A Southern Psycho

Janet hesitated, then shook her head.

"Good." His cold, grey eyes traveled over her body lasciviously. "You know what I want."

"Yes."

Her eyes moved slowly around the room...the lurid magazines, the filth, the spider webs, the dust, the disorder... The room was...his mind.

"Then you'll let us leave?" Her voice quavered. She wanted to scream.

"If you do it with enthusiasm...fifteen years without."

She sat on the arm of the recliner, closed her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth. Slowly, dizzily, she removed her ankle boots, then stood up. Her hand, trembling, moved to the zipper of her rain jacket and tugged the tab down slowly. She tossed it on the floor, then took off her blouse and bra. She bit her lower lip and, after a pause, unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, tossing everything on the recliner.

The doc locked the door, turning a key and put it in his pocket. "So we won't be disturbed."

She hooked her thumbs in the waist band of her panties and pushed them down.

She waited.

She watched him take his clothes off. The flesh of his body was mottled and wrinkled with age. The skin had a scalely, pale look like a corpse. Uneven patches of coarse black hair covered his torso. The soft muscles had a doughy sag. The arms were thin and bony; the legs bloated with purple veins. A patchwork of creases and pores were clogged with something like grime, as if he hadn't bathed in months. There was a cheesy smell of smegma about him. And, as he touched her breasts, she could see that his fingernails were as dirty as an auto mechanic's after working on crankshafts and engine blocks all day. He grinned up at her, the teeth hollow, uneven and yellow. The breath fetid. The tongue milky coated. Black hairs grew out of the ears and nose. And up close, she could see blackheads on it.

He licked her nipples, sucking with a slurpy wet sound. The expression on her face was one of struggling between defiance and repugnance.

He put pressure on her shoulders. "Get down."

His flaccid cock was large and uncircumcised. The hairy sack was stretched down as if the balls were made of lead. He pressed his palm against her lips and forced her to swallow some pills. "You have no choice." He, then, took two blue pills and popped them in his own mouth.

He nudged his cock against her mouth. Reluctantly, she parted her lips. He placed his hands on the back of her head and coaxed her forward until he could feel her warm, moist breath on his belly. He held her tightly, leaning over her, staring at the split of her rounded ass. Such a young firm body. He could feel his cock becoming stiff in the warm, softness of her. She squirmed, wriggling her hips provocatively. A building anticipation raced through him. He hunched his hips back and forth. She gave a smothered squeal, gripping his thighs to keep her balance.

"In my day...young girl's kept their...virginity until...they were married. Now days it's impossible...to find a virgin over ten. You're...all...a...bunch...of...little...sluts." He slammed his cock into her mouth causing an audible smacking sound. Saliva dripped from the edges of her mouth dripping on her breasts and belly.

He cried out as if in agony, his bony body quivering, becoming tense. Come filled her mouth. It gushed down her throat, and out her nose, gagging her.

"Aw-aw-aw-w-aw," he groaned, humping frantically, gripping her hair roughly, twisting her head about crazily.

When it was over he released her. She sank back on her heels, retching. But at least it was over.

But was it?

His huge cock had lost nothing of its hardness. The bulbous, glistening head surged upward, quivering, straining against the buttery belly. Purple, worm-like veins encircled the full thick length of it. Residue of come bubbled and oozed from the slit.

He grabbed her by the hair and half dragged her to the filthy bed, throwing her on it face down. He grabbed the bottle of Southern Comfort, uncapped it, and took several long swallows, his Adam's-apple moving up and down like a tiny elevator. He brushed come from his cock and licked it from his fingers. He stared hungrily at her nakedness. Tendrils of anticipation coursed through him. The blue pills would keep him going for hours.

"You are going to extend my life. Long after we are both dead my sperm will live. Your cunt was made for my immortality."

The room moved, shifted? It was like being in one of those odd-shaped circus buildings with slanted floors and walls out of plumb. Perspectives all askew.

She felt the mattress dip as he climbed onto the bed between her legs. He raised her hips and shoved a pillow under them. Nothing was real. The filthiness of the room no longer matter. Nor the ugliness of the man on top of her. She was floating on a cloud of seity. She revelled in her nakedness. To be taken, used. She was in the filth. She was the filth.

He entered her. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. She cried out. He slammed in, pulled out, rapidly. She pleaded. She squealed, shrieked, screamed. But she watched it all from above. From the clouds. The naked girl was someone else. She could protest all she wants. But in the end he will have what he wants. She is unimportant. She must bend to the supreme will.

He collapsed on top of her. His flesh, her flesh. Joined. Their filth combined. She felt his come pumping into her. Stickiness dripped from her. He was huge in her. He licked the back of her neck. Bit her.

After awhile he flipped her over and began sucking and biting her nipples. He shoved his rancid tongue in her mouth, his fingers pinching her clit, probing her wet cunt. She squirmed beneath him, arousing him further. He shoved his cock back in her. This time it took forever. He was panting like a dog. Minutes passed. Half an hour. Sweat dripped from the grimy pores of his body. He slapped her. "Move it, god damn it!" She arched her back and thrust her hip up meeting his thrust with her own. He came again. Filling her.

He sank onto her flesh, exhausted. His cock, incapable of becoming soft, stayed hard within her. She came, her body writhing beneath him.

When he regained some srength, he pulled out of her and stood up. He stared at his come glistening on her shaved cunt. He moved to the nightstand and picked up the bottle of whiskey, then flopped down in the recliner and took a long drink and stared at the girl. Her breasts rose and fell with a slow rhythm. He took another drink. Then another. He would get a chain and a pad lock and keep her a prisoner. He would kill the man. He figured they were on the run, so nobody would look for them here. But first he needed another drink. He leaned the recliner back and closed his eyes. As soon as he got his second wind he'd fuck her again. He gripped his cock. It was hard as a rock. Come oozed out over his fingers.

~28~

Merle backed the pickup to the front of the mausoleum, got out and hooked a chain to the hitch, then to the bars on the door. Got back in the cab and eased the pedal down until the chain was taut. There was a moment's resistance as the big Ford bucked forward followed by a loud scraping sound as the bronze door ripped from its granite housing and struck the stone steps.

He took a sledgehammer from the bed and went inside the mausoleum. There were six crypts, three on each side of a narrow aisle, placed length-wise parallel to it.

He began to hammer one of the top crypts. After several crashing blows the one inch thick cover cracked and, with following blows, broke into chunks that scattered down onto the granite floor.

He hadn't know what to expect. Most of him felt that the crypts would be empty. Anything more seemed wishful thinking. In his young life he'd already come to realize that nothing came easily--if at all. But there it was: two army duffel bags, stuffed full. But of what?

He pulled one down and unhooked the snap. Banded packs of hundred dollar bills spilled out.

~29~

There were a total of twelve duffel bags after he got through busting open the remaining crypts. Had to be tens of millions of dollars, he was thinking, ecstatically.

He loaded the bags on his truck, unhooked the chain and gunned the fuck out of the cemetery.

Rain was turning to sleet by the time he got back to the cabin. He was delirious with joy and excitement. He had a painful erection. It was true: Money was the ultimate aphrodisiac. He had to have a woman. Masterbation wasn't an option for the intensity of emotions he was feeling. He had to have the tightness of a cunt squeezing his erection. But Janet wasn't back. There was only one other option: Cora.

Could he fuck a dead woman?

He could bury the bags later. He pulled her out of the tool box and carried her into the cabin. Trembling with lust he laid her on the floor and stripped her. Blood matted her hair on the side, but he was surprised that there were no bullet holes in her torso, but that made it so much nicer, it was as if she were merely sleeping. She had a sexy, firm body. Nice full tits, narrow waist, slender hips and shapely legs. Her nails were a bright red as were her lips. Blue eyeshadow gave her beautiful face a sultry look.

He squeezed her tits and smoothed the palms of his hands down her taut rib cage to her round thighs. She was still warm. And knowing this made his erection too painful to keep contained. He unzipped his jeans and let his restrained cock flop out in springy liberation. Quickly, he stripped, his fingers trembling so much that he had to rip the buttons off his shirt rather than fool with them.

Naked, he picked her up and carried her to the sofa and laid her on it. He forced her knees up to her breasts and got on his knees against her ass. He gripped his cock and nudged the head against her shaved mound forcing the lips apart as he slipped it in slowly. The sheath was dry and tight. He hunched, gradually forcing his massively swollen organ into her, inch by inch. Her mouth lolled, giving her a look of abandon.

Gradually, he got his cock in her almost all the way. He pulled back then shoved it in to the depths. She began to get wet, making his thrusts easier. Her full breasts jiggled provocatively. His thrusts became more rapid. With each one, air bellowed out of her mouth as if she were breathing. His thrusts had made her chest rise and fall as if she were breathing. He chuckled. He had discovered a new form of artificial respiration.

He wiped his tongue across her lips and went down on her tits sucking back and forth on the café au lait nipples. Her body still retained the warmth of living flesh. Her flesh supple, elastic. Rigor mortis hadn't set in yet. He was in hog heaven. He forced her legs higher raising her ass farther up giving him greater access to her cunt, allowing deeper penetration into the center of her being.

He felt that tingling need for releash rising in his loins. His cock was swelling and lengthening even more creating a delicious pain which radiated from his balls to the head. He hunched faser and faster, then froze.

Her eyes opened. Her hands were suddenly pressing against his hard chest.

Amazing, he thought. Somewhere in the back of his brittle, startled mind bits and pieces flew apart banging around against all his nerve endings. Something jackal-like crawled through the wormy, dark recesses of his mind screaming with maniacal laughter while bouncing brain cells off the inside of his skull: He'd emptied a fucking Uzi at the bitch and missed all but one shot which hadn't killed her. Amazing.

She stared at him with an uncomprehending look. Her eyes were unfocused. She probably had a concussion. She moved, wriggling her hips, instinctively trying to get out from underneath him. She struggled, groaning. She clawed at his face and chest, but her resistance only aroused him further. He grabbed her wrists and forced her arms back over her head, at the same time forcing his cock as far into her as it would go. She cried out.

Consciousness seemed to come back the more she struggled. Her eyes focused, became expressive with awareness-intelligence. To Merle, this was a hell of a lot better than fucking a dead broad. A thrill raced through him as he saw the horror and fear and loathing reflected there. His cock was past the point of no return. His nuts had balled up tightly against its base. Sperm was boiling up the stem. No effort could forestall the coming eruption. His ass cheeks tightened as his come shot painfully from the head. Sperm galopped into her cunt. Ejaculate after ejaculate spurted into her tight sheath, filling it.

He lay on her, squeezing the last drops of come into her. He raised up on his elbows. She looked up into his eyes. Hers filled with hate. He pulled out and flopped back on the sofa.

While he caught his breath, he stared at her breasts rise and fall and wondered what the hell he would do with her now. Come trickled down the white inside of her thigh. She lay immovable. He got up and walked over to were he'd left his clothes and got dressed. He took the .38 out of his pocket.

She spit at him when he raised the gun. He tossed her clothes to her. "Get up."

She dressed.

"Okay, let's go."

He walked her outside and into the woods next to the cabin, fifty feet or so, to a clearing where a pit had been dug. She turned to him. Conciliating. "We could take the money; there's money, right? Lots? We could go anywhere. Why split it with anyone else? I can be very accommodating to the right man. We're two of a kind."

"Yeah, you're right. I hate to do it...but you know as well as me that if the situation were reversed you'd do the same."

"Ah, baby, no--"

The .38 barked twice. Cora stared at him wide-eyed, mouth agape, and toppled backwards into the pit.

~30~

Bull barged into Room 16 of the Sweetwater Motel.

"What's up?" Al said, startled, lying on the far bed. Eddie was watching a sports channel from an armchair. Karen and Page were on the other bed, naked, gagged and bound.

"Just heard on the radio that Collins and his bodyguard were found shot to death by the maid."

"None?"

"Had to be, and that means he knows where the money is, otherwise he wouldn't have killed him. Someone must've clued him in on Collins setting him up. We've got to get to him fast, before he can disappear." He glanced at the two women. "Put'm in the car trunk. We'll dump them later."

~31~

Janet awoke slowly. She felt woozy, sick to her stomach. Disoriented, she struggled to remember where she was. She was naked. She knew that. Her nose was buried in something with a filthy smell, like rotten eggs. A pillow. Everything came to her after a few ragged minutes. She raised her head. She was going to throw up. She waited until the nausea passed. She looked sideways. A dull light shown through a window. Was it evening or morning? Cautiously, she slid her feet to the floor. Gross memory flooded back. The rape by Doc Morgan. A grimace formed on her face. His sick come was within her. He was in the recliner. His hand gripped his erection. Could she slip out without awakening him? She tiptoed toward the door, but remembered it was locked. He'd put the key in his pant's pocket.

As she bent to pick up the filthy garment, she saw a mouse cross his chest, climb up on his leathery face and begin nibbling on his gothic nose. Janet turned her face away in horror and disgust. Quickly she reached inside the pants pocket desperate to get out of the room. She found the key, turned the lock and flung open the door. She made her way to the kitchen. It was a disgusting mess. Unwashed pots and pans littered the counters and the encrusted sink. Opened cans of food where scattered on a table and on the floor where they had tumbled off and never been picked up.

She wanted the filth out of her. She grabbed the pullout spray hose, adjusted the water until it was warm, then inserted the nozzle in her vagina for a douche. She wanted his sickness out of her. When she was through she took a knife and went into the exam room. Ben was unconscious. She tried to wake him but couldn't. She tried to call Merle on a wall phone by the door, but there wasn't any answer.

She went back into the bedroom-waiting room holding the knife at the ready. The doc was lying on her clothes. She couldn't bring herself to touch his dead body. She picked up her raincoat, slipped it on, then her ankle boots, and rushed out to the Vette. Merle could come back for Ben.

§

Merle's new truck was outside the garage. Snow was falling and had blanketed it. She wondered vaguely why he hadn't parked it in the garage as she made her way to the front porch.

She stepped inside. Merle was in a straight-backed chair. His face was bruised and bloody. A blond-headed man stood in front of him. A huge man stood behind holding his arms.

The door closed behind her. A black man had been standing behind it. He was grinning with smooth, white teeth.

"Well-well-well," the huge man said. "Lookie what we got here, boys. Come on in, cutie pie. Maybe you can convince old Merle boy to tell us where the money is."

"Money?"

"Oh, shit. You gonna play dumb, too?" Bull stepped out from behind Merle, scuffing his head playfully and, casually, walked up to Janet. He looked back at Merle. "Wadayuh say, Merle? Do I take her into the bedroom and introduce her to Mr. Pee-pee or does your memory suddenly improve?"

A trickle of blood came from Merle's mouth. There was hate in his eyes, but he nodded. "Okay, you win. I'll show you where the money is. It's buried out in the woods."

Bull grinned. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it? He looked at Al. "Get a flashlight and a shovel. Better hurry, too, the way it's beginning to snow.

~32~

Ben sat up on the exam table listening to the silence. He put his shirt on, then his overcoat. He took his .25 auto out of the pocket and the silencer from the other. The switchblade was in the inside pocket. He walked down the hall quietly. When he came to the bedroom he saw Doc in the recliner lying on Janet's clothes. At the front of the house he could see the Vette was gone. There was still a little light; snow was falling. He took his cock out and peed. No blood.

A truck was at the side of the house. The door was unlocked. He might be able to start the engine by prying off the cover and panel of the tumbler, then stick his switchblade in the keyhole and turn it, but he didn't know if that would work with this model truck. If Doc didn't have the keys on him, it could be a job finding them. He opened the glove compartment and took out the Owner's Manual. Dealer's always put a spare key in them that most people never know about. And there was one.

When he drew near the cabin he pulled off the dirt road and turned the engine off. The Vette was in the drive next to the truck. But there were, also, car tracks that went up to the garage door. He snuck around to the back and slipped up the deck steps. Peering through the kitchen window he saw Bull, bathed in the bluish-grey flickering glow of the TV, stretched out on the sofa smoking a cigar.

He made his way farther on to the window at the back of the garage, smashed the glass with his elbow, unlocked it and climbed in. There was a grey Buick Regal inside. The TV was loud and helped mask his presence as he slipped down the hall to the bedroom. He took his .25 out and paused at the open door. A black guy was on top on Janet, his hips moving up and down making smacking sound.

He moved in and placed the gun against the man's head. Eddie froze. Ben rammed the switchblade into his neck, deep into the spine and pulled him off Janet, onto the floor. He quickly moved back into the hall. Silently, he came to the sofa, Bull looked up, startled. Ben fired three times and watched the big man slide off the sofa onto the floor. He took the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it into the fireplace.