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Snowbound Love

123

NOVEMBER, 1981

The sun had set early and the snowflakes were flying thick and wet in the headlight beams. It was the kind of snowstorm that completely buries anything not moving. The couple had left the trailer park in San Jose around 2pm, and were travelling north through California's central valley on Interstate 5 to get to Klamath Falls, Oregon until the orange neon highway warning signs announced the stretch of highway to the Oregon border had been closed because of snow. Never one to let weather stop him, Donnie Faylor turned off the interstate, determined to by-pass Interstate 5 and use the old two-lane Route 97 instead to get to his brother's house before midnight.

With only 88 miles left to go now, Donnie was confident that they could make it; they had plenty of gas. In addition to the normal 30-gallon gas tank, his Ford F-150 pickup truck had a 70-gallon auxiliary tank topped off before they left Sacramento. The red '67 V8 also had plenty of power, 4-wheel drive with good off-road tires and four off-road lights on the front bumper to light the way.

Huddled against the passenger door, Donnie's wife Janine did not share his confidence. Even with the off-road lights blazing, each passing minute made it harder and harder to see the road. The flurries in front of the windshield made the view a non-stop blur of white.

"Slow down, Donnie," she pleaded. "Can't we just stop somewhere and stay the night?" After two years of marriage, Janine seldom questioned her husband; she had learned this could lead to at least slap in the face, if not worse. In this case her fear of them both getting killed had overruled her fear of his wrath.

Donnie's response was not unexpected, as he reacted to questions like it was an insult to his manhood. This tendency had gotten him fired from his last three jobs, in fact. "Shut up, woman," he growled, "my fucking truck can make it lots of places that stupid CHP trucks can't. Mark my words, we'll make it to Klamath Falls in less than an hour -- AWWWW, SHIIIIIIIIT!"

Donnie desperately began to counter-steer as the truck swapped ends. It had lost traction when they had entered the last curve - a patch of ice lay under the snow. Janine wanted to scream, but suffered her terror in silence since Donnie would punish her for it. The truck suddenly hit a snowbank and stopped, the engine dying. Neither was seriously hurt, but since there were no seat belts in the old truck Janine had been bounced around, hitting her head on the passenger-side window. She knew she'd have some bruises on her body the next day. Donnie, of course, wouldn't have a mark on him. The man seemed indestructible.

"MotherFUCKER!" Donnie screamed, pounding the steering wheel. "This piece of shit truck, I ought to drive it to the scrap heap right now!" He restarted the motor and jammed it into reverse; the wheels spun momentarily until one of them was able to melt through the snow and get traction on the ground underneath. He got the truck back onto the snow-covered blacktop and kept driving, albeit much more slowly. As if on cue, the wind gusted and it began to snow harder. The snow glowed white from the now nearly useless truck lights.

They creeped around a corner to where the trees provided a wind block; for a moment the snow flurries abated, and it was then they saw the glow of blue neon. It was an old-style motel sign reading "The Cloisters" glowing brightly in big blue letters, small red letters spelling "Vacancy" glowed underneath it.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Donnie turned the truck into the driveway, coming to a stop in front of the motel office entrance. Looking for an outlet for his anger, he shook an index finger in Janine's face. "This is all your fault -- if we'd left earlier we'd be there by now. I'll be taking the cost of the room out of your ass later. Stay here, bitch!"

Janine sighed inwardly. No matter what she did, Donnie was always blaming her for something; it gave him an excuse to physically abuse her in some way or other. She watched his hulking back as he walked into the lobby. She had married him to get out of Copper Hole, Tennessee, population 400. In Copper Hole, if a young woman didn't leave as soon as she was 17, typically she'd get knocked up, marry some dirt-poor farm boy and live in poverty, pumping out kids until her uterus finally quit working. Janine had hoped being married to Donnie would be a better life. As it turned out it wasn't a better life, just a different kind of misery.

Janine had set her sights on Donnie as her ticket out the minute he walked into the roadside diner where she'd been waitressing. He was a good-looking sweet talker, and they'd had a 24-hour backseat courtship. He'd driven into town single; he'd left town with a wife in the passenger seat. The first few weeks of their marriage, weeks he'd been a good husband, sweet and attentive. By week three, his abusive personality had started to show itself; soon enough, Janine found herself frequently wishing she were back in Copper Hole. The one thing in her life she was grateful for was that she wasn't pregnant -- her husband hated kids. He always made sure there was a condom on when they fucked.

Donnie walked into the lobby, brushing the snow off his sleeves. He rang the desk bell twice. A man limped from out of the back, using a cane to walk; he was a few inches taller than Donnie, who was 6'1". But where Donnie was solidly built, underneath the flannel shirt the man had gotten soft around the middle. He was older; his gray-and-black hair was tied back into a short ponytail.

"Welcome to the Cloisters Motel," he said, smiling. "Awful night out, I'm glad you folks got here safely. The way the snow's coming down, we weren't expecting any guests for a week or so until after the roads cleared. I'm the owner, Nathan Rundstrom, but call me Swede." He extended his hand, and Donnie shook it. "How many rooms for you tonight?"

"One, single bed," Donnie replied, his tone neutral. He didn't trust friendly people. Swede gave him the guest register and Donnie signed it.

Swede handed him the key, a large #3 on the plastic room tag. "Room 3, it's at the end of the building."

Donnie nodded, but said nothing. He didn't want to encourage the guy; he'd already had an earful.

A small Asian woman came out, carrying towels, and Swede introduced her. "This is my wife Binh. She's got extra towels for you. We don't have a restaurant but there's no eating places close by, so if you folks are hungry she can whip up a little something in our kitchen."

Hearing this, Donnie perked up. As he took the towels he asked, "Her name's Vietnamese. Is she from there?"

Swede appeared a bit uncomfortable at the question, but then regained his smile and answered, "Yes, I met her when I was with the 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment -- my second tour ended in October 1969 after I was wounded. I married her in-country, then brought her back as a war bride."

Donnie warmed up to Swede a bit. "Oh, a Jarhead. I was over there with the Army, 1st Signal Brigade, come home in 1972. Never got directly shot at, I was sitting in a communications center in Saigon. I used to call in reinforcements when you guys were in the shit, and it seemed like you guys were ALWAYS gettin' in the shit, man."

Swede got serious for a moment. "Yeah, the Marines were always the first to go in. I lost a lot of friends over there, and damn near got killed myself in a bad firefight. I would have died, in fact, but Binh got me help."

Donnie gestured at Binh. "Well, different strokes for different folks, I reckon. I fucked some slant pussy a few times out of boredom over there, but I never developed a craving for it myself." He smiled at the tiny woman. "You like soldier-boy boo-coo, right? You so horny, baby?"

Binh stood for a moment, stunned at his rudeness. Reminding herself this was a paying guest, she responded tactfully. "I sorry, honored guest. In Vietnam I grew up in farm village. Jesuit missionary teachers in my school, no spend time in city. I not learn to talk that way." She smiled courteously and bowed her head.

Donnie looked at her, his face now a mixture of discomfort and simmering anger. "OK, well, we've been driving all day so we're kind of hungry. Can you bring us a couple of BLT sandwiches and a couple of beers?"

Swede spoke up, "We'll be happy to bring you your sandwiches, but we can't serve you alcohol. No liquor license, right?"

Donnie gave Swede a dirty look. "I don't think any liquor inspectors are going to come out here for the next 72 hours, so how about you be a white guy and bring us the beers?"

Swede returned Donnie's look, his face stone cold and resolute. "Sorry, friend," he said in a monotone. "No alcohol. I'll give you some soda on the house."

Donnie stared hard at Swede for a moment, but then smiled and backed down. "OK, OK, Jarhead," he said, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Like my CO always said, you can fuck with the Air Force assholes all day long, but don't fuck with the Marines for a second."

Swede nodded. "Your CO was a wise man. Binh will bring you your sandwiches and chips in a few minutes, with soda on the house."

Back in the room, Janine was unpacking the bags while Donnie began raving. "That gimpy Marine prick," he shouted. "We're both vets, he should have given me a fucking beer. And he's actually married to a gook, can you fucking believe it?" Janine knew better than to answer. When Donnie was on one of his rants, any kind of response might be used as an excuse to slap her. "That old asshole has a bad leg and he's out of shape, it would be easy to kick his ass."

There was a knock at the door. Janine answered, and Binh handed her the sandwiches. The two women were the same build and height; just a hair under five feet tall, except Janine's hair was strawberry blonde and curly while Binh's was straight and black. As Janine took the sandwiches, their fingers made contact. Binh and Janine both laughed nervously, and Janine thanked the Asian woman warmly.

In his current rage, even Janine's brief moment of happiness infuriated Donnie even further. He reached over and put his hand around Binh's tiny forearm, as if to pull her into the room. "Hey gook," he said, "How about you stay and do fucky-sucky with us? I'm tired of fucking my ugly wife and you're kind of pretty. With three of us, we have good time!"

Janine was horrified. She was used to Donnie's insulting her, but this was humiliating. Tears formed in her eyes as she ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Binh was now alone with Donnie, and his grip was becoming firmer on her arm. She began to gently lift his hand off her arm. "Oh, Mr. Faylor, you make joke. Your wife so very pretty, I'm sure she make you very happy. Next to her I am ugly." Instead of letting go, Donnie grasped her forearm more tightly.

"Well, I ain't very happy with her right now. What would really make me happy is if you was to suck my cock right now." He pulled her into the room and pushed the door shut. "Get on your knees, you slant-eyed whore." Seeing no way out, Binh lowered herself onto the carpet.

"Please Mr. Faylor, I not that way. I am a good wife to my husband, love him very much." As she was pleading, Donnie unzipped his fly and pulled out his fully-erect cock. He reached down and put her hand on it.

"Well, if you're such a good wife, then you know exactly what to do." Having no choice, Binh began to slowly stroke his hardness. Donnie sighed with pleasure.

"Now see, what did I tell you? You're a horny gook whore just like all Vietnamese women. Put your mouth on it." Humiliated, Binh opened her mouth and put her lips around the tip, then slowly began sucking.

"Oh, yeah, that's it baby. Suck me good. Use your tongue, too." Binh stopped sucking for a moment and licked the sensitive underside of his shaft just behind the tip, then engulfed his cock with her mouth again. Donnie shouted over his shoulder towards the bathroom door. "Hey, baby, you should come out and see this, maybe you'd learn a thing or two. This little whore can really suck cock!"

A malicious look crossed Donnie's face, and grabbing her roughly by the hair, he pulled her face away from his throbbing member. "Tell me you like it, slut. Am I bigger than your husband?" Terrified, Binh responded, speaking Vietnamese whore-style. "Oh, yes, me love your cock, Mr. Faylor. It so much bigger than husband's."

A smug look on his face, Donnie leaned down and whispered, "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

Binh looked up, tears in her eyes. "Please Mr. Faylor, I am a good wife, I love my..."

Suddenly there was a knocking at the door, and Swede was calling loudly. "BINH? YOU IN THERE?"

Binh looked at Donnie, who nodded. "Yes, I'm here. I was just talking to Mrs. Faylor. I be right out!"

Donnie pulled his cock back in his pants and zipped up. "Not a word, or I swear I'll kill him," Donnie whispered. "I have plenty of guns in my truck."

Binh nodded. Jumping to her feet, she opened the door. Swede was there with a huge flashlight. Snow blew in through the open door -- the storm had gotten worse. "Come on, sweetheart," he said to the shivering woman. "I was worried about you. It's getting colder, and I need my wife to keep me warm!" Swede leaned down to kiss her, and Binh wrapped her arms around him, glaring back at Donnie.

"I right here, husband," she said, hiding her fear. "I keep you warm all night tonight." Swede reached over to grab the doorknob.

"You folks sleep well," he said pleasantly, and pulling the door closed they left to go back to their rooms.

Donnie walked over to the still-closed bathroom door. "Come on out, Janine," he ordered. "That whore got me going, so I got some unfinished business for you. Get that pussy squeaky-clean, because I'm about to fill it up again."

The door opened, and Janine came out. She was naked, the bruises from the earlier spin-out beginning to turn blue on her thin legs. The puffy nipples on her A-cup tits were rigid from the cold of the room. Her hair was tied back, and she laid obediently on the bed and spread her legs.

Donnie pulled a condom out of his pocket and shed his clothes, then pulled the latex over himself.

Knowing what was coming, she had put lubricant in her vagina before leaving the bathroom. Her husband didn't like foreplay, so Janine was used to applying lube before getting into bed with him. Otherwise, he'd just plunge into her dry and she'd be sore for days.

Donnie jumped on the bed and began pumping his cock into her slick cunt. As he pumped, he taunted her. "Did you like hearing me get my cock sucked? She sucks better than you, too. I wish I'd taken her blouse off, so I could see if she had bigger tits."

Janine replied, "Goddamn you, Donnie, you humiliated me. I don't know why you stay married to me, you fucking bastard. And you forced that poor little thing to suck you, she didn't want to." The only time Janine was allowed to talk this way to Donnie was when he was fucking her. Her anger got him harder, and made him more excited.

"Well, now that her cock's been in my mouth I'm going to fuck her before we leave, mark my words. I may even have you help me by distracting her husband." His thrusting became harder, it didn't take him long to build to a climax. Janine began to feel some pleasure now, but she knew he'd be done long before she could orgasm.

"Donnie, please no, she's a good wife, you've already done enough, please don't wreck her marriage." Janine's pleadings seemed to have done the trick -- with a hoarse groan, Donnie slammed all the way in and held his cock there. She could feel the warmth of his cum spread in her battered pussy. He rolled off of her, and was asleep within minutes.

The room heater was barely effective and the mattress was hard. The pillows were so old they barely had any resistance. Between the physical discomfort and her emotional distress, Janine tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Swede seemed like a nice enough man, and Janine felt a sisterly connection with Binh.

Maybe Donnie's cruelty had somehow bonded them; she felt so badly that her husband had forced himself on her. While Donnie had never been tender with her, she had married him and his brutality was something she had learned to accept. What he had done with Binh was rape, plain and simple. But here, stuck in a remote motel miles from nowhere, there was nothing she could do.

She felt Donnie stir, then sit up. She slowed her breathing, pretending to be asleep to discourage him from fucking her again. "I never did get my goddam beer," she heard him mutter. The bed moved and she felt him stand up, and then heard the sound of his zipper and the metallic clack of his belt buckle being fastened. "I'll bet they got it hidden in the fucking kitchen." She heard the door open, and felt a blast of cold air as he went outside.

The F-150 was parked right outside their door; the driver's side was protected from the wind, so the snow on it was a light dusting; it was the passenger side that was covered by a snowdrift. Wearing only his pants and shirt, Donnie opened the driver's door and pulled a crowbar from under the seat. He made his way down to the back door of the managers unit. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. There was no padlock, so a simple push with the crowbar, the sound of wood cracking, and door was open.

Donnie stepped inside; as he suspected, the manager's back door led straight into the kitchen of the unit. There was a single low-wattage light bulb on over the range hood, so the glow allowed him enough light to look around. He opened the refrigerator, and the bright light inside made him blink. Various foods were there, but no beer.

"Fucking assholes must have hidden it," he muttered. He went to the cabinets above the countertops. The first one he opened held breakfast foods, the second he opened was full of cooking oils and vinegars. He was about to close it when he saw the familiar neck of a whiskey bottle in the back. Pulling out the other bottles, he saw it was a full bottle of Jack Daniel's.

"Now we're talking," he said. "Selfish asshole kept the best for himself." Hopping up on the counter, Donnie removed the top and began drinking straight out of the bottle. The golden fluid warmed him from his mouth to his stomach.

About three-quarters of the bottle was gone and the wall clock showed 2:45 when the overhead kitchen light went on. Standing in the doorway leading to the rest of the unit was Binh, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers. "Mr. Faylor, this area not for guests. You must go now," she said quietly.

Donnie looked at her. "I don't think so, slut. Where's your husband? Does he know you're in the kitchen drinking with a guest?"

"Swede sleeping, and I not drink with you, so please go." Donnie jumped off the counter and took off his shirt. As walked over to Binh, he asked, "You like what you see, slant-eyes?" Binh said nothing, just pointed to the back door.

Holding the bottle out to her, he said, "Drink with me." Binh shook her head no. Donnie persisted. "Come on, take a drink and I'll leave, OK? I promise." He held the bottle out to her. Reluctantly, she accepted the bottle and took a sip. Suddenly Donnie was on her, forcing the bottle into her mouth and pouring it into her throat. "Drink it all, bitch, you're gonna need it, 'cause I'm about to fuck the shit out of you."

Binh began to choke, trying to swallow as much as possible, but much of it flowed out of her mouth and down the front of her robe. Donnie threw her to the ground, pulling off the robe. She lay naked on the floor, shivering and sobbing now. "Get up, slut," he ordered. Quickly he removed his pants. His member stood fully erect now, excited by the violence.

Taking her by the arm, he pulled her to her feet and looked at her. "Why you got even less tits than my wife," he declared, and then he saw the small soft cock between her legs. Infuriated and drunk, Donnie began to scream. "GODDAM! You're one a'them fucking hermaphrodites! I ought to kick your fag ass, you disgusting piece of shit."

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