Kiss of the Boogeyman

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MILLIE SLAM HAD finally concluded that her predicament was far worse than she had first feared. She was awake, had been the entire time. She wasn’t trapped in a nightmare in her subconscious. She was exhausted, in intense pain, covered in offal, fettered, and on the verge of losing consciousness. But she was unmercifully conscious. Just before defeat claimed her, the sound of muffled voices caught her undivided—although dazed—attention. Only silence ensued. She strained her senses and heard only her pounding heart. Great! Now I’m hallucinating, Millie thought, downhearted as she distinctly heard the muffled voices again!

Yes! Voices meant people and that meant freedom! Unless the voices belonged to Curtis and, dare she think it, Boogeyman. My luck couldn’t be that terrible could it, she thought as she tried to make as much noise as her bound and gagged body could produce. Whether fare or foul, Millie was going to see who produced those voices. Her bonds afforded her little purchase, but she was able to make the chain supports jingle slightly. Millie hoped and prayed she was making enough of a ruckus to be noticed, when she distinctly heard footfalls ascending the staircase.

“Thank you, God!” Millie mumbled excitedly around the ball gag, wedged between her aching jaws. They’ve heard me, she added in her mind so as not to aggravate her screaming mandible.

Hanging motionless and awaiting her would-be rescuers, Millie noticed that her only companion in this waking nightmare—the ancient, ornate full-length mirror—was conspicuously absent. She could’ve sworn it was there not more than ten seconds ago, obviously set in place so she would have to watch herself squirm. Now it was gone—poof—vanished into thin air. As if this couldn’t get any stranger, Millie thought, as she listened for the voices that would hopefully give her the freedom her aching body and terrified mind longed for.

“That mirror, right the—”

Millie’s prayers seemed to be answered: That was JJ’s voice! She knew he would be the one to save her from her current torment. In here, I’m in here, Millie thought emphatically, trying to send her location psychically to JJ’s mind. Her bonds dug painfully into her flesh, but she hardly seemed to notice anymore with the prospect of her freedom so close at hand.

“What mirror! There was a big, old-fashioned, full-length mirror, Curt, which you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of. The mirror that stood right here not ten seconds ago! Where’d it go, Curtis?”

Millie’s hopes burst like an overinflated balloon. JJ was speaking to the one person Millie had hoped he wouldn’t enlist the aid of, for her rescue; the same person who trussed her up and left her to suffer: Curtis Olsen. Why JJ, why him, Millie thought as her last shred of hope fled like the last rat off a sinking ship. And why, she pondered, were they arguing over a mirror—holy crap!

If she wouldn’t have seen it herself, she wouldn’t have believed it. Seconds before her valiant hero came sailing through the closed door to land in a heap of blood and bits of wood—the mirror suddenly appeared out of nowhere, right before her very eyes. She hardly had time to fully comprehend what she saw, when the door across the room was rendered to splinters. Much to her surprise, JJ regained his feet if not his senses, only to have Curtis lay him out with one blow of his beefy fist. As if she weren’t even there, Curtis began to pace in a tight circle around JJ’s unconscious form, muttering phrases Millie could barely discern.

“It didn’t have to be this way, JJ. It really didn’t. I wanted to bring you in with me, to serve the master together. Curt and JJ against the world, homie, just like always. Ya know what I’m sayin’? Then you started to have those dreams, and you began jacking the master’s toys. Then you just had to go get outside help from, from, from…HER!” Curt bellowed the last word as he rounded on Millie to charge her like a raging bull.

“You bitch. You, you fucking little cunt-bitch of a whore, that’s what you are. This is entirely your fault. ALL OF IT!” Curt screamed into Millie’s face, spittle mingling with her blood, sweat, and tears. “I could’ve salvaged the whole, damn thing if you’d have been a fugly, ignorant, little bitty-titty bitch. But no, you had to be a fucking intellectual hottie, with nice firm tits.” Curt sneered as he unceremoniously grabbed a handful of Millie’s left breast.

“Ouch!” Millie screamed around the gag, writhing in fresh pain as her breast flared within Curt’s iron-like grip.

“Oh, you have something to say for yourself, whore?” Curt inquired nefariously as he savagely wrenched the gag off of Millie’s head. “By all means—speak!”

“I said: Fuck. You.”

She had never said that phrase out loud in her life. In her head, sure—a million times, but never out loud—and with such wrath. Millie was slightly shocked at how much venom she felt towards Curtis at this moment. She had never been so angry in her life, no not angry—PISSED OFF! If she’d have been a cobra she would’ve struck, sinking her razor sharp fangs in the flesh of his throat. She would’ve drained every last precious drop of her vile venom into his jugular, so she may revel in the last agonizing moments of Curtis Olsen’s pitiful life. Curt’s reply, however, brought Millie out of her fantasy.

“Fuck me. Fuck me? Oh, you wanna fuck me, do you bitch? I knew you were a whore! I’m gonna grant your sick, little wish whore: I’m gonna fuck ya. Ya know what I’m sayin’. I’m gonna fuck you so good, I’m gonna ruin you for nerdy little JJ over there, passed out like the bitch that he is. Shit, I may even ruin you for the master even. First, I think some head is in order.” Curt worked his zipper, unsheathing his erect penis.

“If you think I’m going to—” POW! Curt slugged Millie right in the mouth. Not hard, nothing more than a quick left jab, at about one-third strength to catch Millie’s attention. He didn’t want to split her pretty lips after all, just swell them a little.

Curt grabbed Millie by the hair and positioned his manhood before her face. Taking the straight-razor out of his back pocket, he held the deadly-sharp blade to her lily-white throat and said: “I think you’re going to buff my pickle. I think you’re going to do an award-winning job, ya know what I’m sayin’? I think if you bite me any harder than the occasion calls for, I’m going to bust all the teeth out of the front of your mouth with a pipe wrench. Then we’ll try again. That is after I cut your left eye out your sweet, pink face. Now, I think we completely understand each other.”

“Why Curtis, why betray your best and only true friend. Why break your word?” Millie asked, fighting back sobs.

“It’s simple. Because the master is a Dom-mega and JJ’s a fucking nerd!”

As Curt inserted himself into Millie’s aching, trembling mouth many noteworthy events occurred in tandem. Millie bit down on the engorged member between her teeth with all her might. The mirror shuddered forward, no longer reflecting the scene unfolding before it. It now held the form of an enraged Boogeyman viciously pounding his giant clawed fists against the fragile barrier that stood in his path. JJ Douglas—the self-chosen hero to stand unflinching before the Boogeyman’s horror, and cast the foul demon back to the darkest, deepest depths of Hell’s pit—injured far worse than human eyes could perceive, died.

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