away her bra and directed him first to kiss her breasts and lick the nipples. He did so, even though his stomach was churning with disgust and near-nausea at the thought of it.
Then she insisted that he kiss her mouth, and when she forced his lips apart and thrust her wriggling tongue inside, he pulled back his head violently and turned away from her, retching and sobbing again.
She laughed uproariously, delighted with his 'freaky' behavior.
'You're priceless,' she told him. 'Am I gonna have a ball with you!'
Completely stripped now, she forced him to kneel at her feet and raise up his lips, and then she straddled his face and pressed her hot wet pussy down hard over his mouth.
'Kiss it,' she demanded. 'Go ahead. Make believe it's a sexy chicken and kiss it.'
He was nearly hysterical by then with the horror of her actions and so she released him for the time being, but she warned him that she expected more services from him the next morning and every morning thereafter until he had learned to do all the things that gave her pleasure. And she promised him his share of unbelievable delights too if he cooperated. But no more fucking around with those filthy chickens, she warned him, or she'd let everyone know what a queer jerk he was and he'd be one sorry son of a bitch.
The next morning at breakfast she frightened him out of his mind by innocently asking her uncle, 'Can human beings make love with chickens? Somebody told me that they could.'
The old lady gasped and her uncle pounded his fist on the tabletop. 'That will be enough of that talk! Who's been putting these nasty thoughts into your mind?'
'I–I heard a boy in school say he did it,' she said, giggling.
'No more!' the old man roared. 'A young lady does not permit her ears to hear such conversation.'
Bryan said not a word, but he got the message intended. As soon as the old man took off in the truck for town he went to the hen house, sick at heart, to meet Deanna and do his obscene penance.
She was already there, already naked, lying in a heaped-up bed of chicken feathers, holding a chicken between her thighs and rubbing it up and down in the cleft of her crotch.
'Come on in, baby,' she greeted him. 'Pull up a chicken and sit down. Personally these birds don't do a thing for me. I must not be doing it right. I need advice from an expert.'
He stood uncomfortably against the wall, his eyes cast down, unable to look on her nakedness without shuddering.
'Don't just stand there,' she said. 'Take off your clothes. I like to see you the way you were yesterday. I dig your body, Bryan baby.'
After he stripped nude she taunted him about his flaccid prick.
'What's wrong, baby? You can get it up for a chicken but not for a super sex-bomb like me? Look at me. Look at me, dammit!' She thrust her stark-white boobs within an inch of his face and shook then vigorously. 'Doesn't that turn you on, chicken-fucker? Even see a chicken with a pair of boobs like that? Shit, man — open your eyes!'
He had shut his tear-filled eyes and covered his face with his hands, but she tore his hands away and pressed her breasts onto his face, squashing them down flat, grinding her knobby nipples into his cheeks and against his eyelids.
'What's wrong with you? What's wrong?' she screamed. Then she grabbed his prick in her hand and yanked it disdainfully. 'Get hard! HARD — HARD, damn you!'
In a fury she picked up a chicken and flung it at him. 'Here! Fuck a damn chicken. Let me see you do it, if that's the only thing that turns you on.'
She ordered him to demonstrate his hen-fucking act for her, but in his agitated state of mind, even with the chicken he found it impossible to make his prick come stiff enough to penetrate the bird.
'All right, then,' she cried, 'if you can't fuck me and you can't fuck a chicken, what the fuck can you fuck? Isn't there any way you can do it? You'll suck my pussy — that's what. Anybody can do that. Even you.'
She sat on the chicken perch with her legs apart and she made Bryan kneel before her and perform a long and very thorough job of cunnilingus upon her. While he did so she told him a fanciful story, improvised on the spot, of a boy she had known who was caught fucking a chicken and sent to the reformatory for nine years. Meekly Bryan did everything she demanded — licking and nibbling her clitoris and tongue-fucking her slit as per her explicit directions.
Then she had a sudden burst of curiosity. 'I wonder if a little sucky-suck would do miracles on that dead-ass prick of yours.'
She hopped down from her perch, stood him up in the same spot, and knelt before him to try her luck at oral-genital organ-raising.
She skinned his prick-head and tickled it with her fingers. 'That reach you at all?' she asked him. 'Tell me if I hit a nerve or anything. There's gotta be some life on this cold bleak planet.'
Then she gave his prick a quick tongue-teasing all around its head while fluttering her fingers over the shaft, and very quickly, to the amazement of both of them, his shriveled cock leaped into life, stretching and stiffening to full erection.
'Eureka!' she cried. 'Give me a medal.' She sucked and teased him a bit more, soaking the whole length of his prick with saliva, taunting him between mouthings, and then she jumped up all of a sudden.
'Okay — now the chicken. Now that you got your hard up, I want to see you fuck that damn chicken. Go to it, baby. I bought my ticket — now I want to see the show.'
In a trembling sweat Bryan caught up one of the hens and before her fascinated eyes he began his ritual of cloacal penetration, but very cautiously and as gently as possible. He hoped desperately that somehow, miraculously, this time the bird would survive the assault unhurt. He had a horrible fear that if the chicken died with Deanna as a witness, that would be a foretelling of his own doom.
But it was obvious before he made half a dozen thrusts into the bird that it was already in its death agonies. He pumped more rapidly then, anxious to be done with the terrible business, and as soon as he felt his orgasm coming on he yanked himself free, flung the bird away from him, and stood wretchedly before Deanna, sobbing while his prick spurted its last shots onto the floor.
She laughed and applauded. 'Wow! Groovy! You ought to take that show on the road. Be very big on the college circuit and in small towns.'
Then she noticed for the first time the buggered chicken's mortally wounded state as it thrashed feebly at her feet.
'What's wrong with the damn hen?' she said. She knelt and looked at it closely in horror and disgust. 'Agghr, that's gruesome! You killed it. Do they always die like that?'
Then she raised the question of what he had done with the dead remains of all the other chickens he had 'murdered' and he reluctantly led her to the old well. She was aghast when she saw the ugly sight down in the shaft — dozens of rotting chicken bodies heaped up, the whole ugly mess aswarm with flies.
'You're a MURDERER,' she screamed at him. 'A sex-murderer. You should be locked up.'
From then on she treated him with absolute contempt, heaping scorn on him day and night, causing her uncle to scold her for being 'so mean to that poor orphan boy.'
In the hen house each day she subjected him to every sexual humiliation she could think of, as well as painful paddlings with a fence slat and long sessions of forced cunnilingus. And there were hardly five minutes in the day when she was not reminding him that he was a hen-fucker — a sex pervert — a murderer — and assuring him that it was only a matter of time before she would let the whole world know about it. One of these days, she promised him over and over again, 'they' are going to come and drag you away.
In the presence of the uncle and aunt she would paralyze him with a remark like, 'Whatever happened to that sort of spotty hen with the dragging wing? She just disappeared somehow. Do some of the hens just fly away or what happens to them?' and another time, 'Don't you think you ought to fill in that old dry well down below the pasture, Uncle Robert? It seems dangerous to me. You should really go down and look at it. I think you'd be surprised at how scary it looks.'
Deanna's diary reports in gloating detail the humiliations and degradations she forced upon the completely submissive Bryan and indicates clearly the contempt she felt for him — more for his spineless acceptance of her dominance over him than for his bestial 'murders'.
Several of the diary entries later became part of the trial record in the case. The following excerpt provides a vivid account of one particularly ugly incident and shows the extreme depths of depravity which their sick relationship had reached just before the final tragedy.
