Elvira was so dazed by what had happened, so stunned by the blood and brains that oozed down the wall, mining the abstract painting, that the only thing she could now remember as she was being lifted to her feet was that she had to suck somebody's cock and puke. She didn't know which to do first.
She puked.
All over Vance Manning's shiny Thorn McAnn's.
'You mother-fucking whore! A cock-sucking girl like you deserves nothing but a prick to suck on! Here! Come here and suck my cock!'
Vance had dropped his gun, the photos that he was going to show Elvira as their key to success and his pants as he berated Elvira. His prick was at full hardness, the foreskin peeling back from the head to expose the cock-slit.
'On your knees, Elvira. Start sucking my prick!'
Dizzy, stunned, bewildered what could she do except what others had told her to do since that fateful day in the alley?
She kneeled before Vance's cock, took it into her lips and started sucking slowly, then harder, then faster, until her mind blocked out everything that had happened in the last twenty seconds. Now she sucked cock with relish, with a zeal and eagerness that could be readily seen and heard by Vance as her tongue wrapped around his cock-head before slithering down the shaft.
'Goddamn; Elvira! You're the best cock-sucker in town. You're the best at eating prick, since-' Vance glanced down at the photos at his feet- 'Connie Ryan.'
Elvira didn't hear what Vance had said, didn't want to hear anything that he was saying. She was too busy and too happy sucking his cock.
But Tommy Trimble had heard Vance's words. He had heard them as he. came in from the back way. He had walked the ten miles from Connie's apartment with turmoiling thoughts in every stride.
He knew that he had to tell his father about him and Connie, about the fact that they were going to leave town together and never return to Weedville.
He knew his father was going to blow his stack. But as he peered through the crack of the kitchen door and into the living room, he had never thought that his father would literally blow his stack.
Tommy wanted to retch and cry, wanted to puke and kill, wanted to hold his father tightly while at the same time wringing Vance's fat neck. Tears trickled down his cheeks. Now he wouldn't have to tell his father a thing. Now, everything was cleared up, he and Connie were free to leave Weedville and pass themselves off as mother and son in some other city.
But Tommy knew he couldn't leave just at this moment. Not while his father's blood and brains were still warm on the living room wall with his killer no more than five feet away from the corpse, raping Miss Schellenberg.
Tommy tiptoed quietly upstairs to his father's bedroom. He knew that he had to hurry, because he could hear Vance moaning and groaning, ready to come in poor Miss Schellenberg's raped mouth.
'Is my prick as good as Lucas' prick, Elvira? Oh, God! Your cock-sucking lips are gonna make me come. Oh, shit! I could just die! I'm comminngggg! I'm shooting all over your face!'
Elvira loved the feel of jism. She had never had a big stiff prick shooting in her face, and she loved it. Each splash of spew on her chin made her cunt-lips twitch and her twat juice ooze. God! And there was so much of his cum!
Then rough hands were on her shoulders, shoving her to one side. She fell against Lucas' bloody body, and suddenly Elvira remembered everything that had happened in the last five minutes. She fainted.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Happiness means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.
To a whore, happiness might mean establishing a profit sharing plan.
To a eunuch, happiness might mean a medical breakthrough: The first testicle transplant.
To Connie Ryan and Tommy Trimble, happiness was living in Bismarck, South Dakota, fucking and sucking happily while other fellow Bismarckians suspicioned that their mother-son relationship smelled of incest.
To Elvira Schellenberg, who was not fondling her huge titties, happiness was getting all the cock from every man that had pumped Connie Ryan's pussy. Ever since she had recovered consciousness in Lucas Trimble's home and had found Vance Manning's head blown off and a shotgun resting in Lucas' arms, nothing but happy things had happened to her. Of course it helped when you had hundreds of beautiful fucking and sucking photographs of all the respectable male citizens of Weedville in order to blackmail them into keeping her as their mistress.
Happiness for Coach Crowley was the fact that he could have his choice of pussy or ass any night of the week. The pussy came from his wife's slit, her pussy was always hungry for his cock. And the ass came from Elvira; mother-fucker! That skinny bitch had the tightest asshole in town.
Happiness for Reverend Jordan Worthington was the salvation he had found after Connie Ryan had informed him that she no longer would fuck and suck him to heaven and back. Of course, his salvation wasn't as pretty or as fuckable as Connie but Elvira sure as sin was just as hot. What more could a man want who only fucked his wife once a year?
Happiness for Martin Seaman was fucking Elvira between the titties and coming all over her face. At first he had wanted to cry when he first saw Elvira's titties-shit, they were no bigger than thimbles. But instead of giving all those on the house drinks down at the Buckaroo, he had charged the shit-kickers double. And he had had more than enough dough to send Elvira out to Hollywood to have her tits remade by the same surgeon that had worked on Racquel and Virna and Marilyn and.. and countless other false titted girls with false names.
Happiness for Jason Moresby was the fact that he had been elected the first new mayor of Weedville since the winter of '46. God, he was even thinking of running for state congressman until Evira waved those scandal- ridden photos of him and Connie in his face. Shit, Jason knew that there were at least eight other Weedvillians who were keeping her pussy happy shit, what a greedy, cock-hungry bitch.
Happiness for Eddie Beasly was fucking Marsha Moresby in the ass, in the cunt, between the tits, behind the ears, in the mouth, anywhere that Marsha moaned for his cock.
Happiness for Delbert Farley, the new sheriff, was finding that his balls were all right and clearing up all those murders that had shocked the shit out of the God-fearing citizens of Weedville. Knowing that he had had to do something, Delbert had, for the official record, decided that the deaths of Lucas Trimble and Vance Manning was a double suicide.
When Weedvillians were dubious about that one, Delbert had proved his theory to be correct. He had gone out and dug up Boris Jerkovich's body, pinning the murder of the literally dirty old man on Vance and Lucas, who were in cahoots together.
Delbert's voice had quavered when he had to ashamedly admit to the town's people that 'You see old Lucas and Vance were gonna take over this town. But old Jerky here had overheard their plans. So they had to kill him. Since it was the first time they had committed a mortal sin, they were feeling real bad about it and they decided to sit dawn, aim at each other's heads and pull the triggers at the same time.'
To which the majority of the wiser heads of Weedville said 'Oh.'
