Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (5 page)

BOOK: Bullet Through Your Face (improved format)
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He thought he must be getting the hang of it but then Hull
sputtered, “Fuckin’ useless piece’a shit. Might as well just kill ya
now. Any guy gives head bad as you don’t deserve ta live.”

The comment was not encouraging, but at least it served as an
incentive.
Just . . . suck his dick better, for God’s sake!
Gray thought.
He stepped up the tempo, his mouth vised open as if by a shoe-tree.
He tried to suck harder, feeling a slimy leakage begin to form on his
tongue.

“Hmm. Not bad, I say. Gittin’better. Keep goin’jess like that an’
I might not cut’cher throat tonight. Naw, might even keep ya alive
fer one more.”

The rewards of perseverance. But Gray knew he couldn’t let him
get bored. Then an idea blinked on.
Like the girl,
he thought.
He remembered. How could he forget?
Lubricant,
came the
frantic thought. The cock plungering in and out of his ass gave
him the answer quite quickly. Jory had used saliva.
So will I,
Gray
realized. He momentarily uncorked his mouth from Hull’s hot penis,
then he laved his own index finger with his spit, then—
“City’s got some brains after all,” Hull chuckled when Gray
reached his hand around and slipped his finger into the man’s anus.
It plowed through chunky feces. Gray re-jammed the cock into his
mouth, wriggling his finger.
“Yeah, City! That’s it! Now ya got it!”
“Bet Kari Ann taught him that,” Jory deduced, picking up his own tempo. Gray grimly felt Jory’s testicle’s slapping his own with
each thrust forward. “Bet she done the same thing’n sucked his little
peter in the car.”

“Bet so.”

“Little jizz-head’s always been dumber’n cow
flop but at least
we taught her how ta do
somethin’
right.”
Mouth crammed with dick, Gray rolled his eyes.
Didn’t these guys
just crack me in the head for implying that they might be incestuous?
Go figure.
All that mattered at this instant was that he wasn’t getting
cracked in the head
again,
for performing mediocre fellatio. His index
finger tilled through more hillbilly shit, teasing the prostate, while his
mouth was fastidiously fucked. Gray’s ass was being fucked with
equal fastidiousness.More smegma dissolved on his tongue—an acrid
yet pale flavor—and he willed himself to think about smells other
than those which wafted from Hull’s groin. Roses. Cranberry Lambic.
Vanilla extract and his mother’s hot apple pie. Reflex, however, caused
his rectum to flinch, via such an intrusive invasion, but then Jory
approved, “Hull? I say this here fella’s one hail of a butt-fuck. Squeezes
up his butthole real tight on my bone! Why, I’se still say this boy’s the
blammed best cornholing I’se ever had!”
“And ya’s know what, Jor?” Hull replied, stroking steadily into
Gray’s mouth, “he kin suck a peter like there’s no tuh-marruh!”
“Shee-it, I’se-I’se-I’se think I’se gonna come alls-ready. Pinch
that butthole, boy! Squeeze it!”
Gray squeezed it, flexing intricate muscles he scarcely knew he
had. Then—
Jory’s fingers dug into his hips, his strokes faltering. “Aw, yeah, I
say yeah! I’se comin’ in this fella like a firehose!”
Gray wasn’t sure he agreed with the simile. More like a turkey
baster full of hot egg-drop soup being aspirated deep into his bowel.
Gray could feel it, he could feel the wet, gluelike heat spurt and then
settle. And, next, Hull’s own strokes accelerated. “Shee-it, git it, City,
git it! I’se gonna—”

The entirety of Gray’s face seemed to swell shut when Hull
ejaculated into his mouth. It was a voluminous ejaculation. Long hot
spurts, like velotic pieces of spaghetti, launched to the back of his
throat.

“Fuckin’-A.”

There was nearly an audible pop when Hull withdrew the
deflating—and elephantine—member, then his hand snatched
up Gray’s chin. “Swaller it now, City. Be a good l’il cock-suck
ands swaller it all. Swaller alls that good come right down inta yer
breadbasket ‘nless ya want yer eye digged out.”

Gray didn’t want his eye “digged” out, so he “swallered.” And
what it was exactly that he swallered was something that reminded
him of a mouthful of hot, thin snot. He winced, nearly gagged, then
gulped.

And down it went.
It left a warm, strangely minty aftertrail down his esophagus.
“Hail of a come, Jory. Fella sucks a peter better’n a fifty-year-old whore.”
“Take a cock up the tail just as good, I say,” Jory elucidated.
“Ain’t never, I say never, had me a cornhole so’s good. Came enough ta fill a milk bucket, I did!”
Gray pulled his finger out of Hull’s ass and was then allowed to
collapse to his belly. Chain links clinked. He could smell the fresh
excrement on his finger.
“Kinda neat, ain’t it?” Hull speculated. “I means he gotta belly fulla my come, an’ a butt fulla yers.”
“Yeahs,” Jory agreed. “Too bad it ain’t winter. All that come’d keep him warm.”
Gray’s cheek lay against the floor.
Thank God it’s over. But . . .
Exhausted, he turned over on his back, his Italian slacks bunched at
his knees. What he saw, absurdly, appalled him. Jory was using his
X’andrini black silk shirt as a rag to wipe off his genitals with.
“Man, that shirt cost two hundred bucks.”

“Worth it,” Jory grinned. “You’s the best cornhole I’se ever had,
an’ this city-faggot shirt’s the best dick-wipe. Soft.”
Upside-down, Gray watched Hull stick his fat, deflated penis
back into his overalls. Then he stood up. “T’was a dandy nut, City.
You done good. An’ ‘cos you done such a fine job’a takin’ care’a us,
we’ll’se send Kari Ann up with some viddles fer ya.”
“An’ we’ll’se visit ya agin tuh-marruh,” Jory promised.
“Hopes ya like yer dinner, City.” Hull chuckled, turned,
then slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Come on, Jor. Let’s git
downstairs now’n git ta work on them cars.”
Their booted feet clunked down the stairs. A doorlock clicked.
Then Gray passed out.

“Wake up. Hey.”

Something in a dream patted him on the cheek, jostled him. But
when Gray opened his eyes, he saw it was no dream at all. It was still
the same nightmare.

Haltered breasts swayed. The girl’s face hovered over his.
“Wakes up there. I’se got some food’n water fer ya.”
Gray leaned up. At least the pain in his head didn’t feel as
pronounced, and as for the pain in his anus--it felt more numb than
anything. When he rubbed his face, he winced; he could smell his
finger. When he sat up, the chain dragged a little. He could imagine
how ludicrous he looked—in spite of the horror his predicament
presented: he was naked, save for his t-shirt and black dress socks.
“Here ya go. Sorry I ain’t’s got no spoon. Yer’s gonna have ta eat
it with yer fingers.”
Gray’s vision focused on the object in her hand.
A bucket.
Actually, two buckets, one in the other hand. Just garden-variety
buckets. Gray’s chain dragged when he sat up. For some reason, he
tried to pull his t-shirt down over his exposed groin, as if he should
be modest. Or could it be the fact that terror and violation had shrunk his genitals to what must look like a
five-year-old’s? But the attempt
was futile. He’d put on some weight lately; the t-shirt could only be
pulled down to the top of his pubic hair.

“What’s in the buckets?”

“This bucket here?” She held one up, then set it down in the
corner. “It’s fer—Well, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Gray replied testily.
“It’s fer ya to pee in, and . . .”
A shit-bucket, great. Well what do you know? There’s a men’s
room here. I wonder if there’s an attendant to go along with it, to
pump the soap for me when I wash my hands.
His sarcasm served no purpose. The wood floor felt warm on
his bare, ghoul-white buttocks. But what was that smell? No, not the
awful smell of dried shit on his finger—there was a pale aroma in
the room.
She set the other bucket down. It steamed.
“This here’s yer dinner,” she told him, and something close to
delight tickled Gray.
“Thank God, I’m starving.” After being abducted, beaten, and
raped? After spending the night nearly naked and chained to a wood
floor? You bet. Some sustenance was just what he needed to focus on
his predicament, and think of a way to get out of here.
“What is it?” he asked. “It smells sort of familiar, but I can’t quite
place it,” and then she slid the bucket to him.
“I cooked it up for ya. Don’t really know how to, so’s I figured
I’d steam it.”
Gray looked in the bucket. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he
outraged.
Slabs of pumpkin lay in the steaming bucket.
“Well, I’se sorry it ain’t nothin’ better, but that’s all they’se said I
could give ya. Hull says we gots ta save money, an’ these pumpkins
grow all over the yard.”
Gray shot her a critical glare. “You don’t
eat
pumpkin, not as is.

BOOK: Bullet Through Your Face (improved format)
10.52Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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