As soon as Bimbette walked out of the night and through the front door, she knew she had found the place she was looking for. It was a small, dark, run-down taproom, in a questionable part of town, population: nine, including the bartender – all male, mostly black with a few white guys.
The worn, dark, wooden bar with its seven stools was straight ahead as she entered. The room was L-shaped, and the long leg, with a half dozen circular tables, ran from side to side. There was a juke box and a tiny dance floor to her right. Behind that, the short leg, with three booths, the rest rooms, a wall-mounted pay phone and the fire exit, formed a back section, extending toward the rear of the building.
The phone was apparently out of service as the receiver was off the hook and dangling limply a foot or two above the floor. The four small windows were badly in need of washing.
There were three men at one table, another table with two guys talking light-heartedly, a couple of young studs perched on stools at the bar and one lone, handsome black fellow, sitting at a table next to the dance floor. They were drinking more from boredom that from compulsion, except for the table of two; they weren’t drinking at all. A baseball game flickered on the television mounted above the bar, but no one was watching. All eyes were, of course, on Bimbette.
She was used to it. Bimbette was a drool-inducing, cock-stiffening redhead. She was big-breasted and long-legged and knew exactly what men liked best. Her plan for the evening was to get seriously and repeatedly fucked and she was dressed accordingly.
Her white halter-top dress was dotted with bright pink hearts. The long, narrow triangles of the top section barely covered her nipples, leaving her dark areolae peeking out at the sides. Below her breasts, a large heart-shaped cut-out with pink piping exposed her stomach down to her navel and beyond. The pleated skirt was so short that it left the lower half of her ass cheeks uncovered and gave the men glimpses of her sheer pink panties as the lacy hem swung and danced with her undulating walk. Her shiny fuchsia pumps with their five-inch stiletto heels screamed ‘HOT WET PUSSY’ so loudly she might as well have been handing out extra-strength viagra to every guy in the place. Hanging from her shoulder was a small white handbag with pink trim.
She sauntered slowly across the room, making eye contact with each of the customers as she went. She began to feel a warm tingling grow in her crotch and her nipples hardened. The men sat speechless, their eyes feasting on Bimbette as if they had never seen a woman before. She chose an empty table near the dance floor, turned a chair sideways to the table and sat, crossing her legs flirtatiously. It seemed the boys liked her dress. She had bought it just today at Samantha’s Sexy Slut Salon, where she worked as a sales clerk. She got a 25% employee discount.
The bartender eyed her suspiciously, but the other men continued to ogle Bimbette in spellbound silence until the dark-skinned man sitting by himself at the next table finally spoke up: “Don’t expect him to come over and ask what you want. It’s pretty much self-service here.” He stood and said: I’m Terrance. Can I get you anything?”
Bimbette let her eyes linger on the growing bulge in his trousers, no more than two feet from her hungry mouth. Her clit and nipples were now beginning to throb with pleasure. She looked up into his face and smiled, then purred, “Oh, you mean something to drink? Sure, thanks. I’d love a vodka martini.”
She wanted the men to have something to watch while Terrance went for her drink, so she pulled out her compact and pretended to study her makeup. It was every bit as slutty as her outfit. Her glossy, blood-red lips and nails matched the color of her hair. Her enormous blue eyes were outlined with dark mascara, highlighted with purple eye shadow and fringed with extra long false eyelashes. She wore huge pink plastic hoop earrings and a matching bead choker. Her thick, teased-up hair flowed to her shoulders in a loose, tousled mass. A few random strands had been woven into long, thin braids and decorated with tiny bows in a variety of colors.
Although she didn’t need to, she reapplied lipstick to her bee-stung lips, just because men find it so sexy to watch. Then, as Terrance waited at the bar, she went over to the juke box and, with her back to the room, leaned over, resting her elbows on the glass, to read the song list. At first, she was just doing it to give the men a show, but then she decided a little music might be a good thing. She fed some money into the machine and selected a few romantic ballads before returning to her seat.
Just as Terrance returned with the martini, the first song came on. It was, of course, not one of the ones Bimbette had chosen. It wasn’t even on the song list. But it was a slow, country-western serenade and perfect for her purposes anyway.
“Oh,” she gasped. “My favorite song,” she lied. “And just right for dancing,” she hinted.
Not that Terrance needed the encouragement. All the motivation he needed was straining against the tight fabric of his pants, threatening to burst out of his zipper. He put the glass on the table and extended his hand. “Care to join me?” he offered. “I’m a little out of practice. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I’ll bet a handsome guy like you has plenty of practice at the stuff that matters most to a girl like me,” she replied, looking down in feigned modesty, as she gracefully stood up.
Bimbette was of average height but, even in her spike heels, Terrance was a half a head taller. She wasted no time and pressed her body tightly against his, left arm wrapped around his waist, right arm under his left, grasping the back of his neck, hand in his short hair. Her head snuggled against his muscular chest. As they moved slowly in time to the music, she could feel his stiff cock squeezed against her. She made sure to constantly rub firmly against it with her body.
We’ll snuggle in my truck right soon Beneath the big, bright country moon,
crooned the cowboy on the juke box.
“Don’t get many women in here,” Terrance commented. “Mostly this is the kind of place guys come to hang out with other guys, have a drink, watch a game. You know, guy stuff.”
“My kind of bar,” answered Bimbette, looking up at him. “There’s nothing I like better than having a roomful of men all to myself. Having other women around just makes everything too complicated. Would you be dancing with me like this if you had your girlfriend with you?”
“There’d sure be hell to pay, but I’m not sure I could resist,” he answered with a sly grin.
She returned his smile. It faded slowly as they stared into each other’s eyes for long seconds. Then Bimbette parted her lips almost imperceptibly, inviting a kiss. He accepted eagerly, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. She responded in kind. She grabbed his butt firmly with her left hand to hold him even tighter and straddled his right leg, grinding her aching clit against his thigh. At the same time she pushed her body harder against his swollen prick. Erotic passion was welling up in her like a stewpot about to boil over.
She withdrew her mouth from his and pulled his head down so she could whisper in his ear. “I’m going to cum now, Honey Bunch. Very quietly. No one needs to know but you.”
Turning his back to the bar and the rest of the room, so that no one could see what he was doing, Terrance reached under her skirt and grabbed her ass cheeks with both hands. Then, holding the thong panties aside with one hand, he probed between her cheeks with the middle finger of the other. Quickly he found her sweet little sphincter and gently circled it with his finger tip. She groaned softly in his ear, but the music prevented anyone else from hearing.
“Stick it in,” Bimbette pleaded in a breathless murmur.
Slowly, teasingly, Terrance inserted his finger into Bimbette’s rectum, working it in to the second knuckle.
“Please….use two fingers. Two……please…..two,” she begged quietly. So he carefully pushed his index finger into her rectum next to the middle finger.
“Uuuuugggggggghhhhnnnn, Oh God, I need this,” she groaned softly. “All the way,” she whispered desperately. And he pushed both fingers into her as far as they would go. Then, as they kissed sweetly and she writhed slowly on his thigh, he finger-fucked her ass hole in time to the languid beat of the music.
Before the song ended, they had both cum and done a pretty bad job of hiding the fact. Bimbette almost bit through Terrance’s lower lip. Her climax was deliciously intense, but just a taste of the bone crushing bliss she expected later. Still, it was a good start to the evening and enough to satisfy her for a while.
When the music stopped and they separated, Terrance asked, “So, do you frequently dance this kind of dance without even introducing yourself?”
Bimbette realized with surprise that she’d been too horny to take the time to even tell him her name. “Bimbette,” she said, with just the slightest hint of a blush. Then, noticing a wetness spreading across the front of his pants, she nodded at it and suggested, “You might want to go to the men’s room to clean up a bit.”
As Terrance headed toward the rest rooms, the next song started. It was another one she hadn’t chosen. Bimbette picked up her drink and took a big sip as a handsome young blonde-haired stud slid down from his barstool and walked over.
“Looks like your dance partner has deserted you,” he observed. “I’m Stu Bradley,” he said holding out his hand. “Need a new partner?”
“Bimbette,” she answered and took his hand. But, rather than shake it, she pulled him against her, hugged him firmly and began to sway to the music. Not surprisingly, she could feel his rigid manhood pressed solidly against her abdomen.
From the juke box, a blues-tinged girl’s voice complained:
If I cain’t get my man to come runnin’ to woo me, I know he’s with Tammy, or some other floozy.
“Bimbette?” Stu asked. “Is that a first name or a last name?”
“Just Bimbette,” she answered. “An only name.”
As they talked, Bimbette’s hands were exploring his body, and his hands were all over her. Soon, they fell silent and began to nibble on each others’ lips, rocking slightly to the slow music. Then their tongues began a slow dance, mirroring their movements on the dance floor. Stu wasn’t quite as tall as Terrance and that made him a lot easier to kiss. Over his shoulder, Bimbette could see the bartender scowling and the other six men watching in drooling fascination. They were all, of course, rock hard. One by one, she returned their stares as if to say: Line up boys; your turns are coming.
Bimbette turned Stu so that his back was to the bar, then slowly, surreptitiously, pulled down his fly and slipped her hand into his pants and through the opening in his shorts to find his stiff love stick. It was bigger than she imagined and a shiver of delight ran down her spine as she gripped it firmly. She began to pump it slowly up and down in time with the music and he moaned and held her a little tighter.
“Come with me, baby,” she whispered and began to gradually slow-dance toward the back section of the room. Before long, they were around the corner, out of the bartender’s sight. Quickly, she dragged him over to the pay phone, pulled his cock out through his open zipper and turned him to face the wall. Then, positioning herself behind him and reaching around him with both arms, she clutched his throbbing hard-on with a two-handed grip and began to stroke it lovingly. “Try to keep it down so the bartender can’t hear,” she breathed in his ear.
Stu was so aroused and needed to cum so badly, he felt like his prick was going to explode. He bent forward and put one hand against the phone’s coin box to support his weight. Within a matter of seconds, giant gobs of semen erupted powerfully from his engorged cock and spattered against the wall with such force that much of it sprayed back over his pants and shoes. The rest drooled thickly down the wall and onto the floor.
As the song ended, Terrance ambled out of the men’s room, saw Stu and commented in his best falsetto, “You might want to go to the men’s room to clean up a bit.”
Bimbette giggled, kissed Stu warmly, then took Terrance’s arm and strolled back around the corner to the main part of the room, grabbing her martini as she passed the table. The bartender, who seemed momentarily confused that Bimbette had gone around the corner with one guy and come back with another, scowled some more. But he was busy drawing a pitcher of beer, and didn’t come out from behind the bar to investigate.
“Let me introduce you to a few of these other guys,” offered Terrance, escorting her toward a table occupied by three large black men. Another song, also not one of Bimbette’s selections, started. “This is Freddy,” said Terrance, indicating an older, balding fellow. “And Winslow,” nodding toward a lean, younger man with a wild afro. “And this is Kevin,” another young guy, but broad-shouldered, with a neat goatee. “Boys, this gorgeous piece of girl-flesh, this heavenly vision of earthly pleasure, this wet-dream come true, is Bimbette.”
“Glad to meet you, Miss Bimbette,” said Freddy. “Join us. Have a seat.”
“That’s kind of you. I’d love to,” answered Bimbette and sat daintily across Freddy’s lap, her arm draped around his thick neck. She could feel his stiff pecker pressed against the side of her ass. She wiggled a little, and he winced, drew a sharp breath and then closed his eyes and smiled a small smile. He slid his hand under her almost non-existent dress and into her damp panties. She spread her legs eagerly and he quickly located her stiff clit, rolling it gently between his nimble fingers. She leaned toward him and, taking his head in both hands began to smooch desperately.
After a few seconds she suddenly stood up, stepped over his thighs and sat back down facing him and straddling his lap with her pink pumps planted firmly on the floor. She ground her crotch against his in time to the rhythm of the new song, which was more up-tempo than the first two.
The singer, a guy with a good voice and a redneck drawl, whined:
My baby’s a tramp, A cheap, cheatin’ vamp. Kept a list of her boyfriends, But got writer’s cramp.
Bimbette wrapped both arms around Freddy’s broad chest and they began kissing again. Her tiny skirt flew up each time she slid down along the hard cock trapped inside his pants. He grabbed her ass cheeks to ensure that she continued her enthusiastic lap dance. Her rigid clitoris sang in thrilling throbbing harmony with the thumping tune.
Just as Freddy and Bimbette were about to enjoy the consummation of their new-found love, the bartender grabbed her left arm, not roughly, but solidly, and said, “I don’t think we can let you do that, Miss. You see, we have a girl who comes in five nights a week and does the lap dancing. It’s sort of an exclusive relationship we have with her and I don’t think she’d like another girl come in here, stealing her customers and taking money that ought to go to her.”
Bimbette was actually flattered when people took her for a professional. After all it meant that they thought she was attractive enough that men would pay to have sex with her. And why should she be ashamed of her particular expertise? But she decided this would be a good time to act insulted.
“Money?” she fumed. “You think I take money for making guys feel good? What kind of girl do you take me for? I’m just having a little fun, and I never take money when I’m having fun. And I’m never not having fun when I’m making a man feel good.”
“Still, Miss,” he answered adamantly “I’m going to have to ask you to keep your hands off of these guys. Brandi wouldn’t like it. Come on boys, tell her what Brandi’s like when she’s pissed.”
At first no one said anything. Then Winslow spoke up, “No offense. We like Brandi. She’s really sexy and all, but she’s not here tonight.”
To her right, Bimbette could just make out Terrance’s whisper to Kevin, “Brandi couldn’t carry this girl’s lipstick.” The bartender, on her other side, was too far away to hear the remark over the music.
After another brief, but awkward silence, Bimbette offered, “You know, darling, I think if we could talk privately, I could get you to see that I mean no harm.” She stood up, took both of the bartender’s hands in hers, pursed her bright red lips into a heart-melting, prick-hardening pout and asked, “Isn’t there someplace we can talk quietly?”
“There’s the stock room, behind the bar,” he replied cautiously.
“Great idea,” Bimbette enthused and gently tugged him in the direction of the bar. As they walked, she placed his arm around her waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Running a public establishment like this is such a responsibility. But I don’t even know your name. Tell me your name, Sweetie.”
“Sebastian,” he answered reluctantly, “but everyone calls me ‘Biff’.”
“Well, I’m going to call you ‘Sebastian’,” she insisted. “Biff is not a responsible person’s name. Sebastian is. Like Johan Sebastian Bach, or, or…Sebastian Cabot, or… John Sebastian.
You must work very hard, Sebastian,” she said admiringly. Then, turning her head to look at Freddy and his friends as she and Sebastian passed behind the bar and into the stock room, “You sweet boys stay where you are. Don’t you be wandering off now.”
The stock room was a dark, grimy, spider-infested space, lit by a single bare bulb dangling from the ceiling on a fraying cord. It was crowded with a shambles of ancient advertising posters, heaps of empty beer bottles, broken glass and unidentifiable refuse. In one corner was a pile of splintered furniture, probably busted up in a long-ago brawl. Distributed randomly throughout the chaos Bimbette could see aluminum kegs, cases of beer and liquor, cartons of cigarettes and other supplies. Thank God they don’t serve food, she thought.
They closed the door behind them and stood in a small relatively uncluttered area nearby. Bimbette turned to face Sebastian, no more than a foot away, and clasped her hands behind her back, thrusting her breasts out seductively. They were perfectly round, like a cantaloupe cut in half and placed high and proud on her chest. And they never sagged, not even slightly.
As she stood in front of Sebastian, her rock-hard nipples made clearly visible lumps in the flimsy fabric of her dress, as if they were little cadets standing stiffly to attention while awaiting inspection. He couldn’t have pried his eyes loose from those nipples if the bar were on fire.
“I’m just trying to bring a little comfort and happiness to those lonely boys out there. You don’t want to stand in the way of that, do you Sebastian…..Honeybunch?” Bimbette murmured. She looked up into his face, lowered her lids slightly, made a couple of little kissing motions with her pretty mouth and began to eye-fuck him. He fell into the bright blue of her large eyes and almost drowned there. His big pussy probe became painfully bloated and began to demand its release from his pants-prison.
Bimbette slowly sank to a crouch and stated to nibble delicately on his iron rod right through the cloth of his pants, being careful not to smear them with her glossy lipstick. He groaned loudly, went a little weak at the knees and grabbed the back of her head with both hands. Knowing how urgent his need had become, she unzipped his fly in a coy, unhurried tease.
But his cock make a sudden break for freedom, sprang out and smacked her hard, just beside her nose and stood straight up, at least twelve inches tall and disproportionately thick, swaying slightly back and forth before her widening eyes. She gasped at its magnificent size and suddenly began to share his urgency.
Unable to take her eyes off the enormous erection, she hummed appreciatively, “Uuummm, uuummm, uuummm,” and then mused, “Sweetheart, do you believe in love at first sight?”
She began to lick his wide, foot-long manhood, first running her wet tongue up the shaft from the base to the head. She had to raise up a standing position and bend at the waist to reach the lofty peak of his tall prick and circle her tongue around the tip and back down along the side.
She then took the base between her soft lips and nibbled her way to the top again. Grasping the shaft firmly with one hand she took the rigid tip into her mouth and sucked a little, then sucked again, waited a bit and sucked a third time. He groaned pathetically and then growled and pushed down on the back of her head.
“Ere I um,” she mumbled, her mouth stuffed full of hard cock. Greedily she allowed the long slab of man meat to slide slowly as far into her mouth as she could get it. Even Bimbette couldn’t get a cock that thick to fit into her throat. Not that she didn’t try. She tried repeatedly, but it just wasn’t humanly possible. So she settled for sucking hard on the top five inches and teasing its sensitive underside with her studded tongue.
Sebastian’s fingers rapturously twitched and shivered in her hair. After about twenty seconds, she let him slide out as slowly as he had entered. She stood up straight and spoke softly in his ear, “What have you always wanted to do with a girl but never had the chance?”
“That was one thing,” he replied dreamily. “No girl has ever been able to get me that deep in her mouth or suck me like that before. But what I’ve really always longed for and fantasized about is anal sex. I’ve always wanted to fuck a girl in the ass, but my wife says it’s disgusting and won’t let me.”
A chill of excitement raced through Bimbette and goose bumps spread down her arms and legs. Her clit and nipples burned with a tormenting rigidity. Sebastian’s answer was the one she’d been hoping to hear. She needed him in her pussy, but she’d been vehemently praying that he’d want to do her tight bum too.
“Then I’m your girl,” she said with playful delight. “But first, do me one small favor,” she wheedled. “Introduce yourself to my pussy. She’s starving and you don’t want to insult her by ignoring her. I know it’s a lot to ask…” Her voice trailed off as Sebastian grabbed her hips, leaned forward to kiss her and pushed her backward a few steps, so that her back was pressed hard against the wall next to the door.
Bimbette slipped one leg out of her panties, leaving them dangling from the other thigh, and spread her legs widely. She reached out and grabbed his huge cunt crammer with both hands, guiding it expertly and impatiently to the oozing, puckered mouth of her tight, steamy tunnel of love. Looking down, Sebastian saw that Bimbette sported a tattoo where her pubic hair used to be. Bright fireworks trails shot out from the tip of her love triangle and exploded above into multi-colored flowers and pom-poms.
Meanwhile, Terrance stepped over to the juke box, fed in more money and, reaching behind it, turned up the volume. Freddy, Kevin and Winslow helped themselves to draft beers and, while they were at it, served Terrance, Stu (who was now out of the men’s room) and the three guys Bimbette had not yet met.
Now that Bimbette had positioned Sebastian, he took over and began thrusting in a barely-controlled frenzy. His determined push took him about an inch and a half into her sweet pussy. It was deliciously slippery, but still grabbed his cock tightly and clung to it like a wet tee-shirt on Pamela Anderson.
As he shoved it deeper and deeper with each stroke, Bimbette’s delirious bliss grew increasingly intense. Between tongue-lashing kisses, she cried out loudly with each additional penetration and grabbed him roughly by his ass, pulling him closer and urging him loudly to fully impale her.
Then, as the tip of his steely cock pushed hard against her cervix, she allowed herself a modest orgasm. She didn’t dare to let go and give herself over to it fully. She was afraid it would trigger Sebastian, and she knew how badly they both wanted him to fuck her ass before he came.
Just as Bimbette finished cumming, Sebastian quickly pulled out and unceremoniously turned her around to face the wall. She enthusiastically bent over spread-legged and braced her hands and the side of her face against the grungy cracked plaster and peeling wallpaper. He pushed the tip of his iron-hard behemoth firmly against her hungry, gaping sphincter. Leaning over her, he placed his left hand against the wall, put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, “You sure about this?”
“Oh, yeah. Oooooh, yeah,” she moaned, all thought of Freddy and his friends left far behind. Sebastian reached around her waist and between her legs for her clit with one hand, and slid the other under the top of her dress to find a charming, taut nipple. As he did so, he put much of his considerable weight on his monstrous member and forced its head fully into her rectum. Bimbette sobbed quietly with joy.
Her ass was the tightest place his cock had ever been. And his cock was the biggest thing Bimbette had ever had in her ass. She especially loved that it took most of his strength to push it in, an inch at a time. It made her feel like the sluttiest thing since Catherine the Great got fucked by the horse. And Bimbette truly enjoyed being a slut.
With each of Sebastian’s forceful advances they both wailed with new and more agonizing euphoria. Bimbette’s clit and nipples were throbbing and twitching with excitement, and his pile-driving prick pounded with a need to spew his goo all over her insides. But they both needed desperately to experience full insertion first and struggled fiercely to hold back their climaxes until then.
Outside in the bar, the men could hear the cries of pleasure from the stock room, even over the loud music, and exchanged knowing smirks and smart-ass remarks.
When Sebastian finally worked the full foot of his hard man-meat into Bimbette’s super-snug bum, he had to wonder if he’d ever get it out. It was as if his cock were locked in a tight, satin clamp. He could barely slide it in or out. But there was no need to move it far. The slightest motion produced acute pangs of pleasure for both him and the gorgeous tramp whose ass hole held him prisoner.
Sebastian began to writhe, slowly at first, then faster, then wildly, stabbing her repeatedly with short, quick strokes of his love lance. As he did so, he continued squeezing, rolling, stroking her clit vigorously between his thumb and first two fingers.
Within a matter of seconds, his climax exploded like Bimbette’s fireworks, and his big rapid-fire fuck gun began squirting liquid love bullets deep inside her. Feeling his powerful pulsating in her sensitive sphincter was more than Bimbette could stand. Suddenly, her own orgasm burst like flood waters from a ruptured dam and swept her away, tumbling her consciousness and submerging it in sexual pleasure for what seemed like ages, until she drowned in her own delight and then gradually rose to float motionless on a sea of calm contentment.
When his penis had shrunk enough to be withdrawn, Sebastian grabbed a few bar towels from a near-by carton and delicately wiped away the spunk gushing from Bimbette’s rump hole, then cleaned himself up.
“Sugar Lips, how gallant!” cooed Bimbette. “It’s the mark of a true gentleman, never mind very sweet and considerate, to take care of an ass-fucked lady before thinking of yourself.”
“Huh?” answered Sebastian.
When they came out of the stock room, Sebastian said, “I guess I can overlook a little innocent lap dancing, but nothing more serious. I don’t want to lose my liquor license. And I hope to hell Brandi never hears about any of this: you and me in the stock room, lap dancing with the customers, none of it!”
As Bimbette came out from behind the bar, she locked eyes with the guy sitting on the other side. “You look like a girl who could use another drink. Can I buy it for you?” he asked.
“Sure, Good-Looking. That’s so thoughtful,” she answered. “Bring it to that table over there,” indicating Freddy’s table.
Her panties, which were still dangling from one thigh, flapped back and forth as she sashayed toward Freddy. One nipple was exposed.
“Who does your wardrobe, girl?” leered Winslow.
Bimbette immediately resumed her position astride Freddy’s lap and began nibbling on his lower lip and nuzzling. “Miss me terribly, baby?” she asked.
In answer, Freddy grasped her ass cheek with one hand, her breast with the other and thrust his tongue into her mouth. As they kissed, Bimbette was staring invitingly at Kevin, who moved closer and grabbed her other breast.
Soon, the guy from the bar arrived with her vodka martini. Bimbette interrupted her smooching with Freddy and took the drink, commenting to its bearer, “Sebastian certainly seems scared of this Brandi bitch,” then took a big swig.
“No surprise, he answered. “She’s his wife.”
Bimbette nearly choked on her drink. Then, as a new ballad started on the jukebox, she suddenly announced, “Know what? Let’s forget this lame lap dance stuff and do some real dancing.”
She stood up and dragged Freddy toward the dance floor, shooting Kevin, Winslow and the guy who brought the drink each a hot glance as she did so.
As soon as she fell into Freddy’s warm dance-embrace, his hand was in her crotch, fingering her stiffening clit. Her hands were down the back of his pants, massaging his muscular buttocks. His cock, which had been hard the whole time she was in the stock room with Sebastian, was pressed urgently against her. They resumed their kissing. As they swayed and fondled, Bimbette exchanged occasional lustful stares over Freddy’s shoulder with the other men, who had moved to the edge of the dance floor.
After about 30 seconds, Kevin stepped up and tapped Freddy politely on the upper arm. “May I?” he asked.
“May you, what?” growled Freddy.
“You know, cut in,” explained Kevin, his pants bulging obscenely, “like they taught us in dance class.”
Before Freddy could deliver his angry answer, Bimbette slipped out of his arms and into Kevin’s. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to share me, boys,” she said calmingly. “But not to worry. There’s plenty of me to go around.” Nothing excited her more than the thought of several men, stiff cocks throbbing in torment while they vied for a place in line, impatiently awaiting their turn with her.
As she had with Stu, she slid her hand into Kevin’s fly and began to caress his large, hard prick. His hands pawed her passionately, grabbing her ass, her breasts, her crotch. The bartender didn’t notice. He was engaged in an animated conversation with one of the guys at the table of two, while the other spoke quietly on his cell phone..
After a minute or so with Kevin, he passed her over to Winslow, who took his turn groping wildly with Bimbette while pretending to dance.
Finally, the man from the bar stepped up and claimed his chance. By now, Bimbette was getting really aroused and clamped her mouth eagerly on his. But when his hand slid toward her crotch, she intercepted it. “Not until we’ve been introduced,” she panted.
“Bill,” he said.
“Charmed,” she tried to reply, but the end of the word was muffled by his mouth plastered over hers. They began to make out hotly, her hip grinding relentlessly against his rigid pussy-poker, his strong hands pushing up the back of her miniscule skirt and kneading her bare ass.
Freddy was so aroused by watching them that he was no longer able to hold off until his turn. He stepped onto the dance floor and embraced Bimbette from behind, his hands grabbing her breasts and his cock, painfully rigid under his pants, pressed hard between her ass cheeks.
There was nothing more thrilling to Bimbette than being sandwiched between two (or more) sex-crazed studs. Her passion suddenly soared out of control. She whimpered, “Hold on boys,” and began to jab her bare, stone-hard clit roughly against the smooth fabric of Bill’s pant leg. Seconds later, just as the song was about to end, she exploded into another orgasm, keeping herself mostly quiet by biting down hard on his shoulder.
When she could speak again, she whispered in Bill’s ear, “Why don’t you go to the men’s room and hang out there a little while? I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”
During the next song, as she kissed and petted and wobbled back and forth with Freddy, then Kevin, then Winslow. She made the same suggestion to each of them. By the end of the song, she was again beginning to pulse and tremble with sexual ferment, and there were four hungry men with hot-blooded hard-ons waiting for her in the men’s room.
Savoring the feverish feeling, she walked over to her drink, took a big gulp and then, forcing herself to appear casual, walked around the corner to the rest rooms.
As soon as she was out of Sebastian’s sight, her manner changed dramatically. She rushed for the men’s room door and practically kicked it in.
The small room reeked of urine and disinfectant. The filthy floor was wet and strewn with soggy, dirty paper towels. The urinal was cracked. Two panes of glass in the small, dirty window were broken. There was a large hole in one wall from which wiring and insulation tumbled, and the other walls were discolored by a dark and mysterious stain.
But Bimbette didn’t notice any of that. Her eyes were on the four men and their bulging pants. They were leaning uncomfortably against the walls and sinks as she came in, but quickly straightened expectantly.
“OooooOOOoo,” she squeaked, her hand raising to her mouth, feigning surprise at their impressively lumpy trousers. “You guys sure look pretty excited. Must be torture to keep those big things confined, all cramped and squashed up like that,” she sympathized coyly, as if it really had nothing to do with her. “Let’s see what happens if we let them loose.”
With slow drama, she lowered herself to a kneeling position amid the damp litter, her little handbag still swinging from her shoulder and her back to one of the side walls. As soon as she began her gradual descent, she was surrounded by men. Urgently, four pairs of male hands went to four male crotches. Quickly, the sweet buzzing of four male zippers sang out to her like enchanting music. Fours pairs of male pants slid down to their wearers’ ankles. And by the time her knees finally touched the floor, four large, rock-hard slabs of male beef, three black, one white, danced lasciviously, inches from her lovely, greedy, bright red lips.
She hardly knew where to start, but she didn’t have to decide. Winslow grabbed the back of her head with one hand and, aiming his big, dark girl-gagger with the other, thrust his meat into her waiting mouth. Ravenously, she devoured it, gulping it into her throat until it completely disappeared. Then he withdrew and passed her lips over to Freddy on whom she repeated her sword-swallowing act. Then Kevin. Then Bill. Meanwhile, she was gazing deeply into the eyes of whoever happened to be in her mouth at the time, while using her hands to entertain a couple of the guys who weren’t.
For several minutes she went back and forth from one to another, devouring their stiff flesh like a famished glutton. Sometimes she decided who to suck on, and sometimes she let the men hand her around like winos with a bottle of cheap muscatel. At one point Bill and Winslow loudly disagreed about whose turn it was, but Bimbette quickly settled the dispute by taking them both into her mouth at the same time.
Soon, she could taste the pre-cum seeping from all four lipstick-streaked pricks and knew they were getting ready to jet their appreciation for her oral skills. But her fervor was growing quickly, too, and her aching little clit was feeling badly neglected. She came up briefly for air and gasped, “C’mon guys. Somebody’s got to take care of me. I need one of you to use his mouth on my clit and I need it now.”
Freddy volunteered without hesitation. “My specialty,” he crowed, flopping down on his back and sliding his head between her legs, as she went back to massaging Bill with her throat.
When Freddy took her hard nubbin between his lips and began to suck, sexual electricity surged through Bimbette as if she’d sat on a live wire. Freddy had not been idly boasting. He was, in fact, a cunt-licker of considerable talent. She let Bill slide out of her mouth and grunted loudly, praised God for sending her Freddy, groaned pathetically, and then swallowed Bill again. She continued to stroke the others with her hands, but paid special attention to Freddy as a reward for his oral skills.
Bill was now becoming frantic. He pinned Bimbette’s shoulders against the grimy wall and repeatedly shoved his long, rigid cock roughly into her mouth and down her throat. She gobbled it eagerly. The strength of his thrusts forced the back of her head against the wall, but she was just where she wanted to be. Bimbette would never let any man do anything to her that she didn’t really want done. But sometimes it was fun to pretend that the guy was in charge. They never really were of course, and most men knew that, but they enjoyed the pretense, too.
Bill’s passionate frenzy, and the pretense that he was in control of her, was deeply thrilling to Bimbette and, as he began to spurt his sperm deep in her windpipe and Freddy continued to work his magic, she had her first mini-orgasm, shivering with ecstasy and grabbing Bill’s buttock with one hand, trying to pull him even deeper into her throat.
Bill slid out of Bimbette’s mouth and the cum she had not managed to swallow ran thickly over her lower lip and dripped from her chin into a little pool between her breasts. As soon as he was out, she took a deep breath, burbled, “Thank you, Freddy, you sweet-lipped darling,” and dove mouth-first for his cock, gulping it down in a single swallow. Freddy grabbed her head with both hands and, for twenty or thirty seconds, she bobbed up and down energetically as they affectionately 69ed their way to a deeper and deeper rapture.
Bimbette, however, didn’t want Freddy to cum yet. She was afraid he would stop his clit-sucking, cunt-nibbling sorcery. So she sat up and Winslow stepped into Bill’s place. Kevin, meanwhile, knelt on one side, unfastened her dress’ halter top and began gently squeezing and fondling her big breasts.
Bimbette looked up at Winslow, her lipstick now badly smeared and Bill’s thick, stringy ooze still swaying from her chin, and asked, “Fuck my face, Handsome?”
In answer, Winslow guided the tip of his thick slut-choker between her lips. Teasingly, she sucked gently on the head and caressed it lovingly with her lips and tongue. Winslow moaned deeply in anticipation of what was soon to come and slowly pushed his hefty cock down Bimbette’s waiting throat. His vigor increased quickly as his climax approached, and before long, she was again pressed hard against the wall with Winslow doing a pretty good impression of Bill, and Freddy again licking and sucking her to sweet bliss, assisted by Kevin’s attention to her breasts and nipples.
Again, she gave Freddy a quick reward and then it was Kevin’s turn to nail her to the wall and stuff her mouth full of his hard man-muscle. But when he was ready to erupt, he suddenly pulled his love gun out of her windpipe and aimed it at her face. She eagerly leaned forward, grabbed it with both hands, pumped it hard, opened her mouth widely and tried to catch as many of the hot, sticky semen-slugs as she could.
When Bimbette leaned forward, she exposed her cute, puckered sphincter to Freddy, and he, ever mindful of her needs, quickly but carefully slid two fingers deep up her ass, instantly triggering her biggest orgasm since she left the stock room. She closed her eyes tightly in heavenly euphoria which, combined with Kevin’s convulsions and the powerful twitching and jerking of his cock, made it hard for either of them to aim with any accuracy. So most of his powerful shots went wild, splattering heavily across Bimbette’s cheeks, forehead, nose and chin and even liberally spraying her hair.
By now, Bill and Winslow had cleaned up and left the men’s room. The wall-mounted dispenser was broken and empty, but there was a small pile of paper towels on the window ledge. Kevin took the last of them, handed a few to Bimbette and began wiping off his shrinking penis. Bimbette, whose eye shadow and mascara were soaked from Kevin’s cum and running badly, cleaned the worst of his spunk off her face, further smudging her makeup. But she was anxious to pay Freddy back and in too big a hurry to do a better job.
Without standing up, she tuned 180 degrees and settled back down on her knees, straddling his cock and facing him. She swung her hips back to catch the tip of painfully stiff sex pole in the mouth of her tight, dripping cunt and sat up ready to impale herself on him. “Freddy, love…Freddy, you wonderful man….Freddy, you prince,” she whispered sweetly, “you deserve something special.” She paused for a second and then asked, “Any ideas?”
He could feel her hot juices drooling down his dark shaft. He looked up at her, mesmerized by the small motions of her perfectly round, cum-speckled breasts. To the other men in the bar, Bimbette was the most wonderful sex toy they had ever experienced. But Freddy, in a weird way, had fallen in love with her. He knew he would never see her again, and he was resigned to that. But he wanted to give her every bit of pleasure he could before she walked out of his life.
In wordless response to her rhetorical question, he grabbed her tightly by the waist and slowly pulled her down onto his aching erection. He was careful not to move too quickly because, although he had been as stiff as a two-by-four since she walked into the bar, he needed to last long enough to give his vision of sexual perfection one more orgasm. She groaned deeply as the first inch of Freddy-meat pushed its way into her hungry pussy.
Just then, a tall, lean, handsome black man in an well-tailored, dark wool suit, whom Bimbette had not seen in the bar, walked into the men’s room. He stopped in the doorway, more in surprise at the squalid condition of the room than at the activity of its occupants. Bimbette and Freddy froze and looked up at him. Kevin, who was just pulling up his fly, startled and caught his not-yet-flaccid penis in his zipper. He howled in pain and started jumping up and down, doing a little dance of distress and yelping, “SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SSSHEEE-IT.”
The tall man looked sort of sideways at Kevin and raised an eyebrow, then looked down at Freddy and Bimbette and said quietly, “Don’t let me disturb you,” and walked over to the urinal.
Freddy quickly pulled Bimbette the rest of the way down onto his hard cock. She snarled loudly with pleasure and leaned forward to rest her hands on Freddy’s broad shoulders. He reached up to grab her big breasts and caress their stiff brown nipples. The interruption had the advantage of allowing Freddy’s ardor to cool slightly making it easier for him to last long enough to satisfy her.
Not that it would take long. As soon as he started up a regular rhythm, her passion began to build rapidly. By the time the tall intruder was done at the urinal and headed for the sink, her finish line was in sight. She and Freddy were both grunting emphatically each time he shoved it in and gasping and wheezing noisily each time he pulled out.
Kevin was at the sink ministering to his wound but stepped aside to let the other fellow wash his hands. The tall man then looked around for paper towels and seeing none (except the filthy, soggy ones on the floor), muttered, “Damn.” He then paused, obviously considering whether to dry them on his expensive pants and, after a moment, turned and wiped them off on Kevin’s shirt.
“Hey,” protested Kevin.
The intruder stared at him impassively for several seconds, then said, “Thank you.”
“Well, all right then,” sniffed Kevin and stalked out the door with the air of a gentleman who had just put an uncouth ruffian in his place.
The tall man glanced at Kevin and Bimbette, smiled a little smile and followed Kevin out the door.
Shortly after he left, the two rutting lovers reached a mammoth simultaneous orgasm. Freddy began pistoning like an overheated steam engine and gushed his goo all over Bimbette’s cervix with volcanic force. Her climax burst like a supernova in her belly, spreading stellar heat through her body at light speed, to the tips of her fingers and toes, and bathing her in a brilliant, vibrating exhilaration which lasted for what seemed like a very long time. But it was still over too soon for her.
She climbed off of him slowly, but was too drained to stand up immediately and sat back on her heels, hands on her knees, head down and panting. He sat up, but was also too spent to stand. After long moments, she said simply, “Thanks, lover. You’re the best.”
Freddy replied quietly, “I’ll remember you.” And, after resting a little longer, he stood, pulled up his pants and silently walked out.
After a half-minute or so, Bimbette struggled to her feet and, leaning on the sink, examined herself in the cracked and dirty mirror. Her lipstick, mascara and eye shadow were smeared and streaked and her hair was speckled with dripping cum like a slutty holiday tree. The halter top straps of her miniscule dress were hanging between her legs and her panties were still dangling from one thigh. God, am I a mess, she thought. Then, Damn, no more paper towels. She began to consider moving over to the ladies’ room. It’s always nicer, cleaner and better supplied than the men’s room.
Just then, there was a knock on the door and a tall, older white guy, who also was not one of the men who were in the bar earlier, and also wore an expensive dark suit, walked in. What is this, Grand Central Men’s Room? she wondered.
He held out a hand, looked Bimbette over and said, “Hi. I’m Randy. I have to say, you look…..a little…..disheveled, might be the right word. But,” he quickly added, “it’s a very sexy look on you. I thought you might need these.” He held out a small stack of bar towels. Softly, she took his hand and shook it. “When you’re ready, perhaps you’d like to sit with us for a drink,” he said, then nodded and left.
It took a while, but eventually Bimbette toweled off the caked cum and misplaced cosmetics, reapplied the makeup and got herself looking presentable again. She refastened her halter top, but didn’t see any reason to put her panties back on. Instead, she took them off completely and stuffed them into her handbag.
Having now recovered her energy, she stepped blithely out of the men’s room, expecting to find Randy in the main section of the bar. But, to her surprise, he was sitting in a booth directly opposite the men’s room door with the tall black man and the two guys who had been sitting at a table together when she first arrived. Sebastian was standing nearby, talking to Randy. As Bimbette approached, he nodded to her and then walked around the corner and back to the bar.
The booth consisted of a dark, worn wooden table, flanked by two long, high-backed seats, padded and upholstered in brown leather, which had once been elegant and luxurious, but was now ancient and cracked. The booth was large enough to seat three on each side. Randy and the tall black guy sat on the left, the other two men across from them. As Bimbette approached, Randy said, “Please, join us,” and the outside guy opposite him stood up and motioned her to sit. She slid into the middle and he sat down again.
“This is Phil,” Randy said, indicating the stout white man to her right, “and Woody,” looking to the black guy on her left. “And this,” he said, nodding at the tall black man on his side of the table, “is my friend and associate Sylvester, although his girl friends tend to call him ‘Clarence’.”
“Let’s just don’t start that shit,” muttered Sylvester.
On the table in front of her was a fresh vodka martini. “I hope you don’t think you’re going to get me drunk or, for that matter, that there’s any reason to,” chuckled Bimbette. “I’m a pretty cheap date with, or without, alcohol. I do like one drink. It adds a little extra to any physical pleasure I happen to run into. But more than one tends to dull the senses, so I take it pretty slow. Today though, I only got to drink a little of the first two I ordered, so another would actually be nice.”
“I just thought,” said Randy, “that it might be refreshing, that it might cleanse the palette, you might say.”
“Very thoughtful,” she answered, “thank you,” and placed her left hand on Woody’s thigh while she picked up the glass with her right and took a big gulp.
“Actually,” Randy said, “it’s on the house. So you should thank my brother.”
“Your brother?” asked Bimbette, looking confused.
“Yeah, Biff….Sebastian….is my little brother,” replied Randy.
Bimbette studied him. “You don’t look older than Sebastian,” she commented.
Randy grinned ever so slightly. “Anyway,” he said, “So Woody and Phil hang out here a lot, and Woody called me to suggest I come over. He thought I might want to meet you. Turns out he was right. Might earn him a raise.”
“It was my phone,” protested Phil.
“And if only you could figure out how to use it, it might be you looking at that raise,” lamented Randy with a broad grin.
Randy turned to Bimbette. “Tell me about you name,” he said. “It’s certainly…. unique. But the term ‘bimbo’ implies a certain lack of intellectual capacity, sort of like Phil, here. But you’re obviously not stupid at all.”
“You calling me a bimbo?” bristled Phil.
“Not at all,” Bimbette interjected soothingly. “You’re much too handsome.”
“Hey, thanks,” Phil beamed.
Turning back to Randy, she asked, “How do you know I’m not stupid?”
“For one thing, the way you just handled that situation. For another, the fact that you asked that question. A real bimbo would have just accepted the compliment, again, sort of like Phil, here. So, now, tell me about the name.”
“When I was in high school,” Bimbette began, “the other girls all hated me because their boy friends were hot for me instead of them. They all thought I was stealing their guys.”
“I’ll bet you were, weren’t you,” interrupted Randy.
“Well, yeah, sort of, I guess, but I couldn’t help it. Well, actually I could, but it was so easy, I just couldn’t resist. I mean, I love sex, and if I could have every guy in the school lusting after, why wouldn’t I want to do it? Anyway, the other girls all started calling me a bimbo. So when I turned 18, I changed my name. I did it basically to say, ‘Hey, I like what I am and what I can do. I’m not ashamed of it.’
“You know, my folks drummed it into me that it didn’t matter what I did with my life as long as I was good at it. My father always said, ‘You can be a ditch-digger if you want. Just make sure that you’re the best ditch-digger there ever was.’ Well, I’m a slut. But I’m proud to say that, if I’m not the best slut there ever was, I’m pretty damn close.”
While she was talking, Bimbette could feel Phil and Woody’s eyes on her, ogling her, drinking her in. Mostly, they were happy just watching her breathe, but every time she crossed or uncrossed her legs, their attention shifted. As always, she found their interest in her profoundly exciting.
She took another big sip of her drink and, when she put the glass down, turned to Phil and smiled a little smile. He didn’t need any other invitation. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, clutching her breast while he introduced his tongue to the inside of her delicious mouth.
Woody, meanwhile, leaning in from her left, began nibbling on her earlobe and reached between her legs. She instinctively spread them widely and Woody easily found her stiffening clit, rolling it gently between his fingers. Bimbette gasped in sudden pleasure, slid her ass forward on the seat and spread her legs even more. After a moment, she affectionately stroked Phil’s cheek, gave him another little smile and turned to tongue wrestle with Woody.
As she turned, she lifted the right side of her ass off the leather seat and Phil slid his hand under the back of her skirt and between her cheeks. While Woody stroked and squeezed her hard clit, Phil fingered her ass hole, at first teasing and tickling it, then poking his fingers into it. Woody’s fingers, meanwhile, found their way into her tight, tender, dripping wet cunt.
Bimbette writhed happily between her two new boyfriends and kissed first one, then the other, with increasing passion. She reached for their crotches to grab their cocks through their pants, but could manage only an awkward, backhanded grip.
After fumbling ineffectually for a few seconds, she was about to change position so she could get a more convenient grasp when she heard the quiet, hard clink of metal on wood. She looked in the direction of the sound and saw that Randy had just placed a large, menacing pair of bright chrome-plated handcuffs on the table. Her jaw dropped and, as she stared at shiny shackles, her large blue eyes widened until they were as big as dinner plates. She looked up at Randy and ran her tongue along her top lip. Her clitoris began to flutter and jerk and she squirmed with anticipation.
“Not if you don’t want to,” he said softly. “It would just be a game, not real. They’d only be closed, not locked. You could take them off any time you wanted to, I promise. And,” he added with a lop-sided grin, “you do seem to be having a problem figuring out what to do with your hands, so…”
But before Randy was even half through with his spiel, Bimbette thrust her hands out toward him, side by side. “Behind the back works better,” he suggested quietly. Immediately, she put her hands behind her and turned sideways, facing Woody, her back to Phil. Randy slid the ‘cuffs over to Phil and said, “If you would do the honors, please. But gently. This girl’s too gorgeous to be blemished with bruises.”
As Phil snapped the handcuffs in place, Woody unzipped his pants and popped out his dark, eleven-inch hard-on. He put one hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him. Behind her, Bimbette could hear Phil’s fly opening as well. She put her left knee on the seat, her right foot on the floor and lowered her bright red lips to Woody’s impatient cock. She licked the head and took it a half-inch into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue stud.
Phil moved close behind her, unfastened the top of her dress and cupped her tender, round breasts in his hands. The juke box started up again loudly, but now, instead of soft ballads, it blared an up-tempo rock-a-billy tune.
Woody’s right hand slipped between her legs and found her rigid clit again. Grabbing it firmly with three fingers, he stroked it like a tiny penis. Bimbette licked the long underside of his huge erection, then sucked hard on its tip. He arched his back and groaned loudly.
The head of Phil’s big love shaft pressed against the mouth of her oozing snatch, but didn’t enter. He put his meaty hands on either side of her head, thumbs across the back, and slowly pushed her mouth down onto Woody’s eager, twitching manhood. The hard rod slid gradually into her throat.
Without her hands to brace her, Bimbette could not have resisted if she had wanted to. But resistance was the furthest thing from her mind. She opened widely and welcomed Woody in. Phil forced her face down into Woody’s lap until her full lips were pressed hard against his pubic hair, held her there a few seconds, then moved her head an inch up and down a few times. Finally, he pulled her slowly back up. She was sucking and tasting Woody’s pre-cum the whole way as his long, stiff boner slid reluctantly from her soft, shiny lips.
Then it was Phil’s turn. He and Woody turned Bimbette around and directed her magic mouth onto Phil’s throbbing cock. As she turned, she locked eyes first with Randy, then with Sylvester. They were obviously enjoying the show.
Phil again took her head in his hands and, for a minute or so, steered it around at his pleasure while her lips, tongue and throat made love to his large, rock-hard lance. Meanwhile, Woody’s fingers toyed with her cunt and clit. He pushed his thumb into the wet entrance and flicked, rubbed, rolled and squeezed her cute, stiff little nubbin.
By now, Bimbette was tingling with sexual excitement and badly needed to be crammed full of men. When Phil let her momentarily up for air, she lost her balance, and fell face forward into his lap, hands still locked behind her back.
“Fuck me now,” she mumbled into the wad of pants bunched below his balls. “I’m so horny, I can’t stand it another second.” She turned her head and looked up at him from the corners of her eyes, pleading in a hoarse whisper, “Shove your cock in and fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me, please. Please, please, please.”
“Well, if you put it that way, I guess I can accommodate,” Phil answered. He helped Bimbette up so her body was erect, right knee on the seat, left foot on the floor. Then, pulling his pants down around his knees, he swung his legs up onto the seat, slid them between hers and leaned back on his elbows, his hard prick standing straight up like a rosy flag pole. “Come and get it,” he invited.
Bimbette anxiously moved forward to straddle his rod, but in her rush she lost her balance again and repeated her face-first dive into his lap. In frustration, she turned her head sideways, grabbed his cock tightly between her lips and tugged at it, shaking her head back and forth like a dog with a bone. Her ardor and the vigorous motion were so stimulating to Phil he had to quickly pull her mouth off his staff before he came all over his very expensive, new shirt. In the process, he also lost his balance and flopped flat on his back.
Instead of struggling back upright, Bimbette slithered forward, her plump breasts sliding over Phil’s balls and boner until the head of his hard prick peeked out coyly from between her squashed tits. There she paused to let him enjoy the sight. He reached down, cupped the sides of her breasts, pressing them tightly against his stiff cock, and rocked his hips slowly back and forth for a few seconds, fucking her tits the way he longed to fuck her cunt.
As soon as he stopped, Bimbette resumed pushing herself up over him so that first her chest glided over his rigid rod, then her flat stomach and her soft abdomen and finally her steamy genitals. When the tip of his swollen love boat was knocking on the door to her tunnel of lust, she paused. Her face was pressed hard against his. She attacked his mouth with her sweet, moist lips and his tongue with hers.
She caught the head of his cock in the wet mouth of her pussy, brought her left leg under her and slowly raised her shapely torso into an erect position, at the same time lifting his big boner to the vertical. Now she was in control, and she hesitated, enjoying the role reversal. Her juices drooled down Phil’s stiff fuck-stick.
He looked up and marveled at the vision of sensual beauty poised on his cock, ready to deliver a biggest dose of erotic ecstasy he had experienced in a long time. The top portion of her dress dangled from her waist, exposing her sublime breasts, which, with her hands bound behind her, were thrust out even more proudly than usual. They hung over him like succulent fruit, their nipples as agonizingly rigid and bloated as his rod, telling him that she was as ready to cum as he was. Above that, her open-mouthed eagerness, sweet face and tousled, flame-red hair fanned his passion to the point where he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from cumming.
Meanwhile, the juke box blared out another loud country-western rocker:
A teeny little skirt, Skin-tight, revealing shirt, Spike heels so high, And my, my, my, That girl sure loves to flirt.
She cuddled up with Jud, And smooched with Bill and Bud, Then hootchy cooed And got real lewd With every other stud.
Phil bit his lip, rolled his head from side to side and, eyes still closed, grabbed Bimbette at the waist and slowly, slowly impaled her on the weapon with which he worshipped her. She screamed with delight and began to ride up and down on Phil’s prick, deliberately at first, but quickly accelerating until she was bouncing like a kid on a trampoline. She felt her clitoris become as big and as hard as her thumb and knew her climax was quickly approaching.
But then, from behind, Woody’s strong hands grabbed her shoulders and gently forced her forward into a horizontal position. She felt his hard, eleven-inch prick probing for a way into her cunt and heard him ask quietly, “Ever have two in the same hole?” She had, in fact, been vaginally double-fucked before, although she didn’t tell Woody so, but never by two cocks so large. She locked lips with Phil and impatiently waited for Woody to find his way in.
While they all, Bimbette included, enjoyed the man-in-charge fantasy offered by the ‘cuffs, everyone knew that she was the one actually in control. No one was going to do anything to her she didn’t want done, or stick anything into her anywhere she didn’t want it stuck. But she wanted this, and she wanted it bad.
Woody tried to force his way in several times without success. Phil was just too large, and Bimbette was too tight. Eventually, however, she leaned as far forward as she could and let Phil slide most of the way out, which created a tiny gap into which Woody could push the tip of his huge penis. In a matter of seconds, he worked the head in as Bimbette shivered in anticipation of the intense pleasure to come. Soon Phil and Woody were alternating strokes and Bimbette was groaning and grunting with them as all three neared climax.
Orgasm struck the trio quickly and almost simultaneously, rolling over them like a tidal wave. As the men powerfully spray-painted her insides, Phil cursed a blue streak and Woody moaned and sobbed. Bimbette howled inarticulately while the forceful spasms of her frenzied pussy squeezed out every last drops of their thick cum.
When they were done, Woody collapsed heavily on Bimbette, pressing her hard against Phil. She nibbled languidly on Phil’s lower lip.
“That was a great little show,” remarked Randy cheerfully.
“Sure was,” agreed Sylvester.
Bimbette turned to look at them, but since her head was lower than the table and Woody’s weight prevented her from lifting it, all she could see was their legs and crotches under the table. But that was plenty. The bulges in their pants were big enough to start her clit tingling again. She began to rub it roughly against Phil’s pubic hair.
“Can’t get enough of me, can you, poor girl,” sighed Phil and returned her kiss briefly. “Can’t tell you how many women have that problem,” he added plaintively.
“Maybe he can’t tell you how many women have that problem,” Woody interjected, “but I can. It’s exactly none; that’s how many.” He pulled his softening penis out of Bimbette and stood up chuckling.
“Ouuuuch, that hurrrrts,” answered Phil sarcastically.
Bimbette pulled her legs up under her and tried to sit up straight but lost her balance, again, and would have flopped back onto Phil’s chest if he hadn’t caught her and pushed her upright. She then turned to face the table and the two men on the other side, legs spread and Phil still embedded in her cunt.
“So, are you guys going to come over here for a little visit, or are you going to make me crawl across the table?” she asked with a little smirk, knowing what the answer would be.
“What do you think, Sylvester?” mused Randy.
“How’s she going to crawl across that table all trussed up like that?” scoffed Sylvester. “I don’t think she can do it.”
“Show him, sweetheart,” said Randy.
Quickly, Bimbette stood up. Phil’s rod popped out of her vagina and a small river of man-goo began to drool heavily down the insides of her thighs. She leaned forward against the table, braced first one spike-heeled pump and then the other against the edge of the seat and heaved herself onto the smooth, wooden surface. Her breasts were squashed under her like big marshmallows. Pushing with her knees and shimmying her shoulders back and forth, she was able to wiggle herself across the table, straight for Sylvester, leaving a slimy trail of Phil and Woody’s cum behind her. The men found the movement of her ass particularly mesmerizing.
“You know, I think she’s going to make it,” commented Sylvester. “But it never hurts to offer a little incentive.” He reached for his crotch, pulled down his zipper and casually exposed the longest piece of man-meat Bimbette had ever seen.
She froze, her eyes bugged out of her head, her nipples suddenly stiffened and her mouth opened and closed as if she were talking but someone had turned the sound off. She pinched her ass with her ‘cuffed hands to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. As soon as she convinced herself that the fourteen inch black staff in front of her was real, she resumed wriggling toward Sylvester, but now at a frenzied pace. Within seconds, her head was hanging over the table edge, her mouth reaching for his hard love muscle.
Sylvester was happy to cooperate and steered the head of his gigantic cock between her shiny, fire-engine red lips. She pitched herself face-first onto his cock and practically fell off the table getting as much of him into her mouth as she could. But he caught her by the shoulders and kept her from tumbling into his lap. His stiff spear was much too thick to force down her throat, so she had to content herself with sucking on the top five inches.
After a minute or so of mouth massage, Bimbette raised her head from his cock, looked up at him and asked, “So, are you going to fuck me with that gorgeous thing or what?”
By way of answer, Sylvester stood up, grabbed her by her tiny waist and lifted her off the table, turned her so her back was to him and sat down again. She settled her feet on the floor and he pressed the tip of his aching prick against her tight sphincter.
“Yeah, I thought I might stick it in for a minute or two,” he finally replied.
When she realized he planned to stuff his monstrous hard-on into her back door, she almost fainted with delight. Her knees grew weak. Her nipples instantly grew even stiffer and jutted out an extra quarter inch. Her clitoris began to twitch and tremble with expectation. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she transferred her weight from her feet to her anus, leaning her shoulders back against Sylvester’s muscular chest. She slid slowly down, inch by inch, onto his huge ass-impaler, savoring the sensation of its gradual entry. He was much longer than Sebastian, but about the same thickness, so it was a deliciously tight fit.
Sylvester groaned ecstatically and, when Bimbette had slid all the way to the base of his tall pole, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down even further, forcing his cock another half inch into her rectum.
“Aaaaarrrghgh, yes, yes, thank you,” she moaned and spread her legs widely, hoping that Randy had plans for her other hole.
Sylvester turned part-way toward Randy and began to ease his big prick in and out of Bimbette’s clinging ass hole in small, gentle strokes. Randy leaned forward and began to suck on the nearest nipple while rolling her hard clitoris between his dexterous fingers. Bimbette wanted to reach for his crotch and grab whatever lurked behind that huge bulge in his pants. But of course she couldn’t, not with her hands locked behind her back.
As her passion began to burn even brighter, she started to beg. “Oh God, fuck my pussy, too,” she moaned. “Fuck my pussy and ass at the same time. Jesus, I need it. I really, really need it. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Please fuck my pussy. Aaaaarrrgh!!”
Sylvester now turned the rest of the way and lay down on the seat. Bimbette lay on top of him, bracing her right foot on the seat and planting her left on the floor, under the table. She caressed Sylvester’s cock with her tight ass hole while Randy kneeled between her legs, which were now spread as wide as she could get them. She fixed him with a longing, hungry stare and whispered, “Please, puhleeeeze” as the distended lips of her dripping pussy gaped like an open mouth, silently begging as insistently as her whispered pleas.
Randy leaned down, swept his lips softly up her trembling thighs and clamped them on her aching, swollen clit. He began to suck. She screamed in pleasure and an intense climax quickly washed over her and her hips jerked wildly up and down on Sylvester’s long, stiff rod. He bit his lip and refused to give in to orgasm quite yet.
When the rapture receded and Randy sat back on his haunches, Bimbette looked up at him and pouted, “You are so cruel. I told you I needed your cock.” She paused for effect and then accused dramatically, “And you sucked me off instead!”
Randy smiled. “First time I’ve heard a woman complain about getting eaten out,” he said. “But have it your way.” He raised up on his knees, reached down and put his hand on his fly to unzip. Bimbette watched intently and writhed impatiently on Sylvester’s rigid girl-pleaser.
Randy undid his belt, slowly pulled the zipper down about two inches, like a male stripper, and a massive cock head peeked out through the opening. Bimbette gasped in awe-struck surprise at its size. He lowered the zipper another inch and the top of the shaft jumped out. Her clitoris suddenly came back to life. Her eyes were glued to his crotch as she fervently prayed that Randy’s manhood was as colossal as it looked like it might be. He finished unzipping and his monstrous man-meat proudly stood, free and fully erect. It was noticeably thicker than Sylvester or Sebastian and looked to be a full fifteen inches from base to tip.
“Oh shit!” she gasped. It was even bigger than she had hoped. “You’d better fuck me right away. I don’t think your friend Clarence here can wait much longer.”
“Fill-eff-eh,” mumbled Sylvester, not daring to release his lower lip from between his teeth.
Although Sylvester was already all the way in, Bimbette kept grinding her ass roughly against his pubic hair, vainly trying to force him even further up her bum. Her engorged clit was buzzing so fiercely, it felt like it was inhabited by a swarm of angry bumble bees. Her first instinct was to grab for Randy’s gorgeous rod, but the handcuffs thwarted her.
Randy leaned forward, resting his weight on one arm and using the other hand to hold his enormous shaft and aim it at Bimbette’s greedy cunt. He pressed the bloated head gently between its waiting lips and her fluids oozed out around it and drooled thickly down toward her anus. She closed her eyes and began to moan loudly, “Oh God, don’t make me wait! Put it in, all the way in. Oh, do it, do it, do it!” Behind her back, her hands clutched spastically at Sylvester’s shirt, the long, sharp nail causing occasional minor injury.
Bimbette tried desperately to push herself onto Randy’s cock, but having Sylvester all the way up her ass prevented her from moving any further in that direction. Eventually, Randy pushed his fat cock-head into her, then pulled back. Then he did it again.
“Oh Christ, stop teasing me!” she screamed. “Just push it in. All the way. Now!” Again, she tried to seize Randy’s mammoth man-meat, only to be frustrated by the ‘cuffs.
Randy eased further into her steaming hot cunt, pistoning in and out slowly and gently, a little deeper with each stroke. Bimbette moaned and swung her head back and forth frantically, as if possessed by some erotic demon. Her hair whipped Sylvester’s face painfully, distracting him enough to keep him from cumming.
As Randy neared full insertion, Sylvester began sliding in and out, alternating his thrusts with Randy’s, shoving his cock deep into Bimbette’s ass when his friend withdrew and vice versa. Bimbette gasped and squeaked and groaned and squealed each time she was pierced. Knowing she was approaching her climax, Sylvester enlarged his stroke until he was pulling his full length out each time, then ramming it all back in. Randy was now doing the same thing to her voracious pussy.
Bimbette felt like she’d been double-dosed with an incredibly potent aphrodisiac. Her need to cum was the most intense she had ever experienced. She could feel her hot orgasm building quickly in her loins, but also in her hands and feet and everywhere in between. “Kiss me,” she demanded, looking deeply into Randy’s eyes. When he didn’t respond immediately, she screamed, “Kiss me, ass hole!”
Randy grinned slightly, opened his mouth and slowly lowered it to Bimbette’s. She closed her eyes and attacked his lips like a berserk nymphomaniac, nipping them, sucking them and shoving her tongue roughly between them.
Suddenly, her climax exploded like napalm, searing heat and blinding light blazing simultaneously from the center and extremities of her body. Her back arched and stiffened, her legs and arms trembled violently and her hips whipsawed uncontrollably. She howled pitiably at the top of her lungs until Randy clamped his mouth on hers to deaden the wailing.
As soon as Bimbette came, Sylvester followed, shooting his heavy cum-slugs deep inside her. Before long, Randy joined them, plastering her cervix with hot, sticky gunk. The feeling of two colossal cocks pulsing and throbbing inside of her only intensified and prolonged Bimbette’s orgasm. Her head was swimming so that she thought she’d pass out, but the ferocity of her ecstasy kept her conscious. Her clit continued to shiver and pound with pleasure long after the boys stopped spurting. Coincidentally, she and the juke box shuddered into silence at exactly the same moment.
The three of them lay there, spent, for a half-minute and then Randy raised himself and pulled his still mostly-erect member out of her. It made a quiet, but audible POP as it came out and unleashed a small, slow flood of their mingled juices, like a bottle of champagne being opened carefully, but overflowing anyway.
Bimbette sat up and turned to face the table, closing her eyes and opening her mouth in pleasure as she rotated 90 degrees on Sylvester’s long prick, which was still firmly lodged in her ass. She planted her spike heels on the floor and gave her ass a little, playful wiggle, looking down at Sylvester and making a small kissing gesture with her glossy lips.
“You guys are the best,” she purred. Then, beaming up at Randy, she continued, “You’re a couple of wonderful freaks of nature. Where have you been all my life? And who’s the hell’s been fucking you? Most girls would run away screaming from the equipment you boys carry.”
“You’re pretty special yourself, ” said Randy, lifting her up off of Sylvester, who scrambled to get out from under the thick waterfall his cum made as it drained from her ass hole.
It had been a great night. She’d fucked 11 guys, including the two biggest cocks she’d ever seen. But with no new men to try, she felt like it might be time to finally finish her martini and call it a night.
“Maybe we should keep in touch somehow,” she suggested to Randy and Sylvester.
“Take this,” Randy offered, handing her a small, plain card. “Keep it safe. I do want to hear from you.”
The card read simply, “Randolph P. Makewater,” followed by a phone number. And, she thought, maybe I should get that sweetheart Freddy’s number, too.
When they had all cleaned up and put themselves back together, the men escorted Bimbette back to the front section of the bar. As she turned the corner, she realized, to her surprise, that there were more men in the bar now than there had been before. At a quick glance, it looked like there were maybe seven or eight recent arrivals. She adopted her slowest, sexiest stroll and inspected the newcomers, smiling at one, winking at another. To a man, they were young, handsome and well-muscled. She felt her clit begin to tingle and her nipples stiffened visibly.
She walked over to the bar. The best-looking of the new guys joined her and asked if he could buy her a drink. She took his hand and stared into his eyes.
“Hey, Sebastian,” she said, without looking away from her new friend, “You got any quarters? I think I’m in the mood for a little more dance music.”