Whiskey Chick

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Whiskey Chick is what she called herself. At least, that’s how she signed her first e-mail to me.

“I really love your stories, Johnnie. So vivid and descriptive. They each get me soaking wet, each one more so than the next. You sound like a man who knows how to please a woman, and I sure know how to please a man. What would you think about making a story of our own? I’ve always wanted to do that, RSVP. Love, Whiskey Chick in Arkansas.”

I wrote back and thanked her, of course, being the polite and eternally horny author that I am, but included a sentence that said I couldn’t find any Lit stories under her name, yet I would be more than flattered to write a story together.

Two days later, the reply came.

“Who said anything about writing a story together, silly man? I want to MAKE a story of our own. Ya know, like real life sex. Wanna fly me to Philly? I’ve never been, but always wanted to see how the Liberty Bell would look after some hot fuckin’. xoxo, WC”

Now we’re talkin’, I thought, a woman after my own heart and mind.

I sent her a photo and a little info about myself, and her response came more quickly this time.

“Day-umm, boy, you’re even hotter than you sound in your stories, I think I would just luuuv to fuck you. Here’s a little bio of my own, sweetheart. My real name is Karen, I’m forty-two years old, five-foot-three, one hundred and eighteen pounds soaking wet (and I’m pretty much always wet), have thick, auburn hair that’s halfway down to my ass. I’m a cocktail waitress in an, ahem, adult club, but I only work three nights a week, Thursday through Saturday, so I have plenty of time to play. Yes, I used to strip, but I make almost twice as much now just serving drinks, and I can take my clothes off for whomever I want nowadays.

I have 38DD tits (I confess they are enhanced), a stomach you could bounce quarters off of, a cute little bubble ass, taut thighs, lean legs, and a little red landing strip of a patch over my tight puss, which I call Little Red Ride-Me-Hood. My body has allowed me to buy a twelve-acre ranch house outside of Hot Springs. And if you’re interested in that sort of thing, well, I humbly consider myself (blushing slighly) the BEST LITTLE COCKSUCKER IN THE RAZORBACK STATE.

Just to prove that, on Saturdays, after-hours, we hold a little 50-50 drawing for the regulars, twenty dollars a ticket, and the winner gets a choice either to keep the winnings, or get a back room BJ from me. Let’s put it this way, for nineteen weeks in a row now, nobody kept the money! (But, don’t worry, I give it all to charity. I’m a slut, but not a whore, lol!)

And, oh, yes, I just won a Miss Hawaiian Tropic bikini contest for women over thirty. The judges couldn’t believe I was forty-two. Wanna see the video?”

Uh, why yes, I think I do want to see that video, Whiskey, thanks.

I saw it, and it was good, very good, day-um good. The flight reservation was booked the next day.

So, after a night or two of scalding hot pre-visit phone sex, I found myself standing near the baggage claim in terminal B of the Baltimore Airport, just me and my hard-on, awaiting Whiskey Chick’s arrival down the concourse ramp for a twenty-four hour carnal rendezvous solely for the purpose of creating a Literotica story based on personal research. (Baltimore was a slightly longer drive than Philly from where I lived, but the flight schedule was more convenient on short notice. Hence, Whiskey’s arrival in Crabtown.)

I’m not smart enough to make this stuff up, believe me.

She came into view and at first, she was dressed so conservatively, more so than I had expected, I didn’t realize this was the voluptuous sex kitten I had just imported from the South for sexual aerobics with a complete stranger, albeit a self-proclaimed cock-sucking aficionado. That helps. It helps a lot.

Her hair was tied up in a loose conservative bun, and she wore librarian-like horn-rimmed eyeglasses. Her more than ample breasts were concealed sneakily behind a loose charcoal gray sweater, and she wore a black dress that was down to mid-calf, just about the spot where her fashionable leather high-heel boots ended.

She recognized me immediately and greeted me with a soft, sensual kiss, her tongue snaking between her bright red, full lips into my mouth for just a second, and she stepped back, letting the back of her palm graze against the slowly rising bulge in my suit pants, almost as if by accident.

“Mmmm, you look good and feel enough to eat, baby,” she cooed, nibbling on my ear. “Don’t be fooled by this outfit, if I don’t dress this way when I travel, well, I get some unwanted attention, and I’m saving my private showing for only for you, darlin’. So let’s get to your car, shall we, and let the show begin?”

When we reached the car in the parking garage, the show indeed commenced. Karen let loose the bun that held her silky, light brown hair which fell onto her still-concealed but very noticeable chest and gave me a slow, deep, onwingiris.biz scalding hot tongue-dance of a kiss while again rubbing my cock fervently as the heat of the kiss escalated.

“Mmmm, you surely weren’t fabricatin’ the size of that monster, Johnnie boy. I might have to give you one of those East-Coast gangster names. Ya know, like Johnnie da Cock. Or maybe Johnnie Eight Inch. How’s that sound?” She giggled at her own Sopranos humor, but gee, it was cute, I kinda liked it. I’ve been called a lot worse, that’s for sure.

When she eased into the front seat, she purred, “Lexus, I knew you were a man with taste. And, I’ll bet you taste good, too. Let me prepare for my meal. I’m waaay overdressed for the ride.” We weren’t long out of the parking lot and onto the access road when Karen had pulled her heavy wool sweater over her head and the famous Arkansas puppies made their first known appearance in the Mid-Atlantic, supported by a light purple, satin underwire bra that struggled to hold up the mountains like a skinny man trying to bench-press too much free weight on a set of barbells.

It was all I could do to keep my eyes on the road, and we still had more than an hour to drive since I lived in southern-most Chester County in Pennsylvania, just over the Delaware state line. Karen next reached down to take her knee-high leather boots off of her feet, and in doing so while facing towards me, all but the nipples of her massive mammaries spilled downward from the cups of the pretty bra, like two ripe, mid-sized watermelons.

She leaned around and placed the boots gently onto the back seat, not saying a word, just peering at me lustfully with fawn-brown eyes over her designer, brown-rimmed eyeglass frames that were perched perilously on her cute, turned-up nose.

She brought two manicured fingertips to her right hip, and slowly peeled down the zipper of her suede dress, finally lifting her legs, one by one, up onto the top of the dashboard, and shimmied out of the dress with pronounced wiggles and waggles, raising her buttocks from the upholstery until the dress was extracted from her hind quarters.

She folded the dress delicately and also placed it on the rear seat, took her glasses off, put them in her purse, and sat there gazing at me in only a bra and a pair of lacy, beige thong panties, which looked like they were wedged up her gooey slit in a triangular, vaginal strangle-hold.

I was now harder than a complex calculus problem on a SAT exam. I had truly never seen a more magnificent sample of the female anatomy, soft and curvy, yet not an ounce of fat on her. A slim waist, round hips, a flat, lean tummy, great bubble ass, and of course, certainly not to be ignored, a set of hugely disproportionate but not-egregiously-so tits. She came as advertised in her written self-appraisal, and then some.

“You like?” she purred, knowing damn well how I would reply.

I answered as solemnly as I would have were I under oath. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful body, Karen. You are absolutely spectacular.”

She grinned like a woman who had heard such accolades hundreds, thousands of times, and then turned her bottom lip into a mock pout. “But you haven’t even seen my real prizes yet, Johnnie Eight Inch.” I could get used to this nickname, I thought, except I was so excited, it might have grown even bigger than that right about now.

She reached around her back and unclasped the hook on her bra strap. Two football-sized tits swung from their imprisonment, no longer held captive by straining, overmatched lace. Her pink, erect nipples were approximately the length and width of my pinky tip to my first knuckle, and she reached down to cup her right breast in her small palm, and lapped on it languidly, her long tongue tracing wet circles around the enlarged, fleshy, puffy, salmon-hued areola.

“What do ya think of THESE?” She grinned as she kissed her tit.

Uh, Daddy like. Daddy like a lot.

With her other hand, she snaked her fingers to her crotch and tautly pulled the stringy fabric of her thong into a tight, fisted wad, and pulled it deeply into her snatch, tickling her clit as she did so, and her thick, swollen labia pushed out lewdly, and she began to stroke her lips with two fingers, beginning to moan softly now.

Precum poured from my tortured dick slit and puddled in a warm, sticky pond on the lap of my trousers. This did not go unnoticed by my front-seat, masturbating vixen, and she mercifully lowered her head onto my lap, careful not to let the steering wheel impede her descent, and tugged at my belt and zipper until my shaft sprung free from my boxers, the angry purple head popping out first with a vengeance and an agenda.

“Oooooo, fuck, huge, wow!” Karen gushed. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of cock in my day, but this one is soooooo above average, God-day-um, boy!”

She leaned farther over now so much so that the top of her head was pressed against my driver-side door, and began to mash her tits together over my shaft. Now it was my turn to moan. She stuck her dual monsters against my penile stick shift, bouncing my pole wildly back and forth between her soft but firm globes. “Windshield wipers,” she giggled.

She next lifted my own ass high of the seat so that she could pull my pants down to my ankles, and I glanced at the roadside sign that announced we were approaching Elkton, Maryland.

I struggled to maintain focus. I couldn’t get us killed, that would be a tragedy. Not so much the end of life itself, but to do so without first experiencing the charms and talents of this incredible sex machine would be cataclysmic. ‘Just get us home, Lord, and let me cum, in her, on her, and you can take me anytime’, I silently prayed. Only half-kidding.

Karen cooed as she slapped my hypertrophied dick all over her cheeks and lips and chin. “Mmmm, I call a dick this big a ‘face’ cock. Do you know what a ‘face’ cock is, Johnnie?”

She didn’t wait for, nor expect, an answer. She gripped my dick firmly with two hands and stretched it out as long as it had ever gone. I had to admit as I glanced down, she had me huge, and it looked it.

“A ‘face’ cock, my dear, well-hung boy, is one of the rare ones that is as long as the length of my entire face.” She proved it by placing it against her chin, and it extended to the tip of her forehead, snaking under the bangs of her hair.

She looked up at me dreamily and smiled. “And now I’m gonna, oooh, boy, that’s BIG……. I’m gonna suck it and show you what a Arkansas cowgirl can do with a great dick.”

Four things transpired that made the next thirty minutes those of unrivaled historical significance in my proud experience of being a recipient of oral greatness.

First and foremost, it was, to this day, the best, most erotic, most sensual blowjob I have ever received. Perhaps it was partially the fact that I was driving, and it was dark, and I couldn’t clearly witness the activities evolving in my nether regions, so my primary active tactile sense was feeling myself getting expertly sucked. Whatever the setting, Karen took me the the brink of orgasm endlessly with her beguiling, heavenly, often theatrical, sometimes astounding, frequently torturous, unprecedented, ball-tingling, mind-numbing, oral and manual stimulation of my genitals. It was the Botticelli of Blowjobs; the Harley-Davidson of Hummers; the….. well, it was a helluva fuckin’ blowjob!

Let’s put it another way, fellas. If you ever win that 50-50 lottery in Karen’s club, I don’t recommend you pocket the money, understand? Opt for Plan A. Trust me.

Second, the stretch of Interstate 95 between Elkton, Maryland and the Pennsylvania border is only about a twenty-five minute drive, with the narrow wisp of Northern Delaware accounting for about twenty miles of that. So, when Karen descended her head in Maryland and raised it shortly after we had passed the the sign that said, “Welcome to Pennsylvania” (or perhaps more appropriately, Well-Cum to Pennsylvania), I had officially been sucked off continually for three states, my inaugural Tri-State BJ. Only forty-seven more to go. (How far to Alaska, anyway?)

Next, Karen had employed a special technique that all men secretly crave, but Karen’s unique execution of it should be patented.

Ya know that ultra-sensitive spot just under the balls and above the anus, ya know that spot? Well, Whiskey Chick sure did!

When she finally permitted me to approach sweet release through a trio of the Mid-Atlantic states with wicked though wonderful oral teasing, when she was sure my cock was going to start to explode, she let go of her manual manipulations of my balls and pressed real firm just above the anus with three fingers, without using her fingernails, of course. Once she felt my cock starting to shoot, Karen pressed that spot firm until my cock throbbed twice and only twice, as she seemed to instinctively sense that more than that could cause pain for me.

She then, with impeccable timing, intuitively released the pressure right before she felt that third pulse and pushed her mouth hard on my tip like a high-powered vacuum and opened her throat for the challenge, cause it blew and blew hard, the most explosive and prolonged burst I’d ever enjoyed.

Last, but certainly not least, she raised her head up, hot sticky cum dripping everywhere, and even though I was driving, she took my head in her cum-soaked hands and kissed me hungrily, swiveling my head only enough to assure my eyes were still on the road, and dumped a warm, full mouthful of my fresh, tangy seed deep into my own mouth. “You just passed the test, Johnnie da Cock, on all levels,” Karen said, impressed.

“I always know a man who drinks his own cum from my mouth will be a real freak when it comes to other fun, creative carnal activities.” She glanced out the window to try to get her geographical bearings, although she had no clue where we were. “So, how far are we from your house?”

Not close enough, Karen.

She sat the rest of the way in only her thong, the seat saturated beneath her as she alternated diddling herself and teasing my cock back to stiffness with the fingers of either hand, sometimes simultaneously. When I did finally pull into the driveway of my townhouse, she made no attempt whatsoever to gather up her discarded clothes. She did grab for her travel bag, though, and slung it over her naked shoulder. She still wore only the thong that had spent a good portion of the ride jammed up her sopping gash.

I saw my elderly neighbor, Mr. O’Grady, walking his tiny dog on his lawn, mere feet from where we had parked, and in full view of my front step, even in the moonlit darkness. “Uh, Karen, um, aren’t you going to put some, um, clothes on?” I asked. Naively, as it turned out.

“Nah, why bother? It”s not like I’m gonna need ’em, and it’s a short walk. Besides, it’ll give your neighbors something to talk about, and the old man a nice memory.” She climbed out of the car, or rather, I should more accurately say, she followed her tits as they sashayed up the path, her barely-covered luscious ass bouncing merrily behind. “Hi,” she yelled cordially, waving to the shocked dog-walker. “Have a nice evenin’ now, sir!” I scurried to the door, fully clothed, thankfully, and escorted Karen’s nearly naked, sensational body inside hastily.

Mr. O’Grady probably never knew what he did to deserve that favor, but I have a feeling he’ll go to his grave without Mrs. O’ Grady getting wind of what he saw that night. Next time he saw me, a few days later, he gave me a exaggerated salute and a thumbs-up, drool seeping down his chin he was grinning so broadly. Even the canine somehow looked duly impressed.

When we got inside the door, I immediately pushed Karen up against the wall and began to devour her sublime body. There were so many curves and valleys and peaks and holes, well, I almost didn’t know where to begin.

So, I decided her tits would be a nice target, for starters.

I lapped at her incredible tits like a kitten with a bowl of warm milk. I pressed them together, sucked one distended nipple, then the other, then did my best to caress and pinch and tug on them until she was moaning and writhing with desire. Still sucking eagerly on her huge mounds, I led her with one hand into the living room and plopped her down on my couch, stripping off my own clothes while doing so, my big dick popping out and ready for some renewed action. Karen reached for my shaft, but I gently but firmly slapped her arm away.

“Nope, it’s my turn to play with you. You just relax,” I ordered, and Karen complied, leaning her head back on two pillows to watch the events unfold.

She wore only that thong which had already invaded her sopping gash, and I rolled Karen onto her side, gripped both the front and back of the strings on the thong, and pulled. Hard. Then harder. The fabric encroached into both her pussy and her anus simultaneously, the silk tickling her clit as I pulled it back and forth like a see-saw. The material was stretched so taut now that I had Karen in a virtual cradle, almost lifting her entire body off the couch from the mere force of the rough tugging of the g-string.

She groaned in ecstasy, “This is so fucking wild, I can’t tell you, unghhh, oh…… how good, mmph, fuck…. that feels on my clit, no one has ever done this before. Shiiiiiitttt, yes, God, ooooohhhhh!”

I ceased this assault reluctantly only because I couldn’t wait any longer to dip my tongue into that inviting honey pot that streamed juices down her thighs. She had the tiniest puff of a triangular-shaped directional arrow pointing down from just above her mound towards her slit, and I interpreted it to say, “Insert appendages here.” So I did.

I stood up next to the couch, and lifted Karen’s legs over my shoulders, her hips high in the air, so that only her head and shoulders were still on the pillows, and gave her a fair warning. “I’m going to eat your beautiful cunt now, Whiskey Chick, until your head explodes.”

She smiled and curled one finger at me, motioning for me to descend to the Promised Land. With her other hand, she spread her cunt lips for me, and issued this directive. “I know how much you love pussy. How much you love to look at my moist pink lips, look at my hot cunt. The only thing missing is a stream of thick white cum oozing and dripping. Your thick white cum . . . but that’s for later. Now I want you to lick it. Lick it with your tongue. Every fold and crevice.”

Great minds think alike.

Without any hint, I grabbed the thin fabric of her thong at its most vulnerable point, and ripped it to shreds as she gasped in delighted arousal, knowing she was now completely taken. I lowered my head to her cunt. I licked her slit softly with the tip of my tongue moving up one side and down the other. I used the flat of my tongue to lick straight up the center ending with flicks to her clit. I plunged my tongue into her hole and explored her pink folds. My saliva mixed with her juices and my face was immediately soaked with her sex.

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