Trash Daddy

1. Oooof, Maybe This Was Too Spicy

Dainty chains on a gothic miniskirt slap against my hands in tandem with my balls slapping against her slit. Dim fluorescent lights hum and flicker overhead while heavy-metal music blares through the old wooden door, masking the breathy moans of the chick I’m balls deep in.

Not my typical scene for sure, but variety is the spice of life. And I like my life spicy.

A shiny, pink pussy grips my cock. I pull out and slam into this chick”s cunt. Damn, that hole is good.

The living-dead girl moans and swivels her hips on my fuckstick, shooting licks of arousal into my groin. I press us against the discolored water-stained vanity top, pinning her fishnet-wrapped thighs. Black-rimmed and filthy, the bathroom sink lurks under her slim stomach. My hands smooth up her ribcage, lifting the black crop top to fondle her tits. Her nipples create little buds, tight with arousal; I slip them between my fingertips and squeeze, making her groan. Dark purple and black hair spills over my arm, and her head falls back as she fucks herself on my dick.

Our eyes meet in the filthy mirror. ”You feel fucking amazing; you know that?” I grunt.

The goth girl gives me a little smile and bites her bottom lip. Her big green eyes flutter closed.

“So.” I thrust hard, and her slick heat grips my cock. I grind deeper into her.

“Fucking.” Wednesday yelps as I shove her face into the mirror.

“Tight.” The vanity shakes violently as I drive into her. Pieces of dry, rotted caulking drop to the floor.

She cries out, grabbing onto the faucet and towel dispenser. ”It hurts.”

Panting in her ear, I smooth back her straight purple-black hair. ”It hurts, huh? Thought that was your thing, Wednesday?”

”It is. Do it harder.” Her pink tongue flicks out over her lips. She gives me a wolfish grin.

Laughter slips from between my lips. The Addams Family tune pops into my head, and I fuck to the rhythm. It’s been a while since I”ve had this much fun. Lust reaches a fever pitch as I watch my cock slide into her rosy pussy.

The bathroom door swings open, and some spike-headed dipshit with parachute pants stumbles in carrying an empty beer bottle.

”Do you fucking mind? I”m trying to nut here,” I snap, not bothering to stop ramming myself into Hot Topic. My balls ache. I”ve been slapping them against this slut for too long.

He freezes upon seeing us, jaw slackening. I”m sure we make quite the picture: me with my ass peeking out from under my baby-blue linen jacket, matching slacks bunched around my knees, and Wednesday bent over the sink with her head crammed against the mirror, ass up and bouncing perkily on my cock. God damn, does her ass ever bounce. My eyes flick over her pink puckered asshole.

Twisting to see who I”m talking to, Wednesday realizes we have an audience. Gasping, she tries to push down her skirt and shove her tits back into the crop top. Her desperate attempt to hold on to some false modesty is cute.

”Oh my fuckin god, get out!” she screeches. Could be me, or the parachute pants guy, or both. I don’t stop. He ducks into the nearest stall. Must have been him.

Her pussy squeezes my cock as she squirms around, trying to clothe herself. The pressure in my groin grows tight. I keep pounding the shit out of her, grunting with every thrust.

“Dude, for real?” she snaps.

I ignore her. My orgasm sharpens and crests, spilling me over the edge. Wrapping my arm around her waist, she rocks back on her black platform boots as my cock slips in one last time and explodes like a defective pressure cooker. Waves of bliss wash over me so intensely, my teeth sink into my bottom lip. I brace us against the vanity as my knees threaten to give out.

I moan into her hair, and my cock throbs and twitches as surges of pleasure steal over my mind. Her fuckhole wrings every last drop of cum from my balls. As I pull out, the condom sags with my hot spunk.

”Are you fuckin kidding me?” Wednesday yells. When she twists around, her nails come in contact with my face; fire burns across my cheek. I stumble back, panting from my orgasm and chuckling. My heart beats heavily as I enjoy the afterglow of a solid squirt. I’ll give it to her—fucking on the sink was hot.

Blood smears on my fingers as I wipe the scratch on my face. As I prop my back against a peeling blue stall, my dick kicks a few more times as I pull off the condom. A line of cum drips from my tip and plops onto the dirty floor. Oops.

”Why didn”t you fucking stop?” she says, yanking her clothes back into place.

”You”re the one who wanted to fuck in a busy public bathroom.” Mimicking her high-pitched voice, I mock, “I love the thrill. Come on, baby, let”s do something risky.” Settling my pants back on my hips, I tuck in my cock and zip. Remnants of my climax cause my muscles to twitch. Thirst dominates my dry mouth, and I scan the dirty bathroom for the beer I had earlier. “At least I offered the back seat of my car.”

I spy the dark amber bottle; a frothy puddle has formed underneath the tipped-over beer. Dammit. I swipe it up and chug the contents. A square, hard box in my pocket stabs my thigh. Hell, yes, come to Daddy. I drag out the pack of smokes and light one up. Inhaling deeply, I glance across the space between us. “You want one?”

She makes a disgusted sound. ”You”re a fucking pig.” Wadding up white paper napkins from the dispenser, she shoves them up her skirt and between her legs.

”Well, Wednesday, say oink oink ”cause you”re the one who wanted to get stabbed by my pork sword. I don’t do buyer”s remorse. Here”s my info, in case you ever want a second helping.” Reaching into my pants, I toss my business card at her. It lands at her feet.

Damp napkins pelt me and tumble to the floor, bright red smears across a few of them. A pang of remorse rolls through me. She did say harder, though.

”You’re disgusting,” she seethes. ”I would rather die than let you fuck me again.”

”I”m confused. So, you do or don”t want to fuck again, ”cause I know you”re into that slit-my-wrist shit, anyway.”

“You’ll regret this.” A smile that’s all teeth flares my way. Her middle finger curls up as she storms past me, purple lowlights flashing. Yanking the door open, she vanishes into a sea of black-clad people—green and yellow neon lasers beam over the throng like sunlight streaking through black clouds. The heavy door thuds behind her, barely silencing the demonic-sounding metal thumping in the other room.

Well, that’s a bummer. I shrug off the pang of disappointment and remind myself that where there is one crazy woman, there are bound to be others. Musical screams cover the sound of my footsteps as I step over the pearl of cum and approach the sink. Gunk sticks to the silver hot-water knob. My nose crinkles. When I turn the handle, it sprays sideways and is an unwelcoming cold. My dick shrivels. I don’t love the prospect of cleaning my cock in glacier water, but it might calm my aching balls. Before I can give my love gun a good wash and polish, one of the blue stall doors creaks open behind me, revealing the spike-headed dipshit.

”That was intense, man. Thought she was gonna eat your face off.”

Eyeing dipshit in the mirror, I talk around my cig. ”You don”t have much experience with angry women, do you?”

Hot ash drops off the cherry, landing on the sink”s rim.

”I”m gay.”

I pause for a moment, contemplating. ”How does being a gay man fare in this scene?”

He eyes me back. ”It”s okay, just have to stay away from the skinheads. You into men as well?”

Shocked laughter tumbles from my lips, my cig too. It lands in the wet sink, hissing as it goes out. If I were into men, the guy behind me wouldn”t cut it. ”I”ll explain this in your language, spike head. I”m only into stabbing the gash.”

Dipshit nods, but still checks out my ass. Rolling my eyes, I re-zip. He”s seen enough of my cock for one evening. I abandon the shitty bathroom.

Gutted concrete floors and walls rise up all around me, and a lofty ceiling of exposed industrial bones arches overhead. Music—loud enough to please the dark metal gods—assails me the second I leave the bathroom. Neon strobes flare, causing my eyes to dilate. Once I adjust to the flashing, I see a mass of stringy black hair whipping around to the music, like some kind of possessed hair monster. Cousin Itt has joined the party. Scantily clad women, all sporting some version of strappy black clothing, mill around, much to my delight. The night is still young.

Rings of glowing blue, pink, green, and yellow wrap around necks and wrists, dotting the crowd. Directly across the mosh pit of hair is Wednesday. Tears mixed with black eyeliner streak down her pale face. Hands flapping in irritation, she gestures toward the bathroom and back to the dudes in dark clothing that stand in front of her. Brows furrowed in a tight glare, one guy cracks his knuckles and nudges the other to follow him. Shit.

Slinking into the crowd, I bop along as they make their way over. Knowing I stand out with my slacks and a button-down, a spot of soft summer blue in a sea of black, I keep my eyes on the guys as I make my way to the stairs.

One guy in particular, the leader of the other two, is muscular. Prison thick, my mind supplies. As big guy turns to speak to his buddy, I catch a glimpse of a skull tattooed on his neck. Above it sits another tattoo, dead on the back of his shaved head—a swastika.

Yeah, it”s time to go.Not that I”m afraid of a fight, just an unfair one. With a bunch of Nazis in a heavy metal club. Found in the depths of an old meat processing plant. It just sounds like a bad idea, and it”s probably best if I turn in, anyway.

Industrial grated steps loom up and out of the darkened dance floor, their nonslip yellow and black safety tape peeling off in chunks. What remains reads, ”Watch your step.” I take them two at a time, heading for the parking lot.

Strips of plastic sheeting part and flap around me. Old sheetrock dust crunches under my feet as I exit through a battered hallway covered in graffiti. Cigarette smoke, cooking plastic, and stank, fishy air from the harbor assail my nose as I step outside. A few people mill around close to the entrance, if you can call it that. Without proper overhead lamps, the parking lot is pitch black except for the far-off lights from the smokestacks of the industrial yard.

A hand lands on my shoulder.

Fuck.

“Hey, man, you got a smoke?”

I fully expect to be in the grasp of two skinheads when I turn around. Instead, it”s a rail-thin, tweaked-out scruffy guy who sways in the breeze, looking at me all hopeful-like. But behind him, the big nazi from the dance floor stalks down the hallway, joined by a couple of men. Unfortunately, we make eye contact, and my future battered face reflects in his vision. Fuck.

Running makes me look guilty; not running could make me dead.

I make like lightning and bolt into the darkened parking lot. Ramming my hand into my pants pocket, I rip out my keys. Footfalls slap against the pavement close behind me. The hair stands on the back of my neck. Their lack of threats or insults adds to my sense of panic. Average Joes around here usually do some kind of chest-bumping before the blows start. These fucking guys, with their quiet seriousness and deliberate purpose, are fucking unnerving.

Shoving my keys into the door, I manage to get it open and throw myself in, only to be dragged back by a set of hands.

“Motherfucker!” My back rakes across the seat buckle as I roll over and kick out, my tan loafers connecting. A grunt later and I”m free. I slam the door shut, pressing down on the manual lock. Glass cracks next to my face as a fist smashes into it. Holy fuck, my car. My fucking baby! Voices and terse cursing come from a couple of the guys—nothing I can make out. I shove the keys in the ignition. Someone punches the window again, the crack spiderwebbing out. “Fucking hell, who are these guys?” I grind out from between my teeth.

The engine roars to life, and I tear out of the parking lot. The big guy slams his hands down on the hood of my car as he tucks and rolls, narrowly missing being splattered on my grill. Glancing in the mirror, I see his dark silhouette join his buddies. I can feel their eyes watching me drive away. They shrink in the fading red taillights of my Trans Am.

Nervous laughter bubbles up from my chest. God damn. Too close. Maybe a bit too spicy for a Tuesday night.

Smoke curls around my fingers as I light up again and inhale deeply. A cloud of smoke rolls out as I expel some of my nervous energy. Exiting the industrial parkway, I wind the Trans Am through back streets, making sure I’m not being followed. After several minutes of empty highway, I relax. Music pours through the stereo, and my favorite song, “Sex, Drugs, Etc.” by Beach Weather,pops up in my playlist.

Singing along, I take the scenic route home. My favorite highway back into town is a curving road down a dark and, hopefully, empty coastline. Nighttime beach drives have always refreshed my spirit ever since I jacked my first car at thirteen and took it careening down this very highway. A smile rolls across my lips at the memory of my youthful wildness.

I roll down my cracked window, and a cool, salty ocean breeze kisses my face and pushes back my hair. The wind catches the ash as I flick it off my cig, making the cherry grow bright. I inhale deeply, letting the melody and movement of the car wash away the night. Neon signs streak by like the tails of falling stars. Their light glints off the waxy shine of the hood.

Sailing along sandy beaches, I can hear the waves crash against the shore. Endless water and endless night sky stretch out alongside me—a black chasm of a mouth ready to swallow me. If not for the moon and the stars, I wouldn”t be able to tell which is which, and a part of me loves that. A part of me wants to be swallowed. To get lost in the riptides. My eyes narrow at the ocean and the night. Bring me the chaos.Double dog dare you.