Bookends

Chapter 1

110º. Thank god for air-conditioning, Anne thought. West Texas. Flat stretch of endless desert and burning blue sky. Rest Stop Cafe. Red neon sign to the right. She pulls in on the gravel lot. Sign in broad window says, 'Enjoy a hearty meal in air-conditioned comfort.' Not many customers. Anne takes a booth and orders a turkey sandwich with salad and a glass of iced tea with lemon slice. A Mexican, early twenties, is watching her. She's used to men watching her. She's good looking and knows it, but isn't hung up on it. She ignores the Mexican and gazes out the window. When she's through she dials a number.

"Hi, hon, it's me."

Barry looked up from blueprints on his desk and leaned back in the swivel chair, a smile on his face.

"Where are you, babe?"

"Somewhere in West Texas at the Rest Stop Cafe. You won't believe how hot it is—110°."

Barry whistled. "Bad time to go visiting your mother."

"I miss you already."

"I know, me too, but I haven't seen mom for years. Megan wanted to go with me, but she's got a bug. She's always calling Megan and me to come see her. She's lonesome. It won't be long. A week and I'll be back."

"I'll be here, and the first thing I'll do is rip your clothes off with my teeth and lick your naked body all over until you're begging me for it."

"You shouldn't talk like that. You'll make me hot—and it's already 110°.

"I'm serious."

"You'd better be. I might do some licking too."

The Mexican was gone when she got through talking. Two rednecks had come in and were sitting at the counter. They stole glances as she left. Outside, as she got into the car, she noticed the Mexican in a white van with another Mexican.

Santana dialed a number as he watched the pretty gringa drive off.

"She coming, Cobra. Gray Honda, WRA183. Blonde, blue eyes; 36C-22-33 or 34; five-five there bouts.

Anne saw the patrol car sitting on the side of the road and slowed until she was certain she was well under the speed limit. What in the hell anyway? The road was as straight as an arrow as far as the eye could see. Surely the officer knew he wasn't going to catch anyone speeding while he was sitting right there. Stupid. She drove past making a point of not glancing at him then heard a whoop, whoop. A glance in the rear view mirror. She saw the patrol car pull out, blue lights flashing. She pulled over. Her heart was pounding. Men with badges...all that deadly hardware around their waist, frightened her. You've done nothing wrong, she told herself. Calm down. It's some kind of mistake. Maybe something wrong with the car. What? In the mirror, she watched him get out from the patrol car. He was big with a pot belly. He swaggered toward her, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. She scrolled down her window feeling the furnace heat of the desert rush in. Wavy lines rose up off the highway. The sun was everywhere. A blinding radiance. She squinted looking up as he stopped at the window.

"What's the problem, officer?" She smiled weakly. He had a crude, insensitive face.

"Well. I'll tell you what's wrong, little lady. You were speeding."

"But that's not possible because--"

The officer grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. "Because you slowed down when you saw me, didn't you?"

"I wasn't speeding."

"Ugh."

"Well, just write me a ticket, then, and I'll be on my way."

"Oh, so now you've got a smart mouth. I want you to get out of the car."

"Officer, I wasn't being smart with you. It's just so hot, and I've been on the road so--"

"Lady, I'm not gonna tell you to get out of the car again." He jerked the door open, grabbed her arm and pulled her out. "Now don't make me charge you with resisting arrest."

"Arrest? But I haven't done anything. Please..."

"Turn around and face the car. He forced her wrist behind her back and cuffed it then the other one. "Spread your legs."

"What are you doing? Why?"

He kicked her feet apart. "I said spread 'em." He began frisking her. "Wearing a miniskirt. You women disgust me." He rubbed his hand up between her legs feeling the smooth cunt through the thin panties.

"Stop it! Stop it!"

He grabbed her by the hair and forced her toward the patrol car, shoving her in back. After a minute or two a white van pulled in behind the patrol car. The Mexican who had been riding with Santana got into the Honda and drove off. Cobra and Santana followed. Where a sign read: LAST EXIT TO TRAVISVILLE. They left the Interstate and pulled in at an abandoned gas station. Cobra got out of the patrol car and dragged Anne into a gutted room that had once been the office. The only furniture now was a filthy double wide mattress lying on the floor. The Mexicans watched as he forced her down on the mattress, pushed her skirt up.

"Hey, man, take her clothes off. We wanna see pussy."

"You can do what you want when it's your turn."

Cobra slid the panties down and tossed them aside among other dusty stale articles of women's apparel lying on the gritty floor then bunted her thighs apart. He unzipped his pants and thumbed his cock out. She gave a wounded cry. He jerked open the front of her sleeveless blouse, buttons popping, then pushed up her bra.

She wailed with animal ferocity as he cupped her tits, thumb nails denting hard into the soft pink nipples. He was strong and held her in check as if she were a child. Cupping her ass he lifted her off the floor as he strained to force in the knotted head of his cock. She was dry. Tight. Her blue eyes froze on him as he spit on his hand and rubbed it over the purple veined organ. He pressed against her again. Slowly she spread. She clenched her teeth as she felt the width and length of him; squeezed her eyes shut; twisted her body beneath him, sliding and kicking her spiked heels against the floor, the soles making a scrapping rasping sound like sandpaper. Her face red from struggling. Sweat beaded, trickling down into her hair. She arched her back, bucking against him, her struggles only intensifying his eager thrusts. The weight of his fat body, slamming against her, forced air from her lungs as if she were a bellows. Guttural whines puffed her cheeks. He began moving in and out more easily. Suddenly he grew rigid. He groaned, then exploded with short quick thrusts and collapsed on top of her. After a moment he rose up and shook his dick off on her belly then stood up. She lay on the floor looking up, her eyes hot, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. Naked to their gaze.

"Tight."

He walked outside and lit a cigarette leaving the two Mexicans with her. A lone car swished by on the Interstate. The naked desert shimmered in the heat. A bird made a black dart overhead. When he finished his cigarette, he strolled back inside. She was totally naked now. Santana's switchblade lay on the floor next to the mattress. She was sandwiched between them. Santana on top fucking her in the ass. Jorge beneath. The rest of her clothes had joined the scrap pile scattered on the floor. She no longer struggled. There was heavy breathing, grunts, the sound of flesh against flesh. Her blonde hair hung down curtaining her head. Jorge had his hands on the sides of her face kissing her hungrily. Cobra could imagine her slack mouth and greased cunt accepting his wet thrusts.

He walked back outside and opened the door of the Honda. Her purse lay on the passenger seat. He opened it, saw the cell phone and took it out. He dropped it on the concrete and crushed it with his heel.

After awhile Santana came out buttoning his shirt a toothy grin on his brown face. "To think we get paid for this, bato."

"Is Jorge about done?"

"Aw, you know that fucker, man. He go on forever. He like his pussy." He lit a cigarette and stood with his hands on his narrow hips looking out over the desert.

"Well, he's gonna have to rush it. I wanna get an ice cold beer and something to eat. Get out of this fucking heat."

Santana nodded. "Manana." He got in the van and left.

The sun moved imperceptibly across the sky. Half an hour dragged by before Jorge came out, a shorter man than Santana and pudgy. He nodded, got in the Honda and drove off. Cobra tossed his cigarette and went back inside. She was sitting up, strands of long blonde hair hung down to her nipples. Pink lipstick smeared her cheek. Her body was wet with sweat. The greasers had taken her wedding ring, watch and gold necklace. He lifted her up, walked her out to the patrol car, and put her in back.

Sheriff Jane Kitten sat at her desk, pointed boots propped up, clicking a ballpoint pen against her smooth, white teeth while studying a crossword puzzle. Long red fingernails tapped the folded magazine. Piercing blue eyes moved over the columns. Red lips smiled faintly. Beneath a gray Stetson, tilted low on her forehead, long black hair was fixed in a ponytail. Custom fitted jeans and a long-sleeved western shirt, with small brown and white checks, cleaved to her perfect five-foot-seven figure. On her hip was a pearl-handled .357 revolver.

Her Smart Phone buzzed on the desk. She picked it up.

"Got another one for you," Cobra said. "Prime this time. Blonde, blue eyes."

"Okay. Bring her round back. I'll be here."

She dropped her feet off the desk and slid back in the swivel chair, got up and opened the office door. Gladys, the dispatcher, was playing poker on her computer. She went to the right, down a corridor, opened a steel door with a key, passed two empty cells and opened another steel door marked EXIT.

Outside was a brick walled alleyway on both sides. A green dumpster hid the exit door from the view of anyone passing across where the alley met Loomis Ave. An anonymous graffiti artist had spray painted in bold letters on a section of wall, SATAN RULES. Underneath was a well executed picture of a leering, demonic creature.

Soon Cobra's patrol car turn into the alley. He stopped at the exit door and got out.

"You're gonna love this 'n, Jane." He pulled the naked blonde out. "Whadahyah think of that?" He squeezed a tit.

"This man and two Mexicans raped me." Anne tried to jerk free, but he was too strong.

"Shut your slut mouth, bitch." Cobra shook her.

"Bring her inside."

She opened the cell nearest the exit, and Cobra took off the cuffs and shoved her in.

"She's gonna bring a pretty penny, huh?" Cobra said.

"We'll see." Kitten said, matter of factly. Then with a tone of dismissal, "I'll get back to you."

Cobra fumed as he drove off. He didn't like being kept in the dark. He had no idea who the higher ups were that Kitten was dealing with, and that being the case, he only had her word on how much she was getting for the women he brought her--and, damn it, he was taking all the risk. Yeah... but he grinned. Even he had to admit there wasn't much risk with the county sheriff protecting him. He headed for Nell's Bar & Grill for a cold one. Hell, even if she was short changing him, the easy money was still good and so was the free pussy.

Anne sat on the thin bare mattress that rested on a steel slab jutting from the wall. There was nothing in the cell to cover her nakedness. Only the bunk and a steel toilet-sink combo. It was hard to form her thoughts. Only a few hours ago she existed in a world that made sense. Now nothing did. What was it the man Cobra had said? She'll 'bring a pretty penny.' Are they going to...sell me?

Her eyes darted to the steel door that suddenly opened. The pretty sheriff, the one Cobra called Jane, came in. She unlocked the cell door and tossed a pair of padded cuffs on the mattress. "Put one around your wrist and the other around one of the bars."

When Anne had done so, Jane sat down on the mattress next to her. She placed the palm of her hand on her cheek. The hand was soft and warm. Anne smelled a flowery scent. Jane moved the hand down the side of her neck squeezing softly with tantalizing, almost hypnotic, repetition.

"You're very lovely." She placed both hands on her breasts and flicked the pink nipples with her nails until they became rigid. She slowly circled the breasts with her palms, pressing, massaging, making the shapely mounds swell. The slightest touch was making Anne tingle with guilty anticipation. She wanted to resist, felt she must, but couldn't. She closed her eyes and when she opened them Jane was naked pressing her red lips to hers. She didn't resist, couldn't have even if she wanted to. She'd never been kissed sexually by a woman before. It was like nothing she could have imagined. She felt the wet tip of the woman's tongue pressing insistently at her lips. She parted them allowing her full access. She grew heady. Her senses spun out of control. She felt warm soft breasts pressed against hers.

Hands gently reclined her on the bunk. The tongue worked within her mouth dominating her, smothering her with unrelenting eagerness. Hands wandered over her nakedness. Warm palms circled her belly giving rise to needs she had to have fulfilled. Then she was jolted. She cried out in lustful agony. Fingers prodded her swollen cunt sending myriad electric shocks racing through her tormented flesh. She arched her back forcing her hips up against a hand now wet with her juices. Fingers probed her, building an unquenchable fire. Long nails traced erotic outlines about her clit driving her wild. Every touch sent shudders of ecstasy rampaging through her. Her heart raced madly beating against her chest. She panted, gasping for breath. Crying. Begging. Whimpering. Moaning uncontrollably. Then there was a pleasure almost inconceivable, she felt the woman's tongue, her lips, her mouth probing, kissing, sucking at the cleft beneath her belly. The teeth nipping, tugging, biting. Hands cupping her breasts. Fingers kneading sparks of desire from nipples hard as pebbles. Sensations rocked her body building in intensity, more than she could endure. Her body shook as waves of delicious release exploded from some deep central source racking her with convulsions that, after what seemed an eternity, subsided, leaving her incapable of thought or motion. When she became aware of her surrounding again, the beautiful sheriff was gone.

Kitten looked at her watch again. It had been three hours since she'd called Fetcher Murdoch. She didn't like holding merchandise any longer than necessary, and she was anxious to get the haggling over that she knew was coming. The blonde was, as Cobra said, prime cut. She should bring top dollar. And she was going to make damn sure she did. She was about to make another call when Murdoch came in the front door.

"In the office."

He settled himself in a chair in front of her desk, crossing his legs. He was a tall thin man with coal black hair combed back and a long narrow nose above lips so thin the mouth seemed cut with a razor. A cigarette dangled from the corner.

"Whadah we got?" he said, letting smoke drift idly from his mouth.

"Blonde, blue eyes, perfect figure, unblemished skin."

Interest showed in his dark feral eyes. He smiled salaciously, the tiny teeth pearly white.

"Alright, let's take a look then."

She led him back, as always, to the cells. Anne sat up covering herself with her hands.

"Stand up," Kitten said. The naked woman no longer interested her. She'd had her. Now was business. "Come over here; let this man inspect you. And none of your damn false modesty."

Anne hesitated, then, realizing the futility of resistance, dropped her hands to her sides and stepped up to the bars. Murdoch's dark eyes gleamed with appreciation.

"Indeed, indeed," he muttered. He had her turn around. The ivory skin was flawless. No blemishes. He would haggle price, but he knew as well as Kitten that the blonde was a rare jewel. They went back to the office and agreed on a sum three times higher than usual.

"I'll be back tomorrow and pick her up."

Kitten followed him to the front door. Then, when he was gone, she turned to Gladys, who was showing a dead hand on the computer screen.

"And you wonder why you're always broke."

"I know, I know, but what the hell. You'd think I'd make a big score one of these days."

"If you have to think you're doing something wrong." Kitten nodded sagaciously. Gladys was like most people. Living on dreams. And if you don't ask too much of her, pay her enough to get by, she'll never ask questions. Had no interest in knowing what went on around her. In short, the perfect employee.

In the morning, before the heat started rising off the desert, Kitten opened the cell door. Anne, who was sitting slumped over, head in hands, looked up. Kitten went to the sink and filled a paper cup with water then handed her a pill.

"Take this."

"What is it?"

"A morning after pill. You don't want to get pregnant, do you?"

Anne shook her head listlessly and swallowed it, draining the cup.

"What's going to happen to me?" she asked. She lowered the cup to her lap. "Please tell me. That man who was here yesterday, he's going to buy me, isn't he?"

"Bought. He's already bought you."

"But what will he do with me?"

"He'll sell you to another party who'll sell you to another party until an ultimate buyer purchases you, I imagine.".

"Please. My husband has money. His construction firm is starting to do a lot of business. He'll pay you more than that man paid you. I know he will. No questions asked."

Kitten chuckled. "Nah, I don't think so, hon. You've been bought, and--soon to be--paid for. Accept your fate, and you'll suffer less in the long run."

"Please help me. How can you be like this?"

"For money. It's nothing personal. I do feel for you, but one has to be practical. It's just business."

"Will you give me something to wear? Please. I don't want that man seeing me naked. You're a woman. You must know how I feel."

Kitten sighed, glanced at her watch. "He owns you now. That'll be up to him. Don't resist. It would be pointless."

An hour later a late model hearse with a simulated black leather top and silver gray sides parked at the exit door in the alley. Murdoch pressed the buzzer and a minute later Kitten opened the door. He dropped his cigarette and came inside. Anne lay on the bunk, hands cuffed behind her back and a ball gag in her mouth.

"Nice. Really nice." Murdoch muttered. He reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a thick manilla envelope and handed it to Kitten. She thumbed through the contents then nodded. He motioned for Anne to get up and led her outside. The back of the hearse was open. Inside, the metal tracks serving to slide a coffin in and out had been removed. Thick gray carpeting covered the floor. Stronger than his slender frame would suggest, he easily picked her up and placed her inside. He lowered the hatch, lit a cigarette and turned to Kitten.

"See if you can get some more like this, Kit." he fiddled in his pants pocket for car keys. "Blue eyed blondes with velvet skin are a hot commodity."

He guided the smooth running Caddy out into the desert leaving Travisville a dot in the immensity behind. A cigarette in his mouth; an air-conditioner blowing full on; and a naked babe in back. What more could a man want? Whiskey. He removed a flask from his chest pocket and took a burning gulp. Even the sweet smell that flared his nostrils was addictive.

"Ah, god," he sighed. He took another gulp then screwed the cap back on. In the mirror he could see her lying there. He didn't usually fuck with the merchandise. He had a Mexican wife who kept him well satisfied, but this blonde was too much to ignore. He looked for a spot to pull over. Soon he came to a mound chock full of rocks and left the highway to circle around behind it. When he was out of sight, he put his cigarette out and took off his clothes. His bloated cock swung heavily side to side as he made his way back to her on his knees. Her blue eyes fixed on him. A stifled moan and grunted protest were muffled by the ball gag. He spread her legs and got between them. She banged her heels against the carpet, squirming rebelliously until she felt his belly against hers and the fullness of his cock in her. She ceased struggling and stared corpse-like at the ceiling. He unhooked the ball gag and started kissing her. She turned her face to the side. He grabbed her head with both hands, resting his weight on his elbows, and forced his tongue in her mouth. She made weak garbled protest as the long minutes passed then became still as his thrusts became more and more frenzied and brutal. He was entering her fully now. Wet sweaty flesh, despite the air-conditioning. Each time he withdrew she could feel her hips rise off the carpet then be slammed back down as he entered her. She cried out twisting her body crazily beneath him. Their rapid pants and gasps fill the plush interior of the hearse: Death's chariot. He placed his hands on her hips. She could feel them trembling with need. He had to come. He thrust forward. Missed. The huge cock slipped out flopping against her belly, come gushed out and squirting like warm gravy all over her. He'd waited too long.