Bockus Ruts

[bill512]

The Only Man

It was well past midnight that Margaret Olson was able to get herself up out of bed. She just stayed there for hours, petting the top of his head. Sometimes she cried. Sometimes she stared off into a waking dreamland. She swam in his thoughts, every thought once in his head, now in hers. She tried to stop it but it was too intense, and Ulle seemed to want it. Seemed to think it some kind of act of love. “Oh, Ulle.” She’d said. “It’s not love.” Even though his body was cold, she couldn’t let him go until then. She loved him. But she killed him.

She poured a half-empty glass of water in her lap, and then she cupped both her hands underneath his cheeks and peeled his face away from between her legs. Most of what she secreted had dried into a glue, but it reacted right away to the presence of the water, and released its grip. Then she pulled up a leg and turned her hips to the side to let his face fall flat onto the bed, curled up in a ball, and fell asleep.

You see this all the time, in all the romance novels. People who love other people to death. Obsession. An unleashing of something deep down that doesn’t stop. That either doesn’t know how, or knows how but won’t. And we seem to need it. We seem to crave a double life style. Where in one we fit in, and in another we change. Over-indulging our privacies. A kind of celebration that wants to dance in free sin like some spirit of the night. You wake up with a hangover and hope the whole thing blows over. Forgotten. If it were only that simple. When she woke Ulle was gone. And standing over her, over her bed was Bockus Ruts.

She opened those lovely eyes and they focused on him. A big seven foot bald guy. Pockmarked face. Dark skin. Almost looked Native American, but he wasn’t. Ruts was a hound dog. A mutt. A mix of Irish, Italian, black, and Indian. Didn’t even know his mother. Didn’t even want to. “You killed him.” He said with a strange accent. Sounded Cajun. “You killed Thomps.” Maggie heaved in a desperate breath and screamed while she tried to get up and run. But Ruts laid a big strong hand on her leg, and stopped her. “Don’t worry lady. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” “What do you want?” Maggie curled up in a ball and huddled tight next to the headboard. Ruts picked up his arm and walked to a chair that faced the bed. The floor bounced with his steps. Like he weighed as much as a truck. Then he sat and the wood creaked.

“You killed Thomps. Why?” Maggie started to cry. “I couldn’t help it.” Then she looked around. “Where …?” “Eddies got him. He’s putting him in the trunk.” “In the trunk?” Ruts smirked. “You couldn’t help it?” “No.” Then he put one of those giant hands on the top of his head and scratched an itch. “What do you mean you couldn’t help it? I thought you could control it.” “I can. Most of the time.” Then Maggie broke down into tears and pulled up a blanket.

“I want you to work for me now.” “I work for Kilcannon.” “Kilcannon? You work for me now. Kilcannon. Shit. Kilcannon ain’t even in town no more.” Ruts stared at her. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” “I’ll pay you big money. Lots of money. You work for me now.” And Ruts stood then opened the bedroom door. “I’m bringing someone over tomorrow. I want you to do your thing. Just like Kilcannon. You killed Thomps. You work for me now. Do your thing.” And he left, closing the door behind him.

“In the trunk.” She thought. The man she loved. The man she killed. “I work for you now? I work for no one.” But she found a strange motivation. A strange purpose. The hunger inside her felt it too. “You know me too well.” It said. “One day, Mr. Ruts, I’m going to show you why I work for no one.” And she got out of bed, ran a bath, and bathed in the memory of the only man she’d ever love.

[bill512]

Satellite

I wander this planet. I search, and I wonder. And I see all the many places. All the many people. The stories. The landmarks. I scan this surface. I focus my antennae, and the voices come in. The questions. The answers. The feelings. Then I turn my camera, and I see the million words to each sentence. The billion stories to each face. And I wonder. I watch and I wander. Because I see everything. I am only limited by time. I choose at random the many polkadots. The many places to read. The book. To hear. The movie. To see. Which one will I pick today? Which one will consume my time? Here:

“What the fuck you doing? Hold him down!” “I am! I’m holding him!” Eddie swung a closed fist on his face. “Sit still fucker!” Maggie was in the bathroom. Bockus and Eddie were holding still a man by the name of Philip Winston. Holding him down on her bed. Bockus yelled: “Maggie! Maggie get out here.” And Maggie did. Philip looked at her approach, a state of confusion.

“Yah. There’s your nightmare, shithead. Ain’t gonna be so bad is it?” “Shutup. What do you want us to do, Maggie? Knock him out?” “No. You don’t have to do that.” Then Philip struggled again and Eddie went off. “You stupid fucker!” Another swing. “Sit the fuck still I said!” “Leave him be.” Maggie walked up to the bed. She was wearing a long blue silk robe. She reached underneath with one hand, and all three of them watched. Then she pulled out, her hand was wet, and moved towards his face. Philip moaned and scuffed up the sheets with his legs to get away. Then Eddie whined again, and the big muscles in his arms held him still, while Maggie wiped the wetness over his lips and cheeks.

“Don’t wipe it off!” Eddie reached behind him to hold his arms still. “I said you don’t have to do that. Just leave him be.” Maggie was getting frustrated. “Leave him be.” Bockus said, and Eddie did. He let him go, and Philip frantically wiped the wetness off his face. “What’s going on? What is this shit?” “Your worst nightmare, fucker!” Eddie was going to throw another swing but restrained himself. Then Philip stared at Maggie. He charged her and both Bockus and Eddie grabbed him. Maggie stepped back, forcing out a smile.

“What happens now?” Bockus said. “Just leave him alone.” Maggie turned and sat down on a chair facing the bed. She crossed those long beautiful legs, and lit up a cigarette.

Philip was let go again, and both Eddie and Bockus stepped back. He stared at them one by one as if there was no point. But then he started feeling dizzy. And the look of confusion filled his face. He began rubbing his face again. With his palm. With his wrist. Then he started to tilt, losing his balance. “Holy shit.” Eddie said. “It’s working.” “Of course it’s working.” Maggie blew out her smoke. “It always works.” Bockus turned to face her. “Always?” “Always.” Then he stared back at the show. A big evil grin formed on his face.

Philips head fell onto the bed in like a bull. His body stiff. His butt pointed straight up. “Unbelievable.” Eddie said. And he squirmed, breathing like he was in a sprint. “What is that stuff?” Sweat poured off of his face, and he rolled, shivering. Convulsing. Then Maggie stood and put out her cigarette. “Are you two going to stay here?” “Fucking right.” Eddie said. Then Bockus looked at him. “Eddie. Go out on watch. I’m staying here.” “Bock!” “Eddie. Go out on watch.”

“You’re staying here?” “I gotta ask questions.” And Bockus licked his lips like he’d just seen a fortune in gold, went for Maggie’s chair, and Maggie stripped. Her perfect naked form not three feet away from the giant named Ruts. He looked down at her heart shaped butt.

Then she crawled on the bed, her butt up in the air, and like a lover, touched him. Gently moved him. Then crawled up on his face into a sit. Bockus couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d never seen this before. She gently moved up and down with her pelvis, and he heard wet movement, and a man trying to breathe. “Shit!” He yelled, and startled Maggie. He stood, and left the room, wiping his lips.

“I know you’re afraid.” She said. Looking down at him. “I know you can’t believe what’s happening. I want you to know something though.” She screwed. Gently. Up and down his face and nose. Philip looked up from between those two soft thighs. “It’s just business. You’re going to hate me, but it’s just business.” Then she closed her eyes and a rush of fluid poured out her vagina and into his mouth. His eyes took on a noticeably worried look, and he swallowed. Gulping. He swallowed it all and drowned.

Fifteen minutes later Bockus came back in. “Are you ok?” She asked. “Yah. Yah. How’s it going?” “He’s breathing me. My fluid. My fluid has numbed his throat and diverted to his lungs. Then it drowned him.” “You drowned him.” “Yes.” Bockus sat. A big giant boner in his pants. “You drowned him. I can’t believe this shit. You’re the fucking sexiest woman I ever saw.” And Maggie laughed. “Nothings going to happen for a while. It’s just this. It takes a long time to come out.” “What?” “I call it my satellite.” “Your what?” “My satellite. There’s no name for it, but it’s what reads his mind. It grows from in here.” And Maggie pointed to just above her feminine hair. “Then it goes down his throat. Reads him. Brings him in.” “Brings him in? You mean like a suck?” “Yes. But a slow suck. A feeling suck.” And she turned her face down to look at Philip, wobbling her thighs and pelvis. Outstretching her buttocks down past his chin, almost to his chest. And then in, making his head tilt upwards. His whole body floated on the bed. The sound of wetness being jostled, squished. And underneath was a shivering man. A subdued man. So easily. So efficiently. So beautifully.

Bockus watched, and waited. He’d never seen such power in something so weak, so fragile, so beautiful before.

[Kyle_Narshadaa]

oh no Bill !!! Not Bokus Ruts !!!!!!!
like i said before and i'll say it again ..... "Bokus Ruts sucks me farts " !!!!!

:D

[bill512]

Philips body produced a single jolt. It was a long time quiet with Maggie just sitting there. Then there was a single jerk. A muscle twitch that shook the bed, and Maggie moaned.

Bockus had his head resting on his closed fist. The look of a thinker. A look even he had. Then he asked, lifting: “What?” But Maggie said nothing. She rotated her pelvis in small tiny circles. The movement was so slow and precise you had to focus your eyes and wait to see it. It was her stomach that was moving. Long and slow breath movements. But not breathing at all, or hardly.

“It’s a world unto it’s own.” She whispered. “A whole other universe. I swim. Like being in an ocean. Naked. Warm and soothing water around my body. The sights. They are so many. Even the dumbest of men. So many.”

Bockus leaned forward. His chair creaked and he put his arms on his legs and rubbed his fists in anticipation.

“Philip Winston.” She said, opening her eyes and smiling at Bockus. His gaze became one of dumb wonderment. From the view on the bed, a man laying on his back, a beautiful woman on his face. Naked. Not letting him breath. And now? She knew his name. A bed. A screw. A window that cast a beautiful white light like a stage. And she looked at him, and waited.

“Half a million bucks in coke. He was supposed to deliver it two weeks ago. What’d he do with it.” Then Maggie shook her head from side to side. “That’s not how it works. Ask me like you’re asking him.”

“Where’s the dope?” She closed her eyes.

“I swim. In a sea. I touch.” And her pelvis jerked forward and Philips whole body jumped, shaking the bed. “Here. No, here.” Another jolt. “My most insignificant of places, covered in his warmth. Here.”

“I gave it to Evans.” “What? Did you say Evans?” “On the pier. He said you’d never find out it was me. Said you’d think it was Sickly.” “Fuck!” Bockus pulled out his cell phone. “Eddie, go get Evans. Now. Take as many as you need. I don’t care. Find him! And bring him here … where? I said I don’t care. Go there and get him.” And he snapped it shut and looked at her. “Why? Why’d you double cross me?” Maggie closed her eyes. “You’re nuts, Bock. You’re crazy. Everybody knows it. You fuck with the cops. You fuck with Kilcannon. You fuck with Sickly. Everybody knows you’re nuts. That’s why.” “You piece of shit!” And Bockus raised a big fist for a swing. A swing that surely would have been deadly. But then he held back. Restraint was something he knew very little of, were it not the beautiful woman who didn’t even flinch there before him.

He sat back down and stared for several minutes. And Maggie didn’t move all that much. Occasionally she’d let out a soft moan, close her eyes, and adjust. But for the most part she laid there still. “What now?” “Me?” “Yah.” “Do you need to know more?” And he put both his hands to his head and rubbed. Then he stared at her, seemingly tired. His eyes looking red. “No. I don’t need him anymore.” “Then I’m going to kill him.” “You’re what?” “I’m going to kill him.” And she hunched down into a ball.

For only a few more minutes Bockus watched in amazement as her beautiful form moved. Bigger swings. Heavier breathing. Longer screws, and then a stop, and her ribs would jerk, forcing out fluid. Or forcing it in, no one could tell. Then he stood and left the room. Went into the living room and laid down on the couch. And Philip felt a hundred tentacles in his mind that held, melting him into their tubes, and then sucking him away. Until that one unified final jolt, both him and her, when his body failed. The end of signal. The end of the read.

[bill512]

Complete Jurisdiction

Of the three, she was the eldest. Past forty. And the smartest. But unlike those other girls, Maggie Olson never thought her defect a misfortune. Some women are like that. Some women don’t require a purpose, either reproductively or sexually, so much as they do solitude and independence. The chance to be free and do what they want to do. Free from the demanding chains of others.

She was like Laurie Tremer in almost every respect biologically. Her anatomy was without reproductive potential. But Laurie was what Maggie would call a “feeler”. A less of a seeker of intellectual stimulation and knowing, and more of the physical aspect. Were they ever to meet and talk things out, she’d find dramatic differences between them. Laurie was a torturer, merciless and evil when she had sex, and she found pleasure in that. Where as Maggie was far more sympathetic and humane. Other than the psychological trauma of being seduced and smothered, her victims felt very little pain. And when they died, they died quick. Her sex knew exactly where to go. Like a bullet to the brain, there was a prick of a needle, and they were dead.

What made Maggie Olson truly unique though, was her ability to heal. She was able to enhance the constitutional potential of some of her victims. This was extraordinary among the three. Neither Laurie, nor Michelle had this ability. She didn’t know how it worked. Only how it felt. Sometimes she could feel the wounds of her victims, and direct energy from her womb to those places. It was like a fountain of youth. She could even cut off the pain that her victims felt, and make them feel good. The power of her defect was probably the most eloquent of these three women. It literally took control of her men in both life and death. Complete jurisdiction.

But what she couldn’t control was her need for male companionship. Her heart. Her power came at a staggering cost. Maggie Olson was mentally ill, and her defect had taken on it’s own personality. It’s own identity. She lived a tortured life as a high class prostitute since she was eighteen years old. Sleeping with men who she didn’t know. And who didn’t want to know her. She became incredibly lonely, and developed a relationship with this secret potential to steal men’s thoughts. To harness them and carry them away like they were bottled up in some jar. Her second identity, “Satellite”, was getting stronger as she got older. And it was what killed Ulle Thomps, out of jealousy.

She walked into the living room and found Bockus Ruts asleep on her sofa. She was dressed in sweat pants and a tee shirt, and went to the kitchen to get herself a cup of coffee. She was tired, and it was getting late. But she had a feeling Ruts wasn’t going anywhere until he got his dope back. The kettle was done its boil when she heard someone barge in the front door. It was Eddie.

“Bock!” Ruts jumped from the sofa. “Yah!” “They got him. He was out of town, but they got him. They’ll be here tomorrow.” “Good.” “Where’s Maggie?” Eddie walked towards the bedroom then came back. “Where’s Maggie?” “She’s not in there?” “I’m in the kitchen!” She yelled. “That guys dead.” Eddie said. “Come on, let’s take him out and bury him. Maggie!” Maggie walked back into the living room. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Here.” And Bockus pulled out a big wod of bills and threw it on the couch. “Take that. We’ll be back tomorrow.” Maggie nodded and they both carried away Winston and left.

“Take that, we’ll be back tomorrow.”