to satisfy a curiosity. Will it work? Won’t it work? But then she dismissed her guilt as she felt the roar of the truck rumble under her feet and winked at herself in the rear view mirror. In a little while she’d be in the shower and changed for a night out downtown.
After Tiffany eased into the house as not to incur the back door gargoyles wrath, she laid down to rest for work. She helped lonely single women and bitter sweet couples and families check movies and games out at the local video store a block away. The job was nothing more than a smoke screen merely to provide an excuse to her school marms and chums as to why she never wore the same thing twice or always ate off campus at lunch. The lie always made her chuckle and the measly paycheck every other Friday was nothing but gas and candy money. But the real cash she and her b*****r brought in was surprisingly spent well. As with most young people, whatever a popular musician ate, drank, drove or wore naturally she ate, drank, rode in and wore. Her choice of emulation was Jay-Z. A well-mannered character on a popular cable series though inspired her girlie items. Besides her employee’s uniform made of polyester, she was famed for saying ‘nothing touches this body but silk and cashmere’. She dressed her house just as well. From the outside it appears to be a nice-sized house with a raised porch in the middle of a Bellwood block. Ice-covered sidewalks littered with snack bags and pop bottles give it a purposeful run down look but inside were finely crafted multicolored jade figures adorned on the mahogany ottomans and tables. A shapely onyx statue of a warrior swordsman served as the back door guardian’s inanimate enf***er. Hardwood floors they had and covered them with Persian rugs, mostly black and gold. Her favorite piece though was the Grecian vase she had next to her PC on top of an office sized Montverde and Young desk. She and her b*****r often mused that at least a month’s product could be bought with the net worth of her room alone.
Clock in time was 7:30 p.m. for Tiffany at the movie house and it was now twenty minutes to. Being on time rarely mattered to her when it came to work but today she had to be late. A certain matter needed to be discussed with a man down the street. It was nothing serious really; just cases of missing money from a current buy. His street name was Parmesan. Tiffany always thought it was silly and no one ever knew how he acquired it.
Dressed in a pink tight-fitting sweat suit and armed with a SIG 9mm pistol in her matching bag, she left for work with one stop on the way. She had no real intention of using the weapon on the harmless thieving junkie but she knew better than anyone you could never anticipate what someone would do. Especially when their minds are chemically altered.
Three houses down the alley a car was passing by. Tiffany didn’t know the driver but recognized the passenger from school. It was a boy named Kaiser.
His nickname on the squad was ‘Kaiser roll’ and well earned because of the way he rolled over the opposing linemen to gain another notch in his twenty-six quarterback sacs that year alone. Although Tiffany detested school events, she had actually come to one game earlier that year and instantly became smitten by him. But because of her uncharacteristically timidity in front of him, he barely knew she was alive.
She gave them both a friendly wave and stepped aside to let the car through.
Now she was standing against the gate between the two houses across the alley from the apartment building where Parmesan lived when she smelled something sweet. Chloroform. A slightly damp rag was covering her face, blocking her vision but she felt the sharp stubble of a close shave on her neck. She tried to struggle and scream but was slowly fading away. Looking down the alley she spotted two red rear reflector lights and realized Kaiser and his friend hadn’t seen what was happening. She dropped her bag and the gun fell out with a light clunk sound as it hit the ice. Tiffany’s attacker said something before she blacked out but she could only make out the last word. A whispered ‘amen’.
She slowly awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. It sounded like singing. It was singing, in a high falsetto tone. A little disorientated Tiffany was but she could still make out the song. A recent rendition of Cruisin’ by Smokey Robinson. She felt cold and was torn from the terror and anger fighting for dominance in her bones. It became evident that terror won when she felt something warm and creepy between her thighs. She peed herself. On top of her heart pounding in her throat and tears swelling in her eyes, she strangely felt embarrassment at her incontinence. But it was that damned singing that drove her over. The bastard who snatched and chained her up was actually fucking singing! While she lies there naked, spread-eagled and shackled, he’s whistling a happy fucking tune!
She struggled to get a grip on herself. Couldn’t let the maniac see her anymore scared. “I’ll kill you shitbag when I get loose,” she said with a conviction more f***ed than believed.
“Then we’ll have to make sure it doesn’t get loose. And please, don’t be crude.” He was inhumanly calm as he continued to sing his song.
She blinked back the tears and could see he was totally nude and erect. She surveyed her surroundings and determined she was in a basement. There were white, holstered pipes leading from the opposite wall to a point in the ceiling and curved into the floor above. Three windows on each side had streetlamp light pouring in through insulated glass. Old furniture and boxes flanked the bed she was sprawled on and were stacked under the gray wooden steps leading upstairs. Dust and cobwebs covered everything, but the bed was immaculately clean. She could smell the bleach and lemon scent of detergent on the spread. She saw a washer and dryer set on the other side of the staircase behind the crazy fuck that sat so goddamned calm.
Disgustingly she thought he actually looked normal. Attractive even. The bastard had dark skin that looked just a little oily. Even if she didn’t notice the weight bench and other equipment in the far corner she could tell he worked out regularly. His chest and arms were ripped and he had shoulders like a professional wrestler. He was seemingly hairless all over even his head was shaved. The revelation she had on how-ugh-cute he might be sickened her to no end. Suddenly tears pooled in her eyes again and she chocked as not to wail.
“Look,” Tiffany said, “me and my b*****r got a ton of money and he’ll pay whatever you’re asking just please, don’t hurt me.”
“I don’t need its money.”
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you fuckin’ TOUCH ME!!” She screamed and rattled her chains and bared her teeth.
“Oh, I’ll do more than that.” In one fluid motion he rose to his feet and pounced on the pubescent little minx like a lion in for the kill. He had hands like vice grips on her shoulders and applied enough pressure to leave a permanent bruise. Using his knees to prop hers up he looked Tiffany dead in the eye and asked with a mock movie smile “ready?”
Before the thing could deliver another one of its crass remarks he thrust himself in its tight little powder fresh pussy. If he actually cared, he’d have noticed it was a little wet. Not just the urine he saw it release before, but secretion from its fear. As he entered, he could actually hear its cunt lips tearing from each other. Its screams were so sweet and young to him. Just like music. He relished in them as they exploded from its throat. How he did enjoy the short, raspy cries for death and mercy rather than the long, drawn out shrills like some of the others did. It felt so hot under him. It writhed in pain and twisted its limbs trying desperately to rid itself of the bonds. In. Out. In. Out. He pumped the little slit like a conjugal visit of a recent prisoner in for thirty years. The thing yelled and screamed, as it had to have felt its insides being stabbed and burned over and over. He was enjoying the thing so much he decided to taste it and with a quick glint of teeth he bit into its round full tit. “Raaahhh,” the thing shrilled so ungodly it made his dick even harder. The flesh ripped from the b**st’s feedbag for its non-existent bastard offspring left an acrid taste in his mouth but he savored it all the same. The bl**d gushed across his face like a warm bath as he swallowed the things muscle and skin. And the noise of the infliction was so good to him he bit it again. It had the wonderfully wet sound of pulling a coconut apart and with the same reward. The life juice oozed like the sticky-sweet milk of the fruit.
And still more crudeness from the b**st.
“We’re gonna rip your fuckin’ head off muthafucka,” it gurgled through chokes of bl**d.
“I don’t think (thrust) it’ll (thrust-punch) come (thrust) to that,” he told the squirming little thing. “They’ll be (slam-thrust) lucky if they (punch-thrust-thrust) find its remains (rip-thrust) at all.”
Rip. Tear. Thrust.
The thing kept emitting that sexy throaty scream, feeding his frenzy. It surrendered to his embrace and he could feel its orgasm.
Pump. Thrust. Rip.
The thing was drowning in fear. Overflowing with contempt. The moon-eyed sow was alive and took in every moment of him. He became more ferocious and his intensity grew stronger.
Tiffany felt every inch of every thrust and could taste the bile and vomit reaching up to her tongue. The maniac seemed like he wouldn’t stop. She silently prayed for death between screams and cried, thinking of her mother. She remembered how pretty she was before the d**gs took hold. How she’d hold her and frolic in the backyard with both she and Manson. She got so enthralled she called out to her. “Momma, help me,” she whispered so low that the maniac almost didn’t hear her.
“’Momma’ can’t help you now,” he said mocking her terror, “but I’ll bring you to the bitch later.” He yanked his sex out of the thing and flipped it over on its stomach. “Maybe when the stars fade, it’ll see its ‘momma’. Oh yes it will, yes it will.” He made kissing sounds and spoke in that annoying way affectionate masters converse with their dogs.
Punch. Pound. Thrust.
He shoved it so hard and bl**dy in the things taut young asshole the wind was knocked out of it. His toenails were cut to points and he used them to cut the back of its thighs wide open and he kept dragging the slits as he rode it.
Bite. Thrust. Squeal. Slice.
He was in a state of pure elation. Oh what pleasure he took in the pain and torment of the thing, of all his things. But this one was all wet and slick, younger than some of the ones before it and they just get better and better.
He couldn’t take the suspense anymore. Although he didn’t like the stigma of sodomy, the penetration and dampness made it so worthwhile. He always locked the things neck with one arm and held their ankles up with the other while thrusting to climax. This time would be no different.
Pound. Tear. Thrust. Splash.
Tiffany couldn’t breath. The maniac held so tight around her throat she chewed back the vomit threatening to expel itself. He had humiliated and violated her so viciously and to deepen his perversion, his sick twisted desire, he’d taken her behind. A place no man had been. With no care, no regard for her as a human being, the bastard literally ripped her a new one. She held her eyes tightly shut and still prayed for mercy but couldn’t hold the screams in. She burned and bled from head to toe as he savagely r**ed and beat her with the anger of a vengeful Greek god.
He turned the thing over on its back. Broken and bl**dy was his quarry and a smile came to his face.
“Please don’t. No more. Please!” It sobbed uncontrollably and begged with its big brown eyes.
“Well, at least it asks nicely,” he said then slapped it hard across the face and tore more flesh from its stomach with his teeth. Then came that wet, soothing coconut splitting sound again.
The raspy, throaty scream again.
The b**st was done. There was only one more satisfaction it could bring him.
Tiffany was covered with bl**d and gore, even more than the maniac. Her emotions still ran wild but fear was still winning. She couldn’t imagine how today’s events led up to this and it aggravated her terror. If only she stepped to the other side of that car she would’ve seen the bastard coming. Or maybe if she left for work five minutes earlier. The fact that something that simple could’ve prevented this shattered her to pieces.
The thing was naked, broken and dripping.
He was still enjoying the last chunk of its flesh he took. He licked his lips in an erotic circle motion while staring directly into the b**st’s twat. He lifted it off the bed around the back and knees and dropped it on the floor. The chains rattled and snapped as it hit the ground and that sound gave him another jolt in his groin.
Bite. Coconut. Squeal.
He wrapped the chains around the white pipes above and suspended it in the air, letting its feet dangle. He stood back to admire his work. ‘It’s moaning now’, he thinks to himself, ‘better work fast’. Although its youth still shone through, the things beauty was diminishing rapidly. Then it said something very low. He barely heard it. The thing gurgled “why.”
“Listen to me now,” said the raping bastard maniac. “I’m going to tell you why.” He pulled a small, shiny blade from under the mattress. It looked like a medical scalpel. “My name is Elminister. b*****r Manson Elminister. Not a title, it’s my first name. It is now four houses down from that debris-infested crack hole it lives in and it’s now about to die. Now that I’ve slaked my thirst.”
The son of a bitch fuckstick was actually talking to her. Calm as you please, just like before.
“And as for ‘why’,” he said narrowing his eyes, “simply because you were there. I was sitting upstairs reading, became aroused and decided to come out to play. And what a tasty little morsel it looked to be, trotting down the alley wrapped in pink.”
As he spoke Tiffany’s bl**d sprayed from his mouth. She thought she might throw up. This piece of shit was so fucking calm!
“And that’s how it is. I tend to do things as I feel and as soon as I feel. I’m just a mere slave to my urges. You are not the first and may not be the last. Depends on how I feel.”
“Sick bastard,” Tiffany said.
“I asked it not to do that.”
“Do it again, and I’ll slice your thumbs off and insert one in your vagina and the other in your rectum. And I’ll let your little b*****rs and s****rs find you naked and all messy in the snow. Now, will it be nice while it dies?” No response. b*****r said more sternly, “will it be nice while it dies?” It nodded. “Good. Now… this is really going to hurt.” He put the blade in its chest just below the clavicle, right above the sternum. Two, maybe three inches deep and dragged the knife very slowly down the middle.
Drag. Shrill. Squeal.
As he worked, the things eyes got big and round like saucers. It slung itself around in the throes of pure agony. If he hadn’t been so busy, he may have been moved to take a picture.
Drag. Squeal. Thrash.
He brought the blade to a halt just before he reached its pubis. The throaty screams came again. They almost haven’t stopped since he began. Oh, this thing was very good. So wet and delicious. It was a pity he couldn’t keep it but it lived too close. If someone reported it missing and the police searched for too long and found it by some untimely accident, they might put two and two together and suspect him. Then his brand of spontaneous fun would be over and, oh dear, that would be unacceptable.
The thing was still alive! So much pain endured and the usual final slit didn’t finish it off! How beautiful and resilient the thing was. Alive yes, but b*****r got an idea, a wickedly wonderful idea. He side stepped its body and was now on its left, staring at its profile. He then said, “This will hurt as well,” and delivered a kick to its back with a f***e that could shatter wood. It let out a noise that was new to him, like a dog yelping from a rolled newspaper only at a higher pitch. He kicked again and again until the thing was disemboweled. Its insides hit the floor with a satisfying, soaking wet slap.
The thing was dead and clean up would be easy.
b*****r carried its body to his rinsing room. He built it some time ago when he tired of carrying the dead things all the way upstairs. It was basically an all steel room with a slab and a catching trough under it. He rinsed the b**st off with plain water first to get the excess gore then he washed and scrubbed every part with bleach. At the orifices, he used a rag soaked with ammonia on a glass, hand-made phallus in a circular motion. He then dressed the thing in the clothes it wore when he brought it in.
After a piping hot shower and scrubbing of his own, b*****r bagged the thing and carried it out to the garage and loaded it in the trunk to drive around a bit.
At 2:15 a.m., seven hours after he’d enjoyed the b**st, it was time to get rid of it. He finally came to a stop in the Latin neighborhood about six blocks north of his house and carried it back to its home. Dressed in a red snowsuit and thermo-mask, he laid it down at the top of the front porch and calmly walked back to his car. He suddenly felt ravenously hungry and thought about what to eat once he got home.
Strange things impulses are. They are what drive our hearts, our minds and desires. Impulses make us think, maybe read, eat drink and sometimes even be merry. Other times you get an impulse to teach c***dren their ABC’s or become a nuclear technician. Unabashed, the good Lord bestowed impulses to Adam and Eve. The world’s first lovers. And because they followed an infinitely inferior impulse to listen to the snake instead of Him, 20,000 some-odd years later humans are still born into sin. Born with impulses. b*****r Manson Elmister understands this all too well. Strict, unrelenting impulses, as it were, have been the navigating f***e in most of his adult life. From his choice of religions, the legal changing of his first name, all the way to small things like what to watch on television or what movie to see (he often didn’t choose until he was standing in front of the theater). You just never knew with b*****r. That’s the bitch of it all. He doesn’t fit a profile or anyone’s trifecta. He never wet the bed as a c***d or man, he killed no a****ls only bugs until he has twenty-seven, and he never set a fire in his life. He has no woman issues stemming from old mom. She loved him when he was born and loves him now and every minute in between. In fact, his mother is alive and well and he sees her as often as he can. He has no God-complex nor is he pretentious enough to think he has a personal relationship with Him. But oddly enough, b*****r loves Him dearly and assumes that love is returned. More peculiar is the fact that he’s probably right.
He has almost no habits, good or bad, unless and urge moves him. He shops as if he has a f****y of five because he never knows what he’ll be hungry for. He’ll do almost anything in a day from watching a sitcom involving mother/daughter relations’ gone sour to ogling an adult magazine as a chaser to reading his chosen Bible verses. He rarely kept female company in public because of his one severe vice but when he did, they couldn’t get enough of him. Never a dull moment, he always had a laugh or exceptional conversation. He was just plain old good company. His brand of liquor was anything bottled or barreled and he chose not to smoke back in high school. Because of his nature, he didn’t keep a constant regime of exercises he’d do at the gym but he managed to stay in excellent physical condition. His back, torso, shoulders, arms and thighs were most important to him and he made it a point to build and tone these areas everyday. The gurus all tell you to give them at least a day to rest and harden but b*****r saw no reason for this. His method worked just fine and has been for two years. That’s the time that has passed since his brand of mischievous impulses has plagued the Midwest.
Story URL: http://xhamster.com/user/dickgod/posts/74921.html