5. [Chapter 5 Argry Sex]
"I'll only sleep with you."
The snow fell heavier and heavier; it was supposed to be a white Christmas. But because of Lawrence, it's now a bloody Christmas.
The bloodied head was within my reach. Rodin's eyes were narrow, squinting like blades of grass, but I could still see the terror beneath those wrinkled eyelids. His pupils were fully dilated, their texture like plastic; even if a fly landed on them, he wouldn't blink again. The cut on the neck was perfectly clean; you could see how steady Lawrence's hand was, how sharp the machete was, and how steady his heartbeat hadn't even faltered. I knew. Because he was on top of me, our chests pressed together, and my heart was beating much faster than his.
He ripped my shirt off, tossing it onto the snow like a rag. My skin was very white, the blue veins clearly visible, as if painted on. Lawrence's blade was tracing those veins, drinking in countless drops of blood; I could almost hear the mournful cries of those unjustly killed souls in my ears. Lawrence wielded the heavy cleaver like a lancet; it felt weightless in his hands, an extension of his arm, even more dexterous than his fingers.
He gently made a small cut on my arm, and before I even felt the pain, blood seeped out. Drops of red trickled down my arm, and before they could soak into the snow, Lawrence licked them away. He held my arm, licking the wound he had inflicted, like male wolves healing each other. He looked down at me, his burning desire slowly boiling, and his movements became rougher. I was drowning in that gaze, unable to struggle, letting him thirstily suck my blood. Sharp canines pierced through, tearing open the tiny cut, drinking it all before more blood could gush out. Lawrence drank from me, his expression almost intoxicated, as if he were drinking red wine brewed from my body. He took a mouthful of blood, leaned down and fed it to me, the kiss hot and sweet, "Do you know what my first impression of you was?"
"Mmm..." I was breathless from his kiss, "I don't know..."
His tongue swirled in my mouth, skillfully licking my sensitive palate. My waist went weak, and my legs involuntarily wrapped around his waist. Beneath me lay thick ice and snow, bitterly cold, but Lawrence's muscles felt like they were burning me; he was my only source of warmth in this icy wasteland.
“You stood by the roadside, completely lost, like an unaddressed envelope,” he said. “And I picked you up.”
We never used condoms or lubricant when we had sex. He especially liked to ejaculate inside me, like marking his territory; I was covered in his scent. He always used whatever was available, his most common lubricant being blood—anyone's would do. He didn't care if the person had AIDS, and neither did I. I knew that disease wouldn't kill me for ten years, but Lawrence could kill me in the next second. Sometimes he used semen, usually mine, because he liked to make me orgasm a few times with his hand first, and then have sex with me. His technique was so skillful that usually by the time his penis entered me, I was completely at his mercy.
Now, he grabbed a handful of snow and stuffed it into my opening. It was so cold, I gasped, squeezing his fingers tightly. My prostate wasn't deep, and his fingers were long; he'd found it. Lawrence pressed there slowly, and my body arched forward with his movements, leaving a deep mark in the snow. He pulled me back by the waist, his fingers mimicking the rhythm of intercourse, thrusting in and out. The ice and snow inside quickly melted completely, making a gurgling, sticky sound that made me blush.
My genitals stood erect, swaying lasciviously, oozing small streams of clear fluid. Lawrence stroked his shaft; his hands were so cold, his movements so rough, but my body had become accustomed to deriving pleasure from pain, and the stimulation of the snow fluid made me unable to stop. I couldn't help but thrust my hips upwards, intense pleasure building layer upon layer. Just as I was about to ejaculate, Lawrence suddenly blocked the tip with his fingernail. The climax was forcibly interrupted, and tears instantly welled up in my eyes, pleading with Lawrence not to do this to me. He laughed; he clearly saw it, yet without hesitation, he forcefully spread my legs and brutally thrust inside.
I screamed in pain, which excited him even more. He put my legs on his shoulders, a position that allowed his penis to penetrate to an unimaginable depth. My anus was still experiencing orgasm and couldn't withstand such stimulation, but he didn't care at all. He held my waist and began to fuck me violently.
"Ouch...it's so tight, relax, are you trying to break me?"
I was about to be penetrated by him; the feeling was awful, but it was Lawrence, and I couldn't blame him. At most, I could only refuse to cooperate. But he knew my weaknesses so well that he deliberately slowed his movements below, instead tormenting my upper body. He hadn't explored my nipples much before, and now, as if discovering a new continent, he enthusiastically sucked on the left one while kneading the right one with his hand. His skill was superb; he quickly played with those two protrusions until they were red and swollen. The cold wind felt like blades scraping across that sensitive area, and I climaxed again in pain. But his fingers were still blocking my urethra, preventing me from ejaculating, and I writhed in discomfort. Lawrence was truly perverse; he actually formed a ball of snow and pressed it against my chest. I looked down, and it resembled the shape of a woman's breast. My face instantly burned. He whispered in my ear, "Very beautiful breasts, Miss Ray..."
I cried out in shame. Before Lawrence first pinned me down, I never knew I could cry so many tears. He always said I looked incredibly sexy when I cried, so he escalated his abuse, saying things like, "Hold your chest up, don't let it fall down, or I'll cut off your nipples."
I nodded frantically, whimpering and begging him to let me ejaculate. My genitals were engorged and purplish-red, twitching shamefully and pitifully in his hands. The successive orgasms were so intense, but I couldn't release, and I could hardly tell if it was pleasure or pain. Lawrence clearly wanted to enjoy my tight anus a little longer, so he didn't grant my wish. He gripped my waist and pushed me forward, then pulled me back, thrusting forcefully to the deepest point, pulling out various clear fluids and a little red flesh, then thrusting back in completely. His large scrotum slapped against my opening, and I coughed from his fucking, feeling completely dazed, as if my soul had been forced out of my body.
Lawrence was too fickle; sometimes he liked to see me dazed from being fucked, and other times he preferred me fully conscious. My lack of reaction, my wanton moans, must have bored him. He scooped Rodin's head from the ground, forcing me to stare into the dead man's eyes. I was instantly jolted awake, screaming. Lawrence laughed, tossing the bloody head aside and releasing my penis without warning. In that instant, my vision went blank, every cell screaming wildly, an overwhelming pleasure bordering on death. Ejaculation lasted a long time, until finally I could only leak small spurts of thin, white semen, a long, viscous pleasure flowing through my body, making me feel like I was floating in the air.
Lawrence suddenly grabbed a handful of snow and placed it on my stomach, precisely where my bladder would be. The intense urge to urinate felt like needles pricking me, and I screamed as I lost control of my bladder. This was the moment Lawrence had been waiting for. He chuckled and suddenly began to thrust violently, nearly breaking my back. I sobbed through tears, a sweet, tingling sensation spreading from that ravaged sensitive spot to my entire abdomen. He groaned and finally ejaculated a large amount of semen deep inside me. I was weak all over, my legs trembling, my penis gushing pre-ejaculate. Lawrence didn't pull out immediately, but slowly arched his back, thrusting in and out with small movements, savoring the afterglow of his final climax. I couldn't hold that much semen inside me; my lower abdomen swelled up. As he pulled out completely, thick, white fluid overflowed from where we were joined, some already foamed, all sticky and clinging to my thighs, where there were several purplish handprints and erotic hickeys. I didn't even know when he had put them there.
He lifted me from the snow and placed me in the warm, comfortable passenger seat. My back was numb with cold, and my head was spinning. He held hot water to my lips, letting me drink it sip by sip from his hand until my body warmed up again. Then we kissed. The kiss was tender and lingering; I could hardly believe it was the "highway butcher" kissing me. There was no smell of blood, no taste of semen. He didn't even put his tongue inside; just our lips touched, as if checking my temperature, as if caressing me. At that moment, I didn't care whether the place where we had just made love was a mess, whether Rodin's head and body were still lying stiffly in place, whether any cars or people had passed by. Torture, dragging, blood—I didn't care about any of that. I only cared about Lawrence and Mel. We were us.
"Lawrence..."
"Um?"
I must have had a fever; my brain was spinning, and I blurted out, "Is Lawrence your last name or your first name?"
“…Caesar,” he answered me in my dream, “Caesar Lawrence.”
I woke up the next day at noon, a bag of snow on my forehead, lying in the passenger seat, every bone in my body cracking. Lawrence was driving, a cigarette dangling from his lips. My nose was so stuffy I couldn't even smell the acrid tobacco; I could only see the bluish-gray smoke being blown away by the wind, while his blond hair shimmered in the sunlight. He knew I was awake without turning around, and offered me his half-smoked cigarette. I took a deep drag, and the nicotine made me feel less uncomfortable.
“After you fell asleep, I killed another prostitute,” he said.
I asked groggily, "Why...?"
“Last night wasn’t very enjoyable…” Lawrence turned to look at me, his eyes turning as cold as ever, “in every sense of the word.”
My whole body tensed up. What else did he want? To fuck me to death? I clearly remembered that after we finished last night, his eyes were full of satisfaction, and if he really hadn't had enough, he definitely wouldn't have stopped. So he was talking about something else.
"Why...why did you just cut off his head?" Executing someone without torture was simply not Lawrence's style. Rodin was a piece of junk, or rather, a half-finished product, to him. He wouldn't hang a corpse on the back of a car; it wasn't like he was parading it through the streets.
“I’m just cleaning up for you. You’ve already killed him.” Lawrence yawned lazily, like a lion that had eaten and drunk its fill. Even though he saw the confusion in my eyes, he made no attempt to explain. He twirled a bunch of car keys in his hand, making a glint of silver and a clattering sound, then tossed them listlessly into my arms. “Here you go.”
I looked in surprise at the spot under the steering wheel, where the truck keys were still safely tucked in the ignition. So these were the keys Rodin had lost. Clearly, Lawrence had intentionally hidden them last night, or perhaps he had simply stolen them from Rodin, anticipating Rodin's return. He had tricked me!
I was furious. "You..."
"What's wrong with me?" Lawrence looked at me mockingly. He thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure of mentally torturing me, even more so than physical violation. All my negative emotions—fear, despair, sadness, pain, anger—were his sustenance, and he relished it.
I had so many questions I wanted to ask, they seemed to have grown wings and circled around in my mind, but in the end I only asked this one: "Did you...have sex with that prostitute?"
Lawrence paused, stunned. Those deep blue eyes stared fixedly at me, unblinking, completely absorbed, as if witnessing the courtship ritual of some rare animal, or seeing a heart-shaped rainbow in the sky. He chuckled, covering his mouth to suppress it for a while, but finally couldn't hold it in any longer, bursting into laughter, slapping the steering wheel repeatedly, the horn blaring loudly.
"I really am... and you too..." He couldn't stop laughing, "I mean, Ray, you're so cute! 'Did you two have sex?' Hahahaha!!"
I was practically going crazy. I don't know where I got the courage, but I reached out and grabbed his steering wheel, leaning closer to ask, "Do you have it or not?"
"Oh my god, I'm dying of laughter..." Lawrence wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes, straightened the truck that was about to veer off the road, freed one hand to pull me into his arms, and pinched my face hard, making my teeth show.
“No,” he whispered, his lips pressed close to my ear, his voice low as if he were whispering sweet nothings, “I’ll only fuck you.”
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