Title: A. Her tone was so matter-of-fact
Collection: Intense Thoughts
Author: Harper Kingsley
“I masturbated furiously.
Then I smoked some weed.
And my thoughts became very intense.”
A. Her tone was so matter-of-fact that it took them a moment to catch up. Then the meaning sunk in.
Albert went bright red and Clarice made a sputtering sound in her throat. “Why I never…”
“Did she just say what I thought she said?” Leon whispered to Yoshina. She hushed him and swatted at his hand, telling him to listen.
He refrained from rolling his eyes. She was probably right. The old people were so touchy; they took offense at every little thing.
His reaction to the farce taking place in front of him was going to be remembered for years to come.
Leon straightened his back and kept his facial expressions placid and untroubled.
He kept up his mask of scion of a respectable family all through the rest of the party. He swallowed his reactions to the things the dotty old relatives said and knew that he’d done well. At the end of the evening, Great Uncle Hermann even gave him a hearty farewell hug.
Leon enjoyed his sense of accomplishment all the way home.
Until he grasped the handle for his front door and the door swung open. There were broken ends of wood sticking out where pieces of the doorframe had broken away.
Leon turned on his heel and began to run. But from the muscled arm that went around his neck, he was too late.
As he choked and flailed helplessly, he could feel the walls of his throat closing shut. Tight pressure that didn’t quite hurt. His assailant was being careful not to damage the merchandise. He could almost be grateful.
He felt an entirely inappropriate pressure in his groin. Now? You wanna do this NOW?!
It was a teasing lick of pleasure. An instinctive tightening of muscles. From I want to pee to Oh as his body couldn’t decide whether it liked being strangled or not.
Then the black spots took over his vision. And his lungs were screaming. Terror had his heart hammering out blood as it tried to get oxygen to his brain.
There was the almost gentle stroke of a gloved hand against his cheek. His grasping, clenching fingers clawed weakly at a leather coat as the man’s head leaned close to his ear.
“Say goodnight, Brucie” was the last thing he heard before passing out.