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"Err?" said Stacy, using a nickname.
"Mmm?"
"Thank you."
"Mmm."
"No, seriously, thank you. I'm going to really thank you now, but I wanted to say it out loud too."
"Mmm, mmm."
Erin was beyond speech.
Stacy started jacking her off. Long strokes, hard strokes, teasing strokes. The best handjob she could muster. She jacked, licked, and kissed Erin's dick for maybe five minutes before her body begin to jerk. It started as a twitch in the knees. Stacy felt one knock against her side. Next her arms, then her neck and head. Finally the torso joined in and Stacy watched Erin's stomach muscles contract.
"Stace," she managed a hoarse whisper, her eyes wide.
Stacy moved her face away from the appendage as it jerked. It flailed against her hands, it grew half a size bigger and then shrank. Erin's eyes rolled up into the back of her head. It jerked again, spurting a thick stream of semen into the air. It arced, splatting against the wall with a distinctive SPLAT.
Erin's body relaxed. Then it convulsed, and another SPLAT was preceded by an impressive ejaculation. It continued this way for near sixty seconds. Stacy holding on for dear life as Erin's body contracted and convulsed, spilling a pint of distasteful life force against the wall. Finally Erin relaxed, she was done. Stacy licked and sucked on the tender cockflesh, making Erin shudder in post-orgasmic bliss. It shrank slowly, Stacy massaging it the entire time, until Erin's pussy sucked it back up with another SHLUCK.
After a few minutes of exhausted panting, Stacy got up and turned off most of the shower heads, leaving one on for her and Erin.
She guided Erin to her feet slowly, and they huddled under a stream of water, getting rid of any unsavory juices that might have stuck to them. They staggered out into the locker room afterward, Stacy helping Erin into her clothes, and disposing of Coach Hall's wallet, pants, shirt, and cell phone.
"Stacy," said Erin sleepily.
"Yes Erin?"
Erin splayed a hand so Stace could see her fingertips.
"I'm all pruny from the shower, can you drive me home?"
The End.
Always Hungry For More
I'm a straight-up type of guy, so I'll let you know straight-up that I'm from Crenshaw and that probably didn't do me many favors growing up. Some say I have an icy personality, but I like to think that my character is simply measured. I admit my temperament isn't so good at times. I try my best to exercise some ethics. It's hard, ya know, when you're from the ghetto. You learn to live by different moral standards and different societal rules altogether. Punishment goes to a whole other level in the hood. Anyway, I'm not sure why I'm opening with all this shit. Maybe I don't want you to judge me for what I'm about to share with you. But, then again, maybe I don't give one flying fuck what you think. All I'm saying is that I ain't no fucking saint, but I ain't a monster either. I just want what I fucking want and that's that.
Jonah has been my nigga since we were kids. His name ain't really Jonah (it's Jonathan or some shit, fuck if I know). We all know him as Jonah. He's this light-skinned pretty ass nigga, half white and half black, that all the chicks be diggin' since we were like 12. His skin makes him look more white than black and his nose is a little crooked. In grade school, we somehow decided that he looks Jewish, not that any of us had ever seen a real Jewish person in our neighborhood. Everyone knows that Jewish people are freakishly smart. And when you're smart and you're white...well, you don't live in Crenshaw. You live in NYC or Beverly Hills or someplace nice and rich. Jonah may look white, but he ain't smart. So he's still in Crenshaw with the rest of the crew. The name "Jonah" seemed really Jewish to us, so that's how Jonah became Jonah.
Why is this nigga important? Truthfully, he's not. He just happened to date this fine ass girl that I have been hawkin' ever since they met. Supposedly, they met at some dorm room party. How Jonah got invited to a campus party, I'm not entirely sure. Jonah barely passed high school and never went to college, unlike me. But before you go thinking I'm smart or some shit, just stop. I'm humble enough to admit that I went to USC on a sports scholarship. My grades aren't shit, but they're nothing to write home about. The party at which Jonah met his fine ass girlfriend was not a party I had attended. If I had, maybe I would have met that fine ass girl and made her my girlfriend first. And maybe things would have turned out differently.
The fine ass girl has a name and it's Mila. I'll never forget her name because I probably mumbled it into her neck about 100 times while I was on top of her. She's the kind of girl that is so damn hot that she makes a man feel inferior and like he has nothin' good to say, even when he does. Why Mila wasted even a single second on Jonah, I'll never know the answer. Mila is beautiful and, from what the ladies say, Jonah is attractive too. So maybe they were both just trying to win the affections of the hottest person in the room. I don't fucking know. All I know is that Jonah tried to fuck her before she was ready, Mila got mad, Jonah got mad, Jonah went off and cheated on her with a slut from around the way, and they broke up.
Fast-forward a year and a half. That should take you up to last week, when I spotted Mila on the dance floor at Tao. Yes, I mean Tao nightclub in Las Vegas. Where else? Anyway, Mila was there with a couple friends and I was there with my crew, including Jonah. We had a VIP section with bottle service and the works. I saw Mila first and pointed her out to Jonah. Why am I such a dumb fuck sometimes? Jonah approached her and, from afar, it looked like Mila responded friendly enough because she and her girls came to our reserved lounge area. They're letting bygones be bygones, I guess.
Like usual, Jonah is shit-faced drunk and pretty much off in his own universe. He's not paying much attention to Mila, even though she's clearly the finest girl in the club. Left and right, guys are staring up and down her beautiful body. She's on the petite side, maybe 5'3" without heels, but what pretty girl goes to a club not wearing heels? Mila's heels were steep and slutty, making her appear much taller and even sexier. She wore a tight, short dress that showed off her tan shapely legs and tight hot body. I can't even remember what color that dress was -- I was too busy scoping out the shape of her breasts and butt underneath the clingy fabric. Every time I glance at her, I feel the hunger nag at me. The hunger to strip her and spread her open, against her will if necessary.
Anyway, the night unfolds the way any night would unfold at a Vegas club. Everyone gets drunker, the girls get looser, the dudes get bolder, and the dancing gets sexier. It's past 2am when I finally approach Mila on the dance floor and start grinding on her from behind. She's surprised at first, but then she slaps me with her gorgeous smile and starts grinding me back. I'm trying to control my cock and not let her feel how hard I am, because I don't want her to know that I'm about to nut myself. Her smell is intoxicating. I can't tell if it's a perfume or her shampoo... it's citrus mixed with something flowery. I have no goddam clue -- I can't place it but I feel like I could breathe it in all night. Her ass is shapely and her skin is so soft. I let my hands glide up and down her petite arms. What I really want to do is bend her over and give her a good dicking right there on the dance floor. Instead, I sway with her to the beat and periodically exchange smiles with her. After a few songs, I force myself to leave her alone, just to show I'm no puppy dog nigga that's about to follow her around all night.
It's pushing 4am when I finally make it back to my hotel room. No, I wasn't sharing it with my crew. I'm a grown man and I don't need
roommates, not even when it comes to overpriced Vegas suites. Were my fellas posted up in rooms on the same floor? Hell yeah. In Vegas, you never know when you need back-up. Just ask 2Pac.
I take a quick shower and towel off. My reflection shows signs of sleeplessness. My eyes are a little bloodshot and my skin is dry from alcohol dehydration. Still, I'm a good lookin' nigga. I played basketball throughout high school and college, so I'm tall (just over 6'4") and muscular. The girls always complimented me on my smile and my lips. They're sexy, no doubt. My ex-girl said she loved my voice. She said it was deep and smooth. That's exactly how she liked getting fucked. And I always deliver. I slang a monster cock and I know how to make a woman cum. So why do I feel like such a fucking loser around Mila?
Before I can answer my own question, there's a quiet knock on my door. The sound was almost inaudible, so I'm not even sure if I heard anything at all. I throw on a pair of jeans and take a quick look out the peephole. Shit. It's Mila. What the fucking hell is going on? How did she find my hotel suite? Did I even put on any deodorant? Fuck. But I open the door anyway.
