Mendocino Jones slowly lowered his formidable frame onto one of wing chairs, despite the protestations of the springs and the cracked and aged brown leather and lifted his tiny slipper clad feet so that they rested on the buttocks of the vinyl attired woman acting as his human coffee table and now, hassock. There was a subtle shift in her body as she attempted to compensate for the weight that pressed down upon her, Jones’s legs like twin manatees splendid in gold satin- while desperate not to let a single tremor of her straining body spill even a droplet of the custard colored liquid resting on her back.
Jones reached into a fold within the yards of fabric of his smoking jacket and extracted a remote control, switching on the plasma screen that dominated the west wall of the otherwise antiquated room. A brief flicker and the gloom of the Victorian surroundings were suddenly illuminated by the harsh glow of the 65″ screen, the sound of panting and pleading amplified to almost ear splitting volumes by the towers of Dolby attuned speakers hidden behind antique Italian velvet damask draperies framing the screen like the curtains at an aging movie palace.
Daryll shifted uneasily on the couch, the thick yellow sillabub sloshing from his glass onto the leg of his trousers as an obviously frightened and unwilling young woman sought to keep from gagging as a powerful and determined brute of a man rammed what appeared to be a fleshy human baseball bat into her. A distressed breath escaped Barlow’s lips with a slight “spfffff” as he sought to avert his eyes from the dominated screen, while Alton Lee Findley and Mendocino Jones stared at the video in rapt attention, a slight smile on Findley’s freakish lips while a small stream of drool meandered down the valleys of Mendocino’s scarred chin.
A giggle burst from Findley as the poor woman cried out in pain as yet another overly endowed man forced further indignities upon her. Findley felt a welcome and familiar swelling between his legs. Daryll felt sick. Barlow felt like a man trapped underwater.
“I’ll wager you know intimately well how gifted your mother can be in the womanly arts”, said Jones to Alton Lee Findley. “I realize you always had a, ah, how shall I put it, special bond with your Ma Ma, but I’m sure you never knew the full extent of her talents. A charming and accommodating vixen, your mother, Evelyn Mulwray. Always eager to please, as I’m sure you well realize. As for myself, I have always found it far more satisfying to let others do the sweaty and strenuous work, and watch from a discreet and pleasurable distance. Much less bother, much less mess, much less…..tiresome involvement. Pornography can be such a joy, such a selfish release, especially in the privacy of one’s own cocoon. And of course One never has to meet another’s demanding expectations, and my needs can sometimes be rather immediate and eccentric, to say the least. But…..Mr. Findley, your companions appear a trifle ashen and addlepated. Perhaps they did not realize your mother was a film star of such epic proclivities. Or perhaps they merely wish that they, too, had experienced the delightful heights to which I, and, I am quite sure, you as well, have been transported? Drink, gentlemen, drink up! Is my humble hospitality not to your liking?”
Daryll felt the bile of stale coffee rising in his throat. Barlow felt all the oxygen quickly sucked from the room. Alton Lee Findley felt a glorious and refreshing tightening in his trousers.
The woman in the black latex suit felt the combined weight of Mendocino Jones’s beef slab legs and the silver serving tray upon her back as she knelt on her hands and knees, prone, still and silent as humiliation after humiliation blared from the giant screen on the wall. After what seemed like a marathon of deviance, the screen became quiet, the only sound from the video the moist, labored panting of the exhausted participants, curiously echoed by Findley.
At that exact moment, the ancient radiator in the corner shuddered and rattled as the aging heating system forced hot steam to course through the pipes and into the system. The unexpected noise startled the four men sitting in the room, and their attention immediately turned toward the loud hammering of the pipes, setting into motion the mayhem that was to follow. The woman leapt to her feet with alarming speed, toppling the glasses and tray onto the floor and grabbing the confused little dog and flinging it into the face of the stunned Mendocino Jones. In a seemingly simultaneous action, she reached beneath the cushion of the couch, seized a menacing looking knife and drove it through the embroidered red slipper and dainty foot of the incredulous Jones, pinning his tiny foot to the scuffed hardwood floor. Daryll and Barlow had fallen from the chesterfield and sat dazed on their behinds as a small fountain of blood erupted from Mendocino’s foot, covering them and the hysterical dog Goliath in a misty red fog.
“Bitch!” screamed Jones. “God damned, fucking BITCH!”
“I’m not your bitch, or anyone’s dog or doormat!” the wraith in black calmly intoned. “My name is Merris Piper and your foul, abusive days are about to end. I am a woman AND a human being and you, you self absorbed sack of shit, are about to taste a bit of your own medicine.” From the edge of the sofa, Findley struggled to his feet, the remains of his pornography induced erection hampering his mobility. As he reached into his jacket pocket and bobbled for purchase on the Chief’s Special, the stainless steel chain that had supposedly secured Merris to the radiator whipped through the air and caught him full on the mouth with a force that knocked him backwards and over the couch, sending the gun arcing forward to land at the feet of the avenging young woman. She deftly lifted the weapon and chambered a round as Mendocino Jones sought to remove his foot from the spot where the knife held his rotund bulk awkwardly pinned to the floor. “Oops, clumsy me!”, she laughed, as she fired a round squarely into his other foot, sending another geyser of blood into the air. Jones howled in pain and anger. From behind the couch, Alton Lee Findley launched himself toward the woman in an infuriated frenzy, one of Mendocino’s straight razors held aloft in his clenched fist. No woman ever treated him this way. Never! “Bitch, bitch, bitch!”, he shrieked as he tried to clutch at the slippery latex suit that enshrouded her shapely and hooded body. “BITCH!”
The antiquated parlor of the Baltimore rowhouse reverberated with the report of first one, then two, then three, four and five shots from the smoking handgun as Merris Piper, the avenging phoenix, pulled the rubber hood from her head, shaking loose a cascade of pale blonde hair. She narrowed her ocean blue eyes at the pulpy remains of Alton Lee Findley’s head, now lacking those distinctive lips, as well as most of his brains, which clung splattered to the flocked wallpaper.
“I am a free woman and NOBODY’S dog.” she quietly said. “Anybody got a problem with that?”



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