What he really wanted to do was see Billie-Ann Wheeler, but almost a week had passed since he'd given her the books at Basset's Pond and there'd been no sign of her either at the pond or walking the dusty roads. It was a pretty sure bet she'd decided not to go with him to Elsie's.But ever since he'd grabbed her wet, clinging body in the wood pond and then kissed and hugged and rubbed her until his balls turned themselves inside out, Hanson had been bothered by cold sweats, sometimes in the hottest part of the day. That very morning, he'd had one hell of a dream and woke to find his cock bubbling thick semen all over the sheets.He took another mouthful of the tea and let the details of the dream sift through his head. He'd run over them a dozen times already but couldn't resist doing it just one more time. Dreams were nice like that and Billie always acted differently in his sleeping mind than she had at the pond. In the dream she'd pulled off his skimpy mesh shorts after the two of. It was awful but curiously comforting to be silenced for ever. No screams would disturb the erotic spectacle of her roasting. She wriggled tentatively, but the the rigid spit immobilised her almost completely. She could barely squirm on the shaft, but sweet sensations blossomed from her clitoris with every shifting movement.She felt the knife as an attendant reached under her and opened her belly, the coolness of the air as her entrails fell free, then a curious lightness. He turned a spigot and water gushed through her, cleansing her cavity, and she felt each prick and tug of the sailmaker's needle that closed her belly with twine.She was resigned, helplessly immobilised on the spit, but still she wriggled as attendants bound her limbs to the spit and lifted her from the machine. They ignored her struggles as they lowered her closer, closer to the searing flames of the barbecue pit. The heat was impossibly fierce. She heard a click, and the spit began to turn. There was no escaping.
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