The Extinguisher

The side of the rusted sedan digs painfully into my ribs as Reaper holds me pinned against it. I continue struggling because stopping feels worse than failing. Every twist, every elbow, every attempt to create space accomplishes almost nothing. The giant simply absorbs it all while the junkyard creaks and groans around us in the morning heat.

Reaper's hips continue to drive forward, the chrome shaft pistoning into my tight, protesting butthole with a dry, punishing rhythm. The friction is a raw, searing burn that steals the air from my lungs. Then I see it, a fire extinguisher. The red cylinder lies half buried beneath a pile of scrap metal perhaps three feet away.

At first it seems completely useless. It is old. Rusted. Probably empty. The hose is missing. The pressure gauge has long since disappeared. None of that matters. It is within reach, almost. Hope flares inside me. I can feel every ridge, every unforgiving inch of him as he carves his brutal path deeper.

The fire extinguisher lies half buried beneath a pile of scrap metal a few feet away, just out of reach. Reaper still has me pinned against the hood of the sedan. Every time I struggle, his weight shifts and traps me again. Tears of pain and exhaustion well behind my eyes, tracking through the dust on my cheeks as my body is **** to accommodate this stark violation.

The extinguisher sits there in the dirt, maddeningly close. Close enough to touch if I could just get a little farther. I stretch my fingers toward it, but still fall short. The relentless thrusts continue, stretching and reshaping my narrow asshole in a way that feels irrevocable.

His rhythm becomes slower, deeper, as if savoring the newly conquered territory, and a shudder runs through his frame that I feel through the unyielding press of his body against mine, creating a new, shameful farting sound with each of his punishing drives.

I ignore him and reach again. This time I manage to brush the dirt beside it. The giant's forearm presses harder across my shoulders. Pain shoots through my anus. I grit my teeth and keep reaching. The extinguisher seems to move farther away every time I look at it. My fingertips scrape across the ground.

A final, grinding thrust buries him to the hilt, and something gives way deep inside me. .It is not a sound, but a sensation, a sudden, catastrophic slackening, a structural failure in a hole never meant to bear such girth. I twist my hips and reach again. Reaper shifts his weight. The movement crushes the air from my lungs.

The tight ring of my sphincter surrenders completely, leaving only a hot, pulsing void where the chrome rod moves with a terrible new ease. The extinguisher sits there beneath the morning sun while dust drifts lazily across the junkyard. I reach again. This time my fingers brush metal.

For a split second hope explodes inside me. Then Reaper jerks me backward. The extinguisher slips away. He stills, buried in that ruined space, his breath heavy in my ear. His fingers splay across my stomach, holding me in place as if to feel the hollow his possession has carved.

I snarl and throw myself forward again. My shoulder screams in protest. My ribs hurt. Everything hurts. The extinguisher remains just beyond my grasp. I catch it with my fingertips, lose it, then catch it again. Finally my hand closes around the handle.

I seize the handle with both hands. The giant immediately tries to pull me away. I squeeze the trigger. The extinguisher coughs once, twice, then a thick stream of ancient yellow foam erupts from the nozzle and blasts directly into Reaper's eyes. The giant roars, the sound echoing across the junkyard.

Foam splatters across his eyes, beard, and armor. He releases me instantly, clawing at his face while swearing loud enough to wake the dead. The moment Reaper releases me, I go on the attack. The extinguisher crashes into the side of his head with a metallic crack that echoes through the junkyard.

Foam splatters from the damaged nozzle while the giant staggers sideways, still trying to clear his eyes. Before he can recover, I hit him again. The second blow catches him across the jaw. The third slams into his ribs. Every strike lands with every ounce of fear, frustration, and anger I have accumulated since the nightmare began.

Reaper tries to raise his arms to defend himself, but the foam has him half blind. I do not give him time to recover. The extinguisher whistles through the air again and again. It crashes into his forearms. His shoulder. The side of his head. His chest. The impacts ring like hammer blows against scrap metal. For the first time since the fight began, the giant is retreating instead of advancing.

He backs between rows of rusted vehicles while I continue driving him backward. The junkyard fills with the sound of metal striking flesh, armor, and bone. Reaper stumbles into the side of a wrecked pickup truck. The vehicle rocks from the impact. I immediately close the distance and swing again.

The extinguisher catches him beneath the jaw and snaps his head backward. Another strike slams into his shoulder hard enough to spin him partially sideways. Another crashes into his forearm when he tries to block. The giant finally drops to one knee. My heart nearly explodes. For a brief, glorious moment, I can actually see the nightmare ending right here in the middle of this junkyard.

I raise the extinguisher overhead and bring it down again with everything I have left. The blow lands. Reaper lowers his head. Then he starts laughing. The sound is hoarse now. Slowly, the giant rises back to his feet. Foam drips from his beard. Blood trickles from a cut above one eye. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. For the first time since I met him, the smile is gone completely.

Reaper wipes a hand across his face and spits into the dirt. Then he points directly at me. "You done messed up now." The words come out low and steady. The giant rolls one shoulder, cracks his neck, and begins walking toward me. "I'm gonna shove that fire extinguisher up your ass, you fucking bitch."