Chapter 17
Jody had no recollection of returning to the lonely privacy of the Winnebago. But her physical senses were alive and she still ached and throbbed from the sexual ganging of her body by Clemson and the boy, Milo.
Deep remorse began to set in as she opened a bottle of beer to slack a dry thirst--as if she could ever wash away the taste of sucking cock. No more, she brooded, than she could ever erase the memory of wanton surrender or acquiescence to depravity and lust.
Shrieks of laughter reached her and she frowned as she watched the kid prancing and strutting and frolicking, still naked, his genitals flopping, a ludicrous reminder that not too long ago he had been plying his now lumber snake into her craven cunny and she had willingly gone down on him and licked and sucked their combined coital juices from his organ and balls.
A new panic seized her as she watched Clemson disappear behind the small bus. And what were the others doing? Some kind of derision had been made and they were quickly breaking camp, stowing the card table, the blankets and chairs and taking down the awning.
A grim resolution settled firmly in her frantic mind. She would not go willing to the grave he was digging and be buried alive as he had threatened her. She felt sick as she thought of the humiliation of those two women and the boy watching and gloating as Clemson threw her in the hole and began shoveling rock and dirt over her.
If he shot her with the pistol, then buried her, it wouldn't be the same as being buried alive and watching others watch her go to an agonizing death.
The pistol?
Her breath caught painfully in her throat and she scurried forward and yanked open the compartment where she had seen it. And it was still there, under the road maps.
With trembling hands, she fumbled it from the compartment and studied it with dread and revulsion. For a minute or so, she turned the muzzle to her face and peered at the dull roundness of the loads in the cylinder. The bore seemed ominously large, she thought as she squinted at it, unblinking, with fascination.
She laid the pistol beside the sink while she opened another bottle of beer. New panic fed her desperation as she saw Clemson round the Volkswagen, the shovel on his shoulder.
He had finished his digging, hadn't he? Jody grabbed the pistol, her eyes searching frantically around the interior of the bus. Then she held the barrel at the open throat of the shirt and let it fall down between her breasts, caught in place by the tail of the shirt tied around her middle.
The two women and the boy were loading' up, preparing to pull out. Clemson was strolling toward her. Someone called out to him and he turned, waved. "Yeah," he yelled back, "I'll see you all later."
So, Jody thought, the boy had been right. Clemson was considering joining them. And it didn't sound like she was in his plans. One thing, though, they wouldn't be there to watch him bury her. Maybe they didn't have the stomach for that.
As he approached the Winnebago, she thought frantically of what to say to him. Impulsively, she opened a bottle of beer to offer him. When it came time for dying, she reasoned, every delay possible was sought by the doomed.
She heard the dull thud of the shovel handle as Clemson stood it against the bus. Then he heaved himself inside. She held the beer out to him at arms length.
She winced as he stared at her. Finally, he took the beer. "Yeah. Okay. I like it," he grunted. "The way you tied up the shirt. Really leaves everything hang out but your tits. They don't matter, though, as long as your ass is bare and you're ready for plowing up the cunt and in the butt."
She couldn't look at his face, pressed her bare bottom against the sink cabinet. "You finished digging."
"Yes. Yes, I did. Not too deep though. Hit a layer of lava rock, I 'spose."
A shallow grave, Jody thought with misery. "You going to join up with them?"
"I gave it some thought."
"And your thoughts didn't include me," she said dismally.
She looked at him straight for the first time since he had stepped into the Winnebago. There was an evil, contemptible glitter in his eyes as he squinted at her. "But the hole you dug and me were in your thoughts," she yelled at him, a touch of desperation and madness in her voice.
He drank deeply from the bottle, his eyes on her face. Then he began laughing, the sound becoming an unbearable din in the bus.
"That hole? Oh, Jesus Christ," he choked. "You are the goddamnedest gullible little split-tailed slut I ever saw," he ridiculed her. "You really thought I was digging your grave--again. Hell, that was just a hole for them to bury their garbage."
Jody experienced a momentary sense of relief, then loathing for him and his perverted humor almost blinded her. She was about to scream all the hate-things she could think of at him. But an unpredictable calm settled in her mind.
She forced a smile, "Clemson, you had me frantic. I hate you for that--and all the other things. But I'm relieved that you were digging for me."
His laughter was mocking and belittling.
"They're gone now?" Jody managed. When he nodded, she said softly, "That was a terrible experience. I could kill you--all of you."
He laughed again. "Sure, you could. Why don't you go ahead?"
Glumly, yet defiantly, she thought: Why not?
"I could try for some channel catfish, maybe some bass," Clemson said, shrugging, staring at her nudity. "Maybe, though, you'd rather make a meal of eel-like you did with that kid, Milo."
"Whaaaaat?" she muttered, then reddening as she understood. "Now?" she asked softly, a change coming over her as she stared at the rounded tenting of genitals in his pants. As if her thoughts were dictated by something or someone outside herself, she added, "If you want to. Want me to give you a blow-job before we fix supper?" A boldness grew in her and the thought took more definite shape. "I'll suck your cock, if you want me to."
Clemson grinned broadly, lasciviously, his eyes seemed riveted to her mouth. "All right," he said amiably. "Want me to sit in the driver's seat? At the dinette--like when you sucked that nigger's cock?"
Jody shook her head. "No; how about in back, where I sleep? Why don't you go on back and I'll follow you and give you a juicy cock-sucking?"
She remained immobile as he stripped and padded past her, starch already beginning to stiffen his penis. Jody hesitated a minute, feeling no remorse. Who would really miss her, if she dropped from society? Uncle Fletcher? He would be okay and shrug it off. The world of sports? Not for long. And she had never made any close friends who would mourn for her, regret she wasn't with them.
There was just a trace of tears in her eyes as she turned to follow Clemson to the rear of the bus. Her steps dragged and she thought, fleetingly, of running from the bus and running as far as she could, as fast as she could. Instead, she lowered herself--physically and mentally--and crawled toward him where he waited, sitting on the edge of the bunk, legs spread wide, grotesque, obscenely, ready and waiting for her ministrations.
"Yeah, Babe," Clemson admired, "I think you finally came around to this sex scene; really like fucking and sucking cock."
Her eyes wavered from his glutinous face to his bared genitals. "Yeah," she said vacantly, settling herself, buttocks on her heels, between his hairy thighs.
For just a moment, she hesitated, then cupped his heavy balls, lifted his half-hard prick and closed her mouth down on it, sucking enticingly. "Nice cock," she mumbled. "Big and juicy prick-knob," she slurped her tongue around it.
She squeezed her left hand around his big balls and unsnapped the front of the shirt. She reached into it and found the butt of the pistol. She glug-glugged loudly, going far down on his stiffening prick as she cocked the hammer.
Clemson groaned with pleasure as she mauled his balls around in their thick-skinned sac.
Jody lined up his balls mentally. With her eyes on his as she began mouth-fucking him slowly, she brought up the gun. "Just the first serve," she winked, squirreling her tongue about the twitching head of his cock.
And she fired, sending the .32 caliber bullet through both of his balls. It passed just below the base of his prick and deep into his bowels.
She sat back, ignoring the spurting and spewing of his blood. He fell back, screaming. And she sat there, patiently watching and listening to him die. "Second serve," she said calmly, lifting the pistol. "Clemson, the score is thirty-love," she said, lifting the pistol and pulling the trigger the second time, the muzzle against her right temple.