Prologue

Angry Dick

Jax S. King

And there she is.

The door softly clicks and closes against my palm. Thanks to the rhythmic music emanating from invisible speakers placed strategically throughout the small room, she has yet to notice my intrusion. Her hips sway seductively to the beat, and her long pale hair that hangs loosely down her back follows suit. It brushes the top of her rounded ass, creating dirty images involving me pulling on the strands as I bend her over. The flickering fluorescent bulbs create shadows along her curves as she leans to adjust the machine beside her. The move gives a great view of her ass, and I can only imagine how those cheeks will spread for me. With my angry dick in hand, I'd run it up and down the slick folds of her cunt, coating my head and shaft until my Richard piercings gleamed with her arousal. I'd tease her until her lust drips down the inside of her milky white thighs.

I move silently toward her, each step bringing me closer to my prey and lessening the space in my jeans. If I were a man with a conscience, I'd feel guilty about how easy she's making this.

Her need to flee isn't an unfamiliar one for me. It reminds me of my childhood, but I also know the trauma has affected her in ways she has yet to discover. It's like a virus lying dormant, waiting patiently to be activated by some unknown brute force. That force is me. I'll be the one to show her how great it feels to be degraded and the adrenaline rush that comes with giving into dark fantasies. The first time we met, I could tell what she was by the way she clenched around my fingers on the exam table. A filthy fucking slut. My dick strains against the zipper of my jeans even more at the thought of making her do the most degrading things. Debauchery at a level she never thought was possible for her to sink to. The way she will try to convince her body to resist me. The fight I know is sure to come.

My desire is a tangible thing that can't be contained. It rumbles out in a groan from deep inside my chest. She must have heard it above the music because her entire body freezes. Her shoulders tense, and I'm pretty sure she has stopped breathing. Yep, my little dead girl definitely heard me. I can almost see her contemplating her next move, but right now, we are both paralyzed in this moment for what seems to last an eternity.

Her long, slender hand moves almost imperceptibly toward one of the shiny silver tools on her tray, and that's the green flag I was waiting for. I burst into action, darting out my gloved hand to grab a chunk of her hair. I twirl it around my wrist to get a better grip, then slam her head down onto the abdomen of the naked corpse she's working on. I sweep my gaze over the dead dude on her table, taking in the tattoos I know all too well.

Deep purple bruises encircle his neck. His lips and the pockets around his eyes are varying shades of dark blue. So this is what I would look like, dead.Huh. I'm mesmerized for a moment before a grin pulls at my lips. Oh, this just made things even more interesting.

Once she realizes she can't reach me at this angle, she reforms herself to gripping the side of the table and wiggling under my grasp as if she has a chance of breaking my hold. She cries out in frustration once she realizes there's no escape. What a shame for her. Once I set my sights on something, I don't stop until I get what's mine. She doesn't even know she's been claimed. There's no way out for her. Not even death can keep me from her. Even then, I'd consider keeping her as the most beautiful corpse I'd ever fuck.

"What's this we have here?" I taunt, grinding my hardness against her ass.

Not expecting her to answer, my eyes are drawn back to the body. His arm has been reattached from the looks of it with stitches and thick mounds of dried glue patches. I trail farther down his body until I reach between his thighs. His flaccid shaft is covered by a clear, cone-shaped device with a pump on the end.

I chuckle more to myself than at the scene that's laid out before me. With one hand in her hair, I move my other to her exposed neck. I leisurely rub my hand up and down the ridges of her vocal cords, squeezing and massaging. A much gentler and slower version than when I'm yanking on my cock. Monica's body shifts against mine, and I can tell she's trying to press her thick thighs together. I move swiftly to insert my knee between them, bunching up her skirt until it's almost around her hips.

"Let me go," she spits between gritted teeth, attempting to pull away.

"Oh no, you don't," I hiss, yanking her hair back a little so I can get a glimpse of her face.

The ski mask hiding my identity slightly obscures my vision. I want to take it off, but I enjoy the idea of being faceless, even if for only a few more seconds. Seeing the shock in her expression when I reveal the twist of events will make it that much sweeter.

"I knew you were a dirty, filthy corpse fucker, but I didn't expect it to be with one I killed… my twin," I say in jest.

A small gasp escapes her pretty lips, and her chest begins to move rapidly. "No. No. No. This can't be real. This isn't real." She's panicking from the predicament she's entwined herself in, and I have to reel her back in. I need her to not only hear me but understand me. Because what I have in store for her demands her full attention.

"I knew the moment I saw you spread open for me on my table you were mine," I growl, pulling her hair till her back is flush against my front. Her thighs squeeze together around my leg, and her throat moves beneath my palm as she swallows. Burying my nose in her hair, I ask, "Now that I have your undivided attention, little dead girl, let me ask you a question. Do you want both of our dicks?" There's a slight tremble in her frame, and her cunt grinds on my knee. I knew she was more despicable than she led on in my office, and I couldn't help but see just how far I could push her. "How about you take us both at the same time like the depraved little slut you are. One in your pussy and the other in your ass? Or do you want to choke on me while sitting on my dead brother's cock?"

A smirk plays on my lips when she whimpers. Her warmth seeps through her panties onto my leg, and I know I've got my goth girl right where I want her. There's no other proof I need to know she's extremely turned on.

She pretends to be a good girl, but she's far from it. She tries to keep all her cravings hidden. For instance, having sex with a dead man. Then there's when she pretended not to like it when I forced her to orgasm on my fingers. When really deep inside, she's actually begging for it. "No, no, no, no," she moans again. She shakes her head frantically back and forth as much as she possibly can with the way I'm restraining her.

She doesn't mean it, though. She wants to be able to tell herself that she said no so she doesn't have to admit how deprived her inner desires are.

"Ahh, don't be shy now. Show me how you make this fuck doll Frankenstein work for you." I chuckle at my own joke. Fuck doll Frankenstein. Ha. Ha.

Poor brother. I'm sure you'd be greatly humbled if you could see yourself now.

Monica, my beautiful dead girl, tries to pull away again. "No! Stop, please," she cries.

Removing my hand from her neck, I bar her middle with my forearm and lick the shell of her ear. "Mmmmm," I groan as I press my throbbing cock against her ass, satisfied by her decision to fight. My jeans grow tighter with every move she makes, rubbing her soft, pliable ass against my crotch. I never thought I'd lower myself to this level of depravity. I should have done it a lot sooner. Releasing her hair for a moment, I readjust myself, shifting my dick into a vertical position, granting the head of my dick room to breathe. I'm getting more turned on by the minute and can feel precum cool against my abs. I'm fairly certain if a mouse queefs in my direction, I'll jizz my pants from the slight breeze.

"Hold up,that's not fair! You can't start here," Jeremy whines from his prone state on the stainless steel table, "start from the beginning, baby brother."

My lips turn down in disgust at his interruption and incessant reminder of being the older twin by two minutes. Something he would never let me forget. I snarl, "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're going to stop the story and break the fourth wall like that? Right when I'm about to get my dick wet? Be serious, Mr. Responsible."

"You can't start here! Everyone should have the pleasure of knowing what a piece of shit you are. Or should I say failure?"

His eyes, which were once the same dark green as mine, are now cloudy. Muted. Dead. They stare back at me as his bottom lip cracks and splits down the middle when he smiles. Where it once would have bled an angry red, it's pale gray, bloodless meat, as well as heartless. The scene only serves to make the acid in my stomach curdle. His truest form if I ever saw it growing up.

"Fine. As long as you stay dead. I like you better that way," I admit, wanting him to return to his former lifeless self.

And As if we are a movie playing on the big screen, our lives are rewound to a week ago.