Now she knew.
Her back arched, her chest heaving. Her nipples felt like hot rivets. This last and best orgasm felt like something actually spewing out of her. At once she imagined herself as a man, with a great big cock, spurting line after line of sperm into the air.
When it was over, Carol carefully removed her hand. “I guess you liked that, huh?” she coyly remarked at the small sink. She washed off the gleaming shellac of K-Y Jelly and vaginal gloss.
“Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…”
“Don’t tell me that’s the first time you’ve been fisted.”
“This was the first time,” Sheree wheezed. She lay limp on the floor as if beaten down by cudgels. Her pleasure had exhausted her, had wrung all of her energy from her nerves like water from a dishrag. “Christ, that was good.” It was even a major effort just to raise her head and look up.
Carol was drying her hands with a towel, her demin skirt still on but her halter pulled up over her perfect 36 D’s. Once Ashton and Bob had puttered off across the lake in their boat, it had been all of two minutes before Carol had dragged Sheree into the Winnebago, stripped her, and got to sucking her pussy. Carol hadn’t even taken off her own clothes; their lust had lit in an instant. She’d splayed Sheree out and gotten right to work.
Sheree leaned up on her elbows, beads of sweat tickling down her breasts like hot, wet ladybugs. Her hair lay across her face in damp strings. The best orgasms of her life certainly bid reciprocation.
“Let me do you now,” she offered. “Get the K-Y.”
But Carol gave her the strangest expression, a look pregnant with confusion. “I
“But what?”
The expression lengthened. “Jesus Christ. You don’t know—”
Sheree’s forehead creased. “Know what?”
Carol stepped forward. “This,” she said, and then she pulled up her tight denim skirt.
There, staring Sheree in the face, was the very last thing she’d ever expect to find between Carol’s legs: a large uncircumcised cock.
— | — | —
Chapter Seven
When Bess had yet again regained consciousness, the nightmare was not over. Indeed, it was only beginning. Her thoughts pin-wheeled backward, and she remembered when not one but two humongus rednecks had come in to this kitchen of the abyss. The younger one had begun groping her, and that’s when Bess had shouted at him, and after that…
He’d knocked her unconscious with a single blow.
When her eyes flicked open and finally focused, she looked back around. The older and larger maniac had Mavis lain across a table and was smashing what appeared to be chopped fruit into her mouth. Evidently it was
“Hey, spinach-chin!” Bess yelled. “Leave her alone!”
The man simply glared at her, kept mashing fruit into Mavis’ mouth. But in response to Bess’ objection, his throat rumbled and then he
The wad of phlegm, large as a golf ball, sailed across the air and—
—hit Bess right in the eye.
“Pipe down, ya hog,” the man told her. “Looks ta me like you gots more things ta worry ’bout than yer stringbean friend here. Like that gut-cut.”
Bess, as she hung from her hook, didn’t know what he was talking about, but at the same time he’d said it, she finally became aware of the sharp, ripping pain at her mid-abdomen. She looked down at her distended belly and couldn’t help but notice the six-inch-long gash and the blood seeping out of it.
“But don’t’cha worry none, Fattie,” the man added. “My brother Esau shore knows how ta do a gut-cut right. It won’t kill ya…”
Bess gaped at the wound.
“The killin’ comes later,” she was told. “It’ll be nice’n slow.”
Then another man (his brother, she assumed) walked into Bess’ field of vision. He went over to the table, patted Mavis’ bloated abdomen. “Dang,” he exclaimed. “This little twig et dag near half the bushel!”
“She shore did. So’s what I do with her now?”
“Just let her set a spell, digest a bit. Then we’ll be ready.”
“Dag it. I should’a figured I’d miss wrasslin’.”
“You won’t miss much,” the younger one said. Now he was at the fire pit, stoking it with a metal rod. “Go ahead’n fuck her. Might as well have a go, huh? Why waste pussy when it’s there?”
The older one glanced at Mavis’ convulsing white body. “Naw. Shee-it, you know I prefer fellas.”
“Hey, a nut’s a nut, Enoch. Stick it up her ass if ya don’t like gash. Git’cher pecker brown.”
Enoch cast a second glance. “Naw. I’d rather beat off, er poke a sheep. Shee-it. Fuckin’ this here skinny thing’d be like fuckin’ a bone.”
“Suit yerself,” Esau replied. “I’d fuck this big ’un ’cept—shee-it! I’d need ta roll her ’round ina pile’a flour ta find the wet-spot!” He scratched his crotch, eyed poor Mavis on the table. “I guess we’re ready. Enoch, flip her over—”
Enoch did exactly this, while his uncomely brother grabbed a wooden saute spoon. He put Mavis in a headlock, jammed the spoon down her tongue and pressed. In a great urping splatter, Mavis vomited up several plumes of partly digested fruit into one of the pie crusts. He slid across another crust, pressed, then out came more fruit puke. Esau continued the process until Mavis little belly was empty and all the pie crusts filled.
Atop each tin, he lay several circles of uncooked biscuit dough. Then he placed all the crusts on a tray and slid them into the oven.
Shee-it yeah!” Esau celebrated. “Grandpa Ab’s gonna
“So what I do with this skinny bitch now?” Enoch asked. “Just kill her?”
“Yeah, might as well. “in’t good fer much else. No meat on her, just like that bitch ya brung me from the girlie prison.” But as Esau loped back to the table, he jerked a gaze. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna fuck her.”
“I dang didn’t,” Enoch assured.
“Then what’s all that blood running down her skinny legs?”
Enoch took a look, and sure enough, streaks of blood were running down the insides of Mavis’ thighs.
“Weren’t me,” Enoch attested.
Esau cracked his hands together loud as a stropping belt. “Hot DAMN!” he yelled. “Is this dang perfect or what? The stringbean bitch is havin’ her period!”
Enoch scratched his beard. “Why’s that perfect?”
Esau’s eyes beamed. He jogged to another bucket, withdrew a still-flopping one- pound lake trout. “It’s Grandpa Ab’s favorite thing in the world! Pussy-poached fish! Hold her down, brother! And spread her legs!”
Enoch wedged the girl’s stick-thin legs apart, while Esau inserted the fish all the way up into her vagina. A wet crunch resounded; the girl flinched. “Dang,” Enoch remarked at the sudden ooze of blood. “This here skinny one was cherry.”
“You don’t say?” Esau replied. “And you just popped it—with a trout!”
It was a hell of a way for a girl to lose her virginity. Once the trout was inserted—and still flopping—Esau pinched the labial lips shut with one hand, and with the other—
