Head Queen of Saratoga

This is a true story that transpired last Friday night in Saratoga Springs, NY, the 'Summer Place to Be Fucked'.....enjoy!

*

I watched her from a safe enough distance through the crowd of shimmering, dancing bodies to the rocking sounds of the Audiostars, the best damn club band in the land.

Truth be told, it wasn't that much of a chore to keep my eyes set on that tanned, lithe body. If it was possible to look slutty while also attired as obviously rich-girl preppy, this woman was pulling it off. She had on a set of choker pearls around her lean neck, augmenting the long, angular features of her pretty face. Her white tank top stopped seductively a few inches above her tight khaki shorts, showing off her taut tummy and belly button, as her nipples poked tantalizingly through the thin, cotton material. Her legs seemed to go on forever, and they were exacerbated by a pair of heeled, wrap-around sandals reminiscent of a Julius Caesar-era 'grape girl' (you know, "dahling, more grapes for the emperor!").

Yet, as my sometimes admittedly too fertile mind whirled with all of these fantasy scenarios while admiring the beauty from perhaps twenty feet away, it was more than that. I was certain that I knew this woman from somewhere. It was more than wishful thinking. But...where, dammit, where..?

The click that emanated from the cartoon light bulb above my head registered it all at once. Aaah, this was Lynne's ice queen sister!!!!! What was her name again..? Donna..? Debbie..? Denise! That's it, Denise! I hadn't seen her in about five years, and boy, had time been her friend.

To backtrack a tad for explanations' sake, Lynne was a woman I used to date half a decade ago. Well, that's perhaps a bit liberal. There are women you 'date', and women you 'see'. Lynne was a woman I 'saw', and usually my view was with her on her back, screaming in pleasure (no woman could scream like Lynne; Janis Joplin would have been envious!)

Lynne was a local golf pro, one of the best women golfers in the region. I had known her through the circuit for many years, and had developed sort of a friendship with her. Lynne was cute in an athletic way, freckles covering her friendly, constantly smiling face. She was one of those rare chicks that everybody loved, men and woman alike. One night about maybe six years ago, after an outing at a local club that resulted in waaaay too many cranberry juices and raspberry vodkas, Lynne and I ended up conducting our own personal 'hole-in-one' contest right on the seventeenth tee about 1 A.M.

I found out that same night that Lynne was engaged to be married within a year, but that did not stop us from continuing our clandestine rendezvous occasionally. (The best thing about the golf pro is she holds the keys to the womens' locker room, but I digress.) After perhaps a dozen or so bouts of some passionate fucking sessions over the next few months, Lynne actually had the chutzpah (or was it simply good manners?) to invite me to her wedding. I went solo, in a strange sort of deference and respect for the ceremony. After all, it was a bit of a dichotomy to watch one of the hottest fucks you ever had in your life get hitched just a week or so after hearing her scream in ecstasy from your cock buried in her ass.

It was at this wedding when I first saw Denise, Lynne's older sister. She was built very differently from Lynne. Lynne was athletic and almost muscular in her thighs; Denise had on 'the black wedding dress' that accentuated her long, slender torso and thin, shapely calves. Her face was almost identical to Lynne's from a features standpoint. They both had the slightly freckled face and large hazel eyes, with short, light brown hair. It was apparent that they had to be sisters. But while Lynne's face was always glowing from a perpetually sunny smile, Denise was aloof, sullen, some might say (and I would be one of them) 'snooty'. She looked like a rich bitch, to be perfectly candid.

In the moment or two that I had to converse with Lynne at her ceremony, the happy bride, I couldn't help but to inquire about her older sister. "She looks exactly like you, but..well..I hope I'm not out of line...she looks like an Ice Queen," I said to Lynne.

Lynne giggled delightedly. "Everybody says that about Denise, don't worry. She's just in the middle of a difficult divorce right now, and it's taking a toll on her." Lynne moved up closer to me and whispered in my ear. "In fact, I'll tell ya a little secret, since you and I have a few of our own that no one will know about, Johnnie."

She smiled mischievously. "Denise likes to refer to herself as the 'Head Queen'. She's delusionally convinced herself she gives the best blow jobs on the planet. My younger sister and I tease her about that all the time. Go figure. Denise a head queen."

I revived myself from that little flashback and took inventory that I was now at the Horseshoe Inn, August 2009. I had not seen either Lynne or Denise since that day at the wedding. Funny what the male mind can recapture from the mental archives.

Denise was idly tapping on her Blackberry as she stood at an outdoor table in the back of the bar. She was accompanied by a female friend, a somewhat stocky (nice word for 'chubby') blonde in a pink dress.

There were two older guys attempting to hit on them. The blonde was relishing in the attention, but Denise was ever the aloof (i.e. snooty) Ice Queen, paying the three of then not even the pretense of attention. If I was going to plunge in the pool ever, now seemed like as good a time as any. Why just dip your toes in?

I sidled up to Denise from behind. "Excuse me, but I think I know you," I chirped, realizing instantly how cheesy that must have sounded. Denise turned to half-face me, and her thin lips curled up in a kind of sneer, her hazel eyes not betraying a hint of recognition nor interest. She looked me up and down once in a superior, dismissive manner.

"I really don't think so," Denise icily blurted, as she turned her interest back to the small screen of her electronic device.

"What the hell," I thought, "I'm all in at this point. Why not go down hard?" So, undaunted, my next utterance contained a fact designed to at least authenticate my opening line. I took a deep breath. "Yep, I think I do. You're Denise Hoffman, aren't you? I'm John. I used to date your sister Lynne."

Her incessant tapping on the keyboard stopped immediately and she turned to face me. She was at least two inches taller than me in her high-heeled sandals, and I'm sure she was used to intimidating annoying little sand gnats like myself on an hourly basis, and no doubt took supreme enjoyment in the humiliation.

This time, however, I had succeeded in touching a nerve, a curiosity, a familiar, long-forgotten sisterly bond. She looked down at me, her eyes peering directly, darkly into my own. She eyed me for about five seconds, which seemed like an eternity to me, and in that time, her demeanor changed. This time, it was me who was rendered speechless by her reply.

"You mean, you used to fuck my sister while she was engaged to Tony, don't you?"

Have you ever watched a line of men at an occupied urinal? They all engage in this nervous, little tap dance, bouncing on the balls of their feet, one to the other, over and over, as they valiantly try not to pee their pants. Unwittingly, this was the physical reaction that her comment evoked in me. My mouth opened and shut a few times, my eyes twittered and blinked, like a hooked fish flopping on the line, throwing himself at the mercy of his captor. The only visceral reply I could manage was a weak nod.

Denise smiled in her best Cruella De Ville imitation this side of Disney. "Is that a yes, Johnnie boy?"

I managed to compose myself and realized that this perhaps was not the worst way in the world to be remembered. A man can only begin to imagine what sisterly secrets are shared, and I calculated that the mere fact that Denise chose to recall my legacy in this way indicated that Lynne might have had some complimentary stories to share with her older sibling about my carnal abilities. Well, at least, this is what I was thinking. So, I really decided to roll the dice on my next statement.

"That's a yes, Denise. I surmise that Lynne may have shared some pleasant secrets with you about us. Well, she shared one with me about you." Denise's left eyebrow rose in a 'do tell' dare.

"Head Queen."

It took a few seconds for the dam to break, but when it did, the kilowatts flowed. Denise's head rocked back in uproarious laughter. I made note that this was truly the first time I had seen her smile. Of course, while noting that, I couldn't help but peek down at the rippling six-pack of muscles in her tight stomach as her blouse rose higher from her navel. (It's called multi-tasking!)

"OH, MY FUCKING GOD, I am going to KILL that little bitch!" Denise uttered this while still shaking with laughter, so I assumed the threat was idle sibling rhetoric. "She actually fucking told you that, when? Where?"

Turns out that my boldness could not have served as a more effective ice-breaker. Denise and I spent the next twenty minutes or so amicably talking about friends, family, kids, and briefly, Lynne, who was now living in Florida while managing a golf teaching academy.

I was not oblivious to the envious glances from many of the other male patrons in the Horseshoe, who undoubtedly had been watching this 'sexy-in-a-semi-preppy-semi-slutty-way' Ice Queen themselves earlier in the evening and wondering why I was now her lucky conversational partner. (It's simple, boys, you just have to let them know that you fucked their little sister!)

I also became aware that the other three people who had been at the table had slinked away. I discovered that her blonde friend was a co-worker whose presence was primarily to serve as a wingman, so to speak, to insulate Denise's many would-be suitors.

I was also not blind to the fact that Denise's entire body language had changed perceptibly. She was facing directly towards me now, she flicked her auburn hair back off of her shoulders with a pronounced head tilt, and she licked her pale pink lips more than once. I fuck up with the best of males when it comes to interpreting female body language, but I was hoping against hope that these were signs that bode well in my favor. Beneath the table, my own arousal was painfully straining against my baggy Bermuda shorts, as I wafted in this Ice Queen's light, summery perfume.

We stopped our banter and moved even closer as the mosh pit around us gyrated to the tunes of the Audiostars' rendition of 'Should I Stay or Should I Go?'. Denise's once imposing eyes had now lost their edge, and they now sparkled.

I moved in to kiss her, and she met my lips with an urgency that I was not expecting. She hungrily took my tongue within her lips and sucked greedily, while moving her torso tightly against mine. Our kiss lingered for fifteen or twenty seconds, completely and blissfully oblivious to our surroundings. I broke the kiss off reluctantly, and looked at Denise as she rubbed her pelvis against my hip beneath the table. She was taller than me, so my unavoidable erection twitched against the soft outline of her shorts covering her thigh.

"Would you like to dance?" I asked, still holding her by the small of her back and pulling her close to me.

Denise gazed at me with smoldering eyes. She waited teasingly before answering, and as she did so, her long fingers danced southward towards, and then covering, my bulge.

"Wrong verb, Johnnie boy."

My only response was an audible gulp, as I struggled to absorb the gravity of what I thought this implied, while having my instincts reinforced as Denise's soft hand cupped my throbbing cock through my shorts.

"Lynne told me that you were, by far, the best fuck she ever had. I heard that in graphic detail. I admit to having always been a little jealous of my little sister when I heard her tell me some stories of you two." She grabbed my cock more assertively, and I felt as though I might burst through my zipper right there.

"How would you like to fuck another Hoffman sister tonight, Johnnie boy? Up for it?"

In the succinct negotiating session that followed, it was now only a matter of logistics. The principals had already hammered out the foundation of the agreement, the whats and hows. Now it was simply a matter of where.

Denise's house north of Albany was ruled out because her teenaged daughter would be home hosting some friends. My own resort rental in Bolton Landing was similarly dismissed by Denise because she did not want to make the hour-long drive home after the evening's events had been consummated. Obtaining a respectable hotel in Saratoga on this short notice would be virtually impossible without surrendering a King's ransom.

And so, in the most practical example of 'when there's a will, there's a way' that I can ever recall, it was quickly mutually decided that the most time-tested location of all spontaneous carnal festivities would have to suffice. The back seat of her car.

For those few of you readers who may just happen to be familiar with the parking lot next to the Horseshoe in Saratoga Springs, it might just be the most convenient, safe, and comfortable location for after-the-bar activity on the planet. Denise's Lexus was parked beneath a centuries-old oak tree, and provided natural cover from light, intruders, passersby, etc.

I complimented her as we climbed into the back seat by wondering audibly if she had chosen such a parking spot in the event she decided to bring a fortunate companion to this secluded location. Her wicked smile seemed to me a silent affirmation that this thought had indeed crossed her own mind.

There was no foreplay whatsoever that was needed nor encouraged. Denise practically pinned me against the back cushion of the car, and within seconds peeled her cotton blouse over her head, revealing, small yet perfectly formed tits with steel-hard, eraser size nipples, and large dark brown areolas. My fleeting thought was that although Lynne's tits were much bigger, the sisters shared a similarity in areolas. I hungrily devoured her tight, taut breasts with my lips and hands, gripping them roughly as she rocked on my cock in a dry hump, and moaned loudly.

I pulled my head from her chest to admire the view in front of me, while Denise raised her tight, tiny ass and shimmied her shorts down her long legs. In the course of our earlier conversation, Denise had revealed to me that she had recently celebrated her 50th birthday by running a marathon, which she explained helped keep her body in tip-top shape.

She had said rather absently that she was in the best shape of her life. As she pulled her thong off of her hips, I couldn't help but to take a few seconds and absorb this amazing beauty. Now fully naked, she was completely sensational, not an ounce of fat on her, five-feet-ten and one hundred and seventeen pounds of fifty-year-old sexual dynamite, now simmering and waiting for my detonator to penetrate her beautifully shaved cunt.

Her next words brought me back to attend to the task at hand. "Take your fucking shorts off and fuck me," she growled lustily, a taunting tone in her voice that I had not yet heard, but which served to get me even harder, if possible.

Denise assisted my efforts by almost angrily yanking my shorts down to my ankles. She looked down at my cock and grasped it tightly in her long, manicured fingers, and gasped. "Mmmm, Jackpot! What a great cock!"

I was now the passenger along to accompany Denise's short journey to orgasm. I've always held the mindset that when a woman wants to fuck, it doesn't always matter who the fortunate recipient will be, and I think this was the case on this night.

Denise needed a cock, and I was here to satsify her cravings. With one motion, Denise thrust her pussy down onto my entire shaft, evoking an audible grunt from me as well as a release of Denise's hot juices bursting onto my lap. She was instantly soaked, and fucked me savagely, bouncing up and down on my cock without regard for anything but feeling her pussy filled as deep and and as hard and as rough as it could with a hard cock. How did I know this..?

"Oh, Jesus, fuck me, that's it, fuck me with that big, hard cock..give it to me, fuck me , fuck me hard, fuck me rough, deep, deeper, grab my ass, that's it, oooooh, keep fucking me, let me use that big dock for my pleasure, yeah, fuck me, fuck me, give me that cock, what a big hard cock, I need it so fucking bad, fuck my cunt, hard, harder, HARDER, fuck me, yeeeaaahhhh...Oh, God, fuck me..........OOOOOHHHH..."

And then...........silence......for a few seconds.......as her head shot back and I watched as her pupils literally roll back into her eyelids and then disappeared, giving her face an almost other-worldly, apparition-type look as he reached her ultimate release.

And then, I felt the tight muscles of her cunt spasm and convulse over my cock, dripping and squirting a pepperminty scent. She leaked cum all over my cock and balls and legs, running like a stream down onto the crack of my ass and onto the seat, resulting in a small pond of her pleasure covering the beige upholstery of her luxury vehicle, now serving as our mobile fuck unit, as we splashed up and down in her cum.

Denise's stomach heaved, and her firm breasts shook, and I grabbed her ass as tightly as I could, bouncing her even harder on me, impaling her with my almost eight inches, banging against her cervix, my balls slapping wildly against her ass cheeks, my index finger now inserted into and puncturing her imposibly tight sphincter. She quickly released again, her breathing now reduced to a convulsing series of grunts and groans.

"Aaahh, Oh my God, oh my god, oooh, god, that's unbelievable, Oh my god, oooh, jeezus, yes, yes, yes, God. Oh my god, Holy fuck...you're unbelievable, don't stop, keep fucking me, keep fucking me, YEEEEESSSSSSSSS!", and she grunted announcement to yet another massive orgasm, at least her third within the last several minutes....

(During Denise's verbal display of excitement, my mind drifted toward the aforementioned screaming that Lynne uttered during our sessions, and I couldn't help but think that the Hoffman sisters must have been quite the wailers in their cribs, staging a competitive decibel attack that has continued into the next millennium. But, again, I digress...)

Denise jumped off me suddenly, her cunt lips separating from my turgid pole with a sharp 'pop', her liquid oozing from her hole and splashing onto my thighs. In one motion, and without saying a word, she climbed down on her knees in front of me and took my twitching member deep into her mouth, covering it tightly and annunciating her oral assault with another loud groan. This time, however, I met her moan with one of my own (hey, that rhymes.. wasn't that an oldies song lyric?!) I was now at the complete and total mercy of the mouth and lips of the infamous Head Queen, and I was willing to accept whatever 'punishment' she thought I deserved.

Her eyes flickered up towards my face and she gazed at me lustfully, my long cock buried deep within her thin lips, which I now realized were designed perfectly for that 'tight' blow job suction.

Her long fingers cupped and caressed my balls, and she deep-throated me with skilled ease, which many women could not seem to do with my length. I should have realized Denise's competitve nature, though, combined with her self-confidence of her oral abilities, would have deemed anything but a complete deep-throating experience a failure in her own mind. So, gracious man that I am, I let her have her way (I'm such a gentleman that way).

Denise's pearl necklace bounced up and down, tapping her chin, setting up almost a window frame of sorts for my close-up view of her cocksucking. I reached down to grasp the back of her head and pull it even tighter down onto my lap, but as I did so, she reared her head back violently, like a frisky filly bucking against a jockey's attempted mount in the paddock.