02: “Counterfeit Cocks” or “That Time I Fucked a Married Dude in the Butt”

There is absolutely nothing wrong with fucking a ton of people just for the hell of it. I’ll be the first bitch to admit that sometimes, I really do just want a motherfucker to shut the fuck up and stick it in already. But besides just going through innumerable amounts of condoms, I’d like to think of my past year and a half of slutting it up as a learning experience. I’ve earned my degree in ass getting through active participation instead of boring classrooms, presenting you now with my Bachelors in Blowjobs, a Masters in Making Out and a Ph-mothafucking-D in How to get Dick. Along with the one-night stands and fuck buddies who have aided me towards my current title of Proud Slut, there have also been instances that one would typically keep hush-hush. But being the honorable practitioner that I am today, I say, “Fuck that!” I find even more pride in my uncomfortable encounters than ones that came easily to me. We gotta take the good with the bad because we learn a lot more from shitty situations than we do from perfect ones. And unfortunately in the business of sex, there sometimes will literally be shit involved.

It all started in the back of a friend’s Chevy Cobalt. We spent the dawn of our evening devoted to a handle of Vladimir Vodka, each esophagus burning shot aiding me towards the tolerance of the next. After a while of pregaming and clumsily dancing around a friend’s bedroom, we tossed what was left of the alcohol into jugs of Wawa lemonade and fruit punch before finally making our way out for the night. Cramming six drunk twenty-somethings into a sedan is a feat amongst itself, let alone passing Vlad-tainted jugs around inconspicuously. But after our cramped twenty-minute drive consumed by obnoxious music and maniacal laughter, we made it to what would typically be a generic Philadelphia nightclub. This night in particular was a Wednesday, which meant club Shampoo had been transformed into Nocturne – one of Philly’s only goth and industrial clubs, catering to those drenched in bondage pants, fishnets and neon colored synthetic dreads. Though I left these interests in middle school, I’d always been curious about the club and deemed it better suited for a fucking freak like me as opposed to the mainstream clubs frequented by most.

So there I am, donning a leopard print dress shoplifted from Wal-Mart, grinding against this lanky married dude I had only just met, who can only bring himself to awkwardly shuffle against the shimmies of my fat ass. Every so often the humidity caused by a room full of sweaty pale kids was intolerable and we’d make our way back to the car to refresh ourselves with more booze.

I sat between Married Dude and my best friend Geri in the back seat as the friend in front, Victoria, ferociously attacked the guy in the passenger seat with her mouth. I watched their lips smack together, tongues sloppily intertwining, spit glistening from their nostrils to their chins. I decided to follow their lead and, after a straight swig of Vlad followed by a more tolerable swig of Vlad-spiked lemonade, shoved my tongue down Married Dude’s throat. There weren’t many places for my hands to rest comfortably, so they inevitably landed in his crotch. His Army pants were no aid in camouflaging his raging fucking hard on, and after the quick discovery it was hard to ignore. We suffocated each other with our tongues and saliva, and in the midst of a quick gasp he whispered, “Let me take out my boner.” Even in the midst of my severe inebriation I didn’t find this the least bit attractive. Laughter burst from my lips like the load I’m sure was brewing in his balls, and I couldn’t contemplate the fact that a grown fucking man still used the word “boner”, in the heat of the moment, nonetheless. I laughed some more before telling him to shut the fuck up, but before I could mute him with my mouth, Geri erupted – “No, take it out, I wanna see you suck his dick.”

What?

I laughed some more because, well, I’m really fucking funny so needless to say, my best friend is really fucking funny too. It had to be a joke when she asked to watch me suck this man’s dick. She was asking me to suck this man’s dick in front of her. She was asking me to suck this man’s dick in front of her in the back seat of an acquaintance’s car in the parking lot of an urban club. In a questionable area. After midnight. Yeah, it totally, absolutely had to be joke.

With my head in his lap I hocked some spit in my hand and gripped his cock to his elation. Not much time passed before I went from huddling over his crotch to flailing to my back. Geri found a satisfactory spectator’s view in the front passenger’s seat once Victoria and her beau-for-the-night found solace sucking face somewhere else.

It wasn’t long before Victoria realized she had left something in the car and as she opened the door she found Married Dude’s face in my crotch. What the fuck! We all laughed as she grabbed whatever the fuck she needed and slammed the door shut. In the midst of cackles I asked if he had any condoms and was genuinely impressed with the speed in which he slipped one on while under such a drunken spell. His pelvis shot into me and I gasped. With each thrust I experienced utter agony. Don’t get me wrong, the dick was good, but the metal pane of the car door was not, and it chiseled into my spine with every. fucking. thrust. I persisted, though, and would later bare a bruise on my back as the night’s souvenir.  Geri watched as if we were merely enacting a shitty sitcom. She popped some chips in her mouth and took a swig of spiked punch before complimenting the sounds that I made.

Needles to say, after a night like that, there are no fucking boundaries.

A few weeks into seeing him, he finally felt comfortable enough to show me his toys. I had already been aware of his curious sexuality – his innate desire to suck a dick and, of course, take it up the ass. But his wife was always repulsed by the thought so he had never taken initiative to explore his desires. She eventually left, though, and as quickly as she was out the door, he was on the internet ordering anal beads and dildos. I was excited when he offered to show them to me. Both dildos were pretty “realistic” looking – as realistic as a rubber dick with a suction cup can get. One was average sized with an ultra defined head and a slight tilt upwards. The other, though, is what I can only describe as “fucking huge.” Like, bigger than a Coke-can huge. Like, so fucking big that even I couldn’t take it and The Duchess* was literally black-and-blue bruised the morning after. We spent a lot of time joking about the fake cocks – sticking them on the walls, batting them at the cats, sword fighting. I knew he wanted me to use them on him, but I didn’t exactly know how the fuck it would work.

* Yes, my pussy has really been dubbed The Duchess.

We spent one romantic evening shoveling carbs in our mouths at some local Jersey Italian joint just down the street from his marital abode. It was the first time he’d treated me to a meal and he would soon eat the leftovers of my shrimp alfredo out of spite for my inability to share the intense feelings he had for me. Until then, though, we would merely smile at each other between chomps of garlic knots and onion rings; share a loving gaze between slurps of Coke and long, slimy linguine. After reaching an extreme level of bloatedness, we left the restaurant with hands intertwined.

Arriving at his home I immediately sought relief in his bed before luring him under the covers next to me. The usual fondling ensued – making out leads to a hand up my shirt before a pinch of my pierced nipples, then the shirts are off. His hard on rubs against my knee before I finally shove my hand down his pants. He then returns the favor before pants are off and he finds a place between my legs. We rub against each other before the teasing of his head against my clit is unbearable and I pull his waist into me. That’s how it usually happened, but this night, this night was different. This night, instead of finding him inside of me, I’d be finding my detachable cock inside of him.

My cotton thong was still in place when he whispered something about his dildos. When I nodded my head in agreement he almost fell off the bed in order to make his way to the closet where his toys found a home. He handed me the one with the slight bend before finding a position on his knees, his face huddled in his arms, eyes closed, a deep breath in anticipation. I watched the lube glisten on the tip of the imitation cock before rubbing it against his ass hole. I pushed slightly inwards but it barely went inside of him. Ass holes were way more resistant than I expected. I kept lightly pushing the head into him and it would forcefully pull itself out. He moaned before telling me to just stick it the fuck in already. For the first time, I was nervous to fuck someone. Are you sure I’m not hurting you? He ignored the question and continued to plead before I finally shoved the thing into him with the power of a punch. He gasped and my arm acted as a jackhammer, pushing it in and out and in and out. It finally slipped and I couldn’t keep a firm grip on it because everything was just fucking covered in lube – the dick, the sheets, my hand, his ass. My frustration grew when I couldn’t consistently grip the thing before I shared my wish to have a strap on. And then it dawned on me. I grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped a small hole on the crotch of my thong before slipping the rubber dick through. I was proud of my contraption regardless of its need to be held in place while in use. We stood at the end of the bed and I threw him over the edge before spreading his legs and placing my counterfeit cock between his cheeks. And then suddenly, this odd sensation reigned over me with my first thrust inside of him.

I had experienced a lot in my sex life up until this point and learned that with each new position or new toy comes a new sensation. The first time I let someone fuck me, someone I loved, my heart grew tender. The first time I held a dick in my hand and my mouth, my pride grew with the satisfaction that I could provide someone else with satisfaction. And bitches and bastards, I have to admit, the first time I fucked a dude in the ass; a married dude in the ass; a married dude in the ass with a homemade cotton strap on – I felt a sense of power. I was fucking him and, regardless that I couldn’t feel a thing physically, it felt fucking amazing to my sense of self.

He finally reached climax and I was able to pull my dick out only to find that the head was lined with shit. I wasn’t sure how to break the news to him so I just laughed and let him see for himself. Are you fucking kidding me! He yanked the dildo off of me and ran to the bathroom in embarrassment. I cackled between attempts to ease his shame. I mean, that’s what typically comes from an ass hole anyway, so I’d much rather pull some shit out of him than see a spout of blood. He locked himself in the bathroom, scrubbing at the dick for a while, ensuring it was completely feces-free. I paced around the apartment for a while, naked, before rewarding my deed with a bag of Cheetos. I didn’t find my reward in the satisfaction of my hunger, though.  No, I found my reward in – I shit you not! – a dick shaped Cheeto.

I’ve only shared a moment involving shit with one other person, someone I thought to be the love of my life. And, no, he didn’t shit on me and I didn’t shit on him. It was one of those things that just kind of happens when you find yourself so genuinely comfortable around someone that it’s no fucking biggie to take a dump while they shower just a foot away from you. Unfortunately, though, this experience did not follow suit. Since my first love I have never felt so secure with a partner that I could share a dump with them, and definitely did not find this comfort with Married Dude. Long story short, he confessed his love for me after an affair of only weeks. My immediate response was to laugh. I laughed in his face and said, “No you don’t,” before desperately seeking a cigarette and speeding away in my piece of shit ’90 Ford Escort, never fucking ever to return.

Advertisements

About sabrinadropkick

I'm a writer with a big mouth and an even bigger ass.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to 02: “Counterfeit Cocks” or “That Time I Fucked a Married Dude in the Butt”

  1. Breanna says:

    Your insane!!! & out of your fucking mind. I felt like VOMITING!!!! I love you Sabweena! – Breanna 🙂

  2. Evie says:

    I LOVE THIS, YOU. Keep up the good work!

  3. youknowdamnwellwhodisis says:

    dude, I fuck my boyfriend in the ass all the time. it’s fucking awesome. I love making him bleed. such a power trip. this is obviously why we were such good friends at uarts.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s