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Subject: {ASSM} CODY: Q.12, LA FEMME COTI
Date: Sun, 28 May 2000 00:10:05 -0400
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Q.: A Novel
By Cody Ann Michaels
c. All rights reserved
Chapter 12
La Femme Coti
Sat, 20 May 2000 16:51:10 EDT
From: Elvira [name changed]
To: mithryl@walrus.com
Subject: Re: CODY: Q.10, OF HUMAN BONDAGE
I meant to write you ...to let you know how much I liked the "praying on
the highway" section of one of your essays. It was original, frightening,
and so vividly painted in words. -- Elvira
*
Yes. One might almost say it was "divinely" inspired. Leading a moral
Christian life has always been important to me, as I'm sure one can tell from
my "essays." If only I can help others to follow in the same path -- or
interstate -- of our Lord Jesus, my prayers will be answered.
Speaking of which, I went to visit Mandy in the hospital today.
Everything's in traction. The cops have her handcuffed to the bed. Spread
eagled. With her legs pulled out to the sides. She's totally open. They're
going to try her as an adult, which is what they do in Florida. It doesn't
matter how old you are. The feds are after her, too. Apparently it's a
crime to pray on a federal highway. Something about separation of church and
state, etc. There were tire marks all over her face and tits. Her gorgeous
red hair spread out around her on the pillow. I think she's a little crazy,
too. She just keeps saying, "Jesus hates me." Over and over. Some people
pay a lot for their religion. I put my hand inside her cunt. She jerked and
started to react. At least her spine's okay. Legs, too, although they're
both broken in a couple of places. "Oh yessss," she hissed. "I'm such a
pig. Fuck me. That's all I'm good for." It was sort of strange hearing her
say stuff like that. She used to be so spiritual. I pulled the sheet off
her. She was still wearing black stockings and suspender belt and the black
gloves she had on when she was run over. And the seven-inch heels. Nothing
else except the handcuffs and collar. Poor kid. Apparently, dressing like a
tramp is what she thought would make her comely in the eyes of the Lord. I'm
not sure all that damage was made by the truck. Everyone hates her guts now
because she caused so many people to die -- even the orderlies. Of course,
that was me, but the cops think it was Mandy, so it comes to the same thing.
Fortunately the survivors were able to describe the prayer perp as a gorgeous
teenage redhead with giant tits and dressed like a hooker, so that pretty
much fits Mandy, although it could also pertain to about thirty other girls
in our school. And a couple of faggy boys. They say she gets lots of
visitors. Often relatives of the people who got killed trying to avoid
hitting her... uh, me; especially mothers of the kids on the schoolbus. That
was pretty gruesome. Frankly, I don't know what God had in mind there. I
can still see it as I got in my car and drove away. All those adolescent
body parts scattered on the highway, the burned out cars, everything lit up
from the burning oil tanker. The bus went straight into it. They had to
drag one kid's old lady out of Mandy's room with a set of pinking shears.
Another one used Drano to make a cross on her chest and belly. And in fact,
while I was there, a woman walked in and sprayed pepper spray in Mandy's
face, right while I still had my hand inside her cunt. Jesus, people are
awful. After all, Mandy's just a kid, too. It could have been her on the
bus. The woman screamed that her little girl died in agony. I sort of felt
bad. Not because I was to blame, but Mandy was in agony, too. That pepper
spray is pretty bad when you can't get your hands loose to wipe it off. Her
wrists were bleeding as she jerked and twisted them in the cuffs.
Fortunately the person in the next bed was a man -- the hospital is way
overcrowded from all the accidents. I picked up his urinal and poured it
over Mandy's face. She choked and sputtered as the piss went into her mouth
and nose. Unfortunately, the spray was the kind that burns even more when it
gets wet. I had to go. I couldn't hang around all day diddling Mandy's hot
little twat. I didn't like to leave her like that, though. I didn't have a
dildo with me but I used a rolled up magazine -- GQ -- to shove up her cunt.
It went almost all the way. She was frothing at the mouth when I left and
screaming for more. At least, I think it was more. Her face was real red;
probably from the spray. When I go back tomorrow, I'll take some Spanish
fly. That should turn her on. In the hall, I met a woman with a baseball
bat. She asked me if that was the room the little girl who caused all the
accidents was in. I said, yes, it was. I heard the first crack of the bat
as I got on the elevator and Mandy's shriek. Hospital security sucks.
I have received several letters this week from readers wishing to know
more about Q.'s young lover, Marie-Cotille Antoinette Elaine Susanna LeeAnne
Dreyfus Ashley-Colette Hugo Bourbon deSade, Marqueza of Chevagnes and Belle
Glade, Baroness of Vlad, etc. I confess that most of what I know about this
obscure albeit pivotal figure in American history comes from the 1922
biography, "Amber Adventuress," by Dame Barbara Cartland, now out of print
(that and the 1952 movie, Wildfire, starring Jane Russell). In Cartland's
book Q. plays only a peripheral role in the saucy aristocrat's smouldering
career. Needless to say, he was probably completely unaware that a day or
two after being taken to the White House -- or President's House, as it was
then called -- as her cousin's new house slave, Cotille, or Coti, was brought
up from the basement and led into the Executive's office.
Tyler looked up from his desk. He had been reading a letter. "Ha!
Mademoiselle de Sade," he said, springing up and coming around the desk
towards her. "I see that you have been well taken care of." Coti was
wearing a black corset with black suspenders holding up sheer black
stockings; Also high heeled black boots that laced up to her knees, and elbow
length black gloves. She wore a black choker around her kneck, and heavy
black makeup around her eyes and on her sensuous rouged lips. Whoever had
prepared her had deprived her of panties and a means of covering her large
breasts. Long strands of diamonds hung from her ears. Her red hair had been
arranged in the southern manner, piled high on top of the head with beguiling
curls dangling seductively over her forehead and beside her cheeks. Tyler
examined her. "Very nice," he said. Coti trembled as he touched her. Her
wrists had been fastened behind her back as well as her elbows which had been
drawn tightly together, forcing her to thrust out her breasts even further
than she had on the block. She looked like a young dominatrix who had been
brought roughly to heel. Despite the makeup, it was possible to see that she
had been beaten thoroughly before being put into this immaculate costume.
Two black slaves held her up since her legs were too weak to support her. A
high collar forced her to hold her head up even though she was half
unconscious and could barely think. Tyler's methods were thorough. He
nodded to his slaves, who stepped back. Coti collapsed on the floor, her
head striking the corner of the desk. Tyler seated himself in an easy chair.
"Perhaps," he said, "you wonder why I have brought you here?"
Coti didn't care. She couldn't move. Everything hurt too much. She'd
even forgotten where she was. Tyler prodded her with the square toe of his
boot to get her attention. Coti groveled. "dd..don't hurt me any more
palesse. I no nothing." Of course, you don't, the President said. That's
why you're here. I suppose my wife has told you your discovery was no
accident? no. yes. Coti tried to remember what Julia had said. Something
about good of the nation. Before she turned him over to Andrew. Mr. Tyler's
second son. The Hairdresser, they called him. Andrew took her downstairs.
Where the press room now is. He had a little studio rigged up down there.
For young girls like you, missy. He inspected her knockers. Mmmm. They did
a real number on you, didn't they? Coti jumped. Hurts doesn't it? That old
Nick is a dirty soul. One day he'll go too far. Hold still. I'm trying to
help you. He ripped off the soiled corset. And stockings. A lot of dried
blood was caked to them, and Coti screamed as the skin came away from her
body. She was hysterical. Nick fixed her up for his father. Her fresh
clean hair billowed away from her body. I suppose my son told you I like
that kind of wanton display? Coti didn't know what to say. She stared up at
him. Why was she here? Aside from being a slave. Behind her, she was aware
of the double doors being opened and a number of people entering. The
President stood up. Senator. Thank you for coming. "Is that the woman?"
"Yes." Someone walked around in front of her. She couldn't see who it was.
It prodded her bare twat with its toe, giving her enough of a kick to make
her jerk. Someone else was standing immediately in back of her, and the
small of her back collided with his leg. She assumed it was the President.
But then he walked around and stood next to the senator. Whoever was behind
gave her a shove with his lower leg that threw her onto her stomach. Her big
sensitive breasts collided with the floor and pancaked out painfully.
Naturally, this doesn't have anything to do with Q. or the present campaign.
I'm just filling in for the benefit of curious readers. There aren't many
books about Coti de Sade, at least in English. In France, of course, she's a
national legend. So I'm just telling you what I know. The President
introduced Senator Butler. The person standing behind her was his grandson,
Rhett. Tyler put his hand down and grabbed Coti by the hair; dragging her
up, he threw her into one of the armchairs. Coti's head snapped back and
forth as the elaborate hairdo came loose and cascaded into her eyes. She
shook it back enough to be able to see Tyler out of one eye. The others were
obscured.
He said to Coti that even though he had bought her as a present to his
wife, Julia, Senator Butler had made him an offer so generous for her that he
could almost not refuse. Coti's mouth hung open. She wasn't sure what was
happening. Her cunt felt like it was on fire. She felt her gigantic
fleshmelons lolling to either side of her scrawny chest. "uuuh huh," she
managed to get out. However, before taking him up, the President went on, I
thought perhaps it might be useful to consult you on the matter. Even though
you are a slave and have absolutely no rights in the question of how to
dispose of you. Do you understand? "udya, ya oui, I gotcha." Okay. He
walked over to a map on the wall. Picking up a pointer, he tapped a red area
at the bottom. "This is Texas." Coti tried to nod, but the collar stopped
her. "Texas?" "Yes. Texas. Do you know what Texas is, my dear?" Cody
didn't know, but she tried to fake it. "A city. Like Camelot." Tyler
smiled. Women were such airheads. It took him two hours to explain but she
finally got it through her head what Texas was. Good. War, he said, was
inevitable.
That's where you come in. Moi? Yoi. "Why, Monseur?" Because you hold
the key to the fate of the nation in your small hands. Her hands were still
behind her, tied tightly together at the wrists. They had lost circulation.
Her long fingers were numb. And besides, the cops and slave trader had
broken several of them. Tyler gave a signal and the Countess was released.
Countess of Renfrew was another one of her titles. They covered two sides of
her calling card. Basically, Tyler offered her the job as head of his secret
service. She could either be a spy or he could sell her to Butler to give to
his grandson. Cody glanced sideways. It was the first she got a close look
at the person sitting next to her through her tangled hair. And then she got
a clearer impression. And screamed. And screamed. And screamed. It took
three men to hold her down. While the boy fucked her on the oval desk. Cody
banged the back of her head against the hard walnut trying to knock herself
out. Tyler and the senator watched from their armchairs as they exchanged
jokes and enjoyed a glass of sherry. That's just a sample, Tyler said,
adding that she would have the rank of lieutenant colonel. Cody huddled in a
corner. She wanted to die inside herself. She felt so dirty. So unclean.
So used. The boy sat on the floor and drooled, making small laughing noises,
and playing with himself. He was totally disgusting. His grandfather arose.
Well, let me know, sir. I shall be at the hotel. The President said he
would. Come on, Rhett. Button your pants up. That's a good son. Maybe you
can play with her again tomorrow. They shook hands and went out. When Tyler
came back, he sat down on the chair next to her. "Those Butlers are sick
animals," he said. "I knew a girl from a good family who killed herself
after old Zeke and his brothers had been at her for a couple of weeks. She
wasn't fit for a Mobile whorehouse. But I hear the grandson is ten time
worse." Tyler was a tall man in his early fifties, with curly grey hair and
a long narrow face. The high bridge of the long nose indicated Indian blood.
Cherokee Indians were rumored to have had his mother during a settlement
raid. Tyler always took offence to anyone who noticed it. "You are staring
at my nose, Sir," he said to the British ambassador one evening. "Do you
find it interesting?" The ambassador said he did not. Tyler was offended.
"You do not find my nose interesting? Why is that?" The ambassador
stammered that in fact it was a very interesting nose." "And why is that?"
Before it was over, they had negotiated away half of Canada. Just to save
face. Now he noticed that she was staring at it, too. "Do you find my nose
interesting?" he asked. She said, n... no.no. Oh, and why not? I just
don't. You don't like it. I didn't say that. But people talk about it,
don't they? y yess. Actually, Q. used to joke about it all the time. What
do they say? That you have a long nose, sir. And what else? That you were
raised by Bedouins. Oh, yeah. That, too. Well, what else are they saying?
He was a vain man, and he liked to be talked about. That under those tight
clothes you're dressed as a woman. Hmmmmm. So that was it? Debriefing Cody
was always interesting. There was no telling what she was going to bring
back. Through enemy lines. The war with Texas was now imminent. The tiny
republic was no match for the American juggernaut. Troops had already been
sent to the border. General Scott was appointed to head of the southern
command. Jackson's old division. That had gotten him in so much trouble
when he invaded Florida. Florida went down like Poland. They hung Governor
Arbuthnot, the Spanish viceroy and military governor. She knew his daughter.
They went to school together. In France. Glenda Arbuthnot was now her
opposite in Texas. She arranged for Cody to be captured. And interrogated.
And brainwashed. And sent back across the enemy lines to her handlers. She
was like a hand grenade about to explode. She blew up in their faces. At
the last moment, she went a.w.o.l. Over the wall. Defected. Don't worry.
That's what she was programmed to do. Cody was flipping back and forth
across the border like it was a trampoline. Each time she went through the
mesh it strained her. She was double sided, bleeding on both ends. Her eyes
opened and there would Glen be staring down at her. And then it was Glenda.
And Glen. And glendddaaa. a n glen an gleeaeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaag
gg he hand her the joint. want some? she took it. it was pretty bad. she
handed it back. i knew it would be. sorry. don't bother not your fault. I
could have told you. It doesn't matter. wouldn't. in the first place. she
took a deep breath. Why'd you do it? They got caught in San Antonio. At
the bus station. Waiting for a bus to Laredo. The border. Cody tried to
get out the back door. They were waiting for her. She froze in the lights.
And the guns cut her down. She lay there in a puddle of blood of her own
making, waiting to be picked up and put in a truck. When they finished with
her they would send her back. And she would get deprogrammed on the other
end. And then it would start all over. She had already defected twice.
Each time they got her back, and started again. It was like tennis. With
her the ball. Whappppp. Thunk. Love.
And that's all I know about Coti. It doesn't matter. The point is, I
don't think Q. ever knew about all this. He simply erased her from his life.
Occasionally word came back that she was being held in a castle on remote
Gardiners Island. But he was not interested. He read his paper and stuck to
the common events of life. His wife came back from her relatives and life
went on as usual. It's not like our present day politics where everyone
would know. About everything. They were always telling us what people were
doing, so we would probably have two years of Cotigate before it was through.
Including hearings and investigations. And testimony before Congress.
About the war with Texas, and who won and all that. But then, nobody knew.
Coti slipped back and forth across the border without detection. Today we
have radar and undocumented aliens are picked up and interrogated. Just ways
of knowing what's happening. The war with Texas has gone on for a hundred
and fifty-five years now, 56, with brief respites while each side rebuilds
their ruined cities and buries its dead, and intelligence is still required
to understand what the enemy is up to. Whether it's safe to come up for air.
And water. And whatever other pitiful supplies you can gather before the
shooting starts all over again. Once I think we had about ten minutes. That
was when I was five. Or six. Whatever. But now it goes on all the time.
It's worse than Elian. That was just with the Cubans. This is Texas./ Bush
is head of the Texas National Guard. Clinton is Commander in Chief. So he
tops him. But Gore has nothing. No divisions. No nukes. No tacular
weapons. So we will see who wins. Meanwhile, La Femme Coti would be on
cable television, and everyone would know what was happening to her. We
could watch her scream as the Mexicans probed her for secret data at the
School of the Americas. The electric wire in between her teeth, so she
screams every time she tells the truth. Works like a lie detector. Only
backwards. Punishes you for being honest. Got it? She would tell them
anything. The secret plans. What Tyler intended to do. Who the various
department heads were. Along with their addresses. Tyler watched them
debrief the girl. Then he turned her over to his wife and their children.
Julia had some plans for her. They dressed her up real pretty in a white
bathing suit. And then they took her down to the lake. The suit was too
small, and the thong was pulled up tight into her hairy cunt and asscheeks.
The thick vulva lips hung down on either side, and her clit protruded though
the thin material. They took her out on the dock. Andrew kicked her feet
out from under the doomed girl, so that she fell heavily on the rough boards.
Her head hung over the end. She though she would slide over, but he put his
foot down hard into her belly to hold her. She tried to look up. wha ahawha
are you doing? He lifted his foot a little to let her slide. It was a nasty
fall down on the rocks under the dock. The tide was out. Cody flailed her
arms, trying to grab something. He pressed his foot down again, this time on
her lower belly. Cody gasped. It hurt so much. She tried to reach out to
him. He kicked her backside and she went over. Her head smashed into a
rock, knocking her out. She lay there in a broken heap on the wet rocks
while they came down. Julia got a bucket of water from the stream and poured
it over her. Cody came chokingly alive. The family stood around her. Have
you made your decision, sister? I'll help you. Good. They picked her up
and dragged her up on the bank. Cody knew she didn't have any help. She had
betrayed her country. The French Tramp, they called her. It was getting
late, too. The sun was already over the house. They dragged the bedraggled
girl up through the muddy yard. And tied her to the clothesline. Cody stood
there with her ass bare. They whipped her. Taking turns, until each wore
themselves out. By that time she was just hanging on the ropes. There
wasn't any skin on her lower body from her hips to her lower ribs. And most
of her tits. Even when they dunked them in alcohol, she didn't react. She
was out of it. Zonked. Julia held something under her nose. Cotille jerked
her head back, seeing stars. He back handed her and she fell down cotille
protected her. The Baron smiled. You love her more than me? Yessssss. He
hit her again. Julia's smiling face there on the Tidewater. It's you, isn't
it? Harrison Ford was standing on the curb. She looked around him. Then
she gave him the envelope and disappeared into the fog. He could hear the
airplane taking off. Julia would be on board. With the children. He was
going down. They elected him to the Confederacy. To give him a rank. Both
his sons were involved in the fighting. By his first marriage, Sir.
Everyone was there. Even the Clooneys. The President never went to balls.
Neither did his wife. They might send a daughter. But she was strictly to
sit among the lower ladies and not be given special treatment. Occasionally
they would dance alone at the White House. But they never went out. It was
unheard of. The French Ambassador begged them to come. They would not. So
we had a war. With France. It was smoothed over. Peace was signed. The
boys were brought home. Coti was forgotten. Somehow she got lost in the
shuffle. She got away. We tracked her down. She was brought back. Again
he caught her staring at his nose. Gran came in and told me what she was
going to have for supper. She said she would make one for me, too. I said
no thank you. I never mix fire and tobacco. Or is it alcohol and fireharms.
Or is it cows and chickens. Or can you get me another little drinky winky?
winiy? She was so drunk. She always disgraced herself at White House
parties. Coti staggered trhough the rooms of the executive mansion, looking
for the King of France. Does anyone know the king of rance? around here?
Who's that? A spy left over from the last war. Odd, isn't she? What else
have yougot? I got some Manuhatta Gold. Yes, man. Take your head off.
Whitman White. Reall fine stuff. Whitewater Whilly. Go for it, man. Try a
little of this? It was a real buy. Hidden in the pages was the Morse Code.
The President was learning to telegraph. He could already do "d" and t. Dot
Com. This is the future, General. I'm telling you. Soon they'll have
simulaneous telegraphy. Do you know what that is? I'm telling you. I'm
sure of it. She picked up another revolver in her gloved hand. Is this it?
Pointing it. Pulling the trigger. The shot took the earring off Julia's
left ear. She put her hand up. Now what? It's getting late. Let's talk.
The two girls sat down in front of the fire. One reached out and touched the
other. And that's when it all began. Julia threw her into the fire. Coti
screamed as the flames melted her corset to her narrow waist. Synthetics.
They melt easily. And fuse with the flesh. Fire was burning her. She tried
to get out. Julia held her, and they rolled together in the fire.
Screaming. The girls melted together into one divided bitch. Julia bashed
her head against the stone fireplace. Cody's hair flew about her face. The
older girl pulled a knife and drove it into the other's insides. Coti's
luminous eyes widened as she felt it tearing her apart. Julia sliced her all
the way to the chest. Then she pulled it out and let the tramp fall into the
flames. This time she did not move as they burned her soft teenage flesh.
Afterwards, they threw her out on the driveway. It had rained and the road
was muddy. Coti crawled towards her carriage. Long legs trailing in the
mud.
Q. railed against the partitioning of Texas in the House of Reps. His
supporters called him "Old Man Eloquent." Had he known his lovely protege
was an active participant in the debacle, he would have been crushed. Texans
were rounded up and put in boxcars to be sent to Huntsville. The
crematoriums burned day and night. The stench was deplorable. News flashed
along the telegraph lines from one end of the country to the other that El
Paso was burning. The famous picture of Tyler doing a dance step was taken
in the Rose Garden which was then where the west wing now stands. Today, of
course, there are many Texas denyers, those who do not believe such
attrocities happened and continue to happen. Huntsville is still infamous as
the Texas Auchwitz. But Governor Bush contends no innocent lives have been
taken. Nobody wanted war with the Americans, the President of the General
Assembly recently recalled on C-Span. We wished only to be left alone, to
kill Mexicans. He turned his head and spit in dirt. That was our right.
And till our fields. But then came Zane Gray with his armies. He stood in
front of the old mission. This was a sacred place. Beloved by our people.
Look at it now. After they left it. He pointed to the golden arches. No
respect. Can you wonder that we hate them? That we still fight? We will
never give up!
Coti was a mistress of many disguises. She assumed the cover of a dance
hall chorus girl on the run from the law. She joined a wagon train moving
west with miltary supplies where the 13-year-old was a source of endless
entertainment. Girls grew up fast in those times. By the time she got to
Laramie, she was in bad shape. Crockett's troops were camped along the
Pecos. Lara Crockett-Jones, Davy's daughter, was one of the few Alamo
survivors. She now commanded the Texas Fifth. She hated Mexicans. Like
most Texas Rangers, she had peculiar tastes, especially for young girls. She
took the little dance hall queen back to her tent. They could hear Coti
screaming in Waco. Lara knew some Indian rope tricks that kept the succulent
teenage spy amused til sunrise, when they staked her out on the parade ground
to burn under the hot prairie sun. Water was poured over the rawhide.
Various other officers had her over the next few days, each trying to be more
inventive than the last. And then she was turned over to the men. Coti
watched the vultures circling in the sky. They came lower. Soon they would
be tearing at her guts. Her gorgeous red hair spread out around her in the
sand. Through swollen, cracked lips, the once proud beauty prayed for death.
So that's how Coti became the J. Edgar Hoover of her time. Going to
state dinners as head of the Secret Service. In her uniform of black lace
and high heeled boots. Skin tight. Very short. With long gloves. And a
monocle. High hat. Black panties. Tuxedo jacket with long tails.
Fishnets. High hat and can. And gloves. And long cape. And after that,
she would tell them what she had learned. The long red hair was a bit
different from Hoover's. And the belly was considerably flatter. And the
legs were longer. And the boobs were bigger. Than the pudgy little FBI
director. They used to call him Elsa Maxwell. Yes. You didn't know? All
those Jack Paar shows. That was him. Your FBI in action. Yes. My
grandfather told me. He would go on tv as the old dame, Elsa, and pretend to
give good advice. Like don't eat with your left hand in your mother's
crotch, etc. And people would go nuts. Coti was different. She was more
like Anita Ekberg. The bitch in La Dolce Vita. In the fountain. She was
just like Anita Ekberg. Only bigger. "Marcello." He held her head under
the water until she agreed to do it. That was him, too. Nobody told him to
do it. He just did. Hoover looked at the girl. Is this her? Yeah, boss.
Boss. I was just thinking. What if we did this to her? Cody's whole
expression changed face. It was like she threw it at them against a wall and
bounced off. Not all ghosts can go through walls. I'm just telling you.
For your own sake. Watch out. Cody refused to think about the consequences.
She got in touch with Q. He was still at the Embassy. I think he's coming
for you. He hung up. She was alone. In the room. Waiting. A number of
bodies fell out of the refrigerator. Is that her? I think so. Bring her
with you. They wanted to interrogate her about the latest blunder in I.Q.
Coti had no time to think before it hit her. She bounced off the upturned
fist. Now, Governor. Your turn. He held her. Out on the edge. Where the
prairie begins. He didn't like to think about it. His father had told him.
Something else was happening. He caught the shadow out of the corner of his
eye and fixed her with it. Just like fishing, Duchess. Your turn. Cody
took the dice. Snake eyes. You win. What kind of a game are you playing?
I felt sorry for her. A mistake. Once more he picked up the gun. The girl
was trying to crawl into the cane field. The razor grass would cut her
apart. So did the bullet. Black Talon Rhinos. They trailed along behind
her to see her bleed. Time to wash up for dinner. Take your time,
Arbuthnot. There's plenty of time left in the game. Ho ho. Gina Arbuthnot
turned away as the trapdoor snapped. Her sister dangled naked in the north
Florida sun. Except for her heels and stockings. And black gloves. A lady
should be left some modesty, Jackson said. They all laughed. The girl's
eyes bulged from her head. They pulled the floor up under her. She gagged.
General Velaquez stepped foreward. The lovely Senorita is now ready to tell
us something, no? Cody looked at him with imploring eyes. Nodding.
Whatever they wanted, she told them. It was better than being shocked or
strangled again. Admiral Gorelick then got a turn at getting nuclear secrets
out of her. Before they were through with her. And they took her back to
her cell. Tomorrow she would be executed. For treason. And betraying her
country. Cotille said it didn't count. She was French. So it wasn't
treason. It was French. He understood that now. Lawrence Weld was coming
on. Gran always watches it on Sunday evenings. It comes through the walls
and affects what I write. I feel like there's soap bubbles coming out of my
eyes. Floating out over the dunes. Like it was a moor. I've got to quit.
And there's an enormous dog after me. And I'm trying to run. And then it's
on top of me. And we're fucking, me and this great dane. And he's fucking
me up the rear, you know, like doggie style. And I'm shrieking and the whole
general staff is getting off on me being fucked by this dog. Old Bowser.
Scott's pet dane. The night before the Second Battle of Jacinto. When you
come back to old Jacinto you see the ruins of the mission where they last
survivors held out. But does anyone say, Remember Rosie's Cantina and Bar
Room in El Paso? Jesus, no. It is so aggravating. All the other places get
the best advertising. This is where they shot her, Travis the leader of the
expedition. And here's where Cockett fell. And Buddy Epson went down here.
The Prince of Bowie was slain as he tried to escape in women's underwear.
Going over the wall and running through the mangroves. Sana Avila ran him
down. And pierced him with his sword. There was much screaming. Get off
me, you bitch. They rolled into a muddy stream. Cody walked back to her
trailer. Get him off me, you bitch! The dog was all over her. Hose
Calenter caught his horse in the rear and the stallion reared. The humble
footsoldier had emerged as a weapon of mass destruction and carnage
throughout the land. Beyond Hussein's wildest dreams. He had inpregnated
them with an angel, and now they wallowed in their own filth. Even Tyler was
affected by the display. His long face grimaced as the girl's bones were
cracked. It was for the country. Afterwards, they would arrange a military
funeral. The body was taken downstairs to be prepared. That's where he had
sex with her. After she was dead. They shipped her out to the bases to
enjoy. The officers handed her down to the mess. She was one of their
sweetest gifts to their men. They watched from a high platform as she was
enjoyed. Each one had to fuck her. Even if they didn't want to. It was a
gift. And Army protocol demanded it. So each one done it. Some of the
showoffs did it more than once. Just to polish the brass. If you know what
I mean? Show their appreciation. For this pig. They roasted her over an
open fire. Then she was eaten. It was an old rite. Performed each year.
By men and officers. You never knew what you were going to get. This one
was pretty good. At the end, we sang the Horst Vessel. That always made me
cry. More Larry bleeds through the wall at me. Musical chords take me and
hurt me. No. I'm being soothed. What's going on? Is this Oz? It doesn't
bloody well look like Kansas. I never read it anymore. It hurts me. The
bloody ruins of South Dallas where we met Houston's men. The battle of Soho.
Out behind the fair grounds. A hundred men in two minutes. More music. A
girl's voice. An old man's. Drums. When you are in love, it's the
loveliest night of the year. She was seeing Tyler. And I didn't know it.
It's a waltz. Every Saturday night. No wonder she never came to our
at-homes. He felt sad. I tried to cheer him up. Maybe he had
misunderstood. He said he had seen the yellow Buick behind the dorm. So he
was there. That car stood out like a lemon. I hated him for it. Mine was a
little old Ford. While his was a 1956 wonderwagon with quadruple speakers.
And pink leather seats. And he'd cruise around the Zocolo in the evening
picking up chicks. The floorboard was about two inches off the ground. It
was so low. A bright yellow with exhaust pipes in the hood. Shit. That was
the killer. Those four exhaust pipes coming out on either side of the
powerful engine and throwing out carbon monoxide as you drove at ninety miles
an hour along the Fort Myers road. My back was killing me. I was leaning
over, giving him a blowjob and he had his foot on the accelorator all the way
to the floor. I was afraid we were going to get killed as he took the curves
of the narrow mountain road. The waves crashed on the jagged rocks far
below. The engine was beginning to sputter. Take her down. Make her kiss
the wall. Cody was tied along the side of the great touring car. As he hit
the curve her face scraped the wall. And her hooters dragged against the
concrete. More drums. The natives are restless. Tyler went to the windows.
And closed them. History will sustain me. A rock was thrown through the
window. The sound of shattering glass. Great scott! Come away from the
window. It was a terrible shock. She heard Lieutenant Vanessa say, "Let's
see what the donkeys can do with this mujer." She groaned. When would it
end? This time the captive was tied down on her belly across a big rock,
squishing her fat tits on the rough stone, and with her whipped bloody behind
up high for the horny jackasses to get at. The torture went on for weeks.
When the regiment finally moved out, they sold her to the Apaches. The
Indians used some tricks on her they learned at the School of the Americas.
By the time they were finished the marqueza was definitely a special case.
Professor Cartland said Coti was last spotted by some gringo calvary men in a
whorehouse in Juarez. How she got there is uncertain. By now, she was very
sick. Sores covered her emaciated body and her mind was loco. She babbled
crazily about seeing visions as she was fucked, about being abandoned by
Jesus, etc. Polk was now president. The administration disavowed any
knowledge of her. She probably died soon afterwards.
--
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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