“No problem,” Massive Shoulders said. “Just be careful who you let near your drink. We’ll watch out for you, long as you’re here.” He held out his hand. “I’m Chris, you have any more trouble, and you’re welcome to come sit with us.”
Lisa thanked Chris, and then offered to buy him a round. He shook his head, but she smiled and insisted, then called the bartender over and told him to put Chris and his friends’ next round on her. “That’s for your help,” she said.
“Not necessary ma’am, really.”
“I want to,” she said. “And please, call me Lisa.”
“Alright Lisa, like I said, just holler if you need anything at all.” He tipped his head, and then headed back towards his table. Lisa ordered another beer, this time with a shot of peppermint Schnapps, then sipped the Schnapps slowly, making her chest as hot as her cunt, while watching the band’s sound check. She looked to the stage as the guitar player slung his six string over his neck, then turned and tapped the mic.
Lisa stared at the guitar player, suddenly hungry for dick. Her hot pussy was getting hotter. Staring at the guitarist was putting a glimmer in her slit.
Lisa shifted in her seat, suddenly burning, not sure if she wanted the guitar player to see her staring or not. He had long, shaggy hair, tumbling in dark waves just past his shoulders. His chest was small, but muscular, its definition clear beneath a form fitting long sleeve shirt. His jeans were so tight, clinging to his crotch and legs like a coat of paint, that when he turned to pick up a dropped pick, Lisa’s face bled crimson just from looking.
He looked out toward the audience and locked eyes with Lisa. She imagined she looked ridiculous staring at him, as if he was a piece of meat to be devoured. Lisa blushed again and turned her head.
It turned out the guitarist was also the lead singer. He turned to his band mates, nodding to the drummer, who counted them out until they started to rock. The music bounced, the first tune designed to get the bar hopping. It worked like a charm.
The crowd moved in a sea toward the stage. Lisa continued to stare, slowly swaying her hips on her chair, in time with the beat. She called the bartender for another drink, and then looked lazily around the room. Her buzz already had her relaxed as the band drifted into their second song.
This second song was slower, but with an edge. The singer’s voice was Eddie Vedder and Johnny Cash. Lisa set her drink on the table and glanced up again. He was staring at her as he belted the chorus. She blushed, but didn’t look away. Neither did he.
The next number was heavier, and Lisa could feel the joint starting to get rowdy. Women were laughing hysterically, as men swore loudly over their pool games in the back. A second group of bikers joined Chris’s party, doubling its size, and volume.
Lisa was growing restless as she cast her eyes across the sea of people. She hadn’t talked to a soul, other than Chris and the bartender. What was the point of getting all dressed up and driving out to a seedy bar, if she was going to drink alone? She could do that at home.
She gathered her courage, stood, then went to Chris’s table and grabbed him by the wrist. “Dance with me,” she said.
Chris grinned and said, “yes, ma’am.”
Lisa pulled the large man toward her and moved seductively against him. “Damn girl, you’re hot!”
She grinned up at him and continued to dance, her back pressed against him. Lisa turned toward the singer, smiling as her hands slithered up and along the sides of her body. Chris grabbed her hips and swayed behind her.
The song ended, and Chris said, “Thanks, hon, but I’m beat,” then kissed her on the cheek and returned to his friends.
The next song was the slowest and sexiest of all, but still with an edge. The backbeat was steady and the bass line sultry, giving Lisa the perfect soundtrack to slowly sway her body, spinning in circles, moving her hands over her torso, her eyes on the lead singer.
Lisa licked her lips as she stared. She wondered if she could actually see his cock twitch, or whether it was just her imagination. He stared as he sang, moving his hips while his fingers flew flicked across the frets.
The song lasted forever, as the slight twitch Lisa had felt in her twat was now nearing a tempest. Her pussy was hot, so was she. And there was nothing average about it at all. She might have been able to ignore it, if the singer hadn’t been undressing her with his eyes. Her lower lips throbbed, as her juices oozed through her folds and her nipples pressed hard against the thin fabric her dress.
She brushed her hands across her tits, and then grazed the line between her legs, wondering if this was what it felt like to be a stripper, tall and sexy, body and beat bouncing as one.
The singer’s eyes were still on Lisa as the song finished, then never left for the following three. She kept moving, rubbing her tits as she drifted closer and closer to the stage. The singer kept staring, thrusting his hips with the beat, until she was close enough to see that he was packing it thick.
Lisa wanted the singer to fuck the last drop of average from her body, if there was any there to begin with. She did the unthinkable, and mimed sucking a cock, putting the invisible meat in her mouth, and then jacking her hand back and forth with a smile and a wink. If that didn’t get him over to her after the show, nothing would.
Lisa didn’t know if it was for her benefit or not, but the song ended, and the singer announced the band was taking a break. His speaking voice had the same gravel as his singing voice; deep and hard, with a slight southern drawl.
She returned to her spot at the bar, ordered another beer, then turned to see the singer staring at her, a smirk on his face. Up close, he was even more muscular than she thought. His neck was painted in tattoos, as were the arms beneath his slightly rolled up sleeves.
The bartender dropped a beer on the counter and nodded at the singer. He picked it up, brought it to his lips, and then leaned toward Lisa. “You don’t fool me,” he whispered. “You don’t belong here. So you wanna tell me what a sweet girl like you is doing in a dump like this?”
Lisa laughed nervously, and then said, “What makes you think I’m so sweet?”
“Like I said, you don’t fool me.” He moved his hand to her thigh, but it felt nothing like the drunk’s paw from earlier. Light calluses slightly gnawed her skin, sending a wave of pleasure rolling through her body.
“Average” she said. “He called me average.”
“Aaahh” the singer whispered, moving his hands between her legs and letting himself into her dress. “This is about a guy. Well baby, you are anything but average. You are the hottest woman in here tonight, and I’ll swear that on all six of my strings.”
“Wow,” she said, staring in his hazel eyes. “Thank You.”
She put her hand on his thigh, and then slid it towards his crotch, rubbing her hand along the line of his dick. “You are the sexiest man who’s ever had his hands this close to my pussy,” she purred, “and I don’t want to be average EVER again.” She leaned in further, her fingers curling into his thigh. Her lips were at his ear. “Do you think you can you fuck the average out of me?” she asked in a whisper.
He didn’t say a word, just took her hand, and then led Lisa toward the back of the bar, dragging her into the woman’s room, locking the door, and then lifting her onto the sink. She wrapped her legs around him as they started to roughly kiss.
Their tongues fucked as he mashed his soft lips hard against hers, his hands sliding between them, massaging her tits, pulling one free from her dress so he could suck it like a hard candy. She slapped her hands on the sink and leaned back moaning.
“Mmmm...mmmm....,” she whispered, hips now rocking back and forth.
“You’re so beautiful,” he moaned, moving his mouth to her other tit. Lisa pulled herself up, and removed his leather belt, then unzipped his pants and pulled his hard cock into her hand. She was amazed at his size, 8” – a good 3” longer than Brent was, and much thicker around.
She stroked him hard as he lifted her sk
irt above her ass.
He growled, “I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll never feel average again.”
“Mmm..yes,” she moaned.
“Tell me you want me, tell me you need me to fuck the average right out of you!”
“Oh God,” she whimpered, staring into his eyes. “FUCK ME NOW!”
“Yeah! Fuck Yea baby,” he grunted. “I’m going to ram my hard dick into your hot little snatch.” He pulled her ass toward him, and Lisa wrapped her legs around his torso, as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet, steamy cunt.
She spasmed as he entered.
“Oh My God! Oh My God!” she screeched. “FUCK ME! FUCK ME SO HARD!” she continued to bellow as he thrust into her again, banging her hard. “AHHHHHHHH YEESSSSSSSSS,” she screamed, with no abandon.
Lisa had never been fucked like this before. Her boyfriends had always thought of her as delicate and shy in the bedroom. She rarely talked during sex, and never gave much more than a soft moan. But then again, nobody had ever made her feel like the man who was fucking the average from her a thrust at a time.
She shook from head to toe, grasping his ass, pulling him deeper into her cunt. “Oh Jesus! Fuck me hard you motherfucker, fuck my hot cunt, ram your cock deep inside me, make me cum, make me scream!”
Lisa was ranting and loving every filthy syllable.
“That’s it you seedy bar whore, you better fucking beg for it!” Her body was rocking his cock and rattling in rapture, as her slippery hole slid up and down on his dick.
Lisa was hot and her cunt was hotter, tight and soft, even though it was as wet as a bucket. “Yea baby, fuck me, I can’t stop cumming, please don’t stop, please God, FUUCCCKKK MEEEE!”
Lisa’s back arched into an intense spasm.
“Cum on my cock baby, that’s it, cum for me!”
When she stopped shaking, he pulled her from the sink, then bent her over and slid inside her pussy from behind, grabbing her tits as she gripped both sides of the sink.
“Mmmm…oooh yeah,” he whispered, slowly shoving himself in and out of her piping hot hole. He shoved himself against her, clutching her hips. Still moving slowly while she whimpered incoherently. He moaned, “Oh sweet JESUS!” then gripped her hips and slammed inside her hard, banging his dick into her sweet, juicy cunt on repeat. “Ah AH Ah AHHHH” he screamed, as her pussy muscles tightened around his shaft and spilled juices onto the floor.
When he entered her from behind, Lisa nearly passed out; too much pleasure, from a kind she’d never had before. His cock pulsed against her tight pussy walls, as she came over and over, moaning OHMYGOD!!! As the biggest orgasms of her life flushed through her body and robbed her of reason.
She continued to spill cunt juice onto the floor, as her body burned. Lisa never wanted the fucking to stop. She came again, so hard her pussy contracted against the singer’s cock and wouldn’t let go.
“Oh Jesus, your pussy is so fucking GOOD!” he screamed. When she finally let go, he slammed into her two final times, sending his jizz shooting in hot streams from his cock into her cunt.
“Yes......” Lisa whimpered, “fill my hot cunt with your cum.”
“Oh yeah, take my hot jizz baby, take it all into your hot little cunt.”
The singer pulled her to the sink again and they used paper towels to clean themselves. Lisa pulled down her dress. He zipped his pants and put on his belt, then they moved towards one another, kissing deeply, sweeter than the first hard kiss.
“I’ve gotta get back to the stage, but the next set is for you, baby,” he whispered, holding her waist against his. “Then we’re going to spend the night in my van.”
“I’m yours,” she whispered, strutting from the bathroom and taking her place at the foot of the stage, feeling anything but average.
XXX
Cum-Covered Redhead
Micky “Pac-Man” Parvotti was running late for the gym. Micky went to the gym for training every day, as he had for fifteen years. He was one of the original members of Crunch, a local boxing team with an impressive record. The team was made up of a ragtag assembly of pro and semi-pro boxers. Micky had earned the Pac-Man nickname about ten years earlier, when he would chew on his “power pellets,” or baby jawbreakers, in between rounds, then come back and chomp through his opponents like blue ghosts.
Micky had always loved his baby sister, Cecilia, but they’d grown even closer since Micky and his second wife, Amanda, had split six months earlier. She’d lost her license when she found her latest DUI, and even if Micky’s car was a twenty-four-year-old shit Buick, it could get to the grocery store and back without a hitch.
Micky packed her pantry, kissed his sister on the cheek, then left Cecilia’s one-bedroom, all the way across town. He called his trainer, Tony the Tank, to tell him he was running a half hour late.
When Micky asked Tony if he wanted a sandwich or anything on his way, Tony would have none of it. “No I don’t want a fucking sandwich,” he said. “Just get the fuck down here so we can train. Unless you want your face pounded to ground beef the next time you’re in the ring.”
He climbed into the Buick, tossed the phone onto the seat, and pulled onto the street. Micky lived a good life for the most part, locally celebrated, and with a character to his face that made people feel like they were looking at someone famous, even if they’d never seen him before. In his community of boxers, everyone knew who Micky was, fans, friends, competitors, and every bartender within a six-block radius.
Outside of his community, though, Micky was just another Joe. Even though a lot of folks thought he looked famous, most couldn’t quite make out who he looked like. People usually settled on Sylvester Stallone, and sometimes Andrew Dice Clay. It was a social splinter for Micky, who wanted to be seen as no one else but Micky, for better or worse.
Micky pulled the Buick to the curb andran inside the corner market to grab a banana. Maybe Tony didn’t want a sandwich, but Micky was half-starving and couldn’t box on an empty belly. He paid for the banana andran back outside toward the Buick.
“Hey, man, aren’t you Andrew Dice Clay?” A lanky guy Micky had never seen was approaching. “I’ll tell you, man,” he said. “You are one funny motherfucker!”
The guy handed him a picture of Andrew Dice Clay andasked for Micky’s autograph. He looked at the picture, then back at the guy, with a curl on his lip. “You got a pen?” he said.
The guy handed him a Sharpie and Micky scrawled across the gloss:
Keep punching life in the teeth! Micky “Pac-Man” Parvotti.
The guy didn’t look at the autograph, just stuck it under his arm. “Cool, man. Thanks!” He stared at Micky as though expecting the boxer to break into a stand-up routine right there in the middle of the street.
“Gotta buzz,” Micky climbed inside his Buick, thinking the guy must be an idiot if he thought Andrew Dice Clay drove a twenty-four-year-old piece of shit like he did. Micky strapped his seatbelt and pulled from the curb, looking in the rearview at the man with the autograph, still staring in misplaced awe. Micky wondered how long it would take for the guy to see how he had signed his photo, and wondered if the guy would be pissed when he discovered Micky wasn’t the Dice.
Micky screeched to a stop in front of Tony’s and jumped from the Buick. He hurried toward the door of the gym, but stopped mid-stride when his attention was grabbed by a beautiful blonde bending over to retrieve something from the concrete. The blonde’s bubble-shaped ass bounced as she walked off toward her shiny new Acura. Micky wondered what she was doing on the raw side of town, felt a twitch in his cock thinking about how he’d like to stuff her from behind, then took off toward the gym again.
His hand was reaching out to open the gym doors when a leggy redhead emerged from the other side. They bumped into one another with a smack that sent the redhead halfway to the concrete. Micky reached out and grabbed her by the arm to pull her back to her feet.
“Pardon me,” Micky said.
“Oh, no. Pa
rdon moi,” the redhead said through gleaming teeth. “And thank you!” Her cleavage bounced and encouraged the fat the blond with the bubble ass had already put in his dick.
Micky smiled. “You have a great day, ma’am.” He stepped aside to let her pass. He turned toward the door and was about to step through, when the redhead turned around.
“Would you mind helping me? It will only take a minute,” she said.
Micky paused. Her tits were fan-fucking-tastic, practically spilling from her top. He pictured them covered in his hot milk, then tried to bury the thought, along with the throb in his cock. He barely had a chance. A second later, the redhead’s hand was on his chest. “I’ve got some boxes in the trunk of my car that I need to bring inside. Could you help me? Pretty please, with sugar on top? I promise I won’t keep you long.”
Tony had already waited forty minutes, he could wait five minutes more. Micky always had time to help a pretty lady, especially seeing as how she was being so generous with the display of her tits.
The redhead led Micky toward her white Beamer, which looked barely two years old. Two hot women with new, expensive cars, in less than five minutes. Micky shook his head. Strange things were happening on the shitty side of town. It wasn’t just the redhead’s car that looked like it didn’t belong. Everything about the redhead was a little too well put together. Her white capri pants were tight as a lug nut on a semi and her matching V-neck exposed her suntanned midriff, odd for the gray skies and cool winter months. The diamond brocade circling her neck said she belonged to someone, someone with fat in his wallet, but there was nothing wrong with Micky looking.
He could look at the line between her tits now, and then use it when he fist fucked himself to sleep later – a fair exchange for helping with the boxes.
The redhead opened her trunk to the two rather large, heavy-looking boxes inside. Micky grabbed one andturned to walk toward the gym. “I’ll come back for the other one,” he said over his shoulder. He heard the trunk shut, then the heels of the redhead clopping behind him.
42 Filthy Fucking Stories Page 31