by Kendall Grey
I shove Shades away.
Can’t deal with warmth and sweetness and sensitivity. I need the hard fuck that leaves me sore and walking funny for a week. I need the fuck that fritzes out my brainwaves and renders me so dick-drunk, I can’t form coherent words. I need the fuck that proves beyond a doubt that I’m his and he’s mine and nothing or nobody will ever come between us.
In other words, I need a really angry fuck.
“What’s wrong?” Shades says, cupping his dick.
I leave him for the swings.
“What’d I do, Letty?” Exasperation hollows his voice.
Unhooking the links at the top of the vertical bar, I ignore him and raise the seat to crotch level. Then I saddle up. “Push me,” I say, grasping the chains on either side.
Shades stomps behind me, cock lolling like a golden retriever’s tongue from the mouth of his fly, and gives me a shove. He’s probably done with my emotional outbursts, but he doesn’t say anything.
In a couple minutes, I’m flying high with Shades’s help. The wind puffs up my skirt, putting my vag on display for anyone with night-vision goggles to see.
“Are you gonna talk to me or what?” he asks. His hands warm my back with another push. I fly, legs splayed forward, then I pull them in for the return flight.
Push. Fly. Push. Fly. Push.
“You’re my rock,” I confess. “The only one I depend on besides myself. If you let me down …”
Push. Fly.
Thud.
Forward momentum stops suddenly, but two arms wind around my front and keep me from flying off the seat. Stomps of boots over dirt sound off. A warm body enfolds mine from behind. He stumbles with me, protective, holding on tight.
The swing spins, and he stares down at me, clutching the chains, lifting me toward his lips. “I will never let you down.”
I swallow. “Not even if it comes to choosing me over her? Over them?”
He holds me steady. “Never.”
That’s what I needed to hear. I toss my arms around his neck and attack him. My legs curl around his hips, putting him in an ass-lock. “Fuck me, Shades,” I gasp between bites and pain-filled nose bumps. “Fuck me so hard, you break me.” I wrestle him for control of the chains, but he won’t budge. “Slam this pussy full of cock, and fill it with cum until I’m brimming with you. I need you on me, in me, owning me. Prove how much you love me. Prove you’ll never leave me. Prove you’re mine.”
I fumble for his bruised wang and stuff it inside. His head tips back with a howl of agony as my pussy lips clamp around him and imbibe in the fruits of his sore labors.
“Yeah, embrace that pain, motherfucker. Own it like you own me.” I slap his face and redirect his attention to my tits with an upward tug of my shirt. I shove his mouth to a nipple. Enraged, he sucks so hard, the bud goes numb.
Nailed to the swing seat and trying my damnedest to get gravity and physics to comply with my needs, I rock and thrust and flail. Hunting for the orgasm I know is nearby, I let the rest of my anger out through my words.
“Tell me the truth, Shades.” I yank his head up. “Look me in the eyes and tell me the goddamn truth.” Thrust. Bang. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “What do you want to do about this tour? No lies.” Squeeze. Kick. Slam.
He stops forward movement.
“Don’t you dare stop fucking me, asshole. What about the tour?” I prompt him into motion with a tight hip swivel, and he returns to work with a grunt.
His face contorts. “I think we should join the Get Your Rock Off Tour.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” I demand. Lunge. Drive. Plunge. Oh fuck, I’m close.
“You know why.” Stab. Jab. Spear.
“Don’t beat around the bush.” I laugh at the irony of beatings and bushes in our current context.
He grabs two handfuls of tits and squeezes the lust out of them. I cry out. Slap, slap, slap he goes, then he sinks his teeth into one. “Fuck me … Jesus fucking Christ …” Here it comes. “Say it, asshole, or I’ll hose your fucking face and drown you in squirt juice.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he mumbles into my neck. “I need you to be happy so I can be happy. Whatever it takes.”
I pull away and stare at him with a smile. “Even if it means a billy club up your ass?”
“Especially with the billy club.” He laughs, tilts his head to the night, and yells, “I fucking love you, Letty Dillinger!”
Sweet mercy. That’s my dude.
I slide my hand to my pussy and flick the shit out of it. I push my pelvic floor with all the rage coursing through me. The tap opens. A rush of clear fluid spurts. I angle my hips upward and let fly my sexual battle cry. “I. Am. Letty. Dillinger. Fear my squirts!”
Maniacal laughter bounces out of me from the deepest depths of my soul. God, it feels good to let go. Shades pulls out and cunt-smacks me with his swollen cock until the shower turns into a dribble. He drops and dives into my pussy, snagging some leftovers. His dark moan vibrates my excruciatingly sensitive water fountain. Goddamn it, I love the way his tongue stud works my clit. I rub the juice into my skin, draw pictures with it on his cheek, and slip it into his mouth on my index finger. He suckles as he stares up at me, face freshly showered, hair soaked. Again.
He didn’t come. If I were to ask, he’d say he didn’t have to. I got what I needed and so did he.
I kneel before him and devour his cock, savoring the subtle tang of my pussy. His knees buckle, but I hold him steady. This flesh rocket took a beating earlier. I guess I’ve forgiven Shades for stuff that isn’t his fault, so I’m gentle. A caress of tongue up the underside of his shaft. Swirls around the head. Tender slurps. Ball licks.
Looking at him, I feel a little bad for getting so mad at him. I’ve been playing emotional pinball since my last squirt, and he’s probably got whiplash from tracking my wildly swinging ups and downs. It’s not his fault I’m a jealous bitch or that he has a fucking hot-as-lava ex-wife. Hell, if I weren’t with him, I’d probably bang that Betty myself.
His posture slackens as he eases toward the inevitable fall. I stroke him for a few beats. “I want your cum right here.” I aim the head at my mouth. He smiles.
I fondle his balls with one hand while the other twists around his shaft like a corkscrew on a mission to pop open a bottle of white. His sac tightens, his eyes fuzz out, and he cups my chin as molten, thick cream jets across my taste buds. With hard pulls, I coax every last drop onto my tongue.
When he stops quaking and I’m sure I got it all, I open wide so he can see how full he filled my cup. Then I make an exaggerated show of swallowing his love. “Mmm, mmm, mmm …” I dab at the corners and lick my fingers clean.
Shades drags me to my feet and launches an attack on my face. I wince, anticipating a collision with my very sore nose, but he brings out the soft weapons this time. Slowing breaths over pebbled skin. Deep inhales through cum-tinged kisses. Barely there drags of knuckles across the flood between my legs.
“You’re trouble, pussycat,” he whispers into the air above my lips.
I beam. “Always.”
“Just the way I like you.” He sucks the juice off his digits and smears them over my mouth. My tongue snaps out for a taste. “And just so you know, you ain’t getting rid of me so easy.”
“Okay,” I say. “I trust you.” I snatch his hand between my fingers and hug the knot to my shoulder.
“You have nothing to worry about with Eliza.”
I sigh and offer a pinched smile.
Eliza’s not the one who’s gonna steal his heart. The alien is.
I Think I Broke My Cock
I wake up cold. And wet. And blind.
Blood pounds against the inside of my cranium. I sit up too fast and smack a palm to my face. “Fucking fuck!” My nose feels like it’s the size of a beach ball. My jaw aches. My corneas burn. And I think there’s a …
I tilt my ass left and dig out a twig from between my cheeks. That’s gonna lea
ve a mark.
“Are you homeless?” a set of tiny vocal cords asks. The sickly sweet scent of bubblegum floats toward me, lighting up the nausea receptors in my hungover stomach.
I startle and squint into the rising sun. Ah, the big, jolly yellow bastard must be the source of the whole blindness thing. Shielding my eyes, I pat around beside me. Surely I brought my wallet, phone, or maybe some pepper spray. A kid stares down at me, a wad of bloated flesh plumping his cheeks as he bends forward.
“What the hell is that, the mumps?” I flick his chubby face. Gently.
He grins, and a blob of pink oozes between his molars. He pulls out a long, gooey string and dangles it in front of me. “Gum. You want some?”
I wave him away. “That’s disgusting.”
“Did that policeman arrest you, homeless lady?” He points beside me. “Is he gonna escort you to your cardboard box on the streets?” A thirst for blood clouds the kid’s eager expression. The vile little leech.
I turn right. Shades smacks his lips a couple of times on the ground beside me. I thwack his arm. “This is what you have to look forward to, Daddy-o.”
He rubs his head and sits up gingerly. “What happened?”
“You’re gonna take this bad lady to jail, ain’t you, mister?”
I slowly catalogue my surroundings. About six kids have cleared the fence and are chasing each other. Well, isn’t this dandy? Guess the neighborhood ankle-biters use the school playground on the weekends too.
“Yeah. She’s going to jail, all right. Get outta here, kid,” Shades grumbles, wincing as he adjusts his ass and palms his nads.
“You gonna bust her for indecent exposure?” The little shit blows a bubble. “I seen her butt cheek!”
I huff and get to my feet real quick-like, smoothing my skirt down in the process. Thank God I resettled the thong into place after my adventures last night. “Didn’t you hear the cop? He said hit the road, you pervert.” I bare my teeth and advance on the brat like a pissed-off grizzly bear. “Rawr!”
The kid screams, turns tail, and runs. Serves the fucker right, looking up my skirt when I was passed out in the grass on a school playground. “And if you come here again, I’ll call your momma and tell her you been trespassing on school property.”
A real cop car rounds the corner. Holy fuck. The other kids scatter like roaches. I grab Shades’s hand. “Come on, we gotta go!”
“Goddamn it,” he groans as he limps behind me.
“Hurry up! What’s wrong with you?” I don’t dare look back. If the cop makes us, we’re in trouble.
His unsteady gait slows me down. “I think I broke my cock.”
“What the fuck?” Seriously, this could only happen to us. “Just move it. I’ll look at it when we get to the bus.”
The cop car threatens with a quick bleep of siren, and blue lights spin. I drag Shades through the playground and make for the trees lining the fence on the other side. With great effort, we manage to clear the wires and land in somebody’s backyard. Shades hunch-runs, clutching his crotch like he’s got a nasty case of the crabs.
Great. Fucking great.
Cussing Shades’s name, I snatch his phone from his butt pocket and use the GPS to figure out where the hell we are. A few blocks from the bus—assuming Jillian didn’t leave without us, which is an entirely reasonable possibility. She’s done it before.
We lope through the ass end of a quaint little neighborhood, attracting attention of some early rising gardeners along the way. “Nothing to see here,” I call to them. “Just taking a leisurely stroll, helping the police with an investigation.”
One woman clucks like a damn chicken. I flip her a bird as we break out of her yard and hightail it for the main drag.
Shades pants behind me. “Slow down, pussycat. I gotta catch my breath.”
I turn around. He’s bent over, hands braced on knees, chugging air. He pauses to rub his package again. “Goddamn, this fucking hurts.”
Now I’m worried. He never complains about pain. Ever. Maybe I really did break his cock. I loop my arm around his waist and help him forward. “Lean on me. As soon as we get to the bus, we’ll drive you to a doctor.”
Teeth clenched, he does as he’s told. Luckily, traffic has picked up. We’re less conspicuous among the pedestrians heading for brunch dates, coffee, and shopping. A couple blocks later, the bus appears. Thank Christ.
Supporting as much of his weight as I can, I help Shades up the steps, and he collapses into the couch cushions up front. Jillian storms down the aisle, electronic cigarette bouncing.
“Where the fuck have you two been?”
I point to Shades. “He broke his dick.”
She pauses. Shakes her head. “He … what?” Ha! Caught her off guard for once! “I don’t even want to know. You’re late, Letty. We were supposed to leave an hour ago. I tried calling you, but you left your phone—” Her gaze shifts to Shades. “What the hell are you doing?”
He’s unzipped his polyester police pants. He gingerly pulls out his flaccid wanker, and the three of us cringe in unison. The thing is almost completely blue, purple, and black.
Shiiiiiiit. “Oh my God, Shades!” I turn to Jillian. “We gotta get him to a doctor, like now.” I can’t get enough air. If his cock dies, it’s all over. I need that cock! “We must save Shades’s penis!”
“What about Shades’s penis?” Toombs heads our way, and then stops dead in his tracks. “Jesus Christ. What did you do to him, Letty?”
“Went down a slide open-mouthed and caught him wrong,” I say. Toombs screws up his face. “Hey, he’s not the only one who got hurt. I think he bruised my uvula.” I stroke my sore throat. “Oh, never mind. We need a hospital. Stat.”
Jillian huffs her irritation. I could swear a wisp of smoke slithers out of her nose even though she hasn’t puffed on her cigarette. “You’ve got at least one more show to play on this tour. You cannot fuck this up—broken dick or not. And we still have to decide where we’re going from here. You know, for your careers’ sake?” she sneers. “God, you idiots infuriate me.”
Is it me, or is Jillian a little pissier than usual?
Freddie, our driver, clambers up the steps.
“Take us to the nearest emergency room,” she barks at him. “One of the children snapped his twig and berries.”
Freddie flinches. When Jillian stares him down without further comment, he hops into the driver’s seat and hits the road.
Jillian hollers for Jinx, Rax, and Eve to come to the front.
“Put your broke-ass wiener away, Shades,” I say. No need to scare the rest of the band. Fuck knows, I’m scared shitless. What if he can’t get it up anymore? Of course, I love him, and I’ll stick with him no matter what, but sex is a huge, important part of our relationship. If we have to play hide the salami with a soggy, limp hot dog, I’ll … shit, I don’t know what I’ll do. Be a really pissed-off nymphomaniac confined to quarters, I guess. I glance to Rax and Jinx coming up the aisle, then cut over to Toombs.
Except on birthdays.
Well, that’s a small relief.
But, really, his pussy pounder can’t be rendered inert and hauled off for scrap. My twat sniffles.
“Sit your asses down.” Jillian smacks the couch. “We need to come to a decision right now about this band’s future, Shades’s dick notwithstanding.”
Rax’s brow hops.
I shake my head. “Don’t ask.”
“What’s it going to be? Finish this tour with Lords of Infamy taking point, or join Get Your Rock Off?” She looks at her feet when she mentions the latter. Like she doesn’t want her opinion to sway us. Which means she has a definite opinion.
“You know how I feel about it. Get Your Rock Off is the way to go.” Rax folds his arms over his chest, biceps flexing just enough to snag my libido’s attention.
Am I already looking for a replacement for Shades’s (possibly) dysfunctional bologna pony? Shit, I’m an awful human being.
“I�
��m with Rax,” Jinx says.
“Me three,” Toombs adds.
Jillian locks her gaze on Shades, then me. “Well?”
My poor man shifts again on the couch, grabs my hand, and silently asks the same question of me. Well?
Deep breath in. Let it out slowly. “Fine. We’ll join the ‘Rock Off’ tour.” It’s the best move for the band, even though it might kill me and Shades. If his Jell-O pole doesn’t first.
He nods. “I’m in too.”
Relief blossoms across Jillian’s face, as if she had something big to lose if things had gone the other way. She’s been twitchy as hell the last couple of days. Seriously, what the fuck is up with her?
“All right. I’ll have them email the contract over right away. Killer Buzz Float will say its farewells tonight. You can begin writing a new chapter in your autobiographies in a couple weeks when you join up with Banging Betties.”
“May The Rock be with us.” Rax tips up his water bottle and guzzles. Jinx and Toombs clink imaginary glasses to his plastic. Shades’s face is pinched tighter than a constipated gorilla sweating bullets after a prune juice enema. And I’m guessing it’s not entirely from the pain.
“Long live The Rock,” I mumble and salute halfheartedly.
Why do I get the feeling like someone just signed my career’s death warrant?
Betties, Betties Everywhere, but Not a Cunt to Punt
Turns out Shades didn’t break his cock. The doctor said it was more like a bad sprain. Apparently, he bent his penis, but since there was no popping sound when the deed was done, and the tunica albuginea—whatever the hell that is—didn’t tear, there’s no need for surgery. The bruising was pretty bad, though. Doc advised Shades not to fuck or whack off for a month or until all the discoloration is gone, and to see a doctor for a recheck.
So, kids, next time you’re near a kiddie slide and considering mouth spelunking with your skin-covered love pole, think again. Just say no to reckless penile acrobatics. This message has been brought to you by the Society for Penile Injury. Your tumescence is our priority. Wink, wink.
