Dethklok: Growing Dethpains

Later...

"C'mon, Dad, go long!," shouted the girl, clutching the football. Puffing, Nathan complies, narrowly missing a dive by Toki. As soon as she threw the pigskin at Nathan something like a brick wall tumbled into her, sending the teen head over heels. "Ooof!," came out of her. "Hey," she protested. "Get off me."

"I was just tackling you," argued Murderface, still sprawled over her. "It's a fair move."

"Stop spitting when you talk!," Judy complained. The she kneed him in the gut.

"Oww! you little bitch, why I oughta--," and a serious brawl developed between them.

"Hey! Hey, stop that!," ordered Nathan.

"Hoo-weee, a good ol' fight!," chortled Pickles.

"Hah, watch Murderface getting beatens by thats little girl," Skwisgaar chuckled.

"I said, stop it!," barked Nathan, marching to the struggling pair and scooping one up in each arm, shaking them like rats.

"I'm never havin' kids," whined Murderface. "How d'you keep it from happening?"

"Bwell, that wouldn't be hards for you Murderface--you never has any laydeez," taunted Skwisgaar, dusting dirt off himself.

"Shut up, dildo!," the bassist cried.

Nathan finally releases them. "Sorry, Dad," Judy says. "But he's just so mean."

"I, uh, feel weird with you calling me that."

"What? Dad? You...don't want me to call you that?," and the look she gave him was his own green eyes welling up with tears, her full bottom lip quivering.

"Well, uh, I guess you can call me that. Since I am, yanno, uh, your father."

"What, she gonna cry now?," pouts Murderface.

"I am not!," Judy declares hotly, socking him in the shoulder.

"Ouch! Nathan, she's got your arm," Murderface rubs his shoulder ruefully.

Judy grinned smugly while she wiped grass stains off her jogging pants--aw, she had holes in the knees and a tear in her t-shirt now. Grumbling, she went to the water cooler for a drink and spewed out a mouthful of something than burned her throat. The guys laughed. "What is that stuff?," she sputtered after her coughing fit subsided.

"Vodka," answers the skinny drummer, holding his sides with laughter.

"Bleccch," she went, stumbling against the picnic table, upsetting the cooler of vodka which sloshed onto some cords leading to an outdoor stage setup. The band had planned on practicing outside in the nice weather. Three hooded roadies who'd been working on the soundboard and amps were promptly electrocuted, bodies thrashing about violently. Spars flew, of all different colors, and sizzling sounds came from the unfortunates.

"Brutal," Nathan breathed. He whipped out his personal voice recorder and spoke into it, "New idea for song title--vodka-cuted."

Finally the current subsided, the Klokateers lifeless, cooked forms dropping like sacks of flour. "Wowee," affirmed Toki. "That's metal."

"Oh!," gasped Judy, horrified. ""Oh! I'm sorry--oh man, I didn't mean it omigod omigod," she ran to Nathan, burying her face in his massive chest.

"Uh...it's ok, Judy. Really."

"Jah, ackskidents happens," assured Toki.

"Smells like cookout," sniffs Skwisgaar. "I's hungries."

"Yeah, let's go get summin ta eat," agrees Pickles, heading for the entrance to the living quarters.

"What about them?," asked the teen, meaning the now-deceased employees.

"The other hoodies will clean them up," Nathan says, patting the girl on the back.

Charles Foster Ofdensen watched them walking form his high office window, the girl between her father and Toki, smiling again after her trauma. She certainly was a lot like Nathan, but wrapped up in a tasty feminine package. Damn, nice ass on her, he mused. She'll definately be something else when she's full-grown, he thought, a small smile tugging at his lips. The downside of all this would be Nathan's protectiveness towards her. He could see allowances, college funds, trust funds and the like eating at Dethklok's profits. Ah well, she seems pretty self-sufficient, like her mother, perhaps she wasn't just after money.

He was, however.

And yet...he wanted her. Badly. What the hell, he went on--he was not pedophile. She was only 15, for God's sake! He'd entertained himself with dalliances with groupies, interns, female roadies. He bored easily, however--and of late he'd been celibate. He was a busy man, after all.

All of a sudden he was horny.



Not long after that...

Skwisgaar threw open the door to the CFO's office, saying "Ofdensen, I needs talks to yous. How long is this girl staying here?," then he stopped short.

The manager was masturbating to a picture of Judy and was just as surprised as the guitarist.

"Ahh...you is one sick puppys," Skwisgaar wags his finger at him. "You likes her too, eh?"

"Umm...Skwisgaar this isn't exactly a good time--"

"When is good times? When yous not shining your pickle? I wants to knows when annoying schoolgirl is leavings, but I guess she stayings. She no likes me, what makes you think she'll likes you, you stupid butler?

eh?"

"Look, Skwisgaar, how long she stays is up to her and her father," Ofdensen tried to take control of the conversation, his dick still in his hand.

"Bwell," huffs the tall man. "Don't let me interrupts your playtimes."

"Good. I'll guess I'll finish, then," the manager states.

Skwisgaar was intensely sorry after that he tried scowling at the other to intimidate him; it didn't work. He had to give the man credit--he himself wouldn't have been able to get off with another dude standing there looking at him. "I's goings to be sick," he moaned, leaving the office.

Ofdensen merely grinned and reached for some more tissue.



"Let me sees your cd's," Toki says, poking through the lass's belongings in her room.

"Ok," she responds, showing him her collection.

"What the hells? My Chemicals Romance? Aww," he snorts, thumbing through them. "Bunch more emos craps....Led Zeppelins, ok....craps bands...Staind? Ughhh."

"Don't make fun," Judy whined.

"You needs to get some good brutal stuffs, start out with old school like Diamond Head, get some Finanacially Raped, hey you know that one of Skwigaar's old bands."

The teen was listening to him in earnest. She would learn to be cool...or brutal.

"Oh! You has Snakes and Barrels! That Pickle's old band!"

"He was in Snakes n' Barrels? No way!"

"Jah. There might be some helps for yous after all," Toki smiled at her, and she couldn't help staring at his bright blue eyes. He was so exuberant and naive, like a child; but he wasn't a child, she could see. He had defined arms and she felt his hard abdomen when he brushed past her to look at more cds. He wasn't much taller than her and not bulky like her father was, but he was strong. He pulled the whole shelf the ginormous entertainment center rested on to retrieve a cd that fell behind it like it was nothing.

"Yous wears brassieres like this? Likes pole dancers?," Toki held up a lacy black-and-pink bra she'd bought at the mall near her mother's home.

"Gimme that," she snaps, grabbing for it.

'You just a kid," he goes on with a scandalized expression. "You shouldn'ts bes wearings things like dat."

"Don't lecture me, all right?"

Realizing she was becoming upset he stopped, then put the bra on his head, exclaiming "Helps me Obi Wans Kenholbes, yous my only hopes!"

She couldn't help but laugh at his antics.