Rough Cut Ch. 16

Boch reached for the girl. She spread her arms as if on a crucifix, and he lifted her into the air. He held her straddled above him, and she spread her legs. Then little-by-little, with his arm muscles straining, Boch lowered her onto the ivory. The fake cock forced open her cunny lips. When only half of the dildo had disappeared inside her, drums were suddenly added to the music’s orchestra, pounding and beating and thumping out the rhythm. The couples took up the beat, clapping their hands in time, over and over. The volume rose. Sweat dribbled down the blonde’s back and her legs shook. And Boch held her still, the white dong half inside.

A syncopated beat crossed up the clapping, and the men and women suddenly froze. The music stopped. Every eye focused on the girl poised above the ivory shaft.

Finally Boch released his hold and let her drop. Her guttural shriek pierced the room. Immediately, the couples began to copulate. Fucking like rabbits in a time warped Roman orgy. The music pounded louder than ever.

The girl fell limp as a sock. Boch cackled, thrusting into her comatose body, supporting her with his pasty, muscular arms. The ivory cock streaked with blood.

Moe was out of film and pumped full of gall. He crouched as low as he could get, scooted past the hunt table, and out into the hallway. The smell of sex followed him like a pigheaded posse.

He raced down the hallway toward the dining room. A quick peek around the door showed the dinner table completely clean and the lights turned down. Moe counted his lucky stars and slipped through the room into the back corridor. Everything was quiet. All except the faint sound of the Victrola behind him. He rushed back to the mudroom and out into the cool night, thankful to breathe in its clear, crisp air.

Moe had lived a long time in his thirty years, been around a lot of seedy people, but nothing compared to the evil that lived inside that house. The curdling scream of the girl as she was brutally impaled still rang in Moe’s ears.

The moon and the stars were hidden behind clouds, making it darker than most nights but lessening the chance of shadows. Moe glanced around for Al and Gus, but they were nowhere to be seen. He considered just making a run for it but decided to wait until the Bobbsey Twins passed by on their roundabout. He did his best to blend into the side of the house, letting his pounding heart tick off the seconds. The longer he waited, the more his gut told him to run. After twenty minutes, he decided to listen to his gut and headed off toward the corner of the lot.

He reached the oak and realized it would be a little harder to climb it from this side of the fence. He jumped up, grabbed onto the lowest branch, flung his leg up and worked to right himself. He was almost there when he heard the voice behind him.

“Hey, Mack, we don’t like monkeys in our trees.”

“Yeah, we don’t like monkeys,” echoed either Al or Gus. It was hard to remember who was who.

Moe contemplated diving over the fence and taking his chances of getting to his car, but a wrought-iron fence didn’t offer much hope for bullet-proofing, especially if those bullets were coming from a tommy gun at the speed of sound. He was good and caught, and he knew it. So, he did the only thing he could do. He stashed the brownie in the crook of the branch and dropped down. Any luck of taking out one of the thugs was gone when they stepped back a couple of feet as he hit the ground.

Moe stood upright and brushed the dirt off his hands. He flashed them what he hoped was a let’s-be-pals smile. “So, either of you boys got a light?” he asked.