Chapter 16

In the back room of the sheriff's office, Clete and Priscilla sat watching the video tape they had made the night before. The rich, auburn-haired girl watched with a sneer of disdain mixed with triumph. Clete's mouth hung open in awe, awe at the sight of his huge genitalia and technique of his lovemaking and the beauty and grace of the young beauty he was fucking dog-style. In spite of his satisfying session with Desirée last night, he felt an instant arousal at sight of what he had done and the memory of her silky pussy around his throbbing cock.

He had to have her again! Had to! She had to be his, in spite of Nancy or Mark Denning!

Priscilla had captured some of the juiciest, intimate shots, Desirée's cloudy, blue eyes, her sensually-parted lips, her big, round, pink-nippled tits jerking and jiggling beneath her, the small of her back curved downward with her beautiful asscheeks lifted high and spread while Clete's amazing prick hammered deep into her stretched, foam-mantled cunt. The girl had loved it then, and she could love it again. With the proper coaxing, she would fall into his arms again. He knew it! He just knew it!

"Good photography, Priss," Clete said. "You're a real artist."

Priscilla chuckled bitterly. "Look at that little pink asshole dance and twitch! Fuck, I'd like to see that dog screwing it, right there in her ass, while her husband watches."

Clete said nothing. He didn't want anything to happen to Desirée. He cared about her, wanted her in his bed again and again and again. He didn't really want that filthy dog anywhere near her again. That damned dog, and Mark Denning, had first ruined everything he loved, Desirée and Nancy. Even Johnny Canning and the stinking, hypocritical preacher Hemmings had had her. Clete knew that the only way to assuage the pain he felt was to take her again, on a regular basis.

"I'd like to have that tape," he told Priscilla. "I've got an idea for it."

Priscilla looked at him as if he were crazy. "You don't think I went to all the trouble of staging that shoot just to let you have it. I've got my own plans for it. I'm going to destroy that little bitch for what she's done, and I'm going to have Mark Denning eating out of my hand. I'm going to grind him down and wreck his political career - if he doesn't toe the line. Maybe I'll just use him and wreck him anyway. I'm not sure, but this tape is the first step on the road to revenge."

Clete looked at the hard, malicious eyes of the ravishing beauty he was speaking with, remembering her naked body, spread and revealed, the night before, in all its feminine sweetness, and it was difficult to believe the hate he now saw in this divine creature. He understood her desire for revenge, for he had felt it himself just the day before, but making love to lovely Desirée had somehow cooled his destructive urges, at least temporarily. Now all he wanted was Mark Denning's young wife, her soft, moist, fragrant body at his disposal always.

"So give me that tape, and I'll be going," Priscilla ordered. "You stay quiet until I give you a call and give you instructions for the second part of my plan. Want to hold on to the stills for a while? Be my guest. The video is all I need for now."

"What do you have in your head, lady?" Clete asked, going to the television and opening the glass cabinet doors underneath.

Priscilla lit a cigarette and exhaled contentedly. "Mark Denning is flying in tomorrow to help deal with that corpse found out on Smith's ranch. I'm going to be meeting him."

"You? Won't Desirée go to meet him?"

The hateful beauty shook her head. "She's going to have car trouble. You're going to see to that."

Clete nodded. His jealous affection for the young blonde bride made him more than happy to see that her husband would be separated from her tomorrow afternoon. It might even give him a chance to get together with her again.

Priscilla stood up. "Here, give me that tape."

Clete handed it over and stood up. "What time do you want her car to give up the ghost?"

"The plane comes in at two-thirty. He's supposed to meet with the town council at five. So you know what to do."

"You got it, Baby," Clete said.

"Don't "baby" me, Clete," Priscilla warned. "Let's keep our relationship realistic, shall we? You're way below my class, and don't forget it. You got to see my bare ass last night, but that was part of the plan. It'll never happen again."

Priscilla didn't say goodbye.

But when she had departed, Clete smiled. He had his own plans, and Priscilla was in for a bit of a surprise. Below her class? Who gave a fuck?