J Long: Motel peeper

Slush. Slush. Slush.

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"

"I'm fucking you! I'm fucking you! I'm fucking you!"

Boy, no kidding! When Emory was saying he was fucking Prudence. Shit, his cock was one helium hard-on. And it was the kind of hard-on that made squishy noises in her cunt because her fucking pussy was still tight and unlimber because she had only fucked two other men before Emory had finally given her a poantanging, as they called fucking in '28.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

Prudence was going ape-shit beneath Emory. And it was easy to see why. Because she had discovered how much fun fucking was. How much enjoyment there was to be had when she was had and had good. Ecstasy flooded her pussy about as bad as the flow of her cunt-oil.

"Fuck me! Fuck my cunt off! Oh, Emory! Give me a cocking! Pooooooo-nnntaaaannnnnnggg me!"

Emory tried his best to read her lips. And the reason he was trying to read her lips was because they were fucking on top of his hearing aid. And the reason why they were fucking on top of his hearing aid, of course, was because it had been whipped off his ear by Prudence when she had French-kissed his hammer, stirrup and anvil.

But did Emory give a shit?

Fuck no!

Hellfire, he was fucking as if God were gong to outlaw adultery tomorrow. He was fucking as if this were going to be the last fuck, of his life before God made him die of a heart attack for trespassing against the Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery Commandment.

Jesus! What a cunt! Emory couldn't believe it! Her pussy was so fucking tight – much tighter than Wednesday's whooooopppeeee hole. And much tighter and juicier than Elsie's armpit.

Slush. Slush. Slush.

"That's it, you motherfucker! Right there! Rub my clit with your big cock! Give it to me, baby! Pour on the meat!"

Emory couldn't read lips that fast, so he guessed that everything was ail right with Prudence.

Prudence was hanging onto Emory for dear life now because she could feel his cock pulsing and throbbing, deep, oh soooo deep, in her pussy.

She couldn't help it if all that cunt-juice was oozing out of her cock-filled ass, draining down to her asshole and drowning Emory's hearing aid. And she couldn't help it if her asshole had that caved-in feeling because she was trying to work her pussy-muscles a la a Pismo clam.

Such things couldn't be helped when a girl's hot to fuck. Thus, Prudence was no different than Pat Boone's mother, or Princess Anne and her hones, or Gloria Steinum, who got her rocks off on super-large Tampaxes.

Shit, Prudence was human. She was a human girl! And it felt damn good to feel like a homosapien female with a normal hot cunt!

As for Emory, he felt very tired and exhausted, but he couldn't stop in mid-fuck. He couldn't terminate this intimate introduction of old cock and young cunt without spewing good-bye.

So, he fucked faster, much faster than men twice his age could fuck. And anybody that was twice his age, of course, would have to be downright dead because that meant that they would have to be 158 years old.

Slush. Slush. Slush.

Dribble. Dribble. Dribble.

Dribble? Oh, God! Emory was coming! Prudence felt it first because she was younger and had more nerve-endings down there.

But she knew Emory was coming because something was flooding out of her pussy.

And it didn't drip like plain old cunt-juice. It dribbled like plain old cum.

Dribble. Dribble. Dribble.

Then Emory felt it. He was coming! A seventy-nine-year-old man was coming! Not even Justice Douglas could have done better. Shit, Strom Thurmond was a pushover when compared to a virile man like Emory Willets.

Emory couldn't believe how much ecstasy there was flooding his balls, then he couldn't believe that there was so much pain flooding his chest.

Pleasure and pain. Emory had never felt both at the same time – but it was there. One was in his cock and balls, the other was in his chest and head.

Emory didn't know if it was pleasure that made him dizzy, and he didn't know if it was pain that made him wheeze and grab his heart.

Emory didn't know, probably because he was dead. Dead in mid-fuck.

Rebecca was waiting eagerly for Sheriff Colby to tow up and eat out her cunt. For this distasteful task, she charged by the hour instead of by the pound or by the inch.

It was now seven-thirty. Another half-hour and Sheriff Colby would be down on his fours while she was down on her back giving him an hours worth of edible cunt.

She was making her cunt very edible now.

First she sprayed Right Guard under her arms. Then she sprayed some an her cunt.

Second, with mirror in hand, she checked out her pussy, made sure there weren't any loose hairs because the sheriff had complained one time too many about picking out the hairs after his hour of consuming cunt.

There were no loose hairs on her cunt. Third, she checked out her clit.

Fourth, she checked out her fuck-hole; or, in this case, her suck-hole.

Fifth, she checked out her asshole in case Sheriff Colby got carried away. As pigs usually do.

Sixth, she – knock, knock, knock.

For the sixth item on her agenda, she answered door dressed as she was – covered with Right Guard.

"Why, Sheriff Colby, come right – oh no!"

If there was shock on Rebecca's face, the same expression was on Reverend Manly's.

Rebecca was shocked, of course, because she was expecting a peace officer instead of a man of peace.

Ezra was shocked because he had expected to find Elsa his wife in room nine. Or at least that's what the motel register had indicated to him. But then again, he had read the motel register upside down and when a person reads numbers upside down they usually come to the conclusion that a six looks like a nine.

"Why are you in room nine?" the reverend asked, lowering his eyes so as not to gaze on such an edible, but very sinful woman such as Rebecca Shingles.

Rebecca shut the door quickly, not wanting the neighbors to see that she was enlisting the services of a reverend.

"But this is my room, Rev. Why are you in room nine?"

His mouth was open, ready to speak, when he reconsidered and shut his trap because he felt humiliated and sexually excited – one emotion not very conducive to getting a hard-on, the other emotion very conducive to getting a hard-on. The two emotions clashed deep within the reverend's soul. The latter emotion won.

"Hey," Rebecca said teasingly. "I betcha you're in my room because you heard I give good blowiobs. Look, don't worry – I'm clean, and I'm cheap. So make yourself comfortable."

The reverend was shocked. Except for his prick. Which had never been blown or sucked or even kissed – which was probably why it could not be as shocked as the rest of him.

He would try and resist temptation. "Look, I-I came here because young Harvey Grossman…"

"Goddamnit! I told that punk kid had another appointment tonight! That little fucker! He can't even get his fucking pimping times right! Shit, I'm sorry, Rev, but sometimes, these young pimps just don't know shit from Shinola. You know what I mean?"

"Well…"

"Oh, pooh! Don't worry about it. I can squeeze in a good blowjob before Sheriff Colby gets here. That is – I mean, if you don't mind getting blown real quick-like. Oh sure, I know you won't mind. Harvey probably told you I can make a guy come in three minutes. But since this is you're first time, I'll have your balls empty in, say, oh, about five minutes."

"But…"

Zzzzzziiiiiipppppp!

"Wait! I didn't…"

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Oh Lord!

The reverend couldn't believe what was happening. His cock was being exposed – shit, it was past being exposed. It was exposed. Well, correct that to partially exposed because the reverend couldn't see the head of his prick since that part of his cock was in Rebecca's mouth.