Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (14 page)

He imagined himself in Gormok’s place, right there on
the basement floor and shuddering in bliss as the slot of Beth’s womanhood slid hotly up and down over his cock. His crotch felt
smoldering, his heart
raced.
Beth’s breasts bobbed vigorously on her
chest as she stepped up the momentum. Up and down, up and down,
hot and frantic, her hips began to locomote like a machine, until—

“Sweet mercy of Ea!” Gormok exclaimed at the obvious brink
of his crisis.
Rudy caught his breath, and realized that he’d had a crisis of
his own, his libido relieving itself to the sheer exploitation of his
underpants . . .
I just watched my wife-to-be get it on with a fat torso,
he realized.
And I spunked in my shorts.
He crept back upstairs, as bewildered as he was disgusted. But
he did feel convinced of one thing at least: it was all for a good
cause . . .

No, a great cause, an absolutely big time
wonderful
cause. Within a
week, Rudy was something he never recalled being: debt-free. Exit
the ‘76 clunker Malibu, enter his and hers Mustang GT’s. The 52”
Sony tv was nice too, and so was the Adcom stereo and the $50,000
worth of new furniture.

Gormok
remained surprisingly content, considering what Rudy’s
greed had divorced him of. He jabbered and drank beer through a
convalescent straw during the day, propped up behind pillows in bed,
while Rudy cashed in at the track. Not once had Gormok’s divinations
failed, and soon Rudy’s biggest problem was what to do with all the
money. Beth, of course, had her ups and downs—the freedom to buy
anything she ever wanted was a bit spoiled by the constant sexual
service she was required to perform upon the libidinous torso in the
basement. Eventually, she began to complain . . .

“That thing downstairs made me give it head today!” she spat at
Rudy. “Did you hear me! I had to give
head
to a
torso!
”
Just like a woman
, Rudy frowned in thought.
You give ‘em a
good thing and they STILL bellyache
. “Honey, he’s not a
thing
. He’s
not an
it
. You’re talking about Gormok–he’s our man.”
Beth gaped. “
Our man!
Then you go down there and fuck him!
See how you like it! You go down there and blow
our man!
”
Rudy thanked the fates Gormok wasn’t gay. “Stop being selfish,”
he told her. “Don’t we have everything we want?”
“Yeah, Rudy, we do, and that’s my point. We have enough now,
so I shouldn’t have to do it anymore.”
Rudy looked up reprovingly. “Beth, there’s never enough.”
“Oh, so that’s it, huh?” Beth, who rarely wore anything other
than panties these days (due to the mounting frequency of Gormok’s
need), stomped exasperated around the kitchen table. “You think
you’re going to spend the rest of your life cleaning out the goddamn
racetrack while good old Beth fucks and sucks a dismembered
Babylonian alomancer!”
“Don’t be vulgar, honey. It’s not like you.”
Beth’s little breasts jiggled as she belted out a bitter chortle.
“You make me fuck a torso and tell
me
not to be vulgar! I’m sick
of
it! You
hear
me! I’m
sick
of
fucking
that
disgusting,
ridiculous,
grinning . . . trunk!”
Rudy brought a finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down. He
might hear you. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“God,” she lapsed, paling. “He takes forever sometimes, and—”
she gulped—“he’s—he’s—he’s just so . . .
huge.”
Then quit complaining
, Rudy felt inclined to say.
Women always
want the big dick—well, baby, now you got it
. At the table, he weeded out the ones,
fives, and tens, into the garbage.
“Beth,
oh Bethieeeeeeeeee!” called out the familiar nasal warble from
downstairs. “Wither thee, my sweet beatific vision? My lovely, lovely
Beth of the light-brown hair?”
“Oh, no,” Beth croaked.
“Leave me in turmoil no longer, oh, my wondrous angel, so lovely of
countenance and sweet of loins. Come! I beg thee! Come assuage my
beckoning fancy.”
Rudy cocked a brow. “Assuage my beckoning fancy?”
Beth glared at him. “That means he’s
horny
again, Rudy.” Her eyes rolled back in despair. “I don’t believe this.
All I ever wanted was a nice normal average life, and what do I get
instead? A torso
with a boner.”
“Dearest Beth,
please!
Partake of my desire! My loins cry out for thee!”
Beth’s disdainful glare focused. “And you, you fucker. You haven’t made love to me in months.”
Rudy shrugged. It was not an easy thing for a man to rise to the
occasion when he knew his squeeze was doing the bop with a naked torso.
Hey, she’s got her gig, I’ve got mine,
he thought. His bevy of call girls at the track wore him out. Some of
those girls could suck the paint off a battleship. Not much lead left
in the old pencil after when
they
were done. “It’s all the stress, honey,” he lied through his teeth.
“All this betting everyday—it takes a lot out of a guy. And now the IRS is all over me.”
“Wondrous Beth!” the torso whined on, “my passion throbs for thee! Oh,
let thy lovely loins be wed again to mine! Let your angel’s lips give
succor to my manly love, and drink of my warm and copious seed!”
“You better get down there,” Rudy advised, “unless you want me to lose everything on the next race.”
Beth stared at him, her shoulders slumping.
“I hate you,” she said.

One thing Rudy had added to the new house, unbeknownst to Beth,
of course, was the hidden video camera in the basement. Rudy, after
all, was a successful man now, and successful men didn’t watch their
girlfriends tuck torsos through mere cracks in basement doors. No,
they watched with state-of-the-art video equipment. And Rudy had
a lot to watch . . .
Jesus Christ in a hotdog stand
, he thought, staring at the screen
in his den and adjusting the remote, low-light lens.
Despite his arousal, Rudy could no longer deny that watching
Beth’s sexual feats maintained in him a necessary level of disdain for
her. It didn’t matter at all that he coerced her to tend to Gormok—that
was beside the point. And so was logic. He needed to hate her as
much as he could in order to compel her to continue. In truth it was
money, not love, that made the world go round, and Rudy liked the
world very much.
Sometimes, though, the things he saw on the screen really
bothered him. Like right now, for instance. Beth was performing
an act of fellatio on Gormok the likes of which would make Linda
Lovelace look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. “Goddamn! can
she smoke a pole,” he whispered aloud. And he saw with even more
distaste that her earlier claim was no bull. To describe Gormok as
huge was sheer understatement. Try hung like a fucking Clydesdale
stallion.
That fruitloop motherfucker’s got more dick than four or five
guys,
Rudy grimly realized, and at the same time he stroked his own
endowment which, in comparison, more resembled a Jimmy Dean
breakfast link than a penis. And what Beth was doing to Gormok
more resembled a freak-show sword-swallowing than simple fellatio.
Down her assiduous lips went, all the way to the hilt, as Gormok’s
legless hips squirmed in pleasure. Where did it all go?
Deep throat,
my ass,
Rudy thought.
This is deep stomach. She never sucked
my
cock like that, the dirty bitch.
And Rudy’s hatred did not abate in the least as his hand assuaged his own beckoning fancy.
I’ll bet the little whore is enjoying it,
he
convinced himself.
I’ll bet she’s getting off! And, Christ, she’s making
more noise than a truck-load of hogs at the slop trough!

As was his habit now, Rudy pretended it was
the pillar of his own
manhood that was being so fastidiously gobbled up by Beth’s
suckto-wake-the-dead yap; it was the only way he could tolerate this—to
fantasize. But when he eventually relocated the wares of his prostate
gland and balls onto the Scotchguarded carpet, the fantasy shattered.
His own release was a mere dribble compared to Gormok’s veritable
whale blasts of sperm, which Beth allowed her face to be showered
with as the alomancer gibbered in glee . . .

Rudy knew it would happen eventually, but he had a contingency
plan for that too. One night he woke to find Beth staring at the big
bay window in the bedroom.