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A Bloody Fuck Ch. 01

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April 13, 2008

I’m running out the door. There’s blood on my hands. There’s blood all over me, and I’m borderline panicked, and I’m sprinting like a madman down the halls of a run down apartment, my heart tearing in my chest, praying to god I can get out before she does.

One Hour Earlier

8:00 PM. South Central Los Angeles. I’m driving in my car, going to make an appointment. As usual, I’ve managed to line up another fuck on plenty of fish. This girl was listed as looking for an “intimate encounter.” This means she gets literally 100 emails a day soliciting her for sex. She picks me.

Appearance: Well she’s a fattie, no question about it. The pictures on the site show about as much cleavage as possible without getting your account deleted, and after a few minutes chatting with her she sent me more private ones. Beginning with her in a bikini, and culminating with her giving a tit job to some unnamed dick.

And that’s not the half of it. She’s semi-delusional; half of her pics show her in some witch’s costume, riding a broomstick. I don’t know if she thinks she’s Harry fucking Potter or she just likes to stick rough wooden objects up there but there’s no question she’s living in another world.

Anyway the point is she told me if I come over she’ll fuck me. No buying dinner, no wasted talking on the phone, I just supply the condoms and the cock.

One interesting note: she’s bahis firmaları on her period. This doesn’t give me much pause, because I’ve been with girls on their period before, and it wasn’t very messy at all. I ignore it.

I pull up to her place. It’s not bad actually; pretty nice brick apartment building on a wide street. I brought a movie to watch so I don’t have to look at her while we do the foreplay. It’s always good to bring a happy movie at times like these, and I brought my favorite: Wedding Crashers.

She meets me outside the door.

“Hey,” she says.


“You’re just as cute as your pictures!”

“Yes, you look just like yours too.”

We proceed into her apartment. Honestly she’s not as bad looking as I feared, and the apartment is a nice, cozy place. She talks a little as I get settled in. She flips through some mail, cleans up the table. Gets us a drink. She works as a dispatcher, and as I listen to her I start to feel some sympathy for her life, which hasn’t been too great. I feel endeared to her. I’m starting to like her a little. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

Sitting on the couch. I drain the wine pretty quickly, and we’re cuddling. Almost before I know it I have her shirt off, her pants down, and I’m dry-fucking her while she moans like it’s heroin. Well I’m not one to drag it out. I take her to the bedroom, bag it once, twice for good measure, and I start kaçak iddaa fucking her. The lights are out.

She is making noises like it’s the son of god with his holy crucifix all up in there. I’m not enjoying it nearly that much, especially through the double bags. Nonetheless I continue to fuck her dutifully, wondering for the life of me why the hell I’m doing this.

After about ten minutes she says let’s take a break. I do so, and I lean up to flip on the lights.

And it’s at that moment that everything goes mad.

There’s blood everywhere. Her pussy and her legs and her belly are covered in red, red blood. My dick looks like a sword that was used to stab her two hundred times until death. My pubes are a bleeding mess, my stomach is drenched. The bed is sopping wet.

“Well I told you I was on my period!” she says. “Let me go wash up. Then I’ll give you a little more.”

I stand there numb, as she steps into the bathroom and closes the door. I feel like I’m at a murder scene. I just want to get the fuck out of there as fast as I can. But I can’t just leave. I’m going to have to talk to her. Tell her that I have to go. Tell her we’ll hang out again soon, that I had a good time. Kiss her.

Oh god, I can’t do it. I’m so freaked out right now. I stumble back to the living room and slip on my boxers, and sit down on the couch to think for a minute. What am I going to do.

I couldn’t kaçak bahis just leave. Can’t just pick up and leave without any warning, that would be so rude, she would feel terrible, like a slut, like a whore. I hear the water running in the bathroom. She’s finishing up.

Oh jeez. It’s now or never. Now or never…with a jerk of adrenaline I stand up, pull up my pants and grab my shirt, phone, wallet keys. My heart is pounding. Need to get out before she finishes in the bathroom. Need to get out now.

If you’ve ever purposely done something bad and had to run afterwards you know the feeling. My heart was in my throat as I tore down the hallway. I opened the door to the outside, and the air of freedom was upon me. Oh god it was good.

But wait. Oh, no. I had forgotten something. I can’t go back. I can’t go back she’s done in there, but how can I leave it…

In a fugue I walk back up the stairs, down the hallway, to her room. I open the door and I see her standing there, naked, shocked. She looks hurt, confused. Why did I leave? Her eyes say. But it’s okay, she thinks, I’m back now.

I step inside. No words. On the table is the thing I left. I pick it up, and I slowly back away. I see the hope in her eyes die.

The only thing crueler than leaving was to come back. I don’t know if she’ll recover from that. I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to meet another guy on plenty of fish after that. But come hell or high water, I won’t leave Wedding Crashers at the house of some fattie that I graced with my cock for half an hour.

That’s how I roll.

…TO BE CONTINUED….(yes, there’s a part II)

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