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Taint

By: SpikedChoker



This story belongs more on a site featuring horror stories, but I've been assured that its erotic elements are strong enough to post on this site. Feedback is greatly encouraged, even if it's negative. This short little piece is the conclusion to a lengthy period of online play between four characters. I doubt I'll ever write the whole thing, as that's already been done quite well... I just felt the story needed some closure. 

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A suddenly quiet room, the only audibly noise is the sound of a creaking board as it swings back and forth on the single nail anchoring it in place, and a softer creak of rope stretched and stressed. Smoke fills the air, choking it with the smell of cordite and scorched flesh, and dimming the lighting to diffuse glows in the smog. The room used to be a richly decorated, quiet and cozy basement den. Real oak paneling lines the walls, where giant bookshelves don't cover them, filled to overflowing with neatly organized books and texts. A soft dripping noise breaks the subdued silence, seeming dimmed by the smoke, as something liquid drips to the dark marble tiled floor.

Standing in the middle of the wreckage of his den stands a monster out of horror stories, evoking thoughts of childhood boogie men, and the darkness that makes grown men scared when in the woods alone. Eight feet tall, the deformed mix of man and wolf stands still as his wounds heal, ragged lines across his fur closing up slowly, and holes patching themselves as bullets fall to the floor from his body, with small tinkling noises. A once beautiful brown pelt is stained black, and it has an almost oily complexion, a thin sheen of something coating the hair, and making it stick in ragged clumps, and gnarls. Long, deep scars show through in sections with no fur growing from them, especially his face and neck, which are lined with them.

Giant hands sport long, curved claws, serrated with a file, and dripping a green ichor to the floor. This is the source of the dripping noise, and where the drops of...whatever it is hit the floor, the tile hisses and bubbles, small craters melting into the surface. Finally the last of the wounds closes up, dropping a fifth bullet to the floor, and the giant beast shakes itself, flicking a fine mist of sweat, blood, and oily fluid around the room. It used to be a beautiful place, with fine decorations and furniture, but it's wrecked beyond recognition now. Bullets have chewed books from their shelves and covers, a small explosion has ripped boards all along a wall, revealing the cinder blocks behind them. But worst are the bodies.

One lies near the doorway, cut nearly in half, lower body barely attached to his chest. Another is sticking out from the wall, kneeling on the floor, his head smashed through the wood paneling, and crushed on the cement beyond. The shredded section of wall contains bits of ichor and body parts, testament to the explosion having accomplishing something. A fifth body lies at the feet of the tainted werewolf, still moving weakly, a pool of blood spreading out to finally touch the claws on the garou's feet. That dripping hand is raised to poise over the shredded back of the large man lying there, until another drop collects along one black claw, and drops to land on his torn flesh, eliciting a weak cry of pain, and new writhings. 

Snapping down suddenly, the man's groans cease as his neck cracks between powerful stained jaws, as the strong neck worries at the wound, until the man is assuredly dead. One body still moves in the room after that, as the wolf stays on one knee, worrying at the corpse, and eating his fill of the warm body. Wrists bound to a rope from the ceiling, the pink nude form of the cause of all this killing hangs unconscious, shock having delivered her from the end of the battle she missed. Discolored marks mar her perfect skin, and tears draw runnels down the dust that's settled on her cheeks, but somehow she managed to survive the violently pitched battle without a wound he hadn't already given her. 

With a final rip of flesh, the dark creature stands up, muscles rippling all down it's body, evident even under the fur and scars, a shudder of pleasure, derived from feeding on the pure human at his feet. Turning, he strides over to the to the girl who's now the centerpiece to the room again, and pauses in front of her, breath causing blasts of smoke to drift around her beautiful face, peaceful again in sleep, though even there she's tortured by the memories... Lifting a clawed fist as big as her head, he lifts one claw to pull a strand of hair from her face, and collect a line of moisture from those tears on her face. Slowly licking his claw clean, he drops it again, and waits as his claws slink back into the pads of his fingers.

She awakes with a gasp of pain as he runs his hand down her side, and she jerks to the side while coming awake, trying to escape the burning touch that just follows her. Reaching her hip, the burning hand rests there, the touch scalding as she grits her teeth and dances at the outer edge of her tether, trying to escape it. Suddenly the touch is a healing salve, and he traces back up along the burned path, leaving a sudden cool touch of healed flesh, the girl sagging limply against the ropes again, staring down. "Pity... You had such delightful fight in you at the beginning. Such attitude..."

Suddenly he spins, and dropping to one knee, places a massive shaggy head against the bloody tile floor, both arms extended up and back, an awkward position of subservience. He doesn't move for a long moment, and then answers a voice none in the room can hear, most because they're dead, but all because they're mortal. "Yes master... The human you spoke of chased after his sister, just as you predicted. He, and the rest of his clan have been destroyed... as you ordered...."

His voice held such strength, and mocking power when he addressed her, though he's quietly subservient now, almost whiny. Another pause, and he's speaking again. "But why there, master... what could those people hold that..." His words are cut off as the long red ribbon braided into the fur on the back of his head yanks him up, and then smashes his face to the floor with a crunch, new blood spilling to melt at the tiles. "Yeth mathter..." he mutters, face healing almost as fast as it broke. "But what of her? And the amulet the boy carried?" He bows again, face touching the tile, his arms in that awkward sweeping motion once more, as he acknowledges the authority of his command. "It will be done..."

Turning suddenly as the presence leaves, he spins to face the girl again, walking back to her with thudding footsteps that speak of doom. One giant furred hand rises to cup her breast, eliciting a gasp of pain as he burns her with his touch again, the long snout dipping to kiss her as well it can, loooong tongue lapping far into her mouth, into that gasp, before he pulls his face back a few inches from hers, pulling her to him with a hand on her back, pressing that delicious form up against his furred one. "You apparently don't matter, and are to be disposed of..." he hisses, his voice rasping slightly, though filled with power again. "I ought to finish you now... but you're another piece of my legacy... Every night I will live in your mind, and every sound will bring back my touch. You'll live, so that I will with you." 

Stepping away, he releases her to swing back, and turns to stride through the single fractured door, body shrinking slowly as he disappears out of sight, his mocking laughter echoing around the room, and swirling with the smoke, seeming to last until long after the medics, police, and coroners have come and gone. Smoke still lingers amongst the chalk lines and yellow tape, though his taint remains on the corrupted place, his laughter in the walls.

Tainted



What was it that made Adam bite that apple? A beautiful woman in all of her luscious flesh, a coiled snake wrapped sensuously around her waist as she, the woman, bit harshly into the crispness of the apple, the juice flowing down her throat. Did it make him howl? This woman was his, so shouldn't her mistake be his also? 

Maybe the woman didn't have a choice after all. I mean, she was drawn from his body, maybe it was his sin, his lust, which coated her naked body with the sweet, tainted apple nectar as it slid down her neck, dripping between her breasts, intermingling with her hair. Maybe it wasn't her fault.

And maybe it wasn't mine.

Man and woman cannot live together peacefully. Sex is too powerful, too harsh, too painful to live inside a neat, sweet cocoon. It's meant to be brash, and bold...to rip out your heart...I can't tell, I do not know how to love peaceably.

Maybe the snake didn't know what it was doing. I know I didn't. But the seduction, the seduction is so important and so addictive that, even though you don't want to, you have too.

Power is as thrilling as it is painful, and once you've felt the pain, felt the rush, you cannot give it up. Not for love, not for hate. No matter what it is that caused you to taste it for the first time, you will never release it.

I never meant to cause you anguish. But when you hurt me, I struck back. After awhile, I enjoyed it. Oh, not your hurt, never that, but the yearning in your eyes. Your tears, as they fell down your face tasted sweet. As sweet as that first bite into an apple.

It's easy; it's so easy to believe the sweet hisses in your ear as they speak of 

temptation, as they whisper of knowledge, happiness, fullness, nudity...and the stillness of the sky, when you look for answers promises you nothing. It denies nothing and the moon smiles down. It caresses your face gently, as if it approved.

A beautiful woman is summed up in her eyes. Adam lost that day, lost in the depth and the promises of a woman’s lashes, as they lowered, keeping secrets...keeping lies. Her eyes were the road to perdition, the end of innocence. I bet he went willingly. I know I did.

Sex is more than a physical act. It's an act of fire, an act of will and strength. And lust. You can lose yourself in the lust, in the will and the pain and the burn. It's the burn that lasts the longest, making you ache, making you wish, making you need. Adam had no will without his enchantress; he had promised it to her, handed it to her with a rib. 

I bet her smile was velvet.

Enchanted creatures, enchanting even, aren't to be held to blame for what they do. It's the enchantress who holds the power. The sorcerer who carries the blame. I can't promise you I didn't enjoy it, but I can say I never meant it to be that way.

Every time a word pierced the flesh, every time a fist lands its mark, the nectar pours thicker and thicker down her torso, collecting in her pores, pooling at her feet, so thick it looks like blood, but her smile remains, and Adam takes a step forward. 

I bet he loved her hair, wild and long, and after he took his first bite, I'm sure he wanted to wrap it around his wrist and jerk her to her knees. A powerful man, Adam, the most powerful the world had ever seen. She would have looked up at him with crystals in her eyes as she dared him to continue. As she begged him to stop. But the crystals would have mesmerized him as they mingled with the nectar.

I'm sure he told himself, told himself and G-d, that she made him do it. Made him want it. Made him take it. She offered him temptation, offered him the darkest of dreams...and then she coated herself in it...coated herself in the lust of an apple, with a serpent her only garment. I'm sure he swore that she asked, maybe even begged. And I'm sure he believed it himself. I wonder if her crystallized eyes ever melted. Did she shed real tears or just stare at him with crystal eyes? She taunted him, just as the serpent had taunted her. And in the same way, she wrapped herself around him, her hair his chain, her arms his prison.

Whether or not she wanted it, whether or not she pushed him to it, she got it all the same. And he became her rib...as they ate together, swallowing each other's sin.

When G-d came to walk with His clay He found crystal instead. Adam was confused and bewildered, ashamed and destroyed...but he wanted to start over, he wanted to taste her nectar, even there in front of his Lord. And she, she smiled the smile of serpents, a velvet heat made to melt.

As she stood, I'm sure the serpent slithered off; it's hissing a strange sort of laugh. And with a toss of her head, she held a man in her eyes. Hard eyes. Crystallized. She tasted her lips before nipping his neck. I bet she knew how to walk in way that makes a man think of silk and screams.

Adam thought of G-d and he thought of snakes. Confused, he had to choose. Following the sway of serpents’ hips, he heard his heart tighten and burst into flames.

She was an enchantress, and she was beautiful enough not to need the truth.

Turning your back on paradise causes pain. A rip, a burn, a tear. It's an ache that reaches so far into you that when it leaves, you hurt more than when it ached. The memory is bittersweet, as tempting to the soul as dried nectar on her flesh is to man. She was injury and she was salvation. And Adam was her vehicle to her own right of way.

Following behind her, he dragged her back to him. I can see his eyes, not crystal, but flame. Searing and scouring the woman that he had chosen, the woman who came from his side. He turned her into hate and love. And she turned him into need.

I wonder if they ever talked the woman of earth and the man of fire. We never did. I imagine that he never melted her crystals, and she never banked his need. Her hair would only be a handle, and his lust only a tool. They didn't trust, for they had come from perfection and weren't allowed to return.

If he left, if he turned back to the Garden and threw her off, would she have followed the serpent? Or would she have stayed, like a whisper, in the back of his head? Calling him out in the middle of the night when his fire was left to its own devices...he was addicted, and she was a perfect drug. Have I drugged you? Or have you drugged me?

Instead, she sings her serpents song...and he replies with a well-timed flame. Forever leads into eternity and we are all born with crystal eyes and burning tongues. Because that's the only way we know how to escape.

I never meant to hurt you, but the struggle is all I know. And as Eve dances for Adam, the flames ignite and my crystal glows.



Tainted



This is one I wrote and previously submitted under the title Amy. I deleted it from Lit because someone wanted to buy it, but since it also appears on other sites -- having been 'stolen' from Lit -- the deal fell through. So here it is again. If you haven't already read it I hope you enjoy it.

As usual I'd appreciate feedback.

GA -- Chiang Rai, Thailand -- 20th of February 2013.

From a letter dated 13th January1979:

... although I'm not evil I have committed evil, I have killed three people.

The first was out of love, the second an accident, and the third out of necessity -- or at least I considered it necessary at the time.

I just wanted to explain ...

One

THE GIRL WITH A SECRET looked intently at Billy. The expression on his face told her he'd asked on impulse, in one of those moments without logic. Despite her worries Amy felt a laugh bubble in her chest at his face, a comedy mask of disbelief. He obviously hadn't meant to offer, but once he'd asked, blurted it out really, the question hung there, floating amid the baking air of the overheated station buffet. Awkwardness ballooned between them while, in the frigid night outside, a seemingly endless goods train clack-clanked on a ponderous and lonely mission to some northern colliery. 

Eventually the metronomic clangour faded, and Billy was sure the next sound would be a refusal from the girl's mouth. Who in their right mind would accept the invitation? From a stranger; an old duffer like him, and at this time of night ...

Finally the girl sniffed, cuffed impatiently at her nose and then looked around the room as though considering her options. There weren't a lot of them available. A squaddie, with a soldier's trick of snatching rest, head on his forearms and with a scuffed and battered suitcase secure between his feet and the wall slept a few tables away. A surly attendant on duty behind the counter slopped a desultory grey dish-cloth around the formica, irascible and impatient to close up shop and be away home.

And there was the man.

Behind the raisin-faced indolent steward a clock showed the time approaching one o'clock, while the calendar beside told the date -- 2nd December 1978. A day in its infancy, with dawn's light still over six hours away. For Amy the day offered guilt, worry and uncertainty. The sudden and surprising surge of euphoria when she'd first run had dissipated somewhere between Edinburgh and the Tyne, now she was alone and hunted, with eighty-five pence in her pocket and a mug of British Rail coffee on the table in front of her.

And his offer.

She studied the man opposite, the one who'd asked if she needed somewhere to stay. He sat there, rumpled and worn in his thin blue jacket, but he looked OK, didn't strike her as a weirdo; she liked the look of his face, a road-map of experiences, interesting and interested, with kindly brown eyes, while his hair could do with a trim as it curled at the collar of his shirt. Nobody you'd look at twice, ordinary and mildly unkempt, a lonely old bachelor.

She could handle him.

"Will there be owt else?" the steward interrupted from behind his waist-high counter. He wondered at their business, the grey-haired man and the girl. It was an odd to-do. The girl had been sitting there for an hour or more, a pretty one, probably trouble. It was usually the way; the pretty ones caused the grief. The older fellah had been a more recent arrival. "We shuts at one," his arm swept to encompass his nocturnal mercantile kingdom. "But if tha wants goodies or another brew after ah've gone," he continued in his laconic Yorkshire way, "there's the vending machines ovver there. An' if you've a yen for music there's yon jukebox." He thrust his bristled jaw belligerently at the pair, briefly wondered at their business again before finally deciding he didn't really care and turned to his end-of-day duties.

The girl ignored the attendant, instead she nodded. "OK," she said and then shrugged with apparent unconcern. "It's past midnight and ahm alone and ahm a wee lassie. And you, you're a complete stranger. Och, yuh could be a raving barmpot, but yuh dinae look like a nutter ..." She lifted the mug and, confronting Billy over the rim, sipped at the now tepid coffee. Grimacing at the lukewarm, muddy residue she put the mug back on the table in front of her. "How auld are you?" she asked abruptly.

Despite his years in Aberdeen Billy didn't have an ear for dialect; the girl was Scots, he recognised that, but that was about as geographically accurate as he could manage, that she was from somewhere north of Berwick-Upon-Tweed. 

"Fifty-five," he answered truthfully.

"You don't look like a barmpot," the girl repeated as the attendant finally lowered the corrugated roller-shutter, clamped a robust-looking padlock through the hasp, shrugged on a thick donkey jacket and, dismissing them from his life, went out onto the deserted platform beyond the glass. His head still on his arms, the soldier stirred and muttered in his sleep. "And I'm a pretty good judge of character," the girl finished. 

Minutes later, decision made, with smoking breath and toting a canvas hold-all nearly as big as herself, Amy quietly hummed as she followed Billy along the station concourse. If yuh want muh body, an' yuh think I'm sexy ... she sang quietly to herself as Billy unlocked the car.

The heater fan in the old Allegro battled against the chill air while Billy, one hand in constant circles on the windscreen, peered through the persistently fogging glass and steered the car through the girder ribcage of Holgate Bridge towards Acomb.

The streets and roads were mostly deserted, with only two cars passing in the opposite direction. A scrawny fox crossed the road in front of them, eyes glowing eerily when the animal turned its face towards the approaching car before slinking into the green periphery of the city's edge.

A short time later the car's tyres crunched against gravel as Billy manoeuvred the vehicle between a set of ornate gateposts at the end of a long lane. He brought the Allegro to a halt and killed the engine. Amy was surprised to see the size of the place, Billy didn't look like he had much money but, as she blinked through the porthole she'd cuffed on the misted window beside her, she saw a large, imposing two-storey silhouette of Edwardian splendour palisaded by a high hedge, with sentinels of Oak and Elm guarding the gate. Her first impression was of sumptuous grandeur but, Amy noticed after stepping through the front door and the lights went on, the house wasn't as impressive as she'd first thought. It was, she compared, like its owner, threadbare and in need of care and attention. Not that Billy's domestic arrangements or the state of his home were issues high on Amy's priority list, this was temporary, one night only, in the morning ... or mid-afternoon at the latest, she'd be on her way.

Or so she thought.

Amy stood scrunched inside her parka, hands in pockets against the cold as her eyes flicked over the frayed man, while he, nervous and unsure grinned, shyly back at her.

"Could I have a bath?" she asked.

Surprised by the request, Billy paused before saying: "I'll have to turn the immersion on. It might take a bit to warm up, but you can have a bath, yes." He edged past Amy with a look of contrition on his face. "Sorry about the state of the place. I wasn't expecting ... well ..." He shrugged and grinned. "Well, you know ... a guest."

Amy followed him through the long hall of faded wallpaper. An old-fashioned Bakelite telephone with a cumbersome dial sat mute atop a long-legged stand at the foot of the stairs. Old fashioned furniture and ornaments dominated, the house appeared stuck in the nineteen forties, a relic of post-war austerity. She glimpsed the kitchen through an open door at the end of the corridor before Billy led her through a doorway to the left.

"There's a fire mended," Billy said. "I'll just get it lit and then turn on the immersion heater. We could have a cuppa while you wait if you like?"

Amy nodded. "Aye, that'd be great," she replied.

In the untidy kitchen, still huddled inside her coat, Amy blew over the meniscus of her tea to cool it down.

"Shouldn't be long," Billy said after taking a tentative sip. "While you're in the bath I'll make up a bed for you."

"Thanks, the girl responded, and then asked, "Live here alone?"

Billy nodded. Hesitating momentarily, he then said, "My mum left the place to me. I never married, spent most of my life away ... Royal Navy -- a diver," he added, "then I did some time on the oil rigs -- North Sea. Then Mum got ill, I looked after her ... She died, I retired early on a decent enough pension ... And here I am."

They moved to the living room where a fire struggled to life in the grate. The scent of acrid, waxy firelighters reminded Amy of home. A pang of guilt, anxiety and homesickness flared.

Home ... She couldn't go home.

To take her mind off her woes, Amy asked: "So why were you on the station at this time of night?"

Billy, on hands and knees, blew on the infant fire, cajoling it to glow brighter. He turned his head to regard the girl. "I get lonely in here. All my working life I've been used to be being around people, and this time of year ... Christmas coming ... It gets dark at half-four ... I get miserable with my own company. Sometimes I just have to get out, go anywhere, just to have some contact." He stood and wiped his hands carelessly on the back of his jeans. "Anyway," he said, "what brought you there -- in the station buffet? Ran out of money you said."

"Aye, somethin' like," the girl replied. 

Billy noticed her evasiveness, her awkwardness at being questioned. He veered away from that subject. "Any plans for Christmas?" he asked.

The girl shrugged inside the cocoon of her parka while she stared into the fire. After a pause she lied into the flames, "No really. I'll be in London by then. Muh wee pal has a flat down there. That's where I'm headin' soon as I can."

Billy didn't question any further, instead he suggested that perhaps the water would by now be hot enough for a bath.

While Amy splashed in the warm suds in the bathroom on the second storey, Billy sat in front of the fire nursing a whisky. He thought about the girl and wondered at the real reason that led to her being on the station concourse that night, at the mercy of perverts and predators. A pretty one despite the lank, unwashed hair and dishevelled traveller look; she had the bright blue eyes to go with the blonde hair and delicate elfin features. Amy had that spark of cheekiness, a glint in the eyes and quick grin that would catch the attention of any man who cared to look. He thought about her body under the parka and swathes of clothing, a body which would now warm and pink and glowing with the heat of the bath. He imagined her naked, saw her smooth-skinned and shiny, her pubic bush a matted and dripping beard between her thighs ...

Billy's cock thickened. "Perverts and predators," he muttered, surprised at his body's sudden tumescence. He swigged the harsh spirit in one go.

Beyond the curtained window, under sparkling winter stars which skimmed low overhead in a fragile and glacial panoply, frost thickened over the sleeping city. 

*

AMY WOKE IN SUDDEN, urgent panic. There was something in the room with her. She struggled to sit upright in a strange bed, in a room she didn't recognise, with the gluey residue of sleep fogging her brain and strands of a nightmare tugging her into despair.

Where the hell was she? Who was in the room with her?

Then she recalled the man, Billy, and remembered where she was, remembered bathing and recalled the whisky he'd offered at half-past two in the morning following her bath. A spare room in Billy's house, that's where she was.

Tendrils of the dream, the horrible dream wisped into her thoughts. He was dead, she was sure he was dead.

"Mam," she sobbed into the dark.

Daylight framed the edge of the blind but the room remained deeply shadowed and vague. Amy yelped when a shadow moved and a sudden weight pressed against her legs. She kicked and whimpered as fingers of terror gripped her guts, real fear this time, this was no dream. She struggled futilely against the bedclothes as the linen tangled around her legs in a conspiratorial embrace, which left her helpless and entirely at the mercy of the intruder.

The weight crept along Amy's body, stealthy yet insistent like fingers feeling along her torso, reaching for her neck ... 

Supine with fear, she lay panting, unable to even croak for help -- and what would be the use in shouting? The house was in its own grounds behind the high hedge, neighbours would never hear. 

Then, with a chagrined blurt of relieved laughter she heard the sound of a cat's purr and realised what was in the room with her.

Next she smelt the faint aroma of bacon cooking, the lure was irresistible. "Get lost," she muttered and turned in the cocoon of tangled bedclothes to shift the cat onto the floor. After finally struggling free and flinging the covers aside she squealed when her bare feet touched cold wooden boards. "Fucker," she hissed, dancing on tip-toes towards where she'd left her clothes piled on a wooden-backed chair. She dressed hurriedly, noticing the door was slightly ajar. That explained the feline intruder.

A quick, necessary toilette later, with residual emotions suppressed, she moved along the upstairs corridor and saw again the threadbare carpet and worn décor, even shabbier in the light of day. Oddly the banister rail looked to be new, sturdy and firmly rooted, with a recent jacket of gloss paint. Shrugging the anomaly aside Amy descended the stairs down to the lower storey. The ground floor told the same sorry story as the rest of the house but the kitchen welcomed her with a warm embrace of delicious aromas and the distinctive, familiar bass tone of DJ Simon Bates on Radio 1.

Billy turned from the sizzling pan and smiled cheerily.

"What time is it? Amy asked.

"Just gone twelve," said Billy. "You OK for the full fry-up? I didn't know if you'd want all this." He turned back to the stove to work magic with lard and sausage and eggs. Amy's stomach rumbled noisily, betraying her hunger. The man continued: "But I went out early and got the things in. Shop down the road does a good range of the staples." Billy moved around the deal table and scraped a chair across the lino to offer the girl a seat. "Sit yourself down. You want a cuppa? And what about breakfast? You're not one of those skinny Minnies that hates food, are you?"

A stale waft of trains, waiting rooms and fear floated upwards from her lap as Amy sat down. What had she packed in the carry-all? She'd have to change after breakfast. She thought of the rushed emptying of drawers and panicked stuffing of clothing into the bag while she'd fought against shock at the enormity of what she'd done. No time to think about what clothing she'd need, her departure had been a fraught, frazzled whirl of confused thoughts, Amy had taken whatever had come to hand in her haste to be out of the flat and away.

Away from him. Away from her crime.

"... I thought a good breakfast before you got your train would be just the ticket ... no pun," Billy continued, as he scooped two fried eggs on top of toast.

"Uh ... Yeah ... great," Amy replied, dragging her concentration back to Billy and his inane jabber about breakfast.

"It'll be dark in a few hours," Billy rattled on. "What time train do you want? I can run you to the station, but I thought you might have a particular service in mind. You probably don't want to leave it too late, might get stuck in a station buffet at midnight." He grinned over his shoulder at the girl while sliding sausage and bacon onto the plate next to the toast and egg. "Beans ...? Tomatoes ...?" he asked.

"Yes, please," Amy responded, taken aback by Billy's apparent rush to have her gone. "That'd be great. Ta."

"Nice cuppa tea to wash it down." Billy plonked a mug of steaming brew alongside the plate. He settled into a chair opposite the girl and smiled and winked. "Nothing like a proper breakfast on a cold day, eh? Brown sauce or red?" He proffered the bottle labelled with the iconic Houses of Parliament.

Amy signalled with a fork for the red bottle instead.

They ate in silence for a few moments. The cat, lured by warmth and the prospect of food, wound sinuously around Amy's ankles while the girl ate.

"So, what time do you want to make a move?"

Amy shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not sure when the train leaves for London." She absently dropped a piece of bacon rind to the floor for the cat.

"Oh they're pretty regular. Every half hour or thereabouts I think."

Miffed by Billy's continued, cheery insistence towards her departure, Amy munched in disgruntled silence. So the respite was truly only temporary. All she had to do was clean her teeth, change into whatever clothes she could find in the jumble of the hold-all and then take the short drive back to the station.

From there she hadn't a clue.

Billy left it until the last moment before he challenged the girl. Outside the station a taxi driver tooted an annoyed horn and gesticulated rudely to indicate that the Allegro was causing an obstruction. Ignoring the irate driver and his forked fingers, Billy regarded Amy with a serious face. "There isn't a friend with a flat waiting for you, is there?" 

"Uh-uh," she responded, her long hair swishing against the rolled hood of her parka.

"And how much money do you have ... exactly?"

"Eighty-five pee."

"And no ticket?" 

The head went from side to side again. 

Billy sighed heavily. He swivelled slightly in his seat to confront Amy. "So what's your plan? Where will you go? What about tonight?" The girl's forlorn expression told him all he needed to know. "You want to come back to the house?" he asked softly.

Billy smiled as the car passed between the stark and skeletal frame of Holgate Bridge towards home. The girl, Amy, if that was her real name, would probably end up a disappointment; she might rob him blind and slide into the night, but he was willing to take the risk. The moods were on him again and she'd be bright company for however long she stayed.

He had no inkling of what lay ahead.

Two

THEY SAT in the King's Arms pub on the bank of the River Ouse. Seasonal decorations adorned most of the available surfaces, with a discrete sprig of mistletoe hanging above the bar. Bright streamers garlanded the fireplace while fairy lights winked in the mullioned windows frosted with false snow. In a corner alcove away from the door, Amy sipped at her wine while Billy held a pint of Samuel Smith's. 

Three days on and Billy still hadn't winkled much information from Amy. "What's up, girl? You seem distracted," he said.

Amy flinched at the question, swigged the glass empty and slid it towards Billy's three-quarter full pint pot. "Can I have another, please?"

He stared at her for a long moment, opened his mouth on the verge of pressing the question and then shook his head, dismissing the issue for now. "Sure," he said, easing his knees from beneath the table.

"I'm sorry," the girl said when Billy returned with her wine. "I'm just a wee bit nervous. A strange city an' all that. And I'm missin' me mam."

"Are you going to tell me about where you come from, Amy? Why you turned up here with just some change in your pocket and nowhere to go?"

The girl sipped at her drink before placing the glass purposefully on the table. She tilted her head to one side and smiled shyly at Billy. "Och ... It were nothin'," she began. "A bit of a spat with my father. He threw me out an' I just went; I was blind angry, see; I didnae have a clue what I was about, so I took some money from his wallet and buggered off to the station. I got from Motherwell to Edinburgh and there in the station was a train for London. I just got on. When the conductor came around I only had cash enough for York ..." Taking another sip of wine, she smiled around the glass. "An' that's it," she finished. "That's where you come in." Billy had his doubts about the tale but left his misgivings unvoiced. After swigging at his beer he nodded toward the bar. "I'll just get a pint, you ready for another?"




Tainted



"Might as well. Cheers." Amy drained the glass and held it towards the man. "So," she said, deliberately brightening when Billy settled back onto his seat. "What about you? No wife you said, but what about a lady friend? Is there no woman that you fancy?" 

With secrets of his own, it was Billy's turn to bluster. "I ..." he began. "That's a little personal," he lamely responded, hiding his discomfit behind the pint glass.

"Aw, c'mon," Amy teased, distracted from her troubles by her innate curiosity. "You musta had a girl at some point. Ye cannae be a virgin. Not after being in the navy an' on the rigs an' all." A sudden prospect made her blink. "You're no gay, are you?"

"No, no." Billy denied, shaking his head for emphasis. "It isn't that. The navy ... being away all that time; I never found the right woman. Then there was the rigs and then my mother ..." 

Amy saw Billy's eyes glaze into a stare of introspection; she placed a hand on Billy's thigh and squeezed. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to bring up memories of your mam."

Billy looked down to where the girl's fingers rested on his leg. He lifted his eyes to her face. "That's alright," he replied, his voice gruff with sudden desire. Three days and nights of thinking about her, the torment in his bed, lonely and unfulfilled even as his semen spurted from his cock. He could feel the heat from Amy's body as they sat side by side on the bench seat. Her hair shone gold under the lamp-light in the pub while dusk fell in a sudden and heavy curtain outside. The top two buttons were undone on the borrowed shirt the girl wore, Billy imagined her breasts, large and round on her slim frame beneath the cotton.

Sensing the sudden shift in mood, and rather than pull away, Amy slid closer. Billy reminded her of Patrick; him, older, a friend of her da's, her lover until her father found out. Amy missed him too, she missed the games he played and the way her guts twisted with desire. She missed the intimacy. Patrick might be a womanising bastard, but the things he did to her ... A paradoxical clump of melancholy at being forced to run away from home, and the residual feelings of lust and wanting for Patrick curled inside the girl. Then she remembered the storm of shouted accusations and threats from her dad when he discovered the affair. She recalled the fight that erupted suddenly, her mother's pleas and da's rage, raised fists and voices, and an angry, sneering mouth twisted with hate and humiliation. Pa turning on her mum; Amy reaching for the skillet ...

In the pub, on the bench seat opposite the painted lines that marked the flood levels of the Ouse, with thirty-six years between them melting in the crackling, jumping heat of the log fire, their heads moved closer together. Amy sensed the coming kiss and her sex clenched with anticipation at what might follow ...

"These glasses dead?" a voice interrupted. The bored, dispassionate barmaid, whose thoughts lay only with the party she was invited to later that day, pointed down at the table.

Billy blinked at the sudden intrusion, nodding his head and waving the glasses away while immediately sliding along the seat, breaking the contact between their thighs.

Suddenly embarrassed, a gruff-voiced Billy said, "We'd better go." He stood and reached for his coat. Shrugging on her parka, Amy hurried after Billy as he abruptly left the pub.

In Acomb the taxi pulled up outside the gates. Amy waited at the front door while Billy paid. Neither said a word as the sound of the car's engine faded away towards the city. The cat appeared purring and fussing and meowing when the key snicked into the lock.

"Do you want a drink?" Billy asked. 

Amy nodded, subdued as she recognised the man's truculence. Moving from the kitchen to the living room, wine glass in hand, Amy, still in her parka against the perpetual cold, settled into a worn and tattered arm chair. Forlorn home-sickness settled hollowly in the pit of her stomach and tears pricked while she sat marooned on her island of despondency, surrounded by the faded, peeling wallpaper and sedimentary layers of dust. The house continued its long, slow, inexorable slide into Miss Havisham decline. A monochrome snapshot of Billy aging slowly spiked in the girl's heart and she felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of compassion for the man. He'd been so kind to her; opened his home, albeit ramshackle and in need of a good spruce; shown her nothing but kindness; hadn't pried, hadn't tried anything ...

She decided Billy deserved to know the truth.

"Light the fire, Billy," Amy said, "there's some things I have to tell you ..."

*

THE ROOM WARMED SLOWLY. Billy slid the mesh screen of the fire guard over the flagstone hearth and with an air of expectation and some trepidation sat in a chair opposite a nervous, fidgeting Amy.

"I haven't been totally honest," she began.

"I did think that anyway—"

"—please," Amy interjected with an upraised palm and pained expression. "Just let me get it all out before I lose muh bottle. OK?"

Billy nodded and sipped whisky.

"I haven't been totally honest. I've done something bad ... really, really bad. Something I could go tae prison for. Before I tell you, I want you to know that I'm telling you because I like you, Billy, and I don't want to lie to you. You're a kind man who took me in when I had nothing in front of me but trouble; and I'm ever so grateful for that. Don't forget that. Don't forget that I like you, I wish I could pay you back in some way, but I'm afraid that after I tell you ... Well, you might not want me here anymore."

A long silence followed, the only sound was the crackle and spit from the fireplace. The couple stared at each other across the room. Amy swigged the wine and held the glass to Billy in mute request.

He poured and the girl carried on.

"I've killed me da," she revealed abruptly. Billy's eyes widened and he leaned forward in his seat. On the verge of speaking his mouth gaped before clamping shut. He gestured with a hand for the girl to continue. "I did it 'cos I thought he was gonna hurt me mam. I didn't mean to do it; it was just in the middle of a blazing row. He was shoutin' an' carryin' on and threatenin' all-sorts ... Mam was in the middle of it an' she was shoutin' and cryin' ... He turned to her and I really think he woulda hurt her. So I brained him with a skillet ...

"... I did it 'cos I thought he was gonna hurt mam," Amy repeated. She looked at a silent Billy, her eyes wide. Anxiety curled in her guts, a sinuous coil of apprehension. "What are you gonna do, Billy? Will you fetch the polis? Do you want me to go ... Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Thinking about his own past: "I understand," Billy said softly.

Three

SURPRISED AT THE MILD REACTION, she'd expected differently, Amy heaved a sigh of relief. Tension poured out in that great exhalation and the girl suddenly felt effects of the wine.

With homesickness and guilt temporarily set aside with a buzz of alcohol, Amy experienced a sudden lewd desire. "Shall I tell you the whole story?" she asked. An insidious tickle of lascivious wickedness itched between her legs; her libido woke and purred. Amy felt a quick reckless desire.

Still surprised by Amy's revelation, Billy gave an ambivalent shrug before eventually nodding.

"Patrick was my dad's pal. They'd been friends for ages. He's one of those who sees a joke in everything, never takes it too serious. He's a cheeky chappie with an eye for the ladies. I knew he was trouble. I knew he was dangerous -- good-looking and dangerous, and I fancied him cossa it.

"I'd never have done anything about it; woulda just fancied in him in mah own wee way, but I was out one night with muh pal, Jenny. It was all her fault. If she hadn't thrown hersel' at him ... 

"We met Patrick in a pub and Jenny, a bit o' drink in her, was all brave an' mouthy. Said she'd fancied Patrick for ages an' was bangin' on about how she was gunna fuck 'im ..."

Amy paused momentarily. "... Do you mind if ah use swear words? Will you be offended?" she asked.

Tingling with booze Billy wondered where this tale was going. He felt a distant stirring of lust, a heat deep in his guts, a thrill of anticipation he'd not felt since ... 

Sylvia, he thought. A stab of guilt pricked his heart. He should tell Amy about Sylvia.

He pushed the dark memory into the stygian murk from whence it had slithered. It was done; there was nothing Billy could do to bring her back. Sylvia was gone, a calcified collection of eternal remorse.

The room felt suddenly warm. Billy; he shook his head. "No," he croaked, head woolly with spirits and confused by memories. He sipped again. "I won't be offended," he finished.

"So Patrick bought Jenny and me drinks," Amy continued, oblivious to the inner turmoil twisting through Billy. "And Jenny set out to get him. I was a bit pissed off with it, after all I fancied him too, and though I may have had a man or two, I'm not as big a slag as Jenny.

"The boys have always liked me. They tell me I'm pretty and sexy an' that. An' even years ago they'd always give me sweets and squabble to be my favourite. All innocent it was back then, but it changed when I got older. I'm not being vain or anything, just saying it as I see it. My boobs got bigger, I got some shape to me and suddenly the men were after me. I had a boyfriend or two, like I said, but nobody prepared me for Patrick.

"Anyway, Jenny made her play for Pat, being dead obvious and common, but Patrick seemed to like it. He was laughin' an' jokin' an' bein' suggestive; and in the end we wiz all stoshus and ended up at his place.

"An' soon it all got pretty bad."

Amy squinted at Billy. "Are you sure you dinae mind me tellin' you this? I mean ... what happened next ... It's pretty rude." The girl shrugged and drained the glass. "If you want me to stop ..." She stared blearily.

"Don't stop," Billy replied hoarsely. "Another drink?" he suggested.

He fed a log to the fire and then handed yet another glass of wine to Amy. The girl continued.

"At first it was just a bit of a laugh," she began. "Patrick was messin', being stupid and jokin' as usual. I could tell Jenny was miffed, y'know, two's company an' all that ... I knew she wanted me to go, but I didn't leave, I wouldn't leave. Badness made me stay. We just sat there in the living room of his flat. It was pretty minging right enough, but I'd had too many lagers to care about how dirty the place was, so ...

"Anyway, like I says, we just sat there drinkin' and grinnin' at each other. Then Jenny gets up and goes to him an' sits hersel' in his lap. Next I know is they're snoggin'. Tongues ... his hand up her skirt ... her startin' te moan. An' they just get hotter. I'm sat there and I sees Jenny hoikin' hersel' up off his lap so's Patrick can get his fingers into her knickers. Then he lifts her top up so's her bra's on display. An' before I know what's happenin', Jenny's half nekkid, her fluff plain to see from where I'm sat, while Patrick's tellin' her what he's gonna do to her. 

"By now it's too late fer me to leave, or so I think, so I just sits there, drinkin' me can an' watchin'. I look at Patrick and he's kinda ... leering at me with this stupid smirk over his grid. He goes on starin' ... and then, calm as you like, kinda shrugs Jenny to one side -- and the daft bitch is still moaning on, her eyes closed, about how good it felt to have him suckin' her tits an' how she wants him to keep doin' it -- and he unzips his jeans ...

"And this thing flops out."

Amy laughed then, a half-hiccup of embarrassment and mirth. She looked across at Billy and guffawed. "His cock ..." she spluttered. It's enormous. Thick and veiny ... It's like an alien ... And he's waving it at me an' grinnin'.

"Then Jenny cottons on that he's got his todger out. She slides off his lap, looks at me an' says, 'Watch me suck this' ... 

"An' she does it. Bold as ye like. Isn't bothered a jot that I'm watchin'. She kneels on the carpet and opens her mouth to take this ... thing ... an' she sucks it. Her tits are hanging outta her bra; her skirt is up round her waist; she's got this massive cock in her mouth ..."

Amy paused, staring at Billy with heavy-lidded eyes. "This is making me sexy, Billy," she murmured. "You shoulda seen it. It was so filthy. I've never seen anything like it. My friend on her knees, half-naked, with that big cock in her mouth ... I wanted it to be me. I wanted it to be me doing that to him. I wondered what it tasted like; I wondered how it would feel to have that thing between my lips." The girl shifted in the chair. "It's making me sexy, Billy," she repeated. "I ... I want to ... touch myself." She squirmed again. "I touched myself while I watched them, Billy."

Billy gazed at the girl. The angelic face juxtaposed against the bow-shaped lips that formed those sewer images in his head ... He could see, could imagine the scene. His cock thickened, a reaction that surprised him, and he only just resisted the urge to expose himself to the glazed-eyed girl.

A swirl of fragrant log smoke puffed down from the chimney. Billy sniffed at the high, pungent scent, a reminder of the last time he'd felt the carnal surge this strong.

Sylvia ...

The trace of spicy smoke brought back the persistent memory of that night.

Was it really three Christmases ago now? 

He'd wanted her that night, at first, but her anger at his failure ... She'd blamed him, as though it was a rejection. She'd taken it personally.

A cry burst out from Amy, jolting Billy back to the present. "Oh, Billy!" she exclaimed, squirming against the worn fabric of the cushion. "I had to do it while I watched them. Patrick told Jenny to get onto it. He was right aggressive about it. Not in a way that meant he'd smack her if she didn't, just bossy. And Jenny ... Well, she just squealed like the daft bitch she is and scrambled on top of him. She knelt with her legs over his thighs, facing him so's her boobs were swinging in his face. She was pantin' and moanin' and babbling all kinds o' filthy words and then ... Oh fuck, Billy, you shoulda seen it. Patrick reached around Jenny's body and pulled her open ... I could see everything. Her ... her ... her cunt was gapin' wide for him., all hot and wet and pink ... I could see her arsehole too he was holding her arse cheeks so far apart. Then Patrick, as he reached around her, held his thing upright with his other hand and just ... eased it into her.

"And then they just did it. They fucked right in front of me an' I watched 'em do it. His cock just split her open and I just had to frig myself. I wanted to join in but daren't do that. So I watched my friend fuck Patrick's cock; I listened to her moaning and sighing and begging him to stick it in her ... And I rubbed myself, felt myself get hotter and sexier and I could feel myself getting set to come ...Then I saw Patrick kinda scrunched under Jenny an' looking at me from under her arm where she's holding onto the chair back. He stared at me and pulled Jenny's arse down so's she screamed louder as his cock went deeper. And then he mouthed somethin' to me. At first I couldn't make it out, but then I made sense of it. You, he was sayin', I want to do this to you too.

"And I knew that somehow he meant for us to be alone, without Jenny. There was a look on his face, something in his eyes that told me that Jenny was just a slag that he was fucking for the laugh, but that I was better than that and that he wanted me properly.

"Then I came. Patrick grunted and swore and held Jenny's body tight down with his arm round her waist. I knew he was comin' too, knew he was squirting spunk into my friend. The thought of him spunking inside me instead o' her, as crazy as that idea was, I don't want no wee-uns, no kids, not at my age, but the thought o' him coming inside me sent me over the edge. They lay there, Jenny sprawled atop of Patrick, pantin' and groanin' until she realised that Patrick coulda just got her pregnant and she screamed and jumped up quick. A big dollop of goo dripped outta her as she climbed off Patrick's lap. It was so dirty, but seeing his spunk dribbling out of Jenny like that ... Well, it made me sexier than ever. I could see how shiny and wet Pat's cock was and I wanted to feel that thing inside my body. I probably woulda just let him fuck me there and then, but Jenny was carryin' on about babies and johnnies and what a fuckin' pig he was to do it in her. It ended up with us getting dressed and me spending most of that night with Jenny at her house tryin' to calm her down.

"Two days later Patrick chapped at our door. He made some excuse about him and da goin' out sometime, but he passed me a note when I told him da wasn't home -- which he'd known anyway, the bastard. 

I went to his flat that night.

*

THE CAT REGARDED BILLY with eyes that had studied the carnal acts of pharaohs; the peccadillos of twentieth century man were no surprise. Seeing Billy awake the cat yawned, showing sharp, precise razors in its pink mouth before stretching luxuriously and rippling like a waterfall from the chest of drawers upon which it had been perched. Billy turned in his bed as the animal slinked through the narrow gap between the door and the jamb. The girl's eyes were already open.

She blinked and smiled. "You should get a Christmas tree," Amy said.

Billy blinked at the odd statement; it wasn't what he'd expected from her. He studied his hangover. How much whisky had he put away?

"And some decorations," Amy added.

"I'm sorry," Billy began. "About last night ... You must be ... I'm embarrassed ... You ... You're so beautiful ... And I can't ..."

Blonde hair fanned across the pillow while Amy looked at him tenderly. She smiled and soothed Billy's anxiety with the tilted corners of her mouth. "Och, I'm embarrassed too. Not because of ..." Amy paused. "Not because of that," she added hurriedly. "I'm no bothered about you not ..." Amy squirmed her naked body closer to Billy beneath the covers. "I'm embarrassed about the way I carried on. Telling you all that stuff about Jenny and Patrick; the language I used ..."

"I enjoyed it. Hearing you talk like that ... It was very sexy. And I did feel it; I did find it arousing. I just can't ..."

"It's OK. Dinae worry about it."

"There was a woman," Billy explained. "A couple of years ago ... one Christmas not long after mum died. It ... it ended badly. Mum's death seems to have been the cause of my ... problem. But for whatever reason I couldn't manage the sex with Sylvia and she took it personally, thought it was a rejection. It isn't that the mechanics aren't there, I can get hard, I can even ... you know ... ejaculate. I just couldn't manage it with her ... or anyone," he qualified quickly, "but it was a big deal with Sylvia ... It led to tension and we fought ..."

"Really, it's alright," Amy murmured. "You don't have to tell me anything. I'm relieved you took the news so well, about my da. I didn't mean to kill him ..." Amy's face crumpled. "Oh, Billy," she sniffed. "I feel so bad about it all. My poor father, he wasn't a bad man, he was just ragin' about Patrick and me. But I thought, 'cos he was so mad, that he'd hurt mum. I don't know what to do ..." The girl sobbed and her body heaved as she nestled close against Billy. He put his arms around her.

Stroking Amy's hair, he said, "Stay here as long as you need to." He let the girl cry. "Best to get it all out.

Amy's dreadful, wracking sobs subsided to a series of sniffles. "Could I phone my mother?" she asked quietly.

Billy kissed the top of Amy's head. "Of course," he replied softly. "She must be worried about you." He watched as the girl left the bed. Residual desire from the previous night rippled through him when Amy, nude and lithe, bent to gather her clothes from the bedroom floor. She dressed quickly against the morning cold.




Tainted



"I'll be back soon," she said, wiping her sleeve across her face. "Thank you."

Billy thought about Amy's story. His cock stiffened with vicarious voyeuristic arousal as Amy's lurid description came back to him. His impotence seemed conditional, fantasy posed no problem, it was when he was faced with the physical act that his body betrayed him. Even with Amy in his bed fumbling with his cock, even after the lurid details of Jenny and Patrick's coupling, and even after the description of her own acts with Patrick, Billy's penis refused to stiffen.

"As I was getting ready," she'd said. "I kept telling myself I wasn't going to go to his place. I took a bath, shaved my legs and underarms, sprayed on perfume, and all the while I kept on kidding myself that I wasn't going to go. I thought about wearing some tarty clothes to make his eyes pop out of his head. Thought about teasing him, seeing how far I could push him before I turned it off and told him I didn't fancy him and wasn't going to fuck him. It seemed like a good idea, but I changed my mind about being obvious. He'd fucked Jenny 'cos she was a slag, I remembered him looking at me as Jenny fucked him, and how he'd be disappointed in me if I turned up dressed like that.

"But then I reminded myself that I wasn't going to his place anyway ...

"And of course, deep down, I knew what was going to happen. I would go and he'd fuck me.

"And I wanted him to. I wanted to see his cock again. This time I'd suck it, I'd feel how thick it was in my hand, and I'd feel it stretching me open and fill me up. By the time I got to Patrick's block I could feel my knickers were soaked. Everything tingled. My nipples were aching and stiff, my clit throbbed, and my cunt ..." Amy had reddened with embarrassment at that word.

In the bed, while Amy made her phone call, Billy began to slowly stroke his erection.

"... My cunt was positively growlin'," she'd ended.

"Amy," Billy muttered to the empty room while his fist quickened along his shaft.

"He didn't say much to me," Amy had continued her story. "Just looked at me and smirked. I coulda slapped the smug bastard's face. He knew what I wanted, knew exactly why I was there. He had the power. I wanted him to stick that big cock into me. I wanted him to do it to me and he knew it. The bastard," Amy repeated.

"It didn't take much. Although he teased me, kidded on that he just wanted to see me so's he could find out about Jenny. I don't think he gave much of a stuff if she was pregnant or no, but he pretended to be concerned right enough.

"All the time, all I could think of was getting fucked. I wasn't bothered about Jenny, didn't give a fig for her right then. All I cared about was Patrick giving it to me like he had her. 'You got johnnies?' I asked. He nodded and then smirked again. 'I've got 'em,' he said. 'You get outta that dress and show me what a hot little bitch ya are.'

"When I was nekkid he leered at me. He had this hungry look in his eyes. My stomach flipped over when he looked at me like that; I thought I was going to piss my juice all over his fuckin' carpet. My nipples stuck out a mile an' I could see him thinkin' about suckin' 'em."

Billy tugged harder at his erection. Despite the freezing temperature he kicked the bedcovers clear.

"Patrick unzipped his jeans and pushed 'em down his legs," Amy had said. "When I saw his thing juttin' out it was already hard. I didnae say a word, just walked slowly to him and reached for it. When I took hold of it he kissed me. An' I knew then that it was me who had the power.

"I told Patrick that if he wanted to fuck me, and I could see he was desperate to, then he'd have to lick me. I'd not had that done to me much before. Problem is, living with parents, there's not much privacy; and even when mam and da were out at the same time, one or both of my wee brothers would be in the house. Not much opportunity to broaden my sexual horizons ... But Patrick had his own flat, he was gaggin' to have me, and so I thought I'd make the most of the opportunity.

"When I told him that he'd have to do it before I'd let him shag me he was only too keen. And he was good at it too. He took me to his bedroom, stripped himself nekkid, and lay me back on the bed. We kissed all the while; his tongue was in my mouth and his fingers were everywhere else. Patrick touched my clit an' I nearly went through the roof, it were that sensitive. He had his hands on my tits and was panting and moaning and going on about how lovely there were.

"Tell the truth I was as hungry for his cock as he was to fuck me. There was just something about Patrick that I liked. I knew he was a bastard and that he wouldn't care a jot for me other than the sex, but he was irresistible ... And there was his huge cock to think of too. Anyway, he was fingering me and licking my tits and then kissing me ... It got to so's I didnae have a clue. And then he pushed my thighs wide and I felt his hot breath between my legs. I fuckin' exploded when his tongue squirmed inside me that first time. That was all it took. I came and I came, and Patrick just kept suckin' at me. I remember, when he was about to stick that thing into me for our first fuck, he'd put a rubber on it, I'd insisted that he had a johnnie on, Jenny had scared me enough with her ranting on about babies an' that, but just as he nudged against me and the head popped in, we kissed."

Billy's breathing became urgent pants as he recalled the final details of Amy's description. "Yes," he grunted. "Yes. Oh, Amy ... I wish it was me fucking you. You're so bloody gorgeous ..." He pictured the girl as he'd seen her the night before. Saw in his mind her swaying breasts, her tight, narrow waist and broad hips. The view of her from behind ... Her backside so round and taut and delectably sculpted.

What would her cunt feel like around his cock? Would she be tight? Tight and slick with arousal he imagined. He imagined her breasts heavy in his cupped palms and thought of her nipples in his mouth, one after the other as he suckled at those pebble-sized teats ...

He came, the jizm arcing in a sublime rush of ecstasy, a steep parabola of release that spattered down onto skin and flesh and bedcovers.

Amy walked into the bedroom. Wordlessly she moved to the side of the bed. "That was so sexy," she murmured.

She leaned low over the supine man as he stared up at her, semen cooling on his belly and chest. They kissed while Amy's fingers smeared the goo over Billy's skin. 

Four

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED were happy for Billy. The spectre that stalked the periphery of his thoughts, the dark-robed, hooded figure, a portent of disaster, receded. Billy was sure it would return, Sylvia would trouble him again, but for now, for Christmas, he had Amy. There was still the concern for Amy's state of mind, her anguish at being away from home and family, and her guilt over her crime, but he did his best to take the girl's mind off her troubles. By day they walked, breath smoking and ruddy-cheeked, through the ancient city's streets, out among the crowds of Christmas shoppers and thronging tourists. Billy showed Amy the Minster, the triple-towered cathedral visible for miles around; he even climbed the 275 steps to the top of the Central Tower from where they looked across the iron-hard winter ground of Vale of York. Inside the boundary of the Roman wall they wandered through the Tudor Shambles, where the fifteenth century gables leaned and almost touched above their heads.

Amid the festive decorations and lights, Billy treated Amy to afternoon tea in Betty's Cafe. "What's all those names scratched onto the mirror about?" Amy asked after what proved to be a more sumptuous meal than she'd imagined.

"During the Second World War," Billy explained. "The basement bar was a favourite of soldiers, sailors and airmen. They used a diamond-tipped pen to etch their names into the glass. Quite poignant really," he added with a trace of the old melancholy. "Anyway," Billy brightened, "what happened on the phone? You never said ... And you distracted me when you came back."

Amy shrugged and pulled a face. "I couldn't talk properly. My ma answered the phone and I just blurted that it was me, I was OK, safe and well and comfortable. I said I was sorry about da ... And that was it. I hung up." The girl's face lifted in a smile. Billy's heart warmed at the sight. "When I went back up the stairs I saw you ...watched you wanking. It turned me on to see you do it." Amy's face became serious. "Shall we go back to the house?" she murmured. "Drink some wine, light the fire ... And I'll tell you more about Patrick and me. Maybe I can watch you do it again, or you could watch me?"

The house and cat welcomed the pair. A full day with vacuum, polish and duster had lifted the shabby coat from the place. It was still worn and threadbare, but Amy's insistence on bright streamers, fairy lights and a tree bedecked with baubles gave the tired old décor a festive, Christmassy feel.

"I'll just give this damned cat some food," Billy laughed as the animal weaved between their feet, meowing. "You pour wine."

Shadows flickered in the candlelight and in the glow from the newly lit fire. The portrait of Billy's mother, which usually sat on the antique rosewood chiffonier, had been withdrawn. It didn't seem right to Amy that the gentle-faced old lady should hear the girl's tales of debauchery and so she'd hidden Billy's mother away.

"I went to Patrick's flat most days," Amy began. "It was a great time, nobody to disturb us. Sometimes I'd tease him. I'd sit in a chair with my legs over the arms and make him sit and watch me while I played with myself. At first, when I did it the first time, I was so embarrassed about showing him everything like that; I mean he could see right inside me, or at least he could once I'd gotten over being so shy about it and spread my lips with my fingers. It was great, he was going mental wanting to get at me, but I kept telling him that if he touched me, if he got off that seat or just lifted his arse an inch, then I'd put muh clothes back on and be away home. I was bluffin' o' course. If he'd come to me he coulda done anything he wanted. But it was a great game.

"Do you want me to show you? Now that it's nice and warm in here ..."

Amy squirmed in her chair. Billy gazed at her while the fairy lights on the tree blinked. Outside, in the frigid night, the cat prowled, traffic moved along the city's streets and lanes, everyday people went about their everyday business, while inside the house Billy suffered a torment. He couldn't compete with the virility of Patrick, couldn't hope to measure up against the size of the man's penis -- not if Amy's description was anything to go by; and then there was his impotency, an impossible hurdle to overcome. 

The guilt jabbed him with its poisoned-tipped talons. He'd been here before, with Sylvia.

And look how that had ended.

"I don't know, Amy," he replied eventually. "I mean I'd like you to tell me, yes, it's so sexy, and you're so beautiful ... it'd be lovely to watch you do that, but ..."

"I know," the girl said softly. "I understand. You're worried ... maybe embarrassed, I dunno ... But," she went on in a slow whisper, "I want to do it. I want to do it for me as much as for you. I like it, showing myself off; if I could get away with it without getting into trouble ... why I'd love to flaunt myself to a room full of blokes."

The girl wriggled again. She inched the skirt up her thighs, baring the skin inch by inch. Billy sat and stared, transfixed despite his anxieties. Raising her buttocks from the cushion Amy eased her underwear along her legs. Lifting her feet, she slid the scrap of cloth over her boots and smiled at Billy; not a warm and tender smile, more a grin of devilment. Candlelight flashed in her eyes, a glint of lewd wickedness. Rucking the skirt higher around her hips, Amy squirmed again until her legs were hooked over the arms of the chair. Exactly as she'd described, a vulgar re-enactment and she splayed the folds of her labia.

Amy peered down along her torso, examining her sex. She looked up, saw Billy gawping, and grinned.

"Amy," Billy croaked. "Dear God ... Amy ..."

The girl looked into Billy's face. Lust burst through her when she saw the contorted expression. She saw hunger in his face; it was just how Patrick had looked.

Amy snickered, a dark, rich bubble in her throat. Her eyes glinted, slitted and dangerous as, with a sly, vulpine grin, she slid her forefinger over her clitoris. "Oh, fuck," she gasped, exaggerating the profanity on purpose to further arouse Billy. "My cunt," she swore. "It's so hot ... and so wet." She stared a challenge at Billy, who sat immobile, mouth agape, boggling at the image of the nubile girl who flaunted herself. "You should come here and taste it." The words came on a waft of exhalation as Amy gasped her desires. "I want you to, I want you to come here and lick me. Taste me. Finger my cunt and lick me. I could come if you'd just do that for me."

The cowboy boots Billy had bought for the girl waggled in the air while Amy's body convulsed. Billy blasphemed again while he continued to watch. "Jesus fucking Christ ... Amy ... Oh God ..."

Growling with impatience Amy ceased her fingering. She planted the soles of both boots on the carpet and hurriedly pulled her tee-shirt over her head. She unclasped her bra and threw the thing to one side, eager to have her fingers between her legs again. 

"Do you know what Patrick once made me do?" she grunted when her legs were once again spread wide. Billy mutely shook his head. "He arranged for Jenny to come up to flat. The stupid fat bitch had forgotten about her scare, I turned up one afternoon to find her, at his invite, in the flat. I went mental at first, but the bastard talked me round. Do you want to know, Billy?"

Billy found his voice. It came from a gravel pit but he managed to croak a, "Yes ..."

Amy laughed and squirmed. Her fingers squelched against the now sodden folds of her vulva.

"Can you guess, Billy? You know what he made me do, don't you?"

Billy nodded. His cock had thickened in his trousers and was at full, aching tumescence. He could guess what the vile Patrick had coerced the girl into doing; although he suspected she'd needed little persuasion. He didn't want to break the spell; he didn't want to shatter his fragile erection; he wanted Amy to continue the story. "I know what he made you do."

"He stood there, in his living room, with his cock all big and hard, and he made me and Jenny kneel in front of him. At first we had to take turns suckin' it. He'd hold my head and really jam that thing inta my mouth. Then he'd do the same to Jenny. It was so dirty, Billy, watching my friend suck that cock right close up. I was fingering myself an' watchin' and then suckin' it too. It got so we'd really be slurpin' and slobberin' over it, makin' it all wet before passin' it back an' forth. Patrick was stood there givin' orders. When he told us to kiss ... well, I was so fuckin' turned on I just did it. I licked Jenny's tongue and she licked mine and we were talkin' all dirty about how we was tastin' Patrick's cock on each other's tongues ...

"Then he said he wanted to watch me lick Jenny ..."

Amy groaned and squeezed her breasts with one hand, the other still swirling and squelching between her legs. Billy gulped when the girl pushed two fingers into her body and, rigid-fingered, stabbed at her opening. The man slowly, surreptitiously, while Amy's eyes were tightly closed and she lost herself in the sensations that rippled through her body, unzipped his flies and freed his erection.

Amy's mouth opened when she saw Billy's cock in his fist. "Don't," Billy ordered curtly. "Not a word about it. Just keep telling me the story. Just keep doing it to yourself."

"I went right to it," Amy said. "He didn't have to tell me twice. I admit it, I wanted to do it; I wanted to taste my friend's cunt." Amy grunted and swore again as she pinched her nipples and rubbed at her clitoris. "An' the mucky bitch loved it. She was groanin' and swearin' and tellin' me to suck her clit and finger her hole. I thought she was gunna suck my tongue out by the roots when Patrick told us to kiss ... It was so fuckin' dirty ... I loved it.

"It was difficult to keep on at her when Patrick got behind me, I was kneeling in front of Jenny while she sat on the settee, see, I felt his hands on me hips as he shifted me so he could get at me ... And then I felt that thing of his splittin' me wide open. I did think about him not wearin' a rubber johnnie, but I was too far gone to care much. In the back of my mind I realised it was dangerous and I did think to tell him to stop ... but pregnancy was the last thing I was worried about right then. Fuck it was stiff, the hardest I'd known and I thought it was going to tear me in two. I was so turned on though, so wet and slippery, that he slid in and was soon banging away.

"What a noise we was makin'. I was squealin' with my face in Jenny's pubes. She was squawkin' on about how she was gonna come. Patrick was gruntin' and grabbin' my hips and bangin' his cock into me ...

"And then, to stop hissel' comin', he pulled outta me and told Jenny to lick my juice off his cock. God that was horny, seein' her do that. 

"He made me do it too, after he'd clambered between Jenny's legs and plugged her with his cock. She didn't seem to be givin' a stuff about protection either; and there it was, Patrick's thick thing just jammed into Jenny. 

"Oh, fuck, Billy ... I'm going to do it. I'm going to come. He made me do it too, made me suck her off his cock. You shoulda seen it ... I could see her stretched tight around it. It looked like her skin was goin' to split she was so tight on it. When he pulled back, almost outta her, it looked like her body was gonna turn inside out."

Billy stroked his erection. His mouth hung open and he stared at the girl as she climaxed. He wanted to go to her, to put his thing into her body ... She looked so ready -- scarlet, hot and swollen. Before he knew it he was standing in front of Amy. Then he knelt.

The girl's eyes flew wide open when she felt the hot waft of breath against her inflamed sex.

"Not a word," Billy warned.

Amy groaned when his tongue probed into her dribbling core.

"He kept thrustin' at her," Amy continued as though Billy wasn't there, wasn't licking her. "He just kept stabbin' her with that cock until he was close to comin'. Then he made me lick Jenny off the stalk. And there was a lot of her on it. I thought she'd pissed hersel' but—

"—Oh, fuck, Billy ..." Amy curtailed her narration to compliment Billy's tongue. "That's good. Oh yeah, that's so nice. Keep doing it. keep licking ... Right there ... Stick a finger inside me. Finger fuck me. Use two fingers. I'm ..."

The girl juddered and came again. Billy stood and, with his erection still flying he glanced down at the beautiful girl in the throes of ecstasy. He positioned himself awkwardly, knees on the bare edge of the cushion, and guided the tip of his cock towards her sodden, heavy-lipped vulva. The heat of her shocked him as he penetrated her. Amy's insides clenched as he slid into her body; she clamped her legs around his waist and held him tight within.

"Amy," Billy hissed. "I can't ..."

"It's OK," the girl whispered tenderly. "Don't hold back. Do whatever you want to. Fuck me, but please, kiss me while you do. Love me ..." They kissed, Amy's hands holding his face while their tongues slid and slithered. Billy savoured the sweet wetness of the girl's sex around his girth. He pulled back, leaving the dome of his cock nudging Amy's opening before sliding back inside. They kissed again before Billy leaned down to suck at Amy's breasts. The girl shifted herself under him. She moved her body slowly upward to meet each downward thrust. Her hands moved along his flanks as she guided him gently over her supine form.




Tainted



The tempo of their coupling increased with Billy's confidence. "Amy," he sighed again.

"Love me," the girl insisted. "Not like Patrick. Don't use me like that. Be nice to me. Love me ..."

The couple slid from the chair to the carpet. Billy began to thrust in earnest. His body slapped against Amy's taut flesh as paunchy middle-age pounded against firm youth and beauty.

"Oh no," Billy hissed. "I'm ... Not inside you ..."

"Do it," the girl demanded through clenched jaw. "Just do it, it'll take me with you ... Please ..."

His semen squirted into the girl. Billy groaned and juddered as the stuff pumped from his cock. Amy cried with delight as her own climax broke, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around her new lover.

"What have we done?" Billy said, anguish twisting his face. "I shouldn't have done it. Not into you. Oh God, what if ...?"

"Don't worry," Amy smoothed Billy's recently cropped hair as he lay heavily on top of her. She felt him shrivel and his semen dribble out of her body. "I'm close to my curse anyway; I won't be pregnant."

"But ... You can't be sure," Billy protested.

"Dinae worry. It'll be alright," Amy insisted.

She didn't foresee what was going to happen, neither of them did, but with the passing of Christmas, as the snow fell, their time together would be ended.

From a letter dated 13th January1979:

... I killed her out of love. She asked me to. And because I loved her I couldn't refuse, no matter how much I wanted to. It was simple, in the end, not that I'm saying it was easy, of course it wasn't easy, but putting the pillow over her face and pressing down, leaning over her ... 

The life passed out of her without me knowing exactly when she died. The moments after were quite simply terrible. The enormity of what I'd done struck me a few minutes after I'd lifted the pillow off her face. I'd killed her. She was dead. There was no coming back from it.

I want you to know I did it out of love. You said the same yourself, when you thought you'd killed your father. You said to me that it was because you thought he was going to hurt your mother that you hit him; you carried that burden around with you for four weeks, the guilt of having committed patricide, and you justified it by saying you did it out of love for your mother. That's why I killed mine; I smothered my mother because she couldn't take the illness any more. She wanted to die. And I killed her because I loved her.

The doctor knew what I'd done, the pathologist, I'm sure of it. Perhaps she understood and chose to support that terrible act. If she did she can justify it in her own way, that isn't my concern but, and I can't help but think that if she had known what I'd done and divulged her suspicions to the police, well then, perhaps Sylvia would still be alive. If I'd been tried and convicted for the murder of my mother I'd never have met Sylvia. That disastrous attempt at seduction would never have taken place, we wouldn't have argued, I wouldn't have run after her and the struggle would never have happened.

I just wanted Sylvia to see that it wasn't her fault, my impotence wasn't anything to do with how desirable she was or wasn't, but she was a mad one anyway, paranoid and alcoholic, which is why she'd agreed to come back to the house in the first place. She was just looking for comfort and love in the bleak winter of what had become her life. I'd been in the pub for the same reason I was on the station the night I met you, Amy. I was looking for company.

Sylvia screamed and struggled and tore herself from my grip. The banister gave way as she smacked against it ...

So I'd killed her too. But it was an accident.

The third death, I said I killed a third. It was necessity, or at least I thought it necessary at the time. If I'd had any guts I would've reported Sylvia's accident and ridden the tempest that followed. But of course I didn't. I've always been a physical coward, and physical cowardice really, I think, stems from a lack of moral courage, and so Sylvia went out on the moors ... And so did her friend, I never did now her name, the woman who came looking for Sylvia the next day.

She turned up at half-ten, already half-cut, and yapping on about Sylvia. The persistent bitch wouldn't leave it alone, wouldn't leave and kept on and on and on ...

Then she threatened the police. I don't think she meant to go the police, she was just trying to get some money out of me for booze or whatever she wanted -- but it was something I didn't need to hear and I panicked. I scrabbled around in desperation, found the claw hammer and ...

Well, figure it out yourself.

That's it, Amy. You know the worst. Judge me as you see fit, but I hope you do understand. You were never in danger; please don't imagine I would ever have hurt you.

How did I get your address? It's simple. Before you left, when I knew you were going home, I looked through your things and found the diary -- which I didn't read, I just noted the address in it.

Part of me wishes you'd never made that phone call on Boxing Day. If you hadn't ... well, you'd perhaps still be with me, in the house, making love ... But another part of me is glad that your dad's alive and that you can go home. He must have a hard skull! Lucky for you both.

Christmas Day, nothing special in itself but with you there, Amy, for a time I was able to push the guilt away and forget my mother and Sylvia and the other poor woman ... I knew it wouldn't last, but for that day ... 

I made a will, the house is yours. The solicitor will be in touch. Sell it and use the money to enjoy your life. Waste it, spend it wisely, give it away ... It's yours.

The cat will look after herself. I doubt I was the only soft touch to feed her; she'll be OK.

Goodbye, Amy. Thank you for the time you shared with me.

William Montrose Appleby.

*

The rolling spine of England, the Pennines, lay under a blanket of pure, dazzling blue-white, a world unblemished, cold and pristine 

An untainted soul. 

Billy opened the car door, the old Allegro had taken him as far as it could. The A64 out of York had been clear. The A1 to Scotch Corner and the snow barred any further progress. Not that it mattered to him, isolation suited his purpose. He set off walking, ninety degrees south from the A66 towards Sleightholme, a town he would never reach, offering his stained soul to the waist deep drifts.



Tainted Arrangement



"Okay John, I want to make sure you want me to do this. You want me to go to the Big Hat Saloon, pick up your wife and take her over to the motel, right?"

"That's right Harry. And once you are there in the motel?"

"You want me to fuck her good," Harry replied, thrusting his hips forward emphasizing the word "fuck."

"Right, you can have whatever fun you want with her, but when it comes to you coming, I want your cock buried deep in her pussy, I want her taking in every ounce of your cum, you got that?"

"Okay, I just want to make sure that is exactly what you want, I mean this is a big step, a real big step."

"It's what I want, and I want the video camera to get it all," John said, rubbing his hand over his two day stubble. He then ran his hand up his face, over his puffy eyes, "As much sleep as I have lost over this whole thing, I think I should get some enjoyment out of it all."

"We will tape it, but you can watch the live feed on your computer too, on that link I sent you."

"Good, now keep in mind, you need to tell her you are married and..."

Harry held up his hand and showed his fake wedding ring. "Why is it so important that I be married?"

"Not just married, married and straying for the first time. Those are the safe ones in her mind."

"Ah, okay, I got you. I think I can handle that, exercising a seven year itch so to speak."

"There you go. Now tonight, get there about nine, that's when she usually leaves her lady friends on their 'Ladies Night Out' thing."

Harry reached out to shake John's hand, in a moment John extended his hand hoping his friend hadn't noticed his slight hesitation. "Just watch the video on that link," Harry said. He then stood up, walked to the door and stepped outside.

John went to his computer and checked the link. He confirmed the link was good, although without the video feed he found himself looking at a black screen with a few bars of information. He closed down his connection, returned to the living room and turned on the TV. His wife would be back from shopping in an hour or so and John would need to try to act normal until she headed out with her friends later that evening.

An hour or so actually turned out to be three hours and John had dozed off on the couch while waiting. He awoke to his wife breezing in the door and as she headed back to the bedroom to change he heard her say, "You'll need to take care of dinner for yourself, I'm simply running too late."

He got up and headed back to the room, watching her from the bedroom door as she quickly pulled off her clothes and headed to the shower. In just a few moments she returned pulling a towel over her body. She hung the towel over a chair and opened her drawer and pulled out a tiny pair of panties. When she pulled them on, John moved over to her, gently holding her at the elbows and said, "Why don't you stay home tonight. I'll open a bottle of wine and..."

"Sorry," she said, pulling free and grabbing a lace bra from her drawer, "we've had this set up for so long, we'd never get reservations again."

He watched her wrap the bra around her back and hook it, turning it around and then one by one grabbing each breast and slipping it into the bra. It always turned him on watching her maneuver herself into the bra and he decided to make one last effort. He moved up behind her and wrapped his arms and pulled her close to him, letting his hard cock grind against her ass.

"We can find something nice to do if you stay," he whispered into her ear.

"John," she said sternly, wrestling out of his arms, "I said I was late. Look if you're that worked up just pull it out and I'll give you a quick hand job."

"Hand job? I want you Ashley, I want you."

"No, not tonight, I'm in a hurry," she said stepping into her closet.

John walked out of the room and sat back down on the couch. If he couldn't have her he knew at least he could watch her with Harry. He turned on TV and in a few minutes his wife rushed toward the door.

"Don't wait up John, you know how we ladies get when we get to talking."

John lifted his hand and waved.

For the next several hours John moped around trying to fix dinner but he lost interest. He then plopped back on the couch to watch TV but nothing got his attention. Finally he headed back to his computer and clicked on the link Harry had given him. After about fifteen minutes of watching an empty room he clicked on a few other links.

He quickly visited several different porn sites, but not really interested him, no he was primed for the main attraction. Clicking back to the site, he slowly surveyed the motel room wondering how many hotel rooms his wife had been to, perhaps even this same room. John was sure she had met at least four different men, he got the story from the husband of one of his wife's friends. Apparently in a drunken argument about the ladies night out, his wife's friend told her husband of John's wife's escapades.

The guy's wife was apparently pretty impressed with what Ashley did, telling her husband she wished she had followed her advice. Based upon what the guy told John, they must have talked for some time and in great detail. It was only then that John realized the position he was in.

Now, pitiful as it seemed, John watched his computer screen waiting to watch his wife fuck another man. It had been months since she had let him touch her, but at least this way he could see her. He wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a beer, opened it and took a long sip.

Sitting back down in front of the computer he noticed some movement in the room and realized he was looking at Harry as he pulled off his clothes. He couldn't see Ashley, but apparently she was just off to the side. Sure enough, John watched as Harry stood up straight, his cock already hard, as Ashley moved into view. She was completely naked, her large breasts bounced slightly as she moved over to Harry and kneeled.

John felt his own cock harden a bit as his wife reached out, gently stroked Harry's cock and then leaned forward and took it into her mouth. Remembering how he enjoyed watching Ashley suck his own cock, John could almost feel what Harry was experiencing. John watched as he began thrusting his hips forward, sliding his cock deeper into Ashley's mouth.

After just a few moments, Harry reached down and took Ashley's arms, guiding her up onto the bed. She leaned back and opened her legs as Harry knelt on the floor and buried his head into her pussy. John watched, wishing he could get sound with the video, all he could do was imagine the slurping sounds he would have heard. Ashley would get so wet when John went down on her, all he could do was imagine her juices covering his face.

John's wife ran her hands through Harry's hair and began lifting her hips, pushing herself onto his face. John knew her moves, he could almost hear her moan as she got closer and closer to coming. Yes, yes, he watched her arch her back and lift her ass off the bed and he knew she was coming. Only when Ashley finally relaxed and collapsed back onto the bed did John realize he was getting close to coming.

Moving his hand away from his cock he concentrated on the computer screen as Harry climbed up on the bed and moved his knees up between Ashley's legs. He could see the man's ass muscles flex as he leaned forward and slipped his cock into the woman's wet pussy. Once again John wished he could heard the sounds as their bodies slapped together and he imagined the warm wet feel of his wife on his cock. It had been so long.

Apparently it had been a while for Harry too, because after a very brief time he began thrusting with an obvious urgency. John could see his wife's breasts bounce each time Harry slammed his cock into her and when he suddenly arched his back and shoved his cock deep into Ashley, John knew his friend was injecting his jism right where he wanted it. John's cock was still hard as he watched Harry collapse onto Ashley, his cock slowly dripping the last droplets of his cum inside the woman.

With a few clicks on his computer, John saved the spectacle he just watched, shut his computer down and got ready for bed. By the time his wife got home John had been in bed for a few hours and he simply pretended he was asleep as she took a shower and then climbed into bed next to him. John didn't sleep the rest of the night, he just played the images of Harry arching his back and spurting his cum into his wife's pussy.

The next morning John got up before the alarm went off and headed into work without saying a word to his wife. He did talk to her for a few minutes around lunch time when he called to make sure she would be home that afternoon. Just after lunch he left work to run an "errand."

About thirty minutes later he pulled up into his driveway, walked over to his front door, quietly unlocked it and then stepped inside. His wife was in the kitchen unpacking some new dishes and loading them into the dishwasher.

"Hey Babe," he said, enjoying the way she jumped.

"John, you startled me!"

"Yeah, I wanted to surprise you," he said.

She gave him a look and began to move closer to him saying, "And what have you come to surprise me with."

"Well, I had to run an errand and was in the neighborhood. I left a book at home this morning so I thought I'd come pick it up."

"Oh, is that why you come home," she replied sexily.

They both heard the sound of a man clearing his throat. "Oh yeah, Ashley, I'd like you to meet Harry."

John savored the look of abject fear in his wife's face as she gasped and then, catching herself, said, "Well hello Harry, pleased to meet you." She reached out a hand to him.

Playing along, Harry reached out and shook Ashley's hand, saying, "Yes, pleased to meet you too."

"I'm dropping Harry off at the clinic and then I'll probably just come back. See you in a bit," John said as he turned and lead Harry back out to his car.

He returned to the house about an hour later. Ashley was in the kitchen moving her new dishes from the dishwasher into her cabinets. As John moved from the front door to the kitchen he called out, "I'm back Ashley."

"I'm in the kitchen," she called back.

John walked into the kitchen, slipped past his wife, grabbed a beer and sat down. He opened his beer and took a long sip, waiting, waiting, waiting for Ashley to say something.

"Harry seemed like a nice guy," Ashley finally said, holding a stack of plates in her hand, "How do you know him?

"Like I said, I know him from work."

"Are you friends or something?"

"Or something."

"Or something, what does that mean?"

"Well, we are friendly enough, it's just that I don't run in the same group as he does. Hear tell he is pretty wild."

"But he's married, I mean I saw a wedding band."

"Oh that," John replied, feeling butterflies in his stomach. "Word is he just wears that to throw the women off guard. Of course, word is he also tries to throw the men off guard."

"What are you saying?"

"Well he's apparently been a bit too active, if you know what I mean," John said, wondering what cows might look like as they are led to slaughter.

"Too active?"

"I took him to the clinic."

"Clinic?"

"Yeah, it's all over work. He's positive."

"Positive?"

"Don't you get it? HIV positive, like in AIDS," John replied, watching as the stack of plates slipped from his wife's hands and smashed on the floor.

"He's HIV..."

"Positive," John finished her sentence as she fell to the floor. He took another sip of his beer wondering if what he felt inside helped make up for all the pain he'd felt over the last few months. He couldn't be sure, he just couldn't be sure.