 CHERCHEZ LA FEMMEBY ANNA ANTHROPYI thought I'd lost her in the New England dust bowl, but then I spied her bike parked in the lot of some squat Pre-War building, hacked human braids fluttering on her handles as streamers. My girl's been busy. I grinned, but my helmet kept my smile hidden even if there was anyone around to see. I had serious doubts that there was. The building, a pre-War bar, looked like a dirty can. They all look like that - I couldn't tell if it was still being used or if it snuffed out with so many others when the rads blasted across the land. A neon skull and crossbones still burned radiation-green in the window - the dead eye of a hollow corpse, staring sightlessly across the desert for all these years? Or was this place being used? Fuck if it mattered to me. I parked my hog next to hers and armed the thermonuclear anti-theft device. Then I pushed the rash-red door open. Bang. She was on me in a heartbeat, clever bitch. We tumbled over a lean wooden counter next to the door in each other's arms, half-breaking it on the way down. Now this was what I call intimacy! The floor came at me hard, but she came at me harder, her lean frame pressing down on my back like a stilleto, her legs moving perhaps instinctively to wrap around mine. I rolled over, trying to crush her against the wall. There was a crunch, not bones, but the sound of the rotted old wall crumpling around her like an egg carton. Underneath that noise I could hear something else, a gutteral growl, not just of pain but of HUNGER. Yes indeed! I attempted to bash her head with the back of my helmet but she saw what I was doing and went for the chokehold. One arm behind my head, the other around my neck. I twisted my spiked leather shoulder toward her face and she loosened her grip. I tried to make a break across the darkened room, then, in the light of the dancing neon cocktails on the wall, dodging half-seen tables and chairs as I scrambled to my feet. WHAM. Flattened again - thank Rod I was wearing a helmet. But all the air went out of me in one slow fart like an open balloon's death rattle. I could hear her panting as she hurridly wrestled my arms behind my back and held them there. We were both gasping for air, I could feel her chest heaving against my back. Her knee was between my legs, and I let my crotch settle against it as casually as I would have leaned on the arm of a couch. We spent a while that way, in the darkness, listening to her tired breaths, my muffled ones. I didn't move a Wasteland inch. When she figured she had enough energy left to fight me off if I got rough again, she asked, "What do you want?" And keeping my arms pinned with a single hand and the weight of her belly, she reached and tugged up my rad-helmet - the one that says "RAD" on it - so I could speak to her. "You," I answered, and licked her fingers. She shoved her fingers in my mouth and pressed her knee up harder against me, and I ground against it and sucked her dirty fingers while her other hand commenced as thorough a pat-down as she could manage in this position. I could feel her fingers crawl behind my belt and down the front of my greasy jeans, discovering a knife tucked in a hidden sheath. I could feel the cool blade kiss my belly as she carefully removed it, and I stopped dead as a brahmin with a bolt in each forehead. But with a gentle thrust she made it clear she expected me to keep grinding as she extricated the weapon from my pants. She flipped me over, my helmet rolling away, keeping me restrained with her weight while she held the knife up in front of me. I finally got a clear look at her face: eyes dagger-sharp and gleaming, nostrils flaring with anger-lust, a smirk twisting the corner of her mouth into a hot little snarl. These features were all burned onto the backs of my eyes, I would recognize this face anywhere. "What's this for?" she asked, turning the knife around in front of my face, close enough that my nose buzzed with the tickle of its proximity. "For me. I like knives," I said, keeping my eyes on hers as I tongued the blade from hilt to tip. Her snarl uncurled a little to show some teeth. "Then you and I got something in common." Her knee withdrew from between my legs, and then - STAB! - she sunk the knife right into the floor between them, a hair's width from my crotch. She kept a hand on me, keeping me from sitting up to get a good look as she YANKED my belt open and tore down the zipper of my jeans. "Cute," she said, when she presumably discovered my scorpion-print undies, or maybe my hot cunt had already burned through them and she was looking at my drooling pussy. No, not yet - she grabbed a fistful of panty and pulled, unsheathing the knife from the floor with her other hand. SHIK, SHIK - she cut through both sides of my undies. Then she yanked hard and off they came, burning a hot treadmark onto my ass as they peeled out. Her fingers sank into my pussy like - well, like a hot knife into butter. I groaned in want, lifting my hips up onto her hand - but her other hand still had the knife, and it was pointed at my throat now. So close I was scared to gulp. Her snarl was a full, lopsided grin now, as she rubbed my wet cunt and watched me tremble, palms flat on the floor, trying not to move. She was almost laughing; I could only imagine what my face must have looked like. Probably real funny. If I came, I probably would have impaled myself. And believe me, it was tempting. But she stopped. "Miss, you were not lying," she said, holding her wet-goo fingers to my face. I smelled myself on them, sea-cunt and the dirty sting of days in the desert with leather and grime. "Clean 'em." I wrapped my tongue around them, glaring at her. "You want your knife back?" she hissed. "I want some nice lines on my back." I moaned a red hot affirmative into her fingers, two of which had my tongue pinned to the floor of my mouth. She stood. I looked up at her as I pushed myself into a sitting position. "Your place or mine?" I chuckled, glancing toward the dusty furniture. "Strip," she smirked. I started to get to my feet but she put a boot on me and shoved me back down. "Strip." Glaring up at her like an angry child, I started pulling my clothes off there on the floor. She chuckled and rolled the knife around in her hands. My pussy fumed along with me. My ass felt scrawny and naked on the dirty floor. She let me get up, then, but barefoot I still felt half her height. "You can stab me if you want to," I told her, grabbing for my boots, "but the boots are non-negotiable." She sat back against an old table and waited for me, watching my bare ass and twiddling the knife in her lap. Naked but for the boots - but that was all I needed - I came right up to her and pushed my tongue into her mouth she wrapped her arms around me, knife in one of those hands, and pulled me in. Moaning though clenched teeth when her nails scratched my bare back. I went for her lip with my teeth, biting hard. She cried out and growled, then she yanked my head back by the hair and sunk her wolf teeth into my neck. "SHIT!" I screamed. "Fuck me, fuck me!" "Oh no, you dusty slut, my turn first," she said, scootching up onto the table and lifting her legs. She unbuckled her belt and pushed her pants and undies down. I was all too eager to help, taking hold of her legs, sliding down her pants. I pulled her bootlaces loose, then I pulled it all off as a single piece of clothing: pants, boots and socks. I ran my tongue along the hot sole of her foot and hooked a toe in my mouth. She lay back, put her arms up and moaned, still gripping the knife as i let my tongue explore. When I put her feet back on the floor she flipped herself over, bent over the table with her bare ass toward me. Then, looking over her shoulder, she put her hands together behind her back, offering me the knife. God, what a hot image. "You know what to do with this, right?" she said. "Yeah I fucking do. I don't carry it around to impress people." I took my knife back from her. She lifted up her shirt, displaying her back for me, bare as the desert, or blank as a canvas, then tucked her arms beneath her chin. "Mark me," she said. Well, shit, I didn't need to be asked twice. I dragged the knife in a line across her back, using the dull side, not the sharp edge. Not cutting her but raising a welt, a white hot line across her back. I held her down with my other hand, feeling her cool skin, her body trembling as the knife made corner to corner. Her moan was so chopped and machine-gun stuttered it sounded almost like laughter. I watched her hands clamp into fists and release, I heard her bare feet kick the floor. "More," she moaned. What a hot little bitch. I had no trouble obliging her, tracing slow hard lines on her while she hiccuped and cursed and pounded the table and begged for more. Soon her back with scored with parallel lines, a couple diagonals criss-crossing the pattern. "Whew," I breathed, reaching down to give my cunt a quick strum. My fingers came away with the same spider-silk strands that follow a really good kiss. "Cut me," she said, pushing the words out of her mouth like an exhalation, a groan. And that was it, once the promise of blood was on the table there was no going back. Silently, I reached up for her shirt, which was gathered over her shoulders. I pulled it up, over her head, down her arms, and twisted it up tight. Then I shoved the thick part into her mouth. She bit down obediently and moaned into her new gag, looking at me with dark wet eyes, eyes furious with desire. Eyes that wanted something badder I have never seen. I held her trembling skin down as - with the blade this time - I wrote on her back. She cried and whimpered into her gag as, first, hard red pearls and then, dark red trails sprouted in the knife's wake. By the time I'd written a simple, three-letter word on her - "PIG," the P and the G jagged and angular, all hard lines - she was in a trace-like state, her eyes dreamy and distant. I admired my handiwork for a minute, working my cunt a little with the knife hilt. I could hear her mewling into her gag, see her cold toes curling and uncurling against the floor. The red running down her back was making my signature less legible by the second. And then, with a sharp little moan of intent, I lifted my hand and brought the palm down, SMACK, right in the middle of her back. She jumped, screaming, droplets of blood flying like spittle. She whimpered in pain and lust. The lines of my palm, when I lifted it, were laser-red with blood. She was on me, cradling my hand in hers like a wounded creature, licking at her own blood like a cat. Watching me while she did it, the dreamy haze still in her eyes. I slide the hilt of the knife back into my cunt and carefully fucked myself with it while she licked my other hand. Blood smeared her chin and lips like a cannibal. I came, I came and I pulled the knife out right away, holding it as far away from our bodies as my limbs started to noodle. My fingers tightened rigor mortis tight around the handle. She held me up, feeling me shake in her arms, nuzzling and kissing my neck and face with her bloody lips. Coming, every touch of her lips was unbearably intense, my hypersensitized body cringing from it like a mole from daylight. I was blinded, I must have been screaming but there were pillows in my ears. All I could feel was the electricity of her lips on my skin and the knife hilt gripped bone-tight in my petrified fist. As I frizzled out of it I immediately caught the scent of her neck, dirty and hot like leather. I pushed my face into her shoulder, smelling. She made a satisfied groan, or maybe a groan just came out as she exhaled. And then, my face buried in her skin, I put my arms around her too, and sank the knife neatly into the center of her back. After she stopped moving I laid her body on the table, face-down, knife sticking up out of her. Let her keep it, it's more hers than mine now. I wiped some of the blood off my face and sat for a few minutes in the flickering neon half-dark, feeling my sweat cool in the air of the ancient room. Then I reached for my clothes. Her bike looked real lonely when I got in my hog and disarmed the nuke. I considered selling it for parts, but I decided it wasn't worth it. The bounty I'd get for putting down Poison Patty would shit on any handful of caps that old thing would ever fetch. I put on my helmet, revved my bike and took off toward New City, and whether I was smiling or not no one saw.  CONFIRMED BACHELOR BY MADAMLUNA |