“You’re hot for it,” I said, putting my finger in her crack from behind. Flood was still gasping for air behind us.
“I like your idea of foreplay.”
I pulled her to the stool and bent her over it. Her ass was in Flood’s line of sight, which was what I wanted. I knelt on the floor and started kissing and sucking her bare butt, using my tongue to lubricate her while I got three fingers into her cunt and stabbed them in and out till she got so excited she farted in my face. It was a chewy one I let sit on my palate to mix with the other flavours of her.
When I was stone stiff, I pulled the cheeks of her ass apart and slowly pushed it all the way in the tight wet heat that squeezed and tightened and clutched.
God, it was good. Moving in and out of her sent chills and sparks up my spine to explode in the top of my head, soft little pops of pure pleasure. But I didn’t want to come. Not yet.
She must have felt it building in me, because she pulled away and stood up to face her father. We both stared. Poking up through his white underpants was the evidence of his arousal. It was just average, but Robin looked at it like she’d never seen a dick before.
I guess she was thinking that he’d raped her with it.
She went over to him in the white dress we’d messed up and stood looking at his erection.
“You’re just like me, aren’t you, father? Lust. There it is. You lust. You want a piece of what Buddy just got from me, don’t you?”
She whacked his cock with her open hand, and he grunted. She spat on him, again and again. He was mumbling something but neither one of us was listening to him.
Robin picked up the knife she had used to cut him out of his suit and got up on the stool so she could cut off his underpants. She wasn’t gentle, and she made careless superficial cuts on his thighs cutting then off.
“I’m going to drink your blood, father,” she said to him. He shook his head and struggled with his wrist straps. His prick stuck out just like any other prick. Nothing special about it — cut meat, wide, not long. But she was fascinated.
She leaned close to lick the blood off his thighs and rubbed her breasts against his legs until the front of her white dress was stained with his blood.
“Asmodeus,” he was saying. Just that one word over and over, rolling his head back and forth. He wasn’t screaming yet and I was tired of him. I guess I don’t have much imagination when it comes to torture. He wasn’t worth my trouble. It was time to send the son-of-a-bitch down to Hell.
But Robin had a few ideas left in her spooky head.
She grabbed his cock and pulled on it. “This is what you used to rape me, father. Didn’t you?”
He shook his head. “The serpent... the serpent, not me...”
“I’m going to forgive this part of you that hurt me, father. I’m going to put it in my mouth and taste your flesh.”
She looked at me — just a quick, guilty, over the shoulder look so I could see she was crazy — and opened her mouth. The fat tip of her father’s dick bulged in her cheek and she moved her head back and forth a few times. I knew this was sick, but it was too late to stop her. Then her jaw tightened and Flood screamed. She had the head of his cock in her mouth and his ruined penis was pumping blood in her face.
When she turned my way she had a look on her face I’ve seen dogs get after a fight when they’re chewing on an enemy’s ear.
Pure defiant savage satisfaction. She spat what she’d bitten off at him and shouted, “Father, I forgive you, now.”
Flood was screaming and blood was spurting from him. Robin looked at me like now was the time.
But I was freaked. What she’d done had pushed an edge. It had lifted up a rock and there beneath it was something truly scary. I took out the K. Farouk .38 and held it in both hands, listening to him scream.
I felt like puking. Like crying. I didn’t have any strength in my legs and I just sank to the floor on top of his cut-up clothes, looking up at him. And then I was crying for him, and for Robin, and for me. What had we done?
I put the pistol in my lap and started picking up pieces of his suit, like I might be able to piece them together for him. Piece him back together. There was something that was not clothes in the pile. It was smooth and leathery and had bristles on it. I looked down. The bristles were kinky black hair. Poor Dollar’s pussy lay in my hand. The cooch he’d cut from her.
That put the starch in me. I stood up with the .38 already cocked, climbed on the stool and put the barrel in his still open, still screaming mouth, and pulled the trigger.
I did it. If the video camera got the pictures, they would show that I, Buddy Tate, shot the famous Reverend Thomas Flood in the mouth and blew out the back of his head.
They’d hear about me now. Daddy told me, be extravagant, and if blowing out a preacher’s brains while he’s hanging on a cross with a bitten-off dick spurting blood isn’t extravagant, well then you can kiss me where the sun don’t shine. Look out, Oswald, Bremer and Chapman, Buddy Tate is comin’ up for glory.
Robin stood there looking at him, like she couldn’t believe we’d done it. I thought about Anyguy’s limousine waiting for us outside and knew we should get the hell out. Mr. Hopper would be looking for us, and behind him would be all the cops in the world, and after them a whole bunch of television Christians.
She was covered with blood, so I thought the place to start was to clean up. I put my arm around her and she was shaking. I didn’t want to look at her face.
“I think we should get cleaned up. There’s a car outside waiting for us.”
“No, I can’t. That’s my father. I have to take care of him.” She was crying.
“Robin, it’s over.”
She looked up at me, lips still bloody from biting him.
“You killed my father!”
This was bullshit I couldn’t take.
“It was no different than cutting off a snake’s head. You did the damage, Robin.”
Then she was babbling something just like he had about Asmodeus, whoever that was. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. I pulled her to a door that looked like it had a bathroom behind it and saw urinals with signs over each one and a sink. I cleaned her up and left her butt naked and shivering, still babbling about getting Asmodeus out of her, and went to find some clothes. In a closet I found enough leather to dress a herd of Black Angus and took a skirt and jacket back to her. She seemed to have calmed down when I brought the clothes in. She was even putting on lipstick and combing her hair.
I cleaned up and then we were ready to hit the getaway trail. In the big room I took the videotape from the camera and put it in my pocket. I needed it to send out to the media, otherwise I couldn’t prove that I was now the Buddy Tate I knew I was.
No one to mess with. Someone to recognise and get back from. An American hero in his own crime.
It felt good, and it felt like shit. We left Thomas Flood hanging on the cross and walked slowly down the wooden steps, afraid of losing our balance, to the outside world.
It was the same world I’d come from: smoke, sirens, and a feeling in the air that the future had happened and it wasn’t something a lot of people liked. I took a deep breath of it and helped Robin to Anyguy’s limo. The chauffeur got out to open the door for us. I pushed Robin inside and got in after her, and the limo moved off.
Anyguy looked at Robin and read it on her face. It wasn’t hard to see.
“So you did it. Now you have to run.”
“Any ideas about where?” I asked him.
“We’ll drive south. I know some places where even mountain lions don’t go. Hiding places where some of my people went when they had to run from the Spanish soldiers, and the missions.”
“I guess we’re big time outlaws now.”
“Hunted dogs,” he snorted. “They’ll come after you.”
“The Goddess will protect us,” Robin said, speaking up like a sleepwalker. I held her tight. Kissed her damp forehead.
“Maybe,” Anyguy said. “Maybe she will.”
“He needed killing,” I told him, feeling defensive.
“Why didn’t you bring me his dick?” he asked.
“It wasn’t worth it, after she got through with it.”
He got the picture right away, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at Robin for a long time. Then he reached out to touch the hollow of her throat.
“She’s tired, but she’s strong. I think she got it out of her — that thing that was in her.”
We looked at each other, and then at Robin. Her head was on my shoulder, and her eyes were closed. The corners of her mouth were turned up a little, as if she might smile. She was innocent. She was clean. I’d done the deed, not her. What would I say when they caught us — my penis made me do it?
Dark Matter (Modern Erotic Classics) Page 22