(II)
Stick drove slowly down Ironmongers Lane, peering into the semi-darkness to
avoid parked cars. The headlights of his battered van were turned off. No
sense advertising his presence. Somewhere near here, if he remembered
correctly, there was a right turn that led to the dumpster. He'd used it
several times before, driving the eight miles from town with special
packages, rather than trusting them to city sanitation crews.
He almost passed up the turn, pulled a hard right then followed the short
street to the cul de sac.
The dumpster loomed in front of him, with something pale, packing material
perhaps, hanging from its rim.
He got out quietly, slid back the door and lifted his package from the
floor. It was wrapped in black plastic garbage bags and tied with rope.
When he reached the dumpster, he could see what was hanging from it more
clearly.
It was a body, a young woman's body. She was bent over the rim, her head and
arms and upper body dangling outside, the rest of her - assuming there was a
rest of her - still inside.
He carefully laid his package on the ground, leaned forward and touched the
body. It was still warm. He knelt, grabbed a handful of blonde hair and
lifted her head. He was gazing into the most beautiful face he had ever
seen. Her eyes, which had been closed, opened partially, and her lips tried
to form a word, but only a soft moan emerged.
He gently released her hair, then, using a fragment of a concrete block that
was lying next to the dumpster, propped the lid open enough and began to
pull her out. It wasn't easy, and she cried out as her hips and legs cleared
the rim.
He lost his balance, and she landed on top of him. He lay there a moment,
trying to resist the urge to unzip his pants and fuck her right there, next
to the dumpster - hell, in the dumpster, anywhere. His dick was as hard as
concrete.
But this was crazy. He had to get her out of here. He picked her up and
placed her gently on the floor of the van. He pulled a blanket from under
the driver's seat and wrapped it around her. It was then that he noticed a
foul smell. Maybe it was from her being dumped in with all the garbage. Or
maybe she had pissed herself, poor thing.
No matter, he'd get her back to the apartment in town and wash her up. He'd
get her a cup of tea and turn on the gas heater in the living room.
Then he'd fuck her and fuck her and fuck her. They didn't call him Stick
because he was tall and thin. In fact, he was short and wiry. They called
him Stick, and he called himself Stick, because of his nearly perpetual
erection - an erection that masturbation a dozen times a day and occasional
long weekends with women could not tame.
*****
When SG regained consciousness - regained it enough to remember who she was,
and who she had been - she was lying in a hot bath, amid mounds of bubbles.
A man with a square face and dark hair was caressing her with a sponge. His
expression was one of concern and gentleness. It seemed a long, long time
since she had experienced gentleness.
He slid the sponge over her breasts, down her belly and between her legs.
She sighed and closed her eyes. Then she felt his lips on her eyelids. He
was kissing her, even as the sponge caressed her pussy under the warm water.
After the bath, as Stick had hoped and planned, they made love beside the
gas heater, on a pile of thick bath towels. Unbidden, she took his cock into
her mouth and softly sucked it. She stroked his scrotum. Then she spread her
legs and invited him in. He had never been hotter, and she - well, she had
never had an experience like this before.
Or had she? She tried to remember the previous night. Had it been a bad
dream, those cruel and contemptuous men beating her and sticking their dicks
in her? She shuddered beneath Stick's humping body as the memory of the
pickup truck and the jumper cables washed over her.
Stick mistook her shudder for passion and redoubled his efforts.
*****
She awakened to the sound of his voice. He was telling her about his
roommate, someone named Stars. He seemed worried. SG smiled and caressed his
cock. He placed his hand on her shoulder, then leaned down to kiss her on
the mouth.
There was the sound of a key in the lock of the front door, and he said,
urgently, "She's here. Stay quiet. Don't do anything to piss her off."
The door opened, and standing there was a young woman in black biking shorts
and a black leather vest that left her muscular, tattooed arms and shoulders
exposed. Her hair was short and very black and seemed to stick out in all
directions.
She radiated an angry, unstable energy.
"Hi, honey," Stick said. "We've got a house guest for a few days." He
gestured to SG, who had wrapped a towel around herself and stood timidly
behind him. His warnings had confused SG. Should she step forward and offer
this strange woman her hand? Should she introduce herself?
Instead, she remained silent--and hoped for the best.
