'We can do it,' Bubba blurted. 'Mercedes and Randy are easy for that kind of stuff.'
Snickers.
Bickering curls of nostrils, mouthlips, tongues, and eyefolds.
Mercedes ran her long painted fingers through her long tainted hair.
Flailed her phalanges outward.
Propelled her digits upward in a slant. Lanced Sadie Mae's short pants with fingers.
Stroked upward with bladelike nails rippling along Sadie Mac's ribcage.
Lingering above the bellybutton.
Below the boobs.
Sadie Mae's tits tingled.
Nips wrinkled.
Her clitoris began to bing as if an electronic chime in time to her pulse. Loose blood engorged the folds of her cunt.
Buttocks twinged slightly.
Asshole hot.
Winked shut.
Eased open.
Sadie Mae's legs parted breezily as she sought to let the incipient rivulets of her arousal evaporate freely.
Her knees shook.
Went liquid for an instant.
Sadie Mae blinked:
'I could use a drink.'
Yancey looked through a set of souvenirs from Uncle Roy's collection at a table in the rear wing of the roadhouse that also housed the workshop, pool (presently unused) cabanas, as well providing a back entrance to the registration desk for the bungalow courts stepped down the side of the hill overlooking a ravine where oak and pine greenery gave way to the persistent fringes of the desert, where sage and cactus and tumbleweed unlike people all got along together regardless of the weather. He had a boner.
Started to hone it through his trousers and then thought about it.
Better get back to work.
Time enough for that stuff later.
Jerked it a bit just to loosen up the heaviness of his ballocks.
He'd fuck them all later.
After the masquerade was over.
When the rest of Yancey's plans had fallen into place and he didn't have to race his mind around from one subject to another like a locoweeded bronco.
Yancey buttered his lower lips with saliva from his tongue.
Scraped it off with his eye fangs.
Yancey aligned a nude figurine from Uncle Roy's collection between the haunches of another finely modeled statuette. Ceramic cock went right into the other one's cunt.
From behind.
And from the front.
With nuance.
One could even configure the small sculptures into a blowjob, cuntsuck, or the venerable number sixty-nine Yancey had encountered worldwide in his scholarly studies and throughout recorded history.
One thing Yancey knew about Uncle Roy:
That boy had either good taste or good judgment or both.
With respect to both the selection of the artifacts in. Uncle Roy's collection and the women he kept on premises.
Yancey removed the objects from the table and returned them to their indexed slots in among the rows of glass-fronted case-stalls aligning the walls and most of the room's interior.
He pulled, out a painted clay whistle molded in the shape of a cock-and-balls assemblage.
Fondled a tube for suction that protruded from the flews of a cunt shaped jug.
Drove his eyes through a crack in the doorway in response to shifting rays of light from the other side. The door creaked open a bit wider of its own accord or from a draft.
Or perhapsYancey gasped.
Saw Little Ramona's ass.
The flash of Sallie Anne's tits.
In the mirror of the cabana in which the two women were now showering and changing. And something else was disarranging the shadows.
Yancey pulled a disappointed jaded mirthless-as-a-skull droll smile.
The stud Lafayette had been in there all the while, probably.
Had waited for the girls.
Or had they invited him in to begin with?
'If it's any of my biz,' Little Ramona chirruped, 'I'd like to know what you are doing in here, Lafayette. This is the girls' room.'
Little Ramona shook her ass past the hissing shower stall and ducked into the mist. She grinned as Sallie Anne's wet boobs loomed in the watery just about even with the level of her face.
They embraced.
'Skedaddle, Lafayette,' Sallie Anne prattled. 'We're cleaning up now. '
'Sallie Anne, the boys be asking about those chippies was supposed to show up for their pleasure down at them little houses-'
'I gave the girls the numbers of the bungalows. They should be there presently-'
'But if they don't-'
'We'll face those boners if and when they come about. Now hustle out _ '
Sallie Anne slid a bit sideways and her nipple lugged into Little Ramona's eyesocket. Her boob-cage encased Little Ramona's face.
'You two sisters?' Lafayette said, festering in his seat on one of the benches. 'You related to Sadie Mae? And that means to Uncle Roy too?'
Titters from the shower.
'Out, boy.'
Blasts of steam vapor cascaded through the air enveloping the girls from ankles to headhair. It was hard for Lafayette to make out what they might be doing in there.
Bathing serenely together in the cloud of steam. 'Screwy,' he blistered to himself.
Blew out: 'Chicks do all that stuff with each other all the time and think nothing of it. Just set down a chunk of hung cockflesh and a sack of marbles beside them and they get all ga-ga and go for it in their heads they want to marry you-instead of goodtime fucking and sucking.'
Lafayette did not know that much about this town. But he had been assured early in his life that his mom had once been the wife of the famous and rich and purportedly larcenist adventurer and explorer Uncle LeRoy LaRue.
Now how did that go?
The bloodlines were confusing as sin and as thick or thin as you liked.
He hiked his leather leggings out of his boots. Stripped the pantlegs open with the zippers running up the sides.
Frigged open his leather vest. Lafayette stood naked as rawhide except for his knee-high boots and studded vest.
If these fillies were also somehow sired by Uncle Roy via one of his official or unofficial wives or were
