THUGLIT Issue Four Read Online Free PDF

through with nothing to show for it.”
    “I wouldn’t say nothing. You got your excitement.”
    “Not in the way I planned.”
    “You mean not the way you remember.”
    “That too.”
    Ruth eyed the needle. “Was it really that good?”
    Herb smiled. “I’m still thinking about it after all this time.”
    Ruth lifted the syringe and held it out to him. “Do you think it will be the same without the blowjob?”
    “Probably not, but I’m willing to try.”
    “Well,” Ruth said, pushing up the sleeve of her sweater. “Maybe we can do something about that.”

Bet It All On Black
    by Christopher L. Irvin
     
     
     
     
    When the last tiny air bubble escapes Tom's mouth, rising wobbly to the surface and then popping with a splick , my face flushes as his abs grow taut underneath my ass and heat ripples up my spine. It feels wrong—so much that I taste sour in my throat—but I can't hide the smile stretching across my face. The pleasurable tingle changes to spiders crawling, laying goose bumps under my skin and I shudder. It scares me how much I enjoy the moment, that the space where I should feel sharp pangs of fear and regret is dull and numb. And it's not the first time.
    I sit on his stomach , letting my pale, one hundred-twenty-pound frame hold him under for a few more seconds to ensure he’s gone. Even though the bathwater is almost boiling I feel cold, like a professional behind a computer screen, watching Tom drown at the push of a button. I step out of the tub before he fouls himself.
    Tom had said it was the best room in the casino and he wasn't kidding. Water is splattered all over the granite tile. The sink, a mess of towels and toiletries, made it look like Tom had been living in the place for a week, when in reality it was the obsessive need of a drunk man to unpack before inviting me, his guest, into the suite. All it did was make it look like I had wrestled him out of a week's worth of Tommy Bahama before drowning him in the tub. Surrounded by luxury, and all I can think of is the mess.
    The bathroom is almost as large as my apartment, the whirlpool tub at its center. I say “my apartment” but it was really Doug's place, and now it belongs to the bookies along with everything else I used to own—with the exception of the six-inch silver heels, the purse and the black strapless dress laying on the bed in the other room. Not my style, but every girl has an outfit for when she's looking for trouble.
    The long beveled mirror above the double sink is fogged over, and in the haze of the steam-filled room I feel a strange sense of calm. It reminds me of when I was thirteen, when Doug capped The Streak of '03, winning a gunmetal Mustang convertible at The Mirage. He pulled me out of school and drove us from Vegas to LA, his lucky pockets full of cash winnings. We hit the basin fog and just rolled on through to the coast. Doug wasn't sober for a second of that long weekend, but I didn't care. I was his daughter.
    That was the last time I knew where I was going in life. Doug's winning streak came to an end shortly after the trip. He rarely came home at night, and when he did, he reeked of sweat and booze or a woman's perfume, only stopping by for a shower and a change of clothes, or to argue with the landlord over late rent. I learned to take care of myself and kept my father locked inside my heart next to a faded photograph of my dead mother. Doug told me nothing other than she died having me. I don't know if I believe him, but he named me Mirna after her. He called me Mirn when he had something to say, which was hardly ever towards the end.
    Tom had called me Mirn too. If there had been anything heavier than a hairdryer in the bathroom I would have beaten him to death. But I gritted my teeth as I stripped off my dress and tied my hair back into a short, tight ponytail. I teased Tom into the tub filled to the brim with screaming hot water. I giggled when I knocked him in and the water scalded his skin.