Chapter 6
Ginger had shot Ernesto in the back and she had killed him with that one bullet.
But, after the deed was done, she felt a little sick. She had never killed anyone before.
And seeing that lifeless body in front of her, she thought, was not like seeing a target with a hole in it.
There was blood with a real person, blood that seemed to bubble to the surface in the back of the boy's neck.
"I am sorry I did it," she muttered.
But Bodden was almost jumping up and down with glee.
"That's one down, Ginger! That one will never cause us any trouble now!"
The redhead sank down at the edge of the clearing. The boy was lying on his face just a few feet in front of her, and she sat there and she studied his form. His tanned back was strong and his legs were dark and muscled. She was wearing a pair of tattered shorts, and Ginger thought that, if she had seen this boy back in the days when she had been singing with the rock-and-roll band in Austin, she would have wanted to fuck him.
But she had not fucked. She had shot him in that back at close range. She could tell that he was dead too, that he had probably died before he hit the ground. There was a frozen finality to the way that he was lying there in the middle of the clearing.
"I don't feel well, Bodden," she murmured. "I have never killed anyone before."
Then the fat man stopped dancing around as if he had to take a piss and he looked at her.
"You had to do it, Ginger," he said. "You had to kill him. He had a gun. If he had turned around and had seen us standing here, he would have killed us. Both of us."
The fat man gasped and started to sweat again.
"You saved my life too," he said thankfully to the redhead. "You saved my life and yours."
The redhead looked up at the fat man. The fact that she had saved Bodden's life did not make her feel any better. She remembered the sweaty taste of that fat man's cock and she figured that that man's life was not worth saving at all.
"Bodden," she snarled at him. "Just leave me alone. Just leave me alone, you fat piece of shit."
She was angry with him now, and that angered Bodden too. He did not like it when that redhead showed him some of her own will. He liked her weak. He liked it when he knew that she would do anything that he told her to do.
"Fucking bitch," he snarled softly at her.
But the redhead paid him no attention. She put her rifle down and took off her ammunition belt.
She turned away from the dead body and she gasped to keep from throwing up there in the clearing. She kept thinking that, if Gil had been there, he would have killed the boy. Then she would not have had to suffer such pain. Gil was used to killing and he could do it coldly, but she had never killed anyone before.
"Worthless slut," Bodden hissed at her.
She did not look at him, but she hated him. If that fat man had been a real male, as Gil was, the redhead thought, he would have killed the kid and she would have been spared from this ordeal. But the fat man did not even carry a gun. To Ginger, at that moment, Bodden seemed less than human, like some kind of fat animal that crawled out from under a rock to hiss at her and try to frighten her.
But Bodden was thinking too. He was trying to think of what Gil Rogers would have done in that red-haired slave had called him a name.
The fat man knew that the tall American would never stand for such a thing, and he knew that he could not stand for it either, not if he wanted to win the respect of this slave girl and have a chance to keep her, if something happened to Gil.
And Bodden was thinking more and more that something was sure to happen to Gil here on this island.
This island was lawless and the fat man figured that Gil Rogers would not have a chance of getting out alive—not if Bodden had anything to do. with it. He might even pick up a gun and shoot Gil in the back and make him fall down dead, just as this dark, young man had fallen there in the jungle.
Then Bodden looked at the body, as the blood which still poured out of the young man's neck and he smiled. He knew that he had the plan then. He had just what he needed to make this girl respect him and serve him like she served Gil.
Bodden moved toward the young man and knelt down next to the body. Dead bodies did not frighten the fat man. Men who were alive frightened him but he knew that dead men could do him no harm.
Bodden ran his finger through the warm blood on the boy's back and then he glanced at the redhead, the killer.
She was turned away from him and she was not holding her rifle. He would move to her quickly and take her off-guard, he thought.
With that finger covered with the dead boy's blood, Bodden jumped toward the redhead and kicked the rifle out of her reach. Then he pushed her back onto the ground and she screamed.
"Get away from me, you pig!"
"Suck it," he snarled. "Suck that bloody finger."
And he opened her mouth with one sweaty hand and slammed that finger into her mouth and made her suck on it.
She could have bitten it, she supposed. She could have bitten his finger and then he would have pulled it out of her. But she did not bite him because she was too sick and too weak. She just sucked on that blood and tasted it sweetness and it's disgusting warmth.
Ginger felt her stomach churn inside her as she sucked that wet blood down into her system.
But she did not fight Bodden. She was too weak to fight him, too weak and too disgusted.
And she knew that Gil Rogers had made her his slave, made her used to being a slave for any man, even a fat man like Bodden.
Bodden pulled his finger out of her mouth and smiled down at her.
He was sweating again, but he was not sweating with fear. He could never be afraid of a girl like this.
"If anything happens to Gil out here on the island," he hissed, "if he is killed, you will become my slave. Hear me? You will be my slave if anything happens to Gil."
"Yes," she murmured.
And then Bodden looked around. He felt that someone was watching him and he was suddenly frightened. What if it was Gil Rogers? What if Gil had heard him tell the girl that he wanted her as his slave? He searched around the jungle of the island quickly with his eyes darting in his fat face. Then, when he saw no one, he felt a little relieved.
It was probably just his imagination, he thought. There was no one out there, no one watching. But he looked down on Ginger and he saw that she was watching and he chuckled in his raspy voice.
He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and stuck one in his mouth and lit it.
Then he sat down next to her on the ground and looked around again.
No one was watching, he thought.
So he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out.
"Suck it again, you slave," he said softly but sinisterly. "Suck your master's cock."
And Ginger was too weak to fight him, to do anything besides what he told her to do.
She moved toward him and wrapped her fingers around his cock.
Bonnie Rogers and Kirk were behind the bushes, watching the redhead as she moved her mouth over the fat's man prick.
"She is actually doing it," Bonnie muttered. "She is actually sucking on that pig's cock."
And Bonnie Rogers did not have to be told that this fat man and this redhead had something to do with her husband.
She understood immediately that this girl must be the one who had taken her place in Gil's bed.
She saw the way that the girl moved to the fat man and she heard the way that the man said that he was the girl's master and she knew that only Gil Rogers could train a redhead to act in that way.
Gil Rogers had trained her, and he had trained this one too. Bonnie recognized all the signs.
And the woman felt the juices erupt in her pussy and she knew that she wanted to emulate that girl.
She looked at the handsome, young man who knelt beside her. Kirk was not wearing a shirt and she could see the little beads of perspiration on his shoulders as he looked at that action out there in the clearing.
"They killed that kid," he muttered. "They shot him right in the back."
"He must be one of the boys who lives with my sister," Bonnie said, looking at Kirk, not at the dead body. "They killed him and they will kill Brooke too if we do not find her first."
"Right in the back," Kirk muttered. "And there is only one rifle down there. I wonder which one of them killed him."
"Does it matter?" Bonnie asked, touching the young man's strong shoulder.
"Yes. I have to figure out which one is the deadlier of the two."
"It doesn't matter, Kirk," Bonnie whispered.
"I can tell you that my husband is more deadly than either of those two out there in the clearing."
The woman glanced back at the clearing and saw how the girl out there was sucking on that cock. She had her head in the fat man's lap and she was taking that prick into her with skill and desire.
Bonnie Rogers was not really interested in which one of those people was the more deadly.
She was interested in emulating the girl, in doing what that redhead was doing, but she would do it with Kirk and she would have more fun doing it, she thought.
The woman ran her fingers over Kirk's chest and she whispered to him.
"Lie back, Stud. I want to give you a nice blow-job."
"Bonnie," the man gasped quietly. "You can't be thinking of something like that at a time like this. You just can't be thinking—"
"Yes," the woman said, "I am thinking of something like that at a time like this."
And she pushed the young man back on the ground and moved her hand over the crotch of his jeans. He sighed and surrendered to her. She knew the truth about their relationship and he knew it too. He was the master, but she was the wealthy woman and he would not deny her her needs.
As she opened his jeans gingerly and reached inside for his cock, she looked back at the young redhead and the fat man. She thought that that servitude was very sexy indeed.
As Ginger moved her mouth up and down on Bodden's cock she felt that wetness again.
The sweat on his stomach was wetting her red hair as his fat gut was pressed against the top of her head.
And she hated that wetness, but she knew that she had to suck the cock.
Ginger knew something else too:
She knew that, if anything did happen to Gil, she would stay with Bodden.
She would be that fat man's slave, just as he had told her that she would be.
She would not be able to do anything else. She would be lost without a master and Bodden would be her master. Not as good or as sexy of a master as Gil, but at least a master.
And Ginger knew that she needed a master most of all.
She sucked on Bodden's hardening cock—
And felt the sweat—
And heard him growl at her just as a master should growl at a slave.
"Suck it, you red-haired bitch. Suck that cock, you slut. You are going to be mine if anything happens to Rogers and you know it. You are going to be mine and you are going to serve me every night. You are even better than liver, you fucking piece of shit, you slut, you whore, you slave."
And she sucked on his cock while he said all of this to her, and she wondered what life would be like with Bodden. She silently prayed that Gil Rogers would come off that island unharmed when his job was done.
She thought that she might even tell Gil what that fat man had done to her, and then she decided that she would not do that. She did not know how Gil would react to the news that the fat man had made her suck blood and then his cock.
The tall, handsome American might even laugh and pat Bodden on the back.
She would just have to wait and hope that Gil came off the island in one piece. Then she might kill Bodden herself, shoot him down as she had shot down that boy. She was almost certain that shooting Bodden would not sicken her as shooting the boy had done.
That fat tub of shit deserved to die, she thought.
But, for right now, she would just suck on his prick. That was all that she could do to him at that time.
Bonnie worked her mouth over Kirk's prick and tasted it's sweetness.
As she did that, she listened to the slurping sound just a few feet away, the sound of that other island sucking, and she felt thrilled. She knew that her own soft slurping was mixing with that girl's and was turning the island into a place where a symphony of lust was playing.
And there were other sounds too, the sounds of the birds and the sound that the ocean made as it roared against the island.
All of those sounds mixed in Bonnie's head as she sucked on that cock.
She licked the top of the prick with her tongue and stroked it and then she ran her tongue through the dark hair above the cock and up to Kirk's navel. That was when he sighed and jerked and made another sound there in the jungle paradise of lust and death.
Bonnie liked that sigh. It was the sound of her master, her master's voice.
And she knew that she was pleasing her master and that made her happy about her own life at that moment, very happy. She took the cock back in her mouth and worked on it with glee and pleasure, giving her master something that he deserved as she felt his fingers run through her red hair.
"God, I am coming, you little bitch," Bodden groaned.
And then he jerked on the ground and shot his wad into Ginger's mouth for the second time that morning. He was very proud of himself. He seemed to be full of come for this girl.
And he knew that it was her weakness, the slave-like weakness of her system, that caused that come to boil up inside his fat body. Before he had met her, the only thing that had boiled in him was self disgust. But he was past that point now, and he knew it. If he could only keep her with him, if something could only happen to Gil Rogers, he would never have to feel guilty again, not with a slave like this. The men of San Genoa would not laugh at him then. They would admire him because he had such a wonderful, sucking slave.
Bodden came in the girl's mouth and she swallowed that come. Then, when his orgasm was over, the slave-HIS slave-took her mouth off his withering organ.
He heard the man's gasp then, loud and clear and he turned toward the sound of that gasp.
Gil Rogers, he thought.
Gil Rogers was back there, jerking off. Bodden knew that that was what he would do if he had come upon a sight such as the one that he and Ginger had just given that man in the bushes.
And the fat man smiled.
He knew that he and Gil Rogers were very similar after all, that Gil Rogers had the same kind of desires that he had.
Bodden decided that he would kill Gil Rogers himself. He would not ask his slave to do it.
He would prove his manhood by shooting his rival for Ginger's slave-like affections.
Bodden reached out and picked of the rifle and crawled toward those bushes.
"Oh, Bonnie, I am going to come," Kirk moaned. "I am coming."
And the woman sucked his cock even more diligently and yearned for his come, yearned for those hot shots down her eager throat. She sighed and worked on him and then she felt those hot shots and she knew that she had given her young master the ultimate pleasure.
Kirk twisted and jerked on the ground and shoved his cock deep into Bonnie's throat and shot the stuff down her.
Then she took her mouth off his cock and she sat up and she smiled down at him.
"You are going to write one great, fucking novel, Kirk," she said softly.
And the young man smiled up at her. Then his expression changed suddenly. He looked past her and she saw the terror in his eyes. Kirk turned and tried to get to his rifle.
But he did not move fast enough.
Bonnie seemed to see the young man jerk with the pain even before she heard the loud report of the rifle. She saw the blood flowing out of Kirk and she turned and saw the fat man grinning down on her with the smoking rifle in his hands.
"Get the gun, Ginger," he snarled.
And the sexy redhead stumbled through the bushes and picked up the rifle—Kirk's rifle.
"Hold it on her," the fat man said.
And the girl did just that, aimed the gun right at the woman.
"Hello, Mrs. Rogers," the fat man said with a chuckle. "I am proud to finally meet you. Gil has told me so much about you I feel that I know you already."
Bonnie looked at the fat man and then she looked at the girl. She glanced down at Kirk and she slid back from him. He was lying there on his side, bleeding. He was not breathing, and she could see his eyes staring at nothingness.
The redhead moved up on her feet and stumbled out of the bush and fell.
But there was no relief there for her either. She looked around and saw the other dead, young man. And then she looked up and saw the fat man and the red-haired girl move out of the bushes and aim the rifles at her body.
"Are you going to kill me too?" she stammered in a frightened, little voice.
"No," Bodden said. "I don't think Gil would appreciate that. Do you?"
"This is his wife," Ginger said softly, calmly.
It was a statement, not a question, but Bodden answered her and told her that she was correct.
"Yes, Ginger, this is the rich bitch who fucked Gil Rogers before you did. She was his slave too, I imagine. Is that right, Mrs. Rogers? Were you Gil's slave too?"
The woman nodded her head.
She could not lie to them, not after seeing what they could do to people.
Bodden felt very proud of himself as he stood over the woman.
Ginger had killed the young man in the clearing, but he had shot the other young man, the one who had come to the island with Bonnie Rogers. He had killed the young man with just one bullet, as Ginger or Gil Rogers would have done.
Bodden had never felt such power before, and he knew that most of that power came from the fact that he was holding a rifle, came from the fact that he had just killed with that gun.
But some of the power—the igniting force that had caused him to be able to kill in the first place—came from the redhead who had acted as his slave, who had responded to his masterful tone and his masterful cock.
He glanced at Ginger and smiled. Then he turned his attention back to Bonnie again.
"May I call you Bonnie?" he asked. "I feel that I already know you so well."
The woman did not protest. The man could call her anything that he wanted to call her.
But she knew that she did not know him at all. She did not even know how he worked into this equation with her sister and her ex-husband and her ex-husband's slave mistress.
But she just sat there on the ground and looked at the fat man with the rifle.
She thought about Kirk, the young man that she had brought here, the young man that now lay dead in the bushes. He would never get a chance to finish his novel now.
And Bonnie felt guilty, more guilty than she had ever felt before in her life.
She had brought Kirk here and she had been the cause of his death.
She closed her eyes and wished that the fat man would go ahead and kill her too. She suspected that that was the only way that she would rid herself of the guilt that she felt-the guilt that Kirk's death had given her.
It had been so sudden and yet so final, she thought. One second he had been coming down her throat and the next minute he had been lifeless, bleeding and dead on the ground.
He had never had a chance, she thought, never a chance to reach for his own rifle.
"What are you doing here, Bonnie?" the fat man asked.
The woman jerked as if the man's voice had reminded her that she was not alone in the universe.
She saw that the fat man was now smoking a cigarette and grinning down at her.
"I have come to help my sister," she said. "I do not want Gil to kill that girl."
Bodden just chuckled.
Strange things had been happening to him, he thought, and now he was not so certain if he wanted Gil Rogers to kill the girl either. If Gil got to the girl and put a bullet in her head, he would not grieve for Brooke Hutchinson, Bodden thought, but, more than anything else, he wanted Gil Rogers dead. Not Brooke. Not anyone else.
And, as he looked at the sexy woman who sat there, looking up at his rifle, he thought that it would be only right if she should stay with him too.
Gil Rogers had trained her as a slave too, just as he had trained Ginger.
If Bodden could use that well-trained Ginger, he thought, he could also use this woman.
Bonnie Rogers' mouth was so sweet, he thought with a smile.
Then he spoke to her in that wheezing voice, but Bodden sensed that even his voice was more powerful and more manly now that he had actually killed another human being, now that he had another sexy woman for his harem of slaves.
"I will help you, Bonnie," he said.
"What?"
"I don't want Gil to kill your sister either. I want you and your sister and Ginger to stay with me."
When she heard that, Ginger felt a fury seething inside of her. She could tell that Bodden was plotting against her other master, her sexy master, and she hated the Tat man for his plots.
She was holding a rifle right now. She thought that it would be easy to swing it around and shoot that fat man in the back, just as she had shot that handsome, young man who lay there just a few feet from her.
But, for some reason, she could not do it. She could not kill again.
She closed her eyes and said the word.
"Master."
And she knew that Bodden could be her master now. Any man could be her master.
Ginger had no will left, no will to fight any master with.
She felt weak and cold, and she knew that she would probably feel just that way for the rest of her life, the rest of her slave-like life.
"Come on, Bonnie," Bodden said. "Let's try to find your sister before your husband finds her. If we can, we might be able to save her from destruction."
And Bonnie moved with speed to her feet, thinking that, if she could save Brooke, she might not feel so guilty about Kirk's death. If she could save Brooke, then she might be able to think that, at least, Kirk had not died in vain.
The three of them went through the island jungle, looking for the beautiful, rebel girl.