Fear the Reaper

Dust and debris scrape across my skin while I fight wildly. I scream and kick wildly as he drags me out into the open. The giant mutant hauls me across the dirt like a piece of luggage before yanking me upright with terrifying ease. My feet barely touch the ground before he slams me backward against the side of the motorhome.

The impact drives the air from my lungs. Pain explodes through my shoulders and spine. For a second the world narrows to a blur of rusted metal and sunlight. The giant grins down at me. "Found ya, little rabbit." The smell of sweat, dust, and old leather hangs around him like a cloud. Up close, he seems even larger than he did inside the motorhome.

His shoulders are absurdly broad beneath layers of scavenged armor and animal hide. Scars crisscross his forearms. His dark eyes glitter with amusement. I react on instinct. My knee comes up hard. Not toward his stomach, but between his legs. The strike lands with everything I have left.

A metallic sound rings through the junkyard. A burst of pain shoots through my leg. I stare in disbelief. He throws his head back and laughs. The sound is deep and ugly. My foot bounces off a heavy steel plate hanging beneath his belt. "That all ya got?" He pounds one fist against the metal cod-piece.

"Learned that lesson years ago." I stumble backward, clutching my throbbing foot. The mutant continues laughing. Every instinct screams at me to run. Unfortunately, he is still standing between me and every path out of the junkyard. The giant spreads his arms and slowly turns in a circle, gesturing toward the endless rows of rusted vehicles surrounding us.

"See all this?" His grin widens. "This here's mine." The morning sun climbs higher over the desert horizon, painting the wreckage gold while long shadows stretch between the abandoned cars. Reaper points toward the maze of vehicles. "My junkyard." Then he points at himself. "And I'm the Reaper."

The smile disappears. For the first time, his voice loses its humor. "So where exactly do ya think you're gonna run?" I see the opening, a narrow gap between two rows of wrecked vehicles perhaps twenty yards away. I do not hesitate. The instant Reaper finishes speaking, I spin and run. My bare feet dig into the dirt.

Every aching muscle protests, but adrenaline drowns out the pain. Rusted cars blur past on either side as I sprint toward the gap. Behind me, Reaper laughs. The sound is worse than shouting. He is enjoying this. I make it perhaps ten yards before something crashes into my back. The impact feels like being hit by a truck.

I am lifted completely off the ground. For a terrifying moment all I see is sky. Then I slam into the dirt hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs. Before I can recover, Reaper grabs the back of my overalls and hauls me upright. I react instantly. My elbow shoots backward into his ribs.

The strike lands solidly. Or it should. Instead, pain explodes through my arm. Beneath the leather and scavenged clothing, something metallic absorbs the blow. Reaper barely notices. I spin and drive a fist into his jaw, then again. The punches snap his head slightly to the side but accomplish little else. The giant simply stares at me, almost curious.

His touch is not gentle, but it is deliberate, tracing the curve of my collarbone before his grip tightens, pulling mr upright against the cold, hard plane of his chestplate. "You are lost," his voice rasps, distorted and low. His other hand comes up, fingers closing over the soft swell of my breast with a possessiveness that feels like a brand.

I follow with a kick toward his knee. The strike lands. His leg does not move. It feels like kicking a telephone pole. The pain shoots all the way up my shin. "Damn it!" I throw myself sideways and attempt to slip past him. For a second I actually think I have an opening. Then one massive hand closes around my upper arm.

The pressure of his armored hand is immense, a cold, unyielding vise around the softness of my breast. A sharp ache blooms deep beneath my ribs where his grip pulls at my tit, a reminder of the fragile flesh beneath the overalls. "This is mine," his voice grates, a grunting whisper against my ear. My breath catches, not in fear now, but in a strange, suspended disbelief at the casual brutality of the claim.

Reaper manhandles me so effortlessly that it feels humiliating. I twist immediately. My free hand claws at his face. Fingernails rake across skin. A line of blood appears beneath one eye. The giant blinks. I drive my forehead into his nose. The impact rattles my skull. His head jerks backward slightly. For the first time, he actually loses balance. Hope surges through me.

I follow immediately with another punch, then a knee toward his stomach. Every strike lands. None of them matter. His sheer size absorbs the punishment. The armor absorbs the rest. Reaper simply keeps advancing, like a bulldozer. I retreat while punching, kicking, clawing, and struggling.

The giant absorbs everything. Then his hand shoots out, much faster than someone that large should be able to move. His fingers close around my wrist. A second later his other hand catches my shoulder. I try to wrench free. I may as well be fighting a hydraulic press. Reaper's grin widens. "Now we're havin' fun."

His hand leaves my breast, the cool air a sudden shock on the overheated skin. It slides down my stomach with a deliberate, heavy weight, chilling me through the thin fabric of my shorts. His fingers find my crotch, not seeking entry yet, but simply covering the space with a possessive finality that makes my breath hitch.

The skin of his palm presses against the denim, his touch shockingly human. A slow, circular motion begins, a deliberate friction that warms the fabric against my cunt. Despite the violation, a treacherous heat begins to coil low in my belly, a biological response that feels like a separate, shameful betrayal. I bite the inside of my cheek, my eyes fixed on the rusted hull of a car beyond his shoulder.

I kick him again. A hard side kick directly into his chest. The strike lands with enough **** to stagger an ordinary man. Reaper merely takes half a step backward. Then he laughs. The sound echoes through the junkyard. Rows of rusted vehicles stand silently around us while the desert sun continues rising over the horizon.