Something That Starts with the Letter D
Disclaimer-I own nothing!
Paul dragged the unconscious form of a ten year old boy, face down, hair obscured by a red and white hat across the wooden floor of his empty house. Paul licked his lips after knocking him out-the flesh tan and taught on the developing body, calloused from eons on the road.
Paul picked the form up and examined the face. Sweet and angelic, the only imperfection on it were two small z shaped scars. With a gentle hand, he cradled the boy's left cheek, thumb rubbing the angelic features, taking care of the scars. Marks proving this angel wasn't so angelic.
He gently laid him down on the floor and walked away, retrieving a sledge hammer from his dad's room. When he came back, brandishing the weapon, he stopped. Could he do it? Would he do it? And then another thought popped into his mind: It's just like sex.
With little trouble he picked up his sledge hammer and brought them down hard on the boy's shin, successfully breaking the bone.
Just like sex. Just like sex. It's just like sex!
Memories of his first came to him for a second. The pale clump of flesh that was made into something like a club that stuck out from pale hips that were framed nicely in tan abs and legs. It was just there, twitching in anticipation. It was just there. Not really unsavory, yet the idea wasn't that accepted by him, either. His mouth descended upon it…
"It's just…like…sex." He whispered as he lowered the hammer upon the other shin, blood noticeable to him now, splattering his pants and the bottom of his shirt. He straddled the boy's waist as he slapped the boy's cheek repeatedly. Nothing.
He'd have to play the waiting game.
His head bobbed up and down, taking as much in his mouth as he could-which wasn't a lot, but enough to please the other. It didn't taste like he expected, he had expected it to taste like a finger. Like flesh. It did, but it had this rubbery quality to it, too.
A moan stifles his thought and he focuses again on what he's doing. A little extra suction here, a twirl of the tongue there, take out to lick, then back in. He wasn't too experienced in this field-only what he saw in porn, but the moans of pleasure spoke volumes. The gentle weight of a hand tangling in his hair another.
"P…Paul…I'm gonna….I'm gonna cum."
Paul knows he's getting a choice here. Get off and jack him off or finish him as is. He made his choice…
"Good morning, scum bag," Paul said, his legs on either side of the boy, straddling his hips, leaning over his face. "Hell says hello."
"Who are you?"
"That game won't work on me!" Paul shouted, his face contorting in rage. "You always play that amnesia game…But it won't work! It won't work!"
"I have no idea what you're…Aaahhh!" He screams after trying to bend his knee to get up from the floor. "What did you do to my legs?"
"Had to break them." Paul stated matter-of-factly. "No running away."
Salty liquid coated his tongue. Sloshing it around in his mouth, he appreciated it and thought it didn't taste all that bad. Pants were heard from the teen above him, his hand stroking his hair affectionately.
He was returned the favor but found sucking the other more pleasurable than the other way around.
"You walked out on me…" Venom cascading from his voice. "We were in love and you had to move onto another region, leaving me behind. Even after I begged you to stay."
"What are you talking about?" The boy said. "I don't love you…I don't even know you!"
"Liar!" Paul stomped on his broken right leg, eliciting a strangled cry.
"You are a liar! You've lied from the start.…All you ever wanted was a mouth to please you. Someone whom all you needed was to smile at and he'd be ensnared by you;" A faraway look glazes the purple haired boy's eyes. "to do whatever you wanted."
Paul picks up a knife.
"You'll never hurt anyone else ever again…"
He sits on his knees to tear off the boy's pants and boxers. The boy sees what he's looking at and begs. But his pleas fall on deaf ears. Paul places the blade at the base of a tan-no-pale cock accented by tan hips. He begins cutting in a see-saw fashion, digging through muscle and organic tubes. Blood coated the knife from blade to hilt and ran down to his scrotum, coating the hairless sack and legs in crimson.
Once it was off Paul glared at it in disdain and threw it against the far wall with a sickening splat. A large spot of crimson was left where dead flesh meet wall and a trail of it where it slid down the wall. The boy-Ash-was crying. The pain unbearable.
Ash took Paul over to the side. He explained that he was invited to continue in a new league. Paul was upset; he wasn't invited to go there…Ash loved him right? He would stay here with him, right?
WRONG!
"I'm sorry, Paul…" The rest forgotten and unheard. It hurt too much.
Paul stabbed and cut the boy he thought was Ash up until his body stopped convulsing. And-almost as if a fog had cleared-reality set in. Dropping the knife in horror at what he had done, he began to cry.
He knew the boy beneath him was not Ash. Knew before this ever happened; but he looked so much like him! Just like the others. They all looked just like him. And the memory of what he had done pissed him off so very much.
With a sigh he stood up and took his clothes off and walked, naked, into the kitchen for a trash bag where he threw the offending articles inside, tying it closed afterwards.
Washing his hands in the kitchen sink, his eyes watching the crimson trickle down the drain with morbid fascination. Drying his hands, he placed gloves on his hands and carried the boy up to his bathroom where he washed and dried the corpse. Keeping the gloves on, he carried the body towards the woods behind his house. Of course, he walked far enough away so that suspicion was not wholly on him. He then walked back towards the house and dumped the bag inside his outside trash bin.
He hated what he had done. But that did not mean he wanted to give up his freedom. No, cause he could be helped-as long as people stop looking like him.