“Sorry, you can’t cum in my mouth. That wouldn’t be fair to Curtis.” Then she giggles a bit and I know she isn’t being entirely sincere.
She is probably right though, but who gives a fuck about Curtis. I am so damn close. My cock is dripping, I can’t take it.
“You’ll have to cum in my ass.”
She turns toward the door, pulling down on cut off denim shorts to expose her tight, bare ass.
She spreads her legs apart as far as her shorts could stretch at her thighs, pushing against the two sidewalls of the stall for stability and turning her head back toward me.
She smiles and winks, and I have to stop myself from cumming right then. The noxious odor of the stall is dizzying, and I stumble as I step forward.
“Oh fuck, Curtis is coming!” Chrissy is peering through the small air slits along top of the wall. “The lock is broken, he could open the stall and see us!” She pulls up her shorts, fixes her tits, and bolts out the door.
“Hey baby!” I can hear her saying to Curtis just outside. That was it, it was over. The fumes in the stall are overpowering, more than I can handle. I have to hold my breath and prop myself up against the wall with one shoulder to keep from passing out.
I hear Curtis asking her what had taken so long and I just want to get the hell out of here. Chrissy is saying they should go wait by the truck for me. I couldn’t stand that cheating whore when we were together, but she does have her moments.
The thought of getting up into Chrissy’s perfect ass just one more time distracts me enough from the urge to breathe — and then they’re gone.
CHAPTER THREE
We were standing under a big white canopy atop perfectly trimmed grass in front of the Estate of Affairs retirement home. Something about a well maintained lawn has a calming effect on me.
I was feeling a little better now. We had our batches of mostly snickerdoodles laid out on long folding tables, all of which I had baked myself.
We used to sell a bunch of variety from different packaged brands but, after doing this for awhile, found that Bonnie Proper was always the highest demand.
Other sellers are still setting up tables, putting out crap I knew couldn’t compete. A couple of guys are standing in front of some frosted sugar cookies with sprinkles, putting up a sign to show that, “All proceeds of this sale will be donated to The Institute for Cancer Research.”
Fucking amateurs. Representing a youth charity is how you get the sales.
It doesn’t matter if it’s leukemia, multiple sclerosis, or type 2 diabetes - you’ve got to have something with “children” in the name of your charity if you want to sell big at the retirement homes.
I was standing on a stool and hanging our sign for, “The Foundation for the Rescue and Nurturing of Underprivileged Children” when I noticed Chrissy behind me.
She was looking up at me as my gaze naturally descended upon her cleavage, which was even bustier with the bra she wore for increasing sales. Her breasts triggered a flashback of what had happened in the portable stall behind Mickey’s.
It almost didn’t feel real.
“Hey asshole, quit staring at my tits and get the cash box ready.”
I don’t get it. She was begging for my cock in her ass not more than an hour ago, and now I’m getting the bitch treatment. I turn and see that people are already lining up at our booth.
I look around for Curtis who is smoking over by his truck. Curtis never helped with god damn anything.
Chrissy was our front person, and I had to admit that she really knew how to sell those tits. She could get these geezers to buy more cookies than they could eat in a month. More than was remotely healthy anyway, I’m sure.
But every Sunday they were lining up for more.
Without her there selling those sweet goods, cookies and tits alike, Curtis and me would never be dominating the local bake sales like we were.
“I think y’all are doing excellent work. God’s work. Y’know my grandson Brian, he used to work at The Center for…” I start tuning out whatever this old hag is saying. I just smile and nod, waiting for her to give me the damn money.
“Out of twenty? Okay, and here is five as your change. Have a wonderful day, and be sure to come back for more next week!” I pride myself in always being so polite with people.
Three more cookies for fifteen dollars and we are killing it. The booths around us were lucky to see two or three sales.
“You just have to share your oatmeal raisin recipe with me, deary. I promise I’ll keep it our little secret, m’kay?” Was this bitch still talking?
“Sorry Mrs. Heartfield, you know I can’t!” I say with a bright smile. It’s called Bonnie Fucking Proper, but you’ll never know that.
“You look like a smart young man…” she starts again. Yeah, smart enough to know when to shut up. “I could pay you and your friends quite generously if you would just show me how.”
She starts to play with her pearl necklace, obviously eager to get a response. I notice her rings, nearly one for each finger and most of them embedded with some kind of flashy jewel or diamond.
They looked real enough. Mrs. Heartfield was always going on about her dead husband, how he used to be the owner of some burger chain. She must have been loaded.
“My unit is at 3-B. Please do stop by if you change your mind, sweetie.” She walks off looking slightly disappointed. I wince when Chrissy jabs an elbow hard against my ribcage.
“You fucking idiot. We need that money.” I suddenly recall why I had broken it off with her — she was a bitch, and a slut. Curtis is laughing behind us. She seems to treat him a lot less violently.
But then, they’ve only been together for about fifteen hours.
The crowd is thinning out so I start counting our take. We are sold out on almost everything. A tall bald man is squinting through thick glasses, obviously having difficulty reading our sign. “Y’know, I’ve never heard of The Foundation for the Rescue and Nurturing of Underpriv-,”
“It’s new,” Curtis interjects. “In fact, we started it ourselves.”
“Well isn’t that just wonderful. I say, you three are doing God’s work.” What is it with old people’s obsession about God and his work? Is God really so lazy that he needs other people to do all the work for him?
“Here you go, free of charge,” Curtis says. He hands the man a plastic bag stuffed full of our remaining stock. Typical Curtis never lifting a god damn finger — unless he’s giving away my shit for free.
CHAPTER FOUR
We are back at Mickey’s, this time for lunch inside. We had made enough money to make rent, at least. But I was still a long way off from affording my own transportation.
The sooner I could free myself of any reliance on Curtis, the better.
I look over at Chrissy and I’m trying to read her. What was her angle here? Was hooking up with Curtis her way of getting back at me? I feel myself desperately missing her tits.
I just want to bang that ass one more time. If I went to the restroom, would she follow me in again?
I decide to try and get her attention without Curtis noticing. I make a stealthy move under the table with my leg while I maintain focus on my food. I tap down on her the foot with my sneaker and realize she’s wearing flip-flops.
“Ow! What the fuck?” she yells. Her reactive jerk knocks over a cup of soda. It was almost empty though, so only a couple cubes of melted ice dribble out onto the marble painted table.
I want to answer with a suggestive eyebrow but now Curtis has got his attention on me, too.
Mission failed.
“Hey, uh, could you spot me some gas money?” Curtis is saying to me. The nerve of this asshole. I take a giant bite of my Angus beef burger, medium rare. I’m chewing so I can’t answer.
Chrissy looks pissy when she grabs a bunch of napkins to clean up the mess she made. I guess she was expecting me to clean up after her.
There are some teenagers being loud and sprinting from th
e restrooms and out the back door. I can hear the sound of running water, soon to be overflowing out of all the urinals.
Those little bastards.
“Since I drove you to that thing and all?” he tries again. A thick blob of barbecue sauce goes splat on the hamburger wrapper I had laid out on the table as a plate.
I am suddenly fascinated by the repeating ‘Mickey’s’ trademark that is printed all over the wrapper in tiny font, avoiding eye contact.
The sauce is partly covering the main logo, but underneath I see something I hadn’t noticed before.
“In memory Mickey Heartfield…” I read aloud.
“Wait. Couldn’t that be Mrs. Heartfield’s husband?” asks Chrissy. “I knew she was loaded! Give her that fucking recipe, you dumbass!”
“You don’t get it,” I’m explaining. “All the dough we use is prepackaged. I don’t even know what the fuck goes in any of it.”
“Dude, it can’t be that difficult,” Curtis is saying like he has a clue. “A bunch of oatmeal and some raisins. Hell, I’ll show her how to make ‘em.”
“You can do it, baby!” Chrissy leans over and they start making out again. I hear a Mickey’s employee cursing from inside the restrooms. Water is flooding out from under the swinging doors.
Was Curtis actually taking some initiative? The thought of this disaster falling on his head amused me greatly. I stuff a handful of sweet potato fries, which are always delicious and fresh at Mickey’s. I wonder if Mrs. Heartfield knows her husband’s recipe.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’m so glad y’all changed your minds!” Mrs. Heartfield is saying as we enter unit 3-B. The first breath I take inside is an almost suffocating air of perfume.
A cursory look around tells me that perfume isn’t the only thing excessive in this place. The walls are littered with perfectly polished silverware.
Their reflection of the sunset light coming from the kitchen is brilliant and blinding. The whole place glistens.
“My husband was something of a collector, you see.” She chuckles a bit. “To tell you the truth, it’s so nice to finally have some company over. Without my Mickey around anymore, I’ve not much else to do but keep his old things looking nice, just like he would have wanted…” She pauses. “Oh — and bake, of course!” She chuckles again.
A short moment of silence passes. “Well, I’m sure you kids are eager to get down to the brass tax, haha! So, which one of you wants to assist me in the kitchen?”
“Yeah, about that…” I start to say. I am thinking I had probably taken enough advantage of the elderly, for one day at least.
“I would love to!” Curtis interrupts.
She grabs a flabby piece of bicep on Curtis, “Aren’t you just the strapping young lad!” Then she turns to address me and Chrissy. “Why don’t you two take a look around the place in the meantime.
My husband was a collector of so many neat things.” I think all this damn light was making her blind, because all I can see is a bunch of silverware. “I’m sure you both could find something interesting.”
So we start taking a look around. The only other things she seems to own beyond Mickey’s silverware are framed pictures of the two of them together.
“We usually start with, like, an egg…” I hear Curtis giving instructions to Mrs. Heartfield. It may be the first time I’ve seen him act somewhat polite. “Then some oatmeal. Are those shredded oats? Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
Listening to him was comical. I hear her offering Curtis a chocolate truffle, then she is insisting. “Just as long as there aren’t any nu—” his voice is muffled by chewing after she stuffs one in his mouth.
I continue my perusing. Running down the beach, camping in front of an old log cabin, hugging at the Disneyland entrance — they always look so happy in all the pictures. Poor Mrs. Heartfield. I was feeling like such an asshole.
“Hey, asshole — what’s in here?” Chrissy motions for me to come over. I realize that it’s the two of us alone together again.
“Don’t you have raisins? Prunes might not work…” Curtis’s voice goes soft then quiet as we enter what is apparently Mrs. Heartfield’s bedroom.
Chrissy is laughing hysterically and pointing to one corner of the room. Sitting on a nightstand beside the bed is a giant purple dildo, at least ten inches long. Chrissy goes over to examine it more closely.
“Oh my god.” She’s poking at something on the purple shaft. “This is a mold of Mickey Heartfield’s cock. Look, his name is inscribed right here.” I am in utter disbelief. You are a naughty woman, Mrs. Heartfield.
“I want you to fuck me with it.” But Chrissy was naughtier.
I am speechless. She kicks off her flip flops onto the warm, wool carpet and tells me to lock the door. There is no lock, so I feign the motions and jiggle the handle a bit instead.
This was happening.
Chrissy’s shorts are already at her ankles. She steps out of them gracefully and lies down atop the floral bedspread. I move hastily to get my shirt off and get it stuck between my elbows.
By the time it’s off she is spread eagle and using one hand underneath scarlet panties to finger her clit.
“Mmm,” she moans as she begins to slowly deep throat the dildo with her other hand. I feel myself getting hard. I reach into my pants and give my cock a few gentle strokes before pulling it out.
Her eyes light up. I can tell she wants it bad. She slides Mr. Heartfield’s cock deeper and deeper down the back of her throat. The cock is monstrously huge, but she can almost take it whole. Her dark mascara is starting to run. A few tears are rolling down her pale doll face.
She wants to prove that she can take the whole thing, balls deep.
The lust in her eyes when she looks at me makes me wet. She is going to do it. She tilts her head up at the ceiling and pushes the back of it with her finger tips like she was going to swallow it.
I don’t believe it, the entire thing is down her throat. Her gagging is the sound of gargled spit.
She grips the back of it with her glittery nails and has to tug hard for it to budge. She gags some more and pulls on it slowly. She is slurping along the shaft and purple rubber just keeps coming out.
Her tongue leaves behind a thick streak of drippy saliva as all ten inches emerge from her luscious, cherry red lips. With one more gag she has it out at last.
“Now I want you to stick it in my pussy.” Her panties are soaking wet now. I leave my boxers on the floor and hop up onto the bed. I get up between her legs so one hand is on each knee.
My hands travel down to her hips and tug at the lacey waistline of her panties with both hands.
The panties slide smoothly up her legs and off the toes, which are pedicured to match the design on her nails. She hands me the dildo and I use the tip to stimulate her clit some more.
She wraps her legs around my neck, staring up at me with eyes dripping of black mascara down to her flush cheeks.
Then I thrust the giant purple thing deep into her pussy and she has to stifle a scream. I start banging her with it fast and hard. Her grimace of pain turns to an expression of immense pleasure as eyes roll to the back of her head. I can tell she is enjoying this.
The black lace bra she’s still wearing is keeping her enormous tits pressed together, and they’re bouncing up and down with each gyration of her hips.
“Mmm, let me lick it it baby.” I thought she only called Curtis that. Oh well, I am the one fucking her now. I slowly pull out the dildo, which is now thoroughly glazed in her wet juices, and circle the tip of it around her lips.
Chrissy licks up and down the shaft, sucking and slurping on parts of it with her lips. The mold of Mr. Heartfield’s dick is marked all over by thick blotches of red from her lipstick.
She grabs hold of it with both hands and brings it back down to her twat. See flashes a devilish smile.
“Fuck me hard in the ass. I’m going to squirt all over this bitch’s sheets.” Chrissy is cruel and heartle
ss, but she knows how to fuck.
I swing her around by the legs so we’re facing the door and she lets out a gleeful yelp.
I spread my knees to get myself stabilized and flip her on the stomach — I am going to drill the fuck out of Chrissy’s ass. She spreads her ass cheeks wide and winks at me with her asshole a few times, giggling.
She grabs hold of Mr. Heartfield’s cock and bangs her pussy with it some more. She moans loud and long. I have to reach from behind and cup her mouth in my hand to keep her quiet so they won’t hear us from the kitchen.
I put my face between her ass cheeks and trace my tongue down the crack until I reach the anus. I circle around her hole with my tongue for for awhile, then use the tip of it to enter just inside her soft flesh.
She Wants It Rough Page 35
