TAKE IT IN YOUR STRIDE
A SERIES OF EROTIC ADULT STORIES BY
NICK ARMBRISTER
ISBN – 978-1-4478-4821-9
A SERIES OF EROTIC ADULT STORIES BY
NICK ARMBRISTER
ISBN – 978-1-4478-4821-9
Nick would like to dedicate this to all of the people who get their rocks off
IAN GETS A TREAT
Ian dated the youngest of four Catholic sisters in a small English town where nothing much happened since the hold up of the chip shop two boring years before. He'd continuously dated Abby for two years and fucked her even longer. They got on well enough and were in love, saving up to marry one day just like some of Abs older siblings. How nice it would be day dreamed the young girl to be married and happy.
As she made love to Ian he had other ideas - how to fuck Abby's other sisters, each and every one. He would love corrupting these nice quiet Catholic gals! Ian made love to Abs in the back of his old works van that he used a runabout. He was bare chested his upper body glistening with sweat. Red fingernail marks ran down and across his bare skin where Abs had scratched him while he pumped her missionary style as fast and quickly as his body allowed. She squealed and moaned like a gal possessed. Abby lied down on an old dustsheet in the van, her nice shapely legs where open paving the way to paradise for the young couple. Her top was up allowing Ian to suck her titties inbetween love biting her on the neck and french kissing her with passion and sensuality. His big ten-inch cock slid smoothly like a well oil piston into Abs lush wet pussy, a show of wanderlust in every way. Ian placed his big hands under her arse drawing her deeper into him till that huge cock of his was up his nice young innocent Catholic gal.
An idea formed in his head. Then he said it, “I want to make love to your sisters, fuck every one of them. Would you let me Abs?”
Thrusting faster and deeper into his gal he brought her to orgasmic climax, as he started to cum himself. Heady images swirled inside his head of four Catholic sisters being corrupted by Ian. He was about to ask again when Abbey screamed, “Yes, yes, oh yes!” Was it an okay for Ian to make love to her three older sisters. “Yes! My Ian ask my sisters, I want you to fuck them all! It turns me on the thought...”
Ian squealed in delight he had his prayers answered! “My love, my wife how I love you. Thanks babe, oh I've cum”
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The following evening Abs remembered their wonderful love making in the back of Ian’s wrecked van. What an earth had he asked her, could he make love to her sisters? To every one of them! The cheek of it was that he was inside of her when he had asked her and she only had agreed! Was she mad? What should she do now? Tell him she was joking or she lied or something like it could not and must not ever go ahead. But the plain and simple truth was that this turned her on and she wanted it to happen for some mad perverse reason. Abby's three sisters were all older than her starting with Alison who was 23, then Lauren at 28 and finally Emma aged 36. This was twice Abs age of 18 but she was far older than her mere years due to interacting with the older gals. That was why she had a guy who was ten year her senior, Ian whom she would soon marry. So Abs was set up with an adult mind to back up her girlie side. She was quick witted yet had a temper that burned fast and bright. Ian knew this but she was worth it in ten other ways, like the latest gig with her sisters.
He wondered would she change her mind when sober, when not at the height of orgasm in the back of his old van. Ian fancied the oldest gal the most, she was still young and dressed it, was a laugh and a flirt. He wondered would she follow up idle flirts with heady action. He bet she would, he really thought so. Yes, Emma who was a mid 30s chick really rocked Ian's boat; he was nearer her age at 28 than Abs 18years. Age was just a number in both Ian and Abs minds. He wondered would Abby want it with his younger 22yr old brother or his friends. What to say if she asked? Yes coz its equal opportunities or no coz it's his idea? How would he feel if she were with another lad when he was there? Coz she'd want to be there when he shagged her sisters. He did like the other two gals. Lauren was his new fave lady. Lauren was just five months older than Ian but poles apart in interests. She was a professional businesswoman who never had a hair out of place. He wanted to rough her demeanour up quite badly, in a good way of course in bed. Finally on to Alison, aged between Abs and Lauren, she was a mystery, a hidden private lady who was into what? Ian would do her last. He would ask Emma first, this evening when he and Abs drove up after they’d eaten their tea.
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Ian was wearing casual clothes in the stifling summer heat, Abs did likewise. When Emma answered the door Ian didn’t know where to look, she looked stunning with long bare legs, a crop top showing half her boobs and bare toned belly. Wow, he hoped she said yes! He felt a warm tingling sensation in his cock, trying not to stare he muttered, “Hi Em how are you doing? We thought we’d pop over for a brew.”
Ian dated the youngest of four Catholic sisters in a small English town where nothing much happened since the hold up of the chip shop two boring years before. He'd continuously dated Abby for two years and fucked her even longer. They got on well enough and were in love, saving up to marry one day just like some of Abs older siblings. How nice it would be day dreamed the young girl to be married and happy.
As she made love to Ian he had other ideas - how to fuck Abby's other sisters, each and every one. He would love corrupting these nice quiet Catholic gals! Ian made love to Abs in the back of his old works van that he used a runabout. He was bare chested his upper body glistening with sweat. Red fingernail marks ran down and across his bare skin where Abs had scratched him while he pumped her missionary style as fast and quickly as his body allowed. She squealed and moaned like a gal possessed. Abby lied down on an old dustsheet in the van, her nice shapely legs where open paving the way to paradise for the young couple. Her top was up allowing Ian to suck her titties inbetween love biting her on the neck and french kissing her with passion and sensuality. His big ten-inch cock slid smoothly like a well oil piston into Abs lush wet pussy, a show of wanderlust in every way. Ian placed his big hands under her arse drawing her deeper into him till that huge cock of his was up his nice young innocent Catholic gal.
An idea formed in his head. Then he said it, “I want to make love to your sisters, fuck every one of them. Would you let me Abs?”
Thrusting faster and deeper into his gal he brought her to orgasmic climax, as he started to cum himself. Heady images swirled inside his head of four Catholic sisters being corrupted by Ian. He was about to ask again when Abbey screamed, “Yes, yes, oh yes!” Was it an okay for Ian to make love to her three older sisters. “Yes! My Ian ask my sisters, I want you to fuck them all! It turns me on the thought...”
Ian squealed in delight he had his prayers answered! “My love, my wife how I love you. Thanks babe, oh I've cum”
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The following evening Abs remembered their wonderful love making in the back of Ian’s wrecked van. What an earth had he asked her, could he make love to her sisters? To every one of them! The cheek of it was that he was inside of her when he had asked her and she only had agreed! Was she mad? What should she do now? Tell him she was joking or she lied or something like it could not and must not ever go ahead. But the plain and simple truth was that this turned her on and she wanted it to happen for some mad perverse reason. Abby's three sisters were all older than her starting with Alison who was 23, then Lauren at 28 and finally Emma aged 36. This was twice Abs age of 18 but she was far older than her mere years due to interacting with the older gals. That was why she had a guy who was ten year her senior, Ian whom she would soon marry. So Abs was set up with an adult mind to back up her girlie side. She was quick witted yet had a temper that burned fast and bright. Ian knew this but she was worth it in ten other ways, like the latest gig with her sisters.
He wondered would she change her mind when sober, when not at the height of orgasm in the back of his old van. Ian fancied the oldest gal the most, she was still young and dressed it, was a laugh and a flirt. He wondered would she follow up idle flirts with heady action. He bet she would, he really thought so. Yes, Emma who was a mid 30s chick really rocked Ian's boat; he was nearer her age at 28 than Abs 18years. Age was just a number in both Ian and Abs minds. He wondered would Abby want it with his younger 22yr old brother or his friends. What to say if she asked? Yes coz its equal opportunities or no coz it's his idea? How would he feel if she were with another lad when he was there? Coz she'd want to be there when he shagged her sisters. He did like the other two gals. Lauren was his new fave lady. Lauren was just five months older than Ian but poles apart in interests. She was a professional businesswoman who never had a hair out of place. He wanted to rough her demeanour up quite badly, in a good way of course in bed. Finally on to Alison, aged between Abs and Lauren, she was a mystery, a hidden private lady who was into what? Ian would do her last. He would ask Emma first, this evening when he and Abs drove up after they’d eaten their tea.
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Ian was wearing casual clothes in the stifling summer heat, Abs did likewise. When Emma answered the door Ian didn’t know where to look, she looked stunning with long bare legs, a crop top showing half her boobs and bare toned belly. Wow, he hoped she said yes! He felt a warm tingling sensation in his cock, trying not to stare he muttered, “Hi Em how are you doing? We thought we’d pop over for a brew.”
BUNKER DOWN PANDA BOY
Bob was an Albanian body builder. He lived in an old machine gun bunker made of concrete in a forest. He’s a ghost from a blood feud. Once he had been a hard bastard and body builder, now he was a randy spectre. Pito was Bob’s girlfriend; she lived in an abandoned red Fiat Panda hidden in a forest. The car would never run again but that didn’t matter; it was a knocking shop for ghostly fun, frolics and fucking. Like the couple, the car was a strange thing. Was it real?
Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker... Bob sang to himself, in his mind. He wasn’t alone in hearing this.
“Yo! Bob you big turtle; stop singing that lewd sexual song. I know it’s about me!” remonstrated Pito, frowning.
“Hey sis! I aint singing out loud. Am I?” replied Bob, looking hurt. Shit, she heard my thoughts!
“Damn right I did! My psychic link is strong, don’t forget,” shouted the girl, still annoyed.
“Well... okay, yes, I was singing about you, in my mind. I know you can hear my thoughts but some things are meant to be private. Like my thoughts, you know?”
“Your admission doesn’t make it okay to think and then sing about doing rude things to me. Yes, I can read your mind but that I can’t help. I am a psychic ghost, aren’t I?”
“I have my own mind and if I want to sing, in my head, I will. So deal with it okay?” grumbled the large Albanian body builder, reaching down to scratch his balls.
“Okay... look maybe I overreacted. Being dead aint too much fun you know?” said Pito, frowning again.
“I know. Look, we’re both dead, so let’s get used to it. We can’t change it, can we? In fact...” he answered.
“That’s obvious. I still remember very clearly, my death. I know we can’t change it,” replied the girl. “What were you about to ad, ‘In fact,’ what?”
“I remember my end also,” said Bob, looking into Pito’s eyes. “I meant this, ‘In fact come and sit on my face!’” explained the eighteen stone power lifter, flexing his upper body and smiling.
“You cunt! You really are a bastard, aren’t you Bob!” screamed Pito, going red in the face. Suddenly her anger slackened. She showed another side. “Okay, I’ll sit on your face. Even though we’re ghosts. We’ve fuck all else to do, have we?”
“Eh? You will?” stammered Bob, taken in by Pito’s sudden mood swing. Is she fucking with me? I better play along before she changes her mind.
“Lie down then, put your head there and your legs there,” indicated the red haired girl, pointing to the slope where they stood. Trees shielded them from the sun.
“Right then, I’m on it. Head at the top, legs facing down hill.”
“Get on with it then, before I change my mind!”
“Okay, okay! It does seem a bit bizarre, ghost sex!” he guffawed, kneeling and then lying down.
“Bizarre? I’ll give you bizarre, now get down!” Pito shouted, taking off her silver hot pants.
“Whoa! You’ve got no panties on!”
“That’s right, what did you think I wore? Huge granny knickers?”
“Erm... no, bareback commando is fine.”
Pito sat on Bob’s face. In his mind he started singing his ridiculous song, Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...
It would be quite hard for him to sing with a nice peach shaped butt on his face, with a pussy over his mouth. Never mind licking pussy juice, from a ghost! Good job he could sing in his mond. Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...
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Bob met his end in an Albanian blood feud with a neighbouring family. A brother in the enemy family had an affair with Bob’s sister, Puna. Bob didn’t approve of this and put a stop to it; the man who Puna was seeing was married. A word with his sister only made her more stubborn, digging her heels in and seeing the married man on the sly. Bob knew about this, he followed his sister when she went out on her forays to the married man. Her sneakiness wasn’t enough to keep the affair secret.
Bob waited behind a stone wall, hiding in the shadows. In his hand he carried a big twelve inch kitchen knife. Before him was a small house, where the married man and his sister were inside. What were they doing? Leaving his hiding place, Bob crept over to the front window. Very carefully he looked through a gap in the curtains. Fuck! I don’t believe it! Look what they’re doing!
A sight of upmost pleasure greeted the body builder. His hand tightened upon the knife as he watched. Squinting against the bright light, he spied his sister sucking the married man’s cock. Her head was moving up and down, making the man moan. The moans were faintly audible through the glass. I’m going to kill you, you enemy cunt! Just you wait!
And sat next to the enemy was his wife! It looked like she was in on the hideous affair! How was this possible? She was naked, like Puna was. Both ladies were giving pleasure to the man; this was obvious with the look of pleasure on his face and his moaning. His wife was grinning and tickling his balls!
“Fuck waiting, I’m going to do this now. I’ll kill that greasy fucker who de-flowers my sister!” muttered Bob, slowly standing up and making his way to the small wooden front door. Bob was going to kick the door in but he tried the brass handle first. It opened! The thick cunt hadn’t locked the door in his haste to get his rocks off! Silently opening the door, Bob went inside, into the dark hallway and shut the door. Controlling his breath, he listened for signs of discovery. There were none, the man kept moaning and one of the girls was laughing. It was now or never!
Locating the door, that led into the main room where the sex was taking place, Bob burst in and committed war. He screamed curses in Albanian, damning both his own sister and the married couple she was involved with. Knife at the ready, he swung into action. The surprise was total, no defence stopped him.
Pushing his sister aside, Bob aimed a knife blow at the man. His blow missed its intended target, the man’s throat but caught him in the chest. The blade sunk in three inches. Pulling it out, Bob stabbed him again. Falling on to the couch, the man was out cold. Slapping the wife, Bob was in control of the situation. “I asked you to stop this affair, what did you do? You continued to come here, didn’t you Puna?” whispered Bob. He was deadly serious. He said it again when Puna didn’t answer, she looked down at the wounded man who had been her lover.
“What do you care about me? You don’t even know me, Bob. Do you? What do you care?” Puna challenged, not caring she could be next.
Bob was silent now. He looked down at the bleeding man and at his sister. Anger filled his entire body and he couldn’t stop himself from acting. A red mist enveloped him; it was like a river of molten lava. He shouted and screamed, tears of rage ran down his face and his hands moved like a robot. In one hand he held a huge knife.
Puna held up her arms before her face to try and ward off the attack from her brother. It only delayed the inevitable. Her screams added to the confusion and bloodshed, for two minutes she vainly tried to fight back and defend her life. It was hopeless. Her brother knifed her twenty eight times and murdered her outright. Turning to the unconscious husband Bob kicked him to see if he was alive. Seeing him move and groan in pain, he finished him off with five knife thrusts to the chest. Blood flowed like a fountain. It was carnage.
The wife had been quietly crying while two people were butchered right next to her. It was she who stopped the last act, the murder of herself. She had a gold six inch hair pin holding her hair in place. Quickly reaching for it, she took Bob by surprise as he gloated over his main victim – her slain husband. His wife had her revenge. A single deep prick into Bob’s heart finished him. He was dead before he hit the floor. You evil man! That’s what you get for killing my husband and my friend. I hope you go to hell! thought the wife, anger engulfing her. Her name was Marsha. Now she was a widow, who took revenge upon her husband’s killer. A blood feud had been settled, old skool Albania way.
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Bob never went to hell. He haunted the earth, being stuck in the village where he lived his life till that fateful evil day. Pito was earthbound too, her story was a little different but just as bad.
Pito was a strong willed lady and always got her way. Until she met a man who was her match; this could only end badly, in trouble. Pito was born in a village over the hill from Bob, the fiery companion who she spent her time with. They were a good match; if a mortal person could see them they would think the body builder was the fiery aggressive one. In fact Bob was normally very placid but with a temper when riled. Both abided by their country’s blood feud rule, if a wrong was done it had to be avenged.
One day after her twenty-third birthday, Pito was hung over and making her way back from a friend’s house. Her head was heavy with alcohol and a huge banging headache, clouding her vision. She stumbled into an old man selling wooden carvings of churches and the Virgin Mary, upending his stall and contents. Small intricate carvings scattered this way and that. Pito tripped over one and fell. She landed heavily upon the man; he fell off his stool and ended up on the dirt roadside.
The old man cursed and pulled out an ornate knife. Looking down at his damaged carvings and then over at the girl, he acted. He gruffly said, “Now you’ll pay for that, ruining my business. Do you know how long it took to make those carvings? Do you, you fucking bitch?”
“Hey man, just chill out. I’m sorry. It was an accident,” replied Pito, trying to get up. She was on all fours when the man stabbed her in the leg. The blade bit deep. She fell back down and whimpered in pain, before recovering and kicked the old bastard in the face.
Her kick was enough; it propelled the man head first into a brick wall. With a thud, his head split open and he fell to the ground, with vacant eyes staring up to the sky, dead. His knife was by his side.
“Ah fuck! Look what you made me do, you old get. And you stabbed me, you actually stabbed me! Fuck!” shouted Pito, reaching over and picking up the knife. She kicked out again, this time sending half a dozen delicate carvings into the road, where a passing Audi gangster car drove over them and reduced them to splinters. Finally standing up, Pito fled the scene leaving a trail of blood from her leg wound. She wouldn’t be hard to find.
It was the wood carver’s son who found Pito. He heard about the death of his father, tried to track the blood trail but it petered out in the forest. This was no trouble; he was a trained tracker from his Albanian army training and knew how to do a grid search, till he got his quarry. Creeping up on Pito’s wooden shack that was her humble abode, he was prepared and ready for action. It was over in thirty minutes.
A Molotov cocktail tossed through the single dirty window was enough. The untreated old wooden structure went up like a bonfire, with her leg wound slowing her down the girl never got out. She burnt alive, ending another Albanian blood feud and evening up the scales. The normal exchange rate in this age old tradition of settling old scores in blood, one dead from each family to keep a tradition going, stretched back to medieval times. It was called a blood feud and was an evil thing.
Bob was an Albanian body builder. He lived in an old machine gun bunker made of concrete in a forest. He’s a ghost from a blood feud. Once he had been a hard bastard and body builder, now he was a randy spectre. Pito was Bob’s girlfriend; she lived in an abandoned red Fiat Panda hidden in a forest. The car would never run again but that didn’t matter; it was a knocking shop for ghostly fun, frolics and fucking. Like the couple, the car was a strange thing. Was it real?
Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker... Bob sang to himself, in his mind. He wasn’t alone in hearing this.
“Yo! Bob you big turtle; stop singing that lewd sexual song. I know it’s about me!” remonstrated Pito, frowning.
“Hey sis! I aint singing out loud. Am I?” replied Bob, looking hurt. Shit, she heard my thoughts!
“Damn right I did! My psychic link is strong, don’t forget,” shouted the girl, still annoyed.
“Well... okay, yes, I was singing about you, in my mind. I know you can hear my thoughts but some things are meant to be private. Like my thoughts, you know?”
“Your admission doesn’t make it okay to think and then sing about doing rude things to me. Yes, I can read your mind but that I can’t help. I am a psychic ghost, aren’t I?”
“I have my own mind and if I want to sing, in my head, I will. So deal with it okay?” grumbled the large Albanian body builder, reaching down to scratch his balls.
“Okay... look maybe I overreacted. Being dead aint too much fun you know?” said Pito, frowning again.
“I know. Look, we’re both dead, so let’s get used to it. We can’t change it, can we? In fact...” he answered.
“That’s obvious. I still remember very clearly, my death. I know we can’t change it,” replied the girl. “What were you about to ad, ‘In fact,’ what?”
“I remember my end also,” said Bob, looking into Pito’s eyes. “I meant this, ‘In fact come and sit on my face!’” explained the eighteen stone power lifter, flexing his upper body and smiling.
“You cunt! You really are a bastard, aren’t you Bob!” screamed Pito, going red in the face. Suddenly her anger slackened. She showed another side. “Okay, I’ll sit on your face. Even though we’re ghosts. We’ve fuck all else to do, have we?”
“Eh? You will?” stammered Bob, taken in by Pito’s sudden mood swing. Is she fucking with me? I better play along before she changes her mind.
“Lie down then, put your head there and your legs there,” indicated the red haired girl, pointing to the slope where they stood. Trees shielded them from the sun.
“Right then, I’m on it. Head at the top, legs facing down hill.”
“Get on with it then, before I change my mind!”
“Okay, okay! It does seem a bit bizarre, ghost sex!” he guffawed, kneeling and then lying down.
“Bizarre? I’ll give you bizarre, now get down!” Pito shouted, taking off her silver hot pants.
“Whoa! You’ve got no panties on!”
“That’s right, what did you think I wore? Huge granny knickers?”
“Erm... no, bareback commando is fine.”
Pito sat on Bob’s face. In his mind he started singing his ridiculous song, Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...
It would be quite hard for him to sing with a nice peach shaped butt on his face, with a pussy over his mouth. Never mind licking pussy juice, from a ghost! Good job he could sing in his mond. Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...
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Bob met his end in an Albanian blood feud with a neighbouring family. A brother in the enemy family had an affair with Bob’s sister, Puna. Bob didn’t approve of this and put a stop to it; the man who Puna was seeing was married. A word with his sister only made her more stubborn, digging her heels in and seeing the married man on the sly. Bob knew about this, he followed his sister when she went out on her forays to the married man. Her sneakiness wasn’t enough to keep the affair secret.
Bob waited behind a stone wall, hiding in the shadows. In his hand he carried a big twelve inch kitchen knife. Before him was a small house, where the married man and his sister were inside. What were they doing? Leaving his hiding place, Bob crept over to the front window. Very carefully he looked through a gap in the curtains. Fuck! I don’t believe it! Look what they’re doing!
A sight of upmost pleasure greeted the body builder. His hand tightened upon the knife as he watched. Squinting against the bright light, he spied his sister sucking the married man’s cock. Her head was moving up and down, making the man moan. The moans were faintly audible through the glass. I’m going to kill you, you enemy cunt! Just you wait!
And sat next to the enemy was his wife! It looked like she was in on the hideous affair! How was this possible? She was naked, like Puna was. Both ladies were giving pleasure to the man; this was obvious with the look of pleasure on his face and his moaning. His wife was grinning and tickling his balls!
“Fuck waiting, I’m going to do this now. I’ll kill that greasy fucker who de-flowers my sister!” muttered Bob, slowly standing up and making his way to the small wooden front door. Bob was going to kick the door in but he tried the brass handle first. It opened! The thick cunt hadn’t locked the door in his haste to get his rocks off! Silently opening the door, Bob went inside, into the dark hallway and shut the door. Controlling his breath, he listened for signs of discovery. There were none, the man kept moaning and one of the girls was laughing. It was now or never!
Locating the door, that led into the main room where the sex was taking place, Bob burst in and committed war. He screamed curses in Albanian, damning both his own sister and the married couple she was involved with. Knife at the ready, he swung into action. The surprise was total, no defence stopped him.
Pushing his sister aside, Bob aimed a knife blow at the man. His blow missed its intended target, the man’s throat but caught him in the chest. The blade sunk in three inches. Pulling it out, Bob stabbed him again. Falling on to the couch, the man was out cold. Slapping the wife, Bob was in control of the situation. “I asked you to stop this affair, what did you do? You continued to come here, didn’t you Puna?” whispered Bob. He was deadly serious. He said it again when Puna didn’t answer, she looked down at the wounded man who had been her lover.
“What do you care about me? You don’t even know me, Bob. Do you? What do you care?” Puna challenged, not caring she could be next.
Bob was silent now. He looked down at the bleeding man and at his sister. Anger filled his entire body and he couldn’t stop himself from acting. A red mist enveloped him; it was like a river of molten lava. He shouted and screamed, tears of rage ran down his face and his hands moved like a robot. In one hand he held a huge knife.
Puna held up her arms before her face to try and ward off the attack from her brother. It only delayed the inevitable. Her screams added to the confusion and bloodshed, for two minutes she vainly tried to fight back and defend her life. It was hopeless. Her brother knifed her twenty eight times and murdered her outright. Turning to the unconscious husband Bob kicked him to see if he was alive. Seeing him move and groan in pain, he finished him off with five knife thrusts to the chest. Blood flowed like a fountain. It was carnage.
The wife had been quietly crying while two people were butchered right next to her. It was she who stopped the last act, the murder of herself. She had a gold six inch hair pin holding her hair in place. Quickly reaching for it, she took Bob by surprise as he gloated over his main victim – her slain husband. His wife had her revenge. A single deep prick into Bob’s heart finished him. He was dead before he hit the floor. You evil man! That’s what you get for killing my husband and my friend. I hope you go to hell! thought the wife, anger engulfing her. Her name was Marsha. Now she was a widow, who took revenge upon her husband’s killer. A blood feud had been settled, old skool Albania way.
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Bob never went to hell. He haunted the earth, being stuck in the village where he lived his life till that fateful evil day. Pito was earthbound too, her story was a little different but just as bad.
Pito was a strong willed lady and always got her way. Until she met a man who was her match; this could only end badly, in trouble. Pito was born in a village over the hill from Bob, the fiery companion who she spent her time with. They were a good match; if a mortal person could see them they would think the body builder was the fiery aggressive one. In fact Bob was normally very placid but with a temper when riled. Both abided by their country’s blood feud rule, if a wrong was done it had to be avenged.
One day after her twenty-third birthday, Pito was hung over and making her way back from a friend’s house. Her head was heavy with alcohol and a huge banging headache, clouding her vision. She stumbled into an old man selling wooden carvings of churches and the Virgin Mary, upending his stall and contents. Small intricate carvings scattered this way and that. Pito tripped over one and fell. She landed heavily upon the man; he fell off his stool and ended up on the dirt roadside.
The old man cursed and pulled out an ornate knife. Looking down at his damaged carvings and then over at the girl, he acted. He gruffly said, “Now you’ll pay for that, ruining my business. Do you know how long it took to make those carvings? Do you, you fucking bitch?”
“Hey man, just chill out. I’m sorry. It was an accident,” replied Pito, trying to get up. She was on all fours when the man stabbed her in the leg. The blade bit deep. She fell back down and whimpered in pain, before recovering and kicked the old bastard in the face.
Her kick was enough; it propelled the man head first into a brick wall. With a thud, his head split open and he fell to the ground, with vacant eyes staring up to the sky, dead. His knife was by his side.
“Ah fuck! Look what you made me do, you old get. And you stabbed me, you actually stabbed me! Fuck!” shouted Pito, reaching over and picking up the knife. She kicked out again, this time sending half a dozen delicate carvings into the road, where a passing Audi gangster car drove over them and reduced them to splinters. Finally standing up, Pito fled the scene leaving a trail of blood from her leg wound. She wouldn’t be hard to find.
It was the wood carver’s son who found Pito. He heard about the death of his father, tried to track the blood trail but it petered out in the forest. This was no trouble; he was a trained tracker from his Albanian army training and knew how to do a grid search, till he got his quarry. Creeping up on Pito’s wooden shack that was her humble abode, he was prepared and ready for action. It was over in thirty minutes.
A Molotov cocktail tossed through the single dirty window was enough. The untreated old wooden structure went up like a bonfire, with her leg wound slowing her down the girl never got out. She burnt alive, ending another Albanian blood feud and evening up the scales. The normal exchange rate in this age old tradition of settling old scores in blood, one dead from each family to keep a tradition going, stretched back to medieval times. It was called a blood feud and was an evil thing.
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