Fucking Scarecrow by PleaseCain

Hers was a horrible night.

Bunny showed up at Jesus Joe’s, where she didn’t need to be, where the people hanging out on his couch or the kitchen or downstairs look as strung-out as Keith Richards even when it’s not Halloween. Jesus Joe knows to keep an eye on her, that she’ll be vulnerable for a while, but the point is she shouldn’t have been there in the first place and he knows it, and sure enough she was an easy mark for some asshole, that fucking scarecrow. He sits on the porch with a bucket of candy in his lap and the kids can’t tell whether he’s real until they try to take a piece and he scares the shit out of them, unless it’s one of his buyers and then he slips an eight-ball out from under the bucket. Well, no one had seen Bunny for a while, and they found her in the bedroom with scarecrow. Not only did he score for her, but the stuff was junk. They found him on top of her in the bed, with his dick hanging out of his pants! They had her in the bathroom for an hour, flushing her out, and laid her in the bedroom. They kicked the scarecrow out, but when Johnny arrived he had other ideas and took off on his bike looking, even slapped Jesus Joe around before he left.

By the time Johnny gets her home she’s fine, and he tells her, “Get your new toy, I’m going for a shower.” She waits until the water’s running before she gets the nickel-plated Mark XIX from her riding jacket and rummages through her underwear drawer for the right piece, holding it to her chest while she exits the room, because she doesn’t want to be there before Johnny’s ready.

There’s shakeweed spread out on an open double-album jacket, Zeppelin Four, but she doesn’t want to get all weird and lose her edge, so she takes a swig of tequila in the kitchen and lights a cigarette, so smooth as a chaser. With a few drags of nicotine spinning her head, she unzips her jeans, off come her tee-shirt and bra, and her panties slide down her legs. Her fingers play through her pubic hair, shaved into rabbit ears, and for the first time she laughs through the blue smoke escaping her mouth. She takes another kick of tequila and a final drag of the cigarette, and not wanting to touch her pussy, she leans against her hand on the countertop, fingertips brushing her rosebud as she closes her eyes and hangs her head with the sensations. Rocking slightly. So anally fixated lately . . . imagining a few short minutes ahead, too excited to conjure anything but images from the time they’d done this before: screams and sulfur and Johnny’s intense eyes becoming black yawning pits staring into hers while he fucks her, steady and hard, as the rushing wave carries her away.

So close to coming, her head snaps back into consciousness. Another drink from the bottle and she walks to the small mirror beside the door, sliding into the sheer black half-shirt and examining her face, reaching for the brush on the stereo speaker to straighten her hair. The pipes squeak when Johnny turns off the shower. In the kitchen she dabs her face with cold water and picks up the gun.

Lying back on her elbows in bed, face flushed and ears warm, she slides the cool gunmetal along the undersides of her nipples, jutting against the gauzy material. She likes how they look in this shirt. Tracing the spongey circles, she closes her eyes and sinks into the bed . . . and Johnny’s large hands hold her face as she takes his tongue in her mouth, sucking him, melting into him as the gunfire explodes behind his back in two blaring shots, his fingers finding the molten juncture between her widespread legs, crooking upwards on her spot as she curls around his body and the gun is raised again . . .

Bunny gasps into wakefulness. She wants to scream at Johnny for scaring her, before he sucks two little toes in his warm mouth. She smiles and relaxes, watching them disappear and reemerge over and over from his lips. She fans them, caressing his face with her other foot, waiting to be painted with his slick saliva. Yes, she says.

She brings the .357 up carelessly, pulling the trigger and listening to the powder of drywall settling.

Bunny opens her eyes when Johnny’s quickened tongue tickles the baby flesh behind her knee, bending her leg in the air while his hand nudges her opposite thigh and her moist lips part like a seam, as if blowing a kiss through the cool air. In the shirt her bottom half is deliciously bare, her legs are paths to her needy center, his mouth’s inevitable destination, but to sweeten the kitty, she waits for him to look up and plays with her nipples with the flat of the gun, trailing the point down her stomach and through the strip of hair to between her swollen labia. So ripe and wet, glistening on the chrome barrel under his nose, flirting with his tongue, a wicked flute leading him along her inner thigh to her pot of treasure.

“Kiss, baby,” she whispers. Behind his shoulder, the gun barks off a shot.

Bunny cups Johnny’s head with her gunhand and works her hips forward, guiding her clit to his lips. This is happening so fast. She digs the butt against his scalp, forcing him in.

“Suck me,” she trembles, and more forcefully, “suck me, Johnny. Suck me! Do it.”

As the teasing flicks of his tongue are replaced with the suckling latch of his mouth, a current darts through her spine and down the legs entwined behind his back, her system overwhelmed by the shuddering of the earth’s own deep heartbeat, rattling even her ears so that she doesn’t recognize at first the sound of her own hoarse moaning. And at a crest, she times it perfectly, she braces the gun on Johnny’s back and fires three rounds, the recoil spurring him deeper, and she surrenders to another group of blissful convulsions.

Splayed on the edge of the bed, Bunny lies with her chest heaving, sucking the tip of her index finger through the sun-bleached hair covering her face, clutching the gun in a languorous hand at her side. Johnny’s cock stands red and glistening. He lifts her ankles sideways onto the bed, lies on her and takes a breast in his mouth, his cockhead nestling against her slippery opening. He slides effortlessly inside her warm sheath and she squeezes him in welcome.

She scratches his shoulders while he fucks her, his big body churning against hers, while she stares at the scarecrow, the wet eye watching through the mask. “Fuck me good,” she says, the sounds of their sex lapping from between her legs, the eye unmoving.

When Bunny taps Johnny with the semi-automatic, he stops with a quizzical face. He rolls onto his back, and follows her glance at the scarecrow bound to the wall, before she wrests his attention with a biting kiss on his lips and one on his nipples. Bunny reaches back and slides onto his pole, settling her hips with a succulent purr of her cunt. Working him into her deepest reaches, she lets both men look, the one she loves and the one she hates, then plants her hands on either side of Johnny’s head and begins to fuck him. She writhes for a while, finding the right place, and then pumps her body against his, as he strives to meet her, his breath, like hers, loud and shallow. His balls tense in preparation . . .

Bunny abruptly slows and stops, wiping clinging hair from her face. The scarecrow’s moist blue eye watches, the one that arches when he growls “jellywhore” and rubs spit on a woman’s tits. Bunny raises the gun with both hands and pumps five more rounds into the scarecrow. She grasps the penis inside her and lowers the barrel to the face directly below hers. At gunpoint a man’s eyes widen, studying her, imploring her, as she grinds against the captive body within. Yes.

Several heartbeats later, Bunny tosses the gun and pushes against Johnny, whose eyes roll into his head as he clutches her shoulders and lets loose his come inside her quivering pussy.

In the silence, Bunny is hunched on her knees with her head on Johnny’s chest, the cock falling gently from her vagina, and a wheeze escapes the scarecrow.