Swill

"Oh. I don't think I'm getting into your hiney hole," Samuel said, kissing Greta.

"Oh?" Greta asked, looking up into his smiling face.

"I KNOW I'm getting into that sweet little Hiney hole of yours," Samuel laughed and kissed her again. "We'll do some burgers on the grill, okay?"

"No potato salad," Sammy insisted.

"Boy, I'm doing potato salad," Samuel said. "Don't mean you got eat it, huh?"

Both Greta and Davie were impressed that the potato salad would be made with potatoes dug out of Samuel's garden. Davie and Sammy went exploring the farmland and Samuel and Greta stayed in the kitchen to prepare their evening meal.

After their meal, Samuel took Greta out on his tractor, giving her a little tour of his farm. She laughed happily as she sat on the tractor seat between his spread legs, rubbing her buttocks against Samuel's raging erection.

"I, I love you," Greta admitted as Sammy and Davie went into the living room to watch movies on Samuel's videocassette recorder.

"You ain't never seen 'Old Yeller?'" Sammy was incredulous.

"I love you too," Samuel said, kissing Greta before turning his attention to the Jiffy Pop popcorn on the stove.

Completely predictable, there were four sets of shiny eyes at the end of the movie. Then the four teased one another for crying; it was just a movie.

"Bedtime, brush them teeth, go to bed," Samuel ordered.

"Now, what you need that for?" Greta teased as Samuel grabbed the can of shortening.

In his bedroom, Greta showed Samuel how she masturbated, greasing two fingers with Crisco and jamming them into her tight rosebud while her other hand dragged up and down her slick pussy lips before rubbing her clitty. She brought herself to orgasm while Samuel watched, then squealed happily when he licked and sucked her pussy to orgasm while plumbing her tight ass with two, then three fingers.

"I love you," Greta groaned as he shoved his hard cock into her tight hiney hole.

In June, the baseball season ended. Samuel Connor Slipped Bobby Finnegan five crisp Benjamins; even though the Dragons had won a whopping total of two games the entire season, Bobby had been a good, level-headed coach. Bobby had certainly displayed much more patience with the eleven boys than most of the parents had.

"Thanks, Mr. Connor," Bobby said. "I uh, I'm going be coaching football come September."

"If it'll inconvenience me, I'm sure his mother will sign him up," Samuel thought, but just nodded as he herded Sammy and the plastic trophy Sammy clutched onto toward Robin.

Thankfully, Robin thought football was too rough; her precious baby could get hurt. Sammy and Davie and Greta and Samuel continued to get together on Wednesdays; Samuel's day to have his son, as well as the odd weekend that Sammy came to his father's farm. By now, Greta had most of her clothes and other possessions in Samuel's second floor bedroom. A large glass jar of Vaseline replaced the metal can of Crisco shortening.

"You, she, that girl is living? With you?" Robin screamed into the telephone when Samuel answered, 'Connor equipment and supplies; Connor speaking.'

"Yes she is," Samuel said calmly. "Robin, read the papers; we're divorced. I'm free to have..."

"Well, you're not going to expose my baby boy to such a sinful lifestyle," Robin snarled into the phone.

"Oh, but, Robin, it doesn't mean anything," Samuel whined. "It, it's only sex. We just fuck in the back seat of her Lincoln. Sammy never sees us doing it."

"She doesn't have a Lincoln; it's that piece of crap Nova," Robin said, not recognizing her own words coming back to her.

"Well, then I guess there's nothing to talk about," Samuel smirked. "See you on Wednesday."

"Oh, no you won't," Robin snarled. "I, you're not taking my son anywhere until you get that slut out of the house."

"Oh, I did. Remember? I divorced the slut," Samuel smiled.

Greta was more upset over Robin's latest retaliation than Samuel was. Tearfully, she even offered to move out of the large house. Samuel laughed and pulled the heavy girl into his lap.

"Sweetheart, it's just Robin trying to still run my life," he assured the girl. "Believe me? In a couple of weeks? She'll have enough of having Sammy full time, non-stop, around the clock and will 'graciously' concede."

"You, won't you miss your son?" Greta asked.

"Oh, of course I will," Samuel said. "But you know, in the end, it'll all work out."

The 1988 Presidential elections loomed around the corner. Samuel planned to vote for George Bush, even if Dan Quayle was one of the worst possible picks for Vice President. Samuel thought, even with running on the record of having been Ronald Reagan's V.P, Dan! Quayle could cost Bush the election.

Greta planned to vote for Michael Dukakis; Samuel and she both agreed to put the their political beliefs aside when they were together. Cupping one of her magnificent buttocks, Sameul said they could find plenty of other things to talk about.

"Uh, like why is your hand on my butt?" Greta suggested.

"No. Like, why is my hand on your blue jeans? Instead of your naked butt?" Samuel suggested.

"Because we in the grocers," Greta giggled, brushing Samuel's hand away. "Quit; we'll be home quicker you quit bothering me."

"Oh? Don't want me bothering you? Okay, I'll just go over here," Samuel said, pushing the grocery cart along the aisle.

"Need get some more beer," Greta called out. "Meet me by the freezer aisle."

Just after the harvest and right before planting time, Samuel's two largest customers let him know they'd been given grants from the federal government to not grow their crops. As Jim Riebald said, he would be making more by not working his ass to the bone than he ever would working twenty four hours a day all three hundred and sixty five days the year.

"Uh huh; good for the farmer but shitty for those of us selling to the farmer," Samuel told Greta as they sat to eat their dinner that night.

"You a farmer, right?" Greta asked.

"Damn, not only you pretty, but you smart too," Samuel agreed.

"Because I don't spend all my time thinking with a dick," Greta laughed and kissed him.

"Hey, hey, let's get one thing clear," Samuel said. "I do not think with my dick."

"Uh, my hiney hole would say different," Greta smiled.

"My dick does my thinking for me," Samuel said, scraping some meatloaf and candied yams onto his fork. "Yeah, I am a farmer; wonder who I need to get in touch with."

"Agricultural department?" Greta suggested, finishing her meal.

"Said it before, and I'll say it again, you're the real thing. Brains and beauty," Samuel complimented.

A few months after Bush was sworn in as the forty first president, Samuel was wondering if he'd have to close up Connor Equipment & Supplies. Most of the farm land in Bloutchen County was lying dormant, fallow. As it was, both the John Deere and the Caterpillar representatives had pulled their stock from Connor.

"Don't worry, Baby," Greta said quietly as they watched the evening news. "You'll think of something."

"Hey, Greta, last time I looked? Babies need diapers and milk and..."

"I'm going breast feed," Greta offered.

Samuel bit back his angry retort. Instead, he stretched out on the couch and pulled her to lie in front of him, beautiful buttocks pressing against his hard cock. He reached down and rubbed her ample belly.

"Quit," Greta giggled as Samuel worked his hand underneath her tee shirt.

"Quit," she whined when Samuel's hand worked under her bra.

"Samuel, oh," Greta complained, then shuddered as he dipped his hand into the front of her shorts and began to play with her wet slit.

After fingering Greta to a quick orgasm, Samuel urged her out of her flannel shorts and eased his erection into her pussy from behind.

"Um, oh, yes, augh!" Greta was again quick to orgasm. "Go ahead, baby, put it, you know you wanting my hiney hole."

"Yes," both Samuel and Greta groaned as Samuel's cock pushed past her slight resistance.

After a few minutes, Greta wiggled off of his cock and wiggled onto the carpeted floor. She knelt with her shoulders to the floor and reached back to spread her cheeks wide.

"You so nasty, you just so nasty," Greta groaned as Samuel tongued her sweaty anus.

"Aw, that's it, fuck me, you nasty ass fucker," Greta cried out as Samuel slid his erection into her rectum.

The feeling of Samuel pushing into her always caused a shudder of pleasure to ripple through Greta's chubby body. She closed her eyes and focused her attention on the feeling of his meat pushing firmly into her. She could feel the flared head of his cock pushing in, rasping and scraping against her rectal walls.

"Mm, oh, God damn, yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," Greta chanted as Samuel began the familiar in and out thrusting.

"Augh, oh God yes," Greta screamed as Samuel blasted his load into her bowels.

That night, llying in bed, her head on Samuel's muscular chest, Greta sighed. She could hear his heart beating in her ear, could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She knew her man was worried; the money the government was enough for the farm, but it was not enough to pay the staff of Connor Equipment & Sales. Some of those employees had been with Connor since Samuel's father had opened the store thirty years ago.

"Don't worry Baby, it's going be all right," Greta wanted to assure her man.

But Greta knew that anything she said would only sound hollow to Samuel. After all, Samuel didn't have the faith she had. He didn't even go to church.

"Don't worry, Beautiful," Samuel's voice startled Greta. "It'll be all right. We'll figure something out."

"And that's why I love you, Samuel Everett Connor," Greta thought.

Connor Equipment & Supplies was Samuel's problem. He'd inherited the facility and the responsibility after his father, Everett Samuel Connor had been killed in a freak accident with a faulty woodchipper.

But Samuel hadn't said 'I' when speaking of his problems. He had said 'we.'

"Oh, Sammy told his mother we're expecting," Samuel said casually.

"Oh? Let me guess, someone's not happy?" Greta deduced.

"What you think?" Samuel chuckled, hand lazily rubbing up and down her smooth back.

"She going take Sammy away from us again?" Greta asked. "Davie's coming out this weekend."

"Uh, after that last time?" Samuel chuckled, now fondling Greta's buttocks.

"Leave that alone," Greta demanded, even as she thrust her buttocks against his hand.

"Just bought a new jar," Samuel said, picking up the jar of Vaseline.

"And money don't grow on trees," Greta said, now stroking Samuel's cock. "Be a shame spend that money on something and not use it, huh"

"My thoughts exactly," Samuel agreed, edging the hem of her short shift up.

Over dinner the next evening, Samuel was unusually quiet. Even Greta 'accidentally' dropping a fork on the floor and bending over to retrieve it did not break Samuel out of his deep reverie.

"Wonder, you know what they make beer out of?" Greta asked, sitting down with her second can of Miller Lite.

"Yeah, my cousin Donny, remember him?" Samuel said, scooping up some black eyed peas and rice.

"One you said had a real tiny dick?" Greta asked.

"Yeah, that's him. One whose wife says the only two things she ever says in the bedroom are 'Is it in yet' and 'are you done already?'" Samuel agreed. "But Donny makes some..."

"Donny makes some what?" Greta asked when Samuel again grew quiet.

"Sweetheart, oh my God, I love you, Baby!" Samuel broke out in a wide, happy smile.

"Love you too, but..." Greta said, chewing her pan fried steak.

"I'm getting paid to not grow rice or peanuts," Samuel laughed. "They ain't said shit about barley, did they?"

"Better check with them first," Greta warned.

The bureaucratic hack at the government office intoned the same thing he said to each person that called with questions; the answers were in the paperwork the office provided. Samuel irritated the man when he pressed for clarification.

"If it says don't grow cotton, then don't grow cotton," the man snapped. "Jesus, Hayseed, are you so inbred you can't read?"

"So it if says don't grow cotton, then if I don't grow cotton I'll still get paid?" Samuel said, scribbling down the man's name in the corner of the paperwork he'd been given by the man's office.

"Yes, yes, get your mommy to read it to you," the man snapped and slammed his phone down. "That is, if you're done fucking her, you illiterate redneck."

Samuel hurried to plant barley on his four quadrants of farm land. His cousin Donny, and his cousin Kevin, who had an even smaller dick then Donny, or so Samuel told Greta both sold him their back lots; giving Samuel another fifteen hundred acres of land.

Greta was happy to see her man happy, smiling, and whistling as he labored. His antics in the bedroom also picked up tremendously. He'd always been amorous and attentive to her, but now, unless she was cooking, or Sammy was around, Samuel's hands were all over her body, particularly her widening haunches.

On what had long been an overgrown patch of land on Simpson Road, Samuel had a simple corrugated metal building erected on top of a thick concrete pad. He had first approached Mr. Dickerson, the manager of the First National Bank of Arkansas for financing, but his former father in law turned him away. First Union of Scribeltz was happy to have Connor Equipment & Supplies move their accounts from First National Bank of Arkansas to their facilities. They were also happy to extend a line of credit to Samuel Connor.

The townsfolk of Scribeltz, Arkansas were naturally curious, especially when large metal vats were seen arriving on freight cars and slowly transported to the lonely structure on Simpson Road.

"Okay, what I'm looking at?" Greta asked as she and Samuel stood in the large, empty parking lot of 213 Simpson Road.

Samuel dropped his hand from Greta's shoulder to her belly. No longer did it appear that the fat girl was getting fatter. Her pregnancy was now very noticeable.

Greta put both of her hands over Samuel's hand, holding his hand on their baby. He smiled and she put her head against his broad shoulder.

"Okay, guys, drop it," Samuel called out.

Greta watched the four smiling men as each man grabbed a dangling rope and gave their ropes a hard yank. The large tarp collapsed to the ground and Greta gasped as she saw 'Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. on the side of the building.

"I, you, this, I what?" Greta stammered, seeing her name in fifteen foot tall lettering facing her.

"Gratchley's beer," Samuel laughed, squeezing his girlfriend tightly.

"So, this? That's what you been working on?" Greta asked, looking around as some cars came to a complete stop on the busy highway.

"It's perfect," Samuel said, kissing her. "Farmers will grow barley, Connor Shipping will get the barley here, we make the beer and Connor Shipping will get the beer to market. And guess who's going sell the equipment and stuff to the farmers?"

"Connor equipment and supplies?" Greta laughed, hugging Samuel tightly."

Greta then watched as a caravan of five semis rumbled onto the parking lot, each with Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. painted on their sides. As each truck passed the couple, the drivers gave a loud bleat of their horn.

"But, but, why'd you name it Gratchley's and not Connor's?" Greta asked, looking up into Samuel's happy face.

"Because it's your idea," Samuel smiled, kissing her. "The whole thing was your idea Sweetheart."

"When y'all going be open?" a man excitedly asked the couple as Greta was still trying to make sense of it all.

"Looking for a job?" Samuel asked, laughing at Greta's confusion.

"Shit no! Looking for a beer," the man smiled.

*.*.*

Connor Equipment & Supplies managed to limp along, mainly thanks to Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. Connor shipping leased the five beer trucks to Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. and Samuel invested that income into Connor Equipment & Supplies.

Samuel very forcefully declared that Greta would not name their daughter Hillary or Chelsea. They compromised on Hope Rebecca Connor. The beautiful little red head was a daddy's girl from the moment of her birth and competed fiercely with her mother for her daddy's attention.

Robin became desperate when her father was summarily dismissed from his job; the board was none too pleased to hear that he had rejected Samuel Connor's business proposal. Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. and Connor Shipping were the largest employers in Scribeltz, Arkansas, in all of Bloutchen County.

Robin's attempts to wheedle and coerce money from Samuel were unsuccessful, though. On paper, Greta Gratchley was seventy nine percent owner of Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. and fifty one percent owner of Connor Shipping. Samuel's suggestion that Robin cut back on her extravagances was met with a horrified gasp from Robin.

While two year old Hope was down for her nap, Greta pulled Samuel into their home office, pushed him into his overstuffed executive chair and straddled his lap. Greta kissed him, then lay her head against his chest.

"Well, Mr. Connor, you done it again," Greta said, then giggled.

She gave him another kiss and put his hand on her paunch. She held his hand firmly against her belly; Samuel was trying to push his hand toward her plump pussy.

"Yep, you done it again," Greta said. "Doctor says I'm about two months now."

"Okay, no more fiddle-farting around," Samuel said, kissing Greta. "Okay? No more excuses. We need to get married."

While pregnant with Faith Evelyn Connor, Greta developed gestational diabetes. Her doctor warned against drinking any alcohol at all, but Greta could not, or would not stop drinking beer. She promised Samuel she was cutting back, but Greta's idea of cutting back was to switch from Gratchley's Original to Gratchley's Golden Light Beer. She still consumed six to eight cans of beer nightly.

Gestational Diabetes became Type II diabetes, but Greta still drank nightly. Samuel now cursed Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. and cursed himself for ever building the brewery. Begs, Pleas, coercions and, threats did nothing to curb Greta's drinking. She went from the slightly chubby, beautiful red head that Samuel had fallen in love with to a bloated sickly woman.

Finally, in desperation, Samuel had Greta committed to the Myndee University Medical Center for psychological treatment. Two days into her forced sobriety, Greta's heart simply gave out and she died from a massive heart attack.

In 2002, Jim Riebald, the mayor of Scribeltz, Arkansas made a motion that the city of Scribeltz be renamed Gratchley, Arkansas. The motion was passed unanimously and thirteen year old Hope and ten year old Faith accepted the key to the city on their mother's behalf. Hope delivered an acceptance speech that had many murmuring to one another that she would one day be the mayor of Gratchley, Arkansas, if not the governor of Arkansas. Faith made everyone laugh when she walked up to the podium and said 'Ditto' into the microphone.

In the audience, twenty three year old Sammy Connor, Jr. seethed with hatred; those two red headed bitches had pushed him out of the center of his father's life. In his eyes, that should be him, standing at the podium, receiving adulation and praise from everyone.

"Don't worry; your still Mommy's little man," Robin cooed to Sammy.

"And isn't that just fucking wonderful?" Sammy snarled hatefully. "Huh? We're driving around in a piece of shit eighty eight Corvette, living in a fucking single wide, while those two cunts are living in Connor Plantation and driving around in a Mercedes. Tell me, Mommy, how is that fair?"

Mother and son's bickering kept those around them from hearing Faith's announcement that their father, Samuel Connor, had donated two hundred acres of undeveloped land to the city of Gratchley, Arkansas, and Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. was donating one hundred thousand dollars to develop a public park.