My guess is WW will look askance, while m2 will smile in smug knowing.
I have no idea where this thing will go, and I don't anticipate there being any pics, but I threw the (!) in there anyway, just to be safe.
With apologies in advance to Radio Fan, trev's cramping boxsprings and Ana's exhausted little lap dog, here we go...~
Hi.
My name is Katy. My friends call me...Katy. Sometimes they just call me "C'mere," which works too. I'm a nominally single young slut, a mere twenty nine years of age.
I say "nominally" because while I am single, per se, I really consider myself married.
"To whom then are you married, Katy?" you ask?
"Cock," I would answer.
That's pretty much it, I havta say. If you have one, and you have some inkling as to how use it, I consider us betrothed, bewedded and bewetted.
If you build it, I will come, and the spelling will likely change.
I should also add that while I'm addicted to cock, I'm in no way exclusive to it. A girl in college showed me that no matter how much we love that contented feeling that comes with a belly full of frat boy, there's so much more to life.
More about that, later.
"Katy, you sound like a total whore," you say?
Hardly. Whores do it for money. I don't. In fact, if need be, I'll be the one paying. I do it for the same reason little kids lose their fucking minds when the cotton candy vendor rolls on by. I do it for the same reason TVO owns a compass, and phony eyeglasses. I do it for the same reason m2 owns green woolen tights.
It's love. It's lust. It's...who I am. As they say, you are what you eat. Hell, if there's any truth whatsoever to my 7-Eleven clerk's religious bullshit then in my next life I'm going to come back as Radio Fan's blistered cock.
I don't need to get into how I came to be this way. It's a long story, and you don't care anyway. I know how you are. You just want me to get to the fucking.
Anyway, suffice it to say that who I am today is mostly the result of Ana: my best friend, my mentor... my urinal. I used to be your average college co-ed, until Ana took me under her wing.
Ana! God, fucking Ana. Ana is perfection. She says I am, but she always was a lying, conniving bitch. She doesn't say fuckall without prurient purpose; she couldn't spell "altruism" if you spotted her the lube.
That beautiful cunt, Ana, she cracks me open and drains me, every time she cries.
Ana is the reason I'm here, newspaper ad in hand, standing in front of some godforsaken warehouse in the Rainbow Pirate district of Fairfax. It was beginning to rain, and I was beginning to wonder what Ana had gotten me into this time.
This fucking neighborhood, it smells like used condoms, and broken promises.
Still, Ana is here with me, holding my hand....and cupping my bare ass.
"C'mon, Katy, just a little, before we go inside," she implores again.
I shift my hips and allow her middle three fingers to slide inside. Using the knurled pads of her slutty fingertips, she roots around the roof of my wonderfully obedient pussy, searching for home. Home, to Ana, is that delectable little bit of spongy acreage occupying the roof of my fist swallower.
"There she is," Ana coos, as she uses her cokewhore fingernails to savagely slash at my g-spot. She bites my earlobe and giggles when she coaxes a small, clear squirt from me, which only manages to drench her palm.
Looking deeply into my eyes, she then smooths my initial spend all over my face.
"Now you're ready," she says, her eyes dancing with mischief.
"Maybe, but you're not," I say, kicking her to the curb.
Laughing with delight, she looks up at me as I slip off my stiletto. I command her to heel, and she pouts her lip.
"Present yourself," I say, my voice a quiet command.
Ana knows who she is, too. She coquettishly looks up at me, as if to say, "Here? Now? Right here next to this gay ass Prius? Do I really havta?"
It's just who she is. She has to feign being coerced, even as she eagerly kneels and spreads her ass open to my hungry eyes.
"Oooh, new nails. Sharp ones, too," she purrs, when my foot slides into her ass. She giggles again, when I jiggle my foot around. Her miraculous little winking asterisk looks like a fish caught on a hook, and I'm going to take my time and savor it before I reel her in and gut her.
~ ~ ~
"Dude! Check it out! Sluts!!"
Rollins was standing on Stevo's computer table, exclaiming to D-Bag to come look. Rollins was looking out the dingy windows of their warehouse hideout. Stevo was sitting there at his computer, looking up at Rollins. Rollins had worn baggy jeans shorts, and to Stevo's everlasting satisfaction Rollins had again gone commando.
"Nice," Stevo thought to himself.
"What? Huh? What sluts? Lemme see!" D-Bag roared, leaning over Stevo's shoulder to look out the window.
"See? Right there!" Rollins said, pointing out the window.
"Oh...gawd!!! Look at that shit. Look at that ass. I need to pound some ass, bad."
Stevo said, "Guys, before you get to pounding ass, we really need to think about getting this roof fixed. It's leaking again."
Rollins looked down at Stevo.
"Roof's fine."
"Then what's this leaking on me...SHIT!!! Goddammit, D-Bag!!" Stevo exclaimed, jumping up from his chair.
"Sorry, dude, couldn't help it," D-Bag said, wiping his deflating cock on the back of Stevo's chair.
Rollins reached down to give D-Bag a low five, and they both laughed at Stevo's cum splattered melon.
~ ~ ~
D-Bag looked over our resumes, nodding gravely, grunting at the appropriate times...basically, just trying to look important.
Pushing his Dollar Tree glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, he finally looked up and said, "We run a tight ship here. You both look like you can suck a mean cock but still, why should we let a couple of sluts in The Crew?"
"You mean, besides the fact that you three homos ain't exactly pounding vag and kicking much ass lately?"
Ana always had such a wry way with words.
"We pound all sorts of ass," Rollins said, defensively.
"She meant girl ass," I corrected.
Rollins shuffled his feet and looked down at his shoes.
"Bitch," he muttered.
"Look," I said, "you put out the ad. You're the ones getting raped by dirty landscapers. You're the ones holed up here in this gay ass shithole, which, by the way, smells like rat piss and Zima. You need help, and we're here to provide it. Look at our resumes. Ana is a criminal mastermind, and I live for cock. Tell me that doesn't sound like exactly what you need, to get over on The Alliance."
Ana was already getting bored with these dorks, I could tell. She was starting to slide her hand up my tiny skirt.
"You never got to finish, outside, did you?" I said to her.
"Nope. You pulled out too soon."
Rollins laughed and looked at Stevo, saying, "D-Bag sure did!"
Stevo was pissed. It wasn't so much that he minded getting gakked on, no, not at all; he just wanted it to be Rollins who did it, not the uncouth D-Bag, and he definitely didn't appreciate having girls there in what he considered to be his sanctum sanctorum.
"You girls think this is just some big game," he spat.
"I don't think he likes us very much," Ana giggled to me.
She'd slid down onto her knees, in front of my chair. Using her nose, she nuzzled my little skirt up, baring me to the room, and she pressed her warm cheek against my smooth thigh. I could feel her hot breath on my moistening slit. She reached up to run her hands beneath my little belly shirt, cupping and caressing my heavy, bare breasts. Raising herself up onto her knees, she spread her legs and looked back over her shoulder, towards two enraptured douches and one thoroughly repulsed little fairy with far too much gakk in his crinkly stiff 'do.
Ana eyed them, as she wiggled her bare ass. In a smoky voice she said, "You know, Katy and I have assholes too."
"Yeah, but yours are all pretty, and shaved, and there's no deliciously bangin' nuts dangling down below 'em," D-Bag exclaimed, a little too quickly; a little too urgently.
"Fuck! Did I just say that, out loud?" he thought to himself.
Rollins eyed him, with a remarkably lucid gaze; the appreciation, the acceptance, clear as a winter's Lapland midnight.
"I seeeee," Ana said, snickering at D-Bag, as she speared her sharpened tongue into my churning cauldron of molten spread legged wantonness, as Radio Fan likes to refer to it.
Come to think of it, I really do need to teach that boy some sexier verbiage.
Anyway, Ana's tongue inside me feels so good, it could almost make me give up bowling.
As Ana was gorging herself on my Maryland Crab Cake Rollins turned to D-Bag and said, "Dude, look at 'em. They may have something here. We might be able to use 'em. They could get us into places we couldn't get in on our own."
He gave D-Bag a knowing look, and D-Bag said, "The usual initiation test, then?"
Nodding, Rollins said, "Exactly. Let's see what they're really made of. Let's see if their heart's are really in it, or will they up and bolt like cunty little minnows when the going gets warm and sticky. Let's show them who we are."
~ ~ ~
Personally, I could've just ditched this whole idea. I would've been perfectly content to stay at home, doing our usual...
Wear Ana like a hat, see how much of my Malt-O-Meal flavored pee RF can take in his mouth at one time, order up a pizza, "accidentally" drop the towel for GOSD when he shows up with the food...
"Ooooh! I'm so embarassed! I guess I'll have to let you rim me now!"
Our usual. Works for me.
Ana, though, she thought this would be fun. To her, the idea of crashing The Crew's favorite bar, The Gaggling Goiter, seemed like it might be fun. The idea of possibly pulling a train in the john seemed to her like a perfectly reasonable way to spend a Tuesday evening.
"Weird name for a bar," I thought to myself, as we sat in the car.
Interrupting my thought, Ana said, "C'mon, don't act like we haven't done much worse," as she began to unbutton her blouse.
"Yeah, well, this is also for a good cause, I suppose," I agreed.
Once we were inside, D-Bag said, "Okay, here's the deal. I'll go first, to show you how it's done. The way this works is you gotta find the single most disgusting thing here, and then you have to throw yourself at them. You gotta make 'em want you, and you gotta let 'em take you, and you have to keep your lunch down. If you hurl, you're done. You're out. That way, hey, we'll know whether or not you have the stomach for being in The Crew."
We walked into the bar, and I almost lost it.
"That one's mine," D-Bag said.
Even Ana looked at me, in shock.
"No fucking way. We are not here. We are not doing this," Ana whispered, looking around the bar.
Stevo leered at me, saying, "Where's all your big talk now, bitches?"
Rollins laughed, and he began snapping off some pics...
"Hey! No pics allowed here, asshole!" said the bartender.
"Yeah, fine, whatever," Rollins said, but not before he'd managed to snap off a few...
Rollins let Ana and me have some copies, just so we'd never forget what we did that night.
This was the bartender....
"Straight up Mizzou, yo!" he later told us, laughing over his beer, once we got to talking.
D-Bag was back, sitting with us at the table, and he was literally glowing as he told us about his tryst with this chick...
"Dude, it was fuggen magical. You know how when you go to the store and you check out fruit? You gotta pick it up and squeeze it? Well, this chick, she let me bap those glorious neck titties of hers around with my dick, like we were playing Foosball. I was testing for ripeness, and she was giving me a cool lumpy neck fuck, and I said, 'Dude, seriously, you gotta let me feel you splooge on me with those things.' She did it! I took out my pocket knife and she let me open one up, like a mutant kumquat, and I jammed my cack right on in there. It was like dipping my churro, gooshing it around in a bowl of guacamole.
I think I'm in love."
Rollins slapped him on the back, congratulating him on his fine catch.
Stevo cast a furtive glance at Rollins, who silently mouthed back, "Sorry."
Stevo beamed.
Just then, the smell of sardines and Limburger wafted over us...
"Hiya! I'm Polly. I'll be your waitress this evening. What'll you kids have?"
Rollins looked like he'd just spotted a leprechaun with a pot o' gold, shitting in the back seat of his Camaro. He quickly glanced at D-Bag, and D-Bag nodded. Rollins jumped up from the table, grabbing Polly by an errant eye sack.
Polly cried out, ululant in her anticipation. She goggled at him, waiting.
"I'm having you, Gollum," he said to her, and she blushed. Well, maybe she blushed. It might've just been a cyst letting go.
Rollins herded her into the john, from where we soon heard loud braying and whinnying noises, and the frantically joyous clomping of hooves against formica.
"Dammit, I have got to get me summa that," D-Bag said, quickly getting up from the table. Whooping and hollering, he rushed into the john, screaming, "The carnival's back in town, babbbbbbyyyy!!"
Stevo sighed and said, "This happens every time. We never get jack fuck done, any time we come here. You know what? Screw it. If you guys want in, you're in. May as well. I'll fax you over the contracts next week."
~ ~ ~
"So, how'd things go?" RF said to me, as he slid his Boomer Sooner tatted fucksickle into Ana's whimpering ass. It was technically Wednesday now, which meant it was "Ana's Humpday," which meant that we'd make sure Ana wouldn't be able to shit right until Sunday.
On nights like these the object was to make Ana cry, cry, cry, like a beautiful little girl forcibly separated from her mother...at Auschwitz.
God, I love that girl.
