Read Online Sadie the Sadist: X-tremely Black Humor/Horror by Zané Sachs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Zané Sachs
Tags: General Fiction
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My vomit looks like blood.
When I’m done puking, I stand at the sink trying to avoid the mirror, but I catch my reflection. Sadie the Sadist peers back at me. Her face is pale. Her eyes are red and glassy. I squirt a glob of soap into my palm and run the water till it’s steaming. I wash my hands while singing Happy Birthday to me all the way through five times, long enough to ensure that I remove all bacteria. But even after fifteen rounds of Happy Birthday , I can’t get her off of me.
I sneak out of the bathroom, slip past Krista and Tracy without saying good-bye.
Standing on the sidewalk, I welcome the cool air. It’s twilight. My favorite time of day, when lines blur and colors fade. I step off the curb, planning to cross the street, when a car shoots around the corner.
Breathing hard, I jump back to the sidewalk and lean against a lamppost, shaking uncontrollably.
Sadie the Sadist mumbles something I can’t understand. Everything she says is garbled. My head is cracking like an egg. According to the self-help books, personal growth is never comfortable, especially when you’re on the verge of a breakthrough. That must be what’s happening now. According to Eckhart Tolle, in order to be fully empowered you need to break through the shell that separates ego from true self.
What if my true self is Sadie the Sadist?
Sadie the Super-Sized Sadist .
She laughs.
I feel a shift. Not only in my mind, but in my body. An integration. Pieces of my brain connect, synapses flashing as they create new pathways, reprogramming my DNA.
Headlights stream past me.
Someone asks, “You all right, miss?”
“Fine, thanks.”
Across the street, the coffee shop comes into focus. I could use a cup. Self-reflection is exhausting.
At the counter, I ask the barista for a double latté to go, cow’s milk, not soy. In the past I would have ordered white chocolate, hazelnut or mocha, but today I order plain latté, because I suspect the flavoring contains high-fructose corn syrup—although the girl assures me it doesn’t.
I take the coffee outside and sit at a table, so I can watch tourists walk along the sidewalk. Within ten minutes, I pick up a college student. A freshman who arrived from out of town today and hasn’t registered for classes yet. A cutie.
I offer him a BJ.
“You a cougar?” he asks.
I growl.
A Boring Night
When we get to my place, the college kid comments on the plastic tarps covering the carpet.
“I plan to paint.” I show him a sample I picked up at Home Depot. “What do you think of Bone ?”
“Boring.”
“Bone is boring?”
“Yeah.” He grins. “My mom painted her living room that color.”
“I’m not your mom .” I lead him to my bedroom—red sheets, red comforter, a horse whip pinned to the wall—and proceed to strip off his jeans, peel away his shorts.
“I bet you don’t think this boner is boring.”
I run my tongue along his swollen shaft, then take him deep into my mouth.
He comes almost instantly.
My turn .
He’s not bad for a beginner, and when he goes down on me, flicking his tongue against my clit and licking my swollen vulva, I feel my juices flow. I tell him I like it rough and, being an accommodating guy, he ties me to the bed and whips me halfheartedly. Then he fucks me with a shampoo bottle and plugs my butt with the conditioner.
I come so hard, I’m screaming.
Still, I want it rougher.
“You okay, Krista?” he asks as he unties me.
He got my name wrong! I’m about to punch his nose when I remember I told him my name is Krista.
“I should go,” he says, searching the floor for his boxers.
I kick them under the bed.
“You still think I’m boring?”
“Of course not.” His face flushes. “I didn’t say you were boring: I said the white paint is boring.”
“It’s not white, it’s Bone .”
“Whatever. You see my shorts?”
“You don’t need them. It’s Friday night, time to party. Want a cold one?” I know he’ll say yes.
When I’m done puking, I stand at the sink trying to avoid the mirror, but I catch my reflection. Sadie the Sadist peers back at me. Her face is pale. Her eyes are red and glassy. I squirt a glob of soap into my palm and run the water till it’s steaming. I wash my hands while singing Happy Birthday to me all the way through five times, long enough to ensure that I remove all bacteria. But even after fifteen rounds of Happy Birthday , I can’t get her off of me.
I sneak out of the bathroom, slip past Krista and Tracy without saying good-bye.
Standing on the sidewalk, I welcome the cool air. It’s twilight. My favorite time of day, when lines blur and colors fade. I step off the curb, planning to cross the street, when a car shoots around the corner.
Breathing hard, I jump back to the sidewalk and lean against a lamppost, shaking uncontrollably.
Sadie the Sadist mumbles something I can’t understand. Everything she says is garbled. My head is cracking like an egg. According to the self-help books, personal growth is never comfortable, especially when you’re on the verge of a breakthrough. That must be what’s happening now. According to Eckhart Tolle, in order to be fully empowered you need to break through the shell that separates ego from true self.
What if my true self is Sadie the Sadist?
Sadie the Super-Sized Sadist .
She laughs.
I feel a shift. Not only in my mind, but in my body. An integration. Pieces of my brain connect, synapses flashing as they create new pathways, reprogramming my DNA.
Headlights stream past me.
Someone asks, “You all right, miss?”
“Fine, thanks.”
Across the street, the coffee shop comes into focus. I could use a cup. Self-reflection is exhausting.
At the counter, I ask the barista for a double latté to go, cow’s milk, not soy. In the past I would have ordered white chocolate, hazelnut or mocha, but today I order plain latté, because I suspect the flavoring contains high-fructose corn syrup—although the girl assures me it doesn’t.
I take the coffee outside and sit at a table, so I can watch tourists walk along the sidewalk. Within ten minutes, I pick up a college student. A freshman who arrived from out of town today and hasn’t registered for classes yet. A cutie.
I offer him a BJ.
“You a cougar?” he asks.
I growl.
A Boring Night
When we get to my place, the college kid comments on the plastic tarps covering the carpet.
“I plan to paint.” I show him a sample I picked up at Home Depot. “What do you think of Bone ?”
“Boring.”
“Bone is boring?”
“Yeah.” He grins. “My mom painted her living room that color.”
“I’m not your mom .” I lead him to my bedroom—red sheets, red comforter, a horse whip pinned to the wall—and proceed to strip off his jeans, peel away his shorts.
“I bet you don’t think this boner is boring.”
I run my tongue along his swollen shaft, then take him deep into my mouth.
He comes almost instantly.
My turn .
He’s not bad for a beginner, and when he goes down on me, flicking his tongue against my clit and licking my swollen vulva, I feel my juices flow. I tell him I like it rough and, being an accommodating guy, he ties me to the bed and whips me halfheartedly. Then he fucks me with a shampoo bottle and plugs my butt with the conditioner.
I come so hard, I’m screaming.
Still, I want it rougher.
“You okay, Krista?” he asks as he unties me.
He got my name wrong! I’m about to punch his nose when I remember I told him my name is Krista.
“I should go,” he says, searching the floor for his boxers.
I kick them under the bed.
“You still think I’m boring?”
“Of course not.” His face flushes. “I didn’t say you were boring: I said the white paint is boring.”
“It’s not white, it’s Bone .”
“Whatever. You see my shorts?”
“You don’t need them. It’s Friday night, time to party. Want a cold one?” I know he’ll say yes.
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