A Dark Desert Heat
By JJ Argus
Copyright 2012
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
About the author
JJ Argus has written more than 200 novels, and been published in hardcover, softcover, and innumerable magazines and digests.
All characters depicted in this story are over eighteen.
Cover Courtesy of restrainedelegance.com
Chapter One
Callum let a sneer fill his face as he thrust his arm out, extending the forty-five, and aiming it – sideways – at the post in the corner of the old shack.
“You look like some kind of dumbass city nigger like that,” Quinn said tiredly.
Callum glared at her, then resumed his stance, an arrogant look in his face. “You talkin’ to me?” he demanded of the post.
“Oh please,” Brian said from the other corner.
“I bet I’m getting you all wet, baby,” Callum said over his shoulder.
“Fuckin’ heat in this shithouse is getting me all wet,” Quinn said.
It was hot. It was always hot, of course, in Jeremiah, Arizona. Anyone who had more than half a brain was inside where it was air conditioned. But inside for Quinn meant a trailer park with her alcoholic, good for nothing, unemployed mother. Inside for Callum meant a tiny, rented room in an attic above a beauty salon in downtown Perth – population 956. Inside for Brian meant the uncomfortable confines of a comfortable house – with parents who hated each other and a bookish sister who barely talked.
The old shack on the edge of the desert next to Black Rock Mountain, had been some kind of mining office back before the silver mine was played out, about a hundred or so years earlier. Now it was an empty shack with smashed-in windows, a leaky, partly holed roof, and a few broken down pieces of furniture they’d salvaged from various junk yards and debris fields.
Callum stuck the forty-five in his pants and then assumed a “draw” stance, facing the post. Suddenly he thrust his hand down, grabbed the pistol, swung it up and fired. The explosive noise startled the others and they both yelled in surprise as a bullet hit the wall behind the post.
“Fuck!” Brian shouted.
“Put that down, you asshole!” Quinn swore.
Callum snickered – more of a giggle, actually, and turned to face them, a smirk on his face as he put the safety on and thrust it back into his belt.
“Fucking gun nut,” Quinn said.
He stalked across the room and stood with his groin in her face as she sat back on a cut-up recliner.
“You love it, baby,” he said, reaching out and sliding his hand behind her head.
Before she could react he pulled her face into his groin, grinding her face into his jeans with a laugh of macho amusement.
She slapped his hand away and stood up, glowering at him. “Asshole!”
He ran his tongue along his lower lip tauntingly and she snorted and turned away, heading for the door. “It’s too fucking hot to be inside,” she said.
The old shack was in the shade of the mountain but they were all sweating. Quinn stepped outside and inhaled deeply, as if the air was any cooler outside. With no bra to hold them in her firm young breasts swelled against the thin fabric of her tight tank top. The tanned skin on her face and belly and upper chest glistened with perspiration.
Her blonde hair hung in a lanky mass across her slender shoulders, and she combed her fingers through it then wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. Her wrist was as damp with sweat as the rest of her so that accomplished very little.
Callum came out behind her, and his hand slapped up against her buttocks, giving it a squeeze through her short denim shorts. She knocked his hand away irritably as Brian came out behind them both.
Brian and Callum looked about as different as two white boys could. Callum had shaggy blonde hair and almost girlishly pretty, which was one of the reasons he insisted on acting so tough all the time. Brian’s black hair was cut into a short crewcut, and was ruggedly handsome, with a square-cut jaw and broad shoulders. They were both athletes, though. Callum had been the quarterback on the school football team, while Brian had been a linebacker.
Quinn hadn’t done much of anything in school other than try to avoid being expelled for truancy, insubordination, and smoking various substances within school boundaries.
“Let’s go into the mine. It’s cooler there,” Brian said.
“It’s fucking dangerous in there, too,” Quinn said. “There’s cave-ins all the time.”
“We won’t go far in.”
“If we don’t go far in it won’t be very cool, now will it,” Callum said reasonably.
“We could go over to the Manfords and see if we can sneak into their pool again,’ Quinn said, thinking longingly of immersing herself in cool water.”
“Somebody’s coming,” Brian said in surprise.
They all looked up what would only charitably have been called a road, and saw the unmistakable outline of a car coming up from around the mountain. With nothing better to do they stood there and watched until a great big black GMC Yukon pulled up in front of them, the windows darkly tinted. They looked at it curiously for long seconds, but nothing happened.
Then the driver’s door opened and a man got out. He wore a dark suit, which was distinctly odd for around Jeremiah. He had pale skin, and dark, slicked back hair. His eyes were hidden behind large dark glasses. He was tall and slender, and walked with a slow, fluid movement around the car, coming to a stop in front of them.
“Who are you?” Callum demanded indignantly.
The man looked at Callum wordlessly for long seconds as the teenager grew more and more irritated, then seemed to cock his head a little to one side, turned his gaze away from him, and focused on Quinn.
“My name is Vlach Petrescu,” he said, his voice strangely deep and mellow, but also heavily accented.
“Vlach? What the fuck kind of name is Vlach?” Callum said, chortling in contempt.
The man never turned his gaze away from Quinn, and she felt a strange tightness in her chest as she looked up at those dark glasses. She had no idea why, but she felt a sudden throbbing in her groin, and felt her nipples tightening within the confines of her tank top. Her tongue slipped dryly across her lower lip, and she tried to back up, only to find the side of the shack behind her.
“And what is your name?” he asked, still looking at Quinn.
“Who the fuck wants to know?” Callum demanded.
“Quinn,” Quinn said in an almost whisper.
“Such a lovely name,” he said in that strange, accented, mellow voice.
He reached out, and a long, slender finger delicately brushed damp bangs away from her forehead.
“Hey,” Callum said. “Hey!”
He reached out and grabbed at the man’s hand but it was drawn back so fast he blinked in surprise.
“I have purchased this land,” the man said, “to see if the mine can be reactivated with new technology.”
“Are you stupid in the head?” Callum asked with a laugh. “Ain’t been no fuckin’ silver in that mine for a hundred fuckin’ years.”
“To be more precisely, the mine was played out one hundred and three years ago,” Petrescu said. “At least, what silver could be mined given the technology of the day. It might surprise you, but technology has come some distance since that time.”
He never turned his face away from Quinn as he spoke, and she felt herself becoming more and more breathless. Her insides fairly squirmed, if that was possible, and she swallowed repeatedly on a suddenly dry mouth.
Then Brian stepped in front of her, glaring at the man. “Then I guess we’d best be leaving,” he said.
“You’re welcome to visit, any time,” Petrescu said, looking at Quinn.
She felt her legs going rubbery, then gasped as Callum grabbed her arm and yanked her sideways. She staggered and almost fell as he led her away, Brian coming after, both of them staring at the man like strange dogs who didn’t like a newcomer.
Petrescu didn’t move, merely turning his head slowly to follow them.
Quinn wondered what his eyes would be like.
“Come the fuck on,” Callum snarled, yanking on her arm.
“You’re hurting my arm!” she protested weakly.
He marched her off, looking frequently back over his shoulders as the strange man stood there, watching them. Only when they were around the bend of the mountain and he was out of sight did Quinn feel her heart slowing its frantic beating.
“What the fuck,” Brian said. “What a fucking weirdo.”
“And you,” Callum growled, shaking Quinn by the arm. “What the fuck was with you? You looked like you wanted him to fuck you right up against the wall.”
“Did not,” she said resentfully.
She shook off his arm and began to march forward, and he and Brian picked up the pace.
“You fuckin’ whore. I bet your pussy is wetter than your forehead.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” she said.
Her body was still practically quivering with the strange, dark heat which had come over her, and there was no strength to her words. They walked back to the clearing where Callum’s car was parked outside the low fence which had blocked access to the mine. The gate was open now, and he glared at it resentfully.
“Where the fuck we gonna go now?” he muttered.
They piled into the car, an old ninety two Ford Thunderbird, and he gunned the engine so the tires spun dust and gravel when he started forward. Quinn was thrown against the door for a moment before muttering and pulling the seat belt across her shoulder and down between her breasts.
“What’s the matter? You don’t trust my driving?” Callum asked with a bark of laughter.
“Nobody fucking trusts your driving,” she said.
“I hardly ever hit anything,” he said with a shrug.
The Thunderbird crept up to a hundred on the straight, empty road
“Let’s go down to see if Jimmy’s doing anything,” Callum said.
Quinn shook her head. “I got a headache. Just take me home. I got to get out of this fucking heat.”
“I’ll come and pick you up later on,” he said in a half question.
She shrugged. “I dunno, I suppose.”
It was something to do.
Not that there was much to do in this shitty, backwater town.
Callum raced down the highway, weaving around the occasional traffic, and came to Quinn’s place soon enough. It wasn’t a lot bigger than the shack, on a patch of land off the highway with a low, rusting fence across the front, a dirt driveway leading up to it, and a lot of scrubby trees around the back.
She got out as soon as the car stopped, her head still feeling fuzzy, and Callum jumped out of the driver’s door to chase after her.
“You and me, we’re gonna have some fun later, baby,” he said, catching her from behind and sliding his arms around her waist.
“Yeah, maybe,” she said as his hands slid up beneath her crop top to roughly grope her bare breasts.
She tsked in annoyance, then noticed her mother in the window, glowering at them. She looked back defiantly as Callum’s fingers kneaded her breasts and he gnawed at the side of her throat.
Then she pulled away and went into the house, sighing in relief as the cool air washed over her. Her mother looked out at her from the dimly lit living room. She was about a hundred pounds overweight, still wearing a nightgown at two in the afternoon.
“Fuckin’ slut,” she muttered, looking darkly at her daughter. “You better not get no brats on you, girl, cause I sure as hell ain’t havin’ no smelly, whiny baby around this house.”
“But you’re such a good mother,” Quinn said sarcastically, going past the room and down the hall to her bedroom and kicking the door closed behind her.
Once inside she turned on her window air conditioner. She peeled her top up and off, then undid her shorts and skimmed them down and off, stepping out of her shoes at the same time. She went to her dresser and brushed out her hair as the door opened and her mother leaned in the doorway, glowering.
“You think I ain’t a good mother you’re free to go off and support yourself!” she snapped.
Quinn snorted and rolled her eyes, not pausing. “Yeah, you do such a good job on those government checks,” she said, “in a house daddy paid for.”
“You see if you can do better, girl! You’re free to leave any time you want!”
Quinn glared at her in the mirror. “Maybe I will!”
“First you gotta get a job,” her mother sneered. “And the only place that’ll hire a ignorant girl like you is a place like Donnellys! I’m sure you’ll make us all proud shaking your pretty little ass on the stage there!”
“At least people would pay to see my ass, momma! They’d run screaming if you tried to show em yours!”
“Fuck you,” her mother sneered.
She lurched off, and Quinn stomped to the doorway and slammed the door closed, then wandered over to the window and let the cool air play across her chest and face. God, she hated this shitty town. But her mother was right. There were no jobs anywhere nearby for a girl who’d barely scraped through high school, not unless she wanted to strip off at Donnelly’s roadhouse.
She had considered it. Quinn wasn’t exactly shy about her body, but on the other hand she had a certain pride. Stripping was pretty close to the lowest, and the bible thumpers around here had been calling her a whore for years now. They’d all be so satisfied about how right they were if they found out she was stripping, and she didn’t want to give them that satisfaction.
The sweat was drying on her body, but she felt sticky with it, and even though she’d wind up getting sweaty again later, she grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom. She turned on the water, watching it pour down around the rusting drain opening, then stepped into the old tub and pulled the plastic curtain around her.
She let the lukewarm water pour over her, soaking her down, then turned it off. Out here, they didn’t have an overabundance of water, and even Quinn wasn’t about to waste any she didn’t have to. She stood in the tub and soaped up, running her hands over her softly curved body with a sense of tactile pleasure. Her skin felt deliciously soft and slick as her hands coasted over it on a layer of soap.
Her nipples hardened in pleasure, and she found her breathing quickening as she slid her hands slowly down her abdomen, and between her legs. She was starting to feel a little bit of stubble there, so she pulled the curtain aside and propped a foot on the edge of the clawfoot tub, reaching over to the sink top next to the tub and taking her razor off the back.
She soaped up her long legs and then ran the razor up with practiced ease. She never did have much hair there, and it was as blond as the hair on her body, so didn't show much. But she liked the feel of smooth bare skin under her hands, and knew the boys did, too.
She eased the razor higher, letting it slide across the side of her groin on either side of her tight, narrow sex, her fingers pressing against her flesh to smooth it down, brushing almost idly across her clit as she spread her legs wider and ran the razor up and down with quick, practiced strokes. A finger slipped into her pussy, curling up and inside her and she felt another little thrum of heat and excitement.
She thought about that strange man, Petrescu, and wondered if he really would open the silver mine. If he did it would make a huge difference to the town, and maybe she could even get some kind of job there, maybe as a secretary or something. That would really be strange, working in the same place she’d been hanging around for so long.
She straightened, her fingers sliding over her pussy, searching for any hint of stubble, but finding nothing but smooth, soft skin. She wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she stepped out of the tub, all soapy and slick, and stared at herself in the mirror. Quinn had always had an appreciation for her looks, for her body, was quite happy to be good looking, to have men staring at her, but it was as if she was seeing herself with different eyes today.
She ran her hands slowly up her body and under her breasts, breath quickening as an inner heat rose. Her hands felt strange to her for some reason, strange enough she blinked and pulled them away, staring at them for a moment before bringing them back up under her breasts, cupping and squeezing them. They felt... against her skin, almost like they were someone elses hands, as if a stranger was touching her. And of course, that meant the sensations redoubled, felt entirely different than when her own hands, her own fingers touched herself.
She felt her breasts swelling, and moaned softly as she kneaded them, not roughly, like Callum always did, but gently, knowingly, so that her breasts throbbed and pulsed with the slow, careful massage. Again she felt the strange oddity of how they felt against her soapy skin, and wondered if she had a touch of heat stroke. Her nipples were hard as little pebbles and she gasped as she squeezed them between her fingers.
Her fingers and thumbs plucked and rubbed them, and again it felt as though it were someone else's fingers. Her nipples tingled and ached and her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she imagined herself on a stage, naked, a room full of men staring at her, all filled with lust. Her pussy pulsed with pleasure, and she let her arms slide higher, slide up high above her as she pushed her chest out. A different image flickered through her mind, then, for some reason, her in a dark dungeon, hanging by her wrists, all – stretched out and – naked.
She wondered if Petrescu was kinky. He sounded Russian. He’d stared at her like he wanted her, but then all men did. She remembered that face, those mysterious dark glasses hiding his eyes, and thought of him standing over her, watching her. Her pulse raced as she backed up a bit, against the wall, not caring that she was getting soap on the peeling wallpaper as she arched her back across the towel rack and stared at herself in the mirror.
Petrescu had seemed like a strong man, a sophisticated man, not like the locals at all. What would it be like to be with a man like that, she wondered, rolling her hips as she groaned again with heat and lust.
She dropped a hand low, her fingers thrusting between her thighs, fingers stroking across her clit. A gasp left her open mouth, her hips grinding as the heat rippled through her. Again her hand didn't feel right, didn't feel like it belonged to her. It was weird! She pulled her hand up wonderingly and felt it with her other hand, touching fingers together. They felt fine, felt normal.
She ran her finger along the wall, and it felt precisely as it ought to against her fingers. There was no loss of sensation in her hand at all. She brought her hand down between her legs and gasped again. It was like... like a stranger was touching her there, was cupping and squeezing her pussy! She could feel her sex with her hand, and that felt normal, but her pussy didn't seem to realize it was her hand!
“What the hell!?” she whispered, panting, staring at her hand.
She drew her hand down between her legs again and shuddered, fingers parting, sliding in firmly against the soft, soapy flesh on either side of her swollen clit. She squeezed them in and then together, forcing her clit to swell out even more as she brought her thumb down on her clit.
“Fuck!” she croaked, her hips bucking spastically.
Quinn could hardly remember feeling so hot so fast, and her fingers were feverish as she stroked them across her clit, the sensations flooding into her with every stroke of her frantic fingers as she fought to keep her breathing from getting so loud her mother would be able to hear through the door.
Suddenly an image came to her, Petrescu, staring at her, watching, with that smooth, pale face, eyes covered by dark glasses, mouth silent. For a moment she even imagined she saw him in the mirror as a ghostly image.
Gasping for breath, she stumbled forward, eyes shining. She wanted – something, needed – something.
The sink counter was narrow, only two feet wide. She ground herself briefly against the edge, then shifted sideways to the corner. She let the sharp corner jam in against her slit, gasping weakly as she ground herself against it. It – hurt, but it hurt in such a hot, wonderful way that she ground herself even harder against it, and then harder still, her pulse racing, her heart pounding, her breath ragged as she frantically ground her sensitive sex against the sharp corner and reveled in the sharp, sparkly waves of pleasure and pain which poured through her.
Quinn had never felt this hot for so long. Yet somehow the orgasm eluded her. She ground and ground herself, gasping and half sobbing with the heat pulsing within her. She needed – something.
Inside her.
Yes!
Her eyes darted about desperately, but there was nothing but – a can of hair spray with a somewhat rounded top.
She snatched it up, gasping, and yet, without shifting her body. She drew her arm behind her, grasping the edge of the sink for support, leaning forward, still grinding her clit against it as she jabbed the head of the hair spray can against her pussy. She groaned at the delicious pressure. She was all soapy, but the can was awfully big, twice as thick as Callum’s big cock, and her pussy opening didn’t want to give.
She pulled back from the counter, turning, bending, backing against it so the bottom of the can was against the edge. Then she let her own weight push her back against it. She felt the pressure mounting heavily against her tight opening, and moaned in pain as she was stretched wider and wider.
Then her sex lips spread back wide enough and the thick can slid slowly up inside her. Quinn shuddered and let out a cry of pleasure and excitement, grinding the base of the can back, slowly working it deeper and deeper into her aching pussy tunnel. God it was filling her up so full! She pushed back, gasping, spreading her legs wider, bending wider, her fingers reaching down and stroking heavily across her sore, sensitive pussy opening, against her aching clit.
She turned abruptly, grinding herself against the corner of the sink again with a gasp of pleasure and shudder of pain. She gripped the counter with both hands, straddling the corner, her hips working desperately as she ground her soft flesh against it. God it hurt! But it hurt so good! She felt her come finally arrive, and abruptly whirled, half sitting back onto the counter, pressing the base of the can down against it.
She cried out as the orgasm tore through her. Her fingers rubbed furiously against her clit as her other hand roughly kneaded her breasts. Her soapy bottom dropped down hard against the edge of the counter, and she gurgled with pain and wildfire pleasure as the can of hair spray was forced painfully deep into her slender belly.
The orgasm tore through her like a firestorm, and her body moved spastically, her head back, mouth open as she gurgled helplessly, her bottom jabbing down again and again on the hair spray as she sawed her fingers across her clit.
It was just about the best orgasm she’d ever had. It was so powerful, and so long, she almost passed out for lack of breathing. When it finally began to ease off she gave a desperate sob of breath, gulping in air as she all-but sat on the edge of the counter, the nose of the hair spray jammed achingly deep in her gut by her own weight.
She practically collapsed to the floor afterward, and then did sink down to her knees, holding the counter for support, panting for breath.
“Jesus!” she gasped.
She knelt there, trembling, for a long minute before slowly reaching down to her pussy. The mouth of her sex felt bruised and sore, and she winced as her fingers gently brushed against it. She gripped the base of the can, and felt a sense of amazement, for it was almost buried inside her. The thing was so fucking big! Wow! She gripped the base and slowly, gasping and moaning, eased the can down – down – down, sliding more and more out of her pussy until it finally was out of her. She stared at it for long seconds, amazed she’d gotten it all inside her – or almost all.
She shook her head and pulled herself to her feet, then got cleaned up, rinsed off, and let the water turn cold on her as she stood under it, eyes closed.
Chapter Two
With the sun down, the temperature had cooled, and would get cooler still as the evening deepened into darkness. Quinn’s blonde hair hung silky soft around her shoulders as she stepped out of the house. She was wearing a black muscle shirt with no bra, and a pair of low riding, skintight black jeans as she took the narrow path through the trees out back and down through the brush to the edge of what passed for a town here on the edge of the desert.
Jeremiah was a few square blocks of one and two story buildings. There was a bar, a grocer, a diner, a beauty salon, and a combination hardware store barber, along with a gas station. There was also a cement factory on the edge of town by the train tracks which was mostly where everyone worked who did actually work.