spitting insults at her, stopped slapping her ass and pulling her hair, and grabbed hold of her hips instead, so tightly she thought he was going to rip the skin clean off the bone, she knew it was about to come.
He screamed like a bear with its leg caught in a sprung trap, tilted his head to the ceiling, and thrust as deeply as he could inside her. Mary-Lou felt his balls tighten, his cock head swell and the cum travel the length of his shaft before it exploded out of his cock hole, but most of all she felt relief. She screamed and moaned and wriggled around on his cock, and pretended as convincingly as she could that he'd brought her to orgasm.
A moment after he'd come, Carl pushed her onto the bed, away from his cock. He pulled up his trousers and guzzled down a gulp of whiskey.
“You dirty fucking slut”, he said to her. “Get out of my fucking house.”
Mary-Lou gathered her clothes quickly and put them on. She didn't count the money Carl thrust at her until she was back home, the door was locked, and she was as far away from him as she could be. It was the twenty dollars they'd agreed upon, and one of the notes was blood-stained.
Carl lay back on the bed for a while, looking up at the street lamp. Finally he got up.
“Denny, you fuck, where are you?”
Denny cowered in the darkest of the dark shadows under the table in the corner of the room. Carl opened the door and came in.
“I know you're there, you fuck, come out.”
He kicked at the make-shift bed, and then felt it with his hand. It was empty.
“You son of a bitch”, Carl said, surprised. “Well fuck you then, I know you're in here somewhere.”
He lit up a smoke, and Denny saw the devil in the eyes behind the creeping wisps of cherry red flame.
“Tell your piece of shit mother I'm going out. And Denny, if you tell her anything else, I'll fucking kill you.”
Denny heard the door slam, and didn't open his eyes until he heard his mom come back from work.
Chapter 4
H er hand hung over the edge of the bed, fingers locked in a claw, and eyes like marbles. She had red marks across her neck, bruises along her chest and a swollen cheek. She'd been dead for several days and the policemen hovering around her already putrefying body, held their hands to their mouths to stem the smell.
“Fucking disgrace”, one of the men said.
In a dining booth of a smoke filled café, where paintings of celebrities hung on the walls like family portraits, and the eggs came fried with butter and bacon fat, the same man, square jawed and heavy set, with a bust nose that had never been fixed right, and eyes that looked darker than the night itself, poured sugar into his coffee until the spoon would have stood straight up if he'd let it. His name was Cleveland Duncan and opposite him, watching him with a calm sense of familiarity, was Jack.
“Been to Old Hope, seen any of the boys?” Cleveland said, still stirring the sugary mess in the chipped enamel mug, that had a faded print of Mickey mouse on the side. He knew the answer but had to ask the question anyway, out of courtesy, and an old routine, the script of which both men knew well.
“You know I don't go up there anymore.”
“Yeah, well, you been gone so long.”
“It aint all that long.”
Jack tapped a cigarette out of his box and put it to his lips. For a while the two men watched each other, the smoke from Jack's cigarette meeting the steam from Cleveland's coffee, and together, spinning majestically in the air like fighting dragons.
“You look old”, Cleveland said.
“Fuck you. I am old.”
“Bust her rib and her cheek bone, you know that. Sonofabitch even fucked her after he killed her.”
“That why you brought me up here, tell me that?”
“You know what the police do with cases like this, they detail 'em and then they bury 'em.”
He gulped a slug of his coffee and then tapped a cigarette out of Jack's box for himself.
“They always have”, Jack said, with a tired sense of
He screamed like a bear with its leg caught in a sprung trap, tilted his head to the ceiling, and thrust as deeply as he could inside her. Mary-Lou felt his balls tighten, his cock head swell and the cum travel the length of his shaft before it exploded out of his cock hole, but most of all she felt relief. She screamed and moaned and wriggled around on his cock, and pretended as convincingly as she could that he'd brought her to orgasm.
A moment after he'd come, Carl pushed her onto the bed, away from his cock. He pulled up his trousers and guzzled down a gulp of whiskey.
“You dirty fucking slut”, he said to her. “Get out of my fucking house.”
Mary-Lou gathered her clothes quickly and put them on. She didn't count the money Carl thrust at her until she was back home, the door was locked, and she was as far away from him as she could be. It was the twenty dollars they'd agreed upon, and one of the notes was blood-stained.
Carl lay back on the bed for a while, looking up at the street lamp. Finally he got up.
“Denny, you fuck, where are you?”
Denny cowered in the darkest of the dark shadows under the table in the corner of the room. Carl opened the door and came in.
“I know you're there, you fuck, come out.”
He kicked at the make-shift bed, and then felt it with his hand. It was empty.
“You son of a bitch”, Carl said, surprised. “Well fuck you then, I know you're in here somewhere.”
He lit up a smoke, and Denny saw the devil in the eyes behind the creeping wisps of cherry red flame.
“Tell your piece of shit mother I'm going out. And Denny, if you tell her anything else, I'll fucking kill you.”
Denny heard the door slam, and didn't open his eyes until he heard his mom come back from work.
Chapter 4
H er hand hung over the edge of the bed, fingers locked in a claw, and eyes like marbles. She had red marks across her neck, bruises along her chest and a swollen cheek. She'd been dead for several days and the policemen hovering around her already putrefying body, held their hands to their mouths to stem the smell.
“Fucking disgrace”, one of the men said.
In a dining booth of a smoke filled café, where paintings of celebrities hung on the walls like family portraits, and the eggs came fried with butter and bacon fat, the same man, square jawed and heavy set, with a bust nose that had never been fixed right, and eyes that looked darker than the night itself, poured sugar into his coffee until the spoon would have stood straight up if he'd let it. His name was Cleveland Duncan and opposite him, watching him with a calm sense of familiarity, was Jack.
“Been to Old Hope, seen any of the boys?” Cleveland said, still stirring the sugary mess in the chipped enamel mug, that had a faded print of Mickey mouse on the side. He knew the answer but had to ask the question anyway, out of courtesy, and an old routine, the script of which both men knew well.
“You know I don't go up there anymore.”
“Yeah, well, you been gone so long.”
“It aint all that long.”
Jack tapped a cigarette out of his box and put it to his lips. For a while the two men watched each other, the smoke from Jack's cigarette meeting the steam from Cleveland's coffee, and together, spinning majestically in the air like fighting dragons.
“You look old”, Cleveland said.
“Fuck you. I am old.”
“Bust her rib and her cheek bone, you know that. Sonofabitch even fucked her after he killed her.”
“That why you brought me up here, tell me that?”
“You know what the police do with cases like this, they detail 'em and then they bury 'em.”
He gulped a slug of his coffee and then tapped a cigarette out of Jack's box for himself.
“They always have”, Jack said, with a tired sense of
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