Anonymous: Uncle Roy's secret

"That was my sister you must have talked to," Sadie Mae sliced from her two mouthlips. "Sallie Anne looks kind of like me in certain lights."

And if you had certain appetites.

"Well-I didn't mean-"

"That's okay," Sadie Mae blew. "I'll tell Sallie Anne when she gets out of the meeting she's in. You all be needing any breakfast-we open up five-thirty ay-em for coffee and things. Full meals bout an hour later-"

Sadie Mae couldn't be straighten She slinked a look at the band members that made them stop lingering their eyeballs upon her.

Sent sloppiness through their erections.

Yet an inner flame ignited her mind and she saw herself playing the boys in the band like pitiful male instruments-prisoners of their machismo.

And Sadie Mae the virtuoso.

All she had to do to ball them all was to lay low and open up.

They'd go at her like pups on a bitch's paps. When Sadie Mae was bored with their cocks she would bark at them till they had fucked her yip, bum, and quim with their fists.

Then she would piss on them.

The possibility skimmed through Sadie Mae's mind that indeed she would not have to try particularly hard to bring this off in reality.

How could that possibly bring her off? What was that dictum?

No pain, no gain.

That thought remained in Sadie Mae's head as she reminded herself to try it out the next time she got down. She needed an orgasm somehow.

Sadie Mae whirled on her heel.

Tossed her tits to and fro as if incidentally to her accidentally fuckworthy gait.

Sadie Mae saw something through the window-pane of the roadhouse saloon that made her think for a moment about entering again.

Her jaw went slack.

Eyes slit into cracks and filled with moisture immediately streaming to tears. Her cool fears trembled up her backbone.

Sadie Mae groaned silently.

Slashes of icewater lancing through her quim. Icicles rimming her asshole.

Glaciated clit.

Frozen tits.

"Eiiiiigh!"

All at once Sadie Mae opened up. Hot flashes streaked before her frigid gaze.

Blazes of fuck ran around the ribbing of her rosehole and imploded her bum.

Clitoris hummed like a beehive in the afternoon sun. Cunny dripped honey and tits crinkled into pointed wrinkles hurting like stingers.

She slowed her walk.

Sadie Mae balked.

Maybe she should go directly back to see how Little Ramona and Sallie Anne were making out with Yancey and the other dude-the singer from the band.

She chewed a knuckle.

Eschewed this latter course of action. Tractioned toward the entrance just off the bar.

"Weewee first?"

Made way toward the rest room.

Halted.

Instead went behind the bar and popped down another long-necked bottle of beer. Felt the piss blistering up inside her bladder.

Turned the corner with her thighs pressed tight together and spotted Mercedes on the table of a back corner booth between Randy and Bubba.

Sadie Mae's eyes opened shiny as bugs.

She beer-belched snidely:

"Need any help, kids?"

Mercedes smiled widely.

A strand of greasy-looking jizzom dripped from the left side of her yip.

Cockcome drooped in a long fragile loop from the point of her chin.

Snippet of scum snapped off arid plopped onto the pug-nosed tips of her boobs.

"We're all lubed today, Sadie Mae," Mercedes cooed, "Thanks anyway."

"Maybe you want to stay, Sadie Mae," Randy brayed with a dried spray of cuntcome shellacking the front tufts of his headhair.

Sadie Mae did not even stare:

"I been there."

Hell had she.

But not anything like this. The threesome rolling in bliss.

Sadie Mae wanted to throw them a kiss. Throw herself at them.

Feed upon them.

Sucker them off with those Cupid's bow lips of hers. Chew cock.

Nibble nuggets.

Cream asshole.

Nip nipples.

Lick cuntslit.

Have them all drink from her pink.

Taste the whip maybe and-hey! no maybe here-why not dish it out?

"Forget it," Sadie Mae said resignedly. "I wanted some help cleaning up around here. The others are tied up back with-"

"We can do it," Bubba blurted. "Mercedes and Randy are easy for that kind of stuff."

Snickers.

Bickering curls of nostrils, mouthlips, tongues, and eyefolds.

Mercedes ran her long painted fingers through her long tainted hair.

Flailed her phalanges outward.

Propelled her digits upward in a slant. Lanced Sadie Mae's short pants with fingers.

Stroked upward with bladelike nails rippling along Sadie Mac's ribcage.

Lingering above the bellybutton.

Below the boobs.

Sadie Mae's tits tingled.

Nips wrinkled.

Her clitoris began to bing as if an electronic chime in time to her pulse. Loose blood engorged the folds of her cunt.

Buttocks twinged slightly.

Asshole hot.

Winked shut.

Eased open.

Sadie Mae's legs parted breezily as she sought to let the incipient rivulets of her arousal evaporate freely.

Her knees shook.

Went liquid for an instant.

Sadie Mae blinked:

"I could use a drink."

Yancey looked through a set of souvenirs from Uncle Roy's collection at a table in the rear wing of the roadhouse that also housed the workshop, pool (presently unused) cabanas, as well providing a back entrance to the registration desk for the bungalow courts stepped down the side of the hill overlooking a ravine where oak and pine greenery gave way to the persistent fringes of the desert, where sage and cactus and tumbleweed unlike people all got along together regardless of the weather. He had a boner.

Started to hone it through his trousers and then thought about it.

Better get back to work.

Time enough for that stuff later.

Jerked it a bit just to loosen up the heaviness of his ballocks.

He'd fuck them all later.

After the masquerade was over.

When the rest of Yancey's plans had fallen into place and he didn't have to race his mind around from one subject to another like a locoweeded bronco.

Yancey buttered his lower lips with saliva from his tongue.

Scraped it off with his eye fangs.

Yancey aligned a nude figurine from Uncle Roy's collection between the haunches of another finely modeled statuette. Ceramic cock went right into the other one's cunt.

From behind.

And from the front.

With nuance.

One could even configure the small sculptures into a blowjob, cuntsuck, or the venerable number sixty-nine Yancey had encountered worldwide in his scholarly studies and throughout recorded history.

One thing Yancey knew about Uncle Roy:

That boy had either good taste or good judgment or both.

With respect to both the selection of the artifacts in. Uncle Roy's collection and the women he kept on premises.

Yancey removed the objects from the table and returned them to their indexed slots in among the rows of glass-fronted case-stalls aligning the walls and most of the room's interior.

He pulled, out a painted clay whistle molded in the shape of a cock-and-balls assemblage.

Fondled a tube for suction that protruded from the flews of a cunt shaped jug.

Drove his eyes through a crack in the doorway in response to shifting rays of light from the other side. The door creaked open a bit wider of its own accord or from a draft.

Or perhapsYancey gasped.

Saw Little Ramona's ass.

The flash of Sallie Anne's tits.

In the mirror of the cabana in which the two women were now showering and changing. And something else was disarranging the shadows.

Yancey pulled a disappointed jaded mirthless-as-a-skull droll smile.

The stud Lafayette had been in there all the while, probably.

Had waited for the girls.

Or had they invited him in to begin with?

"If it's any of my biz," Little Ramona chirruped, "I'd like to know what you are doing in here, Lafayette. This is the girls' room."