Michael Malone - Weebly

unbuttoned the jacket and pulled it open; sweat was
shiny in the hair on his chest. Grinning, he threw his foot
up on the chair. "Bring them in.
You're no different. Shitty, dirty scum. You all do it.
She screams but she likes it. When they finish, shoot
them."
His pupils blackened the color from his eyes, eyes
rapt on the mirrored eyes. Picking up the belt, Barnum
bent himself over the chair and supporting his weight
with one hand, lashed awkwardly back with the belt at
his white buttocks. His mouth had fallen open and saliva
filled it. He watched the black leather welt the skin in
the corner of the mirror. Grabbing the wrapped handle,
he bent again, reached between his legs, with his breath
caught, sweat like tears on his face, Barnum stared up
at the man in the mirror. "Clean him out," he told him.
"Show them. Bastards. Make her do it. Make her."
Breath burst from his face. The man was grinning in
the mirror, and kept grinning 'til his eyes closed.
Before he went to bed, Barnum straightened the
upstairs room, hung the clothes back neatly in the
closet, restacked the magazines, and locked the door.