J Long - Motel peeper

Oh, stilt no! Elsa couldn't drive!

So maybe she ran into a rapist and she was in some alleyway in downtown Tweedy, bloody and torn and beyond redemption and repair.

Oh, Hell no! Sheriff Colby had fourteen deputies covering the one-acre township of Tweedy – surely one of them would have spotted a raped woman by now.

So maybe it was true what those boys had said down at the library. Maybe Harvey Grossman and Ferris Collier had come into his home and taken liberties with his wife.

Hell, no! Elsa wouldn't let them touch her with a ten-foot pole, let alone a twelve-inch cock, would she?

The reverend thought about his wife seriously now. Something was obviously wrong. When a man's wife has been missing for three days and two lonely nights – there was a wrongness somewhere, for sure.

Shit, the reverend wasn't stupid. God had blessed him with a brain. He'd get down to the bottom of this without arousing the community's maroon that something had happened to Elsa. Shit, he had already done a pretty good job of lying to Tweedy's Baptist folk about how Elsa had been plagued by morning sickness and she was vomiting all the time whenever he smoked his pipe or allowed gas to pass.

Reverend Manly slammed shut his Bible, concentrated on the problem of trying to locate his wife while he scratched his cock nervously.

He tried his best to recall what those boys had said while they were fucking Prudence Meeker. Something about how Elsa had really turned on when she was being fucked in the mouth… shit, let's see… oh yeah, getting fucked in the ass… and… er, sure! That was it! Something about how she loved to be tied up and roped and bonded!

His IQ of 99 was working overtime now.

So now all he had to do was find out what kind of person liked to tie girls up – because if it were true that Elsa dug something like that, it was only natural to conclude that she'd find him and find him fast!

Reverend Manly looked in the Yellow Pages under "rope".

He was directed to Grossman's Hardware and Saddlery Shop.

He dialed the number. Waited impatiently for the proprietor, one Eddie Grossman, to answer the phone.

One Eddie Grossman did not answer the phone. One Eddie Grossman's son Harvey answered the phone.

"Grossman's."

"Er… is this Eddie Grossman?"

"Hah, that's my pa. He's out fucking around somewhere. This is Harvey, his son."

"Oh."

"Well, come an – what's it going to be? A keg of nails? Some rope for the wife? You gonna order something, or is this just a social call?"

Reverend Manly choked back the urge to berate the asshole on the other end of the line. His voice sounded cool and pious. "Harvey, this is Reverend Manly, and…"

"Oh, hi, Rev. Jesus! If I'da known it was you, I wouldn't have talked so dirty. So, how's the missus?"

The reverend saw red. "Er, uh… she's just fine, Harvey. Gotta little mornin sickness, probably because…"

"Yeah, I know how them pregnancies go," Harvey interrupted. "One day they're tight, the next day they're bleedin'."

"Huh?"

"Well, Mr… what I mean, Rev, is – oh Hell, you know all 'bout the birds and bees and how it changes 'round a woman's whatchamacallit when they're heavy with a kid… you know?"

"Y-Yes… I guess I know what you mean, Harvey."

"Well, what's on your mind, Rev? You need some heavy nails for them crosses? Ha-ha."

"What crosses?"

"Uh, never mind, Rev. Well, thanks for the call, been real good shooting the shh…"

"Hold it, Harvey. I didn't mean for this to be a social call. What I wanted to know was where your father is."

"Oh. Jesus, come to think of it, I ain't seen Pa for almost three days and two nights. Last I heard, he was headin' down to the Sleepwell."

"The what?"

"The Sleepwell. You know, that meat factory on Jesuit Street. The little ten-buck motel where everybody goes for… er, you know, for fun and swimming."

"Oh. Well, thanks, Harvey… see ya at church next Sunday."

Three days is a long time for a person's hair to be held up by a hundred-pound counterweight.

It was also a long time for one wilty carrot and one black banana to remain firmly entrenched in a person's, or more particularly a woman's cunt and asshole.

Things were getting very sticky for Elsa Manly. She had been on pins and needles for seventy-two hours, wondering when Eddie was going to make his move and do something! Do anything – but don't leave her like this! Without pain! Without suffering!

"Pleasssh, Eddie!" Elsa mumbled, feeling the bite of the clothes pin on her tongue. "Hurt me! Abushe me!"

Eddie awoke from his slumber. He had an evening erection… or was it a morning erection? He yawned and ambled over to the draped windows.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

Bright sunlight burned like balls of fire into Elsa's eyes. She closed her eyes to the agonizing sunlight. "Yesh! Oh, yes! Eddie! More!"

Swish. Swish. Swish.

Now darkness enveloped the room, the drapes shutting off the agonizing sunlight that had given Elsa momentary pleasure.

Then Eddie's voice cut through the shadowy darkness. Like an echo in a cramped commode. "You stink!"

Creepy crawly thrills of masochistic pleasure stung her spine, made Elsa sit up with pleasure. Now… maybe now… he was going to do something. After all, it was the first words he had said in seventy-two hours since her delicious torment had begun.

She waited anxiously for more humiliating words.

"Look at that shit and pin on the sheets! Whatta fuckin' pig! You're nothing but a sow-slut, Elsa! A FUCKING PIG!"

Yes! Yes! Yes! Horrible, almost indescribable pleasure was being derived from those nasty but beautiful things that Eddie was calling her.

"All right, you bitch. Now, I'm really going to show you how much fun pain is. Now, you re going to get the beating of your life!"

This was it! The utmost in torment! The paragon of pain! The epitome of eerie pleasure.

Elsa watched him with horror-filled eyes as he went to the closet. God, what was he doing in there? What sensuous instrument of painful pleasure would he extract from that closet?

Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.

Oh hurry! Hurry! Why was he taking so long rustling around in that gloomy closet?

Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.

"Aha! There it is," Eddie chortled. Returned to more "Mood Indigo" as he brought out a Wham-o slingshot, limbering up the huge rubber strings.

Stretch. Stretch. Stretch.

No! No! He wasn't going to do that horrible thing to her… was he?

"Do you know what horrible thing I'm going to do to you, Elsa?"

Elsa was frozen with fear. It was truly a trauma drama played to the hilt by one Jack-The-Ripper-type asshole and one Perilous Pauline.

Elsa shook her head, chose not to talk with the clothes pin in her mouth.

"Ha! Ha!" Eddie laughed maliciously, picking up a cherry tomato and loading the Wham-o slingshot as casually as David slayed Goliath.

The huge rubber strings were pulled whistling tight. Eddie took aim at Elsa's carrot-stuffed cunt. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow as he steadied his aim.

Elsa was stunned. Paralyzed by horror. Everything was so wicked, as awful, so devastating – she loved it!

Splat!

"aaaaiiiiieeeee! My cunt! My cunt! Ooooohhhhh, More, Eddie! Give me more!"

Splat!

"Ooooohhhhhh, huuuurrrrtttt meeeeee! Shoooooot my cunt!"

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Eddie laughed like one berserk ape. He was going bananas and a little mad, too. Now he was really into the game of S amp; M. Now, he was enjoying the full extent of nirvana-like pleasure of dishing out horrible pain.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Emory Willets was on top.

Prudence Meeker was on the bottom.

They were fucking.

Had there been an innocent bystander in the room with them, he or she would have figured out that they were fucking because their loins were so intertwined and their groins were making groaning-like noises.