"Jeez," I muttered. "How old were you?"
She shrugged, shook her head. "I don't know. It went on from the time I was nine or ten, all the way through high school."
"What about Billie? They were married for . . . twenty years? She let all this . . . ?"
"He never did anything in front of her. But she worked, you know. Dad found plenty of time to be alone with us."
"Wasn't he away at sea a lot?"
"Not that much. Not nearly enough, if you ask me. And when he did come back from sea tours, he was worse than ever. He had all sorts of games. The wrestling was just one of them. But it was his favorite, I think. He wanted to do it whenever he had us alone. He used to get these holds on us, and make us scream. We'd be screaming and crying, squirming around with him on the floor and he'd -- you know, stick his fingers in us. And his tongue. And he'd bite us."
"Billie didn't know any of this was going on?"
"No, huh-uh. It was our dark little secret. Dad said he'd kill us if we ever told on him."
"What about Connie?"
Thelma shrugged. "I don't know. I stopped living at home when I went away to college. I mean, that's like twelve years ago. Connie would've only been like . . . how old?"
"She's eighteen now."
"So that would've made her only six when I left. I know he kept it up with Kimberly after I was gone. We never talked about it, but I knew. I mean, they weren't about to stop. But I don't know if they got Connie doing it. It sure wouldn't surprise me, though."
"'Weren't about to stop'?" You almost make it sound like Kimberly was . . . a willing participant."
Thelma blew a huff of air out her nose and mouth. "Kimberly didn't go away to college. What does that tell you? An honor student, class president, you name it, she could've gone to Princeton or Yale if she'd wanted to. But what did she do instead? Enrolled at the community college and lived at home."
"You think she kept on doing things with him?"
"Hell, yes. She really got into it. The whole pain thing. Delicious pain. That's what Kimberly always called it, delicious pain."
"Really?" I was a bit dumbfounded by all this. "She hasn't got any scars. Not that I've seen, anyway."
"No, no. Of course not. Scars are a dead giveaway. She's always been very careful not to let herself get hurt in any ways that show. You don't want people knowing about your nasty little secret life. They'll think you're a degenerate, a sicko. You know what I mean?"
"What about her and Keith?" I asked. "I mean, she married the guy. If she was having this thing with Andrew . . . ?"
"Keith was the same way."
"He liked to hurt her?"
"Sure, he did. I walked in on them, one time. This was just before I got married to Wesley. I had to go to Dad's house to pick up . . . a book. I needed Billie's etiquette book for my wedding plans. And I walked into the house without ringing the doorbell. I thought nobody was home. But I heard noises upstairs, so I snuck up to see what was going on. I was afraid there might be a burglar, or something. It wasn't any burglar, though -- it was all three of them in Kimberly's bedroom."
"All who?"
"Kimberly, Keith, and Dad."
"Having sex? All three of them?"
"Yes, having sex. And torturing her."
"Torturing Kimberly?"
"She was strapped down to her bed, spread-eagled, and . . ."
"Never mind," I said.
"Dad was in her mouth."
"Cut it out. I don't wanta hear . . ."
"Keith was kneeling between her legs. He was reaching up with pliers in each hand, working on her nipples, while his mouth . . ."
"Shut up! I don't believe you. You're making it all up. Kimberly wouldn't . . . She said you're a liar. This is all a load of bullshit."
"Anyway, Wesley knew all about Dad and Keith. You see? He knew what a couple of sick degenerates they were. So when the boat blew up . . . he was afraid they'd blame him and he knew how they liked to torture people. He was terrified. Not just for himself, either. He was terrified for me and Billie . . . all of us. Can you imagine being stranded on an island with a couple of sadistic bastards like them? He had to kill them."
"So why did he want to kill me? I never tortured anybody."
A strange smile tilted up one side of Thelma's mouth. The other side, dark and swollen from the beating Wesley had given her, didn't move. "You'd like to, though, wouldn't you?" she said.
Which wasn't exactly what I'd expected her to say.
"Like to what?" I asked.
"Torture somebody."
"You're nuts!"
"Somebody like Kimberly," she said.
"No!"
She smirked at me. "Who are you trying to kid? It makes you hot, just thinking about it. You'd just love to take her nipples and pinch them till she wept and squirmed and begged for mercy."
"You're nuts."
"Or bite them."
"It's time for you to go," I said. I set the ax aside, picked up the rope again, and shuffled over to her on my knees. "Put out your hands."
"Look at you," she said.
She was looking at the front of my shorts.
"So what. Hold out your hands."
Instead of holding them out, she started to unbutton her blouse.
"Stop that," I said.
"You can pretend I'm Kimberly," she said, and pulled her blouse open. The firelight shimmered on her huge breasts. "Here. Feel. I know you want to. You're aching to."
"No. Stop it."
She reached under her breasts and lifted them, raised them toward me. "Here," she said. "They're all yours. You want to squeeze them, don't you? And slap them around? Make them swing and bounce? Wouldn't you love to take my nipples and twist them till I cry out for mercy?"
"No."
She lowered her breasts, but only to free her hands. Then she started to finger her nipples. She pinched them, pulled at them, twisted them. While she did it, she clamped her lower lip between her teeth. She breathed through her nose, air hissing in and out her nostrils.
I watched.
"You do it," she gasped. "I know you want to. You'd love to."
I had to admit, I was tempted. This was sort of like the kind of thing I'd been hoping for. But only sort of. Thelma was the only woman on the island who'd never figured in my fantasies.
I couldn't help being aroused, though. She'd been talking dirty, getting me all turned on with that stuff about Kimberly, and now she was showing me her breasts. They were huge, covered with bruises and welts and scabs. They excited me, anyway.
Frankly, I was pretty disgusted with myself. And with Thelma.
I felt like, if I took her up on the offer, I'd feel very guilty and very dirty. I'd want to wash my hands afterward.
"Come on," she gasped. "Come on."
"Thanks, but no thanks."
"I'm Kimberly. Just shut your eyes, and I'll be Kimberly for you. Come on. Take my tits, and I'll unzip you and . . ."
"Forget it," I said. "Now stop it. Button up and hold out your hands."
"Okay, okay. Just a minute."
She started to get up.
"Wait. What are you doing?"
"I just want to be on my knees, that's all. I don't wanta be sitting down. It's too hard to get up once your hands are tied."
That made sense. I waited until she was kneeling in front of me, then said, "Give me your hands, now."
Instead of obeying, she smiled at me, rubbed her hands down her thick belly and started to unbuckle her belt.
"Don't."
She didn't stop. "I'll show you what else Wesley did to me."
"I don't want to see."
"Sure, you do."
She was right, of course.
I knew I should stop her. In some ways, though, I didn't really want to. Also, I didn't know how. If I tried anything Thelma didn't like, she might yell. The last thing I wanted right then, was for one of the other women to wake up and find us like this.
So I just knelt there, watching while she unbuckled her belt, un-fastened the waist button of her shorts, and pulled her zipper down.
The shorts dropped to her knees.
I expected to see panties, but didn't.
She had no pubic hair, to speak of. Just a bulging triangle with dark whiskers like a guy might get on his jaw if he goes a day or two without shaving.