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DKUSAN15 hurt girl you can
DARKSIDE: The United States of Anarchy; "The Green Eyed Wanderer."
[Version Control : Original.]
[Disclaimer: This text is intended for adult audiences, if you are
not of age to view it, be somewhere else. This series of
explores the darker aspects of the human experience, if that might
offend you, then you were warned, and it isn't my problem. -- KTM]
Anything can happen in the Multiverse. Even a world that
is much like ours, but which somehow... isn't. A world that is a
magnet for the blackness in the dreams and souls of humankind. A
world known as: The Darkside.
The World's economic system depends on a delicate
interlocking system of mutual trust and financial debt. When
those bonds shattered, the governments and monetary institutions
crumbled. Even the most idealistic civil servants left their jobs
when their families were gripped with hunger. The Survivors of
the Chaos would come to call their nation the United States of
Anarchy.
Chapter 15. "The Green Eyed Wanderer." -- by KTM.
<Pulse.>
Here you go again, the same thing. Another town, and
another girl. You wish it would stop, but it never does. The
nightmare never ends, the bad dream just keeps going in your head.
The trucker you were hitching with lets you off at the local
Keep. 'Fancy name for a Truck stop', you think. You head for the
john, and after doing your business, you look in the grimy mirror.
You look carefully, seeing if you will do. You see a haunted face of
middle years, 35 to 50, with a full beard and mustache. Your
shoulder length brown hair is held in place at your neck with a band.
You try not to meet the bright green eyes in the glass. Green
eyes are a trait of your family, but yours are far brighter than your
kin's. They are the green of your curse. The green you've left
behind yourself a thousand times as you wander, straining at the end
of your invisible chains.
Your clothes are in fair repair, and not too dirty. You look
ok, so you go in to get something to eat. You'd raid the dumpster,
but the chained out back looks like he'd make too much noise. So
you slip inside the greasy spoon to pad your ribs. The Imperial
script looks like play money, but they accept it. Half the country
does since the Empire formed last summer.
She's not here, you notice. You're relieved. A truck stop
would be a bad place to do what you're here to do. And what you must
do soon, you know. The Pulse that hit you as you passed the highway
sign for this little town had been a hard one. What was the town's
name? You've forgotten already. It doesn't really matter.
The Trucker that brought you here is alright. He'd eaten here
too, and comes by to ask if you're still going his way. You shake
your head, you have business in town, you see. 'The same
business,' you think. It's just a new town.
You go outside, and follow the Pulse. As you walk, you keep an
eye out for the Law. You don't like being jailed for vagrancy. They
mistake the torments of your compulsion for drug trips, and the
longer they keep you the worse it gets. If the town is well
patrolled, you may have to take a bit longer. Spend a few days
working towards your target at night, waiting for an opportunity.
You're lucky, as you usually are. No cops, or 'Justice Agents'
as they call them now, only a few incurious stares for the stranger
as you walk through the streets. Things begin to look familiar to
you. You've been in a million little towns; hundreds, no, thousands
of them in this part of the country alone. They all look alike to
you.
And yet... the church on the corner. The steeple on the corner
is freshly painted, but the side window is cracked. You remember the
steeple needing a whitewash, and the window being unbroken. You feel
uneasy. Retracing your footsteps isn't good for you.
The park on the next block. The playground equipment is
different than you recall, but the timbers are weathered. You relax,
if you were here before, it's been a while. Maybe they've forgotten
you. Maybe they don't hate you anymore. You doubt that, just as you
doubt that anyone could hate you more than you hate yourself. You
hate your life. You hate your curse. You hate the Pulse.
<Pulse!>
Nearer. Very near. You begin to be cautious. You can't let
anyone see you in this area. From the bushes across the street you
study the house. It's the same house you were drawn to last time.
The that was there before must have moved away long ago. The
home is different from what you vaguely recollect. The open porch is
closed off now with posts and screens. The house is painted yellow
instead of the former green color. Gee, you wonder why.
There are people walking around outside the place, moving a
sprinkler to another part of the yard. When you were here before
there were tall hedges in the back. No more, they are replaced with
broad flower beds. It had been in the shade of those hedges that you
had... No. Not now! You push the unbidden memories away.
You squat in the bushes, brushing away a spider web, and
letting a line of ants crawl over your shoes. They don't climb any
higher. You have some time to kill until you can approach the house,
so you can let yourself remember, you guess. You'll need her to be
alone.
You have come back to the same before. So many places and
so many frightened faces. It's all a blur to you. You wouldn't be
able to function if you couldn't push it all away and live for the
moment. You'd be a raving lunatic. Instead you were only quietly
mad. But it's not your fault. You're under the curse, dammit!
Drowsy, your eyes close. You relive that earlier time in this
same nameless town. . .
You had short hair then. You still made an effort to blend
into places. You'd been going for the red-neck look, with buzzed
hair and a battered baseball hat. She lived with her parents, and
you hung around for two days, waiting.
Those were more innocent times. On the second day, she'd come
home from school, and they'd gone to play golf. She'd come out in a
bathing suit with a towel. You were puzzled, there wasn't a pool in
their yard, not even a wading pool. She lay in the sunny shelter of
the hedge, spread on some lotion, and went to sleep.
You came quietly inside the yard. No dogs, good. You crouched
near her and looked at her, trying to ignore the Pulse in your head.
She was an teen, wearing a bikini. That would make it easier
for you. She was dark haired, a little in the waist, but her
face was fairly pretty.
It didn't matter. She could have been homely, and if the Pulse
insisted... You took a cord from your pocket, and pulled the wax
paper from the wide duct tape gag you carried. Staying crouched
below the level of the hedge, you moved next to her.
She became aware of you only as you put the gag on her mouth.
Between your strength and the power of your green eyes, you kept her
still long enough to roll her over and tie her hands behind her back.
Helpless now, her eyes were filled with terror as you dragged down
her bikini bottoms to loosen it, then opened your pants.
Your danger sense was quiet, so you took the time to touch her.
Not bothering to take off her bottoms, you just shoved the panel
aside. You touched her with fingers slick with the secretions of
your hard cock. You pushed up her top and played with her small
breasts. She wet some, but didn't respond much. You worked your
middle finger all the way into her tight pussy. Damn, another
virgin. No way around it though, you've got to do it.
"I'm sorry," you said softly, "but I have to." (In the
present, you wonder just how long it's been since you bothered to
apologize to a girl, or even to speak at all for that matter.)
Relentlessly you spread her legs wide, and began to force your
drooling penis into the girl's body.
Slowly at first, then faster, you began to press into her. Her
belly felt hot to yours. You know what was happening to her, even if
she didn't. No matter where the was in her monthly cycle, when
you are finished she would be fertile. She would get pregnant, and
she would be compelled to not allow your offspring to be aborted.
If she was lucky, you thought, she would miscarry. That
happened sometimes, you knew from those few you've visited again.
Always when it did there was something wrong with the baby. It
seemed the force that drove you to spread your sperm allowed no
deadly defects in your numerous children. But those that lived...
they were always exceptional children, in one way or another. (If
only you had some choice! But you don't, and you have never had.)
As quick as you could, you broke her, and tried not to see the
tears of pain welling in the eyes. You had to her, and
you couldn't stop now. Soon your cock was bottoming out deep inside
of her. As soon as you did, you came, and yet you stayed hard.
You're the only you knew who could have multiple orgasms. Yet
you only wished you were a celibate monk, or castrated, or better
yet, dead. So many years, so many wet cunts, and all because of the
never ending Pulse.
In the next half-hour or so, you in her several times,
filling her with your sperm. The urging of the Pulse faded, and you
softened. You figure you've given her the one sperm that will
impregnate her. You stayed inside her, stroking her struggling body
until it happened. Conception!
You could leave now. You hoped the would be able to get
on with her life. No offense meant, Miss. It's not like either of
us had a choice... You stroked her face, and willed her to sleep.
You didn't want the cops to be after you right away. You dragged her
into the shade, and tied her ankles too. There, it would be a while
before she was found, and if she woke first, she would have to work
hard to get to a phone. From when you used to play golf as a
man, you knew that her would only be an hour or two more
before they would be home.
<PULSE.>
You snap to in the present, she's here! Deja vu, she's coming
home from school. She seems familiar somehow. She looks around
cautiously, that isn't a good sign you think. You like it better
when they are innocent and careless. It made things easier. You
know you are less likely to a if you can take her by
surprise.
She brings her bike into the closed porch. As she fastens it,
you see something flap loosely at the screen enclosing the side
porch. When all is quiet again, you backtrack a block and cross the
road. You work your way to that side of the yellow house. Your eyes
are sharp, and you can see where the insect screening has been
loosened. It looked like they did it to install the shiny new air
conditioner. They'd weakened their defenses in order to be cool.
The screening wouldn't have kept you out anyway. You carry wire
cutters in your long coat.
You wait until dark, after the music and lights are off, and
come besides the porch. You peer into the loose screen. There is a
long couch on the side porch, and a teddy-bear. You smile, it's
where the spends a lot of time, you can smell it. The couch
will make things more comfortable.
There are scented candles on a small table by the couch. You
fidget, because there is a small glass globe of the Earth between the
candles. The venerates HER, the one that torments you. The one
that gave you the curse, and the one who controls the Pulse.
You ease onto the porch, and look for a place to hide. No such
luck. There are security tags on the window. You freeze
momentarily, but your instincts wouldn't have led you out under any
cameras. You'll have to hide elsewhere for the day, but you use your
clippers to widen the gap of the screen. You want your entrance
tomorrow to be as quiet as possible. You exit the porch, adjusting
things so they look normal. Now to find a place to sleep.
The Pulse gives a last tug, but the pain isn't too bad. You've
long since stopped fighting the curse, and no longer endured the
agony that came of resistence. You worked with the curse, and used
your instincts to judge, and plan, and wait. You were no longer
urged to take the first opportunity you had. Instead you were
allowed to arrange the best chance to do what you were here for, and
still get away safely.
You spend the day in someone's boat. It sits in a backyard
down the street. The dust indicates that it hasn't been used in a
while, and the tarp covering the cabin from the leaves was loose
enough for you to wriggle inside. There is canned food in the
cupboard, and you make yourself at home.
<pulse.>
A quiet Pulse lets you know that you should wake up. You peek
out from under the tarp, and see the darkening sky. It's time to
move on. Years of painfully learned stealth gets you up against the
yellow house, close enough to touch the loose screen. Music plays
from a radio on the side porch, and the candles and a soft light
illuminate the scene.
The lays on her belly on the couch, reading a book. She's
wearing bike shorts and a halter top, and she drums a foot absently.
Your cock twitches painfully at the sight of her bare thighs. You
reach up and pull the band from your long hair, letting it fall loose
and lank below your shoulders. You can just yourself,
crouching there in the dark, looking for all the world like the guy
on the cover of Jethro Tull's "Aqualung".
The side door opens, and both you and the jump. You
crouch lower as the lady comes out and says to her, "Isn't it
time for you to come in?"
The pouts at her. "Aw, c'mon Grandma, there's no school
tomorrow. Can't I stay up later? I'm not a kid anymore."
"How late?" the woman says doubtfully.
"Eleven thirty?" the asks with a wheedling tone.
"Ten thirty. Well, alright. You have 'till Eleven, and no
later!"
The hops up and gives the woman a hug and a quick kiss.
"Thanks Grandma. I love you."
"I love you, too, lady," the woman says, turning to
go, "Don't make me regret this."
"I won't," the assures her.
You watch as she reads her book and fiddles with the radio.
It's been a long time since you watched a for so long, but you
sense you should wait. After an hour, she turns off the low watt
overhead light, and turned up the music a little, leaving just the
soft glow of the candles. She digs behind the couch and comes up
with a skin magazine that she looks at while rubbing herself in the
dimness. She gasps and squirms under her own touch. Your eyes watch
her every motion.
<PULSE!>
Yes, you know, dammit. If she feels so safe that she can do
this, then it's safe for you, too. She bites down on a pillow to
muffle her cries, then lays still, panting. It's time.
<Pulse.>
You stand, and brush your hair into your face. Pulling up on
the screen, you slowly slide into the porch. Your hand reaches into
your pocket for a tape gag as you approach her. As you reach the
couch, a board creaks, and she looks up guiltily... and sees you.
You tense, ready to wrestle her into submission, but she just lays
there, frozen.
With your other hand, you reach out and put a finger on her
trembling lips. "You be quiet," you tell her softly, "and I won't
hurt you."
Her eyes are shadowed in the dimness as she slowly begins to
draw in air for an outcry. The hand in your pocket moves as if
grasping a weapon, and the fingers on her lips shifts to grasp her
chin. "If you yell, and bring them out here, they might be...
harmed." you warn her in a hoarse whisper. Her shoulders slump, as
if defeated, but you don't trust her quick surrender.
You push her a little, and sit down with her, flipping pages in
her magazine. It was some European import, unreadable words making
legends for pictures of little girl-children servicing grown
men in every possible way. Looking at her, you deliberately drop it
over the back of the couch, and then open your pants, revealing your
hardness.
<Pulse!>
She makes a startled noise at your blunt action. The dark eyes
stare at your engorged phallus raptly. You take her small hand and
put it on your cock. It curls reflexively, and you guide the
smoothness of her hand, pumping the loose skin of your cock over the
shaft.
The tell-tale appearance of her tongue wetting her lips
galvanizes you. You pull her into your arms and kiss her urgently,
thrusting your tongue far into her mouth. She holds the kiss with
you running her tongue against yours. Your hands move to lift up her
halter, and fumble with her baggy shorts.
Incredibly, she helps you disrobe her, but you are too eager to
have her to question her unlikely cooperation. Naked, she lays back,
trembling anxiously as you poise to plunge into her body.
<PULSE!>
You have no choice, and so you thrust hard into her soft wet
cunt. Ah! She gasps softly, and you feel her maidenhead yield to
you. You're surprised. She seemed too knowledgeable and willing to
be virgin, but it's too late to care about that now.
There's over an hour to go before her deadline, and she's
fucking you back in a way you seldom experience. You start to enjoy
yourself thoroughly. Tonight, with no gags or bindings, you can try
to forget that you are raping an under-aged girl. You can pretend
that she wants you. That you're her clandestine lover come for an
illicit tryst with her. The fantasy explains the efforts you both
make to stay as quiet as possible.
With a hard surge, you ejaculate in her, but that only slows
you down a little. Soon you continue as before, plunging ahead to
the second of your many orgasms into her hot little body. The warmth
in her belly is faint. Seems she was close to her fertile time
anyway. You stay longer than usual, enjoying the fucking immensely.
It's so novel not to have to force yourself on a female.
But even your inhuman stamina reaches it's end eventually. You
plug up her with your cock, cradling her ass, and wait for the
flare. You kiss her face, her hair, her neck, while you wait. You
bend to suck on her nipples, all to show your gratitude for the way
she'd let you fulfill your need without violence. She accepts your
kisses and caresses, seemingly willing to stay with you for whatever
it is you're waiting for.
There. You feel it happen, the flare. You place a long hand
flat on her belly, feeling the life in there that you two have
created. But... her belly heats again, and the Pulse hits you once
more. "Dammit," you mutter, "twins." It's happened to you before,
but rarely. You reach for again, to taste her sweetness one last
time, but she lays a hand on your chest, resisting at last.
"I have to go inside," she whispers. You shake your head
mutely, holding her tighter, and she sighs. "Fine, then we'll both
go inside." Your eyes widen at that, but you let her go. She
dresses and diffidently helps you close your pants over your swelling
erection. She blows out the guttering candles, and leads you through
the darkness to the side door.
Opening it, she pulls you inside. You can't believe you're
actually going in the house, to her bedroom. She takes you down a
hallway, and your back crawls as her door creaks softly when it
opens.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," said a sleepy voice from across the
hall.
"'Night Grandma, and thanks again." the answers quietly.
"You're welcome, dear. Sleep well." the woman said.
"I will," the promised. The door closed behind you, and
from the moonlight you can see teddy bears and other plush animals.
A little girl's room alright. You get even harder at the thought.
In the pale beams she undresses again, her body slender and white. A
child of yours already inside her, and another to join it soon.
She comes to you, and pulls at your clothes. You hesitate, and
then start to help her. It's the first time in years you can
remember being naked with a partner. Usually you only unzip enough
to do the job, staying mostly dressed to ensure a fast getaway. She
leads you to the moonlight, brushing your hair back, and studies your
face intently with a smile.
She pulls down the covers, and you join her in the bed. This
time it's even better. You can take your time, and slowly fuck her,
transporting you both to the extremes of ecstasy many times. Before
you fall asleep, holding her, she sets an alarm for early in the
morning. Drifting peacefully, you feel the flare when it hits.
Her alarm is quiet, thankfully. It goes off at 5:00am, and she
turns it off, then blinks to realize you weren't a dream. Your hand
goes to her belly, and you sense your task is done. The is
pregnant with twins. The momentary twinge of worry that such a
girl was carrying two of your children is dismissed. SHE wouldn't
have made you do it if the chances weren't good the would come
to term.
You sit up and reach for your pants. It's time to go. She
reaches for your hand. Her fingers play through the hair on your
arm, over to the sparse hairs on your chest, down your body, then
stroking your cock. The was a natural tease.
"Once more?" she asks. "Grandma won't be up for a couple of
hours yet." You hesitate; honestly unsure if you could even perform
anymore without the Pulse driving you. Her tickling fingers makes
you twitch, and that seems to be all the assent that she was looking
for...
Pushing you on your back, she brings her hot mouth to your half
hard cock, and gives it tentative little licks that turn into
slathering caresses with her tongue. Suddenly she sucks your cock
into her mouth, and starts vigorously. Oh god, but it feels
so good. You can't remember the last time your cock was blown.
Her hot mouth and lashing tongue bring you to a raging
erection. You put your hand over her head, and push yourself deeper
into her mouth. Gradually you push her a little deeper each time you
press onto her soft hair. Before you realize she's deep throating
you without apparent difficulty. Just another of her natural
talents, it seems.
The feeling of her swallowing your cock is so incredible. You
enjoy it for as long as you can, then tangle her hair with your long
fingers to push her to take you deeply while you down deep in her
throat. She comes up gasping for air, but licking her lips at the
taste of you. A soft stroke of her face is all the apology you give
her for half suffocating her, but it seems to be enough.
She quickly strokes you hard again, and this time straddles
you, sinking her sopping slowly down on your cock. This
is also a rarely indulged in sexual act. You don't play with your
more unwilling victims, preferring more to just get the job done and
be gone. The sight of her slim body riding on top of you is
exciting. Your hands reach up to play with her with an
urgency, and a sophisticated knowledge of how to please her.
She jerks and wriggles as you stimulate her so. Her jerks
become nearly convulsions when one of your hands drops to play with
her swollen clit. She reaches to her headboard and grabs a little
stuffed snake, and bites down hard on its blue fur. Her attempt to
gag herself on her toy amuse you, and you smile up at her, while
lifting your hips to meet her down-thrusting cunt.
The poor blue snake pays the price to keep her moans from
bursting out as ecstatic screams. You feel yourself starting to
approach orgasm, and your hands move to grab her hips. You finish
this last time in her with hard, almost brutal slams inside of her.
Her hands brace on your pale chest, with the soggy snake dangling
from between her teeth. There are tear in her eyes, but they are
tears of pleasure, not of pain.
The hard ride ends with your groan, and you hold her down
firmly on your spurting cock. Why not? She's already pregnant by
you. She collapses on top of you, breathing hard. You feel yourself
soften within her. Apparently, your extra stamina is only increased
when the Pulse is urging you. This once, you've loved a woman
because you wanted to, and for no other reason.
The wet snake lays on your chest near her face, and it's goofy
visage seems to look at you. "I have to go," you say simply to her.
She stirs and sighs. "I know. You can use my bathroom."
You do, cleaning up while she watches and bundles up her
bedding to be laundered. You bind your long hair back in it's band.
She helps you dress, and gets into her pajamas and robe. Quietly,
you leave your room, and she takes you to the back door. The
puts the snake in one of your large pockets, along with some food
from the fridge. She comes into your arms to give you a big hug and
a deep kiss. You smile down at her fondly, but stiffen in shock as
she looks up at you in the early morning's light.
Her eyes... they're green! A bright, almost flourescent green.
The same green you saw in the Keep's mirror days ago, and saw again
in her mirror this morning as you brushed your teeth with her own
toothbrush. The world spins on you, and you stagger against the door
frame. You mouth works and nothing comes out for a moment. "You...
you're..." you start, but you can't even finish the thought.
"Yes, I am," she says calmly. "My wish came true." She leans
up and kisses your cheek. "I love you, Daddy, and I know this is
goodbye." She opens the door for you, and goes out with you onto the
back steps.
"I just wanted to meet you once," you dimly hear her say. "And
maybe have something to remember you by." Her hand rubs her belly.
"Since I'll have two somethings, I thought you needed something to
remember me by. Do you even recall my momma?"
You nod your head numbly. "A little. It came back to me as I
sought you out. This..." your hand gestures at the neighborhood,
"was familiar. But why...?" you ask her, wanting to know so much.
She shrugged, "I just did. And you've got to go now. I can
feel the pulling on you. It's time for you to move on. But Daddy,
what's your name?"
"Rodger," you say, fighting the itch to leave, so you can stay
with her for a little longer. "Yours?" you ask weakly.
"It's embroidered on the snake," she smiles sweetly. Your
sister had a smile like that, long ago when you both were children.
Your danger sense prickles and you abruptly turn away, walking
briskly to some near by bushes for cover. Turning, you see a Justice
patrol car cruise by. The deputy inside waves to the as she
bends down to get a rolled up newspaper. She waves back cheerfully
at him, and disappears inside the house. You can still sense her
eyes watching you, though. You give a little wave at the yellow
house, before you jam your hands in your pockets and move along.
At the Keep's restroom, you pull out your souvenir from your
pocket. The custom stitched tag says 'Sasha', so you figure that was
her name. In the diner you use more of your Imperial play money to
buy breakfast, and try to keep your ears open for truckers who will
accept hitchhikers.
But you don't really feel like hitching today, really. It
starts to rain, and you walk west along the highway, with your tears
mingling with the rain drops on your cheeks.
How long have you been doing this? Sasha's was by no
means your first. You never change, and you've never aged, not in
all these years. SHE won't let you stop. Not once does the curse
let go. Not ever.
It's obviously been long enough that you can be made to sink to
even lower depths than ever before. Now you've sullied your own
bastard daughter. Aren't you just so admirable?
Not.
The itch is leading you westward. Another town to visit,
another to ravish. And the curse never ends. A big truck with
K.O.R.S. plates starts to pass you, and you turn to it, wishing that
you could just throw yourself under it's wheels and end your pain
forever. But SHE won't let you do it. Your damned sense of self-
preservation is too strong.
The truck slows, and pulls over. You trudge up to the cab, and
the guy leans out, "Wanna lift, buddy? I'm going to Kansas."
<Pulse.>
You nod wearily. Yeah, Kansas will do. You climb up, and
settle in for another long haul. In your pocket you feel the stuff
she put in there. You offer the trucker some of the homemade
brownies wrapped in tinfoil she'd given you, then idly play with the
matted snake.
The trucker is happy to have stopped for you, it's not often he
gets real brownies. "That belong to your kid?" he asks.
"Yeah", you say, putting it back in your pocket and turning to
the window. He gets the message that you're not in a talkative mood,
and stops trying. He just drives on to your next appointment with
fate.
Your eyes burn, but you can't cry anymore. There aren't enough
tears for all that you have to grieve for, and for all the grief yet
to come. You start to push the memories away; you can't stand the
remembering. It's best to let it go, and take things as they come.
It's the only way for you to survive.
You get off in west Kansas, and walk to a roadside diner. At
the door you throw away a crumbled bit of tinfoil, and something
furry and blue that doesn't mean anything to you anymore, if it ever
did.
As it drops into the can, you feel that it might have, once.
But you also sense that it was one of those things you were better
off not knowing. It was hard enough to do what you had to, without
knowing.
You go inside, and prepare for the next girl. It was time to
follow the Pulse once again.
To be Continued...
September, 1998 -- Darkside: United States of Anarchy, Part 15 of 20.
Series Continues after #20 in Darkside: Imperial States of America.
Archived @ "ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/World_of_the_Darkside";
Or www.asstr.org/~World_of_the_Darkside & www.greyarchive.com.