Rebecca was waiting eagerly for Sheriff Colby to tow up and eat out her cunt. For this distasteful task, she charged by the hour instead of by the pound or by the inch.
It was now seven-thirty. Another half-hour and Sheriff Colby would be down on his fours while she was down on her back giving him an hours worth of edible cunt.
She was making her cunt very edible now.
First she sprayed Right Guard under her arms. Then she sprayed some an her cunt.
Second, with mirror in hand, she checked out her pussy, made sure there weren't any loose hairs because the sheriff had complained one time too many about picking out the hairs after his hour of consuming cunt.
There were no loose hairs on her cunt. Third, she checked out her clit.
Fourth, she checked out her fuck-hole; or, in this case, her suck-hole.
Fifth, she checked out her asshole in case Sheriff Colby got carried away. As pigs usually do.
Sixth, she – knock, knock, knock.
For the sixth item on her agenda, she answered door dressed as she was – covered with Right Guard.
"Why, Sheriff Colby, come right – oh no!"
If there was shock on Rebecca's face, the same expression was on Reverend Manly's.
Rebecca was shocked, of course, because she was expecting a peace officer instead of a man of peace.
Ezra was shocked because he had expected to find Elsa his wife in room nine. Or at least that's what the motel register had indicated to him. But then again, he had read the motel register upside down and when a person reads numbers upside down they usually come to the conclusion that a six looks like a nine.
"Why are you in room nine?" the reverend asked, lowering his eyes so as not to gaze on such an edible, but very sinful woman such as Rebecca Shingles.
Rebecca shut the door quickly, not wanting the neighbors to see that she was enlisting the services of a reverend.
"But this is my room, Rev. Why are you in room nine?"
His mouth was open, ready to speak, when he reconsidered and shut his trap because he felt humiliated and sexually excited – one emotion not very conducive to getting a hard-on, the other emotion very conducive to getting a hard-on. The two emotions clashed deep within the reverend's soul. The latter emotion won.
"Hey," Rebecca said teasingly. "I betcha you're in my room because you heard I give good blowiobs. Look, don't worry – I'm clean, and I'm cheap. So make yourself comfortable."
The reverend was shocked. Except for his prick. Which had never been blown or sucked or even kissed – which was probably why it could not be as shocked as the rest of him.
He would try and resist temptation. "Look, I-I came here because young Harvey Grossman…"
"Goddamnit! I told that punk kid had another appointment tonight! That little fucker! He can't even get his fucking pimping times right! Shit, I'm sorry, Rev, but sometimes, these young pimps just don't know shit from Shinola. You know what I mean?"
"Well…"
"Oh, pooh! Don't worry about it. I can squeeze in a good blowjob before Sheriff Colby gets here. That is – I mean, if you don't mind getting blown real quick-like. Oh sure, I know you won't mind. Harvey probably told you I can make a guy come in three minutes. But since this is you're first time, I'll have your balls empty in, say, oh, about five minutes."
"But…"
Zzzzzziiiiiipppppp!
"Wait! I didn't…"
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Oh Lord!
The reverend couldn't believe what was happening. His cock was being exposed – shit, it was past being exposed. It was exposed. Well, correct that to partially exposed because the reverend couldn't see the head of his prick since that part of his cock was in Rebecca's mouth.
In her mouth!
The Rev looked down. Oh God! Her mouth was on his prick! She was blowing him, foliating him, doing sinful thing to his wick that felt sooooo good.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
The Rev was dazed by the delightful, tingling sensations that made his asshole buzz. Her mouth felt just like… just like a pussy! Only tighter. But he knew it wasn't her pussy on his cock because he could see a tongue making out and licking her, there and every where.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Oh Lord!"
God, why was sin so fun!
Rebecca glanced at her watch. Four more minutes. That damn Harvey! She was going to kill him before the night was over. Her mouth went back to business.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
The Rev placed his hands on her head as if it was Sunday and he was in the pulpit ready to scream out: SINNERS REJOICE!
But he didn't have the guts to push Rebecca away. Just didn't have the bills to bowl her over backward and pelt her with stones. Just couldn't put up enough nerve to kick her in the cunt and carve an A on her titties.
But he did have enough stomach to terminate his horrible, mortal sin. And he had enough balls. And he definitely could get up enough nerve because his cock was now fourteen inches long and threatening to whitewash this beautiful sinner kneeling before him.
"Oh, Lord! Please! I-I'm going to do… to do something… something sinful!"
Rebecca nodded. "Um-hmmmm." She hollowed her cheeks, increased the suction, keeping one eye on the watch. Two minutes down, with about ten seconds to go.
"Aaaiiiiieeeeee! I'm siiiinnniiinnnggg! I'm siiinnnniiiinnnggg in your mouth! Aaaaiiiieeeeee!"
His sin runneth over the rivers of cum that clung like whitewash to her ovaled lips and her cute chin.
"Aaaaiiiiiieeeeee! More sin! Here's more sin!"
"Um-hmmm."
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
"Aaaaiiiiiieeeeee! Sin! Sin! Sin! SIn! Sinsinsinsinsinsinsin!"
And then the wads of cum diminished after the reverend had sinned so beautifully.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
It was while they were on their way to Bozeman that they felt the urge. A very powerful urge. Some people say it's the most powerful urge in a homosapien's glands.
It was the urge to stilt and piss.
So, they had to stop and find a place to shit and piss. And the only place worth pissing and shitting in a town called Tweedy was the Sleepwell Motel because none of the gas stations had bathrooms. And besides, it was midnight, and they still had four hundred and thirty-two miles to go before they saw the bright neon lights of Bozeman.
So they had stopped, and they had shat, and now they were quite content in room twelve of the Sleepwell.
Their names were Mr. and Mrs. Baxter Belfry. They had been Mr. and Mrs. Belfry for only four hours because they had just gotten hitched by the justice of the peace in Dade County, Kansas.
They did not call themselves Mr. and Mrs. Belfry when they convened with each other. He called her Iona, and she called him Baxter.
"Baxter, I-I'm r-ready."
"Oooooh, I can't wait, Iona!"
"A-are the lights off?"
"Oh, Iona, yes! Please, hurry – I can't wait! I think I'm gonna die if you don't come out of that bathroom real soon."
"P-please don't hurry me, Baxter. I-I just wanta make sure I'm real clean and good-smelling for you."
"W-Well, Jesus, Iona – just hurry up. I've waited years for this moment, and I don't wanta wait another second."
The bathroom door opened slowly, and Baxter could see Iona's whispy figure before… before the fucking lights of the bathroom went out.
"W-Where a-are you, Baxter?"
"Over here – oh. God! I can smell your perfume! Oh, Jesus! This is gonna be something else! Hurry!"
Scuffle. Scuffle. Scuffle.
"Please, Baxter, you said… er, you said you'd do it real easy."
"Oh God! I will, Iona, I will! Now give me your arm."
"W-Which one?"
"Either one!"
"Why?"
"Uh, so you can feel how… er, how eager I am."
In the darkness, their hands touched, then merged. And gently, lovingly Baxter guided her hand to his fourteen-inch cock.
"Aaaaiiiiieeeeee! No! It's gonna hurt! You're tooooo bbiiiigggg!"
Baxter soothed her. "No, it won't. You'll stretch. You'll see!"
"No! Please – can't we wait until…"
"Goddamn, Iona, I've been waiting years for this moment! Now get the fuck over here!"
Grapple. Grapple. Grapple.
"Baxter! Don't! You're hurting my breasts! Stop it! Please! Oh God! Please don't chew on them like that!"
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
"Uuuuuuummmmmm! Jesus! Now these titties are mine! All mine!"
"Aaaaaaiiiiieeeeeee! My nipple! I think it's bleeding! Aaaaaiiiiee! Now they're both bleeding! Stop! Please!"
Baxter couldn't stop. After all, fourteen years is considered to be, at least by satyr standards, a long spell between fucks.
Grapple. Grapple. Grapple. Squish. Squish. Squish.
"Oh, Lord! Baxter – wait! I can't do that now! It hurts! Oh God! It's toooooooooooo biiiiiigggggg!" Baxter did it anyhow or anyway and just about anywhere that his cock would go because he was having a hard time trying to find her cunt in the dark.
Grapple. Grapple. Grapple.
"Goddamnit, Iona! Please! Help me put it in! I'm burning up!"
"No, Baxter! Please! I don't wanta do it! Not now – later. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. I-I have… I have a headache!"
"You bitch!"
Grapple. Grapple. Grapple.
Grope. Grope. Grope.
Rrrrriiiiiippppppp!
"No! Don't! Those were my mother's panties – oh, Baxter! You just tore my mother's wedding night panties!"
"I don't give a fuck about your mothers not panties! All I give a fuck about is fucking you! With or without your fucking mother's fucking panties!"
"Baxter!"
Squish. Squish. Squish.
"Oh, Jesus, Iona! I found it! Hold still… oh Lord! Please hold still!"
"Oh sheeeeeeettttt!"
"Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh! Baxter! You're killing meeeeeee!"
"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Do that again! Tighten up again, Iona!"
"Aaaaaiiiieeee! Oh, Baxter! Oh God! I'm hurting! You're killing meeeee! Please! Stop!"
"More! More! More!" Squish. Squish. Squish.
"Oh, baby! Oh, Jesus! I'm in your fucking pussy all the way!"
"Aaaaaaaiiiieeeeee!"
"Now raise up, Iona! No! Goddamn – not all the way! You bitch! Get your cunt back here!"
Grapple. Grapple. Grapple.
"Aaaaaaiiiiieeeee! Stop! It hurts so much and – ooooohhhhh! I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!"
"Move, Iona, move! Oh, please! Move up and down!"
"Aaaaaaaeeeeee!"
"That's it! That's it! Here, take this! And this! Oh God! I think… oh, sheeeeiiiittttt! I'm coooommmmiiiinnnngggg!"
"Aaaaaaiiiiieeeeeee!"
"Oh God! Jesus! I must have emptied fourteen years of cum inside your cunt!"
"Yeeeeaaaaahhhhh!"
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.
Hiram sledded as fast as he could, really pushing himself from one room to another wondering what the fuck was going on. He was getting tired because there was so much extra shit to carry now – $10.95 Mattel typewriter, butcher paper, stethoscope, infrared goggles, Webster's Dictionary, Roget's Thesaurus.
He stopped at room six.
Splat! Splat! Splat!
No! No! No! Hiram couldn't believe what he was seeing! Elsa Manly was getting stoned by cherry tomatoes – in the cunt! And everything looked so painfully red, so dazzlingly crimson, it was as if the whole room were cast in the colors of Hell – then Hiram took off his infrared goggles.
The effect was the same – only it was now in living color instead of reddish-pink.
At least it had the same effect on Hiram – disgusting. There was no way in Hell he could use a woman being stoned by cherry tomatoes in his fuck book. Shit, even he knew the fuck-book readers weren't that dumb-ass stupid – oh, it might have been different it the tomatoes were golf balls and the woman hated having her cunt being used as a pitch-and-putt course… of course. 'Cause Hiram knew his fuck-book readers like he knew the hairs on his own asshole.
Hiram farted in disgust at what he saw in room six. Quickly, he scooted on.
Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.
Room eight was a little more normal, at least for Hiram's taste. A woman was fucking a dead man. But that wasn't what Hiram was looking for – at least for right now.
Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.
Room nine was occupied by – no!
Hiram couldn't believe his eyes! What he was seeing was mind-boggling, even for his ingenious brain.
Reverend Manly was baptizing Hiram's daughter with cum as she was being eaten very thoroughly by that pig law officer Sheriff Colby.
Hiram shook his stethoscoped head.
Hiram couldn't believe his ears! What he was listening to, via the stethoscope, was simply mind-boggling, even for his ingenious brain.
It sounded like… sounded like Reverend Manly was baptizing his daughter Rebecca with cum as she was being eaten alive very thoroughly by the pig law officer Sheriff Colby.
Hiram shook his stethoscoped head.
What the Hell was going on? Where the Hell were all the normal fuckers of Tweedy – people like Wednesday Mallory and Emory Willets and Ferris Collier?
Hiram moved on.
Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.
Room ten was too bestial to describe – completely unusable for The Secretary's Brown Pubes because Hiram's publisher had told him often enough that scenes of people fucking dogs and sheep did not turn on their average fuck-book readers.
Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.
Room eleven was very dark. Hiram put on his infrared goggles, watched two big black niggers fucking their shared nigger wife – one in her big ass, one in her big lips.
Where were the normal people? Didn't anybody fuck in just the old-fashioned, man on top way any more? Shit, Hiram was getting desperate. He needed to see what normal fucking looked like because he needed that kind of inspiration to finish off the last pages of The Secretary's Brown Pubes.
Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.
Room twelve was – oh God!
There is was! A newlywed couple fucking very normally!
Hiram adjusted his infrareds. Smiled happily as he watched them fuck normally – he on top like the dominant male, she on the bottom like a submissive bitch.
There – there in room twelve was inspiration!
Perfect!
Beautiful!
Now he could write the only thing that was left to write for The Secretary's Brown Pubes.
Hiram took off his infrared glasses. Rolled in a clean sheet of butcher paper. Took a deep breath and started typing: