Absolution for Gretta MacClain

"Cum for me, doll, let me feel you cum on my cock."

Every muscle in her body vibrated with a tightly coiled tension, ready to spring. She moaned and whined against his hand, thrashing against him. No, she screamed in her mind, recognizing the inevitability of the rushing orgasm and just as she recognized her helplessness to stop it.

"Tha's it, babydoll, tha's it. Let go." He was panting and the bed was wailing with each thrust. "I forgive you."

Every fiber of her being exploded. She screamed as the liquid heat that had been pooling on her thighs roared through every single part of her, stealing her breath and her sanity with the magnitude of the pleasure. It felt so good that she wanted to weep for the joy of it and rail at the injustice of it.

She was vaguely aware of his breath blasting against the back of her neck in explosive grunts. He pummeled her cunt with his cock. She loved that phrase, it sent a fresh wave of pleasure through her, her cunt with his cock. He made a twisted growl and jerked out of her. A moment later something hot and wet splattered against her back. The sharp, musky smell stung her nostrils.

He wilted against her, his sweat dripping onto her cheek. She winced. After a few moments she felt dirty. The wetness between her legs was drying to a thick stickiness and the stuff on her back was slowly crawling toward the mattress. Worse than that, she'd done it again. She'd betrayed another human being. She went rigid, holding herself perfectly still to ward off a fresh bought of tears and guilt.

"Babygirl," he murmured, "you didn't do anything. Let go. I forgive you. Jeremiah would too, iff'n he could. You all know he's up in Heaven smilin' down on you. No five year ol' lil' girl can stop a bunch of liquored up Klan an' you know it. Let go."

"I c-can't," she moaned.

"You gots to, or you gonna die."

"I wish I had."

He leaned down and kissed her gently on the cheek. The bed squeaked softly when he sat up and pushed himself to his feet. She caught a glimpse of his penis, soft, shiny with wetness, and the exact shade of her favorite cup of coffee, two sugars, a little bit of cream. He pushed it into his pants and fastened them up. She watched him step into her water closet, find his tool, and step back out. He studied her silently for a moment, his eyes roving all over her body, then settling on her face.

She tried to think of something to say, but she felt too raw inside to trust her voice. He crossed to her night table and pocketed the knife. He picked up the picture and stared at it. The two little girls in white Sunday dresses, one smiling, one terrified, stared back at him. After a moment he flipped the frame over, pried it open and pocketed the picture, too. He set the silver frame gently where it had been.

The bolt sounded like a shot when he opened it and she flinched. He turned to look at her one last time before he stepped out of her life forever and silently closed the door. He smiled at her in that last moment, his eyes as kind and tender as the gentle old man's had been when he'd helped a scared little girl cross a dangerous street. In them she found what she'd been looking for. Absolution.