Contagion

By Brewt.Blacklist

January-July 2011

Richard

Lift

ISN'T THAT sweet? The little dish is fronting for her man that she doesn't think I know about. Can't see him, sure, but I know he's, oop, there he is.

"Thanks for stoppin'. It's frickin' cold out here!"

That's not the word he really wanted to use.

"Really, we appreciate it, a lot. Ahh. I'm not kiddin' about the cold."

"No problem. Where ya headin'?"

"We's headin' North."

"North, Miss Tessmaker."

I looked in the rearview mirror to see the girl smiling. She was sorta pretty, underneath the grime.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that."

"She's, uh, quoting a movie. Superman."

"You know, this is probably the most dangerous way you could have picked to get from Point A to Point B."

"Where's Point Bee, Aunt Bee?" She laughed. Okay, maybe she's not all that bright.

"Well, we were kinda hopin' a cop would pick us up, arrest us, give us a place to stay for a coupla nights."

This might have been even stupider on my part than I expected.

"No, no, we ain't dang'rous, or in trouble, or anythin'. We jus' tired 'n' cold. Truth is, we're takin' a bigger risk with you th'n you are with us." Had me there.

"Where'd you say you were going?"

"We got places to go. North."

Tessmaker north. "Ah. Sorry." The road noise set in, and the dead air it turned the synth pop radio song into actually worked to ease some tensions. The driving helped me put out of my mind the foolishness I had just committed to.

"How ya doin'?" He looked into the backseat.

"Five by five."

His attention moved back toward me, and I saw some relief on his face. Maybe she was scared.

"How far are ya willin' to sit with us here?"

"I've got another hour north before I have to turn east."

"Well, we really do thank you. I do, uh, wanna pay ya somethin' here."

"No, look, I was driving this way anyway. I used to do some hitchhiking myself, back in the day. Horse 'n' buggy days, you know."

"We haven't got any money, and that thing that just ran through your head, sorry, ain't gonna happen." He was shaking his head. I guess what I suddenly flashed on was rather stereotypically obvious. "'N' ya ain't that ol'. How 'bout I tell ya a story."

"Uh, yeah, sure."

"We're all adults here, ain't we?"

"Looks like it." My eyes shiftied around.

"She is. Don't worry, we won't be vilely corruptin' any youth here. My name is Tommy, and this is Harrie."

"Harry?"

"Fer Harriet. It's jus' easier to tell a story with names than without 'em."

I agreed, and immediately regretted blurting out my own name. Harrie was choking from laughing so hard, just like everyone else does.

"Sorry. There was a Ginger Rogers movie she liked. Nothin' to do with you, there, Richard."

"Right. She's making it so not about me, she's singing." I didn't recognize the song.

"Knock it off, Harriet. You're embarrassin' our host 'n' riskin' our good fortune. I mean it."

"It's alright. I'm used to it." Being continuously teased about one's parents' choices eventually thickens the skin. Sorta.

"Sorry. Be good Harrie, or you'll ruin the story."

She settled down to giggling.

"Harrie, I'm going to tell a tale, a tale of your tits, your ass, your mouth, your cunt. Do you mind?" Did his accent just change?

My eyes fell open wider at the unexpected turn our conversation had so quickly taken; as I looked in the rearview mirror, in time to see her head oscillate slowly enough to say "no" that managed to still simultaneously say "yes, yes, yes, dear god, yes." Her mouth was open enough to see something glistening and wet moving inside, countering the motion of her answer. I had to run my own tongue across my teeth to figure out what I was seeing. I don't know how I could know that our breathing had become synchronized, between the jostling of the car and the shaking of the mirror, but I at least believed I could tell. Shit, his, too.

There's something clandestine about picking up hitchhikers that makes the usual rules of propriety go right out the window. You can get away with things with hitchhikers; that's why killers and rapists like them so much. No, I wasn't going to kill or rape these two; I'm not like that. Pretty damn much the exact opposite. But a touch of freedom would be nice, considering the constraint I usually suffer with. What the hell: "What the hell."

I always hated stories that started out with "Once upon a time", or "I remember when", or "It was like this", or whatever. Mercifully, he started with another clichι that didn't bother me quite so much.

"The reason you picked us up this morning was that we got thrown out of the mission, for doing that which boys and girls are so good at doing together . . .”

. . . ACTUALLY, WE were doing a bit more than that, and Harrie here wasn't being very quiet about it, much as I told her to. They'd caught us before, but maybe the trouble was that we were not doing what they'd caught us at before.

Not that we haven't done it like this before. We've been practicing since the first time we saw it, at a church, of all places. That night was such a fiasco, I'm still surprised we got away.

The minister had let us in before he left at sunset. Nice guy. This was in an earlier time, when churches weren't locked at night, to allow the disenfranchised a place to crash if they really needed it, before the homeless were so rampant.

We knew we could only stay the one night; it wasn't a hotel, which we couldn't afford. We had cuddled up in the library, really planning on being good, because ministers get very upset if they think you've been fucking in the sanctuary. Yes, that's experience talking, mostly unjustified little upsets from the easily upsettable, but not all.

The loud crashing that did come from the sanctorium woke us in the usual panic that wakes one in a strange place hearing loud crashing. After considering the few options we had, we tried to start to sneak out, when the yelling started: the rather inhospitable yelling that only happens when the thing that boys and girls do so well with each other breaks down, usually for unrelated reasons.

"Slut!"

"Aahhhhh!"

"Whore!"

A snapping sound. "Aahhh! Ahh!"

"You Fucking Cunt!" The snapping escalated to something more obvious, followed by the sound of something falling.

I was pulling on Harrie's hand, and she was riveted to her spot.

"We need to go." I whispered hoarsely.

She pulled her hand out of mine; I tried to retake it, and she resisted. "Come on!" She broke away, and headed for the noise.

"Harrie!" I caught up to her.

"Maybe we have to help someone." I caved. It was going to look bad enough with us just being here, never mind what evil was lurking the last few yards away; much worse for us if we don't help.

We got closer to where the sound was coming from; I was wide-eyed and scared: Harrie had a different look on her face.

"Arrr! Ahhh! Arrgghh!!"

"I don't think they're fighting." Harrie's whispered observation changed pretty much everything for us. We could finally see through the windows of the chapel, and she was right.

Through the glass that paneled the back of the shrine, we could see the woman wasn't tied to anything; she was leaning against the altar, supporting herself upright with her hands.

The man wasn't naked. I shook my head as I recognized the minister. He wasn't facing us, hadn't even looked back at us when he barked out "Come in!"

Shit. Were we noisy? We started backing away when he threatened us with "Get your sorry asses in here! NOW!" He turned, an imposing stern man, holding something in his hand I had to learn what it was; I didn't recognize it.

We couldn't move. We stared into their candlelight, he stared into our dark. The woman, naked, abuseable, dazzling, broke position, and turned toward the back where we were. "It's alright," she wheezed out, her distress obviously being fought.

"No, wait, what are you doing?" Harrie opened the door, and it closed before I finished running into it---it should have been funny; I got through anyway and joined her. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. We're leaving now. Sorry." I reached for her hand that she again twisted away from.

"No, we're not." She walked down the center aisle like a bride, her eyes glued to the front of the church.

I got myself between them and her and tried to look at her, but she wouldn't look at me. "Come on, Harrie!"

"Shut up, Tommy." She had reached the front pew, and sat down, like she was sitting down from a prayer. "Sit." Her eyes never left the scene at the front. I got down beside her, feeling exposed.

"God damn it, Harrie, we gotta g . . .” She turned and poured herself at me, kissing me like she does when she wants sex, like she did when it first got quiet in the library and I said 'no', not wanting trouble.

"Sshhh." She took my hand, and faced the couple. "Sorry," to them, not me. She swallowed, and communicated her intent to stay by squeezing my hand, hard. I gave in, and changed my focus to the front.

No one moved. The minister's scowl made me feel like I was the naked person in the room, and not the stunning creature beside him. He coughed, and the woman turned back and put her hands back on the altar. Her legs were spread and her back was arched; I was more uncomfortable seeing parts of her that are frowned on even mentioning than she was showing them. It was beautiful. I could feel Harrie moving slightly, but didn't dare look away from the scene. The minister started to turn, and the shape in his hand changed into some kind of stick with, what were those, cords? leashes? hanging off the end of it.

It was a scourge.

"ACTUALLY," HE said, reaching behind the seat, snapping his fingers to somehow induce the sound of a zipper, "it was this one." Between us, on the seat, was a weapon, a torture device, and the regrets of having made a terrible mistake so early in my day lifted my foot off the accelerator.

"Put the cruise on. Unless you have an ardent fear of gettin' there." His first accent had kicked back in. Chuckling came out of the back. "It's alright. You can touch it. It won't bite."

"Much," reported the giggler. "Screw all that 'channel your energy' crap."

He was waiving the handle toward me, and I took it. There was no reason for any relief to hit me when I took the whip from him; I had a much better defense in my other hand, should the need really arise. The kids hadn't even buckled their seat belts; the air bags would certainly break lots of things on them, if push came to shove. But it did make me feel better.

"So, can you feel what it did this morning, before we were sent on our way? She can."

My grip tightened. The damn thing vibrated, hummed, with light occasional shocks.

"It kinda echoes, don't it. When its needs get too strong, you'd be hard pressed to hang on to it. We discharged it a bit this morning, not enough to really settle it down. Just enough to offend some missionary lady bums, and, ya know, a lady's bum, at a mission, yada yada."

I couldn't let go of it.

"You hang on to that. I can see it makes ya feel better."

Harrie's hand startled me as it snaked down my arm toward the instrument in my hand. "Hmmm, me, too." My steering hand reacted and we swerved on the highway.

"Be good there, sweetie. Can't let him kill us in a fiery accident. He'd survive, ya know." Her hand retracted, too slowly to not have other meanings . . .

. . . THE TIPS of the straps on the stick hung between the man of god and his victim. I couldn't see them clearly enough to count them. They swung like a pendulum until they stilled. I could hear Harrie breathing next to me, as she jostled around.

His hand flicked so fast, I couldn't see the roundhouse of the ends flashing around, but I heard the crack, and the ends were swaying again. "Uhh," came from the woman.

"Hhh," came from the woman next to me.

Another flick, another pair of women making sounds, one reverberating the other. More motion that stilled with quiet creaks. Harrie's hand tightened on mine.

"Fuck this shit." He raised his arm with an intent of malice, assaulting the woman; any sense of restraint or decorum was abandoned. Hit, hit, hit, hit. Grunt, ugh, ugh, ahh. Hit, hit hit hit, Ahh, ugh, ahh, ahhhh.

Harrie quit breathing, her hand holding mine for dear life. I tore my gaze away to her. I could see something moving around inside her shirt, right where my hand been not a half hour ago. "Harrie." I whispered; I got it half-out before my attention was required elsewhere.

Hit hit hit hit, arrge arraahh, ahh yyeeeahhhh. Harrie started gasping. Hit hit hit hit, Aaarr ahh ah ah ah, hit, ah, hit, aarrrggghhhh!!!

They stopped. Harrie threw my hand away, and attacked me, no question what she was doing, my shirt ripped, and we fell off the pew.

"Off! Off! Get this off, god damn it!" She was struggling with my belt, her belt, her coat flew away, and I was out enough, and then I was in, and . . . and . . . that was the first time she raped me. Actually raped me.

She screamed her desperation; there was almost nothing I could do, until I saw the shadow over us.

"Take it off, bitch." The minister towered over us; I could see the instrument dangling.

"Yes! God Yes! Help me, Tommy!" She popped the buttons of her shirt open, and fought to get it the rest of the way off. I had to reach her hands to hold the sleeves to free her, which she yanked out, striking my face with the rebound. Both hands worth. She covered me as her hips did what hips do when speared. I felt the first impact, but not like she did. She shouted in my mouth, and frantically fucked me harder than she ever had before.

Hit, hit, hit, hit. Ahhh Gaawwwd Yeeessss Yes! Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It was impossible to see around her; her eyes were squinted hard, her hair flew, she breathed like she was running, and the pace increased. Hit hit hit, Ahh Arrgh ahhh, Hit hit HHHHH AHHH!

"DO IT!" The shock of the last impact flowed right through her; it hurt me, too, and my face started getting wet. When he hit her, she yelled the way she does when she's done with sex, she moved, she cried, and I exploded inside her happy vise as she slowed.

The room gradually quit spinning, and the air assaulted me. She was being drug off me. I could finally focus, and see her head being pulled up by her hair until she was kneeling, hanging her head, sobbing. The marks on her back shouted.

Then the ominous figure reached and did the same thing to me, but didn't quit until I was standing in front of her.

"Piss on her."

"What?" I turned toward the villain, and he clocked me good.

"It's required. Do it."

"I've nev . . .” the back of my head burst as he hit me again.

"Don't fucking argue. Do it." Swat. "Do it. Now."

I turned back to Harrie, and her head was turned up to me, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her fingers playing with her nipples. Her tongue was beckoning.

"HERE, I'LL help. Harrie, our friend has a discomfort. Oblige him."

Tommy had his hand on the wheel, and Harrie was half-crawling over the seat. I wasn't in a position to move. I felt her hands reach what she wanted. Shit, what I wanted.

"Hey, wait . . .”

"Shhhhh," with a look, that look, was all it took to pull all the fight out of me. She went back to doing what she was doing. Her hand that wasn't supporting her weight was electric as she moved me; I had never had another human being move me that gently before, that slowly. I didn't care about the road, or fiery doom, or the idea that strangers were exposing me. All I cared about was her hand; where it was, oh, god, no, please don't pull it away, no wait, uh, uh . . .

She tented my shirt to cover my shame and retreated, damn her, back into the back seat. I looked over at Tommy, and hated his smile. I looked down and saw my shirt being poked; my pants were splayed open. I still couldn't drop the whip as I tried to re-arrange things with my clumsy left hand. Her hand reappeared, how'd she get back, and touched my hand away, lifting it back to the steering wheel. The shivers matched the ones I had a moment before. I wanted to follow her sliding into the back again, stupid seatbelt, and turned back to the rearview mirror to see her blow a kiss at me, and slump out of sight. I pouted.

"Got it?" I glanced back at Tommy, still hating his smile, and felt a nod happen as I regained control. "Believe me, I un'erstand. She's real good at that. 'N' I was pretty sure you wouldn'ta wanted me to, uh, help."

The sound of the window the girl opened in the back set in before I regained civility. "Yeah, you're right."

"How's that whip feel?"

My attention diverted as I held it up before the windshield, and I hoped to not kill us as I stole glances at it. "It's warm."

"It likes you."

"What does that mean?"

Fucking smile.

. . . IT'S . . . COMPLICATED to piss when you are standing and have a boner. It's real messy: it splooshes up like a fountain, and you have no control about which way it goes. Harrie solved that problem, by putting me in her mouth. I came again, while I was pissing. I had no idea I had been living with heaven all these months. I felt myself being held up, and looked down to see a woman's, the woman's hands coming around from behind me, caressing Harrie's face, full of me. Harrie looked happier than I had ever seen her look before; not even at the midway at the fair.

My legs got weaker when I finished my business, both of them, and the woman could no longer support me: I folded. The minister was laughing at me: hated that. I had a hard time seeing Harrie; a naked woman had pulled her back a bit and was in my way.

"You're doing so good, baby, so good." I could see the arms of the crouching woman making petting motions with one arm, the other was clutching what I assumed to be my Harriet. I could see the top of her head bobbing up and down, and it was the sound of the weeping that forced my limbs into actions, as I clambered and scrambled, readying myself for combat; this sonofabitch was going down.

I wasn't even half way up before he kicked, no, just pushed me down with his foot. "Sit down, son."

I tried to get up one more time; he kicked me hard enough this time to master the situation. Might have broken a rib.

"Do you know what this is?" He dangled the knout down in front of me. He was leering, inducing more reason to hate him. "Hmm?"

"It's a whip, you fuckin' bastard."

"Language, there, boy." This, coming from the man who was swearing like a longshoreman a few minutes ago. "This, my little friend, is a scourge. It is not for you. It is for her," he said, pointing with it to the women.

"Huh?"

"You may get to hold it sometime, maybe even use it, or something like it, but it is not yours. Remember that."

I had no idea what this old coot was talking about. "I don't . . .”

"Shut the fuck up, you little twerp. Decision time is upon you, you piece of shit. C'mon, slut. They need to talk."

He stood and took two steps; he wrapped his hand into the woman's hair, and drug her out the back. She screamed the whole way, but didn't seem to be fighting him, not that she made it easy for him. He needed both hands to pull her through the back doors. We could still hear them outside, until the car pulled away.

I finally looked over at Harrie. She, scout's honor, was glowing. My mouth was so dry; I had to whisper.

"Harrie, what the fuck just happened?"

"Language, Tommy. We're in a church. Take your pants off."

"What?"

"Please. Take them off." She had a plead about her that was irresistible. I did as she asked. "Lie down." She pushed my legs up and up, then lowered her face underneath them, beyond what I could see, and then I quit caring about seeing her. My head lolled around. No one had ever said anything about this sort of thing before now . . .

"YOU DO know what I'm talking about, don'tcha?"

I hadn't breathed deeply enough to utter an answer. My head made up for it.

"Good boy. You're about to miss your turn. You wanna let us out up here?"

"Wait, what?"

"I think this is our stop. We ain't goin' yer way. Pull over."

I started stopping the car. We were in the middle of nowhere. We hadn't seen a car pass us in half an hour. "I can't let you out now. There's like, nothing here."

"This is yer turn, ain't it?"

"Well, yeah, but . . .”

"Well, then, we're done. And we thank you." The story was over. I got the car to the side of the road and stopped. They started getting out.

"But what happened?" I got out, and had to shout in the wind.

"Exactly what you think happened. I fucked her brains out: cunt, mouth, ass. She eats shit, she drinks piss, and I have hit her every god damn day with the god damn cat in your hand that we took with us, which we're gonna need back, by the way."

The wind silenced as Harrie turned me against the car and reached to my ear, "And I drank deep this morning." She was licking my ear, and my pants fell in the cold and I didn't care. "Wanna try it?" She stepped back, with her head lowered, her eyes soldered to me. She spread her legs, and the wind started coming back up. "You know where! Everything you got! Do it!"

She waited and the winds howled. It was the smile that did it. If Hollywood was shooting this, they'd get it wrong: They'd err too far toward evil or lust or 'no', or some other stupid misunderstanding. This was the most important thing in the world, and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint her. I clumsily got enough of my pants up to keep from tripping. I softball-pitched/golf swinged/oar stroked/bowstring drew/bowled: everything I had. The flail gripped my hand hotly, wetly as it hit her. I swear, there was lightning and thunder. She left the ground and inhaled her next "Aahhh"; she floated back down too slowly for it to be gravity at work. Her breathing was half what mine was. She stepped back to me, put her hand around my neck and pulled me back down to her level, so she could whisper in my ear in the spookiness. The wind had stopped again, like a light switch.

"There's hope for you. Dick." Her hand covered mine, pulling away, taking the, the thing with her. Not to mention my hand, my arm, half my body, ripping me in two. I had never felt so destitute. I watched the couple start to walk up the road, and I was mesmerized, until I couldn't see them anymore. That was when the wind kicked back in with gale force, colder'n a witch's tit in a brass bra on the north side of a south-bound iceberg. I scrambled back into my car, 'n' peeled out headin' north, lookin' for them. I drove 'round fer half 'n hour, all of it out of my way, 'n' never saw 'em ag'in.

When I finally gave up, and turned east, I realized that I didn't care what she'd called me, just how she said it: smoky, wet, full of lust. When I got to the rest stop a half hour later, I took much more time there than I should have. I was glad the stall locked, and had to wait long enough for it to get quiet for me to make some noises of my own.

Okay, maybe not that much longer.

Move

WE REALLY thought we needed to go all out. I mean, all our friends slaved away all day on getting us from Point A to Point B, and all our combined years of pack-ratting was hard on them. Sure, the new house was twice as big as the old one, but we had so much crap crammed into that bungalow there still wasn't enough room for it all. Oh well. Guess I won't be able to put that trip to the dump off too much longer. We got a keg, lots of pizzas, cake, scotch, margarita mix, everything necessary to appease our crew. We really were grateful.

As it was getting dark, we'd gotten enough off the trucks to call a halt, and set about starting the party proper. Some of our new neighbors had dropped by to check us out throughout the day, and didn't help. One of the guys succeeded in getting the stereo hooked up, in the utterly wrong place, but on moving day, that really doesn't matter so much. What was important was that the dancing could start.

After a bit of libations and lousy disco music, the guy from next door appeared at our back porch, introducing himself. A wiry older man.

"My name's Luke. Welcome to the neighborhood." He shook my hand. His was not quite cold.

"I'm Richard. This is my lovely wife, Ramona. Thanks. Beer?"

"Why, thank you. I am so pleased to meet you. Where do you hail from?"

"Someplace cold and wet and rainy. Across the tracks. This place is beautiful; we are glad to be here."

"Oh, and it's quiet. You'll like that."

"We're sorry. We'll uh, turn it down."

"Nonsense. I didn't even recognize you were . . . playing . . . music. It is delightful to have young people living next door. So, beautiful." His eyes narrowed toward my wife. It happens all the time.

"Yeah, we never actually met the guy who sold it to us. Some lawyer showed up." He turned his attention back to me: no harm done.

"One of my co-workers, no doubt."

"Ah." An uncomfortable lull somehow even succeeded in coinciding with a break in the music.

"Yes, a heart swallowing, soul sucking ambulance chaser, I am, I am. Ha." The room broke with laughter at Luke's good-natured poke at himself. It was the grin that gave it away; a grin I would hate to see have sinister intent behind. The BeeGees kicked in: "Every Christian Lion-Hearted Man will Show You". Not their best, but added to the whole ominous impression he was making.

"Nothing to fear, here. No one is doing anything wrong. And if you were," he leaned forward a bit into a leer, lowering his drink, "I doubt I would . . . care. In the least. Little. Bit. Ha ha. Ha ha." His head angled back up with a shake at what he considered to be a good joke. "Yes, it is so very nice to have someone living here again. As opposed to, well, after the events."

Ramona spoke up. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"Tell us what?"

He smiled the smile one sees when someone knows something you won't like. "No matter. Enjoy your new home, I must be running along." He put his untouched beer down, and was out of the yard before we could get our jaws back up.

It was almost before the back gate had finished latching that the banter died out and people started to beg their fatigue, carrying on about their need to actually work in the morning, their need for sleep. It had indeed been a hard long day, so we thought little of it. The first person to leave a party, even if they were the last one there, always prompts an exodus. Even the lonely workers who had no one to go home with or to that normally hung out until the bitter end left early.

As Dave was trying to get out the door, I held him back by his arm. "Any idea what that meant?"

"What, the old geezer from next door? No clue."

"Can you find out?"

"Gonna cost ya. But, then, what's another line item on the tab, eh? Gotta go. Bitch is waiting."

It took less than an hour to clear enough of the house of the rest of the laborers to finally get ourselves into bed. And as much as I wanted to initiate the new place the way one should, she was just too tired. Hope that didn't curse it.

"DAILY EXPRESS."

"Is Mr. Charney available?

"The Assistant City Editor is in an interview. Can I take a message?" He's starting early today.

"Thanks, I'll call back. How long do you think he'll be?"

"Maybe twenty minutes."

That sly dog. He'd been trying to fill a position for a month, and every day he got an even hotter interviewee to get through. I wondered only a couple of things: one, if he ever really intended to fill it, and two, what does he do with the guys' resumes. Probably thrown away on sight. Man, the shit he gets away with.

I added another ten minutes to the discretion of not interrupting his first 'important business meeting', before trying him back.

"You're timing sucks, man. I got a meeting."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard about your first one. Something you're going to have to tell me about later. Have any chance to dig around yet?"

"When? When would I have had time since I saw you last?"

It was only 8:30. "You're right. My fault. We had a rough night. I'll, uh, I'll buy lunch."

"You'll do better than that. You'll buy lunch at the Yacht Club."

Fuck. "Sure. 12:30?" I hated the Yacht Club.

"Be there with bells on."

MY GLASS and my spoon were dirty. I sent them back.

"So? How was she?"

"Who?" The coy arrogant bastard was already making that slurping sound with his straw against the top of the water.

"Your, uh, 'interview'." My fingers made the quote mark signs in the air, and he knew I knew.

He laughed, like he always does when I catch him. "She was smokin'. I think we're hiring this one."

"Aww, you don't get to test more of the waters? Poor baby."

"Yeah, drop dead. Mike caught us. I might have to fire someone else so I can do this some more. Maybe get some of the first rounders back in."

"Oooh, Mike, eh. You prick. If your wife found out . . .”

“. . . Who cares. You're not gonna tell her. I get to do that."

"I'm pretty sure that's part of the payment I owe. Just sayin'." My glass returned, empty. God, I hate this place. The stupid maritime junk on the walls: the ocean's a thousand miles away, for Pete's sake. I had to send the waitress that looked like she had scurvy back for the water.

"So, your new abode. Changed hands five times since it was built in 1974, not counting you, semi-decent property value escalation, had a daycare for a while, and I really hate to tell you the last parts."

"What?" Water girl arrived in the nick of time, damn my luck, just when the good part was about to come out, and took our orders. I knew she'd get at least mine wrong. "C'mon, what?"

He took a deep breath. "Over 300 domestic violence disturbances at that address. Approximately once a month for the last 36 years."

I wasn't expecting that. "You're kidding."

"Okay, it's not like clockwork, or anything. It just averages out to that. One of the owners had no calls whatsoever. The daycare lady."

"What about the previous owner."

"He had just one, screwing with the cheap math. But it was a bad one. He was . . . murdered. Beaten to death. Prime suspect was his wife who completely disappeared after he died. Seems like the most likely candidate; she was a cop's daughter, of all things. Supposedly, that was when the house got trashed. The guy's father, some preacher, reported the house being fixed up nice."

"Jesus Christ." I didn't know what else to say.

"Let's see, uh, it's been on the market for over a year every time it's been sold. This last time, there were, uh, twenty-seven building permits issued on it during the thirteen months it was on the market. Apparently, they had to fix a lot before they could sell it. Probably why you could afford it. It's the only house in the neighborhood that has had to drop its price, every time it sells. It goes up each time because of the economy, but they never get what they want. As if anyone does."

Our food arrived. Of course, mine was wrong. The waitress apologized, and offered a free dessert. Small consolation.

I wasn't much good at conversation for the rest of lunch; Dave had given me a lot to think about. Not even his exploits with his latest interviewee captured much of my attention.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Guy gets murdered in my house; it kinda preoccupies one's thoughts."

"This sorta shit happens all the time; don't let it bug you. And for god's sake, don't tell Ramona."

"Huh?"

"A woman wants to feel safe in her own home. The idea of death or mayhem or wife beating happening where she lays her head down to sleep at night is just gonna frighten her right out of the sex I know you didn't have last night."

"What are you talking about?"

"And you didn't masturbate this morning, either. It shows."

I shook my head and tried to force an incredulous laugh.

"See? You're not even convincing that you got so much as to first base. Take my advice: don't say a word about this, and seduce her as mercilessly as you can. Tonight. You gotta break the house in, or it'll be cursed for sure. Hang on." I didn't hear his cel, but he answered it anyway.

"Hey. Lunch. No, I won't forget. Sure. Yeah, yeah, from hell's heart I stab at thee, too, babe." He hung up and went back to eating the salad I didn't want to risk for salmonella.

"You are so hard on her." I chewed something a moment, something awful and gristly. Ptoo.

"Oh. I thought you were going to have a point there."

"You know what I mean."

"Look, Doctor Phil-Ruth-Laura, it is my god-given right, duty and obligation to share my feelings with my wife, for better or for worse."

"All I'm sayin' is that she has already demonstrated a willingness to go elsewhere. You sure you're just not pushing her back toward that?"

He looked angry now. "You have the worst tact of anyone I know."

"No, I am the only person who would say this to you, and you know it. Lighten up, Dave. You are just makin' it worse."

"No, I am making it better. You'll learn."

Dessert was gruesome. They screwed up the check, too. Dave settled on crowing over my exasperation to try to break the tension between us. Asshole.

"I'll, uh, I'll keep poking around. You do what I told you. Thanks for lunch. We'll do this again. Asshole."

"SO WHAT'D he find out?"

"Hmm?"

"Dave. What did he find out? You're not that unpredictable. You two were as thick as thieves after the creepy old guy left."

"Luke? I kinda liked him."

"He wasn't checking you out. Ugh. C'mon, spill." She threw me the look, the one I can't resist. I caved; I told her everything. Of the house info; I managed to leave Dave's other activities out of the conversation. Her eyes got wider and wider until the end.

"Do you, do you think it's haunted?" I might as well have just asked her to marry me again. Love that smile, just not what I expected.

"I don't know. How would we find out?"

"If the horror movies are to be believed, it takes sex to bring the spooks out. Up for a little ghost hunting?"

Making love to my wife was always everything it should be. Quiet, intense, holy: a merging of souls.

"God, I love it when you do that." It always seemed the lighter I touched her, the more it consumed her.

"You're in luck. I love doing this to you."

"With me. Ohhhh."

My tongue was barely flitting on her nipple, my middle finger wasn't even getting wet on her clitoris; I had to dip it into her vagina to get it to slide around a little. She was a faucet; as I moved down toward her anus, it was slippery. I circled it a few times as she caught her breath. I had never breached it before: not tonight either. She breathed again with relief as I drug back through her sex to get some more dampness, and returned to where I started, taking the circles with me. Small, slow, light. As I would lift my finger off, she stuck to me so ever-so-almost imperceptibly; the release of the contact elicited an inhaled moan.

"Ahh, that feels sooo gooood . . .”

Touch, circle, lift, the snapping back of flesh over the distance of less than a millimeter, a response that was far more dramatic than the action I just took.

"Uuhhhhhhh!"

I slowed down, and did it again, extending my reach back into the swamp to change the tactile adhesion.

"Hhhh hhh hhh."

I retracted my lips, and put my teeth around her nipple, and applied the lightest pressure I could. I felt her hand come around the back of my head, and she pulled me onto her breast, mashing me into her.

"Harder."

I drew her nipple into my mouth, and started sucking. My left hand applied some pressure onto her clitoris; my right hand snaked around the back of her neck down onto her right nipple, bunching her up a bit, and tugged it, her, gently toward the ceiling.

"Ohh, ohh ohh."

More pressure: I was pushing her clitoris onto her pubic bone and wiggling it. More suction: I got more of her breast into my mouth. More squeezing: her other breast was being pulled up and up and up.

"Uhh, ohh, ahh, ahhh!"

Her back arched beneath me; she was almost there. More, harder, faster.

She couldn't make a sound; the tension was like a rubber band at its limits. Just a little bit more . . .

"Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!"

She plummeted back into the bed; the movement was less than half an inch, but it was though she had skydived into water without a parachute. I eased back up everywhere. When I let go of her nipple, she gasped. As I drew my lips up off her other nipple, releasing it into the air, she gasped again. As my finger withdrew from her sex, her legs came up, and she rolled into a fetal position, moaning as though it hurt.

In another moment, I put my arms around her. "Are you alright?"

"Sometimes I . . . think I . . . shouldn't . . . be . . . the one . . . who cums . . . first . . ." And she was asleep, snoring in seconds.

I looked around the darkened room. No ghosts. I resigned to having to wait for my needs until later. Male orgasm is inevitable: except when this happens.

I WAS enjoying our new back porch with a cup of coffee the next morning, relishing the quiet that was only being disturbed by what sounded like hammering coming from Lawyer Luke's house. It was a little early for remodeling, in my frustrated opinion.

"Oh, god, good morning." I hadn't noticed her coming out; she was pouring her arms around me.

"Mmmm, hi." Kiss. "Sleep okay?"

"Mmm Hmm. Promise me something." She reached into my robe and found something interesting.

"But of course." I kissed her cheek.

"Please don't refer to me as a bitch, or a whore, or a slut, or a cunt." She sounded sleepy.

"I didn't think that was a problem." Morning erections are usually the easiest ones to get, especially when the night before didn't do anything to alleviate it. And, when she does that.

"Promise."

This was a little confusing. Did she have a dream? "Sure, um, you're not a bitch, you're not a whore, you're not a slut, you're not a cunt." I pet her a little and stretched back a little. She pet me back where she could get at easier now, as was my evil little plan. I responded.

"Do you mean it?"

"Mmmm, why wouldn't I?"

She looked up at me, but still had her head tipped down bit. She whispered, "Because I'm not going to fffuck you today, either. Dick." She straightened up, taking the hardon with her, and went back into the house to get ready for a half-day of work.

The hammering had stopped.

I wanted to renege on my promise.

"IT'S BECAUSE you did exactly what I told you not to."

"Hmm?" I was busy contemplating how the foam moved around the top of my cappuccino.

"You told her about the house. Are you listening to me?"

"Hmm? No."

"Fine. I hope it gets better for you. Listen, about the house."

“. . .”

"It's got quite the checkered past. I went through the archives at the paper. The house that's there now isn't the first one built there. Used to be a whorehouse, right there."

I looked up at Dave. "Really." This amounted to the fifth word I had said over all of lunch. His observation that I don't know how to see in other people, that I still wasn't getting any at home rated a "yeah." Luckily, I could acknowledge what he wanted to talk about, what he'd been doing to Paige, with nods and shakes and smiles. I had other things to think about, like the wrong sandwich I had been delivered to eat, that's okay, it's not your fault sweetie, and especially what was about to happen in the bathroom.

"Yeah, the previous house was built in the previous century, uhh, 1897. It was an original building to the town. Lots of stories reflecting the brutality we've talked about before, something about a string of occupants not getting the word about the Emancipation Proclamation, finally bought by some church in the '50's and used as a parsonage, rife with some pretty cool scandal. They tore it down in the mid-'70's and rebuilt what you're currently in; that hasn't cut down on the disturbance reports coming out of it one little bit. DO you want me to keep going?"

Crap. I couldn't stop it any more. "I'm sorry; I need to go to the bathroom. Be right back." I stood, dreading what I was about to do. The trip to the back room to find the bathroom in this dive was unpleasant, but better than having an accident, even if only inappreciably. I grabbed some paper towels on my way through to the stall. It was going to be close.

I managed to get my shirt and my shoes off before the stall door finished closing, and I tore my pants down as I sat on the toilet and leaned back. It happened, just the way she wanted.

I managed to kick my pants off as I pissed on myself, and I rubbed it on all over myself. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, but it never fails to make me hard. I'm sure there'll be consequences for failing to take a movie of it on my phone, but hey, I'm pulling rank here, and preserving a smidgen of dignity, even if it costs me later. I managed to get some of it to reach my mouth, as she insists.

Now I had a mess to clean up. At least, there wasn't anyone else in the bathroom, for which I was grateful, as I didn't grab enough towels to do the job. Thankful, too, that this bathroom still had paper towels, and not just a hand-dryer; those places make it much harder to clean up afterwards, especially if the door doesn't lock, and you run out of toilet paper.

"Took long enough. Thought you fell in."

"Sorry. When you gotta, ah, you know." I hoped I'd gotten cleaned up enough to not smell like what I'd just done.

"Alright, so, the place has just got something to it, something that drives people to be less than gentle with each other. So just stay on Ramona's good side, and everything will be alright." He laughed.

"Do you think there's a chance I could do otherwise?" I laughed back. Jerk. If he only . . . no, no, don't even think it.

"Maybe I should bring Paige over. Use its evil energy to take some shit out on her."

"Yeah, the girls will think the world of that."

"Never know." He took the check. "I got it today." Cheapskate. "Anyway. You might want to avoid the Ouija board for a while. And really, I hope you get lucky. Soon. C'mon, don't look at me like that. It's a nice thing to wish onto one's friends."

"Thanks. Thanks. You too." One-track-minded dimwit.

"Listen, you guys wanna come over? The kids are sleeping out tonight. We could watch a grownup film for a change. Maybe play a game."

"Fine by me. I'll see what she wants to do."

"Later."

I DIDN'T want to go home, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to avoid it forever. I picked up some wine, I'd had enough of beer for a while, stopped by the hardware store and managed to put it off for another hour before I gave up on putting it off.

"And how was Dave?"

"Oh, he's fine. Wants to bring Paige by, and maybe beat the snot out of her."

"You should be so lucky. Maybe he'll let you fuck her, too."

"Ya think?" How much worse was I going to make it at this point? "Barring that, they've invited us over tonight."

"Sound good. By the way, your friend the lawyer came by, asking for you."

"Oh. The Lecherous Leech himself, eh? Well, I guess I should go see him. Keep him out of your hair. Be back soon. Love you."

As I walked up the walk, I heard a few hammer strokes that ended promptly when I rang the bell.

"Ahhh, Richard. Do come in."

"Hey, Luke. I got what you asked for." I handed him the bag from the hardware store.

"Wonderful. I hate to run out. Thank you so. How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I insist."

"Tell ya what. Show me what you're doin', and we'll call it even."

"Well, I'm . . . hammering." He had a delight in his eyes, like cupcakes with little candles in.

"Yes, we can hear that."

"Ha ha ha. Come. I'll show you."

I followed him into his basement. There was a long wooden box on the floor, covered with 4-penny nails, all bent over. He opened the fresh carton I'd gotten him, took one out and rolled it between his fingers.

"It relieves stress." He proceeded to hammer it into the surface of the wood, with each stroke he had an obvious relief cross his face, almost a joy. Shit, live and let live, to each his own. "You should try it. I believe you are having stress yourself, today. At least, it smells like it."

Oh, fuck. "Yeah, sure, I'll give anything a try."

"I'll hold it for you." He held the nail shakily on the surface. The last thing I wanted to do was miss. Hitting a lawyer's hand with a hammer could not possibly end well, but he wouldn't let go, so I covered his fingers with my own, hoping that would steady my aim. I tapped it ever so lightly to get the tip into the wood so it would stand on itself, and proceeded to gently nudge it in, if a hammer can nudge.

He grinned at me. "Another."

Why not? "What the hell."

"Again."

"Again." I'd gotten a bit used to it, and so got them in further, faster, and finally full of force. I laughed, and he did, too. He was right, it did relieve some stress.

"No, not there. Here." He repositioned the nail. As I got my attention focused, I noticed that the stained wood was peppered with little nail holes, considerably outnumbering the bent nails. Apparently, he did this a lot.

"Fun, isn't it."

"Yeah, that's great." I handed back the hammer, shaking my head when I was sure he couldn't see.

"Come by any time." He turned back to stare at me. Must be my cue to leave.

"I will. Thanks." I found my way back out; he didn't escort me. The hammering had started up again before I got out, and I could hear him whooping. I imagined him dancing around the room.

"How was your friend?" Ramona offered me a cup of coffee. I knew better than to accept it, but did anyway.

"Weird as hell. You know all the pounding we've been hearing? He's driving nails into a box, taking them back out, then putting them back in again."

"That's the oddest hobby I've ever heard of."

"Different strokes. What time do you want to go over to the Charneys?"

"'Bout six would be good. Except I just off the phone with them; they're coming here. Will you do something for me?"

"I THINK that's them. Come on, chin up, be of good cheer. Oh, and how should you be?"

I accommodated her, and answered the door, knowing full well that this would be the least of my concerns this evening.

Dave practically drowned with laughter. "Ho, ho, ha, ha, that's great! I love it!" He stepped inside; even Paige snickered as she crossed our threshold. "Match him, bitch." Her head dropped, like I wanted mine to. I took her things to the bedroom, and passed through the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine to take into the living room. Paige and I would not be drinking tonight; I gave Dave his as he held me by his side with an inconsiderable touch. God, this was uncomfortable.

"I gotta hand it to you, Ramona, your ideas on how to handle all this are much better than mine. This," Dave said, reaching over to me, touching me in a way I wished he wouldn't, "is inspired!" He laughed some more. I hyperventilated a bit, and spilled Ramona's drink on myself. At least I wouldn't have to try to get the wine out in the laundry. No, that wasn't the problem at all. "That was my fault. Fix it, Paige."

Paige crawled from his side, and tried to wipe the wine off with her hand. "Not like that, you silly cunt." She looked at him as he licked his lips. She turned back toward me, looked up and sighed, and then proceeded to lick the wine off me, not having to be bothered with tasting cloth. It had an effect; just a small one, but anyone who had been looking before couldn't have missed it. No one in the room did, except maybe Paige because she was a little busy, and she'd notice it soon enough.

"I'm sure Paige would have found it more disgusting had we left all the hair on, but this is actually fairly humiliating for Richard now, so I thought it would be worth the trade-off." Ramona crossed the room and took her drink from me, stroking the side of my face as she somehow smiled the smile she had when I proposed, oh so long ago. "Hope you don't mind."

"You know what I want to see?" asked Dave. "I want to see Dick cum in Paige's mouth."

"Well, I don't. Let's see what we can do about that, shall we?" Ramona left the room while Paige continued to have an effect on me. She returned with some rope that she wrapped around Paige's neck three times, and pulled her closer to me. "Dave, may I?" She took his wine from him, and dipped my cock in it. Don't think he'll be finishing it now, but yes, this was worse than if she had used her own. "Open up, darling." Paige complied, and my wife directed me into Dave's wife's mouth before pulling the rope tight around behind me, wrapping a few more times before tying it off. "Don't you fucking dare cum, now, hear me?" I accepted.

"You make sure he does, or you know what'll happen, don'tcha, whore."

Ramona left the room again while Paige continued her effect on me. I could beat this. I still wasn't even halfway erect when Ramona returned bearing gifts, ones I knew would make this all much, much harder, on both of us. She gave Dave the good white cane, keeping the other for herself. "Before we get too far, let me just make sure we confuse the signals to our little lovebirds. Spread your legs a little, sweetie. You, too, honey." I could see her reach under Paige as she fiddled a moment before she straightened back up. She then fiddled around behind me, and I knew she had done basically the same thing to her that she did to me, when she switched both the vibrators on. Mine was directly on my prostate; I guessed Paige's was on her G-spot. We moaned in unison, and I suddenly had a fear of disappointing my wife.

"Ready or not, here we come!" The canes struck both of us at the same time, causing me to jerk a little further into Paige's mouth, and her to jerk further toward me. She looked up at me as I could see we both resolved to not make another sound, even though we both knew it wouldn't be long before we would be. At least the burning from the cane strikes gave me something to distract myself from what Paige was doing.

Again with the hits, again with the pain to take my mind off other things, again with me losing a little more ground.

"We . . . can do . . . this uhhh . . . all . . . night!" Ramona's strikes were moving down my back; Dave continued to hit his wife's butt. By the time Ramona reached my butt, excuse me, she wants me to start using 'ass', my ass, Paige broke into moaning. She always breaks first, and I know it's hard on her. I'm sure my face showed my distress at the pains, the humiliations, the guilts. I wanted to cry, but I groaned an "uhhh" instead. Ramona had kept me erect and close to cumming all afternoon after I had shaved, stupid porn; this little contest won't be much of one. Ramona turned the vibrators up a notch before the wronged pair returned to their assault.

"What . . .are . . . the uhhh kids . . . doing . . . tonight?"

"Uhhh . . . Birthday . . . party."

"That's . . . nice . . . When'll . . . they . . . be home? . . . Uhhh"

"Noon . . .hhh . . . hhhh"

"Wonder . . . ful . . . hang on, I need a . . . drink. You?"

"Ahh. Sure, could I get a fresh glass? Uuuhhh!!" With the last swing, Dave cracked across the back of Paige's head, breaking the cane. She lurched forward as far as she could on me, simultaneously screaming, gagging, and choking around me.

"Of course. You two be good!" Ramona went back to the kitchen as Dave reached down and whispered something to his wife, notching the buzzing things all the way up to high.

"MmmmmMMMMMNgyk ngyk ngyk ngyk." Paige increased her assault on me, swallowing my erection as far as she could, asphyxiating on it, frantically moving her tongue. Dave followed my wife into the kitchen.

"What did he say to you?" I whispered, knowing full well she couldn't answer me. She shook her head, tears finally streamed down her face, and she concentrated some more on her task. "I'm not going to be able to hold out much longer."

"Mmmm." She reached her hand up to her face, and got her middle finger under her cheek. I felt her tongue's attention shift a moment. She pulled it back out, snaked it between my legs, and forced her finger inside where the vibrator was, never mind that it hurt, and stated moving it around, increasing the pressure; I was almost over the edge.

"Guess it's my night to take the fall, huh." She endorsed that idea around me, and sucked hard. Part of me didn't want the spouses in here when I failed, part of me knew it would be worse if they weren't. Aw, fuck.

"No plotting, you two." Dave was standing behind his wife. "I know what'll help." He unzipped his pants, and proceeded to piss on me, on her, making sure the urine rolled down my stomach, through where my pubic hair used to be, and into his wife's lips. When I saw and felt that, I couldn't help it.

I failed my wife. I didn't like it. Not one bit.

Neither did Paige. I hadn't had a release for a couple weeks, and I was copious. She gagged and retched as she tried to swallow everything she could, knowing that it wouldn't go well for her if she didn't. I felt my head fall to the left side as I watched her. God, this made me feel bad; it was a no-win scenario: damned if we do, damned if we don't, damned any which way we can. My lips quivered.

Dave laughed and clapped his hands.

"I think that might have been cheating, Dave." My wife was enjoying her wine now.

"C'mon, you know that all's fair, baby. Oh, fuck." His phone was beeping at him. His brow furrowed as he studied his phone.

"Do you have to go in?"

"No, that wasn't a call. Hmm. Did you guys get a new computer?"

"No. Can't abide the things."

"That's weird. Never mind. Stupid phone."

"It certainly interrupted us for no good reason. Guess we're just going to have to take it out on poor Richard, here." Ramona started untying us, and I exhausted over to the side. Paige continued her duty, even though it tasted worse now.

"Ooh, wait, wait. Paige has a new trick." Paige swallowed, closed her eyes, and gave the faintest whimper before returning to minister to the needs I no longer had. "Come here, slut." She prostrated herself onto the floor, moving to her husband's shoes, and started licking them.

"Please." That was the first word I'd heard her utter this evening. It was a word she generally used a lot, but there was something else behind it this time.

"Please what? Please live up to my promise to only have you do one, instead of the whole pack if Mr. Cumsalot here had managed to hold out long enough for us to get bored? Hmm?" Paige was weeping openly now, and shuddering like he was promising her only one bullet for the really sick game we were trying to keep him from. "C'mon. show 'em."

He pulled her up to her knees, produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, and dropped them on the floor in front of her. "Do it, cocksucker."

"Dave, what . . .” Ramona usually hated being interrupted, but whatever Dave was up to, he considered it worth the trouble.

"Shhh." He started tapping his foot, and Paige understood that her grace period was up. She grabbed a cigarette out of the pack, and couldn't get it lit; her hands were shaking so bad. Fool that I am, I intervened, got the lighter to work, and held it for her to lean into. She coughed hard as she inhaled. Dave kicked me aside, which earned a snarl from Ramona: Tensions were ratcheting up.

"Yeah, she just took it up."

Paige managed a smaller inhale to get the end to glow a little red without being overwhelmed by the smoke, took the cigarette out, turned it around, and flicked the ash into her mouth. She grimaced, as did I. Ramona had an eyebrow raised. Paige got a couple more puffs down, and did it again. It was unsettling enough to get my first group-heard words of the evening out: "Jesus Christ, Dave." Ramona tsk-tsked at me.

"It's a dirty habit, and I sure as fuck don't want to kiss her now. That's enough, shitstain. Put it out." She dropped it, and Dave in a rage struck her hard enough to put her over. He grabbed the cigarette off the carpet before it had a chance to burn anything, and with his other hand, yanked her up by her hair. He held the tobacco product in front of her face. She was hyperventilating, obviously terrified. Nobody moved.

I was ready to call a quit to all this, when Paige's hand found his, and took the the th-thing from her. My breathing matched hers as her hand slowly descended to her breast, and her fingers turned the stick around, and she drew it to herself.

"Ahh ahh ah ah ah aha aaaaarrrrggghahaahhhh!"

She tried to flop back over, but Dave held her up until she calmed down, the worst being over. Everyone in the room was gasping.

"Finish it."

The look on her face was purest revulsion, desperation, and grief as she proved us wrong about the worst being over. She ate the butt.

"I REALLY think she should do it."

"Fine by me. It is up to you."

I could turn my head to the side a bit, to see Ramona gently bringing her friend around the table to the end. I was propped up enough to see down myself, so I could see what was happening. I noticed I was the only person in the room who was still naked. Apparently my wife wanted to drive home the point she was trying to make here just a little harder.

"Do you know what a sound is, my dear?" Oh crap. My eyes widened as I nodded. "Not you." She turned to Paige, who shook her head just a little.

"This is a Pratt sound. It's used to dilate urethras. It can be used on men or women, but tonight, just a man." Her head tipped toward me. "Gloves, darling. Notice it's larger on one end than the other, and even larger in the middle. Start with the smaller end, and you don't have to work too hard here, just hold it and him up. Insert it easily; if you poke him, he'll wiggle. See?" Ow, ow, ow. "Once the end is in, gravity will do most of what we need it to, that's why we lube it up. It will just fall in, oh, oh, look there it goes." I groaned. "You can move it up and down a little if you want, just don't twist it. The bend will keep that from going too far. Then gently pull it out, turn it over, and do it again." I panted a bit while we waited for me to groan at the fall. "We have all these to get through; they get progressively larger. Take your time."

Paige paled. We had long ago stopped apologizing to each other over all this, so I was surprised, then gratified to see her mouth the words "I'm sorry". I nodded as much as the bondage would let me. Not like it stopped her. Or even slowed her down.

"And what's the point here?" asked Dave.

"The same as every other point we've tried to make here. It hurts. He may grow to like it, especially if we do it too much. But this first time out, he should be screaming quite nicely soon."

My groans were already beyond my control, I was losing count. How many did she get?

"Besides, we all know he likes piss games; a catheter might be entertaining."

She was right about the noise I'd make; I was shouting and couldn't hear most of their conversation. It hurt like hell, but somewhere in there, my erection came back. In the blur I could make out Ramona at the end of the table. The last English I understood was "Oh, let's do this." My screaming started in earnest when the vibrator in my ass on my prostate kicked in, and I lost track of things when something large slid down inside my cock.

SHORTLY AFTER we had gotten married, I had insisted that Ramona hold my sex in bed at night. She balked for a while, but as it didn't always lead to sex, she eventually gave in and made it part of how we slept. It didn't feel right to me if I wasn't in her hand whenever I would wake up in the night, and I moved her around to do it until she nonchalantly just did it anyway.

When I woke in bed, how did I get there, my whole crotch and ass, see I said it, was on fire. She wouldn't take her hand away and in fact squeezed harder when I tried to move her.

"Shh shhh, it's okay, just hold still. Let yourself feel it. Shhh."

Sure, Paige and I had sinned, but we all knew that I wasn't the real reason Dave was so mad at her; I'd had the snip years before he had.

"You're a good friend to help them through this. I love you, Richard."

God this hurt. I finally got to start crying. She kissed me gently, but wouldn't move her hand.

Separate

I KNEW better. I know I knew better, god damn it, I knew better, why didn't seeing what happened to my parents so much as slow me down? Because they didn't tell me about the train wreck when the voice of reason flies off the deep end and the stars explode and how two and two make five and a quarter, shut the fuck up, Mr. Dolby.

And of all the people looking for someone in the world, why could I just not resist the one person I should have? Because I'm a moron, that's why. A victim of my own suck-ass feelings, my own brain chemistry conspired against me to lead me to conclude that it would somehow be okay. Stupid stupid stupid. C'mon rationalization, please kick in to keep me from looking for bridges and cliffs and tall buildings.

Alright, the truth is, Paige and I have known each other our entire lives, and she was going to do it again anyway. And it's not like we hadn't done things like this before, we just got caught this time. And if we hadn't, she certainly would have kept it up until she got caught again, so I suppose it was inevitable that sooner or later, we'd have gotten busted.

I'd never understood why Dave put up with any of it anyway; it really tore him up every time it happened. I'm sure that's at least part of why he's being such a prick with her; he's getting back at her for all her little indiscretions.

Damn near killed Ramona.

"Hey."

"Hey. We still on?"

"God, yes. Same place?"

"Be there with bells on."

AND THAT'S really how it began. Again. Well, no, it actually began with Paige and me growing up together, playing doctor, post office, tiddling, mutual masturbation, truth or dare---heavy on the dare---we were lovers long before we knew how or what that meant. Paige had been mightily abused by pretty much everybody she ever knew, and I let her sexualize our association from, like, forever. Ours was the only relationship where she could get what she needed to happen the way she needed it. What she needed was to have things hurt, just enough. Not too much, not too little. A very fine line of "just right."

And me, well, I don't know what screwed me up so bad as to like piss games, and yes, to have things hurt a little, and to hurt girls, and force them to do things and embarrass them, but whatever it was, Paige was always happy to play along. Everyone we knew expected us to get married.

I can't tell how upsetting it was to have her announce when she was home from U-Cal-Berkley that she was engaged. Especially to the hound dog that Dave turned out to be. She told me he reminded her of her father, and that she needed me to be nice to him. She made up for it by introducing me to Ramona, her roommate.

Ramona was an angel, and I still don't know how I got her to marry me, but I've never regretted it once, not even after she caught Paige and me the first time. It's almost as if she just knew, and no, she didn't like it, but she let it go. And I tried so hard to live up to her. She works at the local homeless shelter, always happy to be doing things for other people, give, give, give, was all Ramona all the time. Except in the bedroom. Of late, she'd gotten to where she wanted her life there to be as proper as it was in the church I didn't go to, and I missed the things I needed, but put up with it, for the most part. I took care of myself a lot anymore.

But Paige. Paige is so fucking needy, she feels so confined in her marriage, her kid, the second one they adopted, even through the abortion she still has to have after Dave had his vasectomy. An "accident" that Dave wasn't willing to put up with. Oh, he was ready to kill her then, and I don't know what she did to calm him down, but it worked, and kept her from, uh, expressing her needs elsewhere at least for a while, and she did have the good sense to come to me with them when they overwhelmed her, instead of prowling bars or wherever it is someone goes for that sort of thing. I thought I was doing her a favor, keeping her safe. Or so the script went. Because despite everything that happened, I still love her. I think Dave does, too. And somehow, even though my wife is the straightest person I have ever met, she seems willing to allow and forgive Paige for pretty much any indiscretion she might have. Isn't forgiveness what they're calling the quality of love these days?

IT WAS a day for mistakes. I had my "where is he now" app freshly installed on my phone, I overfilled the oil on the car so it smoked the whole way, I didn't kiss Ramona goodbye, nor did I grab the poptarts on my way out the door raising suspicions to my wife who tried to call the office and picked up on my crappy cover story that was more like swiss cheese than a craftily wrought lie. I picked up hitchhikers, of all things; it was almost like I was trying to get caught.

Dinner was by and large uneventful at the restaurant, except for the waitress almost dropping our dinner leaving us a disheveled meal. Paige smoldered lust all the way through dessert. She played with her clothes a lot. It was like old times.

She hung on me like she used to the entire way back to the room, and before the door was even closed, she was naked, and clawing at my shirt, my pants. Girl was impatient to get back at it; I wanted to take a bit longer with it this time. I sat her on the bed while I finished getting the rest of my clothes off. She couldn't wait any more, and drug me onto her onto the bed.

"Fuck me, Richard, God, please, fuck me." She manipulated herself so that there was only one path, one motion needed, and the way was soaked. "Oh God! Yes! Yes! Ahhh!" Just like every other time. She'd get something out of me, and out of herself, then the interesting things could happen.

Once that was over with, she took my hand to the bathroom. This one was smaller than usual, it was, well, cozy, for lack of a better word. Alright, cramped is a better description. She knelt in the tub, put her fingers on her nipples, and opened her mouth. Big deep breath.

I got in the tub with her, and did what is often necessary after sex. My penis's limpening reversed its trend as I relieved myself in ways Ramona just wouldn't let happen. Paige wouldn't spill a drop unless I deliberately missed, and today I wanted to do something for both of us. "Don't swallow it yet. Stand up. No, I'm not done. Hold still. Close your mouth."

Her eyes shut with her mouth, and when she had stilled herself enough, I hit her. Right on the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of her. She crumpled, coughing, gasping, spraying urine everywhere: on my face, my chest, my sex, god, I loved it, and I could see, once the shock was over, she did, too. "Again." She held me in her mouth, licking what had just come out of both of us like it was candy, moaning with delight, shaking her hands with the excitement one always wants to see in loved ones when doing something they desperately secretly want comes true, like winning lotteries or getting to go to that show they didn't think anyone else was interested in or landing in Hawaii. We repeated things until I couldn't get anything else out of me, and as usual, Paige wouldn't do it the other way around.

The tub was way too confining for what we wanted next, and I pushed her out of my way in my hurry to get back into the room, planning to hit her some more and fuck her in the ass with the abandon we had just worked up. No sooner had I cleared the door way, laughing, dripping, that I froze solid. Oh, fuck. Paige ran into me, pushing me over before she came to the same standstill I had.

Ramona was there. As was Dave. Neither of them looked happy.

"Oh, don't let us stop you. Please. Carry on."

DAVE HAD a gun out. It had the expected effects on me, not altogether unlike getting laughed at in the showers after gym class by the boys who had the pubic hair that I didn't, yet, but with more of a hint of violence. "You know what I want to see? I want to see him hit her." He brandished it around like a conductor waives a baton.

"Would you put that away, please? I'm not going to let you shoot him."

"I don't wanna shoot him. I want to shoot her. Lots. And you know why, don't you bitch."

Paige and I were kneeling, right next to each other, with my arm around her, per our spouses' insistence; it had turned into a day for kneeling. I could feel her nodding. I knew, too, and mimicked her.

"I agree. He should hit her. And she should hit him. Put the damn thing away, Dave." Ramona usually gets her way on most things most everywhere. He at least put it on the bed and let go of it.

"That won't work." I braved a little truth.

"Excuse me?" Oh, crap, it wasn't my turn to speak. Deep breath, now. Can I do this?

"We're here . . .” my voice cracked a bit, "because there's some things we're not getting. Things we . . . need." I stopped, and everyone looked at me with different expressions. Paige had the expected betrayal, Dave rolled his eyes, and Ramona drilled her gaze at me like I was telling her something she didn't know. "Dave has to hit her. That's what she's been missing with him."

"Fucking bastard. Hit her." Ramona approved and scowled; damned if I do, damned if I don't. My move; I resigned to my fate.

I got up enough to tower over my clandestine mistress, drew my hand back, and swung, and swung hard.

Contact.

Paige flinched the way my hand so sharply pushed her towards; she breathed deep as she relaxed into the fire across the left side of her face, and expressed the joy I knew she would feel with such a strike as she righted herself, and closed her eyes to wait. I did it again, just for emphasis.

"I still do not fucking believe it." Dave pushed me aside, and repeated the motion I had done, to the same result. Paige glistened, and made the noise women make when you get their attention sexually, inhaling her short little "ah".

"Dave. Let him do it." Ramona was watching a train wreck, her head falling forward as she couldn't believe what she had just seen, what she had just authorized.

I picked up where I had left off from my plan on coming out of the bathroom, only with an audience. The ecstasy Mrs. Charney couldn't resist, even under the threat of gunfire, saturated the room. I had thought to use my belt, but I when I tried to get Dave's to make a point here, Ramona offered the thin one she had on; this one would hurt the most of any in the room. Paige wiggled her butt at us on the bed when Ramona insisted I turn the belt around, and hit her with the buckle end. I was a little nervous about the extra metal causing more damage until I remembered the damage Dave had promised with the bits of metal he could still reach. I returned to swinging.

"Ohh."

"Ohhhhh."

"Ooooaaaahhhh!" She lurched forward each time, but then re-righted herself, trying her best to be tough and take whatever I dished out. I was much harder on her than I was expecting, my frustrations at getting caught were being channeled quite effectively through my step, my arm, my hand, my wife's accessory.

"AAHHHH!"

"HHHH HHH HHH HHHHH!"

"OWWNHHHAAARRRRGGHHH!!!"

I was bruising her. My bloodflow was increasing with my heart-rate, and whatever shyness or fear had diminished my erection earlier was replaced by my own sense of desperation; I had effectively recovered and was only a few strokes from wanting to rape something.

Paige screamed. Ramona's own involvement was starting to overwhelm her need for clothes; I couldn't pay attention to Dave, fuck him and his little gun, too.

Paige was hysterical but unwilling to move away from the incessant flailing I was inflicting on her. I lost track of Ramona.

Paige was bleeding, and I couldn't wait any more. I pulled her up, positionally took aim toward her anus, and touched it with my cock, thrilling at the texture when when when . . .

I felt something on my shoulder, the familiar touch I wake to every morning, pulling me ever so almost-not back; the gentleness of it shattered my world. The bed fell away, I was huffing like I'd been underwater too long, and every nerve ending I had was rampaging a frustration and a need and a fire and I couldn't stop quivering until the word, the one hateful word whispered it's roar, drowning me, pushing me back under. "No."

I fell off the bed, and Ramona caught me, stroking my hair, lowering me forever until the floor kept me from China. "You don't get off that easy." I watched the ceiling after my wife pulled out of my view. I could hear her whispering, but had no idea what was being said. I felt my own hand slide down my body, eager to finish what had been interrupted.

"Stop that. Get up." I didn't want to. Ramona reappeared in my view. "Do as I say, sweetie. Get up. Take your hands off yourself. Now."

Shit.

Reluctantly, I stopped embarrassing myself, and sat up. "All the way. Get up here on the bed. Come on. That's a good boy. All fours now. Paige? Honey? Your turn." Ramona positioned herself in front of me, and held my face so she could look directly into my eyes. "Go ahead, darling."

The first stroke was a light sting. I startled a little at it. My wife smiled at me, like I was doing something she wanted. That's when it occurred to me that I was.

Hit, jolt, intake of air, melt. My lips quivered a little.

Hit, shock, exhale, oh god, why is she looking at me like that.

Hit, fire, sound, smile, fuck I'm gonna cry, but not because my butt, excuse me, my ass hurt.

Hit, grunt, the strength of my arms failed, and and she's n-naked, how did that happen?

Hit, Uuughhh, and there's only one thing I can think of and I lowered my head toward what I knew was the right thing to do. Oh please dear god, let it be the right thing to do.

Hit, groan, and I found the part that drew me to her and kissed her there like I needed to, licked her there like I needed to.

As the assault continued, lurching me forward into my wife's center, the tears began in earnest, and my noises escalated. It went on forever. Ramona quivered beneath me enough times that I lost count, and all I could think of was the combustions I was in the middle of.

"SO WHAT do you think we should do here?" Dave and Ramona were dressed, seated in the room's chairs. Beer had somehow found its way into their hands.

"Do you want to divorce? They are both two-timing whores, and no one would say we did the wrong thing if we threw them out." Paige and I were naked, still on the bed, with our legs spread. We were close enough to touch, but we didn't.

"I don't find divorce acceptable. We've got kids and a bit too much history to just throw it all away, even if there are some bad things." We had been charged to masturbate, and make sure the other one didn't climax.

"I'm not ready to give up here, either. I don't particularly want to reward them, though. I rather like the whole orgasm denial bit." I spat at Paige; she was too close. I found it odd that a woman who drank piss like it was champagne could be so utterly turned off and grossed out by spit, which was in the middle of kissing anyway, but there it was. A sure way to keep her from finishing what she had been charged to do.

"Yes, I agree. Keep them needy, allow them more time to focus on what's important. Their spouses' needs, for example." Paige reached over and pulled my hand away. My pelvis was just about to convulse. Apparently, I was too close, too.

"You know, it's kind of a funny coincidence. I threw a couple out of the mission for engaging in that whole S&M thing this very morning. And now here we are, trying to refigure our own ways through that very idea, to keep our families together. We'll work on some rules as we go. Are you two done?"

"Just a breather."

"Well, come on. Back in the boat. We're burnin' moonlight. Whaddaya think, should we let 'em finish?"

Ramona smirked and tipped her head. "Okay, the one who finishes first gets to drive home with their clothes on. Go."

A worthy goal. Of course I lost.

Fold

"DUDE. DO not go home." It was Dave.

"What?"

"I mean it. Ramona's gone, and you do not want to go in there any more."

"Okay, you lost me there. Start over."

He exhaled an exasperated gasp. "Fine. The other night, my phone was detecting a wireless network that you said you didn't have. Not just one, a dozen. So I sent my tech guy by to see what he could make of it. He sat in his car across the street for an hour before he figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"Cameras. There are wireless cameras all over your house. And, and he saw Ramona being taken from your house. Forcefully. Goons came in and nabbed her. Where are you?"

"On the freeway, why?" I was lying my way into my driveway.

"Do not even go near your house. Come to mine. The cops are on their way."

"Okay, thanks."

I got out of the car, went up the walk and opened the door like I could. I followed the hammering and found him in the basement, as I expected to.

"Ahhh, Richard."

"I think we have a problem."

"Ohhh?" He was sitting on a long box. Also as expected: hammering in a nail.

"Seems your network tech isn't as smart as Dave's. They were able to tap into the cameras, and saw Ramona getting removed. The cops are supposedly on their way."

"I did hear something about that. I've already taken care of it; not to worry."

"Alrright." The quiet indicated that the last word on that subject had been spoken. I meditated on what he was sitting on for a moment, and he let me. "Is she really in there?"

"Yess." He offered the hammer up to me, and I took it. He held the nail up on the box; I looked to him for reassurance which he gave with a smile before I drove it in with two strokes. He positioned another, and I put that one in, too.

"I was quite impressed you'd be willing to pay this price for your little friend."

"And they'll both be safe?"

"I guarantee it." He had positioned a nail toward the middle of the case. "Go ahead. This one will be interesting for her." Bam Bam Bam. The three nails I'd put in made a triangle, a rather significant isosceles triangle, pointing toward where her feet should be, ending in about the middle of the crate. I handed the hammer back, and he had to pull on it twice before I would let go: "You may come visit her at the Ranch any time you'd like. You don't even need to call ahead."

"Yeah, I'll stop by this weekend. See how she is."

"I suspect she'll still be quite angry by then." Bam Bam Bam.

"How long will you keep her?"

"Until she's ready. And until we've recouped our investment from her. Not to worry. She'll be everything you could ever want and need from a woman when she comes back to you. Safe as houses. Ha ha." Bam Bam Bam.

"And Paige?"

"Need to go over it again, eh? Paige will not be making this little journey."

I looked at the coffin with intent, trying to see through it. "What about Dave?"

"The only reasonable course of action is to tell him the truth."

"Tell him I bartered my wife to keep his from going back to being a slave."

"Of course. And then send him to see me. I convince people of things for a living." He held his hand out, and like a fool, I shook it. He directed me toward the stairs, closed the door behind me, and Judas was committed.

I had a lot to think about over my microwaved dinner. Luke had assured me that uncomfortable questions were just not going to be asked, and as it turned out, they weren't. Dave probably wasn't going to be bringing Paige by any time soon. The house was quiet; I turned off all the cameras. I masturbated twice in bed every night for a week, and made quite the mess in the bathroom, thinking about what I had done to Ramona.

When Luke came to me about taking Paige, I knew she would never come back from what he suggested. We arrived at an alternative without a lot of effort. I started going to church, praying for the strength I knew my wife would need. And yes, she was incredibly pissed off when I went to visit her the first time; didn't take very many times of that to get me to quit going out.

Eight months later, the doorbell rang. Ramona was kneeling on the step, naked. No cars on the street. After I had gotten her inside, she crossed to the middle of the living room, and knelt with her head bowed, knees spread wide, hands behind her back. She glowed.

"Honey?" I got down beside her and put my arms around her. She poured herself into me, gently tipping me onto my back as she straddled me and got enough of my clothes out of the way to do some good, kissing me like she did on our honeymoon, whispering "I love you I love you I love you . . .” when she broke the potty training she just couldn't bring herself to do before she'd left.

They'd done a good job with her.

Ramona

Bouts

“. . .”

"Whore."

She lowered her chin, and stared into a space I judged to be about 3 feet in front of her, defocusing. She was definitely feeling something.

"Slut."

Her breathing picked up to the point that she couldn't breathe enough through her nose; if we'd started here, it would be called 'panting'.

"Bitch."

Her shoulders slumped, her eyes directed to a lower point in the room. If he hadn't been sitting, but standing with his feet vertical to where she first looked, she'd be directing her attention toward his sex. I'm going to have to stop this; it isn't working.

"Cunt."

Her lips started quivering, but I didn't see tears welling up. Can't tell what's happening in her blouse. She jostled a little, but the result was that her legs parted a bit. He didn't catch that; way too involved with himself to notice her.

"Okay, language is getting in our way here, so let's try something different. Please, both of you stand up and face each other. Good. I'm going to ask you to do something that is actually fairly difficult, but it will only be for a little bit, so you can get through a few minutes, can't you? I want you to turn language off. Crazy, huh. You're not going to talk; in fact, I don't want you to think in words at all. If you hear a word in your head, turn it off. Don't listen to it. No words. Just look. Look at each other, and stand there."

"You're right, this is crazy."

"Only for a couple minutes. Just stand there, and look at each other. Move a little closer, there. Now. Quiet. Outside and in. Shhh."

Alright. About a yard apart, within her defocus range, breathing slowed back down in both of them, good. We waited. I wondered why I couldn't hear my clock ticking, but was glad it wasn't.

Their faces betray all of their emotions, and they are rapid firing almost comically. Confusion, disappointment, remorse, contempt, fear, sadness, anticipation, disgust, love, anger, trust, anger, optimism, anger, joy, anger. Fooey. The furrow in his brow won't let go. He is so pissed at her, c'mon, look at her. See what she's offering. You think she's beautiful, remember?

"Don't think, just look," I whispered.

He relaxed just a little, and she saw it. The hope she needed; there's forgiveness in there. Yes. Yes. Yes. C'mon, look at her. See what she feels about you . . .

No! The hand was so fast, his face didn't pre-betray what he was about to do, and suddenly, she was bent over to the side, the strike still reverberating against the walls. I stood up, and inhaled to say I-didn't-know-what to try to tamp this back down, as it truly just backfired horribly . . .

"Wait."

I sat back down. That was the first word she'd said this session, whispering absolute control over everyone in the room. I was in awe.

She uprighted herself, and radiated submission. I had a hope. Look at her, moron. They're both puffed a moment, and she did it. Her eyes lowered, her body lowered, down, down, down, her eyes directing to what mattered on him, and a smile started on her face. He can't see it, even though he followed her descent to her knees, her face isn't directed to where he could see it, c'mon, know it anyway.

More breathing. Hers was almost loud. I could feel it; it's about to happen. Make or break moment, taking much longer than anyone wants it to. My heart was racing. Do it. Do it. Pick up your hand, yes, the one you just hit her with, touch her, touch her the right way, easy now, do it. My eyes dried out; his hand started to lift from his side . . .

No. No no nonononono not now NO! The emergency call flashed silently on my phone, reflecting enough light off my face that it caught their attention. The spell was broken. They startled toward me; everybody's postures slumped away. I almost cried. She got up, embarrassed into a deep shade of red. He cowered back into the chair.

"I . . . I am so sorry. I . . . I'm sorry." I bolted for the door and tried to open it without sound, failed, and slinked into reception, afraid to look back. I shouldn't be leaving them. Not now.

"Agnes, this had better be the Second Coming you are disturbing me for," I hoarsed out.

"It . . . it's the Mission, Mrs. Standrid. They're ready to call the police. It was all I could do to keep them on the phone this long."

I exhaled hard, and tried to recompose myself enough to talk. I wiggled my head, and she handed me the receiver.

"Ramona Standrid."

I listened, and felt my eyes dry out again, before I closed them, no, squinted them and shook my head.

"Wwhat? Say that again."

The floor fell away before I could say anything else. It wasn't the Savior I was hearing about, it was that other one.

"No, no, I'll be right there." I guzzled another breath, fighting for composure. "Keep them in the office, I'm on my way. Right now. No, don't call the police. I'll take care of it."

I handed the phone back, realigning my world. "Clear my morning. No, clear the day. I won't be back." I couldn't look at her, as easy as it usually was to look at her. This day was going to be bad anyway, and I resigned to it. I put my hand to the doorknob, wondering how I was going to fix what was in there, and opened the door.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I . . .” I stopped, letting the door fall close behind me.

They'd changed places; she was sitting in the chair, and he was knelt before her, with his head in her lap. They weren't naked. Yet. I couldn't see his face, but he was shuddering. She looked up at me, grateful, tears flowing as she played with his hair. Her head tipped to the side as her lips struggled between quivering and crying and smiling. She bent over, kissed his cheek, and wrapped her arm around him. They shook.

"I . . . I have to leave. I am sorry. You take as much time as you need. Agnes will help you with whatever you want." I withdrew from my own office like I was intruding.

"They . . . might be a while. Take care of them, please." I pulled my coat on, and rummaged in my purse. "They might have an unusual request or two, and here's a tip to leave for the cleaning crew. I have a feeling they're going to earn it tonight. And when they go, uh, take the rest of the day off; here, will this get you into the spa today? Thank . . . thank you, Agnes." When she took the bills, her hand held mine for a scant moment, and I was reminded how easy it was to look at her when she smiled like that. No doubt, there was support there, God bless her, keep her, make her fruitful. I had to look down a split second before I could find her eyes and return the smile, even if only feebly, tipping my head to the side and then a little forward, with a tiny exhale. Hope, disaster, success, failure, doom, redemption. Another day, another dollar.

The miracles continue to happen without me. If only the rest of the day would go so well.

"WHY?"

"You know why I can't have you doing that. I've got freshly battered women here that are terrified of their own shadow, not to mention the old hands that are ready to take whatever horrors that happened to them out on anyone they even think deserves it. You're lucky they didn't kill him."

She fell back into the chair. "But you're my friend Ramona. Where will we go?"

"I don't know. I can't even take you home with me, especially today. Not today."

She stewed.

"Look, Harrie, I could probably make a case for letting you stay. But he absolutely has to go."

She crossed her arms and made her decision. "Then I have to go, too." She reached toward my desk, and I snatched the whip that was lying there away before she could get to it. She sat back hard, rocking the chair a bit.

"Where did you even get one of these?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

She pushed the chair back on its back two legs, like she knew a secret she shouldn't tell. "What church ya goin' to these days, Ro?" And I knew. These two were in so much trouble, I couldn't help them. And I could not afford the troubles they had to rain down here. I dropped the whip onto the floor. It was hard to let go, but I managed. Her head tipped to the side like she was trying to keep track of it.

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"Nope. Reverend Bruce himself gave it to us. Insisted we find our way with it."

Oh, no. "Sweetie, you have to leave. Get out of town. Right now."

She snickered. "Why?"

"Because he's setting you up for something. Something big and bad. He's waging a little war around here at the behest of his wife, and you don't want to get caught up in it."

"You've got my curiosity up. What can he do by giving Tommy 'n' me this little whip?"

"To start with, it's evidence. Well-known evidence. There was a fire at the church, his church, a year ago. And I don't understand everything about it, but this, this thing went missing at the fire, and they concluded that whoever has the whip is going to get charged with church arson, not to mention murder; people died in that fire. Even without that part of it, you don't want it in your life."

"What's so special about it? Aren't there a million others just like it out there, all being used in the embarrassing hush of bedrooms all across the country at night?"

"No. Please tell me this isn't what you two were really using this morning."

"Uh: yyeah. It's fucking amazing. What the big deal?"

I knew Harrie was about to laugh at me, and I tried to put off what I was about to say until I couldn't. Her foot tapped for me. There were so many things wrong with all this; it wouldn't matter where I started. "It's . . . it's the Scourge of Christ." I hung my head, and she came through, and fulfilled my fears. I drooped a little harder to the left until my focus regained and I realized I was looking at my breast, which was remembering something without me.

"C'mon, Ro. This thing is brand new."

"That's just what it's called," I murmured, looking for balance. "How long have you had it? How much have you used it?"

"A lot. So?"

"You and I both know what happens to whips when you use them. They wear out, and they wear out quickly." I didn't want to pick it back up, but knew I was going to have to. It hummed in my hand before I could get it back on the desk, and it was still hard to let go of. It glistened. "Look at it. Have you ever seen one look this good? Ever? This is better than showroom condition, and you know it."

"Yeah, so it's tough. Maybe kangaroo, I don't know."

"You said it was amazing. Does it hurt?"

"I said fucking amazing. And yeah, it fucking hurts. Right up until I fucking cum from it."

I couldn't keep myself from wincing when she swore like that. Not like before; I must be getting old, stodgy. "And how often did that happen before? Before you had this?"

"Huh?" She paused. "Never. You know that. I finally grew into it. You knew that would happen, too." Her eyes narrowed for another pause, a dramatic one. "And you know you will, too, bitch."

"Harrie, please. I took you in here because you're my friend, and you needed help, and now you need more help than I can give. Lots more."

She shook her head. "You still haven't changed, Ramona. But you will."

I had enough troubles lined up for today. "I am sorry, Harrie. But you can't stay here, and you have to get rid of this thing. Throw it in the river, I don't care. But please, don't keep it. It will ruin you completely." I was losing this argument, and tried to think of what to do next when she flared.

"Fuck you, Ramona." She stood, snatched, and stormed out of the room, slamming, shouting, stomping her way outside.

My headache had set in hard when the light rapping disturbed the rarefaction Harriet had left in her wake. Didn't cheer me up.

"Mrs. Standrid?" I waved the woman in. She was pale, quaking, might have been pretty once before the bastard did that to her. Apparently, we were louder than I thought. "Is everything okay?"

I nodded, and found it exhausting to croak, let alone talk. "They're gone, right?" I looked up at her, and she was nervous to be here, I can't fix that for you right now, honey, but I need to know if they are out of the building, and I glared until she responded. After she unmarkedly acknowledged they had, she was so scared, I'm sorry sweetie, it's not your fault, my fuming started to subside a little.

"I don't think they're coming back, so we won't call the cops right now, I'll pass a report onto them later. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" She shook her head, and I perceived I'd asked the questions wrong, but didn't want to frighten her any more. "I've got to make a couple calls, and will be out in a few minutes." She stood there, riveted to the floor. "Yes, I'll be out in a couple minutes." I made a little underhanded go on, now, move motion, and she deer-in-the-headlight-ed right back at me. Lord, the monster did quite the number on her; she could barely move any muscle on her face for all the scarring; fear and pain ran deep in her eyes. We stared each other down until I broke first. "What's wrong, darling?"

She swallowed. "I am so scared. So is everyone else." I was not surprised.

"It's okay, baby. They're gone." I crossed to her and tried to put my arms around her. She was as stiff as a board.

"You . . . didn't hear them." She gulped. What did you do, Harrie?

"Listen, I mean it. I will be right out. Then we'll talk. We'll all talk." I shuffled her toward the door; she made it difficult. My best reassuring face did little for her, but it was going to have to hold her, even if only for a couple minutes. "Really really." The only line worth mentioning from that kids movie worked. Again. Never ceases to amaze me.

I got her into the door frame, but not quite far enough to close it. She started hyperventilating. "What's your name, honey?" I-I didn't remember, and as soon as she said it, it still meant nothing to me; I immediately forgot it again.

"Listen, uh, could you go get everyone together for me at the dining room? I'll want to hear what everyone has to say about it. Go on." Giving her something to do would get her away from me enough to make my calls. I smiled at her as she disappeared from sight, and locked the door.

"Hey, it's me. Are you sure it's today? Really? Okay, so look, I've got fires here for a while, and can't get away until later. I'm afraid at least four hours. I know. Yes. Can you drive? My car is making noises. Okay. Thanks. I'll call you as soon as I can. I gotta run. Bye."

"Agnes? How's it going? Really? Oh, good. What? Oh, man, that's worse than I expected. Yeah, that's why I left the tip. Sorry about that. We'll bill 'em somehow. Thank you. Go home, relax a little. I'll see you next week. Thanks. Bye."

I also called the police, reported a minor domestic squabble at the mission, no, they didn't need to send anyone, the couple had left, no, I didn't know who they were, a couple transients, I haven't got any details that would help, thank you, goodbye. You're gonna owe me, Harriet.

I rummaged through the desk for some analgesics and was getting frustrated at not finding any when the blurred rapping came through the door, signaling, I was sure, whatshername's need for approval at her task. I took the last deep breath I expected for hours and joined her in the hall, wishing the worst was over, knowing my day hadn't even started properly, and I'd already had all the good news I was going to get.

"IS EVERYONE alright?"

"Is anyone hurt?" More sulkiness.

"Does anyone want to say anything?" I felt like I was dying on stage at amateur comedian night. Truthfully, this wasn't funny, either. I looked over the people sitting around the room again. The woman whose name remained on the tip of my tongue was standing in the back, head bowed, hiding behind her straggly hair; a necessity largely due to St. Raphael's deficiency at facial reconstructive surgery. I noticed she was surveying the room, too, except she was having to determine how people felt from behind.

Finally, a large woman spoke, who never wore enough clothes to preserve the rest of us from the indignities that had been wrought on her, despite my admonitions. "Are they still here?" Tattoos, scars, dearest God, keep this woman, too, from any more of the harm that she's already seen too much of.

"No. They are gone." The statuary in the room reluctantly showed a sign of life, and collectively breathed a sigh of relief. Given what all these poor women had gone through before they got here, the last thing they needed was to have Harrie backslide in front of them. "What happened?" Another tact to get them to start talking that failed.

Scarface walked across the back of the room. Good grief, Ro, don't even think of her that way. "We aren't safe here, either, are we."

I shook my head, not realizing at the time that my motion could be misconstrued, but before I could properly refute anything, the door clicked open with a bang, and our benefactor walked in. Everyone started talking all at once; the scattered women in the room stood pushing chairs noisily out of their determination to get to him.

Reverend Bruce looked over the top of the assembly at me. It was almost like watching the blond guy playing Christ from that musical in the scene where the crowds of the lepers were reaching toward him; my bad day got worse as he frowned his condemnation of my generosity to my friend, which was oddly mixed with the joy he felt at once again being the hero to the victims. And I know, oops, but Jesus: Asshole.

Mary. Her name was Mary. And even though her facial expression could never change again, somehow, having her arms around the only man in the room conveyed a relief I was never able to offer her. I am such an asshole.

Knots

"GOD, WE are such a pair of fffucking sluts! No, wait. Fuckable! Fffuckable sluts!"

Paige always was the go-to girl for a good time back in college, and she still hadn't grown out of that. The overweight ones often compensate by being easy.

"Ho ho, ha ha, yeah!" She spilled her drink as she fell back in the booth. "Woohoo! Fresh pussy here!"

The display of her charms may have been accidental, but I doubted it. "Whew! Not so fresh! What have you been feeding that thing?"

"The sssame. Jourrrnalists."

"Is he treatin' you right?"

"Hmm? Fffuck yeah. When you're the hhhottie he has to bang, you can do no wrong. He lets me get away with pretty much annnything." She looked coy, and the happiest I'd seen her in a long time.

"Gave up on novelists, eh?"

"Oh, god fffuck me." She hiccupped. "Novelists are whiny suck-ass dreamers who wouldn't know a good time if the little pansies were hhhaving one. Nope. Give me a good old-fffashioned journalist who can sssay 'This is what fffucking happened to me today: fffucking'."

"Ha ha. No poets?"

"Puh-lease. 'This is what happened today. To ffflowers.' I think I'm gonna barf. Will you hold my hair?" Her head lolled to the side.

"Always. How's Norman?"

"The little rugrat runs me ragged. And he's adorable." She rolled all her 'r's. "I mmmean it about the barffing. Can I do it here?" Her speech was getting slurrier.

"No, c'mon, honey. I'll take you." I managed to get her out of the booth and at least into the bathroom of the crappy twang bar before she needed her hair held at the sink.

"That tasted awful. I llove you, Rammona. Gimme a kiss."

"Oh. No. No. Not now. Ah." I winced hard, trying to keep my own dinner down as she managed to get her lips on my cheek. Bleah. Fat girl here was strong. Praise the lord she missed her intended target. Sorry about the "fat" thought. "We need to get you home."

"Idon'wannago . . .”

"There's a jourrrnalist waiting for you therrre . . .”

"Can I fffuck him?"

"If he'll have you, yes."

"How'ssssmybreath? Hhhhhhh . . .”

"It'll part the red sea. Don't breathe on him. Or me, for pity's sakes."

We staggered out through the bar, and she rollicked the whole way, anxious to meet new friends, influence people, succeed in life, the universe, everything. It was all I could do to pour her into the car. Girl's night out during Thanksgiving break from grad school was good. For her.

As I provided a human crutch for her on our way up their walk, I could see Dave nervously pacing back and forth in front of the picture window, holding their son, patting him, bouncing a little. Norman was busy with his own problems, and telling Dad all about them. I couldn't hear the child screaming or what his father was saying to try to soothe him, but it was obvious a woman's touch was needed.

"We'rre hhomme!" Paige fell through the door.

Norman struggled out of his father's arms and crawled across the room. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" He was so happy to see her, the fact that she was unconscious didn't even part his little fuzzy standy-uppie hair. He threw himself across her, and purred.

"I will give you a thousand dollars if you let me escape through that door right now."

"Not a chance, bucko." I chortled. "Help me get her to bed."

"Yeah, fuck you, Ro."

I stepped over the mother-son pile and put my hands to his face to pull him towards mine. A half an inch between us; I tried to look down see his lips but only saw his nose, so I tipped my head a bit, until my view improved. "That's the plan," I whispered. I drew my chin back, smiled, and looked up into his eyes, knowing the effect my makeup would have. He startled, then quieted. We vied for the air between us before we closed the gap completely, inhaling ourselves together. We put the other two away and changed all our lives that night. Again.

JUST BEFORE I went back to school the following fall, Paige re-introduced me to an old flame of hers. I didn't remember Richard as being particularly interesting the first time around, but now there was a spark. We got a couple dates in before I left, and he tried to keep in touch. I let him. He came out to see me a few times, and by Christmas, we found ourselves in a, uh, sticky situation.

His hands were in my dress, my non-chalance was melting away, and he was kissing me like it mattered.

"Wait," I panted. "I'm not altogether . . . ohh . . . prepared to go too far with this. I'm not on anything."

"What?" He was fumbling with my clothes. "No bennies, dexies, meth? Mmmm." He was sucking gently on the sternal head muscle in my neck, sending shivers up and down my spine.

"No, moron. Birth control. Oh, god, more." He was inching up, and found my ear. It should have been gross when his tongue went in and wiggled just a little, but I practically came right there.

"Hhhhh. Not gonna be a problem." Now he was panting, in synch with me. "Birth defects skip a generation in my family." His mouth covered my nose, tugging languidly with his lips, but he didn't lick. That should have been gross; as it was, it made me smile. "Not this time. Snip." A scissor motion with a pair of fingers made me blanch; I've never understood why the idea of something painful happening to men's sex makes women wince.

Back to the kissing that mattered, and I threw myself into it. "Really?" I tangled my fingers into his hair as he again began finding his way toward interesting places.

"Really really." The top of my dress was finally open enough, his fingers were tracing the top of my bra at my collar bone, and then tentatively stroked over where my nipple was covered with too many layers of cloth for either of our desires. I inhaled as hard as I could, to try to push into his fingers more, just a bit more, please. He was teasing me better than I ever had been, and I liked it; I liked it a lot.

I wriggled my shoulders to try to get more of my flesh exposed to him. He was scarcely grazing me, and I had never been pushed so close to orgasm so fast, ever. The rough stuff could never compare to this; my whole head tingled, and he wasn't even touching it. I tried to watch what he was doing, to see how he could fire that many neurons and at one point, he wasn't even touching me---just waving his fingers over my breasts slowly, and it felt like his hand was actually on me. He pulled his hand up maybe two inches, pointed his fingers down toward me, and I swear, I felt something inside my ribcage.

"How are you doing that?" I wheezed out. I was still basically dressed, a situation I was going to have to remedy soon.

"Mmmmagic." He moved his hand south, and I felt like I was being unzipped. I couldn't stand it; I struggled up and started taking clothes off. I didn't care where we were any more, all I wanted was whatever this man was doing to me.

"Ahem."

I was straddling Richard with my dress off my shoulders; we both looked behind me, and we said in unison, "Just a minute please." The waiter closed the curtain to the thank-god-private booth, and we both started cracking up, the first voodoo broken but not forgotten. I had to recompose myself; I'd never been so embarrassed in my life, and it didn't upset me. I got off him, and put my clothes back together. No more serious conversations this evening, no sirree. Every time I caught him staring at me, looking right through my clothes, I would crimson out, tittering.

After the fabulous flawless fondue we fed to each other fraught with overtones, he asked. I was staying with Paige and Dave over break, and didn't want to take him there, and so suggested what a girl has to: "How 'bout your place?"

"Gonna cost ya."

"Think I won't pay?"

"Doubt it. See, I want you to lose your clothes."

"I'm on board with that part of this . . . plot." I licked my lips, trying to find another bit of the chocolate we had played with. Yum. And suggest something. Double yum.

"No, you're not understanding me. Not when we get there. Before."

"You want me to strip in the car."

"No, I don't want you to have clothes at your disposal. I want you to lose them. I want you to wager them to strangers on the way. And lose."

"Isn't this a little elaborate to just get me naked?"

"If all I wanted was naked, we could do it your way."

"And what way is that?"

"Something considerably easier."

I swallowed and realized that despite all the flirting and toying through dinner, despite his little magic tricks with air and fingers, I was suddenly, for the first time in a long time: wet. Not just a little wet; I was wet like a whore. Maybe despite isn't the right word.

"And what is it you want?" I had a hard time whispering.

"I have some sins to pay for."

My brow furrowed. "How is my . . .”

"It's complicated. You can go with it, or you can go home." He stood, and the curtain fell back together after he left the booth. I sat for a moment feeling a loss I couldn't describe, and bolted from the restaurant. I caught up with him at the car. Apparently, he heard my heels click-clacking on the sidewalk; he turned and leaned up against it with his arms crossed, oh-so slightly amused.

WHAT WAS I doing.

We pulled into a convenience store before he said anything else to me, despite me asking him over and over, really, how do I do this, you know this is weird, on and on.

"Give me your jewelry and your purse. Go lose something to the clerk. Some uh, 'inner' piece of clothing."

"You're not coming?" He just smiled until I caved and opened the car door.

I was panting by the time I got inside. Panties, bra, dress, shoes. This wouldn't take long. I waited until the clerk noticed me, and asked if he could help me. I strangled.

"I . . . I w-wanna make. Bet. A bet." My chin was dropped as I tried to look up at him from my stammering. Ugh.

"You want to buy a lottery ticket?"

"N-no. I want to make a bet. With you."

His hand fell off the gun I knew he kept under the counter. His eyes went wide enough, he was lucky they were attached . . .

. . . Richard was crying, he was laughing so hard. "What the hell happened? Ho ho, ha ha ha."

"Can I just drop it, please?" My door was locked and we were talking through a crack in the window. "Open the door. Please." I was marginally touching what was in my left hand, the cursed hand. I was going to need to soak it in rubbing alcohol for a week.

"I really thought you understood this whole affair better." He started snickering and snorting again. Got to howling fairly quickly, actually.

I rolled my eyes. "We went three out of five; I even let him call it in the air. I couldn't wi . . . he couldn't lo . . . c'mon, Richard, let me in." The idea that I said it wrong only occurred to me later.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, no, you won 'em, you wear 'em."

"You have got to be kidding me."

He tipped his head, and shook it, his eyeballs rolling back and forth as they looked at me. I'd been trying not to even think the word too often any more, but fuck. Shit fuck. It was getting cold. Fuck. In for a penny.

I scowled as I actually looked at the fat man's boxers for the first time, not even recognizing the cartoon character on them. I would have rather they'd been made of what they were supposed to help keep the pants cleaner from, even if they don't. I couldn't look in them; I didn't want to know. I could feel the horror and revulsion on my face as I straightened my dress back out. The door unlocked, and I realized the next trial was to actually sit on them.

"Do we need to go over it again?"

I couldn't look at him as my head tremored.

"Good. Until we get to the next place, I want you to masturbate."

"Excuse me?"

He took my left hand and placed it, maneuvering my fingers under the hem of my dress onto what I had just put on, yuck, where I would normally do that sort of thing by my lonesome, and pushed ever so gently. I couldn't stop him; my knees separated, and something in there was slippery. My heart raced as he withdrew, leaving me to do what he charged me to do. I stopped breathing as my eyes closed, and I was lost.

We drove until I came; I don't know how many times he went around the block. When I could see and breathe again, it took me a moment to realize where we were.

"This time, don't come back until you've lost everything inside the dress. And the shoes."

The losers at the porn shop won big that night. At least, if you can call winning other people's now-wet underwear winning. I came twice more before our last stop.

"But this is a house. A big one."

"Go lose the dress."

It took forever for the front door to open. The name 'Dallis' was on the nameplate by the bell.

"It's a bit late to come calling. Do I know you?"

"No, no sir. Can I come in?"

"It's 'may I'. And yes, you can come in, which you could anyway, and you may come in. You have my permission. That's the difference."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Wow. What a house.

"And what is this about, young lady?"

I was getting to be an old hand at this. "I want to make a bet with you." The way he looked right through me, I didn't need to lose anything to have him see me naked. I felt naked a lot that night. Actually, I was naked a lot that night, having had to remove undergarments in a place that specialized in what's normally kept in them, and what one can do with those kinds of places. Not to mention another fairly hard-to-explain extra piece of clothing.

"Gambling, eh? You came here to gamble?"

"Sort of."

"I see. A game of chance or skill?"

"Chance."

"Nonsense. Chance is meaningless. Skill is what matters. I would suspect you have some. Skills, that is. Are. Hmmm." He shuffled me out of the foyer into what is best described as a sitting room with a bay window, all done up in blue. "Wait. Wait here. Wait here until I come back. It will only be a moment. Until I come back. Here. Wait." This was becoming much creepier than the porn shop. My host wasn't normal, but I couldn't put my finger on why.

The street was dark enough outside to be basically invisible from the light of the room. It felt like I was in a fishbowl. I hoped Richard was looking.

"Ah. Yes. This is my son. Timothy, this is, this is . . . Wait a moment. I did not get your name, young lady. Not proper to have you sitting in my house without me knowing your name."

I cleared my throat. "Ramona."

"Thank you, my dear. Ramona. Timothy, meet Ramona. She's here to play a game." Another fat man. No, wait, not fat: large. The older man who answered the door---Dallis?---wasn't fat at all. Rather striking looking; commanding, as it were. "A wager. She wishes to place a wager. What are we playing for, my dear?"

I looked at both of them. "Clothes."

"Do you need clothes, my dear? I'm afraid we may not have much that would fit you. At least, not well."

"No, no. What we're wearing. One piece."

"You're only wearing one piece, my dear. That gives us a decided advantage." I knew he could see through clothes.

"That's, kinda the point."

"Ah. I see." He looked through me some more with narrower eyes. "For your husband's benefit? Your boyfriend's?"

I broke the staredown and couldn't look at him for a moment. My head hung with a negative.

"That narrows the choices rather dramatically. A man?" I confirmed it, and kept my head down. "But of course. You know what that makes him, don't you?"

I felt my expression change to something between supplication and confusion. I whispered, "What?"

"A very strong decision for you to make to come here. Let us not disappoint him. Do you wish to remove your dress before or after?"

"Wait, what?"

"Timothy, arm wrestle her."

The big man grabbed my hand and drug me over to a small table, held it up and positioned our elbows together, forcing me onto my knees, and uttered his first words. His voice was high-pitched and soft. "One, two, three, go." And it was over. I offered no impediment; his face shown like he had beaten a formidable opponent.

"We're burnin' moonlight, my dear. Do you need help?" Things were happening too fast; the room started rotating, collapsing. "Help her, my son."

Enormous hands lifted me to a stand, bunching up the cloth on the front and back of my dress, and pulled it apart as though it were easy. I clumsily tried to cover myself with my own obviously tiny hands, which wouldn't stop shaking.

"Put them down, my dear. You have nothing to hide or be ashamed of. Breathe, yes, it's alright. We won't hurt you. I'm proud of you, Ramona. Come." He reached for me, and I gave in to him. We stepped back into the foyer, where he whispered, "Don't be rude. You know what to say."

I looked back to see Timothy holding the pieces of my dress, leering at me. "Tha-Thank you. Timothy. Thank you." He smiled sweetly; it looked utterly incongruous with the look he had a moment ago. I turned back to Mr. Dallis. "What is happening?"

He looked like a father giving graduation advice to his beloved daughter. "You're growing up." He turned me toward the door.

"Wait, wait. You said something I didn't understand. About what my-my man was. Please."

His hand was warm on the side of my face, and I pushed into it. "Has he made love to you yet?"

"No." His eyes were kind, the kind one could drown in.

"He had you give up your clothes to strangers, come what may, and you did it, faithful and true. What does that make him?"

And I knew. Reaching up and kissing him on the cheek, I was suddenly happy, shivering for more than one reason in the chill.

"Ramona." I looked back from the dark on the step. "Go back to him the right way." He somehow hardly shifted his eyes down without taking them from me and I submitted to his suggestion. It took a while, and my knees hurt when I reached up for the door handle to the car.

NEITHER OF us could sit the next morning. The thrashing he wanted was intense, extreme, violent. We broke two canes before I had to quit helping him atone for his sins, and handed him the next one.

"And just what sins do you have to confess?"

"RAMONA MARIA, for once, do what I tell you. You're going to finish school, become the fabulously wealthy and successful doctor that you've always dreamed of being, and not worry one little bit."

I was still panting, and yes, it still hurt. More than everybody said it would.

"I swear to you, we're going to take better of her than you can. Dave and I have talked about it more than you've thought about it, and we completely agree. You keep up with where you were heading, and then we'll all move in with you when you get there." She smiled.

Maybe I should have taken the drugs, because her logic was much better than mine at that moment. The caning Richard and I exchanged in the coming months was a walk in the park compared to this.

"She's perfect, and as beautiful as her mother is." Paige was stroking my hair. "I promise, this will work out. We're always here for you, you know that." I acquiesced and finally started to cry. She held me until I regained my resolve. This was hard.

"What's her name?"

I looked up at Paige, and put my hand around the back of her head. Before I kissed her the way that was sure would have a strong enough reaction on Dave that he would need to do something about it, I answered her. "Consuela. Consuela Martina. After my mother."

Learns

"WHEN ONE goes off to college, certain preparations always come about from mom and dad, and some things are suggested by friends, and other things come about from movies or books or wherever. The attempt to grow up is filled with fits and starts, little failures and successes, ups, downs, yes, no, yum, yuck. The freedoms one finally gets to experience are liberating and terrifying, and ultimately are small potatoes compared to what awaits us out there in the real world. Responsibilities, of which children know little of, begin their steady rain until we drown in them, and we become the awful people we thought our parents were."

This term paper already sucked. I had no sense of focus, no cohesion of style, I'm not even sure what my point was. The library was going to close soon; I still had a couple weeks before the real panic would set in. I packed up my books and papers, and trudged out into the night. The only things really open this late would be the bars; the second show at the movie was almost over. Wait, maybe I could swing by the diner and get a piece of pie, no, no, too tired. Didn't want to walk that far, not even in these sensible shoes. Shoulda decided on an education in a smaller town.

The dorms were still lit up strong, and the few who hadn't discovered the advantages of blinds provided an education and an entertainment of various stages of undress on my way to the room. I never decided if they really couldn't tell that I could see them, or if they intended it. The only reason I even considered the former was the time that the one gal, completely starkers, somehow became aware of me and completely vanished, ever after remembering drapes. Pity, she was pretty.

"Pa-aige! I'm ho---" We'd never really discussed any kind of "busy, come back later" signal, like a subtle rubber-band on the doorknob, or a piece of paper sticking out from under the door, or even Harriet-from-down-the-hall's favorite, a bra. She lost a few that way, not that she ever commented on it, and yes, there was one there that I passed that night.

Paige was as naked as the girl in the window, on all fours on the floor, her face touching the tile, and the first thing I ever saw of Richard Standrid was his cock vanishing into her from behind. They hadn't heard me over their own groans at the motion; neither of them could see---their eyes were squinched shut. I watched another slow agonizing stroke before I realized what I was doing. "I'm . . . I'm sor . . .”

"Wait, Ro. Wait. Hhhh. Come in. It's allllrrrrright hhhhh." Like a fool, I closed the door, and remained on the wrong side. Richard continued his task, seemingly oblivious to an intrusion. "Come hhhere, baby. I neeeeed you, hhhh hhhh." Her fingers opened and closed, and insisted on my motion toward the couple. I knelt by her, and her palm continued my direction until my face was beside her on the floor. She drew me close, and whispered, "He's fffucking me, Ramona. Give me your hand." I couldn't stop. She raked my fingers through her pubic hair until they were around where Richard was brushing past me into her. "Can you fffeeel it?"

I was mesmerized. "Yes." Our breathing synchronized. I pulled my hand back an inch, and slipped along her clit, drawing another sound from her. "Don't run off." She grinned through the noise she was making. I sat up, and waddled on my knees ungracefully toward the desk, opening the drawer. "Get up a little bit, honey." I found what I was looking for, and crawled back to her, around the top of her head. "A little higher. On your hands. That's it. Look up at me."

Richard had stopped moving, he apparently finally noticed me. I was still dressed, but if I hadn't been, I'm sure he would have liked seeing the way we were arranged. As it was, I had something else in mind.

"You don't mind, do you? Please, continue." It took him no time at all to accept the situation and pick back up where he left off. Besides, I was about to do him a favor.

I adjusted Paige's and my positions a little more, and pulled her face up toward mine. "Look at me, Paige. I want to see." Her eyes locked to mine, and she startled when the sewing machine needles scraped along the sides of her breasts until I got them positioned close enough to be close enough: one on the side of each nipple. Her eyes widened, and I started to push. Richard picked up the pace. Her face transformed from pleasure to pain to ecstasy to agony and back around, again and again, "Open your eyes," her lips quivered, and Richard started making noises as the effects I was having reached him, I pushed harder, the whole room fucked, and something started to give, "Open," her mouth opened, too, she rasped, my hands were shaking from the pressure I was exerting, her breasts distended toward each other, nipples meeting, Richard was frantic, the resistance at the tips of the needles gave way and they were suddenly through both ways, Paige started to cum and I swallowed her mouth with mine and she screamed into me and Richard shouted and I moaned back at her and Paige thrashed and shook and collapsed and shook and thrashed and moaned.

I was at the bottom of the heap, and I had to pee.

"Ramona, this is Richard. Richard, Ro."

"Hi. Up. Everybody up. Uh. C'mon. I mean it. I have to go."

"You don't have to go." His first words.

"Yes, I do. It's not a matter of when, it's a matter of where."

"Huh? Oh." He looked at me funny as I scrambled up. "You don't have to . . . leave. It'd be okay."

I caught his drift as he licked his upper lip. "Ew." It was my turn to give a funny look, and I left to run down the hall past Harriet's bra to the bathroom. Ew.

"SO, WHO was this guy?" I'd slept on the couch in the dayroom.

Paige was kneeling beside me with, god bless her through my bleary eyes, coffee. She was stroking my hair like I'd been hurt, or sick, or had just broken up with a guy. "I've known him all my life. He was my best friend."

"Hmm. You've never mentioned him. What about Dave?" I was sitting up. Sit at last, sit at last, thank god almighty, I can sit at last.

"What about Dave?"

"Well, uh, hullo, your boyfriend. The journalism major."

"Fiancι." She glowed as she wiggled the ring, and I couldn't stop from throwing my arms around her.

"When? Oh my god!"

"Yesterday."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so happy for you! I . . . I . . . wait." I turned my head so I could look askance at her. "Shouldn't you have been screwing Dave last night?"

"I did. Richard's like family."

"You screw family?"

"Actually, yes. But we'll talk about that later. Richard, he's, he's a lot of fun. I love him dearly, and I'll fuck him for the rest of my life. But I'm marrying Dave."

"Does he know?"

"Who?"

I had to think a second to keep from asking this wrong. "Dave. Does he know about Richard?"

"They've met. Yes."

"No, I mean you and Richard. Last night."

She waited until she could confirm what I suspected. "No. Can you help me keep it that way?"

It was a little early for me to start performing evil on Paige, but I could adjust. "Gonna cost ya."

"I was hoping it would. You know I'm yours."

"Lift." I made a tiny upward motion with four fingers, and she lifted her sweatshirt like it was Mardi Gras.

"Is that one of Harrie's?"

"Uh huh. I stole it off her doorknob last week. This morning's, too."

"Well, move it out of the way, would you please?" I removed the lid, and held the cup on the coffee table. "In."

"You're letting me off cheap." She gasped as her nipple, the left one I pierced the night before, dipped into the hot liquid.

"Both."

"Ahhhrrr. Easy." I gently touched her back with my other hand, holding her in place. "Ahh, ahh, ahh, ahmmm."

"Cheap, easy, who says any of those things are going to apply to what I want to do to you?"

"You forgot 'free'."

"Ah. What are you prepared to give?" I let her up, and sucked the coffee off her chest.

"Anything. Oh. Everything. Oh." I lingered another moment before uprighting myself. She was looking up, happy, like the trance-mongers in church.

"What if I told you to tell him?" Her posture disintegrated, her eyes closed, the frown that comes before crying starts crossed her face. Paige's tears were addictive, but it was still early. "Not today."

She buried her face into my arms before she whispered, "Thank you, mistress."

KNOCK KNOCK.

Nothing.

Knock knock.

C'mon, I know you're in there.

Knock knock.

Feet were padding toward the door: if the floors were wood, and you were wearing, say, combat boots, they'd be stomping.

"What!" The door flew open, and Harrie was there like she often was on the dorm floor, without her robe. Or anything else. Also a common sight.

"Hi, Harrie. Busy?" It smelled like she was. Girl busy.

She snarled. "Yes. I was busy. Bu-sy. Go away." She was about the slam door when I produced what I hoped would be the right thing to get her attention.

"Lose one of these?"

She caught the door before it hit my arm, nabbed the bra, and continued her snarl. "So it was you, huh. Fuck you."

"Nope. Not me. But I know who. Want 'em back?"

"Oh, god damn it. What the hell do you want?"

"I want to give you your clothes back. C'mon."

She eyed me suspiciously and took a step toward the hall.

"Do you want a robe? Or, you know, a key?" Harrie was regularly locking herself out of her room without garb.

"Rrrr." She stormed back into her room and came back out slightly more presentable. At least, she wouldn't completely embarrass visiting mothers or tempt visiting little brothers, were there any. Well, maybe that last part. Something about Christmas ran through my head mixed in with wrapping paper that I would ask my professors about later.

"Where are we going?"

"My room. Got something in there for ya."

I ushered her through the door enough to close it and squeeze around her to get into the room. She wasn't going any further in.

Paige was gagged, and tied to the bunk, face out. In almost the same level of attire Harrie had been in not thirty seconds before, but not quite.

"I don't do girls, bitch."

"Oh, we have a boy, here, too. Dave?"

Dave came out from the closet, wearing no shirt, a black mask, moron, holding a picana. He tapped it into his other hand.

"Oh, for shit's sakes."

"We were hoping you'd help us get to the bottom of this. I think a confession is in order tonight. Here." I handed her the rheostat, and she was so taken aback by the scene, she took it anyway.

"How can she confess if she's GAGGED? Idiot!"

"Well, when you want to ask her something, we'll take it out. Dave?"

He poked his bride-to-be with the stick, and she cowered back to make a little noise which, if she hadn't been gagged, would have been enough to get someone outside's attention.

"Oops, hang on a second." I crossed the room and closed the blinds. Oops. I suddenly understood something about walks home from the library.

"You guys are seriously fucked up. I don't want to play this."

I found it interesting she was still holding the control for the power.

"Let's see if she has anything to say yet, shall we?" I stepped up and unbuckled the gag, pulling it out. And out. And out.

"Oh. My. God." Harrie couldn't keep her mouth closed, nor could she take her eyes off the foot long penis gag.

Paige retched once, coughed, and put on her brightest face. "Hi, Harrie!"

"Do you have something you want to tell her?"

"Nope! Arrr arr arrrgh hhh hh hh." Dave hit her with the prod. "If yer gonna do that, you'd better put that thang back. Hhh." She opened her mouth as wide as she could. "Mmmm mmm mng nnnggg nnngkkk" She swallowed it back in, and I buckled it back on. Dave hit her again, inner thigh, and she produced a noise level we could tolerate.

"Would you turn that up a notch, there, dear?"

Harrie shook her head like she was waking up, but still wouldn't put the control down, or drop it, or throw it away. She looked at it like she didn't know what it was.

"That's your bra she's wearing." The only thing she was wearing, and it was too tight. Dave touched her again, longer this time, in the stomach, inducing ripples and tiny yelps. Breathing in the room ceased, except for Paige's, noisy brat that she was.

Zap.

Paige looked longingly toward me; she turned her lips up as little as she could, and I knew she was happy.

Zap. Harrie had parted her legs a little before she apparently turned into marble. It smelled like her room.

Dave looked toward me, and with a flair, redirected the probe to someplace interesting. I admired his willingness to torture his new love of his life. He triggered the electrode where women are designed to fit around men, and held it. Paige jolted twice when suddenly her legs and hips started moving in an unmistakable motion; she was trying to fuck the prod, screaming quietly through her gag.

Harrie fell to her knees; her robe falling off. She still held onto the box with one hand, and reached for her box with the other. "Me! Me! Do that to me!" She rolled onto her back, spreading her legs, lifting her hips. The controller was finally out of her hand; both were busy. Bu-sy.

Dave held the picana with both hands, and shocked Harrie where it mattered. She screamed for real, rolling around with both hands between her legs. Her first attempt at a girl-chore was over, thwarted. I knew better than to fall for this; it hurt like hell and it showed. Harrie recovered enough to sit up, and spat at Paige.

"Cunt! How did you do that?"

Paige was struggling and moaning around the protuberance in her mouth. I unbuckled it and popped it out with considerably less flourish than Dave was using to brandish his electric stick. Everyone was panting hard.

"Hhhh, hhh, it's . . . not something you can hhhh just start out at. Oh. Oh, ugh. You have to build up to it." Paige was wincing.

"I don't know if I should be mad at you or admire you." Harrie had gotten up and was standing in front of Paige when she reached over and snapped the bra.

"Ow! Tell you what. You can do that some more, if you don't spit at me ever again." Paige smoldered down, encouraging her.

"And I thought I was a slut." Harrie pulled it the front of the bra back.

"Further. More. More. Look at me. Do it." The main elastic piece of the bra snapped back hitting her nipples directly. Paige jerked, threw her head back, and howled. "Again." Again. "Again." And then did what she had to. She came.

Harriet's eyes saucered. I tangled my fingers in her hair as she sank back to her knees, where she belonged. She found her voice. "I . . . I want that. I want to be able to do that." Her head tipped up toward mine. I accepted her offer.

"Ahem." Dave was leaning back on the back two legs of the desk chair, having gotten his pants down to his ankles, looking smug, coy, all the things that we should hate. Of course, he leaned back too far, and fell over backwards. We laughed harder than we should have. Moron. Paige begged to be let down to attend to her fiancι.

WE THREE Little Whores in College had the time of our lives until Paige's water broke on the altar of her wedding. Harrie simply didn't come back that night. Norman Vincent, after Dave's father, was born with a withered right arm, leaving his left one, the cursed one, intact. Dave was convinced that some of the things we did to Paige induced it, and wouldn't let me come around for over a year. It wasn't until I got involved with Richard after Consuela came along that I finally put together what happened. Even then, we didn't play any interesting games for almost a decade. Growing up bowled us over like a train, the sea filled up and the moon found it's orbit, the flat old earth rounded right up, and two and two inexplicably made four, god I hate that song.

Deals

"AND how may I help you?"

"I know what you do."

"I see."

"And I totally do not support it in any way."

"Of course."

He smiled and waited for me to continue.

"But I'm in trouble, and I want to offer you something I think you'll want. To get what I want."

"I'm listening."

After I told him of the situation, and what I wanted, and what I was willing to give, he leaned back in his creaky leather chair, and stroked his lips. Creepy.

"I think we can arrange something. How do you like where you live?"

"HELLO?"

"They're coming. Do you remember what to do?"

"Wait, who is this?"

"Oop, outta time. Good luck."

Click.

The goons at least didn't break the door down; they actually knocked. I ran through the house waiving my arms until they cornered me in the bedroom. They made a good show of subduing me, and I did my best to make of good show of resisting.

When the hood came off, a woman was working on trying to untie me. Nice limo.

"Ma . . . wait . . . Mary?"

"Hi, Mrs. Standrid." Her lips moved, but a smile didn't form on her face. Couldn't. "I'm sure you have a million questions, and I'll answer all of them. Let me, though, say a couple things up front."

Of all the people I thought might be involved, she was totally not on the list.

"Your husband will come out to see you this weekend, and you're gonna need to make it hard for him. Really hard. 'Cause we don't want him to come out very often. Can you do that?"

"Sure."

"And when you're ready to go back, we think you'll need to have . . . changed. Be willing to do something that you won't have anything to do with now. It'll help maintain the illusion. Got an idea?"

I made a half-sneering look of disgust. "I'm afraid I do."

"I'll help you with it. I'm gonna take the best care of you. We'll be like sisters." Her head tipped.

We sat a few moments as I tried to absorb the road noise and what I had committed to.

"Did they tell you what would happen to her, you know, after? It is a girl, right?"

I nodded my head, then shook it. Wait, I was answering this wrong. "Yes, it's a girl. No, all I heard was 'facility abroad'."

"It's a good place. And we're very good at this. We'll develop her, uh, tendencies. Either way: top or bottom. You're doing the right thing."

I was getting to be an old hand at giving up babies.

Dave

Column

"HMPH. SHE'LL see you." Her head was shaking slightly, tipped to the right, with a half-smile-half-smirk that conveyed disbelief, disappointment, disapproval, and reluctant deference to her patient's wishes, despite the idea that she might not know what was good for her. We wove deeper into the labyrinth of St. Raphael's, left, right, left, straight, straight, right, left, straight, crap, I'm lost, I'll never get out of here without a guide, and hoped my very presence wasn't all it took for the nurse steeped in judgment to decide to abandon me here to a wandering fate with all the ghosts.

The room was dank, and dark, and dour. The creature on the bed was completely camouflaged in bandages, leaving me to hope my faith in the now-gone woman who clearly didn't like me didn't spite me enough to take me to the wrong room. I'd have no way of knowing. If I ever get out of here, I am definitely looking this bitch up; no one who snaps to condemn that fast is clean.

"H . . . hello?"

"Yes, please come in." Her voice was weak, broken.

"Mary, uhh . . . I mean . . .”

"Yes. I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Charney. Come in, please sit down. No need for formalities."

No chairs, so I perched on the bed. We communed a moment before I had to break the hush, my own horrors pleading for an escape. "I . . . I apologize for coming by like this. Normally, I . . .”

"Please don't apologize. You're my first visitor. I'm happy for the company." I reached across the bed for what I hoped was a hand in the wrappings. Her eyes turned toward the contact; she apparently had considerable difficulty moving.

"Oh god; dear god."

"I'm . . . sorry. That was inappropriate." I tried to withdraw, but she had some motion in her, and her hand flailed to find mine again.

"No, no, I just, I . . . I can't feel anything." Her eyes turned toward the wall. "I had a . . . a friend, who had that problem from time to time. I miss her."

I held her bandages, and the holes around her eyes dampened as we continued to sit. I sat, she lay there. After a few moments, she coughed, then coughed again, almost violently. Blood was at her mouth hole.

"I'm calling the nurse." I tried to stand; she held me stronger with the hand that didn't feel.

"No wait. You came to hear a story, and I want to tell it. Dave, right?" She made it clear I wasn't going anywhere.

"Sure. Sure." I sat back down, and brought my other hand to holding, as if it mattered. No notes to be taken today. Her eyes found mine.

"It was fucking hell. The road was on fire . . .”

"THAT IS quite the tale. Any corroboration?" My boss's boss Mike's contribution to the afternoon planning meeting back at the paper was the same as it ever was.

"As usual, no. The fuzz admitted a bus crashed, only two survivors. Her story, far-fetched as it is, is the only source outside of da at'oritays we got. The other gal is still unconscious."

"So, as usual, we can't use it. Sit on it, maybe something will come up." Chuckles crossed the room. Banter time.

"Was she cute?" Everyone started chiming in.

"Hard to say. She was a frickin' mummy with all the bandages."

"Reminded ya of your childhood, eh?"

"Oh, mommy, please, don't, don't, stop . . .” Assholes.

"Was she in traction?"

"Ah, that's hot. Medical bondage."

"Ooh, sexy beast in traction all abstracted away, how could you resist, Dave?"

"Freak. Asshole."

"Didja cop a feel anyway?"

"Yeah, c'm'ere I'll show ya how to cop a feel."

"You mean feel a cop." Denise was known to chase uniforms, and every time the innuendo kicks in, someone teases her about it, but today she beat everyone to it, bristling and sneering. "Did your sense of celibacy overcome your man-senses, Dave?"

"Blow me."

"Bring it. Oh, wait, doesn't it reach?"

"Okay, kids. You got that outta your system for a minute or two? Maybe get some work done that's worth paying for?" Mike must not be gettin' any; he us'lly lets us carry on for a few more rounds before tryin' to get us back on track. Now that I think 'bout it, the meetin's ha' been gettin' shorter lately, for jus' that very reason.

"Alright next item: Sports. Tennis season, right? Please tell me somebody won something last night . . .”

. . . After the meeting, Mike pulled me into his office. Trouble. "Listen, Dave, I want you to start interviewing."

"Oh, great. You mean at other papers? Am I fucking fired?"

"No, you moron. We've . . . got an opening in rewrite. Fill it fast, fill it good."

"Why doesn't Denise do it?" Denise was my boss.

"Because she works for you now. Congratulations."

Thank god Mike had guest chairs in his office, or else I'da had to sit on the floor.

"Everyone on the Operating Committee agrees. The City Editor is the worst job in the building, and you are the best man for it. No more street pounding. Denise begged me to give this to you. Go home, bang your wife, be happy for a little while. 'Cause tomorrow, the shit begins."

Silence. I was stunned. Stunned into speechlessness. A rarity.

"I tthhhink I should say 'thank you'." Had to say something.

I caught Mike smiling out of the corner of my eye. "First order of business. Whoever you hire?"

I looked up at him. Sure enough, smile. "Yeah?"

"She'd better fuck like a rabbit."

RICHARD HAS no luck in restaurants whatsoever. The waitress who would be totally worth having an affair with brought him someone else's lunch, cooed at him a moment as if that would cover it, then left him to stew in the onion soup I knew he hated.

"Guess I'm buying today. Even though you should be, to congratulate me for my job well done, and all of its rewards."

"Tell me again. He wants you to hire someone for him to screw."

"That's what he said. Probably doesn't even need to be able to do anything beyond Tab A, Slot B. Think our waitress would be interested?" She was busy flirting with some other loser.

"Is it a checkbox on the job app?"

"Listen, I want you to do something for me."

"Does it involve eating this shit? 'Cause that's a 'no'." Richard pushed his lunch away. He's already losing weight.

"Don't tell the girls. Either one."

I waited.

He looked at me like I was asking him for something expensive. "What are you going to do?"

"Things haven't been so swell between Paige and I of late."

"And you're going to use the closed-door-society request from your boss for a criminal act to fix it? The paper will hang you out to dry if someone complains, which is letting you off easy from what Paige would do."

"No, the upper echelons are so embedded with each other that they won't think twice if some little girl asks why she was being asked to put out: they'll call her in and have her gang-raped by the entire company just to make a point. It's happened before. This is my way up the ladder, Richard. Please." Pause. "I can handle Paige. But only if Ramona doesn't side with her, which she will if you spill."

He stared at me until I took another bite of my delicious sandwich. "This is under protest; if the girls find out, they will crucify you. And that would be the least of your troubles." We both swallowed in synch. "But it won't come from me."

I offered him the other half of my lunch which wasn't ruined. He declined. "Thank you. I'll tell you all about it, 'cause I know you like hearing about that sort of thing, ya ol' pervert." I winked; the side of his mouth went up.

"Fire. You're playing with fucking fire, my friend."

I felt a relief beyond my ability to describe.

"HAVE WE got any beer?"

"No. We quit, remember?"

"I think we need to break that little rule tonight." Paige threw her arms around me and knocked me down right there in the kitchen when I told her. She kissed me harder than she had in months, pouring herself into me, hungry. I let her do that a while, then rolled her over, and returned the action, thirsty. Rules of physics, you know, they totally rule. "Maybe . . . we should break another rule, too."

The joys we had given up for so long negated all the vacuums that insisted on good and proper behavior when my wife's breasts were once again wet: drool, tears, and semen being drawn down by gravity across the stripes, welts, and bruises induced joy once again. Joy, I say.

Journal

Day 2555

Mr. Murphy did me a dirty.

Ramona's cunt-mother called again, again with the death threats. I didn't say anything, and politely hung up. When I thought about it later, they were really kinda funny: evisceration, setting my entrails on fire, pulling my eyeballs out of my head and pulling them around with the optic nerve still attached so I could see her whipping me with a piece of barb wire from behind. Much more fanciful than last time, when I had to buy a new phone after she had gotten far enough under my skin to get me to break it: phones are not as tough as they used to be.

Ramona introduced me to her new roommate. Paige was quiet, meek, and had already put on her freshman fifteen. I was not interested.

My girlfriend was distant, and a bit withdrawn. We didn't make out, and she barely kissed me goodnight. I went home and masturbated.

Day 2560

Paige happened to pass me and kissed me four times throughout the day today, all less than half a second, chastely, the way friends should, as I guess we now are.

Ramona has left us together for several evenings and last night, alone at last, she cuddled up to me as we watched some fool musical on TV. I'm sure she's just trying to make the new girl more comfortable, help her feel not quite so alone. I did reasonably well in my tests in History and English, but the Journalism classes continue to not be my strong suit, despite it being my major that I'm only going to squeak through graduating in.

Who's the dudes who's leaking the secrets? Astronauts and Heretics.

Ramona laid on me in the basement during a fire (our first one this year, ha ha, first one in a long time) and a couple videos, but her stomach was upset and she was hot and uncomfortable. I went to bed before she went back to the dorm. I masturbated before falling asleep. Something just isn't right.

Day 2561

I masturbated. No Kleenex. And look what happened to the Greeks.

Ramona came by early with coffee, god bless her. I tried to start something, despite the obviousness of what had already happened, but she wouldn't play along. She said she wanted to talk.

She carried on at great length about how much she loved me, about how she would always be there for me. And then she brought up her mother, how she absolutely despised me which has been very obvious from the start, and how she wasn't going to let us have a life together. I told her I didn't care about her mother, don't pay attention to her, and we could just go away. She countered with how it wouldn't matter, that her mother would find ways to make our lives a living hell for all time. Unless we weren't together.

Then she outlined what she wanted. It was the most ludicrous preposterous outlandish idea I had ever heard. The only thing I could think of was to ask her what Paige thought of it.

She made me promise, to swear it, cross my heart and hope to die. She then swore to me that she would make it worth it to me for the rest of my life, if we could just keep this little secret. Then she let me fuck her in the ass before she left, sealing our deal, promising to send our girl to me in a couple days.

Day 2563

I masturbated. I watched some porn. I masturbated some more.

Paige came by, and watched porn with me. She masturbated. We did it all damn day, never once touching each other, only ourselves. She loved it, especially when the porn got weird.

Then my little sister dropped in, needing money; she just marched in like she could right in the middle of everything that was going on. That Paige was in the throes of a very loud orgasm from the screams of the line of women getting the shit whipped out of them on the screen didn't even faze her. I wasn't happy to have to hand her yet another fifty, but Dad said I needed to look out for her and take care of our Rhodes-scholar-at-fifteen. I made her suck my cock a minute and eat one of the Kleenex I had filled before handing her the Grant. As usual, she hated it, but fulfilled her end of the obligation. I never understood why she majored in Religion.

Paige wasn't surprised, either, to have a surprise audience. They seemed to know each other, but it was only tense on one side of the conversation. Paige was gregarious as she usually seemed to be. After my little nympho-genius-slut-whore sister that didn't think she needed a job left muttering frater meus insanus est, Paige asked me to do what was happening on TV to her. I wasn't ready for that. She tried to lick my ass to get something more to happen, but I'd already expended too much sexual energy to be anymore good whatsoever. First time ever. Didn't bother her, though; she said she'd be back to work on that later.

Ramona called to see how things went, and sounded happy about it all. She, too, promised to come by to work with me on my performance issues which she didn't do, and made me promise to ask Paige this week.

The wild thing has me stumped.

Day 2564

Paige and Ramona ran into me in the Student Union after a showing of 'Reflections in a Golden Eye' in the art theatre; they were very excited about it.

"How would you like to have been the horse, Paige?"

"God, what a beating. Does that mean you get the part of the wacko who snips off her own nipples?"

"Ohh, do we get to whip Dave's face?"

Glad I skipped it. "Uh, no."

"Spoil sport."

Dickie Burton failed to spill the beans. Only later did I find out that it was Brando in the film; I just assumed it was Richard.

The girls made dinner for me at the house, in the nude. They licked spaghetti sauce off each other for my entertainment, whipped Paige with the wet noodles, and it worked: I was entertained. Before they left without finishing what they started, Ramona once again, albeit gently, reminded me of what she wanted, holding just what I wanted her to.

She kissed me goodnight---just a peck, and not where I wanted her to. Bitch.

Day 2570

I masturbated.

I finally broke down yesterday and did what Ramona wanted. The pressure she exerted was just too great, the promises too enticing, and I caved. I am my very own Faust. Paige's response was to throw herself all over me and rape me, yes, she actually raped me. Once that was over, she asked me if I was sure. I tried hard to smile when I said "yes".

Paige then announced that it was a good thing I finally knuckled under to pledge her my troth, because it was expected when these sorts of things happen, and she would hate to have to get Ramona to get a shotgun. I had to look up "troth".

The laws of nature prove laws don't exist.

Ramona came by to announce her pleasure and to make up for withholding certain activities, ending the blackmail. While we were fucking our brains out, her mother called to gloat and remind me to leave her precious daughter alone. My girl was hard pressed to keep quiet, and we giggled throughout; I don't think we hid what was going on from Consuela very well. I came when we hung up, and Ramona screamed out at the perversity of it all with a joy I had been missing.

Day 3565

I masturbate too much. The question isn't "does the man masturbate?", it's "has the man masturbated today?", the query I need more hands to respond to than I can spare. Children interfere so hard with a sex life, that until they are out of the house, it probably isn't going to happen any more. Shit. Despite all of Paige's proclivities, she has the decency to not want to involve the child in her needs, and even though I could probably get away with going to see Ramona, that would just complicate things further and make my relationship with my wife even more strained. Funny, since strain is part of what turns my girl on.

I pushed up against Paige in bed this morning. She pulled away and got up. I don't think she remembers these things; I haven't confronted her about it yet, but I would expect her to insist she doesn't know anything about it, and how could I judge her while she's sleeping.

I kissed her on her cheek good morning. She pushed toward it.

All of this lack-of-contact stuff bothers me about our relationship. About a year and a half ago, after the baby, our sex life effectively ended. We've made love four times since then. We are essentially celibate, and I hate it. Not like the old days with Ramona. I think the girls are still at it. At times, the sluts fucking glow from what I assume to be all the fucking.

She unceremoniously decided I wasn't going to change and fulfill her needs despite the months of pleading for me to listen to her. That's the gist of it. She has retaliated by stopping the thing I need: to be touched. I started depression therapy last summer, which has changed in nature umpteen times. The whole needs thing came up and goes around and around, we've been there together, she's avoided going with me, and it's still a mess. Not hot, not wet. I'm at a loss. Even my therapist (no, not Ramona) admits I'm between a rock and a hard place. I think I'm getting worse.

Maybe I'm over-reacting, and it's all because of the kid who needs to be picked up again. Maybe I will try to see Ramona when she and Paige get back from girl's night out.

And that's why people fall in love.

Chronicle

MOST PEOPLE are happy to see their family. Not me. There are reasons the closest members of my family are a thousand miles in any direction. The worst part of that design is that when they come anyway, they tend to stay a while, ramping up the discomforts to way beyond the point that drove me to move in the first place, only now I have to make emphatic excuses to go to work when they're here, no, they can't get along with me, demotion to "Assistant" notwithstanding.

It was on one of these mercifully rare occasions that I had to throw my father out of my house. Well, I wished I could have thrown him out. Hell, it was all I could do to not have him arrested later. Paige refused to cooperate; some lame-ass advice from some suck-ass lawyer. My sister took him back home with her, and I haven't heard from them since. Thank god. Sorry for her; I'm sure she's still stuck giving him blowjobs and lord know what else every day; I don't know how her husband stands it. But if I ever see that bastard again, I will kill him.

For some reason no one would answer the doorbell. After the second then third impatient leaning onto it, I finally got up and stomped to the door, ready to send the Mormons or the Jehovahs or the Fuller Brush Guy or whatever trouble out there packing, Green River Ordinance handily posted by the door for the lecture I suddenly was itching to deliver.

"Gertrude!" I threw the screen door and threw my arms around my naked sister, and threw daggers at the old fart behind her. I enjoyed the contact for the briefest time before dragging her in, letting the door fall on her husband and our father. "Come in! Paige! Paige! I need a robe here! Now!"

"Wha . . . Gertie!" Paige ran down the stairs to the entryway, taking over the hug I had started. I was in the way, so I retreated back up to the bathroom to grab the oh-shit-she-hates-pink-but-that'll-have-to-do robe and scampered, yes, I actually scampered back to my kin to cover her before the kids figured out we had naked company. Thank god for x-box being important. "Bill! Did he leave you out there? Norman, good to see you."

My father was half-way into the door, scowling at pretty much everything, the stairs, the crowd in his way, not to mention the whole reason he came by to scowl: me. "What do you think you're doing, bitch?"

"My house, my rules, Dad." I got the robe sleeves to at least hang uselessly off her shoulders, until she let go of my beaming wife, and threw an apologetic face toward the fiend before she jostled her way into the cloth. She was going to have to pay for this later, as if the pink she hated since she was a cowgirl on Halloween when we were kids were not a high enough price to start with.

"Help me up the stairs, Billy." Bill had squeezed in enough to offer the assistance to the hated hobbler. We all waited for the ascension; at least the girls tittered.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you were coming! How long are you staying? Have you eaten? Dave, go get the kids. I've missed you so much!" Paige carried on as I went down the stairs of the split level to bring the game-players up to do their duty to their relations.

I entered the game room. "Come on. Hey! Stop that!" Hands were hastily withdrawn, clothes were being reassembled. I stood and waited, tapping my foot. Not them, too. "Come say hello to your relatives. And don't do that!" They trudged upstairs, heads hung, as well they should have been, until they got into the living room where the adults were all seated.

"Consuela, you little tramp."

"Dad!"

Ignoring me, he carried on. "Come see your old grandfather, give him a kiss." He licked his lips.

"For god's sakes."

She trepidatiously crossed the room, and knelt before him as we all knew he expected, that I didn't want to let continue. She reached forward and kissed his hand which he then wove into her hair. Norman the elder sneered up at me; Norman the younger glanced across the room at me, waiting for the go-ahead. I didn't give it. My father gloated at my daughter; at least she resisted the pulling he tried to use to shorten the distance between them. Paige trembled.

"So. When are you going to let me twist that bad arm off of you, boy?" He gave up on what he was obviously trying to get from Consuela and directed his attention to my quaking son.

"Leave him alone."

"What? I'm just pulling his leg. About pulling his arm! Ha ha! Ha!" Somehow, the laughter of the ancient evil incarnate didn't ease the tensions in the room. "Well, kids, you're dismissed. Go on now." They couldn't scramble back into the basement fast enough. Doors closed hastily.

"Paige!" Now he was barking at my wife. "Why am I still thirsty? Where are your fucking manners?" She also ran out of the living room as fast as she could. The control around the room continued toward my elder sister, who might as well have been naked with as hard as he was looking her. "And don't you have something to do, you slut?" He hadn't even finished the accusation before Gertie was on her knees, between his, opening his pants, with the robe opening off her shoulders. He swatted her hair as she lowered her opening mouth. Billy got down beside his wife, and pet her. I didn't need to see she was tearing up to know. She was rubbing the feet she hated, like she needed more to do. It was only a matter of time before the evil eye found its way to me.

"And you. Do you have any idea how much you pain me? How much you disappoint?"

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly father of the year. Decade. Century."

"Paige! Drink! And what do you know about being a father, asshole?" My poor wife was shaking so hard, she was slopping the water. He slapped the glass from her hand; it hit the family fellatrix on the head, spilling anywhere. Gertie didn't seem to even notice, she was so wrapped up in her own attempts to breathe in his lap; apparently my father has practiced throwing water glasses at her back home.

I noticed everyone else in the room was kneeling around my wretched old man, and yet, standing with all the defiance the little boy he made me feel like could muster, I felt like the smallest one in there. Only one of us was naked; the usual one. He started boiling.

"You still owe me a girl to fuck, you dismal spawn."

"And how do you figure that?" I was going to defy this man if it killed me.

"I gave you that filthy slut-stain little sister for college, and when I wanted her back, what did you say to me? 'Gee-gosh, Dad, I seem to have lost her.' Asshole." His jaw hardened. "I think, I think . . . I think I'll fuck your wife."

"No. No!"

One breath to redemption.

"Billy, break my bastard son's arm."

Bullet-Foot Billy wasted no time with any of that pesky decision making. He turned up toward me, roundhoused his leg into my upper arm, and introduced me to compound fractures. Paige screamed, too.

My knees should have hurt from dropping to the floor so hard, so fast, but they offered no competition to some other pains vying for my attention. Billy whirled again from the other direction, and I went over with a sudden headache. It was impossible to breathe, but I managed to understand what was going to happen next. Well, one or two possibilities.

"Hold her down."

I tried to reach to save my wife from my family with the arm I had left that was functional, the left one, the cursed one, but my father just laughed as he brushed me away like I was the eighty-year-old, and the floor drew me down to sleep . . .

. . . I didn't know where I was for a moment, but the ceiling that needed painting reminded me, and I managed to lift my clammy head enough, ow, ow, ow, to see the mop of hair I knew to be my sister, doing what she had been doing to our father earlier: her job.

"Ger . . . uhhh . . . uhh what are . . . uhh you . . . do . . . ing." I actually knew, but had to break the ice somehow. She looked up at me, nope, the part of me that normally likes this sort of thing wasn't noticing what was going on, and the cool of the air evaporating the moisture of her mouth she'd left on me made me shrivel a little more. That much I felt. I was panting, but for all the wrong reasons.

Gertie was crying, weeping, shuddering like she was the one with the splintered arm. She mouthed the words "I am so sorry," looking like she'd killed my cat, again.

"Has he cum yet, cunt?"

She turned her head, and I followed her gaze to see my father rocking on the floor with my wife's legs around him and he drove her toward the floor. Turning further, ow, I could see Gertie's husband's thighs hiding what I assumed was Paige's face, counterpointing the downward thrusts of my father. His hands were between his legs, holding her in position for the assault.

"Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh!"

Paige struggled, her arms batting around as useless as at least one of mine. My blood pressure rose.

"Uhh! Uhh! Ahhh! Ahhhh! Ahhhhh!" Please god, let the motherfucker be having a heart attack. My father slumped forward a bit, while Billy continued pounding away from below.

"Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh!" Wild Bill kept going, wildly.

My fucking father, through with his fucking, struggled up like the old man that he was, and limped across the room to stand behind Gertrude. He had quit caring about his state of dress for pretty much anything some time ago, and produced a crop from the coat he never took off. His pants had fallen, limiting the stride to his shuffle, granting glimpses to something I wished I had a meat cleaver to address. Gertie snapped back to me, and went back to her desperate attempt to get from me what I knew she couldn't. None of the severity of my circumstance stopped my bastard daddy from blaming her for my performance issues, and he swung.

Left, right, left, straight, straight, right, left, straight. Gertie didn't make any of the noises we all knew she wouldn't to try to keep from making things worse for herself, and felt all the things we all knew she felt anyway, whether or not she vocalized it.

"Useless harlot! Billy! Cum in my bitch-stain daughter's mouth right god damn now! I want her to bless the slut. And don't you fucking spill or swallow a drop, cocksucker."

Billy, fucking and beating automaton that he was, immediately stood, dropping my girl from his ascension by releasing his hands from her neck. Paige's plummet was instantaneous onto her face, leaving another mark; she had no fight left in her. She was covered with bruises, like back in the day when we liked that sort of thing. He picked up right where he left off, yanking his spouse's mouth onto his cock with the force he usually does, making sure she could feel him absolutely by squeezing her neck around himself, keeping her from breathing, narrowing her world to his sex and his rage in her throat as though that was all there was. For her, that might be all there is. Gertie was as compliant as she usually was, fulfilling her role of recipient of the wrath of the men in her life, their cushion to society at large, silently keeping them from actually killing someone, a task she accepted as her duty to the world and humanity in general, no matter the cost.

"Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh!"

Jesus, he's about to tear her head off.

"Uhh! Uhh! Uhh! Uhh!"

I tried to look away, when the stripes woke me back up. Apparently, my father was bored. Left, right, left, straight, straight, right, left, straight. Only I wasn't as quiet as my sister: "Ugh! Arr! Uhhhg! Ahh! Ahh! Stop! Stop you fuck! UHH!"

"Watch and learn, you faggot-fluffer-wannabee."

"Hh! Hh! Hh! Hh! Hh! Ahhh! Ahhhhh! Uuuoooaaaarrrrgh!" Billy moved from asphyxiating the light of his life, for whom he forsook all others for, to drowning her. She couldn't keep it all in, and it sprayed around out of her mouth.

"Bitch!" Billy's first word since entering our house accompanied the blow that toppled her.

"Gertie! Share your husband's gift with the whore on the floor!" From the old man who was kicking her. "I told you not to spill! I told you not to spill!"

My half-blood sister exerted superhuman strength to crawl across the floor through the rain of blows and the forest of kicks to the woman I could do nothing to help. When she got over my girl, she rolled her over and sat on her and moved things around until they were kissing; she spat sperm into my wife's mouth and on her face, licked it back off, and spat it again, over and over. Paige flailed in increasing panic to no avail; Gertie held her firm with more of her supergirl determination.

"Oh! Oh! Yuck! Oh! Stop! Please!"

When she was finally let go after the pig had his fill of snorting, Paige rolled over onto her hands and knees, and threw up. Hard. After she got that out of the way, she collapsed where she was, right into where the carpet is still stained with barf and blood.

"You both disgust me! God Fucking Damn it all! Worthless!" My father was standing over me with his pants still down, and he relieved himself. I couldn't get away, and wished I was more like Richard. "Billy! Get this piece of shit's attention!"

My brother-in-law was suddenly beside me, waving his dick at my face like he was thinking of a repeat of what he had just done to the women, when he grabbed my arm before my lips had the chance to unzip. The freshly broken one.

"AArrrrrrGGHH!" My mouth was open now. Billy turned it to face the man who would be master.

"Now listen, you little fuckwad I should have aborted. If I even think your response to this little party today is anything, and I do mean anything other that 'Gee-gosh, Dad, thanks for raping my little slut wife, come back and do it again any time you'd like,' I'll have Billy return and do what I said should happen to that little invalid, and have him bring back your oh-so-precious little cunt daughter back to me to extract the price you owe me for your little whore sister that you still haven't paid. AM I CLEAR YOU LITTLE BITCH?"

He snarled at Billy, who twisted a fresh scream from me.

"SAY IT!"

I hyperventilated my reply: "Fuck off and die, old man."

And in my dreams, he was so shocked at the refusal, he had an embolism and collapsed right there, right then, into eternal sleep. Billy took me to the hospital and apologized, and we all lived happily ever after. No, that's not what I said. I've whispered my little rebellion at least three times a day on my knees since then, but I didn't say that part to him, not to his face. I had to save my daughter, my son, my family. I gave him what he wanted, over and over again amidst the crying I broke down into, amidst the encouragement of my nerve endings in the control of the thug, until Billy dropped me, not for all the thrashing, but at the behest of the Beast.

"We'll do this again. It was fun. Paige: always lovely to see you. Take care of what you owe me, you motherfucker. And just remember, you piece of shit: if I still don't think I've haven't gotten your attention, I'll send Tommy." The front door slammed, and in the aftermath, we could hear the frantic pounding on the locked basement door until it stopped. Neither of us could do very much about anything except moan and weep until Richard and Ramona happened by a couple hours later.

"I'M NOT going to have it."

“. . .”

"Sweetie, are you sure?"

"It would kill us."

"It's not your fault, honey."

“. . .”

"Look at him. There is no way this child should happen. For all the atrocities we do to each other, this, this is an abomination. I will not have it in my house; I will not have it in my body."

"Listen, I'll see to it everyone gets all the counseling they need. I mean, it's kinda my job, but don't worry about the bill. The state will pick it up."

"Thanks, Ramona." My wife kissed her friend the way friends should: chaste, not depth-charged with what these two usually kiss each other with. With. Funny word. Prepositional dangler, hanging right out there like the tackle danglers used for propositioning with. With.

The I.V.'s were hung from the chimney with care, in the hopes that Saint Jesϊs Malverde soon would be there. Here. Here at St. Raphael's, for all the saints, in whom our labors rest. Hoo-yeah. I looovve morphine.

I looked at my wife, my friends talking without me, and settled on looking at Richard. He looked back. Eventually the quiet set back in, as I could see him gear up to say something.

"I have this crazy-ass notion as to what might help, and am willing to volunteer." He carried on a while, and yes, it was crazy. Offensive. I couldn't believe I was even considering it, let alone have it be suggested. God, this room spins.

"I'm in." Wife.

"Me, too." Richard's wife.

"So. Dave. Whadaya say. Care to extract a little vengeance, even if it's only symbolic?"

"Fuck symbolic; I've got some penance to do here, too. Honey . . . David . . . my beloved king . . .” My wife's hands were on my face, I think: the opiates kept me from feeling too much. "When you get out of this dark, dank, and dour little room, how would you like to beat me into a miscarriage?"

Fable

"I AM not supposed to say anything about this. You know that."

"I won't ask you to, Ro." The news just keeps getting harder. First a demotion, then the fucking bundle of joy in Paige courtesy of my fucking father that we still haven't aborted; now Ramona was taking me back to the room I usually get at St. Raphael's after the call had come about Harrie. She seemed to think my little breakdown was serious enough to warrant medical attention.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. That bastard Tommy turned himself in, confessed to the church fire, the bus crash, and, and, Harrie. He won't stop screaming, and I know that doesn't help, well, maybe it does, but it's what he's screaming that I think might actually be important, even if just a little."

"Do I really want to know this?" I watched her nod, and wait for me to nod, too, in the dead air over the road noise.

"He says she granted him absolution. Her last words were that she forgave him. That's the word he won't stop saying over and over: Absolution."

Not what I was expecting. But she was right: in its own weird way, it eased some of the pain, and though it ended one trouble, it caused some others.

Paige

Mothers

"You have everything now that you can wish for, but there is never an end to my misery, and yet it is in your power to free me," and again he asked him with tears to shoot him dead and chop off his head and feet. So he did it, and scarcely was it done when the Fox was changed into a man, and was no other than the brother of the beautiful princess, who at last was freed from the magic charm which had been laid upon him. And now nothing more was wanting to their happiness as long as they lived, and they rejoiced every day in their ever after.

"AGAIN MOMMY, again!"

"Oh, darlings, that took five nights as it was, and it's way too late; precious ones should be asleep by now. We'll start a new story tomorrow, about a prince in Arabia who got married every day. Get some sleep. Good night, you two, love you both."

"Love you more!"

Ah, the joys of motherhood. If it were my mother, she would insist on reading the Chicago variation of that Persian story. She would have also insisted the children sleep with us and participate in grownup bedroom activities, like I had to. Jesus, no wonder I'm so fucked up.

At least, that's what Ramona thinks is why I am the way I am. Psychology has come to the idea over and over that if you abuse your children, they'll be a serious mess later on. Thing is, we can't tell what the child will call abuse later on. I heard of one guy who dreamt he was being crushed for years, and finally concluded that he actually was crushed by someone rolling onto him as a baby. And he sexualized the hell out of that stupid dream; because everyone in his dream was naked, he decided that's actually the way it happened, that he was in fact abused when he wasn't. Moron.

I know for a fact that I was abused because my parents pointed it out to me, insisting it was normal. How they made me sleep with Richard when were babies, sucking his cock like it was a nipple until he peed in my mouth. They made sure that happened enough that I just accepted it; no doubt why we keep doing that with each other even to this day. Or how my mother would give my father a blowjob in front of me, and then venomously spit his cum out at me, with both of them shouting and scaring me as hard as they could. Explains why spitting has such an effect on me. I still don't understand how they made me like getting hurt, but somehow they did.

I will not do these things to my children. Despite my incessant proclivities toward that idea, I won't. And I have a very good reason for that, too.

Ramona won't let me.

AFTER THE accident, Ramona changed. The trip to the hospital from my wedding was exhilarating enough, but when the truck came out of nowhere, it shattered her view of the world, along with her leg. She still limps. Norman came into his own on the way; it was all very exciting. I mean, before, she was vivacious, an in-charge kind of woman, ready to take on the world and make it her bitch. After, she withdrew; she basically gave up on her dreams and strove to settle. Raw survival was what her interests shifted to, and all the joys she had, even with me, offered no peace to her. Just being alive was enough for her for the longest time. She really had it rough. Until she found God.

The Reverend Bruce somehow got her to start coming back out of her shell, and the old girl I knew and loved would peek up occasionally. I don't even know when they met; the first time I saw them together at the funeral, they were speaking like old friends. She insisted I go to church with her, and I was happy to take orders from her again, even if they weren't very interesting. She would nudge toward me to get me to sing the hymns, and I was always reluctant and embarrassed to make much about it, until finally I saw it: the flash of the old Ramona who wanted something no matter the cost, and I caved, much to the consternation of the parishioners around us who had to suffer from the terrible singing I inflicted on them. Fuck all of them to hell, she smiled when I did it, so I continued: sang my little heart out. My singing never did get better, and I didn't care. Baby steps back to the way it was.

Sure, she had some fits and starts; I never did find out who the father to Consuela was, but I have wondered if it maybe wasn't Dave. They both denied it repeatedly, so I can either believe them or not. I still haven't decided. Whoever it was, Ramona has never once suggested it was an accident. She was such a mess, though; I couldn't let her give her daughter up for adoption, as was her first plan. It took a bit to persuade my husband that we needed, I needed, another child, despite the abortion, despite the vasectomy. And though I would never stray, I think he was afraid I would.

It took a few more months of begging to get her to go out with my old flame Richard and she finally did after her daughter came to live with us, her first real date since my wedding, and again, something happened without me: They fell in love. Real love, not the control freak negotiating power struggle she used to wield. Mus' have sompth'n' to do with her churchin'.

"RAMONA. PRECIOUS. Would you run down to the store? Mommy's run out of cigarettes again, and just can't bear the idea of suffering through another one of the grocer's lectures."

"Of course. Be right back."

The car door had no sooner closed but the sip of my coffee was disturbed.

"Stand up."

I managed to get the cup back onto table before it began.

"I said, stand. Up."

My chair made a noise, and we fell back into silence. I felt Consuela Martina's gaze cut me in two.

"Hmph. Take off your clothes."

My brow furrowed, my chin dipped. "Wha . . .” That hesitation was all it took to get my face to blaze from the strike. I panted a bit from the surprise. Not what Ramona had prepared me for at all.

"I'm still waiting, trollop. Do you need me to say it again?"

My time had run out. I started fumbling around with buttons, pulling out the tidy tucks, swimming in doubt, when my legs were kicked out from under me, followed by pains in my ribcage that could only have come from feet, forcefully applied.

"Are you this slow for her?"

I was panicking from the fresh aches, the urgencies mounting as my clothing argued with the woman in front of me.

"I suspect she doesn't tell you how worthless you really are often enough, so I will have to work harder to begin to fix my daughter's oversight, and remedy that. Why aren't you naked?"

Getting there, getting there.

"Your mother obviously didn't teach you how to dress, did she neglect teaching you how to undress as well?"

My shoes had never been on so tight before, I flopped around on the floor some more to struggle with what little clothing I had left, not daring to rise up enough to do it right.

"I knew her, you know. Always thought she was breeding slaves, she was. More like little princesses who don't know their place. I've had to break all her slut-spawn that didn't have the sense to miscarry themselves before your whore mother pushed them out of the swamp she had between her legs, and now I have to break you, too. Just to show my little girl how, so she doesn't end up as the likes of you, you harlot."

There, there. Oh, crap. Watch, necklace, it'll have to do.

"At least you know how to kneel. Hmph. Took you long enough." She walked around me once, kicking the chair further away. "Get dressed. We'll try again."

We got through the exercise twice more, complete with kicking my legs out from under me, not to mention the obligatory stomping on my ribs. "And who is my daughter, strumpet?"

"My---my mistress," I rasped.

"And who am I?" She walked around me for the interrogation.

Think, think, what is she after. "My mistress's . . . mother . . . ?"

"And what does that make me?"

"I---I . . .” Uh oh. "I don't know the right answer." I waited and panted for my honesty to be punished; it was.

"Mother!" I was trying to upright myself from the blow. "How could you!"

"And you, you little cunt. Decided you liked having the ditches dripping in your bitch's britches, did you?" Ramona was putting her arm around me, prompting me to stand. Up, down, up, down, what a day. "Feel it. Do it." I stole a glance at Ro. She looked like she didn't know what was being asked of her, but I knew, and I waited, adjusting myself to make it a little easier for her, hoping to not interfere.

"Moron." Consuela grabbed her daughter's hand and drug it through where it mattered on me. It came up as expected: wet, smelly, hot, a mess. I flinched, but not for that reason. "How can she cry if she likes it?" Her whisper was venomous.

Now it was I that didn't understand.

"It was you who liked to see people cry, Mother. And what you did to Daddy is still unpardonable." Ramona shuffled me out the door, leaving my clothes on the floor.

"Wench! Hussy! You'd better learn, Ramona, or you'll learn something else! And then you'll pay, oh, you'll pay!" She was still shaking her fists and shouting at us as we drove off in a huff. A rather drawn out long fuming huff.

"I don't think we'll do that again soon. I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about? I was kinda getting to like her." We finally both broke out laughing, and I tried to hide how much it hurt. "What did . . . can I ask? What did she do to your father?" Oops. The pause with the face turning to ash told me I shouldn't have.

"Well, she killed him."

"How did she do that?" I meant to say 'could'; I meant to say 'could'. Ouch.

Ramona took a deep breath, betraying that this was a story she wasn't accustomed to telling. "She . . . she un-manned him with a hammer; he got horribly infected, but she wouldn't finish the job and cut it off or take him to the doctors or anything. She decided he wasn't worth the trouble to fix anymore, so she played out her fantasies, and tortured him to death."

"I'm sorry, I meant 'how did she get away with it'." Ow ow ow.

"Officially, he's missing." She shuddered. I doubled over in the seat to the side where Consuela had kicked me.

"Oh, god. She made you watch, didn't she?" My voice was getting more strained, and it was getting harder to hide it.

"No." Pause. Ugh. Ow. "She made me participate."

"Oh, sweetie. I am so sorry," I moaned out. I coughed. Blood.

"I knew what I was doing." More road noise. She hadn't noticed what was happening to me yet. "She was of the school that a slave always needed broken bones, to remind them of their dependence on their masters. She had me regularly break . . . things on him."

"Aarrg, hh, hhh, I . . . really don't want to be a, hhh, problem here, but can we find a hospital? Uurrhhhh, I kinda think I need one. Broken things, you know."

She suddenly looked over at me; I'm sure I grimaced. "What the fuck did she do to you?" Ramona practically crashed the jalopy with all the red lights she ran, and the bouncing on the street on her bad shocks didn't help all that much.

"MMMM, THANK you." She had brought me better coffee, and I warmed my hands on the side of the styrofoam.

"How'reya feeling?"

"Well, it hurts to breathe, and move, and do pretty much anything, including nothing." Morphine was not allowed; I was too far along with the baby.

"I turned her in."

"Hmm?" The room was cloudy. Dank.

"I spoke to a lawyer. He says that I was a minor under the influence of a person of influence, comma, evil, and am not responsible for whatever she made me do to Daddy. She, though, is going to go away."

"How---hhhh---do you feel about thhhat? Uh."

"Terrible. I love my mother. I feel like Judas."

"Let mmeee make it up to youuu." I fumbled around to find her hand, and put it where her mother's combat boot had made an impression on me, breaking some ribs, at least not collapsing a lung "Hold sstillll." I rolled onto her hand, and ached and moaned, and felt myself build up to a good cry. She spooned in behind me, giving little tugs until my pillow was wet. As I rolled my head back to face her, she was wetting the pillow, too.

The doctors reluctantly let me out four days later for my wedding, warning me that I was risking the baby to be moving around with my injuries, and sure enough, Norman fought his way out in protest to the wracking Mommy was giving him as she was offering her sickness and health and richer and poorer amidst the contraction-inducing convulsions. We didn't even get back to the labyrinths of St. Raphael's before I had blessed the world with a mother's due, and was eventually repaid with blessed painkillers despite a small rather violent detour, because really, even for me, it was a bit much.

THE ONLY other time I had ever seen Ramona weep was a year or so later. I was still staggering through the kitchen when she called and made no sense at all amidst all the panic, so I bundled up my little bundle of joy and went over to see her. She didn't even answer the door, so I let myself in.

Ramona was crumpled on the floor sobbing; I didn't even put the baby down before I had my arm around her.

"Oh, god, Paige, oh, god," she bawled.

"Shh shh shh. It's okay, I'm here. What happened, honey?" Norman was happy to lie on the floor and gurgle as I pet her.

"She . . . she's dead." She held me tighter than she ever had before or since.

"Who? What?" I tried to pull a little back to see the strain, and I knew. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." Then I started crying. We wept and shook for what felt like hours as the baby cooed at us.

"She got in a fight at the jail. Oh, god, now what do I do?"

Ro was absolutely convinced she was guilty of familicide, first with her father at her mother's insistence, then with her mother at the law's insistence of her testimony that put her into the situation of her doom, and I was absolutely convinced about the possibility of suicide. I made her come stay with us. I tried to get her to sleep with Dave and I, but she wouldn't have it. Funny, men never seem to be able to resist when their women say 'go ahead, fuck my friend, please', but despite my prodding, Dave always denied he ever did anything else with Ramona. Asshole. She slept on the couch, so I stayed on the floor beside her. Not quite what I had intended. Guess I'm not over it yet: Asshole.

It rained as it should at Consuela's funeral, which was not very well attended: Ramona and us, and the preacher, who had things to say about her that we didn't seem to know.

"Consuela Martina will be sorely missed at the battered women's shelter, where she was instrumental in the recovery of victims of violence."

Ramona took my hand and glanced at me with the first look of hope I had seen her have since her mother had gone to prison. She spoke with the Reverend after the service, and within a week had a new job that even paid for the rest of school for her. I put my arm around her as we left the cemetery.

"Paige, will you do something with me?"

"Always."

"Will you go to church with me?"

Friends

"COME ON, Richard."

"Holy fuck. Do you know who that is?"

"Some former teacher. Why?"

"Jesus Christ, Paige. This isn't what we talked about. We've got to let this one go."

"Don't be silly. She's like me; she likes it. I'm just sending her to a better life." I walked my fingers up his chest. "Maybe you'll do the same for me someday."

We wrestled for a while, and I fully expected him to fuck me, comma, senseless, after he got me tied to the bed, I mean, I had some time, but instead, the bastard released Maggie Dallis and took her out. I never saw her again. Richard disappeared for a while more after that, and I somehow got paid anyway; enough that I could quit. Selling women was a bad business to be in anyway. It wasn't what I was hoping it would be.

I at least had some fun when my new roommate Ramona came back late.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

"Just, uh, waiting for you."

"And who did you get to do this for you?"

"Oh, some guy. You'd be surprised what people'll do, if you ask right."

"And what do you think you'd ask of me?" She walked her fingers up my chest, poking at a couple interesting places on the way between Point A and Point B.

"Gosh, what could I ask for? Love? Thrills? Mmmm. Assurance? Ohh, I could just ask you to do that again. Ahh."

"Like this shit, do you? How about this?"

"Oh, god, yes, please, you can do that again."

"You might be fun, here, new girl." She pinched and then twisted what she had just been poking. My head dipped, and my eyes rolled toward her.

"More."

"Hah. More what?" I felt her hands reach what she wanted. What I wanted.

"More, please."

"Try again."

My world changed shape, back to one I used to know. "More, please . . .” I closed my eyes “. . . mistress . . .”

"That's better." She opened my blouse and rummaged around in it for a while until she found what she was looking for. Not like they were ahhh, oh god, hhh hhh lost . . . right where I left them . . .

"And just what made you think I would be interested in something like this?" She squeezed again, harder this time, making me wince.

"Oh, you hhhh know, oh, oh, oh, just the foolish hopes of the youoooaaaAANNNNGG! UHH! UHH!" Fuck, this girl had a grip.

She yanked her hand out, drawing a grunt, and slapped me across the left cheek, hard. Before I even had gotten the opportunity to finish turning my face back the other way, the way one should when one offers the other cheek, she did it again. And again. My face was on fire. She stopped after the fourth strike; I was panting, and it took several breaths for me to finish what I had started: I finally got my right cheek to face her.

"Hmph," she smirked. "Slut." I'm sure her left hand, the cursed one, was at least as sore as her right was when she was done. I was swooning.

I had heard Ramona was a tough girl to live with from some of the other girls on the floor, but I don't think they really had any idea.

"Well this was fun. I haven't gotten to do anything like that for a while. Are you gonna complain to someone?"

I tried to think as she went back to vice-gripping my nipples. That part didn't work out so well, so I tried to rasp out between the waves, whispering, hoping it might be seductive enough: "Only that you might stop." I took a deep breath and held it; the blood that used to be where her fingers were was rushing to my head. I swore I could see it through the haze: her world changed shape, too.

Bloodflow returned with firecrackers where she had succeeded in getting it to stop as she threw her arms around my neck and proceeded to suck my very soul out. Here, there, up, down, my god I was dizzy.

"I'd heard about you." Jinx.

The next morning, after spending the night sick with laughter, and sex---she raped me hard---and most of my other favorite things, she promised to introduce me to a guy she knew that she thought I'd like.

"COME ON Richard."

Richard Standrid had been my best friend since I couldn't remember when, and as we lay on the beach at my parents' cabin, his hands were finding their way to things I didn't think we should do in front of the neighbors. Not that I minded what he was doing. We hadn't done anything like that yet. Well, at least not in semi-public. I laced my fingers into his and tried to pull him up.

"Where are we going?"

"I thought we'd go inside for this."

"For what?"

Oh, come on. He knew what I was talking about. But this was still fun, so I licked my lips so he could see and tipped my head up so I could look down towards him. "I'm . . . thirsty."

"But your mom's in there."

"That's okay." I raked my upper teeth across my lower lip until it popped forward. "She likes to watch."

I pulled. He pulled back until I fell onto his lap, laughing.

"Listen, Paige, we have to talk."

"So, talk." I reached my arm up around the back of his neck, nibbling my way around to his ear.

"I'm . . . stop that . . . I'm . . . listen to me . . . I'm going. Away. I've got to go away."

I looked up at him, into his dreamy eyes. "Good. I'll go with you."

"No." he pushed me back a bit. "You can't."

"What? Why? Where are you going?"

"I . . . I can't tell you." I felt my mouth start to dry out. "It's dangerous."

"I don't care." I went back to doing what I was doing.

"Paige, stop that. It's got to do with making people do things."

"And just what do you think people have been making me do my entire life? Hm? Sounds perfect."

"No. I'd lose you along the way."

My brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"You'd see what they, the people I'm going to work for, do with people, and you'd want them to do that to you. And then I really would lose you."

"What?"

"It's only for a few years." He stood, shedding me. "Just until I can get enough money to do things right with you. I love you more than I know how to tell you. Will you wait for me? Paige?"

I looked out at the lake. Wait? I didn't want to wait. I felt lost. I don't know why, but I didn't answer him. God fucking damn it all to hell, I didn't answer him, and he took that as an answer anyway and left. I was still crying on the beach after dark when my mother came out and got me to my feet and back inside, at last, where I wanted to go in the first place, only, Richard wasn't here, and what do you mean you knew, no, no, no, don't touch me, you whore, he's gone, no, it won't be alright, take your god damn fucking hands off me you cunt . . .

Stupid stupid stupid.

I heard about six months later that Mom and Dad didn't survive the wreck they found themselves in. I hadn't them seen since I ran out that night, and I hadn't seen Richard either, and I was alone. Alone in a bar with some fool song on the jukebox. . . . And our lives are a grain of sand . . .

Fuck. Not quite alone.

"Looks like you've had at least as bad a day as the rest of us."

I looked up. At least she was pretty. But I was totally not interested. Not in her, not in me, not in anyone. The only thing I was interested in was in the glass in my hand.

"Mind if I join you?" I grunted something that she took to mean yes. "Let me get you another one." She leaned over and sniffed my drink, got the waitress's attention and ordered another round. She was right on the money: a Singapore Sling. So few bars can pull a decent one off.

"I'm not trying to get anything out of you. But you look like someone raped and murdered your sister, burned your ranch, shot your dog, and stole your bible." Her face was beatific and wry, and I knew she'd seen Kathleen Turner movies. Her voice was low and sexy like Ms Turner's, too.

"I'da rather been the sister. Better'n this." I took a swig, and went back to moping.

"That could probably be arranged."

I looked back at her, god, she was beautiful, . . . snack time for a moonbeam . . . and she was staring at me, no, boring through me, and I somehow came to the idea that she knew something, . . . tonight is a perfect night . . . though I don't know what or how . . . "Do I, do I know you?"

"Not at all. My name is Agnes. Richard sent me. And he wants you to do something."

"Ri . . . Richard?" . . . To dissolve in this ocean of lights . . .

"He wants you to go to school." She winked. "Meet some people." . . . And fall in love . . .

"COME ON Richard. Please?" I ended up having to hang up to the dead air. Hmph. A rotary phone. "Fuck it, he's not coming. I really wanted you to meet him. Now what do we want to do?" I had my own ideas, but thought I would offer.

"I dunno. Catch a film at the Flickerie? I hear they're showing some old Pryor film."

"Yeah, which I hear sucks beyond the telling of it. I mean, puh-lease. Super heroes don't need comedic sidekicks to save the world, do they?"

"I don't want to go anywhere anyway. Besides, aren't we already busy? Getting' you all hitched up and all?" She giggled and settled into what she really wanted to talk about. "How do you do it, Paige?"

"Do what?" I asked brightly, knowing full well what she was asking. She looked at me like she saw through my little charade, and expected an actual answer; hopefully something to do with what boys and girls are so good at doing together, and maybe girls and girls, too.

I reached across and opened the bridesmaid's dress as though it were Mardi Gras. No bra tonight, I wondered if she was out of them yet. I was a little surprised that she let me as I reached around behind her and got the matches. Her eyes got wide as saucers, but she held still as the phosphorous flared and settled down. I drew the match toward her chest, and she started shaking and shallow panting, even before the heat was anything to worry about. I played with flashing the fire across her nipple, which at least had gotten hard and pointy with fear, if nothing else. Just like doing the trick with a candle and fingers when Richard and I were kids. I passed her flesh through fast enough a few times that her quivering settled down for the big event: I see-sawed the match back and forth, cutting down the distance each time until it was just each side of her when it actually started to burn.

"Ahh Ahh Ahharrr AAHHHRRRRRGGGG! AH! AH!" The match hurt me more than her; I held it until it went out. "Hhh. Hhh. How do you like being hurt?" I pulled my head down and got her nipple, just the burned tip, into my mouth and started sucking gently at first, then harder and harder until I knew it was hurting; I was bearing down with my teeth to be sure. "NNGGGHHGH! Ouch! Stop! Stop, please."

"I wish I knew. Mmm mmmm. If I could bottle it, I'd make a fortune. Didn't you like that?"

"Heck no."

"Can I check?" So innocent.

"Yeah, sure. I suppose." So annoyed.

I snaked my hand into her panties under the dress. Nope. Nothin' goin' on down there. "What do you like Harrie?"

"I don't think I know. No offense, but girls don't do it for me, and the guys haven't been so good, either."

"Girls are no good, boys aren't much better. How about dogs?"

"Make me barf a little harder, would you?"

"You seem to like being naked."

"Yeah, that's okay. I guess."

"Wanna show me?" Her head tipped. "Take off your clothes."

She hesitated a moment, and then got naked so fast I hardly saw her take anything off.

"No, no. Too fast. Put them back on, and take them off slower. Like a stripper should."

"Oh, that's just stupid."

"C'mon, do it." My day, my rules.

"Fine."

She got back in the dress, panties and slip, no stockings, fairly clumsily, and then put it in reverse to take them back off: at least as clumsily.

"I don't think the point is to be naked, I think the point is to become naked. Again. Reveal yourself to me."

Once more from the top; she was at least taking her time.

"Are you having any fun? Smile for me. Pretend you're interested in showing me your body."

Something lit in her, and she started engaging me as she took her clothes off.

"That was better. Do you want to do that again, or do you want to try something else?"

She sighed. "What do you want?"

"Take the matches, and do to yourself what I did to you. And make a show for me."

Her eyes anime-ed right back up, and she shook as she lit the match.

"Look at me."

She wrenched her face toward me up from what she was about to do to herself. God, I was getting wet; I knew it wasn't going to do a thing for her except hurt, and I didn't want it to stop. She swallowed hard.

"Closer."

Her breathing escalated.

"Closer."

She began rasping as the flame approached her breast.

"Slower. Closer."

"Ahh Ahhh AAHHHHRR Shit! Sorry! Shit! Ahh!" The match went out as it fell. She danced around, clutching herself, swearing in some other language.

"Come here, let me see." She knelt down beside me, trembling, and I looked. It didn't even register as a burn. I kissed and licked her there, right there, and she let me without flinching. "You did good, baby." Her breathing slowed down as she let me ministrate to her.

"Oh Lord---Crap, Paige. That hurt. I mean, c'mon, really. How long have you liked this stuff? Ow Ow." I felt where it mattered on her like before, and like before, it was dry. But she at least didn't tense up like the first time. Maybe there's hope yet for her.

"Oh, Harrie, for like, forever. I remember peeling scabs off my knee in front a boy in third grade, telling him I liked it when it hurt, hoping he'd come over and poke it. He was too chicken, he was sooo shocked, like I was from Mars or something. It was too bad, I liked him."

"I've tried to understand it; it seems insanely useful, so powerful to be able overcome this, but I just can't do it. I don't think I'm wired right."

"Hang on." Knocking happened, oh god, look at the time. I struggled up, and she made motions like she was trying to help me, but I got there on my own and opened the door. Jesus. These guys are big. Who . . . ?

"That her?"

I didn't want to, but I think I nodded. I know I shook my head, though, more from not understanding what was going on than any denial. "Uhh . . . What are you guys doing here?"

"Harriet Charney, you're to come with us."

"Wait, what?"

Big Goon Number Two didn't waste any time and pulled her up by her hair. She reached to his hand, crimeny, he picked her up with just one, and she started kicking and grunting and complaining.

"Paige, help me! Ow! Let me go!"

"We don't have time for this." Big Goon Number One pulled a syringe from his pocket and jabbed her in the neck with it. She calmed down considerably, and I was impressed how quickly she settled into just hanging there.

"Guys, no, this isn't . . . what . . . stop . . .” His fist, which was the size of my whole head, struck the spot, Consuela's spot, where she kicked me into next week---was that just last week?----knocking the wind out of me, throwing my head forward, getting the veil to fall off my head, despite the bobby pins. I was also impressed with how quickly I collapsed. My baby spun around to optimal foetal position, and suddenly everything from my big fat tits down felt like it was clenching, like electricity; I never felt anything that hurt that bad before. Oh, god, not now. Not now.

"Always a pleasure, Paige. Richard around?"

"Nnnoooo," I managed to gurgle out as I reached toward, well, nothing.

"Well, give him our best. We'll catch up with him later. Ciao. Oh, and, congratulations. Sucker." They were arguing out the door before I could even get my mouth closed.

"Moron. You congratulate the groom, you wish the bride good luck."

"Who cares . . .”

Shit.

Fuck.

Fuck. Forgive me Harrie, I tried . . . ow ow ow . . .

. . . Ramona has a distinct knock. "Ready, Sweetie? It's time. C'mon, we're burnin' honeymoonlight. Where's Harrie?"

Kinda wished I knew something about the God Harrie kept talking about, because the hell he has waiting for me is certain. I never saw her again.

Husbands

RAMONA CAME bearing the gift of coffee, god bless her all to pieces. I smiled as I remembered what she at least used to want me to do with such a thing, and waited for her to take the first sip before removing the lid to contemplate temperature transference and Brownian motion. I had just gotten my own first sip to burn my lips when her phone rang.

"Ramona Standrid."

A second burn, on the tongue, not so bad. Mmm.

"Of course. Right away." She closed the phone and stood. "He's up early. Are you sure you want to go today?

"What was it Harrie used to call me that she didn't think I knew about? 'Ramona's Tool for Living'? Wouldn't miss it."

"Really, I can just do it twice. It would be alright."

"You've had this albatross around your neck for how many years now? Long past enough. If they'll take my offering in your stead, I am happy to do it. I'm just a little spooked in case it actually works out the way they say."

"God bless you all to pieces, Sweetie, the only way it can work out is they way they want. It's inevitable; we'll have to keep at it until it does."

I gulped. "I mean it; I am worried about what Dave will do. He's promised he'd execute me over a very long period of time if it happens again."

"I won't let him do that."

"I hate to point this out, Honey, but you don't have quite the power there you used to." She looked askance at me, and I raised my eyebrows and nodded.

"You might be surprised what I can do. I'm working on a solution."

"Care to share?"

"It's still pretty rough."

"Despite the fact that everybody thinks I'm not the sharpest tool in the drawer, I'm always ready to have you sharpen me." This time her eyebrows went up. "Okay, that was awful. Sorry. But you know what I mean." The smile finally broke across her face, and I returned it.

RAMONA'S MORNING rape doesn't take too long; she's always first. She's gotten to where she can fake the orgasm fairly convincingly, something I could never do. She insists she hasn't had a real one in years, and hasn't missed them a bit.

I would.

Hell, I do. Just not in the mornings or the evenings, when Ramona and I come over here. One of the rules is that we cum when he does; some fool old wives' tale about what we're doing.

Ramona is naked behind my own nakedness, pulling back on my elbows with her arms, and on my knees with her legs, splaying me toward our attacker, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, the ones I like. My own personal slut-whisperer.

"Whore."

Our attacker, who is not naked, lives up to his demarker, and attacks me with the vigor of a man who has gotten warmed up with the first couple laps, and was ready to get serious.

Uh Uh Uh Uh Uh.

"Prostitute." Timothy Dallis' hand crosses my face, turning it with a 'splat' when she said that, sending shocks somewhere else on me. It's practically an automatic reaction, and Ramona could always tell; she pulled harder, increasing the strain in ways she knows I like. I could feel her facial expression change as it pressed up against mine, which I'm sure was different.

Timothy is fucking liked the damned, pounding, racking, striking bits of me around while Ramona's litany continues: "Ffffuckiinnng Cccuuunnntt."

Uh Uh Uh Uh.

The room spins the way I like it to, clockwise, the pressure collapses around me as the assault continues. I close my eyes just to keep from laughing at the expressions I know are on my rapist's face.

Uh Uh Uh.

"Do it, bitch. Cum like the little slutbucket you are. Do it. Do it now." She starts biting my earlobe, harder, harder . . .

Ahha AAAR AAHHHHH! Ah! Ah! Ah!

I succeed. So does Timothy. Our duty is complete, and everyone slows down and starts to relax. My sexual partner, comma, male, yanks himself out of me, slaps me one more time for good measure, harder than before, and I feel myself fall back onto my girlfriend. He waddles out of the room with his pants around his ankles, and returns in a moment with a modicum more of dignity and grace and the box which he rips open. "Let's go, whores."

Ramona and I struggle off the bed, and even though she walks, I crawl, the way I think they want me to into the bathroom. Timothy holds the stick at the front of the toilet, and like always, Ramona pees first. The big galoot never seems to notice how it pains her to do this in front of us. When she's done, Timothy throws her off, tosses the stick into the sink, and pulls me up by the hair until I'm where he wants me, and I follow my mistress' example, even onto the floor where she's waiting for me.

"Get the fuck out." We both crawl back into the bedroom, and assemble ourselves back into our clothes.

"Shit. Fuck. God Damn It." We leave with him swearing, more so than usual. On our way out, we traipse through the room done up all in blue, for the morning courtesies.

"Ah, good morning ladies. Up early, are we?"

"Ye---yes sir." We stop with our heads are bowed, our hands at our sides, our demeanors contrite and demure.

"It is always so lovely to have you come by; you are always welcome, you know. Welcome. Yes." He had a china cup with a saucer that didn't match. They looked dirty.

The uncomfortable silence stretches on a little longer than normal; at least the elder Dallis has an expression that just has to be honest with his courtesy and delight. I've always liked him, even though I shouldn't.

Timothy stomps in with a snarl I don't remember from before. "You aren't going to believe it, Dad. It's fucking happened."

The father turns toward his son. "Is it true?"

"Yep. Shit."

He inhales his next word. "Ahhh, my darling Ramona, I am so proud of you. The Standrid Debt is finally being repaid!"

"Well, the start of it. Slutface still has to deliver." A pause. I hated to think 'the pregnant kind', but there it was.

"Yes, of course. You never were your mother, Ro. Ro? Is that right? I never understood that nickname. 'Mona' made much more sense to me. Delivery. Yes, deliver us the child, and perhaps we can fix that. Ro. Fix you not being your mother."

That was the closest I'd ever heard this old fool to being rude.

"And, my dear, if you should see your errant husband, do remind him to deliver as well. My sister. At his earliest. Deliver. Convenience."

"What do you want to do with this chubby little split-tail? Whore's knocked up, too."

My posture fell. F-Fuck. The old man turns toward me.

"Why, my dear, you can coat hanger yourself, for all I care. Ramona's is the one we want. You were just here for moral support. Very noble of you. Yes. Admirably noble." Another pause as he turns back. "Mrs. Standrid, I would like you to see my lawyer, if you don't mind," he said as he tittered and tottered his way out of the room.

"So." The son leers at us. "You cunts wanna come back tonight anyway? Fer ol' time's sake? Hm?"

We both roll our eyes to the younger Dallis, and then off. Ach, if looks could kill.

WE WERE silent until we got to the parking lot at my place, where we sat and burned daylight until I couldn't stand it any more. "How's that plan coming?" After the deep breath of out-of-options commitment, she told me. I was stunned. "Lu . . . Lucy Ricardo would balk and run. I mean really, Ro, this is Mission Impossible without Peter Graves or Garrett Morris." Only one eyebrow went up. "Uh, the black guy?"

"Greg Morris."

"Huh?"

"Garrett Morris was on Saturday Night Live. You know, 'Gonna Get Me a Shotgun and Kill all the Whities I See'?"

"Oh, yeah. Got a shotgun?"

"No, but I can see how that might come in handy." She paused. "How are you and your father-in-law getting along these days?"

"Fabulous. Love him to death. The problem is him and Dave."

"Still?"

"Yep. Once they get within spittin' distance of each other, the spittin' begins and will only let up when one of 'em finds a nail gun or a flamethrower."

"Oh, my god. Why can't they just let it go? I mean, it's been what, a dozen years now?"

"They both still blame the other for Harrie, uh, running away."

"Well, then, how much worse can this make it?"

"Got me there."

"Don't start with Old Man Norman. Call Gertie first." Spoken with the determination and authority I hadn't realized I'd missed. She waited.

I knew I was about to cave; oh fuck, what the hell. I couldn't help raising the sides of my mouth: "What the hell."

Allies

"PAIGE CHARNEY?"

I couldn't answer. Of all the things to be on the other side of my front door, this was the last thing I expected when the bell rang.

"Are you Paige Charney?"

"Uh, uh, yeah." I could hardly take time from my staring to answer a simple yes-or-no question.

"She wants you to have this. It's yours now."

As if by magic, a long thin wooden case was in her hands being held up to me. The motion broke my concentration and I looked down at it. She nudged it toward me, apparently again. At least having it in that position hid some things from me, and my decorum made a slight appearance. "I . . . I'm sorry. Do you want to come in?" It was the least I could do for the naked woman standing at my doorstep.

The woman shook her head, and even though her facial muscles couldn't move, she might have been trying to smile. "No, thank you. I can't stay. Please," moving again with the 'here, take this' motion that finally managed to convince me. As I pulled it away from her, the burn scars came back into view, and I could hardly take time to listen, for all the staring I had to do. "Keep it hidden, keep it safe. Good luck with it; I hope it will serve. She sends her best, and thinks you should probably use that sooner rather than later." I felt something at the side of my face, and managed to tear myself away enough to look up and see her pulling her hand away. Her head was tipped.

She turned away and walked back to the limo I hadn't noticed, as though this whole nude delivery service was a normal thing. It wasn't until the car had driven out of sight that my attention diverted to what was in my hands.

After I put my cigarette out the way I should, I opened the box and looked at it for a long time at the table before I picked it up. Ramona and I had spoken of this thing before, and it hummed just like she said it would.

It hummed in my lips when I presented it to my husband the way I knew I had to; he had to reach down to take it. As it helped me live up to some fool promise I made to him in some dark, dank and dour room in the bowels of St. Raphael's, I sang my little heart out, rejoicing in my ever after.

Tommy

Prologue

"SIGN IT."

"What is it?"

"Our agreement. Give me your hand."

"Hmm? Hey, ow. What the, hey, hey."

"Shut up."

"Aarrch, What are we, eleven here? You're kidding, right? Signing in blood?"

"Seal a deal like this up right, or it doesn't work."

"Jesus Christ, Norman."

"Watch your mouth, boy. Mmm hmm. There." He snarled as he threw the paper back at me. "Do it."

"This is a really unnecessary, but fine, sure, whatever you want."

I dipped the nib into the blood he mixed with his own, shook my tipped head with half a smirk, dropped my shoulders as I leaned back, and committed myself. At least, on blood-soaked paper. He snatched the parchment and satisfied himself that I didn't misspell my name.

"Billy!" Norman started folding the contract until it was a little smaller than the size of the palm of his hand. My future brother-in-law came in naked, dripping with sweat and panting; apparently, he had been interrupted from doing something to his wife. "Fuck this into his ass. Now."

Billy threw me down across the table, and yanked my pants down to do his job. There was no more point in struggling or fighting or complaining this time over any of other times this had happened. I didn't like it this time, either. Norman yanked my head up like a bitch's, so he could look me in the eye, so he could watch my face. I quivered and couldn't help expressing my distaste at this little ceremony. Funny how Norman never got a copy of a contract fucked into his ass. I dared to ask him about that once. Just once, as he had his son-in-law fist The Book of Judges into me a few pages at a time for questioning him, reminding me that if I ever did that to him again, there was always the rest of the Old Testament to get through.

God, I hate this motherfucker. Both of 'em. I can really sympathize with the son.

"I'da done this to you myself, but Billy's Bitch sucked me dry this morning. We'da been at it all damn day, and I want you to get going."

Billy was pistoning me pretty hard; I was at least glad I'd had enough foresight to shoot some lube up into me, nowhere near enough, on the off-chance something like this would happen. So I was grunting, but at least I wasn't screaming like a little girl, as has happened before.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were getting to like this shit, you little shit." He raised his eyes from mine, over the top of my head to my, uh, contract negotiator. He reached over as Billy pulled out, and I felt the square starting to get stuffed into me, when the assault really began. He was no longer using his hands to force it in, and my resistance to little-girl-iness fell by the wayside; I was making way more noise than grunting. Even Gertrude appeared at the door to see what was happening. I lost sight of her for a second, oh, wait, there she is. God bless her to fucking hell for trying to make this a little better the way she knows how; too bad my signals don't mix like that. I hadn't gotten to where Gertie could claim success on me by the time Norman called Billy off, muttering something about the proper mix of blood and semen and shit and intent, but she kept nursing me longer, er, nursing on what she wanted on me, what I wanted, until Billy reached under the table to drag her out by her hair. As I lay on the table, now I was the one panting, I could hear her start to scream, and I knew what that took, and the weeping I found myself in the middle of doing was a mix of sorry feelings for both her and myself.

When I'd gotten enough of that out of my system to open my eyes, the Beastly Bastard was looking into them like he actually cared, which I knew he didn't. It was confusing. "You will find my little girl and bring her home, and you will marry her, and enjoy the bounty of my family. This arrangement is in your soul now." No, it's in my ass, you asshole. "Start with that moronic publisher, see what he knows. Go forth, be impressive, Tommy, and come home soon." Asshole.

He patted the side of my head, straightened up and left the room toward where Gertie was shrieking. After I got to where I could leave the house, almost forgetting to pull my pants up, I shuddered a bit once outside, and couldn't keep myself from throwing up on his lawn, hoping against hope he step out to see me off and slip in the mess to knock his head on the steps, breaking something important.

As I got away from that shithole to get the air starting to clear from that filthy cistern full of shit shit shit SHIT, I began to wander and wonder about the paper that would be easier to shit out than that other experience, good thing I had some laxatives: Just what do you get for someone who has everything and can do pretty much anything he wants whenever he feels like it? Most people think of personal little things, like writing a poem, or making a greeting card by hand, or baking bread, or something innocuous and forgettable. I was starting to develop a different set of ideas. Lex Luthor would be proud.

I hated pretty much everything about that old coot, and wanted to hurt him more than anything in the world.

There. Just wait now. Bah-dah-daah-daah-dat-dummmm, Bah-dah-daah-daah-dat-dumm-da-dum-dah-dummm . . .

. . . I quivered as I waited to pull the strings, spill the gas, light the road, god, the excitement was more than I could stand. Oop, there's the bus. Perfect. It was a good day for a bitch burning.

Beginnings

"HEY RO, are you . . . wha . . . Tommy. What are you doi . . .”

I took a page from Billy's book and yanked her into the room, throwing her into the other uncooperative cunt. After the crashing and scrambling, she seemed to think she needed to carry on a little more.

"When---what . . .”

I let her have it, right in the face. Left a mark she'd have to explain as a doorknob.

"Shut up, Paige." That cunt Ramona wasn't here for some reason. "Why aren't you two naked?"

The girls got themselves put back together enough to be close enough to being in position to be fussy about it after they fixed the first obvious problem. "Faster. Are you this slow at home?" Love watching whores tearing their clothes off, whatever the reason. "Eyes down. C'mon, you know better than this." I slapped Agnes, and then threw what was left of my coffee in her face. It scared her more than anything, but good; too bad it was cold. She glowered her new mess toward me, but had the sense to not lift her head. Her breasts swayed, they way they should.

"Now, where was I. Oh yes. Where is she?"

"I don't . . . what?"

I gave Paige another mark, to match the first, for coming in late. And not doing what she was told. Twin shiny doorknobs, above breasts that were also finally swaying they way they should.

"If I don't find out what I want to know here, right now, I do have a water heater you two should just fit into. The landfill is where cunts end up, not that fucking cemetery."

Agnes started to get up, and I reminded her to get back down on her knees, where she belonged. Kicked the uppity whore right where it counted, and then had to remind her to keep her legs spread, in case I wanted to do it again. She knew that when the day came, I would in fact put her down for good. The gun offered a definitive punctuation to that idea. She started shaking, because she was not ready to shed her mortal coil just yet.

Paige just bristled and started to make motions like she had something to say.

"I know you've been told to shut up before, cunt. Did I not use the right language?"

Paige's open mouth snapped shut with a small pop. More ripples in flesh that is hidden too often in our society, in my opinion.

"We . . . we don't know." Finally. Another country heard from.

"Bullshit." I gave Agnes a mark to match the Paige-cunt's marks. And then another. Ah, the motion, the glorious motion women owe men.

I turned back to Paige and threatened her with her favorite persuasive tool, no wait, my favorite, and forced it into her mouth. "If ya'll don't know anythin', then I guess there's not a lot of purpose in lettin' you bother with leavin'." I cocked the Glock, and pushed it further into her mouth. Her eyes were closed, her lips were quivering a prayer. She wasn't being quiet enough, despite me repeatedly telling her to be so. One more little nudge in to get her to start gagging . . .

"Okay! Okay!" Of course Agnes knew. "Please put it down!"

Ngyk ngyk nnggyyykkk! Paige's eyes opened, panicking now over her newest lover. I wrapped my hand around her head, and got her make some more interesting noises while I glared and sneered at the Agnes-cunt.

"The . . . the convent. Please, Tommy!"

I yanked the pistol from its cozy damp female mouth-holster, and pulled a scream from the girl in my non-shootin' hand when I pulled the trigger. She wiggled sooo good. Agnes collapsed, and I dropped Paige rather unceremoniously, laughing at the good joke I had just played.

"Oh my god!" Paige crawled to the other naked girl, feeling her, holding her, crying her doorknobs out when eyes opened under the other doorknobs with jerks and startles. Both girls were making the pleasing sounds of being broken, of being afraid, of being less than human, they way they damn well fucking should, as they tried to comfort each other, no doubt rejoicing at still being alive. Morons.

"Where is it?" The Moving Cloister of Our Blessed Cunts of St. Nicholas was something men were not allowed to know the location of, and it kept changing places to keep it that way. Probably because it would be fucking Christmas for the lucky-ass man who could get into their hiding place.

No answer from the twats. "The first one was a blank, you stupid cunts. Now, how much are you willing to bet that the next one is? Hmm?" I re-cocked the 9mm.

"I swear, we really don't know."

"I really don't believe you, cunts." I raised the gun toward Agnes, who managed to deer-in-the-headlight for only a second before she remembered to inhale before her answer.

"Maggie! Maggie knows! I swear on all that is holy, Maggie Dallis!" She disintegrated and shit herself and started bawling like she had betrayed something she shouldn't have. I believed her, and enjoyed her guilt and shame and filth that Paige couldn't take from her no matter how much she kissed her.

Four little doorknobs, all in a row, aching, crying, god, what a show.

I laughed back at the weak as I left, as put I my toy away, after breaking all the phones in the room with it, Jesus, guns are handy, oh yeah, don't forget the ones in their purses or in the next room, either.

"Now. Yer gonna count t' fahve hunnert, 'n' then back on down t' zero. And I jus' maht be back in five t' check." God, I love the Cohen Brothers.

"'N' Maggie better know, 'cause if she don', when I really come back, I'll start with teeth, which no good cunt has any real use for anyway. Got me some new pliers for just such an occasion." Heh heh. "Always a pleasure, Paige, Agnes." The girls looked panicky; I'd left them tightly tied together, with their hands inside each other's pussies and asses. I knew they were both escape artists, so I had to make it at least a little bit of a challenge for them to warn Maggie.

What the hell. That's where the fucker Norman said I should have started. It's almost like he knows things it's not telling me. What the hell.

I STROLLED right on up from Point A, street, to Point B, door, and then right on through the front door of the Dallis Palace, like I owned it. Which, once I got Harrie, I would. Or so Norm assured me. Dear sweet Jesus, I hate him.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeh, I'm here to see Maggie."

"She's not seeing anyone today."

I threw the old butler against the shit-I-despise-that-shade-of-blue wall, crumpling him to the floor fairly easily.

"She'll see me." It only took a couple good kicks to get him to tell me where she was: her room. And it took only a few good whaps on the head to get him to stop moving, so I could go about my business.

Maggie's room was frilly and pink and everything Gertie would hate. Can't wait to see her in it. Maggie was cowered against the headboard. The smell was familiar, shit, she's pissed the bed again. Gotta work on my stealthiness.

"Oh . . . oh god, no, Tommy, no." I waited while her covers quivered. "Are . . . are you still crazy?"

"Ya mean more so than you, ya ol' whore?"

"Ple---Please don't hurt me."

"I thought you liked that sorta stuff, bitch."

"Not the way you do it."

I hit her across the jaw as hard as I could. "Good to know." And I hit her again, coming from the other direction, cursing her with my left hand, the blessed one; I think I broke her jaw that time along with her decorum. At least, the scream indicated something wasn't right with her. Me, yes. Her, no.

"AAARRRGGGHHH! HHH! HHH! HHH! DOH! DOH BORE!"

Once things start breaking on people, it's often easy to get their attention and cooperation, so just to be sure, I changed the direction a couple of her fingers pointed.

"AHH! AHH! PEESE! TOP! TOP!"

"I wanna know somethin', there, cunt." Crack. "ARRH! BWA! BWA! AH DELLYA!"

"I wann know where th' Nunnery is. Gotta get me one of the sluts out of it."

"Oh, gaw, doh, doh, peese, doh . . .” Crack. "DDOOOHH! AAHH DOH!" Crack. "ARRRGH!"

Shit-fuck, ran out of hand. Well, good thing she has another. Crack.

"AARRGH!!" She was crying quite steadily now.

"Well, fuck, Maggie, this isn't workin' out the way I wanted." Crack. "HHH! HHH!"

"So let me think here a minute. You go ahead and cry a while, and I'll come up with a way to get you to tell me where they are. OK? Take some time, put yourself back together a bit."

The problem with beating women regularly is that it eventually stops working as a coercive. Hmm, let's see, if her own worthless slut-self doesn't have any meaning to her any more, as well it shouldn't, and she doesn't want to do something, oh, sure. Take it out on something she still does care about. That's why we push love onto women as hard as we can in our society. God bless us, every one.

"Tell ya what, Mags. As much fun as it is to hurt you, I bet I could do that all night long, and you'd come out on top at the end, and take their secret to your grave. So, how 'bout I start in on someone else for a while, break things up a bit? Let's see, there's the old geezer downstairs, nah, I know you don't have any kids, but hey, I know you got nieces or nephews around somewhere, or I know: your brother."

Bingo. She stopped making sounds, and looked afraid the way I'd been wanting her to for the first time today. Not like all the other times.

"Whadayathink? Does he like guys? Would he like getting fucked in the ass with all his fingers broke like yours, or, you know, I could start cutting shit that sticks out of him off, just a little bit at a time, or oh---oh---wait---wait, better yet: you remember what I really like, don'tcha Mags?"

She stopped breathing.

"I like things to be on fire. Now, as cool as third and fourth degree burns are, they're no good, 'cause the nerves get to be all dead, and so things quit hurting. No, the trick to really getting someone's serious attention is to set them on fire, put them out, and do it again. And again. And again. Second degree burns can eventually progress into third, wreckin' the damn fun, but that'll take a while. We're talkin' weeks. And I got the time."

Gotcha. The defeat of a woman is all there is that's worth anything. Anything.

"Ohhgg . . . hhh . . . hhh . . . Gahh pogib bmeh. I dell ya. Peese. Doht hut hib."

And you know, I was wrong about the available space inside old water heaters. I had to struggle pretty hard to get her in one, before dumping what I'd stolen from the local school chemistry lab in with her and sealing it all back up tight at the dump. I was lucky to get out of there after covering her new tomb up with the loader before the smoke gave it all away; the security guard had obviously had to deal with kids' joyrides before, and he wasn't overly enthusiastic about chasing me.

Yes sir, Maggie had her own personal hell to feel long after she couldn't breathe. The white phosphorous burned her right down to the bone, and her nerves were in flames right up to the end. Booyah.

Endings

MY WHORE screamed as well as she ever did, she trusted me as much as she ever did, and she totally was caught off guard more so than she ever was when the hammerhead side of the rock hammer arced and pushed the nail through her wrist, into the tree. She stopped babbling her joy long enough to notice something wasn't quite right this time. I had tied her with her arms up and behind her, so she couldn't see what was going on. But, I suppose it's only reasonable she be upset at my little betrayal, despite her best effort to make it okay anyway.

"Uhh! Ow! What was that? Ow!"

I put the other nail in.

"Uggh! Ouch! Fuck. What are you doing? God!"

"Shh shh shh. It's alright." I came around and put my hands on her breasts, massaging in the whip marks left by the scourge. It distracted her from the new pointy excitements going on behind her, which made something pointy for me.

"Ohh, ohh, I wasn't expecting to get crucified in the woods. I love camping. Ummm, this is sooo nasty. Fucking evil. Are you going to whip me some more? Mmmm? Pleeasse?"

"As you wish." Heh heh. I went back to my first task. I swung until I couldn't. I was up to well over a hundred strokes before I absolutely had to stop. Well, maybe I had a couple more left in me.

"Ohhh, ohh, ohm, god, I love you, Tommy. Fuck me . . . fffuck mmeee . . .” and so we did that thing which boys and girls are so good at doing together, burning so much starlight, it should have been the fare of romantic novels were it not for the amorous martyr. Her eyelids drooped, and her head rolled around, like it was hard to keep up. She had cum so many times, it probably was. After I took care of the thing that stuck out on me, I rummaged around in the pack to find what else I needed, and broke some wood with the hammer to throw on the fire. I got it good and stoked before I turned to face my drowsy companion. Er, victim.

"Harrie."

“. . . mmmm . . .”

"Harrie." I lifted her head up with my free hand.

"Mmmmm . . . yeah, baby?"

"Kiss me."

She lurched her head toward me, snapping to a bit, and tried to reach me; she was hungry to be kissed. "C'm'ere. Mwah. I can't reach." She strained toward me as far as her bonds, her nails would let her. I smiled as I closed the gap, and made the connection, the right one.

The last one.

"You know what we talked about?" She looked up at me like she didn't know what I was talking about. Yeah, right. "It's time."

I stepped back, and drew my hand back, far back, and softball-pitched/golf swinged/oar stroked/bowstring drew/bowled: everything I had.

Too bad I missed, and the pick side of the rock hammer bounced off her inner thigh, tearing it open. She screamed. Can't have that: I did it again. Closer, it stuck a bit somewhere around the hole God intended for men, and I had to wiggle it a bit to pull it back out to try again.

Harrie thrashed against the tree, shouting and cursing like I'd never heard her carry on before.

Third time was charm; I hit her directly on where I knew her clit to be, driving the pick side of the hammer through her pelvic bone, shattering it. The hammer finally stayed in place, and Harrie started to go into shock. Well, at least I think it was shock; she contracted a bit, hunching over as far as she could, trying to pull her legs up, apparently forgetting the tying of her ankles toward the back of the tree, under her nailed wrists. Then the rubber band in her broke and she arched her back against the tree, throwing her head back, and screaming like the banshee I knew she had in her. Not the loudest scream I'd ever heard from her, but it would have to do.

There was still so much fun to be had . . . motherfucking Norman . . . I'd show him, I had a lot of joy to take out on his daughter, er, of, take out of . . .

. . . You know, just to cause offense, I tied her so her lips were on her sex, once was her head was off. I thought about cutting off her feet, too, to tie into her hands, before I decided that was more work than I wanted to do before I set the tree on fire . . .

The really creepy part of the whole affair was waking up to find my cock in her mouth; I never could figure out how she got back in the tent with me. Fool that I am, I didn't throw her out. The blowjob was awesome, and after I had pissed in her mouth, which just ran out her neck into the sleeping bag, she told me, like a good and dutiful wife, how I could keep her father from killing me.

Postlude

DAMN. That was easier than even I thought it would be. Much easier than Harrie said. And this place isn't near as bad as everyone thinks. Three squares, my own room, even if it is kinda plain, only gotta talk crazy talk to the doc twice a day, heh heh, oh, and there's a cute little slut down the hall, let's see, what was her name? Angie, Alice, Andrea, eh, doesn't matter. She's pretty enough to try to fuck.

Harrie

Agnes

"OH, COME on. Really. I mean, really. Are you telling me that I didn't pay you enough, and now I have to fuck you, too? Jesus god damn fucking Christ." I stewed a minute, perceiving no thaw in the thugs. "Fine. What do you god damn fucking well want? Aw, shit. Really? You mean I have to take it out, too? Ugh, oh, what, yer father not teach you to not piss on yourselves in the bathroom either? Ow. Stop that. Because, I'm paying you, remember? Asshole. Fuck this. Where are my clothes? What? Are you shitting me? I could have simply stood up and walked away from that fiasco with less trouble than you two are. Oh, yeah. She's gonna hear how you two fuckups are ruining this, and you know that place? Where the girls go? Boys can go there, too, and I know some people who'd just love to break down a pair of worthless buffoons who'll spend the rest of their days trying to eke out a living as a pair of bondage sissy-slut crack whores. What, you think I can't do that? If I'm not where I need to be in, let's see, what time is it?---thirty minutes, that's the standing order---you'll be on the plane before the day is out. It's gonna take you twenty just to get me to where you need to take me right god damn now, so unless you have ambitions to lower your standards of living, you'd fucking better well stop arguing with me and step on it. And I'd better be dressed, and dressed nice when I get out of this car, so now you have a new problem, because there is an acceptability clause, too. Move it, spunkmeiers."

Just can't get good help these days.

AGNES MET us at the station.

"Listen, Harrie. There's a place you need to know about. In case you need it. Not now, sure, but maybe someday."

I had no interest in what she told me at the time, but thanked her for her help, and caught the next bus out of town. Got the hell away from Point A.

I was out of money after a week, and found myself in a local strip club, understanding far more about having to do what one had to than I wanted to. A true dive. No, a dump.

"How old are you?"

I lied through my decorum.

"You look a lot younger. Alright. Do it. Now."

I tried to do what Paige had told me, and got as far as I could way too soon. Nothing left to do but stand. Actually, I knew that wasn't altogether true.

"Hmmph. Turn around. Show me your asshole."

I stood there complying, and like a fool, didn't blush.

"Can you dance? Aw, fuck, doesn't matter. You know what you gotta do to get a job like this, don'tcha?"

Yes, yes I did. It is truly weird how life works out. Considering how and where I grew up, I lost my virginity at a shithole strip club in the middle of god-forsaken-nowhere to the most disgusting man---and I hesitate to even use that word---I had ever seen. He smelled awful, and I did my best, which included not vomiting; I knew I was dreadful, and he was bored.

"You fuck like a virgin." He blew smoke in my face.

"Hhh . . . hhh . . . you liiike that? Hhhh . . .”

"I've had better. I've had better virgins."

As I rode him, losing him second by second, I knew what I was going to have to do. Just trying to rape him wasn't going to get the job done enough to get the job. I took his hand, the left one, curse me, and put it to my face, then drew it out to the side. I looked at him hard, looking for his soul, nope, nothing in there, tipped my head down, keeping my eyes bored into his, and nodded twice. I held my breath; he came through, and almost got me off of him with the first strike. The spark finally flashed in his eyes. I slowed the motion of my hips down, and tried to squeeze his cock inside me, full well knowing once wasn't going to be enough. Stupid job. I whispered.

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

"Again." Why won't this bastard cum?

"Again."

"Uhhh Arrg Uhhh!! UHHH!" At long god damn fucking last.

He threw me off him to the floor, stood, and grabbed me by the hair, pulling me to my knees. His pants were around his ankles; I didn't want to look down for fear of what I would see in his underwear.

"Finish it." I was breathing like I had been running, and I hesitated; he struck me again. "It's required."

I opened my mouth, and sucked his cock into my mouth, into the back of my mouth.

"C'mon, virgin. Do it. Burnin' night light, here."

I pushed myself forward, and pulled him further back into me. "Ngyk ngyk ngyk hhhh ngyk hhhhh." He popped out, and I popped him back in. "Mmmm ngyk ngyk ngyk." He hit me again, and kicked me for good measure where it mattered. Then he set about to finish the job, and started pissing on me, in my mouth I knew I had to keep open, pissing on the butt before dropping it on the floor. When he ran out of things to do, I decided try to really impress him, to seal the deal. God, I was so hungry, I picked up the urine-soaked cigarette, and put it in my mouth.

"Well, at least you can suck cock. Congratulations, you're a whore. Go out to the bar and get me a sandwich. No, don't bother getting dressed."

TWO YEARS later, after hitchhiking and stripping my way across the country from one trash heap of joy to another, getting raped more times that I cared to count, I decided to take Agnes up on her idea. It was stupid and crazy, and just what I needed. I was so tired.

The woman at the gate eyed me suspiciously, like she'd rather have the stripper stay outside in the rain. After letting me drip in the foyer for what seemed like half the night, she suddenly reappeared and sneered a "come on," before she beelined back in through the darkness inside, god she was fast. Left, right, left, straight, straight, right, left, straight, crap, I was lost, and then without knowing how she got behind me, she pushed me through a huge door into a room lit with one candle. The rain outside was coming down in sheets.

"He . . . hello?"

"And how did you come to find us, child?"

"Umm," I swallowed; now what do I do? "Uh . . . Ag---nesss?"

The chair turned, and a pretty woman was sitting in it with her legs drawn up. She was not naked. Her head tipped, and then her expression changed; it was like someone different was suddenly sitting there. I didn't understand how she did that.

"Are you . . . Harriet?" The lightning flashed through the window, and the whole building shook with the thunder. And then it all stopped, like a light switch. No wind, no rain, the silence was absolutely eerie.

"Yy-yeah," I echoed in the apparently huge room. How does she know my name?

"I've been expecting you." She smiled, and looked like someone else. It was creepy, how she changed into other people so easily. It was like she had an extra set of muscles and nerves in her face: near-perfect camouflage. She could be anybody.

She stood and came around the desk, putting her hand to the side of my face.

"I'm Mary. I'm so glad you came. We're gonna be like sisters."

"I already have one."

"So do I." When she grinned, I could suddenly see the resemblance. It was easy to look at her when she smiled like that. No doubt, there was support there, and I knew I was, for the first time, like, ever, home.

God bless her, keep her, make her fruitful, all that crap.

"Would you do something for me?"

"Sure. What?" I was absorbed.

"I want to see. Take your clothes off."

"I will if you will."

I could see the gears turning in her head. "What the hell." She scrunched her nose and squinted as she smiled. "Why not?"

I was going to fit in here . . .

Consuela

"DO WE have to, Daddy?"

"Yes. It won't take too long." He pulled me out of the car and up the walk.

"Morning, slut."

"Norman, you motherfucking bastard. Brought your little angel, didja?" Consuela always used baby talk with me. Hated that.

"Hi, Aunt Consuela." She wasn't really my aunt, but I kissed her anyway, and gave her a hug.

"C'mon in. You can see what I'm working on today." She kept her arm around me as we walked inside.

There was a naked woman upside down, all tied up with her legs apart. She looked like a capital "Y". Kinda like the way my sister was earlier today.

"Ah, yes, which one is this, Bethia or Rebecca?" Daddy obviously expected this. Consuela had phoned the night before.

"Bethia, say hello to Norman and his lovely daughter."

"Hnngh."

"I think there's one more coming along the way. She's a bit older than our dear Harriet is here, so she'll be coming along soon."

"What's the last one's name? Paper?"

I laughed. Who would name their child 'Paper'?

"Yes, that is funny, isn't it, sweetie. Do you want some juice? There some in the fridge." Goo goo, ga, ga, drop dead. "Coffee, Norm?" Daddy didn't drink the stuff, so I knew he shook his head.

I happily trundled out of the living room, glad to get away, knowing what was going to happen next. Daddy had practiced this morning on Gertie. The snapping sound started just as I started pouring myself some apple juice, and I spilled it.

"Now you've done it."

"Oh, hi, Ramona."

"Are you going to clean that up?" Ramona crossed to the sink from the door and dropped something into it.

"In a minute." People are so impatient. The cracking continued, and I could hear some other sounds coming from the living room, like a grunting pig. I put my glass down, found the paper towels, and started mopping up my mess.

"Uggh!"

"You should rinse that out and go over it again, or it will be sticky."

"Uggh! ! Uggh!"

As I ran the water, I noticed what she had dropped in the sink: a hammer, and it was bloody. It got rinsed along with my rag. After I finished with the floor, we both sat at the table, our silence increasingly uncomfortable. We were flinching in synch with what was going on in the next room. Bethia's---Bethia? Or wait, Rebecca? I couldn't believe I'd forgotten---grunting sounds got longer and longer.

"Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh!"

"Where's your dad? I haven't seen him."

"He's downstairs. He's not feeling very well, so I don't think you should go down." She looked down, like she was worried.

"Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh!"

"Is he sick?"

"Sort of. Not exactly." She reached across the table, took my hand and breathed deep. Something was seriously bothering her. We were both still flinching, and she held my hand tighter as Bethia's---yes, Bethia's---sounds got to almost continuous. Daddy was grunting now, too, and Consuela was cursing, I think in Spanish, loud enough we could hear.

"Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh!"

"How's school?" Ramona was panting, panicking a bit, and a bit louder than she should have been.

"Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh!"

"Easy-peasy. The school counselor thinks I can get a scholarship."

"My god, Harrie, really? That . . .” and she leaned in close to me and whispered, too loud, Ro, too loud, “. . . that would be great! Come with me---get the fuck out of here! Oh, oh, forgive me."

"Uggh! ! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! ! Uggh!"

Ramona was holding both my hands, and she was hurting them, but I don't think she knew that. "Ow. Ow, Ro."

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry sweetie, I wasn't . . . come here." I went around the table, and she put her arms around me in a big old bear hug. We were happy for the distraction, but I knew she was holding onto me for dear life because she was scared of the noise coming from the living room that went on and on and on. Along with that something else that she didn't want to talk about.

"Uggh! ! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! ! Uggh! ! Uggh!"

"Why don't they get a dog? I mean, if they just want obedience, a dog will do what they want." I was trying to break the increasing stress.

"Oh, I don't think they think it's the same . . .”

"Ramona! Get in here, NOW!"

The chair scraped along the tiled floor, as we both bolted into the living room. The girl was mostly down onto the floor, and Consuela and Daddy were frantically trying to untie her; Consuela never had been good with knots and was getting frustrated.

"Wh . . . what happened?"

"Little bitch barfed. Take the gag out, wouldja sweetie?" I crossed the room to start to unbuckle her headgear and pulled the---wow, this is long---gag out of her mouth. Ramona pushed her mother out of the way, and worked at freeing the girl, like she'd done this before.

"Consuela, you whore, you can't use that kind of a gag for this. We could have killed her." Daddy was growling.

Ramona was checking for pulse, breathing, all the signs of life. The girl started coughing and retching, and relief washed through the room. "Would you get us some water, honey? Please?"

I ran in and crashed about the kitchen making noise they wouldn't accept from someone like Bethia. When I got back, paper towels and all, she was sitting up, and Ramona had her arm around her, and was trying to assure her it would be alright. I had to hold the glass; they hadn't untied her hands. I couldn't see the mess left over from the gag; later it occurred to me what happened to it. The girl looked up at me like I knew they wouldn't like. She didn't have any pleading in her eyes, but amidst the jittering there was something else that I didn't know what it was---later I learned it was pity.

"Enough of this shit. Put her back up," Consuela said.

The girl's face changed to something I did recognize at the time: fear. Damn, I've seen a lot of that.

"I've used up my time, I can't stay."

"Well, god damn it, Norman. What am I supposed to do with her?"

"Try something different, bitch. Something less strenuous, less dangerous. I can come back this weekend. I'll bring Gertie; you can ask her what to do, what might actually work." He took my hand, and pulled me, persistently, but not roughly, toward the door.

I looked back and waved at Ramona; I don't think she saw me. She and her mother were arguing.

Later, in the car, I decided now was as good a time as any. "Daddy, I got good grades this year."

"Mmm Hmm."

"The teachers think I can go to college. Like, now."

"What would you do with schoolin', girl?"

"I wanna know why."

"Why what?"

"Why do we do all this to each other? Think God knows?"

I totally didn't understand his answer: "I been all around this flat old earth, and I still ain't got it sussed, but I guess some nights the universe runs circles around us, and that's why people fall in love."

Mary

“. . . AND I believe that Lilith was beaten so hard so much in the Garden, that the Lord God created Eve as a mercy, so Adam could continue the Lord's work, which he did for all the days of his life . . .”

“. . . and I believe the Lord our God demands we have yet one more night of sin, as he required of Pharaoh . . .”

“. . . and I believe we should not despise our masters, for they shall be forgiven even if the beat us . . .”

“. . . and I believe in the ravishment of wives, the selling and enslaving of daughters, and the offering of women's blood for the atonement of sins and the protection of men . . .”

“. . . and I believe that smelly old balding Paul, hardcore flaming fag that he was, insisted that a man and a woman should never stop fucking, except to pray, and only to pray to get back at it . . .”

“. . . and I believe that our Lord did not get the dignity of wearing a diaper on the cross, and upon seeing his erection, his Mother Mary granted him the last pleasure of his life and relieved him so she could cumswap with Mary Magdalene before the soldiers, to the delight of our God . . .”

"YOU'LL HAVE to forgive me, Reverend Mother, but as I've been listening to your homilies, I've come to question your sources; I'm pretty sure none of that stuff is in there."

"You just haven't read it right."

My eyebrows knit.

"Most people, Sister, when asked 'what is truth', answer the wrong question. They hold up a book they haven't read, and answer the question of 'where is truth'. And then make shit up."

"You have no argument from me there, Reverend Mother."

"Perhaps you should give the homily this weekend. How do you feel about the discrepancies of Tamar and Judas?"

“. . . AND SO when the Lord made the punishment for allowing sperm to be spilt to be death, and the punishment for rape merely a fine of fifty pieces of silver, I have come to believe that when the Sanhedrin paid Judas Iscariot the thirty pieces of silver for our Lord, they made it perfectly clear that the very existence of the God they intended to eradicate, was worth less than the rape of a woman, worth no more than the vow of said woman, the same as it is today to those assholes who hold up a book they haven't read to answer 'where is truth' when asked 'what is truth' before they start making things up to say what only they want in a bad impersonation of God . . . assholes . . .”

"HAD TO get that in, didn't you?" I was remembering her laughing at me, and me laughing with her.

"How could I resist? Haven't you seen "Leap of Faith?"

"Maybe now I can. I'm leaving, you know."

"I . . . no . . . what?" I wasn't expecting that.

"Yes, I'm getting married. Going to work on a ranch. Well, sort of a ranch. You wouldn't believe what we raise."

"But I just got here."

"Yes, and when you are ready, you'll leave here, too. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?"

"I, uh, have always rather liked being like this."

"Ah. A Naked Abbey. Wouldn't that surprise visitors?" We giggled.

"Isn't this how the Lord intended us to be?"

"And didn't the Lord slaughter animals after we left The Garden so we could wear their skins? Maybe we could become Leather Nuns."

"Reverend Mother, can I ask you something?"

"Of course. After you drop the title, Sister."

I dropped my eyes, my chin, my nose. "M . . . Mary, do you, do you like . . . girls?"

"What do you mean?"

That got me to look back up. "Really? You don't know what I'm asking?"

She smiled. "I know." She took a breath. "If I had my druthers, I'd druther for boys. Why?"

"When . . . we're like this, I don't know what I should be . . . feeling . . .”

"Should be feeling? You think there are rules?"

"Uh . . .”

"What are you feeling? Right now."

"Right now? I'm . . . uh . . . I feel stupid . . . I'm embarrassed."

"The stripper is embarrassed. You're so cute." She took my hand. "I'm really not trying to make it worse, if that helps."

"Now you're making fun of me." I slumped and slouched hard, and raised my eyes to see her tip her head with one side of her face scrunched into saying 'no, I'm not'. She waited for me to get over my consternation and get back to being honest. "I guess . . . I'm . . . very fond of you." That took forever. Mercy, it was quiet.

"A happy coincidence." And everything was alright. How did she do that?

"If you . . . want . . .”

She whispered, "Is that what you want? If you were deciding for the two of us?"

"I don't want to . . . force something . . .”

"Oh, well, now this is just . . . look at me, Harriet." We breathed until we were in synch, and I finally felt my nakedness. "Let's just get this out of the way. Kiss me."

I leaned across, and tried to kiss her. I've never been good at it. She didn't exactly kiss me back.

"Okay, now let me kiss you."

I leaned again, and holy of holies, she kissed me like I'd never been kissed before; I felt the floor dissolve, and I was floating somewhere between here and China. Time quit having meaning.

"It doesn't much matter who you kiss," she whispered.

I was surprised to find my eyes were closed.

"When you are the one who is ready to love, what just happened to you will happen to them. That's why it's time for me to go."

"Can I ask? What did you feel? Just now?"

She closed her eyes, and barely got the word out. "Mmmmagic."

I reached up and put my hand to the side of her face. She pushed into it. "I need you to show me so much, please take me with you."

"Sweetie, I haven't got much more you can see." The spell broke, and it broke gently. "But sure, you can come along, if you can pass the test. Ready? A snail was riding on the back of a turtle. What did the snail say?"

"Hmm . . . let's see, giddyup?"

"Nope."

"Yer so . . . large?"

"Huh uh. Give up?"

“. . . I got nothin' . . .”

"Whee!" Her arms went up like she was on a ride at the fair, and she grinned like we weren't naked.

I looked at her like she was not very good at telling jokes. Actually, she wasn't. And I wasn't going with her.

"You'll figure it out. And you'll figure out that other thing, too."

And then I got it. We used to laugh so much, and I loved her so . . .

. . . My nightmares intruded on my reverie; they were again clouded with smoke, the heat of an oven, and the screaming of women.

I bolted upright in the hospital bed, remembering, feeling myself watching, seeing the Abbess burning, being on fire on the bus; she was helping us move yet again. I was startled to see a flash by the door.

"To . . . Tommy?" My heart was still racing.

"It is such a miracle you are alright." He took my hand; it instantly calmed me, and I realized something The Reverend Mother Mary had once said to me, mixed in with what the rest of my crazy-ass family used to talk about all the god damn time, was about to come to pass. It was a good thing I was almost lying down: I fell back in the bed like I was skydiving into water, somewhere back over China, feeling myself collapse, forgetting all about oxygen, and finally getting to feel something else. The something else I'd been looking for, praying for, fairy-tale-ing myself to sleep every night over. Praise God, as if it mattered, I'd found my kryptonite.

Gertie

MY SISTER'S arm was around me, and I was shaking.

"Oh, baby, it's alright. Shh, shh."

"Please don't make me."

"Don't make you what, darling?"

"Please don't make me come watch."

"Oh, honey, are you sure? Because I really need you. Oh, oh, there, there, what's bothering you? Hmm? You've seen it before, what's wrong?"

"I . . . I'm sso sooo scared . . . I'm scared, Gertie." I was panting. She took my face in her hands to try to steady me.

"Oh, babydoll, you've got nothing to be scared of. Twooly."

"I'm afraid . . . he's . . . I . . .”

She leaned back no more than an inch, and her face changed into something fearsome; I'd been afraid of the wrong relative. She stood, rotating her hand upwards on my face until she towered over me, and slid it off gently. She darkened some more, and turned toward the door of my room.

"NORMAN!" I fell back against the side of my bed, curling up. "Norman! Get your boney bastard ass in here right god damn now! NOW!"

I could hear scrambling and clumping on the stairs, banging on the walls, the sounds of someone who couldn't move very fast but was trying. Her arms were crossed, and her feet were spread a bit and planted. She twisted back toward me, blew me a kiss, and winked.

Our father crashed into the room and stood, bent, head down, like he was in trouble. He wasn't naked.

"Get on your fucking decrepit knees, you disgusting old piece of shit." He peered up toward his naked daughter, and eventually got his way down onto the floor. It was obvious that this was hurting hard; I knew his arthritis wasn't letting this go gently for him. Once he finally got to where he was supposed to be, the room got quiet. Ominously quiet.

"What did you do to her?" Gertie whispered, the venom running knee-deep in the room, soaking the carpet, the furniture, all the way up to Norman's neck. "She's afraid of what you are going to god damn do to me this morning. Now why would that scare her?"

He started to open his mouth to answer or breathe or something.

"If I have the slightest indication she has so much as misconstrued that you suggested something might happen to her, even at some nameless someday down the road, that she or I wouldn't allow, I swear to you, Norman, on all that you hold holy, you will beg me to do to you what Consuela did to her husband, except you will insist I put you back together as many times as I can, so I can keep doing it to you over and over and over again. Because you know that would be better than what I'll do to you. So. Shall we find out together just what is troubling our little girl?"

She pulled me up onto the bed, put her arms around me from behind drawing me in close, and nestled her face up beside mine, so we could both see the bent old man on the floor.

"Now, then, honey, do you know what's going to happen to me today?"

I nodded my head.

"Can you tell us?"

I swallowed. "They, they're going to h-hang you b-b-by yyour t-t-tittsss . . .”

"Breasts, honey."

"Br . . . breasts."

"Mmm Hmm. We've done it before; you've seen it before." Pause. "Do you know why we're doing it today?"

"No."

"Do you want to tell her, Daddy?"

Our father coughed and cleared his throat, which didn't keep him from croaking. "She, cuh-hack, cuh-hack, is marrying Billy." The first words I'd heard him use today.

I was so tired of not understanding what was going on. The side of Daddy's mouth went up a little, which didn't help a bit.

"Are you afraid it's going to happen to you?"

I shook my head. "I . . . I don't want you to get hurt."

"Ah." She took a deep breath, and I felt her relax behind me. "You can go now, Norman. Get things set up, I'll be down in a little bit. Go on. You're dismissed." Norman didn't move very fast anymore; Gertrude tensed up behind me. "This is girl-talk, Daddy. Take your motherfucking cock out of here. Now."

My father shakily got back to his feet and shuffled out the door, letting the river of poison out with him, closing it quietly. I turned into her hug, put my arms around her, and couldn't stop bawling once I started.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, you're just being human. Unlike some people in this house." She held me a long time until I finished what I had to do, and leaned back to look up at her.

"Hhh, hhh, w-why do you let them do these things to you?" I stroked her hair; she'd cut it recently.

"Love is about giving. Look at me; what do I have to give? I can't work, I have no money, no stuff, you've suffered through my cooking more than anyone should."

It was hard not to smile a little.

"I can give a woman's due to a man. I can yield; I can concern myself with his rapture. This is the work of woman. And I am happy to submit."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Oh, my dear sweet lord in heaven, yes. It feels like they . . .” she put her hand where my breast would be someday, and put mine on hers, “. . . are going to burst. It's terrifying, it's overwhelming. It's one of the things I can't control in myself, I can't act my way out of it. It's one of the sure signs of what I offer. When you love someone, really love someone, you'll let them in, and it doesn't matter if they hurt you or if they give you away or anything." She took a deep breath, relaxing, as if telling secrets. "Love is the most selfish greedy whore there is and all she wants is everything. I am the one who is getting something out of all this; they just get to do what they want. I am here to love. Even if it kills me."

She was smiling beautifully as the invisible wings on her back unfurled, and when my sister put her hand on the side of my face, I found I had more crying to do.

"Norman is giving me to Billy today, and it would mean the world to me if you would come down for this. It's going to be harder now, you know."

I looked up at her, again with the not understanding.

"C'mon, you know I'm not allowed to curse. What am I up to now, sixty?" She winked again as she started getting up.

I felt my eyes dry out as I inhaled my next word, "Nooo . . .”

"I will love Billy, I love your father, and you, my dearest darling, I just love the shit out of you. Times seven." Before she left the room, she kissed me the way she wanted to, which had nothing to do with how sisters kissed each other, or how mothers kissed their daughters. I knew my-mother-my-sister was going to confess her way to seventy strokes of the cane, and about fifteen minutes later the begging started. It took a while, but I eventually heard enough of her courage to get my own up to go down to fulfill my obligation to her need for her-daughter-her-sister to be there for her betrothal.

The angel in the air was beatific through the screams, the tears, the terror; I knelt before her and wept the rest of the night.

"Aaah, ahh, ahh, please please pleasepleasepleasePLEASE!!! Arrgh! ARrrGH!"