ants as they marched across a corner of the quilt, carrying bits and pieces of a dead frog.
Shit, the kid had really shoved hard. Connie couldn't believe it when she felt how much cock was remaining outside of her asshole. Was it that long since she had had her ass reamed out by a cock? Christ, Connie couldn't even remember the last guy who had fucked her ass-oh, yeah it had been Coach Crowley last Wednesday.
'Tommy, reach down and run your fingers through my cunt.'
'What did you say?'
'Goddamn, Tommy! Fuck my cunt!'
Tommy felt her cunt as his gaze remained on that portion of his prick that was still outside Connie's butt. Her cunt was wet, hot, getting hotter and getting wetter. Tommy had never felt her cunt when it was dry; it always seemed to be wet and ready for his cock.
'Now, grease up the rest of your cock, Tommy.
'W-With what?' Tommy asked.
'Goddamn, Tommy! With my cunt-juice!'
Tommy greased up the rest of his prick with her cunt juice. Now the shaft looked as if it had been carved from wax, his prick was so shiny and glisteny.
'That's it, Tommy. Now, before you shove it in, let me relax my asshole. When you feel it start to relax, start shoving!'
Tommy shoved hard, and another inch of cock disappeared into the tight ring of her asshole.
'Aaaiiieee!! N-Not yet, Tommy!'
Tommy shoved again. Shit, all the time he had been obeying her instructions, he had acted like an automaton, like some robot. Shit, he wasn't made out of nuts and bolts. His prick had started to get that tingly feeling, his balls had started to squish up against his crotch, his asshole had tensed shit, it was only human nature for a red-blooded man not to be kept on edge when his cock was gripped by something as tight and snug as a woman s asshole.
It was almost as if Tommy suddenly realized that there was no way in hell that any man would have stopped in mid-fuck, especially his first ass fuck. Although he had tried his best to stop his lunge forward, that swirling feeling deep in his balls had overcome his senses. He had to stuff her ass full of his cock, get it all in as fast and as hard and as furiously as be could. Jam it in, then pull it out, jam it in harder than the first time he lunged.
'Aaaiiiieee!! You mother fucker, Tommy!'
'You mother fucker, Tommy!'
Elvira stood up as stiff as a board. She had just picked up a ladybug to show her pupils when Connie Ryan's blood-curdling scream carried over the shit green waters of Lake Weed and resounded like a Chinese gong in Elvira's ears.
'What the hell was that?' Eddie Beasly asked from his nestling quarters of cattails and marsh as he stopped fondling Marcia Moresby's naked titties. Eddie parted the cattails. The rest of the class was standing oh the edge of the lake, peering across to see what or who had made such a horrible sound.
Elvira couldn't believe her ears.
'My ass is burning up, Tommy!'
Christ, she had to believe her ears now. Holy cow, someone was fucking someone else in the ass! The voice obviously was a woman's, Elvira surmised, so it must be some guy screwing in some woman's God, she had heard about such things, but she couldn't believe that human beings could or would… or should have intercourse like that!
The cattails sprang back into place, and Eddie went back to pawing Marcia's right tit with his left hand while his right hand was three knuckles deep in her pussy. Marcia never heard Connie Ryan's terrified scream; she had been too far gone in her own world of feelings.
Eddie wriggled his fingers in Marcia's tight box. Moisture and more moisture dribbled down his wrist and across the watch that he had stolen from Marcia's father's store.
'Class,' Elvira announced with a shaky voice, 'I think it's time we left.'
'But we just got here!' Johnny Locker said, wiping snot on his jeans. His head was turned in the direction of that seductive woman's voice. Since he was the youngest in his class, Johnny had never had a hard-on, and didn't know what his wee-wee was for, other than 'to eliminate all the bad germs from your body,' which was the way his mother had interpreted pissing.
When Eddie heard Elvira's gravelly voice telling the class that they had to go, he said 'Shit, come on, Marsha. Get your ass out of the weeds. Miss Schellenberg says we gotta leave. And will you quit moaning! Shit!'
Elvira hustled the thirteen eighth graders onto the bus.
And as the doors hissed closed, she heard one last: 'Fuck me harder, Tommy! Shove it in my ass!' coming from all the way across the still waters of Lake Weed.
The class tittered, she started the bus, and Eddie had stopped Marsha from moaning by thrusting her head into his lap and watching her suck his cock.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vance Manning was a forty-eight-year-old asshole, who was also, the sheriff of this shit-hole of a town called Weedville. He was a huge man; normal-sized doorways always gave his shoulders trouble when he ambled through them. His hair was starting to thin, which was something he wished would happen to his bulging waistline.
Vance knew he was getting fat; it was getting harder and harder to buckle on the bullet belt that held his five-pound, pearl-handled.45 Magnum, a weapon that Vance called 'Law'. To provide equal weight for the other side of his belt, lest his pistol slide down to his tree-trunk of a thigh, he carried a billy club, a weapon which he referred to as 'Order'.
Thus, for the twenty-eight years that he had been a peace officer, he had always warred on crime with 'Law' and 'Order' on his side.
Vance Manning was the kind of cop who believed in cops, believed they had the right to bust unruly niggers over the head. Vance was a believer in walking tall and stomping niggers, hippies, pushers and pimps. Of course it was such a belief that had led to his severance from various law-enforcement agencies throughout the nation.
The FBI had at one time trained him to be an infiltrator. Vance liked the sound of that title. And he had learned to become a spy buying an Afro wig, wearing dirty shirts and jeans. Why he had even gone so far as having 'peace' and 'love' tattooed on his bulging forearms. Then he was sent to an Oakland commune, which accepted him eagerly especially when he showed them how much marijuana he was carrying.
Of course, there came the inevitable day when Vance Manning was discovered as an infiltrator.
It had happened when some hippie jerk-off was cursing LBJ for maiming those friggin' Orientals in Vietnam, for napalming innocent, naked kids.
Shit, Vance didn't give a damn for those yellow fuckers. Oh, some of their chicks looked all right, but Christ, some of those chinks looked like slope-headed coolies with their pigtails cut off.
When the hippie leader had finished his rousing speech, everyone was on their feet, praising him, screaming out their love of peace and friendship and brotherhood.
To get in on the act, Vance had bellowed: 'Yeah, fuck that warmonger LBJ! Shit, if I were him, I'd kill anybody who wanted to start a war!'
An hour later, he was no longer a FBI infiltrator. A day later he was no longer aFBI agent. A week later he was in L.A. swinging a nightstick in the Wilshire district.
His beat then was the rough and tumble world of Fairfax Avenue. Shit, he busted heads, stomped hookers, bullied pimps, and even billy clubbed a Mexican pusher to death.
In one 'week Fairfax Avenue no longer had drunks sprawling in gutters, and because there were no sidewalk bums, the young punks who rolled them disappeared. There were no more black hookers pushing their pussies and tits out at honkies driving black Cadillacs. There weren't' any more two-bit pushers trying to palm off nickel bags of grass to wild-eyed hippies.
No, Fairfax Avenue was clean of scum, as long as Vance Manning paraded up and down the sidewalk.
Then there came the day, in the wee hours of the morning, when Vance Manning spotted a goddamn white
