The Stolen Girl

 

The Gulf of Santa Catalina lay like a bound woman under the blanket of roiling storm clouds. She struggled against the onslaught, lashed by wind and the weight of falling water, but her lover's embrace was not to be denied. The violence aroused her, whipped her to frenzy and, ultimately, spent itself into her body. Such passion was always fleeting, and the storm would move on to other conquests, leaving the Gulf behind, alone, unchanged, undefeated.

John Willis stood very still in the deep shadow of a lifeguard stand at Newport Beach, watching the wicked lightning show out there above the water. Thunder growled with the kind of persistence that made him think of a hungry belly. Los Angeles seemed to hold its collective breath as the storm moved implacably ashore. It was just after midnight, and the rain was very close. He could smell it in the air.

Just down the beach, a girl named Jillian Ingalls gave twenty dollar blowjobs to five USC varsity football players. Someone had ripped her shirt off, roughly, if the marks on her skin were anything to go by. She was heartrendingly beautiful, and her cooing laughter suggested that she might be enjoying herself very much, indeed. The closest of the boys was less than twenty feet away from Willis, but no one had picked him out in the darkness, which was his intention, exactly.

Four of the five had already gotten their rocks off and were kicked back, ragging on the last, who didn't appreciate it, and growled back. He was the biggest of the lot, with a shaved, bullet head, and shoulders like grain sacks. It looked like he was having a nice little bout of performance anxiety, and it was making him mad. His fists were clenched tightly in the girl's hair, desperate as a drowning man clutching at a life ring.

She worked him like a pro, two-handed, taking him deeply into her mouth, sucking so that her cheeks indented. Finally, Bullet Head let out a triumphant whoop, teeth glinting in a grimace of completion. The girl fell backward and he drove her down, knees in the sand on either side of her body as he finished.

"About time," somebody muttered, and there was laughter.

When it was over, Bullet Head got to his feet and walked away, swaggering for his buddies. The girl sat up and wiped her mouth on the back of one hand, watching them, saying nothing. Her fine breasts seemed almost to glow in the soft light. She made no effort to cover them.

"Let's get out of here," Bullet Head said, zipping up.

Willis detached himself from the shadows then and stepped forward, glancing down at the girl in passing. She gave him a sardonic smile, eyes glittering with reflected lightning. Her broad areolas were very pale, but the nipples stood unabashedly erect. The hulking boys saw him at last, and turned almost as one, looking half-defiant and half wary. Willis thought that made them about half right.

"Pay her," he said, flat and hard.

"Hey, fuck you man," one of the kids said, covering his fright with bravado. "We'll tear your damned head off and shit down your neck."

It was important to impose control early and Willis didn't hesitate, lashed out with one foot, kicking the mouthy one hard in the solar plexus. The movement was so quick and fluid that he seemed barely to move, but the laughter choked off instantly. The boy he'd put the boot to folded like a jack knife and dropped to his knees, retching and gasping for air, something that seemed to be suddenly in very short supply.

Such offhand violence, delivered without forewarning, made them forget that between them they weighed over a half ton, and could have taken a single man down like new mown grass. To keep them from remembering how tough they really were, Willis pulled the flick knife out of his pants pocket and thumbed it open. The deadly sliver of razor sharp steel snicked out, and the boys shrank back further, bluster collapsing swiftly into fear. The potential for lethal mayhem in Willis's hand made them hesitate. Invulnerability was a fleeting thing, it seemed.

Willis crouched, blade weaving slowly, menacingly through the night air. "You want more?" he said in a voice like hollow death. It should have made him feel like an idiot, talking clichés like that, but once the knife came out, he concentrated on business, ignoring the knowing, smart-ass little voice inside him that sneered at the witless stupidity of it all.

"Um, wait...um..." the kid said, mesmerized by the knife, too scared to put a sentence together.

Willis had seen it before. Edged weapons simply weren't in their tool box, because in the tidy, well-tended little world they came from, combat came on a level playing field, with shoulder pads and cheering crowds, and eager, fresh-scrubbed cheerleaders. A cheap switchblade on a stormy beach in the dark of night was beyond their experience.

The spokesman closed his mouth with a snap, fumbling for his wallet, and everyone else followed suit, proffering all the cash they had. It looked like several hundred dollars. Willis knew they thought he was rousting them and smiled, feeling the rush of adrenalin and the deep pulse of blood in his crotch. The boys would never know that it wasn't about them, and never had been.

"You owe her twenty bucks, dickhead," Willis said. "Cough it up, or I'll carve it out of your big ass."

The boys looked uncertainly at each other while Willis waited to see if anyone was going to be a hero. He watched for the telltale signs of resistance; hunched shoulders, tensed arms, and clenched fists. Instead, they helped the mouthy one to his feet while the kid with the shoulders got a twenty dollar bill out and threw it on the ground.

"Pick it up."

Willis took a shuffling step forward, centering the knife movement on the one sign of belligerence. The boy narrowed his eyes furiously, bent to catch the fluttering bill and held it out. Willis nodded to the girl.

"Her."

Bullet Head turned angrily, held the twenty out contemptuously toward Jill, who plucked it from his hand. At least he was smart enough for that, Willis thought.

"Now, get the fuck out of here, all of you."

Their relief was palpable. Willis held his position as they filed by, heads down, sullen but completely subdued. They weren't going to like themselves much in the morning. When their car pulled out with a screech of tires, Willis put his knife away and went to get the girl.

"You stupid bitch."

Jill flinched. "Y-y-yesss," she whispered. "I'm just..."

Willis didn't let her finish, bent, slapping her face, hard enough to knock her sideways onto the sand. She grunted, blinking pain tears, and licked the corner of her mouth. Her return smile was eager and bloody. He hooked his fingers under the plain leather dog collar around her throat and hauled her up off the sand again.

"Come on, slut," he snapped, pulling at the collar and kicking her with the side of his foot. "Move, damn you!"

She choked, struggling to follow him, but he held her head down, forcing her to crawl. Her breasts swayed and shuddered, and her eyes were huge in the uncertain light. She didn't try to fight him, or pull away.

In the shadows of a covered picnic table, he pulled her upright and jerked at the front of her pants, ripping them open. Jill hooked her thumbs into the waistband without being told and wriggled them down. She was naked underneath. Willis bent her over the table and slapped her bare ass, shoving her around enough so that she never quite caught her balance. She yelped, gripping at the table edge, breathing very hard in the pregnant stillness of the impending storm.

"Where do you want it?" He stood back to unbuckle his belt.

"Please...no..." she whispered, making it piteous and horrified.

"Where?" Willis said dangerously.

The breeze felt cool on his skin. He gripped his cock tightly, and, with his free hand, spanked the girl, harder still. She bucked, yelping under the sharp pains, but stayed where he put her, more or less.

"Oh...God!" she wailed, starting to cry. "In the back, please...in the back. Don't hit me anymore, baby. Please don't..."

"Say it, goddamn you," Willis snarled, squeezing her mottled ass. "Tell me where."

"I want...um...oh...in the...oh, please..."

"Say it, Jill!" he said, almost shouting.

"In the ass," she sobbed. "I want you in the..."

"Whose ass, Jill, whose ass do you want it in?" He kept slapping, hard.

"Mine!" she gasped. "I want you in my ass. Please, Johnny..."

Willis already had the little squeeze bottle of lube out. He knew what she was going to say, and knew how it was going to go. He squirted himself with the slippery clear gel, and then the shadowed cleft of her upturned butt. He pressed his cock firmly against the soft, pink socket of her anus. Her body yielded immediately, opening to him.

"How do you want it?"

"Please," she gasped. "Hard, hard...please, give it to me...haaarrrrrd!"