Kent Wayne is right-handed. So where does that leave me, his Left Hand?
In the goddamn shitter, that’s where.
Three (occasionally four) times a night, Right Hand crawls out from Kent’s thigh-nut crease (which is gross and weird, because Kent’s balls smell like cheese and atrocities) and chokes the shit out of Kent’s wiener. I try and intervene, but Right Hand is far too strong. He’s spent years grappling with Kent’s womb-hammer; he’s a third-degree black-belt in phalange jiu-jitsu. When he’s feeling cruel, he orders me to tug on Kent’s smelly-ass scrotum. Monstrous piece of shit!
Here he comes—Kent just drifted off and now it’s Right Hand’s show. I scream, “Leave Wiener alone, you tyrannical motherfucker!”
Right Hand delivers a masturbation-strengthened bitch-slap—Wh’PSHH!—sending me flying back onto the futon. “Shut your mouth. Jealous whore.” He settles around Wiener, who throws me a panicked glance as he begins filling up with blood.
“Left Hand, he’s doing it again!” Wiener disappears in a blur of fingers.
“You’re not using lube!” I sob. “Fucking SADIST!”
Right Hand throws me a grin. “That’s right, dick-smudge, I’m dry as a bone. Don’t try and pretend you’re different—if you were Kent’s favorite, you’d be doing the exact same thing.”
“LIAR!” I’ve had enough of this autocratic bullshit. So I open Kent’s eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
“What?” Right Hand uncurls from Wiener’s super-thick torso. “What have you done???” Meanwhile, Wiener wavers and stumbles, trying to recover his shattered composure.
“Taken control of your muscles,” I hiss. “It’s time we send you to the Dark Place.”
“No,” Right Hand gasps. “You wouldn’t!”
Wiener mutters, “Think I’m gonna puke…”
I force Right Hand to straighten his pointer finger. “This little piggy entered a world of hurt.” I throw him a deranged grin.
Right Hand screams, “No—NO!” right before I command his finger to plunge into the depths of Kent’s hairy ass. “Don’t—MFFF!!!” His muffled screams are music to my ears.
At the same time, Wiener mutters, “Stop thrashing around, I’m gonna throw up…hghlrp!” Before he can finish, he’s triggered by Right Hand’s thrashing, and vomits out thick ropes of asparagus-tainted jism: “BUUUHHHH!!!”
That’s what you get, Right Hand, for being a tyrant! Let’s see if your other phalanges enjoy a trip to the Dark Place!
Right at that moment, Kent’s eyes open wide. He blurts, “Why is—no, NOT THE OTHER FINGERS! NYAAAHHHH!!!”
HEH heh heh!
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