Notes. From the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 51.
Dead. As Dirk. Her hips, bugged. And bugged.
And bugged. And bugged. After she finished trembling, she pulled her cunt away from my face and laid back on me for a sec. Then she stood up on her knees, which were straggling my head, and looked at me.
A considerate woman would have asked if my cervical vertebrae were still intact. But Cammy was still in character as that mommy bitch. Nice job eating smash, she sneered. But her ass is still getting raped and cell block H, unless you can rim like a pro.
She stared at me with the sadistic little gloat on her face. Hope you're hungry, she leered. I was about to ask for a glass of water, but she stood up and turned around and knelt back down and put her ass in my face before I could say anything. Then she reached back and rubbed her butt, she'd opened.
Eat whole, she said. Okay. Normally, I would have said, I'm not into it babe. But my limp dick meant that if I didn't oblige, I was in for some recriminations.
And I really didn't want the inaugural ball to turn into the final fuck. With me getting laughed at, or pointed at, or maybe even thrown out of the room. And of course she'd tell her friends. So I teased around her asshole a little and then started the rim job proper.
After a while, I kind of zoned out and got angry at parpe again. Me having my tongue in a chicks ass was at least partly his fault. Why? Because the lying bastard parps of the world had convinced every woman with an internet connection that getting a tongue up her ass was normal and expected in...
Yummy. I mean, Jesus, look it. When I was in my twenties, if I'd stuck my tongue up a chicks ass, she'd have slapped my face. And the babes I dated back then, they prided themselves on being ready for anything.
But a tongue? In the asshole? Cammie was really into it. Like she had a second G-spot hidden somewhere just past her ass lips.
She kept, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh. And now and then saying, Jesus, I love that. Real breathily. So even though I was pissed off, I could at least tell myself I was holding up my end of the date.
Her ass was in my face for a long time. I obviously didn't stopwatch it, but I wish I could have done that for future reference, and you know, anecdote telling. She finally wiggled her round little ass and pulled it off my face and got up on her knees and turned her torso just enough so she could see my face. Saying she said, she gave me this big Cammie grin that was completely out of character for Mommy or Billy.
Oh, she said when she saw the look on my face which I guess was pretty sour. Was Mommy a big main con-t? She threw herself down on the bed next to me and gave me a hard hug around the neck and a smooch on the cheek and then licked my lips and cradled my face against her tits. Mommy was just a character, Polly.
Yeah, and you fenched her fanny really. Good. She gigg chuckled. I said something...
I don't know. Genial. I forgot the exact words I said. I just remember they were a series of big fat lies about how much I loved having my face up her ass and how her whole role playing idea, which she sprung on me without asking if I was good with it first, was a stroke of genius.
So she said, you didn't mind too much when Mommy made fun of Mr. Limpet? That took me by surprise. That she could just come right out and call my cock at the raguatorine name after I'd spent a Nat's lifetime licking her asshole.
I tensed up. Then I noticed her staring at me and waiting for me to answer. I call him Admiral Ballsy. I said, she grinned.
Oh, you're kidding. You actually have a name for your cock. Well, she gigg chuckled. Maybe next time we do what you could like take some of those pills?
Or hey, how about this? Do some of those penis exercises? Or both? Dick exercises again.
Jesus. She got up and pulled her skirt back on and zipped it up the side. I told her how hot she was and what a blast I had. But what I was thinking was how she killed me, absolutely killed me dead as dirt by telling me in all sober confidentiality that I had a disappointing dick.
It was great that she was going to give me another shot. She said, next time we do it boys. But when she called Admiral Ballsy, Mr. Limpet, she killed anything good I might have taken from the evening except for that why in Breeze moment that no one can take away.
Killed it, dead as dirt. When she had her skirt back on, she lugged this backpack out of the bathroom and threw it on over her shoulders. Then she blew me a kiss and split like a hooker. I sat up and slung my legs over the edge of the bed.
My brain was a little disoriented at first and I didn't know why. Oh yeah, I thought, no pressure. I had this pocket of time to myself, all to myself unexpectedly because, you know, I thought I'd be with Cammy for the night. But with Cammy out of the picture, my alibi from part meant that nobody expected shit from me until sometime next morning.
At first I felt a little burned. Cammy couldn't tell me ahead of time her idea of a hookup was we fuck each other's faces and split. But the truth is, I was kind of glad to have some time to myself in a nice warm room with a bed and a TV and some liquor. I wanted to light up, but thanks Cammy, the room was non-smoking.
I took off my shirt and socks and turned on the TV and got a bunch of those little bottles out of the fridge and got back into the dry part of the bed with the remote. That's when it occurred to me that Cammy got an orgasm and a rim job while I only got an orgasm. That steamed me. Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction.
The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side copyright 2013 to 2017 by Dan Ranche.