Chapter 3
After the amateurish but spirited fellatio was brought to its messy conclusion, Zoltan contemplated dislodging Priscilla's maidenhead while diligently using his all purpose handkerchief to wipe tell-tale drops of come from her disgusted lips.
Unfortunately for him, she was in no mood for further sexual exploits.
"Take me home," she demanded, pointing for him to return to the front compartment. Not many girls care for the taste of come the first time out, especially when they swallow whole gobs of it. Zoltan had made certain she did, too, by holding her head down tight on his spurting cocktip. At the moment, she hated him for it.
Dutifully, he did as told, driving the sullied damsel home so that she would not be late for supper. He wanted to make a crack about how piecing might have spoiled her appetite, but after seeing her sullen look in the rear view mirror, decided he'd better not. Wait until she cools down, then she'll remember how good I ate her. We always forget the bad things and remember the good, he philosophized while pondering what great fun it would be to pop her cherry. Poking my big prick in her tight little cunt is going to be terrific!
Meanwhile, sulking in the back seat, Priscilla reflected on the day's happenings. In the course of one short afternoon she had been initiated to sexuality. What perverse things she had done! She felt consumed in shame, hoping the Good Lord would forgive her moral lapses even if her mother wouldn't. Best not breathe a word of what transpired between me and Zoltan to anyone, especially not my parents. Why, if father found out what that Hungarian has done to me, he'd shotgun him on the spot. Lord knows what they'd do to me. Probably pack me away to some private school where I'd never see the light of day until I turn twenty-one and be forced to wear a chastity belt twenty-four hours a day.
Taking a rain check on her ravishing had meant swallowing his studly pride for Zoltan. If it had been any other girl than Priscilla, he would have continued his carnal course and deflowered her no matter how loud she hollered. But with her being the boss's daughter and his job (and life) at stake, he knew better than to risk all for a quickie. What pleasure could he derive if he didn't take his time to get the job done right? Best wait until they could be alone together for more than a few minutes. To properly deflower a virgin took both time and patience.
During the course of the trip home, Priscilla took care to remove, as best she could, any ominous stains on the upholstery. If her father saw any pecker tracks he might get suspicious. Oh, why did I fall victim to the weakness of my flesh? she lamented. Once having sampled the heady pleasures of sex, she wanted more. In spite of knowing it wasn't nice !
Recalling the sweet taste of her cunt and the thrill of shooting off in her mouth, Zoltan found himself hard pressed to keep his cock down on the ride back to the Mannlicher mansion. He too wanted a return bout with the ravishing creature in the back seat. Maybe she needs a little breaking in, but she's got great potential. Seems she digs dominant men. Besides, like they say, the rougher you treat broads, the more they like you. If she refuses to fuck me, I'll just beat her until she does. Maybe even whip her-that might be fun.
Maybe he is a rat bastard, she reconsidered on recalling his superb cunnilingus, but he sure can eat pussy! I'd sure love to have him lick mine again. God, did that feel good!
Suddenly repentant on being seized with such libertine thoughts, she reflected, Christ, what have I sunk to? Oh, Lord, forgive me for having fallen into sinful ways. She bowed her head in silent prayer, but in the midst of it her mind meandered back to that scrumptious eat-out she'd experienced. Cod, am I beyond redemption? Can I help it if I like sex so much? You made me this way!
At the dinner table her daddy dutifully said grace, then tore into the food with his bare hands, displaying the same churlish manners he had had when first visiting Melissa, eighteen years ago. Since then he bad grown rich, fat, but not polished. Underneath his well-tailored exterior he was the same hick he had always been, and what's more, as he'd told his wife repeatedly after being berated for his boorishness, he was proud of it. Un-like some nouveau riche, he didn't believe in putting on airs. If only for this reason alone, Priscilla admired him. Insufferable as he sometimes was, at least he wasn't a phony.
"And what interesting things did you do today?" he asked his daughter, who on hearing the question dropped her fork.
"Is something the matter, Priscilla?" chimed in her mother. "Did your father startle you? Harold, how many times have I told you not to speak to this sensitive child in the same rude voice you use with farm hands?"
"And how many times have I told you my name's Harry, not Harold? like Harry Truman."
"But Harry's so undignified."
"Look, sister, if it's okay for the President of the United States, the greatest country in the world, to be called Harry, that's dignified enough for me. Sometimes I think you're a goddamned snob, Melissa, I really do."
"Harold, how dare you use profanity in front of this child!"
"Oh shit, Melissa, sometimes you give me such a pain! Fuck, if I can't talk like I want at my own table, how can I call myself a man? Can I help it if I had to quit school in the eighth grade to support my parents? You aren't exactly starving, are you?"
"You owe every iota of your financial success to my father, bless his dear, departed soul, who started the company you high-handedly named Mannlicher Meatpacking, after yourself."
"Why shouldn't I? After all, I do own fifty-one per cent of the stock."
"And my relatives and I the remainder, but then I suppose our family feelings don't count in the face of your egoism."
"As I recall, a big chunk of that stock is in trust for Priscilla, and her name's the same as mine-as is yours, if you'll acknowledge the fact of our marriage. So I don't know what you're bitching about, woman. Sure, I respect that fact that your father started the company, but it was I who built it into the large industrial complex it is today, and don't you forget it!"
"Don't raise your voice with me, Harold Mannlicher!"
"It's HARRY, how many times do I have to tell you!" He tore loose the cloth napkin he'd stuffed in his collar and threw it on the table, storming out of the room with a beet red face. "I've got to go down to the plant," he mumbled as he grabbed his coat and walked out the door he slammed shut after him.
Priscilla was glad she didn't have to tell him what interesting things she'd done that day. Her mother, as always, ignored Harry's outburst and returned to finishing her vichyssoise in silence. But then, mused Priscilla, she's always silent. Already I miss the sound of Daddy's slurping. Why couldn't I have been blessed with a mother the equal of him?
Late that night Harry came home drunk and found himself locked out by his spiteful spouse. Although he pounded repeatedly on the front door and bellowed threats at the top of his lungs, his wife remained adamant.
"Why don't you go out to the pigpens and sleep with your own kind!" she sneered, after tossing a bucket of cold water on his head from a second story window. "After your boorish behavior at the supper table, I'd say that's where you belong. And now so inebriated you can't even walk straight!"
"Don't bandy big words at me, woman? and besides that, I'm not drunk," he said, just before tripping over a flagstone and falling flat on his face.
"Serves you right, you rummy!" she yelled, then slammed shut the window and went to bed.
"Why did I ever get sucked into marrying that insufferable bitch?" asked Harry rhetorically to the chirring cicadas. "I was much happier when I was a humble hog butcher than I am as a fat cat. Shucks, I don't even fit in with all those other big shots. like my wife, they're all a bunch of snobs. Why did I ever leave the farm and come to this frigging town? Things were so much simpler back there. I sure miss it. Maybe I ought to sell out, get rid of my wife. and move back. If only I could. Why in blazes did I ever let that real estate fella talk me into turning most of it into a fucking subdivision? Screw the whole fucking world of business! It's so full of back stabbing and bullshit that it stinks. I don't care if business did make me rich, I miss my little farm. I shoulda married one of those country girls I used to fuck in the hayloft instead of that frigid excuse for a woman I did. She ruined my fucking life, she did. Goddamn right she did. "YOU HEAR THAT, MELISSA?" he yelled. "YOU RUINED MY FUCKING LIFE! What good is a woman if she won't fuck, huh?" he again asked the cicadas, who continued, to chirr him on.
Suddenly maudlin, he started to cry as he realized how profoundly unhappy he actually was. As a sop to his sorrow, he took out his silver hip flask and drained it of bourbon, then threw the empty container through his wife's bedroom window. Before she could retaliate, he staged a hasty retreat to the hog pavilion, where many times he had spent the night after antagonizing his spouse. Lately it was getting to the point where he preferred sleeping next to a nice, warm sow than to his icy wife. At least in the pigpens he felt appreciated. He climbed over the railing, picked out a nice plump sow and passed out beside her, a blissful look on his rubicund face.
In the morning, he made his way back to the mansion proper to find that his wife was still pissed. Inquiring why, he heard her reply that the night previous he had finally gone too far. "Never before then had I gauged the extent of your cruelty. Saying such vile things within earshot of the servants, and what's worse, our innocent daughter, was inexcusable behavior on your behalf. For all these years I've kept saying to myself, 'maybe he'll shape up and become a gentleman like my father, but you haven't, and you never will!"
"Woman, I think your memory needs refreshing. Your old man was made of the same crude clay as me, and that's why he took to me like he did. I won't deny that he was a man, for it took one to start up a company in the midst of the Depression, but to say he was genteel would be a gross wrong to his rowdy memory. Even if he was your daddy, he was one wild mother. He sure got his share, even after he was married."
"I don't want to hear your slanders against his dear departed soul! He was a saint of a man."
"Who you hated in his lifetime!"
"Whom is the word, not who, you illiterate. Ami no matter what you say, I loved my father."
"If you did, you sure had a funny way of showing it. You treated him even worse than you do me, and you treat me like dirt."
"Which is better than you deserve, you blackguard!"
"I know I have my failings, Melissa, but like most men, I'm only human."
"No, you're not, Harold Mannlicher. You belong to some lower species of animal, perhaps even the hog family."
"I've heard enough of your insults, you hear? I'm sick up to here of your looking down your nose at me. If you think I'm so scummy, why did you ever consent to marry me, huh?"
"For eighteen years I've asked myself the same question, over and over again. I guess it's because my father was so insistent that I say yes."
"So, it was his decision and not yours that you marry me!"
"You mean you actually didn't know? I guess you're even thicker than I thought."
"You may think I'm mad, but before we got married I actually was in love with you."
"You don't have to lie with me, Harold, I can see right through you."
"Honest, I really was. At the time I thought you were the most beautiful girl in Hog City."
"There's no doubt about it. I was."
"Even your vanity I found amusing. You were everything I'd ever hankered for, with your porcelain skin and polite ways. Before your father turned me into a success, I never thought I'd ever even get to meet the-likes of you."
"You undoubtedly wouldn't have. You were a crude, churlish hick with not a dab of social polish, and you still are. I must confess, however, that I found you somewhat more vital than my other beaus. Although they had better table manners than you, they weren't nearly as well built."
"I was one tough mother back then, believe thee me. All that plowing and pig killing really put on the muscle."
"like the good life has put on the fat, eh?" She poked his enormous paunch with her forefinger to make her point.
"I guess I should go on a diet these days. Say, where's Priscilla? I've got something to tell her, and Zoltan too."
"She should be down for breakfast directly. As for Zoltan, he's washing the car. What is it you have to tell them that is so important?"
"Wait until they get here so I won't have to repeat myself. Gosh, I got so drunk last night I plum forgot."
"Forgot what?"
"Here she comes now. Call Zoltan."
Before the assembled trio he said, "Last night when I was down at Muldoon's Saloon, I was told by certain persons in the know that our former nemesis, the plug ugly who once threatened our fair Priscilla with kidnapping, is not only back in these parts but bragging he's going to pull it off this time. Apparently he thought of little else during all those years he spent in prison. Why he was released on parole I'll never know, because he's certainly as dangerous now as the day he was arrested."
"Harold, that was thirteen years ago, and even then he admitted he just got drunk and made a few threatening phone calls."
"He also wrote us notes."
"Look, we both know Hognose Hughes is and always has been a notorious braggart. I don't think we have to worry about him now, just as I didn't think we had a thing to worry about then. You're making a mountain out of a mole hill, Harold, just like you always do. Besides, with Zoltan to protect her, how can anything possibly happen to our Priscilla?"
"Hognose used to be the toughest hog butcher in the plant. He's got a terrible temper, and for some reason he resents our family. I'd say we do have something to worry about, and for that reason I want Zoltan to carry a weapon at all times.
"That Luger you got, boy, might be all right for winging rabbits, but to bring down the-likes of Hognose Hughes you're going to need something bigger. I bought me a new Magnum .44 last week that might just do the trick. Think you can use it?"
"After a certain amount of practice, yes. But are you sure this Hughes individual is serious in his intentions?"
"Serious or not, he's sure to be sore at me after spending the last thirteen years in prison because I signed the complaint against him."
"In that case, Harold," suggested his wife, "I'd say you were the one needing protection, not Priscilla."
"Don't you see, Melissa, the best way he can get at me is through my daughter. He knows how much I worship her. The worst thing he could do to me is mistreat her, and if he does I'll tear him limb from limb!"
"Calm down, Harold, before you have a coronary! If this Hughes gentleman is as stout a fellow as you say, you'd best leave his punishment to others who are, shall we say, less portly." Again she patted his ample paunch.
Pushing away her patronizing palm, he boomed, "I don't care if it does kill me, I'll fight my own fights!"
"With Zoltan's help, of course."
"Someone has to protect Priscilla, and I can't do it all the time. I've got pressing duties at the plant. Besides, that's why I originally hired him, back in '56."
Priscilla, who until now had remained silent during the conversation, asked her daddy why this Hughes fellow was so bad.
"Because he is, that's why. Some people are just born ornery, and he's one of them."
"And you're another?" added his wife.
"Ever since I've known him he's been a griper, always complaining about something."
"Maybe he had indigestion," interjected Melissa, who knew the adverse effect dyspepsia sometimes had on people's dispositions, (i.e. her husband's).
"More-likely piles. But the main reason he's so belligerent, I think, is his looks. He's not called "Hognose' for nothing, I assure you. He's got a snout on him that look's uncannily like a pig's. Nobody said much about it until he went to work as a hog butcher. That's when he got his nickname."
"Who gave it to him?"
"I did, my dear, and he's hated me for it ever since. This, plus the fact that he remained a hog butcher while I advanced through the corporate ranks, is the reason he resents me. His whole life has been a failure, while mine has been an unmitigated success. Poor Hognose has been a loser on all counts; he flunked out of school, struck out repeatedly with girls, was always getting fired and finally got his ass thrown in jail."
"Thanks to you, Harold."
"Would you rather have your daughter raped or killed by that nut? I keep telling you he's a dangerous fellow, especially now that he's been in prison. You know how men are when they get out of there. They're much more animal than human. He's a desperate man, Melissa, who's capable of anything."
"Personally, I think you're exaggerating the whole thing. After all, where did your information come from, eh? Muldoon's Saloon is hardly the F.B.I."
"Awright, don't believe me, but when your daughter ends up dead at the hands of that madman, you'll think different!"
"Honest, Harold, you'd just as soon have her die just so you could rub it in for the rest of my life. I care just as much about Priscilla as you do, probably more, but that doesn't mean I get hysterical every time some misanthrope makes idle threats against her."
"This is no idle threat. I assure you. Hognose is fully capable of kidnapping our little girl. After all, any man that has slit the throats of ten thousand pigs is bound to be a bit warped inside, especially if he looks like a hog himself."
"You used to do the same thing and it doesn't seem to have affected you any."
"I'm not so sure, Melissa. Some people have said I've succeeded in business because of my killer instinct."
"Maybe it's you we'd better watch out for, not
Hognose."
"Mock me if you will, Melissa, but I believe Priscilla is in real danger, and I intend to take preventive measures to see that nothing happens to her."