Fiends ssc, p.9
Fiends SSC, p.9Richard Laymon
‘Lookit all the babes!’ Willy slowed down and stared out at them. ‘Nice. Really really nice. Hey, lookit the titties on that one!’
‘Want her instead of me?’ Marty asked, trying to sound annoyed. ‘You can take her to your cabin.’
‘Shit, I’d take ya both. Wouldn’ mind that. Wouldn’ mind at all. Not a bit. Little variety… I’d screw ya one adda time, ’n both at once. Wouldn’ mind that.’
But he kept on driving. Past a closed gas station, into the town’s business district. All the stores were closed. Some kept their signs turned on, but most didn’t. Every store had a light inside casting a dim, lonely glow onto the deserted sidewalks in front. The marquee of the movie theater near the end of town was dark. Its ticket booth was empty. Through the glass doors of the lobby, Marty could see a man in a purple coat talking with a uniformed girl at the snack counter.
‘How come you didn’t stop for that queen of tits at the Dairy Queen?’ Marty finally asked. ‘Thought you wanted…’
‘You’d of tried to get away.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. Not anymore. I’ve been… remembering. How it was the last time.’ She rubbed his hand against her groin. ‘How good it felt.’
‘You were screaming.’
‘Just ’cause I was scared. But I loved how you felt. Inside me. I want you inside me. Just like before.’
‘Liked it, huh?’
‘It was the best ever. If we weren’t in this damn town, I’d make you pull off the road right now and fuck me.’
‘We’ll be outa here in a minute.’
‘Hurry.’ She stood the bottle on his leg. Willy took his hand away from her and lifted the bottle to his mouth. As he drank, Marty squeezed the front of his jeans. His penis was hard. She felt it move under her hand.
The tires bumped over railroad tracks at the end of town.
Pretty soon, Marty thought. Can’t let the town get too far behind.
There were houses on both sides of the road. Then an open gas station, a cafe called Bab’s Burgers, a motel with its big sign flashing Wayside Motor Inn.
‘A motel!’ Marty blurted. ‘Why don’t we go in and get a room?’ She gave him another gentle squeeze. ‘Think how nice it would be. We’d have a bed.’
They had already left the motel behind, but Marty didn’t give up. ‘Come on, Willy. It’d be great. You oughta turn around. We’d have a big old bed. And a shower. We could take a shower together. Have you ever done it in the shower? We’d both be all slippery…’
‘Shit!' Willy blurted. ‘Lookit her!' Marty saw her, and groaned.
It was a girl, probably no older than sixteen, slim and blonde and walking backward along the roadside, her arm out, her hand closed, her thumb pointing behind her. She wore a paisley dress skimpy enough to guarantee rides from men.
Willy’s foot lifted off the gas pedal.
‘Don’t stop,’ Marty whispered.
The girl took a wide stance, her dress drawing taut across her crotch.
Now the girl was behind them, and Willy’s foot was lowering onto the brake pedal.
‘Don’t stop, honey. You have me.’ Marty capped the bourbon bottle and set it on the floor. ‘You don’t need anyone but me.’
The car stopped. Marty looked over her shoulder. The girl, bathed in the eerie redness of the rear lights, was starting to jog forward.
Too damn young! Just a kid.
‘Drive,’ Marty said.
She jerked open Willy’s belt, unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down. He had no underwear on. His penis was a thick, pale column tilting upward, its tip almost touching the steering wheel.
Marty heard footfalls in the gravel. In the side mirror, she saw the girl hurrying toward them.
Closer and closer…
Only a few strides away…
‘Drive!’ Marty said and dropped down toward Willy’s lap and took him into her mouth and sucked.
Willy stepped on the gas.
‘Hey!’ the girl yelled.
Willy sped away from her.
Marty slid her mouth, licking and sucking.
‘Uhhh, yeah,’ Willy gasped. ‘Yeah. Oh, babe! Suck me off. Do it, do it! C’mon!’
She had saved the girl.
He might go back to her if I stop.
She kept on.
Gotta get him into the woods. Away from the car and Dan.
If Dan’s even still in the trunk.
If Dan’s even alive.
If she finished Willy with her mouth, he might not bother taking her into the woods. He might take her straight to the cabin.
Don’t wanta go there.
She tried to take her mouth away, but Willy gripped the back of her head and held her down.
Pushed her down, ramming deep.
She gagged and struggled to pull away but Willy only forced her head down harder.
He’d kill me for sure.
But she was choking. It was blocking her throat. She tried to breathe through her nose, but couldn’t.
Her hand reached up and found the steering wheel.
She grabbed the wheel and tugged.
Willy’s hand leaped away from the back of her head.
Marty, still clutching the wheel, resisting Willy’s efforts to turn it, shoved herself up until her mouth was empty.
She was still choking when the car swerved to the side of the road and skidded to a stop.
‘Coulda got us killed,’ Willy said. ‘That’s twice…’
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t mean to grab the wheel.’ She leaned against him, kissed him, and lowered her hand onto his lap. She lightly wrapped her fingers around him. He was as big as before, wet and slick from her mouth. ‘Let’s go in the woods now,’ she whispered.
‘Sure. Why the hell not. Where’s the bottle?’
Marty found it under the seat, and sat up with it. Shaking it, she heard sloshing sounds; some bourbon still remained in it.
Willy finished fastening his jeans. Then he shoved the car keys into his right front pocket. He climbed out, the revolver in his hand, and pushed its barrel down the front of his waistband. ‘Bring the bottle with ya,’ he said.
Marty opened her door. The night air rushed in. It was cooler than before, but felt balmy after the chill of the air-conditioner. She climbed out and shut the door.
Willy came over to her side of the car. ‘Let’s go this way,’ he said. He draped an arm over her shoulders and she led him down a grassy embankment. At the bottom, the ground was springy and wet. Water pressed up between Marty’s toes. But the ground was dry on the slope. She climbed higher. Just beyond the top of the ditch, the trees began.
‘Don’ wanna go far,’ Willy said, pulling back at the edge of the forest.
Marty kissed him on the mouth. ‘We wanta get away from the road, don’t we? Case somebody comes by?’
He answered by squeezing her breast. Then he said, ‘Gimme the bottle, honey.’
She handed it to him, then led him forward. They walked past three trunks, clumps of bushes, more trees, deeper and deeper into the woods, farther from the car. Farther from Dan in the trunk.
If he’s in the trunk.
Finally, they came to a small, moonlit clearing. ‘How about here?’ Marty asked.
Willy swung her around. She hugged him. One of his hands slipped under the back of her jersey and roamed her bare skin. The other, holding the bottle outside her jersey, pressed her tightly against him.
The revolver dug into her belly.
Get my hands on it…
She lowered a hand, squeezed Willy’s thigh, raised her hand to the hard bulge, squeezed and fondled him there as his mouth pressed her lips roughly and his tongue pushed between her teeth. Sneaking her hand sideways, she felt the steel barrel through his jeans.
‘Wrong gun,’ he gasped into
She pulled his zipper down and reached into the open fly.
His hand was no longer under her jersey. It bumped against her hand, and she wondered for a moment what he was up to.
As she slipped him out through his fly, he unfastened the front of her shorts.
She raised her hand to his belt buckle.
Her knuckles brushed the wooden grip of the revolver.
Now! Do it now! Grab it!
But her hand wouldn’t move. It stayed at the belt buckle, trembling.
Willy started tugging at her shorts. They were tight. He jerked and dragged at them until he got them down around her knees. They were loose there. When he let go of them, they dropped to her ankles.
He pushed his hand between her thighs.
Grab his gun!
A finger slipped into her.
With a gasp, she staggered backward. The shorts caught her ankles. Caught and held and tripped her.
Willy held on.
Held on and went down with her as she fell and smashed her hard against the ground.
The pistol butt rammed into her belly.
The bottle under her back broke.
From the clink it made before bursting, Marty guessed it had struck a rock.
The back of her jersey was suddenly soaked with bourbon. And maybe blood. She felt glass in her skin.
‘The bottle broke,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’Willy pulled his arm out from under her.
‘I’m cut,’ Marty said. ‘It’s under my back. It’s in pieces. It’s cutting me. You’ve gotta get off.’
‘Please.’ There were pieces buried in her skin. She felt numb in places. Other places were starting to sting, and streams of blood were tickling along the arch of her back. ‘Just get off me for a second...
Willy pushed himself up and sat across her hips.
She started to raise her back off the ground, but he clutched her throat and held her down.
Grinning, he shook his head. Either he was too drunk to understand or care about the glass under Marty, or he liked the idea of grinding her into it.
Pleading, she thought, might only make it worse.
Willy pulled the revolver out of his jeans, tossed it on the wet grass about six feet away, and unbuckled his belt.
‘Honey,’ Marty said, trying to stay calm. ‘Let go of my throat, okay?’ She crossed her arms over her belly and started to pull up the jersey. ‘I can’t get it off without sitting up.’
He leaned back, taking his hand from her neck, and finished opening his jeans. Then he took off his shirt and threw it aside.
As Marty slowly raised her back off the ground, she pulled the jersey up. It was sticky with blood. Shards of glass pulled loose from her back, dropped and tinked against others. When the jersey was off, she flung it away. Sitting upright, she wrapped her arms around Willy and hugged him tightly…
And twisted to the left so they tumbled sideways, rolling.
She came down on her side. Though she felt no broken glass, she knew it couldn’t be more than a few inches away. So she wrestled Willy onto his back. Stretched out on top of him, she pushed her open mouth against his.
Reaching out with one arm, she patted the dewy grass. Stretched her fingers.
Then had to look.
The revolver lay three or four inches beyond her fingertips.
Willy squirmed beneath her, trying to force her legs apart.
They suddenly rolled onto their sides. Farther from the gun.
Marty swung a leg over him and forced him onto his back again.
Straddling him, she reached out for the revolver.
He clutched her buttocks and thrust.
Marty grabbed the gun by its barrel.
Willy’s penis rammed deep into her, throbbing and squirting.
She swung the pistol and clubbed the side of his head.
Willy yelped. His body jerked rigid, and he suddenly went limp.
Except for the part that was buried in Marty.
Still rigid, it kept jumping and spurting for a few seconds after the rest of Willy seemed to be unconscious.
As fast as she could, Marty climbed off.
On her feet, she took a couple of steps backward, then stopped and reversed the revolver and took aim at Willy.
He wasn’t hard any more.
He lay motionless on the ground.
Marty felt blood running down her back, her buttocks, and the backs of her legs. She felt semen dribble out of her and trickle down her left thigh.
Soon, Willy moaned and pressed a hand against his ear. He squirmed a little.
When he opened his eyes, Marty thumbed back the hammer and aimed at his face.
‘Don’t,’ he said. The word came out like a groan of pain and fear. ‘Please, don’t shoot me.’
‘Dirty rotten bastard,’ she said.
‘Don’t move.’ Keeping the gun leveled at him, she crouched and
picked up his shirt. She wiped herself with it and flung it at him. He cringed as if he expected the shirt to burn him. When it fell onto his legs, he flinched.
‘Don’t move,’ Marty repeated.
Trying to keep the revolver aimed at Willy as much as possible, she put on her shorts. Then she picked up her torn, bloody jersey. She put the gun through its right sleeve and used her left hand to pull the jersey up her arm and over her head. For a few moments, she was blind. But when she could see again, Willy was still on his back.
She changed the gun to her left hand, worked it under the jersey and out through the left sleeve.
‘Okay,’ she said, the jersey still rucked up above her breasts. ‘Pull your pants up.’
As he drew the jeans up his legs, Marty tugged her jersey down. It felt heavy and wet and sticky against her back. It hurt her cuts, but she was glad to be dressed.
She waited for Willy to finish with his jeans. Then she told him to put on his shirt.
When he had it on, she said, ‘Stand up.’
‘Where we going?’ he asked.
‘Back to the car. Let’s go.’
Trying to get to his feet, he staggered and fell down. But he tried again. This time, he made it.
‘Walk ahead of me,’ Marty told him.
He turned his back to her and started walking. He walked awkwardly, sometimes stumbling.
Marty followed him, staying a few paces back and out of reach. Soon after they entered the thick trees, she uncocked the gun to prevent it from going off by accident.
It seemed to take a very short time to reach the edge of the woods.
Marty followed Willy down the grassy slope to where the ground was soggy, and up the embankment to the road. Willy stopped beside the car and turned around to face her.
‘Open the trunk,’ she ordered.
‘Okay,’ said Willy. But he didn’t move.
‘Whatcha gonna do if I don’t?’
‘Shoot you and open it myself.’
‘You ain’t gonna shoot me.’
‘Just open the trunk and…’
He lurched toward Marty, reaching for the gun.
She pulled the trigger.
Willy grabbed the barrel. As he jerked the gun away from her, he punched her in the face.
Marty dropped to her knees.
‘It’s single action,’ he said. ‘You dumb fuck. Gotta cock it.’
His fist came in, smashing her face again. And again. And again. She slumped backward.
Willy said something, but she couldn’t hear him through the ringing in her ears. She tried to get up. Her legs were bent behind her and her arms wouldn’t work right.
Willy walked toward the rear of his car.
Marty struggled to her knees. Her head drooped. It felt as heavy as lead. The side of her face was burning from the punches. She wanted to let her arms f
Instead, groaning with pain, she raised her head. She saw Willy open the trunk of the car. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but she didn’t have the strength. Then she saw him raise the revolver, cock it, and aim into the trunk.
‘NO!’ she screamed.
The gun blasted, leaping in his hand.
Marty struggled to her feet and staggered to the back of the car. Before Willy could grab her, she glimpsed Dan’s face in the darkness of the trunk.
The top of his head was partly gone.
She kicked and squirmed in Willy’s arms, but couldn’t get loose until her teeth found his ear and she bit it hard. His yell of pain stunned her for a second. Then she realized that he had let go of her.
She dashed to the edge of the embankment and jumped as far as she could. She made it almost to the bottom before her heels hit the wet grass. Her legs flew forward and her rump hit the slope. She slid the rest of the way down, then scrambled to her feet and ran, splashing through the soggy grass.
‘Stop!’ Willy shouted.
Her legs chugged, carrying her up the rise on the other side of the ditch.
From behind her came the sound of a metallic clank.
The gun hammer dropping.
But there must’ve been no live round in the chamber, because there was only the clank and no blast.
She reached the top of the slope.
Broke into a sprint for the woods.
A root snagged her foot.
As she lurched forward, falling headlong, a gunshot split the night.
Willy grinned when he saw the girl walking backward alongside the road ahead, her thumb out. The same girl he’d tried to stop for, back near that town.
She must’ve passed his car while he’d been out in the woods with Marty.
She’d gone a pretty good distance, too.
A mighty quick walker.
He stopped his car beside her. ‘Want a lift?’ he called out the passenger window.
‘Man, oh man, do I!’
The light inside the car came on when she opened the door, and Willy got a good look at her.
Nice. Real nice.
He always did like the young stuff, and the way this gal’s dress was clinging to her skin… He watched it slide up her thighs when she climbed into the car.
Fiends SSC by Richard Laymon / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes