"His cock was in his hand and he was wacking off like he was trying for a mention in the Guinness Book of Records. Never did see a guy so worked up. He'd take a hit of that pussy smell and then he'd take another hit and wank his tool some more. I shouted at him. 'Billy-Bob,' I said, 'you're embarrassing me and the whole department. Stop it,' I yelled."
"It was like talking to the wall. Well sir, finally, he reached into the Hefty and took out one of those gloves. He first passed it under his nose and then he stuck his cock into it. That did it. His cock fairly exploded into that glove. He came and came. Afterwards, he just sat there completely exhausted and with a silly grin on his face. And that's where the Post reporter found him."
"Wasn't nothing I could do to help him. The Post would have yelled 'cover-up'. He had to go for the good of the force."
"Whoops, hold 'er there, Humbert. I think we got ourselves a perpetrator." While Hum watched, the sheriff dashed through the pedestrian traffic and collared a pretty blonde girl. She was wearing an expensive blue mini dress – not a Saturday knockabout. Hum had noticed her before. She was a standout and her mini revealed an exquisite pair of tanned legs… long and shapely.
She couldn't have been more than eighteen. Her eyes were a cornflower blue and her hair was the color of wheat in bright sunshine. At the moment, she was angry and she was letting the sheriff know it.
"Spitting on the sidewalk?" cried the incredulous and pretty blonde girl. "You've got to be joking, Roachy. Come off it. We all know how you love to strip-search, and I'd like to oblige you any other time, but I have stuff to do this afternoon. Like having my hair shampooed and trimmed. And I've got to do some major shopping for my grandfather. Pick on somebody else, why don't you."
"Missy Fairchild, I'd advise you to come along and not make any trouble for yourself or your grandpa."
"Sheriff I was tearing at a candy wrapper with my teeth and a tiny piece of paper came off in my mouth and yes – I did spit it out. Sheriff, that piece of paper was a speck, no bigger than a lousy little bread crumb. That does not constitute spitting on the sidewalk, or littering, nor any other kind of breaking your silly laws. Sheriff…?"
Missy Fairchild saw from the steely look on the sheriff's face that she was losing the argument.
"Aw, shit!" she said. Then raised her face to the ultramarine sky and asked the timeless question, "Why me, God?"
"Okay, Sheriff," she said. "But do me a favor? Make it fast this time. I really have a lot to do this afternoon."
CHAPTER NINE
Anyone related to Tom Fairchild was fair game for the sheriff. Indeed, all Pisky thought the same way. Like most people who failed to reason beyond their own narrow self-interest, Pisky residents blamed the town's decline on the Fairchilds.
The Fairchilds were rich. Years ago, they had made money in farming and mining and then in investments. As an amusing sideline and to provide jobs in the non-farm economy, Tom began a manufacturing operation which produced Day-of-the-Week Panties. It was a smashing marketing success. Young women from New York to California began buying panties in multiples of seven rather than two or three at a time.
Money poured into Pisky and Tom Fairchild spread it around. He paid double the going rate for garment workers. And the work embroidering panties with Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and so forth, was easy. Tom also provided health and other benefits, and was working on a profit-sharing plan. Pisky's economy was looking up and the bright future seemed endless.
Then, a fast-talking union organizer from New York City appeared on the scene. He told the people they were fools to work without a contract. Tom told the workers he was already giving them far more than the union could get for them. The organizer told them they were being exploited by capitalist wealth and were nothing but wage slaves without self-determination.
Tom told them he would not be dictated to by a loud-mouthed New Yorker and that he would close the plant before he would let a union tell him how to run his business. After a lot of talk, the workers were persuaded to sign with the union. Tom closed the plant. The loudmouth went back to the big city. The townspeople never forgave Tom Fairchild.
Missy Fairchild was independent like her grandfather. At age eighteen, she wasn't about to let anyone push her around. Therefore, in a contest with the sheriff, she simply considered her options and made a practical choice. If she had to display her pussy to spike the sheriff's six-shooter, well, it was no big deal.
She had, after all, been sexually active since the age of nine. Her sex life began in the Fairchild stables. The family kept a string of nine mounts which they bred as hunters. The most active stud was a chestnut hunter named "Fireball". When a special mare was in heat, "Fireball" would be led from an upper pasture and brought to the barn where the mare awaited. He knew where he was going and, on the way to the barn, his cock would begin to grow… and harden… and lengthen.
The first time she saw this happen, Missy could hardly believe her eyes. She asked old Cyrus, the stable master, about it.
"Happens every time, Missy. Just like clockwork," Cyrus told her. "Fireball figures he's going to get his gun off – and he certainly is – and that's the way he gets ready for it. By the time he gets to the barn, that old cock of his gets to throbbing like a Ford tractor with one cylinder missing. We let him mount the mare. She's waiting under a special wooden rig we built for Fireball to climb on. Don't want him to hurt the mare. Then we guide that big cock of his into a plastic cunt. One shove into that fake cunt and he shoots his load. He thinks he's going into the mare. But that would be a waste. We can service a lot of mares with that one shot so we save it and spread it around, in a manner of speaking."
"B-but why does his cock get hard," Missy asked.
"Soze it'll go deeper into the mare and make a good connection."
"Does she like it?"
"Oh, she likes it right enough but we don't let her have it too much."
"That doesn't seem right to me."
"Hm-m-m-m. I expect you have point, Missy."
Missy's knowledge of sex between humans came mostly from watching soap opera on TV. But it didn't take her long to make a connection between what she saw in the barn and what she saw on the tube. There were certain omissions still and she determined to fill in the blanks. In her usual forthright and direct style, she secured the cooperation of a good-looking stable boy named Eric. Eric was eighteen. The first time Missy was aware of him was during a mating ritual like the one described above. He was holding the huge cock of the stud and maneuvering it into the plastic cunt. Hard work but instructive.
"Teach me about sex," Missy said.
"Right here and now?" asked Eric with a bright and eager look on his face. They were in a stable which Eric was slopping out. "Okay," he said, whipping out his cock, "kneel down."
Eric's move was totally unexpected but the girl didn't give it a second thought. She dropped to her knees with wonder in her eyes. She had never seen a human cock before. It was getting hard and Eric directed it to her mouth. He grabbed her blonde pigtails and held her head steady. She had never heard of cock-sucking but it seemed the natural thing to do. She opened her mouth and Eric rammed it in.
"Good… good… good," he chanted, slipping it in and out of her mouth. There was no hesitation on her part. She wanted to know about sex and wanted to participate fully with the stable boy. Every once in a while, she'd take his cock into her hand and examine it. She already knew about it getting hard because of what the horses did. And when Eric finally knelt and pushed her back into the hay, spreading her legs wide seemed appropriate. She reached down and directed his cock to her untried cunt and Eric got his ass behind it and shoved.