Indian Girl A

Running wouldn’t work. Fighting wouldn’t work. The sickening feeling of finality began to sink in. He was out of options, and out of time. ‘On your knees,’ she ordered. He obeyed, trying to plead for mercy with his eyes. She ignored it. ‘Open your mouth.’ He opened his mouth. She approached him, holding her gun, still aimed at him, right in front of her crotch, as if it was a surrogate phallus. He wet his pants as he realized how it was going to end. Shoving the barrel of the pistol into his mouth, she spoke the four words he knew were coming. The words he knew would be the last he would ever hear. ‘Suck my dick, bitch.’ She pulled the trigger. Lissette discovered that her headache was now gone. She looked dispassionately at the blood pooling from the corpse. She scanned the dirt road to make sure no one else was there, then collected the spent cartridge from the ground. Reholstering her gun underneath her miniskirt, she bent over the body, fishing in the dead man’s pocket for his. “G, can we get popcorn and soda, too?” “Sure,” I replied, “but you’ll have to feed me. I think my hands will be occupied.” We may live in a small town but we do have our own multiplex. We found the right theater and moved to the back row. Naturally, I sat in the middle. Rachel had the popcorn, we all had sodas, Becky was holding mine. “I don’t want anything to get in your way, Michael.” When the theater darkened there were maybe forty people there, just enough for what we were about to do to be daring. I pulled each of the skirts up toward their waists and pushed their legs apart. I moved my hands right down to their respective pussies. I rubbed their outer lips causing them to swell. Just a light touch of their clits was all that was necessary to make them gasp. I was wondering what the other viewers thought about the inappropriate noises coming from our row, mostly at inappropriate times. I rubbed each pussy up and down. Soon they were dripping wet so I inserted my middle finger.
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