filled-to-the-brim creamer. “Tarnations!” he cracked, “Would’ja look it all that nut we put in this som’bitch’s head!”
I nearly collapsed in a faint.
Surely, I’d witnessed enough of “backwoods ways,” even though a part of me had to shrive that this tenebrous mode of capital punishment made hanging, firing squad, & electrocution seem humdrum when juxtaposed. Ordinarily, I would never think of taking my leave of a host without bidding proper adieu (it would’ve been un-genteel) but under these circumstances?
It was time to leave, with prompt dispatch, I’d say.
I back-stepped, hoping to be indiscreet, slipped behind a flickering torch, & prepared to canter my way out of these forbidden woods, back to the road which would return me to Nate’s ramshackle garage. I felt myself sinking into shadow, & in a moment had disappeared from the nefarious clearing. Still soul-shocked by what I’d descried, I stumbled away into darkness barely veined by moonlight filtering down through the limbs of the gnarled, serpentine trees overhead; & when I turned to bolt away–
“Howard!” came a hot, hushed whisper. “Ya can’t up’n leave now! Ya just cain’t! ”
The sudden start may have momentarily halted my heart. At once, moist hands were on me, & then from the darkness, an earthy yet enticing, white figure emerged as of a sensualistic marble statue emerging from a pool of black ink: the preeminently figured woman I’d come to think of as the “albiness.”
Once I realized who she was, I felt a hair-trigger surge in my libido; but all I had time to speak was, “Um, my, I . . . ,” & that was all the situation permitted me to voice before the woman roughly embraced me, pressed her lips to mine, & plunged her tongue into my mouth. Her breasts, perfect to a preposterous degree, squashed against my chest like ethereal prods, charging me with a steaming, licentious heat; indeed, her nipples were so stoked by goatish desire, they could’ve been bolt-heads poking my shirt. Forthwith, I shot to tiptoes when an importunate hand kneaded my member through my trousers with the deftness of a practiced milk maid’s on the teat of a cow. I tried to pull away–why, I was not sure at this point–but then other feminine hands– many of them–assailed my body & literally pulled me down onto the forest’s carpet. Against my will, my shirt was opened; soft, wet lips lowering to lick my chest & draw in my own nipples. “Git his pants down!” someone commanded . . .
& it was so, posthaste.
“Howard,” the albiness pleaded, “please don’t leave us yet!”
I don’t appear to have much of a CHOICE! I thought sarcastically, because I was being held down with dominance, hands pinning my arms to the ground, more hands following suit upon my legs, unyielding as iron fetters; & then my alarmed gaze roved an upward half-circle to see that at least a half-dozen “creeker” women–the very women who’d participated in the obscene ritual at the clearing, & all still shiningly naked–knelt about me, holding me fast to the ground as if I’d been staked there. Women, yes, the weaker sex, but these women were hill women, with bodies not only staggeringly provocative but bodies toned, conditioned, &, moreover, strong from the rigors of life in the hinterlands, far stronger–I hasten to add—than this spindly, lily-handed, 146-pound scribe. I may as well have had a pallet of grain sacks sitting atop me.
“See, see,” the albiness panted, straddling me with her bare groin to my bare belly, “we just cain’t have it–you leavin’ without a-fuckin’ us. You’se a hero! We need yer seed, Howard.”
In the moonlight, I gaped up at her face, which was now flushed pink with excitement, as were her breasts & tops of her arms, while the rest of her remained the fascinating slick-white. Her nipples, now, stuck out surely as coat pegs. Eventually, I jabbered, “Mum-mum-my seed? ”
“Aw, shore, baby!” she replied
I nearly collapsed in a faint.
Surely, I’d witnessed enough of “backwoods ways,” even though a part of me had to shrive that this tenebrous mode of capital punishment made hanging, firing squad, & electrocution seem humdrum when juxtaposed. Ordinarily, I would never think of taking my leave of a host without bidding proper adieu (it would’ve been un-genteel) but under these circumstances?
It was time to leave, with prompt dispatch, I’d say.
I back-stepped, hoping to be indiscreet, slipped behind a flickering torch, & prepared to canter my way out of these forbidden woods, back to the road which would return me to Nate’s ramshackle garage. I felt myself sinking into shadow, & in a moment had disappeared from the nefarious clearing. Still soul-shocked by what I’d descried, I stumbled away into darkness barely veined by moonlight filtering down through the limbs of the gnarled, serpentine trees overhead; & when I turned to bolt away–
“Howard!” came a hot, hushed whisper. “Ya can’t up’n leave now! Ya just cain’t! ”
The sudden start may have momentarily halted my heart. At once, moist hands were on me, & then from the darkness, an earthy yet enticing, white figure emerged as of a sensualistic marble statue emerging from a pool of black ink: the preeminently figured woman I’d come to think of as the “albiness.”
Once I realized who she was, I felt a hair-trigger surge in my libido; but all I had time to speak was, “Um, my, I . . . ,” & that was all the situation permitted me to voice before the woman roughly embraced me, pressed her lips to mine, & plunged her tongue into my mouth. Her breasts, perfect to a preposterous degree, squashed against my chest like ethereal prods, charging me with a steaming, licentious heat; indeed, her nipples were so stoked by goatish desire, they could’ve been bolt-heads poking my shirt. Forthwith, I shot to tiptoes when an importunate hand kneaded my member through my trousers with the deftness of a practiced milk maid’s on the teat of a cow. I tried to pull away–why, I was not sure at this point–but then other feminine hands– many of them–assailed my body & literally pulled me down onto the forest’s carpet. Against my will, my shirt was opened; soft, wet lips lowering to lick my chest & draw in my own nipples. “Git his pants down!” someone commanded . . .
& it was so, posthaste.
“Howard,” the albiness pleaded, “please don’t leave us yet!”
I don’t appear to have much of a CHOICE! I thought sarcastically, because I was being held down with dominance, hands pinning my arms to the ground, more hands following suit upon my legs, unyielding as iron fetters; & then my alarmed gaze roved an upward half-circle to see that at least a half-dozen “creeker” women–the very women who’d participated in the obscene ritual at the clearing, & all still shiningly naked–knelt about me, holding me fast to the ground as if I’d been staked there. Women, yes, the weaker sex, but these women were hill women, with bodies not only staggeringly provocative but bodies toned, conditioned, &, moreover, strong from the rigors of life in the hinterlands, far stronger–I hasten to add—than this spindly, lily-handed, 146-pound scribe. I may as well have had a pallet of grain sacks sitting atop me.
“See, see,” the albiness panted, straddling me with her bare groin to my bare belly, “we just cain’t have it–you leavin’ without a-fuckin’ us. You’se a hero! We need yer seed, Howard.”
In the moonlight, I gaped up at her face, which was now flushed pink with excitement, as were her breasts & tops of her arms, while the rest of her remained the fascinating slick-white. Her nipples, now, stuck out surely as coat pegs. Eventually, I jabbered, “Mum-mum-my seed? ”
“Aw, shore, baby!” she replied
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