Man Versus Heaven 1

#### Chapter 1

"Stay with me," a voice echoed through empty space. "Stay with me, turn around..." The voice was starting to shake, almost sobbing. "Please, please... please..." The pleas turned fainter and fainter.

Outside the small, dark apartment, a tall figure in a dark suit was walking towards a dark purple Cadillac parked across the street. Another figure, an Asian man who looked to be in his thirties, got out of the car and opened the back door for the tall person. A foggy apartment window was unable to hide the warm sins behind the glass; a pair of brown eyes was longingly staring at the fleeting car.

"Fuck... FUCK!!!" The apartment had good sound isolation; the curses were extremely muffled to anyone else living in the building. "Am I just a fucking toy? Are you FUCKING kidding me?" A chair was flung across the room, hitting the opposite wall. Stumbling through the messed-up floor, unable to see shit in front of him, a man was falling over and over again before reaching the light switch.

The stark white light finally ushered away the stiff darkness. The apartment was neither big nor small; it had a bedroom, a living room, and a bathroom. The lack of dust anywhere suggested the apartment was usually kept clean. However, right now, there was glass on the floor of the kitchen, the couch was upside down, the bedroom doors were kicked in, pillows were scattered everywhere on the floor, and a thick scent of intimacy hung heavy in the air.

In front of all that mess, looking at all that with red, teary eyes, stood a man with a sad expression. He was wearing a cropped black leather jacket, a fishnet shirt underneath, and a glove on his left hand. The nails on his right hand were painted black, and he had a tattoo of a jester with a devilish grin on his right forearm.

"Compose yourself, Ater," the man mumbled to himself before starting to clean up. While cleaning, he put on clothes as he found them. First to be put on was a pair of black heart-patterned thong knickers. After that, with a long sigh, Ater picked up a torn-up black skirt. "Animal..." Ater muttered. Those were his favorite. Finally, he found his socks. No longer barefoot and bare-assed, he felt pieces of his confidence returning to him.

When the living space was finally passable, Ater went to the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he finally smiled. The makeup, which he spent ages getting just right, was ruined, splattered across his face. It made him look like a clown, but Ater secretly liked it like that. His naturally long eyelashes, which he was very proud of, were an ornament to an already pretty face. Somewhere between cute and handsome, with soft eyes and glowy skin, all of that haloed by his black, shoulder-length hair. It was messy, and one side was longer than the other: a result of his drunken idea to cut his own hair with a kitchen knife and paper scissors.

"If it weren't for that idiot saying it looks good, I would have long since gone to a hairstylist," Ater commented absentmindedly.

Ater stripped down and entered the shower. His back was covered in scars; some looked old, some were rather fresh. When hot water began washing his exhaustion away, he started singing:

"I know you want it"

"And I know you want it bad"

"It's getting hotter"

"All this pleasure drives you mad"

---

At that moment, across the city, a woman was exiting the hot shower. Her bare, bombshell body made even the wall tiles sweat. Her thick thighs and wide hips were worthy of going to war for. Her cute underbelly and large breasts made her upper body look like an ancient goddess of fertility. And her face, ough, her face! Blond hair was tied in a bun sitting on top of her head, and a pair of intelligent green eyes were scanning the bathroom through the thick, warm steam.

She chuckled before wrapping herself up in a long towel. She was clearly in a great mood; her thin, refined lips had no intention of dropping her smile anytime soon.

Upon leaving her bathroom, a large, cozy-looking house greeted her. Her living space consisted of a king-sized bedroom, a living room with a big, modern kitchen that had that "unused" clean look, a leisure room, and a walk-in closet.

She glanced at the clock. "I still have time," she said to herself. She first went into the leisure room. From her home theater sound system she pulled a vinyl record that had a cover with a baby in a pool, and gently placed it inside the record player. The sound reached every part of the flat. She then went into her closet, picking for herself a simple black dress and a texas jacket. She thought for a second before nodding and putting the dress on her bare body. The high-quality material pressing on her skin felt like a lover's hug. She opened the makeup box, stared at it for five seconds, before closing it and putting it away.

No one is talented enough to improve her face with artificial paint. If a painter saw her as a model walk into his art class, he would throw his brush and start writing poetry. No fingers are talented enough to immortalize something that ascends beauty as a subjective concept.

With a self-confident smile, she swirled in front of a mirror, sometimes dancing, sometimes singing along with the record player. Her voice was pretty bad, but she knew how to hold a single note, so it was mostly fine. She remembered how many attempts her mother made to get her to go to endless singing lessons, but to no avail.

Zvrrrr! Zvrrrr!

The sound of the doorbell startled her. She stopped her record player and ran to the door. Nervously, she adjusted her hair with her fingers before opening the door with a seductive look on her face.

Behind a man standing in front of her, a purple Cadillac was parked across the street. On its front was leaning an Asian man with a cigar in his hands. He gave the lady a short wave before looking away.

The man in front of her was a bit taller; when she wore heels, they were eye-to-eye. His build showed excessive self-care, and his suit was obviously tailor-made. He wore two silver rings on his left hand and an earring on his right earlobe. The most eye-catching thing about him was a large burn scar that covered the left half of his face.

It was truly hideous-looking, spanning from his, thankfully untouched, left eye all the way down to his chin, and reaching a part of his left ear. When he smiled, the burned skin wriggled like a bucket of snakes. One could light a match on the roughness of his burn.

However, looking past that, the man was still surprisingly handsome. His chin was strong and masculine, his nose was tall and proud. On top of his nose bridge a pair of circular, black prescription glasses. His brown, sharp eyes laid deep in his eye sockets, giving them a mysterious gaze. His hair was brownish-black, styled in a middle part that would probably suit someone with a smaller forehead, but despite that, it all kinda worked together to give the man a well-rounded, refined look.

It was obvious that he showed no intention of hiding or masking his burn, which was even clearer when you noticed his confident body language and a commanding voice.

Before the woman was able to utter a greeting, the man said a single word.

"Damn..." His eyes were fixated somewhere below her face. Without waiting for permission, he stepped into the house.

"Wait, Dunn, weren't we supposed to go..." The girl was horrible at acting startled.

"Fuck that," said Dunn, the man with the burned face.

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer. He felt her nipples touching his chest through all those layers of clothes. They shared a long, passionate kiss before finally moving away. His eyes were all fogged up. Without waiting to fully regain his eyesight, he grabbed the woman by her shoulders and turned her around.

Pulling her closer once again, this time she had to throw her head back to kiss him. Dunn was moving his hand across the dress, sometimes massaging her belly, sometimes playing with her nipples through the cloth. Her ass was round and pleasing to the eyes. With her dress lifting it up even more, it would drive any man or woman crazy.

Dunn was no exception. His face was turning red, fast. Without any restraint, he pulled her dress up, revealing her backside. On her lower back she had a tattoo of the Empress tarot card.

"Yumi, you slut, how can someone be this beautiful?" said Dunn with a shaky voice.

Yumi smiled.

---

Ater lit a cigarette and sat in front of his TV. Turning it on, a familiar face looked back at him from the screen.

"So, Mr. Dunn Smith, tell us: how does it feel to be you?" a pretty looking reporter asked a cliché question. Her voice carried a flirty sub-tone.

"Tchk... Can't escape this fucking guy," Ater scoffed, but he didn't switch the channel.

"I've gotta say, Miss Reporter, if I were anyone else in the world, I think I would still prefer to be the me you are looking at," Dunn answered half-jokingly. His grin showed off his scar, and his piercing eyes looked straight into the camera.

Ater knew the whole story. He had heard it oh so many times. Dunn Smith: a self-made millionaire. Philanthropist, businessman, investor...

"And a colossal piece of shit," Ater kept slandering him.

Still, he smiled while listening to the interview. He knew that oh-so-perfect Dunn Smith held a dirty secret. Oh, so many dirty secrets! So many things he did to him; oh, yes! He, alone, was Dunn's secret! It made him feel important, like he had accomplished something great.

"How would Miss Reporter react if I told her all the things we did, Dunn?" Ater kept daydreaming about holding Dunn by his collar, walking him around like a dog. He inhaled the smoke with a sinful look on his face. Fucking hell, how could someone be this turned on just by watching the news?

---

"Yes! Yes!" Yumi screamed in pleasure. No other words were able to escape her tongue before Dunn put a finger in her mouth, stretching her pretty cheek.

"So loud..." he said with a deprecating smile. Yumi was squirming on all fours in front of him. 'How lewd', Dunn thought to himself.

He raised his hand and slapped Yumi's thigh. The moans of pleasure intensified as Yumi felt an electric current pass through her whole body, ending in her mouth with a final, triumphant "YES!" before collapsing onto the cloud-like bed. She was drooling, her hair messy from Dunn's pulling, and her legs were shaking.

Dunn Smith stood above her with a satisfied look. "You aren't an easy girl to please," he said with a warm smile.

Yumi chuckled when her lover came over and hugged her from the side. He petted her blonde hair affectionately, occasionally kissing her neck. He soon fell asleep like that.

"Such a man you are, Dunn Smith," she thought to herself. "And I have you all to myself. All for me." Her smile contained both happiness and ambition. "Living as a shark among kings, everyone wants to hold you by your weakness... That is to say, your weaknesses own you!" thought Yumi.

The night was still young.

---

The Asian man looked through the rearview mirror at his boss. "Everything alright?" he asked while slowly driving through the empty city streets. It was so late one might call it early.

Dunn was looking out the window with a dreamy look. "You know what they call my firm, Netori?" Dunn asked as a counter-question.

Netori sighed before responding, "The Empire."

"The Empire..." Dunn repeated the answer. "Would that make me 'The Emperor'?"

"I see no one else up there," Netori carefully offered. For a moment, their eyes met in the car mirror.

Seeing his boss remain silent, the experienced driver decided to stop asking questions for now.

---

The next morning, Dunn Smith entered his office. It was a surprisingly small room for a man that important. It was also in a state of chaos, with paper piles everywhere and a laptop neatly seated on one of the more unstable-looking stacks. Dunn looked at his wall calendar. There were so many additions written in black marker that it was impossible to read the dates!

His secretary let herself in as Dunn was trying to sit down. "Mister! Mister, don't sit down now! We have people from Northern Electric in meeting room one, and the people from the City Council are on their way for their scheduled meeting at 11 AM."

Dunn Smith, who was never going to get used to this type of living, massaged his forehead. "Anything else?" he asked with a hint of expectant regret in his voice.

"Yes. There is someone who claims to be your friend. I was about to usher him away, but he recited your private phone number, so I let him stay." The secretary didn't even try to hide the curiosity in her voice.

"Oh?" Dunn Smith smiled upon hearing that. "He can wait. Let's go to meeting room one."