It may be almost time for me to take a chance on Scribe. Ron and Jerry make an all day trip out into the woods about once a month. They never tell me where they're going, or what they're doing. The few times I offered, then asked to come along, I was turned down. Lally and Justine know what's going on, I'm sure, but they won't tell me. I considered beating it out of Justine, but decided it wasn't worth the risk.

I think it has something to do with their bolt plan. These aren't stupid people. They know that the odds are that, no matter how careful they are, someone's going to cop wise to them someday, and they'll need to have an escape plan in place. I think these mystery trips are part of that.

I think they have a way off this mountain that they haven't shared with me. That pisses me off. But then, almost everything about these people pisses me off these days.

I don't know how I managed to survive the five winters trapped up here that I have. I should've got fucking cabin fever and killed everyone with an axe by now. Not that I haven't thought about it. I guess I'd have left Jakey alone. He is my blood, after all, and he's a cute little cuss, even if he does get underfoot a lot. Janelle... I couldn't haul a baby along. But then hell, I wouldn't have to really do anything to her, would I? I mean, if I just left her here.

Nah, I don't know why I'm even thinking of it. There are too may damn Bellewoods in the world. If I harmed a hair on one single Bellewood head... Not all of 'em have the Bellewood name, but they're Bellewoods, all the same. Like that brat, Joshua. Bellewood, through and through, no matter what his daddy's name was.

Any way, once they get off the mountain, they could just disappear off the face of the earth. They have contacts that could get them out of the country and to almost anywhere they want. There are still places in the world that don't have extradition treaties with America, and once the government officials get their little bit, the cost of living is cheap. They could live real comfortable practically forever, if they have even a fraction of what I think they have.

I'm not one hundred per cent sure how it would work, but I know that both Ron and Jerry have identities stashed in floor safes. Identities? You know: social security cards, passports, driver's licenses, credit cards, all under a different name. Have 'em for the women and kids, too. The whole lot of 'em could pick up at a moment's notice, and just set down somewhere else, ready to go. Oh, I have those things, too. I had to, since I'm part of the family. They didn't get them for me till Justine had Jakey, though. Bastards. I think they were hopin' she'd drop me. Well, she won't. I have my claws in good and deep.

She is getting a touch sassy, though. Doesn't seem to know when to keep her mouth shut any more. Like last night.

I'd had enough of this waiting around shit. I mean, she'd had that baby weeks ago. I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't have some ass. And I was bein' considerate wanting to do it that way, wasn't I? She complained about her poor little crotch still being too tender, but there shouldn't be anything wrong with her butt.

She kept whining and trying to wiggle away from me in bed, and I finally had to smack her a couple of times to make her be still. I was careful not to leave a mark that would last more than a few hours. I've gotten good at that.

She finally shut up, except for crying, and I flipped her over on her belly. I guess it would have been easier for her if I'd gotten some sort of lubricant, but frankly, I just didn't feel like taking the time, or making the effort. If she wasn't going to be concerned about my pleasure, why should I worry about her discomfort? Spit would work just fine. It always had before during my little adventures with the reluctant ones.

By the time I got that far, I was hard as a rock, ready to go. It would also have been too much trouble to loosen her up. Besides, I wanted her tight. Her ass is so skinny to begin with, I figured I was owed the extra squeeze. Besides, it wasn't really her I wanted to do it to, anyway. She was sort of a proxy. A surrogate, if you want to get fancy.

I imagined that the ass cheeks I was pulling apart were plump and pale. I hadn't really seen them myself, but I'd managed to make a grab a couple of times. They felt sumptuous.

I spat in my palm, slicked it on my dick, and rammed home. I knew enough to have my hand over her mouth when I did it, 'cause I knew she was going to scream, even if she tried not to, and I didn't want to wake Joshua or Jacob. The bedroom door was locked, but they could raise a damn stink, pounding on it if Justine made too much noise.

No preparation had been a good idea. She was tighter than my fist, and hotter than Vegas in July. I didn't hesitate. I started butt fucking her hard and fast, using short, hard jabs that moved her on the mattress. The way she whimpered and moaned got me even hotter, if that was possible.

I started smacking her ass as I pumped in and out, working a nice red flush into the cheeks. Then I grabbed her hair, wishing it was thick and curly instead of board straight and thin, and used it to pull her up into a kneeling position so I could drive deeper.

I realized I was talking, muttering under my breath, but I was too far gone to stop myself now. I was riding the passion, like I was riding Justine; hard and fast, no turning back.

"Fuck yeah, that's the way! Tight. Oh, damn, so good. Hot and sweet. You love it, bitch. I know you love it! You need it, and you need it from me! He can't give it to you."

I slammed into her so hard that I knocked her flat on the bed again, and shot my load into her bowels. I shuddered and jerked, letting loose jet after jet of hot spunk. It was the best sex I'd had with Justine since I can't remember when. But then, it wasn't really Justine I was having sex with. Was it?

My estimation of my wife's intelligence rose a little bit when she rolled over, looked at me, and said, "Just who were you fucking, James?"

Of course, I had to beat her for that.