Bite him!
He’d kill me for sure.
But she was choking. It was blocking her throat. She tried to breathe through her nose, but couldn’t.
Her hand reached up and found the steering wheel.
She grabbed the wheel and tugged.
Willy’s hand leaped away from the back of her head.
Marty, still clutching the wheel, resisting Willy’s efforts to turn it, shoved herself up until her mouth was empty.
She was still choking when the car swerved to the side of the road and skidded to a stop.
29
‘Coulda got us killed,’ Willy said. ‘That’s twice…’
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t mean to grab the wheel.’ She leaned against him, kissed him, and lowered her hand onto his lap. She lightly wrapped her fingers around him. He was as big as before, wet and slick from her mouth. ‘Let’s go in the woods now,’ she whispered.
‘Sure. Why the hell not. Where’s the bottle?’
Marty found it under the seat, and sat up with it. Shaking it, she heard sloshing sounds; some bourbon still remained in it.
Willy finished fastening his jeans. Then he shoved the car keys into his right front pocket. He climbed out, the revolver in his hand, and pushed its barrel down the front of his waistband. ‘Bring the bottle with ya,’ he said.
Marty opened her door. The night air rushed in. It was cooler than before, but felt balmy after the chill of the air-conditioner. She climbed out and shut the door.
Willy came over to her side of the car. ‘Let’s go this way,’ he said. He draped an arm over her shoulders and she led him down a grassy embankment. At the bottom, the ground was springy and wet. Water pressed up between Marty’s toes. But the ground was dry on the slope. She climbed higher. Just beyond the top of the ditch, the trees began.
‘Don’ wanna go far,’ Willy said, pulling back at the edge of the forest.
Marty kissed him on the mouth. ‘We wanta get away from the road, don’t we? Case somebody comes by?’
He answered by squeezing her breast. Then he said, ‘Gimme the bottle, honey.’
She handed it to him, then led him forward. They walked past three trunks, clumps of bushes, more trees, deeper and deeper into the woods, farther from the car. Farther from Dan in the trunk.
If he’s in the trunk.
Finally, they came to a small, moonlit clearing. ‘How about here?’ Marty asked.
Willy swung her around. She hugged him. One of his hands slipped under the back of her jersey and roamed her bare skin. The other, holding the bottle outside her jersey, pressed her tightly against him.
The revolver dug into her belly.
Get my hands on it…
She lowered a hand, squeezed Willy’s thigh, raised her hand to the hard bulge, squeezed and fondled him there as his mouth pressed her lips roughly and his tongue pushed between her teeth. Sneaking her hand sideways, she felt the steel barrel through his jeans.
‘Wrong gun,’ he gasped into her mouth.
She pulled his zipper down and reached into the open fly.
His hand was no longer under her jersey. It bumped against her hand, and she wondered for a moment what he was up to.
As she slipped him out through his fly, he unfastened the front of her shorts.
That’s what.
She raised her hand to his belt buckle.
Her knuckles brushed the wooden grip of the revolver.
Now! Do it now! Grab it!
But her hand wouldn’t move. It stayed at the belt buckle, trembling.
Willy started tugging at her shorts. They were tight. He jerked and dragged at them until he got them down around her knees. They were loose there. When he let go of them, they dropped to her ankles.
He pushed his hand between her thighs.
Grab his gun!
A finger slipped into her.
With a gasp, she staggered backward. The shorts caught her ankles. Caught and held and tripped her.
Willy held on.
Held on and went down with her as she fell and smashed her hard against the ground.
The pistol butt rammed into her belly.
The bottle under her back broke.
From the clink it made before bursting, Marty guessed it had struck a rock.
The back of her jersey was suddenly soaked with bourbon. And maybe blood. She felt glass in her skin.
‘The bottle broke,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’Willy pulled his arm out from under her.
‘I’m cut,’ Marty said. ‘It’s under my back. It’s in pieces. It’s cutting me. You’ve gotta get off.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Please.’ There were pieces buried in her skin. She felt numb in places. Other places were starting to sting, and streams of blood were tickling along the arch of her back. ‘Just get off me for a second...
Willy pushed himself up and sat across her hips.
She started to raise her back off the ground, but he clutched her throat and held her down.
‘Please,Willy.’
Grinning, he shook his head. Either he was too drunk to understand or care about the glass under Marty, or he liked the idea of grinding her into it.
Pleading, she thought, might only make it worse.
Willy pulled the revolver out of his jeans, tossed it on the wet grass about six feet away, and unbuckled his belt.
‘Honey,’ Marty said, trying to stay calm. ‘Let go of my throat, okay?’ She crossed her arms over her belly and started to pull up the jersey. ‘I can’t get it off without sitting up.’
He leaned back, taking his hand from her neck, and finished opening his jeans. Then he took off his shirt and threw it aside.
As Marty slowly raised her back off the ground, she pulled the jersey up. It was sticky with blood. Shards of glass pulled loose from her back, dropped and tinked against others. When the jersey was off, she flung it away. Sitting upright, she wrapped her arms around Willy and hugged him tightly…
And twisted to the left so they tumbled sideways, rolling.
She came down on her side. Though she felt no broken glass, she knew it couldn’t be more than a few inches away. So she wrestled Willy onto his back. Stretched out on top of him, she pushed her open mouth against his.
Reaching out with one arm, she patted the dewy grass. Stretched her fingers.
Then had to look.
The revolver lay three or four inches beyond her fingertips.
Willy squirmed beneath her, trying to force her legs apart.
They suddenly rolled onto their sides. Farther from the gun.
Marty swung a leg over him and forced him onto his back again.
Straddling him, she reached out for the revolver.
He clutched her buttocks and thrust.
Marty grabbed the gun by its barrel.
Willy’s penis rammed deep into her, throbbing and squirting.
She swung the pistol and clubbed the side of his head.
Willy yelped. His body jerked rigid, and he suddenly went limp.
Except for the part that was buried in Marty.