“Here comes lunch, fella,” Esau promised, jamming the nozzle down the canoe-head’s throat. He slowly drained the bellows. “There. That hit the spot?”
The head lolled and babbled, corn mush drooling from his lips.
“See ya fer dinner, buddy!”
“How long’s all this gonna take?” Enoch asked. “Wrasslin’ comes on at 5:05 on TNT, and I don’t wanna miss it. Flair’s grapplin’ DDP fer the title.”
“Aw, not long.” Esau grinned, briskly rubbing his dirty hands together. “Now show me these two splittails ya fetched.”
Enoch walked him over to the first stall.
“Aw, shee-it, Enoch. Ya done brought me another rack’a bones,” Esau complained, appraising the long skinny white thing hanging there. “I seen fatter vanilla beans!”
“Quit’cher belly-achin’ and look in the other stall…”
Esau loped around and stared. “Holy cracklin’ crawdads! That’s what I called a mountain of pork!”
“All that meat’n blubber,” Enoch observed, “I figger she’ll last Grandpa Ab fer a full week.”
“And then some!” Esau elated. “I can do me all kinds of great things with a pig this size!”
The naked girl hung there like a bloated sack full of suet. “And lookit the giant titties on her! Man, I’ll be able to make me the biggest pot-stickers in history!”
But when Esau reached forward and squeezed the dough-white bags of flesh, the girl suddenly kicked out with huge legs. “Don’t touch me, you crazy redneck!”
Esau grinned. “And she’s still got some spark left!” He rammed his fist into her mouth, knocked her out cold. “There, that oughta simmer ya down, Fattie.” He kneaded the great flops of her breasts, plied the enormous coaster-sized nipples. “Enoch,” he called out. “Get that toothpick over to the table and make her start eatin’ the fruit.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Enoch groaned.
“Meantimes, I’se’ll get the fat one dressed.”
Enoch took Mavis off her hook. “Fox, is that you?” she warbled. Enoch flipped her over his back like a long noodle, then flopped her onto the prep table. The slam roused her from her delirium and she was screaming. “Eat this fruit,” he said bluntly, “or’ll carve out yer cunt.” He slapped a meaty, callused hand on her throat, squeezed. “Understand?”
Wide-eyed, Mavis nodded rapidly.
One of the bushel baskets was full of apples, pears, and peaches, cut into crisp, neat wedges. Enoch grabbed a handful of wedges and crammed them into Mavis mouth.
“Chew.”
Mavis chewed, vigorously as a chipmunk scarfing seeds.
“Swaller.”
Mavis gulped the first load down.
Enoch spent the next twenty minutes doing the same, force-feeding fresh fruit into the skinny girl’s yap. She chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed.
When the bushel was depleted by a third, Mavis, exhausted, released a long exhale, fruit pulp smearing her mouth. “Please, please,” she begged. “No more—”
“More,” Enoch informed her and stuffed more and more fruit into her face. While tending to this fairly tedious chore, he looked around and saw Esau fiddling with the big pot on the stove, adding various spices to the boiling water.
“What’choo doin’? I thought you was gonna prep the fat ’un.”
“I am,” Esau assured. “Need the right combo’a white, cayenne, and crushed red pepper.”
“Fer what?”
“Hot links. You know how Grandpa Ab loves hot links.”
««—»»
Sheree had never come so long and so hard in her life. Each repeated orgasm struck her like a physical blow. Her civilized senses spun away, leaving only the bare, sweaty, sex-needing animal cringing in greedy pleasure.
She lay back in the Winnebago’s floor, her legs raised and widely parted. Carol knelt between them, leaning over like an intent gynecologist, gently revolving her fist within the stretched circumference of Sheree’s vaginal barrel. Simultaneously, Carol’s tongue laved Sheree’s olive-sized clitoris.
Each crush of sensation pin-pointed to an avalanche of spasming pleasure; Carol’s subventions had turned Sheree into an orgasm-machine.
Her legs tensed, her toes flexed toward the ceiling, and off went another one, deep demolition in her cunt. Over the fifteen-year career in porn, she’d been fucked, sucked, prodded and probed and licked and skewered by dildos and stuck up the ass thousands of times. But in all of that, she’d never, ever come like this. In fact, until now, she had no idea that the limits of orgasm could stretch this far.
On her swollen clitoris, she could feel Carol’s sultry whisper: “One more time, one more time, baby…”
And one more time it would be. Carol accelerated her devilish expertise, the velvet buzzsaw running on high as her fist continued to revolve to and fro and back and forth. Sheree always wondered if it was hype or if there really was such a thing as a G-Spot. Well…
Now she knew.
Her back arched, her chest heaving. Her nipples felt like hot rivets. This last and best orgasm felt like something actually spewing out of her. At once she imagined herself as a man, with a great big cock, spurting line after line of sperm into the air.
When it was over, Carol carefully removed her hand. “I guess you liked that, huh?” she coyly remarked at the small sink. She washed off the gleaming shellac of K-Y Jelly and vaginal gloss.
“Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…”
“Don’t tell me that’s the first time you’ve been fisted.”
“This was the first time,” Sheree wheezed. She lay limp on the floor as if beaten down by cudgels. Her pleasure had exhausted her, had wrung all of her energy from her nerves like water from a dishrag. “Christ, that was good.” It was even a major effort just to raise her head and look up.
Carol was drying her hands with a towel, her demin skirt still on but her halter pulled up over her perfect 36 D’s. Once Ashton and Bob had puttered off across the lake in their boat, it had been all of two minutes before Carol had dragged Sheree into the Winnebago, stripped her, and got to sucking her pussy. Carol hadn’t even taken off her own clothes; their lust had lit in an instant. She’d splayed Sheree out and gotten right to work.
Sheree leaned up on her elbows, beads of sweat tickling down her breasts like hot, wet ladybugs. Her hair lay across her face in damp strings. The best orgasms of her life certainly bid reciprocation.
“Let me do you now,” she offered. “Get the K-Y.”
But Carol gave her the strangest expression, a look pregnant with confusion. “I want you to do me, but…”
“But what?”
The expression lengthened. “Jesus Christ. You don’t know—”
Sheree’s forehead creased. “Know what?”
Carol stepped forward. “This,” she said, and then she pulled up her tight denim skirt.
There, staring Sheree in the face, was the very last thing she’d ever expect to find between Carol’s legs: a large uncircumcised cock.
— | — | —
Chapter Seven
When Bess had yet again regained consciousness, the nightmare was not over. Indeed, it was only beginning. Her thoughts pin-wheeled backward, and she remembered when not one but two humongus rednecks had come in to this kitchen of the abyss. The younger one had begun groping her, and that’s when Bess had shouted at him, and after that…
He’d knocked her unconscious with a single blow.
When her eyes flicked open and finally focused, she looked back around. The older and larger maniac had Mavis lain across a table and was smashing what appeared to be chopped fruit into her mouth. Evidently it was a lot of fruit, because Mavis’ ordinarily rack-skinny stomach pushed out like she was six months pregnant.