Free Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings by Edward Lee, David G. Barnett Page B

wore.
    “You sure showed that bitch, huh, buddy?”
    “Shut the fuck up,” Travis retorted shakily.
    Travis’ image adopted a confused expression. “You’ve killed before. I know,” he said with a slight grin while tapping his finger against his forehead. Then he shrugged: “What’s another dirty whore, right?”
    Travis pushed himself up onto his knees. “I said, shut the fuck up!” His voice laced with venom.
    The image held up his hands in defeat and took a step back into the darkness of the mirror becoming slightly smaller. “Okay, okay. Easy, buddy. Who am I to say what happened? I mean, after all, I was just there.”
    The image took a step forward and leaned down a little and looked at Travis sideways. “Wanna see?” He moved off to the side and disappeared from the mirror, all except his hand, which gave a sweeping motion as an usher directing someone to their seat. Then the hand swept itself right out of the scene and all that was left was what Travis guessed was the same room he was currently in. Only there was a lot more light and a lot less death.
    Travis sat on the edge of a bed, his head lolling to one side, the effects of the Mindfuck evident on his face by a stupid, wide-ass grin of drunkenness. The door to the room opened and the girl, who was currently dead in front of Travis, walked in. She was dressed in a typical fetish schoolgirl outfit. Travis saw his face appear from the edge of the mirror and toss him a wink. “Fucking love the naughty school girl, don’t we? Ironic, huh?”
    Travis returned the comment with a cold stare.
    “Okay, maybe not ironic. Just fucked up.” Then the head disappeared again.
    Travis watched as the scene unfolded in front of him like low-grade, homemade porn. The girl danced around, asked if she was naughty and if she would be punished. “Oh, you’ll be punished,” the drunk Travis said. Then the same voice from off screen, “You show that bitch, boy!” Followed by loud laughter.
    Travis didn’t appreciate commentary from the audience. The laughter faded as drunk Travis ordered the girl to strip. Which she did, like a pro, all the while performing the shy, scared, little girl act. The girl was ordered to the bed. Travis watched himself bind the girl to the wrought iron headboard with straps he hadn’t noticed before. None of this really surprised him as he had done this and worse over the years.
    Travis watched himself clumsily strip naked and cringed at his white and shriveled body.
    His face appeared again. “When this is all over, we need to do some serious crunches and shit. We look like crap.” Then he shrank off to the side again shaking his head in shame.
    The scene had continued and Travis saw himself mounting the girl. He pushed her legs up and placed his hands on the back of her knees and pushed them up as far as he could until her knees were pressed tight against her shoulders. She made some pleasure groans, sticking to the script. Travis laid his weight onto the girls legs to hold her in place so he could fumble his half-hard cock into her exposed and wonderfully-shaved pussy. It was a sad sight, like watching a teenage boy try and fuck for the first time.
    “Need a little of the magic Blue-V, my man!”
    Travis winced, ashamed that he agreed. He watched himself unromantically and mercilessly pound into the hot, little whore. He kind of wished he remembered some of it; but not for long, because the tone of the scene began to change. Travis’ thrusts grew harder and more desperate, he laid into the girl, pinning her beneath his body. He may have been old and not what he once was, but he still weighed a lot more than her and it was clear she was trapped. Then the drunk Travis began yelling. He pounded into the girl, lying directly on top of her. She tried to push him off, but with his body he held her fast as he fell onto her again and again. “Fucking bitch! You like that, whore? Fucking take it! I’m gonna fuck ya til you scream, you