Chapter 11: The Discovery
Abigail took a key from her waistband and unlocked the door to John Green's
room. Dusk was falling, and he hadn't come back yet. She had debated whether or
not to search through his things, but she finally decided that she had no
choice. She had no money. The hotel was her only security. Without it she would
literally be on the street. Tibbs had her over a barrel, and he wasn't a man to
show mercy.
She went to the rain-streaked window and looked out. She would be able to see
him if he came back. She had a clear view of the livery.
His canvas bedroll lay on the foot of the bed. The catch rope had been left
untied so that all she had to do was unroll it.
Inside were two gray and black Navajo blankets of thick wool and a war-bag. She
pulled open the drawstring and emptied the contents onto the bed.
There was an assortment of items: a tin of salve; some tobacco; a small metal
coffee pot and cup; knife, fork and spoon; a small skillet; a small bag of
coffee; some beef jerky wrapped in cloth; a half bag of flour; a bag of beans; a
bag of pinon nuts; tooth brush and powder; and a razor and wet stone in a worn
leather case with a mirror of polished nickel inside the lid. An edge of paper
stuck out from the back of the mirror. She pulled on it and as it came out she
saw a faded photograph of a woman, in a full-skirted outfit, sitting in a lawn
chair, holding a small baby and a man, in a dark suit, standing next to her with
one hand on a finial of the chair back with the thumb of his other hand stuck in
the pocket of his vest. A star was pinned to the vest.
They were in a yard next to a tree, a mailbox by a road off to one side and part
of a new looking, white-framed house on the other side.
There was a name on the mailbox, very small and difficult to read.
* * *
When Loomis got back to his ranch he had his servants prepare his bath. After
this was done he stripped off his wet clothes and reclined in the brass tub for
an hour or more puffing on a cigar and sipping from a pint bottle of whiskey
while re-reading the article by Faye Morgan in the Red Rock Lantern. The more he
read the madder he became. These damn women! Who did they think they were!
Goddamn'em! He felt his cock becoming hard under the soapy water creating
libidinous images in his mind as he begin to contemplate what he would do to
them. He would teach them their proper place!
His hand found his cock and began to manipulate it. He envisioned their firm,
naked, young bodies writhing on the ground beneath him as he stomped his boots
into their soft flesh. Marking them with the imprint of his heels.
Oh, what he would love to do to them!
He thought of the squaws and mujeres he had raped and tortured as a young man
building his empire. Those sordid memories inflamed his flesh like an unclean
thirst that darkens one's veins and can never be subdued nor put off.
The head of his cock rose twitching above the surface of his bath water like the
prow of a sunken ship shuddering up from its watery grave. Loomis squeezed his
fist around the quaking shaft just below the swollen, red head where the
foreskin had slipped back. This was the progenitor of his dynasty, his
immortality. The fluid that seeped from its mouth would create living memorials
to his genius and keep his legacy alive.
But only if his offspring survived, and that was beginning to look doubtful now.
He couldn't afford to wait around on Patrick to sire children. He had to know
now, before he died, that there would be grandchildren to carry on for him --
and only one sure way existed to do that.
The thought made his cock pulse even harder.
He got out of his bath, dried quickly and slipped on a flashy, silk, Turkish
bathrobe that glinted with gold filigree and scimitars. He went to the head of
his bed and picked up a silver bell, ringing it.
After the servants had come and emptied the bath water and removed the tub,
Loomis told one of them to tell Conchita that he wanted to see her.
Several minutes later there was a faint knock at his bedroom door and a
withered-looking crone entered.
"You wanted to see me, senor?" the stooped, skinny, old woman whispered
hoarsely.
"Yes, Conchita," Loomis replied, stroking his chin. "I wanted to know if la
senora has had her evening chocolate yet?"
The old Mexican shook her head. "No, senor; mas tarde."
"Bueno," he said moving close to the old woman, staring into the dulled, gray
eyes, smiling, still stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"I want you to give la senora something special, something to make her sleep
soundly, very soundly, si? Un sedante muy fuerte."
A faint, knowing grin crinkled the parchment at the corner of her mouth. The
eyelids narrowed slowly, the ashen eyes becoming intent with a dusty
lasciviousness.
"Si. Eet I do, senor," she whispered, her eyes widening as she gave emphasis to
the word 'do'.
She nodded slightly and moved back out of the room with the hesitant, unsteady
gait of the ancient.
* * *
She made her way slowly down the tiled hallway until she came to the cocina.
Soon she was bringing milk to a boil on the stove and pouring boiling water into
a mix of cocoa, sugar and salt to make a paste; she poured in the scalded milk
and added several teaspoons of brandy, milling it for a couple of minutes. From
a small clay bottle she added several drops of a grayish liquid, and stirred
this into the mix.
Mona was brushing out her long black hair at a vanity when Conchita brought the
hot chocolate to her. Mona thanked her and had the old servant continue to brush
her hair while she sipped her drink. Inwardly, as she glanced into the mirror,
she shuddered to think that someday she would become as old and ugly as the
woman. That her firm, full body would become a withered sack of skin stretched
over a crumbling frame of rotting bones. That her beautiful white teeth would,
one day, fall out, one by one, until her mouth and cheeks caved into her face.
After that who would want her? What a horrible fate, she thought, awaits even
the best of us, the luckiest.
But she was young and did not pursue these morbid thoughts long. Instead she
sipped the warmth of the brandied chocolate into her body enjoying the luxurious
feel of the old servants hands stroking the brush through her hair. Outside,
through the open patio doors, she could hear the rain splattering on the tiles
of the inner court. The sound, with it constant rhythm, was soothing to listen
to, and soon she found herself nodding off.
She was vaguely aware of the old woman guiding her to bed, but she remembered
nothing more as her head touched the soft, scented pillow.
* * *
Loomis watched Conchita leave Mona's bedroom and cross the inner court, bent by
age and a desire to avoid facing into the rain. He stood at his patio door and
smoked. Waiting. The front of his robe had come open and his hard cock stood out
in front of him angled up forty-five degrees from his belly.
When he was sure enough time had passed he put his cigar out in the silver
ashtray on his desk and slipped out of the robe. Naked he walked out into the
rain of the inner court, enjoying the feel of the cool drops on his naked flesh,
the sensuous feel of the wet tiles beneath his bare feet. He was more alive than
he had been for a long time. He was as excited as he had been when he was young
and had the whole world before him. Like a voyager or explorer seeking new
worlds. Where no laws existed except what a man made for himself. Where he was
free to do anything he wanted that was within his strength to do -- and to hell
with the consequences. A long time had passed since he had experienced such a
feeling of omnipotence, and he savored it.
How he wondered had he managed to let himself become old -- not just old but
civilized too. Civilized behavior was for weaklings who didn't have balls enough
to take what they wanted. He couldn't let that happen to himself --not Cordel
Loomis. He must recapture his old fire. Be the man he used to be. Instead of
some dandified flop like the hanger-ons and social sycophants that spawned like
vermin in the upper reaches of western high society. Only a man deserves this
land. And, by God, he was a man still! Nobody was ever gonna say Cordel Loomis
died anything less.
When he entered Mona's bedroom his pulse was racing. His whole body was alive to
the slightest sensations. Tingles raced through his spine stiffening his cock to
the point of being painful.
Mona lay on the top of the covers in a sheer chemise, her face turned slightly
toward him in the yellow glow of a candle on a nightstand. Shadows played over
the outlines of her body caressing it as with phantom hands. He could see the
rise and fall of her breasts and make out the naked flesh beneath the thin
chemise, the full tits heavy against the thin fabric, the dark areolae and
nipples visible.
He stood unable to move for a moment staring down at her. His son's wife and
what he was going to do to her made him giddy with anticipation. The immorality
of it overwhelmed his senses with intense surges of excitement that so
overpowered him he almost fell to his knees. No noble action could ever reward
one with the same level of intensity.
Carefully he moved to the side of the bed and sat down. He reached out and moved
her head from side to side slowly. Her eyes remained closed, her face impassive.
He could do anything he wanted to her. Anything.
He parted her lips with his thumb and forefinger and with the tips pulled her
tongue out as far as he could. He stared at it, then let go.
It slipped slowly back into her mouth.
This is what it would be like with a dead woman, he thought, and the thought
excited him.
With trembling hands he untied the drawstring at the neck of the chemise and
pulled it down off her smooth white shoulders. He placed one hand behind her
back and lifted her slightly so that he could pull the top down uncovering her
breasts. As he lifted her, her head fell back baring the graceful curve of her
throat. Her thick, glossy hair brushed coolly against his forearm and shoulder
with the liquid silkiness of a soft caress that caused the head of his cock to
twitch against his rain wet belly.
He stared hungrily at the fully revealed tits. They were round and firm, taut.
He laid her back down and took one of the brown nipples between the tips of his
thumb and forefinger and rolled it as if it were putty to be shaped. Soon he
could feel it harden and expand. Lowering his mouth to the other nipple he began
sucking on it until both were fully extended.
Loomis' breath came in short, labored gasps now. He could feel a tightness in
his chest. Sweat began to bead his white-haired chest in place of the droplets
of rain water. His whole body was electric, trembling. With nervous fingers he
drew the cotton fabric farther down. He had to see the pussy, her hairy center,
the future abode of his cock and progeny.
The navel was deep and shadowy, set in a firm, flat belly. He pressed his finger
next to it. Poked. Beneath the skin and muscle, he could feel the liquidity of
gut smoothly subsiding. He recalled an Apache woman he had raped years ago. She
had had a firm, flat belly too. He remembered how he had gutted her with his
knife and rolled the bloody intestines around in his mouth, licking the blood
from their slick surface.
He had done it while she watched him.
The look in her eyes made him feel something he had never felt before. It was
not a look of disbelief in her eyes nor of horrified revelation, for she was an
Apache woman and Apache women were as sadistic as Apache men -- more so in some
cases. She had, no doubt, tortured many of her enemies to death in her life
time, for many Apache women were warriors, too, and rode alongside the men into
combat. And she knew what to expect if captured by a pin-dah-lickoyee, 'white
eye'. She had known she would be raped and tortured. So the look was not one of
astonished disbelief. But a look of submissive defeat cast from the closing
shadow of death. And that look was the greatest aphrodisiac he had ever
experienced. Her defiant look of scorn had vanished. He was the conqueror. And
from that moment on he knew that nature, that life, intended only for the strong
to triumph: to reap the rewards of living. And he pledged to himself -- and to
whatever dark gods ruled the universe -- that he would never be weak, that no
one would ever get the better of Cordel Loomis.
He yanked the chemise down over her hips, ripping it in his hurry to see her
dark triangle. It was thick and wiry, hiding the velvet slit. He buried his face
in it, sniffing the musky odor. The pussy hair scratched his face like a light
textured brush. The anticipation of what her bush would feel like against the
tender head of his cock was almost overwhelming.
He lifted first one of her long, shapely legs; then the other sliding the
chemise down the firm thighs, full calves and delicate ankles; drawing it off;
leaving her stark naked. The feet seemed small and childlike compared to his
own. They were well-shaped and high arched. The nails neatly trimmed almost
pearl-like in beauty. The toes graduated with perfect symmetry. He caressed each
foot kneading the heels and balls and the tender softness of the arches. He
separated the toes one at a time. Slowly. Feeling the slight resistance build as
he stretched them to their limits. The skin was a lighter white between them,
more tender. He could have easily snapped them like twigs they were so delicate.
He moved around to the foot of the bed and, lifting her bent legs up by the
ankles, placed the soles of her feet on his cock and balls. Slowly he moved them
up and down stroking his throbbing organ with them feeling the heels against his
tight scrotum and the toes half way up his shaft. He stared down at her pussy
and at the slight quaking of her thighs. Her beautiful face was impassive, the
lips slightly parted and glistening wetly where he had pulled her tongue out.
Her arms lay limply by her sides. Her palms up, the fingers curled over, the
long porcelain nails like daggers. He watched the steady rise and fall of her
stomach, the slight quivering rise and fall of her breasts. Dark locks of hair
covered her right eye.
He heard a sound and looking to his right, he saw the old bruja, Conchita,
standing in the doorway watching. She was naked except for a beaded medicine bag
that hung around her neck on a rawhide cord. Her long gray hair -- unrolled now
-- clung wetly down her back. Her old tits hung like half-empty sacks down to
her small, pot-like belly that stuck out from her skinny frame like a hillock
rising from a wasted, ravine-cut plain.
She had a gleeful expression on her wrinkled face and licked her lips
lasciviously with a long rapidly moving tongue like a starving dog licking honey
from its muzzle. A smacking, sucking sound came from her toothless mouth. With
one hand she fingered her sparsely-haired pussy and with the other tweaked her
nipples, alternating back and forth.
It wasn't the first time the old woman had come to witness her master engage in
fleshy acts of depravity.
Loomis could no longer stall his burning need for Mona's naked flesh. He had to
fuck her. His dark, twisted lust swelled inside him. It was either fuck her or
split apart, to burst open like a sun-baked melon on the hot desert plain.
His swollen cock arched before him like an Indian war club. Soon, very soon, he
would thrust it deep into her tight, warm, wet belly. He forced her knees back
onto her breasts, spreading her thighs. Her cunt was open before him. He leaned
to her feeling the brush of cunt hairs against the head of his purple-veined
cock.
He felt the soft, tender lips of her cunt spreading apart as his meathead
plumbed deeper into her. Resistance built as the tight ring of cunt muscle tried
to repel his onslaught but to no avail. He pushed the ball head of his dick past
the resistance feeling the tight ring of flesh grip his dick like a fist,
swelling up over the bulbous head as he moved on into her and sinking back down
around his thick shaft.
He couldn't believe how tight she was. It was only with a great deal of
straining that he could work a few inches of cock into her. He vaguely wondered
if his son had ever worked this pussy. He doubted it, wondering how any normal
man could let good pussy go fallow. A pussy was like a good bull whip. It needed
constant oiling and use to stay flexible.
Slowly he eased his cock into her, pulling back some and ramming forward until,
finally, sweating profusely, he was seated properly, his full cock in her to the
balls. Her soft, firm belly rose against and fell away from his own hairy one.
Something quivered in her that made his dick twitch. Her eyes opened and gazed
into his with a distant, puzzled look and closed. Her cunt muscles relaxed and
tighten.
To his right the old bruja moved to the bed and climbed onto it behind him. Her
wet tongue lapped his balls moving up to his asshole. The rigid point of it
entered his hole. Her old tongue was long like a serpent's and it entered him
fully three inches deep like a boneless finger. He had thought his cock couldn't
get any bigger, but he was wrong. It strained and swelled even more within the
tight confine of Mona's pussy like a gravity hose suddenly inflated under
pressure.
She worked the prehensile tongue in and out of his ass -- while he thrust in and
out of Mona's pussy -- and cupped his balls in her hand, toying with them,
scraping her nails along the wrinkled, variegated surface. She moved her hands
up his asscheeks, drawing her long fingernails slowly down while continuing to
ream out his asshole with her tongue.
Loomis' cum gushed from him before he realized what had happened. He came so
forcefully that it was painful. He cried out in agony, his whole body trembling
violently. The grizzled crone rammed her tongue deeper into his ass forcing even
more cum to spurt from his straining cock, shooting a gusher into Mona's pussy.
Flesh slapping flesh sounded amongst wet sucking, slurping groans and moans.
Loomis pulled out of the unconscious woman, her hips rising up as her tight cunt
clung to the thick, branch-like cock, sinking back as he disengaged and fell
over, collapsing onto the mattress.
He watched as Conchita turned Mona over onto her belly and spread her legs. She
took some white power from her medicine bag and mixed it with spit in the palm
of her hand until it had a paste-like consistency.
"Haremos a la senora como una zombi. Eternamente."
From the medicine bag she took a stick and a hollow reed which she filled with
the paste. She inserted the reed into Mona's asshole. The smooth stick she
fitted into the end of the reed and plunged it in forcing the paste into Mona.
She placed the reed and stick back in the bag, took out some blue chalk and
turned Mona back over face up. With the chalk she drew a circle on Mona's
forehead with a cross inside. She colored her eyelids and nose, drawing circles
around her nipples and navel. She rubbed the chalk over her cunt until the hairs
took on a bluish tinge.
Straddling her belly, she leaned close to Mona's ear and whispered something.
Suddenly Mona opened her eyes, vacant, devoid of life. Conchita held up a gnarly
index finger before Mona, drawing it down her forehead and nose, tracing a
circle around her full, sensuous lips with a long gray nail. Mona shivered
slightly.
Conchita moistened the tips of her index fingers and thumbs and tweaked Mona's
nipples drawing them up, stretching them to their full lengths, releasing them.
She repeated the process until the nipples were swollen and hard, turning a dark
purple.
She paused for a moment, moving her index finger from side to side in front of
Mona's face, muttering an unintelligible incantation. Mona's eyes followed the
finger unblinkingly.
"Si . . . si . . ." Mona whispered, as if in answer to some question.
She arched her back and began to writhe on the bed as if in a sexual ecstasy.
The old bruja munched and licked her breasts and suckled her nipples hungrily,
saliva dripping from her coarse lips. She kissed and slobbered down the firm
belly and buried her desiccated face in the cum-drenched pussy mound. Mona
sighed, half in pain as the long tongue buried itself in her pussy. A long, bony
finger was shoved up her ass. The tongue moved in and out of her pussy like a
big, thick slug while Conchita's nose prodded her clit.
Loomis got on his knees above Mona's head and, leaning forward, placed the head
of his dick on her lips. The old bruja spoke harshly in Spanish, and Mona opened
her mouth. His cock was taken in by the warm, wet tongue. His dick instantly
began to harden again; he could feel another load building in his taut balls.
He placed his hands underneath her slender neck and lifted up so that his cock
would have a straight course down her throat, for he intended to make her take
all of him.
The old bruja turned around so that her ass faced Loomis. While he pumped his
swelling cock down Mona's throat, he sniffed the old woman's asshole, running
his tongue up and down the perineum, licking his tongue through the pudendum and
back up to the puckered asshole.
The old whore greedily munched on the senora's cunt sucking up her juices mixed
with the pungent taste of cum. Together they worked their wiles on the young
woman desecrating her firm, full body with their old, tainted lust.
Loomis positioned the old woman's ass right above Mona's mouth so that he could
access the holes of both women and began fucking his cock first into Mona's
mouth then into the cunt and asshole of the old woman. The old woman sucked
greedily on Mona's cunt lapping her tongue up and down her hairy slit,
slithering the probing tip deep into its warm, wet channel. As Loomis slid his
cock in and out of her holes, she cried out and bucked her hips back against his
hairy belly.
Loomis' balls became taut against the base of his thick cock as they prepared
for a forceful blow. The old woman suddenly sat up straight, arching her back.
Loomis reached around her waist and pulled her to him, burying his cock in her
ass. Cum gushed from it into her old tight hole like steam from a sudden rupture
in the earth. He gripped her tits and pulled down on them, as spasms shook his
body, milking the slack bags like a cow's teats and bit her thin neck leaving
the bloody imprint of his teeth.
When all the cum had finally spurted from his organ, with one last quiver, he
pulled it from her ass and fell onto his back.
"Will she remember any of this?" he gasped, staring at the ceiling.
Conchita gave him a toothless smile over her boney shoulder.
"No. It will be as if it never happened."
"Good," Loomis said quietly. "Good."
He got up, after a few minutes, and walked outside into the inner court. Naked,
he stood in the rain letting it wash his body clean. Above, dark clouds roiled
ominously.
