The Murdered World 52

“That… that was…” Christina said, or tried to say, eyes widen and unblinking, as if she might spot a word that would describe what she had just been through.

“We need to move,” Frank interrupted, his voice harsh, but somehow only stoking the low flames Christina felt inside herself.

“I don’t think I can,” Christina said.

“I don’t want to,” Emma put in. “Can’t you work on that dumb vault some other time?”

“Wasn’t talking about the vault,” Frank said, getting to his feet despite what it did to the comfortable bonelessness the girls had been enjoying. “We need a bed before we do anything more.”

“More?” Christina gasped. “Wasn’t that enough?” But even as she said it, she knew it hadn’t been. Not for any of them.

“You’re the same, both of you,” Frank rumbled, and he stooped to pick up the pair of women, loading them onto his broad shoulders as easily as he’d lift two grocery bags. “Fuck-loving sluts who can’t get by without sex. You’re much easier to get along with after you’ve come a few times. So I’ll be making sure you do that. And on a bed, where you can sleep it off without throwing your backs out.”

“You make it sound like we don’t have a choice in the matter,” Emma said, clear excitement in her voice.

“If you didn’t need it, you wouldn’t be here,” Frank said. “But clearly you don’t know how much you need. So I’m going to be the one who decides when you get cocked.”

“How will we ever thank you?” Christina asked sarcastically.

“Shave your cunt. You and your sister should have a matching set.”

***

He carried them the whole way to the bunkroom, his clear physical prowess turning them both on. Then again, it didn’t seem to take much to arouse them these days.

The moment he’d deposited them on the mattress, their only goal became to please Frank. Even together, though, they couldn’t overwhelm him. He laid them down side by side and moved from one to the other, from shaved cunt to hairy, sustaining their delirium while working his to its crest, none of them knowing would be on the receiving end when his final spasm took place.

Christina was far beyond sated by the time Frank finally stopped, and one look at Emma told her that her sister was similarly drained. Frank was out cold—it gratified her that they’d managed to wear him down, in the end.

And even in his sleep, Frank proved how intent he was to live up to his word. He kept a hand tightened on the plumpness of Christina’s ass, while another was between Emma’s legs, and Christina could only imagine how good the pressure of it felt, even without him following through on it.

It was an ever-present temptation to do more than simply lay on Frank’s downed body… to rub his tired sweat in search of further thrills, even to get the hand at Emma’s crotch to do more than possessively hold onto it. Yes, damn, to see him finger her, driving her inexorably into even a fifth of the orgiastic frenzy she’d been in so briefly ago that Christina could practically still hear her moans echoing…

But, always, her exhausted body was unable to further those sparks of intrigue and the desire guttered.

What are you trying to prove, Christy? Whatever inhibitions you once had, you’ve clearly shed them enough times that they’ll probably never come back. Angel’s well and truly dead. He’s not going to demand any fidelity at this point. And, hell, you and Emma finally found something to bond over…

So why couldn’t she sleep? Why did she know she wouldn’t sleep, without even the vague blessing of uncertainty?

Christina could feel it. An unyielding, untiring core, at times defeated, now at its full power, unvarnished. Familiar, too. She followed the thread through her memories with little effort. The conclusion was inescapable.

It was all so much like what had happened with Angel. The good sex, the warning tingles, the thrill of ignoring them and feeling oh so daring. Of course, Angel was charming. Frank was… not. That was one thing she could say for him: he was blunt. She knew exactly where she stood with him. What he said, he meant, and what he promised, he did.

Once she would’ve said that of Angel, though. She hadn’t known then that all his praise and compliments were only meant to maneuver her into doing as he wanted.

Weren’t they?

And Emma, that really gnawed at her. Not the sex, the menage a trois of it all… that fit, in a way. Why should something like this be normal in the utterly abnormal world she’d found herself in? But it seemed so easy for Emma. Frank wanted her; she gave herself to him. And now she was asleep, satisfied and happy, like Christina should be. Like she didn’t have a problem in the world.

Maybe she didn’t. Maybe Christina did. Maybe Angel had been good, once, and she’d driven him to treat her with disdain. And Frank would be next. She’d ruin things with him like she had with Angel. And this time, she wouldn’t suffer alone. She’d make Emma too pay for whatever it was in her that was rotting, poisoning everything—

“Hey.” Emma spoke gently, so as not to wake Frank. “You’re crying.”

“I’m fine,” Christina protested, though she didn’t recognize the croak in her voice.

“Bullshit. What is it? Is it Frank? Do you… you know… want him all to yourself?”

“No, God no…”

“Thank fuck. I felt like I was about to be a horrible sister there.”

“It’s not Frank.”

“Because I would’ve let you have him, but Christ, I just know I would’ve been a nightmare about it.”

“It’s still not Frank.”

“Then what is it?” Emma asked, reaching out to pet her sister’s hair.

Christina could only think of how she’d done that, when they were sharing Frank. She was still turned on by it. She was still too tired to do anything about it.

“I think I might be a really awful person,” Christina said. “Think I might’ve ruined things with Angel and now I’ll make this bad the same way. And this time you’ll hate me too, not just him.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Emma cried, high enough to make Frank shift in his sleep. “Angel was a piece of shit. Anyone else would think they won the lottery, getting you. Look at Frank. He’s the fucking Punisher and he goes down on you. I have a hard time getting dentists to do that for me and you’ve got a serial killer on it.”

“Can we not call him a serial killer?”

“What, he kills other serial killers. It’s hot.” Emma reached over and grasped Frank’s slumbering manhood. “Tell you what, sis. Much as I like this thing, if he ever stops being nice to you, I’m taking it off.”

“Jesus, Em.”

“Way it has to be, Christy. We need to be a unified front, because we have all the power here. He wants one of us, he has to treat us both like goddesses.”

“Goddesses,” Christina repeated, and yawned. “Do goddesses get this tired?”

“They must. Because it sure feels like someone up there’s been sleeping on the job.”

Christina saw Emma darken—she could recognize the look her own features formed, the black mood that hung over all their memories, most of their lives. Who did they know that was still alive? What home did they have that hadn’t been destroyed?

“Hey,” Christina said, echoing Emma’s light tones. She stretched out a hand and shifted a lock of hair out of Emma’s face. “As soon as he wakes up, I want to see him fuck you.”

“Yeah?” Emma asked, grinningly scandalized.

“Yeah. From behind. So he can smack your ass while he fucks you. And I will too, if he doesn’t give you all you can take.”

Emma bit her lip. “I kinda wanna see you go down on him.”

“Emma! Geez…”

“You don’t swallow, do you? That’s cool. When he comes—spit it on me.”

“Jesus! You’re insane!”

“It’ll turn him on so much. He probably won’t even get soft.”

“When does he ever?”

“Now?”

They both looked. Frank was far from soft, even in his sleep.

“We should leave that thing alone, shouldn’t we? While he’s sleeping?” Emma asked, grinning like she wanted to break out in giggles.

“We wouldn’t much like it if he just started fucking us in our sleep, would we?”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Think he’ll come inside me again?”

“Hey, no more of that. Wherever he wants to put it is fine. He’s earned that much.”

“What if he puts it in your ass?” Emma sighed.

“Sis, are you touching yourself?”

“Why? Aren’t you?”

“What if he wakes up?”

“He’ll probably be happy we took care of the foreplay ourselves. C’mon, Christy, you’re making me feel weird!”

“I’m making you—oh, hell with it.”

By then, Emma was moaning. Christina soon joined her. But they didn’t really make noise until Frank woke up and took it like a personal affront that they thought a few slim fingers could ever approximate what he did to them.