Thursday, February 2, 2012

EYES OF DOOM-VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL AND VIOLENT SCENES-NO ONE UNDER EIGHTEEN, PLEASE

This is my Friday Flash for the Vamplit Blog. REMEMBER: NO CHILDREN SHOULD BE READING THIS!


 Eyes Of Doom



     He sits on the bar stool, wearing dark shades even though the joint is typical of the poorly lit gin joints frequenting this part of town. There's barely enough light for the bar-keep to mix and pour drinks. But that's what is wanted here. No one wants to see all that goes on in this or any of the other dives in the area.

     Yet, the activity in here does not escape his eyes. Nothing escapes his eyes.   

     Over in a corner booth, after a drug deal has been completed, the mysterious, magical powder is spread on the table top, and the occupants snort to their hearts content. Between the drug of choice, a few beers, and a cheap bottle of rot-gut, they're wasted in no time, and their unconscious forms flop over every which way.

     No more than five feet from where he sits, some floozy is trying to get some scratch by giving a guy a blow job on the bar stool, sucking him dry when his jizz erupts in wild frenzy. He groans in ecstasy and gladly parts with a couple of twenties when his composure returns. She takes the money. plants a kiss on his forehead, and orders a gin and tonic. Mr. Satisfied slaps his flacid manhood inside his pants and zips himself up.

     He shakes his head. Different bar, same shit. It's always the same: drugs, sex, and alcohol. Sometimes a lethal mix.

     Yet, for him, it is all a show. One he will become an active participant in.

     "Would you like some company, stranger?" 

     He looks at a young lady, dressed to the nines, smiling at him. It would seem she's a bit out of place for this skid row den of iniquity, but he's seen high class hookers trolling the dredges, trying to separate men from their money, knowing that before they are in any condition to enjoy her company, they will pass out in any of a myriad of stupors.

     "Sure," he says, "it is a bit lonely in here."

     He waves a twenty at the bartender and gets a martini for his companion and a neat Scotch for himself.

     "I'm not here very often," she says, "but I've never seen you here before. A man like you would be hard to forget.'

     Ah, so typical: different woman, same approach. Pitiful, really.

     "Just passing through," he says, "trying to absorb a little of the local color, so to speak. and you? You don't quite seem to fit here."

     She places her hand on his knee and works it slowly and deliberately towards his groin. "I am looking for a certain type of man tonight, a man who rises above the rest, who knows how to treat a lady, and how to show her a good time. Do you know of anyone like that?"

     A smile crosses his face. "I believe I do. I suggest before your hands go any higher that we perhaps leave this shit-hole and go to a place where the moment can be fully appreciated."

    "And where might that be?"

     "To my apartment. I'll call a cab, and we can be there in minutes."

     She purrs with delight and slides in next to him once the cab arrives, teasing him with her hands and the provocative show of skin she displays. Ten minutes later, the cab pulls up in front of a gorgeous brownstone and they walk inside.

     It's not at all the apartment she had envisioned. This is a house. He owns the whole damned house, and it is fitted with lavish furnishings, gorgeous art work-both paintings and sculpture-and a crystal chandelier of such breadth she wonders why it hasn't fallen from the ceiling.

     "This . . .this is your apartment?"

     "Yes, do you like it?"

     "Very much so!"

     "Let me take you to my favorite room, my dear. If you like what you have seen so far, you are in for a special treat."

     He takes her by the hand and leads her to the bedroom. She gasps in disbelief at the size of the bed, easily twice the size of a standard king. Never has she seen anything quite like this. Mirrors, grand, huge gilded mirrors are everywhere. There is no way that any vision of themselves they wish to see as they are making love will go unseen.

     Walking to a huge wood appointed refrigerator, he removes a bottle of champagne and skillfully pops the cork. He pours them both a glass and motions for her to sit on the edge of the bed. She does as he asks, and when they have consumed the bubbling wine, he sets the goblets to the side and gently removes her clothing, piece by piece, until she is wearing nothing other than her natural splendor.

     "Oh, you are a lovely lady. I will enjoy pleasing you and myself."

     He removes his clothing swiftly and is beside her in the bed in seconds. The ambiance of the room has her love juices flowing rapidly, and he takes her over and over again, driving deeper with each orgasm they experience, there seeming to be no end to his virile endurance.

     Exhausted, she lies there, barely able to move, wondering why he has not removed his sun glasses. It would be a comical sight were it not for the fact he is so well hung. Nothing could detract from that vision.

    When she is able to talk, she asks,"Why do you always wear the shades? Are your eyes sensitive to light?"

     Smiling, he says nothing, merely removing them as she gasps in horror. No sound comes from her throat as she gasps for breath, unable to cope with the visual before her. She looks deep into his eyes and sees the soul of pure evil, far beyond anything she could have ever imagined. picture after picture is shown her, in time frames unfamiliar to her as well as those that are.

     My God! She sees herself, back when she turned her first trick, stealing all the money her sleeping customer had before slipping out the door; the time she slit the throat of a man because he was ten dollars short of the bargained price; and the time she killed a regular and his new choice of the evening in a fit of rage, emptying a .38 into both of them.

     "Not liking what you're seeing, my lady friend? Are you disturbed by these visions of evil, many caused by what you have done? You are. I can tell. Look deeper, and you will see a young woman leaving her baby on the steps outside a church because of his medical deformities, things she can not accept.

     "This poor child was born with eyes that were not really eyes. They were so much more. Not only were his dark black eyes the portal to his soul, they were the portal to the soul of anyone gazing into his eyes. Yes, my dear: I can see your past, the present, and your future."

     She screams, for she can see her future as well; through his eyes; tied to his soul.

     They come for her, grabbing her so tight she feels as if they will tear her limbs off. Out of the light and into the darkness she goes.

     Then it is all over.

     He dresses and looks in the mirror, liking what he sees. To others, viewing him as he is now, he is a monster, a very paradigm of evil. Ah, but they see themselves in his eyes as well. It is not his fault they chose the path they did.

     The night is still young. He dons his shades and hails a cab.

     "Where to, Mac?" the cabbie asks.

     "Wherever people are looking to have a good time, my friend. A place where there is sex, drugs, booze, and music. Yes, music would be nice this time around." 

     The cabbie heads to the east side. he knows the place; the perfect place.

     Tonight, more than other nights, this will be the city that doesn't sleep.



Blaze McRob

     

      

2 comments:

  1. Blaze has been naughty this week and you play naughty very well! Another great flash!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you, T.K! I had not planned on coming up with this particular story. It flowed out of me. Playing on the wild side from time to time is cool. :D

    Blaze

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