Tommy rolled slowly over to his side as Connie lay flat on her stomach. He placed his arm across his forehead, closed his eyes as the pleasurable sensation of release and fulfillment coursed through his body.
Connie lay still. She was exhausted yet her spirit seemed rejuvenated. Every bone in her body ached, yet she loved the feel of such pleasurable agony.
Slowly she rolled over, saw Tommy breathe heavily as his cheeks glistened with perspiration. "You know what, Tommy?" Connie whispered, "What, Connie?"
"I think-I mean please don't say I'm crazy-but I think I love you."
"Then I must be just as crazy," Tommy replied, rolling onto his side and smiling.
Connie smiled. God, the whole world was crazy-but it sure was crazy good.
Elvira Schellenberg was fucking drunk. Blindeyed, pin-holed drunk. She had never been drunk before.
"Give me 'nother, Marty-farty."
Martin Seaman poured another Scotch straight. He slid it across to Elvira. "Gee, Miss Schellenberg, I think you better stop drinking so much."
"What's goose for the gander is goose for the goose.
"Huh?"
"Oh, shut the fuck up and lemme drink my piece in peace."
Martin shook his head. The whole fucking town of Weedville was going bananas. Shit, Delbert Fancy had come in asking for aspirin while grabbing his crotch. What the fuck did he think the Buckaroo Bar was-a pharmacy?
And at eight o'clock, Coach Crowley had almost torn down the bar, complaining about his piss-ant kids not running enough laps.
Hell, he had enough worries with the dusters, hog-farmers and shit-kickers. He sure didn't need no extra hemorrhoids to worry about-Christ, what a pain in the ass Monday nights were.
Elvira glanced up blearily at the TV set over the bar. Howard Cosell, old weasel-face, rhetorically announced that the halftime score was Buffalo zero, Chargers zero.
Elvira nearly toppled off the stool as she tried to get down. A burly two-fisted drinker helped steady her arm. s "Get yer fuckin' hand off me, pervert!"
Elvira dizzily walked out of the Buckaroo Bar. She knew she had gotten soused; she was trying to forget what she had seen at school that day.
Eddie Beasly fucking Marcia Moresby.
Eddie was really giving her the cock. And Marcia was moaning like crazy. Elvira had never seen such a sight
The horny kids were fucking right on top of her desk! Marcia was spread all over her history lessons, her legs sticking wide apart and straight up. Eddie was between the V of her legs, his pants heaped around his ankles, shoving his prick deep into moaning Marcia's pussy.
God, why had she gone back? Of all times to forget to bring test papers home. She had gone back and found them!
Why couldn't they have been fucking somewhere else? Why the hell had Eddie chosen her desk for a place to park Marcia's ass and plug her pussy? They could have at least gone somewhere private-like Lake Weed.
Oh, hell-ever since she had heard that lust-filled scream out at Lake Weed, Elvira knew that people did make love during the day. Out in broad daylight. And now she had found her own pupils not only screwing in daylight, but in a public building! Fucking on government property, in a building paid for by Weedville taxpayers.
Elvira's world was falling apart and she knew it. There was no decency left, no morals.
And then she came to the conclusion that maybe she was the one who was different. Maybe she was-abnormal. Of course, she had sexy desires like everybody else, but she didn't go around fucking in public places in the naked light of day. She just rutted at night-alone, with her cucumbers.
God, after seeing Eddie pound away at Marcia's cunt, after remembering that passionate plea echoing across Lake Weed, she needed a cucumber. Now!
Fuck the test papers!
Fuck the siren song at Lake Weed!
Fuck Eddie Beasly!
Fuck Marcia Moresby!
Fuck the cucumbers, because after having seven straight shots of Scotch, Elvira declared that she was not going to shove another goddamn vegetable into her cunt. She was going to be normal like everybody else-she was going to fuck a man!
Vance Manning.
Just as soon as the Bills-Chargers came was over, she was going to call him up and plead-no scream, like that passionate voice at Lake Weed-for him to fuck the shit out of her.
Vance had seen lots of assholes die before, but not like this one. This corpse was white as hell, naked as hell, and cum or something jizzy-looking was leaking from the limp cock.
Shit, he'd better call the cops. What was he saying? He was the cops!
Vance leaned down. Yeah, the old man was deader than a sock. He started to stand up, when he noticed the pictures scattered all over the studio.
He picked one up. He gasped. His prick lurched.
Connie Ryan, that's who it was, almost bare-assed naked. But she was too young-looking. Then Vance spotted the photo album.
He picked it up. His balls churned.
Christ, he was starting to come before he had gotten to the end of the book.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
Then Vance walked out of Boris' studio, he was a different man than the asinine clown that had barged in on a dirty old man who shot filthy pictures. Vance not only was going to be number-one asshole of Weedville, but he'd have everybody begging to kiss his number-one ass. For once, Vance Manning felt like he was the king of shitville.
CHAPTER NINE
Coach Crowley literally pounced on his wife when he got home that day. Shit, his balls were so uptight from remembering Marcia Moresby's hot ass sashaying around in the girls' locker room that he now knew what it felt like to have a case of "blue balls".
Delia had been washing dishes when Coach Crowley walked in through the kitchen door. The smell of roast beef wafted from the oven. The sports page was already set next to his plate on the table.
But he didn't want to read about the Buffalo Bills getting killed by the San Diego Chargers fifty-two to nothing. He didn't want to eat any of that two-dollars-a-pound roast beef. He wanted to fuck… fuck!
''All right, woman, let's get it on,'' Coach Crowley grumbled, unzipping his pants and dropping them to the floor.
The tired woman cursed softly. Shit she didn't want any part of fucking Samuel Crowley now. She had had a hard day'. Her feet hurt, her arms pained her, the agony spiked in to her spine was pure torture.
There had been a ton of laundry she had waxed every inch of the kitchen floor she had picked up the dog shit that her neighbors basset hound had deposited on their front and back lawns.
"Samuel'' Delia implored beseechingly, ''I have a headache."
''You won't have a headache after you see what I got ready for you' Coach Crowley said as he jammed his cock against her ass, shoving her cotton print dress deep in to her pantied ass-crack.
''Please don't, Samuel I'm exhausted.
"Aw, come on Delia. 'You won't be tired when I haul your ass on the table and put the meat to your cunt.
Delia tried to rinse off the roast pan, but Coach Crowley's cock was digging in harder and harder in to her ass-cheeks, making her fleshy tits wobble in her bra.
'Come on, Delia. Let's fuck. Now!''
Delia knew she couldn't get out of performing her wifely duty. When Samuel Crowley got a hard-on, and when his balls were swollen with lust, some woman was going to get her ass fucked off.
"All right, Samuel, all right. Just take it easy."
"Come on, Delia, we ain't got all day. Get your ass on that table and spread wide."
Delia undid the apron, turned around to face her husband.
His face was sweating like a tenderloin cooked at high heat. He was holding his cock, the slit in the prick-head aimed right at her. A drop of cum appeared before Coach Crowley gave his porker a good shaking, the slimy sperm-drop falling on the freshly waxed floor.
"Shit, Delia, can't you see how hot I am?"