Sick Fux by Tillie Cole
“Rabbit,” she whispered and stroked my arm. Her hand covered one of mine and she pulled it from the wheel, over the stick shift and across to her thigh. She sucked in a breath when I touched her bare skin.
“I need you to touch me,” Dolly whispered into my ear. “Only you. No one else. No one else can touch. Just my Rabbit. Because my Rabbit makes me feel sooo good.” I growled low in my throat. “And your Dolly is the only one who can touch you.” She guided my hand closer to her pussy. I could feel the heat of it under the hem of her skirt. “No bad men can hurt us anymore. Because Dolly and Rabbit take their touch away with each other’s hands and mouths and naughty parts.” She moaned and slipped my hand into her frilly knickers. The minute my fingers felt her pussy, hot and wet, I hissed and turned my head to ravage her mouth with my own.
Dolly moaned against my mouth, then bit down hard. Her teeth sank into my lip, piercing the flesh. She smashed her mouth against mine again, sipping at the blood from my lip. The car swerved, and I pulled my mouth away. I straightened the car before we plunged into a tree. But Dolly’s lips licked down my cheek and neck as she moved closer and closer to me.
I was about to pull the car over and fuck her on the side of the road, when spots of rain began pelting our skin. Dolly gasped as a raindrop hit her cheek, and she looked to the sky. She closed her eyes as a deep rumble of thunder sounded. The spots of rain gave way to a torrential downpour. Fork lightning struck the tree-lined pastures in the near distance. Dolly’s loud laughter drowned out the music from her cassette. When I looked over at her, her head was tipped back, eyes closed as slews of water ran down her skin, washing the blood onto my leather seats. Her hands shot into the air as the rain cleansed her of the fuckers’ blood.
I was so entranced, watching her mascara and the clock around her left eye track down her cheeks, that I almost missed the sirens blaring in the distance.
Police.
Growling under my breath, I took Dolly’s arm and yanked her down to the seat. She snapped her head my way, a scowl on her beautiful face. The makeup she had so perfectly applied before the hacienda was now smudged, black lining her eyes and pink smearing her lips.
She looked wild. Wild, and so fucking beautiful.
“Police,” I spat as I stamped my foot on the gas. The Mustang roared as I redlined her. I flicked off the lights and plunged us into darkness.
The maid, I thought as Dolly searched behind us for any sign of blue lights.
“No matter what you do, never leave any witnesses alive,” Hyde insisted before I left.
Chapel nodded in agreement. “No matter if they are innocent, kill them quick. Leave no eyes open that have seen your face.”
But I’d fucked up. Failed on the number-one rule of killing, all because my little Dolly thought the maid looked pretty. Like a fucking doll.
I checked the rearview mirror—no hint of blue lights. I raced down the deserted country roads as fast as I could. The sirens grew faint, but I knew there would be more coming. Rain pelted the windshield; I was driving blind.
“Run, run, Rabbit,” Dolly sang beside me. “Run, run as fast as you can!” I glanced at her from the side of my eye. She was bouncing on her seat in sheer excitement.
She had no fucking idea what would happen if they caught us.
I thought back to the state she was in when I found her. She would revert to that. Dolly ripped from Wonderland, plunged back into the room of doors. Too big to fit through any door that gave her back her life . . . her sane mind.
I didn’t want her sane mind. I wanted her like this: fucked up, and dark perfection.
I pushed the gas pedal so hard the car shook at the effort. I drove for hours and hours, until we arrived at a small town. We were both drenched, and I could no longer see through the raging storm. Spotting a building up ahead, set back from the road and surrounded by thick trees, I turned right and headed that way. The car skidded on the rough gravel as I turned in and parked us around back, under the cover of trees and darkness. We would wait out the cops before moving to our next destination.
I cut the engine, the rain lessening some due to the shelter of the thick leaves of the trees. Dolly leaned over the console and, looking up at the bright neon lights dancing on the building’s roof, asked, “What does it say, Rabbit?”
I looked over at her. With her clothes wet, she looked so young. All big blue eyes and pink lips. Her dress clung to her body, her tits wet and glistening. The blood now only stained her dress and socks. “Rabbit?” she said, stroking the rain-slick hair from my face.
I looked up at the sign, and my eyebrow rose in interest. “Girls,” I said, watching the neon woman dance on the roof.
“Girls . . .” Dolly said in awe. She sat forward in her seat and imitated the dancing woman. Even with the worry of the police and not knowing what the fuck this place really was, I couldn’t help but stare at my girl. My eyes were always fixed on her. I could never look away. Nothing else in the firmament—stars, sun or sea—was enough to pull my gaze from her.
Taking out my cell, I texted Chapel.
Me: Call the cops. Tell them you saw us heading east. Throw them off our track.
Chapel: Well, how lovely to hear from you, young squire. I am, as they say, “on it.”
Another reply followed almost immediately.
Chapel: How many to go?
I glanced at Dolly, who was still dancing as she listened to her cassette, staring at the neon dancer in rapt fascination.
Me: Two.
Chapel: Exciting times, Dapper Dan. Good luck. Hyde sends his regards . . . so does Henry, though he has not been around so much lately.
I frowned, wondering why Henry had been absent, when another crack of thunder sounded above us. It was getting closer. I got out of the car and opened Dolly’s side. “Let’s go, darlin’.” She took my proffered hand, and we walked to the entrance of the building. A muscled man stood in the doorway. His eyes narrowed as we approached. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“ID,” he said. I raised my eyebrow at him.
“Wow . . .” Dolly peeked around me. “You’re huge!” She reached out and pressed one of his arms. I ripped her hand away. She narrowed her eyes at me, pissed, but I didn’t care. She didn’t fucking touch anyone else but me.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out wads of hundred-dollar bills. I edged forward and stuffed them into the giant’s jacket pocket. His eyes were wide as he saw how much I had put in there. Cash, courtesy of Tweedledee and Tweedledum’s secret office stash, that I had taken, for safekeeping, before we left.
I stepped back and rested my hands on my cane. “No questions. No ID. A private room. And if the police come, you didn’t see us.”
The meathead stared at me. I smirked, waiting for him to challenge me. In fact, I invited it. But the meathead stepped out of our way and opened the door. Taking Dolly’s hand, I entered the building. The stench of smoke clogged the air. Music shook the walls as the meathead led us down a hallway. My feet stuck to the carpet. And I tightened my grip on Dolly as men walked past us, looking her up and down as she smiled wide at them and waved, dancing to the music as she walked.
Meathead led us through a red curtain . . . and my eyes widened at the scene before us. I yanked Dolly to my side. Her jaw dropped as she looked up at a stage. Women, naked women, and women divesting themselves of their clothes to music, drew our gaze. Men loitered around the side of the stage. One woman dropped to a crouch, a solitary string posing as panties on her oily body. A man slipped cash into the string, and then she got back up and danced away to the other side of the stage.
It wasn’t dancing like Dolly did for me. These whores fucked men with their eyes as they paraded around the stage in high heels. They rocked their bodies and touched themselves.
“Rabbit . . .” Dolly whispered, loud enough for me to hear. She was transfixed by the women. She never took her eyes off them. I didn’t take my eyes off her, so I didn’t feel a whore touch my back
Unable to stand her fucking touch on me, I spun around and grabbed her by her throat. I slammed her back into the wall and braced my cane at the side of her head, gun side, ready to fire. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I thundered as her eyes widened in shock. I squeezed my hand tighter around her throat, watching her eyes turn red.
Bitch was going to die.
A hand on my shoulder wrenched me from her. I turned, teeth gritted, ready to fucking slit some throat. The meathead stood there. “Don’t touch the talent,” he said, then backed off, arms in the air, when he saw my murderous face.
I rolled my head back to the whore, just in time to see the bitch run away to a back room. Rage built inside me, until Dolly slid her arms around my waist. She flattened her breasts and body against my stomach. I quickly inhaled the scent of her hair. Of the perfume that she always wore—roses.
Roses, roses, roses.
Dolly looked up at me and smiled. I exhaled the long breath I held imprisoned in my chest. But I could still feel that bitch. I could still feel her, until . . .
Dolly threaded her arms around to my back and began to rub the spot the whore had dared to touch. I breathed. I breathed and breathed as Dolly’s touch started to replace that of the whore. But I needed more. As my anger lingered, as I watched the pulse in Dolly’s neck throb, and as her hands touched me, igniting my blood, I needed so much fucking more.
“Room,” I demanded, knowing the meathead remained standing behind me. “Private room. Now. Or consider the money I gave you your funeral costs.”
The meathead walked to the right and down another hallway. Moans and groans emerged from the under the doors. But we kept on walking, my hand braced at the back of Dolly’s neck. The meathead stopped at a door and handed me a key. “It locks. There’s a back entrance too, just in case.” I nodded. Clearly we weren’t the first people they’d harbored for cash.
Just as I was about to enter the room, a text came through on my cell.
Chapel: Done. Took the bait. Wait an hour before you leave. Godspeed.
I slid the cell back in my pocket and walked through the door. Dolly followed, pushing past me when she saw what was in the center. “A stage . . .” she whispered and edged closer. She reached up, stroking the metal pole in the center of the black stage.
“It’s what the women out there were using to dance.” I shut the door, locking us inside. The lights were dim, only a red glow coming from the ceiling light. Music pumped through the speakers. Facing the stage was a large couch.
I walked past Dolly, anger still ripping through me like a hurricane. My cock hardened as I felt my pulse pounding and my blood rushing through my veins. As I passed Dolly, I reached out and brushed my fingers over the back of her neck. My sharp thimble scraped at the wet skin. Dolly turned, eyes leaden, and curved her spine into me. I kept going to the couch. Without looking back, I shed my jacket and tossed it to the corner of the room. I sat down and rested my hands on the rabbit head on my cane.
I leaned against the back of the couch. Then I looked up. Looked up to see Dolly watching me from beside the stage. Her hair was wet. Her eyes were wide. Pupils dilated.
I knew she’d be wet too.
I knew she’d liked seeing me slam that whore up against that wall for touching what was hers. Her pussy leaked at the fact that it was only her touch I could ever stand.
Her tits pushed against the corset of her dress. Chapel would rip into me for calling them “tits.” Breasts, he had told me. Dapper Dan, one must never sound like an uneducated, classless heathen. Even if the shoe fits.
But right now, with the heat from the kill and the need to slaughter the whore who touched me, I was a fucking heathen. And I was staring at Dolly’s tits.
Red flushed over her pale skin and crawled like wildfire up her neck and to her cheeks. Dolly rocked from side to side, her tight thighs trying to stave off the pressure; I knew my stare was feeding her pussy.
She bit her lip. Her hands fell to her sides, and her fingers began to creep up the hem of her dress. I watched those fingers, gripping my cane with increasing force.
Then, “Dance.”
Dolly’s eyes snapped to mine as I stared at her through unyielding, commanding eyes.
I didn’t move a muscle as Dolly asked, “What?”
My eyes flicked to the stage, then back to her. “Dance.”
Dolly’s eyes grew hooded then wandered to the black stage lit by a flood of red light. The silver pole shone in the glow. The music filled the room with a heavy beat, so loud one could feel it through one’s chest.
“I always dance for you, Rabbit.” She turned back to me, a teasing smirk building on her pink lips. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew she was the snake tamer, rousing my cock with her innocent act.
“Not like that,” I said, stroking my thimble over the back of the hand resting on my cane. I leaned forward. “Like the whores out there.” Dolly sucked in a sharp breath and squirmed some more. I tipped my head to the side, keeping her locked in my stare. “I saw you watching them, darlin’. I saw you wanting to climb on that stage. I saw you wanting to grind around the pole, coveting the attention they got, performing naked.” I smirked. “I saw you wanting to strip for me.” My eyes darkened. “Only me . . . And you want to dance. You want to use the adrenaline from tonight’s kills to dance.” I sat back, hands still resting on my cane. “I know you want to tease, then fuck away your pent-up energy. The victory of ridding the world of Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”
Dolly was breathless, her cheeks bright red. I raised an eyebrow and casually flicked my finger. “So dance . . . and this isn’t a request,” I emphasized, knowing she knew what I would say next. Dropping all niceties, I adopted the dark tone I knew she would obey. “I am insisting.”
Dolly exhaled, her body moving to the stage, honoring my command. My puppet, on my string.
Teeth clenched, I watched her as she climbed the stairs leading to the stage. My cock throbbed as she walked to the center and stroked the metal pole. Her blue dress was soaked through, ripped and stained with blood. Her blond hair was a mass of curls, wild, as if I’d just taken her up against the wall, ruining my perfect little dolly. Her eyes were rimmed with black, and her lips were pink-stained from her lipstick. Her socks were bloodstained but intact, the black and white stripes like a ladder, leading me to the spot where we both wanted me to go.
A new song drifted through the speakers, a deep bass shaking the walls of the room. The singer sang of a woman turning him into a savage. The song was apt. Around my little Dolly darlin’, I fucking lost my mind.
What little sanity remained.
I sat back, tried to relax, but that was shot to hell as Dolly began to move. Her hips swayed as she gripped the pole. Her gaze locked on mine as her fingers danced up and down the metal. They were slow and seductive. I knew how they felt tracking up and down my dick. She knew that too. Smiling, she stroked the pole like she stroked me.
“Faster,” I ordered, knowing she could hear me just fine over the music. Dolly walked around the pole until she stood with her back to it, facing me. She rocked against it, eyes closing as her ass hit the hard metal. She reached above her, holding the pole above her head. Then she began to descend, dropping slowly down the pole. Her thighs were squeezed together, until she reached the bottom, where they opened. Slowly.
Painfully . . . fucking . . . slowly.
I growled under my breath when her milky thighs spread to reveal her “knickers.” Dolly’s back arched, then she released one hand from the pole and stroked it up her thigh until she reached the edge of her knickers. My breath held in my throat and I stilled, motionless, as she pushed the white fabric aside . . . and her blond pussy came into view.
I snarled loudly, Dolly’s eyes snapping open at the sound. Then she let go, her knickers sliding back in place.
I glared at her, my cock desperate to be released, but then she climbed up the pole, spinning so her back was facing me. Her hands slid down the pole. My eyes remained glued to the long socks covering her slim legs. My gaze moved north until it reached her milky thighs. Dolly flicked her hair and slowly looked back toward me. My attention snapped to her face. To her eyes as they smiled, knowingly. My hand dropped to my crotch and I righted the rock-hard cock in my pants.
A loud, victorious giggle burst from Dolly’s throat. She spun, facing me, spine resting against the metal pole. Her wide smile dropped as her gaze landed on me. Her pupils dilated, and she circled her lips with her tongue. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, tits pushing against her tight corset.
“Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit . . .” Her face changed in an instant. Gone was the innocent Dolly I knew. In her place was Dolly the whore. Dolly the pole dancer, thrusting her hips forward to the beat.
Dolly the woman, not the innocent little girl I grew up with.
With this version of Dolly, I was pretty sure we weren’t in Wonderland anymore.
Pushing off the pole, Dolly walked forward two steps, and then stopped. She lifted the ribbons on her corset. Looking up at me with hooded eyes, she began unthreading them, her hips rolling around and around in time with the heavy bass filling the room. My jaw clenched as the tight corset began to part. The scalding blood in my veins rushed south. Inch by inch, my cock grew so hard that I growled at the ache induced by Dolly’s seductive act.
My lips rolled over my teeth when the ribbon fell to the floor at Dolly’s heeled ankle boots. “Oops!” Doe-eyed, she covered her mouth with her hand. She looked down at the ribbon and then back up. A slow grin pulled on her lips, and her hand fell away. She walked forward again, and her slim fingers pulled the corset apart.
I groaned, the sound masked by the music as her tits were bared—a perfect handful, as if they’d been devil-designed solely for me. She rocked on her feet, hips swinging from side to side as her corset slipped slowly to her waist.