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Stone Shadow

Rex Miller

Copyright ©1989 by Rex Miller

Other Works by Rex Miller

Stone Shadow*

Butcher*

Chaingang*

Slob*

Frenzy

Slice

Iceman

Profane Men

*also available in e-reads editions

Lo! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye ...

—I CORINTHIANS 15

South Dallas

“You like that?” the man asked her.

“Mmmm.” Incongruously, in the back of her mind she recognized “The Lady from Brazil” playing over his radio that he'd brought down into the basement with him. Their romantic accompaniment, she thought.

“Answer,” he commanded.

“Yes.” Tania Maria is the artist's name, she thought, fighting to keep herself in check.

“Don't talk so forcefully. You know I don't go for that.” He hurt her a little to emphasize his words.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“Now. Try it again. There. You like that—huh?'

“Yeah.'

“Okay. You've already forgotten what I just told you two seconds ago. You ain't the smartest cookie ever drew a breath, are you? Eh?'

“No.'

“No WHAT?'

“No, I'm not the smartest cookie that ever drew a breath.'

“What a fuckin’ GENIUS.” He laughed. “I LOVE it. Damn. Okay. Now. When I ask-you-if-you-like-it'—he squeezed her breasts roughly, his arms coming around her from behind, reaching under her arms and cupping her large breasts, kneading them in tempo as he spoke, turning himself on at her helplessness—'I want you to tell me. I want you to say, ‘YES, I like it. I like for you to squeeze my big, juicy melons.’ You think you can remember that?'

“Yes.'

“Say it'—he squeezed hard, hurting her this time—'goddamn you.'

“I like it. I like for you to squeeze my big, juicy melons.'

“Like this?'

“Ahh,” she cried out in pain as he squeezed her breast, crying out more than the degree of pain called for, knowing how he got off on it, and then making a little whimpering, keening noise that he liked.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, “you go for that, don't you? Oh, yes.” He was touching her now.

She fought to keep herself on course. She tried to whimper convincingly and not recoil from the unwanted intimacy of his hand.

“You're so wet. Damn. You want to beg for some of ole Sly?'

“Yes. Please. I beg you give me some of old Sly.'

“Uh huh. A nice soft whispery voice. That's the way I like for you to beg for it.” He was touching her roughly below. The first two fingers of his right hand going in and out, plumbing her over and over, in and out, and then his hand was out of her and she could feel him doing something.

“Now,” he said, “let's beg for him nice.'

“Come on, Sly, please. I beg for you. Please. I want you so bad.” She fought to keep the hatred and ice out of her voice.

“Ole Sly gonna make you sit up and beg.'

“Oh,” she said as he thrust his erection in.

“That's what I like about fuckin’ you doggie-style, bitch, I don't have to even guide ole Sly in. He just sorta fits in there himself, don't he?'

“Yes. He feels so good,” she lied as he banged up against her.

“Yeah. I know, baby.” He cupped her left breast, his right hand on her right hip as he drilled her. Her breast was getting sore from his squeezing. It had been a nightmare. She'd been his captive for over three weeks now. He'd abducted her in a Dallas shopping center. In broad daylight, he'd said later, and you were the broad. He was some joker.

“Oh,” she let out an audible moan of simulated ecstasy. In the weeks of captivity she'd learned survival skills. She'd even had a menstrual period while she was chained up, and he'd whipped her for it and made her take him in her mouth until she gagged. Forcing her to give him head for hours.

Her name was Donna. Reasonably attractive, longhaired, neatly groomed, outgoing, poised under normal circumstances. She imagined what she must look like now, cowering in dazed fear and semishock, chained to a basement wall by a mad rapist and murderer, waiting for his pleasure in the cellar room of a dark house. Hair like a rat's nest hanging down in her face.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned, and he said, “That's right, cunt. Sly's a big boy, isn't he?'

“Oh, yes. Sly, you're so big and hard. You feel so good inside me.'

For the first couple of weeks she'd slept only three or four hours a night. Losing all sense of the passage of days and nights. Sometimes he left the light on all night. Sometimes he turned it off and kept it dark during the daylight hours, she knew, purposely disorienting and confusing her.

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