Smutpunk on Skates Page 2

  “Show them how a little Malay slut keeps her white man, Heather,” he said while pushing her forcibly to her knees and moving around so he could look out the window. He held her head in place and shoved his cock down her throat with the same reckless intensity he’d just showed her clit and pussy. He wedged the cock head between her palate and tonsils until it descended into her esophagus. He pushed it down—deeper and deeper. With his free hand, he massaged the bulge in Heather’s throat. Her eyes watered. Mascara ran down her cheeks like a sad mime.

  “Suck it, baby,” he moaned deeply.

  Heather sucked.

  She gagged.

  She coughed.

  She choked.

  She finally made a retching sound and tried to pull off his cock.

  “Don’t you dare stop, slut!” He grabbed her head and barked, “Deeper!” She relaxed her throat like a good submissive Asian fuck-toy and took his big white dick deeper.

  Heather closed her eyes and swallowed. His cock was like a living beast inside her. She tried to tame it. Suddenly, she saw a red glow through her half-closed eyelids. Her eyes widened just in time to see that fucker take a photo of her sucking his cock. His balls swelled against her chin as he pumped his dick into Heather’s throat like he wanted it to go down toward her stomach.

  “Good girl,” he cooed.

  Heather pulled the huge cock out of her throat and mouth, took a big gasp of air, just as that fucker jerked his shaft feverishly, and let his fluid erupt all over her mouth. “That’s it, cumpig!”

  He then wiped a dangling thread of his viscous cream onto Heather’s nose. He used her like a tissue before turning around.

  “This is a fucking awesome building,” he said conversationally and walked down the walkway, looking tiny inside this mighty sky bridge between each of the two Petronas Towers. Heather reached into her purse where she kept some wet napkins and wiped her nose and mouth of his cum.

  Post Sky Bridge Breaching

  Heather and that fucker kind of dwindled off after that—sometimes dating, sometimes not seeing each other all week. That fucker said he was busy with work. Occasionally they met up in a hotel where he would fuck her mercilessly from behind and then go back home without her. She often checked her messages looking for him. He would text only when he needed to cum.

  He told Heather that he worked for a secret government organization, which was total bullshit, like he was a Men in Black agent or some shit. She was still working in the largest tutoring company in Malaysia.

  She wanted more.

  He wanted ass.

  He actually worked for a big powerful Western bank in downtown Kuala Lumpur.

  One night they walked out of a motel, where he had fucked her ass so hard that she had to beg him to stop. “I’m almost there,” he had said and she resigned to more minutes of sheet-gripping pain until he filled her backdoor with jism. On the way out of the dingy love hotel, she asked him to come into the supermarket with her for a quick snack. “I’m so hungry,” she said. He’d never bought her dinner.

  He accompanied her into the store in a gentlemanly fashion. While she was perusing the fruit display, he checked his phone and said, “I have to bail, slut. I should get to my job tomorrow early. It’s late.” He gave her a few ringgits to buy a fruit. “Bye.”

  Heather was so incensed at his callous attitude, she pitched a perfect durian right square to his chest. It splattered all over his crisp white button-down shirt.

  That fucker brushed the smelly fruit off of his shirt with deadly calm. Then he turned without saying a word to Heather, who stood there with her throwing arm still out and her mouth wide open, and walked out of the store.

  That fucker got into a red and white taxi. As soon as he said his address the driver inhaled deeply and said, “Food fight is not good for the soul. Fight with a woman, yes?” The driver drove in silence for a moment or two and then asked, “You have many Malay women?”

  “Loads,” That Fucker said, “And each one is a dirty fucking slut.”

  The driver and that fucker laughed. Meanwhile he sent Heather a message from the taxi. “You ruined my shirt, you dumb slut. Now I have to throw out what was a perfectly good new shirt.”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” she texted back.

  “You damn right. You better, whore.”

  Liam

  If you really want her, I can set it up for you. There’s a way to make them love you. A way to make them your property. You cannot be a pussy about it, man. You have to be forceful. I’ll show you, don’t worry.

  They are all dirty sluts. Some hold it deep within them and others wear it on their cum-stained sleeves. Either way, your job is to unlock the slut. They will love you for it. They just want to be more ‘them’. In other words, they’re all whores and you start by feeding the attention whore in all of ‘em. Then you dive deeper once you’ve satisfied the attention whore and coerce her into releasing the rest.

  Slippery Slide into Obsession

  The next time they met, he introduced Heather to his big, black butt plug. First, he put her wrists and ankles in a spreader bar. Heather felt completely helpless being splayed open, but did not complain. She had to make up for his ruined shirt, after all. He was a man on mission, single-mindedly trussing her up. He shoved the huge plug up her tight ass and ignored her pitiful protests. She felt like a stuffed goose by the time he was done. While she was stuck there like a pig on a spit, he checked his phone. She looked over his shoulder and saw the fucking messages from other girls—‘mwah’ and ‘miss yous’ and ‘sleeptights’ of his harem. Suggestive emojis and all.

  She was furious. She couldn’t do anything but scream and called him a manwhore. He was unperturbed and simply pulled out the big plug and put it into Heather’s mouth instead. “Suck on it until I reward you with my big, white cock.”

  She nodded obediently.

  He pulled out a miniature Petronas Twin Towers out of his bag of goodies—the type most tourists take back with them as souvenirs. That fucker showed it to Heather. Her eyes opened wide. One, it reminded her of how he’d started to really use her like a whore. Two, even as a miniature, it was a big phallic looking structure. She could see the look in his eyes and started shaking her head.

  Surely, he’s not going to put that thing inside my poor pussy and ass.

  She couldn’t move, being locked in the spreader bar with her ass up in the air.

  That fucker got behind his gorgeous young submissive, holding the model twin towers. He started caressing her ass crack with the turrets. Then he alternately fondled the folds of her pussy lips with one tower while tracing the rim of her asshole with the other. He found the position where the turret of each tower lined up with one of her holes. Then he pushed. Her pussy opened to take one of the towers inside her and her ass swallowed up the other one.

  “One in the pink and one in the stink,” he said gleefully.

  “Mphhph mphhhhh mphhphp mphhhphph,” she protested while tied up and gagged with a big black dildo.

  “Relax, slut.”

  Heather, obedient as ever, did relax and began enjoying herself. She was at his mercy. He was using all her holes and strangely the phallic towers felt quite good inside of her and even though she was angry with him on some level, she was also very sensitive and quite turned on. She felt her body taking the twin tower phallus and began moaning, as her holes were simultaneously pleasured.

  “Yes, you little whore!” he encouraged. That fucker got out his camera and started filming the completely depraved event of him stuffing her both holes like he was fingering a Neapolitan Ice Cream. She was on her hands and knees, bound by a spreader bar, mouth full of big black butt plug, and taking the Petronas Twin Towers in her pink and stink. It was an amazing image. She moaned louder and louder and he realized that she was cumming.

  He quickly sent the video to someone, yanked the butt plug out of her mouth, and replaced it with his big white cock, which was rock hard and on the precipice of exp
loding. As soon as her soft throat membranes enclosed around his cockhead and shaft, his balls tightened and he shot a bellyful of cum right into his wanton Malay slut.

  His plan, all along, had been to link her orgasm to eating his cum so that she would associate bliss with cum-eating. He thought that would come later. He had no idea she would enjoy being double-stuffed by a miniature twin towers phallus so much.

  “You cum so easily,” he said, as her moans vibrated around his twitching cock. She wasn’t sure if it was meant to praise or shame.

  “Mmmmmnnnnnn,” she moaned as she ate his thick, creamy load.

  Charlie the Wok, as they called him in Heather’s office, was starting to show Heather more interest. He bought her coffee, lingered around her desk, asked about her plans for the evening, but still didn’t have the balls to ask her out. He was trying to friend her into a date. He was handsome—somewhat. He was a little on the big side, which most of these Southeast Asian chicks didn’t mind. They called him Charlie the Wok because he had this greasy, chubby look to him. He really wasn’t fat, he was just a bit stout. The main difference was race. That fucker was handsome with the sharp features of a Westerner, while Charlie the Wok was handsome in a milder kind of way.

  While Heather was putting on makeup in her office bathroom after blowing that fucker, she told him that some guy at the office liked her.

  “Who?” That fucker laughed. “Some Malay?” That fucker slapped Heather on the ass and walked out of the bathroom.

  It took over a month of coffees, office group dinners with lots of Chinese wine, and lots of stir-fried food (which Charlie did really get down on) before he finally got the gumption to ask Heather out for dinner and movie.

  After all that time, he asked—quite anticlimactically, “Do you have dinner plans tonight?”

  “No,” Heather brushed her bangs from her forehead and blew the stragglers away.

  “I like when you do that,” Charlie the Wok said reverently.

  “Do what?”

  “That thing you do with your hair, you kind of blow it off your face.” He laughed, then stopped and looked down.

  “What thing with my hair, lah?” Heather wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her or teasing her. He was so much less dramatic than that fucker. Charlie was a water chestnut and that fucker was spicy mustard.

  “Anyway,” he said looking back up, “It’s cute. Would you like to have dinner with me and watch a new action movie?”

  “Oh, that sounds really nice.” Heather pressed the square in the circle at the bottom of her iPhone screen to see if her cruel and sexy boyfriend had texted her today. She searched for a notification in the chat app only that fucker used to message her. He used a service where the messages got erased fifteen seconds after they were read and weren’t stored on any hard drives for anyone to see later. There was no message from that fucker. “It really does sound nice, but—”

  “It’s okay. I heard you have a boyfriend.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just…”

  Charlie the Wok walked away while she was still fumbling for the right words. Watching him leave, she could see he was quite a handsome guy and felt bad for him. She went to the bathroom to regroup. She thought she saw a bit of dried cum from yesterday’s blowjob. All alone, Heather looked at herself in the mirror. She looked pale. Her pupils were dilated and the brown irises looked dull. It looked like she was ill.

  It was that asshole’s fault! She was quite attractive, wearing a pretty dress that hugged her body in a shapely way, with a slit to show off her boots and long legs.

  Now, reader, we both know that any guy would be lucky to have a woman like Heather, but Heather didn’t know that. She felt lucky to have a good guy like Charlie the Wok interested in her. However, she couldn’t bring herself to go out with him. She was blinded by the sex haze that that fucker had blown around her like a smutpunk fog.

  Heather ran cold water over her hands and splashed some on her face. Her right eye hurt. The circles under her eyes came all the way down to her cheekbones.

  When she came back to her cubicle, there was a box wrapped in white paper with a big Aztec red bow on it, waiting for her. There was no card. Heather looked at it for a while, and then ripped open the paper. She paused. Her heart was beating fast. She hoped it was from that fucker, but couldn’t be sure. In case it was, knowing him, she probably shouldn’t open it in public. It could be a silver necklace that said ‘slut’ or a leather whip for their next rendezvous in the bloody bathroom. You could never second-guess this guy. He was devilish.

  She threw caution to the wind and tore into the box. She found a set of big, DJ-style headphones. There was a card inside.

  Skull Candy for my Skull Fucker

  Love, B2

  B2 is what that fucker called himself. It stood—not so subtly—for Big Dick. The Chinese people loved a white guy playing with the pun; number two being a slang for dick. That fucker loved it apparently. He had no qualms about whipping his dick out just about everywhere he went—bars, outdoor restaurants, movie theater lines, and taxis.

  The headphones were nice. The frame was all white and big enough to resemble earmuffs. They had a big black star imprinted on each ear. Heather put them on and plugged them into her phone’s music. She was happy she had turned down the Wok. That fucker could be quite nice at times. He was her boyfriend after all. She wasn’t always sure.

  Suddenly her phone pinged.

  Did you get them?

  Yes, they are amazing.

  Listen to this.

  A file came with his next text. Heather did as told and played the audio.

  “Testing one, two. Good.” That fucker cleared his throat over the headphones. His voice was deep and sexy. He had the classic bass of a dude with a massive cock. “Heather, there is an abandoned building near your office. Once you exit your office, turn right and walk. Turn right at the first little alley. The building will be on your left. It was a movie theatre in the old city. You’ll see the marquee out front. I want you to meet me in the stairway, on the second floor. Don’t worry, it’s open. Be there in ten minutes.”

  Heather was confused. It wasn’t quitting time at her office yet. There was a steep penalty in Asia for leaving before the boss. Defying that fucker wasn’t easy either. She wanted to make him happy, wanted to see him, and wanted to say thanks for the headphones.

  She grabbed her bag and calmly walked out of the office, looking cute as a button with the white headphones on. She took the elevator down without anybody noticing.

  Outside the office building, it was a bright sunny Southeast Asian day. It smelled of gingko—slightly fishy and bleachy at the same time. She walked a little bit, turned right in the alley and spotted the marquee to the abandoned movie theatre. It looked like it had once been a pretty building. Kuala Lumpur had many abandoned or ramshackle buildings, as the economy was changing so rapidly. A place could be a red-carpet movie theatre one day and left for the rats the next day. Heather had a daydream of the day she would walk arm in arm with some A-list celebrity, have paparazzi snap photos of her awesome body in a haute couture dress. A stumble over a broken cobblestone broke her glitzy reverie. She walked gingerly so as not to trip at the beat-up entrance. She stepped under the old marquee, the incandescent light bulbs and passed the abandoned box office.

  Inside, the old theatre was dark. There was a stale beer smell, like an old stadium. Coming in from bright sunshine, Heather’s eyes couldn’t adjust. She got scared. Hot women wearing high heels, feeling their way around in the dark in abandoned buildings were vulnerable. She searched in vain for something to hold on to, something to guide her—a wall, a person, furniture, an old popcorn machine, anything. She could hear her own breathing. It was getting louder.

  The theatre was drafty. Heather brought her hand to her chest, trying to comfort herself. She was beginning to sweat. Her nerves were going haywire, getting excited. She would either have an incredible orgasm or end up on the back of a milk ca
rton.

  Finally, her eyes adjusted enough to make out the wall and a big wooden chair.

  She located the stairs and continued up slowly, but unsteadily, until she reached the second floor.

  There was a shadow.

  Heather could make out the shape of a man—that fucker. She got closer and noticed he looked quite debonair. He wore a nice suit and had his hair combed back neatly. He didn’t say anything. He hooked her new headphones to his iPhone.

  He put them on Heather’s head and some nice acoustic music from the ‘70s filtered into her ears. It was soft country rock, saying thank you for loving him. ‘If mountains crumble to the sea, it will still be you and me’ played as he took her face tenderly and pressed his face against it. He kissed Heather, his body resting against hers. She melted into him as their lips parted. His taste was familiar to her and wonderful. It had been long since he had made her feel this wanted—this special. His shadow was more the man Heather wanted him to be, rather than the real him in bright light.

  The romantic kiss reminded Heather of a time months ago, when they’d been in an outdoor café, looking over the river, eating French toast and key lime pie. And the plans they’d been making of a romantic, honeymoon-like trip to Bali together. In the middle of making plans, he’d stood up and kissed her deeply in front of all the people. It had been one of the happiest moments of her life. This kiss was similar—but hungrier. Sexier.

  He kept stroking her hair as Led Zeppelin played in her ear. The song faded out and Heather took the headphones off.