That Particular Combination…

[mc, mf, md, fd]

((Turning the tables is always fun, isn’t it? Something quick and dirty because, every now and then, I feel like it.))


Benny Simmons loved driving his ice cream truck all over town, and finding new clients for his exotic flavors every day. And by “exotic” I mean mind-controlling, seeing his quaint depiction of a happy salesman was just a façade for his more sinister intents. Not all people that devote their life to the control of others are monsters, but he sure fitted the moniker whenever he was left alone with an entranced victim. The year had barely started and he had already raped fourteen women without remorse. Now, the time had come for the fifteenth.

When he first saw her, he was genuinely impressed. She was one of those rare cases that could pull a perfect figure in a pencil skirt, a vibrant soul that exuded sexiness through every pore. Women like her always gave him the cold shoulder before carrying on with their lives as if he didn’t exist, and he simply couldn’t get enough of showing them all the dirty little fantasies that kept him alive.

Afraid she would just walk by without even seeing his truck, he immediately pulled out one of his heavily laced cones and asked, shamelessly:

“Excuse me, Miss, but can I tempt you with a wonderful Asian delicacy?”

She stopped, raised her sunglasses and answered enthusiastically:

“As a matter of fact, you can… I just love ice-creams, especially those with odd flavors. You said Asian, didn’t you? Let me see that.”

He handed her the cone and watched her lick it quite fervently. That came as no surprise as the combination of drugs was addictive from the start and, very soon, she would lose all ability to think on her own.

“Hmmm… this is simply to die for… I love it, love it, love it!” She said, slowly unbuttoning her silk blouse. “I want to feel it all inside me, hmmm… yes!”

Okay, Benny thought, things are definitely working even better than anticipated. Perhaps, underneath the rich attire, she was really one of those dirty nymphos, always horny regardless of being under the influence of mind-altering chemicals or not… Her public display of raw sexuality had him ponder all sorts of wonderful scenarios to play before the day was done.

Eventually, she got what she wanted, and her tongue swirled in satisfaction. He glanced at his watch, waiting for the first symptoms of dizziness, and then…

… he kept on waiting, and waiting even more as the late-twenties woman played with her reddish hair and freshened her make-up. The awkward silence that followed was ultimately broken by a bold statement:

“You know,” she said with great confidence, “that particular combination of drugs you used on your ice-cream is quite effective on many people, but approximately 10% of them are able to resist its effects. Isn’t that interesting?”

He became livid and ran for the wheel to get out of there as fast as possible.

Somehow, she was even faster, appearing by the driver’s window before he could get the engine started. Her weapon of choice wasn’t an ice-cream, but rather a bottle of perfume she used to soak his face. Its effects were rapid and earth-shattering.

“This combination, however,” she continued, “has a 100% success rate on any living soul, including naughty little rapists like you… Raping the rapist sounds like a fun game, doesn’t it? I can’t wait to start playing it.”

These were the last words Benny heard before the blackness took over. Afterwards, came the white dullness of thoughts, and the fleeting impressions of something big giving his ass its due rewards.

His ice-cream truck never moved again.

Back to the Stories Index

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s