Lost Souls - 7. Victoria-Ann Cantrell- Virgin Victoria

Grey clouds cried and cried in the night's sky...flooding the brick laid streets. Pedestrians ran for shelter under nearby awnings, scattering water trapped in pools until a willing shoe freed it. The town was wet; cold. The kind of weather that only curling up in one's bed, cocooned in the thickest quilt and drinking a warm cup of tea would do. Yet, here she was, trapped in this dreadful weather while waiting to cross the street at the corner of Mayer and Main. Victoria-Ann's short, muddy-brown hair was soaked, plastered to her skull with a few strands painted down the side of her face. They made a tiny point downward to her cheekbones. Her tan trench coat was now a saturated mess, draping carelessly off her slight frame, seeping icy-cold water into her underlying blouse.

“It's pouring cats and dogs ain't it?”

Victoria looked around; to her left stood an equally tall, freakishly handsome fellow. His wide smile made perfect dimples that burrowed into his plum cheeks. They were only outshone by his thick and wavy black hair; absolutely dry. He held an umbrella.

“Y-yeah....” Her heart fluttered. Pitter- patters became louder and louder as her heart calmed and she became aware of the umbrella deflecting rain drops above her head.

“This here brolly is big enough for two ah reckon.” His voice was smooth and strong.

“I reckon it is.” She pointed across the street, “I'm headed that way if you don't mind.”

“Not at all.”

“My place is not too far from here,” she smiled.

As they walked Victoria examined his dress: gold Citizen watch, black, button-up shirt opened at the top, exposing his defined chest; black dress pants, black leather shoes. A glance upward: nice ass, round...tight. He had a swing to the front.

“My name's Victoria-Ann, Vicky for short or my friends call me Vee,” she smiled. “What's yours?”

“Mine's Christopher and my friends call me Moose.”

“Moose?” she giggled. “What ever for?” A sudden gust burst between them, throwing Victoria off balance; she fell into his arms.

“Well ‘cause I'm big and strong ah reckon.” Christopher smiled.

“Strong you are! I'm so clumsy.”

He held onto her with one hand, pulling her up, and onto the umbrella with the other. Another surge of wind whipped the umbrella from his hand. As he tried to grab it, Victoria lost her grip.

“Chris!”

In a quick swoop, he stopped her from falling, thrusting her against his solid body. Her hands pressed against his chest, adrenaline flowed between them in equilibrium. Christopher pulled Victoria to her feet.

“God, I'm so clumsy!”

“I don't mind,” he chuckled. Victoria turned her sight to a large apartment complex nearby.

“That's me,” she said. “On the bottom.”

“Good. We'd better get you inside before you catch a cold.”

As they neared the apartment's gated entrance Victoria stopped. Water trickled down her face, falling between and into her eyes; she wiped them. “What about you?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, coursing a stream of water down the back of his neck. “What about me?”

“Well I've gone and lost your umbrella haven't I...you need to dry off.”

“That was all me.”

She grabbed his hand, “Come inside.”

“I can't.”

“Come in, its fine.” Her hand was swallowed within his as she jerked him closer. “I insist.”

He smiled, “Alright then.”

Inside, she threw the keys on the nearby coffee table, pulled her jacket off as well as his and placed them on the coat rack standing behind the door. She paused, staring at the imprint of rippled mass hiding beneath his wet shirt. She walked down the hall toward the bathroom.

“Relax! Make yourself at home!” She shouted, flailing her hand.

Christopher remained planted at the door, “I'm fine, thanks.”

“Here you go,” she threw a towel. “At least dry yourself off a bit.”

“Thanks.”

She walked back to the kitchen. Looking over her shoulder she asked, “Would you like some tea?” She filled the kettle with tap water.

“No. Thanks.”

Victoria turned around, “Me neither actually.” She stood perched on the kitchen counter, rubbing her right leg over the left. He rubbed the towel over his head and neck, just under the collar of his shirt. “Here...” she strode over to him. “Let me.”

Victoria stood behind Christopher, unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it from his massive shoulders, down his bulky arms. She brushed them lightly. Like a butcher inspecting fine grade meat, she ran her finger tips down his back, turned him around and clasped her palm on his chest.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She slipped from within her pencil bottom skirt, letting it fall to her ankles as she unzipped it. She unbuttoned her blouse, “Aren't you?”

Victoria felt a sudden nudge press against her thigh.

“I thought so....” She leaned toward him, pressing her breasts against his body. She felt the nudge become harder as it pressed against her inner thigh. It crawled higher and higher, tickling her leg; she leaked a soft giggle before stroking his face. Rubbing her thumb against his thick brow. He squeezed her buttocks, massaging both cheeks. For a moment they stood still, embraced. She observed the rise and fall of his pecks as they glistened with moisture under the dim light. She kissed him. One deep kiss seemed to suck the air from her body while breathing life and excitement into her at the same time.

“I don't usually do this,” he said. He kissed her neck, just beneath her jaw, riding his tongue down to her collar bone.

“Relax.....”

She squeezed his chest then unbuttoned his pants, releasing a massive bulge piercing through his Haynes boxer-briefs. She squeezed it; it responded with a sudden pulse. “Fuuuuck....” she released a moan as he bit down onto her neck. Pulling down his briefs, she relished his ass; bronze, muscular. Victoria pounced, pulling him onto the couch: lips locked, legs wrapped, she lost herself under his massive girth. And with an easy stroke into her, she lost herself to Christopher completely.

His rhythmic strokes escalated her body into frenzy of burning desire. Victoria was a virtual prisoner, locked in his arms as Christopher passed his lips down the middle of her chest. He kissed passed his tongue down her stomach, across her ribcage, tickling her sides. Victoria squirmed from sensation; the pleasure was almost too much as she tried to move her arms but he kept them pinned. As he thrust harder into her she squeezed his shoulders, squeezed his back; her nails embedded into his muscles. The couched moved as Christopher hit his stride. SQUEE! SQUEE! SQUEE! SQUEE! The couch legs released muffled squeals as they raked the tiled floor.

“Oh God! Oh God! God! Yes!” Victoria replied to the couches cries. “I'm almost there!”

“Yes baby!”

“Oh...Y-Y-Yes!!!”

“Fuck....” Christopher cursed his pleasure.

Victoria collapsed onto her back, resting her head on the arm rest of the couch as strength escaped her legs; her left leg fell off the side, hitting the floor in a thud. Christopher scooped her body up, squeezing beside Victoria. She shut her legs and closed her eyes. Victoria drifted off to sleep as the rain sang its lullaby on the rooftop.

The yellow street light flickered outside her bedroom window. It watched over the girl from the dark walls of her room, casting a faint, yellow tint. She tossed. She turned. Her green eyes burst open at the toxic smell of cigarette smoke walking toward her bedroom. She hated it. Its footsteps squeaked on the wooden floor, stumbling to her door. She closed her eyes. It turned the knob. Although still a virgin, Victoria knew this wasn't the way its supposed to be. Not here; not by him.
Since her parents' tragic death she was left in the care of this walking chimney. Still a minor, she was sent to live with the only family she had left...Rufus. The door yawned open, sending a shadow across her bed. A large, tall man's silhouette leaned against the door post. She trembled, wrapping the blanket tighter around her slim frame.

Why did they leave? Why did they leave her...with him. Didn't they notice the way he looked at her during family gatherings? Didn't her mother believe the games they'd play whenever he watched over her? They were naked for God's sake! And then there was God. She begged Him to kill Rufus every day since last October when her parents died. It was June and God did nothing. She prayed to Him and God said nothing. God ignored her as the burly, middle aged man stumbled toward her bed. Usually, he'd just watch her closely, admiring her growing physique into woman-hood, brushing her inappropriately as they maneuvered around each other within his small apartment.

That night was different. He stumbled straight onto her bed and tore the blanket off. Her skin numbed to his touch, up and down her thighs. Cigarette smoke entered through her fast, shallow breaths, scratching the walls of her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. His bear-like hands enveloped her boney face like a mask. Desperate screams were muted to loud silence as the girl screeched and screamed. The mature man's hand became hot and wet from her wordless breaths. Veins in her neck surfaced as the 200 pound mask pressed against her skull, burying the back of her head into her pink, flower- decorated pillow. His palm ate her cries as Rufus mounted the girl, strangling her body beneath his.

The girl felt her body become naked as layer after layer of garments was carefully extracted. Finally, Victoria sensed the fingers of his free hand exploring her thighs. He squeezed her crotch. The girl wriggled her arm from beneath his chest and gave him the hardest shove she could muster. She pushed the drunken man and crawled down the side of her bed. Rufus grabbed the girl's leg, whipping her back onto the bed and pinned her arms. Victoria spat in his face; she was clearly not in the mood. He seduced her with one slap. She became wet with pee. She saw him thrust into her. Faster and faster; harder and harder. Her overburdened cot squeaked as he pelted his waist against hers. She saw a shimmer of something liquid on her inner thigh; blood.

Ten minutes later Uncle Rufus stumbled to his room, Victoria denied her body feeling. Her legs sprawled apart, hands thrown along the bed, she denied herself feeling. She stared at the yellow light, reflected on the wall until her eyes closed.

Upon opening her eyes, the yellow light was gone. The blood was dry and pinched her leg as she moved it. It was stuck to her thighs and formed a small pool on her sheets, in between the space of her separated legs. Its metallic scent saturated the room, filling her lungs and making her ill.

As Victoria sat up she saw her reflection in the ovular mirror which stood on the wooden drawer, to the far right of the room. She didn't recognize herself, covering her mouth as a sudden eruption of vomit burned her throat. As she stared at the wooden floor, a cigarette butt caught her eye. It still smoked; she picked it up. Attempting to stand, the girl fell to her knees, catching herself on the wooden drawer. It shook, causing the mirror to fall and break. A long, knife-like piece fell from its frame; she grabbed it.