Sadie the Sadist: X-tremely Black Humor/Horror by Zané Sachs

we’re both loners here.”
    I lick his hardtop. His body arches backward, elbows pressed into the picnic table as he comes. A fountain of jism spurts all over me: my chest, my face, my hair. I make sure it hits my shirt, so I won’t lose any evidence.
    Sweat is pouring down his face.
    He’s groaning, but not with pleasure. He bends forward, clasping his head with his hands.
    “I don’t feel too good, Sadie.”
    “You need another drink.”
    He takes a few gulps, his eyes closed, his face flushed.
    “I think I should go home.”
    “We’re just getting started. I’ll play some music.” I plug my phone into his ears and blast “Blurred Lines.”
    “That song is sick, Sadie.”
    “That song is awesome, Dick.”
    He tries to stand, loses his equilibrium, plunks down on the bench.
    “I gotta go now,” he says, slurring. “I reaaally gotta go.”
    He stands again, his body swaying.
    “Turn around,” I order him.
    When he doesn’t move, I grab his shoulders, forcing him to turn. He’s so blasted, it’s easy to make him bend over the picnic table. I pull his shorts down to his ankles.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Blurred lines.”
    I slap his butt.
    He attempts to turn toward me, but the shorts strangle his ankles and make him stumble.
    He’s loose as a ragdoll, my puppet. I turn him back toward the table, make him step out of the shorts.
    “Spread your legs.”
    I shove my hands between his thighs, prying them apart.
    His torso dives forward and his head clunks on the table. It’s difficult to keep him upright, but the bench acts as support. His butt juts toward me, and I admire its smooth surface.
    I reach into my apron pocket and pull out the cob of corn. It’s already buttered. With one hand, I spread his cheeks, with the other I jab the cob. The hole is tight. Glad I brought the imitation butter, I scoop a handful and work one finger, then two, then three, inside of him.
    My fist wakes him up.
    When he yells, I pull out the box cutter and nick his balls—just enough to silence him.
    “Keep yelling and your balls are history.”
    He retches, tries to shake me off.
    Adrenaline courses through my body, gives me superhuman strength. With one hand, I hold the box cutter against his flaccid cock, while my other hand rams the corncob up his ass. I perform this feat with amazing dexterity, my practice paying off.
    He’s quiet now, his head glued to the table, glasses crushed and lying in a pool of vomit, the corncob slick with blood and shit.
    I need to get rid of evidence pointing to his rape, but if I throw the cob in the river it will float, and if I bury it some animal may dig it up.
    “Ranger.” I tap him on the shoulder. “Ranger, you awake?”
    No answer.
    I attempt to lift him by the shoulders, but he’s dead weight. Lying on the bench, I wriggle my feet under him and try to flip him over. His eyelashes flutter. I grab his hair, jerk up his head, and his mouth flops open. I shove the cob between his lips.
    “Eat it.”
    Mechanically, he bites, then spits kernels onto the table.
    I grab the cob, forcing it back into his mouth.
    “Chew.”
    A jab from my box cutter encourages him.
    “Swallow.”
    I turn the cob methodically, forcing him to eat every kernel.
    When he’s done, I let him sleep.
    I take the cob down to the river, let the water wash it clean. Cars pass on the main road, but no one comes down here.
    I feel at peace.
    But I still have work to do.
    I have to make this look good.
    I pull my pants down around my ankles, squat on the bank, listening to the rush of water as I shove the cob into my cunt, sliding it in and out until I come, so hard that my eyes fill with tears. Then I sit on the corn, forcing the cob into my butt.
    I’m bleeding, crying.
    Perfect.
    I wipe myself with the yellow shirt and pull up my pants.
    For a long time, I stare at the river, watching how the water jumps around the rocks and keeps going.
    Ranger is snoring.
    I find the box cutter and run it over my