Limp Dick

Hey! Who here has been tested for the clap? Yeah. Me neither.

Men, you might want to be sitting down when you read this one...

Limp Dick by Erik Storey

Chandra had been bitch-slapped for the last time.

But Limp Dick, as she’d started thinking of him, didn’t know that. Luckily he didn’t try it again, just screamed, “I know you holding out, bitch. You got the high ends. They pay for all the weird shit. And all you bring me is the straight-rate monies? This shit’s gonna stop. You bring me twice the green tomorrow or I’ll fuck you six ways from Sunday. Got it?”

Chandra pretended to cower and pretended to grovel. “Okay,” she said, and Limp Dick left the little brown hotel room, stuffing the rolls of bills into the pocket of his pearl-snap shirt.

He was right about one thing. She was holding out. Big time. One of her clients, Fingerman, paid her an extra hundred if she stuck three fingers up his ass while she jerked him off. Another she called “Pillows,” who paid an extra five hundred for what he called the “blackout-blowout.” He would stick his head inside a pillowcase and smother himself while she gave him head. Two of her guys paid extra to lick her toes, and one guy paid her two big bills a day just to lick her armpits.

And she pocketed all this extra money. Then took it with her on the five different buses that she rode to get to her mom’s house, where Chandra’s two daughters were watched by her younger sister. She never showed her mom the money, but gave a little to her sister, and put the rest in a giant pink piggybank on her youngest kid’s dresser. Limp Dick didn’t know about any of this.

Because she was smart. And she was careful. Her mom thought she was finishing college. Which she was, in a way, although Chandra had graduated (but didn’t walk) a year ago. She’d learned more about sociology in the last year than she had in all four years at school. Not only did she have enough money to keep her and the kids afloat, she now had enough to pay off the school loans. She was free and clear and ready to start a real life.

There was just the little problem of Limp Dick, and his correct suspicions. Chandra had prepared for this, and she had a plan.


“You bring it all this time?” is what Limp Dick asked on the phone an hour before he came to the hotel.

“With more from the back end,” is how she answered, knowing that he’d show and be happy.

When he did show, he pretended not to be happy. He walked into the little shabby room, saw the piles of bills on the puke-colored bedspread and jumped into his angry mode. “Where the fuck’s this been, baby? You think I can protect you and set you up with the men for the money you’ve been giving me? I shoulda been seeing this every goddamned day.” He strode over to her, and wound up with another backhand.

“Use this,” she said, before he completed his swing. He looked confused, unsure what she was doing. Or why she was holding a straightened wire coat hanger. But he took the proffered wire and held it while Chandra took off her robe and bent over the bed, offering him her naked ass.

The first couple blows with the thin metal stung like hell. Chandra had to bite the dirty bedspread to keep from crying out, but she knew it was worth it. The next few strikes weren’t as bad, because she knew that between the money and the sadism, Limp Dick was finally getting hard. And a hard, lusty man was easy to control. It was one of the many things she’d learned this last year.

“Let me show you something, a trick that one of my specials likes,” Chandra said finally, unable to endure anymore of the whipping.

“Oh yeah,” he said, “what’s that?” He stopped smacking her as she turned around on the bed and sat before him. She unbuckled his pants.

“That’s right,” he said. “Show daddy something special.” He wasn’t paying attention as she pulled his pants to his knees. He was staring at the stacks of bills on the bed.

Which distracted him enough for Chandra to take the wire hanger, rub it around the head of his dick, then plunge the blunt metal into his pee-hole. She pulled his dick toward the ground and jammed the hanger further in.

The screaming was loud, but short-lived. Lubricated with Limp Dick’s pre-cum, the wire slid easily up the urethra and into the bladder. By then he’d passed out and fallen over backward in shock. She pushed the wire harder, and farther, into the bastard’s guts until there wasn’t enough metal to hold.

Due to the metal blockage, at first there was surprisingly little blood that oozed out the man’s dick. But there was enough of a constant flow to make Chandra turn her head, stumble to the bed and grab her robe. She left him on the filthy carpet to bleed out, then took a shower.

When she exited the bathroom, fresh and clean and fully clothed, Limp Dick lay on a stain of dark red shag. She checked his pulse, found none, and left the room.

As she walked down the hall, heading to the exit that would take her to the bus station, she giggled. She and her kids were free of the only man that would’ve followed them into their new life. She could get a job and start something else. But she was going to have to change the nickname she’d given her pimp. Because, due to the wire, and later, rigor mortis, he would never be limp again.

Erik Storey works during the day and writes crime fiction at night. He’s been a ranch hand, bartender, truck driver, sled-dog musher, Orkin man, and locksmith. His works have appeared in Shotgun Honey, Linguistic Erosion, Waving Hands Review, and in the upcoming anthology To Hell with Dante. He lives in the high deserts of Western Colorado with his wife, two daughters, and dogs.