(Informative note: My name is Father Luca di Pace. I am, in some small way, responsible for the welfare of Justine Dobbs. Her life has not been an easy one and it comforts me to realise that every time I see her she is a little more at peace.
It was Justine's idea to take all of the material recovered from Sixville and to convert it into readable narratives. I was reluctant at first, fearing for her mental health, but I spoke with her after she finished 'A Reluctant Welcome To Sixville' and I believe that the process is a kind of cathartic release.
The story that you are about to read is really the start of Justine's journey. It is not written in the first person sense. I believe that this was a wise decision as it grants some blessed distance between the victim that she was and the capable woman that I know and am fond of.
For the record the events related below took place in 1988, ten years before 'A Reluctant Welcome To Sixville' and are being recorded here, 18 years later.)
*
"Justine?" Fred Dobbs called out.
She was lying on the floor in a pool of paint and howling at the ceiling.
He wondered, just for a second, if she needed her medication.
"Fred! It's all shit. Shit!" She spat out when she saw him.
"Honey, what's the matter?" He replied, holding his arms out.
She ran into his arms so quickly that he nearly stumbled backwards.
"The piranha died and I can't fucking paint with him just floating there, lifeless...." She explained.
Fred looked over at the tank that nearly filled the studio and exact replica of Las Vegas that was submerged inside of it. Sanchez, the piranha, bobbed on the surface, like a black dead sun over the illuminated city.
"I don't know, he makes quite a statement like that, doesn't he?" He offered.
"Fred! My work is about life and nature, not dead fucking fish!" She said, but there was a trace of a laugh in her voice.
Fred didn't always understand what his wife's art but he loved to see her face light up when she discussed it.
"I've gotten paint all over you..." Justine whispered apologetically.
"It doesn't matter." He said and swept her, theatrically, into a passionate kiss.
He put a hand through her hair, giving her a streak of blue.
"You get me so hot, you know that?" He asked, once his tongue was released from her mouth.
"Likewise, baby." She breathed as she lay down on the floor and pulled her man down on top of her.
He struggled to keep his balance as he tried to undo his shirt.
"No, lets do it with our clothes on, like you need me so much that you can't wait, even a second." Justine implored huskily.
Fred gave a throaty laugh and locked his lips onto hers.
With an easy motion he pushed his hand under her skirt and tugged down her panties.
He hurriedly pulled out his erect cock and tried to insert himself. The slippery floor meant that Justine slid away from him every time that he made a thrust.
Justine laughed and Fred growled with impatient frustration.
"I think that you need a little help..." Justine teased as she rolled him off of her.
"No fair...I'd have gotten there..." Fred whined.
Justine sat on top of her strong, muscular man. He scooped up a handful of paint and held on to her covered tits. The wet liquid made the fabric of her blouse cling to her flesh and display her hard nipples.
"That feels so weird..." She giggled.
"Hmmm...." He moaned as, somewhere under her skirt, her pussy constricted around his dick.
She bent over him and gazed into his eyes. Her hair fell about him. For timeless minutes nothing existed in his world except Justine's perfect face and the welcome depth of her pussy.
Justine rode him; experimenting and varying her pace and angle. He could see that she was considering each sensation for preference thoughtfully.
He chuckled, put a red hand on her ass and squeezed.
"Ah. Ah. That's it.... whew...yeah." She groaned, and tore open her ruined shirt, buttons popping all over.
She lent over to the left, brought her right knee up and placed one hand on the floor.
Fred watched, breathing hard, as she shut her eyes and began tossing her head around.
"God. Aaaaaaaaaah." She cried.
"Cumming, baby?" Fred asked from below her.
She opened her eyes a fraction, bit her lip and nodded.
"Ohhhhhhhhh....God." She yelled as she climaxed.
Nothing turned Fred on more than seeing Justine reach ecstasy and he knew his orgasm was not far away.
He pulled himself up so that their bodies were rubbing and squelching together. He grabbed her ass and began to hump into her, wanting his own relief now.
He shot into her slick tunnel, rocking her till he was spent.
"We need to shower."
+++++++++
"How was your day?" Justine asked as she ran the soapy sponge over her husband's fit body.
"The Wardogz hit another liquor store. There was one casualty: the Korean guy who owned the place. His family were in pieces." He replied, sorrowfully.
"You'll catch them and put them away, Freddie." She assured her detective husband.
"I don't know, babe. We're not catching any breaks at the moment. These guys are good, Vincenzi especially."
She put her comforting arms around him and they swayed together under the hot water.
"You always make me feel better, honey." Fred told his wife and rubbed her back.
++++++++++
"Hey Dobbs!" Detective Fletcher shouted across the room to where his partner was sitting on the phone.
"What's up?" Fred asked, hanging up the phone.
"Some kind citizen just sent us something you should see." Fletcher said back, waving an envelope in the air.
Fletcher sat down and pulled out a photo.
Detective Fred Dobbs pulled his chair closer to get a better look.
"That's Vincenzi coming out of a restaurant. We've got hundreds like this!" He moaned.
"Ah, patience, young Dobbs..." Fletcher teased as he pulled out another photo.
"Whoa, who's the woman?" Fred exclaimed.
" She's a stunner, huh? She looks a bit high class to be hanging around with a thug like Vincenzi, don't she?" Fletcher postulated.
"You called the restaurant, to see if they know who she is?" Fred said, spitting on his desk in his enthusiasm.
"Believe it or not Dobbs, I do know how to do my job." Fletcher informed him and went for coffee.
"Fletcher!" Fred cried, jumping to his feet and chasing after the older man. "Who is she?"
"Claudine Stempton." Fletcher surrendered and wiggled his eyebrows.
"Like the Own-Half-Of-The-City Stemptons?!" Fred groaned.
"Think she might be a friend of your wife's? She used to rank amongst the city elite, dint she? They're about the right age."
"Justine never wanted anything to do with all that lot." Fred said coldly.
"Still, ask her, won't you, when you get back home tonight." Fletcher instructed.
Fred glared at him, but let his anger pass.
"Any idea where Miss Stempton is now, oh Great Wise Man?" He asked with a trace of sarcasm.
"As a matter of fact...I do!"
+++++++++++
