Chapter 8

Cathy paused in the act of surreptitiously wiping off her mouth with the back of her hand. She glanced at Tommy in panic, then at Wade with his barrel chest, hairy belly, and sneering smile. Tommy responded instantly.

No carpeting could completely deaden the sound of his furious charge. Wade looked up from pulling off his boots just as Tommy arrived in front of him, his muscular upper body already in the midst of launching a powerful right-hand swing. It landed on Wade, and Wade went backward a step, but the punch Had landed high.

Wade shook his head to clear it and went into a crouch. "When I get finished with you, kid, you're gonna remember me every time you look in a mirror!" he raged. "Every day of your life you're gonna-"

Tommy rushed him again. Wade stumbled backward as Tommy's weight sledged him. He flung up his arms as he started to fall, and Tommy nailed him with three solid shots on his way down to the floor, right-left-right. It felt to Tommy as though he had splintered every bone in his right hand of Wade's craggy features.

His heart sank when Wade rolled over and bounded to his feet like a rubber ball, mouthing inarticulate curses. Blood was streaming from a cut under one eye, and lumps were already springing up on his face from Tommy's razorlike knuckles, but the big man charged.

The two naked bodies collided heavily, and Wade grabbed Tommy around the waist. Tommy found out at once why Wade had such a leave-strictly-alone reputation around town. He had hands like steel hooks. Everywhere he grabbed Tommy, he hurt. Tommy slugged his way free only to catch a wild-swinging right hand on the top of his head. The blow was so powerful that he felt the hinges of his knees loosen.

Cathy stood terrified, one palm cupping a bare breast, as uncle and nephew fought like animals. A sweeping left hook by Wade knocked Tommy down, and the girl gasped. Wade kicked Tommy twice before Tommy seized a leg and upset him. They swapped punches on their knees, snarling at each other. Wherever the solid blows landed, red welts sprang up on the naked bodies.

Wade growled threateningly and surged upright. Tommy made it to his feet just as Wade sizzled across the bedroom head-down like a billygoat. Tommy barely diverted his course by blocking him to one side. Wade missed the desk in that corner but went right through a hi-fi. Tommy dived for him, arid they thrashed around in the fragments of expensive cabinet-wood.

Cathy screamed when she saw blood on Tommy's face. The battlers paid no attention. They rolled under the desk with Tommy momentarily on top, hard-punching fists and flailing elbows connecting savagely. They rolled against the legs of the desk, and wood screeched in protest before two legs collapsed. The desk sagged down upon the pinwheeeling bodies.

The remains of the desk sailed up into the air and smashed down drunkenly in the center of the room. It dissolved like a house of cards while Cathy ducked flying wood. Wade snatched up a broken-off leg and smashed Tommy alongside the ear, knocking him over sideways. The ear puffed up like a toadstool. Adrenalin-charged anger powered Tommy upright again. He took the next swing of Wade's club on a shoulder, wrenched it away from him, and with one savage swing smashed Wade's mouth and teeth into a bloody smear.

Incredibly, Wade didn't even take a backward step. Roaring, he tackled Tommy and brought him to the floor. They rammed around the room, rolling over and over, crushing the lightweight furniture in their path. In close contact Wade's superior weight and strength began to tell. He levered himself up over Tommy's prostrate body and began to smash at his face. Tommy's blows weakened and finally ceased.

Cathy screamed again and ran forward. She dropped on her knees and tried to interpose her slender nudity between Tommy's unconscious body and Wade's sledgehammer fists. Wade flung her aside like a rag doll, but the interruption brought him partly back from that blood-lust world he was occupying. He scowled at Cathy, who had landed hard on her butt and then slid on the carpeting. Blood ran down from his forehead into his left eye, obscuring his vision, and he slapped at it impatiently.

He looked down at Tommy's chest pinned under Wade's massive thighs, and he backed off slightly. "Good thing-you stopped me, blondie," he mumbled through mashed, blood-smeared lips. "Cert'ny didn'-wanna kill the -kid."

He pushed himself up to his knees and then to his feet. His legs felt heavy as iron posts and the large muscles in his thighs were jumping uncontrollably. He looked down at Tommy again and shook his head in disbelief. Cathy had crawled to Tommy and was crouched beside him, patting his blotchy-looking features with her hands, and crying openly.

Wade looked around at the splinters of furniture in the bedroom and shook his head. Some of the iron-banded tightness had already left his chest. Cathy tried to soothe the black-and-blue puffball that was Tony's ear, but at her touch it exploded. Blood ran down his neck onto his shoulder, and Cathy wailed aloud.

"For crissake, he'll be-practic'ly good as- new in an-hour," Wade said irritably. "Who'd a thought the little bastard had-it in him? Nobody's given me-a go like that-in fifteen years." His huge chest heaved from his hard-drawn breaths. He looked down at Cathy crouched over Tommy. "Get the hell-out've the way so's-I can put him-on the bed."

When she didn't move, he put his big toe into her bare behind and rolled her over on her side. He stooped and with seeming effortlessness picked Tommy up and carried him to the bed, where he deposited him. Cathy ran into the bathroom and wrung out a towel in cold water, but when she came back to the bed Wade took it away from her.

"He'll keep," he told the girl. "You'n me have a little unfinished business first." She stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Did he tell you I told him I just been waitin' for your peach fuzz to grow to fuck you?"

"N-no," she faltered.

"Well, I did, an' when Wade Sampson waits that long for somethin', he fuckin' well gets it."

She looked at him fearfully. His breathing had returned almost to normal, but blood still oozed from half a dozen places on his face, and rivulets of sweat rolled down from his hairy chest over his hard belly into the groin where Cathy had been forced to suck his meaty penis. He was a bear of a man, seemingly indestructible.

"You hear me, blondie?" he said when she remained silent. She nodded slowly. "The kid fought for you, an' he fought pretty good, but he lost. So I'm gonna fuck you." He grinned at her through swollen lips that displayed chipped teeth. "On'y just to show there's no hard feelin's, I'm gonna give you a choice."

"A ch-choice?" she repeated shakily.

"Yeah. You ain't gonna leave this bedroom without gettin' it, but you can take it in your cunt or your asshole."

Cathy swallowed. Her knees felt weak, and her dry throat made her words scratchy. "What -what kind of a choice is that?"

"Think about it," he invited her. "Like for ten seconds, before I put you on the bed."

She thought about it. Tommy and she were going to get married. She didn't want this cruel monster to even touch her vagina. She spoke up well before the elapse of ten seconds. "Not my-not my-" She didn't finish it but covered her golden-haired mound with one palm.

His grin was satanic. "Mind tellin' me why?"

"You might give me a baby, and I want only Tommy's baby."

"Spoken like a true little square. It's just what I figured you'd say. So now you turn up your fat little ass while I plug it, correct?"

Cathy felt a nauseous surge in her stomach. "P-please," she begged. "We didn't do anything to you. We didn't do anything to anyone. We -we were just enjoying each other."

"An' will continue to do so," Wade pointed out with a leer. "What's a plugged asshole among friends?"

She knew he was baiting her to add to her humiliation but she knew no way to prevent it. Intransigence on her part would result not only in bodily injury for herself but perhaps an additional beating for Tommy. She couldn't risk it. She didn't know exactly what was involved in her choice, although Tommy had sometimes kidded her about it during their bed-frolickings, telling her he'd get around to it some day. Wade's seeming mildness in offering her a choice had been no choice at all. "Let's-let's get it over," she said with a rush.

"Fine," he said casually. "Just suck my prick up again an' we're in business."

Cathy almost gagged. Even from where she was standing she could smell the pungent masculine odor made more rank by Wade's fight-induced perspiration. To put her face down into that, and then have to suck the perspiration and the previous residue of spend from the greasy-looking, down-drooping penis.

Do it fast, she told herself. Get it over. She dropped to her knees and forced herself to move her face close to the repugnant flesh. She swept her long blonde hair over her shoulders to get it out of the way, then without giving herself time to think or feel further, she opened her mouth and swallowed the limp peter. She tried to hold her breath but the acrid, ammoniac smell filtered into her nostrils and the nasty taste-not at all like the flavor of Tommy's sweet cock-trickled down her straining throat.

Cathy tongued and sucked busily, eyes closed, trying to shut from her mind what was going to happen to her next. She knew it would hurt, but how much? Tommy would have made it hurt lovingly, but this brute-

The prick swelled in her mouth, forcing her backward on the gristly shaft. She licked and sucked and swirled her tongue along the ragged cord on the underside, and Wade Sampson's thighs stiffened. He took Cathy's blonde head in both hands and pushed her away. She had one quick glimpse of the purple-headed monster she had created before Wade seized her arm and half-dragged, half-assisted her to the bed. Bits of broken furniture crunched under their feet as they crossed the room. Cathy winced as a sliver penetrated the sole of one foot.

Wade pulled a pillow from under Tommy's unconscious head and placed it over the footboard. He doubled up Cathy as casually as though she were a side of beef and placed her over it. Her heart beat faster as she hung there, helpless, straining with her toes to touch the floor.

Wade stood behind her, admiring with his eyes the long slender back flaring into surprisingly sturdy velvety buttocks, the full-fleshed lower globes on a direct line with his renewed erection. He parted her sleek globes with his thumbs, exposing her cleft and buttonhole. Saliva flooded his mouth as he savored the thought of piercing that tight passageway. He advanced his prick-head between the widened hind cheeks, and Cathy squirmed at its first light impact upon her puckered anus.

Wade would have liked to prolong her distress but a tell-tale tingling in his loins warned him not to procrastinate. He fitted his leathery tip into her shallow depression and shoved. "Ohhhh!" Cathy exclaimed, her voice high-pitched. Her breath fluttered in her throat. Wade Sampson thrust mightily against the dry hole, and the blonde girl yelped in pain.

"Shut up an' shove back on it!" he said between his teeth. Lodged beyond the coronal rim, he bucked his way farther inside in a series of plunging, ramming jousts.

"Owwwww!" Cathy wailed. Her knees flailed the bedstead haplessly. The pain was so acute she thought her entire cleft was splitting in two. "Aieeeeeeee!" she screamed as Wade shoved in farther with another series of jerks. Her head was twisted around trying in vain to see what was going on behind her. "Ouuuuu!" she bayed, sure that her torturer was using a hot poker on her instead of his prick.

Wade thrust with his hips, and thrust again. Suddenly he was past the barrier of the tight sphincter and wallowing in the warm, buttery-feeling smoothness of Cathy's rectum. The sensation intoxicated him. In recent months the best of cunt-fucking had begun to take second place in his mind to a good tight asshole.

"I'll fuck the shit out've your asshole now!" he told the blonde girl hoarsely, and began to propel himself in and out of her clinging flesh. She still cried out with each renewed penetration, but he recognized a different quality in her cries. "Gettin'-to like it, hah?" he grunted. He gave his steely rod an extra-hard shove, and Cathy shrieked.

Six feet away from them Tommy opened his eyes. Cathy? Had he heard Cathy? Where-? Oh, the fight. Wade. Wade? CATHY? Where was Cathy? Sick and dizzy, he tried to sit up. The room whirled around him nauseatingly. He started to sink back on the bed, but Cathy's agonized scream rang in his ears.

Galvanized, he rolled toward the edge of the bed, nearly landing on the floor. While trying to stand up he saw them: Cathy doubled up over a pillow at the end of the bed, and Wade Sampson bucking his big belly into her soft buttocks while harrowing cries issued from Cathy's straining throat.

Whimpering in frustrated rage, Tommy reached the end of the bed by balancing his weight with his hands on the bed itself. His legs felt like spaghetti and his face, chest, and upper arms throbbed painfully. He rounded the end of the bed and tried to launch a punch at Wade Sampson.

Wade, who had seen him coming, countered with a jolting blow to the ribcage. Tommy doubled over and sank to his knees, almost blacked out. He panted for breath as he crouched at his uncle's feet, his eyes scarcely inches away now from a spectacle he did not want to see but from which he lacked the strength to move away.

So close he could almost have bumped it with his nose, his uncle's thick gristle fucked Cathy's distended asshole, disappearing almost to the last half-inch on the instroke while her flesh drew out along its length on the return trip. Sick and helpless, Tommy swayed on his knees while Wade increased the speed of his lunges and Cathy's sweaty-looking soft buttocks began to tremble. She was still crying out at each thrust into her rectum, but even Tommy could hear the entirely new note in her ululations. Cathy was coming off, and so was Wade.

Still kitten-weak, Tommy tried to throw himself against Wade's knees, but missed. He sprawled on the carpeting, unable to move again. Above him he heard the combined beseeching yips of Cathy peculiar to her moments of highest sexuality and Wade's bull-like roar. It seemed to go on for hours.

Then there was silence.

He tried to push himself up from the floor, and failed.

Cathy was suddenly on the floor beside him, crying hysterically, trying to burrow into his arms.

He cuddled her tenderly while he looked upward, trying to focus on Wade's face. "Next time-I see you," he rasped from a dry throat, "I'll kill you." His uncle's features were a shimmering haze.

"Time you eat another barrel of flour or two, maybe," Wade's voice said equably. "In the meantime when you see me comin' on your side of the street, cross over. An' make some arrangement for payin' off the man who lent you the room. He ain't gonna like it when he sees his furniture."

The voice stopped, but it was some minutes later that Tommy, crooning softly to Cathy while he tried to soothe her naked shuddering body by stroking it lightly, realized that they were again alone.

Jo Tucker couldn't sleep in the narrow bed in her tiny room. Too many thoughts buzzed through her mind. Wade... Dr. Paul Bryson... Tommy Johnson... but most of all her husband, Tom Tucker.

She'd gone back to him twice before. He never came after her; he waited. And when she went back, he whaled her. Her knees drew up into her stomach at the remembrance.

But after he whaled her, he loved her. A soft glow dissolved the hard knot in her loins when she remembered that. Wade was about to cut her loose; she knew the signs. She didn't fit into Wade's future plans. Better to ease away from the relationship before his sexual cruelty became cruelty without sex. Wade stirred her; there was no doubt about it. She responded to him as she did to all forceful men. But Wade was a butterfly always seeking new sexual flowers, and the end was in sight.

She rolled restlessly to the other side of the bed. She wasn't meant to live alone. At least Tom understood her. She didn't know what it was that made sex without pain a blah experience for her after the first couple of times with a new man, but it was a fact of life she had to live with. Tom had remarked once that her bed-hopping occurred in the intervals when he neglected her with his belt. And he had been right. Tom understood her.

But to go back to Tom again? There would be a thrilling pain-sex homecoming, of course. Her pussy itched at the thought. But then familiarity would breed its usual contempt, and she would begin responding to the glances and verbal sallies of men at parties. And she would begin making dates, and eventually Tom would catch her at it, and the entire cycle would renew itself.

Jo Tucker sighed deeply, turned onto her stomach, and finally fell asleep without having made up her mind.

Wade Sampson drove the cruiser well above the speed limit to the Harris estate on the outskirts of town. He had arranged the afternoon's confrontation with care. He had Jo Tucker call Dr. Paul Bryson and set up a supposed rendezvous, while he called Lucille himself. Paul Bryson was due to arrive fifteen minutes before Lucille.

Lips still puffy from Tommy Johnson's hard fists distorted Wade's grin into a gargoyle grimace as he thought of the upcoming meeting, which would be an unpleasant surprise to both husband and wife. Experience had taught him not to prolong these things. It was impossible to do anything to a woman, no matter how outrageous, that she wouldn't eventually confide to someone, bringing unwanted outsiders into the picture. Not that Wade feared outsiders; in his time he had eliminated a few of them, too. But it was messy.

No, hit-and-run was best. Straight women responded to the stimulus of shame only for the first two or three times. New depths of shame had continually to be contrived for them or they'd be calling up for a date. Most men didn't understand this facet of the female nature, but Wade Sampson did. He'd been exploiting it for years.

Lucille Bryson was no exception, despite her cloistered background. With just a little more experience she'd be as fast off the reservation as any of them when a willing prick beckoned. Wade Sampson prided himself that he had opened many a woman's eyes into what was really going on in the world around her. Once a woman got the feeling that she was missing something, the rest was easy.

But he wanted them only in small doses. To fuck them, sure, but even more to humiliate them, and then to move on. There were so many women available to a forceful man he had no intention of concentrating his energies upon a few. He already had his eye on the gorgeous-looking, big-titted receptionist who worked for Doc Leonard in the Forester Building.

And then there was the mousy-looking but broad-assed wife of Joe Kearns, who Wade had learned was having an affair with her dentist. Both of them should respond nicely to having their noses shoved into Wade's hairy balls.

He parked the cruiser at the rear of the house and went around and unlocked the front door. He was barely in time. Paul Bryson drove up the driveway and parked near the front entrance. Wade met him in the foyer, enjoying Bryson's surprise. "Jo couldn't make it, Reverend," he said, grinning hugely. "So she deputized me." The look of shock on Paul Bryson's handsome face delighted him. "I'm Jo's assistant at marriage counselin', Reverend."

He removed from the pocket of his uniform blouse the best-of the worst-of the pictures Joe Tucker had taken of Wade and Lucille. "Here's one of my references," Wade said, handing the picture to Paul, who took one look and blanched at the sight of his wife in the throes of sexual ecstasy. "You wouldn't care to have that mailed to your Board of Trustees, would you?" Paul Bryson shook his head numbly. He thrust the picture at Wade, then pulled it back and looked at it again. "Then I'm sure you'll have no objection to my marriage counselin' this afternoon," Wade continued. Paul stared at the picture, only half hearing. Could that really be Lucille with that flagrant look of hedonistic sensuality on her face? But he knew it was.

"I understand you're a sinful man, Reverend," Wade went on. He grinned widely. "Enthusiastically sinful, correct? But as you preach every Sunday, it's the woman who pays, an' so we've got to be a little hard on your erring wife. Would you believe that erring wives expect it, Reverend? They-"

He broke off at the sound of the taxi he had instructed Lucille to take to the Harris home. "Be right back, Reverend," he said, and hurried to the foyer. He was in time to see through the glassed-in portion of the front door as Lucille stopped stock-still in her purposeful stride when she saw the Bryson car parked near the front entrance. Wade opened the door. "Paul's here," he called to the shocked Lucille. "C'mon in."

"Paul? What-? How-?" Lucille swallowed; she couldn't even think. "Why?" she got out finally.

"I sent for him," Wade said. "Did you know he's been fucking Jo Tucker?"

She knew instantly that it was true. It explained so many things. I drove him to it, she thought miserably. If I'd been half a wife he'd never have had eyes for her.

"I've got pictures of 'em together," Wade lied. "Just like you 'n me." He paused for effect. "I'm gonna mail 'em to the church trustees unless-"

"Unless what?" Lucille said, at once protective.

"Unless you cooperate enthusiastically in our fun-an'-games this afternoon."

"I'll do anything you want if you won't hurt Paul's career," she said quietly. I certainly owe him that after my behavior, she thought.

"Then strike up the grand march," Wade said ushering her inside. He led her to the drawing room in which he had left Paul. "Dr. Paul Bryson, meet Mrs. Bryson," he introduced them.

Husband and wife looked at each other, then looked away. "We're here this afternoon for some marriage counselin', in case I forgot to tell you," Wade said to Lucille. "So I suggest we all strip an' get comfortable."

He proceeded to follow his own dictate. He was standing before them, thick-shouldered and hairy-bellied, clad only in his boots while Paul Bryson had removed only his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Lucille had been unable to nerve herself up to begin. "Need any help, you two?" Wade asked.

"No," they said in chorus.

It was with a sense of glee that Wade watched the Brysons undress. They avoided looking at each other, and they avoided looking at him. Lucille suffered her usual struggle with her girdle. Paul hesitated when he was reduced to his shorts, then stripped them down when he saw Lucille removing her panties. "A little closer together now," Wade urged them. He had looked at Paul's sexual apparatus with interest, bearing in mind Jo Tucker's admonition that the handsome minister's equipment was out of the ordinary. There was no doubt about it; the reverend was really hung.

Paul Bryson stared openly at his wife's big breasts with their perky dark nipples and nut-brown areolas, then swept his eyes downward to the rounded sweep of her belly and the thick black curls surmounting her thigh-juncture. Lucille gazed at her husband's clean-limbed leanness of frame and his bushy sexual pod with its penis looking stalwart even in quiescence.

"Shake hands with his prick," Wade urged Lucille.

Timidly she reached out to touch the member heretofore known only as a visitor during hours of darkness. Paul flinched at her touch, but then remained motionless. Lucille's fingers encircled the drooping fleshy tube, which at once began to swell in her hand. She blushed and dropped it.

"No bashfulness now," Wade's voice boomed. "We're all among friends, aren't we? Paul, why don't you give her cunt a good feel?"

Lucille stood with eyes closed as her husband's fingers slipped between her bare thighs and fondled her fleshy labial lips. Muscles twitched in her legs and her nipples stiffened unbidden.

"Nice to see you two gettin' along so well," Wade commented. Lucille opened her eyes in time to see Wade draw the too-well-remembered quirt from one boot and slap it across his palm. She hadn't noticed it before, and her stomach lurched nervously. "Now we're all in agreement that you've been a naughty girl recently, right, Lucille?" Wade went on.

She nodded, dry-mouthed. Wade handed the quirt to the surprised Paul. "My marriage counselin' experience tells me it's time for you to exercise your husbandly right arm, Reverend."

Paul tried to hand him back the quirt. "I'm just as guilty as she is," he said somberly.

"But we just got done agreein' that it's the woman who pays," Wade said suavely. Then the previous false geniality in his voice was replaced by a hard-edged rasp. "So she gets about fifteen of the best from you in the proper wifely place. Or I mail the picture." He took Lucille by the arm and hustled her to a straight-backed chair. Seating himself, he pulled her upper body down until he could thrust her head between his thighs while her nude buttocks pointed straight out into the room. "You got to be careful how you do this," he explained to the wide-eyed Paul, "because when they really get to squealin' they tend to bite. Let's go now with a little wifely correction. I'll count for you."

With her nose and mouth clamped tightly into Wade's rank-smelling groin just to one side of the penis which rested on her left cheek, Lucille could feel her husband's eyes upon the sleek-fleshed swelling amplitudes of her bottom-extension. "Maybe you'd rather I did it?" Wade inquired when Paul made no move.

"No!" Lucille blurted muffedly. "You do it, Paul!"

He took up a position behind and to one side of her. He took an experimental cut at the air with the quirt, and Lucille instinctively clenched her buttocks when she heard the hissing whir. "This thing is murderous!" Paul protested to Wade.

"She'll live," Wade said laconically. "Just remember that if I don't like the way you do it she'll get it all over again from me.'

Paul set his lips, drew back his arm, and flashed the quirt through the air with what he felt was moderate force. He was startled at Lucille's convulsive leap when the braided leather thwacked into her soft body cushions and a hot-looking crimson streak jumped up on them. "One!" Wade counted.

Paul swung again, fascinated by the continual swaying, rotating, and twitching of Lucille's otherwise immobilized dancing globes. By the third stroke he knew he was swinging harder but he couldn't seem to restrain himself. Wade counted steadily as Lucille began to yell. Even in her flaming-bottomed distress she could feel additional pressure on her face as Wade's penis swelled in a giant erection.

Paul couldn't see that, but he felt a trembling tingle in his own loins as his wife's bell-shaped, full-fleshed, red-striped bottom cheeks continued to gyrate wildly. His traitorous arm whipped the quirt around and into Lucille's bare seat with flesh-galvanizing force. Even her outcries, muffled though they were against Wade's groin, excited him. One part of him couldn't understand himself while another urged additional toll of the helplessly bared quivering behind.

Lucille's shrieks soared as the pain in her bottom spread to an all-encompassing fiery incandescence. She kicked lustily at each implacable cut of the dreadful quirt, but Wade held her firmly. Her whole backside felt as if it were burning up. "Owoooooo!" she yelled at a slashing cut.

"Fifteen," Wade intoned.

Lucille could hardly believe her ears. She had long since lost count. Was it really over? Or was this the preliminary to a further whipping? She gasped in relief when Wade released her from her doubled-up position. She straightened up shakily, her two hands at once going to her bottom and frantically soothing the fast-rising weals.

"Notice your hubby's prick now," Wade told her.

Lucille glanced over her shoulder and saw Paul, quirt still in hand, with a fierce-looking tumescence standing rigidly out from his belly. "I think you ought to give that a kiss since it's standin' up for you," Wade remarked. He took Lucille's arm and led her in front of Paul.

Helplessly she knelt before him, one hand still rubbing her scourged backside. With the other she took Paul's tremendous erection in her palm and awkwardly guided it to her mouth. She kissed the bulging head gingerly, then let it go. "Ahhh, g'wan, take a taste," Wade said, grinning.

Afraid to refuse, Lucille took hold of it again and inserted it partway into her mouth. She breathed through her nose as her lips closed around the fleshy spear. She worked her mouth gently, uncertain what to do. The taste was salty-sweet, hardly unpleasant at all.

"I think you've got the makin's of a first-class cocksucker on your hands, Reverend," Wade commented. "Okay, let's take her into the bedroom for the next marriage counselin' item on the agenda."

Lucille felt a masculine hand on each arm as she was raised and half-supported during her stumbling-legged walk to the bedroom.