Rusty squirmed to get away as she sucked at his lips and licked at them and pried them apart with her own. Her mouth was cold, like ice, and the taste of her was bitter. He clenched his teeth but she worked them apart and her tongue invaded him, pushing and prodding, raspy and dry, and not like a tongue at all, but a snake or some giant millipede that had crawled into her mouth and taken up residence. His stomach turned and he tried to shove her away, but she clung to him frantically. He drove a fist into her gut once, twice, but it just seemed to spur her on. When she did let go it was only to cuff him about the ears with an open hand, and the blows were hard enough to jangle his senses. “C’mon, Russy,” she taunted him, “you like it rough, don’t you? You know you do.” He tried to stagger toward the trailer door but she caught him with a full-fisted blow to the side of his face, and the supple leather over her knuckles opened a gash above his cheekbone. She was back on him in an instant, her tongue running across his face and cheek and finding its way back to his mouth and forcing its way in.

He whined and tried to push her back, and his hands landed on her breasts. They were stiff and slick, almost waxen, and frozen to the touch. Georgetta stepped back, her wide expression visible in the light from the window. There was passion in her eyes, wild and unyielding. At least that was what it looked like. “You want these, honey?” she said, kneading her tremendous breasts with first her own hands and then forcing his to do it. “Oh, baby,” she moaned in a pathetically emotionless voice, “I want you. Sooo bad.”

“Georgie, please . . .”

She shoved him back into a chair, and her hand slid down his chest and stomach to tear the snaps off the front of his pants. “Oooh,” she sighed, mocking disappointment as she took him in hand. “What’s wrong? Don’t you love baby no more?” She stroked him roughly, almost angrily, and he flinched with each jerk of her gloved hand. He tried to fight her but she caught his wrists and pinned them to the arms of the chair. Then she knelt in front of him, locking his legs down with her hips, and her expression was a feral smile as her face lowered toward his lap. “Show me you love me, Russy,” she said softly.