Lauren Starr's Last Stand Ch. 01

Cross cupped her breasts with his hands, squeezing them, his fingers closing on her nipples and pinching. Loretta's entire body rippled from the force of his thrusts. She dug her fingers into the flesh of Cross's back, scratching him as he moved in and out of her, his cock pulling and pushing into her pussy with wet, squishy noises.

"Yes, fuck me, Christian! Fuck me with that big cock!" Loretta grunted.

Cross shut her up with a stinging slap to the side of her face, a glowing red hand imprinted on her left cheek. Loretta felt tears spring into her eyes, and she was helpless to stop them. She knew Cross wanted to see her vulnerable, but Loretta forced herself to keep the tears from leaking over. She would show that asshole that she was just as strong as him. In ways, probably stronger.

"Don't speak, whore. Don't fucking ruin it," he said, pushed her down forcefully into the mattress with his strong hands on her shoulders and thrust himself as deep into her as he could.

Loretta came with a screaming howl.

Some time later, after what seemed an eternity of senselessness, orgasms and hits and curses, she felt Cross empty his seed into her, filling her with his black essence.

For the first time in her life, Loretta Reed wished she could get pregnant.

VI. More Death on the Other Side of Town

Biggie Dawkins would probably never have found her if it wasn't for the horse.

He heard it before he saw it, a quiet neighing by a stream. Dark brown and muscular, it was the best looking steed he'd ever seen, and Biggie decided that it would catch him more than a fair price in town. Or, perhaps, he could offer it to Cross. Such a horse might earn him a few steps up the gang's food chain. At least as far as that ijit Dooley's equal. Being considered lower than such a man turned Dawkin's stomach. The thought the horse most likely belonged to someone else didn't bother him; Dawkins was no stranger to murder.

Still, something about the situation worried him. Why wasn't the horse tied down to something? The owner must be nearby. Dawkins surveyed the surroundings with cautious eyes: birds chirping, the last slivers of the sun setting. Not much was around but the remains of the old church, its frame a blackened wart on the green countryside. Biggie licked his lips. Inside would be the most likely place someone could hide; in fact, he'd hid there once before when he'd first passed through town, years ago.

Dawkins' senses heightened. Maybe this was the very killer he sought.

He slid off Stranger, his own horse, and upholstered his pistol. He didn't want to take any chances in case an encounter with McCranie's assassin might be in store for him. He checked the barrel: fully loaded, just as he expected.

Dawkins flipped the barrel closed. He swallowed, feeling a certainty of violence coming upon him; Dawkin's always had a kind of sense about those kind of things, his own personal sixth sense, and it had always kept him alive. Up to this point anyway, and Dawkins had no plans for that to change.

He crept to the side of the burnt building and glanced through an old window, the glass broken out by rambunctious kids some time ago.

Broken boards, cobwebs, the remains of split and twisted pews. And there, in the corner, the form of a woman, her hat pulled over her face, her long hair flowing down her shoulders. Reddish hair, just like McCranie had described to him and Dooley Smith over beers just yesterday. Yep, this had to be her. The woman's chest moved up and down in slow, deep breaths.

She was sleeping.

Dawkins' lips curved up in a devious grin. It had been some time since he'd had the pleasure of forcing himself upon a hapless female, and he would have no trouble disarming a sleeping woman. He could already hear her cries, feel her wrists squirming in his steel grip, taste her fear on his tongue. The beast in his pants stirred a little at the thought.

It was going to be a good day, after all.

Something moved behind him, and Dawkins swirled around, his finger tightening on the gun's trigger, and then he lost his footing on a mound of dead leaves, stumbling roughly against the side of the building. He grunted as his shoulder met with the charred timber of the church. It split with a wooden crack. A crow cried and fluttered from his perch on the roof and soared into the oncoming evening sky.

Dawkins cursed under his breath. The fucking horse! It had followed him to the church and snuck up behind him, and he'd almost put a bullet into its stupid fucking head for all of its trouble. Maybe he still would for pissing him off after his business with the woman was done. Fucker could have ruined everything! Dawkins stole a peek through the window to see if the woman had been startled out of sleep.

Her chest still heaved long breaths, her hat still pulled over her face.

Thank God for that. A chance remained for some fun before the killing had to start.

Dawkins tiptoed to the entrance to the church and deftly ducked inside and behind an old pew. The door had either burned or been ransacked by kids or looters, and Dawkins was glad. One less object to make noise and give away his position. He didn't think he could afford any more mistakes.

He slipped out of his hiding place, holding his gun before him towards the sleeping woman, and a moment passed before he realized that she was no longer there. Confusion dizzied him. Had he gotten the angles wrong? Hadn't she'd just been sleeping right there in that corner where... yes, Dawkins recognized a knothole that he had noticed in the wood just above her head when he'd looked through the window but then...

"Looking for someone?" her cool, hard voice said, and Dawkins swung around to put an end to her life, his gun ready to blaze, his face a snarl of vehemence.

Her knife swished through the air, and a jet of blood spewed from Dawkins' throat in an arterial spray that painted the far wall in splashes of red.

VII. Lauren Starr's First Love (Turtle Creek)

"You know I love you," Christian told her, and his soft lips slipped over hers. Lauren felt electric tingles sizzle through her nerves. The smell of hay and straw was strong but his scent overpowered even that and made Lauren feel weak, and she knew her inhibitions were slipping. Slowly but surely, Christian Cross had lowered her defenses over the past six months, and Lauren knew that there would be no turning back, she'd allow him to enter her keep and take her prisoner for the rest of eternity.

Christian allowed their kiss to end and looked at her, pulled a bit of hay out of her hair and smiled his perfect, dazzling smile.

Was this how her journey to womanhood would end, in this barn with this arrogant, foolish and beautiful boy? Lauren hoped so. Her body trembled in the anticipation of such an act. Her hand drifted up and touched the side of his face. Her heart ached for him almost as much as her body desired him, and was this how love was supposed to feel? This terrible, needy ache that made her want him, not his body but his soul, so badly that it hurt her, twisted her insides? Should it feel so bittersweet? As though she was missing it before it was even gone?

Then his mouth met her mouth again, and Lauren was swept up in it: the emotions, the passion, the overwhelming need.

Lauren drifted through the lusty haze, her mind clouded by the drug of passion. She came up for air just long enough to notice:

His hands on her, moving up her legs, caressing her thighs, pushing up her dress, inching ever closer...

His kisses hot and wet on her neck, moving down her chest, pulling down her blouse, just as slowly as his hands moved up...

Her own gasps, fighting for air, fighting to somehow stay in control...

Then his mouth found her breasts, his hands found her gathering moistness, and Lauren Starr felt the wave of this drug pull her under and not let go.

Her hands were in his hair, clutching, holding on to him, her moans building in intensity. His fingers slipped into her, and a blast of pleasure shook her body.

She tried to open her eyes, wanted to see him, to look into Christian's eyes and show him how he made her feel, but all they wanted to do was roll up in their sockets and allow her body to feel the pleasure that absorbed it without distraction.

Then Christian's lips brushed against hers, and Lauren let his tongue slip through and flick against her own. He fumbled with his pants, and Lauren's curiosity got the better of her. Her eyes grew wide seeing Cross's engorged member protruding from his lower extremities. It looked nothing like she'd thought and was much bigger than expected. She tried not to panic at the knowledge that thing was going to try to worm its way inside of her.

And then Christian thrust forward, and it was inside her.

She pushed him away just so she wouldn't bite off his tongue. A bolt of pain howled up her stomach, and Lauren gritted her teeth, a gasp of air rushing through her lips.

"You ok?" Christian asked her, a look of concern on his face.

"Yeah, yeah," Lauren said, and after the initial pain it did seem to be ok.

After some time, Christian began to gather speed, and he bucked on her with more and more authority, eager to please, working up his courage, or so Lauren believed. Lauren began to understand her classmates obsession with the act of sex, and with each mounting thrust from Christian, Lauren felt ropes of good feeling pulsate from within her, his breath hot on her shoulder.

More and more, Lauren knew that she would want this again and want it as often as possible. But only from Christian Cross because she loved him, and with him, this act was beautiful. It wasn't just fucking, as her classmates had described it to her with such vulgarity. This was lovemaking.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear as he took her towards the threshold, her body speeding towards the inevitable peak.

"I love you," Christian said in reply, and the words brought Lauren to climax. She bit her lips to stifle the scream, lest she wake her parents at the house. And then she surfaced, the waves of pleasure bringing a surprising high, and Lauren felt herself leave her body for a moment and soar to heaven. She blinked, and she was back, half naked in the hay in the loft of her barn, and Christian was grunting and pulling himself out of her.

Lauren didn't understand completely what was happening, still trying to force her mind back to some form of clarity, but she saw that Christian was stroking his member furiously until his body clenched. Then streams of what appeared to be white snot squirted out of the end of his penis and splattered onto her legs with gooey warmth. Lauren did her best to hide her repulsion, understanding that this was what her classmates had told her a boy's "cumming" was like. Lauren already felt more like a woman of the world, experienced in ways that young girls were not.

"I love you so much," Christian gasped when it was all over, and Lauren found that she didn't mind his cumming on her that much, not as long as it brought them closer together.

A month later, her parents were dead.

VIII. A Message

Christian Cross stood above the bloody corpse of Biggie Dawkins and let loose a flurry of expletives that would have made the devil proud. Smith Dooley stood to his side, scratching his throat, hoping that wrath of Cross would not head somehow in his direction. Dooley let his eyes drop back to Dawkins.

Dawkins' throat had been cut, a jagged red slash from ear to ear, but that wasn't what troubled Christian Cross. The thing that troubled him was the message that had been carved into Dawkins' chest. The words sent a chill up his spine that he hadn't felt for years. It felt a little something like fear.

Two words: "I'm coming."

And in the dirt, next to the body, a knife protruded from the ground, standing proudly, no doubt the culprit that had cut Biggie's life short. Cross recognized it at once with its ivory handle and gold cross design. The knife he'd given Lauren Starr 13 years ago.

It gleamed like hell's fire in the midday sun.