Suddenly the wop stooped, lifted up the front edge of the couch: the back crashed into her stomach and knocked her against the wall. I didn’t think it was that hard. But maybe she was just scared: “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.…” Her cry went up and down, weakly, and she tried to turn away and pull herself along the wall, palms flat against blue paint.

Hogg took a handful of the man’s hair, held up the head, and punched the mouth so hard the head flew to the side. Things inside the mouth broke. “Shit, I like that.…” He grinned, and picked up the lampcord that had the broken bulb and holder hanging from it. “Here, tie the bastard up, nigger.”

The nigger took the man’s limp arm and moved around the chair.

Hogg went to the end of the couch and pulled it, growling over the floor, away. The woman fell against him, flailing. He pushed her back. I guess he thought she was going to fall over the arm of the couch, but she didn’t. He slapped her, and grinned. “You like that?” He slapped her again, with the other hand, too hard to be playful, but in a playful way. “You like that …?” He slapped her again.

“Stop it …!” she shrieked. “Oh, for God’s sake, stop …!”

Hogg pulled apart his zipper. “Lady, we ain’t even started.”

She tried to lunge past him, but he caught her and pushed her back, really hard this time. Only he didn’t let go of her dress. She fell back on the couch, and three more buttons broke. She pulled at the cloth once to cover herself, realized she couldn’t, and then just pulled her feet back on the couch, watching to see what he was going to do. As her feet went up over the edge, she lost one slipper.

Hogg bent his knees, hooking his thumb behind his dick. It came out, bobbing.

The expression that was on her face dropped off. She started to get another expression.

Hogg chuckled.

That one dropped off too.

Hogg stepped sideways in front of the couch.

“Jesus Christ …!” the wop said, and began to laugh, his fist crossed with the fist holding the knife, against his belly. “Look at that fuckin’ bitch! She’s so fuckin’ scared, she’s gonna shit.”

“Suck it!” Hogg said.

She was still trying to pull her dress across her breast; it had a big red circle around the nipple that made me think of the inside of a can of tomato soup.

Hogg knocked her hand: she jerked it away much further than the knock would have. “Suck it, sweetheart.”

She just blinked. Her hand closed on the edge of the couch cushion, and I thought, at first, she was going to try and throw it.