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The Incestuous Conception
Chapter 5 from the psychological murder thriller, Blowgun...
by William JH Anderson | Atlanta, Georgia
wjha@premier-magazines.com | 678-451-quadruple nines.
 Pretty Peggy Ann McDonald, the homecoming queen, then voted Miss Cornhole, Iowa three years in a row should not have gotten the title. She was just at the beginning of her depraved decent into whore-hell.
Long ago, before she was born, Candy’s mother, tall, blond, pretty Peggy McDonald had sneaked off and had given birth to it in the barn, awasngst-ridden and alone, like an abhorrent, crazed animal.
She looked guiltily around, slowly spinning in 360s, sweating in fear, pulling her poor but pretty faded pink dress up revealing her dirty soaked panties. She didn’t even want the barn rats to see what she was about to do, and especially that huge dirty owl that lived up in the barn rafters--looking right down on her she figured. He was there, all right. As kids, they had named him “Who.”
Screw rats. Who better not be lurking around in here.
As if she needed more torture, poor, panic-stricken, pretty-pretty Peggy Ann McDonald’s repulsive, rotten stomach was killing her, a dung-filled compost heap fuming methane gas, pressurizing her brood mare belly, her green bitch bile bubbling and boiling putrid, pent up gas, polluted, about to pop, on the brink of an indecent, downright disgraceful detonation. Her terrified voice screamed out loud to God. The ethereal, ever present brilliant rat snatcher, the biggest owl in Cornhole, Iowa heard her too.
“Who” was the worst. She scanned the rafters and prayed that rat-eating Peeping Tom, Who, wasn’t watching.
But he was.Her eyes had not had time to adjust to the darkness giving her what pilots called night vision so she could not see Who but she heard him and felt his presence. Who could see her. He could see her as if it a spotlight was shining on her bloated but still incredibly tall long-legged body.
He’s in here all right, she thought as she heard nine powerful thwus, thwus sounds...
Sure enough Who was there. Anyone who saw Who said he was the biggest, dirtiest rat-eating barn owl in the whole county.
Who, as they had named him when they were children, was huge. Peggy failed math in school, especially measurements, so she wrongly figured Who’s wings from tip to tip were at least nine feet.
But Peggy knew she was probably wrong. On a dare at age fifteen she had broken the rule and had snuck into the only barber shop in town, called Cornhole Classic Cuts, and snatched the first thing she saw--a book and ran out. It was a vile dirty men’s science book. She couldn’t remember the title and never would have read it but for one thing. Long ago some one had neatly drawn a new title on the nasty book’s inside cover. After reading it she saw it was a scientific fact and figured rightly, that it was indeed a good title for the book.
Women Are Only Allowed To Live
Because Men Like to Fuck Them
She never would have read it except that someone years ago had neatly drawn that new subtitle on the inside cover. The men of Cornhole knew the owl’s wings were only seven feet in span because men are, if at only one thing, better at spatial motor activity because they are visual sexual beings, needing a visual target for arousal whether it be a woman’s ass, her high heeled shoes, the components of that being better at measuring and mathematics, and manipulating objects in their mind. Men were way better than women at that as any non-politically correct scientist knew.
She needed to keep her hands free, so she bit the hem of her dress with her drooling mouth to hold it up and ripped her dirty, sodden, high-cut white Woolworth panties right fucking off with her bare hands, squatting and standing, straining every cunt and ass muscle in her quavering butt, spreading her rear-end, prying her vagina open with her dirty, guilt-ridden hands, experimenting, grunting and moaning in pain, alone like some pregnant ape.That aside, she kept praying no one would find out that the monster wedged inside her was sired by her own brother, soon to be called Uncle Alex by the additional eight kids to come.
Alone in the musty, dark barn, she began her nine (9) hour nightmare, trying to give birth to the freak hopelessly trapped inside her, stuck deep, an utter abomination of nature. Her morbid thoughts wouldn’t stop.Yes, a huge sharp knife, yes, just cut it out! It must weigh at least 11 lbs. It’s the only way...
Sobbing, she gritted her teeth harder into her reeking hem, a gurgling, panicked, drooling, feminine-fiend, her viscous, stretchy saliva, darkly soaking her dress, the front of which hung from her chin. Bravely, she finally looked down in horror at her repugnantly colossal abdomen, letting out a guilt-ridden sob. Her slim frame, distended by the jammed and stuck monstrosity, was hideously hunched over in labor, horrifyingly heaving, trying to give birth-- standing up. At age nineteen, she knew nothing about having a baby.
Her panic at a fever pitch now, please God, just reach in and pull...
... sss... sss ...!
Oh my God! Thank you!
Not God. Worse. Who?
Peggy’s soul was speaking clearly to her now, as a wholly separate being, tormenting her.
...sss... No, Peggy Ann McDonald, her angry soul hissed in her mind ...sss... it will NEVER come out, Peggy, you incestuous whore ...sss... you will depart this life alone and your wretched, defiled body will fall into the dust from whence it came and where it deserves to go ... sss ... paying reparations to God for your incestuous transgression while I just float away... sss ...
“No! Please! No!”
Peggy felt a real, physical emptiness, not just some metaphorical, emotional emptiness inside her female gut. It had no equal. Her insides felt like an emptied, hollowed-out pipe.
Peggy shrieked, her ashen skin now turning morbidly white as her entire bowels turned into runny liquid. It was an impossible dilemma as she desperately tried to squeeze her rectum shut, holding in its contents, keeping it all from blasting out of her pretty rear-end.
She had never felt the urge to “go” so intensely in all her life. At the same time she contorted her whole body with every ounce of strength trying to pass the thing out of her feminine orifice.
“EEEEEEeeeeee!!!” Noooo!!”
It was no use. The pressure and urge to go was irresistible.
She couldn’t do both at once. She braced herself for the rectal storm.
She just gave up and let it go in absolute feminine humiliation, as the entire liquefied contents of her bowels spewed out in a violent, vile flood backwards and down--all eighteen feet of her colon.
She didn’t even have to look. It went everywhere. She felt the warmth, and knew her legs and bare feet were now horrifyingly covered in her own wretched, liquid incestuous shit and it just kept spewing out in violent, forceful torrents, her rectum trying to disgorge the entire contents of her intestinal tract in hideous, forceful blasts feeling to Peggy as if a fifty foot long evil snake was being rapidly reeled out of her female guts through a gaping gasket hole in her woman rear-end.
Peggy was in morbid fear for her very life, having never experienced such a bodily dysfunction such as this. “Wwwweeeeeeeaaaa!!!”Please God! Please make it stop! “AAARRRGGGHHH!!”
Peggy couldn’t stop screaming, “AAARRRGGGHHH!!” On and on it went.
“Wwwweeeeeeaarrghhh!” She reached back spreading her buttocks, trying to aim it away from herself. It didn’t help a bit. On and on it spewed out.
She felt the pressure decrease a little. And then like a violent storm slowly winding down, it slowly went to three-quarters flow, then maybe worse, when it went to medium—it became a flooding stream down inner legs and finally it came to a light drizzle.
It was all over the place. In every direction, this vile evidence of her violating the most universally ingrained taboo of all mankind was puddled around her.
She tried to stumble out of the mess, trying to reach some nice, clean barn floor dirt and… “EEiiieekk!”Peggy‘s soul knew what was coming.
… sss ... see what’s about to happen Peggy? … sss…
In her slow motion mind, she lost her footing so swiftly her feet whipped front wards coming right off the ground and she levitated in the air, going horizontal and Peggy fell brutally, fully prone into her woman-made female cesspool. “EEEwee!”For a minute, she lolled about in her malodorous mess in utter distress, endeavoring to compel he brain to recover its smashed feminine mind, hyperventilating fecal fumes.
Little by little, comprehending that just getting herself into a sitting position, let alone standing up, would be virtually impossible in he drained condition, she knew the immense orb fused to the depths of her barely living-woman-corpse was weighing her down, not to mention that she might as well have been lying in slippery grease with a friction coefficient factor near that of hard ice.Peggy started moaning disgustedly, a terror so great her bladder let loose too, as if that mattered. But it was wasted.
Insanity. People say when facing death, their entire life flashes before their eyes. Peggy knew that was nothing. Her fear was so maniacally morbid only one thought crossed her mind. This is how bad it was for now.
Peggy, you unlucky idiot! Girl, if you were standing up right now, at least your piss would have cleaned your legs off a little. No one needed Einstein to fully realize that everything in life was relative depending on one’s current circumstances. Nothing was lower than this. Nothing?
Dear lord, let me die. I can’t take anymore. Let me die like this, lying in my own shit for the entire world to see. Maybe I deserve it.
… sss… Maybe? Maybe you deserve it but I don’t. Peggy … sss … Roll in it Peggy Ann McDonald. Roll around and around in it. Roll and roll in it, and try to get on our face, then up on our elbows, then our knees, then maybe you have a chance at maybe standing upright … sss … Peggy… Peggy Ann McDonald … sss … look at you… you’ve sunk so low, doing a thing you’ve seen a hundred times … sss … no a thousand times… your nothing but a sow on a farm, only worse. You’re just a low-down, inbreeding human whore Peggy …
So, are you happy as a pig in shit? ... sss ...
Peggy never knew a soul could cackle like a witch, but hers did, bullying her, taunting her like a pitiless phantom.
… sss … We should be because that’s all you are, a human whore pig not happy rolling in shit, or are you? … sss … now get us up Peggy, do it! On your knees pig! Then you get standing up and get us to that workbench… and hold your body up or I will just drift away from you forever, leaving you dead as a pig in female shit.
Peggy thought I’ll kill that soul for saying such hateful… She stopped short smartly figuring her soul could maybe read her thoughts.
Instead, Peggy swung her arms to get momentum, sloshing around, again straining, swinging, and finally managing to get over on her side and with one last gargantuan effort. Success.
Her face was pressed right down in her shit; it was so good she had never felt so relatively elated. She balanced like a child on a beach ball virtually seesawing on her engorged abdomen.
Peggy grunted as if in death throws… to her elbows, then she felt her wounded, angry soul helping her, lifting her—another milestone. Finally. She was on her hands and knees like a shit-covered, wanton whore.
… sss Peggy Ann … sss you remember this don‘t you? This is just the position you used when your brother planted the demon in you. Remember, Peggy? … sss … What did he ask you to do Peggy? What? Come on tell us. You liked it then … sss … do in now for ussssss ...., after all, you liked it THEN and this barn, face down in your own excrement is an even better setting … sss … Come on now, sweet, pretty Peggy Ann McDonald, do it. Now. Now, so ladylike. Do it now like you did when he sodomized you. Do it NOW…
Now it happened. In all the world, from Haitian Voodoo rituals, male castrations to make eunuchs, slave-whipping, exorcisms, living human sacrifices, daughter-selling, even the simple stoning of a leper, Peggy felt the a far worse horror creeping closer to her—no away from her, more dreadful than the supposed worst thing in the world: being impaled by Vlad the Impaler, the real Dracula himself, held aloft ten feet high, speared up one’s rectum on a pole, each of her screams and movements allowing gravity to draw her body and rear-end further down onto the splintered timber, it impaling her deeper and deeper up her writhing colon, dying slowly as the whole village pointed, laughed and cheered. Yes, her agony was more terrible.
Yes, her physical insides were empty all right, but now they were spiritually disemboweling themselves, becoming mortally empty. Peggy was about to die. She did not know a soul could cuss. Hers did.
...sss ... fuck you Peggy Ann McDonald,
you want to be a soulless bitch? ... sss ...
“NO! No! Nooooo!! God No! Not this!”
... sss ... too late brother-fucker...
Risking all, her soul did it. Although rare, in the surgical operating room, many patients have been only paralyzed, completely conscious, completely aware, fully awake and feeling all the pain, the knife, their sternum being sawed in half, then the rib jack screw prying their rib cage apart, their lesser guts placed upon their chest, gloved hands probing their thoracic cavity, while open-heart surgery was being performed on them all the while completely awake.
They feel the huge tongs hooked around their ribs, prying them apart, being pulled by nurses with all their might, straining, leaning back on their heels on either side of the table pulling and tugging.
Sccrrrreeee!!!
The saw wails, and they feel its carbide blade cutting their sternum apart, smelling the burnt hair smell as breast bone is sawed and separated.
They lie there suffering the worst torture imaginable because they are absolutely awake, paralyzed and cannot scream. The only difference for Peggy Ann McDonald was that her predicament was worse.
Then the unimaginable happened.
Her hateful soul actually left Peggy’s body.
Soulless, the walls of her hollowed-out female carcass now had no limits, no supporting timbers, its infinitely empty curved inner-space engulfed her from within—way worse than that fifty foot long snake being reeled from her colon out of her butthole.
She sobbed in morbid fear feeling her rib cage being pried open as the surgeon ratcheted the jack screw wider and wider to let her soul out.
“Noooo! No! Please no!”
Her soul had to be quick about it. Snap.
In the blink of an eye, her soul puffed, flitting silently out of her body, darting high up to the barn’s rafters—swoosh—needful for a body, any living body to occupy or it was all over for Peggy Ann McDonald. Peggy now heard her soul’s voice coming from above.
It sounded lower now, with a screech like quality, hissing like a snake.
... sss ... perfect ... how convenient ... sss…
Peggy’s soul had entered the body of the dirty, rat-eating owl.
“Aaaarrrrghhhh! “NO! No! Nooooo! God No! Not this!”
Yes, the rat-gut covered, corporeal body of the huge, wide-eyed barn owl perched on the rafters above was the new warmblooded vessel for Peggy’s soul. It had been watching Peggy.
Peggy didn’t know it, but for that owl, she would have dropped dead that very moment.
Her soul viciously snickered, now having a perfect vantage point, cozy, warm as toast in the bird’s 106 degree body as opposed to the 98.6 degree fuck-whore’s body heat, and all the better. Looking through Who’s fabulously acute owl eyes, the murky light of the stinking barn was clear as day now.
Her owl-soul looked down, beholding the truly, literally soulless, abject whore-woman before her on all fours in her own shit pool. Peggy had felt her soul jerk right out of her guts, her life-force abandoning her.
Perversely, the most frightening aspect to Peggy was knowing her soul was in Who’s vermin-filled body, up there, nearby, lurking, watching, waiting like some avian peeping tom—the first case of an owl voyeur. When Peggy fully realized her soul was in the body of Who she wanted to drop dead in her own fecal liquid.
“OK! OK! Don’t leave the barn at least! I’ll do it!”
… sss … It? Do what? ... sss ...
“You know what! I hear your thoughts!”
The owl screamed at Peggy!
... sss ... it? OK... do “it” exactly like you did “it” then. Display your depraved femininity too just the same. Tell us what he wanted, what you said. Now! … sss ...
Peggy’s mind raced. Stupid bitch, do this right or I’ll die here on all fours, even worse than lying in it—and never get standing up!
Peggy screamed like a wounded animal up to the rafters.
“OK! Is that what you want? How bad? I know! Really bad! Want it all? OK! You want bad? Then you’ll fucking get bad! Have it you soul-bitch owl!”
Any living being, man, woman, or animal in the history of the world, had never, and forever on would never again witness such a depraved deluge of abject depravity. It made The Old Testament look like child’s play.
“Ready soul-bitch? Well! It happened in my husband’s and my bed! Hell! It was so bad, I had to burn the fucking sheets afterwards!”
“Fucking? I did that real good too! I wanted to take a shower first but he wouldn’t let me. My ass stunk to high heaven—imagine how it must have smelt to him, being right over it! He was crazy! He slapped me and told me to get buck-naked, and made me put on black high heels! Told me to hunker down on the bed doggy-style, and then he put a fucking footstool under my stomach, screaming at me: “Get your ass higher!”
Peggy sobbed like a schoolgirl who just got caught shoplifting a tube of lipstick. It made her soul sick. If Peggy had been a man, her soul would have called her a pussy.
“Then the bastard got out the rope he had brung. You saw! He complained saying my chest and tits weren’t low enough so he wrapped the rope under the bed, then up and over the bed, over my neck and under my arm pits and tied a perfect slip knot!
He pulled that big rope so tight my tits, face and chest were impaled into the bed! Now, with that there stool being under my gut and all, it hurt like hell!
“But you think HE was crazy? Being hog-tied like that was...
... sss what, Peggy, what? ...
“Good! No, I am lying. It was great! A normal woman might say, ‘Oh, it made me so wet.’ Fuck that! After ten seconds, my skanky snatch was slobbering down my thigh!”
Hearing herself say this was horrifying because it was so true. No wonder her own soul hated her reamed-out guts.
“So, her I am on my husband’s bed. But NO, it wasn’t bad enough for my brother, Alex.
“Out comes the fucking duct tape! I guess he was real lazy and all, and didn’t want to have to use his own hands. He stretched my ass wide open, using one piece of tape for each butt cheek, wrapping them under my waist cinching them as tight as he could. My ass and cooter were so wide open and wet, it started steaming! I could feel it getting cold!
“Then he started. No, more like he ‘dove in.’ He must have kept at it for ten straight minutes. He was nuts. He’d rear back a good foot and just plunge in, over and over.
... sss ... did it hurt... or did you like it Peggy? Did you Peggy Ann McDonald? ... sss ... tell us.
“YES, it hurt God damn it!”
liar! ... sss ... sss ... sss ..!
“OK! I mean yes—at first. You know! You were right there too, you soul-slut! Then, yes, I..., yes, I loved it!”
Peggy, squatting in that barn, hung her head in shame, so low, so humiliated; she just let her forehead rest in her “mud.” She knew she had to continue.
“So guess what? He screamed that he was sick of fucking his sister’s cunt! Is that what you want to hear? He said he wanted to ram his dick up his little sister’s ass! And I said do it! Yes—to all his crazy stuff!
“He got back a ways again, a good foot, and just rammed it up there as hard as he could and, yes, it hurt like shit at first, but, yes I fucking liked that part too!
For once, the stupid saying was true. “Stop! Please, five minutes! Let me! The bathroom! Please!
“You really are going to fuck the shit out of me!”
“He screamed, ‘No!’ and kept on pile-driving, dick-diving into my butthole with my butt cheeks spread wide as shit with that fucking silver duct tape!”
“He kept smacking my butt cheeks telling me to get my sister-whore-butt higher and I thought I couldn’t but I squeezed my knees together more and got my throbbing, drooling rear-end an inch higher! And, yes, I liked it! But that was nothing...
“Soul, I know what you really want to hear. The thing he kept on a telling me to do that no human woman would ever do!
Except, yes—I guess me--yes, I fucking did it! It was the craziest, most perverted thing in the world and, yes, I loved it!
“So this is what you want isn’t it? Okay, soul, you know what I started doing—you were there too. Look at me in this barn right now. I am a pig. I was a pig. Well... it was like... I did it as loud as I could.
“Come on! I’m your pig! Squeeeaalllll! Oink! Sqweeeeee! Sqwueeeeeee! Screw me like a pig! Squeeeaalll! Harder! Harder! Fuck me like the sister-whore-pig I am! He told me to do my job and asked me what I was! I screamed so hard it hurt my dick-sucking throat!”
“I am your fuck-pig! Sqweeeeee! Fuck my asshole harder!”
Peggy let it all out to her soul. How she loved it when her brother said he’d fuck her harder only if she would squeal louder, super-loud like the sister-fuck-pig she was, and how he didn’t even have to ask because she really wanted to anyway, and just how well she had sounded exactly like a real pig, how she had convincingly squealed, real loud and all, over and over, just oinking and grunting away.
The owl with the duplicate Peggy-mind, looked down at her impious, identical twin, the ruined, repugnant reprobate, the contaminated, cum-guzzling cunthole, on her hands and knees in her own shameful shit, slinging her ass back and forth like a horrible whore.
... sss... what a nauseating nightmare sss ...
Peggy imitated herself again.
“Squeeee! Squeeee! Squeeee! Squeal! Squeeee!”
Peggy smirked. She looked around for her ethereal soul; she knew it was in the barn somewhere--in the owl.
“I know what you really want Who—the worst part, huh?“
... sss ... now, now, Peggy Ann McDonald, the prettiest girl in Cornhole, what could be possibly worse than squealing like a very pretty, blond, hick-chick, acting like a crazed human female fuck-pig? ... sss ...
“Don’t you dare pull my fucking cunt-string you sorry-ass excuse for a sewer-soul! You know what!”
... sss... what ..sss... tell usssss....... sss...
“Fuck you! You know!”
“This!”
“And this part was all my idea! How I arched my ass up even higher, moaning and shrieking for my sister-fucking brother to mare-mount me. Way, way better than being a plain old pig!”
Then she told her soul, making it real clear and all that this was all her ingenious, incestuously perfect idea.
The incredibly fun, blasphemous barking part!
“He loved it when I started woofing and barking like the blatant, bizarre bitch-dog I was! I liked that part the most! I did it real loud too and sounded just like one of his hunting dogs. Yes! Like this!
“Woof! Aarrrghh! Ruff! Just whining, and yelping and a-growling! Then sometimes like a little dog too! Yip! Yip! Yip!”
“Then I started to growl and groan like a super loud low-life, just the tall town-whore, a begging, bitch-hound from Hell, a wicked, whacked-out, panting piece of ass on all fours! So, soul, you have it all!
YES, ALL OF IT: Me letting my own butt-fucking, bastard brother screw me in both of my duct-taped, wide-open, sister-ass, stinking whore holes, acting like a perverted, polluted pig, squealing like a pig, sweating like a pig! But fuck that!
Let’s get to all the bitch-barking, a begging, butt-fucked bimbo, just growling away like a despicable demented dog!”
“Are you happy now?” Apparently so.
Peggy looked at about the 50% of her body she could see. She did look like she did then, except now she weighed forty pounds more and was covered head to toe in her own vile runny crap, unable to breath, coughing, gagging trying to vomit but she could only manage a few dry heaves.
She felt her satisfied, smug soul return to her body like a lightening bolt, felt that strange lifting force again, and finally, she managed to wobble to her feet like a greased ape on ice.
There! She had done it! She held the edge of that workbench as if it were the edge of the abyss itself!
… sss … Good Peggy, good and it’s a good thing you cleared out your insides like that it because it makes more room …
For three more hours she panted, grunting, howling, screaming, begging, and braying like a pregnant donkey in breech birth.
... sss ... My oh my... look!
... sss ... by the ay Peggy and McDonald.
You’re wrong. The frothing fiend
inside of you doesn’t weigh 11 pounds
it weighs 15 pounds!
It was horrifying. Her white buttocks were violently quivering, quaking, alarmingly so in total repulsive spasms, her fiendish, gurgling, girliewill lead to, drooling mouth still clenching her shit-covered pink dress, trying to squeeze the dreadfulness out, hugging that wet, bitch-sweat covered iron anvil, splaying her legs three feet apart, going pigeon-toed like a girl geek just to ease the pain, bent over like a wanton whore, straining to discharge the evil mass of pus from her polluted, blameworthy womb, standing spread-eagle like a jail house slut, mournfully wailing with guilt.
Pretty Peggy stooped over the worktable, clutching her inanimate midwife—that now warm 300 lb. iron anvil for dear life, a depraved, culpable creature, sweating, squeezing the same muscles she used in the field to save time, and crying: “Out, out, out!”
Even though this was her first baby, the butt squeezing part came naturally like having a bowel movement, especially this baby, using the same muscles. She had no better knowledge anyway.
Yes! That’s it.
Yes! Tall, pretty Peggy at least now had a plan. All that practice had paid off. Everyone had always said when it came to taking a girlie, feminine stand-up shit in the field, Peggy McDonald was the best in the county.
A perfect plan and it just might actually work. Yes, she clung to the thought, hugging its clever simplicity: just a standard, girlie, feminine stand-up shit in the field.
Her terrified mind hugged its ingenious scheme allaying her corporal fear somewhat, but as another couple hours went by, Peggy’s sobbing grew more extreme. She could feel the demon-thing in her, moving slowly, its claws scratching at her insides, trying to come to life, wanting out of her tainted belly.
Now into her eighth hour of torment (she did not know the term labor), she looked down again at her fish-belly white, appallingly deformed gut adorned with even impossibly whiter, spidery stretch marks and willed herself not to faint.
Her frenzied, distressed mind came upon a senseless, demented idea and without thinking, her clammy, sewage-covered arms reached out and performed a perverted Heimlich maneuver on her bloated belly, compressing and crushing it, willing the thing towards her vulva, it now protruding pinkish, alarmingly out of her feminine rear-end, between her glistening buttocks, her flowing butt-sweat pooling in the dirt between her obscenely contorted feet. Her frantic anguish continued as she reached hour nine.
“Scccreeeee!!!!! Scccreeeee!!!!!”
Again, it scratched and squirmed forcefully inside of her, stuck fast in her tormented body. She was terrified it would NEVER come out! Oh my God. Then what?
Peggy McDonald felt as if she had been bunged-up, constipated for a month and was now trying to evacuate a bowling ball. Her horrifying fear started speaking with her very soul again. My God, she thought. It IS stuck! Get it OUT of me! Then she felt the most horrible hurting of her life, worse even than the cramps she got when she ate a pound of raw rice as a child, a spasm so acutely aching she wanted to fucking die! Her owl-soul took pity and screeched again high above in the rafters.
... sss.... a good thing, Peggy ...sss... if you weren’t in here like a wretched, dirty animal alone ... sss... the doctors call that a contraction... sss...
In the midst of her woe, a misery so bad, an anguish that made her yearn for suicide, hope cropped up in her as she felt the thing descending, inching towards her ferociously puffed out womanly rear-end. It was nothing like on TV.
Yearning for relief, she amplified her efforts, straining the muscles in her plan, as if trying to have a massive, bowel movement from Hell. Over and over she rehearsed her plan, yes, yes, do it Peggy, do it! Just exactly like standing in the field... no outhouse, just out in the field... just push... push... She shrieked out loud for her very life. It was wretched.
“God, help me! Please! Scccreeeee!!!!!”
Her contorted face went morbidly dark purple, shuddering with effort, sweat flowing out of every pore in her reddish-purple nose as she felt her vaginal muscles finally starting to win their battle.
“Scccreeeee!!!!! Wwwweeeeeaaa!!! AAARRRGGGHHH!!”
Peggy couldn’t stop screaming.
“AAARRRGGGHHH!!”
With one last revoltingly massive thrust, the thing’s head emerged from her vaginal cavity, maggot-like, giving Peggy a natural, barnyard episiotomy, tearing what those rude, nasty men over in Gooseshoot called a women’s “taint meat” probably the rudest, most misogynistic made-up word in the English language if one understood its meaning.
As the men put it, “’Taint the pussy, ‘taint the butthole, it’s the meat between them thar two!”
Peggy had always hated that phrase “taint meat” but now she fucking loved it. Yes, the very flesh between her vagina and anus tore wide open, making it possible for the fifteen pound mass to shit itself out. Once it was a quarter ways, hanging there, wiggling and gasping, her worn out baby-having muscles went into spasms and in a final death-throw, went for it.
Sploosh! Gushing wetly, her vagina, in its ass-hanging glory ejected the mass out of her rear-end with amazing force right onto the barn’s dirt floor as if she finally succeed in taking the perverted crap of all time.
Peggy had done it.
In disbelief, after nine hours, she slowly stopped hugging her savior—the 300 pound iron anvil on the workbench. Still panting, she at last got some much-needed relief, blissfully vomiting between her breasts proving once and for all that everything is relative.
Dizzy with her impossible victory, she wiped most of the puke from between her breasts and reached between her legs, and felt three things, the thick steaming already-cooling blood and amniotic fluid and, as they said as girls, her canyon cunt from Hell and she loved it. A reprieve from Heaven itself.
Peggy’s mind snapped back to life, not death. Her now bothersome soul hissed at her again.
...sss ... which is better Peggy? Life or Death? ... sss... look around ...sss... Peggy, what about all that praying and begging ...sss... you got what you wanted Peggy Ann McDonald ...sss...
Peggy was so triumphant and relived, she screamed!
“FUCK YOU SOUL! SHUT YOUR LYING, FAKE-ASS, HOLIER-THAN-THOU MOUTH!”
Peggy smugly crossed her arms across her 38-D crap-covered bust, her tit valley a flowing river of bitch-sweat and vomit, and looked down at the barn floor dirt.
Amazingly, it was soaked in no less than twelve (12!) female bodily fluids: piss, face grease, spit, bile, vomit, runny shit, pus, snot, amniotic fluid, blood, sweat and tears. She tossed her head back and smirked at her faux doctor: Dr. Iron Anvil M.D. whom she had hugged so dearly for nine fucking hours.
Her smirk faded when she looked down at her revolting, really, really stinking pink dress, but she cheered up a little when she looked down at her now contracting abdomen. Her sense of relief was other-worldly.
She tried to compare it to something—anything. Popping a fifteen pound zit? Not even close. Performing auto-surgery, with no anesthesia, extracting a fifteen pound tumor? Closer. She couldn’t stop herself from having these perverted, postpartum, feminine thoughts trying to finally bring closure to her reeling mind! She kept obsessing on it.
At last she settled on a perfect comparison—a simple one. The closest thing she happily thought was this—it was like finally shitting out a watermelon after sitting—no, standing—in their hot, reeking, fetid outhouse for nine fucking straight hours in the Summer heat and succeeding. With this thought, her relief was absolute now, complete and wonderful. Touchdown. Checkmate. Game over.
Poor Peggy deserved a break. Anyone should have felt sorry for her. Yes, she was an incestuous whore, but she could be good. And she would be after this... Her barely alive soul hissed from Who’s beak...
...sss... sss ...
Out loud, she cheered, “Fuck! I did it! I fucking did it!” Peggy, tall and pretty AND smart knew why of course. It was her plan!
All that practice had paid off. She proudly told herself again: Yes, Peggy McDonald, girl, when it comes to taking girlie, feminine stand-up shits in the field you are the best! Be proud girl! Besides saving time, it sure beat running all the way to that outhouse with your butt cheeks clamped together, waddling like a tin woman the final ten feet, praying you’d make it before it ended up in your cheap Woolworth’s panties.
Maybe a little too proudly, and besides who could blame the prettiest, tallest blond girl in the county, she said aloud, “This barn thing wasn’t that bad. Fuck it!”
She was so happily depraved; she started hopping around like a fucking kangaroo.
The postpartum of her labor was a cinch. In jubilation, holding her repugnant dress high, she twirled around, letting centrifugal force alone sling the bloody afterbirth all over the barn.
In no time at all, her rotten placenta and afterbirth spewed out of her rear-end as if she had taken a whole bottle full of vaginal laxatives. Total Exlax relief!
She looked at the repugnant afterbirth mess, smirked and said to it, “Fuck you!”
Then she smoothed out her rank, pink farm dress, it too covered in twelve feminine body fluids and slicked back her pretty, shit-soaked blond hair with her absolutely filthy hands and looked around. It was over. She spun around in another victory dance... uh oh. She had forgotten.
Then she saw IT. Even the owl almost cried. Poor Peggy. The poor girl has been through enough. If anyone had learned her lesson...
She crept with trepidation towards it, barely able to look, hoping, praying, Help me God! Please! Now I really need your help! Try! Please help me!
She looked, wondering, trying to hope. Was it dead or alive? Oh please no. The owl flapped its powerful wings.
Peggy couldn’t tell and prayed harder than ever for a miracle. Oh no! Please! Come on now, God. Do me right. After all this shit?
She stood ten feet away. She couldn’t look. She just listened. It wasn’t crying. God! What’s going on? Don’t do this to me. Please don’t tease me now! Nine hours of hell and now you...
She stepped one foot closer praying to God and cursing her soul. Covering one eye with a filthy hand she squinted the other eye open, barely able to look, hoping with her very own life. Please.
It moved. But it moved like no other baby she had ever seen before! It was huge. In utter disbelief, she stared at it, amazed something that size could come out of any woman—a cow or mare—yes. But a human female?
It was beating its pale chest with its... fist. Oh my God... Look how big its hand is...
She looked harder. Yes it was moving but just that one arm. The spastically moving arm was horrifying. She sucked in a gasp of air. Don’t let it be... that hand?
She started her kangaroo jumping again. Oh God! Oh God! How in Heaven’s name could you do this to me? Peggy kept looking and the nightmare was true. Her blood ran cold.
She went into a maniacal frenzy, screaming.
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you! God!”
Peggy almost fainted when the complete realization, the grotesque hand and all, fully hit her.
I ask for your help and this is what I get?
She stared at that claw! That perverted lobster claw. The thing was savagely beating its chest with its deformed arm. There was no getting around it. Claw or no claw, she wanted only one thing now—help.
The baby’s beady eyes were wide open, staring at her in condemnation and infantile hatred from beneath its huge, overhanging, deformed Neanderthal brow.
... sss ... sss ... sss ...
... sss ... sss ... sss ...
... sss ... sss ... sss ...
Peggy felt her very soul wanting to fly away again. Her own soul couldn’t even stand this catastrophe!
But it was alive. You are there aren’t you God? God! It almost killed me, getting it out and now this!
Please God! Please! Help meeeeeee! Now! Yes! Me for once! You’re up there all right, laughing your ass off! Please! Help me just once more!
“Kill it!”
“Kill it!”
“Let it die now damn you!”
Peggy kept shrieking over and over. “It’s fucking alive! Why me? Why me? Oh lord, why me? It’s fucking alive!”
“Kill it!”
“Kill it!”
“Kill it!”
She turned her back on the revolting half-human and sobbed for a full nine minutes. Poor Peggy. She finally composed herself.
“And fuck you too soul! Fuck the whole world! Fuck it all! We’ll see.”
She got closer and noticed it did have eleven fingers and shrieked! A pretty girl like her? What a disgrace this thing was to have.
Screw the nine hours and the bloody mess all over the barn. Now she was really ashamed of it. What would people in Cornhole think? She got closer.
Oh no! It did have two pinky fingers on that one claw hand where there should have been only one and it had a giant thumb.
When she saw that extra finger thing and the thumb she was so humiliated and scared of what people would think she hardly knew what to do.
Well, for all of nine seconds that is. Then another brilliant plan came to her!
No one will make fun of me. I will show you all. The entire world, heaven and my soul can kiss my ass!
Twenty seven pounds lighter now, Peggy starting ripping the barn to pieces, raking things from shelves, looking in corners, running to her obstetrician, Dr. Iron Anvil’s table and found one underneath!
Hah! Thought you could fuck me over again huh?
Peggy raised her arm sassing heaven itself, triumphantly twirling the old burlap feed sack over her head and marched over to it.
The bitch meant business now.
She had to turn her head away as far as possible—until her neck hurt, just feeling for him—it, because she sure wasn’t going to look at it. Gottcha! She captured it!
She noticed how heavy it was after she lifted the old fifty pound burlap feed sack. It was now safely out of sight no thanks to God!
All she needed now was to get it to the outhouse and be done with it.
It was heavy. In her reamed-out condition she decided she needed to drag it, not carry it out to the stinking outhouse.
It was perfect. Hell, the musty sack made it where she did not have to touch it or see it. It didn’t care. It didn’t cry. Peggy wondered if it even could, being such a circus freak and all. What a horribly deformed infant baby—no, a monster. It was amazing the THING was even alive.
It was dark in the outhouse, thick with fecund shit-stink, with all the roaches and cobwebs and whatnot, but the creepy insects were nothing compared to the monster in the burlap sack.
Peggy looked at the hole in the toilet seat—well the piece of plywood with an oval hole carved in it—hovering over layer after layer of shit, the bottom most layers being at least forty years old.
She wrapped the sack up tight and started measuring the hole in her mind’s eye. It might fit.
Pushing and shoving, the damn thing wouldn’t squeeze through. Having been on her twenty five pound, nine hour weight loss plan, Peggy easily got up on the plywood deck.
“Ouch!” Peggy smashed her head against the outhouse’s ceiling and felt even sorrier for herself. Fuck everything and everybody. I’ll show you.
She raised her long, strong farm girl leg and got ready, praying that stomping on it would smash it down, through the crap rimmed hole. What now...
“Arraaaghhhhhh... sss... arraaaghhhhhh...”
Peggy screamed aloud. “Fuck you soul! Don’t even think about it now!”
When there was no answer, she horrifyingly realized the sound was coming from...
God no! The sound was coming from the sack!
Then everyone, everything ganged up on her. Who beat his powerful wings, the receptacle for Peggy’s soul, left the barn and flew to the otherworldly outhouse.
“... sss ... Peggy Ann McDonald ... sss ... listen up girl ... sss ... I just spoke with God ... sss ... it’s all set. If you stomp that baby down through that hole ... sss ... remember those nine hours? How would you like 900 hundred hours ... sss ... or 9,000 hours ... sss ... or 9,000 years?
“... sss ... now imagine 9 trillion years and that won’t even be one percent of it ... sss ... because infinity divided by 9 trillion equals infinity. So does 9 quadrillion divided by infinity ... sss ... see, that’s the way math works on Earth and in Hell, Peggy Ann McDonald ... sss ... because eternity divided by any number always equals infinity. Here is the equation girl:
X / ¥ = ¥
(or any number X) = ¥
Where ¥ = infinity
—so, after even a trillion, trillion, trillion years, you will be zero percent of the way done! ... sss ... and you’ll be alone. Do you know why? ... sss
God just agreed to let me go to Heaven but not you! ... sss ... stomp just once on that baby and you’ll be the first man or woman ever to go bodily to Hell with no soul!”
Peggy heard this final sentence as her long powerful leg was thrusting down with such savage force; she was barely able to stop an inch short. Maybe Peggy did have a heart.
“Fuck you! OK! I’ll let it live all right! He just needs some fixin’ is all.”
Peggy stomped back to the barn and came back cussing and screaming pulling as hard as she could on them. She looked up at the darkening sky...
Finally. She got the rusty hinge worked loose and managed to get them to open.
She worked them open and shut, over and over. These pruning shears will work just fine.
She hated even looking at it, much less touching that hand-abomination with the extra finger.
She could think of only one word, over and over.
Nanny. Nanny. Nanny. A fucking permanent one!
She just closed her eyes, pulled it—eventually to be named Jason, when he was about nine months old and only because all the busybodies in Cornhole kept on asking for its name.
She pulled it out of the sack and grabbed the circus freak of a baby’s arm and felt for that tiny finger worm and squeezed down with the pruning shears with all her might. It made a horrible crunching sound and all. No sound came out of its mouth though. But Peggy had fucked up.
She accidentally cut two fingers off. It did not make a sound. They both fell to the ground, still doing their wiggling act just like when they were still attached to him—it. The roaches and ants were on the fingers in a second.
Peggy just brushed it off and thought ah, hell, no worse than some fancy-ass hospital circumcision, and he certainly wasn’t worth one of those.
So she just counted this as one. It was a good way to think in Cornhole, Iowa.
___________________________________
YEARS LATER in Cornhole, Iowa, she realized that was a big mistake, them not forking over the money to circumcise Jason because it made his enormously huge, deformed penis all the bigger looking. After he reached puberty at age seven (7), he loved chasing little girls around Cornhole with it, his giant dick, his thingie, his favorite weapon.
He was always leering at his angelic, blond little sisty, Candy, hating her. Even his mentally retarded brain knew she would get it too because God up there on his cloud in heaven had made her too perfect and pretty and had made him a hideous, demented, imbecilic monster.
Anyway, one could hardly tell, the cutting part that is. Jason just had nine fingers now. It sure beat having eleven. Lots of folks had less than ten fingers from farm accidents, but there was no explaining having eleven fingers.
Nine months later she had given birth to Justin—this time in the house with the aid of a fancy midwife and all. This baby was for sure Mac’s—her husband. He had ten fingers and toes, but he looked just as ugly and demented as Jason.
That was the day she made a promise to God—a real one for once. Please, God! Never let anyone find out! Please don’t doom me—I mean them, us, the family. I’ll go last!
God had heard her, because the seven other McDonald children came out perfectly—the cutest kids in town. So Candy, born right in the middle of eight brothers, WAS the most beautiful girl—not just in the town, but in all of Iowa, America and the world. Everyone agreed. The sight of her was breathtaking.
Peggy never cursed again in her life, went to church every Sunday, became a town leader, and was even voted prettiest “mom” in Cornhole nine years straight.
But that chromosome meltdown, Jason was a dread secret Peggy McDonald suffered every waking and sleeping moment. For twenty five years her nightmares got worse and worse.
Maybe the worst of it was the guilt over Justin. He was God’s personal punishment—not her brother—Uncle Alex’s. She did rack her brain, day after day, torturing herself for an Earthly reason. If not God, then how did he happen?
For Peggy, it wasn’t that good in Cornhole, Iowa.
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