world’s greatest chef! Fishin’ in
“Yeah, yeah,” Enoch grumbled. “I hope you charged ’em fer parking and hookups n’ all.”
“Oh, shore! N’fact, Mr. Morrone hisself gave me a brand-new hunnert-dollar bill!”
That perked old Enoch up. Older and wiser, Enoch was bereft of his brother’s youthful enthusiasms. Money’s what they needed. Propane weren’t free, and neither was gas fer the trucks and that blammed server fee for the fancy satellite tv. And considering Grandpa Ab’s appetite, Enoch was drivin’ to town three times a week fer the things Esau needed for the viddles. Spices and flour and condiments, bottle after bottle of olive oil and canola oil and sesame oil, and every other kind of blammed friggin’ oil, couple pounds’a butter’a week, couple pounds’a lard —all on account’a ’cos Grandpa Ab liked Esau’s fancy cookin’. Sure, Grandpa Ab was worth it, and he deserved to have what he wanted. It’s just that it’d be a whole lot cheaper’n simpler if Grandpa could get by on canned store- brand spaghetti like Enoch and Esau generally did.
“Well that’s good about the hunnert, boy,” Enoch approved and closed the door behind him. Esau set down six stacked homemade pie crusts on one’a the tables, then turned on the propane tank fer the stove. He began to boil a large pot of water. “One’a the gals I hauled out’a the lake had a couple hunnert on her too,” Enoch continued. “But that city chef and his friends—just you make sure to squeeze as much cash out of ’em as you can. Fuck, we’se gotta make a livin’ too, ya know. Fancy big city chef, you’d guess he had money.”
“Oh, they’se richer’n shit. You should see the boat they got, and one’a them big Winnebago things like a house on wheels! Dang straight they’se rich. Wouldn’t expect the finest chef in the world ta be poor, now would ya?”
“What’s them there pie crusts for?” Enoch asked.
“It’s been a while since I fixed Grandpa Ab up some cobbler. It’s his favorite.”
“Hmm,” Enoch grunted.
“Gimme a sec,” Esau said, “whiles I pump another bellyful into our friend here.” He approached the canoe and the ludicrous insane head that seemed to sit atop it. The head babbled incoherently as Esau filled the bellows from the bucket of his spicy cornmash. “Shee-it, the fella’s got some spunk. This is his fourth week, ain’t?”
“Yeah,” Enoch grunted.
“Usually they up’n die after three. Bet his liver’s big as a basketball by now—it’ll make the
Enoch frowned. He was sick of listening to Esau’s fancy-cookin’ talk. “Just git on with it, will ya, boy?”
“Here comes lunch, fella,” Esau promised, jamming the nozzle down the canoe-head’s throat. He slowly drained the bellows. “There. That hit the spot?”
The head lolled and babbled, corn mush drooling from his lips.
“See ya fer dinner, buddy!”
“How long’s all this gonna take?” Enoch asked. “Wrasslin’ comes on at 5:05 on TNT, and I don’t wanna miss it. Flair’s grapplin’ DDP fer the title.”
“Aw, not long.” Esau grinned, briskly rubbing his dirty hands together. “Now show me these two splittails ya fetched.”
Enoch walked him over to the first stall.
“Aw, shee-it, Enoch. Ya done brought me another rack’a bones,” Esau complained, appraising the long skinny white thing hanging there. “I seen fatter vanilla beans!”
“Quit’cher belly-achin’ and look in the other stall…”
Esau loped around and stared. “Holy cracklin’ crawdads! That’s what I called a
“All that meat’n blubber,” Enoch observed, “I figger she’ll last Grandpa Ab fer a full week.”
“And then some!” Esau elated. “I can do me
The naked girl hung there like a bloated sack full of suet. “And lookit the giant titties on her! Man, I’ll be able to make me the biggest pot-stickers in
But when Esau reached forward and squeezed the dough-white bags of flesh, the girl suddenly kicked out with huge legs. “Don’t touch me, you crazy redneck!”
Esau grinned. “And she’s still got some spark left!” He rammed his fist into her mouth, knocked her out cold. “There, that oughta simmer ya down, Fattie.” He kneaded the great flops of her breasts, plied the enormous coaster-sized nipples. “Enoch,” he called out. “Get that toothpick over to the table and make her start eatin’ the fruit.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Enoch groaned.
“Meantimes, I’se’ll get the fat one dressed.”
Enoch took Mavis off her hook. “Fox, is that you?” she warbled. Enoch flipped her over his back like a long noodle, then flopped her onto the prep table. The slam roused her from her delirium and she was screaming. “Eat this fruit,” he said bluntly, “or’ll carve out yer cunt.” He slapped a meaty, callused hand on her throat, squeezed. “Understand?”
Wide-eyed, Mavis nodded rapidly.
One of the bushel baskets was full of apples, pears, and peaches, cut into crisp, neat wedges. Enoch grabbed a handful of wedges and crammed them into Mavis mouth.
“Chew.”
Mavis chewed, vigorously as a chipmunk scarfing seeds.
“Swaller.”
Mavis gulped the first load down.
Enoch spent the next twenty minutes doing the same, force-feeding fresh fruit into the skinny girl’s yap. She chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed.
When the bushel was depleted by a third, Mavis, exhausted, released a long exhale, fruit pulp smearing her mouth. “Please, please,” she begged. “No more—”
“More,” Enoch informed her and stuffed more and more fruit into her face. While tending to this fairly tedious chore, he looked around and saw Esau fiddling with the big pot on the stove, adding various spices to the boiling water.
“What’choo doin’? I thought you was gonna prep the fat ’un.”
“I am,” Esau assured. “Need the right combo’a white, cayenne, and crushed red pepper.”
“Fer what?”
“Hot links. You know how Grandpa Ab loves hot links.”
««—»»
Sheree had never come so long and so hard in her life. Each repeated orgasm struck her like a physical blow. Her civilized senses spun away, leaving only the bare, sweaty, sex-needing animal cringing in greedy pleasure.
She lay back in the Winnebago’s floor, her legs raised and widely parted. Carol knelt between them, leaning over like an intent gynecologist, gently revolving her fist within the stretched circumference of Sheree’s vaginal barrel. Simultaneously, Carol’s tongue laved Sheree’s olive-sized clitoris.
Each crush of sensation pin-pointed to an avalanche of spasming pleasure; Carol’s subventions had turned Sheree into an orgasm-machine.
Her legs tensed, her toes flexed toward the ceiling, and off went another one, deep demolition in her cunt. Over the fifteen-year career in porn, she’d been fucked, sucked, prodded and probed and licked and skewered by dildos and stuck up the ass
On her swollen clitoris, she could feel Carol’s sultry whisper: “One more time, one more time, baby…”
And one more time it would be. Carol accelerated her devilish expertise, the velvet buzzsaw running on high as her fist continued to revolve to and fro and back and forth. Sheree always wondered if it was hype or if there really was such a thing as a G-Spot. Well…
