Free Shifters by Edward Lee

at her face, but he couldn’t see it, not really anyway. There was something about her eyes—huge, rich dark-brown or dark something, he wasn’t sure—that obscured him, and more and more it did indeed seem that she was made of light. She was so fuckin’ gorgeous he coulda shit.
    But what had she said? Are you a sinner?
    “You don’t need that.” She meant the knife. “It’s been a long time for me.”
    “The fuck you talkin’ about? I—”
    “Come here.”
    Now something was really fucked up. He was staring at those high, big-as-croquet-balls tits on her, that dynamite flat waist and big dark bush. He felt summoned, he felt screwed in the eye by some overpowering call of desire. Next thing he knew, Wire—a sociopath, an amoral streetscum thief and rapist—was making out with this chick bigtime. They both seemed to melt together onto the cabin floor, swooning in each other’s arms. This wasn’t no fuckin rape—this was passion, something quite foreign to Wire, so foreign, in fact, so remote from the scope of his scumbag drug-infested brain-cells-fried- like-bacon life that he could scarcely fuckin’ contemplate it. She was all over him, her warm sweet lips dressing him with kisses as she peeled his duds off. Her tongue slipped around in his mouth, and those big dark nipples got so hard they felt like pebbles against his chest, and all Wire could do was lie back and let this tough, brick shithouse chick smother him with her kisses and caress him into a vortex of pleasure like he’d never known.
    She reached down—her hand was so hot —and all she had to do was lay one finger on Wire’s torqued-up throbbing works, and that was all she fuckin’ wrote. Wire’s spunk shot out of him before he even knew he was coming. Aw, fer shit’s sake! Some rapist! He felt like a fucking idiot. Yeah, ol’ Wire really tore this bitch up, huh? Yeah, he really jammed it to her. Blow my nut before I even get it in her stuff. You’d think I was some fuckin’ thirteen-year-old or something.  Regardless of the circumstance, he felt absolutely fuckin’ humiliated. “Don’t worry,” she consoled. Her hands stroked him, caressed him. Had he been a bit more introspective he’d have realized it was the first time he’d been really caressed in his life. “Time means nothing,” she said.
    “Huh?”
    “We have lots of time.”
    Even her voice drove him nuts. Darkly sweet. Softly coarse. She gently turned him over on his belly, straddled him, and began to massage his back. Yeah, this was all right. So he’d blown his first load kinda fast? Like this she’d have him up again in no time. Her fingers felt like electric heat working deep into his shoulders and along his spine.
    “Does this feel good?”
    “Yeah,” Wire moaned. “Oh, yeah, baby, that’s nice.”
    Did she giggle?
    “Cadillac misses you.”
    Wire’s thought processes took a hike. His eyes bulged.
    “And so do Sliphammer and Percy,” she said.
    Suddenly he wanted to vomit. He couldn’t move, he could only lie there now in terror rigid as an iron rod. What she’d said—it was impossible. His mind became a sewer of memories: all those horrid hot sweat-stinking nights splayed out on some crusty bunk, on his belly.
    Cadillac. Sliphammer. Percy.
    They were some of the players who’d butt-fucked him back when he was in the state slam. The biggest of them, guys with cocks like radiator hose. Every night these fucking bulls gave it to him. Every night for three fucking years.
    “White ‘N Tight,” she said, and then her voice, that creamy rough sexy dark syrupy voice oozed into hideousness…
    “Yeah, we’se gonna bust you up right in yo’ boy-pussy, we’se gonna work yo’ ass.”
    Wire was screaming. The giant black hand gripped the back of his neck and mashed his face against the floor.
    “You my  bitch t’night, White ‘N Tight,” Cadillac said.

SEVEN
    Bang!

    (i)

    By midnight Concannon’s was packed. Chatter, laughter, and the aroma of