He pumped, pressed and pounded in long, hard strokes, farther forward and harder up, holding and pushing at the end, when he was up me the farthest, grinding our pelvises together, and I pushed back as hard as I could.
I came so hard that I shouted and my juice squirted over his stomach, and it drenched his pubes and his cock as it rammed into me, filling me and reaming me. When he came, his cum pumped hot inside me and as he climaxed, he accelerated the bike and he laughed like a maniac, that wonderful voice soaring over the rising note of the engine.
Riding on my back in the wind, I stared up and marvelled at his chiselled face, his manic eyes and his evil grin.
Soon, we stopped at a roadhouse on the edge of town and parked up by a crowd of Harleys that leaned outside. We headed for the entrance, me wearing nothing but the big, loose t-shirt and my panties. And they weren't exactly straight. My hair was in my face and I just didn’t fucking care. Before we went in, I said,
“Blaze?”
and he stopped and looked at me. I would have fucked him again, right there, right at the door of that place. Taken him in my mouth, taken him up my ass, taken him between my breasts, into my pussy, anywhere. Everywhere. Only, I don’t think it’s polite to jump a man just a couple of minutes after he’s come. It could embarrass him. See, I hardly knew Blaze back then. I said,
“It’s just sex, right?” as his shone back into mine, my mind raced. Here I’m in the most fantastic adventure, literally beyond my wildest imaginings, and I was going to risk fucking it up like that. My mouth. He said,
“There’s no such thing as just sex.” and his hand touched my forearm,
“Anyway, I don’t know about you, but tonight’s been pretty special for me so far.”
He opened the door before I could make a response.
When Blaze stepped through the door, the whole place cheered. When they got sight of me, though, they whooped and they yelled. It was a low-lit dive, filled with bikers and women wearing a lot of not much, mostly black. Blaze greeted everybody as we crossed the floor, slapped some hands, said, ‘hey’ to a few guys.
The bartender was ready for us, Blaze grinned and said,
“Jack.” the guy handed him a bottle and two shot glasses.
Blaze grabbed the bottle and glasses in one hand, me in the other, and took us to a table in the corner where a woman with long, black, spikey hair wore black fishnet stockings with garters, some black lace around a black corset, black makeup and red lipstick. Blaze said,
“Zelda, this is Lucy.”
Zelda looked at me. Blaze told her,
“Teach this girl to deepthroat.”
BLAZE
Part 2
BEAT
by
Alice May Ball
Last night somebody tried to break into my apartment. I was sleeping. There was a scraping sound at the door, and I was awake. The baseball bat lives beside me in the bed and I was across the room in a heartbeat, silent in my bare feet.
I may look heavy and I may look slow, but I have nervous energy, and I am motivated. I waited by the door with the bat ready. Not on the hinge side, on the side that opens.
A combat vet taught me that and some more. There was a clicking around the flimsy latch, and the sound of something sliding between the lock and the frame. I knew the cheap little lock on the door was no good, but I don't get paid until the day after tomorrow, so I can't do a thing about it.
My arms were shaking, my hands were sweating, my chest pounded so hard that I thought whoever was on the other side of the door would hear it. I had an idea who it would be, though.
I got to the roadhouse wearing a big, loose t-shirt, and I was kind of wearing a pair of sheer black panties. Blaze took me to meet a beautiful but, to me, really scary goth who he called Zelda. Blaze told her to teach me to deepthroat.
Zelda looked at me and kept looking at me as she called out,
“Carl?”
A deep grunt drifted up from the far side of the bar. Still holding my eyes with her own, Zelda called again,
“Over here.”
A biker in streaky denims over leather over more mottled denim came to the table. He was massive in every direction. A beard hung down to rest on the top of his considerable gut. His teeth flashed with silver and his fingers all had thick, heavy silver rings. Every visible patch of his skin was blue from tattoo ink. Zelda stood and said,
“Come on,” and led Carl and me to a door at the back of the bar. Carl loped with a boyish enthusiasm at odds with his bulk. My feet dragged, and I looked back to the table, but Blaze was gone.
Zelda took my elbow and guided me out and up some steps, to a dimly lit lounge. She waved me on to a chaise-longue, and sat on a chair facing me. From outside, I heard an engine start, and that was the first time that I recognized the hefty, thumping sound of Blaze’s Harley.
Several more bike engines started up and, as they all pulled away, I could hear Blaze’s bike lead the pack. I wondered when he would be back, or If he would return at all.
Zelda clearly heard it, too, and read the look on my face. This strange woman with the porcelain skin looked like the whore-heroine of a dark steampunk fantasy.
I’m not a ‘relationship’ kind of a girl, never have been. They don’t happen for me, and I don’t need them. So I wasn’t going to start imagining cottages in the country or white dresses and veils, heading into the sunset with little pinkies linked. All that crap.
But the connection between Blaze and me, it had been powerful and unlike anything that I’d known before. He had told me that it was something special for him, too. And, while I wasn’t heading off into dreams of hearts and flowers, I couldn’t stop myself from hoping, really hoping, that it would somehow go on.
It was only a couple of hours in, and already it was something that I was afraid to lose. And a couple of hours in, it had already outlasted most of my better relationships.
Carl stood beside Zelda, and I couldn’t avoid noticing under his jeans, a lump went most of the length of his right thigh. And as I looked at it, it twitched.
I said,
“What’s Carl going to do?” and tried to keep my voice even. Zelda said,
“Carl is going to get us some beers.” She looked up at him and he smiled, went to another room, and came back with three beers, handed one each to Zelda and me. He took the other beer to the far end of the lounge, where he turned on a screen, and sat to play a console game that involved a lot of shooting and explosions.
Zelda said,
“You just met Blaze, I’m guessing,” I nodded. She said,
“He deals in fantasy. Myths and epic tales are his trade. That whole rockstar kick is a bunch of modern myths.”
She looked in my eyes, like she wanted to see that I was following her drift, and I wasn’t sure that I was. She said,
“Anytime he wants something, always wrap it up in a legend before you give it to him. Make a story and tell him why it’s special, and especially why it’s special for him. He’s apt to be unpredictable if you don’t keep a hold of his attention. Blaze believes that he isn’t like other people, that he’s special.”’
In her voice, I could hear that she was telling me something important. She was warning me. I think Zelda had some kind of a gift. Or maybe she just knew Blaze, really well. She said,
“What makes him different from what he calls ‘civilians’ is that they don’t go around believing myths about themselves.” She took a pull on her beer.
“Anytime he wants something you don’t want to give, that’s the time you’ve got to go.”
Zelda was definitely telling me something. Something I should try to unpick and learn. She looked me up and down. When I had stepped into the bar downstairs with Blaze, I felt strong, unique.
As we crossed the room, every eye relished the considerable bounce under my loose, flimsy cotton t-shirt, my pale, magnificent thighs and the roll of my big, gorgeous ass.
Eyes widened when they caught how askew
my sheer black panties were, and tongues emerged for the view at the bottom of the t-shirt. One or two of those bikers made loud, low rasping growls. Others sat to get a better look. With Blaze, I had felt invincible, magical.
“You mind me asking, is that how you usually like to dress?” Now that Zelda reminded me, I felt exposed.
Zelda went out of the room and returned with a bunch of bananas, a toothbrush and a bowl. She showed me how to push the toothbrush onto the back of my throat, to find the point that triggered the gag response.
“Practice by brushing your throat there, and relax, Lucy. Feel the urge to gag and keep doing it until you can control the gag.“
I did it. The first couple of times, my stomach knotted and I choked.
“In time,“ she said, “you learn to control it.”
She unzipped a long banana. Her breasts swelled and heaved in the corset. Then she licked her lips, her eyes sparkled as she looked at me, then she tipped her head back and slid the banana slowly between her moist lips, into her mouth and I saw her throat swell and her nostrils flared wide as she pressed it gently until only the very tip was in the middle of her open mouth.
Her breasts rose and fell more heavily. She put her hands down and the banana slid gradually back out about half way, still perfectly intact. Her head still back, the banana slid inch by inch back down into her, got all the way down into her throat, stopped, and then slid back out again.
She was breathing hard, and I could smell the woman scent of her juice. My breathing was hard, too, and my crotch was getting hot and moist. Zelda’s hands were on the arms of the chair and her neck lengthened as the banana rose out of her mouth.
She breathed hard as it slipped down again, and then gradually all the way out. She let out a huge sigh as she took the banana from her mouth. It was wet, shiny and slippery. But it still had its shape.
I took it straight from her, tipped my head back and slid the banana into my throat. It was soft and slick with Zelda’s saliva, and it gave me a massive thrill. When the gag started, I stopped pushing and relaxed against the reflex. I closed my eyes. Zelda’s voice was thick and low when she said,
“Breathe slowly and deeply through your nose,” I did.
“Don’t push any more until you’re sure that you’re ready.”
I felt ready. The musky aroma of female heat was giddying. Zelda was standing in front of me, her legs wide, her cheeks and the tops of her breasts reddening, and her eyes moist and glimmering. I pressed. My throat tightened and convulsed and the banana shot out, and landed on Zelda’s breast.
She looked at me as she slid it inside the corset and down into her cleavage. I was so hot and excited, the gag faded away. She leaned down, bringing her breasts toward me, the banana poking out between them. Her breasts quivered as she pointed the banana to my lips.
My hands behind me, I slipped my lips over the banana, and I went on along it until I reached her breasts. Then with the muscles of my throat, I drew it in a couple more inches so it slid between her hot, soft breasts.
And then out, back into Zelda’s cleavage. Her breasts were wet, from the banana, from my saliva, and from the sweat that moistened her creamy valley.
Her breasts heaved and the poor banana was crushed to a mush. I began to lick, suck and gobble it from her lovely, soft breasts as they swelled. Her hand cupped the back of my head and she turned it up to face to her.
The composure was gone from her, she was panting, her wet lips parted and her eyes were wild. Her lip trembled and her voice had dropped an octave. She said,
“Maybe,”
I was breathing hard, too. My heart pounded and my chest shook. The tip of her tongue touched her top lip.
“Maybe,” she said, “but not now.”
In spite of his appearance, I thought, Carl must be some kind of a saint to still be pretending to play a video game.
Zelda found me a pair of denim cut-offs to wear. They were, surprisingly, a bit large on me, so they obviously weren‘t hers. Hanging a little long and quite loose, they didn’t look too bad.
They made me look young and vulnerable, and in a way that I had always flinched away from. Now, it somehow gave me a sense of power. Rocking a look like that, but being proud, unafraid with it, that was a charge.
The room downstairs was full of raucous men, men of raw, brutal masculinity. But I felt that I could be secure among them. Maybe only because of the power that I saw Blaze had with them. But maybe not, maybe I was awakening something of my own.
But Zelda wasn‘t satisfied with the cut-offs. She gave me a black leather belt with a silver buckle that cinched the waist nicely, some black stockings with garters – again, obviously not hers, and only slightly laddered.
With a pair of black heels, my calves looked terrific and my firm, shapely thighs were set off fantastically in the space between the stocking tops and the denims. I knotted up the thin t-shirt under my big, bouncy breasts. Zelda tied my hair up with a thin, black lacy scarf that hung over my shoulder. That was a good look. With those clothes and my curves, I could rock.
I turned my hips, then my shoulders to look in the mirror. Zelda said,
“Yeah. I’d fuck you.”
Looking at her beside me in the mirror, I thought, ‘Yeah, I’d fuck you, too.’ Now we both knew it. And now was not the time. Still, she reached over and slipped her hand in through the side of my shorts. Sneaked a finger past the side of my panties. Found the base of my clit. Pressed it for a moment.
A woman’s hand. On me. Almost in me. Almost. Such a well of swirling feeling opened, deep down and through my body. She took her hand back and her reflection in the mirror looked out at me as her fingers slipped into her moist lips.
“Mm.“ she said, “Thought so.” and she licked her lips.
“Practise with the toothbrush and the bananas. Try for about ten minutes, wait about five minutes, try some more, OK?”
I said,
“This could take awhile to get it perfect, right?”
Zelda said,
“Has Blaze struck you as a patient man, Lucy?”
She and Carl went back downstairs to leave me with my homework. I practiced for what seemed a long time, but I made good progress, and I began to love the well of energy that spread through my body as I resisted the urge to gag on the bananas, going deeper and deeper into my throat.
The thought of his this, hot shaft slick with my saliva, sliding slowly in between my plump and swelling lips, all the way along its length until finally his huge huge purple head reaches, pushes then breaches the top of my throat.
The thought of it sliding all the way down, like he would be so far inside me. My throat muscles and my lips would tense and pull at Blaze‘s hot, hot urgent cock. They would slide him all the way in, then all the way out, and then begin a rhythm, a heat, a beat.
The thoughts made my mind fuzzy. My fingers found the side of my cut-offs. The side where Zelda had slid her fingers. My hand slid under my panties, stroked and rubbed my soft mound and I thought of Blaze.
I thought of him playing the hit song for me, in front of tens of thousands at the stadium, seconds after he’d plunged his fabulous cock so far up my tender ass, taken my anal virginity.
My fingers rubbed slowly, firmly, rhythmically, and my thighs clamped together as my pussy squeezed out sweet-smelling juice and the tingling, mounting, flooding waves of ecstasy charged through me and I came with a long sigh.
Three Hitmen: A Triple Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 2) Page 57
