Posted by Kewpid on July 23, 2007 at 12:16:23:
CORN DOLLS
“Admit it,” Fran said peevishly, “you’ve got us fucking lost.”
“I bloody haven’t,” Suzy snapped. She threw a filthy look over her shoulder. The atmosphere in the Landcruiser had been thickening all morning. A brewing storm of bitchiness, despite the sunlit country all around.
Fran just sighed disgustedly and sat back in a sulk. She was slender, almost pixieish, with wide green eyes and a bob of malty hair. Her elfin looks contrasted with her shapely C-cup bosom as much as with her pouting petulance. Her cropped white T-shirt hugged her boobs in careless provocation. Her hotpants did the same for her pert arse.
Beside her, snooty Tamsin kept on listening to her iPod. She was a Sloaney redhead, rather po-faced and aloof. She wore a strappy vest top that revealed a classy cleavage, and a miniskirt that flaunted her long legs. She rolled her cool blue eyes but made no comment. She’d known this was a bad idea before they’d even picked the car keys up.
Emma made a moue and blew her fringe out of her eyes. She’d pulled up on the dusty verge while Suzy tried deciphering the map. Both of them were blondes, which was just asking for it really – or so the back seat drivers would have said. Emma had bobbed hair like straw, and blue eyes full of mischief. Her skin was tanned a glossy golden brown. She had the air of somebody who knew that she was pretty, and her singlet emphasised her D-cup tits. Suzy’s frame was more petite and her hair was short and boyish. She was normally quite perky, but her sullenness gave her a peaky look. She wore a sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of Lycra trunks. Tamsin might like horse riding, but Suzy was the really sporty one.
The freeway stretched ahead of them through empty, rolling farmland. The midday sun was very hot. The aircon unit hummed obsessively. Four English girls on holiday in a rented SUV, and already things had started to go wrong.
“There should be a gas station just along this road …” said Suzy.
“Gas? Oh, you mean petrol,” murmured Fran.
Suzy didn’t rise to that. She nodded once to Emma. Her friend flipped down her sunglasses and moved the Landcruiser onto the road. The others were soon giggling together in the back, and Suzy felt a sour pang of jealousy. She preferred Fran in a sulk to Fran in lovey-dovey mode, especially as she was a singleton herself. The fidgeting and sniggers started getting on her nerves. But when the sounds were stifled, she felt even worse..
Fran had met Tamsin in a club last Christmas, and the two girls were still living lust’s young dream. Suzy reckoned they deserved each other. Tamsin was a stuck-up cow and Fran could be a stroppy little tyke. But when she thought of them in bed together … Swallowing, she glanced at Em, who looked as laid back as she always did.
Suzy and Emma had been friends since uni. Both of them were single, though with Emma that was never going to last. Suzy was the uptight one; she’d got burned once too often. Flirty Emma always had a boyfriend on the go.
The gas station appeared as she’d predicted. “Clever girl,” said Emma. Suzy smiled modestly. There were no other vehicles waiting on the forecourt. The place appeared abandoned, or perhaps just closed for lunch. Emma indicated – though the highway was deserted – and pulled in beside the nearest petrol pump. “Comfort break?” she asked over her shoulder. Fran smirked as Tamsin nuzzled her. “We’re comfortable right here,” she tittered back.
Emma shrugged. “You suit yourselves. I really need a wee.” She got out of the Landcruiser and Suzy followed suit. The Midwest heat engulfed them like a furnace, but a faint breeze ruffled Emma’s mop of hair. The landscape seemed enormous, like the silence. They hesitated, peering round, then walked into the forecourt’s welcome shade.
Emma veered off towards the restrooms, while Suzy sauntered over to the door. She cupped her eyes against the glass. The place was dark inside, but that was just the contrast. She tried the door, and found that it was locked.
Damn, she thought, and looked again. A fridge was glowing in the shadowed store. The prospect of a Diet Coke had never seemed so tempting. A cold drink and a frosted can to roll across her brow …
Emma was unbuttoning her hacked-off denim shorts. She pulled them and her panties down and settled carefully on the toilet seat. It wasn’t the most salubrious ladies’ loo she’d ever peed in. She stretched her arms behind her head as her urine squirted down into the bowl.
And suddenly the stall door was kicked open. Emma startled on the seat, eyes widening with shock. A burly figure blocked the light. Before she could cry out, some kind of aerosol was sprayed into her face. Emma gagged, and felt as if she’d necked a dozen vodkas. Her mind spun into darkness and she slithered off the seat, thighs opening wide.
Fran sucked Tamsin’s pouting lip. The posh girl moaned with pleasure. Fran could feel her nipples, hard as buttons through her top.
Suzy was just straightening up when she glimpsed a sudden movement in the dimness of the store’s interior. She flinched away despite herself, then saw it was the owner, a balding man in overalls who plodded forward to unlock the door.
The sunlight made him squint at her. She felt a brief unease, but she was always on her guard around strange men. “Hi,” she said with the fixed smile she always used at work. “Are you open? We could really use some gas.”
The old man eyed her thoughtfully. “You English?” he enquired after a moment.
Suzy nodded. “Yeah, we’re touring.” God, she really needed that Diet Coke. “It’s lovely around here,” she said politely.
“Good and quiet,” the old man said. “You say you need some gas?” He waited for her eager nod, then quickly raised a can of aerosol. Suzy snorted, rearing as he sprayed her in the face. Her thoughts dissolved like Emma’s and she crumpled to the asphalt like a doll.
Tamsin had her fingers in Fran’s hotpants. “No, you mustn’t, Taz …” Fran squeaked, but there wasn’t much conviction in her tone. They kissed again, oblivious to the figures closing in. Fran pushed her pelvis forward – and the doors on either side of them jerked wide. Before the startled pair could squeal, the gas hit them like mace. They wriggled briefly and collapsed beneath the hissing streams of aerosol. Tamsin fell unconscious with her hand still in Fran’s pants. But judging by Fran’s soured face, she didn’t take much pleasure in it now.
* * *
The balding man was in the back, sorting through four pairs of panties, when he heard another car pull up outside.
He rose, went to the office door and opened it a crack. A police cruiser was sitting there. His stomach muscles tensed. He glanced across the store, towards the man behind the counter. His nephew caught his eye and grinned, with all the reckless confidence of youth.
The old man closed the door again and sat down behind his desk. He was sniffing the redhead’s satin briefs when the bell rang to announce a customer.
The cop came in through the front door, and the young man’s grin got wider. She was petite but shapely, and her bosom strained against her short-sleeve shirt. Beneath a pair of shades, her face was young and confident. Her short brown hair gave her a punky look.
He bobbed his head. “Hi, Karen.”
“Howdy, Jerry,” she drawled back. He watched her pace along the aisle, her fingers dangling well clear of her gun. Outside, beyond the cruiser, the hot forecourt was deserted, apart from the empty SUV parked over to one side.
“Didn’t know you were on today,” the young man, Jerry, murmured.
“Just swapped shifts with a friend,” said Karen as she checked the candy on display.
“So you thought you’d just drop by,” he said. “For something sweet to suck on.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, and looked at him. “Those hours of driving really make me dry.”
They stared into each other’s eyes, and then he jerked his head. She gave a lustful little smile. He detoured to lock up, then followed her. Karen checked her watch as they went past the office door. “I can stay about as long as you stay hard!” He gave her rump a playful slap as he chased her up the staircase to his poky little room above the store.
Her uniform came off with practised quickness, but she left her shades in place because she knew they turned him on. He kissed her, fondled her ripe breasts, then lay back on the bed and Karen knelt astride him, dominant and smug. Teasingly she lowered herself onto his swollen cock, her pussy squeezing as she settled on his groin.
Jerry gasped and felt his scrotum bulging. Reaching up, he clasped her tits. The nipples were erect and hard as beans. Karen grinned beneath her shades and began to move against him. She batted his fumbling hands aside and pinned them to the mattress by his wrists. “No resistance, boy,” she breathed, “or else I’ll have to shoot you.” She craned her body forward and her big tits brushed his face.
When she pushed herself back up, still grinding at his pelvis, it took her a few seconds to realise someone else was with them in the room.
She looked round with a gasp, to find a man at her bare shoulder: a hulking guy of Jerry’s age who towered over the bed. Her mouth dropped open in an O beneath her mirrored Ray-bans. Then she tried to roll away – but she was still impaled on Jerry’s rock-hard prick. She could feel it deep inside her, and it rooted her in place. As she filled her lungs to scream, the big man’s fingers clamped around her throat.
Karen’s cry was throttled to a gurgle. She made a wild grab for her gun, which was hanging from the bedpost, out of reach. Then she clutched his hands and tried to pry his fingers loose, her desperate heartbeat pounding thickly in her head. As she bucked and squirmed on Jerry’s lap, he panted underneath her, his gasps of pleasure mingling with the grunts of her distress.
Impassively, the big man forced her head back. She clawed his steely wrists in vain. Her tautened breasts were swollen with stale air. Jerry watched her rosy nipples turn a plum-dark purple. A death spasm bounced her on his cock, and his cum erupted deep into her womb. Karen shuddered, croaking, as her back arched like a bow. Jerry thrust up into her as her arms slumped and her muscles turned to mush. Cousin Toby kept her airway closed till he was finished. Then he lowered Karen back to lie, still interlocked, between his legs.
Jerry sighed and smiled up at the ceiling. Then he raised his head. He could see Karen’s clit from here. He reached to flick at it, then ran his fingers through her bush, while Toby took her panties from the chair. Then Uncle Jeb looked round the door, his weathered features hungry.
“Let’s go, boys,” he said, “before those other sluts wake up.”
* * *
Fran realised she was curled up nude as consciousness seeped back. The sun was hot on her bare skin, and a bitter taste still lingered on her tongue. The smell of summer fields was in her nostrils. She brought her head up blearily and saw the wall of wheat that hemmed her in.
Memory surged back into her mind and she went rigid. Her breasts heaved as she listened hard. There was no sound of movement in the stalks. She nibbled at her lip, eyes wide and nervous. Several minutes passed before she summoned up the nerve to raise herself.
Whoever had attacked her, there was no sign of him now. Nor any sign of Tamsin, or her clothes. Despite the heat, her skin felt cold and clammy. A broken stalk was in her hair. She brushed it clear, her muscles shivering.
The sticky, buzzing silence stayed unbroken. She eased herself into a crouch and peered above the drooping ears of wheat. She was in the middle of a field, its golden surface rippling. There was no-one else in sight: no sign of any of her friends.
“Shit,” she whimpered to herself, still queasy with reaction. Her heartbeat pounded dully in her chest. The field was bordered by a wood, the treeline full of shadows. It looked a welcome refuge from the sunlight and the sense of being watched. Swallowing, she straightened – and a dark shape caught her eye. She swung towards it with a gasp. But it was just a scarecrow in a ragged coat.
The thing was thirty feet away, but its look still made her shudder. The head was just a shapeless bag with two dark holes for eyes. Its arms were spread as if in crucifixion, but the posture seemed grotesquely welcoming. She stared at it uneasily, then bit her pouting lip and started walking in the opposite direction. The wheat rose to her navel and she waded through it quickly. Her top half felt unbearably exposed.
She didn’t notice Emma, who was nestling nearby, her fair hair blending with the wheat, her body stirring feebly as she woke.
Fran was panting by the time she reached the treeline, but the afternoon still showed no signs of life. She clung to a branch and caught her breath. Sweat matted her dark fringe and trickled slowly down between her shoulder blades.
The wood was a maze of gloom and dappled sunlight. There was no sound but the whirr of crickets; no indication where the road might be. Her plump breasts rose and sank with her hoarse breathing.
She didn’t sense the eyes that ogled them.
She grimaced, feeling close to tears – then moved into the trees. There was a sudden whoosh and thunk behind her. She spun round and her mouth dropped open dumbly. An arrow was buried in the bough she’d just leaned up against. Her eyes grew wider as she watched it quivering. Then she heard a stirring in the undergrowth.
Panic bolted through her and she took off like a deer, her bare feet scuffing on the prickly earth. Above her rasping breaths, she heard the archer at her heels; there was the crackle of snapped twigs, the swish of leaves. Snivelling, she glanced over her shoulder. A shadow blundered through the gloom. She weaved between the tree trunks desperately. Another arrow hissed and slashed into the undergrowth. She felt her backbone tingling, as if anticipating the next shot.
Skittering downhill, she veered off sideways. Her bosom joggled as she ran, her golden pendant flicking at her flesh. She came into a hollow and crouched down to get her breath back, hoping to God he’d go on past. Her face was flushed, her body slick with sweat. She listened, trying to keep her breathing shallow. Her nipples were erect and hard, as if some part of her had been turned on.
Rooks were calling somewhere, but the trees were silent now. She brushed a hank of hair out of her eyes. Her heart thumped and her lips bulged as she struggled not to cry. Then a rustling made her start, but it was only a bird in the canopy above.
Back in the field, Emma listened to the silence, her blue eyes fearful underneath her fringe.
Still half-asleep, she’d heard a stealthy rustling in the wheat. Something on the move nearby. Perhaps an animal; perhaps a man. Her thoughts came into focus, but she stayed on her flat belly, her breasts squeezed tight against the earth. The blonde down prickled on her naked skin.
Above the slogging of her heart, she thought she heard its breathing. She bit her lip, as Fran had done. The sun felt very hot on her bare back. A nightmare whirl of memory went reeling through her head. A shape filling the restroom stall; the sense of being smothered where she sat …
There was no sound of movement now. She waited for a minute, still wondering sickly where the hell she was. The stalks crowded in on every side, making her feel trapped and blinded. Eventually, despite her fear, she had to raise her head and risk a look.
The first thing that she saw was the old scarecrow. Its empty eyes stared past her, but she cowered down again till she was sure. Her bosom dangled, heaving as she panted, her sweaty skin now flecked with bits of straw. Then she surfaced once again and peeked in all directions. The rippling field was empty, rolling out towards the shelter of the woods.
Cautiously she clambered up, and almost overbalanced. She was still a little giddy from the gas. Pressing her palm against her mouth, she lurched towards the scarecrow, grabbing hold of it with her free hand. The shapeless bag-head loomed impassively. Emma closed her eyes until the nauseous wave receded. The scarecrow had a mildewed stink. She pulled a face and straightened up again. Her bare breast brushed its coat as she drew back and turned away. The contact gave her gooseflesh. Then its mouldy glove clamped tight around her face.
Emma’s nervous eyes bulged wide with horror as the ragged figure came to life and pounced. She squirmed and snorted in its grip, almost choking on the odour. The shape produced a hunting knife and carved into her unprotected flesh. He struck her just above the hip and the blade ruptured her kidney. Emma grimaced, squealing, as her belly filled with burning agony. The scarecrow’s glove reduced her cry to a pathetic mewling. She wriggled, crippled by the pain, and he plunged his blade into one luscious breast. Emma bucked against him with a stifled seagull noise, but he knew the point had failed to reach her heart. Too much tit to penetrate. He jerked the blade back out, then went for her subclavian artery. The knife pierced the base of Emma’s throat and he drove it sharply downwards. Her body quivered in his arms, and he heard a muffled moan behind his glove. He rode with her last spasms until she gurgled in her larynx and slumped against him, pissing lifelessly. He waited till the golden squirt of urine spent itself, a dribble down her inner thigh; then he lowered her gently back into the wheat.
Tamsin didn’t hear her die; but she sensed a baleful presence. Cowering in the undergrowth, she whimpered nervously. Her mane of fox-red hair had always felt like a mixed blessing. Now she was convinced its shine was giving her away.
She had ridden with a fox hunt more than once, and quite enjoyed it. Of course she hadn’t dreamed of being on the receiving end. But now her life was upside down, and the world felt huge and hostile. Her tight chest made it hard to breathe. She strained her ears against the woodland hush.
Her last clear memory was of Frannie’s lustful face. She wondered sickly where her friend was now. Losing her clothes had stripped her of much more than modesty. She felt acutely vulnerable, as if a hungry tiger had her scent.
The sense of presence made her fine hairs prickle. She didn’t dare to breathe, still less to move. Then she heard a disembodied rustling, like the sound of a large animal, but it passed her and receded through the trees.
On the far side of the wood, Fran waited, chewing on her lip. Perhaps he was still lying in wait.
Perhaps he’d given up.
Eventually, reluctantly, she crept out of the hollow. Her body was still tensed against a sudden, piercing blow. But the birds kept singing, undisturbed. The air was dense and stagnant. Belatedly she wondered what had happened to her friends.
Tears came welling up again. She sniffed them back like snot. She would cry on Tamsin’s shoulder once they’d both got out of this. Right now she had to find the road; but the wood masked all directions. She glanced around forlornly – and heard voices in the distance, very faint.
Frowning warily, she got a fix on them at last. A lazy conversation. Maybe more than one person was hunting her. The idea made her cringe; but they would hardly advertise their presence. So maybe someone else was close. Despite herself, she felt a surge of hope. The murmurs were a message from the world she’d left behind, the holiday she’d been abducted from. Cautiously she made her way towards them, flitting from one tree to the next and feeling their rough bark against her breasts.
After a few minutes, she saw brighter light ahead. There was a clearing and the shape of a parked car. The drawl was coming from it, interspersed with bursts of static. With a sudden thrill, she realised it was a police radio. She paused, her firm breasts panting, trying to peer between the leaves. It looked like a police car, right enough. She felt a prickle down her spine and glanced behind herself, her green eyes like a wary cat’s. But nobody was there.
Gnawing her lip, she sidled round the clearing. The filtered sunlight dappled her bare skin. She could see someone in the front seat. Her heartbeat grew exultant. For once, a cop just when she needed one.
Swallowing, she eased around a tree trunk. Her gut had knotted, making her feel sick. But the car was very close now, just beyond the screen of leaves. “… Traffic’s quiet …” a bored voice said. And if she could hear it, maybe he could too.
Her heart leaped at the thought. She had to make her move right now. She blundered through the foliage, emerging at the rear of the parked car. Mortified by her own nudity, she scurried round it. “Oh, help…!” she sobbed as she reached the driver’s door. Then her frightened eyes grew round with horror. Her hand flew to her mouth and choked her squeal.
A nude girl wearing sunglasses was in the driver’s seat. Her mouth hung open dumbly and her stiff, discoloured tongue was poking out. She had one limp hand on the wheel and one between her thighs, half-sunk into her pussy, though her lifeless flesh could know no pleasure now …
Fran’s last thought was that she was a very silly girl – a plaintive note on which to end her life. Her shocked mind was still reeling as the arrow sped towards her. It thudded hard into her chest, above the pear-drop swell of her left breast. “Hgh!” she grunted squeakily and reared beneath the impact, her fingers clutching at the shaft – and then she wailed in pain. The buried arrowhead became white-hot inside her body. Grimacing, she twisted round, her elfin face contorted with despair. Behind her shades, the dead cop stayed impassive, and no one else was close enough to hear Fran’s sobbing cry.
She sagged against the car and arched her spine across the hood, as if she was a pinup in a magazine. The anguish made her writhe a moment longer – and then she slumped with a despairing sigh. Her eyelids fluttered closed; her face grew sullen. Her body slithered off the car and flopped tits-up onto the sunlit grass.
After a pause, the archer’s boots came scrunching through the leaves. The birds kept up their twittering. The voices drawled over the radio. Skirting the car and its slumped, indifferent driver, he stared down at the body of his kill. Her breasts had flattened in repose, but the nipples still poked upward. Their rosy hue was fading as the dead girl’s skin turned pale.
Suzy glanced round sharply, not quite sure what she had heard, her bare back prickling from arse to neck. She didn’t know what animals lived in the woods round here, nor what noises they might make. Nor what they ate.
Grimacing, she hurried on through spars of filtered sunlight. Panic seethed inside her chest and threatened to boil over like hot milk. Ever since regaining consciousness, she’d felt her dread gnaw deeper. She knew she hadn’t just been dumped. Someone was hunting her.
It’s all Fran’s fault, all Fran’s, she thought with wretched petulance. Fran’s for having the idea. Then Fran’s for goading her when they got lost. Tears stung her eyes until she had to pause and wipe them. Her bosom panted breathlessly. And where had Emma gone?
If she had known that Fran was dead and being fucked this minute, it wouldn’t have consoled her overmuch. Her former friend was belly-up across the squad car’s hood and Uncle Jeb was scrotum-deep in her tight snatch. No penis had been up there since she’d had sex at fifteen and then decided that she fancied girls instead. So she still had the vagina of a virgin. The balding man pumped into her, till wheezy gasps emerged from her slack mouth. He watched her pert breasts quivering and felt his passion choke him; then it burst out of his buried cock, and almost lifted her off the hot hood.
Suzy’s worst imaginings were nowhere close to that, but being hunted in the nude was bad enough. Then a twig snapped, somewhere close. Her tearful eyes grew wider, and her hand crept up to clasp her mouth. She could hear the sough of leaves above her head. But no more sounds of movement. She eased cautiously away. Light flashed in between the trees, and she realised there was water up ahead. Pushing through the foliage, she saw a wide, slow river. The other side was cloaked with trees. He’d lose her trail, if she could get across.
Swallowing, she glanced around, then scrambled down the bank and slid thigh-deep into the crystal flow. The coldness made her catch her breath; she felt her vulva tightening. Her nipples swelled in sympathy. Her heart was racing now. For a moment she stood paralysed, and then she started wading. The water swirled up to her hips. It chilled her tender pussy and she winced.
She was two thirds of the way across when a pair of dogs erupted from the trees.
Their furious barking made her cringe in horror. They seemed about to plunge on in, but instead stayed on the bank and bayed at her. Suzy froze, still waist-deep in the water. Their dark eyes watched her hatefully, and she glimpsed the pointed teeth that lined their jaws. One dog skittered back and forth, determined to deny her. The other stood its ground and snarled. She whimpered with frustration and dismay.
Then she threw her head back with a gurgle and thrust her tits towards the raging dogs.
It wasn’t that she meant to goad them further. Her reaction was like any girl’s when an arrow hits between her shoulder blades. The blow filled Suzy’s chest with aching numbness. She reared in shock, a stupefied expression on her face. The barks and snarls were suddenly forgotten. There was just the need to fill her lungs – and the sudden agony when she breathed in.
Suzy tried to scream and gave a plaintive bleat instead. The pain choked her like molten lead. Her perky features twisted miserably. Then the life in her wide eyes went out like a snuffed candle. Her body teetered and slumped forward with a nymph-like grace. The last thing Suzy felt was her breasts hitting icy water, and then she was just flotsam in the flow.
The archer, Jerry, waded out to get her facedown body. The arrow in her back stuck up as stiffly as his cock. He rolled her over, spread her thighs and thrust into her pussy, then pivoted upstream so that the current pushed her pelvis against his. The dead girl bobbed inertly as the river flowed around her. Her tits gleamed wetly in the sun, and the water lapped her sullen upturned face. Her clit rubbed rhythmically against his penis. He could see the diamond droplets on the pink boss of each breast. He felt his climax coming and began to pump her fiercely, making Suzy flop and wallow till he flooded her with cum.
The dogs had fallen silent and were watching hungrily. He towed her back to the near bank and laid her out to dry. He wondered how the other guys were doing. How many sluts were left alive, and would he get to nail another one?
Tamsin had no inkling of the answers to those questions. She trembled, listening to the hush and nibbling her varnished fingernails. After half an hour, she couldn’t bear the waiting any longer. She began to creep between the trees, as timid as a fawn.
The birdsong and the scattered sunlight made the wood seem peaceful, but her heart kept up its pounding in her chest. The foliage thinned out and gave a view over a wheat field. She glimpsed a figure in the distance, pale and stiff – a scarecrow, she supposed. She peered across the vista. There was no sign of pursuers. No living figures were in sight beneath the vast clouds and the vaster sky.
The field was too exposed; the woods felt safer. She padded on through leafy shadows, pouting with self-pity and distress. Behind her, on the far side of the field, Emma hung limply, her arms bound to the scarecrow’s pole and her blonde head bowed over her dangling breasts. The whispering wheat reached almost to her ribcage. No passer-by would see the man who knelt in front of her. Toby kept on tonguing her plump pussy. He’d heard it was the thing to do before you screwed a girl.
Tamsin carried on until the trees ahead grew sparser and she glimpsed a clapboard house between the leaves. She fought against a spasm of hope, advancing warily. Reaching the treeline, she crouched low. There were several other buildings. It looked to be an isolated farm. No smoke above the chimney and no truck parked in the farmyard. But there was a line of washing out the back.
At the sight of women’s clothes, her hopes came welling up again. She scurried forward, still crouched low, towards the washing line. A sleeveless dress in snow white cotton twisted in the breeze, and Tamsin made for it and clasped it to her breasts. It mollified her sick sense of exposure. There were bras and panties hanging up as well. She started fumbling with the dress’s clothes pegs – then froze like a scared rabbit as the back door opened right in front of her.
A woman came onto the step as if she had been watching. Her hair looked prematurely grey, but her eyes had surely always been like flint. They studied the young English girl. Tamsin stared back, open-mouthed. Then: “Oh, please,” she whimpered, “I got kidnapped by some men.”
The woman seemed to ponder that. Her gaze flicked to the treeline. Then she beckoned her, and Tamsin bleated gratefully. She freed the dress and held it to herself as she came over. The woman took her gently by the arm.
She reckoned she must be a sight. Her red hair was in tangles and her eyeliner was surely smudged with tears. No doubt her gypsy earrings gave her a sluttish look. She almost wished the men had taken those as well …
The thought made her start sobbing with reaction and relief. The woman put an arm round her, and helped her through into the living room. There was a rocking chair beside the fireplace. The woman settled Tamsin in it. “Don’t you fret, dear. I’ll call 911.” She stroked the girl’s red hair, then padded back into the kitchen. Tamsin stemmed the flood of tears and used the dress to dab at her wet eyes.
She didn’t turn to look out through the window. If she had, she would have seen two vehicles appear over the hill. They came down the track towards the farm with a cloud of dust behind them, like a comet’s tail lit by the evening sun. A police car was in front, which would have heartened Tamsin further – at least, until she glimpsed the occupants. Beside the driver, Karen’s body drooped against the seatbelt. She still wore her impassive shades. Her unbound bosom joggled with each jolt. Behind her, Fran and Suzy lolled together on the back seat, their own breasts quivering like ripened fruit. Their faces were forlorn, but Suzy’s head was on Fran’s shoulder, as if their bitchy bickering was done. The arrows had been plucked out of their bodies. A red rosette splashed Fran’s pale chest, and Suzy’s fair hair was still dark and wet.
A pickup truck followed behind, with Emma as reluctant passenger. Her body had slumped sideways and her blonde head rested in the driver’s lap. It bobbed against his prick with every pothole. He dropped his hand to hold it there as the cruiser led the way into the yard.
Tamsin was still sniffling as the rocker’s motion soothed her. She heard the crunch of tyres and turned her head. The lights of a police car glided slowly past the window. “Thank God,” she whispered tearfully and hugged the starched dress closer to her breasts.
It sounded like two vehicles arriving. She heard the front door opening as the engines were switched off. Voices murmured and she strained to listen. Surely the cops would come straight in. But a minute passed, and still they talked outside. Tamsin felt a twinge of pique despite her situation. How dare they just ignore her after this? She got up from the chair, the dress still clutched against her body. As she took a step towards the door, she heard somebody come into the house.
It had to be one of the cops. His boots were heavy, clumping. Tamsin waited nervously and flicked at her mussed hair. But the man who stepped into the doorway wore no uniform. He was a thickset, balding man, and he held a two-pronged pitchfork in his hands.
Tamsin stood and stared at him, bewildered. His hungry eyes stared back at her. She felt a surge of panic from her gut. Her eyes went to the pitchfork’s wicked tines. Her mouth fell open. She snivelled faintly, helplessly. The fork rose and she backed away and screamed.
The rocking chair was closer than she realised. Its seat caught her behind the knees and she sat down with a jolt. Her scream became a whinny as the creaking chair reared backwards. She scrabbled at its arms and let the dress slide off her breasts. The rocker teetered, almost tipping over, then lurched forward. Tamsin screamed again, and then the pitchfork jabbed her breasts.
One tine punctured each firm tit above the swollen nipple and sank into her tender flesh. The redhead’s frantic scream increased in pitch. She tried to grasp the pitchfork, tried to force the prongs back out as blood came welling up around the buried points. But the old man gave a grunt and thrust them deeper. The pain of her pierced mammaries made Tamsin shriek afresh. She bucked and wriggled in the chair as the pressure tipped it backwards. The bloodied dress slid off her lap, allowing him to glimpse her dark red bush.
He paused to let the girl squirm for a moment. Her screams had sunk to a hoarse barking sound. Then he pushed again, digging for Tamsin’s vital organs. The left prong punctured her right lung; the left one pierced her heart. The redhead grunted in her throat and threw her head back sharply. Her hands clawed vainly at her chest and then her arms flopped limply to her sides. A final death spasm jerked her skewered body. It sent a quiver up the shaft, and then the girl was silent and inert.
Uncle Jeb braced a foot against her belly and dragged the tines back out again. Twin streams of crimson spurted from her breasts. Tamsin’s mouth stayed open, but her scream was past all hearing. Her blood spilled down between her thighs to stain the crumpled dress.
Outside, the other girls were being unloaded and their dangling bodies brought into the house. Tamsin’s corpse rocked to and fro as her friends were carried past her and up the stairs to bedrooms where their killers would take turns to ravish them. The woman’s hand was in her hair and stroking it again; but then she lowered her grey head to lick the fresh red blood off Tamsin’s tits.