"Patience, Big. Do you have iTunes on your stereo? I have a few songs to play for you."
He keeps trying to grind it into me, not seeming to hear my question. However, he nods an answer and points towards the far wall indicating the speaker set-up.
Clicking my playlist, I place the phone on the poker table and put my arms around his neck. He manages to get under my dress and I feel him tugging at his jeans. He's gonna stick me if I don't stop him. As that thought floats in my mind, the first song plays.
I feel a thick cock against my ass and him trying to pull me on top of it. Putting up a bit of resistance, I sing along with the music.
"I'm gonna hit it," he says in my ear. I feel the tip pressing against me and I know it's only moments before he jams it in. The next song begins to play.
"You like, slut? he says.
"The song," I say, laughing. He stops for a moment and pushes me enough to look in my eyes. Oh, how men hate being laughed at. "Don't stop."
I start grinding as he stares, desire causing the anger to fade in his eyes.
With a smile, I lift the dress over my head, exposing all the flesh to him. "The songs aren't for you. Mind this business," I say, sweeping an arm over my body.
He hands and mouth find my breasts and I need give him no more instruction. Thrusting up in me with fury, he squeezes and pulls at my nipples, making me scream once more.
"Like that black cock, slut..." he says. The word is beginning to make me angry.
"Why, you gonna shut it off?" he says trying to fuck me hard again.
"No, you'll be dead."
"Go ahead, put it in, Big," I yell so I know he can hear over the music. He doesn't move and I laugh as I wiggle myself onto his thick meat.
"You gonna kill me, shorty?" he asks, his voice lacking the confidence of earlier. I can feel he is close to orgasm as he begins to grip me tighter and tighter.
"Cherry Bomb," I sing as the song ends. He groans the last of his orgasm and I smile when the next song begins.
He doesn't move or speak and the bass pounds in my chest. Closing my eyes, I hide in my memories, thinking of someone from the past. Gripping the knife, I begin to slice into his skin when I hear someone speak my name.
"Ella," A voice near the door says. I lift my eyes to see Ray Holden in a tuxedo with an unlit cigar in his mouth.
"Ray!" I scream, trying to lift myself, but Big's hands hold me in place.
"This is what George has been trying to tell me," he says, taking a moment to light the cigar.
"Yes," I say. At that moment, I push the blade through Big's windpipe, sending a spray of blood into the air.
There is a silent pause before the stereo begins the next song. Blood continues to jet from the wound and Big paws at the gash in his throat. Soon his strength ebbs, leaving a lifeless bloody mass of flesh under me. Pushing away from him, I run towards Ray.
"What George was trying to tell you..."
He interrupts me with a soft kiss. The smells of whiskey and tobacco mix with the blood of the recent dead, spinning my senses.
"Yes?" he asks when the kiss ends.
The song stops at that moment and into the silent void of the room, with the presence of the latest dead bearing witness, I tell him.
"I'm the butcher of Vegas."