Jaap Boekestein

by Horror Sleaze Trash on September 7, 2017

Jaap Boekestein bloody well writes what he likes. He worked as a bouncer, with a detective agency and in a bunch of prisons. He collects publications in zines and anthologies whose title suggest horror, sex and violence. http://jaapboekestein.com/



Fucking Dinosaur


I should have known better to take in an ex-con in, but hey, there he was at my door, uncle Mike, looking like a bad ass lost puppy, with old tats and a streak of grey hair.

“Hi Amber, I got released and have nowhere to go.”

Okay, I have some explaining to do. Uncle Mike is not really an uncle. Not by blood anyway. Dad and he were best pals and he hung around a lot. So yes, he was part of the family.

Way back dad and he, and some other guys, used to go across the pavement, when you could still rob banks in our fair United Kingdom. He was in the getaway car when dad died, but uncle Mike wasn’t driving and wasn’t the one who fucked up, so I didn’t blame him. Not really. Mom and I lived for years of the one bag of cash uncle Mike managed to grab from the wreckage.

The fuzz got uncle Mike, of course. They didn’t get the money.

All that was twenty years ago, when I was little. We stayed in touch, a bit, Christmas card stuff, and now he had only me.

Yeah, lucky me. Damn, like I needed uncle Mike in my life. But he was family, so I couldn’t sent him away. I have a big heart.

“What do you do for a living?” uncle Mike asked.

“I am burlesque dancer.” I pointed a the gypsy brassiere and scarf that were hanging in my living room to dry.

“A dancer in a nudie bar? Like a stripper?”

No, a burlesque dancer. There is a huge difference.” I explained but could tell he didn’t get it.

Well, I had accepted Mike and for the moment I was stuck with him. Nowadays probation is a joke, ex inmates are basically left to their own devices. I wasn’t planning on keeping on uncle Mike indefinitely so I called Quinn when Mike was unpacking his stuff. Quinn owed me a favour and I was finished in a few minutes. I turned to Mike again: “They are looking for a bouncer at the club. The manager wants to talk to you tonight.”

“Tonight? My, you are the head girl, aren’t you?”

“I am getting you a job. If you don’t like my help, sod off and go sleep under a bridge.”

“Keep your pants on, luv. I will see the bloke.”

Yes, uncle Mike and I really hit it off. I guess that is what family is for.


Do I like my job?

Being watched by a bunch of men, and sometimes ladies, all of them wanting me. Playing with them, teasing them, having the power to get them all hot and excited and denying them anything further. Getting paid to exercise power and wear beautiful clothes.

Yes, I love my job. Sure, sometimes you don’t feel like it and you still have to dance and smile and seduce and flirt, but usually I get into the groove while performing.

This was one of those nights I had to get into the mood. I guess Mike showing up was the cause. Anyway, I did the chair act, one I knew well and liked.

Stage, light, cue: “… The lovely Miss Amber Dynamite!”

Music: Umbrella, by Rhianna of course.

The moment you walk on the stage, you let go. No doubts, no worries. The universe exists of the stage, the public and you. Gone was my strange mood. I was Miss Amber Dynamite, Mistress of the stage! The world was my plaything. Or at least the punters in the house were.

Caught in the bright glare of a spotlight, stood a simple chair. I strode towards it. Swing those hips. On stage you can’t see the public but you know they are there, watching, fantasizing, sipping their expensive drinks to wet their sudden dry throats. It is a great feeling.

Always start out modest with your outfit. Of course, it must be sexy, but you built things up to the big finale. I wore black Burberry heels, white and black striped stockings, black suspender belt. Ivory silk shorts and a camisole. The whole was completely covered with an indecent black laced cardigan that reached to my knees. Raised hair, heavy make-up, red nails.

At the chair I stopped for a moment, as if I hesitated. Then a quick mischievous look at the invisible audience. I knew a few hundred pairs of eyes were on me. Gracefully I sat down and slowly I crossed my legs. I pulled out a cigarette from my cleavage. It was not subtle, but it did not need to be. Fortunately the flame of the lighter that I had hidden in my hand, took at once.

The smoke escaped slowly from my lips. Grey and blue it rose in the spotlight. I looked again at the punters I could not see. I got your attention boys? You see this nice bird sitting here, sucking and blowing smoke. What would you like to do with her? Think about it, boys.

After a few seconds I dropped the cigarette and killed it under the sole of my shoe, like I would squeeze the very last drop out of a cock.

That usually got a whistle. And sure, it did. I smiled broadly.

I started to move around. Give the punters time enough to get intrigued, but never ever enough time to get bored. Umbrella is a great number to dance on: sexy, seductive, provocative, teasing. I had it nailed it down to the second. Show those legs, wiggle that ass, pout your lips and smile. I dropped the laced cardigan like I freed myself from a lover’s embrace.

The hair came undone, the camisole was the next to go.

Yes I wear a bra. Come on boys, the act is not over yet! But you all like black and red see through bra’s. I know you do.

Dance around the chair, use the chair, as dance partner, as a fuck buddy. Grind the chair.

Umbrella ended and Work B**ch by Britney Spears started. Sue me, I have a weak spot for the classics.

No more Nice Girl. I got wild. I dropped the silk shorts. Yes, of course I wore a thong, duh! The bra was the next to go. Nipple tassels, real cute ones, heart shaped with Union Jack prints.

The seducing part was long over. I strut around in thong, stockings and tassels. I rode wood – the chair, I moaned, I shook. I was fucking the public, hundreds of lovers at the same time. Suck those tits, bite that ass, grab me, take me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!

But the boys couldn’t. I was on stage, they were on the floor. And never the two worlds would meet. I laughed, I reached to the sky, I shook my body. I was on top of the world.

Seven, six… Of course I knew exactly when the number ended.

I turned around for a last full frontal. One last shimmy. I took both titty tassels between my fingers and looked at the public.

Will I do it, boys?

They wanted me to do it. Badly.

Three, two…

So many men urging me on in complete silence.

Will I? Of course I will.


I pulled them off at the last note of the number, half a second before the lights were killed.

One, two, thundering applause!

“The explosive Miss Amber Dynamite!”

Glowing I left the stage.


I was finished for the night and I found uncle Mike at the bar.

Call it a sixth sense, but somehow I know when men have seen my act. It is the quick look: Is this really that same chick who…? Yes, it is really her!

O yes, Mike had seen my act for sure. I smiled.

“Did you get the job?”

“Uh, yes. I’ll start tomorrow evening.”

“Great, you can pay me back the bus and cab fare tomorrow night.”

This early in the morning there was no service, so we shared a cab back to my place. Mike kept looking at me and I looked right back: What?

“You got a bloke, Amber?”

Deliberately I crossed my legs and leaned back in the seat, giving him something to look at. “No Mike, I don’t have a steady boyfriend. I sleep with whom I want when I want to. I am my own woman and nobody tells me what to do.” Unless I choose otherwise. “If you need a girlfriend, buy a suit and hit a pub. Or pay a girl in one of those other kind of clubs. No doubt the guys at the door know a few places.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Is it just you, or are all dollies so bolshie nowadays?”

Dollies? Bolshie? And I was thinking the dinosaurs were extinct.

“Time moved on at the Outside, Mike. We dollies got mobiles and the internet and we wised up. Beyoncé and Rhianna told us to be our own woman. Safe that old fashioned macho shit for your mates and treat a lady with respect.”

Now Mike raised his hands. “I don’t mean any disrespect, luv. I was just asking a simple question. I am not sure all those gadgets made things better. Seems to me things were a bit simpler and clearer back then.”

For you maybe. Welcome to the future.


Living together in a two room place was a challenge. Mike slept on the couch, but of course we had to share things like the loo and the shower. Still, things could be worse. Mike was a dinosaur, but he didn’t try anything and he didn’t get in my hair, to much.

Of course he looked at me when I finished showering and only wore my short kimono robe, but hey, I looked at him when he dressed. He might be in his forties, Mike sure hadn’t let himself go in prison. Lots of muscles, no flabby parts. Most gents I met, looked worse.

In a few days time we had worked out an arrangement. We both slept late, did breakfast slash lunch. Mike went out, no doubt trying to find shreds of his past, and I had the apartment for myself. He showed up for dinner and we left for the club. Back in the early morning and the whole thing started again. It worked, as long as we stuck to the routine, that is.


Whap, whap, whap!

“Oh, fuck,” I cried out. “Please stop.”

Reggie only laughed and slapped my ass once more, full force.

My flesh burned, my body rocked, my teeth rattled. I fought to get free, but to no avail. He had tied my hands together behind my back and the knots didn’t move.



“O God, please!” tears mingled with sweat and drool. Very charming. “Please stop,” I begged and lied. Don’t you fucking stop.

Whap, whap, whap!

It wasn’t only the pain, it was the feeling of being helpless, being overpowered. The feeling of secretly enjoying what Reggie did to me, because I had no choice.

Stop word? Stop words are for pussies. Well, yes we had one, the old trusted ‘red’, but I never used it and I would be damned if I ever would. I wanted to feel, to live, to be a rotten, dirty, horny slut. A girl has needs. This girl had. My choice.

Reggie understood. Reggie provided. And Reggie had a great cock. We weren’t an item or something, but we fucked on regular basis. As much as possible, actually. He knew what I needed.


Ouch! Yesssss!

By now I was wet as a poodle in the rain. I was practically dripping.

Reggie didn’t have any problem entering me from behind. While he started pounding – God, he had such hard knob, really nice – he grabbed my hair and pulled me upwards. I curved my back, unable to use my hands. I balanced on my knees, being help up by my hair and Reggie’s ploughing pleasure rod.

It hurt like hell. It hurt even more when he grabbed one of my tits with his free hand and started squeezing in real hard, nails and all. He bit me in my neck.

Fuck the neighbours. I screamed at the top of my lungs, it felt So Fucking Good.

I didn’t realize at first that uncle Mike burst into the bedroom in full knight in white armour mode.

Basically when Reggie suddenly dropped me and pulled out as quick as hot grease in a frying pan, I started to register something was out of the ordinary. I landed with my face on the bed and it took me a full second to turn around and blink.

Mike had driven Reggie in a corner and my naked fuck-stud was using a pillow to fence of the fists of my uncle dear.

“Fuck Mike, stop it!” I yelled.

I’ve seen men fighting before. Most of them get in some kind of crazy wild trance and start pounding away without thinking.

Uncle Mike wasn’t like that at all. He was completely cool and together. The – mine, sigh – ex-con looked at me. “Are you all right, luv?”

From the bed I shouted: “No, I am not fucking all right! What are you doing here? Why do you bust in like a bloody battle taxi?”

Mike looked at me, he looked at Reggie who was cowering in a corner holding the pillow up as a shield, and he looked back to me. “I heard you scream and I thought you were being assaulted by this…”

“Hey man, she asked for it,” Reggie started. “I was just-”

Mike punched the pillow. “You shut the fuck up. I am talking to Amber here.”

“Fuck off, Mike,” I said. “Reggie and I were just shagging. None of your business.”

“But you are tied up and…”

“Mike, fuck off!” I screamed. “And don’t come back for the next few hours or you will never have to come back!”

He looked like a hurt puppy but he left.


“You can’t do that. He hurts you.”

I looked at Mike. I was still very pissed but I didn’t want to fight right in the back of the bus. “That is the fucking idea,” I hissed. “I like what he does to me. It is my choice. My choice, do you understand? I can do anything I want.”

Mike opened his mouth, only to close it again. He had seen the look in my eyes. Finally he said: “You have all the choice in the world with your phone and independence and stuff, and you go for a cowboy like that? Never mind that whole chains and whips thing. Do you really think we didn’t have that twenty years ago? I am telling you that guy is bad news. I know the type. I don’t want to see happen anything bad to you, luv.”

“If I need your help, I will ask for it. Until then you stay out off my business. Thank you very much.”

We both were quiet for the rest of the trip.

Fucking dinosaur.


Reg was a bad apple, but I just had a taste for bad apples.

Meet me at the end of your shift at the back entrance of the club. Wear that sexy silver dress,” he messaged three nights after our interrupted shagfest.

I grinned. I knew he wanted to have some nasty and kinky sex between the empty beer barrels and other stuff. Maybe a little improvised S&M, and/or Dominance. Spank me, fuck me, let me be a bad girl.

He might get what he wanted. Or not. I sent back: “:O yes baby

So I was there after my last shift, wearing the silver dress which was conveniently short.

He wore his dark suit with black shirt and mauve tie. Reg the Flash, was his nickname.

“You look great, baby,” he said.

Kissing, he smelled and tasted fine. Reg pulled my hair, pushed me against a few crates.

Damn, I was getting in the mood. Especially when he was starting to nibble my ears and neck.

“You know baby,” he said after some more nibbling.

“Uhm?” I asked lazily. His hands wandered everywhere and did some very nice things. Reggie was very good with his hands.

“I want you to do me a favour.”

“Uhu…” As long as that favour included that nice piece of meat between his legs, I was game.

“I have these friends I owe some money. Quite a lot, actually.”

Somewhere in my pink cloud a red alarm flashed. Was I hearing this correctly?

“I talked to them,” Reggie continued. “They loved your show and they are willing to forget about the money if you spent the night with them. Like at the same time.”

Wha…? Reggie was really trying that one on me?

I pushed him away, suddenly completely sober. “You want me to whore for you? Doing a gang bang with a bunch of guys?”

“Baby, baby, no! You would just help me out! And you like this kind of thing anyway, don’t you?”

What is it with guys? Tell them you did group sex a few times and all the sudden they think that is the only thing a girl goes for. Anyway, I suddenly was completely not in the mood for anything. Especially not with Reggie the creep.

“Go fuck yourself, Reg. I don’t fuck for money and certainly not for your money.”

He was not expecting that and he didn’t like it one bit. Anger showed in his face and he pumped up his chest. “I already said ‘yes’ and that means I have to deliver. You are going-”

I was not going to do anything, except for kicking him square in the nuts, which I did, full power. You know how to use your legs as a dancer.

Besides, I had a pretty big target to aim for.

With a cry he crumpled, grabbing his balls. Which was a fine opportunity to connect my knee with his chin. A few years ago I had a bunch of self defence lessons from a girlfriend who had a black belt in several martial arts and a very sadistic outlook towards male genitalia.

Reggie went down with a sigh.

Back inside the club I went straight to the bar, I could use a drink. I was shaking with anger and adrenaline.

Mike intercepted me halfway.

“Hey luv, can you help me out in the security room?” he asked. He meant the back room with a bunch of CCTV screens, a fridge with soft drinks for the lads and a collection of ancient pin ups on the walls.

“I am not in the mood, Mike,” I replied. I really was not in the mood for whatever thing he wanted. I just wanted a drink, badly. And a hot shower. I felt dirty, and in the wrong way.

“To bad, because I haven’t the faintest idea how to work that damn computer and delete the tape of the new camera in the back.”

There was a camera in the back? Okay, that was news for me.

I looked at Mike. “I can show you.”

The computer didn’t even have a password protection. It was just a question of selecting the right camera and playing back. I watched myself flooring Reg again.

“I was just grabbing a drink.” Mike explained. “You got some nice moves, kid.”

“Did anyone else see this?” I asked. If he invited the guys from the door I will-

Mike looked grief stricken. “No luv, of course not. I went to see you.”

He wasn’t lying. If he had called the lads I would have been welcomed by the whole committee with whistles and wolf calls.

Erasing the clip was easy, but first I sent the file to my phone. Some time in the future I would enjoy watching this again, but now I was too hyped.

I turned to Mike: “Thanks Mike.”

“No need, Amber. And by the looks of it, you didn’t need my help anyway.”

I shivered, suddenly I felt cold. The adrenaline was wearing off. “Let’s have a drink and go home.”

“Yeah, let’s.”


Make up sex. Hot and horny. He fucked me in the living room. I had wanted to tape it and put my phone on the sideboard. Then I discovered I could directly stream the video to the telly.

So we were fucking each other while watching ourselves fucking each other.

“Like in a porn,” he groaned. “I think I maybe like those new things.”

I only moaned. The sex was good. Damned good.

Fucking dinosaur.

I giggled. Mike was a surprisingly good fuck.


Yes, yes. I should have known better then to fuck an ex-con.

But hey, I liked the taste of bad apples.

My choice.






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