Black Water Read Free

was rubbing burns on her scrawny little neck and her hands. Her head would come off her shoulders before that chain come off the wall.
    Mule sat bassackards on a chair at a rickety table in the middle of the room, with nothin’ on but a greasy undershirt, slicing chunks off a raw patater with a big old knife, watchin’ her struggle. The knife wasn’t much more than a dull blade with two pieces of wood for a grip, leather-wrapped and cinched with thin strips of rawhide. He sipped and dribbled a homemade alcoholic concoction from a dented tin cup and pushed the patater chunks in what she determined was his mouth below the God-awful ugly hole in his face where his nose oughta been. A coal oil lamp in the middle of the table obstructed his view so he moved it to the edge. He leered at her girl parts and nodded his head in appreciation of the fine job he’d done locking her down.
    With all that going on, it took a minute before she realized she was sore ‘twixt her legs. She saw the rusty color of dried and sticky blood smeared on the soft insides of her thighs and the scratchy thing impersonating a mattress. It was then she realized she’d been done to, and as bad as she was hurtin’, determined Mule was sportin’ more than a two-finger-and-a-thumber. She was horrified that the noseless, fat piece of shit sittin’ halfway across the room shoving patater into its face had stuck his weiner in her.
    Mule’s gut jumped like a hog in a sack when he chuckled, nodded, and pushed another slice of patater in the hole. She felt bile rising in her throat, but, forgetting she was chained and nearly hanging herself again, hung her head as best she could over the edge of the cot and threw up on the floor. She was now officially a woman. Got that way by an old man. A fat one that smelled of pig shit and stinky armpits. With a hole in his head where his nose oughta been.
    The next few days, Mule did to her whatever come to mind. He was somewhat limited by the length of the chain, but he seemed to have quite an imagination when it come to dreaming up ways to poke pussy. And with good reason. A thousand times over the years, he’d fantasized about stickin’ it in a human woman, but what with the hole in his face, he couldn’t even rent one by the hour. Even a used-up whore would go without before spreadin’ her legs for him. Being that he was getting older and uglier ever passing day, lived out in the middle of nowhere, and had no financial prospects to speak of, he hadn’t had a lot of experience with the opposite sex.
    Well, that wasn’t quite right. Sex he’d had, and quite a bit of it. Just never with his own species. Smoke was actually his first adventure with a human female—he’d discovered it was all he’d hoped it would be and was intent on making up for lost time.
    On the very first day she learned he had a tendency to bite, but trying to fight him off just earned her his huge, calloused hands clamped around her throat until her face turned blue, her tongue stuck out, and thousands of sparkly little lights twinkled before her eyes, then everthing went dark.
    With her unconscious, he could probe and explore the wonders without all the bothersome squirming.
    More than once she had come to, licked clean with painful whisker burns on the inside of her thighs. The source, not somethin’ she wanted to think about.
    Ever time he come on her she fought like a turpentined cat. She woulda been a lot better off playin’ possum or gettin’ throttled into blessed nothingness. Conscious or not, though, he was having a great time. If he’d known a human girl could be this much fun, he’da caught one a long time ago. Hell, this one was so much fun, he was giving serious thought about snatchin’ up another one. Next time he was in town, he was gonna buy another chain, one a little longer, and keep a lookout for another human.
    The girl was a lot better than a sow. He could pin her arms down and look her in the eye and see the