Pointed Yancey's Remington at his pecker. As he directed her Colt toward the floor right about where her clitbud was.
"Please," Ramona said. "Show some courtesy. Preserve some dignity if you will."
"Blow me."
"Of course, I must slake my thirst. How fast can you burst off some jizzom?"
"Never timed it."
Ramona bit it.
"Uuuuunh."
Tongued the grinning cockhead with slow and deadly dredges of her lingual organ, Then chawed the balls to porridge.
"Unh."
Ramona played ring-around-the-rosie with Yancey's asshole.
Sniffed, it like posies.
Both of them held their respective guns-each originally belonging to the other one-aimed more or less at the ready as Ramona scratched Yancey s ass and blew him.
Rubbing her ruby-tipped titties down his thighs to his knees as she squeezed her head back stretching the dihgalingdong out long.
"Eaughn!"
Yancey's boner exploded like a galactic nebula. Stardust streaked through the air.
Shining cosmic jizzomic milky way sprayed across Ramona's tresses, Constellations of come stuck to Ramona's eyelashes, Sashes of joyjuice were strung like traceries of spiraling shooting stars from her chin to the tips of her titties.
"Looks so pretty."
"Now you're getting dirty."
Another chuckle of cockcream curdled through the air in a slow low arc.
LandedSplat!
Flatly on her chin.
"Inini."
Hung from her jowls like the wattles of a gobbling fowl.
Ramona trailed her tongue out and caught the next jolt of jizzom fired randomly from Yancey's pullulating penis.
Ramona snickered as her bickering maw gagged down his gonads one at a time.
She snuggled his legs with her thighs. Slid down easily and contorted.
Tripping Yancey with squeezes of her gluteus till he toppled.
"Fuckingchrist!"
"We're both going for the derringer now, I take it. Don't fake it."
Ramona loaded her maw with Yancey's balls. He chawed on her labia…
"You know, Ramona," Yancey said mincing tripe, "! think I understand your type."
"Oh? More than I do."
"Almost as though we were kin."
"I'm listening."
"This other stuff was a ploy. What I'm mainly here for is to find a way to get Uncle Roy out of where he is now."
"How we gonna do that?"
"Many ways to peel a pussy."
"That's no answer."
"He has a chance for parole-"
"Not for years the rap he's on-not what he was convicted of but what he's really in. for."
"I was wondering about that. All I knew was the crap in the newspaper. So he was obviously framed. We could have it overturned."
"Uncle Roy bookwormed that one at the prison library already. No dice. Sides-it was the law trained Uncle Roy just to get him out of their hair. Didn't know he'd still be operating full swing from in there."
"Whatever happens, Ramona dear-you and your sisters come in for a share. Where are they? should take a meeting posthaste."
Chapter 4
Random whoredom, boredom or call it what you might-Sadie Mae knew that Mercedes was not the kind of kid who got uptight about a little public nudity.
She was most certainly not a prude.
Mercedes portrayed herself avidly as an east coast whitegal preppie debutante with debauchery and narcissism her stock in trade.
As it often is in such cases, Mercedes shot her yip off about her family and all that-how rich they were and how many houses they had and where. Famous people in government and industry and the arts and sciences she was related to.
Hucksters all.
It was almost as if Mercedes's family's prominence had come about because of their traditional ancestral bouts with the fucksuckrut. Such a brood needed a lot of joyjuice passed between them to keep the blueblood genes flowing.
Mercedes's offhand remarks about brothers and sisters blowing and sucking.
Sibling fucking.
Sadie Mae was therefore under the impression that rich people in their estates and compounds and private beaches-this was the height of discretion-explored the same reaches of depravity and obsession as did the stereotypic view attribute-as a for-instance-to the denizens of the American redneck outback.
"Now, tell me truly. How would you all define an Arkansas virgin?"
"Why, sir-that's a sister who can run faster than her brothers. Ask me another."
Trailer park frolics.
Sex-mad carnies.
And of course those smirking cracks about blacks or jigaboos or what have you fucking like junglebun-nies in the ghetto. Or the kinky spic kicks wetbacks were supposedly into.
Mick tricks behind the lace curtains of animalistic Irish immigrants.
Economic and ethnic and social class distinctions were aimless when one regarded the overall pattern of human shamelessriess.
Such remarks were well applied to the carnality of the rich and famous.
Sadie Mae saw that all of the trashmouthing about people's cultures was the work of vultures who fed on the carrion of incivility.
Propriety was simply a guise.
Guilt and shame were manipulative games.
People were all the same.
They all opened their legs and spread their fannies wide.
All stuck their penises inside.
Here upper-crusty whitebitch Mercedes had already screwed-and she blew them too-two dudes in the booth at Uncle Roy's Roadhouse saloon.
And now it seemed as though Mercedes were coming on to Sadie Mae.
Sadie Mae knew enough not to let words get in the way.
But her head was in disarray.
She had heard of lesbians.
Women who were queer for each other.
Liked to play kissyface.
Slapslit and tug-the-titty.
Sadie Mae thought it was rather silly.
Wasn't much to get all worked up about.
About that.
Fillies frisking about.
"I'll have another," Sadie Mae said brightly, tossing the empty beer bottle up into the air. She noted the light friction of Mercedes's painted fingernails near the lower lobe of her tail.
Just underneath the ragged fringe of Sadie Mac's cutoff shortshorts.
At the moment, Sadie Mae was oblivious to the livid presence of the two jock dudes who had been gleefully ascrew upon Mercedes for the last hour or two before Sadie Mae had stuck her nose in.
It was perhaps unseemly for the three of them to have been reaming and creaming right here in Uncle Roy's Roadhouse.
They could easily have rented one of the bungalows. That was precisely the sort of assignation the accommodations were meant for.
But there was something to be said for taking it when it hit you.
The spontaneity.
Disinhibition.
Casual display of feeling.
Sadie Mae's mind was reeling.
She could not blame them at all for balling all over the place.
Especially Sadie Mae could not deny Randy and Bubba Buster their appetites. For Mercedes looked mighty fine lying there on the table.
Spread out like a snicksnack or a picnic barbecue. For the eyes a feast.
Pug-nosed nipples glazed over with wash of rutsweat and pebbles of come.
Ribs roasting below the boobs. The concave curve of Mercedes's tumtum.
Yeasty quim brimming over.
Foaming.
Bubbling cream.
With a shudder, Sadie Mae realized she would like to have some.
Ream her.
Then suck up her asshole.
Was it simply an internal image of Sadie Mae's fullblooded yet stifled lust?
Or was she justly aroused?
Would she act it out?
Sadie Mae for the moment stood there drinking from a new bottle of beer.
As Mercedes looked queerly up underneath the hem of Sadie Mae's shortshorts.
And peered with a calculated leer-obviously cocking her head-up Sadie Mae's lownecked tit-clinching halter-top teeshirt.