CREEKERS
Edward Lee
Necro Publications
— 2010 —
— | — | —
Smashwords Edition
CREEKERS
Creekers © 1994 by Edward Lee
Cover Art © 2008 Travis Anthony Soumis
This digital edition 2010 © Necro Publications
Prologue
Roughened hands disrobed her before the cracked mirror.
“You are the most perfect of all of us,” came the equally roughened whisper to her ear. She could feel the heat of the breath, and of the words themselves.
But then more words oozed through her head:
So perfect…
So worthy…
So beautiful…
“Yeeeeesss,” keened the voice behind her.
So beautiful…for Him.
Only a few crooked candles lit the downstairs parlor. In the mirror she could see herself, and she could see the Reverend standing behind her like a queer, tall shadow in its black raiments and drooping hood which hid his face.
“So beautiful for Him,” he whispered.
Beautiful, she thought. Yes, she was. Much more beautiful than the other girls. Clean, they called her, and the few others who were born like her. A clean baby. A clean child. A clean woman. So few were ever born clean…
The Reverend’s large hands peeled away her threadbare dress like a shift of rotten cheesecloth. She did not flinch. Being stripped at any given moment was nothing new to her; she was used to it, and she was used to the things that always happened afterward. Now her naked flesh shone starkly in the mirror’s dark veins: sleek, womanly curves, unblemished skin, long legs and high, full breasts. Hair shiny and fine as black silk framed her youthful, striking face. Once she asked why the men from town paid so much less for her. “‘Cos you’re clean, child,” she was told. “You ain’t all uglied up like most the others. Cain’t hardly even tell you’re Creeker, ’cept fer yer eyes…”
She never understood this at all. They should pay more, shouldn’t they, since she was so much prettier?
But tonight was different. Somehow she knew that. There were no men from town in the house, and something in the air made her skin feel all crawly like that time she fell asleep out near Croll’s field and woke up covered with ladybugs.
We’ve finally done it, after all this time—
“—finally,” whispered the Reverend.
And then the other voices continued to churn in her head:
On-prey-bee!
Us-come-too!
On-prey-bee!
When she’d been fully stripped, the Reverend’s hand stroked her raven-black hair, brushing it off her brow. Her eyes gazed back at herself in the mirror…
They were bright and clear, their large irises revealing only the slightest tincture of red…
««—»»
Next, she was being ushered…up. She felt dizzy and strange. The old wood stairs creaked beneath her feet as the Reverend’s hands guided her toward the landing. The hands of the others reached out to touch her as she passed.
And the heat of this midsummer midnight drenched her in sweat in moments.
“Yes, you are the most perfect of all of us—”
—so go forth now and bless us.
The door closed behind her. All that lit the long, high room was the moon in the window. She smelled something funny, and as her vision grew accustomed to the dark, she noticed strange shapes inclined on the dusty wood-plank floor.
Then something stirred.
And the man walked out of the great gulf of darkness.
He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Tall and slender, with chiseled muscles, strong arms, sturdy legs. The kind face looked back at her.
He never said a word.
He was nothing like the men who usually came to her: men who slapped her, pulled her hair, spit on her and bit her nipples till she shrieked. This man was sweet, gentle. His soft hands on her breasts filled her with warmth, not revulsion.
And when he kissed her…
Visions swam. Sensations. Waves of love more intense than the heat of the noonday sun. His caring hands lay her down on the floor; his smile seemed lit, like a halo. Without ever talking, he told her things. He told her how beautiful she was, how important, and how he loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone. All the things she’d yearned to hear for so long: the dreams buried in dust, the promises that never came true.
But now they were true.
Now…he was with her.
««—»»
Her pleasures were untold. Her orgasms quaked. Each release of his semen into her sex was a gift to be revered. It filled her to overflowing—with rapture and compassion and real love. I’m in love, she thought with each beat of her heart, and with his. He delved into her far deeper than any man of her past, and far longer, unlocking sensations of joy she’d never thought possible. At one point, he knelt upright between her spraddled legs, the beautiful penis throbbing yet again for her. It was huge, curved, and gorgeous. In anguish, her hands reached out to touch the reality of its hardened flesh.
So hot, it nearly burned.
Her eyes pleaded to him. She was crying, she was so happy, so replete in her love. Without words, he assured her that he would love no other woman but her, ever.
You are the one, he vowed.
She grasped the stout, hot shaft, then guided it down to enter her again. Her breasts heaved; she gasped
