1. A Little Place Called Heaven


    Date: 9/28/2015, Categories: Humor, Author: WritersFriend, Rating: 1, Source: LushStories

    fat. The three of us sat there in the main room with our plates on our laps, staring at each other. “So what’s on the agenda for today?” Mrs. Periwinkle asked. “We sit tight and wait for your old man to call,” Jake said. “Bo-ring.” “We ain’t here for your amusement, lady.” “You can make me a list of what you need,” I said, and gave her a pad and pen. “I need a change of underwear too,” she said. “Mark down the sizes.” She finished the list and handed it to me. The cosmetics were all brand names which I was sure weren’t cheap. That only added to our troubles since we were down to our last three hundred dollars. “I’m not going to buy this in Heaven,” I told Jake. “Somebody there might recognize that these are the kinds of makeup she uses.” He knew that meant I’d have to make the two-hour jaunt to the nearest half-decent-sized burg north of here. “Do you have a deck of cards?” Mrs. Periwinkle asked Jake. He limped over to his duffel bug and rummaged through it. He gave Mrs. Periwinkle the cards and she set up an empty box between the two straight-backed chairs and said, “Gin? A dollar a point?” “You ain’t got no money,” Jake said. She dipped her fingers into her cleavage and pulled out a small roll of bills, smiling. “A girl’s gotta be prepared.” I looked at Jake sternly to impress upon him the paucity of our funds. He noticed, and said to her, “How about a penny a point?” She laughed. “A penny a point? This is Nevada, not Butthole, Iowa.” I found it a little disconcerting that ...
    she had managed to pinpoint Jake’s state of origin. She had probably run across customers from all fifty states in her previous employment, I figured. Jake turned all red and said, “All right, a dollar a point.” I couldn’t override him and rob him of his dignity. “I’ll be back in a while,” I said. *** The drive was hot, with the Taurus’s air-conditioner sputtering towards death. I got what I needed and drove back, every so often looking over to the passenger seat and the French-green bra and panties I’d bought, and sighing. At the cabin, I got out of the car and heard Jake bellowing inside. “Sweet Jesus Millie Maguire!” Then Mrs. Periwinkle’s voice, just as loud: “I am Red Sonja, warrior princess! Feel the sting of my blade!” I rushed inside and froze. Jake lay supine on his cot, his hands and feet tied to the metal frame, bouncing up and down like a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound sack of Mexican jumping beans. Mrs. Periwinkle was sitting on his belly in her underwear, riding him like a MarineLand orca. Her right hand held a white plastic knife to his throat while her left tugged on his phallus, which looked ready to explode. “Get off of him! Now!” I yelled. She rolled off and crouched on the floor beside the cot, looking like a pet who’d been caught doing something naughty. “Get that thing off my cock!” Jake said. For the first time I saw the wide elastic band wrapped tight around the base of his phallus. Fighting against my masculine sensibilities, I tried to roll it off, but ...
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