more I identified with that fictional character, coming to think of myself more and more as Madame Fellatio instead of Eugenia Saunders. I was certain God intended for me to truly become Madame Fellatio.
I riffled through a stack of letters, glancing at one and then another in my quest to find exactly the right one. Finally, after over an hour's reading, I found the one I wanted, and read and re-read it with glee.
'Dear Madame Fellatio: I don't know where to begin, but for my own good I'd better start someplace quickly because due to a childhood accident I haven't any arms or legs and am writing this with a Bic pen clenched between my teeth.'
'Oh, don't think I'm complaining about my handicap. At the special school I went to before I dropped out after the eighth grade, they always used to tell us kids not to think of ourselves as handicapped, but as exceptional. And I guess that's true, because how many people do you know who have no arms and legs? No, what I'm writing you about is my father. He's the reason I'm not in that special school anymore, because he pulled me out and took me on the road with his carnival where they show me off like a freak, but Daddy keeps all the money. My mother never would've let him do it, but he waited until she was sick and had her put in a mental asylum before he did this to me.'
'The thing about it is, I guess I wouldn't mind the carnival so much, even though I know the people pay fifty cents to see me because I'm supposed to be a freak, if all I had to do was sit up there on the pedestal my daddy made for me to rest on. But that's not the half of what I have to do. Because it wasn't more than a week after we joined the carnival that Daddy discovered there were people who would pay more than fifty cents to do more than just look at me.'
'The reason I wrote to you, Madame Fellatio, is that my daddy reads your magazine, and I've looked at it when it's lying around and noticed that people write you about a lot of, well, different things having to do with sex. Madame Fellatio, the reason these men are willing to pay my daddy sometimes over ten dollars is that they think it would be a big thrill to fuck someone with no arms or legs.'
'Now, I'm eighteen, and although my arms and legs might be missing, I'm plenty normal inside, and I've got special yearnings just like everyone else. The accident that cost my limbs certainly didn't do anything to my pussy, and I've got a great big juicy one, with big, full red lips and a lot of brown curly hair around it and everything. (In fact, the tailor has to make the crotches on my costumes special so the kids brought into the carnival by their parents won't see any of my spreading pussy hair.) What I'm trying to say is that I've got urges just like anyone else my age, and a lot of times I'm off in outer space daydreaming about a hot, throbbing cock stabbing up my cunt and my pussy starts sopping as normal as you'd want to see. But, Madame Fellatio, I'd like to choose who fucks me, not just have it be a bunch of strangers who don't give a hoot about my feelings. If you want to get right down to it, I guess I want the man who fucks me to be in love with me. The way it's been, sometimes I think these men are only willing to stick their stiff cocks in my pussy because I don't have any arms or legs. I wonder if they'd like me so much if I had arms and legs just like everybody else.'
'Lately things have been getting worse because there's this one man that money's no object to and he's been making my father rich buying up all my favors. There've been a lot of complaints lately from the carnival management because I've been off fucking with this man when I should have been on display. I'm worried about it, but Daddy says he doesn't care because if it comes down to it he says he can make more money off selling my body.'
'This one man I'm telling you about isn't a regular customer, but a member of the carnival. He's the tattooed man, and he's so covered with tattoos of fire-breathing dragons, snarling mountain lions, Marine Corps insignias, serpents, naked women, and American flags that his cock and balls are even covered with them. When his prick is limp, it's impossible to make out what he has tattooed on it, but when it's standing out stiff, like it always is thirty seconds after he's got my costume off and is slobbering over my defenseless cunt, you can see what's on there is a perfect drawing of a striking snake. There are blue and green scales starting at the root of his prick in his balls that go all the way along his shaft until they change into the fiery knot at the end of his cock that's fixed up like a snake's head. When he moves that monster toward me, I feel like a rattlesnake is going to burrow inside my cunt, wounding my pussy with its poison fangs until I'm full of venom.'
'There's nothing I can do about this man, no way I can get away from him. He picks me up like I was nothing more than a big chunk of meat and hoists me over the straining pole of his colored cock and then pushes me suddenly down on it, impaling my cunt on his standing lance. He fucks me by moving me up and down with his hands, using me to jack off with as his prick rams higher and tighter by the second inside my spasming cunt, its cruel head pounding brutally against the mouth of my womb and making me wonder what I'd do if he ever makes me pregnant. He just finished sticking his big prick up my defenseless pussy, and as I write this, I can feel his cum coating the walls of my cunt, dribbling out from my aching gash and pooling underneath me so it sticks to the stumps where my legs used to be.'
'Still and all, I probably wouldn't be taking pen in mouth to write you unless something more hadn't happened to me. Ever since we came into this state, going from town to town with the carnival, a guy has been following the show. He turns up in every town, pays his fifty cents every night to get in, and spends the evening just standing there watching me. He's very shy, but finally I got him to talk when neither my father or the tattooed man were around, and he told me he was following me because he's in love with me. I don't know whether to believe him or not. Although this is what I've been dreaming of my whole life long, I've never actually had to deal with it up till now, and I'm not sure of what to do next. To give you an idea of how unusual this relationship with this young man is, I've never even seen his cock, although, believe me, I've fantasized about it plenty and imagine it as long and pink and graceful, envisioning that it's his stiff prick sliding up my foaming cunt when the others are fucking me.'
'Anyway, this guy is getting more insistent because he says he's got to get back to his hometown and this barber college where he's a student, and he wants me to go with him. I don't want to rush things, but he says we could just go for a weekend and I could meet his folks and he could take me to a dance his barber college is having. Should I say yes to him, Madame Fellatio? I'm not so sure how I'd manage on the dance floor, although he assures me that everything would be all right because he'd lead.'
'This is so urgent I can't wait for an answer by mail or in your magazine. If you could only spare a few minutes of your time to talk to me in person. The carnival will be in your city by the time you read this. Please come by and see me. I don't think you'll have much trouble finding me – I'm right between the fat lady and the Human Pincushion – and I'll give you back the fifty cents you'll have to pay to get in at the door. Thanks for caring, R.Q.'
I got so excited reading the letter I couldn't contain myself. When I had finished, I noticed that my hand had uncontrollably slipped up my skirt between my legs and my hand was intuitively massaging the folds and slit of my cunt, my fingers swimming in the sticky residue of the dog-jizz that still filled my pussy.
I could just see that poor, armless and legless girl stark naked, her much-abused cunt flexing in defenseless openness as a tattooed brute violated her by stabbing his stiff prick between her nonexistent thighs. In my mind the exploiting cock was the tattooed prick she'd described in her letter, a sexual snake spewing its venom inside of the poor, girl's cunt.
The thought of it made my pussy so wet that I finally had to get up and go into the dingy little cubicle that Shark furnished as the only bathroom in the place, and sit down on the toilet seat, parting my legs so I could cram a grimy towel between my quivering thighs and wipe the big load of pussy-juice and dog-sperm from my throbbing cunt.
When I was finished, I threw the ruined towel in the overflowing trashcan and walked directly from the bathroom to the door, bypassing my office in my eagerness to find the shockingly exploited and vulnerable R.Q.
I took the elevator downstairs and when I got on the street noticed that the sun was now up and there were people outside and the day was officially beginning. I went to the nearest newsstand and bought a morning paper to search for an ad for the carnival so I could find its location.
I found the advertisement for the carnival in the amusement section, however before I did, an item a few pages before it caught my eye. 'Priest Abducted,' the headline said, and below the story told of how an unidentified intruder had come into the rectory of my neighborhood Catholic church, overpowered the priest, and fled him up and locked him in the closet. When I first glanced at it, my immediate reaction was that it served that closet nonbeliever Father Marmelstein right. But when I looked at the story more closely, I saw that Father Marmelstein wasn't mentioned at all. It was Father Coughlin, who hadn't passed away at all, who had been abducted. The
