Forty five years ago

Maleficent

My soul feels scorched, burned, raw.

I just spent three days out in the fuckin' wasteland, trying to stay alive. Because of him.

If I sound bitter, it's because I am.

If Eulogy was any closer, or his aim any better, I'd have been dead for sure. I booked it out of Paradise Falls with the help of my only Stealth Boy and a 9mm SMG, dripping blood the whole way. By the time I reached my pack, I was crawling on my hands and knees, my right side soaked red, hoping that I still had insides for the stimpaks to knit back together.

When I had time to triage, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was. Still ugly, but manageable. Everything on the inside was more or less intact – the stimpak I'd used shortly after being shot had repaired most of that damage. The skin, however – that'd look nasty. I used another stimpak, and crawled deeper into the crevice I'd shoved my pack in, exhausted. When I woke up, I saw the scar and swore a blue streak. My skin was smooth, flawless in the vault. Now it was peppered and crosshatched with scars. Well, it's not the first, and it certainly won't be the last.

I know why it pisses me off – it's the first bullet I've taken for anyone else. All the rest, I've earned – through greed, cruelty, or stupidity. I guess I can chalk this one up to stupidity, too, though. I don't know why I thought that Eulogy'd just shake my hand, say "Nice knowin' ya," and let me waltz out the door, still good friends. When I told him I was quitting, I refused to give an explanation, which probably pissed him off something awful. But what was I gonna say? A few months and a spontaneous fuck with a ghoul, and I kept seeing his face when I tried to clap the collar on someone? I wasn't gonna risk my reputation to satisfy Eulogy's curiosity.

It was good money – shit, he even offered me more – but I couldn't fuckin' do it anymore.

I had to dump half the shit out of my pack to be able to carry it back. I felt weak; my insides fuckin' itched, burned. Not to mention, I had to sneak around to avoid slavers, all of which were looking for me after that debacle. Probably still are.

So, yeah. I'm fuckin' bitter.

I remember when I first saw him. I walked into the Ninth Circle and couldn't help but stare. I'd never seen anyone that big, much less a ghoul. I needed a man with a gun. I bought him. As far as I'm concerned, I bought him for a song. He's worth every cap, and then some.

He actually told me he loved me. I don't know what he expected me to feel, but I can tell he's disappointed. They're all the same – screw once, and they expect you to love 'em, act like you belong to them. I don't belong to nobody.

After the first time, I should've listened to my gut; told him to get lost, go back to Underworld. I couldn't help it – anyone who'd fight me the first time was worth keeping around. Anybody that'd slap me without a prompt was too rare to give up. The only other guy to do that was Jericho, but when the slaps turned into punches, I put a knife to his crotch and told him to get lost before I forced him to part with something he was very attached to.

I used to laugh at those shallow wasteland cunts who said they hated the guy they were with, but they wouldn't leave, because the sex was too good.

So, yeah – I can't let him go. Because the sex is too good.

And he can't let me go – even if he wanted to.

When I walk into the lobby at Tenpenny, nobody stares – everyone's used to me traipsing in with blood all over me. Just, most of the time, it's not mine. I feel nasty – I been moving for three days, being careful. Napping here and there, sneaking around. Eating on the go. I hadn't bathed since the day I left, so I bet I'm pretty fragrant.

He's almost on top of me as soon as I open the door, freaking out when he sees the torn, dirty clothes with huge bloodstains on them. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah – here's something you can do. Get your paws off me." He steps back and squares his shoulders, not used to being snapped at.

"Have some whiskey for me when I get out of the shower."

"Yes, mistress."

"Stop fuckin' calling me that."

"Yes, Mallie."

"Now don't look all dejected. After I get a shower, a drink, and a nap, you can have your fun." I smile as I peel off my shirt and toss it in the wastebasket. "Promise."

I crank up the hot water until it's just this side of tolerable and let it sear my skin. I soap myself down good, and finger the new, pink scar. He's gonna go apeshit when he sees that. He has a thing for my hair and skin. I figure he doesn't have much himself, and if he wants to covet mine, there's no harm in it. It feels good to be ogled sometimes.

I lean my forehead against the wall, and think. I've not only crossed a bridge, I've burned it behind me.

There's no patching it up with Eulogy. I'm done slaving. Now, all I gotta do is live with what I did. Having a conscience is turning out to be more trouble than it's worth.

I indulge in fantasy – at one time, I thought that I'd be able to snatch Paradise Falls from Eulogy's control. That I could be the biggest, baddest motherfucker on the block. He treated me not only as a valuable asset to him, but almost as an equal. I fully expected him to make me his protégé, or second-in-command – but he didn't. Too paranoid. Since I had designs on his empire, I guess he was right to be paranoid.

Now I'd never get that chance.

I yell, "Charon, get me a towel!" I'd rushed in so quick that I'd forgotten one.

I soap up my hair – shampoo is hard to come by, so we just use what we have. I rinse, close my eyes, and stand in the spray, let the water run down the back of my legs. Fuck 'em – I'll use all the hot water I want. I've earned it.

I turn around; savor the warm water on my breasts, my stomach. I rub myself down with the palms of my hands, squeeze my breasts together, catch a little water between them, and then drop them, the pooled water making a satisfying little splat sound in the tub. That's when I become aware of a slight rustling. "How long have you been in here?" I say, without opening my eyes. Watching me shower, without me knowing. You perv.

"Since you asked me to get you a towel."

"Way to get yourself all wound up." I sigh. "I'm done anyway." I turn off the water, wring out my hair, and allow him to help me out of the tub, glancing at the significant bulge in the crotch of his pants as I step over the rim. Wound up, indeed…that must be uncomfortable. I hold up my arms and let him wrap the towel around me. "Where's my whiskey?"

"On your nightstand."

I smile. "You know me too well."

After a double, I change my mind about the nap. I'm not as tired as I thought I was, and he's ready, eager, and more than willing.

The way our "arrangement" works is that I command him to command me. He's not allowed to bind or gag me, but anything goes – with a word, I can stop him instantly, if it gets too rough.

"I'm yours."

Commanding someone instead of taking orders must be intoxicating for him. He jumps into the role with gusto.

He tosses the towel away and fusses over my skin, examining my new scar, tracing it with the pad of one coarse index finger. He asks where I got it, how I got it, who gave it to me, but I refuse to answer. I'll either tell him later, or never, depends on how I feel. "Are you gonna fuck me, or give me the first, second, and third degree?" I sneer.

He slaps my cheek, hard, making me gasp with pleasure, and sending delicious shivers down my body. "This is my show, now." He growls. "Not yours."

"Yes sir."

"Roll over."

Just for the sake of being obstinate, I roll over slowly – or try to. He shoves me over the rest of the way, and pushes me into the mattress, my head dangling over the edge. He straddles me, leans down, whispers in my ear. "The anticipation must be killing you."

My eyes close, I shiver. He chuckles.

He nips my ear lobe, eliciting a surprised squeal. "Is that what you like?" I moan in response. My damp hair drapes over the edge of the bed.

He leans into me, pushing me deeper into the mattress. I can sense his bulk, his strength, his maleness, and it drives me wild. I squirm underneath him, rubbing against his crotch, and I'm rewarded with a frustrated grunt. "Do you want me?" he asks.

"Mmm…"

"Say it." he orders.

"Yes, yes, I want you." I plead.

"I'm not convinced." he teases. He lifts himself off of me. "On your knees."

He parts my legs, positions himself between them. Although still clothed, I can feel the heat of him behind me. He reaches to my shoulders, rakes his nails down my back. "Oh, will you stop playing and fuck me already?"

He presses a coarse finger near my opening, teases it. "No."

"You evil thing."

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak." He says. I clamp my mouth shut, obediently, biting my lower lip. "The next time you speak out of turn, I'll make you wish you hadn't."

He pushes a finger into me, and I stifle a moan. I tighten around him, and he pushes in another finger, making me gasp, gripping the sheets. He pumps them a few times, listening to me, feeling me. "Do you want me?" he asks, again.

"Oh, yes." I moan.

"Beg me."

I'm surprised. This hasn't happened before. "Please."

"Please, what?"

"Oh, please. Please fuck me. Please." I tremble as I hear the clink of his belt buckle, the rustle of his trousers falling. He presses against my opening.

"Oh, yes…" I whisper.

He smacks my ass with a heavy hand, and I cry out. "Shut up." He thrusts into me abruptly, hard, and I wail; push against him. His pace is fast, vigorous. He pulls my hips toward his, pulling my knees up off the bed. "Say my name!"

"Oh, Charon!"

"Say it!" He's thrusting into me hard, almost painful.

"Charon, yes!"

"Louder!" He slaps my ass hard, sending delicious waves of pain up my body.

The warmth between my legs spreads, becomes a fire that consumes my body from the inside out. "CHARON!" I scream, my elbows giving way, body bucking, and I tighten around him. He squeezes my hips painfully as he thrusts once, twice, and groans loudly through gritted teeth as he finds his release.

There's no way I'm letting this go.