Anonymous - Uncle Roy's secret

They scraped their claws over each other's facecheeks. Gnawed jawbone.

Nibbled chin.

As Ramona sucked Yancey's cock within her brining and undulant interior.

Comfortably, Yancey continued spearing her. Confident of their success despite the uncertainty ahead-the uncertainty present now.

Yancey ploughed through her vineyards. Hardness engulfed by softness.

Deftness countered by bold strokes.

White-hot poker soaked with free-running cunt-oils. Pussy boiled alive by jizzomic fission deep within the ballocks.

The gurgling of a geyser about to blow.

Slow burn 'of a molten lava flow signaling a volcano ready for eruption.

"Aiiiiinh!"

Percussion of pelvis.

"Ah nini!"

Concussion of emotion.

"Yabba baba. baba baba, Aum baba baba baba. Eauchmn baba baba baba-"

Explosion.

Raunchjuice sluiced up into Ramona's froufrou as Yancey blew another wad.

Chaos.

Abandon.

Oblivion.

Madness.

Ramona was pitched into the black sadness of wondering if she would ever come that coarsely again. Waves of thickened cuntgoo plopped out onto Yancey's, impeccable lap.

Limbs flapped.

Nostrils collapsed.

Little Ramona gasped in a welter of alternately freezing and blistering rutsweat. Clear liquid beads aligned her forehead.

Puddles grew along her shoulderblades.

Fuck perspiration slimed from her armpits. Seeped between her two tits.

Mercedes watched silently, snidely, as if she had been the one riding that stallion and now it was Ramona who was getting the good stuff.

"Pigbitch sow," Mercedes barfed.

"Cuntie muff-muncher. You already got a shot of him. So fucking greedy you are-"

Yancey rolled sideways.

Pulled on his pants and danced out into the open to dry off in the breeze.

He raised his hand palm out in response to the signal from within the small shady glade below the rows of bungalows.

Lafayette and the boys in the band lately called the Rudedudes had finished loading the collected artifacts into the camper cabin mounted on the bed of a pick-up truck equipped with four-wheel drive and special heavy-duty undercarriage.

Mercedes commanded the sleek unmarked sedan and Ramona drove off in the truck camper.

Plans were ideally to have Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne remain in the sedan's trunk until just this side of the border.

That is-the two girls would remain hidden until the automobile had passed undetected through Stateside customs.

If any description of the fugitives had been passed along fuzz buzzlines privately-for a number of reasons there had been no publicity pertaining to that morning's gallery heist announced over the airwaves-it would surely finger the lookalike sucksister femme lesbo dykes Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne.

Mercedes had of course been masked.

And Little Ramona had stood guard out of sight riding shotgun in the getaway machine.

During the upcoming phase of escape and transfer of materiel, it would be a judgment call-perhaps decisive or perhaps not crucial at all-that Mercedes would have to make as to how long Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne should remain hidden.

If Sadie Mae and Sallie Anne were to be spotted emerging from their hiding place in the trunk while still in United States jurisdiction-that would be a — worse indictment than being busted as paperless in Mexico, where a few pesos or especially dollars invariably hit the hotspots.

Sometime in the meantime-perhaps today, maybe not-Yancey might expect to receive a phonecali from the chief of detectives at the sheriff's office explaining that there had been a burglary involving some old Indian paraphernalia and would Yancey in his capacity as honorary deputy care to consult with the constabulary in this regard.

For matters of this sort-where there had been no real violence done-aside from alerting the obvious enforcement agencies, the police in these regions routinely left the full investigation to the insurance examiners and their hired detectives.

The insurance companies were the only parties with vested interests in the outcome besides the principals anyway-who were as a matter of course considered prime suspects for insurance fraud.

Yancey would do the initial paperwork and handle the interface should any be necessary.

He hadn't passed the word of any of this operation back to Uncle LeRoy LaRue, ostensibly because Yancey did not want to jeopardize-even theoretically-the positive outcome of the waiver of Roy's prison sentence that was due to come down from the governor's office around noon.

About now, Yancey thought as he got out of his car and with a load of books and other papers under his arm picked his way from the parking lot through the university campus, Lafayette and the Rudedudes would be following the wild girls flared out along the highway on motorcycles at some distance behind them, ready to radio Ramona and Mercedes should any suspect fuzz be sighted.

Yancey left his papers in his office-no messages yet.

Traipsed to the auditorium where his lecture would begin shortly.

The part about Lafayette and the Rudedudes was especially important.

In particular-and Yancey liked this twist-if anything went awry, Yancey could maintain that he as the sole semiofficial local representative of the law in this arena of justice had taken it upon himself to call out a posse that was now in pursuit of the bitchstresses and their pilfered loot.

That act could conceivably work right up to the border crossing.

After Yancey had delivered to an amused group of students an anecdotally laced, breezily paced talk on the state of the art in psychosexual anthropology, he returned to his office and drew a cup of coffee from the decanter.

He heard her saunter in.

Knew her well enough by now to recognize her walk by sound.

Smelled her bodyheat before he turned around.

Yancey had never told her so, but she might have been his daughter in this life or another if one believed in that stuff:

He felt that close to her.

"Care for some brew?"

"After we screw."

"Any news on the great escape?"

"There was none."

"I'm surprised at you. Thought you inner circle types were so savvy and well connected that even with the cover-up-"

"I mean they captured them already. Way before the border even."

"Cassie Lou-you've got to be bullshitting."

"I always do. But that doesn't mean you didn't blow it. Just like someone else we know."

"Name of Uncle Roy-"

"Tell me another story, grandmaw," Sadie Mae sniggered as she pawed Sallie Anne's trimmed cabbage patch.

"I could tell you the one about how daddy got down on his hands and knees and turned his fanny around so that everyone could see from the rear as he gored into all kinquim."

"Not that one again."

"Load my labia into your trap and maybe it'll help me think-"

"I want you to come again, Sallie Anne. Right in my face. I want to taste it."

"Fucking sucksisters," Mercedes blistered through twisted mouthlips. "It was you two squealing as you were ftatfucking and cuking and sucking each other off in the trunk that got the tollbooth bulldyke worked up in the first place."

Mercedes could almost taste the hatred basting her bite:

"Fucking cowsucking cunts. You cornfed, inbred, under-read pinhead lizzie doxies-"

Heavy snick of metal bars sliding.

"Here's another one," the jailhouse guard cackled lewdly through her well-chewed maw. "We already fucked on her for you all-she's ready to add to your euntslime stew."

The guard pushed Little Ramona rudely into the cell. Gave her hell on the back of the head with first a whack from her billyclub and then a yank of her hair.

"There she is. Now, girls-do as Auntie Trixie says and strip this vixen."

Ramona blew a stubbly bubble with her piece of dirty gum.