Sadie the Sadist: X-tremely Black Humor/Horror by Zané Sachs Read Free Book Online Page B

cranberry juice. “Needed to hydrate before riding home.”
    She sits across from me, pushes aside the container of chicken bones, and picks up the newspaper.
    “So weird about Justus,” she says. “I can’t believe it.”
    “Heart attack?”
    “No. Says here, ‘possibly an accident.’”
    “What does that mean, possibly ?”
    Terri reads aloud, “‘Police continue to investigate.’” She glances at me. “You look flushed. Are you all right?”
    “Just tired.”
    Preparing to leave, I reach for my helmet.
    Nose back in the paper, Terri mumbles, “Guess they’ll be looking for a new Assistant Manager.”
    “You applying?” I ask.
    “Hadn’t thought about it. Maybe.”
    I strap on my helmet, thinking about how I’d like to take this jar of cranberry juice and smash Terri’s head. But that would put a damper on my plans.
    “So,” I say, “what, exactly, are the cops investigating?”
    “The cause of the accident. It may have been a hit and run, or even intentional. Says here, ‘Police are canvassing the neighborhood for possible witnesses.’” Her eyes meet mine, and the contents of my stomach lurches back into my mouth. To keep it down, I take a swig of juice. “You live on River Road, don’t you, Sadie?”

    The river runs behind the supermarket, just across the road. At night, the road is dark and there’s hardly any traffic. The city owns the strip of land along the river, so there are no buildings here—just scrub oak, sage, and brush. A steep path runs down the hill, leading to the picnic table where I wait for Ranger, earbuds plugged into my phone, listening to Imagine Dragons , one of my favorite bands; I love “Demons” and “Radioactive.”
    “Over here.”
    I wave the jar of cranberry juice as Ranger makes his way along the path. No moon tonight, but there’s a haze of light from the supermarket. I’ve been taking nips of cranberry juice and vodka, and the diphenhydrAMINE (the active ingredient in Unisom) has started to kick in. I’m having a bit of trouble keeping my eyes open, and some difficulty focusing. For example, when Ranger arrives at the picnic table and sits next to me, I know he’s real, but when I look at his face, then glance away, I see trails—like he’s a ghost.
    He removes the jar from my hands, downs a hefty slug and wipes his mouth.
    “Tastes strange. What’s in it?”
    “Vodka and cranberry. Drink. You need to catch up.”
    He takes another gulp, and so do I.
    We sit, listening to the river.
    He tries to plant his lips on mine, but kissing feels too personal, so I avert my face.
    “You feeling it?” I ask.
    “Feeling what?”
    I think he’s worried. He thinks I want him to say, I love you, or some other shit.
    “It,” I say. “Are you feeling it?”
    I clamp my hand over his crotch, squeeze his bulge.
    My plan is working.
    “Drink up, Ranger.”
    Even in my stupor, I can tell the drug is having an effect on him. His eyes are half-closed. They reopen when I drag down his zipper with my teeth, open wider when I take him into my mouth. There’s a medicinal taste in the back of my throat and I try to get rid of it by sucking him in deeper.
    Stroking the base of his cock, I move up and down, careful not to scrape him with my teeth. With the other hand, I cup his balls, feel them tighten. He tastes like salt and smells of musk.
    He’s groaning, and I’m afraid he’s gonna come too soon.
    “Don’t stop, Sadie.”
    “Be right back.”
    I remove my yellow My Job is to Serve You shirt, yanking it, so the collar rips. (Earlier, I helped the rip along with a nick from my box cutter.) Then I tear off my bra. Ranger reaches for me, and my nipples tense. Leaning toward him, I press my tits around his cock. I’ve got his full attention now.
    “You like this, Dick?”
    “My name is Ranger.”
    “You’re the Lone Ranger, aren’t you, Dick?”
    He moans.
    “Any family?”
    “My folks live in Albuquerque. You?”
    “My dad’s in Phoenix. I guess