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Message-ID: <42680asstr$1054116603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 27 May 2003 19:14:04 -0500
From: Rachael Ross <rache18us@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Big Bad Wolf (rache18us@yahoo.com) M/F (a story about writing a story with a talking wolf in it) No Codes - see inside
Date: Wed, 28 May 2003 06:10:03 -0400
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Disclaimer: This is a night in the life kind of story, for the first
20 seconds, then it becomes a true story about writing a fiction
story. If you don't get it, that's okay. You'll figure it out. This is
the last story I'll post to ASSM for a bit as I wrap up the college
year, it is also the story I saved for last because it is my favorite,
everything is true but the ending, obviously. And the drugs I mean, uh
that too, I just made it up....yikes

Adults only please. This story may be posted and reposted to any site
that supports freedom of speech and free public access this story.

WARNING!!! - IRC Chat, Writers Block, Drug Use, Dancing, Sport
Fucking, and Violence - (In that order)

Dirty_Rick is a real person, he did not consent to being in my story.
I did not consent to his annoying PM while I was in a chatroom with
posted rules forbidding unsolicited PM's. So he gets to be in my
story.

Written in Seattle in 2002

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Big Bad Wolf
Fiction by Rachael


Session Start: Mon May 20 22:14:39 2002
Session Ident: Dirty_Rick (rickii@ACB538BC.ipt.aol.com)
hi
wanna play?
1) slut nurse / corrupt dr 2) naughty secretary / perv boss 3) slut
fem prisoner / chief warden 4) slutty popstar / dirty manager 5) snow
white / "dirty" dwarf 6) President of USA / slutty intern 7) wicked
sexy witch / tin man from wiz of OZ 8) Strict Evil aunt / young stud
nephew fresh out of prison
any u like
Session Close: Mon May 20 22:16:41 2002

So it's going to be one of those nights? The slutty popstar thing does
have a certain appeal, but I don't bother to reply. Any other night
and this approach would have seemed amusing, even cute. But not
tonight. I leave irc and log off the internet, looking at my computer
screen dumbly. I should write something, or at least finish something,
I think. I open up a file, bbw.txt and look at it.

******bbw.txt
Rachael took the long way home, over the river and through the woods.
The days were warmer now, longer with shadows seeming to hang
impossibly long as the sun refused to set. Her legs bare to mid thigh
above the click click clicking of her heels on the sidewalk, a rhythm
broken by the cracks she took short and long steps to avoid. A child's
game to play, while her mind wandered beneath that wonderful endless
blue sky.

She paused, brushing long black hair from her face as the wind played
with it. Four cars and an empty house, empty of all but visitors now.
She watched the policemen standing outside, not talking, not smiling.
The ambulance men, with their starched white shirts and starched white
gurney, pushing and pulling. Behind them another man, and another, a
slow procession from inside to out. Someone was on that trolley, the
wheels skittering, refusing to roll straight; squeaking and chattering
like little birds distracted. Into the ambulance with nary a word.
Whump whump, Rachael watched them drive away, one by one.

It was quiet now and she sat beneath the tree across the street.
Yellow tape with black letters fluttered across the closed door. It
was lonely and peaceful and all she could do was watch. 

"Did you know that little piggy?" His voice was soft, like a growl it
resonated pleasantly and Rachael turned slowly to see him. His dark
fur was thick, rippling with a bluish sheen beneath the sunlight
dancing through the leaves. His eyes were bright and red, his snout
long and beautiful, with razor teeth when he smiled. He sat on his
haunches, turning his face to lick at some imagined flaw along his
ribs.

"I don't know." Rachael drew her knees to her chest, and hugged her
arms around them. She put her chin in the small valley between and
stared at the sad little house across the street.

"Mmmm....Maybe you did, yes." The wolf lifted his nose to the air and
sniffed. "I can smell her still, such a sweet little piggy. So ripe
and full of life. I took her on her belly. Do you think she
protested?" He turned his great head to Rachael and leaned forward. "I
tell you, she did not." His breath was hot in her ear, and the tip of
his tongue grazed her flesh for the barest fraction of a second.

Rachael shivered and closed her eyes.

The wolf licked his lips and lowered himself to the ground, laying
next to the small girl beside him. He twisted his neck, turning so his
nose slipped behind her heels, into the small dark place between her
feet and thighs. She could her him taking a deep breath. "I smell you
too. What do you think about, what are you looking for?" He licked the
back of her calf casually.

"I'm thinking about something I read."

"Tell me." The wolf sounded tired, as if he was beginning to slip away
in that late afternoon sun.

Rachael closed her eyes and spoke the words slowly, her voice lilting
softly through the still spring air.

Again and yet again, lovely and ancient saga,
I descend into your fountain,
Hear your golden lieder,
How you laugh, how you dream, how softly you weep.
As a warning from your depths
Comes the whispered word of magic;
Drunken and asleep, so I seem,
And you call me forth and away...

"Nice." said the wolf. He got up, stretching himself, pushing his
large paws forward and dropping his heavy shoulders. "I've heard those
words before." he looked across the street. "Our little piggy was very
fond of Hesse, she read him to me as we lay beneath the moon that
first night. Did you know?"

"No." Rachael whispered, sitting up and watching the wolf as he began
to pace around the tree, around Rachael.

"Oh yes, can you imagine it? Her lovely head on my fur, just here..."
He gestured with a hind leg to the thickest part of his neck, "...and
I would let her voice drip into my ears like honey." The wolf moved
out of Rachael's sight, behind the tree. "She would stroke me, gently
at first, then taking small fistfuls of my hide and clinging to it,
pulling me to her."

He emerged around the opposite side and put his shaggy head on
Rachael's knees, looking into her deep brown eyes with his own. "Can
you imagine it?"

"Yes." Rachael whispered.

"Yesss." The wolf echoed, "I think you can."

Rachael moved her arms, sliding her palms along the wolf's soft neck
and across his broad shoulders. She made combs out of her fingers and
dragged them through his fur. She made fists, pulling him towards her
so his beautiful snout rested on her neck and she tilted her face to
rest her cheek against him. Remembering.
*******end of file

But what is she remembering, I wonder absently. I had intended to
re-write the "Three Little Pigs". Rachael would be the last and final
victim, living safely in her house of bricks. But this wolf is too
smart for all that huffing and puffing, he just knocks on the door.
And she's more than happy to let him in. Not much room for a memory
there. But what if I change it? 

Suppose Rachael is the killer? The wolf is just a part of her, she
remembers killing that nameless little girl. A friend of Rachael's
perhaps, a classmate she loved or hated, or cared for not at all. She
worked her way into the victim's life; out of control, or
deliberately, she tortured and murdered ...Or, more accurately, stood
back in the recesses of her mind and watched with horror as the wolf
used her fingers, her mouth, to rend and tear flesh from bone. Dipping
Rachael's mouth to lap at the blood spilling from her victim's dying
body.

But even better, what if Rachael herself was the victim? The little
piggy covered on that stretcher. And now a ghost, caught upon a frozen
day, the sun refusing to set until she remembers what happened to her.
How the wolf teased her sadistically, raping her first, and then
mauling her with his teeth. Ripping into her throat and crushing her
neck even as she bled to death, impaled on his angry cock. She must
accept it before she can move on.

Three choices; my three little pigs. What would you like I wonder. I
stare at it a little more, feeling partial to ghost stories of late.
Imagining the growing despair as Rachael begins to realize that she's
dead. The wolf, the memory of her killer, beside her all the while,
urging her on. He delights in her terror as she relives the moment. He
whispers how it felt, how it made him feel to devour her innocence. He
has corrupted her flesh, but it's not enough, he longs to taste her
spirit as well. A new rape, a new form of death, completing their
journey at last.

Yes, a ghost story. But not tonight, I can't sit here, I have to get
out while I still can. I've been trapped by schoolwork, and promises
to other people. I want to get away and be someone, I want...I want to
get laid. And that thought makes me smile. No commitments, not even a
name, just a good hard fuck to remind me I'm still alive. Still
desirable in some sexual way. Is that so bad? My boyfriend doesn't
have to know, does he? No, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, just
like I'm not being hurt by him right now. Yes, I'm going out. I'll
finish this when I get back. 

Dancing, dancing, God I love to dance. Rave, Goth, Hip-Hop, whatever,
it's all good. Anything to make me move, to get the blood rushing
through me. Give me Ecstasy, give me mesc, get me high and let me fly.
I want it. Amy hands me some foil and a rolled up bill. The first hit
feels like a baseball bat on my face; it's not coke, why should it be?
Another line of crank, slower this time and I feel my heart picking up
speed, like a freight train, everything is bright and we're there.

Skip Skip Skip ... Over the cracks. I'm dancing. I'm ice skating,
gliding, laughing, all over the floor. Nobody cares, nobody notices,
we're all the same, fucked up immaculate. His arms are around me,
rubbing himself on me, his hands on my body, on my ass. I'm rocking
against him, pressing my panties against him. My skirt is bunched
around my hips. My blouse is open, like silken wings, billowing around
me. The red lace of my bra barely covers my hard nipples, everything
feels good. I think I can feel the light on my skin, like needles,
pricking me and reflecting off. My body glows and his fingers are in
my long black hair, wet with sweat, sparkling with glitter. I collapse
against him, my arms around his neck, letting him hold me up. I press
my tongue in his ear. "I wanna blow you."

We're outside. How did I get here? It doesn't matter, he's leaning
against a car in the dark privacy of the parking lot. People coming
and going, laughing, talking, smoking, crying. It all happens in the
parking lot. The music is dull, the deep rumble of the bass pushing
through the walls, through me, driving me down. I get on my knees, the
air is cold and I love it. Like a ghost. I suck his cock hard, no time
for nice things, no time, no time. My heart is rushing, pounding in my
head as I work my tight lips up and down his hardness. He's pulling my
hair and I can feel each strand, moaning, screaming in protest. My
mouth is filling with precum and spit, running out, dripping down my
chin while he pulls my face against him.

All my senses are awake now. God I'm so alive! I see everything, I
have eyes in the back of my head. My ears hear what people are
thinking. My bare knees on that cold asphalt sense the earth spinning
on it's axis, spinning like me. His cock tastes so good. I can't
remember his face, don't know his name. People are looking at us as
they walk by. Words like bitch and slut and whore make me suck harder,
loud slurpy sucky noises punctuating my desire. Everyone knows,
everyone sees. I imagine my father walking by, seeing me like this and
it makes me laugh, choking and gagging on the swollen prick ramming
against my throat.

He yanks me to my feet, turning me around like I'm nothing, a rag
doll. It's effortless, quick and painful when he slams the side of my
face on that hard cold steel. bending me over, ripping my panties
away. His hands are like claws, scratching at me, groping me digging
between my legs and making me moan. "You on the pill?" he asks me. I
giggle, wondering what pill he means. Lithium? Prozac? Or something
sweeter maybe. He slaps my ass hard "Tell me bitch, you protected?"
Ohhhh....I feel the sting of warmth, I like it. No, I tell him, no
pill. "Good!" He fucks into me hard, splitting the moist lips of my
sex and stretching me suddenly. His forearm is across my neck, pinning
me against the car. I should push with my arms, or reach back and
fight him or something. But I don't I just feel the cold metal beneath
my hot skin and his prick fucking inside my unprotected womb. He's
talking all the time, telling me what a cunt I am, what a slut, how
he's gonna give me something to remember him by. A little present?
Just for me? The words are choked but I say them anyway, everything is
so deliciously funny right now. It just pisses him off and he's trying
to hurt me with his cock. But I'm so wet and he's not that big, it
just feels good.

I'm going to cum. My groans keep time with his thrusting and I'm
trying to push back. Trying to get him deeper. I start thinking how
funny it would be if he got me pregnant, but I'm lost to it. I can't
laugh anymore, I can't cry, I can't do anything but fuck. The night
gets blacker, the little incandescent lights way up high above us
getting smaller, farther away. The shadows get longer, deeper and I
see red eyes staring at me, two crimson slits coming closer. I can't
breathe, my heart stops and starts, stops and starts. The wolf eating
into me, tearing into my guts, digging into my womb, curling himself
around me. I'm shuddering, screaming against the choking weight above
me. My orgasm rips into me and it's so good. The wolf inside growls,
hungry, he wants more.

"My turn." I say and brace my palms against the car and push back with
all my strength, standing up and knocking the man behind me off
balance. he didn't expect that, he doesn't know what's going on as his
cock slips out of me. I turn around, whirling quickly, driving my
hands to his throat, pushing him back stumbling. Down we go with me on
top, Ooof! the air gets knocked out of him. I dig my fingers into his
flesh, sinking my nails through his tender skin. I feel his blood
spurting, flying into my face as my thumb pierces into his jugular. My
other hand pressing underneath his chin, forcing his head back,
exposing his soft sweet spot. He's trying to hit me, to roll away but
I'm too fast, too quick, the blood racing through my body. The
adrenaline, the wolf driving me with instinct to drop my mouth, to
clamp my teeth around his neck and bite, twisting and tearing. The hot
spray washes over my face, the rubbery vein caught in my mouth as I
chew it, severing it. Swallowing his flesh and blood while he flails
at me. His fingers find my hair again, pulling me back, ripping it out
of my head as he screams.

My mouth comes away leaving a dark jagged wound, pumping his life
away. He lets go of me, bringing his hands to his throat, trying to
understand, comprehend what's happening to him. I lick my fingers
slowly, watching him die. I sit up on him, feeling his once hard cock
limp and useless beneath my steaming sex. Lifting my nose to the air
and sniffing, the sweet rust-like scent of his blood, the delicious
tang of his fear. It calls me. I stick out my red tongue, tasting the
night itself and looking around. There's nobody else now, only us. I
catch my reflection in the dark glass of the car, my eyes are red,
crimson slits above my razor teeth. The feeding is wonderful.


the end
rache18us@yahoo.com

I guess Rachael is the killer, not a ghost at all. It's vaguely
disappointing, but I just write what the voices tell me to.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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