by Laurie Razor
[[Static Debris: Chapter 1]] Two lives, one story. ~2,042 Words (Draft)
| Long before the bullets flew, I hated those wretched little retards, though I have to admit, their mother paid me well to care for the gimpy fuckers. At the time, I wasn't sure if it was worth it due to how often they'd mess with me; it took almost a month of gagging before I learned they could wipe their arses, and at every feeding time, they'd laugh and launch mouthfuls of mush at me. While caring for these spastic cunts, I met Emily, my rolling aphrodite. It feels as though we met only yesterday; how can nine months fly by so fast?
Every afternoon at three o'clock, I'd take Gerald and Cheryl to the park up the road from their house; Gerald would sit in his wheelchair and stare up at the trees, while Cheryl would sit on a bench and murmur at the cars that passed. One day, Gerald accidentally crashed into her, leaving both of them lying on the grass beside the concrete path. Cheryl moseyed over to her bench, indifferent to her brother's howls, and stared at the traffic. To shut him up, I helped him back in his chair, and he rolled away. The smiling girl on the grass presented herself to me, and I ogled every part of her; that sculpted face, those frail arms, her slender calves, even her emaciated stomach excited me. As I scooped her up, I noticed that her skin goose-pimpled all over, and she cooed.
This limp beauty in my arms didn't move nor speak, and at the time, I feared for her; I later learned her silence sprang from her sudden ability to feel. She felt me then, more than she'd felt anything before. I held her for the longest time; finally, after I deposited her back into her wheelchair, she said, "I, I'm Emily Von Brandt. Who, who are you?" Her nervous stutterings made my breath flutter. We spoke for hours that day, and I remember Karen Schaeffer, Gerald and Cheryl's fat cow of a mother, scolding me for keeping her darling children out too late. Emily explained that her quadriplegia came from an undiagnosed birth defect, and she had no control or sensation from the neck down until that day.
Almost every day since then, we met up at the park and made out with an avid lust reserved for hormonal teenagers. My hands ran along her thighs, caressing her atrophied musculature, and she'd tremble. Gerald's gazed at us with approval as I groped her exposed flesh; his young eyes upon us delighted us further. Although we soon needed to take things to another level, and so, one night, I snuck in Emily's window. I watched as her mother stumbled down the road to whatever sullen hollow would still serve her; alcoholism is a cowardly demon.
Emily screamed when I entered, then belted out a laugh when she saw me approach. Once I straddled her in her specially made bed, she grinned and commanded, "fuck me; fuck me hard!" And that's what I did. We shattered our virginities, unleashed our licentiousness, and subconsciously awoke a dormant venereal beast within each of us. I remember before I departed that night, she said she wished she could see our messy aftermath; I took a photo of her nethers dripping my seed and showed it to her.
Every night after, I'd put the dinguses to bed, run down the street, vault through her window, and defile her. Our carnal trysts soon grew boring; we experienced all we could through regular sex and searched for new ways to gratify our urges. After scouring the internet for weeks, we found nothing that sparked our interests for longer than a night or so. By complete accident, it found us, when a knock came at Emily's bedroom door, followed by her mother, Susan, yelling out, "hey, Emmy? I got some ice creams from that little shop near the pub. D'you want one?" I froze, elbow-deep inside her vaginal cavity, my forearm smothered in toothpaste. "No, mom. I'm still full from dinner," which was a lie, as I made her a peanut butter sandwich not long after I got there because Susan got drunk and forgot to feed her again, "I'm going to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." "Alright dear, goodnight then," she replied before loudly stomping off to her room. Our skin tingled with excitement, and again we furiously fucked like naughty schoolchildren. As it turns out, we craved danger.
From then on, we got more daring with our intimate exploits; for example, I'd finger her in the park while Gerald watched, not that he could tell anyone being mute. Some days, I'd reach down as if I were about to penetrate her, then I'd slip off her plastic underwear and throw them in the trash, exposing her perfect cunt to anyone walking by. Then a day came when I knew we'd taken our exploits too far. While Cheryl was busy staring at the road, I wheeled Gerald down to the nearby abandoned train tunnel where Emily waited for us. Once inside, I leaned down to the spasming sixteen-year-old and whispered in his ear, "unzip, kiddo. Here's a little gift from me to you." Confusedly giggling, he freed his hard pecker and waggled it around a little, as I wheeled Emily in front of him. Once she sat opposite him, she smiled, bucked her head and tipped forward; he caught her by her ears and slowly lowered her head as he continued laughing. She choked as he bounced her mouth upon his flesh-rod over and over, even after he ejaculated. When he finished, I helped her sit upright, slipped off her shirt, wiped the semen from her face with the underside of her shirt, and redressed her before we all went home. A few days later, Karen Schaeffer found her precious son trying to force his screaming sister's head onto his exposed erection; as you'd expect, she wasn't too pleased. Instantly, I got the blame, and she threatened to call my agency if I didn't leave her house immediately. She said I'd corrupted his innocence, and I guess I shouldn't have responded that it was bound to happen anyway. I may have given myself away.
Jobless, and homeless, I hid in Emily's room for a few hours before the idea struck us to run away together. I'd saved up a nice bit of scratch, so I knew we'd be alright, but we didn't want her mother chasing after us; even though we both knew that Susan didn't care much about her daughter, Emily informed me that she gets paid a ton from the government for caring for her. The moment she realized her cash cow left her, we'd have the cops bearing down on us, and we didn't want that, so we came up with a plan. Neither of us liked it, but we had no choice, extreme problems require extreme solutions, and this was a doozy.
I hid in a dark corner of the lounge room until she came home, Emily waited on her mom's favorite recliner, and once we heard that doorknob turn, we sprang into action. Emily, feigning distress, called out to her mother, then when she crossed the room, I grabbed her and held a knife to her throat. As drunk as she was, she realized the severity of the situation and stopped stumbling as I walked her to the bathroom. Once there, I commanded her to undress before I retrieved a few ropes I'd prepared from under the sink. After she was down to her underwear, I hogtied her and plopped her in the bathtub. She pleaded and cried, but I remained silent as I ran to the kitchen and returned with her impressive stockpile of liquor in a wheelbarrow. When I passed the lounge room, Emily yelled out, "shut that bitch up! She's giving me a headache." I stomped on Susan's head, slamming her face into the porcelain, and making her bleed a little. She indeed stopped hollering after that.
As she laid there sobbing, I plugged up the tub and poured copious amounts of alcohol on top of her; by the end of it, she could barely hold her head above the potent concoction. I walked out to the lounge room and knelt in front of Emily, "are you ready?" She grinned that devilish smile of hers and nodded; I turned around and affixed her to my back with the harness I'd tied. We entered the bathroom, me and my living-backpack, and I was surprised to hear her sneer, "well, mom, it's time to say goodbye. Oh, but first, how about one last smoke? You always liked a smoke with your drink." I pulled a cigarette out of her pack, slipped it in her mouth, lit her zippo lighter and tossed it in the tub with her, expecting a massive fireball, but the liquids drenched the flame instead. This trussed-up, drenched whore laughed as she saw the lighter sink into the yellowish-brown pool beneath her. Pissed off, I stepped closer to the tub and placed my foot over her head again before turning to face my beloved who nodded approvingly, before I firmly pressed Susan's face into the ethanol solution. She flailed about for a few minutes, a lot longer than I would've expected, but eventually, she stopped. Never again could she damage my darling.
We were about to leave when Emily piped up, "hang on, we can't leave things like this. I think I know how we can send this place back where it belongs." She guided me to the garage, where a few half-filled jerry cans sat beside a rusty old Volvo. The house lit up like tissue paper; a celebration of our newfound freedom, well, half of it; we'd planned to set the Schaeffer house alight also, and were on our way until we heard bursts of gunfire coming from inside.
Foreign voices shouted a language we couldn't understand. Cheryl appeared at her bedroom window upstairs, when she saw us she screamed only a moment before her head exploded in a visceral spray. I turned and ran as fast as I could towards the park. Adrenaline overtook my mind, and all I could think was that the abandoned train tunnel had a small service door that led to what I thought was the sewers. Once we reached the park, chunks of grass popped in front of us, and I felt the bullets barely miss us. Somehow I lost them before we reached the train tunnel and disappeared underground. I was able to block the door with a corroded lead pipe, and thankfully we had powered lights, but one look proved that this was no sewer. Cables lined the cramped ceiling, and the walls were painfully white; all I hoped was that these bad guys wouldn't find us.
I carefully propped Emily against one of the walls and sat crosslegged opposite her. "Why were they shooting at us and who were they?" My mind raced like a horse speeding around a circuit, trying in vain to get somewhere but when I reach the end, I'm right back where I began, "I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. Why would anybody want to kill us? What did we do to deserve this?" She wept, not cried, nor blubbered, but wept and I joined her; I laid down on the concrete floor, placed my head in her lap, and we wept for hours until we both passed out. Our emotional foray into slumber could've easily gotten us killed, although we lucked out.
When I awoke the next morning, I carefully slipped the sleeping Emily onto my back, and took off blindly down the tunnels; I figured we needed supplies if we were to survive this hellscape, and we should find something within these halls. Emily woke up soon after, and yawned, "hmm, morning. I was about to say I had the strangest nightmare, but it looks like I haven't woken up yet." I stopped, pulled her head forward, kissed her on the cheek, and responded, "if you wake up, could you wake me too? I don't like this dream much either."