The old farmer and his wife that owned this home left their cows and chickens and pigs. Ney thinks they’re all funny, mixes up the names, and generally refers to them as “airplanes.” I guess we have to work on that. Flain’s friend, the nice hacker in Moscow, has provided the following for Ney: a birthdate. A birthplace with all of the “officials” and even a birth certificate. We are her “legal, unmarried parents.” He threw in an insurance policy. It’s paid forthwith and in the future for eighteen years from her birth. The premiums can’t adjust and acupuncture is covered and how the fuck did he pull this off? She’s now accumulating treasury bonds and her very own 401k. From what source this money flows Flain said “to please ignore. If there’s a glitch we won’t know about it.” I responded “not until arrest.”
As sex goes we’ve christened the house. Flain’s fucked me in every room, of course when Ney is asleep. I was bent over the sink looking out at the cows with him pounding me from behind, holding my breasts, his hands reaching around, when the real estate lady walked in. She was quiet, thought we were gone, our cars pulled into the barn. Nestling in the corner without saying a word she watched, actually observed, Flain trying to fuck me in the ass. I suppose she’d never seen a fourteen-inch cock. In person most humans hadn’t. She left her card but we know she stayed. You could smell her perfume in the house. The whole session went something like this.
“Laney, let me try to get it in.”
I gazed over my shoulder and winced.
“Up my ass? Okay, allow me a moment. Need to steady my breathing for that dick. Check that, I’ll need an oxygen tank.”
“Don’t worry. I can work the area.”
“That sounds like a homicide investigation and I fear they’ll be looking for my body.”
“We’ll be fine. I’ve prepared.”
He got down on his knees to tongue my tight ass. While there he licked my wet pussy. Flain has a way of performing cunnilingus that needs to be sketched in a textbook. He holds the cheeks of the ass perfectly apart and with his tongue, even from the back, can cover the vulva and the clitoris. It’s as if his tongue is a foot and half long, rolled deep inside his throat. The man can make me beg for this service.
“Okay Laney. Time to elevate.”
He presses his face hard against my sex and almost lifts me from the ground. There’s no way I can take that big fat cock to any significant anal depth. I’ll let him try. I want him to try.
“Flain, get on your feet and fuck me.”
“In the ass?”
“In the ass.”
“I have something that can lend us assistance. I knew this would eventually happen. That we had to try anal sometime. Repeated anal that is.” He smacked my ass, smiled, then continued. “I bought this on the state line. In that shop. You know…”
“The sex shop? Tough Teddy’s Loveorama?”
“That’s it.”
“A classy place.”
He had it in the freezer for a week. Why didn’t I see it in the freezer? It was there like a weird shaped gothic popsicle by a package of fucking Bomb Pops. Anal Marauder was stamped on the side. Now can you see me there naked, bent over the sink, waiting on a fourteen incher to invade my tight pink asshole, when out comes the Anal Marauder. It’s supposed to “help me relax.” And again, why am I getting so wet and wanting to be spanked like a child? I have to go to church or something. Maybe I need an exorcism? Maybe Flain Youngman needs one to? He put a buttplug in the freezer.
“You put a buttplug in the freezer by the Bomb Pops?”
Flain is standing there naked, his huge cock straight and rigid, wondering how to respond. If the real estate lady is still in the building, there’s no reason for her to leave now. This is a special situation. Someone’s crafted a tool called the Anal Marauder to assist me in taking Flain’s penis. And I tell you, assistance is needed. Who names these fucking items? Anyway, he’s ready to respond.
“Uh, it’s clean. I’m a doctor. I thought the freezing would numb your patoot.”
“How caring and loving you are.”
“And look here, inside mama Marauder are little guppy Marauders to loosen you.”
And there were. A united assortment. Your butthole could be expanded to ever increasing proportions beginning with the width of your finger. For Flain’s particular cock size I hope he had at least fifty. He didn’t. There were only eleven.
“Get started my hero,” I said.
“I really enjoy having a younger woman. I know at any time I could seize up and die, but this seems like a good way out. Buttfucking someone half my age.”
With the help of his tongue I was expanded past four and in the area of guppy seven or eight. They were stacked like cones in a highway truck and I couldn’t stop laughing with his exuberance. As he slid one in, let it do its job, before withdrawing the buttplug like the mail, he massaged my clit with his fingers, squeezing, abusing, rolling it around, every now and then popping my ass to make sure my body was alert. I loved his technique and his technical mouth. He was naughtily dissecting me. It doesn’t get sexier than that.
Flain said “the clitoris is actually an organ homologous to the penis.”
“Oooh, mama likes homologous! What the fuck does homologous mean?”
“Their relative positions are directly proportional so as to induce one another.”
“Shit yeah! More physiological talk!”
“You’re a filthy disgusting patient!”
“Then doctor! You must go inside me!”
This was rather enjoyable. I’d never had anyone so focused on my body, especially while sodomizing me. It felt dirty and I liked dirty. Took time and that made it better. It was like we were slogging to some distant plateau that we couldn’t reach without sacrifice. Well, I was the one sacrificing, the Anal Marauder my penance. I was paying one hell of a price. I loved every attentive second.
“Laney, I’ve spanked your ass to shreds. It’s the color of these fucking buttplugs.”
“Then lover, you need to hit harder. Are you becoming a pussy boy? I want to know that every time I try to sit down and I can’t because of the pain, that you were there making sure I couldn’t.”
“Then I suppose you require more?”
“Pop that ass you mouthy little bitch!”
Flain sounded dual strikes on both of my cheeks and then his cock sunk into my ass. There was pressure, of course there was pressure, but he knew what to do with my pussy to keep my mind off his sodomizing prick. He used his skills and his fingers to bury inside me both his tool and his digits at once. I was stretched to breaking, he asked “should I stop?” and I responded “not on your life! Flain, fuck me harder, sink your dick deeper, and pound me until I submit! Put as much as you can up my ass!”
When his fingers left my pussy and he grabbed my hips, I knew I was taking most of his sex, but definitely not the whole thing. I don’t think there was enough Laney McComb for all of Flain Youngman to fit. Somehow, even though I was small, I could receive him in my cunt like a common street whore, but the back was another arena. I would have to train for that. Train, or be driven to a trauma unit…no wait, Flain is a doctor. A physician with a rod like a bat.
“Come in my ass! Do it now!”
Flain is violently fucking me on the edge of the sink and I want him to deliver his load. My tits are hitting my chin, slapping on my abs, and I could get used to this.
“Laney! Now! Laney! Laney!”
His head went back and he howled as he came and of course Ney awoke screaming, his hot white sperm jetting into my guts and cleansing the whore that I was. That’s the way I thought of myself whenever Flain wanted my sex. I’d be the nastiest, most wretched, foul mouthed slut on the face of the big green earth. He could do what he wanted, what I suggested, as long as we both enjoyed it. It didn’t have to be safe, but it had to be memorable. I didn’t want to look back fifty years from now when I was seventy-three, Flain a spry ninety-seven, and think to myself as we sat on our porch, F
lain completely having lost his mind, while I was still digging fucking graves: “wow, we sure were normal Flain. Safe and salt of the earth.” Oh no, what we wanted to both recall would be something more like this: “hey there Flain, that Anal Marauder, is it still in there in the freezer?” He would respond, half awake, “no, I had to take it out. The great grandkids were throwing it around and hit their grandmother Ney. She said she’s never been struck with a buttplug before and I told her there wasn’t just one. There were eleven with the guppy’s and you had to use them all. Had to get your money’s worth.”
We got dressed. Ney was awake. Her nap was over and we were parents. I heard the screen door close and knew the real estate lady had been there and enjoyed herself. Some fucking people are so abnormal. My God, what was she thinking? I wonder if she’s ever been spanked? We all need a smidgen of punishment. Everyone has been naughty in the past.
Epilogue
First snow in a long time in Remount. Flain drove Ney in his pickup into town to watch the children sled. We got four inches and that’s more than enough to send the kids into the streets. It will also sell out all the milk and bread in every store in north Alabama. Here in this state the snow in itself is a milder form of the apocalypse. No graves for me today. For some reason people won’t bury in the snow as if it makes any difference to the deceased.
As I gaze from the window to the vast back pasture, most of which we do not own, I watch the cows gnawing at the hay. The pigs are in their wallow, indifferent to the cold, closer to the house on the left, chickens about them craning their necks finding food only they can see. The hawk above them is somewhat interested, a Sharp-Shinned hawk who is waiting for a chicken to stray from the pig’s cold wallow. Hawks and any animal with the least bit of sense will avoid a mother sow. They’re mean enough when they don’t have piglets, and they’re from Hades when they do. A week ago the sow charged and clipped me. Her piglets were wrapped around both of my feet while I was trying to empty her slop. She didn’t think too highly of me. She grunted once and sent me flying. Flain said my collar bone was cracked. Has me in a sling to isolate it. I could still dig with the backhoe, but the snow shut that down.
“Who the hell is that?” I said to myself, the woman coming from the woods that ring the back pasture and she is dressed for the snow and the cold. She walks young and able, knows weather like this, searching left and right for something. Like she’s lost some treasure beneath the white and has returned, disgustedly, after snow fell, to try and locate where she’d dropped it. As she progresses across the pasture the cows fall in line behind her. Do they know her? They seem to know her. She walks up to our bull, a thing I won’t do, and rubs it between its eyes. The beast swings its massive head. Nuzzles her side like a dog. She opens the gate and the mother sow grunts as if to offer a greeting. She is now coming to the house. The rapping on the door is loud and official, like the police are searching for a suspect. I look through the window to take her in. What I see is a woman of seventy-five with her hair twisted up in a bun. She’s skirted and booted, the way women used to be, in the old westerns daddy watched. There is nothing on her head or hands, the face chapped from the cold and the fingers labor-gnarled, the way a lifetime of work will leave them. In her left hand are some rolled handbills tapping on her leg with a rhythm. I pull the door inward and speak.
“Howdy. What can I do for you?”
Not suspicious. Cold grey stare. Like to me she’s brought news from afar and the message isn’t a good one. Though it has to be told by her.
“Hey there. I’m Grata. You’re her? The doc’s bitch, what with he’s raisin’ that baby? The little bastard child ya’ll bought?”
“I ain’t nobody’s bitch you old coot. And we didn’t buy Ney from anybody. What the fuck do you want at our house?”
She was not taken aback. Seemed idle conversation to her.
“Don’t get fuckin’ toppy and pissy,” she said. “I’ve a mind to whoop your ass.”
I chested the woman out into the yard and she didn’t try to slow me. She eyed the sling and said “you ain’t up for this. You better step the fuck back.”
“What the hell do you want old woman? You better start explaining really quick!”
She settled some. Looked at our pumphouse. As if help might emerge to assist her. All the animals we owned had come to the fence, including the chickens and the piglets. They were frozen like statues of themselves.
“Relax missy,” she said. “Calm down. Knew ye daddy. And his’n. And his before that, though my youth has left me sallow. It’s the rye fuckin’ whiskey I love. I drank too much then and too much now and for the moment I am all but stumblin’.”
“Return from wherever you left.”
“No trouble. I want no trouble. My property backs up against yourns.”
“That’s another county. We don’t own that. I can’t sell you anything.”
“Your animals know me from the previous owner. They were good people, they were. You need to salve the teats of that mama sow or ye gonna have a problem purty quick.”
“I can’t get near that mean bitch. She’s the one that caused this sling.”
“You got the salve? Is it in the same place? Whereabouts the old man used to keep it?”
“No. The Bag Balm is here.”
I walked through the snow to the pumphouse door. Reached in and brought the salve out. She took it from my hand, went to the pen, skirted over the fence and stood there. The mother sow came to her and she spoke some pig language that was neither understandable or sane. When she said what she said the mama sow laid down and rolled on her side for the women. She applied the Bag Balm, the sow swooning with pleasure, before she rose and exited the enclosure.
“You sure got a way with pigs.”
“All animals of the earth my dear. I was raised in the floor of a dirty old cabin by a father who didn’t give a fuck. He’d leave food for the beasts and a little for me before spending his days at his still. Whiskey was his business, not child rearin’, and goddamn me, I am that product. My mama got tired of not havin’ shit and took to whorin’ on the tracks of the railroad. Got on. Never come back. Damn her soul! Damn that woman’s soul!”
“Cup of coffee for fixin’ her teats?”
“I thank ye kindly,” she replied. “I’ve a shooter on my person. Are ye uncomfortable with a weaponized granny? Seems natural to have some defense in such a Godless fuckin’ place as we inhabit.”
She’s scary. The woman is crazy. But she just saved our sow.
“Come into the kitchen,” I said. “Leave your boots on. We ain’t peculiar.”
“The good doctor ain’t set ye to carpet?”
“Hardwoods. We kept the originals. I showed Flain how to refinish them.”
“Ah! Workin’ skills coupled with a magic pussy. There’s a chance for ye rulin’ the world. Young bitches nowadays can’t even cut firewood. What I done at three years old.”
“I still run the business by myself. Wouldn’t know how to hire if I could.”
“With looks like yourns, them tits and ass, you’d have to hire a eunuch.”
I had to laugh. That was hilarious. With her handbills clutched she made her way to the kitchen, the salve wiped on her skirt turning black. I made us a pot and while it was draining she took three or four drinks from a flask. When she offered me some I replied “no thank you” and told her “we’re trying to conceive.”
“Another baby? To attend with that othern’?”
“Yes mam.”
“Good on ye child. Have as many as you can. They’re all the perfect fuckin’ heartbreak. Ever damned one that comes forth.”
“I tend to think of children in more optimistic terms. But maybe that’s because I’m young.”
She ponders. Says nothing at all. Her eyes are closed and just as the coffee is finished she empties the whiskey she’s brought. Holds it over her upraised chin and mouth, which is agape to swallow something else. Something else I’m holding inside
me. I’ve never felt more perfect evil. This woman has committed some unpardonable sin and she’s brought that unsettlement inside here.
“Laney McComb,” she says.
The pistol in her skirt is too brand new. Doesn’t fit her persona or demeanor. Someone’s filed on its barrel and again on the side and I ask her why they did it?
“The shooter ain’t mine. Was my chap’s. My boy that up and left me.”
I pour us both a cup of coffee. Already know she takes it black. Her type of hardness may be my future. I hope not, but the acrid is inside me. Deep, dark, black and steaming.
“What’ve you got in your hand Miss Grata?”
“Been puttin’ ‘em up for a while. Can’t seem to break the habit.”
She has to straighten her own fingers to release them. They’ve been rolled so tight and held with such passion they can’t unroll themselves.
“May I?” I asked.
“You may.”
As I reach Flain and Ney arrive. Grata stares into my eyes once again. The look is colder, deliberate, suspicious, as if my world offended her.
“That’s the doc and the child I reckon?”
“Yep. She’s too young to sled. He thought she might enjoy watching.”
Grata flips the roll face down. Flattens her hands on top. Like fanning a deck of pocketed cards she spreads the handbills all across the table.
“Pick ye one. They’re all the same.”
I grab the corner of the nearest, flip it quickly over, and it says HAVE YOU SEEN MY SON? Percy Noon Yates is staring like his mother from a photograph above her number.
“Well, Laney, have ye seen him?”
How is a mother to respond? Or perhaps to not answer at all. To keep it inside like her heart. Know it’s there, alive and beating.
Stirrups Page 9