Red - Jack Ketchum [42]
Then he’s unbuttoning the side of her dress.
He’s aware that his mouth has gone dry and is hanging open — he’s mouth-breathing again, which he hasn’t done since the second grade — and that he’s clutching the wad of dirty gum so hard it’s gone soft again.
His father pulls the dress up and drapes it over the woman’s shoulder.
He can see everything now. Her bush. No — her cunt. Everything.
His father drops trou.
And something else hasn’t gone soft on either of them.
~ * ~
It is the way of the world and she has expected this. There is a time to dominate and attack and a time to submit and this is just another submission in a series she has lately suffered at his hands. He now spits on one of those hands and strokes her cunt and spits again and strokes his cock, takes her ass in the other hand — she smiles to herself, the wounded hand and lifts her, enters her and begins to work. And it is work because she is dry inside, has been dry since the death of First Stolen who filled her as this one never could, whose teeth marks remain on her shoulder to this day.
She thinks of First Stolen and his teeth and his cock and hands and thus makes it easier for the man, makes her cunt slicker. She does this as she focuses on the hole in the cellar door. A small hole but one she hasn’t missed. Behind the small hole there is an eye which watches in the dark. In that eye she has recognized the same cruelty as in the man.
Only younger. And sweeter to the taste.
She nods to the eye and smiles.
~ * ~
Jesus! Brian flinches away from the peephole as though she’d poked him in the eye. She sees him! She knows he’s there! How the hell can she know that? He hasn’t made a sound.
And this is the second time she’s caught him.
His cock retreats into his hand.
But then he thinks. Who cares what she knows? She can’t tell anybody. No speaka da English. His eye returns to the peephole again. Fuck what she knows or doesn’t know.
His father is grunting. He can hear him grunting which means it’s loud. He’s nearing home base. It occurs to him that he’s watching his own dad down there. Is there something incestuous about that? Something gay? He doesn’t think so. But he doesn’t much care one way or another. He’s watching this woman get fucked, that’s all. He’s watching her tits fall up and down, watching her thighs quiver with each of his father’s thrusts. He can almost smell her sweat.
And then suddenly he’s coming. He’s shooting jizz all over the grass at the base of the cellar door. It’s fucking pumping out of him in jets, in spurts. Like he’s hemorrhaging out here and his cock is so sensitive he has to take his hand away or he’s going to groan out loud or faint dead away but it’s shooting out of him anyhow — his cock isn’t done with him yet — and he’s trembling all over and shooting and then finally he’s still.
~ * ~
The man clutches at her breast as though he wants to rip it off her body and then moans and shudders and releases into her.
If she has a child by the man she will kill it.
She has done so before.
~ * ~
Cleek thinks that once this really got going it was probably the best damn fuck of his life.
Despite the odor of her mouth.
So what’s wrong here? Why is it that he can’t wait to tuck his dick back into his shorts? Is he afraid of disease? He isn’t, not really. He can’t see her having the AIDS virus living alone out there in the woods. And anything else is treatable as the common cold nowadays.
What, then?
He can’t figure it.
He looks at her. At her face, her eyes. And there it is.
He sees something cold and blank and without any emotion whatsoever or any regard for him at all. He sees himself looking back at himself.
He feels something vaguely like shame.
He buttons her up. She looks fine. Like he’s never been there at all. He turns off the cellar light and leaves her in the dark.
~ * ~
The Woman shifts