Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Rhettxxoo@aol.com Subject: "Southern Hospitality" by Rhett Dreams, 8/10 [mf, crime drama] SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY by Rhett Dreams (c. 1996) Chapter Seven (continued) Myers pulled the Explorer off the highway and into the service station, the third they'd hit so far. "Shit, Gene, look!" said Starling, and his eyes followed to where she was pointing, to the sign above the two bays. "PB," she said excitedly, "Price Brother's!" "This is it," he said, cutting the ignition. "I'll take this one," he said quietly, motioning with his head to indicate the attendant who was approaching the Ford. "You check inside... and be careful." "Got it," she said and opened her door. She walked quickly to the building, her eyes darting back and forth between the bays and the office while her hand freed her gun from it's holster at her hip. She heard behind her the quiet but firm voice of Myers talking to the attendant, identifying himself as an FBI agent. Starling backed though the office door and swung her gun forward, held in both hands, covering the room. Her glance found nothing and she moved quickly through the door that led to the service bays, her eyes scanning quickly, finding nothing but two cars, there hoods up. There was one more door to check and she found a small room behind the office filled with auto parts, then went outside. She circled the building but found only two tow trucks parked out back, and two small, vacant bath rooms. By the time she returned to the Ford, Myers had handcuffed the attendant and placed him in the back seat of the Explorer. "I read him his rights," he said. "Tells me he's been working here only a month. Works for Ward and Sam Price--- the Price Brothers of the sign." "Does he know where they are?" "Sam Price usually works days, he tells me. Ward nights. Sam got a call earlier this morning and left, maybe an hour and a half ago. The kid figures he might have gone home, but he doesn't know. I've got the address." Myers reached into the car and pulled out the radio, "Myers calling Quinn. Come in please." "Quinn here, over," came the voice of their colleague. "I'm calling from in front of the Price Brothers Service and Towing near the town of Wade, Mississippi. That's pee as in Paul, Price, and bee as in Betty, Brothers. Over." "Got it, Gene. Sounds like a hit. Over." Myers asked Quinn to call the County Sheriff and arrange for a search warrant for the home of the missing brothers, then suggested he radio the other two teams and tell them to meet him at the house. They arrived at the home of the Price brothers ten minutes later, the kid in the back seat given them directions. Gun's out, they approached the door, and knocked. "They ain't home," came a voice from a distance away. They turned and noticed an elderly black lady on the porch of the house across the street. "I'll take her," said Starling, placing her gun back in it's holster under her jacket and crossing the street. "Agent Starling, ma'am. FBI." She held up her badge as she climbed the stairs to the front porch. "No kidding?" said the woman, staring from the badge to her face. "Tiny little thing like you?" "Yes, ma'am," said Starling, smiling. "Did you say the Prices left?" "Sure did, girl. They loaded a bunch of suitcases in their truck and drove off." "When was that?" "I don't know 'xactly. Maybe forty minutes ago. 'Round then, I figure." "Do you know where they were going? Did they say?" She shook her head. "Those boys don't tell me nuttin', no ma'am." Starling noticed a police cruiser pull into the Price brothers' driveway and excused herself, heading back down the stairs and across the street. The deputy was talking to Myers when she caught up with them, explaining that they had heard from Agent Price and that a warrant would be here in ten or twenty minutes. - o - Lecter heard heavy footsteps above him, on deck, just after he found the second explosive that the sheriff had planted. He satisfied himself that the timer on the bomb presented him no immediate danger, and then positioned himself next to the door to the main cabin, and waited, his knife ready. He let the first man enter and pass undisturbed, then stepped behind the second man and drove his knife into his back. Ward Price's mouth shot open in a silent scream as he felt the searing pain in his back. The razor sharp blade cut through his body like butter, piercing his kidney and driving a hole in his large intestine. It was not a fatal wound, Lecter knew, but it would hurt like hell and immobilize the man. By the time Sam's brain registered the expulsion of breath from his brother behind him, and turned to investigate the thud made when Ward dropped the two suitcases he was carrying, Lector had withdrawn his knife from Ward's back and was upon him. Holding two suitcases himself, the younger Price was defenseless against the attack that followed so quickly. The first swipe of Lectors knife very nearly severed his head from his shoulders, and would have been fatal by itself had the mad man bothered to wait a minute. But when Sam Price fell backwards on the bed Lecter followed, driving his knife just under the bottom rib and into the dying man's chest cavity. The butchery that followed was clinical in its efficiency, the knife making a complete circle of the man's abdomen. By the time Lector finished his gruesome work, the bed was covered with blood and the corpse of Sam price lay open as if in a sick parody of a crudely performed autopsy. Lecter turned away from the bloody mess on the bed and found Ward Price on his knees, one hand reaching behind him, his eyes wide and his mouth agape at the bloody horror on the bed. The doctor moved leisurely over to the elder Price, kneeling next to him before wiping his knife clean on the man's jacket. "He died quickly," said Lector in a reasonable tone that belied the violence of his brutal attack. "Less pain, really, than what you're feeling right now. What I can do in your case, however, is open you up while you're still alive so you will feel every cut. Trust me when I say I can keep you alive for hours, looking much like your friend on the bed. On the other hand, you can answer all my questions promptly and truthfully and you'll save yourself all that pain." Fifteen minutes later, Lector was up in the bridge starting the engines of the ship. An experienced seaman himself, of late, he had no difficult programming the automatic pilot on a course that would take the ship southwest between off-shore islands and out to the depths of the Gulf of Mexico. He set the throttle on full before jumping off into the water away from the pier and any prying eyes. He swam submerged, under the ship's wake and another twenty yards further, until he was under the pier. He came up for air and then swam back to his ship while the Price boat motored away, its occupants quite dead and missing some parts. The warm salt water washed the blood from his body as he swam, and when he emerged and climbed up onto his own boat he looked like a man who had taken a quick dip to cool himself off. The only incongruous part of his appearance was the leather satchel in one hand containing, among other things, a little over $150,000 in cash. Sheriff Trent arrived at the Price home a little after noon, bringing with him the search warrant. The Price's driveway and the road in front of their house was starting to resemble a police department parking lot. In addition to Trent's cruiser and two others belonging to his deputies, there was a State Police cruiser, Myers' Explorer and a FBI sedan. Trent made his way up to the front of the house and introduced himself quickly to the four FBI agents. He kept his face courteous and professional when he shook the hand of Agent Clarice Starling. In his mind, however, he was thinking how much he'd like to strangle the fucking bitch who was responsible for screwing up his plans. "Let's do it," he said, holding up the warrant. A quick search of the house didn't find much, but the thinned drawers and closets suggested that the Price brothers had fled. Trent allowed the search to go on for a few minutes before finding Starling. "We've issued an APB on them, Agent Starling, but I suspect they've gone to their boat and out to sea." "They have a boat? Where?" "Down at the marina, 'bout fifteen minutes from here. It's a big sucker. I'll be happy to take you there." "Shit!" Starling said. "Let me find Agent Myers, Sheriff." Trent led the way in his cruiser and Myers followed. Trent stopped abruptly in the Marina parking lot and hopped out of his car. "That's their truck," he said to Myers through the Ford's open window. "How about one of you check the Marina office and the other come with me out the pier." Starling opened her door and got out. "I'll go with the Sheriff, Gene." "Be careful," said Myers. Hannibal Lecter watched from inside his boat as Clarice Starling and the Sheriff jogged up the pier to the berth that used to hold the Price's boat. "Be careful of that one, Clarice," he said out loud, then returned below deck to finish preparing his lunch. The sweetbreads would be quite a treat for him after a steady diet of fish, crabs and shrimp. And the previous owners of what he was now sauteing, the pancreas and thymus glands that he'd carved out of the Price brothers, would certainly not miss them. - o - By the time the Coast Guard was notified of the fugitives' attempt to escape, the Price boat was sixty miles into international waters, traveling south at an unvarying speed of thirty-five knots. The Coast Guard's initial search was westerly, along the gulf coast, which was consistent with the an escape route toward Mexico. Later in the afternoon they widened the search, sending helicopters south and east. The Price boat, however, was resting on the bottom of the gulf when one of the Coast Guard choppers finally passed overhead. The few pieces of debris floating across a few hundred yards from where it had sunk were not big enough to be noticed by the pilot, flying at a thousand feet, his eyes searching the horizon for something vastly larger. The afternoon and early evening was spent interviewing neighbors, other boat owners and searching the Price's service station and home. Late in the day, Myers sent the other two teams of agents back to N'Orleans to check on phone records from both places and to sort through the boxes full of papers and correspondence they found. He and Starling would stay the night and would be at the bank by eight the next morning with a supenoa for the Price's bank account records. In the Sheriff s conference room that had become the center of all this activity, Trent, Myers and Starling sat discussing the case. It was early evening. "They can't outrun the Coast Guard," Trent said. "We'll have em' back before morning, I expect." "Maybe," said Starling. "But it's been five, maybe six hours since they took off, and we have nothing." "How 'bout I take y'all out for dinner," suggested Trent after a few moments of silence. "We can leave the number with the night watch in case anything breaks." Myers and Starling followed Trent to the restaurant. As he drove, Trent reviewed his escape plan. He'd arranged with his brother to pick up the cash at nine, in the privacy of his brother's office. He'd be packed and ready to leave. The flight out of N'Orleans left for New York at 11:40. He'd take a cab from Kennedy into Manhattan, then another to the Newark airport. His flight to Miami left at eight. From Miami he'd board a flight to the Cayman Islands the next day. - o - "I can't imagine the Price brothers acted alone," said Starling over coffee. They'd each ordered the restaurants specialty, catfish, which was excellent. "I knew them only casually," lied Trent, "but I'd have to agree. They were smart enough, and didn't have a moral bone between the two of them. But they were local boys, if you know what I mean. I can't see them knowing how to deal with sellin' a dozen women and men, if your guess is right." "Have there been any local MPs that fit the same pattern?" asked Myers. "There ain't but a couple of cars in the entire county that would fit in the same price range as the ones you're taking about. Nothing that I can remember that's unsolved, involving a young and pretty girl, or a guy even." "We did have a case last week," continued the sheriff. "Young black girl, daughter of the Baptist minister. She was abducted by a local guy, raped and killed. Bad case. I tracked the perp, a local man, and he panicked, tried to shoot me. He's dead now." "Any way your perp could be linked to the Price's?" asked Starling. "It's possible, I suppose, but jes' barely. The Prices we're, um, how should I say it, not real fond of colored folks. The perp, ol' Tom Webber, was as black as they come." "Where'd this happen?" asked Myers. "Where did Webber take the girl?" "To the Heinz farm," said Trent, unconcerned about the direction of the conversation now that both Tom and the Price boys were gone. "Tom was the caretaker there, looked after the abandoned house and lived in a trailer on the property. He brought her into the basement of the house and raped the poor girl." "Any signs that he'd brought other victims there?" "We can double check the forensic report in the morning, but all I recall it showing was blood traces consistent with the girl, and a few little hair fibers that matched Tom's and the girl's. Of course, I have to admit that we were operating under the assumption that this was a single case, not knowing about all your MPs." "Can we go there? To this farm?" asked Starling. "Tonight?" "Why not?" Clarice Starling's last question echoed in Trent's mind as he led the FBI agents toward the Heinz farm. "Why not, Clarice fuckin' bitch whore Starling," he said as he drove. "Because there's always the risk that you'll end up like the others." Trent had been almost giddy all evening, at least once the time came and went for the explosion on the Price boat, without a sighting by the Coast Guard. He had relished the time spent with Myers and Starling, before and over dinner. He knew that several days from now, after his mysterious disappearance, they'd come to the realization that they had dined with the man they sought so badly. It felt good knowing that he'd fooled the smart-ass bitch. Part of him wished for more... to see the cunt's face when she learned that he had led her astray at every turn. As he pulled in front of the Heinz house his cock stiffened involuntarily, this the scene of so many memorable fucks. The idea never fully formed in the lawman's mind until after he had showed the agents through Tom's trailer and from there into the house. As they descended down the narrow stairs and into the dark basement, Trent's flashlight leading the way, he smelled her perfume and his cock twitched anew. He was feeling invincible and the idea of strapping Clarice Starling onto the barrel and raping her entered his mind and, despite all the obvious risks, it just wouldn't let go. He found the light switch and turned it on, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness of the overhead light. "Jesus," muttered Starling a few moments later as she walked over to look at the strange, ominous bondage contraption in the middle of the room. Trent watched carefully as Myers checked out the room, his right hand gently opening the leather strap covering his gun. "Take a look at this, Clarice," said Myers, now against the far wall, pointing to the hooks drilled into the thick foundation. When the gun went off a few moments later it sounded like a cannon in the confined space of the basement. Starling flinched but very quickly her training took over and she turned toward the source of the blast, crouching as she moved, her hand diving into her jacket for her gun. All this happened before Myer's heavy body hit the concrete floor. "Don't try it, bitch!" Starling froze, her eyes focusing on the form of Sheriff Trent, ten feet away, his smoking gun pointed directly at her. She eased her hand out, her fingers spread in supplication, and turned her eyes left, her heart aching at the sight of her friend and lover in a heap on the floor. She turned back to the approaching form of Paul Trent, her brain registering the implications of what he'd done and why, her eyes reflecting her hatred. "Yes, ma'am, Agent Starling. The piece o' shit Price brothers didn't act alone." "It was you," said Starling slowly, stating the obvious, "who abducted Beth and the others." "Beth? Oh, the blond cunt. You knew her?" When Starling nodded, Trent's mouth curled into an evil grin. "That cunt's probably taking eight or ten cocks a day by now, most of them up her slut ass. She was a virgin there, Agent Clarice fuckin' Starling, before I had her. Your friend Beth squirmed like a stuck pig when I fucked her fine ass. Boy, that cunt was good piece o'---" Starling timed her kick at just that moment, spinning toward the sheriff and flashing her leg out in the movement that she'd practiced so often in the Agency Karate studio. She'd either strike his gun hand or, if he moved his hand out of the way, the kick would get his kidney and she'd follow it up with a hand strike. She could then go for her gun and blast him. But he was expecting the move. Instead of turning away he turned into the kick and brought his revolver down hard on her ankle. The sound of the ankle breaking was followed by a sharp cry from Starling. In a heap on the floor, she felt his gun pressing into her neck while his hand reached inside her jacket and removed her gun. "Here's how it's gonna go," he said after stepping back from the girl. "Your gonna strip, Starling, right now. You decline my invitation, or try anything else, I shoot you. First one kneecap, then the next." She pushed herself up, leaning against the wall as she rose, keeping all of her weight off the broken ankle. He had backed eight feet away, and she knew that it would be impossible to try anything now, even if she had use of both legs. Resigned, but hoping another opportunity would present itself, she awkwardly removed her jacket and the now-empty shoulder holster beneath. She looked away from the grinning face of Trent while she removed her blouse, bra and skirt. The skirt slid down her bare legs and into a heap on the floor, and she had to hop on one leg to get free of it, and almost fell. "That's enough, cunt," said Trent, motioning with his gun toward the center of the room and the bondage device. Chapter Eight Dressed only in panties, her ankle broken, Clarice Starling hopped on her one good leg to reach the contraption in the middle of the basement room. She was conscious that her bare tits bounced up and down as she went. Sheriff Trent approached her only after she had draped herself over the barrel and he immediately strapped one of her hands in place. His gun on her neck, he fastened the other hand and then forced the small ledge up under her chin. Then he went behind her to lock her good ankle in place. He knew it was completely unnecessary to worry about the other ankle, which Starling held gingerly off the ground. He got out a pen knife and began to cut off her last article of clothing, the panties that hugged her firm ass. "You're not as good looking as your friend Beth," she heard him say as he finished cutting away her panties. "But I'm sure you'll give me every bit as good a fuck, eh, Starling." "You're a sick man, Trent. You need help," she said, her hopes fading. "Help? Fucking you?" he said and then chuckled. She heard his him loosening his belt behind her, and closed her eyes in frustration. "It was nice having ol' Tom fuck em' first. That boy was hung like a horse. Your friend Beth came like a fire hose when he fucked her." Starling moaned to herself when she felt his hands on her ass, and then his cock at her sex. "Which hole should I use first, Clarice?" he taunted. "Your slut cunt, or your tight little ass?" When she didn't answer he spanked her, hard on the ass. "I don't give a shit, Trent!" she said. Her head was trapped in this awkward position, and she couldn't turn more than a half-inch left or right. Her view was of the far wall, and to the left she could just make out the form of Gene Myers on the floor. Her eyes filled with tears. "Which hole, bitch?" he asked again, but had moved around in front of her, and she tore her eyes off of Gene and focused on the long cock that bobbed just to her right. She had never seen a cock as long as the Trent's. It's was not as thick as Gene's cock, but it looked impossible long to Starling. "My mouth," she said between clenched teeth. "Why don't you let me suck it, bastard!" He laughed, cruelly, and stroked his cock inches away from her. "I did that with Beth, y'know. I stuffed a donut gag into her mouth so she couldn't bite down, and I fucked her throat while Tom used her cunt. Maybe I'll let you experience the same thing, later. We've got all night, bitch. I think I'll use your cunt first. Then your ass. I'll save your mouth for last, after my cock is nice and brown from your slut ass." He disappeared from her view and Starling forced herself to remain calm, to ignore her fear and the pain from her ankle. She almost lost it, however, when she felt his hands on her ass and his cock at her sex. She focused again on the unmoving form of Gene Myers, drawing strength and courage as the cock sought to enter her dry cunt. "Well let's see if we can get you wet," she heard him say and felt his cock pulled away only to be replaced by fingers. They invading her sex, probing, teasing until her body responded and released its natural lubricants onto his fingers. "That's a good little slut," he said, working his fingers around, spreading her fluids. She felt his cock return and gritted her teeth as he worked it into her sex, and drove in forward. The pain was greatest when the head pushed up against her cervix She forced the pain from her mind and was staring at Gene from the corner of her eye when she saw one of his fingers twitch. "He's alive!" she thought to herself, a flicker of hope returning, then she winced in pain as Trent drove his cock to the hilt in one brutal stroke. Her mind grasped hold of the only chance she had, and Gene. Myers would have to regain consciousness, retrieve his gun before Trent knew what was happening, and shoot him. But if she could see Gene, if only out of the corner of her eye, then surely Trent would notice if the man recovered and moved. "What a nice tight cunt you have, Starling," she heard from behind she as he raped his cock in and out of her cunt. She forced herself to think, and concluded that she'd have to distract the sheriff in case Gene became conscious soon. Later, she hoped, Trent might leave her alone while he recovered and she could talk to Gene... try to rouse him. She unclenched her teeth and closed her eyes. She started slowly, letting small moans escape her mouth each time he slammed his hips into her ass. She let the volume of her moans increase slowly and moved her ass as best she could, in small, assenting circles. Willing herself to get wetter, she groaned now and took deep, audible breaths each time he withdrew. Trent noticed the sounds and the way her body was responding to this fuck. He grinned and said, "Slut likes a good fuck, huh?" Starling's only response was to move her hips in slightly bigger circles as he rutted into her, groaning now with every brutal stroke. "Huh, Starling," he repeated. "You enjoying this fuck?" He slapped her ass quite hard when she remained silent, then again. "Yes!" she cried, her tone carrying the shame she intended. "I thought so... you sluts are all the same. High-minded or rich, you cunts all need a good fuck to show your colors." "Oh... Oh... Oh, my God," she chanted as he fucked her, slamming his hips into her ass, his lips drawn back over his teeth. She turned her eyes left and she allowed herself another glance in Gene's direction. He remained in the same position as the last time, unmoving. Steeling herself, she concentrated on moving her ass against Trent as much as the binds would allow, and tuned up the volume of her act. "Oh yes! Fuck me good... ahhhhh... that's good... ahhh, so good," she cried and in her mind she was saying, "Please Gene, wake up! Shoot this piece of shit!" She felt Trent's cock suddenly miss a beat and then pull out completely, at the same time she heard a surprised grunt behind her, followed quickly by an inhuman scream. She heard a body hit the floor and then the sickening sound of a knife cutting through flesh, and of the release of gases from a punctured body. She turned her head as far as it would go but could see nothing. "What's happening?" she cried. "Who's there?" The voice that answered her a few seconds later shocked her to the core. "It's me, dear Clarice. Dr. Lecter." "Dr. Lecter!" she said, recognizing his voice, a chill going up her spine. "Yes, Clarice. That was quite a performance you put on for Sheriff Trent. I'm sure the stupid man actually believed you were enjoying the rape." "I was trying to... distract him and wake Gene, er, Agent Myers." "Hmmm. He's not dead?" "No... could you... would you please check on him... help him." She waited for his response, and was surprised when something was tossed over her head. A jacket, she decided. Trent's. "That's so you don't see my face. I've gone to a lot of trouble to change my appearance, Agent Starling, to make it more difficult for you or Jack Crawford to find me." "How is Crawford?" he asked. "Fine, about to retire," she said rapidly. "Would you please check on him!" She waited through several minutes, conscious that Lecter had moved over in the direction of Myers. "He important to you?" she heard Lecter say from across the room. "Yes," she said. "Very important." "He can be saved," he said and Starling's heart leap at the news. "But he'll bleed to death unless I help him, Clarice. What's the quid pro quo?" "I'll, um... I will agree not to say that you were here---" "Clarice," he interrupted, his voice closer, "you were about to lie and I thought we had a better relationship than that. Don't you think Crawford will recognize my handiwork on the good Sheriff?" She thought a moment and said, "You could fuck me in exchange for helping Gene." "I could do that anyway, Clarice, There's not anything you could do to stop me." "You're not like Trent, Doctor Lecter," tried Clarice. "I have nothing to offer you except my body. If you will help my friend, I will offer myself willingly. Please, Doctor, save Gene!" He left her for several minutes, tending to Gene's wound. He announced his return by pulling the jacket off her head. She felt his hands caress her ass, her thighs, and tentatively stroke her sex. "Please don't insult be by behaving like you did for Trent," he said. "I wont, Doctor. Will Gene live?" "Yes. I'll unstrap one of your wrists just before I take my leave. You can do the other, then your ankle, while I take off. If you can manage getting upstairs, I'm sure you can call for an ambulance from the patrol car outside. He'll live." -- Story Submission: Newsgroup FAQ: Archive site: (Not pretty yet)