Zippered Flesh 2: More Tales of Body Enhancements Gone Bad (28 page)

He brought the car to a squeaking halt, its nose inches from the low pier wall, the black water beyond speckled with reflected stars, the moon gazing at its shimmering twin. Boats danced on the end of their tethers, bells clanking, announcing every wave. A rickety-looking jetty ran out to sea and vanished under the cloak of night.

And still he felt her eyes on him.

After a moment in which he screamed to announce
Well, here we are!
he turned to ask her why she was staring—he couldn’t bear the sensation of those eyes on him any longer—but, when he opened his mouth to speak, she leaned close and crushed his lips with hers.

Dean’s eyes widened in horror.

Oh, Jesus
.

She shifted her lips just a little, and the side of her cheek grazed him. Hard skin. It was as if her nails had scratched his mouth. He recoiled; she followed, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He moaned a protest but it only spurred her further. Her hands began to slide downward and oh God he was responding—even in the throes of horror he was responding and his hands were sliding over her blouse, feeling the softness there, the small points of hardness beneath his fingers and unbuttoning, tearing, freeing her pale, smooth unblemished skin. She made a low sound in her throat and broke away and for a terrible moment he thought she was going to stop, even though he wanted her to stop because this was a nightmare, but instead she sloughed off her blouse and smiled and now she was wearing just a bra and it was all he could see in a world full of pulsing red stars that throbbed across his eyes. She reached behind her and slowly, teasingly removed her bra and replaced it with his hands. His breath was coming hard and fast, harder and faster, an ache in his crotch as his cock stiffened even as his mind continued to protest
stop it stop it stop it you can’t do this you don’t
want
to do this
and she was on him again, her hair tickling his face, her mouth crushing, exploring, tearing at his clothes and he moaned, begged her, kneaded her soft, perfect breasts, then released them as she moved lower, lower, her wet lips tasting his nipples, his stomach, her fingers hooking the waistband of his pants and ...

... and then the passenger door was wrenched open and disembodied white hands, large hands, leapt forward and tangled themselves in her hair, wrenching her head back to show a face with surprise-widened eyes and a gaping mouth too stunned to cry out.

Dean could do nothing, the lust that had swelled to bursting within him quickly turning to ice water in his veins.
Oh God, no
. He watched in abject terror as Stephanie was torn screaming from the car, the breasts he had held not moments before crushed beneath her weight as she was thrown to the ground face first. She whimpered and for a moment it was the only sound apart from the steady clanking of the bell.

And then Fuckface Freddy’s sneering face filled the doorway.

“Surprise, shithead,” he said.

It took only a moment for Dean to gather himself, but he did so with the awful knowledge that he was probably going to die, and that awareness lent a sluggishness to his movements that saw him all but crawl from the car to see what Freddy was doing to the girl.

It was worse than he thought, because as he straightened himself to lean against the car, he saw that Freddy was not alone. Lou Greer, the principal’s son, track star and all-round sonofabitch, was with him, giggling uncontrollably into his palm and shuffling around Stephanie, who was now sitting up, a shocked expression on her face, her arms crossed over her bare breasts.

Freddy was smiling, a feral smile that promised hurt.

“I’ll be damned,” he told Dean, “you’re just full of fuckin’ surprises, man. I was only kiddin’ you about bonin’ Scarface and here you were about to let her gobble your rod. That’s really somethin’.”

The bell clanged on, ignoring the hush of the tide.

Somewhere far out to sea, a ship’s horn sounded.

The ground around the car was sandy, a thin layer scattered above concrete. Pieces of broken glass gleamed in the half-light from the streetlamps that peered between the canopies of box elder and spruce. This also provided a perfect shield from the road. Few cars would pass by tonight, and those that did would not see much should anyone deign to look in this direction.

“Don’t hurt her,” Dean said, knowing as he did so that anything he said would only bring him more pain at the hands of Freddy and his comrade.

“That sounded like an order to me, Fred,” Greer said, and giggled. It was the contention, of most people who knew him, that the last time the principal’s son had been lucid, Ronald Reagan was taking his first spill over a curb.

Stephanie was shivering, her pupils huge, the scarred side of her face lost in shadow, and while Dean was filled with terror, he couldn’t stop himself from reflecting back on what they’d been doing before Freddy had come along.

But then Freddy stepped close enough to drown Dean in his shadow and the memory was banished from his mind.

“Since when do you give a shit about her?” Freddy asked, somehow managing to sound convincingly curious.

“I—I ... I don’t know.”

Freddy nodded his complete understanding and turned back to Stephanie. She watched him fearfully.

“You do know he set you up, right?”

Greer giggled and muttered “Oh shit, that
sucks
” into his hand.

Stephanie looked at Dean and he felt his insides turn cold. There was no anger in her eyes, no disappointment; just a blank look, and somehow that was worse.

“That’s a lie, Stephanie.” He stepped forward. “I swear it’s—”

In one smooth move, Freddy swiveled on his heel and launched a downward kick into Dean’s shin. Dean howled in pain and collapsed to the ground.

“Shut the fuck up, weasel,” Freddy said, and drove his boot into Dean’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Dean wheezed, tears leaking from his eyes. When they cleared, he saw Stephanie, her arms still crossed across her breasts, her face drawn and pale but for the angry red on her cheek.

I swear I didn’t
he mouthed to her but knew she didn’t understand, knew she couldn’t understand because the look in her eyes told him she wasn’t really here anymore, that she’d retreated somewhere neither he nor Freddy and Greer could reach her.

Greer stopped giggling long enough to ask: “What’ll we do with her, Fred?”

Freddy shrugged and turned back to face Stephanie.

“Can’t fuck her,” he said, as if he were talking about the weather. “They’d swab her scabby ass and I’d be off the football team.”

“Please, leave her ... alone,” Dean managed, though every word felt like red-hot hooks tugging at his stomach.

“If you don’t shut up, we will leave her alone, and do all the unpleasant things to you instead,” Freddy said over his shoulder, and for a moment Dean stopped breathing.

Do it
, his mind screamed.
Tell them to go ahead and beat the shit out of you. At least they’ll leave her alone!

But he said nothing, merely wept into the sand.

He didn’t want her to get hurt, but he had been hurt so much himself that he couldn’t bear the thought of more. Even if all of this was his fault. Even if the memory of the way she was looking at him haunted his sleep for the rest of his life.

He.

Couldn’t.

Do it.

Incredibly, sleep danced at the edges of his mind and he almost gave himself over to its promise of peace, but then he heard a grunt and Greer’s manic giggle and his eyes flickered open. The world swayed, stars coruscating across his retinas, then died.

Stephanie was no longer kneeling.

She was lying flat on her back, breasts exposed with Greer holding her wrists in his hands, as if preparing to drag her over the broken glass. As Dean watched, heartsick and petrified, Freddy grinned and straddled the girl. Still, she would not take her eyes off Dean. He wished more than anything that she would and “please,” he moaned into the sand, sending it puffing up around and into his mouth.

“How did she taste, shithead?” Freddy asked and, setting his hands on either side of Stephanie’s midriff, leaned down and flicked his tongue over her left nipple. As Greer giggled hysterically, Freddy sat back and smacked his lips as if tasting a fine wine.

“Charcoal, perhaps,” he said and that was too much for Greer. He exploded into guffaws so irritating that eventually even Freddy had to tell him to cut it out.

And still Stephanie stared at Dean.

Oh fuck, please stop
.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and knew she didn’t hear.

“Then again ...” Freddy tasted her right nipple, repeated the lip smacking and put a thoughtful finger to his chin. “Maybe soot. You wanna taste, Greer?”

He didn’t need to ask twice. They exchanged positions, Stephanie never once breaking eye contact with Dean and never once trying to struggle against what Freddy and Greer were doing to her. She said nothing, but bore the humiliation in expressionless silence.

Dean, unable to stand it any longer, scooted himself into a sitting position, his back against the car, drew his knees up and buried his face in the dark they provided, surrounding them with his arms. In here, he was safe. All he could hear were the sounds.

It lasted forever and he wept through it all, looking up only when a sharp smack made him flinch.

Greer was on the ground, his giggling stopped, a hand to his cheek. Stephanie was in the same position as before, but her skirt was bunched up around her waist, her panties down almost to her knees, exposing her sex, a V-shaped shadow in the white of her skin. Freddy towered over Greer, one fist clenched and held threateningly at his side.

“I said
no
, you fuckin’ retard.”

Greer looked cowed, and more than a little afraid. “I was just goin’ to use a finger.”

“Get up,” Freddy ordered and Greer scrambled to his feet. They stood on either side of the prone girl, the threat of violence in the air.

“You do as I say or fuck off home to Daddy, you understand me?”

Greer nodded.

“Good, now go get the car. We’re done with this bitch.”

Another nod from Greer.

The sigh Dean felt at the thought that it might all be over caught in his throat when Freddy turned and walked toward him. Dean’s whole body tensed, anticipating another kick, but Freddy dropped to his haunches and smiled.

“Do we need to have this conversation?”

Dean said nothing; didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

“Do I need to tell you what will happen if you tell anyone what happened here? Not that anyone will believe a little fucked-up perv like you anyway, and I have ways of making sure the finger gets pointed in your direction if you start making noise. Capisce?”

Dean nodded, tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Good. Besides, we didn’t hurt her, now did we? We were just havin’ some fun. Harmless fun, right?”

Dean nodded.

Freddy’s grin dropped as if he’d been struck. He leaned close enough for Dean to smell the beer on his breath.

“Because you open your fuckin’ mouth, shithead, and two things are gonna happen. First, we’ll have a repeat of tonight’s performance, only this time we’ll go all the way, you know what I’m sayin’? We’ll fuck that little burnt-up whore ‘til she can’t walk no more, and then I’ll get Greer to do the same to you, just so you don’t feel left out, understand?”

Dean nodded furiously with a sob so loud it startled them both. Freddy laughed.

“Yeah, you understand,” he said and rose to his feet, taking a moment to dust the sand off his jeans. He looked over at Stephanie, still lying unmoving where they’d left her, and said to Dean: “She’s not much of a talker, is she?”

Dean was silent.

“Pretty fuckin’ frigid, too. Must be your aftershave got you that itty-bitty titty, shithead.”

Greer’s Chevy rumbled to a halt a few feet away.

Freddy glanced back over his shoulder, then looked from Dean to Stephanie.

“Well, folks, it’s been fun. I hope you’ve enjoyed me as much as I’ve enjoyed you!”

He turned and walked to the car, his boots crunching sand.

With a whoop and a holler, Greer roared the engine and they were gone, the Chevy screeching around the corner onto the road behind the trees.

Night closed in around the pier and there were only the waves, the clanging of the bell, and the soft sigh of the breeze.