A Southern Psycho

"Wanna call Bull and tell him we've got her?" Eddie said.

"Uh uh--no no, Eddie. We're gonna have some fun first."

Al started to get on the bed.

"Ah, hey, wait a damn minute. No one said you go first."

"You wanna go first?" Al groaned, his cock was straining upward. He wanted it ensconced in the woman. He stared at Eddie's huge black cock with it's bulbous head. The damn thing actually quivered. He slid back off the bed.

"We flip. What's fair's fair." Eddie said. His hand gripped his cock, squeezing it.

"Oh, shit." Al reached for his pants crumpled on an armchair. He took a quarter from the pocket. "Okay, damn it; you call it."

It landed heads. Al laughed and climbed back on the bed. She flopped about helplessly, her limbs uncoordinated. He stared hungrily at her perfect body. The mound was shaven, the lips tightly together. He bent her legs up until her knees were on her tits, held them there rubbing the head of his cock up and down the slit fighting an animal impulse to ram the head in. He forced her mouth open, smearing her lipstick, and inserted two fingers wetting them with her saliva, then moistened the head of his cock.

He pushed against the tightness of the mound and felt the caress of the lips as the head slowly spread them.

"Aah aah," she gasped. A grimace formed on her face. She arched her back, raised her arms, attempting to flail him, but he pushed them aside easily and slapped her. "Ow, oh oh. No, stop, stop," she cried, trying to squirm out from beneath him.

He jerked her hips to him. His straining cock sank deeper within her. She squealed softly, her hands pressed against his muscular chest.

"You like it, don'cha bitch? He hunched another inch into her, then another. Her struggles became more frantic as she felt his belly come closer and closer to hers. He would come in her, she knew. She panted, sweating, twisting and staining, but her body wouldn't respond to her will. She was helpless; her frustration was overpowering. She could hear him chuckling, arrogantly taunting her.

She would not let him come in her. Something raged inside her. But shame and humiliation built in her as she realized she was too weak to resist him. She felt his belly against hers. She moaned. He had won. She felt his cock withdraw, then plunge back in, then out, faster and faster in a white heat. Sweat dripped from his body onto hers making them slick as if oiled.

Suddenly he arched his back, became rigid, groaning, and she felt the warm gushes of semen filling her. She became limp. Resistance was futile.

He sank on her gasping, the hard muscles of his chest pressing down on her breasts cruelly. He withdrew from her after a long moment. She felt warm drops of come sprinkle her belly.

She watched the black man, the one called Eddie, come toward her. He had a huge cock, the foreskin slid back revealing a swollen, purple head. It was a club of thick-veined meat that swung heavily from side to side beneath a belly rippling with taut, bronze muscles.

The thought of taking all of it made her cringe. "No, please, please."

"Get on your knees."

She hesitated. He grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair and jerked her savagely off the bed onto the floor, forcing her to her knees. He held the base of his cock and slapped it against her face, smearing more lipstick across her cheeks.

"Open your mouth," he said, teasing. "Come on, baby . . . don't . . . play . . . me." He jerked her head up and slapped her back and forth, brutally. "Don't . . . play . . . me . . . bitch!"

The sight of her naked body; the knowledge that he could do anything he wanted, worked on his libido. Images of naked Iraqi women came to mind; how he'd forced them to do every sexual act in the book in front of their towel-headed husbands; then how he gutted them with his dagger or blasted them on full auto--rock'n roll-- the whole family--men, women and children. God, the young naked children; his cock splitting them, bloody orifices. God . . . . The screams; the screams.

He pressed the head of his cock against her trembling lips.

"I want lipstick on my belly."

He grabbed the sides of her head and forced his cock all the way to the back of her throat. There was still four or five inches left. Her lips were stretched to the limit. He hunched, pulling her head closer. She gagged, pressed her hands against his hard thighs, squirming; her ass wiggling, but he continued pulling her forward.

"Lipstick on my belly, bitch."

He felt warm liquid surge around his cock. Vomit oozed out between her lips and his cock.

He pulled harder. Her mouth, her lips, pressed against his pubic hairs. He held her tightly, her nose crunched against his belly so forcefully that it was impossible to breathe. She struggled frantically, in desperation, her naked body writhing, arching, straining to no avail. Her breasts flopping up and down, swaying from side to side.

"God damn it, Eddie, you're gonna kill the bitch, you fucking psycho." Al leaned in the bathroom doorway, watching, his cock semi-rigid.

He came over and got of his knees behind her and placed his hands on her squirming hips. His cock rose up in quick spurts becoming harder and harder.

He nudged it against her asshole. "Back off, goddamnit, Eddie; let the bitch breathe a little."

"Aw, she'll be alright. Hos are tough."

"You know, I must be crazy. I fuck this bitch, then take a shower to get all nice and clean, and, now, here I am, back again, having unprotected sex and getting her shit all over my dick."

"Yeah, but it feels good, don't it, bro?"

"You think it feels good to her?"

"I don't know; she not complaining."

"That's because you've got your damn dick in her mouth. I don't think she's into it, Eddie." Al looked at his cock. "God, we humans are nasty.

"Her face is turning purple."

"That's because she can't breathe, damn it. Do you think she squirming around just to show us how much she likes it?" He slapped her butt. "Be still, bitch. It's hard to keep my dick in you when you're jumpin' around like that."

"Feels good to me."

"Aah, God, I'm coming. Damn bitch, keep jumpin' around. Ah, God! Can't hold it. Making me come."

He pumped his dick in and out rapidly. Come trickled from her ass as he withdrew. He fell back on the floor. A spurt of finishing come shot up in the air. "Aw, damn, that was good."

"I think she's dead, Al." He pulled his cock out of her mouth. She sat back on her heels then toppled over onto the floor.

"I told cha to back off, damn it; how the hell did yuh think she was gonna breathe with your damn dingus shoved down her throat?"

"You know CPR?`"

"Yeah, but I'll be damn if I'm gonna give it to her after you've had your dick in her mouth. Why don't you give it to her?"

"Shit, her mouth's all full of come. Nasty bitch."

"Aw, I think she's still breathing. Her tits are moving. Let's put her on the bed and cuff her to the headboard."

~22~

"You knew Wendell Collins?" Merle said. He was kneeling by the fireplace crumbling newspaper up on the grate and placing shavings on top.

Ben nodded. Janet, wearing a blue housecoat and grey bunny rabbit slippers, was making ham and eggs. The smell of toast and coffee permeated the air.

"They were buds," Janet said.

Merle placed some sticks on top of the shavings, then medium sized logs. "Have it going in a minute." He struck a match and held the flame to the paper. "Wendell--he's a rich'n. He's got a mausoleum over at the cemetery where I mow grass."

Janet carried in a tray with a plate full of ham and eggs, toast, hash browns and a steaming cup of coffee. "I'll get yours in a sec, Merle."

Ben took a cautious sip of the coffee. "Merle, I want you to take some money from the cookie jar and buy yourself a pickup, whatever turns you on."

"Are you serious, Ben?"

Ben nodded, a mouth full of ham.

"I've got to go to the dairy, first," Merle said, his facial expression one of wonderment. "Are you . . . sure, Ben?"

"Yeah, then we've got to dig a deep hole."

~23~

"How much money are we talking about, Bull?" Al said.

Bull was looking at Page lying naked on the twin bed nearest the door. Flecks of scalely grey come covered her thighs, belly, breasts and face.

"You guys have been fuckin' the shit out of that bitch." He took a cigar out of his shirt pocket, peeled the cellopane off and lit it. He blew a violet cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "We're talking millions."

"How are we gonna keep the agency from taking it all and leaving us high and dry?"

"Agency's not gonna get jack shit. Once None leads us to the money we kill him, take the money and, with new Ids, disappear to live happily ever after."

"What about Collins? He's not gonna just let us walk off with all his money."

"Collins's not gonna be around. Once None tells us where the money is, we tell him that Collins hired the men who attacked him. None'll kill'm."

"And we kill None."

"And anybody who gets in the way."

~24~

Ben opened the door to Wendell's mansion. It was unlocked. He'd told Cora to unlock the door and keep Gus occupied. To the right, after the foyer, was the library. Wendell was on the phone sitting behind the mahogany desk. Ben motioned with the .357 and Wendell hung up.

"Keep your hands where I can see them, Wendell."

"What do you hope to gain by this, Ben?"

"Satisfaction."

"Satisfaction?"

"Yeah. You set me up. Sent three punks to kill me; but that didn't work out, did it? I got framed for murder and sent to prison for life--but that was alright, wasn't it? Just as good. I'd be out of the way forever. But, you see,Wendell, things don't always work out the way we plan them."

"Cora's been talking, I see. Knew I couldn't trust that cunt." He paused. "Mind if I have a cigarette?"

Ben tossed him a pack, then a lighter.

"You know," he said, lighting up, "I can sympathize with your desire to get satisfaction; I'm a bastard; I admit it. It's genetic, I guess, but if you let me live I'll see to it that you never have to worry about money for the rest of your life."

"Well, that's decent of you considering half of what you've got would've been mine."

"Yeah, yeah, but if you kill me you've got nothing but satisfaction--and that's like love, you can't live on it. Don't be an asshole. What's done is done. Why screw up the rest of your life for a quickie. You're smarter than that."

"You about finished with that cigarette?"

"Ben . . . ."

The .357 rocked in his hand. Wendell's head exploded, then he toppled over onto the floor. After a moment there was another shot from somewhere else in the mansion. A minute or two passed, then Cora appeared dressed in grey sweats holding a .38.

Ben lit a cigarette as she walked around the desk and stared at Wendell's body. "I shot Gus," she said, matter-of-factly.

"H'm."

"You did find out where the money is, didn't you--before you shot him?"

~25~

It was two a.m. There was a knock on the door of Room 16 of the Sweetwater Motel.

"Here's her purse," Karen said, when Al opened the door. She was the cutie from Dante's Inferno wearing a raincoat.

"Well, come on in, darlin'; the night's young."

"I don't do group," she said, glancing at Eddie. "--or niggers."

"Oh that's alright, darlin'; and don't mind Eddie; he's not sensitive about his race." Al took the clutch and tossed it to Eddie who was lying on the farthest twin bed from the door. "Take that to Suzy. Tell her to put some makeup on; she looks like shit without it--we've been ridin' her hard," Al said, to Karen. He closed the door.

"Twenty-five for a hand job;BJ's fifty; all nighter a hundred, and you wear a rubber."

"What about girl on girl?"

"I don't do that."

Al slapped her hard. "Wrong answer, bitch." He shoved her on the bed. "Take your fuckin' clothes off; me and nigger wanna watch you and Suzy get it on."

She sat up and wiped a tear from her eye.

"Come on, peel it, bitch."

Underneath the raincoat she was still wearing her skimpy bartender's uniform. Naked, she had a cute, tight, little bod; black fuzzy hair; blue eyes with a pert nose in between; kissable lips and bold white teeth. Her cunt was shaven clean, the lips tight. There was a barbwire tattoo above the biceps of her left arm.

Eddie stood in the bathroom doorway watching her. "Guess yuh knows dis nigger's gonna be fuckin' your white pussy, muppetfucker." He turned and grabbed Page by the hair and dragged her into the room. "Show time, bitches!"

~26~

The rain came down steadily. Ben turned off the isolated county road and drove the Vette through the main gate of Ashley Cemetery. "Merle said it was toward the back."

He followed a circular lane winding through the various monuments. Grey stones beneath a grey sky. At the back was a line of mausoleums bordering woods. One, of grey granite, had the name COLLINS on the cornice. Three steps led up to a bronze door with fluted columns to either side. Large urns sat on pedestals before them.

They got out and walked up to the front. Cora pulled the hood of her raincoat over her head and stuffed her hands in the pockets. Ben climbed the steps and peered through the shatterproof glass behind the bronze bars of the door. Rain drew his long blond hair down in wet strands.

"How did you know this is where Wendell hid his cash?" Cora asked, glancing around furtively.

Ben turned toward her. "Merle mows the grass here; he mentioned that Wendell had a large mausoleum. Wendell has no family. No wife, children. His father's dead and he never had anything to do with his cunt mother who ran off with another man. He doesn't have brothers or sisters and no close kin--so why in the hell would he need a mausoleum?

"Maybe for his ego."

"Yeah, but not one with six crypts," he said, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward the door.

"How long before Merle gets here?"

"Not long. Fifteen, twenty minutes."

She took the .38 from her coat pocket and pulled the trigger twice. He lurched back against the door, then, knees buckling, toppled down the steps collapsing on the ground. She stepped to him and took the .357 from his shoulder holster. "Sorry, babe, but money trumps love. You'd've done the same if the situation were reversed."

She dragged him out of sight behind the mausoleum, then waited for Merle in the Vette; the rain made pitter-pats. She was on her third cigarette when he pulled up behind her. The teenybopper was with him. He hopped out of a new F-150, an anxious look on his young face.

She got out of the Vette.

"Where's Ben?"

"Behind the maus." She gave him a warm smile, her hand around the .38 in her coat pocket.

He pulled the mini uzi from the pocket of his yellow slicker and loosed a short burst. A shocked look formed on her face; she stumbled backwards awkwardly, then sank to the ground. He reached in her coat pocket, found the .38 and pocketed it. Then hurried to the back of the maus and found Ben lying on the ground, his cell phone gripped tightly in his hand. Janet came up behind him.

"Oh, God, is he still alive?" she said.

Ben opened his eyes, blinking against the rain. "The course of true love never runs smoothly."

Merle nodded. There was blood just below the rib cage.

"Get me to Doc Morgan, if the old fucker's still alive."

"You need to go to a hospital, Ben."

"No, those black ops will kill me if they find out where I am. Did you take care of Cora?"

Merle nodded.

"Stuff her in your tool box. Janet can drive me to Doc's. You know what to do."

~27~

Doc Morgan had a small farm about ten miles from Kullhorn. He was broadcasting cracked corn to half a dozen chickens from the porch when Janet pulled the Vette into the driveway of the faded white frame house.

She hurried around to the passenger side and helped Ben out.

"I'm not practicing medicine anymore," he said, before they reached the steps.

"He's been shot," Janet said. Ben had his arm around her shoulder.

"Take'm to the hospital. I don't wanna get involved."

"The Vette's yours," Ben said, grimacing, rain dripping from his long, stringy hair.

The doc fixed his eyes on it, calculating.

"All right; come on," he sighed, irritated. Inside, he led them through a living room, piled with years of accumulated dust and junk, down a hall with peeling wallpaper. Spider webs clung to a hanging light fixture and from the ceiling where it right-angled with the walls. He showed them into a small room with a dusty, steel medicine cabinet and an examination table with a worn leather pad. "Put'm there."

Janet stared at his grossly, ugly face. It looked like it had been cured in a smokehouse. There was an unwashed smell about him, and his shirt and pants hung dirty, like they'd never been changed.

He removed the overcoat and seeing the shoulder holster looked dubious. When he'd removed the shirt he examined the wound. "Bullet went all the way through."

"Should be two," Ben said.

The doc rubbed his chin. "Uh huh, well that explains the fresh gouge in your holster. One of the bullets must've ricocheted off of it."

"Will he be all right, Doc?"

"Ach, if he doesn't start pissing blood."

Ben started to get up, then slumped back down.

"You're in no shape to go anywhere," the doc said. He went to the medicine cabinet and loaded a disposable syringe from a vial.

"What are you doing?" Janet said.

"I'm gonna give him an injection to help fight infection. He needs to stay here awhile for observation. Uh, go farther down the hall to my waiting room. I'll be along shortly."

When she was gone, the doc smiled. He stuck the needle in Ben's arm and pressed the plunger with his thumb. Within a few moments Ben passed out.

Janet came to a doorway and looked in. If it had been a waiting room once, why was it at the back the house instead of up front? It obviously wasn't any longer, at any rate. There was only a filthy, unmade twin bed with stained sheets, and an old TV in front of a shabby recliner. On a stained nightstand next to the recliner was half a bottle of Southern Comfort and four empty cans of Budweiser. The scuffed wood floor hadn't been swept for ages. As in the hall, one could see a path that had been formed in the dust from the door, to the bed and to the recliner. Janet grimaced, wondering how anyone could live in such squalor. True crime magazines, with their lurid covers, had been piled loosely against sections of the walls. Naked women, their eyes wild with terror, spilled from their pages, male hands cupped over their mouths holding razor sharp knives to their throats or others gagged and tied or chained in various seductive poses.

Janet started to back out of the room, but the doc appeared, blocking the way.

"My wife used to keep the place immaculate ..." He paused as if he'd lost his train of thought. "...fifteen years without..., but when one gets old...living alone...good housekeeping seems...pointless. But I can tell you're a neat person...freshly scrubbed, tight little body ...clothes clean smelling...flesh, perfumed flesh...lipstick...eye shadow...glossy hair...you have that prettiness, that vitality of youth. Something we who are old no longer have...if only...if only we could drain it from you like vampires drain blood from their victims...infusions of life giving--"

"How long will we have to wait before--"

"--sperm is all I have now. Wouldn't you like to give life, have my life in you?"

"I think I'll get Ben, and we'll go now. You have to . . . and you're right. I...think maybe I...ought to take him to a hospital...after all."

"Oh, I'm afraid that's not possible now. Ben's sleeping. We mustn't disturb him. He needs to rest."

"Well...then, I'll come back later and--"

"You're not going anywhere."

Janet stepped back.

"All I have to do is pick up the phone and dial the sheriff's department. Do you want me to do that?"