The Sixth Bullet
Ricky Powell sat in the dark with the gun against his head and thought deeply about pulling the trigger. The thought was so vivid in his mind that he could smell the charge and hear the explosion of the cartridge even though he hadn’t done anything yet.
The gun felt heavy in his hand, the barrel hard and warm against his temple despite the cool evening air, and he could feel his hand shaking. His body was scared, very scared. It didn’t want to end its own life, there was so much growing left to be done, so many more heartbeats to beat, meals to enjoy and digest, pisses to take. His body wanted more life. Yet his mind wanted something different, which put him at war with himself.
His life had gone to shit lately. His wife of ten years left him, and divorce papers were on the kitchen table when he’d come home to an empty house. His kids hated him, poisoned by their stay-at-home Mom into becoming smaller versions of herself. His job…heh…what job now? That was gone because he worked…no, used to work for her brother, another prick. He was friendless because she made it known to the friends he used to have that they were unwelcome, and he was without family. All he had left that he remotely cared about now was his gun, an old 38 special. Six bullets, but he figured he would only need one of them.
So, having nothing better to do, Ricky got in the truck he could no longer afford, the truck his wife had insisted he buy and afterwards always complained about, and he drove three hours into the mountains. He took the worst roads he could, always choosing the less traveled path until he eventually made it up here where the air was noticeably thinner and colder. The truck he parked under a tree, never expecting to need it again, and all he took with him, apart from the clothes on his back, was the gun. He walked deep into the brush until he found a log to sit on, and while looking up at the stars he contemplated his mortality.
Fucking wife, he thought, if only…if only. No fair breaks, no recognition, not even a glimmer of hope that life would in any way make him happy. He thought deeply about his life or lack of, and slowly brought the gun to his head. If only, he continued to think, I could have been like…them!
Them for Ricky were some of the characters in the stories he secretly downloaded from the Internet night after night. They were strong, powerful men who knew how to treat a woman, who knew how to bring them to their knees and master them, satisfying their passionate lusts through sex and bondage and enslaving them completely. If only he could have been like them!
The one time Ricky had brought up bondage to his wife, standing semi-naked in their bedroom with a couple of his ties in his hand while she lay in bed reading a book, she laughed in his face. She laughed so long and hard in fact that he ended up sleeping on the couch, the echo of her laughter bouncing inside his head as he wept. It was shortly after then that he bought the gun.
Now it was here in his hand as he sat in the cold mountain air, just waiting for him to pull the trigger, just waiting for that one moment for which it had been created. But his hand had frozen, unwilling to do the deed. “Figures,” Ricky mumbled, putting the gun back on his lap.
Then he heard the scream.
It could have come from anywhere in the dark, yet he found himself focusing on a point just a little downhill from where he was. He had thought himself alone up here, so tortuous and remote was the drive. It was the only time he had ever taken the truck off the paved highway and he had been remotely surprised at how well it had gotten him up here. He was almost sorry not to need it again.
There was another scream, cut short by the sound of it, and he stood up. It was a woman, no doubt about that, but what was going on? He felt that he needed to know, yet…there was his unfinished business.
Screw it, I’ll probably only give myself brain damage and live to be a hundred in some nursing home; someplace where they will water me with all the other vegetables.
So he started down the hill.
He didn’t go far before he started hearing other things: voices, the sound of glass clinking, and something making a smacking noise. There were also the screams, muffled now it seemed, but still there; and his mind began to put a few things together. Someone was being whipped, a woman. He instantly began thinking of those stories he liked to read, the ones his wife found and told all his coworkers about, the ones that gotten him ostracized at work and that he’d had to erase in front of her. But he always remembered them, the images burned deep into his brain, and he knew without a doubt that what he was hearing was indeed the sound of a woman being whipped.
When Ricky saw the glint of a fire through the trees he slowed down, creeping quietly through the brush. He could hear several men all laughing and talking and he didn’t want to show himself yet. Groups of men intimidated him, made him shrink into himself. He never felt like he could be a part of the gang, a member of that fraternity of Man that it seemed every other male he knew belonged to. He was nothing to them but someone to laugh at. So he exercised a little caution and made his way slowly to where he could see what was happening.
There were five guys, dressed in hunting clothes, and all with beers in their hands. Three of them were lying against logs pulled up around a hefty-looking fire, shouting and carousing in a manner alien to Ricky. The few times he’d ever tried to get drunk, he only ever ended up getting sick, whenever he could get over the taste of the alcohol. Never had he found the fun that other men seem to get when getting wasted.
A fourth man was standing at the edge of the little clearing, apparently pissing on a bush. He turned without putting his dick away, instead staggering over to where the fifth man stood near their prize.
It was indeed a woman, dressed in what remained of a jogging outfit. Her arms were tied with rope and bound to a tree limb above her. Her feet were independently tied to two other trees, pulling them apart and making her stand on her toes. Her top was rags, and had fallen to her waist leaving her topless, but her spandex shorts were still mostly intact except for a couple of rips.
She was facing away from Ricky so he couldn’t see her face, but her sobs were clearly heard through the rag tied around her head and he could see why she was in pain. Her back had been almost split open by the whip the fifth man carried. Livid with bruises it looked more like a pizza than the soft tan skin of a young woman. Ricky thought she had to be in great pain, and he saw it wasn’t over for her yet.
With hardly a word, the man who had been pissing walked over to her and began tearing at her shorts, pulling them from her in an animal attempt to bare her loins. The other men began cheering him on and the one with the whip sat down, so drunk he could barely stand it seemed, as he laughed along with them.
The fourth man grinned and grabbed the crying girl from behind, lifting her up and making her legs spread even wider before shoving himself hard into her ass. Her cries of pain were immense and Ricky winced at the sight of what was being done to her, and he had to look away.
These men must have kidnapped her. They’re going to kill her! He thought, and he looked at the gun in his hand. This was his chance, his chance to do some good. Right now he could be the hero, the man to save this woman’s life, and she would be so indebted to him that she would have to give him some sort of reward. And what would he ask for? What would any dominant male ask for, but her body for his lustful use.
Ricky smiled, but then wondered how to do it. How could he save her without screwing up? He had no plan, no training. He hadn’t even fired his gun before!
But her cries as she was butt-fucked by her kidnapper drew his eyes and drew his anger; and he watched as her rapist finally pulled away to be replaced by another. Those men didn’t deserve to live in his eyes, and with grim determination he moved out from behind his tree.
The men didn’t see him, too intent on the sex in front of them, so when the first shot rang out they had no idea where it had come from. But the guy who had just finished with the woman fell back on the ground, the back of his head blown open. The others looked around wildly and even the woman stopped screaming, but their night vision had been ruined by the fire and they didn’t see Ricky standing just outside the light.
He fired again, surprised at the shock and the sound the gun in his hand had made, yet comfortable with it in an almost Zen-like manner. The second bullet hit the chest of one of the guys sitting on the logs, knocking him over. Before the rest could react, Ricky fired twice more, hitting what he was aiming at each time, a remarkable feat considering his lack of training and the gun he was using. But now Ricky was in his zone, he could do no wrong. He was the hero, the Alpha Male, come to rescue the fair maiden from the forces of evil. His shots all had to count, they couldn’t miss, preordained by the laws of the universe. So bullets three and four both found a target, and two more men went down with mortal wounds.
The fifth man, the one who had been whipping her and was now fucking her, pulled away. He had seen the flashes of Ricky’s weapon as it fired and he held his hands up, backing away from the woman as fast as he could. Unknowingly, this was exactly what Ricky had wanted. He hadn’t wanted to shoot the guy while he was so close to the woman.
“WHAT’S GOING ON, MAN?” yelled the guy, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? STOP SHOOTING, STOP SHOOTING!”
Ricky grinned, a grin that wasn’t his anymore, a grin never before seen on his face, and he raised the gun once more. “I can’t stop,” he said, “I’m the hero!”
The fifth bullet slammed home and the rapist was put down, his pants still around his ankles. All went quiet as the echo of the last shot faded away, quiet that is except for the crackling of the fire and the soft whimper of the bound woman.
Ricky tucked the gun into his pants and moved toward her, stepping over the dead like they were brushwood. Up close she looked even worse, her back a mass of welts, her bare ass clawed and scratched and dripping cum. And yet, Ricky could see a beauty in her, a beauty all those stories he devoured told him should be there. Here was a bound, vulnerable woman in need of protection; and here he was to protect her.
Never having seen a bound woman in the flesh before, he couldn’t help reaching out to touch her. Her skin was hot and sweaty, and she flinched and cried out at the contact. She turned her head and looked at him with frightened eyes, her arms and legs pulling franticly at the ropes that held her in position.
Ricky put her fears down to shock, she just needed to know who he was. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, putting his arms about her. “I’m here to help you. I mean you no harm, I just rescued you.” He continued to whisper this as he held her shivering body in an attempt to calm her down, but she just got more and more agitated. In an attempt to soothe he took one of her breasts in his hand and began to massage it, pinching a nipple lightly as his wife had patiently taught him to do, but even this didn’t help and she appeared to be choking into her gag. So he reached up and pulled it from her.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she yelled, “YOU FUCK! YOU JUST SHOT MY HUSBAND! YOU JUST SHOT HIM! FUCK YOU! LET ME GO, DAMN YOU! CUT ME DOWN!”
Ricky was stunned. “What?” he said, almost wordlessly.
“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO? MY HUSBAND, OH GOD! SEE IF HE IS OKAY, SEE IF HE IS STILL ALIVE!”
“But…I was rescuing you from him. He and his friends were raping you!”
“BULLSHIT, THIS WAS JUST A GAME. GOD DAMN YOU’RE AN IDIOT! FUCKING IDIOT. CUT ME DOWN YOU FUCK! LET ME GO TO MY HUSBAND. CUT ME DOWN, CUT ME DOWN YOU FUCK, YOU FUCK!” She continued to scream at him, swearing and calling him names as she struggled in her ropes, and all the while Ricky kept shaking his head.
He was the hero, rescuing the damsel in distress, the Alpha Male who kills the bad guy and makes love to the girl. It wasn’t supposed to end like this!
He put his hands over his ears in an attempt to drown her out, but he could still hear her yelling at him, insulting him while begging for release. Soon however all she did was scream at him and it was becoming too much for Ricky, too much after so much shit had already happened to him. He was supposed to be the hero, the man who lived happily ever after…not the fool.
He raised the gun and pointed it at the bound girl and yelled at her to shut up. But her own panic and anger wouldn’t let her and she continued to scream at him. He started yelling too, yelling at her to shut up, at his wife to shut up, at his kids, his boss at everyone he had ever known, and his rage made him pull the trigger once more.
The sixth bullet found its mark and the yelling stopped.
Two days later a group of hikers came across the clearing and almost turned away in shock. Several men were lying on the ground, all dead from gunshot wounds while a half naked woman hung motionless from ropes tied to a tree. With her injuries she looked as dead as the rest, but when a couple of the hikers tried to cut her down she opened one eye and begged for water.
Her tale, when she was finally able to tell it, stunned the local police but there was no mistaking the evidence they found. Five men shot from medium range, the forensics on each bullet allowing them to fix the order of firing. And one man shot in the head, the wound self-inflicted, the sixth bullet lodged in the mess that had been his brain.