A Walk on the Wild Side

Winston was right about the balcony. He'd never have found it in time. In fact, Bruno moved even more quickly than Winston expected him to. He was only a few feet behind as Winston raced for the window. It was closed, but he was willing to jump through the glass. Again, less painful than Bruno's pounding paws.

A mere ten feet from sweet, blissful escape, Winston encountered an unexpected hindrance to his flight - in the form of his own gangly clumsiness. For no apparent reason - other than the fact that the fates must surely hate him - the toes of his left foot somehow became entangled in the carpeting on the floor, so much so that they dug into one particularly intriguing spot and stayed put, even though the rest of his body insisted on continuing it's forward momentum. Hence, Winston, shock and pain carved bone deep into his face, did an agonizing split, his right foot seeming to hover in the air briefly before it came thudding down, thus allowing his already taxed scrotal area to come crashing to the floor. His face immediately became a painful, fiery red, but when his mouth tried to wail his agony, all that came out was a single, amusingly weak, strained squeal.

With the grace of God, the partially blinded Bruno didn't see all of this until it was too late. His huge bulk and rage-propelled speed had endowed him with momentum - much greater by far than Winston's could ever be - that few things on this planet could've stopped. So, unable to stop short and grab the crumpled and vulnerable Winston, Bruno instead tripped over him and sailed headlong toward the window.

He met the glass at Mach speed, shattering it into a spray of shiny slivers. He was cut in a few places by them, but he had a much bigger problem to contend with. Due to his immense size, he had become stuck in the window, trapped within it's tight wooden frame. He bellowed in rage, squirming and wriggling to break free...and he was making progress to that effect. This worried Winston much.

Winston scrambled to his feet, his groin still throbbing from his ungraceful crotch pounding. Ignoring the pain, he ran up behind Bruno and slammed into him with his shoulder, at full throttle, attempting to shove the bulky goon through the window and, hopefully, down to his long overdue demise. He didn't budge. His meaty buttocks sort of rippled a bit, but then even that slight movement subsided. In fact, all the ill-fated attempt accomplished was to both humor and aggravate the wedged Bruno. Bellowing cruel laughter, the enormous window captive chided, "Nice try, dead meat fuck-face!" Immediately, his squirming and straining to be free continued.

Again and again Winston pushed at Bruno's huge backside, kicking and pounding and screaming like a girl, All it did was make Bruno that much angrier.

"Bruno gonna pound yer ugly face, skinny man! He gonna kick yer balls up to your throat so you choke on 'em! He gonna kill you so bad you gonna BEG him to let you die! You hear me, limp dick?!" Bruno squirmed and squirmed, slowly working himself free of the confining window frame. He was forcing his incredible mass backward centimeter by centimeter. Like the door frame earlier, the wall around the window began to crack. Bruno's escape seemed imminent, as did Winston's untimely demise. Panic again clutched at Winston's heart with icy fingers.

"I'm almost free, little dick!" Bruno snarled, "Oh, boy, I'm gonna hurt ya soooooooo bad! Are ya ready, shit-fer-brains?!"

Winston again went into hyperdrive, his eyes and brain searching for something...ANYTHING...to end this nightmare. When his eyes fell on the shattered desk, something in his brain began to click. The broken legs were useless - but the desk top, it was still intact. And it was possibly heavy enough and solid enough to do what Winston's scrawny body couldn't.

He could barely move it...but that was good. It meant it might just do the trick. Winston lifted it, grunting with the effort. Thank God for adrenaline; without it, he'd never have been able to budge the desk top, let alone actually lift it!

He held it out in front of himself, hunched over from its weight. Aiming it at Bruno's squirming butt, he closed his eyes and prayed. He held his breath as he backed up as far as he could. Then, focusing squarely on the wriggling Bruno, he ran forward with the desk top as fast as he could. He slammed into him with a force that squeezed all the air from his lungs. But, the plan had succeeded. Bruno's backward advance had been halted. In fact, the force of the impact had pushed him forward several inches, negating the fruits of his efforts. Bruno howled in rage, "Keep it up, little man! Oh, Bruno gonna hurt you so bad! He gonna kill you soooo dead! Deader than dead! I'm gonna dance on your corpse, dickface!"

Encouraged by success - and fueled by stark terror - Winston dragged the desk top back across the room, painfully lifted it, and ran forward with it again. WHAM! Bruno's body was forced several more inches out the window. He screamed and ranted and snorted his anger.

"You skinny fuck! Bruno gonna rip you apart! He gonna feed you yer liver! Shove yer own scrawny cock down your throat! You never fuck a woman again, cuz you gonna eat yer own dick!" His fists pounded the outside wall of the building, and his legs kicked and thrashed inside. His entire body squirmed and wriggled in profound rage.

The fifth battering ram effort ended Bruno's tirade. As soon as the desk top collided with his backside, he was shoved free of the window frame, and not only did he fall out the window, but he SAILED gracefully several feet out from it, into the salty evening air before plummeting like a meteorite to the cement below. Scrabbling and clawing for nonexistent purchase, he twisted in mid-air as his body seemed to float in slow motion in a graceful, earthbound arc. Snarling, he gave Winston the finger with both hands as he dropped - his last act of defiance. His collision with the filth-strewn alley floor below was not pretty. His huge mass had made the fall fatal instantly. Even so, as twisted as his body was, both stubborn flip offs were intact and still aimed directly at the gasping Winston.

Finally, Winston could drop his makeshift sledgehammer. Along with released tension, all of the little man's strength vacated his body instantly, and the exhausted fellow sagged to the floor like overcooked spaghetti. His cheeks unclenched for the first time in some thirty minutes or so. Happily, nothing leaked out. It was a great relief. Veronica, previously a gibbering mess, suddenly recovered completely. Her eyes brightened and color came back to her skin. Winston looked at her with amazement. Her instantaneous transformation had the look of the most sophisticated of theatrical special effects wizardry.

"Well, it seems you can handle yourself quite well, Winston," she said, looking as calm and alluring as when he'd first arrived at her apartment. She walked over to her vanity and put a cigarette into its holder, then lit it. She puffed casually, showing off her lush lips as she did so. Her air of self-confidence came rushing back with a vengeance.

Winston still looked at her incredulously.

She exhaled a blue-gray cloud of smoke, and strutted brazenly toward Winston, as if the traumatic events of the last half hour had never even occurred. Her lips glistened around a lascivious grin.

"So, what about that round two?" she asked, sitting on the overturned bed frame in front of Winston. Again she lazily swung her legs out and back, giving him yet another view between them. She sat back as she puffed, making sure the view was unobstructed.

Despite himself, Winston got an erection. Veronica smiled as she noticed it pushing on his boxers. She licked her lips. "Want to break some more furniture, Winston, dear?"

He was amazed at how cold she could be, how quickly she could flip her emotional switch. Her lover had just taken a nose dive out the window and had pretty much fused with the pavement of the alleyway, and here she was flashing her beaver at him again. What kind of woman had he gotten himself involved with?!

Veronica rose from the bed frame. She again flaunted her body as she walked over to him, hips swaying, long legs moving with feline grace. She stood over him, still puffing away. Grinning, she lifted one foot from the floor. As before, she inserted her toes into his boxers and worked his swelling penis out from its hiding place. She played with it with her toes, stroking it, slipping her toes behind it to tickle his testicles. Though he tried to resist, his cock was traitorous. It bloated and throbbed, showing much interest in what Veronica had in mind.

Down on her knees Veronica dropped, looking greedily at the pulsing prize she so single mindedly sought. While she held the cigarette holder in one hand, she reached down with the other and began gently stroking Winston's erection. He shuddered briefly, then sighed. He had every intention of saying, "Unhand me, harlot!" but it instead came out as simply, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh......." It wasn't long before soft lips joined the relentless fingers.

After a few minutes of being stroked and licked, Winston fought through the haze of pleasure and forced his brain to function. It took every ounce of willpower he had in him, but he managed to squeeze actual words from his mouth. "Veronica," he gasped, "the police will be here soon. Your ex-boyfriend is a puddle of goo just down in that alley below. Someone's gonna want some answers."

"Not likely," she replied, bending down to kiss the head of his penis, "the cops never come here, dear. This is the docks. You won't find a cop here after dark. They pretty much let us solve our own problems."

Her lips circled his cock, and up and down they glided, warm and wet and pleasing. He was throbbing harder than ever.

"Now, lets say I sit on this fine piece of book seller meat here and let you fill me up again, and then we can talk about poor Bruno? Okay? What do you say? My pussy is so hot right now, it could just gobble up this sweet cock of yours. And don't you think we could both communicate much better after another orgasm or two? Maybe you'd rather hold onto your comments about Bruno until after I blow you once or twice? Hmmm?"

As she crawled up to him, he wanted desperately to push her away. But he was unable to. His hormones had gotten control of him again, just that quickly. What kind of man was he, to let her seduce him again this way, and after he'd just wasted her goon boyfriend? Alas, his finest efforts to refuse the sultry Veronica were to no avail. Not only was his penis betraying him now, but his entire body refused to obey his commands. Instead, it had decided it was much more fun to obey Veronica's commands.

But, then, fate intervened. Veronica had her sweet, dripping nest hovering just over his roaring chubby, ready to impale itself, when history seemed intent on repeating itself...in spades.

Thunderous footfalls again resounded down the outside hallway. More bellows of rage echoed from wall to wall in piercing shrieks that tore at the very soul.

"Oh, my God!" Winston cried, "Bruno's still alive! What does it take to kill that man?!" He finally found the strength of will to push Veronica away. He pushed her back with both hands and stood up all in one swift movement, which caused Veronica to topple backward and land heavily on her gorgeous rump. She scowled in indignation, but behind that scowl was a tinge of fear.

Winston turned and rushed to look out the window. The crumpled stiff that was once Bruno still flashed him the bird with conviction.

"But..." Winston stammered, "Bruno is still...he's down there...he's dead as a....but then...who...what?"

Veronica listened intently, then slowly asked Winston a question. "You're sure Bruno is dead? You're SURE?"

"I'm looking at him, Veronica. He's a crumpled mess in the alley. He's dead, all right."

Veronica shuddered. "Shit! Dammit! Winston, you'd better get out of here after all." She sidled up to him and held him against her body, rubbing herself against him, touching his penis meaningfully. "But please do come back again, y'hear? Don't be a stranger. A good fuck is hard to find in this neck of the woods."

Pounding, even louder than Bruno's had been, commenced on the door once more. The door groaned. The hinge screws lifted from the frame millimeter by millimeter with each slammed fist. In minutes, the door would buckle and whatever was out there would gain entrance. Winston experienced a frigid case of Deja vu.

"If that's not Bruno out there, then who or WHAT is it?" he gasped, his lungs suddenly constricting with fear. "What kind of people do you keep company with, Veronica?!"

The top of the door caved in with a sharp, wood-splintering sound, the entire upper third of it swiveling inward at an odd angle, as the upper hinge gave out completely, flying off in search of the long gone center hinge. A snarling, ranting voice came from without. "Ronnie, you in there? What's goin' on? Who kilt Bruno? Who snuffed my brudda?"

His question answered, Winston said in disbelief, "Oh, you gotta be kidding. There's TWO of them?"

Veronica sighed, "That creature outside the door is indeed Bruno's brother, Tony. Sorry, love."

"So," Winston asked with a tingle skipping down his spine, "is he as big as his brother?" He cringed, hoping against hope that she would say he was nothing like Bruno at all, perhaps even - oh, please, Lord - even scrawnier than Winston himself. Alas, such was not to be. Winston had used up his allotment of miracles for one night.

Veronica laughed, "Bigger. Bruno's the baby of the family. They call him 'Little Bruno'. Tony makes Bruno look like Tattoo from Fantasy Island, I'm afraid. There are four brothers, actually, and Tony's not even the biggest. That would be Frankie. I'm really so sorry for you, love." She actually did look sympathetic.

Winston's muscles became so rigid with fear that his testicles popped up into his abdominal cavity, apparently running for their lives. Or perhaps they figured Tony was going to kick them up there anyway, so why not get a head start?

"WHO KILT MY LITTLE BRUDDA, DAMMIT?!" came a wall-rattling wail from beyond the door, "Is the fuck in dere wit you, Ronnie? If he is, I'm gonna take a dump down his neck after I rip his fukkin head off!" Another punch and the door caved in completely, sighing with relief at having finally escaped those pounding paws. When Winston saw the grotesque creature in the doorway, he nearly lost his grip on what little sanity he had left. It was so big it couldn't fit in the doorway at all, and had to squeeze itself through, straining and groaning. And that inhuman face! It made the decidedly unattractive Bruno look like the romantic lead in a Hollywood chick flick! Once again, sphincter muscles twitched ominously.

"YOU!" It screeched, glaring at Winston, "Did YOU kill my little brudda? Stay right there, so I can murder ya real good, okay? I hope you like pain, little fella."

Winston didn't wait for Tony to squeeze his entire mass through the door. He gathered up, once again, his clothing and his briefcase, and, clad only in boxers and socks, leaped out the window he'd just shoved Bruno through to his death. It was a simple task, since the accommodating Bruno had stretched out the window frame nicely and graciously removed every last shard of glass from it. Winston's body never even grazed a single sliver of wood or glass, as he sailed through the square opening completely unscathed. Very thoughtful of the lumbering idiot to make this so much easier for him, Winston thought as he flew into the night.

As he sailed into the rather pungent air of the alleyway, his head swiveled around for one last, brief look into the bowels of hell he'd just escaped. His last vision before plunging downward toward the crumpled, bird-flipping carcass of Bruno, was that of the grotesque Tony charging the window like a rampaging T-Rex, salivating and bellowing, his huge arms outstretched, meaty fingers grasping for the already coop-flown Winston. Vaguely, plummeting earthward, Winston wondered what Veronica would tell Tony as to her and himself both being naked and Bruno being...well...a puddle. But then, he decided he didn't want to know.

Upon reaching the floor of the alley, Winston discovered that Bruno had also been kind enough to help him - in the form of a soft, comfy cushion - by softening the blow of his otherwise bone-shattering landing. The fearful book salesman leaped out far enough, and judged his angle well enough, that he landed directly on the crumpled remains of the squashed goon. Humorously, Winston landed butt-first directly between Bruno's upraised middle fingers, on his unmoving chest. He suffered only the uncomfortable sensation of having the air knocked out of him, but he got over that quickly, rolled off of Bruno and bounced from there directly into a dead run.

As he rounded the corner of the alley into the deserted dockside street, he looked back and saw the ranting Tony creature flailing and ranting out the window and slamming his fists against the frame, gouging huge fist-sized holes in it. His bellows followed Winston a good half mile down the darkened street. He shuddered at what Veronica may have told him about how Bruno came to his grisly end, and how Winston was solely responsible.

After running for about a mile, he finally came within eyesight of his parked car. It was just past this one last apartment building. Another block and he was home free, if a little humbled and shaken. Still, he'd gotten the fuck of his life, even though he WAS primed and ready for another before Tony showed up. He'd proven something to himself. That even a scrawny little man like him could bed a super sexy vixen like Veronica - and do so quite ably, thank you very much. Even in his current, predominantly naked condition, he walked tall and proud. One might even say he'd acquired an air of cockiness, strutting down the street like the only rooster in the henhouse.

"Hey, sugar," came a lilting voice that startled him and nearly made him drop his wares, "out kinda late, aren't ya hon? Pretty dangerous part of town for a guy in socks and shorts to be wanderin' about alone. What happened to you, anyway?."

Under a dim porch light, leaning against a wrought iron railing, stood an incredibly gorgeous woman, with curves that made Veronica's pale by comparison. Winston stopped short, nodded his head in acknowledgement, and then started walking again.

"What's your hurry, hon? You look cold. Why not come inside and let me warm you up some?"

Again, Winston stopped short. He turned to say "No thank you," but the words stuck in his throat. He actually pondered the offer! Had he learned nothing from his near death experience with Veronica?

"C'mon, sugar, let Lilly warm you up. I'm very good at warming things up. And I'll be gentle, I promise." She started rubbing her belly, slowly bringing her hand up her tight dress to just under her ample bosom. Then her hand continued upward, and her fingers lightly touched her nipples. A definite stirring occurred behind the flappy opening of Winston's boxers. It was a familiar sensation, from just recently. And that sensation could most aptly be labeled as pure stupidity. The blood was rushing from his usually trustworthy brain directly down to his troublesome penis again. It seemed to be becoming a pattern recently.

"Well," Winston said, twisting to conceal any sign of his budding erection, "I should get home. It's late. But thank you for the offer." There, he managed to get it out after all. Not that he meant a word of it, of course.

"Awww, that's too bad, sugar. Here I am all alone and I have all this warmth to share with a naked man, and you turn me away? That's just so mean of you, honey. Am I not pretty enough for you?"