Strange Girls Read online

  Once I have him where I want him, Lydia scoots back to let him up for air. He almost throws her back into the wall as he sits up, pissed to high heaven that he’s been tied to the bed.

  Mark jerks his knees up in an attempt to pull free, but all he does is make his bonds tighter. Just because I spend all of my time in my apartment now doesn’t mean I’ve never left the house. I am a highly-decorated Girl Scout. I’ve learned a thing or two or ten about tying some damn knots.

  “Untie me.” He grips hold of the scarf on his left leg and tugs on it, but it only gets a fraction longer. Growing a little more frustrated, he yanks on the scarf on the right side. Nothing happens.

  I straddle his legs and his eyes drop down to my crotch. He stills as I scoot myself forward until my bottom is resting against the tops of his knees. I swear his mouth waters as he watches me watch him. My hands raise up and I curl the ends of my pigtails around my index fingers, arching my back slightly to bring his attention to my hard nipples.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I say as I tug slightly on the ends of my hair and cock my head to the side in what I assume is an innocent look. I’ve only ever seen one porn star do this, so I hope I’m doing it right and don’t look like a nervous idiot.

  The side of his mouth quirks up and the corners of his eyes relax. He inches his hands up the sides of my legs until he gets to the top of them just beneath my cheeks and yanks me down quickly onto his lap. His dick stabs me brutally, missing its mark and sliding up between us. Mark grabs my ass cheeks and pulls me tightly against him, moving up and down his length for a moment before stopping and staring me down.

  Mark is a volatile man. How fast he can go from warm to cold in a split second worries me. If teenagers are really his thing, I worry for the ones he is able to sink his teeth into. The size of his dick is scary enough, but the lunatic hiding behind his eyes controlling that massive piece of meat is scarier.

  He lowers his head and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, all the while staring me down like a predator waiting for his prey to run. I want to. I want to scamper back as quickly as possible and put as much space between he and I as I can. I want to see what a man looks like when he’s crazed and can’t obtain the thing he wants. I also want to run out of this room, out of this apartment, out of my own life, and never look back. If he stays tied up long enough, then maybe he won’t find me, and I can escape whatever trouble I have gotten myself into. But I can’t do that.

  Breaking eye contact with Mark, I look straight ahead to find Lydia. I couldn’t leave without her, and I’m not sure that she would even go. But I can’t run from everything anymore. I can’t run from this. She’s willing to stay with me until the end, and that’s more than I could ever wish for.

  I cup Mark’s head to my breast and arch against him as Lydia kneels behind him, sandwiching him between us. As soon as he slips back for air, a euphoric smile spreads over his face. That changes quickly as Lydia drops the loop over his head and pulls on the end of the belt, tightening it around his throat.

  His eyes widen in shock as Lydia yanks on the belt, pulling him back against her. Mark’s arms flail slightly before his hands grip the purple belt around his throat. I’m stunned in utter amazement as I watch all the emotions that cross his face and the unspoken questions filling his eyes. All questions I don’t want to answer.

  All questions I couldn’t answer even if I wanted to, because at that moment, he lets go of the belt and wraps his hands around my throat and squeezes with all his might.

  Chapter Twelve

  Artemis

  I loosen the belt’s grip around Mark’s neck for a moment. I feel so powerful and in control right now, that I want to see if he’s really capable of snapping Susie’s neck. Is he that angry, to be able to take a life without thinking of the consequence? Or would this be more of a survival tactic? Something that he would do in order to win his life from us and, perhaps, show his dominance as the only man in the room.

  It’s clear to me that the testosterone in his body is outweighing the smarts in his brain, so as Susie begins to gasp for air and claw at his wrists, I give the belt a hard, tug. Only once; hard enough to get him back down on the bed, rigid and complacent.

  Just how he should be.

  I cock my head to the right and look down at his face. The tighter I pull, the more crimson it becomes, but something about this makes me wish I was in his place instead. Not because I wanted to save him from being strangled; guys like Mark deserve much worse than that, but because there was something about breath control play that always soaked my panties through.

  Well, fuck. I guess I’m not going to kill you after all.

  I’ve just decided that. If I can liken this situation to BCP, then Mark has a stellar chance of walking out of this bedroom with his balls still attached.

  To be quite honest, I think it was all his talk about him being "daddy” that’s keeping him straight in my head. And it’s also making me question my fucking sanity. Could be because that’s the first time I heard someone refer to me as their little girl since I was about six years old.

  But not just anyone.

  Mark.

  I’m sure he always knew that one day it would come to this, but I never thought I’d have a friend to help me.

  Uncle Mark was my mom’s boyfriend after Dad died, and what a boyfriend he turned out to be. He never abused me; I guess that’s important to remember, but when I got my period for the first time at thirteen years old, Mom was at work. Night shifts at the hospital and day shifts doing whatever the hell he did for a living would often leave me by myself, but it was almost like fate intervened that day.

  Anyway, Mark is the one that told me about the reproductive system, and he’s also the one that helped me put a tampon in for the first time. And the second time, and the third, until eventually it became a little game we would play. Every time my pussy would bleed, here came Uncle Mark to slide my tampon in and out until he felt it was “securely” in place. Usually, it just led to him getting a hard-on and nothing more, but it was fun.

  But he never fucked me; not until just now, and I always wondered if he was as good as I would hear Mom screaming to God through the walls about. He wasn’t bad, but I didn’t exactly get to try him out by myself, so that kind of soured the deal for me.

  “Think we should kill him?” I ask Susie, coming back to the present moment.

  “No!” she croaks loudly, her hands rubbing her throat.

  I roll my eyes. This girl would never be okay with killing Mark and, honestly, I’m not sure I would be either, but I have my reasons for wanting him dead, and I know it has to be done. I hadn’t torn my eyes away from his reddening face yet. I can’t help but watch in awe at the colors the human body turns into when it perceives itself to be under attack.

  White. Blue. Red. Dark red. Bright red. Purple. And, finally, the sick ashen gray color of death. I trail a finger down the side of his face, gently pressing down on one of the now bulging veins and smile.

  “Why are you so hell-bent on killing him?” Susie asks in a curious, throaty tone. “Did he do something to you?”

  I chuckle and glance up at her. “Susie Q, you ask too many questions for a girl not willing to do any more than just fuck.”

  “For the last time, my name is Sissy,” she corrects through grit teeth.

  I roll my eyes at her then look back down at Mark, who’s turning that pretty shade of violet. It’s not because he can’t breathe; I’m making sure he has enough oxygen. It’s because he’s getting angry, and that moves the blood just as quickly as the struggle to survive. I don’t know why he’s angry though. Nothing about this scenario will play out in his favor no matter how much he wants it too.

  So okay, he got to fuck me and Susie, what was the rest of his plan after that? Did he even have one or would he just keep coming back and fucking us until he decided we weren’t worthy of him anymore and moved on?

  Personally, I wouldn’t mind either
way this played itself out, but I really didn’t think it was fair to dress up Susie like a pig-tailed little girl and rope her into his weird fantasies.

  After all these years, I’m surprised he hadn’t figured out yet that I wasn’t exactly up for sharing him. Anyone else I didn’t give a fuck about. I’ve been to those little sex clubs, I’ve fucked husbands and wives together and apart, boyfriends, girlfriends, and everyone in between, but I just didn’t like the idea of sharing Mark.

  I have a special bond with him even if he doesn’t want to admit it, even though I’ve always held off fucking him until today.

  “Fuck,” I say with a long-suffering sigh under my breath.

  “Lydia?” Susie suddenly asks.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t think he’s breathing anymore.”

  What?

  I look down at Mark and frantically begin to undo the belt. Oh shit! OH FUCK! He’s not red anymore, he’s starting to turn a strange pale shade of blue, and it dawns on me that the entire fucking time I was daydreaming and reliving my tampon fucking days, I had begun to tighten the belt around his fucking neck without realizing it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sissy

  This can’t be happening. All of this is a horrible nightmare that I will wake up from. I’ll have fallen asleep while drinking my tea earlier and my beautiful little teacup will be perfect on my coffee table and there won’t be two naked people in my bed, one of them literally dead staring me with glassy eyes.

  I wanted to kill Mark. Oh, I wanted to kill him. Then I didn’t want to kill him. Then I wanted to kill him again. Then, when he wrapped his hand around my throat, I didn’t. Something about that scared the shit out of me. It flipped a switch in my brain or made me sober up. Something. Because I wasn’t sure I could do to him what I just felt him do to me. It was terrifying.

  And Lydia … I’m not sure where she disappeared to. Wherever it was, she clutched that belt like a lifeline, towing herself ashore to keep from drowning. Not entirely sure she needed to steal Mark’s life to keep hold of hers. But what the hell do I know. Maybe she’s reliving something similar to what I relive every damn day. If that’s the case, as long as we have each other to lean on, I’ll help her. I’ll grab the end of that belt, too, and we’ll play tug o’ war with it until his head pops clean off his shoulders. What’s up with that saying anyway? If someone’s head pops clean off their shoulders, that’s not going to be clean. It’s going to be a fucking mess! So does it mean a clean break, a clean cut? Because this would be like a boil bursting and oozing shit everywhere. Mark’s brains would be like an enormous STD.

  I stare down at Mark’s dying eyes as I imagine his head exploding, like a boil being popped and spraying everything around us. A sort of giddiness overcomes me. An olfactory memory triggers a rotting, pus-filled scent. I watch Dr. Pimple Popper religiously. I crave the release. The thought of poking something with a needle and watching it ooze before it pops ….

  “Lydia?” I ask as I lean my head to the side and watch as Mark slowly dies.

  “Yeah?” she responds, still somewhere off in her own little world.

  “I don’t think he’s breathing anymore.”

  Lydia’s head snaps down and panic sets into her features. She instantly lets go of the belt and stares at him intently, as if he’s going to take a big gulp of air and everything is going to be just fine.

  But that doesn’t happen.

  And Lydia is far from being fine.

  She undoes the belt and slaps at his cheeks. Nothing happens. His eyes remain eerily still and hard like candy.

  “Mark, come on. This isn’t funny, fucker!” Lydia’s voice shakes as it rises into hysterics.

  “I don’t think he’s joking around,” I state. “I think he’s dead.”

  “No, no, no, no ….” She continues with her no’s as she shoves me out of the way and straddles his waist. Her hands push on his chest a few times before she reaches up and smacks his face.

  When she reaches over to smack his cheek again, I grab her hand and put it back on his chest. I stare at his face growing more ashen with every second that ticks by. It’s strange to be in the presence of a dead person anyway. But add to the fact that you are one of the reasons they are dead and it’s surreal. If I wasn’t already partially clinical—according to people who I think are clinical—this would be enough to drive me there. The image of an old-time station wagon ambulance pops into my head, lights flashing. That would actually be kind of fun to ride in. I could be a Ghostbuster. I’d probably end up being Louis Tully wearing the straightjacket at the end.

  “Hey!” Lydia shouts in my ear, and I jump.

  Frantically, I lean down and touch my mouth to his, opening it wider with my fingers. One deep breath after another fills his lungs and causes his chest to rise. Just as I start to get a little light headed, I hear a tiny rattle. I stop and drop my ear down to his mouth as I watch his chest for any movement. Then I see it and hear a wheezing cough.

  I jerk back and gaze into the eyes of a dead man. They aren’t so dead anymore. Tears fill his eyes as they try to moisten themselves and he tries to catch his breath.

  Lydia’s head drops back as she says a silent prayer to my ceiling, her body slouching as the anxiety leaves her. I’m not really sure what to say to her at the moment. I think we’re both fucking confused with the entire situation, and to be honest, I think she’s a little fucking crazy herself. I’ve never met anyone like her before.

  A gasp catches my attention and I look down at Mark. He’s trying to say something, but he can’t quite get it out yet. He must need a drink.

  “Go get him some water, will ya?” I ask Lydia.

  She glances down at Mark with angry, regretful eyes before sliding off him and going to the kitchen.

  “It’ll be okay. Just try to relax,” I say to him.

  He stares at me with terror-filled eyes. I don’t blame him. This is the second time today that he’s been fucked up because of me. I’d want to run the hell out of here as well. Not that he didn’t just commit consensual rape as payment for his silence and plumbing skills.

  Mark’s mouth moves again and a croak escapes his lips. I lay my finger over his lips and shush him, but he blows at my finger trying to push it away.

  “What?” I ask him, then bend over and place my ear next to his mouth.

  His voice cracks and croaks, but I can clearly make out what he says. “Get the fuck away from me, you crazy cunt.”

  My body stiffens as his words reverberate through me. I may be a lot of things—anxious, depressed, agoraphobic, anthropomorphism, demisexual, a touch neurotic, and maybe even a cunt at times, because who isn’t—but crazy is not one of them.

  I face him slowly, the empathy I felt for him burning away like flash paper as my eyes meet his. Mark’s blank stare says it all. He knows he fucked up. I swear he can see the flames burning it all away in the depths of my gaze as he holds still. Not even a twitch in his face. Nothing.

  “Repeat what you just said to me.”

  The words are robotic. If I add a hint of the emotions I feel at the moment, that whole scene of his head exploding will actually occur. My voice will rupture his eadrums with such power that his head will implode and explode all at once. Just how I imagine God’s voice would do to someone. And wouldn’t that be a fucking sight to see.

  His eyes jerk to my mouth that twitches up in the corner. Just slightly. But he’s hyperaware of everything at this very moment. He should be. Because if he keeps this shit up, I won’t care if he lives or dies, and I’ll be the one doing it this time regardless what Lydia wants.

  Mark’s lips move again and I lean over to make sure what I heard a minute ago wasn’t just in my mind. His hot breath fans the side of my face just as he grunts out something inaudible. Then he latches onto my ear.

  The surprise of it shocks me to my core. As soon as understanding hits me, so does the pain shooting through my ear and down into my neck. My mouth drops
open, but it hurts so bad I can’t say anything right away. One of my arms wraps around his head to try to grab his chin and the other arm flails looking for purchase. It finds it alright, just as I’m finally able to release a shriek. And so does Mark—as I squeeze on his junk. But he doesn’t let go. No, if anything, he bites down harder, and I swear that I can feel his teeth touching through my skin.

  “Let go!” I shout at him as I squeeze and yank on his meat.

  He groans, but holds tight, as he clamps his thighs together and tries to hold my hand in place. He can squeeze all he wants. All he’s doing is digging my nails into his flesh further. He might have permanent moon-shaped scars on his pecker if he keeps it up.

  In the midst of struggling against him and with him, ice cold water hits my face and pours all over us. I gasp and jerk, and when I do, I scream in pain—right in Lydia’s pissed off face.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Artemis

  I don’t understand how it is that I keep getting Mark wound up for some fun and Susie gets first go at him. Granted, it looks like I broke up a struggle for continuance of life, but goddamn; when would it be my turn first for once?

  What gets me the most is that this could have been completely fucking avoided if Slum Lord of the Century had made sure that my goddamn pipes worked before I moved in. Coffee is the only thing I’ve been on the hunt for and, so far, the only sip I’ve been able to get I’ve had to share with his dick.

  I knew I should have ran away when I realized he was the landlord here, but I just can’t help playing with him from time to time. Showing him the goods has always been fun, but he’s only just recently gotten to touch and it drives me fucking nuts that I have to share that damn touch with someone else. I still haven’t figured out why it bothers me so much, which is adding to my mania when it comes to Mark’s dick.

  Fuck.

  I let the cold water fly so violently out of the glass I had come back into the room holding that I almost let go of the glass itself. That could have definitely added to the fray. It seems that the splash was enough to get their attention and it seems even more that the anger sitting plain as day on my face is holding their attention.