Holy shit, that was sobering. And weird.
Immediately, they all began putting on their helmets. Asian midget number one put on his helmet, pushed his pistol back into the rear of his pants, and mounted his crotch-rocket. In unison, they all started their bikes. In a single file formation, they left – one after another.
Shaking, I turned and glanced at Beth. With a look of surprise, she shrugged her shoulders. I reached over the top of the car and got the bottle of vodka. I unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. As I pulled my lips from the bottle, I shivered.
Fucking vodka.
I put the bottle back on the roof and turned to the parking lot.
Dough!
Dough stood by the hood of his multi-colored Honda and smoked a cigarette.
“Dough! Come here, it’s Christy from the coffee shop!” I screamed across the darkened vacant lot.
I turned and walked to the passenger side and got in. I slipped on Heather’s pants, bra, and shirt. I slipped on the flats, and turned to Beth, who was already dressed.
“I can’t believe you got out naked. And I couldn’t tell. It looked like you rubbed one out when he was asking you your name,” she giggled.
I nodded my head and shrugged, “Yup. It was like a combat jack.”
“Combat jack?” Beth asked, her face smeared with wonder.
“Yeah, guys in combat do it all the time. With bullets flying and bombs going off, they just whip it out and jack off. Right there while at war. I heard it was an intense orgasm, so I thought I’d try it. Combat jack,” I laughed.
I turned, opened the door to the car, and got out as Dough approached.
“Who the fuck was that little bastard, and what the fuck was it about?” I demanded.
“Vee-ehht Read-ahh gang. You talk to Vee ehht Cha-Lee,” he responded as he bowed.
I, for some retarded reason, bowed back.
“Viet reader? Like they read books,” I asked, confused.
“No. Vee-ehht Read-ahh. Rike boss man. Read-ahh,” he responded.
I thought for a moment. Like a boss man. Holy fucking no speaky engrish. Read-ahh is ‘Leader’.
Fucking Asians.
“Viet Leader?” I asked placing emphasis on the “L”.
He bowed.
“That’s the gang? Viet Leaders? And that little pasty faced midget was Charley?” I asked, pointing to the street.
He bowed.
I got the vodka from the roof and took a long drink, looking over the top of the bottle at Dough. I pulled it from my lips and wiped my mouth with my forearm. I extended my arm and held the bottle in front of me.
“Drink?” I asked.
He bowed and took the bottle. As he brought the bottle to his lips, he jerked it upward and drank. And drank. And drank. Fuckin damn, dude.
Fucking Asians.
He lowered the almost empty bottle and handed it back to me.
“Listen, you owe me. I have no idea why that dude got spooked and left when he heard my name. I have a few ideas, but who knows. You owe me. And we were supposed to hang out. I’m just going to spill the beans, so to speak. That’s an American term. It means put it all out there. Well, so…uhhmm, here we go,” I said, and tipped the bottle draining the remaining vodka.
I looked at the empty bottle and tossed it in the shrubs. That’s one good thing about buying a plastic bottle; you can just chuck ‘em anywhere.
“Here’s the deal, Dough. My friend hasn’t texted me or called all day, I have to get going. I need you to fuck me before I leave. It can be a quickie or whatever. But you have to fuck me here, in the parking lot, before I go, Dough,” I held my palms up and waited on a response.
He squinted and peered at me through the slits.
“I no get up. Too upset rong time. Dickey no workey, me so sowwy,” he responded with a bow.
God damn. Seriously? Too upset to fuck? That’s crazy.
“Fuck that, Dough,” I took a breath and started again, “That girl in the car, she can swallow a three foot long cock. I have no idea what you’re packing, but she’ll suck you until you’re hard…guaranteed. All you gotta do is pull out of her mouth and shove it in me. Maybe three strokes, okay?’
“Bro-job? Dough rike-ahh bro-job,” he responded with a bow.
“Yeah, everybody rike a bro-job, huh?” I responded.
Fucking Asians.
“Beth come here,” I barked toward the car window.
The door opened and Beth got out and stood beside me. I turned to face her, cupped my hand beside her ear, and whispered, “I want you to suck this guy’s cock Beth. Until he’s hard as a fucking rock, and then he’s going to pull out of your mouth and poke it in my twat. Then we’ll leave. Are you going to disappoint me?”
“No, Christy. I won’t. I’ll suck his cock for you,” she responded in a whisper.
“You’re a good girl Beth, you make me proud,” I said out loud. I read that somewhere too.
She beamed.
Mental note, thank author again.
“Let’s get this show on the road. Can you just squat here and do it, so you don’t scab up your knees?” I asked.
She looked into my eyes and nodded.
Cute bitch.
Standing on the side of the car that was shielded from the road, Beth stood, bent her knees and squatted.
“Come here, Dough,” I said, waving toward Beth.
He approached and bowed.
“Enough of the proper bullshit. Get your cock out. Dick, whatever it is. Stick it in her mouth. When it’s hard, and you know it’ll stay that way, pull it out and stick it in me, okay?” I said in a demanding tone.
He nodded.
Christy Cross is motherfucking Boss.
“Okay, I’m going to pull my pants down and bend over right beside her. Stick it in when you’re ready, we’ll make it quick,” I said as I looked him in the eye.
“Dough rike-ahh bro-job,” he said.
“Well step up here and get you one. Beth likes to give ‘em,” I said as I unbuttoned my pants, pulled them past my ass cheeks, and tuned around.
Facing the car, I placed my hands on the top as if I were being arrested. I heard Dough’s zipper unzip, and Beth begin to make slurping sounds. The thought of making these two do as I told them made me soaking wet. I took one hand off of the roof and put my finger in my mouth. Here we go.
Resting my forehead on the top of the car, I reached down and slid my first two fingers into my pussy. In….out….in…out. I pinched my clit and rolled my fingers. Here we go.
One.
In…out….in…out. Curl, curl….in out.
Holy mother of all that is Holy fuck.
Two.
Beth slurping and Dough moaning threw me off a little. I slowed my roll a bit and listened.
“Ahhh Dough rike a bro-job. Ahhh sucky Dough dickey, Beff. Suckey Dough dickey, Beff,”
Beff? Seriously? Jesus. I can’t take any more. Fucking Asians.
“Dough if you finish in her mouth I’m going to beat the shit out of you. Fuck me Dough, now. Fuck me,” I screamed as I placed my cum covered hand on the roof of the car.
I saw his silhouette move away from Beth. I felt his hands on my hips. His pelvis pressed against my ass. And….
Nothing.
His hips slapped my ass, and I rocked against the car with his thrusts, yet…
Nothing.
“Don’t look Christy, it’s bad,” Beth said as she stood.
She held her fingers about three inches apart.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Thick?” I asked in a hopeful tone.
“Not too bad,” she smiled.
“Yoe ass too fat. Dough no get ihhn. Too much ass foe Dough,” Dough complained.
“Fuck you, Dough. Beth, come here. Get down here between my legs and help him. Pull my pussy open, back, whatever. Stretch his penis. Do something. Get him in me, and verify it’s in - for the “D”. I need this,” I howled, frustrated.
Bet
h crouched between my legs, and got her head under my legs, looking up into my crotch. She reached up with her hands and pushed up and back on my lower stomach. Immediately she released her hand and shook her head. She reached back and grabbed my ass cheeks, and spread them.
“Oh, I can see the problem,” she exclaimed, laughing.
“Well?” I screamed, frustrated, my drunken head resting on the roof of the car as Dough’s hips beat my ass to a pulp.
“Get him to stop moving,” she said.
“Dough, stop!” I screamed.
He stopped moving, and held my hips tight.
“He’s too short,” Beth announced, her head between my legs, looking up into my crotch.
“No shit, he can’t even get in, said my ass is too fat,” I bitched back at her.
“No, his deal is long enough, he’s too short. His little legs. Well. His wiener is below your pussy; he’s just fucking air. You have to get shorter, or he has to get something to stand on,” Beth explained.
Fucking Asians. Jesus fucking Christmas.
I could see the shadow of Dough jacking his cock while he waited. I pushed my jeans down my thighs, and worked them down to my ankles. I raised my foot and kicked my jeans off to the side. I spread my legs about four feet apart, lowering myself to Vietnamese height.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Tell him to try again,” she whispered.
“Dough, stick it in. Do it, Dough,” I screeched over my shoulder, frustrated.
His hands grabbed my hips again, and his pelvis contacted my fat ass. And…
Contact.
Penetration.
Kind of.
The girth wasn’t bad, but basically my pussy lips were being fucked by the head of his cock. I reached down and fingered my clit as I lay my head on the roof of the car.
“Anything you can do to help?” I asked Beth, who was still under my crotch observing this Asian cluster fuck.
She scooted out from underneath my legs and moved to behind Dough. All of a sudden his thrusts became more violent and he actually made a little penetration. I relaxed and fingered my clit.
Fuck it. I’m done. This is beyond frustrating. He made penetration, and Beth saw it.
I moved my feet closer together, and stood up.
“You’re done here, Dough. Finish with your hand,” I said as I grabbed my jeans and pulled them up.
“Beff. Bro-job,” he responded.
“Nope, she’s done too. Jack that thing, Dough. I wanna watch you cum.”
I motioned for Beth to come to the car. As she walked toward the car, Dough closed his eyes, and leaned back at an extreme angle. He stood about eight feet from the car, jacking his wiener like a mad man…holding it between his index finger and thumb. His hand moved so furiously that it appeared to be in some form of super speed. He began to moan, and his upper body began to shake.
His torso convulsed. One huge wad of cum shot from the head of his dick, and that was it. He collapsed on the asphalt.
“SPLAT!” it hit the door of the car, sounding like someone threw a tennis ball at the car.
Beth turned and gawked at the wad of cum. I turned and watched as it started to slide down the door. I looked at Beth and Beth looked back at me.
“Holy shit,” I exclaimed.
As Dough attempted to stand we both started to get into the car.
“Clis-tee,” he said as he began to stand.
“Yes,” I said over the top of the passenger side of the car.
“Dough ohh you long time,” he responded, smiling.
“You owe me?”
He nodded.
Yeah, that’s no shit.
Fucking Asians.
BABY GIRL I
(Erik Ead trilogy, Book I)
Buy Baby Girl I Here
KELLI. Rubbing lotion on my legs always made me smile. I worked hard to keep my legs in great shape. Even though running was difficult for me, I always ran. Eventually, I ended up with shin splints but I kept running, even with the pain. I often wondered if there was something wrong with me, because the pain seemed to motivate me. Working the lotion up my thighs, I flexed my butt muscles as I rubbed in the lotion. My butt felt so good in my hands.
My legs, thighs, ass, and pussy were so smooth. I shaved with a two-day-old five-bladed razor. I loved shaving with a fairly new razor. New razors always seemed to eventually cut me, but when one was a just a few days old, I loved the feeling afterward. Rubbing in the last of the lotion, I thought of Erik, and what he might think if he were to feel my legs tonight. I began to think of him, as my fingers slid up the inner part of my thigh. I felt a tingle, and I could feel the blood beginning to rush....Jesus, it’s getting hot in here. I itched for him. I couldn’t take it anymore. His text message with the list of suggestions was getting to me.
Right before I had left the coffee shop, he had sent me a text with a series of questions. His text, initially, kind of freaked me out but the more I read it, the more it kind of turned me on. I imagined that he knew exactly what he was doing and that he did it for a reason. His text was long and had a series of questions. As I read the questions, I became really uncomfortable in the realization that I was as comfortable with the questions as I was.
Erik Ead: Let me ask you a few questions. Think about these, Kelli, but do not respond. Be prepared to respond tonight. This isn’t a list of my wants, needs, or desires. It is a list of questions. Be prepared to answer how these questions make you feel. Whether or not reading them makes you want to immediately rush out and do each of the things isn’t important. I want to know how they make you feel when you think of them. Make no assumptions on how I expect or desire you to answer…
You’re standing in front of me with my arms around you. I look you in the eyes, and place my hands on your shoulders and say, “Get down on your knees, you sexy little whore, and suck your daddy’s dick like a good little girl.” Turn-on or turn-off?
We’re in a movie theatre watching a movie. You’re wearing a dress. The movie theatre doesn’t have that many people in it, but they are scattered about. I lean over and whisper in your ear, “Slide over here, Kelli, and get on my lap. Ride my cock. Fuck me, Kelli. Fuck me now.” Turn-on or turn-off?
We’re driving down the street, it is daylight. We’re in the city, in traffic. I tell you to suck my dick as I drive and that I want you to swallow my cum. Turn-on or turn-off?
You’re down on your knees, giving me head. My hands are resting on your shoulders. I tell you to look at me while you’re sucking my dick. We make eye contact. I slowly slide my hands to your head, and begin forcing myself in and out of your throat, making you gag on me until your eyes water. Turn-on or turn-off?
We walk in the bedroom. You’re wearing a dress. I step behind you. I place my hand on the small of your back and the other around your cheek, cupping your face. I turn your face my direction, and I kiss you. As we kiss, I slide my hand from your back around to your hip. With my other hand, I push your upper body down, bending you at the hips. Not a word is spoken. You bend at the hips, you hear my belt unbuckle, and pants drop. I lift your dress, and force myself into you deeply. Quickly, I begin to fuck you with such force that my balls are banging against your clit and my hips are slapping against your ass, forcing you into the bed. As I am fucking you harder and harder, my hand slides from your hip to your neck. You feel my hand tighten around your throat as I continue to shove you full of cock…turn-on or turn-off?
I read each one of them and read them again. Reading all of them turned me on. The more I read them, the more turned on I got. A part of that feeling, I was sure, was because of who sent them. The other part of the turn-on was what the questions were asking me to do or to consider doing. There wasn’t a part of the questions that didn’t turn me on. Just asking those things turned me on. Also, I began to wonder, as deep, mentally, as Erik was…if he wanted to know if it was a turn-on for me to read it, or if it was a turn-on for me to think it, or if it was a turn-on in my
mind for me to actually do it?
I decided yes to all of the above. I was ready to discuss this with him. I wanted to perform for him, and I wanted him to be happy with my performance. I wanted to have him push me to my knees and force himself on me, telling me, Get down on your knees you little whore, and suc…The thought of it made me begin to get comfortably uncomfortable.
I have never been so concerned with what someone thought about me. I have always, in a way, used guys for sex. I have always used them to get what I want, and I have always left them before, or just as soon as, they decided that they were falling for me. I never wanted them to perceive me as being ugly, or awful sexually, but I didn’t really care, for the most part, what they thought.
Trying to decide what to wear has always been a task for me. Tonight, I walked to my room, picked out a summer dress to wear, and got dressed. Panties or no panties? Decisions, decisions, decisions. No panties. Flats or heels? Flats. Hair up or down? Down. Now, standing in front of the mirror, I looked for any imperfections. None. I checked my phone and found no messages. It was six o’clock. Maybe he got hung up at the biker card game thing. I took off my dress and sat on the couch in my flats and bra. I no more than sat down and the phone beeped.
Erik Ead: Call me
I pushed dial and immediately called him back. It rang twice, and he answered.
“Good evening, Kelli.”
“Hello. How was the motorcycle ride?” I asked.
“It was a great ride, thank you. Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Are you home?”
“Yes, sir, I am home.”
“Come out front, I am parked in front of the front door.”
“You know where I live? You’re here?” I asked as I looked out the window toward the street. From the third floor, I could see the street and almost directly in front of the door I saw a black BMW M3 parked there. I wondered if that was him.
“Yes, and yes,” he responded.
“But…okay. I will be down in a second,” I said as I grabbed my purse and raced for the door.
I realized I wasn’t dressed yet and ran back to the couch and got dressed.