LitShark
Predator
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2002
- Posts
- 3,590
<We still need a vigilante cop to chase us (M or F). Always casting for future hits. Please do not post until you've been approved on the casting thread: https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=475014 >
Dust swirled over the sun blasted highway. The cracked pavement extended in a black line to the horizon, radiating heat visibly. Clyde could feel the heat radiating from the pavement as well. He looked over at the street marker that Bunny had shimmied up. She was furiously scribbling a third 6 onto the black and white street sign, designating this to be “Route 66”.
According to Bunny it ought to be 666 since this was “Death Valley”. She deemed her work sufficient and took a long deep whiff of the thick black pen. She rolled her eyes, as she capped the pen, sliding down the pole skillfully.
Clyde pulled the pack of Newports from his back pocket and slid one out for himself. He kicked the tank of the shiny black Harley, lying over on its side, issuing up thick black smoke in lieu of a white flag to signal its unconditional surrender to the elements.
“I thought I told you to get a FUCKING CAR!!” Clyde shouted as he kicked the chrome spokes with his thick, leather and steel boot.
Bunny withdrew slightly. She had already begun crawling towards him to beg a cigarette. She pouted up at him with “puppy dog” eyes and a pouting lower lip. “But Clyde...”
Clyde held his cigarette over his mouth to hide the smile that formed on his lips. It had been worth it. Late last night as they made their way through the moonlit desert planes, the rumbling of the motorcycle had actually allowed Clyde to achieve an erection. This was a rarity these days. Bunny was sure not to let a silly, 100 miles per hour make her miss the chance to get fucked on the handlebars of this beautiful machine.
Clyde was still a very young man at 26, but for several months now he had been completely flaccid. The doctor Bunny made him see, told him it wasn’t physical, that maybe he should just “Step things up” in bed. The quack. The truth was there was no “Up” from the way Bunny and Clyde fucked. They did it all, hard, rough, and nasty. They only had the kind of sex that makes ordinary “Missionary Moles” close their blinds. After every gag, dildo, whip, restraint, costume, fetish, torture and foreplay was attempted, Clyde was still unable to achieve an erection. Perhaps that was the problem; he’d lived too long in his few years already. He’d done it all, he saw no new ground in sex. Sex had no future in it really, it was mutual pleasure and gain, a free exchange. Not like murder, murder was far from mutual. Murder paid better, and had far more surprises. Murder still excited Clyde. In fact it was almost the only thing (Other than a Harley’s engine), that could grant Clyde one of his massive erections which had once greeted him each morning like the sunrise.
When Clyde struck his Zippo with a loud “clink” sound as he lit his cigarette, Bunny rushed over to clutch his leg from her knees.
“Gimme gimme gimme! I want nicotine!” Bunny begged excitedly.
Clyde tapped out another cigarette and tossed it down at his feet. She gladly picked it up and placed it between her lips, she pouted again pantomiming a lighter.
Clyde flicked the shiny silver Zippo with an Anarchy symbol carved into the face open. Bunny leaned toward the flame, admiring her own reflection for a moment in the small triangular blade that hid under the lid. She thought of all the lovely blood that hidden beauty had drank over the years. Just as her cigarette reached the flame, the lighter flicked shut again.
“Heeeeey!” Bunny complained loudly as Clyde pocketed the lighter.
“You should have gotten a Honda.” Clyde said, pushing his round sunglasses higher up his face. “America may be the greatest country on Earth, but Americans can’t build a vehicle that runs worth a shit. We’d be kickin’ back, conserving gas and running the A/C right now if you didn’t have such a fetish for loud, powerful, shiny hunks of domestic shit!”
Bunny’s cigarette hung down past her chin from another pout. Clyde let a slow smirk play over his lips, as he blew smoke from his nose into Bunny’s face. He reached down and held his cigarette out from the crotch of his baggy, tattered pants, like a small burning cock. Bunny gladly bent forward, lighting her smoke on his.
Both smoked fiendishly, Bunny returning to her feet. Clyde’s sharp eye caught a glimmer on the heat hazed horizon. The silver Toyota was approaching rapidly.
Clyde smacked Bunny’s ass hard through her tight leather pants.
“Get your game face on bitch, we’ve got one on the line. You be the good one this time” Clyde barked decisively, knowing that Bunny wanted to be the bad one again. He watched her sway her hips as she walked from the shoulder into the road. Clyde loved being the bad one, it allowed him to watch her use her sexual whiles to gain them access to a new victim.
This was a spur of the moment job, so there was no guaranteed pay in it other than the car, but there would be death. Clyde smiled as his long cock already began to stir in his pants, eager to watch her get this car to stop.
Dust swirled over the sun blasted highway. The cracked pavement extended in a black line to the horizon, radiating heat visibly. Clyde could feel the heat radiating from the pavement as well. He looked over at the street marker that Bunny had shimmied up. She was furiously scribbling a third 6 onto the black and white street sign, designating this to be “Route 66”.
According to Bunny it ought to be 666 since this was “Death Valley”. She deemed her work sufficient and took a long deep whiff of the thick black pen. She rolled her eyes, as she capped the pen, sliding down the pole skillfully.
Clyde pulled the pack of Newports from his back pocket and slid one out for himself. He kicked the tank of the shiny black Harley, lying over on its side, issuing up thick black smoke in lieu of a white flag to signal its unconditional surrender to the elements.
“I thought I told you to get a FUCKING CAR!!” Clyde shouted as he kicked the chrome spokes with his thick, leather and steel boot.
Bunny withdrew slightly. She had already begun crawling towards him to beg a cigarette. She pouted up at him with “puppy dog” eyes and a pouting lower lip. “But Clyde...”
Clyde held his cigarette over his mouth to hide the smile that formed on his lips. It had been worth it. Late last night as they made their way through the moonlit desert planes, the rumbling of the motorcycle had actually allowed Clyde to achieve an erection. This was a rarity these days. Bunny was sure not to let a silly, 100 miles per hour make her miss the chance to get fucked on the handlebars of this beautiful machine.
Clyde was still a very young man at 26, but for several months now he had been completely flaccid. The doctor Bunny made him see, told him it wasn’t physical, that maybe he should just “Step things up” in bed. The quack. The truth was there was no “Up” from the way Bunny and Clyde fucked. They did it all, hard, rough, and nasty. They only had the kind of sex that makes ordinary “Missionary Moles” close their blinds. After every gag, dildo, whip, restraint, costume, fetish, torture and foreplay was attempted, Clyde was still unable to achieve an erection. Perhaps that was the problem; he’d lived too long in his few years already. He’d done it all, he saw no new ground in sex. Sex had no future in it really, it was mutual pleasure and gain, a free exchange. Not like murder, murder was far from mutual. Murder paid better, and had far more surprises. Murder still excited Clyde. In fact it was almost the only thing (Other than a Harley’s engine), that could grant Clyde one of his massive erections which had once greeted him each morning like the sunrise.
When Clyde struck his Zippo with a loud “clink” sound as he lit his cigarette, Bunny rushed over to clutch his leg from her knees.
“Gimme gimme gimme! I want nicotine!” Bunny begged excitedly.
Clyde tapped out another cigarette and tossed it down at his feet. She gladly picked it up and placed it between her lips, she pouted again pantomiming a lighter.
Clyde flicked the shiny silver Zippo with an Anarchy symbol carved into the face open. Bunny leaned toward the flame, admiring her own reflection for a moment in the small triangular blade that hid under the lid. She thought of all the lovely blood that hidden beauty had drank over the years. Just as her cigarette reached the flame, the lighter flicked shut again.
“Heeeeey!” Bunny complained loudly as Clyde pocketed the lighter.
“You should have gotten a Honda.” Clyde said, pushing his round sunglasses higher up his face. “America may be the greatest country on Earth, but Americans can’t build a vehicle that runs worth a shit. We’d be kickin’ back, conserving gas and running the A/C right now if you didn’t have such a fetish for loud, powerful, shiny hunks of domestic shit!”
Bunny’s cigarette hung down past her chin from another pout. Clyde let a slow smirk play over his lips, as he blew smoke from his nose into Bunny’s face. He reached down and held his cigarette out from the crotch of his baggy, tattered pants, like a small burning cock. Bunny gladly bent forward, lighting her smoke on his.
Both smoked fiendishly, Bunny returning to her feet. Clyde’s sharp eye caught a glimmer on the heat hazed horizon. The silver Toyota was approaching rapidly.
Clyde smacked Bunny’s ass hard through her tight leather pants.
“Get your game face on bitch, we’ve got one on the line. You be the good one this time” Clyde barked decisively, knowing that Bunny wanted to be the bad one again. He watched her sway her hips as she walked from the shoulder into the road. Clyde loved being the bad one, it allowed him to watch her use her sexual whiles to gain them access to a new victim.
This was a spur of the moment job, so there was no guaranteed pay in it other than the car, but there would be death. Clyde smiled as his long cock already began to stir in his pants, eager to watch her get this car to stop.
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