Happy Hour
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
  Free! ***Author's Note: How do you think the 1st person is working here as opposed to the 3rd I've been using so far? Leave a comment..

I couldn’t fucking believe it. He actually did it. My master came to claim me. He actually got me out of that goddamn loony trap. No more dirty walls and bland food and nasty pills.

We ran our asses off. It was hard to do in slippers. We ran through those mazey hospital halls with the guards’ footsteps right behind us, then out the door to this beater car he had stolen and parked out front.

In the getaway car I rolled down the window all the way, stuck my face out and breathed the yummy summer air. At that point, I felt what a bullet does when it pops from the barrel of a gun. A rush of cold and motion. It was all so bright, it was almost cartooney. I watched the roads and houses and trees swish past the window in colorful streaks.

“I should have locked you two in the trunk.” Master said as the wailing of sirens got nearer, like a gigantic squalling infant was stomping our way, crushing parked cars with each barefoot step.

“I can just hear it now.” My master squeezed his nasals shut to do his best Chicago cop impression, “Ehh..he’s a Cahcazhin male, abaht 6 foot 2, turdy yeahs old, wit a twenny yeah old Cahcazhin femayle, a twenny tree yeah old black femayle, boat of um 5 feet tall and wearin’ hahspiddle gahns…”

Alicia and me laughed at that. Alicia asked Master, “Hey man, uh, what’s your name?”

“It’s Gustav. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Get ready girls, we’re gonna ditch this car about…here!” He cut the wheel sharply to the right, stopped the car and leapt from the driver’s seat. I jumped out the car, too, stumbling after Master across a green lawn. They must’ve just watered it, ‘cuz my slippers got soggy.

“Great. I leave them crazies for these crazies!” I heard Alicia say as she shut the car door and ran to catch up with us. She yelped when twigs in the lawn sliced through her slippers and cut her bare feet.

After hopping from backyard to backyard, over picket and wire fences, past scary guard dogs and old ladies in curlers, Master finally quit running. His long legs stopped beneath him like newly dead snakes.

“This is the house. My buddy John lives here. He should be out in a second.” Master pointed up to a white house with peeling paint. A stack of old tires sat next to the rickety porch.

“John? Oh god!” I said. “Alicia, watch out for this dude!” I cringed and curled my lip.

“Whatchu mean?” Alicia grinned. “I be starvin’ for dick!”

“Uh, not this one.”

The screen door of the house swung open. A lumpy figure in a yellowed wife beater now crowded the doorway.

“John, my man, hear those sirens?” Master began, the excitement boiling blue in his gaze. “They’re for us.” He gestured toward me and Alicia. We were still panting from running. The squalling infant noise got louder.

John narrowed his already pinched slits of eyes and leered. “Mmm who’s this here?” He nodded his chin at Alicia.

“That is Alicia. A friend of my dear slave, Hela.” He placed his big, soft hand on my back. I knew I was sparkling under his touch.

“Kay, come on in.” John said in his slight southern accent. He lifted the knob on the screen door. We climbed the porch stairs. A musky stink of dog hair and cigarette smoke slapped me on the nose as we entered the house.

John’s basement was actually pretty cozy, despite the piles of rancid laundry and dog hair all over the couches. Oddly enough, I hadn’t seen or heard the dog yet. Alicia and John were watching the news to see if there was a report about us.

“The first thing we do is get rid of that hair.” Master pointed to my head.

“Can’t we fuck first?” I begged.

Master smiled, making creases shoot from the corners of his eyes. “Hel, that faded red shag you’ve got growing is much too obvious.” He grabbed my arm and led me into the bathroom. On the sink was an electric razor and what I assumed were John’s whiskers dotting the faucet.

Master slapped my ass. “Now bend over. Over the bath tub.” I did as he asked.

Soon, I heard the bumblebee sound of the razor, felt a lightness overwhelm my scalp and watched clumps of matted hair collect in the bathtub below me in cherry-colored bird nests.

Master petted my newly bald head. The tiny hairs on my lower back stood tall. From the warm shock of his fingers, and maybe to compensate for the lack of fuzz on my scalp.

John and Alicia’s eyes ticked back and forth from us to the TV news, then back to us.

I was on my hands and knees, Master pressing my lower back down with one hand and holding his belt in the other. His fat cock glided in and out of my ass with the wetness of poo and spit, from when I had sucked on him just a few minutes before. I felt his hot thighs slap against my ass cheeks with each thrust. My butthole stung as it stretched around his swollen dick.

“I promise, I promise, I’ll never get caught again.” I breathed between screams.

“Mmm… that’s a good little slave.” Master moaned from deep in his chest. His voice was like whisky and chocolate syrup. He moved his hand from my back, reached around my side and began to rub my clit as he fucked my ass. The wetness gushed out of me, all over Master’s fingers and dripped down onto the icky brown carpet.

The tightness in my butt, paired with the pulsing tickle in my clit was too much for me to stand any longer. I felt a hot swelling inside me. Master cracked me on the ass with the belt a few times and the sting was electric.

“Uhaaaahhh!” I squeaked and the childishness of my voice sent me twitching into a massive cum. My clit was exploding. It felt like it was trying to jump off my crotch.

As my body loosened, Master started to fuck me harder and faster. The force of him tossed me around like a doll. My big, soft ass smacked his stomach. He let out a low and animal grunt. A rush of warmth erupted inside my butt, like the sweetest diarrhea. Master slowed down and sighed.

I pooped out his cock. My asshole was deliciously sore. I rose to my rugburned knees, turned around and looked at my master. His mounds of muscles were laced in sun-light hairs. His eyelids were hanging low over his dilated pupils. His chest heaved gently.

“I missed you, Hela.” He said and half-smiled. Then laughed and pointed to the couch.

Alicia was naked and straddling John, who was sitting. Her short, brown legs barely reaching around his pasty, bulging sides. With a grinding of her hips, she bounced up and down on his cock. She noticed me and Master looking.

“I like big boys.” she said and winked.

 
Comments:
well i find 1st person is a constent dialogue, which is good if you plan to create characters who have little diolague. It primarily focuses on one persons thoughts to give a more objective view of the world your writing about . It would seem people like to hear alot of dialogue through one perpective in what they read, it gives them a better link to the over all identity of the story rather then a cold analytical onslaught of metaphors explaining every detail. In my Opinion I enjoyed the Chapter you read me over the phone more then any of the chapters here. But then thats just me. I enjoy metaphors, most people don't. or do. Im out of touch...
 
i Also like to hear the author talking of experience with more of an identity. an ajacent identity like a character which is detatched to an egotists vision of self glorification of meaning rather then a properly round about inserted discription. This is secondary to the flow of arrogants that should be pulsing through overtop of the description of any events. You need to work on juxtaposing a more personal and emotional aethetics to the visual landscape.
 
If you don't catch my meaning im sorry, i do often sound like i've been translated over from german. lol
 
The main character is emotionally detached. So if the scene was too filtered through her emotions, it wouldn't really reflect her perceptions. If that makes any sense.. but I get what you mean.
 
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