Sympathy for the Devil by Justin Gustainis Read Free Book Online Page B

urgently. "Are you in pain? Should I -"
    Jaw still tight she growled at him, "No, I'm coming ! Oh, yes, yes, yesssssss..."
    Quincey Morris had seen a lot of life's seamier side. If asked a minute earlier, he would have told you that he'd lost the capacity to blush. But he would have been wrong. He felt his face reddening as he averted his eyes to stare at his hands, fingers clenching the bed frame.
    Morris understood now why her father had not accompanied them. If she did this all the time, it would be a Freudian nightmare for him every time he got near her.
    Is that why they've locked her up? The kid's got some kind of emotional disorder prompting compulsive masturbation, and the parents are so ashamed they won't even try to deal with it?
    And yet, they had invited Morris here - into their home, into the girl's room. If it was such a dirty family secret, why share it with a stranger?
    Maybe they're so old-school-Polish-Catholic, they figure only the devil could make a girl be so sexual, in such a public way? Is that what the nuns taught them, forty years ago?
    He could hear that the girl's breathing was returning to normal, and decided that he could look her in the face again.
    "Sorry for the interruption," she said matter-of-factly. "That one kind of snuck up on me."
    "You do that a lot?" He tried to match her casual tone. "Masturbate, I mean?"
    "Every chance I get," she said, and winked at him. "Which, at my age, is pretty much all the time."
    Morris didn't know what to say to that.
    "Isn't the female body wonderful?" She might have been discussing a new shade of lipstick she'd discovered. "I can just come, and come, and come, over and over. Sometimes my poor pussy gets so swollen it's sore, and I have to take a break. But after a few hours sleep, I'm good to go again."
    Morris had faced vampires, werewolves, black witches, zombies and the very fires of Hell. But a teenage girl's sexuality run wild was something he was not prepared for, by either training or experience. Where was Libby Chastain when he needed her?
    "I reckon that -" Morris stopped, cleared his throat, started again. "I reckon that most girls your age must masturbate sometimes," he said. "Some, they probably do it a lot of the time. It's normal, a part of life. But I'm guessing that most of them keep it kinda private, you know? A personal thing."
    "Yes, I suppose they do, the poor dears. But I can't seem to help myself, Mr. Morris." Her eyes were wide. "It's like there's something inside me, making me do it. I just can't stop . It's like the devil's got hold of me, or something."
    So that's where the parents got the notion she was possessed - the girl thought so, herself . Morris wondered if her shame over this hypersexuality, fed by a nice big case of Catholic guilt, was so profound that she had reached a psychotic state where she felt Satan himself was inside her, controlling her, making her act so wickedly.
    Morris knew more than he ever wanted to about Satan and his ways, and he was fairly certain that making teenage girls in Michigan play with themselves was pretty low on the Evil One's agenda.
    "Susan, I think maybe you need -"
    "Oh, gosh, Mr. Morris, he's doing it again! Look!"
    With one quick jerk of her legs she kicked the covers aside, to reveal that she was naked underneath them, both hands busy, busy.
    Morris wasn't able to stop himself from one quick glance toward her groin, where he saw she had what looked like the standard female equipment, even if it was being put to rather vigorous use. Embarrassed for both of them, he turned his back on her.
    "Susan, why don't you put the covers back? Please?" He tried not to look at Mrs. Kowal, who was still standing at the door, head down, weeping softly. "You don't need to show yourself to me like this."
    "But it's so much fun!" Her voice was mocking. "It turns you on, doesn't it? Huh? Doesn't it?" She was breathing in short gasps now, and Morris tried to banish from his mind the image of her tight,