Black Water Read Free Page A

fear and the pain. Couldn’t do that with a hog. He’d tried to get one of his favorites to turn turtle a couple of times, but discovered that sows was constructed to go in from the back while on their feet. Any other way, the angle was off and his doodle kept slippin’ out. A sow squealed and put up a struggle to get loose, but it wouldn’t actually what you’d call fight back. He even thought there was a couple of ’em that had learned to like it because when he went to mount up, they’d slip their tails out of the way and brace theirselves against the sty rails, grunt and get all wiggly in anticipation.
    He liked to think so, anyway.
    He laughed, jamming it inside his new plaything, knowing he had a lot more to give than she had capacity to receive. They were proof you could actually shove a quart’s worth of product in a pint-sized jar. It hurt like the devil, but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing how bad, and that just made him pound that much harder. With her size, age, and meager diet, she hadn’t developed a hint of tittie yet, but that didn’t stop him from pullin’ and pinchin’ on her little pea-size nipples in the attempt to create some. When he pulled on his doodle it got bigger, so he was determined to prove it worked the same with titties. He tried suckin’ on ’em, but with the floppy top lip he couldn’t get a secure lock, so he had to settle for licking.
    She bit and spit on him and tried to push him off, but never made a sound, other than to cuss and make nasty, although believable and even probable assumptions about his mother and father. His aunt and uncle.
    First thing in the morning, he’d have a go at her, then go outside and work for a while, come back in an hour or two later, eat a patater or somethin’, have another romp, and then go back outside. He had his way with her three or four times a day, but it vexed him she could take it. Ever time he was done with her, he wasn’t happy unless there was blood smeared on the head of his pecker. He even denied her food and water to wear her down, but that just seemed to make her madder. He told her he knew she thought she was better than he was but before he was done with her, nose or no, she’d learn the difference between master and slave and he’d keep it up until she hollered uncle.
    “Hell, yeah,” she told him one time, ”I am better’n you, you ugly ol’ fart. I got a nose ‘n you ain’t.” That crack cost her a tooth, a busted lip, a swole-up eye, and an extra hard poking. He grabbed her by the hair, flipped her over on her knees, wrapped his left arm tight around her middle and his right hand mashed her head face down on the mattress, and rammed her from the back until she threw up. It wasn’t as good as a scream or beggin’ him to stop, but it’d do for a start.
    One of his favorite tortures was to eat in front of her while she was near starving. One day he was gnawin’ on a piece of meat and she got smart-mouthed and asked him why he’d eat greasy possum when there was a pen full of fresh bacon and ham hocks not fifty feet from the front door. He shook all over and laughed at her like she was stupid and told her that just showed how smart she wasn’t. “Possums’s fer eatin’, pigs’s fer sellin’.”
     
    ***
     
    On the fifth day, mellowed by half a jug of amateur-grade embalming fluid, Mule stood at the side of the cot, goin’ at her with nothin’ on but his smelly shirt. Smoke was hissing through her teeth because he had her on her all-fours, his big hands clamped tight on her hip bones, taking her from the back. He liked it like that because he could look down and watch what he was doing. He leaned forward, pushed on the back of her head, and blubbered something that sounded like “Bledown.” When she didn’t move, he slapped her in the back of the head and repeated, “Bledown!” She understood that he wanted her to get down, but at that angle, it hurt a lot more. When she didn’t