King: Cocksure

King III

Flying Home

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex. It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events. It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. The stories have a political slant as you will see. I hope you enjoy them. New chapters will be published as they are finished.

(Mffffffffff)

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex. It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events. It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. I hope you enjoy it. New chapters will be published as they are finished.

The surprise the girls had for me that night was truly memorable. But I will tell in the context in which it happened later.

Suffice it to say that the experience was so terrific, I extended my stay in Minnesota by four days, then extended an invitation to everyone at Dez’s household to fly out and visit me before school began in the fall. The girls were ecstatic, but even flying back to Los Angeles on a commercial flight with 18 red-hot porn wannabes wasn’t enough to lift my spirits. I was going to miss Dez and all the girls. They’d become part of my family, though Dez would use the word, harem.

Malika and Lonny sat next to me and the other girls were scattered around the first class cabin I think they could all sense I was a little sad.

“Mr. Cocksure, are you okay?” Malika asked in that sweet Texas twang of hers.

If you were going to cast the part of a hot, cum-fixated teen cheerleader, Malika had the golden girl looks that would get the part every time. I was surprised to see that she and Lonny, the French-speaking, earthy tart from Montreal were such good friends. They shared a common bond having worked the same shift as strippers at the club and a common fixation on the male organ.

“I have swallowed more cum than she has,” Lonny said, “but she says that Texans are bigger than other men so she has accepted more inches of pipe.”

“I am not so sure she has drunk more from the spigot than I have but goodness, those Texas boys can role out the hose,” Malika responded with good-spirited rivalry.

Because of my business, women are always trying to prove to me they are bigger sluts than other women. I generally try to avoid getting drawn into such conversations, but there was something sweet about the rivalry between Lonny and Malika that was intriguing.

“So have you girls done shows together?” I asked.

“Yes, we worked on stage together at the club and did a lot of bachelor parties together,” Malika said.

“Tell him about the beads,” Lonny said.

“Oh, we do a great ‘all-anal’ show where I push this rosary with bunches of little beads up Lonnie’s butt, then she poops them out.” Malika said.

“Poops?” I said.

“No, no, I push them out of my butt; I don’t actually poop,” Lonny protested.

“Well that’s good to know,” I said.

“Yes, but to show my hatred for the Catholic church,” she added. “I do use a real rosary blessed by a Catholic priest.”

“You hate the Catholic church because?”

“Because of its’ record of oppression against women, the hypocrisy of its views on sex and hiding abuse of young children, but mostly because I was raped by a priest as a young girl.”

“The same one who blessed the rosary I’m guessing,” I said.

“Yes, of course, the same priest and he blessed it not knowing I intended to stick it where he stuck his little wingy,” Lonny said.

“Well, I guess that showed him but if you never told him where you intended to stick it, what’s the point?” I asked.

“The point is, God knows and he knows he hired that little prick bastard to preach his word,” Lonny said.

“When she poops the beads out…” Malika started.

“Not poops, pushes!” Lonny protested again.

“Poops, pushes, whatever,” Malika said, “I catch them in my mouth and say 10 Hell Mary’s. It drives the men wild.”

“Hail Mary’s,” Lonny replied, “That silly bitch wasn’t even raised Catholic.”

“Nope, I’m a devout Southern Baptist,” Malika says. “My daddy was the minister at our church.”

“I guess that explains why he wasn’t a fan of your adventures with the stomach pump,” I speculated.

“No, he hated that, said I was going to hell,” Malika said, “but I was the only girl in my class didn’t turn up pregnant by senior year because I only took it in the tushy or my mouth.”

“Texas girls don’t know anything about birth control,” Lonny explained.

“We do know, but some of us just like it in our tushy or mouth,” Malika commented. “You know, Malika is an Indian word that means ‘penetrated by many objects.’ At least that what my daddy says.”

“Well, tell me how you managed to take on the whole football team,” I said.

“Freshman year, Coach Moss came to us cheerleaders and asked to do everything in our power to see what we could do to motivate the ‘boys’, so we took it on ourselves to make sure they were happy before the big game,” Malika said.

“So they won because you cheerleaders made them ‘happy’?”

“Oh no, they lost 48 to nuthin’,” Malika said. “Coach Moss was furious and said we drained the team of their male essence, After that, he made the rule no nookie Friday. Any other time, great. But no, no nooky on Friday before the game, and that meant Thursday night, too.”

“That fascist pig,” Lonny said.

“I guess I still don’t understand why you needed the stomach pump if all of the other girls were helping out spreading happiness,” I said, ignoring Lonny’s comment.

“Freshman year on the Friday before the game, the boys invited me alone into the locker room,” Malika continued. “They were all standing around in a group in their straps looking just so pitiful ‘cause all the other cheerleaders were obeying Coach Moss’ Friday ban. I just couldn’t let them suffer, so one by one, I went down on each, all 75 of them.”

“And the team lost again?”

“No, they rallied to win and it was obvious to me that stealing their male essence wasn’t the problem as long as one girl did it for them all on the day before game. I volunteered to do it before every big game. They were conference champs that year and state champs sophomore, junior and senior years. I got a cup for helping them win.”

“An engraved trophy?

“No, just sweaty cup they’d all worn and I drank cum out of.”

“And you had to have your stomach pumped three times.”

“No, that was just the times my daddy knew about,” Malika said with a smile.

I looked over at Lonny and she had her calculator out.

“How many games did your team play each season on average?” she asked.

“Fourteen, counting the playoff games,” Malika responded.

“Fourteen times 75 times say 16 liters,” Lonny calculated. “No, I think I still got you beat, Malika.”

“Well, don’t forget the baseball team,” Malika said.

“Damn, girl, you are an all season slut,” Lonnie said, holstering her calculator in her purse, with a look of awe on her face.

She turn to me. “I hear you sort of went crazy in the VIP room on that other group of girls on Saturday, Lonny said. “I hear you were hopping from hole to hole like a drug-crazed gopher.”

She gave me a seductive look.

“There’s a restroom over there,” she said. “Care to re-join the mile high club.”

I sighed.

“Lonny, I’d take you up on your kind offer, but right now I’m a little out of commission,” I said.

“Those other American bitches wore you out?” she said.

“No, not the girls from the club,” I said. “Let’s just say I ran into some young ladies whose bracing oral skills left me a little knicked up after a near week of non-stop action,”

“It’s Dez’s damn Allie and Marie,” Malika said. “Those braces make them look so sweet and innocent, but I swear, they’re more dangerous than that vagina dentata girl in that movie Teeth. I wouldn’t let them within twenty feet of my clit.”

“And that Melissa has lock jaw,” Lonny said. “I’m surprised she can fit a tooth brush down her throat.”

“You poor baby,” Malika said. “I bet you are all chewed up like a pink piece of discarded bubble gum.”

Lonny unhooked her seat belt and started pulling down her Capri pants.

“Well, that’s not the only weapon of mass destruction you own,” she said.

“Lonny, what are you doing?” I said. “You are going to get us thrown off this plane in mid-air.”

“No one will notice,” she said. “Come on Mr. Cocksure. Get down here and make my clit happy.”

I looked around the first class cabin. The 18 girls and I occupied nearly all the first-class seats. A sleeping businessman occupied an otherwise empty back row of seats. The other girls wouldn’t complain but if we woke our other traveling companion or the female flight attendants walked through, we could be in real trouble.

Sex without an element of danger is boring and I must confess that eating pussy is my favorite non-sports activity. Tiny Lonny shifted her hips so her hirsute vagina was suspended just below my face and her head hung down between my legs.

“When you get done eating, please return your trays to their upright position,” she told me.

Malika twittered like a bird.

“Doesn’t she have just the prettiest tiny vagina?” she said.

Anyone looking could tell what was going on. Lonnie’s sandaled feet protruded above the seat back on either side of my head, but I did have to agree with Malika that there was something enticing and aromatic about Lonnie’s proffered pussy. I dove in like I hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“Oh my god….” Lonny said.

She whispered at first, but her gyrations and squeals quickened and became more noticeable as I picked up my pace. I ran my tongue from the crack of her ass up to the top of her pussy in darting, swirling loops. I have always taken women’s word that I am a better than average cocksman, but I know I am a superb pussy eater and unlike many men pride myself on my technique. Many men find the woman’s vagina disgusting and would not stick their nose down there to save their own souls. Poor bastards. Learn to dance better than other men and you’ll win a woman’s heart. Letter to eat pussy well and you will win their souls.

By now, the other girls in the cabin were beginning to take notice. Many were standing up for a better view. The sleeping businessman stirred but did not wake.

“Shit, Shit, oh holy mother of god,” Lonny screamed. She settled back in a warbling bundle of quivering flesh. The cabin broke out in a loud smattering of applause. I looked back at the tired man in the back row and noticed he’d dropped a whiskey flask onto the floor next to him. Not much was going to wake him.

Christianne, the stripper with the unbelievably long thin legs stepped out of her seat and into the aisle.

“Is this a private party or can anyone cum?” she asked.

Suddenly she had those long legs on either side of me, grinding her bare shaved pussy into my face like it was a Sybian. Lonny was collapsed in a heap in the aisle. “What the fuck?” she said, amazed by how easily she’d been displaced like a crumpled ball. “Jippers, jippers, jippers,” Christianne said, towering above her with those long trembling young Tina Turner like legs planted firmly on either side of me.

Yes, I am certain that is exactly what she said after commanding her friend Jenny to close the curtains to the first class cabin. Now no one from coach could look forward and catch a view of something they should not see.

Christianne’s bare shaved but rough pussy left my face red but fluids leaking on to my face, lubricated her jerky gyrations. I was grateful for that when she started humping my face so hard she nearly displaced my neck. Malika sat next to us amazed. I told her to get ready. She was next.

Now, pussy fever was upon me. When I finished with Christianne, I pushed her aside and hauled Malika’s sexy Texas ass up toward my face. Her flimsy pink skirt was ripped off of her like tissue paper and like most strippers, panties were something she had no use for.

Funny how different women’s pussies taste when you stop to savor the aroma, texture and fluids. Malika had a sweet, almost flowery taste. Christianne was a little pungent, perhaps with a hint of urine. Lonny’s hairy pussy captured the scent of her perfume and her sweat.

I didn’t like to think how many miles of pipe had been pushed up Malika’s winking bung hole, but her pussy was probably rarely violated and it had the freshness of a teen girl’s front door.

“Oh, thank you thank you thank you,” she mumbled. “No body hardly ever cares if I cum.”

Malika was one of those women who enjoyed sex, particularly pleasing men and getting their approval.

She was such a nurturing soul, however, she rarely stopped to take time to demand satisfaction herself. I was happy when she jerked to a shuddering climax.

Now I had the other girls in line awaiting their turns, but some decided not to wait. They started warming up one another. By the time I got to some of the girls, they already had spit-shined clams and butts. The cabin smelled like a pungent mixture of fish oil and roses. We might have gone on uninterrupted until we landed had not one girl’s bare foot kicked the button that summoned the flight attendants.

“What????”

Standing at the door to the cabin where the two female flight attendants with a look of shock their faces. Headlines about Cocksure’s cockpit orgy flashed in my mind.

“Mr. Cocksure, we are going the have to report this behavior?” the older more officious one said.

Christianne didn’t miss a beat. She tossed the attendant back on her backside and ripped down her stockings and began massaging her cunt with four fingers. Soon, she had her whole fist up there. The younger flight attendant, a lovely olive-skinned Indonesian girl in a scarf hesitated briefly, perhaps considering her best career move, then stepped into first class and pulled the curtain closed behind her.

She stepped up to Leslie, another of the dancers, and placed a warm full-lip, tongue-swirling kiss on her. Leslie responded by nearly buckling her knees. The older attendant was, by now, gyrating to Christianne’s fisting like an out of control helicopter.

Behind me a girl whose name I never remembered from the day at the VIP room and still can’t recall said, “Mr. Cocksure, I think I am next.”

Several things happened that day to make that flight eventful. The coach passengers all complained about the lack of service. The flight was late getting into LA. The pilots reported difficulty in getting the attendants to prepare the cabin for landing. The attendants had all crash landed several times before the plane landed normally.

One first class passenger slept through the landing and ended up in Hawaii. Since we all had packed lightly to avoid exorbitant extra bag charges, most of our group deplaned wearing barely the clothes we came into the world in. We told questioning airport authorities we were disrobed by a sudden lurch of the plane in flight. The airline paid us to keep quiet.

Discovered by the Mexican flight maintenance crew was one oddly stained rosary on which the Mexicans swore they saw the face of Jesus. They donated it to the Jesuits in the LA diocese and some weeks later it was a prime piece of evidence in a child sex abuse case involving one of the Jesuits.

Lonny could hardly have been happier.