Most Unclean
Tyler Knight
Winter 2010
Winter 2010
My face is pressed against the sliding glass door, hands cupped around my eyes to cut the glare. I look inside. She is there.
A chestnut-haired girl with her back turned to me is stretching. She’s got bubblegum-flavored short-shorts that said “fuck it” to trying to cover her entire ass, the crease of where her cheek meets leg visible. She parts her legs and leans over each one to get a full stretch. No underwear. She turns to profile and shows off tits; like Jell-O shrink-wrapped in skin and bursting out of the baby-doll t-shirt. Jiggly-girl, oblivious to me because of the iPod plugged into her head, bounces off some jumping jacks.
There is a mist of dew on the glass from my breath; I wipe it with my sleeve to unobscure my view. She bounces. Young. Firm. Juicy. I slide the door open, not concerned with being heard, and let myself in.
She doesn’t see me at first. Not until it’s too late anyway. To her, I just materialized out of thin-fucking-air to the soundtrack of Blink 182. It takes her a moment to realize what this is. Recognition melts to horror across her pretty face. She runs, I chase. She trips, I grab. She rolls from her belly to her back in attempt to fend me off, kicking with her sock-clad feet and scratching up at my face but it’s futile. I’m too big.
She continues to struggle so I give her a back-hand slap to settle her down. With a fistful of hair, I drag Bubble-Butt Barbie to the sofa, scoop her up and dump her. Those juicy tits strain her shirt and there is enough space between the warp and weft of each thread that I can see her skin beneath. I rip it open. She screams. I smile.
The girl is no longer struggling so the fun-factor is on the wane. I lace my hands around her neck and squeeze. She claws at my hand for the time it takes to tie my shoes, her hand goes limp and her pupils focus on the Infinity.
There’s the taste of salt on my tongue as I suckle her fist-sized aureole. I unzip my pants and take out my cock. No one is more surprised than I that it’s ripping out of its skin, looking like a shellacked table-leg. Sliding down her body, I shove my nose in her camel-toe and take deep inhalations of expired fear. Next, I rub myself on her cleft.
She stirs, moans and her eyes come back from the void. I wrap her iPod cord around her neck and finish the job.
“Cut!”
The girl springs up, as alive as she was when she stepped off the makeup chair before we started. She giggles. I stare at the floor.
Frank says, “Fuckin a’, that was inspiring! You are an amazing actor, I didn’t think you had it in you!”
Great. I’m a homicidal necrophiliac. Awesome. File that under shit I learn about myself I wish I never knew.
My armpits are drenching my t-shirt. “I’m full of surprises.” I break my gaze with the floor and look at my costar. “You okay, Stephanie?”
She is pouting, and under different circumstances, it would be cute. “Yeah, I’m fine. Frank, why didn’t you let him stick it in me? That was hot!”
What?
Frank says, “No can do, honey. Snuff, or even portraying snuff is no bueno. My viewers will be disappointed though. They are the ones that submit these scenarios, and I film them custom just for them.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Yeah, Thousands of people all over the world. It’s a hell of a niche. Not my taste but hey, it paid for my BMW so what the fuck do I care. 90% of the shit the fans suggest ain’t even close to legal, though. There are some sick bastards out there.”
My erection is still going strong.
Yeah.
“Okay,” Frank says. “Next scene!”
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