Header 2

by Edward Lee

  Helton nodded. “And now? They’se all laughin’ and carryin’ on ’bout how they fucked over a couple’a dirt-poor rednecks, and they figure we’se too dumb or ain’t got the balls to do anything about it.” Helton half-sneered, half-smiled. “They like ta make movies? Well, we’ll show ’em a movie…”

  ««—»»

  They doused the fire and hit the road, Dumar driving and Helton still communicating expository details via long-winded and essentially passive dialogue. Veronica, in her shock, dismay, and fatigue, had fallen asleep, still handcuffed to the leg of the fish-gutting table. The truck lumbered on through the night, its dim headlights sweeping through winding, wooded roads as a low winter moon followed them through the trees. “It’s likely that Paulie ain’t there,” Helton rambled on, “on account I heard he don’t spend much time at the house. But that’s dandy, ’cos it ain’t Paulie we want just yet. It’s his wife.”

  “Marshie,” Dumar said. “And we’se gonna snatch her—”

  “—and have ourselfs a header,” Micky-Mack concluded.

  “Yeah we is, and we’se gonna film it on that there fancy camera that our friend Veronnerka solt us, and then we’se gonna leave that movie fer Paulie ta see.”

  Silence unfolded for several moments, but it was the antsy Micky-Mack whose incessant inquisitiveness broke that silence. “Dang, Unc Helton,” he began and rubbed his crotch. “Much as I love havin’ a nut…I don’t think I can get my bone up for it.”

  “A head with a hole in it’s gotta be tough to get a stiffer for,” Dumar said.

  Helton understood. “It’s a differ-kult thing ta conterm-plate, boys. That’s why when ya’s havin’ yer first header, concentration’s the key. Ya gots ta think hard ’bout all the great pussy ya fucked, and all the purdy gals.”

  Micky-Mack seemed unconvinced, still rubbing his crotch. “Shee-it, Unc. My dick feels dead right now, like it knows it ain’t a natural thing to fuck folks in their heads.”

  Dumar: “Don’t matter that some folks say a header’s the best nut they ever had, Paw. I ain’t gonna be able to get me no erection in a million years.”

  “That’s why we gots ta tweak ourselfs a tad, get our dicks all feisty’n fit ta spit,” Helton said. “And I figure our friend Veronnerka can help us with that.” He peered down the dark ribbon of road ahead. “We’se close ta walkin’ distance now, so find a place ta pull over.”

  Dumar did as instructed, but Micky-Mack squinted at his elder. “What’cha mean tweak ourselfs, Unc?”

  ««—»»

  It was in grueling stages that Veronica awoke from her black sleep. She’d had the worst nightmare…

  She saw only black, but did she hear…moans? Whistling? Did she hear someone say in redneck dialect, “Hot dang, that’s a dandy body on her…”?

  Did she hear, “Shit, that’s good…”?

  Or, “Fuck. My crane’s raisin’, no problem…”

  She also had the sensation that something was in her hand. Something, warm, turgid, and tacky…

  Finally, her eyes peeled open from the noxious sleep…

  What in the name of…

  Helton, Dumar, and Micky-Mack stood around her where she sat slumped against the truck wall. They all had their penises and scrotums out, and they were stroking themselves and staring down at her with salacious grins. Veronica’s eyes flicked to her free hand…

  Micky-Mack had not his own hand but her hand wrapped around his penis. The penis was erect, large, and heavily foreskinned.

  Veronica screamed.

  The men winced at once. “There she goes again!” Dumar yelled, erection bobbing. Micky-Mack dropped her hand to cover his ears, and Helton roared, “God dang, girl! That scream’a yers’ll travel halfway ‘cross the blammed county. Gonna crack all the winders!”

  “I knew it!” she yelled, “I knew you were going rape me!”

  “Dang, Veronnerka,” Helton said. “I done tolt ya we’d never do nothin’ like that.”

  “Please! Please don’t rape me!” she sobbed. “I’m a virgin! I have to save my virginity for when I marry Mike!”

  “Simmer down, girl,” Helton pleaded.

  “Yeah,” Micky-Mack said. “We’se just givin’ ourselfs a little tweak.”

  “Gotta get our stiffers up,” Dumar added, “and—dang, hon—we didn’t have no idea you had such hot body.”

  “Hotter than the lid on a pot-bellied stove,” Helton said.

  Only then did Veronica notice that while she’d slept, these three perverts had raised her top, exposing her bare breasts, and they’d pulled her work pants and panties down.

  “That’s some sure-fire gorgeous rib-melons on ya, Veronnerka,” Helton complimented, “and the dang purdiest slop-box I ever seed.”

  “So don’t git mad,” Micky-Mack said. “We’se just admirin’ ya.”

  “Admiring me?” she spat. “You were using my hand to masturbate with!”

  Helton chuckled. “‘Tis funny how gals git their dander up over the littlest things.” He began stroking his penis again, and cradling his testicles. “All we need is somethin’…provokertive, ta gander, that’s all.” Another friendly chuckle, glancing to Micky-Mack. “See, I sent my nephew there to pick us up a girlie mag, and lookit what the dimwit brung back.” He picked a magazine off the floor, and showed it to her. The cover read SWISH FAMILY ROBINSON and showed a half-dozen young, muscular, and quite naked men standing cross-armed before a log cabin. They all sported erections of prodigious size. “As ya can see, the dumb-ass got a stroke mag fer homa-sexual fellas—got pictures in here’a fellas cornholin’ each other’n suckin’ peter! Damn, Micky-Mack, sometimes yer common sense is worth ’bout as much as a dixie cup full’a dogshit worms…and that ain’t worth very much, now is it?”

  Dumar honked laughter.

  “Aw, shee-it, Unc! I knowed we was in a hurry,” the boy retorted, “so I git to the magger-zine section with all the girlie mags’n I just grab the first one my hand lands on. Didn’t know it was for queer fellas. I ain’t never had much use fer girlie mags what with all the poon I bust. Shee-it, gals purdy much foller me down the damn street, and a lot of ’em I don’t even know. It’s ’cos word gits ’round, ya know?”

  Helton frowned. “Word gits ’round ’bout what?”

  Micky-Mack shrugged with nonchalance. “That I got the biggest dick in these here parts. What I need beat-off mags fer when ever gal in town’s standin’ in line ta sit on my giant cock?”

  Helton pointed a finger. “Don’t’cha be braggin’, boy! Aw, shore, ya gots yerself a big pecker, but so did Tater Kline. ‘Member him? He had a dick on him a foot long, son, and he was always braggin’ ’bout it. God’s got ways’a gettin’ back at folks fer their sin’a pride.”

  “Damn, Unc Helton,” Micky-Mack dismissed. “Tater Kline? Who’s he?”

  Dumar honked laughter.

  “I done tolt ya. God saw fit ta hang a foot-long pecker on him, so’s instead’a bein’ grateful, he up’n brag about it any chance he get. Pull it out in the damn bar, he would, doin’ parlor tricks’n shit. Flippin’ beer mugs, playin’ ring toss, flappin’ it around. So’s ya know what God done, boy? He just hauled back and laid on Tater a case’a the dick cancer, He did, yes sir! Then Tater had ta go the hars-spital’n get what they call a penectomy. It’s a operation. Dang doctor from India cut his dick clean off ta get rid’a the cancer. But ya know what?” Helton smiled with a nod. “Tater Kline never bragged ’bout his big dick never again.”

  Micky-Mack’s eyes thinned through a contemplation. “Aw, I’se think yer makin’ that up.”

  “Just keep braggin’ ’bout your big dick. See how long ‘fore it’s sittin’ in the bottom’a some doctor’s garbage can.”

  Veronica could not conceive of this conversation between men with their penises in their hands…

  “Don’t listen ta the boy, hon,” Helton said to her as she awkwardly hitched her pants back up and pulled down her blouse. “It’s just that with nothin
’ provokertive to lookit, we’se didn’t see no harm in lookin’ at you.” His bushy brows rose. “And, ya know, you could do us a big favor by helpin’ us out a tad more than that.”

  Veronica stared up at him. They’re going to rape me, I just KNOW it…

  Micky-Mack stepped closer, bringing the whopper of an erection with him. “Ya know, it’d be real kind’a ya ta give us each a little toot.”

  “A little…toot?” her voice creaked.

  “Why, shore,” Dumar said. “Tease us up a bit, that’s all. Know what I mean?”

  “No!” Veronica yelled.

  Helton stepped forward with a shucksy smile, stroking his considerably older penis. “Aw, don’t’cha worry none—we ain’t gonna come. Just a li’l suckin’s what we’re lookin’ for.”

  Micky-Mack appended, “We need ya to git our peters feisty.”

  And Dumar, “We need our bones fit ta spit.”

  Veronica’s head began to spin with the madness. They want blowjobs! Oral rape!

  “Ya’d be doin’ us a favor like ya cain’t imagine,” Helton went on. “And, ya know, if you was ever in a jam, why, I’d drop ever-thang ta help ya out.” He’d stroked himself to full hardness. His foreskin covered half the glans, which looked like a purplish bald head with a hole in it. “A’course, ya don’t have to. We was just hopin’ you would.”

  Veronica’s thoughts tried to organize. Careful now. These psychos are playing some game, but if I don’t do it…they might kill me, and if they kill me… Her heart skipped a beat. I’ll never see Mike again…

  She got up on her knees. “All right,” she said.

  “Dang, if Veronnerka ain’t the nicest gal!” Helton celebrated.

  “Just like ya tolt us, Paw,” Dumar said, ticking the underside of his scrotum with his fingertips.

  “Shee-it, yeah!” Micky-Mack added. “Cain’t wait ta get my peckerwood in her mouth.”

  Helton stepped around her legs, sort of like a cowboy getting on a horse. “Since I’se the elder’a the family,” he chuckled, “I’ll go first,” and then he brought his erection right up to Veronica’s face.

  She gulped, her belly sinking, but when she moved closer and opened her mouth—

  “Ooo! Helton!” she complained. “When was the last time you washed?”

  He looked fuddled. “Warshed? Why, last Saturday, a’course. So’s we’se clean as a whistle on the Sabbath.”

  Her face felt like potato chips crinkling—from the sheer density of crotch odor. Oh, my GOD, this is DISGUSTING! but then she considered: Foul-smelling or not, I HAVE to accommodate these loonies, so she steeled herself, tensed up, and took Helton’s erection into her mouth. He’ll like this, she felt sure and starting sucking, because I KNOW I give good blowjobs. Mike’s said so many times…

  “Ho, girl!” Helton intoned, then pulled out. “What’cha call that?”

  Veronica smirked at the fetid taste in her mouth. “It’s a blowjob.”

  “That ain’t no blowjob, missy,” he said and chuckled. “That’s what we call a fuckin’ disaster. Shit, girl, don’t’choo know how to give head?”

  Anger flared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I give great head! Mike’s told me so!”

  “Mike, huh…oh, that silly fella back the store. Well, I reckon he’s just bein’ gentlemanly ’cos he don’t want to rile ya up but, Veronnerka? That’s smack-dab the worst dick-suckin’ I’se ever had. Hon, ya don’t drag her teeth up’n down over a fella’s pecker! There’s technique, see? A certain way.”

  Veronica, in spite of the circumstances, was enraged.

  Helton turned to his kin. “Boys, give it a go, each’a ya. Tell what’cha think.”

  Micky-Mack stepped up next and slipped his equally malodorous but significantly larger erection into Veronica’s mouth. Trying hard not to breath, like at all, she stroked her lips back and forth over the engorged shaft—

  Micky-Mack pulled back as if stung. “Shit, Unc. That dick-suckin’s so bad it’s liable ta kill my wood!”

  Dumar laughed after his turn. “Hon? You got a thing or three to learn about blowin’ a fella proper.”

  Veronica couldn’t comprehend any of this. Abducted, handcuffed to a table, molested, and now forced to perform oral sex, only to be told she wasn’t doing it right?

  But…could it be true?

  Had Mike simply kept quiet all the times she’s blown him? My God! What if I really DO give lousy head? All three of them concurred, so…

  I guess…it IS true…

  She wanted to break down in tears.

  “Aw, now, don’t git all out’a sorts, hon,” Helton said. He pushed Dumar out of the way, then re-assumed his position. “I-ron-urcal, ain’t it? Now we’se’ll be doing you a favor.” He snapped his fingers. “Listen up, and I’ll tell ya how to suck a dick proper.”

  Mortified, Veronica looked right at his veiny penis.

  “First, ya gotta, like, prime the pump.” He pulled the flabby foreskin back, showing half-dissolved rings of smegma. “Ya grab hold and kind‘a tease the pee-hole open with yer fingers, then run the tip’a yer tongue over it.”

  Mortified, Veronica did so, feeling Helton flinch in reaction.

  “Yeah, that’s good, hon. It gits some spark in a fella’s works, ya know?”

  Veronica felt ludicrous daintily roving the tip of her tongue over the small but plump slit.

  “And once the fella gets harder, ya jiggle yer tongue alls around his meat, kind’a toyin’ with it, and then?” Helton kept looking down at the kneeling young women. “Then ya stick yer tongue all the way out flat and start lickin’ the underside’a the fella’s bone—”

  Veronica sighed, then commenced. The process reminded her of a child licking an ice-cream bar.

  “Yeah, yeah, hon. That’s a tad better,” Helton informed. “But make shore ya play with the nuts, too—give ’em a little squeeze, ya know? Not too hard but just enough to let ’em know that somethin’s gonna be required of ’em soon.”

  She continued licking while fondling the lump-heavy sack of skin, which began to magically constrict at her touch.

  “And now? Now, hon, ya gets ta the meat’a the blowjob. Start off suckin’ the knob, slow at first, and light, thens a little harder, see, but—” He tapped her on the head. “But hear me out, Veronnerka…”

  She looked up to see him frowning down. “What?” she barked.

  “Yer still doin’ it wrong,” he said with a lenient chuckle. “What’cha do is this. Ya pull yer upper lip over you upper teeth, see, and stick yer tongue out over yer bottom teeth and kind’a make it curl, like a shovel-head—”

  “A shovel-head!”

  “Why, shore. Look”—and then he demonstrated, turning his bushy face into a mask of absurdity.

  Veronica slumped, but mimicked what he’d done.

  “That’s a girl!” he approved, and then he slipped his erection into contorted orifice. “Now, back’n forth, real slow but with each push forward ya slip a tad more in till—yeah! Like that!”

  Veronica’s head began to move awkwardly back and forth over the rigid flesh.

  “Looks like she’s learnin’, Paw.”

  “Yeah, Unc. Who knows? We’se just might make a natural out’a her.”

  “But while’s yer doin’ that,” Helton continued to advise, “ya get a bit’a suction goin’ on in yer mouth—oh, and make shore to keep some spit flowin’ too now. And ya also need ta speed up a bit at a time…”

  My GOD! Veronica thought. But on she went, trying to turn the instructions into action.

  “Dang, boys! I say she’s done got it down pat!” Helton celebrated, and after a few more strokes he pulled out, the gorged penis beating before her face.

  “Don’t you want to—”

  “Get a off a cock-hock?” he said. “Naw, girlie. I done tolt ya we ain’t gonna come. That’d defeat the purpose.”

  This is CRAZY! she screamed to herself. “I don’t understand!”

  “We jus
t need ya ta get us riled,” Micky-Mack said.

  “We needs to be hornier than skunks in heat,” Dumar amended.

  “’Cos, see,” Helton said, “it’s gotta be that our dicks are all cranked up fer later.”

  Veronica peered at him with no comprehension whatever. “For…later? What happens…later?”

  Helton stepped back to make room for Dumar. “Nothin’ fer you ta worry about, so’s don’t’cha pay it no mind. Dumar, git yer log in there’n try ‘er out.”

  Dumar waited for her to pull her upper lip back and stick her tongue out, then—

  “Eeeeee-yeah,” he grunted. “Dang shore better’n before.” He paused tentatively. “And, say, hon? Is it alls right if’n I pulled yer top back up and feel on yer titties whilse yer doin’ it?”

  “Yeah, how’s ’bout it!” Micky-Mack exclaimed. “You got dandy titties!”

  She pulled her mouth off long enough to frown at the revolting smell and say, “Oh, I guess—”

  Dumar re-inserted himself but stooped over, peeled up her top, and began to fondle her breasts.

  “Eeeee-HAH!” Helton railed. “Are they some milk wagons or what!”

  Dumar began to sweat. Like the true redneck gentleman, he pressed her ears, pumping. “And—lemme see,” and then quite abruptly he slipped the entirety of his erection all at once into her mouth, half of which went well into her throat. “Dang if she cain’t deep-throat too, Paw!”

  “Consider yerself blessed, Veronnerka,” Helton said in a tone nearly fatherly, “‘cos a gal with none’a what they call the gag-reflex is a blessin’ indeed.”

  Micky-Mack was staring at the job, amazed. “Unc! Just watchin’s got me so sure-fire horny, why, my dick’s leakin’ pre-cum like a blammed spigot!”

  “There ya go braggin’ again!” Helton roared. “Don’t take yer youth fer granted, boy!”

  By now, Veronica’s oral resolve filled the compartment with the sounds of voracious fellatio.

  “Shee-it, hon,” Dumar railed. “That’s dang near perfect technique.” He pumped a few more times, winced through some self-control, then pulled out. “Yeah. Theeeeeeeere’s the ticket. My dick is fit ta spit now, ready ta tussle shore as shit.” He flexed it a few times, as if to demonstrate something to her.