The Patron Saint of Involuntary Celibacy chased Valerie Sand
down the empty streets, his breath becoming hungrier and hornier as he got
closer to the bare-legged beauty. Every step led her into a nyctophobic
nightmare while Antero Magnus grinned with fanged teeth at the loveliness of it
all. He could smell her cold sweat and it was more intoxicating to him than any
high-end perfume. Just like in true horror movie fashion, Valerie banged her
knee against a light post and crumpled to the ground sobbing.
Antero’s Cheshire Cat grin widened as he savored this moment
with slow, deliberate steps. Oh, what he wanted to do to this unfortunate
victim. Where would his hands explore first? Her smooth legs? Her lovely feet?
Her ample breasts? The buffet-like possibilities gave him a tingling sensation
in his ball sack. “So beautiful, Ms. Sand…now you’re going to share that beauty
with me whether you want to or not.” Even with tears raining down Valerie’s
face, Antero saw no qualms about leaning in for what would surely be a
passionate kiss. And then…
“Who are you calling beautiful?!” shouted a gruff voice that
awakened Antero from his dream. The horny dream allowed him a temporary
vacation from his real nightmare: a dark prison cell with a hairy muscle freak lying
in the upper bunk bed. The terrorist took a while to catch his breath and dry
his cold sweat. He even felt the scar across his face to see if it had scabbed
and it did. Rough ridges of dried blood decorated his already creepy visage.
Antero’s cell mate leaned over the bunk bed and scowled at
him, his hairy tattooed face a mosaic of true terror. “You must be having
another one of your wet dreams. You keep that shit up and I’ll make sure you
won’t be involuntarily celibate anymore! I’ve been looking for an excuse to
jump you and now I might have found it.”
“Yeah, get yourself locked up in solitary. Great idea,
champ,” scoffed Antero as he laid on his back with his hands behind his head.
The hairy beast laughed his ass off in a throaty, barbaric
voice. “You really think these guards give a shit what happens to you in here?
I could butt fuck you until your intestines fall out and nobody would come to
your rescue. This ain’t no PC liberal-ass college campus, buddy. This is the
big house.”
Antero swallowed a lump of saliva and feigned bravery when
he said, “You’d better knock that shit off. I used to lead…”
“You used to lead what? A bunch of horny losers who are
pissed off about not getting laid? Is that supposed to mean something to me?!”
The cell mate jumped out of bed and stood over Antero with heavy breathing
bouncing his colossal chest up and down. The incel leader backed up a little
bit even though he was in the bottom bunk and had nowhere to go. “That pretty
little mouth of yours doesn’t know when to shut up. It’s like it’s got a mind
of its own. Why don’t you put that mouth to better use?”
The prisoner dropped his pants and underwear to reveal a
forest of greasy hair underneath. Antero intentionally shielded his eyes so
that he didn’t have to see what redwood that forest was hiding. He didn’t get
much of a choice after that when the cell mate clutched Antero’s jaw and caused
him to thrash around in the vice-like grip. “Shut the fuck up and stop moving
around!” shouted the cell mate, orders which Antero blatantly ignored as he
yelled for help.
“Like I said, nobody’s coming to save you! All your horny
faggot friends are getting some of what you’re about to get. All the guards are
busy making sure you don’t get out. That just leaves you and me, buddy, you and
me. We make a perfect couple, don’t you think? You can be my housewife. You can
scrub my dishes. You can do my laundry. You can…”
Shuddering at the idea of what he was about to do, Antero
reached for the prisoner’s erection and bent it with so much force that it
snapped in two. The screams that erupted from his throat afterwards transformed
this prison into a bear enclosure. Antero’s cyan eyes lit up with psychosis as
he watched his cell mate drop to his knees while clutching his broken junk.
The terrorist got out of bed and stood over his foe with a
disgusted scowl. “You see this? This is what involuntary celibacy is all about.
This is what I used to preach to my followers. I bet you got a lot of ass
during your time under lock and key. But now those days are over. They’re
especially over after you get out and find a real woman. Oh wait, I forgot…no
woman will never want to date you again!”
As Antero laughed like a crazed movie villain, the prisoner
threw a punch aimed at his gut. The arm moved too slowly to make a connection
as Antero grabbed the prisoner’s elbow and twisted the arm into a bone
crunching submission hold. The incel leader’s expression dripped with lust
while the prisoner begged for his life. “No more jerking off for you!” said
Antero as he hyper-extended the arm with a resounding crunch.
The cell mate laid on the ground in a broken heap of
screaming and snapped body parts. Just like in his wet dream, Antero’s nether
regions came alive with electricity. “You think I’m just a horny kid who can’t
get what he wants? I’m a man’s man. I always get what I want in the end.
Incelbordination isn’t going anyway anytime soon just because I’m stuck here
with you. We are everywhere. And you? Now that you’re guaranteed a life of
celibacy…you’re just one of the boys!”
“Fuck you, pal!” shouted the defiant prisoner, who received
a few kicks to the ribs for his efforts.
“You know what?” said Antero. “I’m done playing games with
you. I used to know a guy who was just as pathetic as you are right now. His
name was Oswald Crow and I thought there was something special about him. Well,
I’m done with thinking anybody’s special, including you. It’s a shame since
you’ve got a few feet over Oswald. You could have been one of the great
all-time Incelbordinates. But no…you’re just another victim of the system!”
Antero grabbed the prisoner by his unkempt hair and dragged
him to the toilet while making straining noises. As grimy as the terrorist’s
fingers became, it would be a nothing compared to having shit water cover his
hands while he held his opponent’s face in the bowl. The prisoner kicked and
gurgled with whatever strength he had left, but Antero refused to let up and
even allowed his own eyes to roll in the back of his head for extra psychosis. The
harder the prisoner struggled, the tighter Antero’s teeth clamped down. And
then…the struggle stopped and the prisoner was limp, his lungs and mouth full
of disgusting toilet water.
Antero shoved the prisoner to the ground and stood over him
triumphantly. Giving a speech to nobody in particular, he shouted, “You see
this?! This is what your prison system produces! He came here looking for an
outlet and now Satan is shoving a trident up his ass! Anybody else want some?! Are
you ready to give me the woman I deserve?! Or do you just want to sit there and
bleed like this moron?!”
The cell door flung open and revealed a squadron of
pissed-off looking prison guards carrying batons and pounding them against
their own palms. The captain gazed down at the prisoner and then narrowed his
venomous eyes at Antero, who looked as though he was just caught masturbating.
“What do you want on your tombstone, you little shit? I’m asking for an
undertaker who wants to bury you next to Uncle Tuomas.”
“You want a quote? You want a fucking quote?!” asked Antero
with extra psychosis in his voice, never once causing the guards to flinch. “I
got one for you. It’s about damn time you showed up!”
“Fair enough,” said the captain before whacking Antero
across the stomach with his club. The terrorist felt as though he was going to
vomit himself inside out after such a blow. And then another baton shot caught
him clean across the back of the head. And then a kick to the shoulder rendered
him useless. And then repeated stomps to the sternum slowed his heart rate down
to dangerous levels. The terrorist could feel his eyelids getting heavier than
a grand piano while his crunching bones created a melody of beautiful music.
The beating eventually stopped and Antero was dragged out of
his cell by his wrists, his body bloodied and broken while his mind drifted in
and out of consciousness. He might have met his maker, he might not have. He
could feel the devil’s trident entering his sensitive areas and he wasn’t even
dead yet. Before that all important dinner date with Satan himself, he heard a
nearby prisoner whispering something that put a smile on his face: “Death to
Chads and Stacys!”
THE END?
