This done, the abyssal maw gaped, and then all the men howled when an appalling release of vaginal gas escaped.
Helton fanned his face. “A gal cunt-fartin’s one thing, but a dead gal cunt-fartin’?”
“Sheee-IT!” Dumar guffawed.
“This is some party, huh, Paulie!” Helton laughed.
“Oh, this party’s just gettin’ started. Argi?”
Menduez screamed and screamed when the two mafiosos plugged Menduez’s shuddering head into Melda’s dead vagina. “Doc, tell us when a minute’s up.”
“Of course, Mr. Vinchetti.”
The doctor’s watch ticked. Helton and Dumar looked on in astonishment. Menduez convulsed.
“A minute has expired, sir.”
WHAP!
Paulie rammed his fist into Menduez’s crotch; the Hispanic’s suffocating scream could be heard even with his head deep in the cadaver’s birth canal.
“Pull him out,” Paulie directed, and they did.
Menduez vibrated on the floor, heaving in his first breath, but then—
WHAP!
—Paulie rammed his fist into the young man’s solar plexus, robbing him of all air.
“Back in!”
Amid a nauseous schucking sound, Melda’s dead vagina re-swallowed the Hispanic’s head.
“Gawd dang, Paw,” Dumar remarked. “This shore is some heavy-duty ruckin’!”
“That it is, son. Hope it’s a lesson to the fella.”
“We smotherin’ him now, boss?” Argi asked.
The two mafiosos shoved the head up hard. “Naw, not yet. I wanna have some fun with this one.”
They pulled the head out, then pushed it in, pulled it out, pushed it in…several times in a row.
“Longer this time,” and—schhhhhluck!—the head was re-admitted as the most horrendous odors were pumped from the vagina.
“Don’t know what she smells worse than, Paw,” Dumar laughed. “The gut-can at Hack Doobler’s butcher shop or the pit Charlie Fuchson’s uses to git rid’a his cows that die.”
“This gal’s pussy, son, I’d say smells worse that both them things.”
More muffled screams could be heard from the corpulent mass. Menduez began to enter death-throes.
“Look’s like he’s kickin’, boss.”
“Yeah, and I hope all them puppies he killed are waitin’ for him in hell.”
But, again, Helton whispered something in Paulie’s ear.
“Shit! Yeah!” the don exclaimed. “Argi, pull him out!”
“Pull him out, boss?”
“Pull him out! I want him alive!”
schhhhhhhhhhhhluck-THUMP…
Menduez’s head was extracted. The young man lay motionless now, eyes seared open by unmitigated, unutterable, and indefatigable organic horror.
“Aw, shit, he ain’t dead, is he?” Paulie complained.
Dr. Prouty’s finger touched the man’s jugular. “I’m afraid he’s no longer among the living, sir.”
“Well, fuck that, Doc! Get down there and do that doctor shit you do!”
Dr. Prouty made an aghast face. “Umm, pardon me, sir?”
“Come on! That CRP shit or whatever, like they’d do on that old show with the bimbos in the red swimsuits? Shit, those girls were packing some camletoe—Baywatch, that’s it.” He snapped his fingers. “What’s the word I’m lookin’ for, Doc?”
Prouty’s lower lip trembled. “You want me to…resuscitate him, sir?”
Paulie beamed. “Yeah, yeah! That’s it!”
The doctor paled, already wobbling at the spirit-upheaving odor and the mere sight of the Hispanic’s rotten-margarine-and-dead-vaginal-slime slathered head. “Really, sir, that would be a very trepidacious undertaking…”
Paulie stared. “Doc. If you don’t bring that puppy-killin’ scumbag back to life, you know whose head’s goin’ in Melda’s pussy next.”
Prouty was on his knees in half a second, first opening Menduez’s airway, aspirating air into the lungs, then administering expert cardiac compressions.
Helton, Dumar, Paulie, and Argi all watched quite raptly.
Thirty seconds. Forty. Fifty.
A minute.
“Oh, dear!” the doctor wailed. “It appears that—”
—but at a minute ten seconds, Menduez lurched, hacked, threw up in a volcano-like plume, and screamed.
“The Doc did it!” Paulie yelled.
“Well ain’t that sumpthin’!” Dumar declared.
“The doctor done reached down inta the valley’a death itself and pulled this evil fella right out!” Helton celebrated.
“Good job, Doc,” Argi commended, but then winced when he gingerly touched his swollen testicle.
Dr. Prouty—vomit-bespattered now—sighed, walked over to the portable bar, and poured himself a drink. Without thinking, he rubbed his crotch.
Paulie gaped. “Doc!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Did you just rub your crotch?”
Confusion bloomed on Prouty’s face. “Why…I believe I did, Mr. Vinchetti”—suddenly he looked lost—“and…for no apparent reason…”
“You’re finally gettin’ it, Doc!” and then Paulie and Argi laughed aloud.
“The Doc saved your life, kid,” Paulie returned his attention to the captive. “Ain’t ya even gonna say thank you?”
“Chit, mang!”Menduez wailed. “I’m beggin’ chew! Don’t put my head back in dare! Choot me instead! Knife me! Anyting! But not dat!”
“No, no, kid, you really gotta leave this to us…”
“So what now, boss?” Argi asked.
“Helton got a terrific idea!” Paulie alighted. “Come on, guys!” and then the men piled out—save for Dr. Prouty—and with them they dragged the convulsant form of Menduez.
They dragged him from the Winnebago, across the pavement, and into the back of Helton’s truck.
When the door closed behind them, Helton’s enthused voice could be heard, “What we’se gonna do with this here puppy-killer is something’ that ain’t never been done is all’a history! We’se gonna have ourselfs…a quadruple-header!” and from within, it became difficult to discern as to what screamed louder, Menduez or the hole-saw…
— | — | —
Chapter 17
(I)
An hour later, the deed was done, and the four men stood outside the truck to catch their breath in the crisp December night. Their penises had been duly slaked via the head of Menduez, into whose skull had been cut not one, not two, not three, but…
Four holes.
Paulie shook his head in bewildered awe. “Damn. There’s somethin’ about fuckin’ heads that’s-that’s…shit, I don’t know.”
Argi lit a cigarette, shaking his head too. “Boss, that was hands down the best nut of my life.”
Paulie nodded and rubbed his crotch.
“Yessir,” Helton appended—and he rubbed his crotch too, “No matter how tight the pussy or how fine the blowjob or cornhole, a head is always better ta fuck. Don’t know why, just ‘tis. Maybe there’s some special juices in the brain that yer dick soak up ta give ya such a humdinger of a nut…”
Dumar rubbed his crotch. “And it were even dandier on account it were a puppy-killer we done it to.”