A Walk on the Wild Side

"I'm not jokin' around here, Snugglepants. I'm horny as a rhino here. OPEN UP THE FUKKIN' DOOR!" Bruno seemed to be getting a tad...impatient.

Another blow rocked the door. It heaved inward with a loud groan. More cracks appeared around the door frame. The center of the door splintered in several places. The entire middle hinge now released its hold on the frame and sailed down the hallway, landing at Winston's feet as he rushed blindly about, searching for the room with the balcony. His fear-stricken brain managed to remember the balcony - as a possible escape route to both sweet freedom and restored sanity - but his panic kept him from figuring out which direction would take him toward that much needed exit. Veronica's dragging him down the hallway earlier, keeping him from getting his bearings, didn't help matters much, either. The end result was a skinny, nearly naked man carrying his clothing and briefcase, running about in circles in blind panic, looking for anything that might save his skin. If the situation wasn't so fraught with danger for the poor book salesman, it would have been comical.

"No!" Veronica cried, "Not that way! Over here! No....wait...here....HERE!" She looked like a manic traffic cop, pointing left, then right, Winston's eyes barely focusing on her directions, anyway. Finally, she realized that he did not have time to try the risky jump over the balcony to freedom - and hopefully a long and fruitful life - so she intervened in his pinballing madness and grabbed him by the shoulders, her stabilizing hands putting a sudden end to his whirling dervish antics.

"Quick, get into the armoire!" she screeched in a hissing whisper, "Hurry, that door won't hold Bruno for long."

"But, I'll be trapped," Winston insisted, his pupils dilated with fear.

"Honey," Veronica replied quietly, "you already are. There's no time to escape now. We'll just have to hope Bruno doesn't find you."

That did not reassure Winston in the slightest. However, dazed and unsteady, he slowly staggered in the direction Veronica indicated, to the armoire he previously didn't even know existed. His movements were halting and lethargic, as if his body had finally run out of gas and his zombiefied brain had forthwith gone bye-bye. Veronica opened one of the double doors and he stepped in - or rather, he sort of oozed into the darkened interior. He was taking so long at this endeavor that Veronica put both her hands on his back and shoved him inside, so hard in fact that he slammed face-first into the armoire's rear panel, but never even seemed to notice. His body quaking with fear, he slowly slid down that inside back panel and rotated counterclockwise until he ended up in a sitting position in one corner of the armoire, facing the front doors, eyes staring vacantly. His face was blank, ghostly pale. Shaking her head, feeling sorry for him, yet realizing the need for urgency, Veronica closed the doors quickly behind him. Slumped against the back of the armoire, Winston's retreating mind seemed almost amused when it suggested to him that he might want to get used to the darkness, because, in all likelihood, he'd be dead soon anyway.

"Bruno!" Veronica cried, rushing out of the bedroom and down the hallway, "stop smashing the door! I'm coming, honey, I'M COMING!"

She heard a good deal of grumbling outside the door as she unlocked it, her mind noting the damage Bruno had done to it, and then shuddering inside her skull at the thought of that same damage - or worse - being done to poor Winston. When she opened the door, she jumped back, her nerves still understandably on edge.

"What took you so long, babe? I been hollerin' like a crazy man out here forever! If I don't get some lovin' soon, I'm gonna hafta go hump ol' Nellie Wankerwacker down the road, and you know how SHE skeeves me out! What's up? You don't love your Bruno no more?"

Veronica looked the lumbering hulk over, trying to calm herself before answering. It didn't help much at all. Bruno stood about six foot ten and weighed in excess of three hundred and fifty pounds, most of it pure muscle. How much in excess was anyone's guess. His enormous shoulders barely fit through the doorway, thanks to endless hours in the gym and intermittent injections of illegal body-enhancing substances. You see, Bruno was what you'd call an...enforcer...and those "professionals" needed to be pretty tough at all times. He also had a little bouncer job on the side...but just for relaxation. His muscles had muscles. Only his bulging belly attested to his love for beer. His enormous, square face looked like the mutated offspring of Rocky Balboa and the Terminator, if such a coupling were even possible. Very little intelligence backlit those angry eyes.

Bruno stepped inside, having to duck to clear the top of the door frame and turn to one side to squeeze his massive bulk through the opening. He already had his flannel shirt unbuttoned to the waist, and his grubby jeans unzipped. He really WAS horny, and he looked Veronica up and down as if she was the first woman he'd seen in a decade. Once fully inside, he bent down and kissed the top of her head...and waited for her reply.

"I'm sorry, baby," she cooed, her voice quivering just a bit, "I was...I was...just getting into the shower." Slowly, with a trembling hand, she quietly closed the door behind the lumbering behemoth. Even the faint click of the locking deadbolt jangled her frayed nerves.

"Hey, you know you don't hafta shower for ME, babe. I like ya all hot 'n' sweaty. C'mere, give your Bruno some tongue. We're gonna fuck up a storm tonight, hon. We might even bust up some furniture!" A shudder racked Veronica's entire body.

"Um....honey...baby..." she whispered up toward his chin, "not tonight, okay? I'm kind of tired. Do you mind, sweetums?"

Bruno's broad, square-jawed face changed color, a healthy flesh hue becoming somewhat crimson.

"Yer kiddin', right?" he asked with controlled anger, "I just told you I'm horny as hell, and ya wanna put me off? That ain't like you, babe. You usually can't wait for Bruno to stick it to ya with his big salami. You sick or sumthin'?"

"Yes, that's it," Veronica stammered, "I'm sick. I haven't felt well all..."

"Hey, wait a minute," Bruno's somewhat smallish brain finally kicked in, "howcum ya answered the door all naked? Why dintcha put on a robe or sumthin'? That ain't like you, neither."

"Well, you see? That proves it. I'm not feeling well. Like I said, I've been sick all..."

Bruno's brow furrowed. His eyes became hard as he scanned her from head to toe. He leaned down and sniffed at her, his huge nostrils sucking in the scent of her skin...and much more.

"Nuh uh," he said, glaring at her, standing back up to his full height. "I smell sumthin on ya. Somethin' ain't right."

Veronica was getting more nervous by the millisecond. Her words faltered. "Everything's...fine...honest....honey...sweetie. I'm just..."

"Nope," Bruno interrupted, "ya got a smell on ya...a familiar smell. I'd know that smell anywhere." He leaned down again and stopped with his reddening eyes less than a foot from hers. "Ya got the smell of sex on ya, Ronnie. You been porked tonight, ain't ya?"

"No!" Veronica laughed nervously, "Of course not! What other man could even come close to pleasing me the way you do? Really, Bruno...you're just being silly."

"Nope, I ain't. You got the smell of another man all over ya. You went an' got yourself fucked, dintcha? Some guy poked his salami inta ya, didn't he? Fess up, you been cheatin' on me, aintcha, Pussykins?" When he said "Pussykins," the word hissed out of his mouth, as if he was taking great satisfaction from spitting out some vile cuss word.

"No, Bruno, I swear..."

He wasn't listening. He brushed past her, not an easy thing for him to do in the narrow hallway.

"Where is he? Is he still here? Did the dead meat go home already or is he waitin' here ta die?"

"Bruno, you're just being silly, honest. There's no..."

Bruno's hand shot up, indicating Veronica should immediately embrace silence. Quaking with fear, she followed along behind him silently as he made a stomping, snorting beeline for the bedroom. When he walked through the doorway into it, he stopped short. He grunted. His eyes scanned the room. It didn't take a genius to see that SOMETHING had happened. The desk destroyed, the bed table and shoe rack overturned, chairs and lamps upended , Veronica's clothing scattered all over the floor, her bed a disheveled mess at this time of the evening. But the kicker was the scent of sex.

"It was a burglar," Veronica tried. "I didn't want to alarm you, baby. I know how upset you get..."

Again Bruno's hand demanded silence.

As he lumbered through the room, his keen eyes sought the proof...and found it. On the opposite side of the bed, the carpet was stained with the fluids of lust. Veronica cringed as he bent down to touch the spatters and then bring his fingers up to his nose to sniff at them. He growled deep in the pit of his churning guts.

Slowly Bruno turned to look at Veronica, eyes blazing. His lips curled into a sick smile. He knew he was right, and what's more, he knew he might have a chance at revenge.

"This cum is fresh," he snarled. "Someone shoved his meat in ya just before I got here. In fact, I'll bet I caught ya's by surprise, huh?"

This time, Veronica was speechless entirely on her own. In the armoire, Winston was cringing and praying, and trying desperately not to pass out. Through the tiny crack between the two doors, he could peer out and see the lumbering Neanderthal that was Veronica's muscle bound boyfriend. It had made him quite apprehensive, to say the least.

"I'll bet, too," the immense moron continued, "that he's still here. I'll bet he didn't have time to get away, and he's hidin' somewhere. Am I right, Sugarpants? If I look around, will I find your new boyfriend?" He grinned at her, a cruel, sickly grin. Veronica's mouth moved, but nothing came out.

Inside the armoire, Winston faced a dilemma. His bowels were fighting mightily to let loose, emptying themselves of the remains of his last several meals. Fear had him on the verge of soiling himself in a very big way. But, if he did so, chances are Bruno's obviously sensitive nostrils would easily pick up on the scent, and his last moments of inhaling sweet oxygen in any way, shape, or form would surely be at hand. The flip side of that conundrum was this: if he kept his cheeks clenched tightly enough together to prevent the embarrassing - and dangerous - release, and if Bruno did indeed discover his whereabouts, how would he be able to run from him fast enough to actually escape? Holding one's cheeks together tightly enough to prevent leakage has never, to Winston's knowledge, been conducive to sprinting for one's life. To clench or not to clench, that was poor Winston's life and death dilemma.

Bruno stood up, grinning madly at Veronica. "I wonder," he said softly, "is he under HERE....?" He reached down with one hand and easily lifted the Queen size bed off the floor, flipping it over as if it weighed next to nothing. It came to a crashing halt upside-down on the floor.

Inside the armoire, Winston clenched - hard.

"How about, maybe, inside HERE...!" Bruno tore the closet door off its hinges, dropping the dangling door next to the overturned bed. "Hmmm...guess there's only one place left to try in this room, then I'll check out the rest of the apartment."

Bruno reached the armoire in just three floor-shuddering, giraffe-sized steps. He paused with his hands on the doorknobs. He sniffed the air, then leaned forward and sniffed at the sliver of space between the doors. He grinned. His face reddened. He turned to look back at Veronica, who was about to swoon. A small glob of spittle dribbled downward from his bottom lip to his chin, where it dangled precariously as he grinned at her maliciously.

"Gotcha!" Bruno yelled as he again effortlessly tore doors off their hinges. Lunging forward, his huge, square, fleshy face pushed all the way to the rear of the armoire, his glaring eyeballs ending up just inches from the now standing - though precariously so - Winston's bleached, sweating face. Those eyes were so close to his, in fact, that Winston could actually count the numerous squiggly red blood vessels surrounding Bruno's pupils.

Bruno's head shot back, the expression on his face changing from rage to confusion. He turned to Veronica again, his face a mask of blinking disbelief. "THIS is the man who fucked ya? HIM?!! He's scrawny...a wimp! You prefer HIS dick over mine?"

Again Veronica's mouth moved soundlessly. She was wringing something in her hands, but was unaware of that fact. Only her hands moved. The rest of her, except the noiselessly babbling lips, was frozen with fear.

Immediately, Bruno turned back to his cringing victim. He had to look down, for the weak-kneed Winston had collapsed and was sitting on his butt amidst the armoire's contents. He, too, was wringing something - the sides of his briefcase. When Bruno leaned down - most likely to end his life - Winston rammed his briefcase forward with both hands, slamming it into the man-mountain's face. His intention was to make Bruno howl in pain and stagger about the room, thus facilitating an attempt at escape. Bruno, however, didn't cooperate. He merely looked mildly stunned. He blinked his surprise, then wiped at his nose, to see if it was bleeding. Encountering no damaged tissue, he returned his attention to his prey. Winston's bowels nearly let loose again.

Bruno hauled Winston out of the armoire, holding him by one ankle and dragging him pretty much on his face to the center of the room. Once out in the open, he lifted the salesman up in the air, hoisting him skyward by his skinny calves until his eyes were level with the little man's crotch. Holding the man upside down in his firm grip, he appraised his crotch area, just to ease his own bruised macho ego.

"Hmph!" he said indignantly, "Tiny little cock. Can't even make a bulge in his shorts. I thought so. That's barely big enough to fit up your NOSE, Ronnie. Ya didn't really fuck this twit, didja?"

Veronica smiled sheepishly. Anything requiring higher thought was well beyond her at this point. Her brain had left the building.

Bruno continued to hold the squirming Winston inverted in the air. Moving his hands alternately, he worked them continually up Winston's legs a few inches at a time, until he was holding him by his upper thighs, his legs still wagging in the air above them both. Holding Winston by the thighs with his arms upraised, Bruno could look the upside down book man right in the eyes.

"So, you like fucking my girl, little dick man?" Bruno asked, eyes blazing. Winston was wise enough not to reply. "You think your little wee wee made her happy? Had a good time, didja? Fucked her all over our bedroom, it looks like. Put that tiny little cock in her sweet pussy, didja?" With each word, Bruno's face was turning a brighter and brighter shade of red. "Musta felt really good having your dick in my girl, huh? Think you made a fool out of Bruno, do ya? Huh?"

Winston replied meekly, "No, Mr. Bruno, sir, I swear, I had no idea. SHE'S the one who..."

Veronica finally found words, out of sheer self preservation. "Don't listen to him, Bruno, he RAPED me! He forced his way in here and MADE me have sex with him! Honest, I wouldn't lie to you, baby!"

This theory sat much better with Bruno, who couldn't believe that his darling "Pussykins" could possibly WANT another man. So, this was the "truth" he embraced, much to Winston's dismay.

"Aha!" Bruno exclaimed, "I knew it! I knew ya couldn't fuck a wimp like this unless ya HAD to!"

"No, wait..." Winston tried, "I swear..." His eyes pleaded with Veronica for her to speak the truth, but she had her own life to preserve.

"Shut your skinny little mouth, geekface. My Ronnie don't lie. She loves my dick, and she'd never wanna even SEE your little thing unless you forced her to. I'm gonna teach you to rape my girl. And there ain't gonna be no police involved. You gonna disappear all nice and quiet like. Cuz, ya see, little dick...I'm gonna make you dead. And I'm gonna do that little thing with my very own bare hands. Ain't that nice o' me?"

That was when Winston discovered two things: 1) he did indeed have moisture left in his body, despite all the sweating he'd done, and 2) there were other avenues of escape for bodily wastes besides his tightly clenched sphincter. Fear found a way.

It wasn't his quaking sphincter that sprung a leak, but his shrunken, terrified penis. As he looked into Bruno's enraged face, eye to eye with impending doom, his bladder let loose, efficiently evacuating all the remaining moisture in Winston's trembling body. A thin yellow stream dribbled down onto Bruno's head, spattering noisily on the top of that flat, short-cropped noggin. Winston watched with growing terror as several yellow streams flowed down the sides of Bruno's square head. Bruno's eyes crossed as he watched a drop work its way down the bridge of his nose and dangle off the tip. By the time it gained enough weight and volume to drop off his nose, Bruno's facial flesh had turned an ominous, mottled mixture of enraged reds and purples. The number of blood vessels crowding the whites of his eyes easily doubled. His mouth formed a scowl of pure rage, his teeth clenched together so tightly that they threatened to shatter. Spittle bubbled up at the corners of Bruno's snarling mouth.

"Heh...so sorry...excuse me. That was unintentional, I assure you." Winston babbled meekly, trying his best to look sympathetic and contrite. He only succeeded in looking pathetic. Not surprisingly, his apology had no effect on Bruno whatsoever. Veronica turned away, praying openly now.

Bruno trembled with the purest anger Winston had ever seen when he said slowly and calmly, squeezing the words from between clenched teeth, "Now Bruno gonna make you dead....TWICE!"

When the gist of that illogical sentiment niggled its way into Winston's nearly paralyzed brain, his bladder had yet another spasm. His shriveled penis twitched weakly, and the tiny opening again puckered, anointing the already irate Bruno with a short, meek little burst of concentrated urine. Again spattering down on Bruno's head, this time it chose a new target, raining down instead onto Bruno's throbbing right temple. It circled around impossibly, slithered snakelike along his eyebrow and then suddenly lunged downward directly into his eye. It burned. Bruno finally did howl in pain, and released one of Winston's legs to rub the salty fire from his eye.

That was Winston's one chance. With one leg now having escaped Bruno's iron grip, Winston was free to bring it down from it's lofty altitude and pull his knee back into position for an offensive strike. He aimed his foot directly at Bruno's face and shoved it forward with every ounce of strength his slim body contained. Thankfully, it was enough.

Bruno dropped Winston like a rock and staggered backward, one hand still rubbing his burning eye and the other holding his nose. Winston's heel bone had apparently accomplished what his briefcase couldn't.

Winston scrambled away from the wobbling behemoth, his eyes already madly searching for escape. He no longer sought the balcony, because he knew Bruno would be on him long before he could find it. Any window would do. He'd take his chances with the three story drop. Even if it killed him, he was sure it would be a much more merciful, and infinitely less painful, way to die than at Bruno's hirsute, thick-knuckled hands.

Mercifully, the gods that be allowed him to locate the window. It was within sprinting distance. And Winston didn't even care if his sphincter let loose along the way. That would be someone else's problem. He just wanted to live.