Jacked it with her fist as she directed Sallie Anne at gunpoint to empty the cabinets of selected objects she read from a list.
Wiped out from successive ejaculations and finally overcome by his ingestion of booze and herb teas, Landry fell into oblivion. He was hardly aware-or would he have cared if he had been- that Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne scampered away at the same time the apparent intruder did.
Landry did hear the telephone ring and the blare of the alarm as one buyer called him and another simply jerked open the electronically wired but chronically unlocked door.
"Fuckit."
The robber-robbers!-must have done that on purpose, knowing that the alarm would function in that mode, would tote up on the board of the local constabulary, and would certainly lead to no less than embarrassment.
Landry would be found tied up in the rude with a savage's underpants stretched over his face. Hastily express an hallucinatory scenario to his arriving clients; And Landry would perforce have to signal off the fuzz officially from the get-go unless he wanted the story to spread like a yeast infection through a nunnery.
"Landry?" he recognized the female voice. "You here, my dear?"
Clack of high heels.
"I see," the woman's voice drifted smokily. "You are ready for me-indeed."
Landry choked out:
"How do you do this afternoon, Cassie Lou?"
Chapter 7
Asshole quirked lazily on Yancey's prong, Mercedes came quietly. He drew the tip of his prick from her rectum.
Ejected jizzom in a fizzing line up the crack of her fanny. "Aaaaah."
Squirted another trail under her tail into her cuntal cranny.
While still spewing spermiets, Yancey attempted to inject his twanger into Mercedes's buttermilk silky slimeslit.
It wouldn't fit.
"Shit."
Ramona's tongue was already in there.
"The fuck!"
Thundering, yelps, and chuckles from the trunk of the automobile.
Mercedes wrenched the gears.
Tried to get Yancey to spear her from the rear as she drove the vehicle slowly up the rise to the ridge while sitting on his lap.
"I'll have none of that," Yancey cracked. "I have to get back to my office. That's no alibi. This whole gig could blow sky high."
With tears of frustration, Mercedes tore at her own flesh.
Twisting her tits like knobs.
Tweaking her clit in a fit.
Jamming fingernails into her slit.
Finally spitting herself to the wrist on her fist like a frying fish.
And tamping her anus onto the stickshift.
Yancey's gaze drifted lazily over Ramona's shoulders as she now slid up and down on his dingalingdong with her tiny tits sticking like darts into his face.
The front of Uncle Roy's Roadhouse would be the part of the complex the police would watch-if they watched anything at all.
The whorehouse bungalow shacks out back were strictly off limits unless the fuzz wanted to partake of some action in the brocaded brothel atmosphere Uncle Roy had taken great pains to model after old photographs of Western and Mexican bordellos of the nineteenth century.
From where they were parked, Yancey had a lookout perch onto the highway.
And the shifty paint job of the automobile would serve to camouflage it amidst the stand of low long-bristled pines aligning the ridge.
"Eiiiiinh!"
Ramona came off in a gush of ladyjuice as Yancey mauled her boobcage.
Bounced her on his pecker.
Felt the suction of her clasped cuntlips, thighs, and asscheeks smooch at his balls. He shifted his haunch.
Ramona crouched facing Yancey.
Licking his eyebrows and forehead as he threaded his stinger inside her.
She fed upon his face.
Encasing his nose within her lips. Sipping from his mouthlips.
Bending backward to extend the trail of entwined spittle in a sagging arch from each of their lower mouthlips to the other's.
They scraped their claws over each other's facecheeks. Gnawed jawbone.
Nibbled chin.
As Ramona sucked Yancey's cock within her brining and undulant interior.
Comfortably, Yancey continued spearing her. Confident of their success despite the uncertainty ahead-the uncertainty present now.
Yancey ploughed through her vineyards. Hardness engulfed by softness.
Deftness countered by bold strokes.
White-hot poker soaked with free-running cunt-oils. Pussy boiled alive by jizzomic fission deep within the ballocks.
The gurgling of a geyser about to blow.
Slow burn 'of a molten lava flow signaling a volcano ready for eruption.
"Aiiiiinh!"
Percussion of pelvis.
"Ah nini!"
Concussion of emotion.
"Yabba baba. baba baba, Aum baba baba baba. Eauchmn baba baba baba-"
Explosion.
Raunchjuice sluiced up into Ramona's froufrou as Yancey blew another wad.
Chaos.
Abandon.
Oblivion.
Madness.
Ramona was pitched into the black sadness of wondering if she would ever come that coarsely again. Waves of thickened cuntgoo plopped out onto Yancey's, impeccable lap.
Limbs flapped.
Nostrils collapsed.
Little Ramona gasped in a welter of alternately freezing and blistering rutsweat. Clear liquid beads aligned her forehead.
Puddles grew along her shoulderblades.
Fuck perspiration slimed from her armpits. Seeped between her two tits.
Mercedes watched silently, snidely, as if she had been the one riding that stallion and now it was Ramona who was getting the good stuff.
"Pigbitch sow," Mercedes barfed.
"Cuntie muff-muncher. You already got a shot of him. So fucking greedy you are-"
Yancey rolled sideways.
Pulled on his pants and danced out into the open to dry off in the breeze.
He raised his hand palm out in response to the signal from within the small shady glade below the rows of bungalows.
Lafayette and the boys in the band lately called the Rudedudes had finished loading the collected artifacts into the camper cabin mounted on the bed of a pick-up truck equipped with four-wheel drive and special heavy-duty undercarriage.
Mercedes commanded the sleek unmarked sedan and Ramona drove off in the truck camper.
Plans were ideally to have Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne remain in the sedan's trunk until just this side of the border.
That is-the two girls would remain hidden until the automobile had passed undetected through Stateside customs.
If any description of the fugitives had been passed along fuzz buzzlines privately-for a number of reasons there had been no publicity pertaining to that morning's gallery heist announced over the airwaves-it would surely finger the lookalike sucksister femme lesbo dykes Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne.
Mercedes had of course been masked.
And Little Ramona had stood guard out of sight riding shotgun in the getaway machine.
During the upcoming phase of escape and transfer of materiel, it would be a judgment call-perhaps decisive or perhaps not crucial at all-that Mercedes would have to make as to how long Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne should remain hidden.
If Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne were to be spotted emerging from their hiding place in the trunk while still in United States jurisdiction-that would be a -worse indictment than being busted as paperless in Mexico, where a few pesos or especially dollars invariably hit the hotspots.
Sometime in the meantime-perhaps today, maybe not-Yancey might expect to receive a phonecali from the chief of detectives at the sheriff's office explaining that there had been a burglary involving some old Indian paraphernalia and would Yancey in his capacity as honorary deputy care to consult with the constabulary in this regard.
For matters of this sort-where there had been no real violence done-aside from alerting the obvious enforcement agencies, the police in these regions routinely left the full investigation to the insurance examiners and their hired detectives.