The Vandal's Touch

Chapter One

Dylan owned an independent record shop, Wax and Wane, on the edge of town. It was very small, nestled in a one story building at the end of the block. He sold vinyl, CDs, and cassettes and was also working on putting some arcade cabinets and pinball machines in the back. The neighborhood was a lot better than it was three years ago. New shops had moved in and the two bars on the street had new owners and would often have local artists play there. Dylan finally had a steady flow of hippies, punks, and emos in his store buying records both old and new.

On a balmy summer morning Dylan was sitting at the front counter bobbing his head to Fela Kuti's "Water No Get Enemy" while reading a local music magazine. The oscillating fan offered no reprieve from the heat and Dylan worried about the inventory, especially the vinyl. As he perused the local artists, he rolled his eyes when he saw that local producer, DJ Quantize, would be performing a summer series at the club on the end of Dylan's block. Not only that, but the club was going to partition off the street and the concert would extend all the way down to his shop. "Fuck," Dylan muttered under his breath.

Just then Shithead Jon walked in. Dylan had no idea why he was called Shithead Jon, that's just what people called him. Jon meandered in off the sidewalk like he always did, smelling of Bacardi and weed. He took his usual position on the stool next to the counter and lit a cigarette. Jon was in his late fifties, overweight, and had long grayish-blonde hair that he never washed. Dylan always thought he looked like Jeff Lebowski.

"Did you see this?" Dylan, opened the magazine up to the article and slid it across the glass countertop. Jon slowly picked up the magazine and skimmed the article.

"Prick," Jon said as he dropped the magazine back down. "That piece of shit has been sampling every killer lick and groove and absolutely murdering them."

Dylan grumbled, "Yeah, I know. He's a butcher. He hacks up good beats, and Frankensteins them into pure trash."

"This show is like a week away and I really don't know what to do. I don't want to even be around when that dick performs, but I also don't want to miss out on the business," Dylan professed to Shithead Jon.

"Aye, it sucks. You want to sell the real records to these kids, but you also want to do a silent protest in honor of great music."

"Exactly," Dylan sat, sniffing Jon's cigarette, regretting quitting a year ago.

Jon flicked the cigarette out of the open door and got up to do his usual exploration of the store, looking for hidden gems. Dylan knew there was nothing worth his attention. Tomorrow, Dylan was to go head out of town and hit some other spots to try and fill his inventory. He had a good rapport with other shops in Vegas and San Diego and would only be gone a few days. He'd be back in LA long before this philistine, DJ Quantize or DJ Q as his followers called him, performed.

An hour passed and Dylan sat there in a funk. Shithead Jon was in the back of the store, thumbing through the soul records.

"Dude!" Jon shouted from the rear of the dingy store. "Dude, I got it!"

Jon quickly jogged to the front counter and that half dozen steps left him winded. Dylan was only ten years younger than Jon, at 45, but kept himself in much better shape. Since quitting smoking he rides his bike to work every day and finds time to go hiking twice a week. "Take it easy Shithead, you'll blow a lung."

Jon caught his breath and, which was a first, coherently told Dylan his idea.

"You know that ugly ass brown wall you got on the side of the building? Why don't you paint a mural on it? Use some of the cats that this DJ Q rips off and make a kind of monument to them... to educate the people."

Dylan mulled over the idea. Yeah, this shithead hippie really had a good idea. "Wow, that's not half bad. I'd need someone to do it on the cheap and I'd need it done this week."

"I got the perfect one for ya' goes by the name of Dax, a local graffiti artist, but he's got talent. They're probably downtown today. I usually see Dax at the bus stop on my way to my dealer, I'll send 'em over."

"Thanks Shithead... I... I mean Jon"

"No, I am a shithead," he grinned, lit another cigarette and walked out the door.

Chapter Two

Dylan was counting the register and cleaning up, getting ready for close when a dark figure entered the store. He stood about five foot five, wore black baggy jeans, a black hoodie, a black ball cap turned backwards, and a pair of Pit Viper sunglasses. He had close cropped hair and smelled like spray paint.

"You the guy?" the person said. Judging by their voice and mannerisms he was about twenty-five.

"The guy? What are you talking about?" Dylan subtly reached under the counter and gripped the baseball bat he kept there for emergencies.

"The music guy, the guy who wants a painting... a... mural?

"Yeah, yeah, I guess I'm the guy," Dylan loosened his grip on the bat handle.

He eyed the figure and noticed the paint stains on his hands, the scuffs on his black books, and the fraying on the knees of the long, baggy jeans. Dylan could tell this person spends a lot of time on the streets, painting.

"Names Dax," he said in a deep voice.

"Awesome to meet you, I'm Dylan. Yeah, I was just looking for a mural on the side of the building to commemorate some of the artists that inspire me."

"That's sick, I can do that," Dax calmly stated before pulling a phone from his pocket.

Dax scrolled through several dozen images of his work which spread across the city. Some were rudimentary, single color tags, but the others were beautiful, richly detailed scenes that really amazed Dylan. "Wow, these are really good."

"Bet," Dax said. I'll do it for fifteen hundred, plus materials.

Dylan thought and rebuffed, "twelve-hundred and keep the materials under five hundred."

"Deal."

"I need it done before Thursday because there is a concert on Friday. Some asshole named DJ Q. I want to have this mural up before he performs, like a statement piece."

Dax looked at Dylan through his shades, "I got you."

"Great! Here are some artists to pick from." Dylan handed over a list of a dozen musicians he'd spent the day whittling down. "I have to go out of town for the next two days. My manager Stella will be watching the store. I'll be back on Thursday. Here's eight hundred to get started, I'll give you the rest when it's done!"

Dylan handed Dax an envelope of cash and he put it in the pocket of his baggy black hoodie. Dax saluted Dylan and slipped out the door.

Chapter Three

Dylan had some really good luck vinyl hunting. He visited his ex-business partner Shane in Vegas and got a whole box of rare Afro-Cuban stuff. He found a few rare finds in San Diego, ones that he thought would be great for his own personal collection. As he was grabbing a quick drink at a brewery with another shop owner, Kendra, Stella called him.

"Dylan! Did you pay some person to paint the building?!" Stella sounded really upset.

"Yes, I commissioned a mural for the upcoming concert," Dylan said.

"Well, this person is painting... and... and... making them...." Stella shouted, the phone cutting in and out."

"Stella! Stella! Are you there! God damn I feel like Stanley Kowalski!"

Just then the phone clicked dead. Dylan tried to call back but could not get the phone to reconnect. Oh well, he thought to himself.

"Who was that? Kendra asked.

"My manager at the store, she's freaking out because I didn't tell her that I had an artist painting a mural on the building."

"Oh that's super cool, what are they painting?

Dylan responded, "I gave them a dozen of my musical heroes. There is this concert down the block this weekend. This DJ completely butchers the beats I grew up with."

Stella texted Dylan, Are you sure you're ok with this?!

Dylan: Yes! It's all good!

Stella: I don't know man, I would have preferred the blank wall.

Dylan: I'll be back tomorrow, I'll see you then.

Stella: Fuck this!

"Sorry, Stella's texting," Dylan apologized.

"Fuck that guy then, I hope that mural kicks ass and draws some attention to the store," Kenra said.

"Yeah, he wears this really ridiculous mask that looks like Frankenstein's monster, you know, with the flat top and the bolts in the neck," Dylan said, taking another sip.

"It's almost like he knows he's stealing from others to make something new," Kendra said.

Dylan chuckled, "yeah he makes monsters and instead of pitchforks, the people flock to him to listen to him create noise."

"Well, cheers to the real artists and I hope that mural looks amazing!" Kendra said, raising her glass.

"Amen to that," Dylan said, clinking glasses.

Chapter Four

Dylan got in late on Wednesday night. He crashed on his couch, saving the reveal of the mural for the daylight tomorrow.

Dylan woke up, excited to see the mural. He showered, put on his helmet and pedaled the two miles to the store. He whistled his favorite John Lee Hooker riff as he pulled up to the store. He unlocked the door, walked his bike to the back of the store and strolled out to get a look at the mural. What he saw horrified him.

He looked over the expansive wall, his eyes darting to every appalling element of the mural. In the foreground were the faces of the twelve heroes he gave to Dax, painted with lifelike realism. Over their mouths was a spray painted red X and small black X's over their eyes. In the middle ground was a city burning, fully engulfed in flames, Dylan could make out the distinctive skyline of LA. What horrified him was the image looming over everything...

Taking up the entire right side of the mural was a ten foot tall painting of DJ Q! He had his distinctive black, baggy tracksuit and Frankenstein monster mask, sporting a sly, evil grin. The worst part was that from DJ Q's hips a long yellow line arched and landed on the faces of Dylan's heroes. DJ Q was pissing on them! Dylan stood, slack-jawed at the abomination. His heart raced and his face went whitehot.

"I'm going to strangle that little shit!"

Just then Stella walked up. "I can't believe you were cool with this."

Dylan felt as if he was one of those cartoons with steam coming out of his ears. "I didn't... fuck... this shit... I... fucking asshole!"

Dylan stormed back into the store and immediately picked up the phone. Stella followed him in.

"Who are you calling?"

"My friend Mitch, he's a painter. Hopefully he can come paint over that THING before anyone sees it," Dylan raged.

"Mitch... Mitch! I need you to come to the shop ASAP. Bring as much black paint as you can, I need you to paint the East wall of the shop, like now!" Dylan was breathless with anger.

He slammed the phone down and sat there, livid.

Chapter Five

Hours passed, finally Mitch showed up. Dylan angrily set him to work covering the mural and Mitch, sensing Dylan's furiousness, went to work. Mitch started on DJ Q and worked his way across the mural.

Finally taking a breath for himself, Dylan collapsed on the stool behind the counter. Fuck I need a smoke. He laid a record down on the player and he felt his heartrate slow. "What the fuck! Fucking asshole!"

Dylan spun and saw the figure of Dax in the doorway. "You're painting over it?! You better have my money bitch!"

Dax stood there in all black wearing Pit Vipers, as usual.

"There is no way I am paying for that, you piece of shit!"

"Like hell you are! I put in the work, pay me for it!" Dax's voice cracked a bit as he yelled.

Dylan walked out from behind the counter, grabbed Dax by the back of the neck and pushed him toward the back office. "Stella, watch the counter!"

Once in the office, Dylan pushed Dax into the office chair and it spun and skidded once he landed in it. Dax's sunglasses flew off his face and Dax looked directly into Dylan's eyes.

Dylan was taken aback, what he saw were deep hazel eyes with smokey eye makeup and chiseled cheekbones.

"You're a woman!" Dylan accused.

"Of course dipshit, what did you think I was!" Dax spat out.

"Give me my money back you dickhead," Dylan screamed.

Dax retorted, "No way, you still owe me a grand!"

Dax leaped forward, yelling in Dylans' face. The two of them screamed loudly at each other for over two straight minutes. As they did, Dylan took in the beautiful face of Dax. The allure in the face didn't match the anger that he felt. He looked up at Dax's cap and saw DJ Q's logo embroidered on it. In anger he smacked up and tipped the hat off Dax's head. Underneath was a short black pixie cut that accentuated the smoky makeup of Dax's face.

Dylan stumbled over his words as he continued to scream. Dax too was becoming inconsistent with her arguing, even so their bodies got closer and closer together. Finally Dax yelled, "What do you want! You want to spank me! You want to discipline me! Teach me a fuckin' lesson?!"

"Maybe I do!" Dylan yelled. With that, Dax made a show of bending over Dylan's desk, arching up to showcase a curvy ass under the baggy jeans.

Dylan stood silent for a second, the ass arching before him. In his anger he used his right hand and placed a firm smack on Dax's ass. Dax jolted forward, pushing the desk as well. As he did, he noticed Dax arch up more. Dylan placed another hard palm on the extended rear end. "Fuck!" Dax groaned.

Dylan struck again. "You fucking like that!"

Dax groaned softly, "Yes, sir."

Dylan, his heart racing, leaned in and put his lips right to Dax's ear. "What did you say?"

"Yes, sir... p... p... punish me."

The throaty moan of this admission, lit something inside Dylan. He got behind Dax's bent form, wrapped his left hand around Dax's throat and pulled up.

Dax's back arched dangerously, and Dylan could tell that Dax was panting and moaning under her fast breath. Dax pushed back into Dylan's crotch causing him to swell.

"Oh fuck, sir"

Dylan, with his left hand around Dax's throat, pulled down quickly with his right hand on the waistband of Dax's jeans. To his surprise, the jeans fell off easily. He looked down and saw a pale curvy ass in a black thong. On Dax's right hip and down her thigh was a deeply detailed tattoo of two dragons, spiraling together around ice and fire. Feeling a new heat burning inside him, he open palmed slapped the supple white flesh. Dax moaned and Dylan could feel the vibration in his left hand.

He did it again, harder. A deep red handprint came to life on the pale skin of the tomboy. Dax's hands were spreading out blindly behind her and desperately grabbed at Dylan's crotch, eager for contact. Dylan shifted his hips, denying her the pleasure she felt she deserved.

"Give it to me sir," Dax gasped as Dylan gripped her throat tighter.

Dylan's anger abated and he spun Dax around, the pair now face to face. The fury in their eyes shifted to passion as they sized each other up. Dax made the first move, she jutted onto her tiptoes and her lips slammed into Dylan's. Dax moaned into Dylan's mouth as their tongues battled.

Dax clawed at Dylan's chest with black-polished nails. In her desperation, she finally caught the buttons of his shirt and yanked. White plastic shrapnel tore from the button holes as Dylan's top tore open. Dylan gripped the short hair of Dax and pulled her face back until they locked eyes. "You fucking cunt," Dylan whispered, a mix of anger and lust. Dax's eyes rolled back and she mumbled, "yes, sir..."

They continued to messily kiss, open-mouthed and breathy. Dax haphazardly pulled off Dylan's shirt and her hands darted to his belt. Dylan grabbed her wrists with one hand and raised the hand of his other hand and wagged his finger, shaking his head.

"Strip. Now."

Dax groaned at the command. As she retreated from Dylan, opening the space between them, Dax licked her lips hungrily. Once she was sure that Dylan got a good look at her body, Dax lifted the large hoodie over her head.

Above the thong, Dylan drank in the small, supple belly of Dax. It was not flat, but fit her wide hips and petite frame. As the hoodie rose, Dylan's eyes widened. Under the baggy hoody was a set of massive breasts, barely contained in a black lace bra. As the hoodie grazed them, they lifted and fell violently, Dax's cleavage jiggling dangerously. Dylan became aware of his boxers getting wet and was sure there was a stain growing on his vintage gabardine slacks.

Dylan watched as Dax unhooked the bra and released the enormous breasts. They swung low and spread as they settled. They were the biggest tits Dylan had ever seen and was shocked how well Dax hid them under that hoodie. Dax's nipples were nearly invisible, with areolas the same color as the rest of her skin. In each nipple was a black bar pierced through the erect nub of sensitive flesh. As Dax stood there, exposed, her hands moved to her large tits and began squeezing the stiff peaks of her nipples, tugging as Dylan stood slack-jawed.

Dylan took in the petite woman with the thick hips and big tits. He looked over the nipple piercing and dragon tattoo. He gazed at the smoky eye makeup and short black hair. The anger had dissipated and what he wanted now was this beautiful creature in any way he could.

He slowly approached Dax and kissed her again, hard and with purpose. Dax wrapped her arms around Dylan's neck and let him lift her body up onto the desk. Dax fumbled with Dylan's pants, until mercifully, they fell to the floor. Dylan's hands were busy kneading the big tits of Dax, so Dax pulled down on Dylan's boxers and immediately felt the heavy length of Dylan's cock land on her thong-covered pussy.

"Oh God..." Dax mumbled into Dylan's mouth as the large cock gyrated against her sheathed clit.

Dylan lavished kisses on Dax's collarbone, chest, and breasts. Dax's head flew back at the sensation, she already felt as though she were teetering on the edge of orgasm. "F... fuck... me.."

Dax reached down and pushed aside the thin fabric of the thong. Her bare skin around the opening slit was soaked and eager. She gripped the shaft of Dylan's cock and guided it into her waiting cunt. Dax groaned at the sensation of being filled. Dax's lips found Dylan's and he began pumping. Dax steadied herself on the desk. Dylan's girth stretched the soft interior of her cunt, delivering a delicious friction they both felt.

They expressed the shared pleasure by kissing deeper, more passionately. Dylan was going slow and deliberate, using the whole length of his cock to ease in and out of Dax. His pubic bone grinded against her clit. This caused a violent orgasm to buck Dax's body and she arched her back up in an unnatural arch. Dylan, grabbed Dax's wrists and pinned them above her head. At this, Dax moaned loudly. "Yes... sir..." she babbled as another orgasm ripped through her supine body.

Dylan unlocked his lips from Dax's and grabbed her fleshy hips and drilled deep into the now creamy cunt. He pounded relentlessly, turning Dax into a silent form, lost in the pleasure of being used. Dylan sped up, Dax became aware of his impending release.

Dylan pulled out of her pussy and Dax looked down in sadness, the empty feeling consuming her. However, it only took Dax to see Dylan's stern face to know what needed to be done. She dropped to her knees, opened her mouth, and pressed her large tits together awaiting Dylan's cum.

Dylan stood, powerful over her kneeling body. He pumped his fist on his cock a few times, aimed the tip down and came. He erupted six long, thick ropes of cum that landed on Dax's face, chest, and mouth. Dylan collapsed back in a chair, trying to catch his breath. Dax gleefully corralled the hot sticky fluid to her mouth, eager to swallow every last drop.

Dylan's cock lay limp over his thigh. Dax eyed it with a predatory gaze and began to crawl towards him. She placed soft kisses on the limp shaft and eventually took it into her mouth. She looked up at Dylan, eyes fluttering.

Dax spoke softly, "I'm not mad about the mural."

Dylan looked down at the woman suckling at his flaccid cock.

"I really only did it to see if you'd punish me. What you did was much better..." Dax spoke seductively.

Dylan's cock began to rise again, the sticky, drying cum cracking on his skin as the length came back to life.

"I really hope you make it to my concert tomorrow," Dax spoke slowly.

Dylan's eyes widened, realizing this sultry tomboy was DJ Q! With that, he drove his newly hardened length deep into Dax's throat. Dax's eyes rolled back and drool flooded the erect shaft, as she struggled to breath through her cum coated nose.

Dax pulled off the cock, "good... use that anger... use it..."

From the front desk, over the blasting hip-hop beats in the store, Stella heard a loud scream of pleasure, bordering on ecstasy.