The proprietor of the Sleepwell Motel was a man named Hiram Shingles. Hiram was not a rich man or a poor man, nor was he a beggar. Hiram Shingles, to those who rubbed elbows or cheeks with him, was considered to be an asshole.
The only one in Tweedy who did not consider Hiram to be an asshole was his twenty-five-year-old widow daughter, Rebecca. She did not consider him to be an asshole because she did not want to be known as the daughter of an asshole.
But to all the other souls in Tweedy, Hiram Shingles was an asshole through and through.
People thought he was an asshole because Hiram did weird things – or at least, fellow Tweedyans thought they were weird things for a fifty-year-old widower to do to his widow daughter.
The first weird thing that Hiram was noted for took place ten years ago. People said that Hiram had just plain murdered his wife. Others, those with a sense of fair play, thought that his wife had simply run into an accident. But still others, those who befriended assholes, thought it was a clear case of involuntary suicide.
It had all happened when Hiram's wife was found in the barn in a very, strange position.
Most people would have called the position dog-style, or rear-ending, or an upside-down missionary.
Sheriff Colby wanted to call it grotesque, but because he did not finish third grade he did not know the meaning of grotesque. That's why he called it funny. Funny as in unnaturally funny.
Or was it funny to find Mrs. Shingles naked and on all fours with a couple of other fours in her ass – a couple of two-by-fours?
And that was only the posterior view of Mrs. Shingles' corpse. The anterior view was even funnier. Because that's where the two-by-fours had exited.
And the side view was just down right funny in an unnatural way.
From the side, Mrs. Shingles looked as if a Cyclops had rammed her torso on to a two-by-four and was ready to roast her over an open fire like a spitted pig.
It was so funny, in an unnatural way, that Sheriff Colby bust a gut – with vomit and other wretched stuff that mixed quite well with the hog shit and goat turds.
So that was the first inclination that there was something funny, in an unnatural way, about Hiram Shingles.
The second inclination was when his daughter was not a widow but a wife. That was five years ago.
In fact, everything was very odd about five years ago. Odd in a funny way. Because five years ago, Rebecca Shingles was first a bride then a widow – all in one day. Ripley should have been there – because it was very hard to believe.
Some people say Rebecca had been made a bride-widow because she had married Rufus Collins, a magazine salesman selling subscriptions to Jet and Ebony.
Later on, of course, it was proved that Rufus was a nigger who had been trying to pass for white.
The coroner had proved that Rufus was a nigger because he had been amazed at one part of the corpse that literally took his breath away – the coroner's, not the corpses. And that something, which will not be named here lest it perpetuate the myth that all male niggers are well hung, was put into a old pickle jar and used as evidence that Hiram Shingles had a legal right to shotgun a nigger for marrying his daughter.
Now, of course, Rebecca's only remembrance of Rufus Collins was something in an old pickle jar.
Thus it was those two strange but utterly funny incidents that led people to believe that Hiram Shingles was an asshole.
Hiram did not think he was an asshole.
He, like his daughter Rebecca, did not take kindly to such pseudonyms.
To Hiram, he was just like everybody else. He had two eyes, a nose, a mouth, a cock and two balls.
What made him unlike everybody else was that his eyes were so piercingly cold that he would have made Helen Keller shiver with fear. And his nose was more like a weasel's snout, the kind of nose that could ferret out the truth from famous liars like Billy Graham and Pat Boone. And his mouth was more like a grim line.
His cock was like everybody else's. It was a foot long.
His balls were different. They were much larger than the typical homosapien's. People used to say, quite innocently, that Hiram had lots of balls for a chickenshit asshole. Oh – had they only known how huge and monstrous his balls really were!
Whereas normal balls hang one lower than the other, Hiram's balls did the same. But because they were so huge, they looked more like oranges stuffed in a hairy gunny sack. His balls were more than enough to pacify cock-hungry girls who didn't intend to go down that far.
There were only two people who really knew how big Hiram's balls were. Mrs. Shingles, who was now dead, and who probably didn't give a shit any more. And Rebecca Shingles, who was very much alive and who did care about how big her daddy's balls were.
She cared about his balls because, since she had not gotten the chance to suck her nigger husband's testicles, the only balls she had ever seen on a man were her daddy's.
Rebecca naturally thought that balls the size of oranges were quite normal. Little did she know.
Hiram knew better. But he figured that he wouldn't stop his daughter from not knowing better because he really liked it when Rebecca sucked and licked his hairy gunny sack.
Any normal man with a cock and two balls would have appreciated Rebecca Shingles' sucking lips. Because she was the kind of girl who was made for cocksucking.
First of all, she had lips made for cocksucking. When smiling, her lips looked very sensuous. When talking, her lips could move a mile a minute. When yawning, her lips could open very wide.
Put them all together and they spell cocksucker – a woman who was blessed with a set of sensuous, fast-moving lips that could open very wide. These, to say the least, are the ingredients that make most women natural-born cocksuckers.
So, Rebecca Shingles, because she had sensuous, fast-moving, wide-open lips, was a natural cocksucker.
Shit, her old man could have told her that the first time she sucked his prick.
Which took place in the summer of '63. In late summer, when the alfalfa fields just north of Tweedy smell like aged hog shit and a romantic moon's overhead and the sounds of mules farting and cows pissing could be heard as plain as day.
Only it was plain as night now, or at least it was like that back in the summer of '63. When Rebecca first sucked her daddy's prick.
Rebecca was in a cock-sucking position – on her knees, in the barn, without any clothes on. The reason she was an her knees was because her father had caught her kissing Fallon Harper, the hired hand, and for punishment he had told her to go to the barn and get undressed and get on her knees.
Rebecca was very fearful. She was vulnerable to many things. The cold norther that blew from the south, capturing the essence of home-grown cow shit made her tremble. And she was very vulnerable because she knew her father was doing something behind her.
Then she was shocked and twice as fearful when Hiram put a blindfold over her eyes.
"Now, Rebecca," Hiram said menacingly, yet with just a twinge of paternal affection, "I'm goin' to show you what men do when you just kiss 'em. Men are animals, and ya got to learn that."
Rebecca nodded, tears dripping beneath the blindfold and zigzagging down her cheeks. "Yes, pa."
She could hear Hiram's boats pacing back and forth in front of her. Then they stopped, and she imagined him pointing right as her with a gnarly, accusing finger.
"Men are animals, Becky!"
Rebecca was almost bowled over from the blast of her father's stern voice. God! Fear made her regain her balance quickly. But fear also did strange things to her body. Like fear made her want to piss and shit at, the same time. Fear also affected her tits – it made her nipples tense.
"You SLUT! Rebecca – look at your fucking tits!"
Becky looked down, tried to see what her tits looked like. But she was blind to everything.
Hiram stepped close to her, very close, because she could smell the hog shit that clung to his boots.
"Do you wanta know what those animal men do to pretty young naked girls like you, Rebecca?" There was a tremor in Hiram's voice, and Rebecca imagined that his finger was just inches from her nose.
Rebecca nodded.
Thwack!
Rebecca was sprawled flat from the openhanded blow. She scrabbled around on the hog shit ground. God! She had never seen her father so mad before – well, that wasn't really true because she was blindfolded. Amend that to: God! She had never heard her father so mad before.
Hiram watched his daughter crawl like a worm away from him. "Stop! Kneel there again, Becky!"
What could she do? She felt like a fucking dog. Which was still better than feeling like a worm. Of course, if people were given a choice of being a worm or a fucking dog, naturally they'd rather be a fucking dog… wouldn't they?
Rebecca got back into her kneeling position again.
Hiram soothed his daughter, stroked her cheek where his handprint had reddened the flesh. "Oh, Rebecca. Don't you know that men like to hurt little girls? That they do filthy things to them?"
Rebecca was fearful of nodding her head. After all, wasn't that what brought on that loud THWACK several paragraphs ago? That her nod had been misinterpreted as saying that she did want to know what men did to filthy girls like herself.
Hiram paced back and forth again. "Your silence tells me only one thing, child. That you have no faith in your pa. That you don't believe the filthy and vile things that a man can do to little girls. Isn't that so?"
Rebecca nodded. Oh, no! Why did she nod again? Why?
God, she could almost see the raised hand ready to descend on the other side of her face.
Thwack!
"Ooooooooohhhh!" Rebecca gasped. Her cheeks, the ones on her face, stung with agony.
"You slut! You mean to tell me you really don't have no faith in your pa!"
Rebecca nodded… no! Oh, no! Here it comes again!
Thwack! Thwack!
Hiram saw red, not only in his mind's eye but on Rebecca's cheek. Jesus! How can she just sprawl there in the fucking dirt and keep agreeing that she had not faith in him as a father, that she wanted to find out the vile things men did to little girls.
Hiram fumed. It was time to show her. That's right! Time to show that fucking bitch daughter of his what a real man could do to little girls.
"Zzzzzziiiiiipppppp!"
Rebecca was startled. She had heard that sound before. She had heard it every night of her existence. It was the sound of her father's zipper, and it was what usually woke her up in the mornings because the outhouse was only three yards away from her bedroom window and the ever-present norther, that always came from the south, would carry the sound of her father unzipping, then tinkling or shitting or failing, or whatever people did in an outhouse besides writing graffiti.
What was he doing? What was her father going to do to her? Why was he unzipping his pants? What was she doing here, naked, in the barn, on her knees, smiling nervously and feeling like a dog that had worms?
Than she heard a noise that she had never heard before. At first, she thought he father was working the butter chum, because there was a constant stroking rhythm to the noise.
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
What was that sound?
God, for the first time in her life, Rebecca wished that she were not thirteen. She wished that she was middle-aged, or around twenty-one, whichever came first, of course, so that she'd have the experience to know what that sound was.
Stroke. Stoke. Stroke.
"Oooooooohhhhhh, Jesus!"
Rebecca gasped. Why was her father asking for Jesus' help? He wasn't a religious man – her father, that is. He hadn't been to church since the days they had their evening meetings in Reverend Manly's rectory.
"Oooooooohhhhhh, God!" Hiram gasped.
Rebecca's eyes opened wide. First Jesus, now God!
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
Hiram gasped again: "Gaaaaaasssssspppppp!"
Hiram couldn't help gasping. No man could have helped gasping had they been in Hiram's slit-stained shoes. Because most men gasp when they've got their cocks out and are beating the living daylights out of their meat and they have a pretty, naked girl kneeling before them ready to be violated.
Rebecca shuddered, then muttered: "Pa, what ya up to?"
Hiram wanted desperately to answer, to tell his favorite daughter what he was up to. But it was in the Lord's hands now – and Hiram's, too, of course.
Hiram was going to punish his daughter, show her what cruel things men did to pretty little girls. Hiram knew it would be disgusting, that it would hurt him as much as her. But, God willing, he'd show his daughter what was right and what was wrong, what was moral and immoral, what men did when they got their cocks out and were planning to rape a pretty girl's lips that were sensuous, fast-moving and wide-open.
Rebecca's face, like a modem toilet, flushed. She knew her father was very near to her. Because she could feel his body heat, almost feeling the hairs of his flesh.
Hiram gasped again: "Gaaaasssspppp!"
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
He looked down at his prick. He looked at his daughter. He looked up to God. Just like most Christians.
Everything was ready. He was ready to punish his favorite daughter for the sins she would commit because she had been blessed with a set of fast-moving, wide-open, smiling lips.
"O-open up, Rebecca."
Rebecca was stunned. Open up what?
"What d-do I o-open – Mmmmgcggffff!"
"Oooooooohhhhhhh, Jessssssuuuuuussssss!"
Rebecca was shocked, stunned, startled. Something was between her smiling lips. She protested: "Mmmmmmggggggffffff!"
Hiram tried his best to calm down, prayed to the Lord to give him the strength to show his daughter the evils that men do the pretty little girls.
"B-Becky," he stammered. "This… aaaahhhh… this is what men do… oh Lord! When… AAAAAIIIIIEEEEE!"
God! Rebecca was so relieved, so alive. She hadn't meant to bite down hard, but she was willing to do anything to get in lungfuls of hog shit stench.
"You slut! You bit me! Oh my God! Look at my cock!"
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Rebecca didn't know what bit her. Oh, she had a pretty good idea when the first blow had landed that it might be her father's fist. But the second blow made her see stars. And the third blow made her see blackness.
Hiram saw red again. He saw that his blood was red, very red. And he knew that blood tends to spurt when a major artery is halved by a set of fast-moving incisors. He felt relieved that his cock wasn't spurting. Only the little veins had been severed.
He looked at his cock, inspected it, watched it become limp and not worth a fucking damn right now. All because his fucking daughter had refused to take her punishment like a man.
He'd show her! He'd show that mother-fucking daughter of his that he knew what was best for her. The little asshole!
It was easy to tie her up. Shit, the beams were low enough, there were plenty of ropes and harnesses and leather-type goodies all over. After all, this was a barn scene and not a bedroom.
By the time Rebecca opened her eyes, she still saw darkness.
Probably because it was night and she had a blindfold on.
She also felt uncomfortable. Her head felt very heavy and her feet felt very light. Her tits were also sagging in the wrong direction. And she was so fearful now that she wanted, to piss very bad, but she had a fearful feeling that if she pissed now the yellow stream would flow in the wrong direction. Like up her belly instead on down her thighs.
Then a cold hand was on her right tittie. The hand gave her right titties a teensy weensy show. Creak. Creak. Creak.
Rebecca felt herself swaying, swinging. But she also felt herself hurting in many places. Like her arms hurt because every time she moved her arms, her toes would hurt. And every time she tried to look up – or was it down? – she would feel something pull on her titties.
Site was in a very precarious position.
And she knew it. She knew it because when a person's tied in an upside-down fetal position, with their arms bound to their toes, and their neck is shackled by leather bindings to their nipples, and they feel a free-fall sensation constantly – then what other conclusion could be drawn? Unless she were insane like those people who wear straitjackets and live in rubber rooms because they have a hang-up about oral sex.
But Rebecca was not insane – was she?
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Then amidst the creak, creak, creak, she could hear movements behind her.
Then cold hand was on her left nipple.
And Rebecca became very dizzy because the hand had started a spinning motion that she did not appreciate very much.
Suddenly full consciousness dawned on Rebecca. And she wanted to scream. She wanted to twist and writhe. Fight her way out of this very ridiculous and absurd situation.
She screamed: "Aaaaiiiieeeeeeee!"
She writhed.
Writhe. Writhe. Writhe.
Then she stopped writhing and screaming. She was arrested, not for indecent exposure, but because her father's voice had such a menacing tone.
"Rebecca, if you bite my cock again – I'm gonna kill you."
Silence, then a quiet creak, creak, creak. Rebecca was stunned – for the fourth time since the episode in the barn had begun. But it was only natural to be stunned. She was stunned because she now knew what she had bitten before she had been thwacked thrice – she had bitten her daddy's prick.
No! No! No!
This wasn't happening! It wasn't real! This was only fiction. Only perverts would believe something like this. Shit no! People, especially well-hung daddies, didn't go around hanging girls from the rafters in a fetal position… did they?
Once again came the same arresting, voice that stopped her dead in mid – swing.
"Now, Becky, we're going to start all over. And if'n you take one little nip outta my cock – I'll kill you!"
Rebecca nodded.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
"Ooooohhhhh, Jeeeeeeesuuuuussss! Oh God! Becky, if'n you could only see how ugly and vile a man's cock can be! Ooooohhhh, Looorrrddd!"
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
"Ooooohhhhh, Becky! My cock's so fuckin' big! Oh, child, just remember that what I'm 'bout to do is for your own good."
Rebecca felt clammy hands on her crimson cheeks, the ones down below, that is. Then the clammy hands were forcing her mouth into a cocksucking position.
Rebecca moaned. "Ooooooohhhhhh."
Which is about all a potential cocksucker can say when their cheeks, facially speaking, are being squeezed together by hands that feel like clams.
Hiram took one step forward. A little twelve-inch step forward. Which was enough to send all twelve inches of his hot and ready prick deep, deep, deeeeeep into Rebecca's lips, mouth, then throat, in that order.
"Aaaaiiiiieeeeee! Whatta fuckin' dirty mouth! You slut! See! I knew you were only good for fucking a man's prick! You slut! You ain't going to amount to shit!"
Rebecca writhed, tried desperately to turn around of her own accord. Which was a pretty stupid thing to do considering she had no control of where the Hell she could or couldn't go.
Hiram couldn't help it. Couldn't help it that sin was so pleasureful. His cock was in an evil mouth, and he would teach that evil mouth what filthy-minded men did to pretty little girls with a set of fast-moving lips.
Hiram jammed forward, withdrew slowly. Moved in and out, hunched his hips, thrust inwards, withdrew outwards, used his clammy hands to make her head swing back and forth so that her mouth moved back and forth so that his cock went back and forth – ooooohhhhh – so many zillions of times in her cocksucking mouth.
Creak! Creak! Creak!
Hiram hurried. God, such delicious sensations. And with such goodness came repentance, because he knew that he was doing a Goddamn fine job of raising his little girl.
Hiram moved Rebecca faster and faster. Rebecca did not like being moved faster and faster. For one thing, her head felt as if it were going to split. Her mouth felt like it was going to split. And she wanted to spit out her daddy's twelve-inch cock because it was choking her half to death.
"Mmmmmmggcgffffff!"
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
"Ggggggmmmmffffff!"
Creak. Creak. Creak.
"Ffffffgggggmmmmmm!"
Hiram couldn't believe it! Punishing his daughter was so fucking much fun. And that smell – what was that smell?
He sniffed.
No, it wasn't the horse turds that lay so fucking inert on the barn floor. No, it wasn't the stench of any kind of animal shit. But it definitely was animal in nature.
Then Hiram recognized that stench, or smell, as other fuck-book writers would say: stink. It was cunt! Goddamn! It was Rebecca's pussy!
Hiram knew it was cunt because he could still remember what his wife's pussy smelled like even though she had been dead for four years. That's what it smelled like! That was it! His dead wife's cunt.
Hiram shook his head, tried to think logically. But it was hard to think at all because of what was happening to his cock as his daughter kept mmminggggffffing all round it.
Why did all cunts smell like that?
That was what Hiram tried to think about – cunt, and what it smelled like. Which made him pretty fucking normal.
Becky's cunt, probably because it was virgin, didn't have a tangy odor to it. So, in that sense, his daughter's pussy differed greatly from the stench of his dead wife's curd. Becky's pussy smelled slightly oily, slightly tart, slightly – WALNUTS!
That was it!
Hiram was familiar with the smell of walnuts. And Becky's pussy definitely smelled like walnuts instead of seven-year-old dried fish guts, or leftover chuck roast.
Hiram's nose was drawn to the smell of walnuts. And the closer his nose got to Becky's cunt, the more he realized that it was the smell of crushed walnuts instead of fresh walnuts.
Then Hiram's nose was hair-deep in crushed walnuts. He took a good whiff. Then another.
And now Rebecca knew that her father was up to something tricky or evil or just plain fucked up. Because it was the first time he had ever stuck his nose in her pussy. And, since it was also the first time she had ever been punished by being forced to suck her father's prick, Rebecca didn't know what he was going to do with her cunt because she wasn't fourteen yet, an age when most girls know what a guy's nose is up to when it's buried hair-deep in their pussy.
Rebecca didn't know what to do.
She did what she did best.
She said: "Mmmmmgggggffffff."
Hiram also was into something that he did best – eating pussy. God! Had it been only four years ago since he had last tasted dead cunt?
Hiram couldn't help it. His hairy arms were wrapped around his daughter's trussed-up, fetal shape. And he forced her to suck his cock down to his balls as he forced himself to eat out his daughter's live pussy.
Hiram had to force himself to eat pussy because he didn't like the smell of her asshole. Which is the reason why most men would rather have their noses pointing clit-ward instead of near the asshole when they're eating out their wives… or their secretaries… or The Reverend's Sinful Wife.
Then the feeling of coming overwhelmed Hiram. His balls felt congested. They felt as if they had swelled up to the size of grapefruits instead of their usual orangey shapes.
"Aaaaaiiiiieeeeeee! Siiiiiiinnnnnnn!"
Rebecca was dazed. She knew something funny, in an unnatural way, was happening to her father's prick. It was swelling, his prick was growing at the rate of one millimeter per second.
She mmmmmmggggffffffed: "Mmmmmmggggffffff!"
Then she squirmed very violently. Because something awful-tasting was oozing out of her father's prick. And, because she wasn't fourteen yet, an age when most girls appreciate the flavor of a man's semen, she felt like gagging and retching.
"Gag! Gag! Gag! Mmmmmmmmffffffgggggggg!"
Hiram was fucking like crazy. Fucking like a man who was fucking his daughter's mouth. Which, in reality, he was, of course. But isn't it a thrill to read about a man fucking his daughter's mouth while she's trussed up in an upside-down fetal position?
Hiram came.
His cock came, too.
"I'm coooommmmiiiinnnngggg! Oh blessed siiiinnnnnn!"
Now Rebecca was really gagging. Semen tasted so awful. Cum tasted so foul. Jism was just no thrill – yet, of course.
Then Hiram really thrust hard, buried his twelve-inch cock full depth into this daughter's raped mouth. His balls were pressing against the blindfold. And her nose was full of cock-hair.
Now, Rebecca knew the full meaning of evil. It was her first taste of sin, and obdurate perversion and disgusting degradation.
But, since she was a natural-born cocksucker, like most girls, she soon acquired a taste for jizz, acquired an appreciation far having her nostrils stuffed with licey pubic hair.
Hiram's jism was making a God-awful mess of Rebecca's mouth. And he wanted to look down and see how much cum had come out of his balls, how much jizz he had emptied into Rebecca's sinful mouth. But he was too busy, too full of cunt-hunger to bother.
Creak! Creak! Creak!
"Mmmmmmggggggffffff!"
Writhe. Writhe. Writhe.
"Aaaaiiiieeee! Siiinnnnn!"
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Then it was all over. Except the part where Hiram pulls his cock out of Rebecca's mouth and wipes his jizz-drenched cock on her blindfold; but such descriptions are usually considered superfluous anyway.
Then it was all finished. Except for the part where Rebecca becomes so hot to fuck now because of her first taste of siiiiinnnnnn; but why go on when there are plenty of other chapters about Rebecca getting fucking.
Then there was no more to be heard or seen. Except for the part where semen still dripped from Rebecca's smiling, fast-moving, cocksucking mouth. And except for the part when Hiram fads because eating pussy always gave him gas. But such descriptions are pretty fucking inane and pretty fucking distasteful.
Now, for sure, it was all over… except for the part where Hiram gets dressed and goes back to working on the flophouse that he was building for all the wetbacks he used for hired hands.