Damaged Goods

Introduction

It may have been summer, but it felt like spring hadn't found the bounce in its step yet. It felt like lukewarm fluid to her, both in the bottle and the air outside of it. She pushed the straw between her lips and gulped down some of the brown liquid. She coughed like an experienced chain-smoker suffering from emphysema because the burn has singed her young throat.

"Better than seeing the back side of my mother's bony hand," she voiced to the empty air.

She nipped some more and coughed some more. She couldn't understand how her mother, a drowning alcoholic, could drink such a harsh concoction.

"If I drink this again, I guess I better add more cola," she voiced to the empty air after she stopped hacking.

Up close, the untrained eye could see the concoction as being more whiskey than Coke. From far away, the eye had to be trained just right. It was a good decision to have on a swing set that faced away from the sidewalk. The swing set was from a vintage era and it didn't have many visitors anymore. The light blue paint was peeling in many places and the exposed metal was oxidizing rapidly.

She took a small sip and didn't cough for once. More in control of her faculties, she stared around for a moment figuring she would still be alone. The crunching of pebbles behind her sullied that blind hope. She shut her eyes half-expecting, half-dreading to hear the demanding voice of some authority figure. Instead, it was the sound of sobbing that caught her attention.

She glanced to her right and saw the source of the sad sound. It was a boy with brown hair and his face was pressed into his hands while his elbows were resting on his knees. He was seated on a swing two away from her and even from that distance, she could see the possible source of his discomfort. An adult hand had left a sizable red mark on the boy's face. She immediately moved one swing over and extended a hand of caring onto his left shoulder.

The boy moved his hand away from his face and looked over at the girl who was sitting next to him. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes to see who was comforting him. Immediately, he stopped crying and smiled.

"Thanks," his voice cracked through the tears. "At least somebody cares."

"Not a problem," she voiced. "I know what a hard slap across the face feels like."

"It sucks the big one, doesn't it?" He said with a small laugh.

"Yeah, and I bet it was over something small." She said as she took another small pull from the bottle.

"Yeah, my mom is nuts. I brought home a math test that had a D+ on it." He replied.

"I know that feeling. I talk back at my mom or dad and whether or not they are blitzed, I get it really hard." She said with wholehearted sympathy.

He sniffed loudly. "No kidding. It's the small shit that sets them off and running. Is that Coke?"

She moved her lips to the side in a show of concern, "Not so much Coke. It's more Jack Daniels than anything else."

He sighed without remorse. "Mom prefers Vanilla Stoli with Coca-Cola. She says it's her favorite medicine. I tried it once and the smell made me puke on the spot."

"How's your tolerance then?" She asked as she handed the bottle over.

"I don't have any." The strong smell caught his nose and his stomach almost did backflips. "Man, this shit stinks."

"Take a swig. Maybe you can handle it better than I can." She dared and smirked slightly.

He decided to take her dare but not without holding his nose. He took a quick sip and the organ-removal coughing immediately followed. "Holy balls! That is strong stuff!"

She laughed loudly and she took the bottle back from him. "I think I'll add less Jack next time. Besides that, it tastes pretty good."

"Maybe you should do that." He replied as he finished coughing.

He looked at the ground for a few moments and then his green eyes fixed themselves on her baby blues. She had long, flowing black hair that framed her young face perfectly. She had almond-shaped eyes, a pert nose and a model-like triangular complexion.

"Can I call you Snow White?" He asked figuring the small sip he had taken was already working its magic.

She blushed and giggled a bit, figuring the medication had murdered what little tolerance he had. "That's sweet of you. But my name is Delilah."

He giggled a bit himself, "That's the coolest name I've ever heard, maybe the prettiest. De-li-lah."

She snickered some more and gazed at him. His hair was shaggy and needed to be cut. He had round eyes, a pointed nose and a model-like round complexion. "What's your name, Prince Charming?"

He snickered himself, "Wellll...I don't look the part if you must know. My name is Dylan."

"Dillllllan." She said trilling the L-sound perfectly.

They both laughed out loud and from there, while passing the bottle back and forth between them, time seemed to melt away like snow did in the spring.

Chapter 1

Except time wasn't melting away, it was clicking by at a snail's place.

"Goddamnit!" He yelled but the noise of the production floor muffled the sound of his frustration.

The smell of fatty dough meeting frying oil wasn't helping matters any. He was on the first station of the doughnut production line. It was his job to make sure that all doughnuts were fried uniformly before they were placed the pans for delivery to the packaging table at the end of the line.

"I know the feeling!" The guy next to him said aloud and it caught Dylan's attention, breaking his currency slave mentality if only for a moment.

"Not your cup of tea is it, Sal?" Dylan voiced loud enough that his friend could hear it.

"Not unless you pour a little of bit of sour mash juice in it while the boss's head is turned." Sal stated with a snarky grin.

"I think I'll do that when I get home tonight. The prison guards left today for their long summer vacation anyway." Dylan revealed as he poked some doughnuts with the wooden stick he held in his right hand.

"So, Aunt and Uncle complete random cell searches when you are not around?" Sal wondered as he placed another tray of uncompleted pastries on a wheeled rack.

"Yeah, I had to hide the Jack in my car. I need to pick up a bottle of Coke anyway so I can party hearty tonight!" Dylan shouted so loud over the machinery around him that a few heads turned his way.

Sal shook his head in disbelief and Dylan suddenly realized his mistake. Five minutes had clicked away according to the clock and three more racks of regular dough needed to be completed before he could clean up his area and clock out for the evening. Just the thought of being smashed without having his prison guard relatives around was enough to motivate the recent high school graduate into a more positive mood.

Fast forward to two hours and eleven minutes later. Dylan grabbed his plastic badge from the metal rack on the wall, swiped it in the nearby time clock, and pressed the OUT button. That beep made the night for almost every person who worked this in part of dead-end capitalist society. Like the average alcoholic, all Dylan could do was imagine that sweet combination of sour mash whiskey and sugary cola touching his lips.

Dylan exited through the back of the large-scale bakery where all the employee vehicles were located. The bakery was a place that manufactured goods for several large-scale food processing companies that included dough for bread, buns, cookies and pie as well as many types of pastries including angel food cake and cinnamon rolls. Dylan's customary routine after work was to stop at the nearby all-night gas station and buy a bottle of Coca-Cola. The only difference for his routine on this night was the bottle of Coke would be a two-liter instead of his customary 20-ounce bottle. He also needed a bag of ice in order to keep his drink cool.

Except the temperature reached ice level when he saw her, the evil bitch.

Her piercing brown eyes pointed at his head like a Marine-trained sniper would do in a combat situation. Her cool voice could ice over the warmest of hearts. "Hey Dylan, where are you going right now?"

He pushed his jaw out and released a slow, angry breath through his nose like a raging bull would if it saw red. "How the fuck did you find me, Deidre?"

The red-headed minx smiled without a hint of remorse. "It wasn't hard, Dill. I know you've worked here for some time."

Dylan retained his sneer. "What are you? Some kind of evil vampire intent on sucking my soul from my body."

Deidre shook her in disbelief. "Come on, Dill. You know I hate that dramatic side of you. I know you have a sensitive side but you tend to overdo it."

He walked around her since her lithe, toned figure was leaning against the trunk. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it until it clicked. She turned around to stare at him as the realization came to him.

He put his left hand on the luggage rack and glared at her. "Is that why you cheated on me? Because I am a candy ass unlike those studly athletes who can rip you in half without trying? Does jock cock give you a hard rock?"

She shrugged her shoulders and gave him the seductive eyes that had worked three times before. "Come on, Dill. Those guys don't have the loving touch you possess."

Dylan bristled and he started humming a song that his jailor Uncle Harald always played when the family cruised around in his 1978 Ford Ranger pick-up with the antiquated tape deck, "...Walk Softly on this Heart of Mine, Love!..."

Except this headhunting bitch wasn't from the state of Kentucky, but a state just below the 49th parallel.

He opened the door and was about to sit down when she ran up next to him and wrapped her arms around him. Her left arm was on his chest and her right hand grabbed onto his package. He winced at first, but they both knew the sad truth.

The blood flowed in somewhat, getting him ready for action.

She licked right ear and voiced softly. "As I thought, it still doesn't take much to rile up your soldier."

Dylan was fighting her as he could but to no avail, "Dee, I need you to stop and let me go. I don't love you!"

Deidre flipped Dylan around rather aggressively and gave him another Marine-style thousand-yard stare, "Maybe I will, but I want one more go-round before we part ways permanently."

At that moment, Dylan was too shocked to understand what was really happening. Deidre grabbed his face and kissed him softly. Dylan's resistance was as stone initially, but like the last part of his shift it melted away rather easily. Dylan and Deidre wrestled slowly, her tongue scraping against his and then she eased it into his mouth a little farther. Dylan returned the motion equally. Their tongues wrestled for several moments, loud enough to raise eyebrows if somebody had parked closed by. Luckily for Deidre and perhaps worse for Dylan, he had parked away from overhead lights and other vehicles. Deidre's expert right hand worked it wonders on him. She rubbed his soldier up and down with her index finger, tortuously so, through the thick material of his white sweatpants. The blood flowed in all the way and all of Dylan's resistance had caved. The first image that replaced the bottle of Coke and bag of ice in his mind was the love box that had kept him happy for the last year and a half.

Deidre dropped to her haunches and her expert hands released Dylan's trooper from its soiled cotton/polyester prison. Through both prison doors, the mushroom monster came free and Deidre eyeballed her prize pleasingly. Contrary to what Dylan believed, his seven-inch beast had an advantage that many of Deidre's jock cocks didn't. His girth was half an inch less on average so she didn't feel like she had to be ripped apart every time her nymphomaniacal tendencies took over. His length may have also been three-quarters of an inch or more shorter, but she thought that the hand of God could have designed it. The head was perfectly chiseled, the vein on the underside stood out like an elongated Adam's Apple and the skin was smooth to the touch. In those long moments of reflection, she opened her mouth and extended her tongue outward. She took the sweet tip and just touched along the length of the entire shaft backward first and then forward. She continued this motion in thrice succession. She repeated the angel's touch on the left side the shaft in thrice succession and on the right side as well.

Dylan's mental track was somewhere between sullen, horrified and overly pleased. The actions of her proficient tongue had overwhelmed any sense of danger he had before. She could have been carrying a flesh-consuming version of the human immunodeficiency virus and he wouldn't have cared. The sexual instinct, the most basic and powerful of all, had wholly taken over. He moaned longingly as she upped her speed and varied her motions. At first, three strokes on the underside, left and right sides of the shaft. Now she had upped it to five times on each side of the shaft and she consumed the entire head not once, but five times and he didn't want her to stop, not now and maybe not ever.

She ceased her angelic torture for a just a fleeting instant and gave him an audacious smirk. Saliva slithered off the end of the chiseled head and she sucked it back into her mouth with an almost childish giggle. Dylan only smiled as the faint light from yards away gave her face a dimmed, silhouetted look. Her mouth was like a velvet glove that had been coated in Vaseline. As she continually maneuvered her mouth and tongue in her oddly numerical style, he refocused his will so his rocket would not take off prematurely.

And yet, part of him wanted to because this bitch always stomped his heart after she played the repentance card.

Shame on me, part of his being thought, because I've been fooled three time before.

But the rest of being didn't want the sweet torture to end at all.

He grunted his reluctance and her eyes gazed deeply into his. Even in the diminished light, she could tell he wouldn't last much longer anyway. She counted to ten in her head and then took her mouth away from his trooper. Dylan didn't expect it as she got off her haunches and gave him a very sloppy kiss.

She opened the car door with force as soon she broke the kiss.

"Sit your ass on the seat now!" Deidre stated with an malevolent edge to her voice.

Dylan complied immediately as she forced her pelvis in front of her face. Without a word, he immediately unsnapped the fastener on her tight blue jeans and curled his finger around the denim waist. He swiftly pulled down her jeans and noticed the tanga-cut black panties she was wearing: the ones with the red heart dead in the front-center .

"My favorite." He said in a banal, but still seductively macho tone.

She chucked lightly, "I know, I still remember the day we bought them. It was our second date."

Dylan had no trouble remembering that experience. It was almost two years before when they had started dating. They had gone shopping at the largest shopping center in the state. They were bored and Deidre decided to go shopping in the lingerie department at one of large department stores. Deidre saw the panties on the rack and she told Dylan to act as lookout. She gave herself a five-finger discount and they took off for the exit. Dylan had never been an accessory to a criminal act in his life, but as he ran the high he experienced put him over the moon. Later, they arrived at her place and she decided to model her new prize for him. Wearing only a white crop top minus her bra, she moved her lithe body like a novice belly dancer and Dylan's weapon become warm, bored steel after the bullet had been fired. It was also the day he first experienced her tongue on his weapon.

It was also the day he was given visual access to the wisp of red locks she kept concealed under that red heart.

And here she was giving him unfettered access once again.

As he stared into the red forest, he noticed the oasis that had formed at the bottom.

Dylan took his right index finger and started stroking the nub right above her hole. With his slow hand, she started shaking like a leaf about to make its final downward trajectory. Her moans were guttural but soft. After a few moments of torture, he took his right middle finger and placed slowly into her silky mound while his mouth replaced his finger on her nub. Her juices were flowing and her moans became all the louder.

"Holy Christ, can you now see why I came back to you?!?!" she cried.

He stopped momentarily and looked into her eyes, "Then why did you cheat on me?"

His finger was still lodged in her pussy and he twisted it just enough to get a cry of ecstasy from her.

"I don't know why I did," Deidre whimpered. "I'll never do it again."

"Okay, I believe you." Dylan said simply but he knew the truth. She was the one who always chose paper in rock-paper-scissors.

And the repentance card was the trump she always played in the relationship card game.

Dylan continued the tongue torture on her boatman and the pointed assault on her pussy until her own resolve withered as his resolve did only moments earlier. She bent down suddenly taking his tongue off her bean.

"Fuck me now! Fuck me now, Dylan!" She screamed into his ear.

His trooper was still at the ready as he removed the middle digit from her wetness. She spun herself and placed her ass on his stomach. She grabbed his soldier with her right hand and jammed the rod into herself not caring if the entry was painful at all. Deidre's vertical movements were both sudden and sensuous. Dylan wasn't going to last long if she kept up the pace, but part of him was still disengaged from the entire experience.

Part of him wanted it to end before it had commenced.

As soon those thoughts had fully manifested, Deidre's movements became less passionate and more impulsive. Sensing the impending end, Dylan's motions also took a turn for the frantic. Up-and-down, up-and-down he went like a pump jack with a warp drive and she met his motions the same way.

And they arrived at the brink, the point of no return. He unloaded as if he was the creator of the Big Bang. Shot after shot went inside her as her vaginal muscles contracted around his soldier. Her dam broke and her waters returned to their rightful floodplain. Their frantic breaths returned to a normal pace after a few moments and she dismounted from her lover.

Deidre yanked her jeans back up and Dylan stayed on the car seat for a few seconds longer. He pushed himself up without tripping over his white sweats and he leaned his backside against the cold automotive steel. Deidre smiled as she bent down to pull his white boxer-briefs and sweatpants up so what little modesty he had left could be preserved. She leaned in and kissed him, which he only returned halfheartedly.

Over their heads, thunder started to roll.

She could sense his apprehension and she arched an eyebrow at him, "What's the matter, stud?"

He shook his head in disgust, "You're what's the matter, Dee. And I've told you that twice before."

She glared at him in almost genuine confusion, "Why am I the matter?"

He gave her a double take, "You can't be that stupid, can you?"

"Why am I the stupid one?"

"Let me see here. You've walked all over me every time we're together. It's the simple pattern of apology, make-up sex, false bliss, long fight and infidelity and you're the one who seems to be most committed to it."

Her mind appeared to be in a perplexed wasteland, "Am I that predictable?"

He shook in total disgust, "Yes, you dumb bitch, you are that predictable! In fact, I actually think you fuck the large cock because you somehow think it can fill the large hole that's inside your soul."

Her voice cracked a bit, "No, I fucked those guys because you're an asshole. I just wanted revenge."

Dylan stared toward the white lights off in the distance. Every syllable she uttered was a like a sharp object being rubbed along each of his auditory nerves.