Chapter 9
9
Nellie
H e can’t be serious, surely.
I unbalance and lean on the cold stone, slipping in Marianne’s slimy cerebral fluid. A quick glance at her upside down face confirms her eyes are not rolled back; they’re a little crossed instead. I suppress an absurd belch of laughter, and Sweeney clutches a handful of my hair.
“Now, now,” he scolds playfully, giving my head a wobble. “No need to be that way. You’d look fucking stupid too if you were dead.”
He slides his hands up my thighs, feeling his way. “Tell me the truth, Nellie. Did she come here and threaten you with the law, or did you contrive a means to get her to come by? Because I saw how she looked at me in the market, and I could have done with a chat.”
His thumb finds my slit through my underwear. “Did Marianne know anything?”
The pressure on my sensitive spot makes me shudder, but there’s a frisson of fear beneath.
Marianne told me things I didn’t want to know. Sweeney is right; there was more she came to say. I just didn’t want to hear it.
“She was flapping her lips, that’s all,” I say with a sigh. “Fucking with me.”
“That’s my job, treacle.”
He slips a hand to my behind and clutches a handful of flesh, his nails pinching the skin, and I bite my lip. The dangling corpse continues to drip, and Sweeney swipes his fingers through the liquid as it patters onto the floor beside me.
“Oh my God.” I squirm in his grip, but he can hold me in place with one hand all too easily. “Don’t put her gunge on me! That’s disgusting.”
“You’re the one who raised the stakes, love.” Sweeney shifts his hips, his cock hot against my core. “You killed in hot blood, and why? To make me proud. And I am proud of you. You’re my good little heathen.”
Ohhh . My heart swells at his words. To think Marianne had the gall to suggest my Mr. T wouldn’t love me?
No hoighty-toighty barber’s wife nor perfumed slattern could turn his head.
I am the one who waited, who saw him for what he was and accepts him now, bleak soul and all.
I tug at his crotch, freeing his thick erection. He chuckles at my eagerness and props himself on his elbows to watch as I wriggle out of my undergarments and position myself over him.
“Nah.” He palms his shiny tip and pulls it away from me, and I freeze in a half-squat, staring at him. “Stay there.”
He wipes his wet hand along his shaft. The clear fluid coating his girth could be anything, but the blood mixed in gives it away. Sweeney is lubricating himself with products that were, until recently, the contents of Marianne’s brain and backbone, and now he’s applying it to me.
It’s warm on my pussy, as though still alive in its own right, and despite the depravity, there’s no denying how good it feels.
“Now you can ride me, treacle.” Sweeney puts his hands behind his head. “But don’t neglect our guest. Show me how much you hated her.”
I hiss through my teeth as I lower myself onto him. His pulse thrums in the full vein that ridges his shaft, and I feel a twinge of pain as my still-sore pussy stretches to accommodate him.
“I swear you got bigger,” I say, my voice strangled.
Sweeney responds with a firm thrust skyward, skewering me. I buck and almost fall off, but he catches me, and my shoulder barges Marianne, who swings wildly like a pendulum before me.
I slap her face, and the impact shifts some air inside her; she releases a mournful groan.
“You made her sad, treacle,” Sweeney says, his thumb on my clit again as he moves me. “Anything you want to say?”
My pussy is aflame with both agony and arousal. This escalated so quickly. What God would take me now when I let the Devil corrupt me so willingly?
Marianne’s doleful, dead eyes mock me even now. I punch her this time, and Sweeney roars with satisfaction as blood streams from the crumpled cartilage of her nose.
“I love it, Nellie. More.” He snatches my throat and draws back the other hand, cracking me over the ear, and I scream. “She thought she had something you didn’t? Never, my pet. Never!”
My ear is ringing, and through the tinny peal of sound, Sweeney’s rumbling laughter sounds like a thunderstorm. He grips my trachea like a vice, and my hands flail crazily, lashing at the dead woman again and again.
Sweeney’s cock surges and pounds, smashing relentlessly into my softness and hammering the deepest part of me into submission. The sounds of the slaps landing on Marianne’s jelly-like flesh are music to my ears, but as my hearing recovers, it’s Sweeney’s biting encouragement that throws me over the edge.
“Come for me, Nellie,” he growls, pushing himself onto his heels for leverage. “Fuck me into you. Tell this bitch what you think of her. Go on!”
“You cunt!” My eyes fly open, and I grab Marianne by her ears, shaking her. Her tongue lolls moronically from her mouth, and I tear at it, trying to pull it free.
“You dared to call me names! To say my Sweeney didn’t love me! Well, how’d you like me now? Skin off my back?” Her tongue rips away from her palate, and I toss it onto Sweeney’s chest. “What’s she got to say for herself, huh? What have you got to say?”
Sweeney’s eyes never leave mine. He sits up and draws my face to his, thrusting deep, his thumb still grinding hard on my clit. The points beneath his five fingers on my throat are livid with pain; if he releases me now, it’ll hurt more, and he knows it.
“You’re the one for me, Nellie, don’t you worry.” He shoves Marianne, sending her crashing into the wall along the chain track. “I don’t want anyone else. Now come for me.”
I lean back and surrender to his grip. I don’t care if he kills me now. I’ll go wherever the hereafter will put me, and if I have to burn for eternity, I’ll do it with his words in my ruined heart.
My climax crashes through me with a cathartic surge of exquisite agony. My muscles ripple over the length of Sweeney’s cock, and he pins me to him, flooding me with his release. Our fluids of life mingle with those of death, making a foul pool of filth beneath us.
He’s mine, and all I had to do was set loose my last bit of crazy to make it so.
Marianne’s corpse gives another exhalation, surprising us both, and Sweeney lets go of my neck. He helps me to my feet, and we straighten up, regarding the dead woman with interest and no small amount of amusement.
“She paid a hefty price for her nerve,” I say. “Shame, in a way. SIlly girl actually had a brain in her head.”
“Not any more.” Sweeney takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers. “Now, my pet. You take a minute to recover. I’ll get a mop.”