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Subject: {ASSM} "Free Blow Jobs" (Virago Blue)(oral)
Date: Tue, 4 Jul 2000 20:10:08 -0400
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Warning: This is intended for adult consumption only.
Note: This is only a sleazy little quickie aimed at the rowdiness involved in
a successful Mardi Gras. I got this idea after someone sent me pictures from
Mardi Gras, probably off of a website. Yes, one of the pictures gave me the
idea for this quickie. Silly, maybe. Do these things happen at Mardi Gras?
Absolutely. Care to plan a trip to the next one?
"Free Blow Jobs"
(c)2000 by Virago Blue
Plastic beads swung from Heather's neck and littered the filthy ground at her
feet. Cold beer splashed from her plastic cup. She sucked at the beer
soaking her wrist. The crowd poured thick through the French Quarter.
Heather felt grateful for the coveted spot on the balcony. Chris's doing,
she recalled. He's the one with the connections. Nice guy.
Heather checked out the crowd below. More than once she was the target of
ribald cat calls, wolf whistles and the ever present "show your tits."
Heather's shirt remained where it was, tucked neatly into her jeans. She
wasn't that drunk yet. Trish was another story.
Trish always dressed, or undressed, for Mardi Gras. Those cheap plastic
beads, even the eye-catching big-balled metallic ones made her head swim.
Trish wanted those beads. Exposing her wobbly breasts for a few was worth it
to her. A roar went up in the crowd followed by a sprinkling of beads aimed
at their balcony. Trish worked the crowd and reaped the rewards of her
efforts.
"What a slut," Heather said with a laugh. Trish only smiled, waving a
handful of bright purple beads at Heather. The beads on that one must have
been as big around as golf balls. Lucky.
Chris stepped from the french doors, a trio of cold beers clutched in his
hands. "Here ya go ladies." Heather quickly stepped up and helped Chris
out, passing a drink to Trish and Kimberly, who spent the last forty minutes
lip-locked with a guy she met two hours ago. Finally she came up for air.
"Hey Kimberly, what's his name anyway?" Trish asked, nudging Kimberly in the
side. "Lookie what I just got." Trish waved the big beads in Kimberly's
face.
"Slut," laughed Kimberly.
"Slut," Trish trumpeted back.
Trish pranced around the balcony, waving her collection of beads. "Ya see,
you just gotta come prepared, " Trish slurred, "wear tight jeans, and a
shirt. Don't tuck your shirt in."
"Yeah, Heather," Kimberly screeched, collapsing in a fit of giggles against
what's- his-name.
"And you never wear a bra. I mean, that's like slowing everything down,"
Kimberly said, "because you want to spend those few seconds shaking what you
got, not pulling the elastic up over your tits." Kimberly laughed, lifting
her shirt in demonstration.
Chris choked on his beer, spitting in the wind. "Nice tits." Chris pulled a
string of gold beads from the thick band around his neck. "Here," he leaned
forward and placed them around Kimberly's neck, smacking her wetly on her
painted lips.
"Thanks Chris, honey. Let me know if I can do it again for you," Kimberly
teetered off to an unexplored corner of the balcony, looking for more patrons.
Heather smiled, sipping her beer. She leaned against the wrought iron railing
and watched the crowd. Directly underneath her, a little jutted out into the
street, another small group of people huddled around a man and woman.
Heather finished off her beer, looking around for Chris. He tripped over the
threshold with another trio of foamy beer. He nodded when he saw her,
shuffling in her direction.
The crowd had grown a little larger, packed in closely. Cameras flashed.
Camcorders hungrily ate up the show. Heather leaned over, trying to get a
fix on what was happening. Tits were common, asses were common, even quick
flashes of a penis here and there were becoming more common, but THIS was
different.
"Hey Chris, can you tell what's going on?" Heather asked. Kimberly leaned
against Heather on the other side.
"Oh my God!" Kimberly bellowed. "She's giving that guy a blow job!"
"Where?" Trish squealed, rushing to the railing. She leaned over, nearly too
far. Chris grabbed her belt loop and pulled her back. "Oh shit! She is!"
Heather strained her eyes, finally sorting out the assortment of shirts, skin
and cameras. In the middle of the group sat a paunchy male in a chair, a
woman's head distinctly bobbing up and down in his lap. "Chris, where are
those binoculars?"
Chris handed Heather a pair of binoculars, a small pair he kept for viewing
Mardi Gras tits and other skimpy costumes. Body painting was popular this
year.
Heather leaned over, focusing on the pair. The skinny woman wore a tank top
with the words "Free Blow Jobs" airbrushed across the back in red and black.
Her tiny arms flexed as she stroked the man, her cheeks were sunken in with
her effort. Her stringy hair was pulled back into a tail. .
"Ewwww," Heather said, handing the binoculars over to Kimberly.
"Damn, I hope he makes up in length what he doesn't have in girth," Kimberly
commented, not one to shy away from the obvious. "He looks a little nervous,
don't you think?"
Heather stared back at the scene, binoculars stuck to her eyes. "She's
skanky. He should be nervous."
"I gotta see this." Chris reached for the binoculars, crooking a finger
through the back pocket of Heather's jeans. He leaned over, "Shit ya'll, no
wonder she gives them away for free. Don't think anyone would pay her to do
it."
Trish laughed. "Oh c'mon, you guys would take a blow job from anybody."
"Not me," Chris laughed.
Heather studied the couple again. At least twenty cameras were trained on
the activity. The woman's head would stop bobbing for a minute, her arm
pumping harder as she paused. Heather saw the purple knob of the man's penis
in the whore's hand as she jerked him off. She said a few words to the man,
he nodded, before she stuck him back in her mouth. The man seemed to change
positions for a moment, tensing almost. The woman stopped bobbing and
clamped down on him, her head buried in his baggy jeans and clumps of beads.
She eased up off his penis and threw her head back, mouth wide open in
triumph. The crowd roared, cameras clicked. Heather saw the white of his
semen in her mouth. The whore raised her arms in triumph and made a show of
swallowing it down.
Kimberly, Trish, Heather and Chris stood dumbstruck on the balcony, watching
the man stand, wobble and zip his pants. Someone handed him a drink.
"Ewww," Trish began, "she has a liver spot on her face."
Chris took the binoculars back from Trish and hung them back around his neck.
"That's a new one this year."
"Sure is," Kimberly said, turning back to the frat boy she left in the corner.
Heather watched the woman as she got lost in the crowd. Sleazy. Dirty.
Fascinating. Heather couldn't deny that the scenario just played out hadn't
turned her on. Hot and bothered, despite the cool night breeze, that's how
Heather felt. She was wet. A heavy need pulled at her. Her braless breasts
strained against her white t-shirt, nipples scratching hard against the
fabric. She peeled the hem of her shirt from inside her jeans, lifting the
t-shirt up, up, up . . .
A roar went up in the crowd. Cameras flashed. Heather held the shirt, not
willing to drop it yet. She shimmied her shoulders a little, jiggling her
breasts for the spectators. She lowered her shirt finally, beaming as Chris
handed her another drink. They grasped at the good beads that were thrown to
their balcony, snagging fat beads, disco balls and plastic crowns. The power
felt heady.
Heather turned to Chris and smiled. "Chris, did I ever tell you how much I
appreciate your inviting us to this balcony? " She dropped to her knees . . .
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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