by Primula Bond
Melody had stepped out to the front of the stage, a microphone in her hand. A signal to the DJ and the music faded, to be replaced by her amplified voice as she announced the competition. Each of us was called out in turn, Harmony first, to step forwards, curtsy, twirl to show off her figure and then return to line. My adrenalin was beginning to race, and when my turn came I lifted my skirt to flash the seat of my panties, just to get the men going. Eliska was very cool, barely bothering to acknowledge the crowd, and I wondered if she’d been primed to her task. She was number eight and Gemma came last, by which time Morris had taken Harmony by the hand to lead her down to the cubicles and Melody was finishing her speech.
… only counts if he comes, and it must be clear on camera, so girls, remember to show what your gentlemen have done on your tongue before you swallow. Each girl will stop when she’s had enough, but we want to encourage a bit of competition and make sure as many of you boys as possible get your fun, so there will be no announcement as the girls drop out. I’ll repeat that, no announcement as the girls drop out, so if you want to win, you’ve just got to keep on sucking!’
The crowd was laughing and cheering as she finished, and a lot of men were already crowding towards the back of the cubicles, where a trio of Morris’s bouncers were doing their best to keep order. Sophie had been led away, and Morris was quickly back to take my hand and escort me to cubicle number five. He wished me good luck, sent me in with a pat on my bottom and closed the door behind me.
I’d imagined I’d feel alone, but it was very different, with the walls of the cubicle trapping me in but dozens of people visible along the balcony just a few feet above me. There was a bolt on the door and I slid it home, just to make sure I stayed in control, but it made me feel even more boxed in than before. A thought occurred to me, that the entertainment in the Roman arenas must have felt much the same, but then they’d had to face terrible fates. All I had to do was suck cock, and keep sucking until Gavin signalled me to stop.
He was there, to my immense relief, wearing a red-and-yellow-striped blazer so he couldn’t possibly have been more obvious, and almost directly above me. I ignored him but gave a cheery wave to Pippa, who was standing beside him. There were already men moving among the crowd with what I realised must be betting slips, and as I got down on my knees I was wishing I knew what my odds and handicap were.
Melody had said we were supposed to kneel, always the best position for a girl to suck cock, and they’d provided a little rubber pillow, so that it was a bit like getting down to pray in church, save that no vicar had ever had the decency to alleviate my boredom by sticking his cock in my mouth during service. It was a funny thought and it had me smiling as I began to unbutton my blouse, not only to show off but because it feels right to have my breasts bare when I suck. I knew the camera was recording my every movement, and as I pulled my bra up there was a cheer from beyond the cubicle, perhaps meaning that it was my image up on the main screen. Now eager to play, and to get myself horny, I turned a little to cup my breasts in my hands and tease my nipples erect in full view of the lens and of those watching from above.
Another cheer sounded from outside, then Melody’s voice, announcing that all nine girls were ready, and with that a large, flaccid penis and a set of bulging balls appeared through the central glory hole. It was mid-brown, with a heavy foreskin and a lot of big veins on the shaft, frighteningly virile and really rather nice, so I popped it straight into my mouth and got down to business. As I began to suck a second set of cock and balls appeared to my left, then a third from the right-hand glory hole. I took both in hand, rubbing at their balls and stroking their shafts as I worked on the rapidly expanding rod of male meat in my mouth.
The noise of the crowd had changed, with cheers and claps giving way to a low murmur punctuated by dirty remarks and cries of delight or disgust as they watched us suck. At first I was wishing I could see the others, and imagining little geeky Gemma struggling with some outsize cock, or Eliska’s angelic face with her beautiful mouth wide to some man’s great ugly erection. Yet with the man in my mouth now hard and the other two rapidly getting there my attention had quickly moved to my own task, and my own arousal. It felt good to be sucking cock, and all the better when so many people were watching me, including my own sister.
I’d seldom felt so dirty, such a bad girl, and when I’d been given my first mouthful of come it was better still, having to show off the little pool of slime on my tongue to the camera, then swallow it down before getting back to business. All the men needed sucking, so I began to share my attention between the different cocks, taking the newcomer in my mouth to get him stiff before moving on. Another had soon come, but I was about to take the third in my mouth when he erupted to the motion of my hand, full in my face and down my tits.
There was cheering and clapping from the balcony at seeing me soiled, and I made a deliberate show of licking up what was left on his cock. I’d had my face spunked in as well as my mouth and I already wanted to come, sucking on a nice big cock as I fiddled with myself in my panties, or perhaps as I showed off the filth on my tongue. Yet I knew I had to pace myself and held back, concentrating on the men’s pleasure instead of my own. At that I realised why Morris didn’t rate me as a contender, because left to my own devices I’d have been masturbating almost from the start and would have soon exhausted myself and backed out, maybe after six or seven men and two or three orgasms for myself.
For all my determination I couldn’t help myself. Once I’d shown off the fifth sticky white load on my tongue and gulped it down I tucked my school skirt up and pushed my panties down at the back, for the sheer joy of showing off my bottom as I worked. I was wishing there was somebody to fuck me from behind, or at least to spank me for being such a dirty little slut. Pippa would have been perfect, and as I continued to suck and wank cock after cock a fantasy was building in my head, of how she’d come down and spank me hard in front of the huge audience, only to then force me to carry on.
With that I was lost, sucking and jerking on the lovely cocks, taking their balls into my mouth and kissing their knobs, licking up the spunk and smearing it in my face. There was another man who couldn’t hold himself but emptied his balls all over my face as I rubbed his cock on my lips and nose, then a third, who came full in my eye as I was about to take him in. With that, and because I was starting to feel sick from the sheer quantity of spunk I’d swallowed, I might have backed out, but I could still see out of my one good eye and Gavin hadn’t taken off his colourful jacket.
I stuck my hand down my panties and played with myself to keep my arousal up as I went back to sucking on a fat, dark erection that had just been thrust through the central glory hole. Most of the men were now at least half hard when I started, and I could imagine them wanking as they watched me on the screen, my titties out and my bottom bare, my face streaked with spunk and my hand thrust down the front of my knickers so I could get off over what I was doing.
A man came in my hand, soiling my arm and the sleeve of my blouse, then the one in my mouth, just as I was trying to take him deep. I felt myself start to retch and I was sick down my tits, but I still couldn’t stop. The men didn’t care either: a fat pink erection instantly took the place of the black one and I forced myself to take it into my mouth and focus on the dirty fantasy I’d built up before. I deserved spanking, that was certain, for being such a filthy, greedy little slut and a cock-sucking little whore, because after all, I was doing it for the money as well as the fun. When Pippa found out, she was going to spank me pink, hopefully with a good big audience to watch me get it, and at that I hit my orgasm and pulled back from the cock in my mouth just as he came.
Spurt after spurt of spunk splashed in my face and my open mouth, soiling my hair and closing my other eye, as I cried out my ecstasy. Even then I knew I had no choice but to get on with it, taking yet another cock in my mouth for all that I was sore and tired, close to exhaustion with my entire body dripping spunk, both fresh fr
om cocks and what I’d thrown up down my front. I didn’t dare open my eyes, so I had no idea if Gavin had his jacket on or not, and I’d completely lost count of the number of men who’d come for me.
Still I sucked, cock after cock after cock, until I was a spunk-sodden mess, my face plastered with it, my hair matted and filthy, my pretty school uniform ruined, my belly bulging. When I’d been sick down my tits for the second time I nearly gave up, but I still had one man stiff in my hand and carried on wanking him, telling myself he’d be the last, only to change my mind at the thought of defeat after all I’d been through. Steeling myself, I opened my mouth for yet another cock and began to suck, only vaguely aware that somebody was trying to open the door, or of Melody’s laughing voice from the speakers.
‘… sixty-three men and a five handicap, so an easy winner, Jemima!’
Only when Pippa took over on the microphone did anything really penetrate, just as the two men I was servicing came at the same time.
‘You can stop now, you little slut, you’ve won!’
I collapsed, my legs slipping apart in the slimy puddle I was now kneeling in, the cushion long gone. Every muscle in my body ached, but I forced myself to open the door and crawl out on my hands and knees to the sound of cheering and clapping. Somebody threw a bucket of water over me, another passed me a towel and I was able to open my eyes, to find Gavin looking down on me. He was grinning.
‘Nice one, Miss Ten-to-One. So how about a quick BJ to celebrate?’
For Better … or Better Yet
Chrissie Bentley
So, this is married life?
A cock in my mouth, a cock in my cunt and a third one so close I can feel it dripping on my cheek. Hell, I really could get used to this.
If only my husband would quit his drunken snoring.
They said it would be the happiest day of my life. Mark and I had been dating for nine months before he finally popped the question, in a damp motel room on a side road somewhere between Albuquerque and Colorado Springs. We were both coming down from one of those vacations where everything is perfect, where the sex is as hot as the weather, nobody gets a dodgy tummy from the food, and the only harsh words that either of you utters are the ones that a spot of peyote-primed role-playing transforms into something that you really need to hear.
Of course I said yes; any guy who could make me feel that good, for that long, was obviously a keeper. We bought a ring the size of a small house brick the next morning, saw the Justice of the Peace the same day we got home, and had the wedding invitations in the mail by the weekend.
Mrs Rebecca J. Williams, welcome to the world.
Vacation vapours notwithstanding, I knew exactly what I was getting into. Mark had a good job, and he made good money. He was smart, my folks loved him and he treated me like a queen. Except when he treated me like a whore, but that was just as important to me because that was when all the daily-life bullshit went flying out the window, and we could just be ourselves with no care for the world.
We fucked like our lives depended on it, and when we weren’t in bed we laughed, we played, we talked. And we stayed true to one another.
Except once.
The wedding day dawned sunny despite a winter chill, and so what if it was a quick civil ceremony, devoid of any of the trappings my parents had hoped I’d demand? It was our day, and they were happy for us. No pageboys, no choir, no four-figure sum splashed on an unnecessarily white dress that I’d never wear again. When I woke up that morning, squeezing myself out from beneath my fiancé in the heart-pounding aftermath of our final fuck as singles, I had just three things on my mind.
One: get the ring on my finger. Two: get his ass up to the honeymoon suite. And three: get his cock back inside me. The rest, the blushing bridesmaids and the floral bouquets, the electric toasters and the K-cup percolators (why do people always give you toasters and percolators for wedding presents?), even the $1,000-a-night bridal suite itself, they were simply the icing on the cake.
But from the moment Mark started drinking, which was the moment we arrived at the wedding reception in the hotel ballroom, I knew that the only icing I’d be getting on my cake tonight would be whatever the baker had put on it. By the time the best man got up to toast the happy couple, Mark was already so far gone that he didn’t even recognise his own brother, and by the time the party started breaking up he wasn’t even conscious.
I looked around the fast emptying room helplessly. My parents were long gone, and his family had slipped away as well. Probably because they knew what would happen. Jerry, Mark’s speech-giving brother, was still here, but he looked in the same shape as his sibling. Finally, my increasingly desperate gaze settled on the handful of guys who were still standing, three old college friends of Mark’s whom I’d never met before but who certainly seemed familiar with his present predicament. I caught a sympathetic grin from one of them, and walked over to where they stood in a knot by the now empty dance floor.
‘Hey, sorry to bother you but …’ I touched him on the arm. Damn it, why can I never remember people’s names, even when I was only introduced to them that same morning?
He laughed, a broad smile creasing his not-bad-looking features. ‘Hi, Beccy. So Mark’s out for the count already?’ His friends, I noticed, were laughing alongside him.
‘Yeah, it looks like it. I was wondering if you could help me get him up to our room.’
‘No problem.’ He turned, put his beer down on a nearby table and gestured for his two companions to follow. Mark wasn’t the lightest guy in the world when he was upright and mobile. In his present insensitive state, he was 250lbs of dead weight.
Into the elevator we staggered, with Mark’s arms draped across two sets of shoulders, while the third guy carried his legs. I punched the button for the 24th floor and slumped against the wall, still clutching the flowers that someone thrust into my hand as we left.
‘Not much of a wedding night for you, eh?’ The guy with Mark’s legs laughed loudly.
‘You can say that again.’ He was right, it wasn’t. The lift stopped and I led the way down the brightly lit corridor to the waiting suite. Through the window, the city spread out beneath us, a sea of lights that led down to the sea. Roses rouged the furniture, and our wedding gifts had thoughtfully been piled on a table that could barely take the weight.
I waited while my gallant aides arranged Mark in a heap in one of the armchairs, and I eyed the complimentary magnum of champagne. ‘Anyone fancy a drink after all that lifting?’
I poured wine into the two glasses that sat on the table, hunted around in the minibar till I found a couple more and then flopped down on the edge of the bed. The broad king-sized bed in which I would begin my married days. To my left, Mark began snoring, and all four of us laughed at the sound.
‘Is he always like this when he gets drunk?’ I asked. It suddenly dawned on me that I’d never seen him more than tipsy, except once when I’d probably got even more hammered than him.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said one, nodding. Brad. I remembered now, his name was Brad. ‘In fact, you could have an earthquake and he wouldn’t wake up. Do you remember that time …’ He turned to his friends, then his voice trailed off. ‘Or maybe not.’
‘No, come on, tell me,’ I prompted. ‘If I don’t know his deepest secrets, then what sort of wife would I be?’
‘Well, I’m not sure …’ Brad looked at his friends for support, but they shrugged. ‘If you don’t tell her, she’s only going to imagine, and it’ll probably be even worse in her mind than it was in reality,’ one said, then paused and looked at me carefully ‘You’re not the jealous sort, are you, Beccy?’
Frank. You’re Frank. I smiled congratulations to my slowly returning memory and shook my head. ‘No. What’s done is done, what’s past is past,’ I said. Besides, Heaven knows, there were enough things in my past that I could have torn myself up about but didn’t, things I’d done with guys I’d met. Whose names I didn’t remember, if I ever even knew
them to begin with. More than sometimes. I eyed my three new friends and, if there was a little voice in the back of my mind to remind me that those days were firmly behind me, the champagne had obviously muffled it.
Brad told his story. A football game, a college party, a pretty blonde who latched onto Mark. Yeah, he told me that one. He passed out and left her sitting there, and when he came round, she was long gone.
Brad laughed. ‘So he brought this girl back to the dorm room, he was already drunk as a skunk when they got there and he had a couple more brews while they were just sitting around. She was getting really pissed off with him, she wanted fucking and all he could do was get fucked up. So she started coming on to Tommy over there –’ he indicated the third friend, the cute blond one ‘– and to cut a long story short …’
To cut a long story short, Tommy ended up fucking her right there on Mark’s bed, while Mark lay dead to the world alongside them.
I laughed and felt a familiar pulse in my pussy, one that echoed the sudden lurch of daring that my heart had flipped. ‘Serves him right,’ I said. ‘I’d have done exactly the same thing.’
‘Really?’ The storyteller looked at me curiously.
‘Really.’
I thought of telling a tale of my own, of the night I went clubbing with a girlfriend and her boyfriend, and spent a good forty minutes jerking him off with my stockinged feet beneath the table, without anyone ever noticing. He came all over my toes, and I could still feel the squelching as I slipped my shoes on afterwards and walked to the ladies to clean up a little.
Or the time I gave road head to half the college track team on the way to a sports meet. I’d have got the other half too, I reckon, if the coach hadn’t asked why they all were at the back of the bus. I eyed – what was this? My third glass of champagne? – and I giggled reprovingly into the bubbles. It’s your wedding night, remember? Time to look into the future, not back at the past. Then Mark gave an especially loud grunt and I felt a lurch of absolute mortification.
