by AnonYMous
"No, I remember now. I didn't lose it. I lent it to a friend. She must be in there now. Damn it, we can't disturb her."
"That's too bad." He really didn't care that much. "No records." They walked down the steps together. In the hall, she took her chance.
"Look, do you mind?"
He didn't understand. She put her arms around him and rubbed her mouth against his pale lips. She moved her head, caressing the sensitive mouth. She fingered the outline of his stiff prick.
"I'm sorry; it would have been fun." He looked at his watch. He had ten minutes.
"Come back here," she urged him. "Here behind the stairs. No one ever comes in at this hour."
"You're too much," he said, but he followed her to the small cave behind the stairway.
She pressed him passionately against the wall. It was a performance. For the first time since he'd raped her, she wasn't hot. Her cunt had turned to ice.
He grabbed her breasts. The other time, he hadn't touched her body. Only her cunt. He was not a tender lover. He bit her mouth savagely and his hate shot a flame of recovered excitement through her. She gasped against him.
"Do you remember?" she begged. He could even save himself if he'd remember. "Have you been here before? Do you feel that you've been here before, like this, here with me?"
"I feel like I've been here all my life, baby." He was hot and saying the expected thing. So he would die.
He lowered her to the floor. He was pulling her panties off over her hips.
"Wait, wait," she breathed. "Cut them off me."
He understood and with recollected skill slit the thin nylon bridge of her panties. Her black fur mound lifted to him.
"Now!" she screamed. "Now."
"Quiet, baby ... you'll wake the dead."
Wake up the dead. That's what he was doing to her. She wouldn't be dead anymore when they finished. And he would never finish. He'd take the feel of her cunt to hell with him.
He kneeled between her legs. She was dizzy with the repeated nightmare. Had she moved, had he moved, since the rape a month ago? Or had he stayed, kneeling at her prostrate form, collecting his strength for the next assault?
She freed his cock and it sprang to her, white and urgent. He pulled her knees apart and sank into her slippery tunnel. She shouted with ecstasy,
"Quiet," he warned her. But he was grinding hard, not hearing clearly. He had only five minutes, then he'd blow till two o'clock and smoke a joint and take the long-haired blonde home.
His flying body was saying to her, "Here, take it back. I give it back to you. Grab your sanity. Remember this fuck. Remember it and finish it. Here, I'm breaking the gates. Escape ... run for freedom."
Her hidden sex was turgid. His prick boiled the juices inside her. She had the inflamed, don't-stop sob in her cunt. She started to babble, to beg his forgiveness for their death.
"I must do it to you," she wept. "Forgive me, forgive me darling." His prick was hardening and he ripped faster into her. "I love you," she explained. "I love you, my darling. I love you with all my hate. I hate you with all my love. I must give it back to you. Understand. Understand. I beg you. I can never let you take it from me. I must give it. It must be mine, only mine, so that I can give it. Help me. Help me."
The spring snapped and the liberating contractions began. "Come! come!" she implored. His prick swelled and the first spurt of sperm inundated her.
He moaned, "Baby, baby, baby."
He was helpless. She owned his last ecstasy. Her arms flung out as her limbs fought. Her fingers clenched the handle of his knife. The knife he had used to slit her pants. She clutched him in her arms, the knife free behind his back.
"Hold me, my darling. Hold me, my love. It's all right. You're safe. You're safe in my love."
Obediently, he pulled her closer. The final burst of his loins pumped to the head of his prick, and with an inhuman wail, she sank the knife into him.
His body stretched motionless on top of her. He was dead. The last sated pulse of her orgasm was unfelt against his inert sex. Her mind stayed with them, enjoying the comforting weight of his corpse. She rolled his body off her onto its side. He was immediately, absolutely dead. Some of his blood brushed her thigh and she was red beneath her sex. His eyes stared wide in frozen surprise. Her head began to ache and she stretched out next to his immobile body. She was ready to give him up.
The police would be convinced that it was a rape. "Brave girl," they'd say, and pat her on the back and offer her a lollipop.
She turned her head and it brushed his rigid profile. Yes, she'd have to get up from the floor and call the police and cry out her contrived terror to them. Her body was languid in semi-sleep. She was so tired.
Finis