"You know why I'm doin' this?" he asked, turning and glaring at her half-naked body. "Because all the others were zombies! That's right. Like zombies! The TV got them but it made them like zombies. Where's the fun in that? A guy likes a little life, spark, zip." He grinned at her. "You'll show a little life, spark, zip, won't you? You can bet your ass you will!"
He knelt before her again and unzippered her skirt, pulling it down the length of her legs and throwing it aside. He cut the red panties away and studied the chestnut-brown thatch of pubic hair, probing into her cunt, tickling her clit with a finger, and laughing at the way she shuddered.
She was a slender girl ó slender arms and legs with a small waist. So light he could have lifted her and held her with one arm. So slender and small there wasn't one chance in a million she'd be able to get away from him even if he untied her. He undressed and used the knife to cut the cords around her wrists and ankles. He left the handkerchief around her mouth and decided he'd remove it later if she didn't snatch it off.
"Why don't you make a run for it?" he suggested. "There's the door. Get through that door, up on the deck, jump over and swim like hell, and you'll be free!"
He had expected she'd be too paralyzed by fear to move but with a surprising agility she darted toward the door. Before she reached the door, he caught one of her wrists and yanked so hard he pulled her tumbling backwards, onto the floor. He crawled above her and fought to get between her long slender legs. She tore the handkerchief from her mouth, screamed deafeningly while she clawed at his face. He slapped her so hard her arms were suddenly limp, her head lolling on the floor.
Then he came down against the length of her body, shoving his hard prick into the softness of her cunt. She groaned and, as soon as she regained consciousness, her sharp fingernails flew at his face. He felt a stinging wetness on his cheek as her fingernails struck and he hit her jaw with his right fist ó holding back on the punch because he didn't want to break her jaw or snap her neck. Despite holding back on the punch, the blow split her lower lip and he thought he heard the crunch of some teeth.
Her eyes closed and she was still again. He slid his member up and down the length of her womanhood a few times and then stopped in something akin to disgust. With her unconscious, she wasn't any better than the zombies. Most of the fun had been the way she ran around and the way she screamed. He'd have to think of some ways to make her scream ...
He rose and walked around the cabin until he found his pack of cigars. He lit one and then sipped from the half-empty can of beer. His cheek felt as if blood was dribbling, reaching the edge of his jaw, and he glanced in the small round cabin mirror. She'd scratched his cheek bad and there were streaks of blood that had dribbled clear down to his jaw. He wiped at the blood and remembered that girl on the playground in Harris-burg. He'd been just a kid then ... how old? ... eight or nine? The girl had laughed at his face and said he had a nose and a face just like a clown. He'd shoved her to make her quiet but instead of making her quiet, it only made her scream and then the girl had come at him, screaming, scratching his face. Some boys in the playground thought he'd been hurting the girl although he hadn't done anything more than just give her a push ó thought he was hurting her because of the way she screamed so much. So the boys had come at him ó five of them, beaten him, and knowing he could never win against so many, he'd run home.
At home ó empty because his mother had gone away after that fight with his father, and his father was at work now ó he'd stood before the mirror and studied the scratches on his face exactly as he was doing now. Then he had gone to the window and stood there, looking down at the playground. The silence of the apartment was a heavy weight and it was strange there were no sounds in the other apartments; it was as if the world had died ó all except him and the kids down on the playground and they were only tiny dots from the apartment window.
He remembered the girl's laughter and the gentle shove he'd given her. He hadn't shoved her hard at all ó just a little shove to make her stop laughing. She'd started screaming ...
There were no tears on his cheeks, but he felt as if there were tears somewhere inside him, hot tears like drops of acid burning and killing his soul. He'd only wanted to play with the boys down there on the playground ó play a game of baseball or else just be with them. He hadn't had any intention of even talking to any of the girls on the playground or having anything to do with them unless it was just to "show off" in front of some and show them how strong he was by lifting something heavy or breaking something ...
He went back to the playground the next day, but the same girl and boys were there. The girl told the boys to "make him leave" and they did make him leave. He never played in that playground during all the years he and his father lived so near it. The nearest other playground was too far away to walk to and it seemed he never had the money for bus fares to get there, seemed he never had many friends when he was a kid. And, gradually, as he grew older, he saw again and again, the truth of his father's statement: Women are rotten. The girl in the playground had been a perfect example ó laughing at his face and then screaming for no reason at all.
"Ohhhhhh."
The girl moaning broke the chain of memories. He turned away from the mirror and went to the girl. Her eyes were fluttering. He sat on her stomach but only allowing part of his weight to settle on her, supporting himself mainly by his knees. She opened her mouth to scream but he said, "You make a noise right now and I'll break your teeth. You want to scream? Okay. But I'll tell you when to scream. I'll give you plenty of chances."
The girl struggled for control, seemed to obtain it, and did not scream.
"See what you did to my face?" he asked her, pointing at the scratches.
"How'd you like a few marks like that?" He took the knife and pressed the tip against one of her breasts. "Okay," he told her, "you can scream now!" and he drew a bloody line on the curve of her breast as she screamed, her eyes bulging and her body steel-taut beneath him. His cock hardened still more as she screamed and pearly drops fell to her stomach.
She fainted.
He rose and got the half-empty can of beer, held it above her and poured the liquid onto her face. When she regained consciousness, he knelt above her again, and held the knife near her other breast. "Okay. Scream!"
As he pressed the metal blade against the softness of her breast and drew redness, she screamed and fainted again. He rose and threw the knife aside.
It was fun to use the knife and fun to listen to her scream, but the way she fainted so often was irritating. He hadn't cut her deeply, had only scratched the surface of her flesh to imitate a fingernail scratch. The scratches would heal as easily as a fingernail scratch, but she had seen the bloody marks on her breasts and must have thought he'd permanently disfigured her.
If only there was some way to make her scream without making her faint ...
"Ooooohhh."
As her eyes fluttered open, he went to her and picked her up easily. He hefted her weight and judged she was so light in comparison to his strength that he could easily toss her across the cabin if he wanted. He held her before him and maneuvered until he managed to press the throbbing knob of his erect cock between her moist cunt lips. She was fully awake now and screaming ... Holding her before him, he half-ran the short distance to the cabin bulkhead and slammed her against the bulkhead ó flattening himself against her and the slamming-flattening action caused his cock to slide full-length within her. She moaned with the pain and he backed away from the wall to his original position, withdrawing his cock until only the tip remained within her, and then repeating the whole procedure of running while holding her before him, slamming her against the wall. He began to laugh.
Great! Fucking a woman by slamming her against a wall!
She continued to scream and finally fainted but there had been a satisfyingly long interval during which she had remained conscious and he realized it was only the knife that made her faint so rapidl
y ó the knife and the fear of being cut.
Later ó he made her assume various positions while he fucked her, once he made her mount his erect prick, and once he made her suck it. He filled himself with her screamings until he felt numb ó much like a man having finished a feast might feel ó contentedly numb. He had shot his come into her three times but he had fucked her in more than a dozen positions.
And then, as dawn approached, he knew the end was near. He had enjoyed her as much as possible, there was nothing else to do to her or with her and he had to be rid of her before the dawn and, probably, fishermen who would see his boat.
So he slid his half-hard cock into her cunt and began to slowly slide it back and forth. He held the knife near her throat and whispered, "A new game." He pressed the sharp edge of the knife against her throat but not hard enough to draw blood. "The game is called, 'I come, you go.' Get it? I fuck you until I come. As I come, I cut your throat and you go!" He continued to fuck her and was suddenly aware that she was too still, her eyes too blank. He felt the area of her heart, and felt her wrists for a pulse. Nothing.
She had died and he would never know the exact time she had died. He wondered if he had accidentally broken her neck or if she had died of a heart attack ?
He rose and looked down at the naked female body and felt a strange mixture of pride and joy. He had used her thoroughly and felt pride in the way he'd not wasted any of the time with her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"Shhhh." She turned halfway up the stairs with a finger across her lips. She held her shoes in her other hand and he ó at her instructions ó had removed his shoes, carrying them. They had crept up the wooden stairs outside the rear of the house with no sound at all and yet she had paused to warn him about silence as if he had made some sound.
He had met her at the bar not far from Debbie Kessler's house. Although it was obvious she wasn't a prostitute, she had been at the bar in search of a man. He'd decided to end her search.
"Never again," she'd said at the bar. "I'll never marry again if I live to be a hundred!"
"If you lived to be a hundred, nobody'd want you," a man at the bar remarked.
The bar closed at midnight and, after Clark had talked with her most of the evening, he offered, "Can I give you a ride home?"
"I only live a stagger from here."
"A stagger?"
"You know how people say a hop, skip, and a jump from here? When I've been drinking, I call it a stagger from here. That's why I come to this dump.
It's only a stagger from my apartment. I wouldn't come here for any other reason, believe me. I don't like to drive when I drink. It isn't safe to drive when you drink. So ... I come here."
"Can I stagger you home?" he'd asked, grinning at her.
"You can stagger me home, honey. You can stagger me any time you want!" She was gazing deep into his eyes, smiling. He knew it would be good with her because she was hungry for a man. Most of the conversation during the evening had revolved around her ex-husband and how she occasionally dated men but kept telling them she didn't want to get serious again. She was fed up with being a housewife. But ó obviously ó she wasn't fed up with men and still needed them.
"I'd like to stagger you," he told her in a lower voice. They were at the end of the bar with no one on their right. With a glance down the length of the bar to their left, he saw no one was looking in their direction and he dipped a hand to her knees, resting the palm on her knees and making no attempt to slide the hand beneath her dress, but pressing the tips of his fingers against the soft inner parts of her thighs.
"Ummmm." She closed her eyes briefly, the smile wider. "I can hardly wait for you to stagger me, honey."
"I'll stagger you like you've never been staggered before."
"Ummmm." She sipped her glass of beer. "I'll bet you will. It's been a long time since I've been staggered."
The bartender was turning off some of the lights. Customers were leaving. He slid from the bar stool and nodded toward the door.
"You go first," she said in a low voice. "Turn left when you leave here.
Wait about two blocks down the street. Some of the people here know me and they might get the wrong idea if they see us leaving together."
"Let me tap a kidney first," he said.
"Tap a kidney?"
"That's a medical way of saying I have to take a leak."
She laughed ó so hard that others in the bar turned and looked at them for a moment. When he left the men's room, she was still at the bar and a man was sitting beside her, talking to her earnestly. As he walked by her, when her head was turned so the man beside her could not see her face, she winked at him.
Two blocks down the street, he waited beside a huge elm tree and itched to smoke a cigarette but didn't light one because the glow would have made him more conspicuous. He heard the tap of her high heels on the sidewalk when she was still a block away and he thought of Alma ó how Alma had walked down a sidewalk ó every bit a lady but still with such a lush swing of lovely nyloned legs she magnetized male eyes.
Alma. He wondered at the change in himself. He had never wanted another woman while Alma was alive. He had only taken other women when they almost threw themselves at him. Now that Alma was gone, he seemed to be content to take any tramp that came along. It was as if his soul had been separated from his body. His body needed a woman occasionally. It didn't matter who she was. It was a physical need such as eating and sleeping.
Her apartment was a second floor one with outside stairs. There were lights in windows of the first floor and it was at the bottom of the stairs she asked him to take off his shoes and carry them. At the top of the stairs, she silently opened the door and stepped inside, holding the door until he was inside. As soon as she closed the door, she was against him, pulling his head down to hers. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him.
He raised her dress with one hand and fondled her cunt with the other. Her mouth grew warmer and wetter beneath his mouth and he felt both her hands fumble at his zipper. She was trembling beneath the touch of his hand and, in her excitement, her own hands tugged rhythmically at his cock ó tugging and squeezing so hard he had to warn her, "Wait ó " grasping her wrists and holding her hands motionless.
She released her grip and led him into the bedroom. A grayness of a bedroom and he watched her undress, undressing himself. Naked, she came to him and seized his hard cock with both hands again, kissing him, whispering, "Fuck me! Ohhh ... fuck me! I'm dying for it!"
"Let's turn on a light," he said while leaning slightly backward and looking down at the grayness of her naked breasts and loins. He wanted to see her.
"We can't turn on the lights," she said. "I have a friend ... next house ... if she sees lights, she'll want to come over and talk all night with me.
She's a nut."
"Oh."
"Wait a minute. Maybe we can compromise." She went to the bedroom windows and turned the Venetian blinds so the moonlight came into the room, illuminating their naked bodies. He wondered if the bit about the neighbor watching for evidence of her return was the truth or only an excuse to keep her body hidden. Was she ashamed of her body? Her breasts were large but sagging like hell. She had too much of a belly ó a round belly that must have been held in place by a girdle and, by the glow of the moonlight, he could see her thighs were flabby. "Good enough?" she asked.
"Good enough."
She came to where he was standing, bent and peered down at his manhood.
"God!" she exclaimed. "What a hunk of meat! It looks big enough to tear me apart! You won't hurt me, will you?" She giggled.
"I promise."
She hurried onto the bed and he followed. Upon sinking his rod into her, he found that her concern about his hurting her had been a pure fantasy or wishful thinking on her part. Her vagina was so large in diameter that he could feel the slippery soft flesh of it, but there was no tightness. Her hand had felt bett
er!
He fucked her as fast as possible, trying to make up for the lack of pressure by an increased speed, but although she trembled beneath him like a bowlful of jelly in her sexual ecstasy and climax, he seemed to be further and further from completion. In a kind of desperation, he closed his eyes and pretended the woman beneath him was Elaine, and summoned all the memories he could of her: the way her soft red lips had curved in teasing half-smiles, the image of her long lovely legs, her hot dark eyes, the sound of her voice, the whispery feeling of her hair, the flash of her nyloned legs, the smell of her perfume ... and when the pretense reached a height, his cock pulsed gobs of sperm into the woman beneath him.
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