Gay Erotic Stories

I don't usually respond publicly to one flame. But you know me, I'll make an exception to any rule. Seems one reader took offense that I don't advocate using condoms in my stories, and that I don't warn readers about the dangers of sex at each and every opportunity. He/she further accused me of being a misogynistic asshole, a charge to which I plead guilty, though only in a most lighthearted way. So for this reader, and any others who feel the same way, I offer the following disclaimer. I suggest you print it out and hang it over your computer, or "cut and paste" it into the beginning of any story you download. I think it should do the trick. ## DISCLAIMER: ## Sex is dangerous. It can kill you. AIDS is a deadly disease which can be transmitted sexually and is fatal. There are more Sexually Transmitted Diseases including gonorrhea, syphilis, and herpes, among others. Any or all of these diseases can cause pain, suffering, disfigurement, and possibly even death if not treated promptly. See your doctor. Condoms can reduce the risk of transmission, but they are not 100% effective. The only truly safe sex is no sex at all. Also, be careful when using sharp instruments near your genitals, do not put your balls in a Vise-Grip, and use caution when inserting your penis into electric sockets. Never go out with a woman named Lorena. Also, you should not try to insert a pumpkin in your vagina (women only) or in your anus (equal opportunity warning) because your asshole is probably not big enough, except in the case of one particular reader I can think of. Finally, don't put a hot poker up your butt when tending campfires, and for heaven's sakes don't lie down in the fast lane of the Interstate to get a blowjob. That should do it. In case you hadn't guessed, I prefer to set my stories in a kinder, gentler world where these dangers are remote, perhaps even non-existent. It's fiction. I'm allowed to do that. Reminding the reader of all the perils of life at every opportunity is kind of like shouting "Watch out for the pipe truck!" while you're still in the driveway, even though you might crash into one later in the day and have a steel tube run through your head. If you have trouble distinguishing my fictional world from your real one, I have no further advice for you. Well, perhaps you should get a grip. I do have one rule you should follow: If you're under 18, don't read what follows. Hey Pumpkin Ass! Thanks for helping me set such a nice tone for the story. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Topless Bar - by MIKE HUNT -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I walked into the topless club, frustrated and angry. For one thing, I'd had a fight with my wife, June. For another thing, I'd had writer's block. For nearly a week. Now I've watched writers with Brian Lamb and on Rolanda and those other important TV shows and I've heard authors talk about "block". I had never experienced it. Until last week. I was used to sitting down at the typewriter, thinking of a sexual experience I'd had sometime somewhere, getting a woodie, and writing the story I was thinking about. But for a week I'd come to a dead end. Again and again. I had 23 stories just one or two paragraphs long. I had a half a forest of crumpled up floppies in the wastebasket. I was mixing my metaphors, dang ling my participles, and even dropping vowls! It was like I had incontinence of the keyboard. Lucky for you there's no "Shit" icon, or your screen would be a mess right now. My system wasn't working right, and something had to give. That's why I walked into the topless club. I needed a change. I needed a charge. I needed a blowjob. It was the only place I knew of where I could get two out of three for a reasonable price. I was the only patron in the place; they had just opened a few minutes earlier. The joint didn't get jumping until about 9PM. I'm the schmuck who walked in at 6:00 sharp. I sat down, and a pretty waitress came over and offered me a beer. Well, not offered, exactly. $6 for a Bud, including tip. Two girls came out of the dressing room to keep me company. Daisy and Rose. They were always named after flowers. Or jewels. Or months, like April or October. I sniffed the flowers. Nice. Daisy was in a low cut bra top that showed the top half of her breasts. She had on a pair of tight white satin panties, topped by a see-through scarf, also white. Rose was covered from the neck to the knee. She wore a plain one piece black dress which couldn't have camoflaged her enormous tits if the Air Force had designed it at the Skunkworks. "I'm sorry to put you to work," I said. "I didn't realize you just opened. Now I feel bad. If I weren't here, you could be in back, having a smoke." "Oh that's fine, sugar, Daisy said. We'll just have a smoke here and keep you company." We talked for five or ten minutes, and another guy walked in and sat down on the other side of the stage. With that, Daisy nodded her head at the unseen DJ and his voice boomed out of the speaker system. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the 2-Cute Lounge, home of the world's loveliest girls." He wasn't wrong, at least so far. "And now please welcome Lily!" "It figures," I thought to myself. Lily stepped up on stage, dressed in a one piece teddy. During the music of the first number she took her arms out of the armholes, but went no further. Her tits bounced but somehow managed to keep the garment up for the duration. The DJ spun another record. Now she pulled down the top, revealing her breasts to us. Like all breasts everywhere, they were lovely. Smooth mounds topped by a pair of cherry tips. A perfect size and shape. I turned to Daisy and said "She has lovely breasts. Just perfect." "Yes, she's beautiful," Daisy replied. I'm sure she'd had this conversation a thousand times before. Lily pushed the teddy to the floor. She stood there in a pair of panties, which would never leave. The zoning in our town allows topless but not bottomless. About 40 miles away you can find full nudity. Like it's OK to look at a cunt in Xavier County but not here. Go figure. I took a dollar out of my wallet. I walked up to the stage and offered it to her. She pulled on her elastic garter, and I slipped the dollar in. She snapped it shut. A dollar for a pretty smile from an almost naked girl. It seemed like a fair exchange. I talked with the flowers, and even bought them a drink. You know, the lemonade the bar sends them for $6 of your money? What the hell, they deserve it. They work hard. They take off their clothes in front of stupid men (like me) they make useless conversation with stupid men (like me) and they pretend not to notice when you look at their tits. Well, some of them actually like it. I'll bet you wouldn't get the same reaction if you stared at them like that in the mall! Lily finished her dance. The DJ introduced Flora. Of course. She was a tall girl with a very slim figure. But she knew how to move her pelvis, bumping and grinding, and going through the most explicit sexual motions with her hips. Boom-ba-boom-ba-boom. She was great. I offered her a dollar. She smiled and accepted it gracefully. She walked over to the table after her number was finished and asked if I wanted a table dance. I declined. I'd just gotten there, and I had a budget to watch. Anyway, if I'm going to pay $20 for a table dance, I want the girl to have decent tits. The next girl was Rhoda. I expected the DJ to announce her last name as "Dendron." She was a slutty looking girl with hard plastic boobs. Not my type at all. She did a bump and grind through two songs, and even when she took off her clothes, did nothing for me. I like the preppy college girl type, myself. Sweet. Innocent. I had another beer. Daisy and Rose left for greener pastures. The club was filling up now. A second stage was opened, and more girls appeared as if by magic from some back room that must have been overflowing with pulchritude a half-hour earlier. Now they came in endless procession: Pansy and Pearl, Sunny and Bunny, Holly and Dolly, Ginger and Garnett. On Stage 1 was Kitty. Stage 2 displayed Dixie. A girl named Cherry went to Stage 3 to start her act. An hour passed, then another. I watched with the wonder that every man must feel as beautiful women walk past, taking off their clothes, showing their tits, smiling, and appearing grateful for the appearance of a single dollar bill. It's amazing to me. Within the confines of this club, the laws of the universe change. Outside these walls women sneer at men, get insulted if you stare, slap you if you get too close. It's like another dimension, the 2-Cute Lounge. That's why they get $6 for a Bud. Another hour passed. Another two beers for me and a drink for a lady. Another 60 minutes filled with Robin and Storm, Taffy and Tuesday, Velvet and Candy. All lovely. All topless. All got one of my dollars. Another hour came and went, filled with Scarlotte and Willow and Gypsy and Brooke. Chastity was my favorite from the 10PM group. She had jumped to the rafters and hung there while doing chin-ups with her legs spread. Now THAT's talent! The leg spread would have been oh-so-much better without the hard opaque panties, naturally, but the zoning laws required them. I made a mental note to find out who my city councilman was. From 11 to 12, I watched Dawn and Jewel, Hazel and Honey, Iris and Jade. Tiffany and Fidelity got on stage at the same time and helped each other undress. As far as the local ordinances would allow, I mean. I offered more dollars. They were accepted. I had another beer. As the hours passed, my wallet felt considerably thinner; I didn't care. Like I said, they work hard for the money. They deserve it. Polly came up on stage. From the "Ester" family, no doubt. It was now past midnight. One of the girls walked over to me and asked if I wanted a table dance. She had nice tits. I was ready. "Sure," I said. She smiled. She had a checkered shirt tied loosely below her breasts. None of the buttons were buttoned. She untied the knot, and prepared to take off the shirt. "No, leave it on," I said. "I'd prefer that you tease me some." She smiled again, a bigger smile this time. The two ends of the shirttail hung loose, covering her tits. But I could see their inner slopes and the swell of her breasts before they disappeared behind the cloth. She climbed up on the little cocktail table right in front of me. One of her golden globes popped completely into view. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, covering herself quickly. "That's so embarrassing when your clothes don't fit right." She knew what she was doing. She began moving to the rhythm of the music. She knelt on the table in front of me, opened her knees, and watched as my eyes bored on in her crotch. I couldn't see anything, of course, but I hoped that my gaze would somehow evaporate the cloth that hid my view and I would be blessed with the ultimate treasure buried beneath. No such luck. She sank down, now doing an almost perfect split on the table. Her breasts were right in front of my eyes. She picked up one shirttail and began dancing it to the side, a quarter inch at a time. I watched, mesmerized as the pink nipple was slowly revealed. Then the entire tit was bare, inches in front of my nose. She repeated the dance with the other side, then grabbed both shirt tails and brought them together in a fist. The shirt pushed her tits together, like some amazing Wonder-bra, and her jugs stared straight out at me, inviting me to jump in. Not allowed, naturally. Bruno at the front door makes sure of that. Bruno looks a little like me, only bigger. By about 200 pounds. You don't fuck with Bruno, which means you don't touch the girls. It's an ordinance, I think. She leaned back, spreading her legs for me, arching her back. Her fingers went to the thin cloth covering her pussy, and she pulled the sides together. It was torture. The triangle had been reduced in size by at least a half. I could just barely see the edges of her cunt lips outside the cloth. With her other hand she pulled the back of the panties taut. I could see the outline of her clitoris against the thin material. A finger appeared from her hand, and she twiddled the cloth directly over her clit. My tongue nearly fell out of my mouth. She covered herself again, and spun around, facing away. Now she was lying on her back, her head looking up at me from below, her hair hanging in my crotch. The softness of her locks tickled me, even though my pants. Of course I was extra sensitive by this point; I probably would have felt a gnat land, if one were dumb enough to choose my hard-on as a landing pad. She looked up at me from the table. She brought her arms together and her tits rose up, begging to be held. I remembered Bruno. I bent down and whispered in her ear "You are beautiful. I especially like your tits. And your face." I wanted to add, "and your pussy," but of course I hadn't actually seen it. And you never know. She could have a really ugly pussy. I'm sure there's at least one somewhere. I haven't found it yet, but I'm still looking. She smiled. She'd heard it before. Then I said, "What's your name?" She lifted her head a little, as if to get closer to my ear, and said "Margaret." "Huh?" I gulped. "Margaret," she repeated. "My friends call me Gretchen." "I don't understand," I said. "Your name is Margaret?" She looked at me as though I was the stupidest man on the list of stupid men she had ever met. And that's probably a fairly long list. "I," I stumbled. "I, ah, it's just not a name that belongs to, ah," I fumbled again. "I mean, I never met a stripper named Margaret before." "Well if it makes you uncomfortable," she replied "you can call me Honey. Or Paige. Or just make up a name if you want." "Oh, no. Margaret is fine. Just fine. And so is Gretchen. It's just unexpected, that's all." She wiggled her head. Her hair danced in my lap. "I like the name Gretchen. A lot." She spun around and knelt on the table again. This time she was facing directly away from me. Her ass stared me in the face. Her fingers returned to the cloth triangle and she squeezed it together. A quarter inch separated her asshole from my vision. Between her knees I could see her tits hanging down and beyond that her face, smiling at me through the tunnel created by her thighs. It was a picture worth of the Louvre. Her finger twiddled on the surface of the cloth again. I couldn't stand it. The song would end in another 30 seconds. And with it my $20. I didn't mind, although I wished the DJ had picked some 45 minute tune. I wiggled my finger and motioned for Gretchen to come close to me. She did. I whispered in her ear, "Isn't there somewhere in this town where you can get full nudity? This is making me crazy." She looked at me and said "I do private shows. I can't do anything here in the club, of course." Of course. I was panting. "How much for a private show?" "$100. No negotiating. Firm price. We can talk about extras if you decide you want the show." "I do. I do. How do I set it up?" The words came in a torrent from my mouth. I guess I might have seemed just a trifle overeager. "You just call me at the club and leave a message. Ask for Margaret. It's my real name. I'll call you back." "Uh, that won't work. My wife might answer the phone," I said. "Well, I get off in 45 minutes. Off work, I mean." She smiled. "We could go someplace then." "Yeah, sure, great. I'll be here." The music ended. I gave her the $20 and she left. I flipped open my wallet under the table and surreptitiously counted my money. $133 left. A couple of singles for the girls, $100 for Gretchen, and a couple bucks left over. Normally I wouldn't have spent this much, I mean I would be almost $200 in by the end of the night. But I couldn't help it. It's that pesky dick again, running my life. I nursed my beer. I watched Rosemary and Fawn on the stage. A couple more girls came and went. Then Gretchen showed up, dressed, but not for work. "I'm leaving," she said. "I have to meet you outside. I can't leave with a customer. Rules." I nodded. Outside the club I caught up with her in the parking lot. "Where do you want to go?" she asked. I knew it couldn't be to my house. I didn't think June would understand. It couldn't be to a motel. I didn't have the dough. "How about your place?" I asked. "Oh no," she said quickly. Rejected it out of hand, as they say. "I never bring anyone there. I got kicked out of my last place for doing that. I like where I live. Nope." I thought quickly. "How about in my van?" It was my only hope. It was the only place I could afford. "Sure. Fine. Whatever." OK so it wasn't the most impressive offer I've ever made to a woman. She said yes. That's all that I cared about at that moment. We walked around the back of the club to the parking lot. My van was in the first slot. I'd gotten there early. I opened her door, and she climbed in. I walked around to the driver's side and inserted the key. By that time she had leaned over and yanked on the handle. The door opened. "OK," I said, "want to climb in the back?" "Don't be silly," she said. "I can't do anything here in the club parking lot. They'd kill me if they caught us. Drive somewhere." "Yeah, sure," I said. I guess I might have been a little overeager. Again. It took 10 minutes for me to get away from the club and the little business district nearby. I found a deserted lane and pulled down it a couple hundred feet or so. A yank of the steering wheel and we were off to the side. "How about this?" I asked. "This is fine," Gretchen answered. "OK, it's $100 for the show. The show is 30 minutes. It's more for extras." "Such as..." I said. "Another $100 for a blow job or for straight sex, $150 for my ass, $50 for a hand job." Gretchen was direct, if nothing else. I thought about my wallet. I had $130 left. "I only have $130. How about a hand job for the whole thing?" "No negotiating, remember?" She could see the disappointment in my eyes. She said, "Well, OK. Let's go in the back." Yowzuh! I climbed out of the bucket seat and sped to the back. "Do you want to wait for me?" she asked. She ambled between the seats and joined me in the back of the vehicle. I had the center seats out, but the far rear bench seats still in. That way I could haul either people or cargo. Tonight it left me a bench seat for her to play on and a little open area for me to sit in and watch. She couldn't stand up fully, so she was bent over as she struggled out of her clothes. She slid down her shorts, revealing a thin pair of semi-sheer panties. She went to remove them, but I asked her to keep them on, at least for the moment. She removed her jacket, revealing a large man's thin white undershirt. She had no bra on under it, and her tits bobbled with every move. Her nipples were clearly outlined as they pushed against the fine cotton material. Her large breasts pushed mightily against the fabric, straining for release. "Leave this on, too?" she asked. I nodded. "OK," she answered. "I remember. You like the tease." I nodded again, more vigorously. "How about some music?" I jumped up and switched the key to the "accessory" position and turned on the radio. A song sprang from the speaker. She got into it. The song, I mean. Gretchen twisted sideways to me and pulled down on the armhole of the undershirt. Her entire breast was revealed. She said "This shirt is two sizes to big for me. Look at this. Why my tit could fall right through the side, here." I nodded, eagerly. I knew, I knew. She turned to face me frontally. "It's the same on the other side, I'm afraid. Look." And she pulled the other armhole down, and squeezed the material together between her breasts. Both tits were sticking straight at me, just a thin strip of cloth separated them, pulling them apart. She let go of the fabric and shimmied her torso. Her tits popped back through the magic holes and were again hidden. "This isn't too good a shirt to wear, anyway," she said. "Look." She liked to have me look. "If my nipples get hard," she said as she tweaked one of them with her fingertips, "it shows right through." She was right. The tip popped up and the red circle traced its hardness from the back. "Same on the other side," Gretchen said as she pinched that nipple. "Here, feel." She took my hand and rubbed two of my fingers across the cloth. Her ruby point played Braille to my eager fingertip. I stroked my fingers back and forth across the bumps, trying to divine their message. She leaned away from me. She spoke again. "These panties aren't much better. Look." I did. She pulled up on the waistband, tightening them against her crotch. "They're practically transparent, and you can see almost everything. Can you imagine what would happen if a gust of wind came along and you could see up my skirt? That would be horrible." I nodded. "Look," she said. "If I wore them even tighter..." She pulled harder on the waistband. The crotch folded up and dissolved into the crack between her cunt lips. "...there, you see what I mean? Look." I was. I was. "These panties are much too revealing. I might as well just do this." And so saying, she inserted a finger behind the front panel and pulled it to the side. Her legs were spread wide up on the bench seat, and I stared into her cunt. She stayed that way for a good 20 or 30 seconds, then pulled the material back in place. "But that wouldn't be very ladylike, now would it?" she asked. I shook my head. I would have spoken, but my tongue was stuck. You know the feeling. I squeezed my dick through my pants. My brain was already occupied; speech was out of the question. "Oh goodness, you're going to hurt yourself if you stay like that," she said. "Let me help." She got off the bench and joined me on the floor. Her hand went to my zipper and pulled. It didn't slide down smoothly, but she managed. She reached into my pants and found my erection, and led it bravely out of the flap in front. "Now that's better," she said. "Look." I bent my head down. "You're as hard as a rock. You've probably been looking at girls' titties all night, you naughty boy." I nodded. "Did you see any as nice as these?" She pulled up the undershirt from the bottom and whipped it over her head. I shook my head. "Do you like big tits?" she asked. I nodded. "Would you like to put your hands on my big tits?" she asked, rhetorically. I nodded, vigorously. "Well, then, go ahead." My hands shot out of my lap and onto her chest. I squeezed. I held. I felt. I didn't think about Bruno once. "I hope you don't mind if I get comfortable," she said. I shook my head again, hard. Another 10 minutes of this and I'd have a headache that heroin couldn't cure. She took off her panties, and as she crawled to put them on the car seat, I had a perfect view of her ass and cunt lips pointing straight at me. "You should get comfortable, too," she said. I nodded. I took off my pants and my underpants, leaving only my shirt on and watch on. And hard on, of course. She crawled back to me and sat beside me. Her hand snaked into my lap. She closed her fingers around me. She began to stroke. "Touch me while I touch you," she said. My hand found her cunt. I twisted sharply, and my other hand grabbed for a breast. She pulled me, up and down, up and down. I closed my eyes with pleasure. I squeezed her jug. I felt her nipple. I poked my finger into her pussy. I slid into the wetness between her legs with one hand as I massaged her chest with the other. I tilted my head back with the pleasure. I came out of my reverie to the sound of three sharp taps on the windshield. I opened my eyes and saw a cop. Who was glaring at me and at Gretchen. Who had his nightstick out, plainly visible. He had used it to tap on the glass. He had my full attention. "Shit!" I said. "Oh shit." I'd found my voice. I threw my underpants to the side and hustled into my trousers. I zipped up and managed to secure the button as I crawled to the front of the van. "What the hell do you think you're doing in there?" the cop demanded as I rolled down the window. "Sorry officer. We were just, uh, well, it was late and uh, you know I, uh." "Driver's license and registration, please," he said. "Oh shit." I thought. "I'm about to be arrested. How am I going to explain this to June? How am I going to keep my name out of the paper? How am I going to get off?" I produced the documents. "You too, Miss," he said. She shrugged. "I don't have my purse with me officer. I don't have any identification on me. Sorry. I was just going out to dinner with my friend. I didn't think I'd need it for anything." The cop eyed me suspiciously as he walked away, using a flashlight to read the license. It was the only light visible, except for the dim dome light that Gretchen and I had left on for our little games. He came back to the window. "MIKE. MIKE HUNT. Is that your real name?" I nodded. "You live around here?" he asked. I nodded again. No use lying; the address was right on the license, and both of us knew it. He turned to walk away, then turned back. He wiggled his finger and motioned me over. I leaned my head out the window. He lowered his voice. He said, "You a writer?" I knew that wasn't on the license. It took a minute to sink in. He was a reader. A fan. I nodded. "She's A Tease," he said. "Still the best. I've liked 'em all, though. Except for that one about Women Being Stupid." I nodded. "I showed that one to the wife. Didn't get laid for a month." "Sorry," I said. "I guess they can't all be great, you know?" I strained my eyes to see his name tag. "Officer, uh, Jensen." His hand flew up to cover his badge. "No sense turning this into a big incident," he said. "Let's just keep this between you..." He winked. "...and me." He lowered his voice. "And I could get in *big* trouble for just walking away, so be cool, brother." Then he cleared his throat. He said loudly, "I guess I'm going to let you off with just a warning this time." He looked in the window at Gretchen. Now he liked what he saw. He brought his nightstick up to his cap and gave me a quick salute, then turned and walked back to his car. I watched with relief as he climbed in and drove away. "Whew!" I exclaimed as I turned to the girl in the back. She was beginning to dress. "Well," I said. "Where were we?" "We were done, unfortunately," she replied. "What do you mean?" I asked. "30 minutes. That was the deal. It's actually been 35, so you're on overtime. I won't charge for it, but we're done." "We can't be done. I didn't finish. I mean, part of the time I was talking to the cop. And part I was driving." "Not my fault," she said. "I told you, no negotiation. I have to stick to the rules, otherwise where would all us girls be?" I wondered how these women could hold to their rules, or keep their prices so high in a land with such an available supply. Then I remembered the demand side of the curve. Economics 101. "So that's it?" I asked. "That's it," she said. "$130 bucks, please. Now I'm not trying to be a schmuck here, or anything. Tell you what. Next time I'll give you a 'special customer' discount. 10% off." I felt like I was in my local dry cleaners or something. I expected a coupon book. I nodded, glumly. We finished dressing, and I drove her back to the club. As she climbed out of the van, she gave me a little kiss on the lips and jumped out. I drove away. It was 1:30AM. I pulled as quietly as I could into my driveway. I didn't even open the garage door; I'd parked the van outside, and I crept into the house and up the stairs. As I dropped my pants for the second time that night, I heard June's voice. "Where have you been all night?" "Oh, out. Just out," I replied. "Well you smell like a brewery. I can smell it all the way over here," she told me. "I was at a bar. Just sitting at a bar. Talking with the bartender. You know," I lied. "Sorry about our fight?" she asked. "Yeah, sure," I said. "Me too," she said. "In fact, I don't even remember what it was about." I nodded. "I'll tell you one thing, though. I went to bed horny as a toad." My eyes perked up. "Really?" I asked. "I can't tell you," she said. "Would you mind..." "Not at all, dear." I stripped off my remaining clothes in world record time and jumped in bed. Literally. And I jumped on her. Literally. I must have speared her from 10 feet away. "Oof," she said as I landed on her. "Goodness, take it easy. And I thought I was horny." "Just trying to help," I said. My dick was already a good two inches into her. "Slow down just a little, would you? I'm not even lubricated yet!" she barked. "Sorry," I answered. I stroked back and forth slightly, pushing in deeper with each little thrust. I felt her moisture arrive, and she became slippery, her cunt letting go the tight hold she had and replacing it with the velvet wetness that I was waiting for. "Ah, that's better," I said as I punched all the way down. I pulled almost all the way out, then pushed all the way back in. Then, because I wanted to make sure I was doing it right, I repeated the movement. Again and again. And again. I'm always learning. I was bucking like a bronco. She lay there, legs spread wide, looking at me, a wild animal in heat. I fucked her with abandon; I left her in the dust. She could never match my rhythm. I had started this marathon like it was a 50-yard dash. She would never catch up. I felt myself building, building, and then felt the release on its way. I exploded, thrusting deep in her love box with squirt after squirt of my creamy fluid. I felt my contractions as I ejected my spunk inside her, I felt the liquid coat her vagina and my cock as I continued thrusting. "Well," she said, surveying me once I slowed down. "That was certainly fun. You should think about including me next time." "Don't stop," I said. I continued thrusting. "Keep going." She looked at me with her eyes wide. Then she understood. I was going for two. I'd done it before, when we were first going out and making love. I hadn't done it for years. "Oh, yes," she said. "Let's do this." She matched my rhythm, now slower than before, and I felt myself slipping and sliding around in her soaking and cum filled pussy. My balls slapped against her ass with every stroke. I kept bucking. She started talking dirty to me. She knows I love that. "Oh ride me, you horny fucker," she whispered in my ear. She knew that talking dirty to me would help. I thrust again. "Fuck me with everything you've got. I want that cock and all that cum inside my cunt. I can feel it every time you push. Come on you FUCK, give it to me." She certainly kept me going. She wrapped her legs around me and locked them together around my middle. She wasn't going to let me go until I'd fucked her properly. And I was trying with all my might. I leaned on my elbows and pushed myself up from her. I looked down into her face. I said "Come on you bitch. You're getting fucked within an inch of your life tonight. I might fuck you three times, my dick is so hard." I saw her eyeballs roll up. That's the first sign, usually. The second is her little "ooo, ooo, ooo." Another minute or so and she's bouncing off the walls. I continued pumping. I started a sentence. "June..." I said. Then it hit me. "Your name is June," I said. "That's a name a stripper would have. A dirty little stripper name, like April or October or something. You even look like a stripper, with those big tits of yours. Come on, dirty little girl, show me your tits." I ripped open the top of her nightie as I pivoted my arms on my elbows. Her tits were, as they always are, magnificent. I grabbed them. "Come on dirty girl. Cum for me now." I knew she was about to peak. I squeezed her breasts and was rewarded with the feeling of her nipples hardening in my palms. "Oh, you're cuming. You're cuming, you unbelievable cunt." She exploded, grasping at my dick with her pussy, pulling me deep inside her with her legs, grabbing my arms with her hands and gripping me tightly. I felt her waves of passion flow one after another through her body, and then I was ready. I blew my second load into her, pushing myself as deep as I could as the orgasm overtook my body. I cried out with each contraction, "Uh, Uh, Uh, Uh." I lost track of time and space. I collapsed on top of her. I took the slow route down. "Well," she said. "That was different. And a lot of fun. We'll have to try this more often." If she only knew. I hoped she'd never find out. I knew at least *I'D* be discreet. I could only hope Officer Tom Jensen, Badge #562, Mamaroneck, N.Y. would be too. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- So another week another story. You can get them in the newsgroups, at my webpage, or by e-mail. Actually, I would like to get more females on my mailing list, especially girls with special dancing talent. Removing your clothes if there is music playing anywhere qualifies. I'll also add men, and no extra talent is necessary, believe me! Yes, it's discriminatory, but I'm not standing around looking at beefcake, OK? Send an e-mail to M1ke@hilarious.com to get new M1KE HUNT stories on your computer on a more or less regular basis, at least for a while, if I feel like it. Please note the 2nd character in M1KE is a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I). Thanks. I am also looking for a Research Assistant/Proofreader. The pay is not great, but it will get you started in the literary field and I always give great references. Applicants must be female and have special dancing talent. See above. For past MIKE HUNT stories you may wish to visit my home page. It's located at . Applicants for the Research Assistant/ Proofreader position may wish to visit my actual home. Please call ahead so I can make sure to tidy up and vacuum and get rid of the wife. Hey! I added a couple of things to the webpage this week. One is "As The Paige Turns" by Hawk Richards. I clobbered the bejesus out of the story when I guest reviewed it for Celestial Reviews, but he rewrote it and it's now pretty damn good. Just one thing. He started writing funny notes to readers after the story was over. Now that's a stupid idea if I ever saw one. There's also a new story by Taria which she just posted in the newsgroups. I included it on the webpage to make her feel good, even though I think it's a really stupid story, and badly written to boot! OK, so it's funny. OK, so it's drop-on-the-floor funny. Big deal. It's all about a girl softball player whose tits bounce a lot and there's lots of wet naked bodies and stuff. Yuk! Anyway, you really should read it and then send her an e-mail, cause that'll make her feel good too. Be sure to say something nice and romantic to her, like "Hey, did you really blow that ugly guy?" If you don't write to her I'm never talking to you again. Of course I'm not exactly talking to you now, so you don't have that much to lose. I also added a special bonus story by yours truly. It's quite different, and I'm not going to post it in the newsgroup because I'm really not sure if *it's* any good either. I wrote it one day when I had a pounding headache, so it's a little disjointed. I couldn't find any aspirin, except two really old ones in the bottle I used to keep my mescaline in. Anyway, it's called "Homestead" and it's science fiction, and it's real short, and it's probably not worth your time anyhow. On second thought, forget it. Just go to the "Guest Authors" page and read something decent. NOT that Taria story, though, that's for sure. This story is Copyright 1997 by M1KE HUNT. It's a simple process, really. I just put this notice on it, and then if you sell it somewhere like on a web site or print it and sell it or alter it or something without my permission I can fuck you good. And I will, whether you have dancing talent or not. Male or female. I'm an equal opportunity fucker. Don't be the fuckee. Just ask. I usually say yes, a tack I wish more women would take. Hey, I started out this story pissed off. I might as well finish that way. Fuck, I wish this headache would go away. And that weird guy behind the wallpaper, too.