Balls marveled at the physical proof of the girl's fecundity, not that he knew what fecundity meant. 'Well, dang, girl. I'd say you shore as shit got yerself a bun cookin' in that oven down there.'
'Aw, fuck, I know.
Now Balls was gazing appreciably at the amble outgrowth of black thatch between her legs.
Her hands shook a bit less now, when she took another hit off the jar and smacked her lips. Balls thought oddly of all that high-octane alcohol mixing with that skinny dude's hock and semen...
Dicky leaned over behind the wheel, shooting her an alarmed glance. 'Say, honey, you ain't supposed ta be drinkin' if'n yer knocked up, ya know? It fucks the kid up whiles he's growin' in yer gut.'
Ida cast back a look of skepticism. 'Aw, that ain't nothin' but a bunch'a what my mama used ta call codswallop. She drank ‘shine whole time she were pregnant with me, and
Balls shot Dicky a quick smile.
'You don't mind if I sort'a... feel yer belly, do ya?' Balls asked next.
Ida frowned, then shrugged, letting the liquor take the edge off her need.
Balls smoothed his hand over the stretched, white stomach and popped-out bellybutton.
'Shore, go ahead,' she said with no interest in the least.
Balls plucked the meaty, pink nipples, then
'Oh, yeah, it don't stop when you're pregnant all the time,' she informed.
'Well... how 'bouts if I take me a suck?'
Ida rolled her eyes. 'Aw, go ahead. You's
Dicky frowned aside as Balls leaned over and planted a lip-lock on the left areola. When he applied some hard suction, the papilla swelled up like a salty gumdrop, and then—
Hot milk eddied out and filled his mouth. Was it his imagination or did it taste like it had been cut with moonshine? He switched back and forth, letting it all trickle down his throat. South of the belt, things began to stir.
'What'choo thank yer doin'?' came her immediate objection.
Balls answered in complete honesty. 'I'se whippin' my dick out so's you kin suck it.'
'I ain't doin' no such thing!' Now she was getting nasty. 'What kind'a girl you think I am, anyway?'
Again, Balls answered in complete honesty. 'You're a creeker fuck-dump who lets twennie rednecks spit in her mouth fer a pint'a hooch. In others words... you're a whore.'
'Yeah? Well, whores get paid, asshole, and I don't see no money in yer hand,' she sniped back.
Balls didn't like to be called
He tapped her in the head with the blackjack, which put her lights half out.
'Find a clearin', Dicky,' he ordered. 'And pull ‘er over. Ain't no splittail calls me a asshole'n gits away with it.'
'Aw, come on, Balls,' came Dicky's wearied reply. 'Just push the ‘ho out the car'n let's go.'
'Nots till we put a ruckin' on the bitch. Now...
Dicky groaned to himself and slowed the ‘Mino. Meantime, Balls sucked a nipple into his mouth, waited till more milk flowed, then bit down
The Camino chugged into a small clearing off the road.
'Just leave her here'n let's git on our run,' Dicky practically begged. 'You've rucked her up enough.'
'Shee-it,' Balls muttered. He opened the door, grabbed a handful of greasy hair, and dragged her out of the car.
(VI)
It was the most satisfying dream of his life...
At first.
As the Writer lay back naked on the bed, the activity commencing about him could only be called a 'Seven-Girl Tongue-Bath.' Hot tongues and sucking mouths ranged his flesh. Any errant glance showed him beautiful bare butts in the air, breasts in his face, swollen nipples brushing his lips. Wedges of smooth white flesh shifted all around him as these voluptuous servitors constantly traded positions to lave every square inch of his body—er,
'Okay, girls,' spoke a hot, syrupy voice. 'Let's
Bedsprings squeaked as his group of lovely attendants changed positions yet again, but this time it seemed as though they were assigned locations, and as this ensued, the Writer noticed Beatrice, Anita, Nyna, and several other of Mrs. Gilman's working stable, along with last but not least, Nancy.