A pornography of justice...

     !WARNING! CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT    

Author's Note:  Here be confession offered for the crime of stabbing the reflection of a girl with the reflection of a knife… as close to pornography as I'll write, written a year or so ago to a writers club prompt about personifying an inner bane and drain on the creative soul, an inner editor, an inner critic, personifying them and then doing them in… in a novel manner. 

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Lucille liked to think herself a very proper lady.  Proper was her watchword,  her armor and her arms, it was her justification for the star she navigated by.  She took propriety very seriously.  She took great security in knowing any situation encountered could be conducted according to etiquette and custom long established, where things would remain simple and clear, easily understandable, for second only to proper any word describing a state of clarity was highly favored.  Lucille most definitely liked to know anything and everything she could, after all she reasoned, the more known in advance the fewer unhappy surprises to be dealt with later, and the fewer unhappy surprises the fewer consequences to be dispensed regarding trespasses marring the perfection of her day.  Such is how Lucille saw herself in the strangely convoluted mirror of her self perception, a proper Victorian lady defending every decent thing against a world gone utterly mad by installing the simplest of common grammatical virtues in the young minds society entrusted to her keeping.   

That might have been how she saw herself, but to the rest of us stuck in that sadist's ball Lady Lucille was the meanest, leanest, kinkiest bitch to ever strut a set of spike heels wearing leather and lace, which she did on a real regular basis for those she kept after hours at her tutoring service.  We weren't all that old, but we were old enough to know what some things meant, and everything we knew what it meant?  Lady Lucille was all of that and more. 

It was bad, I mean to tell you, it was very bad.  She taught English at the high school as well.  They put a girl in her class who'd been a runaway, survived two years hooking in St. Louis before they caught her and brought her back.  She took one look at Lady Lucille and broke out in a ghetto squeal at about ninety mile an hour until the principal came and took her away. 

Last we ever knew of her was what we heard her screaming getting drug down the hall.  "Fuck you Principal man? I'll fuck you a freebie sweetcheeks, you a normal man baby but no way, NO FUCKING WAY, I ain't letting THAT BITCH near me, she a fucked up head case whore man, she dangerous…"  They should have listened to her, she knew what she was talking about. 

Like I said, it was bad.  I survived it, barely.  There were some who didn't.  More than a few didn't, we all carried away scars.  Tim, shit, poor little Tim.  His momma was friends with Lucille, and Tim stuttered.  He stayed after class a lot, a whole lot, more than his mind could handle.  By the end of the year if someone snapped their fingers, popped their gum?  By then that was all it took and he'd piss his pants.  And Claire, sweet Claire, we all loved her, and she loved English. She did. Past tense.  By the end of that year Claire didn't even care how many paws it put on the ground, she'd fuck anything.  If it was warm she'd laugh that crazy laugh trying to go down on it with so much metal stuck through her face it looked like she'd kissed a shotgun.  Yea, time was Claire liked to write, told good stories too.  You just got used to ignoring all the extra commas, it wasn't hard.  Me, well, me?  There's times you really don't want to be standing behind me, like when someone might make up some dumb word like "logicating" because when that happens I'll be turning around real fast and trying to kill whatever is closest behind me. Why?  Because it might be Lucille, might be, and no shit sucking scunt is ever going to do that to me again, is not going to happen, not again.  Honorable death in battle is fine, but not that.  So if we're ever in mixed company do us both a favor ok?  Don't get behind me, because there for a few seconds I might not know it's you.

That was how it was with Lucille, she left her mark on us, oh yea baby, she left marks on us.  And I'm proud to say fate handed me the job of avenging those marks, putting down some justice for Tim and Claire and about a dozen others.  It was pure fate, I couldn't have planned it.  Since you don't have a clue who I am I'll go ahead and tell you what went down, and maybe you'll even get a laugh out of it because it really was all her.

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I worked as a plumber for a lot of my life, almost all of my life really, just retired a few years ago.  It isn't a glamorous job but it's good money and respectable, you can have that for a day life and something else at night, no one cares.  I worked twenty five years as a plumber, and for fifteen of those years I carried the secret of what really happened to Lucille.  If you'd read the paper back then the obit just said "death by accidental causes."  That was pretty much what they had to say, all things allowed for, I don't hold the lie against them, they had reputations to worry about and all, so yea, where it was reported as an accident for years the guys down at the paper would grin when her name got mentioned, the cops told them how they found her.  That was a good thing, that they all grinned.  Tim ended up sweeping the press room for a living, it was a good thing that he got to know why they grinned.

It was July, hotter than a two dollar pistol it was.  I'd had my own truck three or four years at that point, made that level of journeyman where they'll send you out on your own and not worry about letting you handle the run of the mill skunk jobs unsupervised, your time is your own as long as the customer don't bitch.  That's what it sounded like, a run of the mill skunk job, I didn't connect the name on the ticket at all.  Just a lady with a stopped up kitchen sink, about the fifth one in the same pile of tickets.  I got to the house, grabbed the drain box out of the tool bed and headed for the door. 

Matter of fact I'd been under the kitchen sink a good twenty minutes before it really dawned on me who was standing behind me.  I hadn't looked that close at her face coming in the door, I'd seen the sweat soaking through the sheer dress, the naked body outlined beneath, seen the flush and the glow on her.  It don't happen often, but yea, it do happen, and being a married man and all it's my rule to gently ignore them, just let it fade away and fix the plumbing, let someone else work on their pipes if you know what I mean.  That was what I was doing then, would have kept doing except that Murphy got right in the middle of the game.  If it hadn't been for Murphy's Law Lucille would probably be alive today.

I was putting things back together, it hadn't taken fifteen minutes to fix the problem.  But since the minimum billing was for an hour I decided to be nice and fix the next problem before it broke and washed the cabinet out onto the kitchen floor, the cold water coupling was hanging by a prayer and not much else.  End and all about the time I was trying to hook the line back up I dropped the damn ferrule back into the toolbox.  Like enough you don't know what the ferrule is, but it's small, brass, you got to have the right one or you have a leak, and pursuant to Murphy's law if you drop a small part into the toolbox it goes  instantly to the very bottom so you have to unload the whole damn box to get it back out.

I'd just gotten the ferrule back in my hand when I heard a gasp behind me.  When I looked behind I suddenly realized several things.  I recognized the lady of the house, recognized her by that crazy light I'd seen in her eyes before.  I recognized what she was doing too, squatted down knees wide with the dress riding hip high trying not to make the strokes to terribly obvious, trying to keep her balance with her legs trembling, and I realized what she was looking at with hungry eyes.

"What is it?" she asked in a little girl voice, biting a lip with glassy eyes staring.

"It's for knocking one loose when there's no way for the snake to get there," I said. 

"Oh, oh my," she panted.  "Does it work?"

"Oh yea, they work great," I said, and right then revenge took me over.  "Lady, it do look like you need a little help getting loose from what has a hold of you.  Would you like some help?"

"Please?" she said, and she was begging just half a breath from crying.

I didn't mean to play a head game on her, not deliberate anyway, but I did.  I smiled, a gentle understanding kind of smile, and scooted over to where I could reach out and touch her. "Yes, of course I'll help you, and we'll do it correctly, won't we dear, so it will last a long time for you."  They were her words from back in the day, it flipped her, she went somewhere else in her head right then. I had command of her. 

I took her arms, lifted her hands, caught both of hers in one of mine, used my other hand to settle her backwards to sit, and then lie out flat on the floor.  I opened her dress, let it fall away leaving her bare, put her hands on her tummy.  She opened her eyes, I caught her eye and did the one finger wiggle like she used to do to us.  "One nipple at a time dear, one at a time, we won't be vulgar doing both," I said.  She gulped hard and nodded, reached to caress a rigid nipple with a thumb.  A moment later she changed hands, changed nipples, I looked down on her and nodded approval.  "Yes dear, very well done, just like that.  I want you to pay attention to just your breasts for a little bit, I want them as swollen and tender as they can be.  I need a moment to get some things ready, but when I get back I want to kiss a nipple and hear you cry delight.  Can we do that?"  She nodded, closed her eyes and went to work on a nipple with long sharp fingernails, teasing almost to draw blood, lifting and pinching and crying beneath her breath.

I could have left her there just like that, probably should have left her there entranced in her own lust run amok, working on her tits with her legs spread open by the swelling.  I could have left her there waiting and slipped out the door.  I could have been kind even, left her what she'd been looking at, left her to find she had the privacy to use it.  They don't cost that much, and dime bet buys you a dollar she'd have been bleeding before she figured out it was blood not smeg.  She didn't have a clue what it was, what it was for.  All she saw was eight inches of pink rubber, not quite two inches in diameter that had half a dozen pleated rings around the shaft leaving about an inch and a half clear, like the head of a dick.  She had no idea the rubber was textured for grip, that it would leave her bleeding raw after only four or five strokes if all she had was herself for lube.  She had no idea why it had a hose connection and valve on the other end. 

I could have been nice and left the whole business just laying there, but I didn't want to be nice.  I was thinking of Claire, early on lover, long time friend, sweetheart angel with only slightly round heels who never did really recover from what this bitch did to her after hours, who took herself out at the age of twenty five leaving two little kids and a broken hearted man who had tried so hard to pull her back.  I was thinking about Tim and Terry and Chris and hell, me too, I was thinking about all of us that took heavy hits from this bitches twisted up head.  I didn't want to be nice.  There was a hose already hooked up under the sink, I swapped out the flower wand for the jet, closed the choke valve and turned the water on full.  It was time to go to work.

She flinched when I blew on a nipple, whimpered to a little kiss, she'd done just what I told her.  I kissed her cheek, her eyes opened, dilated like dinner plates, animal crazy eyes.  I smiled for her, said I needed her help for a moment.  When the thought made it in I lifted her feet up, hooked her knees inside her elbows and smiled again, she tightened her arms, held herself there for me wide open.  She'd been turned on a long, long time, she wasn't as wet as she might have been.  I two finger opened her, spit on her clit, spit hard.  She gasped, everything worked a cycle, I spit again, flipped the little bud side to side with a fingertip, looked to me like she damn near got off.  Anyway, when I touched her clit the muscles in her butt and vagina started surging, almost instantly she was flooding wet again.  I slid the tip across her, up and down a few times and then eased it in between the pulses. 

I didn't have to push much at all, the hunger in her got a grip on the rubber, she was almost pulling it in by herself, pumping and clenching and making sounds the porno folks would kill to have on tape.  I grabbed the hose, put a little rotation on the whole operation, things started happening a bit faster.  When all I could see was the brass water fitting I pulled back a bit and had her lay out flat, feet sole to sole and knees on the floor.  I used the garden hose for a handle, put a couple of slow strokes on her, her eyes rolled up, she fainted for a second.  She came to crying and begging me to make it fuck her good.  That was about the time I'd gotten the choke valve cracked open just the right amount with the plug full buried in her body.  She started panting, gasping for air, what was going on in her belly was making it hard for her to breath.  I scooted up beside her, reached between her legs to hold everything in.  She was going to come soon, I didn't want her pushing anything out ahead of schedule.  I might as well be honest, hell, I wanted to watch the bitch's face. 

It took a bit to really get her off, she was lust locked tight as all get out.  I held everything still, used the heel of my hand on her clit, worked her outer lips against the copper, leaned down to pull a cry from her chewing a bit on a nipple.  I had to talk to her just a bit, keep her distracted from noticing what started out a shade under two inches thick was now halfway to being three, growing inside her slow but steady to the trickle and vibrating as it enlarged.  I took the time to tell her she was going to come harder than she ever had in her whole life, that she'd never ever get off harder than she was about to.  That part was true, I knew that.  She smiled that same crazy smile, her eyes got that same animal light in them as when she was beating on you.

I could smile back, this time.  She saw me smile and said in this demented baby whisper "please, may I have my orgasm now?"  

I nodded, and said "of course dear, please do, enjoy yourself.  You've done so much for everyone." No sooner than the words were out of my mouth she started getting off, the slow kind that go on for a long time building as they go.  I helped her along for a bit, just long enough she was writhing and cursing with obscene delight totally out of reality before I slammed the choke valve wide open and stood up with a snort.  "There you go Ms. L, " I said with a snarl, "this one's from the old gang just for you."

That drain jet will lock itself into a pipe up to four inches in diameter with over three hundred psi of force against the wall in like two seconds, and it was more than half full when I kicked the valve full on. That's instant childbirth in a woman.  I'd been wondering if her pelvis would hold.  It didn't, I heard her snap, saw her eyes flash open in utter agony, in utter terror.  But still, she didn't suffer very long.  Once the thing hits working pressure internally it opens the cutter nozzle at the tip, the one that really does make it look like a big pink dick.  It did exactly what it was supposed to do, it sealed the hole and put pressure on a plogged drain line.  It was really amazing how quick she filled up, how little time it took to turn the skinny bitch into a water balloon, how quick she died with sixty psi of water pressure leaning in on her heart and lungs from the inside. 

And you know what was really amazing?  She held pressure just fine, didn't leak a bit, not one drop.  I left everything just like it was, didn't touch a thing.  I  picked up my toolbox and walked out the door.  Not my fault if the stupid broad killed herself playing with a misplaced tool she didn't understand.