The Sound of Broken Ribs(18)

She jammed his dick down her throat, swallowed past her gag reflex, and sucked hard.

Paul jerked and twitched and shot hot semen into the back of her throat. She swallowed before she realized what she was doing.

“Goddamn!” he roared.

He stumbled backward and flopped down onto the bed. She stood, feeling dizzy and queasy and seeing stars. Her stomach roiled, rejecting the contents that had been forced into it.

Paul’s dick spasmed in the moonlight. Pearls of ejaculate dribbled down the side of his still-erect penis.

She’d be damned if he was going to have all the fun.

She thumbed down her pants and panties, massaged her slippery vagina, and straddled Paul’s thighs.

“Condom, fucker. Now!” She slapped his chest. Hard. Then she slapped his cock. It wobbled back and forth like a punch-me clown.

Paul dug into his back pocket and produced a shiny gold package. A Magnum-brand rubber, likely the only thing that would fit the fire hose he kept rolled up in his jeans. He ripped the foil open with his teeth and rolled on the prophylactic.

Belinda didn’t bother removing Paul’s jeans. Once the condom was on, she hiked up her leg and slid forward. She fisted his cock and guided it inside her.

“Goddamn, bitch. Your cunt is like a sauna. Fuck!”

Belinda ground her hips. There had been no need to worry about him getting all of it inside her. The fit was perfectly snug. He hit her cervix, and she yelped. She dug her nails into his chest. It didn’t matter that he still had his shirt on. He’d be scratched to hell tomorrow. She jerked her hips forward and backward at a steady pace. Inside her all kinds of things were happening. Long-dead parts of her came alive. Exploded. Reformed.

When she came, it was like someone had nuked her ovaries. Thick fluid spurted from around Paul’s penis, drenching them both. She screamed, the sound animalistic and soul-cleansing.

But she wasn’t done. Not even close. She bore down on Paul’s penis, bent forward, and rested her forearms on his chest.

“Fuck me,” she growled.

He was obliged to do just that. She lifted her rump a little to give him space to pump, and he did so. His soaked dick slid in and out of her in quick, violent thrusts. He filled her. Yanked out. Slammed back in.

“You like that? You fucking like that, don’tcha!”

Someone else was in the room. She could hear them growling. Belinda, in a fit of orgasmic pleasure and not in control of her actions, couldn’t even turn to see who’d entered the room.

Someone grabbed her hair and yanked her up.

“The fuck out the way!”

She heard the first impact of the bat before she saw it. By the moonlight coming in through the open window, she looked on in horror as it came down across the bridge of Paul’s nose. Paul spluttered and coughed and choked on his own blood. The second time the bat came down, Paul stopped making any noise whatsoever. His penis twitched inside her like a dying fish.

It was only then that she screamed. Not in pleasure this time but in horror.

The bat came down a third time, and she heard Paul’s skull collapse.

She threw herself off him. Rolled off the bed and onto the floor.

In the moonlight, Tony brought the bat down again and again. With every upswing of the bat, black spots splattered the ceiling. A chunk of something warm and soft and sticky, like Jell-O that hadn’t been cooled, landed in Belinda’s lap.

Up until this point, Belinda had been screaming, and she hadn’t heard what her brother was yelling. Now she did.

“—FUCK MY SISTER IN MY HOUSE! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU FUCKER! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Quite a long time passed before Tony stopped hitting the long-dead Paul with the baseball bat.

All the screaming and commotion raised the others. She could hear Fat Tom especially as he tried to extricate himself from Tony’s worn-out recliner.

Hearing the other men, Tony dropped the bat and rushed to Belinda. He dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Are you all right?”

“Why—Why’d you do that?” she whimpered.

“He was raping you, wasn’t he?” But there was something in Tony’s voice that said this wasn’t a question. It was a command. “He was raping you… right?”

Belinda shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Tony, I let—”

“He was raping you. Just like you hitting that bitch with your car yesterday was an accident. Right? Paul was raping you. Right?”

The light flicked on. Belinda froze. In her peripheral vision, she saw the massive Carl, the smaller Frank, and then Fat Tom standing in the hallway just outside the door.

Fat Tom said, “Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened in here?”

“Is Paul dead?” asked Frank.

“Hush, Frankie.” Carl looked to Belinda. His eyes skipped over her body then back to Paul on the bed. Luckily for Belinda, Tony was between her and her view of the bed. She couldn’t see what was left of Paul.

“Not Paul,” Carl groaned. “Goddamn it, man.”

“No,” Fat Tom said, realization flooding his face. “No… he didn’t—did he?”

“What’d he do?” Frank asked.

“You guys go back up front. No one calls the cops—you hear me?”

Carl said, “Right—Right. Yeah. Right. No cops. Come on, guys. Let’s give the lady her privacy.”