Dixie
By Torrent
LT drained the last of his bottle of Dixie and ordered another. He wore
a rumpled seersucker suit and a wide blue and red tie. The other two men at the
table were in T-shirts and jeans.
"I'd sure like to get a piece of that," LT said, as the waitress walked
away, swinging her hips. "That's the finest behind I seen in many a moon."
"Forget it," said Roddy. "She's kin to Ogilvie. Just a niece, but that's
close enough so he'd take offense if anyone messed with her."
LT grimaced. "Well," he said, "I got no interest in gettin' on the wrong
side of the old bastard, but I sure would like a piece of her."
"Speaking of which," said Beagle, "there's that shipment of pussy comin'
in tonight. Yankee pussy."
"Yeah," said LT, "but that's strictly business. They been spoken for
and paid for."
Beagle leaned forward and lowered his voice. "True, but considering
what's in store for them, it wouldn't hurt none if we picked out a couple for an
evening of fun."
Roddy looked puzzled. "What you guys talkin' 'bout? What girls? And
what, exactly, is 'in store' for them?"
Beagle grinned wickedly. "Roddy, where you been hidin'? LT here is
associated with a very big and profitable enterprise. Young ladies from the
North, they're lured South - that's the way newspaper stories always put it,
'lured' - they're lured South with promises of exciting and lucrative careers
as companions to some of the region's most powerful business executives."
"Where you come up with all this shit?" Roddy asked suspiciously.
LT, a big, baby-faced man of 40, tilted his chair back at a dangerous
angle and said, "Ain't no shit, Roddy. Me and Beagle have gone into business
with an entruh-pray-noor from way up in Ohio. Near Cleveland. Name of
Mozzarella."
"Sounds like some kind of cheese," snorted Roddy.
"Yeah," said LT. "It also sounds like some kind of Italian gangster,
which is closer to the truth." He pronounced it "eye-talian."
"Keep it down," whispered Beagle.
LT sat forward in his chair and lowered his voice. "You're right. Folks
here in Veniss County mightn't understand doin' business with Italian gangsters.
Even ol' Ogilvie, big a crook as he is, would probably disapprove. But I don't
much care who puts up the money - Italians, Jews, spics, even niggers - so long
as we get some capital into this godforsaken corner of nowhere. And so long as I
get a piece of the action. It's the start of a whole new decade, the 1960s, and
Mississippi's gonna change whether Ross Barnett wants it to or not."
The waitress returned with another beer.
"Thank you, honey," LT said. "Jus' keep 'em comin'. And take care of my
friends, too."
She looked at him with an expression that would have been contempt if
she had put a little more energy into it.
"Sure, LT," she drawled. "We all know you're a big spender."
"You know, that's why so many men end up beatin' the shit out of women,"
Roddy muttered as she walked away. "Cuz they say things like that. With that
kinda tone of voice."
"Don't bother me none," said LT, with a bland smile. "Actually, I think
she likes me."
"Yeah, sure. But let's get back to this Yankee pussy," said Roddy.
LT frowned thoughtfully. "What you was talkin' 'bout - beatin' up women
- is very relevant to the subject of Yankee pussy and Yankee capital," he said.
"Lotta men want to beat up women for one reason or another. Some are just pissed
off at their wives or girlfriends. Or their mothers. And some just get a kick
out of whippin' a girl's ass. No accountin' for taste."
"So what's that got to do with your new business?" asked Roddy.
"We gonna make good-lookin' young women available for beatin' and
whippin' and general brutality," explained LT. "Now, they got such places up
North, too, of course. But down here you'll be able to tie up one of our girls
and beat the shit out of her, then go out and walk on the beach, or get out on
the golf course, or go for a swim. In other words, we'll be runnin' a sort of
S&M spa. You get a genuine Gulf Coast vacation and an afternoon of abusin' a
sweet young thing."
"And what happens if these sweet young things get so beat up no one
wants to look at 'em no more?"
"Our clients will sign a contract," said LT. "Messin' with a girl's good
looks will cost, say, $500. Cripplin' will cost $1,000. For $5,000 you get to do
whatever the fuck you want."
"Including killin' ?" Roddy asked, incredulously.
LT frowned. "Yeah, I guess so. We ain't thought it all the way through
jus' yet."
"Jesus Christ," said Roddy, "you all are fuckin' crazy."
"Yeah, like a fox. Mr. Mozzarella, he's knows what they hell he's
doin'," said LT. "He's a real businessman. If he thinks he can make money at
this - and me and Beagle and my other partners can make money, too - then you
can bet your bottom dollar we can."
"Who are your other partners?"
"Well, at the moment, only Mike Cass locally, but we're looking for
others to invest and to help us run this operation. You interested?"
"Not a chance," said Roddy. "I don't have no interest in doin' business
with Italian gangsters or taking girls across state lines for rough stuff, or
even for regular fuckin'. There's federal laws on that, you know."
LT shrugged. "Don't make no difference to me, Roddy. I was just offering
you an opportunity to make some good money. Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse
me, I got places to go and things to do." He pulled out ten one-dollar bills and
tossed them on the table. The other two men rose and headed for the door.
"See you later," LT called to them. "I gotta take a piss."
He walked to the back of the cafe, where a sign over a door said
"restrooms."
But instead of going to the men's room, he looked around quickly, then
slipped through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen.
She was leaning against the freezer, smoking a cigarette.
"Why you talk to me that way, Deedee?" he asked, in a hurt voice.
"Well, Mr. L. T. Moore, how'm I supposed to talk to you when you're here
with your buddies? You want them to know what's goin' on between us?"
"No, not yet. But you could at least be civil. I'm crazy about you, and
I thought you was crazy about me."
She snuffed out her cigarette in a cold, greasy hamburger patty in a
cracked dish.
"For Christ sake, LT. You know I'm crazy about you, too. But we can't
jus' announce it to the world - least ways, not til we figure out what to do
about my uncle."
She moved toward LT, and he embraced her in a bear like hug.
"This is the ugliest tie I ever did see," she said, pushing him away and
unbuttoning his shirt. She pulled up his undershirt and started kissing his
chest.
"God, you do drive a man crazy," he said hoarsely.
Then she knelt, unzipped his fly and pulled out his prick.
"You ever had a blow job in the kitchen?" she asked.
"No, but I think I'm about to."
She took the head of his prick into her mouth and tickled it with her
tongue. Then she slid her lips halfway down his shaft.
"Deedee, you're just too goddam good to me," he said. His eyes were
closed, and he teetered like he was about to fall.
She stood suddenly, leaned across over a wooden table and pulled her
dress up behind her.
"Pull my panties down and fuck me, LT. Fuck me real hard."
He fucked her. He fucked her hard.
# # #
If LT thought his romance with Deedee was a secret, he was wrong. Beagle
had it figured out. Deedee's insults were a ruse. So were LT's lewd remarks.
They were in love.
But he didn't confide this to Roddy, as they walked away from the cafe.
A red-haired man in a dark suit was walking fast to catch up with them.
"Hi, Roddy. Hi, Beagle," he said, with a broad grin. He pronounced
Beagle's name "bee-oggle."
Roddy laughed, but Beagle scowled. He hated that stupid joke.
"What's up, Cass?" Roddy said.
"Nuthin' but the blue sky and gas prices. What's up with you two?"
"I heard you was in business," said Roddy, with a knowing wink.
"Big-time gangster business with LT and some dago . . . ." Beagle nudged him
hard with his elbow.
"You don't talk about this out on the sidewalk, asshole."
"Beagle's right," said Cass. "You could get us and yourself in a lot of
trouble."
"Sorry," said Roddy.
They walked on in silence for a while. They passed Woolworth's and came
to an abandoned Dairy Freeze. They sat on the concrete benches.
"So this is serious?" asked Roddy.
"Yeah, it's serious," said Cass. "We're runnin' serious risks to make
serious money. Did LT ask you to come in with us?"
"Yeah, but I said no. LT's a hell of a man in a fight, but I can't see
him beatin' up women."
"You're right, but he ain't the one who'll be beatin' 'em up," Cass
said. Then he turned to Beagle and said, "Where's the girls?"
"They supposed to arrive around 6:30 at Toop's. You comin' with me to
meet 'em?"
"No," said Cass. "I gotta go down to a little town name of Cypress
Grove, near Gulfport. Seems Mozzarella ain't the only one with ideas about the
coast. Some wop from New Orleans, name of Turco, is trying to move in. Me and
LT's gonna make some inquiries. Might be some fightin', in which case we'll call
you."
"LT's going, too?" Beagle asked. He tried to mask his disappointment.
"Yeah," said Cass. "Which leaves you all by your lonesome with a whole
shipment of Yankee poontang. Some guys get all the breaks."
He got up and stretched. "Don't eat all the pussy, Beagle," he said.
"Leave some for LT and me." He walked away with Beagle staring daggers at his
back.
"You okay?" Roddy asked. "You look pissed off."
"I am pissed off," Beagle snapped. "That mother-fucker is turnin' into
LT's right-hand man. All I hear from LT these days is 'Let Cass handle this,'
'Check with Cass,' 'Let's hear what Mike thinks.'"
Roddy was about to kid Beagle about being jealous but reconsidered.
Beagle appeared in no mood for kidding.
# # #
The six women who climbed out of the church bus onto the gravel parking
lot of Toop's Tourist Cabins were about to pay for Beagle's foul mood.
"Hello, ladies," he said quietly, as they looked around with exhaustion
and disgust.
"Not another night in a flea-bag motel," said one of the women, a well
built brunette in a pullover white blouse and tan shorts. "When in the hell are
we going to get to that Gulf Coast resort we were promised?"
Mac, the driver, a beefy man who clearly was as tired of being with the
women as they were with him, snarled, "Don't ask me. Ask him." He jerked his
thumb toward Beagle.
"Okay, mister," the woman said to Beagle. "What's the deal? We've been
riding this goddam bus for four days. We haven't spent the night in a clean bed
since we left home. Who chooses lodgings for your outfit, the Department of
Corrections?"
"Interesting you should put it that way," said Beagle. "Cuz in fact
we're runnin' a sort of Department of Corrections."
Without warning, he reached out, grabbed the woman's face and shoved her
backward, into the front fender of the bus. She bounced off and landed in the
gravel. She tried to get up, but he kicked her hard in the side.
The other women were shouting and two of them charged him. He
sidestepped the first and brought down the second with a well placed punch to
the jaw. The driver grabbed two others and slammed their heads together. As they
fell to the ground, he tackled the last woman.
The whole fracas had lasted less than 10 seconds. Six women lay in the
gravel, groaning and sobbing.
Beagle said loudly, "Well, I guess you've figured out by now that you're
not going to be taking dictation and dick from big-shot business executives deep
in the heart of Dixie. But if you behave yourselves, you might just end up in a
halfway decent hotel close enough to the Gulf to hear the surf."
A thin, dark man in a dark suit and a big, red-faced woman emerged from
the office of the tourist cabins and joined Beagle.
"Hi, Toop. Hi, Mealia," Beagle said. "This is the shipment: six Yankee
sluts who need a bit of discipline. Think you two and Mac can handle 'em?"
Mealia grunted, a sign that Beagle, her half-brother, knew to be an
assent. Mealia didn't talk much.
Toop said, "Where you goin'? I thought you was going to help us break
'em in, so to speak."
"I won't be far off. I'm going to pick me out one and take her with me.
I'm in a mood, and I need to blow off a little steam."
Mealia glanced at him sharply.
"I'll take that one," Beagle said, pointing to a slender girl with big
frightened eyes. "She looks like just what I need tonight."
He grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her toward his car.
"Please," she said in a trembling voice. "Please don't hurt me."
Her brown hair was in a pony tail. He grabbed it and jerked her head
back. He slipped his other hand around her waist and pulled her against him.
He looked down on her, his face inches from hers.
"Oh, but I am going to hurt you, honey. I'm going to hurt you so bad you
may end up being of no use at all to us. But I need to do it, and you're the
prettiest, most delicate flower in this bouquet, which means you're the perfect
victim."
He pushed her against the car, then punched her in the stomach. She fell
to the ground, curled up in pain.
Mealia joined him. "He'll be pissed," she said.
"Fuck LT," Beagle hissed. "We'll just say this one ran away. Besides,
LT's such a big shot these days, he probably won't even notice some of the
merchandise is missin'."
The girl on the ground was trying to get up.
Mealia helped her to her feet and looked into her eyes.
"You're in for a real bad night," she said. She stroked the girl's
cheek, then she turned to Beagle and added, "Save some for me."
# # #
LT and Cass got to Cypress Grove just before a squall came in from the
Gulf. They checked into the Cytherea Hotel, a ramshackle, three-story building
with a veranda on three sides and balconies on the third floor facing the Gulf.
A clerk, a bellman and a maid - the entire staff at the moment - were busy
closing storm shutters.
"Jesus H. Christ," said LT, as he and Cass stood in the little parlor
that served as a lobby. "Feels like the whole damn place is about to fall down
or blow away."
He slammed a big hand down on the bell on the counter.
"Where the hell y'all gone?" he yelled.
The clerk, a frazzled looking man of 50, hurried down the stairs. "I'm
comin', I'm comin'. Hold your horses."
"We need a room," LT said. "Your best room, with a view of the Gulf. And
we need it for a week."
The clerk, bent over the register, glanced up at LT.
"A hundred dollars up front, or give me a credit card," he said.
LT dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a roll of twenties. He peeled
off ten of them.
"Here's $200," he said. "Let me know when that runs out."
"Your luggage?" the clerk asked.
"It's in the car. Now, I'm gonna need a phone. Got a lot of long
distance calls to make. And I want a bottle of bourbon - good bourbon, not that
shit they brew back in the piney woods."
"And ladies to entertain us," Cass reminded him.
The clerk frowned. "We ain't runnin' a whorehouse here," he said.
"What's more, this is a dry county."
LT gazed at him as if he were a species of insect he'd never seen
before. "Like I said, we want a bottle of good bourbon. And like my friend said,
we want women. If you can't provide both, we'll take our business elsewhere."
The clerk knew that, when it came to hotels, there was no "elsewhere" in
Cypress Grove, but he also was nervous about this big man and his big wad of
bills. There were rumors about the Mob moving in.
"I'll see what I can do," he said.
# # #
That evening, LT and Cass sat in their room, listening to the wind and
the rattling shutters and drinking bourbon from paper cups. At least, LT was
drinking. Cass nursed a single drink long after LT had belted down three of
them.
LT picked up the phone and dialed long distance.
"Veniss City," he told the operator. "Name of Deedee Brandon." He gave
the operator Deedee's number, then repeated it. "Yeah, well, there's a big storm
here. I can hardly hear you, either."
There was a pause, and LT gestured to Cass to put an ice cube in his cup
and refill it.
"Honey," he said suddenly. "Honey, it's me. Me and Mike's in Cypress
Grove, and I jus' started thinkin' 'bout you."
He was quiet for a moment, then he growled, "Son of a bitch. Did he hurt
you? You sure?" His face grew red. "Okay, I'm gonna call Beagle and get him to
pick you up and drive you down here. No, listen, you come down with him. And I
swear when I get back to Veniss, I'm gonna beat the shit out of that uncle of
yours. I don't give a fuck if he does own the goddam bank."
Then he began to calm down and talk in a soft voice. Cass knew when he
wasn't needed. He went downstairs and out onto the veranda. The wind was still
strong, but the rain had let up and the setting sun was visible in the narrow
gap between the Gulf and the squall line. It was the kind of weather Cass loved.
# # #
Beagle brought his sister along for the ride. He wanted Mealia as a
sort of chaperone. He didn't trust himself alone with Deedee. He didn't want LT
to get any ideas. And he was afraid of Deedee's sexiness. She had never given
the slightest hint she was interested in him, but he suspected that he and she
couldn't be alone in a car for very long before one or the other did something
that could lead to trouble.
Now, she was in the back seat, humming and looking out the window.
Beagle glanced at her from time to time in the rearview mirror. She really was a
knockout.
Mealia turned on the radio. The car filled with twangy country music.
"Turn that shit off," Beagle said.
"No," said Deedee. "Jus' change the station. Try 940. It's got
rock-'n-roll."
Suddenly, Sam Cooke was singing "You Send Me." His voice was sweet and
happy.
"Nigger music," muttered Beagle. "Figures you'd like that shit, seein'
how your boyfriend is part nigger."
Deedee leaned forward and said angrily, "That's a lie. LT's as white as
you are. You're supposed to be his friend. Why would you talk like that?"
"Yeah, well, you know what 'LT' stands for, don't you? 'Light Tan,'" he
said sneeringly.
"Don't be such an asshole, Beagle," Deedee shot back. "The 'L' stands
for Leo. I don't know about the 'T,' but LT is as fair as a red-headed baby's
behind, and you know it."
They fell silent. On the radio, Sam Cooke was succeeded by Fats Domino.
His delivery was flat and slightly nasal: "You used to be my honey/Till you
spent all my money/No use for you to cry/I'll see you bye and bye/Cause I'm
walkin' to New Orleans."
# # #
When they arrived at the Cytherea, it was barely dawn, but LT was
already up - and in an expansive mood. He had been waiting on the veranda, and
he hurried down the steps when the car pulled to a stop. He enveloped Deedee in
a massive hug, then put his arm around Beagle's shoulders.
"My best girl and my best friend," he said. "It don't get any better
than this." Then he realized Beagle's sister had been left out of his effusive
welcome. "And Mealia, the sweetheart of Veniss High." She scowled at him.
"So what's happenin'?" asked Beagle. "What about the competition?"
"The competition," said LT with a broad smile, "is wiped out - at least
temporarily. Got a call from a friend in the sheriff's office. Seems a car full
of Turco's hoods went off Highway 90 last night, jus' outside Pass Christian.
All five of 'em's in the hospital. Me and Mike never had to lift a finger."
They went into the hotel and LT banged impatiently on the bell. The
clerk, who had been sleeping in a chair only a few feet away, awoke with a
start.
"We need two more rooms," LT said. He looked at Beagle. "I figure you
and Mike can share one, and Mealia can have one for herself."
"Sure," said Beagle. "So Deedee . . . ."
"Will sleep at my side," said LT with a big grin. "Assumin' we get any
sleep at all."
# # #
Actually, they did sleep together, early that afternoon - but only after
a morning of lovemaking. Deedee did things to him and for him that no woman had
ever done before. She loved his big dick, his big chest, his big belly. She
loved that he was big all over. She knelt between his legs as he lay on his back
in bed, and she cradled his testicles in her hands. "What big beauties," she
cooed. "What big balls full of delicious sperm." She leaned down and licked his
scrotum.
His dick, flaccid after two ejaculations, began to stir again.
"Come on, honey," he said, in mock complaint. "You gonna wear the little
fella out."
"He ain't little, and he ain't as tired as you think," she said softly.
She took the head of his prick in her mouth and massaged it with her tongue,
even as she gently stroked his balls.
Soon he was hard again. He carried her out on the balcony and fucked her
from behind while she leaned on the railing and watched the surf come in.
# # #
That night, LT rented the VFW hall and gave a party for the local
establishment: the Harmony County sheriff, county commissioners, the mayor of
Cypress Grove, a banker from Gulfport and two men from New Orleans who, like
Mozzarella, had reasons for wanting to keep Turco away from this stretch of the
Gulf Coast.
Bourbon and beer flowed freely. LT prided himself on being a good host.
After everyone he wanted there had arrived, LT called for quiet.
"I ain't gonna give a long speech," he said. Someone called out, "Thank
God."
LT laughed. "I just want to say a few words. About the future. About
opportunity. One day, there's gonna be solid dee-velopment all the way from New
Orleans to Mobile. Gulfport and Biloxi gonna be big resorts. Even sleepy little
places like Bay St. Louis and Waveland and Pass Christian, they gonna thrive.
All we need is better roads, a lot more air-conditioning - and the right kind of
politicians." There was scattered laughter.
"You know what I'm talking about," continued LT. "The kind that don't
make life too hard for gamblin' and whorehouses. I mean, those of you that have
to get elected, you can say whatever you need to, to all them churchgoing
voters. Just as long as you don't actually do anything that's bad for business.
All I'm askin' is that we work together, for the common good."
"Fuckin' A," someone yelled.
"Okay. The sermon's over. Get back to partyin'," LT said. There was
scattered applause.
Cass stood at the bar, drinking ginger ale.
Beagle joined him. "What you think, Mike, we makin' progress here?" he
asked.
"Yeah, I guess so. LT says the sheriff's in his pocket. The mayor could
be a problem. His son is a prick. He's the one in the loud shirt over there.
Wants a piece of the action, without puttin' anything on the table."
"Yeah, that could be a problem. Whatcha drinkin', Mike?"
"Nuthin', you know me. I don't handle liquor so good."
"Come on, we got reason to celebrate. Here, let me get you a real
drink," Beagle said.
He gestured to the bartender. "Bourbon. Make it a double."
"Shit, Beagle, you're gonna put me out for the night."
They drank at the bar for a while, then LT came over with the sheriff.
"Bill, these are my associates, Mike Cass and Beagle Bojanus. You'll be seein' a
lot of 'em. They gonna be my eyes and ears down here. You got a problem with the
way things are goin' on this project, you talk to Mike." He put a beefy hand on
Cass's shoulder. "Or Beagle," he added, almost as an afterthought.
But Mike didn't look like the man to talk to at the moment. He was
already getting glassy-eyed, and he had a goofy grin.
LT and the sheriff walked away, and Beagle took an empty glass from
Cass's hand. "How 'bout another one?" he asked.
"No, no more. I'm gettin' shit-faced."
"Aw, come on," said Beagle.
Beagle headed for the bar, and LT came up to Mike with another guest,
the young man with the loud shirt.
"Mike, this is Alvin Pike. He's the mayor's son, and he'll be workin'
with us on the building. He's a general contractor."
Just then, LT caught sight of a state senator who had walked in. "Bobby
Joe," he called out. He walked away and left Cass with the mayor's son.
"Quite a boss you've got there," said Pike. "Quite a talker."
"Yeah, he's a hell of a man, a man of vision," Mike said. His speech was
slurred.
"What makes you peckerwoods think you know anything about business?"
Pike asked. He asked it with an innocent smile. Cass frowned.
"What'd you say?"
"You heard what I said. What makes you peckerwoods think you can come in
here and start an operation that is illegal and backed by a bunch of Yankee
wops? Your boss can't tell the difference between Dale Carnegie and the Cosa
Nostra."
Cass grabbed a handful of the young man's loud shirt and cocked his
fist, but Pike caught him with a punch to the stomach. Cass bent over, retching.
"You peckerwoods can't hold your liquor, either," Pike said quietly.
The noisy conversations in the hall had stopped. Cass straightened up
suddenly and slammed his fist into Pike's face. Then both men were on the floor,
wrestling.
"Jesus H. Mother-fuckin' Christ," LT bellowed. "What the hell is goin'
on?"
Beagle, who had returned from the bar, handed the drink to a bystander
and helped Cass to his feet. LT gave a hand to Pike.
"Sorry, boss," said Cass. "He called me a peckerwood. Called all of us
peckerwoods. Said we . . . ."
"Your flunky's drunk," Pike said. "Drunk and belligerent."
"Okay, okay," said LT. "Let's all of us cool off. Beagle, you take Cass
out for some fresh air."
LT set about repairing the damage. It wasn't going to be easy. The
mayor wanted an apology from Cass. And he wanted Cass fired.
LT tried to soothe them, but he could see that his big chance to seal a
deal for Mozzarella was slipping away.
"Okay," LT told the mayor, "Cass is out. I'll send him back to
Veniss. I'm sorry about all this. He's a good man, a reliable man. Jus' can't
drink worth a shit."
Beagle, who had come back in, alone, joined in. "I told Mike to be
careful. He didn't mean no trouble, but like you said, he jus' can't drink."
###
Back on the veranda at the Cytherea, Deedee sat in a rocking chair and
pouted. She didn't understand why LT had left her at the hotel. Was he ashamed
to show her off in front of his friends and the locals he was trying to impress?
It couldn't be to protect her from rumor. Hell, she had pretty much destroyed
whatever reputation she had by coming down to Cypress Grove to be with him.
Her relationship with LT certainly was no longer a secret to Beagle,
Mealia and Mike. Or to her uncle, since she had called him right after LT phoned
from Cypress Grove. She had told Ogilvie where she was going and with whom - and
he could fuck himself if he didn't like it. He was an occasionally violent man,
but he was scared of LT.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mealia.
"Hi, okay if I join you?"
"Sure," Deedee lied.
They sat next to each other, rocking in silence. Finally, Deedee said,
"You mus' know what they're doin' tonight? LT don't talk business to me. What's
this all about?"
Mealia looked at her with a curious gaze. "You don't know what they're
up to?"
"No. I mean, I know it's some kind of business, but I don't know nothin'
'bout the details."
Mealia explained the "details." As she spoke, Deedee's eyes got wider
and wider. Finally, she couldn't contain herself.
"LT wouldn't hurt a woman, unless he accidentally rolled over on one in
bed and squashed her. Deliberately hurtin' women is not his style."
"I didn't say LT would do the hurtin'," said Mealia. "But he's in the
business of gettin' women for men who'll pay to hurt 'em."
"But why bring women down from the North. Ain't there hookers enough
down here for whatever a man's got in mind?"
Mealia allowed herself a small smile. "You're pretty innocent, ain't
you? They want girls who are far from home, who don't have friends and family
'round here to get upset and curious."
"Why would any woman agree to come here and get hurt?"
"They don't know 'bout the hurtin' part. They think they're jus' gonna
party with these men - you know, fuckin' and BJ's." Mealia paused, then added,
"Though there's some women who ain't opposed to a little hurtin', if it's a
reasonable amount."
Deedee frowned. "Who would want to be hurt - even a 'reasonable
amount'?"
Mealia smiled again, a small, mysterious smile. "You never been spanked
or roughed up?"
"Of course, I have. My uncle roughed me up just before we came down
here."
"And you never got pleasure out of it?"
"Absolutely not," Deedee said emphatically.
"Well, maybe you jus' ain't been handled properly."
They fell quiet again for a while. Then Deedee said softly, "Actually,
there was one time I was rasslin' with another girl at school. She was bigger
and stronger, and she got me face down. She sat on my shoulders, and a friend of
hers started beatin' my behind with a willow switch. And I felt . . . . I can't
explain it."
"You liked it?"
Deedee blushed. "Yeah, I guess you could say I liked it.."
Mealia said, "The men won't be back for hours. Let's go up to my room."
"What for?" Deedee asked warily.
"I want to teach you somethin' - somethin' you're gonna remember and
appreciate for a long, long time."
They went up to Mealia's room, and she took control of Deedee in a way
she had never been controlled before. Mealia's demeanor changed completely. She
was no longer the ugly, awkward outsider. Her voice had an authority Deedee had
never heard before. When she ordered Deedee to strip, Deedee discovered she
couldn't disobey. And when she tied Deedee's wrists behind her and pulled the
rope up and looped it twice around her neck, she didn't protest.
Mealia pushed her face down onto the bed. Her pelvis rested on the
wooden footboard, and her feet were spread apart on the floor. This left her
naked behind defenseless.
Mealia took a short leather strap from a drawer.
"What you gonna . . . ." Deedee started to ask, but Mealia said, "Shut
up! You speak only when I give you permission."
Then, without more ado, she smacked Deedee's ass with the strap. The
sound startled Deedee even more than the sting.
Four more quick blows landed.
"No," Deedee cried, "please quit. It hurts."
Whack, whack, whack.
Welts appeared on Deedee's behind, and tears filled her eyes. But
something else happened as well. She felt her pussy getting wet.
Whack, whack, whack.
With the last blow, the end of the strap landed on Deedee's exposed
pussy, and she screamed louder than before.
Mealia examined the leather tip. It was wet. She sniffed it.
"Let me go," Deedee pleaded. "I mean it. I've had enough."
"Shut up," Mealia commanded. She picked up Deedee's panties - black lace
with a heart on the crotch, a gift from LT - balled them up and stuffed them in
Deedee's mouth.
Then she resumed whipping. When Deedee tried to stand, Mealia pushed her
back onto the bed. Mealia was as strong as a man. Deedee felt powerless when she
handled her.
By now all resistance had ended. In fact, Deedee's ass began to rise to
meet the blows. Her eyes were half shut, and she was moaning softly.
Finally, her body trembled uncontrollably.
She was having an orgasm.
Mealia knelt and licked her pussy. Within seconds, her body was wracked
by new spasms of ecstasy.
Mealia rose, grabbed the rope and pulled Deedee off the bed. She spun
her around so they faced one another.
"I told you you'd appreciate it," Mealia whispered. "Did you?"
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but Deedee nodded her assent.
Mealia put her lips next to Deedee's ear. "You're mine, little slut.
Nothin' LT nor any other man will ever do to you will give you what I can give
you."
# # #
LT returned from the VFW hall in a lousy mood. The whole deal had nearly
gone down the toilet because Mike Cass couldn't hold his liquor. The sheriff was
solid, and so were the county commissioners. The mayor was back on board too,
but his son was still sulking and could be a problem. He'd be looking for some
way to sabotage the project. It was urgent to get Cass out of town, but he
didn't even know where Cass was. He had disappeared right after the fracas.
LT unlocked the hotel room door and entered quietly. It was past
midnight, and he didn't want to awaken Deedee. She was turning into a real sex
machine, and he just wasn't up to it tonight.
She lay naked and uncovered, face down on the bed. That was odd. She
got cold easily, and usually slept under a light blanket, even in summer.
In the moonlight from the window, she looked like a sleeping goddess.
The roundness of her behind was irresistible. He leaned forward and kissed it
gently. She stirred and made an unintelligible sound. Funny, he thought, in the
moonlight it almost looked like she had bug bites or welts on her ass.
Then he got under the covers, rolled over and went to sleep.
[To be continued.]
