Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
He was still naked when he planted the axe into the shoulder of the black-hooded figure. There came a shrill, terror-drenched scream of shock and pain, and then Toki wrenched the blade free. A waterfall of blood came pouring down, beautiful dark red, running thickly. The hooded man fell and writhed on the floor, howling and kicking his legs spasmodically. The axe fell on the skull and silenced the noise forever. Toki always enjoyed that sound. Like chopping through wood and raw, wet meat with one clean motion.
The blood pooled on the carpet and reached his bare feet. It was still warm. Toki stepped back daintily, dispassionately, and stared at the exposed grey-purple folds of brain that were oozing blood. The ragged wound in the shoulder displayed sliced muscles, severed sinewy tendons, the yellowish-white bone of the clavicle. He surveyed the mess he had created with expressionless interest before kneeling down and pleasuring himself. He ejaculated into the blood with a low cry and rested for a moment. Then he stood and gathered his clothes, dressed himself, and gave one last look at his work of art.
On his way out of the empty recording studio, he pressed the intercom button to the servants’ lodge. “Gets somebodies down here to cleans up,” he said flatly. “Another guy has kills hisself.”
The urge hit again a few days later. This time it happened in the Mordhaus garage. One of the mechanics for the steam-powered Dethlimo seemed like just the right cure. It never took any convincing, not much anyway—being ungodly wealthy and powerful had its benefits—so it wasn’t long before Toki was bent backwards over a large tool drawer with his legs spread open, moaning as the mechanic’s thick cock punched in and out of his tight, clenching ass. The guy was huge; fat, hanging gut, muscular arms and chest covered with hair, stinking like transmission fluid and grease, a real sweat-hog. He left his hood on by request. Toki didn’t care what his face looked like. All that mattered was that there was a hot, hard dick fucking in and out of his body; what it was attached to was negligible.
The mechanic pulled out and spilled his load onto Toki’s naked torso, also as requested. Now came the easy part.
As the guy pulled his pants back up and was occupied with sucking in and buttoning, Toki took a screwdriver from one of the worktables and embedded it to the hilt between the spinal disks of the man’s lower back. He let out a bellow and fell to the garage floor, paralyzed from the waist down. Still nude, Toki calmly picked up a hammer and straddled the mechanic’s body. Raising the hammer, claw-side down, he let it fall again and again wherever there was flesh and bone. The man screamed, but only for a little while. Blood sprayed into the air after every hit, and soon Toki was covered in spatters. He didn’t stop until he could see pieces of skull and matted hair jagging up from the drenched black fabric of the hood. Then he dropped the hammer, stood to his feet, and wiped himself off with a nearby oil rag. He put on his clothes and went to get somebody to clean up this unfortunate accident.
That same evening he sat down and played a game of Super Smash Brothers with Pickles, and was laughing it up when his Kirby KO’d Pickles’ Mario using the super hammer. He later got into an argument with Skwisgaar, who he accused of eating all the extra-buttery microwave popcorn. A brief tussle ensued and a small amount of hair was lost by the time the two Scandinavians had roughed each other up to justify their confrontation. Then Toki ate dinner with Knubbler and Murderface (they had a barbecue outside) and they threw the bones to the yard wolves afterwards and watched them fight over the leftovers. The rest of the night was spent lounging in the jacuzzi, trying to hold a conversation with Nathan, who was already a few beers into incoherent.
Predictably, Ofdensen showed up to spoil the party.
“Toki. May I see you in my office.”
“A private conference.”
“It’s a, uh, secret.”
“Because I said it is. Now are you coming or not?”
“Aw mans,” Toki pouted, but crawled from the hot water and threw on a Mordhaus robe. He followed Ofdensen all the way to his office. The manager closed the door behind them and then sat down at his desk. The leather upholstery squeaked expensively. Ofdensen adjusted his glasses and leaned his elbows on the table, threading his fingers together meditatively. Toki stood impatiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and shaking the water out of his hair.
“So what’s you call me in heres for?” he asked.
“I think you know very well.”
A manila folder opened up on Ofdensen’s desk. Toki stepped forward to view the contents. Photos. Crime scene photos. Gruesome crime scene photos. Toki recognized each and every one. There was the pool boy from last month, hauled up from the bottom drain with a net tied tight around his throat. There was the steroid-loaded security guard he had dropped with a horizontal gut-wound from the guard’s own knife. The grey-pink intestines had come uncoiled, slipping out so fast that it had momentarily scared Toki. But he had gotten better about it after the third guy. Ah, there was the construction maintenance guy with 38 nails studded through his heart-
“There have been over 23 employee deaths in the past three months,” Ofdensen interrupted. “That’s up 66% from the usual.”
“So. I think you, ah, might have a good idea as to why, Toki.”
“I not knows anythings!” Toki cried, offended. “Why you always gotta picks on me? You racist or somethings?”
“No, Toki. But it has come to my attention that you have apparently found an outlet for your newly-developed and deeply-repressed violent sexual fantasies, and we simply do not have enough unskilled employees to keep your bloodlust in check.” Pause.
Toki looked impressed. “How you finds out?”
“It is my job to know what goes on in this house, Toki,” murmured Ofdensen eerily. “Every breath taken, every warm body present, every word spoken, every act committed within these walls is known to me. I am omniscient in this respect. It is what I am paid to do—to protect you from others, including yourselves, and to act in Dethklok’s best interest. Therefore,” he sat back in his chair comfortably, “is there anything you would, ah, like to talk to me about? Anything you’d like to…get off your chest?”
Toki wasn’t sure, but he felt just a little bit afraid right now of the man sitting nonchalantly across from him. The fear was stimulating, addictive. It made his spine grow cold and his heart beat faster. This was a man with power, perhaps even more power than Dethklok itself. And anything more powerful than the most powerful enterprise in the world…that was a force to be respected and reckoned with.
His mind wasn’t even completely made up before he untied the belt of his robe and let it slide from his shoulders. The black terry cloth crumpled around his bare feet. And there he stood, in silence.
Ofdensen raised his eyebrows briefly, but his reaction was otherwise invisible. “Why did you just do that, Toki.”
“Because,” he answered softly, staring into nothing.
The voice was firm, commanding. Toki obeyed. Ofdensen rolled his chair back and turned as Toki came around his desk. If the manager was at all affected, he didn’t show it. Not even his eyes betrayed emotion. Looking into them, Toki remembered that snowy night in Poland that seemed so long ago. Cold and terror and blood and inhuman strength. Funny how he had never considered the implications until this very moment, when he was staring at a man who could kill him as easily as Toki himself had killed those dozens of Mordhaus employees. The tables had turned, but he realized it all too late.
Toki’s mind was lashing out indignant insults, yet his body heeded Ofdensen’s word like a robot obeying its master. He found himself eye-level with the crotch of an expensive pair of Italian pants. He lifted his head to look at his manager—with the pale, wide-eyed face of a frightened juvenile. Ofdensen stared mutely with an expression set in stone. Toki reached out and carefully unfastened the pants, exposing a semi-erect penis whose proportions surprised him. He leaned inexorably forward by some will other than his own and rubbed his lips against a hot, velvety soft cockhead. A few moments later it was inside his mouth, growing harder by the moment.
Toki had never sucked a man’s dick before, nor would he ever admit to doing such a nasty thing. His logic was flawed—it was one thing to be fucked by random, faceless, expendable bodies, but quite another to be forced into a position where he might actually enjoy himself. That wasn’t the plan. He needed a vent for the rage and impotent frustrations he encountered daily; he needed an outlet for the deviant sexual desires he longed to unleash; but most of all, he wanted the power that was so often denied to him. This was not what he wanted.
Toki felt a firm hand grasp the roots of his hair and pull, lifting his head. The cock slipped from his glossy mouth with a moist suction, and he was staring at Ofdensen’s still-stony exterior.
He was on his feet three whole seconds before his ass was shoved onto the desk, a warm body inserted between his spread legs, and a face nose-to-nose with his own. Ofdensen loosened his tie.
“You will cry,” he said, as if stating a fact. His tie was whipped off and tossed aside. Toki jumped fearfully. Ofdensen grabbed Toki’s leg and lifted it high, causing Toki to fall back on the desk. He leaned over and swept all objects from the desk top: pens, calendars, planners, a framed photo of something. They clattered to the floor noisily.
Toki was unprepared for the sexual voracity that fell upon him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He was brutally manipulated, pushed to and fro, forced under; his neck was bruised by unaffectionate kisses, his hair pulled for no other purpose than to inflict pain. He was bitten, bloodied, spread, contorted, twisted, stretched, teased, pinched, pulled and tortured. But it was nothing compared to the horrific rush he got when he felt Ofdensen’s cock pry its way into his body.
He did cry. He wailed and bit his knuckles and shut his eyes tight and screamed in two languages for Ofdensen to stop and never stop. Toki felt his own cock jump and spurt and strain, aching for release and receiving none. He didn’t understand. He had never become aroused by the others—
“Ah!” So deep. So deep. “Off-! Ofden-!” Something inside him was being satisfied, some demonic, destructive force was being beaten into submission like a disobedient dog- “Ahh! Nhh! Ch-Charl-”
That same strength Toki had seen that snowy night in Poland was now focused entirely on his body, conquering it with a combination of terrible pain and unbearable pleasure.
“N-nei. Nei! Ahhhnn!” His hips bucked uncontrollably, his muscles tense and tight, hands gripping the edge of the desk as he came violently. It didn’t seem to end. There was so much, so much…as if his evil seed was being drawn from him like a poison.
Just before Toki finished, Ofdensen started. This time Toki was powerless to object—he felt the warmth flood into him and he knew exactly what it was. It seemed to spread inside him, the heat radiating up into his body, seeping to his legs and toes and arms and fingers and heart and brain until finally all thought ceased and he fell into darkness.
When Toki came to, he was sitting in the chair opposite Ofdensen’s desk, wearing the robe he had discarded. Ofdensen was standing in the corner behind his desk, putting his tie back on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Toki’s mind was still bleary and uncoordinated, like he had been drugged with some hardcore shit. He rose to his feet carefully, adjusting to the vertigo. He looked at Ofdensen, and began to think that the whole incident had just been in his head.
He hadn’t heard, either that or he was ignoring him. Ofdensen finished fixing his tie, straightened his collar, and turned to acknowledge Toki. “You’re going to behave now, aren’t you, Toki?”
Toki was too stunned to do anything else but nod dumbly.
Ofdensen smiled. “There’s a good boy.”
Toki wandered out of the office. For some reason, it was past noon. Tomorrow was happening right now. Disoriented and tingling all over, he made his way to his room and promptly went to sleep. He slept over 12 hours and woke up ready for midnight dinner. He put on clothes and went to find the others, met up with Pickles and Murderface and went to pester Jean-Pierre for filet mignon and cheese doodles.
And the Mordhaus employee suicide rate dropped down to its normal percentage.