The phone rang at 7:30 pm.

Doctor Clare Keller turned from the mirror where she had been fluffing her curls. The afternoon with the hairdresser had proved productive, resulting in a soft, but sophisticated look in anticipation of the evening ahead. The phone chimed again. She checked and felt her shoulders slide. “It’s the Sheriff.”

“Oh blast and damnation!” the Judge muttered. “The banquet!”

Clare shrugged and turned from where he was fussing with his bow-tie and lifted her phone to her lips. “Yes Joshua?”

“Doctor? It’s Joshua...” There was an embarrassed pause as he fumbled. Joshua was a good sheriff but, a grass-roots farm-boy, he hadn’t quite grasped the new technology.

“Gosh, I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, it being a Friday and all.” He ran the sentence together so it came out like one long word– like he had just run a mile– up hill.

“Never mind, Joshua,” Clare answered, a note of caution in her voice. “What do you have?”

“Oh sweet Jesus. Damn. I mean sorry ma’am ... doctor,” he stumbled and took a breath. “It’s Sarah and Adam ... their dead, ma’am. Both of ‘em.”

“Both of them?” Clare echoed his words. She had a vision of a young couple, hand-in-hand, strolling and smiling into each others faces. “That c-can’t be possible.” Her breath caught and she staggered back, thankful to feel the arm of the sofa against the backs of her thighs. She sat.

“Both Joshua? How...” Clare forced herself to take a breath. “Sheriff,” she said, reverting to his official title in an effort to bring discipline to the situation and reinforce her position as the County Medical Examiner. “Where exactly are you?”

“At the barn on the Mackenzie property.”

“Right,” Clare replied. “I’ll be there as soon as I change.”

Clare turned to where her husband still fussed with his unruly tie. He was a short, rotund man, twenty-two years her senior, but she loved him dearly. The Judge was a good and honest man who ruled his courtroom with a steely grip. He had no tolerance for smart-alacky lawyers, insurance companies, thieving bankers nor conversations referencing women’s plumbing. “Sorry Judge. I have to go.”

“Naturally,” he said airily, turning slightly so he could cast a condescending eye. His tone said more than all the cuss words she knew were contained in his colorful vocabulary. But then he softened, like she knew he would.

“I’ll take my car and meet up with you at the reception,” Clare offered, while reaching for the old sweater she wore when mucking out the horse stalls.

“Yes,” he said, his mouth twitching. It was as close to a smile as Clare was going to get. He reached up and ran stubby fingers through her loose curls. “You look like a million bucks,” he whispered. “And, please ... remember to wash your hands after. Okay?”

“Yes Judge,” Clare said and taking his hand, she kissed his palm.

The Mackenzie property wasn’t far. In a rural community of 16,000, nothing was.

The lane up to the barn was long and dire. Her old Mercedes protested as one wheel lifted up over a rock while the opposite dropped into a hole. The headlights spun crazily, lighting up rusty barbed wire fencing and the hawthorn brier that lined the way. The desolate barn stood silhouetted against the night-sky, the light from Joshua’s work-lamps pouring through the cracks between the weather-beaten boards. Clare pulled her car in behind Joshua’s truck, lifted her medical bag from the rear and trudged up the ramp that led to the hay mow, and to where Joshua held the door open.

“I apologize for bringing you out,” he said.

“Goes with the territory,” Clare replied, looking up into his lean features. “We both would rather be doing anything other than investigating the death of two kids.” He shrugged and looked down at his boots.

“Who found them?” Clare asked.

Joshua rolled tobacco from one cheek to the other. “Ol’ Bailey has the property over-yonder and runs a line of rabbit snares through here. He’d come home from the mill and was checking for his supper when he heard a shot. He came to investigate ‘cause he has run kids off the property before, when they come to shoot pidgins. He says the bullets knock holes in the tin roof. So he came up here and found the bodies.”

Joshua turned aside so Clare could see. His work-lamps formed a wide pool of light in the center of the mow where Adam had pulled bales of hay together to form a makeshift mattress. The dead girl lay on her back, her knees bent over the edge of the bales, feet dangling. Sarah stared quietly up into the darkness. Adam, her friend, lay just beyond, sprawled on a pile of loose straw.

“We’ve done a preliminary search and the photographer has finished up,” Joshua said. “There’s a shovel with traces of blood and some blond hair. Looks to me they snuck up here to fool around but got into an argument. He clipped her with the shovel and when he realized he had killed her, he shot himself with his twenty-two. You’ll see the gun laying by his right hand.

“Adam had a gun?” Clare was surprised.

“Farm kids,” Joshua replied. “They all got ‘em. Chase off foxes, put down sick animals ... farm stuff.”

Clare nodded and stepped to take a closer look. Sarah was fully clothed, white shirt, jeans, tennis shoes with no socks, but Clare could see her nipples through the light cotton shirt and her jeans were unfastened. Adam was also fully clothed, the side of his head matted with congealed blood and a dark trickle ran into his shirt collar.

“Damn. Such a waste. They were so young...”

“Yeah. There wasn’t anyone in town that didn’t think they’d get wedded-up and have a houseful of young’uns.”

“They seemed so happy together. How...”

“Well they did have a rough spell, mind you, last month. I only know ‘cause Sarah and my daughter hang together. Seems when the Carlson boy was home from college, he took a run at Sarah. According to my daughter, Sarah liked the attention, him being an older boy. I don’t think Adam was aware but someone could have told him. Maybe he brought Sarah here to have it out with her. Who knows?”

“Her bra,” Clare asked. “She’s not wearing one. Any sign of it?”

The color came up in Joshua’s face. “We got nothing ‘cepting the shovel and the revolver but the light’s not so good. I’ll have some boys out here, sun-up tomorrow, and we’ll go over everything. We’ll get to the truth of it.”

“Fine,” Clare confirmed and fidgeted with her medical bag.

“I know you’ll want to be alone with them.” Joshua was familiar with Clare’s work. “We’ll clear out but I’ll leave the Deputy at the end of the lane-way, if you should need anything.”

“Thanks Joshua,” Clare placed an arm around him. “It may take a couple of hours, but I’ll call when I’m finished.”

“I guess I need to go ‘round and speak with their parents.” Clare’s heart bled for him.

Clare took Joshua by the arm, walked him to the door and closed it, listening to the crunch of gravel beneath his boots. The wind swirled, seeping into the old barn, rattling loose boards and tugging at the metal roof. The old structure seemed to exhale and a twinge went up through Clare’s thighs and lodged in her lower back, as it always did when she was alone with the dead. Clare shivered and moved to where Sarah lay quietly waiting.

Sarah’s reddish-blond hair fanned out like rays of soft light. Large eyes were accentuated by finely arched brows and proud cheek bones. She had a cute ski-jump nose and her face was dominated by a wide, full mouth. If God had set out to design the perfect sophomore cheerleader, Clare thought, the result of his work lay here on the hay.

Clare sat down. “Well Sarah, you’ve had quite a night.” Clare brushed soft curls from half-closed eyes. She used the side of a thumb to slide the lids up. The pupils were hugely dilated, dark pools rimmed with emerald green. Beautiful, even in death. Clare traced the line of Sarah’s brow and cupped her face. She was cool to the touch. “And I’m afraid it isn’t over yet. You have secrets to share with me. I’ll respect you but the task is not an easy one.” Clare stroked Sarah’s hair and, leaning forward, she kissed the girl on the forehead. The skin was rigid and waxy under Clare’s lips.

Clare sensed her then, hovering in the shadows. Sarah’s essence swirled about like hoarfrost and Clare momentarily saw her own breath, as on a winter’s morning. Clare had the overwhelming feeling of loneliness and something more– Sarah was waiting. Waiting for something– no, that wasn’t right. Sarah was waiting for someone. And as quickly as the feelings had come, they were gone.

The barn was damp and chilly. Clare took Sarah’s temperature and estimated the time of death and wrote in her notebook.

Clare lifted Sarah’s head and ran her fingers along the girl’s scalp. Nothing unusual. But lower down, at the base of her neck, Clare felt the contusion. She pulled strands of the girl’s hair aside and found the discoloration. The lesion was three-inches long and not very wide. He had hit her with the edge of the shovel blade. She rotated Sarah’s head. Cause of death: cervical fracture– a broken neck.

As Clare photographed the wound she noticed a small nick at the entrance to Sarah’s ear. The blood was crusted but gooey. Clare made more notes.

Sitting beside her on the hay, Clare ran her fingers along Sarah’s lips. She gently took hold of the girl’s jaw and opened her mouth. Clare’s fingers came away feeling sticky. She studied her fingertips a moment then leaning close, she placed her nose next to Sarah’s mouth and breathed in.

There was no hint of semen, but there was something. Clare pulled back to try to place the scent. It was familiar but the answer hovered just outside her grasp. She looked closely and caught an unnatural glisten on Sarah’s teeth. She ran a fingertip along, inside Sarah’s lip, then Clare put it to her own tongue, rolling the smear against the roof of her mouth. At first she thought lipstick, but Sarah wore no makeup. But then it came to her: Vaseline.

Clare swabbed the tongue, bagged and labeled the sample. She swabbed the back of Sarah’s throat.

“Okay, Sarah,” Clare said, “sorry, but I have to look.” And she unbuttoned Sarah’s shirt. The girl’s skin was the color of candle wax. Her small boobs were reminiscent of scoops of soft vanilla ice cream, with cute raspberry nipples. Clare lifted a small breast, and then the one opposite. She detected a circular line of welts around the left areola. Sarah’s left breast had been bitten, but not hard enough to break the skin. Bitten through her blouse, maybe, Clare thought.

She swiveled around to view Sarah’s long flat torso and combed the skin, inch by inch, but there was no bruising or sign of trauma. Clare continued to work her way lower. “Forgive me, Sarah,” she said. And she see-sawed blue jeans down slim thighs, pushing them below the knees. Sarah’s panties were disheveled, as if they had been pulled up with one hand. Clare made a note then worked the cotton down over narrow hips. A puff of reddish pubic hair rolled out from beneath the elastic, a tantalizing sight for any young boy, but Sarah had soiled herself in the lonely process of dying and would have been mortified at the thought of anyone seeing.

There was some small bruising on the inside, left leg. Clare carefully slipped Sarah’s knees apart and positioned herself, her face close-in, between the girl’s thighs. Sarah had a pretty vagina, built small but held proud on the slope of a prominent pubic mound. The vaginal lips, like petals of a flower, were swollen and extended. She’d had sexual intercourse. Clare brushed through the girl’s pubic hair, back combing and studying the skin beneath. There was no signs of bruising but Clare’s hand came away feeling slick. More Vaseline.

Clare separated the labia with her thumbs and watched in fascination as a glob of semen slowly pooled, contained in the little sleeve of loose flesh at the entrance to the vaginal passage. The globule slowly gathered, mushrooming until it could no longer contain itself. It overflowed the rim of flesh and started to roll like a slow snow-slide. Clare swallowed as she watched the pale trickle gather momentum before disappearing into the veed recess between Sarah’s buttocks and leaving a glistening trail to mark its passage. Clare took samples and labeled them.

In her own mind, Clare was beginning to form a hypotheses but needed Adam’s help to verify her conclusions. She picked up her medical bag and went to him, anxious for answers.

The gun was there, still in his hand, just as Joshua had said. She ignored the side of Adam’s face, an ugly bloody tear, and quickly uncoupled his belt and opened his jeans.

Taking hold of his briefs, Clare eased the elastic up and over the bulge of his penis. He’s lovely, she thought– long and slender with smooth contours. The skin looked soft, velvety, like one of her kid-leather riding gloves. His penis, supported by the scrotum, lay along his thigh, like a pup’s snoot resting on a paw.

“My, Sarah,” Clare cooed. “What a lucky girl.” She lifted Adam’s penis delicately and cradled him in her palm. He felt solid, meaty, and her mouth felt hollow. She couldn’t help it. Clare had long ago accepted the fact that she liked the rubbery feel of a man in her mouth.

The darkness about her seemed to shift. And the chill was back, eking into the marrow of her bones. “Sarah?” she whispered, closing her eyes, searching for the memory of the girl, in the periphery. There was urgency now. Pleading. Sarah reaching, hands outstretched.

“Sarah?”

Pushing his penis aside, Clare took hold of Adam’s scrotum and with a hypodermic needle, she removed fluid. Then holding him steady, she slid a swab into his urinary track. She pulled it free and studied the cotton for semen but she couldn’t be sure. It was certainly damp with mucus, but sperm? It was hard to tell. She studied the tip of his penis and wondered.

After a quick glance over at Sarah’s remains, Clare held Adam close to her face and breathed in his aura. But she couldn’t focus.

She moved closer to take more of him. She could detect the fragrance of Sarah’s vaginal fluid and it heightened Clare’s awareness of her own cravings and she imagined what he would feel like, filling her throat. She couldn’t resist the urge to touch herself.

Clare was so lost in the flood of her own emotions that it took a moment for her to realize that she couldn’t detect the spicy fragrance of semen. She slowed, thinking it through. She worked her thumb along the bottom of his penis, milking him. A drop of fluid formed, bulging in the opening, but it wasn’t sperm. Then she realized she didn’t feel the slick of vaseline and the two pieces of information suddenly clashed with all the impact of two icebergs coming together.

In her mind, Clare heard Sarah cry out.

Clare scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering and her insides swirling like autumn leaves in a bitter wind. She felt sweat break out across her upper lip and she stood with circled eyes, trying to pierce the darkness. She spun. A piece of farm machinery, looking like a medieval instrument of torture stood in one corner, empty grain bins in the other.

She thought of the cell phone in her medical bag and took a step toward it.

“I wouldn’t...” The voice came from the darkness above and Clare felt her bowels turn to ice. She staggered, looking up. The barn was a maze of timbers, posts and beams connected by ladders. She strained to see.

“Here,” he called and Clare heard him chuckle, enjoying her confusion and fear. She detected a shapeless sprawl along a beam twenty feet above her head. It could have been coils of old rope but right then, there was movement and suddenly he lifted– a silhouette of darker dark against the darkness.

Clare thought of sprinting for the door but by the time the thought had taken hold, he had leap like a menacing mountain-cat, catching the ladder, sliding partway down and then springing to land in front of her. The look of shock on Clare’s face had him chuckling again. It came from deep within his bare chest and sounded like crushed rock sliding from the back of a truck.

Clare wanted to run. Wanted to scream. But she held her ground. “W-w-who?” she stammered. She cleared her throat. “Who are you?”

“I’m your snitch, doc,” he replied, smiling. “The guy with all the answers.”

He was tall and lean and dangerous-looking. His skin was wind-burned and sun hardened like shoe leather. He wore only black denim jeans and heavy work-boots. They were black and blunt-toed boots with thick soles. Clare had seen boots like that before and a shudder compressed her spine. They were prison boots. She had seen them enough times, in the holding pen in the basement of the Judge’s courthouse.

Clare tried to pull her thoughts together. “The guy with the answers? I’m afraid I don’t understand...”

“Oh c’mon doc. If you were asking the cunt over there for answers, you were talking to the wrong person. I know all of it, how it went down.”

“You saw Adam kill her?”

“Nice, doc, but he didn’t kill her. But you already figured that out, didn’t you?” He moved his jaw like he was gnawing a bone. “You’re smart, you are. No denying. And a looker too,” he said, casting an eye over the curves and hollows of her torso. “Beauty and brains. I like that...” And he nipped a hand across to tug open her sweater. “Older, but nice. Yuh know what MILF stands for?”

“Stop it,” Clare cried out, twisting away and wrapping her arms about her midriff. “If you saw something you had better talk to the Sheriff.”

He just laughed, his black eyes shining with delight. “Lady, I’ve been on the run for five weeks. No way I’ll be talkin’ to no fuckin’ sheriff.”

“Okay.” Clare was desperately fighting to regain control. “Okay ... speak with me then. But stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he faked innocence.

“Like I’m about to become your next meal.”

His laugh was chesty and he still eyed her like her clothes didn’t exist. “Thought I’d stop by this barn for a few days. Rest up a little. I fuckin’ walked here, from Florida...”

A revelation shifted into focus behind her eyes: North Florida, five weeks ago. It had been a prison break. Some toughened convicts had escaped, heavyweights. It had been in the papers. A guard had been injured– no, killed. There had been a manhunt.

“Raiford,” she breathed.

“Fuckin’ Christ ... yeah. Raiford Prison. My last known address.”

“But you can’t hope to escape ... the whole country is looking for you...”

“Escape?” he smirked. “There’s no escape. No place to escape to, for christ-sake. They’ll catch up with me as sure as fuck. And after what I’ve done, they’ll strap me to the table and drive that fuckin’ needle so far up my arm...” He laughed again. “And while that fuckin’ cocktail of shit is running through my veins, know what I’ll be thinking? ... Of all the cunt I’ve had since I busted out. All the sopping pussy I’ve fucked while listening to the sobbing and begging and pleading for life.” He paused and searched Clare’s face. “I’ll be thinking of you, doc.”

Clare looked into his eyes. There was no life there, no feeling. Nothing to reason with and she knew right then that she would suffer through a rape. He meant to do to her what he had done to Sarah and leave her naked body for Joshua and his Deputy to find. The thought of the Deputy running his eyes across her nude body seemed, somehow, more humiliating than opening for this man’s penis.

She tried to gain control of her quaking mind. Stall for time, Clare thought. Every extra minute I live, the greater my chances of getting through this with my life. Joshua could return early. The Deputy at the end of the lane might bring his coffee to share. He was only twenty-one but he flirted with her endlessly. Christ, kid ... if you want to get lucky, tonight’s your night.

“So you holed up in the barn...” she encouraged him to talk.

“Yeah, since yesterday. But today, earlier, I hear someone comin’ and I’m up into the rafters like a fuckin’ squirrel. It’s those two ... the guy and his piece of tail...”

“Her name was Sarah,” Clare remarked.

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway they was arguing. About some guy, an old boyfriend maybe, an’ she says she can prove she didn’t. And, by God, up she jumps and drops her jeans and panties and down on the hay she lands. Right below me. I can see her little blond snatch and everything.”

“Sarah removed her own clothing?” Clare asked.

“Sure as shit. And he comes over and they start doing it. Right in front of me. Humpin’ like street dogs. And she’s good, yuh know? Legs up, grinding with her hips and a finger stuck in her boyfriend’s ass. Well its been a few days since I had myself a good fuck so I figure I’m gonna get myself some of that.”

“You raped her.”

“You should’a seen their faces when I landed beside ‘em. I kicked the kid off’n her and didn’t he come out with a fuckin’ gun. Well one look in his eyes and I know’d he never shot no one before so I hit him, and he drops.”

“And you and Sarah...”

“Sure. I crawled up on her and she’s jumping around, but settles down right quick when I stick my knife in her ear. And I’m pounding her tight little twat and the kid’s sobbing, holding her hand, tellin’ her he loves her and that everything’s gonna to be okay. God it was good.” He looked into Clare’s face. “Are you any good, doc?” The bile rose into Clare’s throat.

“She was so tight,” he continued. “You know what I think?”

“No,” Clare said. “What?”

“I think if I had’a been there a couple minutes before, I would have been the one to pop her cherry. I’d have gotten me a sweet little virg. Anyway I loosen off my load and I’m gettin’ up off her and the dude makes another run at me. He pisses me off so I shot him in the fuckin’ head. Used his own gun. I’m hauling him over there, to the straw, when she fuckin’ jumps me from behind. She’s got a god-damned shovel. I twists it outta her hands and swing on her. But shit, I hit her too hard. I wasn’t done with her yet. We had the whole rest of the night. Then that fuckin’ hillbilly shows up.”

“That would be Bailey, checking his rabbit snares.”

“Guess he heard the shot. Anyway I’m back up in the fuckin’ rafters watchin’ him call the Sheriff. Where does a dickhead like that get a cell phone? Then the place is crawlin’ with deputies and you show’d up and then, surprise ... surprise ... you’re getting all hot an’ horny over what’s-his-face over there. Dead and all. What’s a’matter doc, you don’t get enough live bucks? Well I’m here to help you with that.”

Clare ignored the question.

“So doc? You didn’t say,” he pushed for an answer. “Are you any good?”

“Not good like her,” Clare nodded toward Sarah. “I’m thirty-eight years old, for christ-sake. And I’m certainly not tight ... not like her.”

“There’s always the tailpipe, doc,” he laughed. “You finger your own ass, doc? It’s tight, right?” He took a step back so he could see Clare full length. “How about a look at them legs.”

“Sodomy? Christ. You wouldn’t,” Clare cried out.

He shrugged and took something black and shiny from his pocket. There was a sharp click and a blade appeared between his thumb and forefinger. It was double-sided and definitely not boy scout issue.

He looked at the blood on the blade. “You an’ her are about to become blood-sisters,” he said. “Now let’s have a look at them gams.”

Clare felt the fight drain out, like someone had sliced an artery. She quailed at the thought of being cut and reaching, she took the hem of her skirt between quaking fingers and worked it up until it was even with her crotch. “There.”

“Geez ... nice,” he said. “For an old broad, you still got all the goodies. C’mon, a little higher. Let me see the rat’s nest.”

Clare ground down and with her jaw bunched, she raised her skirt until her hand was above the waist. He stood, stepped over to her and she cringed. She felt his hand between her thighs but Clare obediently shuffled her feet apart, without being told. He gripped the pubis through her pantyhose, a finger hooked and digging lower down. He squeezed firmly. “Looks like you got the right tool for the job, doc,” he sneered. And despite the cold Clare felt flushed and the color rose into her neck.

She took stock of her feelings. Clare was scared but still thinking. Still functioning. Buy time, she thought, make him like me, make it worth his while to keep me alive. A fair trade: Take my body in return for my life. She leaned into him, placing her cheek on his shoulder. Clare rotated her hips, thrusting against his hand. She moaned quietly and ran her teeth along his collarbone.

“You like that, then...?” he breathed, stretching his thumb up to where he figured her clitoris was hidden beneath her panties.

“M-m-m-m...”

“Fuckin’ liar. You’re revolted. I can feel you cowering in disgust.”

“No. No...” Clare cried, beating back the feelings of despair. “Let me prove it to you...”

He shot her a slimy grin. “Ohh ... kay! Kiss my cock. Pull it outta my jeans and place a big juicy smack, right on the head.”

Clare felt the floor shift, beginning to slide away. “K-kiss it?”

“Sure. You’ve tasted cock before, haven’t yuh? Sucked it. Rolled it on your tongue and swallowed?”

“Oh Lord...”

The grin widened. “Savvy broad like you? I bet you love gooey cum in your mouth. Have, what do they say ... acquired a taste for it.”

“Look I...”

“Christ, Doc. Get on with it. You know you’re gonna taste dick, if you want it or not. So save me the trouble of beating the fuck outta yuh. Get on your knees.”

“Okay ... okay. Just please. Don’t cut me.”

“Cut you? Hah! After I’m done with yuh, I’m gonna neuter you, doc. Cut it outta yah,” He grinned.

“W-what?” Clare felt her stomach roil. “You’d do that to me? After ... after I let you?”

“You’d better cum when I fuck you ‘cause I plan to be your last. After me, sweetie, it’s game over. Your proud pussy will have lost it’s purr.”

“But...”

“I’m warning you...” He closed a fist. “Get down there.”

Clare stared at his hardened knuckles with H-A-T-E tattooed in black and realized what a mess he would make of her face.

“Alright ... alright,” she cried and she reached out for the front of his jeans.

She slipped fingers behind the waistband, eased the zipper down and felt him sag as she ran fingers over hard abdominal muscles ... muscles work-hardened by long hours of brutal labor. Clare pushed through thick pubic hair, found the root of his penis and encircling it with thumb and forefinger, she pried him up.

His cock was as rugged as he was. Thick, ugly and uncircumcised. She worked the foreskin, preparing him. It was like sharpening the sacrificial knife that would be used later, to disembowel her groin.

Stall for time...

“This barn is freaking me out,” she murmured.

“Wha-a-a-a...” he struggled to answer as Clare tugged up on his erection, her thumb digging under the cauliflowered foreskin.

“We’d be more comfortable at the house. Can’t we go?”

Like a gambler coveting the cards, she strung out her game...

“My car’s outside,” she tempted him. “I’ll drive. There’s beer in the fridge and a bottle of good bourbon. You can have a hot bath. The tub is big. I’ll get in with you.” He groaned as Clare worked lower, cupping his testicles. “I’ll wash you.” And she reached with her index finger to run the nail around the ridge of his anus. “Inside and out.”

He gasped when she broached the muscle surrounding the rim with a fingertip.

“There are clean sheets on the bed,” she continued, pulling up again, with both hands. “You can spend the night ... between my legs.” She paused to let her words sink in then licked her lips. “I swallow.”

Clare had thrown down her last card, all her chips were in. “C’mon,” she said. “I’ll take you home.”

She leaned into him, listening to his ragged breath, waiting for him to say something.

He dropped his hands and pulled back. Clare desperately searched his eyes.

“No, I think we better dance our little dance right here,” he said firmly.

Crushed could not begin to describe the way she felt. But the feeling was quickly displaced with a sense of dread. She had offered all she had. And it wasn’t enough. Now what? Was she the next to die on the damp straw in this cold and lonely barn?

Her heart seemed to falter. His ultimatum was a bitter disappointment and she fought to console herself. It had been a worthwhile effort. It had bought precious minutes but more importantly, some of the violence seemed to have gone out of him.

“Okay,” Clare humbled herself. “Anything you want. I’m in no position to argue.” And she gave him a quiet smile and, bending at the waist, she dug nails into a buttock and gripped his penis in the opposite hand. Clare smoothed back the foreskin and, holding her breath, she placed a kiss on the exposed head. She paused, her lips still in place, and nibbled lightly. Then lifting him, she flicked the tip of her tongue across the pee-hole.