Chapter 15
For some minutes Francie just glared at Gracie. He'd had a hard time dodging through the streets. He'd intended picking the lock, but then the thought that she was about the only person who could have spilt gave him a fresh thought and he'd tapped on the door. It had been as he'd half suspected.
Her look of terror told him everything. He was out of breath and shaken. He sat down on a chair still glaring at her.
"You called the narks," he snarled after a few minutes.
"If you touch me, I shall scream the roof off," Gracie said. But when he came towards her the scream wouldn't come.
Francie clamped his hand over her mouth and pushed her down on the bed, leaning over on top of her.
"What did you do to get rid of Charlie?" he snapped.
He moved his hand down to her throat.
"I hit him with a lamp," she blurted, huskily.
"Where did you call 'em from?"
"A booth. I don't know where it was."
He squeezed her throat.
"You're lying. You called 'em from the flat."
"I called them from a booth," she croaked.
He relaxed his grip.
"Why did you call 'em, Gracie. That wasn't a nice thing to do. You got us all in trouble, but your boyfriend's in it the worst."
Gracie's eyes were hollows of fear, staring up at him like death.
"What happened?" she whispered.
He told her, reveling in the effect the details had on her.
"Thank God, he's alive," she whispered.
"Won't be for long," Francie gloated. "That copper must be dead or dying. I went smack into him with the lorry doing sixty. Hartnell's going to be the booby for that."
"You swine!" she said softly.
Francie chuckled fiendishly.
"The only trouble, Gracie, is to know what to do with you. You know too much and if I leave you 'ere you're going to tell the narks just to try and get your boyfriend in the clear. On the other 'and if I keep you with me where me and the boys are going to get away to for a while, I'll never be able to trust you. So what can I do, Gracie?"
She stared at him and her mind was saying "Swine, swine, filthy swine!"
"There's only one thing left, Gracie," he said. "I gotta get rid of you."
He chuckled evilly.
"It breaks me 'eart that our great romance 'as to end this way but there's nothing else for it. I'm sure you agree with me, Gracie."
Gracie's mind was in a whirl. She thought quickly of the gun in her bag, but Francie's weight was on her, the bag on the other side of the room.
"Still I gotta lie low at least until tomorrow," Francie was saying, "and I don't want to do the job here - somewhere in the country would be better. So what we're going to do, Gracie, is have a last night of pleasure, then I'm going to give you a little punishment and then when we get to the country with the boys, they can all see what it's like to fuck Slim Bailey's daughter before she goes to 'er Maker."
Gracie shuddered. She wished she'd never been born. Horror seemed to pile on horror. In the back of her mind she kept telling herself that somehow she had to help Roger.
"You'd better be nice to me now, Gracie," Francie sneered. "Cos I've had a hard time in the last few hours due to you. You'd better make up for it, hadn't you?"
She looked at him with eyes of contempt and he jerked up the skirt of her dress, rubbing his hands up her thighs. When he touched her between the legs she just lay still.
"Why aren't you wearin' pants?" he asked. And then he laughed nastily. "Getting ready for me, were you - or for him?"
He pulled the skirt right up to her waist and gazed down at her nakedness. He ran his hands gently over her hips and belly and then squeezed them with cruel force.
"Last time I'll be seeing these," he said. "But there'll be plenty more. Most women would be very happy to be nice to Francie."
He leaned down suddenly and bit hard into the roundness of her thigh. His teeth sank into softly-muscled flesh making her jerk and cry out. He laughed at her reaction, moved his lips up the thigh and bit into the flesh at the very portals of her cavity.
She pushed his head with her hands and, still laughing, he pushed her dress up over her waist, up over the swelling of her breasts and forced her to shake it off her shoulders over her head. He took off the brassiere and leaned back looking at her body. Its symmetry was quite beautiful. It reminded him, on a slightly smaller scale, of that of Lady Anne - of which he'd be seeing more when they hid out in the country for a time.
Gracie lay there, resigned as she'd so often been resigned, hardly there at all, thinking all the time of Roger and what she would have done had she not been trapped by Francie here.
Francie stood up and began to take off his clothes.
"I don't think anyone's going to find us here, Gracie, my sweet," he said. "So we can just relax and have a good time."
He stripped off and stood with his penis cleaving the air, rigid as a poker.
"Stand up," he said. "I want to have a look at you while you still look the way you do."
She got to her feet and stood by the bed while his eyes swept over avidly. He turned her round and his eyes gloated on the provocative lines of her waist and buttocks.
He caught hold of her and began to run his hands all over her, up and down her sides, over her breasts, over her buttocks and thighs. Suddenly he caught her hair and forced her down to her knees in front of him. He bobbed his bulge of manhood at her face, rubbing the moist head over her cheeks, grinning, with his: lips drawn back from his teeth. Gracie closed her eyes.
"Open your mouth," he commanded. And when she was slow he twisted her hair and her lips opened in a cry of pain.
He pushed his knob against the softness of her lips, brushed it along her mouth in a heat of self-tantalization. Then he prodded it into the opening.
"Suck it, you bitch," he snarled. "Go on - suck it."
He twisted her hair again, pulling her face forward, her mouth onto his prick.
Her lips began to move on it. He felt the suction, drawing his knob like a magnet, seeming to elongate his organ with every suck. He watched her cheeks hollowing around his flesh. He felt he'd like his sex to ram right down her throat and fill her gullet, choking her.
He jerked her hair again.
"Harder," he rasped. "Use your bloody tongue."
The tongue wrapped around the knob, soft and firm. Her mouth, tongue, lips were all soft, moist, warm.
Francie tightened his buttocks together, thrusting his prick at her mouth, jerking slightly against her.
"Lovely. That's lovely," he murmured, wheezing the words through his teeth.
He held the back of her head, now, running his hands over the silkiness of her hair, shuffling his loins at her as her mouth pulled at him.
"Just like that," he gritted. "Just like that."
Gracie sucked on his penis as if it were some wonderful lollipop. She could feel its hard, rubbery texture filling her mouth, hot under her tongue. She tried not to think about what she was doing. She cast her thought to Roger all the time, except when Francie pulled her hair, jerking her back into the present.
He kept pushing it further into her mouth so that it grated gently against her teeth and she could feel the movement of the sheath of outer skin on the hard core within. It was filling her mouth and as he held her head in a viselike grip she felt as if she would choke or be sick - the way she'd felt when he'd stuffed it into her back passage.
Her knees were beginning to ache and her jaw felt stiff as if she'd been chewing some thick, resistant pudding.
Francie's testicles kept swaying against her chin. There was an odor of sweat about his genitals and the mass of hair over his belly and around his organ suffocated her.
Feeling the movement, like a sea swell inside his hips, Francie held his legs together, rubbing his knees against each other, locking his wiry calves in an encouragement of the passionate juices somewhere this long sensitive tube of flesh began.
He was reaching the point where it would be too late to turn back where he would be carried along like driftwood in a rapids - and he wanted this sensation to last.
He arched his hips backward.
"All right. Get on the bed," he ordered. His breath was broken, uneven.
Gracie lay back on the bed.
"Open your legs wide," Francie said.
She flopped open her legs.
He reached for the pillow, dragged it from under her head and slid it under her hips, raising them three inches above the bed so that her body sloped slightly downwards from the uppermost point which was her abdomen down to the head of the bed.
Francie gloated over the hole he was about to excavate. He realized that he still wanted Gracie, still longed to force her to belong to him. His eyes gleamed with cruelty. At least he could hurt her, make her aware of him that way before she died.
He moved up between those widespread thighs. Pulled apart the nether lips like curtains, aimed his penis like a long pike - and lunged into her with all his weight.
"Ooooh!" Gracie uttered a long gasp of pain. Her body squirmed as if she were convulsing on an electric chair.
Francis's penis felt as if it had been scraped, as if her passage was trying to push it out as it tore in. He gasped too at the sudden delicious, clamping enclosure of this penis that felt so itchy it wanted to urinate.
"How's that, then Gracie," he snarled, his chin jutting forward with the strain. "I'm going to fill you with such a flood you'll drown."
Lying helpless, dominated under him, Gracie felt as if she must be bleeding inside with the roughness of his entry. She bit her lip and lolled her head sideways away from his face as it came down to hers.
She thought how wonderful it would have been to have lost her virginity to Roger, to have had nobody but him, wanted nobody. How she loved him, how different roughness would seem coming from him. She would cling to him and love him, feeling a well of passion fill her loins. Now she felt only the pain and the humiliation, as usual, of this man, unasked, slaking himself on her most intimate part, twitching his organ into her torn, aching passage.
Francie was loving her this time as if he would kill her. His penis was buffeting into her with savage, relentless strokes and his face, when she opened her eyes, was twisted into a mask of strain and sadism.
He leaned up from her breasts and pushed her thighs up towards her breasts. He grasped each breast and squeezed it, bruising the paps, wrenching as if he were trying to draw milk from the nipples.
His eyes, watching her face, as the waves of sensual intoxication enveloped his loins, grinned devilishly as he saw her pain.
Against his hips as he thundered deep into the moist clinging passage, he felt the soft, white mounds of her buttocks, meeting his flesh like firm buffers.
He ravished her savagely, twisting his hips this way and that, crashing his organ into her from different angles, feeling the knob tearing at the lining of her vagina, jerking gasps of excitement from him to the accompaniment of moans of pain from her.
Gracie's vagina felt like an inferno, boiling with the heat of lava. It felt as if it were being enlarged and burnt out at the same time.
Her mind flitted round the thought of the drubbing she would have from the other members of the gang and she decided she would die in the process - it would be too much to bear.
His hands were still on her breasts. He wasn't treating her as a human being. He was mauling the little hillocks of flesh, like a tiger over some dead animal. His nails dug into the sleek, white bulges. When he squeezed she felt suddenly bruised and her chest constricted with the pain. It was a never-ending nightmare which seemed to be only just beginning.
Francie was working feverishly to a climax. He saw her lips below, soft red lips and he swooped down to fasten on them, to bite them as his rod bit into those lower lips, ransacked that lower mouth.
He filled her with his tongue, forcing her mouth wide, intruding with the whole of his into that breathless cavern. Her lips were bleeding from his teeth and she tried to struggle her head away from him, but it was locked under his as her hips were locked under his.
As liquid prepared for the rush inside him, like urine trying, but unable, to escape, he moved up from her again, grunting and choking his breath above her.
"Gracie, Gracie!" He uttered her name savagely, his voice devoid of tenderness. He uttered the name as if he were destroying her and gloating over the destruction.
"Oh, oh, oh!" He was so overcome that he seemed at times to lose his rhythm and left his penis pushed to its utmost, inside her loins for seconds at a time as he ground his hips into hers.
Gracie's lips moved in quiet, almost semiconscious murmuring of pain, now. It seemed that the devil's venom was about to sweep into her.
Her passage contracted automatically around the thick stem of wildly probing flesh inside her and it seemed to Francie that the head of his penis was growing to an enormous size like a balloon expanding, nearing bursting point.
And, then the rush started. It raced through him, shaking his whole body in a sort of delirium. Her tight, reluctant channel was dragging the sperm out of him with an overwhelming suction. The rush grew in volume. He cried out, gnashing his teeth. He caught her breast again, crushing the firm bulbs and then his body shook in the convulsive tremor which accompanied the shattering of his fluid into the torn, painful depths of her vagina.
At frequent intervals during the night he experimented with her, forcing her into all sorts of contorted positions. Exhausted, at last, he lay beside her quivering body, gazing at the ceiling. He didn't dare go to sleep because of the gun in his jacket pocket. There could be nothing left in Gracie, now, but a great hatred towards him.