King Blood(52)

And had to fling herself backwards to keep from being impaled on the blade of Arlie's outthrust knife. He gestured with it, ordered her to stretch herself out on the ground. She obeyed, eyes fixed fearfully on his face. Mumbling incoherent apologies for what she had done. Arlie said genially that she was not to feel bad about it at all. His plans for her had been unchanged by her attempted escape.

'Now, we'll just get you out of them clothes…' He tore them off her with a couple of hard tugs of his hand. 'An' then I'll just cut myself a nice piece of ass.'

Her fear abating, Big Sis said irritably that he could have done that without destroying her clothes. She'd make a hell of a sight traveling across the countryside naked. Arlie said her nakedness would be no bother to her, her mind being occupied by other things.

'Like this,' he said, squatting astride her, and firmly gripping a bare buttock. 'Like goin' around with only one cheek to your ass.'

The cold edge of his knife pressed against the bulging flesh. She gasped, then screamed, as the blade sank in, was almost buried in the pulsing softness.

'What are you -? _No! Stop! S-STOP!'_

Arlie lightened the pressure on the knife, asked what the hell she was fussin' about. 'Just cuttin' myself a piece of ass like I said I was goin' to.'

'You're c-crazy -! _No! N-n-n-noo!'_

Arlie shifted his weight a little, forcing her face down into the dirt so that her screams became a frantic muffled mumble. She squirmed and pitched, and Arlie only brought his weight down the harder, murmuring assurances that she was making a lot of fuss over nothin'.

'What's one piece o' ass to a gal that's got as much as you have? If you're afraid it'll make you lopsided, I can even things up by whopping off the other cheek. Now, you jus' lay real still an' – '

Big Sis reared up violently. Managed one short, strangled scream. Then she flopped down on the ground again in a dead faint; lay motionless and silent.

When she regained consciousness she was lying on her back, her hands again bound behind her. A gag made from shreds of her clothes was in her mouth, and Arlie was seated on her chest, his back to her. He gave her an over-the-shoulder grin; a reassuring wink and nod. Then, taking a tight hold on the loose flesh of her crotch, he brought his knife down hard and slowly inscribed a circle around her uterus.

He had decided to leave her ass intact, he explained, as a relatively harmless part of her body. Instead he was going to remove the real mischief maker. And with her cooperation and his skill, the operation would be quite painless.

'Wish I had me a nickel for every puss I cut off,' he went on, carefully reinscribing the circle with his knife. 'An' ol' Indian trick, y'know, an' us Kings are prob'ly more Indian than white. Funny thing is the woman don't hardly feel it – you don't feel nothin', do you? – till a long time afterward. That's maybe because it's mostly muscle, you know, an' stretchy; got more give to it than a mile o' cat gut. Why I seen a fella stretch a gal's puss clean over her head, an' then let it snap shut around her neck. Man, oh, man, what a sight to see!' His body shook with laughter. 'That gal was flingin' herself around like a chicken with its head off; strangled to death by her own tokus. Now – _lay still!_ You keep up that kickin' and squirmin', you'll _really_ get hurt…'

Big Sis could not lie still; no more could she be silent. Her entire body was racked with involuntary trembling, and an incessant moan came from her muffled mouth.

'Now, less just see,' murmured Arlie. 'Uh-huh, I reckon that'll just about do it. Just one quick pull on the hair patch, an' the thing oughta lift right off as slick as pig shit.'

He knotted his fingers in the pubic hair, gave it a long steady pull. He paused; gave a harder pull. Then turned his head to give her an abashed look.

'You mind waitin' a day or two f'r it to drop off? Seems t'be stuck pretty bad right now. Reckon it musta got sort of scabbed on, what with all the bleedin'.'

He held out his hand, by way of demonstration. A hand that was scarlet, dripping with blood. Then, as her eyes grew wider and wider, he reached around and wiped the hand on her crotch.

'Reckon I oughta put it back where I got it, huh? Well, now that we got that over with…'

He stood up, held a hand out to her. She took it silently, staring at him with unseeing eyes, and he drew her to her feet. As he guided her to her horse, helped her to get astride the saddle, he looked searchingly into the frozen face – into the eyes that looked only inward – and was almost shocked by what he saw. Almost moved to pity her.

Almost. He was virtually immune to shock and feelings of pity.

'Now, you're gonna be all right,' he said gruffly. 'You've had the fear of God put into you, an' you figure you're half-killed. But – '

'I know…' She smiled at him suddenly; the open, innocent smile of a child. And her voice was thin, high-pitched: a child's voice. 'It's like Papa says.'