Chapter 16: The Kill

[Undated Entry]
Oxford, Oxfordshire

STRIKE, FUCK, KILL. The small man’s strategy was simple. He’d visited Lucy one more time just as he’d planned. That time their lovemaking, if their rutting could honestly be termed lovemaking, was vigorous and just sharp enough to keep memories of his mother uppermost in the small man’s thoughts as he reamed her.

He was a stallion that night, or so he saw himself, a stallion riding a mare who fought his advances but only enough to ensure he forcefully overcame her protestations.

“James, you murder me!” she’d cried as his closed fist struck her breast. Just you wait, he thought. Not tonight, not this time, but next time.

“And you love it, Lucy, is it not so?”

She shook her head, but he knew she meant “Yes.” He knew it. Why else would she remain at his mercy on the pallet, her thighs apart, her skirts above her waist. He was harder than he’d been in weeks, he knew it. Without further thought he stripped himself entirely. His torso thick but not fat, his abdomen encircled with muscle. His shoulders large for such a small man. Bricks were heavy, and it took a strong man to move them around. He was small, but strong.

Lucy’s eyes locked on his erection as he approached. He slapped her when she reached for him. “Not yet, bitch,” he’d growled. “I’ll tell you when.” He slapped her again and reached between her thighs. She grunted when he held her in his palm and shoved himself between her thighs, her sex like a plump fruit in his fingers. He squeezed, and she groaned.

One finger found her button and she gasped.

“Yes!”

“You like this, bitch?”

She nodded. She was beyond speaking. He slapped her again.

“Tell me you want it, bitch.” He squeezed her cunt. “Tell me what you want. Tell me where you want it.”

“I want your cock, James. I want your manhood. I want your prick.” She reached for him again and this time he let her hold him. He thrust once, twice, in her palm.

“Turn over, bitch.”

In unseemly haste Lucy flipped herself onto her stomach. She pulled a pillow under her hips and spread her legs. With a salacious laugh she turned and grinned up at the small man holding his cock in his hand.

“Give it to me, asshole. Give it to me hard.”

The small man slapped her buttocks once, twice. He pulled her legs further apart and thrust himself into her. Lucy screamed, but it was a scream of delight. She wanted this. Anyone within hearing distance would have known how much she wanted this and they would not have had to exercise their imaginations to guess what “this” was.

The small man showed her no tenderness, no mercy. He thrust hard and fast and he did his best to drive her bottom into the mattress. When he began to come, in gushes, he pulled out and slid his penis on the base of her spine, hard, to get maximum leverage. His strongest spurt landed between Lucy’s shoulder blades. She was only seconds behind him in climaxing herself, not that he cared very much. Only enough to ensure she would welcome a return match.

He lay atop her for a few minutes and she did not stir to make him move until perhaps five or ten minutes had passed.

He would be ready for the final round, perhaps in only a week or so.

There was no need to conceal his presence this night because he still had not frequented the pub enough to become known as a regular. Nevertheless he did not linger when he left Lucy’s fuck chamber and he did not make eye contact with anyone on his way out to the street.

He saw the black girl when he passed through Jericho on his way home. She was striking, her skin almost translucent, tall, slender, but very feminine. He was hard immediately. He’d heard stories about black women, everyone knew what they were like. Fuck machines, they were, always ready to take on any and all comers. Comers. Heh. He liked the term. He’d be one of the comers and he’d be one she’d never forget.

He thought she was alone at first, and despite his momentary satisfaction following his encounter with Lucy he turned slightly with the idea to follow her and perhaps take advantage of the night. She’d be hard to follow in the dark streets, but not impossible. Just as he took a step or in her direction when he saw the couple, a woman and a man, behind her. She wasn’t alone after all. The three clearly were good friends. Perhaps even more than friends if the way the other woman touched the man frequently.

He saw the black girl touch him as well and knew there was a relationship among them he was certain went well beyond friendship. This was good. When her turn came he’d expect her to be open to almost anything. He decided to follow them anyway to find out where she and her friends lived. The small man was easy to overlook. His reduced stature and the darkness in the streets were enough to ensure he would not be seen, and even if he was seen his presence would not be remarked on. They were not the only persons on the street. It wasn’t that late at night. Later the streets would belong to assassins and robbers, but not yet.

When the trio turned in to the print shop he knew where to find the black girl again. That was enough for now. Lucy came first, anyway. There would be time enough for the African girl later.