Days in Rodanthe Pt. 08

"Puh...pleeeease!" the blonde stuttered and whined as she presented her pussy and tried to grab Za'ana's wrist to force her fingers deeper. The former gymnast had confided in me that she 'desperately needed a good fuck' while we were on our errand on the darkened beach the previous night. If I hadn't had a girlfriend, I would have volunteered to help, of course, but I was sure she thinking about a nice long session with Za'ana's strap on.

"Shutup whore!" Za'ana yelled. "Stop your pathetic whining!" My girlfriend slapped her victim's breasts several times, reddening the pale flesh.

Meanwhile, Oksana had been adjusting her latex gloves, preparing to push the shit off my face into my mouth. For the next minute or so, the redhead giggled like a child making mud pies as she sculpted a little brown snowman on my nose, displayed it to her sister, who rolled her eyes. Oksana then dropped morsels into my open mouth from a raised arm above, frequently missing, but eventually I chewed and swallowed all of the retrievable, cooled, thickening nuggets of the green-eyed beauty's morning shit, leaving only a thick fecal film on my face and neck.

Glancing next to me, Za'ana was more serious, gathering a huge baseball-sized lump of shit to stuff into Constance's waiting mouth. Soon the blonde was moaning and squirming around, allowed to rub her clit, while she chewed slowly, savoring our girlfriend's excrement as sepia spit trails ran down her brown glazed cheeks.

The morning only became more bizarre as I was told to crawl over to the shit-smeared blonde and sit, closely facing her. Both women smacked my ass and hanging nuts as I maneuvered on the mattress. Constance and I were told to embrace each other, each holding a right thigh over the other's left, like a lesbian scissor position. The underside of my hard cock was throbbing even harder against her toned lower stomach, and of course her hard nipples and tits felt great as they rubbed against my chest with her deep breathing. Since the blonde was shorter, my mouth was even with her brown mottled forehead.

I hadn't noticed before, but the sisters had brought with them two long carrots, which had been washed but not peeled. I was immediately reminded of the morning I met Za'ana, when, struck by her mysterious, volatile nature and exotic beauty, I shoved a carrot up my ass at her insistence. My sentimental thoughts ended when Constance, who still hadn't opened her eyes, and I were commanded to look toward the ceiling and open our mouths. Oksana held my head by the ear directly in line with the blonde, who seemed confused as Za'ana held her as well, but by the hair.

Without warning the St. Pierre women plunged the vegetables, which had been partially cooked for flexibility, way down our throats, only withdrawing at the last possible moment.

Deep, violent gagging ensued, and moments later both of us were ejecting copious floods of horrific, soured, diarrhea-like vomit. I momentarily saw Constance's wide, ochre-colored stream blasting past her lips and the end of the exiting carrot up and toward me as her torso jolted, before my eyes shut tightly from reflex and the fact that my own stomach had wretched and acidic fecal sludge was bound at warp speed up my esophagus.

The resulting fission-like explosion from the dual blast must have been worse than the sisters' had anticipated, as I heard liquid splattering on skin behind me and a loud protest and grunt of disgust in French. Za'ana even lost her serious mood and began laughing at Oksana's apparent discomfort.

My throat burned. My hair, face, neck and one shoulder were thick with vomit, and my entire chest and stomach were covered with warm, lumpy soup that was rapidly migrating down to my groin. The air was thick with the influenza stench of my childhood.

A second session of carrot dipping by the twisted, unseen, but giddy sisters resulted in less violent expulsions, at least in my case, and the blonde and I were sitting in quite a pool of horridly nasty emulsion.

"Rub it on each other! Make sure your genitals are well coated! In your hair! Show your appreciation for the gift of our bowels!" my girlfriend said, returning to her serious tone.

For the next several minutes, Constance and I blindly collected handfuls of soupy puke off the ruined bed and spread it on each other, and she even jerked on my dick with it while I rubbed the stinking gunk on her tits and reached down to smear it on her very warm pussy. The insults flew and even Oksana joined in, condescendingly asking us 'loosers' how wonderful her shit tasted and felt.

We were then instructed to lie down, me on my back with the blonde on top of me, her ass was in the air, but her firm tits pressed into my chest, our crap-coated heads adjacent. We were told not to move and after a minute or so alone in the silent room, Constance began to cry softly. Instinctively I placed a comforting arm around her, probably leaving a hand print of shit on her back.

The sisters returned, and I heard a water bottle crinkle and some slight disagreement in French, something about 'buying her a new one if this one was ruined'. As a buzzing began, I realized they were referring to Oksana's big white industrial vibrator.

One of the sisters had apparently stuffed a dildo into Constance, as she cried out and I felt her thighs jolting. Then came the vibrations.

I had never had a vibrator on my dick before, or anywhere else, but it was amazing and it only took a few trips along the underside of my shaft and I was grunting as I pumped out spurt after spurt of jizz, apparently impressing the sisters, based on their comments. Next I was treated to opera's greatest hits as Constance, screaming next to my ear, convulsed, held on and nearly crushed me while she came what seemed like a dozen times over several minutes, her warm juices flowing onto my softening cock. She had to beg the sisters to finally take the vibrator off her clit. As the overheated blonde rolled off me, I thanked the sisters in French for their excrement.

"How was your date, young lovers?" Za'ana asked, then answered her own question. "A moonlit walk on the beach," she mocked, referring to our late night furniture thievery. "Sleeping in, a romantic little breakfast and finally some passionate love making." She said wistfully.

"You should run a dating service." I said sarcastically, expecting her to reply in anger, but the women all laughed. Still unable to see, the blonde agent and I were thankfully led to a bathroom, where we were finally un-cuffed for the very long cleanup. The blonde was invited to join them on the beach afterward, while I got the privilege of cleaning the shitty

bedroom we were just in.

4

This day only got more bizarre, none of us would forget it. As the blonde and I started scrubbing ourselves off in the shower stall, top down, Constance began to make strange, flirtatious comments, like 'showering alone at last', saying how much she had 'loved it' when I fingered her ass and pussy, and that she 'loved stroking' my dick, and finally saying she most of all 'felt so wonderful coming' in my arms and had hoped Za'ana would have 'let us actually fuck'. I couldn't believe this needy girl was the same Treasury Agent who threatened to break my arm earlier that year. I countered that I thought it was the shit she actually loved, since it was present during each event she listed. Our subsequent dialogue sounded like a bad softcore movie from late night cable. I was waiting for the hokey electronica soundtrack to start.

"My cunt is still wet," she said, grabbing my soft, slightly expanded dick, still coated with crap. "Can you get this hard?" She began to pull on it with her soapy hand. "I want to feel you inside me, Robbie. Even just for a couple minutes. Please?" She stroked it faster.

Able to open my eyes once more, I could see her looking seriously into mine. This had to be a joke, or a test concocted by Za'ana. It was too bad, since the blonde looked really good standing there soaking wet, pink bagel-shaped nipples hard and jolting amidst the 'lug nuts' surrounding them as she stroked me.

"Yeah right," I replied, and pulled away, back to rubbing the excrement off my stomach.

"At least our mouths still both taste like shit," she said, then grabbed the back of my head and shoved her vomit-coated tongue in past my lips. She pulled one of my hands onto a soapy breast.

I will admit I felt her firm tit and kissed back for a second or two; our tongues did taste horrible. I did like her of course, but I loved my girlfriend. I jerked my hand and head away.

Suddenly Constance grabbed my wrist and spun around behind me, shoved me face first against the tiled wall and painfully held my arm against my upper back. I could feel my shoulder about to pop out of its socket.

"Fuck me or I'll break your Goddamn arm!" she yelled into my ear. "She has her head so far up her ass she even won't notice!"

The insult of Za'ana was unexpected. Improbable as it seemed, I began to wonder if Constance was using Za'ana to get to me, and maybe she wasn't obsessed with my exotic girlfriend as we thought. At a moral crossroads, but a fair poker player, I decided to call her bluff. Maybe it was stupid of me not to relent and just shove my dick into the blonde for thirty seconds, but I had to pass what I was sure was an entrapping test.

"I can't!" My arm was really hurting. "I would if I could. Understand?" She pressed harder. I could feel tendons from my neck to my elbow screaming with pain. "Go ahead, break it you crazy bitch!"

The blonde growled in anguish and let go of my arm, but punched me hard in the kidney. I almost dropped to my knees from the pain.

"You are such a dumbass, Robert!" she yelled and began sobbing, standing in the hot water, her hips still stained brown. "Why do you think I was crying in there?" she said, referring to her tears as we laid slathered with feces in the bedroom earlier.

"It's been you, Robbie, all along...I want you, you stupid fuck! I can't explain it, I came the hardest I ever did in my life on the fucking motel floor," she said, referring to the time Za'nna tied her up and dropped a turd for her to taste, "because I knew you were watching...I can't explain it."

"What about all the videos of Za'ana on your laptop?" I said, holding my lower back with my good arm.

"I was studying her to see what you saw in her, what her Goddamn secret was.."

"What about the close ups of her pussy?" I asked.

"Well, I do like pussies," she said, her tears slowing, her face suddenly brightening. "But that's what would make us so great! Think of all the threesomes you could have if I was your girlfriend! You could have it all! Pussy, shit, I whip you, you whip and fuck me, shit, strap-ons, whatever, without her snotty attitude and random hissy fits!" She leaned against me, her tits pressed into my chest, moving her lips toward mine. Her blue eyes were wide and looking right into mine. "C'monnnnn!" She stomped her feet several times impatiently. "Let's run away while they're on the beach! I have connections, too. I can make you sooooo happy Robert!" Once again she grabbed my balls and dick.

"Stop it Constance! Look, any guy would be lucky to have you." She rolled her eyes and yanked on my nuts before letting go. "Yes, just like they say on TV, but I'm in love with Za'ana!" I said, pushing her away again. "Don't make it any harder."

The blonde's face dropped and she turned away from me. We finished our shower separately and silently, except for her sobbing, and bending over to dry heave for a few seconds.

It figures, I thought to myself later as I gathered the shit-vomit sheets off the bed in the horrifically stinking back bedroom. No girlfriend ever, then two at once. I knew this would end badly, with Constance possibly seeking revenge by saying I tried to fuck her or something; anything to get back at me for rejecting her. I halfway expected Za'ana to march in with her gun drawn, and I would end up like the ruined mattress that I planned to toss into a random dumpster in the middle of the night.

I had dragged that nasty mattress into the garage, ready for transfer into my truck for a late night dumpster run, when I heard a car in the cul-de-sac. I peeked out the garage door's window. It was a small blue van, and strangely, had backed into the driveway. I wondered if farm boy Duke was back to fuck Oksana, or maybe the girls ordered yet another pizza. Two rough-looking, unshaven guys got out. One was bald and the shorter one was blonde with longish hair. They were dressed in dark 1990's-looking clothes like foreigners and were wearing long pants and jackets, odd for the summer.

My heart raced as I saw at least one of them adjust the gun in his shoulder holster. I didn't think these fuckers were feds; they must have been some of the criminals whose organization was double crossed, there to kill Za'ana and everyone else. I knew my guess was right when they kicked in the first floor door next to the garage. I thought I was going to pass out as the door from the hall slowly opened. I ducked down behind the mattress and box spring leaning against the wall. They stepped away.

From the garage I could hear them searching all around, kicking doors on the second floor. Finding no one, they began talking among themselves in what sounded like a Slavic language. Gathering my nerve, I crept out of the garage and down the hall in time to see them descending the outside stairs from the second floor deck, correctly assuming the women were on the beach.

The next couple minutes were just a blur, and I surprised myself by thinking so clearly, I flew up the stairs and ransacked both Za'ana's and Constance's bags for their guns. Okay, loaded and safetys off. I hope I get out there in time. How was I going to shoot both of those assholes? Running through the kitchen, I saw a pizza crust in the trash can. A plan to pass at least one of the pistols to Zay or Constance somehow formulated in my brain. The pies were still in their boxes in the fridge. No gunshots out on the beach yet. Good. My heart thumping out of my chest, I grabbed one box and shoved the guns in the wedges of the missing slices. I grabbed the blonde's blue USS Harry S Truman CVN 75 baseball cap off the table and placed it backwards on my head. Already dressed in shorts, sneakers and a surf shop t-shirt, I hoped the killers hadn't seen me before and would believe I was a delivery boy.

I looked outside and saw them. Fortunately the women had parked their chairs way out at the shallow water's edge, buying me time.

When I crested the dune, the five of them, killers behind with their guns pointed but inside their jackets, were headed for the house, out in the open halfway to the water. There were only a few other people around, a couple houses away. The hit men were apparently going to do their executions indoors, since three dead bikini-clad bodies on the shore would quickly attract attention.

My stomach in knots to the point I was close to puking, I hopped down the wooden stairs onto the sand. I walked right up to the group, and reviewed the label on the side of the box. The killers had lowered their protruding guns but kept their hands in their jacket pockets.

"St. Pierre? Large veggie?" I glanced around the group, pretending not to know who the name belonged to, and pretending not to notice that Oksana was crying. My pulse was pounding in my head and it was all I could do not to pass out or vomit. I hoped the men hadn't looked into the fridge and seen the pizza; if so they would know I was a phony. Za'ana picked up on my ruse instantly and approached me, grabbing the box. "I'm not supposed to bring them out to the beach, ma'am, " I said trying to sound annoyed. "Umm, that's sixteen fourty seven!"

"Yeah, whatever!" Za'ana said, taking the box from me. "Did you people get the fucking order right this time?" She turned to the Constance, propping the lid open but keeping the contents hidden from the hit men, who glared at me impatiently, waiting for me to leave. "Barbie Doll, is this right?" my girlfriend asked.

"Umm yes." The treasury agent said and grabbed her Glock. The long-haired criminal was wide-eyed and drawing his gun as he yelled 'Konstantinia! Nyet!"

Instinctively I stepped in front of Oksana. Deafening blasts rang out as it sounded like a war zone. Shell casings flipped through the air. My nerves, I supposed, must have caused me to have sudden, very sharp, massive gas cramps in my lower stomach. I bent forward from the burning pain.

Za'ana shot through the box lid at the bald guy, who staggered backwards as half a dozen rounds shredded his chest. The surreal scene fell quiet as the bald man stared upward, motionless, he and his gun lying on the red sand. White cardboard confetti from the obliterated pizza box lid floated around, landing on his bloody corpse.

The shorter, long-haired assassin had fared no better; one of Constance's shots had hit him dead center in the forehead. His finger was still on the trigger of his gun, smoke wafting from its silencer. I felt something warm in my shorts, as if I had pissed myself.

"Ro-bear!" Oksana screamed my name in shock with her French accent.

I looked and saw blood was running down my left leg. I fell dizzy, like being drunk. It wasn't gas cramps, it was a bullet. Some of the last things I remembered was how hot and soft the sand felt as I fell onto it, and, inexplicably, Za'ana twisting and aiming her gun at Constance. I told myself I would never forget the image of my girlfriend above me, her glistening, sculpted body in the revealing orange open-mesh bikini top, the lighter skin tone of the underside of her tits between her extended arms, and that deep, tempting camel toe between her taught thighs. Not a bad last vision, if it was to be my last, I thought. Oksana knelt and held my bloody stomach as Za'ana and Constance began yelling at each other in Russian, which was strange, since the blonde had maintained she only knew English and a little Spanish. As I slowly passed out, it seemed like there were a couple more gunshots.

5

'Hmmph...Did Za'ana get a breast enlargement?' That was my first conscious thought as I opened my eyes. Why was I in a hospital room? Tits, how typical, some would say. In my defense, the dark-haired woman's chest was the first thing in my line of vision when I groggily awoke. Propped halfway up in the bed, I had been dreaming about my girlfriend, always naked or topless, on the beach with a gun, and the ocean was nothing but sewage, giant brown waves of shit descending on us.

Slightly less confused, I realized the woman standing at the end of my bed was not my girlfriend. Too short, and much curvier.

"Voss fam-a-lee!" a voice higher than Za'ana's, but with the same sexy accent called out to the hallway softly. "He's awake!" The woman, yet another dark-haired Persian beauty, with nearly glowing green eyes, turned to me and smiled broadly. "Bon jour."

"Hi," I said weakly. This must have been Tatiana, the oldest St. Pierre sister. I wondered why she would bother to come all the way from Montreal to visit me in the hosipital, until a crowd walked in, fronted by Oksana, pushing Zay in a wheelchair. My smiling girlfriend was in a tank top and shorts, her right leg was held straight out, wrapped in a soft cast. Bandages appeared beneath it above her knee. Maybe I was in Canada? Apparently we were in a car wreck; I couldn't recall a thing. My sobbing mom did an end run around the group and ran up to kiss and hug me, despite all the wires and tubes hooked up to my body.

The rest of the crowd consisted of my dad, brothers, their women, and an unknown guy in a suit; Tatiana's boyfriend, I guessed. I knew she was a soccer mom in her mid- thirties and had four or five kids. Her husband, several years older, died of a heart attack a couple years ago.