Uschi! (3 page)

Her first few tentative steps were a shambling, awkward mess, but Denny’s lady was a fast learner, picking up the skills and sense of balance to strut her stuff in no time flat. Pretty soon she had it down perfect, prancing into the stronger light made from the open microwave, hips giving a Jayne Mansfield quite aware of Marilyn Monroe’s popularity exaggerated swaying. Gravity be damned riding high boobs fleshily jiggled on each step she executed. Nipples were hard and at erect attention in the center of areolas that were roughly the circumference of a 7-11’s Big Gulp’s to-go lid and black as the spoiled splotches found on the rind of a bad avocado. A couple of these crusty around the edges open sores dotting her Valentine’s heart shaped ass were weeping a vulgar fluid similar in color and density to that of strawberry jam spread over a warm slice of toast. The most precious little yarn of spermy drool oozed from her full, pouty lips and dangled from the chin.

“She’s beautiful,” spoke Denny in a voice no more than a soft and awed whisper. He refused to blink his eyes; terrified he’d miss some new detail about her. “Prettier than Barbara Steele with window cleaner injected straight into her brain. Perfection encased in flesh, that’s what we got going on here. I shall call her … Uschi.”

And these parting words from the devil: “Oh. A little speck of warning for you before I pop out. I made her a feisty bitch. Gave her plenty of personality. So she may from time to time get somewhat uppity with you here and again. You with me on this, earthworm? Just thought you should know. Enjoy your fucking, and be seeing you. I’ll tell Larry you said howdy. Hey, y’all take care.”

The mouth of the dead toad in the microwave oven then fell shut. Satan had left the building.

Man and undead were alone now in the trailer. Time to let the romancing commence. Time to turn on the ol’ Gleeth charm.

Hands were lickety-split to go to his head and try and finger comb his hair down as neatly as he could work it. Face twisted into what Denny hoped came off as a confident, he-man sexy smile. One of those bold and sassy lips parted back wide jobs, this smile, exposing rather shoddy dental care practice. What a terrible time not to be wearing cologne. He gave her solid eye contact, an act he rarely mastered with any living female. The voice that came out of him was not his usual one, this one practiced along with the toothy smile countless times before in front of the bathroom mirror slick and honey sweet and aiming for some of that 1970s Burt Reynolds masculine sexy coolness. “Hey, baby, and just how is the world treating you tonight?”

Uschi came in close on Denny, close enough for the hardness of her big, arrogant titties to brush against his
Beneath the Planet of the Apes
T-shirt and the weird supernatural aura that powered her to absorb dry the sweat from his skin. The autopsy Y incision on her ran from below the shoulders, down between her titanic tits, and stopped just above her navel. The parts of Uschi where she was joined and barbed wire sewn together appeared ruffled and almost fluted like the crust on a baked pecan pie.

A change came to her eyes, abrupt and dramatic. Gone was the lusterless, unfocused stare of some simple dead thing, and replaced now with what Denny identified as the lusty predatorial glint of a porn star not yet used up and burned out by the fucking and sucking business. She lifted a hand and first seductively ran her fingers along the deep cleavage of her veiny knockers, and then she reached out toward his face. Her lacquered nails, long like the talons of a bird of prey, were painted fresh blood red and were the epitome of trailer trash chic.

Rain hammering the roof and a sizeable crack of thunder was all that interfered with the intense silence existing between the two.

She put her thumb on Denny’s upper lip—her touch not too different from a putrefied slice of processed bologna lunchmeat pressing against him—and she wiped at the snotty blood that leaked from his nose. As her pale and fat snake of a tongue eased out past her lipstick coated lips and licked her thumb clean, she moaned in pleasure a grandma in the hospital deathbed rattle of a noise.

That was the sexiest goddamn thing Denny had ever been fortunate enough to be witness to. Fucked by Forrest J. Ackerman, he almost came in his Fruit of the Loom briefs right then and there. Everything was ninja killing cool now. Denny’s life was going to be wonderful from here on out.

“Why don’t we head on back to the bedroom now, honey. We gonna get on top of my
Empire Strikes Back
bed sheets and do some things that no registered voter would ever approve of. I can promise you that. Let’s hustle our asses. I’m eager to perform. I’m simply desperate to ride you like Roy Rogers did Trigger.”

Uschi’s hand moved away from her mouth, fingers straight and spaced apart, once more reaching out to Denny. She touched him below the chin and settled on the throat. She rubbed his Adam’s apple, a ticklish sensation making him reflectively dry swallow. All the while her other hand went exploring between his legs and found his erection. Could feel it throbbing beneath his clothing, and she prodded at it as if she were attempting to antagonize a caged animal.

“I like the way your mind works, sugar cube,” he told her.

And then, with a sudden degree of frightening force Denny never anticipated Uschi capable of, she took firm hold of him by throat and groin and with a positively sinful ease lifted him off the floor and spun him around and into the kitchen counter. The impact was great enough to make the plates in the cabinet shelf above and silverware in the drawer below rattle with a fragile shivering. One of Denny’s arms swung out, elbow hitting the microwave and batting its door shut. Uschi was quick to follow through by leaning into him a good deal, them Godzilla and Rodan monster mammaries of hers pressing down and weighing heavy on his chest. Denny was trapped, pinned between the counter edge cutting into his jelly soft ass cheeks and his homemade zombie girlfriend crowding him. He was off balance, elevated to where he shakily stood only on the tiptoes of his Converse All Stars.

“Whoa. Gently, gently. Honey, trust me on this; it ain’t at all a crime to go about it nice and easy. I swear it ain’t.”

But Uschi would have none of that. Quickly and efficiently she undid his belt and unbuttoned his Lee jeans. One good tug, keys and spare change in the pockets jingling away like poorly tuned Christmas sleigh bells, and she had jeans and underwear both puddled around his ankles.

His concrete hard-on sprang out like a circumcised jack-in-the-box. It energetically swayed from side to side. If this were a
Looney Tunes
cartoon and not the real live world there would’ve been an exaggerated
BOING!
sound effect to accompany the grand unveiling. Erection calmed soon, became stationary, settled on sticking out like a meat truncheon. Snaky veins bulged across the sides of the tallywhacker like tiny water hoses filled with high pressure running through them. A few kinky gray hairs were starting to accumulate in his pubes.

The fresh air on his genitals kickstarted his jock itch troubles and got him wanting to sneak a hand down there and start scratching at the perspiration slimy skin surrounding the scrotum, but what Uschi did next wiped that urge clean away.

She took a solid grip on his penis.

“Heavens to mergatroid!”

As if a cattle prod were just introduced to his tailbone, Denny’s entire body jerked violently for one quick but memorable moment. Head snapped back and bounced off of the cabinet door, the muscles in his face tightened as much as they could go, and he sucked in a sharp intake of oxygen between clenched together teeth. No way would he ever become accustomed to having a woman put her hand on him down there. She began to stroke his member, her eyes staring into his face, the rough skin along her corpse palm most pleasurable on the sensitive foreskin. His impatient loins begged for release, but something inside Denny told him to hang on. An instinct coming from somewhere in the back of his brain knew he had to stay strong and wait, the best was yet to get going.

Her free of dick hand took one of Denny’s by the wrist—the drawer abused one, fingers sore and red—and brought it up and slapped it down on one of her jumbo breasts. It looked like he was palming a basketball, the tit so sizeable in contrast with his hand. In the beginning, Uschi was the effort behind his hand kneading her breast flesh, but eventually he caught on to what it was she desired and in little time flat he managed doing it very well all on his lonesome. He teased and pinched the nipple. The condition of her skin was room temperature and a hint mushy. Quite pleasant to Denny’s way of thinking.

Uschi was having a good time. These piggish grunts of delight came from her drooling like a Mongoloid’s mouth. Eyes were now half-lidded in an erotic passion.

Next came the kissing. Almost teenagery stuff at the start, awkward and tentative. But it promptly graduated to a wildly passionate business, sloppy and primal, really digging in with the tongue and the lip actions, lost in enjoying the taste of one another. Denny sent a hand wandering to Uschi’s clitoris. It was a hard and withered beef jerky protuberance of flesh. He aimed to manipulate it to the best of his stunted abilities. This was foreign territory for Denny, striving to make the experience as good for his partner as it was for him. This was so much more than any of his other sexual encounters. Who cares if the hooker gets off? But here, for the first time ever, he was getting it on hot and heavy with an individual he had feelings for. His lady deserved a skilled and sharing lover.

There was no need for worry. Uschi never made a complaint one over Denny’s fingering. Her voluptuous hips rolled in a Charo
“Cuchi-cuchi!”
manner at the ecstasy this brought her. Silty and thick and sticky like sand mixed together with Kayro syrup vaginal moisture dribbled from her sex and ran between his busy fingers. The female musk from it taking dominance of the kitchen space’s air, a stench strongly similar to vomit and burning tires.

They finally separated at Uschi’s urging. She stepped back a few steps and whipped the hair out of her face with a smart toss of her head. Meanwhile, Denny sank down off the counter, at last back solidly on two feet and the strained muscles in his calves and thighs on fire; legs were shaky but managing to keep him erect. His aching erection was the purplish shade of a glowing neon tube on low wattage. Her lipstick had left a slutty red smear along his mouth. A residue of some sour, unsanitary substance was liberally filming his teeth and tongue, the aftertaste of a zombie’s kiss. It put him in mind of taking a big swig from a toilet bowl that had a number of cigarette butts floating in its soiled water.

Denny held his ground, didn’t make a move one on her. This was Uschi’s show, he decided without once ever consciously realizing he’d slipped over to a submissive state in this young relationship. Let her lead him into what she wanted next.

In a liquid smooth series of motions she was stepping past Denny and opening the refrigerator. Her barbed wire stitching shined in the bulb’s light that blinked on as she pulled the door back wide. She got the jar of Miracle Whip sandwich spread. She knew right where to go in the fridge to get it—second shelf, behind the jug of milk and past the plate of last night’s Popeye’s fried chicken leftovers. No hesitation, no sign of having to search the jar out, like she’d been living here for a long while now and had been putting it in and taking it out countless times before whenever she wanted to mix up tunafish or add a spoonful to her bowl of red beans.

As Denny watched, Uschi unscrewed the lid and tossed it in the sink, where it clattered like an old man’s denture plate dropped to the bottom of an empty drinking glass. She plunged her hand in the jar up to the wrist and then brought it back out slimed and dripping in greasy, congealed white mayonnaise substitute. Now she returned to him, leaving the Miracle Whip jar behind on the counter, her figure backlit by the refrigerator’s door light behind her.

Denny gulped like a sidekick from an old B western picture; pure pre-
Green Acres
Pat Butram.

Great masturbating Mexicans, what is she about to do to me now?

Again Uschi seized command of his tallywhacker, wrapping her un-Miracle Whip creamed hand around it, and again Denny did his cattleprod glad to get to know you tailbone jolt and sucking in a great lungful act. He instinctively embraced her, arms going around her waist and hands settling on her firm as soggy biscuit dough butt. His fingers he ran up and down the crack of the ass.

She guided him inside her, parting her chalky-gray like the fuzzy mold on bad bread cleft with an audible slurp. He penetrated to his full length, their hips coming together. Her hymen—go figure, the devil had insisted during construction she be pure, so Denny had glued one in—separated with puny resistance, bloodlessly tearing and the quick to fade spark of discomfort passing before Uschi had even finished shuddering over the sensation. Her mega-boobies collided into Denny, twin meat orbs rather forcefully bludgeoning and making their presence known. He heard the anti-freeze and peanut butter inside there sloshing about.

Uschi was tight, enveloped Denny quite snugly. As her head bent backwards, stretching her throat to its fullest length, this giggly sigh of delight that seemed just too adorable for anything short of a Smurf to produce jumped from her mouth.

Denny found it to be wet, slimy and wonderful inside her pussy. He had anticipated it to be cold, seeing as how it was the fish taco of a thing deceased, but it was in fact nothing like that. Couldn’t honestly describe it as warm or even room temperature acceptable. It was simply exactly as it should be. As he had always imagined how good it would turn out to be once he got it. This was just the most exquisite sensation.

Pure or not, this gifted cadaver strumpet came equipped with skills. Her hip action was beyond merely commendable. No hooker ever speared herself and rode his shaft such as this. Uschi went back and came forward, back and forward, the rhythm she set for this at a frisky trot. The crack of their flesh slapping together sounding close to being applause from an appreciative audience. He accidentally slipped out once, but in the blink of an eye she had him back in where he belonged, barely missing a single beat.