A Little Aggressive
Sample Chapter from The Con
This is a sample chapter from my debut novel The Con, which you can purchase here.
Chapter 3
A Little Aggressive
September 2021
Orlando, FL
Amanda pulls up to my high rise seven minutes after the ETA she’d texted earlier.
This endears me to her greatly, as I was honestly expecting her to be at least twice that late. You’ll never stay sane messing around with art hoes unless you can accept that they sort of operate on colored people time; flakiness is often just the price of pixie dust.
As she rolls down the window of her ashen-hued Toyota and the two of us lock eyes it occurs to me how insanely freeing it is that I’ve been with enough women at this point to experience zero disgust response toward Amanda’s boogerish septum piercing or the National Geographic studs in her lip—truly my fried oxytocin receptors are a small price to pay in exchange for the ability to properly appreciate a gal this splendid.
Normgroid conservatives and even most of the Alt Right would no doubt be appalled by Amanda’s piercings and sleeve tats and Xbox-colored hair, and three years ago I’d have been right there with them. But these days I feel like George Costanza when everyone got on his case for eating that eclair he found in the trash—it was on a newspaper, who cares?
“Heeeey… Sorry I’m late. I sort of got into it with this Asian dude at Starbucks...”
I saunter over to her vehicle. “Over what—the last boba tea?” That was solid.
“Good one. Nah, he just told me I was being—and I quote—‘a little aggressive’ because of the way I parked my car or something.
I mean, what kind of retrograde bullshit is that?”
“Super fucking retrograde.” I pop my head through her window and devour her lips.
“Oh—JESUS, dude, you’re such a fucking creep!”
Amanda cuts me a dark little grin as she bats an errant lock of hair off her cheek. “Guess that’s what I get for fucking an incel...”
My grip on her window frame tightens and I feel my eyebrows furrow up like Ben Shapiro. “Amanda, do you hear what you’re saying—like, at all? How can I be an incel when you yourself literally had sex with me like three days ago?”
“OMIGOD THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT AN INCEL WOULD SAY!”
Amanda begins to cackle uncontrollably, aggressively smacking her steering wheel multiple times until she accidentally honks the horn. “—Ooh! My bad…”
“Christ, you’re a fucking retard...”
I notice the melanin-drenched boomer behind us is sticking his head out the window of his pickup rather impetuously, so I stare him down as I lazily circumnavigate the sternside of Amanda’s vehicle. This route is probably twice as long as the path round its bowside, but it’s nothing short of essential to assert dominance over black people in situations like these to get back at them for how slowly they cross the street.
When I open the passenger door the look on Amanda’s face very nearly breaks my heart.
“No I’m not! That’s such a mean fucking thing for you to say to me...”
“Wait—what’s a mean thing to say?”
“YOU LITERALLY JUST SAID IT! You just called me retarded!”
I feel my penis growing hugely engorged.
“Babe…
I’m pretty sure I called you a retard. That’s different from calling you retarded.”
“Now you’re doing that thing where guys say you were only ACTING like a bitch…”
The wizened black man honks his horn, but it barely registers with either of us
“Really? Cause I’d say I’m sort of doing the exact opposite of that. Anyway, girls hate the bitch thing more because it makes you seem weak and gay and unsure of yourself. Whereas if you just call her a bitch it’s usually kind of like… who cares?”
Amanda rolls her eyes theatrically, but I can tell she’s weighing my words.
Then she sighs. “Why does everything need to have some super deep esoteric hidden meaning with you? Sometimes you’re just being an asshole, and you hurt someone’s feelings for no reason.”
“You mean like when you called me an incel?” HONK!
“OMIGOD, I was literally just fucking teasing you! That’s just what normal people do! Haven’t you ever heard of, I don’t know, FLIRTING?! God, you’re such a fucking nerd! Clearly I don’t think you’re, like, a literal incel—that was the entire point of my joke!
Though honestly you do just fucking constantly ACT like one… and you also believe some pretty fucked up things, dude—ESPECIALLY about women.”
“I believe fucked up things about women?! Bitch, on our literal FIRST DATE you were trying to convince me a full THIRD of you die in childbirth...” HONK!
HONK!
HONK! HONK! HONK!
The blackamoor bristles with rage as the honkey he’s honking at glares back at him contemptuously. Meanwhile the white bitch in the driver’s seat has already forgotten he exists—one of Amanda’s very finest character traits is her tendency to completely tune out the external world whenever she’s surfing an especially potent emotional current. No doubt that’s part of what makes her such an effective artist.
HONK! HONK!
“That’s NOT what I was saying! Also, you’re changing the whole point—you always do this! The point is I was just fucking around with you… but when you called me a retard it was, like… genuinely hateful and mean!
It’s like you actually wanted me to feel less than.”
I fucking hate that expression; what’s wrong with ‘inferior?’
Her voice softens “Have I ever told you that in high school I had a perfect GPA?”
“Several times.” I smile at her. “…on every occasion we’ve hung out, actually.”
Amanda bats another lock of hair from her face. “I think my memory got ruined by drugs...”
“So you’ve said...” I begin to absentmindedly play with one of her long skinny fingers—
you can always tell a girl will have nice feet if she also has nice hands. “I guess you’re awfully lucky those drugs didn’t make you any less gorgeous—and that the world will always be full of mean creepy incels falling over themselves to pay your rent...”
“You really think I’m gorgeous?” Amanda’s eyes sparkle back at me—che belle stelle!
“You are.”
She is. For such a broke and broken bitch Amanda’s face is downright aristocratic—really almost equine in character, and I mean that in the best possible way. The girl is a knockout, and you can tell at a glance that her forebears came to America from the civilized regions of Italy with a 103 average IQ instead of from the poopy cousin-fucking brown bits like mine. God painted her visage in entrancing sfumato and her soul with invigorating chiaroscuro; whenever I gaze into those bedazzling brown eyes all of her shitty alt girl fashion choices fade away in an instant and she dons the dignified garb of a Florentine noblewoman.
…not because she would have been born into that life, mind you. Instead she’d be the mistress of a choleric young blue-blood (think a Mercutio type—mayhaps even a Tybalt?) who fraternizes primarily among the lower orders because he’s trying to escape the Rubys and Jeffs of his epoch. Either that or he’s watched a few too many Romeos drink poison over some snooty little cunt who’d very obviously never stab herself for him.
Meanwhile Amanda herself would be the child of some unprosperous tradesman or merchant married to a lass he clearly doesn’t deserve, with Amanda being the inevitable result of that union. A lot of the higher IQ white trash girls you meet on Seeking kind of give unacknowledged noble bastard vibes, but with Amanda that energy’s just off the charts.
She’s also probably tied with Rebecca for my most beautiful lay overall. And it’s actually quite fascinating to compare the two, because by most traditional standards they’d both be considered exotic beauties, with Rebecca’s Ashkenazi features basically treading the Hajnal Line and Amanda’s Lombard physiognomy placing her one or two clicks inside it.
I tend to find Italian girls have a very similar appeal to Jewesses, with the primary difference being that Italian femininity runs spicy instead of sour. Not nearly to the degree that, say, a Latina will be spicy (let alone a secularized Arab bih, God help you…), but much like the mamasitas the signorinas will almost always prefer being slapped by her dude over being Ben Shapiro’d. Generally speaking Jew broads are the only ones you can sort of reason with—or failing that, haggle with—in the same manner you would a man. But you need to be incredibly careful with that, as Jewesses will also hold you to your words a million times more sternly than basically any shiksa. At least they’re more honest about it than WASPs…
Anyway, Jewish and Italian women are at their core remarkably similar—both in that they ballast their primary flavor against umami as opposed to saccharine-sweetness, and in that if you navigate the relationship correctly every solitary fight will ultimately conclude with you fucking her—sort of the opposite of how it goes with WASP girls.
My tongue is excavating Amanda’s piehole like some incel-adjacent sandworm when Donkey Kong at last loses his patience and starts rapid firing horn honks at us. Immediately I’m cross with the Ethiop for sullying this nice love moment and kind of fly off the handle.
“Jesus fucking Christ—will that retarded old nigger just drive around us?!”
Amanda makes an entirely ridiculous sound and looks at me in the same way I might look at someone if I just realized I shit my pants.
“The window’s open...”
She slams on the gas and immediately veers into an alley that deposits onto my street.
Technically this alley is only meant to accommodate traffic going the other direction, but I’d be something of a hypocrite to kvetch about Amanda transgressing that boundary given the line I took on our first date.
Spotting another vehicle approaching in the distance she quickly scans the path ahead of her for exit routes. When none immediately avail themselves she slams on the brakes and puts the car in reverse, smoothly backing into an access tunnel to my parking garage.
As some middle aged brown bitch slowly drives past us and meets Amanda’s pleading little wave with a rather bovine NPC glare it occurs to me how much pussy my gal pal would be getting right now had she been born a dude. It’s really no wonder Amanda’s still a feminist…
Suddenly she drives her fist into my upper arm. “What the fuck, Jer?!”
“Please can we not make this a thing? I need to catch a plane and we’re already late…”
“That was REALLY fucked up of you to say! I know you think it’s, like, funny or whatever to act like a Nazi… but you also told me you don’t actually hate anyone!”
“I don’t. I mean I obviously sort of hate that one dude in particular, but first off he probably didn’t even hear what I said, and second, who the fuck cares if he did?! It’s not about black people as a group. I get along great with black Uber drivers like all the time…”
“OMIFUCKINGGOD—why do you always bring up fucking Uber drivers?!
You don’t even have any fucking black friends you can mention…”
“If I did you’d just bitch about me accessorizing or tokening them or some shit.
But actually the security guards in my building sort of count as friends.
They fucking love me.”
“You mean Sabrina and Brittni?”
It’s so cute she learned their names!
So did Rebecca, actually… and much like my belle juive, Amanda insists on calling both women by their names all the time, to an extent that honestly feels a bit forced and put on. I’m still not sure if that’s some kind of power play or just intended to prevent my building staff from assuming she’s a prostitute, but either way I sort of enjoy it.
“Yeah. And you know, both of them are always complaining about hoodrats and shit… honestly lots of black people are kind of just on our side. Also, Brittni knows about my sugaring and is always asking when I’m gonna give her an allowance. Frankly if I were into black chicks I could probably get inside in like five minutes. Homegirl’s Team House Slave.”
Amanda scowls. “You’re fucking disgusting. She’s probably just making fun of you...”
I scratch my nose. “I think she was at first, yeah. But it’s weird… after you started talking to her, it honestly started to seem like she was…
I dunno, fishing or something?”
“What, because of me?” As Amanda’s eyes drift away she starts to twirl her hair, and soon her face breaks into a rather devilish grin. “You think she was, like… jealous?”
“Who knows? I told you, babe—I’m too fucking autistic to understand woman behavior.” I affectionately stroke the back of her neck.
“Maybe, though... I guess it’d make sense.”
Now, obviously this is all complete horseshit, but I really do need to get to the airport soon.
And in fairness it actually is SORT OF based on a true story... but the reality of the situation is that Brittni changed her tune many months before I even met Amanda—namely, when Rebecca started flirting with her. My little Jewess had been hugely confident she could land us a threesome, but the prospect only excited me in the context of super overt raceplay, and Rebecca had immediately put the kibosh on that. For some reason it was entirely kosher to smack her around with Mein Kampf and call her a kike whore and draw swasties all over her body, but calling a black girl nigger is just irredeemably Not Cool, I guess cause black chicks are all just fragile little fucking china dolls all of a sudden. SO fucking dumb…
Now Amanda’s twirling her Xbox hair at light speed, her enormous dark eyes sparkling like polished obsidian. “You know… you actually SHOULD take care of Brittni. Not to, like, fuck her or something—don’t be gross or racist about it. You don’t even need to spend a whole lot of money, I think. Just, like… buy her a massage or a pedi or something. She actually deserves it for keeping all you racist evil rich dudes safe from gangbangers and shit.”
“Yeah, I kind of agree. Christmas is coming up in a few months.
I’ll take care of her.” And this time I’m actually telling the truth.
Amanda gives me doe eyes.
“Aww… so the fucked up evil Nazi actually does have a heart!”
“Why do you judge everything in terms of black people?!
Also—can we just get going now?” I scratch my nose. “Please?”
“Ooh! The airport, right. Yeah, I’m sorry...” Amanda darts out of the garage and in half a heartbeat has us cruising down the highway.
Usually I never let girls turn on their shitty music during car trips, but I figure I’d best let the moment breathe after that fucked up situation with Donkey Kong. Still, when Amanda opens Spotify I imagine she’ll put on some weird Euroshit, or perhaps as a compromise Lana (clearly I adore Born To Die, but if I’m being honest I can’t quite click with her more recent oeuvre). Almost immediately I discover I’d given her far too much credit.
“ME AND YOUR GIRLFRIEND PLAYIN’ DRESS UP IN MAH HOUSE!”
No…
”I GAVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND CUNNILINGUS ON MAH COUCH!”
Not this…
”SHE’S CUTE! KAWAII! HENTAI BOOBIES—”
I turn down the volume and interrupt Amanda’s jam session, hoping to distract her with feminist indignation. “So, what did you do to that Asian feller at Starbucks?”
She turns to me looking hurt and confused. “I didn’t do anything! Like—nothing at all! I just, like… pulled into the parking lot when he was coming in from the other way, but he didn’t see me at first even though I had the right of way, so he slammed on his brakes last minute. And then he looked at me like it was MY fault! And so I gestured for him to go, and he told me to go back… and then I just parked so we wouldn’t sit there all day. That’s literally it...”
“Sounds kind of boring. How’d that make you late?”
“Well after I got inside the Starbies I tried to avoid him at first, but he kept looking at me… and I was honestly kind of creeped out, but now I actually think he might be gay, but anyway it was tolerable when we were just in line…
but then when we were waiting for our order…”
“Whatcha get?”
“Why does it… an iced brown sugar oatmilk shaken espresso. Anyway, we were…”
“What about him?”
Her eyes drift over mischievously. “IT WAS ACTUALLY BOBA!”
Once more Amanda begins cackling like a woods witch and pimp slapping her steering wheel, retaining remarkably steady control over her Toyota in the process. Were our sexes reversed I’d no doubt be getting astonishingly wet right now.
I slide my hand up Amanda’s thigh and under her skirt, resting two fingers atop her panties. Immediately her eyes bug out at me. “What the fuck are you—oh.”
“Focus on the road. How does our story end?” I run a finger up and down her mound, noting its palpable warmth even through the fabric.
How very Italian…
“Erm, well, I wanted the dude to fuck off and… you know, leave me alone… and so I kept making kind of… bitchy faces and like flicking… my eyes over, but he wouldn’t get the hint… And so I, like… asked him what his… problem was… and the dude told me I was being…erm... a little aggressive on my way into the parking lot and…OH, FUCK, DUDE!”
My creepy hairy incel fingers have twisted a wicked way around Amanda’s granny panties and lodged themselves knuckle-deep inside her. Her juices flow like Trevi Fountain—honestly it feels a bit like sticking my hand inside a beehive, only without the bees.
I attempt to do that come hither g spot thing whilst working her clit with mine thumb, but clearly miss the mark somewhat—after a few seconds her left hand jolts down to my wrist and begins to covertly direct my movements with a grip that still manages to connote Frightened Molested Girl. I’m impressed by the subtlety of her performance until she starts making all the standard hentai rape squeaks. How utterly pedestrian… come on, Mand!
After about five minutes of this tomfoolery she comes or pretends to and gives me a pout. “Do I get paid more for that?”
I push up my glasses with my free hand.
“It’s not like *I* orgasmed—I figured you’d like it!”
She shrugs her shoulders. “It wasn’t BAD or anything.
Just figured I might as well try…”
Then she closes her knees. “But you have to get out of me, nerd. We’re almost at the airport—do you want everyone to see and get us both on one of those paedo lists?”
I withdraw my fingers and try to stick them in her mouth, but Amanda just giggles and smacks my hand away, prompting me to wipe them off on her thigh instead.
She scoffs at me and rolls her eyes. “Wow, that’s really sexy...”
“You’re starting to grow a little bush…”
Amanda’s cheeks pinken. “That’s none of your business!”
“You know, it actually sort of is, if you think about it...”
“It’s for a guy, okay! Just stop…” She looks at me pleadingly.
“Another sugar daddy?” My eyebrows go Ben Shapiro again
“I told you I got off the site!
After those freaks in the hotel room I’m completely fucking done with it now.
I’m only selling feet stuff to dudes on Insta... no more real life sex work.”
“…am I real life sex work?”
“Yeah, of course. But we already met. And you’re cool.”
She grins darkly. “Most of the time.”
Suddenly my ass buzzes and I pull out my droid.
Natalie: You made sure to get a room with two beds right.
Cunt.
Me: yes will you stop being retarded
Natalie: I wanted to make sure because last time we went to Didney you got a king
Leave me alone.
I turn to my bellissima signorina—Christ, Amanda is *significantly* hotter than Natalie.
What the fuck am I even doing here?
“So… who’s the lucky bushmaster? I figured it was a sugar daddy because liking pubes codes as vaguely Boomer to me. That or, like… European.”
Amanda bats several locks of hair from her face.
“He is European. Or, like, his parents are.”
She turns to me annoyed. “Also, why would a sugar daddy HAVE to be a Boomer?! You think you’re the ONLY young guy on the site? I had a crypto millionaire MY age trying to fuck me…”
Why’d you have to say it like that? You’re three years younger than me…
I shift around in my seat. “Was he in Miami or something?”
“No—here in Orlando.”
“Did he, like, show you his portfolio…?”
“No because I’m not a fucking incel so I don’t care about any of that…”
BUZZ!
Natalie: don’t u remember?
fuckin bitch I hate you so much leave me alone
Me: Ruining things already?
I jostle around trying to crack my back. “Look, babe—the dude was obviously lying to you. Guys who are, like, rich rich usually don’t get their kept women from SeekingArrangement. They’ll get them at a coke party and everything will remain plausibly deniable… or they’ll have, like, a procurer… or they’ll just sit around on a boat waiting for bitches to show up.”
She nods slowly while taking a drag of her vape.
“I’ve had friends who did the boat thing…”
“Yeah. If… once I become a legit millionaire you’re never gonna catch me on fucking SA. Cause don’t get me wrong, there are tons of perfectly great girls there… but you also have to filter through a lot of trash to find them. Just, like, mountains of hookers and scammers.”
She nods again. “True, yeah. It’s the same on the other side, too—tons of rapey salt daddies and shit. Also I sort of made up that crypto dude cause I was kind of angry you seemed to think I couldn’t get another young guy. Sorry, dude…” She cuts me a shit-eating grin.
BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!
Natalie: I’m sorry
Natalie: :(
Natalie: thank you
I roll my eyes and shove my phone back inside my buttcheek pocket.
“Yeah, I kind of figured... but that’s sort of the entire point!
Like, doesn’t it actually mean something quite significant that I’m the only guy from the site you ever let fuck you?”
Amanda rolls her eyes. “I don’t know… maybe? Can you just stop talking like an incel?” She turns her head and waves prettily at some fat dopey crossing guard giving her doe eyes.
“So this European guy—European parents guy—where in Europe by the way?”
“Bulgaria.” She eyes me warily. “Got some funny racist shit to say about them?”
“Nothing you’d understand without me making it unfunny.”
“Fair.” She takes a drag of her vape and sighs. “What about him?”
“Are you in love?”
She looks at me perplexed. “In LOVE? Dude, I only met him like two months ago. Actually…” Her eyes flicker mischievously and she shakes her head.
“I dunno… I just really like him.”
“Actually what? You obviously want to tell me, don’t be fucking gay about it.”
She plays with her hair.
“It’s that guy I hooked up with same night as you… on our first date.”
“You’re fucking kidding. Does he know you have a sugar daddy—that I fucked you first?!”
She smacks my arm. “Fucked me first? What, did you call dibs? Is this finders keepers?”
“Does he know about me or not?!”
“Obviously not. But, like, we’re not even exclusive at this point!”
“Sure seems like you’re getting there…” I frown at her crotch wearily.
“Umm…
What makes you say that? Not everyone says I love you on the third date, dude…”
“What are you fucking talking about?! I haven’t said I love you…”
“No. But you’ve definitely, like… THOUGHT IT at me a couple times.”
Suddenly Amanda looks frightfully serious.
“I can sort of tell… the same way that black dude could totally hear you saying the n-word in your head before you actually did...”
I smile and brush her gorgeous Xboxy hair out of her face.
“Honestly? I actually do sort of love you, Mand. Though not really in a girlfriendy way so much as in a good friend kind of way. Or maybe more a ‘little sister I happen to occasionally have sex with’ sort of way...”
Amanda bursts out laughing and accidentally honks her horn again. “You’re SO fucked up! But it we’re bein honest here…” She turns to me briefly, eyes uncertain.
“I… sort of love you too as a friend. And that’s me being earnest. For realsies!”
She giggles. “Finger me, big bro!”
I shift in my seat. “Feels like you’re making fun of me…”
“NO I’M NOT!” She turns on a dime. “How the fuck could you even say that?! I have SO much fun whenever we hang out and get drunky and talk shit about people on your balc…” Her eyes start to water up and she shakes her head. “JEEZ… I guess that’s what I get for trying to be, like, open and vulnerable with some weirdo fucking incel…”
I put my hand on her thigh. “I’m sorry, Mand.
Like, unironically very sorry. I mean that truly.”
Her eyes glisten back at me. “Are you making fun of ME now?”
“Not in the slightest.” As a gesture of goodwill I palm the cunt slime off her thigh and wipe it on mine own jeans, which makes her giggle even harder than before. “I just love you a lot… even though it’s only been two months… and that’s why I’m afraid of losing you even though I’m not IN LOVE with you. Cause I can tell you actually are in love with this fuckin Bulgar...”
“Yeah, I’m in fucking love with him—so what?!”
Amanda paws like half her hair out her face. “That doesn’t mean we’ll stop hanging out! Cause even if we date he doesn’t, like, own me.”
My brow furrows. “If you’re properly in love with him he actually sort of does.
He’ll pretend to be okay with this to not look insecure, but he won’t be alright with any of it deep down.”
She groans melodramatically. “So let him fucking pretend! And I can fucking pretend and you can fucking pretend and we can all just FUCKING PRETEND however fucking much we need to to have a good time and get through the day, because whatever the FUCK is wrong with that? I like hanging out with you now, and if that changes I’ll LETCHA know!”
I raise an eyebrow. “Seems you just stopped pretending a little too much...”
Amanda takes a long and angry suck of her vape. Then she smirks at me, darkly and adorably “And this is why you’re the only creep from that site I let fuck me.
Anyway, we’re almost at the terminal—is daddy gonna kiss me goodbye or not?”
I do.
It’s a rather more embodied experience than before, and her mouth tastes very wonderful—the remnants of her iced brown sugar oatmilk shaken espresso?
Oddly though it seems this is neither a lover kiss nor a hooker kiss, nor anything in between. It’s an entirely separate and wholly inscrutable Third Thing that makes me feel a bit like I do listening to Born To Die.
She digs her claws into my neck and pushes me off her face as we approach the departures loading dock. “Alright, you dirty old man... where do I drop ya?”
BUZZZZZZZ! BUZZZZZZZ!
Natalie: btw did you get the deluxe suite?
Natalie: it’s okay if you didn’t
“Hellooouooo………… Earth to Jeeeeeeremyyyyy………”
Me: I’m boarding my flight now. We’ll talk when I land.
I turn off notifications and mute.
Then I turn to Amanda and take a rock-solid look at her.
“Um…… dude… You okay….?”
“Amanda: I’m about to have sex with you.
And I want you to know… it’s going to really fucking HURT.”
“Awwww fuuuuuck, dude…”
Amanda starts gnawing at her lip like a worthless retarded bunny-cunt in desperate need of a brutal and hateful assrape. Suddenly and without warning I seize the little slut by her creamy tattooed thigh and dig my fingers into that taut guinea girlflesh.
“ARGH…oh gaaawd… Umm, hey, Jeeeer? Yer like…Ooh!—bein a lil… aggressive here…”
That isn’t Mand’s angry voice or her scared voice; it’s for sure her horny voice. I’m certain of that because arousal observably tends to make her Rhode Island come out such that she sounds almost precisely like that little blonde greaser bitch from CatDog.
Bearing down on her I tighten my grip even further and put a bit of bass in my delivery. “Keep on driving, you spun-out little WHORE… into the garage, NOW.”
The dumb bitch deftly weaves out of the loading dock and does as she’s bid.
“Yes, daddy! Ah gawd, DADDY’S gonna fackin RAPE me! Gonna punish me fa bein bad…”
“Perfect 4.0 princess partied away her brain cells… Has to sell her holes for rent. Pathetic!
Is my RETARDED DAGO JUNKIE ready to have her little INTESTINES EXCAVATED?”
“AH GAWD… I’m so RETAHDED, DADDY! Now you’ll gimme the BEEEEEEELT!”
The steering wheel starts to deform in her grip.
“Just FACKIN RAPE ME till I fackin BLEEED OUT
and FACKIN DIE, DADDY—FUUUUCK!”
“You are worthless; disposable; a disappointment—and I’m NOT your fucking daddy.”
“AWGAWD NONONONO—
I WANNA DO GOOD! Please, just tell me what to call ya… SIR?”
I grip Amanda firmly by the back of the neck, then wrench her face toward mine:
This is cool except the android part what the fuck