A DANGEROUS GAME

ALWAYS BE CAREFUL

A DANGEROUS GAME

zenbuddhist

Even in SHAGGERS'N'S***S she stood out. You'd have thought some torturer had stuck a cattle prod up her arse

I watched for the screwed face as the dregs of Super sloshed down her neck, nothing, not even a wince. A drinker then, hard core.
'C'mon,' she snarled, 'let's dance.'
Even in SHAGGERS'N'S***S she stood out. You'd have thought some torturer had stuck a cattle prod up her arse �" all mad jerking 'round and flailing arms.
'Wot's wrong wi yoo?' she yelled into my face, 'yer dancin like a f****n catatonic.'
I wanted to pork her so I broke out into a pogo. That lasted as long as it took to go over on my ankle. Anyway she was more or less dancing on her own and I wasn't nearly pissed enough so I limped up to the bar and ordered two more Supers.
'Wantin some o' these,' asked Danny the Dealer, an array of swedgers in his mitt, 'tenner, they're good, I've only had one and look at me eyes.' I didn't want to, the c**t was disturbed but them eyes were saucered up just nice and this would be no night of sanity so best be prepared. He nodded in satisfaction as we watched the pill fizzing up and down the beer - quality control, Double D style.
I nearly got a slug; up to the lips and then the word 'swipe' appeared, in parenthesis, where the bottle used to be. 'Cheers,' she said, her outline blurred by the pull of the dance-floor.
'Hey DeeDee give us another one of those, they're f****n great, they kick in before you take them.'

It had to be raining outside. So it hammered down. Then it was; the head snapped back, the open mouth, the arms in the air and the, 'oh mother rain, wash my soul.' A wee bit of a dance, not much, just enough, until...the burst roof gutter and the run-off cascade. Then it was; off with the clothes, a cleansing shower and a f****n Hopi Indian rain stomp.
'Wow,' I muttered, 'you've got some fit muscle action going on there girl.'
The rain dance morphed into some kind of warm up exercises, all twisting and stretching, an acrobat in a street circus, all for me. Until. F****n'ell...Bruiser McHuge!
When he stripped off he cut the dash of a scary sci-fi monster, you could almost see the 'roids coursing through the fat veins that twisted round his muscles like creepers.
'I'll lift you higher,' he roared, 'look at these arms.'
It was his package she was looking at. 'Peanuts', she sang, kicking him in the nads.
Go down, I said to my head, go down you great big bear. Then he fell, like an oak.
'Big guns, small balls.' she spat out, as if it were a crime.
'Yeah,' I nodded in agreement, 'it's the steds, he's a freak, now let's get the f**k outa here.'

'I need ya wearin this,' she said, and it was the paper bag over the head, no ironic joke this �" an actual paper bag, with the drawstring pulled up nice and tight. Just like the ropes. 'Nice and tight,' she said, probing up my arse with her finge...fist.
'Aaaaooooya.'
'Shut it,' she yelled, climbing up.
'Wait, hud on, it's no made outa...aaaaooooya.'
Then it was; no rain chant, a f****n war cry more like and the pounding and the squeezing of the ballsack and the strangulation and me trying to f****n breathe �" the bag sucking in and out and the even more pounding and the...me bursting out inside her like an explosion.

Then it was the wakening up and seeing, CALL ME written on the mirror in some unnameable substance. I'd rather slam my own dick in the fridge door, I said to my head. Which is, all told, another dangerous game.