By Amber K
Dillon Grover had been with the Humboldt County sheriffs’ department less than a year. He was twenty-nine... a tall man with a muscular build. In his youth he’d spent many a summer rock climbing and repelling on the cliffs in Trinidad and other hot spots up the coast towards Crescent City. His experience with belays, pulleys and advanced climbing techniques landed him the odious job of dealing with the tree-sisters on Pacific Lumber Company’s land.
The tree-sisters were activists there in protest of the lumber company’s policies. Dillon didn’t care much about the politics of the matter, he just knew that the “activists” were trespassing and breaking the law by camping out in the treetops on PL’s land. Spiking trees, firebombing and intimidating the family members of loggers was another tactic employed, but on the large Dillon dealt solely with the tree-sitters and road blockers. Basically his job was to climb the trees, handcuff and secure the tree sitters and bring them to the ground safely. The risks were high. Despite the fact that most of the kids were peaceful in their own way they most certainly did not want to be removed from the trees.
As with most activist groups, a large portion of the kids were made up of college students, some drops outs and others actively enrolled in school. Their professors, mostly liberal activists themselves, allowed the students excused absences from their class to take part in the protests. The bad seeds in the group were lunatic fringe crazies, transients and junkies with nothing better to do than thumb their noses at “the man” by taking part in the protest. Those freaks were the real danger. You never knew when one of those chuckles-heads might pull a knife. Confronting a violent tree-sitter a hundred feet or more in the air was not something Dillon much enjoyed.
Other than the danger element, Dillon’s other point of contention was the smell. The activists on large were present day “hippies” and that meant dirty and smelly. Dillon always thought it was a shame to see such pretty girls covered in dirt, their hair ratted into foul looking dreadlocks and their complexions marred by their massive intake of drugs. Of course their appearance was nothing compared to their ever present reek of unwashed skin and scented oils.
In the realm of smelly hippies, the tree-sitters were by far the worst in the realm of unpleasant body odor. Sometimes the kids would be held up in the various trees … which they all gave names such as Luna, Goppi and so on … for weeks or more. Their fellow conspirators would send up buckets with food, marijuana and various sundries … but not once did Dillon see a bar of soap in the loot. Grappling with a smelly, dirty college kid, to secure their hands behind their back on a rickety platform, was nauseating at best.
Saturday the 13th was when it all came to a head in the worst way. On a whim, Dillon decided to make a check on another grid of the timber company land. Mostly it was to get away from the line of yelling activists on the side of the road. Being called a “pig” twenty times a day got old quick. The section of road Dillon chose was quite and rather peaceful. He was in fact about to turn around when he heard the sound of music coming from somewhere up ahead.
Pulling to a halt beneath a cluster of old growth redwoods, Dillon leaned out his window to see the now familiar platform and blue tarp a good seventy feet up. The platform itself spanned between two of the larger trees with the tarp enclosing the sitting area as a half-assed kind of roof. With a sigh, Dillon put the Ranger in park and pulled out his clip board to note the location on the grid sheet.
As soon as the engine was quieted he could hear the music more clearly. It sounded like the Grateful Dead song “Truckin’”. Over the indistinct music Dillon could hear what sounded like a group of girls giggling … most likely in the process of smoking weed. Dillon shook his head and noted the location. Making sure his side arm was securely holstered, Dillon climbed from the vehicle and looked up, hands on his hips. For an instant he saw a begrimed forehead topped with ropy dreads peer over the edge of the platform. A moment latter, three gobs of spit descended … one spattering on the hood of the Ranger, the other flying a bit south and the third squarely nailing his shoulder.
The girlish giggling rose in volume as Dillon fumed. It wasn’t the first time he’d been spit at but it was the first bit of saliva to actually make contact. The faint scent of marijuana was now easily detectable and Dillon easily spotted the thick gout of smoke billowing from above. Checking his belt pouch to verify that it was filled with the plastic zip-ties used to secure the ankles of the activists he headed for the back of the Ranger. It was a measure of Dillon’s anger that he failed to follow procedure and announce a climb.
With a yank he pulled out his gear, loping the heavy bundle of arborist rope over his shoulder. Slamming his safety helmet on his short cropped hair, Dillon marched to the base of the nearest tree. With a heave he hurled the throw-weight, attached to the end of his line, a good fifty feet up to a stout branch. The throw-weight descended bringing the other end of the rope with it. Dillon tied his magnus hitch, hooked the carabiner to his figure-eight and quickly began his ascent of the redwood. With Dillon’s strength he had little need of a prusick loop when using the double rope self-belay system; hand over hand he left the forest floor.
Dillon reached the branch over which his rope hung with little more noise than a cat burglar. Securing himself with his feet between two of the trees he tossed the weight up another ten feet to a branch directly beneath the platform and once again moved upward at a steady pace. Stopping just short of the platform Dillon took a moment to catch his breath. The female voices drifted down from above.
“I wonder if he’s gone yet.”
“Fucking fascist …”
“See if his truck’s still there.”
“No way, you look … I don’t wanna get shot.”
“He’s not gonna shoot you, dumbbell.”
“If you wanna know so bad, Flower, you look.”
Dillon saw the top of a girl’s head peek over the opposite edge of the platform. With a jerk she leapt back from the edge. “Motherfucker’s still there.”
“What’s he doing?”
“I didn’t see him … just the truck.”
“It took those fascists long enough to find us … I told you we should have done it closer to the road.”
“Do you think we’ll get on the news?” one of them tittered excitedly.
“That’d be too cool!”
“SAVE THE TREES! DEATH TO PALCO!” Dillon jerked with the suddenness and volume of the girl’s shouting voice. Deciding it was high time for the extraction he began to tie off a safety line. It was then that he realized he’d never radioed in for back up. If he happened to fall … Dillon shuddered. Best not to think on that.
Reaching up with a gloved hand, Dillon grasped the edge of the platform and hoisted. For a second he spied the four girls. They sat in a circle facing each other in the center of the platform … one of them cradling a bong. He opened his mouth to announce their arrest when the girl closest to him glanced down and saw him. With a high pitched shriek of surprise she flinched away. Dillon saw the sole of her heavily treaded hiking boot streak towards his face. The impact was only a grazing blow but enough to knock his helmet off and dislodge him from his precarious perch. The edge of the platform rushed away as Dillon plummeted backwards. He had only a second to thank the powers that be for remembering to tie a safety line, and in the same thought praying that it held, as the back of his head struck something hard and the world was swallowed in blackness.
Dillon drifted back into consciousness and was aware that he was hanging from the safety line. He felt a tugging, almost as if he was being lifted up. Then his vision grayed out. When his eyes flickered open again he was laying on his side. He could feel the course wood of the platform on his cheek and absently mused over the hypocrisy of these activists who live in wood houses, made protest signs out of wood and paper and built wood perches in trees to protest timber companies. His thoughts were fuzzy, but he heaved a sigh of relief that the safety line had held.
Thinking to make an assessment of his condition, broken bones and the like, Dillon tried to flex his arm and realized he was unable to move. Thrashing a bit he discovered his hands were bound behind his back with what felt like his own plastic zip-ties …his ankles as well.
“The fascist’s awake.”
Dillon tried to twist his head to see the speaker but found himself unable to do much more than writhe.
“So, Pig, give me one good reason why we shouldn’t just kick you over the side.” Dillon felt a booted foot pushing against his bottom. His body rocked dangerously close to the edge of the platform and for a second he could see the ground seventy feet below. He was still a bit groggy and it took a moment for him to form the words in his head to speak. He was about to tell the four girls that this ‘wasn’t a game’ and that he was ‘an officer of the law’ … that was when he realized his mouth was taped.
“Spray him with his own pepper-spray,” he heard one of them chime merrily, “right in his fucking eyes!”
Dillon began to wonder if this group was simply a group of college kids, as he had first surmised, or if they were part of the nuttier clan of activists. If he’d been mistaken as to their type, he could easily find himself plummeting to certain death. His chest felt tight and he immediately had thoughts of his wife and two year old son. Anger tried to bubble to the surface, but his son’s face continued to take precedence and it was all he could do not to weep. Were trees really this fucking important? Further still, was a bunch of freaks trespassing in a tree worth never seeing his son again? Then the anger did come, blotting everything else out. Who the hell do these girls think they are?
With a grunt and hitch of his shoulder, Dillon flipped himself around to face the four girls. The effort caused his vision to blur and his head throbbed painfully. They all jumped back from him, their backs slamming against the bulk of the tree framing one side of the platform. All of their eyes were suddenly wide with fear, though they suppressed it quickly enough. He could tell they weren’t the type to dump him over the edge. Just college kids after all … filthy as fuck, but still just college kids.
Dillon moved his lips trying to loosen the tape on his mouth but found it was wrapped around the back of his neck. It wasn’t coming free anytime soon. Unfortunately his lips got in the way of gnawing through the tape which left him the only option of waiting to see what would develop. There was no way to take control of this situation. He fixed each of the girls with a flat stare to let them know the kind of man they were dealing with. Once again he found himself wondering why such obviously attractive girls would let themselves go in such a way. At least three out of the four were attractive under all that grime. The forth was rather homely. He knew ugly was what they were all going for. For some reason they thought looking like cave women meant they werenatural. If dirt and stink made something natural than Dillon figured they’d accomplished their ends.
Going in a line from left to right:
The first girl was a blonde and the tallest of the bunch; her heart shaped face was framed by hair matted in the ever popular dreadlocks. Her eyebrows were peeked giving her an almost elfish look. She wore a pair of grimy corduroys, a loose tie-dyed blouse and no bra. Dillon could see the tips of her nipples poking through the thin material. It was the kind of bust line that might encourage a lusty comment of “nice tits” by any self respecting construction worker.
The second girl sported a pair of enormous breasts held at bay by a tattered Phish shirt. Her long brown hair was tangled and dirty but dread fee. She wore a pair of hiking shorts and incongruously her legs were shaved, albeit filthy. A pair of Birkenstock sandals adorned her dirty feet. Her toenails looked to have been painted not long ago, though the red polish was wearing off.
The third girl was the most striking of all. Even with all her filth, Dillon would have been easily aroused if not for the situation. Her face was perfect; she couldn’t have been much older than nineteen. Her hair seemed to be a light brown, but with her braided dreads tied back in a ponytail it was hard to say for sure. Her boobs were equal in size to girl number two yet much more visible and buoyant… encased in a man’s white under shirt (popularly referred to as a “wife-beater”) those tits of hers were a vision to behold. Her jugs strained at the confining cotton; her generous cleavage heavenly exposed in the low cut front. The fleshy sides of both breasts were visible at the arm cut-aways at the sides of the shirt; in fact they were nearly falling out of the thing. Her tits appeared to be clean and creamy aside from a small dirt smudge at the point her cleavage began. The undershirt was definitely cut for a man’s form but did wonders for hers’. A pair of dirty bell-bottom jeans, covered with a variety of colorful patches, clothed her long legs.
The forth girl paled in comparison to the rest. Her homely face was sulky and her lips thin. Her hair was red, short and spiky. A few freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. She looked to be the oldest of the group … maybe in her mid twenties. Her upper body was rather spindly and flat-chested though Dillon could tell by the look of her hips that she had a big butt. She was essential dressed like a man with a thick work shirt, Ben Davis pants and heavy shoes. Dillon decided on the fly that she was a lesbian.
“Who said you could look at us, Pig?” the homely one sneered.
Mentally Dillon gave each of them names: Tie-dye, Birkenstocks, Boobs and Ugly.
“Answer her, fascist!” Birkenstocks demanded. With a push from the tip of her sandal, she nudged Dillon’s chin. The aroma of her unwashed foot assaulted his nose and Dillon coughed behind the tape. The stench was heavy and all feet. The harsh reek felt like it was apt to seer his nose hairs if nothing else.
“What … my foot stink?” Birkenstocks laughed and nudged his chin again. This time her toes were even closer to his unprotected nose and she wiggled them for emphasis. The toenail of her big toe tickled the very tip of Dillon’s nose. The stench was intolerable. Wet leather, sweaty feet … like vinegar and bad cheese. Dillon hated the smell of unwashed feet and being forced to endure this bitch’s foot reek, despite her good looks, was humiliating at best.
“Doesn’t look like he likes that much … do you, Pig, huh?” Tie-dye laughed. Boobs and Birkenstocks joined in but Ugly just glowered.
With the toe of one sandal, Birkenstocks kicked off one shoe and then the other. The bare soles of her feet were now visible to Dillon. Whilst her toes were filthy, her soles looked a bit cleaner, but the sheen of sweat spoiled the thought of them being any more washed. Bits of gunk from her sandal stuck to her slimy soles. Without much preamble she spoke: “Try this out, fascist!” and plastered her feet over Dillon’s face. He felt her toes curl down over his check and forehead and the smell quickly overwhelmed him. Despite knowing there was a certain death drop only inches behind him, Dillon began to buck uncontrollable in his bonds. He caught brief glimpses of her thread woven anklets through the gaps of her toes.
“Grab him or he’ll fall off,” Birkenstocks said between peels of laughter.
Dillon felt hands grabbing him and dragging him away from the edge. Someone sat painfully on his hip and another straddled his shoulder. While he was held down, Birkenstocks rubbed her smelly feet all over the exposed skin of his face, concentrating mainly on his nose. Dillon felt his nose pop between her toes occasionally, forcing him to sample the darker stench that lay in wait between the filthy things.
“That smell good, fascist? You like my stinky feet?” Birkenstocks taunted.
Dillon realized he could hold his breath but he’d soon be out of air and to what avail? He’d have to smell the wretched girl’s feet eventually. Fat chance of them giving up.
“I think he should have to smell all our feet! That’d serve him right.” The voice came from the girl sitting on his hip. He wasn’t sure but he thought it was Boobs. After a moment of snickering, the feet came free of his face and Dillon sucked in as much fresh air as he could through his nose. He could smell their sweaty, earthy bodies but that was nothing compared to Birkenstocks’s feet.
A pair of hands griped his hair and turned his neck painfully to the side. Tie-dye was staring down into his face with a leer. “He’s kind of cute … for a Nazi,” she mocked. Puckering her lips, as if readying herself for a kiss, she spat a spray of saliva in Dillon’s face. With her hand she smeared it on his cheeks and brow as he thrashed about.
“He is kind of a hottie,” Boobs said with a jeer.
“Whatever,” Ugly protested.
Dillon realized Boobs was pulling off her hiking boots. She was barefoot beneath the heavy shoes and her feet looked just as sweaty if not more so than Birkenstocks’s. He tried to voice ‘no’ but nothing came past the tape but a low moan. “I think he’s ready for you,” Tie-dye said to Boobs as she dropped his head. Dillon’s cheek bone slammed painfully into the platform.
Boobs took a seat in front of Dillon and ostentatiously brushed shoe gunk from her feet smiling at him all the while. “Chubby” was the best Dillon could think of to describe her feet. She had broad pads and a high arch. Her toes were short and tapered from big toe to little. Despite the breeze ruffling the blue tarp overhang, Dillon could already catch a vague scent of the girl’s feet.
With an “Mmmmm,” as if tasting something delectable, Boobs pressed her feet over Dillon’s face. Unlike Birkenstocks, Boobs merely rested her feet without all the rubbing which Dillon soon realized was much worse. While the feet of Birkenstocks had been moving, he was at least allowed brief sniffs of untainted air. Boobs’s motionless feet were a vast torture. His quivering nostrils sniffed at her soles. His eyes immediately began to water and his throat to sting. It was utter darkness beneath her feet. In seconds his face began to sweat in tandem with the slippery soles and toes perched on his face. He didn’t realize he was moaning until he heard Tie-dye comment on it. Soon all the girls were laughing, though he was sure Ugly was still only brooding even if he couldn’t see her to be sure.
Unsure of how long the torment lasted, Dillon almost cried with joy when Boobs removed her stinking feet. The forest air felt shockingly cold on his face, damp with her foot sweat. It was a brief respite. As Dillon’s nostrils constricted, hurriedly sniffing in as much fresh air as he could, he saw to his horror that Tie-dye was pulling off her boots as well to reveal a pair of huge, sweaty, bare feet. He wasn’t one to match shoe size on sight alone, but he was nearly positive they were a size 11 if not 12! The soles of her feet were pale whilst the tops were tanned a golden brown. Her toes were all long and prominent; the big toe flaring to an impressively fat width at the apex of its girth. “Hey you guys, sit him up,” Tie-dye said.
Boobs and Birkenstocks hoisted Dillon under his armpits and propped his back against the tree. This nearly put him shoulder to shoulder with Ugly who quickly scooted to the far side of the platform. Dillon tried to glare but no one was paying much attention. He was still weak as a kitten from hitting his head and even without the restraints he wasn’t sure he could have stopped them anyway.
Tie-dye scooted her butt along the floor of the platform, moving closer. Lifting her titan feet she eased her legs down until Dillon’s nose nestled into the hollow beneath her toes. “Breathe,” was all she said. As with the others, Dillon didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Again his nostrils flared pulling in the stink of unwashed and fermented girl feet. With the other two, his eyes were completely covered by feet. Tie-dye snuggled just her toes over his nose allowing Dillon to stare into her eyes. He couldn’t remember a time he’d seen a woman so self-satisfied.
“Look at him, Anna,” Tie-die grinned, “he really digs my stinky feet … don’t you Mr. Policeman.” So Boobs’s name is really Anna, Dillon mentally noted. Not that it mattered. Most of these kids all went by synonyms anyway. “Anna” smiled back at Tie-dye and grabbed a handful of Dillon’s hair.
“Aren’t you just the cutest little thing,” Boobs simpered as she shook his head back and forth. Dillon could feel the grime from Tie-dye’s feet embedding itself in his skin as his face smeared back and forth beneath them.
“Oh Christ,” Ugly spoke up, “why don’t you three just suck his dick and get it over with!”
“Not a bad idea,” Birkenstocks quipped.
“Whatever,” Ugly said again with a pout.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Birkenstocks smiled at Ugly, “you’re still my lady.”
Dillon shivered. What a waste.
“Actually it’s not such a bad idea,” Ugly said thoughtfully. All of the girls looked at her simultaneously. “Pull his pants down,” she continued with the most wicked smile Dillon had ever seen. That homely face was never meant to smile like that.
It was frightening how fast the other three girls reacted. Tie-dyes feet vanished from his face and as one they attacked his harness and belt. Within seconds his pants and underwear where yanked down around his ankles. Dillon had never felt so utterly helpless in his life. His penis and testicles where bared to these four girls and God knew what they were intending.
Dillon grunted behind the tape and tried again to unsuccessfully free his hands. “None of that shit,” Ugly commanded. Dillon thought he was fucked before … now he saw that Ugly held his Glock in hand. The weapon wasn’t aimed at him, but the suggestion was enough to stop his resistance. “Flower…you like those things, right?” Ugly asked with malice while gesturing at Dillon’s cock.
“You know I do,” Tie-dye responded with a genuinely lascivious leer. It mattered little before to discover that Boobs answered to “Anna” and even less to find Ugly referring to Tie-dye as “Flower”.
Tie-dye got down on hands and knees and crawled towards Dillon dramatically. Grasping his limp penis between her thumb and index finger she raised it to her lips and kissed the tip. Dillon couldn’t help but jump. Tie-dye shared a laugh with Boobs and Birkenstocks before turning back to Dillon, flashed him a wink and then devoured his cock to the root. It was impossible not to gasp through his nose. Her lips were like satin billows insistently pulling on his penis … her tongue running circles on the head … and all the while tremendous suction. Dillon was unable to stop his eyes from rolling up in his head.
He could feel his cock beginning to swell. Dillon tried to fight the erection. Half of him wanted to let Tie-dye’s tongue have its way with his cock and the other half didn’t want to give these fucks the gratification of exciting him and having him in their control.
“Look at him … he’s fighting it,” Ugly said matter-of-factly.
“Hey, Pig, check these out,” Dillon heard Boobs breath in his ear. His eyes flickered open to see her gripping the bottom of her wife-beater. With a tug, the shirt came up and her titanic tits were released. Her breasts looked full and heavy and no sagging to be seen; they stood at attention as did her silver dollar sized nipples. Dillon couldn’t help but groan. She shook her boobs from side to side and Dillon felt his cock jump in Tie-dye’s mouth. Tie-dye pulled his cock out of her magical mouth long enough to mummer with satisfied pleasure and a hint of encouragement, “That’s it,” before she again began sucking like a woman possessed.
Dillon heard a similar groan to his own and noticed that Ugly was staring at the bare breasts as intently as he. The look of lust on Ugly’s face softened her features a tad but not enough to add any additional beauty. Slowly Ugly’s eyes roamed to where Birkenstocks was standing close by. With a slow smile Birkenstocks returned the look of unadulterated passion and pulled her shirt up as well. Ugly’s jaw dropped open in shock and was quickly filled by one of Birkenstocks nipples. The shock wore off quickly enough and Ugly began to suckle.
Boobs began to rub her breasts up the side of Dillon’s face. They felt like heaven. Fighting his arousal was past his control. Turning his head slightly to the side, Dillon could still see Ugly going to town on Birkenstocks’s breasts. Her tongue flickered like a snake over the bullet like nipples. Strangely, watching the homely girl so into sucking on a pair of tits was just as arousing as having Boobs pressing her jugs to his cheek. It was hard to get a grip on what was happening. Only moments before he was in the midst of an inhuman torture and now he was surrounded by a Caligulan orgy.
Ugly’s eyes opened momentarily and noticed Dillon watching. It was too late to turn away. “I think he’s enjoying this way too much,” Ugly sneered. Dillon heard a clump and tried to rear back as a dirty looking foot wavered into view. His head bumped into Boobs’s pillowy chest. With nowhere for him to go Ugly’s bare foot settled firmly over his nose. Her foot was thin like the rest of her, with long toes that clamped down on the bridge of his nose like stunted fingers. Obviously they’d saved the best for last.
Ugly’s foot was by far the worst out of the group. Its smell went well with her looks. The dike’s foot reeked like old corn chips and soy sauce with a touch of damp, musty canvas. As soon as she was satisfied that her foot was appropriately placed for optimal sniffing, she returned her attention to tonguing Birkenstocks’s nipples. The other girls didn’t seem surprised by Ugly’s impromptu action, if anything Tie-dye began to suck harder and faster. Dillon’s senses were scrambled. Boobs reached down under his shirt and began to play with his nipples.
“God your foot really stinks, Carla,” Boobs said in a breathy voice tinged with laughter.
“Good,” Ugly mumbled around a mouthful of nipple and tit.
Dillon could do nothing but sit there and smell that horrid foot while receiving the best blowjob of his life while a filthy, juggy goddess tweaked and pinched his nipples. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ugly’s passionate licking of Birkenstocks’s breasts. The scene was perfectly framed through her stinking toes. Once placing her foul smelling foot on his face she had completely disregarded him. Somehow that made everything even more humiliating … though his cock didn’t seem to mind.
A few moments latter, Dillon felt his body tensing. An orgasm was building and despite having to suffer the rank aroma of Ugly’s unwashed and sweaty foot he was going to cum bucket loads. Dillon began to moan uncontrollably.
“Oh yeah … he’s gonna squirt,” Tie-dye announced as she began to jerk him off.
Ugly turned her attention back to Dillon. “You’re gonnna cum when you’re smelling my stinky, dirty, nasty foot, you disgusting pig. How does that feel? I can make you do anything I want. You have to smell my dirty foot and cum anyway. Cum, pig. Sniff my dirty foot and shoot your nasty load, you fucking pig.”
Dillon’s entire body was trembling. The zip-ties on his wrists and ankles bit into the skin but he was completely unaware.
“Make sure he shoots on your shirt, Flower,” Ugly yelled the moment of Dillon’s climax.
Dillon’s eyes squeezed shut and then popped open as the first rope of cum shot from his swollen cock. His eyes were still glued to Ugly who wore a smug look. Dillon followed her line of sight in a daze as his cock continued to spit. Tie-dye’s shirt was now covered in his semen. She was giggling and titty-fucking his cock through her shirt. A few ropes of jizz shot high enough to drip from her chin, but most of his load ended up pooling on her dirty shirt.
After what seemed like years the orgasm finally subsided. Dillon felt utterly drained and barely twitched as Tie-dye sucked the last remnants of sperm out of his cock, now growing flaccid once more.
“Listen up, pig.” Dillon groggily opened his eyes to see Ugly coming towards him. She straddled him and sat down heavily in his lap. His balls narrowly avoided being crushed, but her ass smashed down on his super-sensitive penis nonetheless. Gripping his hair in both hands she pulled his face close enough to smell the pot on her breath.
“All that cum on Flower’s shirt is our ticket. Remember how you goose-stepping Republicans nailed President Clinton? We got your cum, pig. Anything out of your mouth and we yell rape. Got me?” Ugly nodded Dillon’s head for him still gripping his hair. “Now, you can arrest me and Anna. Don’t look so surprised. A protest ain’t nothing unless it gets in the news. You make sure we have an audience, got me? Flower and Tanny are gonna split before you call in the rest of your fascist brigade. Just remember that we got your jizz, superman. ” Ugly grabbed hold of a corner of the tape on Dillon’s mouth and tore it free with a yank. Dillon yelped in pain as a layer of skin pulled free. Still mid yelp, his mouth was sealed as Ugly planted a mean kiss on his already smarting lips, crushing them back against his teeth. She thrust her tongue roughly into his mouth and waggled it around with gusto. Dillon thought he might sick up. Finally she released his head by slamming it back against the tree trunk. Dillon momentarily saw spots.
Boobs and Tie-dye were already gathering their things and starting the climb down. Ugly sat Indian style across from Dillon watching him smugly. Birkenstocks busied herself with gathering their belongings and donning a jacket and military green pants.
An hour latter a gang of shouting activist stood beneath the trees along with photographers from the paper and a few dozen sheriff’s deputies. Dillon was slowly lowering Birkenstocks down in tandem with himself as flashbulbs flickered. She occasionally shot smirks over her shoulder at him. He knew Ugly was already in the truck … handcuffed and chanting her anti-establishment diatribe at full volume along with her cohorts. It was certainly a spectacle to behold; just the way Ugly wanted it.
She thought she had him by the balls with all that “we’ve got your jizz” nonsense. Well, in truth she did have him by the balls … but not because he feared rape charges. What kind a career would he have left to him if it ever got out that he’d spent two hours in a tree smelling the feet of four hippie girls and ending the afternoon with a blowjob and a cumshot straight out of a bad porn film? Dillon was sure it wouldn’t help his marriage much either. Though one thing kept bothering him as he ushered Birkenstocks into the back seat of the Ranger: How was he going to convince his wife to tie him up and let him smell her feet during sex? It was hard to admit to himself at first, but he certainly had a taste for it now ….