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 ------------------------------------------------------ WARNING: This text
file contains material of an adult,

   explicit, possibly VIOLENT sexual nature.  If you are uncomfortable
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   Bugged (M/F, demon, snuff) by Liam An Scribhneoir

   "And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast: and
they worshipped the beast, saying, who is like unto the beast?  who is able
to make war with him?" [Revelation 13:4]

   Barefoot in Levis, white dress shirt fully unbuttoned, and a glass of
Glenkinchie scotch in his left hand, Sam opened the door to the motel room
to reveal his "date".  She was slender, stood three inches shoter than him,
and had long brown hair, brown eyes, and an oval face.  She wore no
make-up. She was exactly as he had ordered.

   "Hi, I'm Anne." she said as she smiled.

   He smiled back at for having remembered the name he'd asked that she
use, and began subtly exuding sex pheromones."Please, come in.  I'm Sam. 
Would you like a drink?  All I have is scotch, but it's ~very~ good scotch
....  lowland Glenkinchie."

   "Yes, thanks." she said as she entered and he shut the door behind her.
Visible on the bed was an open make-up artist's kit.  "I thought you
requested no make-up."

   "That's right - no make-up on your face.  I plan to use body paint to
add some temporary tattoos to your body before we get down to business.  Do
you have a problem with that?" His voice remained soft and low as his
eyebrows peaked with inquisitiveness.

   She laughed.  "Nope, but time started when I walked through the door."
Sam took a sip of his scotch, and replied "Oh, I know.  You're far from my
first.  Now, please, take off all your clothes, and sit on that." He
motioned towards a stool before handing her a glass of scotch on the rocks.

   She didn't hesitate to do as requested, and Sam began immediately but
skillfully applying make-up to effect three tattoos.  While he worked, he
deepened the pheromones he was exuding, and replied to her in small talk:
yes, he was rich; yes, he ran his own business; yes, he drove a sports car;
yes, he worked out; etc.

   Eventually Anne commented "You're handsome, educated, employed, have a
good body, and are polite.  I wouldn't think that you'd have any problems
finding women."

   He chuckled "Handsome?", turned his face up to her and grinned.  "Well,
yes, I suppose I am.  It's because I ~don't~ have trouble attracting others
that paying someone for sex arouses me."

   Anne's eyebrows went up.  "Really?  What about paying for sex excites
you?"

   "That my money buys it for me: I can fuck their mouth, cunt, and ass,
and never have to see the person again."

   "That's ...  well, sorta sad."

   Sam never looked up from his artwork.  "Not really.  For me, it's
efficient and uncomplicated ....  no long pretense of being interested in
their dreams or that I'm in love with them ...  no nasty breakup when they
realizes I don't love them.  Plus, I pay them an agreed-upon price rather
than some outrageous portion of my wealth." He downed the last of his glass
of scotch.

   "And I'm all done with the tattoos.  Stand up, please, and turn around.
Very nice.  Go take a look at yourself in the bathroom mirror while I put
away the brushes and paints." Doing as he suggested, she saw on her left
side, from hip to ribs, the image of a thick link of chain with three
brightly-colored flowers woven in; on her right shoulder blade, a simple
black eighth-note; on the inside of her right forearm, a name in
flourishing black script.

   She walked from the bathroom, and asked "Who's 'Cawn-stan-tyne?",
mangling the name.

   "Constantine was a 4th century emperor of the Roman Empire who converted
to Christianity." At her frown, he added with a shrug "We all have fetishes
particular to our own psyche's." and ramped up his pheromone level even
more as he stepped closer to her.  He smiled as her pupils unvoluntarily
dilated, and thought to himself {{Got ya!}}.

   She tried to kiss him, but he stepped back beyond her reach before she
could touch him.  He sat on the stool, and slowly removed his shirt and
jeans, leaving him stark naked.  When he stood up, she could see that,
though he was no John Holmes, he was definitely in the upper 25% of mankind
with regards to muscle definition and cock size.

   "Lie suppine on the bed and spread your legs." After she did, he crawled
on top, positioning himself so that he was holding himself on hands and
knees, the purple glans of his cock barely touching her labia.  "Say 'No,
this is wrong.'"

   "No ....  this is wrong." she parroted without real emotion.

   "Try to say it with some emotion." Sam thrust fully inside her, causing
her to grunt in pain.  "Say, 'Stop!  It hurts.'"

   "Stop!  It hurts." This time, there was a more realistic element to her
repetition of the phrase.  Sam grinned, knowing that he'd done as planned:
rammed the head of his cock directly against her cervix.

   "Does it, now?" He pulled back and immediately thrust back inside
her."But it's what you really want, isn't it!?  Say 'Yes, Jesus.  Yes!'"

   "Yes, Jesus.  Yes!" Anne echoed, surprised at how much she was actually
aroused ...  something that seldom happen with clients.  What followed
could not be mistaken for "making love" as he trust violently into her
again and again, changing angles to make it as painful as possible for her.
Yet she was surprised at how close to orgasm his pile-driver assault was
bringing her.

   Eventually, he slowly.  "Say 'Take me, Sammael!'"

   "Take me Samuel!" she repeated breathily.

   "No, not 'Samuel'!" he barked angrily.  "Listen: 'Take me, Sam-mah-ell!"

   "Take me, Sam-mah-ell!"

   He gave a final vicious thrust, triggering her own orgasm a split second
before his own.  He grunted and growled as he pumped copious spurts of his
seed deep inside the woman.  Finally spent, Sam rose back up on his hands
and peered deeply in her eyes before tilting his head to look down to where
his cock was still imbedded in her.  "Well, look at that." he said in a
voice well-practiced to seem genuinely surprised.  He replaced the
hyper-masculine sex pheromones that he had been exuding with ones that he
knew would heighten her fear.

   Anne jerked her head up so that she could see what he was looking at,
and frowned before her eyes grew wide.  There were oily blck bugs slipping
out of her around his cock.  She snapped her face back up to look at Sam's.
On his was the most demonically evil grin imaginable.  "Surprise." he said
before his face and body dissolved into a writhing mass of black
cockroaches.

   She tried to scream as the mass fell on her, but roaches filled her
mouth and squirmed down her throat, clogging it.  They climbed all over her
body and into every orifice: they clogged her nose, and ears, and squirmed
into her vagina, between her buttocks and up her anus.  Only her eyes were
clear of them.

   In a panic, she rolled off the bed onto the floor.  She struggled to her
feet, groping blindly, but she no sooner gained her feet than she fell
backward across the bed.  In a wild panic, she writhed and thrashed ever
more violently, but nothing helped: she was still completely covered in
roaches.  Gradually, her motions grew slower and weaker.  She tried to
whimper, but still she could make no sound.  Finally, she lay still.  Her
last sight was of a roach drinking a tear that slipped from her left eye.

   The roaches streamed from her corpse and all its orifices: some of them
stopped to consume every trace of makeup and paint from the corpse before
joining the growing mass beside it on the bed; and those inside her
consumed all the fluids Sam had deposited there.  Suddenly, the mass
coalesced into Sam, naked, lying on his right side, and smiling at the
corpse.

   "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" he asked in a sweetly sincere
voice before rolling on his back and howling with laughter.

   Looking at the bed-side clock, he slid out of bed, pulled a suit carrier
from the closet, and dressed in a simple but formal tux, tux shirt, bow
tie, and high-gloss shoes.  He bent over Anne's corpse, closed her eyes
with his fingers.  "Too bad you weren't really her, but then my brother
might be upset if I suffocated his wife." he whispered in her ear.  "Too
bad you didn't know I was a devotee of the dark arts."

   The corpse fit easily in the suit carrier which itself fit easily in the
trunk of his auto, a fact that he knew from similar past dates with other
whores.  He'd dispose of the corpse later somewhere it wouldn't be found,
and there were thousands of places from which to choose.

   END *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author
does not condone abuse or illegal activities.  This story is meant as an
erotic fantasy not real life.  Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real
life" can look forward to many years as a convict in their local prison. 
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