The Tinker Toy Casino was its usual self – noisy, greedy, brimming with people, some in tuxes, some in swimming trunks, and some inebriated.
Like Hazel Turnbow.
Whose floor-length black dress smelled as if it had been laundromatted in Southern Comfort.
Whose bonnet tilted on her slightly-gray head like the glasses that were ready to drop off her nose.
Whose only comfort in a lonely motel room had been antebellum in taste.
Hazel swigged the bottle of Southern Comfort, gazed blurry at the rows of slot machines.
People in the casino thought she was an epileptic seamstress, she was weaving so badly.
And she had been weaving quietly on the steps leading down into the den of unity for ten minutes. They seemed like ten hours. She finally made up her mind.
She was gonna have fun! Fuck those who say librarians can't have fun! Fuck 'em! She was a human being who had a right to have fun just like any other greedy person. Who said only pretty girls have fun? Miss Clairol? Well, fuck Miss Clairol, too!
Who said only horny Marines have fun? John Wayne? Well, fuck him too!
Rrrrriiipppp!
Jesus fucking Christ! Her first step into the den of fun and she fuckin' tore her dress. Well, fuck her dress, too!
Rriiippp! Rrriiippp! Rrriiippp!
Hazel threw the tatters of her black dress to the air-conditioned breeze. Like confetti. Like New Year's. Yeah, fucking New Year's!
"Happy New Year!"
Hazel blinked her blurry eyes. Didn't they know it was New Year's? What the fuck were they staring at?
Hazel stumbled three steps down, recovered shakily with a grip on the handrail. What the fuck were they looking at?
She turned around slowly, tried to see what celebrity had walked through the door.
There was an armadillo-shaped man from Amarillo wearing a vanilla shirt walking through the door.
"Hey! Hey, Archie! Archie ber… ya old fart!"
The armadillo looked around, didn't see Archie Bunker no where. He turned to the lady in the tattered dress. She was pointing a wavy finger at him. He felt embarrassed as the wavy finger prodded his navel and a bottle of Southern Comfort was shoved under his double chin.
"C'mon, Archie! First your gonna show me how to gamble. Then… we're gonna fuck. It'll be my first time I ever did it."
The armadillo was astonished. It was the first time that a woman had ever picked him up. It was strange – like the boot being on the other foot. He had picked up enough strange pussies in his life. But balls o' fire! This hag was picking him up.
He looked around – Emily was still in the ladies' room. Shit, what was there to lose?
He looked at Hazel. God – there was plenty to lose!
Jesus Christ! The woman was drunk on – sniff, sniff, and sniff – on Southern Comfort. And look at the way she was dressed! Christ, she looked like hell warmed over. It looked like she had bought her dress at a confetti factory instead of at Woolworth's.
"Well… come on, ya fart! Let's move on! Come on, get your fuckin' ass in gear! Let it all hang out! Yes sir."
Then he was being gripped tightly by a siren who had been soaked in Southern Comfort and who was leading him to a row of slot machines.
He couldn't believe it!
"Hey, just a fuckin' minute here, sister! You're…"
"I ain't your sister, fart-face. If I was your sister, I wouldn't let ya fuck me… understand?"
What the hell was going on here? He had come to Vegas for fun in the sun. For a little dice-rolling and twenty-one and keno. But shit, now he was getting rolled by a drunk-crazy hag with a twenty-one-inch chest and everything was not peachy keen.
He looked around for a security guard.
Hazel looked around for her purse. "Goddamn! I forgot my purse… Ya got any money… Archie?"
"My name's not Archie!"
"Ya got any money anyway?"
"Look you're drunk. And I'm not gonna lend any money to – Hey! Get your Goddamn hand outta my pocket! Hey! Lady!"
Hazel's hand wormed and squirmed in the man's tight pocket. Jesus Christ, man's gotta have some money someplace. She felt around – keys, something wrapped in tinfoil. Fuck! Where the hell's his loose change?
"Guard! Guard!"
People in the casino glanced casually at the commotion near the slot machines. Then they went back to their greedy business of playing illogical regret.
Hazel hiccuped as she rummaged around in his pockets. Jesus! What the hell's this?
"Hey, Archie! What the hell's this? Ya got a salami sandwich in here or somethin'? Jesus! It's a big 'un!"
The armadillo blushed. Christ – people were gonna stare. He could feel their eyes on him. He looked around. Balls o' fire! They weren't staring! What the hell was wrong with them? Didn't they realize that a maniac woman was robbing him now, picking his pocket while she molested his prick…
What!?
"Get your hand off my prick! Goddamn! We're in a public place! You fucking weirdo!"
His prick? That salami thing was a prick? Hazel felt foolish. She also felt giggly drunk. His prick! She was feeling a man's prick! Ooooooooohhhh! She couldn't wait to tell people that she had finally felt a man's prick!
She was just about ready to scream to the people in the casino that she had finally felt a man's prick when the man's prick did something funny.
"Ooooooohh, God, lady! Please – you're giving me a fucking hard-on! Aaaaahhhh, shit!"
A hard-on? God! Hazel Turnbow – Hazel Turnbow, Miss Virgin Hag Librarian – was turning on a man, giving him a hard-on!
Hazel waved drunkenly, smiled drunkenly, felt Archie Bunker's cock drunkenly.
"Ooohh, please, lady! Please let go of my cock!"
Hazel shook her head slowly. "Ooh, Archie! Archie! I-Is that… really your prick? Feels jus' like a salami… an' how come it's bleedin' now?"
Archie didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. He had never in his life been raped in public, or been so manhandled by a woman before. Now, he knew what all those women libbers were fighting for – so people wouldn't be treated like sex objects, so they wouldn't be fondled and caressed in busses or planes or in public places. He wanted to die. His cock wanted to die – but her fuckin' hand was doing a Goddamn good job of keeping it alive and well, and hard and throbbing, while it leaked lots of jizz into his Levi's.
"Ooooooh! Please, lady! You're humiliating me! Please don't do that with you – Aaaaaaahhhh!"
Hazel couldn't believe it. She was turning somebody on! She was turning a cock on with what she was doing with her fumbling hands. She backed tile armadillo up against the bank of slot machines, began molesting him, raping his cock with her fumbling hands.
The Southern Comfort gave her more encouragement. She farted.
The dizziness in her head gave her more courage. She was up on tiptoes, whispering to him about how she was gonna rape him.
"Archie… I'm gonna rape you! Come on, Archie… go up to my room. 'Cause if ya don't, I'm gonna pull out yer salami right here and chew it off!"
"Guard! Guard!"
People turned their heads, couldn't believe that the rich Texan from Amarillo was so niggardly that he wouldn't let his wife have a couple of nickels to play the slots. Jesus Christ! They hoped the old lady found his wad and blew the whole Goddamn thing.
Eddie liked walnuts. Especially American walnuts. They smelled delicious when they were warm, and they tasted delicious when they were hot.
His nose followed the scent of baked walnuts.
Ah! It was coming from here… right here, where there was mucho hair and a clitty-looking thing was hanging out.
His nose sank into the meaty aroma of baked walnuts.
"Ooooohhhhh! God! Please don't! Noooooo!"
Eddie lapped up the flavor of crushed walnuts. Uuuuummmm.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
"Please! Oh, God! Please! Don't put your tongue – aaaaiiheeee!"
Eddie put this tongue there – right in the midst of where all that heady crushed-walnut smell was coming from.
He spread the meaty lips open. Very wide open. Deliciously wide open. He took a deep lungful of walnuts. Then he looked at what he had spread wide open.
Naturally it was a cunt.
Naturally it was a wide-open cunt because Eddie Caruso had both hands holding the outer cunt-lips as her inner cunt-lips oozed with saliva and the beads of fresh cunt-juice. What a fucking hot bitch she was! No woman could resist his tongue, or his hands, or his hot-fucking cock.
Oh, Senorita Higgins had resisted for about ten minutes, but after that she was like any typical fucking hot bitch woman. Eager for tongue. Eager for sucking and fucking.
Eddie's head moved in on her splayed pussy-lips. His tongue came out, licked all around the hairy lips. Then darted in and flicked her clitoris.
"Aaaaiiiieeee! Oh, Please! Stop! Please! Aaaaiiieeeee!"
Eddie stopped. Allowed her cunt four seconds to recover from his Latin tongue. Then he went back to work.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
"No! No! No! Not there! Oh, God! Not there! aaaaiiiieeee!"
Eddie liked putting his tongue right there. Oh, not that right there had the right kind of smell. It didn't smell like walnuts right there. Right there was actually a wrong place for a tongue to be. Some people actually refused to go down on a woman's asshole. But Eddie was a reformed sickle, and he didn't mind pulling hairs off a woman's asshole using his teeth for tweezers.
"Aaaaaiiiieeee! Stop! Stop! Stop!"
Eddie shook his head. Not because he was telling her that he was going to stop eating her asshole. But because he had a tight grip on a very curly strand of pubic hair that fought the pressure of his yanking teeth.
"Aaaaaiiiiieeeee! Oh, God! That hurts!"
Now, she had a hairless asshole, and Eddie went back to work.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
Frieda vas going out of her mind. She was fit to be tied. Which she was.
She struggled against her bonds. But it was useless. Useless to struggle against the ropes that were fled to the four corners of the bed, useless to fight against the tongue that was invading her asshole. Useless to fight the cock that was swinging around in her direction as his tongue pivoted in her pussy.
"Nooooooo! No! Get your cock away from me! Nooooo!"
Eddie went back to the crushed-walnut smell. Maria Sangria! Her cunt tasted sooooo good. He had never tasted a walnuttier cunt than this one. It even looked edible. And it looked especially tight.
Eddie squirmed on top, of Frieda's now struggling body. The gringo lady could struggle all she wanted to – but Eddie knew that the four bolos would hold tight. Shit, he hadn't been on the pampas for nothing. He was a gaucho at heart, and a fucker at first sight.
Frieda groaned. God! That cock! It was so big! And it was coming towards her face. She avoided the first thrust, the cock stabbed into her left ear.
Then the cock was rising, ready to plunge towards her face again.
Frieda dodged again. Too high… luckily.
Eddie kept bunching his hips. Shit, he knew his cock would find the mark some day. If not today, always manana. He raised his loins, jabbed down again. No, too law.
Frieda gasped. Her neck strained. Her titties were mashed flat by Eddie's belly. God! Another cock attack!
Frieda ducked. Or she tried to duck, but it was impossible to duck into the downy pillows, or into the mattress.
The cock found its mark – her closed mouth.
Eddie smiled. He knew his cock was somewhere near her mouth, because he could feel lipstick on his taut knob – which indicated how sensitive his Latin cock-head was.
He lifted his head. "Do not bite, Senorita."
Frieda shivered. His voice sounded so menacing. As menacing as when he had opened her door three hours ago and announced that he was going to fuck her and eat her and do sickie things to her body because she was Miss Frustration and he had been paid to fuck her.
Frieda had tried her best to get him to leave. She had even tried to push him out the door. Rut her hands had slipped on his flesh because his naked body was covered with Mazola.
Then there had been the struggle.
The Bible that had bruised his head. The lamp that he had fired back at her. His insane laughter as the bolos whirled around his head. Then the scream of agony as the luggage bag slammed into his balls. Then her scream of agony when he had kicked her in the pussy. Then his screech for mercy when she had a mouthful of his ankle. Then the dull agony as the bolos came crashing down on her head.
But now, something monumental was crashing against her head. Frieda opened her eyes and kept her mouth shut. God! Those weren't bolos coming down on her eyes – those were his balls! She knew they were balls because they were hairy and they lay between a man's cock and his asshole. And she didn't want to see his asshole because it looked so foul. Then she didn't have to see his asshole because her eyelids were crushed by his bob-like balls.
God, she wanted to scream. But she knew the instant she opened her mouth, he would… No! Oh, God! She wouldn't open her mouth! No matter what he did to her, she wouldn't open her mouth!
Eddie lifted his head. "Open your mouth!"
God! He had said it in that same menacing tone of voice. But if she opened her mouth, he would stick his prick in, and then she'd have to suck his cock because he would be raping her mouth. No! She would not open her mouth. She'd die first.
"Do you want to die, Senorita?"
No, Frieda didn't want to die, but she didn't want to suck his prick. Because if she sucked his prick, she'd want to die afterwards, die of shame and humiliation for being mouth-raped, and tongue-raped, and having her asshole violated by his finger.
His finger! In her asshole!
God, she wanted to be two women now. Because she felt like dying twice.
His finger was in her asshole! In her asshole! Where nothing had ever been – except… Oh God! She didn't want to think about brother Paul and his big cock and the day he had corn-holed her ass.
"Aha! Senorita! You have been… how do they say? You have been corn-holed before, cunt?"
How did he know? No! This was pure humiliation. Beyond belief!? Was he that experienced that he could tell a woman's asshole had been violated almost ten years ago? God, if he knew thing like that – what else would he know about her body? Frieda wanted to just die.
Eddie wriggled his finger in her asshole. "Senorita… you have a very big… asshole. Don't you think?"
Think!? How could he ask her to think at a time like this! When his fingers were scraping her insides out.
His fingers!? No! Not one, but two… no, make that three fingers were in her asshole!
Frieda was ready to gasp, ready to scream out that she wanted to die. But then she remembered that she would die after that cock came zooming into her mouth. She clammed up. Tensed her body. Braced her flesh against the humiliating things he was doing to her.
"Senorita… your asshole is very tight now! Uuuuummmm! Make it tight for me again, Senorita."
Frieda immediately relaxed while she was being raped. No! No! It was madness! His fingers, four of them, were deep in her ass. And his teeth were nipping at her cunt. And more fingers were playing with her pussy. And his hairy belly was smashing her tits. And his cock was smashing against her trap-shut mouth. And his balls were smeared with Maybelline eyeshadow.
And she was supposed to try and relax!
God! Frieda was like all girls who imagine what it would feel like to be raped. But this was beyond imagination. Relax while being raped? Easy humiliation? Stay calm while being ravaged? Degradation with a smile?
It didn't make sense.
"Senorita, someday you will open, your mouth and suck my cock."
Someday!? No! Rapes weren't supposed to last that long – were they?
Oh, God! She'd starve to death before anybody found their corpses. And what kind of scene would that be for the house detective who discovered Eddie Caruso's body in a state of rigor mortis draped over her cement-hard corpse. What would people think?
God, Frieda didn't want to be found like that. Arnold would just slay her if he found her corpse like that.
Frieda decided to open her mouth.
"Hit me!"
"Lady, if you want a card, just motion with the cards in your hand – just scrape them against the felt, and I'll give you a card."
"Fuck you – I said hit me!"
"Jesus! Lady, you got a foul mouth. Look, there are other people playing here, and maybe they don't like…"
"Tell 'em to go fuck their thumbs! Now, hit me, cock-sucker!"
"God damn it, lady, don't get me riled. I swear, I'll…"
"Here, sit on this, fuck-face!"
Sam "Quick Hands" Adams looked in disbelief at what the Amazon woman had slammed on his blackjack table – a dildo! A big dildo that was attached to a helmet. He was astonished. Then he was crimson. In thirty years of dealing cards at the Tinker Toy Casino, no one had ever been more offensive than this bitch.
Not even back in the summer of '63, when an armadillo-shaped man from Amarillo had thrown a fit because he had a pair of twos and forgot to take a card. Shit, the armadillo was so fucking drunk that he thought he had busted with a count of twenty-two. And naturally a fight had ensued, and Sam had lived up to his name of Quick Hands.
The armadillo had moved very slowly. Too slowly for the lightning-like punches that made his armadillo head retract into his squatty body.
Now, the Amazon bitch moved too fast for Sam. She managed to duck the first overhand right.
Sam couldn't believe it. The fucking bitch was faster than slippery shit! He struck out with a left jab.
People playing blackjack regretfully were getting annoyed.
"Jesus Christ! Hurry up and deal!"
"Holy cow! I come here to gamble, not watch Saturday night at the fights."
"Hey! How much are aces worth again?"
Biff. Crack. Crunch.
Jesus! Sam looked at his knuckles. They were bleeding. Then he looked over the edge of the blackjack table. Jesus! Her face was bleeding from a cut upper lip, a gash over one eye, and a nose that was pointing to her right ear.
Manny Schwarz ambled over to Sam's table.
He picked up the house phone. "Yes sir."
"Clarence, got another flat-broke girl who's gonna work for us. She's at Sam's table. Get her in shape for the Kiwanis guys coming in on the four-fifteen flight."