Chapter Thirty
I catch a brief whiff of something repellent. Then as my heretofore insatiably greedy suck-hole closes on perhaps the fifth or sixth prick of the night my mouth, nose and sinuses are suddenly filled with it: an overwhelming, unspeakably revolting taste/smell that makes me retch uncontrollably and almost puke. At the same time I register the should-be-exciting heat and texture of real live skin on my tongue and between my lips and realize all-unready what is finally actually happening to me. Still gagging uncontrollably I try instinctively to pull back. But the two-fisted grip on my pigtails doesn’t permit this. And then a third hard palm on the back of my skull pushes me all the way down and pitilessly holds me there, filling my rebelling throat as well as my mouth and bury
