Read Online Three Twisted Stories by Karin Slaughter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karin Slaughter
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better. He guessed that made sense. The little flap of skin was sensitive. Charlie remembered his girlfriend asking him to touch hers, but he didn’t have the patience. Put one of these on a man and he’d have all the patience in the world. Jesus Christ, it felt like a thousand butterflies giving him a blow job.
He closed his eyes as he touched himself. His tongue darted out between his teeth. His toes gripped at the floor. He thought about his girlfriend. Then he thought about his wife. He forced himself not to think about Burt Reynolds.
That guy probably knew where to put his fingers. Charlie probably would’ve too, if he’d had the time. He was always rushing around trying to work, trying to take care of his family. Shit, he should probably be at work right now. He still needed to process the paperwork on Commissioner Ballantine’s Cadillac. He needed to go back to the mall and get underwear. He’d take a hundred-dollar bill and shove it in Judy’s face. Let her tell Mabel about it over lunch. And he should probably get Jenny that Easter basket. College! Who knew his baby was going to college? She’d need all kinds of things. Sheets for her bed, posters for the walls, and he wasn’t going to send her to UGA without buying her a new wardrobe. How much was that going to cost? Charlie would have to talk to his sales team. The quotas were going to go up. They couldn’t coast anymore. Maybe he should fire some people to put the fear of God in the rest of them. Deacon should be the first one out the door. The way he had talked to Charlie today like he didn’t know his own mind.
Charlie realized his hand had stopped.
What the hell? He couldn’t concentrate long enough to diddle himself. Normally, he clocked out the minute his dick got hard, but now he felt overwhelmed with things he had to do. He needed to make a list.
Charlie stood up. He opened the junk drawer, but it was so messy he couldn’t findanything. Sue had left the supper dishes drying on the rack. He should probably put those away. Had she ironed his shirts yet? He couldn’t show up at Mike Thevis’s wearing a wrinkled shirt.
“Shit.” Charlie sat back down in the chair. This wasn’t him. What did he care about ironed shirts and clean dishes? He was a man.
He said the words, “I’m a man, goddamn it.”
Charlie grabbed his cock off the table. He crammed it into his vagina. It caught on the sides, but he breathed through the pain, shoving it up to his balls. He wriggled his hips. There was still some room in there. Charlie pushed harder, but apparently he had an unnaturally long vagina.
Charlie didn’t let this stop him. He fucked himself. First fast, then slow, then fast again, then slow. He pulled it out until the tip almost showed. He pushed it in until he felt the balls strain. Back and forth, fast and slow. He turned it different ways. He went upside down. More fast, more slow, until finally, he gave up.
Charlie stared at the dick in his hand.
Honestly, he didn’t see what all the fuss was about.
A PRIL 8, 1974
Chapter Seven
The Braves hat was back on the chicken when Charlie walked onto the dealership floor. He wanted to let it go, but it grated like nothing else in his life. Charlie was running a business, not a nursery.
He raised his voice. “Who put this fucking hat back on the chicken?”
Everybody looked at him like he was insane.
Charlie screamed, “I asked who put this fucking hat on the chicken!”
“Hey, hey, brother.” Deacon put his hand on Charlie’s arm. “Let’s chill out, now. All right?”
Charlie threw off his brother’s hand. “Don’t tell me to chill out, you jackass.”
Deacon rubbed his hand like Charlie had slapped it. “I know you don’t care about sports, but it’s a big thing for a lot of guys. Hank versus the Babe. History in the making.” He winked at Charlie. “If they don’t shoot him first.”
“What if a customer walks through that door, sees that hat, then walks back out?”
He closed his eyes as he touched himself. His tongue darted out between his teeth. His toes gripped at the floor. He thought about his girlfriend. Then he thought about his wife. He forced himself not to think about Burt Reynolds.
That guy probably knew where to put his fingers. Charlie probably would’ve too, if he’d had the time. He was always rushing around trying to work, trying to take care of his family. Shit, he should probably be at work right now. He still needed to process the paperwork on Commissioner Ballantine’s Cadillac. He needed to go back to the mall and get underwear. He’d take a hundred-dollar bill and shove it in Judy’s face. Let her tell Mabel about it over lunch. And he should probably get Jenny that Easter basket. College! Who knew his baby was going to college? She’d need all kinds of things. Sheets for her bed, posters for the walls, and he wasn’t going to send her to UGA without buying her a new wardrobe. How much was that going to cost? Charlie would have to talk to his sales team. The quotas were going to go up. They couldn’t coast anymore. Maybe he should fire some people to put the fear of God in the rest of them. Deacon should be the first one out the door. The way he had talked to Charlie today like he didn’t know his own mind.
Charlie realized his hand had stopped.
What the hell? He couldn’t concentrate long enough to diddle himself. Normally, he clocked out the minute his dick got hard, but now he felt overwhelmed with things he had to do. He needed to make a list.
Charlie stood up. He opened the junk drawer, but it was so messy he couldn’t findanything. Sue had left the supper dishes drying on the rack. He should probably put those away. Had she ironed his shirts yet? He couldn’t show up at Mike Thevis’s wearing a wrinkled shirt.
“Shit.” Charlie sat back down in the chair. This wasn’t him. What did he care about ironed shirts and clean dishes? He was a man.
He said the words, “I’m a man, goddamn it.”
Charlie grabbed his cock off the table. He crammed it into his vagina. It caught on the sides, but he breathed through the pain, shoving it up to his balls. He wriggled his hips. There was still some room in there. Charlie pushed harder, but apparently he had an unnaturally long vagina.
Charlie didn’t let this stop him. He fucked himself. First fast, then slow, then fast again, then slow. He pulled it out until the tip almost showed. He pushed it in until he felt the balls strain. Back and forth, fast and slow. He turned it different ways. He went upside down. More fast, more slow, until finally, he gave up.
Charlie stared at the dick in his hand.
Honestly, he didn’t see what all the fuss was about.
A PRIL 8, 1974
Chapter Seven
The Braves hat was back on the chicken when Charlie walked onto the dealership floor. He wanted to let it go, but it grated like nothing else in his life. Charlie was running a business, not a nursery.
He raised his voice. “Who put this fucking hat back on the chicken?”
Everybody looked at him like he was insane.
Charlie screamed, “I asked who put this fucking hat on the chicken!”
“Hey, hey, brother.” Deacon put his hand on Charlie’s arm. “Let’s chill out, now. All right?”
Charlie threw off his brother’s hand. “Don’t tell me to chill out, you jackass.”
Deacon rubbed his hand like Charlie had slapped it. “I know you don’t care about sports, but it’s a big thing for a lot of guys. Hank versus the Babe. History in the making.” He winked at Charlie. “If they don’t shoot him first.”
“What if a customer walks through that door, sees that hat, then walks back out?”
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