💯 STORY CHALLENGE — ROUND 2

Over the Edge

Story 7 of 💯: You can never tell from the outside. They may look normal, but who actually gets to say what normal looks like?

Nice suit, nice watch. Fancy watch. Big dick. Decent haircut. He looked like a regular slimeball at first, but he was much more. And much less.

Dimitri stood by the railing on the twenty-first floor observation lounge, ignoring the glorious view of the city. The small mustard stain on his crisp line shirt from the greasy hot dog he had earlier kept him from enjoying the scenery. He knew he should have waited, but he was hungry. More like hangry, to be precise. And the hot dogs looked good — so damned good. A foot long, with ketchup, mustard, and raw onions. Some American cheese — processed beyond what the world recognized as cheeses — and bacon. Sweet, heavenly, bacon. A sweet, salty orgasm in your mouth without some greasy stranger’s hands shoving his cock deeper down your throat while balls banged on your chin.

Hank recognized Dimitri from his dating profile, especially since he was waving his oft-described gold Rolex around like dude-bait. He smiled when he saw Dimitri dressed right, with the snake he’d only seen in DMs bulging in the tight fitting Armani slacks.

Without a word, he slide up beside Dimitri, and slid his hand down to stroke the trouser snake waiting for him. Dimitri never looked up, still preoccupied with the mustard stain, but his cock grew rock hard, knowing he would soon unleash it on another willing victim.

Hank gave the love stick a hard yank, ensuring it was at full mast, and then pushed his hand down to Dimitri’s family jewels. A hard squeeze brought Dimitri’s attention away from the mustard stain. A smile played at his lips, knowing he would soon be balls deep in this stranger, but he cut it short when Hank grabbed him by the throat with his free hand.

“This is for Warsaw,” was all Dimitri heard as Frank tossed Dimitri over the rail.

“Warsaw? I’ve never been or Warsaw,” was all that flashed through Dimitri’s mind before his skull erupted in an explosion of red, grey, and white on the sidewalk below.

With a smile, Frank turned from the spectacle below and headed into the bar. After he ordered a White Russian to celebrate his easy kill, he realized he may have offed the wrong dude when he glimpsed the figure coming up behind him with the garret.

The last thing he heard, as he slipped into his long sleep goodby, was “Warsaw sends her love.”

Welcome to my second round in the 💯 Story Challenge. Life is throwing too many challenges these days to write anything longer, but I’m going to write 💯 stories of at least 250 words, and I plan to publish one daily.

Rocky Shores may have had a few too many double espressos and double Irish Creams when he wrote this, but those are what fuels his vivid imagination.

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Read another of his stories here.